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Peter Parker was halfway down the hallway at Midtown School of Science and Technology when his phone buzzed in his hand.
The hallway was loud like usual-lockers slamming, people laughing, someone arguing about a math test, someone else running because they were about to be late-but Peter barely heard any of it. He was staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him.
The screen was cracked. Not horribly cracked, just… enough that a spiderweb of lines ran across the corner. He kept meaning to fix it, but new phone screens cost money, and money was currently being spent on things like web fluid cartridges and replacement backpack zippers.
Totally unrelated to the small, very real problem currently hidden under his hoodie.
Peter shifted slightly, the backpack strap pressing into his side.
Bad idea.
A sharp sting flared through his ribs, and he sucked in a quiet breath through his teeth.
Okay.
So maybe walking all the way across school with a bullet wound wasn’t his best idea ever.
But in his defence, the guy with the gun had been robbing a convenience store, and Peter had stopped him, and the bullet had only kind of clipped him, and by the time he realized it was more than a graze the police had already arrived and-
Well.
There had also been a chemistry test third period.
So, priorities had been made.
Peter adjusted his hoodie slightly and checked the bandage again under the fabric. The webbing he’d used to reinforce it had mostly stopped the bleeding, though the suit had been very dramatic about the whole situation earlier.
WARNING: BLOOD LOSS DETECTED.
THANK YOU, SUIT, Peter had muttered at the time.
Now, though, his stomach dropped when he saw the notification on his phone.
Tony Stark
Peter stopped walking immediately.
“...Oh no.”
Because messages from Tony Stark were never casual.
Especially not during school hours.
Peter unlocked the phone with slightly shaky fingers.
TONY: Kid.
TONY: Why is the suit diagnostics reporting blood loss?
TONY: That’s not rhetorical. Answer.
Peter froze.
Then slowly-very slowly-he looked down at himself.
Under his hoodie, under the backpack strap digging into his shoulder, under the thin layer of hastily applied bandages, there was a bullet wound sitting in his side.
It wasn’t that bad.
Okay, it was a little bad.
But it had missed anything important! Probably. And the bleeding had mostly stopped once Peter webbed the inside of the bandage because web fluid was technically sterile… maybe.
And besides...
He had a chemistry test third period.
So really priorities were important.
His phone buzzed again.
TONY: Don’t make me triangulate your location.
TONY: Because I will.
Peter immediately started typing.
PETER: hi Mr stark
PETER: funny story actually
He paused.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
PETER: so hypothetically
Buzz.
TONY: Peter.
Peter grimaced.
Down the hallway, someone shouted about the bell ringing in two minutes.
Peter pressed his back against the lockers, trying very hard not to think about the dull throb in his side.
Another message appeared.
TONY: I’m pulling up the medical telemetry.
TONY: That is a bullet wound.
Peter whispered to himself, “Technically it's more like a bullet graze.”
His phone buzzed instantly.
TONY: DID YOU JUST SAY “TECHNICALLY”
Peter’s eyes widened.
“Oh come on-”
He forgot Tony could hear him through the suit sometimes.
Which meant the suit was absolutely tattling on him. KAREN.
Traitor.
TONY: Stay where you are.
TONY: I’m sending someone.
Peter stared at the message in horror.
“Wait-no, no, no-”
The last thing he needed was an Avenger showing up at school.
Because that would mean questions.
Questions meant teachers.
Teachers meant phone calls.
Phone calls meant Aunt-
Actually.
No.
Worse.
It meant Tony going into Dad Mode.
Peter typed at lightning speed.
PETER: IM FINE
PETER: it barely counts as getting shot
The reply came instantly.
TONY: That sentence alone tells me you are NOT fine.
Peter groaned and gently pressed a hand over his side as the bell rang.
Students flooded the hallway around him.
And somewhere, probably halfway across New York, Tony Stark was absolutely preparing to have a heart attack.
Peter sighed.
“Okay,” he muttered. “So maybe I’m a little cooked.”
Another buzz.
TONY: Also you’re leaving school.
TONY: I already called it in.
Peter froze.
“…You what.”
Three dots appeared.
Then:
TONY: Welcome to having a parent, kid.
Peter slowly slid down against the lockers.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
He was definitely cooked.
Peter was trying very hard to pay attention in class.
Really.
He was.
The problem was that paying attention to the board required sitting up straight… and sitting up straight made the bullet wound in his side very noticeable.
So Peter was hunched over his desk like a suspiciously anxious shrimp while the teacher explained something about chemical bonding.
Beside him, Ned kept glancing over.
“Dude,” Ned whispered. “Why are you sitting like that? You look like you're buffering.”
Peter winced slightly and whispered back, “Did not get enough energy to wake up and have an amazing morning.”
Ned stared at him.
“…What do you men.”
Peter opened his mouth to respond—
Knock knock.
Both of them looked up as the classroom door opened and the school secretary leaned in.
“Peter Parker?”
Peter immediately froze.
Every instinct he had screamed this is about the bullet wound.
Which… to be fair… it probably was.
His teacher nodded toward the door. “Peter, you’re being picked up.”
Ned’s head whipped toward him.
“Wait-what?”
Peter slowly stood, trying not to move too fast. His backpack tugged against his side and he almost hissed, quickly covering it with a cough.
“Uh… yeah?” Peter said weakly.
The secretary smiled politely. “You’ll need to come with me.”
The moment she stepped back into the hallway, Ned leaned over his desk toward Peter.
“Bro,” he whispered urgently. “You did not tell me you were leaving early.”
Peter leaned closer and whispered back quickly.
“Superhero stuff.”
Ned’s eyes went wide.
Like Christmas-morning wide.
“Oh my god,” Ned breathed.
Peter grabbed his backpack and started edging toward the aisle.
“Tell you later,” Peter whispered.
Ned pointed at him dramatically like this was the greatest promise ever made.
“You better.”
Peter nodded.
“Of course.”
Then Peter leaned back toward him one more time and whispered under his breath.
“…Though bro, I might be cooked.”
Ned blinked.
“What does that-”
But Peter was already heading for the door.
He stepped into the hallway where the secretary was waiting, trying very hard not to limp.
Behind him, Ned leaned back in his chair, whispering to himself in awe.
“My best friend is doing secret superhero missions during school.”
Then he paused.
“…Wait.”
Ned slowly frowned.
“Why did he say he’s cooked?”
Out in the hallway, Peter checked his phone.
A new message from Tony Stark lit up the screen.
TONY: Car’s outside.
TONY: And before you ask, yes I’m mad.
Peter stared at the message.
“…Yeah,” he muttered under his breath.
He was absolutely dead.
When Peter stepped out the front doors of the school, the cool air hit his face, and he immediately spotted the sleek black car waiting by the curb.
Leaning against it was Happy Hogan, arms crossed, sunglasses on, looking like a man who had already had a very long day.
Happy noticed Peter almost immediately and pushed himself off the car.
“C’mon, kid,” he called, opening the back door.
Peter walked over, moving a little stiffly without meaning to. His backpack hung off one shoulder, and one hand hovered near his side like he kept forgetting not to touch it.
“Hey, Happy,” Peter said, a little nervously.
Happy jerked his head toward the open door.
“Inside. Now.”
Peter climbed into the back seat, wincing slightly as he sat down. Happy shut the door, then leaned down slightly so Peter could hear him through the open window.
Peter looked up at him anxiously.
“…But Happy-”
Happy raised an eyebrow.
Peter lowered his voice.
“…Is Mr. Stark mad?”
Happy sighed the sigh of a man who had worked for Tony Stark for a very long time.
“How many times has he asked you to call him Tony?”
Peter blinked.
“…A lot.”
“Exactly,” Happy said, walking around to the driver’s side. “And yet here we are.”
He slid into the seat and started the engine.
The car pulled away from the curb and into traffic.
Peter sat in the back seat, trying very hard not to think about the suit diagnostics… or the blood loss warning… or the fact that Tony definitely saw the words bullet wound attached to Peter’s name.
After a minute, Peter leaned forward slightly between the seats.
“…So he is mad?”
Happy gave a short laugh.
“Kid.”
Peter winced.
Happy kept his eyes on the road.
“The boss checked your vitals, saw a gunshot wound, and realized you were still sitting in chemistry class like that was a normal Tuesday.”
Peter slowly sank back into the seat.
“…When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It is bad,” Happy said.
Peter groaned quietly and tipped his head back against the seat.
Happy glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
“You know what he’s doing right now?”
Peter shook his head slowly.
Happy let out a breath.
“Trying very hard to stay calm.”
Peter swallowed.
“…That sounds worse.”
“Yeah,” Happy said simply.
In the back seat, Peter carefully pressed a hand against the bandage on his side and muttered to himself.
“I’m so cooked.”
Happy heard him and shook his head slightly, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Kid,” he said, glancing at Peter in the mirror, “you stopped being cooked the moment you decided getting shot wasn’t a good enough reason to skip chemistry.”
Peter groaned and covered his face with his hands.
“Oh my god.”
Happy just kept driving toward Stark Tower.