Chapter Text
Spider-Man was successfully lifted into the bathroom, MJ had lingered in the bathroom, while Tony got to cleaning almost immediately. Admittedly, he didn’t really know how to clean, but everything was better than getting wrapped up in emotions. It was about an hour later when MJ joined him silently, getting down on her knees and scrubbing at the blood. She had mixed up a concoction of Hydrogen Peroxide, Persil and cold water, which seemed effective. They sat there on their knees, in complete silence for a while, before Tony finally broke the silence.
“What did you do to get him to shut up?” He asked finally.
“Gave him something to help him sleep, so his healing factor kicks in.” The reply came immediatly, though it was dry and flat.
Tony felt a little startled. He was never truly good at reading people. He really wasn’t sure what was happening, if he should be asking more questions or maybe leave the redhead alone all together.
His gaze flicked around the apartment, to the thing he had kicked across the floor when he had first entered. The small metallic object. Tony dropped his sponge, and picked up the object instead. It was weird, like a small leather bracelet with a metallic cartridge on it. Tony could tell Spider-Man had used nitrogen gas for the pressure. He turned it over in his hands, and accidentally hit a small lever, which had been fed into the cartridge.
A webline shot across the room. MJ’s gaze flicked over lazily at the sound. It dawned on Tony suddendly that this was how Spider-Man made his webs. Interesting. So, the webs were engineered. He’d never really thought about it. The webs on Spider-Man were just always something that happened.
“He’s always relying on that stupid healing factor,” The redhead practically spat out, pulling Tony out of his thoughts so violently he nearly got whiplash.
“Hmm,” he answered noncommittally. He really didn’t know the boy well enough to make any statements.
“It’s always “Whoops I got Stabbed”, just why?” MJ asked, miming air quotes, and a goofy voice for Tony to understand she was quoting Spider-Man.
“You know, I really think you should be talking to him about this…we kind of have a strictly business relationship…” Stark said, though he dropped the cocky tone in his voice for her. He honestly didn’t want to hear about this anyway, he didn’t want to hear how much more of a kid Spider-Man was. It was kind of detrimental to think Tony had always assumed he was dealing with an immature adult.
MJ huffed “he’s asleep. Plus we’re broken up, and technically are no-contact.”
Tony stared.
“He’s asleep in the bathtub?” he asked.
“Yes. As I said, I gave him sedatives, enough to down a rhino,” she answered, slightly frustrated.
“I heard, but I thought you meant you gave him something for him to relax,” Tony replied, his tone snide, now moving onto cleaning up the webline he had shot across the room.
“He has a super fast metabolism, it’s hard to even get him drunk. So I kind of have to knock him out completly.” she sighed, getting up from the floor now, and clearing the cleaning supplies from the floor.
Tony stretched out his back - god, he really was getting old. While doing so, he admired the spot on the floor, you can’t even see the blood anymore.
It really was in this second that Tony realised Spider-Man lived a very different life. He was living alone, and by the looks of it didn’t make enough money to sustain even this life. He had people who cared about him, but none that really showed up for him. Tony always knew of course, that there were people who lived lives like Peter’s. He’d always just assmed they’d done something to deserve this - maybe they were lazy. But standing in the apartment of one of the most selfless people New York had to offer, he realised that some people really were better off than others. It did matter what family you were born into.
He cleared his throat. “So uhm…Sp- Peter…he’s your age?” he asked carefully.
MJ looked up, her gaze softening slightly. “Yeah. We’re the same age,” she confirmed “look, you need to have a good think about whether or not you actually want to know more about him,” she said softly “he’s content just being Spider-Man to you.”
Tony looked back at her, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. God, this really was hard, but maybe he could help the kid out? He used to be a mess too. “Uh, no. Tell me more. He have a degree?”
MJ nodded again “he’s a biophysicist. Loves his work, but his boss currently can’t pay him. He doesn’t want to look for a different workplace because he thinks what he’s doing could help save lives,” she explained. Tony stayed completely still, just staring back at her. “It’s a Pattern,” she continued, probably needing to fill the silence. “He’s a good person, and he has a need to be so invested in helping other people, that he forgets himself,” she explained “you’re a self-destructive person, Stark, you would know,” she teased. Anger rippled through Tony for a second, he barely knew MJ, why would she tease him?
Tony couldn’t really do much else, but stare. “Oh,” he answered, feeling the need to say something, anything.
The moment was quickly interrupted when they heard a clang from the bathroom. MJ immediately straightened. “I’m gonna..” she said, vaguely pointing toward the bathroom. She was already moving. “The meds wore off,” she said before disappearing into the bathroom.
Tony found himself alone in that apartment once again. Bickering rang from behind the bathroom wall. His gaze flicked over all the photographs, he approached a desk. There were papers scattered everywhere. A couple of drafts Tony assumed were for Peter’s work. A couple papers that were definitely cost-effective suit prototypes. Tony flicked through, the kid definitely had talent, he should take a look at some Avenger suits Tony had drafted. As he flicked through, some of the papers stayed stuck to his sweaty palms, His shaky fingers struggling to free himself.
A little while later, the bathroom door opened again with a squeak, prompting Tony to look up. In the doorway stood MJ, together with Peter. Peter had changed into some sweatpants. Tony had never seen Spider-Man out of his suit before, his gaze flicked over the tall, lanky figure. His hair was wet, he had probably been cleaned up a bit with MJ’s help. He was lacking a shirt, probably because he was too sore to put one on, but that meant Tony could now see some gauze taped neatly over the stab wound he had sewn shut just over an hour ago.
Peter and Tony’s gazes met each other. Peter frowned at Tony, but Tony was too focused on the feeling of his chest tightening to really understand why Peter frowned. Tony dropped the papers on the desk, and turned with his back to the desk so he could lean onto it. MJ, meanwhile, reached for Peter’s forearm, and gently pulled him in direction of the bed. Only then was it that Peter’s glassy eyes left Tony’s face. Thank god.
Tony was starting to hear his blood pulsing in his ears, feeling his throat closing up, bile rising up. His vision blurred a bit, causing him to stumble despite leaning against the desk. He straightened quickly, as if commanded. Peter, who by this time was sat on the bed after a couple pained steps there, looked back over at Tony. His gaze narrowed slightly, and Tony hoped he was sedated enough that he couldn’t see the billionaire shivering. MJ, meanwhile, was checking the gauze on Peter’s side.
Suddenly, Tony pushed himself off the desk clumsily. His limbs feeling heavy and detached. What in the world was going on? Something clattered to the floor, but Tony’s vision was starting to swim too much for him to register what it was. He lurched toward the bathroom, and looked over at Peter.
“May I?” he asked, pointing toward the bathroom, the words coming out heavy. Peter nodded almost immediately. MJ now turned to look at him as well. A slow smirk spreading across her face. She inhaled sharply, as if she was about to say something, but shut her mouth as soon as Peter’s hand made contact with her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.
Tony didn’t waste time, and briskly continued his flight to the bathroom. Before the black spots that were currently forming in his vision, took over completely.
“Bottom left drawer.” Tony heard Peter call after him before he closed the door clumsily. He locked it immediately, and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, ripping it open. He dry heaved once or twice, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He tried to take a couple deep breaths, but the world didn’t slow down like it usually did. It was then that he remembered what Peter had said.
Tony turned around on his knees, and opened up the bottom left sink drawer. There, he found a box he didn’t remember seeing earlier, an old lunchbox with a Captain America design. Tony ripped it open. He didn’t have time to think about how ridiculous the design was. Inside there were multiple things. He found some dextrose, and anti nausea medication. He took the pills immediately, dry swallowing them. He also found a small pack of sedatives next to some smelling salts. Weird. Tony took one pill from the sedatives, dry swallowing it too. Then, he slammed closed the toilet, and laid down on the mint green tile. The cool tile felt nice against his sticky skin. He put his feet up on the closed toilet.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but after a while, he started to feel a lot better. He even took some dextrose for good measure. Slowly, Tony took his feet off the closed toilet, and sat up. It was only now that he had time to smile at the Captain America lunchbox. The lid was still discarded on the floor, and Tony pulled it closer. As he did, he noticed some messy writing on the inside - it said: “Peter B. Parker 1C” Tony smirked at it for a bit, before turning his attention to the rest of the lunchbox.
Inside the lunchbox, Tony also found some spearmint gum, and sour candies. He took some of the gum to get rid of the taste of bile. The gum was very strong, immediately clearing his nostrils. Tony also found a spiky ball that he left alone, some earplugs and a list of Phone numbers, with all but one crossed out. The only remaining one was noted with “Mary-Jane Watson”. Tony shrugged and threw the things back into the box, closing it and putting it back into the cabinet. He slowly got up, off the floor and checked himself in the mirror. He looked a little pale, but overall better than he felt. He tried fixing his hair, and splashed some water on his face.
He opened the mirror again, to gain access to the shelves inside. He found a small tin of pomade. It was a bit dusty, but he opened it, to find it almost full. He took a generous amount, and rubbed it between his palms to warm it before applying it to his hair. He put the tin back, and closed the mirror. He was looking a lot better already. He moved toward the door, turning around to make sure he cleaned the bathroom up after himself. His eyes landed on a black toothbrush on the sink. He smiled.