Chapter Text
The crash happens less than a month after the Infinity Stones are destroyed.
Everyone in the world is recovering still. Infrastructures are being repaired, schools and nonessential businesses are still closed, and everyone is keeping their loved ones close. People don’t leave their houses as much, preferring to keep an eye on each other in case someone disappears. The streets of New York have been quieter before, but not by much. And not for so long.
Asgardian refugees are settling in Wakanda, Loki included. Half the Avengers have been dispatched to keep an eye on him while the rest of them disperse around the world to wherever they’re needed. The Accords are rewritten, amended, and Mr. Stark all but ties Captain America down and makes him actually read through them this time before he leaves for Wakanda so he’ll know it’s a fair deal for him and the other enhanced individuals who might join the Avengers at some point.
Mr. Stark pulls some strings to keep himself stationed primarily in New York, and Peter knows it’s because of him. Aunt May survived the Snap, and so did Ms. Potts and Mr. Rhodes. There’s nothing keeping Mr. Stark in New York besides Peter, and the fear that he might vanish into dust again.
His suspicions are confirmed when he finds out that, since their apartment building was destroyed when someone was kil dusted, while cooking, Aunt May and Peter are living in one of the motels being rented out by the government. Mr. Stark has them moved into the Tower the very next day, with Peter’s room between his own and the one he offers Aunt May.
“No point in you guys taking up beds someone else might need when you’ve got somewhere to go,” Mr. Stark says when they try to thank him.
There’s something in his eyes sometimes though, when Peter has a nightmare or isn’t quite fast enough to dodge that mugger’s right hook during patrol, that makes Peter think that underneath the bravado Mr. Stark is relieved to have him close by.
Peter doesn’t say anything about it, but he feels better knowing that the two of them are around, too.
It takes some doing, but Aunt May eventually relents and lets Peter join the recovery efforts as Spiderman as long as Mr. Stark is on whatever assignment he’s on.
It's pure coincidence that they're in Ithaca when the rocket crashes. They were helping the government workers clear out debris from when a previously-manned helicopter crashed into a free clinic. Now they're trying everything they can to prevent more damage.
“It's going too fast for me and the suits to catch, kid,” Tony warns him over the comms when it enters orbit. “You've got about five minutes to get the immediate area evacuated, can you do it?”
“Yes, sir!” It's mostly clear anyway, but he can have Karen scan for stragglers within a two block radius to be safe.
He gets the area clear in time, but doesn’t manage to get far from the crash site.
Rocket crashes, Peter learns, are deafening. Even through the filter of the Iron Spider suit, the crunch of metal on asphalt grates on his ears in the silence of the city. The heat wave from the initial explosion is boiling, and he’s lucky he’s wearing his mask because the smell of ash and fuel is undoubtedly even worse without it.
“Karen, scan for signs of life,” he says once he can hear again.
“Four life forms are still on the ship, Peter.” The holographic display shows their location. “I estimate four minutes until the ship explodes from the fuel leakage.”
Mr. Stark lands next to him before he can panic. “You take the two on the left, I’ll take right.”
“Yes sir.”
He can’t decide if it’s lucky or unlucky that the wreckage is so hot. On one hand, it’s easier to rip pieces off the ship in larger pieces. On the other hand, the smoke is making it really difficult to see.
“Infrared,” Peter orders once it gets impenetrable, and Karen switches to infrared mode immediately. It takes him less than a minute to get through the rest of the outer casing.
The flames are roaring, the heat snapping wires and making screws squeak. But over the din, Peter can hear an almost inaudible “Sue!”
Peter can make out two figures with the infrared vision, and he reaches out to the upright one, the one that’s conscious. “I’ll get you both out of here! Take my hand.”
He doesn’t expect the unconscious body to be pushed weakly into his arms instead. “Take her first,” the guy says, voice weak and raspy from smoke inhalation.
“Get out of there kid, there’s less than a minute ‘till this thing is gonna blow,” Mr. Stark says through the comms. He sounds panicky, the way he always does when he’s too far away to help.
He doesn’t have much time, but… “I’ll be back for you. Just stay put,” he swears, turning tail and rushing the woman out of the ship as fast as he can.
Mr. Stark is a little way away with the other two victims, who look like they’re also unconscious. He lays the woman down carefully next to the larger of the two before turning to run back. Mr. Stark grabs him by the arm.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Underoos? That thing’s gonna blow any second.”
As if Peter doesn’t know that. “There’s someone else in there Mr. Stark, he’s alive! I have to go get him.”
It’s not fair to Mr. Stark, he knows. There’s a lot to unpack between the two of them, a lot of things that have gone unsaid in the wake of the universe being put back to rights, but Peter knows the thought of him dying keeps the man up at night. The rocket could blow up, this could all be for nothing and Peter could die along with the boy who’d given up his shot at safety. But if he has to choose between hurting someone he cares about or letting an innocent person die, he’s not going to think twice.
He rips his arm out of Mr. Stark’s hold and dashes back into the wreckage, making a beeline for where he’d left the other boy before. The wreckage is collapsing already, large pieces of machinery and structural elements crashing down around him and bringing back several unpleasant memories that he shoves to the back of his mind for later.
The boy is right where he was before, which is good because otherwise Peter would have missed him entirely. His body temperature is only barely below that of the fire; he’s nearly invisible on the infrared scanner.
Peter holds out his hand again. “Come on, this thing is about to blow!”
The boy takes his hand, grip weak. Peter isn’t sure if he’ll be able to stand, so he scoops him up into a fireman’s carry and books it out of there as fast as he can.
They almost make it out of the rocket before it explodes.
The force of it sends both of them flying. Peter tightens his hold on the other boy instinctively before his suit's extra legs deploy, righting them before they land headfirst on the asphalt.
“FRIDAY, give me Spiderman’s vitals!” he hears Mr. Stark say from over by the other three survivors. He sounds panicked, but Peter can’t see him from here. Not that it would matter if the faceplate was down.
“I’m alright, Mr. Stark,” he manages, using the mechanical legs as supports to get him moving. “Got the guy out. We’re good.”
The guy he saved is conscious, but just barely. Peter switches back out of infrared vision and works on getting them around the wreckage and over to the rendezvous point.
“I'm getting way too old for this, kid" Mr. Stark grouses over the comms. “I have a bad heart to begin with.”
“You've got at least half your life left, sir.” He’s only kidding a little bit. Tony Stark is going to live another 60 years at least. More, if they can find a way to make it happen. The alternative isn't even worth considering.
“Yeah probably,” Mr. Stark says agreeably. “So stop trying to make sure I outlive you.” Again.
The word hangs unspoken between them, like so many other things. Peter just shakes his head and focuses on getting this guy to the other side of the rocket.
Slowly but surely, he gets there. His head is still spinning from the lightshow and the noise and the heat from that explosion, so he's not planning on pushing too hard. Not with an injured person depending on him.
He takes the long way, around where the nose of the rocket used to be; going around the back near the thrusters, while it would have taken less time, would have been stupid.
A faint “Reed? Suzie?” comes over the comms and Peter can only assume that someone woke up.
“Your friends are alright,” Mr. Stark is quick to say. “We're going to transfer you to our medical facility in the city. Get you guys checked out and treated.”
The red and gold of Mr. Stark’s suit comes into view just as Peter hears a louder “God, the kid! Where’s Johnny?”
Peter can only assume that’s the person he’s carrying over his shoulder. “Mr. Stark, could I get a little help?”
The helmet whips around in Peter’s direction. Once he catches sight of Peter, Mr. Stark rushes over and takes the guy Johnny off his hands just as he’s beginning to stagger under the weight.
Ridiculous, Peter thinks. I can lift a truck with one hand but I can’t carry a single guy.
“Don’t beat yourself up kid,” Mr. Stark says, patting Peter’s shoulder with his free hand. “You’re pretty banged up yourself. FRIDAY says you've got heat stroke and a pretty bad case of heat exhaustion.”
That’s another elephant in the room. Mr. Stark is much more free with touch now. Since they fixed everything and Peter had collapsed into his arms, it's like some barrier has broken. Like so many other things, they don't address it.
But now that he mentions it… “I'm a little dizzy.”
Which isn't a lie, but may or may not be an understatement. Which Mr. Stark probably already figured out.
“Yeah, I figured.” Mr. Stark sounds just the tiniest bit exasperated as he lays the boy down next to his friends. Ambulance sirens sound in the distance, but Peter knows better than to think they’re normal ambulances if Mr. Stark is planning on taking these people to the medbay. “We’ll get you cooled off back at the Tower, alright?”
“Cool. Good. Good plan.”
It takes a lot to give Peter heat stroke. Takes a lot to hurt him at all, really. But once he wakes up from his nap in his designated cot in medbay (annoyingly, it has his name on it an everything; he’s here a lot), he’s pretty sure FRIDAY was right.
Naturally.
The air conditioning is really doing wonders for him though; now that he’s awake, it seems like his healing factor has taken care of the rest. He’s right as rain.
Someone a few cots over groans and rolls over, and he remembers that he’s not the only one there. If he listens carefully, he can hear Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner in the next room over, talking to someone.
“I understand that it’s difficult, Mr. Grim, but ”
“I ain’t sayin’ a damn word until Reed ‘n Suzie wake up,” a voice snarls. With a jolt, Peter recognizes the voice that was talking to Mr. Stark. One of the people from the crash. “Isn’t it bad enough I look like this? I’m not gonna be interrogated right now.”
Dr. Banner sighs. “Fair enough.”
It’s quiet for a moment. Peter looks down and sees that he’s still in the boxers and tank top he wears under the suit. A change of clothes is sitting on the chair next to the cot, folded haphazardly. One of his newer binders lays on top, a clear sign that the next time Mr. Stark sees him, he’s in intern mode.
Well, obviously, Peter thinks, pulling the privacy curtain shut before he tugs off the tank top. He doesn’t make a habit of roaming around in the suit, especially if there are people around who don’t already know him. The mask is saved for webslinging.
“Peter, the Thai food Mr. Stark ordered is here. Should I have someone bring it up or do you want to go get it?” Karen’s voice comes from his Starkwatch, startling him as he pulls on his socks.
“I’ll go get it,” he says softly. There are still people resting in here, and getting the food will at least give him a reason to get away from the reeking antiseptic medbay air.
He pulls his shoes and backpack on and heads down to the lobby.
Jackson grins at him from the front desk, not even looking surprised to see him. The bags of takeout are stacked on either side of the clipboard he uses to keep track of appointments. “I take it these are yours?”
“Yeah.” Peter grins and grabs a bag with each hand. “Gonna be a long night.”
“When isn’t it, with you?”
Ooh, burn. But he’s got a point, so Peter just rolls his eyes and waves as he heads back upstairs. For a moment he’s tempted to actually take the stairs, but even with his powers it’ll take too long to get to the ninetieth floor. So he grits his teeth and takes the elevator.
“Floor ninety,” FRIDAY’s cool voice says over the speaker as the doors slide blessedly open.
Peter takes a deep, steadying breath as soon as he’s out of the tiny steel death compartment that is the elevator. He’s not dealing with that particular issue. Nope. Not today. Preferably not ever.
He shakes his head and starts walking. As he passes the kitchenette, he grabs a handful of forks, mindful of the possibility that someone else had woken up while he was gone. Then he turns down the hall toward Dr. Banner’s office.
It sounds like they’ve reached some kind of standstill.
Peter taps his knuckles lightly on the door before pushing it open. “Knock knock.”
Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, and surprisingly enough, Clint Barton are sitting side by side, across from… Wow, is that a living rock? Cool. Well, less cool because the living rock was only scowling at the adults in the room but now he’s scowling at Peter, albeit with a bit more confusion.
“Who’re you?” At least his tone isn’t as angry as Peter expected, given the conversation he’d heard earlier.
“Peter Parker. Paid slave.” The last bit slips out completely out of habit, and both Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark wince because. Context.
“He’s Tony’s kid,” Clint says, not looking uncomfortable in the slightest as he messes with a rubix cube.
“Intern.” Both Peter and Mr. Stark stress at the same time. He’s pretty sure he sees Mr. Stark’s eye twitch. Dr. Banner says nothing, but Peter sees the amused tilt of his eyebrows.
The rock man makes a thoughtful noise, still eyeing Peter a little suspiciously. “You’re not screaming.”
“What?” Peter blinks. “Why would I? You’re not one of the bad guys.”
Mr. Starks shakes his head in defeat, mouthing bad guys to himself. But the rock man looks startled.
“Anyway,” Peter says, feeling the air grow heavy with awkwardness. “I brought foods. Many of them.”
He holds up the bags, only to have them taken out of his hands immediately by Clint. “You’re a lifesaver, kid.”
“You may as well sit down and eat with us,” Bruce says in that quiet doctor tone that says this definitely isn’t an option.
“Yeah kid, there’s enough to go around.” Mr. Stark doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s typing on his phone, but Peter’s getting the same vibe from him as he is from Dr. Banner.
It’s immensely difficult not to roll his eyes at the mother henning they’re doing, but there’s someone in the room who not only doesn’t know his secret identity, but seems to be focusing on the weirdness that is him. So he manages not to be snarky and instead sits in the free chair by the rock man.
Clint divvies up the food, piling Peter and the rock man’s paper plates high while Peter nabs one of the forks.
“What kind of heathen eats noodles with a fork?” Clint asks, as he always does when they eat together.
This time Peter really can’t resist. “The kind that likes this shirt and doesn’t wanna drop noodles on it.”
“I’ll set him straight, got a business trip to China planned in a few months.” Mr. Stark finally puts down his phone in favor of the food.
“I’ll eat my noodles however I want, thanks. Anyway,” he changes the subject, turning toward the rock man, “What’s your name? Or like, your superhero code name or your less secret identity or whatever?”
The rock man looks at Peter with an unreadable expression. He hasn’t touched his food, which is… well, disappointing if unsurprising, after the day he’s had. “Ben. Ben Grimm.”
Ben Grimm... that name is familiar. It only takes Peter a few seconds to remember, and when he does it’s almost like meeting Dr. Banner all over again.
“Oh my gosh you’re Ben Grimm? Like, the guy who wrote that paper on particle physics that got published even though it wasn’t a doctoral thesis and introduced the possibility of using photons as a theoretical basis for teleportation Ben Grimm?”
Mr. Grimm looks slightly overwhelmed. “Aren’t you like twelve?”
Peter pretends not to notice Clint snickering under his breath. “Now you've gotten him started.”
Talking to Mr. Grimm (“Call me Ben, kid. I’m not that old.”) is easy. Talking to the other people they rescued is… less so.
About twenty minutes later, the blonde boy Peter almost died rescuing wakes up. Ben says his name is Jonathan Storm, and he’s almost seventeen. Only a little less than a year older than Peter. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the type of tan that only persists into November on a jock. If he didn’t look like he’d just survived a rocket crash, Peter bets he’d be a pretty solid 10/10 in the Generic White Boy category.
Now, why the heck a seventeen year old was on an illegal rocket launch in the first place is something Peter plans on looking into at a Time Which is Not Now. Right now, Jonathon is more concerned with Ben and his older sister, who’s still out.
“I’d like to do a once over exam to make sure you’re alright, if that’s okay Mr. Storm.” Dr. Banner’s voice lacks the listen-to-me-now edge now that he’s dealing with a teenager who’s acting like a caged animal.
Jonathan's eyes flick over to the cot next to him, where a pretty woman with hair identical to his lies prone. Then he looks at Dr. Banner, narrowing his eyes.
“You’re Bruce Banner.”
“I am.”
“This isn’t even a hospital. You don’t have a medical degree.” Jonathan crosses his arms. To his credit, when he realizes how big a mistake that is with three broken ribs (Peter knows from experience), he keeps his flinch under admirable control.
“I don’t, but the Avengers’ on call medical expert does.” Dr. Banner gives him a gentle smile. “According to her, all of you came out of that crash remarkably unscathed, considering what should have happened. And given whatever happened to Mr. Grimm while you were in space, I just want to make sure that your body hasn’t been altered on a molecular level.”
“Which he does have a few degrees in,” Mr. Stark chimes in, on his phone again. “Plus some life experience.”
Ben makes a small movement with his hand that Peter realizes is an aborted motion to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t gotta worry about it right now, kid. You can wait ‘till Suzie wakes up. Just wanna make sure you don’t look like… this, at the end of the day.”
He glares at the rest of them, daring someone to challenge his decision to let Jonathan wait. Personally, Peter doesn’t see the harm in letting him wait. Actually, strike that; he knows a little bit about what Johnathan is feeling, and doesn’t think he’d be responding any different.
Dr. Banner doesn’t seem to agree. “I know it’s tough, but we still don’t know what happened out there. It might not be safe to leave you alone in here.”
That was one thousand percent the wrong thing to say, Peter thinks. Or at least the wrong way to phrase it.
Before Jonathan or Ben can say something scathing that’ll escalate the situation, Peter cuts in. “Then don’t leave him here alone. Can’t someone just stay and make sure nothing happens to him?”
Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at him. “You volunteering, squirt?”
Well. He walked right into that one, didn’t he?
“Yeah, I guess I am.” He looks at Jonathan, who looks like he’s more focused on his sister’s limp hand in his own, and flashes back to three years ago, living his own horror story by a hospital bedside. “It’s not a big deal. I can work from in here, and I know the sort of thing you guys are looking for.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Clint says, cleaning his fingernails with a small knife. Peter almost forgot he was here, he was so quiet. Sometimes he forgets that Clint’s superspy skills are second only to Ms. Natasha.
“I don’t like it,” Dr. Banner says. He looks at Mr. Stark sharply. “I don’t like that Peter’s involved at all. ”
That’s beyond an old argument at this point, so Mr. Stark waves him off. “Sucks. You’re outvoted. Pete, you let us know the second something changes. I have an emergency meeting with the secretary of defense about all this, but I’ll come back ASAP.”
“Will do, Mr. Stark!”
Mr. Stark narrows his eyes at him, but doesn't correct him the way he normally would. Peter counts that as a win.
He and Clint all but push an immensely reluctant Dr. Banner out the door.
Ben lingers for a second to talk to Jonathan. “They're alright, Johnny. Know you're not a fan, but the Avengers’ equipment is top of the line.”
All he gets in response is an unintelligible grunt, which is actually more than Peter expected.
Ben looks a little bit lost, but he just turns to Peter. “I told ‘em I'd do some tests once I knew they'd wake up, see if Banner could reverse this. Are they gonna let me know if "
“Yes,” Peter says immediately. “I'll make sure of it.”
He can recognize an adult trying to be strong when he sees one, and Ben is definitely doing that for Jonathan. The guy’s skin is made of rock now, but he's got to keep it together for this kid who probably shouldn't have even been on that ship in the first place. Peter’s seen this sort of thing too many times to even consider doing something that would make things any harder on Ben.
“Thanks, kid.”
Peter nods and smiles reassuringly at Ben as he leaves. Then it's just him, Jonathan, and his very unconscious siblings.
There's absolutely no way Johnathan is up for conversation right now, so Peter doesn't even try. Instead he pulls his tablet out of his backpack and answers his missed message from Shuri about the cryocube plans.
She seems intrigued by the idea of cooling down nitrogen and says that its it's going to be her top priority out of her extracurricular projects, which is actually super cool and less demeaning than Peter would have thought a few months ago, given how many things that girl is working on at any given time.
Until she gets back to him, he can't make any more progress on that, so he moves on to his new taser web formula.
A few weeks ago he made the unfortunate discovery that because of its higher conductivity, the taser web’s tensile strength is significantly lower than most of his other webs. It's not a huge deal, since he doesn't use them too often, but most projects are on hold while the world recovers so he doesn't have much else to do.
He works in near silence, studiously ignoring the nearly inaudible sniffling from where Jonathan is sitting by his sister's bed.
Honestly? Peter isn't even sure how he's managing to sit upright with his injuries, but he's not about to risk telling the guy to lay back down.
“Thanks,” Jonathan says suddenly. He's not facing Peter, doesn't turn around at all. “For sticking your neck out for me like that.”
“It's no problem.” Peter looks up from his work. For a second, he debates saying more, something about how he knows what it's like to have someone he cares about on a hospital bed, how he knows what it's like to wish you could take their place.
He bites his lip and turns back to his work. There's no point in oversharing. Even now, two years later, thinking about that night hurts; why bring it up to a stranger?
Neither of them speak for a while.
Jonathan surprises him by turning slightly so he can face both Peter and his family member. Sister, if Ben is to believed. “So you… work here?”
Peter blinks in surprise. He didn't really expect Jonathan to try small talk. But everyone copes differently, he supposes. “Yeah. I'm Mr. Stark’s personal intern.”
That seems to surprise him. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Peter says, trying to keep in mind that this is just idle conversation, not someone making fun of him. “Super weird to be working a job like this when I'm this young, I know.”
“Eh. Just means you're some kind of supergenius right?” Jonathan shrugs and sends a slightly mournful at the next cot over, where Dr. Richards is lying. “Reed was like that, so it's not as weird as you might think.”
Being compared to Reed Richards is something of a dream come true. Being compared to Reed Richards by a grief stricken member of his family is a little more sobering.
“He’s gonna be fine, you know. Both him and your sister.” At Jonathan’s quiet, disbelieving snort, Peter pulls up the charts on his tablet. “No, really. Dr. Richards should be up any minute. Apparently he was even luckier than you, since he got through with just smoke inhalation and some minor burns. Your sister… She's got a few fractures and burns, but since Spiderman got her out first it's all fairly minor. It looks like it's just the smoke and the heat stroke keeping them under.”
Exactly how they all got out so easy after a crash like that is a mystery in itself. Ben coming out of it with no injuries makes sense. But Dr. Richards having no blunt force trauma? Jonathan having no burns? Even Susan Storm’s injuries are odd; no lacerations from shrapnel, just burns from when she was lying in the flaming wreckage.
“You're an intern. Why would I believe you when you probably don't even have access to our files?” Jonathan doesn't sound like he's trying to start a fight. He sounds tired.
“I'm an important intern” is all Peter can think to say back. He cringes internally at the way that sounds out loud. Technically it's not a lie, but jeez. Could he have sounded any more self-important if he tried?
“Wow,” Jonathan says, unimpressed. “Color me star struck.”
A deep flush creeps across Peter's face. He sinks a little deeper into the too-big hoodie that was either May's or Mr. Stark’s at some point. “I didn't mean it like that. I was trying to help.”
“Whatever.” Jonathan turns back around slowly, taking care not to jostle his injuries too much, and that seems to be the end of the conversation.
Wonderful.