Unusual(ish) Asks

unusual(ish) asks <3

who’s your celebrity crush?

are you single or taken?

rant. just do it

do you think its ok to separate the artist from the art?

how many accounts do you have?

how many pairs of shoes do you have?

opinion on… (specify to the person you’re asking to)

how many accounts do you follow?

favorite brand of clothing?

name a dog

what unusual talent do you have?

what’s the most interesting schools gossip you’ve ever heard?

ever prank called a store?

what’s your coffee order?

what’s a question do you constantly get asked?

if you had to get a tattoo right now, what would you get and where?

google the top song from the year you were born

rant about your favorite musician 

what’s your favorite teacher you’ve ever had?

describe your blog in 3-5 words

what’s a conspiracy you believe in?

if you could see any concert tonight what would you choose?

if you could break one of your bad habits which would you choose?

can you dance? sing?

what’s something you can’t stop buying?

crowds or small groups?

how long before a trip do you pack?

what celebrity would you rate a PERFECT 10?

what quote or inspirational setting do you think is bs?

if you had to dye your hair an unnatural color right now, what would you choose?

you can change one thing about your life right now. what are you changing?

how old do you get mistaken for?

what do you think about a lot

do you like your hogwarts house or do you wish you were a different one?

what does home mean to you?

what do you think you’d be arrested for?

have you ever been called down to the principals office?

post a picture of the outfit you would choose if you could have any outfit you wanted

describe your aesthetic

answer with one of your ‘school memes’ (inside jokes you have with your class/grade) with no explanation 

feel free to reblog or send me some if you’d like! this took forever so reblog please!

🌹

Excerpt from a potential Whumptober fill:

Peter turned his head, wincing when brilliant pain struck his skull like an ice pick being shoved through it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his head still, waiting for the pain to stop before he opened them again. When he did, he followed the voice. With the man gone, Peter could clearly see the other captive: a teenage boy with sandy brown hair who was across the room with his hands chained to a radiator in front of him --- in front of him, not above his head like Peter’s hands were. He looked Peter’s age and ordinary enough, but ordinary tended to stop applying to people who were kidnapped.

Send me a rose!

Happy FFWF! What's a snippet of your writing you're proud of and why? (Link the fic it's from if you'd like!)

Happy FFWF! A snippet of my writing that I am proud of is from Hold Onto Me (I’m a Little Unsteady) and it is as follows:

There was a beat of silence, and unexpected anger was rising in both of them. Tony because he was tired of seeing Peter deteriorate, and Peter because… well Peter didn’t really know. But he didn’t want to breach this right now. He didn’t want Tony to push him into saying something he shouldn’t. He felt like he was standing at a precipice high above an abyss, and he could either step back and give in to what Tony wanted by telling him everything that was going on --- everything that Peter was feeling --- or he could stay in place and let the ledge crumble beneath him.

It isn’t super deep or mind-blowing but whenever I go back and read that fic, it just sort of reminds me how much better my writing has become --- not to mention that I am a sucker for metaphors (even my own.) Thank you for the ask!

First Impressions

Whumptober, Day 1 (Waking up restrained; shackled)

AO3 Link

“Hey, what are you--- wait, leave him alone---”

Peter was stirred into a thready consciousness by his spider sense flaring at the back of his neck seconds before the water was dumped over him: ice cold, shocking, and a hell of a wakeup call.

He jolted upright, skin freezing over, eyes snapping open, wrists pulling forward only to be stopped by a pair of thick cuffs that kept his arms up over his head. Peter jerked his head up, breathing raggedly as icy water dripped down his face, ran down his eyes and nose and lips. The frigid water that now drenched him from his head down had chased away any lasting drowsiness and now all there was was panic, tightening in his chest as he watched the man in front of him set down a wet metal bucket and then crouch down in front of him so they were nearly eye to eye.

“Sleep good?” the man asked gruffly, a sinister grin twisting on his face.

Peter got the feeling he didn’t actually care, so he pressed his lips together and glanced around, eyes immediately locking on a flash of motion on the other side of the room--- a boy chained to a radiator across the room, barely visible just beyond the man’s shoulder. Peter’s gaze shifted. He caught a short glimpse of the molding, decrepit basement he was in --- cracked concrete floors and walls, wooden rafters running across an unfinished ceiling, stone stairs to his left leading up to a plain door, a singular lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and casting muted light across the room --- before the man’s hand shot forward, gripping Peter’s chin and forcing their eyes to meet. His wicked grin had dropped into a scowl.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the man said curtly, squeezing Peter’s jaw one last time before letting it and grabbing something off the floor. He raised something and Peter tried to flinch back, pressing his back against the wall he was sitting up against. “Smile.”

Peter squinted against the water dripping into his eyes and the camera flash that popped against his vision, almost blinding him. The man lowered the camera and stood, heading for the stairs Peter had noticed earlier.

“What the hell do you want?” Peter asked, voice more gravelly than he intended. The man’s laughter followed him out the door, which he shut and locked behind him.

“What a dick.”

Peter turned his head, wincing when brilliant pain struck his skull like an ice pick being shoved through it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his head still, waiting for the pain to stop before he opened them again. When he did, he followed the voice. With the man gone, Peter could clearly see the other captive: a teenage boy with sandy brown hair who was across the room with his hands chained to a radiator in front of him --- in front of him, not above his head like Peter’s hands were.

He looked Peter’s age and ordinary enough, but ordinary tended to stop applying to people who were kidnapped.

“What happened? Where are we?” The questions were out of his mouth as soon as he was done inspecting the room for answers. His gaze caught a small window the size of a textbook above the other boy’s head, but he dismissed it quickly. It wasn’t big enough to climb through --- for either of them to. A thought occurred to him and he paused. “Wait --- who are you?”

His head was starting to throb even worse. The boy pursed his lips, eyes narrowing in what might have been distrust before his face cleared of doubt. “Harley. And I don’t know where we are.”

A southern-sounding accent and Peter was suddenly left wondering if he was still in New York.

“What happened to me?” Peter repeated, swallowing in a poor effort to try to make his mouth less dry. He tentatively looked up, wincing again, and shook his cuffed arms, which were looped around another close-ended pipe jutting out the wall. “Or us, I guess.”

Harley tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together. It was when the light hit the side of his face that Peter noticed the darkening bruises around Harley’s eyes and over his cheek.

“They knocked you out. I thought they killed you,” Harley said, and he would have managed to look kind of calm if Peter didn’t see his hands shaking. “Do you remember?”

Peter licked his lips, the cold on his skin increasing --- and not just because of the dread swelling in his chest. He was sure he could break the cuffs above his head if he tried, but he wasn’t sure about Harley and whether or not he was trustworthy, even if they were sort of in this together. He also wasn’t sure why he was here in the first place --- or why an important chunk of his memories seemed to have been erased.

“You don’t remember that, do you?”

Harley was perceptive and when Peter glanced up at him, shifting to try and bring some feeling back into his shoulders, his face was dark.

“No,” Peter said quietly. “Uh, I remember I was leaving my house and, uh... “ Peter chewed his lip in thought before giving in. “Then nothing.”

He took a second to focus and listen for anything upstairs. It was almost silent, and the only heartbeats he could hear were his and Harley’s. The man who had been here before had left, and if Harley’s information was reliable --- which it probably was --- then so had whoever else had taken them. Peter heard Harley sigh and looked back up.

Harley leaned against the radiator he was chained to, looking tired. “They took us --- me first but eventually we stopped in front of a street and they dragged you in too.” He straightened a bit. “You’re Peter, right?”

Peter was too tired to figure out how he knew that. He nodded.

“Right,” Harley said, shifting and bumping his cuffs against the radiator hard enough that it made a small sound. “I almost thought you were going to get away but then one of them hit you with a crowbar or something and you dropped.”

“Huh,” Peter said, arms twitching as he tried to bring them down to gauge the injury on his head. He suddenly remembered why he had been out and about --- where he had been going. Stark Tower, to get his head stitched up by an actual medical professional instead of in his low-lighted bathroom by himself. The people who had assailed him weren’t the only criminals to get the drop on him that evening. “That explains the headache.”

Harley barked out a low laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got more than a headache, Peter. I’m surprised you’re even awake right now.”

Peter hummed a quiet affirmation, swallowing again because his mouth was dry and he was thirsty. He was starting to wish he’d come to his senses earlier --- maybe then he could have tried to get some water out of their captors.

Well, he reminded himself bitterly as he started to shiver, they had given him water. Too much.

“So, Peter,” Harley spoke again as Peter gingerly tilted his head back and looked at the barren ceiling. “How do you know Tony Stark?”

Peter snapped his head down so quick he almost gave himself whiplash on top of the pain that lashed through his skull which he promptly ignored. “ What ?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Harley answered. “Ransom.”

Peter was still tripped up and felt himself start to stumble over his own words. “They want--- How do you know Tony Stark?”

“I asked you first.”

Peter mulled over that before deciding to go with the truth. If Peter was going to break them out of there --- and he still wasn’t sure if it was better to do that or wait for the cavalry --- they needed to trust each other. A small portion of the truth couldn’t hurt.

“I’m his intern,” Peter said truthfully, not pulling away from Harley’s scrutinous gaze.

He was telling the truth. Technically, Mr. Stark had made Peter his intern after the whole Vulture incident. It took a while, but they were there now.

“His intern?” Harley asked disbelievingly, and Peter squinted at him. “Not his kid or something?”

“Just his intern,” Peter said stiffly. “What about you then?”

Harley looked at him before the scrutiny dropped. He shrugged, a small motion, and rattled his cuffs again. “We’re connected.”

When Peter shot a dubious look his way, Harley cleared his throat and said, “I met him once. Threatened him with a potato gun too. But I think I made up for it by saving his life, so.” Peter raised an eyebrow as Harley leaned back against the wall. “I was actually on my way to meet him when this happened.” He raised his cuffs an inch as if Peter didn’t know what “this” meant --- not that Peter was focused. His mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to decipher what was going on.

He opened his mouth to say something and closed it --- head hurting again --- before finally saying, “You saved his--- wait." It clicked. "You are potato gun kid?”

“Potato Gun what?”

“Mr. Stark said---”

Peter cut off abruptly  when he heard a door slam somewhere above them, then footsteps thumping against carpet. His skin crawled and he shot a glance at Harley, who was instantly more awake.

“What? What is it?”

The other boy got up on his knees as much as his bindings allowed and looked up towards the staircase where Peter moved his gaze too.

“They’re back,” Peter said quietly, because he definitely heard two sets of footsteps. “I can hear them.”

Harley had gone quiet, not questioning Peter for a second, which made him relieved. Maybe he could leave this situation with his secret identity unscathed --- or maybe Mr. Stark would show up first, which would be exponentially better. Even if Harley did know Tony, Peter wasn’t sure how much trust he could or should put in a boy he’d just met.

“Okay,” Harley breathed. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, because he didn’t. “Do what they want, I guess.”

It was a terrible idea but until Peter could think of something better, it was all they had --- and Harley wasn’t coming up with anything either, though his face was creased with thought.

“You know,” Harley began under his breath. They had both wordlessly gotten quieter. “This was my first week in New York. ‘S pretty shitty.”

Peter breathed out a soft laugh, even though nothing was really funny. “That sucks, man. If it makes you feel any better, Iron Man is almost certainly on his way right now.”

Harley’s eyes swung to his. “You think so?”

I know so, Peter wanted to say, but he had to face the fact that unless their captor had immediately sent the ransom demand --- which he sorely doubted --- Mr. Stark didn’t even know Peter had been on the way to the tower, so it was really up to how fast May noticed that Peter wasn’t checking in after patrol. He cursed himself for not telling her where he was going either.

“My shoulders are killing me,” Peter mumbled.

Harley glanced from Peter’s face up to his cuffed hands, which were surely bruised and raw around his wrists if the pain was anything to go by. It wasn’t like the rest of Peter was in better shape. Harley didn’t need to spell out that Peter had fought hard for Peter to feel exactly how hard he’d fought.

“Maybe they’ll let you loose,” Harley said quickly as Peter heard footsteps approaching the top of the stairs. “Ask them to go to the bathroom.”

Peter didn’t say anything, concentrating hard on the noises upstairs. He’d thought they were coming his way but they’d stopped. Peter almost jumped when they started yelling:

“What the hell are we supposed to do now, huh? I thought you said he was going to accept the damn ransom!”

“He was!” retorted someone, but they sounded unsure. Peter recognized his voice: the guy who had taken his picture. “And he will! Besides, it’s only been a few hours. We can make Stark stew --- just give it time.”

“Time? Really, Carter? How much more time? And who the hell are these kids anyway? Why would he care?”

“For one, he’s a superhero for crying out loud. He saves people. But I showed you the files. One of them’s his intern,” Carter replied. “But they’re both on his private server in encrypted folders. And the Parker kid’s been seen hanging around him more than a few times. They’re comfortable together. That’s way more than an internship, I’m telling you. I promise it’s the break we were looking for.”

The other man paused, probably mulling it over, and Carter pushed on, “Listen to me, James. This is it.” He let out a hysterical laugh. “We’re gonna be rich, man!”

James let out a hot breath. “Yeah, okay. I trust you.”

“You trust my hacking ---”

“Whatever,” James shot back. There was silence and Peter thought they were done before James continued, “What’s our next step, then?”

Carter didn’t hesitate. “Leave ‘em down there. We can take a video tomorrow and the worse they look the better. Stark will pay up.”

James laughed. “He better. That island is not going to buy itself.”

Peter tuned out after that, sagging against the wall again. They seemed like they were safe --- for now. He glanced back at Harley, who was watching him. Peter caught a short glimpse of his face: head tilted, eyes curious, before the lights went out. The darkness further confirmed that he wouldn’t be seeing James or Carter until the next day. Why else enclose them in shadow? He was glad for the window above Harley though, even if it wasn’t a means for escape. It let a small patch of moonlight onto the concrete floor, and let him tell the time, at least somewhat.

“I don’t think they’re going to bother us until tomorrow,” Peter said. Harley stared at him for a beat before settling down too. Peter felt a sort of kinship spark in his chest. At least now he knew they were surely in this together --- and Harley was Potato Gun Kid, so if push came to shove, he could lose his qualms about Harley knowing --- not that Mr. Stark didn’t have ways of making people forget.

“We should probably get some sleep,” Peter added tiredly, sitting up despite his dimming awareness. “I can wake you if something happens.”

“This isn’t like the movies, Peter,” Harley said, but he looked tired too. “You don’t have to stay up. If shit is going to happen, it’ll happen.”

“It could be like the movies,” Peter offered, trying to sound more in control than he was. “Besides, I don’t know if I’ll be able to fall asleep with my arms like this.”

Harley’s face dropped and he made a movement forward that was quickly aborted when his cuffs were pulled. Peter could tell he wanted to say something but there was nothing to say. Harley looked at him one last time before angling his body against the radiator and trying to get comfortable up against it.

“So much for going to the bathroom,” Harley mumbled, and when it went silent, Peter was acutely aware that he didn’t want Harley to stop talking.

The quiet felt too real, too unnerving. And Peter liked Harley’s voice, he realized. Maybe him and Harley could be friends, when they got out of the dingy basement and preferably to the luxurious Medbay in Stark Tower. Or to a restaurant --- either would be superb.

Peter listened quietly in the darkness. It was cold, in the basement, as if the lights going off had sucked out the miniscule amount of warmth there was. Or maybe that had been the water. Peter was still soaked, and now he was shivering as he waited for Harley to fall asleep. Eventually, he did: Peter heard his heartbeat steadily fall into a calmer, steadier rhythm and his breaths even out. Still, Peter waited until he was sure that the other boy was completely out before letting his walls drop. Then, he let out a hitched breath and hunched forward, trying to breathe through the inferno that was consuming his skull.

He could feel the differences in injuries. The blow from the crowbar was on a whole other plane from the half-healed cut below it --- something that felt like it had happened years ago. It was like his head had a heartbeat of its own, the way it pounded.

Peter was stuck. He didn’t want to stay in this basement any longer than he had to, but revealing himself to a kind of-stranger --- a circumstantial acquaintance --- plus two petty criminals seemed like too big of a risk to take, and not just for himself. What if Harley got hurt in the crossfire of whatever fight inevitably broke out?

Peter had to think. Mulling in the darkness was a start, but his mind was sloppy because of the cold and the head trauma. He needed to come up with a plan that would get them both out --- one that had zero chance of failure. He could imagine what would befall Harley or even himself if he messed up.

He groaned quietly and leaned back against the wall. He was still freezing, and shivers wracked his body. After a moment, he made one decision.

He needed to heal up before he did anything, at least a little bit. Maybe bring the pain in his head down from agonizing to bearable. Then he would figure out something to do. Maybe between now and morning, he’d know. Maybe between now and morning, Mr. Stark would have tracked him down.

For the next few hours, Peter dozed. It wasn’t quite sleep, but it allowed his healing factor to get a crack at the concussion. Sure enough, when Harley finally stirred in the earliest hours of the morning --- if the patch of gray-blue sky visible through the miniscule window was any indication --- his head felt somewhat better.

“Peter,” Harley whispered in the near darkness.

Peter’s eyes flitted up from his lap to Harley’s. “I’m awake.”

“Still?”

Peter shrugged --- barely visible. Harley shifted on the floor.

“My legs are numb.”

“Same.”

“Shouldn’t you try to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Harley groaned softly across the room. “Are you always so cryptic?”

“No, just when I get kidnapped,” Peter deadpanned.

Harley cracked a smile. “You’re horrible.”

“Thanks.”

Silence fell, besides their breathing. Peter knew James and Carter were still upstairs; he could hear them sleeping and hoped they wouldn’t wake up soon. He still needed time. Time to come up with a plan since Mr. Stark hadn’t found them. Peter had total faith that if Mr. Stark did know where he was, he’d have already been here.

They were on their own.

“Harley,” Peter said after a while, when the men upstairs started to stir. “When they come down here, I need you to stay quiet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I have an idea.”

Harley straightened. “Care to share it with the class?”

“No,” Peter said, rolling his wrists in a poor attempt to restore some feeling to them. “Just trust me.”

“ Or you can trust me and we can figure out something together,” Harley shot back quietly. “Because I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but you look horrible.”

“I’m fine.”

Harley scoffed. “And I’m a city boy.”

Peter scrunched his face. “Where are you from again?”

Harley looked surprised by the sudden change of conversation but answered anyway. “Tennessee. I’m guessing you’re from New York, then?”

“Yeah. Queens.”

“Hm.”

Silence again, until Peter heard voices upstairs. He listened carefully, trying not to let anything play out on his face.

“Is the camera set up?”

“Ready to livestream once we bring ‘im up here.”

“Come on then.”

Footsteps, approaching the top of the staircase. Peter tuned out.

“Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I said about being quiet?”

“Remember what I said about not caring?”

“I’m serious---”

“Peter, we’re in this together---”

“Harley, just--- listen to me, okay? They’re coming.”

Harley’s face grew grim, maybe a little confused on top of that, but Peter continued flexing his hands, rolling his wrists, stretching arms: trying to get into fighting shape. Well, he wasn’t going to fight just yet. Not until and unless he needed to.

The lock slid against the door, and if Harley wasn’t convinced that Peter was right, he was then. The door opened and Peter felt his blood rush --- warming him --- and his heartbeat jump --- revving up. He’d heard what the men had said before the lights had gone off a few hours ago: hopefully, they'd put more of their stakes in the “Parker kid,” which was Peter.

All he’d have to do was get them alone and take them out --- two quick punches which would be like cutting butter for Peter, even in his less-than-ideal condition. Harley wouldn’t have to know --- and he surely wouldn’t be in harm's way.

Peter recognized Carter first: the man who’d taken his picture. James must be the other guy, hanging back towards the staircase. Peter assessed their faces, burned them into his memory just in case he needed to pick them out of lineup later. Though for the way that Mr. Stark moved in these situations, he doubted he’d need to, but it was a necessary precaution.

Carter was clearly the one in control --- and he looked it too. He was imposing, tall and bulky, with a mean face like smashed in bulldog. Peter knew that somewhere behind the demeanor though was a functioning brain; you didn’t get into Tony Stark’s personal servers without one, even if he’d barely breached them. James was tall, too, but lanky, jittery. He hung back towards the stairs but not in a way to suggest he couldn’t wrestle down an average teenage boy.

Luckily, Peter wasn’t one. He’d faced bigger and badder and had spent too much time in the dirty basement thank you very much. He strained his wrists, barely moving. He didn’t want to break the cuffs until they were secluded, but it was a small relief to know that he could.

“Keener,” Carter said, a wicked smile on his face. “You’re up first.”

For a moment, Peter’s brain short-circuited at the startled look on Harley’s face. His eyes shot to Peter, panic lit up in them, and Peter finally realized what Carter had meant by “Keener.” Or rather, who.

“Wait,” Peter said, stumbling over a leaden tongue as Carter kicked Harley’s legs aside and grabbed the boy by his hair. “Get the hell off him.”

Carter’s flinty eyes flitted over to Peter, who was leaning forward as much as he could, dread scooping out his chest like pumpkin guts. James was already kneeling down Harley’s cuffs, preparing to drag him away, while Carter gripped Harley’s shoulder with one hand and Harley’s hair with the other, holding him in place.

“Shut it, Parker,” Carter snapped without turning, and Peter bit his tongue hard in anger. “Keener, up.”

Harley’s cuffs were undone and despite the way he thrashed and swore blue murder, the boy was dragged up onto his feet. Peter had two cards to play, so he blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, suddenly uncaring of the pain in his head or the sinister look that never really left Carter’s face or the way that Harley flashed him an angry, disbelieving look.

“He won’t get you anything!” Peter yelled. “Not like I will! Take me and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Carter froze, James froze, everything froze. The petty irritation drawn on Carter’s face was washed away by greedy hunger. Harley’s eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Peter could almost hear him saying What are you doing? as Carter tilted to his head hungrily, casting a knowing glance at his partner.

It’s a good thing Harley didn’t actually ask him that; Peter couldn’t have answered. But now that he had their attention, it was too late to back out. He’d have to figure something else out.

“Care to elaborate?” Carter asked lowly, gripping Harley’s hair tighter and pulling his head back: an unspoken threat. Harley was seething, jaw clenched and posture stiff between the two men holding him up. Carter shoved Harley back into James’ arms, eyeing Peter darkly. “Speak, Parker.” Peter swallowed, eyes flicking between Carter and Harley.

“Put him down and I’ll talk.”

Carter’s jaw twitched, and he cast his partner a glance before nodding his chin curtly towards the radiator. Harley’s resistance to both James getting him back down by the radiator and Peter’s plan was evident, but futile. Carter was already moving and in seconds, Harley was cuffed again and staring at Peter hopelessly.

Peter ignored the way his neck prickled when Carter walked forward: slowly, like a tiger stalking up to its prey. He crouched down, even slower, before his hand shot out, gripping Peter’s chin --- pressing the rest of his hand against Peter’s neck hard --- and roughly jerking his face upward.

“I don’t think you realize how this works,” Carter said, taking time to drag out his words as if Peter wasn’t beyond caring. He had two things in mind: get himself out of the room, then get them both out of this place.

“I call the shots around here,” Carter said gruffly, holding Peter’s face and using his other hand to snake up Peter’s neck, into his hair. Peter only sat stiffly, unwilling to give in. “And you listen, understand?” When Peter remained stoic, Carter gripped his hair like he’d done Harley’s. “Last chance to answer me.”

Peter shot a glance over Carter’s shoulder, towards Harley. He flicked his gaze back to Carter in time to see a muscle under his eye jump. Then, in the space of a breath, and in a motion that Peter might not have been able to dodge even he wanted, Carter stood and slammed his knee directly into Peter’s face, pulling Peter’s head down by his hair in the process.

Harley’s shout was lost in the ringing of his ears that followed the sound of Peter’s nose snapping, sending blood down his face and onto his shirt.

Peter didn’t have a chance to really recover his bearings when his collar was getting seized and his bleary-eyed, bloody face was being pulled upwards. Carter twisted his bloody shirt in his fists. Peter stared up at him, breathing hard through his mouth.

“Now,” Carter said, lips twisting upwards. “Either you can finish what you were saying earlier, or we bring the other boy up to make a fun video for your boss. You pick.”

It wasn’t much of a choice in Peter’s eyes. He scowled.

“I’m the one you want,” he reiterated, breaths harsh. “Harley has been in New York for a few days. I’ve spent every weekend at the Avengers Compound for six months. Believe me, I have the bigger price tag.”

He was bluffing, because he had no idea how well Mr. Stark had kept in contact with Harley after the potato gun/Mandarin incident that he had told Peter the tiniest bit about, but Carter didn’t call him on it --- not that Peter gave him much of a chance.

He pressed on. “I’ll do whatever you want, say whatever you want. Let me prove it to you. Just leave him out of it.”

Carter shook his head amusedly and stepped back. “You really think you’re the hero, don’t you?” Peter didn’t dignify him with a response, because he’d gotten what he’d wanted --- both of them had. “James, help me bring up.”

Peter stayed still as James pulled a keyring out of his pocket. With both of them standing above him, he couldn’t see his arms or them unlocking them, but he immediately felt the tension dissipate when his bindings were pulled away.

Peter let out a choppy sigh of relief that was short-lived when he was tossed forward instead of hoisted upwards. His arm felt like it was filled with TV static --- he couldn’t catch himself, could only brace himself as he hit the ground on his stomach and was nudged by a booted foot onto his back.

“Change of plans,” Carter said from above, grinning down. “I think we need to roughen you up a bit first. Make sure you’re camera ready.”

Peter didn’t know what his reaction was, but it was swiftly replaced with one of pain and shock as a foot caught his ribcage, then the side of his face, then his stomach. Harley was yelling again, and Peter was losing the will to go along with it. But almost as quickly as the barrage of blows began it was over.

Peter was left gasping wildly on the floor while James grabbed his limp arms and cuffed them in front of him. His everything ached, and when they hoisted him up, he had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid.

They dragged him between them towards the stairs, and Peter rolled his head to the side in time to see Harley’s face before he was taken upstairs, the door slamming shut behind him.

Peter wasted no time --- the vigilante in him bucking to life. The second the door was shut, he snapped his cuffs like it was toilet paper around his wrists and not steel, then whipped around to deliver a knockout blow to James, who grunted out a choked gasp of surprise before his eyes slipped shut.

Carter managed to react quick enough to pull out something black and shiny that Peter realized was a handgun at the last second; the bullet sank into the wall above Peter’s shoulder and Peter kicked the offending weapon out of the guy’s hand. Carter was clearly outraged. He lunged forward like a maniac, managing to tackle Peter into something large and wooden --- a bookcase Peter was pretty sure; he couldn’t really see where he was --- both of them tripping over James, slumped on the floor. They hit the bookcase and rolled onto crusty carpe; Peter noticed it was an ugly shade of burnt orange that even Aunt May couldn’t find character in as he got to his feet, shaking out his arms. Peter spat blood out of his mouth and this time, Carter was the one beneath him, looking up as Peter grabbed the man’s black jacket collar and yanked him up directly into his fist: effectively knocking his lights out.

It was almost worth the wait.

Peter doubled over to catch his breath, more worn out than he’d been since he had to run a mile in gym with his asthma --- pre-bite. It was Harley’s screaming that drew him upright, faint behind the thick door. He must have heard the commotion and probably thought the worst.

Peter staggered over to the door, one hand clutching his ribs --- one of which was definitely broken --- and cracked it open, calling, “One second!”

Carter didn’t stir as Peter rolled him onto his side and rifled through his pockets until he was able to produce the same ring of keys and a phone: a burner at that. Peter shoved it in his pocket and limped back over to the door atop the staircase.

Harley watched him with wide, wild eyes as Peter made his way down the stairs and towards him, key ring in hand. Peter thought Harley would be attacking him with questions --- that’s what Peter would have done anyway --- but instead he watched unblinkingly as Peter unlocked the cuffs, watched them drop onto the floor with a metal clatter, and watched Peter kick them away.

“Sorry,” Peter breathed, extending a hand and pulling Harley to his feet. “I should have---”

Harley was colliding with Peter in an instant, and before Peter could blink he was wrapping his arms around him tightly in a panicked hug --- body shaking, even. Peter hesitated before returning it, leaning his head against the top of Harley’s shoulder as his adrenaline started to crash. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and the plethora of injuries all rendering to his nerves at once certainly wasn’t helping.

Harley pulled away first, but his hands were still gripping Peter’s upper arms tightly. “I thought you were dead, Jesus. You’re crazy, you know that? You and Tony must get along swell.”

He stepped back and scrubbed a hand through his hair, glancing away. Peter cracked a tired grin and produced the burner phone from his pocket victoriously.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter said as Harley pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes. “But at least I got this. Help will be here before we know it.”

Harley looked up and couldn’t resist grinning, tired as it may be. He flicked his eyes towards the staircase. “You, uh, took care of them right?” Peter nodded slowly and Harley managed to look a little pale despite his country tan. “Right, well, I am not going to ask. Not yet, at least,” he added with a pointed look at Peter, who looked down, stomach rolling at the idea of another person knowing who he was. Maybe he’d tell Harley, but the uncertainty was there, and he doubted the nerves would leave until he left the house. “You think they have food up there?”

“Probably.”

A trip up the staircase later, Harley cast a satisfied look at James' and Carter’s unmoving --- but definitely living --- forms as they entered the stomach of the house, which turned out to be a cabin. Peter managed to keep himself upright until they got to the living room. Even though the thought of food made their stomachs growl, the thought of staying there a second longer repulsed both of them, so they stumbled out onto the porch, inhaling deeply and casting shaky smiles each other’s way.

Peter ended up sitting on the front steps, carefully lowering himself down as to not further aggravate his injuries, while Harley all but collapsed onto the porch swing, which creaked obnoxiously in the gusty wind.

“Did ya call him?” Harley asked from behind him.

“I texted him,” Peter responded tiredly, before propping his arms onto his knees and laying his head on his arms. He was freezing but it wasn’t cold enough to make going back inside the cabin worth it. He wished he had a jacket --- or even a flannel. Harley had both but Peter wouldn’t take it from him anyways. The phone made a sound; Peter's eye skimmed over Tony's response. It felt like a balloon full of tension was popped in his chest. Peter relaxed, casting a hopeful glance at Harley.

“He’s coming.”

---

Tony wildly grabbed at his phone as it went off four times --- no seven --- times in a row. His heart dropped as he fumbled to unlock it, mind racing as he thought above what the hell it could be. Another ransom picture? Or worse, some sort of video like they’d threatened?

He opened the attachment first, brain short-circuiting at the sight of the blurry selfie of Peter --- Jesus was that blood? --- and Harley laying down on a porch swing in the background. If the picture didn’t mean that Tony was having some sort of stroke or mild heart attack, the six texts from Peter certainly confirmed that he was losing his mind (or maybe that was the lack of sleep and sustainable food):

Hey Mr. Stark it’s Peter can you come get us

It’s Peter here is the address:

Also please bring food we are okay but we're starving

Also Harley might have guessed I’m Spider-Man he looked suspicious

Thank you

:)

===

Thank you so much for reading my official debut into Whumptober (2020 or otherwise). Because of outside preoccupations, I will probably take more than a month to get this all done but I fully intend to do so. Hope to see you on the ride!

Don’t Leave Me Alone With Me

By @itsy-bitsy-spider-fan for @papered-owl

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, May Parker (mentioned)

Summary: 

Peter landed on his side, ears ringing violently and thoughts hazy. He was shaking, or at least he thought he was, until he hazily looked down. The building was shaking. He snapped his head around to look through a window and watched dust and rubble start to fall past the glass.

“--Peter,” Karen said loudly in his ear when the ringing stopped just enough for him to hear the AI’s urgent voice. “You need to get out of there. The building’s unstable. It’s going to collapse---”

Panic whipped through him. Peter furiously moved for the window he’d broken on his way in but he knew with growing dread that he wasn’t going to make it. His mask lit up at the last second, and he ducked into the only spot highlighted in green.

When he looked up, it was to see the building come down on top of his head.

OR. Peter gets trapped under a building during a battle. 

AO3 Link

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

**The formatting is much better on AO3. I recommend using the link provided. (Full tag list on AO3 as well.)

Don’t Leave Me Alone With Me

Peter was taking a break from his patrol when the text came in, flashing across the HUD he was still getting used to in glaring red font:

From TONY STARK: Problem in Manhattan. Want to swing by? Your AI has the address.

Peter nearly dropped the half-eaten churro he was holding in his haste to stand up before tossing the remainder of it to a nearby pigeon. When duty called -- or really, when Tony Stark called -- sacrifices had to be made.

“Tell him I’m on my way, Karen,” Peter said as he pulled his mask down to cover his whole face. “And, uh, let May know what’s going on.”

“Affirmative, Peter,” Karen replied, and he grinned before shooting a web at a nearby skyscraper and pulling himself up into the air.

Already, Karen was plotting the fastest route to get to the fight, and Peter wasn’t wasting any time. Lately, Mr. Stark had seemed to be making some semblance of an effort to keep Peter more than just on the radar, but it had been a while since Peter had been called in to actually help anywhere. He didn’t want to let Mr. Stark down -- like, ever. 

“Okay, Karen, fill me in. What’s going on?”

Karen’s chirpy response was immediate. “News reports indicate that flying robots have been attacking upper Manhattan. No civilian casualties have been reported as of yet and police officers have begun evacuation procedures.”

Peter groaned. “Killer flying robots again? Do these villains not have any originality?” 

The only time that Mr. Stark ever seemed to call Peter in was for fighting off robots. Apparently, there was more Chitauri tech circulating than either of them had thought, though Peter could only imagine how much worse it would be if the run of the mill villains doing things like stationing attacks on Manhattan would have gotten their hands on any of the Stark tech on the plane that Peter had saved from the Vulture.

“Based on data from recent encounters, it would appear they do not,” Karen asked, seeming to miss the rhetorical part of Peter’s question.

He laughed. “Alright, I’m glad I have statistics to back me up. Who’s there right now?”

“Tony Stark and Colonel Rhodes are at the scene.”

Peter faltered, missing a mark with his web and sending one into thin air. He swore as he shot out another and clumsily swung around the side of a building. “That’s it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Karen replied, managing to sound genuinely sorry. 

“Hm,” Peter said, growing more serious as he realized that without the help of anyone else, this fight had the potential to grow very, very messy. “What’s our ETA, Karen?”

“You are two minutes out.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

“No problem, Peter.”

Peter was approaching the fight before he knew it, and despite what he was coming up to, he was filled with a familiar rush of exhilaration when the silhouettes of the robots came into view. As soon as he was in range, Karen patched him into the communications channel Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes were using, and Peter flipped onto a roof as his ears exploded with noise and chaos, loud from the battle beneath him.

“--on your left, Tony--”

“--got it--”

“--ETA on Spider-Man--?”

“I’m here,” Peter chimed in, leaping off the roof and propelling himself onto a nearby building to get a closer look. “What’s going on Mr. Stark?”

“An anonymous source just sent dozens of these things into the sky,” he grunted, and Peter could see the Iron Man suit blasting a flurry of robots out of the sky. “Apparent motive is unknown. We’re fighting to disable and destroy them.”

“You got it,” Peter said, taking quick stock of the situation. “Chitauri?”

“Only of course.”

Peter grimaced, eyes following a robot as it careened his way. He quickly shot a web at the thing, jamming its robotic propellers and sending it spiraling towards the ground. The robots were vicious, and clearly more advanced than the ones he’d faced over the last two months when his encounters with bots were more frequent. The robots had long, wicked-looking blades for arms and razor-sharp propellers that made it impossible to get too close without getting slashed to pieces. Right before he sent another robot slamming into the empty street below, Peter noticed a glowing purple core in the thing’s chest area behind a thin framework of steel resembling a ribcage.

“Has the area been evacuated?”Peter grit out as he leaped into the fray, using a web to pull a bot into his ready fist, where he smashed it into a mess of shattered circuitry and crushed metal, all while deftly avoiding the blades extended his way.

Rhodey’s response was prompt. “The robots seemed to be linked to this specific quadrant of the city. They won’t go anywhere else. Police have evacuated the buildings inside this quadrant.”

So everything seemed to be under control then. Except… Peter didn’t think that was the end of it. It couldn’t be. The robots were numerous, sharp, but not much more than annoying in the grand scheme of things. Left unchecked, they’d probably wreak havoc on civilians but damage to surrounding areas was minimal. Why would a villain even bother?

As he wove around the side of a building to send a bot to an early demise, his skin crawled. He took out the bot and stopped, perched on the side of the building. They had to have been fighting for the better part of thirty minutes, but the robots had barely seemed to decrease in number.

Peter’s eyes narrowed on a swarm of bots rising from out of nowhere, and heading straight for Mr. Stark. Only the core in their chest wasn’t purple… it was red? And flashing instead of just glowing. That could only be bad news, a thought further emphasized by his spider sense flaring violently. 

Peter punted a bot out of his way as he moved without thinking, swinging himself forward and furiously heading towards Mr. Stark. The swarm had broke apart, probably overwhelming Mr. Stark’s built-in sensors, but one was heading right for his back, and Peter had to act fast---

He slammed into the bot, sending it flying onto a nearby rooftop seconds before it exploded. In the seconds that it took for Peter to slam into the rooftop of an adjacent building, he was only relieved that he’d managed to get the thing away from Mr. Stark.

“Peter!” Mr. Stark yelled sharply, as the blast carried Peter onto a nearby rooftop, where he landed sloppily. 

“I’m fine,” Peter managed, shooting a web and pulling himself up. “The blast radius on that thing is insane!”

“Blast radius?” Rhodey asked quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“The robot exploded,” Mr. Stark explained hastily as he and Peter fought back to back. “It was rigged with a bomb. The kid stopped it.”

“What the hell do we do then?”

“Keep it contained,” Mr. Stark bit out, returning the favor and blasting away a robot that Peter hadn’t managed to take out. “I think this was the last resort for whoever the hell sent these things out here.”

“Watch out for the cores in their chests,” Peter cut in. “The purple ones are fine, but the red ones explode.”

“Friday, you got that?”

“Affirmative, Boss,” a faint female voice said from inside Mr. Stark’s suit.

The intensity of the fight surged, leaving little room for more chatter. Peter could barely keep track of all the robots swarming around him. Without Karen and his spider sense, he would have been toast. 

“Kid, watch your six,” Mr. Stark called in his ear, and Peter barely managed to propel himself away from an exploding bot. 

“I am not looking forward to cleanup,” he breathed, circling back to hopefully cut the numbers down on these things. 

Rhodey laughed in his earpiece and Peter grinned to himself, heartbeat galloping irregularly as the fight dragged on. Already his muscles were getting sore from having to snap himself back and forth to avoid getting blown to bits. Exertion made his skin damp with sweat, and he vaguely yearned for a shower. He’d already been patrolling for hours before Mr. Stark had asked for help (and jeez, saying there was a “problem” in Manhattan was a severe understatement; these things bypassed problematic and went straight to catastrophic.) So yeah. The exhaustion was compounding. 

Maybe that’s why his next movements were too slow.

The robot slammed into his chest like a truck before he even knew what hit him, drawing a swear out of his mouth and sending him smashing through the window of a building behind him. Glass caught his fall and he groaned.

“Kid, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, rolling to his feet. “I just---”

His spider sense flared and Peter threw his hands up to cover his head as two of the robots who had followed him into the building exploded. The double explosion knocked him sideways, rattling his bones and sending heat searing over his body as he was tossed backwards like a wet rag.

Peter landed on his side, ears ringing violently and thoughts hazy. He was shaking, or at least he thought he was, until he hazily looked down. The building was shaking. He snapped his head around to look through a window and watched dust and rubble start to fall past the glass.

“--Peter,” Karen said loudly in his ear when the ringing stopped just enough for him to hear the AI’s urgent voice. “You need to get out of there. The building’s unstable. It’s going to collapse---”

Peter furiously moved for the window he’d broken on his way in but he knew with growing dread that he wasn’t going to make it. His mask lit up at the last second, and he ducked into the only spot highlighted in green.

When he looked up, it was to see the building come down on top of his head.

When Peter opened his eyes again, everything was still. The dust had settled. The building had stopped groaning and contorting. Darkness blanketed him, wrapped around him like a too-tight glove. For a moment, it was quiet: so quiet that it made Peter’s stomach swoop. He wasn’t even sure he was alive until his ears exploded with noise: staticky voices and explosions from his comms. The battle was still live, but Peter was… he was down. No --- worse. 

He was stuck. Again. 

“Karen,” he said hoarsely, furiously trying to stave off the approaching panic attack before it swallowed him up. “Karen, can they hear me?”

“You are muted,” came her monotonous reply.

Peter let out a hitched breath, clenching his teeth so hard he thought he might crack them. There was dust all over him, covering his mask and making the darkness thicker and impenetrable. He would need to take it off, or at least wipe it off if he wanted to regain his bearings, but that would mean moving and possibly upsetting whatever high-stakes Jenga tower he was under and the thought of that sent terror so sharp and icy through him that it took his breath away.

Or maybe what took his breath away was the notion that the second worst experience of his life was unfolding again.

Except this time, Peter wasn’t stuck under a warehouse.

He was stuck under a skyscraper.

The pocket he was in was barely big enough for him, that much was made clear even without sight. He was on his back, with both of his legs pinned down under something, and even though his arms were free, he could barely bring them up towards his mask. The left one felt broken. Moving it drew a strangled gasp from his throat so he swallowed and switched to his right, which wasn’t much better. He was pretty sure the cloud of shock and maybe adrenaline wrapped around his brain was muting the true nature of his injuries but he was more grateful than concerned. Karen hadn’t told him he was bleeding to death, at least. He cautiously lifted his right arm.

“Peter,” came Karen’s voice as his gloved fingers shakily slipped beneath the edge of his mask. “I would advise you not to remove your mask while the air filter is functioning.”

Peter’s hands stilled: he hadn’t considered that. The air filter, because of course Mr. Stark had thought of everything. Peter clenched his teeth and wiped off the dusty lenses of his mask instead. Almost immediately, his eyes started to adjust. Karen turned on night vision without any further prompting.

He almost regretted being able to see. The panic he had staved off before punched through his chest with a new fury as he stared up at the rubble trapping him. It was terrifying. 

There was about two feet of space between his chest and the makeshift ceiling, which looked so fragile that Peter was surprised it wasn’t crushing him. He could see bent rebar and warped metal barely holding up literal tons of chunks of concrete and steel. Glass that he hadn’t noticed before was shattered and spread out beneath him, crunching and grinding into his back against the concrete floor he was on whenever he shifted.

And then there were his legs. A long pillar thing had fallen, trapping them, holding them down, crushing them, crushing him.

When Peter’s next breaths came, they came short and staccato, choppy and loud in the silence that came with being buried by tons of concrete. Peter’s heartbeat pounded so loud in his ears that he almost couldn’t hear his comms anymore, but he managed to tune in when he heard mentions of his name.

“Peter, we saw the building go down. Are you okay?”

His first instinct was a guttural cry for help, but he managed to stifle the panic down and swallowed dryly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want help. Even laying there in the dark with an invisible fist wrapped around his heart --- squeezing it --- he recognized that they were shorthanded. It was just Rhodey and Mr. Stark and how could Peter draw them away from a fight that still needed to be wrapped up? He couldn’t.

“I’m fine,” he managed tightly. “But I’m done. I can’t---”

“Shit, Rhodey I found it,” Mr. Stark interrupted with a breathy edge of exhilaration. “I found the source.”

“Can we disable it?” came Rhodey’s voice, crackly from interference on Peter’s part.

“I think so,” Mr. Stark replied rapidly. “Peter, are you secure? Can we wrap this up first?”

Something shifted and Peter squeezed his eyes shut as rubble closed in around him. This time, it wasn’t just the building that was shaking and Peter needed to get himself off the comms before he lost it basically in front of them.

“I’ll be okay.” And that wasn’t exactly a lie. He was pretty sure he’d be fine, except that as the panic increased so did the awareness that he was hurting in places he hadn’t noticed before. “Finish it.”

“Alright, see you in a minute kid.”

Peter severely doubted it, but he wasted no time in gasping, “Karen, mute” before the panic swallowed him whole.

Peter clenched his fists tightly and tried to breathe, but his eyes were burning and his chest was so tight he had to make sure that the rubble hadn’t crushed it after all. Moving was impossible and looking up made everything worse. How easily could this come down? All it would take is one stray explosion from a stupid robot and he could be done for. Peter shut his eyes to try and shut everything out.

A pipe burst somewhere above him and he flinched, eyes shooting open. The mass of destroyed rubble shifted, some of it coming down farther, closer to him, and he crossed his hands over his chest --- groaning when his left arm positively throbbed but at least he was ready to hold something up in case it fell. 

A few seconds later, something did fall. It was water, and it was freezing. His whole body felt like he’d dipped it into an icy pond, even though the water coming down was barely more than the sprinklers at school he’d set off on accident during chemistry.

“Peter, you still there? Karen won’t give me a read on your condition.”

So he’d tried, Peter thought to himself as he instructed Karen to unmute. “I think some of her sensors were damaged when I--- uh, took the hit.” He craned his neck back when water sloshed onto his face. He was starting to shiver and his awareness seemed to be ebbing. “Are you guys almost, uh, almost done?”

“Just about, underoos,” Mr. Stark said, and Peter couldn’t even find the energy to be embarrassed about the nickname. “Hang tight.”

Haha. “Not like I have a choice,” Peter mumbled to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Just let me know when you are on your way, okay?”

His voice was quieter than he’d meant, and Mr. Stark seemed to hesitate over the comms, like he should notice something, but the man didn’t. Peter sighed in short relief, almost grateful that the man didn’t know enough to call his bluff.

Peter had stopped sending voicemails to Mr. Stark’s phone a long time ago, especially after the Vulture incident (which he quickly put out of his mind before he lost it again.) Peter barely went over to the Avengers Compound. He only went over with Happy when there was an actual mission and when that was the case, he didn’t have a chance to say much to his mentor. So that was that.

Peter tried to doze off if only to muffle his torrent of thoughts, but every time he let his guard down, his enhanced senses picked up some sound that sent pure panic racing through him. The water had stopped after a while, but Peter was already wet --- so much so that he didn’t know which parts of him were bloody and which were just rained on. 

“How long ‘as it been, Karen?” Peter whispered, shifting and wincing when broken glass dragged on his back. 

“Twenty-seven minutes, Peter,” came her soft reply, and Peter nodded to himself dazedly.

Not much longer, then. Or at least he hoped. Over the comms which he kept forgetting to stay tuned in to, the sounds of the battle seemed to be dying. If Mr. Stark had found the source of the bots like he’d claimed, it had to be drawing to a close. 

Maybe fifteen minutes later, Peter had just found the closest thing to sleep that he could under the circumstances when Mr. Stark let out a victorious whoop. Peter shifted, hope sharpening some of the senses that had been dulled with the growing exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

“You did it?” he asked, coughing a little after.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark confirmed with a breathy, battle-worn laugh. “They’re disabled.”

Peter sighed in relief, but carefully, because any movement --- even breathing --- hurt. His left arm had stopped burning, had settled into a tame throb. His legs were numb from the cold but he could feel his toes so he attributed the numbness that drenched him from his chest down to the rust-smelling water.

“--Underoos? You there?” Mr. Stark was asking before Peter even realized he’d zoned out. He was in worse shape than he thought he was. Maybe because he knew he could finally get out of the suffocating pocket of dusty air he’d been trapped in for the better part of the last hour. “Peter? Spider-Man?”

Peter coughed. “What? Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Well, Karen isn’t telling me anything, kid. You sure did a number on her, huh?”

There it was again. That subtle edge of concern that Peter wasn’t sure was real. “You could say that.”

“We’re heading back,” Rhodey said into the comms. “Where are you down at, Spider-Man?”

“Uh, the building. The one that fell, I’m---” The building shifted and Peter’s heart nearly broke free of his ribcage. “Be careful, uh, I’m under it.”

If he hadn’t heard the sharp inhale that followed, Peter would have sworn that the comms had broken what for the way it went silent. Peter tried not to be embarrassed but even in his rapidly deteriorating state of consciousness, he recognized that he had severely messed up in letting himself get taken down --- and like this, of all ways.

“Peter--- Kid, what---” Mr. Stark choked out. He raggedly cleared his throat. “Where are--- nevermind, Friday, track--- yeah, okay--- hold on, kid, I’m coming. Just hang on, alright?”

Peter nodded to himself, breathing hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Mr. Stark said quickly. “Rhodey, are you---?”

“On your right, Tones,” Rhodey said tensely, voice hard. 

Peter would have flinched if he wasn’t so afraid to move. The colonel seemed pissed --- at Peter? He set his jaw and closed his eyes. He had acted like a complete idiot. If it wasn’t bad that he hadn’t managed to escape the collapsing building in time, he had lost his crap in the dark and probably all of Mr. Stark’s trust.

He thought of the first time he’d met Rhodey, that first fight with Mr. Stark after things with the Vulture and Liz had settled down --- 

“Tony, remind me. Who is this guy again?” 

“He’s good; a good kid. Like an intern of mine, except he’s jacked.”

“Mr. Stark, really---?”

“You know it’s the truth, kid. Anyways, I’m showing him the ropes but he can handle his own. We can trust him, Rhodey.”

“You can, Colonel Rhodes, I swear---”

“Hm,” Rhodey had said, disbelieving. “It’s just Rhodey, Spider-Man.” To Tony: “Can I at least get a name?”

“Uh, well, he actually---”

“It’s Peter, Mr. Rhodes sir.”

“Kid, really? I thought you said---”

“I thought you said I can trust him?”

“I did--- you can--- of course you can, I---”

“It’s still Rhodey, you can drop the mister. And how old---”

“Like I said, I’m just showing him the ropes.” 

Peter groaned and came back to the present when the rubble shifted, some of it falling down onto his face, crumbling and sliding against mask and he squeezed his eyes shut again---

“Is that you guys? Above me, is that---”

“We’re right here, Spider-Man,” Rhodey said reassuringly through the comms. “Just calm down. We’re almost to you.”

Peter nodded sharply even though he couldn’t see. He’d let himself panic, and now that they were close, he had to grit his teeth and get through it. Easier said than done.

The building shifted again --- worse than anytime before --- and he barely managed to hold back the terrified cry that threatened to leap out of his throat as a chunk of concrete the size of a watermelon dislodged from the unsteady ceiling above him and smashed down four inches away from his head. The entire building was groaning now, but the fear in Peter’s chest didn’t have a chance to spike before a metal-enclosed arm shot through the destroyed wall behind and above Peter’s head.

The Iron Man gauntlet.

For the first time since the building collapsed, Peter breathed. Or at least, he breathed easier. Above him were Iron Man and War Machine --- or was it the Iron Patriot now? Superhero politics were a mess and Peter didn’t want to exert brain power on anything other than getting the hell out of the pocket he was in. Either way, help had come.

“Mr. Stark,” he breathed, squinting violently through his mask as blinding daylight filled the space that darkness had just occupied. “Hey.”

Mr. Stark’s expression was shielded and stoney behind his helmet, but his voice betrayed the man’s relief. And maybe some anger that made Peter’s chest dry. “Hey yourself, kid. Ready to get out of here?”

Peter just nodded, gritting his teeth as the superheroes worked around him, carefully moving and stabilizing the rubble trapping him. 

“You’re a lucky kid,” Rhodey said softly, sounding like he was farther away than he was, like at the back of a subway tunnel. That must have just been Peter. “You couldn’t have landed in a better spot.”

“Thanks to Karen,” Peter mumbled, wishing he could raise an arm to cover his eyes. His headache was worsening. Unfortunately, his arm felt even worse and he didn’t have enough energy to get his unbroken one up anyways.

“Karen?” Rhodey hedged, like maybe he thought Peter had a head injury or something.

To be fair, he probably did, but Karen was very real. Definitely not a hallucination.

“His AI,” Mr. Stark cut in with a short laugh. “And no, I didn’t name it.”

“It’s a good name,” Peter insisted weakly.

“Huh.” Rhodey sounded like he didn’t know what to make of that.

As they cautiously worked, Peter didn’t know how to feel. He was tired --- so tired --- but at the same time was unwilling to let himself pass out until he was in the clear, and especially not in front of two of his heroes. 

Apparently his brain had other ideas. The thought of sleep had just barely crossed his mind when his eyelids started to droop. The fog from before was back, flooding his brain. Except instead of making everything cottony and jumbled, he felt relaxed. The exhaustion was crashing and so was his will to stop it.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna…”

He passed out.

-+-

The first thing Peter registered when the darkness in his brain thinned was the sound of voices, nearby and angry but hushed. He knew a whisper fight when he heard it and decided against opening his eyes; that seemed like too much work anyways in the warmth of… wherever he was. The notion that he was most likely in the Medbay of the Compound comforted him, but the two people arguing quietly did not.

“---what the hell were you thinking?” That sounded like Colonel Rhodes, or--- just Rhodey. Right. He’d almost forgotten. Rhodey sounded ragged. “A kid? And how old? Sixteen?”

“You knew he was a kid---”

“I knew he was young,” Rhodey whisper-snapped back. “It’s not like I had more than his name to go off of---”

“It’s better than it looks, okay?”

“I just pulled a kid from a collapsed building,” Rhodey heaved. “What could make that better?”

“You think I wanted him to do this?” Mr. Stark’s voice was rising, and Peter almost winced. “I don’t need a genius IQ to know that it’s dangerous. But he was a superhero before I was in the picture, Rhodey. I couldn’t keep Peter off the streets if I tried, okay? And I tried.” He let out an exhausted laugh. “I did try, okay? I’m doing the best I can. I’m helping him out. Taking him under my wing. It’s better than leaving him to his own devices. At least if he gets hurt or needs help, I can help him.”

There was a pause before finally, “This is insane.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Stark breathed. “You should have seen the first suit he had. Glorified pajamas, I’m telling you.” 

A pause and Peter didn’t know if he should open his eyes and let them know he was awake or keep listening. It only took Rhodey to angrily burst, “And what the hell was he thinking?” to convince him to stay “asleep.”

“He’s a good kid,” Mr. Stark answered. “He wanted to help people---”

“Not that,” Rhodey snapped, barely managing to keep quiet, as if it mattered anymore. “Why didn’t he call for us, huh? Jesus, he just stayed under there for… how long? Forty-minutes? An hour?”

Mr. Stark didn’t say anything, just let the tense silence pass.

“He could have died,” Rhodey said finally. “He almost did. Christ.” Another pause, a little longer than the last ones, and Peter swore they were looking at him. “Really needed to scare me half to death, didn’t you kid?”

They were definitely looking at him.

“Come on,” Mr. Stark muttered quietly. “Let’s go. I’ll check on him, later, okay?”

“Sure.”

“And we should probably get you something to drink,” Mr. Stark mused as they walked farther away. “Maybe a coffee?”

Rhodey scoffed out a laugh. “I think I need a Xanax.”

They both laughed, easier, and a door snicked shut right as the room went silent again.

Peter wanted to open his eyes, but he’d gotten too comfortable. Warmth was wrapped around him, dragging him down down down until he barely remembered what he was trying to think about.

By the time Peter drifted to consciousness, he was done with being tired. That wasn’t to say he was energetic, but when he came to, he wanted to stay awake. Wanted to figure things out now while he had the chance and hopefully, he realized with growing dread, avoid the wrath of Aunt May.

Opening his eyes underneath the bright lights of the stark room he was in was almost worse than opening them when the rubble around him had first been shifted to make way for blinding sunlight. He blinked rapidly as he waited for his brain to filter out some of the brightness.

It didn’t happen. Or at least, it wasn’t happening quickly.

Peter tentatively tried to sit upright (maneuvering around his newly-casted left arm) as a headache pulsed at the middle of the back of his skull, free hand reaching out to find a call button or something. The assault on his eyes was so bad that he couldn’t think straight. He always forgot how bad his senses got right after long battles, and this one had certainly been long. 

Peter whipped his head up when he saw a flash of movement towards the approximate door shape. It was a head, bent and peeking through the doorway. As soon as Peter got a look at the face, the silhouette stepped into the doorway.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaked in confusion. “What---”

“Just checking in,” Mr. Stark said quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Good thing I did, huh? What’s wrong?”

“Lights,” Peter managed. “Can you turn them down?” Realization crossed Mr. Stark’s face. “Ah, dialled to eleven right? Friday, lights.”

The AI responded instantly, but not verbally. The lights immediately dimmed, and Peter relaxed. The headache was already fading, but the rest of his pain wasn’t. Peter shouldn’t have gotten so worked up, because he hadn’t wasted a thought on wha moving around might do to aggravate his injuries.

And aggravate his injuries he had. Peter winced as pain flared in his arm --- casted or not --- his knuckles, his legs, and his back. His back was probably torn to shreds because of the glass. His whole body hurt, now that he stopped to think about it, but mainly in a few spots.

Peter didn’t complain --- he’d take the pain to being stuck under a building any day --- but he didn’t have to say anything for Mr. Stark to read him like a book. The man’s face pulled with sympathy.

“I have a doctor working on synthesizing pain meds for you,” Mr. Stark told him, easing into a plush-backed chair near Peter’s fancy hospital bed. “But we had to give you some of, uh, Steve’s for now.”

Peter nodded, toying with the sheet draped over his lap. “Where am I, again?”

“The Medbay in my tower---”

“Your tower? I thought---”

“I didn’t tell you?” Mr. Stark asked curiously, cocking his head. Peter shook his head minutely. “I bought it back. Figured if I was going to be your mentor and all I should have a base, with a Medbay of course, nearby.”

Peter blinked. “You bought the tower back to help me?”

Mr. Stark shrugged, almost managing to look nonchalant. “Good thing I did. Didn’t think I’d need the Medbay so soon though, to be honest.” He glanced back at Peter with a hint of a smile.  “It’s mostly office now. I kept my penthouse though, for you if you ever need to drop by. And the Medbay too, in case you ever get webbed up over your head.”

Peter blinked again when he heard that nugget of information but he managed to put his shock aside and ask hesitantly, “So, uh, what happened? After I, uh---”

“Passed out?” Mr. Stark finished, face darkening a hint. “Rhodey and I managed to get you out. Think you gave us about three heart attacks though when we got a good look at you.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “Three each.”

Peter dropped his gaze. “He’s mad at me.”

“You heard that? Well, you’re kind of right. But he’s not mad at you because you messed up or whatever is going through your noble brain right now. Actually, I’m a little peeved too. So tell me.” Peter glanced up with a grimace. “Why didn’t you say anything? I know your comms were working.”

“I, uh, well…”

“Well?”

“I didn’t want to bother you guys,” Peter blurted, eyes widening when he read on Mr. Stark’s face that that was the Wrong Answer. “Uh, I mean there was only two of you with me down and there was like way too many robots for you to handle so I figured--- okay, so maybe I should have said something.”

“Right answer, kid,” Mr. Stark said, but his voice was a little tight. “Alright, second question.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“What did you mean by ‘not again?’”

Peter froze. “What?”

“You woke up for a minute,” Mr. Stark began lightly. “After you first passed out. You were muttering that phrase. ‘Not again.’ And you were talking about Toomes…?” Peter’s mouth was too dry to get a word out. “You were talking about the plane, right? The plane. Peter?”

“I guess I never told you about that night, huh?” Peter said weakly after he managed to find his words. “Toomes uh, he… well. He dropped a building on me.” 

He tried for a laugh and fell short. As if he could ever laugh about that. But the last thing Peter wanted to do was tell Mr. Stark about it. About how helpless he’d been. About how he’d screamed himself hoarse calling for someone that wasn’t there. About how bad he’d let himself fall apart when he was alone. 

“It turned out okay. I got out and followed him and took down the plane and well, you know the rest.” There was silence again that Peter hurried to fill. “It was okay though,” he reiterated. “I guess it happening again just was… too much.”

Peter wondered how many other people had managed to render Tony Stark speechless. Probably not a lot. 

Mr. Stark blinked, like a lot, before finally saying, “What part of you getting a building dropped on you is okay? You know what, scratch that. Why didn’t you tell me? Who were you trying to save by keeping it in, anyway?”

“Well, it’s not like you made it easy,” he found himself almost-snapping defensively. “I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Mr. Stark said slowly. “But we’re changing things up, alright? I don’t want you to think you can’t tell me if you are literally dying so we’re going to do something about that. After you get better, of course. I can’t be passing on any of my bad habits.” He stood up, brushed imaginary dust off his thighs and headed towards the door.

Peter found himself straightening. “You’re leaving me here?”

Mr. Stark spun around. “Nope. Just stepping out to call your aunt---”

“You didn’t call my aunt yet?! She’s going to kill me,” Peter moaned.

“---and then I’m thinking we get to talking about an internship. Okay?”

“As long as you tell Aunt May that I physically could not text her, and therefore I should not be lectured for not checking in, then I think an internship would be, like, super cool Mr. Stark,” Peter said, beaming. “Thank you.”

“Your message will be relayed,” Mr. Stark answered, before his face became serious. “And can you drop the Mr. Stark now? Tony’s fine.”

Peter tilted his head, his brain flashing back to that time in Happy’s car with Mr. Stark. He couldn’t resist it.

“Thank you but, uh, I don’t think we’re there yet.”

Mr. Stark’s face dropped into an unimpressed scowl faster than a neuron firing off, making it more than worth it. Feeling like he was floating on clouds, and more relaxed than he’d been probably ever, Peter laughed.

Hi! Can i ask 14, 34? 😊

Always!

14: What’s your coffee order? 

I typically get something with vanilla like an iced vanilla latte or a caramel broule if I am at Starbucks :D

34: Do you like your Hogwarts house or do you wish you were a different one?

Hufflepuff here: I took the sorting hat quiz when I was 12, and four years later, I feel like it is a hard house to be like when everyone always makes them out to be perpetually happy, sunshine-y, and kind of a dull house but I think of myself more as a Cedric Diggory Hufflepuff haha. Anyways I do like the house I was sorted in if only for the sentiment that I don’t hold ambition, loyalty, intelligence, or bravery in a higher regard in respect to each other. I value all of those traits pretty much equally and I feel like I always know when to step back and focus on a certain trait. :)

Thanks for the ask! And anybody can send some in if they want <3