It was supposed to have been a typical mission. Just a typical alien invasion on a typical day with the typical Avengers. Everything was typical- except the fact that Peter ended up buried under a building.

It was eight months after the whole debacle with Vulture, bringing Peter into summer break. Tony had called him in on a few missions before that- just as a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, he'd said, nothing else- and so Peter had gradually been getting used to working with the freaking Avengers. Although Vision didn't really understand him and he felt like he sometimes unnerved Captain America with his fanboyishness, Peter had been getting along with the team better and better and really learning how to work with them.

So, it therefore came as no surprise when Happy texted him saying that there was an incoming alien spy regiment coming towards the earth, and was he in?

Boy, was he ever.

Which is how, twelve hours later, he was in Spain with an entire group of legendary superheroes, fighting a horde of aliens. It went pretty well at first; Peter had been training at the Avenger's new compound for the past few months after getting severely busted up one night while patrolling, so he was a lot better at using the various tech inside his suit, and a heck of a lot better at hand-to-hand combat. But, just as they were starting to break through the enemy's flank, trouble arose. The aliens, apparently not having expected to meet so much resistance, panicked and brought out the big guns.

Literally.

They brought out a cannon/gun thing the size of a fast-food restaurant, and fired it straight towards Peter.

Now, dodging the blast wasn't the problem. Peter was fast and agile and evaded it quite easily. The problem was with where the blast went once it passed him. It flew directly into a massive apartment complex (thankfully, one that had been evacuated beforehand) and ate a gaping crater into it- instantly. Then it all went downhill from there.

Peter turned around to look at what had happened once the huge boom sounded, and froze. The building was falling- towards him. Hundreds of tons of concrete, metal, and glass were coming straight for him.

Again.

Everything suddenly silenced except for the pounding in his ears matching his heartbeat- thud thud thud thud thud thud, faster and faster every second. In his mind's eye, he could only replay what had happened with Vulture over and over again- the whistling of Vulture's wings, the cracking and tearing of the supporting columns, the massive boom that swallowed Peter whole in debris.

He stared up at the descending mass, frozen between past and present, unable to move. He remembered the nails jutting out of the rubble; the harsh, broken edges of the concrete; the water that had dripped down his mask and face and eyes. Would this be like that? Would this be worse? Would this, perhaps, bear a quick death this time?

Peter tore himself out of the past at the word death. No no no, he didn't want to die. He was only sixteen, after all. He was too young to die.

But the building kept falling, falling, falling, looming over him. He tried to run, to turn, but then his eyes caught on a single, breaking slab of concrete with large, rusty nails sticking out of it like pincushions.

Cold. So, so cold. So much cold. So much cold and so much pain. Cold and pain and pain and cold and-

"I wanted you to be better."

And then-

"If you're nothing without the suit, you shouldn't be wearing it."

And he'd gotten stuck under a roof, and he was dying, and he really was nothing after all, just like Mr. Stark had said. Nothingnothingnothing oh God this hurt-

"MOVE, PETER!"

But he couldn't. He stared up at the broken glass shards showering down on him, the furniture crashing down with the floors and walls and ceilings and roof. All he saw was dark and cold and wet. All he remembered was the agony of his ribs fracturing under the pressure, the pain of his leg cracking, how they had both healed up well enough to be usable in a few minutes but had still hurt.

"Peter, move!"

And then the building hit him.

It hurt, if possible, even more than before. The massive weight winded him instantly and he staggered back, but a slab of wood flooring pinned one leg, rendering him unable to move. Around him, concrete and glass and furniture splintered, his suit the only thing keeping the shards from cutting his face.

"PETER!"

Rubble hit the ground all around him; he narrowly avoided a massive piece by twisting his body. The resultant pain in his leg was so high he almost wished he hadn't moved at all. Another piece of building came flying towards him, but this time he couldn't dodge and it landed on his chest, cracking something inside it. Through eyes dazed with pain, Peter watched as the rubble slowly settled and the dust cleared.

"Oh God," he muttered, trying not to panic. He was trapped by a building again. His leg was pinned. His chest was being crushed. The whole Vulture scene was happening all over again. "Oh God no no no no no I can't do this again I can't do this I can't I can't oh God-" he cut himself off, desperately trying to control his breathing. "Breathe, Parker," he ordered, wincing as the sharp edges of broken material pierced the suit and dug into his skin. "You got out of this before. You can do it again."

Think, he told himself. What do I need to do? The answer was obvious: dig himself out of the rubble. He briefly wondered if, maybe, one of the Avengers would come- after all, hadn't someone been yelling his name? Had that just been his terror-filled imagination, or had that actually been real?

"Help," he called. "Guys, help, I'm stuck." But nothing happened. With his super-senses he could hear the sound of battle still going on. The Avengers wouldn't be helping him out of this one- and he doubted they'd even want to. After all, Tony had never brought up the fight with Vulture, not even once. Peter had figured it was Tony's way of saying, "Avengers don't need people to pull them out of buildings. And they sure as hell don't complain about it." Never mind that the entire reason he was trapped under this building in the first place was because he couldn't get thatscene out of his head.

It took almost a minute before he'd psyched himself up enough to try unearthing himself from the rubble. Peter breathed in as deeply as he could, raised his arms to the concrete piled on top of him, and shoved with all his strength. It took several seconds of monumental effort, but finally he managed to move it off his chest, letting it hit the ground with a thud.

"Now for my leg," he muttered. He'd been keeping up a half-mumbled, half internally thought monologue this entire time in order to keep himself motivated and calm. "One, two...three!" He groaned with the exertion, feeling sweat begin to build in his suit and his muscles begin to shake from the strain, but at last it moved. Peter pulled his leg out from under it and scooted backwards, completely exhausted.

He just sat there for a few seconds, breathing heavily. Finally, remembering his suit's AI, he said, "How badly am I injured, Karen?"

"Fractured right fifth rib, severe abdominal contusions, and fractured right tibia. The contusions are already beginning to heal, but you might not be able to put weight on your leg without pain for several hours, even if your healing factor continues to be this swift."

"What do you mean?"

"As you are currently in a state of fight-or-flight, your adrenal glands are producing epinephrine, which is contributing greatly to your already abnormally fast healing factor. Should this state continue, the fractures would be completely healed within the next few days."

"Wow, really? Cool!" He hadn't had any super bad injuries for quite a while, and although the ones he'd had had healed pretty quickly, he didn't remember any of them healing this quickly. Maybe he was growing stronger. Maybe he was just more terrified than usual.

"Peter, it looks like the battle is over. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?"

"No- no that's definitely not necessary. I'll be fine."

"Peter, need I repeat the injuries you have sustained? Fractured right fifth rib, abdominal cont-"

"No, no, no, I get it, I know what my injuries are. I just...I'm fine. I've had worse before and haven't called him. And you said they're healing quickly, right?"

"Yes."

"Great." Peter grabbed onto a piece of rubble- the same one that had almost crushed him- and pulled himself up to standing. Gingerly, he tested out his still-throbbing leg. It didn't hurt as bad as he'd thought it would, so he gradually eased more weight onto it until he was standing evenly on both legs. "This enhanced healing thing is great!" It still hurt like crap, but he could stand and that was all that was necessary.

"Peter, Tony Stark is heading towards you, along with Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov, and Steve Rogers. They are estimated to be here within the next minute."

"They're what?" Now that the relief over not having died was over, panic was quick to set in. "Oh God, what are they gonna think when they see me like this? What if they think it's my fault for getting buried? I-I mean, I like just stood there, right? Like I just froze and then the thing collapsed on me, and oh God I just got buried under a building-"

"You are showing elevated heart rate, increased cortisone levels, and rapid breathing. Are you all right, Peter?"

"Yeah I'm...I'm just fine. Just...fine." He took a deep breath. "How far away are they now?"

"Close enough to hear what you just said, and you do not sound fine," came Tony's voice as he landed among the rubble and walked up to Peter, stepping out of his suit as he walked. As his mask came off, it revealed a face that was clearly unhappy.

"Oh, hey Mr. Stark! How's it going? How were the aliens, other than that big gun thing of course?"

"Cut the crap, kid. We all saw you go down in the rubble. I tried to get over here to help you out, but the alien bastards didn't give us any breathing space." By this point, Natasha, Steve, and Clint were running up. They stopped close behind Tony, all three of them looking varied degrees of concerned.

"Are you okay, kid?" Steve asked. "You looked like you went down pretty hard. Did you break anything?"

"Uh...yeah," he said, still a little awed to be talking to Captain freaking America. "But, um, nothing serious. In fact, they're already healing! Good as new, practically!"

"They?" Tony asked, crossing his arms. "As in you broke more than one thing?"

"How the hell did you get out by yourself if you had broken bones?" Clint asked, looking even more concerned. As the only Avenger to have kids, he was unofficially the dad Avenger.

"Yeah, I'll have to second that," Natasha said. "I definitely wasn't expecting you to get out of there on your own. I thought Cap was gonna have to pull you out. How are you feeling?"

Peter looked away awkwardly, feeling blood rise to his face. It was at times like these that he was really happy to have a suit with a mask. "Um, fine I guess. The fractures are apparently already healing, and anyway it's not like this is my first time being buried under a building."

"…I'm sorry, what?"