Sicktember 2025: Early Prompt/ Day One: “It’s the middle of the night, why are you awake?”
Peter didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know which of their group was coming out of the safe house to check on him; the telltale thrum of the arc reactor giving him away before he’d even turned the doorknob to leave the safety of the cabin.
“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter straightened then spoke softly, acknowledging his mentor’s arrival.
The man shuffled over and dropped tiredly beside him onto the musty old loveseat nestled under the boarded up window and under the cover of a dilapidated porch roof. “Hey, kid,” he said softly. “It’s the middle of the night, why are you still out here?” He took a moment to take in their surroundings and impending sunrise, then sighed. “Well, I guess it is morning now, yeah?”
Peter simply sat quiet as Mr. Stark breathed in the cool, fresh forest air, grateful that the darkness hid his pallor.
“Alrighty then, Mr. Strong-yet-silent, as pretty as this is, I am unilaterally implementing a new rule. The next time we have to make a run for the hills, I am absolutely insisting that our next safe house has at least a couple of separate wings for privacy, multiple bathrooms, limitless medical supplies, food delivery, and maybe, just for kicks? Electricity and running water to the entire house and not just the lab? Seriously. Some of us like flushing!”
“Please don’t make it worse than it already is,” Peter whispered, mostly to himself. “Stupid Parker Luck™” What he wouldn’t give for a bit of privacy to take care of the—
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know that was a little too close for comfort, kid,” Mr. Stark interrupted Peter’s thought, “but on the bright side! At least we got out of there with our heads still on our shoulders.”
Peter scowled as he flashed back on the chaos of their escape from Midtown... and then again from the tower with the rest of the team in tow.
“You know that was a little bit funny, Pete. Come on? He sent ninjas! Who even keeps ninjas on their payroll anymore!? That’s so eighties.” Mr. Stark scoffed.
“Too soon, Mr. Stark.”
The man groaned in response, “You know, one would think that going through this whole ‘Tad Ross has lost his ever-lovin’ mind and gone over to the dark side so we’re all on the run’ thing would give you permission to be a little less formal with everyone, you know?” He chuckled to himself, “Well, that and the fact that I’ve been telling you to call me Tony for actual millennia now, but what do I know?” He leaned back and playfully shoved the kid.
“Do you really want me to answer that, Mr. Stark?” Peter couldn’t help but sound a little subdued even as he teased back.
Mr. Stark threw the arm not currently tucked into a sling over Peter’s shoulder, missing Peter’s flinch, and gave him a supportive squeeze, “Alright, smartass. Be that way.” He paused, then took another deep breath before speaking again, “I am sorry, though... for getting you involved in all of this. The Accords were supposed to be the beginning of a bigger discussion, not the way to make a shopping list for a mad man. What Ross is trying to do is just...”
“I know,” Peter sighed. “I’m just worried about everyone back home,” he confessed. “I mean, with the attack at the school and then...” Peter’s throat tightened with emotion.
“And then it all going to hell. I hear you.” Mr. Stark finished his thought. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m almost a thousand percent certain that everything is okay back home. Honestly. There are contingency plans in place for exactly this sort of scenario.”
Peter blinked up at Mr. Stark in confusion. “Exactly this? So you had a plan in place in case Secretary Ross went nuts, hired ninja assassins and tried to kidnap all of us while also threatening to throw my aunt and everyone I love in jail?”
Mr. Stark patted Peter’s shoulder. “That’s exactly what I’m saying... and even if Cap had missed it with all of his backup plans, you’ve met my fiancée, have you not?”
Even feeling a sudden, slight swell of nausea, Peter couldn’t help the tiny chuckle that escaped his mouth. He had met her only a couple of times but completely understood Mr. Stark’s point. His shoulders relaxed a bit at the realization. “Yeah,” he answered.
“Perfect! Then let’s not stress about that and stress more about how we’re going to divvy up the limited amount of sleep surfaces we have in there so we can get some actual rest.” He nodded toward the cabin proper. “Baby spiders need their beauty sleep and I’m sure we could find you a corner to curl up in.”
Peter could have wept for want of a chance to close his eyes. If he could—
The door creaked open again just then, this time the Black Widow popped her head out of the door.
Peter blinked, confused. How had he missed her coming?
“Steve and Bruce are about finished up with first aid so we can move on to the debriefing and start making a plan... unless someone has something else to be taken care of?” Ms. Romanoff cast an analyzing glance over the two.
Peter wrapped his arms around his midsection while Mr. Stark immediately threw his good hand up in mock surrender. “C’mon, Nat! Don’t look at me like that,” Mr. Stark exclaimed defensively. “I’m literally sitting here in a Cap-administered sling.”
Natasha shook her head as she smirked. “You’ll forgive me if I choose to be sceptical.”
“It’s been years,” Mr. Stark grumbled. “Almost die one time and they never let you forget...”
“One time?”
“Fine! More than one time! Point made, Natashalie. ” Mr. Stark glared at the superspy. “But I’m as fine as I can be. Really.”
Ms. Romanoff seemed satisfied so, with their dialogue over, she and Mr. Stark both looked to Peter.
“I-I, uh, I told you before, I’m good.”
Her eyes bore into his soul.
He shrunk back further into the shadow. “I mean... it’s barely a scratch,” Peter squeaked out, trying to reassure them both, and failing, he was sure.
Ms. Romanoff arched an eyebrow, growing even more serious. “But there’s a scratch?”
Peter’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Yes, there was a scratch, maybe a little more than a scratch; even after all of Mr. Stark’s self defence training. He had flubbed enough to let one of Ross’s guys get close enough to get a slice in—not that he was going to complain about something that was his own stupid fault and would be healed by later on that morning. “No!” He blurted out once he’d resolved himself to keep things quiet. “I mean... it’s just a saying, you know? I’m fine. I promise.”
Mr. Stark leaned away from the boy, withdrawing his arm as he tried to gauge Peter’s physical state more precisely. “You know there’s no harm in admitting there’s a problem, right?” His eyebrows furrowed as he continued on, “Ross sent a whole ass team after you, kid, and you held your own even before you got to us. There’d be no judgment...”
Peter shook his head vehemently. Mr. Stark’s words were nice, but Peter knew there would be judgement, alright. He was certain of it, and so he replied softly, “I’m fine, sir.”
Mr. Stark cringed, “And you’re using ‘sir’ now? Where the hell did that come from?” he asked. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Peter saw his way to deflect the attention away from him and pasted on as best a grin as he could manage. “I think we’ve filled that quota for the day.”
“You’re hilarious.” Mr. Stark replied, deadpan.
“Well then, if we’re done with reassuring each other,” Ms. Romanoff interrupted, “can we get ready for that debrief?”
Tony glanced over at his young mentee, assessing. “Still need a minute?”
The nod ‘yes’ came automatically.
“Well then, I guess I can give you that.” Obviously hurting more than he was letting on, Mr. Stark let out a pained grunt as he rose up from the seat. “I’ll save you a seat, kid. Just don’t take too long or Nat will start to worry.”
“But I said—”
“I know,” his mentor cut him off before they could get stuck in the loop again. “You’re fine. I get it. Just...” Mr. Stark plopped his hand on Peter’s head, refraining from ruffling his too long hair. “I might start to worry, too.”
Peter’s chest warmed at the sentiment. “I got it.”
“Good. Now,” Mr. Stark turned toward Ms. Romanoff and the front door. “I’m calling dibs on the chair without the spring sticking up and offering a free proctologist exam,” he declared as he and his friend made their way inside.
Peter gave a little wave, just in case one of them turned back for a final check.
Neither did, and the front door closed behind them.
In his head, Peter counted to ten, then waited a beat more before exhaling shakily and curling up once more to take some of the strain off of his tender stomach and relieve the ache starting to bloom across his lower back.
“shit,” he whispered, hoping that Mr. Roger’s superhearing didn’t catch his quiet expletive. He lifted the fabric of the hoodie up and away before he glanced down at his wound. “double shit.” The bleeding had slowed... and maybe even stopped thankfully, but the six-inch cut still looked as wide as it had when Peter had first laid eyes upon it, only after they were all safely tucked in on the quinjet for the first leg of their journey. Mr. Barton had been tossing hoodies and sweats out to anyone still in uniform to cover up before landing and then Mr. Wilson had collapsed and all hell broke loose. After that fiasco, Mr. Stark had spoken up about his dislocated shoulder and suddenly the quinjet’s two medical cots were being taken up and Peter figured that he’d simply wait his turn... right?
Pfft.
In a perfect world where Peter wasn’t an absolute bonehead—maybe?
It seemed like only a blink between Mr. Wilson barely regaining consciousness for a moment and the quinjet landing in the middle of a cornfield in the middle of Who-Knows-Where, USA, and then rushing to a rusted out, old cargo van stashed in a barn just down the road from their landing site.
How could Peter complain when he had never seen Mr. Stark look so pale from pain, and then Mr. Wilson was stopping to puke or catch his breath on the side of the road way too frequently for anyone to be comfortable with his condition?
It was a gong show.
So he’d stayed quiet, and now it was too late to say anything. Mr. Stark would blow up, and everyone else would think Peter was just some dumb kid with no survival instinct.
No thank you.
Besides—if the bleeding had stopped and Peter was going to get some rest soon, it made sense that the wound would close up soon enough and this would all be moot.
“Peter!” Mr. Stark called out from inside the cabin, pulling Peter from his thoughts. “Time up, kiddo! Let’s get this party started!”
With no one around, Peter didn’t bother hiding his flinch as he made to stand. “I’m coming!” He called back, then shuffled toward the door.
He could do this.
All he needed to do was find a spot and settle and no one would be the wiser.
The plan was perfect... and after already dealing with everything else that day, the fates owed him this win.
/-/-/
When all was said and done, Peter was pretty grateful that all discussion relevant to him was being covered so close to the beginning of the debriefing. Distracted at first by the pain of some subtle, but awkward shifting to find a comfortable position to sit, he’d missed out on some details about Mr. Wilson’s condition, but he knew that Dr. Banner was sure that he’d improve with enough time.
When it was his turn, he’d settled in enough to talk about the black SUVs and vans with blacked out windows rolling up on Midtown only a couple of minutes after their decathlon practice had finished up without giving anything away. No one bothered to interrupt with questions, so he offered up all he could; that all he’d wanted to do was get a head start on his patrol for the evening when suddenly, with Peter still dressed in his civilian clothes, dozens of masked individuals came pouring out of said vehicles, blades of all sorts flying. The whizzing sound of someone shooting a tranquilizer dart at him had him the most panicked, however, a strategic shift thanks to his spidey-senses had Peter’s backpack taking that shot in his stead.
“Hang on!” Dr. Banner interrupted. “The dart hit your bag? It actually pierced it?”
Peter nodded dumbly at the question, not understanding his train of thought.
That had Dr. Banner up and heading back out to the van in search of the backpack Peter had instinctively clung to so Aunt May wouldn’t need to buy yet another one when all of this was done. He was pretty sure the dart had fallen out a long time ago, but if it was important to Dr. Banner then more power to him.
He’d paused for a second, wondering if he should wait for Dr. Banner’s return before continuing, but Mr. Rogers urged him to go on... so Peter did, detailing the chase through the streets of borough after borough, trying to lose his tail by ducking into the subway, taking shortcuts, thinking that he’d finally gotten away from them all, then finding that he was wrong...
Dr. Banner interrupted him once more when he rushed back into the cabin, Peter’s bag in hand, then disappearing into the tiny half basement/laboratory set up every Avenger safe house was apparently kitted with.
Thank goodness for the Avengers and their paranoia.
Every one of them stared at the door as it closed behind him before Mr. Roger’s cleared his throat. “Please continue, Peter,” the man encouraged.
—but Peter was distracted. “Um, is everything okay?” Peter asked, suddenly wishing he’d been paying more attention to more than just his pain at the beginning.
Mr. Barton spoke up then, “Bruce is just ready to find an antidote for whatever toxin was on the blade that nicked Sam so we can be done with this shit and get on with kickin’ Ross’s ass.” Mr. Barton was always direct and to the point.
“Toxin?” Peter hoped the panic in his voice could be mistaken for curiosity. “I thought Sam just needed to rest...?”
“Well, yeah? But didn’t you hear us earlier?” Mr. Stark replied.
Peter cheeks flushed warm as he was forced to admit that he hadn’t been paying attention.
Mr. Stark stared at Peter for a moment, confused or concerned. Peter couldn’t tell. “Are you sure you’re okay, kid?”
He nodded an emphatic ‘yes.’ “I guess I was just distracted for a sec.” Peter wiped away the cold sweat suddenly dotting his forehead.
Mr. Stark didn’t seem so sure, but that didn’t stop him from repeating their earlier discussion for Peter’s benefit. “Like I said earlier, Bruce didn’t want to risk making a mistake and cause any sort of drug interaction. Ratios can be a bitch.”
A soft, “Language,” came from the direction of Mr. Rogers.
Mr. Stark chuckled, then replied, “I’ll get right on that, old man,” and went on, “This toxin’s elimination half life is something else—looked like it was intended to be a fast acting, then even faster disappearing poison for a regular person. Nothing would show up on a tox screen.”
Peter’s brain was struggling to fill in the blanks. What had he missed?!
“And knowing Ross and the little we can tell from the wound residue and Sam’s blood samples, it would only knock a super like you out with the added bonus of having nothing left in your system.” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. “Heaven forbid that something interferes with their experimenting if he ever did manage to get ahold of you or Cap. But at least Sam lucked out, if we can call it that, thank goodness. It’s gonna be rough, Sam is fighting its effects well enough... though I’m sure his liver and kidneys would appreciate the faster recovery time—”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “His liver and kidneys?”
Dr. Banner suddenly bellowed up from the basement. “Tony, I need you down here, now!”
Mr. Stark winced as he stood. “Oh, the burden of being a Science Bro,” he faux-complained as he made his way to the basement door then pulled it open. “Everyone cross fingers that we’ve got something,” he called back as he started down the stairs.
“Good luck.” Mr. Rogers offered up, not that Mr. Stark had heard, then turned his attention back to Peter. “Now, why don’t you tell us about what happened once you got to the tower?”
Peter’s lower back pulsed and his stomach lurched. It all made sense now. “Um. I...” he looked at Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barton, and Ms. Romanoff, then imagined Mr. Wilson lying alone in the closet-like bedroom off the main room. “I... um.” He drew in a shaky breath.
“Peter?” Ms. Romanoff leaned forward in her seat, catching his attention. “What’s going on? You’re not lookin’ so great.”
“I think I messed up, Ms. Romanoff,” he whispered.
The woman startled, “What do you mean? At the tower?”
Peter exhaled slow, “No, I mean... yeah, but I...”
He was going to be in so much trouble.
Ms. Romanoff cast a glance at the others, doing that superspy wordless communication thing that they always did before she spoke again, “Why don’t you tell us about it, and we’ll decide if you messed up, okay? We can pull up FRIDAY’s footage and see what you’re—“
“No. Not that! It’s...”
The room was getting warmer the longer he sat there, so the decision he made next came a little bit easier. Peter lowered his hands to the hem of his sweatshirt, clenching at the fabric for only a few seconds before he lifted it up enough to reveal his damaged uniform and—
“Holy shit!”
Peter had no clue who had cursed, but he did know that he had to shut his eyes to the sudden flurry of activity around him as Ms. Romanoff lurched forward to get a closer look at Peter’s wound while Mr. Barton rushed her side to help shift Peter to lying down on the damp-smelling couch. Even with his eyes closed, Peter knew that it was Mr. Rogers racing to throw open the basement door.
“Guys! We need a medical assist up here, now!”
Those words had the two scientists rushing up the stairs, Dr. Banner coming through the doorway first and veering towards Mr. Wilson’s room with Tony coming up from behind.
“I’ll grab your kit!” Mr. Stark called out to Dr. Banner, rushing past the couch toward where the medical bag had been set in the corner.
Peter opened his eyes just as Mr. Rogers grabbed Mr. Stark by his good arm, stopping him in his track. “Tony!” Mr. Rogers then lowered his voice, “Stop. It’s not Sam... it’s Peter.”
Mr. Stark’s eyes widened as he stepped close to the couch and looked down at his mentor prone and bleeding, “Underoos? What the—” He called back over his shoulder to Dr. Banner. “Bruce!”
Everything felt so much bigger and beyond his control with him lying there and Peter had to rectify it. “I’m fine, Mr. Stark, I—” Peter shifted to sit up, twisting away from Ms. Romanoff while pushing her hands away, then gasped at the shock of pain searing across his wound.
All of the fight left him and everything he’d been trying to ignore flared at once; his lower back ached, tender flesh stung, ice and fire danced across his skin, and the nausea—oh, the nausea.
Hot saliva filled his mouth. Peter whimpered, gagged, then pushed himself off the couch and crumpled onto the floor and into a half-kneel/half-crouch. He would not—he refused to—no way was he going to barf in front of the Avengers.
His determination lasted the time it took for an old garbage bin to be thrust in front of him, then everything Peter had eaten in the entirety of his pathetic life was exiting his body.
Peter tried to shake off the warm hand against his back, but all strength seemed to leave him along with his stomach contents. This was the epitome of embarrassment, he thought to himself as he tried to catch his breath. He’d said he was fine. He WAS fine!
He dry heaved once... twice more, then waited a moment before deciding the chaos was over and spit into the bin. No one else in the room seemed to be moving, so Peter lifted a hand from the ground, intending to use his sweatshirt sleeve to wipe his face clean.
He was fine and would tell them as much...
Suddenly, his other elbow buckled, unable to manage the added weight.
... and everything went black.
/-/-/
Peter started coming back to himself in dribs and drabs.
The beating of a heart monitor dragged him from the darkness the first time but was ignored easily enough for him to drop back into a restful sleep.
The itch of the medical tape on his arm caused the second disruption.
The third time, however, it was... it was...
“Whazzat?” Peter ran a weak hand across his forehead, wiping away... something? His brow furrowed as he struggled to focus on what looked like a... hang on a sec?... “Izzat a spitball?”
“‘Is that a spitball?’ he asks.” Another paper wad landed on his chest. “Of course it’s a spitball, you idiot. Geez Louise—” Mr. Barton pulled his feet from the edge of Peter’s bed and stood up from his seat. “I thought Tony said you were a genius.”
Peter tried sitting up to defend himself, but failed. “Wha-?”
“Relax, Spider-boy, I’m gonna go get Tony so he can deal with you.” Mr. Barton patted Peter’s shoulder then stepped out of the room.
Peter drew in a deep breath and promptly fell back to sleep.
/-/-/
Peter couldn’t tell how much time had passed once he opened his eyes for what was hopefully for good. He always hated it when he waffled between conscious and not. The time gaps were a little... disorienting and made him feel unsettled.
He rubbed the back of his shaky hand against itchy eyes, knocking against the tubing of the nasal canula rested across his cheek. Peter closed his eyes as his fingers hooked it to pull away.
“Aaaaand that’s a big ol’ nope, kiddo,” a large warm hand gently pushed his hand away. “Helen’s on her way down the hall, so I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Peter opened his eyes to the voice. “Mis’r Stark?”
“In the flesh, buddy,” he settled himself the leather armchair beside the bed, guarding his arm now nestled securely in a sleek, black sling, “Nice to finally have you back in the land of the living—unless this is yet another ruse and you’re about to fall back to sleep AGAIN.” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. “I mean, seriously, Pete. It’s been two days already... the Sleeping Beauty thing is getting a little old.”
“Nah- I’m awake.” Peter forced his eyes wide and moved to sit up but stopped when he flashed on a vague memory of a failed first attempt to do the same. He shifted cautiously instead as his muddled mind caught up with the words Mr. Stark had just spoken. “Hang on— two days?!” Peter’s mind cleared as it jumped to May and Ned and murderous ninjas, then jackknifed up to sitting as he realized that too much time had passed. Any words he thought he could say caught in his throat as he gasped, then cried out, overcome by the sharp pain that flashed across his lower abdomen.
“Shit!” Mr. Stark jumped up and hissed out in sympathy. “Stay still.” He bundled Peter as best he could into his chest without jostling him too much, “Just breathe through it, bud. It’ll pass... just breathe...”
Pressed securely against him, it still took longer than anyone would have liked for Peter to get caught up in the cadence of Mr. Stark’s steadying breaths; in and out... in and out... allowing the pain to eventually ebb from his body.
Finally, Peter slumped in exhaustion. “fuck me.”
Mr. Stark couldn’t contain the snort laugh at his mentee’s quiet exclamation as he helped to lay Peter back down on the bed. “Geez, kid, where’s Cap when you need him? Where’d you learn a word like that?”
“I think we can forgive it this time, Tony,” a new voice sounded from the doorway, “Especially considering what he’s been through over the last forty-seven hours.” Dr. Cho stepped up to Peter’s bedside and smiled down at the boy in the bed. “Welcome back, Peter. You’re recovery has been slow going, but the toxin seems to have finally left your system and I’m glad to see you awake and aware.”
Peter blinked up at her, confused. Now she’d said it, too? Mr. Stark wasn’t exaggerating?
Her brow furrowed in concern at his silence. “Well, I thought you were aware?” she pulled her penlight from somewhere and leaned in to check his eyes. “Peter, are you with us?”
That action snapped Peter out of his stupor. Slamming his eyes shut as he turned his face away from the light he knew was going to burn like the fire of a thousand suns, especially with the nagging ache sitting just behind his eyes, Peter grumped, “I’m fine... but really?” He slowly opened his eyes, just in case she was waiting to attack. “Two days? But I should have been...”
“If you say fine one more time, we’re going to have words, young man.” Mr. Stark interrupted him before he could say that exact word, which was probably a good thing for the way Mr. Stark jaw was clenching.
“But I—”
Those two words proved to be Peter’s downfall.
Mr. Stark pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deep, tried to channel some sort of calm, and then failed epically. “But nothing! It had been hours, kid! Then you sat on that stupid porch swing and lied to our damned faces!”
Peter should have kept his mouth shut and taken his licks, but if he could just explain to Mr. Stark... “But I didn’t! I should have healed up super fast, Mr. Stark! You know that!”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t say anything!” Mr. Stark’s voice got louder, “Besides, look at where it got you! It’s been two days!”
Peter’s still pale face flushed in embarrassment, “I know.”
“I’m not sure that you do, kid! You could have died! The toxin that Ross used was on everything, Peter, including the blade that nearly gutted you! If you’d said something, we could have chosen a different safehouse! Or, I don’t know, at least cleaned the wound?! But you decided to go off on your own without a word! Why, kid? Why couldn’t you trust us?! Trust me?”
“Tony,” Dr. Cho stepped in now that Mr. Stark had said what he’d obviously been holding onto for the last couple of days. “Now’s not the time. Perhaps it would be better it you tabled ...”
Peter didn’t give her a chance to finish her thought, because the embarrassment flashed to guilt faster than he could blink and he had to reply. “It’s because I know, okay?! I know that I suck! I know that I’m a crappy superhero and I can’t do anything right! And I know that you’re all going to get tired of carrying me if I don’t figure this out fast! But I’m trying, okay? I swear I am!” He wiped roughly at his suddenly wet cheeks, hoping and praying that neither adult had noticed.
Yeah, right.
“Well, then... I guess we’re not tabling anything. ” Mr. Stark muttered under his breath.
On any other day, Peter would have been quick to seize the chance to sass back, but now... he’d just had to go and ruin everything.
He exhaled slowly, trying to get his bearings before Mr. Stark could say anything more.
“I’ll give you two a few minutes before I do my check.” Dr. Cho stepped back, “but if anything changes, hit that call button, or else...” After a stern glare at both of them, she turned and left the room, her footsteps growing fainter as she headed down the hallway.
Neither of them said a word for a couple of minutes, until, “So,” Mr. Stark sat heavily in his seat, “you’ve been sitting on that for a while, I’m guessing?”
Peter winced as he tried to turn away from the man. He couldn’t do this while he was feeling so miserable.
“Hey, hey, hey! Be still, kid. You’ve got to be feeling tender after that reaction, so just—yeah. Be still.”
Peter closed his eyes instead.
“Look, I’m...” Mr. Stark seemed to be struggling to figure out what to say.
Peter braced himself.
“I’m not really great at apologies, but I think I owe you one if you actually believe any part of what you just said.” The words seemed rushed, but no less sincere. “Can I...” he trailed off again before he continued, a little slower. “Can I ask what the team has said or done... what I’ve done to make you think that we think that? ... that you can’t come to us? I mean, you were bleeding!” Mr. Stark cut himself off before he could get himself worked up again then took a deep breath before continuing. “I just don’t understand?”
He’d mumbled out the response before he could stop himself, “To be fair, I didn’t think I was actively bleeding anymore.”
“Hilarious, kid, now answer the question.”
But that was the problem.
Peter couldn’t.
He laid there, wracking his brain for one example that he could specifically point to where any of the Avengers said something that Peter could interpret as negative, but there was nothing.
All of that time... all of that self-talk.
Peter groaned in embarrassment.
Peter Parker was an idiot.
Finally, he whispered, “I’m such a loser, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry.”
Mr. Stark reached out his good hand, placed it gently on Peter’s upper arm, and gave a supportive squeeze. “Hey, don’t talk about my friend like that, Pete. He’s a great guy, even if he’s still working on some stuff...” He gave Pete a knowing look. “... but that’ll be a conversation for later, okay? After Dr. Cho gives you the all clear to head up to your room, if that works for you?”
Peter nodded, bashfully. “Really though, Mr. Stark, I’m so—” he started, but then realized, like actually realized where he was.” He started to sit up again, but was stopped in his tracks by his mentor’s strong hand. “We’re in the tower?!” His heart rate shot up enough to set off the alarm beside him but Peter didn’t care. “What about Ross... and the ninjas? Is May safe? What about—”
Mr. Stark stood up and, ever so gently, covered Peter’s mouth with his hand. “Peter.”
Peter gave the hand a lick, then took advantage of Mr. Stark’s hand’s immediate withdrawal. “And don’t say everything is fine because we both know that’s bullshit.”
Mr. Stark chuckled. “Well, too bad for you, bud, because it is. If you recall, before you decided to get all melodramatic, I told you that Pepper had a plan for everything, correct?”
Peter nodded a ‘yes.’
“Well, my sexy badass of a fiancée managed to deal with Ross and his lame-ass ninjas with the help of your aunt’s walnut loaf and a couple of phone calls... one of which was to my very own bff—the president.”
“What?” Could Peter not go three minutes without being confused?
Mr. Stark shook his head as he smiled wider than Peter had ever seen. “Ross got to your apartment a minute before the security team Pepper had dispatched for her. May had been making that damned walnut loaf when they crashed through the window.” He chuckled again, “You’re amazing aunt walloped Ross AND some of his team with one of the cooled loaves, knocking a couple of them unconscious—and buying Pepper’s security enough time to get there and finish dealing with them all.”
Peter sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. I thought she’d made them eat it.”
Mr. Stark laughed a little harder as he patted Peter’s arm. “They’d have deserved it if she had. Now,” Mr. Stark stood up, “let’s get Dr. Cho in here then get our butts upstairs. There’s a crazy Aunt and a whole team of superheroes waiting to make sure you’re okay... and we have some misconceptions that need to be cleared up—hopefully with a movie night to start?”
Peter’s heart warmed at the offer. He could manage that, he thought to himself.
And maybe his Parker Luck™ wasn’t acting up after all.
