Part 1: Injury

"Peter," A familiar voice called out. It was deep, welcoming, and paniced. Shivers worked their way down the young man's spine as he tried to pry his eyes open. "Petey, kid," A heavy hand shook the teenagers shoulder in an attempt to get his attention. A bright white flashed behind his eyes; crackling violently, and then fizzing out in a dying hiss. "Kid, please," The voice cracked in pitch. It was filled with tears—nearly choked on them. But Peter, isn't that who he was? Peter couldn't get his eyes to agree with him.

"Move Tony," Another voice, still familiar, but slightly more bass lined broke the conversation. "Bruce is coming. Don't touch him." Enhanced.

Peter cringed at the sound of a fabric clad hand clasping metal. It wouldn't have been so bad, he figured, had he not had the super hearing. But it didn't make sense that his body decided to focus only on that one sound? And not on anything else?

"He won't open his eyes," The first voice whispered. Metal scraped against metal as the voices moved away. They're leaving.

A panic button seemed to have been set off inside the small super hero. Something about this was wrong. He didn't want the voices to leave. After all, they were a comfort; a symbol of safety that his battered mind had to cling to in order to keep itself aware of the situation. Even though he was aware of the situation as a new born baby. His mind was still trying to catch up, but it wasn't revving its own engine.

"Alright," A new voice entered from his right. It was breathless, and panicy—but not because of what was going on. "I'm back, I'm back." The voice hummed with anxiety. It made Peter's heart pick up its own pace as he listened to the new man. "Tony, I'm gonna need you."

Tony. That was a familiar name. Tony.

"T'nee..." The name stuck to the roof of his mouth, swirling along the saliva that dropped into the back of his throat and threatened to choke him. "T'nee.." He gasped opening his mouth a bit wider. Pain exploded behind his teeth, and ached up into the nasal cavities. His voice didn't hurt, but the movemen involved with the word had certainly set his nerves on fire. A low keen escaped his throat at the feeling.

"Don't talk, Pete." Tony whispered. A hand threaded itself through his hair, pushed it back from his face and soothed. The teen fell into the sensation, but still, he couldn't figure it out. Why? Why did he need the comfort? Why did his face hurt? Why couldn't he feel the rest of his body yet? He could hear—but only what his ears and mind wanted to register and pick up on. The rest of the world was still as silent as a 1920's film without the sountrack.

"Fractured," The third voice mumbled as the fingers fumbled along his face. "Left mand—Don't move the car!" Peter flinched from the sudden increase in volume. The movement didn't go unnoticed as Tony's minstrations picked up their desperate pace. "Damn idiots," The voice mumbled softly as the hands found their way back to his face. "Come on Peter, I really need you to wake up, kiddo."

"FRIDAY," Tony's voice siezed. He was starting to panic again. Slowly, an unnoticed weight seemed to be lifted from Peter's chest, and the boy found it quite a bit easier to breath. But with his breath, came the rushing of pain; it shot through his nerve endings like electricity—jolted to his finger tips before zooming down to his toes. A scream erupted from his chest, but barely made it out of his mouth before the world came rushing back in an array of colors, sounds, and feelings.

"Pete!" Bruce forced his way into Peter's blurry line of sight. "Can you hear me?" The young man tried to nod, but couldn't bring himself to do it. His neck hurt too much, his jaw hurt, everything all over hurt, and he couldn't get himself to move in order to get away from what was causing him pain. "Good," Bruce sounded relieved; like someone had literally lifted the weight from his shoulders as well. "Good. Just stay with us okay? We're going to try and get you out of here. I'm not going to lie, kiddo, it's going to hurt."

"What happened?" Tony roared turning away from the wreckage. The kid hadn't even been Spiderman when the attack had happened; he had simply been the unlucky one to get caught in the aftermath.

Eyes from all over stared at him helpless. Cameras snapped pictures; their buttons pressed violently back to back to back in order to capture the events. The tears that slipped down his cheeks as he turned back to look at the mottled being that was Peter Parker did not go unnoticed.

"Medical is approximately thirty seconds out," FRIDAY buzzed in his ear softly. Tony felt his pulse drop, then pick back up. It was something to be excited about, but he couldn't allow himself to feel at ease until he knew for a fact that Peter was going to be okay.

"Good," Tony muttered wanting nothing more than to shed his suit and scramble around the rubble as just himself. "How's he doin Bruce?" Even his voice was jumpy and jittery. The second scientist looked up, blood drenched through his sleeves that he had rolled up. The sight sent Tony's stomach into his throat, where it choked him and sent bile up into his mouth.

"He's breathing and alive. That's about all I've got so far," Bruce whispered brushing back the brunette hair from the bloodied hairline. "I've stopped as much bleeding as I can...but it really depends on his factor at the moment." Tony simply nodded silently watching the duo, before finding his own spot holding the teenagers hand.

Natasha knew.

The moment she stepped foot onto the Stark Tower heli-pad. It sunk onto her shoulders, and weighed her down like an anchor. Tears swelled in her eyes, but she blinked them away before making her way towards the door with purpose. She had been abroad on a S.H.I.E.L.D designated mission when Fury had stepped in and called her off.

"Now?" She had snapped into the microphone. "Can't it wait?" She was so close to the man that had tortured so many.

"No," Fury replied quietly. It was hidden beneath his tone; slicked and dipped in the stoicness that she had come to expect from the man. "You have to come back. I'm sending Clint to pick you up."

It was Clint now who had kept her above the heavy swell. She had been close to him—no doubt about it.

"C'mon," Clint whispered quietly, urging the redhead forward. Her feet froze to place, and she glanced back towards the damaged buildings of the city. Why had she not been notified of the monster that had torn through Queens? It had already been taken care of; several hundred lives lost and even more left injured or dying. Some had gone far enough to call it an aftershock of Thanos; but Natasha knew better.

"I can't," She whispered, her eyes turning from the horizon back to the one man who had been relatively constant within her life. A much needed cosntant with the ever changing world. "It can't be goodbye," She sighed stepping over to the edge.

"It's never goodbye," Clint forced out his fists clenching at his side. "Not with the kid." He looked up softly and reached out taking her hand in his. "You know that. We're just here to cheer him on."

Steve was in Alaska tracking a Hydra unit when the call came in. Steve had hit the ignore button, preferring to keep heading forward into the lair with Bucky; on the search for the tonic that they were trying to spread.

"Steve," Bucky growled glaring at his best friend as he side stepped down a hall, leaning heavily against the wall in an attempt to be inconspicuous. "How many times have I taught you to put that damn thing on silent?"

"Sorry," Steve mumbled as he glanced at Tony's name flashing across the caller I.D. He knew that the scientist would only call if it were an absolute emergency, but he couldn't find it in himself to take the call—to give up when they were so damn close. But Tony called again, and again and again. He left voicemail after voicemail until they were found. It had been a quick fight, Steve had only taken a few hits, and dealt far more than what he took. Bucky had taken even less, and when they had left, he had been thoroughly unamused with the man.

"Seriously? Who is calling you?" Bucky grunted as he loaded himself into the rented jeep. His eyes glared at the road as they proceeded down the high way, S.H.I.E.L.D had flashed the meeting point where Steve and Bucky were supposed to turn over the gathered information.

"Tony," Steve whispered flipping his phone open and staring at the voice mails. He didn't miss the way that Bucky's jaw had tensed, but he let it slip. He knew his childhood friend didn't particularly care for the man that Steve had once called a close friend, and honestly, why should he? Both of the men held a grudge against each other for a debt passed down.

"Steve. You have to come back to New York. It's important. Call me back."

"Steve, I'm serious. I really need you to answer or call me back."

"Please...Steve please. You have to come home."

"Steve...I can't...I can't say goodbye."

Tony was broken, and by what Steve didn't know. But he was damned sure going to find out what was causing his friend so much pain.

The super soldier jumped when the phone buzzed in his hand; another phone call coming in. This one was from Nat—a fearsome woman to ignore. Bucky's arched brow urged him to hit the green button. To answer the phone and deal with whatever was happening back home.

"Hey Nat!" Steve chirped into the phone. His tone didn't portray the anxiety that built in his stomach; a trait he had mastered long ago.

"Steve," She whispered, tears were thick in her voice. Something was wrong. Horribly and utterly wrong. Tony being cracked, he could handle. He had seen the brilliant man fall apart, and rebuild himself time and again. Natasha was something else. She had been a brick wall through so much, and nothing had seemed capable of knocking her down. At least, until now.

"What's wrong?" Steve leaned forward, putting all of his focus into his hearing. "Nat?"

Bucky watched the reaction his friend was having. His face was solid, before his eyes widened just enough for the long haired man to know an emergency when it was happening. Seconds later, Steve slammed the phone shut and pushed his thumb and finger into his eyes. Tears swelled, and fell down his cheeks frosting at they fell to the seat.

"We have to go home," Steve's voice cracked heavily as he leaned back and staired at the cloudy sky. "We have to go say goodbye..."

It had been a normal day, Peter recalled as he seemed to float in his subconciousness. He had gotten up, dressed, and raced to school to meet Ned early so they could go over some of the decathalon questions. MJ had been getting tougher and tougher the further into the season they had gotten, and wasn't pleased with the lag time that Peter had. But he couldn't be to blame really, not when he knew his own excuse. How could anyone blame Peter for being tired when he was Spiderman—hero to the little man?

He had heard the car speeding down the road long before he could hear it. The engine revved, and squealed as the breaks were hit just enough to lift the clutch and shift into the next gear. Automatically, his senses told him that he and Ned were in danger; he had a split second to react. But there were too many people around for him to really stop the car. However, he couldn't allow the vehicle to hurt anyone because the driver was too careless to realize the danger.

"Ned," Peter whispered softly. His friend gave just a momentary pause—turning to face him, words and laughter hanging onto his lips. "I'm sorry." Peter mumbled using his strength to shove the teenager across the last distance of the cross walk. The driver notices a little too late that he doesn't have the right of way; that the light had turned red, and the pedestrians had already begun to cross over.

Ned collapsed on himself, heaving with the breath that had been knocked from his lungs.

"What the he-" The rotund boy gave pause as he watched Peter grab the front of the car. The only issue? Peter's wrist on his right side had given way, and caused the car to curve and lurch in the wrong direction. Within the split second, Peter had launched himself with the car towards an empty building that was under remodel.

"Peter!" Ned yelped, jerking himself up from his spot on the asphalt. The building lurched, creaking dangerously before the slip of a simple brick—just one measly block of cement—slipped and sent the whole building collapsing ontop of both the driver and his closest friend. "No! Pete!" His voice hitched as he crawled over the wreckage and began digging.

"I'm glad everyone could come," May croaked softly. Tears already spilled from her eyes as she looked at the faces surrounding her. "I...uh," She cleared her throat with a low keen. "It's nice to know that Peter had so many people there for him."

Flash glanced around him at the faces of none other than the Avengers—and they seemed to be pretty damned upset. He wanted to be annoyed, but the shock from earlier events had still yet to wear off. The trembling in his hands was evident enough for that.

"Here for him," Tony interrupted, his eyes cast downward. The young man glanced towards Iron Man and gave pause. In all of the pictures that he had seen of the overly confident billionaire, he had never seen the broken expression that stood before him now. "Especially for those of you who had only ever met him a few times." This time Tony directed his attention to—holy shit—Captain America; who simply tilted his head as if offering his apologies.

"How is he?" Ned yelped from beside a redheaded lady dressed in black leather. The woman simply placed, what Flash assumed to be, a comforting hand on the robust boy's shoulder. He flinched away, glancing into the green eyes, before leaning into her. "He's okay right?" The young man's voice pitched at the end; as if this was all really happening and a crew wasn't going to pop out. That's still what Flash expected to happen, because things like this didn't happen to normal people. And that's exactly what Peter Parker was. At least, as far as Flash knew.

"We don't know yet," May whispered, the tears back in voice as she glances to everyone again. "But if he does make it, we'll need all of you."

"Spidey's tough," A blonde to Flash's left stepped forward.

Hawkeye.

Flash gaped staring at the man and his muscles. Then the word sunk in. Tony glanced up, sending a warning glare, but Hawkeye seemed impervious to it.

"He's taken a lot more than just a car."

"But it wasn't Spidey that took the hit," May whimpered glancing at everyone. The tears that filled her eyes now trickled down her cheeks. "It was my baby. It was Peter, Clint. He wasn't..."

Silence filled the small waiting room once more. It was all too much for Flash to comprehend. Sure, he had been one of the smartest kids at the school—definitely the biggest asshole—but even he couldn't seem to comprehend the words that were slipping from the tongues of the Avengers.

"Wait, wait..." Flash waved his hands in front of his chest. All eyes turned to him. Some looked on with curiosity. Some with disdain and disappointment. Even Ned looked anxious at his being there—but he had been around when the ambulance had pulled Parker inside.

"Flash," Ned warned leaning over to him. "Just don't, okay? We can talk about this all after. Right now is not the time."

"Not the time? What the hell is going on? Why did that octopus guy attack Parker? And WHY are the Avengers here?!" He couldn't help himself. It was something he had to know, because, after all, the team before him had never tended to any of the victims of their actions before. Why was Parker special?

"Seriously," Ned glanced over to the group of supers that he had only come to know through his friend. "It's not the time."

"Listen to the boy, kid." Steve placed a heavy hand on Flash's shoulder. "It doesn't matter how we know the kid, just that we do."

The silence was too much for the man that waited beside the bed. His head was held in his hands as exhaustion shook his form. But he would not allow sleep to claim him just yet. The constant beeping was a comforting sound, but it could still all change.

"He's alive," The doctor had said while the nurses wheeled Peter into his own private room. "But he's not out of the woods. It was all pretty intense, his healing factor got in the way, but we did what we could." Tony had nodded along as if he understood everything else. The medical mumbo jumbo went right over his head, but it seemed to comfort both May and Bruce.

"So when do we get to see him?" Steve questioned his hands folded in his lap. His lips were pursed in consternation as he glanced at the doctor.

The medical field expert gave pause. His eyes closed lightly with a sigh.

"I don't know if now would be a good idea. Next of kin can," He look pointedly at May, then raised a brow towards Tony. "But as for the rest of you, I think it would be best to wait."

"He would want to see them," May broke in. Flash glanced towards her, as the Avengers lowered their head. "He's not out of the woods yet..." She glared teary eyed at the medic before her. "I think they should at least get a chance to say good bye."

"You're right," The doctor sighed softly brushing a hand over his face. It had been a long shift, and just at the end of it this teenager was rushed through. His capability to deal with the enraged family of certain people was thin, and snapping. "I'll have a nurse show you to his room then," He brushed his hair back from his face casting a glance at his watch. Just a couple of more hours and he's be good—home free even.