Irondad & Spiderson

Prosthetic

Requested by artisticmonkeys03

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Peter woke up in pain. His eyes and lungs burned from the smoke and ash filling the air. He could feel door settling on his skin, in his ears and mouth and lungs. Peter felt the blood running from cuts on his head, arms, legs, stomach, anywhere, everywhere. There were pieces of the demolished building both small and large trapping him in place. The heat of the fire surrounding him burned. It wasn't close enough to touch his skin, but close enough for him to feel the heat.

The only thing that didn't hurt was his left arm. It was numb. Which was scarier than if there was pain. Peter opened his mouth to scream for help but there was nobody. No sound came out of his mouth anyway with all the smoke he inhaled. He was alone. Heck, he didn't even know if Karen still worked.

"Calling Mr. Stark"

Oh, Peter thought, she does.

And then he passed out.
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When he awoke again, there was no smoke or ash in the air. There was no fire to burn him or rubble to trap him.

Instead, there was the too sterile smell of antiseptic in the air and the blinding hospital lights and beige walls and bandages. Lots and lots of bandages. And off to the side, there was an ugly green hospital chair with a person sitting. Not really sitting. This person was sleeping. It was hard to tell who exactly it was but it didn't take a genius to put together the pieces.

There was only one man in Peter's life that would suffer through a nap in an uncomfortable chair for him. I mean, Ned would, but Ned's mother didn't know about Spiderman.

"Dad?" Peter croaked out, his voice rough and raspy from lack of use.

The word was quiet, almost a whisper, but it was enough to awake the man in the chair.

"Peter? Oh thank god you're awake! Let me go get the nurse and then I'll be right back okay?" The man waited for Peter to nod before leaving. He was halfway out the door before he paused and turned. He walked back over to Peter, still lying in his hospital bed, and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "Don't ever do anything like that again. Ya hear me?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, dad" He probably would've rolled his eyes but he could still feel the ghost of smoke clouding his vision.

The man smiled. "Good. Stay here, I'll be right back"

If Peter had a nickel for every time the man said he'd 'be right back', Peter would have a dime. Which isn't a lot, but the man said it every time he left the room, even if it was just to ask for a nurse.

That was the problem for Peter. He knew the man. He knew he did. But he couldn't remember who he was. Whenever he looked at the man, all he could remember was 'dad'. Nothing more. No name, no job, no memories. Just 'dad'. Peter tried to remember, but it wasn't coming back. At least not any time soon.

The nurse, a young man with a kind smile, walked into the room. "Hey, Peter. How are you doing?"

"ok" Peter's voice was small and weak. He hated it.

"Good, that's good. Any pain anywhere?" The nurse scribbled something on a clipboard.

"My throat hurts" he spoke quietly and slowly.

The nurse gave one of those smiles, the ones that show they feel bad for you, the ones that look like a smirk and a grimace had a baby, the ones that could be a smirk if it weren't for the pity eyes. Yeah, that smile. "Sorry, buddy," the man from the chair seemed to bristle at that. Was he jealous of something? "but that'll go away on its own. Does it feel rough and dry?"