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Spider-Man swung on top of the nearest rooftop to where Iron Man hovered, coming to a running stop beside him at the edge.
“That was insane!” Peter exclaimed, looking at his mentor and then down at the street below. A horde of police cars and animal control contained the passed-out perpetrator.
The two heroes had spent the last hour fighting a humanoid Snake-Man. Yes. Believe it or not, other reptilian villains had emerged since The Lizard, but none were nearly as successful. Snake-Man was another sorry excuse who made the mistake of ending up on the radar of Iron Man.
“He had no idea you were there! How did you even do that?” Spider-Man got more animated as he spoke, miming as he went. “You were like—dead silent—your suit didn’t even make that whirring sound.”
“New feature. Enhanced stealth mode.” The nonchalance was palpable in Tony’s metallic voice, the phrasing a verbal shrug.
“So cool. I mean, those repulser movements were swift. The fact that you were able to do that silently—”
Suddenly, Spider-Man keeled over, nearly stumbling over the edge of the roof he stood on. Quick-thinking, Iron Man flew to him in time and steadied him, preventing him from taking that final misstep into descent.
Spider-Man grabbed his chest and walked backwards, back into the safety of the roof, but not out of the woods himself. He was in pain, so much so that he couldn’t stand upright. He couldn’t lift his head. It rested on his chest, and he stumbled over his feet, falling backwards onto the cement. Iron Man caught him again, this time by the shoulders, and helped him lie down.
“Pete, are you hurt? What’s going on?” Iron Man scanned the teen, but Friday wasn’t picking up any injury.
Peter didn’t respond, grabbing Iron Man’s wrist to ground him. He groaned in pain and squeezed his arm too tightly, causing the metal to warp on the suit.
“You gotta talk to me, kid. My readers aren’t picking up on anything. What hurts? Tell me what’s hurting you,” his voice stumbled at the end of the sentence. Iron Man scanned his protégé again, desperate for answers, but still found nothing.
“It’ll…pass…” Spider-Man replied through clenched teeth, gripping his side tightly, flinching with his whole body as more pain shot through him.
“This has happened before?”
Spider-Man gave a nearly missable nod. Tony was going to make some quippy chastising remark in response, but his scanners finally picked up on something that startled him from any brief moment of teasing:
Peter’s heart rate dropped to 20 bpm.
Anything below 60 was alarming, but 50 was permissible in highly athletic individuals. 20? Only dying people reached heart rates of 20, and it dropped out of nowhere.
Tony didn’t waste his breath explaining. Terrified and acting fast, he scooped Spider-Man up in his arms and bolted for the Tower, slicing through the air. Peter was unnervingly quiet for the flight back.
Iron Man zipped into the living area, not even bothering to open the window, holding Spider-Man close to his chest as he barreled through the glass, shards covering the new carpet.
“Cho!” Tony called out, retracting his helmet as he spoke.
“I’m okay.” Spider-Man sat up a little, still in his hold.
“Cho!” Tony started walking toward Medbay, ignoring his assurances.
“Mr. Stark!” Spider-Man tried to get out of his grasp, which finally caught the man’s attention. “It passed. I’m okay now.”
Tony just stared at him, a thousand thoughts hidden by the expressionless mask he’d developed over the years. His helmet formed over his head again as he re–scanned Peter. His heart rate was back to normal. Nothing alarming from Friday to report. He retracted the helmet again.
Wordlessly and seemingly unsatisfied, Tony sat Peter down on the nearest couch. He pulled his Spider-Man mask off and started to check his eyes for dilation, turning his head from side to side.
“Mr. Stark, I’m okay, really—”
“You’re okay?” Tony snapped a little without meaning to, his emotions getting the best of him for a brief moment. “Peter, your heart rate dropped to 20. What the hell was that?”
Peter was quiet for a long moment, looking down at his red padded feet.
“I don’t know…”
Tony sighed, running his gauntleted hand down his face.
“You said this wasn’t the first time. How many times has this happened before?”
“6 times? I guess 7 now.”
Tony stared at him, agape in disbelief.
“How long were you going to keep this a secret?”
“I didn’t intend for it to be a secret. I went to the doctor about it, but they gave me an appointment like 6 months from now because my insurance sucks—”
“Why on earth would you go to some quack doctor over something this life-threatening? Peter, if you’re ever in trouble, you come to me.” Tony paused, realizing he phrased that a little too honestly; too parental and openly caring for his persona. He cleared his throat and continued. “I mean, if you ever have a medical emergency, I can get you into Medbay any day. You should be wary of tests and procedures at normal doctors anyway, with your special DNA. They won’t have the right doses for anesthetics. They won’t know that higher levels of certain chemicals in your blood is actually normal for you, that you don’t need—” Tony paused, catching himself again. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“I didn’t want to be a bother.” Peter shrugged, looking down at his feet once more. “I mean, it passes pretty quickly. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing.”
“Kid, you are not making a big deal out of nothing.” Tony retracted the rest of his Iron Man suit and sat beside Peter on the couch. “Has this thing ever happened to you during a fight?”
“No, but—”
“—If it did, you’d be dead. You were hardly responsive during that whole episode. You can’t be going out until we solve this thing.”
Peter pulled away from Tony’s instinctive touch, absentmindedly trying to check him for injuries again.
“I’ve been fine fighting with it for the past week! I don’t need to sit anything out.”
Tony paused, thinking before he spoke for once.
“You’ve had seven of these attacks in just a week?” He asked, genuinely.
Peter went quiet, face heating up at his mistake. He knew he shouldn’t have specified how long they’d been happening for. He knew he’d get worked up.
“I’m taking you to Medbay.” Tony helped Peter stand up, but Peter took a step away once he was on his feet, shaking his head.
“I feel fine right now, Mr. Stark. I have to get home to do homework—”
“—No!” Tony snapped again, without meaning to. This time, he didn’t digress. “You are not leaving here until Cho runs at least one blood test! I’d sooner die than let you leave here and find out you didn’t wake up the next morning.”
Peter conceded, more so out of the concern of his mentor than concern for himself. He had a healing factor. Whatever it was would work itself out. That’s usually how it went, unless it was a life-ending stab wound or gunshot. He hadn’t been hurt worse than a bruise or scratch in the past week.
Cho let Peter at least change into something more comfortable than his Spider-Man suit. When he returned in sweats and a crewneck, she sat him down and rolled his sleeve up, prepping his arm. Tony stood nearby but out of the way, pacing, as Cho stuck the needle in the vein and drew a blood sample. She finished it off and didn’t even have to put a bandage on to stop the bleeding. The puncture had already healed, only leaving a faint bruise.
“The results should only take a minute or so.” She threw the needle away and walked off into the other room with the sample.
Tony ran a hand tiredly down his face, lingering on his goatee, staring off at the wall. Peter was too busy admiring his quickly healed arm to notice the worry his tired mentor failed to hide.
“I haven’t had my blood drawn since the spider-bite. I mean, not for test purposes. I didn’t realize I healed that fast.” He marvelled, turning his arm to and fro to look it over.
Tony was unable to sit with his thoughts any longer. He acted like a restless ADHD student asking too many questions to an ill-prepared teacher.
“When did this start? A week ago, yeah? Or was that just when it got noticeable? Have you had smaller episodes before, or is this like, a new development? Are they longer each time or—”
“Tony.” Cho cut him off, walking back into the room with a tablet in hand. Both Tony and Peter turned toward her expectantly. “His results are fine. He’s in normal range, nothing alarming. No sign of organ damage or infection.”
She handed it over, and Tony snatched it up, scrolling through methodically.
“Something’s wrong,” Tony said after a long pause. Unsatisfied, he passed the results back. Cho offered them to Peter and he scrolled, not seeing anything alarming.
“It looks fine—” Peter started.
“But you’re not fine.” Tony sniffed and crossed his arms, looking askance. “You know your body. You felt pain. I saw you gripping your chest. Something’s wrong, and those tests aren’t picking it up.”
“Maybe it’s psychosomatic—” Cho started.
“In his head? Really?” Tony sounded annoyed, with more bite than usual. “Cho, I don’t think he’d imagine a heart attack mid-conversation—or whatever that was! He was nearly unresponsive, he—”
“Mr. Stark,” Peter cut in, getting both Tony and Cho’s attention. “I’m okay. Seriously. I’ll take it easy. Maybe it was just a bad cramp or something. I’ll just hydrate more, get more sleep. I mean, the test would’ve picked up on something fatal, right?” He turned to Cho.
“If there was something pressing, the blood test would reflect it.” Cho nodded.
“Plus, even if there was something, I have my healing factor. Maybe I was sick without realizing it or something, and my immune system has already battled most of it off,” Peter suggested.
Tony relented, but his face couldn’t hide the fact that he still wasn’t fully convinced.
“Right. Okay. Just take it easy, call me if you need something. You don’t want to keep your aunt up, waiting.”
Peter stood up and grabbed his backpack, giving both Cho and Tony a smile, the former one of thanks, the latter one of assurance.
“Hap can take you back. I already told him to wait in the car, be on call—don’t interrupt. He has nothing better to do. You’re not walking home after that rooftop incident.”
The tired teen knew better than to protest and couldn’t help but be the smallest bit amused. He wasn’t concerned, but it was admittedly kind of touching seeing how worried his mentor was, despite his best efforts to come off casual and unmoved. He walked off with a small wave to both and headed for the elevator.
Cho and Tony stood in tense silence for a long moment after he left.
“He’ll be okay, Stark,” Cho broke the silence, attempting to assure.
“He’s 16 years old. He shouldn’t be having those kinds of symptoms,” Tony responded, displeased with their findings. He grabbed the tablet once more and headed to the nearest computer.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at his blood results. He hasn’t been tested formally in years, but he’s definitely had blood drawn for a few injuries over the past year. I’m going to compare. You know? Scientific method, all that crap?”
Cho sighed, giving up.
“Do what you need to do.” And with that, she left Tony to his own devices.
***
Peter told Tony he’d take it easy, but he couldn’t give up being Spider-Man over some indecisive mystery panic attack, or whatever it was. It always happened late in the day, so he figured he’d just keep his patrols confined to the afternoon.
It was 6 pm, the sky just starting to get dark, when he was about ready to pack it up. It hadn’t been a very eventful day on patrol, and he had homework to finish, but he spotted a suspicious-looking man in a ski mask headed for a bank. He wore a black hoodie and took something out of the pocket before entering the establishment: a gun.
Spider-Man swung down and over to the bank in a few swift movements, landing at the door. He slipped inside just in time for the man to fire into the ceiling, startling the customers, sending them into a screaming frenzy.
“Everyone, down on the ground!” He ordered, voice booming, firing several more warning shots.
“The only one going down—” Spider-Man started, catching the man’s attention, but was unable to finish the thought. He suddenly seized up, excruciating pain coursing through his veins and nervous system, radiating like a thousand needle pinpricks. A simultaneously stabbing and tightness sensation blossomed across his chest. He stumbled backwards, collapsing, unable to move from the intensity of his symptoms.
“Well, well, well.” The back robber walked over to Spider-Man, huffing an amused laugh. “It’s my lucky day.”
“Kare—Kare—” Peter tried, unable to formulate his words properly. He watched with watering eyes as the criminal stood over him, one leg on each side, and aimed the gun right at his head.
“Who would’ve guessed?” The man cocked the pistol and placed his finger on the trigger. “I get to be the one who kills Spider-Man.”
He fired the gun right at his skull. It would’ve hit its mark, too, if he hadn’t wasted his round on warning shots. It clicked, empty, and Spider-Man flinched hard. He should be dead right now. It was only by luck or divine providence that he wasn’t.
“Damnit,” The man grumbled. He reached into his pockets, grabbing another gun magazine of bullets. As he struggled to replace the old one, Peter tried desperately to drag himself away from the crime scene.
“Karen…call…” It was a slow, futile effort. “Call…Mr. Stark—”
The man stepped on Spider-Man’s hand, grinding his boot into his knuckles, causing Peter to yelp. He didn’t have the energy to pull his hand away; every movement caused excruciating pain. It felt like his whole body was on fire.
“Nice try.” The man aimed his gun at Spider-Man and fired again. His aim was bad, but it wasn’t that bad. Instead of getting his head, he got his bicep, blood splattering across the floor.
It must have hit an artery because the bleeding was really bad, spurting without ceasing. Spider-Man sat up quickly, clutching his arm to stop the blood flow. It took him a second to recognize that he was able to move again. It was like the injury snapped his body out of whatever daze it was in.
Before the man could fire again, Spider-Man flipped over him, kicking him hard in the face as he went down. The man was out cold on the floor before Spider-Man’s feet touched the ground. He walked over and kicked the gun away for safe measure before grabbing a hold of the man’s sweatshirt, tearing the fabric to make a makeshift wrap for his arm.
Whilst he was finishing tying his arm off, he felt someone grab hold of his shoulders. He turned on his heel, on the defensive, only to lose the tension in his shoulders upon seeing Iron Man.
Iron Man didn’t look as relieved.
“—I heard the gunshot over the phone—Are you—Are you okay?” The man’s metallic voice sounded winded.
Spider-Man stared back, unable to respond at first. The moments before replayed in his head. He should be dead right now.
“I—”
Tony cut him off before he could answer.
“I called the police, they’re on their way.” Iron Man turned to the crowd of former hostages that were now glued to the dramatic scene unfolding between the two Avengers. “Everyone okay? Yeah? Alright.” He called out to them, then turned back to Spider-Man and the knocked-out criminal.
Iron Man grabbed the gun and emptied it before crunching it beneath his boot for safe measure. He gave the man another kick to make sure he was fully knocked unconscious, then grabbed hold of Spider-Man and flew back to the tower with him.
***
Cho finished properly bandaging Peter’s arm as Tony stood nearby, comparing several blood tests. He’d asked Cho to take a third, and she was hesitant at first, given the blood loss he’d just suffered, but relented when Peter gave her the okay. Tony now stood with the tablet in his hand, swiping back and forth between the progression of results.
“This just confirms it.” He passed the device to Cho.
“What am I supposed to be seeing?” She asked.
“Look how his organ function levels have gradually decreased each time. It’s subtle, seemingly insignificant, but it’s there. There’s been the slightest bit of organ damage each time one of these attacks has occurred. I mean, just look at the difference between last night and tonight. Maybe that small of a change would mean nothing if it happened months apart, but 24 hours?”
“Maybe…”
“That’s not all.” Tony took the tablet back and opened another database, pulling up more files on Peter. “The suit monitors his vitals, so I looked back at the readings from when he wore it during an attack—”
“When did you have time to do all of this?” Peter asked, surprised.
“Last night—Look at the readings.” He showed Cho once more. “The activity is very similar to when his healing factor activates. The nail in the coffin is the activity change when his arm gets shot. His immune system was attacking his entire body. It’s like his healing factor was malfunctioning, and the arm injury made it refocus its efforts on a more pressing problem.”
Cho scrolled through his findings, admittedly impressed.
“Guess they don’t call you a genius for nothing.” She passed the tablet back, but Tony gestured for her to give it to Peter. The teen took it in his hands and looked it over.
“So that’s why my entire body felt like it was on fire…” Peter marvelled at the detailed readings his suit had recorded. He’d never seen what kind of readings it did. He figured they went to Tony, since he always seemed to show up when he was severely hurt, but it was interesting seeing what he saw.
“You gotta stay here until I fix it, but don’t worry. I’ll fix it.” Tony crossed his arms, arrogantly sure of himself, or perhaps it was just confidence and determination. “Banner’s on his way over. I had Friday send him a message as soon as I saw the readings.”
“Why did this start…?” Peter asked.
“In rare cases, if an immune system gets too strong, it starts to think organs are foreign objects. It sees your heart and mistakes it for a tumour, etcetera. With your enhanced healing, by theory, it was a more violent case of this.”
“Like an enhanced autoimmune disease…” Peter mumbled to himself.
“Yeah, but it’s curable. It’ll just take Banner and me a few all-nighters in the lab. I can’t promise we’ll figure it out in a night, but we’ll figure it out before it escalates. You should probably stay in the Tower until then, though, so Cho can keep an eye on you.”
Peter nodded to himself, looking at his arm, his saving grace apparently.
“I should have listened to you.” He was solemn, more serious, as he reflected on the night’s events. “Before I got shot, he had the gun to my head. I should be dead—”
“—Hey.” Tony clasped a hand on his good shoulder. “Don’t focus on the what-if. I know. I’m a real hypocrite, but I’m serious. You’re not dead. You’re going to be okay, yeah?” Pete gave him a small smile and Tony released his shoulder, giving him a pat on the back before walking off. “Now go call your aunt. That poor woman. Can’t imagine how gray you’ll make her. I swear I sprouted a few white hairs just tonight.”
Peter watched Tony leave the room, shaking his head with a laugh. Maybe he didn’t show it with words, but his actions screamed volumes of care he felt for his spiderly protégé.