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Bring Your Umbrella; the Forecast Calls for Rain

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Peter was tired, to say the least. Many people his age worked a part time job flipping burgers, but no, this is where he is right now. He should be at home, studying for his next test. That's where he thinks he should be, but New York thinks otherwise.

He's on the floor, and he's gasping for breath. His chest is rising and falling quick, way too quick to be healthy, and he's struggling to get up but he can't and it's so frustrating and he doesn't know what to do. He feels his heart in his throat, and he swallows it down.

Sirens roared by and as he looked up there goes the hulk. He sighs to himself, “Not now....“ He got up on his feet and started off towards the Hulk. "Hey! Buddy! Down here!"

The hulk didn't bother to stop for a second, ignoring Peter and going on through his rampage. Cops took their aim and fired, and Peter wanted to scream. "Hulk! Look! Over here!" Peter webbed his feet to the ground, trying to stabilize him. The less the Hulk moved, the less Peter had to move. "That's right, bud. Make this a lot easier for me."

To tell the truth, Peter had no clue what to do. Right now, he didn't have much strength. He could barely stand. After having been tortured for quite some time, he wasn't feeling too peachy. And now.... He had to deal with this!?

He knew the Hulk wasn't some mindless monster, knew he was much more than that. The hulk is triggered by anger, and he wondered... Could he resort back to normal by the opposite?

Jokes. Peter was great at those. Or, he thinks he is. Anyways, Peter doesn't have good jokes right now; his head isn't in the right place. He struggles for a joke, but his head is spinning and he can't find one. He thinks back on past experiences, trying to remember something funny.

“Hulk, look at me for a second!" The hulk went to squash Peter, but peter's spidey sense warned him before he could become a pancake. "Great! Now that I have your attention....." He paused to swing up on a perch. "You wanna know why I don't trust atoms?" The hulk was still rampaging, but Peter was sure he had heard him. "Cause they make up everything!"

The hulk's yelling stopped. His arms started to drop a little, and his feet stopped resisting at the webbing. Peter took this as a victory, taking the chance to sit down on the perch. He watched as the Hulk slowly lost his color and all that was left was a man left in the debris.

Peter dropped down to the floor in front of the human. His shoulders were shaking with laughter, and he was giggling like a child. Peter smiled under his mask. "Hey, you okay?"

The man looked up, his eyes wide. His laughter had stopped, and his face just looked overall confused. ”Spider-Man?"

“Yup, that's me! Surprised you know who I am," he smiled, even tho the guy couldn't see it, "It's a pleasure to meet you.” Peter glanced over to the police officers, who were looking as if they were about to take charge. "I'd love to continue this conversation, but I--"

"Bruce!" A blond man had dropped to the floor, Peter recognized him as Captain America. If he hadn't been close to unconsciousness, he would've totally fanboyed. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I... I can't remember how I got out here, to tell the truth," Bruce replied, looking back to Steve and the other avengers as they slowly dropped. He turned to Peter. “Spider-Man here helped me back to normal. As to how..."

Peter was stumbling. Not in front of his heroes, no way. He wanted to reply, he really did. Something clever, something funny. But he couldn't. He was too dizzy. "My hilarious jokes are a cure to many, many problems. Right now, however, it's not doing much for me, so I'm gonna skidaddle." If Peter passed out here, he had no doubt the NyPD would get ahold of him.

“Spiderman! Are you injured?” Bruce asked, stepping closer as Peter moved to move away. “Let me help." Peter shook his head, struggling to get away.

"No, no! That's okay! Really, I'm just gonna--" the familiar feeling of his heart in his throat resurfaced, and he didn't think he can hold it down this time. He started to sprint and he reached to web up to a tower, but then he fell forward and his hands scrambled to lift his mask over his throat. His mouth let out a gagging noise, and he struggles to breathe and pass through the moment. Red dusted his cheeks. He was glad his mask hid.

He tried to even out his breathing and swallow the vomit, but instead he puked it up. He looked to see blood splattering on the floor in front of him and he winced at the sight and his pain. He struggled to breathe, and he was taking s deep breath when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Take deep breaths, kid."

He launched forward before turning around to face a group of six worried avengers. "Please," he rasped out, felling the puke rise up again, "D...Don't look at th--" his own puke cut him off.

He again fell to his knees and he coughed up so much blood. His head was spinning more and more, and he just wanted to be at home in bed. He didn't want to be here, not puking in front of the avengers, his heroes, people he wanted to impress.

"Spider-Man, take it easy. Deep breaths." Peter wasn't having it. He struggled to his feet, crawling away. Blood seeped out of his many wounds, as well as his mouth. He started to break into a sprint until he felt a strong pair of arms grab a strong hold of him.

"Man of Spiders, we wish to help!" boomed the voice Peter recognized as Thor. Peter shook his head violently, not wanting to lose his lunch on the Norse god.

"P-please," he whimpered, struggling against Thor, "Lemme go...!" His voice was weak, and he was having trouble finding the words to say. He wasn't going to give up, however. Not like this.

The panic that Peter had stifled down started to re surface when Thor had caught such a tight grip of him. He felt tears leak out of his eyes, and a sob escape his mouth. "Kid, you're literally crying in pain right now. Let us help.” The voice he recognized as Tony Stark was carrying on, "Thor, hand him to me.”


Peter mumbled a quiet protest in the form of a yelp as Thor dropped him in Tony’s arms. “Shh,” he hushed. His boosters took off, and the two of them were airborne. Peter hummed, letting his head fall down and his eyes flutter shut. Tony cradled his head and held him up by the back of his legs. “Mr. Stark, ‘m okay,” he said, shifting around in his grip.


“I will drop you if you don’t stop moving,” he warned. Peter nodded, forcing himself to still as much as he could.


A loud clang sounded that they had landed. Peter moves to get down, but Tony doesn’t let go.


“Mr. Stark,” he whined. “Let me down.”


“Sorry, kiddo, no can do,” he apologized without really meaning it. “Gotta check you for injuries.”


He pokes his head up. Tony pushes it back down. “‘M not hurt, though, just a lil’ under the weather.”


“Under the weather would be an understatement,” a new voice piped up suddenly. “You can put him down here, Tony.” Peter was being lowered down to the table, and a small scientist with curly black hair had a case of tools in hand. “What’s hurting?”


He wrapped a velcro machine around his arm, one that his aunt used to use to take her blood pressure. “Nothin’,” he replied, yawning. “I’ve just been feelin’ a lil’ dizzy, that’s all.”


The machine beeped, and it was pulled away. Bruce, the scientist, pulled out a thermometer. “Open.”


Peter complied, taking in the instrument under his tongue. He kicked his legs, sitting up to see Tony’s armor disappearing, leaving him in casual wear. He wore a frown on his face.


The thermometer beeped. Bruce pulled it out, and Peter’s noise shrunk up as he sneezed. “Well?” Tony prompted.


“104,” Bruce announced.


“You have ten seconds, Spider-Man,” Tony said, exasperated. He dragged his fingers through his hair. “ Teenagers .”


“Ah, sir, it’s just from the stab wound,” he assured, shaking his hands. “And I got that all covered!” He grinned.


“That’s it!” Tony exclaimed. “I’m done.” He walked out of the room.


Peter and Bruce exchanged glances. Peter raised an eyebrow, but Bruce just shrugged.


A moment later a loud voice, not Tony’s, screamed, “He did what now?”


“Uh oh,” Bruce mumbled.


“What?” Peter asked. Bruce turned away from him. “What?”


“You’re in for it now,” Bruce hissed, ducking away.


The door burst open to reveal Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, and Tony. Tony had a mug of coffee in his hands. With a smug look on his face, he took a seat and sipped his coffee.


“Spider-Man!” Steve Rogers barked at him, and he straightened up. “What is wrong with you?”


“S-Sir, I,” he sputtered, taken back. He cowered. He went to find comfort in Tony’s face, but he couldn’t find any.


“Do you know what happens to heroes like you?” Sam asked, concern burning in his eyes. He was the more gentle one, but Steve was letting all Hell break loose.




“Young, solo vigilantes who insist on fighting recklessly and alone die. They bleed out alone in alleyways without anyone there to help. Is that what you want?” Steve exclaimed.


“N-no, sir…”


“Cause that's what'll happen,” Sam explained. “It would have. You need to take care of yourself.”


“And your family,” Tony piped in, his smug look faded a bit. “For one who parades around in a mask to ‘keep my loved ones safe’ you act like you don't care if you die. You've become messy.”




“Do you think your family wants that?” Sam asked.


Peter looked down at his lap. “There's no one,” he mumbled.


“What?” Sam prompted him to speak up.


“I'm alone now,” Peter mumbled, gripping his hands. “I couldn't save them. That's-- That’s why I have to keep fighting. A little fever won't stop me.”


It was Bruce’s turn to speak now. “But it's not just a little fever,” he said, waddling in front of him. “May I get a look at the stab wound?”


Peter paused. He knew it wasn't really a question anyways. His hands gripped the bottom of his shirt and he pulled it up over his head. “That isn't a stab wound,” Steve stated. “That's five.”


How Peter had been standing earlier was a mystery to everyone in the room. Five stab wounds dotted the outlines of his stomach. All were shallow.


“Why?” Sam asked gently.


“I'm alone,” he replied. “If I die, it's whatever. At least I was able to save some people.”


Stark shifted uncomfortably. “Kid, I--”


“No, no, don't give me any pity,” he said. “It's my fault. I wasn't able to save someone I loved, and that's all on me. This is my penance. This was my crime.”


“I remember something you had said,” Hawkeye said, making everyone jump. Nobody has seen him enter. “To a child whom lost her mother. You said for her not to be afraid for she wasn't alone.”


“Yeah?” He scoffed. “What's this got to do with anything?”


“Reap what you sow,” is the only response he got before Hawkeye disappeared into the vents. If not for the unsettling conversation, he would've laughed at his dramatics.

Steve left, but he got the feeling he wasn't done lecturing him. Sam followed after. Tony stayed, though, scrolling through his Starkpad. Bruce did, too, tending to a far away Peter.