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“Please, please, please pick up Ned, come on man!” Peter muttered to himself as the ringtones dragged on. When he got to voicemail, he slumped against the cold brick wall in the alley he was in, flinching as his muscles shifted. Frustration was clogging his throat, pain tearing through his body, making it hard to fight back the tears rising in his eyes. He had torn his mask off just a moment before; he knew he was alone, and it was dark and late. He was still suited up otherwise and the red of the costume made it hard to distinguish between blood and fabric. He knew he was bleeding though, had felt it trickle out of him just minutes before, after the shots had rung in the air, and felt it cooling down his skin now. His ears had been ringing for minutes after, as he had struggled through the intense, burning flashes of pain searing his body as he moved to web the guy and take the gun from him.
It was his first time getting shot.
It wasn’t even meant to happen, any of it.
He had been on his way home, already running late when he and Karen picked up the same thing - an obvious mugging, if judging by the threats: “Hands up, gimme your money! All you got!” He couldn’t not go. He hadn’t even thought the guy had a gun with him, for Christ's sake; though he guessed the ‘hands up’ comment should have been a give away. He had webbed the guy at the feet while he helped the other almost mugged dude out of the alley and when he turned around, before he knew it, shots pierced the silence around him, two bullets hitting their target before he managed to react.
After webbing the mugger, he had stumbled further down the alley, disappearing into the shadows before fumbling for his phone and trying to find Ned’s contact.
He knew he was shot in the leg, thigh somewhere; it hurt even standing on it, and the other bullet must’ve hit somewhere above his hip, in the same side as the leg, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where, because the pain had spread out, numbing the area around it with electrifying sparks when he moved.
He had been moving on instinct, keeping his eyes closed and relying on his muscle memory to reach Ned’s name in his list of contacts, pressing about a few times before the ringing started.
But he didn’t pick up.
And Peter was scared, all alone in an empty alley, shot in two places, in pain and bleeding and he just wanted his guy in the chair to be awake and tell him what to do with a gunshot wound from a wiki page with Star Wars references thrown in to sooth his nerves.
He pressed call again.
With every ringtone, Peter’s wounds throbbed and his panic became more and more palpable, leaving him in tears, huffing in breaths broken by sobs.
Just as he closed his eyes in defeat, ready to give up, a click came from the other side.
Peter blinked.
He picked up. He picked up!
“Ned, oh thank god you picked up Ned, I really need you man, I messed up so bad and you need to help me, god please .” He didn’t wait for a response, panic rushing out of him at the relief at Ned picking up, words babbling in response. “I need you to look up gunshot wounds, like, how you treat them or something and then hopefully I can fix it a little back here and get home and maybe like stitch them up? Is that what you do? Oh, shit, what if the bullets are still there, left in me? Eugh. Then I'll need to take out the bullets first, but god Ned, I don’t know if I can do it , it hurts so much already-”
His words were cut off by rustling from the other side, and Peter decided to take a breath. Only to have it choke in his throat as a voice that was definitely not Ned came through the phone, saying, “ Peter ?”
“M-Mister Stark?”
“ Peter , oh god, it’s really you, what the fuck ? Why are you talking about being shot? And where are you?
“I-I…” Peter was having trouble finding any words as pain clouded his mind, and somehow the relief at hearing the familiar and competent voice of his employer/mentor made his whole body buckle. He sunk down to the ground as tears of exhaustion soaked his cheeks.
“ Mister Stark, ” he almost cried, his voice broken, and a pitiful, pained whine almost worthy of a five year old managed to escape with the sobs wracking the teen’s frame.
“Peter,” Tony’s voice was desperate, laced with confusion, because for all he knew, Peter Parker was his brilliant intern, just a kid with brown locks and too many thoughts in his brain and a habit of babbling when he was nervous. They had gotten along just fine, with Peter fetching him coffee and asking weird questions that weren’t so dumb and helping him with tools when he was in the lab. And now his genius little intern was babbling to some friend named Ned about googling gunshot wounds and Tony’s brain was still half asleep, but if he wasn’t going crazy, it sounded like the kid had gotten himself shot. Twice .
“Peter, where are you?” His voice was demanding, steel cutting through Peter’s pain and panic, silencing the sobs with its steadiness.
“I - I, I don’t know. I can ask Karen if-” a sob choked him off for a second, “- if I can get the mask back on.”
“The mask?” Tony asked, even more confused, but only rustling was heard from the other side along with a pitiful whine of pain that immediately and ruthlessly squeezed Tony’s heart. “Pete?” This time, his voice was quieter, but Peter heard it clear as day as he rerouted the phone call into his suit via bluetooth.
“Hold on a second, Mister Stark,” Peter muttered, voice still slightly shaky. “Karen? Where am I?”
“Peter, you are currently at 816 Glendale St. Brooklyn, New York.” The female voice of the AI supplied.
“Thanks Karen. Mister Stark, did you-”
“Yeah, I got it, kid. I’m on my way now, so just stay put .” Peter nodded into the dark, slumping even further against the wall, his head lolling to the side. His breaths were still harsh from the pain that hadn’t subsided much. He felt around his side, hands hovering, hesitant to touch but knowing he had to put pressure on to stop the blood flow. His hands were shaky when he lowered them onto the wound in his side, a strangled gasp wheezed between his clenched teeth at the pain. His head spun and his vision swam for a few seconds where he could only sit and try to breathe through it.
As he waited for Mister Stark, he didn’t know how much time passed. It must have been longer than he felt, because he thinks he kept falling unconscious now and then, waking up after a few minutes. When his ears could finally pick up on the sound of Mister Stark's repulsors he tried to wake himself up a bit more, become more alert, but it was hard, because it felt as though all the blood in his body had turned into sluggish syrup. His eyes were closed, but he could feel when Mister Stark landed in front of him in his suit, the thud shaking the ground slightly. He managed to lift his arm and drag the mask off his face, only then opening his eyes.
He blinked the black spots away just in time to see Mister Stark step out of the suit, see how he froze when his eyes landed on Peter’s costume clad form, recognition and shock lighting up his eyes as realisation dawned on him, and Peter promptly closed his eyes, unable to bear the consequences of everything.
He heard steps coming closer and squeezed his eyes shut, tears escaping from the corners.
He was still in pain, still bleeding, still shot , and Mister Stark hadn’t said anything yet, and it was all Peter could do trying not to cry and controlling his breathing. A choked sob escaped him and the next second he felt a rough palm against his cheek, gently holding and tilting his face. A whispered, “Peter,” echoed in the alley.
When he opened his eyes this time, he was met with the concerned face of his mentor, kneeling in front of him. He searched the older man’s eyes, face, for any signs of disappointment, the betrayal he knew was there because even though he wasn’t close with the Avengers, they had helped each other out, but only after they made sure he was legal, that he could take care of himself, that he wasn’t a kid , and he had lied straight in the face of Mister Stark. He had applied for the internship even though he was Spider-Man, and now he had broken all the trust he had gained, both as Spider-Man and Peter. But even as he sat silent, judging for seconds stretching into minutes, Mister Stark’s face showed concern, and only that, as he waited for Peter.
“Aren’t-aren’t y-you mad?” He hiccuped and sniffled out.
“No, not right now. Because right now, you are shot and bleeding, Peter.” Mister Stark said, sighing in exasperation. He wasn’t gonna yell at a kid who was shot, no matter what. Did this kid really think that low of him?
“So, let’s get you out of this shitty alley and to the compound to fix you up, okay?”
Through a wince as he rubbed his eyes, Peter nodded and let out a meek, “Okay.”
“Alright, kiddo, up we go.”
It proved quite the hassle to get Peter up, since he was unsteady and slow because of the blood loss and pain, and Mister Stark had to half lift him up and put him against the wall while he stepped into the suit again. When he spoke, his voice came out slightly tinny through the suit’s speakers.
“I'm gonna carry you, and we’ll fly back together, since you’re in no shape to fling around buildings or whatever you do, understand?”
Peter dazedly nodded and swayed where he stood, which Tony took as a cue to pick the kid the hell up and get him some medical attention. He picked the boy up just as he tilted too far, and immediately took off into the night.
-.-
By the time Peter woke up again, things had noticeably changed. It was in the air.
He could hear muffled voices nearby, straining to hear what they were saying. His head was fuzzy, his body almost numb, and while his spidey sense wasn’t blaring danger, he felt on his toes.
"I didn't know , okay, I swear!" A familiar voice came through clearly and Peter almost flinched at the tone. “You think if I had known, I would let him out there on his own, without any protection or backup - just leaving my intern that I have responsibility over, Cap? Is that really what you think of me?”
Peter’s heart rate spiked, he heard through the beeping of a monitor, as he listened to Tony’s distressed voice. He wiggled on the bed, seeing his arm hooked up to an IV. He blinked, trying to gather his bearings. His head felt foggy, but as the seconds went by, he was assaulted by vivid pictures of the hours before here and now.
The memories towards the end were fuzzy, and frantically, he looked down, only to see that he was no longer in his Spider-Man suit, but instead in a too big sweater. He was in some sort of bed, a blanket covering him up to his waist. It was soft, he absentmindedly noticed.
Instead of voices, Peter heard approaching footsteps a moment later. He waited, holding his breath, to see Mister Stark turn into his room. The older hero’s face looked worn, the lines seeming deeper, the shadows darker. He dragged a hand across his face with a deep sigh before he met Peter’s eyes.
When he realised Peter was awake, he immediately rushed to the teen’s bedside. His eyes were flickering over his body in obvious concern, and the older quickly asked, “Are you in any pain? Feeling nauseous, dizzy?” His gaze turned to the monitor showing Peter’s vitals, and his shoulders relaxed somewhat at the numbers, though they told Peter absolutely nothing.
Peter also tried to relax, but he didn’t know what was going to happen now. Mr Stark knew. Everyone knew. May will know-
“Pete?” Mr Stark asked, tone soft.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, no, not dizzy or nauseous, I’m not in any pain if I don’t move-” he exhaled sharply when he shifted on the bed. Mr Stark’s eyes were soft and Peter wanted to believe everything would be okay.
“I’ll tell Bruce to come and set you up with a higher dose, yeah?” Tony muttered, quickly typing on his phone.
Peter hummed back. His hands clenched in the sheets in apprehension, but he knew he had to ask. He had to know.
“Are-are you going to stop me, Mr Stark? Take away the suit?” Peter’s voice was small, he could hear the tremors in it - pain and nervousness combined.
Mr Stark sighed and Peter steeled himself for the worst, already knowing what words he was going to hear-
“No.”
Peter stopped breathing. Had he heard that right? Mr Stark, wasn’t going to?
“No, I can’t do that. That wouldn’t be fair of me. You chose to do this, and have been for a long time, and if you were going to quit, you wouldn’t need my words. I don’t think I can convince you to stop this, no matter what I want, so, we’ll go with the adult option of supporting you instead. Make sure to keep that suit updated. Program Karen to help. To call me, or the Avengers if you get in trouble - you know, all that fun jazz. You can count on being monitored like a baby, Parker, that I can assure you.” Mr Stark looked into his eyes with mirth and concern, and something akin to pride, but Peter wasn’t sure they were there yet. But now, maybe they could be. He couldn’t even find it in himself to mind the comment about being monitored, because now he knew he had his mentor and his team at his back, and that made everything almost seem worth it.
Peter didn’t have to know that Tony had been ripping out his hair and stomping around in frustration, yelling at Rhodey, Steve, Bruce and just about anyone else who crossed his path merely an hour before Peter woke up, only managing to regain his wits after Pepper talked some sense into him.
They had plenty of time to discuss proper self defense and effective ways to not get shot in the future.