Spiderhead

Part III

He wakes up several times during surgery. They don't have anything strong enough to keep him under, or to stop the pain. Eventually, he passes out cold, for good, one last time.

He wakes up two days later.

Peter's eyes slowly peel open, stinging and dry. He blinks owlishly at the ceiling.

"Ow."

He mutters it, but it doesn't matter anyway because someone hears him, and then suddenly a large man is by his side.

"What works on you?" The man desperately demands, eyes wild. "What painkillers?"

It doesn't really enter Peter's brain at first, as sluggish as it is. It takes half a minute to even come up with an answer, with how the pain suddenly and deeply sets into his bones. "Midazolam," he gasps. "With morphine. Seven times dose."

The man doesn't question the impossibly high dosage, only scrambles to a stand in which some medical equipment lies, opening a drawer and taking out many needles and little bottles of painkillers. Peter closes his eyes, tries to separate himself from the pain as much as possible.

It's always a whole ordeal to get him doped up. Back home, they could use some of their super-soldier serums—triple Captain America's dose, generally. But with normal painkillers, they'd have to use bottles and bottles of the stuff before Peter even got affected, and not only that, but it was also unsafe to go any higher at some point. They always ran the risk of his heart just giving out, especially while under stress from injuries.

Peter's face spasms as the first of the injections start, and he feels steady hands grab his arm as a needle goes in. The man must have some knowledge in doing this, because his hands are clinical and he spreads the shots apart enough.

It takes a while, all the shots that need to be given, and injections are pretty immediate-relief. By the time the last of the shots are being finished up, the first of them are kicking in.

Peter's body relaxes, losing the tension he'd been holding from the pain. Midazolam should in theory knock him out, but for him it would just make him drowsy. He can still feel the pain, sharp and clear as ever, but there's some kind of barrier between it and him.

"Good now," he says, as the distance between him and the pain grows even further. "Hurts less. Yay." His voice breaks from disuse.

He finally opens his eyes again, squinting at the man. He kind of looks familiar, although Peter could not say from where.

"When's your next dose?" He asks, and his voice is tight with... something. Peter's head spins too much to think about it.

He takes a moment to make sure he's remembering it right, thinking back to the too-frequent medbay trips with Tony. "Triple dose, every two hours," he rasps. "Four if I'm asleep."

The man has a hint of a frown as he takes this in, averting his gaze from Peter, unable to meet his eyes.

Peter blinks at him confusedly. "Who are you?"

The man hesitates, an unnatural stillness to his stance. "I'm Bruce," he finally settles on. "We know each other, through our... night lives."

Peter has no reaction at first, thinking what on earth he could possibly mean, and then all at once, his jaw gapes. His eyes widen comically, and he chokes on his own spit. "You're Batman?"

Batman's Super Secret Identity Bruce nods in a tentative confirmation.

There's a moment where Peter just stares at Bruce, who looks like he's seen better days, trying to see it. His brains make connections far too slowly, comparing every possible feature. And then he bursts into giggles.