There were intermittent flashing lights and shouts. Peter was aware that he was being held in someone's arms, another person pressing down on his ribcage. It hurt, a lot, and he tried to move away, to stop the pressure on his ribs. It only caused the person to hold onto him tighter.

"He's waking up!" a voice said – Captain America? It sounded like it. Peter raised his head, trying to focus through his mask as he moved.

"Hey, hold still," the same voice said, but softer. "We need to control the bleeding and we can't do that if you're moving. I know it hurts but you need to stay still. Clint, have you managed to stop it yet?" he asked, addressing the man who was pressing into his side.

"No," was the answer. "The knife went deep and I can't see properly to know how bad the damage is. We need to get him medical attention, fast. Can you speed it up in front?"

The question was shouted at the person driving the car they were currently in – Peter was vaguely aware of the motion of the vehicle.

Whatever the answer was, Peter gathered it wasn't good enough, because the Captain spoke again to someone Peter couldn't see.

"Tony, can you get here? We're not moving fast enough!"

"Steve, he won't make that journey, he'll bleed out," the voice identified as Clint said. "We need a way to seal this wound if he's even gonna make it to the tower."

An idea occurred to Peter then, and he raised his hand, grabbing onto someone nearby.

"Try and keep still," the Captain said again, holding onto Peter's wayward arm.

No, you don't understand, he thought, trying again, this time opening his mouth and attempting to speak.

"Web," he said quickly, pulling his hand away and attempting to indicate his wrist. "Can seal."

There was a moment of silence at this, before a hand grabbed onto one of his wrists, angling it towards his body.

"...How does it work?" the one named Clint said, fingers trying to manipulate the device. Peter attempted something like a sigh in annoyance, but it came out more like a whimper. He flexed his fingers, pressing them onto the shooter on his wrist, activating it.

The force of the webbing hitting his ribs almost made him cry out again, but he managed to muffle it, biting onto his lip instead. The hand around his wrist manipulated it slightly, and he felt the webbing cover a section below his ribcage.

"All right, you can let go," Clint told him, and he released his grip, breath coming in hard gasps as his ribs throbbed.

"Stark, are you here yet?" the Captain said, presumably into a mic somewhere. There was a pause. "You're gonna have to make it work, I don't know how long he's going to last."

A hand went to his throat, for a moment Peter thought he was getting strangled, before realising someone was taking a pulse.

It was then that he realised he was tired again, and closed his eyes.

Peter vaguely realised he was being moved – gently but quickly – out of the Captain's arms.

"Fly fast," someone was saying. "I don't know how permanent the stuff is."

It was at that moment Peter realised that he was being passed out of the sunroof, into some cold, metal arms.

"I must be important, right?" he croaked, opening his eyes to look up at the bright white eyes of Iron Man.

"Hold on, kid," was the reply. "This might get a little hairy."

Peter managed a small laugh at that, before closing his eyes again.

He heard voices at somepoint during the darkened haze of the time after.

"Hey, Steve." The voice was quiet. Peter recognised it as Dr Banner.

"Wh-what?" Captain America – Steve – said, sounding groggy. Peter heard him yawn. "What time is it?"

"Almost 9am," was the answer. "Has he woken up yet?"

"No," Steve sighed. "At least, I don't think he has. It's been over a day; surely the sedatives have worn off by now?"

"I would say so," Dr Banner said. "He might have just been exhausted. I mean, he was stabbed, his ribs were broken and he was still recovering from the Lizard fight, I guess."

Quiet footsteps were heard, a man was walking to join the other two, somewhere nearby.

"Kid's name is Peter Parker. He lives with his aunt and uncle. No, wait, scratch that, his uncle was killed a short while ago when a guy robbed a store – uncle tried to be a hero and got shot for it. Apparently he died in the kid's arms."

"What about his parents?"

"It says his father worked for Oscorp," the third man – Stark – said. Peter heard papers being rustled. "But he was put in to live with his aunt and uncle when the boy was pretty young."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Wow," Steve said. "No wonder he has trust issues."

"You're telling me," Stark replied.

They continued to talk, but their words were lost to Peter.

He next awoke to a dimly lit room and a large, comfortable bed. For a moment, he didn't move, taking in the ceiling above him.

Then he remembered the events that had occurred beforehand.

He sat bolt upright, or attempted to, before his ribs seared with pain. Upon inspection, he saw they were bound in clean bandages. With careful prodding, he found he also had some stitches over the stab wound. He was going to have serious words with the guy who thought he wouldn't mind being sedated.

A sound alerted him then, and he froze, turning his head slowly to see Captain America – minus the uniform – asleep on a chair on the other end of the room. He frowned, before taking in the rest of the room. It was large, clean and spacious – and it appeared as though it wasn't used often. Across the room, he could see a small kitchenette, along with a TV and sofa. In essence, the place was a mini-apartment. There were also some large windows, at the moment covered with slatted blinds. Peter gathered he was in Stark Tower. Great, right in the lion's den, he thought. So much for having time to think this through.

He wondered why Captain America had decided to stay in the room. It reminded him of the time when, as a kid, he'd caught a fever, and his Aunt May had stayed by his bedside, tending to him. Well, the Captain was a guy from the days of World War 2, so maybe it was an old-fashioned thing. A little creepy, though, watching someone while they were sleeping. Especially someone you'd only just met.

Peter slumped back into the pillows, hand covering his eyes for a moment. Of course they had taken his mask. And his costume. Now another group of people knew his 'secret' identity. He sighed, wondering what his next move was.

He looked around him, before spotting a water jug on the table nearby. Realising how thirsty he actually was, he attempted to reach for it.

It was like a movie cliché or something. It was just out of reach. They'd taken his web shooters too, so those were out in retrieving the jug. Peter shifted his position, finally able to grab the jug. Unfortunately, he'd misjudged his strength again, and sent said jug sailing onto the floor.

Peter had a few moments to gaze at the water that was now seeping into the carpet, before he was alerted by movement at the end of the room. He looked up to see Steve Rogers looking down at him.

"I'm sure Mr Stark can afford it," he said eventually.

A/N: Hooray, an update! Although if I'm honest I'm not sure if I like the way this chapter ends, but oh well. It needs to move on a little so ending the chapter is the way I'm going to do it.
Once more, thank you all for the wonderous reviews! I get a little glow inside every time I see one.
Not sure how long it'll be to next update; I have an English essay to write and I was putting it off for this chapter...
Also, to the reviewer who thought to inform me of how to properly spell "Spider-Man", the way I see it, it's my fic and I shall do what I want. Read as: I'm too lazy to include a hyphen every time I write it.