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Ash and the smell of burning buildings hung thickly in the air. Taking in deep gulps of air was torture, but Peter couldn’t give up, so he pushed through it. His job had been to evacuate civilians and protect medical personnel if they needed to enter the danger zone to treat someone.
It felt like an uphill battle. Every time he thought he’d gotten everyone out, another cry for help would rip through the air, and he’d be rushing into another burning building. The ringing in his ears was constant as things kept blowing up all around him. He could feel the thrum of another explosion rattle through his chest seconds before the sound hit his ears. He winced, pressing his hands to his sensitive ear and trying to keep his footing.
“Help, someone! He’s trapped, please!” Someone screamed.
Peter shook his head hard and jumped off the building. He fell for a few seconds before catching himself with a well-placed web and being propelled forward by the momentum. It didn’t take long to find the woman who was screaming.
There was a nasty cut on her face, and there were pieces of glass stuck in her hands. But she didn’t seem to feel the pain. She was staring into the window of a burning building, face full of wide-eyed terror. Spider-Man dropped next to her gracefully, grabbing her shoulder to steady her as she swayed on her feet.
“Up the street that way, there’s a paramedic,” Spider-Man said. He was aware that he was shouting, but it was the only way he could hear over the annoying ringing that was infecting his head.
“But my brother is still in there! Please, you have to get him! He’s deaf, and I didn’t see him leave the building. He could be hurt!” She cried.
“Go get medical attention. I’ll get your brother.” He said. She nods. “Which room?”
“Room 40, third floor. His room is at the back of the apartment.” She said.
“Ok, got it. Get to safety.”
The woman nodded, turning around reluctantly, before hurrying up the road. Peter turns back to the apartment and shoots a web above a broken window on the third floor. He flew up and slipped into the window, narrowly avoiding tripping over debris.
He coughed as more smoke filled his lungs. It was insufferably hot in here. Luckily, his suit was blasting cool air over his body, but it only made the temperature tolerable. Barely.
Peter could hardly see through the smoke, but he kept pushing through. Things fell from the upper floors and smashed into the ground, making him wince every time. He had to get the civilian out before one of them got impaled by falling debris.
“How many bombs does this guy have?” Steve asked. Peter jumped. It was easy to forget there were comms in his suit when his teammates were so quiet.
“Lots.” Natasha panted, sounding strained.
“Are you alright? Need help?” Tony asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I think I’m near you if you need help,” Clint said.
“I said I’m fine!”
Peter tried to ignore them in favor of finding the guy who was trapped. He could mute comms, but he didn’t want to mute them and miss something important they might have to say. He ducks under a piece of flaming debris, feeling sweat run down his neck.
A wordless cry of fear caught his attention. He pushed himself up, hurrying in its direction. He let out a shout of fear as his foot went through the floor. Peter paused just long enough to pull his foot free before racing forward again.
“How is it going with the civilians, Spider-Man?” Tony asked.
Peter hardly registered that he said anything as he climbed onto the wall to avoid the burning floor of the apartment. “Hold on.” He said, coughing as he did so.
Gasping for breath around his coughs, he scurried onto the roof and made his way to the kitchen, where the sobbing was coming from. He dropped next to the teenager, making the boy’s head snap up. Spider-Man held out a hand for him, and the boy immediately took it.
He pulled the boy up and wrapped his arm around his waist. Then, he shot a web at the ceiling and swung himself and the boy over a collapsed part of the roof and to a window. He didn’t want to feed more oxygen to the fire, but the boy had been here for too long. So, he unlocks the window and pulls it open.
Spider-Man wrapped the boy in webs and lowered him out the window to the alley below. He watched the boy stagger forward for a moment. He turns, singing ‘thank you’ at Spider-Man, and then hurries away. Grinning, he turned back towards the flaming living room.
“Ok, sorry.” He said, finally able to focus on Tony’s question. “The west and south areas of the city are clear, and I’m making my way through the east side.”
“Good work, keep it up.”
“Thank you.”
He made his way back into the hallway. He should sweep this building while he is here. And so he hurried towards the bottom floor, calling out for anyone who was trapped.
As he was making his way through the second floor, there was another explosion. This time, it was much closer. Much, much closer.
A cry of fear was wrenched from his mouth as the floor and roof simultaneously gave out. Everything was loud, hot, bright, and dark all at once. Debris fell all around him as he fell to the ground, slamming painfully into the ground.
He was deaf for several seconds, his whole body numb with pain. Crushing weight kept him pressed to the dusty floor. His lungs ached, and he struggled to breathe, but the pressure on his chest wouldn’t let him breathe as deeply as he needed to. Slowly, the world came back to him. The smoke cleared a bit, his deafness began to fade, and the pain and pressure started to get more and more noticeable.
Peter lifted his head and felt a shock of pain race down his spine before it faded into aching numbness. A large chunk of the ceiling was pressing him down to the floor. Stone, plaster, and wires. He struggled for breath, wiggling to try to free his arms. One was trapped and screamed in agony when he tried to move it, but the other one had a small amount of wiggle room. A pained, breathless cry left his mouth again.
“Internal damage sustained. Detecting several broken bones. I’d recommend getting immediate medical attention.” Karen said in his ear.
The taste of metal filled his mouth, making him gag. Peter’s head dropped to the floor, his eyes rolled for a moment, and he went completely boneless. He couldn’t tell you how long he was out, but he woke up when there was a voice in his ear.
“What’s everyone’s status?” Tony asked. The sentiment in the team seemed consistent; they were all fine but tired. Peter only half listened to them as he tried to pull his arm free. “Spider-Man?”
“Huh? Oh, uh-“
“Shit!” Natasha shouted.
“Language,” Steve said distractedly.
“I might need some help here.” She said quickly. It must be bad if she was asking for help.
“On my way, hang tight,” Clint said.
Peter went slack again, this time because he needed to focus on breathing or else he’d black out. And then, he went back to trying to free his arm. He was fine. He’d survived worse than this; he could get out if he freed his arm. Besides, it sounded like they were struggling, and they were the ones actually in the fight.
“Spider-Man, what’s your status?” Tony asked again. He had to be sure everyone on his team was alright.
“I’m fine.” He wheezed, trying to keep the pain from his voice.
“Are you sure, Queens?” Steve asked.
“I-… I’m stuck right now, but I can get out.” He ground out.
“Alright, be careful.”
Peter rocked his arm side to side and then back and forth, slowly freeing it. Prickling discomfort was starting to join with the pain, as if his lower body was wrapped in a blanket of needles. White-hot pain jolted up and down his spine and through his ribs with every breath.
He pulled his arm free and, for an instant, felt a jolt of hope. But then, the weight on top of him shifted down and towards his legs. Pain rocketed through him and made his vision white out in pain. A guttural noise was ripped from his throat; the only reason it wasn't a full scream was that there wasn’t enough air in his lungs to do so.
Darkness swallowed him whole. It was better when he was unconscious. The pain was still there, but he felt detached from it, as if the pain was trapped behind a sheet of glass.
“-an, come in. Spider-Man, are you ok?” A voice was repeating.
His eyes slowly opened as the pain returned. Peter stared up at the smoldering debris and smoke. Very faintly, he could see the sky shifting behind rolling grey.
“What?” He croaked.
“You screamed like a dying cat.”
Oh god, they heard that? He coughed, wheezing hard, and turned his head to spit blood on the ground. “Focus on the fight, I’ll be fine for now.” He strained out. He could already feel his healing factor tingling in his blood.
“Alright, if you say so…” They didn’t believe him, but they were too busy to really think much about his words.
Peter was terrified to try to move the debris. He really didn’t want the pain to get worse, and his mind was so foggy that sleeping seemed like the most logical course of action. His eyes slipped closed once again.
“Peter, your heart rate is increasing,” Karen said, making him jolt awake.
“Hm?” He hummed.
“Your heart rate is increasing while your blood pressure continues to drop, which is indicative of hypovolemic shock. Immediate medical attention is recommended."
“Oh…” He mumbled noncommittally. The words didn’t have much meaning in his current state. The meaning of the words slipped away like water between his fingers. Sleep, sleep, sleep. His mind kept screaming that he needed to sleep.
His whole body went slack, and his eyes rolled again. His consciousness faded as cold numbness filled his body. The colder he felt, the less the pain seemed to plague him.
“-er never gonna get that guy!” Steve cheered.
“At least it's over-... Which is craz-... -is mess.” Someone said. Peter thought it might be Clint, but his voice kept fading in and out of his awareness. The only thing he had the mental energy for was to keep turning his head to spit up blood so he wouldn’t drown in it.
“There’s a medical team in-... need of-... In the meanti-... -the press. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Alright, so, Underoos, where are you?” Came through with striking clarity.
Stuck. He was pressed down into the floor and surrounded by debris. Air, he needed it so desperately, but his lungs were too compressed to give him the relief he needed. His breaths grew shallow and far too fast.
“I’m trapped.” He said without thinking. His voice sounded shaky and pathetic. “An- A-... Th- apartment. I can’t-” Panic began taking over, smothering every other thought with primal terror.
“Whoa, hey, you’re alright, calm down. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.” Tony said.
He squirmed, crying out in pain as white lightning jolted down his spine. In a fit of hazy panic, he grabbed the debris with his free arm and pushed it up with all his strength. Peter let out a loud gasp as the pressure eased from his chest and he could fully breathe in. But then, that blessedly relieving air was forced out of him as the debris tipped and crushed his legs to the point he felt them both creak.
His arms were trembling, so he forced himself to slowly lower them back onto his chest. Tears filled his eyes as he realized just how bad his situation was. Peter realized he might die here. Dread opened up a pit in his stomach, and he gagged as he attempted not to vomit.
“Peter, you need to stop freaking out,” Tony said. The use of his name jarred him out of his panic enough to focus on Tony’s words. “Where are you? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“E-East side, 37th street, apartment building.” He said. “It’s all on fire. My throat burns, and I can’t push the debris off because it crushes my legs when I try.”
“Oh, shit…”
“Queens, hey, try not to move. Moving is only gonna make it worse, so just hold still and let us come to you. Ok?”
“Ok…” Peter said, trying to get a handle on his breathing. Just like that, his panic started fading away, being replaced with that foggy feeling once again.
He was stuck alternating between barely conscious and panicking while Tony and Steve searched through the rubble for him. It took them about three minutes to get there, but it’d take a lot longer for them to locate him. And each second that ticked by felt like torture.
“Peter, keep talking.” Tony urged. He’d never heard Tony sound so concerned before.
“I don’t know what to say…” He mumbled, a hint of a whine entering his voice.
“How’d you make your web shooters? The original ones.”
Tony knew full well how Peter made them. Regardless, excitement sparked in Peter’s chest and breathed life back into him. Temporarily.
“Well, I can pr-produce webs on my own but-” He takes a second to breathe. “I swiftly realized…” He wheezes. “It wasn’t enough. So I-... I took- t-took some of my webs and tried to find chemicals that could mimic the tensile strength and s-stickiness.” He gasps for breath before continuing.
It was a Herculean task to keep breathing despite the crushing pressure and aching cold, but he kept talking for them. In the back of his mind, he recognized it was them attempting to keep him from blacking out again. But his rational thoughts were drowned by exhaustion when he was in this state.
Alternatively, when he started to get anxious, suddenly that rational voice grew from a whisper to a roar, screaming irrational commands at him until he was in tears. He’d go from limp and barely staying awake to squirming around and hyperventilating. His heart would thud behind his ribs, and his whole body would hurt worse and worse, yet he couldn’t stop himself from thrashing around.
“I can’t- oh god, I can’t breathe-” He took several deep and shallow breaths, attempting to shift his legs despite the pain it caused. “Trapped, I can’t- oh god, please, I-I don’t wanna die here like this, please-”
“Deep breaths-”
“I can’t!” He cried, then coughed hard, feeling blood well up in his throat. He twisted to the side and coughed, watching blood splatter the ground.
“We’re gonna find you. You aren’t going to die here, just hang on a little longer.”
Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, feeling so warm against his frigid cheek and clearing a path through the soot that had gathered on his face. He took in a spasming breath, sobbing pathetically. The tears worked to drain away his panic and send him back down into that dizzy and confused state.
And so the cycle repeated. Detached, panicking, detached, panicking. It was exhausting and hard to manage.
Dimly, Peter realized he was running out of energy entirely. His episodes of claustrophobia and dread got fewer and shorter. His tongue felt heavy and clumsy, making his speech slurred. But then, even that began tapering off.
"Nothing on this side. Shit." Tony grumbled. If Peter were in a better state, he'd marvel at how Steve didn't scold Tony for his choice of words. As it was now, Peter's head and eyes rolled against his will for what felt like the millionth time. "Anything over there?"
"Hold on," Steve said. There was a grunting noise.
"Tony, Steve, I directed a medical team towards you, they should be there-..."
The world completely faded out. Blood gathered at the back of his throat, but he didn't have the presence of mind to cough it up. All he could taste was metal.
“Over here!” Someone called.
Peter couldn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to either. The pain was easier to deal with when he was asleep.
He only stirred when someone touched his cheek. Whoever it was, they were incredibly warm. The back of his mind whispered to bury his face in the hand, but he was too tired to move. “-ake up-...” Came a voice. “Peter!” He grumbled in acknowledgment, but still couldn’t pull himself into wakefulness. “FRIDAY, assess Peter’s injuries.”
“Assessing.” She said. “Peter is suf-... hypovolemic shock. D-... -roken bones, internal and external ble-... hypoxia. Moving him or removing the debris is not recommended. Please wa-... -sonnel arrive."
A second warm hand found his hair. It was so warm it was almost unpleasant, but the way it gently carded through his brown curls was enough to send him deeper into sleep. But right as he was about to pass the point of no return, he felt the prickle of his healing factor crash over him like a wave and jar him back into his body.
“Kid, hey. Come on, let me see your eyes. Please? Peter?” His eyes cracked open. Tony was sitting next to him, holding him more tenderly than he’d ever seen from Tony. His hands were soaked with Peter’s blood and soot from the destroyed building. “There we go. You gotta stay awake.”
His lungs heaved, and he coughed. Blood spilled from his mouth, clearing his throat. Unfortunately, it stained the leg of Tony's pants. Blood and saliva stained the fabric. Peter's eyes went wide.
"Sorry, Mr. S-"
"Don't you dare apologize. You're already in enough trouble as it is." Tony said. His wide-eyed look slowly faded as he stared at Tony's face. The warmth of the other man's body caught his attention.
“You’re warm,” Peter whispered. It must be nearly impossible to hear him.
“No, you’re just cold.” He said, trying to keep his voice light. He ran his thumb over Peter’s frigid cheek, trying to bring warmth back to the area. The heat was so pleasant, he didn’t notice that his eyes started drifting. “Peter, look at me.” His eyes flicked back to Tony’s. “That’s it, you’re doing great, just stay with me.”
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“I don’t wanna die.”
“... I know.” He reached down and took Peter’s hand, holding it tenderly with both of his own. Tony lifted the limb and brought it closer to his chest. “Does that hurt? Me moving your arm.”
“No.” He wheezed. “Feels nice.”
“Don’t fall asleep.”
“Can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Peter moved to shake his head and only ended up hurting himself. A wound, heartbreaking noise tore from his mouth. Tony winced.
“Just a little more.” Tony urged. Peter’s head fell limp; now he was pressing his cheek into Tony’s knee. “No, no, hey! Peter, don’t you fucking dare!”
“I’m awake.” He muttered.
Just then, he heard the sound of people clattering over rubble. Tony turned as much as he could to look over his shoulder. Steve was leading a group of paramedics through the rubble towards them.
“They’re here!” Tony said.
“Yay…!” Peter cheered, very out of it.
His memories become very scarce after that. He remembered someone sitting near him, gently trying to keep him informed on what they were going to do before they did it, and also keeping him from passing out. Peter couldn’t remember the conversation, but he remembered being so desperate for the support they provided.
But he did remember one final thing with clarity.
“Alright, this might hurt. Brace yourself, I’ll count down.” The paramedic said.
His eyes flicked to the left and then right. Tony and Steve stood on either side of the debris, Tony in his suit again, ready to lift the rubble. Peter felt tears fill his eyes, so he forced them closed and prepared for pain.
“3, 2, 1.” They said.
On 1, the pressure was lifted from his body. For a second, it felt nice. He took in a deep breath, glad to fill his lungs with precious air. But then, pain worse than anything he’d ever felt before tore him apart from the inside.
Screaming. That was his last memory before completely passing out. Guteral, agonized screams. He saw Tony and Steve wince in sympathy, holding the slab of stone while the paramedics rushed in to secure his limbs. And then everything went black.
-
Someone’s body was pressed against his. He couldn’t move. His fingers could twitch if he put all his focus into it, but that was it.
Warm. He was very warm and overwhelmingly numb. He’d go back to sleep if it wasn’t for this sense of restlessness. Peter tried to take a deep breath and steel himself to open his eyes only for burning misery to flare in his ribs. A pathetic whimper was forced out of him, and his face scrunched up.
“Shhh…” The person near him hushed. Their hand found his hair, rubbing Peter’s scalp comfortingly.
Against his will, his body relaxed. The pain turned into tingling, and then the tingling faded into numbness. Sleep ensnared him once again.
Several minutes later, whoever was near him stood up. The bed shifted, and the cold rushed in again, jarring Peter awake. His unbroken arm lashed out and grabbed their shirt, making the person gasp quietly.
Peter’s eyes slowly opened. It was dark, but he knew it was Tony he was holding onto. The other turned around, grabbing his hand and carefully dislodging it from his shirt. Lightly, Tony squeezed Peter’s hand.
“I’ll be right back. I promise.” He said. His thumb trailed over the back of Peter’s knuckles. “Do you need anything while I’m gone?”
Peter blinked slowly. He opened his mouth, tried to speak, and his voice broke horribly. He took a moment to breathe, then tried again. Still, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed broken glass and chased it with blistering sand. “Water…?”
“I can get you water,” Tony said. “Just hang tight, Spider-Kid.”
“Not a kid.” He whined as Tony left.
He let his eyes close. If he took very shallow breaths and lay completely still, he could forget that he was in pain. Peter didn’t know where he was. But honestly, he didn’t care. If Tony were here, he would know he had to be safe.
“-id. Kid, hey.” Tony said, tapping him on his arm. Peter opened his eyes again. The older man held a cup out to him for a second before rethinking that. “You’re gonna have to sit up, Underoos.”
“I c-... Don’t think I can.”
Tony sits on the bed with Peter, bracing his arms under the teen, then carefully sits him up. He hardly moved Peter, didn’t force him to sit up completely, and took all of Peter’s weight. And yet still, even that small bit of movement made him sob in pain.
“Sorry, kid,” Tony mumbled. He waited for Peter to calm down before raising the cup to his mouth.
Under any other circumstances, this would be embarrassing. He’d blush like a tomato and insist he could do it alone. But right now, he just drank gratefully, feeling cool water soothe the pain in his throat.
“You’re on some pretty strong painkillers right now,” Tony said. Peter just hums in acknowledgment. “You should count yourself lucky that you aren’t paralyzed.”
Slowly, Tony lowered him back onto the bed. Peter’s face scrunched up. Now that he was lying down, he found himself getting more and more drowsy.
“Does Aunt May know?” He mumbled. “She’s gotta be so mad…”
“Yeah, I told her. She’s not mad at you, kid.” Tony said. He settled into bed with Peter again, rubbing his shoulder. “On the other hand, though, I’m pretty pissed at you. What the hell were you thinking? You should’ve said something sooner.”
“‘M sorry.” Peter croaked.
“You can’t do that again. Seriously. You survived this time, but just barely. Next time, you might get so lucky.” Tony said. His hand tightened on Peter’s shoulder. “You can’t die on my watch. Aunt Hottie would bite my head off if you died on a mission.”
“Ew, don’t call my aunt hot.” Peter cringed. Tony laughed, chest rumbling with the noise.
“Get some sleep,” Tony said.
Peter didn’t need to be told twice. Assured in the knowledge he was safe and secure, he let his mangled body relax. Later, he’d be embarrassed. He would be embarrassed about getting scolded, about crying and sobbing in front of people he admired, and because he should’ve let his team know what was going on immediately. Later, he’d freak out about the fact that his life could’ve come to an end in a smoldering building. What would Tony have felt if he had found Peter’s body crushed to death? What about Aunt May? Later, he’d have to process the trauma that lurked at the edges of his thoughts.
But for now, he let himself relax as Tony’s body heat leaked into his cold form. It seemed easier to breathe with Tony’s comfort. Once again, a floaty, fuzzy feeling filled his head, but this time it was different. Warm, safe. He had one last thought before slipping into the deepest slumber of his life.
He would have so much apologizing to do tomorrow.