Peter didn’t know it was going to be an awful day when he stepped out of his apartment that morning.
Or, maybe he did, but he was too god awful tired to pay attention to his senses, which had been going off since early that morning. He had been on patrol later than usual the night before, as three bank burglars had made it quite clear they wouldn’t be escaping without a fight; the bruises and contusions speckling his entire body proved that much. He had finally gotten into bed around three in the morning, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t remembered ten minutes later that he had both a Calculus and a Physics test the next day. So, cut to now: a sore, tired, and slightly concussed Peter, living off ten minutes of sleep, trudging to school at 6:30 in the morning.
Except he wasn’t just slightly concussed, and he should’ve known that, or at least known something was wrong. Those burglars had been loaded with various weapons and hadn’t been afraid to use them. He should’ve known that burglar #3 had maybe hit him over the head with a baseball bat a little harder than Peter can usually take. And he should’ve known that being thrown through a bank window headfirst into a passing semi was a little too much for him to handle. And maybe passing out for a while wasn’t the most positive sign either. And he should’ve known to check for the signs early on and not tell Karen that I’m okay and not to call Mr. Stark because I’m a superhero too and I can take out a few robbers. Except he didn’t know and he didn’t check the signs and he didn’t call Mr. Stark because he’s Spider-Man and he can take out a few robbers and he was totally and completely fine.
His head was pounding though and his vision was slightly foggy as he walked to the bus stop. He had taken four ibuprofens before he ate breakfast and they would be kicking in soon and he would be fine. Because he was already fine.
Except the bus ride was awful and his head pounded and his vision swam and the bus swayed and Ned kept watching him and Flash was kicking his seat.
Peter had Calculus first period, and the teacher gave the class twenty minutes to study for the derivatives and limits test. He tried to sleep, but the rest of the class was so loud he almost passed out instead. His senses were dialed up well past what he usually endured on a day to day basis, and the girl discussing continuity in front of him made him want to throw up.
The test was five pages long and Peter got through two of them before his brain stopped working and his fingers shook and his vision blurred and his pencil drew tiny Captain Americas under question 24 on the last page for the rest of class. When the bell rang, Peter was out the door before his teacher could call him back and ask what the hell he just turned in.
Second period was English and Peter hadn’t read the chapter they had been assigned for homework. The teacher asked for a motif present on page 328 and called on Peter. He didn’t register he had been called on at first and when he finally did, he took so long to answer that someone else ended up calling out the answer instead to save them all from thick awkwardness they had suffocated in. After class, Peter’s teacher asked him if anything was wrong and he said no because nothing was wrong and he was just tired and his head hurt and that was it and he was fine.
Third period was P.E. and of course, the class was in the midst of their long-distance running course. Peter had been doing well the past week, outlasting a majority of the other students but not too many so as to not seem suspicious. Ned had a difficult time keeping up and usually had to take a break before Peter even broke a sweat. Today, however, Peter was winded after the walk from the school to the start of the course. His body ached and he couldn’t feel his toes and his head pounded and his eyes dilated and it was too bright outside. But he was fine and he could run a few miles and feel fine and be okay because nothing was wrong.
Ned tapped his shoulder. “Hey man, are you feeling alright? You’ve been kinda out of it since we got out here.”
Peter nodded, the movement sending his vision into a spiral. He gave Ned a quick smirk. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a bit tired is all; I was out last night, you know, working.”
Ned grimaced and glanced around, but everyone was in the midst of their own conversations. “Don’t push yourself too hard, Peter. I know you’re like, superhuman or whatever,” Peter gave him a pointed look. “but even you have to look out for yourself sometimes.”
Peter shrugged his shoulders absentmindedly and looked towards where a coach was rallying everyone up to start the run. He couldn’t hear what the coach was saying, mostly because his hearing had begun to cut out a minute ago, but he saw the man wave his hand and the herd began to move its feet.
The run was already not off to a great start and it hadn’t even been ten seconds. The sudden change in speed sent Peter’s senses into overdrive; his vision flipped, his fingers twitched and his head pounded harder, if that was even possible. Somehow he managed to stay upright, even though he wanted to fall onto the ground and throw up his breakfast. He was, surprisingly, closer towards the front of the pack than he had anticipated though, which brought its own set of challenges.
He could hear Flash’s voice before he saw him. “Hey, Penis!”
The boy’s heavy footsteps clambered towards him from behind before he made an appearance so close to Peter’s face he could smell his breath.
Flash smirked at him. “What do you say to a little game, huh? Who can make it to the end of the course first? If you win, I’ll beat you up today instead of tomorrow!”
Peter’s vision was darkening at the corners. His breaths were heavy. His heart was pounding in his chest. Somehow he still managed to mumble under his breath “Piss off, Flash.”
“What was that, Parker? I could just beat you up right now instead.” The boy growled and got closer to Peter. His legs were jello. He couldn’t feel his arms. His head rammed itself into a brick wall.
Peter managed to shove Flash with a fully asleep left arm and yell “Piss off!” loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the class.
Flash stumbled for a split-second, caught himself, and paused. It seemed like for eons he stood there, staring at the ground before he looked up with a murderous rage towards Peter, who had also halted his jog because of the cold, sick fear that flooded his veins.
He launched himself at Peter and they collided, plowing into the grass near the track. Flash was punching Peter, he knew that much. Whether or not he could feel it was a different story. He could see the fists flying, just barely, as his vision darkened. He felt Flash grab his head and slam it down and all at once the pressure and the pain was gone. He felt numb. He felt paralyzed.
Soon, he couldn’t tell how long, he felt the weight of Flash lift off him. He could hear a mumbling of voices and he could tell they were yelling, but he couldn’t see. And he didn’t care. His head didn’t hurt anymore and he felt so tired and the grass was soft and he felt like falling asleep. And he did.
-
Tony Stark was in a meeting. A boring meeting. Something about company profits or the Avengers promotional campaign or something boring like that. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember why he was in it to begin with and why it was taking so much time out of his day.
His prayer was answered, in a sense, by the notification that lit up his new StarkWatch. He was confused as to why FRIDAY had let in a call while he was in a meeting, a feature he had added the month prior, in which all calls would be put on hold or transferred unless it was an emergency, and that was up to FRIDAY to decide.
Tony excused himself, feigning his apologies, and hurried out into the hall where it was quiet. He pulled out his Stark Phone and transferred the call to his cell.
The caller was talking before Tony had put the phone up to his ear.
“- and we couldn’t get a hold of her at this time and you seem to be the secondary contact on the list and I didn’t know if this would work or not because you’re Tony Stark and no one’s allowed to call your cell and-“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony held up his hand as if talking to another person in the same room as him. “Who is this and why are you calling me?”
“My bad, Mr. Stark” The caller replied, “I am a receptionist at Midtown School of Technology and I am calling to inform you there’s been an accident involving Mr. Parker and I urge you to come right away.”
-
It took all of seven minutes for Tony to arrive at Midtown. The receptionist had explained to him on the way what had happened to the best of her knowledge, but it had been a blur of bullies and broken noses, and she failed to mention who had the broken nose and who was the bully.
He was running the moment his suit touched down and pulled away from his body. The one thing phone call lady had known was that they had not been able to move him from the track, again leaving out the detail of who it was, and Tony was praying to god that Peter had been the one to kick somebody’s ass and not the other way around. If it was Peter’s fault, he’d just have to give a lecture, maybe a few days grounded from spidermanning, then they’d be on their way. If it was someone else’s fault… well, let’s just say that Pepper would need to make a few phone calls and possibly pay a fairly large bail.
As Tony rounded the corner of the field house, panting a lot less than he thought he would be by now (maybe that was because he couldn’t find the breath to pant), he spotted a collection of kids in yellow sweat shorts crowded around what looked to be someone lying on the ground. A few steps to the side of the group stood two beefy looking gym teachers holding a slightly less beefy kid by the elbows. The kid was breathing hard and his hands were balled up into two perfectly round fists.
The crowd parted as Tony approached, and when he caught sight on who was laying on the crowd, his already sparse breathe was sucked out of his chest. There on the ground laid Peter in possibly worse shape that Tony had ever seen him. He was unconscious, that much was certain. His left eye was swollen shut, with a purple hue forming on his horribly pale skin. His nose was bent at an odd angle and blood seeped from it in globs that danced down his chin and slid down jaw into the grass. One of his ears trickled blood into the pocket of his ear lobe, forming a pool of crimson liquid. A woman was crouched on Peter’s far side, a woman who Tony thought to be the nurse, and she had lifted up the hem of Peter’s shirt to reveal an array of fresh bruises splattered across his torso, and Tony could just make out a few misaligned ribs underneath the skin.
He crouched down beside the boy and for once in his life, he was at a loss for words. He barely registered one of the coaches calling for the rest of the kids to get back to their laps, and the crowd began to dissipate around them. Eventually just the nurse and a boy he had seen hanging around Peter before remained.
Tony moved closer to Peter and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey, Pete,” He hummed, just loud enough for the boy to hear. “time to get up. You’ve sure given us all quite a scare. If I have to call Aunt Hottie without you there to tell her you’re alright, I don’t even want to think-”
At that moment, Peter’s eyes shot open. He gave a short choking sound, then promptly began to vomit.
The nurse made a startled exclamation and grabbed Peter by his shoulder, turning him onto his side, so he now faced away from Tony. Peter gave a strangled cough once he was no longer choking on his own sick, hoisted himself onto his elbows, then continued to vomit into the grass.
-
Peter only really came to as someone was setting him down on the cool grass next to the track. He couldn’t really feel anything, and he couldn’t stop staring up at the slow-moving clouds whose presents seems blatantly ironic to him.
Then someone’s face blocked out one of the clouds, but he couldn’t make out who it was, as the sun cast shadows on their features. And he could tell they were talking; he could feel the low hum of their voice send shockwaves through his numb void of a body and he could see the shadows of their mouth moving. Then a cloud moved and blocked out the sun and Mr. Stark’s face slowly came into focus. Something like realization came over him, or maybe it was relief, or just him being so very tired because as he gazed up at Mr. Starks face (which looked oddly too concerned for his liking), he began to cry.
His hearing cut back in suddenly and the sudden jolt of noise sent sparks to his brain which only made him cry harder. He became aware of fingers make circles in his hair and the low beat of Mr. Starks voice whispering in his ear, “You’re okay, shhh, It’s okay, let it out, shhh”.
“Mr. S-stark.” Peter croaked out, his voice thick with tears.
“Yeah, Bud.”
“I don’t feel so good.”
Mr. Stark let out a humorless, pitiful chuckle. “I know, buddy. What do you say we get you back to the compound and fix you up so you feel better, yeah?”
Peter took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded.
-
By the time the duo had reached the compound, Helen had already set up and was awaiting their arrival. Peter’s pain had increased drastically as his numbness began to fade, but Helen gave him some Cap-Grade anesthesia that knocked him out almost instantly.
She ran countless tests, one for almost every time Tony paced the length of the hall outside the med-bay. He had called May and while she was extremely worried and threatened to take the rest of the day off from work, Tony managed to convince her that Peter would be in good hands and she could come by when she got off.
Pepper dropped by briefly to check on Tony and made him sit down so he wouldn’t collapse, then went on her way to cancel the rest of his meetings for the day.
(And maybe he made a few calls to the school and managed to extend the culprit’s, whose name is Flash, as he found out, suspension to a bit longer than just a week.)
After nearly an hour and a half, Helen came and sat next to him, her expression much happier than it had been when they’d arrived.
“Well,” she started. “He’s got a nasty concussion, for one. Grade 3, which, for a normal human, is pretty bad, but for him, I’d recommend some bed rest and someone to keep an eye on him for a while. He managed to avoid fracturing any bones in his eye socket, which is good, but he will have a pretty gnarly black eye for the next few days. We did have to reset his nose, which didn’t get off so lucky, but with his healing factor, the swelling should be gone tomorrow or the day after. He burst a few vessels in his ear canal, but by the time we got in there, his body had already fixed itself up, so no long-lasting hearing issues. Lastly, we had to set two of his ribs and he bruised about three more. Those will take the longest to heal as they’re the most damaged. I’ve already told him that means Spiderman will be taking a break for a while, but I don’t think he really heard, it if you know what I mean.”
Tony relaxed into his chair and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “So he’s alright then, yeah? I can go see him?”
Helen’s face softened and she nodded. “Yeah, the meds wore off about twenty minutes ago. He should be attempting to escape the room right about now, if I know anything about keeping superhumans in the med-bay.”
-
Sure enough, when Tony entered Peter’s room, the boy was, in fact, in the process of placing his feet on the floor and tearing the IV out of his arm.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid, what do you think you’re doing?” Tony rushed over to the now standing teenager, whose balance was definitely not up to par.
“Mr. Stark, I-I’m fine, I don’t need to- whoa, that’s weird.” Peter began to dip in Tony’s arms and landed almost face-first in his mattress. “Mr. Stark, could you tell FRIDAY that-that she should stop making the world go all upside down. It’s r-really screwing with my head.”
Tony helped the boy back into the bed and covered him up with one of the spare blankets. “I’ll be sure she gets the message.” He brushed back Peter’s fringe with his hand, and the boy’s eyes glistened as his brain tried to catch up with the rest of his body.
“Sorry, I didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“The concussion,” Peter blinked and looked up at him. “I’ve had it since yesterday. I got it on patrol. I wanted to tell you but I thought I could handle it. None of this would’ve happened had I just-”
Tony put his hand up and Peter closed his mouth. “Ah, none of that. No ‘Sorry’’s today. I have to admit, I’m not ecstatic that you didn’t tell me you were walking around and going to school with this bad of a concussion and we’re definitely going to have to talk about your guilt complex later, but” The older man dropped his hand and sighed. “I’m just glad you’re okay, kid. I, uh, don’t know what I would do if you weren’t.”
Peter’s eyes widened, then he smirked. “Aww, Mr. Stark has a heart after all!”
“Don’t push your luck, kid.” Peter shrugged, followed by a grimace of pain. The boy sunk into his pillows, looking utterly whooped. The edges of Tony’s mouth tipped downwards in a frown. “How are you feeling, Pete?”
Peter blinked slowly and he sunk further into his pillows. “Just tired, I think.”
“You think?”
“...yeah.” The kid’s eyes were half closed now, and his words spoke barely above a whisper.
Tony chuckled slightly and planted a kiss on Peter’s brow. “I’ll let you sleep then, kid.” He made a move to leave when he felt a clammy hand wrap around his wrist in a very cliche manner.
He turned around to see Peter’s glazed over brown eyes peeking over his blanket. “Don’ go, please.”
The furrows in Tony’s brow uncoiled as he sighed. “Alright, Pete, scoot over.”
The boy complied and as Tony climbed up onto his bed, Peter snuggled into his chest, his curls tickling the man’s nose. He fell into a deep, concussed sleep as Tony’s fingers combed through his hair.
(And maybe Peter rose to slight consciousness in his sleep post-nightmare to say “don’t leave me, Dad.”)
(And maybe Tony replied, “I will never, ever, leave you alone, kid.”)