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The next time Peter woke, there was no pain.

He was still lying down, but the soft, warm bed he was lying on was quite a contrast to the cement floor. He could feel a blanket over his body, holding him down. It was a very bright, achy white colour. Everything seemed to be white, or a very light shade of blue.

Although everything he looked at was blurry, he was still surprised to find that he could see at all. But the glare of the white and blue shone brutally in his eyes - as he expected it would. For hours all he saw was black and darkness, so it was obvious that any other colour would be too much. Almost as soon as he let his eyes flutter open a tad, he shut them tight again.

There was no noise - whether that was because he couldn't hear or no one was around, he wasn't sure. He lay still, not able to move. It was almost like he was paralysed, but logically Peter knew it was just his enhanced senses protecting himself from further harm. He could only move his fingers, which he used to grip and un-grip the bed-sheets. It was the only control he had over his current situation.

And then there was someone by his side. An older man also wearing white, that contrasted against his black skin (this is a description, not a racist comment!!) was stood over him, peering cautiously down on Peter. 

The man's mouth was moving but Peter couldn't hear what he was trying to say. Although, Peter could only see a small, fuzzy amount of the man through his squinted eyes, he felt his heart freeze. He . . . he recognised this man! He tried to scramble away, scared, but his body refused.

The man was yelling 'hey!' in an urgent way; Peter could tell by the shape his mouth made. That only scared him more.

And then something changed. The lights went out and the white turned into a dark grey. Nothing was glowing and shining into his eyes, which now - with their new-found freedom - flung fully open.

With more sight, he realised the middle-aged guy that stood over him wasn't who he had thought it was. It wasn't Davis. This man, he had a kindly, almost round face, though Peter couldn't make out his exact features. He had a badge on his white uniform with blurred words written in black upon it.

" . . . ey! You're OK, you hear me? You're safe." The doctor was saying calmly.

The noise hit Peter like a shock wave, the quiet words splitting through his head, causing his ears to ring and head hurt. After a few moments of shock, the sounds of the constant, high-pitched beeping and mumbles of people somewhere behind a closed door died down.

Where was he? He seemed to be in some kind of hospital room, but why? He continued to grip the sheets uncomfortably.

"It's alright, kid. I just have a few things I have to ask, starting with . . ." The doctors voice faded away in Peter's head, when he saw the door in the far left corner open.

His jaw slid open, only a little bit. Tony Stark walked in, smiling sadly at Peter's broken frame. Peter watched with his eyes wide as Tony walked up to the hospital bed. The billionaire almost seemed angst, as he tapped the doc on the shoulder.

" . . . you're here?" The doctor was just finishing his sentence in his deep African accent. Peter pulled his eyebrows together; he had completely tuned out and didn't know what to say.

Upon realising that Tony Stark stood in his presence, the man stood up, mumbling shocked words of praise and apologies.

"Thanks, doc. Could you give me a moment with the kid?" Stark asked in his typical gunslinger way. The doctor cast his eyes to the floor.

"A-are you sure that's wi-wise?" 

"Yeah, go." Tony demanded, smiling irritably. The doctor nodded and scurried from the room, shutting the door a little too loudly behind him. Peter winced.

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