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PETER PARKER WAS WRONG.
My father's limp form (cold, cold, cold) leaned against my shoulder and Peter Parker was wrong. My hands (my gauntlets, like his), covered in his blood, shook like they were tasked to hold up the world, and Peter Parker was wrong.
I wasn't alright, I was the farthest from alright I had probably ever been. There was a hand on my shoulder, a shaking, familiar weight pressed to the pressure-sensitive metal of the Neptune suit. I took a deep breath and nodded to Vision over Dad's shoulder, the pair of us stumbling forward towards the doors of the Quinjet.
Happy and Peter met us at the door, their faces stricken at the sight of the bruises, and the cuts and the blood, as Vision and I stumbled on, laying him down onto one of the makeshift cots next to Rhodey's. "Friday," I beckoned, my voice hoarse.
Friday's smooth voice drifted through the room as she offered her diagosis: broken bones, hypothermia, blood loss, a concussion, and bruises, so many bruises. Sometimes, I think they forget he was still human, still mortal.
Sometimes, I think I forget too.
Vision tentatively touched my arm, an awkward action I knew was meant to provide me comfort. I nodded and moved to lift one side of the cot. The Quinjet was equipped with treating the hypothermia, at least, and until we could get back to New York, that was a start. "Friday, call Dr. Cho," I said, trying to keep my voice steady and not let it succumb to panic like I wanted to. This wasn't Dr. Cho's expertise but I wasn't sure I trusted anyone else.
Clint had gotten hypothermia once during a mission, I remembered, and they couldn't do much about it until they touched ground. After that, Dad had built something (a heating pod of sorts, we didn't build it together, so I didn't really understand the details) specially for an occasion like that and I was glad for it. (He loved his friends so much, more than they deserved.)
Vision got him situated in the heating pod as I fiddled with the controls, figuring them out as I went along. The pod closed and as I typed a message for Dad to wake up to so he didn't think he was buried alive, Vision left the room with an awkward pat on my back, another stunted effort to bring me some comfort.
As I was left alone, my mask retracted into my suit, and the suit split open, letting me take a few shaky steps out. My hands and my back met a nearby wall as I slid down, my knees coming up to my chest. It had been a long day.
"Hey," said a soft voice I hadn't noticed. I glanced up to see Peter Parker and his Bambi eyes filled to the brim with concern. He walked forward, his steps gentle, as he slid down to sit beside me, a hand carding through his hair.
