The long-awaited Spideynova fic! I have been working on this baby for the past 2 ¾ months and I'm so excited to start posting it!

This is for Jas (because she is amazing) and Houston who is the personification of the Spideynova brainrot. You're both amazing and I hope you enjoy this nugget of Spideynova fluff and angst I've prepared for you!

Their landing isn't soft, even with a thick pile of snow to cushion the fall.

At first, Sam's arms are curled around him, and he'd angled himself so he was taking the brunt of the hit as they collided with trees on their way down, and while Peter appreciated how thoughtful his boyfriend was, they were still wrenched apart after hitting a particularly large tree and went ricocheting in opposite directions. Peter watched Sam's blue glow disappear among the forest and snow, and seconds later branches snapped and whipped around him, he narrowly missed a tree trunk, and he slammed into the ground. Hard.

The impact knocked him out for a few minutes, but when he came to he didn't know where he was. He was looking skyward, at the flakes of snow floating through the treetops as they melted onto his suit and froze the skin beneath. Earlier, when the fight against aliens initially broke out, the cold temperature had been soothing against his hot, adrenaline-fueled body, but now he was beginning to cool down and the sting of snow and wind made his limbs feel thick and numb. He sat up slowly, head pounding where it smacked the ground, or at least he tried to. When applied with pressure, his right arm erupted in pain and Peter yelped, collapsing and cradling it close to his chest. The wrist dangled at an unnatural angle and the skin was already bruised from taking the brunt of his fall.

He hissed, sharp and under the breath, but didn't attempt to sit up again. Every inch of him ached. Branches had torn into his suit on the way down and he could feel warm blood trickling from the cuts they left behind. One particular branch had got him across the face and sliced his cheek, his fingers danced along the bleeding gash with another hiss. He took stock of the rest of his injuries.

Possible concussion. Bruises and cuts everywhere. Broken wrist. Left leg ached, but his right ankle pulsed with red hot pain from getting snagged by an upturned root as he'd rolled across the forest floor. Sprained, Peter guessed.

Not a good landing, and certainly not the best he's ever experienced, but he's lived through worse.

The longer Peter lay there the more snow came down and it was only getting thicker with each passing minute. He needed to get up and move, the storm coming was supposed to be a doozy. The whole city had been issued a blizzard warning and the streets were closed off early to avoid any problems or health risks. Peter didn't know how far off he and Sam shot, or if they were even close to New York City anymore, but he wondered if the storm would still hit them with such force.

Thankfully, his decision to get a move on was made for him in the form of one Sam Alexander. Peter heard him before he saw him, a far-off voice shouting, "Spidey? Spidey?"

Peter lifted his head, yelling "OVER HERE!" as loudly as his bruised ribs allowed.

Sam came limping into view. He turned off the nova force, so it was just the black sheen of his helmet and his suit against the pale white of the snow.

Peter could've sworn it was still afternoon, but night would fall soon judging by how dark it already was. Time flew by in the heat of battle, and with aliens screaming at you in one ear and Fury giving you orders in the other, it was hard to keep track of silly things, like the position of the sun.

He put more effort into sitting up as Sam hobbled and kneeled next to him, grunting as he did.

"You okay?" he said, and Peter couldn't see the concerned upturn of his eyes, but his lips did a cute little frown and he smiled despite himself, wrapping his good hand around Sam's fingers, where he'd been tracing the cut through his mask.

"I'll live," he said, "Are you okay?"

Sam shrugged, "Nothing the nova force can't heal."

That wasn't an answer. Peter frowned, pursing his lips, "Sam, we talked about this, you said you'd stop hiding your injuries. What happened?"

"That's rich coming from you, Mr. No-Self-Preservation," Sam huffed, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"You first."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Some scratches and cuts, a little bruising, a branch snagged my shoulder," he nodded to his left where the suit already mended itself, but Peter wondered if the area was still tender, "Think I broke my ankle, but the nova force already took care of that…mostly. It's mostly healed. Either way, the suit took the brunt of the hit. Now, what about you?"

Peter sighed and gave his body a mental once-over again. It hurt. He winced, head smarting with pain as his body shouted their ailments all at once, "Broken wrist," he mumbled, "some scratches, some bruises, probable concussion, a few," he grimaced as he took a breath, "A few cracked ribs. And I think I twisted my ankle."

Sam's concerned frown deepened, and Peter skid his fingers over the bare areas of his chin where the helmet didn't cover it, smiling wryly, "Not that look. I'll be alright, I've come back from worse."

Sam's frown didn't lighten or indulge him, "I think you do have a concussion," he said around Peter's fingers, which were tracing his lips, and pried them away. "Do you think you can hold out long enough for me to fly us back?"

Peter grimaced at the thought. His cracked ribs would NOT like a bumpy space ride with Nova, as much as he usually did. Neither would any part of his body really. "Maybe," he said anyway and tried sitting up again, murmuring a quiet thanks as Sam helped him. "Can you make it through this storm though? Aren't you still healing?"

Sam shrugged again, "I'll be fine. It's nothing I haven't come back from," he winked. Peter couldn't see his eyes, but he knew he winked. "With the helmet, I think I can navigate us out of here. Might be a little harder with all this snow, but it's got me through a lot worse."

Peter looked around as if remembering where they were and shivered violently as a gust of cold air swept over them. He nearly bent double in the act and groaned. That hadn't felt good on any part of him either.

On cue, Sam was hovering over him, hands out but at a loss, like he wasn't sure how to help. Peter appreciated the thought and it was cute, and when he unwound himself he pressed a soft kiss to Sam's chin to let him know that he didn't need to worry. He was aiming for his lips, but his depth perception was off (yes to the concussion then), and the funky red star on Sam's helmet made the angle all weird. Sam pushed his face away, but a smile was tugging on his lips.

"Stop it, Romeo. If you focus some of that energy on getting better we could get home sooner."

"Sir, yes sir. Help me up?"

Sam took on Peter's weight as he got to his feet, grunting and hissing under his breath all the while. Peter's ankle was definitely sprained, and putting the barest amount of weight on it made pain scratch all the way up his leg.

"Yep, can't walk on that," he announced with a grimace and Sam automatically adjusted his position, so he was taking on more of Peter's weight. Peter was taller than him by a good few inches, but Sam wasn't all skin and bones and could take his weight for a while – still, Peter felt guilty for having to rely on him just for standing upright.

"Don't," Sam said, and Peter tilted his head.

"What?"

"Whatever it is your thinking, don't. I know that look. That's your guilty-Parker-complex look."

"I do not have a guilty-complex look."

"Yes, you do. Your jaw gets really tight and your eyebrows scrunch up, and you get this look in your eye like you're sad and annoyed at the same time. We all know it, Webs."

Peter looked down, bothered at the revelation that he had a guilty-complex-look.

"Besides," Sam muttered, "I'm the one who should be guilty."

Peter squinted at Sam, whose shoulders were in danger of dropping and whose eyes didn't seem as keen on meeting his anymore. Peter was holding his broken wrist with his good hand, pressed up against his chest, so he nudged Sam with his head and shoulder. "What in this wide, crazy world are you talking about?"

Sam's look turned annoyed, which he directed at Peter, "Don't patronize me, Pete. This is my fault. We wouldn't be out here, you wouldn't be hurt, if Titus wasn't tracking me right now. I'm," he looked away, exasperation crumbling, "I'm sorry I got you into this mess."

This time, Peter did feel a sliver of guilt, but for different reasons.

Back when they were both younger, rasher, and stupider, he'd gotten on Sam's case a lot, especially when the Guardians came around to wreak havoc for the first time. He'd ragged on Sam then for getting him into messes, even though he knew, full-well, he'd gotten into it himself. It hurt to think Sam was still bottling that in him, even though they were both in their 20's now and have been dating for the last year and a half.

"Hey," he shuffled closer and when Sam wouldn't look at him, Peter let go of his broken wrist to gently tilt Sam's face towards him, "Hey, Sam, look at me. None of this is your fault, alright. Titus is the one chasing you around and you didn't ask for that. You didn't bring me into this mess, I saw some douchebag Furby alien trying to hurt my boyfriend and I decided to step in myself. Who's the reason we made it out of there before Titus could blow us up with his freaky alien space lasers?"

"Well, much good I did," Sam snapped, eyebrows knitting in frustration, "Look at you, Peter. You can barely walk, your wrist is broken, you're all torn up and – and you're hurt. My suit fixes itself, yours doesn't. The helmet heals me, your mask is in shreds. Do you even know what you look like right now?"

"Can't be much worse than I usually do," Peter quipped despite himself, and the look Sam gave him could've punched-out Titus if only the alien had been standing in front of him.

"Not. Funny."

Peter sighed, "Look, Sam, I've walked out of way worse, and I've come back from more than a broken wrist and a conked noggin. Without you, I'd be in way worse shape. Hell, I'd probably be nothing but ash or laser-goo if you hadn't blown the ship when you did. Titus had me pinned and you did what you had to do. None of this is your fault, you're just being the hero I know you are. Alright? And – " Peter faltered here, "and I'm sorry if I've…made you feel like this is all your fault. I know before, in the past, I wasn't exactly -…I wasn't very- "

It was Sam's turn to shush him, and he did it with a quick peck on the lips. A sure-fire way to get any Parker to shut up. "We were just kids, Peter," he said, "Back then, we were both rubbing each other the wrong way and constantly getting on each other's nerves. Who knows how many times I've told you your leadership was terrible or called you out even though I knew you were trying? We both weren't exactly…I don't know, at our best? It's okay."

"Still…I'm sorry."

Sam smiled softly, his thumb rubbing Peter's hand where it was still holding his face. "Me too."

"You're forgiven."

"So are you."

They both smiled, but the moment was interrupted by another baleful gust of wind that threatened to knock them off their feet. The body movement put a strangled noise in Peter's throat and if not for his cracked ribs, he would've bent double again. Sam caught him and readjusted their positions.

"We need to get out of this storm," he said, bouncing worried glances between Peter and the falling snow, which was steadily getting thicker. Any more and they won't be able to see through it. "I'm…I'm not sure I can fly you out of here without making you worse."

"It's okay," Peter wheezed, "I'll be fine."

He wouldn't though. Sam pursed his lips, looking around again. He activated his helmet, using its sensors to look through the snow for anything that could help. The Nova helmets were truly a force to be reckoned with and had powers people could only dream of, but much like any other sensors, all this snow made it hard to pick things out. If it were rain it would be easier, but the snow was thicker and covered everything in layers. Still, the helmet pulled through easily enough, and off in the distance, Sam caught readings of a shack or cabin.

"Over there," he pointed his head in the direction, "There's a cabin over there. We can hole up inside until the storm passes."

"Sam, really, you can fly us out of here," Peter insisted, taking a step forward, and nearly falling again if Sam weren't there to catch him.

"No," Sam insisted right back, "If I want to fly us out of here, then I need to go fast if I'm going to bypass Titus and his ships, and I can't go that fast while holding you – and before you tell me to leave you here and go myself, like a flarking idiot, I'm saying that leaving you behind in THIS weather and in your condition is not an option."

Peter was quiet for a tantalizing few seconds. Then, "I love it when you curse at me in alien."

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, "You really do have a concussion."

"Maybe a liiiittle one."

"Come on, let's get you out of this storm."

"Correction: Let's get us both out of this storm."

Every chapter is already written and basically edited. The rest of the fic will be coming out periodically over the next few days. Hope you enjoyed!