Peter doesn't wake up until they're unloading him from the transport helicopter. Later he'll kick himself for sleeping through a helicopter ride, he thinks. It could've been a dream come true if he weren't 1000% sure he's dying.

The blades chop the air into pieces, and even though that noise fills the space around him, he thinks he might hear May crying. Upsetting her feels like he'll never breathe again. He fades in and out while he's wheeled into a sterile white room with sleek machines that he gets hooked up to. He hasn't even been to a hospital since he got his powers and since he was five before that. It would be jarring, if he could keep his eyes open.

He's forced awake for a minute to deal with the slimy knives pushing themselves up his trachea. His stomach recoils at the mental image. May's hand is warm in his.

"Peter," someone says, "my name is Helen Cho. My colleague and I are here to help you."


"Look, I know I owe you big for this one," Tony says.

"You didn't say he was a child," Helen says distractedly. She chews on her bottom lip, and the words come out a bit lopsided. It's not really a response, she knows. "This changes things a bit." She's vaguely aware of Tony saying her name as she stares at the boy through the one way glass.

"Dr. Cho," he calls loudly. She snaps out of her thoughts and whips her head toward him.

"Can you do it?" he asks. She doesn't think she's ever seen him so personally concerned.

She looks back at the boy. "Yes. Get us three nurses and an espresso machine."

He smiles, exhaustion pulling at the corners of his mouth. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"On their way, Boss."