Chapter Text
“Mr.Stark are you-” Peter pauses carefully, though Tony thinks the kid looks like he’s about to start bouncing on the walls, “are you sure I can have this?”
A cold, metal rectangular box is grasped by eager hands that turn it around looking over it like it’s some treasure and not the apparent junk Tony thinks it is. It’s a seemingly outdated form of Tony’s own display holders, the reason for so many of the 3-dimensional displays laid throughout not only Tony’s lab, but the Compound as well.
“Sure kid,” Tony eyes him with a raised brow, tinkering on his newly developed version of the display Peter is holding, “you know…I can just make you one of these newer-”
Peter shakes his head, still smiling.
“No this is- this is perfect, Mr.Stark.”
Realization seems to dawn on Tony and he laughs under his breath, though Peter isn’t sure what goes through the man’s head.
“You’re going to take it apart aren’t you? Use the extra parts to MacGyver something of your own?”
Sheepishly, Peter rubs the back of his neck, a small, insignificant bending of the truth on his tongue.
“Something like that.”
“This is so cool.” Ned grins, eyes on the holographic projection of Peter’s point of view: swinging through the narrow streets of a somewhat relaxed night in Queens. The second Peter looks like he’s about to meet his fate with the side of a building, Peter is swinging away, swift but calculated.
“Is there any lag?” Peter asks, sounding slightly out of breath over their homemade comms.
“Not at all, from what I can tell, maybe just a half-second delay or so?”
“So cool.” Peter agrees with Ned’s statement from earlier.
It’s something new they’ve been working on in order to affirm Ned’s role as his “guy in the chair”, because based on how Homecoming night went, clearly using the school computers for Ned’s responsibilities was not cutting it. Fortunately, with the use of a portable holographic display Tony was going to recycle, Peter and Ned kept themselves busy the last couple days, modifying it for the use of surveillance - specifically so that Ned can see what Peter sees when patrolling if needed.
“And you can control it through Karen?”
“Of course, I don’t need you watching me every moment of my nightly patrols,” Peter huffs a laugh, “Karen, turn off Spy Cam.”
Suddenly, the hologram Ned was eagerly watching cuts out, the small device seemingly turning off. Though, Ned ensures the audio is still intact.
“Still there?”
“Yeah, did the feed go off? I’m a little far out so not sure how the signal fares with the distance and the building- shit!”
A loud thud sounds out from Peter’s end, followed by a yelp and Ned’s hand flies to his ear instinctively, heart rate spiking anxiously.
“Peter?” He calls anxiously, “Peter!”
“I’m here,” he finally coughs out, sounding pained before he audibly groans, “aw come on!”
“What?” Ned asks, alarm making his leg bounce anxiously.
Peter pauses momentarily and Ned can faintly hear the sound of rustling on the other end along with a smaller thud than earlier.
“Uhhhh, nothing. Nothing at all,” Peter snaps his mouth shut, taking in a sharp breath, “just uh, some stupid guys with BB guns.”
Ned relaxes then, slumping back in his chair with a sigh even as his confusion remains.
“Why were they shooting at you?”
Peter grunts as he steadies himself back up.
“Who knows, target practice? Gotta say their aim wasn’t too bad.”
Ned frowns as Peter’s breathing becomes heavier.
“Did one of them really hit you?”
Peter mumbles something about privacy before the audio on Peter’s end goes completely quiet. Not even the sound of a bustling New York street can be heard, no whistling of the wind and no longer any labored breaths from Peter.
It takes him fifteen seconds to realize Peter has somehow muted himself.
“Peter.” Ned calls. No response.
At this point, he is convinced Peter may still be facing the guys with their stupid fake guns, got sucked into a spontaneous black hole, or may have gotten shot.
The last one makes his chest ache, because one shot from one of those should be meaningless, but multiple…
“Karen?” He calls uselessly, realizing the AI can only respond to him if he’s connected to Peter’s end.
Cursing, Ned toys with the panel of the display obliviously, staring at the vague, simplistic-looking buttons. None of which are labeled. While setting the final product up, Peter literally had to pull up the display for him before leaving.
Attempting to remember, Ned tries a couple, one of which must be for the previous display because the screen pops up and reads-
DISABLED
Trying the one next to it does nothing, so he tries the one after and-
A larger display appears in his bedroom, nearly life-size so Ned forces himself back so he can get a better view of the image. It’s a 3D model of Peter’s suit with certain areas highlighted in red. Next to it reads certain numbers and vitals.
HEART RATE: 120 BPM
BP: 154/92
Before Ned can continue looking, the information glitches before appearing blank where there were just numbers.
HEART RATE: DISABLED
BP: DISABLED
His face drains of color, at first believing he must have pressed something by accident. Though, the deafening silence in his ears is enough of an answer, and a disbelieving chuckle leaves him, realizing Peter’s intentions.
Turning his gaze back to the model, he notices the small exclamation points next to each highlighted area. There’s five in total, one near his left wrist, two at his upper thigh, calf, and the right side of his chest.
“Shoot.” Ned mutters right as another pop-up flashes in his face.
LEFT WEB SHOOTER CRITICALLY DAMAGED
It’s then that Ned realizes. These are markings of where Peter’s suit broke integrity and where Peter is likely injured.
“Peter, are you there?”
Silence.
“If you keep ignoring me, I’ll call someone…like…Iron Man-”
A small click sounds out, and the bustling noise of New York returns to Ned’s ears.
“Please don’t bother him with something so stupid, I already had to convince Karen to not tell FRIDAY.”
Ned lets out an overdue breath of relief at the sound of Peter’s voice.
“Did you get shot?”
“Yeah,” Peter grunts, “It’s just those little fake bullets though, my left web shooter is uh…broken.”
Ned frowns.
“Are you able to get back here at least? It looks like you were shot twice in your right leg and once in your left.”
Peter pauses.
“It tells you that?” He asks incredulusly, not even denying it.
“Yeah,” Ned beams, “I figured out some of the other controls for this thing, it has like everything.”
Instead of the same awe that Ned feels, Peter remains wordless, just the sound of heavy, uncoordinated footsteps coming through the feed.
Ned clears his throat, sensing he said something wrong.
“You’re okay though right? Because I can still call Mr.Stark-”
“No, I’m fine,” Peter laughs, but the sound is tight, “I can swing back home with one arm.”
“Are you sure-?”
“Positive, be back in like ten minutes,” Peter says resolutely before quietly adding, “and uh- get a first aid kit ready.”
Ned blanches, eyes darting around Peter’s room..
“What?”
“See you in 10!” Peter chirps quickly before it returns to radio silence.
After a minute or so, Ned reluctantly rises from his chair to attempt to find a first aid kit while not disturbing Aunt May.
Rather than 10, 20 minutes pass with Ned sitting on Peter’s bed, waiting for any sign of life. There’s a small part of him that’s debating to go wait on the roof himself, or to-
“Screw this.” He mutters frustratedly, though worry overpowers his annoyance as he clicks the call button for the contact that’s been open the whole time as he waits for Peter.
CALLING
THE TONY STARK
Of course, right as he does so, a small tap sounds out in the room and Ned’s head jerks back to the window.
Ned stares at Peter with a blank stare as he perches outside the window helplessly.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Ned grumbles as he hangs up on the call and tosses his phone to the side.
Sheepish, Peter stares at him, right hand holding a web that anchors him to the wall while his left one is cradled to his chest. Small bits of shiny metal glimmer in the light as Ned walks over to open the window for Peter. Who could apparently swing back home but not open a goddamn window.
“Why are you-?” Any questions die in his throat as he gets his eyes on his wrist. It’s clear the bullets were incovneniently aimed, because one somehow not only broke the webshooter, but also caused three bits of shrapnel from the device to be lodged into Peter’s wrist.
“I uh, fell on my wrist when I landed on the roof…” Peter mumbles, explaining the broken web shooter.
“Oh my god.” Ned might be sick, the metal buried in his skin, fleshy tissue already forming around the intrusion as if Peter’s accelerated healing may not even let him dispose of the shrapnel.. Peter scrambles inside and puts his hands up placatingly, even as he winces as he unintentionally flexes his wrist.
“It’s okay, this happens sometimes-”
“What do you mean?” Ned wants to shout at him, “taking it out could literally make you bleed to death, it’s in your wrist!
Peter ignores him, sitting down when he spots the first aid kit.
“Let me-” Ned tries, but Peter snatches his wrist away with a small shake of his head, he’s tense but clearly not angry. If anything, he looks embarrassed, which is somehow worse.
“I got it. I’m used to this.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
Ned laughs even as tears spring to his eyes as he watches Peter wince as he takes out the metal. For a moment, blood streams down his wrist before he holds thick gauze to the wound.
“It’ll stop bleeding in a minute or so,” Peter explains logically, like he’s talking about a project, “my healing factor will take effect-”
“Why did you cut me off?”
Peter freezes then, turning his head to stare at him with wide, guilty eyes. He’s always been a terrible liar.
“I didn’t-”
“You did. It literally told me you disabled the displays it was showing me previously,” Ned runs a hand through his hair, “but then you muted yourself-!”
“Ned, I-” he reaches out his left hand, his right one still holding pressure and it’s only then that Ned gets a look at where the other bullets hit, clearly only causing dull impact after tearing the suit, but bruises are already blooming on pale skin. Ned turns away.
“I’m going,” he yanks his backpack up, “we’ll talk tomorrow or something.” He says, hoping the anger that’s brewing now will eventually mellow into the concern he knows is simmering below the surface. He doesn’t want to yell at Peter right now, not when he’s already been kicked down.
“Ned, you shouldn’t walk home alone,” Peter argues, already getting up even as he winces as he puts pressure on his right leg, “it’s not safe out there.”
Chest aching at the sincerity in Peter’s voice, Ned turns to him with a more pitying expression, losing the anger.
“Don’t you see how ironic it is of you to say that - to warn me of that after swinging back home alone with no one to guide you? You blocked me out.”
Silence fills the room, Peter’s lips parted and he nervously flexes his hands, wincing when it causes pain to shoot up his left forearm. It’s minute, as if Peter is trying to hide the discomfort, but Ned reads right through him, sighing. He won’t get a proper answer out of him. Not tonight.
“Goodnight Peter.”
Distraught, Peter reaches for the door.
“Ned-”
Despite the quiet, respectful way Ned shuts the door, it feels as though it slams into Peter’s face, and he slumps against his bed defeatedly.
15 minutes later, a notification pops up on Peter’s phone that has him withering guiltily.
Just got home.
Didn’t want you to worry.
NED
A few blocks away, Ned’s phone lights up with a notification as well, though the boy is fast asleep now.
Dare I ask why you called me at 2:16 AM when you and Peter should both be in bed?
THE TONY STARK