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Tony Stark has been his hero for as long as he can remember.
Ever since the day Iron Man saved him at the Stark Expo when he was a kid, he’s regarded Tony Stark as the coolest person on the planet. And maybe he’s putting him on a bit of a pedestal, but it’s Tony Stark. Easily one of the smartest people on the planet. He built a tech empire after attending MIT at fifteen, he has amazing suits, and Peter really respects him. From a distance.
Until the superhero showed up in Peter’s own living room, flew him to Germany, gave him an upgraded suit, and told him to web up select member of the Avengers.
(The Avengers. Who apparently fell apart.
Peter doesn’t really know what happened, but he trusts Mr. Stark.)
Peter’s down for the count fairly quickly - he fought Captain America. And lost, rather miserably, but that’s beside the point. He tries to rejoin the fight, the desire to prove himself to Tony and the rest of the Avengers (disbanded or not) heavy in his chest, but he practically collapses in the process, ribs aching and head throbbing. He doesn’t really believe it when Tony says it’s okay for him to stay down, but who is he to argue with Iron Man?
Minutes later, there’s a noise like a laser blast, followed shortly after with an unbelievably loud crash.
Peter jerks upright, automatically searching for the source despite the fact that it was clearly pretty far away from him. His ribs immediately whine in protest and he can’t see anything important anyway, so he stays down like Tony told him to.
The fighting has stopped, he thinks.
Something is wrong.
Well, something was already wrong - his spider-sense hasn’t come off of high alert since he arrived at this airport - but something must be really wrong now.
Is someone dead? God, Peter hopes no one is dead. He can’t be involved in a fight where someone died, he can’t have someone kick it on his first Avengers mission.
Probably his only Avengers mission, seeing as the Avengers are currently brawling in an airport and he’s barely even fifteen.
Oh, well. He did pretty okay for his first and only mission.
No one’s dead, but it was a close thing.
War Machine - James Rhodes, also a legend in Peter’s book - goes into surgery as soon as the battle really ends. Peter doesn’t hear much about how he was hurt or how bad it is, but he sees the look on Tony’s face as Colonel Rhodes is wheeled away and knows it’s bad.
The fact that he has no idea what he’s meant to do now isn’t the reason that he goes looking for Tony after he walks stiffly out of the hospital wing, but it’s what keeps him from talking himself out of it. Tony probably doesn’t want to deal with anyone right now, what with his best friend being in surgery and all, but Peter knows how shitty it is to be alone after things like this.
He’s been where he’s sure Tony is now - scared and angry and hurting and blaming himself for something that wasn’t really his fault. Peter might not know Tony that well, but he doesn’t want anyone to go through this alone.
Wandering blindly around a foreign hospital is not exactly Peter’s idea of a good time, but luckily, he finds Tony fairly quickly. Luckily, the man didn’t get very far before he sat down on the tiled floor, back against the wall and face buried in his knees.
Careful to be just loud enough to announce his presence but avoid startling him, Peter walks slowly over to Tony, giving him plenty of time to tell Peter to go away. When Tony doesn’t even acknowledge him, Peter slides down the wall across from him, leaving a good foot and a half of space between them.
Peter doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t really know what to say. Almost didn’t expect to even get this far.
So he just sits. Sits and breathes and waits to see if Tony will accept the silent offer for company.
A solid twenty minutes pass. Peter tries his best to sit still, but he’s antsy by the ten minute mark. By fifteen, he’s taken to drumming his fingers against his thigh in an offbeat rhythm, and by twenty, he’s tapping his foot against the floor, muffled slightly by the suit he has yet to take off.
Eventually, Tony looks up at him.
It takes longer than he’s willing to admit to get past his surprise and school his expression into what he hopes is an open, sympathetic smile, because Tony Stark looks wrecked.
There’s a pallor to his skin that makes the bag under his eyes even more prominent. His hair is disheveled, as if he’s been running frantic hands through it. And his eyes are bordering on empty in the same way that Peter’s sure his own were after Uncle Ben.
Life, Peter thinks, is split into a series of Befores and Afters.
Before and After his parents died. Before and After Uncle Ben died. Before and After he became Spider-Man.
And now, for Tony, Before and After his best friend was shot out of the sky.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y was saying he’ll probably have to have his legs amputated,” Tony says, gaze focused on a spot just above Peter’s right shoulder. He doesn’t move as he speaks, seemingly frozen in place. “The damage to his spine was so bad that he might never walk again, even with prosthetics.”
Jesus.
“I’m sorry,” Peter says quietly. Then remembers how much he hated having people tell him how sorry they were after Ben died and hates himself for not having something better to offer.
Tony scoffs, shakes his head. “What are you apologizing for, kid? You’re not the one who shot him.”
Now, this , Peter recognizes. The guilt.
Tony’s not blaming the person who actually did shoot Colonel Rhodes, whoever that may have been. He’s blaming himself, likely for bringing War Machine into the fight to begin with, despite the fact that the Colonel is very much an adult and very much in charge of his own decisions.
Peter lets out a soft exhale and stares at Tony’s shoes. “You’re not, either.”
He’s definitely not. Even if Peter doesn’t know who it was, he knows it wasn’t Tony, even on accident. Peter knows guilt and he knows misplaced guilt; he’s gotten pretty good at telling the difference.
“Might as well be. I built Vision. I dragged Rhodey into this whole mess. Directly, indirectly, whatever you wanna say, he’s in that hospital room because of me. He might never walk again because of me.”
Vision. An added layer.
“You were just…doing what you thought was right.” Peter leans forward, elbows on his knees. Tony opens his mouth to interrupt, but Peter barrels on. “And Mr. Rhodes was with you on it because he agreed with you, not because - because you somehow forced a 40-year-old ex-Air Force officer to fight with you.”
His words don’t have much effect. Peter’s not sure Tony’s even fully listening to him.
Peter just hopes the message is in his head somewhere, ready to be dug up when Tony’s ready to accept it. It took Peter a while, though, and he gets the feeling that Tony’s guilt complex is at the very least on par with his own.
They sit in silence for another two minutes or so, and all Peter can think about his how small the man sitting in front of him looks.
Just when Peter’s starting to think the conversation is over and he should see his way out, Tony says, “I’m gonna fix it.”
Peter furrows his brow. Starts to ask what he means, but doesn’t get the chance.
“I’ll fix it. F.R.I.D.A.Y. only said that he might not walk again, and she didn’t take into account the fact that I can figure out how to make a better prosthetic than anything the doctors have now.” Tony nods distantly, and there’s a spark, finally, of…something, in his eyes. Hope, perhaps. Or maybe just desperation. “I can fix it.”
Then, almost in a whisper, “I have to fix it.”
And Peter is struck with the thought that Iron Man, that Peter’s hero, is so completely, unequivocally human.