Bug boy || Peter Parker

Forty One

Tate woke up to a high pitched ringing in his ears. There was pain, so much of it that he couldn't accurately tell where it came from or what was worse. He could feel stickiness on his face and something damp soaking his t-shirt. There was burning heat to his left and something solid digging into his thighs. He blinked opened bleary eyes as the world began to focus, sounds trickling back then hitting like a flood. The crackling of fire, shifting metal, a distant cry. Peter. 

Tate lifted his head and groaned as he tried to push himself up. The movement jolted a sharp pain and he let loose a sob as he looked down. There was a shard of glass, probably about three inches long sticking out of his chest. He could tell that it wasn't in very deep, shallow enough that it missed his lungs and organs, but still the surface was coated in blood. The red liquid shining in the light from the fires. He let out another choked sob as he pushed himself up, the edge of the console digging into his thighs as he pulled himself into a half seated position on the buttons. 

The cargo hold was a mess of crates and fire, successfully blocked off. The only way out of the cockpit was through the shattered windows. The emergency door was almost red from heat and contorted shut from the impact of the crash. Tate ran his hand through his hair, now sticky with blood. (There was a cut on his forehead bleeding down his face but that was the least of his worries). He grimaced at the glass sticking out of him. If he wanted to move then he needed to pull it out. Right now it wasn't deep enough for him to bleed out but the activity he was about to do carried the threat of accidentally pushing it in deeper and he didn't want that. With teeth digging into his split lip, he grasped the sharp edged and yanked it out. The motion made him scream out in pain. The glass clattering out of his hand as he breathed. 

Once the world swam into focus again, he heaved himself up to the window. Glad to note that his legs were relatively unharmed, if a little burnt in places. He hissed, one hand to the wound in his chest, as he kicked the remaining glass from the windows and climbed out onto the nose of the plane. He was still very high from the ground but he ignored that fact as he slid down. Legs crumpling as he hit the sand and he tumbled onto his back. For a second he wheezed, staring up at the dark sky above him. The smoke twirling up into the black as he focused on keeping himself awake. The pain threatened to drag him under. A soft sob escaped his lips as another high pained cry echoed back. Peter. Peter was in trouble. 

Tate tried not to scream as he rolled himself up and staggered to his feet. He shuffled forwards, steps becoming more steady as adrenaline kicked in. Another cry of pain. Not quite a scream but enough for him to speed up into a half run. Every five steps, listing forwards and having to catching himself with one hand before continuing. Just as he rounded the reminders of the plane, he saw it. Toomes had Peter in one claw. The wings sparking dangerously as he flew up and stomped Peter into the earth. The boy's body hanging limp. 

Tate looked around. The precious crates he had been carrying were littered across the sand. Some of which had broken open, their contents spilling out. One of which held pieces of familiar red and gold suits and many arc reactors. Tate half ran, half fell towards it. Knees hitting the sand as he scrabbled amount the iron man suit pieces. It took a second for him to find what he was looking for. A glove and a helmet. He wept tears of relief as he pulled the helmet over his head and jammed on the glove. "Friday", He announced. "Friday. This is Tate. Alert code: twenty three. Authorisation, Baby Stark". 

The helmet and glove hummed to life and Tate grinned. Trust his dad to always have his suits ready to go. "Welcome Baby Stark", Friday greeted. "Alert twenty three has been activated. Mr Stark is on his way". 

Tate grunted as he struggled to his feet. He leaned against the crate as he took aim. Toomes was hoisting Peter's limp form into the air. Metal wings piercing the fabric of his costume as he was lifted, body dangling, up over the sand. Tate fired and a white laser burst hit the man in the shoulder. Toomes jerked back with a yell, dropping Peter and turning to face Tate. "You!" He shouted. "You're just like you're old man. Never knowing when to quit". 

The wings sparked as they whirred to life. Toomes flying towards him. Tate fired again and the lazed it one of the wings. The metal sparked and parts of the wing blew apart. Toomes cursed and continued to advance as purple electricity began to dance around the machine. "You're wing suit!" Peter's voice. Tate glanced over and saw that the boy was awake and reaching out towards them, eyes wide. "Tate! get out of there! The wing suit is going to explode". 

Toomes was mere feet away now. Tate fell to the side and felt something latch onto to the back of his tshirt. He was yanked heavily across the ground, pulled by a web away from the crate and Mr Toomes. The sudden movement made him cry out in pain but Peter didn't stop until Tate was several meters away from Toomes. The man watched him go then turned his attention to the crate. Both boys watching as the claws latched on. Wings sparking as they began to take off. 

Mr Toomes turned back to them. "Time to go home now Pete". 

"Stop! I'm trying to save you!" Peter shouted. He aimed his web shooters but they were empty. That was when the wings shuddered and Toomes dropped from the sky. Tate winced and closed his eyes against the blast of the explosion. When he opened them again, it was to see fire spreading across the sand. Peter threw himself onto his feet.

"Peter!" Tate screamed as the boy plunged towards the flames. He pulled the helmet from his head, eyes trying to pick out his figure. "Peter! Come back!" He tried to move but pain made him double over and crumple. "Peter!" 

Then there was a figure. Peter emerged from the smoke with Toomes across his back. Tate sagged in relief as Peter dropped the coughing man to the sand and shuffled towards him. Tate tried again to get up but his legs crumbled and he fell with a gasp. Peter catching him before he hit the sand. Both boys falling together. Tate half cradled across his lap. "This", Tate coughed, voice horse and choked up in pain. He could taste blood. Had been tasing it for a while now. "Was not how I expected homecoming to turn out Petey Boy".

Peter's face, bloodied and covered in dirt, lit up with a smile. One that Tate couldn't help but mimic. "Tell me about it. Fighting my girlfriend's dad. 0/10 would not recommend". Tate laughed but stopped immediately, hand pressing agains the wound on his chest as he gasped in pain. Peter's eyes instantly turned worried as he took in the blood covering Tate's tshirt. The material singed, burnt and torn. 

"Just ask me to go as your date next time and save us both the trouble", Tate grinned bloodied teeth. 

Peter smiled softly, fingers stroking through his hair. "Maybe I should. I would like that".

"So would I". Tate's smile broke into a wince. "Oh dad is going to kill me. He's so going to kill me. No more flying planes for months. Fuck". 

"Where does it hurt?" Peter asked gently. 

"Everywhere. Pulled glass from my chest. Probably stupid of me. Also pretty sure Liz's dad broke a rib or two". Peter pulled Tate more securely to his chest and Tate let out a stifled sob. His hand gripped weakly at Peter's shirt and he tipped his head back to look up into molten brown eyes. "Are you okay?" 

"I'll heal". Peter stated, still checking Tate over.

"Peter. Are you okay?" Tate pressed, hand gripping tighter. 

Peter blinked and his face softened. "Tate. I'm bruised and may have a cracked rib or two, and maybe a strained wrist but I am okay. I will heal up within two days. I am more worried about you". 

"Good", Tate breathed as he relaxed. "Good. Can't ask you out if you're dying". 

"You wanted to ask me out?" Peter's voice was small in surprise and uncertainty. "For how long?" 

Tate blinked slowly, he was tired. "Since probably just after the deli blew up".

Peter gasped. "But its been weeks! Why didn't you?"

"Because you liked Liz. And I wasn't going to ruin our friendship".

"But Tate", Peter's voice was gentle and he resumed stroking Tate's hair. "I would have picked you over her if you had asked. I had been crushing on Liz for so long that I didn't figure out what I felt about you until it was too late".

"Oh", Tate smiled as he felt is eyes slide down. "You owe me a date then Petey boy". Then his eyes fell closed. His hand loosing it's grip on Peter's shirt.

Peter's arms tightened on the boy. "Tate! Tate! Tate! Wake up! Tate!" His voice crying out as above them, the familiar sound of jet engines grew closer. A red and gold suit descending from the sky. 

unedited