Peter's mind was a million miles away as he walked towards his apartment after a particularly long day at school. He was exhausted—lately he'd been trying to make an effort to balance his school and his work as Spider-Man, but it seemed there just weren't enough hours in the day. He wanted to do both; he was sure of that. He just wasn't so sure it was possible.
"Excuse me," a voice jolted Peter from his thoughts just as he was about to turn down the alley beside his apartment building. A man stood before him, giving him a sheepish grin.
"Sorry, can you help me real quick?" he asked. "I'm a little lost, and my phone only has five percent battery, so if I use my GPS I'll never make it before the battery dies. Can you tell me how to get to this address?"
He handed Peter his phone, the screen displaying the address in a text message.
"Yeah, definitely," Peter nodded, his eyes on the screen as the man he was helping moved closer to him. "You're not too far off, actually, um...what you're gonna want to do is go down this street here for about a block, then hang a left and go straight for another two blocks, and the building you're looking for should be on your left."
He gave the phone back to the man, who smiled at him.
"Thanks," he said evenly, but he didn't start walking. Instead, he glanced around quickly, and before Peter could react, he stabbed the knife he'd been holding out of sight into the teenager's gut, clamping his other hand over the boy's mouth to keep him quiet. He pushed the shocked and bleeding Avenger into the alley and shoved him up against the wall, twisting the knife quickly before ripping it free and releasing him. Peter, gasping, slid down the wall, his shaking hands covering the wound in his stomach. The man didn't say a word, leaving the scene hurriedly, knife still in hand.
By the time Peter realized what had just happened, the pain had set in, and he was struggling to think clearly through the panic. Some part of him was trying to manage the situation, telling him he needed to call for help. But then he remembered the suit in his backpack; he couldn't let anyone, not even an EMT or a doctor, see him with that. So, with numb, trembling fingers, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Tony, praying he'd answer.
"Hey, kid," Tony greeted him after the third ring. "What's up?"
"Hey, Mr. Stark," Peter's voice shook when he spoke, despite his best efforts, some part of him slightly embarrassed that this had happened to him in the first place. "How, ah...how fast do you think you could...get to the city?"
"I'm actually in the city right now," Tony told him, the frown on his face evident in his voice. "Peter, what's going on? What's wrong?"
"I, ah..." Peter trailed off, tears falling from his eyes as the shock wore off and the pain became even more intense. Blood was pouring from his injury, and he grit his teeth as he tried to put pressure on it. "I...I think I screwed up, Mr. Stark; I...Oh, God, I need help..."
"Peter!" By this time, Tony's heart was pounding, and he'd already left the lobby of the building in which he was supposed to be having his meeting, instead calling his suit from his jet and jumping into it, taking off immediately, already starting a trace on the teenager's phone. "Peter, talk to me; tell me what's happening."
"This guy, he just...was just asking for directions, and I..." Peter trailed off, his breaths short and ragged. By this time, Tony knew where he was.
"Peter, I'll be there in less than a minute; just hold on," Tony urged, the knot in his stomach nearly unbearable. Peter didn't respond, but Tony just tried to focus on his labored breathing and moans of pain; at least they told him that the boy was still alive. Finally, after what felt like ages, he found his young friend, landing beside him and stepping out of his suit. Tony struggled to keep the panic from his face as he quickly crouched beside the boy in the dirty alleyway, putting his hand over the hand Peter was using to try and put pressure on the wound.
"Oh, God, what happened?" Tony demanded, his eyes wide. "Peter, stay with me; what happened?"
"This guy...I didn't see him coming...I should have seen it coming..." Peter struggled to keep his eyes open.
"Jesus, kid; why didn't you just call an ambulance?' Tony questioned worriedly, already calling the nearest hospital so they'd be ready for him.
"The suit," Peter looked over at his bag, which had fallen off his shoulder when he was pushed into the alley. His voice was weak and scratchy, and sweat had broken out on his forehead "I can't leave the suit, and I...I can't let anyone...see me with it..."
"Shit," Tony muttered under his breath. Finally, the hospital answered, and he told them what was happening, to be ready when they arrived. "Okay, kid; just hold on."
With this, he stepped back from the wounded teenager, jumping back into his suit before picking him up—making sure to grab his backpack before flying into the air as fast as he could. It took less than three minutes for them to arrive at the hospital, where several nurses were waiting with a gurney. Iron Man gently placed the boy on the gurney, and then Tony stepped out of the suit. As they wheeled Peter away into surgery, one of the doctors turned to him.
"What can you tell us about what happened?" she asked, her tone very professional.
"Nothing," Tony shook his head, acutely aware of the blood on his hand, still gripping Peter's backpack. "I wasn't there. Peter's an, um...an intern of mine. I called when he didn't show up, and then I flew out to find him."
"Okay, well, don't worry, Mr. Stark," the doctor gave him a reassuring smile. "We will do everything we can for Peter. Is there a number we can reach you at when he gets out of surgery?"
"Actually, I think I'll wait," Tony replied. The doctor gave him a small smile, then walked off. Once he was left alone, Tony sent his suit back to his jet and shouldered Peter's backpack, making a beeline for the bathroom to wash the blood from his hands. His stomach was still in knots as he watched the blood go down the drain, his thoughts racing as he tried to make sense of what happened. Best case scenario, this was just a random thing. Peter was not targeted; it was just a case of wrong place, wrong time. He's not in any lingering danger.
But there was always that second possibility: That he had been targeted. That it wasn't random. That he was in danger.
Tony shook his head, turning to grab a couple paper towels and dry his hands. Then, after checking the bathroom, he called Happy.
"Tony, where are you?" his head of security demanded. "The guy at the front desk said you took off in the suit. What's going on?"
"It's Peter," Tony sighed. "We might have a problem. He was stabbed on his way home from school."
"That's impossible," Happy sounded both concerned and shocked. "I watched that kid's tracker from the moment he left campus; he made it home."
"No, he made it right outside his home," Tony told him. "In broad daylight. Look, I'm not saying it's because of Spider-Man, but I'm saying it's possible. Tell Pepper to cover for me, okay? Go pick up Aunt May and meet me here. I'm going to wait until he's at least out of surgery before I go anywhere."
"On it," Happy agreed dutifully. They hung up, and Tony returned to the waiting room, claiming a chair and putting Peter's backpack at his feet. The billionaire loosened his tie, feeling like he'd be there for a while, and went about waiting for news, ignoring more than a few curious glances in his direction.
Alright, here's the deal: Not entirely sure where I'm going with this one. I have a direction, don't get me wrong, but not an endgame. Not yet. All I know is, after watching Spider-Man: Homecoming, I kinda want to knock Peter around a little bit and see Tony be angsty about it. So, if you'll stick around for that, cheers! If not, thanks for trying. Until next time, thanks for reading, and please don't forget to review.