Building Blocks
“We’re all set here in the operating room. Transport is about to bring him down now, better hurry if you want to wish him good luck.”
Tony blew a sigh through his cheeks, weaving in and out of the crowds that filled the busy hallways of the compound. His cell phone was tucked tightly between his shoulder and neck while his free hand tossed a dark blue stress ball in the air, repeatedly catching it like the act was second nature.
“You sure it’s ready to go?” he nervously asked.
Bruce chuckled on the other line. “Never seen you so apprehension about your own tech before, Tony.”
He caught the stress ball and squeezed it tightly. “Banner —”
“Listen,” Bruce started. “The ‘new skin’ passed every test with flying colors. You wanted the external fixation device off his leg, right? Now’s as good of a time as any.”
The large floor-to-ceiling windows Tony passed by in the hallways glared the afternoon sun against his face, briefly making him regret leaving his workshop in the first place. He quickly whipped out his yellow-tinted, wire-framed glasses from his blazer pocket and slid them over his eyes.
“Question of the rhetorical variety —”
“No,” Bruce sharply interrupted.
Tony pulled a face. “Hey! As a physician —”
“I don’t have an M.D.”
“As someone with seven PhD’s—”
“I’m a gamma physicist, Tony,” Bruce stressed. “But even with the medical credentials I have, we both know this invention is a large leap in biomedical advancements. You’re worrying for nothing. We’ll remove the external fixation rod and slip the nanite wrap around his leg and it’ll do exactly what you designed it to — promote tissue healing and cartilaginous callus formation.”
“Right. Sounds like a piece of cake.” Tony’s words failed to convey any hint of confidence, the rubber ball in his hand already squeezed down to half its size.
“He’ll be fine. Even if the device is a dud, his healing factor is kicking in stronger by the day,” Bruce reassured. “Not to mention, if this does what we want it to, it could do wonders within the health care industry. I gotta say, it’s...it’s quite impressive.”
Tony turned the corner with a huff. “Yeah, well, I suppose it’s only fitting I right the wrongs of my last invention with something worthwhile.”
Cutting through a pack of SHIELD trainees, Tony was quick to catch sight of a familiar teammate standing amidst the blue-uniformed soldiers.
“Let me know how it goes when you’re all done, okay?” he said, quick to wrap up the conversation.
Bruce let out a hum, ending the call with a prompt, “Will do.”
Stuffing his phone down into his pant pockets, Tony proceeded to place two fingers against the tips of his lips, letting out a sharp whistle that pierced through the air.
“Hey, Wilson!”
Sam looked over his shoulder, stopping his conversation with some no-name face Tony had never seen before and was sure he’d never see again. It was one of the disadvantages of sharing the Avengers compound with SHIELD — trainees came and went faster than his money at a local charity event.
A beat passed where Sam said his goodbyes to the fresh-faced soldier, reluctantly approaching Tony with arms folded tightly over his chest.
“You know,” Sam huffed a breath of annoyance, sternly stating, “I’m not some dog for you to call over, Stark.”
Tony patted him on the back. “No, you’re a bird. Follow me, walk and talk.”
Though Sam heavily rolled his eyes, he did just that, crossing through the crowd and stepping into the nearest elevator together.
Sam wasn’t surprised at the floor number Tony chose, equally unsurprised when he hurried to close the elevator doors before anyone else could step in.
“Hey!” A voice breathlessly called out.
Sam stepped forward. “Hold the —”
“Oh no,” Tony’s voice was monotone and sarcastically flat, his finger repeatedly pressing the close door button. “Can’t stop it. Sorry, better catch the next one.”
The doors slid shut and an aggravated curse could be heard as the elevator began to whir into motion, gracefully riding them up the building.
Sam stared at Tony, eyes narrowed with a mixture of aversion and annoyance.
Tony shrugged, deadpanned. “What?”
Huffing, Sam shook his head and turned back to the doors in front of them. He wasn’t surprised at the behavior, all too characteristic of the Tony Stark he knew. The billionaire had gone back to hiding behind a pair of flashy sunglasses and wearing a blue blazer that covered — wait, was he wearing a t-shirt with a kitten on it?
Sam pursed his lips and relented, dropping a bit of the tension that resided in his shoulders. Despite the air of cockiness the man had, he tried to tell himself Tony wasn’t all too bad at the end of the day.
Even if it was Steve’s voice in his head insisting it.
Speaking of — Sam kept his eyes locked straight ahead as he asked, “You hear anything from Steve and the others?”
Tony shook his head. “Nope, not a peep. Why, you worried?”
Sam scoffed. “The last thing I heard was that they were detained at SHIELD national headquarters after taking the blame for something we all decided to do. Yeah, I might be a little concerned.”
“Eh, all wish-wash,” Tony dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Rogers is like an endangered species, Fury would never lay a hand on him.”
The elevator dinged and the doors split open to the floor Sam expected them to arrive at, the crisp blue med-bay walls and sharp antiseptic smells instantly greeting them.
“What do you want, Stark?” he asked, sounding distinctly unimpressed as they both exited the elevator.
Tony stuffed his hands deeper into his pant pockets. “I need your expertise. Cap said you’re good with trauma, PTSD, all that stuff?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I’ve dipped my toes in it before. Who’s asking?”
“No one specifically,” Tony strained to sound nonchalant as they took a corner. “But between you and me, I think the kid might be having some trouble dealing.”
Though Tony remained vague, Sam didn’t need to ask for specifics. It had barely been two weeks since Peter was back, but he was far from surprised to hear there might be difficulty in dealing with the aftermath.
Hell, Sam needed to hear the story a few times over just to grasp the finer details. He couldn’t imagine dealing with something so intense, especially at Peter’s young age.
Still, he threw caution to the wind. “What makes you say that?”
"Call it intuition.” Tony warily said, barely managing to side-step a nurse that quickly cut between the two of them.
Sam managed a hum. “Well, you would know first-hand what it’s like being kidnapped and held hostage.”
Tony blew out a deep breath, keeping his strides long and fast through the infirmary halls.
“He’s putting on a good front. Or maybe it hasn’t hit him yet, I don’t know, maybe both.” Tony stopped so abruptly that Sam needed to walk back a few steps to stay by his side. “I need a favor.”
The request was so sudden that Sam didn’t have time to hide his look of surprise. He turned to face Tony, tilting his chin up with suspicion.
“Depends on the favor.”
Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head, specifically nodding down the hall. Sam realized then that they were standing a few feet away from Peter’s med-bay room, a hustle of nurses inside blocking their pathway from entering.
“Help him?” Tony’s tone had taken on a different sense of priority, sounding more sincere than Sam had heard him speak in days. “Guide him through this. Give him some...voice of reason or whatever you call it. Kid’s good with looking out for the little guy, but someone needs to look out for him too.”
Sam furrowed his brows. “You think that’s going to be a problem for him? PTSD?”
It was a hard pill to swallow, clearly one Tony didn’t want to address. He shook his head, shrugged and excessively cleared his throat as he stared down the hall.
“No idea, just want to be prepared.” His voice was ragged, strained with stress.
Despite their differences and conflicts in the past, Sam didn’t have it in him to stay callous, no matter what his personal stance was with Tony.
He forced a tight smile and nodded.
“I’ll do what I can.” Sam pointed a sharp finger towards Tony. “But I’m doing it for Peter, not for you.”
To Sam’s surprise, Tony removed the wire-framed glasses from his face and tucked them inside his blazer pocket.
“I would hope as much,” he earnestly said, thumb pointing down the hall to the hustle of activity that came emerging from Peter’s room. “You going to wish him good luck?”
Sam looked over Tony’s shoulder, watching as numerous different techs in scrubs began to wheel the hospital bed out of the med-bay.
He smiled and held Tony’s gaze for a brief moment. “I think he’s got plenty of good vibes coming from you and his aunt.”
Tony nodded, as if to say ‘suit yourself’ before they both departed in opposite directions, Sam disappearing somewhere down the hall.
He made a mental note to follow up about the situation at another time — for now, he focused on approaching the departing gurney with as much composure as he could manage. With luck, he caught sight of a familiar head of hair peeking through the crowd of medical staff.
“Ms. Parker,” Tony called out.
May shot her head up at the sound, removing one of the two hands she had gripping the gurney’s railings to wave him over.
At first unsure about getting any closer to the scene, Tony managed to wiggle his way through the crowd and stand at the top of the bed where Peter laid. He watched the kid’s hazy brown eyes drift back and forth like a loose ping-pong ball, eyeing the busy activity around with him both wonderment and confusion.
“...wha’s goin’ on?” Peter asked, his voice thick and mildly incoherent.
Tony smirked, following the moving gurney down the hall while May patted her nephew’s arm.
“They already gave him something to help relax him. He’s just a bit confused,” May whispered his way before she turned back to Peter. “You’re fine honey, we’re getting that super uncomfortable metal out of your leg, remember?”
Peter sluggishly blinked. “...’s my leg better?”
“Not quite, tough guy,” May chuckled, rubbing his arm with reassurance. “But Tony has something that’s way more comfortable for you, remember?”
Peter eyed May curiously. “He does?”
She nodded, giving him an encouraging thumbs up.
Peter lazily smiled, the grin all teeth. “...mr. ‘tark ‘s the best.”
May failed at suppressing her laugh, one that Tony hadn’t realized was because of him. It wasn’t until he noticed that his jaw was hanging loose and his openly exposed eyes had widened comically that he moved quickly to recover, looking away to where she couldn’t see him.
Still, May smiled in his direction.
“Yeah,” she softly agreed, walking along the gurney with her eyes set on Tony. “Yeah, he is.”
Tony ducked his head low, realizing that Peter was so out of it he didn’t even know who was standing near the top his head. He stayed quiet as they wheeled the gurney down the halls, only stopping as they came to the double doors that led down into the operating rooms.
May gave his arm one more supportive squeeze before calling out, “I’ll be there when you wake up sweetie, okay?”
Both were almost positive Peter didn’t hear her as they wheeled him away, the gurney eventually disappearing behind automatic doors that slid shut with an air hum.
Tony and May stood side-by-side as they watched through clear-glass doors.
“Helen says that after this he'll have another week in recovery, a few sessions in P.T and then he’ll be good to go.” Tony spared her a glance. “Back in your trustworthy hands once again.”
“Damn,” May cursed with a snap of her fingers. “And here I was getting used to not having to cook every night.”
Tony managed to stifle his laugh and disguise it under a poorly received cough. “You cook every night?”
“Ya know,” May went on to say, folding both her arms over her chest. “It’s amazing how you can follow a recipe to the tee and it still turns out bad.”
Tony kept his walnut date loaf comments to himself, deciding that no matter how carefree the conversation, there was no safety in joking about a woman’s cooking.
Pepper Potts lesson number fifty-six.
“So what's the deal, Tony Stark?” May asked, her tone more easy-going than he had heard in days, her hip playfully swinging into his. “We doing this or not?”
Tony frowned and blinked. “Huh?”
May arched an amused eyebrow, turning on her heels to casually and slowly walk away. Tony matched her pace, no hurry to leave and no other place to be.
"You pawning him back off to me or are we going to manage some poorly structured semblance of support in his life?” May’s question came with a quiet smile.
Tony shrugged, hands reaching deep into his pant pockets. “Be honest May, do you really want me in his life? After all that's happen?”
They walked down the hall together, one slow step after another. And though Tony appreciated her thoughtfulness and persistence — the drawings she gave him still sitting in his workshop as a harsh reminder to keep his pestering anxiety at bay — he couldn’t help but remain a skeptic.
It was in his nature, his blood. Even now, after all they had gone through, it was still easier to run away than stay.
Thankfully there were people like May nearby to put a stop to that. She hummed loudly, with exaggerated consideration.
“I don't know, you could be useful,” she drawled out, blithely. “Besides, I think he listens to you more than he listens to me.”
This time, Tony did laugh. “If that’s the case than I'm deeply disturbed by how little he listens to you.”
“Yeah, well, you know how it is.” May sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “I honestly think it's just a woman thing. Even when Ben was around, he always listened to him more. I think he just needs that fatherly figure in his life, you know?”
Tony stopped suddenly and May cracked a smile, staring down at her shoes.
“God, you are not subtle, are you?” His smile bled out the bite in his words and May finally looked at him, losing her composure just as she thought she would.
“Tell you what,” she managed around the chuckling. “I’ll make an agreement with you.”
Tony bit his lower lip somewhat comically. “Mhmm, I’m not allowed to make those without Pepper around to pre-approve.”
May gave a half-roll of her eyes.
“You keep him protected, the best that you can — unforeseen circumstances aside, and I have no problems letting him continue...whatever this is.” May pointed a finger in the air. “On one condition.”
Tony arched his eyebrow expectantly, waiting for her to finish.
The finger she held up changed directions, gesturing emphatically towards his chest. “You are responsible for buying his backpacks from this point forward.”
Tony was momentarily stunned.
“That's...it?”
She gave a curt nod. “That's it.”
For a moment, he was at a loss for words. All things considered, her request was on the very bottom of things he’d consider unreasonable. Here he was ready and willing to get the kid a full ride through college — who was he kidding, he was still planning to do that, MIT or not. And all she wanted was a few school supplies?
Consider him getting off easy.
“Okay then,” he finally answered, hand extended out to her. “Shake on it, Mrs. Parker?”
She unwrapped her arms from around her waist, giving him a firm handshake that he accepted, patting the cusp of her elbow in return. Not even a few seconds later and they resumed their leisurely walk down the corridor.
“I know I’ve been preoccupied with the new skin for the kid, but you been okay?” he asked, considerate to look at her when he spoke. “You been taken care of here?”
May nodded, though she seemed slightly unsure of herself. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, if I’m honest I’m a bit out of my element here...this place is huge."
“Almost as big as Tony’s ego.”
Both spun around at the same time, caught off guard by the sudden presence behind them.
Tony was the first to recover, glaring daggers in Rhodey’s direction.
“I resent that,” he whined, affronted.
“I couldn’t help but overhear, May.” Rhodey stepped forward, purposefully ignoring Tony’s childish cry. “I’m heading down to the cafeteria for some lunch, would you like to join me?”
May smiled warmly and nodded at his invitation. “That’d be fantastic, James. Thank you.”
“James —” Tony looked between the two with a sense of feigned confusion. “Who’s James?”
“Very funny, Tony,” Rhodey said, his legs braces whirring softly in the quiet med-bay hallway. He led the way with his arm wrapped around the small of May’s back.
Watching them walk away, Tony cupped two hands over his mouth as he called out, “Bring her back by ten!”
He could practically see the visible annoyance from Rhodey’s posture, making him crack an amused grin. The two had barely gotten down the hallway though when May turned around to face him.
“Oh, Tony! I forgot to mention. The backpacks?” She quirked an eyebrow at him and smirked. “You might want to shop clearance. Peter loses his about twice a week.”
Tony blinked, baffled by what clearly was not a joke and yet in every way should have been. His eyes narrowed a bit when he realized May was dead-serious, never once turning around to laugh, chuckle, or give any indication that he hadn’t just made a huge mistake.
Rhodey and May departed past a corner and Tony stood frozen, confused at her admission.
“How the hell...” he trailed off, flabbergasted.
Needless to say, he stored away future plans to lecture a certain irresponsible teenager about not losing personal property.
And possibly buy a stock of Hello Kitty backpacks, depending on how gracious he was feeling at the time.
Who was he kidding? He had texted Pepper about the Hello Kitty backpacks before even leaving the infirmary.
When Tony had mentioned Banner and his team was going to make something to ‘knock the kid off his ass for days’, he didn’t think it would happen so literally.
“Are we sure he’s not in a coma?” His question only received a heated side-glare from Helen, one that he chose to innocently ignore.
“I mean, in all honesty Tony, it’s a good thing,” Bruce said from across the room, logging different vitals and numbers on the electronic chart in his hands. “It could also just be a part of his physiology, his body’s way of conserving energy that needs to be spent on his healing factor. Either way, he’s improving at a phenomenally fantastic rate now. I wouldn’t be complaining.”
Tony wasn’t — complaining, that was. They had gotten the metal off the kid’s leg without a hitch and all that was left was an undetermined period of convalescence. And besides, Bruce had warned them that the newly created painkillers would produce side effects they weren’t aware of.
But sleeping? The kid was clonked out, no noise too loud to wake him up, no amount of jostling enough to stir him. At one point Bruce had accidentally dropped his tablet on the kid’s chest — “Steady hands my ass, Banner," Tony had snapped— and the kid barely made a sound.
Tony didn’t think it was physically possible to sleep so damn much.
Perched on the ledge of the bay window, a spot that had become his semi-permanent make-shift workspace, he let out a sigh; barely resuming focus on his own tablet, the only thing providing him any source of entertainment, if he could go as far to call it such. Pepper had pawned off a good amount of Stark Industries business for him to get around to, and after a few failed attempts, he discovered there was no pawing it back off.
He had the emails in his inbox as proof.
Still, if he had known he’d end up this bored, he wouldn’t have agreed to babysit in the first place.
“It wouldn’t be babysitting,” May stressed, bent over as she gathered belongings into her purse.
“What’s your rent cost?” Tony already had his phone out, mobile bank account opened and ready to go. “I’ll pay it for the next six months.”
May rolled her eyes. “Tony —”
“The next year. The next two years,” he offered to no avail, his eyes watching as the woman began to cross out of the room. “C’mon May, you don’t need to go back to work so soon. Your kid needs you here, let me help however I can.”
“You want to help?” May swung her purse over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched high in a way that reminded him way too much of Pepper. And he didn’t mess with Pepper for a reason. “Be here with him. Because I don’t need your money to pay our rent. I need you to help watch him for me while I go earn my money to pay my own rent.”
Tony pocketed his phone away, the hand then going to run down the length of his chin. He couldn’t argue with her — if there was one revelation he had over the past couple weeks, it was where Peter got his stubbornness from.
No matter how many suave, professional business tactics he used, May always stood her ground.
She stopped short of the exit, doors swishing open for her as she turned back to face him.
“I know you want to help, Tony. I appreciate it,” she said, sincerity lacing her tone. “But being there for Peter means being there when the storm has settled. There’s no Damage Control or clean up crew you can send for this one. You just have to be present.”
And that’s how he found himself on babysitting duty.
Okay, so maybe calling it babysitting was being over-dramatic, but what was he supposed to call it when Pepper had blocked his attempts at leaving the compound? The woman even got low and dirty by using Rhodey against him, his friend practically stalking his every move to make sure he didn’t leave the building.
Tony adjusted himself on the window ledge, index finger deftly scrolling on the touch screen of his tablet. Of course, if he really wanted to, he could find a way out. He knew it, they knew it, there wasn’t anything physically keeping him bound to the facility.
What could he say, with a place a hundred acres large and a lap pool, there wasn’t much of a reason to leave.
That’s what he told himself, anyway. Because he wouldn’t admit to a single soul that he was babysitting a sleeping rugrat.
It had been so long since Peter was last awake — truly awake, not doped-up mumbling about Lego’s awake, that Tony almost didn’t notice when he began to stir. He didn’t hide his surprise when he saw first-hand those brown Bambi eyes flutter open, looking around the room with a sense of confusion.
Tony eyed the kid for a moment, making sure his movements showed coherency, not mere shifting and adjusting before falling back asleep. Sure enough, Peter’s arm flailed out to the guardrail, gripping the plastic and lifting himself higher on the already slightly raised bed.
The look of shock when he caught sight of Tony, perched in the bay window of the medbay room, was enough to make the billionaire grin.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter half-greeted and half-groaned, sounding way too similar to what Tony expected a teenager being woken up on a weekend morning would sound like.
Grumpy and slightly pathetic.
“Ahhh,” Tony said, setting his tablet aside. “Sleeping beauty finally awakens.”
Two balled, closed fists rubbed furiously at his eyes as Peter adjusted himself on the bed, slow and cautious movements a testament to his injuries.
“You been watching me sleep this whole time?” he asked, clearing his throat and giving a lop-sided smile. “‘Cause I gotta be real with you, Mr. Stark. That’s kinda creepy.”
Tony shook his head, five different layers of exhaustion masked behind a half-hearted smirk. “Kid, my legs would be suffering from some irreversible muscle atrophy if I just sat around and watched you sleep. You have been out. Like a light.”
Peter froze, seemingly both surprised and relieved at the information.
“For real?”
Tony nodded, hopping off the window ledge and leaving his tablet behind. “Trust me, you more than needed some serious R & R.”
Peter couldn’t disagree with him. He ran his hands down his face, patting at his cheeks to make himself feel a little more awake.
While his mind felt foggy and a bit fuzzy, he had to admit that he felt immensely better. His muscles weren’t crying in agony anymore, now a dull ache and tenderness that spoke to him each time he moved. His head wasn’t screaming with a piercing buzz and he relished in the effect of not feeling like a fire was burning up in his core.
As if reading his thoughts, Tony wagged his index finger up and down Peter’s body, eyebrow arched with concern. “You good? Senses all in check?”
Peter thought for a moment, mentally checking himself over before nodding. “Yeah, I think so...wow!”
His eyes widened and for a moment Tony panicked, stepping faster to cross the distance of the room.
“What? What is it?”
“Mr. Stark, no offense...” Peter slowly started to say, gulping hard. “You look like crap.”
Tony stopped and laughed. He wholeheartedly laughed, head thrown back with a belly-deep cackle that made Peter glad his senses were no longer heightened in the way they had been.
Peter frowned. “What’s funny?”
“Kid, if you think I look like crap, you should really look in a mirror,” Tony commented smugly.
Peter chuckled with a shrug. “Eh, I have an excuse.”
“Yeah? So do I.” Tony took long strides up to his bedside, with arms folded tightly over his chest. “I’m pretty sure this whole fiasco has put ten years on me. I’m going gray ‘cause of you, ya know.”
Peter scoffed, waving him off. “You were graying long before me.”
Tony cocked his head to the side. "Oh, so now he has a mouth?”
Peter grinned sheepishly and Tony approached him with a sense of false sternness.
“Watch it, Parker,” he warned. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me.”
“Nah, it’ll probably be your cholesterol or something,” Peter joked cheekily.
“You are insufferable.” Tony’s insult was matched with an eye-wrinkling smile, and as he found himself nearing Peter’s bed, he wagged a non-threatening finger at the kid. “This time, and this time only, you get a pass on being a smart-ass.”
Tony collapsed into the upholstered armchair at Peter’s beside, slouching without care. Instinctively his fingers reached to unbutton the blazer jacket that he wasn’t wearing, his nails grazing against the cotton of his polo shirt instead. He settled his hands in his lap, knotting his fingers together to distract himself.
“You scared the devil out of me, kid,” he found himself softly admitting, changing the atmosphere in the room all but immediately.
Peter nodded, swallowing hard.
“I know. I’m...I’m sorry.” Peter waved his hand in the air, the most he could without the flexibility of his wrists. The sleek, black bracelets stood out among the crisp white bed sheets around him. “For...you know.”
Tony studied him for a moment, trying to decipher the exact meaning behind the sudden apology.
“Can’t say that I do,” he flatly stated, his fingers drumming along the armrest of the chair. “It’s been a hell of a couple weeks around here so you’re gonna have to narrow that broad statement down some.”
Peter turned his head the other way, the tension in his jaw showing from the grinding of his teeth.
“This all happened because of me. I shouldn’t have disobeyed orders out there. You and Mr. Rogers both told not to go into that building and I...I shouldn’t have gone into that building.”
Tony bit back his sigh, going instead to absentmindedly rub at his left arm. Though he had a gut feeling the topic would eventually come up, things had been so crazy, he had almost forgotten about the catalyst to their chaos. The event that started it all.
It was no surprise Peter still remembered. The kid was too similar to him, they were much too alike.
Which meant they shared the same self-destructive, guilt harboring tendencies as well.
“Yeah, well, it’s not all your fault.” Tony sat up straighter in the chair, this time letting out his sigh. “It’s not your fault at all, actually. So don’t sweat it.”
Peter shook his head, hands wringing together. “If I hadn’t fallen for that trap they wouldn’t have —”
“Not all true,” Tony interrupted.
Peter turned his head around, eyes locking firmly with Tony’s.
“What happened, Mr. Stark?” he quietly asked, chewing his lower lip nervously.
Tony had retold the events countless times over, to May, to Rhodey, to Pepper — but he never fathomed the intensity of dread, the tight knot that formed in his gut, all at the concept of telling Peter.
Still, he didn’t want to be the solitary keeper of their story; it belonged to them both.
“It’s a hell of a tale, kiddo.” Tony considered shifting the responsibility for another day. He ended up asking, “You sure you’re up for hearing it?”
Peter nodded vigorously, almost seeming excited.
Tony shouldn't have been surprised. This was Peter, after all.
“Well...” Tony sat forward in the chair, gesturing his hand out to Peter. “Take some of the stress off me. What do you remember?”
There was a pause as Peter let the question settle, thinking it over with the same intense concentration he would have in Decathlon practice. His brown eyes darted back and forth as he tried to recall the memories that were hidden beneath a near-death experience and mixed with heavy medications and incoherence.
It really had been a long couple of weeks. And the last few days for Peter, especially, seemed endless.
“The burning building.” His voice broke through the tense silence. “It being a trap...there were all these Chitauri heads about to explode, and Mysterio and Dmitri were there and — Dmitri was this Russian guy who —”
“Yeah, I’m familiar,” Tony explained.
Peter nodded, enthusiastically interested. “Oh, okay, cool, cool.”
He didn’t continue. Instead, he stared at Tony, eyes wide and expectant, silently urging him to say more.
Tony held an open palm in the air. “Hold your horses, I’ll tell you. Finish your side first.”
“Right, uhm, okay, so...what was next...what was...” Peter clucked his tongue and tapped his loosely curled fist against his chin. “Right! They chloroformed me. I woke up in that evil lair of theirs —”
“Evil lair?” Tony barked a laugh. “You watch too many movies, Parker. It was a piss-poor built and abandoned facility that OsCorp didn’t want anyone to find out about.”
Peter scoffed out a ‘pshh’, insisting, “Totally an evil lair.”
"Whatever floats your boat.” Tony leaned back into the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “That must have been some hell of chloroform to knock you out. Some of my top tier scientists have struggled days on end just to get basic painkillers working for you.”
Peter’s fingers began to fidget with the edges of the blanket laid out across his lap, finding tears in the seams and pulling on strings without even looking at his hands.
Tony did, however, look at Peter's hand. And as he stared at those hands, he noted the sudden bout of anxiety that riddled Peter’s nerves. It was hard not too; he had seen it in himself too many times before.
“Well, I think it was more than just chloroform. It made me...” The flood of shame and fear that tinted Peter's voice came and went before Tony could call him out on it. “They had me against the wall. I couldn’t break the bands and they said they were using some experimental metal to hold me —”
“Adamantium,” Tony finished, the words escaping his mouth before he could stop himself.
Peter eagerly sat up. “Dude, how do you know all this?”
Tony gestured another open palm in the air, signaling for him to be patient.
“Keep going.”
Peter sighed. He leaned back against the bed, his right arm gently and loosely wrapping around his midsection in hopes it would quell the pain that blossomed there.
“Mysterio, he used this...this gas on me. My arms were pinned, I couldn’t get the gas mask off. I think it knocked me out for a while. It was...” Peter’s voice dipped low, quiet. "I kept hallucinating. It was scary.”
Peter ducked his head, cheeks reddening with what Tony assumed could only be embarrassment. He could feel his blood pressure rising a bit higher, his heart rate spiking in a way that made his left arm twinge and tingle.
He remembered back in Germany when Peter referred to a sixty-five-foot tall Ant-Man as ‘scary.’ Suddenly this held so much more weight. They drugged the kid — his kid.
Anger that Tony hadn’t felt in days suddenly surged through him with a renewed fire.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” he said, soft and sympathetic.
Peter nodded, staying quiet.
Tony clasped his hands together, fingers entwined and his thumbs rolling over each other as a nervous habit. “Do you remember anything after that?”
“Yeah,” Peter admitted, looking over towards Tony. “Yeah, I got out.”
Tony cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “You did?”
“Well, I got free,” Peter corrected, adjusting himself slightly in bed and wincing at his own movements. “I pulled myself away from the wall. I couldn't break the straps but I broke the wall! Once I got out I tried to run but then...then I got stuck in this fun-house. It was this —”
"No need to explain.” Tony internally cursed his big mouth, quick to add, “Keep going.”
"Come on, I want to hear your side now,” Peter insisted in lieu of continuing. “How do you know all this, Mr. Stark? What happened when you guys found me? How did you find me? Did you—”
“Finish first,” Tony sternly instructed.
Peter casually waved him off. "Eh, I got free, Dmitri caught me, I guess you found me after that. What was the fun-house? How’d he do that? Was it more nanites? ‘Cause that would be so co—”
“Kid.”
Tony’s tone said more than his words needed to. Emphatic yet remorseful, resigned at the knowledge of what had occurred, of what they had gone through.
Peter found himself shrinking against the mattress of the bed, suddenly feeling more exposed than he initially felt with a mere hospital gown covering him up. There was no hiding from something Mr. Stark clearly already knew.
“Dmitri caught me,” he managed, his voice turbulent at the edges.
Peter fidgeted with his hands, keeping his head low where Mr. Stark couldn’t see his eyes. The way he bit into his lower lip didn’t go unnoticed, his bottom teeth digging deep into the soft pink tissue.
"I tried fighting him off, but...” Peter tapped his fingers into the open palm of his left hand. “I just...I couldn’t. Dude really knew how to fight. And he was...he was strong. And we were underwater, it wasn’t like I could outrun him, and...” His voice remained hollow, resonating with memories he clearly didn’t want to remember.
Tony felt his heart rate spiking again, only this time it almost burned in his chest, self-hatred kicking into overdrive for not getting there sooner.
When he realized Peter had nothing more to say, he asked the one pressing question that had been on his mind for days.
“So how’d you get impaled?” Tony had his legs uncrossed by now, leaning forward to better hear Peter’s hushed answers.
For a long time, he didn't answer. Tony didn't rush him to, either.
“My spider-sense wouldn’t work,” Peter eventually answered, stiffly, each word tense. “It was that fog they used, just like at Times Square, it...it muted my spider-sense. I didn’t see him coming. I heard...the next thing I knew...I didn’t...”
Peter didn’t finish. He couldn’t, his breaths were suddenly coming in harsh and deep, his chest rising and falling with such effect that his anxiety practically pulsated from his very being.
It was so acutely visible that Tony leaned forward, fast to respond with a firm hand on the kid’s shoulder.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tony assured, tightening his grip. “You’re okay now.”
Despite his words, Peter shook his head. “I thought I was going to die, Mr. Stark.”
The response was so blunt and honest, Tony didn’t know what to say.
He counted his blessings that he didn’t blurt out ‘thought you were going to die, too’ and ‘well, you almost sorta did, so there’s that.’
They both were silent as Peter took a moment, needing a solid minute to untangle himself from the thoughts and emotions that drained his energy.
Tony remained patient, letting the tension clear away naturally, slowly, one second at a time.
“When I woke up, I was pinned against the wall again,” Peter explained, back to wringing his hands together. “I couldn’t...I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything. I was, uh...I was definitely bleeding out. I couldn’t save myself.”
For a long while, Peter didn’t say anything else. Tony let the moment be his, aware of how hard it could be to get the basic sentences out when they held so much weight, so much negativity.
When Peter did finally speak though, Tony would have paid millions for it to be anything but what he said.
“So much for being better than you.”
Tony’s hand fell from Peter’s shoulder, his forehead creased, his head shaking. “Peter—”
“It gets blurry after that,” Peter was quick to interrupt, his voice oddly soft and fragile. “Mr. Rogers was there? It was loud...and cold...and very wet...we were swimming? It’s...it’s jumbled.”
Tony leaned back into his chair, fingers drumming on the armrest again. If that was the extent of Peter’s memories then he had an entire novels worth of information to fill him in on.
He let out a long sigh, momentarily reluctant only at the sheer impossibility of finding a starting point of events.
“Maybe I can clear it up for you.” Folding his arms across his chest, Tony began with, “For starters, Dmitri? Spy.”
Peter rolled his eyes so hard Tony was worried they’d pop out of their sockets. “Of course he was! That is so stereotypical.”
“Not just any spy, either. A former recipient of the Soviet Serum." Tony expected Peter's confused look. He brushed it away with a wave of his hand. "Failed Russian Super-Soldier Serum. Top secret, keep it hush hush."
Peter's only response was to hastily nod.
Tony contiuned, "He had infiltrated Stark Industries about six months ago. That’s how he knew about the Chameleon helmet — he had broken into my database and stolen the blueprint files.”
Peter frowned, confusion clearly stiffening his back. “But I thought Mysterio stole the helmet?”
Tony tilted his head, his expression answering it all. Both him and Peter would agree that the look said ‘Do you really think that purple-caped dumb-ass could do more than tie his own shoes?'
“Nuh-uh!” Peter’s jaw dropped, his voice pitching an octave higher than normal. “They were working together?”
Tony gave a sharp nod. “Mysterio, a.k.a Francis Klum, you're certifiable insane nutjob, was in cahoots with Dmitri on the whole thing.”
“I don’t get it,” Peter admitted, slowly shaking his head. “What was their plan?”
Tony looked down, trying his best to ignore the tight knot that began to form in his gut. He wondered how many times Peter had to ask himself that question, bound by captors who didn’t necessarily even want him, rather used him.
Like Sam had said, he knew all too well what that felt like.
Tony rubbed the nape of his neck as he stared at his feet, struggling to spit out the honest truth of the situation.
“They wanted me dead,” Tony finally answered.
Peter had a look that could only be classified as absolutely puzzled.
“Then why’d they man-nap me?”
Tony shot his head up, eyes wide and bewildered.
"Man-nap?"
“Yeah, I'm spider-man," Peter easily clarified. "Not spider-kid."
Tony gave a short huff of laughter. “Agree to disagree.”
Peter slowly ran his fingers through his tangled, bed-headed hair. Even with the beat that fell between them, he couldn’t seem to understand the information that was passed on.
“I’m—I’m super sorry, Mr. Stark, but I’m so confused. They said they were using me for leverage or—or collateral or something. What does that have to do with you? What did that have to do with me?”
Though Tony hadn’t thought about that specific part for days now, he had a response roaring and waiting to go.
‘Don’t know, who knows, glad to have you back though!’
He let his chin rest against his hand, absentmindedly tapping his thumb against his jaw. Keeping the truth hidden wouldn’t do them any good, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel.
Tony knew he owed it to them both to respect the reality behind what occurred.
If anything, he owed it to Rogers. After all, the man was off God-knows-where spinning a whole different tale to the big-dogs at headquarters about what happened.
He made a mental note to chastise the good American soldier for lying, whenever the hell he decided to return.
"They thought...they thought that taking what was closest to me...would wind up being too much for me,” Tony explained, his words having texture, somehow sticking to his throat. “Maybe I’d off myself, who knows. Then Dmitri could slip in and take over the company, with my face of course. He wanted the money — they both did.”
The raw honesty seemed to catch Peter by surprise. He stared at Tony with shock and awe, pausing for a moment as if to wait for the ‘Just kidding! They were HYDRA agents on a mission and you got unlucky. Go figure.’
When it never came, his expression only seemed to fall more somber.
“Whoa,” Peter finally managed.
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, kid,” Tony dryly stated. "Wait til I tell you all about the real magical wizard. Who you owe a thank you, by the way. He’s the reason we got out of that dump. Otherwise you, me and good ‘ol Captain America would be swimming with the fishes right about now.”
The look of awe that crossed over Peter's face was enough to rival a child.
“What happened?" he rushed to ask. "I mean, to Mysterio and Dmitri?”
“Gone,” Tony sufficiently responded, his lips set in a thin line. “Not our problem anymore.”
Peter didn’t push for more of an answer. It was hard to say why, maybe it was because of the flash of darkness he saw cross along Tony’s eyes, or simply from the harsh realization of what had happened.
He stayed quiet, seemingly content with the explanation.
Tony knew he wasn’t dumb though, the exact opposite in fact. The kid was smart as hell and even heavily medicated, he could put the two-and two-together. A moment passed where Tony could see the truth dawn in his eyes.
He hated knowing that a part of his innocence was lost in that moment, gone at the death of two men, criminals or not.
“They said you thought I was dead?" Peter looked him on with hesitation. "Was that true?”
Tony could tell it was something Peter had been dreading to hear about. Peter’s muscles visibly tensed up, his shoulders pulled tightly and the crease along his forehead somehow deepened. Not to mention, his voice became so quiet, Tony almost couldn’t hear him.
He knew the Ferry incident, albeit months ago, still hung heavily over the kid’s head.
Tony had naively hoped his words back then wouldn’t ring to their current situation. The way Peter carried himself though, it told him there wouldn’t be any escaping that moment for some time to come.
“Unfortunately,” Tony affirmed, suddenly sounding painfully tired as he avoided Peter’s gaze. “Worst two days of my life.”
“How’d you...I mean,” Peter stumbled. “How’d you know it wasn’t me? In the building? Before it exploded, after they took me. They said you thought I died...how’d you—?”
“You called me Tony,” he answered, without missing a beat. “Self-correction. The bastard called me Tony. Using the helmet, of course, it sounded like you. But it wasn’t.”
Peter didn’t know what to say, or how to react, other than the fidgeting that his fingers made, pulling at the seams of the blanket beneath him.
“It wasn’t you,” Tony said, honestly, facing Peter head-on.
Peter blinked, both confused and startled.
“That’s...that’s it? That’s how you knew?”
The silence that followed only increased the sound of noise around them, beeping and humming from machines that further aggravated Peter’s senses. And yet, as Tony locked eyes on him, intently and sincerely, the sound began to dissipate.
For a fleeting, brief moment, the IV drips and heart monitors could’ve been a world away.
“Yeah,” Tony said, softly, the nod of his head even softer. “That’s how I knew.”
Peter paused, the air between them heavy with the unspoken.
“I’m sorry," he eventually said.
“I have heard more apologies from you this past week than the entirety of my life twice over,” Tony tried hard not to sound annoyed. “What could you possibly be sorry for this time?”
“Dying...” Peter said, his fingers using exaggerated quotation marks on the word. “Putting that on your conscience and all...I didn’t mean to...I’m sorry.”
Tony found himself staring at the wall straight ahead, lost in his thoughts and at a loss for words. He anticipated the moment coming up but never truly prepared for it, dodging reality like the procrastinator of emotions he was.
Putting that on your conscience — Christ this kid knew how to get under his skin. Had he known then that his words would be used against him in this way, he’d never have said them at all.
Problem was, Tony had never expected to get so close to Peter back then, six some months ago.
He swallowed his guilt, repressing it for a later time and an audience who could better handle it. A freshly recovered from near-death teenager was no victim to unload his problems out on.
“Don’t give it a second thought, kid. I’m not even upset about it.”
Peter sat up straighter in bed. “Does that mean everyone else thought I was dead too? Do they still think I’m dead? Did I have a funeral? Did Flash show up —”
"Cool your jets there, spiderling.” Tony had to practically push Peter back against the mattress to still him, any attempt he had at playing it cool failing stupendously. “You’ve been out of it for a while, but you were only missing for a couple days. We never spread word, never posted an obituary. Your aunt was the only one to be told.”
Peter suddenly paled at the knowledge, burying his face into his hands with muffled words that could barely be made out. “Oh man, she must be — I can’t — I can’t believe I put her through that!”
“You didn’t do anything, Pete,” Tony remarked with a protective sternness. “Shit happens. I’m just glad we were able to start looking for you as soon as we did.”
Peter looked up, skeptical. "I—I don’t think I understand, though. If you thought I was dead...why were you looking for me?”
“I’ll tell you what.” Tony cleared his throat and swiped at his nose with his thumb. "You got a question, just answer it with ‘ magical wizard .’ Nine times out of ten, you’ll be right.”
The anecdote held more truth to it than Peter would ever know.
“I wanna meet him,” Peter drawled out, his voice brightening at the end.
Tony shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you do.”
"Does he have magic like Wanda?” The spark of excitement returned as Peter smiled ear-to-ear. "Cause that would be so cool!”
Tony gave a tight-lipped grin, having been so wrapped up in the recovery of their rescue mission that he almost forgot about their newest Avenger.
“Speaking of the witch, she’s with him now.” He tried to remember what Steve had told him the night that she left, managing to answer with, “Training or some nonsense.”
Tony was almost positive that wasn't how Steve put it. But it was close enough.
Peter’s bottom lip stuck out with a pout. “Aw man! I die and miss all the fun stuff.”
“Kid...” Tony exasperatedly dragged his hands down the length of his face. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
"You already said that,” Peter flatly replied.
Tony’s jaw slacked open. “I take back that pass on being a smart-ass.”
“Uh-uh!” Peter squawked coyly. “I earned that fair and square.”
“No you did not,” Tony calmly explained. “That is something that is gifted, not earned.”
“Even worse then! You can’t take back a gift.” It was Peter’s turn to a wag a finger in his direction, faking indigence with a look Tony was sure he had reserved for any time his spider-butt got into trouble. “A gift is a gift for a reason, Mr. Stark.”
Tony shrugged. “I’m not too sure about that. I’ll have my legal team look into it.”
Peter laughed and Tony couldn’t help but chuckle with him, the moment carefree and void of the suffocating stress he had been consumed with over the past couple of weeks.
It was nice, a little breather from the pressures of the real world he had been struggling to deal with.
Even as he went on to explain the finer details of their rescue mission, the room lacked any tension. It helped greatly that Peter wasn’t immune to the pure star-struck wonderment at hearing Tony’s stories, listening intently to how they had increased the tensile strength on his web fluid, how a magical wizard got them in and out of the place, and most of all —
“You finished the nano-suit!?” he exclaimed, nearly jumping out of bed with excitement. “Can I see it!?”
“Sorry, bud.” Tony gave a small shake of his head, his finger lazily pointing down to Peter’s leg. “It’s on you.”
Peter frowned, looking down at his leg before back up at Tony. “What?”
“What was left of it — used it for that sock you’re wearing,” Tony explained. “It’s a nanite cast, designed to promote bone healing. I’m sure Bruce will be thrilled to show you the x-rays of how mangled your leg was. He said it was in eight pieces or something, shattered like a stale piece of peanut brittle.”
Peter didn’t seem to be paying attention. As Tony rambled on, he removed the blanket that covered his leg to better stare at the thick black and silver device that he wore around his calf. It was every sense of the word futuristic, conforming around his leg from the knee down, fitting snugly like his suit.
“No way,” Peter lamented, looking over at Tony sadly. “But you put so much work into that!”
Despite Peter’s protest and remorse for the forsaken project, Tony couldn’t muster up a will to care.
“Well, you’re more important,” he answered honestly. “Besides, I can make another suit. I can’t make another Peter Parker.”
Tony hadn’t meant to create a moment between them, the words having slipped out before he realized what he was saying. Peter stared at him, at first confused and slightly startled, before he slowly let himself relax and smile.
It was a look so warm, Tony was sure it could melt even the coldest of hearts.
While he couldn’t take the words back, he quickly realized that he didn’t even want to. He tried to remember the photos he had sitting in his workshop, to remember that as uncomfortable as the emotion felt, that he wanted this.
And besides, Peter didn’t seem to be fighting it. Kid was glowing brighter than the sun.
Still, Tony had a reservoir of how many sappy moments he could handle and there was a slender red-head woman he needed to store some emotion away for.
He cleared his throat and slapped both hands on his knees, standing up with a grunt.
"Listen, I’ve started to make some repairs to your suit. It’ll be out of commission for a while — like you,” The way Tony stressed the fact didn’t go unnoticed, Peter already seeming bummed out at the idea of being bedridden. “Until it’s up and running again, I took your girl and programmed her alongside FRIDAY. For security reasons, she’ll only respond to me, you and May. Your own personal servant, enjoy it while it lasts.”
Peter didn’t seem to catch onto what Tony was saying, his brows furrowed with confusion as he watched the man head for the exit. He was about ask him to clarify when suddenly, a familiar voice rang through the ceilings.
“Hello, Peter.”
A twinkle of excitement glinted in Peter’s eyes, a spark Tony hadn’t seen in way too long.
“Hey, Karen!” he beamed, staring up at the ceiling despite there not being a physical entity to look at. It reminded Tony all too much of a child looking to the skies above, amazed at the mere sight of the stars in space.
“You two behave now, is that clear?” Tony joked, stopping short of the exit when the doors split open for him. “I don’t want to hear complaints from the nurses that this room is noisy with dirty high-school gossip.”
“That should not be a problem, Mr. Stark,” Karen coolly responded. “Peter has not spoken much regarding school since informing me of his crush on — ”
“Ah- ah-ah, Karen! Dude!” Peter squeaked, willing himself to sink into the mattress of the bed.
Tony chuckled from across the room, unfortunately breaking his illusion that Peter could hide beneath the pillows and blankets surrounding him.
"Get some rest, kid. You have quite a recovery ahead of you.”
As Peter turned to look at him, Tony was helpless to the toothy grin he received, a smile that no amount of his money could buy.
“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, hand motioning to the ceiling. “You didn’t have to...thanks.”
Standing at the doorway, Tony suddenly felt the compulsive urge to say more, to push for more.
They had barely scratched the surface of previous events and still had so much more to discuss, time they needed to spend creating a map for the roads ahead of them.
But seeing Peter smile, overjoyed at the simple sound of his AI — Tony didn’t have the strength to take that moment of happiness away.
The struggles of life could wait, if only for another day. The kid could be happy for right now.
He deserved that much.
Tony nodded, giving a faint wink back at him. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Peter watched him casually leave through the automatic doors of the infirmary room and kept his eyes locked there long after he departed, out into the hallways and where he couldn’t be seen anymore. It wasn’t until Karen spoke again that he finally tore his gaze away.
“How are you feeling, Peter?”
Peter glanced up to the ceiling by habit, the voice coming through the speakers in the walls and catching his attention.
“Better,” he answered. He kept it to himself that he felt childish for wanting Mr. Stark to stay. The man was busy, after all, and had spent plenty of time around him already.
Luckily, he had been given something else to occupy his time.
“Ah man, it’s good to hear your voice again.”
“Yours as well. I was very worried about you,” Karen answered.
Peter brought his blanket further up his chest, brows furrowed as he asked, “Can you even get worried? Like, as an AI and all.”
“I am programmed to be more alert and aware of sensitive situations when the time is called upon. Mr. Stark has informed me of the recent events and as such, those features have been activated.”
Peter nodded. “Cool, cool. Hey, remember that creepy Bond villain guy?” He fiddled with the edges of his blanket, pulling at the seams. “Totally kicked his ass.”
“So I’ve been informed. I’m very proud of you, Peter.”
Karen’s voice was full of pride, reminding Peter a lot of his aunt. He wasn’t sure how Mr. Stark managed to create an AI with such eerily real emotion, but he sure didn’t mind.
“Ah, thanks.” Peter ducked his head low, hiding his blush from no one but himself. “You’re awesome, Karen.”
A warm comfort he hadn’t feel in days seemed to wash over him at once. It was odd how Karen had become one of his closest friends over the past year, even though she wasn’t a real person.
For a moment back there, he had been worried she was destroyed, lost in the flames of fire. Hearing her voice managed to bring back some semblance of normal to his day, something he hadn’t realized he so desperately needed right now.
“How did you do on your midterm finals?”
Peter frowned, suddenly remembering the tests he bailed on weeks ago.
“Oh...yeah, I guess May’s gonna have to talk to the school or something. I was busy being dead and all.”
“Mr. Stark has informed me your death was not actually real.”
Peter chuckled, her naive answer fitting to her personality. It was certainly the clueless, robotic AI that he had come to know so well.
“Yeah, it wasn’t,” Peter admitted, grinning as he looked to the ceiling. “But it’s kinda fun to say.”
“Well, I for one am happy that you are not actually dead,” Karen responded. “After all, YOLO.”