Peter jolted awake, panicked and coughing up water. Sturdy arms held him on his side as he tried to expel the liquid from his aching lungs.
"It's okay, I got you," he heard someone say. They patted his back, urging him to calm down.
He blearily opened his eyes, turning his head to his savior.
"Mr. Lord"
A pause. "Yes. It's me. Mr. Lord,"
"Hah." Peter grimaced, and tried rolling onto his back, only to be stopped by a shock of pain down his left side. He gasped. Quill halted his movements with a hand on his chest.
"Shit, kid. Take it easy. Just had to resuscitate you back there. Don't really wanna have to do it again."
"Wha-?" Peter asked. His mind was so fuzzy. So confused.
He took in his surroundings. Quill hovered above him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. He was soaking wet, his hair plastered to his face. He had a couple bad scratches on his temple and lip, and he seemed to be favoring his side, but otherwise he looked like he was fine.
Peter sighed in relief, laying his head down. The sun shone brightly above them. The air was quiet, the only sound was the rustling of the trees swaying in the wind. Wait. Trees? "Where are we?" He managed to find his voice.
Quill sighed, "I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I have no idea. One second we were flying, then that freaking Elephant Man threw his hammer at me and knocked us outta the sky. We fell into a lake and now we're here." Quill waved his hands in the air, as if to emphasize his point. "Middle of who knows where."
Peter's mind couldn't quite catch up at the moment, the pain was so dizzying. Despite his body's protestations, he tried to sit up.
"Here," Quill reached under his good arm, gently hoisting him up. The man eyed the teen up and down, his jaw setting in worry. "We gotta get that suit off you. Your shoulder's dislocated."
Peter glanced down at his left shoulder. The suit was bent and warped around the limb. He could feel jagged pieces of metal poking his skin. But the worst pain radiated over his chest. He blanched.
"Hey man, don't go passing out on me, okay?" Quill steadied him when he pitched to one side. "I need you to tell me how to get this thing off of you."
"Stark, he... there's a button or something," Peter fumbled, trying to remember what exactly it was Mr. Stark had told him to do if the suit got jammed. He stared at the metal spider on his chest. The spider. He placed his hand against it, pressing and holding. Hoping it would work. Slowly but surely, the nanites retracted back into the little spider, leaving him in his spandex suit. He gasped as the pressure was relieved on his lungs.
"Shit," Quill swore. Peter followed his gaze.
Lodged in his shoulder were several small shards of metal.
"Oh," was all Peter could say, blood rushed from his head, and he fell forward for the millionth time that day.
"Hey, no no, kid. You're okay." Quill sat in front of him, taking his full weight. "You're okay. We're gonna get you patched up. Okay?"
Peter didn't answer. His pupils were blown out and he looked like he was going to be sick.
"C'mere," Quill stood up, reaching under Peter's good arm and lifting him, "Let's find somewhere more comfortable."
They walked slowly towards where the trees were more dense. Peter was sure he was gonna pass out. But he willed himself to stay awake just a bit longer.
They finally reached a large tree. Quill lowered Peter down carefully onto the ground, resting his back against the trunk.
"You okay?" Quill asked, kneeling next to him.
"Wha's... wha's it look like?" Peter quipped. His chest heaved from exhertion.
Quill barked a laugh. "Yeah, I figured. Looks like it hurts like a bitch."
"It does," Peter said, voice small. He closed his eyes, willing the pain away.
"You might not like to hear this, but we gotta get those out," Quill motioned to the metal pieces sticking out of Peter's skin.
"I think I'll jus' leave 'em, thanks," Peter knew that it'd hurt. He didn't want to hurt anymore. He just wanted to sleep.
"Sure," Quill smirked, pulling a long red piece of fabric out of his jacket. It looked like a scarf. He unraveled it, ripping it into strips.
"What're you doin'?" Peter asked as Quill wrapped one of the strips over his hand and fingers.
"Don't wanna cut up my hand when I do this," he replied.
"Do what?"
He didn't get an answer though, and suddenly Quill was crouching over him, one hand on his chest and the other yanking a shard from his flesh.
Peter cried out, wrapping his fingers tightly around Quill's wrist at his chest, heels digging into the ground below him.
"Like ripping off a bandaid. Except, like, 12 bandaids. And ten times more painful." Quill dropped the shard on the grass, and looked Peter in the eyes. He lowered his voice, "Sorry about that, kid. The first one's always the worst. Better to just get it over with."
"Yeah," Peter wheezed, trying to gather air back into his lungs.
Quill adjusted the fabric on his hands, "Kinda lame question, but I don't know your name. As much as I'd like to keep referring to you as Spidey-Kid or Baby Long Legs, I think we should get on a first name basis. Especially now that we're stranded together God knows where." He ripped out another shard.
"Parker... Peter." He grit out, squeezing his eyes shut.
When Quill didn't say anything back, he opened his eyes.
Peter had never seen someone look so overjoyed.
"Your name's Peter?!" Quill asked, ecstatic.
Peter nodded, uncertain of why the man was grinning like he'd won the lottery.
"I'M Peter too!!" He laughed, dropping the shard from his hand like it was no big deal that he had to manually extract metal from someone's flesh.
"No kidding," he breathed. Despite the excruciating pain, he couldn't help but he amused at the man's sheer excitement.
"That's awesome! I don't even know how long it's been since I've met another Peter. I mean, I know it was a pretty common name on Terra before I left." Another shard, "But now there're TWO kickass Peters fighting the same freaking war. This is awesome man," Another shard, "Freaking awesome."
Quill kept talking, running his mouth like a motor boat as he carefully removed the shards, one by one, and dropped them on the dirt. Peter couldn't help but squirm each time a slice of metal slid from his skin, but the talking was somehow helping. Dulling the pain. Peter was great at talking, great at trying to use his words to get out of rough spots, but this guy... he was on a whole new level.
"That's the last one," Quill said, the shard hitting the others on the ground with a 'plink.'
"What... already?!" Peter sputtered. There were at least a dozen shards in his body, but when he looked down, all he could see was free flowing blood from his shoulder.
"Yep." Quill pulled a canteen from his pocket, and some sort of vial filled with creamy liquid.
"But, that was so fast!" Peter couldn't believe it was over.
"I distracted you," Quill winked, "one of my superpowers."
Peter sighed, thudding his head against the tree behind him. "Just glad it's done." He whispered.
Quill grimaced, "Sorry to break it to you Petey - can I call you Petey? I'm calling you Petey." He poured water from the canteen onto Peter's shoulder. "You're not quite out of the woods yet."
Peter was about to make a snarky comment about how they were actually in the woods this very moment, but bit his tongue when he saw how serious Quill's face was.
"What's wrong?" He almost didn't want to know.
"Well, for one thing, your shoulder is still dislocated," Quill opened up the vial with the strange fluid. "This is gonna sting," he warned, pouring the liquid onto a pad of fabric and dabbing it on the cuts. Peter hissed. It felt like needles.
Quill tore off a few more fresh strips of cloth and placed them over the wounds. "And it looks like that's not the only problem..." his words faded off and he brought his hand over to Peter's collarbone, pressing slightly.
Peter gasped, his eyes flying wide open.
"Yep. Broken." Quill surmised, pulling his hand away and putting it on top of Peter's head, green eyes meeting dark brown, "Look kid. I know you've had a rough day. But I gotta reset your shoulder or else it's gonna heal all wrong."
Peter gulped, nodding slowly. He could feel his legs trembling. "What about my collarbone?"
"There's nothing we can do about that. We can make you a sling, but it's gonna have to heal on its own." Quill's tone was dark and apologetic.
"O-okay," Peter's voice wavered.
"Alright," Quill moved into position, one hand over Peter's chest and the other wrapped around his bad arm.
"Wait!" Peter said, voice a couple octaves higher than they should be, "Can you, I-I don't know, distract me like last time?"
Quill gave him a wan smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I don't think that'll be much help here, Petey."
"Oh."
"Okay. On the count of three. One. Two-" Quill rotated Peter's arm into an "L" shape, and the joint snapped back into place with a crack.
Peter couldn't even find it in himself to scream. The pain completely overtook him, ravaged his senses, and he could do nothing more than pass out.
