Peter lets out a hiss as the first piece of metal slides free of his shoulder, leaving behind a rawness that he’s become all too familiar with. It’s funny, in a way. The treatment for metal shards lodged in the back is the same up in Stark Tower as it is back in May’s tiny apartment in Queens. The only difference is that Peter doesn’t need a mirror and all of his spider-donated flexibility up here.
“Let this be a lesson to you, Spider-Kid. Don’t jump in front of the guy in the suit of armor. Even if there are a hundred tiny pieces of shrapnel flying his way.”
And with that, Tony Stark latches onto another shard with his tweezers, gently easing it free before tossing it among the growing pile in the dish sitting on his kitchen counter.
For a while, the only sound in the room is the clink, clink, clink of metal shards clattering against the red and white ceramic. Tony stops plucking the metal out each time Peter makes a noise, leaving him to his misery for the few moments he needs until he’s ready to continue. Somehow, he knows just how long Peter needs to recover from each painful extraction without asking. Peter appreciates it.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Yeah,” Peter admits after a brief pause. He hasn’t wanted to let on just how much it hurts in case Tony decides to pull the “kid” card on him, but the billionaire has already picked up on the many times Peter’s stiffened up. By now, there’s no point in hiding it.
“Weird.” Peter can almost hear the way Tony’s brow furrows in his voice. “Perhaps your enhanced metabolism is processing the painkillers a little too quickly.”
Peter just nods, the action causing the lights of the New York skyline to become a blur for a few seconds.
“We can take a break for now, if you’d like.”
“Nah, it’s all right. Not the first time this has happened to me. Except last time wasn’t so bad. I’m still not sure what exploded that time, but it hurt.” Peter catches himself rambling and cuts himself off. He’s still not told Tony about all of the things he’d gotten himself into before being discovered in May’s apartment on that fateful day. He has a feeling Tony already knows, though.
For once, Tony doesn’t mention anything about Peter being too young to be getting himself into these situations. Maybe he's holding the urge back. Maybe he just doesn’t think it’s important right now.
“Mister Stark?”
“Yep?”
“I’m sorry. For everything. You shouldn't be cleaning up my messes like this.”
“Hey, hey.” Tony sets down the tweezers and moves around the counter so that he’s able to look into his exhausted mentee’s eyes. “Your instincts were right. Maybe mine weren’t. That shrapnel never should have made it through your suit.” Tony looks off to the side for an awkward moment before meeting Peter’s gaze again. “Peter, I’m sorry. You may be your own hero now, but you’re still my responsibility at the end of the day. I would never be able to forgive myself if I let anything happen to you.”
Peter sniffs, and much to Tony’s surprise tears are already silently streaming down his cheeks.
“C’mere.” Gingerly, Tony spreads his arms, and Peter sinks into them, sobbing silently. It’s not until Tony’s hands are almost against Peter’s back that he remembers he hasn’t finished extracting all of the metal yet. He hurriedly raises his hands to Peter’s shoulders to comfort the distraught teenager. “Just let it all out.”
And that Peter does, all the way until the front of Tony’s shirt is sticking to him with an uncomfortable wetness that the billionaire doesn’t regret in the slightest.
Tony only releases the boy when he goes to straighten up and rub at his eyes with the back of one red-gloved hand.
“Thank you, Mister Stark,” Peter hiccups quietly. He doesn’t need to explain why Tony’s actions have brought on a sudden crying fit, and for that, he’s grateful. Mostly because Tony already knows. And he’s embraced it in a way Peter never would have expected in his wildest dreams.
Iron Man is becoming more and more of a father to him by the day.
Peter can live with that. Especially the part where he doesn’t need to hide his powers and everything else that comes with them from him.
Tony’s sigh of mock exasperation brings Peter back to the present and back out of his thoughts.
“It’s Tony, kiddo. Can’t have my favorite crime-fighting spider addressing me like someone I’ve met at a board meeting.”
“Sorry. I’ll try to get used to it,” Peter stutters. His lower lip hasn’t stopped trembling yet, but each moment that passes makes him wish it would.
“There you go again with the ‘sorry’,” Tony remarks, but he doesn’t pursue it. “Say, how about we get the rest of this crap out of your back and order a pizza?”
“Really? I mean, you order pizza up here?”
“I’m going to let you in on something. But if this ever leaves this room, I’m going to take back the suit again.”
Peter gulps, but the edge in Tony’s voice from the first time he had made the threat isn’t there.
“I swear on my life. And Spider-Man’s,” Peter hurriedly adds. “I won’t tell a soul.”
Tony just laughs and ruffles his hair.
“I can’t cook. That’s why you’ve never seen me make anything for lab nights.”
“Really? May can’t either!” Peter immediately claps a hand over his own mouth. “Don’t tell her I said that. Please? She’d kill me. Or I might first.”
“Secret’s safe with me,” Tony replies. “I’m going to need to get you into classes someday so you don’t end up burning omelets like yours truly.”
“I can uh, kinda cook? It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s edible. At least to me.”
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that some time you’re not recovering from a shrapnel blast.” Tony picks up the tweezers and moves behind him. “Metal out first, then pizza.”
Peter nods.
“Sounds like a plan,” he replies as the next piece of metal falls with a clink.