A/N: Oh, for the love of … 'Why am I still awake?' should be the name of this. First confession, these two little chapters have been my first ever adventure into the world of Spider-Man or Avengers anything, add in sleep deprivation, absurd coffee consumption, and you probably get terrible writing and way out of character writing and word vomit. Especially with Tony. I don't know what happens there.

Chapter Two

There was a niggling feeling in the darkness in the back of Peter's mind. He tried to push it away—ignore it, but the harder he tried to block it out, the sharper his senses became. It was like something was trying to pull Peter from the peaceful cocoon he'd found himself in. Everything was so quiet in the dark. It was peaceful. His senses weren't on edge, harsh and sharp and too intense. Everything was soft and muted in the darkness. He didn't want to leave this place, to leave this feeling, but that damned pull was getting stronger.

The first thing he felt was the dull ache of his side. Why did it hurt? That thought wondered around in his mind for a while, looking for reason to make sense. Slowly, a connection was made. The plane, the crash, Toomes. Little puzzle pieces started to come together.

The rooftop. He'd died. Hadn't he?

How'd he not?

Oh. Mr. Stark.

It felt like trying to remember a dream. The harder he tried to grasp it, the more difficult it was to hold onto.

Voices began to intrude in through his comfortable blanket of darkness. It annoyed him. He wanted to reach out and web their mouths shut but then he'd need to find his arms. Right now, he was working on just keeping his thoughts together.

"He's just a damn kid!" someone yelled.

"Christ, Banner. Don't you think I know that!" an angry voice snapped through the fog.

He so didn't want to wake up. His thoughts were becoming clearer though and he was able to place one of the mystery voices after a moment. It sounded just like Mr. Stark and he sounded pissed.

Peter felt himself trying to shrink back into the bed. Oh, he was on a bed. Right, where else would he be?

"We'll discuss this later. His vitals are changing. I think he's awake," the other guy said.

Peter couldn't place the voice, but whoever he was, he was right. He was waking up and he hated every aching and painful moment as his senses began to return full force. He could feel the starched sterile sheets against his skin, the ache of his ribs, and pull of what he imagined were stitches in his side.

Ugh. He felt like crap. Why couldn't they have just left him alone.

"Hey, kid, wakey, wakey," Mr. Starks voice came from beside him. "After the shit you just put me through, the least you could do is open your eyes."

"Don't push him, Tony. Give him a minute. His senses are different. It might be an adjustment waking up."

The other guy was absolutely correct about the senses. Everything was sharp and new feeling, so different than the dull wait of darkness he'd been in.

Wait, he knew about his senses? Did Mr. Stark betray him and share his identity? The fragments of conversations started to come together. He knew! He told!

His heart began to pound in his chest, heart beating against his ribs like a caged animal. His eyes snapped open and looked around wildly. His eyes fell on a shocked Mr. Stark first. He was reaching for him. He pulled back, yanking an IV from his arm, tearing the wires from his chest, machines fell and crashed to the floor. On pure instinct, he scurried up the wall, looking down at the scene.

"Jesus—for fuck's sake. Get down here. You're fine"—Mr. Stark put up his hands in a placating manner, backing up— "See, you can have all the space you need. Just get the fuck down before you tear your damn stitches out. I mean, seriously kid. You're taking years off my life right now. You know that? Years."

Peter's eyes flicked between Mr. Stark and the other guy. He was medium build, brown haired with glasses. He seemed vaguely familiar from somewhere.

"Son, I know you're probably scared and a little confused, but Tony's right. Why don't you come on down?"

Peter studied them for a minute. His options seemed limited. He looked around the room. It was large, white walls, sterile. The windows didn't look to open. From the skyline he would almost guess he was in Avenger's Tower, but that should have been all closed up. It should have been only happy left.

Mr. Stark pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked up at Peter, his expression softer than earlier. He sighed. "Peter, please come down."

He shook his head, eyeing the other guy. Mr. Stark seemed to notice that as he turned and grabbed the man by the shoulder. "Peter, this is Bruce. Bruce Banner. He's the one that patched you up."

Peter swallowed dryly. He licked at his lips nervously. "I heard you. You told him about me."

"Uh duh, what did you want me to do, Peter!" Mr. Stark snapped. "You were fucking dying in my arms. You're just lucky he was here in his lab still or I would have brought you to the real fucking hospital. Try explaining a kid who sticks to shit to the doctors there."

He was pinching the bridge of his nose again and Peter was starting to feel a bit guilty.

"I … I'm sorry," Peter finally said. His side was starting to hurt. Hanging from the wall probably wasn't the best idea after nearly dying—Spider-Man or not. "Are you mad-d-d?"

Mr. Stark looked up, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Christ. You think I'm mad at you. Of course, you would." He looked tired. "Peter, I'm not mad, okay? You did great with Toomes, but you took off, climbed up a building, and nearly bled out alone." He paused, rubbing his forehead. "My heart can't take this shit." He rubbed his chest. "I almost didn't find you in time … I didn't … It was fucking chance I found you there." He paused. "I don't like chances, Peter. I'm not mad at you. If I hadn't taken the suit, I could have found you faster. I would have known you were flying a thousand feet in the air. Shit goes ding for that—"

"I think what Tony is saying is that this is no one's fault. Now why don't you come down here."

Peter nodded, still trying to absorb everything that Mr. Stark had just said. He wasn't mad. He was proud.

He climbed down and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was feeling better but still pretty terrible. Hanging sideways hadn't done much to improve how he was feeling.

"What about Aunt May? What did you tell her?" Peter asked.

Mr. Stark walked over to the counter and grabbed a packet of gauze, tearing it open. He walked over to him and reached out, taking Peter's arm, wiping the blood and saline off his arm from where he tore out the IV.

Peter's stomach chose that moment to grumble. Any time his advanced healing kicked in, he became ravenous, more so than usual.

"I … I don't want to … I mean … never mind, Mr. Stark," Peter said sheepishly.

Mr. Stark glanced down at him as he stood, tossing the used gauze in the trash. "First, it's Tony for like what, the hundredth time this month. I mean it, stop with the Mr. Stark." He grabbed a band-aid and stuck it over the IV site. "Mr. Stark was my father. I'll never reach that level of adulting. Second, I would seriously hope after tonight we've reached some point of communication where you can say whatever comes to mind. Actually, scratch that, most things that come to mind, reasonable things. Was what you were going to say reasonable?"

Peter looked at him. "I guess. My metabolism is just kinda fast, well a lot fast, more so after injury."

"So, you're hungry?"

Peter shrugged.

"Okay, I can do something about that," he said. "Friday, get me Happy. He's fine … I need food … High calorie … I don't know." He turned to Peter. "What do you want?"

"McDonald's?"

"Killing me," Mr. Stark—Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Get the kid McDonald's … I don't care … Get the whole damn menu."

"It'll be here soon. You good till then?"

"Yeah, I think. Just a bit dizzy."

"Okay, we're gonna have to work on your definitions later. Good isn't becoming hypoglycemic."

Bruce stepped into view carrying a new IV bag and setup, gloves already on. "This will help until we can get you fed. I can kinda understand how you feel, not the sticky to walls, though I'm curious how that came to be. I'm a bit different myself."

"A bit," Tony scoffed. "You turn green and grow to the size of truck."

Peter's mouth nearly fell open. "Wait, are you the Hulk?"

"The one and only," Bruce said.

"It was radiation, right? Kinda like me?"

Bruce's brow furrowed. "What do you mean like you?"

"I … I was bit by a radioactive spider. That's how it all happened."

The older man's face went blank for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something a few times, but nothing seemed to come out. Peter thought for a moment he broke him.

"I'd really like to get you in my lab sometime and have a look at your DNA."

"Peter, you don't have to do that. You're not some specimen," Tony said.

Bruce pushed his glasses up. "Right of course, I—"

"No, it's fine. I thought I knew you from somewhere. I just didn't realize earlier you were that Bruce Banner. I have read nearly everything you've published."

"Really?" Bruce looked astonished. "And you understood it?"

Peter nodded.

"Seriously? Are you fanboying over Bruce? Where's Happy with the damn food."

"This is gonna pinch a bit," Bruce said, sticking in the needle and slipping in the catheter. He taped it in place. "No more climbing walls." He smiled. "Seriously though, you need to take it easy. You're accelerated healing should take care of things quickly, but you lost a lot of blood. You went into what's called hypovolemic shock. You need fluids. You lucked out Tony could spare some blood."

Peter looked at Mr. Stark who was leaning on the counter, arms crossed. "I guess … I mean … Thank you. You saved my life."

"You're welcome, and I'm making you a new suit, a better suit. God, you seriously went out in pajamas, like for real, just to prove you could be Spider-Man. Damn kid. You're the real thing."

"Thanks?"

Tony chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "Foods here. Eat before you pass you. Then sleep. Don't worry about May. Don't worry about anything. I'll be right here. I got nowhere else I'd rather be."

For the first time, it really began to sink in—he wasn't alone.