My shoulder screams with every movement as I cling to the side of Stark Tower, fingers scraping against cold glass and steel. The city below is a blur of lights and noise, distant and unreal. I force myself upward, breath shallow, one arm doing all the work while the other hangs useless at my side, slick with blood.
The fire exit looms above me.
I hook my fingers over the ledge and haul myself up, muscles shaking, then slip inside through the door. The building is silent. No footsteps. No voices. Just the low hum of systems running behind the walls.
I nudge the door shut with my foot and carefully slide the mechanics book free, catching it before it falls. I ease it back into the open doorway down the hall like nothing was ever disturbed.
My arm is numb now. That's worse.
I stagger toward the med bay.
The room glows soft blue, sterile and quiet. Drawers slide open under my trembling hands as I grab anything that looks useful. Cotton pads. Tape. Tweezers. Clamps. Too much. My arms are full, pressed awkwardly to my chest.
Blood seeps through the webbing at my shoulder, warm and relentless.
I turn too fast.
Something solid slams into me.
The supplies scatter across the floor in a clatter of metal and plastic.
"Shit!"
"Language."
My stomach drops.
I look up.
Steve Rogers stands there, brows knit together, eyes already tracking to my shoulder. I scramble to gather everything, hands shaking as I stand.
"Uh, hi, sir," I say too quickly.
"What're the medical supplies for, kid?" he asks. "You hurt?"
"N-no, sir," I stammer. "Just, uh... science."
I try to slip past him.
His gaze lingers on the dark stain spreading through my sleeve.
As I reach my door, his voice follows me down the hall.
"Nice pajamas, kid."
I don't breathe again until the door is locked behind me.
Too close. Way too close.
The room spins as soon as I'm alone.
I drop the supplies onto the desk and peel my jumper off, teeth clenched. Blood has crusted into the fabric, sticking to my skin. When it finally comes free, the wound is worse than I expected.
A hole torn into my shoulder. Angry. Swollen. Still bleeding.
I shove the hem of my jumper into my mouth and bite down hard.
The tweezers feel enormous in my hand.
The moment metal touches flesh, pain detonates through my arm, white-hot and electric. My fingers go numb. My vision blurs. I dig anyway, jaw locked, breath trapped behind clenched teeth.
Blood slicks the tool. I can't get a grip. I try again. And again.
Time stretches into something shapeless.
By the time the tweezers clatter onto the desk, I'm shaking so badly I can't hold myself upright. My legs give out. The chair scrapes as I slide down it, hitting the floor hard.
Cold spreads fast.
I'm floating.
The room below me looks distant, unreal. My body lies pale and still on the floor, blood dark against the tiles. I drift upward, through glass and walls and night air.
The city sleeps beneath me.
Televisions glow in dark apartments. Streetlights flicker. Somewhere, two men stand at the end of a road, tall shapes swallowed by shadow.
They're laughing.
"We're coming for you, Spider-Man," one snarls.
"Nowhere to hide, Peter," the other adds.
I wake gasping, lungs burning.
My fingers claw at the desk as I drag myself upright. Dried blood cracks against my skin. My head throbs. The room tilts.
"Mr Parker," FRIDAY's voice fills the air, calm and merciless. "Boss is waiting for you in his lab and requests your presence immediately."
"Okay," I croak. "Tell Mr Stark I'll be down soon. I just... need a shower."
"Mr Parker, you appear to have sustained an injury to your shoulder. Would you like me to inform Mr Sta—"
"No," I cut in sharply. "No, thank you. I'm fine."
I lean against the shower wall as water sluices over me, washing blood down the drain in thin red ribbons. When it's clean, I slap a patch over the wound and tape it tight. Purple bruising blooms outward, spreading down my ribs.
I pull on a shirt and head for the lab.
Each step is heavier than the last.
Tony looks up the moment I enter.
"Kid, there you are. What took you so—" He stops. "You okay? You look awful."
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just tired."
Steve Rogers doesn't look away.
Tony motions me over to the suit. "Help me out with this. The fibre tears too easily."
Steve's stare burns into my back.
"What would you do to fix it?" Tony asks.
"I'd strengthen the ionic bonds," I say, voice unsteady. "Add nanotech to the binding system. It could repair itself if damaged."
Tony freezes.
Then grins. "Do it."
An hour later, dark spots crawl across my vision. Warmth spreads down my chest. Red stains bloom through my shirt.
I miss the chair.
The crash echoes through the lab.
Tony's already moving.
Steve's voice cuts in. "Tony. His shoulder."
Hands rip my shirt away. Pressure slams down on the wound.
"What the hell did you do, Pete?" Tony demands.
"N-nothing," I mumble. "I tripped."
"Bullshit," Tony snaps. "This is a bullet wound."
Steve exhales. "I saw him last night. Medical supplies. Red jumper."
My vision fades.
"FRIDAY," Tony says sharply. "Show me Peter's activities from last night."
"No," I whisper.
Too late.
YOU ARE READING
Bruised But Not Broken - Irondad/spiderson
FanfictionPeter Parker is tired. Tired of scraping by, of pretending he's fine, of enduring a school bully while carrying struggles no one knows about. Living in a cramped apartment with his aunt, Peter learns how to disappear - how to survive quietly. A scho...
