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The worst part was that he couldn’t do anything.
“Tony,” Peter panted. “Tony, help - please - ah!”
“I know, I know, baby. The jet is coming, it’ll be here any second. I know it hurts.”
Peter was squeezing his hand so hard Tony could feel his suit giving. The pressure was uncomfortable, but it felt like due karma. Peter should never have jumped in front of that bullet.
“Breathe,” he begged as he placed his uncovered hand on Peter’s sweat drenched forehead.
The boy whimpered. Every so often he would shiver - or convulse; it was hard to tell which. Every time it happened, Peter’s hand would tighten over Tony’s, crushing the suit a little more into his hand. It was the absolute least of Tony’s worries.
Peter screamed as his body drew up like a bow string, arching above the rubble.
“I know, Pete,” he said thickly. In the distance he could hear the jet approaching. “The jet is almost here, can you hear it? You’re almost done, baby. Just a little longer. Dammit, Rogers, what’s your ETA?”
Peter stilled, breath coming in tight, rushed gusts.
“Get ready, Tony,” he heard over the comm.
“Hear that, Peter? Help is here. They’re gonna take you into the jet to feel better - just a little longer.”
Peter let out a confused little sob.
Tony looked up at the rushed footsteps approaching.
“You’re gonna be okay,” said Tony. His relief was palpable.
Peter’s hand was clenched so tightly around Tony’s, the medics didn’t bother trying to remove it.
“You need to move with us, Mr. Stark,” one said. Tony didn’t know who. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the kid.
“I got it,” he replied tersely.
Peter whimpered as he was lifted onto a stretcher.
“Okay, baby, we’re gonna go to the medbay now. Hold on, hold on,” he said as Peter cried.
They carefully rushed to the jet, collectively wincing every time Peter cried out at the movement.
“We need to get him into surgery,” the medic said, trying to pry Peter’s hand off. Recognizing the effort as futile, Tony took over.
“You need to let go now, okay, baby? They’re going to help you feel better, but I can’t come with you. You gotta let my hand go, okay? Good! Good job, Petey! I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
Tony watched them go, holding his hand to his chest.
“Sit down, Tony,” Natasha said, guiding him to sit on the straight backed bench.
A flash of white in his face that he belatedly realized was a tissue. Natasha, knowing all too much about him, set it down beside him. Tony stared at it. Dazedly, he realized that his hand was throbbing.
“Shit,” he groaned, clasping his wrist.
He took his first good look at it and almost wished he hadn’t. The metal was crushed; he didn’t want to know what his hand looked like.
A medic in blue scrubs knelt in front of him, reaching out.
“No!” Tony said harshly. “Not yet. Not until Peter-” he cut himself off with gritted teeth.
He heard Natasha speak to her, but let the voices wash over his head. Time seemed to flow around him. Tony would never forget Peter’s agonized scream when the poison first took hold. What he wouldn’t give to have pushed Peter out of the way instead of the other way around.
As it was, Tony didn’t know how he would ever sleep again. They had thought it was over - all of them. Tony was just congratulating Peter on a job well done when the white eyes of his suit had widened an almost comical amount. He had had no time to react before Peter was pushing him down and taking a poisoned bullet for him.
“Tony,” Natasha said firmly.
He looked up, blinking heavily.
“They removed the bullet. We’re heading to the compound. Buckle up.”
Tony nodded, even as he stood. Natasha just rolled her eyes and nodded, accepting the fact that nothing less than physical force would keep him in that seat.
He made his way to the medbay, feeling the jet rumble around him. He grabbed the side when it felt too unsteady - take off and landing were always turbulent. He’d have to work on that.
Tony looked through the window to see Peter paler than he’d ever seen him, unconscious on the secured bed. His suit was cut down the middle, peeled down to reveal his torso. The bullet wound was stitched closed, the skin around it streaked in deep red. Tony didn’t know a lot about medicine (he tended to ignore things that would call out his own bad habits) but it looked a lot like blood poisoning.
“FRIDAY?” he asked quietly.
“Poison unknown. Peter settled once the bullet was removed. He appears to be fighting it.”
“Thanks, baby girl.”
“Sir, I suggest seeking medical attention. One millimeter more and you could lose circulation in your right hand.”
Tony rolled his neck. It hurt like a bitch, but it was nothing to what Peter must be feeling.
He pushed the door open, settling in for the persistent medic to examine him. Pepper would be proud of him. Once the metal was removed, scans revealed a broken pinkie and three fractures in varying metacarpals. His hand was quickly splinted before the dissent.
Tony watched as they rushed an unconscious Peter into the compound.
“FRIDAY?”
“I will keep you updated, sir.”
Pepper met him in the waiting room with a change of clothes and a cup of coffee.
“Life saver,” he greeted with a kiss. Tony leaned into her hand, pressing it against his temple.
“FRIDAY tells me he is fighting it,” she said soothingly.
“He never should have been in that position.” His voice broke.
“It is not your fault, Tony. May agrees.”
Tony met her eyes disbelievingly.
“We all know Peter has the self preservation of a fruit fly,” she said with a smile, pained smile. Tony smiled back, picturing Peter’s face as he nodded in serious agreement during the last intervention. “He would have done it for anyone,” Pepper stated, not unkindly.
“I know,” Tony said brokenly. “I wish he wouldn’t.”
Pepper let him push his forehead into her chest, running her hand through his sweaty hair unflinchingly.
“I know,” she said heavily.
_
“Boss,” FRIDAY drew the attention of all Avengers waiting for a status update. “Peter vitals are stable; he is past the danger point.”
A collective sigh of relief went through the room. Tony felt himself slip out of his chair onto the floor, head in hands. Pepper crouched beside him, saying nothing of his obvious tears, hand on his back.
“We’ll visit later,” Steve said quietly to Pepper.
Tony took a breath and stood, ignoring the subsequent headrush.
“Is he cleared for visitors?”
“Yes, Boss.”
Tony marched straight through the doors that he had been forcefully kept out of the last several hours. They opened easily.
The nearest nurse pointed to his room. Tony spared him a nod and all but sprinted to Peter’s room.
He was blinking stupidly at the ceiling when Tony came in, Doctor Helmke speaking quietly to him.
“And here is Mr. Stark,” the doctor said with a small smile.
“Tony?” Peter said sluggishly.
“That’s me, bud,” he said, stepping up to the bed.
“Heyyyy,” Peter said, rolling his head to look at him. “I was baby before.”
Tony stared at him. His cheeks had color to them and his brow wasn’t pinched in pain. Then Peter’s statement hit him.
“They must have you on the good stuff, huh, kid?”
Peter smiled.
“Mmhmm.”
“He’ll be in and out of consciousness for the next hour or so,” Doctor Helmke told them. “We have him on an intravenous pain reliever. We aren’t sure what the poison was, but we should have lab results by the end of the day. I don’t foresee any long term effects. I’ll let you know as soon as we get the test results back.”
Tony nodded, knowing FRIDAY would let him know before the doctor even knew.
The doctor nodded and made her exit.
“How do you feel?” Pepper asked.
“Sleepy,” Peter replied.
“I bet.”
“You can sleep, baby. You did a good job today.”
Peter blinked once, twice, and forcibly reopened his eyes.
“Sorry I scared ya,” he said, seeming to concentrate hard on getting the words out.
“We’ll talk about it when you wake up, okay, Petey?”
“‘Kay, Tony.”
Tony watched as his bruised eyes fluttered closed and his breathing evened.
“Baby? That’s a new one,” Pepper said, amused.
“Shush,” Tony said, waving a hand at her. “I was in a crisis, okay?”
Pepper laughed softly.
“Whatever you say, baby.”