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“Lucy,” Nat’s voice is like a dentist’s drill through Tony’s skull. “Ethel.” He peaks one eye open to see her cross her arms and glare over at Peter. “What did you do.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Peter grumbles, shifting on the stretcher across the room. Tony’s eyes scrape against his eyelids as he turns to look at him. He looks more angry than anything, picking at the blood-stained bandage down the left side of his face. “Tony is the one who did something.”
“Doesn’t look like it, маленький паук,” she turns to look back at Tony, one eyebrow raised. Everyone knows he only calls Tony Tony when he’s...Something. And right now, he sure is Something. “What did you two do? I was only gone ten minutes!”
“We did the sweep,” Tony grunts, trying to shift on his own stretcher. It’s hard, with a broken collar bone and cracked ribs and a split skull. And also probably a hairline fracture in his pelvis. “There was another device.”
“And you decided to...what?”
“This one tripped it,” Tony gives up and slumps back into the mattress, more grateful than ever for the pain medication pumping through his veins.
“I would have been fine!” Peter pushes himself up to sitting. “You didn’t have to jump--”
“We are not doing this, Peter!” Tony snaps, his jaw cracking painfully. “I’m too messed up to fight with you about this now.”
“You wouldn’t be messed up if you hadn’t jumped in front of me!”
“And you would have a lot more than shrapnel in your face and leg if I hadn’t!”
“And then I would have healed like I always do!” Peter jumps off the bed, flinching a bit when his left leg hits the floor. “You can’t!”
“I was in my suit!” Tony spits through his teeth, inhaling hard when something shifts just below his neck. Cho said they’d have to go in and set it when her entire team arrived. They’re also waiting on people to pick the bits of metal and glass out of Peter’s cheek and shin. Tony has no idea what possessed him to let the kid wear that old red and blue spandex.
“Real good it did you!”
“Yeah, actually, it’d be a lot worse if I wasn’t!”
“Ok, Tony, I don’t know if that actually helps,” Nat interrupts quietly, and steps over to Peter. She wraps an arm around his shoulders, which Tony only now notices are heaving. Blame the drug haze. “But Cho’s team is here, they’ll be down shortly. I came to grab Peter.”
“Finally,” Tony flops his head back against the pillow and instantly regrets it. God, it hurts. This may be the first time he’s thankful for the lingering nerve damage and numbness on his left side. Retirement was supposed to mean the end of this shit. “I think my collarbone is poking into my esophagus.”
“Well, then stop moving,” Nat snaps, then turns to Peter. “Go on down the hall, Pete. Your aunt is going to help the nurses with your face.”
“But Tony…”
“I’ll make sure nothing happens to him until Cho gets down here,” she rubs his shoulder. “Go on, маленький паук.”
Peter steals one last glance at Tony; through his high he can’t tell if he looks more worried, or furious. “Don’t die. I still need to fight with you.”
Honestly, Tony doesn’t think Peter’s joking. Natasha gives him a little push towards the door and watches sadly as he limps out of the room. Tony is hit with a wave of nausea as he leaves; usually this is the other way around, and the med team is fighting to get him to leave the room while they attend to Peter. He curses that he’s still lucid enough to feel guilty--Peter hates tweezers, especially when they’re going for his face. That nurse and May are going to have their hands full dodging.
“He’ll be fine, Tony, I’ll check on him when you’re out,” Natasha says softly when he’s out the door. “But...he’s not wrong.”
“Jesus Christ, Nat, not you too!” Tony jerks and grunts in pain. “What the hell was I supposed to do?”
“I know,” she soothes, then sits on the edge of the bed. “But you’re supposed to be retired, Tony. Pepper is pregnant, you--”
“You are the one who asked us to help on the ground!”
“No, I asked Peter to help on the ground,” Nat points out. “Nobody clears out civilians like he can. You’re the one who insisted on putting on the suit.”
“I wasn’t just going to drop him out of the plane!”
“You weren’t dropping him out of the plane, Tony,” Natasha reaches out and lays a hand on his wrist. “But did you ever think that maybe, having you there...it’s one more thing he has to worry about?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s a good thing I was there, he--”
“He never trips wires, Tony. You know that better than anyone,” she squeezes his wrist gently. “You know how he can see that shit, or whatever he does. He was distracted.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nat, it doesn’t work that way. It’s not like turning on the radio.”
“It kind of is, Tony,” she shrugs. “When he can pay attention and focus.”
“Are you saying I’m a distraction?” Tony lifts his head--something shifts in his chest again--and glares at her. “That I’m the reason he couldn’t tell that bomb was there?”
“No,” Natasha removes her hand. “I’m saying he’s already gone through two dads. And you are supposed to be retired. And then,” she sighs, “you jumped in front of him.”
“Of course I did!”
“And you were pleasantly unconscious for most of the flight back. I was not,” she raises both eyebrows and pats his hand.
Shit. Tony closes his eyes and slumps back down. “I’m not gonna stop protecting him.”
“I’m not expecting you to, Tony. None of us are. Peter probably isn’t. Just,” Natasha smiles gently at him. “Think about why he’s upset.”
“He’d be more upset if he was in this bed,” Tony cracks one eye open, and looks towards the door. He imagines a sulky Peter squirming away from a pair of tweezers pulling at his face. “You know how he is when he’s laid up.”
“And I also learned how he is when he’s terrified. So, just...think about it. I think you have at least eight minutes before they wheel you out,” Natasha looks up at the clock. “Pepper will be flying back?”
“Yeah,” Tony frowns, her words rolling around in his split skull. “She was furious.”
“Huh, imagine that.”
********
“You sure, honey?” Pepper brushes her fingers through Tony’s hair, careful not to snag on the stitches. His head is still throbbing, but it’s muffled now, the pain like sound trying to travel through water. “I can have them pull a cot in here.”
“Thanks, Pep, but I’ll be fine. I’m gonna turn this pump up and pass out.”
“Yeah, well, enjoy it tonight. You know how stingy Helen has gotten with the pain medication in that E-raz whatever program. She told me you get two days then it’s ibuprofen unless you can’t stand it.”
“Great,” Tony grunts and shifts against the pillow. He’s certainly had to endure worse than a broken collarbone and cracked ribs. And a hairline fracture in his pelvis. And a furious teenager. “Did you see Pete before you came down?”
“Yes,” Pepper sniffs and straightens Tony’s hospital gown. “He was in a glorious sulk and wouldn’t stop scratching at his leg.”
Tony frowns. “Did he say anything?”
“I think he was trying not to say anything, Tony,” Pepper laughs. “And I know exactly how he feels.”
“Pep, I wasn’t going to let--”
“I know, Tony,” she shushes him. “And you know he’s the same as you. So of course he’s going to be furious--and terrified--when you do something like that.”
Tony sighs and reaches for her hand. He feels like he’s moving through molasses. “He’s my kid, Pep.”
“And you’re his Tony, honey,” Pepper squeezes his hand. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have done it, because I know better than to right now. Or that neither of you should have been there to begin with. But, at the end of the day, Tony, you’re not always going to be around to jump in front of a bomb.”
“I’m working on immortality. I have a file.”
“You know what I mean, Tony. He worries about you, even when he should be worrying about himself.”
“I should be the one worrying about him.”
“Well, you’re going to be doing it from a safe distance for awhile,” Pepper reaches up and peeks under the collar of his gown to look at the neat little incision. “It’ll be a good time to train yourself. You can’t chase two kids around if you’re in traction.” She rubs her belly. “And Peter doesn’t need anything else on his shoulders.”
“Pep--”
“He’s strong, Tony. And stubborn, if that scrunched up little face had anything to say about it,” she smoothes his gown again. “May said Helen ordered him to turn in early tonight. He’ll sleep it off.”
“You’ll make sure he’s okay when you go up?”
“I will check on him and let you know if anything is off.”
“Thanks, Pep.”
“Always, babe,” Pepper leans forward and kisses him gently. “And know that my lecture at you will happen once you’re out of the Medbay.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Tony blows out a breath. “Lecture him, too.”
“Oh, I’m sure May will take care of that. Go to sleep, Tony.”
*************
“Shit.” A clatter wakes Tony up. He hadn’t been sleeping really, more caught in the hazy in-between of exhaustion and pain medication, with his brain still whirring away about all the what ifs. And of course, what both Natasha and Pepper told him. That kid is gonna kill him, one way or another.
Tony peeks one eye open; through the light from the hall he watches as Peter sets something on the counter against the wall, then tip-toes over to the recliner in the corner. He’s carrying a pillow and the heavy duvet from his bed under one arm.
“Why aren’t you in your bed asleep?”
“Jesus!” Peter jumps, stumbling backwards into the counter and knocking whatever he set back on the counter off again. “Why aren’t you asleep?” He hisses, kicking the whatever behind him.
“I was, actually, until you started clattering around in here.”
“Well, go back to sleep,” he frowns, and continues on his way to the recliner.
“I’m not going to now,” Tony rolls his eyes and it hurts. He needs to turn the pain pump back up--it’s set to turn down every few hours. “Why are you down here, Pete? Anything hurt?”
“No,” Peter scowls as he perches on the edge of the bed. He turns his face in Tony’s direction; the bandage is gone. “Already healed, like I said.”
“And your leg?”
“Same,” Peter tucks the pillow into the back of the chair, deliberately not looking at Tony. “It’s fine.”
“Then, hop over to that fridge and get me a shake. FRI, lights on, 30%.” The room illuminates. “I’m starving.”
“Can you eat?” Peter frowns but he gets up and goes over to the minifridge under the counter. Maybe it’s the medication, but Tony thinks he looks jerky and tense.
“Yeah, I’m actually supposed to. Get two. And a pudding.”
“I didn’t get pudding…” he mumbles and grabs two small cans of Ensure, plus a container of pudding, before pulling one of the stiff plastic chairs up to Tony’s bed.
“We can lodge an official complaint in the morning,” Tony presses a button on his bed control and moves the head up so he’s mostly sitting. His chest jostles but the pain is bearable. “Pull that tray over, too.”
Peter grunts but obeys, reaching behind himself to pull the rolling tray over the bed. He sets the cans and pudding down then slumps in his chair.
“Thanks, bud,” Tony tries to catch his eye as he smiles, but Peter stares hard at the cans as he pulls the tabs open. He wants to bat his hands away, guilt eating at his empty stomach as an injured teenager prepares his meager hospital meal. He grunts and tries to lift an arm.
“Stop,” Peter snaps, dropping a straw into one can. “You’ll pull your stitches or rebreak something and then it’ll be an even bigger mess.”
“Peter, there’s like five stitches. And Cho’s pins won’t move.”
“Mmmm,” Peter just narrows his eyes and hums, pushing the tray closer to Tony’s chest so he can reach without moving.
“Pete,” Tony accepts the straw Peter nudges in his direction. He could lift his left arm, just to make a point, but it feels like a gargantuan effort, and the shake is right there on the tray. It’s chalky and disgusting and tastes like heaven.
“Eat,” Peter sniffs, hand shaking as he pulls the paper off the second straw.
“Peter,” Tony abandons his straw and looks directly at him. “Look at me, kid.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know,” Tony says softly, even if he isn’t. “But I’m never going to stop jumping in front of you.”
“Well, you don’t need to,” he mumbles, tearing the foil off the top of the container of pudding.
“And you don’t need to be taking care of me right now,” Tony leans forward and takes another chalky sip. “But here you are.”
“Of course here I am. Where else would I be?” Peter licks the pudding off the foil and sets the cup on the tray next to Tony’s shake. Tony doesn’t know how he expects him to eat it if he won’t let him lift his arm.
“Dealing with your own shit?” Tony nods towards Peter’s cheek, which still looks raw and painful despite him insisting he’d healed. There’s some blood pooling in his right eye that will probably take longer to disappear. And aside from the wounds, he just looks like he feels like shit.
“Like I said, I heal.”
Tony sighs. “I know that. And you can have that pudding if you want, kiddo.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” Tony summons all the strength he has to lift his arm--it flops pathetically on the tray, and hurts his ribs--and nudges the cup to the edge. “Eat up.”
“It’s your pudding. You need it.”
“No, I need for you to eat--help with that healing you like to brag about,” Tony manages to grab ahold of the Ensure, and it doesn’t feel like anything separated in his chest. “I can hear your stomach growling, Did you eat anything, tonight?”
“Yes, I did!” Peter snaps, pushing his chair away from the bed with a loud scrape. “I ate and I tried to go to sleep and I’m fine!”
“Peter,” Tony closes his eyes and inhales. When he opens them again, he’s staring intently at his hands, his injured leg bouncing a mile a minute. Tony thinks about what Natasha and Pepper told him and considers his words carefully. “It’s okay if you’re not fine. I know you were worried--”
“I wasn’t worried, Tony!” Peter finally looks at him. “You jumped in front of a bomb! I was fucking terrified!”
“Pete…”
“No!” He scrubs furiously at his eyes and flinches. “You can’t do things like that! You can’t--I can’t--I would have been fine!”
“Eventually? Probably,” Tony sighs and looks at him. “But I’m not taking that chance, Pete. Never.”
“You have a kid coming!”
“And I have one right now who doesn’t worry about himself half as much as he should, Peter.”
“I worry about me fine! Spidey sense, remember?”
“One, the committee made a decision to not call it that--”
“We’re not calling it the Peter Tingle!”
“--and two, it wasn’t working so hot earlier.”
Peter freezes and looks up at him, eyes wide. “It was--”
“You don’t miss bombs, kiddo,” Tony leans forward and takes a casual sip from his straw. A few mouthfuls in, it doesn’t taste quite as amazing. “You were worried about everything but yourself.”
“There was a lot to worry about!” Peter throws his hands up. “More civilians, the rest of the team...” his voice cracks a little and his eyes drop back to his hands.
“Me?”
“Of course you,” Peter shrugs, and his leg starts bouncing again. “You’re not like me.”
“Peter,” Tony says softly, practically flopping his arm over so his hand can rest on Peter’s wrist. “When we’re out there, I need you to focus on you.”
Peter snorts. “You always said you needed me to listen to Steve.”
“That too,” Tony chuckles. “But I don’t want you focused on me. I’ve been doing this since you were a baby...a babier baby. I’ve lasted this long.”
“But--”
“No buts, buddy,” he squeezes his wrist as much as he can, which probably isn’t much at all. “I need you to focus on you. And I need you to know that if you don’t, and I’m there, I’m gonna jump in front of the bomb. No matter how mad you get at me.”
“Oh, I’m mad!” Peter snaps, but he doesn’t pull his arm away. “You’re so...so--”
“Wreckless? Dangerous? Stupid?” Tony teases. He knows. So many people--the people he cares about--have screamed those words at him since he started this.
“Selfless,” Peter mumbles, sniffing. He rubs at his eye again, hissing when he pulls on his cheek. “Too selfless. I hate it.”
Tony’s throat is tight when he speaks. “Could say the same about you, kid. You really stuck with trying to be like me. I hate it. I’m gonna hate it until I die. But here we are.”
“This is so stupid.”
“Sure is, bud,” Tony smiles. “But you’re here and I’m here and everything will be fine in a few weeks.”
“Your pelvis is cracked. Can you even walk?”
Tony shrugs as best he can. Nobody has really told him yet. “Eh. Give me a chance to build that scooter you swear you won’t plug in.”
Peter snorts a tiny laugh. “You don’t deserve it. Not when I’m mad.”
“Between you and Pep, I’ll be stuck here for months.”
“Good.”
“I don’t really care,” Tony shrugs again. This one pulls on his stitches, despite the fact that his left shoulder didn’t even move. “Well, I do, but...won’t be jumping in front of any bombs for a while.” Tony clicks his tongue. “Should make you happy.”
Peter laughs again. “God, you’re such a jerk.”
“Yeah,” Tony tugs a little bit on Peter’s arm. “Now come here. Enough of this garbage. I’m exhausted and you are, too.”
Peter comes easily, pushing the tray away and falling forward into Tony’s side. It hurts, jarring his entire chest cavity, but he forces himself not to jerk or grunt. Peter presses his forehead into Tony’s shoulder, half-slumped on the narrow bed and half in his chair. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I know,” Tony starts to lay his head on Peter’s then thinks better of it when it pulls particularly hard on his sutures. “You and Pepper both.”
“You deserve it.”
“Always,” Tony chuckles. “But I’d rather you royally pissed off than in this bed, so I’ll take it.”
“Jerk,” Peter scoots closer. “And you stink. Like alcohol.”
“Yeah, not the good kind, either. Okay, lift my hand and put it on your head. I don’t think I can get that far.”
“Oh my god, Mr. Stark,” Peter laughs wetly against his shoulder. Tony smiles; he may want Peter to call him Tony, but he knows being back to Mr. Stark, now, is a good sign. He pushes away and wipes both eyes. “You’re the one who’s gonna be pissed off in like, a day. Less than a day. Tomorrow morning.”
Tony lays back against his pillow. “And that’s why I’m gonna make that scooter.” He nods towards the tray. “You should eat your pudding.”
“It’s your pudding, Mr. Stark.”
“Nope, I’m the injured one, and I believe it was you who decreed when you were laid up that one time that the invalid makes the rules,” Tony tries to grab the edge of the tray but Peter reaches it first, pulling it back. “Eat up. Then go up to your bed. You’ll sleep better.”
“No, I won’t,” Peter grabs the cup and a spoon and slumps in his chair, grimacing a bit when his left leg hits the side of the bed. “Why do you think I came down here?”
“Because you’re a selfless little shit who’s really not worth the trouble?”
“Yup,” Peter pops the spoon in his mouth, then dramatically gags. “Blech. This pudding is garbage.”
“Yeah, so are these shakes,” Tony laughs and closes his eyes. “How much would it cost me to have you sneak a burger down here?”
“You promising to never do that again?”
“Try again, Spider-baby,” Tony laughs. “I was thinking one of the cars or a couple mill.”
“You’re in a hospital bed, Mr. Stark, and I’m in the will,” Peter deadpans. “If I wanted a couple mill I could get it. FRIDAY?” He looks up at the ceiling. He still does, even now, as if she actually lives there.
“Yes, Peter?”
“Could you possibly order some burgers? And like, not tell anybody?”
“Are these burgers for you, Peter?” Shit. Someone--Pepper--is two steps ahead of them.
“Um,” Peter grimaces and looks at Tony. “Yes?”
“Jeez, be a little less confident, kid.”
“I don’t like lying to her!” Peter hisses, stabbing his spoon in the air.
“I’m sorry, Peter, I didn’t quite catch that?”
“I said, yes, FRI. The burgers are just for me!”
“Then of course, Peter. Would you like your usual order?”
“Yes, please,” Peter looks over at Tony. “But like, double? I’m really hungry.”
“Of course, Peter. Is that all?”
“Um, and fries? And a salted caramel shake. And can you like, only announce when it arrives down here? I don’t want to wake anyone up.”
“Of course I can, Peter. You’re always so thoughtful.”
“Thank you, FRIDAY,” Peter looks smugly over at Tony, who rolls his eyes.
“I’ll let you know when the burgers arrive. Also, Dr. Cho asked me to remind you that Boss should drink both of the protein shakes currently in the refrigerator in his room.”
“Got it, FRIDAY. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
Peter waits a moment, then slumps back into his chair. “Do you think she knows?”
“Yes,” Tony smirks and leans forward to take a sip of his shake. “Ugh,” he grimaces. “Take this away from me.”
“No, FRIDAY says you have to drink that.”
“I’ll tell her to wake up the entire compound.”
“Then you don’t get burgers either.”
“Small price to pay,” Tony shrugs and grunts. He has to stop doing that, or at least turn up the pain pump. “I’ll throw myself on another bomb.”
“Mr. Stark!” Peter throws his plastic spoon at him; it doesn’t go far and bounces harmlessly off the side of the bed. “I can leave and keep the burgers to myself!”
“You won’t though,” Tony smirks, settling back into his pillows. He grabs the remote that allows him to turn up the pain pump up and gives it a few clicks. “You’re too good.”
“Just don’t go throwing yourself on any more bombs.”
“As long as you promise to focus on yourself and pay attention to whatever your Peter Tingle is telling you.”
“Oh my god!” Peter throws his hands up. “I’m leaving.”
“No, you aren’t,” Tony sighs and closes his eyes. And he doesn’t, until FRIDAY announces their food has arrived.