I've been trying to get this fic up since I saw Homecoming last week (it's so amazing I'm still crying over it) but this darn story keeps randomly sprouting new scenes...so now instead of being a one-shot, it shall be multiple chapters. ¯\(°_o)/¯

Spoilers- For Spider-Man Homecoming (duh) you don't want to read this unless you've already seen it, believe me.

Warnings- Minor Injuries and Anxiety.

Disclaimer- I mean...really? Do I have to?

Peer Pressure-

Peter gasps wetly, cement and dirty water making their way through his mask and coating his tongue. The rubble over him hasn't settled, dust and debris still falling around and on top of Peter, a sadistic and terrifying kind of rain.

Peter's ears are still ringing piercingly from the immense sound a building makes when it collapses over you, the crumbling drywall and the snap of metal pipes and support beams. The teenager gasps and wheezes, choking on dust and his own panicked breathing. His senses going haywire as he fumbles with trembling fingers to get his mask off, because…because he can't breathe, and he needs the fabric away from his face, off of from his mouth right now!

The teen finally manages to tear the mask off, gasping in a large shuddering breath, but cutting off as he can't fully expand his chest with air, his front and back sandwiched between the wreckage tightly, pinning him in place and crushing Peter like the insect he so ironically is.

He pants and sucks in tainted air, taking in shallow hot breaths as he feels those butterflies in his stomach burst inside of him with his ever-growing fear. "O-okay ready," he tells himself, he just needs to get out of this, needs to push up so he can squeeze his way out to safety. Peter shoves upward, grunting and straining to heave up against the debris. It doesn't even budge. Something digging into the back of Peter's left thigh sharply, his hands getting cut on some of the wreckage as he strains upward.

Peter takes in another wheezed gasp, swallowing down bile as he feels himself panicking, his body going numb with the pressure, his breathing getting closer to hyperventilation as he truly realizes his terrible predicament. "Hello?!" he calls breathlessly, but his voice just bounces off the rubble around him.

Peter's eyes prickle with hot tears, his insides on fire with an ever-growing terror and his lungs burning because he needs air. An-and he just needs- he just needs out, he needs out right now, bu-but no one is here, no one knows Peter is under the warehouse. "NOOOOO!" he screams utterly distraught, the fear finally taking over as he feels those tears mix with the muddy water dripping onto his face.

"P-please!" Peter cries desperately, "hey h-hey, hey please," he begs, but no one can hear him. There is no help coming, there is no rescue. This won't end in the same way it had when Peter was abruptly dropped into the bay, there is no tracker on him, and there is no A.I in his ear, there is no Iron Man coming to save him, Peter is alone.

"I'm down here- I'm down here," Peter sobs hysterically, gasping and wheezing as he tastes blood and cement, beginning to see black spots in his field of vision as he trembles and shakes apart. "I'm stuck- I'm stuck, I can't move," he tells no one.

The teen's head buzzes, the feeling in his legs beginning to go, replaced with pinpricks and needles. The teen lets his head fall, panting down at the ground for a moment and blinking dust and powder out of his eyes before he catches sight of half his mask in some of the murky water leaking from the broken pipes and pooling on the floor.

Peter stares at the homemade mask for a moment, tears blurring his vision before he is able to make out the distorted reflection of his own ashen and scared face. "If you're nothing without the suit, then you shouldn't have it." Rings throughout the teen's head, and suddenly, Peter understands what it meant when Tony Stark had said those words to him.

It wasn't what Peter wore or what tech he had that made him Spiderman. It wasn't the suit, it wasn't the web-shooters or any of those other things. Peter is Spiderman, they aren't two separate people, he is Spiderman.

"Come on Peter," the teen whispers to himself, shifting under the rubble. Spiderman wouldn't give up, Spiderman would fight, Spiderman can get out of this, "come on Spiderman, come on Spiderman," Peter chants to himself, pressing up against the derbies, ignoring the strain in his muscles and the sharp pains as random pieces of wreckage dig further into his flesh.

"Come on Spiderman," he grunts, straining and focusing his body to go further than it ever has before, pushing himself harder than he thought possible. Peter is Spiderman, with or without the suit, he is Spiderman, and Spiderman would never give up. "COME ON SPIDERMAN!"

Peter's legs shake as he comes to a stand, metal scratching down his back and his arms feeling as if they might snap from the amount of weight he is lifting. But he's doing it, he's going to get out of here. Peter screams as he throws the large chunk of wreckage from himself, grunting and panting as he is finally able to take a full breath of air.

The teen stands there for a moment gathering himself, his heart beating frantically in his chest and his eyes swimming, his fingers tingly and his mouth tasting like blood. He allows himself a minute before scooping up his mask and turning away, his job isn't done.

Peter sits folded high on top of a roller-coaster, the same one that he at one time, had been too afraid of riding, which is ironic in so many ways, but Peter is too tired to account for them right now.

The teen takes deep grounding breaths, watching the flames of the plane wreckage on the beach, the smoke and fire blowing in the gust wistfully. He can still smell the burnt fuel and singed metal, can still taste cement and blood in his mouth, can still feel the biting wind chilling him to the bone.

Peter is sore and tired, still hurt and bleeding and exhausted in more ways than one. But he has to see this through, has to make sure that the good guys get here before he makes his disappearance. Which shouldn't be too much longer, if the sound of sirens is anything to go by.

The teen shifts, breathing in fresh air and closing his eyes for a moment. He's so very beaten up, worse than he's ever been. But Peter feels good, knowing that he made a difference, that he actually did something right…it feels, really, really good. And maybe this is what it's like to be a hero, maybe this is what it's all about, knowing at the end of the day that he's made the right choices, that he's done something worthwhile, something he can truly be proud of.

A pair of large black vehicles along with some police cars pull up and onto the beach, not ten minutes after Peter webbed up the crates and Toomes for them to find. The teen watches them scour through the remains of the plane, watches as they shine their flashlights and yell their orders to each other.

The fire department is on their way, Peter can hear their distinct sirens wailing from a couple of blocks away. They'll put out the fires, and it looks as if the men on the beach have already located Toomes. Peter needs to go, needs to trudge his way home before he loses all of the diminished energy he has left. He can feel the adrenaline crash coming, his limbs already shaky and his head a bit numb.

The teen turns, slipping his soiled mask on and shooting off a web-line before he swings from the Cyclone and over the many cars and people of the city. It is only then, only when the wind is snapping at Peter's sweats, and his muscles are burning with the pull of swinging, that Peter realizes if he goes home now, Aunt May will almost certainly see him, and Peter is far too beaten up for that. And there is no fibbing his way out of or hiding these injuries from her, this isn't just a black eye or a split lip. Peter can't go home in his current condition, not without an explanation.

Spidey swings around a corner, shooting off another web and landing on a rooftop before changing course. He needs a phone. The teen launches himself off the ledge, twisting around to go back in the opposite direction before running across the side of a nearby building and jumping off again.

His phone should still be in the back of Liz's dad's car, which isn't very far from here, Peter can make it. Spiderman can make it.

It only takes the teen a handful of minutes to swing back to the warehouse. But when Spidey lands on a light-post across the street from the building, the teenager's heart flutters anxiously in his chest, his breath hitching from in-between chapped lips, and his legs feeling slightly wobbly.

Peter hadn't given any thought to how he would feel looking back upon the collapsed warehouse, he should have put more consideration into it, because if he had thought it through he might've tried to find a pay-phone instead.

His brown eyes scan the wreckage for a moment, his chest constricting tightly, almost painfully, as his mouth goes dry, making it hard to swallow past the scratchy lump in his throat, before the teenager forces his eyes away.

He came here for a reason, the quicker he grabs his phone the faster he'll be able to swing away from here and get help. The teen jumps down to the ground, stumbling slightly on unsupportive legs before he spots Toomes' car parked a good fifteen feet from the building.

The teen runs over to it in a hurry, fiddling with the handle and finding the car locked, he takes in a ragged breath and elbows the glass of the back window, ignoring the blaring car alarm and shattered glass as he pops the door open and searches for his phone, it only takes him seconds to find where it has slid under the passenger's seat, but it feels far too long.

As soon as the teenager's fingers have the phone in grip Peter is webbing himself away with a newfound vigor, going as fast as he possibly can until the collapsed warehouse is completely out of sight.

The teen crashes to a low rooftop a few minutes later, losing his footing before sliding forward on his knees, Peter barely notices- panting out large breaths and clutching at his heaving chest with one hand, struggling to pull his mask back off with unsteady fingers.

He's okay, everything's okay.

Peter sucks in a gulp of night air as the fabric is ripped away, sitting down on the cold ground as he hits Ned's number with a singed finger and presses the phone to his ear a bit desperately while he tries to get his erratic breathing under control.

Ned answers on the second ring, "Peter!?" he whisper-shouts, "dude, are okay? I was really worried."

Peter scrubs at his smudged face. He's starting to feel it now, his injuries throbbing and his skin wrapped around his body too tightly, it's not the most unusual feeling, the pool of anxiety building in the bottom of the teenager's gut and slowly spreading, leaving him jittery and shaky.

"I-I'm fine, I got him… I b-beat Liz's dad," Peter tells Ned, he's feeling floaty, and not in a good way either, kind of like his head wants to leave his body, his mind beginning to drift away in an attempt to leave the pain and uncertainty behind.

"Oh my god!" Ned says, "that is so awesome, I can't believe that we got him! How bad was it? Did you get hurt? Like on a scale from Captain America to Ultron how bad of a bad guy was Liz's dad?" Ned starts to babble over the line.

Peter presses a hand to his bleeding mouth, "Ned, Ned," he interrupts through his fingers, feeling his own breath to remind himself that he is in fact still breathing, "where are you right now?"

"I'm almost home," Ned says, sounding less excited and a bit more serious, "why?"

Peter sucks in a large breath through his nose, feels the way it rattles in his lungs. "Are your parents gonna be home?" he asks, he's starting to feel cold all over, his muscles going jello-y on him and his head buzzing, Peter needs food asap.

Ned sounds unsure as he speaks, "they were going out tonight, seeing a movie or something, it's probably only my sister-"

Peter cuts off again, "can I come over?" he asks in a rush of hot air, feeling the need to add on a desperate "please?" a moment later.

Ned sounds surprised and a tad worried over the line as he says, softer now, "yeah, of course, Pete," he pauses, "can…can you make it to my house?"

Peter nods vigorously, maybe a bit hysterically, before he realizes Ned can't see him. "Y-yeah, I'll see you in a few," and then Peter is hanging up. Letting out a wobbly breath as he shoves his phone into his thick red sock and forces himself to his numb feet.

Ned's house isn't all that far from Midtown High, which means the teen has been home for all of ten minutes when Peter clambers in through Ned's bedroom window, accidentally knocking over some half-built Legos with uncoordinated and clumsy limbs as he practically falls into the room with a dull 'thud'.

"Peter?" Ned exclaims, jumping up from his desk and coming over to help the other teen in through the window.

Once inside Ned lets go of Peter and the teenage-hero plops himself onto the floor, pulling off his mask and blinking up at his best friend with blurry unfocused eyes. "Hi," Peter croaks voice hoarse from dryness or emotion.

It's warmer in Ned's house, and much quieter, the walls helping to drown out some of the noise of New York, but Peter is currently crashing from his adrenaline high, is very injured and horribly tired- on the edge of sensory overload and beginning to really feel the after battle drop now.

"Peter," Ned says again, this time sounding slightly choked. He looks down at his hurt friend with wide concerned eyes, his fingers reach out towards Peter helplessly a few times before pulling away. Ned looks lost, not sure what to do in this odd and foreign situation. Honestly, Peter is a little lost too.

"Are-are you okay?" Ned asks, before shaking his head quickly and going on, "of course you aren't okay, I-I…what do you need, what do I do?" Ned is getting panicky, starting to ramble as he blinks down at Peter.

Peter scrunches his eyes closed tightly as Ned continues, letting out a ragged breath as he tries to relax into the thick carpet under Ned's bed, focusing on the smell of Ned's family's fabric softener and the taste of Cheetos in the air. Peter's senses are all scrambled and distorted with something akin to static. His head pounding in time with his too fast heartbeat, and his ears 'wh-whooshing' with the sound of his blood pulsing, it's taking everything in Peter to keep calm.

He's fine, there's no need to freak out.

Opening his eyes Peter says, "I need food, water, and a washcloth."

Before he even gets all the words out Ned is rushing out of the bedroom. Peter can hear Ned cluttering around the kitchen, can make out the sound of the microwave humming and the sink running. His enhanced hearing is starting the better of him, making Peter's head pound and his stomach twist and churn inside of him as he can't seem to block any of the noise out. He misses his headphones.

The teen works on getting his homemade costume off, pulling his fingerless gloves and sleeveless hoodie away from his body, before beginning the process of slipping out of his sweats. Normally it isn't hard, it's just taking off some fancied-up gym clothes for Pete sake, but this time the fabric clings to Peter's injuries, pulling at his cuts and making him wince as he works to shrug out of them.

Ned comes in as Peter struggles to pull off his long-sleeved sweatshirt, biting back grunts of discomfort as the dirty fabric rubs sand and grit into his shoulder wounds and the cuts in his back painfully.

"Oh-oh," Ned mumbles almost to himself, "this is bad. Peter- dude, are you alright? Do I…do I need to call somebody? Mr. Stark or Mr. Happy, Aunt May?" he asks frantically as he helps to slip the sweatshirt off of Peter a bit more gently.

Peter lets out a hiss as the fabric comes away. "It looks worse than it is," he says, which he isn't really sure if that is a lie or not, Peter doesn't actually know how bad any of his injuries are, but it sounds like the right thing to say at this moment. "I just need some food, high protein, and-and maybe sugar?" Peter scrubs at his face uncertain, "I-I'm not sure how my healing factor works yet, I've never had to heal up from something like this before."

Ned bites his lip, before taking in a deep breath through his nose and giving one curt nod, as if centering himself. "I got this, we got this," he states, "man in the chair, Pete," he mumbles, as he grabs something off of his bed and shoves it at Peter who is still sat on the floor. It's a water bottle, which Peter is enormously grateful for.

"Thanks," Peter says after he has downed the whole thing, Ned is giving him a weird look- like he's just now really seeing Peter for the first time, Peter can't help but shift shyly under his friend's gaze, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

That seems to snap Ned out of it. "Right," he hums, leaving the room for another minute before coming back with two bowls in hand. He balances them as he kicks his bedroom door shut, setting the larger of the two down on his desk before handing Peter the other one.

It's a large Tupperware bowl of pasta, Ned's mom makes the best pasta, Peter dives into it without a second thought, giving a thankful little moan as he begins the never-ending chore of filling his black hole of a stomach. Eating about half of it as Ned hovers over him apprehensively, twisting his fingers and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he observes Peter with worried assessing eyes.

"I'm fine Ned," Peter says, blinking down at his stolen pasta. (Is he? Is he fine?) "I-I just need a place to crash." It's true, laying low over at Ned's is better than trying to hide away at his own apartment.

But there is definitely another factor here, one that Peter hadn't considered or even thought of before…he does not want to be alone right now, and Peter is immensely grateful to have Ned with him, is- not for the first time- glad that Ned knows about Peter being Spiderman.

Ned swallows down some of his anxieties, "sure, sure," he agrees, nodding before he gives a quick glance out his window. "It's just… are you sure this is the right place to crash? I don't really know what I'm doing here, I'm a tech nerd, I-I don't know anything about injuries and how to- I don't know- fix them?"

Peter spins his fork around in the noodles, looking up at his friend for a moment. He already feels a bit better, the taste of cement and blood washed out of his mouth and his metabolism and healing factor having some required fuel to work with, Ned's voice in his ears rather than the deafening roar of wind or the loud crash of a building crumbling down around him.

Peter sucks in another ragged breath, blinking rapidly a few times, pushing those thoughts away and shoving more food into his mouth as a distraction. "I don't think any of my injuries are that bad," Peter says around the food in his mouth, "we just need to-to clean them, get the dirt and sand out so, uh, so my body doesn't try to heal with that stuff still in there."

Ned nods, "okay, just…if anything is too deep or bleeding too much, I-I, I want to call somebody. An adult, a grown up."

Peter hums, blinking hard a few times. He doesn't think it will come to that, doesn't think that any of his wounds are too much for him and Ned to handle on their own. But if it makes Ned feel better, "okay," Peter agrees.

And they get to work.

Peter hasn't actually been to Ned's house in a quite a while, so he doesn't have any spare clothes hidden away here. Which proved to be a slight problem for the two teenage boys, since Ned and Peter don't really wear the same size, not to mention that Peter is still sluggishly bleeding, and clothes sound like a pretty decent idea right about now.

But after a little bit of searching Peter is decked out in one of Ned's older and worn-soft t-shirts, Chunk from the movie Goonies on the front, the words 'Do the truffle shuffle' printed in small font over the stomach, and some too big Star Wars pajama pants that have a rip in the knee and sag off Peter, hanging to the floor to cover his bare feet. The clothes are perfect, loose enough not to rub against Peter's injuries and soft enough not to send him into a sensory overload.

Ned's house doesn't have any bandages, so the pair did the best they could with what they had, which had been Proxied, Neosporin, a bowl of warm water, a washcloth, and a few large Band-Aids. Ned had apologized like he should have a ready to go first aid kit on hand or something. But Peter had poked the other teen on the forehead in a playful rebuke, shushing him because it wasn't like Peter's house had anything better.

As Ned washed some sand out of the scratches in Peter's back, telling Peter about how he had been kicked out of the dance once he was found in the computer lab ("I couldn't think of any excuses, my mom is going to be so mad.") Peter thought of all the things he would need to buy for when something like this inexplicitly happened again.

Peter can't believe how naïve he had been to think something like this wouldn't (or couldn't) happen to him. He didn't have disinfectant, no bandages, or gauze, no burn cream, or medical tape, zilch, nada, zip.

Peter and Ned had to look up how to deal with the burns on Peter's hands, had to Google what to do about the gashes that were still slowly bleeding from the mechanical claws that had dug into his chest, and they had to write down what the first signs for Tetanus were, just in case…

Because Peter doesn't know what his body could handle, he doesn't know if he needs to worry about infection or going into shock, because honestly, all of this, all of this was a completely brand-new situation for Peter, one that he had foolishly not expected.

And that made the teen realize how unprepared he has been, made him realize how irresponsible and reckless some of his decisions were up to this point. It finally clicked- why Tony had taken the suit back, why he had set up all those precautions that Peter had looked at as restraints and not protections. It made Peter realize that maybe Tony wasn't so horribly wrong.

But even still, Peter didn't regret going after Toomes, he would make the same choice. He'd do it all over again -right now- if that's what it came down to.

"Peter?" Ned's voice snapped Peter back to the present, they were both on Ned's bed, huddled under soft blankets with root beer floats slowly melting stickily into the covers, one of the newer Star Wars movies playing almost mutely on Ned's laptop sat precariously on the edge of the mattress.

Peter glanced over at his friend, he felt oddly numb, it was almost as if his mind was just now catching up to what had happened to him, now that he was cleaned up and fed, warm and by his friend's side, the teenager's brain could stop fretting over what he had to do, and be worried over what had already been done.

His mind was stuck in a screaming loop, replaying what had happened tonight, what he had been willing to do, what Liz's dad had been willing to do. It was almost like a dream, a nightmare, something that wasn't real but left you feeling off-kilter and shaky. But it had been real, it had been and that was thrilling and scary and about a million other things Peter couldn't decipher right now.

"…yea?" Peter asked back, rolling his head against the flat surface of the wall he was leaned up against, now watching the shadows of color from the movie illuminate Ned's concerned expression.

"Are you okay?" Ned asked, pursing his lips with the question. He had changed too, out of his suit for Homecoming, (boy, had that only been tonight? It felt like a lifetime ago) now decked out in a dark blue hoodie and Captain America pajama pants.

Peter opened his stiff mouth to answer, not exactly sure what he wanted to say, what he even could say. Yes, yes he was going to be fine, he would get past this just like he had gotten past everything else the universe has thrown his way… but that wasn't the question, was it?

Before Peter could form any words though, his phone started ringing. The teen froze, it was May's personalized ringtone, the tune of Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' blasting from the phones tinny and small speaker. May's smiling face flashed up at him as he scrambled to grab the phone from under the covers.

Peter swallowed hard as he answered, taking a grounding breath through his nose. "Hi May," he greeted, willing himself to sound normal, like he had been laughing with friends or messing around, y'know what regular fifteen-year-olds do.

"Hey honey," she greeted back, her voice light, unbothered, "I know we said curfew could be pushed up, but it's starting to get pretty late."

Hearing her voice made something in Peter twist harshly, and suddenly- suddenly all he wanted to do was be at home with her, to hug May and fall asleep on the couch with her while watching cheesy horror movies, both waking up in a jumble of limbs and laughing as they untangled themselves from each other before making breakfast.

But Peter couldn't do that, couldn't go home. Because he was bruised and hurt and May couldn't see him this way, because if Peter saw her right now he'd hug her too fiercely, because May would know something was wrong and ask questions, because then Peter would have to tell her, would have to tell her about Spiderman.

"I-I was gonna spend the night as Ned's," Peter tells her, clearing his throat as his voice comes out far too emotional and hoarse from the lump that is forming there, threatening to choke him.

There's a long pause over the line, and for a moment Peter worries that May figured out he was upset from over the phone. The teen chews on his lip, wonders if she will demand he come home and tell her what is wrong.

But then she sighs and says, "can I speak to Ned?"

And Peter realizes with a jolt that it is Homecoming night, and then he thinks about what normal kids do after Homecoming…which very distinctly involves your girlfriend and not your girlfriend's dad.

Peter stutters out a response, feeling caught off guard and embarrassed for making his Aunt think he was lying to her to do-to do…that. "Y-yeah," Peter chokes out, "he's right here," and then he hands the phone over to a very confused Ned as he feels a burst of mortified butterflies flutter in his stomach.

"Hi May," Ned greets, eyeing Peter from the corner of his eye. "We were thinking Star Wars marathon...mmhum…yeah…" Ned smiles, huffing a laugh as he says, "heh, yeah the hat totally worked like a charm tonight," the conversation goes on for a little longer, Ned making small comments, not seeming concerned whatsoever. "Okay. You too. Night May."

And the slightly cracked phone is back in Peter's hand and pressed to his ear, May sounds more relaxed when she speaks, "okay, now that that is cleared up," she says, her tone teasing, "tell me how it went? Did you have fun?" And her excited and expectant tone makes Peter feel guilty, makes him want to curl up into a ball.

And for a moment Peter almost wants to tell her- no, no he did not have fun, his night was the opposite of fun, it was very unfun. And the words are practically on the tip of his tongue, the truth, he wants to tell her the truth for once. But the teen just sucks in a breath and closes his eyes as he says, "yeah, the punch was gross, dancing was okay, it was nice." And it shouldn't be this easy to lie to her, but it is, and it makes Peter feel sick to his stomach.

"I'm glad sweetheart," she says, sounding fond, "I want to hear all about it when you come home tomorrow alright? So, don't stay up all night with Ned, honey," she teases, "you can have Ned over if you want, we could catch a movie or something." And May goes on, making offers to have Peter's friend over and treat them to things they can't really afford.

And Peter's eyes well up and his chest is getting tighter, and he needs to hang up before he gives himself away because he just wants his mom right now, but he needs to shove that feeling down because it is ridiculous for a Superhero to want their mommy.

So, instead, the teen huffs a watery laugh that he hopes doesn't sound as broken or distraught as he feels, and says, "that'd be great May, sounds like fun."

May pauses and so does Ned, the silence grates on Peter's already frayed nerves but he pushes past it, "I'll talk to Ned about it okay? I'll text you in the morning."

May makes a noise that Peter can't quite hear before she answers, now sounding unsure as she speaks. "Alright honey," she says, "I'll let you go." She pauses again, and Peter bites his lip hard, feeling the pressure building behind his closed eyes.

"Love you May," Peter says and it sounds a bit too wobbly to be able to deny convincingly so he hangs up before she can reply, dropping the phone in his lap before he's tilting, falling, into Ned, and Ned is already prepared to catch him.

I'm already working on the next chapter so that should be up soon, my fellow goofballs. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Kudos and comments make the hamster in my computer go faster, so be sure to drop some of those. ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ