Summary: peter gets deathly hurt on a mission-but he doesn’t die cause thatd be awfully sad-this was a request of yall where “peter gets deathly hurt on a mission”. I never do that severe injury angst but now yall asked for it so yall gonna get some ooo

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“What’s your status?”

Peter ducked as the patriotic voice of Captain America filled his ears as Chitauri soldiers fired their weapons toward him. Well, his alter-ego that happened to be a vigilante/Avenger, cause Peter Stark was a secret hidden from everyone except for a small group of people that were given the alias of Earth’s Mightest Heroes. 

Peter ducked behind a boulder and jutted his wrists out, sending webs stronger than silk toward the Chitauri. The webs pushed the aliens against a wall, and rendered them stuck, literally.  Cause webs are sticky, get it?

Just as Peter was about to reply to the Captain, the back of his head tingled. His spidey senses. Peter immediately ducked and then spun-kicked a Chitauri who was trying to sneak up on him and take him out. Peter quipped as he punched the alien right in the face and knocked him out cold, “Bet you didn’t see that one coming.”

A thick Sokovian accent replied hotly, “Awe, Stark, that’s my line!”

Peter laughed, “I don’t see your name on it.” His laughter was short-lived as he dropped into a plank to avoid getting decapitated by a blast. He then deadpanned seriously, “I did not see that coming.”

“Once again, what’s your status guys?”

Peter replied while disarming another herd of aliens, “These guys keep on multiplying. How can we make them divide?” Despite being sixteen years old, the boy had an excellent pun game. 

“Haha Spiderman. Anyone got any ideas?”

A Russian accent that sounded almost bored offered, “And no one say keep shooting because clearly that’s not working out very well.”

Clint’s voice echoed with the sound of bullets being fired, “What’s that Cap? You want us to keep shooting them? You got it.”

Peter snickered. Unfortunately, Natasha did not find Clint’s jest as funny. Peter heard the sound of a bullet fire from Natasha’s comm, and Clint wince over the comm, “Nat, do I look like a Chitauri to you?”

Natasha replied in a flat tone, “In terms of looks there’s no difference.”

Peter shouted as he flipped a Chitauri solider over his back, “I could really use some help here, guys!”

Peter smiled at his father’s reply, “On my way underoos!”

Peter faced his opponent, a rather lanky sort of fellow with a machine gun that was nearly tripled in comparison to the soldier’s size. A smirk grew on the boy’s lips despite his mask concealing it as a very familiar and iconic red and gold metallic suit rose from behind the alien and fired a repulsor blast to the man or woman or non-binary, they/them, and all pronouns cause it’s 2020 and we don’t assume anyone’s gender back and knocked them out cold.  

Peter smiled through his mask as he let out a sigh of relief, “Thanks, Dad.”

Peter could tell that Tony was giving him one of his iconic “dad looks” as he replied as if Peter said something completely obvious, “No need to thank me kiddo, we’re a team, remember? Well, those losers are, we’re exclusively better.” He added a laugh to indicate that no harm was meant with his words. 

Peter grinned at his father’s words as he resumed kicking alien butt. After all, New York City was prone to shit like this. Literally, every week there was some small scale invasion. 

He had just flipped a Chitauri onto the ground and knocked the breath out of it. He then landed a firm punch to the nose and rendered it unconscious. 

Deadpool yelled excitedly as he swung his legs while sipping bleach, “Do a flip Spoodoodleman!”

Peter looked at the mercenary as if he had three heads. “Okay, one, why are you here? Two, if you’re going to be here you might as well help. And yes, you can kill these guys if you want. Three, what in Odin’s beard did you call me?”

Thor bellowed, “Odin’s beard is magnificent, Boy of Spiders!”

Deadpool snickered, “Too bad he’s dead my favorite one-eyed God.”

Deadpool never saw Mjolornir come for him. 

And Peter never saw the Chitauri who picked up the huge weapon and fire it right into his back. Mmm whatcha say mmm that you only meant well, well of course you did you fat motherfucker that’s not the scene but you know what I’m talking about? John Mulaney everybody! 

Peter’s senses tingled but Peter never got to react in time. Instead, the blast collided into his back and sent him flying off the building rooftop he was perched on. 

Instantly, everything became a blur of pain as Peter freefalled to the New York City sidewalks. Or maybe the road? Hopefully I don’t get run over, but then I can sue them and then yay money!

Before Peter’s frame could smack against the Earth, metal clung to him and brought him down to the ground slowly. Peter’s vision was blurry from all the blood and pain as he looked to find his savior from being flattened like a pancake to be none other than his father. 

Peter followed his father’s gaze toward his abdomen, where a large pool of blood had formed from there, and was increasing in size. Huh. That must be why it hurts all over like a whole bitch. 

Tony moved his gaze back to Peter’s eyes as he wiped his son’s mask off and noticed tears leaking from Peter’s eyes. 

Peter hadn’t realized that he was crying until the droplets of water no longer clung to his mask, but instead rolled down his cheeks. He winced and silibated as his father applied pressure to his wound. “Ow, ow, ow. That hurts a lot, holy shit.” He took in a deep breath as he dipped his head backward and rolled his eyes shut in an attempt to minimize the pain as he focused on maintaining a steady breathing rate. 

Unfortunately, the teenage Avenger’s attempt failed miserably. 

Just by moving his body slightly, white-hot fury shot up and all over his body like a rocket from the wound area causing Peter to hiss in pain once more. Tony moved a hand to sweep over Peter’s face as he reassured softly, “Bud, I know it hurts a lot. It went through and through. We need to get you to medbay. You think you’re up for a fly?”

Peter nodded despite the stream of tears that poured down his cream-colored cheeks. He asked softly, “Can you go slow, please? It hurts a lot.”

Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead, “Of course, kiddo. I’m going to pick you up on three, so brace yourself, okay?”

Peter nodded his head just barely. 

“One.”

Peter clenched his eyes shut and he bit his lip hard enough to fill his mouth with a metallic taste. 

“Two.”

A blinding fury of pain pricked all over Peter’s form as his bleeding chest bent slightly. Peter couldn’t hold the soft moan that poured from his lips as his body felt like it was a volcano that was bursting with fire uncontrollably, in a way that continued to prick the back of his eyes with tears that raced each other down his skin. 

“Three.”

Peter buried his head against the Iron Man suit’s chest plate, “No one ever does it on two.” He bit down on his lip to prevent himself from sobbing loudly from the pain. 

Tony looked down at the silently crying bundle in his arms. “I’m sorry buddy, hang in there alright?”

Peter nodded, despite not really having a choice. 

Tony smiled warmly in an attempt to make Peter feel better, “That’s my boy.” And up the father and son went. 

The ride back to the Tower wasn’t long, to be exact it was eight minutes and twenty nine seconds. But to Peter who was bleeding out and in a hell of a lot of pain, the ride felt like an eternity of pure torture. 

Peter’s eyes were brimming with tears as his father’s boots softly thudded onto tiled flooring. Peter let out a watery breath as he inhaled sharply, he was home at least. Feeling slightly better, the teenager kept his head buried against his father’s chest for some form of extra comfort and safety. 

Tony had managed to take his suit off, and the soft clothes were a welcome relief from the firm metal plates to the weeping boy who felt dizzy and tired all at once. Tony reassured his boy softly as a hand kept the boy scooped bridal style while the other hand ran through Peter’s chocolate-colored tresses. “You’re going to be okay, Brucie’s going to patch you up like he always does, yeah?”

Peter would’ve nodded if he didn’t feel like he was about to combust in sheer agony. 

The billionaire, genius and philanthropist set the teenager down on a bed where Bruce was setting up a suture kit and preparing a bed. 

Tony set Peter down on the bed and took one of his hands in his. The hand that wasn’t clasped around his son’s slim fingers was rubbing patterns on the boy’s forehead. The father whispered soft reassurances into Peter’s eyes (dont change it i love it), “You’re home now, dad’s got you. You’re going to be alright. I told Cap to beat up the bitch that did that.”

Peter laughed wetly but his voice broke off into a wince as his father’s gaze looked at his wound and for a few moments, his father looked scared. 

Peter had been hurt multiple times before, but he had never seen his father like this before. He groaned as he dipped his head back to make his dad feel a little bit better, “It doesn’t hurt that much, Dad.”  I literally just said that it did but um, whatever. 

Tony squeezed the hand that he was holding and pressed a kiss to the boy’s black and blue knuckles. He moved his other hand to recede into Peter’s curls and ran his calloused fingers through the locks of hair as he smoothed out the knots that had managed to curl up. 

He smiled down at his son who was trying to be brave for him, despite the vivid terror that shone in Peter’s almond-tainted irises. “You’re doing so good my brave boy.” He pressed another kiss to the boy’s face, this time on the cheek to help the boy maintain his composure. 

Especially with what was to happen next. 

Peter wasn’t afraid of surgeries. He was unconscious after all. The only part the teenager feared was getting to the unconscious state. Which usually, more often than not required a needle. And the only thing Peter hated more than getting shot was a needle. 

It had been a long time fear of the boy, and probably wouldn’t ever go away. Needles always terrified him. They were sharp and pointy and he couldn’t figure out why that was the only way to administer drugs when motrin or tananoly existed. 

Peter's eyes buldged when he noticed Bruce prep for an IV. He rapidly flickered his eyes to his father and spoke in a tone heavy laced with distress, “Dad, anything but a needle. Please? Just give me a whole tannonyl. Anything but a needle, please?” He couldn’t withdraw the helplessness and desperation in his voice. 

His stomach suddenly fluttered and Peter felt a panic attack coming. 

Tony looked down at his son who was starting to cry all over again and his heart panged. He knew that his son hated needles, and he hated to make Peter go through these. Even though the father wanted to do nothing more than whisk Peter away and promise him that he’d never have to get a shot ever again, that wasn’t the reality. No matter how much it hurt the father in his heart. 

Tony softened as he cooed softly, “Bud, I know you’re scared, and that’s perfectly alright. But, we have to do this time, kiddo.”

Peter pouted as his watery eyes shone with defeat, “Do I have to?” The teenager didn’t care how babyish he sounded. He was scared, and he was allowed to be scared from time to time. 

Tony nodded as the hand that was holding one of Peter’s hands moved to clasp both of them. “I know it sucks kiddo, I really do. But I’m going to be right here with you the entire time, alright?”

Peter gulped as he mentally reminded himself to breathe. 

Tony offered as he caught onto Peter’s distress, “Tell you what? I’ll hold you, okay? And afterwards, we can get ice cream. How’s that sound? Ice cream for dinner.”

Despite the panic that was spreading throughout all of the boy’s form, Peter nodded. After all, he didn’t really have much of a choice. 

The corners of Tony’s lips tugged upward as he said, “That’s my boy. Here, let me hold you.”

He moved Peter slightly so he could hold the boy properly. With both arms wrapped around Peter’s upper chest, Peter began to relax visibly.

Well, not exactly. 

On the outside, sure. On the inside? A completely different story. 

Peter felt like he was going to faint. Or throw up. If Peter was being three thousand percent honest, Peter felt like he was going to do both. He mumbled just that, “I think I’m going to either throw up or pass out.” 

His stomach lurched and the next thing he knew his face was in a bucket and a bile-smelling stench flooding his nostrils. Peter winced as he pulled back, “‘m sorry.” 

His father’s tone was soft and warm as he reassured him, “No problemo, kiddo. You good?”

Peter nodded momentarily as he closed his eyes as he lied back down, “Can we get this over with as fast as possible, please?”

Tony patted Peter’s chest, “Yep. Almost ready, Bruce?”

The shuffling of Bruce’s footsteps indicated that the man was indeed, ready. 

Peter felt the inner crook of his elbow wet with alcohol and he clenched his eyes shut.
Hurryuphurryuphurryuphurryuplet’sgetthisoverwithplsplsty

Peter felt the needle prick his arm before he could respond to it. And before Peter could realize that the hard part was done, he was unconscious in a realm of his own imagination. 

. . . 

When Peter woke up, the first thing the teenager felt was warm and exhausted. He stirred to find his dad in the bed next to him, well actually, engulfing the boy in a giant hug. 

His father’s eyes were shut and accompanied with dark circles that weren’t as big as they were yesterday. Despite the fact that the genius, billionare, philanthropist was asleep, words spilled out of his mouth. “You’re going to be okay, kiddo. Dad’s right here and he’s not going anywhere.”

He dragged a hand down Peter’s chest where bandaged now laid and pulled the boy tighter to him, like Peter was a stuffed animal and Tony was a scared, frightened child. 

They might as well have been considering everything that both of them went through physically and mentally. Peter didn’t mind as he blinked but too much since he planned on falling back asleep, if anything, he loved being held. 

He adjusted his position slightly and his movement triggered his father to ask with a slur, “Pete?”

Peter replied thickly as his eyes weren’t able to see light anymore, “Dad?”

Tony’s voice was soft and gentle as he replied, “Yeah bud, I’m here. Do you need anything?”

“No,” hummed Peter, “just want you to hold me.”

“You got it fam.” Tony chuckled loosely as he buried his head in Peter’s chocolate-colored tresses, “I love you tons, Petey pie.”

Peter mumbled as he drifted off once again, “I love you 3000.” 

A/N: thoughts? Comments? Votes? Is anyone still like actively reading this lmao so many readers that I remember from before are gone :(