Tonight was not Peter's night.

He just wanted to go to bed because he's sure the longer he stays up, the more this day turns to shit.

He takes slow steps out of the alleyway, his knees buckling with exhaustion and pain. He doesn't usually get as injured as he had tonight on patrol.

But at least the bad guys are all webbed up and he can go home.

He holds out his arm to shoot a web towards the nearest building.

Click.

"Mother f-..." he cuts himself off, smacking the devices around his wrists with the heel of his palm. They were empty. "Crap. CRAP."

He throws his head back and groans, allowing himself to have a quick tantrum, pacing in a circle.

"This isn't happening," he whines.
It is, sadly. He's going to have to walk home.

Karen's voice interrupts him.
"You could call Mr. Stark."

"I'm not calling him. It's like, two- thirty in the morning. He's probably not even.." he's not going to finish that. Of course Mr. Stark is awake. He's always awake. But that doesn't mean he's going to bother him. Besides, he was supposed to be back at the tower two hours ago.

"I assure you, he's up, Peter."

"I don't wanna bother him," he mutters, "just... pull up the directions for the fastest way home please. I'll walk."

"You shouldn't be walking with the injuries you've got tonight. I recommend at least taking the subway."

"Didn't bring any money. This day's already shit let's just get this over with."

"Would you like me to play music while you walk?"

Peter cracks a smile. "Yeah. Thanks K."

He tries planning what he'll need out of the first aid kit as he walks.

One of the guys had had a steel baseball bat and really managed to beat the shit out of Peter.

He'd gotten him a few times in the ribs but usually Peter can just deal with cracked and broken ribs by leaning on as many things as possible until they heal.

There's also the concussion because of course he'd hit him on the head. He's starting to believe MJ when she says he's loosing braincells from this job. He'll just... sleep that off.

Peter stumbles over his feet, hissing as his thigh protests. It gushes blood from the pocket-knife-sized stab wound from the person he'd saved. He supposes he scared them and this kind of thing happens a lot but he doesn't usually get stabbed after saving someone. Its a small wound but deep enough to hurt like a buttcheek on a freaking stick.

He knows how to dress a stab wound. Easy peasy.

He doesn't know what to do about his neck though. One of the goons had managed to get ahold of him and actually freaking strangle him. It hurt. Really bad. Every time he speaks- and even when he breathes- it hurts. There's already an ugly, purplish, hand-shaped bruise forming.

Other than hiding it under a hoodie, Peter doesn't know what to do with that. He can google it, probably.

That's not too hard. He's only really gotta deal with a few things and then he'll be able to go to sleep.

~~~

Peter stumbles into his bedroom, panting at the overuse of his limbs and a hot, excruciating pain he hadn't felt in a very long time.  Not like this.

He feels dizzy.

Before he can limp into the bathroom, he drops his suit to the floor, quickly throwing on a shirt and the gym shorts he hates. Maneuvering himself into a different outfit might've been more painful to do than the walk home.

Blood runs down his leg now that the suit isn't covering it. He doesn't even look back to check if he's leaving a red trail behind him.

He drops onto the seat of the toilet, sighing as he is finally able to relieve his many wounds of the weight of his body.

He reaches for the closest towel and puts pressure on the cut. The cloth quickly turns a deep red. He tries to ignore it as he twists the cap off the hydrogen peroxide he snagged from the cabinet behind him. He takes a deep breath before pouring it over the cut, but it wasn't enough to prepare him for the shock of pain going up his leg. Black spots dancing in his vision, he put the towel back on top of his leg and hunches over as he makes an effort to quiet his groans.

There's a knock at his bedroom door.

"Pete, I saw you're home late from patrol. Just wanted to check on you. Are you alright?"

"Fine," he gasps.

Shit.

He could've made that sound a little more convincing.

"Um, ok, that did not sound fine. Can I come in?"

"No."

"You know, I miss when you looked up to me and didn't tell me 'no,' all the time" he deadpans, "I'm coming in."

Peter tips his head forward in defeat as he hears the man walk through his room. Footsteps pause at the sight of all the blood before he rushes towards the bathroom.

"Oh my- there's blood everywhere- Peter."

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

"Don't apologize," he snaps. Peter hears him grab the knob of the bathroom door, "Can I come in? Please?"

Peter huffs frustratedly, "Fine."

There's a tense pause.

"Oh kid."

He avoids his mentor's eye. He can only imagine what he looks like, all bruised and battered. There's blood on the floor and the cabinets, and it's streaked and smeared along his leg. He doesn't remember getting punched in the face but his eye's been swelling slowly over the last hour.

"I know."

"They beat you to shit, Pete. God."

"You don't have to rub it in," Peter says, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not trying to. I just- here. Let me help."
Tony pulls out his own first aid kit. Peter stares at him in disbelief.

"You just had a first aid kit on you?"

"I knew something was wrong. Call it Ironman sense. Tony tingle. Whatever."

"Please don't call it that."

Tony laughs before pausing at the sight of his leg.
"What'd you use on this?"

"Hydrogen Peroxide."

His jaw drops. "This isn't a fucking scraped knee, Peter. You're not supposed to use that on this."

"I'm not?"

"No. You're not."

"Oops."

"Yeah, oops."

Tony then cleans his stab wound the 'correct' way, apologizing when Peter flinches away a few times. He tips his head back against the cabinet, holding his breath as he waits for his mentor to finish.

Tony pulls at the gauze wrap one last time.
"Alrighty, we're done. Anything else?"

Peter, still recovering from the pain, manages to mumble a short denial of "Mm-mm."

There's a pause as Tony tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes as he spots something.
"What the hell is that."

"Huh?"
Peter's head is suddenly being rotated to the side.

"What the fuck," he hisses, "So you weren't gonna mention the huge hand-shaped bruises on your neck? How'd I not notice it? Does it hurt?"

"The guy had huge hands Mr. Stark," he says, making an effort to deflect before muttering quietly, "and... yeah."

"C'mon- up. Let's get to Medbay."

"What? Why? I'm fine."

"I want Cho to look over that stab wound and I want her to check you for any long lasting effects of getting fucking strangled, Peter."

"Ok, fine. Getting up."
He groans as he tries to heave himself up from the toilet seat, trying to lean all his weight onto the towel bar beside him. Before he can loose his balance, Tony throws one of his arms over his shoulders and holds him up by the other. It helps a little.
"Thanks," he whispers.

"Don't mention it."

It takes them a little longer than Peter would have liked to get to Medbay, but the relief is strong when he is finally sat onto the cot.

"Ow."

"Cho's almost here. Is there anything else you wanna tell me about?"

He assumes they'd see it in an x-ray anyway.
"Um, my ribs... maybe," he replies sheepishly. "A few of em- they might be a little, uh, broken. Also probably a concussion. And I need new web-shooters I'm out."

"Wha- how'd you get home?"

He grimaces, "I... walked."

Tony sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose.
"YOU- ok. Ok, that's fine. I'm not mad. I'm not mad."

"You sound mad."

"I'm not, I'm..."

"Please don't say you're just disappointed I might start crying."

He huffs out a short laugh, "I'm not. i'm not disappointed. I'm... proud of you, kid."

"Proud because I got injured..?"

"No. God no. I- you know I'm always proud of you. You're out there saving people even if it means you get hurt. I just wish you'd come to me- especially when it's this bad. And when you need a ride home. You should always call me."

"I thought you were asleep."

"Karen told him you were awake," Peter jolts in his seat at the sound of FRIDAY's voice.

"Snitch."

"See? Stop that."

"I just didn't want to bother you..."

"You're never bothering me. I'm here to help. That's kind of in the job description in being a mentor. Being here to help you out with injuries and... non-injury related things."

Peter raises his brow, "Is it?"

"It's in my job description. Mentor of crazy teenager superhero."

"Weird job name."

"Yep. But it's mine."

Peter falls back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. His throat hurts. And ribs. And leg.
"Kinda cheesy."

"Shut up, you like rom-coms-"

"Sorry to interrupt." The door slides open, revealing the woman they'd been waiting for.

"Hey Doctor Cho."

"Yeesh your voice sounds awful. I'm guessing that's from the, uh, bruise?"

"Yep. Also I got stabbed."

"Oh."

"And hit with a baseball bat.."

"What?"

Peter grimaces and looks over at Tony's shocked face. "Yeah, sorry I left out the details. That's how my ribs got messed up. And how I got concussed."

"Fuck. I need... a drink."

"But you don't drink."

"I need a coffee. I'll be back. Be good for Cho, kid maybe you'll get a lollipop."

Peter laughs quietly as Cho leans over to unwrap his thigh. "You do know I don't have lollipops right?"

"Yeah," he grins. "I know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus:

Peter's sprawled across the couch lazily, joyfully watching as many Star Wars movies as he can before Tony starts complaining. Ice packs sit across his neck and ribs, and he's been ordered to speak and move as little as possible for a few days.

Tony had heartlessly laughed at him, claiming he wouldn't be able to do it.

He was right.

"Hey Tony," he rasps.

"Shh."

"You still owe me a lollipop."

"I'll order you a pizza. Now be quiet and watch your Star Wars movies."

He drops his head back on his pillow and grins.

Despite the injuries and his asshole (affectionate) of a mentor, he's pretty content.

And he finally gets to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

YIPPEEE FIRST CHAPTER