Peter Parker must be dying.
That can be the only explanation for his current predicament.
His head feels as if someone took a hammer and a chisel and attempted to carve Mount Rushmore on the back of his head but messed up halfway through, so they got mad, threw the chisel at his head, and then jumped on it. And then threw the hammer. Like an asshole. Or an artist. He thinks he knows artists who would do that to their work. Sometimes, he’s tempted to do something similar to his web shooters or his suit when they don’t come together like they should.
So yes, anyway. Long story short, it hurts.
But there’s also his stomach. A deep, throbbing, ache towards the top that makes him feel like he is going to throw up or dry heave or something before his stomach acid churns and burns inside of his gut. It’s dread, he thinks, or something like severe anxiety. Or maybe it is an actual wound. Maybe it is a broken part of the decidedly very cool spaceship coming to crash land in his belly or maybe it’s a piece of the mad orange guy’s sword thing stuck stuck stuck and it won’t come out.
Maybe it’s both.
Who knows?
Peter Parker sure as hell doesn’t.
He doesn’t even know where he is or what he’s doing. He thinks he is lying on the ground. He thinks he feels someone patting his cheek. He thinks his eyes are closed and his mouth is agape. He thinks he hears too many voices around him, voices blending in a strange cacophony. He thinks a lot, but he knows nothing. Or almost nothing.
He knows he hurts.
It’s lightning striking his nerves. It’s an icy cold flood dragging him under. It’s the spider biting him one hundred times over. It’s every broken bone, every stab wound, every bullet hole, everything he has ever felt before. It’s too much.
“Everything hurts and I’m dying,” he tries to say.
He doubts anything comes out, but he likes to imagine that he hears a comforting, “I absolutely refuse to let that happen, Roos,” in response.
And then, there’s a sudden increase of pressure in his head, building up. Muddling his mind. Confusing his thoughts. Slowing down everything around him. Peter feels vaguely alarmed; he knows this isn’t right, it isn’t normal. But then, the pressure pops and all thoughts cease.
He simply drifts. Painless. Slow. He’s aware, he thinks, but unconcerned, unbothered. There’s an indistinct feeling around his entire body, akin to being lifted, but that’s all he knows.
It’s all he knows.
That's all.
.
.
.
Then Peter Parker blinks, suddenly awake. He’s not sure when he started to wake up, but he’s suddenly aware. Beyond suddenly being awake, he notices first the distinct lack of pain, although he’s not entirely sure why he’s expecting it. It’s like a ghost, a whisper in his mind. He feels fragile, like a single movement could cause everything to come crashing down.
What he expects to come crashing down, he’s not entirely sure.
Then, he takes stock of his surroundings. Peter’s in the Tower’s medbay, that much he knows for sure. However, he can’t decide the why or the how due to the distinct lack of memory and pain. It’s alarming, yes, but what’s more alarming is Mr. Stark at his bedside.
Tony’s haggard appearance comes as a shock to Peter. He has seen the older man exhausted and unkempt before, but never has he seen the dark circles under his eyes so blatantly obvious. He’s never seen his goatee so untrimmed, so ragged. His skin is pale, his eyes are sunken in. Tony’s passed out in a metal chair pulled up to Peter’s bed, his chin resting on his chest with his arms crossed in his lap. Before he can say anything, however, Friday’s cheerful, soft voice is speaking.
“Boss, Peter is awake.”
Both Peter and Tony startle, Tony nearly falling out of the chair and Peter wincing at the sudden pain in his head and stomach at the movement. He instinctively reaches one hand to his head, grabbing at his hair, but he pauses when he feels a thick bandage at the site. “How are you feeling, Pete?”
Tony’s voice is hoarse, quiet, and it draws Peter’s eyes to him, pain already fading. He clears his throat before answering, surprised by the sudden dryness he feels in his mouth, “Um, okay, I guess.”
Tony sighs, putting his elbows on the bed and resting his head in his hands. His eyes are covered, and the man’s entire body exudes exhaustion. Peter, unsure of what is going on, remains silent.
“You’re feeling okay.”
It isn’t a question.
Dread begins to pool in the bottom of his stomach, and Tony doesn’t seem very forthcoming, so he nervously takes stock of his body. There’s an IV in his hand, uncomfortably pulling at his skin. He can feel bandages around his stomach, and he’s already felt the one on his head. An oxygen cannula is in his nose, and he is pain-free, if a bit tired. He’s not sure what happened, but he is sure that Tony is very upset. He’s had several trips to the medbay before, however, so he isn’t sure why Tony looks the way he does.
Or why he’s here to begin with.
Suddenly the stress begins to build, and the heart monitor begins to beep more rapidly. Tony jolts up, glancing at the monitor before looking at Peter. Something in Peter’s face must be alarming because Tony’s suddenly talking extremely fast, “Are you hurting? Is something wrong? Let me get Helen-”
“What happened?”
Tony’s face falls and he takes a breath before answering, “Yeah, she said this might happen. You took a pretty good beating, Pete. Got hurt bad.”
Peter looks down at his hands, unable to look Mr. Stark in the eyes, “I feel okay, though.”
His mentor huffs a humorless laugh before answering, “Yeah, well you weren’t. When I say you scared us, I mean it. You decided to take on an alien without any backup and managed to get yourself stabbed and thrown into a building. You broke through six windows.”
It does sound like him and his infamous Parker Luck. He doesn’t know what to say, though, so he remains silent, picking at his nails. Tony sighs again before continuing, “I’m sorry, Pete. It’s just…”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be sorry for something you don’t remember,” he grabs Peter’s knee, waiting for him to look at him before continuing, “Peter. You had lost a lot of blood by the time I got to you. You weren’t responding, and…well…I thought it was already too late. Rhodey had to do CPR.”
Peter’s eyes widen, “CPR?”
“Yeah. CPR. He never wants to do it again. And I never want to see it again, got it?”
“Got it,” Peter mumbles, glancing down again.
He’s not sure how to react, or how to feel. Mr. Stark must feel the same because they fall into an uncomfortable silence as Tony leans back in his chair, eyes on him.
CPR. He wonders how long it was performed, how long it took to bring him back. If his injuries were really that severe. He wonders what he did and why. If he could have done something different. If he should be feeling fine after everything. Because he does, he really does feel fine. A bit tired and a bit of a headache, maybe, but nothing else really. If anything, he feels detached, like he isn’t really laying in the medbay in the too-white sheets and the too-white walls and the too-white everything-
“Dr. Cho said you’d probably have some short-term amnesia, by the way. You managed to break those windows with your head. Your aunt always did say you’re too hard-headed for your own good.”
It’s an offering, a respite, and Peter happily reaches for it, offering Mr. Stark a small smile, “You taught me to use my head in bad situations, Mr. Stark.”
Tony chokes, coughing a short bark of laughter out, “Jesus, kid, that’s not what I meant. You and I are going to have a very long discussion.”
Peter closes his eyes, pushing his head into his pillow despite the ache, “Maybe later, Mr. Stark.”
“Definitely later,” Tony agrees.
“How long have I been in here?” Peter asks, refusing to open his eyes and look at his mentor.
He hears Tony’s heartbeat quicken, but his voice is steady when he responds, “Three days. Fractured skull and spine, stab wound in the stomach nicked your liver, a lot of lacerations from the glass. You’re on some pretty heavy pain meds right now.”
“And the alien?”
“Handled. Cap and Sam took care of him.”
He feels Tony’s hand grab his and Peter opens his eyes in surprise. Tony gently brushes some hair out of his eyes with care he’s never seen before from the man, “Don’t worry about anything right now, bud. Let’s just focus on getting you better and back on the streets patrolling again, huh?”
With that one statement, Peter can feel all the anxiety dissipate into nothing and he’s suddenly aware of just how tired he really is. As if on cue, he yawns and leans into Mr. Stark’s touch, “That sounds good.”
He imagines Mr. Stark smiling as he closes his eyes, feeling like he’s melting into the bed. “Yeah. That sounds really good.”
“Fri, dim the lights.”
As he begins to drift off, he hears Mr. Stark chuckle one last time, “I’m installing a new baby monitor in the suit. No more of this lone ranger bullshit you've got going on.”