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Tony had gotten used to most of it. The racing heart, the ache in his bones that never seemed to go away, the threats he made of every stranger that entered a room. Tony thought that would be the biggest hurdle of it all, back in 2007– back when the sound of the water was enough to have him choking in gulps of air between bile, and back when he scratched his skin raw trying to get rid of sand particles under his shirt that weren’t there.
Miraculously, he did get used to it.
Then he got used to it all over again. And again. And again.
It was actually worse now, because Pepper's right there holding his hand after every nightmare, and Rhodey's visiting consistently to make sure he’s still taking his SSRIs, and Happy's dropping by with some five dollar cheeseburger after a rough day "just because", and suddenly— suddenly Tony had realized.
For the first time in his life, he had more valuable things to lose: so he got used to that, too. Nobody ever got out of a life like this without just getting used to it. There's no other way to survive.
And yet. And yet.
This part of the job would never get easier.
The kid got himself into some hot water again.
These days, such situations had proven to be the number one cause of Tony's rapid achromotrichia. The whole process was horrible, like it always was— realizing Peter never made it home, scrambling to find him, praying when they found him he wouldn't be…
But they did find him, because Tony wouldn't let himself fail with something so colossally important as keeping Peter Parker safe. The very thought was unthinkable. As long as he breathed, Tony would always find him. Through every impossible degree of separation, Tony would find him, and bring him home.
The only issue this time was that Tony just wasn't fast enough for Peter to come out unscathed.
On a paper passed in the quinjet, Peter had written in shaky writing:
they didn't like how much i talked
Tony led him off the hangar, kept a steady hand on the plane between the kid’s shoulder blades and guided him to the med-bay. The exams had taken a long time, between scans and loose ends and trying to keep Peter calm.
Jesus, was he in a rough state, too.
Peter was bruised to high heavens, a wild look in his eyes that set all the nurses on high alert. He hadn’t spoken on the jet, or on the walk through the halls, or through any of the exams. He must not have spoken at all when he was held captive, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried.
He clearly had tried, actually. There was torn skin at his lips, and dried crimson coating the entire bottom half of his face, all the way down his neck. Horrible lines of blood dripped in rivulets made from his attempts to open his own mouth.
Tony felt sick. He’d never wanted to hear the teenager’s endless chatter more than he did right now.
"We’re going to remove the stitches," the on-call doctor said, calmly. In one gloved hand she held scissors, tweezers in the other. "Okay? Nod yes, if you can understand me."
She stood a safe distance away from him, most likely due to the feral look in his eyes. Tony hated that. Peter was clearly terrified, and treating him like a mutt about to bite was going to help absolutely fuckall.
Peter— Peter's shaking. His eyes didn’t leave the doctor's hands, and his whole body was strung as tight as a bow. His fingers clench into the muscle of his thighs.
"Peter," Tony's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, avoiding his eyes for just long enough to contain himself. It was a measly effort, trying to look unflappable. He took another deep breath, summoned all his courage to look his kid in the eyes.
Peter was already looking back, holding equal trust and terror in his panicked gaze.
Tony shifted his chair closer, because that was what Peter deserved. Before, he’d been trying to give the doctors the space they needed to fix this, to make it better where he couldn't. The sentiment fell flat when every other godforsaken person in the room was petrified of stepping close to the kid.
Tony was never scared of him, though. He knew Peter wouldn’t hurt him. A feral dog always recognized its own kind.
"We need to get that off your mouth," Tony said, swallowing back his own flinch. The verbality of it felt so heavy. He felt like he was being crushed, folded neatly under a compactor and told to brace. "We miss your voice. I gotta know last night’s patrol log, can never sleep without ‘em.”
I have to know how they got you so I can ensure it never happens again, was what Tony meant. He’s already planning three different fail-safes to add into the spider-suit’s programming, and he’s hoping to get that number into double digits before midnight.
Peter looked at him like he wanted to open his mouth. His lips twitched, but remained firmly held in place by the shoddy sutures. He shuddered, his body protesting the foreign tug at his skin. He looked at the doctor, then at Tony again.
Tentatively, the doctor took a step forward, and Peter's neck snapped back over. His breathing ramped up near instantly, his nostrils flaring to compensate for the lack of oxygen he’s able to drag from his mouth. A panicked series of muffled noises came tumbling from his lips, fresh blood dripping down his chin.
"Hey, woah," Tony stood up, putting himself between Peter and the doctor. She already has taken several steps back, her arms raised in the air, her expression soaked in guilt. "Easy. Let's take it easy. Don’t scare him. Jesus.”
He turned back to Peter, bending his knees so they were at eye level. Reflexively, his hand went to Peter’s leg, replacing the kid’s sharp nails for a comforting pat. "Hey. Hi. No evil doctors, just me. I've got you, I won't let anyone hurt you. You trust me. We’re good, here. Breathe, kiddo."
Peter nodded, forcing himself to slow the breaths his nose was rushing to take. He blinked furiously, tears trail down and washed lines of blood away. It's horrific. Tony wanted to sit very quietly and press the heels of his palm into his eyes until they didn't burn anymore. He wanted to see different blood.
"Mr. Stark," the doctor spoke up meekly. "You could remove the stitches instead? It should be fairly simple to remove, it doesn't look like they even did it properly..."
"Yeah, thank God for that," Tony gritted out. It felt wrong to have gratitude for the obvious mutilation. But truthfully, the stitches were done with such little thought that they would be easy to remove. That was the real victory, here. The less time Tony would have to spend cutting thread out of his kid’s mouth, the better.
He exhaled, and looked back at the teenager, still curled in on himself. "What do you say, kid? I can take them out, if you want. I’m a mechanic, I’ve got steady hands.”
Peter looked at him for a long moment, beseeching. His teary eyes were glassy under the stark lights of the medical bay. His chin jerked into a short bout of nods.
"Okay," Tony said resolutely, because Peter’s opinion was the only one that mattered. He wanted Tony to do it. That was the beginning and end of the question.
He took a moment to solidify himself, his arms, his legs; all the parts that have been more or less liquid since he dragged Peter in here, since he'd stopped carding a hand through his sweaty, blood-matted hair.
He breathed deep enough to quell the sharp parts in his chest, tied down the beast that cringed and howled at the thought of touching Peter's wounds with his own hands. For being the reason he winced, being the source of his pain, if even for a moment.
Peter's trusting him. Tony kept that thought running through him like saline on an IV drip. Peter's trusting him. He's in pain, he's trusting you to fix it, so fix it.
Tony cleared his throat, and pulled the gloves on. He took the tools and shrugged the staff off, giving the two of them more space to breathe. He dragged the chair up closer to Peter, and kept his face neutral. It had to be more comforting than the look of a doctor who kept glancing at clenched fists with sweat on her brow.
It was just them here. Nothing could happen that Tony wouldn’t take care of.
Peter was still trembling. He fingers press grooves into the cot beneath him with how hard he’s gripping it. He blinked rapidly at Tony, and then his eyes flitted down and shut tight. They don’t open back up.
Tony felt his every artery squeeze. It seemed like such a non-thing– but Tony's been on the other side of the room. He’d watched a room with the same deliberation, watched people reach at him with tools while his mind struggled to determine a threat. The last thing he could think of doing in those moments would be to sacrifice his most valuable sensory input and close his eyes.
Tony didn’t know how, didn’t know what he did to deserve this kind of innocent all-forward faith. The only logical explanation he could fathom was that he must have done something truly good in a past life, something far beyond sainthood. Something pure enough to transcend every shitty thing he’d ever done.
He looked at Peter, his eyes clenched shut, and his chin jutted out, scared and trusting anyway— and Tony just knew by everything holy that he would protect and honour that faith with his life.
"Do you want me to talk to you while I work?" Tony asked neutrally, fiddling with the tools.
Peter thought for a second, and then nodded.
"Okay." Tony steeled his gaze, taking in the work. Fishing line, maybe, or something just as crude, sewn in one uneven, messy, tight line of stitches across his kid's bloodied lips. His stomach turned, he didn’t let the nausea show.
"I'm gonna start on the left, your left, and I'm going to use tweezers, okay?” Tony explained. “You feel metal, that's just tweezers. Nothing sharp.”
Peter nodded once, to show he understood, and went still in a brace.
Tony took this as permission. He moved carefully, picking at the loosest bit of the stitch he could find, a knot tied at the edge of his mouth. He poked at it with the tweezers, and Peter flinched.
"Just tweezers," Tony reminded, keeping his voice level. It's a miracle he wasn’t shaking like a leaf, himself. What could he say? He did good under pressure. "It’s just a little cold, nothing scary. Promise.”
“Mmhm,” Peter grimaced, his eyebrows creasing together. He went still again.
Tony waited a moment, and then pulled up the thread a little. He grimaced at the sight of it, the whole grisly thing. It was fucking awful, his blood was hot.
“Alright, Parker. Listen up,” Tony tapped his thumb against the scissors, a quiet sound for Peter to latch on to. “You’re going to hear the scissors, but they're not anywhere near you. I just want you to hear the sound, alright?”
Tony waited for another nod, and then he lifted the scissors up. He snipped them once in the air, and as he expected, Peter flinched. Which was okay. That was why Tony was doing this little ‘exposure therapy’ deal.
“Don’t feel bad,” Tony said, seeing the guilt and despondency tug at Peter’s face. Had he been able to open his mouth, he knew the kid would be rattling off apologies. “You’re good. You’re doing good, don’t worry about it.”
He clicked the scissors twice, three times, four. Enough for Peter’s flinching to become less violent.
“Holding up?" Tony checked.
Peter nodded again.
"Alright, I'm going to snip the thread," Tony murmured, raising his hands to his face. "It'll be just like last time. No sharp stuff is touching you. You're just gonna hear the scissors, alright? Do you want me to count down?"
Peter hesitated, and then shook his head.
"Okay. Breathe through your nose, try to relax your face,” Tony pulled back again at the ugly stitch. He winced, steadied his hands, and carefully snipped at it with the scissors.
With the knot gone, tension from the stitches slacken, and Peter's shoulders drop with a muffled sob.
"I know. We're almost done," Tony encouraged weakly, but even the fake enthusiasm was draining rapidly at the kid’s emotion. He just wanted to take all of it away. He didn’t know what to do.
Tony’s own eyes were blurring, and it's so, so hard to keep the cracks out of his words. He's trying. He's trying, for Peter. "Good boy,” he said, his voice rough. “We're almost done. Few more snips. It'll be easy now."
He tugged at the middle of the line, drawing out the slack of thread through the open wounds of Peter’s mouth. Peter shivered, curling in displeasure.
"Yeah, I bet that doesn't feel good," Tony murmured, his body aching with grief, but not for the men who did this— they weren’t going to see the sunrise tomorrow, and Tony would be glad for it.
“You’re gonna hear the scissors again,” Tony warned gently.
He pulled at the line with the tweezers, followed with another careful snip. With it, Tony was able to pull half of the goddamn thread out of his mouth. Blood trickled down his chin.
They were halfway there. Halfway.
"Okay, other side now," Tony said. The waver in his tone snuck out before he could calm it. He remedied this by swiping some of the tears from the kid’s face with the back on his wrist.
"I know. I know,” Tony repeated. “We’re basically at the finish line, kiddo, I swear it.”
Peter didn’t move. He kept his jaw clenched and he just breathed— and Tony remained still until he was ready. After a minute, Peter nodded again.
Tony carefully pulled at the knot of the opposite side, the bloody thread coming loose, and finally, Peter can open his mouth again. Tony dropped the tweezers and the scissors carelessly off to the side with a shaky breath of relief.
He barely finished snapping off the gloves when he had an armful of teenager, sweaty and sniffly. Peter's arms wrapped around his waist so tightly Tony struggled to breathe in. He welcomed the feeling, just grateful that Peter was feeling strong enough to cause it in the first place. This was a good tightening in his chest. This one hurt less.
Tony’s just moving. He’s smoothing out Peter’s hair, he's petting at his back, he’s squeezing his shoulders, saying: "I've got you. Jesus. Never again. You're okay. You're okay. We're okay."
The kid was right here, and Tony was right here, and it was all going to be fine.
"I knew you'd save me," was the first thing Peter said, his voice hoarse and split to hell. He’s so tired, tears spilling from sunken eyes, and there’s snot all over Tony's nice shirt. He really shouldn't be speaking yet at all, blood was trickling from his mouth, but Tony couldn’t deny he was so relieved to hear the kid’s voice.
"Yeah," Tony said, like the wind was knocked right out of him. His tongue slack in his own mouth, his teeth didn’t fit right in their place.
Tony wanted to promise that he’d always be there to save him. That he’d always be there just in time to stop the bullet, and catch him from a fall, whisk him away from every hurt and danger.
But, Tony tried to be a man of his word— and he didn’t want to keep giving Peter lies to believe in.
“I’ll move mountains to get to you,” Tony said instead. “Just say the word, kid. I’ll come running, I’ll do everything I can. I swear it.”
Because yes, he'll save Peter for as long as he's kicking. Longer, if he was able. There was a reason he dedicated so much time to infrastructure. When he dies, lines and lines of code will surround the legacy Tony will leave behind, and if he did it right— they’ll keep the kid safe in his stead. Programs, protocols, suits made for every unthinkable outcome.
Technology lasted longer than people. Every day Tony hoped that everything he built would be enough. Until then, of course, the hard part of the job, the part that mattered the most— fell to him. His blood. His bones. His hands.
Tony ran his fingers through Peter’s hair and held him a little closer.
They still needed to clean up the wounds. Bandage them. Let the kid shower and decompress before his aunt arrives for the debrief. But for now, Tony was clinging onto this brief respite, where Peter leaned on him, and Tony was capable of holding the weight. Sometimes, that’s all Tony wanted to do.
The next few weeks will be hard.
Tony will worry, and fret, and watch over him a little too closely. He’ll have nightmares, and talks with Pepper, and talks with May, and talks with a therapist. Peter will recover. He’ll have some bad days, and then some good days, and he’ll bounce back like he always did, and be right back on the field.
Tony will wait for Peter to make the inevitable call. I need help. Something happened. I got hurt. Someone else got hurt.
And then Tony’ll keep fixing it. Even if it never got easier.