Archive of Our Own

Peter would like to think that he’s gotten pretty good at the whole Spider-Man thing, despite what the Bugle Newsletter and Mr.Stark might say, sometimes.

Over the last few months, Peter’s made a concentrated effort to become more comfortable in his own skin. Not in just the teenager way, but in the still-learning-his-powers kinda way. For the longest time, while Peter knew he was strong, he didn’t exactly have any real regulations on how he could use that strength effectively—beyond stopping a car, or pulling his punch back in a fight. His stickiness took a bit to get used to, too, because while he didn’t stick to everything that caught on his skin anymore, there were times he slipped and barely caught himself. There was also his Spidey-sense, which he admittedly hadn’t really been using like he should have, ignoring it more than anything. So for the last few months he’s been trying to hone in the skills he’s been given, trusting his senses more. Trusting himself more.

It wasn’t exactly like he was worried about knocking a man’s head square off his shoulders if he punched too hard, but, well… It was always a possibility, in his mind. 

And considering his enhanced senses… It was something that he just wasn’t sure what to make of, half the time. At first, he was so busy just trying to figure out what caused the buzzing, he would just end up getting hit anyway. He’s had many knocks to the head to prove his overthinking about it—none of which Mr.Stark or Aunt May were happy about, or have let him live down. But as time passed, he figured out that the softer the buzz, the more time he had to react—and when it came to those whole body shivers it was just best to just fucking move . Trial and error, that one. It’s not that he was relying on it fully now, just that he learned that oh yeah, if his whole body was telling him to move, it was probably best to do so . He was a genius.

Which, on a secondary note, he and Mr.Stark had been getting closer. Originally after the whole fiasco with the Vulture, his relationship with Mr.Stark had been tense. It’s not that he and Mr.Stark stopped talking or anything–no, on the contrary, they started talking. Regularly. Peter would give Happy a semi-detailed voicemail about what he would do on patrol, and then that night Mr.Stark would ask him about what had happened. Over text . It felt surreal to have Mr.Stark in his contact list, let alone be able to message him back, or even be messaged first .

But after a while it became clear to Peter that Mr.Stark wasn’t just interested in his day-to-day operations, but that the man also felt guilty. The billionaire tried to hide it, sure–but once Peter realized it, it was painfully obvious. There was a day, months ago, when Peter didn’t respond to Mr.Stark’s text because he had been on stage at an Acadec meet. The genius had proceeded to text him four times . It might not have been a lot, to most, but with how their conversations had been at the time it was clear there was some panic behind it. 

Mr.Stark - 7:42pm

Hey Kid! How was your patrol? Happy says you haven’t left a message today. What’s that about?

Mr.Stark - 7:50pm

Kid? Did something happen?

Mr.Stark - 8:05pm

Your suit’s AI says that it’s still at your apartment. Where are you? You’re not using those Pajamas are you? I thought we agreed the upgrade was the go-to, now. 

Mr.Stark - 8:15pm

Peter??

Peter had blinked at the mention of his old suit–his original, homemade one that Mr.Stark had made fun of relentlessly. It was like an unspoken rule that Mr.Stark didn’t like to talk about it, and did everything in his power to brush them off as pajamas better used for naps or a horrible cosplay than any actual crime-fighting. Peter originally thought it had been that Mr.Stark wanted Peter to appreciate the work that he had put into the suit he had made and didn’t want him using the homemade one–which he did! Don’t get him wrong! But thinking about Mr.Stark’s face when he saw Peter walk to him in the Avenger’s Compound with a slight limp to his gait after the Vulture incident said.. Something. And checking his location because he didn’t text back right away? It felt… weird. Not in a bad way, no, just. Strange , for what their relationship was. Regardless, Peter felt bad and immediately texted the man back.

Peter - 8:18pm

Hi Mr.Stark! I’m okay!!

Peter - 8:22pm

Sorry!! I was at a club event so I couldn’t respond, they collected our phones before we went on stage to prevent cheating. I didn’t get a chance to patrol today, so I didn’t think to call.

Peter - 8:22pm

Sorry!! :(

Mr.Stark - 8:23pm

Oh, alright. No worries, Kid. 

Mr.Stark - 8:30pm

Well? Did you win?

It was just a week later that Mr.Stark had proposed that they make Peter’s cover story of being his intern more than just a cover story. And very quickly after that, Peter would say that they’ve grown close. It was awkward as hell at first, of course – neither of them really knew how to be around each other for any long period of time. Really, it was painfully obvious that Mr.Stark didn’t have much experience with kids, but he couldn’t say the man had any real issues about being around someone Peter's age either. Regardless, they made it work. And Peter felt that after those initial few months, they had formed a mutual trust in each other.

Mr.Stark had slowly weaned off asking about his every move at patrol, and he knew that he slowly got away from the constant use of the ‘Baby Monitor’. He trusted Peter to tell him things if it got spicy, and Peter did appreciate it, even if he didn’t tell the man every time he got a cut or bruise like he wanted. ( Not that he would ever dare to admit that, lest he risk Mr.Stark’s and, more importantly, May’s wrath. )

Long, roundabout story over– Spider-Man’s the best he’s ever been, and Mr.Stark was trusting Peter to come to him if he needed help. It made Peter feel like he was on top of the world.

So, as per the ever-consistent law of the universe, something just had to go wrong and kick him down.

– – – – – – – – – 

This day, in particular, was strange. All day Peter had been feeling a new type of buzz in the back of his neck. It was driving him insane— and there was seemingly nothing he could do about it. And he had tried everything. 

At first, he thought someone was staring at him—watching him. But no matter how many times he turned around and searched, nobody was even looking in his direction. He stopped his silent search after Ned had said that he was going stir-crazy just looking at Peter. He tried to ignore it, he did, but the buzz just would not go away.

The buzz didn’t feel like a chill, but more like the heat of someone lightly scoring at the nape of his neck with their nails. A soft, repetitive scratch that sent unpleasant shivers down his spine. It made his hairs stand on end. It was uncomfortable , and it hadn’t stopped since he got onto the Midtown campus that morning. It was almost numbing—that was until it shifted. In his third period, the buzz moved from the back of his neck to the bottoms of his feet. That was a sensation. MJ had looked at him funny when he kept digging his shoes into the ground, trying to feel if maybe a pebble or some grain had made it into them without him realizing. There was nothing. And it was torture .

He tried his best to ignore it after that, because even though he had learned to trust his senses, this was decidedly too much. Like, seriously, his feet ? What the hell was he being warned about, a mole? Right .

Decidedly not soon enough, school had ended and he was almost free to leave this weird feeling behind. He just had to make it though Academic Decathlon practice. Just one hour. That countdown was a good enough distraction, at least at first.

Practice today was a bit more intensive than usual; MJ insisted that since competitions were coming up again, they needed to be working harder than ever. And even though some of them groaned, nobody wanted to argue with the most terrifying person there, if not alive. She’d probably kill them if they did voice any arguments, anyhow–Peter has gotten a fair few warning buzzes from her in the past.

“Cindy, you need to study your chemistry more.” MJ frowned at said girl, tucking away the flash card to the back of her pile.

“Sorry mom .” Cindy groaned, rubbing her cheek, “I’m just no good at Chemical Bonds, okay ?”

Peter smirked slightly; he hadn’t exactly been paying attention, but the thought of MJ being a begrudging mother beating information into them with her notecards was an amusing thought. It was too bad he couldn’t linger on it. The buzzing was back, and it was more intense now. He couldn’t figure it out. He went back to grinding his soles uncomfortably into the ground. 

“It doesn’t matter. Even if you’re a sub, you should know at least some of this content.” MJ sighed, before reading off the next card, “Solve for x, 2x plus 5 equals 15. Abe?”

“Five.”

The buzzing in his feet made them feel numb, in a way. It felt like he had been in one of those mall massage chairs, where the plate for his feet jostled them so much it felt like static. It wouldn’t have been bad if there just was a plate that he had put his feet on, but there wasn’t . He was on stable ground. There was no reason he should have felt like this. It worried him.

“Good. Next, find the derivative of f parenthesis x, equals 2 x to the third power, minus 6 x to the second power, plus 4 x.”

“Oh god.” Abe whimpered in a whisper, his throat making a pained, strangled noise, “...F parenthesis x… equals…”

Maybe the mole thing wasn’t that far off after all. He’d have to investigate afterwards. Maybe it was a big, radioactive mole digging underneath the school in the station or sewers down below. Were there even moles in New York? Or would a groundhog be more realistic? Maybe it was a giant rat? They definitely had those in New York.

MJ slowly raised her eyebrow at Abe, and the boy started to visibly sweat, the panic clear on his face.

“Um.. 6 x to the second power… minus twelve x plus four?”

What do you even use to get rid of Moles–or Groundhogs? Or rats? Giant ones, at that. And what if it wasn’t even doing anything? It could just be living its own groundhog/mole-y/rat-y life, and here he was trying to evict him out of his home. Who was he to do that? Then again, he was getting a warning buzz, so maybe it wasn’t minding its own business.

MJ stared at Abe for a few seconds longer, before nodding, “Correct.” At that, Abe let out a sigh, “Work on those functions. You have to think faster when we’re in a competition.”

“Sorry…”

MJ didn’t respond to Abe, just moving to the next card in her deck, “What causes the tide phenomenon on the Earth? Peter.”

“Huh?” Peter jumped, being shaken out of his focus on his mole dreams, “Primarily the gravitational pull of the moon.”

“Good. Pay attention, Parker.” She shook the notecard at him, making him flinch. She moved on, “What part of the human brain processes sensory information and distributes them to the appropriate cortical area?”

“The Thalamus?”

“Correct, but be more confident, Peter.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that.” she glared before moving on, and Peter let out a small sigh. He was losing his mind, he had decided. Moles? Groundhogs? What the hell was his brain yapping about? Maybe his thalamus was going haywire. 

Sitting back in his chair, he crossed his arms, inspecting the newly formed scuff marks on his shoes. What else could it be, then? Anxiety? His anxiety didn’t normally go into his toes, but he wouldn’t put it past himself. He can stick to walls and stop a speeding truck with his bare hands, maybe his anxiety was also now just in his feet. Fuck it, sure.

Just as he was about to accept that maybe he was overthinking it, his whole body froze. The buzzing that was in his feet started to rattle against his entire body. Nails and goosebump shivvers traveled up his spine and shook into his brain. What the..?

“Peter?” he turned to see Abe looking at him, his brows knitted together, “Are you okay? You look as pale as a ghost—like, way more than usual.”

“Did.. you feel that?” Peter asked softly, searching for any sign of recognition in the boy’s face. There wasn’t any.

“Feel what?” Abe cocked his head to the side, “Are you okay man? I have a water bottle by my bag if you need it.”

“No–No I just…” Peter shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek, “You really didn’t feel that?”

“I don’t know what ‘that’ you’re talking about, man.” Abe looked concerned, “Should I take you to the nurse? She’s usually still around—we could catch her before she leaves.”

“Is something wrong, boys?” Mr.Harrington’s voice cut between them, and Peter looked up to see the man looking at them from his desk. It grabbed the attention of the rest of the team, and Peter felt his heart drop. I don’t need anyone witnessing my mental breakdown, thanks–

“I’m not sure.” Abe said before Peter could dismiss things, and it made him want to bash his head against a wall, “Peter says he’s feeling something.”

“Oh?” Mr.Harrington put down the pen he was holding, his focus now on Peter rather than whatever paperwork he was doing, “Peter, are you feeling sick? You do look pale.”

“No, I just…”

“Yeah, Parker’s looked like crap all day.” Flash added, unhelpfully.

“I’ve just been..” Peter looked around, “Nobody felt that? That–that shake, just now?”

“Shake?” Cindy looked confused.

“Do you have the trembles, or something?”

“Hey, if Parker gets sick, can I sub in for him?” Flash asked MJ, rather loudly. He was met with a harsh glare.

“I’m not sick .” Peter asserts, holding his hands out to placate them, “I could have just swore I felt something. Maybe I just need to get some sleep.” He tacked that last part to have them ease up on grilling him. If he was honest, he didn’t even think he could get sick anymore, with his new biology. Obviously, his team didn’t believe him for a second. They’ve seen tired Peter, and he’s somehow more alert and present than current Peter. Before they can even attempt to call him out though, Peter feels the shudder again, and he shoots up like a weed from his seat.

“Woah!”

“Watch it, Penis!”

“Peter?” Mr.Harrington looks worried now, trying to lean into Peter’s line of vision, but he’s not looking at the man. The teen’s eyes looked glazed over.

“I.. I think we’re having an earthquake.” Peter says, almost like he can’t believe it himself. Was it small? Was that why he was the only one feeling it? But then why would his senses have been warning him all day if it was so small? But the alternative…

“I think Parker’s taken a hit on his dome, and didn’t tell us.” Flash deadpans, and his friend laughs next to him under his breath. 

“Peter, I can assure you there are no vibrations.” Mr.Harrington speaks up, but Peter’s not listening. His eyes are somewhere else. 

Specifically, Abe’s water bottle. It was on the ground next to his bag.

The water inside — It was moving .

Not just moving in minute calm ripples, it was splashing up in the bottle, rumbling in on itself. Clear agitation.

Mr.Harrington has moved too, and has placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, “Perhaps it’s time we call practice for tonight—“

“We need to get out.” Peter says suddenly, his senses suddenly cranking up to eleven, shudders ripping through his entire body, “We—We’ve got to leave before—“

Peter didn’t even have time to explain himself before the shaking got much worse. The people around him started to react. 

“Holy crap!”

“Get under desks now—quickly!”

Peter stood there, feeling numb then. That’s what he had been feeling all day. The serotonin at his justification flooded his brain, he wasn’t going crazy! And then the sick, nauseous feeling hit. He could have warned people .

“Hurry!”

Almost as if something clicked, Peter was knocked out of his stupor—just as the vibrations got worse. He could see the walls around him flex and goan—beakers and glassware around them wobbling on their shelves. Papers posted falling down from the walls, the pins that once kept them there dancing along the ground. Peter turned to get underneath one of the sturdy science lab tables, until he heard Flash yell out.

“Fuck that, I’m getting out of here!”

Peter turned, seeing Flash clumsily grabbing his bags, moving to leave out the science room’s door. Peter felt his heart drop, a wave of dread crashing down on him.

“Flash, get down!” 

“Peter!”

Before he could even really comprehend what he was doing, Peter grabbed Flash by the back of his shirt and tossed him to the side. Flash tumbled to the ground, and slid on the floor from the force Peter had used on him. He didn’t stop sliding and hit himself underneath one of the lab tables, his back crashing into the wood. Peter didn’t know why, it was fucking stupid in hindsight, but he just looked behind him after watching Flash’s slide. Right in his line of view, MJ was under another one of the tables, her eyes wide and with the most fear he thinks she’d ever have in her life. From the corner of his eye, he could see the ceiling of the room start to bend. 

“ Shit .”

Not even a moment later, everything came crashing down. 

Peter felt himself get bent backwards by the rubble falling onto him, the sudden force pushing him down making his legs scream in agony. His whole body was just burning hot pain . Around him, screams cried out but we’re muffled by the sound of falling concrete and linoleum.

And then it went black. 

– – – – – – – – – 

Tony wasn’t a fan of these meetings. Not at all. He despised them and avoided them as much as he could. It wasn’t just because he found them boring and useless, but because he had to cut off contact from the outside world. Pepper had made it a rule; No phones, no watches, no tablets, no Bluetooth, nothing. He could cry, if he didn’t have an image to maintain. He could be sending his kid an 8-ball request to pass by the agonizing time. But here he was. In a meeting. Fantastic .

Picking your battles when it came to your fiancé, he supposed. 

This meeting, though, was agonizing in particular. Shareholders. Always demanding things, wanting changes he couldn’t accept in his right mind, and always having someone asking about if he was going to begin making weapons again. It gave him a migraine. 

Reaching over to his glass of water, his eyes wandered away from the conversation and out the window. As he took a long sip, his eyebrows furrowed together. 

Wires and trees outside were moving—and not like they would normally in the wind. Lord knows he stared out this very window so much he’s memorized every pattern in which the objects move—this was different. It wasn’t a sway in the breeze like he was used to, no. They were vibrating—like plucked strings on a guitar. 

“ Excuse me .” Friday’s voice surrounded them, cutting off a shareholder mid-tangent, and catching Tony by surprise. Friday was a generally quiet AI, and she didn’t speak in the main body of the building unless she had to. She continued, “ My sensors are detecting a very large, potentially record breaking earthquake in the city. It is suggested to quickly take cover before— “

The AI didn’t even get to finish her sentence before things started to get hairy. Without warning, the lights shut off as the glass next to them started to wobble, and the whole building felt the ground shake beneath them. Tony could hear people screaming outside of the meeting room, and the people in the room weren’t fairing much better. Immediately, people moved from the windows under the table. Looking over, he locked eyes with Pepper—she looked horrified. They’d had minor earthquakes in the past, sure, but never like this. Past earthquakes were so minor, you never really felt them at all. And they were far and few between. Record Breaking, as Friday had put it, didn’t even cover it.

Tony looked out of the windows again, and he could see other buildings shaking—windows were breaking, balconies falling, and one older building closer to the ground partially collapsed . He’d never seen anything like this before. It almost felt like 2012 all over again, but this time he had been thrown into the shoes of a civilian. He hated to admit it, but it was terrifying . It felt agonizing, watching everything move without mercy around them. He had no power here. In 2012, he could have suited up and flown out to battle, but this was pure rage from Mother Earth herself. He had a big ego, yes, but not one big enough to try and fight that . He was useless  here .

Outside of the room he could still hear the occasional scream, a yell for people to get away from windows—and he swore he heard a few breaks of glass. 

They waited under the table for what felt like forever, nervously looking at each other as if they hadn’t nearly been killing each other verbally moments before. And it was like as soon as it started, it died down. And stopped. 

Slowly, people started to crawl out from their hiding places. Some people groaned, others whispered; asking if the others next to them were okay—but the overall mood was confused. How? How could this happen?

The lights flicked themselves back on again, and some people sighed out a breath they hadn’t known they had been holding. One of those people was his own Pepper. She looked sickly pale, not the beautiful worried-for-his-health pale he had come to enjoy. A terrified pale. He was going to ask if people were okay, but the speakers in the building squeaked to life.

“ Boss .” Friday’s voice crackled in again, “ I’ve done functionality scans across the floors and multiple systems are down. Your action is required .”

Tony was knocked out of his stupor then, slowly rising to his feet and shaking off his clothes, “Fuck, yeah—...okay. I’ll—“ he turned to look at the room behind him, seeing people looking around uneasily, “I’m afraid I have to take my leave… Reschedule never.”

Quickly turning on his heels, he sprinted out the room—he didn’t even know where to begin. His only idea was to get to one of Friday’s service panels and take direction from there. His mind was racing with possibilities. He just hoped the damage hadn’t been too severe. 

Tony launched himself into getting systems back online, and having security survey and relay physical damage reports for each floor. 

Nearly an hour and a half later, when he caught a glimpse of the clock, his brain noted that Peter should have been out of his club meeting and at home with his Aunt by now. That innocent, fleeting thought caused his hands to freeze above the screen at the service panel, a terrifying thought came crashing into his mind. 

Where was Peter?

In an instant, he was abandoning the panel, abandoning his building, and activating the nanotec suit from the compartment in his chest.

Kid, you’d better be okay.

– – – – – – – – – 

Peter didn’t know how long he had been asleep for, or what the pressure on his legs was, or… what the hell even happened, really—what he did know, was that his body hurt . And oh, did it hurt bad .

Opening his eyes, Peter was met with darkness, beyond the stars still dancing in his vision. He tried to lift his head, but a strangled gasp squeezed his throat tightly—something was wrong . He floundered for a minute, still trying to lift himself up as pained “ah— ah ”s squeaked out from his lips. An ache scorched in his back; he realized he was bent in an unnatural, or at least uncomfortable way. Running out of air in his strangled lungs, he allowed himself to fall back; his head hitting something hard underneath him. 

His mouth felt like cotton, and his lips were dry and chapped. But he felt wet—something wet was running down his face, and down from out the corner of his mouth. Great, he had been drooling in his sleep. He tried his best to swallow and lick his lips, looking around as his eyes adjusted to the world around him. 

Dark, still, but textured. Cold. Looking around his vision, unable to move his neck, he saw he was in a small pocket of air. Looking as far down as he could, he saw the tail end of a large slab of stone presumably pressing down on his thighs and knees. Ah , he thought humorlessly then, that’s why I can’t feel my legs .

A cough wracked his body then, but that felt uncharacteristically wet too. Something was wrong. He tried to focus his eyes, looking at the slab of concrete that was resting on top of him. There was a wet spot there— dark wet spot. It was splattered against the rock and still connected from a string on his lip, taunting him. Blood..?

He frowned. Why was there blood? Did he puncture a lung, or something? That was a new one. He hasn’t had that injury before.

As he laid there for a minute, trying to wiggle his hands around, his brain cleared up ever so slightly. 

He was under a large chunk of rock. Concrete . He could hear small pebbles and fractures of it crumble and trickle down beside him as he breathed, the expanding and deflating of his chest agitating what was above him. 

He was trapped. Under a building... Again.

That was—That was… not good. Nothing about this was good. 

Peter felt ice run through his veins, then. A building. He was trapped again. He couldn’t be trapped again—he avoided this scenario for a reason . How did this…?

Earthquake .

Peter let out a whimper of a sigh, his head rolling from side to side on the rock below him. He couldn’t stay here, what if there were others trapped like him? He had to get up. To get out .

Lifting his arms up, he put them flat on the rock slab above him, and tried his best to push. Push as hard as he could like last time. But… It wouldn’t budge. What?

What did happen, instead of rock moving above him, was his eyes swimming in their sockets, and his arms shaking like leaves with any amount of pressure he tried to put on them. He tried to force through, push as hard as he could anyway, but there was a jolt of electricity that went through his arms. A pained howl escaped him as he dropped his hands back to his sides. Why was he so…?

Searching his vision, trying hard to focus on his surroundings around him, he finally saw it. Rebar. A thick, rusty piece sticking out from his chest. How the hell did he miss that? A pained groan squeezed out of him as he closed his eyes again. Just how long had he been out for..? How much blood had he…?

He was hyper focused on the feeling now. The sensation of the metal punctured through his chest. He felt cold, but a strange focused warmth around the cold and unforgiving rebar. As he focussed on it, he felt the flesh of his chest expand and compress as he breathed, blood squeezed out, and flowed down the bar. Presumably down the twirling coil. If he focussed even more, he could actually feel his skin trying to heal around the bar, just to be torn all over again through his body when he exhaled. Fun , he thought in his delirium, at least my blood gets a fun little slide . He could do without the feeling of his flesh moving and tearing around it, though.

Opening his eyes again, he tried to force through the fog, ignoring the fuzzy blur in the corners of his vision. It wasn’t working. He didn’t know how much blood he had lost—hell, he couldn’t even really look down and assess the damage either, given he missed the large and concerning bar the first time he looked. His lungs could be sticking out behind his back and he’d have no idea. 

Okay, maybe not that far, but he couldn’t feel or see much regardless. 

So he was stuck. 

No suit. No phone. No Tony. No Spider-Man.

“ Shit .” His voice croaked, his throat grating around the word as it hung in the air around him. 

What could he do, realistically ? Nothing. He’d had nightmares about this, once. Being trapped, unable to move, forced to slowly die. He never thought he’d actually live it . Or, die it, rather. 

So rather than be stuck with his thoughts, he closed his eyes, and focused all his energy on listening. Anything to avoid facing this reality. Maybe someone’s phone was still playing music in the rubble—he could die to that. He just hoped it wasn’t Flash’s phone—all that money and that kid still developed a shit music taste. 

Slowly, as if water was being let out from his ears, sirens faded in. Sirens, horns, voices. Voices ? Straining, he tried to listen close. Maybe he could recognize someone. 

“ ..don’t know… among the rubble… injured… casualties… ”

“ Anyone… unaccounted…? Missing.. ”

Paramedics, maybe? First responders. Maybe a passerby, he couldn’t tell. He tried to find a familiar voice then, honing in through the fuzz to latch onto someone— anyone . That could be a comfort. He’d take stupid Flash , at this point.

“ I don’t….he was… ”

“ Most… hospital… just us waiting.. transport… building.”

“Have you seen…? My kid! He…. Peter P…. Brown curly hair… yay tall, built like a twig… No… Peter… Peter!”

His brain tied itself in knots, listening to this man, trying to figure out where he could place that last voice. Who’s face it belonged to. 

“PETER!”

The man was screaming now, but his voice sounded so far away. Something in him knew he had to call out, though. On the off chance he could hear. That someone, anyone could hear his dying cries. 

“ Help…!” Peter’s voice strained, his throat clawing in at itself at his attempt. His hearing fizzled out once again from his focus to scream, but he couldn’t care. This was his only chance. He had to take it. 

“Hel-Help!” 

Peter’s hands squirmed then, reaching back up to the rock above him, trying to push against it once more. It burned , holy fuck did it burn. But he had to. He needed his voice to get through the cracks.

“Help!! Some-Somebody!”

His arms started to shake again, he could feel it. He decided to ignore it. He could persevere. He had before. He will now. 

“HEEEELP!” Peter let out a guttural cry, his face suddenly feeling hot. It was so hot and damp . Something was streaming down his face. He couldn’t tell if it was tears or blood—maybe it was both. He was drowning in the liquid, whatever it was. It was a sick sense of deja vu; his breath constricted against his lungs as he thought about it. 

Cold, wet, suffocating under rock. Unbelievable pressure pinning him in place, panic seeping deep into his bones. Him screaming and crying just like this, except face down and without a bar in his chest—only slightly better than this. 

“Peter!”

The voice was above him now, and Peter felt his arms go slack once more. Someone was there. Someone found him .

“Someone help me! He–He’s trapped under here!”

The voice sounded wounded, torn and shaking. The teen felt a weak smile crawl onto his face. Someone cared, at least. As he smiled, who the voice belonged to crossed his mind then–well, more like crashing into his brain. Tony. It was Mr.Stark. He came to find him. He could have laughed if it didn’t hurt so much to breathe.

Above him, he heard other voices talking above him–conversing about what to do. He heard Tony practically growl , “Just stop talking and help me move this shit off him!”

Again, he could have laughed. He never heard Mr.Stark sound like that. It sounded almost protective.

Grunts and groans echoed above him, pebbles and chunks of rock trickled down and bounced off his face and chest. He didn’t have the energy to lift his arms to protect his face anymore. He let the world just move around him. Slowly, cracks of light trickled in, and when white light filled his vision he groaned. In the same breath, he couldn’t help but also drink in the wave of fresh, cold air around him. It felt amazing on his burning lungs, putting out the raging fire in his throat.

When his eyes adjusted to the view above him, he saw a small crowd of people above him–Mr.Stark, two paramedics, MJ and Flash..? MJ had her hands covering her mouth—her eyes blown wide. Huh. Didn’t know she could make a face. Next to her, Flash looked pale. It was bordering green as he stared down at Peter. That face was more believable. 

“Ta-daa..” he wheezed out, weakly jazz-handing at his sides at his reveal.

Looking back at Mr.Stark, the man’s eyes were glossy, and he made quick work to jump down in the hole Peter was stuck in.

“Oh god, Peter .” Tony reached down and put a hand into the teen’s curls, which Peter greedily leaned into. He yearned for touch– any touch. Tony’s hands were nice and warm, too. It was comforting against how cold his skin had become at that point. 

“Hi, Mssr Srrk.” Peter mumbled, looking up at the engineer, “Got… stuck agn.”

“Yeah–yeah, you did. But I’m gonna get you out bud, Okay?”

“Kay..” Peter’s eyelids felt heavy, and his head would have rolled back if Mr.Stark’s hand hadn’t caught him and cradled him. Peter’s eyes roll back up to the man, and a strained smile pulled at the teen’s lips, “Mssr… Strk?”

“Yeah, Bud?”

“I think…” Peter coughed behind his teeth, trying to bite back the blood that was threatening to spit out. One of his hands reached down to his chest—motioning to the pole poking out of him, “I think… I need a tet’ns shot.” 

“We’ll get you one as soon as we get you to the medbay, okay?” Tony assures, his eyes wild as he inspects the scene in front of him. Peter blinks. When did he put his sunglasses on..?

“‘M tired. I don… I don’ feel s’gud.” Peter slurs, his vision was starting to swirl again. 

“Hey—Hey come on, Roo.” Tony says quickly, shaking his head harsh enough to make Peter groan, “You gotta stay awake. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try..” the teen says, but it’s clear he’s unsure. Peter’s ears pull when he hears the sound of the gauntlet from.. under him? He looks to the man next to him, whose face is laser focused. But he’s not looking at him, he’s looking under him. “Wh’t’re y’ doin’?”

“Cutting you out.” Tony’s voice is stern, stressed, but the hand in Peter’s hair is still soft—it’s even started to rub his scalp, carding through his caked-in-blood-sweat-and-concrete curls. “Hold still.”

“Cn’t.. m’ve if I wnt’d to.” The boy strains, and that’s when he starts to feel it—the burning heat. The rebar that was stuck in him used to be a nice, cool feeling—but it was quickly leaving as a rising, burning heat shot up from behind his back. It makes him involuntarily suck in a breath and cry out, shaking his head as he instinctively arcs his back and flesh tears, “ Stop !! No, No! Stop—it— hurts !! Please !!”

“I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry !” Tony shouts back—the grip in Peter’s hair tightens as the pain gets worse. Peter can barely hear him though—his ears are ringing, and the only thing he hears is the awful sound of pierced and tearing flesh against metal, seeping blood and his own sobs of pain. God, he sounds awful. He doesn’t even sound human anymore. 

“ Please !” Peter cries out, and he’s sure he’s full-on sobbing now. Damn, he feels lame. Crying in front of Tony, MJ and Flash? If he lives, he’s never living this down. 

“I’m sorry!” Tony’s voice sounds wrecked , and after a few more agonizing seconds Peter yelps as his back falls downwards—just barely caught in time by Tony’s now-gauntleted hand. “Easy— Easy now, Roo. I’ve got you.”

Peter lets out an involuntary whimper as he feels himself being lifted upwards—up and out of the pit of debris that he had been laying in for.. who knows how long. Tony’s barely taken a few steps out of the pit when he places Peter down on something hard and flat—but much more comfortable than the concrete bed he was just on. Peter barely recognizes that Flash and MJ have run up next to his body when hands are on him again—gently lifting his head and neck and wrapping something around him, a brace . It’s uncomfortable, he’d rather take the concrete, he humorlessly thinks.

“Kid— Kid .” Tony’s face is back in his vision, and if he didn’t know any better, Peter would say those were tears behind those shades. But he does know better. He and Tony weren’t there yet. “We’re gonna get you to the Medbay, okay? And May is gonna be there too with Dr.Cho—Do you remember Dr.Cho?”

“Yeah.” Peter feels a dopey smile on his face, “She gave me a… sucker once…”

He watches as Tony lets out a shocked laugh, and he feels the bed he was on start to move, “Yeah, kid. That’s her. She’s going to be ready for you, okay? But—But you gotta stay awake, can you do that, Bug?”

“N’t a bug… ‘m ‘n.. ar’chn’d.” Peter argues, eyes tiredly squinting threateningly at Tony—but he’s sure it didn’t get across, “ ‘m t’red, d’d.”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up for a second, before he collects himself—his hand grabbing Peter’s. It’s a firm, tight hold. 

“I know, Roo. But you have to stay awake. You wanna see May, don’t you? You gotta stay awake for her, Kiddo.”

“I d’nno… if I can.” Peter feels his eyelids start to drop, and the world around him starts to blur and dim. One of Tony’s hands starts to grasp at his face.

“No—No, no, c’mon, stay awake! Show me those baby browns, c’mon—c’mon, Bambino .”

“ ‘m s’rry.” Peter croaks, and it all slips to black.

He faintly hears someone calling his name, and the jostling of his cold, limp body before he’s truly gone. 

– – – – – – – – – 

Beep.. Beep.. Beep.. Beep..

Urgh… did he forget to turn off an alarm, or something? 

Beep.. Beep.. Beep.. Beep..

Fine .. he should probably get up. Knowing him, he probably slept through all his alarms again. He was gonna be late. It was… Thursday, wasn’t it? He doesn’t really remember going home, but he knows he had Practice yesterday, and those were Wednesdays and Fridays. Yeah. That sounds right. 

…huh, weird. He was a lot more tired than usual. He could barely move at all. He must have overdid it as Spidey last night, and that’s why he couldn’t really remember anything. That must be it . 

Peter’s face tugged into a frown as he peeled open his eyes—just to quickly close them again. Fuck , his room was bright. What the hell? Did May open the blinds? He tried again, slower this time, and let the light that soaked through his lashes in slowly so his eyes could adjust. It took a minute, but when he finally observed the room around him, he realized that no—this wasn’t his room at home. 

It was a dull gray room, with fluorescents and a high ceiling compared to his room. Looking around, he saw shelves and equipment, medical equipment. That’s where that annoying beeping was coming from—it was a heart monitor. It was beeping faster, now. He stared at it, his brain taking itself over coals to try and remember what happened. 

He was at school, he remembers Ned telling him he was crazy—he remembers practice.. then.. 

Right. The buzzing. 

The earthquake .

Peter moved his arms down to his sides—slowly trying to push himself up from his laid position, but a jolt of pain had his head hitting the pillow fairly quickly. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to breathe through the pain— oh god, it was like his chest was on fire!

“ Hey —Hey, relax, Bambi. You’re alright.” A hand placed itself in the teen’s hair, and Peter’s eyes opened in a blink— Mister Stark ? When did he get here?

“What? I don’t—“ Peter sucks in a breath, trying again to get up—jeez, even talking makes his chest hurt. Not just hurt, but burn . Even just breathing in the cold air of the room feels like his diaphragm is burning hot. Peter’s hand reaches up and harshly grabs at the fabric on his chest, heaving, “ Hurts ..!” 

“Peter, just stay still—Friday, let Cho know he’s awake.” Tony calls to the AI, before looking back to Peter; leaning down to be in his vision, “Peter you’re really hurt, Bud, you have to stay still!”

“ Hurts !!”

“I know, I know—When Dr.Cho gets in she’s going to give you all the drugs to make that go away, but you have to calm down.” Tony’s hand gently moves back and forth in Peter’s curls, and Peter tries to ignore the pain and focus on the movement. He swears he feels burning hot tears slip out his eyes—and that he feels Tony brush them away—but he focuses all his attention on the hand in his hair. He ignores the tears, and he ignores how his chest heaves and boils hot with every shallow breath he takes. He just focuses on the calloused hand, how its fingers methodically brushes through strands of hair—circling his scalp with a soft touch. Peter’s hands slowly let go of the gown, and go limp at his sides; he presses his head into Tony’s fingers, mentally preening to the touch. 

Eventually, the unbearable pain in his chest subsides enough he can open his eyes again. When he looks, he sees both Tony and Dr.Cho looking at him.

“There he is.” Tony smiles, his hand having slipped down to a gentle grip against his nape, “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” Peter licks his lips, a hand hesitantly reaching up to his neck, “I can—I can actually breathe, now.”

“Your body burns through medications quicker than we expected.” Dr.Cho says, her hand rubbing Peter’s forearm reassuringly, “You’ve never had wounds this extreme before; we didn’t know how fast you would burn through the dosage until you woke up.”

“It doesn’t have to get that bad again before I get another dose, does it?” Peter’s eyes blow wide, fingers twitching against his sternum.

“No, no.” She chuckles, and places a small remote in Peter’s hands. At his confused look, she smiles, “You can just press this button if you feel like the medication is wearing off. There’s an automatic switch so you don’t overdose, of course. But if you would rather, you could always ask for me through Friday, and I can give you the doses on a schedule.”

“I’ll.. use this.” Peter holds up the remote. The idea of bothering her so much to just give him pain meds could make him cry, “Thank you, Doctor Cho.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” She says, and pulls back to look at the monitor hooked up to him, “I’ll be back in a bit, I have to check up on some other patients. Do you think you’ll be okay, Peter?”

“Um.. yeah. Thanks.” 

“Of course. Just ask Friday if you need anything.”

“I’m right here .” Tony rolls his eyes, but Cho gives him a flat look.

“And?”

Peter snickers. 

“Just do the job I pay you for, Cho.” Tony huffs before turning back to Peter, “Are you sure you’re okay, Pete? You looked a bit panicked, there.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay, I just…” the teen trails off, frowning. He looks at Tony, “What happened?”

The man beside him sighs, slicking his hair back, “Mother Nature, that’s what. She got pissed off, and decided a record-breaking earthquake was the only way to get the aggression out.”

“ Oh man .” 

“Yup.” Tony pops the ‘p’, a frown tugging at his lips, “It reached all across the city, hell—some of the tower’s windows blew out and I paid a premium for those— But then I went to find you at your school since you weren’t answering your phone, and your Aunt didn’t know where you were...”

“I—are they okay? My team, none of them… did they?” He almost feels small for asking the question, but he has to ask. His knuckles go white as he grips at the hospital blanket at his waist, trying to ease his nerves.

“They all made it out.” Tony quickly assures, “Most of them were found rather quickly—the tables they were under at the edges of the room kept them from getting smacked with debris like you did. The structure around them stayed upright for the most part. It was you that got the worst of it.”

“What?” Peter’s brows pull together, and as his hand brushes against his chest again he realizes, “ Oh .”

“Yeah.” Tony frowns, his free hand taking Peter’s in his, “You were in the wrong spot at the wrong time, bud. The floor above you collapsed—just, fwoosh , right on you.”

“Ow.” Peter says flat. Tony grunts in agreement, but he looks hesitant. Contemplative. Then he speaks again.  

“You had me.. really worried there, Roo.” Tony suddenly looks sincere, his eyes searching as he looks to Peter, “You.. you know that, don’t you?”

Peter stares at the man, and lets his words sink in. He knows that Mr.Stark isn’t really one for voicing his affections, or voicing really anything that has to do with any positive emotional association that isn’t sarcastic. But with what he doesn’t say, he shows. He does . Tony always goes out of his way and asks Peter about how his day is, and checks on him after patrol every day. He asks about his Academic meets, and never doubts that his team wins. Tony even came to his school—broke an invisible wall between them to find him personally . And not just that, but personally get Peter out of the wreckage, and hold onto him for as long as he could. He was still holding onto Peter. Comforting him and carding through his hair even when he was panicking. 

Peter smiles and squeezes the hand that Mr.Stark is holding, “Yeah. I know.”

“Good. Good.” Tony nods. There seems to be some conflict in the man’s eyes, before he lets out a sigh and seemingly relents to some part of himself. In a blink, Peter is in Mr.Stark’s arms—a strong set of arms wrapped around him. The smell of day-old cologne, dust, sweat and oil fills his lungs as he gasps in the embrace. Oh. They’re there, now .

Peter lets out a mirthless laugh, leaning into the man’s chest as he tries to ignore the heat rising behind his eyes. The laugh turns into a whimper as he brings his own arms up to hug back, hands tightly gripping at the man’s rumpled and wrinkled suit. 

“Oh, Pete .” Tony gives him another strong squeeze, “I’m going to wrap you in bubble wrap from now on. Constant protection. You’re not allowed out of your rinky-dink apartment without it. Ever.”

Peter’s laugh is genuine then, pulling away from Tony to smile up at him, “You’re weird, Mr.Stark.”

“Mmm, no. Totally rational. May would agree.” Tony pulls away from him, but keeps a hand on his shoulder, “I’m having completely rational thoughts.”

Peter snorts, “Sure.”

A silence falls between them, and Peter frowns. Even though he was trapped under all the concrete, he didn’t think his chest would hurt this bad afterwards. Without thinking, Peter’s fingers hook on the neck of the gown he was wearing.

“Peter, I wouldn’t—“

Oh. Right .

He doesn’t see the wound—no, it’s been stitched up and bandaged, so all he really sees is the milky white strips along his chest. But he knows what’s there. He knows. He felt it. He could see it in his mind—a mottled, raised, ugly mess of stitches and skin in his chest. He swallows harshly, and tears his eyes away.

“Pete?”

“Question, Mr.Stark?” Peter cuts between the man’s worry, and looks up at him sincerely. It softens the man’s eyes. 

“Yeah. Go ahead, ‘Roos.”

“Did I get that tetanus shot?”

Tony lets out a shocked and startled laugh.

“Yeah—yeah, you did.”

“Um. Second question?”

“What?”

“Do I get to keep the pole that impaled me?”

A scoff. “ No. ”

“Aw, cmon, please ?”

“Ask your Aunt.”

“Aunt May!” Peter startles like a fire was lit under him, sitting up, “Where is she? Is she okay?! You said she’d be here!”

“She’s fine!” Tony says immediately, pushing him back down, “She’s here, I promise. She left to help Dr.Cho and our Staff since some of them got hurt in the quake since you were asleep. I’m sure Dr.Cho is getting her now, okay? FRIDAY?”

“Boss is correct, Peter.” The AI affirms gently, taking Peter’s attention, “Dr.Cho has notified your Aunt, and she is currently on her way as we speak.”

“Oh.. good. Okay.” The teen nods awkwardly, finally resting back down into the hospital bed, “I thought…”

“No, Roo. Never.” Tony says gently, a teasing smile tugging on his lips, “You underestimate her, it takes more than a little bit of shaky ground to take that woman out.”

“Yeah.” Peter smiles shakily, a giggle escaping him, “Yeah..”

Not even a moment later, the door to the room opens, and a familiar perfume fills Peter’s nostrils. Then, arms are wrapping around him tightly.

“Oh, Baby–Never scare me like that again! You understand me?! Never ever for the rest of your life! And I mean it!”

“Y–Yes, Aunt May–May–You’re… You’re hurting me…!”

“Let me get a good look at you—oh, Peter, you’re staying in this bed until you’re even better than you were before, understand? Understand?!”

“Y-Yes, Aunt may!!”

Tony doesn't even bother helping the poor kid. He lets him and his Aunt have their moment; quietly standing up and slipping out of the room without a word. A distant smile tugs at him. What a mess.