#tcns!verse

You stared blankly at the wall in your dark bedroom, seeing nothing in front of you and everything in the even darker corners of your mind. Drawers in your memories that you’d kept so carefully locked up were ripped open, flooding your consciousness with images you had tucked away so meticulously.

A red light. A black dress with a single white stripe around the skirt. Pink and purple clouds. Your favorite song. His voice. Warm eyes meeting yours in the rear-view mirror.

A green light. A silver SUV. Squealing tires. Crunching metal. Shattering glass. Screaming. Frightened eyes meeting yours in the rear-view mirror.

Pain.

A small box encased in purple velvet lay open on your bedspread, its contents strewn across the comforter.

A necktie. A photograph. A keychain. A pair of earrings. A one-dollar coin and a two-dollar bill. A birthday card.

“Breathe,” a voice said into your ear. You knew it was PURDUE but you couldn’t help but imagine that it was his voice. The voice you could still hear singing along to your favorite song.

You forced yourself to take a shaky breath as the tears spilled over.

A green light. Pain.

A silver SUV. Pain.

Your breath caught in your throat and you knew there was no escaping the depth of the downward spiral your thoughts were twisting into.

Squealing tires. Pain.

Crunching metal. Pain.

Three knocks. What?

Shattering glass. Pain.

Screaming. Pain.

Two knocks. Your bedroom wall.

One knock. Peter.

A couple taps to your watch and the lock clicked open. The handle turned and Peter stepped in from the terrace. The door shut behind him and out of the corner of your eye you saw him pull his mask off, a few flakes of snow fluttering down and melting before they hit the carpet. Normally you would greet him, but the spiral had already started to pull you back down.

A green light. Pain.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe how stupid people can be when they-- Hey, what’s wrong?”

A silver SUV. Pain.

You couldn’t even respond to Peter’s worried question. Your eyes were glued to the photograph. It was upside down at this angle, but that didn’t matter. You had every detail memorized.

Crunching metal. Pain.

You felt Peter kneel next to you by the bed more than you saw it. He pulled his gloves off, fingertips pushing hair back from your face and wiping your tear-stained cheeks. The comforting touch brought a new wave of sobs wracking through your chest and catching in your throat.

Shattering glass. Pain.

Peter sat next to you on the bed, pulling you into him. You went willingly, letting yourself be held.

Screaming. Pain.

Frightened eyes.

Agony.

You cried into his spandex-clad chest for what felt like hours. He held you tightly, stroking your hair, and rubbing your arms until your weeping subsided. When you finally quieted down, Peter shot a web across the room, grabbing your water bottle off your desk and pulling it toward him. He handed it to you and you drank from it gratefully, then tucked your head back into his shoulder as he set the now-empty bottle on your nightstand.

“You never talk about it. Them,” he said quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It took several moments for you to respond, but Peter was patient.

“I don’t-- how-- where would I…” you trailed off, unable to complete a sentence and a little frustrated with yourself because of it.

“Tell me about this,” Peter said. He picked up the neck tie and handed it to you. You ran the silk between your fingers a few times, tracing the pattern of dancing candy canes, turning and twisting it as you remembered.

“This was my favorite tie of his,” you told him. “I thought it was so funny. Whenever he wore it we always imitated the candy cane dance in the kitchen that morning. Sometimes he would wear it out of season and I would laugh so hard every time. Then he would put me on the school bus shouting ‘Merry Christmas!’ and I would laugh even harder because it was April.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Peter says.

“It was,” you agreed.

“What about this?” Peter asked, handing you the keychain. You rubbed the pad of your thumb along the textured plastic. Three butterflies following each other up toward the sky: blue, orange, and pink.

“He used to take me to the butterfly garden in the Bronx. We went for my birthday three years in a row, because it was all I wanted to do. One time a butterfly landed in my hair and I thought it was the best day of my life.”

You picked up the birthday card. The glitter still sparkled in the dim light despite how much time had passed.

“This is from my eighth birthday. It was my favorite because it was so sparkly.” You flipped the card open, tracing the blocky letters inked inside. “And it’s the only thing I have with his handwriting on it.”

Your fingers lingered on Love, Dad and you swallowed hard around tears that threatened to spill over again. You picked up the earrings.

“These were hers,” you held the sapphire studs delicately. “I don’t remember her well enough to ever remember her wearing them, but I’ve seen them in pictures. I took them from the back of his closet. I don’t know if he ever knew they were gone, or that I had them.”

You reached for the coin and the dollar bill.

“These were from the Tooth Fairy,” you said, the tiniest of smiles creeping onto your face. “He thought it was way cooler to give me uncommon coins and dollars. I wish I had been able to keep more of them.”

The photograph.

Him, her, and you.

You were just two years old, dressed up in a too-poufy, festive dress, and looking startled by something behind the camera. He was wearing reindeer antlers and a red nose. Her hair fell in perfect waves down her shoulders, Santa hat tilted artfully atop her tresses.

“You have the same smile as him,” Peter said.

“She left a week after this was taken,” you whispered. “No note, no phone call, no apology. Nothing. She just left.”

Your hands started to shake, but you couldn’t look away from the eyes that were so much like your own.

“Does she even know what happened to my dad? Does she even care?”

The tears spilled over again.

“Why doesn’t she care?”

Empty dresser.

Missing toothbrush.

Forgotten earrings.

Pain.

Peter had stayed with you until you’d eventually cried yourself to sleep, leaving you a note and a full bottle of water on your nightstand.

You texted him as soon as you found your phone, tangled in the mess of sheets and blankets.

Thank you.

Any time. x

Now you stood outside his apartment door, ready for the Friend-mas celebration that you, Ned, Peter, and Michelle had planned, Secret Santa gift for Michelle in your hands. May let you in and you were greeted by the aroma of her famous cherry pie and a smiling Peter, who gave your hand a quick squeeze after May had made her way back to the kitchen. Michelle and Ned were already in the living room, laughing over sparkling cider and holiday mad-libs.

You and Peter joined them, and it was everything you could do to not just stare at Peter as you played round after round of the word game. You loved the way his eyes brightened and just nose scrunched up when he laughed. The way he leaned back against the couch, relaxed open around those he trusted. The way he would smile whenever his eyes met yours.

You were so, so grateful for him.

Soon, dinner was ready and you all squeezed around the tiny dining table, gorging yourselves on ham, yams, homemade macaroni, and of course, cherry pie. You delighted in the warmth of the room, the full feeling of home that came with Peter and May’s apartment. The sense of family that came with your best friends.

You did your best to ignore the electricity sparking up and down your skin whenever Peter’s knee would bump yours under the table. The first time it happened you thought it was an accident, and maybe it was, but then it happened again. And again. And again. Eventually, without looking away from Ned--who was telling a riveting story about his little sister getting stuck in a clothing rack at Target--you found a wave of confidence and hooked your ankle around Peter’s. His fidgeting ceased and you saw the tips of his ears tinge red as he looked down at the matching color inside his pie, but he didn’t pull away, so you counted it as a victory.

When you couldn’t eat anymore and the dishes were cleaned up, you all retreated back to the living room to exchange gifts.

Michelle went first, giving Peter a T-shirt that said “May the Mass Times Acceleration Be With You.” Then she spent the next half hour ignoring all of you in favor of reading the copy of The Metaphysical Club you’d gotten her.

Peter gifted Ned a mug shaped like a Pokeball, and Ned gave you a soft sweater with your first initial on the front, much like that of the Weasley’s.

Ned left around nine-thirty, needing to make his curfew by ten, and Michelle was picked up by her mom shortly thereafter. With nowhere else to be, you hung around and continued to soak in as much warmth as you could from the Parker household. You curled up on the sofa in your new sweater, scrolling through your phone and half-watching the Christmas movie on TV. Peter had disappeared into his room for a few minutes, and when he poked his head back out, he asked you to join him.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said.

“Okay, but just because you show me yours, doesn’t mean I’m going to show you mine,” you joked, enjoying the way Peter sputtered and splotches of crimson rose on his cheeks.

“Shut up,” he said. “Just come in here.”

You followed him into the bedroom, sitting down on the bed when he gestured for you to do so. You watched him stretch up on his toes to reach the top of his closet, pulling down a plain brown shoebox. He sat down across from you, putting the box between you. You looked at him quizzically.

“I have one, too,” he said, and suddenly you understood.

He pulled the lid off and set it aside, and you peered into the box, an assortment of mismatched items inside. He pulled out a small snowglobe first. It said Paris in looping letters on the side, glitter swirling inside the globe around a miniature Eiffel Tower.

“My mom collected these. Everywhere she travelled she made sure to find one. They were scattered all over the house, and some days I would run around to each one, shaking them and trying to make them all swirl at the same time,” Peter said, passing it to you. You turned it over in your hands, smoothing your fingers along the glass as he reached back into the box.

“This is a mixtape Uncle Ben and I made when I was in second grade,” he said, pulling out a cassette tape. “His car was old and didn’t have a CD player, so we made these to listen to.”

“You always were into retro tech,” you said with a smile, examining young Peter’s messy handwriting on the label.

A tiny pair of safety goggles came out next.

“My dad got me these so I could be a ‘real’ scientist when I did my first experiment,” Peter said. “It was just mentos and coke but it was the most exciting thing I’d ever done.”

Peter dug out an antique-looking emerald ring.

“This was my great-grandma's, then my grandma’s, then my mom’s.”

You held the ring delicately, the thin band was slightly bent from years of wear.

“This was my dad’s watch. I think about wearing it all the time but I’m too afraid of breaking it.”

The analog clock ticked quietly. You wondered exactly how many years, days, and minutes it had counted.

“This is my picture,” Peter said, and you looked up from the items in your lap. It was a picture of a small Peter, barely four years old, standing on a staircase behind his parents, who were sitting on the step below him. He was leaning his elbows on their shoulders between them, hands cupping his round cheeks and smiling brightly at the camera. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen.

You looked at his parents. You could see he’d gotten his big brown eyes and high cheekbones from his mom, and his nose and strong jawline from his dad. They both looked happy. Just as happy as your parents looked in the picture hidden away in a purple box under your bed.

You carefully set everything back in the shoebox, replacing the lid and smoothing your hands over the cardboard.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” you said. Peter’s hands covered yours.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone or don’t have anyone to talk to. Because-- ‘cause I get it, you know?” You turned your hands up to wind your fingers with his, squeezing them. You looked up at Peter and met his eyes. You maintained the eye contact for a  moment before his gaze dropped back to your linked hands. “And… I really care about you. A lot. Like, more than I can.. I don’t know. I just…” he trailed off.

And suddenly you had to know.

You had to know if he felt everything you were feeling. You had to know if his heart wanted to leap out of his chest whenever you were around, the way yours did for him. You had to know if every text of yours made excitement pulsate through your veins. You had to know if you were the only one who often got distracted thinking about laughing together, reading together, being together.

You had to know what his lips felt like on yours.

You leaned forward on your knees, one hand disconnecting from his and carding through the soft brown hair behind his ear.

“Peter,” you whispered, and soft brown eyes looked up at you, round and wide. You saw a twinge of nervousness there, along with determination and something you weren’t quite yet ready to name.

When he gave you a barely-perceptible nod, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his.

A warm, buzzing feeling exploded from your chest, the heat racing through your veins to every connection of your skin. Your fingers tightened in his. Your other hand pulled him closer to you, nails scratching his scalp lightly. His free hand came up to hold your wrist and his lips… If Peter’s home was warmth then his lips were like fire, soft-yet-firm, warm, and gently setting your soul ablaze.

It was slightly off-center but you quickly corrected yourselves, reconnecting your lips once, twice, and tilting your heads just so, as though you’d practiced a hundred times. You couldn’t wait to practice a hundred times.

When you finally pulled apart, you didn’t go far, leaning your forehead against his and letting out a shaky breath.

“Wow,” Peter said, and you smiled. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“I think I do.”

Cherries. Bliss.

Brown eyes. Warmth.

Peter.

Joy.

That put some tension in the air for a moment. The words were heavy, but they were absolutely true. You sighed.

“I’m going to go make sure he’s okay,” you said. “He hasn’t texted me back all afternoon. I had to find out what happened from Ned.”

“Good, go be his friend,” Tony said, turning back to his work. “Kids need friends, not overbearing responsibility.”

A short while later you were standing outside Peter’s bedroom door, arms full of comfort foods and DVDs. You knocked and waited patiently as you heard Peter get up from his bed and pad over to the door. It swung open, and Peter didn’t even look surprised to see you. He just looked so… sad. You could tell he had been crying, his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. His hair was a mess.

It broke your heart.

Peter didn’t say anything to you, he just left the door open and went back to his bed. Before he closed the window, you could see he had been watching videos of Spider-Man on youtube. You stepped into the room and closed the door behind yourself gently.

“So,” you began. “We can either talk about it and eat all this junk food I brought, or we can watch Back to the Future, eat the junk food, and not talk about it.”

“Movie,” he mumbled, popping open his disk drive. You took over the laptop and set up the movie, turning off the lights before settling onto the bed with Peter, opening a bag of chips for the two of you to share.

You spent the next hour paying more attention to Peter than the movie. You tried to gauge his mood and read his thoughts with every move he made. You longed to reach out and hold his hand, or even just touch his arm- something to comfort him and let him know you were there to support him. But you didn’t, because the last thing you wanted to do was cross a line and make him more upset than he already was.

“I was just trying to help,” Peter said quietly. You turned to look at him, he was still looking at the screen. “Y’know, I thought… I thought no one was listening to me. I thought no one else was going to stop them, I… I was afraid…”

Screw it, you thought. You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. He squeezed back.

“I just wanted to help.”

In the following weeks you kept a close eye on Peter, and you watched him grow a little happier every day. You watched as he started doing better in his classes, he started building computers again, and you even saw him reading a book for pleasure- something you hadn’t witnessed in months.

You were glad to see the dark circles under his eyes fade as he started getting more sleep. You were really beginning to see the old Peter in him again- the pre-stress, pre-Spider-Man Peter who was relaxed and loved making puns and who was on a personal quest to find the best alfredo pizza in Queens. You started to think that maybe it was a good thing that Tony took his suit away.

This- this was the Peter you knew you definitely had a crush on. The sweet, caring boy who was passionate about his hobbies, who loved his aunt more than anything in the world, and who never failed to make you laugh. As the days passed you started to gather your courage. Homecoming was that weekend, and you wanted to dance with Peter at least once. You tried to not spend sleepless nights and boring classes imagining his hand on your waist and his face so, so close to yours, but you were weak, so that’s what took up most of your thoughts. A couple times you’d been called out in class for not paying attention, but you managed to make it through Friday without any serious incident.

And then disaster struck.

You were standing outside the school gates talking to Ned before he got on the bus when Peter sprinted up to you.

“IjustaskedLiztoHomecomingandshesaidyesIgottagobye!” Peter shouted, before taking off again. You said nothing as you watched him run.

“Did he just say that he asked Liz to Homecoming and she said yes?” Ned asked.

“Yep,” you said, feeling the crack in your heart grow longer by the second.

“Oh no,” Ned said. He started to say something else, but just then his bus pulled up to the curb. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll text you!” Ned said as he climbed onto the bus.

You looked back to the last place you had seen Peter, before he turned the corner. Of course he still liked Liz. He’d shown no indication of liking you back. And why wouldn’t he like Liz? She was tall and pretty and smart and you were--

“She’s not better than you, you know,” a voice said behind you, making you jump. You spun around and Michelle was there, wearing an unreadable expression.

“How do you always do that?” you asked, a little annoyed.

“Liz isn’t better than you,” Michelle repeated, ignoring your question. You laughed.

“Well, it’s kind of a confidence killer when all they do is talk about how pretty and smart she is,” you said. Michelle looked at you quizzically.

“You know you’re pretty too, right?” Michelle asks. “Unfairly so. And? You’re also incredibly smart. It won’t be long before you’re the ‘new Liz Allan’ of the school, just like how Liz is the ‘new Maddy Crochet.’ High Schoolers cycle through the same roles over and over.” Michelle began walking away, but turned around, pointedly looking down at your watch and then back at your face. You tugged your sleeve over your wrist. “You know it can be sooner rather than later.”

You shook your head before heading to your car, hands shoved in the pockets of your hoodie. Cool, so Michelle knew everything all the time, apparently. You were starting to think she was less observant and just had the ability to read minds. With everything you’d seen it would hardly surprise you.

It wasn’t until you were in the car and halfway home that you got a text from Ned.

dude im so sorry

It’s fine.

no its not i kno u really like him

It’s fine, Ned, I just… won’t go to Homecoming.

what??? u cant skip hoco!!

I don’t want to see them together I just… I’ll think about it.

ok let me know if you want to talk

When you got home you went immediately to the workshop. Tony was already in there, music playing loudly as he reworked the wiring on one of his suit’s hands. You dropped your backpack on the ground and sat down at your bench, setting to work on your heart regulator. This project had been your baby for years, and nothing made you feel better like making progress on it.

“How was school?” Tony asked you.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you replied, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of pliers.

“Pizza for dinner?” Tony asked. Tony never pried. He knew you would talk to him when you were ready.

“Yes please.”

Pepper found you in the same spot the next afternoon.

You were getting into the finer details of your creation, trying to set the electrical pulses just so, and you weren’t having much luck. Either it was emitting a wave so small you could barely feel it buzzing on your hand, or so strong that it was jumping to every bit of metal it could reach. You just couldn’t find that happy medium, and you were growing more frustrated by the second.

You reset the transducer again and flipped the switch. Lightning jumped out of the machine, sending sparks flying in all directions before it overwhelmed itself and shut down completely.

“Damnit!” you shouted, slamming a fist onto the table. Why couldn’t just one thing go right? You put your face in your hands and did your best to hold back tears. You always hated that you were a frustrated crier. You started cleaning up your bench, opening and closing drawers a little too hard.

“What is going on with you?” Pepper asked from the doorway, and you startled, not having heard her come in. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Stupid transducer isn’t working,” you grumbled, closing your notebook and stuffing it back in your backpack. Pepper rolled a chair over and sat down next to you.

“Okay. What’s the real problem?” she asked patiently, and suddenly you found yourself telling her everything. It was like a dam had broken open and the words were just spilling out of your mouth. You told her how worried you had been about Peter and how much you had grown to like him over the past few weeks. You told her about Liz and how you wanted to hate her but you couldn’t because she was too freaking nice. You told her about Michelle and how she knew your secret and how much that scared you. You told her you were tired of having so many secrets.

“Clearly, you have to go to the dance,” Pepper said, when you were finally done. You laughed, not looking up from your feet. “I’m serious,” Pepper insisted. “Go have a good time with your friends, and don’t let one boy ruin it for you. Go for you, you’ll have more fun there than you will sitting in this grease-trap,” she said, and then quieter and with a wink, “Showing Peter what he’s missing will just be a little added bonus.”

“Even if I were to go, the dance starts at seven and it’s…” you looked down at your watch and laughed again. “Five fifty-two. There’s no way I’d make it in time.”

“So be fashionably late,” you and Pepper both snapped your heads up at the sound of Tony’s voice. He was leaning casually in the doorway, and you had no doubt he’d heard everything. “Take one of my cars. Really make an entrance. Hell, we’ll drive you on our way to the airport.

“You’re a Stark,” Tony said. “And when Starks get knocked down, we get back back up, stronger, wiser, and better than ever, and we work the problem until it’s solved. You can’t solve your problems out there by holing yourself up in here.”

You looked back and forth between the two of them, each returning your gaze expectantly, before you finally stood up.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll go.”

Pepper clapped her hands together in delight and immediately started ushering you down the hall, Tony trailing behind. She sat you down at the vanity in your room and set to work on smoothing your hair, twisting it and pinning it into a loose, wavy updo while Tony went to retrieve a car from the parking garage under the building.

“What were you planning on wearing?” Pepper asked you as she started on your makeup. She left it mostly natural, enough to accentuate your features but not dramatic enough to change them.

“I… wasn’t. I was going to decide last night, I know I have plenty of options in my closet,” you replied, starting to panic. You didn’t have time to try everything on.

“On it!” Tony called, zipping back through your bedroom door and into your walk-in. He started pulling dresses out, holding them up for you and Pepper to appraise.

“Too formal.”

“No one can pull off that color. I don’t know why I bought it.”

“That’s a sundress.”

“That’s a Halloween costume.”

“Wait!” Pepper exclaimed. She stood up straight, lip pencil in hand. “Grab the white one that she wore to the Tonys this year.” Pepper turned back to you. “That one makes you look like an angel.”

Tony disappeared back into the closet to find the dress, and reappeared just as Pepper was swiping the final coat of gloss over your lips. “Is this it?” he asked.

“That’s the one!” Pepper exclaimed. She took the dress from him and shooed him out of the room.

Pepper helped you into the dress, zipping up the back for you and finding your shoes for you while you changed the strap on your watch to your “fancy event” band. You slipped on the shoes, hooking a few sparkling earrings into your lobes before standing in front of your full-length mirror. Pepper opened the door again and let Tony back inside.

“Wow,” he said. “Pepper was right, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said, trying to not feel too embarrassed. You looked down at your watch. 7:12. With good traffic you could make it to the school in twenty minutes.

“You’re right,” Tony said, noticing where your attention was. “We’re late. Cars ready, let’s go!”

The three of you hurried to the elevator, and you felt more and more nervous with each floor you passed. When you finally made your way through the lobby and out of the building you were shocked by the car parked in front of you.

“We’re taking the Maserati?” you squeaked. The red and gold car was the flashiest thing Tony kept in New York City.

“I did say we were going to make an entrance, didn’t I?” Tony replied with a smile, opening the door for you. You carefully sat inside- for your sake and the car’s- and gathered your dress inside so Tony wouldn’t close it in the door. Pepper turned around in her seat to look at you.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she said with a smile. “You’re going to have a lot of fun, I promise.”

You tried to smile back, but you weren’t sure how convincing it was. Tony got in the driver’s seat and you were off, headed towards Midtown and there was no turning back. What if this was all a mistake? What if you got picked on more after this? How would Flash treat you when he found out he wasn’t the richest kid in the school anymore? What if you had to watch Liz and Peter dance together? What if you saw them kiss?

You pushed the thought out of your head, and decided to try to distract yourself by pulling out your phone and sending a text to Ned.

Obviously going to be late, but I’m on my way.

yay!! peter and liz arent even here yet oh wait liz just walked in

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need any more details to overthink. Instead you opened Snapchat and took a selfie, adding a little “Homecoming ♡” caption and putting it on your story. You scrolled through Instagram for the rest of the ride, making light conversation with Tony and Pepper about their trip upstate while you looked at picture after picture of your classmates getting ready for the dance.

You managed to subdue your nerves for a while, but as Tony pulled the car up in front of the school they came back full force. Your stomach twisted inside you and your heart pounded in your ears as you looked out the window and saw every student standing outside or close enough to the windows to see the Maserati staring at you. They just didn’t know it was you yet. Pepper turned around to look at you again.

“Knock ‘em dead,” she said. “And call me in the morning.”

“I will,” you said, leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Tony got out of the car and opened your door for you. You heard the instant murmur of recognition from your classmates, but you forced yourself to ignore it as Tony helped you out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

“Work the problem until it’s fixed,” he said quietly, kissing you on the cheek as well. He got back in the car and rolled down the window. “Have a nice night, sweetie!” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. He didn’t usually call you by pet names like that, but you knew exactly what game he was playing.

“Thanks Uncle Tony!” you called as he drove off. Then you turned and faced the school. All eyes were on you, but you didn’t make eye contact with anyone. You were afraid you’d lose your small burst of courage if you did. Instead, you focused solely on the door handles, not looking away from them as you walked up the steps. Everyone grew quiet again as you walked past those standing outside, the only things you heard were the traffic behind you and the muffled thumping of the bass coming from the speakers in the gym.

You reached the door at last and pulled it open, music, laughter, and conversation bursting from inside. You walked into the gym, painfully aware of how many eyes were on you, and how quickly the news was spreading that you’d just been dropped off by Tony Stark.

You frantically searched the crowd for a friendly face, and your eyes fell on Michelle, standing by herself near the edge of the dance floor. You made your way over to her, more than happy to be in the company of someone non-judgemental.

“Well, well, well,” she said with a smile when she saw you. “I’m almost Starked- sorry, shocked that you showed up.” You rolled your eyes at her lame joke.

“Pepper can be pretty convincing,” you said, smiling back. It felt good to be able to talk about your life without worrying about keeping your secret. “I love your dress.” Leave it to Michelle to wear something completely surprising, yet not surprising at all.

“Me?” Michelle laughed. “You look like you just stepped off a red carpet!”

“Well, y’know…” you said, averting your eyes. Then something caught your attention.

Liz was standing on the dance floor with a couple of friends, visibly upset. You looked around, but Peter was nowhere to be found.

“What’s up with Liz?” you asked Michelle. “Where’s Peter?”

“Beats me,” Michelle replied with a shrug. “We saw him for like, half a second and then he went running off. Ned disappeared a few minutes later. It was weird.”

“Yeah…that’s weird,” you said, growing worried. “Hey, I’m going to run to the bathroom, okay?” You didn’t wait for a response as you hurried out of the gym.

“Bathroom’s that way!” you heard Michelle call behind you, but you didn’t stop.

You pushed the door open and stepped into the dark hallway, but before you could call Ned and ask him what the hell was going on, you saw him being led in the direction of the principal’s office.

“Ned, wha-”

“The vulture has landed,” Ned cut you off, eyes wide and frantic. “The vulture has landed!”

Catching his meaning, you immediately pulled out your phone, dialing Tony’s number and pushing your way through the crowd of students back to the front door. It went straight to voicemail. Shit. You dialed Pepper’s number, but it also went to voicemail. They must be going through security at the airport. You dialed Happy’s number, and crossed your fingers as it rang, but he didn’t pick up.

“Damnit!” you said, pushing your way out the front door.

You were met with gasps and exclamations, and you looked up to see a giant fireball streaking its way across the sky.

“Oh my god, PURDUE get my suit here as fast as you can!” you said.

“Two minutes until suit arrival,” PURDUE told you.

You watched with everyone else as the flames ripped through the night sky. Somehow, you knew Peter was on that plane. You tried Happy’s phone again, but he still didn’t pick up. Soon, you saw your suit headed toward you, and you hurried down the steps to meet it. It landed on the sidewalk and opened itself up. You kicked off your shoes and gathered your skirt awkwardly around your hips, stepping into the suit. You didn’t have time to worry about comfort.

Students rushed out of the building to watch as you turned toward the falling plane, which was only seconds from hitting the ground.

“A grand entrance and a grand exit,” you muttered before taking off. It was a little shaky, but you quickly grew more comfortable with the controls. Being in the suit was like riding a bike, it became second nature.

You flew as quickly as you could toward the now-crashed plane, praying that Peter was safe. Coney Island was twenty miles away, and you had to take into account that your body was not used to the extreme G-forces like Tony’s was. You wouldn’t be of any help to Peter if you showed up and immediately started vomiting everywhere.

You were almost to the crash site when an explosion went off, and your heart leapt into your throat. To hell with G-forces, you flew as fast as the suit would let you.

When you finally reached Coney Island, Peter and the Vulture were lying side-by-side, both breathing heavily. Peter had blood and dirt all over his face and you did your best to not panic, landing beside him and retracting the helmet on your suit.

“Hey, hey,” you said, kneeling down beside Peter. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Peter started to sit up, and so did the Vulture. You detatched one of your gloves and it pushed him back onto the ground, holding him there. He raised his hands in defeat.

“I’m okay,” Peter said, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with you.

You helped Peter lean the Vulture up against some debris and watched Peter web him up as you called Happy’s phone again, finally getting ahold of him. You saw Peter smile a little as he patted his pocket, then he pulled out a piece of paper and a marker. Peter wrote a note on the page and webbed it up next to the Vulture’s head.

“Let’s go,” he said, still not really looking at you. You flew him up to the top of the Cyclone and watched as he rubbed his wrist in discomfort.

“May I?” you asked, holding out your hand. He gave you his arm, and you checked it over for any sign of broken bones. “I don’t think you broke it, maybe a fracture, but with your rapid healing you should be fine in about… half an hour,” you concluded.

“Thanks,” Peter said, not taking his eyes from the wrecked plane.

“Do you… want to go to my place? Or do you want me to take you home?” you asked, trying to get him to open up a little.

“I kind of just want to be alone for a while, if that’s okay,” Peter said quietly. “You can go, I just… I want to wait here until someone shows up to take that guy away.”

“Okay,” you said, understanding. “Will you just text me when you get home to let me know you’re safe?”

“Yeah,” he said.

You stood up, unable to read Peter’s expression as you took one last look at his face. You wished you could do more to help him.

As you flew back toward Queens, you took your time. You thought about Peter, worried about him the whole time. You worried about how Tony would react to Peter disobeying him again. Personally, you thought Tony should be grateful, but your uncle could be a bit of a wild card sometimes. There was just no way of knowing how he’d feel about something until he told you. You worried about Peter falling back into his depression, having gotten another taste of the superhero life. You worried about Peter dealing with possible PTSD after falling through the sky on a flaming airplane.

Without consciously making the decision to go there, you found yourself on the roof of Peter’s apartment building. You knew you should probably go home, but you also knew that you wouldn’t be able to relax until you saw Peter again anyway.

As quietly as you could, you flew down to Peter’s bedroom window, sliding it open and slipping inside. You stepped out of the suit, which folded itself up neatly into a little cube. Your skirt fell back to your feet, and you closed the bedroom window.

You sat down on the edge of Peter’s bed and waited. You didn’t dare pick up your phone, because you knew all of your social media would be flooded. Instead, you entertained yourself by flipping through one of Peter’s Star Wars comic books. It wasn’t a perfect distraction, but it helped you pass the time nonetheless.

It was probably about forty-five minutes later that you heard Peter’s window open again, and you set the book down next to you. Peter crawled across his ceiling and dropped down onto the floor. When he turned around, he jumped a little at the sight of you.

“You and Ned have got to stop doing that,” he said, heading for his dresser. His face was still caked in dirt, blood, and sweat, and you thought you could see the residue of a few tears streaking through the mess down his cheeks.

“Sorry,” you said quietly.

“It’s kind of good that you’re here, though. Because I wouldn’t have been able to text you. Lost my phone tonight,” Peter said with a laugh that let you know he didn’t think it was funny at all as he rummaged through his drawers, pulling out clothes. “May is going to kill me.”

“I’ll replace your phone,” you assured him.

“You don’t have-”

“I want to,” you insisted. Peter looked down at the clothes in his hand for a moment before turning to you.

“I really, really want to shower,” he said. “And then we can talk, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. “Is May…?”

“No, she went to her friend Juli’s tonight, and they always go a bit too hard on the wine, so she won’t be home ‘til late,” Peter explained. “I’ll be right back.”

With that, Peter hurried out of the room, so you picked up the comic book again. Just under twenty minutes later you heard Peter’s footsteps heading back toward the bedroom.

“Hey,” he said, stepping back into the room and shutting the door behind himself. He was all clean. Bruised, but clean. His wet hair fell over his forehead and he was wearing a very soft-looking sweatshirt that made you want to hug him. He tossed his bloodied, homemade suit into his hamper. “So… Happy showed up and took care of Liz’s dad,” Peter said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Wait, that was Liz’s dad?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah, that’s how I knew where he was going to be,” Peter explained. “I feel like a huge dick for ruining her Homecoming,” he said. “And yours.”

“What? Peter, you didn’t ruin anything. I almost didn’t even go, so--”

“Why weren’t you going to go?” Peter asked you, surprised. You scrambled for a second to find an answer.

“It’s not important,” you finally said, looking away from him.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Peter said softly, “I am sorry.” You weren’t quite sure what he was apologizing for, but that wasn’t important either.

“There is one thing you can do to make it up to me,” you told him, pressing a few buttons on your watch.

“What’s that?” Peter asked, and you stood up, heart pounding in your chest as you held your hand out to him. Soft music began playing from your cube of a suit.

“Dance with me?” you asked, and Peter smiled.

He took your outstretched hand in his and put his other on your waist. You leaned into him, standing so close you were practically resting your head on his shoulder. His sweatshirt was just as soft as it looked, and this close you could smell his shampoo from his still-wet hair. You swayed together, barely moving your feet, and as the minutes passed you both relaxed more and more.

“I meant to tell you before,” Peter whispered. “You do look amazing tonight. Like- like an angel.” You could practically hear the blush that matched yours in his voice that, and you smiled into his shoulder, mumbling your thanks. You knew your hair probably looked like a mess after being shoved in that helmet, and you weren’t even wearing shoes, but it was sweet of him to say that anyway.

Maybe tomorrow he’d be officially dating Liz Allan, but for now, he was here with you. Maybe he’d never get to be Spider-Man again, but for now, he was just Peter, and Peter made you happier than Spider-Man ever could.

Maybe one day you would tell Peter how you feel, but for now, this was enough.

If the angle of incidence is allowed to exceed the critical angle, it is found that light rays are not refracted. This is because all of the light rays are reflected back.

“Her hair looks amazing today.”

2.This phenomenon is called total internal reflection.

3. Total Internal Reflection occurs when:

  a. Light rays travel from a denser medium to a less dense medium.

  b. The angle of incidence is greater than the critical angle.

“Her smile is incredible.”

A light ray which travels from a denser medium to a less dense medium will be refracted away from the normal. “That skirt makes her legs--”

“Okay!” you interrupted, slamming your book shut. “Let’s stop objectifying women while people are trying to eat, shall we?”

“Sorry.” the boys mumbled in unison, looking back at their plates and flushing with embarrassment.

You turned back to your work, but you had trouble concentrating. It’s not that you didn’t like Liz, you actually liked her a lot. You two shared orchestra together; she was section leader for the violas. She was a hard worker, a good leader, and a kind person. And she was very pretty, you couldn’t deny that. If the boys were going to crush on anyone, you were glad it was someone like Liz.

Still, you didn’t need to listen to them gush about her.

“Hey, we’re going to go out to the courtyard,” Peter said, grabbing your attention. “Wanna come?”

“No thanks,” you said. “I have a quiz fifth hour and I need to review.”

“Alright, good luck!” Ned said cheerfully, and you waved to them as they left.

Your eyes didn’t leave Peter as they walked away. You watched as he wiggled the fingers of his right hand down by his side. Only twelve hours ago you had just finished pulling a bullet out of that arm. You hoped it was healing well. Maybe you could convince him to come by your place later that night and let you check him out.

It out. Let you check it out.

“So how long have you had a crush on Parker?”

You startled a little, turning to look for who had spoken. You met eyes with Michelle, sitting down at the end of the long table. Her expression was hard to read. She didn’t seem judgemental, just… curious.

“Excuse me?” you asked. Michelle shrugged, taking a bite of an apple.

“I pride myself in being observant,” she said.

“I don’t have a crush on Peter,” you denied.

“You were literally just staring at his ass.”

“I was not!” you refuted, your cheeks flaming. “I was looking at his hand!”

“Uh huh,” Michelle said with a nod, obviously not believing a word you said.

“Seriously! He- he hurt his arm in gym class yesterday. I was just wondering if it was feeling better,” you said, proud of your quick-thought alibi.

“I have gym with them. He didn’t hurt his arm,” Michelle said, watching you studiously.

“I… I…” you were stumped. At a loss for words. Before you could think of anything, Michelle stood up from the table, grabbing her tray.

“See ya later, Tootie,” she said before turning and walking out of the cafeteria. You rolled your eyes at the cartoon reference.

You did not have a crush on Peter. So what if your heart picked up a little whenever he was around nowadays? He was putting himself in danger all the time lately, you were just worried about him. When you woke up this morning and his leg was thrown over yours it definitely did not make your skin tingle at all. You did not notice the way his soft hair fell over his peaceful face. And you definitely did not smile at the disheartened, grumbly noise he made when you gently woke him up.

You did not have a crush on Peter Parker.

That afternoon you were in Ned’s living room, playing Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles on his Gamecube. It was one of your favorite games to play together. Old-school while still being beautiful with a great story-line and fantastic music.

You were a little distracted, though. Peter was out being Spider-Man, despite you trying to convince him to take a day off and let his arm heal. He’d promised to keep you updated and let you know when he was heading home for the night. You checked your phone for the umpteenth time, but there was still no message.

“Griffin!” Ned warned. “Griffin!”

You dropped your phone and snapped your eyes back to the screen, resuming your fight. Together you defeated the monster and moved on in the dungeon, but it wasn’t long before you reached for your phone again. This time there was a message from Peter.

You quickly unlocked your phone and opened it up. It was a picture of Peter’s suit-clad foot, with a little muddy duckling sitting by it.

I pulled it out of some mud in the park and now it won’t stop following me.

You covered your mouth with your hand, grinning at the adorable photo and caption. You set your gameboy down so you could reply.

Whatever you do, you are not allowed to abandon it.

You didn’t even notice that Ned had also stopped playing and was looking right at you.

“Uh oh, I know that face,” he said, and you looked up to see him smiling knowingly. “You’re texting a boy! Who is it?”

“What? No, it’s not like that,” you said. Was everyone going to accuse you of crushing on Peter today? “It’s just Peter.”

“You like Peter!?” Ned exclaimed, turning his whole body toward you. Apparently everyone was going to accuse you of crushing on Peter today.

“No! I never said that!”

“Oh please,” Ned said. “We’ve been friends for like three years, I like to think I know you pretty well at this point. You used to get the same look on your face whenever Brandon Crawford walked into the room before he graduated.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, putting your face in your hand. Brandon Crawford had been your Liz Allan last year.

“I’m just stating the facts,” Ned said with a shrug. You flopped back onto your beanbag, sighing with exasperation.

“I don’t… not like Peter.” you admitted, and Ned clapped his hands together excitedly. “But I’m not quite sure I do like him yet. I’m not going to force it one way or the other, either. We’ll see what happens.”

“Fair enough,” Ned said, nodding. You sat up straight and looked him directly in the eye.

“And if you breathe a word of this to anyone I will put on my iron suit and name each one of your bones as I break them,” you threatened.

“YOU HAVE AN IRON SUIT????”

“Fuck.”

The next morning you woke up early, giving yourself enough time to get ready without rushing and stop for coffee on the way to school. Peter had been up late the night before after encountering a teenage runaway. He’d spent hours just sitting with her and talking, eventually calling her parents for her and helping her get home.

You walked through the gates and into the building, drink holder in one hand and cinnamon roll in the other. You passed your locker and headed right for Peter’s, where you found him talking with Ned. He was a little bleary-eyed, but still his cheerful self. The sleeve of his hoodie covered most of his hand when he reached up to rub one of his eyes.

He was adorable.

“Here you go,” you said, handing over the cinnamon roll and the tea you’d picked up for Peter. “I’m really sorry for what I said,” you apologized, referring to your text conversation that morning. “Episode IV is a thrilling movie that should be played once a week in theaters across America.”

Peter took a sip of his tea and smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re forgiven.” There was a comfortable silence for a moment while you sipped on your beverages and smiled at each other.

“Well…” Ned rocked back on his heels, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “I just remembered I have to go talk to Ms. Weitschat about something, so…” he looked back and forth between the two of you. “See you guys later!”

Ned spun on his heels and hurried down the hall. You drilled holes into the back of his head with your imaginary laser vision until he turned the corner.

“What was that about?” Peter asked with a laugh.

“I have no idea,” you lied, already plotting your revenge. You looked back at Peter. “Wanna go sit outside?” you asked.

“Sure.”

The two of you made your way out to the front steps, sitting down off to the side as to not get in anyone’s way. You savored your coffee as well as the early morning air, which was as fresh as it could be in New York. It was crisp, the chill enough to feel but not enough to bite. The city glowed under the early morning light and the dew was still plainly visible on all the blades of grass nearby.

Peter popped open the container of his cinnamon roll, tearing off a chunk before offering some to you. You took a small bit, chewing on it slowly.

“Did that girl make it home safe?” you finally asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said. You turned and watched as his eyes left the present and saw his memories instead. “I stayed with her until her mom showed up. There was a lot of crying. Myself included.”

You nudged your foot against his, a silent reminder of your support.

“And the duckling?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood. Peter smiled a smile brighter than any early-morning sun. His head dropped down with his laugh.

“Back with its mother as well,” he said.

“Good to hear,” you replied. Peter turned to look at you. His eyes were soft and his smile was genuine. In this light you were able to see the faint freckles that dotted along his nose. You longed to reach out and trace them with your finger. Instead, you wrapped your arms around your knees and looked down at the pebble by your feet.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Peter lift his face back up to the sun, closing his eyes and letting out a content sigh.

The silence was both a blessing and a curse. It was good for concentration, but it also made you feel lonely. Silence was empty. Homes were full. When you first moved in with Tony, you used to play piano music out in the living room so you could pretend it was your dad playing while you sat in your room. Eventually, you grew out of that and learned to live with the silence. Appreciate it, even.

BAM!

You startled a little at the sound of a gunshot outside, though that wasn’t totally uncommon either. It was probably about three blocks away by the sound of it. You turned back to your homework, and not two minutes later you could hear sirens in the distance.

Just another night in Queens.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump on the terrace outside your room, and you spun around in your chair, hand flying to your chest.

“Peter!” you exclaimed, seeing your friend awkwardly leaning in the doorway. He had his Spider-Man suit on, and his mask was pulled up just past his hairline. “What the hell, you almost gave me a heart attack!”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” Peter said. “I thought I’d… swing by.”

“You did not just make a pun about yourself,” you said. Peter winced, and not because of his bad joke. Just as soon as your heart rate had slowed down, it picked right back up. Peter was hurt.

He was gripping his right bicep, and blood was dripping down from between his fingers. You jumped up from your desk and rushed over to him. You didn’t say a word as you gently moved his hand out of the way to look at the wound, then snapped your head up to look at him.

“Did you get fucking shot?” you asked.

“You should see the other guy,” Peter said, trying to smile through his pain. It came out more like an awkward grimace. “Well, you probably will on the news tomorrow.”

The gunshot and sirens you heard before must have been from Peter’s fight. “Stay here,” you told him, then rushed to your bathroom to grab a towel. You pulled the belt off your bathrobe and went back outside.

Slinging the towel over your shoulder, you lifted Peter’s arm from his side and tied the belt tightly around it, a few inches above the wound, as a makeshift tourniquet. You then firmly wrapped the towel around the wound to decrease the blood flow as much as possible.

“Come on,” you said, starting to guide him inside. “I’ll have Paul drive us to the hospital.”

“No, no, no, no, no.” Peter said, stopping. “I can’t go to the hospital! I don’t have any other clothes, and then they’ll call Aunt May and then she’ll find out I’m Spider-Man and she’ll freak out!” You looked at him incredulously.

“Peter, there is a bullet in your arm! You need to see a doctor!”

“I thought you could take it out!”

“What the fuck makes you think that!?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged. “You got the highest grade in anatomy and physiology, and you’re literally building a heart regulator in your spare time?”

“That doesn’t make me a surgeon!” you countered, flabbergasted. Things went quiet for a moment, and Peter put his free hand over yours where you held the towel around his arm.

“(Y/N) please, the only other option I have is to do it myself. I really need your help,” he said, soft and sincere.

You didn’t move for a moment. This was a terrible idea. If you tried to do this you would probably make the injury worse. And then Peter would lose his arm completely. You looked into his pleading eyes and sighed.

“I’ll look at it,” you said. “But if you hit an artery or a tendon I am taking you to the hospital.”

“Deal,” Peter said.

Getting more nervous by the second, you took Peter to the workshop, shakily punched in the passcode to get in, and sat him down on a bench. He was looking around like a kid in a candy shop, and you remembered that he hadn’t ever been in there before. You didn’t have time to show him around, though, you kind of had a friend with a bullet in his arm to worry about.

“You need to get this off as much as you can,” you said, smacking the button on his chest to release the tension in his suit. “It’s going to get in my way.”

You helped him pull his good arm out, then quickly removed the towel and bathrobe tie to get it off his other arm.

“Aaahh,” he hissed as you peeled the suit away from the wound site, dried blood making the spandex stick to his skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” you winced, and a fresh wave of blood seeped from around the bullet. As soon as his hand was free and the suit was pooled around his waist, you replaced your makeshift tourniquet and the towel. “Lie down,” you instructed. You took off your watch and fastened it onto Peter’s uninjured wrist. “PURDUE, can you monitor Peter’s vital signs, please? Just let me know if there’s anything to worry about.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t move,” you told Peter.

You did your best to recall everything you knew about treating wounds. After Tony had come home beaten and broken for the first time after you moved in with him, you made sure to get into some first aid classes at the American Red Cross so you could be more helpful in the future. The worst thing was feeling helpless and useless when someone you cared about was in pain.

You pulled off your sweater, because sleeves are unsanitary, leaving you in your tank-top, and pulled your hair back, fastening it with the hair tie you’d left by the sink in there last week. You retrieved the large first-aid kit from the wall and brought it to the counter near Peter, opening it up, but not touching anything inside yet. You then went back to the sink and washed your hands. You took the few minutes of scrubbing to calm your breathing. This wasn’t so bad. Everything would be fine. It was just a bullet wound. In your best friend’s arm. No big deal. You’d seen worse on Tony before.

God, you wished Tony were here.

You thought about calling him for a moment, but you figured there wasn’t much he’d be able to do over the phone, and it would probably upset Peter. You needed the both of you to be as calm as possible right now.

When your hands were clean and dry, you went back to the first-aid kit and carefully put on a pair of gloves.

“Are those real Iron Man suits?” Peter asked you, looking at the wall to his left.

“Yes,” you said. “Can you unwrap the towel?”

Peter reached over with his good hand, carefully loosening the towel from around his bicep. The bleeding had all but stopped, only trickling slowly from the wound now. You took a bit of gauze and cleaned up what you could, being as gentle as possible. The butt of the bullet was sticking out from Peter’s skin, angled up towards his shoulder, so you hoped it wasn’t deep enough to cause any serious damage. It looked as if he had had his arm out in front of him when it happened. He was probably shooting a web.

“Why is that blue one so small?” Peter asked, talking about the suits again.

“It’s mine,” you replied, not looking up from your work. Peter’s head whipped around to look at you, which caused his whole body to shake a little. You flinched back instinctively.

“It’s yours!?” Peter said, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you said, a little irritated. “Can we talk about it later? I’m trying to take a bullet out of your body.”

“Right, sorry,” Peter apologized, looking back up at the ceiling. With the wound mostly clean, you prodded his arm in a few places.

“It doesn’t look like it hit your Brachial artery,” you said. “And it’s not low enough to have gotten the tendon.”

“So I don’t have to go to the doctor?” Peter asked.

“You should have gone straight to the doctor,” you said shortly. You sighed deeply. “But I’ll do my best to take it out, yes.”

“Thank you,” Peter said.

“Don’t thank me until after you don’t wind up with permanent nerve damage or a severe infection,” you replied. You set back to work, opening an iodine packet and dipping a couple cotton swabs into it. “PURDUE, can you scan the wound to see if I missed anything?” you asked, grateful you could get a second opinion from somewhere. A blue light swept up and down Peter’s arm.

“Peter’s rapid cell regeneration is already causing his body to reject the foreign object,” PURDUE told you. “After it is removed, only a tight gauze wrap will be necessary.”

“Well, that’s good,” you said. “I definitely am not ready to give you stitches.”

You took one of the iodine-soaked swabs out of the packet and gently scrubbed circles around the bullet hole, careful to not get any in the wound. After about thirty seconds, you pulled the second swab out and started again. Peter’s breathing became a little more labored, and you saw the muscles in his face tense up.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said. You hated that you were causing him even more pain.

“It’s fine,” Peter said through his teeth.

You discarded the iodine and cotton swabs, and picked up a fold of gauze from the first aid kit. You began feeling flustered again, and felt a lump forming in your throat. You looked from the wound to Peter’s face. You could tell he was trying really hard to not show you how nervous he was.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” you asked one more time, hoping he would change his mind and have you take him to a professional. He turned to meet your eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “I want you to do this. I need you to do this. And you know what? You can do this. I trust you a hundred percent.”

With Peter’s reassurances, you took a deep breath. “Okay,” you said. “This is going to hurt. Like, a lot. So bite down on this.” You handed him the gauze and he put it in his mouth, settling it between his molars. You took a sturdy pair of tweezers from the kit. “Ready?” you asked, and Peter nodded.

After one last calming breath, you gripped the bullet firmly with the tweezers.

And you began pulling.

Peter’s body immediately tensed up, and you held his arm down with your free hand. His breathing grew heavy and labored, and he bit down on the gauze in his mouth, grunting around it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeated. Tears welled up in your eyes as you pulled on the bullet, firmly and steadily. After just a few long, antagonizing seconds, the metal slid free of Peter’s body. Gasping, he spat the gauze out of his mouth.

“Damnit, that hurt,” he said. You dropped the tweezers and bullet onto the counter as your hands started trembling again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again. The tension in the room had snapped and you were left shaking from the relief. You distracted yourself by using more gauze to put pressure on the wound, which made Peter flinch again. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Peter was quick to say. “You did amazing, thank you so much.”

You didn’t respond, just set to work dressing the wound. This, you knew how to do. After it was wrapped and fastened, you helped Peter sit up. Things remained quiet as you began cleaning up, throwing the bloody gauze and towel into the trash.

“Want a souvenir?” you joked, gesturing toward the bullet.

“No thanks,” Peter chuckled.

You went back to the sink, pulling out a washcloth and wetting it down. You brought it back to Peter and started wiping the blood off of his arm.

“See?” Peter said. “You’re already a great doctor.”

You smiled at that, laughing a little shakily. You lifted his arm from his side so you could clean the blood off his ribcage. That’s when you realized he was shirtless. It hadn’t really registered earlier with all of the adrenaline and panic, but you had a shirtless boy sitting in front of you. A cute shirtless boy. A cute shirtless boy who was ripped. And also a superhero.

After just a very brief moment of hesitation, you started wiping away the blood on his side. You mentally smacked yourself upside the head. Peter was your friend, this was not a sexual situation, and you don’t feel that way about him anyway. It was just the adrenaline getting to you, that’s all.

“Uhm,” you said after he was mostly cleaned off. “If you want to go into my bathroom and try to get more of this blood off you can. I’ll see if I can find some clothes for you.” You handed him the washcloth, but you didn’t meet his eyes, embarrassed by where your train of thought had taken you.

“Thanks,” Peter said, sliding off the bench. He took one last look around the workshop before heading down the hall.

You finished cleaning up, then locked up the workshop and went into Tony’s room, looking for some sweats he may have left there. They would be a little big on Peter, but it was better than him trying to get back into his bloody, torn suit. When you found something suitable, you went back into your room, and into your en suite.

The door was open, so you didn’t think anything of walking right in, but when you did, you were met with a mostly-naked Peter. He had taken his suit completely off and set it next to the sink, leaving him just in his boxers. Your face caught fire.

“Uh,” you said awkwardly, trying to look at anything but Peter’s skin. Your eyes met in the mirror. A faint blush crept up on his cheeks, but he didn’t say anything. “Sorry, here, I’ll just--” You replaced the suit with the spare clothes and left the room quickly.

You took Peter’s suit to the laundry room and filled the sink with cold water, berating yourself your your awkwardness. After setting the suit to soak, you went into the kitchen, poured a glass of apple juice, and grabbed a small bag of pretzels. You took the snack back to your bedroom, where you found Peter sitting on the edge of your bed, looking extra small in the over-sized clothes.

“Here,” you said, handing him the glass and the bag. “You lost a lot of blood, your body needs to replace the fluids.”

“Thanks,” he said. You pushed past your previous awkwardness and climbed up on the bed, gesturing for him to join you in leaning back against the headboard.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask before,” you started as he munched on the pretzels. “How’d you wind up with a bullet in you?”

“It wasn’t really anything exciting,” Peter said with a shrug. “Intercepted a mugging, guy had a gun, shot me, I webbed him down, then called the police from his phone.”

“Nothing exciting,” you repeated with a laugh. “I think I heard it happen, though.”

“Probably. It didn’t happen far from here.” Peter said, then turned to look at you excitedly. “What I want to know is when you were going to tell me you had an Iron Man suit!”

“It’s not really mine, per se,” you confessed. “I mean, it is, but I don’t get to use it whenever I want. It’s for emergencies only.”

“Like when aliens attack New York City?”

“Like when aliens attack New York City,” you agreed. “That, and a short training session were the only times I’ve worn it.”

“That’s lame,” Peter said, and you shrugged.

“It doesn’t bother me. I don’t think I could handle the stress or responsibility of being a superhero. It’s just not for me.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “It’s already not easy, and I’ve only been doing it for a few months. I don’t know how the other guys do it.”

“With a lot of support from their friends and family,” you said, looking at Peter with a smile. “Also… a lot of therapy.” You both laughed.

You fell into a comfortable silence, each pulling out your phone and scrolling through. You let the events of the evening settle, and you began to wind down. Eventually you pulled youtube up on your TV and started watching videos together. You hoped he didn’t notice that most of your recommended videos involved Spider-Man. If he did, he didn’t say anything.

Through the hour of cat videos and stunt fails, you both gradually slid down until you were horizontal, and before long, Peter was nodding off to sleep.

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, sitting up. “I should head home.”

“Don’t be silly,” you argued, sitting up as well. “Just stay here.”

“But… but we have school tomorrow. Aunt May will freak if I’m not there in the morning.”

“So text her and tell her you’re staying at Ned’s. You can’t use your arm right now, anyway, so you can’t spidey your way up to your window,” you said. “What are you going to do, knock on the door in the middle of the night and have her let you in?”

“Yeah… you’re right,” Peter conceded, relaxing back onto the pillows and pulling out his phone.

“We’ll get up early enough to stop by your house so you can change,” you said.

“Okay.”

You played another video, and things went quiet again. Last time Peter had spent the night he’d stayed in one of the guest rooms. Somehow there was a silent understanding that that wouldn’t be happening this time.

Peter eventually drifted off to sleep, looking peaceful with his lips slightly parted and his slow, even breathing. You shut off the TV.

“Hey PURDUE?” you said quietly, not wanting to disturb your friend.

“Yes?” The AI said through the speaker in your earring.

“Please don’t tell Tony about this.”

“I sense no danger, therefore I have nothing to report to Mr. Stark.”

“Thank you.”

You took one more look at the boy sleeping next to you before shutting off the light.