#febuwhump 2019

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 22: regret

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, Happy Hogan Category: Gen Rating: T Warnings: none Words: 1.6k

read on ao3 

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this literally has no plot lol but i’m sleepy. also i haven’t seen the iron man series in like 2372 years so my characterization is entirely based on hoco bye

this one goes out to @parkrstark, who suggested doing something with happy and peter :)

The kid’s annoying.

It’s a fact. The kid talks too much, too fast, and it’s annoying. That’s just how it is. He wishes that was a good excuse for ignoring the calls. And the texts. And the incessant, unnecessarily long voicemails. He wishes he'd kept a closer eye on the kid because then maybe he wouldn't have missed his own Homecoming to fight his date's dad. He wishes his negligence hadn't indirectly caused a world of trauma for a high school sophomore. He can't fix it now, but he can at least try to make amends. Peter seems like a pretty forgiving kid. 

He starts out small. Proper greetings when Peter gets into the backseat of the car, asking him how school was, letting him ramble on about decathlon practice or chemistry or his friends or...whatever he's talking about. Happy's not really listening, but he hasn't put up the divider either. Progress. He can almost think of Peter's voice as background noise, if he focuses hard enough on the road. Peter doesn't seem to need much input from him, anyway, so as long as he gives a hum or a nod every once in a while, the kid's content to just talk. Happy drives and Peter talks. And it works. Peter's smiling, so that's something. Guilt still gnaws at his insides, even as Peter chatter animatedly about the new LEGO set his best friend, whose name Happy can't remember, just got. They're not close, not by a long shot, but they're okay enough.

After Germany, Peter usually calls Tony when there's a problem. Tony is mentoring him now, something Happy never thought he'd live to see - Tony Stark with a kid. Not because he didn't think Tony would be good with a kid, but because he never thought Tony would settle enough to have one. Which, technically, he still hasn't, but who is he kidding? Most of the calls he gets from Peter, now, are just patrol reports. He doesn't give them every time anymore, but Tony insists that he still gives them whenever something major or out of the ordinary happens. After Germany, Happy listens to every voicemail. No matter how long, how uninteresting, how tangential, Happy listens to all of them. Sometimes Peter actually has a cool story or a funny anecdote - the time he fought a guy in a hot dog costume who tried to steal cash from a taco stand because he was bitter that their mascot had a better suit than him sticks out. Other times, it's just Peter telling him about how he helped a kid find her dog or something in that vein. It's sort of endearing, in a way. The voicemails, as much as he hates to admit it, are nice to listen to. And it's nice to get an update, outside of the weekly lab visits, on how Peter's doing. It's nice to get semi-regular confirmation that the kid is, in fact, still alive. He brings up a story from one of the more recent voicemails one day, because Peter got cut off by his aunt in the middle of his retelling, and Happy's kind of curious as to what came next. "Hey, what happened with that guy you were following the other day? The one you thought was stalking that girl." Peter stops in the middle of his sentence. There's a level of surprise on his face that Happy doesn't like. "I - what?" Glancing between the road and Peter in the rearview mirror, Happy says, "From the voicemail. Last...Tuesday, I think? Something like that." Peter's mouth opens and closes like a fish for a solid twenty seconds. Happy's starting to wonder if he said something wrong when Peter practically chokes out, "You - you listen to the voicemails?" It's a fair question. Happy hates that it is, but it's fair. He's not shocked that Peter still assumes he doesn't listen to the patrol reports, because he didn't before and letting the kid ramble in the car isn't going to change Peter's whole perception of him. He didn't do it right the first time, but he'll get it the second time around. He's not going to let the kid down again. "Yeah, I listen to them," he says, gruffly. Peter nods slowly in the backseat, eyes wide. There's way too much awkwardness going on here. "So are you gonna finish the story?" "O-oh, yeah, sure. So it turns out he was stalking her..."

It's not until Peter steps into the car with possibly the saddest look Happy has ever seen on anyone other than Tony or Rhodey that their relationship really clicks. Peter slides into the backseat, unceremoniously dropping his backpack at his feet, and promptly leans his head against the window and closes his eyes without so much as a hello. Wrong. There's so much wrong here and he haven't even started driving yet. "The hell happened to you?" Happy asks, realizes belatedly that maybe he should've waited for Peter to speak up. Or just let him talk to Tony instead, since they're actually close. Or at least been a little more gentle about asking. Too late now. Bleary eyes drag over to him. The kid picks at a loose thread on his jeans and mumbles, "Nothing. M'fine." "And I'm Iron Man." He gets no reaction. Jesus. "Kid. Did someone say something to you? Or is this like - like a PTSD thing or -" "What do you care?" There's no real bite to it. Just tired resignation. It might be worse. Peter's not even angry about it - Happy wonder, sometimes, if anger is even in Peter's vocabulary - he's just accepted that Happy doesn't like him and never will. God, he's an asshole. He doesn't not like the kid. He's never really not liked the kid. Peter's annoying, yes, and likely will never stop being annoying, but it's in the same way that a younger brother is annoying. Like whenever he speaks, Happy wants him to shut up, but when he actually does, it feels like something's missing. He didn't get that part, before, because Peter never actually did seem to shut up, but he gets it now. And he does care. He never wanted to, but the kid's grown on him. Apparently, he's good at that. "Peter - look, I'm sorry for not answering your calls," he says, and he really is. "I'm sorry I didn't take you seriously. I know I've been a dick, but I'm...trying to make up for it, okay? So if you don't want to tell but, then fine, whatever, but you - you can, if you want." He's met with silence. Okay. He deserves this. Happy puts the car in drive and pulls out of the school parking lot. Regret stirs in his stomach once again.

They're halfway through the drive when Peter says, "There's this guy at school." He leaves it hanging there, still staring out the window as the city flies by outside. Happy's not quite sure if guy at school means a bully or a crush, but the way Peter says it has him leaning toward bully. "Uh huh?" Happy prompts, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. He's always hated having people stare at him when he's upset. Peter doesn't speak for another two minutes. Happy's starting to think he's not going to when he slows to a stop at a red light and Peter pulls away from the window. "He's an asshole. He - he calls me Penis Parker and says I'm not smart enough to be on the decathlon team and acts like I ran over his dog just because I'm a starter and he's not." Does starter mean the same thing on decathlon as it does in sports? Probably. Happy doesn't really think the specifics are that important here anyway. Now that he's thinking about it, he's pretty sure Tony mentioned something about Peter having a bully once or twice before. "I can talk to him if you want. Man-to-man." "No. Christ, why do you and Mr. Stark both jump to scaring the shit out of a high schooler?" "Because we both know you won't." Peter scoffs, somewhere between indignant and exasperated. "That's not even - it's not even that big of a deal. He's a jerk, yeah, but it's not a big thing." "The look on your face when you got in the car said otherwise," Happy says, before he can think better of it. He doesn't want to push too hard and make Peter shut down, but again, it's a little too late. Thankfully, Peter just sighs, fingers running through his hair. "I - it was just something he said earlier. I was already a little on edge today, and he...went a little too far. But I'm okay, Happy, really. You don't have to - I mean, I know you have better things to do than worry about me anyway, but -" "I do worry about you. You have no regard for your own well-being, it's terrifying." "I -" "You're like another Tony, except Tony's a grown ass adult and you're like - fun-sized." "I am not -" "You're tiny and have no sense of self-preservation, of course I worry about you." "I didn't get in this car so you could insult me," Peter says, but he's smiling. There's still a sad tinge to his eyes, but he's smiling. "I'm not insulting you, only stating facts." "Lies. Lies and slander." Happy laughs. "Sure, kid. Whatever you say." The guilt doesn't lessen. But he thinks they're on the road to recovery.

[kurojiri]

Over the ledge

Fandom: Young Justice Pairing: Wally West/ Dick Grayson Summary: He was alive, that had to mean something. It had to. Prompt Used: Coma A/N: AU where Wally didn’t die but went to a Coma Word Count: 501 Or read on ao3 or ffnt

There had been days when Dick had thought: maybe this will be the day. When he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from plummeting. To be utterly defeated while finding himself living in a world without his heart.

Dick Grayson had always wanted to believe that he was optimistic, that the superhero world would not destroy them all. He had been a fool, a very naïve hero despite the years of training and experience he had been given. The ways he coped may have been not all that healthy, but Dick had survived since he had been named Robin. Then Nightwing. He had always made himself a support system. One that kept him grounded.

It had worked. Made him see a window to jump into. And one of his favorite contacts had been Wally West, his best friend. They had danced around it, made a game of it when they poorly disguised their feelings, and in some strange reality and push, they had confessed. Eventually. And embarrassingly so cheesy.

They didn’t date right away. Life happened to be very turbulent, Wally stopped being a hero, and the bat family was broken and hurriedly put back into place. (But the cracks had still shown themselves.) So many things changed, but what didn’t was how Wally had still stuck into his life. That had been enough for Dick at the time. Even without the extra pushing of dating.

It had almost seemed that maybe one day it would be nice to reflect. To have a moment even, for Dick and Wally to try it. That had been all what he wanted a day—a moment, and breath to attempt. He didn’t think it had been a selfish request. And it shouldn’t have been.

But when that day happened Dick had thought he lost him. He couldn’t even describe that day without breaking. With his body crumpled. Unmoving. That had made the world seem dimmer. They all had rushed to save him and after hours later Wally had been officially marked as a coma patient. It hadn't meant that he was dead.

(Though, that still didn’t help Dick either when he looked at Wally pale. Not laughing, not joking but silent, and practically still in his sleep. Dick had to listen to the heart monitor to know he wasn’t gone.)

He didn’t recall the first week of visiting. Dick just stayed there when he could, ate when he had been forced to. And just sit there waiting for him to wake up. Being in a coma did not mean he was dead. But it had also meant that time was still moving forward without him. They were all progressing, while Wally just stayed in bed.

It may have been not healthy in that first week. But he had slowly started to pull himself back. Because he knew that Wally would have wanted him to do. Even if, it had been hard to walk away from the room. Wally would wake up.

He had to.

[thecattenofcoffee]

Febuwhump Day Three: Taken

As soon as Jameson woke up, he noticed three things. One, it felt like someone had put a hammer to the inside of his skull. Two, he couldn’t see anything. And three, the gag in his mouth tasted bloody awful and it was pointless.

As soon as JJ was fully awake, he tried to get his bearings, quickly finding out that his hands were tied behind his back and his feet were tied together. He could tell that he was on some sort of stone flooring and that he was inside, as he couldn’t feel a breeze of any sort or hear either birds or crickets chirping. He could also tell that he was no longer wearing his hat.

“Oh bugger.” the gentleman thought to himself.

While gently twisting his wrists to test how tight the rope was and see if he could get it untied, he heard angry voices and footsteps approaching. He immediately stilled, hoping to learn more about his kidnappers before they knew he was awake. Both voices were male, he could tell, and one had heavier foot falls than the other.

“I can’t believe ya grabbed the wrong fucking person!” a higher pitched male voice said. An older sounding gentleman growled back, “It’s not my fault they all nearly look fucking identical! The only thing different about them is that they wear! The Boss better be glad I was able to even snag this one, the hero nearly saw me!” the way the older sounding  man spat out the word ‘hero’ made JJ’s skin crawl. Were they talking about Jackie?

The man with a higher voice growled in annoyance. “Whateva. Hopefully the Boss doesn’t mind we snagged this one instead of the stupid magician. We need to wake ‘im up and question ‘im. Hopin’ he ain’t retarded like the purple haired one we tried to snag ages ago.”

“Robbie? What would they want with him-” JJ’s thought process was cut off by a hefty kick to his stomach. A silent groan left his mouth as he immediately curled in on himself.

“Oi! Shithead! Wake up.” the male with a higher voice said as JJ was pulled to his feet. He would have collapsed again it wasn’t for the large hand holding him roughly by the forearm. He felt a hand brush against the top of his head before whatever was preventing him from seeing was roughly torn off, taking some of his hair with it. He flinched and blinked rapidly to try to make his eyes adjust faster to the very bright lights in the room.

The gentleman, if you wished to call him that, in front of Jameson was a lot shorter than him, which took him aback. He wasn’t that tall himself, but he knew better than to judge by appearances. He couldn’t see the other man, but that was mostly because he was standing behind him and JJ didn’t dare turn his head away from the man in front of him. His eyes did, however, quickly scan the room around and behind the man in front of him. He took note of the high windows’ and how the only door he could see was very far behind the short man in front of him.

The short man smiled with a crazy gleam in his eye. “Ah, smarter than most. Immediately looked for escape routes, didn’t cha?” JJ just stared at him harshly. “That’s quite a powerful glare you got there, and if it weren’t for that our employer wanted ye whole, I would cut those eyes right outta ya skull.” The man growled. Jameson’s eyes widened. “Good, you’re sensible as well. Now, Imma take this gag outta your mouth and better answer every single question I ask ya as quickly as possible or your gonna be in a world of hurt. Our Boss wants whole, but he doesn’t mind a little broken, do you understand me?” JJ hesitated before nodding. He had a sinking feeling that these two weren’t going to be happy about him being mute.

The tiny man smiled, it wasn’t a pleasant look on his face. “Great. Now be a good boy, and maybe you’ll be traded off with only mild bruising.” The man nodded to the other one, and JJ felt as the older gentleman slid the gag forward over the top of his head before removing it from his mouth and throwing it to the side. Jameson had to fight trying to spit out the horrible after taste the gag left in his mouth, knowing that the man before him would probably take it the wrong way and strike him.

“Now,” the small man said, “what is your name, pretty boy?” JJ hesitated, he didn’t really want these men to know the manner in which he spoke, but if they had been looking to kidnap Marvin instead of him, he highly doubted it would matter.

“My name is Jameson Jackson.” the speech slide clearly startled the both of them, judging by the small mans face and how the larger one had tried to jerk himself backwards, twisting JJ’s arm uncomfortably, but he tried not to show the pain it had caused him, besides a slight grimace.

“What the fuck is this!? You a fuckin wizard to, eh!” the smaller man didn’t seem pleased. “And why the hell aren’t you fuckin speakin’ normally? We took the gag offa ya!”

JJ tried not to flinch at the man’s tone. “No, I’m afraid that I am not a wizard, and I can’t speak normally. I’m afraid to say that I can’t talk.” The smaller man sneered. He obviously was not pleased.

“Of fuckin course you grabbed a mute.” he growled under his breath. “What the fuck even are the things you are using to communicate?” He sounded genuinely curious. JJ shifted uncomfortably. The man’s hold on his arm had grown tighter, and it was starting to hurt.

“I believe my family calls them ‘speech slides’, it’s the only way I can communicate with them without using sign language.” Jameson said with a frown.

“Wait, you said communicate, does that mean you can talk to them from here?!” the older man said panicked. JJ’s eyebrows furrowed.

“No, only those in my presence can see the slides.” JJ felt so confused. Why did these people want with him, or Marvin for that matter?

The shorter man’s face went blank. “I don’t believe you. Mickey, break his arm.”

JJ’s eyes widened, “Wait- AAAHHHHH!” his mouth flew open, but nothing escaped. Mickey, apparently that's what the older man was called, just let him fall to the floor after breaking his forearm. JJ curled in on himself while staying on his knees. Heavy breaths left his mouth and he felt tears streaming down his face, but he still tried to remain calm.

“Don’t cha ever lie to me again, you got that?” the short man said. “And I don’t want to see even a glimpse of one of the slide things, ya hear?” JJ weakly nodded. “Good. Now stay down, the Boss should be arriving in a few hours.” the man said, before kicking him across the face and laughing as he landed on his broken arm harshly. If he could of gasped he would, but for now he just rolled onto his side and mouthed curses he’d heard his brothers say, even if they were extremely foul.

“Marvin, Jackie, please find me.” JJ thought desperately as he blacked out from the pain.

[whump-my-dear-watson]

Febuwhump day #5 “Major Character Death”

Fandom: Daredevil (TV) Characters: Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, Karen Page Word Count: 726 Warnings: as the title includes, a major character death. Summary: (Takes place during the end of IW) Tragedy happens to so many people, but you never expect that it will happen to you.  A/N: Wow, look who’s back with more Daredevil Febuwhump! Am I still salty that Daredevil wasn’t in Infinity War? I think this lil one-shot says it all. 

“Matt, Matt, somethings wrong.”

Matt looked up at his friend, he could smell the fear oozing off of him. Matt’s fist clenched into a fist on instinct, as he did a quick sonar sweep of his surroundings, no intruders. Matt and Foggy were sitting in his living room after everything happening in the city it seemed that the alien attackers have gone. Foggy was helping bandage up Matt, he made it out with just a few scratches surprisingly.

“What’s wrong Foggy?

He could feel his friend starting to hyperventilate, as he struggled to form words.

“My...my hands,” Foggy’s whole body shook as he looked down at his own body.

Matt tried to focus on Foggy. On what was wrong. What he could ‘see’. His findings just made no sense. Nothing was making sense, everything happening so quickly, Matt could feel Foggy’s presence fade and shrink. Matt reached out towards his friend, his hand hitting Foggy’s solid arm, it changed. From his solid flesh, it melted into flaky ashes.

Then he was gone.

It’s fine. Everything's fine. Foggy’s okay.  He has to be. Matt stood up in his living room, it had never felt so empty before. Where was Foggy? Why couldn’t he hear his heartbeat? His breathing rhythm, the smell of his cologne, the feel of the vibrations of his walk, his voice.

Matt spun around in circles desperate to find an answer. Maybe it was just his powers messing with him. Who said they would last forever? Somewhere deep inside Matt knew that it was more than that, it was something too awful to even entertain.  

“Foggy,” he said, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Matt swallowed and ran out of his apartment to the street, all over he could hear wailing and pain, the world was out of control.

Matt’s chest rose and fell with his growing anxiety, fumbling he got out his phone, he dialed Karen’s number, an overwhelming wave of relief pass over him when she answered.

“Matt, you’re okay! How’s Fog-”

“What’s happening? Karen, what’s happening to everyone?”

“Um, no one knows why yet, but all over the world, people are just...disappearing.

“Where? Where are they going? Do you think it’s the...do you think it’s the rapture?”

“I, no, Matt, no one really knows yet, but there are so many accounts of missing, a lot of people are theorizing it’s something to do with the alien invasion.”

“So they’re really gone. Everyone that disappears is just, gone.” Matt’s voice dropped, as he slowly came to terms with the realization.

His phone fell out of his hand, cracking against the asphalt street. Matt didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything.

“Matt! Matt!” Karen's distressed voice still audible from the fractured phone, he couldn’t answer it. He couldn’t talk to her, not now.

Foggy.

Matt’s face contorted into one of pain as his eyes welled up with tears, his chin trembling uncontrollably. Matt sunk down the ground beside his phone, kneeling there in the middle of the street Matt didn’t care what happened to him.

Foggy was the best thing that had ever happened to him. How he had survived until meeting him in college Matt didn’t even know. Foggy is what kept him sane, he was the one who stood by his side but also talked sense into him. He’s what kept him from falling into a dark place that he wouldn’t be able to get out of, Foggy was his supporter, his rock, and now he was gone.

Matt let out another sob, Foggy didn’t deserve this. All he ever did was try to help people, why had he gotten punished?

Matt slammed his hand into the ground. “It should have been me!” he screamed to no one, to everyone. “It should have been me,”

A hollow Matt rose from the ground when normally he feels so much, now he felt nothing. Not pain, not love, everything was gone.

Matt knew that he should be better, for Karen, for Maggie, but somewhere deep inside him, he had made a decision. A decision that he would die trying for. A decision that he would kill for. Without Foggy as his moral compass, he might lose himself, but he had already lost everything. Matt swore on all that is good in this world, he would succeed.

He was going to get revenge.

[lildevyl]

FebuWhump Day 7: Imprisoned

A/N:  Okay I know I’m little late for this prompt but I wanted to get it out.  Also, this idea has been in my head for a quite a while.  I’m actually thinking and contemplating when I polish this story idea up a bit to make canon/head canon for my boys.  So, here’s a look at my version of “Corrupted”/Evil Marvin.  HAPPY WRINGING!!!   Oh!  And enjoy the show!!

Marvin was in his dressing room taking deep breaths to calm himself.  His hair was laid by his shoulders and he for once he didn't have his trade mark mask on.  Marvin was extremely nervous tonight.  For tonight was the night!  Marvin finally did it!  He was going to be a big shot!  No more just renting out theaters or children's parties (actually he quite enjoy those, he might still do them) but finally he was going to make it big!  Tonight his show would be broadcast all across Egopolclypse!  All over Septic City!  All over Ipliers!  All over each and every town and city of every Ego would be watching him tonight!  Which was why he was so nervous.  He didn't want to screw it up!

Both Jackie and Silver had triple assured him that there was no need to fret. There was absolutely no sign of the glitch anywhere and for once.  Darkiplier actually agreed to be somewhat civil tonight.  That was as close to as a compliment that Marvin would get from the man.  He actually gave his word that he would not interfere.  So, Silver asked Wilfred a favor as to not do anything. Surprisingly, Wilfred actually agree.  Silver said that both Dark and Will wanted to see how the show would go so they would not interfere tonight.  At least that helped calmed Marvin's nerves a bit.

Taking several more deep breaths and remembering his breathing exercises, Marvin began to calm down.  He opened his eyes, and then noticed a package on his desk.  'When did this get here?'  Marvin wondered looking around his dressing room noticing all the gifts, chocolates and flowers that many fans and admirers sent him.  'Must not of noticed it with everything else here,' Marvin concluded.

Taking the package Marvin saw that it was wrapped in septic green wrapping paper with beautiful midnight blue ribbon on it.  There was card on the package as well.

May tonight go out with bang!  ­- Naes.  It read.  That was an odd phrase, maybe the person didn't know how to express themselves too well.  Marvin decided to open the wrap package and what found inside took his breath way.

Inside the package amongst all the tissue paper was hand made mask.  It looked like his trademark one but this one shimmered and shined!  It made out white porcelain with white zircon gems all around the porcelain.  The inside of the ears had pear green peridot.  The nose, the heart and diamond were made out of red garnet.  The whiskers, spade and clubs were made out of black spinel. Marvin was over joyed!  He couldn't believe that a fan went through this much work and detail for him!

Marvin couldn't help it.  He had to put it on, now.  Go out there with this new mask and show the world how magnificent he truly was.  Not only that but Marvin would be able to show how much he actually admires and appreciates the gift.  Marvin adores and admires each and every one of his fans and this way he could them just how much the truly mean to him.  By showing off their creative work to the world!

Marvin took the mask out of the box and put it on.  Tying the large black gleaming stings behind his head.   Then the pain started.  Burning, suffocation pain!  Marvin screamed and tried to rip the mask off but he couldn't get it off. The Corruption bled into his skin.  The corrupted magic went through his veins making them dark purple to black.  Up to his eyes, changing their color from bright green to dark violent purple.  His bright lushes hair now, a stringy dark green with a blood red ribbon tying his hair back.  His once majestic outfit now, a dark velvety red dress shirt, black pressed pants with purple sparkles.  His midnight blue cape with the stars and moon, now shimmering black with a bright red inside.

When Marvin was able to breath and get a hold of himself he looked in to the mirror and smiled.

"No, no, no!  What have you done!"  Marvin screamed and pounded on mirror.

"Oh, now this is truly a nice turn of events," He said.  "Now let's see how you like being imprisoned, Marvin?  After all you imprisoned me in your mind for years now!  Oh, but I almost forgot.  Tonight's the big night, isn't it?"

"NO!  DON'T!!!  I'm begging you!"  Marvin pleaded, tears beginning to escape his eyes at shear thought of him in front of everyone.  In front of cameras with full control of his magic no less!

"Oh, don't worry Marvin," He assured.  "It will truly and surely be ah - MAZE - ing!"  Maze said flipping his top hat on and strolling to the door.  Before he left, he picked up a cane with a red jewel on the top and gave Marvin a sinister evil smile.  Then he went out the door to perform his greatest trick.

Okay so I just wanted to let you all know.  This idea came from @septic-dr-schneep mind control/possession head canon when Marvin in her universe had gotten possessed, mind controlled by AntiSepticeye.  Maze is based off the Evil!Marvin character by @kisstheashes.  I saw one of her fics with Goretober and practically fell in love with that version.  So, @kisstheashes, I hope you don’t mind me borrowing the idea and using my own interpretation of that character.

Tagging:  @septic-dr-schneep, @starlightxnightmare, @huffletrax, @shadowsonthemoon, @huffletrax, @dolphintreasureart, @the-scribe-speaks, @kisstheashses, @fear-is-nameless

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 10: head trauma

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark Category: Gen Rating: T Warnings: blood and mention of vomiting Words: 1k

read on ao3

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“Spider-Man, come in.”

“Where are you, Spider-Man? We need you.”

“Spider-Man, what the hell happened? Are you okay?”

“Peter?”

“Peter!”

Are their words slurring or is that in Peter’s head? Everything’s just a bit blurry right now, so it’s hard to tell what’s real and what he’s imagining.

He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know what happened, either. He doesn’t know if he’s okay.

He’s thinking maybe not. His head hurts.

Peter groans, slowly pushes himself upright, gravel digging into the palms of his hands. The pain in his head sharpens as he does, vision going spotty around the edges, and he brings his fingers up to touch his forehead.

His fingers come away bloody.

Huh.

Peter blinks quickly in a futile attempt to clear his vision. He feels wobbly. Dizzy. Has to lean back on his elbow to keep from pitching over.

People are still shouting at him. For him? At him? Either way, the overlapping voices are getting kind of annoying.

“M’here,” Peter says, and his tongue feels heavy. His words are definitely slurred and he thinks perhaps he should be more concerned about this. “I, uh...I don’ know where I am, but I th’nk m’okay.”

Instead of quieting the voices, this only serves to make the noise louder. Which only serves to make his head pound harder. Peter groans again, but it comes out more like a childish whine. “Sh...shut up.”

He’s fairly sure that taking his mask off is not the best course of action here, but he does it anyway, tugging at the base of it until it finally comes off. And then he takes stock.

Okay.

His head hurts. That’s hard to ignore.

He’s bleeding. His eyesight is not exactly at its peak. He’s more than a little woozy.

Are those signs of a concussion? If he was a little more lucid, he could say for sure, but as it is, he can’t quite remember. There’s ways to test for a concussion, aren’t there? But do they all involve another person?

Fuck. He needs to do...something. Put the mask back on and call for help? Probably, but that sounds so incredibly unappealing. Wait here for someone to find him? Maybe, but then he has to sit here with this damn headache for who knows how long. Get up and try to go find someone himself? Hm.

Yeah. That sounds good.

Peter shifts around carefully until he can get his hands and feet under him. The first time he tries to push himself up, he gets about two inches off the ground before his head swims and he drops back down. Swearing under his breath, Peter resets, giving himself twenty seconds to just sit and breathe and then trying again.

Halfway and then toppling over.

Third time’s the charm?

It actually is, in Peter’s case - the third time around, he pushes up first into a squat, pauses to move his hands in front of him, then slowly rises up the rest of the way. He sways, equilibrium completely thrown off, and comes closer to throwing up than he has since the bite, but stays upright.

Brilliant. He can work with upright.

He wonders, vaguely, if his powers are what’s keeping him from totally collapsing. Because the events of the last few minutes are very hazy, but he does recall being thrown into a wall a lot harder than a regular human could handle. It’s lucky, he figures, if he comes out of this with just a concussion, seeing as most other people probably wouldn’t have even come out alive.

But shit, this hurts. The ache in his head seems to have spread down his body, into his chest and his legs and his hands. Every bone in his body screams when he takes a step forward, and his brain feels like soup in his head.

...Maybe this is what Tony was talking about all those times he said he didn’t want Peter to get hurt. All those times he talked about protection and recklessness and safety and a bunch of other things Peter didn’t listen all that hard to. He regrets it now, but, well. Sucks to be him.

God, it kind of does suck to be him. Even barring the almost-definite concussion, he’s been through so much that he’s pretty much resigned himself to the fact that God just really fucking hates him.

His parents. Ben.

The Hudson River. The ferry. The warehouse.

Toomes.

Wait, no, shit. Don’t go there. He can’t go to the bad place mentally right now, because he’s already in the bad place physically, and that’d be two too many bad places to be in. It’s not that Peter’s never had a concussion before. It’s highly likely that he has, what with how many times he gets tossed around on the daily, but he figures they’ve all been mild enough that they didn’t hinder him too much and they healed quickly.

This, on the other hand? Terrible.

He’s just about ready to give up on trying to stumble along when he hears repulsors.

Oh, good, someone’s here to make sure he doesn’t die.

Tony lands in front of him, hands already held out toward him even before the suit opens up to let him step out. Peter squints at him, head tilting slightly to the left, and slurs, “T’ny?”

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony replies, a strained smile on his face. “Scale from 1 to 10, how bad is it?”

They always do this, when one of them is hurt. So long as the injured on is relatively lucid, the first question asked is always scale from 10 to 10, how bad?

Peter considers. “...Six?”

Tony nods, and then Peter shakes his head and says, “No, no…sev’n. Seven, final ans - ans...answer!”

Tony presses a button on his wristwatch, then says something into it that Peter doesn’t quite catch. And then he starts toward Peter.

As soon as Tony’s hand touches his shoulder, Peter passes out.

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 7: imprisoned

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, James Rhodes Category: Gen Rating: T Warnings: racism, homophobia, mentions of slurs Words: 1.5k

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there’s no rule on how loosely i’m allowed to interpret prompts and i think that’s beautiful

“It wasn’t my fault,” Peter says.

The look Rhodey gives him is somewhere between amused and withering. He’s wearing loose sweatpants and an MIT sweatshirt that Peter is pretty sure belongs to Tony, and Peter already regrets calling him and interrupting the very little time the Colonel actually has to relax.

The police station is quiet - surprisingly enough, Peter’s the only person in the holding cell tonight and the officer behind the desk stopped talking to him as soon as he told her that someone was coming to pick him up. It’s late and exhaustion hangs in the air, tugs on Peter’s eyelids, makes his limbs heavy. The adrenaline wore off a while back, and now he’s just…tired.

Rhodey doesn’t respond, just walks over to the desk and starts talking in hushed tones to the officer - Captain Milburn, if Peter’s not mistaken. He tunes out the conversation as best he can, head too fuzzy to focus on whatever’s being said, and leans forward on the bench he’s been sitting on for the past hour. Folds his arms on his knees, careful of his bruised knuckles, and rests his forehead against them, more than ready to just go to sleep right then and there.

He closes his eyes and waits.

He thinks maybe he should feel stupid. Or at least guilty. But he is Spider-Man - protector of the little guy and all that.

He’s also stuck in a holding cell, but, well. Collateral.

Peter doesn’t tune back into reality until the door to his cell has been unlocked and Rhodey is kneeling in front of him, saying, “Kid, come on. Let’s get you to an actual bed, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Peter hums softly, letting Rhodey tug him up by his uninjured hand. As he follows Rhodey out of the holding cell and through the police station, he says, “Mr. Rhodes?”

Rhodey stops, abruptly, in the middle of the station, Peter just barely avoiding walking into him. “Are we back to that now?”

“What?”

“The whole ‘Mr. Rhodes’ thing. You don’t have to go back to being all formal just because I’m picking you up from jail, Pete.” Peter frowns, shifts his weight back and forth as Rhodey stares at him over his shoulder, gaze scrutinizing. It’s not the point, he knows, but Peter still finds himself saying, “It’s not technically jail. Just a police station.”

Rhodey snorts, waving to Captain Milburn as he starts toward the door again, pulling Peter along with him. “Because that totally makes it better. Damn, you sound like Tony.”

Tony’s words from the car ride after Germany ring in Peter’s head.

Don’t do anything I would do. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Would Tony have done this? Peter likes to think he would have.

It really wasn’t even his fault. The guy had it coming.

Peter voices this to Rhodey when the Colonel slides into the driver’s side of his car after opening the door for Peter, as if he couldn’t have done it himself (which, granted, is not that wild of an assumption to make after he nearly passed out in a holding cell a mere two minutes ago). Rhodey twists the key in the ignition, but doesn’t make any move to actually drive.

Fuck’s sake. This is what he’d been trying to avoid when he called Rhodey instead of Tony or May. The lecture about being careful, about not picking unnecessary fights in his civilian clothes, about not using his powers as Peter Parker unless he’s attacked.

Which he didn’t do, but will surely hear about anyway.

Rhodey is silent for a long moment. Peter taps his foot against the car floor and feels like his mental state is on a pendulum, springing back and forth from one end of the spectrum to the other. Agitated to drowsy and back around to anxious.

“So let me get this straight,” Rhodey finally says, and Peter has to bite back the urge to crack a joke about his wording. “You punched a man on the street, got arrested for assault, and then called me, of all people, to come pick you up from a holding cell when, lucky for you, the guy decided not to press charges.”

It’s spot-on. Blunt, maybe, but spot-on.

Peter sighs, leans his head against the passenger-side window. “Yeah, pretty much.” “But it wasn’t your fault.”

Remnants of the anger that had panged through him just an hour and a half ago thrum in his bloodstream. “No. It - it wasn’t.”

Rhodey grips the steering wheel in front of him, tilts his head back, and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, Peter. Tell me what I’m missing here, then.”

Peter presses his fingertips into his thigh and closes his eyes.

A shout. The crack of bone against his knuckles.

“He, uh - there was this boy walking down the street, he was probably sixteen or seventeen, and he had on nail polish and makeup and stuff. The man - the one I punched, I mean - he called the boy the F-word.” He doesn’t want to say it.

“The F-word?” Rhodey prompts.

Peter casts his eyes over to him, quirks an eyebrow at the Colonel. Understanding dawns on his face and his jaw goes tight, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles go white. Peter’s right hand throbs, scrapes and bruises that will heal within twenty-four hours wanting to ache as much as they can for as long as they’re allowed. Rhodey shakes his head minutely, and his eyes are sad.

Not angry. Just sad.

“I’m really sorry you had to hear that, Peter,” is all he says. Peter looks away.

“I - I know I shouldn’t have punched him. Especially when I have super strength and could probably capsize an airplane with one punch. I just…I saw the boy’s face and he was - he was so scared, Rhodey.”

And it hurt.

“And my whole thing is about protecting the little guy -”

And it hurt.

“I couldn’t - I couldn’t just -” Fuck, he didn’t want to cry. He told himself he wasn’t going to cry over this, over some asshole on the street who thought it was okay to throw slurs around like it was the 1940s.

The man hadn’t even said it to Peter, but it’d felt like a punch in the gut anyway.

“I once knee’d a guy in the balls for calling a friend of mine the N-word,” Rhodey says, making Peter’s head jerk up. His tone makes it sound like it’s just any old story, but the words hold so much weight. “All three of us worked together and we were out at a bar for some - some bonding shit our supervisor suggested. I already didn’t like him, and then he and my friend got into an argument over something or other and he - he decided it was alright to call her the N-word because he disagreed with her, so I knee’d him in the balls.” Peter snorts - it’s gross and snotty, and if this were most anyone else, he’d be embarrassed for weeks. Rhodey just leans over to open the passenger-side glove compartment and dig out a pack of tissues, which he wordlessly hands to Peter.

Wiping at his nose, Peter breathes in, holds for six seconds, and then releases.

It’s not the same thing, of course. No two slurs are exactly alike, no two forms of intolerance cut the exact same way. But there’s still something to be said for shared trauma.

Slowly, quietly, Peter says, “It took me a really long time to figure things out. To - to understand what I was feeling and be… comfortable in it. I couldn’t say the word bisexual in reference to myself for ages. And it’s just - even if the guy wasn’t talking to me -”

“It still hurts you,” Rhodey finishes.

Peter nods, eyes fixed on the AC vent on the right side of the dashboard. “Yeah.”

Rhodey hums. “Yeah, I get that. It was the same for me. Is the same for me.”

His hand still hurts and his chest is still tight with pain and fear and anxiety, but the air in the car feels...cleaner.

Rhodey lays a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I know you were expecting a lecture about your powers and how it’s dangerous to use them outside of the suit and all that, Pete - and to be honest, you might still get one from Tony - but I’m proud of you, kid. You stood up for that boy and for yourself, and I’m proud of you for it. And Tones will be, too, once he gets past the bit about the holding cell.”

Peter’s laugh is short and watery, but it’s still an improvement over the tears.

“Alright, Peter.” Rhodey pats his shoulder once, then removes his hand to put the car in drive. “Let’s go home.”

Peter leaves the police station parking lot feeling lighter than he has in months.

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 9: coma

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones Category: Gen Rating: T Warnings: injury description? idk Words: 1.7k

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When Peter calls him, Tony figures it’s just to say he’s going to be late.

It’s 1:47 on a Saturday. Peter’s supposed to be here at 4:00, with Happy picking him up at 3:00, but every once in a while Peter will end up late because he wants to finish an essay first or something.

It’s not unusual for either Tony to receive a call from Peter in the middle of the school day. It is unusual for no one to respond when he picks up.

“Pete?” Tony’s immediately concerned, sitting stick-straight in his lab chair as he hears nothing but faltering breathing. “Peter.”

A strangled noise comes from the other end of the line. Tony’s out of his seat and running to the room where he keeps all his suits in less than a second. Peter’s voice finally comes through the phone. “T-Tony, I - I’m at the hospital. We - there was an accident. M-May is -”

The chill that runs through Tony’s bones might be the coldest thing he’s ever felt.

Please don’t say dead. Please don’t say dead.

Peter’s so young. Way too young to have dealt with as much loss as he always has, and way too young to have more loss added on. He’s just fifteen and he’s already more acquainted with grief than most adults are.

May can’t be dead. She’s one of the liveliest people Tony’s ever met and she would sooner look God in the face and tell him to go to hell than leave her nephew behind.

“She’s hurt, Tony. She’s - I can’t - Tony, I need you.”

Not dead. Okay.

He can work with that.

“What hospital, kid?”

It takes him twenty-five minutes to fly to the hospital Peter’s in, which is precisely twenty-five minutes too long.

He draws weird looks from just about everyone in the hospital as he hurries toward the waiting room - he had his suit fly back to the compound on its own, of course, but it’s still Tony Stark, wearing an old, worn-out AC/DC shirt and jeans and running through a local Queens hospital like his life depends on it.

In his rush to get to Peter, he hadn’t even thought to grab his hat and sunglasses. A fact he’ll come to regret later, perhaps, but couldn’t give less of a shit about now.

He finds Peter sitting in the back corner of the waiting room, Ned and MJ on either side of him with their hands clasped around his. Peter’s head rests on MJ’s shoulder, while Ned keeps glancing between Peter and the text he seems to be typing out with his one free hand. The kid’s eyes are vacant and there’s a gash on his forehead that’s covered with butterfly stitches, but he’s here.

In three long strides, Tony is standing in front of Peter. The kid’s gaze shifts slowly upward, head rising and eyes clearing just slightly when they land on him.

Peter doesn’t speak, but his shoulders visibly relax and he releases MJ’s hand to reach out for Tony. Kneeling in front of the kid’s chair, Tony takes Peter’s hand in one of his own and brushes the hair that’s sticky with sweat off Peter’s forehead with the other.

“Hey, Underoos,” Tony says softly. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

No response. Tony frowns, glances between Peter’s friends with a look that he hopes says, Explain?

Ned obliges, rubbing his thumb up and down Peter’s knuckle. “They, uh - Peter and May were in a car crash. Peter came out okay, but May is...she’s in surgery right now.”

Jesus Christ.

First his parents, then his uncle, and now this.

Apparently, that’s not all. Ned nods to Peter. “He hasn’t spoken since he called you.”

Some people shut down during highly stressful situations. He’s not surprised that Peter is one of them.

Well. Tony didn’t have any plans today. And anyway, he’d cancel a meeting with every single world leader on the planet for Peter.

An hour passes.

Peter remains silent and out of it. Tony takes MJ’s chair and holds tight to Peter’s fingers, while MJ slides down a seat and rests her hand on Peter’s knee.

People come and go through the waiting room.

The world keeps turning.

Two hours.

Still nothing from Peter or the doctors. The waiting room clock ticks on and on and on, much too loud in the quiet of the waiting room.

The world keep turning.

Five hours pass before a nurse steps into the waiting room and says, “Is there a Peter Parker in here?”

Peter jerks out of his seat, fingers slipping out of Tony and Ned’s grips. The whole rest of their group stands to join him as the nurse walks over to Peter, clipboard in his hand and a sympathetic look on his face. He does a bit of a double take when he sees Tony Stark standing next to a teenage kid in a hospital waiting room, but he recovers quickly.

“Mr. Parker, your aunt made it through surgery with no hiccups.” The nameplate on his shirt pocket says Christopher Baker and he pronounces aunt like ant. Peter’s entire demeanor brightens, but only marginally, as if he’s still afraid to hope. “However, Ms. Parker remains in a coma. The doctors are confident that she will wake up and be able to make a full recovery, but it may be a while before that happens.”

Tony lets out a sigh of relief and hears all three of the kids do the same.

She’s not dead. She’s almost definitely going to be okay.

For the first time in five hours, Peter speaks. “Can I see her?”

“Yes, but, uh - only family, for now.”

Peter’s fingers find Tony’s sleeve. “Can - can Mr. Stark come with me? Please?”

“Um…”

Tony shoots the nurse a look - not the do it because I’m Tony fucking Stark look. More of a come on, man, cut the kid a break look. “I know it’s not protocol because we’re not related by - by blood or adoption or whatever. But May’s family to both of us, alright? And the kid’s fifteen, don’t make him see his comatose aunt alone.”

A moment of hesitation, then a nod.

Tony follows Peter out of the waiting room.

“I feel like it’s my fault.”

Tony looks at him, brow furrowed. Peter doesn’t turn, eyes fixed on his aunt, and doesn’t elaborate either.

May is hooked up to fewer wires and machines than Tony had expected. There’s just an IV line running from her left arm and a heart rate monitor beeping in the corner of the room. Her right leg is in a cast and there’s bandages wrapped around her left wrist, but the hardest thing to look at is her face. Cuts and scrapes and bruises criss-cross along her skin, one of her eyes is completely swollen shut, and her cheeks are missing their usual rosy glow.

All in all, she looks terrible.

God, Tony hates hospitals.

He hates that Peter has to see the only blood-family he has left like this.

Peter has May’s good hand clasped gently in his. His face is carefully blank, almost like he’s deliberately trying not to show any emotion.

Trying not to cry, Tony’s sure.

He almost wishes Peter would cry, at least it’d be less disturbing than this. But on the other hand, Tony’s never exactly thought his comforting skills were up to par.

“How would it be your fault, Pete?” he asks, even though he knows the real answer is that it wouldn’t. There’s literally no way it could be Peter’s fault, but if this is something the kid needs to say, then fine.

“I should’ve -” Peter sniffs, blinking quickly in what’s definitely an attempt to hold back tears. The kid’s practically as emotionally constipated as Tony, it’s terrifying. “I should’ve stopped it. I - I knew the car was coming, I felt it -”

For a second, Tony’s confusion grows, until he remembers. Spider-sense. Right.

“I could’ve warned May, if I’d just - if I’d just been a little faster -”

Yeah, no. Nope, nope, definitely not. He’s not letting Peter beat himself up for a car crash where he wasn’t even fucking driving.

Even if he had been driving, it still wouldn’t be his damn fault. Accidents happen. They’re no one’s fault, or else they wouldn’t be called accidents.

“Kid.” Tony places a hand on Peter’s shoulder. The kid’s head turns and Tony can see his eyes glistening. In the softest voice Tony can possibly muster, he says, “Pete, it’s not your fault. You had, what, a two second warning? You can’t blame yourself for not reacting at the fucking speed of light.”

A tear slips down Peter’s cheek. Tony keeps going.

“And besides, what would’ve happened if you had said something? Your aunt would’ve freaked, jerked the steering wheel, probably crashed into another car. Possibly caused an even worse accident.”

He squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “You did nothing wrong, kiddo. And May’ll tell you the same thing when she wakes up. Because she will wake up. Your aunt’s way too badass to go out this early.”

Peter snorts out something between a laugh and a sob. Tony wants nothing more than to pull the kid into a hug, but he refrains. Waits for Peter to initiate, if he’s going to.

He does. Peter pitches forward in his chair - he would’ve fallen in Tony wasn’t as prepared to catch him as he was - and buries his face in Tony’s shoulder. Muffled by both fabric and his tears, Peter says, “You’re right. May would never let one stupid car be the end of her, anyway.”

Wrapping his arms around Peter, Tony smiles into his hair. “Your aunt’s way too powerful for a damn car, Pete.”

This gets a real laugh.

Which turns into sobbing. Harsh, shaky, broken-hearted sobbing.

So Tony holds him. In the middle of a hospital room, with the beeping of a heart monitor in the background, Tony holds him and lets him cry.

Peter stays at the compound while May is in the hospital.

May wakes up five days later and almost immediately proceeds to tell Peter exactly what Tony told him, while Tony grins at the two of them from the doorway.

When he says I told you so, Peter wordlessly flips him off, making him laugh so hard he spills drops of his coffee all over the tiled floor.

And yeah. Everything he said to the nurse that first day was true.