Bridge Over Troubled Water
“You're living on the edge, don't know wrong from right. They're breathing down your neck, you're running out of lives! And here...comes the...razors edge! Here...comes the...razors edge! The razors ed——!”
— “Boss.”
The AC/DC blaring from the surround sound cut away suddenly, so abruptly that Tony found himself dropping the screwdriver hanging between his teeth. The tool clattered and bounced around on the metal desk below him.
“FRIDAY,” he called out with flat anger. “I don’t care if the President of the United States is about to walk into the room. If you don’t turn my music back on this instant —”
“There appears to be a problem in the infirmary, boss. Specifically where Mr. Parker is residing. Your immediate attention has been requested.”
Tony shot his head up, his eyes briefly flickering left and right while he took in what she said. It didn’t take long to pluck out the words ‘problem’ and ‘Parker’ and he practically jumped out of his chair with unspoken distress, dashing half-way out of the room before FRIDAY hadn’t even finished her announcement.
He barely managed to swipe his yellow-tinted smart glasses from the nearest table before running out of the workshop.
“What kind of problem?”
His feet pounded as he jogged through the hallways, his boots smacking against the marble floors with resounding effect, his shoulders bumping into personnel who didn’t bother to step out of his way.
Panic fluttered in his gut when she didn’t respond.
“FRI?” he impatiently repeated.
“One second, boss.” She spoke through the overhead PA system, startling a handful of unaware bystanders. “I’m in communication with Doctor Banner now regarding the situation.”
Tony slipped his wire-framed tech glasses onto his face, tapping the side of the device with the pad of his fingertips.
“Don’t bother. Patch him through to me.”
The left side of his glasses brought up a minimized video-screen, black at first as it rang through to the recipient. It didn’t take long before Bruce picked up, immediately greeting Tony with his index finger high in the air, signaling for him to wait.
That finger could have been a different, cruder gesture and Tony still would have ignored it.
“Banner,” he coldly greeted.
“Little busy here,” Bruce stressed. He was multitasking, his cell phone to his ear and his free hand placing lab vials inside a sealed plastic bag.
“Make time,” Tony retorted, quickly cutting through a pack of employees crowding his way. He found his hands on arms and shoulders of persons he pushed aside in an attempt to keep pace, the facilities afternoon activities leaving too many damn people in his path.
“Do you really want to piss me off right now, Tony?” Bruce snapped, hunching his shoulder high to hold the cell phone to his ear while he zipped up the plastic bag. “Helen, listen, this version hasn’t been tested yet, it’s — no, it’s — Moira says it’s theoretically safe but —...okay. Okay...okay! Five minutes. Ten tops. I know, I...— I speak Korean, you know.”
Tony was already in an elevator by the time Bruce finished his primary conversation, impatiently pushing the button to the floor he needed multiple times Hurryhuryhurryhurry! Only once the doors began to slide shut was he satisfied.
He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot on the floor.
“I’m waiting.”
Bruce dropped his cell phone and drew in a deep breath, one that physically moved his body. As he pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, Tony decided to pretend he didn’t notice the tinge of green creep up from the man’s neck. He instead opted for keeping his mouth shut, focusing on red numbers from above, each changing as the elevator crept upwards in the building.
15th floor...16th floor...17th floor...18th floor...
“They called a rapid response code on Peter,” Bruce finally said.
‘Shit.’ Tony immediately felt his muscles begin to tense, dread coiling tight in the pit of his stomach.
The bright, red numbers to the elevator suddenly weren’t moving quick enough for him, his pulse easily outmatching the machine with how fast his heart beat inside of his chest, hammering like a jackrabbit. He briefly debated calling on an Iron Man suit, or hacking into the facility systems and getting the elevator to move faster, or – or – something.
“What happened?” he settled on asking, his fingernails digging deep into the center of his palms.
“The painkiller stopped working — it isn’t — it isn’t effective, it’s not doing anything, not even intrathecally.” Bruce huffed and gulped, out of breath like he had run a marathon despite standing still in one place. “It’s too hard to say what this type of stress could do to his body. Hypertension from the unmanaged pain could cause cardiac arrest or a stroke or — we need to figure something out, and fast.”
“What’s your plan then?” Tony demanded.
Bruce held up the sealed plastic specimen bag. “To meet you there.”
As if on cue, the elevator doors dinged open at the same time his smart-glasses rid itself of the video call. Tony shuffled out as fast as he could manage, not even in the same hallway of the infirmary where Peter’s room was when he heard the shouts and cries coming from afar.
Appearances be damned, he was full on running at this point, his Timberland sneakers pounding against the tiled floor.
In reality, he could have easily waited for the sight that greeted him.
“I...I’m-can’t...I’m...I-I-...I’m...”
“Peter, sweetie, you gotta calm down. You’re hyperventilating, you need to take a deep breath, honey.”
“...’ant. Can’t. I...I can-...I...”
Practically skidding to a stop inside, Tony was amazed at how calm the staff was, given their circumstances. They worked patiently and diligently, almost wordlessly with a grace that seemed their actions were choreographed. Every nurse and tech acted with more composure than he could ever dream of having — of course, it didn’t help that he abandoned his composure back in his workshop, letting the heat of the moment take over. He stuck out like a sore thumb among the controlled chaos around him.
It was from Peter that the turmoil erupted from. The kid was wide-awake, hunched over on the half-risen hospital bed and paler than the sheets surrounding him. Staring straight ahead, Tony realized the poor kid was the source of every yelp, cry, shout and whimper he had heard, the eye to the storm overtaking the room.
“I...- I…” Peter swallowed convulsively, the over-sized hospital gown slipping down his shoulders as he hunched further forward. “...’mgunnabesick.”
Tony stood a little taller, adrenaline soaring through him. Off to his side, he noticed Claire, the nurse looking to be cleaning up the discarded gauze, partially used biodine and different medical instruments. It didn't need to be said they were left behind from another failed injection of useless painkillers. He purposely overlooked the uncomfortably large needles she discarded on the tray.
“Can we get an emesis basin in here?” she called out.
A different nurse swung around with a metal kidney dish in her hands, and Tony quickly snatched it from her. He was quick to push past the flurry of activity, never once noticing that he left the nurse to stand empty-handed and seemingly dumbfounded. It only took him three broad steps to reach the far end of the room where Peter was.
“Hey, Underoo’s.” Tony hesitatingly laid down the emesis basin in Peter’s lap, his free hand going to rest on the kid’s semi-bare shoulder. “Looking a little rough around the edges there, bud.”
“Ngghhh...” Peter groaned.
‘Rough around the edges’ was putting it lightly. Tony grimaced; Peter was hunched forward in the bed, the baggy hospital gown draping off of him, his one arm weakly braced around his stomach while the other gripped the guardrail with surprising strength. His complex was frightening pale with only a twinge of pink highlighting his cheeks, and he rasped between choked-off cries.
“..’m fi-...I’m f-fin-….” Peter heaved and gasped, failing to finish more than a few syllables at a time before his voice cracked and gave out. “..‘m fin-...fin— oh, god, ‘urts...hurts...”
Tony set his jaw, feeling his teeth grind against each other while sympathy swirled unrestrained in his chest. The kid only stopped his bone-piercing cries to gasp, dry-heave or manage a twisted mixture of the two. The sound was hoarse and overall heart-breaking, and Tony found himself subconsciously tightening his grip on Peter’s shoulder in hopes it provided some semblance of reassurance.
“Mr. Stark,” Claire spoke up, standing not too far across from him, peeling off her latex gloves.
He looked up, his brows snapping together. “Ms. Temple.”
“Claire,” she corrected firmly, immediately following up with, “Doctor Cho instructed I not give him any more injections after the third attempt. Since you’re here, I’m...sorta hoping you...have a plan?”
Tony couldn’t decipher if her tone were more condescending or pessimistic. He blew out a slow breath and said, “I sure as hell hope so.”
It took less than two seconds of a pregnant silence before Claire scoffed in disbelief.
“Sweet Christmas,” she muttered, harshly tossing her used gloves into the nearest trash receptacle.
As Tony rubbed his palm in soft, circular motions on Peter’s shoulder, he made a mental note to ensure the nurse would be paid well for the headache they had put her through. Even he had to admit it was a cluster-fuck of a mess, and he wasn’t even directly involved in it.
For being Bruce’s recruit, she seemed able to put up with a lot of bullshit. He was at least thankful for that.
Peter’s harsh cry cut through his thoughts. “Nnnhh-ghh!”
He was quick to inch closer to the bed, his hip pressing harshly into the plastic safety rail.
“Hey, hey. Easy now, Parker,” Tony coaxed. “Easy there. Keep looking at me. Look at me for a hot second.”
Peter’s forehead creased, his eyes wide and screaming for help, the color gone and washed away from his face.
“Oh wow,” Peter gasped, his throat convulsing with each jarred swallow. “I — god. I f-f-eel…I feel real b-bad.”
Tony moved his hand to the small of Peter’s back. “Yeah, I bet. But I’m here, I’m going to fix this – we’re going to fix you up, you’ll be right as rain in no time.”
Something within his voice seemed to finally break through the persistent fog of pain that riddled Peter’s every sense.
'Gotcha.'
The kid craned his neck over slowly, carefully, and repeatedly blinked as if he didn’t trust his own eyes.
“...Mr. Stark?” His face was scrunched up and his breathing harsh and heavy. The bright, fluorescent lights around them only highlighted the glossy wetness glistening in his eyes, and one more blink would just make them another casualty to the many streams of tears that lined down his flushed cheeks.
Tony forced a half-smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “The one and only, kiddo.”
The gurgle that arose from his throat only further splintered Tony’s heart. In a millisecond the kid turned his head away from him, finding panicked comfort in the makeshift bucket sitting in his lap.
Tony leaned forward, inching his face closer to Peter’s eyesight. “What can we do for you, Peter? What do you need?”
“Nnnhhh….bright,” Peter croaked, his voice crackling from disuse. “..head ‘urts.”
He shut his eyes and held them tight, two fat teardrops falling down from his lashes in the process.
“FRIDAY, dim the lights,” Tony instructed, his voice low and quiet.
The AI complied, the harsh lights dimming to a soft glow, only a few scarce overhead bulbs providing staff a way to see their way around the room.
Still, Peter violently shook his head, and for a moment Tony could have sworn the kid began to tint a Bruce Banner shade of green.
“I'm gonna throw up,” Peter warned weakly.
Tony didn’t miss a beat, quickly grabbing and positioning the metal kidney dish up under Peter’s chin.
Bile splashed down into the basin, one shudder at a time as Peter heaved harshly.
“S-sorry. S’rry.” he choked on his free breath, struggling to take air in.“‘M s’rry.”
Tony shook his head, both in disagreement and disbelief. Even in pain, the kid was the epitome of perfect manners.
“Got nothing to apologize for, kiddo,” he reassured as warmly as he could, keeping the basin under his chin and his free hand on the kid’s back.
“Sorry.” Peter shuddered with a gasp, choking as a dry-heave hitched in his throat. “S’r-sorry.”
“Hey, kid, you’re okay. Don’t apologize,” Tony interjected. “I don’t want to hear another ‘sorry’ out of you, capiche?”
“Mhm...” Peter groaned as he dribbled out a string of saliva, his face twisting up in disgust when it dripped into the dish below. “...gross.”
He shakily took the basin from Tony and held it himself, or at the very most tried to. The trembles coming from him made Tony nervous, the shaking too hard for someone in his condition.
Tony stood silently, trying not to stare or cringe as Peter heaved again, opting instead to cup the back of the kid’s neck with his open palm. Sweat rolled in thick beads down from his scalp and made his skin damp, yet Tony didn’t have an ounce of energy within him to care.
It was strange; he had never been like this before, never been able to handle moments like this. Too uncomfortable. Too personal. Pepper had once gotten sick in his presence, and the most comfort he could muster up was staying half-way across the room while DUM-E held her hair back. To think he felt that was immaculate behavior coming from him.
This? One hand on the nape of Peter’s neck as his other stroked his arm in slow, sweeping, rhythmic motions — this somehow came naturally for him.
This was bending the very definition of who he was.
This was scaring the living shit out of him.
Luckily, it wasn’t long before Bruce came racing into the room, squeezing through the automatic glass paneled doors before they had fully opened. He immediately went to remove something from the pocket of his lab-coat.
“Hypodermic syringes?” he asked, showing off the tiny medicine vial between his fingers as if to clarify the need for an answer.
“Left top drawer,” Claire bluntly answered.
He barely got to the supply cabinet before she recognized what he was doing, quick to grab his arm when he reached up to the top shelf.
“Whoa whoa, hold up there, Doc Green.” Claire held his forearm with a firm grip. “I just gave him three spider-boy size doses of your super-special enhanced painkiller. What the hell are you about to —”
“It’s the new formula.” Bruce scanned her face for evidence that it was okay to continue. Claire only quirked an eyebrow in response. “Helen gave it the okay and Moira says it won’t cause a reaction.”
Claire let go of her grip only to fold both her arms over her chest. “Has it been tested?”
Bruce looked between Peter and then back to the vial of medicine in his hand.
“It’s...about to be?”
Her eye-roll could be seen across the room from where Tony stood, watching the two with growing impatience.
“And what’s in it?”
Bruce paused, blinked, and looked down to the vial in his hand. “It’s, well, it’s-it’s a cocktail, a-a mixture of things. Uhm, Dynorphin A with one-eight, Leumorphin— actually, there’s a wide range of opioid peptides, I think Moira actually created a new chemical in trying to suppress the arachidonic acid pathway in the prostaglandins. I guess you could say it’s close to Carfentanil? Though the structure of compound breakdown widely differs —”
“Wow,” Claire interrupted, her hand held in the air to stop him. “Okay, wait a damn minute, I’m going to go empty the supply of Narcan first.”
“Hey, can we stop procrastinating?” Tony argued. “This kid needs all the help he can get!”
“Tony, just...shhh!” Bruce hissed, finger pressed to his pursed lips. “Shhhh!”
Involuntarily, his eyebrows shot up.
“Did you just ‘shush’ me?” Tony looked to Claire as she left the room. “Did he just ‘shush’ me?”
She paid him no attention as she briskly walked out, aside from a few possible curses Tony chose to ignore. It was only when Bruce approached the other side of the bed that Tony realized where his aggravation came from — he had risen his voice.
A nurse had since already come and gone to retrieve the used emesis basin, and Peter now had both of his hands clamped over his ears, his head bowed low with incoherent grunts.
“Shit,” Tony mumbled. “Shit, sorry, kid.”
As if to further twist the knife in his gut, he managed to make out a “...s’kay.” between pained moans from Peter.
Bruce was multi-tasking between attaching a needle to the barrel of a syringe and eyeing the monitors ahead as he approached the bedside. Still, when he reached Peter, he focused his attention directly on the boy, gentle and quiet.
“Hey Pete, not doing so great, are you?”
Hearing Bruce talk, calm and patient, reminded Tony of A, how panicked he felt and B, how crucial it was to keep that panic in check. He had unraveled, he could sense it. Despite the flurry of activity in the room, everyone sans him remained calm. He needed to do the same, especially now, especially with Peter as far off as he was.
The kid was always like a sponge, soaking up the aura’s surrounding him. Now wasn’t the time for him to lose his cool.
Peter furrowed his brows and frowned, his glassy eyes looking over at Bruce with a grimace.
“...hey, Doctor Banner,” he croaked.
Shaking his head, Bruce uncapped the syringe and stuck it within the medicine vial, pulling on the plunger slowly to withdrawal the liquid.
“Now come on Pete, we went over this,” he said. “You call me Bruce.”
Peter managed a nod. “..’kay...s’rry.”
“That’s okay.” Bruce set the empty medicine vial aside and tapped twice on the side of the syringe to release any air, all while keeping his eyes focused on Peter. “Hey, you know, I took a look at that webbing of yours. It’s quite the stuff.”
“You hear that?” Tony kept his tone lighthearted, hard-pressed to distract Peter. “Even Bruce Banner is impressed with you, kiddo.”
Peter’s only response was a groan, his breathing ragged and heavy, each inhale receiving a choked grunt that sounded more painful by the second. Tony didn’t have to imagine what type of pain he was in — he had been there before, each breath he took in that cave a stabbing agony.
His mouth set in a grim line and concern etched deep into the contours of his face — God, he had wanted so much better for Peter, and yet here he was, reliving all the similar horrors of his life.
“...I don’t...” Peter threw his head back, slamming straight back into the mountain of pillows behind his neck. “I’m not...feeling good.”
Tony frowned. He realized that in a poor attempt to control his pain, the kid was holding back on each agonized breath, to the point where the monitors had begun to beep and chirp with alarms.
“I know, but you gotta breathe, buddy,” Tony said. “You’re holding your breath, you have to breathe.”
Peter’s face was scrunched up in pain, and he let out a soft whimper. “..’urts. Hurts...to breathe.”
Tony winched in sympathy. “I bet it does.”
Bruce, thankfully, silenced the alarms from the wall mounted oxygen panel before laying a gentle hand on Peter’s other shoulder, bringing down the thin, green hospital gown with his grip.
“Okay Peter, we’re going to try something new for you, okay?” He was already cleaning the port to one of the many IV’s near Peter’s collarbone. “This might burn a little going in, but it should help make you feel better.”
If the injection of medicine did indeed bother him, Peter didn’t let it show. The entire time Bruce emptied the contents of the syringe through his IV, Peter stayed staring straight ahead, occasionally blinking and smacking his chapped lips.
“... whoa ...”
The effects were immediate, more-so than any other drug they had given the kid.
“Taste...funny,” Peter managed to mumble, his words thick and slurred. “Like...coconut.”
Every muscle in his body visibly loosened, one by one until he started drifting forward, to the point where Tony had to tighten his grip and keep him steady. Both him and Bruce gently pushed him back against the pillows of the bed, comfortably arranging his limbs for him.
And as Peter sagged into the comfort of the mattress, all tension drained from his muscles, Tony sagged in relief with him. The adrenaline surge left his body all at once.
He lifted a brow, waiting expectantly. “Feeling better?”
Peter wearily nodded, his lashes fluttering with little attempt to keep his eyes open. Each movement of his became slower until eventually, he found himself leaning to the side, his shoulder resting heavily against Tony’s chest.
“There ya go, that’s it.” Helplessly, Tony found the corners of his mouth curling upward, and without a second thought he tangled his fingers into Peter’s sweat-dampened hair. The kid’s head lolled into his chest like a rag-doll, and it was only then Tony realized this was the closest he had been to Peter since…
It became quiet. The few nurses still in the room preoccupied themselves with their assigned tasks and the machinery surrounding them drastically quieted down, no longer the angry beasts they once were.
At that moment, everything seemed to melt away, as if the sounds and sights surrounding him ceased to exist. Words darted away from him, and as everyone else stopped talking, he found it unnecessary to converse himself. He focused on the gentle rise and fall of Peter’s chest, the soft breathing that escaped from his mouth, the peace that encompassed his face.
‘He’s okay.’ Fingers carded through Peter’s hair, lightly massaging his scalp without even realizing it. His heart fluttered in a soft beat as the kid fell lax. It was, without any doubt, the most calm he had seen from the kid in days.
It was easily the best thing he had seen in weeks.
His wandering fingers untangled from the soft, brown curls down to Peter’s cheek, the back of his hand stroking his relaxed facial features. With it, he brushed away the drying tears that smeared across his skin.
“Tony?”
His name was said with an audible clearing of someone’s throat. He shot his head up, comically surprised to see Bruce staring back at him, the corners of his lips twitching with a slight smirk.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
Tony was mildly disturbed that he did not, in fact, recall hearing the man say anything. His forehead creased and he shook his head.
“I said you can go, finish whatever you were working on.” Bruce waved to the door behind him with one hand, the other fiddling with the blood pressure cuff strapped around Peter’s bicep. “We’re good here — I’ll draw up some labs in the next hour, check his peak and trough levels but...I think we finally got it.”
Those four words seemingly extinguished every ounce of concern, stress, and tension that had been bogging Tony down. He could have easily been a balloon swaying in the wind with how light he suddenly felt, dangerously so. His hand dropped from Peter, and he gripped the guard railings in an attempt to steady himself, his blood rushing to his head so fast it made him lightheaded.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll, uh...” Tony patted the railings, letting go completely to walk away from the bed. “I’ll get back to work, then.”
Bruce hummed in response, maybe pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose – Tony wasn’t too sure. He had yet to fully turn around, walking backward and barely missing trolley carts and wandering staff in his inattentiveness.
Peter was out like a light, sound asleep. Tony was pretty sure the kid was snoring by now.
He took that as his cue to leave, turning to walk through the automatic doors only to pause the moment he reached them.
“You sure you got this?” he asked, a noticeable edge in his voice.
Bruce never looked his way as he responded, “I got this.”
Tony nodded, stepping outside with hands stuffed deep inside his jacket.
He made it four steps out of the med-bay before turning back around, striding through the doors once more with profound purpose and deep skepticism.
“You sure? ‘Cause you know I can sta-”
“Tony.” Bruce shot his head over, glaring.
Tony held his hands up placatingly. “I’m going. Jeeze. Kicked out of my own building.”
In his peripheral he watched Bruce chart down numbers and data, all the while Peter slept serenely, for once no stress outlining his features. The mere act of leaving had him feeling unhinged, an unsettling ball of anxiousness boiling hot in his gut.
Tony didn’t spare a glance back as he walked out of the room.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave had he bothered.
The walk back to his workshop was a blur, more a vague memory than an actual recollection of his actions. He stood idly once he walked inside and the doors shut behind him, staring ahead in the room without much thought of what to do.
He had been finding solace in his work the past couple days, a decent distraction that kept his thoughts at bay. Somehow though, everything surrounding him, all the work he had laid out in front of him — it only seemed to leave a bad taste in his mouth.
This wasn’t where he wanted to be. Not anymore, at least not right now.
He mentally stuffed away the thought. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’
“FRIDAY,” he spoke up. “Do me a favor.”
Her Irish-accented voice rang through the ceiling. “Yes, boss?”
Tony scrubbed a hand down his face as he collapsed into the nearest chair, wheeling half-way across the workshop before he came to a stop. “Get me updates on the kid. Every five minutes. I want to know what’s going on in there.”
His overt anxiety was met with a snarky response. “May I suggest that I provide an update when a change, if any, occurs?”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay, mom.”
He really couldn’t be too mad. After all, it was him that programmed the AI to be the way she was, and though she’d never fill the missing hole that JARVIS left behind, there were times she certainly got close to it.
With a gesture of his hand and a few swipes of holographic computer images, Tony pulled up the schematics for the ‘new skin’ project he had been working on.
“Alright Parker,” Tony muttered, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s fix that leg of yours.”
His focus conveyed an intent to get things right, to start channeling his anxiety for something useful. Robotics, mechanics, calculations, inventing, fixing — it was his element, what he was best at. He had stopped making weapons for a reason. He swore he’d use his genius for something better, for inventions that would help people, not harm them. To fix problems, not cause them.
Working out the placement for nanites in the new leg brace and correct mathematics to make it function, Tony decided that it was about time he started living up to that promise.
There was a scuffle of movement as Tony blindly reached for his phone, his eyes burning focus into the computer screens ahead of him. He almost immediately regretted the decision to open the slew of text messages that awaited him.
His fingers padded out a response, half his attention on the phone while mostly focused on the calculations written in front of him.
It wasn’t even a few seconds later when another ding resounded from the StarkPhone. The man always was a quick texter -- when he wanted to be.
Tony practically snorted at the incredulity of the text, his fingers gliding across the screen with precise speed.
Glancing at the time on the phone, Tony realized he had spent a better portion of the day in his workshop. He stood from his stool with a tired grunt and stretched his arms out in the air.
It was time for a change of scenery.
He multi-tasked on his way to his destination, one thumb tapping his touchscreen while he walked the mildly calm hallways of the compound. It was quiet, only night staff occupying the space, guards at their posts while most areas — training quarters, conference rooms — they were shut down for the evening. It was a completely different atmosphere than earlier in the afternoon, a bare skeleton staff keeping the place afloat.
Tony was in the elevator when the response came through.
The ride up to the med-bay was a lot calmer this time around. Tony wasn’t even paying attention as the elevator glided upward, the slow pace nothing more than an afterthought.
‘Hm.’ Tony tapped his foot on the ground just as the doors dinged open. He couldn’t argue with the statement —‘Rogers did say something about that.’ A part of him was relieved that she felt confident enough to leave Peter during this entire mess, declaring an unspoken, implicit trust in Tony to make sure he was taken care of.
He figured he at least owed it to her to keep her updated while she was away.
Tony turned the corner and entered the med-bay with a smirk, finishing the conversation with one last text.
The infirmary seemed to have a different feel to it. The atmosphere was lighter, the tension greatly diminished. Even walking by Peter’s hospital room was less stressful, containing a drastic lack of pandemonium that he'd become acquainted with.
Things had changed, he felt like he could breathe again, almost as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.
The dopey-eyed teenager playing with wires and tubing that surrounded him probably had something to do with that.
Tony pulled back his shoulders as he walked through the automatic doors. Bruce stood at Peter’s bedside, focused intently on the needle he had between his fingers, injecting contents of a syringe through the central line embedded in Peter’s chest.
Peter was wrapping the wire of his heart monitor around his finger like some ditsy teenager playing with the coiled cable of a telephone.
“How we doing in here?” Tony asked, approaching Bruce and patting him on the shoulder.
Bruce looked up and over at him, his glasses sliding down to the bride of his nose.
“Good,” he said, nodding. “We’re...we’re good. Great actually, definitely on the right track. The adjustments are going well. Helen added some more sedative to the painkiller this afternoon, I’m actually going to try it out now. We’re hoping that the more he sleeps, the faster his healing factor will rev into gear.”
The sight somehow gave Tony a different answer, seeing Bruce work directly with the IV’s leading to Peter’s heart making him uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He decided to cross to the other side of the bed, watching with a smirk as Peter’s groggy eyes followed him like a lost puppy.
“Yeah, right.” Tony pointed to the needle in Bruce’s hand. “Should you be doing that?”
Despite his uneasiness, Bruce seemed to be finishing up whatever he had been doing. With a shrug, he discarded the used needle in the nearest sharps bin.
“It’s fine,” he insisted. “I have steady hands.”
As if on cue, Bruce went to grab the empty medicine vial on the tray next to him, only for it to slip out of his grasp. Like something straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon, he struggled to catch the tiny container; the glass bottle hoping between both his hands before ultimately falling and clattering around to the ground.
Tony quirked an eyebrow.
Bruce smiled sheepishly.
“That doesn’t count.”
“Sure. Whatever you say, Doc Green.” Tony gave an exaggerated wink in his direction that Bruce either didn’t see or decided not to pay any mind to. He had a feeling it was the latter.
Tony's fingers fiddled with the plastic tubing hanging down from the multiple IV bags, and he barely missed a beat in conversation.
“Hey, now that you’re done playing scientist with the girls, can I pass off the new skin project to you?”
“Tony.” The dark bags under Bruce’s eyes suddenly seemed to stand out as he whined, “I want to sleep.”
Tony found it hard to argue with him. It had been rough week on everyone, but for Bruce, the past couple days were non-stop madness.
“I’ve reached a brick wall, I’m outta my field now,” he said. “You know bio-oganics better than anyone else.”
Bruce appeared tired, the whites of his eyes fissured by fine red cracks, and he rubbed his forehead with the back of his latex-gloved hands.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll...” he sighed, sounding defeated. “I’ll pick it up in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Tony earnestly drawled out, the raw appreciation in his words seemingly deflating his entire being. He edged closer to Peter, clasping his palm against the kid’s gown-covered shoulder. “Parker, how you doing, hm?”
Peter didn’t look up from his lap, eyeing both his wrists with profound curiosity.
“When...whendidI...get Fitbits?” he hoarsely slurred, raising both his hands to show off the sleek and slim black bands.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Those aren’t Fitbits, dum dum.”
Peter tilted his head up to him, brown and glassy eyes wide with amazement.
“Their Starkbits?” he blurted out, tugging on the devices with sluggish and uncoordinated movements.
“Their state of the art bone stabilizing bracelets for fractured —” Tony grabbed Peter’s hand, grasping it within his own when the kid continued to yank and pull. “Stop playing with them! Christ.”
Bruce chuckled, wordlessly leaning over to untangle the wires of the pulse ox monitor clipped onto Peter’s index finger. The kid was in his own world, his attention enthralled at the technology strapped around his wrists, barely noticing as Bruce took his other hand and gently untangled the mess he created in his excitement.
“Wait,” Peter paused for a second, staring straight at Tony as he opened and closed his mouth like a wish out of water. “What happ’ned to my web-shoot’rs?”
“Those broke too,” Tony plainly explained.
“Aw man. They br'ke?” Peter blinked lazily, his lids nearly staying closed until a sudden thought had his eyes popping wide open again. “Wait, wha’ else broke?”
For the love of all things holy —
“Your wrists, kiddo.” Tony frowned, looking up and over at Bruce. “How high is he right now?”
Bruce couldn’t help but smile, gesturing over his head and to the ceiling as if to answer ‘very’.
Tony shook his head with a chuckle; it was better than the alternative, for sure. He’d take loopy Peter over agonized Peter any day of the week. There was finally a silver lining appearing over the horizon, and he had no shame reveling in it.
“Like I said, we’re working on adding more sedative and reducing the chemicals that produce the fugue state. It’s a tricky balance, we’re monitoring his kidney and liver values closely to avoid any short term or long term effects...” Bruce removed his latex gloves with a snap. “But...it’s a starting point. We’re on a good trajectory of forward progress.”
“I miss my web-shoot’rs,” Peter whined.
It took every ounce of strength Tony had in him not to laugh. One look at Peter and the saucer-wide eyes, combined with slow, drowsy blinking, reminded him that the kid's mental state wasn’t one-hundred percent there. Not fair to laugh at that.
Still, it was a breath of fresh air to hear the kid talk, and for once in what honestly felt like a lifetime, not be in pain.
Yeah, he’d definitely take this Peter Parker any day of the week.
Tony used his free hand to pat the hand that he held, almost as an apology. “We’ll get you new ones.”
Peter moaned, “But I liked those.”
“Yeah?” Tony blew out a sigh, shifting his weight on his feet. “Well, I’ve made some great strides with that nanotech suit, the one you saw me working on throughout winter? Why don’t you play around with some nanites for a new model when you get better, how does that sound? Yes?”
Peter gaped. “I can make web-shoot’rs out of nan’ites?”
Tony directed his gaze squarely at Peter, amazed at the child-like wonder that seeped from the kid’s very core, his eyes sparkling like it was Christmas morning.
It wasn’t just the drugs, no, this was beyond that. This was Peter. Because, while it had been days since he last saw it, the wonder that lit up his eyes was the same type of awe and fascination he’d see on their lab nights together, when they’d work on projects that any average teenager wouldn’t have the intelligence for.
But Peter was different. Peter had always been different.
And in one instant, in one blink, he saw just how different Peter was. One second he was looking at him, brown hair sticking up in a mess, skin dry and flushed, eyes wide with life albeit heavily medicated.
And then it was gone. He was back there, back in the base. Peter’s skin dripping wet, hair drenched and clinging to his forehead, blood dripping from his temple, clad in his Spider-Man suit sans mask. Injured but not helpless, standing over the body of the man who had nearly killed him and —
Tony shook his head deliberately to release the vision, squeezing his grip on Peter’s hand.
“Kid, you can do whatever you want.” His tone did little to hide the affection in his words.
“Cool,” Peter simply drawled out, blissfully unaware to the troubles Tony thought of. He nodded his head up and down until his movements came to a slow, grinding halt, eyes flickering in a losing battle to keep them open.
“I’mma...take anap’now,” he mumbled, eventually settling back against the mountain of pillows resting behind his head.
“Sounds good like a good plan,” Tony murmured. “Happy trails, kid.”
“...’thks...Mr. ‘ark...”
Tony eventually sighed, his head dipping low into a nod. “That’s what I’m here for, bud.”
He was ninety percent sure Peter hadn’t heard him, the kids head already lolled to the side and his teeth visible when his mouth slacked open. Tony gave his hand one more pat before going to release his hold.
“What the —”
That couldn’t be right.
It took a handful of blinks and a shake of his head for Tony to realize his exhaustion hadn’t gotten the best of him. No, Peter’s hand was undoubtedly stuck to him, as sticky as damn flypaper.
He shook and pulled, gentle at first with more force as time went on.
“Spiderling, let go.” Tony shook harder, Peter’s arm shaking like a wet noodle. “Seriously, let go, Pete.”
Bruce chuckled from where he stood, only stopping when Tony managed to give him a rather-exhausted looking stink-eye.
“You, uh,” Bruce cleared his throat tentatively, slipping off his glasses and cleaning them with the bottom of his shirt. “You hear from Natasha at all?”
Tony made a noticeable face.
“No. Won’t for a while. She’s with Rogers down at national headquarters.” Tony huffed, using his other arm to try and yank Peter’s hand away. He pulled as hard as he felt comfortable and yet there was no detachment in sight. “This is unreal. I’m actually stuck to the kid right now, Banner.”
“National — w-wow," Bruce stammered. "Uh, how, why...”
It took a moment for Tony to remember that the scientist had all but been locked up in his lab for the past couple days, so focused on getting Peter’s meds right that he hadn’t quite been involved with the team since their return from the base.
Tony shrugged. “No clue. They’re keeping it hush-hush.”
“Does this have to do with...” Bruce didn’t need to complete his thought, both of them looking to Peter as if it answered his question.
“Yeah.” Tony let out a deep exhalation, one that blew Peter’s hair away from his forehead, not that the kid noticed or cared. “It’s okay, though, I’ve already put in a few phone calls, talked to a few people. SHIELD will give them a good spanking, at most, slap on the wrist. They’ll be back before you even realize how long it’s been since you played hide the zucchini with Jessica Rabbit.”
Bruce flushed a hot red, a deep contrast to the green so normally found on his skin.
“No, we haven’t — we aren’t — that’s not —”
“You’re tip-toeing, big guy.” Tony mustered a smile, the best he could manage at the time. “And life is short. Go get what you want while you still can.”
Bruce turned back to the IV wires hanging from the pole, fiddling with nothing in particular along the way.
“I don’t...every time get what I want,” he said, dejectedly.
Tony stared down at Peter’s sleeping, relaxed form with what he would adamantly deny, at all costs, was a fond look in his eyes. Clearly, the exhaustion had gotten the best of him, as Bruce gestured his glasses in his direction with a soft smile.
“You can, though,” Bruce added.
“Hm?” Tony hummed, lacking any articulate words.
Bruce quietly shrugged as he turned back towards the bed. “I know I’ve been gone for a while, Tony, but I think I still have a pretty good read on you.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. Bruce wasn’t the first or even the fifth person to pry into his personal life, and the amount of patience he had for the intrusion was boiling down into the negatives.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tony retorted sharply, exaggerating a grimace and lifting his hand, attached to Peter’s hand and subsequently his arm with it. The kid wasn’t remotely phased, completely knocked out. “And can we please focus on this problem right now? Go — get adhesive remover, some goo-be-gone, WD-40, something to get this kid off me!”
Bruce seemed to back off under the scrutiny, though Tony could tell his anger and protectiveness had been noted. It was a brief moment of weakness that passed through him in a matter of seconds, still obvious to the human eye. Maybe had he blinked, the scientist could have easily missed the shift in character before he returned to his cool and collected self.
“Just give it a few minutes,” Bruce insisted. “His abilities will likely go dormant the more he relaxes.”
There was a brief pause between them, an unguarded moment of silence only broken by the language of medical equipment. With his one hand now indefinitely occupied, Tony’s inability to rub his other arm clearly became an aggravation, an old injury never having healed making its presence known. The skin around his eyes pulled taut with frustration as he stared over in that direction
“You two deserve each other, you know,” Bruce distracted, slipping his glasses into the pocket of his lab coat, looking at Tony with a sense of empathy. “You and Peter? You’re good for each other.”
Tony dropped his gaze. “Yeah, that’s what everyone seems to say.”
Bruce quirked an eyebrow.
“You don’t agree?” He took a beat before asking, “Or do you?”
Tony lifted his hand high, bringing Peter’s arm with it. His growing annoyance spoke the words he didn’t need to say.
“Huh. This is...fascinating.” Bruce crossed to his side of the bed, using his pencil to examine Tony and Peter’s hands without directly touching them. “You know, I’ve been wondering how that works for him, the—the natural superglue, the stickiness. I wasn’t sure if he needed to focus on using it, or focus on not using it. Looks like it’s the latter.”
Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. “Great. So you drugged the kid up only to attach him to my hip for the next — what, eight to ten hours?”
“I’m sure he’ll let go soon. Besides, it’s not like you couldn’t use the sleep anyway.” Bruce gave what Tony was almost positive to be a smirk on his way out. “Sweet dreams to you both.”
Tony rubbed his eyes with his free hand, the one not currently attached to a clingy and doped up spider-kid, and he didn’t stop until he saw a multitude of colors beneath his closed lids.
He couldn’t deny that the idea of sleep sounded genuinely heavenly. His exhaustion ran bone deep; he had lost track of how long it had been since he had gotten a full nights rest.
Three days? Six, maybe eight?
Ten years?
“Oh, Tony?”
Tony looked up, cocking an eyebrow with weak annoyance at the sight of Bruce still standing at the entryway of the room, glass paneled doors already sliding open and waiting for his exit.
“I gotta say, whatever you have with Peter...whatever you want to call it...” Bruce met his eyes with a lopsided smile. “It looks good on you. It suits you.”
As he watched the man leave, with his white lab coat rustling behind him, Tony had expected the comment to tighten the ever-growing knot that had been forming in his stomach.
Somehow though, for reasons he was sure he would never fully understand, it only seemed to loosen that messed up contortion of emotion he had braiding and bunching inside of him.
The doors slid shut with a slight whoosh and he looked to the ceiling when the sensors dimmed the lights from above.
Tony sighed, kicking off his shoes while simultaneously lowering the plastic guard rail to the hospital bed.
“Alright...scoot over, spider-brat,” he muttered. “Looks like we’re bunk-mates for the night.”
There was no bite or heat to Tony’s words. He honestly couldn’t feel any less irritated if he had tried.
Bruce was right, he could really use the sleep. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been waking up every couple hours to check on Peter anyway.
This would kill a couple birds with a repulsor beam, or something to that nature.
Seriously. He was tired.
Getting settled was less difficult than he initially anticipated. Peter was already resting on the far end of the slightly over-sized hospital bed, leaving plenty of room for Tony to lay down next to him. Honestly though, they could have been laying down on a slab of rock and Tony would have been comfortable, his lethargic muscles willing to take any rest they could get.
It took a moment for him to adjust, paying extra attention not to jostle the teen in any way that may cause him pain while still being mindful of his large frame occupying the once empty space. He laid down on the half-risen bed, not bothering to get under the blankets and sheets. They were more for Peter than for himself; he, at best, would only be here for a couple of hours.
Tony gave Peter a once over before snatching a pillow from behind his head, slipping it behind his back with an over-exaggerated grunt.
“I’m getting old, kid, and if I’m stuck here I might as well be comf—whoa!” Tony nearly jumped out of his skin when Peter tipped sideways, his body weight all but slamming into his shoulder. “Oh, jeeze, kiddo.”
He froze, mouth gaped open, his mind reeling to a halt.
Did that just…?
Tony’s eyes glanced from the nondetachable clasp he had on Peter’s hand, back up to where the kid slept against him, his head nestling into the crook of Tony’s neck, mouth slightly ajar and snoring lightly.
The brown curls tickled the bottom of his chin and Tony lifted his hand to adjust the nasal cannula around Peter’s face, the plastic having gone slightly askew against his nose.
Peter’s only response was a light sigh combined with a smack of his lips.
“Well.” Tony cleared his throat. “This is new.”
And boy was it ever.
Tony frowned, gazing at Peter for a moment, his heart soaring somewhere between his head-space and the ceiling.
He had never been one for close contact like this, often not even with Pepper. Yet he didn’t dare move the kid — not for fear of waking him up, no, that was a concern long since gone. The steady drip drop from the IV bag across his way told him Peter would be out for a while, and after everything that had gone down the past couple days, he couldn’t be more thankful for it.
Tony's free hand went to brush away the soft, brown locks from his forehead, pushing it back with his open palm. Peter seemed so relaxed, so comfortable leaning against him that he wanted nothing more than to relish in the peace that this brought them.
The cold chill to the room began to drift away, a foreign warmth taking its place, settling deep in Tony’s chest. It wasn’t from Peter — a brief glance to the monitors showed the kid had a normal temperature, no higher than ninety-seven degrees. Tony decided not to dwell it.
He crossed his legs and positioned his hands — and the one attached to him — in his lap.
“Sweet dreams, Underroo’s,” Tony muttered, patting the hand that he held.
As if on cue, FRIDAY turned off the remaining few lights in the room.
Tony had his eyes closed before she had even bothered, the overwhelming, leaden fatigue finally taking over. Only the glow from the monitors and the moonlight shining through the curtains highlighted the shadows of their environment.
The calm and mellow breathing from Peter was enough to relax him, each inhale and exhale bringing forth a catharsis he so desperately needed. Soon he found his own breathing evening out, slowly but surely syncing to the rhythm of Peter’s.
Calm. Gentle. Steady.
The machinery’s beeps, buzzing and chirping faded away into white noise, nothing more than a story that no longer needed to be told.
The kid was finally sleeping, his body finally given a chance to recover.
Tony drifted with him, his pessimistic side reminding him that this one victory wouldn’t erase the rest of their troubles. There was still what seemed to be an insurmountable amount of steps for them to take, steps they would have to take in increments, and it wouldn't be easy. And it wasn’t going to get any better overnight.
But for right now, with Peter’s head tucked towards his chest, his palm clasped around the teen’s much smaller hand and the curls of his hair resting against his chin, he slept.
For the first time since the cryptic note from Strange, the burning building, the freezing ocean waters — for the first time in days, his mind finally went quiet.
And with it, Tony truly slept.
And it was the easily best sleep he’d ever gotten.
Happy swiped his employee badge to gain access to the compound, the chirp chirp that followed unlocking the door.
“After you,” he insisted, holding it open for May.
She gave him a sloppy salute. “Why thank you, good sir.”
It was early morning by the time they both arrived back at the compound. The sun was rising over the large facility, and the light mocked them in unflattering ways, highlighting the dark bags sitting under their eyes.
May couldn’t be blamed for the entirety of their late-night outing; though she easily spent longer than anticipated digging through Peter’s belongings for what she needed, the drive alone was a couple hours round trip and the spontaneous stop to Happy’s favorite diner only added to their time.
She didn’t mind. It was nice finally seeing something besides the same four walls.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hit up the cafeteria before going back to the infirmary?” Happy asked, as if reading her thoughts. He pointed his thumb behind his back, the two of them already starting to go their separate directions. “If you get there early enough before the SHIELD trainees ran-sack the place, you can get the bagels while they're still fresh out of the oven. ”
“Happy.” May shook her head with a laugh. “I’m good, really. I think I just want to curl up in a chair and take a nice, long nap.”
Happy shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll save you one, just in case.”
His wink didn’t go unnoticed. May chuckled, pulling up the strap of her purse as she walked away.
“And they said chivalry was dead.”
It had been a long enough week that, despite how large the facility was, she now knew the way to areas like the cafeteria and, of course, Peter’s personal quarters. Still, her feet took the same path she had memorized back to the med-bay.
May didn’t have any need to go elsewhere; at least, that’s what she figured at the time.
Happy was half-way down the hall when he spun around, raising his voice to get her attention. “Hey, you wanted all that stuff in Peter’s room with you, right?”
May met his gaze. “Everything but the box,” she called out.
“Well, yeah, of course,” Happy said, remembering the conversation they had over hot coffee and greasy diner food. “I’ll take care of that tomorrow. Good?”
May nodded. “Good. Thanks, Happy.”
She hated leaving his company, but she wasn’t lying when she said that she wanted to sleep — sleep for hours, days if she could. Right now, she’d be grateful for just a nap.
A normal sleep schedule didn’t mean anything anymore, not with Peter here, not as long as he was injured and recovering. Sleeping while the sun rose over the horizon was a mere act of survival, unusual for most but now a necessity for her.
Nurses quietly greeted her as she walked the halls of the infirmary and May waved back, only failing to greet a few when she took the time to throw her hair up into a sloppy bun. She couldn’t remember the last time she had washed it.
The effort was forgotten when she turned the corner that led to Peter’s room, her hands dropping from behind her head and her long, brown hair falling back down with neglect.
She came to a sudden halt, frowning as she looked ahead with a cocked head and perplexed expression.
“Huh.”
May froze at the entryway, not even close enough for the automatic doors to slide open. The glass panels gave a clear sight to what laid inside, or, well — who laid inside.
While it had become normal to see Peter resting, asleep in the hospital bed within the room, seeing Tony lay side-by-side with him, her nephew using the billionaire as his own personal pillow — well, that was...more uncommon.
God, her life had gotten to be so bizarre.
It wasn’t long until she began to chuckle, her shoulders jostling up and shaking down the strap of her purse until she needed to fetch it from the crook of her elbow.
“Alright then,” she murmured to no one in particular.
She realized that after nearly a week in the compound, she’d finally be utilizing space outside of the infirmary. It was a good thing Happy had showed her Peter’s quarters after all.
Maybe it was for the best, she supposed. And not necessarily just for her.
May smiled, pulling out her cell phone and snapping a quick picture of the scene ahead of her. It was a close enough distance that, reviewing the impromptu photo, she could see Peter sleeping soundly against Tony’s chest as the older man used the crown of her nephew’s head for cushion.
It took two taps on her touchscreen to create a text message with the image attached, clicking the recipient she wanted to send it to from her contact list.
The message written was simple.
With the pad of her thumb she hit send, turning around to leave and let the two rest without any interruptions. Walking back through the hallways, she found that there was surprisingly less weight on her shoulders than when she first arrived.
Maybe she would stop and get a bagel after all.