Hey, guys! This is my first time posting a story! Please leave any comments you have here, I love feedback!
I hope you enjoy it!
…
Peter woke in a cold sweat. Everything was too small, the blanket, the walls, his body. He needed to get out. Now. Kicking the blanket away, he stands quickly, a little wobbly on his feet, just needing the constricting fabric off him. Immediately, his vision starts swimming, swirling everything around and around until he reaches out and grabs his headboard. He uses it as a grounder as he takes some deep breaths, trying to ignore the oncoming wave of nausea. He didn't dare close his eyes, though, afraid of what he would see. He didn't want to be back there. He didn't want to feel the crushing weight of the building's ceiling on his chest and ribcage again. He didn't want to see his own ghostly white face staring back at him from the water. He didn't want to. He couldn't. Instead, he stares ahead, at the peeling paint on his wall. He can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears much too quickly, the loud sound showing no sign of slowing soon. He let go of the headboard, walking to the window and sliding it open. The cold night air hit him like a train, sending a small shock through his system. He gulped down that awful feeling of the lump in his throat, refusing to cry over a stupid nightmare. This one was especially bad, though. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, hear the dripping of the water in the building. He could feel every jagged edge of the cracked concrete digging into his back… Peter brought his hands up to his shoulders, crossing his arms. He gripped the fabric of his shirt, trying to calm himself down.
Breathe. Peter, breathe. He tried to remind himself, forcing himself to gulp in some cold air. He forced down the crushing feeling of the memories and tried to focus on the scenery. The cars passing by, the loud, drunk teenagers walking past. He slowly began to calm down, the thought of going to Mr. Stark's lab helping to calm his nerves. He glanced at his clock, eyes widening when he saw the time. 3:43 it displayed on its obnoxious red screen. Peter internally groaned. He would have to get up in around 3 hours to head to the tower. He didn't mind hanging out with Mr. Stark, he loved it in fact, except for the fact that he's just relived the worst night of his life. He really didn't feel like going back to bed, though, so he supposed he would go out on patrol again. He turned and walked to his closet, dropping one of his hands, the other running through his thick, sweaty curls. He searched through his closet, feeling around for that thick, durable fabric of his suit. When he finally found it, he gripped it hard, pulling it out. He quickly undressed, peeling the sweaty shirt off his back. He dressed in his suit, pulling the familiar fabric on. He slipped the mask on, the sound of Karen powering up filling his ears.
"Good evening, Peter." Her smooth voice says, ringing around in his head, shaking the nightmare's aftermath away.
"Hi, Karen. How are you?" Peter replies, forgetting that she doesn't really have a "good" or "bad".
"I'm well. How are you?" She asks, engaging in their usual banter.
"I'm… Great. Just fantastic." Peter sarcastically replies, feeding his fingers into the gloves.
"Peter, your heart rate seems elevated. Should I notify Mr. Stark?"
"No! No, Karen, it's fine, don't call Mr. Stark!" He quickly exclaims, not wanting to worry Mr. Stark at four in the morning. Or at all…
"Okay, Peter. If it gets any higher or if you show any more signs of distress, I'm required to call him by authority of the Baby Monitor Protocol."
Peter rolls his eyes, still annoyed that he can't override the protocol yet. He's been working on it with a very hesitant Ned. He slips out the window, onto the windowsill, sliding it shut behind him. Breathing the filtered fresh air, he activates his web-shooters, sending a web to the nearest building. He jumps off the windowsill, bringing that familiar falling sensation he's come to know and love. He swings up into the air and lands gracefully on the roof, taking a quick deep breath as he faces the stars momentarily. He crouches down, already feeling the weight of the nightmare leaving him.
"Okay, Karen. Any calls to 911 around here? Anyone who needs help?"
"There's an unattended child on 38th street and an elderly man who can't find his apartment on 52nd."
"Alright. I'm heading to 38th, then. How old is the kid?" Peter says, jumping off the roof. As he swings, he can feel the tension he's built up melting away. It'll be back in the morning, he knows. He ignores it and keeps swinging, keeping an eye on the streets below him in case Karen missed something. The lights of the night whizz by him, people's chattering voices reach his ears, and cars honking too frequently is chaotic but feels comforting to Peter. It feels like home.
"She appears to be around 6 or 7 years old. Callers report she's been out there for 20 minutes.."
Peter's eyes widen at how long she's been outside in the cold and he speeds up. He reaches 38th and quickly spots the child. She sticks out like a sore thumb, a little girl in a cute white jacket and pink mittens. She's wandering around, tugging at people's jackets, probably trying to find her mom or dad. Peter swings down, landing next to her. There're tear streaks on her face and her nose is pink. Peter feels a pang of guilt that he'd not been here sooner to help her, but he pushes it down, instead focusing on helping the little girl.
Peter thinks it's been a pretty successful patrol. He's stopped two muggings, helped an old lady cross the road(eaten a churro,) helped an elderly man find his apartment building, and returned a very distraught little girl to her very worried and grateful mother. Yeah. Pretty successful. He's about to start heading home. According to Karen, it's 6:00 so he should get going in order to be back in time. It's still dark outside but Queens is starting to wake up. More cars are appearing on the streets, people's blinds are starting to open, stores have people inside them. Why anyone would get up at 6:00 on a Saturday morning will forever confuse Peter. At least sleep until 7:00 he thinks, waving to a jogger on the street. As he's swinging, he thinks about the last couple months with Mr. Stark. Who would've imagined that he, scrawny Peter Parker, would be working with Tony frikin' Stark. And the Avengers! Turns out he didn't need to pass the "test" Mr. Stark gave him anyway, because he'd be working with the Avengers regardless. It felt amazing. Truly amazing to-
Peter's thoughts are cut off by the smell of smoke. Even with the filtration in the suit's mask, he can still smell it. He lands on a nearby roof quickly, his eyes scanning the area.
"Karen, what is that?" He asks quietly.
"There appears to be a fire on the next block over. The whole building is aflame."
As she speaks, a large cloud of smoke rises from a nearby building on a corner. There's a fire alarm going off, accompanied by the sound of people screaming.
"Karen, what time is it?" Peter asks urgently. He can't be late to get home, or May is going to bust his ass for being out patrolling already. Plus he needs to get ready and do his homework before going to the tower at 10:00 to work in the lab with Mr. Stark.
"It's 6:18, Peter. If you're going to help, I suggest you do so quickly. You don't have much time." Comes the AI's response. Peter bites his lip under the mask, debating whether or not to help. Before he can even give it a second thought, he's already jumping off the roof and swinging to the building. As he gets closer, the unmistakable stench of smoke grows stronger. The sounds of people screaming assaults his ears as he nears, landing right in front of the burning building.
It's so much worse than he originally thought. The whole three-story building is ablaze, sending ash and embers towards the street. People around him are running and coughing, sending a pounding through his skull. A horrible black cloud is starting to rise from the windows, floating into the air like a large indicator of death. Not today, Peter thinks, springing into action. He opens his mouth to speak but Karen interrupts him.
"The fire department has been called. They're on their way. There are people on the top floor, Peter."
She says, seemingly reading his mind. Without another word, Peter sends webs onto the top floor of the building, launching himself towards the blackened window. He crashes through it, sending shards of glass everywhere. Immediately, his eyes are filled with smoke and he can't see anything. Dropping to the floor, he assesses the situation, eyes moving quickly, looking for people. Fire laps at the suit, almost hot enough to burn through the fabric. He still tries to avoid it because if he stays in it for too long, his suit is going to malfunction.
"There's a group of people to your left in the far side of the room." Karen says, her voice louder than usual. He sees the group of people in the corner, coughing and crying. He quickly walks over, over to them, hunched in a crouched position, mind racing.
Check they're okay, calm them down, get them out he repeats in his head, going over the steps he made for himself.
"Hey! Are you guys okay?!" He yells over the roaring flames which seem to be in every direction. They burn his eyes, even through the mask. A woman turns to him, fear and panic settled into every crack of her face. She nods, probably too stunned and scared to speak. She's clutching a wailing baby to her chest, holding it tightly as if the fire was going to rip it out of her arms. Silent tears are flowing down the cheeks of everyone there. There's around 6 of them in the group, all huddled together in a corner. They look a little traumatized but otherwise okay.
"We gotta go! Now!" Peter yells, gesturing to the window. He can hear the fire trucks and the stamping of the firefighters' feet as they set up a life net to catch people. The group gets up, eager to get out of the ash-turning building. Peter leads the way to the window, wary about the falling chunks of wood from the roof. Peter glances down at his suit. It's blackened in some places and almost burned through at others. He winces at the sight, mentally apologizing to Mr. Stark. They get to the window and Peter peers outside. Yep, he was right. A life net is set up under them, the sight of firefighters barking instructions to each other comforting.
"Okay, you gotta go! Just jump, it'll be fine!" Peter urges, ready to get away from the flames licking his heels. The first person, a teenager, jumps from the window and lands safely on the life net. When they get off, the next person goes. One by one, they jump and hurry away from the building. They run to the group of people who were in the building, checking themselves for injuries and crying together. Finally, it's just Peter and the woman with the baby. She looks terrified, holding the baby's head to her chest.
"You gotta jump! They're gonna catch you!" Peter yells desperately. He can feel the fabric on his heels curling up and burning. He nearly pushes her out, not liking the groaning coming from the roof. Finally, she makes a decision and jumps, curling in the air so her baby is protected. She lands safely but takes a minute to get off, obviously deeply shaken. She uncurls slowly, making her way off the net shakily. There's a horrible creaking sound and Peter looks up to see the frame of the building starting to crumble. Peter's heart drops and he lets out a kind of mangled whimper. Memories come crashing into him, overwhelming him in an instant. Toomes's laugh. The wings flying past. The pillars crumbling around him. The strained, terrified scream that tore its way out of his throat. He attempts to jump out the window himself, only to be caught in the scalding, falling rubble. Peter lands hard, a piece of the foundational wood holding him down. More debris falls onto him. A large panel from the ceiling falls onto his arm and he hears a crack. He's pretty sure some of his ribs are broken, though the pain radiating from them is nothing compared to the fire maliciously attacking him, making the exposed skin mangled and angry. He lets out an actual scream, his back feeling like it's being stabbed with a million tiny red-hot wires at a time. The burning wood digs into his back, creating deep welts that make him feel like dying. He lets out a sob, trying desperately to get out. It only collapses further, making him yelp like a wounded puppy. It's light outside now, he can see it from underneath the collapsed roof.
"Karen… help…" He forces out, trying to get his breathing under control. There's no response, the AI must be downed. Every breath seems to stab at his chest, the pain spiking with each passing second.
"Help! Please, someone! HELP!" He screams desperately. It sounds inhumane, it sounds tortured. It doesn't sound like Peter. Flashbacks of the building falling, the pillars crashing, the inescapable feeling of being crushed all come back to him again, only adding to the raw terror he feels welling deep in his chest. What if he can't get out? What if no one finds him? What if he's stuck here forever, trapped under an ever-collapsing burning building? He tries to force the thoughts out of his head, trying to stop the paralyzing thoughts of him burnt to a crisp under the collapsed roof from sealing themselves into his memory. Breath. Breath, Peter. Peter, BREATH he yells at himself, trying to take deep breaths without inflating his chest too much. He inhales some smoke and ash through the mask, the fabric burnt and worn, and immediately starts coughing. The action makes him dizzy and he nearly passes out from the pain of his burnt skin and his broken bones. He feels like he's being compressed, squished out of existence like a bug under a shoe. He can hear the fire alarm still going off, though the screams of the people outside are calming down as they're being taken care of by the fire department. His vision goes black around the edges as he gives one last attempt.
"Please… help…" He says, his breath leaving him in one big wheeze. His eyes drift closed, the pain leaving him slowly. It's a welcome bliss, drifting away from the hell he was in before… Until the sound of jet repulsors snap him back momentarily. Mr. Stark. Tony. His breathing speeds up as hope replaces fear in his messed up mind. It cuts through all doubt, he knows Mr. Stark will find him. He doesn't think he can form words, so he just screams. He pours all his soul into the scream, hoping that Mr. Stark will recognize it as his. Immediately, the vibrations and crashing of wood and concrete being crushed and shifted assaults his senses. It's the best thing Peter has ever experienced.
…
"Pet- Spiderman?!" A very worried-sounding Tony yells, panic seeping through his usually nonchalant facade. All Tony gets is a sob in return but it's enough to let him know that his intern is nearby. Tony rips through the burning wood, hoping and praying to god that Peter is okay, that the suit protected him even just a little bit, that Tony protected him even just a little bit. As he runs around the top floor of the ruined building, he realizes that every second he can't find Peter, he could be slowly burning to death.
"FRIDAY, replace the repulsor in my left hand with that fire extinguisher foam thing!" he barks. The rush of nanotech down his arms is enough to tell him that she's done it. He raises his arm and instead of hearing that familiar repulsor powering up, he hears a wet sputtering sound before a steady stream of cool foam shoots out of his hand. He aims at the large clumps of fiery pain, the flames dying down slowly. He continues searching, spraying each piece of wood and furniture that's aflame and tossing or breaking them, whichever way was easier to get them out of the way. He wished he equipped Peter's suit with better air filtration systems. If Peter died from smoke inhalation, it was Tony's fault. If Peter died because Tony thought he didn't have to help with a small fire, it was on Tony. If he- No. No. Peter wasn't going to die, because Tony would find him, and Tony would save him. He's running past what used to be the window, when he sees a hand. A mangled, blackened, burnt hand. He lunges for it, tossing away the heavy rubble on top. Underneath the mess that used to be a roof, there's a burnt, shaking, broken, and weak-looking Peter. A sight that would probably haunt Tony's mind forever.
"Kid! Shit!" Tony screams, moving faster than humanly possible to clear the flames around Peter.
"FRIDAY, how's he doing?!" He yells frantically, panicking heavily. He can't believe his eyes. Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod This can't be his Peter. This can't be the brave, strong, resilient kid that waltzed his way into Tony's life and nestled into his heart, right where it was the coldest. Oh god, it can't be.
"Peter is suffering from second and third degree burns along his back, arms, and legs. Four of his ribs are cracked and in danger of penetrating his lungs. His right arm is broken in two places, as well. His lungs are also in pain from inhaling too much smoke and ash." As the AI rattles out new injuries, Tony's heart rate steadily increases. His arm? His lungs, too? Tony drops to his knees beside Peter, quickly assessing his burns. They look bad, red, angry, and white. Tony knew that was not a good sign.
"Mr.- Mr. Stark?" Comes a shaky voice, sounding much too weak and small for Tony's liking.
"Yeah, I'm here, kid. It's alright," Tony says back, reassuring Peter and himself equally. "Everything's gonna be okay. I got you." He says, carefully placing a hand on the shaking kid's shoulder. Peter flinches away from his touch, hissing in pain, making Tony's heart twang with guilt. Peter lets out a little whimper when he moves around, his burns being attacked by the cool air and the ash around him.
"Buddy, please, we have to get you out of here." Tony coaxes, voice cracking on several different words. Peter whimpers in response, cradling his right arm to his chest. He looks up at Tony and gives him a small nod. Tony takes this as a "yes" and immediately scoops Peter up in his arms.
…
As the cold metal scrapes up against his burns, Peter bites back the urge to scream. Another whimper escapes him as he tries somehow to make himself lighter. He wants to curl into Tony's arms, to talk to May, to laugh with Ned. He doesn't want to feel like this. This is bad. This is terrible. This is hurt. He's been hurt before, like when he dislocated his shoulder(for the 6th time), when he fell on his head, when he got stabbed through the leg. This is worse. This pain takes over his whole body, numbing the best parts of his mind until only the bad things are left. This pain makes him long for comfort when touch is the thing that'll hurt him more. This pain covers every inch of his body, setting off every alarm in his head, burning its way into his brain. But even through all this, he still feels the little well of hope filling in his heart. He feels safe in Tony's arms, even though he can't see or feel him. He knows Tony will make sure he gets all the help he can get. He knows May will take care of him the best she can. He knows May will try to cook for him while he recovers and probably start another grease fire in the kitchen. He knows Ned will be there for him in his own ways. He knows Ned will make up excuses for him when he can't talk for himself. He can feel the tears stinging his face and eyes as they fall freely but he doesn't care. It's over. He's out. This had been so different from before, but so similar at the same time. The feeling of being trapped. The suffocating lack of air filling his lungs. Peter subconsciously takes a breath of what feels like shards of glass travelling down and shredding his throat. He can feel his cracked ribs with every pained breath, a sharp reminder of what he's been through from inside of him. Each breath feels like a piece of his control is being chipped away, until he can't handle it anymore and he cries out when his weight shifts a little.
"Sorry! Oh god, I'm sorry…" Tony says. He sounds desperate. Like he can feel everything Peter's feeling. Like he can feel every ounce of pain deep in his soul.
They arrive at the Tower in what feels like hours. Every second was too long, dragged out into an hour of pain and misery. Tony practically crashed through the window, FRIDAY barely opening it before he was through it and halfway to a bed in the med bay.
"FRIDAY, call Bruce!" Tony screams, setting Peter down with shaky but gentle hands. Peter yelps as the worst of his burns touch the cool, smooth fabric.
"Tony, it's seven in the morning on a Saturday morning. If you're hungover again-" The tired-sounding scientist starts, already seeming mentally exhausted.
"Bruce, get your ass down here! Now!" He yells, the panic ever-rising in his voice. There's a scuffling from the other line, Bruce seemingly wide awake now.
"Why? What happened?" Bruce says, his tone flat and professional. The humor is gone, replaced by his doctorate-having alter ego.
"It's Peter! He's bad- He- He's hurt bad!" Tony says, stumbling over words. He feels his logical self slipping away, riding down the landslide of bad possibilities his never-stopping mind keeps making up. Bruce doesn't answer, probably getting dressed and panicking slightly. Peter lays there on the too-cold bed. Actually, everything was too cold. Why is it so cold in here? Peter distantly thinks, his thoughts seemingly floating away from him. He can barely hear himself through the fog clouding his brain. He finds it too difficult to try to remember why Tony is panicking as he hooks Peter up to an IV. Peter doesn't feel the usual prick of the needle entering his skin which he finds unusual. He can't feel much actually. Everything seems numb, dull, gray as he looks around at the med bay. Or was this his bedroom? His thoughts are interrupted as the elevator doors ding open and a very concerned Bruce jogs in.
"Tony, what- Oh my God, is that Peter?!" Bruce asks, arriving at Peter's side in an instant. Tony says something about burns and a building. The conversation turns into a string of words that Peter can't hear and doesn't care about. His gaze drifts around before settling onto his arms. They look mangled and wrong. One is bent at a weird angle. There are ugly, angry, red patches all over, the skin grossly peeling away from the white spots that nestled themselves into his arms. It kind of looks like that time May brought some octopus home and tried to cook it, Peter thinks, a loopy smile spreading on his face at the thought of May. That seemed to make Tony more upset and frustrated because he places a hand on Peter's shoulder and says something indistinguishable. When Peter doesn't respond, Tony shakes Peter a little. Peter duly notes it, his glossy eyes traveling to Tony's face to his hand. Bruce is moving quickly, laser focused. He picks up a needle, his mouth forming words that suspiciously sound like "Three, two, one." He blinks slowly, his eyelids feeling heavier than before. It gets harder to open them and he struggles to get them under control. Everything is numb and he's no longer cold and Peter feels like he should be scared but he's just too sleepy to remember why or care.
"'S okay, buddy, yo…n sleep…" He hears Tony slur before the world around him spirals and dissolves into
no
thing
ness
…
Peter was out. Out cold. The sedatives Bruce gave him was enough to take out a small elephant, so it was understandable. Tony is pacing the length of the room, the repeated motion bringing him comfort. Bruce is standing over Peter, carefully cleaning his wounds.
"Tony, what exactly happened?"
"I don't know. I just got an alert that he was in distress and went to pick him up. I didn't expect this." Tony says, sighing and running a hand over his face. Bruce straightens, setting his tools down next to Peter on the table.
"It's not your fault. There's no way you could have-"
"But I could have stopped it! I didn't think it was important and I took my sweet damn time gettin' him!" Tony says exasperatedly, throwing his hands up. He paces faster, mind racing again. His adrenaline is up, the blood pumping in his ears.
"And he was getting- I don't know- burnt to a crisp and I was… making myself a goddamn coffee!" Tony snaps, turning around and leaning on the table. He's breathing heavily, chest heaving. He feels like an idiot. Why didn't he ask FRIDAY what was happening to his kid? Why didn't he get there faster? Why didn't he take Peter seriously? God, he's so stupid-
"Tony, listen to me. None of this is your fault. He's out, he's safe. He's okay. But he still needs something." Bruce says calmly, walking closer cautiously.
"What? What is it? Whatever it is, I'll have it here. Today. Yesterday. I-"
"Tony. He needs you." Bruce says, putting a firm hand on Tony's shoulder.
"He needs you to not be panicking when he wakes up. He needs you to hold his hand when you explain what happened to him. He needs you to be there for him when he inevitably remembers he's going to be in a lot of trouble when he gets home. He needs you to be strong. Be the Tony Stark he looks up to."
…
Tony spent the rest of the night sitting by Peter, holding his bandaged hand, talking to him softly. It was early the next morning when Peter finally cracked his eyes open, searching longingly for the person whose voice he'd been hearing all night.
"Hey, kid."