“Mr Stark, is this really necessary?”
“Yes,” Tony says, tightening the band around Peter’s upper arm.
He wheels his stool back, picking the sixteen-gauge off the table, then scoots back across to the bed where Peter’s lying down, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than here. Truthfully, this is something that should have been done a long time ago, and Tony hates more than anything that it had taken the kid almost dying for him to finally pull his head out of his ass and get around to it.
“Now’s probably a bad time to tell you I don’t really like needles, huh?” Peter says, eyeing the one in Tony’s hand with trepidation.
“Probably. But you don’t need to worry, okay? I know what I’m doing.”
Peter drags his eyes away from the – okay – admittedly huge needle Tony is holding, and looks up at him, eyes wide as freakin’ saucers and face devoid of all colour. Jesus, he hasn’t even started yet and the kid already looks like he’s about two seconds away from keeling over.
“Ye of little faith,” Tony says drily.
“No, no, no.” Peter says fast. “No. It’s not you. It’s just- I just- mmm.” Peter looks down at the needle again and it hardly seems possible, but it looks like his face goes even whiter.
“Pete,” Tony says, dropping his hand so it’s out of the kid’s line of sight, “look at me. This is nothing, okay? I’ve seen you jump off the Empire State building and not shoot a web ‘til you’re about five seconds away from painting the sidewalk.” Which is not a memory he recalls fondly. At all. Peter might have gotten a thrill out of it but it had terrified the shit out of him when he’d watched it back on the Baby Monitor Protocol. “You can do that; you can do this, no problem.”
Peter’s face seems stuck in a permanent grimace.
“What? What is it?” Tony sighs “You want me to get Pepper in here so she can hold your hand?” He’s actually being sincere, but he realises how he must have come across when some colour creeps back into Peter’s face – a steady blush – and he sputters out an indignant “What? N- no.”
Tony goes with it. “I’m serious, kid - she’ll do it. You know she can’t resist those baby browns of yours.” None of us can. He’s yet to introduce the kid to anyone who’s not completely enamoured to him within the first five minutes.
Peter’s eyes roll at that. “Ugh,” he groans, head flopping back against the pillow, “just do it. Quick before I change my mind.”
Tony laughs, shaking his head. “Okay, hold still.”
He taps the inside of Peter’s arm a couple of times to bring up the vein there, then quickly swipes the crook of Peter’s elbow with a sterile wipe. He raises the needle.
“Wait! Wait,” Peter yelps, voice high and breathy as he pulls his arm in towards his body.
Tony hangs his head. “Kid.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Peter is babbling, “I’m not gonna lie, Mr Stark – this is totally freaking me out. I don’t – I don’t think I can do it, I’m sorry.” His foot is jiggling nervously on the cot, and Tony reaches out and places his hand on his leg, stilling the motion. Peter sucks in a breath, turns his eyes to Tony’s, and his gaze is pleading.
Tony wants nothing more than to throw the needle down and call the whole thing off - if only to get that expression off the kid’s face. But he can’t. He can’t. What happened last month nearly destroyed him.
He thinks of Peter, bleeding out in the med bay, losing blood quicker than his rapid healing could replace it, thinks of the heart-wrenching wail on the other end of the line when he’d called the kid’s aunt and told her to get here, and get here now. He thinks of the guilt, and the utter rage and stupidity he’d felt when Dr Cho had told him Peter’s spider-DNA-infused blood was incompatible with any regular donor and asked if they had a stockpile of his own on site.
He thinks of the despair he’d felt when he’d had to answer, “no.”
It’s sheer fucking dumb luck and a testament to Helen’s ability that the kid didn’t die. And next time – not that there’s ever going to be a next time if he has anything to do with it – they’re going to be prepared. He’s taking Peter’s blood even if he’s got to get one of his suits to hold the kid down while he does it.
But he’s confident it’s not going to come to that.
Tony sighs, drawing the needle away from Peter again. “Did I ever tell you about the time we did this for Banner?” he asks casually.
Peter seems to perk up a bit at that. “Banner? Doctor Bruce Banner? He did this?”
“Yep.” Tony nods. “Same reason we’re doing it now. That chemical make-up that lets him go all Jolly Green also means he can only have his own blood for transfusion, even when he’s not hulked out. No, I don’t know the specifics, so don’t ask,” he says, waving his hand. He can practically see the wheels turning in the kid’s head.
“Anyway, Brucie is a scientist, right? Biochem, regular Chem, Physics, you name it. So he’s no stranger to needles – uses ‘em all the time. You’d think he could handle one being used on him.” He pauses for dramatic effect. Peter is now listening to him with rapt attention, and Tony notices the way the nervous tension seems to be gradually leaving the kid’s body as he continues to talk. “Nope,” he finishes, tickled by the bemused expression on Peter’s face.
“Really?”
“Yeah, you know how some chefs hate eating at restaurants, or chauffeurs hate being driven? Well Banner’s thing is needles. Perfectly fine sticking them into others, not a huge fan of people sticking them in him. Hates ‘em.”
“That’s just - ” Peter laughs. Good. That’s good. “I can’t picture it.”
“Took a good few weeks to catch on to the reason something always seemed to come up when we were scheduled to meet up. No joke, kid, when we finally got him in here he just about hulked out right there on the cot.”
“No way,” Peter breathes, blinking down at the bed, and Tony isn’t sure if he’s acknowledging the story or simply in awe of the fact he’s sprawled out on a piece of furniture that Banner touched one time. Honestly, give the kid a suit, fly him on a private plane to Germany, offer him a spot on the team and you’d think he’d at least be subtle about Bruce being his favourite - he hasn’t even met the guy.
“Uh- huh,” Tony says, taking Peter’s wrist in his free hand. He can feel the pulse there fluttering under his fingers. Peter looks at him curiously, but he doesn’t resist as Tony pulls gently, guiding his arm back down towards the bed, straightening it out. “My point is,” Tony continues, tapping to bring up a vein again, “you’re already handling this better than he did, because you haven’t tried to lay me out yet.”
“Yet,” Peter smirks, and Tony rolls his eyes.
“Holding a big needle, kid.”
Peter winces, but he gives Tony a wobbly smile. “Yeah, I didn’t forget that part.”
He still looks nervous, a little pale, maybe, but less so than before.
Tony holds the needle, poised over Peter’s skin. The kid’s eyes flick down to it, then up to meet Tony’s, and the trust he sees in them makes something warm bloom inside his chest. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve the faith Peter seems to have in him, but he’s damned well going to spend the rest of his life making sure he earns it.
“You ready?” he asks, surprised at the patience in his voice and knowing that he shouldn’t be, really - everything goes out of the window when it comes to this kid.
Peter blows out a shaky breath. Nods, jerkily. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.”
Brave kid.
Tony positions the needle. “Don’t look if it’s gonna freak you out, okay?” he says, and Peter nods again, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. He flinches a little as Tony presses the needle in, but otherwise doesn’t make a sound. Tony makes sure the blood is flowing through the tube and into the bag, and once he’s satisfied it’s all good, he tapes the needle in place.
“Done.”
Peter blinks. He rolls his head, eyes going to his elbow, and the blood that’s now running freely through the clear tube. “Oh,” he breathes, “that… wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
“What’d I tell you? I know what I’m doing.” He taps the kid’s hand. “Now make a fist – like that, yeah – and just unclench it every now and again. Keeps stuff moving.”
“How’d you know how to do that?” Peter asks, lifting his arm to observe where the needle disappears into his skin. “Like how do you know where to stop?”
Tony presses his arm back down to the cot. “Don’t do that. Leave it there.”
“Did Colonel Rhodes teach you?” Peter goes on. “Do you have to learn this stuff when you join the Avengers?”
“Something like that,” he says vaguely. That’s a whole other can of worms for a whole other time. Scratch that, it’s a can of worms for never. Peter doesn’t need to hear about the tragic younger years of Tony Stark.
“What’s this all about anyway?” Tony deflects, gesturing towards the kid, who’s done a complete one-eighty from trembling at the sight of the needle and is now watching his blood make its way through the tubing with utter fascination. “I thought you hated this stuff. Or was all that drama just for show?”
Peter gives him a look. “Well it’s fine now it’s in. I’m not bothered by that,” he says, like it makes perfect sense.
“What?”
Peter shrugs. “Yeah, like - this is fine. Pretty cool, actually. It’s the bit where it pops through the skin that I can’t deal with.”
Pops through the-
“What?” Tony says again.
“You know,” Peter says, miming with his free hand. “How it pushes in and then – pops through.” He shudders. “Blegh.”
Tony shakes his head fondly. “You are such a weird kid.”
Peter just smiles, flexing his hand before making a fist again.
It takes about five more minutes for the bag to fill completely, and Peter can’t seem to believe it’s over that quick.
“Is that it?” he asks, looking at the liquid swirling around in the clear little pouch. “How much is in there?”
“It’s about a pint,” Tony says, moving to disconnect everything.
Peter frowns. “Don’t you need more than that?”
“Well yeah, we’re gonna have to do this a few more times before we’ve got enough set aside for an emergency supply. Sorry, kiddo,” he adds, seeing Peter’s grimace.
“Can’t you just - take more now?” the kid says, hopefully.
Tony pauses, hand stilling where he’s about to withdraw the needle. Generally speaking, one pint is the safe standard when it comes to taking blood, and it’s not advisable to try for more, but then he thinks of Cap, who’d done three in one sitting without even breaking a sweat. Things are a little different when you’re dealing with the enhanced. Knowing Peter’s healing ability, his body’s likely already well on its way to replacing the unit he’s just lost, so they’re probably okay to go for one more round. Maybe.
“Depends,” he says slowly. “How you feeling? Any nausea? Dizziness?”
“What? No,” Peter frowns, “I feel fine.”
Tony eyes him sceptically. Peter isn’t exactly forthcoming about these things. The kid would probably rather stand up in the middle of a prison cafeteria and announce he’s Spider-man than admit he’s not feeling too hot. It makes Tony hesitate.
“Seriously, Mr. Stark, I’m fine,” Peter insists.
Reluctantly, Tony gives in. “Okay,” he says, “one more bag, but if you start to feel weird for whatever reason, you tell me right away, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”
“I mean it, kid,” he warns.
He attaches up the second bag, checks everything’s good with the tubing and the needle, which all seem fine, then makes his way across the room to the storage vault. He places the blood bag in the newly-designated section labelled Spider-man (most of the people here know who Peter is by now, but Tony’s nothing if not cautious) and hopes to god they never have to use it.
When he makes it back, Peter is exactly where he left him, except in the two minutes Tony’s been gone, he’s pulled his phone out and is now making ridiculous faces at the screen.
“Oh, Mr. Stark, hey,” he calls with a smile when he sees him, like he wasn’t just doing a pretty decent impression of a pufferfish as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Come say hi to Ned.”
“What are we doing? Are we Skyping him or something?” Tony asks, pulling the stool over to the bedside and taking a seat.
“No, no, it’s Snapchat. He bet me I’d chicken out, so,” he gestures to the screen, “photographic evidence.”
“Snap what, now?”
“It’s this app where you – you know what, doesn’t matter. Smile!” Peter says, holding the phone aloft.
Tony throws up a lazy peace sign.
“This better not end up on TMZ or anything, kid. I think Pepper’s had to deal with enough ‘illegitimate children’ scoops to last a lifetime.”
Peter laughs. “It’s just Ned. Well, and May.”
“And me,” Tony adds. “Send me that.”
If he makes it his new wallpaper, well, that’s his business.
He looks up from his phone at the sound of Peter sighing. His head falls back against the cot, eyes closing briefly, and does he look a little drawn, or is that just Tony mother-henning? He flicks his finger against Peter’s shoulder.
“Kid. You doing okay?”
“Hmm?” Peter blinks, eyes tracking over in his direction. “Oh, yeah. Fine. I was just thinking.”
“About?” he asks, leaning over and grasping Peter’s free wrist. Just to be on the safe side. The pulse there thrums against the pads of his fingers, strong and steady – maybe a tiny bit fast, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary given the situation.
“Being bitten by a vampire,” Peter says, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
“Oh god,” Tony groans, “I thought we’d seen the back of that stupid craze in 2012 or something.”
Peter sounds almost bored as he says, “It never dies, Mr. Stark, that’s kinda the point.”
Yeah, okay, he walked into that one. He sighs, long-suffering, tipping his head as he levels Peter with a look that says really?, but the kid just shrugs, looking vaguely amused by his own perceived comic genius.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Tony says, but he can’t keep the affection out of his voice.
Peter laughs at that, but then quickly sobers. They sit in silence for a minute or so, and Tony notices Peter begin to take deeper breaths every now and again, like he’s about to say something, but he never actually does. It’s driving Tony nuts. He’s just about to tell the kid to spit it out when Peter looks at him and asks quietly, “Um, are we almost done?”
So that’s what it is.
Tony glances at the bag, then at Peter, concern furrowing his brows. “Just about, bud, why? You not feeling too good?”
“Uh…” Peter starts, looking up to the ceiling again. He swallows hard. “No, no – ‘m fine. Just… tired.”
Yeah, right. Knowing Peter as well as he does by now, he’s confident that I’m tired more than likely means I’ve been feeling like crap for a good five minutes and just didn’t want to say anything. Feeling tired is to be expected, especially after filling two bags, but Tony isn’t taking any chances. Time to finish up.
“Okay,” he says, giving Peter’s hand a light squeeze. “Okay, we’re done, then. You did good, Pete. A whole two pints - that’s pretty badass.”
“Yay,” Peter says, but there’s no real enthusiasm behind it. The kid looks wiped.
Tony quickly withdraws the needle from his arm, placing a cotton ball over the bead of blood that wells up in its absence. “Press down on that,” he tells Peter, and Peter obliges, holding it in place as his eyes follow Tony around the workspace, watching as he seals off and stores the second bag.
“Don’t think doubling up this time round gets you out of next month’s session, by the way, kiddo,” Tony comments as he searches for a band-aid. He’d bet his ass that’s the reason the kid was so insistent about pushing for more today. “Doesn’t work like that.”
He looks back in time to see Peter’s half-hearted scowl and chuckles. Called it.
There’s still blood oozing from the needle site when he pulls the cotton away, haloed by a shadow that promises to become an epic bruise. That’s unusual for Peter’s normally speedy healing, but in the same way it’s not quite one hundred percent when Peter doesn’t keep his calories up, Tony figures it’s just taken a momentary hit from the dip in blood volume and is trying to figure out what to deal with first.
“Don’t look so glum, kid, hard part’s over. Now it’s ice cream time. Gotta get those blood sugars back up,” he says, swiping the crook of Peter’s elbow with the cotton ball one more time. That bruise is starting to look pretty nasty, now, so he makes sure to apply the band-aid with a light touch. “I know the candy is the only reason you agreed to all this in the first place. Don’t think I was fooled for a second.”
Peter lets out a shaky laugh. “Um,” he says, and the crack in his voice has Tony’s head whipping up. His heart gives a hard thud against the wall of his chest.
“Pete?”
“Mr. Stark, uh,” Peter says in a thin voice, swallowing convulsively, and Tony’s definitely not imagining it now – the colour is rapidly leaving the kid’s face, disappearing like water down a drain. “I feel… a bit like I’m gonna throw up.”
Tony feels his stomach drop. He fucking knew it.
“Okay,” he says, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder reassuringly. “Just means you overdid it a bit. It’ll pass. Stay there. Close your eyes if it helps. I’m gonna get you a bucket – just in case.”
He turns around to do just that, opening one of the many cabinets running along the east side of the room to find something vaguely bowl-shaped, but no sooner than he’s got his back to the bed, there’s a strangled gasp of “Mr Stark!” from behind him.
He grabs the first thing that doesn’t have holes in it and swings round in time to see Peter bolt upright in panic, hand over his mouth, eyes wide. It’s too fast - much too fast for someone who’s only just finished losing almost a fifth of their blood volume, and Tony knows what’s about to happen a second before it does.
Peter wavers, breathing deepening, and if he was pale before, he goes positively ashen now. His eyelid flicker as he blinks rapidly for a moment, and then his eyes roll back and he slumps, out like a light.
Tony’s already diving towards him as he starts to pitch forward. The steel bowl he’d been holding hits the floor with a clatter that echoes through the space as he lunges and catches an armful of limp Spider-kid. Peter is surprisingly heavy like this, all boneless and floppy-limbed, and Tony grunts as he takes the weight, readjusting his footing so he doesn’t drop the both of them to the floor.
“Shit,” he breathes, hand coming up to cradle the back of Peter’s head where it’s resting against his shoulder. The kid’s hair tickles the side of his face, and he presses his cheek into the brown curls for a second, sighing. He can smell the apple shampoo that Peter uses. “I gotcha. You’re alright.”
Stupid. He’s so stupid. Why did he believe for a second the kid would actually give him a heads up when he started feeling woozy. They probably should have stopped half a pint before they did.
His hands are shaking, he realises, as he gently lowers Peter back down onto the cot. He knows he shouldn’t worry – this isn’t anything life-threatening, or even particularly damaging to his health, but trying to manoeuvre the kid onto the bed feels a little too akin to handling a dead body for Tony’s liking. He presses his fingers against the pulse point at Peter’s throat, reassured by the steady beat he finds there. He’s fine.
He’s propping Peter’s feet up on a mountain of pillows, trying to guide the eight pints of blood still circulating round his body back up to his brain when Pepper rounds the doorframe. Her face is flushed.
“Tony, is everything all right in here?” she asks. “I heard – oh my god! Is he okay?” Her eyes widen as she sees Peter passed out on the gurney, and she takes a hesitant step forward.
“He will be,” Tony assures her. “Just sat up too fast.”
Pepper’s eyes flick from him to Peter’s prone form and back again. “That… doesn’t normally happen after one unit.”
“Uh… more like two,” he admits, dragging a hand across the back of his neck.
Her mouth drops open. “Tony.”
“I know, I know. I thought he could handle it. Obviously, I was wrong.”
Peter lets out a little groan then, and all of Tony’s attention snaps down to the cot, where the kid’s beginning to stir. “Hey buddy, you back with us?” he murmurs, squeezing Peter’s shoulder gently, thumb swiping back and forth across his collarbone. Peter’s eyelids flutter, a small crease appearing between his brows as he starts coming round.
“Pep,” Tony says in that same, low tone, “You think you could grab some OJ? And ice cream. Oh and some of those m&m’s the kid stashed behind the coffee machine? Hell, just - anything loaded with sugar. Please?”
He shoots her a glance over his shoulder. Her face has softened and she’s looking at him knowingly, a small smile playing at her lips. Anyone else and it would make him feel defensive, but this is Pepper. She’s the smartest woman he’s ever met – smart enough to see through all his bullshit. She knows him better than anyone, probably better than he knows himself.
“Of course,” she says, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
She leaves, and Tony turns his focus back to Peter, who’s now blinking dazedly up at him. He can tell the second Peter realises where he is because his face scrunches up and he groans.
“Oh man. Tell me I didn’t -”
“Swoon like a Disney princess?” Tony finishes for him. “Sorry bud.”
Peter whines, covering his face with his hands. “Noooo. Mr Stark.”
“If it’s any consolation, it was a pretty impressive nose dive.” And by impressive, he means fuckinghorrible. Seriously, no repeats of that. Ever, if possible.
Peter glares at him from between his splayed fingers, but Tony can tell it’s out of embarrassment more than anything else. He places his hand lightly on the top of Peter’s head, fingers brushing a few strands of hair back from his forehead. “How’re you doing?” he asks, suddenly serious.
“I’m fine,” Peter replies petulantly, and Tony snorts.
“Don’t get sassy with me, kid. I distinctly remember telling you to let me know the second you didn’t feel all right. This?” he jabs a finger in Peter’s direction. “Not my fault.”
Peter sighs, but he doesn’t make any attempt to argue.
“Do you still feel like you’re gonna toss your cookies?”
“No.”
“Feel dizzy?”
There’s a pause. “A little. More like, shaky, I guess?”
Tony nods. “Thought you might be. Pepper’s already on her way back with the goodies. And I’m giving you a one-time free pass to eat yourself into a diabetic coma, so you better be ready.”
“Pepper was here?” Peter looks mortified. “Oh my god, kill me.”
“And miss the opportunity to remind you of this every chance I get?” Tony scoffs, pressing his hand to his chest. “Pete.”
“You should be nice to me,” Peter grumbles, “I just passed out. I was unconscious.”
“You were out for less than a minute, kid, don’t be dramatic.”
Pepper chooses that moment to reappear, arms laden with just about everything sugary she was able to find. She smiles when she sees Peter is awake, and, tactful as ever, is also quick to notice his obvious embarrassment and graciously make a prompt exit, giving the excuse of having to look over some new company policies.
“Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” she says, lightly patting Peter’s hand before she turns to go. Peter nods, cheeks pink.
“Thanks, hon,” Tony calls after her, wondering how he got so lucky.
He grabs the ice cream first, seeing as he knows it’s what Peter’s all about, and hands the tub over to the kid, who takes it gratefully. Peter pops the lid and digs in, eyes closing in delight as he shovels in the first spoonful of mint choc chip. Tony snags a bag of m&m’s for himself, and they sit in a comfortable silence for a while.
Peter’s energy seems to come back to him pretty quickly as he demolishes the ice cream, and before long, he’s back to his usual, chipper self. Tony listens contentedly as he tells him about his most recent patrols; about the drunk driver he’d stopped from clipping a young couple on a motorbike, which is admittedly impressive, and about the guy he’d kind of just had to subdue with webs for a while to stop him from ripping up fences in Queensbridge Park.
Then he mentions that the fence guy was dressed like a walrus, and Tony loses it, nearly choking on an m&m – honestly, how many packets of these has he had now? It’s probably time to stop anyway.
He clears his throat, grabs a juice box, then another, holding one out toward Peter.
“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Peter says, taking the carton. Then he swings his legs off the cot and sits up to drink it and Tony nearly has a heart attack.
“Relax!” Peter says, seeing what must be the look of absolute panic on his face, “I’m fine now, see?” He sticks his arm out, displaying his inner elbow, where the bruise there is now a dark purple that fades out to green around the edges, already half-healed.
“Huh.” That that super-healing really is something else. Tony resists the urge to prod it.
Peter doesn’t, index finger tentatively tapping against the inflamed skin. “So weird,” he says, “does this happen every time?”
“No, not all the time, but it’s normal enough. Does it hurt?”
“Nah, it’s fine. The whole thing was fine, actually. Y’know – minus the whole,” his hand cuts down across his body in a plane crash kind of motion, complete with sound effects, “…thing.”
“Yeah, I gotta tell you, it’s not normally this dramatic. Next time’s going to be boring by comparison.”
Peter’s expression drops a little at the mention of next time, and Tony can tell they’re probably going to struggle with this needle issue for a while, but then the kid seems to shake himself out of it, face brightening again. “Well, I guess I’ll bring Fluxx, then. You owe me a re-match anyway.”
“The Star Wars pack, I presume?”
“Duh.”
Silly question.
Tony huffs a laugh. Then he remembers.
“Oh, hey, I have something for you.”
He finds what he’s looking for easily enough in the desk drawer, and it’s a testament to how few people occupy the compound at the moment that despite him not having looked in there for months everything is exactly where he remembers. He presses his find to the fabric of Peter’s shirt, just over his heart.
Peter glances down at his chest, to the sticker Tony’s just placed there. It’s of a cartoon elephant holding a balloon, the words I was brave today! in a speech bubble coming from its mouth, or trunk, or whatever. Truthfully, he’d only gotten the pack to irritate Steve, but if he’s got the chance to tease the kid a little, too, he’ll take it. Two birds and one stone and all that jazz.
He fully expects Peter to roll his eyes, or tear it off, or perhaps even let loose with the time old favourite I’m not a kid, Mr Stark.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he beams, looking up at Tony like he’s just handed him the moon and all the stars in the sky to go along with it.
“You think?” he asks, almost shyly.
Tony smiles.
“Of course, kid. You’re the bravest person I know.”