POV: Stephen Strange
I absently walk around the living room again, absolutely bored out of my mind.
I’ve meditated, I’ve opened and closed who knows how many portals, and I’ve explored every inch of the tower in the few days that Tony’s been gone.
Two days left, then he’ll be back from his business trip.
I check my watch, Peter should be home soon.
And Tony will call at some point probably.
At least that’ll make it less boring.
I fiddle with my sling ring as I walk down the stairs to Tony’s lab.
FRIDAY opens the door and flips on the lights as I step inside.
Dozens of unfinished projects decorate the tables, mixed with blueprints and miscellaneous tools.
A small, framed photo of Tony, Peter, and I sits on the side of his main computer, and I smile to myself as I pass it.
“Doctor Strange?” FRIDAY says, calling for my attention over the intercoms.
“Yeah?” I ask, looking up out of habit.
“It’s Peter.” She replies.
I furrow my brow, checking my phone screen quickly.
Weird, he didn’t call me.
“Sure, send him through.” I tell her.
The line connects.
“Peter?” I ask. “What’s up?”
A shaky breath rattles through the speakers.
“I uh—” another shaky breath, “I got shot.”
Panic shoots through me.
“Where are you?” I ask, my voice frantic.
A breath followed by a groan sends my blood freezing in my veins.
“Brooklynn.” He gasps out. “46th and main.”
My hands are in the air as soon as the street names are out of his mouth, a portal opening before me.
I step through, landing on a dark street.
My head whips around, looking for Peter.
“Hey.” A small voice croaks from behind me.
I turn around, looking down at the small boy crumpled in a puddle of blood.
I drop to my knees beside him, trying to ignore the way the warm liquid soaks through my pant legs instantly.
His face is pale, covered in a fine gleam of sweat.
His lip is split, his eye swelling as though he’d been jumped.
“Hey, you’re okay.” I say softly, looking for the source of the bleeding.
His light green sweatshirt is covered in the dark red blood, but it seems to be the darkest towards the center of his body.
“Didn’t see the gun.” He breathes. “Didn’t have my suit.”
I pull the fabric up, exposing the bullet wound in his stomach.
“It’s alright.” I tell him, taking off my sweater and balling it up. “You’ll be okay.”
I press the sweater against the wound, and wince as he cries out in pain.
“Peter, look at me.” I breathe, looking at his face.
His eyes meet my gaze as tears slip down his cheeks.
“This is going to hurt, but I have to pick you up to get you to a hospital.” I tell him, using one hand to open a portal to Metro-General.
He nods, biting down on his lip.
“Hold this, okay?” I tell him, arranging his hands around the sweater. “Tight as you can.”
He nods again as I adjust my arms under his body.
“Deep breath.” I whisper as I pick him up, and he all but screams as I lift him and pull him tightly against me.
I step through the portal, stumbling into the mop closet of the hospital.
“Christine Palmer!” I call, kicking the door open and looking at the receptionist. “I need you to get me Doctor Christine Palmer, now!”
I look down at Peter, and his eyes flutter once before he loses consciousness, his arm falling limply to the side.
“Stephen what the hell—?” Christine asks, rounding the corner with wide eyes.
“Get a bed!” I shout, and a nurse behind her ducks into a room.
She runs up to me, looking over Peter once quickly.
“Who is this?” She asks, pushing two fingers against his neck to take his pulse. “What happened?”
Peter still doesn’t move, his entire body hanging limply in my arms as his blood soaks into my clothes.
“My son, he got shot I—you have to help him Christine, please.” I beg, my voice cracking as I plead.
She looks at me with confusion, but nods.
The nurse arrives with the bed, and I reluctantly lay Peter down on the white sheets.
“Hang in there, kid.” I whisper into his ear as I lay him down.
I quickly press a kiss against his clammy forehead as tears sting in my eyes.
“We’ve got this Stephen.” Christine says, patting my shoulder once before they whisk him away.
___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___
Four hours later, a very tired looking Christine walks out into the waiting room.
I dart to her, my heart vibrating throughout every inch of my body.
“So?” I breathe, the sound barely audible.
She smiles tightly, the smile of a doctor who’s just done a surgery at the end of an already overtime shift.
“He’ll be okay.” She says, and I breathe out heavily. “He lost a lot of blood, but we managed to get the bullet out and plug everything up in time.”
I wrap her into a tight hug, and she hugs me back softly.
“Thank you.” I whisper.
She laughs, patting my back.
“Of course Stephen.” She replies. “It’s my job, remember?”
I laugh too, leaning back.
“But, I do have a question.” She says as we drop our arms to our sides. “You said that boy is your son. He’s at least 16, which either means you’ve adopted, or you have a lot of explaining to do.”
I laugh, taking in a deep breath to explain to her my current situation, when suddenly, the doors behind Christine swing open, and a half-crazed Tony Stark walks into the room.
“Stephen what in the hell is going on you didn’t answer your phone and FRIDAY said Peter’s been shot and—Jesus is that blood?” He asks, all without taking a breath.
I step around Christine, putting my hands on Tony’s shoulders.
His face is tired and puffy, like he’d been crying.
“Breathe.” I tell him, meeting his frantic gaze. “Peter is okay.”
His red rimmed eyes only widen more.
“Well where the hell is he then?!” He shouts, his voice breaking halfway through. “And is all that blood his?”
I look down, looking at the blood still caked all over my clothes.
“He just got out of surgery.” Christine interjects, stepping closer and extending a hand to Tony. “Doctor Palmer, I performed his operation.”
I release his shoulders, and Tony turns to face her as he shakes her hand.
“Tony Stark.” He says, sniffling once. “What happened? Can I see him?”
I put one arm around Tony’s shoulders as he releases Christine’s hand.
“He came in with a bullet in his abdomen, we were able to successfully remove it and repair the surrounding areas.” She says simply, looking back and forth between Tony and I once. “He was awake when I left, so I’ll send a nurse in to get you guys soon.”
I reach out, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Thank you, Christine.” I tell her.
She smiles reaching up and squeezing my hand once before walking out of the room.
Tony turns towards me, resting his head against my chest as I wrap my arms around him.
He’s careful to keep his hands at his sides, not wanting to touch the dried blood on my shirt.
“He’s alright.” I whisper against his hair, rubbing his back gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I think I left my phone in your lab.”
A vague memory of setting it on the desk just before I answered Peter’s call sparks in my mind.
He takes in a shaky breath, tapping his fingers against his legs.
“Tony Stark and Stephen Strange?” A male voice says from behind us, and we both instantly turn to face him. “Peter’s asking for you.”
He smiles as he swings the door behind him open.
Tony almost runs through the door, following the nurse to the room.
He opens the door, and there’s Peter, looking up at us through a swollen eye.
Tony runs to the side of his bed, hands hovering over his body frantically.
“You okay kid?” He asks, pushing his hair back with a shaking hand. “What can I do?”
Peter smiles, the crack in his lip pulling at his skin.
“I’m okay, really!” He says, looking up at Tony. “I didn’t know you were home already dad.”
Tony laughs a hard laugh.
“Of course I came home, Pete. You got freakin’ shot.” He replies.
Peter looks at me as I step closer to the bed.
“Oh jeez, is all that blood from me?” He asks, concern filling his voice as he sits up a little bit in the bed.
I move to where my body is mostly behind Tony, peering over his shoulder.
“It’s alright.” I answer with a smile. “I don’t get queasy.”
He relaxes, smiling easily again.
We talk comfortably for a few minutes before the pain medications pull him under, and he falls asleep peacefully in the bed.
Tony sits on the edge, brushing his hair back gently as he sleeps.
“I’m sorry I freaked out.” He whispers, looking up at me.
I smile, stepping closer and kissing his forehead softly.
“I’m glad you’re home.” I whisper back.
He smiles up at me before turning his attention back to Peter.
“He will be okay, right?” He asks, not looking away from his face.
I stand behind him, resting my hands on his shoulders and my chin on his head.
“Yes love.” I tell him, squeezing his shoulders once. “He will be, I swear.”
He nods, covering one of my hands with one of his.