This is one of those 'written in a couple of hours, computer is about to die, unedited, they can't all be winners' chapters. Hope you enjoy anyway!

Field Medicine

Peter wrapped a bandage around her arm, wincing when the blood seeped through the gauze. The cut was deep enough that it probably needed stitches, but they were kind of limited on supplies out here, and he had no idea where the nearest suture kit would be. Mr. Stark sat on the ground beside him, propped up against a tree, eyes closed, and Peter closed his own eyes, listening for a heartbeat. It was there…strong and steady. He was fine. As long as Mr. Stark was fine, he would be too. Tightening the bandage a little, he finished wrapping it, then pulled the sleeve of his hoodie down to try and cover it. Just that movement hurt, but everything hurt, so he figured he should probably get used to it.

It had been Peter's fault. He was sure Mr. Stark would disagree, but it didn't matter. He'd been driving. And although he couldn't remember the accident itself, he knew that it had to have been his fault. Had an animal run out into the road? Had another car been over the line when he'd taken a curve? Had he swerved to avoid something? All he knew was that he'd woken up with the side of his head pressed against the shattered window, shards of glass everywhere, including one sticking out of his arm.

Mr. Stark's body had been slumped forward and for a moment Peter had feared the worst, but when he'd gotten a hand up to press against his throat, he'd felt the heartbeat under his fingers. He was okay. He was alive. So, with that refrain in his head, Peter had forced his own door open, stumbling out of the car on an ankle that felt sprained at the very least, then opened Mr. Stark's door, which had required just as much force. Then he'd undone Mr. Stark's seatbelt, lifting the man carefully out of the car and stumbling as far as he could from the car. It had been hard to walk…harder to see straight, but he'd managed to get at least a hundred feet away before dropping to his knees and easing Mr. Stark to the ground, resting his head against a tree.

Then he'd climbed back to his feet, limping to the car and opening the trunk. He hadn't been able to smell gas, so he assumed the car wouldn't catch fire anytime soon, and had pulled the trunk open, wincing when the motion had pulled at his arm. But in the trunk he'd found the emergency kit that Mr. Stark always kept back there, and thus had been able to wrap his arm. Looking Mr. Stark over, he didn't see any major injuries, and didn't seem to be bleeding, so Peter took stock of the rest of the kit.

Another bandage. Two bottles of water. A blanket. Flares. A knife. Two protein bars. A basic first aid kit. Not a lot, but it would be enough. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cellphone, but he didn't have service, which told him that Mr. Stark probably didn't either. "Great," he muttered pocketing the phone again, winching at his own cracked screen. Mr. Stark had just gotten him that phone for his birthday.

They'd been on their way to the Compound, so it wasn't like they were in the absolute middle of nowhere, but they were in the middle of upstate New York, at least ten miles from the Compound. Mr. Stark had asked if he wanted to drive since they'd gotten out of New York City traffic, and after a moment of hesitation, Peter had agreed. He'd just gotten his permit, and he knew that Mr. Stark was trying to help him get over his trepidation when it came to driving.

"What if I scratch it?" he'd asked, hesitating outside the driver's side door. Mr. Stark had gone quiet, eyes far away for a second, but then he'd given Peter a wry smile.

"I think I can afford to get it fixed, Pete."

Peter had rolled his eyes. "What if I get in a wreck?"

"Same answer."

"What if I get us both killed?"

"Then we'll both be dead and the car won't matter," Mr. Stark had told him with a shrug, climbing into the passenger's seat, and with a sigh, Peter had followed suit. Now Peter stared at the car and sighed. He'd certainly done more than scratch it, and just because it wasn't leaking gas just yet didn't mean it could be fixed. The entire driver's side had been caved in from where they'd hit a tree, and the front of the car looked more like an accordion than a car hood.

He'd just have to hope this hadn't been one of Mr. Stark's favorites.

His backpack was in the back seat, and it contained his suit along with three of his text books, so, not wanting to risk losing those, Peter forced himself to his feet, feeling oddly tired as he stumbled back over to the car, grabbing the backpack and looking around to see if he could find anything else that might be helpful. No luck. They weren't supposed to arrive at the Compound for a while, so he doubted anyone would even come looking for them until after dark, and he was already cold.

It had been nearly a year since his Homecoming dance. Mr. Stark was finally starting to feel like more of a mentor than a stranger that tolerated him. And he'd destroyed the man's car. Not that he actually thought the man would be angry about that, but still…it was a shitty feeling on top of already feeling pretty shitty. Why did he feel so shitty? He brought a hand to his head and flinched when it came away wet.

Right.

Peter dropped onto the ground next to Mr. Stark again, covering him with the blanket and shivering in his hoodie. What should he do? He could go to the road and wait for a kind person to drive by and offer to help? Or he could pick Mr. Stark up and start walking towards the Compound. Or he could wait until Mr. Stark woke up and see what he thought. All seemed like bad options, but Peter felt like he couldn't quite think…

The next thing he knew, someone was shaking his shoulder and he jerked awake, gasping and looking around until he saw Mr. Stark, sitting right in front of him and shaking his arm. "Pete? Hey…kiddo?"

Peter blinked at him, trying to remember why they were on the ground before it came to him. "Mr. Stark? You okay?"

"Yeah, buddy, I'm fine."

"I'm sorry…Mr. Stark, I'm…"

The man held up a hand. "Don't be sorry, Pete. You're okay."

"I wrecked the car."

"Hey, we're okay. That's all that matters."

"I don't know what happened."

Mr. Stark hesitated at that, dropping a hand on his shoulder, then frowning down at something. "Woah…hey…" he murmured, pulling Peter's sleeve up, and when Peter followed his eyes, he saw that his sleeve was bright red. "Jeez , kiddo. Something got you good."

Peter nodded. "The glass from the window…I'm okay."

"You're still bleeding," he muttered, shaking his head. "How long have we been out here?"

"Uh…I don't know…" he murmured, and Mr. Stark grimaced when he looked at the bandage. It was soaked. "I was…um…I checked my phone but we don't have service."

Mr. Stark nodded, wiping a hand over his face. His temple was bleeding but not bad enough for Peter to worry too much.

"Mr. Stark? Do you remember what happened?"

He looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "There was another driver…on the wrong side of the road. You tried to swerve. I can't remember anything after that."

"I didn't see…" Peter looked around, but he hadn't really looked past their car, or the seemingly deserted road. He still didn't see anyone…couldn't remember an impact. "Do you think they're still here somewhere? Could they be hurt?"

"One thing at a time, Pete. You eat this," he urged, and Peter took the protein bar, practically swallowing it whole as they each drained a water bottle, Mr. Stark using a little of his own to wash out the gash on Peter's arm before wrapping it in a new bandage. Peter managed to show restraint and eat the third protein bar in three bites, and Mr. Stark stood, holding a hand out that Peter took, his eyes zeroing in on his sprained ankle as he stumbled a little. "Pete?"

"I'm fine. Just twisted it." The man gave him an unimpressed look and Peter held up his hands. "We should look right? They can't be far if they crashed. You don't think they'd…like…drive off, right?"

"I don't know," Mr. Stark admitted, gripping his good shoulder and wiping a hand over his temple, wincing a little when his fingers brushed over the cut there. "Okay…we don't want to be out here after dark. It's going to get cold, and I don't know if you remember this, but you don't do too well in the cold. The last thing we need is a hibernating spider."

The other guy hadn't driven away. They found his car not five minutes later, Mr. Stark holding a hand out and stopping him from approaching. "Let me check first, okay?"

"But…"

"Pete," Mr. Stark said softly, and Peter bit his lip. "Hey…it wasn't your fault. He was on the wrong side of the road. If he's hurt, we'll get him help, okay?"

Peter didn't ask what they would do if he wasn't okay…just nodded, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to his good leg. Mr. Stark was only by the car for a few seconds before he was making his way back to Peter, and he swallowed hard, looking away, eyes burning. Mr. Stark rested his hands on Peter's shoulders, squeezing gently, then, in a movement that surprised him, pulled him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. It's not your fault," he murmured, patting him gently on the back, and Peter closed his eyes as tight as he could, trying to stop the tears that wanted to come. "He had a bottle of whiskey in the front seat. He was probably drunk. This wasn't your fault."

Peter wanted to believe him. But…he had enhanced senses! Why hadn't he been able to see it! Why hadn't he…

"Peter," he said softly, pulling away and looking him in the eye. "Hey…look at me. This wasn't your fault. I promise."

"I should have known something was wrong."

"You can't know everything Peter." He squeezed his shoulders, being gentle, then glancing at the place on his sleeve that was soaked in blood. "Okay…we're going to start walking. Hopefully a car will come. Eventually we'll get service. You okay to walk?"

Peter nodded, then, to his surprise, Mr. Stark wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him away from the car.

It had been a year since the Vulture. Ten months since Mr. Stark had started having him to the Compound on a regular basis for his internship. Six months since Mr. Stark had started picking him up on Fridays after school to drive him to the Compound himself. The first time he'd done it, he'd told Peter that he'd had a meeting in the city. The next time, he'd taken Peter to dinner, telling him that they hadn't done any grocery shopping yet that week. And after that…after that, he hadn't bothered giving any more excuses, and Peter hadn't asked for any, but every other Friday, he'd looked forward to seeing Mr. Stark in his various cars waiting outside of the school.

Sometimes they would get dinner. Sometimes they would get ice cream. Sometimes they'd head straight for the Compound and get started in the lab before making dinner. Mr. Stark had made a baked ziti the first time, glancing at Peter for a moment before asking if he wanted to help.

"I, uh…I can't really cook," he'd admitted, embarrassed, and Mr. Stark had smiled at him, gesturing with his chin for Peter to join him.

"Well, we'd better fix that."

Peter didn't know what he'd done to deserve this…how he'd managed to impress Mr. Stark…how he'd gotten lucky enough to get the great Tony Stark as a mentor. Only he didn't really think of him as the 'great Tony Stark' anymore…he wasn't like the guy on the TV he'd grown up watching. He wasn't like the Tony Stark who smiled for the paparazzi or stood in front of thousands of people and gave amazing speeches that Peter had watched over and over again on Youtube, practically memorizing them.

No…this was Mr. Stark. And Mr. Stark was something else…someone else. He was quieter. Softer. Nicer. He was always patient with Peter when he was showing him how to do something in the lab and when he was showing him how to cook or letting him practice his driving.

And Peter had wrecked his car.

And someone was dead.

Mr. Stark pulled him gently to his side and Peter wiped his face, realizing belatedly that he was crying. "I'm sorry, Pete," he murmured, squeezing him in a hug. "It wasn't your fault…but I'm so sorry, kiddo." He sighed, shaking his head. "How's your ankle?"

"Fine," he lied. It throbbed with every step…but what did that matter when someone was dead? "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, kiddo. You took the brunt of it."

"Good."

The man gave him a look, shaking his head a little and sighing. Other than the chirping of birds and the wind in the trees, all Peter could hear were their footsteps on the asphalt, Mr. Stark's steady, his limping.

"You know," Mr. Stark started, his voice soft. "When I was…fifteen or sixteen…" He waved a hand like he was brushing away the particulars. "I wrecked my dad's car. I'd basically stolen it. He'd never report me, of course…sent me to boarding school pretty soon after. He, uh…he preferred to take care of it himself."

Peter glanced at him, and Mr. Stark met his eyes and gave him a sad smile.

"I was drunk. No one died, but a man ended up in the hospital for a few weeks. My dad paid him…made sure it all stayed very hush hush. But…" He shook his head. "It was my fault. I know that. But this was not your fault. You were careful. You were paying attention. And that man was drinking. He came around a curve on the wrong side of the road and you tried to swerve but you couldn't get out of the way in time. That was not your fault, buddy." He hesitated. "And I…I don't care about the car, Pete. Even if it was the only one I had. Even if I couldn't afford to replace it. I still wouldn't care. I'm just glad that you're okay."

Peter nodded, closing his eyes tightly and trying not to cry because he was supposed to be Spider-Man…a superhero. But someone was dead and it might not be his fault but he still felt like it was.

"We'll find out who he was. We can call for help as soon as we have service and…and we'll find his family. I'll make sure they're taken care of."

"Thank you," Peter murmured, and Mr. Stark patted him on the back.

"Of course, kiddo."

Peter made it ten more minutes before the throbbing got too bad, and even then, he tried to keep walking. Someone was dead. They had to get back to the Compound. But when they'd been walking for ten minutes, four of which had been in an agony that Peter had been forced to bit his tongue for to keep from making any noise, his leg gave out, and Mr. Stark nearly fell trying to keep him from crashing to his knees.

"Peter?"

"I'm okay…"

"Yeah, okay…let's sit…okay? Let's get out of the street." He half-carried Peter into the grass, easing him to the ground, and Peter gasped, head thrown back when he moved his ankle. "I'm going to take a look. Let me get your shoe off and I'll see what we're looking at."

"We don't have any more bandages," Peter bit out, gritting his teeth.

"I know…we'll figure it out, okay? Hey, maybe you can swing the rest of the way. We'll get your suit out. Think you've got enough web-fluid?" he asked, voice forcibly light as he untied Peter's sneaker, then eased it off.

"Think you'll have to amputate?" Peter tried to joke, and Mr. Stark gave a weak chuckle.

"I think we could use a doctor. It's pretty swollen…"

"Aren't you a doctor?"

He shook his head. "I'm no help unless you're a robot, Pete." He sighed, looking around, and Peter had to bite back the urge to apologize again. "Alright. Plan B."

"What's plan B?"

"Not sure yet…I'm working on it. How are you feeling, other than the ankle? How's your arm?"

"I think it's okay."

"Alright. Well…" He sighed. "You need to stay off the ankle. I'm not leaving you here on your own."

"I'll be fine."

"No way, Pete. Your luck, a bear would come by and eat you before I got back."

"I don't think we have bears in New York."

He rubbed his shoulder, looking around and grimacing. "Plan B, Pete. We wait. A car has to come by sometime." He dropped onto the ground beside him, the two of them sitting against a tree, and Peter got his arms out from the straps of his backpack. Mr. Stark helped him pull it off, unzipping the bag and pulled out the blanket, wrapping it around Peter who wished he hadn't eaten both of the protein bars already.

"What if it doesn't?"

"Pretty soon, Pepper's going to send out the calvary and before you know it, we're going to be in the kitchen eating dinner. What do you want to eat?"

Peter closed his eyes, resting his aching head against the tree. He wasn't sure when the headache had gotten so bad, but it was getting worse every second and he didn't even want to eat. He just wanted to lay down in his bedroom at the Compound which he hadn't even known about until that first night that Mr. Stark had asked him to stay after his internship had gone late. It was a pretty basic room…but it was his. It was his bedroom in the Avengers Compound and when he closed the curtains at night, it was so dark and so quiet and that was all he wanted. A comfortable bed in a dark, quiet room.

"Peter?" Mr. Stark's voice had gotten kind of sharp and he opened his eyes, blinking at him in surprise, but he didn't look angry. He looked worried. "Pete? You with me?"

"Yeah…yeah, I'm just…I'm tired."

"I know…how's your head?"

"It hurts," he admitted.

"You hit it pretty hard. You feel sick?"

"Just tired."

"Okay," he murmured, sighing softly. "This is the last time I come and get you without my suit. Hell, kid, from now on, I'll just come in the armor."

"It would take less time," he murmured, nodding in agreement. "Plus Flash might die of shock."

"Or maybe I'll buy something in the city," Mr. Stark went on.

"What?"

"A lab. That way it wouldn't be so far for you to go."

"I like the Compound," Peter protested.

"Yeah? I do too," he told him, patting his shoulder. "It's nice and quiet out there. I keep promising Pep that I'll build her a lakehouse away from the city. Maybe we'll have a farm. Get some chickens."

"Chickens?" Peter asked, closing his eyes as his head fell to Mr. Stark's shoulder. The man tucked the blanket around him, holding him close to his side.

"Yeah, I thought I might try it."

"Where do you even get chickens?"

"No idea. Amazon?"

Peter laughed and for just a second, as Mr. Stark held him close, it was almost like his uncle was there. "What about cows?"

"Too big."

"Horses?"

"Way too big. Besides, I had to take horseback riding lessons as a kid and I hold a grudge."

"Pigs?"

"Maybe…"

"They're really clean, you know?"

"Really?" he asked, indulgent.

"How about alpacas?"

He snorted, patting Peter on the shoulder. "Yeah, alright kiddo. Alpacas it is. I'll retire to the countryside and become an alpaca farmer."

Peter was asleep by the time Happy finally found them, and he only woke briefly when Mr. Stark lifted him into his arms, keeping the blanket wrapped around him. Only it didn't feel like Mr. Stark. It felt like his uncle, carrying him to bed after a long, hard day. "'M cold, Uncle Ben," he murmured, half in a dream and half awake, and it was silent in the car for a second before a jacket was wrapped around him.

"We'll get you warmed up, buddy. Just rest. We've got a doctor at the Compound ready to look you over."

The voice wasn't his uncle's, but the arm around him felt like it was, so he just nodded and rested his head on the man's shoulder. He knew that something was wrong…something terrible had happened. But all he could do for the moment was sleep.