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It’s just past midnight when Tony hears a pounding on his windows.
He’s in his room instead of the lab for once in his life, scrolling through the latest set of emails from Ross. His therapist keeps giving him bullshit advice on moving activities up to the main level of the penthouse instead of doing everything in the lab, for his mental health or whatever. Pepper already told him that they’re as good as over if he gives up therapy, so there’s not much else he can do.
Tony sits up in bed, laptop falling to the expensive sheets as he peers over to see his window. For a moment, the rain pounding against the building makes everything too blurry to make out, but then he sees a red and blue figure that’s undoubtably who he thinks it is.
“Kid?” He exclaims loudly, even though he knows Peter can’t hear him through the glass. He gets up and stomps over to the window, cracking it open enough for a certain teenage vigilante to slide through. Peter does a somersault into the room, landing ungracefully on his back and getting the whole floor soaking wet.
“Hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter croaks, sounding sheepish. Tony is too preoccupied preparing what to say to scold the kid, that it takes him more than a couple of seconds to notice the fucking knife handle sticking out of his thigh.
It’s probably the shock that prevents him from passing out in terror. “Parker... is there a knife in your leg?”
Peter pulls his mask off, revealing his too pale but regularly cheerful face. God, this kid. “Yeah. Are you mad?”
“Furious, but we’ll get to that later.” He kneels down next to the kid, hands hovering over the handle uselessly. What’s the protocol for when a super-powered teenager that you mentor burst through your window with a stab wound? Pepper would know what to do, like she always does, but she’s at a press conference in Miami until tomorrow morning. “Can you sit up?”
Peter sits up slowly, using the end of Tony’s bed to brace himself, all while babbling away, “In the seventh grade we did this special first-aid course thing and I remember they said to always leave the knife in because it’s keeping all the blood in but it’s still really weird to have a whole ass knife-”
“Okay, hotshot, I get it.” The older man mumbles, trying to keep himself calm enough to assess the damage. The goddamn kid is always putting himself in situations like this; it’s exhausting.
It’s been three weeks since the whole Toomes incident that culminated in one of Tony’s planes being crashed. He’s been trying his absolute hardest to be a good role model for Peter, to ignore the impulse to push him away. Peter is a good kid, and he deserves a good mentor; even if said mentor has a shit-ton of baggage and narcissistic tendencies. Pepper says Peter is good for him, that he inspires him to do better. Tony agrees, even if he’ll never admit it out loud.
“What do we do?” Peter asks, eyes wide. “May is gonna’ kill me if this is still in my leg when I go home.”
“Looks like you finally get an extended tour of the tower, kid.” Tony says, trying to ignore the acute anxiety that flares up within him when he thinks of what May Parker will do to him if Peter gets hurt again. Man, that woman is terrifying. “You’re going on a trip to the MedBay.”
“I am? What’s that, like a mini hospital?”
“Yup. I have a friend who specializes in superhero-themed injuries.” How long has it been since he’s called Helen Cho, anyways?
“Oh. Are you mad?”
Tony loops his arms around Peter so that the kid is in a bridal carry. He isn’t the smartest in the world when it comes to medical stuff, but he knows it would probably be unwise to have Peter walk in this condition. He begins walking slowly to the elevator, calling up to FRIDAY to tell her to call Cho. “You already asked me that.”
“And you said you’re furious but you’re not really acting, uh, furious.” Peter makes a small sound of discomfort when the wound is jostled, but otherwise, is a total trooper during the whole elevator ride. “You don’t have to carry me, sir.”
“Would you rather walk?” Tony grumbles, only letting the teenager down once they’re in the MedBay and he’s able to set Peter down in bed. The billionaire tries his absolute best not to think of all the long nights spent here with the team after long missions, joking and laughing and-
His train of thought is interrupted by Peter squeaking, “Are you gonna’ tell May?”
Tony huffs, deciding to use the opportunity to finally ask his mentee the question that’s been circling his head since he stumbled through the window. “It depends on how many rules you’re actively breaking. What happened?”
The kid gulps visibly. “There was this guy, right? He was- he was trying to rob Mr. Delmar and he had a knife and I got there pretty late to the scene, so, I just- um...” He motions something frantic with his hands. “Jumped in front of the knife.”
“How did it get your thigh, then?” Tony tries not to sound too stern, tries to soften his voice into something nicer. Teenagers respond to nicer, right? He should really buy a parenting book if this mentoring thing is going to go on for a while.
“I tried to jump up and I wasn’t quick enough.” Peter’s cheeks are suspiciously red with embarrassment. He rubs them with the sleeve of his hoodie and carefully doesn’t look at his mentor. “Mr. Delmar is okay, though.”
“You’re not.” Tony sighs, trying to push down his anger at how damn self-sacrificing this kid can be. The fact that he’s only fifteen and he’s already willing to put himself in harm's way for strangers is equally terrifying, as it is impressive.
The MedBay doors slide open before he can berate the kid, though, revealing Helen Cho on the other side. She looks tired but strangely professional, marching forward without a second of hesitation. Peter shrinks back in bed, clasping both hands over his face.
“Mr. Stark!” The boy whisper-shouts. “My face!”
“Kid, relax.” Tony taps his shoulder, shooting Cho and apologetic look. “She’s not gonna’ tell anyone about who you are, okay? She’s already signed a million NDA’s, what’s one more?”
“When I heard that Spider-Man was young, I didn’t think he was twelve-year-old young.” Cho says skeptically, sticking by the door and eyeing the knife handle.
“He’s fourteen.” Tony corrects.
“Fifteen!” Peter finally puts his hands down, twisting them together anxiously. His face jumps from concern to elation when he gets a good look at Cho. “Oh my God, are you Helen Cho? I’ve read so many of your articles.”
Cho’s gaze bounces between Tony and Peter, like she’s trying to figure out if this is a practical joke. Finally, she steps forward, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “Alright, boy genius, let’s take care of the knife in your leg first.”
The kid is quiet while Cho examines his leg. Tony feels something bubble up in his chest, something that makes him blow out a harsh breath to keep himself under control. It’s worry; like it always is with Peter Parker. He can’t help but worry about the idiotically selfless kid who’s burst into his life without warning. It’s impossible not to worry about Peter when he’s out getting stabbed an hour past his curfew.
“You didn’t tell me.” Peter says suddenly, looking away from Cho and finding Tony’s gaze, instead.
“Tell you what?”
“If you’re going to tell May. You said it depends on how many rules I broke.” The teen smiles a little, clearly anxious but putting on a brave face, probably trying not to embarrass himself in front of Cho. It’s an admirable effort.
“Well, how many rules did you break?”
“Uh... two?”
“Yup. That means this stays between you and me, right?” He points between the two of them. “You got lucky, kid. One more and it would’ve been a phone call to Aunt Hottie.”
Peter smiles, looking relieved. Tony doesn’t blame him one bit. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“Good news, the knife doesn’t seem to have hit anything important.” Cho announces. “And judging by the way your skin appears to be trying to heal around it, I’m going to guess to have an enhanced healing factor. Luckily, I have enough experience with Rogers to know what I’m doing.”
The billionaire pushes down the wave of bitterness that crashes over him at the sound of his former teammate's name, choosing to focus every bit of his brain power on the problem at hand. “So, what’s the game plan, then?”
“Pull the knife out and stitch it up.”
Peter goes pale. “Pull the knife out?”
“Cho-” Tony starts, his worry increasing by ten. God, when did he start feeling like a helicopter parent of a five-year-old? This time last year, his biggest worry was where to go on vacation for Pepper’s birthday. How did he change so drastically since walking into that tiny apartment in Queens?
“Relax, Tony.” Cho admonishes, raising her eyebrows at the sudden panic in his voice. Even she notices something is clearly off. “I’ve got this, okay? You just keep the kid distracted.”
And Tony’s hand definitely doesn’t slip into Peter’s to comfort him. He most certainly does not smooth the kid’s damp curls back. Nope, absolutely not. None of the above, thank you very much. Their relationship is strictly mentor and protégé and Tony definitely doesn’t have a feeling comparable to parental affection blossoming in his chest like a flower in spring.
-
The parking lot is deathly quiet.
Logically, it makes perfect sense that the Midtown High parking lot would be completely silent in the middle of the school day, but there’s still something eerie that settles in Tony’s bones the second he pulls on his sunglasses to prepare to walk in.
Tony was just minding his own business, working in the lab, when he got a call from Peter’s school as the kid’s secondary emergency contact, telling him he needed to pick him up urgently. They wouldn’t tell him anything over the phone, much to the billionaire’s dismay, which leads him here, Happy in the driver’s seat as they pull into the school parking lot.
“Be back in a minute, Hap.” Tony says, jumping out of the car and walking, with purpose, to the front entrance. The cool March air is biting against his skin as he realizes how much he regrets not pulling something on over the grease-stained T-shirt he’s wearing.
He’s picked the kid up from school plenty of times in the last six months, but he’s only been inside a handful of times, usually to drop off Peter’s lunch when he’s left it at the tower. The secretary has yet to get better at hiding her gawking.
“Hi.” He greets briskly, trying not to be rude but wanting nothing more than to make sure that Peter is alive and well. “I got a call for Peter Parker?”
“Uh, yes, Peter-” She swallows, face red. She points further into the office, bracelets jingling like Christmas bells. “The nurse’s office is two doors to your left.”
The words make his blood run cold. Oh, God, what if Peter really is seriously hurt? He wouldn’t put it past the school district to hide it until Tony actually got here, it seems like the exact sort of thing they’d pull under the guise of confidentiality. How is he supposed to explain this to May?
He pushes the door open, heart firmly planted in his feet, and the sight that meets him is only marginally less graphic than the worst-case-scenario his brain just came up with. Peter is sitting on a cot, cradling his left arm at an uncomfortable angle. He’s wearing his gym clothes, feet swinging back and forth. There’s a woman wearing latex gloves that, Tony assumes, is the nurse.
“Oh, you’re-” The nurse starts, only to be abruptly cut off.
“What happened?” Tony demands, probably a little too harshly. He rushes forward, bending down so he’s at Peter’s eye-level. The kid smiles sheepishly and shrugs with one shoulder, like he’s embarrassed. Now that he’s closer, it’s clear to see that the arm he’s cradling is broken, if the awkward angle is any indication.
“Peter says there was an accident in the gym.” The nurse speaks before the teen can even open his mouth. “We’ve pulled a few of the boys out of his class to ask around and they all said he accidentally slammed it in one of the lockers in the changing room.”
Lying has never been one of Peter Parker’s strong suits, Tony knows that much. So, he knows the second that the kid’s gaze finds and stays on the floor that whatever story he told the nurse is fake. Besides, how does Spider-Man accidentally slam his arm in a locker hard enough for it to brake? Something isn't adding up.
“Is it broken?” Tony asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“Yes.” The nurse replies, scribbling something onto a sticky note. “Obviously, you or his primary guardian will have to take him to the hospital. He’ll need a doctor’s note confirming the break with all his teachers.”
“I want to see his gym teacher, right now.” His voice is hard, set in a way that he never knew he could be, before the kid came into his life. “How many of those boys did you interview, exactly? I’m sure you already know that teenagers have a tendency to lie.”
“Mr. Stark.” Peter mumbles; it’s the first thing he’s said since Tony got here. “It’s fine.”
The nurse finally has the decency to look nervous, with the full attention of Tony Stark on her. “Sir, all eight of the other boys present in the locker room confirmed that Peter slammed his arm in the locker. There’s not much else we can do.”
The billionaire opens his mouth to respond, about to let this woman have it, but Peter tugs on his hands with his uninjured arm, looking up at him imploringly. “Mr. Stark, please. Can we just go?”
Tony wants to scream and shout and threaten every official in the building until he finds answer. Something he learned about himself in the last six-ish months is that no one is allowed to hurt Peter Parker. He’s grown used to Spider-Man stumbling through his window at ungodly hours with various injuries, and even if it hurts his heart, he knows it’s part of the job. But this isn’t Spider-Man. This is Peter Parker who was hurt at school and is now lying about it.
Slowly, while still glaring at the nurse like she just murdered his firstborn, he helps the kid up. “C’mon, Pete.” He mumbles, using every inch of his willpower to not scream. Peter follows without question, visibly wincing when his arm is jostled.
“I need my backpack.” Peter says just as they exit the office. His face is pinched in pain.
“I’ll send someone to get it after.” The older man keeps a grip around his protégé’s shoulders as they walk down the large set of concrete stairs leading to the parking lot. “I’m calling Cho to meet us at the MedBay.”
Happy gives Tony a look when he settles back into the backseat with a clearly injured teenager plastered to his side but doesn’t say anything as he pulls out of the parking lot.
Neither of them says a word for the entire ride back to the tower.
“Hi, Peter.” Cho greets when they finally step into the MedBay. She fixes the pair with a knowing smile, probably unsurprised that she was called in again for a Peter-related mishap, just two weeks after the last one where the kid got a concussion. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
“Sorry.” The teenager mumbles, sliding into the bed already prepared for him. Tony takes a seat in the cramped chair next to it, gritting his teeth. He’s trying his absolute best not to snap at the kid for lying, but it’s hard. Who knew taking care of a teenager would be this hard?
“Wanna’ tell me what happened to your arm?” Cho takes the appendage gently, feeling along the pale skin. Peter opens his mouth to respond, but Tony beats him to it, absolutely seething.
“Yeah, Peter, what happened?”
The kid won’t even look at him. “I slammed it in a locker on accident. I already told you that.”
“No, the nurse told me that.” He argues. “And I know that’s not what happened, Spider-Man, so fess up and maybe, I won’t have your aunt involved.”
“Mr. Stark-”
“Should I give you two a minute?” Cho interjects, already looking uncomfortable before an argument has even started. She stands before Tony even answers in the affirmative. “I need to finish ordering a lab, anyways.”
The door closes behind her, leaving the pair in an awkward silence. Tony sighs heavily, reminding himself that getting angry at the kid will do nothing. He doesn’t want to be Howard, screaming before listening every time the kid screws up. Peter deserves so, so much better than that. He deserves a better mentor than Tony, honestly, but Peter got stuck with him and Tony fully intends on doing his absolute best on not screwing this up.
“What happened?” The billionaire asks again, calmer this time.
Peter bites his lip, contemplating, then says quietly, “It was Flash.”
Suddenly, Tony is enraged for a completely different reason. This Flash kid has been mentioned a handful of times in the last couple months, and each time it gets harder and harder to fight the impulse to fly over to the punk’s house and give him a taste of his own medicine. “That greasy asshole who gave you a black eye last month?”
The kid nods. “It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. He was- he was just trying to impress his friends, or something. My senses went off, but I thought he was just gonna’, like, slap me in the back of the head, or something. I didn’t know he was gonna’ slam my arm in the locker.”
“Why’d you lie, buddy? He could get in serious trouble for this.” Tony pictures slamming that idiot’s face into a locker, just to calm himself down.
Peter shrugs. “No one would believe me, anyways. All the boys in my gym class thought it was hilarious, so they would lie for him, either way. I just thought I’d save everyone the trouble of, like, an investigation.” The kid looks up at him with big, teary eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to lie to you.”
“Oh, Pete.” Tony pulls him in for a hug, heart clenching painfully when he sees the tears. Anger bubbles under his skin, but he pushes it down for now to comfort the kid. One thing at a time, he reminds himself. He can deal with the tears and the broken arm now, and the punishment he’ll make sure Flash and his friends receive can come later.
When they pull away, Tony says, “Next time, will you at least let me yell at the nurse?”
Peter laughs tearily. “Okay.”
-
It’s a bad day, again.
Tony doesn’t understand why it’s still happening. He’s spent the last two weeks being completely fine, being able to laugh during team dinners and spend more than twenty minutes in the training room without having a panic attack.
But today is different. Tony woke up with pulsing anxiety in his chest that seems to get worse with every passing minute. He shattered his favorite mug into the sink when Steve passed by him in the kitchen, asking something about Natasha and Yelena’s mission in Germany. One second, he was staring off into space and thinking about upgrades to make to the suit the next time the kid comes over, and the next, all he could think of was Steve Rogers’ shield slamming into his chest.
He’s been hiding out in the lab ever since.
It’s been almost four months since everyone moved back into the tower. Wanda and Thor killed Thanos once he got to Wakanda, and the rogue Avengers were subsequently pardoned. He shouldn’t be feeling like this anymore, right? Everyone else has made peace, has forgiven each other for all the betrayal and misunderstandings. Romanoff’s psychotic little sister is even living with them now.
The only other person that seems to be unhappy with their new (old) roommates is Peter. The kid is nowhere near as enthusiastic around his childhood heroes as Tony thought he would be. In fact, when Peter comes over, he usually has every excuse to avoid the others.
It’s pretty unsettling, to say the least. It’s like a switch is flipped in Peter, the second one of the others appear. He gets all quiet and angry, immediately coming up with an excuse to drag them down into the lab or out to dinner instead of eating take-out with everyone. The only exception is Yelena, who Peter seems to like just fine.
God, Tony feels so pathetic. Here he is, cowering in the lab like a scared little kid. What would Howard say? Better yet, what are the others saying about him right now? They are probably all conspiring to kick him out of his own building right now, trying to find a way to leave him behind on a mission with a broken suit. Why do they all-
The lab doors slide open.
Tony literally jumps, whirling around in his chair and comes face-to-face with Peter. The kid is bundled up in a hoodie and jeans, cheeks and nose a suspicious red color. With matted hair and tired eyes, Peter blinks slowly in greeting, looking dazed.
“Kid.” Tony breathes, taking a second to get his breathing under control before he gives himself a heart attack. “Sorry, I- I forgot it’s Friday.”
“S’okay.” Peter slurs, walking slowly to his workbench. Concern hits the older man like a landslide as he watches his young mentee sit, eyes half-lidded. Peter doesn’t have the best self-care habits, something Tony can relate to, but this is a lot different than not sleeping enough or overworking himself on patrol, as he often does.
“You doing okay over there, Pete?” Tony questions, chuckling a bit to relieve the awkward tension in his stomach. His anxiety from earlier is momentarily forgotten as his focus shifts to the teenager. “You look sick.”
It takes a full five seconds for the kid to respond, swaying unsteadily in his seat. He blinks blearily at the man and says, “Huh? Oh, yeah, ‘m a little sick. ‘M fine. ‘S just somethin’ goin’ around at- at school. MJ and Ned are both out all week.”
“You went to school like this?” Tony raises his eyebrows, already getting up and walking to a cabinet on the furthest wall from his workbench, trying to find the enhanced medicine stash that Bruce keeps in here for himself and Steve. “I didn’t even know you could get sick, underoos.”
Peter doesn’t respond, but Tony doesn’t really expect him to. The billionaire is halfway inside the cabinet for maybe ten seconds when there’s a loud thump, coming from the other end of the lab. Tony rips himself out of the cabinet and looks over to see Peter slumped over on the floor.
“Peter!” Tony shouts, rushing over and kneeling beside his crumpled figure. Instinctively, his fingers find the boy’s pulse point. It’s like a bone-deep instinct, and overwhelming anxiety that rushes over him at the mere thought of not feeling the steady beat of his heart. Thank God, it’s there, and Peter’s eyelids are already fluttering open.
The sixteen-year-old moans in confusion, muttering a quiet, “’M dizzy.”
“Jesus Christ, kid.” Tony breathes, gently lifting him into a sitting position. No wonder he’s been getting greyer lately, it’s impossible not to with this kid around. “You passed out; hit the floor and everything, you idiot.”
“I think ‘m sick, Mr. Stark.” Peter whispers, going cross-eyed go a moment. Tony winces at the delirium, and mentally maps out the fastest way to get Bruce ready for a very sick teenager in the MedBay. He calls up to FRIDAY and tells her to tell Bruce it’s an emergency before getting his hands under the kid’s armpits.
“Can you walk?” The billionaire lifts him into a standing position. Peter sways and leans heavily on the older man but manages to stay upright. Tony takes it as a win and starts slowly walking them out of the lab, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around the kid.
It only dawns on Tony that most of the team is upstairs, directly in their path to the MedBay, when it’s too late to turn back. Steve, Yelena and Sam are in the living room, immediately looking up when the pair enters. Tony’s heart freezes for just a moment, but he plunges forward, intently not looking at any of them.
“Hey, what’s wrong with the kid?” Sam asks, seconds before they would’ve been out of the room. Peter groans and sways, nearly toppling over again if it weren't for Tony’s steady grip on his waist. All three of them are watching now, with various degrees of concern written all over their faces.
“He’s sick, I’m taking him to the MedBay.” Tony says shortly, attempting to walk forward, but Peter is practically dead weight now. “Hey, kid, do you need me to carry you?”
“Do you need help?” Steve asks worriedly, standing. Tony grits his teeth and shakes his head.
“’M gonna’ be sick.” Peter mumbles, bracing himself on the wall with one hand. Steve doesn’t retreat back to the couch, like Tony was hoping he would, but instead keeps walking closer. Even Yelena, who is usually uninterested in other people very quickly, is watching with concern.
“Here, Tony, I can take him-”
“It’s fine, Rogers.” Tony snaps, moving so that Steve can’t get to Peter easily.
“You can’t carry him-”
“I said it’s fine! He’s light-”
“No!” Peter interrupts the bickering by plunging forward, hands roughly finding Steve’s shoulders as he pushes him hard into the nearest wall. Steve can be like a brick wall when he needs to be, but Peter has super-strength and the element of surprise on his side, because Rogers hits the wall hard enough for it to crack.
Peter doesn’t move away, instead choosing to keep Steve pinned to the wall as he leans close and slurs, “No, you don’t get to- you can’t hurt my- hurt Mr. Stark.”
For a moment, Tony can’t move. Sam is standing up now, looking bewildered. Yelena is still on the couch with raised brows. It takes a solid few seconds for him to get his mind into gear and gently pull the kid away from Steve. Peter goes without a fight, stumbling a little but leaning back into Tony quickly.
“Peter-” Steve tries, but Tony is sweeping them out of the room and towards the MedBay before the other man can say another word. Peter doesn’t say anything as they walk, finally getting to their destination where Bruce is already set up by the kid’s designated bed.
“What happened?” Bruce asks, helping the kid into bed. Peter eyes are fluttering and unfocused again. God, who knew he could get like this with just the flu?
“He’s sick.” Tony says. “And delirious. He... he just attacked Rogers.”
“What?” Bruce’s eyes widen significantly, pausing from grabbing his penlight. Tony just shrugs helplessly, feeling insignificant as Bruce begins inspecting the kid. Peter stays calm, this time, fading in and out of unconsciousness.
“He’s definitely sick.” Bruce decides, after a couple of minutes. He grabs a small bottle of pills from the cabinet and starts filling a glass of water. “With his enhancements, he’ll probably burn through it by this time tomorrow. Have him take one of these every couple of hours.”
“Thank you.” Tony says sincerely, running his hand through Peter’s curls. “He took a nose-dive in the lab, earlier.”
Bruce hums, placing the glass on the bedside table. “Do I need to go check out Steve, too? I’ve heard Spider-Man can pack quite a punch.”
“I think he’s fine, but I’m sure asking won’t hurt.” Concern swirls around within him when he thinks of the suddenness of Peter’s attack and his words spoken just inches from Steve’s face. Is this what has been bothering the kid all these months, making him isolate himself from everyone besides Tony, Rhodey and Yelena?
Has it just been protectiveness over Tony?
Bruce leaves to find Steve, leaving Tony alone with an unconscious Peter. Even in sleep. The kid still looks like shit, now covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his brief exercise. Tony sighs at the- at his sleeping kid, leaning over to press a long kiss to his temple.
“What am I gonna’ do with you, Pete?” Tony sighs, finding his lips quirking up into a small smile, despite his inner turmoil.
-
“Peter and Yelena, you’re on lookout duty.”
Yelena huffs and rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at Steve. “I’m not a free babysitter, Rogers.” She smirks at Tony, briefly. “That’s Stark’s job.”
“Be quiet.” Natasha hisses, pulling on her sister’s ear. The other shift nervously as they continue to gear up. Tony doesn’t have much to do once he gets out there besides activate the nanotech that forms the suit, so he lingers by the exit of the jet casually.
They’re busting another HYDRA base, the fourth in the last six months. God, Tony would cut off his big toe if it meant not having to deal with these assholes anymore. Every time he thinks it’s over, Steve sounds the alarm for another suit up. The worst part is, he wasn’t even able to keep Peter away from the mission, this time. Steve was adamant about having a small army for the takedown of one of the largest bases yet. T’Challa is even bringing his genius little sister to test out some kind of new gear. Peter would’ve been pissed if Tony hadn’t brought him.
“Hey.” Tony grabs his kid’s attention. Peter hasn’t verbalized any of his own complaints about being demoted to look out, but the hint of annoyance in his expression says it all. “You be safe, alright? Follow Yelena’s lead, listen to everything Shuri has to say, all that fun stuff.”
Peter sighs, speaking so no one but Tony can hear, “Why can’t you let me in there, just once? I wouldn’t even do anything stupid.”
“Kid.” Tony pulls him in closer. “Just save me a few grey hairs and stay where I tell you, please?”
The kid searches his face, almost like he’s contemplating even listening to the plea, but eventually nods. He pulls his mask over his face and straightens, like he’s putting on his front of seriousness on missions that never stays for long. Tony puts an arm around the boy’s shoulder to pull him in for a side-hug.
“Can you hurry up and get out of here?” Shuri’s voice interrupts their little moment. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Shuri.” T’Challa says with an amused expression, tone a warning. The door to the jet opens, and Tony gives his kid one last pat on the shoulder (a wordless plea to stay safe, for once in his life) before taking off with everyone else.
The January air is biting against his skin, but the suit engages quickly and wraps him in a thick layer of warmth. Tony watches as Peter swings Yelena to their positions. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of the kid actually following orders, and turns the direction of the base, flying in with Sam at his side. Steve, Natasha and T’Challa are on the ground, entering from the main part of the building.
They’re attacked by HYDRA agents almost immediately. It’s no skin off of Tony and Sam’s back, who take them down with relative ease. They manage to avoid any shots thrown at them, sedating all the agents within minutes. Unless HYDRA is hiding another pair of scary-ass twins in the basement, Tony isn’t overly worried.
“I’m going for the control room.” Tony announces through the comms, walking casually past the half-dead agents and down the hall. He can’t help but push down the instinctual worry burning bright in his chest, right where the reactor is, so he asks through the comms again, “What’s going on at lookout, kid?”
There’s a crackle of silence before Peter responds in a petulant tone, “Absolutely nothing.”
“There’s nothing down here, either.” Steve cuts in, tone tense. HYDRA is a rough spot for all of them, but there’s something much darker when it comes to Bucky and Wanda, sometimes even Natasha and Yelena. Sometimes, Tony can see something haunting and horrible in their eyes, like a ghost at a gravesite.
Tony kicks down the door to the control room, wasting no time taking down their systems. HYDRA uses tricks instead of brute force, so it’s the only logical play to take down their machines. He can hear chatter through the comms about the utter emptiness of the building, besides the handful of agents they already took down.
Dread settles in the billionaire’s stomach.
This all feels so, so wrong. Why would HYDRA have a fully stocked base with only a handful of agents occupying it? Tony is just about to warn the team, when a deafening sound rings out in the comms. He flinches hard, hand raising to his ear.
“We’re being shot at!” Yelena’s voice comes through, frantic. All at once, like a tidal wave of parental fear he’s long since become used to, the blood drains from Tony’s face. He doesn’t waste a single second before bursting out of the control room, flying at full speed towards the lookout location.
He finds the group of agents shooting at Peter and Yelena within seconds, ramming at them with the force of a bullet train. He blasts them all to Hell, getting a bullet lodged firmly in his helmet for his troubles. They’re all shouting things at him in a language he doesn’t understand, but it’s too deep and loud to really make out.
Finally, he gets them all taken out. A voice (Tony can’t tell who’s, his panic overwhelming him) roars in panic through the comms, “Spider-Man’s down. I repeat, Spider-Man is down.”
Oh, God.
Tony is at Peter’s side in less than five seconds. Everyone is gathered around the kid’s crumpled form. Natasha has both hands on the kid’s chest, arms slick with thick, red blood. Peter’s blood. It’s covering both Natasha and Yelena and, Oh, God, the kid. Vomit splashes around in the back on Tony’s throat, accompanied by a sharp, acidic taste.
He collapses next to his kid, taking Natasha’s spot, holding the bullet-shaped hole in the middle of his chest. Peter gurgles and splutters before his eyes settle on Tony. His face shifts into something unreadable yet heartbreaking.
“Mr. Stark.”
“Underoos.” Tony rasps, clenching his jaw and trying to ignore the sting of tears that rise in his eyes, unbidden. “What’s- are you...”
Shuri crouches down next to them. He didn’t even notice her get off the jet. “I can’t tell if it grazed his heart. He needs medical attention, now.”
“ We can bring him to Wakanda.” Steve offers, specks of blood and snow all over the star of the suit. It almost bothers Tony as much as the teenager in his arms bleeding out onto the snowy ground. He should’ve taken his time with those HYDRA bastards.
Shuri shakes her head. “He won’t survive the trip.”
A sob slips out of Tony like a firecracker at the blunt words. He resists the urge to clap his hands around his mouth to silence himself, only because his hands may very well be the only thing that stands between Peter Parker and death. Come on, he thinks to the reaper standing over his shoulder with his scythe, ready to take away the last thing that Tony loves. Come on and try to take him. See what happens.
Peter sniffs at him curiously, uncomprehending. He whines, “It hurts.”
“I know, buddy, I know.” A tear drips from Tony’s eyes to the kid’s cheek. “You’re doing so good, just hold on a little longer for me, okay?”
“We have a MedBay.” Steve tries, gaze flickering between Shuri and the morbid scene on the ground. “Will he survive a trip there?”
“Yes.” Shuri decides, after a few seconds of silent deliberating. She turns her determined gaze to Tony, face set hard and professional. “Keep him awake and keep pressure on the wound, at all times. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes if we push it.”
Tony is too fucking distressed to even be hopeful. He nods woodenly, scooping the kid up. Peter nearly screeches at the changed position, head flopping limply to the side.
“Hey, no, no, kid.” The billionaire taps his arm, walking until he’s seated back in the jet. A trail of blood is left in the snow, like a horrifying breadcrumb trail. “You have to stay awake, Pete.”
“Mr. Stark...” The teen trails off, gaze glassy and unfocused.
“Nope, absolutely not.” Tony cuts him off a little too harshly. “Absolutely zero deathbed confessions come out of your mouth, you hear me? That’s an order, Parker.”
The next fifteen minutes are the longest of Tony’s life.
Peter is crying and pleading after eight minutes, becoming delirious with blood loss. His hands are slick with the kid’s blood now, slipping all over and barely able to hold on to the gaping hole in his chest. Eventually, when hushed reassurances aren’t enough, all Tony can do is hold the wound silently and mop up his own tears.
The jet finally, finally touches down, and they waste no time getting Peter into the MedBay. He lets out a giant sigh of relief when Bruce and Cho meet Shuri at the entrance, wheeling Peter into the operating room with promises that he’ll be okay.
Later, when Peter is wheeled back into the MedBay to rest, Tony will spend all night holding his kid, listening to him breathe. For now, he collapses into a waiting room chair, and takes his first full deep breath in what feels like a decade.
-
There was a time where Tony’s Saturday morning consisted of bucket-loads of coffee and whatever medication he could get his hands on to try and cure his raging hangover from the previous night, just to do it all again the following morning. It’s just another part (of a million) of Tony’s life before Iron Man that he wishes he could erase from history.
Tony-back-then would have laughed in your face if you told him that now, at the ripe age of forty-nine years old, he’s spending a Saturday morning driving three bickering teenagers to breakfast as a reward for surviving junior year, but here he is.
Even though he’d never admit it, Tony quite likes Peter’s friends. Ned is still in that hero-worship phase that Peter (thank God) grew out of a long time ago. He still spends hours with an open mouth, blabbering on about how cool Iron Man is and how cool it is that Peter hangs out with him all the time and how everything in Tony’s life is absolutely cool.
MJ doesn’t seem like the type of girl that his kid would be friends with. She’s quiet and brooding, compared to Peter and Ned, who are like two motorboats stuck in a room together. It’s like she’s on a different wavelength than everyone else, always scribbling something in a notebook and giving Tony the world’s most judgmental look.
The reason why Peter is hell-bent on spending time with her at every opportunity became very clear a few months back. That’s fine by Tony, though. He’s cool with playing a wingman to teenage romance, because God knows Ned wouldn’t be much good at it.
So, here he is, driving to some breakfast spot that the kid found on Instagram, prepared to devour some pretty mediocre and overpriced pancakes.
“Okay, but Leia is more like Anakin in terms of-” Peter is yammering on to his friends and mentor, complete with over-the-top gestures that only serve to make him even more adorable, despite the fact that’s he’s nearly seventeen and a legal adult, soon enough. He’s always going to be an adorable little kid to Tony, who plays with Legos and has an Iron Man-themed teddy bear.
“We’re here.” MJ cuts off the rant by sending a pointed look to Tony when he nearly zooms by the tiny place. He slams on the brakes, sending the kids rocking forward a little in their seats. “Are you secretly a Canada’s Worst Driver graduate?”
“What?” Peter pokes his head through the seats, curls tickling Tony’s cheek. The older man pushes his head back with no force. “That’s an actual thing? Mr. Stark isn't even Canadian.”
“I’m sure you would know that, since you wrote his autobiography.” MJ smirks.
“Hey! I've only made, like, three edits to his Wikipedia page.”
“Your Wikipedia page is so cool, Mr. Stark!” Ned cuts in, unbuckling his seatbelt once they pull into the parking lot.
Tony sighs, but finds himself smiling, nevertheless. He opens his door, stomach growling. His eating habits during long nights in the lab have yet to improve. “Alright, lunatics, we can fawn over my awesome Wikipedia page later. It’s food time.”
The four of them pile out of the car and into the restaurant. It’s a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place that Tony would never have gone to otherwise, but he supposes that’s what makes it special. Peter and Tony grew up in completely different versions of the world, evidently. The kid makes him appreciate the little things that before, he didn’t even pay attention to.
It’s one of many things to add to the list of reasons why Peter Parker makes Tony Stark into a better person.
“I’m gonna’ run to the bathroom.” Peter announces the second they find their table. He disappears to a different part of the restaurant, leaving the billionaire to try and find entertainment within Ned and MJ’s bickering over what constitutes as vegan and not vegan.
The restaurant is relatively empty, the only other patrons being an elderly couple at the very back. The waitresses give them a few, sideways glances, but mind their business. There’s nothing worse than having too many people recognize him in public, since it usually leads to the paparazzi being called and Peter having a sensory overload.
The kid is gone for less than a minute when there’s a loud crash coming from the other end of the restaurant, followed by a gruff yell. The bathroom door slams open for a fraction of a second, revealing the barely-there flash of Peter being dragged backwards by someone.
Tony doesn’t even allow a single thought to pass through his mind before standing, engaging a gauntlet and rushing over. He kicks open the swinging door hard enough for it to fall off it’s hinges and to the ground with a bang.
There’s a grown man holding Peter in a headlock, pressing a cloth against his lips. Peter is bucking and squirming, but it’s weak and uncoordinated. He makes eye-contact with Tony, eyes widening when the billionaire raises the gauntlet and, without even a second of hesitation, fires.
The unknown, now half-headless man, falls backwards, taking Peter with him. The teenager hits his head against the wall on the way down, before prying himself away from the dead man’s grip.
“Peter!” Ned and MJ appear in the doorway, jaws dropped open. Ned yelps when he sees the body, slapping a hand over his eyes. MJ shouts something to a waitress behind them, probably about calling the police. It’s all lost on Tony, who only has eyes for the blood spurting from a wound on his head from where it was bashed against the wall.
Tony throws himself forward, catching half of Peter’s weight before he tumbles to the ground. The kid’s hand doesn’t even twitch towards the wound on his head, telling Tony that he probably doesn’t even register that it’s there.
MJ and Ned are suddenly beside him, faces shifting between concerned and horrified at the scene before them. There’s so much commotion going on just outside of the bathroom, between the waitresses yelling and frantically dialing the police and the teenagers shouting questions at him that he can’t process.
“Did- did someone just try to kidnap him?” MJ looks only marginally calmer than Ned, whose gaze barely strays from the body on the floor, looking more and more nauseous by the minute. “Stark?”
“Yes.” Tony says bluntly, the reality of the situation crashing in on him. “Shit.”
Peter groans unintelligibly, seeming to only just realize that his head is sluggishly bleeding all over the dirty bathroom floor. There’s a faint sheen of something wet all over his nose and mouth, and it takes Tony a moment to remember the cloth that was pressed there, earlier. Must have been chloroform. A chill runs down the billionaire’s spine. Someone was trying to steal Peter. Oh, God.
Tony pulls out his phone, tapping in Cho’s number with practiced ease. “He needs to get to the MedBay; I think he has a concussion. One of you, talk to him. Keep him awake and aware.”
MJ, bless her, takes over, since Ned is starting to go white and green with every passing second near the dead guy. She leans over Peter while Tony holds the phone up to his ear. “What’s five minus ten, brainiac?”
“Uh... minus five?” Peter slurs, just before Cho picks up on the second ring.
He explains the situation to her, harshly and without direction, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She tells him to get Peter in the car and bring him to the tower as quickly as possible, since he’ll probably need stitches. He definitely agrees, considering his stomach rolls every time he looks too long at the blood matting his kid’s hair.
“Alright, Pete,” The older man addresses, once he hangs up the phone. “I’m gonna’ bring you to the MedBay, but I need you to stay awake. Cho thinks you have a concussion, so you can’t go to sleep right yet.”
Peter doesn’t respond, besides mumbling a little. He takes that as the go-ahead, nodding to the other kids to help get Peter on his feet so they can walk him out as quickly as possible. They’re not even fully out of the washroom when Ned turns around and vomits all over the floor.
“Oh, wonderful.” Tony grumbles, adjusting his grip on Peter’s waist. “I come for a nice, quiet breakfast, and now I got one kid throwing up and one with a concussion.”
“I’m fine.” MJ says plainly.
“Of course, you are.”
Peter does, in fact, need stitches. He also has a pretty nasty concussion, as they find out when they arrive at the MedBay. Cho tells him that with the kid’s super-healing, he should be fine in a couple of days. Still, anything more than a scratch is unacceptable, in Tony’s books. Somewhere along the line in the last two years, this kid has made him soft. He’s not even overly upset about it.
MJ and Ned spend the rest of the day at the MedBay, eating the homemade pancakes that Tony bribed Rhodey into making, instead of fancy restaurant ones. They watch TV and let Peter sleep, not even bothering to continue to badger Tony with questions about why a strange man would try to kidnap a sixteen-year-old boy in a public restroom. It’s a good thing they don’t, because Tony doesn’t have the answers, anyway.
There are worse ways to spend a Saturday morning.
-
+1.
Something is beeping.
Tony sighs in annoyance, body aching as he does. His eyes are closed and feeling heavier than they have in an eternity, like they’re weighed down by the weight of the world. The ever-present pain in his chest that appeared after Afghanistan, is sharper than usual and harder to ignore.
Finally, a sound other than the beeping fills his ears. “Tony?”
It’s unmistakably Pepper’s voice, sounding softer than usual. He’s finally spurred into prying his heavy eyes open, vision unfocused as brightness fills his eyes. He closes them once more, blinking harshly a couple times to try and adjust to the overwhelming light around him. When they open and stay there, he realizes that he’s in bed. Not his bed, however. The MedBay.
Pepper comes into focus. She’s sitting in a chair next to his cot, the bags under her eyes making her look at least half-a-decade older than she is. She smiles sadly when they make eye-contact, grabbing her husband’s hand. A movement in the corner of Tony’s eye has him looking to the other side of his bed, where Bruce is standing with a clipboard, face pinched into something that’s not entirely clear.
“Brucie,” Tony starts, voice hoarse as his vocal cords scratch against his throat. He clears his throat and starts again, “I hate to break it to you, buddy, but the threesome offer came off the table when Pep and I tied the knot.” Neither of them even crack a smile. Something must be seriously wrong, then. He goes to switch angles, but a screaming pain explodes in his ribcage.
“Stay still.” Bruce orders firmly, pushing him back into the sheets.
“What happened?” Tony vaguely remembers doing... something with the kid, and then pain, and then it all goes dark.
Pepper presses her lips together in a way that looks like she might cry. “You had a heart-attack.”
Tony’s stomach swoops and drops, like he’s at the peak of a roller coaster. He stares at her in bewilderment, the foggy memories of chest pains and collapsing on the floor becoming clearer and clearer by the second. He sees, through flashes, him gripping the island with one hand and clutching his chest with the other, Peter’s horrified face, hitting the ground hard.
“Why?” Is all he can say, voice weaker than he’d like.
Bruce sighs. “We’re still working on figuring that out. It seems to be at a normal rate, now, but you flatlined earlier. Obviously, we’ll run a few tests.”
“Who gave me CPR?” Gingerly, Tony brings a hand to his bandaged ribs. He’s starting to get tired of breaking them. “They’re broke, right? I’m assuming it was to keep me going?”
“Tony...” Pepper trails off, hesitant. He raises a brow at her, which prompts her to continue in a small voice, “You were with Peter, when it happened. He... he said he called for a med-team, but you didn’t have a pulse. He gave you CPR for three minutes until Bruce got there.”
Guilt hits the billionaire like a freight train. Peter is the last person Tony would ever want to see him like that. The poor kid is already so sensitive to that stuff, panicking every time his father-figure gets so much as a broken toe on a mission. Tony takes it in stride, knowing from what is unspoken that it has to do with the kid’s uncle. This probably made it ten times worse.
“Can I see him?” He asks. He needs to know that the teen is okay, that he didn’t break him like he broke everyone else. It’s unusual that Peter isn't already waiting in here like he always does when Tony gets hurt, standing guard over the following medical proceedings like a watchful God.
Bruce nods, walking towards the door. “I’ll go get him. He’s waiting down the hall.”
When he’s gone, Pepper presses a kiss to his cheek, lip quivering as she stands to leave. “He feels guilty.”
“Why?” Tony is baffled. “He gave me CPR; he saved my life.”
“The ribs. When I came down here, Peter just kept apologizing for breaking your ribs and saying he didn’t mean to. I tried telling him that it’s normal, but he’s convinced it’s because of his super-strength. His confidence is about as good as yours after a therapy session.”
He can’t even laugh at the jab, too guilty to even think about anything else. How could Peter ever blame himself for this? Doesn’t he see how much of a hero he is, in and out of the suit? Tony’s tempted to ignore May’s wishes and buy the kid the nicest car he can find, after all.
Pepper exits, leaving Tony alone with his guilt and dread.
Peter comes in seconds later, looking like a ghost. He’s bundled up in a hoodie and sweats (both with the M.I.T logo) despite the late July heat in the air. The kid twists his hands around anxiously, gaze burning holes into the floor. His eyes are suspicious red-rimmed and raw.
“Pete,” Tony reaches a hand out, ignoring the pain that shoots up his broken ribs and feels like a gunshot wound. “Come here, buddy.”
There’s a pregnant pause as the teenager doesn’t move. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he looks up and shuffles towards Pepper’s chair, sitting. Tony had, maybe foolishly, expected Peter to crawl up to bed with him, like he has so many times before. The kid has always been tactile, wrapping around Tony like a koala at times, so the distance makes the older man more than a little uncomfortable.
“Hey, are you okay?” Tony asks, voice hoarse. Peter is sitting like the chair is burning him, gripping the armrest hard enough for the wood to crack.
“’M fine.” The kid insists on not making eye contact. He’s glaring at the blanket wrapped around the man. “You shouldn’t be asking me that?”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “I can’t ask my kid if he’s alright?”
“You’re the one in the MedBay.”
A sigh expands his chest, making his ribs ache. He winces quietly, making Peter’s gaze snap to his in concern. Peter seems to recognize immediately what the problem is, because he looks back down to the blanket quickly, face twisted in guilty agony.
“Kid...” He trails off, unsure of how to continue. The role reversal is making his head hurt. “I’m fine, okay? Bruce and Cho are running some tests to see what caused it, but I’m almost positive I’m fine. This stuff just happens when you’re old like me.”
Peter’s eyes are swimming with tears as he looks up and says, “What if you’re not fine? What if- what if you have some incurable disease?”
“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He reaches out to comfort his kid, to softly take his hand and promise that he’ll be alright, but Peter pulls away. “Kiddo, what’s-”
“I’m sorry.” Peter gasps, tears making their way down his cheeks. He stands and turns to leave. “I shouldn’t have- I'm so sorry.”
“Wait!” Tony grabs his wrist before he can get any further. The teenager doesn’t pull away, this time, but he does keep his distance. “Don’t feel guilty about the ribs, buddy. Please? You didn’t hurt me, okay?”
The boy yanks his wrist away, crying in earnest. “Yes, I did! I did hurt you, I broke your ribs, Mr. Stark. Don’t say I didn’t- don’t try to make me feel better.”
“You broke my ribs to save my life, Pete. In what world would I ever be angry with you for that?” Tony’s heart shatters in his chest when Peter shakes his head. How does this wonderful, perfect kid think so little of himself? Doesn’t he realize that he’s a hero in every definition of the word?
“This always happens.” Peter mutters tearily, collapsing back into the chair.
“What does?” He asks tentatively, scared of spooking him away again. It always takes hard work to get Peter to open up, but this is something entirely different, something infinitely more heartbreaking.
In the quietest of voices, Peter says, “When I- when I felt your ribs break, I just kept thinking about Uncle Ben and how it was my fault that he died and I- I didn’t want you t-to but I was hurting you and- and...”
The kid is gasping and breathless, words tumbling out of his mouth like spitfire. The air is knocked from Tony’s lungs as he reaches for his kid, pulling him to his chest without resistance, like he’s too weak to fight the comfort he obviously needs. Peter weight sends a jolt of pain in his ribs, but he ignores it and holds the boy tighter.
All is silent, save for the gasping yet quiet sobs Peter is letting out, muffled by the fabric of the man’s shirt. Tony kisses his hair and rubs a hand down his back.
“Peter,” He starts, taking a deep breath as he finds his words. “Your aunt told me a while ago that you felt like this about your uncle, and I know whatever I say isn’t gonna’ change that overnight, but I want you to know that not a single person who knows you blames you for what happened to Ben, okay? It was an accident, buddy.”
Peter doesn’t answer, silently tangling his fingers in Tony’s hospital gown. So, the man continues. “You saved me, Pete. A few broken bones mean nothing when I’m alive.” He pulls Peter’s head back to look him in the eyes when he says, “Thank you.”
The boy sniffs, “I love you.”
Tony cups his kid’s face with both hands and presses a lingering kiss to his forehead. “I love you, too. I’m sorry for scaring you.” He tucks a stray curl behind Peter’s ear. “Think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?”
“As long as you’re never in here again.” Peter wipes away his tears.
“Oh, you’re one to talk, mister.”