Summary long version: Blinded by his desire to make the Avengers, and especially Mr. Stark proud of him, Peter decides to keep a serious injury secret at the end of a mission. The pain is worth enduring as long as he can maintain his dignity and have a role in the team. Until he can't stand it anymore.

Peter finds himself trapped in an endless cycle where he has to juggle with his desperate need for morphine and excruciating pain which gradually gnaws away at all that is good in him. Before having had the time to realize the extent of his mistakes, the young superhero witnesses his world entring and closing irretrievably on the need for these precious drugs.

In the process of going down to hell, Peter forgets who he is, who his true friends are, and what it looks like to have a family. Thus, Tony Stark makes himself responsible to get his protégé out of this nightmare, whether he wants his help or not.

Or: Peter gets addicted to the morphine substances after getting hurt during a mission in Sweden which went wrong. Tony tries to help him through this ordeal.

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Hey guys,
Here I am, wanting to share with you this idea I got a few weeks ago. First of all, I advise you to read carefully the warnings, this work will be pretty dark, with a lot of angst content – so I did warn you. Don't like, don't stay, it is this simple ;)

Warnings :
-Description of fights and violences
-Insults
-Drug effects content and descriptions
-Sickness, withdrawal
-Accidental murder
-No compliant canon (Civil War)

The story takes place after Homecoming, it's also a divergent canon from Civil War, which means that the Avengers are still a united team (isn't it beautiful?). Bruce Banner is still on Earth, not being filmed for Ragnarok, and Spider-Man isn't an official avenger since he turned down Mr. Stark's proposition in Homecoming, although he helps for S.H.I.E.L.D. missions.

If you're still there after the warnings, then enjoy!

A big thanks to my beta reader, alifetime (yeah, english isn't my mother tongue, I'm a basic french people ;p )

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel's character, or movies, and I don't write this for money.

This fic is on Archive of Our Own too: /works/25058224/chapters/60692536

"Mr. Stark, I see the trucks! Should I stop them?!"

Excitation and adrenaline pulsed inside the boy's veins as he energetically shifted on the branch which he was sticking on, hiding within the green leaves, to keep his eyes on the three vehicles in motion.

A voice grunted in his ear, though he was still widely smiling under his mask, "No, you know the plan, kid! Stay hidden, and remember you're only in for an emergency, matter of life and death, and last resort backup!"
"Oh, come on! I'm ready to do more, now!"

"Only the avengers take part, it's the rule, Baby-Spider." Clint's voice scoffed.

Peter didn't fight the urge to roll his eyes, already pouting as he felt the familiar feeling of injustice crawl in his head. He grumbled between his teeth, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, old man..."

"Your mic is still active, kid..." warned Sam, laughing.

"Oh, shi-...!"

"Wait until you get home, brat." Hawkeye slyly pursued, "We'll see if you still talk back when I hang you by the feet with your webs!"

"Nah-ah! No one is allowed to threaten the kid except me! Kid, you're grounded." Iron Man added over Sam and Clint's jokes.

He let out a shocked gasp, "WHAT?!"

"Ah! Justice!"

"Clint, let Peter alone," Natasha eventually scolded.

He turned off his mic and let a long and desperate whine come out of his mouth. Where was the point to argue back, anyways? It was already lost for him, and Peter knew that. However, he couldn't understand, no matter how hard he tried.

Without thinking about it, he inhaled deeply in a clumsy attempt to appear stronger and taller with his bulged torso; he quickly gave up the idea when his nose canal got frozen with the cold air. After a handful of minutes, the teenager began getting annoyed by the silence and the lack of action. Slowly but surely, he was getting cold – and, as usual, he hated this feeling.

The Avengers were on a mission to Sweden in order to put an end to the traffic of weapons provided with alien technology. After the Vulture incident, the government took the decision to revise the conditions of the Sokovia Accords downwards and give the team the green light to intervene freely. Too many dangerous weapons were circulating into the wild, and too many crimes and many victims unpunished were deplored.

Peter remembered being scared when he saw all the Avengers in one same room for the first time since Germany. He also remembered Mr. Stark, who had been silent for many days after this unexpected reunion, although a glint in his eyes had seemed to reappear from nowhere, mysteriously brought back to life. For a while, maybe several weeks, Peter hadn't trusted anyone. Not a single word. Not a single smile. Not a single look. He hadn't wanted to admit that what he had experienced during what the media called 'Civil War' wasn't just a question of the good and the bad side, of which he had been, of course, the good with Mr. Stark. It would have been to admit to himself that he had fought for lies, and this thought had made him sick. It was to see his mentor take the first steps towards Steve who had convinced Peter to make a concession in his turn. All he desired when he went to the compound on weekends was to be able to take refuge in the workshops and labs with Mr. Stark, and nothing else. It suited him. But, little by little, a step towards the other avengers had led to a second step, then a third, and today he was fighting Mario with Sam and Clint to know who would have the last waffle.

New work colleagues — friends — it wasn't all bad, according to Mr. Stark's words. It was good to have a team to count on.

Then came the first missions. Never had Peter been so excited in his whole life. Of course, he was not an Avenger, he had refused this title. However, nothing prevented him from giving a hand to his justice partners, right? His joy was quickly surpassed by disappointment when Mr. Stark assigned him to the simple post of the observer from the compound. These were his missions: watch others living in action for him, take notes, and make detailed reports about what he had learnt and retained to his mentor, sometimes to Steve or Natasha. It was useless and annoying, maybe even humiliating. James Barnes was in the same situation as him, though the man wasn't obliged to play schoolchildren like Peter, who was constantly watched by F.R.I.D.A.Y.

This new life was... a roller coaster. Sometimes he had more fun saving cats from trees as Spider-Man, and yet for nothing in the world he would have wanted to put an end to this everyday life at the compound.

Everyone was nice. They all had their own lives, their own secrets and their character, and that's what gave this building so much life. It was no longer just a place to train to become stronger and where he could spend time with Mr. Stark in the lab: against all odds, it had become a second home.

A month and a half earlier, Spider-Man was given permission to accompany the Avengers in their interventions. Again, a false joy still awaited him. If Thaddeus Ross had lost his authority in the Avengers' decisions, Peter, on the other hand, could not escape their restrictions and orders. So he was condemned to observe, learn, and occasionally suggest. If the idea was pertinent, Peter knew that it brought him a little closer each time to the day he could be a true partner within the team; if the idea was wrong, then he had a free ticket for a remark and an annoyed sigh from his mentor. Everything was double or quit. Always. And the rule of thumb was merely not to disobey - one day he tried nevertheless, entering a building where a group of criminals was hiding when he was ordered to stay outside to watch who was coming in and out. He remembered screaming like a girl when an Iron Man autopilot suit appeared out of nowhere to force him back to the compound. The scolding he got by Mr. Stark still haunted Peter's mind, sometimes. He hadn't disobeyed orders since, even though it wasn't the desire that was missing.

Peter sighed in frustration, crossing his arms as he watched the three trucks drive away on the road. His muscles were shaking and dying to step in, jump forward and do a great job. He knew he could do it. Hell, even Clint would finally shut his wide trap after such a feat. Peter mused about it dreamily: neutralizing the last three vehicles filled to the brim with murderous technology. Risky, heroic, and effective.

Unfortunately, he was only a pawn, like all the other times. An emergency reinforcement, as Captain and Mr. Stark, liked to reassure him, when Peter sometimes felt demoralized at not being able to do more. Because he had to learn...

Like all the children.

Bullshit. It wasn't fair. He was sixteen, he was no longer a baby. Vulture's affair was his business. Peter frowned. Was it appropriate to feel possessive with a mission? Hell...

The team was moving through the forest, following the trucks according to the plan.

For the moment, everything was going according to plan and the traffickers suspected nothing. Their goal was to reach an old warehouse, not far from an airport, where they could choose which weapon to leave and which weapon to take with them for a one-way trip to Spain. It was the information that S.H.I.E.L.D. had recovered a few days earlier. And the purpose of the Avengers was to prevent this escape.

The warehouse had already been secured and emptied from any weapon. Security back there was very unexpectedly poor, however, it had been frequent to encounter traps which were mostly explosive all around the building. The road was also strewn with traps and landmines, to dissuade and prevent unwanted guests - like them - from entering this territory. Pretty smart from Toomes. The man was very cunning and always had a head start on potential rivals and traitors. But not on the Avengers, Peter thought with pride.

Toomes' business persisted without him at the helm because he was intelligent and respected. But even the best plans in the world had a flaw.

There was only one way to reach the warehouse: passing a long, narrow, winding road that situated on an eminent mountain.

This road had on the right side the mountain's flank, and on its left a precipice, which made it just wide enough to allow a vehicle at a time to pass. When the team gathered in the meeting room before starting the mission, Steve explained that the energy detectors from the Chitauris' weapons did not find any activity at this passage. For Sam, two explanations for this: the first being the difficulties and risks involved in setting up the traps. It would have been suicide, especially since the mountain road alone was critical. The second reason would have been to save and spare their material. Why arm a trap that is already deadly enough for those who dare to venture into it?

Peter visualized on a loop the plan over and over in his mind — he just had this to do, anyway, and that was the best way to find brilliant suggestions to his team.

Natasha exposed the idea of forcing traffickers to a halt by sandwiching them on the road; a part of the team in front of the trucks, and the other part behind to prevent them from running away. Impossible to turn around, which imposed only two remaining solutions: surrender or fight. The plan was mostly based on the criminals' redemption. A fight in this place with such technological power could only end badly or lead to suicide, after all.

"How's the baby spider doing?" drawled a lazy voice.

Peter blinked his thoughts away and looked down, his lenses narrowing as he finally spotted Bucky who was standing down there, besides the trunk, dozens of meters away under him.

"Hey man!"

His young voice echoed briefly. Bucky could speak without screaming since Peter had enhanced ears, though it wasn't vice versa.

"It's not too cold here for you?"

In a second's fraction, Peter stopped shaking like a leaf. "No! I'm fine!"

Bucky rolled his blue eyes, leaning his back against the wide tree. "Relax, Spider-Baby, 'not here to coddle you..." He scratched his nose. "What a godforsaken damn place..."

"Language!" Peter exclaimed with what could have been Steve's voice imitation.

He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks warming up as the ex-Hydra agent threw a dismayed glance at him. But, as small as it was, there was still a tiny smile which was rising from the man's mouth's corners. Peter took it as a triumph and smiled back even though no one could see it under his mask.

After a few seconds, his shoulders slouched and he sighed, watching carefully the road until the forest swallowed it away from his sight. Everything was so calm. Here and there, small snow heaps were partially littering the ground. The mountain was proudly standing in front of him, its white top hiding with grey haze — and they all were over there, just a few miles away from Bucky and Peter's location. Probably getting in position, ready to nail their mission without them.

"Cheer up, I didn't get invited with them either," Bucky grunted, checking his gun probably for the hundredth time.

"This is not fair..." Peter complained.

"Yes, it is."

Spider-Man huffed, more and more frustrated.

"Listen," Bucky looked up again, searching for the younger's gaze. "You need to learn, and if you think you don't, then you truly need it. And me, I'm a potential dangerous cold-blood murderer." He raised both of his hands. "See? Easy. We both need supervision."

"I'm not a baby..."

He sounded like one just by saying that, and he knew it.

"Of course you are." A short chuckle interrupted the ex-soldier. "Don't be in such a hurry to get older, Peter. People forgive you when you mess up because that's what babies do: they fuck up, all the time. But when you're an adult..."

Bucky let the end of his sentence in suspense, though Peter refused to meditate about it.

The cold wind could be heard as it sneaked between the leaves and made them rustle slightly. Peter inhaled deeply and enjoyed the refreshing nature around him, taking a pause to notice how different everything here was from New York. But, thanks to Mr. Stark, he had a heating system in his suit. So, he wasn't going to die of hypothermia, perched like a baby monkey on the branch of a tree, waiting and hoping like a damn Disney Princess that his colleagues would finally understand that he had great potential.

Could he sound more desperate, even if he wanted to?

"Bucky!" Peter suddenly gasped while his spider-sense alarmed up. "Look! They're fighting!"

The man turned towards the mountain with a serious face. Smoke was rising over there, quickly accompanied with numerous shot sounds. Peter jumped from his spot and landed right beside the ex-soldier. When he started walking towards the mountain without any hesitation, Bucky put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Stay there, Spider-Man. You already have orders."

"They may need u—" He whines with a weak struggle.

Bucky glared at Peter with stern blue eyes, "Don't make them regret bringing you here, Peter." His hold briefly tightened. "Stay. There."

A very simple order, and yet it was the worst thing that could be asked to Peter currently. This mission was no joke, he knew it. The presence of the Vulture in his nightmares constantly reminded him that it was not only a question of making a series of groovy stunts to impress the crowd but a question of life and death. Each of these weapons was dangerous. Lethal. Peter wrapped his arms around himself as a chill went up to his spine; he could feel familiar vibes in the air. Bad vibes, those that freeze the blood. It was undoubtedly this energy which came from Chitauris technology. It was close. And all of his friends were confronting it.

He was about to give up any hope when a miracle suddenly happened.

"Spider-Man," Steve called out, his breath short. "We need you here."

At first too surprised to move or even speak, Peter had the strange impression that the ground was collapsing at his feet. As if he had been abruptly disconnected from reality, although he could still hear Mr. Stark's weak protests through their communications. Had he heard correctly? Did Captain America just ask him to join the mission? He opened his mouth to say something, anything, that could help him express his shock when he was vigorously nudged forward.

"Go! Go! Go! What are you waiting for, c'mon Spider-Man!" Bucky shouted, still shoving him.

"Y-yeah, yeah, I'm..." Peter started to walk towards the mountain, hands shaking. He glanced at Bucky over his shoulder, and when he saw the encouraging blue eyes he nodded and breathed deeply. He was ready. Confidence warmed up his whole body and adrenaline started to diffuse again in his system as he brought his fingers to his ear to activate the mic. "I'm coming!"

Mr. Stark's reluctance could have two origins: either the Avengers didn't need Peter and therefore Mr. Stark preferred that he stay behind to fulfill his role as superhero schoolboy, or they really needed him and Mr. Stark hated having to admit it. The billionaire hated anything that could hurt Peter, the teen was aware. That is why he would not disappoint him. Soon, Iron Man will be more proud than ever to have Spider-Man as a partner.

The closer he got to the team, the less Peter could ignore the stress crawling in every cell of his body, fighting with his courage and excitement. He could feel this oppressive and eerie aura even in his bones.

Focus, Peter...

If Bucky hadn't come with him, it was because it always must be someone who had a perspective on the situation to cover the backs of the others in the event of any problem. Peter had learned that during the unwanted training sessions that the Avengers forced him to follow. He had to admit that it was not fundamentally useless and that he had learned things. Lots of things. On combat techniques, strategies, studies of opponent's behaviors. Thus, Peter remembered some of these rules to distract his mind as he inexorably approached the mountain — where each shot was now perfectly distinct. Peter swallowed back his fear, continuing to swing from tree to tree until finally seeing Falcon flying a hundred meters away, dodging something. Now he could see the road. The team. The three trucks. And this familiar and terrifying purple and blue energy that emanated from all sides of the improvised battlefield.

It would seem that the traffickers chose to open fire rather than surrender. It was understandable — as a general rule, it was never a good sign when you were arrested by the Avengers.

When people are afraid, they often make stupid decisions over reason, such as fleeing. It doesn't matter if it's totally hopeless and futile: it's always better than admitting that everything is over. Peter respected those feelings. However, there would be no exception today. He was going to arrest those criminals, each of them.

"Here I am!" Peter boasted in a supplely landing on the old asphalt of the dilapidated road.

Just as he had supposed, the traffickers went all in by going on the offensive. The two avengers who could fly (Mr. Stark and Falcon) were subjected to all kinds of shots and attack and had only rare opportunities to retaliate. As for Steve, Natasha and Clint, their priority was to keep the three trucks in place and prevent them from moving anywhere. Though, the vehicle at the back attempted to reverse, followed by the other two, which remained as close from each other as possible.

"Okay, паук малыш," Natasha said, and Peter knew she was talking to him because he recognized the words she used to say when they were together, even if he had never known what those meant. "Captain and I are busy with the runaways. Mind the ones to your side."

"On it!" he responded without hesitation, happy to help his teammates.

Peter heard Iron Man's repulsors above him, "You printed that in the little head of yours, underoos?!" Mr. Stark inquired in a hurry, darting around him and shooting a blast to a guy who was climbing on a truck with a shotgun.

"Received loud and clear, Mr. Stark!" Hell, he was too elated to even think about messing up.

He watched Iron Man fly back into the battle with awe when he realized that two criminals were running towards him.

"It's our escape route, man! Come on, it's just Spider-Man!" One of them furiously grumbled to the other one, taking out a knife from his pocket.

"Eh, yeah... God's with us, buddy! Bump the bug off, and let's scarper!"

A wave of humiliation and indignation engulfed Peter and suddenly made him irritated. It was usual for the teen to feel minimised in comparison to the other Avengers, but it was still deeply frustrating. Damn, these two criminals were relieved to see him rather than any other avenger! He couldn't just take it with a smile, but it wasn't the best moment to feel up-in-arms either. Regardless of this, he found a quip to throw at them, "Spiders aren't bugs! Thank, myself, Professor Spider-Man, for the zoology lesson improvised!"

An angry cry came from the man with the knife as he charged into the young vigilante, his dagger held up forwards first. Peter merely stepped aside and slightly raised his left foot to trip the criminal — he didn't even use his spider abilities for this, the man's attentions were just too obvious and predictable. He ended the fight by hitting his opponent's back head with his elbow. The criminal gasped shortly and fell with a loud thump right on the road. So easy. He looked up before leaning his masked head on the side when he sighted the second man, whimpering on the floor a few meters away and holding his bloody calf. An arrow was through it. Ouch.

"Look who finally showed up! It's the itsy bitsy spider!" Clint scoffed, heading to his sides with a notched arrow at his bow. "You're here to apologize, I imagine."

"For what? To have said that you are an old man? Sorry, but, the truth comes from the kid's mouth, it is known," he slyly retorted.

Clint had a playful smile, but his eyes were sharp and scrupulous and spying every single thing possible around them.

"Yeah, yeah... I'll give you as good as I got, squirt."

A shadow quickly flew over them, "You may want a cup of tea, while you're having your break time?" Sam rebuked when powerful and heavy energy repulsed him away from the mountain.

Though Falcon recovered fast, already starting to fly around again, Peter couldn't detach his eyes from the huge void right next to the road.

Detailed information had been given about this road during the meeting preceding the mission, yet, between picturing and seeing for real, there was a difference. The road wasn't wider than five meters, and as expected, on the right was the side of the mountain which constituted an impressive uphill slope, leading to the summit, merged in the dark clouds. However, this immensity was nothing compared to this vertiginous void at the left. If the view was beautiful, the hairs that stood on the back of Peter's neck made him understand that he would not appreciate the fall. The Washington Monument was officially a joke next to that. By focusing and narrowing his eyes, the teenager could make out the top of thousands of pines that ran alongside the mountain's foot. He then noticed that the slope, here, was dangerously steep except for a few pointed crags and plateaus. By instinct, Peter gave a wide berth between him and the edge, already hating the danger that came from this chasm.

"Uh, Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?" His A.I. immediately answered, sounding jovial.

"How tall is this mountain? We're so high..."

"Do you want me to give you the exact altitude of your location, or only an estimate?"

He swallowed dryly, "Mmh... the estimation?"

"Peter, you're currently at three thousand two hundred meters above sea level. Congratulations on your new record! I advise you to take it slow, the pressure level might affect your ventilation pace."

Oh, that was why his breath was so short. Peter nodded for himself — it was pretty logical.

"Okay kid, we gotta calm down those clowns." Clint prompted as he aimed his arrow to the truck at the back; its doors were closed, although Peter could see three men inside thanks to their thermal signature. "Damn, what a bunch of tenacious cockroaches," mused the archer. "Tony and Sam can't approach them. Look at their fucking cheater weapons..."

Indeed, most of their weapons were powered by Chitauri energy core, which conferred them a powerful advantage. Getting closer, for now, was too dangerous, so it was a patience war. The first team which would do the wrong step would lose.

Peter's eyes followed the three trucks, which remained motionless, though full of life. The one at the head of the row was only half visible since the Avengers intercepted the fugitives at a turn, thus the side of the mountain hid what was happening over there, where Steve and Natasha were. Peter imagined with amusement for a brief moment the surprise it must have been for the traffickers when they suddenly found themselves face to face with the most powerful people on Earth, in the middle of a road located thousands of meters away from the ground. How did they come to choose the fight? They put them all in danger, so not the best choice if their aim was to live.

"I gotta cover their flying ass. Do not come near the big weapons, those that spit magic purple energy..."

"Yeah, I know..." All memories from the Homecoming night were still fresh in his mind. "But what should I do then?"

Clint smiled as he cautiously sneaked toward the trucks — men were coming out, screaming and armed, from the one in the middle. "Do spider things. Catch midges, or mosquitos. Yum!"

Maybe he shouldn't have called the man 'old', after all. Peter huffed. One sure thing, he couldn't just wait here, playing with his thumbs. They needed him here.

In all, Peter could count at least three shooters with Chitauri heavy weapons, probably one for each vehicle. The good thing was that they had to be outside and exposed to shoot the Avengers. The negative thing was that these weapons sent shock waves too powerful to give Falcon or Iron Man a chance to approach enough. Clint was an asset if he could successfully neutralize them, however, the second problem was all the other traffickers hiding in the vehicles, with other potential unknown gadgets. Peter was aware that his team couldn't just shoot the gunmen, not when such a source of energy was their shield. It would be like using a match just over a pool of gas.

The vigilante tried to quickly draw up and put together a plan in his nervous mind; a plan capable of giving a new twist to the situation and sorting out the problem.

"Karen, please activate thermal vision!"

"Of course, Peter."

Okay, so there were a good handful of men who were still in the trucks. Some of them had come out and were protecting heavy weapon bearers with simple guns. But it was enough to repel Clint or Sam.

Usually, he wouldn't give a second thought about diving into the action headfirst, but the height parameter was still racking a corner of his brain. Honestly, he didn't want to die, let alone here. Plus, he had to impress Mr. Stark first.

It didn't need more reflection to shot a web and play Tarzan right after a deep breath.

Ugh, don't look down, don't look down...

Too late.

Peter shook his head to dispel his brief vertigo and focused on his goal. Dancing in the middle of shots and bullets, he could do it. It was a piece of cake. None of the men managed to touch him, or even brush past him as he swang, following the road turn. He briefly spotted Captain America and Black Widow in front of the first truck, fighting against a man who was using plasma shots from a cannon he was holding over his shoulder.

"Ah-Ah!" Tony's voice objected. "The sky is too small for the three of us, underoos. Scoot off!"

Eh, watch me. "Trust me, I'm super prudent, Mr. Stark! Excessively prudent!" Then the boy narrowly dodged a bullet, which ricocheted in a clang on the billionaire's iron suit. "See?! You're distracting me — I don't have iron and bulletproo—"

"Alright, alright! You're still grounded, by the way."

Peter whined audibly. Though his attention was soon enough required by other things, like a half dozens of guns aimed at him. He swallowed thickly but didn't give up. Eventually, his Spider-Man habits bore fruits; he got to web up two men against the rock flank which towered above the right side of the road.

"Good job, kid!" He heard Falcon praise as Iron-Man could finally knock out one shooter. Peter shot a web at the weapon and pulled it until it was to his reach, so he could put it away further on the road.

Each small victory fed Peter's confidence exponentially. He remembered all the times when Natasha had warned him about this feeling of power which tended to blind humans. He hardly took it into account. Even if his movements and fights options were constrained, Peter felt so alive. Invincible. This fight was one of the best things that happened to him.

"Fucking hell, guys, help shoot down this damn bug, he doesn't even have any armor!" roared one of the men who just came out from the last truck.

"I'm Spider-Man!" he interjected the other wisecracks.

"Okay, Spider-Man..." The same man laughed darkly, lifting an automatic gun. "Or future colander."

Uh…

For the minute that followed this brief interaction, Peter saw his sixth sense as a rubber ring in the middle of an ocean. Heavy weapons protected simple guns, and simple guns protected heavy weapons. It was time to change strategy.

Arching his body in a way that allowed him to swing towards the side of the mountain, the teenager landed on the rock about ten meters above the road. He stood for a short time, perpendicularly at the ground and stuck only by his feet, and he scanned the combat area. This break was short-lived, unfortunately. As soon as the traffickers spotted him above them, the gunshots aimed once again in his direction, riddling the walls with bullets. Peter grimaced as he felt shards of granite dig into his legs, and when he inadvertently breathed in the rock dust. What made him most anxious, though, was to feel a new sensation buzzing under his feet.

His lenses widened, hit by realization, while his spider-sense suddenly warned him. "Above you, look out!" Spider-Man alerted.

Not mines, huh.

Explosions sprang without any warning and chained with deafening and hot detonations. There were no flames or toxic gases, only blue and purple puffs which whirled savagely just before disappearing to make way for a deluge of rocks which gradually parted from the mountain.

"Everybody!" Steve yelled through his mic. "Cover, now!"

All hostilities temporarily ended with a common ceasefire, while the two teams used their respective strengths to survive the stone avalanche.

"Holy..." Peter whispered when he witnessed the fact that some of the falling rocks were as big as cars and heading down either towards the road or right into the void.

Despite the fear and stun, he caught sight of Iron Man, still flying a few meters away. "Underoos, stay where you at! You don't move unless it's necessary, you hear me?!"

Absentmindedly, Peter nodded and focused on this one task: sticking. He could do that. His hands and feet were against the side of the mountain; the few small pebbles and gravel that fell on him were nothing compared to those blocks which could crush him like... an insect. He shuddered at the thought, chasing away this horrible image from his head.

From his spot, he was lucky to have a good view of all the events around him. It was also good and comforting to know that his friends were safe; Steve took refuge with Natasha under his shield, Sam had joined Clint to protect him with his wings, and Mr. Stark tore into pieces as many rocks as possible thanks to his blasts. The purpose of this mission was to capture the criminals, not kill them or leave them dead, although they did quite well-using energy shields that deployed around the trucks as an impermeable force field. Why hadn't they use it earlier? Peter groaned in pain when a stone with the size of his fist hit his forehead. Difficult to trust his spider-sense when everything around him was screaming danger.

"Er," Clint mumbled with a clenched jaw, even though a smile could be guessed on his face. "Where is Wanda when we need her? 'Not the time for a honeymoon..."

When the tremors finally ceased, it was a sigh of relief in unison.

The next second, the shield around the vehicles faded and all attacks started again from everywhere, more vehement and powerful than during the first round.

Everyone wanted it to end. Peter used webs compacted in balls to knock out some imprudent men. His little game was though interrupted by a strong gust of compressed air which dug a deep crevasse in the rock, just where he stood at, a second before jumping out of way. "Hey, not cool man!" The concerned guy opened his mouth to retort, but he fell stiff the next instant when he received a blast in the chest from Iron Man.

Ouch. He could smell the burned flesh from where he was. It could have bothered him if the situation had not been so critical. But, minute by minute, the Avengers were taking over the situation. Shooters became fewer, and soon, only a heavy weapon remained in sight.

"Watch out for the hidden goons. I'm detecting something new," Mr. Stark said, suddenly serious.

"Who's the fucking moron who activated our shield?!" a man complained.

"It was raining stones!"

The man waved the argument away. "I don't give a fuck, the shield is a damn power-sucker... Hell, guys, finish them for once and for all!"

Peter meditated on his lessons in enemy behaviour and wondered if those criminals really had other tricks up their sleeves or if they became desperate. In both cases, Peter knew it wouldn't be enough to take over his team; they were winning—they were the winners.

A new wave of traffickers came out of the trucks to lend a hand — one of them, a tall, burly man of muscle and fat, clambered onto the roof of the middle truck. Unlike other criminals, he seemed amused by the situation, as if he were only a child in a playground. A child with a big toy. Peter rolled his eyes, noticing that this man also had a heavy weapon, which he had to press over his shoulder to support it. Perhaps he would have been advised to wait and understand correctly what it was before getting started with a fight, but an adrenaline stir and excessive excitement drove him to take the risk.

"Don't, kid!" Clint cried out, still struggling with a few angry shooters. "Come back here!"

Hawkeye's dissuasion attempts didn't work.

When he jumped down, Spider-Man didn't have a concrete idea of what he would do. The plan was basically to tackle the fat guy and then maybe knock him out, or web him. His gaze crossed the criminal's. Then, he saw an ugly rotten-teeth grin in the middle of the greasy ginger beard which immediately woke up his sixth sense.

"Yeah, come on, come see daddy..."

It was the last thing he heard before being frozen in the half-way of his fall. Literally.

"Huh...?"

A flash of that night in the bank, the first time the teen had met this odd technology, popped inside of his head. It was the same strange feeling. The same fear, the same helplessness, and the same vulnerability.

The same stupid mistake.

"Yes! Squash the bug, Barney!" cheered several men.

Donut guy — Peter wanted to call him — began to laugh. Right then, the young vigilante understood that everything with this man was ugly. "Naughty spider..."

At first panic-stricken, Peter responded to a primal survival instinct and tried to fight against this eerie aura that paralyzed him in the air. But it was barely as if he could move his limbs or turn his head to find any help. His spider-sense perked up and Peter felt himself paler under his mask. He needed to breathe.

Then the nightmare began.

Pain exploded through him when his whole body was thrown against the rock walls of the mountainside; the shock and fear, fortunately, did not leave him time to feel humiliated for looking like a fly smashed against a wall. He felt the air being expelled from his lungs as his body collided with unbelievable strength against the façade. But above all, despite his buzzing eardrums, Peter could hear the dreadful guttural giggles of the man playing with him. A cruel laugh that made him want to vomit. The teenager let out a pathetic moan while he was recovering from this violent collision when he was suddenly dragged away from the mountain before he even had a chance to catch his breath, still lifted through the air by Donut guy who was using this technology on him. Weakly, he tried to stick with his shaking hands on the rock but he was already too far from it.

Peter struggled again when he became aware that he was now just above the void. If this man wanted to kill him, then he would drop him and that would be the end.

This is what would have happened if the intention of this monster had not been to play with him in the first place. Peter finally found enough oxygen to scream when he once again hit with full force the rock — all the ribs on his right side cracked in chorus under the impact. Then, again, he has moved away from the mountain and, again, thrown against it with the same cruelty. Peter felt unconsciousness manifested by all these repeated blows to his head. If he didn't do anything, he would be killed. Since when had this been an option? It had never crossed his mind during a mission before, so what went wrong this time? What had he missed? The last flow of energy and rebellious spirit urged him to protect himself when he felt himself once again dragged by the hold of this weapon — Peter positioned his legs forward him, in a desperate attempt to absorb the shock of the collision rather than to be crushed whole.

Crack!

Something broke in his left thigh. The pain was so excruciating and unbearable that no sound of distress could come out of his mouth, although it was wide open. His eyes widened and Peter became as rigid as a statue, unable to fully realize the horrible pain that had just been triggered in his leg.

His resistance was perhaps what had frustrated the so-called Barney, or perhaps the man was simply tired of this torture, since the next moment he was released from this grip, just after being thrown into the precipice.

"PETER!" Someone shouted as the teenager was free falling.

Peter was still conscious. Awake. Nevertheless, he did not move. His body was a kind of disjointed puppet. It was awful.

He wanted to move and yell as he saw the road disappear so far above him, but none of his muscles responded to his requests. The young vigilante saw his flaccid limbs move widely due to the wind, while his body continued to flip and turn over, again and again along his fall, giving him the privilege of seeing death calling for him down there. He was terrified.

"Peter" Karen seemed anxious and worried. "You're parachute is damaged! I can't activate it! Use your webs!"

Uncle Ben did parachute jumps when he was younger, Peter still remembered the incredible videos he had shown him. It had looked so awesome and exciting. Humans fell at about 200 km/h in ten seconds, Ben had told him. It was fascinating, truly.

Fascinating and scary.

Just when he succumbed to the call of fatigue and closed his eyes, Peter collided into something and two strong arms wrapped around his waist.

"Got him!" A male voice announced, dragging definitely the teen from sleepness.

Suddenly his body was like brought back to life; Peter gasped loudly to inhale as much air as possible between several violent spasms, revelling in the obedience of his four limbs. His body was producing enough adrenaline to give him the illusion that everything was fine, thus he was no longer minding about his injuries or pain, but only of the relief of being alive.

Eventually, he looked up, willing to figure out who was holding him. He saw two mechanical wings. His heart stopped for a second.

"NO!"

Vulture. It was him!

"No, No! Please let me go!" He began to squirm against the man tight grasp. "Go away!"

His lungs couldn't follow his irregular breathing, he knew he was about to have a panic attack. Until this voice rang in his ears again, sounding familiar and comforting. "C'mon, Baby-Spider, it's alright! It's me, Sam!"

"Sam?!" Peter breathed shortly, his lenses widening and narrowing constantly on the man's face.

"Yeah! Good job, pal! You forgot your parachute?"

The teenager took a look around them; they were flying upwards where the road was. What a quite fall, he mused. Did he just fall on one thousand kilometres? "Er... long story..." He mumbled as he hid his face against Sam's chest — right now, he didn't want to see what was under them.

Falcon chuckled slightly. "Yeah, how do you call it, again? Ah, yes... Parker's luck."

He grunted because it was an ugly truth.

When Peter had hoped to go on a mission with the Avengers, he hadn't imagined this.

He messed it up.

His team had finally given him a chance to prove himself, yet, he found a way to do it the wrong. No one had been injured except him.

Despite the anger and disappointment he had for himself, Peter hastened to get back on his feet once Falcon landed on the road. His jaw clenched automatically from the first step he made when a stinging pain crossed his thigh. He stopped dead but didn't have time to inquire further about his injury since Iron-Man appeared right next to him.

"Pete..." Mr. Stark sighed with an urge, his helmet retracting. "You alright!? How many fingers do you see?"

The man lifted his forefinger.

"Uh... Let me count..."

Tensions abruptly rose.

"I'm kidding." He laughed nervously as the team was assembling. "One."

Mr. Stark's shoulders slouched heavily as he sighed once again. His face seemed older than usual, marked with worry. Peter flinched when someone gently slapped the back of his head by behind — he wheeled around and met Natasha's smile.

"Welcome back, паук малыш."

None of them looked upset against all odds. Everything was so calm compared to a few minutes earlier. No explosions or shooting sounds anymore. Peter cast a quick glance to the trucks and found nothing more than three vehicles immobile with a lot of unconscious men on the ground. They won. The Avengers won.

Not him.

"Are you hurt?" Mr. Stark reiterated, his hazel eyes hardly leaving his protégé.

First, he wanted to lie. But then an inner, wise voice made him remember that it was a pretty bad idea. He promised to never hide his state again; it was the unique condition that allowed the teen to not have Karen reporting daily everything to his mentor. A truth system.

Grudgingly, Peter confessed. "The usual, I think... Bruises, not so much luck on the ribs... maybe a sprain." He could see that the billionaire was sick of not being able to just ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to scan him from head to toe. If Peter didn't suffer so much now because of the adrenaline level which was falling, he could have laughed. "I'll be fine, though. Just a little bit tired…"

Ironically, Peter was only yearning to leave this damn mountain and return to the Compound. He was tired and sick of this mission. The longer he stayed here, the more he faced his uselessness. Moreover, the altitude still made breathing difficult — Peter heard every short, intermittent breath from his friends, in addition to his, which prompted him to instinctively remove his mask, so he could breathe more easily.

"You look like shit," Sam stated blankly when he saw his face.

Although he did not have a mirror to get a glimpse of his poor state, the vigilante imagined that it was not pretty to see. The stone which had fallen on him during the avalanche had partially cut his forehead, and the right side of his face was on fire because of the repeated blows. Peter still felt ghost shocks against his body. This man hadn't missed his job.

"Where is Donut guy?"

Natasha frowned, her hand on the teen's shoulder to ease him. "Who?"

"Uh..." He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable to talk more than necessary about this man. "The one who has the weapon which could lift things ... Hm, the one who tried to ki—"

"We took care of this, underoos." Mr. Stark firmly cut him.

He tried to protest, though Natasha spoke first. "Donut guy isn't a problem anymore, Peter. S.H.I.E.L.D. is up to it now."

"Oh... okay..."

His mind was too confused anyway to seek the how and the why about the end of the battle. The Avengers had won, that was the main thing.

Adrian Toomes was officially the loser.

It was over.

He listened absently Mr. Stark cursed about a useless parachute when his gaze caught Captain America and Hawkeye approaching their trio. Clint's left arm was stained with fresh blood. "What happened?!" Peter asked once the two avengers were near enough to hear him.

"Eh, seems the karma hit you, squirt. See? Respect your elders, next time."

He was avoiding the question.

"You're hurt."

"Ooh, so that's why my arm is itching."

Hawkeye hissed in pain when Steve suddenly tightened a piece of tissue wrapped around his wound. The bleeding stopped, but it didn't quell Peter's concern. Finally, Steve brought him the answer with a cautious smile, despite Clint's threatening glare. "He'll be fine, kid. He was shot while trying to protect you when your Donut guy used his weapon on you."

"Shit..." Guilt twisted his gut merciless before he could fully understand those words. "Fuck, I'm so sorry..."

An exaggerated, outraged gasp came from the archer. "Hey, watch your damn language! Who the fuck raised this brat?"

Hell, he knew Clint was only joking to reassure him — because he was a kid — but he didn't want to act as if nothing was going on. It shouldn't be normal to get hurt. Peter hadn't the smallest ounce of desire to smile or laugh at this. Not when it was his fault.

Peter had felt so wretched when he understood that he had been the only one to have lost feathers during the first minutes of his first real mission with his friends. He immediately and legitimately worried about his credibility — what would they think of him now? Spider-Man had failed to prove himself. He was not good enough for the level of the Avengers.

Peter had thought it was the worst that could have happened to him until he realized that one of his teammates had been injured by his fault.

That was why he couldn't enjoy the same relief as the others.

He slipped out of his thoughts when a heavy arm wrapped lazily over his shoulders. Mr. Stark shook him gently. "We're all alive — I think we deserve a pizza. How that sound?"

"Good..." He mumbled without conviction, even if the idea of a pizza after such a horrible day was quite enticing.

Chattering about the now-ended mission began and lasted several minutes, about how they were going to proceed before returning to New York. Peter spent these few minutes by replaying in his head what he had just experienced, hardly swallowing the fact that he almost died. It made the teenager sick.
Sam eventually clapped his hands together to get general attention. "Okay, I'm staying here with Nat until S.H.I.E.L.D. arrives. Hopefully, they'll be on time, for once, and we won't end frozen in the middle of nowhere."

Still shaken by recent events, Peter quickly detached himself again from the conversation. His mind registered that they were finally going back home, and that was all he needed to give him a reason to walk. When Mr. Stark noticed his slow pace as they made their way to the Quinjet hidden in the forest, several kilometres away, he asked him if he needed to be carried, which Peter of course had refused. He had been humiliated enough for the day. Even if the pain in the leg seems to increase from minute to minute, he concentrated with all of his being on it, thus he didn't show more weakness by limping — especially in front of his mentor.

Back in the Quinjet, the first thing Peter did was sit in one of the passenger chairs in the centre of the aircraft. Or more accurately to slouch down on it with the grace of an old walrus, but he did not care about it, as long as he could finally give some rest to his legs. Around him, Avengers' hubbub was buzzing on and on as they were talking, making reports with radios, putting away their equipments, laughing. He distinctly heard Clint's protests every time someone tried to help him or check on the condition of his injury. He heard jokes of his team and everything else that gave the impression that everything was fine.

Everything was fine, right? No one was dead. It was just a mistake, he would do better next time, that was it.

"Pete?"

Fingers brushed his back when the young vigilante opened his eyes with a start. "Hey, guess who it is?"

Still, with a cloudy mind and a vision covered by a hazy of sleep, Peter recognized nevertheless the low voice of Mr. Stark who was standing next to him. The man no longer wore his Iron Man suit, and the other Avengers were playing cards on the table in the centre of the Quinjet.

"Hey... did I-did I fall asleep?"

He already knew the answer. His cheeks blushed slightly — damn, it was not the aspect of him he had wished gave to his friends. At best, he looked like a toddler who had missed his nap.

"Yep. We're there soon, maybe ten minutes," Mr. Stark announced in a calm tone as Peter rubbed his eyes, now fully awake.

So he had slept two hours. It was the time they had spent with the Quinjet to go from New York to Sweden. On the outward journey, the trip had seemed endless, as it always was on each mission. Now, he couldn't wait to be home just to hide in his room and lick his wounds. May always said that the mind was clearer after a good night of sleep, and Peter hoped he would feel better the next morning. At the moment he felt like shit.

"Home sweet home," hummed Clint, already on his feet when the aircraft landed in the Compound's aeronautic garage, near to the hangar.
As soon as the doors opened, the mission ended officially.

Though, Peter was still sat at the table, his fingers crossed together in a tightly clenched fist. As much as he wanted to run out of the plane, he couldn't. Not now. And he couldn't talk about it to his friends either.

Peter wasn't able to tell if he would manage to walk out.

His leg hurt so much.

After the fight, his body was just too anaesthetized and stunned to interpret his injures right. Like he had said to his mentor, it was usual. A habit. Peter always recovered from any situation and any wound, it was why he didn't take seriously his state, knowing that his powers would allow him to heal from whatever Donut guy had made to him. In the end, maybe he had been wrong.

Peter closed his eyes and breathed slowly. His leg hurt less this way. However, it wasn't magic. The pain was there, sharp and deep, no matter what he tried to do or think about it.

"Hey, Queens."

He couldn't help smiling when he heard the soft voice he knew so well, despite the fact that he wanted to be alone. Though, when the teen looked up, his smile faded.

Uh-oh... not this gaze.

Both kindness and guilt were glimmering inside of those two blue orbs. Peter usually felt so comfortable and accepted when he met Steve's eyes, but right now it only reminded him how wrong things went back there. It was Steve who had called Spider-Man to the battlefield, and Peter could tell that the avenger was currently blaming himself for what had happened. And the second thing worst than humiliation was pity. So, naturally, he grew upset.

"I'm fine," he huffed with what should have been a frown, but which instead looked like a pout.

Of course, Captain America wasn't deterred at all by his behaviour — how expected. "Everything went so fast, I almost forget to congratulate you. It was impressive for a young recruit, you know."

He did nothing good. He messed up everything.

"Maybe it doesn't mean anything for you, but it's a good thing for us to have a young heart in the team. Tony was right about you."

He was only saying that because he felt guilt. He didn't mean it.

Peter wiped his nose with the underside of his hand and nodded silently, feigning to accept solemnly the words.

"I think Tony was deadly serious about the pizza, we'll be in the living area," Steve announced, grabbing a bag and his shield when he noticed the teen was still quietly sat at the table. "You alright?"

Straightaway, he nodded hurriedly.

"Y-Yeah, I'm... I'm coming. I just, um... I was just thinking, that's it."

Mentioning his injuries was out of the question — they would heal soon enough, so there was no point in exposing his weakness so openly once again.

Steve accepted his answer although it was obviously reluctant, and for the next second, Peter could feel the gaze of the man probing him intensely, probably looking for any clue that could have helped him to decipher the teen's unusual demeanour. Peter remained calm and serene until the avenger turned on his heels and finally left the Quinjet.

As a precaution, Peter waited patiently several minutes. He counted two by two in his head until he reached a thousand before thinking in turn of leaving the plane since it was inevitable anyway. His body was screaming at him not to move, to remain quiet and inactive until the pain was gone, but Peter decided otherwise, convinced that he could overcome broken ribs and a sprain.

First, Peter lay both of his hands flat on the table, fingers apart; he stared at them without blinking long enough to feel tears starting to tingle in his brown eyes. Then, he leaned on the table to hoist himself up, ignoring his clammy, trembling body.

Something was wrong. Again, he ignored this warning and stepped forward with his injured leg.

The pain blinded him from the moment he put his weight on his left foot; Peter didn't have time to catch hold on anything, thus he collapsed on the floor in a muffled cry, his two hands frantically clasping his thigh to try to ease his suffering.

"Argh!" The vigilante squeaked, rolling on his back, a grimace of pain contracting the muscles and features of his young face.

Maybe it was not just a sprain.

Peter's lips closed in a tight line as he struggled as best he could against a startling feeling of nausea. He remembered the sound his leg had made earlier, at the impact moment. And, deep down, Peter knew that this time he couldn't ignore it. Something had given way in his thigh.

"You're alright, you're alright..." The boy whined to himself, holding back frustrated tears.

The good thing was that he had been right to listen to his instincts and to wait for all the people in whom he had so much admiration and affection to leave this place before trying to get up. What a pitiful scene he managed to avoid thanks to his stubbornness. Peter knew that a part of his dignity would have definitively dissociated from him if the Avengers would have witnessed this moment more than embarrassing.

The bad thing, though, was that he couldn't stay here forever, even if Peter was tempted to lie down and take the nap of his life.

When he found the courage to move, the vigilante shifted until he was on all fours. Still awfully humiliating, but it gave him time to get up properly without putting too much pressure on the wrong leg. And although it had taken him eternity, Peter managed to get on his feet and head out of the Quinjet — not without looking like a snail, but it was better than nothing. This victory was satisfactory enough for the boy, which is why he hobbled to the first elevator he saw in order to realize his dream of short-term, which was to hide in his private room. Too bad for the pizza.

.

Unfortunately, Peter was unable to escape the pain through a nap as he had done on the way back from the mission. To tell the truth, he couldn't even manage to fall asleep or even doze. The pain in his ribs, but especially the pain in his leg, was far too prickling for Peter to live with. He rolled, and shifted over and over again in his large bed, trying for long hours all sorts of improbable positions, in vain. Whatever he tried, he could not escape this suffering.

This is how both mental and physical exhaustion led him to consider going to ask for help to relieve the pain for a while until his body could heal on its own. However, Peter had forbidden himself from going to see Mr. Stark. The man had already coddled him enough for the day. Peter knew it because F.R.I.D.A.Y. had asked him an hour earlier, and it was obvious that it had something to do with his absence along with the others during the pizza night. The boy was confident in his abilities to overcome this ordeal. The only thing he asked was to keep the dignity he had left and maybe some magic to reduce the pain, at least for the night.

Determined to follow this resolution, Peter used his last strength to remove his Spider-Man suit and put on grey jogging bottoms and a simple white t-shirt. It would be enough to drag himself to Bruce's laboratory.

Even though Doctor Banner had better predispositions for biochemistry, nuclear physics, and gamma radiation, Peter knew that the avenger also had medical knowledge that would spare him an annoying trip to the infirmary which would risk to let Mr. Stark know about his condition. As with the other avengers, Bruce and Peter were friends, and the teenager was counting on striking the man chord to get what he so desperately needed. Hopefully, he wouldn't even need to be examined. He didn't need it anyway.

There was not much distance between the elevator and his room. Yet, it took him once again eternity to cross these few meters in the corridor. A few meters which seemed to him cruelly endless.

His thigh was definitely the worst.

The least painful option was still to hop on his healthy leg and put almost all of his weight on it. Peter had no choice; it was either that or end sprawled on the ground on the very first attempt to walk normally.

Pushing away from the urge to curl up in the corner of the elevator until someone took pity on him and scraped his leftover-him, Peter walked inside the laboratory, keeping in mind that he couldn't allow himself to pass out in front of Bruce. Maybe he was closer to fainting than he had thought initially, he internally suspected when the man gave him a distrait, quick glance over his desk, glasses over the tip of his nose, followed by a new look more surprised and worried.

"Oh my god, Peter, are you okay? You're so pale..."

The Queens' vigilante rubbed his hand against his sweat beading face and managed to smile weakly at the doctor. "Hey, Mr. Banner... I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I was hoping you could give me painkillers or something..."

Bruce forgot whatever he was working on and swiftly crossed the lab to get a better look at Iron Man's protégé. The man's frown and the pronounced lines on his forehead accentuated his concern, and Peter felt guilty for bothering one of his bigger models for something as stupid as cracked ribs and a sprain.

"I'm fine..." Peter began with an unexpected low voice — he hoped it looked more like shyness than pain. "I'm, I... I got some scratches from the mission."

"Oh, Peter..." Bruce grunted for himself as he saw bruises on the boy's right arm. Now, he seemed a little bit annoyed, to Peter discomfort. "How come you got involved in this? No, it wasn't safe... God, I'll talk to Tony about it. It's unacceptable, you could have been seriously hurt or—"

"I'm fine!" He reiterated, this time louder and with more confidence. Peter was happy to be able to fake a healthy shape, even though it wasn't the case. "It was... very educative. I'm fine, truly."

Bruce seemed to be in internal conflict as he paced in front of Peter which soon increased the queasy state of the teenager who had beforehand sat on one of the stools in the room. Then the scientist's shoulders slouched down at the same time he let out a weak sigh as a sign of abandonment.

"Alright. At least, you came to me, it's a good thing." Bruce praised in a mumble as he searched inside one of the wall cupboards; he came back to the boy a minute later with a first aid kit and a small box of blue medicine in his hands. "I'll let Tony know about it."

"What?! No, don't tell him! He would freak out, you know how he is!"

His chances of playing a role in the next mission were already slim, and Peter didn't want to cut them down even more if that meant telling Mr. Stark about his visit to Dr. Banner.

He bit on the inside of his cheek to suppress a groan of pain when the man rubbed cotton soaked with disinfectant on his forehead wound.

"You should look at it this way: why do you think Tony didn't drag you straight in the hospital wing right after landing? Hm?"

Bruce then mumbled a few medical remarks for himself as if he were writing it down on a notebook. Apparently, the injury on his forehead was only superficial and did not require stitches. Good news in itself, but it was the last of Peter's concerns since he had already forgotten about it.

"What I'm trying to say, Peter, is that Tony trusts you enough to let you take care of yourself. And, believe me, he's doing harm to himself by it. You and I know he can be such a mother hen."

A blush spread on the cheek of the vigilante who immediately lowered his head to hide it.

"Look at yourself, it looks like the mountain fell on you..." Bruce noticed with an empathetic pout.

No shit.

Once the wound was clean, Peter felt Bruce's hand palpated his ribs which immediately made him moan.

"Sorry." The avenger pursued nevertheless the brief examination and therefore took a step away. "You have a thing for broken ribs, haven't you? I don't even count the number of times you have managed to hurt yourself, it's distressing." Despite this remark, he affectionately ruffled the teenager's hair. "If you hadn't come here, I'm sure Tony would have sent the infirmary to you in the morning."

"Yeah... you're probably not wrong."

So it was sort of a test to find out if Peter was responsible enough to go and get himself examined. Rather expected from the billionaire. Somehow, Peter was happy that his mentor trusted him enough to grant him more freedom. He didn't want to spoil it.

"Peter."

The teenager perked up to look the avenger in the eyes. His gaze was comforting. Was it a good idea to compare this feeling with what he felt when he hugged a soft toy? Anyway, he certainly wouldn't admit it to Bruce, not even under torture. "Yeah?"

"Are you hurt somewhere else?"

"Um..." Reflexively, he put his hand on his thigh and massaged it through his pants. "Nothing serious, my leg hurts a little."

When the doctor initiated a forward movement Peter stiffened. "But nothing serious, it's just a cramp... I'm mostly there for the ribs, they prevent me from sleeping."

Damn, why couldn't he help but lie? What if Bruce could see right through his game?

The scientist relaxed slightly, however, Peter didn't miss his sceptical expression.

"What about your head?"

"My head?"

Migraine, flashes, numbness, memory problems, constant stress.

He swallowed his saliva dryly when Bruce gently patted his curls. "I'm talking about the mission and how you're going through the aftermath. I know from experience that it's sometimes not easy... And I also know that it can contribute to insomnia. So, it's why I think you could and should take this."

Peter followed the man's movements carefully as he opened the small blue box in order to take out a single capsule.

"It's Steve's." Bruce declared with serious intonation. "It is a derivative of Morphine synthesized in our laboratories. Dangerous — even lethal — for a mere human, but effective for an enhanced being like Captain America or Spider-Man. Though, as your metabolisms are not the same, I would advise you to remain particularly vigilant with the effects of this painkiller. It should relieve you tonight while your body is healing but ask me if the pain persists and if you still need it tomorrow; they are powerful little things. "

At the same time as he was introducing the medicine, Bruce had filled a glass of water that he was giving with the pill to the teenager who was patiently waiting, his open hand lifted in the air, palm upward.

"They are not candy, though," joked the scientist, even if there was still traces of seriousness and caution. "Don't become too fond of it."

.

So, it was the chapter one of the fiction ;) Feel free to leave any comment. I'll try to update the story monthly.