Spider-Son & Iron Dad one shots

after the vulture

a/n:pov i am writing an irondad oneshot in the year of 2021 but it takes place in the year 2017 because i am writing it and reality can be whatever i want. enjoy whatever this is

Peter was near passing out when he crawled in through his bedroom window, using the rest of his energy to ensure he wasn't making any noise. To say that everything hurt was an understatement, really. He's never been able to say before that he got crushed by a building, crashed a plane into a beach, and fought a supervillain in the same day--and he hopes he never will be able to again.

Now that the window was closed, he slowly slid from where he was leaning against the wall and simply sat on the floor between his bed and the window, taking deep breaths and letting his muscles relax for a moment. Exhaustion creeped in at a steady pace, and his head was still trying to wrap around the events that transpired leading up to this.

He left Liz at homecoming without saying so much as a word, and that was just hours ago. He ruined any chance of that ever working out, especially considering he just sent her dad to prison. He had no idea where he stood with Mr. Stark now, because yes, he did just save the contents of the man's plane, but he was also sitting alone in his bedroom half-dead without a multimillion dollar suit because he lied.

Peter blew out a breath and sat up. Pulling off the top of his suit was tricky, especially with how badly his hands hurt just as much as the rest of him. His hands were burnt for sure, swollen and forming blisters from where he had tried to lift up the hot metal on the beach. His fingertips were giving sensations he could no longer feel as he wrestled the sweatshirt off his body. A glance at his chest told him that he would need to perform some initial medical treatment right off the bat.

The first aid kit was pulled from underneath his bed and he got to work, sitting on the carpeted floor of his bedroom surrounded by grains of sand that were falling out of his hair, shaken off his clothes, and unsticking from his skin. He started cleaning the wounds on his chest first, wincing and holding back a painful series of noises that would surely wake up May. He could tell with every breath he took that multiple of his ribs were bruised at least, maybe cracked. None of the injuries shocked him--Peter doesn't think he'll ever forget the choking feeling of being stuck underneath that concrete.

(The fear he had felt in that moment was unlike anything he's ever experienced before. It happened so quickly, the way that the support beams cracked one by one and then all at once. The sudden collapse of the entire weight of a building had fallen on his body, forcing him down like he was nothing, and he couldn't breathe. His need to take a breath was causing him to hyperventilate, and there were a few terrifying seconds where during this he couldn't feel his hands and struggled to pull the mask off. "This mask is going to kill me," was one particularly horrifying thought that crossed his mind in just a millisecond of being under the rubble.)

Despite the building, there were other things that happened that caused damage to his body. For example, the slashes in his chest from where he was picked up and slammed onto the sand from metal claws. These were the injuries being cleaned up now, as Peter was wiping down the worse of the wounds with rubbing alcohol.

He began to wrap the injuries with several feet of gauze around himself. Sutures seemed overkill, as the slashes weren't exactly as open now as they were when the Vulture had dug the mechanical talons hours before. Bandages would keep it from getting infected though, hopefully, probably. (Needless to say, Peter has never formally gotten an education regarding medicine. He's also never had to repair injuries that were really this bad, on himself or anybody else. Therefore the only thing he can swear by is WebMD and May's impromptu nurse advice/rants while watching Grey's Anatomy.)

God, he was in so much pain. Peter lets his head dip backwards, where it gently hits the wall next to the window. The adrenaline was starting to die down, so now the only things he could feel is steadily increasing exhaustion and pain, pain, PAIN. It was bad enough to warrant him making a mental reminder to ask Mr. Stark if there were some sort of enhanced system anti-pain drug he could take for future reference. As for now, his only option was to just sit and deal with it, nothing he hasn't done before.

It's times like these where he wishes he had Karen to talk to. Peter hadn't known her for very long, and the most dialogue they had was during the time he was stuck in a government vault, but she did make things easier and was pleasant company to have.

Peter glances up over beside his bed and sees his alarm clock reading (in bright red letters that his making his head pound more than it already has been or should be) that it was four in the morning. Too early in the morning to shower, and he's tired enough not to care anyways. He doesn't bother changing, only taking the time to kick off the shoes and socks of the suit, and then curls into bed and passes out instantly.

His dream that night was dark and cold, like he was sitting in the ocean and looking out at nothing, but could feel the pressure on his lungs urging him to breathe deeper and deeper every minute. There's a series of disembodied voices that surround him, sometimes sounding like the Vulture, or Liz, or May, or Mr. Stark. He can't hear what they're saying. Nevertheless, he wakes up with his wounds healed enough to look normal with a bit of bruise concealing makeup, and a phone full of unread text messages.

From Happy, a simple "Got your message." A stream of texts from Ned, some of them recounting their events of last night with excitement and the rest of them asking if Peter got home okay, if he's seen the news of the plane crash, etc. etc. From MJ, two texts asking why he bailed from homecoming and why he looked so freaked out.

There wasn't a message from Mr. Stark, and Peter knew better than to expect one. He isn't worried, though. Something tells him that he's not done working with the guy, and that things will turn out just fine.

And when has he ever been wrong?