#spider-bites

They’re working in the lab and he’s looking at Peter’s corrections to a faulty design: “Wow, Parker, this is really impressive. You came up with this?”

They’re out ordering food and he’s piling on to the order, studying the way Peter bashfully shifts on his feet: “You sure that’s all you want? I’ll order you extra in case you get hungry. You like the number five, right?”

They’re in a bloodied hallway and he’s trying to hold Peter still, but the kid is drugged up and squirming, trying to look at the carnage behind him: “I know. Hey, it doesn’t matter. You did good, you’re real brave. Don’t look at them, look at me. Keep looking at me. I’m proud of you. Thank you for protecting us. You did a good job.”

One moment, he’s snapping at the kid for doing something reckless, dangerous, and the next, he’s eight, twelve, fourteen, biting his tongue and daring himself not to cry. We have a reputation to uphold, Anthony. This work isn’t something to toy and tinker with, it isn’t a joke. This is your legacy. Our legacy. You’re irresponsible, Anthony, these are future people’s lives on the line. No son of mine—

The first time Peter cried in front of him, it was after a really awful mission. The kid had gotten out unscathed, but Tony, scared shitless and fuming that Peter had ignored his orders to retreat, had gone off on him.

Ten minutes into his lecture, Peter had clenched his jaw and he’d sniffled, once, twice, and then. Tears. The sight of them had stunned Tony. Knocked his brain loose and his jaw slack and his heart tumbling out of his chest.

He’d apologized immediately, of course. Felt every muscle in his body vibrate with something sick, like the palladium was still poisoning him from the inside out.

He remembered thinking, God, I’d do anything to make him stop crying, and, how do I fix it, how do I fix it, how do I fix it?

It was such a visceral, tangible thing, the way loving something, a child, could make someone feel. Within the span of one second, Tony had full intention to rewire his own nervous system, rework his entire paleomammalian cortex, just to prevent this specific pain.

He keeps reaching out with his good hand, keeps muttering “you’re coming back, right?” and “Pep, don’t let him wander off, just give me a second,” and “don’t go anywhere, wait for me.”

And Peter’s sitting at his bedside in the hospital. He’s smushed in a seat with a little girl he doesn’t know that propped herself up on his lap and promptly called him big brother. Pepper’s beside him, and they’re all weepy, and he doesn’t even feel like he really belongs there, but Tony is adamant that he stays.

He shows up late, strolls into the office of midtown high, and his kid is completely untouched. No bruises, no bloody knuckles, no shiners. Really, he just looks annoyed to be there.

Tony does the obligatory sign out, gets as little answers as possible from the staff, and walks Peter outta there.

“So?” Tony asks him, once they were in the car. Because clearly there’s a story, and it’s one he wants to know.

Peter’s buckling his seatbelt. “Guy was being racist. I told him to shut up and he punched me. So I kinda tripped him, and he hit his chin on the floor. He’s fine, nothing broke. I would’ve heard it.”

“Right. Right. And why are you bruise-free?”

“Dude. I get hit by alien monsters and guys in massive tech-suits. You think a punch from a sixteen year old who only works out in gym class is gonna hurt me? He didn’t even do it right. He probably sprained his wrist.”

the kid gets hungry in the lab. he’ll eat anything of course; but he’s too polite to say that he doesn’t exactly love the very expensive snacks tony has stocked up. ok. tony now has an updated pantry with shit that the kid WILL eat. he’s figuring out peter’s favourite by monitoring what goes the quickest.

the kid spends a lot of time upstate and sometimes nights run late. that leaves peter to sleep in the car, where his neck cramps, and happy has to drive frequently at night, which leaves may to stress out over when her kid is coming home. ok. tony now has reinstated a room in the compound for peter to stay at. lab days are now on weekends so he doesn’t miss school. it’s better that way. win-win.

and this kind of thing goes on for EVERYTHING. bed sheets and spare clothes and the temperature of the building. healthy food and healthy sleep schedules and what to say to make peter’s rough days moderately better.