Peter was jolted awake when the Quinjet shook, almost falling off the seats with a choked off cry of surprise and fear.
He quickly stood up, looking around for the ILS's, though only Paddy was there, watching over the room and Peter as the Quinjet shook again.
"What's going on?" Peter asked quickly, looking to Paddy for help. "What happened?"
"We are under attack from automatic ground-to-atmosphere missiles," Paddy said calmly. "Units--Sam and Harry are taking care of it."
"And if they don't?!" Peter ran to the cockpit, trying to get a look outside--just in time for the Quinjet to do a barrel role to avoid a missile, forcing Peter to stick to the ground so he didn't fall and hurt himself.
Only, the missile exploded right next to the canopy, right as the Quinjet righted itself.
Lucky Peter.
The air was sucked from the cockpit as all the glass shattered, the paper pad Peter had left the night before flying out the hole in a moment, followed by Peter himself as he was caught by surprise.
If he was being honest, Peter didn't remember getting pulled out into open air, he just suddenly realized that there was nothing under him except clouds, and way beyond that, the hard ground that was sure to welcome his death, and if the fall didn't kill him (it most certainly would), the zombies would finish him off.
Oh, and did he mention he couldn't breathe?
Peter had experienced G-forces before, but only once before had he ever experienced something like this; when Vulture dropped him from a thousand feet up.
Only, this was fourteen thousand feet up.
Despite loving to swing around, there was no way he would ever go skydiving, not after this, and he decided, right then and there, that he would tear that off his bucket list of things to do before he died.
Well, technically he was about to die, and this was technically involuntary skydiving, so maybe that would be checked off his bucket list anyway?
No, stop it Parker! Peter mentally scolded himself, trying to orient himself as his brain caught up enough to make him let out a scream of fear, though it would be useless.
No one was going to save him. The ILS's were busy dealing with the missiles, and literally everyone else in the world was dead, and he was soon to join them as he fell, stabilizing so he was falling shoulders-first, staring up at the sky and watching the Quinjet get smaller and smaller, the ILS's already only the size of ants.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it was only terrifying in the moment, and his death would be painless.
So, Peter closed his mouth, and swallowed his fear, forcing himself to take in a breath, despite how hard it was with gravity actively shoving it out of his lungs. He breathed, and let his mind wander as the overall shock left him.
What would his last thoughts be?
He wanted them to be of his family, and his friends. He wanted to remember Hope's smile before his head struck the ground, wanted to remember May's hugs, and Ben's rough hands covering his own as they played with a kid's science kit. He wanted to remember putting on the suit for the first time, and the glint of approval and amusement in Tony's eyes. He wanted to remember the countless nights in the lab, working on dozens of projects at once, falling asleep as May sung some Italian lullaby to him, Ben reading to him, Ned fanboying with him, and Hope blushing at some joke he told.
Peter knew it was awful, that he was smiling at the very end, at this gruesome end, before he'd had a proper chance to change the world, to save it. He knew he should be bitter, thinking about how he'd failed the world; but he couldn't bring himself to think negatively at the moment.
He glanced down.
The ground was getting scarily close now, and an unexplainable fear took hold of him, making him squeeze his eyes shut, as if the imminent end would go away if he couldn't see it. He felt childish, being afraid of death; but he'd come so close to it so many times within the past week alone, that he thought that maybe he should just accept it, that he'd been avoiding something that couldn't be avoiding.
He'd cheated Death before.
Perhaps there was no way out of it this time.
Peter took in a deep breath, letting it shudder and hitch on its way in and out. The air whistling by him was thundering in his ears, and his tongue was dry and cold. The wind tried to tear at his clothes, but the suit was so skintight that it barely rippled, constricting him.
Suddenly, something cold, and hard, slammed into his middle, a shoulder shoving into his stomach and knocking the breath out of him, drawing a cry from his throat.
Peter's eyes tore open, and he only saw a glint of metal before they were crashing through wood and leaves. Whatever it was twisted around to take the brunt of the fall, protecting Peter from the impact, and a sudden change of direction from vertical to horizontal had Peter's head spinning, stomach rolling, and eyes watering.
A harsh impact with something especially hard separated Peter from whatever it was that caught him, sending him flying.
Branches and leaves tore at him, ripping his suit, and slashing at his face until he hit a full-blown tree, breaking through the thick trunk.
Peter fell, from twenty feet up, and when he finally hit the ground, he hit it hard, so hard he tumbled and rolled a good ten or twenty meters, until he finally stopped, head striking a rock so hard he blacked out--but not before something green and brown started falling towards him.
*****
Peter's body was made of pain when he woke up, laying face-down in scuffed dirt, and leaves.
He groaned, becoming aware of an aching, sharp throb in his temple that only got worse when he tried to crack his eyes open. Harsh light streamed down into his vision, making stars flash before his eyes, and make him immediately shut them with another moan of agony. The taste and smell of blood in his mouth was overwhelming, and his body practically pulsed with pain, throbbing and aching everywhere, no exceptions.
Trying to open his eyes again, Peter blinked dazedly until he could see again, then tried to move.
There was pressure on him, preventing him from getting up in his weakened state. Leaves tickled his face, irritating the scratches previously inflicted, and the branches they were connected to keeping him down.
He groaned again as his body began to tremble from the effort of trying to get up, and gave up, relaxing on the ground again.
Maybe he could just lay there, just for a moment, take a second to recover and try to remember what had just happened.
He remembered the missile exploding, flying out the window and falling, and then someone--thing?--catching him, shielding him from the impact, but eventually losing hold of him. Peter remembered flying through the air with momentum alone, breaking branches until finally he crashed through the trunk of a tree.
Speaking of the tree...
Peter opened his eyes again, unsure when he'd closed them, and did a mental once-over of his body, taking in his status.
His suit was ripped, pressing into his skin uncomfortably, and there was something heavy--like, really heavy--pressing down on his left leg, preventing any movement from it at all.
The tree had fallen on his leg. On him.
It was a wonder his leg wasn't broken, but that didn't mean it wasn't uncomfortable. Still, he supposed he should be grateful he hadn't broken a single bone--or at least, he did think so.
Okay, Peter thought, grimacing as he shifted and pain flared anew in his body. First thing's first: get this tree off of me.
He took in a preparatory breath, and braced himself against the ground, forcing strength into his muscles to flip over, despite his whole body protesting at the exertion.
Peter's head spun as he forced himself onto his back, a choked off cry of pain caught in his dry throat. His head was filling with pressure, and acid seared his throat, giving him just enough time to turn his head to the side to throw up, bile and acid making his eyes water.
He spat out the vomit, heaving once, twice, three times, body lurching and convulsing painfully.
After the fourth time, Peter whimpered, trembling and weakened even further to the point of not even being able to keep his heavy head up as he started crying softly--not of his own control, he just started crying from the intense pain that he couldn't calm.
"He-elp," he hiccupped, knowing fully well that no one could hear him. No animals replied, no insects chirped their comforts, he was just alone.
He spat again, realizing that his lungs were desperate for air. He sucked it in, expelling it just as quickly until he could breathe normally, and he could think--albeit groggily.
Peter swallowed, and turned his head back to the sky, trying to hold back the tears. "Stop crying, Parker," he scolded himself weakly. "You're fine. You're fine, perfectly fine. Nothing's wrong, you're okay." He paused, then shook his head. "Okay, maybe not so fine--but you don't have to cry over it! C'mon, get up. Get up and get this tree off of you. It's not that hard, you're okay."
He pursed his lips. "I really need to work on my pep-talks."
"Okay. Three... two... one!"
On one, he started fighting against the branches, breaking them and accidentally showering himself with leaves and dirt.
He closed his eyes tightly against the debris, snorting it out of his nose occasionally, and started breaking his way out of the leafy prison and restraints.
When he could finally sit up, he realized just how painful it was, and did his best to ignore it as he tried to figure out how to get the trunk off his knee--while also marveling that it had only struck his leg, while not breaking it.
His leg was numb from the tree cutting off circulation, and the first shove Peter gave it, pins and needles went racing down the length of his leg, making him wince.
Gathering a better base, Peter shoved the tree again, grunting in pain when the tree shifted, rolling a centimeter, then tried to kick the tree away, gaining more success from that.
After more shoves and kicks, the tree finally rolled off his foot, leaving Peter to cry out from the sudden pain that seized that limb, bending forward to clutch his leg and strike the ground in an effort to relieve the pain. He groaned and grunted, until he gained the courage to move his leg, only resulting in more pain that clouded his mind even further.
Minutes went by in unmoving silence, until something soaring through the air caught Peter's ear.
He perked up, looking around for the source, despite the light still irritating his eyes.
A voice boomed through the forest, its source still invisible,
"Peter Parker, are you here? Please reply."
"Harry?" Peter asked himself, before catching sight of metal glinting in the sunlight, even through the thick canopy above. He gasped. "Harry!" he shouted, keeping sight of the robot flying through the trees. "Harry! Over here!" he waved his arms in an attempt to gain Harry's attention. "Harry! I'm right here!"
The metal stopped flying away, and backtracked, shooting towards Peter.
Peter grinned, hastily standing up on the one foot that hadn't been crushed, and waved as Harry came in for a landing in front of him--and then he realized that it wasn't Harry who'd come, but Paddy.
Whatever, they were all robots.
"Paddy!" he said happily, trying to limp over to the bot as it approached him as well--only to have his knee buckle, and pain lighting a fire in his left ankle to make him gasp. He stumbled against Paddy, who caught him. "You-you found me!"
"Are you hurt?" Paddy asked immediately, not even waiting a moment before making Peter sit down again.
"A bit battered, but I'm fine," Peter said, waving him off. "Where're the others?"
"Harry is with the Quinjet. Sam was searching for you as well."
"Oh. D-do you know how long I was gone--er, unconscious?"
"We have been searching for you for three hours."
Peter frowned, wincing when stars flashed in his vision again at the action. "Right. Okay. Let's... let's get outta here," he said, standing up on his right leg again, only to have dizziness try and knock him down, lack of coordination and balance making him fall against Paddy again with a small groan, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Paddy's forearm, the metal cool to his flushed skin.
"Are you all right?"
"I don't... feel so good," Peter whispered, swallowing harshly as bile rose in his throat again, now that the rush of seeing someone familiar was gone. "I think--ugh... I-I thin'--think I might be... guh--sick."
"Sit down," Paddy said gently, helping Peter sink to his knees. "Keep your eyes open."
Peter kept his eyes open as best he could, blinking in surprise when Paddy shone a light in them. He furrowed his brows, everything now blurry as Paddy turned off the light.
"Watch my finger."
Peter was a little slow to keep up with the moving digit, and it hurt his brain for his eyes to flit around like that.
"How do you feel?"
He snorted. "What is this, a therapy session?"
"How do you feel?"
Peter sighed. "Dizzy, and, um, it sorta feels like my head is in a clamp?"
"You appear to have a borderline major-level MTBI."
"And that would be...?"
"A concussion."
"Well, I just fall, like, a billion miles and hit my head on a rock. Of course I've got a concussion!" He hissed in pain when his head gave an extra painful throb, debating whether or not he should lie down.
"Can you walk?"
"I-I think so," he said, wincing when he grabbed Paddy's hand and pulled himself up, his left ankle flaring in enough pain to make him grimace. He looked down at it to see that his ankle was slightly swollen, probably injured in some way. "H-hang on. Paddy?"
"What is it?"
"It--My foot." He was taken by surprise when Paddy bent down to pick up his leg gently, being careful especially with his ankle and foot.
"Scanning." A few beats later, Paddy said, "You appear to have torn your lateral ligaments. In other words, you have sprained your ankle."
"Is it bad?" Peter asked worriedly. "Do you know how fast it'll heal?"
"It should heal fully in a day or two, with your healing capabilities." Paddy straightened up, taking Peter's arm and wrapping it around his shoulders.
Peter frowned. "Oh. Great." He took in a breath, then released it shakily, and went to rub Hope's ring (which he had put on the night before) for comfort. Overwhelming grief and loss took him over as he remembered her.
She's not gone forever, he thought to himself, trying to swallow the pain of his loss. You-you're about to go fix it. You're going to go fix everything. She's not gone forever, you're gonna get her back in a few days, at the very least. She's okay, and so are you.
Peter and Paddy started to head back, Paddy taking some of Peter's weight on itself while Peter limped along beside him, grimacing in pain at every step.