Shot

Peter POV

I trudge into the Stark Tower, my hand grasped over my left side. A crimson liquid seeps in between my fingers and coats my hand like a thin glove.

It had been a pretty basic night: bank robbers and alley criminals, but then Black Cat showed up. And although she would usually classify as a petty robber, on her good days she can give me a run for my money. But today, she wasn't in the mood to play.

"Listen Felicia—"

"Don't call me that!" she hisses.

"Okay… Black Cat. This isn't you; you steal things, not lives," I say carefully.

"You're charming Spider, but this man," she motions to a quivering mobster below her, "needs to die. You have no idea how much money he stole from me. I was going to bail my dad out of jail…"

"Felic— Black Cat, if you murder this guy, I will personally put you in prison for life. And then what? You'll have no future and your dad will still be behind bars just like you."

She just laughs and leans in close to my ear. "Listen Peter," I freeze, "That's right, I know who you are; we go to school together moron. Anyway, you may have your rules about killing, but I'm not a kitten anymore. This is the new me."

Abruptly, she grabs the back of my neck with her claws and holds me in place, "And there's nothing you can do about it."

BANG.

I look down and to see a dark substance growing through my costume. I stumble backwards against a brick wall, "Felicia… wha…?"

BANG. BANG.

Another two gunshots ring out and I realize that the mobster is no longer crying for his mother. His head sits motionless on the pavement, face completely destroyed by two, close-range bullets. I want to vomit. His literal brains are on my shoes.

I let him die.

Despite my growing dizziness, I scan the alleyway. Felicia's gone.

I look up and see the glow of a white "A" a few blocks away on the sky scraper I know all too well. I look down at my wound. Gwen can't fix gunshots. The hospital is out of the question.

I guess I have no choice.

So here I am. In the tower elevator. I would normally calculate how soon I'm going to reach the Avengers floor based on the speed it takes to get between levels, but the blood loss is kind of taking a toll on the whole thinking deal.

"Okay. Pull yourself together," I mumble to myself, glad that I'm the only one in the elevator. I lean against the glass wall, trying (and failing) not to get blood on the window. "Maybe if you sneak to your room, you can get out the first aid kit and have JARVIS walk you through a self-surgery to remove the bullet," I say optimistically.

For a moment I try to stand up straight to practice walking into the apartment normal, but a piercing pain wracks my body and I crumple back to the glass, grabbing at the wound. "Fuck."

Who am I kidding? I'd probably kill myself trying to remove a splinter on my own, let alone a bullet. Gwen is usually so good with fixing me up, but there's no way she's trained for this.

DING. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

The doors slide open and I recognize that I haven't thought of an actual plan that involves 1) me not dying and 2) keeping my secret identity intact. I was smart enough to change out of my costume… so I'll just say I was mugged! Good plan.

If you aren't in your costume and you were "mugged", why didn't you just go to the hospital idiot?! It would have saved a whole lot of blood. Plus! If you tell Dad and Pops that you were mugged, they would personally go try to find the "guy" and beat him into oblivion.

Ugh. I hate it when I'm right.

Frowning but probably just grimacing, I stumble out of the elevator. I begin walking toward my room slowly, using my peripherals to see that Dad, Pops, and Uncle Bruce are lounging in the main room. Thankfully, they haven't noticed anything wrong yet.

I am pushing forward for what seems like an eternity. I stop. And look back and realize that I've only moved a couple of feet.

I put my left hand on the wall for support and hunch over, right hand applying pressure to the wound. You don't have a choice.

I sigh.

"Bruce…" I say in a hoarse voice.

Immediately all three of the men look at me surprised. Bruce, recognizing the voice of an injured rushes toward me. My parents trailing behind.

"Peter what's wrong?" Pops asks.

I open mouth but close it, doubling over in a random spasm of pain.

Bruce grabs my shoulders and holds me with a surprisingly strong grip. "What hurts?"

I clench my jaw. "Um…"

"Spit it out Pete," Dad says, annoyed yet concerned.

I look at Pops and shrug before taking my hand off my side, revealing the massive amount of blood draining out of my body.

"Oh God…" Captain America immediately rushes toward me but Bruce puts a hand out.

"He's been shot, Steve. Carry him carefully to my lab." I feel strong hands pick me up but my whole body is a bit numb so any pain from the movement is negligible. For a moment the whole world is upside down but then I lift my head and it's not, but everything is moving.

I realize that I'm in Pop's arms and Dad is next to him as they take me to the infirmary (aka Bruce's lab).

"Pete, what the hell happened?" Dad asks sounding almost panicked.

My head drops back but I lift it back up, "Uh… I…" Even though I am slightly going crazed with the blood loss, my healing factor is already trying to heal the wound and it's not like I don't know what's going on.

Black Cat. Shot. Keep identity secret.

"Tony! Don't stress him out, those sorts of questions can wait until later," Pops scolds. "Son, do you know if the bullet is still inside you?"

I attempt to nod, but I'm too sluggish and my chin just falls to my chest. "Yeah, there's no exit wound, but I'm guessing it didn't hit anything vital or I'd be dead by now."

I feel Pops' tighten his grip on me when I mention the word dead.

Bruce raises an eyebrow, "You seem well put together for a boy who was just shot."

"Uh… thanks?"

The scenery of moving hallway walls changes as we enter the infirmary. Pops sets me down on the cot.

"Okay I need to extract the bullet," Bruce explains.

Pops hovers over me, not bothering to cover up the fact that he's freaking out. While Dad stands off to the side, doing some sort of nervous twitch with his hands, but other than that, he's pretty calm.

"Peter, how much pain are you in?" someone asks, all their voices are blurring together. In fact, I think I'm being asked a lot of questions by a lot of someones but I can only comprehend this one in the mix.

"It doesn't… hurt much… I think… kinda…. numb…" I mumble.

"Numb?!" someone exclaims.

"As is expected. I need to start now," another someone responds.

The fluorescent lights above me melt into each other until my vision is completely white.

"Peter…? PETER! Stay awake!"

I think I try to say something like 'I am' but it comes out as rather a a pained exhale. The bright white light that consumes my world suddenly turns darker and darker until my mind is like a starless night sky.

Two Days Later

I wake up in my bed. You know how in books and movies people wake up after going to sleep and have a moment where they don't remember the previous events and then it all suddenly rushes back at them?

Yeah well, that didn't happen to me.

The moment my eyes open, I push myself to an upright position and scan the room. Everything seems intact, the table next to my mattress is full of bandages and creams and the garbage is full of bloody cloth. Bruce must have redressed the wound from my bed.

Speaking of the wound…. I pull the covers off the lower half of my body to find that I'm shirtless in my boxers. A thick bandage is wrapped around my stomach area. Taking a deep breath, I press my hand against it, trying to rate how much pain I'm in. Surprisingly, I don't feel much; barely the feel of a bruise.

Glancing at the door as if someone is going to burst in, I slowly unwrap to bandages to see that the gunshot is nearly fully healed. Usually my worst lacerations and such heal in a day or two without stitches, but I guess Bruce's needlework came in handy. Healing factor, you just set a personal record.

The clock reads 5:00 A.M.

I get out of bed and rush to my closet. I find my backpack on the floor and am thankful that no one has gone through it, as my Spider-Man suit is still inside, crumpled beneath my textbooks which are unmoved. Quickly, I throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, grab my backpack, and head out the door.

Felicia is still out there. I have to bring her in. She killed that man right in front of me and I doubt she's in her right mind.

Silently, I make my way to the elevator. I can't risk going out the window if my dads are suspicious that something is up.

I pass the kitchen, praying that it's too early for anyone to be at breakfast. But my prayers are void as the atheist of the house sits at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

"Peter. You're up early."
I raise an eyebrow suspiciously, "You don't seem to be surprised that I'm awake, Dad."

My billionaire Dad glares at me and I get an awful feeling in my stomach. "JARVIS alerted me a couple minutes ago."

"Oh."

"So, where do you think you're going. You were just shot. In fact, by normal standards, the average man would be bleeding out after getting up and walking around within just 48 hours of the gunshot." Ok, now my full-on Spidey Sense is screaming at me. "But you seem to be just fine, you don't even look like you're in pain."

I scratch the back of my head, "Well, uh, I am. You know me, never one to whine for some Advil." Tony Stark just frowns and motions for me to sit at the kitchen island with him.

"Your father stayed by your side for a day and a half straight until I finally convinced him to get some rest. He's still sleeping."

I squirm in my seat anxiously, "That's good, I guess."

"I, on the other hand, took some intuitive. Bruce said your your specific kind of gunshot was a contact wound; meaning, the muzzle of the gun was pressed up against your skin directly."

I sigh, "Yeah I was mugged and—"

Dad ignores me and continues, "Once Bruce got the bullet out, I took it into my lab and discovered something interesting." Oh shit. "The bullet was an antique, from the 1800s. It even had a gold inscription on it. It was engraved with the letters J.R., that stands for John Randolph, a Congressman from that time period. His last handheld gun was unused and passed down generations."

I roll my eyes trying to act casual, "Thanks for the history lesson Dad, but what does this have to do with me?"

He smirks but not in the usual joking way. "An antique dueling gun was stolen among many valuable items from a museum three days ago by the low-class villain known as Black Cat. The gun was donated to the museum by the Randolph family."

SPIDEY SENSE! SPIDEY SENSE!

"Yeah… a girl attacked me when I was walking home, she had white hair."

"It's funny you say that Peter because a forensics report from the NYPD states that a mafia boss was shot and killed with two bullets from the same antique gun on the night you were 'attacked'. And a witness who lives in an apartment above the alley described the shooter as a woman with white hair in all black. The witness claimed Spider-Man was on the scene and was shot as well."

I run a hand through me hair shakily, not able to think of a response.

Dad continues, "Black Cat has never been known to kill. As a matter of fact, the police suspect that she had personal ties to the mobster and Spider-Man. So why would she shoot a random teenager with an antique bullet? Tell me Peter, why?"

My head feels like it's about to explode.

"Ok. You figured me out. Just say it," I say defeated and ashamed.

I expect my Dad to be his usual self and exclaim how clever he is for figuring it out, but instead he acts more like his other self. "YOU DUMBASS. You've been running around in spandex for a whole fucking year facing off against A-class villains on a weekly basis. AND THE ONLY REASON I FIND OUT IS BECAUSE YOU GET COUGHT OFF GUARD BY A FUCKING CAT BURGLAR?!"

I flinch at his screaming, hoping it doesn't wake up anyone else. "Dad, I know that you're mad…"

"Mad? MAD?! I'm fucking furious Peter! You're Spider-Man, you're just a teenage boy, and you've been lying to us all this time."

I hate this. I hate it when he's mad. My eyes gaze upon his "coffee" mug and realize that it looks and smells like pure vodka. Of course.

"Okay Dad. I know you're furious but I'm not going to say that I'm sorry. I may be sorry for lying about it, but being Spider-Man is the best thing that could ever happen to me and the best thing I could ever do for others."

He pauses for a moment and stares at me before taking another gulp of his vodka. "Well la-dee-da. Peter's a hero, let's throw him a party and make him an Avenger!" he says in a bitterly sarcastic tone. "We can just ignore that your other father had a panic attack last night! Or that every time you come home with bruises and won't tell us what happened, he has a bottle of beer."

I shake my head in denial, "But Pops doesn't drink."

"Not since this year," Dad says coldly.

I look down at my feet, "So what am I supposed to do?" I ask softly.

Dad's stone expression suddenly lightens, "For starters, you are going to make breakfast in bed for your Pops and then you are going to deliver a formal confession and apology to your father and I, and eventually to the team. You will clean my lab, write every school essay due within the next two months in advance, and give me a complete breakdown of your powers and abilities so I can examine your DNA. You are grounded from Gwen for two weeks and Spider-Man indefinitely."

"But—"

Dad just grips the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. "We can discuss everything later with your father." I nod and begin walking back toward my room but I stop.

"What about Fel— I mean, Black Cat? She's still out there, and she's my responsibility."

Dad smiles, and doesn't look as mad as he did a moment ago, "Already in custody, Aunt Natasha was more than happy to go after the bitch who bested her nephew."

I laugh nervously, "Thanks, I guess."

"You know you nearly gave me a hard attack when you came home like you did the other day. And I don't even have a heart."

Once again, I turn back toward my room, "Love you too, Dad."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I plan on cracking out at least 3 more one-shots in this theme; some humor, some drama.

If you have any ideas or anything you wanna see please comment (I'm probably going to get some really weird answers)

And if you don't like, don't hate.