polaroid15 - Tumblr blog

polaroid15 · 2 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 28 - Presumed dead

Read on Ao3 <3

Summary: Peter takes a really hard hit.

------

Tony can tell Peter is having an off day.

Usually, the kid is bouncing off the walls in the final minutes before a fight. Usually, Tony has to remind him that their enemies won’t be very intimidated by his endearing puppy dog energy. Most of the time, Peter ignores him and goes into battle with a cartwheel and a shout.

Today, it’s different.

Peter is leaning against the back of the quinjet, his mask clenched tightly in one fist and his arms circling around his stomach. His gaze has a distant, faraway quality to it that unnerves Tony, especially because Sam is sitting just two seats over. In no universe would Peter spare an opportunity to talk anyone’s ear off, let alone Sam Wilson’s.

Tony takes the vacant seat beside Peter, but Peter doesn’t even look at him. He stares unblinkingly at the opposite wall until Tony nudges his shoulder. “Hey, you alright kiddo?”

Peter jumps a little. Then, when his eyes register Tony, he relaxes again, his posture dull. “Oh, hey. Yeah.”

“Yeah, no. Asking was just a formality. What’s up?”

Peter smirks a little. “Did you just say ‘what’s up?’”

“Gotta problem with that?”

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, his small smile growing. “No.”

“Good,” Tony says, then nudges him again. “So? Spill the beans, Spider-kid.”

“It’s nothing,” Peter says. “I just have a bad feeling, I guess.”

An ember of concern flickers to life in Tony’s gut. “A bad feeling?”

“Mhm. But it’s probably nothing.”

Tony looks more intently at his kid. Physically, he looks fine, albeit a little pale. His knee is jumping rapidly, his knuckles bone white from where they clutch his mask. Not for the first time, Tony feels a deep, stabbing guilt for involving Peter in this whole mess in the first place. “You can sit this one out, you know.”

“No-” Peter objects, straightening in his seat. “No, it’s fine. I want to help.”

“I need your head clear.”

“It’s clear,” Peter promises. “I’m sorry.”

He’s torn. “Pete…”

“I’m fine,” Peter says. This time, he’s firm. “Just forget I said anything.”

After a long pause, Tony folds. “Okay. But we’ll stick close together. How’s that sound?��

To his surprise, Peter relaxes a little. “That sounds great, Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, then.”

The quinjet lands and Peter pulls on his mask. The city outside is overrun with aliens. Again. As soon as the back doors open, the safety of the quinjet dissipates. Chaos leaks in. There’s no time for further debate.

Tony lowers his faceplate and follows his kid out into a warzone.

------

Two, grueling hours pass.

Tony’s taken more hits than he’d like to admit and has been saved by Peter by twice that. Despite his uncertainty on the quinjet, the kid is more than holding his own.

Peter webs up one of the bigger aliens to the side of a department store and Tony shouts him praise. The kid spins, and even through his mask Tony can tell he’s smiling.

And for a moment, Tony thinks the trouble has passed.

Then an alien rips between them, throwing them both to the ground. By the time Tony stands, Peter’s already gone. He follows the trail up and finds the alien on a direct route to the rooftop where a camera crew is poised over the lip of the building. They must’ve been filming their fight, Tony realizes. Idiots.

Peter shoots a web at the alien, catching it on its scaly back. He digs his heels into the brick of the building as the camera crew above scatters, loose brick raining down to the street below. The alien screeches as Peter shoots more webs, securing it to the building. It twitches feebly as Peter twists his neck to look down at Tony, his shoulders dipping when he sees that Tony is standing.

It’s a moment of distraction for both of them. Neither of them see the second alien come. It flies in fast, colliding with Peter head on. The impact must knock him out because as the alien barrels further down the street, Peter drops from the side of the building like a stone.

“Peter!” Tony yells, his repulsors engaging long before his brain processes the hit. But even with his suit’s intuition, there’s no way he’ll make it in time.

Peter hits the pavement. Hard. He lays crumbled on his side on the sidewalk, everything about him eerily still. It reminds Tony of the time he’d approached Peter on the airstrip in Germany, and his stomach does several Olympic-level backflips.

Get him out of the street. Get him out of the street. “Any spinal injuries?” Tony asks FRIDAY through his mask.

“None detected.”

Without wasting any more time, Tony grabs Peter around the shoulders and drags him into the cover of the department store. The lights are dim and flickering, the front window shattered. He pulls Peter away from the debris and drops to his knees, his hand immediately reaching to peel the mask off the kid’s face.

When it comes free, Tony falls back into a shelf, his vision whiting out and his chest constricting down to an impossible size. On a secondary level, he recognizes he’s having a panic attack. But he doesn’t truly comprehend it.

Because Peter… Peter…

“Kid,” Tony wheezes, curling his fingers around Peter’s shoulders. “W-w-wake up.”

The entire right side of Peter’s face is stained with blood, gorey and dark. He doesn’t respond to Tony’s movements. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

He looks dead.

Tony hyperventilates, clutching Peter’s still form like a lifeline. He knows he should check his pulse, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t want to find nothing.

“FRI- oh god. F-FRI? Is he… Is he?”

It’s the most agonizing three seconds of his life. “He’s alive, sir.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony gasps, bringing his cheek down into Peter’s chest. Sure enough, he can hear his kid’s heart. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, and he remains that way until the static in his body eases and his breathing returns.

“Boss,” FRIDAY says. “Peter has suffered a severe head injury. Now that your panic attack has passed, it is imminent that Peter receives immediate medical attention.”

Tony lifts his head back up. His cheeks are stiff with salt, which is strange, because he doesn’t remember crying. He nods feverishly. “Right. Right.”

Biting back a sob, Tony picks up Peter and cradles him to his chest. The kid is absolutely pilant in his hold, his blood-soaked head tipping back against Tony’s elbow. The sight burns Tony’s throat with bile. He raises his head and steps back into the street.

Peter had a bad feeling about the fight, and I did nothing.

“FRI,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Take us home.”

------

Everything is a blur when they land at the compound. FRIDAY must have called ahead, because there’s a team of medical professionals waiting for them on the landing pad. They take Peter out of Tony’s arms and he stands there, numb, and watches unblinkingly as they wheel him away.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Shock, his mind supplies. You’re in shock.

All he can see is Peter’s still, lifeless face.

The sun is close to the horizon by the time Tony comes back to himself. He takes a quick step forward and nearly falls, his legs aching from standing too long. But they carry him anyway, his newly found determination outweighing his fatigue.

When he steps inside the compound, his suit falls away. He catches himself on the wall, exhales deeply, and pushes himself toward the medical wing. Cho is waiting for him at the threshold, as if she’d been waiting for him.

“Tony,” she greets. “It’s about time you came along.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Sit down.”

Tony does, worry building up within him like a dam threatening to break. “How is he?”

Cho’s expression falls, and Tony nearly slips into his second panic attack of the day. “He sustained a lot of damage to his brain. He’s in a coma.”

“What?” Tony asks. His voice is distant to his own ears. “A coma?”

“It’s important that he sleeps while his brain heals. There’s no telling how long it will last, or if…”

“If he wakes up at all,” Tony finishes, choked.

Cho doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to.

“Can I see him?”

“Of course.”

Tony follows Cho to Peter’s room as if in a dream. When they enter, the air shifts, becoming heavier. “Oh,” he says, sagging against the doorframe. The entire right side of Peter’s face is covered in thick bandages already dotted with blood. He’s hooked up to about every machine imaginable. There’s a tube down his throat.

“It looks scary,” Cho says, “but it’s to help him.”

Tony can’t look away. “He told me he had a bad feeling,” he whispers. “Before the fight. I should’ve never let him off the quinjet.”

“There’s no point in blaming yourself,” Cho says, laying a hand on his arm. “That’s not going to help Peter now.”

With a final squeeze to his arm, Cho turns and leaves. Tony stands in the threshold of Peter’s room for a long time, his heart sinking in quicksand. Then he moves. He sits by Peter’s bed. Slowly, carefully, he grabs the kid’s hand and hangs on tight. “I’m right here kiddo,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

And after that, he can’t quite find the words to say.

-----

Over the next two and a half months, Peter has a visitor everyday. Most of the time, multiple.

Tony spends all of his free time in Peter’s room. May, too, when she isn’t working. Ned and MJ swing by after school most days and play cards over his lap. The rest of the team, to Tony’s surprise, also spend a good deal of time sitting with Peter. They sit and tell him stories about missions gone wrong and sometimes, Tony catches them saying how proud they are of him.

The city mourns the loss of Spider-Man, and everytime Tony sees a news article talking about it, it breaks his heart.

Ever since Peter had gone down, life had stopped for Tony.

But now, today, two and a half months later, Peter’s finger twitches.

It’s such a small motion, but it takes Tony’s breath away. He leans forward and stares intently. “Peter?”

Nothing happens for a moment, but then he moves again. This time, his whole hand.

“Pete? Buddy, can you hear me?”

And then the most wonderful thing happens. Peter groans, shifts his head, and opens his eyes.

Immediately, it brings Tony to tears. He collapses against Peter’s side, clutching the blankets tucked over the kid’s chest and holding him close. There’s a light pressure on his back. Peter’s hand, he realizes.

“Oh kiddo,” Tony says, tilting his face up. “I sure missed you.”

Peter’s still half asleep, his eyelids drooping and unclear. “Where’d I go?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. You’re back.”

Hit by his own words, Tony reaches for the nurse’s call button and presses it. Peter may be awake and relatively lucid, but that doesn’t mean there aren't any other complications to check out.

“I really love you kiddo. You know that, right?” God, he’s been waiting months to tell him that.

Peter blinks at him. Then, he smiles. It restores every aching inch of Tony’s heart. “I know. I love you too.”

Though Peter is largely uncoordinated, Tony guides him into an embrace. He holds him tight with the intent of never letting go. My kid, he thinks. My stupid, brave, wonderful kid.

They’ve been through a lot of storms together, some more scary than others.

But after the storm- everything is okay.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2022 #peter parker #tony stark #peter parker whump #head injury #coma #irondad #protective tony stark #irondad fic #thank you for all the support <3 #it's been a fun month :)#love you!

199 notes · View notes

polaroid15 · 2 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 27 - Shower breakdown

Read on Ao3

Summary: Post Homecoming fight, except Tony shows up and helps Peter patch himself up.

------

Peter doesn’t like this part of the job.

The stumbling back home in the middle of the night, half-dead and thanking the heavens above that May is working a graveyard shift part of the job. He’s been hurt as Spider-Man before. Lots of times, in fact. But never like this. Never this badly.

It’s a lonely feeling.

He barely makes it to the bathroom, half aware that he’s stained the doorknob with blood. He catches himself against the bathroom counter with the little strength he has left in his arms and just stands there panting, not yet able to look at his reflection.

In and out. In and out.

As he collects his breath, he sees Toomes. He feels the heat of the fire on the beach. The impact of hitting the sand after crashing Mr. Stark’s plane. The suffocating pressure of being crushed under thousands of pounds of concrete…

Overwhelmed, he snaps his head up to look in the mirror, though his features become blurred as his eyes fill with tears. The suit he had made is torn. His body is torn. There’s not an inch of himself that’s not covered in sand, blood, or ash.

Shower, the last calm, rational part of his mind supplies. Listening, he forces his body to the edge of the tub and with a shaking hand, twists on the water. It takes three separate tries to pull the ruined remains of his suit over his head. His ribs are definitely broken. In the time it takes him to get undressed, the whole bathroom is filled with thick steam and he can hardly breathe.

He knows it’s going to hurt. A lot. He sets his jaw, curls his hands into fists, and steps under the hot water. Immediately, every cut on his body lights up with a sharp, burning pain. He cries out, his fingers scrambling to find purchase on the wet tile as his knees go weak. The entire bottom of the tub is swirling with red as new and old blood mixes with the water.

It’s too much.

Peter loses his battle to stay standing and bangs his knees against the bottom of the tub. A sob rips out of his chest before he can contain it, and after it, he can’t stop the breakdown. Here, there’s no one to be strong for anymore. Here, he’s alone.

So he cries, letting the water erase the pain and fear of the night. He lets it wash away his insecurity, his regret. Everything.

He doesn’t know how long he stays curled up on the floor of the tub, only that eventually- the water gets cold. It brings him back to being pinned under the warehouse and suddenly he can feel its crushing weight again. His tears stop as he chokes on his next breath. He reaches out blindly until he shuts off the water. Immediately, his chest loosens.

“Oh god,” he whispers, gripping the edge of the tub. He needs to get out, like, yesterday. He wraps a towel around his waist and stands in front of the mirror, shocked by the damage displayed on his arms and chest. The worst of it is the six angry puncture wounds where Toomes had dug in his metal talons. Even after the shower, some of them are leaking blood. There’s dark bruising, too, around his ribs and shoulders. So dark, they're nearly black.

With his lip wobbling, Peter makes his escape. He steps out of the bathroom and relishes in the unfogged air.

“Rough night?”

Peter nearly topples over for the second time that night, his heart stuttering as he turns toward the voice. He finds Mr. Stark sitting casually on the couch, his legs kicked up and his arm draped over the couch’s back. He’s wearing dark glasses, but he takes them off and puts them in the front pocket of his suit as Peter gapes at him. “What… How?”

Mr. Stark straightens, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m just saying, it looks like you’ve had a rough night, kid.”

For the first time that night, Peter is angry. He squares his shoulders, hoping it’ll oppose the overwhelming urge to shrink in on himself. “Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Tony looks almost impressed. He sits back again, nodding. “Yeah, okay. I deserve that.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I saw what you did at Coney Island. Impressive stuff, kid. Though I would’ve preferred if my plane stayed in just a couple more pieces…”

“I don’t care about your plane,” Peter says boldly, then, “and besides, I cleaned everything up.”

“I know you did,” Tony says, his voice softer. “C’mere.”

Peter hesitates. “I think you should leave.”

“And you’re actively bleeding,” Tony says. He holds up a small first-aid kit. “I’ll patch you up, okay? Just get over here.”

Peter caves. He walks unsteadily over to wear the billionaire sits and perches awkwardly on the next cushion over. “I’ll heal, you know.”

“Everyone does.”

“Well, yeah. But faster, I mean.”

“Not when you’re still bleeding you won’t.”

Peter bites back his next objection as Tony pops open the little first-aid kit. He digs his fingers through it and pulls out a roll of gauze and tape. “Why’d you bring that?” Peter asks.

Tony shrugs. “I had an inkling.”

Within fifteen minutes, the worst of his wounds are covered and cleaned. Tony tucks everything they didn’t use, which isn’t much, back into the first-aid kit and sets it on the coffee table in front of them. “You should keep this. Something tells me you’ll need it.”

“Why are you here?” Peter asks him again.

For the first time since meeting him, Peter sees Tony uncomfortable. He tugs at his collar and touches his fingertips to the rims of the glasses in his pockets. “If you die, it’s on me, remember?”

“It’s not on you. You made that clear when you took the suit, Mr. Stark. No offense.”

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to offend me, kid. But I get it. And it was a mistake to take the suit. I’m sorry.”

Peter frowns. “What?”

“You’re something without the suit, Pete. Stupid as it was, you proved that tonight. I just- I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes I have.”

“I don’t want the suit back, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Tony smirks and looks down at the ground. “Sure, kid.”

“Did they arrest Toomes?”

“They did.”

“No one else was hurt?”

“Just you,” Tony says quietly. “And speaking of, what happened? You know,” he trails off, gesturing widely to the massacre that is Peter’s body.

Peter sighs, exhaustion lowering his defenses. Toomes is in prison. No one was hurt. He points to the puncture wounds. “This was from Toomes’ suit.”

“And the bruises?”

Peter closes his eyes when he feels the oncoming signs of tears, because he is not crying in front of his childhood hero. “Nothing,” he whispers.

“That sure isn’t nothing, kid. In fact, we should probably get that checked out by a professional.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I just want to go to bed.”

Tony looks as if there’s more he wants to say, but he represses it. His eyebrows draw together. He taps his foot against the ground. “Fine,” he says, “I don’t think you’re in any mortal danger tonight. But, Happy’s bringing you to the Tower tomorrow to get checked out.”

“The Tower?” Peter asks. “I thought…”

Tony cuts him off with a flick of his hand. “I changed my mind. We’re moving back in.”

Excitement falls through him. “Why?”

“I’m Tony Stark. I don’t need a reason, do I?”

“No, sir, but…”

“Don’t question it. Just be ready when Happy comes to pick you up, alright?”

“Alright.”

Tony stands, and Peter stands too. He feels a lot better, he realizes. Not physically, but in other ways. “Thanks for breaking into my house,” he says with a smile that splits a cut on his lip.

“Thanks for not calling the cops,” Tony says, straightening his suit coat. “And, you know… for saving the day. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

Peter doesn’t know what compels him to do it, but in the next second he has his arms wrapped around Tony’s torso. At first, Tony siezes up. Then, gradually, he relaxes, his arms coming to circle around Peter’s shoulders.

“This is a hug, by the way,” Peter says.

Tony’s chest vibrates when he laughs. “Yeah, kid,” he says fondly. “I know.”

#Febuwhump #febuwhump 2022 #peter parker #febuwhump day 22 #post homecoming #hurt peter parker #protective tony stark #irondad #irondad fic

25 notes · View notes

polaroid15 · 2 years

Photo

#Manifesting this

4K notes · View notes

polaroid15 · 2 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 26 - "Please don't do this"

Read on Ao3

Summary: Question: What's more powerful than the Avengers? Answer: One, super self-sacrificing spider kid.

-----

The mission is going pretty well, Peter figures.

Most of the team is involved in this one. Tony, of course. Sam. Rhodey. Steve. Clint. Even Natasha had showed up from a job in Sweden to make an appearance. And Peter, in the middle of them all, straight from fifth period.

It’s pretty much the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to him.

“What’s the reading on the bomb?” Sam asks from Peter’s left. “Are we getting closer?”

Rhodey checks a scanner on his forearm, his expression hidden behind metal. “We’re close,” he says. “It should be just ahead in that warehouse.”

It’s already been a grueling day. A group of Ex-HYDRA affiliated terrorists had infiltrated the city in the morning, surprising the Avengers with a grid of strategically placed bombs, all set to go off in quick incriments. Everyone had been called to action, and now nearly every bomb has been disarmed thanks to Nat’s expertise.

Now, there’s only one left. The big one. The city-block destroying one.

Peter can’t help but notice the nervous anticipation in the air. It’s contagious, settling deep in his bones. “How much time is left until it detonates?” he asks.

Rhodey brings the scanner closer to his eyes. “Five minutes, thirteen seconds.”

“Great,” Tony sighs as they approach the warehouse entrance. “Underoos? Watch our backs, alright? We don’t want any company.”

“Got it.”

The rest of the team enters the warehouse as Peter stands guard in the large, open doorway. He shivers, feeling small. Mr. Stark trusts you, his mind reminds him. Just don’t mess up.

The thought barely finishes before there’s an enormous metal bang from inside the warehouse. Peter flinches and spins on his heel. “Guys? Are you okay?”

Multiple, faraway voices sound, too distant to make any real sense of. Battling his judgment, Peter abandons his post and runs inside. After a short journey he stops short, his eyes widening. The whole team is trapped behind a large, metal grate. Right in front of them, the bomb sits against the ground. It’s a lot bigger than the rest, about the size of a small microwave.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, running up them and skidding short of where the grate and the floor meet. “What happened?”

“The building was booby trapped,” Clint says. “It came down as soon as we started trying to disarm the bomb. I don’t think this was about destroying the city, afterall.”

“It was about destroying us,” Natasha says, grim. “The bomb has a failsafe attached to it. It can’t be disarmed.”

“No, no. There’s gotta be something we can do.” With panic rising through him like helium, Peter grips the heavy metal separating them and gives it an experimental pull. It doesn’t budge. “Jeez, this is strong.”

On the other edge of their cage, Tony shoots a repulsor blast. The fire intertwines with the metal, turning it red hot but otherwise remaining intact. In frustration, or perhaps something more desperate, Tony fires three more shots.

None of them break through.

“We don’t have time for this,” Rhodey says. “The bomb is going off in two minutes, forty-five seconds.”

Peter’s chest is heaving. He stares at his team. At his family.

“I know what to do,” he says, breathless.

“No,” Tony says, abandoning his attempts at breaking free to come face to face with Peter through the grate. He points a finger through, his face pale and furious. “Absolutely not. You need to leave, Pete. You need to leave, and not look back.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Peter says. The whole team is looking at him now.

“Leave, Pete. Or you’ll die like the rest of us.”

With a heavy, aching heart, Peter turns to Natasha. “If I pick it up, will it explode?”

Understanding bleeds into her face. “Peter…”

“Will it explode?”

“There’s no real way of knowing,” she says, “but I don’t think so.”

Peter nods. He feels dizzy with the burden of what he needs to do. “I’ll take it to the river,” he says. He squats next to the bomb, his hands hovering inches from it.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony says, gripping the grate between them tightly. “You listen to me. You’re not doing this, alright? You’re not. I forbid it.”

“I’m not letting you die,” Peter says, choking up. He grabs the edges of the bomb, the metal hot underneath his fingertips. It’s scary as hell.

“One minute, fifty seconds,” Rhodey says, his words cracking between them like a gunshot.

“Please don’t do this,” Tony whispers. His entire posture sags, already defeated. Because he knows. He knows Peter too well.

Unable to look at his mentor, Peter picks up the bomb. Everyone holds their breath. He can hear it, even through the insane pounding in his chest. He lets out his own tense breath, then readjusts his grip. “If I don’t see you guys again…” he begins, but finds himself unable to continue. His mind is running off its tracks, spiraling into something dark.

Tell them you love them, he thinks desperately as he raises his gaze up to Tony and the rest of the team. His mentor is staring at him with the largest, most tortured eyes. But for some reason, the words stick in his throat.

I love you, he thinks, and finds some level of peace in it.

Then he spins on his heel, shoots a web at a high, open window, and disappears. He tries to ignore how loudly the Avengers call for him to return.

As precious time ticks away, the bomb grows hotter against his chest. He imagines it detonating. He imagines how fast it would be, how he wouldn’t even feel any pain.

Please, please, please, his mind spins in a mantra as he sprints across rooftops and shoots webs at the sides of buildings. He’s cutting it way too close, and he knows it. You can’t let anyone get hurt.

When the water comes into view, Rhodey’s thin, brittle voice comes in through his com. It brings tears to his eyes, imagining it may be the very last thing he hears. “Peter. You have twenty seconds.”

He doesn’t have the breath to respond. He pushes harder. Harder than he’s ever pushed in his life. Almost there, Peter. Come on, Spider-Man.

The timer on the bomb must be in single digits as he swings out over the river. He lets his web go and drops the bomb simoultaneously. There’s a single moment of weightlessness, where everything seems to slow down. He twists his body as he falls, watching as the bomb breaches the water’s surface and sinks from view.

“Kiddo-” Tony’s voice breaks through his com. His voice is hoarse. Panicked. Desperate.

But the rest of his words are lost. The bomb explodes in an enormous guiser of water and fire, and its resounding blast erases everything. His ears ring, his skin burns, and he loses all control as he’s careened backwards through the air at a neck-breaking speed.

Distantly, he hopes the team doesn’t hear him hit the ground.

He skids through the water, unable to do anything but endure it. His body twists against another blast of heat and he skips off the surface. He experiences another short moment of weightlessness before his body collides with something hard.

He’s unconscious even before his body finishes falling.

------

Over an hour later, they find Peter on the riverbank.

He’s unconscious, his suit charred and curling with smoke. He doesn’t move no matter how hard they try to wake him.

Fearing the worst, someone checks his pulse. It takes longer than it should. The whole world holds its breath. But then there’s something. There’s life.

One cries out. A harsh, relieved noise.

“Get an ambulance here now,” someone says.

“God, he actually did it,” another says.

“I’m right here, kiddo,” the most anguished of them all says. “I’m right here.”

------

When Peter wakes up between soft, white sheets, the whole team is with him.

He furrows his eyebrows and wonders for a split second if they’ve all died and been cramped into the same room in the afterlife. But then the darker shadows of his vision clears, and he realizes he’s just in medbay. Medbay, not the river.

They haven’t noticed he’s awake, so he shifts. The tiny movement has everyone’s heads snapping toward him, their expression melting into relief.

“Hey guys,” he says hoarsely. God, his body aches.

Before he can defend himself, he’s being surrounded by earth’s mightiest heroes. They latch onto him. Hug him. “That was so dumb,” Sam says from somewhere in the heap. Everyone agrees.

When everyone pulls back, only one hand remains. It’s Tony’s, latched tightly onto his arm. “I’m not happy about it, but you saved the day, kiddo.”

Peter lowers his eyes nervously. “It’s what any of you would’ve done.”

“Maybe,” Clint says. “But you sure scared the hell out of us.”

“We’re glad you’re okay,” Natasha says.

“More than glad,” Tony whispers with a teary smile.

“Was everyone else okay?” Peter asks.

“More than. Except for a few fish, I reckon.”

“Good,” Peter sighs, leaning back into his pillows. “That’s good.”

Rhodey is the first to stand. “Alright, team. Let’s clear out and give our hero the rest he deserves.”

Peter opens his mouth to object, but everyone obediently stands and follows. Tony stays, however. He always stays.

“Get some sleep, kid,” he says, leaning back in his own chair. “We’ll talk about you giving me the biggest heart attack in my life in the morning.”

Despite his pain, Peter smiles. “Yes sir.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2022 #peter parker #avengers team #avengers family #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #protective tony stark #bamf peter parker #protective peter parker

201 notes · View notes