Work Text:
Spiderman was used to this by now- sitting on the edge of the bathtub while he let the blood from his injuries flow down the drain, carefully stitching his wounds, cleaning them, and bandaging them up.
He grimaced as the needle sunk into his skin again. The stinging from the alcohol swab he’d applied not even a minute ago didn’t help the pain. He shoved the collar of his shirt into his mouth and bit down, muffling a pained cry.
”Spidey,” Alex warned, ”this is the third time this week you’ve given yourself stitches. You need to stop doing this to yourself.”
Spiderman gritted his teeth and wove the needle through his skin again. “Stop doing what?” he snarled, voice low and gravelly, “saving lives?”
”Throwing yourself headlong into dangerous situations!”
He forced down another choked cry as another wave of red-hot pain shot up his arm. “You-” he gulped, swallowing another pained grunt. “You sound like Mr. Stark.”
”Because he’s right.” Spiderman’s head swam as she crept forward. ”You’re going to kill yourself at this rate.”
Spiderman let out a shaky sigh of relief as he finished stitching the wound shut, the pain finally ebbing away into a dull throb. He applied medication to the wound and got to work on his other injuries, cleaning them and slapping a Band-Aid overtop of them. “So what if I do?” he said at last, keeping his voice low so May wouldn’t hear him.
”Do you even hear yourself right now?!” Alex snapped. Spiderman bandaged up a particularly sore road burn injury on his calf. “Spider, you can’t save anyone if you’re dead! Please, just go to someone! Anyone! Tony can help you with this! I’m tired of seeing you come home half-dead every single night just because you’re too stubborn to-”
Spiderman gritted his teeth, fists clenching, and forced her out.
He breathed a sigh of relief at the peace and quiet that followed. It was easier to concentrate on bandaging yourself up when there wasn’t an angry adult screeching about self-preservation inside of your head.
He was completely fine on his own. He didn’t need to go to anyone else for help.
Spiderman picked up the box of Band-Aids, wondering when he’d dropped it.
Tonight was going to be a long night.
.
.
.
The entirety of the following week, Spiderman refused to let anyone else front.
He pushed Keagan back, ignored Alex’s yells, refused to let Peter anywhere near the front. He didn’t have to worry about anyone else because they knew how to mind their own damn business.
He could see the concern in MJ’s eyes, felt the disgusting pity roll off of Peter’s teachers and classmates in waves. He spent the entire week neglecting Peter’s schoolwork, only doing the bare minimum when May sat him down and forced him to do it. He ignored Tony’s attempts to contact him, refused to ride to the compound with Happy after school, ignored Ned and MJ.
It was fine like this, he told himself. He didn’t need anyone else’s help. He was perfectly fine on his own.
At least, that’s what he told himself over and over again in a desperate attempt to actually believe it.
Everything went downhill on Saturday night.
He’d stayed out longer than usual, breaking curfew. He turned off his phone and disabled his suit’s tracking device, fighting crime and helping others until he could barely keep his eyes open anymore.
That’s when it happened.
Spiderman sat perched on a streetlamp, eyes narrowing at the street below. This was his fourth night in a row staking out a possible drug exchange site, and so far, he’d gathered very little evidence. He was beginning to get impatient, though- the only person to enter the building the entire time he’d been watching was an older man with a cane.
“Karen, what time is it?” he whispered, careful not to make too much noise.
“It is currently four-fifty in the morning,” Karen responded, “you have three missed calls from May Parker. Would you like me to read the voicemails?”
“What? No!” he hissed.
“Alright. Would you like me to call her back?”
“Fuck no,” he grumbled.
“You also have five missed calls and thirteen missed messages from Tony Stark, as well as forty-five missed messages from Ned Leeds-”
“Mute my phone,” he muttered.
“Of course,” Karen complied. Spiderman breathed a sigh of relief.
All was quiet for a few moments, before Karen spoke up again. “I have detected a heat signature inside the building.”
Spiderman frowned. “Is it the old guy from before?”
“No. It appears to be a woman.”
His frown deepened. “How’d you not notice it before?”
“I'm unsure."
“Maybe it’s some freaky alien masking technology,” he muttered under his breath.
“That is a possibility.”
Spiderman shifted his weight, wincing as pins and needles shot up his legs. “Karen, can you activate enhanced reconnaissance mode?”
“Certainly, Peter.”
Spiderman watched as the tiny spy drone flew into the building. He tuned his suit’s transmission-receiving feature and listened as it crackled to life, then settled down.
“You’re sure that this is safe?” came a woman’s voice- the voice from the woman inside, he guessed.
“I’m positive,” another voice affirmed. The video feature finally kicked in, allowing Spiderman to see everything that was happening inside of the building.
The man- the same old man who’d walked into the building just a couple hours ago, leaned against the wall, cane propped up against the arm of a raggedy couch. “Look, I’ve tried the drug before. Look at me!”
“All I see is a sick old man,” the woman frowned, brushing a lock of brown hair out of her face.
The man frowned. “The drug does nothing to cure physical deficits,” he explained.
Spiderman’s brow furrowed. So it was a drug, then. Oh, Mr. Stark was going to be so pissed if he figured out that he was spying on a drug bust four hours after his curfew.
“So what does it do?” the woman glanced around, arms folding over her chest. Her eyes flitted around, almost as if she knew someone was watching the deal go on. “I just want to know if it will-”
“Yes, yes, I read your email,” the man sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, “you want the drug for your retarded daughter.”
The woman’s face pinched into something that looked like a mixture of disgust and rage. Spiderman felt a pang of those exact emotions run through him at the same time. He didn’t know much about that word, but he knew it was a slur used to describe mentally disabled people, and he felt sick at the thought that anyone would even think about using it to describe him and his system. “She’s not retarded, she has Cerebral Palsy-”
“I don’t give a shit either way,” the man dismissed, “X-842 works to heal mental problems. Dementia, that Autism shit, amnesia, it cures all of ‘em.”
The woman bit her lip. “Does it cure intellectual disabilities?”
The man sneered. “The fuck did I just say?” he growled, “It cures everything.” He reached over to grab his cane, hobbling over to the opposite side of the room. He stopped in front of a worn-down desk, clearly on its last legs. Peter winced at the loud squeak that came from the man pulling open the top drawer.
He reached inside and pulled a vial of a greenish-brown liquid. “‘Course, it’s still in its testing stages, and for the life of me I can’t get the FDA to approve it, but it cured my Post-Concussion whatever the hell it was, so I think this thing’s pretty solid.”
“Are there any side effects?” the woman asked, mesmerized by the vial even though all Spiderman saw was a disgustingly-colored illegal drug.
“Yeah, but you get that with any drug,” the man limped over to the couch, grunting as he practically collapsed onto it. “I got a bit of memory loss at the beginning and had a bit o’ nausea, but it cleared up real quick.”
The woman’s lips twitched into a tentative smile, her face morphing to show her blatant relief. “That’s not too bad,” she said, “how much? I’m willing to pay anything.”
“One vial of this?” the man cocked an eyebrow upwards, “two thousand.”
The woman nodded- clearly the price didn’t phase her in the slightest. “I pay more than that for my daughter’s accommodations,” she breathed a sigh of relief, fishing through her pocket and retrieving a beaten-down wallet. Spiderman couldn’t help the pang of sympathy that ran through him.
He felt conflicted- on the one hand, this was an illegal drug exchange that could potentially land both the man and the woman in jail, but on the other hand, it was just a mother who wanted the best for her daughter. Spiderman didn’t like that she was trying to “cure” her daughter, but he could at least understand where she was coming from. Getting rid of an intellectual disability was sure to make life at least a little bit easier for her and her daughter, no matter how immoral it was.
Spiderman’s brow furrowed and he bit his lip. Did that little girl really deserve to be cured, to be someone who she wasn’t, just because her mom found it hard to take care of her? What’s more, the man could be completely ripping her off. It could be some other drug that could permanently affect or even kill her daughter. The woman could risk being thrown in jail and separated from her daughter just because she wanted a better life for her.
“Peter?” Karen interrupted, “it is currently five o’clock. I recommend going back to the apartment.”
“In a sec, Karen,” he whispered, shifting his position so he could get the feeling back into his legs. His brow pinched together as he contemplated his options- which was better? Should he let it go and risk the man exploiting hundreds of other people, or should he intervene and break the mother’s heart?
As it turned out, Spiderman didn’t need to think too hard.
“Hey, um, what is that?”
The woman raised a hand to point directly at the drone.
Spiderman felt his heart drop.
The man’s eyes comically bugged out of his head. “SHIT! We’re being watched! Get the fuck outta here-”
He dove behind the couch, leaving his cane behind in his panic. Suddenly, the screen lit up bright yellow, then orange, then flickered and shorted out. Spiderman realized what was about to happen right before it did. He shot out a web and flung himself as far away as possible, tumbling and rolling to a stop on the roof of a nearby building. The shockwave from the blast still hit him. Debris rained down on him, slicing open his skin and tearing his costume. He stumbled to his feet, a high-pitched ringing echoing in his ears. His vision swam, the ringing becoming incessantly louder and louder with each passing second. He toppled forward, feeling his eyes roll back into his head, and knew nothing more.
.
.
.
“Kid, you up?”
Spiderman startled awake, head pounding and his eyes burning. He blinked harshly to try and rid his eyes of the lingering grittiness brought on by sleep.
He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but stopped when a sharp ache was all that rewarded him for his efforts. He groaned, bringing a hand up to try and block out the bright fluorescent lights from the ceiling above him.
“Alex said you’d probably be sensitive to stimuli for a couple days,” a familiar voice sighed. “FRIDAY, dim the lights, please?”
“Of course, Boss.”
Spiderman turned his head, eyes focusing on none other than Tony Stark himself.
He couldn’t remember what had happened, but he knew he was in deep shit, going off of the man’s disappointed gaze.
“Kid, listen, I don’t know where you get off on trying to bust an illegal drug exchange by yourself at five in the morning, but you should know what you did was somehow even more stupid that the ferry incident.”
Drug exchange? Spiderman furrowed his brow, trying to remember what had happened.
Like a light switch had been turned on, the memories suddenly flooded back to him.
The woman, X-842, the old man, mental disabilities, the explosion-
“Wha- Mr. Stark, how’d-”
“I find you?’ Mr. Stark interrupted, snorting humorously. “Suit tracker, remember?”
Spiderman frowned. “When did you have time to reinstall it?”
Mr. Stark shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much free time I have when I pressure Pep into rescheduling my meetings- hey, don’t change the subject!”
As much as Spiderman tried to hold it in, he couldn’t help but snicker at Mr. Stark’s reaction.
“I’m scolding you, young man, don’t you dare try to laugh at me,” Mr. Stark warned, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest in a show of intimidation.
“Sorry,” he muttered, stifling another round of choked laughter. Mr. Stark sighed, rubbing his forehead.
“Listen, kid, you screwed up big time.” Spiderman looked down, shame eating at his conscience. “First, you ignore Peter and the others and go out on patrol way past your curfew, then you try to perform a drug bust on your own on thirty hours without sleep, and then you get caught up in an explosion and fall off of a building! What the hell were you thinking?!”
Spiderman looked down, picking at the sheets of what he now recognized to be a cot in the MedBay. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Didn’t mean to what?” Tony growled, “get caught? Disappoint me? Get injured so badly that Cho was worried about your life being in danger?”
Spiderman flinched, shoulders hunching up defensively. Mr. Stark’s posture softened. “This isn’t like you, P- Underoos,” he sighed, sounding more tired than Spiderman had ever heard him sound before, “blatantly ignoring your curfew to do sh- I mean, stuff like this?” Spiderman dared a glance up at Mr. Stark’s face, expecting disappointment, but confused when he saw a mixture of sadness and concern. His heart ached at the sight- he didn’t mean to make his mentor worry about him.
“Why do you care?” he mumbled, biting back a few tears. He was not going to cry over something as stupid as this, especially when it was his fault in the first place.
“I care because I’m your mentor!” Tony shouted, then flinched back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell at you, kid. It’s just… I care about you, okay? You’re an amazing kid with a great heart, so it concerns me when you’re suddenly pulling stunts like this.”
“I don’t want anyone to care about me,” Spiderman muttered, grabbing the fabric of the sheets tightly between his fists.
“Kid, so many people care about you,” Tony frowned, “can’t you see that? We wanna help you-”
“I don’t NEED help!” he screamed in Mr. Stark’s face, tears dribbling freely and uncontrollably down his face, “I was just fine on my own before all of this!”
Oh great, he was going now, and he wouldn’t be able to shut up.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He ignored the pain that crossed over Mr. Stark’s features as he continued to yell. “I don’t need anyone’s help! I don’t need you or Alex or Kieran or fucking Peter! I can deal with this on my own!”
He sucked in a shaky breath, furiously wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his hospital gown. To his dismay, his voice began to warble. “I don’t deserve any of this,” he choked, burying his face into his hands.
“Jesus, kid,” Tony breathed. A firm hand clasped onto Spiderman’s shoulder, rubbing careful and gentle-yet-firm circles. He felt the same hand gently guide him into Mr. Stark’s warm arms, face pressed against his sturdy shoulder. Spiderman grabbed the fabric of his shirt and choked out another bout of sobs, burying his face further into Mr. Stark’s shoulder. He didn’t cry very often, but when he did, it was messy and tended to be a nightmare for everyone involved.
“Better?” Tony asked after a while, breaking the tentative silence between the two. Spiderman sniffled and nodded, but refused to pull away. Mr. Stark let him remain in the embrace, gently rocking the two back and forth in an effort to comfort him.
Silence fell over them once more.
“I’m sorry,” Spiderman mumbled into Tony’s shoulder, turning his face out so he could stare at the wall and avoid Mr. Stark’s no-doubt pitying expression.
“Don’t apologize for letting your emotions out,” Mr. Stark rubbed his back soothingly, “I just want to know what brought this on. This all seemed to come out of nowhere, but judging by what just happened, I’m willing to bet that you’ve been bottling this up for a long time, hm?”
Spiderman sniffed, nodding. “Yeah,” he breathed.
“How long have you felt like this?”
“Like what?”
“You know- all of this ‘I don’t need to rely on anyone’ bullcrap you just spewed out.”
Spiderman winced, but gave in.
“I… don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I guess I’ve always just been a lone wolf, you know? I didn’t need to rely on anyone, back when I thought it was just me.”
Mr. Stark shifted. “You didn’t know anyone else was in there?” he asked, shock bleeding into his voice.
Spiderman huffed out a weak attempt at a laugh. “DID isn’t called a covert disorder for nothing, Mr. Stark.”
“Right, right,” he muttered, “go on.”
“I just- yeah,” he muttered, not even trying to explain himself. “I’ve just… never needed to rely on anyone before, so why should I start now? I can- I can manage perfectly fine on my own.”
“Kid-”
“I can do first aid, I can cook, clean, do my own laundry, I can survive just fine on my own-”
“Kid!”
Spiderman whipped his head to face his mentor, face pinched. “What?!”
Tony pressed his lips together. “Spidey, you’re hyperventilating.”
Oh, he was. In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t even noticed it. He sucked in a shaky gasp and slowed his breathing down to an acceptable pace. “Sorry.”
“Don’t- don’t apologize,” Mr. Stark sighed, “you’re really not havin’ a good day today, huh?”
Spiderman let out a hesitant bark of laughter. “That’s an understatement, Mr. Stark.”
Mr. Stark’s lips twitched into a smile, and he rose from his seat, wincing as his joints creaked with noises even Spiderman could hear. He settled himself onto the bed next to Spiderman, reaching out to pull him into his side.
“It’s okay to admit you need help every once in a while,” Mr. Stark said quietly.
Spiderman felt another round of tears prick at his eyes. “I don’t deserve anyone’s help,” he warbled, reaching up to wipe away any trace of emotion.
“Everyone deserves help,” Mr. Stark said firmly, grip tightening.
Spiderman let the words sink in, biting his lip in contemplation. He sighed.
“Maybe,” he quietly admitted, “but I don’t know how to ask.”
Tony pulled him into his chest, burying his face in Spiderman’s hair. He could feel a smile spread across Mr. Stark’s features.
“You don’t always have to.”
Spiderman let out a happy sigh as his mentor rubbed his back in a rhythmic motion, the gesture working to ease the aching muscles. He let the silence speak for itself.
“You know,” he said after a moment of quiet reflection, “I could have stopped that drug exchange.”
“Oh?” Mr. Stark humored him, “enlighten me.”
“I hesitated,” he admitted, a bit of shame tinting his words.
“Why?”
“The woman- the woman buying the drug,” he bit his lip, turning his face further into Tony’s chest, “she was getting it for her daughter.”
Mr. Stark’s motions stopped for a millisecond before they resumed. “What for? She say?”
“Apparently her daughter has CP and intellectual disabilities. The drug was so her daughter could have an easier life.”
“How would it do that?”
“The guy selling it claimed that it could cure any mental ailment,” he explained slowly, thinking over each word before he said it, “said it cured his Post-Concussion Syndrome.”
“And that chick wanted to… cure her daughter?” Tony frowned into Spiderman’s hair, “that’s a little messed up.”
“Yeah,” Spiderman huffed, “I was thinking about… maybe letting her take it, whether the risks would outweigh the benefits, and whether it was right to let her daughter become basically a whole different person just for the sake of making things easier.”
“Let me guess- while you were busy having your moral dilemma-”
“They noticed me,” Spiderman nodded, “and the guy blew the building up. Dunno if they survived or not. I hope the woman did.”
Mr. Stark pulled away, holding Spiderman by the shoulders and staring him dead in the eyes. “There’s no use dwelling on the what-if’s.” Spiderman blinked. “The only thing that matters is that you got out of there alive, and we’re all happy that you did.” Mr. Stark fixed his gaze on the ground. “I don’t like to think about what would have happened if you didn’t.”
Spiderman’s lip wobbled, and it suddenly sunk in that Mr. Stark was worried about him. Him! Of all people! Why was Spiderman any different from anyone else? Why did he warrant Mr. Stark’s concern?
“I-”
“No apologizing.”
“Right. Um. Thanks, I guess.”
Mr. Stark blinked, surprised, before his face broke out into a warm smile. One of his hands slid around to Spiderman’s back and yanked him into his chest for their third hug of that single, emotionally-charged conversation. This time, Spiderman returned it, wrapping his arms around Mr. Stark and squeezing tight.
“That’s what I’m here for, kid.”
Spiderman buried his face into his mentor’s chest and hid his own rapidly-growing grin. “Yeah.”
This was nice, he supposed. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask for help more often.
Mr. Stark’s arms squeezed tighter, a hand coming up to card through Spider-Man’s curls.
He could get used to this.