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Peter was barely aware of someone putting their arms under his upper back and knees before he was being lifted into the air, the ground seeming to fly away beneath him. Without giving it a second thought, he ripped his mask off his face, gulping in the icy November air, and began to struggle against the person holding him. The arms around him only tightened.
“Peter, stop.”
The way Mr. Stark’s voice was wavering slightly, a detail he wouldn’t have picked up on without his enhanced hearing, made Peter momentarily halt his movements.
“I’m fine Mr. Stark, sir,” he said, raising his voice as he talked when the wind seemed to swallow his words, “We need to get back to the battle.”
When his mentor chose not to answer him, Peter angrily turned his head to the side and watched as they came closer and closer to the compound. He felt a dull ache somewhere near his hip and looked down. The wound on his side - well, technically it was only a scratch - had nearly stopped bleeding and the cold had made his skin feel almost numb.
Peter knew that in a few hours tops, his healing would take care of it and he would be good as new - so if his face was scrunched up into a grimace, it was only because of the embarrassment he had felt when Mr. Stark had decided to pick him, Spider-Man, up bridal style in front of all the Avengers and remove him from the battle they were in the process of winning. He wasn’t pressing his lips together or squishing his eyes shut because he was in pain. No, not at all. For some annoying reason, his mentor had just begun treating Peter like a five-year-old and putting less trust on him ever since he had started hanging out with the man more frequently, outside of superhero business.
When they arrived at the Tower, Friday immediately started rattling off the positions of the various first aid kits around the place and before Peter had a chance to protest, he was put down on one of the large and comfy couches in the living room.
Mr. Stark hurried off, only to come bursting back into the room about thirty seconds later, this time carrying a bright red bag with a medical logo on it under his arm.
“I don’t need- “
“Take this off,” Mr. Stark interrupted him, pointing at Peter’s suit.
Peter stalled for a moment, but judging by the speed Mr. Stark was using to tear up several plastic bags containing medical equipment from the first aid kit, he knew better than to argue.
Gasping quietly, he pushed down on the spider emblem on his chest and slipped out of the top half of his suit. As soon as his wound was no longer covered by the fabric, drops of blood began running down his side, a few of them landing on the expensive furniture beneath him.
Hastily, he tried to sit up, reaching one hand out to cover the wound just above his hip where the explosion had torn up his skin, but a second, larger hand was pressing him back into the cushions.
“But the couch...” Peter protested half-heartedly, watching as more and more crimson red blood covered the delicate fabric.
“Can easily be replaced.”
Mr. Stark ignored the obvious frustration and guilt in Peter’s voice and went to work, putting on rubber gloves and inspecting the injured area on Peter’s side. For a few minutes neither of them said a word, Peter only hissing every now and then as his mentor cleaned and numbed his wound before he began stitching him up. Peter didn’t even question where the man had gotten his medical knowledge from.
“It would have healed by tomorrow morning...” Peter muttered below his breath as Mr. Stark finished bandaging him up.
“I told you to stay down.” His mentor began, choosing not to address Peter’s comment. Now that he had done what he could to fix the kid up and had assured himself that he wasn’t going to bleed out on his couch, he had vacated his previous spot on the floor in front of Peter in favor of pacing around in the spacious living area of the compound.
“I told you that this is not a battle I want to have you involved in unless it was absolutely necessary. I told you to stay hidden unless I instructed you to do anything else – and yet the first opportunity you had, you threw yourself out there.”
“There were civilians right in the middle of-“
“No. Stop talking right now!” Mr. Stark cut him off again. “This isn’t how this works, Peter. You don’t get to change the rules whenever you don’t feel like following them. When I tell you to do something – or not to do something – I do it for your safety.”
“I know that-“
“No, apparently you don’t.” His mentor said. The disappointment, worry and anger radiating from the man was enough for tears to start forming in Peter’s eyes.
He wanted to say something, explain to the man why he couldn’t just stand in the back and watch other people die. How his spider sense had alerted him a few, short seconds before the explosion had gone off and how anyone else would have gotten far more serious injuries than him, but he was sure that he would get choked up if he tried to speak, and he didn’t want Mr. Stark to treat him like even more of a child.
“Listen, kid...” Mr. Stark said, running a hand through his hair. “I think it would be for the best if you would lay off this whole Spider-Man thing until you’re older.”
“What? No-“
The breath caught in Peter’s throat and he felt the walls closing in on him.
“This isn’t even bad!” He cried, putting a hand on his hip. “I’ve been injured way worse before. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”
“Because you ran straight into an explosion!”
“I was running away from it,” Peter exclaimed, getting more and more defensive, “I was just trying to get the civilians out first.”
“That was not your job.” Mr. Stark countered. “Your job was to stay put where I left you – in safety – and let the adults do the work.”
“Quit talking to me like I’m five!”
“I’m talking to you like you’re a kid, because you are, Peter, you’re fifteen.”
“You didn’t care about that when you took me to Germany.”
“Yeah, that was a mistake on my part.”
This time, Peter didn’t try to hide his tears. He avoided looking the man in the eyes as he forced himself to stand up from where he was perched up on the couch and yanked his suit back on.
“So you regret recruiting me?” He asked, his voice trembling.
The man standing opposite him had become almost like a father-figure to him over the past few months. Having Mr. Stark – who had invited him over to work in his private lab with him for countless hours, not seldom followed by take-out food and popcorn paired with a movie for dinner- tell him that he regretted putting faith in Peter, that he didn’t want him going on missions with the team anymore and even drop Spider-Man all together, made Peter feel light-headed and unbelievably heavy at the same time.
“I didn’t say that, Pete.”
Somehow, the use of his nickname made Peter feel even smaller and more useless, and the fact that Mr. Stark’s voice had lost the edge it had carried just seconds ago was lost on him.
“Well then what are you saying?”
“I put you in danger.”
“But I was already Spider-Man before I even met you.” Peter tried to argue.
“Yeah, well. I never should have helped you take this to the next level, then.”
Peter remained silent after that, not knowing what else he could say. After a short pause and a defeated sigh, Mr. Stark raised his voice again.
“I know May is working tonight, so you can stay here and Happy will drive you home in the morning.” He said, the tension in the room still tangible. “Go to your room, I’ll get you something to wear for the night.”
“I’m not gonna stop being Spider-Man just ‘cause you tell me to.”
Peter didn’t know why he was pushing the man now. The rational part of him knew that it would be smarter to go to bed and let Mr. Stark work through whatever emotions and thoughts were causing him to act like this on his own. But the other part, the one that felt like one of the only two adults in his life who cared about him was about to turn his back on him, refused to give up without a fight.
“Pete, this isn’t forever.” Mr. Stark said, rubbing his face with a heavy hand. He looked exhausted. “I’m just gonna hold onto your suit for you until you’re mature enough to use it responsibly.”
“You mean until I use it the way you want me to and let dozens of people die if there’s even the tiniest risk that I’ll get hurt!” Peter snapped. He had never felt so desperate in his life. He needed his suit. He needed Spider-Man. He needed Mr. Stark.
“You weren’t needed in that moment.” Mr. Stark said, striding back to where Peter was standing and towering over him. “One of us would have handled it.”
“And they would have ended up even worse than me,” Peter said, his voice sounding deeper than normal as he tried and failed to keep his tears at bay. “Why is it ok for the rest of the team to get hurt and not me?”
“Because you’re still a kid and you’re my responsibility!”
“You’re not my dad!”
Peter’s whole form was shaking, his hands clenched into fists and his voice getting more choked up by the second. He usually wasn’t a conflict person. Stable people in his life had always been a rarity, so Peter tried to desperately cling onto the people who decided to stick around and did his best not to upset them.
Now, he felt the need to push back. To hurt Mr. Stark as much as he was hurting him.
“No, I’m not.” His mentor said, his expression changing from one dominated by anger and worry to one of pure defeat. “But I won’t have you die under my watch.”
There was something final in the man’s tone that made Peter feel more powerless than he ever had before.
“Fine.” He said. “Take the suit. I’ll just go back to using my old one.”
“No, Peter!” Mr. Stark snapped. “You’ll go to school, hang out with Ted and work on your college applications. Leave the fighting to the grown-ups!”
“You can’t tell me what to do!”
With fresh tear stains and snot covering his face, Peter stormed past the man and stumbled into the bedroom Mr. Stark had set up for him when he started spending nights at the Tower more frequently.
Back when Mr. Stark had casually guided Peter away from the guest bedroom he had stayed in on all of his previous visits and shown him his new room, that just so happened to be on Mr. Stark’s personal floor, Peter had been overjoyed.
Now, stepping out of his suit as quickly as possible while simultaneously holding his aching side, he felt sick just looking at the comic books and Lego sets scattered across the shelves on the walls and the half-finished Science project Mr. Stark had been helping him with.
He pulled out the first pair of sweatpants he found as well as a wrinkled shirt that he had lazily thrown over his desk chair.
He didn’t even think about staying at the Tower for the night, or better yet, finding Mr. Stark and continuing their conversation. With two big strides, he crossed the room, opened the window and climbed out, ignoring Friday when she advised him not to leave the building injured and without his suit on.
But Peter didn’t need a suit. He stuck perfectly to the side of the building, his super strength making it easy to hold himself up as he made his way down.
Knowing that he only had seconds before Friday alerted Mr. Stark of his disappearance, he used his web shooters, which he hadn’t taken off, to swing off into the night, ignoring the scream he could hear from above him, as he disappeared into the darkness.
As soon as he heard the door to Peter’s room close, Tony slammed his fist against the previously white wall next to the flat screen television and let out a series of curses.
He knew that the kid had gotten hurt before when he was out as Spider-Man. Of course he knew. But hearing about a few minor injuries from Karen and seeing Peter almost getting blasted by an explosion were two totally different things.
Tony ran shaky hands through his hair. The more time he had spent with Peter, the more he realized just how young the kid really was at just fifteen years. And the more guilt and fear started to eat him alive. Yet, he never stopped believing in Peter. He never doubted that the kid’s big heart and strong morals would make him grow into the best super hero out of all the Avengers.
Somehow, he had failed to convey this message to Peter.
He just wanted Peter to be safe and for the boy to have a carefree youth. God knows the kid had had a tough start in life, with three of his closest family members dying. He didn’t want to traumatize him any further. After all, he knew better than anyone else how damaging it was to have too much pressure on your shoulders at an early age.
“Boss, Mr. Parker has left the building.” Friday’s voice ripped the man out of his thoughts.
“What?!”
Tony ran to Peter’s room and ripped the door open, not bothering to knock, and froze when he saw the window open and the kid’s suit in a heap on the floor.
Peter was out there in the freezing cold all by himself with a fresh wound on his side, no protection from his suit and without any kind of tracker on him that would make it easier for Tony to find him.
“Shit,” he muttered, before stumbling over to the window and yelling Peter’s name. When he didn’t get an answer – not that he had expected one – he called for his suit for the second time that day and prayed that he would find the kid before he injured himself even worse.
Peter spent about seven minutes swinging from building to building before he couldn’t stand the pulsing pain in his side any longer and let himself drop into an empty side alley rather ungracefully. He prayed that nobody had seen him, given that he wasn’t wearing his suit or any kind of mask that would conceal his identity or explain why a random teenager was using webs to swing around the city.
The ground beneath him was hard and cold and Peter was pretty sure that he had managed to tear up his stiches with the force he had used to transport himself away from the compound. While before, the stream of blood drops leaving his body had been slow and steady, he now had to watch in horror as a seemingly uncontainable flow of blood was coloring the pavement below him red.
Peter shut his eyes, the dizziness overwhelming his senses, and tried to use his surroundings to ground him to reality. At first, all he could hear were the noises of the city that he knew so well, but just as he was about to lose consciousness, he heard the faint sound of the Iron Man suit’s repulsors getting closer to him.
“Pete? Peter?!”
The voice above him sounded panicked, almost frantic, and despite everything that had been said between the two of them over the past hour, Peter couldn’t help but feel relieved the moment he registered his mentor’s voice.
A blurry figure appeared over him, pressing two fingers against his neck and lightly slapping his cheek. He let out a pained gasp when pressure was applied to his wound and almost gagged when he was picked up a moment later.
“Hang on kiddo.”
Peter was slipping in and out of consciousness, barely aware of his surroundings, but in his wake moments, Peter could swear that he heard Mr. Stark’s voice pleading with him.
“Come on Pete, keep your eyes open. Don’t do this to me, kid!”
The next time Peter regained consciousness, his eyes were instantly attacked by harsh lights shining from the ceiling. It only took him a split second to figure out where he was, the white dressed people fussing over him and the hammering pain in this side serving as good indicators.
Still feeling drowsy from the loss of blood, Peter scanned the faces around him, recognizing Bruce Banner and Helen Cho, before his eyes latched onto the overdressed man standing outside the glass doors leading to the MedBay.
Shoving his elbows underneath his body with his last remaining strength, Peter lifted himself up and tried to swing his legs over the edge of the exam table.
“No Peter, you’re injured.”
Helen Cho had appeared in his line of sight and, without much of a warning, taken a hold of both of his upper arms to guide him back into a lying down position. Peter let out an involuntary whimper, partially because he wasn’t used to regular people being able to manhandle him and also, because the action made it that much more clear how much his injury had weakened him.
Tears sprung to his eyes as a mask was placed over his mouth and nose. The door bust open and Peter snapped his head back to the side just in time to see his mentor fight off two nurses and make his way over to him.
A calloused hand wrapped itself around Peter’s smaller one and another one squeezed his shoulder, grounding him in a moment of sheer panic.
“It’s alright, kid.” Mr. Stark reassured him. “They just need to stitch you back up again.”
Peter’s free hand flung up to the oxygen mask on his face.
“M’ sorry.” He choked out.
“Hey, none of that now.” His mentor whispered, holding the mask steady on Peter’s face. “We’re okay, I promise.”
He started to lazily run his fingers through Peter’s hair, the gentle gesture distracting the teen long enough for Bruce to get all the supplies they would need for the small surgery set up.
“We’re ready, Tony.”
Mr. Start nodded curtly, but didn’t take his eyes off of Peter and continued comforting the kid while Bruce administered the anesthetic, which caused Peter’s eyes to become all hazy and confused until they eventually closed all together.
When Peter woke up, he felt as if not much had changed since before his surgery. His side was still aching - even though the pain was admittedly a lot more bearable than before – and Mr. Stark was still by his side, his fingers carding through Peter’s curls.
“You with me, kid?”
Peter just groaned instead of verbally answering his mentor and brought a hand down to his hip, where he could feel new stitches and fresh bandages.
“You’re all good now,” Mr. Stark supplied hastily, taking Peter’s hand in his, “Bruce and Helen say that everything went as planned.”
Peter nodded, his brain still occupied with remembering the events that had led to him lying in a hospital bed. At first, renewed anger flared up in him and he caught himself searching the corners of the room, as if his suit might be hidden somewhere. But deep inside him, he knew that Mr. Stark had probably taken the suit he had once made for Peter and locked it away.
Then, he remembered storming off to his room, crying, before running away like a child throwing a temper tantrum, and hot shame overcame him.
“I called May,” Mr. Stark said, apparently thinking Peter was searching the room for her. “She’ll be here in an hour or so.”
He probably wants me gone as soon as possible, Peter thought bitterly. He couldn’t even blame his mentor. After all, Peter had proven all of the man’s points by leaving the tower injured and on top of that, worsening his condition by being careless.
“I’m sorry.” He muttered. “I shouldn’t have left.”
“No,” Mr. Stark said, fixing Peter with stern eyes. “You really shouldn’t have.”
“I know I was being stupid,” Peter added, feeling the need to explain himself. “I just felt like I had to get out. You don’t understand Mr. Stark, I need Spider-Man!”
“Pete, you will always be Spider-Man. You’ll always have your powers, whether you’re out patrolling or not.” Mr. Stark said.
“How would I be a super hero if I wouldn’t be helping anyone?”
Even after all that had happened over the last few hours, he still wasn’t ready to give in. Spider-Man was everything. He had made him feel useful when Uncle Ben died, he gave him his self-confidence back after a day full of snide remarks from Flash, he let him use the powers he hadn’t asked for in a way that helped others - he made him feel good.
But how did he tell Mr. Stark all of that without sounding like a sentimental baby?
His mentor regarded him for a long time, so long in fact, that Peter started to get uncomfortable. Finally, the man sighed and leaned forward in his chair.
“I need you to take care of yourself first.” He said. “I don’t want you to become as messed up as me.”
“I don’t think you’re messed up.” Peter interjected, looking at his mentor with big brown doe eyes.
The boy’s eyes held so much admiration and unquestioning faith that Tony found himself lowering his head in shame. He didn’t deserve to get looked at like that. Not by anyone and certainly not by someone as pure and good-hearted as Peter.
“I know you don’t.”
He was glad about that, even if he could barely admit it to himself. For Peter, things seemed simple. Iron Man would save the day, always. Whatever Tony’s superhero journey did to him over the years could not break through his mentee’s rose-tinted glasses.
“Listen, Pete...” He said, scratching his neck. “I’m sorry that I snapped at you earlier.” His own father had never managed to have a calm and productive conversation with him when he was a teenager, and Tony meant to break that cycle. “You were bleeding and I- “
“I… um - it’s fine,” Peter stuttered. “Not that I’m giving up Spider-Man or anything,” He added hurriedly, “But I’m not mad.”
“Good.” Tony replied hastily. He had never been one for apologies. “What I was really trying to get across is that I care. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m s- “
“No. No more apologizing. That hasn’t gotten us anywhere so far.” Tony put his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes briefly;
Peter nodded, eying his mentor warily.
“You have a big heart, kid. That’s one of the reasons you’re the right person for this job,” Mr. Stark said. “But you can’t help anyone if you’re not here anymore.”
“I understand.” Peter thought about the civilians he rescued, the look of terror he had seen on their faces; But then he thought about the fear he had seen in Mr. Stark’s eyes. He thought about how May must have felt when she heard about what happened. He thought about the brief moment of panic he experienced when the explosion had gone off.
Tony stared at him for a while, then seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. He shook his head and paced around the room for a few seconds before facing Peter again.
“You’re not going to let this go? Are you?” Tony asked. His face was a mixture of sadness, knowing and defeat.
Peter shook his head. When their eyes met, Peter had the sudden urge to take back everything he had said, just to make the grieving look on his mentor’s face disappear. But he knew that he couldn’t do that. And Tony did too.
“Alright Spider-Man.”
The smile Tony gave him looked almost pained, but it was genuine nonetheless.
“I’ll be more careful,” Peter said after a short, awkward pause. “I won’t be reckless anymore Mr. Stark, I swear.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Pete.” Mr. Stark said gravely.
“Does that I mean I can keep the suit?” Peter asked carefully.
Mr. Stark sighed, but nodded heavily.
“If you’re going to do your whole vigilante thing regardless of what I say, I’d rather have you doing it in a suit that can actually protect you instead of those pajamas.”
“They’re not pajamas,” Peter complained, but there was no heat behind his words.
Tony sat down next to him on the bed, eyeing the various monitors Bruce had placed next to Peter cautiously.
“I also want to be there for you. This is not an easy life that you’re choosing, but…” He took a deep breath. “But if this is what you want to do, I’ll support you.”
Peter felt his face growing hot. The statement took him aback for a moment. He looked up and saw the vulnerability in his mentor’s eyes.
“Thanks Mr. Stark.”
“No worries, kid.” Tony said, equally embarrassed. “Someone has to train the next generation of superheroes, right?”
Peter smiled. Mr. Stark gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and stood up from the bed.
“I better give aunt hottie a call and let her know how you’re doing.” Tony said. “Try to get some sleep, okay?”
“Are you coming back after?” Peter asked, suddenly feeling small.
“’Course I will, kiddo.”
He brushed a hand through Peter’s hair before turning around to leave.
Peter relaxed. When he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that this was just another sleepover at the Tower. He could hear Mr. Stark quietly talking to May on the phone in the hallway. Lulled by their familiar voices, he drifted off into a peaceful sleep.