[Peter]
The wind whipped past my ears, as I swung home from a slightly longer-than-planned chat with Whitney Chang. Juggling the civilian life with the… well, with this. New York. Always something happening.
But then I saw it. Forest Park.
It wasn't the usual lush green or the late-fall shades I'd expect. It was… white. Gleaming, unnatural white, even from this distance. A vast, frozen expanse consuming acres of trees and pathways. My stomach clenched. There was only one guy I knew who could do that, and Bobby usually had better control. Or at least, he didn't leave the park looking like the North Pole.
Something was wrong. The low hum of my sense sharpened, a cold knot forming in my gut that had nothing to do with the sudden drop in temperature. I veered off course, pushing aside thoughts of the paper I needed to finish and the date I was probably going to be late for. In the moment, it just felt like my feet were already moving before my brain finished the thought.
I landed silently on a thick, frost-coated branch at the edge of the park. The cold hit me like a physical blow, seeping through my suit. Trees were encased in thick, opaque ice, many cracked and splintered by the sudden stress. The air was thick with an eerie silence, broken only by the groan of stressed wood.
"Bobby?" I called out, my voice thin in the biting air. No answer. "Iceman? You messing around?"
Still nothing. The knot in my gut twisted tighter. This wasn't a prank. This was him going all in.
I started moving deeper into the frozen landscape, my steps crunching on the brittle ice under a thin layer of fresh snow. The silence was oppressive, wrong. Where were the squirrels, the birds? Frozen in fear, or driven out?
Then I saw him.
Lying near a frozen tree, half-covered in a drift of unnatural snow and jagged ice crystals, was Bobby. Or rather, what looked like Bobby. He wasn't in his usual ice form, just in his normal clothes (ripped and covered in frost), but the real horror wasn't the cold. It was the blood.
"Bobby!"
I sprinted and dropped to my knees beside him, the biting cold forgotten. My hands hovered for a second, trembling slightly. Unconscious. Pale, so pale against the ice. And the blood… there was a lot. It looked like some kind of puncture wound, maybe combined with blunt force trauma.
My mind went into overdrive, Airway? Breathing? Circulation? Need to stop the bleeding. But how? Through the thick suit? I fumbled with my web-shooters, eyes darting around. Who did this? Why?
Too late. The thought slammed into me with the force of a physical blow. Again. The image flashed, 3D-Man, the light fading from his eyes. I couldn't save him.
Not now. Focus, Parker. Not again. My hands shook as I tried to find a pulse at Bobby's neck. Weak. Thready. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, maybe thanks to the cold.
My brain, blessedly, kicked into problem-solving mode, pushing back the rising panic. He needed real medical help. Fast. I couldn't web him to an ambulance; that was insane. I needed a faster, safer way. I needed… Tony.
My other hand went to the bottom of my shoe where I took out a small phone and dialled for Stark. "Come on, come on please pick up!"
Every second felt like an hour.
"Parker," Tony's voice, a little clipped, a little impatient, crackled through the comm. "What is it? I'm in the middle of optimizing the new… look, can it wait? I assume this isn't a 'cat stuck in a tree' emergency, because honestly, I trained you better than that."
I practically yelled into the mic, the controlled panic I'd been holding back cracking wide open. "Mr. Stark, it's Bobby! Iceman! I found him in Forest Park, he's unconscious, badly hurt, bleeding really heavily! It looks like... like he was attacked! The park is completely frozen over, it's like nothing I've ever seen!"
Silence on the other end. Longer this time, and the impatience was gone, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. "Bleeding? Drake? What kind of damage?"
"I don't know! It's a puncture, maybe internal injuries. He's freezing, Mr. Stark, not Iceman freezing, but like hypothermic. His pulse is weak. He's critical. I need to get him to a hospital NOW. A good one. One that can handle... handle him."
"Alright, alright, calm down, kid. Deep breaths. You said Forest Park? Queens? Okay. My med team at the Manhattan facility is the best. They're equipped for… enhanced physiology. Get him there. Now. I'm mobilizing. ER bay will be clear, med team on standby. You understand? Don't waste time. Don't drop him."
"On my way!"
Gently, so gently, I cradled Bobby's limp body. He felt too light, too frail. How could the guy who could flash-freeze a skyscraper look like this? My web-shooters whirred. Couldn't be too late. Not again.
I launched myself upwards, supporting Bobby as carefully as I could, trying to minimize jarring movements. The bitter cold clung to us. The city lights blurred beneath me as I flew, a frantic dash across the sky. My breathing was ragged, matching the uneven rhythm of Bobby's faint pulse under my fingers. Every gust of wind felt like a threat.
Finally, the familiar gleaming tower of Stark Industries came into view across the river. I aimed for the designated landing platform. Sirens were wailing below, lights flashing – Tony hadn't wasted a second. As I landed, a team of medics in specialized gear swarmed us instantly.
"Subject is Iceman," I said, my voice hoarse, trying to stay calm and coherent. "Unconscious. Severe hypothermia, massive blood loss from a chest wound. Unknown cause, power signatures unstable."
They took over, efficient and quick, gently transferring Bobby onto a waiting stretcher loaded with monitors and life support. I watched, helpless, as they rushed him inside. My part was done. For now.
"Spider-Man?" One of the medics, a woman with sharp, capable eyes, turned to me. "Are you injured? You look like you've been in the freezer."
I waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Just… cold. Is he… will he be okay?"
She gave me a grim look. "He's critical. Lost a lot of blood. We're doing everything we can. Mr. Stark is on his way down."
I nodded, and headed to bathroom. When I closed the door I started peeling off my mask slowly, revealing a face streaked with sweat and frost. Peter Parker looked exhausted, terrified, and covered in ice melt and maybe a little of Bobby's blood. I slumped against the wall. The adrenaline was draining away, leaving me shaky and hollow.
The waiting room was sterile, quiet, the opposite of the streets of New York I'd just flown from. I couldn't sit still for long. I paced, ran a hand through my damp hair, listened to the distant sounds of the hospital. The memory of 3D-Man was right there, flickering at the edge of my vision. The helplessness. The finality. Please, not again. Don't let me be too late again.
Tony arrived eventually, flanked by security, looking less like Iron Man and more like the CEO version – sharp suit, weary eyes. He gave me a quick, appraising look. "You got him here fast. Good. The doctors are working on him. Severe trauma. Something nasty hit him hard." He paused, maybe sensing the depth of my distress. "We've got the best people on it, kid. If anyone can pull through this, it's Bobby."
He didn't pry, didn't ask if I was okay, didn't offer a hug or anything remotely emotional. That was Tony. He dealt with the crisis, with the doing. The emotional fallout? Not his department. And maybe… maybe I preferred it that way right now. I couldn't unpack my own mess. Not while Bobby was in there.
Hours crawled by. I refused offers for a change of clothes or food. Sat in a chair outside the ICU doors, just waiting. Tony got updates, relayed them to me in clipped sentences. Surgery. Stabilized, thanks to his unique physiology fighting against the damage, but barely. Chemically induced coma – to let his body heal, to keep his powers from lashing out or shutting down completely under the stress.
Finally, they let me see him.