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"What the fuck?!"
Peter stopped in place, his whole body stilling from where he stood at the window. He swung around, met May with wide eyes. "Oh my god," he blurted.
"What the fuck," May repeated, her heart starting to race. She turned right around, storming down the hallway and pacing the kitchen. She’s a bird lost in a tornado, spinning and thrown every which way. "What the fuck!"
Bits and pieces rush to her mind faster than she can compartmentalize them. Missed phone calls and dirt on the ceilings, missing backpacks and odd bruises. Fuck. Fuck.
"May?" Peter trailed after her, his voice high in a panic. "Listen, don't freak out! Please don't freak out, when you freak out, I freak out—"
"I am freaking out!" May all but yelled. She turned to him sharply, her hair whipping into her face. They both stand there, in the middle of their little kitchen. So many meals together, breakfasts and dinners, where she’d been assured, promised, that his days were boring, and safe, and fine.
I’m going to Ned’s after school, and I’ve got an extra credit thing after school and I’ll be home after dinner, don’t wait up.
May had known that he wasn’t telling the truth all the time. She wasn’t stupid. But how could she have guessed that this was why?
"You have— you have so much explaining to do,” May said, her hand pressed into her heart. She felt dizzy, and shook her head. “I'm going to pass out."
Peter's eyes widened comically and he rushed to her, his arms out with the intention to catch. His steadying hands fall on her shoulders and he’s gently guiding her to sit. "Hey, it's okay! It's alright, just take a second, okay? Don't pass out."
Oh, Peter, who had always been so good at reassuring her, talking her off the metaphorical ledge. He’d had practice with that, didn’t he?
May inhaled deeply. She was furious, and terrified, and adrenaline was whizzing through her blood so fast that the room was spinning. Her nephew, her boy, standing in front of her in a red and blue suit, a spider on his chest and web designs up the arms, everything about it screaming the danger that he—
The past month alone had been terrifying, just watching the news. She’d felt insane, thinking that danger was following her kid like a spectre. Trails of pretty crime, robberies and assaults, all stopped by the local Queens hero– too close for comfort. Too close to home.
His favorite deli, being sliced in half by something alien. The fucking Washington Monument crumbling, the same day him and his team were there. The Staten Island Ferry split in half, the same day Peter doesn’t come home. A jet being sliced through Coney Island, the night of his homecoming dance.
Weird timing. Weird places. Things that were easy to overlook, before, when Peter ended up safe in her arms. The relief was larger than any suspicion May could hold onto.
Spider-Man? She knew Spider-Man. Everybody knew Spider-Man. Everybody thought that he was a grown man.
May herself hadn’t liked him at all, just because of the danger he was bringing closer and closer to their front yard. An Avenger level hero brought Avenger level threats, and May remembered like it was yesterday how it felt, holding Peter closely under the kitchen table and watching the live news of the Chitauri Invasion.
She struggled to process in real time that, no, it was not an adult in tights who just happened to stop buses in his spare time. It was not someone, who didn't have a real job, that got their worn streets torn up with alien weaponry whilst her nephew walked home from school. Nope.
It was her kid, damn it, who put on a suit and nearly got himself killed every night and—
The goddamn suit.
"Where did you get this?" May demanded suddenly, her face pale and her eyes deadly serious. “The suit, where did you get it?”
Peter swallowed. "May."
"Peter Benjamin Parker."
"Let's calm down first, okay?" Peter gently guided her to the table in the kitchen. "I'll explain everything to you, I promise. Just— just—"
May ran a shaking hand through her hair, smoothing it out. She inhaled deeply and held her breath, pressing her lips in a firm line. Her jaw was tight enough to crack a tooth.
She stared at one spot in the table, a groove in the wood that showed up randomly one day. May had always thought it looked like someone had clenched their hand around it, as if it were made of clay. The thought wasn’t as amusing to her now.
"Please be okay," Peter pleaded quietly. "I'm so sorry about all of this."
May glanced up at him silently. He looked just as terrified as she felt. His eyebrows furrowed and high on his face, eyes full of tears, lips pressed to poorly hide the trembling.
"Say it out loud," May said then, her voice precariously stable. She gestured to his suit. "What this... means."
Everything became eerily quiet, as Peter hesitated around the words.
Peter sniffled. "I'm Spider-Man?”
May crumbled, putting a hand under her glasses so she could scrub at her eyes. "God."
"I'm so sorry," Peter tried, hoarse. "I'm sorry. I love you. I’m sorry."
May felt the hot tears as they gathered into her hand, and she let out a shuddering breath. She slid her glasses off and set them on the table with a clatter.
Peter sat across from her, his whole body awkward with hesitation. She could sense the guilt radiating off of him, and she knew that he wanted to do something to ease whatever this was. For the first time, May wasn’t able to allow him this comfort. She was just stuck, processing. Trying to feel anything in her body other than fear or grief.
She traced every moment of Peter’s distance back in her head, every time he’d lied or been distracted about something intangible. She’d chalked it up to the teenage years coming in at full force, but really – really, it all ramped up around a year ago when–
"Stark," May said, gritting her teeth. She stood up with wobbling knees and marched over to the phone. "What's his number?"
"What? No no no!" Peter got up quickly. "You don’t have to call Mr. Stark. He didn’t have anything to do with this, I chose this. This was my–”
May slammed the phone back on the counter and snapped. “You aren’t the adult!”
Peter went quiet.
"You aren't the adult," May continued, her words strained, and painful. Tears are hot in her eyes and she’s so angry she doesn’t know what to do with it. "You— Peter. You're only fifteen."
She held her head in her palms, and she just sobbed. That was her baby boy. That was her whole world, had been ever since he showed up, barely at his parents’ hips, with knobbly knees and big brown eyes. God, she had promised she’d do right by him.
Carefully, Peter brought his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. He’s getting taller every day. He’d grown so much, gotten so much older, over the past few years. He was always growing too fast, taking care of too much, trying to hold it all.
She had raised him, after all. It made sense they were so alike.
"It's okay," Peter tried to say, as gently as possible. "It's okay, May. I'm alright. I promise."
"You can't promise that," May said, more than a little despaired. She sniffled and hugged him closely, just like she did all the time when he was small. "I'm supposed to protect you. You're my boy. That’s my responsibility."
Peter swallowed. He dipped his head down, tucking it into her shoulder.
"I can't just stop," he whispered. "I'm helping so many people, May. I can't stop when I know I’m helping them. They can't protect themselves like I can, you know?"
"I know," May said, because she did. She understood. She sighed shakily, and pulled back to kiss Peter on the forehead, his curly hair tickling her nose.
"I need a few days,” she said. “To think about this. As a parent who's looking out for you. Can the city wait a few days for Spider-Man to show up? Just so I can get my head on straight?"
Peter nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. A few days."
"And I still want Tony Stark's number," May said, her expression going hard.
Peter nodded again, albeit through a wince. "Okay. Okay, yeah I can... get that. For you."
"Good." May inhaled deeply and pulled away, walking back over to the table. She put her glasses back on, cleared her throat. "Now go take that… ridiculous thing off. We're watching Mamma Mia and ordering takeout. You don’t get a choice, so don’t even start.”
Peter cracked a small smile. "I'll be out in a few minutes," he said. And he was.
—
She called Tony a few days later— she told him they needed to meet immediately.
He missed three of her calls, which led to May cornering Happy Hogan and demanding him to drive her to the Avengers Compound– which she didn’t even know existed until Peter had given her the full, honest debrief last week.
"Ms. Parker, I can't just—" Happy started, wide eyes and hands up defensively.
"I know about the Spider-Man bullshit," she said bluntly. She narrowed her eyes, glaring with steel. "Would you rather be in trouble for sending my fourteen-year old to Germany for a political war, or Tony Stark?”
She sat in the passenger's seat of a very expensive car no less than 2 minutes later, while Happy drove upstate in terrified silence. It was the most satisfying car ride she’d ever taken.
He walked her into the building and told her to wait on a couch in the foyer, while he called Mr. Stark and let him know that she was here. So she sat; watching through a glass wall as Happy yelled into his phone with panic in his reddened face.
A short amount of time later, the elevator doors at the end of the hallway open, and the famous Anthony Edward Stark all but tripped over to the couch that she was sitting on. For a multi-billionaire, he looked absurd.
He was dressed in grey sweats and a ratty shirt, covered in black streaky marks and stained with gasoline. His hands were in the same condition. His hair stuck up on the ends, he had bags under his eyes and his breath reeked of coffee.
It was a wildly different vision of the polished business-man she had first met a year ago.
"May Parker!" He called out. "Wow. Golly, you look great. Didn't know you were swinging by. Well. Poor choice of words. Not swinging. We should probably chat, shouldn't we?"
"I'd say that's a wise idea," May smiled dryly. She stood up and smoothed out her long skirt. "Preferably not in public. Right?”
"Right." Tony clapped his hands. "I'll just, uh. Take you down to my lab, and we'll sort this whole thing out.”
May disregarded Happy’s apologetic smile, and followed Tony into the elevator. She crossed her arms, staying silent as it brought them down to the lower, private levels of the Compound.
"You know, this really isn't how I saw this conversation happening," Tony said awkwardly, as the elevator dinged and the doors opened again.
May walked out slowly and looked over at cars that lined the garage. Two were deconstructed, with tools and engine parts haphazardly set aside on the floor. A coffee mug was also set beside the tools, with the contents spilt around it.
"Were you in a hurry?" She questioned dryly, raising an eyebrow at him.
"You could say that,” he said simply. He picked the coffee mug up off the floor and leaned against his desk, taking a long sip. "So... Spider-Man. I'm guessing you have a lot of questions—"
"Damn right."
"—which I am happy to answer for you," Tony finished professionally. “You've every right, as a parent, to be furious—"
May held up her hand. "Cut the scripted bullshit, Stark. Let's just have a normal conversation. Alright?"
Tony visibly relaxed. "Great. Yeah. Easier for me, anyways."
"Why did you block my calls?"
Tony raised his hands in immediate surrender. "I didn't mean to block your calls. I wasn't even getting them. That was a complete foresight on my end; my fault. I know that, I’m sorry. That really is my bad."
"A fifteen year old boy is Spider-Man," May said.
Tony nodded once. "Seems to be the case, yeah.”
"You made him a suit.”
"...Yes."
May narrowed her eyes. He didn’t even look ashamed, not even slightly guilty. Had he not considered the ramifications of this? "Why?" she demanded.
Tony exhaled stiffly through his nose. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, and then set his mug on the desk with a clink. "Because before, he was hopping around in glorified gym clothes. They hid his identity, but that was about the end of it. There weren’t any safety measures.”
He shrugged, nonchalant. "Plus, the one he made was ugly. The kid was getting more and more press by the day, I can't in good conscience have him on the news wearing something that looked like it was made with scrap fabric and a thrift-shop sewing machine."
"That would be my sewing machine,” May said flatly.
Tony did have the decency, then, to look scolded. He held up his hands again, a sign of peace. “Sorry,” he said, cowing down.
May huffed, shaking her head. She pulled a chair out from Tony's desk and sat down in it. What a bizarre world it was, to be sitting in Tony Stark’s personal lab and seeing him act so small.
"The thing is," May started, twisting the words around on her tongue uncomfortably. "Peter doesn't depend on me, like he used to."
Tony furrowed his eyebrows, like he’d heard something untrue. He opened his mouth, but May held up her hand again. He then closed his mouth.
"I know," May said. "I know that he loves me very much, there’s not a doubt in my mind. But he doesn't depend on me. Do you understand? He may ask for my advice, but he doesn’t expect me to keep him safe. He used to. He doesn’t, now."
"I thought I knew why that changed," May smiled weakly, looking up at Tony. “It seemed like grief, the… not feeling like he needed to rely on anyone, anymore. I never would have thought that it was because Peter was holding the damn city together, when I thought he was sleeping across the hall."
"He's a good kid," Tony murmured, after a moment. He cleared his throat. “Going through that without the full story must have been very stressful."
"It was." May said, remembering all of it like it had been yesterday. That kind of helplessness wasn’t easily forgotten. She sighed faintly. “But then something happened. It was like... I don't know. It was like a spark. I was relieved, obviously, but confused— until you showed up at our door talking about some internship..."
Then she let out a laugh, brittle and strained.
"I was stupid!" She exclaimed. "I was so stupid. I should've seen it. Jesus. I don't know what I would've done, but I should've seen it."
Tony was quick to shake his head, making a face. "You're not stupid,” he waved her off. “May, there's a reason that kid is so darn good. You raised him. He's smart as a whip, and so are you. It's a Parker thing, has to be.”
May shook her head. "Either way. He's always looked up to you. Whether you realize it or not, you are so important to him, Stark. He hangs on every word you say. He wants to prove himself to you, and if you're encouraging him to get himself hurt—"
"That's the last thing I want to do." Tony interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm doing everything I can do to ensure his safety. I have to give his suit an upgrade every other week, he keeps surprising me with new ways to make my heart stop.”
“He does that.”
Tony hummed noncommittally. Then he got up from his chair. “You know what, let me show you the suit. Can I show you?”
May slowly nodded.
Tony brought up a holograph of a bunch of technology gibberish, numbers and letters strung together that May couldn’t even pretend to understand. He cleared his throat naturally, as if expecting this. "Alright. Let me explain some of this stuff."
He pointed to a line of code, then expanded it. Streams of see-through zeroes and ones flooded the room. "This is probably the most important thing. This is Karen. Peter named her, she’s a UI programmed into the suit. Helps him control the suit’s functions. Karen, say hi."
A feminine voice spoke up politely through the room. "Hello, May. Peter's told me a lot about you."
"Shit," May widened her eyes. She stuttered for a moment and leaned forward awkwardly. "Um. Thank you, Karen. Nice to meet you, too."
"While I could explain all of what Karen does in a very boring way," Tony said, and waved his hand in a gesturing motion. "Karen, please explain to Ms. Parker what your function is.”
"Of course, Mr. Stark." A hologram of the Spider-Man suit appeared in a basic standing position, rotating and highlighting various elements. “I allow Peter to interact with the Spider-Man suit's full capabilities. This includes providing quick access to architectural or city blueprints, diagnosing emergency medical status in an orderly manner, as well as the best course of action to avoid or attend to injury.
“I can compute quick mathematical equations, call numbers and sort contacts, store audio and visual footage, run accurate web searches on command, provide reminders from Peter’s calendar, and anything else that is needed. Above all else, I monitor psychological and physical distress, such as vital signs."
May blinked.
She turned to Tony. "Do you have alcohol?"
"Yes,” Tony snapped his fingers.
He turned around and walked over to a mini bar in the corner of the lab. He came back with a glass and bottle of scotch, and nodded up to the projections. "Is this too much? We can scale all this back. Take it bit by bit. I know it's a lot to process."
"Hah," May said humourlessly. She poured herself a drink and sipped from it. "Am I missing anything? Is that everything in the suit?"
"Not even close," Tony said. He politely shook his head when May offered him the bottle, and kept talking. "I tried to think of everything. Did pretty damn good, considering how unpredictable he is.”
May couldn’t argue with that. She had her own share of nightmares when thinking what if?
"Webs don’t work?" She pressed.
"Parachute."
"Stuck in the snow?"
"Heater."
"Bleeding out?"
"Compression function. Also, Karen sends his location directly to me and I will get there as quickly as I possibly can. I get alerts from his vitals jumping out of his reference range, too."
May thought for a moment, trying to wrack her brain for any worry that she could hold on to. "What if he gets lost somehow?"
"Tracker." Tony made a sour face. "It only helps if he doesn't take the damn thing out."
May grimaced. "I don't even want to know."
(Something told her, quietly, that she already knew. Peter's tearful face came up in her memory, wearing a baggy shirt from a tourist shop and Hello Kitty pyjama pants that she's never seen before in the laundry.)
A new idea crossed her mind, and her expression darkened. Bloodied shirts and crime scene tape. Her hands twitch around the glass. "What if he's in a situation that he can’t get out of? A worst-case scenario?"
Tony's face didn’t change, other than the slightest flicker in his eyes. "Instant kill mode,” he said, emotionless. “Scans attack patterns and applies automatic defensive procedures. Whatever that looks like.”
May frowned deeply. She looked down at the amber liquid in her glass. "I hope it never comes to that."
"Me too."
He sounded genuine enough, and May believed him because she didn’t have a reason not to.
She took a moment to re-settle. To order everything in her head, and plan accordingly. Okay. Her nephew was Spider-Man. That was the easy part, she’s accepted that. Spider-Man had a high-tech suit that he got from Tony Stark. Fine. Whatever. The suit protected her boy from danger. Better, but not good enough.
"I want you to add me to the emergency contact list for Spider-Man injuries," May said finally, setting the drink down with a clink. She wouldn’t succeed in a physical fight, but she could be there for the aftermath of Peter’s. She wanted to be. That was her right.
“I will do that,” Tony agreed resolutely.
May stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking of her kid back home. He was probably pacing up and down the apartment, waiting anxiously for May to get back with her final judgement. She wondered if Peter would put the suit away longer, if she told him that she just couldn’t do it. She doesn’t think that he would.
She knew her boy, and she could see it play out before it even happened. He would have told her that he understood, and he’d continue doing it, but quieter, with more guilt. The lying would increase. The sneaking out, too. She’d get farther and farther from him, and his life, and then lose him forever.
It wouldn’t be his fault. He had a gift, and a good heart, a duty to help people, and May would be a coward to hinder that– but perhaps, a better mother. Was it better to be a coward, than a good mother? She didn’t know.
But May Parker had moved her whole life around many times, for the sake of Peter. She’d changed jobs, moved from apartment to apartment, took extra shifts, saved money for schools, and hobbies, and tickets to expos. She looked for every scholarship, every opportunity, she did everything she could to let Peter succeed. This was no different.
She was determined to create a medium, to carve out a space for her boy to be loved and safe, and to succeed in the way he wanted to. Even if it terrified her. (And it did. It did terrify her.)
"I told him to take a break for a few days,” May murmured. “To let me think about all of this, to talk to you before he goes back out again."
"Completely fair. What'd he think?"
May smiled wryly. "Well, he said he was for it. But he's been jittery since then. It's barely been a week, but I know he can't wait to get back out there.”
Jittery was one way to put it. She could see it, the way his mind and body split in two different directions. He watched the news while he did the dishes. His tapping and aimless fidgeting, doing his homework at the table and trying not to look out the window every other moment. The other day, a fire truck drove by their complex, and Peter stilled halfway through folding his laundry. His ear in the direction of the danger like a guard dog, listening, waiting.
It was a startling realization, watching him. It only solidified a belief she’d tried to ignore. Peter had found his place in the world, and it wasn’t in May’s arms anymore. He belonged to the city.
"Adrenaline junkie," Tony clicked his tongue. "All the teens these days. What can you do?"
May hummed simply. Then, quietly, she finalized. "I think I'll let him go out tonight.”
Tony nodded. "I'll look out for him,” he said easily.
"You better," May leveled him with a serious look. "If he gets hurt and I find out you could've prevented it, I will maim you. And trust me. I will find out."
"I believe you 100%," Tony said, with full conviction. "I expect nothing less."
May Parker left before finishing her drink. She’s silent on the car ride back, even to Happy’s attempts at small talk. There was a lot on her mind, a settling feeling that something had changed, and she would have to learn to be okay with it.
Peter’s waiting for her at the door, trying to not look as anxious as he was. He cleaned the apartment in her absence, offered to go get takeout, even suggested they could watch a movie tonight. He’s avoiding asking the obvious question, and it mirrored May in a way that made her heart hurt. The Parkers were good at trying to be okay.
When she held his suit back out to him, the tension in his body dropped, and he beamed at her in a way she hadn't seen in a long time. It made it all hurt a little less.
He gave her a hug before hopping out the window– and May squeezed him extra tight. She waited until he was well around the block before letting her tears fall– and then wiped them away, and she did some dishes.
—
May didn't see Tony Stark for two months after that. If she had it her way, she hoped that she would never see him ever again. Not because she particularly disliked Stark— her opinion of him certainly improved after knowing that someone with capable technology and ability is looking after her world while he got himself into trouble.
Actually, that’s the very reason why May never wanted to get a call from him. Ever. Because when she did, it wasn’t good news.
Today, May’s phone decided to go off in the midst of a very hectic afternoon at F.E.A.S.T. An apartment fire in Harlem had left them with an influx of new donations to sort and people to triage, so she was working with a lot of moving parts at once. She wasn’t in a rush to pick up her phone, until it rang a second time– and she read the contact name.
She’s pressing her phone to her ear immediately, pushing her way through the hallway to hide in the copier room. "What happened?" She demanded.
"Hi there," Tony answered, strained. "Before I say anything else: Peter’s out of danger, he’s with medical right now and they’re saying he’s going to be totally fine."
Oh, Jesus. May put a hand over her chest and pressed down against her rapid heart. “Stark, what happened.”
“He was–” Tony started, and then there was shuffling on the other line. Distantly, the sound of crying, and pained, sharp noises. Some words that are too muffled to pluck out coherently. May stood up rigid straight, regardless.
“Is that him?” May pressed, her head spinning. “What’s happening? You would tell me if my kid got stabbed, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you, Tony?"
“He got stabbed,” Tony replied, sounding almost as stressed as May, actually. “We’re running every possible test. The weapon wasn’t human, it was stronger, so, he isn’t bouncing back as fast as– shh, I know, I know, kiddie. We’re trying to get a strong enough pain medication synthesized, but for now, he’s toughing it out. Doing a great job, Pete, just hang in there… Yeah. It's your aunt.”
"You called May?" Peter asked distantly, his voice warbling and interrupted by sniffles and pained keens. "Tell her ‘m okay. ‘M super good.”
“Yeah, I think she’s too smart for that,” Tony replied. Scuffling sounds. Tony clearing his throat. “We’ve just about got these pain meds cooked up, he’ll be sleeping in about forty minutes. Should I send a car to you?”
“Yes,” May said immediately, forcing all of her racing thoughts to become something digestible. “Yes. I’m at work right now, but I’ll put someone else in charge, it won’t be a problem. How is he? Is he okay? Don’t bullshit me.”
“He’s miserable,” Tony answered, his voice lowering. “Trying really hard to hold it together, though. Gotta give him props.”
May pinched the bridge of her nose, clenched her jaw, and shut her eyes tight. She could still hear Peter in the background of the call, his labored breathing and pained, cut-off groans. Fucking Stark phones and their perfect audio quality. This was torture.
“Tell him I’ll be there as fast as possible,” May said.
“Got it. Any tips for keeping him calm?”
May floundered a bit, feeling so useless, at the question. She just wanted to be there, instantly, and to make everything better. “His hair,” she said, the first thing that came to mind. “Just play with his hair. And talk to him, that helps. Distractions.”
“Right,” Tony said. “Great. Perfect. I’ll write that down, somewhere.”
May hung up the phone, and went looking for someone to handle her work while she left for a family emergency. It wasn’t hard. May hardly left early, so when she asked today, looking surely frantic, coworkers were quick to volunteer.
She’s waiting on the sidewalk when Happy finally pulled up. Then she’s climbing quickly into the front seat, her hair askew, her jacket and purse shoved to the floor. She yanked on the seatbelt, and it got caught, because of course. She made a frustrated sound and yanked on it again.
Happy stared, his eyebrows creased, his lips pinched in a worried little line.
She took a stiff inhale, slowly and deliberately pulled the seatbelt across, and clicked it in. She couldn’t imagine how insane she must look, but she also didn’t really care. She gave Happy a pointed look, and he stopped glancing back at her.
“He’s going to be okay,” Happy said, after an awkward few minutes. “Mr. Stark’s got it all under control.”
“I’m sure,” she said, a little too sharp. She bit her tongue afterwards in penance and tried to calm herself down. Happy gave her this relief, leaving the car silent. He was a good driver, calm and steady. May wouldn’t have been this patient, had she been at the wheel right now. She told him this.
“Well,” Happy gave a light smile. “I’ve worked for Tony a lot. Drove through a lot of rough terrain.”
“Is that your job, then?” May sniffed, realizing that she hadn’t actually ever asked. “Personal driver?”
“Head of security,” Happy shrugged. “Before, I was Mr. Stark’s bodyguard. Worked my way up over the years. Now I just oversee the security of whatever Tony asks for.”
May made a small noise of acknowledgement, only half paying attention. She was trying to, and was grateful for the distraction that Happy was providing her. It was just difficult to concentrate on trivial conversation when she kept picturing her son writhing in pain in some medical wing, surrounded by strangers.
"So... What do you do for a living?" Happy cleared his throat, as they stopped at a red light.
"Lately? Stress out," May joked weakly, and all of the sudden, she was trying not to burst into tears. She apologized, pinching the bridge of her nose again, where her glasses lay. Inhaled deeply. Held. Exhaled.
Wordlessly, Happy reached forward in the glove compartment and pulled out a little box of travel tissues. He looked terrified at her tears, which only made her laugh for real, and she took the tissues gratefully.
As the light turned green, he drove forward more. "He really will be alright, though,” Happy said, surely. “Tony's got the best doctors around. Plus the kid is tough as nails. I think I can tell where he gets that."
May merely nodded.
By the time May was finally able to burst through the medical bay doors, she was nursing a tension headache from hell. She stormed down the hallway, watching nurses part like the red sea. One of them helpfully pointed her in the direction to Peter’s ‘room’, a curtained off cot.
Peter’s on the cot, his shirt off, bandages wrapped generously around his middle. He’s got an IV hooked up to his arm, and his eyes are heavy, and he’s half leaned over so that Tony could card a hand through his hair.
Tony Stark. Ex-playboy. Billionaire. Avenger. Who had a black eye of his own, and was wearing simple jeans and a sweaty t-shirt. With the intensity in his eyes, and the diligence of which he was combing through Peter’s messy curls, he had the expression of someone who was disarming a bomb.
“I’m just saying,” Tony murmured to him, “we’re talking Hughes, it’s gotta be Weird Science.”
“No, tha’ one is weird,” Peter argued back lazily, his nose scrunching up. “Creepy. Breakfast Club ‘s the best one.”
“You would like that one, wouldn’t you. The artsy highschool flick with a bunch of troublemakers. It’s basically your life story, you’d fit right in. What about Bueller? You like Bueller?”
“Mm…Good,” Peter conceded. His eyes drifted over to the door, and he sat up a little at the sight of May. His lips dip into a tight frown.
“Aw, man,” he warbled out. “May. You just went and just… got here. I got hurt and you just… flew across the whole city… and you just came to see me, ‘cuz I got hurt. That’s so nice. You’re so nice.”
May put on a smile, her throat tight. “Of course I came to see you,” she soothed, and she already felt relieved. She leaned in, kissing his forehead, tucking his hair behind his big ol’ ears. “Hi, sweetie. You feeling okay?”
“They gave me. So many of the medicine. The big drugs. The medicine drugs,” Peter explained, sniffling wetly. He turned to Mr. Stark. "I told you. I told you my aunt ‘s the greatest aunt. She's so cool, Mr. Stark. She's just... just awesome."
The corner of Tony's mouth quirked up. "Mmhm. She's pretty great."
"Yeah. She’s pretty great. She’s pretty… She is pretty." Peter turned back to May, and sighed. "May, you're so pretty."
“Thank you. He’s really out of it, huh?” May smiled at Tony, amused. The adrenaline was easing away now, knowing Peter was healing. For at least the moment, he wasn’t in pain.
"He’s very doped up, yeah. Probably won’t remember any of this in a few hours,” Tony confirmed. “Speaking of. Kid, how’re you feeling? Meds still working?”
Peter widened his eyes. "Yes. I feel so good. I feel like— I feel like I—"
Then he got this look in his eyes that could only be described as trouble. He glanced around the room, and barely got to sit up before Tony was lunging up, pushing him back down by the shoulders. "Nope. Nice try. You're on bedrest til you’re cleared.”
"Yes," May added enthusiastically. "Bedrest. 100% agree."
Peter made a face of despair. "Noooo. I'm— I can— I'm totally good, guys. I feel fucking— oops. Sorry. Sorry for swearing. I feel krrrriffing awesome right now, dude.”
"Star Wars swears are still swears," May spoke up. "But I'll let it pass. And don't whine at him, he's trying to make sure you don't tear your stitches by being a dumbass.”
Peter’s mouth fell open in offense.
"Yes. Exactly that," Tony agreed. He leaned forward absently, moved a curl out of Peter's eyes. "Wouldn't wanna tear your stitches now, would you? That would hurt. Plus we just spent a whole lot of time on them, so, kinda rude.”
May observed keenly the thinly-veiled fondness written on Tony's face. Even more so, the speed and nonchalance of which it faded away.
Tony patted Peter on the arm and got up from his chair, groaning lightly. “Anyway. I’ve stuck around long enough. I’ll let you two catch up, don’t want to intrude.”
May gave him a look. “Stark. I may not be your closest friend, but even I know you aren’t a man to half-ass anything. If you’re planning on starting, it definitely won’t be with my boy,” she warned. She nodded to Peter. “If you want to be there for him, then be there.”
May was giving him a pretty obvious choice, here. It wasn’t just about staying in the room, and they both knew that by the way Tony clammed up at the ultimatum.
May saw him for what he was. A coward. Someone who was scared of making the wrong impact. She’d recognized it because she remembered what it looked like on her own face, some ten odd years ago— with whispered conversations at a front door, a suitcase of size 7 clothes, and a little boy temporarily sleeping on a blow-up mattress in their cramped living room.
Peter didn’t need anymore people making an impact on his life and leaving, May wouldn’t have it. So Tony needed to make his choice right here, and right now.
Tony looked for a moment as though he really was about to leave, to put the boundaries back up under the guise of ‘respect’. A final act of self-sacrifice before keeping himself more unreachable.
But then Peter let out another pathetic little sigh.
“‘S okay if you gotta go,” Peter spoke up, downtrodden. Her sweet, gentle boy, trying to convince the entire room that he didn’t mind Tony leaving, even when he imprinted on the man like a duckling. “May, that’s Iron Man. He’s busy ‘n stuff, he’s got the Iron Man things. Important things. It’s okay.”
May stared Tony down. She could see it on his face. He didn’t want to leave.
Tony glanced up at May, hesitant, tension drawn in his frame. It was almost like he was asking permission— which was weird, because he’d never sought it out before. Not for Germany. Not for fancy suits.
May raised her eyebrows and tilted her chin towards the chair. Go ahead, she challenged. She had the strangest notion that this was some sort of mutualism. That Peter had been slowly changing Tony in the same way he had changed her; made her gentler, thoughtful, stronger.
Tony pressed his mouth in a line, and he moved back across the room like a dog with its tail tucked. He sank back into his chair beside Peter.
There it was, then.
“You’re stayin’?” Peter asked, his eyes lighting with hope. “‘M not botherin’ you from your stuff?”
“Nope,” Tony said, clearing his throat. “Stuff’s all taken care of.”
Peter relaxed back, a content look on his face. “Oh. Okay. That’s good. ‘M glad.”
"So," May cleared her throat. She took the seat on the other side of Peter, getting comfortable. "What exactly happened out there? I thought you had that sixth sense.”
Peter's nose scrunched up. "Ugh. I forgot why I was here. Yeah. So. There was this, like... this guy, and he was so tall, and really. Like. And that's not even— he was just— yeah. So I dropped in, POW! And punched the guy, and he stumbled back, he was all, woaah—"
"Good sound effects," Tony commented.
"Thank you." Peter sniffed. "And then, get this, the other guy— there were two. He just stabbed me! Just like that! Switcheroo. So I got stabbed, and I think I punched the wrong guy on accident—"
Peter's face fell, his eyebrows drooping and a big frown pulling at his face. "Oh no. Mr. Stark, I punched the wrong guy. ‘M the worst hero ever. He's gonna tell everyone, ‘n then everyone will hate Spider-Man, and I totally deserve it.”
"Hey," Tony snapped his fingers. "Hey, no. None of that. C'mon, kiddo. It was a mistake. You're out there, there’s a lot happening, lots of danger— you made a judgement call. Most of the time, they're right. Not all the time. It's okay, Pete. Honest mistake."
Peter's bottom lip quivered, and he chewed on it with his teeth, his eyes wide and unsure. “Serious?”
"Yes," Tony said firmly. His expression softened. "You're alright, kid. You pull all your punches anyways. By the time that guy heals from your punch, you'll have healed up from the stab wound you took to save him. Right?"
Peter stared at Tony thoughtfully, then gave a jerky nod. "Right. Right, right, right, of course."
May leaned forward and wiped away the tears from Peter's cheeks. "Sounds like a fair trade to me,” she agreed gently.
Peter nodded again, leaning into May's hand. He yawned, large and loud. "Yeah."
"Close your eyes, honey,” May murmured. “Get some sleep.”
Peter nodded, his eyelashes drooping heavy against his cheekbones. Finally, he dozed off and began to snore. May sighed deeply, the tightness in her chest untangling with every expansion of Peter’s lungs. His lips still pout in his sleep, just like they did when he was fifteen, twelve, eight. A newborn in Mary’s arms, the first time they visited the hospital.
He’s still just as bright.
On the other side of his bed, Tony didn’t move. He sat quietly, slumped back in the chair. He didn’t pull out his phone, didn’t even fidget. His eyes focus on the floor, looking deep in thought.
“How’s the mentorship going?” May spoke up, keeping her voice low. Her thumb stroked the inside of Peter’s wrists in small little circles, reminding her that he’s still alright.
"It's going,” Tony said. His head picked up naturally, sniffing once. The illusion of indifference. “He's a good kid."
"As you've said."
Tony shrugged faintly. "Well, I mean it."
May studied him, the way he carried himself, the genuinity he had in his words when his body said the opposite. She hummed quietly. “Thank you,” she said finally.
Tony glanced up, belated. "For?"
"Looking out for him. Like you said you would,” May answered. She gave him a weak smile. “Sometimes I think he's too good for his own good, and I don’t know what I would do if…"
Tony’s expression didn’t change, but he nodded, understanding in his eyes. He took a moment to answer, like he was trying to gather this thoughts in the right order.
"He's better than all of us,” Tony finally said, sincerely.
They both turned their gaze over to Peter. Asleep, drool at the corner of his mouth. Scars on his chest from battles neither of them saw. Muscles, that he’d built from stopping crime and saving cats from trees in equal measure, relaxed in a rare state of rest.
But if May squinted, ignored the healing stab wound, tilted her head— she could see the little boy she watched grow up. The innocence was still there. Which meant she’d done her job well. Tony had, too.
"We've got a good kid," May confirmed.
Tony’s eyes flicker over to her, like he’d been caught off guard by the plural possessive, the we that May had so purposely sprinkled in. She only raised her eyebrow back at him, smiling faintly. It’s an olive branch, of sorts.
"Well," Tony said, clearing his throat. "I can't take that much credit. I didn't raise him."
May's smile turned into a grin. “Damn right.”