Chapter Text
Peter Parker rummages through the fridge, searching for ingredients he might be familiar enough with to use for putting together a meal.
Though besides some whole wheat sandwich bread, presumably for Morgan’s school lunches, that he found in the back of the pantry, he isn't having much luck.
If he could just find some…bingo. Behind a large glass bottle of Pepper’s favorite brand of Kombucha, Peter's eyes land on a plastic container of chicken salad, most likely from some high-end health grocery store.
Peter grabs the container, grinning to himself. With Pepper and Morgan out on a mommy-daughter date, he's in charge of making lunch for himself and Tony. Luckily for his mentor, Peter just happens to be an expert sandwich maker.
“You sure you don’t need any help in there, kid?” Tony’s voice rings out from the living room couch.
Peter’s head pops out from behind the refrigerator door, his arms full of various toppings from the produce drawer.
“I fight crime for a living, Mr. Stark. I think I can handle making lunch on my own,” he rolls his eyes playfully, “Have you no faith in me?”
Tony glances over the rim of his glasses, “Hey, last I checked that list of spider traits didn’t include culinary expertise. Plus, I wouldn’t exactly call wheatgrass juice and quinoa a wide range of ingredients.”
Peter laughs, using his foot to shut the refrigerator door behind him while he sets out the food items.
“Yeah, that’s definitely not how you pronounce quinoa. But seriously, Tony, I have plenty of experience feeding toddlers—just ask Morgan.”
Tony points a finger in Peter's direction at the teasing remark, “Hey, don’t make me come over there, Parker. Just because I’m on obligatory bed rest doesn’t mean I still can't take you out.”
Peter’s eyes widen, playing into the empty threat, “Don’t you dare. It’s my first time on babysitting duty, Pepper would never let me hear the end of it.”
Peter throws two slices of bread into the toaster while Tony grumbles something about Pepper not being the boss of him under his breath. The boy has to laugh in response, knowing fully well that they both know that is untrue.
However, Peter isn't entirely joking about his nervousness surrounding caring for Tony on his own. Peter has been staying with the Starks at the eco-compound since Tony got back from the medical facility in Wakanda two weeks ago and this is the first time the pair has been left alone in the house.
Pepper took a temporary leave from her SI duties to take care of Tony full-time while he recovers from his injuries following the snap. It has been a long and grueling few months, but Peter couldn’t be more relieved that his mentor finally seems to be out of the woods.
Even so, Peter can't help but feel overprotective of the man he’s come to view as a father. They all came much too close for comfort to losing Tony forever and the reality of that fact still looms heavily over Peter.
After returning from the Blip to find that he’d already lost five years, Peter doesn't want to risk losing another second with the people he loves. Which is why he is more than happy to stay with the Starks as long as they'll have him.
Of course, Peter wants to help Pepper in any way that he can, but a larger part of him just needs the physical closeness to reassure him that Tony really is okay. After everything they went through, Peter just wants to be around the man.
Peter scoops a heaping pile of chicken salad onto the bed of lettuce on Tony’s sandwich before adding a slice of tomato and the top slice of toasted bread.
He cuts the sandwich into triangles and pours a glass of green juice that Pepper insists on Tony drinking with every meal, his nose scrunching up at the smell.
Loading the food onto a wooden dinner tray, Peter makes his way over to Tony before making a dramatic display of placing the meal on the man’s lap. “Your lunch is served.”
Tony grins goofily at the boy's theatrics. “Would ya look at that? Not bad, kid. You even got the slime juice and everything.”
Peter laughs, turning to the kitchen to grab his own plate before returning to sit crisscrossed next to Tony on the couch.
The pair eats in comfortable silence, happy to enjoy each other’s presence. Once Tony finishes his sandwich, he places his plate on the coffee table and leans back against the couch cushions.
“You know, since I’ve finally got you all to myself, there are some upgrades to your suit I’ve been brainstorming. Maybe we can work on ‘em together–”
Peter's eyes widen with excitement, unable to stop himself from cutting in, “Are you kidding? Yes, please. When did you even have time to do that? Are you sneaking off to the lab in the middle of the night?”
Tony laughs, swatting Peter’s arm playfully. “No, genius. I happen to have a Starkpad for those kinds of things. And a lot of spare time on my hands,” he gestures over his reclined form, “if you haven’t been able to tell.”
Peter tries to hide his genuine relief with a chuckle. If he is being honest, the thought of Tony sneaking around in the night and getting himself hurt without anyone around to help him sends a chill down Peter’s spine.
Tony shoots him a curious look, “So are you gonna go get my tablet, or should giving it legs be my next project?”
Peter laughs, “Watch it, old man. Is it in your room?”
Tony nods, “Should be. Chop chop, kid. I’m not paying you the big bucks for nothing.”
Peter launches himself off of the couch, shaking his head in amusement, “You mean this is what you pay me nothing for.” He makes his way down the hall to the master bedroom.
When he reaches Tony’s bedside table, however, the tablet is nowhere to be found. Peter checks around the room to be sure he isn't missing it before calling out, “It’s not here!”
Tony replies, “Might be charging in the lab, then.”
Peter turns on his heels and exits the room, making his way to the door to the basement stairs.
He’s only seen Tony’s new lab a handful of times when grabbing whatever odds and ends Tony needed while staying at the facility. Though every time, Peter is met with a bittersweet nostalgia for the days when he and his mentor would spend hours on end tinkering around at the Tower.
Peter secretly hopes that someday Tony will suggest a lab day in the new house, when he is back to his normal self, of course.
In the meantime, Peter's more than content just lounging around with the man. As long as Tony is happy and healthy, it doesn't really matter what they do.
Having made it to the bottom of the stairs, Peter is appalled to find a pool of water at his feet. His brows furrow in confusion, “What the…?"
Deciding to investigate the source of the liquid, Peter raises his hand to the lab access panel. Though the minute his palm comes in contact with the screen, his entire body lights up in bright fiery pain.
The sensation is all-consuming, whiting out Peter’s vision as he briefly registers that this must be what being burned alive feels like. Huh.
Peter is paralyzed, limbs rigid, and lips unable to even cry out in his agony.
When the darkness comes to claim his consciousness, Peter instantly welcomes the relief.
Ten minutes and an entirely downed glass of green juice have passed when Tony starts to get impatient. He uses his good arm to prop himself up as he mutters under his breath, “What the hell is taking that kid so long…”
He knows he shouldn’t be getting up without a chaperone, but he is also aware that Peter wouldn't be able to hear him calling from upstairs while inside the soundproof walls of the lab.
And for crying out loud, a man should be able to walk down the stairs of his own house...
Tony lets out a grunt as he pushes himself off the couch, his knees clicking in protest. “The things I do for you kid…I'm getting too old for this.”
Looking back, Tony should have decided to get off his ass a lot earlier and gone down to get the damn tablet himself. He’ll never forgive himself for that mistake.
Opening the door to the basement, Tony peers down the staircase and is met with a sight that instantly turns his blood cold.
Peter’s foot is peeking out from behind the wall.
Tony feels himself go into autopilot mode as he grips the railing and makes his way down the stairs one step at a time. He moves as fast as his weak body will allow him, Peter’s name on the tip of his tongue the entire way.
He resists the urge to call out to the boy, as he doesn't think he could handle it if he didn’t receive a reply. Instead, his eyes remain locked on Peter’s completely unmoving foot until the rest of the boy's body comes into view.
When he finally reaches the bottom, the air deflates from Tony's lungs.
Peter isn't moving. Peter is facedown in a puddle of liquid on the floor and he isn’t moving.
Tony falls to his knees beside the boy, hands useless at his sides as he urges his body to do something. Inhaling sharply, he flips Peter over by his shoulder.
Tony should have expected Peter’s eyes to be closed but the sight still causes knots to form in his stomach. His hands tremble as he shakes Peter’s still form.
“Peter. Peter, wake up. Eyes open, kid.”
The complete silence in response from the usually animated boy is enough for bile to rise in Tony’s throat. He looks around in a dazed panic, trying to make sense of what happened. That’s when his eyes catch the slightest trail of smoke rising from the lab entry access panel.
Electrocution. He’s in shock. Check his vitals. Check his breathing. Tony’s mind screams at him as he quickly lowers his head to Peter’s face, waiting for the rhythmic puff of air to hit his cheek. Simultaneously, his hand lands on Peter’s neck, fingers searching for the pulse point.
Tony whispers to the boy, pleading, “Come on, Come on, Come on. You’re alright. Give me something here, Pete.”
Without registering his actions, Tony grabs one of Peter’s hands and grips it in his own.
Seconds pass by like an eternity until… there. Peter’s heartbeat is thready and weak but it's there and Tony could cry with relief when he feels a small puff of air on his cheek.
Peter is alive. Tony can work with alive.
“Okay, buddy," he exhales, "There we go. You’re okay. Can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand for me, kiddo?”
Tony holds on to Peter’s limp hand like a lifeline as he waits for any indication that the kid is with him only for his chest to deflate when he receives nothing in response.
Peter needs medical attention yesterday. Pursing his lips, Tony wracks his brain for the first aid procedures for dealing with someone in shock.
Call 911. Elevate his legs. Keep him warm. Tony feels for his phone in the pockets of his pajama pants only to come up empty. “Damn it!” He left it upstairs...
“FRI? You there?”
Silence. All systems must be down. Judging from the expanding puddle of water on the floor, the whole lab must have flooded during the storm last night.
Tony curses under his breath, realizing that he’ll have to make the trek back up the stairs to get help and risk leaving Peter unaccompanied in the process. As much as the thought terrifies him, Tony knows he doesn't have to medical knowledge or resources to give Peter the help he needs right now.
His eyes scan Peter’s still form, reassessing the situation as he goes over his options in his head. Quickly, he brushes his hand through the boy’s curls to calm his racing heart.
“Okay, Pete. Let’s get you comfortable and then I’m going to get some help.”
Tony moves behind Peter to lift the boy from under his armpits. Grunting at the exertion, he shifts Peter’s body closer to the staircase so he can elevate his legs against the steps.
The simple task is much too difficult for a man who used to be able to carry triple Peter’s weight with no problem. Tony can't help but grimace at how useless he feels now.
If a father can't even carry his son in a time like this, what good is he?
Pushing the self-deprecating thoughts aside, Tony busies himself with talking to Peter as he props the boy’s legs at an angle against the staircase.
“There we go. That’s much better, huh? Get the blood pumping back to that genius head of yours.”
While it's most likely that Peter isn't hearing a word that Tony says, the man’s flaring paternal instincts make it impossible to refrain from at least trying to offer some kind of comfort to his kid.
Tony has to somehow let Peter know that he's there and that he'll never let anything bad happen to him—though all the while he's ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that he already has.
Tony roughly pulls his sweatshirt off his back, leaving him in the white T-shirt he slept in the night before. He folds up the material before gently lifting Peter’s head to place it underneath. That's all Tony can do for him now.
Staying by Peter's side any longer would only be stalling, though Tony can hardly bare the thought of leaving him when the kid's so vulnerable.
Having no other choice and refusing to waste any more time, Tony squeezes Peter’s hand. He blinks back tears as he takes in the boy’s slack face and pale lips.
“I’m gonna get help now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, you hear me?” Tony’s voice is choked with emotion, “I’ve got you, Pete. Dad's got you.”
The father bites back a sob at the realization that he's just referred to himself as Peter's dad for the first time and the kid isn't even conscious to hear it. He makes a silent promise to tell Peter over and over again that he's his son as soon as the boy is well again.
Raising their joined hands to his lips, Tony places a quick kiss on the back of Peter’s wrist. It's time to go.
Making the journey back up the staircase is much harder with the knowledge of what he is leaving behind. Though at the same time, Tony has a fierce determination to help him make it to the top in order to reach his phone and call for help.
His knuckles are white as he clutches the railing for support, hoisting himself up every step. Sometime during the grueling process, a burning sensation spreads across his chest as his lungs protest against the exertion.
For a moment, Tony wonders if he's even recovered at all since the snap. His body might be beginning to look better as the angry burn scars heal, but he's clearly not in good shape if he barely manages to do anything other than lounge on the couch all day. Useless.
By the top step, dots have begun to cloud Tony’s vision, and beads of sweat are trickling down his neck and back. He collapses to his knees on the floor, gulping in air through his mouth to steady himself. The living room is just feet away, he can't konk out now.
Having to resort to crawling the rest of the way, Tony finally makes it to the coffee table, his entire body buzzing. He's just able to grab his phone before sprawling out on the carpet in defeat. Call Helen. Call Helen Cho.
Clumsily, Tony unlocks the device with shaking hands. He's eternally grateful that he made Helen an emergency contact a few months after meeting Peter for situations like this, though he never imagined having to call for a non-Spider-man-related incident.
As the woman’s smooth voice rings out after the second ring, Tony exhales deeply with relief.
“Tony. It’s been a while. How is recovery treating you?”
Tony can't get the words out fast enough, struggling to form a sentence with his dry tongue.
“Pete’s—Peter needs help. Now.”
Helen’s tone immediately turns serious, having grown quite fond of Tony's superhuman teenage sidekick through the years.
“What happened, Tony? He’s staying with you at the compound, correct? I'm on my way.”
Tony’s eyes are closed as he lies on the floor, the phone pressed to his cheek. He's breathing heavily as he attempts to explain the situation.
“Yes. He was electrocuted. The lab—I guess the lab got flooded and he was down there getting something for me and he’s—he’s not waking up. I think—please just hurry. He needs help.”
Tony can only make out a few of the words of Helen’s response through the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears, “Tony, breathe. –coming. –Pepper? You need–, Tony. –ten minutes.”
Helen is coming. Help is on the way. Tony can finally breathe again. The phone drops from his cheek as his hand falls limply to the floor with exhaustion.
Tony zeros in on the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he pictures Peter alone on the basement floor.
Silently, he prays that the boy’s heart is still beating. He won't accept anything else. Hang on, Pete. Help is coming. Hang on.