Stories Focussed On Spider-Man

Can't Lie Your Way Out of a Missing Limb

Info: Avengers dunno who SM is.

A soft groan echoed throughout the hospital-like room in the medbay, alerting several people to the slightly improved condition of their guest. The man - a boy, really, but they didn't know that of their guest quite yet - squinted his eyes beneath his mask, quickly clamping them shut at the onslaught of light that it was definitely too early for. He could feel the bandages lacing his torso, but noted that his spandex pants were still in place. It wasn't as bad as he thought.

Wait, what was he doing there again?

Bomb. Shrapnel. Civilian. It was all coming back to him. He sighed, pain etched into his hidden facial features. His chest felt like microwaved fries: soggy and spineless. Well, at least he still had his spine. He hoped. It would be really bad if he somehow didn't.

"Spider-Man, you awake?" The voice was male and the vigilante honestly didn't feel like looking to see who had spoken. He grunted out something unintelligible in response. "Good, it's hard to tell with the mask."

"You took quite the hit," a female voice commented stoically. She didn't sound as young as Wanda, so he decided that he was hearing Natasha. "Saved a couple lives."

"Yeah?" he found himself croaking. "They safe?"

"Uninjured, for the most part. The injuries that were sustained were minor," Natasha continued. "You, however..."

Spider-Man worked up the energy to fight the flooding of visual input to open his eyes and sit up slightly. What he saw made him frown. "-lost an arm," he finished dejectedly.

"It's not that bad," Bucky said softly. "Once you get past the phantom pains, the model Stark uses makes it seem as though it's real."

"Right," he swallowed, eyeing the metal appendage that was laying on the table next to his bed, waiting to be attached.

"It was difficult to design one that keeps up with your enhancements and doesn't add bulk," Stark admits, "but I figured it out while you were sleeping."

"Identity'll be hard."

Clint sighed. "Yeah, we figured you'd realize that eventually. It's your call, dude."

The teenager took a deep breath; in and out. Gathering his courage, he found himself fingering with the spandex that lined his neck, barely noticing the wide eyes he received for the suggestive motion. "I trust you," he whispered, barely loud enough for them to hear. And then, just like that, the cat was out of the bag. (Or, rather, the spider was out of the mask.)

The brunette gazed up at the surprised team with tired eyes before letting himself be lulled back to sleep by a lullaby being sang by a mother to her baby a few blocks away. He was worn out, after all.

"How old is he?" Bruce asked after a moment.

"FRIDAY?" Stark murmured, forwarding the question to the AI for further research.

"His name is Peter Parker, and he is sixteen years old. He is a junior attending Midtown School of Science and Technology."

"Anything else we might want to know?"

FRIDAY seemed almost reluctant to speak, like she knew how personal the next few sentences were to the unconscious hero. "He was orphaned when he was four and raised by his uncle and aunt. At the beginning of his freshman year, his uncle was shot in front of him."

"Poor thing," Natasha found herself commenting, her stare softening.

"I'm impressed that, despite all that, he still maintains good enough grades to attend a smart school," Steve declared. "Spider-Manning and teenager-ing don't seem to go hand in hand."