#but anything is possible in the whump theatre in my mind

[the-forsaken-princess]

Ok but. Using barbed wire as restraints. Keeps whumpee bound and causes pain at the same time.

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 18

Masterpost

@sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lavmars @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it @haro-whumps @simplygrimly @alex-ember @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @mnmlover2002 @jordanstrophe @princessofonward @xmonster-under-the-bed @as-a-matter-of-whump @5boys1house @crystalrainwing @starnight-whump @chifechi @unicornscotty @penny-for-your-whump @getyourwhumphere @likeit-or-whumpit @jasm0307 @lightdrinker @hurting-fictional-people @captainseconds @glamrockgregory

CW: recovering pet whumpee, environmental whump, references to an amputated finger, paranoia/hallucinations

-

As he turned to lock the final door behind him, Rowe could see that he had been in a warehouse, evidently a rarely-used one. A single floodlight was on, illuminating nothing but a bare wall and the road leading up to it. Rowe had been correct- it was night. The open air was a thousand blessings as he breathed it in. His eyes felt clean, he could stand up properly, he wasn’t wearing that fucking collar anymore.

The happiness was short-lived, but he let himself have it. He was free. He just had to get home, now.

Rowe would have panicked, at that moment, but instead his heart toughened, because Kasia hadn’t been able to break him down. He was missing a finger, and the throbbing pain made sure he wouldn’t forget in a hurry, but he was still there, still himself. His nightmares would probably take a new form, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep alone again, but he was fine. He was a Pet. He was a person. Surviving was a skill of his.

He rested a hand on the wall, making sure he was hidden in shadow, and let himself take some of the weight off his scarred leg. Burnt, smashed, sewn up and burnt again. He would be limping, by the time he got home. But get home he would, and in some way, it was thanks to his leg. He had been sat on his bed, back when he couldn’t walk, looking for something to distract him from the feelings of anger and uselessness and what if he throws me out?

So he’d looked down and practised his reading. He remembered it perfectly. Tomas G…Grz…. something… 12 h-a-r-t… Hartland Road… your Pet… s-p-l-i-n-t…. bed rest for up to one week…

Rowe had read the address, and perhaps even then he’d known he might one day need it. It didn’t solve the problem of knowing whereHartland Road was, or whether he’d make it there without being stolen or beaten up or killed, but he had to try.

Kidnapped, he thought. You’d only say stolen for a piece of property.

The warehouse was evidently on the outskirts of town. Was it the right town? Rowe thought so, as he studied the lights shining down the road. Several of the shapes were familiar to him. The colourful string bulbs that were hung up along the shopping streets, the glow from the theatre on the hill, the dark spot where the graveyard sat. From his bedroom window he had to crane to get a good look, but he could see it well from the office. He ached to be back there. In the warmth and familiarity of it. Back with- Master? The word sounded strange now. Especially since- since Rowe felt like he understood him now. Understood his intentions.

He started to walk. Kasia’s jacket rested on his shoulders, and he couldn’t bear to put his arms in. The idea alone made him feel trapped. The thing smelt distinctly of the bastard, but Rowe knew it was preferable to the cold of a dead night. He found a main road soon enough, built up above the rest of the grassy flatland, so he gingerly climbed down the hill and walked alongside. He would be hidden from passing cars well enough, but his bare feet soon began to take the brunt of the choice of rough land over tarmac. Stones, sticks, was that roadkill, oh, god, all were littered through his journey which was only sparsely lit by the occasional road light. After a particularly sharp stone, or possibly even a discarded glass bottle, Rowe knew his foot was bleeding. He ground his teeth together. It wasn’t real if he couldn’t see it. And right now, he couldn’t see his own hand in front of him.

He kept his eyes on the lights from the town before him, slowly drawing closer.

He thought he heard footsteps behind him, running closer with horrifying speed. As they drew near he could hear Kasia screaming at him.

You think you can fucking get away from me? You think you locked that collar? You really think I won’t come back?

He kept his eyes fixed on the town. “It-it-it’s n-not real,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. He was trembling with fear. “It’s not real, I locked him up, I st-stopped him, it’s not real, it’s not.”

The paranoia wouldn’t leave him, though. Every passing car, though they were few and far between, made him jump and crouch down, hands clamped over his mouth. He couldn’t shake the fear that it was Kasia after him, out searching for the rotten escaped Pet. His leg burst with pain every time, making him whimper and cry when he tried to stand back up.

The sounds of footsteps gradually stopped, and Kasia’s voice faded, but Rowe could still feel his hands clawing at him. His back tingled with the overwhelming sensation that someone was behind him, creeping up and reaching out to grab-

Against his better judgement, he turned back. Darkness there, and nothing more. “Fuck, f-fuck, keep it together,” he muttered.

Just up ahead, he could see streetlamps. Proper ones, glowing a gentle orange. He went as far as he could along the grass, then climbed up, wetting his hands in the dew. He checked for cars, and seeing none, scrambled fully onto the road.

He realised he couldn’t run anymore- his leg would give out, or he wouldn’t be able to contain a howl of pain- so he limped as quickly as he could towards the next patch of shadow, over and over.

Eventually he came upon a sign: Welcome to….

It was half shadowed, but it was a map. He pushed himself up on his tip-toes, eyes scanning the jumble of letters and lines and symbols. Eventually he spotted it. Hartland Road. He traced the direction in his head, making sure it was committed to memory, although he knew he wouldn’t forget it even if someone tried to beat it out of him. And then, he started walking.

He couldn’t tell exactly what time it was, but he would have guessed around three or four in the morning. The pub, as he passed it, was quiet, although he still kept his distance, hugging the shadows.

He soon reached the base of the hill he knew he’d have to climb. As he started to ascend, he saw the Pet hospital in the distance. Oh god, would he have to go back there to get his finger treated? He pushed the question to the back of his mind. If he did, there wasn’t anything he could do.

A few cars drove by, as he walked. He wanted to duck into one of the smaller streets that branched off, but he had only memorised one route home, and he didn’t trust himself to improvise in the dark. So instead he squared his shoulders, stopped hunching, tried his best to look like a person walking home in his heavy jacket, not afraid, not prey. It didn’t feel quite right, but it was easier than he’d expected. And it worked- no cars stopped, no one seemed to give him a second glance.

He finally reached the street, the name lit up. Hartland Road. The sign was scuffed, like kids had popped the cap off their beers along its edge. It was fixed to the wall of a garden, weeds poking out through the bricks, a flyer from the council tied at eye-level to the neck of the streetlamp. Rowe took everything in as he walked. The bicycle clipped to a fence, the parked cars, the black bins left out for collection. Before, he never would have taken notice. None of it had mattered. But now, Rowe felt as if he had a new connection to the world around him. He could interact with it. He wasn’t leashed or under the watchful eye of an owner, he wasn’t crawling or blindfolded in the boot of a car. He was in pain, yes, but he was always in pain, so constantly that it hardly registered anymore. He was free.

Rowe didn’t recognise the house itself. The only times he’d ever left it, he’d been unconscious, or practically so.

But when he turned around, he saw the same view he’d had from his bedroom window every morning and night. He was home.

He remembered Kasia’s key, but it no longer fit into the front door. The lock must have been changed. Rowe hated that the alternative was to make a loud noise, at this hour, but perhaps that was the smarter way than simply slipping inside like- like Kasia. So he hesitantly pressed down on the doorbell, hitting his fist against the wood as well. He waited. He thought about how he’d never rung a doorbell before in his life.

Silence. Rowe wasn’t exactly surprised, but his heart still tightened. Suddenly the fresh air didn’t feel freeing, it felt exposed. He rang again, knocking harder, not giving up. Surely he would know it was urgent? Surely he would come down, and Rowe would get to see his face again?

Faintly, he heard the creaking of the stairs. “I-I-It’s me!” he said, hushed. “It’s me, I…”

His words died as the door slowly opened. Half a face, an eye framed by blond curls peered out, full of apprehension. In a heartbeat it landed on Rowe and widened, and the door flew open.

“Tomas,” Rowe said, loving how it felt to say his name, loving him, loving everything. “I’m back, I, I’m back, I’m back.”

Tomas raised a hand over his mouth, and for once he was the one shaking. “Oh my god… oh my god.”

And then he was reaching both arms out for Rowe with a sob. Rowe threw the horrible jacket to the ground and fell into him, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding on tight. He couldn’t have known whose knees failed first, but suddenly they had collapsed on the floor, clinging onto each other, not leaving a shred of space between as they both cried. Soaked in the orange light that pooled through the still-open front door.

[tsarisfanfiction]

WIP #59c

So I was going to write today, but then I got some bad news that if I’m unlucky may become devastating news in the next couple of days (really hoping it doesn’t) so my muses all ran away to hide somewhere.

But @liseylou has been asking for more of this wip and I did have some more written, so... more Scott!whump?  Here you go :P

Part A | Part B

He muted the comm before they could start asking questions and knelt down beside his eldest brother. He was sat up against the side of the cave, legs outstretched and one hand wrapped around the opposing upper arm.

“I don’t need a stretcher,” Scott rasped.  He sounded defeated, and Gordon was abruptly reminded of why they were in this mess in the first place.  “I can walk.”

“That’s a broken leg, bro,” Gordon pointed out bluntly, training the torch on him and mentally cataloguing injuries.

The arm cradling its counterpart was a bloodied mess, sleeve torn off and skin dyed red.  The cradled arm seemed pretty okay, until Gordon took a better look at the shoulder and realised it was completely out of its socket. His leg was broken in at least two places, and the opposing ankle was swollen.

How long had he been down here, too injured to move?  Had he thought they wouldn’t come?  Had he wondered why it took them so long?

Gordon knew the first aid kit he’d brought with him wouldn’t be enough, but it was still better than nothing so he dug it out, torch clenched between his teeth.  Scott recoiled as he reached for the bleeding arm, but Gordon didn’t let him retreat as he carefully caught hold of it and coaxed his brother into letting go of the dislocated shoulder.

Despite the protests about a stretcher, Scott did nothing more to stop him as he gently cleaned as much as he could by torchlight and wrapped the limb from shoulder to wrist in bandages.  Gordon had never liked silence, and the barely responsive form of his eldest brother gnawed away at him unpleasantly.

This was nothing like Scott. Where were the empty reassurances that he was fine?  The fond eyeroll as Gordon ignored his protests and kept working regardless?  A token complaint and then unbroken silence did nothing except worry him.

Alan’s words must have cut deeper than any of them realised, and Gordon took it upon himself to try and fix the damage.  In the poor lighting and with only his basic medical pack there was nothing he could do for either of Scott’s legs, so once he’d tied off the bandage for the bloodied arm neatly he shifted to sit next to his brother.

“You know Alan didn’t mean any of that, right?” he said, carefully taking hold of the dislocated arm and assessing how best to pop it back into place without causing any more stress than was absolutely necessary on Scott’s body.

Scott made a noise that could have been yes, no, or a non-committal not listening.

He needed a hug, Gordon decided.  A good, proper squid hug where escape was not possible until he cracked a smile. Unfortunately, while one might be good for his mental state, his body was clearly not up to that level of affection right now.

“I’m going to put your shoulder back now,” he said instead, relieved when Scott let out a breath in response.

“Okay,” his brother agreed, leaning his head back against the cave wall and closing his eyes.  It wasn’t ideal, but with the combination of his other injuries, it was the only way that wouldn’t worsen the others – especially the broken leg, Gordon’s greatest concern.  He watched him breathe for a moment, before judging he was relaxed as he was going to get and starting to move the limb.

Popping a shoulder back into place was hardly accurate in movies.  A faux attempt at counting to three combined with a sudden jerk looked great for cinematic purposes, but Gordon wasn’t aiming for theatre, he was aiming to actually get his brother’s shoulder back in its socket.  The long grind as he slowly but firmly rotated the limb back into place was a solid minute and a half of deep, drawn out breaths from Scott as his brother fought to keep the muscles relaxed.  They both knew enough first aid to know tense muscles were bad.

Scott was trembling minutely under his hands by the time he was done, shoulder back where it should be, and Gordon quickly secured it in place with a triangle bandage forming the sling, and tape to keep the limb immobilised.

“Thanks,” his brother said as he finished, and Gordon carefully slipped an arm around his shoulders, mindful not to put any pressure on them.

“Try not to make it a habit,” he replied, heart sinking as Scott leant ever so slightly into the hold. Scott never did that.  Then again, Scott normally initiated comfort-hugs, not received them.

His comm unit was flashing urgently, and he booped it with his nose to un-mute it now that Scott was treated as best he could with torchlight and a simple first aid kit. He hoped Virgil brought his laser-light, and preferably some proper medic gear as well.

“-don, respond already!”  Virgil’s voice immediately filled the cavern.  “Gordon.”

“I’m here, I’m here,” he said, cutting off the next tirade before it began.  “Sorry, had some work to do.”

“Did you find Scott?” Alan broke into the conversation.  Gordon felt Scott tense briefly and ran his fingers through his hair – the closest he could get to a comforting action when Scott’s back was pressed against the wall and one of his arms was occupied in supplying conversation via comm unit. “Scott, are you there?”  Their youngest brother sounded on the verge of tears, and Gordon felt more than heard the intake of breath before Scott spoke.

“I’m here, Alan.”

“Scott!  Are you okay?  How bad are you hurt?  It’s not that bad, right?  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said I love you pleasebeokay-”

“Alan, breathe,” John broke in.  Scott was trembling in Gordon’s light hold again and he tightened it as much as he dared.

“I’m okay.”  He didn’t sound it to Gordon, a shaky voice betraying just how not okay their biggest brother was and sending warning bells for a lot of future tlc.

“Injuries?”  Virgil, bless him, dragged the conversation back into line.  “Gordon?”

“Broken leg,” he answered before Scott could jump in with lies designed to stop them worrying. “It’s pretty dark in here so I can’t see how bad; you bringing some light with you?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Virgil reassured him, and Gordon wondered if he’d gone full International Rescue.  That wouldn’t be a bad thing.  “Anything else?”

“Unfortunately,” he drawled, placing a hand over Scott’s mouth when the older man started to spout nonsense about being fine.  “Dislocated shoulder, skinned arm and sprained ankle- ew Scott!” he cringed as his big brother turned into a five-year-old and licked his hand. “Gross!”  He pulled his hand back and wiped it on his shorts.

“We’ve found another way in,” Virgil continued, clearly using his middle-of-five abilities to ignore the kerfuffle.  “Should be with you in five minutes.”

“F.A.B.,” Gordon replied.

“Scott?” Alan piped up again just before Gordon cut the channel.  He sounded small, and Gordon inwardly frowned at having two brothers to cheer up.  “I didn’t mean it.  You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

With an audio-only link, Alan had no way of seeing Scott’s face.  In the dim torchlight, Gordon could and knew he was lying.

...tbc...

[whumppile]

Could you write a spiderman fic where tony goes to check on his plane after it crashed on the beach and finds a badly injured peter there? I watched the scene in homecoming and couldn't believe he was able to walk out of there!

omg dude (or whichever pronoun you prefer) me too! I was planning this fic while in the theatre watching it but didn’t get my lazy ass to writing it so thanks for requesting this cause I finally did it! 

Honestly it’s insane that they would just have him walk away from the amount of hits to the head he got, and all the other bashing’s, ugh typical tho. Anyway here is poor whumped Peter, I’ll post this on my ff.net and ao3 accounts as “A little bit broken.” and since it will probably have more chapters I’ll post the links at the end so you can follow or bookmark it on those sites if you want so you’ll know when the next chapter is out (Although I can’t promise there will be more I’m just hoping more will come to me.)

ANyway here you go, pllleeeaaase let me know what you think? Cause this took a few hours lol

Peter droppedLiz’s dad on the sand and groaned as every inch of his body screamed out inpain. He couldn’t put any weight on his right leg, could barely move it, andhis left arm hung limp at his side.

His chest wasburning, making it hard to breathe as fire raged around him.

He knew he hadto get somewhere safe, to get help, but his vision was nothing but blurredlights and black spots, and when his eyes closed of their own accord, hedropped to the sand and felt nothing.

…………….

Voices. Heat.Pain.

And he knew thatvoice, it was comforting to him. Something like a dad but not quite.

“Peter? Can youhear me? I’m here, kid, you’ll be okay, just don’t move. Happy, get me a medteam here, now! Jesus, this is all my fault. Peter, stay with me, come o-“

The voice fellaway into darkness. Or maybe it was Peter that was falling.

He didn’t knowhow long he’d been gone for, but when the real world came back, it came backfast.

He snapped backto consciousness so quickly it was like he’d never left it. Fires were beingput out around him as people rushed around, some of them crowding around Peter,but all he could feel was pain and all he could hear was his own scream.

He sobbed, inagony, as hands gripped at his limbs, and stabbed his skin.

“P-please stop,it hurts!”

The sky abovehim was full of smoke, and he coughed painfully as he struggled to pull in morethan shallow pants. Voices called out around him, quick and urgent.

“Get that linetaped in, and strap his leg down, we can’t have him moving it until we get somex-rays done. Peter, I need to stay calm and lay still. We’re here to help,you’ll be okay.”

Straps pulledover his chest, rubbing against his bare chest, and pressing wires down. Hehurt so much, and they were holding him down. There was something around hisneck, preventing him from turning his head, and he didn’t feel sand underneathhim anymore, just something cold and hard.

He was scaredand in pain and as much as he fought against the straps and hands holding himdown, he couldn’t move. Peter let out another sob as he slumped against thebackboard he was held to.

“Be careful withhim.”

That voiceagain, it was Mr Stark. He was close by and Peter wanted to see him, to knowthat he was safe, but  he couldn’t findhim.

Another voice,one he didn’t know, started shouting as his eyes dropped.

“Don’t fallasleep, kid! Keep your eyes open!”

But theblackness was creeping in again and he couldn’t fight it.

…………….

Peter wasmoving, or rather, he was being moved. He wasn’t fully aware of anything justyet. It was like being underwater, where the sounds are muffled and all you cansee is blurry warped images of the world above.

Peter’s eyes wereclosed, and he didn’t have control over his body, but he felt it, and he feltthe pain as well as the hands crowding over his skin.

Cool air hit hisbare chest, as efficient fingers pressed into his sides and over his torso,making him hurt as voices jumbled together in a cacophony of sound that hewished would just go away.

“I need a CT andMRI done as soon as we have his shoulder in place and I want that leg strappeddown until the scans come back. Mr Stark, you can wait in the-“

“I’m staying.”

That was Tony.Peter would recognize that gruff tone anywhere, even with the other noises, hissluggish mind knew it.

The first voicewas impatient. “We need room to work, if you’ll just-“

“I’m not leavinghim! I’ll stay out of the way but I won’t leave unless absolutely necessary. He’sfifteen.” The tone of his last words made his message clear. Peter was fifteen,he was too young, too young to be almost dying.

The other voicesighed, close to Peter’s head, as something snaked under his nose, blowing coolair, and making it a little easier to breathe.

“Fine. Let’s gethis stats up before we move him, please.”

There was toomuch going on, and so much pain, that when his senses began to darken, he didn’tmind at all.

…………….

Tony watched asthey put Peter back together. Strapping things down, and scanning things. Peterwas lost under the sheer amount of tubes, wires, and braces, surrounding him.He didn’t move at all, which was a blessing, but it made him look like a doll…ora corpse. The doctors and nurses moved him around as they needed, lifting arms,and pulling them back into place.

Peter’shome-made suit was cut off and discarded, thrown to the side as they worked onhim, but Tony couldn’t watch it lay on the floor like garbage. He’d made fun ofit when he first seen it, but it was so very Peter. The kid didn’t have much,but he made things, and he made them well. The suit had been made lovingly,proudly, by the bright fifteen-year-old, and now it was nothing but rags.

The material wasso thin, and thoroughly torn. It was the only thing that had stood betweenPeter’s vulnerable body, and the metal that had pummeled into him. Tony pickedthe shredded suit off the floor and held it in his shaking hands.

When Tony hadbeen designing Peter’s suit, he had thought of and prepared for every possible scenariohis over worried mind had come up with. But he hadn’t been prepared for Peterto go after the vulture without it. God, what had he done?

…………….

Peter wokeagain. Woke was a strong word. He became aware.

Someone wascrying, and Peter didn’t like it. He thought he knew who it was, but the name wouldn’tcome to his syrupy mind. His thoughts were slow and sticky, and the more hetried to think the more confused he was. So, he just felt.

He felt a handin his, soft slender fingers, as the person continued to sob, words coming outas a strangled mess.

“What happenedto him? He was supposed to be at homecoming. Oh, Peter, baby.”

There was apause, like a held breath, and then another familiar voice, tone hard as if itwere trying very hard not to shake.

“Peter left thedance to talk with me about the internship but our car was hit by anothervehicle. I’m so sorry May.”

Peter didn’t rememberany of that. The other voice came again, May, that’s who it was; as a handswept through his hair, brushing it back on his forehead in a way that made himfeel just like he had when he was a kid, being looked after by his mother.

“Will he beokay?”

Tony, becausethat other voice had to be him, spoke once more. “Severe concussion, minorsmoke inhalation, separated shoulder, four broken ribs, internal bleeding, tornACL, and heavy bruising…well, everywhere.”

It was clear hewasn’t reading it from a chart, which meant he’d memorized every injury, andhad no doubt blamed it on himself. His voice softened.

It’ll take a lotof rehab for the knee but the surgery went well, and he’s a tough kid, he’ll beokay. I’ll take care of everything, I have the best team of doctors in on this,you don’t have to worry about any of it.”

May sniffedagain, hand leaving Peter’s hair to stroke against his cheek instead. Peter wasglad she was there. He felt safer than he had before, wherever he’d been. Intruth, he couldn’t remember much, but he didn’t think he wanted to.

Her voice wassad and small. “He’s all I have.”

Footsteps echoedacross a hard floor, and Tony’s voice sounded closer, right next to May’s.

“I know.” Peterheard the words, but the tone didn’t sound like “I know”, it sounded more like “metoo.”

May lifted hislimp hand, and planted a kiss against his knuckles, before she spoke again,voice wobbly and soaked in tears.

“Peter, baby, we’reright here, okay? Everything’s going to be all right, so you wake up now.Please honey, just open your eyes, or squeeze my hand. Let me know you’re okay?”

Peter wanted to,he wanted to do anything to make his aunt sound happy again, but his body didn’tfeel like it belonged to him. He occupied it, sure, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’twake up. He didn’t feel like he was quite ready yet either.

Steady beepingcontinued as the two adults waited in silence for any sign that the teenagerwould wake.

Tony finallysighed and Peter felt a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Pete. We’ll wait for you,as long as you need.”

Thing’s starteddrifting again after that, and Peter was glad he didn’t have to hear May cryanymore.

Life became aseries of aware moments with periods of darkness in between. Voices drifted inand out, some he knew, some he didn’t. He ignored a lot of what they said.

“-ould come outof the coma soon, but you have to understand, thebrain is a very difficult thing to predict. He was hit very hard. And we just don’tknow when he’ll come out of it.”

He thought Nedwas there at some point, and maybe Michelle too, but he hadn’t been able tofocus on much. He thought he had heard Ned crying, and Michelle’s voice was smallerthen he’d ever heard it before.

“He looks sosmall.” Usually something like that coming from Michelle would be an insult,but she sounded afraid.

Peter’s bodycame back to him in parts. Like when he’d felt water dripping into his mouth.Someone was rubbing ice against his slightly parted lips, melting it justenough for the water to fall onto his parched tongue.

Or, when he felthis limbs being moved, stretched, and massaged as he lay limp. 

After a while,he found he was able to move his fingers, just a twitch or a brief increase ofpressure when someone held his hand. Their encouraging and excited voices wouldhave made Peter smile if he had been able to.

Then all of asudden, his eyes were open. He was blinking, before he’d realized he’d woken,and he saw himself for the first time.

He was in a bed,one arm strapped to his chest, as wires lay over him, IV’s taped to his goodarm, and a blanket pulled up to his waist, leaving his top half bare. Hiseyebrows furrowed as he looked down at his legs. One of them was propped up ona pillow, with a huge brace encasing the limb.

He didn’t knowwhat was happening or why he was there.

Somethingtickled his nose, and he frowned further as he lifted a heavy hand, the one notstrapped in a brace, to pull at whatever it was. Someone stopped him first, gentlytaking his hand and pressing it back to the bed.

“Leave thatthere, Pete. It’s helping you.” Tony’s voice was so tired, as if it weren’t thefirst time he’d said it, and Peter turned his head towards him, seeing himrubbing at his face from where he sat at the side of the bed. He blinked athim, watching as Tony’s face turned into one of hope.

“Peter? Can youhear me?”

The teenagertook a moment, mind still sluggish, but he managed a nod and squeezed Tony’sfingers where they lay in his. The older man sat forward in his seat and smiledsounding excited.

“You gonna stayawake this time?”

Peter blinkedheavily and didn’t know what he meant by that, but nodded again. Tony smiledwider and quickly reached over to where May was asleep in her own chair, facepressed to Peter’s good leg. She woke quickly, sitting up as Tony shook hershoulder, voice gravelly from sleep.

“What is it?What’s wrong?”

Tony pointed tothe kid in the bed and May froze, her eyes were huge as she watched Peterblinking at her. She reached for his face, soft hands brushing over his cheeks,being careful to avoid the nasal cannula still providing him oxygen.

“Peter? Baby, doyou know who I am?”

She looked so hopeful,but also scared, like she might not get what she wanted so badly. Peter felthis mouth twitch into what he hoped was a smile. It was hard to find words, andharder to make his mouth move to form them, but when he did she smiled like she’djust won the lottery.

“May.” The shortsyllable was as slurred as it could be for just three letters, but she laughedanyway, surging forward to press kisses all over his face.

“Oh my god, you’reback. You’re really, okay.” She sat back, watching him, and brushing his hairback with one hand as he blinked at her with those bright eyes she loved morethan anything else in the world.

“You kept openingyour eyes, but you wouldn’t respond to anything, it was like you were gone. Wewere so worried, we thought- God, Peter, don’t ever do that to me again.”

Her words beganto wobble and tilt, and Peter frowned, not wanting her to be sad as he pushedone melted word from his clumsy mouth.

“Sorry.”

May’s eyesfilled with tears, and she held Peter’s face in her hands, her shoulders shakingas she began to cry again.

“Oh, honey, it’sokay. It’s all okay now, you’re here and that’s all that matters. You came backto me.”

Peter didn’t wantto see her cry, Tony put an arm around her shoulders and she fell into hischest as he hugged her. It had a familiarity to it, like they’d done it morethan once before.

They looked likethey’d been through a lot, or he supposed he had. But as long as they weretogether, they’d be just fine.

(Soryy I didn’t know how to end it. Let me know what you think and what should happen int he next chapter should there be one. Thanks for the prompt!)

You can find this and all my fics here

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11949249/chapters/27015372

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12634037/1/A-little-bit-broken