That couldn't be the end of it. It just couldn't. Mr. Stark is the closest thing to a dad that Peter had had since Uncle Ben died and he was not going through it again. He wouldn't, not now. Not when they'd just won.
"Move, white boy," he heard, but he didn't really process it or the source of it because he was too busy processing the fact that Dr. Strange just did the thing with the hands and the gold and the magic and then someone grabbed his arm — maybe Happy? — and he was being pulled through it with a "whoa!" slipping through his lips.
He'd looked around and caught sight of Mr. Stark, who had looked really bad, but he was laid out on a slab and there was so much tech around here that everywhere he looked, it looked like a damn sci-fi movie.
That had been fourteen hours ago.
They've been taking turns, an hour at a time, rotating to sit with him. When his eyes open, it startles Peter, partially because they snap open, looking wild, and partially because he's still so pale that it's actually a little scary. "Mr. Stark?" he breathes, his own eyes wide with shock.
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"Move, white boy," he heard, but he didn't really process it or the source of it because he was too busy processing the fact that Dr. Strange just did the thing with the hands and the gold and the magic and then someone grabbed his arm — maybe Happy? — and he was being pulled through it with a "whoa!" slipping through his lips.
He'd looked around and caught sight of Mr. Stark, who had looked really bad, but he was laid out on a slab and there was so much tech around here that everywhere he looked, it looked like a damn sci-fi movie.
That had been fourteen hours ago.
They've been taking turns, an hour at a time, rotating to sit with him. When his eyes open, it startles Peter, partially because they snap open, looking wild, and partially because he's still so pale that it's actually a little scary. "Mr. Stark?" he breathes, his own eyes wide with shock.