The World I Knew [Discontinued]

What. Just. Happened?

Their walk was longer than expected, and it was silent for the most part.

Halfway there, Natasha's hand accidentally shifted to press against his scars, and Peter grunted, unprepared for the flaring pain that made his knees buckle with its abruptness, stars flashing in his vision. He stumbled into her, gritting his teeth as he tried hard to just breathe through the pain.

Luckily, his movement made her shift and wrap the offending hand around his waist to hold some of his weight on her, giving him room to rest his forehead on her shoulder for a moment.

"Peter?" she asked.

Peter grunted, telling them to just give him a minute before he could collect himself. He didn't realize they'd stopped, and didn't necessarily care, either.

"You okay?" Clint asked.

"My back hurts," Peter answered, wincing as his voice cracked pitifully from the held-back whimper, his own honesty startling him.

The man chuckled. "You sound like you're my age."

"Shut up," Peter snapped, taking a breath before gathering his feet under him and straightening up as best he could with the fire still crawling through him.

"Did you do something to it?" Natasha asked.

"Your little buddy did."

"Scott?"

"Who else?"

Clint frowned. "I'm not really liking your attitude."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You're not my dad."

It barely took him half a second to find a hand at the back of his neck, shoving his head down, and feet kicking his legs out from under him, his face pressed roughly into the carpet, a knee digging into his back, keeping him down, and stoking the pain.

Peter made himself bite down on his cry of pain, though a hitched breath escaped, and he was stuck with fisting his hands as his only outlet. Any struggling would just bring more pain.

"I don't have to help you," Clint told him, his voice breaking through the fog of pain in Peter's head from next to his ear. "You're not the one in control here."

"Get off," Peter grunted, face twisting in pain.

"Apologize."

Bitterness flared in Peter, and he shook his head. "I don't—owe you—anything."

He was punished with Clint's knee pressing harder into him, making it that much more painful and difficult to breathe. And, he was being reminded—painfully—of his bout with the Vulture, and the collapsed warehouse.

The lack of air sparked panic, and Peter squirmed against the pain. "Stop!" he yelped, "Stop! Please, I-I'm sorry!"

"Clint, that's enough," Natasha cut in, and thank goodness she did, because Peter wasn't too sure the archer had heard him.

Clint let up, but Peter just laid there, writhing as he tried to accommodate for the pain. He lifted himself onto his elbow, pressing his forehead into the carpet as he tried to regain control while trembling and panting, and doing his best not to cry like a little kid who'd stubbed his toe.

He felt Natasha kneel beside him and try to massage the pain away, but while she was successful to some degree, Peter's trust in them was hanging by a thread, and his body was tensed up, despite fighting being a futile effort. A whimper slipped through his clenched teeth when she brushed his hair out of his face, only to have it fall back down into his eyes.

"We'd better get Cho to figure out what's wrong with you," she said to herself. "This just isn't fair to you."

"Or you could—nngh—leave me alone," Peter grunted, whining softly in submission when her hand pressed to the back of his neck, pushing his head into the carpet, though lightly.