Everything feels like it’s on fire, blood pounding loudly in his ears and for a moment, he’s worried he’s gone deaf. The mask is dangling by a finger because even the smallest tense of muscle is enough to make Peter go into a state of shock; unbearable pain. He can feel his bones grinding against each other when he leans back, and Peter holds in a cry.
He can hear Tony before he sees him, the tell-tale sound of repulsors in the air. “Previously on Peter screws the pooch, I tell you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multi-million dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do.”
Peter needs a second to comprehend the words in his head, because the pain is so distracting that he barely hears the heated voice over the roar of blood in his ears. A tear slips out, his body flaring up once again. “Is everyone okay?”
“No thanks to you.” Peter stops, and something in him breaks. The familiar feeling of ‘they don’t understand. Nobody does’ that he feels whenever an adult talks to him fills up in his body. It’s overwhelming and Peter can’t stop his anger from breaking the dam because this is just too much.
“No thanks to me?” Peter mumbles, and he exhales heavily, turning around to Tony. The breath he takes makes his ribcage rattle, and Peter squashes down the urge to scream when he lifts his legs to turn and slip off the ledge.
“Those weapons were out there and you didn’t listen,” Peter holds his wrist in his hand, gritting his teeth as waves of pain wash over him. He wonders how he hasn’t passed out yet.
“None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me!” Peter is not sure if it’s the anger or pain fueling him at this point, all he sees is red and the constant drone of none of them understands, no one does.
He winces when his left shoulder flares up for what seemed like the hundredth time in five minutes, but he continues on with what he needs to say. “If you even cared, you’d actually be here.”
And that was the wrong thing to say because the next moment, he has an eyeful of Tony Stark standing in front of him, eyes wide and daunting, daring for Peter to say another word. He takes steps forward and Peter can’t stop his legs from moving back. Tony’s face… god, he looks so disappointed it’s a hard kick to the gut. Probably hurting Peter even more than his current injuries right now.
“I did listen, kid. Who do you think called the FBI, huh?”
Peter gulps, eyes wide as he takes in Tony looking rightfully mad at him. He’s so focused on the genius’ expression he can even ignore the pulsating, heated muscles torn under his skin. He begins to feel dizzy and Peter is sure that isn’t a good thing, the world tilting a little bit to the side.
“Do you know I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone else said I was crazy to recruit a fourteen year old kid.”
“I’m fifteen,” Peter bites back, practically hissing out the reply considering a shock of pain went up his back. But then the pain doesn’t go away, it stays like a stain—burning his muscles and grinding his bones. Instead of it becoming a simmering pain, it just worsens—every ripple of searing fire worked its way into his arms and shoulders and fingers and—shit, something is wrong.
The buildings in the backdrop of Tony blurs, and it seems the world has sifted its axis because everything feels tilted. His head pound, his eyes hurt and he wants to cry. His eyes turn glassy, his mind too concentrated on the pain all over.
“No, this is where you zip it, alright? The adult is talking!” Tony practically shouts in Peter’s face, but it all seems so far away. Like a bubble of pain that encases the teenager from head to toe. A shuddering breath goes through his body and he blinks slowly, his eyes not even focusing on anything but the floor; as a last resort to ground himself when the world spins.
“What if someone had—” Tony slows down and stops, his words in his throat when his fury-filled eyes take in Peter. The kid is practically swaying on his feet, eyes glossed over and glued to the floor. His muscles were tense, fingers twitching. His breathing is heavy, laboured, like pounds of weight are pressing on his lungs. The anger simmers away—not completely, because this conversation isn’t finished—and instead, worry settles heavily into his gut, like a rock deeply wedged in his body. “Kid?”
A tremor runs through his body, and another shuddering breath barely makes it out of Peter before he croaks out, “Mr. Stark.”
In one second, Tony is rushing forward when he sees Peter pitch forward without any sign of stopping, and in another, his arms are full of Peter who’s now shaking. Tony has a hand in the air, not sure on whether he should rest it on Peter but a shot lightning fast fear strikes him when loud wails start to come out of Peter’s mouth. Cries so blood curdling that it turns Tony’s stomach into knots, blood freezing. Tears roll down Peter’s pale cheeks, holding onto Tony like his life depends on it.
“It-It hurts—” Peter chokes out, his face contorting which sends Tony’s heart twisting. Panic courses through Tony and he’s so so afraid. He pushes away the fear in his head, focusing on the kid having spasms in his arms because Tony cannot afford to be scared. He has to push away his worries and terrors, for Peter’s sake.
“Hey, hey, what hurts?” Tony begins, gentle and soft his hand coming to rest on Peter’s back. Suddenly, the kid flinches so hard, his back arching away from Tony’s touch as if burned. Tony pulls away, his eyes wide.
“Back. Arms. Chest. Head. E-Everywhere,” Peter whines, his body writhing on the ground like it’s trying to get away from something. Tony then places his hand on Peter’s head, massaging it gently in hopes to distract and calm the kid.
“Mr. Stark.” His eyes fly open and they’re red, full of tears as he looks up at his mentor. Tony can hear the crack in his voice as he calls out his name and Tony can’t bear to watch another second of this.
He taps his watch and calls the suit to him. It flies to his side and waits as Tony says, “Peter, I gotta carry you to the tower, think you can out that long?”
Peter nods, but freezes. “D-Don’t touch my back. Hurts.”
Tony frowns, wondering how he’s going to get Peter help. He slowly lays Peter on the floor, hands gentle as he mutters, “Just gimme a second, kid, alright?”
Peter nods meekly, somehow understanding Tony through the haze of pain. Tony pulls up to his height and steps back into his suit, letting the metal encase his body. He turns off his thrusters, letting the suit drop to the ground, though as gently as possible so as to not jostle the kid.
“Okay, Peter I need you to wrap your arms around my neck, okay? Can you do that for me?” Peter stares at him with dull eyes yet nods once. “If you can’t hold on, just web up to me or stick on.”
In his suit, Tony guides Peter to a sitting position, then leans in so Peter can wrap his arms around the neck of the metal suit. Peter firmly places his hands, making sure every inch of his palms and fingers is practically glued onto the red and gold suit. He heaves a breath when Tony stands up straight, his muscles stretching in a way that’s painful—then again, it hurt in every way they moved—and just clenches his jaw.
Tony takes a glance at Peter to make sure he’s stable before taking off. He makes sure that the suit is going at a smooth pace, yet fast enough that Peter won’t have to suffer a second in pain longer than necessary. Peter is shaking, his muscles still aching as curls his legs around the waist of the Iron Man suit. Tony resists putting a hand on his back for comfort, knowing it’d hurt Peter more than offer any comfort anyways.
The time it took to get to the tower is short, and Tony doesn’t even let the suit dismantle around him. He just lifts the faceplate as he walks to the med-bay, heavy metal feet clanging each time he takes a step. Peter is silent, but there are soft sobs coming from his chest, and his back is heaving like he’s crying. He places a chaste kiss on Peter’s hair, worry etched into every line on his face. The tower is practically abandoned, but he called up the staff still working there to get the equipment ready. A group of people in blue scrubs immediately jump into action, moving to Peter.
“Kid, you gotta let go.” Peter sticks to the suit, still clinging onto Tony. He shakes his head. “No–no, stay.”
At this point, Tony is sure Peter is delirious, considering the slight slur to his words. Tony grimaces and sends a look to one of the people in blue scrubs, who just nods, giving him permission. Tony looks back at Peter, who’s eyes are shut tight.
“Okay, I’ll stay, kid, but listen to these people for me, okay? I need you be in tip top shape to be Spider-Man, remember?” Tony is shaking now, fear enveloping him as he watches the kid writhe in pain. “You gotta let go, kid, for now. I’ll be right here.”
Peter lets out a broken sob but nods and Tony’s heart cracks. He passes off Peter to the person next to him and watches with glistening eyes—wide with worry—as they put him on the hospital bed. With a shaky voice, “Fri, get me out of this suit.”
The suit opens up, and Tony pushes down the urge to rush over to Peter’s side as soon as he hears another pain filled sob. He waves off the suit, the metal case walking out of the room and standing watch. Tony watches with hardened eyes, flinching every time Peter calls for him.
“M-Mr Stark. Mr Stark, please make it stop hurting.”
Tony looks away, his chest opening up like a gaping hole, his racing heart dropping to his stomach. Jesus fuck, those sounds absolutely cuts through him like a rusty knife, taking its time to hurt him with every whine. Someone must’ve done something because in the next second, Peter fucking screams.
“Mister Stark! Tony!”
Tony can’t take it anymore, so he rushes over in two strides, pushing past the people in scrubs. He’s far enough to see Peter reach for him with a stretched arm and teary eyes—fuck, doesn’t that hurt?—and Tony is so close, his finger tips brushing with Peter’s. So close—before he’s pushed backwards by the doctors.
Get the fuck out of the way.
They stop pushing him at the sight of his wild, wide eyes, glued on the kid on the bed. He can’t even hear them telling him to relax, and they’ve got it under control.
“He needs anesthesia. Strong ones. He’s enhanced.” Tony’s voice isn’t wavering, tone hard and harsh. He glares at the nearest person, the guy nearly cowering under the powerful gaze. He raises a brow, impatient.
“Sorry, Mr Stark. We’ll get them right away. Xylazine?” Tony nods. It’s a horse anesthesia that can knock out that self righteous walk American flag in a pinch. He remembers how Steve’s nose broke the second he face planted, out cold, because of a dare from Natasha. He winces, memories still sour. It was only two months ago he was left for dead in that bunker.
He’s snapped out of the feeling of cold entering his bones when Peter moans again, this time sounding softer. He looks at the kid, who’s eyes start to flutter when the doctor injects him with the clear solution of Xylazine. Right before they close, their gazes meet. Tony sucks in a breath, feeling like he got a punch in the gut at the sight of red rimmed eyes, that are still full of trust.
Peter mouths ‘Tony’ once more before his head slumps against the pillow. Tony steps back, and slumps against the wall, knees buckling under him.
It’s my fault. Its all my fucking fault. I should’ve been there earlier. I shouldn’t have taken my sweet ass fucking time. I should’ve suspected something cause that kid just can’t sit fucking still. I should’ve put more trackers, fuck he almost died and its all my fau—
“Tones. Tony!” A rough hand is on his shoulder. His bleary hazy eyes take a moment to adjust. Tony finds himself looking at Rhodey, who has the familiar worried look on his face. He takes in a breath, not realising the crushing force of his empty lungs until his thoughts stop.
“Rhodes. Rhodey. What are you doing here?” Tony mumbles, eyes barely focusing on the man before him. Rhodey frowns, his hand acting like a steady ground force for Tony. He has to stop spiraling. Otherwise he’d lose it. He has to keep it together. For Peter.
The ground still seems to shift under him, the world tilting slightly. Rhodey pulls him up, and Tony’s eyes flicker to the bed, where Peter is lying on. He’s breathing, chest rising with every rattling breath that seems to hurt the kid. How long has he been out of it? How long was that panic attack? Tony winces, the corners of his mouth turning downward.
“Tony—”
“How much—How much did the kid… What’s the extent?” Rhodey watches Tony basically torture himself, his gaze never straying from Peter. He sighs, and Tony stares at him when he doesn’t answer.
“I don’t know what happened out there, what happened to the kid, but all his back muscles are torn, Tony.” The genius flinched, stumbling backwards.
“His shoulders popped out their sockets, and his arms’ ligaments are definitely sprained. But they’ve started healing as soon as they set the bones back so it’s down to a grade one sprain, whatever that means.” He pats him on the shoulder once more.
“Do you want or need anything?” A pinched look on his face reminds Tony of that look. The look that he got when he was in his garage seven years ago, when palladium was poisoning his blood. The one of pure concern for Tony, for what he thinks Tony is going to do.
Tony doesn’t realise he’s shaking until he wipes the sweat from his forehead. He licks his lips, finding his mouth dry. “Can-can you get me some water?”
“No coffee?” Rhodey lightly says. Tony purses his lips, and just shakes his head. “I-I need some time alone.”
Rhodey leaves with a quiet sigh, the creaking of his mechanical brace echoing down the hallway. Tony moves over to the seat next to Peter and slumps back into it. He stares at Peter’s pale face for a few seconds before he buries his face into his hands, his chest burning with so much emotion.
He swallows, staring at the kid before deciding he can’t keep watching him otherwise the hole in his chest will just get bigger. Tony pulls out his phone and whispered, “Fri, get me the footage from the ‘Baby Monitor’ protocol from the last three hours.”
Tony watch the recorded footage with new found horror, watching the man with the bird wings attack Peter like he’s just a barrier in his way. Every time he sees the bird guy hurt Peter, all he does is turn to the kid and wince. Not only that, but there's a burning sensation under his skin, like a live breathing creature ready to be unleashed on the man in the bird suit hurting what is his.
Then he continues to watch, until that moment where Peter pulled every back muscle. He watches through tear-filled eyes as he hears Peter’s scream of pain as he tries to tug the ferry back together. Jesus fuck, kid. What were you thinking?
He watches how he comes in with a ‘Hey, Spider-Man. Band practice, was it?’, not realising then it was already too late. He watches as every movement Peter makes seems to hurt him, every whimper, every cry, every whine in his voice heard over the recording. He bites his tongue so hard as he hears the heavy panting from Peter. He has to stop when the familiar loud wails from earlier sound from his phone.
Tony lets the phone drop to the floor, just wanting the sounds to stop, not caring for any damage. He leans back in his chair, eyes moving to the kid. Tony sighs, a heavy weight on his shoulders.
He puts his elbows on his knees and—he’ll never admit to anyone he did this—pulls Peter’s hand into his own, pressing his lips to the kid’s knuckles because right now, he feels like the constant feel of Peter under his hands is the only thing keeping him sane.
“Kid, I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“This is all my fault.”
Tony stares at him intently.
“I didn’t get to finish the talk we had, earlier. I was going to say that if someone had died, that would’ve been on you.”
He laughs bitterly. “And my next point was that if you died, it’d be on me. But I didn’t expect it to be… a little too true. It really feels shitty, and you’re the one who’s lying in a stretcher.”
“I’m pissed, yeah. At you, and me and that vulture guy you keep talking about, but mostly me. You’re my responsibility. I gave you that suit, and to see you hurt, probably even more than before you met me, it sucks, kid. It stings more than you ever know.”
“I made that suit to protect you… but now I keep thinking it’s my fault I made you feel like you’re way over your head. Make you, and I mean this in the best way possible, a cocky little shit.”
He smiles sadly, eyes hoping to catch a single movement of muscle from the kid.
“So, buddy. I’ll make a deal, alright? If you get to parade around in the suit, risking your life, hurting yourself out there, making my cardiogram worse than Happy’s, then it’s fair—”
Tony chokes on a sob, utterly surprised he’s crying over this.
“Then it’s fair you wake up. Wake up for me, okay, bud? Please, Peter. Wake up for me. And be okay. Cause I won’t know what to do if I have a fourteen year old death on my hands.”
Tony bites his lip and rolls his eyes, Peter’s voice in his head.
I’m fifteen.
Tony’s brows go tight, not remembering Peter’s voice sounding that hoarse. His head snaps to Peter’s face.
“I-I told you, I’m fif-fifteen.”
Oh thank god.
“Fuck, kid. You worried the shit out of me.” Tony’s tone is hard, but his hands are gentle as he brings Peter’s hand to his lips again, eyes watering. He shuts his eyes, hoping Peter didn’t see them glisten. Peter chokes out a laugh.
“I mean, it’s a teenager’s job to worry every adult in their life, right?” A crooked smile fixed on his lips. Tony’s smile is shaky but he let’s out a soft sigh of relief. He shakes his head, and hopes his touch is firm enough to ground Peter from the drugs getting pumped into his blood.
“We’re still gonna have to talk about it.”
Peter looks to the ceiling, studying the clean lines of metal and paint as he sighs. “Yeah, I know.”
“But just… rest, this time. Okay, Peter? Just this once, let the adults take care of things.” His tone is tired, none of that rage and disappointment from before. Now there’s even a slight hint of worry lining his voice.
Peter nods, wincing as the muscles numbed with cream under him twitches. “Just this once.”
“And I think you’ll have to tell Aunt May soon. She’s gonna wonder why you’re gone. Wait, where did you come from anyway?”
A brow raises in question. “I actually… kind of skipped detention… for skipping decathlon… which I quit saying I had the Stark Internship.”
Tony stares at him blankly, before a soft expression flickers across his features.
“You’re another thing completely, kid.”
The drugs start to kick in again, and all that slips out of Peter’s mouth before darkness envelops his sight is, “Yeah, but you’re not going away.”
He can’t hear the reply.
“No, I’m not, kid.”
A squeeze of his hand.
“No, I’m not.”