Peter was in pain. Like a lot of freaking pain.
Hissing, he pressed his hands to the wounds littering his stomach and side, regretting a lot of life decisions that brought him to where he was now. He didn’t really mean for it to happen. Peter definitely did not want to get stabbed on purpose.
But unfortunately for him, he had been, because of the frustratingly naïve criminal who was now webbed to the wall on the other side of the alley. Peter leaned on the wall, slumping his shoulders and screwing up his face in pain. This guy really had decided he wanted to try murder the guy dressed in spandex trying to prevent an old lady getting mugged.
It wasn’t the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last, but this guy had managed to get the drop on him somehow. Ok, well, maybe Peter was slightly distracted at the time (the old lady had offered him a toffee from her purse as a thank you) and he hadn’t noticed the guy coming up behind him. At least she had asked if he was alright before she left.
Peter raised an eyebrow at the guy who seemed sort of freaked out. It must have been his first time. The guy stared back at him, suddenly deciding to speak.
“Can I have my knife back?”
It took a few seconds for the words to fully register in Peter's head. He glances at the discarded knife on the alley floor, now covered in Alley Grime and Peters blood, and then looks back at the guy. This dude had the nerve to stab him multiple times and then ask for the knife back. Peter almost laughed.
“Dude, I’m bleeding out here because of the multiple holes in my stomach thanks to you, and you want the weapon back?” Peter said incredulously.
“Am I gonna go to jail?” The dude asked.
That was it, Peters last straw. He scribbled a quick note to the cops (trying not to smear too much blood on it) and tried to figure out his plan of action. He probably needed some medical care – he could sort of feel himself getting a little woozy – and despite his pretty cool healing factor, he most likely would need stitches. He pushed himself off the wall tenderly, walking over to the webs holding this criminal, ignoring the guy’s frustrating chit chat.
He decided he could probably swing to the Avengers tower without losing too much blood and he glanced at the stab wounds, nodding. The bleeding had slowed down enough for him to get there and stitch himself up, and despite the way it may have sounded, he was plenty competent in doing first aid like that on himself. He used to do it in the bathroom of his and Mays apartment with dental floss and a sewing needle once upon a time. Now that he had an actual kit, he would be perfectly fine. (If he didn’t bleed out by then.)
“Peter, you have multiple wounds in your stomach and are experiencing blood loss symptoms, would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?” Karen's AI voice rang through his suit, as she did most nights.
“No! Nope-ed-ey-doo, I think I’m good.” Peter said brightly, trying to block out the burning feeling tightening every time he swung out an arm for a new web.
The avengers were out on a mission in somewhere-or-other (he couldn’t quite remember) anyway, but that was good. He still had to gain their trust, they still didn’t believe he was old enough to be doing this, and were always trying to protect him, keep him away from the ‘real life’ of being a superhero, as if he didn’t already know about it.
Tony was the worst of all of them, and he really didn’t need to know about this, he’d probably go all dad-mode and freak out on him. He might even take the suit, and Peter couldn’t deal with that again. No, he was going to go home and deal with the stab wounds dug in his stomach himself. He was almost there anyway, and he was only feeling slightly, sort of, maybe-a-little-more-than-little woozy.
When he reached the tower, he crawled up it, slowly, and painfully, trying not to pull at his wounds more than he already had. As he climbed, he noticed the bloody handprints he was leaving up the side of the building. His foggy mind told him it was a little morbid, like something out of one of those shitty horror movies Tony kept making them watch together as ‘team building’. He almost snorted in sympathy for whoever had to wash the windows 25 stories up, that had blood stains on them.
He opened a window into the common room, wincing, and tumbling inside. No-one was home now so he could come through this -
All the Avengers heads shot towards him as he lost his footing, disoriented and less aware than usual, and fell onto the floor on his back. It stole all the breath from his lungs, and it really fucking hurt. And as he tried to breathe, forcing air in and out of him, absolutely mortified, he decided he would rather not deal with his family right now. The best course of action would absolutely be to stay on the floor, bleeding out in embarrassment and just hoping no-one initiated conversation or noticed the blood making its way down his sides and staining the carpet he was laying on.
“Holy shit Pete! You were stabbed?!” Tony yelled.
He groaned. His plans were foiled by the one and only Tony Stark, his pseudo-father.
“No, Tony. I was shot. With a knife.” He forced out, coughing a pained breath and rolling his eyes.
The sarcasm was practically visible along with all the tension in the air as the whole lot of them just stared at him in shock. None of them moved, they just stared. He let out a breath of frustration and prepared himself for the extreme annoyance that was movement. He would have been very happy to just stay on the floor thank you very much.
As he pushed himself up, he swayed, hissing in pain, and stabilising himself with the window beside him, almost tripping over himself in the process. Ok, so maybe he had lost more blood than he anticipated. It would be finnneeeee….
Using the windows next to him for support, he began the long and arduous journey to the med bay alone. Apparently crawling your way in through a window and bleeding out was the way to render all the avengers speechless. He’d have to remember that for next game night.
Out of no-where, he was reminded that everything hurt, even though it was just his stomach that was the problem. He yelped a very colourful word that Cap definitely did not approve of as he moved carefully and gripped his hand into a white-knuckled fist, wrapping one arm around his bleeding torso to try and stem the steady (but slow) blood flow at least a little bit before he kept moving. And while he did that, his family all just stood there in shock, just having watched a literal 16-year-old with multiple stab wounds, casually get up off the floor, and start to gingerly move towards the med-bay, leaving a little puddle of blood behind him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!??” Tony yelled, once again.
(this time peter heard a whispered “language”, courtesy of his enhanced hearing)
“Er, mostly bleeding,” Peter said, pausing with a gasp as another bout of dizziness hit him, pressing his hands harder to the wounds. “And I would like to not be bleeding anymore so I’m walking to med-bay to, y’know, sew them up. So um. Yea?”
Now that he was upright, and the blood was not staying in his body as easily as before (thanks a lot gravity), Peter’s body decided it was time to not work anymore, and he was hit with a bout of light-headedness along with white spots that were dancing in front of his eyes. His vision darkened a little at the side, and he swayed in spot, stumbling and hissing again as it pulled on his wounds.
Bucky was the first one to take action, walking towards the teen and grabbing his wrists to steady him, and giving him a quick once-over, his eyebrows began to furrow.
“C’mon kid, I’ll stitch you up.” He spoke. Peter just huffed in response.
Bucky's action spurred everyone into a flurry of movement. He couldn’t really process much of it, and as he kept walking, everything started to get blurry, a haze of static playing for him. He blinked slowly, trying to clear it.
“Hey, hey, kid, stay with us, stay with us.” It was Steve this time, concerned for the wellbeing of their spiderling.
Peter’s body decided elsewise, and his legs suddenly concluded that they no longer wanted to work, and the blurriness increased, and then he sort of passed out.
When Peter finally woke, he felt fuzzy. It was kinda funny, and it reminded him of the time that his Aunt and Uncle took him to the hospital because he had broken his arm skateboarding and they had pumped him full of pain meds.
His eyelids peeled themselves open and he glanced around the room for uncle Ben-
Oh, right. Uncle Ben was dead.
“Oh kid,” Someone beside him muttered, and a hand snaked its way into his.
Oops, he must have said that out loud.
“Are you ok Pete? Do you need anymore meds or…?”
Peter rolled his eyes at Tony’s shenanigans.
“M’fine, pretty hopped up on them at the moment anyway.” He mumbled.
Tony nodded beside him, and Peter’s head starts to clear. He decided to close his eyes again instead of facing the man next to him.
“You feeling ok? That thing with your uncle-” Tony started.
Peter cut him off with a shake of his head. His backstory could wait another day, and besides, the fog of the drugs was starting to wear off now anyway.
“I’m ok Tony.” He said.
“That’s good because it means that I can chew you out for being an absolute dumbass. If we weren’t here, would you have even called for help?
Peter opened his eyes a crack, and side-eyed the older man, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say.
“Maybe?” He questioned, treading around the question carefully.
Tony sighed in resignation.
“No, you wouldn’t have. You would have bled out and left us to pick up your body. You’re goddamn lucky that you have that healing factor of yours, or you could have died! If you’re hurt, we need you to tell us. We’re a team Pete. I know you have an independence thing, but there’s a certain point where you have to ask for help. You can’t do everything alone. Let us help you clean up your mistakes.”
Peter blinked in surprise. He wasn’t expecting that, he was expecting to get yelled at for his naivety, for his reckless actions. He thought he was going to be punished, not offered help.
His eyes found a mark on the wall that looks very interesting and he clears his throat.
“Oh- I, uhhh, I’m not really used to that. I’ve always sort of done this on my own, and you guys already treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing half the time I just… I guess I don’t want to prove you right.” He mutters.
The mark on the wall seemed even more interesting now. He studies it carefully.
“Peter, no, that’s not what we think. You’re perfectly capable of this, we’re just more experienced… I mean, it’s a tough gig. But if you get hurt we’ll never think less of you. I mean, just last month Nat got shot and had to get cleaned up by us, and do we think less of her? This is a two-way streak kid, and I know I’ve made mistakes in the past, but we need an open line of communication.”
Tony’s voice was soft, and Peter looked his way slowly, forcing his eyes off the wall to meet his mentors. They shared a smile.
“Oh. Thank you, I guess I’m just not really used to having such a large support group behind me. I’m sorry too. Next time I’m stabbed, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He said, smiling up at his (da-) mentor.
“I hope there isn’t going to be a next time, kid, or there will be consequences…” Tony said, shaking his finger at him.
The rest of the Avengers started trickling then, and Peter smiled sheepishly, waving at them without picking up his arm properly (it was too heavy for that today).
“Well, this is embarrassing. Sorry for the scare earlier by crawling through the window,” He gave tony an upside-down smile, “And the other windows with blood on them.”
Tony snorted.
“So, what actually happened dude?” Clint said. They all watch him in earnest.
“Um. I was sorta stabbed?” Peter said.
Everyone laughed at that. Including Peter, who regretted it pretty much straight away, wincing at the twinge of pain.
“Dude, I obviously know that. But how did it happen?” Clint responded.
“Uh, well there was this old lady getting mugged earlier, and the guy who was doing the mugging had a knife and I stopped it and when I gave her back her bag she gave me a toffee which was actually very sweet, but the guy wasn’t as knocked out as I thought and then he decided to stab me, like, twice. And then I finally webbed him up and then he asked for his knife back which is weird, uh, but I think he was new to the whole criminal thing so…” He smiled, flushing a little with embarrassment. “It was a bit of a dumb way to get stabbed. But hey its fine.”
Clint chuckled.
“You are never going to live this down Peter.” Steve said, and Peter pouted at them.
Three weeks later, Peter got a letter in the mail. It contained a piece of paper, with 3 words written on it in curly writing, and a love-heart drawn by their side.
“Thank you, Spiderman.”
Enclosed in the envelope were five toffees. Peter smiled.