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His hands were shaking. It made it hard to hold his pen and it was making it damn near impossible to finish balancing the last equation at the bottom of the worksheet he had been working on. Thin lips pursed, he pushed his swivel chair back, letting out a drawn out breath through puffed out cheeks. He groaned, pulling the strings on his hoodie tight, bringing the hem to a gathered curve that framed the edges of his face, stopping short above his eyebrows.
Had he been this cold when he’d walked home? Had his fingers felt this frozen as he expertly jiggled the door knob, tapping in just the right spot with a worn out sneaker, allowing himself entry into the apartment? He couldn’t remember, not that it mattered. It was that cold now. He couldn’t see his breath, but he might as well have been able to for the ache that had already settled in his chest.
It didn’t happen often because for the most part, he was careful. Thermoregulation had been an issue since the bite, but as long as he never allowed himself to get too hot or too cold, it was manageable. If he wore a jacket and didn’t spend too much time out in the snow or rain, he could bring heat back to his finger tips just by rubbing them together. If he drank obnoxious volumes of ice water during the sweltering summer, he could stay upright long enough to be with his friends outside in between air conditioned buildings.
This wouldn’t have been an issue today, it shouldn’t have been, anyway, because May was supposed to pick him up from school. He’d lost his subway pass, again, but he remained steadfast that it was in his room somewhere. He’d argued that it was under his bed if not folded into one of the piles of dirty laundry that so covered his bedroom floor, that an incoming guest might not even notice the myriad of stains decorating the uneven carpet. May was supposed to pick him up, but she had been called into work unexpectedly to cover a coworker who was out taking care of a sick child. Or puppy? Peter couldn’t remember which, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the six blocks that stretched between Midtown and his apartment. What also mattered was the fact that it was early November and it was fucking freezing.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay walking, baby?” May had asked when she called him during his lunch period, “I’m sure you could get a ride from Tony if you texted him and asked,”
Peter had vehemently disapproved. He didn’t want to bother Mr. Stark, especially when he planned to head to the tower in just two days anyway.
“Okay, if you’re really sure. Text me when you leave school though. And when you get home. Or if you need anything. I won’t have my phone on me until my break, but I still want to know you got home.” May was a rambler when she was nervous. Peter could tell she felt guilty even if he couldn’t see her chewing on her nails. Even if he couldn't see her forcing her hand back down to her side in an effort to break the habit, only to give in seconds later.
“I’ll be fine. It’s not that far, plus it’ll be good to get the exercise. Stretch the legs. Get the steps. You know,” Peter said, reducing the tension with a practiced ease, “Besides, maybe I’ll see a cat that needs rescuing. Help an old lady cross the street.”
May had sighed, rolling her eyes. God, she loved her boy.
So Peter walked home after the last bell had rung, shoving his icy cold fingers into the pocket of a well worn blue hoodie. He did his best to avoid stepping in the puddles that had formed on the busy sidewalks, where the ghost of last nights freezing rain had collected in the cracks on the pavement. He pulled his hood up over his head when the light breeze was enough to make the tips of his ears burn, his nose beginning to run. By the time he’d arrived at home his feet felt like lead and he wished with everything he had that his aunt’s “put another sweater on” policy regarding the heater was a joke rather than a reality. He braced one hand on the wall as he scraped his shoes off, leaving puddles of sickly gray water in his wake.
He stumbled into his room and stripped his hoodie off, slinging it to the floor in favor of a drier red one. Then he dropped his backpack to the ground and collapsed into a rolling desk chair to start on his chemistry assignment. And there he still sat forty five minutes later,wondering how it was possible for a person to retain so little heat.
The sky outside was bursting with the autumnal tones of sunset, frost clinging to his bedroom window. He leaned his head forward, connecting it with the rough plywood of his second-hand desk, and sighed. Maybe it would be best to just get in bed. He was just. so. tired. His nose, red with cold, began to drip down his face as he sniffled in vain. His skin stung and it felt as though the ice from the window had metastasized like a cancer, covering the surface of his bones. It was a deep kind of cold, the kind that’s heavy and hard to shake.
The fading light was not making staying awake any easier and his heavy eyelids were begging for respite. It would be easy to say that he’d thought about it, that he’d weighed the costs and benefits to bury his face in his folded arms, letting his eyes close, letting sleep overtake him. It would be easy to say that, but of course that isn’t how things actually went down.
He was just so tired. And fuck, was it cold. His whole body shook as he curled tighter in on himself. He wouldn’t tell if he was hungry or if he wanted to throw up. He couldn’t tell if he was actually having a hard time breathing or if he was just freaking himself out. He couldn’t tell what time it was, what day it was. The only thing on his mind was that he felt like a glacier, heavy and solid and like he’d been hanging out in the North Pole for the last millennium. So his eyes closed of their own accord and if his phone vibrated in his pocket, he didn’t notice.
It was a devastatingly slow day at Stark Industries. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful to have a successful company, that he wasn’t grateful to have all the money he could ever ask for all the tools he could ever need. It was just that he wished he could have all those things without having to sit through another four hours of another big-wig going on and on about the best places for Stark Tech. He wasn’t the CEO anymore, Pepper was. He shouldn’t have to pretend to listen while he tapped his pen against the side of his thumb. He glanced at Pepper across the table. She actually was listening. Eyes forward, nodding intently, taking a break every once in a while to scribble something down on a pale yellow legal pad she had placed next to a white coffee cup.
Everything about her was like that. Her suit pressed and neat. Her coffee cup only had coffee on the inside, with no evidence of anyone having spilled a third of the carafe down the side of it after another long night in the lab. She had a working pen on her, which Tony took a second to think about. The day that he came to a meeting with both usable blank paper AND a functioning pen, -ha, that would be a sight. Completely out of character, but a sight to behold nonetheless. Pepper even looked nice under the gross artificial light of the conference room, the soft yellow glow bouncing off her high cheekbones. Tony hadn’t seen himself before he’d sat down what felt like ages ago, but he could guess the lighting was not extending the same kindness to his own tired face.
As the presenter droned on, Tony took the opportunity to inspect the details of the carpet under his feet. Then the wall. Then the ceiling. He inwardly cursed himself for sitting on the window side of the room, rather than the side that backed up to the hallway. If he was facing the other way, at least he’d be able to look at birds or some shit like that. He made a mental note to remember that for the next meeting. Maybe he should write it down, he thought, just kidding he didn’t bring a functioning pen to this meeting. Just as he was beginning to fear that his eyes may melt out of their sockets from pure boredom alone, his phone buzzed. He took it out under the table, like he was a fourteen year old in the back of a math class, afraid of getting caught. Pepper shot him a look and he did his best to respond non-verbally, raising his eyebrows sarcastically while shaking his head and faking a smile.
May Parker: Have you heard from Peter? I told him to text me when he got gnome
May Parker: *home, thank you autocorrect
That was weird, Tony thought, didn’t the kid usually take the subway? Or like a bus or something? He was happy to take that as a cue to leave though, and he cleared his throat. The presenter, a balding man in his forties, paused with one hand still pointing at some pie graph he was projecting onto the white board at the front of the room.
“While this has been riveting, and I assure you that it has been, there’s been an incident I need to address, so if you will excuse me,” He braced himself on the edge of the table as he stood, pushing his chair back.
“Tony-” Pepper started, her voice thick with disapproval. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
“I’m sure that Ms. Potts will update me on any further details you had to share, Mr…” The man sighed, defeated.
“Johnson. Howard Johnson, sir” Mr. Johnson stared at his own feet as Tony pulled his phone out again.
May Parker: ?
“Yeah, listen Henry,”
“It’s Howard.”
“Right, Howard, great presentation, I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out. We’ll be in touch for sure,” the empty promises slipped from his lips without a second thought as he made his way out the door, letting it slam as he entered the adjacent hallway.
TStark: Haven’t heard from the kid. What’s going on?
Regardless of how he acted when the kid was around, Tony did enjoy having him around. Peter was bright and having someone to bounce ideas off of was new and exciting. Sure, Rhodey had been there in the early years, at MIT, and then sporadically throughout his time at SI. He had other priorities now, though, as a full blown symbol of American freedom or whatever, and having the kid around made things easier. Maybe he wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet, but he really did care about the Peter.
May Parker: He lost his subway pass and I told him I could take him home from school but I called in to work so he said he would walk. He promised he’d text me when he got there, but I haven’t heard anything and it's nearly 5:00.
What time did he get out of school anyway? Three? Tony couldn’t be sure, but he knew it was definitely before five Pm.
May Parker: I tried calling him and he didn’t pick up. I can’t leave work right now, we’re understaffed as it is, otherwise I’d just go home and check on him myself.
Ah. Now he saw where this was going. May wanted him to head over to Queens, confirm that Peter was indeed alive, not wrapped in a tarp in a ditch somewhere. That was something he could handle. Probably. Plus he could always bring Happy as backup, right?
TStark: I can head over right now and check on him, if you want me to
May Parker: You’re a lifesaver, Tony, I owe you one.
Tony fiddled with the outer edge of his phone case for a moment, wondering if he’d made the right decision. One the one hand, if Peter was fine, he could brush it off as a side effect of May’s protective nature. On the other hand though, if it tuned out he was not fine… he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.
He pulled on his overcoat as he texted Happy to meet him with a car out front. As he stepped out into the bitter November air, a shiver ran through his body and he pulled the edges of his jacket closer to his core in an effort to keep from freezing. Just as he was about to go wait back inside, in the safety and warmth of the SI lobby, Happy pulled up to the curb, rolling down the passenger side window as he did so.
“Where to, boss” He asked, pausing to take a sip from a travel mug that rested in the center console cupholder.
“You know where Parker lives right?” Tony suddenly realized he had no clue where the kid lived. He had only been to his apartment the one time, to talk about Germany and that had been ages ago. In theory, if it came down to it, he could rack the kid’s suit.
“Yeah, I got it. Hurry up and get in, we’re not paying to heat the whole lot.”
“If I wanted to I could,” Tony replied without thought, even as he hurriedly packed himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him and rolling the window up.
“Literally everyone knows that, it was just a- you know what, nevermind. We’ll be at Peter’s apartment in roughly ten minutes. That okay?”
“That’s fine. Aunt hottie is just being paranoid. I’m sure he’s fine”
It didn’t end up taking that long to get there, and when they arrived, Happy pulled into the back parking lot. Tony assured him he would only be a minute, probably, as he shut the door and made his way up the staircase to Peter’s apartment door. He stood there a moment before knocking, a sense of nervousness he couldn’t quite place rising in his chest. He brought his knuckles to the door and tapped a few times, assuming that a kid with heightened senses would be able to hear him waiting to be let in.
When no response came, however, he tried again, louder this time.
“Kid, you okay? It’s Tony. May sent me to check on you?” He wasn’t used to this. He was so used to being the worried over rather than the worrier, he had never considered the perspective of the person on the other side of the door. Did Rhodey feel this nervous when he locked himself in the lab for days on end, forgetting to come upstairs to rest? Regardless, the wave of emotion that hit when Peter finally responded made his heart plummet and his stomach soar up into his mouth.
“Misser S’ark?”
It was so quiet and so slurred that Tony almost couldn’t translate what the kid had said.
“Uh, yeah, Pete, it’s Mr. Stark. Can you let me in please so I don’t have to keep talking to the door?”
There were some stumbling sounds before Tony could hear the deadbolt sliding out of its place at eye level. When it finally opened, Tony almost couldn’t believe his eyes. Peter stood bleary eyed and dangerously listing to one side before him, his hair damp and his skin a ghostly shade of pale. He was shaking in his hoodie and jeans, sock clad feet planted firmly in a puddle next to his shoes.
“Jesus, kid,” Tony whispered under his breath, “what the hell happened to you, huh?”
“I- I’m I’m cold, sir” Peter’s teeth chattered together as he spoke and he wrapped his arms protectively around his stomach.
“Yeah, no I can see that. Cold we can fix. We’ll get you warmed up and then we can talk about what the actual fuck is going on right now.” Tony invited himself in, shutting the door softly behind him. The apartment was chilly, sure, but Tony slipped his shoes off by the door and took of his coat, leaving him in the business attire he had been forced to wear to the meeting earlier. The way the kid was acting, he would have thought it was the arctic in the middle of the winter.
Peter watched him, swaying on his feet, and as he began to walk back toward his bedroom, he stumbled again. He would have fallen if it wasn't for a strong grip on his bicep and another hand coming to rest on his lower back. An icy feeling seeped through the Peter’s clothes, shocking Tony as he caught him. How was he so cold?
“Kid, you are a mess”
He didn’t have to say it, they both knew, but Tony felt uneasy in the silence so he continued.
“Let’s get back to your room, huh? You wanna get in bed? That’ll probably warm you up if we get you under some blankets.”
He guided the dizzy teenager back through the apartment before backing him up until his knees hit the edge of the twin sized mattress. He walked around the room, once Peter was seated and no longer in danger of faceplanting on the kitchen linoleum, and picked up another hoodie and a new pair of socks. Peter watched him in silence and if he was uncomfortable, he hid it well. His mouth hung slightly open and his breathing was quick. Tony wasn’t a medical professional, but he was pretty sure normal, healthy teenagers didn’t breathe like that.
He tried to remember back to wilderness first-aid training that Steve had made them all take a few months back before a mission in the Ural mountains. The shaking, the rapid breathing, the seemingly overwhelming chill-- this was beginning to look a lot like hypothermia and Tony didn’t like that at all. What were you supposed to do with a hypothermic person again? Get them out of the cold first, sure, but weren’t they already out of the cold? Tony was comfortable in his slacks and a button down shirt.
Okay, he thought, okay, what’s next? Remove any wet clothes, right? Ha glanced over at Peter, who was now hunched over, still shaking. His hair was wet. Had his shirt been wet too? He returned to Peter’s side, new hoodie in hand. The warn fleece that covered the kid’s body was slightly damp, but not too concerning, so he decided to just layer the new one on top.
“Hey, kid, can you put this on?” He asked, eliciting only a groan for a response, then “Come on, kid, work with me a little bit here.”
Peter looked up at him with glassy, red rimmed eyes as he reached his arm up to accept the shirt. He didn’t make it that far though, before he dropped it, fingers refusing to cooperate. His slow movements were even further hindered by the violent shivers that still racked his thin frame.
“Alright, bud, it’s okay I got it” Tony picked the hoodie up again and bunched it up, sliding it gently over the kids head, then weaving his arms into the sleeves. It wasn’t easy to do, and once again, Tony found himself wondering how many times Happy or Rhodey had done the same for him, when he was too drunk to care or too hungover to think straight. He then knelt to the floor and peeled the kid’s socks off his feet, folding them into a ball before tossing them into an already overflowing hamper in the corner. He slipped on the new ones and hoped the thin fabric would help, even if just a little bit, to retain the heat the boy desperately needed.
Okay, step three, Tony thought, get him warm.
“Okay, bud we’re doing great, huh? Let’s get you under some blankets, yeah?”
He pulled back the comforter and top sheet on the boy’s bed, and with one hand behind the kid’s neck, the other on his chest, he laid the kid down. He pulled the covers around him tightly and watched as Peter curled in on himself. He rubbed the kid’s arm up and down over the blanket, hoping to generate enough heat to at least get him coherent. Step four was get him to drink something warm, right? Try and get his temperature up on the inside? Before he could excite that part of the plan, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Happy: You okay?
TStark: I think the kid might be hypothermic?
TStark: close to it anyway, I’m trying to get him warmed up, but he’s not with it enough to help
Tony typed out his response quickly, continuing to rub the boys arm with one hand as he described the situation.
Happy: Shit. Should we take him somewhere? Call an ambulance or something?
TStark: Can’t risk taking him to a normal hospital. Plus, modified DNA they probably couldn’t help him anyway
Happy: At least call Dr. Banner then, make sure he’s ok. You text the aunt?
TStark: Will do, not yet, can you? gotta go
He closed out of his messages and dialed Bruce’s number. When he picked up on the third ring, Tony got straight to the point.
“Heyyy Brucie, so I have a slight problem, and by slight I mean I have a pretty big problem. I’m with Peter now and he’s showing signs of hypothermia. Can’t risk taking him to the hospital down here and I don’t think he’d fair too well with a drive up to the compound. I need your help”
“Tony- wait what? What’s going on?”
“I am with Peter. I think he’s hypothermic, or close to it anyway. What do I do?” Tony reiterated, slowing down his speech in an effort to maintain his false sense of control over the situation.
“Jesus. Okay. You guys inside? Get him out of the cold if you’re not. Then get him changed out of anything wet, first step to being warm is being dry. You do that already?” Bruce asked, keeping a frankly enviable collected and professional tone.
“Yeah. We’re inside, he’s dry, he’s got two hoodies on and I put him in bed under the covers. He’s still shaking pretty bad though and I can feel his skin. He’s fucking cold ”
“Okay, great start, you’re doing great, Tony,” Bruce said placatingly, “Do you think you could get him to drink something? Warm water is probably your best bet, hypothermia can come with nausea and we also don’t want to give him anything with caffeine right now.”
“Warm water, check. What should I do after that?”
“If he’s still shaking, find a heating pad or a hot water bottle, or even just a regular towel and get it warmed up in good shape. It’d be best if you had a couple of them, because you can put them in a couple key places to help warm up his blood as it circulates. You wanna try that?” He knew that by asking, he was giving Tony control over the situation, allowing him the confidence he needed to fix the kid up.
“Sure do! Where do I put them?”
“You want one on his neck, his chest wall, so sort of by his armpit, and in his groin area. Don’t put anything on his arms or legs though that’s gonna bring colder blood back toward his core which is gonna drop his temperature again. Sound good?”
Tony scrunched up his face in distaste. He cared about the kid, for sure, no doubt about it, but they weren’t even to the hugging stage of their relationship, hell, they weren’t even to the it’s okay to hand me things stage of their relationship, much less the “hold a hot towel to your quote unquote groin area” stage. Tony wasn’t sure that even existed.
“Tony, you good?” Bruce asked, interrupting his thought.
“Yup! I got this! Thanks so much for your help Brucie bear!” Tony said with a false brightness before he hung up the phone, making to slide it back into his pocket before Bruce sent him a text:
Bruce Banner: He gets worse, you bring him up to the compound, okay? We can send the jet, we can send a suit, I don’t care, but his health has to be priority number one okay? Secret identity comes second. Don’t be dumb.
Tony ignored the message, putting his phone away and turning his full attention to the shivering mass that still lay beneath the sheets before him. Okay, so he’d been right about the drink thing. That was easy, he could do that. He walked quickly to the kitchen, pulling out a glass and filling it halfway with warm tap water. He returned to Peter’s bedside and began rubbing his arm again.
“Okay, kiddo, here’s the plan. You’re gonna drink some of this nice warm water, and then we’re gonna get you a heating pad and some warm towels and then it’s gonna be fine, okay?” The only sign that Peter was even listening at all was a slight whimper and a trembling bottom lip. Tony was becoming more and more worried by the second. Maybe he should’ve just loaded Peter up when he’d first arrived, they’d be at least half way to the compound by now, where a qualified medical staff could get the kid feeling back to normal in a matter of hours. He shook his head quickly, dismissing the thought and continued on with the plan.
“You’re alright, bud, let’s sit up a little and drink some water, yeah?” He helped Peter unravel himself and sit up a little, keeping one hand pressed between his shoulder blades for support while the other held the glass up to his lips. Peter sipped at the water gently, spilling some of it down his chin as his teeth continued to chatter. “That’s it, good job, Pete, good job” Tony encouraged, pulling the glass away when it was empty. He used the corner of his sleeve to wipe the spilled water off the kids face before lowering him back down to the bed.
“You let me know if you start to feel sick, okay? It’s okay if you do, I just don’t want you to, you know, choke or whatever” Tony said as he made his way to the bathroom to look for a heating pad. In the medicine cabinet, he found two hot water bottles and a handful of towels. Peter began to whimper again as he poured steaming hot water from the tap into the bottles, wrapping them up in towels before bringing them back to the kids bedroom.
“Okay, Pete, I know this sucks, I know” He whispered in what he hoped was a comforting voice, as he lifted the comforter to lay the first water bottle against the kid’s ribs. He replaced the covers and placed the second bottle on the opposite side, holding it gently to his neck. Peter leaned into the warmth and let his eyes slip shut. Tony chose to forgo the warm towel placement, making a silent promise that he would go heat one up in the microwave if things didn’t start improving soon. He carded his fingers gently through Peter’s chestnut curls as he sat in wait on the edge of the bed.
After about fifteen minutes, Tony began to notice significant improvements. The kid was no longer shaking as violently, the color had returned to his face, and his teeth were finally stilled. He removed the hot water bottles and brought them back into the bathroom, leaving them on the vanity counter to be dealt with later.
“How we feelin’, kiddo?” He asked as he re-entered the room
“Missr S’ark?” Peter asked sleeplily, his eyes only half open.
“The one and only,” Tony stretched his arms wide, a smirk plastered on his own tired face. “You didn’t answer my question, bud.”
“Oh.” Peter mumbled “‘m tired”
Tony walked back over to the bed, and placed a hand on the boy’s forehead. His skin was no longer freezing, though he still didn’t feel as warm as Tony was guessing he should. He pulled his phone out of his pocket again, resuming his earlier conversations with both Happy and Bruce. Once he assured them both that the crisis had been averted, he instructed Happy to follow up with May. Was it irresponsible, he wondered, to have been so consumed with the need to take care of Peter that he had forgotten to tell the kid’s actual guardian that he was going to be fine? He decided not to worry about it, choosing instead to focus on the now sleeping form in front of him.
TStark: He’s sleeping now. That fine?
Bruce Banner: As long as he’s warm and coherent, yeah. Make sure he gets plenty of fluids though.
TStark: Thanks for your help, I owe you one
Bruce Banner: Haha, I may take you up on that some day.
“Alright, Pete, you get some rest. I’ll make you some dinner for when you wake up, huh?” He smiled and walked out of the room, turning the light off as he went.
TStark: You can head home, if you want, I think I’d better stay until May gets home just in case
Happy: Okay, I texted her, told her he’s been better but that you have it under control. Anything else she should know?
TStark: No, we’re good. Thanks, Hap
Happy: No problem, text if you need anything.
He dug through the cupboards until he found what he was looking for; a single lightly-dusty can of condensed chicken noodle soup. He prepared it to the best of his ability, which involved throwing it into a bowl and putting it in the microwave. Contrary to popular belief, Tony could cook. He was good at it. He enjoyed it. But this wasn’t his house and his mind kept going back to Bruce warning him about Peter’s sensitive stomach and he really wasn’t keen on scraping any kind of anything off the kids bedroom floor. While the soup was cooking, he found an electric tea kettle and made some chamomile tea he found in the cupboard.
“Hey Pete, you up to tryin’ some food? I bet it’ll help warm you up,” Tony whispered into the dark bedroom.
“Hmmph..” Peter grumbled in response
“Come on kid, it’s dinner time. Sit up for me?” He asked, setting the bowl and mug on the kid’s cluttered nightstand. He helped lean Peter back so that he was resting against his headboard. His eyes were still half way closed, but his face looked a lot better. “There we go, come on I made you some soup.”
“You made me- Mr. Stark I…” Peter started, the drowsiness evaporating from his voice as he realized what was going on “Oh my God”
“It’s alright, kid, just eat the soup, okay?” He handed him the bowl and the spoon. “How you feelin’?”
Peter held the bowl and spoon without making a move to eat any of its contents. If dying from embarrassment was a real thing, if he could have evaporated in that moment, he would have. He couldn’t believe Tony fucking Stark had put him to bed. Had made him soup. Was sitting in his frankly disgusting bedroom, asking how he felt.
“Hey, pay attention, answer my question,” Tony prompted. He could practically hear the kid thinking things trough and he didn’t want it to be any weirder than it needed to be.
“I’ve been better but I feel a lot better. Still really tired though. Thanks for helping me, Mr. Stark, I am so sor-” He started to apologize, but Tony cut him off.
“Kid, it’s not a big deal. I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll wait until you're back at 100% to rip you a new one for not calling someone when you were sitting in here alone practically freezing to death. You were nearly hypothermic, bud, I had to call Bruce to make sure I could help you and we didn’t need to call 911 or something,”
“I’m sorry, I thought it was fine. Usually I can-”
“The hell you mean ‘usually’? You've done this before?” Tony interrupted again, his anger and indignation thinly veiling his intense worry.
“Uh, yeah, part of the bite, uh, I can’t- I can’t thermoregulate. I get cold, I stay cold. I get too hot, I stay hot.” Peter explained, taking a few tentative bites of his dinner.
“Okay so,” Tony paused, taking a deep breath, bringing his palms together and holding his joined hands in front of his nose. “When something changes our DNA and could cause us serious bodily harm, what do we do?”
“We tell someone” Peter finished meekly, taking a sip from his mug, looking utterly defeated.
“Exactly, we tell someone so we don’t die alone from hypothermia in our own homes.” Tony retorted. His face softened as he watched Peter stir at the remainder of his soup dejectedly. “You don’t have to do things alone, kid. You know that.”
God, he looked exhausted.
“Alright, that's enough. we can finish that conversation later. Here’s the game plan, alright? You are gonna finish that and then go to sleep.”
Peter nodded and took the last few bites slowly, his eyelids getting heavier by the second. When both dishes were empty, Tony gathered them and brought them back out to the sink, rinsing them out and leaving them there to deal with later.
“Okay kid, goodnight, sleep well, I’ll be out in the living room until your aunt gets here so just yell if you need anything, sound good?” Tony asked, poking his head around the door frame.
“Mmrph, g’night Ms’r S’rk” Peter mumbled before curling back in on himself to get some much needed rest. Tony smiled and closed the door before making his way back to the couch. He sat slumped against the cushions, the springs poking at his back. He finally allowed himself to relax. He had done it, the kid was fine. He had averted the crisis. A faint smile ghosted across his face as he gazed out the window onto the street lights below.
And that’s how May found him as she walked into her apartment after her shift. On the couch, business clothes still on, socked feet resting against the leg of the coffee table. She brought the crochet afghan down from the hall closet and draped it over his sleeping form before entering her own bedroom and doing the same herself.
God she loved her boy and she was so glad there was finally someone else who did too.