Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Peter’s lackadaisical, boring Sunday is interrupted by an urgent call being pushed past Karen, he knows it’s going to be an extra long patrol. Not just that, but the voice doesn't waste any time with pleasantries.

“Meet me at 1000 5th Avenue ASAP,” Tony succinctly relays, no room in his voice for anything other than urgency. Peter instantly perks up at the information as he thwips out a web to start swinging.

“The Met?” he questions curiously. If Tony’s this tense already, then they're going into something serious. Maybe even something Avengers level if it’s concerning the whole of the Metropolitan Museum. The mere thought fills him with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

“Yep, and it’s big, so kick those Spidey webs into gear,” is all Tony divulges before Peter hears the repulsors increase on the other end. It’s less than two minutes later when Peter flips onto the scene, landing near Tony as the faceplate lifts.

“What’s going on?” Peter asks immediately, crouching as he surveys the area. The slight tingling that washes over his shoulders isn't a good sign, especially when it’s accompanied by the uncharacteristically dim museum despite it being 7:00pm. Dampness clings to the asphalt from the snow and reflects red and blue lights as the museum is cordoned off from dozens of onlookers. The windy, brisk air adds to the ominous petrichor and overall disconcerting ambiance.

“Half of Houdini’s magic act hit the road,” Tony clarifies, regaining some of his usual snark. “Rogue sorcerer decided to throw a tantrum and apparently took a museum hostage.” Peter’s lenses narrow with his eyes and he tilts his head.

“Sorcerer as in, like, Dr. Strange sorcerer?” he clarifies.

“Who do you think I was calling Houdini?” Tony smirks, eyes still locked on the menacing building before them. This is bigger than Peter expected it to be, and honestly he's a bit shocked that Tony called him in on it.

“Is this…Avengers level kinda stuff?” he inquires, half of him hopeful while the other half pushes anxiety through his veins. However, Tony snorts and finally turns his gaze on the kid.

“Not even close, we should be able to handle it,” he assures before a grimace takes over his face. “Unless our babysitter decides to make us hold the field trip rope.” Peter can instantly tell by his mentor’s tone that Stephen’s close by enough to hear. As if on cue, the sorcerer lands almost silently in front of them, looking about as unamused as usual.

“Did you want to do this alone or did you want the help of the only one on your ransack team that has a personal connection to the Mystic Arts?” Stephen effortlessly fires back before nodding a greeting to Peter. Tony can’t exactly argue with that logic, no matter how much he wants to.

“Mystic Arts sounds way cooler than magic,” Peter mumbles in awe. Honestly, Stephen’s sass is pretty on par with Tony, but now isn't that time to prove sarcasm dominance.

“I’ve placed a ward on the immediate area. No one’s getting in or out of that museum,” Stephen informs, looking between them both.

“Okay, what are we dealing with?” Tony sobers ever so slightly.

“Not quite my level of expertise, but he was a quick-learner with bending reality to his whim. He started treating dimensional warping like a game, and didn't take being told ‘no’ very well.” Stephen’s tone is as bemused as Peter remembers, but this time with a clipped edge to hit. The sorcerer is nervous.

“Another model citizen. Peachy.” With Tony’s remark, his faceplate clinks shut with a renewed sense of sobriety. “What’s the plan, Wicked Witch of the East?” Okay, maybe not that serious. Before Stephen can even properly glare at the childish jab, Peter beats him to it.

“Didn't that lady get smooshed by a house in that really old black and white movie?” he inquires, looking from one to the other. Stephen’s glare instantly morphs into confusion as he stares down Peter with a look that mirrors Tony’s disbelief under the mask.

“Okay, after this we’re doing weekly ‘ really old movies’ night so you can memorize some titles,” Tony promises as they turn their attention back to the locked-down museum. Stephen, however, is the one who gets them all back on track.

“Negotiating isn't an option anymore. We go in and restrain him before he causes any more problems, with force if needed.” He steels himself, ready to do what needs to be done in order to keep everyone, including themselves, safe.

“Should we split up?” Peter suggests. “Cover more ground?” The museum is massive to say the least, no matter how many times he’s toured it.

“No,” Stephen denies with the slight shake of his head. “It’s vital that we stay together. If he separates us, he can pick us off one-by-one.” Peter nods slowly in response, a wave of involuntary shivers making its way up his arms.

All three of them glance to the dark, Victorian Gothic museum as if it challenges them to enter. It would be the perfect scenario for a horror film, he notes, which will make a great story to tell Stephen, but also puts him on edge. Come on, Parker. You're an Avenger. Sort of. They don't get scared. Yet he can't help the niggling at the back of his neck, even as Tony claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly.

“Ready for action, Underoos?” his mentor double checks and the kid is quick to nod. There's no way he's missing out on a chance to prove himself.

“Ready!” With his confirmation, they make their way up the pristine, concrete steps and pass through the glass doors. Just as they could tell from outside, there's no light except an eerie, purple glow that doesn't even touch the corners of the massive reception area deemed The Great Hall. Darkness leaks into every crevice and transforms mere doorways into portals of the unknown. “Hey, Droney? Can you help us out?” Droney pops out of his chest emblem, kindly beeps at him, and lights the immediate area with a spotlight. Meanwhile, Tony holds up his electric-blue repulsors in both defense and for light whereas Stephen’s bright orange Tao Mandalas are held out at his fingertips.

“Now what?” Tony questions impatiently, bringing up a map of the museum on his HUD. The place is already enough like a maze during the day.

“He’s arrogant and overconfident, he’ll come to us. You might be able to empathize with that,” Stephen not-so-subtly quip and Peter has to put a gloved hand to his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Just because I know how great I am doesn't mean I’m-” For once, Tony cuts himself off as he realizes he might be losing this argument. “Nuance.”

“You had a ‘Stark’ sign on your tower in giant letters,” Peter teasingly reminds as he stays alert, paying close attention to his Spidey Sense. All that he can hear, even with his enhanced hearing, is the sound of their footsteps.

“Hey, no chiming in from the peanut gallery,” Tony’s mechanized voice playfully counters instead. “I just don't like the idea of letting a delusional wizard get the jump on us.” Another uneasy chill grips Peter’s shoulders and he resists the urge to rub his arms.

“Man, I hate this place. Ever since that off-brand, spider ninja tried to steal my gimmick, I haven't really wanted to come back,” he grumbles with a pout, pushing out the memory of when the vice grip tried to squeeze the very life out of him. Tony grinds his teeth together at the memory and Stephen visibly tenses, but they keep moving.

“Yeah, let’s not have a repe-”

“Stop.” They all freeze at Peter’s sudden demand, effectively cutting off Stephen and putting them all on edge.

“Bud?” Tony prompts, repulsors charging with a whine. However, Peter shakes his head.

“Something’s wrong. It feels wrong. It’s all off.” He tries to explain, but he doesn't even understand it himself. His Spidey Sense isn't even going off, it’s just…an unexpected, overwhelming feeling of dread.

“I'm gonna need you to be a bit more specific here, kid.” Tony’s voice is taut with tension as he slowly turns in place to survey their surroundings. Stephen mutters incantations under his breath, the orange mandala shields fading as deep, crimson bands take their place.

“We were just outside and, and we don't hear the sirens anymore. The red and blue lights aren't flashing in here when they were right out there! I can't hear anything except us, I can't feel anything, my Spidey Sense isn't working, it’s wrong!” Peter tightly grasps his head to hold himself, his senses blurring into one fuzzy mess. Keep it together, Parker.

“Hey, slow down.” Tony faces him, his mask lifting to make eye contact as he plants his hands on the kid’s shoulders to ground him. “We’ll take it one step at a time.” With the reassurance, Peter’s able to manage a slight smile.

Then the floor swallows him whole.

Before either of them can blink, he's being sucked into the ground, out of Tony’s desperate grasp.

“Peter!” Their eyes stay locked for that split second when the darkness closes around him, all light being shut out as he suddenly plummets. Shit shit shit shit! He flips himself midair to face where the floor- Oh my god, there's no floor, he frantically realizes, his breath hitching in panic. There's no floor, no walls, no anything. Just hands in front of him that he wouldn't be able to see without the suit.

“Karen! We, we have a situation!” His voice cracks as air harshly rushes past his ears.

“Hello, Peter. How can I help you?” Karen casually answers as if Peter isn't rapidly approaching terminal velocity.

“Parachute! Parachute!” His HUD scans for anything; if there's any physical form of purchase. There's nothing.

“Deploying pa-” Peter abruptly collides with the ground, the linoleum floor shattering beneath him at the impact. His head rebounds off the unforgiving surface, causing a shock of pain to jolt through his head and down his spine like lightning. Cracks spider-web outwards to form the crater he's agonizingly writhing in. “Pe- ar- -ou -kay?” His hearing fades in and out as he tries to blink the focus back into his eyes.

“I’m-” He gasps when a fresh, sharp pain tears its way through his head. “I’m fine,” he grits out, despite the way his surroundings blur and double in his vision.

“You're showing signs of tachycardia and have fractured both your zygomatic process and nasal bone. There is also a hematoma forming on the head of your deltoid,” Karen informs with more panic and urgency lacing her voice than earlier. Peter gasps in futile breaths as he pushes himself up, groaning at the way his shoulder aches from taking the brunt of the fall.

“Yeah, felt that,” he grumbles, his voice hoarse from the wind being forced out of his spasming lungs. “Where’d- How could we fall down? We were, we were on the first floor?” He’s sure that they were, but his statement still comes out more like a question.

“I'm having difficulties pinpointing our location,” Karen regretfully says as a small, red window shows up on the HUD. A chill cascades over Peter’s shoulders, making his hair stand on end, but not like his Spidey Sense does. This is some primal, instinctive force screaming at him to run.

“Okay, alright, we, uh, we have to find-” A deep, malevolent chuckle surrounds him and makes the words die in his throat. His efforts to get up still, breath caught and arms shaking as they support him. He doesn't need his Spidey Sense to tell him he's in deep. Too deep. “Nice to meet you, too,” he sarcastically fills the silence. It doesn't have the effect he intended, it doesn't fill the room, it only echoes into the nothingness to show just how alone he truly is.

“After all that trouble,” the omnipresent voice permeates the endless space, “he brought along a kid to fix his problems.” There are a few slow-paced footsteps that sound even louder than his voice, each one driving pain deeper into Peter’s head. “I never pegged Strange as the leading-lambs-to-slaughter type.” Peter holds his breath as he forces himself to stand, already feeling his body start to recover.

“Where are they,” he demands while steeling himself as much as possible. The question of “where am I?” goes left unsaid. There's a brief, torturous silence.

“Preoccupied,” finally comes the response. “But I’ll be joining them soon.” The sorcerer is too confident, self-assurance coming off him in waves that put Tony’s ego to shame.

“You say that like you’ve already won.” He tries to get his own confidence and energy back, but a face suddenly appears from the darkness.

“I have.” Just like that, the world is drastically tilting again and Peter’s falling on his hip. He instantly sticks to the slick floor with one hand and shoots a web with the other, but it doesn't connect to anything. The web slacks until it falls uselessly to the floor and he’s left to just grip the cracked floor for dear life. He doesn't have Droney, his webs are useless, and he's panicking.

“C’mon, man! Tomorrow’s a school day! I have a curfew!” he shouts, regardless of how his fingers dig into the floor to hang on. Then the broken pieces come loose and he tumbles across the slanted floor. He shoots out a Splitter Web, hoping the extra webbing will provide more stability, but his back hits the wall before his webs even attach. The pain is nothing compared to his head, no matter how brutal the fall. “Never mind, that's fine, I’ll just call in sick,” he groans while trying to kick his senses into action. The one time spider powers would be really helpful.

“You're in over your head, boy.” The voice surrounds him, suffocates him, taunts the way he has no idea what’s going on. He doesn't have his Spidey Sense to help him and everything hurts and nothing’s real and it’s too much like Beck and- “You were led to the slaughter. No one would blame you if you gave in.” The purple glow returns with a vengeance, highlighting the smoke that reminds him too much of Mysterio’s gas. This time, though, he doesn't have his Spidey Sense to save him.

“You should be a motivational speaker,” he sarcastically quips to cope with his lack of control. Out of thin air, electric blue sparks harshly light up in front of his face and faster than he can blink, a bronze shield is flying through the portal. He narrowly dodges it, managing to flip out of the way despite his lack of Spidey Sense, and uses a web to hurl it back into the expansive darkness. Hoping beyond hope that it’ll hit something, anything. “Look, I wanna be Cap as much as the next guy, but this is taking cosplay a bit too far!” The words feel heavy on his tongue, not quite packing the punch they did in his head.

His muddled brain should've enjoyed the lethargic fight while it lasted, because next thing he knows, a blinding array of uncountable portals spark to life and hurl a flurry of exhibit pieces at him. He does his best to avoid as many artifacts as humanly possible, but his strikingly delayed movements cause picture frames to clip his sides and bronze busts to bludgeon his legs. They flit past his vision before his webs have the chance to attach, and at this point he knows he's just wasting web-fluid.

“Karen!” he yells for any form of support from the only one who can hear him as panic and uncertainty start creeping in. The bombardment on his already disheveled senses and a hit to the back of his knee send him crashing into the ground. His knee digs into the floor without mercy just as an unforgiving force slams into his already-sore shoulder.

That’s when he feels his shoulder wrenched from its socket.

He vainly stifles a scream mixed with shock and agony, tightly gripping the arm to his side. Every time his muscles contract, a new, blinding wave of pain wracks his body as his fingers start to go numb. I can't move my arm I can't move my arm I can't move my arm I-

“Quicker than I thought,” the bored voice booms, “but I suppose I was a bit overzealous.” Peter’s chest heaves with labored breaths and he stands with unstable legs. He slowly looks up, one of his lenses coated in red, as his muscles tremble from exhaustion. The same, bright blue glow overwhelms his vision. The darkness recedes to reveal a relentless smirk. “Sorry, kid.” His voice is anything but apologetic. Still, Peter smiles beneath the mask.

“One thing you should know about me,” he takes a limp forward to test his throbbing leg, “I don't give up. Ever.” An amused hum resonates from the villain’s chest.

“A most frustrating quality,” the sorcerer adds. His confidence is evident in his relaxed posture. He knows the fight is over, but now he's just dragging out the inevitable. Then again, he seems to be one for theatrics. Peter laughs breathlessly, holding his dislocated ribs in place.

“Nah, I'm pretty sure it’s my great jokes. Those really piss you guys off.” He can't tell if he's trying to delay the end or stall for time. At this point, he isn't sure there's a difference.

“Point taken,” the villain nonchalantly concedes. If it weren't Peter’s obvious pain, an outsider might think this was reminiscing between friends. How wrong that would be. “Can you blame me? Nonstop puns grate on anyone’s nerves.” He takes self-assured steps forward and sighs. “And I'm not exactly the most patient person.” Peter knows his Spidey Sense should intensify the closer the man gets, but it doesn't…and he stands his ground. Just a bit longer. They’ll come.

“What?” he replies sarcastically, “I never woulda guessed. It’s not like you threw half the museum at me.” All he can do is hope that his rambling buys him more time. The man raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“I could've thrown the sarcophagus,” he reasons without missing a beat. A stabbing pain overtakes Peter’s leg and he crumbles back to the ground with a gasp. He clenches his teeth and does his best to steady his breathing.

“Peter-”

“I know,” he quietly interrupts Karen’s concerned words before she can even start. A pleased hum pulls him back into the present conversation.

“What's wrong, Spidey?” the villain mocks, masked with innocence. “Looks like you could use some help. C'mon, I'm a helpful guy.” He holds his arms out at his sides as if that's evidence enough. Contrary to his words, the blue sparks surrounding his palms flare. The harmless smile morphs into a grin the devil himself would be envious of. Peter does his best not to flinch, his half-lidded eyes trained on the strikingly bright circles.

“You? A helpful guy? Yeah right,” he scoffs, his tone void of his previous humor. The electric mandalas increase their intensity.

“Nice to see your self-preservation is just as nonexistent as your friends.” Despite his pleasant facade, it’s just as fleeting as it always is. He suddenly sneers, briefly showing his true colors. “And just as goddamn infuriating!” he roars.

“You're throwing a tantrum in the Met and we’re infuriating? Look, dude, leave an angry Yelp review like everyone else.” Peter knows he's running on fumes. His vision is blurred and he's only half aware of what he's saying. You can figure this out, you just need to think. Think think think. Get yourself out of this.

“The Mystic Arts was meant for more than hiding! We could change, control, the world without breaking a sweat! And I can't just keep letting you self-proclaimed heroes get in the way,” the villain coldly responds. With renewed vigor, Peter pushes himself back up and levels his eyes with the villain.

“I don't care what you wanna call it, I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone else.” He grits the words out, feigning strength, but he can't keep this up. Even his superhuman healing isn't picking up the slack. The only thing keeping him going is a faint, high-pitched buzz in the distance.

“Casualties happen,” The man’s smirk returns. “If they don't want to die, they won't mess with my plans. Simple as that. Now you, Spidey, I’ll cut some slack. I can see how you have a soft spot for New York and, unlike a capitalist billionaire and dried up surgeon, that's an issue for you. You're only doing your job as a half-bit, neighborhood hero to look into it. But I’ve had to put up with all your goodie-two-shoes, holier-than-thou, meddling bullshit for too long!” He stops, towering over the teen menacingly and glaring at him with misplaced, fiery hate. “I should've gotten this over with sooner. My deepest, sincerest apologies for the delay.” And just like that, without so much as blinking, he levels a magic circle with Peter’s wide, blown eyes.

Now.

“Eyes up, fuckface!” The villain whips around in shock as Tony crashes through the ceiling, giving Peter the opening he needs to shoot a Web Grenade with his good arm and yank the rogue sorcerer to the ground just before it expands.The webbing encases him, thankfully pinning his arms inside while rendering him stuck to the ground. Peter breathes a shaky sigh of relief, until the cocoon of webbing starts to emit a glow.

“Try it and I’ll blow your face off so fast you won't even be able to say ‘Abracadabra,’” Tony all but snarls in rage, no humor in his voice despite the words. A bright, blinding light from above highlights the scrapes and dents adorning the hovering suit with both his repulsors trained on the villain. It seems like Peter wasn't the only one who got ambushed. Stephen is next to descend with a cut across his cheekbone, the bewitching darkness receding as his hands glow a warm orange. The pitch black surrounding Peter practically crawls away and with it, his senses return with full force.

“Peter?” Stephen prompts as he glances to the kid who, frankly, looks beat to hell.

“I'm, I'm fine. I'm okay, just, yeah. He's not nice.” Peter stumbles over his words slightly as his muscles begin to ache with fatigue and sharp pains in his shoulder and knee begin to make themselves known. Without the rogue sorcerer’s incantations weighing them down, Stephen trades places with Tony so that he can rush over to the teen.

“Kid, be honest with me,” Tony gently prods without needing to clarify. Peter knows he can never hide the pain in his voice when it’s particularly bad, and this time he took the full brunt of some heavy-hitting attacks. Usually he’s much more careful, but then the floor was gone and nothing was making sense and…

“Um, I think it feels worse than it is?” he answers, somewhat honestly. Tony lands beside him, the suit retracting, and carefully holds Peter’s bruised face in his hands. “Feeling a little lightheaded, but not too bad. Shoulder and leg hurt. A lot. Wanna sleep for a week.” Tony snorts in amusement to hide his abundant concern.

“You’d sleep for a week if you were hurt or not,” he points out, already looking the kid over from head to toe. It’s routine at this point, but Peter knows it scares them just as much every time.

“Good point,” he concedes with a weak laugh. Sleep and pizza actually sounds great right now, so he makes it his mission to get back to the Tower in one piece. The thought fresh in his mind, he suddenly falls to his knees. Before he knows it, he’s gasping and squeezing his eyes shut, Tony barely keeping him upright.

“Peter!” Tony yells to try to get his attention, already on the floor by his side. The adrenaline has cruelly abandoned Peter to be left alone with all the repercussions of the fight, not to mention the delayed terror that’s starting to make itself known.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he reassures Tony as he hyperventilates. He rips off his mask and throws it off to the side, burying his face in Tony’s chest to ground himself. I almost died I almost died I almost died I almo-

“Deep breaths,” Stephen’s soft voice chimes in once the sorcerer has been portaled to Wong. Tony rubs Peter’s back encouragingly as everything starts to sink in. I could’ve left behind May and she wouldn’t have even known and what if Stephen and Tony weren’t there to help? I would be dead, he would’ve killed me once he was done with his mind games and that would’ve been it.

“Bud, talk to us or so help me I’ll-”

“Just, I can’t, I need to just, I gotta-“ Damnit words are hard. He forces in a deep, shaking breath. “Gotta calm down,” he’s finally able to get out. It’s been a while since a fight has triggered this degree of panic.

He tucks his head under, forehead nestled into Tony’s arm, and focuses on breathing. If his eyes were open, he knows his vision would be tunneling from the lack of oxygen, but he rides it out. Turns out, your body prioritizes breathing over everything else, so as he slowly starts to calm down from the sudden bout of anxiety, his injuries hit him like a train. His leg is by far the worst, a sharp, agonizing pain shooting up into his back that causes his hand to grip Tony’s shirt. Doing so only aggravates his biceps from desperately grasping the floor to not fall. Every time he breathes, his ribs slip painfully in and out of place. Long story short, he’s seen better days.

“Think,” he starts, trying to find the right words, “think my shoulder is messed up pretty bad.” Tony and Stephen glance at each other. It takes a lot for Peter to admit to an injury, especially without being prompted. Still, Tony hones in on the swelling cheek and the gash above Peter’s eyebrow. Blood coats his left eye, but he doesn’t register the change in his vision anymore.

“It’s dislocated,” Stephen regretfully, yet matter-of-factly, notes. He knows he’ll be the one relocating it, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Tony nods slightly while slowly running his hand through Peter’s hair in hopes that it’ll calm him down.

“Okay,” Peter says through clenched teeth. “Okay, put it back in.” Stephen has a tremendous amount of medical experience, but for some reason the idea of having to use that knowledge with Peter makes him falter. Peter immediately latches onto it and turns his head slightly to peer out, blood smudging across Tony’s t-shirt. “I've had enough dislocations to, to know that they feel better when they're back in. Please,” he borderline begs with tears gathering in his eyes. He can't move his arm and he just wants it to stop hurting. Stephen swallows thickly, but nods nonetheless. Crouching beside them, he gingerly takes the limp arm in his tremble-ridden hands.

“Ready?” he checks. Peter’s free hand nervously grasps onto Tony’s sleeve in anticipation before he nods. “Alright, one two…” It’s not what Peter expects, nothing jarring like they portray in movies. Stephen slowly maneuvers his arm up until it loudly pops back into place, making Peter gasp before it finally feels like he can relax. He goes slack in Tony’s arms, not passed out but damn close.

“Hey, why don’t we get you to the Tower, okay?” Tony offers, voice uncharacteristically empathetic. Peter’s nodding again before he even realizes it and Tony helps him get to his feet. Now that his body is starting to calm down, Peter can’t put any pressure on his leg whatsoever. He almost cries out when he tries to take a step forward, but bites his cheek and groans instead. “Got it?” Tony gauges.

“Never better,” Peter grunts out. They painstakingly take it one step at a time, him heavily leaning on Tony and doing his best to not let the severity of the pain get to him. The last thing they need is him passing out. After a few long moments of hobbling, Tony makes the executive decision to not torture the kid more and picks him up as a portal forms in front of them.

“I gotcha, you're okay,” he reassures, making sure Peter is secure in his hold. Peter’s eyes shut and curls brush against Tony’s neck as he shudders.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter says through the pain. As soon as the cold, cream floor beneath their feet morphs into plush carpet, a warm compress is being held to his head. He flinches away from it, then leans in when he realizes how cold he is. Stephen smiles, glad to be able to help somehow. Tony carefully lowers him to sit on the couch and then immediately starts digging into a nearby first aid.

“God, I feel like I’m gonna puke,” Peter breathlessly mumbles to himself, not entirely meaning to say it aloud.

“The bleeding is stopping,” Stephen reassures, “which is good. It means you most likely don't need stitches.” Peter nods ever-so-slightly in agreement, shutting his eyes again. He suddenly feels a pressure on his side, followed by a voice.

“Woah, eyes open, kiddo,” Tony orders. Peter does as he’s told and realizes he had slumped to the side, now being held up by both Tony and Stephen.

“Sorry,” he quietly apologizes before sitting up again. “Tired.” His elaboration causes Stephen to nod in sympathy.

“We know. It’s okay,” Tony says with a brief smile, despite the evident concern lacing his voice. Peter doesn't have the mental capacity or adequate level of consciousness to linger on it, so he simply breathes in and out. It’s been one of the more rough fights he's gone through, and to be completely honest he feels awful. He can't walk without limping, he can hardly keep his eyes open, his ribs scream every time he breathes, his head throbs, and he can't lift his arms to brush the blood-crusted hair away from his eyes. All in all, he's seen better days.

“How is your leg feeling?” Stephen asks, more transparent about his concern. Peter opens his mouth before Stephen looks to Tony instead. “I should get him some pain medication from the medical ward.” Peter huffs and looks between the two, who apparently have their own ideas of treatment.

“…What happened exactly?” Tony questions in lieu of answering Stephen as he inspects the damaged leg. Peter averts his eyes, only now noting the stickiness of his left eye as he blinks.

“He kind of…” he searches for the right wording, “messed with gravity…and threw me into the ground…and the walls…and threw stuff using these wicked cool magic portal things.” A combination of pain from the strained muscles and previous crushing pressure flares up when Tony adjusts his hold.

“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing his face as he reigns in her temper. Not at Peter, but at the monster disguised as a human being.

“He’ll be fine,” Stephen whispers with an assured tone, hoping to calm Tony down. “Just rest, pain medication, and maybe a saline IV.” Peter fiddles with the edge of a tear in his suit, eyes shifting to the tiled floor now adorned with drops of blood.

“You sure he can't get, I dunno, compartmentalization syndrome?” Tony spitballs as he carefully peals the suit away and wraps Peter’s shoulder.

“It’s called compartment syndrome,” Stephen corrects, the usual exhaustion leaking into his voice. Tony glares at him before nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders.

“I mean,” Tony grabs a set of alcohol wipes and a couple ice packs, “he has compartmentalization issues too,” he points out ruthlessly. Peter groans, but accepts the proffered ice pack to hold to his head.

“Are we really going to have an intervention right now about my secret identity? ‘Cause if anyone has compartmentalization issues, it’s you,” he grumbles, wincing at the stinging from the cut.

“I never said it was about your secret identity,” Tony challenges with a smirk, only proving his point even further. Giving only a defeated whine in response, Peter continues.

“I know what compartment syndrome’s like. May’s a nurse, remember?” Suddenly, all the remaining color drains from his face as a dreaded realization dawns on him.

“Peter? What's wrong?” Stephen is immediately on high-alert, assuming that the teen’s injuries have taken a turn for the worse. Yet in a brief, fleeting thought, Peter’s pain is the least of his worries.

“How-” A cough cuts him off and he has to clear his throat. “How am I gonna explain this to May?” They fall silent.

“Just stay over, I’ll call your aunt and get her up to speed, capisce?” Tony proposes easily, even if he himself worries about May’s wrath. At this point, Peter doesn’t think he has much of a choice. As amazing as his expedited healing is, all this damage won’t be gone by morning. He might actually need the entire day, if not longer. He sighs and nods in concurrence, missing the look Stephen and Tony exchange.

“Thanks, I appreciate you guys, y'know, helping me.” His voice is still raspy and overworn, but he already feels some of the pain beginning to subside. Stephen nods and gets to his feet.

“I'll go down to the medbay,” he informs before allowing Tony a moment of privacy with the teen. Peter sighs and holds the ice pack over his forehead, then a warmth cups his face. He leans into the comforting touch, eyes fluttering shut when it finally sinks in that he's safe.

“Man, that su-” He doesn't expect to see tears glistening in Tony’s eyes when he looks up. “Mr. Stark?” he softly asks in shock. Tony takes in a shaky, calming breath.

“I'm glad you're okay, kid. You scared me there,” he admits, surprising them both. The weight of it all seems to crush Peter as realization sets in. Tony saw him an absolute mess, even with the help of his healing. His lip starts to tremble as tears glide down his own face.

“I was scared, too,” he confesses, voice cracking before he can even finish the sentence. A quiet sob wracks his already shivering frame before Tony pulls him back into his chest, slowly rubbing fingers up and down the kid’s back.

“There's nothing wrong with being afraid,” Tony mumbles into the curls, wanting nothing more than to never let his kid go. Peter feels himself being rocked and he can't help grasp onto Tony tighter. It’s the comfort he needs more than the medicine, and Tony would never dream of keeping it from him.