Tony drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the Led Zeppelin song playing on the radio. He stole a glance at Peter, who hadn't moved from his curled up position in the passenger seat for at least an hour, clearly enthralled in whatever he was reading on his phone. Though his eyes looked like they were trying to drift closed against the kid's will.
They were in the middle of nowhere and the road seemed to stretch into the horizon without end, so Tony decided to have a little fun. He paused for a moment. What if he gave him a heart attack?
Nah, the kid was too young.
Without warning, he slipped his foot off the brake and floored it. Peter jumped so hard that his phone went flying. Tony was pretty sure the kid would have leapt out the open window if it weren't for his seatbelt.
"Mister Stark! What the- ow! Why did you do that?" Peter yelped, one hand flew to his side, while the other fumbled around on the floorboard.
"C'mon kid, you were getting too bookwormish on me. Had to liven things up a little," Tony laughed as he eased up off the gas. They had hit well over a hundred miles per hour, and considering this was the newest Audi available, they'd gotten there in no time at all. He let the car settle back to a comfortable sixty-five.
"Hey, Pete, what's wrong? My little daredevil stunt didn't make you pull a muscle, did it?" Peter's mouth was set in a tight line, almost in a grimace.
"No. I'm fine, Mr. Stark, really. You just scared me is all." Tony shot a quick glance at the kid, and wasn't sure if he should believe him or not. Peter had become increasingly quiet as they drove, but Tony didn't think too much about it. Teens were allowed to be moody and angsty, right?
Peter popped the glove box open, dropped his phone in it and curled back up in the seat, pressing his head back into the makeshift pillow he'd wadded his hoodie into. "I'm gonna try and take a nap, can you turn your old man tunes down?"
Tony smiled. There was the Peter he knew.
"Sure thing, spiderling. Just remember, this is the good stuff." He turned the dial down to nearly a whisper and focused on the road.
Tony figured he couldn't really blame the kid for wanting to catch a few minutes of shut eye, it had been a hell of a week. After pestering May for three days, Tony had finally convinced her to let Peter accompany him to one of the biggest tech conventions in the country. It had been five days of sciencey bliss. Tony thought the kid's eyes were gonna pop out of his skull at all the shiny stuff decorating the showroom floor. As Peter zipped from booth to booth, Tony had suddenly understood why parents kept their tiny terrors on leashes disguised as cute little backpacks. But as much as he wanted to be irritated, Tony couldn't bring himself to be anywhere near it. Seeing Peter so thrilled and excited gave him that funny feeling in his chest he could no longer chalk up to indigestion.
There had been internships offered at these giant tech companies, real ones. Tony couldn't explain the sudden urge to whisk Peter away from the several of the well-dressed men who lit up at a young kid interested in their little gadgets. The thought of Peter interning under them made his blood boil, they didn't deserve him. None of them did.
But what if Peter wanted to? Tony gripped the steering wheel tighter at the thought because he knew if that happened, he wouldn't try to stop the kid. It wouldn't be right to hold him back because he had gotten a little… well, sentimental. The more Tony remembered the emptiness of that used to occupy his labs, the more the business cards he'd held for Peter began to burn a hole in his wallet.
Tony stole another look at Peter who had somehow folded his entire body to fit into the passenger seat, his feet not even touching the carpet. He would have thought it was amusing if the kids face didn't look so tense. Peter's eyebrows were knitted together and his arms were wrapped tightly around his midsection. Tony was pretty sure he could make out a sheen of sweat forming on the kid's forehead even though he had the AC set to a cool seventy-two. He contemplated waking the kid up and asking if Peter was okay, but Tony was reluctant to do so. The decision was made for him when Peter shifted and cracked his eyes open.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, kiddo."
"How long was I out for?"
"Only about thirty minutes."
"Ugh," Peter groaned and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow.
"Don't think you can sleep, and leave me all alone. I was gettin' all lonely with only the road for company," Tony smirked, but it quickly fell from his face when Peter had hardly acknowledged what he said. "You sure you're doing okay, Pete?" The kid nodded, eyes still covered, then a few seconds later he shook his head tentatively. Tony put a hand on his shoulder, and his heart clenched when he saw a tear slip down Peter's cheek from under his arm. "Talk to me, bud. What's going on?"
"Stomach hurts," he breathed through gritted teeth. "Like a lot." Peter never liked to tell anyone when he was hurt or sick, so Tony knew that it must be pretty serious if the kid was talking about it. Tony looked over his shoulder at all the wrappers that had been tossed in the backseat with a frown.
"Yeah, maybe peanut butter cups and soda wasn't my best call as your responsible temporary guardian." Peter cracked a smile before grimacing again.
"No, I don't think that's it. Ned and I once ate two whole pizzas and a pint of ice cream. This feels different somehow."
"Let me guess, you guys were blowing chunks within an hour."
"Sooner," Peter groaned.
"Alright, we're still about fiveish hours from the tower. Think you'll be okay until then?"
"Mmmph."
"I'll take that as a 'hurry the hell up'," Tony said, accelerating to seventy five. They had been driving for a solid ten minutes when Peter suddenly sat up.
"Pull over."
"Why, what's going-" Peter gagged and his hand flew to his mouth. That was all Tony needed to hear.
"Hold on, kid. Hold on. Hold on," Tony said, breaking as steadily as he could. He knew slamming on them would mean some unsavory interior decorating.
"Hurry, please," Peter begged before gagging again. It sounded like he had barely kept it down, and Tony knew it was his final warning. Thankfully, the car had slowed to a stop in time for Peter to throw his seatbelt off and scramble out of the car. He had left his door open in his rush, not that Tony could really blame him, and was bent over waiting for the inevitable. He didn't have to wait very long before the kid retched and brought up his lunch. Tony cringed at the splattering he heard and swallowed thickly, before opening his own door to get out.
Peter was still standing with his hands on his knees, trembling slightly from the effort, and saliva dripping from his mouth. Tony walked around the front of the car, opening the water bottle he'd grabbed for him to wash his mouth out.
"No, wait...hang on," Peter gasped, holding his hand out to wave Tony away. He frowned until he realized why the kid wanted him to wait. Peter gagged again and more vomit splattered onto the ground; Tony averted his eyes, both for Peter's sake and his own. The kid stood there panting for several more minutes, sweating bullets before finally nodding his head to Tony.
"O-okay. I think I'm good." Tony was careful to avoid the sick and handed him the water.
"I still don't think the snacks were a good idea," he quipped, wrinkling his nose. Peter took a swig and spit it out before sipping a little more. "Feel any better? You sure did a bit of a number on the dirt here." Peter sniffed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, walking back toward the car.
"Not really," he mumbled, sitting in the seat and leaning it back as far as he could. Given the fact it was a sports car, Peter didn't get very far. In that moment, Tony wished he'd bought a sedan or even a full fledged, soccer mom minivan so Peter could get more comfortable.
Tony went back to get into the car, worry starting to creep in. When he shut the door, Peter was back to the curled up position he'd been in before, facing the passenger door. Tony grabbed the plastic bag behind his seat and dumped out the rest of the soda bottles onto the floor.
"Hey, Pete," Tony said gently. "Why don't you hold onto this for me? Just in case." Peter took the bag and nodded, facing reddening. Yep, sarcasm was definitely out of the question now, Tony didn't want to make the kid feel any worse than he already did. He knew Peter hated looking weak and when he was, Tony knew it made him emotional.
He started the car again and carefully sped back up, wanting to get Peter back to the tower, and the medbay, as soon as physically possible. Since yakking hadn't done a thing for him, Tony was worried that it may be something more than just a sour stomach. The sooner he could plop the kid in front of Banner, the better.
"Tell me if anything gets worse, okay?"
"Uh huh," Peter said, plastic bag wadded up in his fist. Tony pushed a button on his steering wheel.
"FRIDAY, what's our ETA?"
"You are still three hundred and twenty miles from the tower. At this speed, you should arrive at seven thirty." Tony glanced at the clock and frowned, it was only two. That meant Peter would have to suffer for another five and a half hours. Tony sped up, he wasn't going to make the kid do this any longer than what was absolutely necessary.
The second time Peter was sick there hadn't been any warning. One minute he was nestled in his hoodie, the next he was heaving. Tony thanked his lucky stars that the kid had managed to open the bag at the last second. Not that Tony would have been angry if he hadn't, it wouldn't have been his fault, but he knew Peter would have been humiliated. Not that he wasn't now, from what it looked like.
"Oh my- this is so gross- I'm sorry," Peter choked out between heaves.
"Nope, none of that, kiddo. Just breathe through it," Tony put his free hand on his back and rubbed it gently.
"It h-hurts," Peter whimpered before heaving again.
"I know, your throat is gonna burn-"
"N-no, something hurts." His shaking hand hovered over his side. "It feels like someone's stabbing me," Peter's voice wavered. Tony braked when he saw the tears beginning to spill down his pale face. His heart leapt in his throat, something was definitely wrong. Something was seriously wrong.
Tony shifted in his seat and tried to wiggle his phone out of his pocket as the car rolled to a stop. Why did he have to wear these things so tight? When it finally got free, he held 2 for speed dial and threw his seatbelt off.
It picked up on the second ring.
"Hey, Tony. What's up?" Tony shut the door behind him and walked a few feet away from the car.
"Bruce, something's wrong with Peter. He threw up a couple times, but s-something else is wrong. H-he's really pale and in a lot of stomach pain. I don't know what to-"
"Tony, I need you to calm down," Bruce said sternly, his medical experience showing through. "If you panic, you won't be able to help him." Tony took a shaky breath, he hadn't even realized he was having an anxiety attack. He cleared his throat and pinpointed his focus. Peter was all that mattered.
"Okay, I'm straight. What do I need to do?"
"Have him lift up his shirt. I need you to approximate where the pain is coming from."
"On it," Tony said tightly. This was his mission. He could do this for Peter.
Tony hurried around to the passenger side and opened the door, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder. Peter had his head between his knees, holding the bag of sick tightly in his hand with his left arm wrapped around his waist.
Tony took the plastic bag from him and tied it shut before setting in on the ground beside the car.
"Hey, kiddo. How're you feeling?" Peter sniffed and shook his head, he looked up and his red-rimmed eyes were begging him to do something. Anything. "I have Bruce on the phone, he's going to help you feel better, okay?"
"Okay," he gritted out, his jaw tense.
"Alright, I'm gonna need you to lay back and raise your shirt a little. Bruce needs to know where the pain is." Peter slowly unfolded himself and laid back with a shallow breath, that had clearly been painful.
"Okay, Banner, the kid's laying back. What now?"
"Take your index and middle finger together, and start gently pressing in spots two inches apart.
"Tell me when it hurts, Pete." Tony started on his right side and did as Bruce instructed. He tentatively prodded the skin, worried he'd hurt him. There was no need to feel his left side, as soon as Tony's fingers barely poked the bottom half of his abdomen, Peter whimpered. Considering how tightly Peter was gripping the edge of his seat, he probably wanted to do much more than that.
"Lower abdomen, right side. About four inches away from the belly button, diagonally."
"Sounds like appendicitis, Tony. I need you to ask him how long he's been feeling off, sometimes the actual pain doesn't come until much later." Tony repeated the question.
"Like a week, I think? Maybe more, I don't really remember."
"He said a week, or more." Bruce didn't say anything, sending Tony's blood pressure through the roof. "Bruce? What is it?" He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, trying not to freak out Peter.
"An appendix becomes in danger of bursting in forty-eight to seventy-two hours. His healing factor must be slowing it down, but I don't know how much longer it's going to be able to do that."
"Excuse me, what? What-what will happen if it can't?" Peter looked up at him, evidently having noticed his voice jump several octaves.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Tony. If it bursts, bacteria is going to spread through his body and could even get in the blood. If that happens-"
"Alright, I've heard enough," Tony cut him off. He didn't want to hear the rest of what Bruce had to say. He didn't think he'd be able to handle hearing the words.
Peter could die.
"So what, can I take him to a hospital? I'm sure I can find a closer one."
"If he was a regular person, yes, but with his abilities and enhanced metabolism they'd never get the amount of anesthesia right. He'd either feel everything or die from too much. You need to get him here, now." Tony hung up and stuffed his phone in his pocket, running back around to the driver's side.
"Mister Stark, am I going to be okay?"
"Ever seen 'Fast and the Furious' before, kid? Because you're about to." Tony slammed his door shut and Peter did the same. He floored it and the car took off, his RPMs shooting through the roof.
"FRIDAY, send out an emergency message to local law enforcement's dispatch as we move through counties. Give them the car's make, model, everything. Make it clear that it's a matter of national security that we do not get pulled over," Tony instructed, as they hit a hundred and twenty miles per hour. It was true, if they lost Peter, the world would have one less hero to protect them. The very thought made Tony want to lose it right then and there, but he couldn't. Not now. Not in front of him.
"You got it, boss."
"Mister Stark?" Peter stared at him, his eyes repeating the question Tony had deliberately ignored.
"You're going to be just fine," Tony forced a smile that he could tell the kid wasn't buying.
"D-do I need to call Aunt May?" Tony's heart felt like it was going to shatter.
Peter wanted to know if he needed to say goodbye.
"If you really can't wait to tell her about that cute girl who was giving you the eyes at the hotel, then I suppose you could." He knew the joke was misplaced, and the last thing he should have said, but Tony knew if he tried to answer in any other way he would have broken down. He could feel tears stinging his eyes, so he rapidly blinked them away. Peter seemed to understand and said nothing. He didn't reach for his phone.
"FRIDAY, have Bruce call May Parker and arrange for her to be taken to the tower."
"Done."
"You're going to be fine, Pete," Tony said again. "And when this is all over, given I haven't killed over from a heart attack, we are watching all the Netflix you want. No if, ands, or buts." Peter smiled weakly.
"Even 'The Office?'"
"Especially 'The Office.'"
"Sweet." Peter leaned back and closed his eyes, a ghost of a smile still traced his lips.
Tony had gotten a smile, and that was good enough for him. He was tempted to go even faster, but the last thing he wanted was to lose control of the car and get them both killed. His throat tighten at the thought, Tony could get them there safely and it might not even matter in the end.
Peter could die.
Panic zipped through his whole body. Tony felt incredibly stupid, he had been fretting over losing Peter as an intern, but that seemed meaningless now. Tony hadn't even noticed something was wrong because it was on his mind the whole week. Now, he would fully support Peter working for any of those companies if it meant the kid would be okay. He had to be. His chest tightened and it was getting harder to breathe. Peter might not make it because of his own selfishness. Because he had been thinking only about himself.
"What are five things you can see?" The question caught Tony so off guard, he nearly jumped.
"What?" Was the kid starting to get delirious? That meant it had to be getting worse. Peter was going to-
"Stop thinking. Five things you can see. Go," Peter's faint voice commanded, his face contorted in pain. He gathered his jumbled thoughts and looked around. Alright, he could do that. He wasn't sure why it was so important to the kid, but the least he could do was humor him.
"The steering wheel. Trees. My watch. The road. Aaaaand," Tony looked around for one more. "That lovely bedhead of yours."
"Four things you can touch."
"Your choice of road trip games seriously needs work."
"Mister Stark."
"Okay, okay. Sorry. My shirt. The gear shift. This empty bottle. The dashboard. And my sunglasses," Tony listed, running his hands over each one.
"Three you can hear."
"The car running. Your voice. My voice."
"Two you can smell."
"New car." Tony brought his shirt collar to his nose. "My cologne."
"One you can taste."
"This mint," Tony popped one in his mouth from the middle console. "Okay, kiddo. Want to let me in on the reason for this?"
"You were having a panic attack," Peter said simply. "And now you're not."
Tony was taken aback to say the least. How had the kid known? What shocked him the most was the fact that the kid was right. He could breathe again.
"Wait, how-"
"Your hands started to shake and you were barely breathing. Not rocket science." Tony snorted. He hadn't even realized it, and he actually did rocket science. Tony shook his head to himself; here Peter was, talking him down from an anxiety attack when he was probably experiencing some of the worst pain of his life. Nope. Those companies did not deserve Peter. Half the time, Tony didn't think he did either. "And if you passed out, we would both be screwed." The kid certainly had a point if there ever was one.
"You're definitely right about that." Tony said, and took a breath. "How did you know that would work?" Peter looked down, face coloring slightly.
"I used to get panic attacks a lot. I still do sometimes, but not nearly as often." He groaned and leaned his head back again. "They suck and so does this."
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Thanks, kid."
"No problem," Peter's voice quivered and looked like he was doing his best to hold back tears. Tony opened the visor and took the bluetooth earpiece out of its compartment. He didn't want Peter having to focus on anything other than hanging in there.
"How far are we, FRIDAY?" Tony asked, putting the piece in.
"With your increased speed, your travel time has been reduced to just over three hours."
"Okay, tell Bruce to be ready for us."
Tree. Honda Civic. Clouds. Birds. A fence.
Tony had been going through the grounding technique for the past hour straight. If he lost concentration, his mind would go right back down the rabbit hole. Peter was going to be okay. He was going to be fine.
Steering wheel. Radio knob. Rearview mirror. Jeans.
Peter hadn't moved the whole time, his head leaned back against the headrest with his eyes closed. Tony would have thought the kid was asleep if it wasn't for the pained expression plastered on his face. Two hours left. Peter was going to make it.
The car humming. The radio. Peter's breathing.
Tony looked over at Peter and got a good look at him, making his heart sink even further. He was in a fetal position, facing Tony, with both arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. Peter was as pale as a sheet and trembling as tears continued to trickle down his cheeks. Tony grit his teeth, he could have prevented this.
This was his fault. A sick twist of guilt, anger, and panic shot through Tony at the thought. He should have noticed something was wrong with Peter sooner. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his hands began to shake. When the kid started eating less than usual, Tony assumed it was because of Peter's tendency to have a nervous stomach. Now that he thought about it, Peter had started looking a little pale during the last couple days of the convention, and casually mentioned his stomach was bothering him. All the signs had been there, but the kid had assured him that he was fine, so Tony had believed him. Like a total idiot.
Peter was going to die, and it would be all his fault.
Wait. How had he gotten here again? Damn it, what was next? Right, two things you could-
"I think I'm going to be sick," Peter said miserably, tightening his arms around himself. Tony twisted in his seat and cast a quick look behind him. No more bags. He moved his foot off the gas, but hovered it over the brake. Peter's appendix could burst at any moment, and if they kept having to stop it could mean the difference between him making it or not. Tony put his foot back on the gas.
"Buddy, I know you're not going to like this but this is what we're going to have to do. If you're going to be sick, just do it."
"But, your car-"
"Is not nearly as important as you are, Pete. I won't be mad, I promise," Tony said gently.
"Okay," Peter sniffled and sat up a little. Tony knew the kid really must be feeling bad if he agreed to puking in his car so quickly. Peter once spilled a cherry slurpee on Tony's carpet and acted like the world was ending as he knew it. Not to mention Tony had to keep listening to different versions of the same apology for the rest of the day. Peter leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "I-I'm sorry," his voice hitched and Tony saw tears beginning to trail through his fingers.
"Hey hey hey, this isn't your fault, kiddo," he placed a gentle hand on his back.
It's mine.
"I just thought I was tired 'cause of all the traveling so I didn't say anything, and then when it started hurting I figured it was something we ate."
I should have noticed sooner.
"I know, I know." Tony gave his shoulder a squeeze. Peter choked out a sob.
"I don't feel good," he hiccuped.
"I know, we'll be there soon, buddy." Tony moved his hand to Peter's head, and started carding his fingers through his hair. The amount of heat he suddenly felt beneath his fingers sent another zip of panic through him. Peter felt hot, really really hot. His breath suddenly caught and he started coughing harshly. Peter pitched forward and gagged, bile splashing onto the carpet. The kid really started to cry now, putting his head back into his hands.
"I'm-I'm sor-"
Tony didn't stop running his fingers through the kid's hair as he gagged again.
"Shhh, none of that, Pete. Not your fault, I'm not mad," Tony reassured gently, moving his hand to the kid's forehead. He almost recoiled, Peter was burning up.
"It hurts! Please make it sto-op," he sobbed, twisting his shirt in his fists.
"I'm trying, buddy. I'm trying," Tony's voice broke, tears welling his own eyes. He was holding it together, but just barely.
"Please make it- please…." Tony looked over in time to see Peter slump back in his chair, and his eyes roll back. He thought his heart was going to stop until he realized that Peter had only passed out and that he was still breathing.
Peter was still breathing.
After sitting on the edge of a full fledged heart attack for four hours, the tower finally came into view. It was the most beautiful sight Tony had ever seen.
Peter was a mess. He had woken back up after passing out, but by then the fever had already risen dangerously. The poor kid had spent the most of the ride sobbing incoherently and puking his guts out. Now, Peter was laying back quietly and that scared Tony more than anything.
When Tony pulled up to the tower, he all but dove out of his seat to race to the other side. He tore the door open, and took the kid's seat belt off. Vomit covered his shirt from when he'd been too weak to sit up, but Tony didn't care. They had made it, and he prayed that they had done it in time. He looped his right arm under Peter's legs and snaked his left around his back, lifting the kid out of the seat. Then the worst thing imaginable happened.
Peter screamed.
It wasn't like anything Tony had ever heard before, and never wanted to again. Tony did the only thing he could think of: he ran. Peter writhed against Tony's grip in agony, and he held him closer.
"You're alright. Come on, Pete, stay with me. We made it, come on," Tony urged, his feet hitting the pavement and racing up the stairs to the lobby. Bruce was there waiting for him and jumped up.
"Help him, Bruce. Please." Peter had a deathgrip around Tony's neck and buried his face in the crook of it, sobbing harshly.
"We're going to do our best, Tony," Bruce said as they rushed down the hall to the elevators. Suddenly, Peter's back arched and he screamed bloody murder in the elevator, the sound amplified in the small space.
"Bruce! Bruce!" Tony's adrenaline shot through the roof. He was going to lose his kid.
"Keep a good grip on him. It sounds like you got here just in time." As soon as the elevator doors slid open, they ran into the medbay where the surgical team was waiting. Tony tried to deposit the kid onto the gurney, but Peter wasn't having it tightening his arms around his neck.
"Kid, you gotta let go."
"Please, I don't want to die," he cried, holding Tony even tighter.
"You gotta let go, Pete," he whispered, tears already running down his own face. The kid's arms started to loosen, but then the doctors grabbed him and started trying to dislodge him themselves, making Peter hold onto Tony for dear life.
"Don't touch him! Don't you dare-" They ignored him and roughly wrenched him free from Tony's arms before immediately starting to restrain him to the bed.
"Mister Stark!" Peter wailed as more arms tried to pin him down. That only made the kid fight harder, and one of his arms got free, punching one of the nurses in the face. "Stop it, you're scaring him!" Tony moved to try to pull one of the nurses off of Peter, but Bruce stepped in front of him and grabbed his wrist.
"Tony, you need to go."
"I'm not leaving him."
"Tony, Bruce is right. Come on." Tony spun around to see Steve walking towards him.
"Rogers, stay the fuck away from me. I can't leave him. Steve, back up." Tony tried to move, but Steve was quicker, grabbing his upper arm and wrapping another around his chest. Tony tried to wriggle himself free, but didn't stand much of a chance against the super soldier's strength.
"Let go of me! I said, let go!" Tony struggled hard as Steve dragged him out of the room. He yanked his right arm free and drove his elbow backward into Steve's nose. "Peter!" The nurses finally restrained him and one of them stuck a needle in Peter's neck and pressed the plunger down. The last thing Tony saw was Peter's body go limp.
Tony utterly lost it.
"You're going to kill him! Let go of me, Rogers! Fucking let go!"
"Stop fighting, Tony," Steve grunted as he got him into the hallway. "Let them help him."
Tony struggled a bit more, but he couldn't move much with the bear hug Steve had him in. All of the adrenaline that had been keeping him going for the past four hours ran out and his knees buckled, collapsing against him.
"I'm going to lose him, Steve. It's all my fault," Tony sobbed, clutching onto him as they lowered to the ground. Steve let Tony go before turning him around wrapping him in a hug.
"Peter's a tough kid. He's going to pull through." Tony held onto Steve like a lifeline and continued to bawl.
"I-I can't, Steve. I ca-an't."
"You can't what, Tony?" Steve murmured, tightening his grip.
"I can't lose him," Tony managed before dissolving into tears again. Every worst case scenario was flashing through Tony's mind like some kind of sick flipbook, each one ending in the same unthinkable result.
When the tears stopped, Tony felt numb. How was he supposed to face May? He had assured her that Peter would be well taken care of.
"Come on, Tones. Let's get off the floor. You should try to get some sleep, there isn't any point in wearing a hole in the floor."
"If you think I'm going to be able to sleep, turning into an ice cube for seventy years must have done more to your head than I thought," Tony muttered as he took Steve's hand and stood up. Guilt settled in his stomach when he saw blood leaking from Steve's nose.
"Then at least get a shower." Steve put a firm hand on his shoulder. "You look a little rough."
Tony rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He knew Rogers was right; if he looked half as bad as he felt then Tony knew he must be a sight to see. He looked down and saw the vomit that had been smeared across his button up. Tony grimaced when he saw it had gotten on Steve's t-shirt too.
"Sorry, about that," he gestured toward the fabric. "And your nose too." Tony rubbed the back of his neck.
"Don't think a thing of it, Tony. I know how important he is to you." He sniffed, and looked down at his hands. At least he hadn't punched Steve, he had gotten very close to trying.
"I guess I might as well change," he mumbled. "Thanks, Steve, for stopping me from doing something stupid. Sorry again." Steve clapped him on the shoulder.
"Peter's going to be okay." Tony nodded and walked toward the elevator. He cringed as felt the saturated material stick to his stomach; Steve was right, he did need a shower.
Tony had to admit he did feel much better in a fresh t-shirt and jeans, but the shower hadn't done a thing for his racing mind and the paralyzing fear that he couldn't shake. He knew that wouldn't stop until he had answers.
He walked down the hall and took the elevator back down to the medbay with his heart in his throat. Friday had informed him that May was waiting there while Peter was in surgery, and he couldn't put it off for much longer. He walked through the doors that Steve had dragged him out of half an hour ago and saw her sitting on an empty bed with her head in her hands.
Her head snapped up at the noise, probably hoping it was one of the doctors. May didn't look much better than himself, her eyes were red and had mascara streaked down her face. Her usually sleek hair was disheveled and stuck to her wet cheeks in places. When she saw Tony, May jumped up and he mentally prepared himself for the punch Tony knew he deserved.
"May, I-" He put his hands up in surrender, but didn't make a move to block his face.
But it never came.
She wrapped her arms around him in a hug, making Tony stiffen briefly before he returned it.
"Thank you," May whispered, her voice still wavering with tears. "Thank you for getting him here."
Tony felt his own throat tighten. Why wasn't she screaming at him? Didn't she understand that none of this would have happened if he hadn't convinced her to let Peter to come? Or better yet, if he had paid any attention to her nephew at all?
"I'm sorry, May. This is my fault," Tony sniffed, feeling the tears returning with a vengeance. "I should have known something was wrong." May pulled away so she could looked at him, arms still wrapped around his torso.
"No, Tony. Don't you dare say that," her face inches from his. "There was no way you could have known. You gave him a better chance than anyone else could have."
"But-"
"No, no buts. If I know my nephew at all, then he was telling you everything was fine, right?"
"Well, I still-"
"Right?" May's intense gaze made Tony drop his head, and she pulled him back into a hug. "That what I thought."
After a few more moments, they released each other and sat on the white sheets of the bed she'd been waiting on. Her hand found its way into his and he squeezed it back. They sat that way in silence, the ticking from a clock was the only sound in the room. After fifteen minutes, Tony couldn't take being still anymore and began pacing. It wasn't until he glanced at the double doors leading to the operating room that the true weight of the situation fell on him. Peter may never come back out.
Images of all the time they'd spent together began running through his head, all the time that he had taken for granted. Tinkering in the workshop together, movie nights with the team, and going on missions suddenly became more treasured to him than he ever thought possible. Tony could see Peter's beaming face covered in oil after tweaking his Ironman suit, and him standing over a trash can while Tony tried to cut a piece of gum out of his hair after the kid had fallen asleep with it in his mouth. Even the red stain on his carpet managed to bring tears to his eyes.
His heart stopped when Bruce suddenly emerged from the doors and May got up from the bed. When the words came out of Bruce's mouth, Tony was out cold before he hit the floor.
Peter sat at the dining room table in his apartment, unsure how he'd gotten there exactly. Where was Aunt May? There was an almost uncomfortable amount of sunlight pouring in through the windows, reflecting off the empty dishes set on the table. The peace in the air was something Peter had never experienced before, and he had the sudden urge to curl up on the nearby couch and sleep. The sound of pans being shuffled in the kitchen and the smell of something delicious cooking wafted into the room. He slowly got up and crept toward the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw who was standing in front of the stove.
"Why Peter, you've grown like a weed. You're taller than I am," the man said when he saw Peter standing in the doorway. Tears had already started spilling down Peter's cheeks.
Uncle Ben.
Peter didn't know what to do, or even what to say. So he just stood there. His uncle seemed to understand, so he clicked the burners off and crossed the distance between them, wrapping him in a tight hug. Peter finally got his body to move and he flung his arms around his uncle.
"It's good to see you too, kiddo," his uncle laughed, ruffling Peter's hair.
"I missed you so much," he said, voice muffled by his uncle's shirt.
"I missed you too." Ben gave him another quick squeeze before releasing him, and turning back to the food.
"Want some help?"
"Sure," his uncle smiled and handed him a pot of noodles. "Why don't you go set this on the table for me? I should have a pot holder already there for it." Peter took it and walked back into the dining room, his uncle's footsteps following not far behind. He cast another gaze around the apartment, everything looked the same but something felt different. Like it was all brighter somehow. Uncle Ben set a bowl of salad beside the pot and took a seat, gesturing for Peter to do the same.
Peter sat across from him, studying every part of his face, still unable to believe he was seeing it again. His eyes were just as warm as he'd remembered them, and the beginnings of wrinkles around the corners of them reminded him of all the time they'd spent laughing together watching old movies. He was wearing that flannel May had loved so much on him, leaving the highest button open. May always said he looked too serious with all of them shut.
"I just can't believe you're here, I thought I'd never see you again after…" Peter trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. After he had let them get away.
"What happened to me was not your fault, Peter. It was simply my time," his uncle said knowingly. "However, yours has not come yet. So, you can imagine my surprise when one of my dinner guests arrived so early." Peter looked and saw another place setting at the table beside his uncle. Many of the larger dishes on the table also sat empty.
"Early?"
"Yes, I'd say fifteen is much too early. Besides, I'm not anywhere near finished in there," Ben nodded his head toward the kitchen.
"I could help, I'm pretty good at cooking," Peter moved to get up, but Uncle Ben placed his hand on his arm to stop him.
"Don't you worry about that. You'll need to get going soon anyway," he said kindly.
"What? You mean I can't stay? But I just got here," Peter said, tears welling in his eyes. "I have so much to ask, and-"
"It isn't the time for that quite yet, Peter. There are people who still need you right now, and I don't mean Queens." Uncle Ben patted his arm soothingly. "But don't worry I'll be waiting right here for you, and so will everyone else."
"I don't understand. What do you mean?" His uncle smiled and ruffled his hand through Peter's hair as he got to his feet.
"I'm so proud of you." Peter got up as his uncle walked back to the kitchen.
"Uncle Ben? Uncle Ben!" He continued as if he hadn't heard a word. Peter stepped forward and reached for Ben's arm; when his fingertips were inches from him, he was suddenly blinded by a piercing light.
A steady beeping was the first thing that Peter was aware of. Its monotonous rhythm steadily lulling him back into consciousness. He was aware of voices speaking quietly, making the words a low humming Peter couldn't make out.
"Wait May, did you see that? His finger moved. Looks like he's coming around." A voice said that Peter didn't immediately recognize. He felt a soft hand cup his cheek.
"Baby, can you hear me?" After an incredible amount of effort, Peter cracked his eyes open and saw his aunt.
"Oh hey, Aunt May," he said tiredly. Her eyes filled with tears and she laughed, hugging him tightly. Why was she so upset? Wait, where was he?
He opened his eyes a bit wider and saw that he was in what looked like a hospital, but much fancier than that. There were several other beds lining the walls surrounded by equipment, but they were all empty. Instead of cheap linoleum flooring, a rich colored hardwood floor spread out across the room.
"Don't you ever scare me like that again, young man." His aunt released him and Peter recognized Bruce standing at the foot of the bed. He glanced to his right and saw the doors leading out into the hallway, and suddenly everything came back at once. The car ride. Him getting sick. Being carried into the tower. Mister Stark yelling his name. Hands pinning him down. Everything going black. Uncle Ben.
"How are you feeling, Peter? Any pain?"
"No, just tired," he said, rubbing his eye with his fist. "Wait, where's Mister Stark?" He vaguely remembered Steve dragging him out.
"He's in another room recovering."
"Recovering? What happened, is he okay?"
"Oh yes, Tony's fine," Bruce laughed. "He fainted when he heard you were going to be okay."
"Mister Stark fainted?" Peter smiled, he was never going to let him live it down.
"Sure did. Collapsed like a ragdoll," May said said, brushing Peter's hair from his forehead with a chuckle. "Want us to go get him? I think he's done being a drama queen." Peter snorted, the thought of his idol fainting tickled him to no end.
There are people who still need you.
"Yes, if you think he can handle it."
Tony sipped at the cool glass of water one of the nurses had given him, hand still a little shaky. His head throbbed from where he had hit the floor, but Tony didn't care. Peter was going to be okay. Pure, unadulterated joy coursed through his veins.
Peter was going to be okay.
A sudden knock on the doorframe made him look up to see May and Bruce standing there with soft smiles on their faces. He immediately stood up because that could only mean one thing: Peter was awake. Tony hurried out of the room as quickly as his unsteady legs would allow. He shoved the doors open and stopped when he saw the kid laying on the bed, shit-eating grin plastered on his 's vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. He looked over his shoulder and saw that May and Bruce hadn't followed him in. Tony was thankful for the privacy.
"Hey, kid," he said weakly, savoring every breath he took. Peter was alive.
"I heard you fainted." Tony barked with laughter and rushed to Peter's bed, wrapping him in a hug.
"Don't you ever do that to me again, Underoos. Don't you ever do that," Tony said into the kid's hair, voice thick with tears. He didn't even care if Peter saw them. He was okay. Peter was okay.
"Why does everyone keep saying that? It isn't like I wanted my appendix to go haywire." Tony laughed again before releasing him, and sitting in the armchair someone had dragged to his bedside.
"You gave me a hell of a scare, kid. I've lost at least ten years of my life in the last twenty four hours, thanks to you." Tony ran a hand through his hair.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Peter rubbed the back of his neck, his face coloring. "And for ruining the front seat." Tony shook his head, the kid had nearly died and here he was apologizing for getting sick.
"Nothing to be sorry for, kid. I'm glad I made you yak in my car, Bruce said your appendix completely burst right as we got here. Who knows what might have happened if I valued upholstery more than my favorite intern?" The kid nodded, but he could easily tell he was still mortified.
"And you hardly ruined anything, kiddo. Gross? Yeah. But washable? Definitely. This is nowhere near as bad as when Happy had to pick me up from that gala last year," Tony exaggerated his shudder for effect and Peter took the bait.
"Why, what happened?"
"I ended up blowing chunks all over his back seat, and not like the little cute stuff you were doing either, like full on exorcist."
"No way," Peter laughed.
"Yes way, Underoos. Long story short, I hurled like three times and ended up pissing my pants. I thought Happy was going to pop a blood vessel," Tony chuckled in spite of himself and Peter was cracking up so hard, he was worried the kid was going to tear his stitches. "Now the key difference here is that you couldn't control what happened, Pete. As for me, I thought six martinis and a long island iced tea was a good idea."
"Alright, you win," he surrendered, putting his arms behind his head. "But next time, try not to have a panic attack behind the wheel of a car."
"Next time, don't almost die in the passenger seat."
"Okay, that's fair." Peter leaned back against his pillows, and smiled at the ceiling. Tony reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
"Oh, Pete, I almost forgot. I believe these are yours." He slipped out the small stack of business cards and handed them to Peter. "Pick any of them, and I'll write my best recommendation. Though they'd probably still accept you even if I just sent them a drawing of a smiley face." He was Tony Stark after all.
Peter took them and shuffled through the cards in his hands, with a frown on his face.
"I didn't lose one, did I?"
"No, that isn't it. I, uh, kinda just took these to be nice." Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You mean, you don't want to intern somewhere else? But you looked so excited."
"No way, Mister Stark. Those guys had some cool tech, but I'd rather stay here. Besides, I couldn't leave in good conscience knowing you're such a fall risk."
"Oh how you wound me" Tony said, placing a hand to his chest. He snatched a remote off Peter's bedside table and pointed it at the TV on the wall across from them, fiddling with the buttons.
"What are you doing?"
"Keeping a promise. This was the deal if you didn't die right?" Tony scrolled through Netflix until he found what he was looking for.
"Season four, Mister Stark, really?"
"Come on, kid. You know it doesn't get good until then."
"Alright, fine."
Tony looked at the kid who had somehow managed to burrow his way into his heart and clutch onto it. As he pressed play, Tony decided that he was okay with it.
In fact, he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.