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A subtle tingling in the back of his neck has Peter looking around wildly, trying to find the thing that is setting off his spidey-sense. The Queens’ street he’s walking on is bustling, and when he runs into a third person in as many minutes, he decides to ignore his special sense and actually watch where he is going. After all, he has an AP Chemistry test in half an hour and his spidey-sense always acts up when he’s stressed.
It’s probably nothing.
“No, no— It’s in the fridge. Jeremy, I swear to God—“ a businesswoman snarls into her phone, shoving past Peter. He sidesteps and continues to make his way to school, silently rehearsing the kinetic molecular theory.
His spidey-sense spikes up suddenly and he winces, rubbing the back of his neck.
Okay, what the hell?
No one is looking at him or doing anything suspicious, and Peter really doesn’t have time to figure out what’s going on unless it’s world-ending. But if it were that serious, his senses would be screaming at him. It’s currently more of a gentle warning.
He walks past a small alleyway between a grocery store and an apartment building, and his enhanced hearing picks up raised voices coming from somewhere in the shadows. There’s a shout, and then a smack, and before Peter even realizes it, he’s walking down the alleyway. Oh well, his chem teacher normally didn’t start until five minutes after the bell.
“Are you deaf?” A man yells, still out of sight. Peter slowly walks away from the main road, hands curled into fists. He isn’t Spider-Man right now— no web-shooters. He’s just a normal Good Samaritan. Maybe more violent than the original, but New York City is a violent place.
“I— I don’t have anything!”
Peter ducks behind a dumpster, peeking his head out enough to be able to see the two figures. One is much larger than the other, and it looks like he’s trying to rob him. The smaller one is shoved up against the wall, hands clasped in front of him as he pleads.
“I don’t have my— my wallet,” The smaller one says. “I swear!”
“Do I look like an idiot?” The bigger one hisses, leaning in close to the other man’s face. “Do you want to get stab—“
“Hey, man, you definitely look like an idiot,” Peter says, shooting up from his hidden spot. Not his best quip, but he’s working off of three hours of sleep.
Both men whirl around to face him, identical expressions of shock on their faces.
Peter waves, a bit sarcastically. “You wanna, like, stop robbing him?”
“Holy shit,” The bigger one whispers. “I can't believe this actually worked.”
“Huh? What worked?” Peter squints at the two of them. His spidey-sense starts flaring up again, sending goosebumps down his arms.
The smaller man cackles— full on maniacal, evil villain cackling— and steps in front of the guy that Peter thought was robbing him. He pulls something out of his pocket.
“Uh…” Peter trails off. So, not getting assaulted?
“Spider-Man, pleased to meet you,” The smaller one says.
Peter’s blood runs cold.
RUN.
Now his spidey-sense is screaming at him.
But the bigger man throws a punch, and Peter can’t risk them getting away. They know his identity. He doesn’t even have time to argue with them before he’s being forced to fight back.
“Just stand still,” The bigger one says, grabbing onto Peter’s bicep. He twists out of the man’s hold and sends him flying into the brick wall. The smaller one takes the other’s place, directing a well aimed kick at Peter’s back.
Peter is quick, however, and effortlessly dodges the kick. The back of his neck tingles, and he ducks under a punch from the bigger one, who has apparently recovered from being thrown into a wall.
“Not gonna lie, this kinda sucks,” Peter muses, mostly to himself. He’s so going to be late for school. And these random people know his identity, somehow, but he doesn’t dwell on that. Not until the fight’s over. There’s no use in getting distracted.
His spidey-senses start screaming again, and he nimbly jumps out of the way of a foot, but then something is pricking his neck and his legs turn to jelly and he falls, landing painfully on his side.
“Ow,” He moans. Something is coursing through his blood stream. He can feel it.
Terror pools in his stomach, works it’s way up to his throat. What did these men inject into him? Were they going to… kill him?
Mr. Stark and May were going to kill him if the mysterious injection didn’t. Going into a fight without anyway to defend himself was stupid enough. Being exhausted made it even stupider.
Now he was paying the price.
“Where’s his phone? Bates!”
One of the men is digging through Peter’s backpack. Peter can’t tell which one is dumping his papers on the ground, because his eyes are closed and refusing to open. He tries to turn over onto his back, but his body doesn’t respond.
Fuck.
“I’m looking, Jesus! The kid has a bunch of— got it!”
Peter wiggles his fingers— or actually, he attempts to, and they don’t respond. His entire body feels sluggish, and his head is pounding. He tries to calm himself down by taking a deep breath, but finds that his lungs aren’t responding to him either. His breathing rate is much slower than usual. So is his heartbeat, he realizes when he focuses on listening to it.
His resting heart rate is normally around 60 beats per minute, but his heart is currently barely beating every ten seconds. He listens harder, panic clawing at his chest.
His heartbeat slows down further, going to once every twenty seconds, then once every thirty.
“His password’s his birthday? Really? I thought he was supposed to be smart.”
“Shut up and call Iron Fuck.”
Peter wants to call the man out on the truly awful insult— “Iron Fuck” isn’t even a pun— but he can’t move and he feels like he’s not breathing and why is his heart beating so goddamn slowly? If he wasn’t aware of his surroundings, he would’ve thought he was dying. His brain isn’t shutting down, though. Just everything else.
“Pete? Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” Mr. Stark’s voice crackles from Peter’s phone. The men are calling Mr. Stark. Why?
Are they not kidnapping him?
“Probably, but he got a bit preoccupied,” One of the men says.
It’s silent for a second, then, “Who the fuck are you and where is Peter.”
They both laugh, and Peter feels a shoe connect with his ribs. His bones creak in protest, but not so much as a puff of air escapes his throat.
“You’re tracking his phone, you tell us. Might wanna get here soon, though, Dr. Stark. Spidey’s looking a little pale.”
“...What did you just say?” There’s a hint of panic in Mr. Stark’s voice, one that most likely only Peter picked up on.
“Goodbye, Iron Man.” They hang up the call before Mr. Stark can respond. “I still can’t believe this worked.”
“Yeah, I know. C’mon, we gotta go.”
Peter valiantly tries to open his eyes again. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
His mind is racing, but his breathing is still terrifyingly slow.
Someone pats his cheek roughly. “See ya, kid. Hopefully this gives the old man a heart attack, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Bates, let’s go.”
“I’m coming!”
They begin walking down the alley, their footsteps fading until Peter can’t differentiate between them and the rest of the population of Queens. With his sight and bodily autonomy gone, his senses are going crazy. The damp smell of the alleyway in invading his nostrils, and he can almost taste the air. People talking blocks away from him sound like they are ten feet away.
He screams, but nothing happens. There’s a chorus of “Fuck. Shit. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” in his brain but on the outside it looks like he is sleeping.
No, it looks like he’s dead.
Peter finally understands what the men are doing. Whatever they gave him slowed down his heart rate and breathing rate so much that machines wouldn’t be able to pick them up. He’s alive, but everyone will think he’s dead.
He thinks he can hear the repulsors of the Iron Man armor, but Mr. Stark is Upstate. He’s at least half an hour away.
Peter relaxes his muscles— or tries to— and waits.
The sound of something metal landing heavily on concrete nearly deafens Peter, but he can’t even groan about the loud noise.
“Shit, kid,” The familiar voice of Mr. Stark curses. The armor opens and Peter feels a warm body drop down next to him. “FRIDAY, vitals.”
Mr. Stark exhales shakily and runs his hand over Peter’s stomach. There’s something warm and sticky covering his abdomen— blood.
“FRIDAY?”
The AI is uncharacteristally silent. Peter wants to yell that he’s alive, that his heart is beating, just very slowly. He knows what FRIDAY is going to say.
“Boss… I can't find a heartbeat or respiratory rate.”
“What!” Mr. Stark nearly shrieks. His pushes Peter’s shoulder over so that he’s laying on his back and presses two fingers to his neck.
Peter notices that his hands are shaking.
“No, no, no, no.” Mr. Stark presses harder on Peter’s neck, then pulls away like he’s been burned. Peter’s heart thumps weakly just a second after.
Keep checking my pulse, Peter screams in his head. It’s there!
“Oh my god, FRIDAY, what do I— what do I do!”
“Start CPR, Boss. I’ll contact MedEvac immediately.”
Two hands are placed on Peter’s chest. They start to push down rhythmically, attempting to beat for Peter’s heart.
It hurts. Peter wishes he was knocked out like normal people are when they undergo CPR. Mr. Stark is pushing down harshly, and if Peter wasn’t enhanced his ribs might have snapped. Thankfully, they didn’t. He didn’t know what he would do, since he couldn’t scream out in pain.
“Charging defibrillators, move back,” FRIDAY speaks up.
The hands move away, and two cold pieces of metal take their place.
No, stop! Peter screams in his head.
He’s going to be shocked with 300 volts of electricity, awake.
“Charging… three, two, one.”
On one, a sharp current runs through Peter’s body. His entire frame jerks, then settles again. The taste of pennies fill his mouth, and his yell dies before it even builds up in his lungs.
“No heartbeat. Charging… three, two, one.”
Peter jerks again. His fingers are starting to tingle but they won’t move!
Distantly, he hears Mr. Stark crying. He pushes through the fog in his brain, trying to telepathically relay to the older man that he’s still very alive.
“C’mon, kid. Wake up, goddammit!” Mr. Stark yells. His voice cracks, and it’s the worst sound Peter has ever heard before.
Mr. Stark doesn’t cry. He’s said so himself.
But now he was crying over Peter’s apparent dead body, and Peter feels horrible. He’s the one causing Mr. Stark to cry, all because he wanted to play the hero and didn’t think about the consequences.
Mr. Stark, I’m right here!
“Boss… no heartbeat detected. He’s gone.” FRIDAY says. She speaks softly, like she’s trying to console Mr. Stark.
“No! No, no, no— shock him again. FRIDAY!” Mr. Stark yells. His arms wrap around Peter’s shoulders, pulling the teenager into his chest. “Kid, you need to wake up. Right now.”
Peter tries— he tries so fucking hard. His fingers remain still, and his exhale is so soft that even he can barely pick it up.
“Don’t do this to me, please. Peter.” Mr. Stark’s voice drops to a whisper, and his hand gently pushes away a piece of hair that is ticking Peter’s forehead. “Pete, come on,” His voice breaks.
“The jet is five minutes out. I’m… sorry, boss.” FRIDAY is barely a murmur.
Mr. Stark doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls Peter closer to him and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“I’m so— I’m so sorry,” He whispers. “I shou— I should’ve been here.”
Peter’s entire body aches. His ribs are bruised, his abdomen is bleeding, and his head is hurting worse than when he got a concussion last week. His heart aches as well, but not because of physical trauma.
Check my pulse! Mr. Stark!
“Oh my god, I— Peter,” Mr. Stark says brokenly. A sob breaks from his throat. “I—“
He cuts himself off with another sob.
Peter feels Mr. Stark running his hands through his hair. It’s nice, comforting. Even though Mr. Stark doesn’t realize it, the motion grounds Peter and allows him to focus on the present, instead of the anxiety pushing at his mind.
This was going to wear off. He was going to be fine.
“The quinjet has touched down two blocks from your current location,” FRIDAY says.
Mr. Stark presses another kiss to Peter’s forehead and breathes in deeply. “Okay, okay. Okay.”
His hands and voice are shaking.
Slowly, Mr. Stark stands up, pulling Peter up with him. Peter’s head lolls off to the side uncomfortably, and his entire weight is being supported by Mr. Stark.
His dead weight.
“FRI— FRIDAY,” Mr. Stark whispers. The armor forms around him, and Peter is tightly gripped by one arm. His head ends up pressed against Mr. Stark’s neck, tucked underneath his chin.
The Iron Man suit takes off, flying them up over the alley. People on the street start talking louder, but Mr. Stark speeds past them. The wind knocks Peter even firmer against the metal of the suit, and it digs painfully into his side.
It takes one slowed down heartbeat for them to get to the quinjet. Peter can hear two other people standing in front of it.
“Tony…” Colonel Rhodes says softly.
“Don’t,” Mr. Stark says. “Just… don't.”
Peter is shifted into being carried bridal style. Normally he would complain, but his voice still isn’t working.
He’s carried inside the plane, and placed down on a gurney. The Iron Man armor peels off of Mr. Stark again, and Peter feels him clasp his hand tightly.
He tries to squeeze back. Maybe a finger twitch— maybe. It’s not enough.
Mr. Stark pulls away with a choked off breath.
“What— what happened?” Colonel Rhodes asks. He’s standing on the opposite side of the gurney from Mr. Stark.
“I don’t— I don't know. I got a call from the— his phone, but someone else was talking and told me to track his location, and when I got there, Peter was—“ Mr. Stark abruptly stops talking.
“I’m so sorry, Tony.” That sounds like Steve Rogers.
Peter knows Mr. Stark is upset when all he says is, “Yeah,” instead of a snarky comment.
Peter’s heart continues to beat slowly, as if it isn’t at all.
They get back to the Compound in less than half an hour. When Peter is pushed on the gurney off of the jet, he can hear multiple other people waiting outside.
Someone gasps when he is wheeled off, and Mr. Stark’s hand tenses around Peter’s.
It’s silent for a beat, then someone walks up.
“Pepper’s waiting inside. She didn’t… want to see him like this,” Natasha Romanoff says. Her thumb lightly brushes against Peter’s cheek, and she murmurs something in another language.
The gurney continues to move.
A door is opened, and the familiar scent of the MedBay washes over Peter. The gurney stops, its wheels screeching against the brakes.
“Do you want me to talk to his aunt?” Steve asks. The room is deathly quiet, even with the heroes standing in it.
Peter’s heart lurches in dread. They can’t tell May— she would freak out. She had lost her husband less than two years ago, Peter can’t do that to her. He just needs to wake up.
“No— no, I…” Mr. Stark whispers.
“Tony, I’ll do it. It’s okay.”
“Thanks, Cap,” Mr. Stark says weakly after a second. His hand hasn’t left Peter’s.
Peter’s other hand starts to tingle— just a little bit. Something akin to hope lights up in his brain.
“Do you want us to leave?” Natasha asks.
“I, um,” Mr. Stark sighs heavily. “No.”
A chair is pulled up, and then another.
“I’ve never seen him so… quiet,” Sam Wilson says. His voice sounds rough, like he’s holding back tears.
“What do we do?” Dr. Banner asks. “We can’t leave him here.”
“His aunt can decide. I don’t want to move him. Not yet.”
“Tony…”
“I’m not in denial. We just,” Mr. Stark swallows. “I don’t want to do anything yet.”
The room lapses into a heavy silence.
Peter focuses on the tingling in his hand. He flexes his finger, and whoops in joy when he feels it twitch. The whoop of joy is nothing, of course.
Someone sniffles, and he tries even harder to move his hand.
I’m not dead. I’m not dead!
“Ugh, my brain is playing tricks on me. I have to— I’m sorry.” Sam Wilson stands up and walks over to the gurney. He places a light hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll miss you, Squirt,” He whispers quiet enough for only enhanced people to pick up. He quickly walks out of the room, and Peter hears him hit something a few seconds after the door closes.
Peter’s finger definitely moves that time. The tingling has moved up his entire arm now. Thank God.
Mr. Stark runs his hand through Peter’s hair again, the callouses on the man’s hand familiar. Peter can smell the salt of his tears.
Peter flexes his hand, and someone inhales sharply.
“Peter?” Natasha asks quietly.
“What?” Mr. Stark jerks up. “What?”
“I thought I saw…” She stops herself.
Peter clenches his fist. His hand is moving. His hand is moving!
“Oh my god,” Colonel Rhodes states. “That’s—”
“Peter?” Mr. Stark cuts him off. “Buddy, can you hear me?” There’s an obvious edge of hesistation in his tone.
“Tony—“
“Kid, squeeze my hand,” Mr. Stark commands. It’s as if the entire world is holding its breath.
Peter’s other hand— the one Mr. Stark is holding— is tingling too. He squeezes.
Mr. Stark laughs in shock. “Oh— Oh, kid. Holy shit. Pete, can you open your eyes?”
Peter wants to, desperately.
His heart rate is beginning to pick up again, nowhere near normal, but better than it was before. So is his breathing.
“His chest— he’s breathing!” Steve says, appearing by the side of the gurney.
“What in the hell..?” Colonel Rhodes murmurs.
Peter blinks his eyes open. There’s an audible intake of breath from Mr. Stark, but Peter has to squeeze his eyes shut immediately.
It’s too bright.
“FRIDAY, dim lights. Now,” Mr. Stark says, squeezing Peter’s hand again. “C’mon, kid. Lemme see those puppy eyes.”
Peter opens his eyes again, blinking at the ceiling lethargically. His brain feels foggy again, and a wave of fatigue hits him.
“Peter,” Mr. Stark barely whispers, his voice just a breath in the sterile air of the MedBay.
Peter slowly moves his eyes to look at him— his neck isn’t responding yet. He tries to say something, but his voice isn’t back.
“Hi, kid,” Mr. Stark says. He brushes back some of Peter’s hair again.
His eyes are red and puffy, and his hair is messier than Peter’s ever seen it before. There are fresh tear tracks on his cheek.
Peter can only hum in response.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Mr. Stark says honestly.
Peter squeezes his hand.
Colonel Rhodes grips Mr. Stark’s shoulder for a second, then pats Peter’s. “Glad to have you back,” He says.
Peter blinks at him.
“We’ll be outside,” He continues, nodding at Natasha and Steve.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Natasha says before leaving. Steve just smiles softly at him. The three of them walk out of the MedBay, the door closing shut softly behind him. Peter hears them talking quietly, but he doesn't care enough to try to make it out.
“Miszer…” Peter slurs, finally being able to move his neck to look at Mr. Stark properly.
Mr. Stark sniffs.
“‘M s’rry…” He can barely get the words out, but he needs to.
“It’s okay, Pete. Not your fault.”
Mr. Stark gently runs his fingers over Peter’s knuckles, both of his hands clasped around Peter’s left hand.
“Tir’d…” Peter tries to say. His eyes are slipping shut again, but this time it’s his choice, as opposed to a drug.
“Go to sleep, bud. I’ll be here.”
Peter allows his eyes to close, his entire body relaxing again. Right before slipping off, he feels Mr. Stark press a quick kiss to his forehead.
“Love you,” Mr. Stark says gruffly. Peter feels warmth blossom from his chest, but he’s asleep before he can say it back.