A/N: I hope you all enjoy this update! I know it's been a while, but this is the longest chapter so far by a wide margin, so hopefully that makes up for it a bit!
"Dude," Ned said. "I think this is the coolest thing we've ever done."
Peter was inclined to agree. This was a whole new level of awesome.
"Now I'm not just your guy in the chair, I'm your… eyes in the sky? Eyes in the back of your head?"
"I think you're just more eyes. Like, my second pair of eyes – no, wait, third! Sorry, Karen."
"It's no problem, Peter," his AI said pleasantly.
Suddenly, Peter heard a deafening, loud crunching sound, one that startled him so badly he flew to his feet. Realizing there was no danger, he sighed. "Ned!"
"What?" his friend responded, his voice muffled this time.
"You have to mute if you're going to eat popcorn. Or just, don't eat popcorn. I can hear you chewing in the deepest, darkest depths of my soul."
"Oh, shit, sorry," Ned said through the food in his mouth. Then, there was silence.
Why did I agree to this? Peter walked to the other end of the roof and began searching the ground.
Ned had had the idea last week, and Peter had emphatically agreed. He wanted to know what it was like to be Spider-Man, to come along just like Karen did. So, Peter turned the suit over to him and let him play around with the tech. He'd managed, with Karen's help, to connect the helmet camera and microphone to his computer, and share the speakers Karen used to talk to Peter. So he was basically Karen 2. He could see everything Peter could see, everything Peter could hear. It was like he was playing a video game and Peter was the character.
"Dude. Shoot a web."
"Why?"
"I want to pretend like I'm controlling you."
Peter rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Okay, I'll do it once. Ready? One, two, three!" Peter shot a web at a nearby building, just as he heard the quiet sound of Ned pressing a random key on his keyboard. He jumped off the building and started a swing.
And Ned screamed. Peter shot a web back to his original roof, let go of the first one, and scrambled back to where he was. "What? What?"
"I didn't expect you to just swing like that!"
Peter didn't respond.
"What do you want me to say? It was scary! You can't just do that!"
"Ned, you're not even here!"
"Well, yeah, but my screen is like, super high-res, dude."
"Oh my god." He continued to scan the ground. "Karen, do you see anything?"
"No, Peter. May I suggest finding a different building?"
"Yeah, good idea. Ned, I'm going to swing now. Are you ready?"
"Mm-hmm."
So, Peter jumped off the building for the second time, shooting his webs from one roof to another. Ned gasped once when he waited an exceptionally long time between detaching from one web and sending out another, but otherwise he thankfully remained quiet.
Peter stood on another roof, this one a little cleaner and a little higher. He surveyed the scene below him.
"Peter," Ned said after a few minutes. "Being Spider-Man is a lot more boring than I thought it would be."
"It's a Tuesday. People don't do a lot of crime on Tuesdays."
Ned sighed.
"Ned, are you wishing Queens had more crime?" he teased.
"No!" There was a pause. "Well, I mean, kinda. But just today. And like, all the other times we do this. But no other times!"
"Peter, there's an armed purse robbery at your 10," Karen chimed in.
"Awesome," Ned said. "I mean-"
"Anything non-neighborhood-y?" Peter asked over Ned, focusing on the zoomed-in image Karen was providing. He figured he should at least try to listen to Mr. Stark and avoid things "above his pay grade."
"Not that I can see," Karen said.
"Muting for crimes," Ned said. It was part of the agreement. Nothing to distract Peter while he was risking his life. Or giving someone directions, or walking someone across the street, or whatever else Spider-Man got up to.
Peter allowed himself to slide down the wall before stopping silently in the shadow of the alley. There was a man, pointing a pistol at a woman who didn't look like she had much more to her name than he did. He was making a grab for her purse, and she was trying desperately to hang on, completely ignoring the pistol the man was aiming at her. People .
"Hey!" he called out, stepping out of the dark. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" He then noticed, from this angle, the woman was taller than he was. "Or, uh… why don't you pick on me?" he corrected. His face was red under the suit.
"Well said, Peter," Karen said into his ear, and Peter turned even redder. Thank god this guy couldn't see it.
"Gladly," the man said, swinging the gun around to aim at him. Before he could even release the safety (which, really? He hadn't even done that yet?), Peter shot a web and pulled the weapon out of his hand, then shot another to cover his mouth.
"Dude, you are not very good at this," Peter commented. The man charged him, clearly screaming under his web gag. Peter didn't even need his spider sense ( that's what it was called, it was definitely not the Peter Tingle) to avoid him. He grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back (carefully, he wasn't trying to break any bones here) and webbed him that way. He then grabbed his other arm and did the same, then stepped around him in a quick circle and webbed his ankles together. He grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the wall, where he webbed him in place, then webbed his gun to the wall next to him.
The man glared at him, and Peter responded, "Well, that's what you get when you rob people in Queens. Although, I guess that's better than Hell's Kitchen, with Daredevil running around beating people to death. Or… almost to death."
Peter then turned to the woman, who was standing there with wide eyes. She had tear tracks down her face, but thankfully wasn't crying anymore (Peter never knew how to deal with that). She was clutching her purse to her stomach. He asked, "Um, are… are you okay? I would've asked earlier, but you seemed okay, so I didn't, but that's my bad, so… are you?"
The woman nodded.
"Great. Good. Cool," Peter said, sighing in relief. "Um, do you have a pen? And… and paper? Don't worry, I won't steal it." Yikes, that wasn't in good taste.
Thankfully, the woman didn't comment or look fazed. She just dug in her purse and found a notepad and a pen and handed them over with a shaking hand.
"Thanks. Thank you, so much. Um, what's your name?" he asked while scribbling a note. The paper was small, but he managed to fit in an arrow to the left with the caption "Criminal. Attempted robber, with a gun," and an arrow to the right with the caption, "the gun." He signed it "FNSM" (Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man). The cops definitely knew him well enough to know what that meant.
"Um, it's Anna."
"Hi, Anna, nice to meet you. I'm P-Spider-Man. Obviously." Wow, nice one. He hadn't felt this nervous in months. It must be because Ned was here. Although, he was pretty glad about that, too. It was fun to share this part of him with someone who he wasn't actively trying to impress. Well, he was trying to impress Ned, but not as much as he was trying to impress Mr. Stark. He held the note up between the robber and his gun and asked, "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have any tape in there, would you?"
She looked at him askance and let out a shocked laugh.
"Wh- oh my god. Oh my god." He webbed the note to the wall, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. "I'm glad I could make you laugh, because that's definitely why I said that."
Anna just laughed harder.
Peter wished he could pass away, then and there.
"Excellent work, Peter," Karen said. Her tone sounded genuine, but Peter knew she was teasing him.
"Um, do you have a phone?"
Anna nodded. "Wh-who doesn't?"
Peter ignored that one. "Okay, well… can you call the police? Only if you have time, I don't want to hold you up or anything, I just – well, sometimes the cops don't believe me if it's just a guy webbed to a wall, and I didn't see any cameras here to back up the note, so…"
Anna nodded, her shoulders finally relaxing as she reached for her phone.
Unable to resist saying something, partly for Anna's benefit and partly for Ned's, Peter said, "Also, I promise I'm not always this awkward. This is just the first crime of the night, so…"
"It's okay, Spider-Man. It- it helped. Seriously. Um, I appreciate the help. I definitely couldn't afford to lose this, not tonight." She hesitated, then stuck her hand out, and Peter shook it.
"I'll keep an eye on you until the cops get here. Make sure he doesn't get out." He jerked his head towards the perpetrator. He wouldn't. This batch of webbing was especially strong. It took a little longer than usual to dissolve, but the proportions couldn't be perfect all the time. Even with Mr. Stark's facilities. (Okay, it had nothing to do with Mr. Stark's facilities and everything to do with Peter sneezing in the middle of pouring and overdoing it… maybe.)
"Thank you. I owe you."
"No you don't! It's what I do!" he said cheerfully, then shot two webs at the building next to him and slingshotted up. He was high enough and in enough darkness that no one could see him, so he crouched against the wall and facepalmed, aggressively. "Oh, my god."
"Peter," Ned said out of the blue, and Peter jumped a little. "That. Was. Awesome."
"Uh, no, it most definitely was not. Did you hear me? I sounded like such an idiot, and I almost told her my name ," Peter whispered.
"So?" Ned asked. "You didn't, and you helped her out, and totally pulled that gun out of that guy's hand. I mean, you could've gotten shot. Again."
"I wasn't going to get shot."
"Well, you might've! And the way you stuck him to the wall! It was so cool, man. You are awesome!"
I should let non-Avengers do this more often. "Thanks, man." He heard the telltale sirens of approaching police. When the cop car pulled up in front of the alley, Peter left. He was not in the mood to stick around and hear the police bemoan his tactics again. He settled on the wall of a building out of earshot. He knew the webs were annoying to deal with, but it was better than no one being there at all. Right?
He thought about Anna's tear-stained face. Definitely right.
"I agree, Peter, you are awesome," Karen supplied.
"Thanks, guys."
Ned said, "Now, um… would you mind standing somewhere that isn't a wall? Like, for example, a floor? I'm freaking out just seeing the ground all far away like that."
"Sorry, Ned," Peter replied and scrambled up to the roof. "I still need to take you out for a swing sometime."
"And I absolutely want to do that, and I will, but I will also hate it. I like being the guy in the chair, man. Or your third eyes. Oh, wait, that's a good name for it! We could call it the Third Eye Protocol!"
Peter had to admit, that was pretty good. He was about to answer Ned when he heard yelling from a few blocks away. "Karen, do you hear that?" He swung easily over towards the sound and crouched on the roof of a building.
"It sounds like a bar fight, Peter." Her voice was sympathetic, and Peter once again marveled at how much work Mr. Stark had put into her.
Peter made a loud noise of frustration but peered down, where, sure enough, a group of about five men were yelling and shoving each other.
"What is it?" Ned whispered into his ear.
"I hate breaking up bar fights, man. I always end up sticky."
"Oh. Gross. Wait, aren't you already sticky?"
Peter huffed a little in feigned annoyance. "Shut up, Ned." He lowered himself quickly into the fight.
Thankfully, he broke it up easily, and only his left leg got splashed with beer, meaning he could probably spot clean the suit instead of trying to covertly use the washing machine without May noticing again.
After that, he handled a few more small crimes. Then, he walked a woman home to her apartment from a club (and absolutely talked her ear off about his time in marching band, since she was a band kid in high school too). Outside that complex, there was a young child trying to coax her small tortoiseshell cat out of a tree, and Peter steeled himself before going to save it. Thankfully, it was very sweet and just looked up at him with bright green eyes, seemingly content not to scratch. It seemed confused as to how it got up there and let out the cutest little question mark meow Peter had ever heard, at which point Ned piped in and said, "Dude, steal the cat. I want the cat; steal the cat." Peter, of course, did not steal the cat and handed it back to the little girl instead. Her mom thanked him with a freshly baked muffin, which Peter took gladly. His enhanced metabolism definitely had its downsides, but they were often mitigated by people paying him in food.
He swung to another building while eating the muffin. After he was done basically inhaling it, he sighed. This night had been kind of boring, save the armed robbery. At least Ned thought it was cool, and it gave Peter an excuse to hang out with him. One minus of Spider-Man was definitely that he didn't get to hang out with Ned as much.
"Have you ever tried to like, grab a crane and swing all the way around it, in a circle?"
"Like we tried to do on the swings when we were younger?"
"Yes!"
Peter cocked his head. "Actually, no. But I totally should; that's such a good idea."
"Could your webs handle it?"
"Um, yeah Ned, my webs could handle it," Peter responded, pretending to be offended. He swung between a few more buildings, then sat down on the edge of one, kicking his feet against the roof.
"How much… could your webs handle? Like, what's their max weight?"
Peter considered that. When he made the formula, all he knew was that the webs would carry him at least ten times over, even at the bottom of his swing when he was carrying the most Gs. He hadn't considered what else they could carry. He knew they could lift cars and people. He knew they could trap Bucky Barnes' metal arm. I mean, they could almost hold a ferry together. "I don't know, but it's a lot."
"Peter, there's something happening on the bridge to your right," Karen butted in.
Peter shifted from sitting to a crouch and looked out to his right, where, sure enough, something was happening. There were two men, both in dark clothing, standing behind the trunk of a nondescript, late 2000s model van. Inside, Peter could vaguely make out what looked like a small armory. He whistled quietly.
In his ear, he heard Ned gasp and say, "It's an arms deal! Awesome!"
Peter nodded, knowing Ned would understand as his camera view went up and down. "Karen, is there anything… non-neighborhood about it?" Please say no please say no please say no-
"Not based on my readings," she said.
Yes! Although… "You don't sound sure, what's up?" Peter whispered.
"I'm getting an odd lack of readings from them, however I suspect that they're using a run-of-the-mill tech jammer, likely to keep passersby from calling the police. Unfortunately, that also means I can't get any information on their identities."
"That won't cut us off if I get close, right? Or Ned?"
"No, Peter," she responded playfully, as if it should be obvious.
"Yeah yeah, you know I had to ask. But this still counts as a neighborhood problem, right? No Avengers required?" And Tony thinks I don't listen.
"Yes, but I'll be prepared to call Mr. Stark regardless."
Yes! "Cool. Time to break up an arms deal. Ned?"
"Muting for crimes. Go be cool!"
Peter grinned behind the mask and shot a web to a nearby building. He swung into the scene to land gracefully on the stone railing by the two men. "Y'know, they say three's a crowd, but this just feels right if you ask me." The men jumped, and he quickly sat, but he kept his feet against the wall and positioned his hands a little behind him so he could spring into action the moment it was necessary.
One of the men, the buyer, pointed his gun at Peter and yelled, "Oh shit!" Peter's spider sense (because again, that's what it's called, May) alerted him before the guy fired a bullet that Peter easily ducked – wow, his aim was terrible. Peter snatched the gun right out of the guy's hand with one web and slung it over the water, where he released the web and let it fall with a splash. Then, he webbed the man's feet to the ground so he couldn't reach him. All of that while sitting down. Peter was pretty good, if he had to say so himself.
The other guy was quick to recover from the shock, but he didn't seem as nervous as Peter was expecting. "Spider-Man, I'm glad you could join us."
"You are? That's not the response I usually get, but I'll take it." He shrugged and raised his arm, preparing to web the guy.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Spider-Man." The bad guy leered and revealed five gold teeth. He raised his very normal-looking pistol.
Except, it wasn't normal, because Peter's spider sense screamed. It screamed so loud it hurt. In his ear, Karen said, "Peter, I think you should cons-"
The guy fired, cutting Karen off, and Peter's world erupted in pain. Whatever had hit him was not a bullet (and he'd know). There was no impact, only a burning, knife-sharp pain that seared his nerves deep to his bones, spreading from chest to fingertip. It was like pins and needles in a literal sense – like he was being stabbed with tiny, hot pinpricks all over his body. In his ear there was only static, and it felt like he was melting. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think. He was screaming through clenched teeth because his mouth wouldn't open, and he was writhing - no, he wasn't, he had just slumped over on the railing, why wasn't he writhing? He should have been. He wanted to be. Peter thought, if it could make this stop, he'd give up Spider-Man in a second. He really would. God, please, someone, help. Tony, Ned, help!
And then the burning, raw feeling faded away, and what remained was a heavy tightness that he was sure he could only breathe through because of his enhanced strength. He made to shift, but hard as he tried, he couldn't move. Oh god, I can't move.
The man with the not-gun walked towards him and nudged him. Against his will, Peter rolled back. With effort, he moved his eyes to the man, who was now standing over him with a cocked head. "See, Damon? I told you it would work. Alien weapons that don't look alien. With these, you can go anywhere and do anything without arousing suspicion." He then fixated on Peter's chest, and Peter wondered if he could hear his heart hammering against his ribs. After a pause, the guy commented, "Huh. Still breathing. That would've fried most people. But I guess, you're not most people, are you, Spidey?"
"Holy shit," the buyer, Damon, commented. He looked a little scared.
"Can you talk?" the seller asked, and Peter tried uselessly to open his mouth, to make any sound, but nothing came. He could barely blink; his eyes had begun smarting and filling with tears. In his ear, there was silence. Whatever that thing was had fried the suit, and Karen with it. He wondered if Ned was seeing this. He knew Tony had rigged it so the camera had a backup feed, so if anything happened, the camera, hopefully, wouldn't go out. It was part of the Baby Monitor Protocol. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to be on or not. If it was, he hoped to God Ned was calling for help. He was sure he was; he probably had Mr. Stark on speed-dial at this point. For once, Peter was glad for it. Maybe it meant he wouldn't die tonight.
"No talking, then." He nudged Peter again, who was suddenly aware of the sound of the slowly flowing water below. Stop stop stop stop.
"Come on, man, let's just go. He knows Stark. I know I don't want Iron Man on my ass. I'll buy the guns, obviously I'll buy the guns. They're, I mean, they're awesome, but I don't think we should get into it with him. He's basically an Avenger."
Peter felt a surprisingly strong rush of gratitude towards Damon, who was now cutting his feet out of the webs, and not just for the Avenger comment. I guess some criminals do have brains.
The seller leaned in close to Peter. Carefully, he put his finger on his neck and slid it under the seam where the mask met the rest of the suit. "Let's get a look at him."
"No, man, let's just… let's just go. We've been out here too long."
The seller lifted the mask just a little, exposing an inch of Peter's neck to the cold air. No no no no stop stop stop!
"Maybe you're right. It's not like it matters anyway. No one will ever find him."
"Dude, you can't-"
"Yes, I can! Actually, I have to! He's seen our faces, and he knows your name, Damon Cress. You did say you don't want Iron Man on your ass, right?"
Mercifully, the guy let go of the mask, and Peter relaxed as much as his current situation would allow. More tears streamed from his stinging eyes, getting caught in the fabric of the mask, and he mustered the strength to blink. Mr. Stark, where are you?
Damon didn't say anything else, and the seller smirked. "It was nice to meet you, Spider-Man. Have a good swim!"
And he pushed a completely helpless Peter over the edge, sending him tumbling downwards to the water.
Peter's last thought before he hit the river was that he hoped Ned didn't have to watch him die.
"Happy, you know what I've said about calling me after midnight," Tony whispered into the phone, quiet enough so Pepper wouldn't wake up, but loud enough to get the full brunt of his displeasure across in his tone. God, midnight? What am I, 100 years old? He'd been enjoying good dreams for the third night in a row, which was less common for him than being struck by lightning (an occupational hazard for someone who spent a fair bit of time flying around in a metal suit).
There was silence on the other end of the line, and Tony felt a flutter of annoyance. "Hello? What's going on?" He turned up the volume on his phone, and that's when he heard it – the type of shuddering breathing that only came with deep, mind-numbing fear. He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled the phone from his ear. He saw the caller ID, "Ned Peter's Friend," and annoyance turned to a sharp pang of concern that woke him up immediately.
He practically rocketed to a seated position. "Leeds, what is it?"
A gasp from the other end of the line. "Um, I-"
Tony practically flew out of the room, already rushing to the balcony. He pulled on a shirt and whispered urgently into the earpiece, "Ned, what's going on? Is Peter okay?"
At Peter's name, the teenager's voice came out in a rush. "There's some guys, and they shot Peter, not with like a gun, but with something else, and it totally took Karen out and all his suit I think, I don't think he can hear me, but I don't think he can move either, and they said it was alien tech, but it looks like normal-"
At the words alien tech, Tony's heart skipped a beat and blood rushed into his ears, temporarily blocking out his hearing. He'd told Peter, he'd told him to call him any time there was anything like that, because god, he couldn't bear it if anything happened again, not like what happened with the Vulture. Imagining Peter bringing down another plane by himself, fighting another overpowered villain… and wait, what was Ned saying, that he couldn't move?
"Oh god, Mr. Stark, I think they're gonna push him off the bridge-"
Tony tripped. "They're what? Slow down, Ned, what's happening?"
"Oh, sh- okay. Peter was breaking up an arms deal, right, and there are these guys and they have these alien guns and so Peter went to stop them and I'm here because of the um, Third Eye Protocol, and then um, oh god, Mr. Stark, they shot him with something and now they're saying he can't move and the only reason he's even alive is because of his spider-powers, and oh, shit, Mr. Stark, they're gonna push him into the water, and if he can't move he can't swim, and he hasn't said anything and I don't think Karen is working-"
"FRIDAY, get me something waterproof," Tony said shakily, interrupting Ned's chatter. "And find Peter." His voice broke a bit on the kid's name. Before he could think twice, he threw his phone aside and launched himself off the balcony, knowing the suit would catch him on his way down.
Piece by piece, metal collided into his body, solidly and a little painfully, and Tony had a wild thought that it was probably FRIDAY's revenge for his swan dive – she hated when he did it, and so did Pepper, and he often pushed the bounds a little, but sometimes, like now, it just needed to be done.
As soon as the faceplate closed over his eyes, Ned's voice was back in his ear, still narrating the entire situation, and Tony would never admit just how comforting his voice was. Just knowing someone else had an eye on Peter, when he didn't, even if it was a 16-year-old kid that was way too into Star Wars and not enough into quiet time. Just like Peter, really.
"Oh god, they're gonna take off his mask," Ned's tinny voice said, breaking on the last word. And then, he fell silent. Tony's heart raced at the thought of some lowlifes with alien tech seeing his kid's face.
After what seemed like hours, FRIDAY flashed a location up on his screen, and he rocketed off. "Kid, I'm on my way," he said. He wasn't sure if he was talking to Ned or Peter. Maybe he was talking to both.
When Ned jumped back in, his voice was about two octaves higher. "Oh god, Mr. Stark, they just pushed him into the water, please, you have to help him-"
"Fuck," Tony whispered, and his muscles clenched in his chest, so tight he couldn't breathe. Just like Peter. His eyes welled up, and his heart pounded in throat, and he choked on air. His vision was narrowing, and the city lights beneath him were blurring, and he couldn't breathe, oh god, he couldn't breathe-
And Ned's voice, suddenly, was gone. His eyes flitted wildly around the screen only to see the call had ended. "FRIDAY, what's-"
"I muted the call, Boss. I'm still listening and will respond if needed. You need to breathe. We are almost there. According to my calculations, it's been 34 seconds since Peter was pushed into the water, and we will be there in approximately 20. By my calculations, that is well within Peter's range to hold his breath."
Tony absorbed that and forced himself to breathe once, twice. "Okay," he said, his voice trembling. "Okay, put that timer onscreen. And end the call with Ned, I- I need to focus."
"On it, Boss."
FRIDAY jumped in on the call and said goodbye to Ned with a quick assurance that he'd be kept updated. The kid didn't sound happy, in fact he sounded scared to hell, but Tony would apologize to him later. After he had Peter safe and sound in the tower, and after he'd gotten him back for scaring the fucking life out of him. Because he was going to be fine. He would be fine. He had to be fine.
Tony watched the blinking blue dot on his display that showed him Peter's location and tried his hardest to focus his breathing. He saw the numbers of the timer – the one that showed how long the kid had been without air – going up one by one. Logically, he knew that wasn't much time, especially since he would've known the water was coming, but logic didn't apply to alien bullshit, alien bullshit that had done who knows what to Peter, that had knocked out his AI, and Ned had said Peter wasn't responsive, and who knows what the hell had happened there, and god, what if he was already-
"Diving now, Boss," FRIDAY said, jumping into his train of thought. Normally she wouldn't have said anything, but he was sure his vitals were going off the rails. "The location is only accurate to an eighteen-foot radius due to water interference, but heat signature will be more helpful when we get closer."
"We have to fix that," Tony said, a shadow of himself, before he closed his eyes and composed himself. It was mission time. He was good at mission time. He could still be good at mission time, even when his mission was this. "Okay, yeah, we have to fix that. Add it to my list, top priority. Right after finding the motherfuckers that did this." He took his eyes off the timer (52, 53, 54…) and saw the bridge Peter had been thrown from – not too high, but certainly enough to hurt like a bitch. Tony felt a pang in his chest.
FRIDAY confirmed that it had been done as Tony hit the water. The clock hit a minute, and he knew to the kid it must feel like hours. Tony had been waterboarded when he was captured in Afghanistan, and even those seconds, likely thirty at most, felt never-ending. Sometimes, he still woke up gasping for air.
The lights of his suit illuminated the surrounding water, but all he saw was a wall of black. He propelled himself to the river floor, only about fifteen feet down, and asked FRIDAY (or, more accurately, begged her) to find Peter.
There was a pause before she answered, which had Tony thinking the worst (if Peter was dead there would be no heat signature), before she answered, "Directly to your left, eight feet."
Tony rocketed over and found the eerily still form of Peter Parker, clothed in the suit Tony made for him, and he grabbed him as carefully but securely as he could, and jetted upwards.
They broke the surface as the timer passed 1:15, and Tony's faceplate flipped up so he could see Peter without a barrier. "Kid," he said, and his voice came out like a whisper. The mask was still on, but Peter was so limp in his arms, and Tony's chest was seizing. He swam to shore with a little help from his repulsors, and Peter didn't move a bit. "Come on, Peter, help me out a little. I'm not the one with super strength." The suit took care of that, of course, but he needed to say something. Ned had said he couldn't move when he went into the water, which may have meant he hadn't had a chance to hold his breath, which could mean-
He couldn't think like that. He reached the river's rocky edge and set Peter down carefully. The kid's arms flopped down beside him, lifeless, in a way that made Tony feel almost sick. He reached for the seam where the mask met the rest of the suit, noting the gap where he could see pale skin. Had those guys looked at him? In a whisper almost too quiet for his own ears to hear, he said, "Come on, Peter, don't be-" He couldn't finish. Urgently but carefully, he removed the mask to reveal his kid's face.
His heart stopped. Peter's eyes appeared to be looking right at him, but were unblinking and open. He was still, so so still, and he was cold . There were dried tear tracks on his face. And he was silent.
"Oh, god, no no no," Tony whispered. His hands shook, and his eyes welled up.
He was too late. Peter Parker was dead.
Peter was still trying his hardest to gasp for air, but he couldn't make his chest move fast enough. He was lucky he managed to take a deep enough breath before the river, and that he was able to keep the air in when he crashed into the freezing water.
If he could move, he'd be shivering, whether from cold or from fright, or both. He hadn't been sure Tony would come. He didn't know what Ned had seen, if he even knew the situation had gone so bad so fast. He was sure he was going to die.
When he'd seen the bright LEDs over him, felt the hard metal of the Iron Man Suit against him, he wanted to sob. Whatever the hell those guys shot at him kept him from doing it, but his eyes had teared up all the same, which honestly helped the stinging, since he couldn't freaking blink without way too much effort .
His vision had cleared when Mr. Stark had pulled the mask off with shaking hands (why were they shaking?), and Peter had looked right at him, and Tony had seen him, but he hadn't really seen him.
And now he was freaking out, like, really freaking out, and Peter was worried because he didn't get why. What did Mr. Stark know that he didn't? Had the alien gun screwed him up more than he thought? Oh god, was he dying or something?
He tried to move his mouth, tried to ask what was going on, but nothing happened.
It was the oddest feeling, to ask his muscles to strain and have them sit responseless. That creepy guy was right, if he wasn't Spider-Man, he'd be dead for sure. As it was, he was having to remind himself to breathe – his body wasn't doing it on his own. He was lucky his heart was still beating.
But would it be, for much longer? Peter took a shaky breath in and focused on Tony, who had his hand on his arm. His helmet was off completely, and he looked… well, there was no other word for it but lost.
"Come on, kid, just… you have to be fine, you have to be fine. What am I gonna tell May?" Tony put his other hand on Peter's chest, looking determinedly at somewhere to the left of his face.
I am fine, Mr. Stark, I'm fine! Just look at me.
Tony looked up to the sky as if he was asking for something – but asking who, Peter didn't know. He knew he didn't believe in God. He took a long, shuddering breath and choked out, "What am I gonna tell your aunt, kid?" He said it like there was no hope left.
Uh, hopefully nothing! Mr. Stark was blurring in front of him; his eyes were stinging again.
Mr. Stark took his hands off Peter. "You c-... fuck, Peter, you can't be d- gone. You… I gave you the damn suit, I told you this was on me if you… And what do you do? You never listen, you never listen . I never - shit, I should never have come to your apartment, never have convinced myself putting a kid in the field was okay. It wasn't, it never was, and now you're- fuck!" Mr. Stark's breaths kept coming faster and faster, until he let out the last word in a yell. Then, the words stopped coming, and Mr. Stark – Mr. Stark of all people – started hyperventilating. He pressed his shaking palms into his eyes. He was having a panic attack.
Peter's heart hammered in his chest so loud that he was sure Tony would hear it. I mean, Peter could hear FRIDAY – not what she was saying, but that she was talking in Mr. Stark's ear, a little louder than usual. But Tony couldn't hear it. Oh fuck . He couldn't hear it.
He thought Peter was dead. God, it made so much sense, he couldn't fucking move, and his eyes were stuck open, and Mr. Stark couldn't bear to look closer to see the tears periodically spilling over. And shit, what was he going to do? He couldn't speak to say anything otherwise. What if he could never move again? What if Tony never realized, and he starved to death in the Tower? Or underground? God, he couldn't let MJ see him like this, or Ned, or god forbid May. Fucking Iron Man was freaking out in front of him, he didn't want to see May do it too.
Honestly, he didn't realize Mr. Stark cared that much.
Peter's vision was totally blurred, so Tony was just a smudge in front of him. But he could still hear the water rushing, still feel it when small droplets hit his fingers.
Oh god, what if Mr. Stark sent him back out into the water, like a viking? What if he set the boat on fire? He'd always imagined it would be cool, but only if you were actually dead. He didn't want to burn alive. Or drown. Again.
His eyes were stinging and watering still, and he tried once more to close his eyelids. They moved, just a bit, and Peter felt a small but present relief. Through the pounding in his ears, he could vaguely hear Tony breathing while FRIDAY's concerned voice said something. He heard her say his name at one point, and the word alien, and he tuned back in.
He noticed his breathing was finally starting to feel automatic again. He still had to focus on it, but not quite as much as he had even a few minutes ago.
"Alive?" he heard Tony say tentatively, as if he was holding himself back from getting his hopes up. Through the wetness in his eyes, Peter watched Mr. Stark's blurry form get closer to him, and he felt two warm fingers press against the side of his neck, feeling his pulse. "Peter? Kid, you with me?"
Peter couldn't answer, but his pulse must have done it for him, because Mr. Stark kind of deflated, his hand coming away from Peter's neck shaking. Peter wanted to ask him to put it back.
"Jesus fucking Christ, kid. What-" Tony paused, listening to FRIDAY, who, from what Peter could tell, told him about the paralytic she suspected was in his system. "Okay, okay, it's okay," Mr. Stark said, and Peter wasn't sure which one of them he was talking to. He put his hand on Peter's chest, and Peter relaxed under the touch, as much as he could under the circumstances. "Can you blink?"
Peter tried, and man he was tired now, and his eyes (maybe) moved a fraction, but it wasn't enough for Tony to catch. "Okay, okay kiddo," he said after a pause. "Alright, I'm going to close your eyes, okay? They've got to be stinging like hell."
When Tony placed one finger on each of his eyelids and pushed them shut (the irony of this happening right after Tony thought he was dead did not escape him), he could have sobbed in relief. The burning sensation lessened considerably as his tear ducts began to recover, and he took comfort in Tony's hand still radiating warmth into his chest.
After a pause in which Peter struggled to hear the racing of Tony's heartbeat over him trying in vain to calm his rapid breathing, Tony tapped his chest once as if to say "time to go" and carefully, more delicately than Peter could have thought him capable of, circled his arms around his back. "Alright, Pete, we're going to the tower, and we're going to figure this out, okay?" Tony asked, as if he was talking to a small child, and though Peter would never admit it, he felt oddly comforted by the tone.
Carefully, with the help of the Iron Man suit, Tony lifted Peter and held him close to his chest. He took off into the air, and though Peter couldn't see the world drop out from underneath him, and he couldn't tell where, when, or how he was, he finally felt like he might get out of this night alive.
As he felt the cold air whip past him, his breathing slowly got easier, more passive, automatic. He focused on listening to the soft whirring of the joints of Tony's suit and the powerful whoosh of his repulsors. If he focused enough, he could hear FRIDAY speaking to Tony in soothing tones, though, over the wind, he couldn't quite tell exactly what she was saying.
Peter wasn't sure if it was the fact his eyes were closed, or if it was the adrenaline crash, or god forbid, some latent effect of the weapon, but the moment he found himself able to inhale and exhale without thinking about it, he slid into darkness. At least he knew for sure he was in good hands at last.
Tony checked his watch again and shifted in the chair by Peter's bed. He had an errant thought that he really needed to get some more comfortable furniture in here, but winced when he realized that would mean planning for more of this, planning for longer stays at someone's bedside. He valued comfort, but he wasn't willing to accept that possibility.
His eyes drifted back up to Peter's face, and he found himself stuck there. The kid was so young. He was already baby-faced, and he looked even more so in the big white bed, still, with tear tracks staining his cheeks.
He'd been here an hour, sitting, afraid to leave the room because it would mean leaving the reassuring, quiet beeping of the monitors hooked up to Peter's system. Happy had been by and gotten the short version of the night, but Pepper was somehow still asleep, even though Tony's world had been shaken violently and flipped upside down. He wished he had super senses like the kid did, or like Cap, so he could hear Peter breathe instead of just watching the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were glued there, taking solace in the steady, slow inhale and exhale. His finger tapped against the arm of the chair. He so desperately wanted to do something, to get the hell out of the antiseptic smell of this room. But every time he went to pull out his phone or leave or whatever the hell, the memory of Peter, soaking wet and so small in his arms, more still than he had any right to be, filled his memory and he almost stopped breathing himself. He'd thought the kid was - no, he couldn't even bring himself to consider the possibility, not again. The feeling that his world was ending – literally, that everything around him was crumbling to pieces and was leaving nothing but a pile of ash, that his heart had stopped working and there was no surgery to save him this time… that was what he felt when he'd seen Peter's eyes, open, unblinking, unmoving…
Tony pushed down the nausea that threatened to overtake him and forced himself to take a shaky breath before FRIDAY decided to say something about it.
And when he'd gotten back, Helen was still five minutes out and the kid was still lifeless and now wasn't waking up, and FRIDAY'd turned herself up to full volume to tell him he'd just had one hell of an adrenaline crash and was trying to sleep whatever was in his system off.
Tony trusted FRIDAY to a fault, but he hadn't believed her then, not until Helen had looked Peter over and said the same. Not until she told him (at least four times) that Peter was going to be fine, that he was out of the woods, and that really, she'd expected much worse, but Peter's accelerated metabolism and healing was going to pull him through this, and he'd be back to normal before morning. He hadn't even gotten any water in his lungs.
It had taken Tony some time to trust it, because surely, something that was this close, this absolutely fucking terrifying, had to have some kind of physical consequence. The fact that Helen had seen this kind of thing enough to know Peter's prognosis for certain didn't really bring Tony much comfort.
Which brought him right back to the alien tech of it all. What the hell had the kid been thinking, going after that stuff? He'd promised him that he wouldn't touch anything after Toomes, that he'd always call Tony and let Iron Man handle it, or at a minimum let Iron Man be backup (as if Tony would ever let Peter take the lead anyway… the kid was too important to always be stuck in the line of fire). There was still so much they didn't know about alien weaponry, other than that it was incredibly dangerous and could do crazy things to human bodies, things that could make even Tony's stomach turn.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but they flew open again as his brain conjured images of Peter, not just paralyzed but dead in front of him. The kid appeared in his nightmares half the time already, but this was a whole new level. Just his cold, still body engraved on the backs of Tony's eyelids. He knew he'd never be able to blink it away.
He sighed loudly and a bit shakily (not that he'd ever admit that).
"Mr. Stark?" Peter croaked. When Tony looked at him, his eyes were open, and that sent Tony right back to the riverside. He glanced down to Peter's chest.
"Peter! Jesus, kid, how are you feeling?"
Peter raised his arm steadily to scrub at his eyes, and Tony felt something in him release with the movement. Peter swiped at his face a little awkwardly, then said, "M'arm's slow. What happened?" He blinked at Tony owlishly.
Tony winced, which Peter clearly saw, because his eyes widened just a fraction. He said, "Arms dealers with alien weapons ring any bells?"
Tony saw the moment Peter remembered, because he brought both arms to his face and stopped breathing in horror. He wiggled his fingers and toes and sat up. Tony, looking somewhere in the area of Peter's cheekbone, said, "You're fine, kid. It's fine. Helen said you'd be fine, it just has to go through your system."
Peter put his head in his hands, and Tony looked up at him, watching as he pushed his fingers through his now dry hair. He whispered something he couldn't hear and sat back. Tony politely ignored the tears the kid was blinking away and looked back down at the kid's hands, which were now tapping on the blanket. He could feel Peter looking at him. "How long is it going to be? 'Til I'm back to normal."
Tony shrugged. "Another thirty minutes to an hour, maybe? Helen said you'd definitely be fine by morning, but it's not like she learned about this stuff in med school." A little bitterness crept into his voice then; he was terrified, honestly terrified, of the day something like this came up that she couldn't fix, of the day all his smarts and all his money weren't enough to figure out what aliens or gods or just some human mad scientist came up with.
If Peter hadn't gotten bitten by that spider, that day would've been today.
Tony had to fight the urge to throw up. When he glanced up at Peter's face (not in his eyes; he still couldn't look into those without remembering his paralyzed, thousand-yard stare), he was looking down at his hands, moving his fingers deliberately like he'd now noticed they were there.
Tony wondered what he was thinking about. He wondered if he was thinking about drowning.
Suddenly, Peter gasped and said, "Ned! Mr. Stark, Ned was watching, I have to tell him I'm o-"
"He knows," Tony said flatly. "I had FRIDAY text him."
"Oh thank god," Peter replied, some of the tension leeching out of his shoulders. He hesitated, then, and Tony let him, because he wasn't sure what he was going to say if he let himself talk, so it might as well be Peter who said the next words. "Do you know… um, so, he was hooked up to Karen, and when she-"
"He saw everything, kid." Tony watched as Peter's eyes went wide. "He's the one who called me." His tone made it extremely clear that he wasn't happy about that. He'd meant it to sound disappointed, but it just sounded angry. Peter winced.
If he was honest with himself, Tony was angry. He was furious that he always had to hear from Peter's friend first, that Peter always went headlong into danger without a second thought, that he always ended up in situations he shouldn't even have to hear about at his age, and he barely seemed to care about it, just bounced on to the next near-death experience and waited for someone else to pick up the pieces.
If Tony's nerves were less frayed, if he hadn't just watched his world end in front of him on the bank of the East River, he would've realized that wasn't entirely fair, that maybe this wasn't Peter's fault, and that he wasn't all that mad at all. He was more terrified. But it was too soon, he was too close to it, and his inability to look into Peter's eyes stopped him from noticing that this was really affecting the kid, too, and that he wasn't the only one who'd thought Peter's life was going to end at sixteen.
"Do you know where my phone is?" Peter asked. "I should text him and make sure-"
"No," Tony said harshly, loudly. He tried to ignore how Peter's posture was surprised, hurt. "I mean, I do, but we are going to talk about this first, kid. Because this was…" too close "...ridiculous. And-" I need to make sure you're okay "-we need to come to an understanding." Tony was happy he kept his voice from shaking. Unfortunately, the result of that effort was that all his words came out clipped.
Peter went back to looking at his hands again. "I know," Peter whispered, his voice starting to shake. "I was… when I went under, I thought I was…"
"Yeah. Me too," he said before Peter could finish the sentence. He just sounded tired.
"I'm really going to be fine?"
"Yeah. You're lucky."
"No, I'm not," Peter replied tonelessly, and Tony couldn't really argue with that one. Peter looked up at him, then, and tried to make eye contact, but Tony looked away, not sure if he could ever look right at him again without remembering how it felt for his soul to fall apart. He knew the kid never died, that he was fine, but it didn't stop him remembering.
"Thank you, Mr. Stark," Peter said sincerely, and Tony nodded tightly in response, not trusting his voice right then. After struggling with what to say for a few seconds, Peter asked quietly, "Do you think you'll be able to fix the suit?"
Tony himself was surprised at the emotion that flooded his body at that, and he snapped, "Are you fucking kidding me? You almost… the suit? The suit is what you care about right now?" Peter looked like Tony had just struck him. "We aren't going to talk about the fucking suit, Parker. I don't even want to think about the damn-" Tony cut himself off before his voice could break and sighed, getting himself under control. "What we are going to talk about is why I had to hear that you were paralyzed and drowning-" Peter flinched- "from Ned, and not you!"
"I couldn't have done anything! Karen was down!"
"It shouldn't have gotten to that point in the first place, Peter! How many times have I told you to call if you come across something too big for you?" he yelled. He finally met Peter's offended glare but looked away when his heart, again, started racing. He stood and turned to the window.
Indignantly, Peter started, "But I tried-"
Tony slammed his hand down on the sill. "No! Don't start with me, kid! Not this time. Because I'm not always going to be there to pick up the pieces when you want to show off for your friends. Alien weapons? And you still didn't call? Does the word 'ferry' ring any bells? Hmm?" It was a low blow, and he knew it. Peter had taken that hard. Rage and fear were coursing through his veins in equal measure. He could feel his hands trembling with one or the other, and he whipped around to face the kid again but kept his eyes trained on Peter's clenched fists. He had to make him understand. "What would I have told your aunt? Or your friend? I bet I know who they would have blamed." Me. And they would have been right.
An image flashed in his mind of May and Ned, sobbing at Peter's grave, freshly dug, asking him how could you? and Tony felt like he needed to hit something.
"But if you would just listen-"
"I'm not the one that needs to listen. You need to listen! How many times did you tell me you'd call if anyth-"
"But I-"
"No, Peter! How many times? Do you know?"
Peter didn't say anything.
"More than even I can count, and you still haven't done it! Your fucking friend is the only reason I didn't pull your dead body out of that river, and it was a close fucking call!" He stumbled over the last sentence a bit, voice breaking on the word dead , but it still didn't stop the kid from reacting.
"Mr. Stark, if you would just let me explain…"
"Not this time, Parker. I keep telling you I'm the adult, and now it's time for me to act like one. I'm not going to fix the suit. You're not getting it back this time." He said it with finality.
"No, Mr. Stark, please!" Peter said, and he went to climb out of the bed. He got to his feet, but when he went to take a step, his foot moved slower than he wanted. He tripped and almost fell flat on his face, but Tony stepped forward to catch him by the shoulders. Carefully, he got him standing, and Peter continued, "Mr. Stark, you can't. I need… How am I supposed to help people if I can't have the suit?"
"How are you supposed to help yourself if you do?" Tony bit back harshly. Before he could stop himself, he continued, "This is just what I get for trusting a teenager."
Peter sighed and sniffed. Shit, is he crying? Tony felt a pang in his heart, but he wasn't going to back down from this, not when his kid seemed to have no care at all for his own life, seemed truly intent on throwing himself into his worst nightmares without taking even a second to think about consequences.
If he looked too closely at Peter, sometimes he saw his younger self.
"Mr. Stark, it's not fair."
Tony huffed and shook his head. Sometimes he forgot how young Peter was. After today, he didn't think he ever would again. He scrubbed his hand down his face.
"Please, Mr. Stark!" Peter begged again. "At least talk to me about it!" Tony glanced up at him again and saw the tears spill over.
And he was right back by the river again, his whole chest splintering into pieces, unable to breathe as he tore off Peter's mask to reveal open, wet eyes, still in his lifeless face, his body cold. Tony struggled to pull in air, but did as he did best and pushed his feelings down, forcing his face to be completely blank.
"Could you at least look at me?" Peter asked.
But Tony couldn't. Not while he was still seeing him dead.
Peter waited a full five seconds. "Fine. Fine," he finally said, more to himself than to Tony. "I get it. FRIDAY, can you tell Happy to take me home now?"
"Of course, Peter," she said pleasantly, and unless Tony was imagining things, he heard a note of sympathy in her voice.
Peter walked out of the room, a little slower than he normally would have, but otherwise unaffected. In the doorway he stopped and said, "It must be nice to be able to just take stuff from people without actually hearing what they have to say first."
"Peter," Tony managed, a touch of warning in his tone.
"I'm not going to apologize because you ignored me!" he yelled, and closed the door behind him.
I'm not going to apologize for putting you first, Tony thought. But, when he turned around again and looked at his reflection in the window, it was his father staring back. He barely resisted the urge to break the glass.
Peter's chest burned with anger when he left the room to wait for Happy. He was almost shaking with it. It wasn't fair, and he knew he sounded about eight years old when he said that, but it really wasn't this time. He knew Mr. Stark cared. After today, when he was sobbing over Peter's frozen body, there really wasn't any arguing that.
But caring didn't mean much when he only did it when Peter was hurt. Because he was hurt now, too, just a different kind, and it was Mr. Stark's fault. And he didn't even deserve it. It wasn't like the ferry, no matter how much Mr. Stark thought it was. That was Peter's fault. He should have called. But this time, he'd done everything right. He'd asked Karen to check, double check, and triple check whether he needed to call, even with Ned there! He wasn't showing off. He wouldn't when guns were involved, especially alien guns (which again, he hadn't even known about). And it really, really sucked to hear that Mr. Stark still thought he would.
Well, what reason have you given him to think otherwise? a traitorous voice asked in his head, and Peter did have to give it that one. It wasn't like he had ever showed Mr. Stark that he would call.
But for him to not even listen? To not even let him get a sentence out? After everything?
Peter kicked the couch in the room with his bare foot, a little harder than he meant to. It skidded at least a few feet, and his foot stung, along with his eyes, which were still bothering him from earlier.
"Hey, kid," Happy said through a yawn as he walked into the room. Peter could tell he'd been awake, but he was definitely feeling the time of night. He wasn't the only one. "Brought you some clothes. And your phone."
"Thanks, Happy," he muttered. He'd barely noticed that he was shirtless, in pajama pants that were pulled over the boxers he wore under the suit (he turned slightly pink at the idea of someone dressing him while he was out; he hoped it hadn't been Mr. Stark). He grabbed the pair of slippers that were a little too big for him and a loose T-shirt that smelled vaguely like Tony, and pulled them on. He took his phone, too. "Let's go," he said. He glanced back at Mr. Stark before he left. He was standing at the window again, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Peter followed Happy out the door and down to the car in a daze, thinking about what he'd just lost up there. He should've asked Happy where his suit was and gone to grab it. He wondered if FRIDAY would have let him. When Happy held open the door to the sleek black sedan, Peter slid into the seat without looking at him. He sniffed and wiped his nose, pleased to notice with the movement that he really was almost back to normal. The delay from brain to muscle was barely noticeable anymore. Hell, he'd probably even be able to go to school tomorrow.
"You really scared him, Peter," Happy said suddenly, and Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Us. You scared us," he modified, and then Peter looked up at him, and he must have been a sight, because Happy sighed sadly. "He's not… he's not good at telling you that. But he… I'm not 100% clued in, but I know it was close. And I know I've never seen him like that. About anyone."
Peter just stared at his eyes in the rearview mirror, not really sure what to think about that.
Happy continued, "I'm not sure what he said. But I do know him. And I know that when he gets scared, he says things he doesn't mean, and he always kicks himself for it later. So just… don't let it get to you. Okay?"
Peter was too tired to have this conversation, so he just leaned against the window and rested his eyes. He knew they must be red, and he knew however long he was asleep wasn't enough for them to fully recover from being stuck open for however long. In his lap, his phone buzzed, but he didn't want to open his eyes to look at the notification. It was probably Ned. Peter promised himself he'd call him when he got home. He couldn't bear to look at it right now, in case it was Mr. Stark.
Mr. Stark was lucky, really. He'd taken the suit. He'd taken Spider-Man from Peter. And Peter was pretty sure if he went out in his homemade suit again, Iron Man would blast him out of the sky. So even if he did regret not listening or saying any of the things he'd said, he wouldn't have to deal with Peter anymore. He wouldn't have to think about it. He could just move on.
But Peter wasn't sure he had the same luxury, because he knew twice over what it was like to have Mr. Stark in his corner, believing in him, supporting him as Spider-Man, and he knew twice over what it was like to have it ripped away.
He should have tried harder to explain to Mr. Stark, but he knew he couldn't make him listen to what he clearly didn't want to hear.
"Kiddo, we're here," Happy said. Wordlessly, Peter opened the door and stepped out. Happy rolled down the window and asked, "You sure you're okay?"
Peter nodded. "Just tired."
"You got the all clear from Helen, right?"
Peter nodded again. He wasn't really sure, he supposed, but Mr. Stark did say he was going to be fine, and there was no way he would have let him leave if that wasn't true, no matter how mad he was.
"Kid. Peter. If you need anything, I'll be here. Okay? Just a phone call away," Happy said. Peter put on a ghost of a smile. "You don't need a note for your aunt, do you?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "No. She's on a night shift. She's not even here."
Happy nodded, brows furrowed. He paused, like he wasn't sure about leaving Peter here alone, but when Peter raised his eyebrows in expectation, he responded, "Okay, kid. Have a good night. Stay in school!"
Peter rolled his eyes again and made his way to the side of the building, where he discreetly climbed the wall and slipped through his window. He didn't let himself sit down on his bed, knowing that would make him fall asleep before he could do anything else. Instead, he opened his phone and saw 56 new messages, all from Ned, which almost made him smile. He read the last one, which had been sent only eight minutes ago. It said, "r u coming home tonight? i'm outside ur door and i'm not leaving til i know ur okay."
Immediately, Peter rushed to his front door and threw it open. A very familiar frame gasped from the floor in the hall and hopped up. "Peter!" he said. He threw himself into Peter's arms and squeezed him as tightly as he could. "Oh my god, I'm so glad you're okay, I mean, Mr. Stark's AI said you'd be okay, but I had to see for myself because last I saw you were underwater, and I saw on the camera that he came and got you, but when he took the mask off the feed cut and I-" Ned paused for air. "I just needed to hear it from you."
"I'm okay, I promise I'm okay," Peter said into Ned's shirt, and against his will, he finally, fully burst into tears. Shaking sobs wracked his frame, and he hugged his friend, careful not to squeeze too hard.
"Whoa, okay," Ned said, and Peter could have sworn he was crying, too. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Peter pulled back, rubbing the tears from his cheeks with his hands. He made a sound in frustration, because how could he still have any tears left? "Yeah, I'm just…" he started, between heaving breaths. He couldn't make himself continue.
"Okay, okay. Is May here?" Ned asked, and when Peter shook his head wordlessly, he suggested, "Let's go inside." Ned led him to his living room couch, past its prime but still soft and comfortable. The pair sat down, and Ned kind of hovered around him, clearly unsure what to do. He'd never seen Peter like this, Peter knew it, and if it had been a different day, he would've been embarrassed. But he didn't have the strength left for that. "Just… take a minute, Peter. I'll, um, I'll grab you some water."
Peter nodded and tried to get his breathing under control with his head in his hands. When Ned tapped him in the arm with the cup, he took it and turned away to take small sips. Apparently, it was exactly what Peter needed, because slowly but surely, he was able to pull himself back together. His breathing was still shaky, but he was able to talk. "Thanks," he said. Ned nodded and looked at him openly, not at all like Mr. Stark earlier. "I just… I'm fine, it was just… it was really close, and I thought… I thought I was…"
"Fuck, man," Ned said and pulled him into another hug. "Me too."
"I'm s-sorry," Peter said.
"Why?"
"You shouldn't have had to see that." Peter couldn't imagine what it would be like to watch Ned die. The very thought made him feel sick.
Ned sat back and shook his head vigorously. "Don't even say that, man, it's not like it's your fault."
Peter huffed in what could have been a laugh. Clearly, Ned was the only one who thought that.
"Dude, I'd watch that every day if it meant I could make sure you got out safe," he said earnestly.
Peter looked at him, the tears finally almost gone now, and said, "Thanks, Ned. You're my best guy in the chair."
Ned rolled his eyes. "I'm your only guy in the chair." But the smile that played at his lips showed that he'd heard the emotion behind what Peter was really saying. "Wait, I am, right?"
Peter didn't even deign to answer.
"So what happened after?" Ned asked, and Peter told him briefly about the alien paralytic and how he'd only lived because of his superpowers, and how Mr. Stark had carried him back, and how he'd fallen asleep or maybe passed out, and how he was completely back to normal now. He'd skipped the parts about what happened before Mr. Stark had figured out he was alive, and what happened just before he came home.
"Holy shit, dude." After a pause, he asked, "Do you think there will be pictures online tomorrow?"
Peter was startled into laughter. "Not close-up ones. Mr. Stark will take care of those, if there are any. But yeah, there will probably be pictures."
"Wow."
"I guess I should thank you for not going behind my back and selling everything you have?"
"Come on, dude, as if I'd risk the mighty wrath of Iron Man."
Peter's smile faded a little.
"Peter," Ned said, his tone wary.
"What?"
"What aren't you telling me? And don't you dare say 'nothing,' because I've known you way too long to fall for that."
Peter sighed and admitted, "Mr. Stark got mad at me again."
"What? Why?" Ned asked in complete confusion. "You didn't even do anything!"
"I guess that's the problem," he said. "I didn't call him."
"Wh- Peter, that doesn't make any sense. What were you supposed to do? Magically un-paralyze yourself?"
"Apparently, I was supposed to call before going there in the first place."
Ned stood up in indignation. "But you asked Karen if you should, like, a million times!"
"I tried to tell him that," Peter sighed.
"Tried to?"
"He didn't exactly let me say much, okay? He just yelled at me."
"He yelled at you? Dude, you almost died! And he thought, 'oh, what a perfect time to yell at my young padawan, yeah good thinking, Mr. Iron Man!' Seriously?"
Peter shook his head, feeling the hurt rise up in him again. "I guess. Happy says he says things he doesn't mean when he's scared. But he wouldn't even look at me, Ned." He was almost ashamed of how much that had hurt him.
Ned rolled his eyes. "Dude, he's like, a full-grown adult. That's like… teenager behavior. We get to do that. He should have listened to you."
"Believe me, he made it very clear who the adult was."
Ned rolled his eyes. "Man, you can never in a million years tell him I said this, but sometimes Tony Stark is kind of a dumbass."
Peter laughed despite himself. He couldn't exactly argue with that.
Ned sat down. "He owes you the biggest apology. Even though he saved you again. You'd better make sure he apologizes."
"I don't think it matters, Ned. He took the suit away," Peter finally admitted, shame filling his body.
Ned stood up again. "What?" he yelled. "Again?" Peter just looked at him. "He remembers what happened last time, right? With the building? And the plane?"
Peter nodded. "He doesn't have any more plans to move, so I don't think he thinks it's a problem."
"But is he planning to personally hold up every building in New York?"
"Ned…"
"What, did he just forget about that? Because that was like, a very big part of that night, Peter. You told me you still get nightmares about that. And honestly, so do I!"
Peter winced, but held his apology back. Ned had smacked him the first time he'd tried to say he was sorry for that. "He doesn't exactly… know about that?" He said it like a question.
Ned just stared at him and said nothing, which was so un-Ned-like that Peter started to wonder if he finally broke him. "Peter," Ned said finally, so calmly that Peter actually got a little scared. "A building fell on you - no, someone dropped a building on you - and you just decided to keep that to yourself?"
"I told you!" Peter defended himself.
"Peter! What is wrong with you?" Ned yelled. "He literally makes the suits to keep you safe! He probably would've put some fancy anti-crush armor in or something!" Peter winced again. That was actually a pretty good point. "He can't take the suit away from you again."
"Actually, he can."
"But you're not gonna stop being Spider-Man!" Ned yelled, fully knowing that it wasn't even a question Peter would consider.
Peter shrugged, the exhaustion that had been threatening to claim him fully sinking in now. "He didn't seem to care about that," he said bitterly, knowing it wasn't fair. But he wasn't exactly feeling all that fair right now.
"Peter-"
"Ned!" Peter interrupted. "Sorry, I just… I can't talk about this anymore, okay? Not tonight. Please," he said, a note of desperation coloring his tone. It hurt enough that Mr. Stark was so mad he couldn't even look in his eyes, that he'd taken away one of the most important things he had… the idea of reliving it more than he already had was making him feel sick.
Ned deflated, then, and Peter watched as the memory of what had almost happened today sunk in on him, too. He nodded and sat next to Peter again.
Something occurred to Peter, then. "How did you get here?"
Ned looked at Peter like he was suddenly worried that he had a head wound. "We live in a city full of subways, dude."
"No, like… did you sneak out?"
Ned didn't even look sheepish, though Peter was sure he'd never done it before. "Yes! What did you expect me to do? I couldn't just sit there, man."
"But…" Peter looked at the clock on the microwave. "It's almost four. Doesn't your grandma get up at like, five?"
Ned stood up again in terror. "Oh, shit! Oh man, I have to go!"
Peter stood up too, his body reluctant. He made to walk him to the door.
"Are you s- wait, what the hell are you wearing?" Ned said.
Peter finally looked down at his shirt for the first time and turned bright pink when he saw an orange Hooters logo with Iron Man swinging from a cartoon bra that hung between both Os. He turned bright red. "Blame Happy," he said.
Ned huffed in hurried laughter and commented, "You'd better burn it before MJ sees it."
Peter winced. There was no reason why she would see it, but he wouldn't be surprised if she somehow managed to glean its presence from the air around him, somehow, even if he didn't have it on. He stripped it off immediately and balled it in his hand. He opened the door for Ned, who rushed out like the devil was on his heels. "Text me when you get home!" he called after him.
"If I see you at school tomorrow, I'm kicking your ass, Peter Parker!" Ned yelled back as a way of a goodbye.
A smile played at Peter's lips. He probably could use the rest, but he wasn't sure how he'd explain skipping school to May.
He shoved the Hooters shirt as deep as it would go in his hamper and somehow managed to make it to the bathroom to brush his teeth and hair and wash his face. In the mirror, he saw his face. He looked like he'd been through hell. His cheeks were covered in tear tracks, and his eyes were red and puffy. He had dark circles like he'd never seen before.
He sighed and tried unsuccessfully to push the events of the day out of his head. Slowly, he plodded to his room, but he refused to lie down until he got the text from his friend.
After twenty of the longest minutes he'd ever experienced, which had included Peter dozing off on his feet twice, the message came through, and Peter finally collapsed into bed. He was out before he could even think about setting an alarm.
The moment after Ned sent the text from his bed, he heard the telltale creaking of his grandma's feet on the floor in the room next door. He sighed in relief at his successful escapade and went back to mulling over the day as he had been repeatedly since it all went south.
It was usually pretty hard for him to feel anything but pure awe and gratitude for the literal superhero that kept saving his friend's life, but he was finding that a little more difficult today.
The fact that Mr. Stark would even consider taking away the suit after last time made Ned's blood boil, and he'd been pondering on the entire train ride back here what the hell to do about it.
Ultimately, he came to one conclusion. He had to talk to him.
Not over the phone, this time. This time, he had to actually go in person and make sure Mr. Stark knew exactly what hell could be leaving Peter to go through alone and why Ned, his best friend and Guy in the Chair, wouldn't stand for that.
He'd told Peter he'd kick his ass if he came to school after the events of the day. But now, he didn't think he was going to go either.
No, he was going to go to Avengers Tower instead.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This chapter seemed determined to give me as much trouble as possible - it was the one I had the least defined concept of when I started this fic, but I think it turned out okay in the end. I do feel like the first part dragged a little bit, but I wanted to put in more of Peter and Ned interacting when things weren't going wrong (and also the cat Peter saved was heavily based on my cat, and I simply could not remove her cameo). I know it didn't end in a fully resolved place, but don't worry, I plan to have the next chapter pick up basically where this one ended. I'd love to hear what you all thought!
For any of you that were following along with my progress, you may have seen that I have been applying to graduate school, which has taken up a lot of my time. I'm overjoyed to say that I got in and will be starting a PhD program in the fall! I still can't believe it! If any of you are in a similar boat with applications and all the work that can take, I wish you so much luck!
As per usual, I will be putting dated updates on how the next chapter is going on my profile. I do not plan for it to be as long as this one, so hopefully it shouldn't take quite as much time, lol. In an ideal world, I hope to get both of the remaining chapters done before leaving for school, but we shall see what my rapidly changing life brings!
Thank you again for reading! Please feel free to leave a review if you wish! :)