Work Text:
A Little Bit Out of the Ordinary (adverse effects/unconventional restraints/“this wasn’t supposed to happen”)
***
It's officially time to take action.
Peter's been awake for a good five minutes—at least, he thinks—and his head is throbbing hard enough that he's fairly certain it's going to fall off any moment now. His brain is floating like a balloon and sunk like a rock at the bottom of the sea—both at the same time. Peter isn't sure if that should be possible, but it's not like he can control what he's feeling.
His vision isn't at its finest, either. The lighting in the room is dim, and he can make out a few objects and figures, but everything is kind of…fuzzy and pulsing.
He knows he's at the new and improved Avengers Compound, in the med bay. He vaguely remembers getting his head smashed into a wall—multiple times—during a particularly intense fight. There was blood. And stitches. And definitely a bad concussion.
He rolls his head to the side, managing to make out Aunt May's petite figure curled up on the couch against the wall to the left of his bed. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is half open, soft snores escaping with every exhale. Tony was in here earlier, too. Peter's not sure where the man went, but even just trying to solve that small puzzle has his head spinning in another dizzy circle.
He bites back a pained gasp when he shifts to sit upright. There's about a hundred little jackhammers in his head, he thinks. And they're all going at full speed.
Peter squeezes his eyes shut. Amidst the chaos of his muddled mind, one phrase continues to play on repeat, the message crystal clear: Find pain meds find pain meds find pain meds find pain meds.
Peter grits his teeth and forces himself into a sitting position, feet hanging off the edge of the bed. The sudden movement causes him to nearly black out and topple forward—which would definitely have caused concussion 2.0—but he manages to catch himself.
Thankfully, there are no IVs in his arms or anything like that, so he doesn't have to worry about lugging a big metal pole along with him. Peter pushes to his feet, one hand gripping the bed rail to steady himself. Surprisingly, his knees don't immediately buckle. He takes a hesitant, shuffling step forward, and then another. There we go. He's totally got this.
Peter knows that he could just wake May and ask her to get painkillers, but she looks completely knocked out and he doesn't want to disturb her. She works so hard; she deserves all the rest she can get. Plus, he already feels bad about worrying her with his own messes in the first place. She has enough on her plate without constantly having to worry about her nephew's wellbeing.
Peter briefly glances around the room, but he doesn't see any pill bottles lying around. Of course, everything is still spinning, so maybe he's just missing it. Either way, he knows there's a room where most of the medicines are kept, including the ones for enhanced superheroes. He'll get there, down some of his specially-designed painkillers, and go back to bed. Easy.
Peter manages to stumble out of the door and into the hallway. It's quiet. There's no people milling around. For the sake of Peter's secret identity, Tony tends to keep him tucked away in a limited-access area of this floor. Although the billionaire has joked about putting Peter's name on the door of the hospital room, considering how much time he spends there.
It takes about double the amount of time it normally would for Peter to make his way a few doors down and find the cabinets where the meds are housed. Some of them are locked, but he searches through the open ones, becoming more and more desperate to find something to dilute the absolute agony in his pounding head.
Relief fills him when he finally uncovers a familiar white bottle in the sea of meds. Another wave of pain crashes into him, and he presses a hand to his head, fingers brushing across the bandage above his eyebrow. A small, pained cry leaves his lips. Need to stop this. Now.
Peter takes a deep breath, shaking hands dumping the little pills into his hand. He dry-swallows two of them before attempting—and failing—to replace the cap. Now he's just gotta make it back to bed, and then he can crash.
He'll feel much better soon.
***
Something's not right.
Tony senses it the moment he heads down the hall toward Peter's hospital room. Pepper would say it's his dad instincts, which fully developed the moment Morgan came into their lives and extended to Peter once they got him back.
Of course, that feeling only expands when Tony enters the room and sees the kid clinging to the ceiling with his freaky sticky hands and feet. His gaze darts over to Tony, and even in the dim light, it's easy to make out the kid's wide eyes and dilated pupils.
"Kid—Pete—what in the world are you doing?" Tony hisses, aware that the kid's aunt is still asleep. "Get down. Last I checked, little spiders with concussions do not get to play on the ceiling at four in the morning. Come on, down."
Peter doesn't respond, but his nostrils flare, and he narrows his eyes.
"I'm not messing around, kid," Tony says, louder. Peter might just be goofing off, but there's an odd bout of worry clenching Tony's chest. Something is definitely wrong. He quickly shoots out a message for Bruce, because he's not sure what's going on here, but he doesn't like the looks of it. Maybe the concussion was worse than they'd originally thought.
On the couch, May shifts, her eyes blinking open. She frowns across the room at Tony. "What…what's going on?" she asks sleepily, sitting up. Her gaze follows Tony's and catches on Peter, still firmly planted on the ceiling. She leaps to her feet. "Peter Benjamin Parker, you get down from there right now!"
Peter still doesn't speak, and his eyes are darting around the room. It's like he doesn't even see or hear the two people below him.
Tony is moving toward the bed, ready to get Peter's attention by whatever means necessary, when his foot collides with something small and cylindrical, sending it—and a handful of little white tablets—clattering across the floor. He stoops to retrieve the object. It's a pill bottle. A pill bottle that decidedly does not belong in this room. A pill bottle with no lid that has a sticker on one side clearly reading Do Not Touch.
A bad feeling forms in Tony's gut. "Peter," he barks, tone serious. "Did you take any of these?"
Bruce, or Professor Hulk, as he's known as now—which still weirds Tony out a bit even though he helped the guy in his efforts to achieve that status—suddenly appears in the doorway. "Tony?" he asks, looking up at the teenager on the ceiling. "What's wrong?"
Tony tosses Bruce the now-empty bottle. "I think he took these."
Bruce squints at the label through his glasses, and his green face goes pale, if that's possible. "Tony, this has never—"
And that's when the kid just…goes feral. He drops from the ceiling, landing on the floor with a dull thud. Then he's on his feet—shouting at thin air, throwing punches at ghosts, and rolling around on the floor.
May gasps. "Peter—Tony, what—?"
"Stay back, May!" Tony calls to her, even as he moves toward the kid. Something shatters.
Peter's grunting and growling like an animal, and he lashes out when Tony gets too close. There's no recognition in his eyes as his stare practically drills a hole through the three adults in the room. What on earth was in those pills?
Tony's totally not freaking out. Nope, not one bit.
A syringe is suddenly being shoved into his hand, and he glances up at Bruce. "What—"
"Sedative. I'm gonna try to hold him down. You'll have to inject it."
Tony blinks. A chair flies across the room. He normally prides himself on his ability to take charge and do what needs to be done without thinking. A certain Spider-Kid, however, somehow has the power to skew Tony's judgment and decision-making abilities.
"Tony, did you hear me? We've got to get him to calm down so I can fix this."
Fix it. Fix Peter. Right.
"Okay," Tony breathes, trying to focus. "Okay."
Bruce nods at him. "On my count. Three, two, one—"
***
Consciousness returns slowly. Very, very slowly. His head still hurts, but it's nothing like before.
Peter takes a deep breath, eyes closed, and shifts. Or tries to. His limbs don't seem to be cooperating.
"Peter? Kid?"
Peter groans softly as the voice rings in his ears. Too loud, too loud.
He blinks open his eyes, the fuzzy room around him coming into focus. "What…what happened?" he mumbles, his mouth dry. He smacks his lips together a few times.
Tony's hovering over him, worry lines creasing his forehead. "Hey. Here you go, bud." A cup of water with a straw seems to materialize in his hands, and he holds it out.
Peter tries to reach out to take it, but is met with resistance. His brow furrows in confusion, and he rolls his head to the side to see that his wrists are bound with some type of cuff, the restraints strong enough to effectively restrict his movements. A glance down toward the foot of the bed reveals that his ankles, too, are strapped down.
He tugs at the cuffs once, twice, before lifting wide eyes up to meet Tony's. "What—did I go crazy or something?" he croaks out.
"Or something." Tony snorts, but the amusement doesn't reach his eyes. He holds out the water again, and this time Peter accepts a few sips from the straw.
Peter catches a glimpse of a large hole in the wall behind Tony. He winces, panic welling up in him. "Oh no. Did I—oh no. Is May okay? Please tell me I didn't—"
"Whoa, hey, calm down, Underoos. Everyone's fine," Tony reassures, placing the cup down on the bedside table. "Your aunt was finally convinced to go get something to eat. Of course you'd choose the moment she left to wake up."
Peter barely hears the words, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He pulls on the cuffs again, feeling stifled from the forced immobility. "Please," he whispers, and no, it does not come out sounding like a whimper.
Tony must get what he's asking, because his face softens into a look that Peter's only ever seen directed toward those closest to him—like Pepper and Morgan. "Sorry, bud. We had to make sure you wouldn't hurt yourself until we could fix you." He immediately sets about unfastening the restraints, much to Peter's relief.
However, the teen's mind catches on that last sentence. "Fix me? What…?" He wracks his brain, attempting to find memories that might explain what happened. He remembers the concussion, his head hurting like crazy, not wanting to wake May up…finding painkillers in the cabinet—
Tony's done freeing him now, and he sits back, a look of pure disappointment etched on his face. "You took one of Bruce's old experimental meds for controlling the Other Guy's appearances. It had some…adverse effects, to say the least."
"Oh." Yikes.
Tony huffs. "'Oh'? That's all you have to say? Did you even read the label?"
"I—I tried. I thought it was one of my painkillers," Peter defends weakly. "It…this wasn't supposed to happen."
"Peter—"
He can tell Tony wants to be mad, because he's doing that thing where he's clenching his jaw and it's twitching, like, a lot. But he's holding back. Barely, from the looks of it.
Tony pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a breath. "Kid, I know it was an accident. This is why you should've asked someone for help. May was right there."
"But—"
"No, you're gonna listen to me. If you cannot see or think straight enough to find your way to the right meds, you need to be seeing a doctor. Capisce? Comprende? Got it?"
"Yeah." Peter hangs his head. "I'm sorry."
Tony sighs, reaching out and gently squeezing Peter's arm. "Bruce should be here any minute to take another look at that noggin of yours. No complaints, you're gonna let him give you a full examination, make sure we got all that junk out of your system."
"Okay," Peter readily agrees, wanting to argue but hoping to stave off another lecture for his headache's sake.
"Oh, and one more thing," Tony adds, poking a finger in Peter's direction. "All of your access on this floor is revoked. This bed is the only place you're allowed when you're here, and you will have 24/7 supervision." He lets out another overly-dramatic sigh. "Not that I want you up here ever again, for obvious reasons, but I know you too well to put any hope in that little wish."
There's a chorus of female laughter, and both men turn to see Pepper and May entering the room. Peter wonders how long they were out there listening.
Pepper shakes her head, coming around the bed to put her hands on Tony's shoulders. "That is because this boy is exactly like you, Tony."