The fight was finally turning in their favour, as the giant guy began tumbling down; and Tony thought that maybe they would be able to catch Cap and his psychotic boyfriend in time to stop them leaving. Until Peters voice was cut off in the middle of his sentence.

"Yes! That was awesome! I-ugh!"

Tony heard the kid grunt as he was struck, and turned to see him fly across the sky; no longer swinging safely, but falling to the hard, unforgiving, concrete.

He crashed into a stack of crates first, obliterating them beneath him, before tumbling across the tarmac and landing curled on his side. His limbs were slightly askew, but he made no effort to get up or even move to a more comfortable position. He didn't move at all.

Tony's heart clenched painfully, as he held his breath, flying down to check on his newest recruit, while his mind screamed at him.

How could he be so stupid, as to bring a fourteen-year-old into a fight with the Avengers? Of course, the kid had caught a car without any problem, but this was a fight with other superheroes, ones that broke airplanes in half to hit people with. If he got hurt, it was on Tony, and he hadn't really thought about that possibility till now .

He approached the sprawled figure on the ground, praying that he was okay, and called out as he crouched beside him.

"Kid, you alright?"

Peter immediately rolled over, hands coming up to protect himself. Although he did a lousy job; his mask pulled half off, and little panicked noises falling from his mouth as he struggled.

"Get off me!"

Tony caught his wrists and pressed the flailing limbs to Peters chest. So, the baby Avenger wasn't dead, but he certainly wasn't all there right now. He was trying to pull his wrists from Tony's grasp, and although he was weaker than usual, he still had super strength, and Tony's Iron-Man suit provided the extra strength necessary to hold him still, as he tried to reassure him. "Same side. Hey, guess who? Hi."

Peters glassy eyes, found his, and the kid let out a relieved sigh, sinking to the ground. "Oh, hey man. That was scary." His voice was shaky, and he stopped fighting Tony's arms, exhausted.

Tony felt like sagging to the ground too, with how much relief was flooding through him. Peter was fine, a little banged up but nothing he couldn't handle and heal from within a day or two. He looked down at the kid, mask half off, and eyes not quite focussing, as he blinked them obnoxiously, obviously having trouble seeing.

Tony made a decision. "Yeah, you're done. Alright?"

Peters gaze flickered back to Tony and his hands came back up to try and grab onto the billionaire. "What?" He sounded so disappointed, and Tony knew that Peter would have gladly got back up to fight, had Tony asked him. But he couldn't risk the teenager getting hurt again, it was a bad idea to bring him in the first place.

"You did a good job."

Peter began squirming, trying to get his feet under him so that he could stand. "No, I'm good! I'm fine!"

Tony pushed the kid back down, trying to keep his voice level to hide how horrible he felt that the child in front of him, was so desperate to please him, while so obviously hurt.

"Stay down." He'd have Happy come pick him up or something, because as much as this was his fault, he still had to stop Cap.

"No, it's good, I gotta get him back!"

Tony's voice grew a notch harder, his concern showing through, because Peter couldn't even fight his hands off anymore.

"You're going home, or I'll call Aunt May! You're done."

He couldn't look at that disappointed, confused, face any longer; he didn't have time. Tony started walking away, as Peter continued to call out.

"Mr Stark, wait! I'm not done, I'm not…" Tony was about to fly off, after his idiot friends, when Peter let out a grunt of pain. Tony could hear the small thumps as Peter fell back to the ground after trying to get up, and he turned to watch him lay back down on the concrete.

The kid let out a tired breath, but Tony's own chest seemed frozen, because something was staining the tarmac.

It was seeping out from under Peter, slowly but surely, spreading out so that there was no questioning what it was. Blood; way too much of it.

Tony raced back over, pressing his hands to Peter's shoulders, to stop him moving, as he had Friday scan the kid for injuries. "Friday, give me a full report from the suit."

Peter looked confused, but Tony's voice was quick and hard. "Don't move."

The kid stilled, face screwing up into a wince, as Friday relayed her report. "I have detected a moderate concussion, three broken ribs, and a stab wound above his right hip. It is bleeding too fast, and needs to be treated immediately. Would you like me to send a med team?"

Tony could barely speak, at the sight of all that blood flowing from Peters side. It wasn't just a stab wound, the kid had been impaled, on a piece of metal that had likely come off the plane, when the Tiny/Giant guy had ripped the wing off. He felt sick.

He managed to reply, but his voice wasn't as stable as he would have liked. "Yes, and find Rhodey, tell him I need him here."

Rhodes had been in the military for long enough that he knew way too much about first aid in the field. He'd be able to help until the medics arrived.

Peter was looking up at Tony, confused. "Mr Stark, what's wrong? You should be fighting with the others."

Tony shook his head, hands letting go of Peter to hover over the metal sticking out from the kid's side, unsure of how to put pressure on it.

"That doesn't matter right now. I just need you to stay really still, okay? Don't move."

Peter looked like he was about to say something else, when the sound of thrusters interrupted, War Machine flying towards them, and landing on the concrete next to Tony.

The face plate lifted, and Rhodes looked a little sick. "Oh, shit Tony."

Peter looked between the two men, as Mr Stark seemed to get more panicked. "I know, just help him."

A bad feeling creeped into Peters stomach, and although his head was a little fuzzy, and thoughts came slower than they should, he knew something was wrong.

Rhodes stepped out of the War suit, and came to kneel beside Tony, hands hovering over Peters side. What were they staring at? Why did Mr Stark look so pale?

Peter lifted his head off the ground, ignoring the way it made everything seem to spin. Tony pressed against his shoulder again, trying to get him to lay back down.

"Don't look, kid!"

But it was too late, Peter saw it. It didn't make sense at first, his brain couldn't turn the colours and shapes into anything with meaning, because how could the glint of metal be coming from his side? Why was the ground red?

But it all seemed to crash together at once, and he carefully laid his head back down on the concrete, feeling dizzier and more out of it than he had before.

"Mr Stark?"

Tony's face was creased in concern as he looked at the teenager. "Yeah?"

Peters voice was small and thin, as he looked up at the blue sky swirling above him. "I think I'm done fighting, now."

Tony nodded, and sucked in a shaky breath. "You'll be okay, we'll fix this. I'll fix this."

Rhodes was still assessing Peters side, rolling up his sleeves and deciding on the best course of action. He spared a glance towards his friend. "You good? I need you to keep your cool here, Tony."

The mechanic nodded, hands still pressing against Peters shoulder and chest, in case he decided to move again.

Now that Peter knew there was metal sticking out from him, it started to hurt. Like, really hurt. He could feel the blood sliding down his side to his back, making the suit stick to his skin; the wrongness of his flesh and muscle being forced apart by the shrapnel. It ached, and burned and hurt. His breaths began coming in pants, and he couldn't stop the small whimpers that fell from his mouth, because he was scared.

Rhodey pulled his over-shirt off, balling it up and tearing strips from it, as more noise invaded Peters awareness.

"That's not like you, to just fly off in the middle of a fi- " His voice stopped abruptly, though Peter knew it to be the Falcons. And then he said what everyone else had. "Shit."

Rhodey looked up for only a second, but all the tension from the fight dissipated in an instant. "Steve said you were in the army. You remember your first aid training?"

Sam nodded and stripped off his wings as quick as he could, kneeling next to the other men on the ground. "Yeah, I remember. What have we got?"

Rhodes frowned down at Peters side. "Shrapnel; I need to stabilize it, and he fell a pretty good distance so-"

Sam rolled up his sleeves as he nodded, finishing his sentence. "I'll take care of everything else. Full assessment. There a med team coming?"

This time it was Tony that answered, voice thin. "Yeah, my own team. They shouldn't be long."

Sam took a place on the other side of Peter and looked down at him. "How you doing there, kid?"

Peter didn't know what else to say. "It hurts."

Sam nodded, and carefully slipped Peters mask off. "I know, just keep breathing nice and even. Everything's okay."

Peter tried to do as he was told, as more footsteps approached, and then a voice. "God, how old is he? Is that…is that metal coming out of him?"

Peter didn't know that voice, but Sam spoke as if he knew him. "Scott, we're trying to keep-" He paused, not knowing the teenagers name. Tony supplied it, and Sam kept going.

"Peter."

"Right. We're trying to keep Peter calm. Why don't you go get as many blankets as you can from the plane you ripped apart, and any first aid gear, you find. And hurry. Tony, I need you to come over here and hold Peters head steady."

Both men did as they were told, and Peter felt like maybe he might be okay, because they seemed to know what they were doing.

Tony stepped from the Iron-Man suit and carefully steadied Peters head so that it wouldn't move. Sam began talking as his hands moved over Peter, expertly checking everything over.

Friday had already given them a status report on Peters injuries, but Sam wanted to make sure, and carefully ran his hands across Peters head, neck, and chest, searching for any missed damage that could cause them trouble.

"Tell me if this hurts." He pressed and pulled at various parts of Peter, shoulders, ribs, legs, neck, stomach. He didn't find anything that Friday had already warned them about, but by the end of it, Sam was worried, because Peter was becoming less and less responsive.

"Peter? Buddy, I need you to answer me." Tony noticed the frown on Falcons face as the teenager tried to reply, but all they got was a groan.

"Hnnngg…" His eyes refused to focus, and they blinked so slowly, Tony questioned whether they would open again, every time they closed.

Scott had come back with the blankets and first aid kit fast, and Rhodes was stacking bandages and torn up bits of blanket around the piece of metal, trying to get the bleeding under control, but it just wouldn't stop.

"When's the med team coming? I can't get a handle on this, he's bleeding out too fast."

Sam placed two fingers at Peters wrist, frown deepening. "Heart rates low, and his breathings not looking good. He's going into shock. Scott hand me those blankets and lift his feet a little, but try not to jostle him too much."

Peter didn't seem to notice much now, reacting only with soft moans and whimpers when moved or pressed against too hard. Scott wrapped blankets around the kid, while Sam peered into Peters glassy eyes.

"I'm really not liking the look of this head injury. How many times was he hit?"

Tony didn't want to think about it, but knew it could be important. Scott answered, as he held Peters feet in his lap. "I saw Steve smack him into one of those plane walk-way thingies, and then he bounced off the concrete pretty hard, so I'd say a couple times just from that. Oh, Steve also hit him in the face with his shield, but he got up real fast afterwards."

Tony looked down at Peters pale face. "Then you knocked him into the ground."

Sam sighed. "I also had my drone throw him through a window."

Tony swallowed thickly. God, that was like four or five decent hits to the head, all in such a small amount of time, no wonder he was so out of it.

Everyone's attention was dragged away from Peters head, when Rhodes cursed under his breath, hands dripping blood and scrambling for another shred of blanket or jacket to tie the bandages to Peters side with.

"It just won't stop, why isn't it stopping?"

Sam looked at the mess of blood, words falling from his mouth without him seeming to realise he was saying anything at all. He'd seen too many friends bleed out in the dirt, but now it was a kid, too young and too innocent to deserve any of it.

"If he falls asleep, we'll lose him."

Tony didn't think he could take anymore statements like that, and he gently rubbed his thumbs across Peters temples, where his hands were still holding Peters head steady. "Hold on buddy, just keep looking at me. Peter? Focus, kid."

Those eyes were slow, but Peter dragged his blurry gaze to the face above him, but by the time he managed to find his mouth and make it move, the face was leaving; the warm hands on him, being replaced by something hard and restrictive.

There was a lot of noise, and more hands than there had been before. Bits of words leaked into Peters brain, but he couldn't decode the sounds into words or meaning.

"-C collar on him and lets- "

"-more bandages, this isn't holding."

"Blood pressures dropping, we need to get moving."

"-surgery now or we'll lose him."

He didn't know any of the voices, anymore, and the hands kept moving him around and sticking sharp things into his hands and arms. But he was too tired to move, even when he felt straps pull tight across his chest, holding him down to something hard.

The strange thing was, he didn't feel scared anymore, and the pain wasn't so bad. The noises grew louder, something whirring and pulsing, churning air and sound around him. He felt himself moving, and he knew that some part of his brain was telling him to stay awake, but he was too tired.

His eyes closed, and he felt as if his mind was swirling down a drain; disappearing into nothingness.

…

Tony rode in the helicopter with him as they transported Peter to the nearest medical facility available. It was a private military base, that was fully operational but quiet, and thankfully close enough that it was safe to transport Peter there.

But his condition only worsened on the trip over. The bleeding was out of control; with one of the medics shouting about blood vessels that must have been nicked, and if that wasn't enough, Peter was no longer waking up. He wasn't responding to pain, and his breathing had begun to slow so much he had an ambu bag over his nose and mouth, with one of the medics rhythmically squeezing it to pump air into his mouth.

The medics voices were muffled in the loud helicopter. "He's unresponsive and I've got decreased breath sounds on the right; lungs collapsing. I think the broken ribs have shifted and punctured it. Call ahead for immediate intubation on arrival."

He was slipping away, and there wasn't anything that Tony could do.

He followed closely behind the gurney that Peter was strapped to, as they wheeled it inside the base, but he couldn't follow them through the OR doors. He had to stand, shaking, in the hall praying that he hadn't just got a teenager killed.