Okay, here it is! It's shorter than I anticipated, so my apologies, but I'm happy with it. No Cap and Ned today, but there will be loads in the next chapter. No, shout-outs today (my brain is absolutely fried and I need to take a writing break) but next chapter I swear I'll shout out everybody I missed.

Thank you for your patience!

Also, just a side note, I almost deleted the entire story instead of just chapter 5. Can you imagine? xD

The hospital wing of the new Avengers building felt somehow both warm and inviting and dungeon-esque at the same time. The walls were thick and heavy, a crisp white color that refracted the light way too much and made Peter's eyes hurt. The air was nice and warm but felt too dry. It smelled far too clean; lemon, bleach, and antiseptic lingered in the air, with an underlying hint of iron that made Peter's stomach roll.

The cots were nice, though. Instead of sterilized white, each was a different color; all pastel but not washed-out. Warm yellows, grassy greens, baby pinks and blue—the colors were familiar and felt comforting. The sheets were made of cotton instead of that weird papery substance one usually finds on the examination table of a doctor's office. Peter was grateful for that small detail; he hated the papery-stuff. Something about the texture of it made him feel dirty and unwelcomed. The soft cotton sheets were both comfortable and comforting. Peter found himself gripping the fabric tightly, bunching it up and balling his fists around it, in an effort to quell the hammering of his heart.

The room the would've-been Avenger was sitting in was (luckily) not any kind of examination room. After a quick examination and an x-ray, Dr. Banner had given the boy some anti-inflammatories to stem the swelling and ease some of the pain, and sent him off to wait. It was a big, open room filled with dozens of cots and curtains drawn between them. Luckily, Peter was the only one in the big empty room. No wounded men and women, no fleeting souls, no blood, no bandages, nothing to remind him of the bounded length of human life.

Peter had been thinking about death a lot in the past twenty minutes since he'd been left on his own. He really couldn't help himself; the thoughts were intrusive. The painkillers, although mild, worked wonders. For the first time since last night, Peter could think clearly. Unfortunately, that meant a bombardment of unwanted thoughts as his tired mind tried to process the previous night's events.

Almost dying can be a surprisingly traumatic event.

Peter wrapped his arms tight around his bare chest (Banner had removed his shirt to get a better look at the wound) and shivered, not so much from the cold, but from the insecure feeling of being out in the open. He felt small and helpless. He felt vulnerable.

He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, ignoring the way his aching body shuddered weakly, and trying to push away those prying existential thoughts. He didn't want to think, thinking was painful. Thinking brought back memories and emotions and made his stomach turn and his heart pound and his vision tunnel and his chest tighten.

Peter grit his teeth in exasperation. The thoughts were relentless. They churned and poured over life and death, over family, over helplessness, over fear, over anger, over the meaning of joy, the meaning of sorrow, over the meaning of life itself.

What if I had died? Where would I go? Would May be okay? Would I see mom and dad? God? Would I just stop existing? What would happen to my family? Would we get to be a family again? Is it painful to die? Would I remember being alive? Would I still feel things or get apathetic? Would May be okay?

He thought of all of the things he'd leave behind if he died. All of the things that happen everyday that would suddenly be gone.

What would it be like to not be here tomorrow?

He thought about what it would be like to never wake up again, to never fall asleep again. He thought about what it would be like to never feel hot or cold, never feel the sting of snow, or the warmth of the sun. He thought about never speaking again, never singing, never feeling the way the air rushed past his vocal cords and tugged on them when sound came out. Never again crying over the death of a T.V. show character. Never laughing so hard his stomach hurt. Never feeling afraid again. Never hanging out with Ned. Never hugging May again. Never getting to tell her how much he loved her.

I don't want to die!

Peter whimpered. It was a tiny, quiet sound, almost inaudible, yet the distress was practically tangible. He wasn't even aware he'd made the sound, it just sort of… happened. He wasn't aware of the way his young frame quivered, the way his face fell and his lips pulled down towards his chin. He wasn't aware of the feeling of tears pricking the backs of his eyes, or the way a lump caught in his throat as his chest and jaw tightened.

But he was very much aware of the sudden panic that flashed through his entire being. He felt how he suddenly couldn't breath. He noticed the way reality suddenly seemed to detach itself, and nothing felt real. (There was a word for that, he remembered. Derealization.)

He was just a kid, after all. He hadn't yet lived long enough to understand the meaning of all these things. Sure, he knew about heaven and hell, and all that stuff. He knew about God. His parents used to read the Bible to him before they passed, and Aunt May kept up the tradition until he grew out of bedtime stories.

But something about staring Death in the face, made him question what he really believed.

This wasn't the first time this had happened, but it made him feel small and afraid. He wanted the feeling to go away. He wanted the feeling to stop.

"Peter, what's wrong? Are you in pain?"

The voice, deep and gentle, cut through Peter's thoughts like a warm knife through butter. His eyes snapped open and found himself face to face with none other than Dr. Jekyll himself—Bruce Banner.

"Doctor Banner!" Peter exclaimed, lurching backwards. "What? No, sorry. I didn't hear you come in!" His heart was hammering again, but in a different way. Banner was his friend. He could trust Banner.

A smile crept onto Peter's face as he reminded himself, for the umpteenth time, Holy crap! I'm friends with Dr. Banner!

"Um… how are the x-ray's looking?" he asked, his eyes glistening like stars. Just like that, all of his fears were gone. After all, somebody else was there with him, to protect him (not that he needed protecting, mind you.)

Peter just didn't like being alone.

"Come with me, and I'll show you," Dr. Banner said.

Peter followed behind like an excited puppy and the doctor lead him into a small, dark room.

"So, we're going to prep you for surgery. Nothing major. Nothing to worry about," Dr. Banner said as he set the x-rays up on the light stand to display them to the young boy.

"Surgery?" Peter echoed. That hadn't been part of the plan.

Banner nodded. "Again, it's nothing major. As you can see here," he gestured to the x-rays. "There was quite a bit of damage done to the bone and surrounding ligaments. It looks like part of your clavicle has a nasty crack in it, so we're going to put a screw in to secure it in place while it heals," he explained. "Now that the swelling's down, we're going to pop the arm back into its socket and get you off to surgery. We should have you home by tonight,"

At the mention of the actual relocation of his shoulder, Peter shuddered. Dislocating the shoulder had been painful enough. He couldn't imagine how agonizing it would be to pop it back into place. "Can't you… y'know… just drug me up for that, too?" he asked with a nervous smile.

Bruce turned away and flipped off the x-ray screen. "Well, that's the plan. We'll get you all hooked up to some painkillers, but I'm afraid it won't be enough to completely knock you out,"

Peter cursed.

Bruce snorted. "I hope you don't talk like that at the dinner table,"

Peter smirked. "Aunt May starts it," he responded cheekily.

Banner shook his head and lead the kid back into the big room with the beds and had him sit down.

Peter gulped. He shuddered again and stared at the ground. He was afraid. Oddly enough, it wasn't Ned or Mr. Stark or even Aunt May that he wanted. He just wanted his mask so he could hide his face. It wasn't the same sort of panic he'd felt in the car, but he was most definitely frightened. He didn't like feeling afraid. It made him feel weak. He felt like he was supposed to be better than that.

After a moment of silence, Bruce asked, very softly, "So… Happy mentioned a panic attack?"

Peter's eyes went wide. "Whaaat? No. C'mon, Banner. Look at me. I'm Spider-Man. I'm practically invincible," he responded coolly, but his heart was racing. All Peter wanted was for his heroes to respect him. He wanted to make them proud. Being weak would only drive them away. He didn't want them to think he was a screw up. Because, honestly, a lot of the time, Peter really, really felt like a screw up. Tony had told him once, after the accident with the Ferry, about the consequences of losing a life. But Tony didn't seem to understand that Peter already had lost a life. Nobody understood. Everybody else, all the other heroes, had successfully been able to protect their families. Everybody else's families were safe. But Peter? Peter was a screw up. Unlike everybody else, Peter had a point to prove. He had a debt to make up for.

Bruce grabbed a needle and a sterilizing agent and, after finding a good vein and cleaning the area, pushed the needle beneath the skin. He inserted a tube into the blood stream, connected to a bag filled with some pretty heavy duty painkillers.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Bruce asked, turning around.

Peter squinted suspiciously, surprised by the sudden change of topics.

"Y'know that egotistical mechanic you idolize?" he asked.

"C'mon, I don't idolize Mr. Stark—er, Tony. He's just… super cool," Peter defended, his face turning redder than a boiled lobster.

"He gets 'em too," Banner said simply, ignoring the floundering, defensive teen.

Peter froze. "Wait… what?"

Bruce shrugged. "Panic attacks. I get them too sometimes, when it gets too loud or there are too many people… but Stark's are definitely worse,"

Peter's eyes were wide as saucers. "But… you guys are Avengers…!"

"Yeah, but we're still human. You'd be surprised about the kind of baggage some of us carry. Nat, Thor, Clint, Wanda, Steve," Peter stiffened at the name. "We've all got our demons," There was a pause for a moment and Banner's lips quirked upwards in a smile. "We're all broken. I think that's the one thing that all of humanity has in common. Everybody's broken,"

Peter rolled this over in his mind for a long time. He curled in on himself, wrapping an arm around his bare torso. He honestly didn't know what to make of this new information. He was really ready to talk about his trauma yet. Besides, what if Banner was lying to him just to weasel information out of him? Peter shifted uncomfortably. Dr. Banner, noticing the boy's discomfort, sighed and spoke up.

"Speaking of broken things, let's get that shoulder back in place, okay? I've put a bucket on your left if you feel like you're going to throw up," he said.

Peter's eyes went wide and he gulped. No, no, no, no, no. Do not want. He tensed. How could he get out of this? He could run. How fast was the Hulk? Would Banner even bother hulking out to chase a kid, or would he just call security? "O-okay," he whispered, his mouth suddenly scratchy like sandpaper, all the while his mind was turning, desperate to come up with an escape plan.

Bruce took ahold of Peter's arm and Peter had to turn his head away. It was the anticipation that was going to kill him, really.

"On three," Bruce said. "One—" POP! With a forceful yank and a hard shove, the arm clicked back into place.

Peter threw his head back violently as a raw scream tore from his throat. He knew it was going to be painful, but he had no idea just how painful. It felt as if molten iron had been poured into his veins. He could feel the white-hot agony spread like lightning all over his body. He couldn't seem to breath. His vision turned blue and the whole world tilted to one side. Distantly, a very odd part flashed to his biology class and he wondered if this is how childbirth felt.

The pain sent him pitching forward and he promptly vomited into the provided bucket before collapsing backwards onto the cot. Dr. Banner caught him and helped him down (not wanting the impact of the fall to injure him further.) The poor boy was panting and trembling, and his already pale skin had lost so much color, it almost looked translucent.

"You did really good, Pete," Dr. Banner said encouragingly. He was grateful Tony hadn't been here to witness the ordeal. He doubted the mechanic could stand to see the kid in such pain.

"What the hell happened to two and three?" Peter demanded in response.

Banner laughed and shrugged. "I decided they were boring,"

"Yeah, well, I think you're boring," Peter grumbled. It was a lousy excuse for a comeback, but it was the best he could manage. His head was swimming from exhaustion, a drugs, and a dull ache that not even narcotics could seem to erase.

Bruce eased him down so he was laying flat on his back. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Floaty," Peter responded. "And you're sure we have to do it?" he asked, too exhausted to keep throwing up his walls. It was getting harder to think. Banner must've increased the dosage.

" 'fraid so, kid," Banner said sympathetically.

Peter closed his eyes and mumbled, "Scared. Never liked the idea of being cut open," He was slurring now.

Banner nodded patiently. "It's okay to be scared, you know. You're not alone,"

Peter snorted. " 's not okay when you're a superhero," he responded softly.

That response made Bruce tilt his head. "What do you mean?"

Peter sighed. "I mean… we gotta be fearless, amiright? Fear 's a… a weakness. 'f our enemies were to see us 'fraid, that'd be real baaaaaaaad,"

Banner couldn't help but to chuckle. This kid still had so much to learn. Not to meantion he was super out of it. "Fear," he said gently, perching next to Peter on the cot. "is more of a superpower than a weakness," Peter snorted in disbelief, so he continued: "No, I mean it. Think about it. The whole purpose of fear is to prepare your body to either fight back or run away. Fear makes you faster, stronger, more clever. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody gets scared. And that's a good thing. It just means that you're alive,"

Peter's eyes flickered open and he watched the doctor for a minute, letting the words sink in. There was a lot to process. But everything felt soft and tingly and floaty and Peter couldn't really think. "Thanks," was all he could manage, but it was all he needed to say.

"No problem," Banner responded.

Peter held his hands up in the air and examined them closely. "Look… fuuuuuzzy…" he whispered and giggled to himself. "Wheeeee….!" he said as he slowly moved his hands though the air.

Bruce shook his head. The kid was gone. He called a nurse to watch him, and left the room to prep the O.R.