I'm fairly certain I got a prompt a while back for head injury!Peter-I can't find it, but I threw this together just in case. Enjoy!

Getting to chat with the actual War Machine had to deserve a spot on his bucket list, Clint thought as he popped another chip into his mouth. And now, he gets to cross it off.

He and Rhodey were the only other occupants in the Tower that night, aside from Vision, who was lurking God-knows-where. Probably chatting with FRIDAY-those two were practically made for each other, if you ignored the whole "Vis-is-the-voice-of-FRIDAYS'-tech's-predecessor" thing.

Rhodey was in the middle of a story about his days at MIT that would make excellent blackmail for Tony under the right circumstances.

"No!" Clint dragged another chip through a jar of salsa and suppressed a laugh. "Fifteen of them?"

But Rhodey's eyes were fixed on something over his shoulder. Clint turned.

A very battered, weary Spiderman was tumbling through the window. He landed on the floor with a thud and glanced around the room.

"Oh-hey, guys."

Rhodey was on his feet in an instant. "You couldn't use the elevator?" he sighed, helping Peter up.

"I like showing off."

"Sure you do." Up close, Clint could see the scattered array of nasty-looking rips and burns in the suit. He didn't want to think about what the skin underneath looked like. He wouldn't have to, either-Peter, done with lingering, brushed himself off and started stumbling past them. That alone was probably a sign to stop him.

"Hey," Clint said, settling a hand on his shoulder. "Rough patrol?"

"Y'have no idea."

"Yeah? What happened?"

A pause. Then, "Huh?"

Clint frowned. "Injury report. What hurts?"

"Oh." The lenses of Peter's suit blinked. "Uh…"

"Med-bay," Rhodey decided, slinging an arm around Peter's shoulders to support him. "Come on, let's see for ourselves." Clint called the elevator, snacks and stories already forgotten.

As soon as they entered the gleaming white space, Peter groaned and collapsed onto a gurney before burying his face in his hands.

"Peter?" Clint stepped closer. "Hey, mask off, Spidey. Lemme see those peepers."

Peter reached up and pulled the mask off. Clint saw Rhodey wince in sympathy out of the corner of his eye, and for good reason. The kid's face looked like it had been used as practice for a battering ram, bruises mottling over his pale skin as blood dribbled from his lip.

Rhodey whistled lowly, and Clint grimaced. "Geez, kid. What'd you do, walk into a truck?"

"Pretty much." Peter rasped. "Or got, you know. Thrown into one."

Clint swore. "You're a regular daredevil, aren't you?"

"'S not like I did it on purpose," Peter said, and Clint and Rhodey exchanged a glance at the way his words were beginning to slur. "Tha's M'rdock's job." He swayed suddenly, body tilting to the side as his eyes rolled back.

"Shit-" Clint lunged forward and caught him. "Peter!"

Peter responded by slumping bonelessly into his chest.

"Whoa," Clint exclaimed, readjusting Peter's weight and shuffling so he was resting against his shoulder, one hand cupping his neck. "Hey, don't go night-night on me, nuh-uh."

"Did you hit your head?" Rhodey asked, stepping forward. Clint felt along the back of his head for knots. "Peter?" Rhodey asked again. "Focus on me, okay? Did you get any head injuries?"

"Hgnnhh…"

Clint tipped Peter's head back into the light. His pupils were blown wide, and he blinked owlishly at Clint with drooping lids, then hissed in pain as Clint's hand prodded the head wound.

"Oh boy," Clint muttered. Rhodey produced a flashlight from somewhere and shone it in his eyes.

"Sure looks like it," he said. "Here, lay him down."

"How bad is it?"

"Dunno. Not great."

"Ask his A.I.," Clint said, in a stroke of apparent genius. "Or-" he glanced up at the ceiling. "-FRIDAY?"

"Mister Parker has a moderate concussion. Recommended treatment standard with normal procedure."

"I can work with that." Rhodey crossed the medbay to the freezer. "Keep him awake, I'll start cleaning him up." He returned with an ice pack wrapped in a towel. "Here." Clint held the pack to the swelling on Peter's head as Rhodey bustled around, gathering various equipment onto a cart. "Did KAREN call Tony?"

"She did. ETA thirty minutes."

That got Peter to stir. "Nn…T'ny..."

Clint ran a gentle hand through his hair. "What's that, bud?"

"T'ny….sh...shouldn't-has a con'frence…" he slurred.

"A conference?"

Peter tried to nod, then winced. "Mm-hm. Important."

"Not as important as you, buddy."

Peter did not look at all satisfied with this, but he also looked too tired to keep arguing. Rhodey returned with a rolling cart in tow and started tearing open packages of antiseptic wipes and bandages. Peter wrinkled his nose at the sharp smell but let Rhodey remove the top half of his suit and start disinfecting the cuts and scrapes littering the rest of his upper body.

"As long as you can stay awake for a bit, you should be just fine," he said, moving on to Peter's face. "So eyes open, okay?" Peter grumbled something incoherent. "Yeah, I know, but that's the rule."

"Did I ever tell you about my mission in Croatia?" Clint cut in, without thinking. Peter shook his head ever so slightly, so he continued. "It was one of my first ones, just me and this other guy they'd paired me up with that I'd only met the week before, Anderson-something. We were supposed to secure a briefcase of documents stolen from SHIELD decades prior; apparently they'd gotten intel that they'd been found out there. We would intercept the exchange at a bar in Rijeka. It seemed a little too James Bond-y at the time, but I guess we didn't question it. If I'm being honest," he said, with a huff of laughter, "I think we were too stuck on the cool factor to care.

"So we get in there, right, and we see our set of targets in the back corner. And something starts feeling off to me, I dunno what, but I just turn to Anderson like, 'This seems too easy,' and he goes, 'Nah, dude, just get the job done.' So we do-grabbed the briefcase and booked it outta there like our asses were on fire."

Peter laughed softly as Rhodey dabbed at a cut near his eye. "Then wha'?"

"Got back to the motel. Opened the case." Clint paused for dramatic effect. "It was full of absolutely nothing."

"N'thing?"

"Empty air," Clint confirmed, shaking his head. Rhodey sat back and pulled off his gloves.

"Alright, bud. How about we get some painkillers into you?"

"Is that safe?" Clint asked. "I mean, with his head."

"He should be good. Right, FRI?" Rhodey said, already prepping an IV.

"Correct, Colonel."

"Right. Here we go." He slid the needle into the crook of Peter's exposed arm and started a line. As Peter's eyes slipped closed, he turned to Clint. "What happened to the real documents?"

"On a hard drive in some HYDRA base," Clint sighed. "Coulson didn't know, but I guess since SHIELD turned out to be HYDRA anyways, his superiors weren't all that disappointed."

Rhodey hummed unhappily, but Clint shrugged. ""S alright. The whole thing took my ego down a couple notches, really, so it probably served a purpose." That got Rhodey to laugh, though Clint could see he was physically holding back a remark along the lines of "A couple of notches, huh? I'll bet no one can tell the difference."

Instead, Rhodey pulled out his now buzzing phone and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Tony's calling. I'll be right back." He stepped out the automatic sliding glass doors. "Hey, Tones. Yes, he's fine. No, not-yeah, stumbled in here like a drunk sheep…"

Clint ruffled Peter's hair with a fond smile. "How about that? Should I add "alcoholic mutton" to your nicknames?"

Peter snored.

Tony arrived not long after, striding into the medbay with eyes that instantly found Peter, who was just starting to come out of his painkiller-induced blur.

"Hey, kid," he said, pulling up a chair beside Clint. "You with us?"

"T'ny?"

"That's my name."

Peter fumbled for Tony's hand and squeezed. Tony squeezed back. "Welcome back to the land of the living. Drugs working?"

"Mmph."

Tony laughed lightly. "That's a yes, then. Did these two losers take care of you all right?"

"Yeh."

"'Course we did," Clint cut in. "Can't have Iron Man on our case."

Rhodey leaned against the wall across from them. "I dunno, Clint, I heard he's getting old. He's probably started creaking in the joints when he goes up stairs."

"I confide in you about my age one time!" Tony cried, emitting a startled giggle out of Peter. Tony rounded on him in feux anger. "You too? Blasphemy. Disrespect."

"Rhod'y said it, n' me."

Clint smiled as Tony gasped and banter flew back and forth overhead. Getting to talk with War Machine was great, but heckling Tony with him was going to be much, much better.

In all fairness, I have no idea if this is the right way to treat a decent concussion, but I'll blame any inaccuracies on Peter's enhancements. Thank you for reading, and please drop in a review! They always make my day. :)