Concussion
A jolt to the shoulder woke him.
Peter wrinkled his nose. A dull, pulsing ache throbbed through his skull. It hurt—God, it hurt. Somewhere in the distance, a voice echoed, warped. Someone was shooting… a name?
‘Peter!’
The sounds were muffled, like he was submerged underwater, maybe in an aquarium. A groan escaped him and the voice grew more urgent. Through the fog of pain clouding his mind, he understood, dimly, that someone was trying to wake him.
‘Five more minutes...’ he mumbled. His own voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
He didn't want to get up. Not for school. Not for anything. He was so tired and everything hurt so much. He just wanted to drift back into unconsciousness...
‘For God's sake, Peter, wake up. Peter!’
‘Mhm... okay, May...’ he muttered.
The hand on his shoulder trembled.
‘Peter, it's me. Tony.’
Oh. Tony.
What was he doing in his room? Had May called him? What time was it? Oh no—he had a Spanish exam at ten, he couldn't miss it! Heart picking up pace, Peter cracked one eye open—but the light stabbed like knives, and he squeezed it shut again.
‘No, no, keep your eyes open, Pete. For me. And if not for me, do it for Pepper. If you fall asleep, she will absolutely fly in from L.A. just to kick your ass.’
The voice was desperate, strained. It didn’t sound like Tony. Peter forced his eyelids apart, each blink a battle, until a pale, haggard face finally came into view.
‘T-Tony?’ Peter slurred. “I-is it you?’
Tony gave him a smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes.
‘Yeah, Pete. It's me. The one and only,” he said, voice soft like he was speaking to a five-year-old.
Peter frowned. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t five. Wait—how old was he again?
‘Tony, what are you doing in my room? Where... Where’s May?’
Tony's smile faltered, and what little color remained in his face drained away. Peter thought he saw the sky spreading out above them, but how was that possible? Where was he?
Something was wrong.
The light was too bright, and Tony’s voice was too soft. Fuck, his head pounded like a war drum. A groan escaped him, and Tony's gaze grew more frantic.
‘Shhh, it's all right, kid. We're gonna get you fixed up, okay? You just have to stay awake.’
Tony’s hand ran gently through his hair—then froze. When it returned, his fingers were sticky with blood.
Peter whimpered, the pain roaring behind his eyes.
‘Tony... it hurts...’
‘Yeah, I know, kid. I know it hurts. You took a hell of a knock… I’m gonna carry you back to the Tower, okay? Just hold on to me.’
‘Where's May? Tell... tell her I'll be ready in five min... minutes...’
Words were tangled on his tongue. His thoughts scattered, crushed beneath the weight of pain; his consciousness was walking a tightrope, ready to falter at the slightest breeze.
‘Bruce, you at the Tower yet?’ Tony’s voice shifted, directed elsewhere. ‘He’s disorientated... incoherent... doesn't know where he is…’
The words came and went like waves on a white sandy beach. Peter closed his eyes, lulled by the soft rythm.
‘No, Peter, stay with me. Stay. With. Me.’
The voice sliced through the haze. Peter obeyed, even as the effort made his eyes water.
‘T... Tony?’ he whispered.
‘I'm here. Just stay with me, Peter. A few more minutes. Then you can rest all you want, I’ll even let you sleep in.’
Minutes later, they were airborne. Peter, cradled in red and gold arms, could barely hold down the nausea rising in his throat. His stomach burned, his head throbbed.
Who was he with again? Oh yes... Iron Stark—no, Mr Stark...
‘Mr… Stark? I think something's wrong. My head hurts.’
‘I know, kiddo. I think you've got a concussion.’
‘A con... con... what?’
‘Forget it. You'll be fine.’
‘I-I-I have to go to school, I’ve got an exam at ten…’
‘Peter... it's the weekend.’
Tony looked terrified now. Peter blinked. What had he,just said?
‘I-I... I...’
What had he said before? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think.
‘Tony? I... I think something's wrong.’
It was strange. He felt like he had already lived this moment.
‘I know, Pete. Just hang in there.’
He frowned, trying to remember what had happened. The sky… the blood… his mask on the ground… And Tony’s voice, distant but familiar… Tony Stark?
‘Woah, you really are Iron Man,’ Peter murmured. Then, inexplicably, he started to laugh.
‘Yes, I am’ Tony said warily. ‘Want to tell me what’s so funny?’
‘This is awesome,’ Peter mumbled, resting his head against the metallic suit and closing his eyes. ‘N-nobody’s gonna believe me at school…’
‘No, hey, Pete, no sleeping!’
‘Okay,’ he whispered, as sleep engulfed his thoughts and cast a cottony veil over his pain.
‘I'm serious. If you fall asleep, I’ll, er... how are we supposed to punish a kid? I’ll ban pizza. For a week. A very long week.’
‘Mhhh… not fair, Mr. Iron-Man... my a-aunt... won't let you do that…’
He didn't hear Tony's reply. He was too exhausted, the pain was too much. Through the ringing in his ears, he thought he heard someone shout his name, but maybe it was all just a dream.
Where was May?
OOO
A pale, blinding light stabbed into his eyes.
Peter groaned. It felt like someone was jabbing a blade into his skull over and over. The pain was so intense—searing through every fibre of his being—that he couldn't stop himself from retching. Acid bile burned his lips in an unappetizing gurgle. It hurt so much... he just wanted to go home... he wanted... he wanted...
‘Oh shit—hey, it's okay, Pete, it's okay. Don't cry... we'll clean it all up...’
A hand gently squeezed his shoulder. The touch was comforting, and he instinctively leaned toward it, searching for May's familiar scent—but when he cracked his eyes open, there was no sign of his aunt.
Someone had turned off the lights, for which he was deeply grateful. In front of him stood Bruce Banner, offering a kind smile that barely concealed the worry in his eyes. Beside him, Tony looked pale as chalk, watching Peter like he might disappear if he blinked. The room tilted—like a carousel, or a raft tossed by waves.
Peter shut his eyes again, afraid he might vomit once more.
‘Peter, can you look at me, please?’
A hand gently cradled his chin, lifting his face.
‘Pete, do what the doctor tells you,’ Tony said firmly.
His voice was tight. Was he worried… or angry? Was it because Peter had thrown up on himself? Panic gripped him, and he forced his eyes open, meeting Tony’s anguished gaze.
‘I-I'm sorry...’, he whimpered. ’I didn't mean to. I'm sorry...’
‘Don't worry, everything's fine,’ Bruce said in a calm, soothing voice. ’Look at me, Peter.’
He tried, but Bruce’s face swam in and out focus, blurred and undulating like it was at the bottom of the sea.
‘Why are his pupils dilated? That's not normal. What's wrong with his eyes? Bruce? Bruce?
‘Calm down, Tony. You're making me nervous, and you know that's not good. Peter, can you hear me?’
Peter wanted to nod, but as soon as he moved, the pain spiked. Someone started moaning—it took him far too long to realize it was him.
Tony’s face went ghost-white. His hand gripped Peter’s tightly.
‘I know, Peter, I know,’ Bruce murmured softly. ‘Do you know where you are?
He frowned. Where was he? At first, he thought he’d woken up in his room in Queens. But… May? Something had happened with May.
No, he hadn't woken up in his room. He’d woken up outside, he was in his suit, he had been hit in the head... everything blurred together—memories forming a colorful, disjointed mosaic.
‘Peter?’
Was someone talking? He wasn't sure who he was anymore. He just wanted the pain to stop...
‘Shit, Peter!’
The world spun faster than ever...
‘We need a CT scan. I think that—’
A swarm of invisible bees buzzed in his ears. His mind drifted away, as if sinking into a blank page.
Where was he?
Where was May?
Something had happened, he remembered. She wasn’t here anymore. Now he was with Mr. Stark. With Tony...
‘Injuries... Brain…’
’T-Tony…’ Peter whispered. ’T-T-Tony…’
‘I’m here, baby… can you hear me? I’m with you... I’m …not leaving your side…’
There was movement. He was motionless, but the ceiling shifted above him. Shapes moved in and out of view. Hands touched his face, his hair, pulling away blankets and peeling off his T-shirt. He wanted to resist, but he had no strength left. He didn't even know if his eyes were open or closed.
Then came the fog—thick, peaceful, soft. He sank into it with relief.
OOO
Memories flowed back with the confused lightness of a dream.
Burglars had smashed the window of a pharmacy, battering the front with an iron bar. Peter had jumped in to protect the pharmacist. He’d taken the thugs down easily, pinning them to the wall with a cheerful, ‘Next time, queue like everyone else!’
The customers had applauded him, which had made his chest swell with pride.
He hadn't expected the pharmacist to be on their side.
Nor that she would grab the iron bar and swing it straight into the back of his skull. His senses had warned him, but too late, and the blow had sent him crashing to the flood.
Far from stopping there, the woman had hit him again and again, screaming:
‘Take that, you dirty insect! From Fisk!’
His brain felt like it was spinning out of orbit, but he’d eventually managed to restrain her and flee, pain pulsing through his skull in time with his heartbeat.
He’d climbed to the top of an empty scaffolding to recover, before thinking of calling Tony. His consciousness was slipping away and it was only a matter of seconds before he passed out.
‘Karen? Call... call Tony, please.’
‘Connected to Tony Stark,’ Karen's voice said with a strange hint of concern.
‘Hey Pete, miss me already? Need anything?’
Peter didn't answer right away. He’d torn off his mask and collapsed to the ground. Above him, the sky spun—or maybe it was the floor? He couldn’t tell anymore.
‘Pete? Are you there? Hey, planet Parker, this is Earth!’
‘Oh, hi Tony,’ Peter finally murmured. ’It's weird… I can hear you, but I can't see you?’
There was a strange pause, then Tony's voice, suddenly tense. ‘Karen, what's going on? Has our favorite spider taken something?’
He didn’t hear Karen’s reply—but Tony's next words were clear. ‘Okay. I’m coming. Don't move, Peter. Everything’s going to be fine, okay? I'm on my way.’
‘Yes, okay...’ Peter sighted, closing his eyes. ‘G’night, Tony…’
‘No! Don't hang up. Talk to me, kid. Say something—anything. Now's your chance, I promise I won't complain.’
Talk? He could barely string thoughts together, let alone speak… He was so exhausted...
‘Peter! Are you still there?’
‘I-I don't know... I feel... weird...’
‘Stay with me, kid.’
‘T-tired...’
‘No. Stay with me. Pete? Peter?!”
OOO
When he regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the softness of the blankets. His head felt heavy, pressure pulsed behind his eyes. He let out a soft groan.
‘Pete?’
A hand brushed his cheek, then smoothed back his hair.
‘Mmmhh…’
It was dark. He couldn’t tell where he was.
‘Don't want to open your eyes? Might help you see better.’
Wait—had he said that out loud?
‘Yes, and you go on.’
Oh. Darn it.
He mustered all his strength and cracked his eyelids open. Tony’s face came into view, pale and tired but smiling—with that soft, worried look Peter had only noticed after May died.
‘Are you awake, Spider-Baby?’
‘I'm not a baby...‘ Peter mumbled.
‘That’s true. But to some people, you’ll always be a baby.’
‘I’m fifteen... years old,’ he grunted.
‘Oh! He remembers his age—that's already a good sign!’
He frowned. His vision was improving by the second, and he began to take in the white walls, ceiling, beds, sheets… only his pajamas added any color—pink Hello Kitty pajamas that he didn't remember picking.
‘Do you remember what happened?‘ Tony asked gently.
‘There was a robbery,’ Peter murmured. ‘Pharmacy on Fifth. I got hit... in the head?’
‘Yeah,’ Tony said, clearly relieved. ’You took quite a blow, kid. You had some brain damage, but your freaky metabolism took care of most of it. Do you know where you are?’
Peter scanned the room and nodded slowly.
‘The Med bay. Stark Tower.’
‘And what day is it?’
‘Saturday…?’
Tony smiled. ‘You slept all day. It's Sunday, but you couldn't have known that.’
His smile widened a little. ‘Well, seems like your brain’s mostly back in working order.’
He touched Peter’s cheek again. Peter didn't move, finding comfort in this gesture. He didn’t want it to end.
‘You gave Bruce quite the scare, kid. Your brain was a mess. I thought… we wouldn't be able to save it. Not to mention that you also needed a lot of stitches.’
Intrigued, Peter raised his hand to brush the bandages on his head, but Tony firmly intercepted his wrist.
‘Nope, don’t touch. You could infect the wound.’
‘It itches,’ Peter mumbled but he obeyed, lowering his hand.
A beat of silence passed. Then Peter spoke with a small smirk.
‘When you said I scared Bruce, did you mean: just Bruce, or also someone else?
‘Maybe your old guardian too,’ Tony admitted, brushing a stubborn curl off Peter’s forehead. ‘But don't make me say it out loud.’
A tired smile crept across Peter’s face.
‘Too late. You just did.’
‘Shhhh. No one can know that Tony Stark has a heart. Except Pepper, of course.’
‘I think everyone already knows. You're too kind to hide it.’
‘I’ll chalk that up to the concussion.’
‘I mean it. You're the kindest person I know. You're always there when I need you.’
Tony's fingers trembled slightly against his forehead. For a moment, Peter was afraid he’d pull away, but he didn’t. His hand returned to Peter’s hair, stroking gently, as if he were some kind of big, purring cat. It felt nice.
Peter closed his eyes, comforted. It reminded him of May.
‘I'm glad you're here,’ he whispered.
‘… Me too, Pete.’
He smiled. He wanted to say more, but a yawn overtook him. Tony chuckled.
‘Go back to sleep. I promised you a lie-in, and Tony Stark always keeps his promises.’
Peter nodded. He was nearly asleep, when a thought pulled him back.
‘The woman who hit me. She said she worked for Fisk, but why would a millionaire rob a pharmacy?’
‘No,’ Tony said quickly.
‘But...’
‘No. Don't stick your nose in it. That's an order.’
‘But—’
‘I almost lost you once, Spider-Baby. I’m not doing it again. I've got enough white hair. So… promise me you’ll leave Fisk alone.’
‘Okay, I promise.’
Peter smiled faintly. Tony frowned.
‘What's so funny?’
‘I was just thinking… you’d make a good dad.’
His voice dropped to a whisper.
‘I wish I’d known mine… like a know you.’
Then even quieter:
‘If you and Pepper ever have a kid, he or she will be really lucky.’
Tony didn't answer, but Peter heard him swallow—and felt his heart skip. Maybe he should’ve kept quiet. But he was so tired, words slipped out unchecked, straight from his heart.
Just before sleep claimed him, he felt Tony’s hand squeeze his—and heard him whisper:
‘I already have a kid. The best one of all.’