Chapter 20
Peter's head hurts. His senses are finally settling into a painful rythym and his breathing is somewhat all right. Tony is starting to stir.
Peter chitters to the spiders. He doesn't know if Tony is concussed and he doesn't think JARVIS can reach them.
Peter's palms are wrapped. His wounds are tended to the best they can be at the moment, which is a lot considering the first aid kit thing mounted to the corner of the room is made to withstand bombs—very useful in providing band-aids, gauze, and stitches. His head spins as he tries to find a solution.
Phone. Is there a phone? Stark Phones were fucking invincible, so he rifles through his pockets. His phone isn't a Stark Phone, however—it's a crappy flip phone. It's melted and broken. How long had they been here? The vents- No. They wouldn't work. The heat from the bomb seems to have melted them shut. He's sure he can rip them out but his palms are burned. Besides, he can't navigate them well. Stark- He obviously has a Stark Phone. Peter rifles through Stark's pockets and pulls it out. The screen is barely even cracked. His shaking hands fumble for the emergency call feature.
Shit, who does he call? His mind panics. His heart, which had just managed to slow down, speeds up again. His head reels; he feels dizzy. He already learned when you get spiders to pull various but small pieces of shrapnel from your body whilst already bleeding from your hands, you lose a lot of blood—a lot. The elevator doors are melted too. Peter thinks it's a wonder he and Stark and the spiders are a live. He remembers the wave of heat passing over the heads and smashing through everything.
Stark Tower. He calls Stark Tower. JARVIS is programmed to answer calls. Peter's hands fumble. It burns his palms to hold the phone, rough bandages scraping against his burnt palms. He drops the phone, tears stinging his eyes. Stupid. He closes his eyes and counts to ten. He needs to calm down. Tony is hurt. Tony needs help and he needs to call JARVIS.
He chitters to the spiders, and they help him fumble to type in the number. His fingertips are heavily bandaged as well. His hands are covered in them. Every part of the skin had been seared off. He was pretty sure it was because of how he'd tackled Tony, who had his own fair share of burns. Not as many - Peter had taken the brunt of it. He can feel his hands healing already.
"Sir?" comes JARVIS's voice. It sounds concerned. Peter has a feeling he is concerned.
"JARVIS?" Peter responds, voice a little shaky. He shouldn't be this panicked. He's faced worse- he's faced worse damn it.
"Mr. Parker? Is Sir all right?" JARVIS asks, "I've lost control to the lab."
"I-I don't know. He got knocked out. There was a bomb. W-we need help." Peter sounds helpless and it burns him. He is an adult and a superhero and he is panicking but he's faced worse and why is he so panicked?
"I am contacting the other Avengers. Stay on the phone," JARVIS responds.
Peter thinks he will, till he realizes he should call Wade. He had installed a phone feature to the box. He takes in a shuddering breath. It's the crashing after andrenaline, he's pretty sure, supplying his panic. "I have to call someone else," he states.
"Please-"
Peter feels bad as he cuts off JARVIS with a hang up and dials the number he'd put in Wade's box. A few rings and it's answered.
"Wade, hey, um, I can't talk to long," Peter starts before Wade can get a word in, “—but there was a bomb and I won't be home today. I think. I'll try. Um, just needed you to know because you're my guest and-"
"Woah, Petey Sweetey. No problem with that! You okay? How are you calling me?"
"Stark's phone. There isn't a way out right now. JARVIS is getting the Avengers."
"Are you okay?" Wade asks, and Peter hesitates.
"I don't know," he responds honestly, "I've been through worse, but-" Peter swallows. He gets it now. He's been through worse, but he's always known what to do. That's not the case here. "I've always known what to do."
"Alright Petey Sweetey. Do you want me to stay on the line, or do you got something else?"
"I-" Peter swallows thickly, eyes flickering up to Tony. He’d looked like he was going to wake up a few seconds ago. Now he looks pale, and sickly, and like he was going to die at any second. Peter feels a hot rush of tears. "He looks like he's dying,"
"What do you mean?"
"He's pale and sickly and he smells like death," Peter responded, oddly calm. He likes Wade's voice. Peter checks Tony for signs of any other injury. He finds one.
Peter has seen many things. He's seen Gwen's lifeless body. He's seen Ben's gasping and pale form. He's seen murder, and accidental deaths. He's seen a lot. And none of it had ever made him this sick. He'd never been this close to a wound like this.
Peter retches, vomiting to the side, away from the phone, tears stinging his eyes and a whimper leaving him. His whole body jerks to upheave the contents of his stomach, regurgitated food spilling out of him like a dumped blender.
Tony's back side was something Peter had neglected to check. His hands had been slick with his own blood, and he hadn't thought to wonder if some of it was Tony's. He'd forgotten even when he was dressing some of Tony's head wounds. Tony had been laying against the wall and he nor the spiders had noticed the growing pool of blood under him.
Tony's back is covered in blood and burnt skin. The nauseating smell hits Peter, and his whole body shudders. The skin is black and there's blood everywhere and it looks like someone had just torn the skin off and his whole world is spinning. There's nothing left in his stomach. He dry heaves.
"I have to go," Peter shakily responds, wiping vomit from his lips. "Oh god, I have to go-"
A sob racks though him. He had never seen something like this. Tony was going to die. Wade protests, but Peter hangs up, hands shaking as he chitters to the spiders.
The glass window behind him explodes open, and he turns his head.
Relief fills him like a flood.
The Avengers.