Chapter Text
Peter tumbled in the window, leaving a bloody streak on the glass.
It was a sight Tony had seen—in reality and in his nightmares—too often.
He was next to Peter before the kid had even managed to find his feet, arm around him as he hauled him up.
“He got me,” Peter panted, turning his face into Tony’s neck as a groan slid between his teeth. “He, he got—he wasn’t that fast, before, I—”
“Hush,” Tony said, his tone softened by the gentle hand cradling Peter’s head. He peered down at Peter’s side, where the suit was dark with blood, scraps of shredded fabric sticking to Peter’s skin.
“Who got you?” He asked as he began dragging Peter toward the Medbay. The wound was a strange teardrop shape and it looked deep.
Peter tripped on his feet, his hand automatically reaching up to cover his side when the movement jostled him.
“Scorpion,” he sighed. “His, well—the stinger. On the suit.”
“Jeez, kid,” Tony murmured, wincing as he imagined the large, metal barb piercing Peter’s side, tearing skin and muscle as it was ripped back out.
Peter just made a pained sound, his eyes drooping as they staggered into the Medbay.
Tony helped him on the cot, getting a penlight to get a better look at the wound.
“FRIDAY, get Cho here. I want her to do the stitching,” he said. “This is really deep, kid.”
“It hurts,” Peter whined, his fingers clenching and unclenching against the bed.
“I bet it does,” Tony agreed, briefly placing his palm on Peter’s forehead. Peter’s eyes opened just enough to look up at Tony, his expression bordering on pleading. Tony’s voice softened. “We’ll get you some medicine real soon, ok, buddy? I promise.”
Peter’s eyes looked suspiciously watery, but he nodded, biting his bottom lip.
“Ok. Let’s get you out of the suit, yeah? Get you comfortable?”
Tony peeled the top half of the suit off as gently as possible, but tacky blood and sweat made the material stick to the wound and by the time it was down to Peter’s waist, the kid was practically sobbing.
“It hurts,” Peter gasped, tears leaking into his hair. “Mr. Stark, it really hurts.”
Tony frowned and gave up on the rest of the suit, leaning over Peter and pushing his bangs back from his forehead. As painful as the wound looked, it was strange that Peter was reacting so badly to it. Tony had seen him walk on a broken leg with less complaint.
“It’s ok, Pete. It’s ok,” he assured, feeling panic creep up his spine. Something was occurring to him, slowly percolating in the back of his mind. He swiped a tear off Peter’s face, then tapped his cheek to get the kid to look at him.
Peter squinted up at Tony, his face white as a sheet, his entire body trembling.
“You said the stinger got you. Is Scorpion’s stinger venomous?”
“I don’t—” Peter cut off as he groaned, the muscles in his jaw tight. “I don’t know. He upgraded—he was faster. Bigger. I—I thought I could beat him.”
“Alright, buddy, take a breath,” Tony soothed, putting a hand on Peter’s chest. “I’m going to take a blood sample and we’ll—”
He was interrupted as Peter twisted on the cot; a cut-off scream ripped out of his throat. He bit it back a second too late, his head thrown back in agony. Tony flinched at the sound, surprised and horrified.
“Peter.”
“Tony,” Peter begged. “It hurts so bad,” his voice broke as his chest heaved, nearly hyperventilating.
“I’m gonna fix it.” The promise spilled out of his mouth before his mind could fully form it. He watched as Peter bit down so hard on his lip that he drew blood before finally springing into action. He rushed to a cupboard and nearly snapped the door off its hinges as he flung it open, grabbing a blood test kit. “I’m gonna fix it, buddy, just hold on.”
Tony hands shook so badly he had to tear the packaging open with his teeth, but he forced himself to take a deep breath as he wrestled Peter’s hand into his. Peter’s hands were shaking too, his fingers curling and uncurling at random.
“I’ve got to get some blood, Pete,” Tony said. “Hold still, just-just for a second, alright Spidey? I need you to hold still.”
Peter’s every exhale was a whine of pain, sweat glinting on his forehead and chest. His eyebrows were bunched together, his entire face creased in pain. He gave Tony a look that clearly said that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the trembling.
“Ok,” Tony breathed. “Ok, then, just—sorry. This is going to be a bit of a mess.”
It took three tries to get a clean enough puncture that Tony could smear a bit of blood onto a glass plate, but Peter was so caught up in his head, in the pain from the wound and what Tony was sure was poison coursing through his system, he didn’t notice. Tony still bent and pressed a quick kiss to Peter’s fingertips in apology.
He set the blood sample on the machine to be analyzed, then hurried back to Peter’s side. Peter, who was practically tearing the mattress he was laying on as his back arched, tears still dripping down his face.
“Peter, just—here, hold my hand, ok?” Tony said, sitting on the edge of the bed and bending low over Peter, as if to physically shield him. He combed his hand roughly through Peter’s sweat-damp curls.
“Can’t,” Peter panted, shaking his head.
“Sure about that?” Tony asked. Peter opened one eye and Tony waved at him, the nanotech gauntlet glinting in the light. “Hi. Iron Man. Hold my hand, kid, stop destroying my medbay.”
Peter’s breathy laugh was mostly forced, but he did snag Tony’s hand tight in his own, holding them both close to his chest, every muscle in his body rigid. Tony adjusted to compensate, crowding over Peter, trying to give him some physical assurance, some emotional anchor, even if he couldn’t take the pain away.
Tony kept raking his hand through Peter’s hair, bent low enough that, if he let himself, he could press his forehead to Peter’s temple.
“I’d rather you scream than break your teeth trying to hold it in, Pete,” Tony said, his voice hoarse around the words.
Almost immediately, Peter gave a short, guttural yell, his body jerking as he curled around their joined hands.
Tony couldn’t help himself as he flinched at the sound.
“Sorry,” Peter hiccupped, tears dripping steadily off his nose.
“Don’t.” His tone was snappish, but he knew Peter would see behind the anger to the terror coursing through Tony’s veins much like the venom through Peter’s.
Peter forced one eye open, looking up at Tony in his peripheral. “Poison?” he asked meekly.
Tony wiped some blood from Peter’s bottom lip with his thumb, wincing in sympathy.
“Think so.” He sat up enough to look over his shoulder at the computer. “Should know any—"
Peter’s teeth clacked as his jaw snapped together. The hand around Tony’s tightened until it was crushing the metal, pushing the nanobites into Tony’s skin.
“Peter?” Tony whirled back around, leaning away so he could get a good look at Peter’s face.
Peter’s eyes were rolled up in his head, every muscle taut and shaking.
Tony breathed out a curse, unable to look away from the teenager having a seizure in his arms. He knew, in some distant part of his mind, what you were supposed to do when someone was having a seizure, but all he could focus on was Peter’s face, the little noises of pain he was making as he struggled to get a breath.
He sat frozen as the tremors slowly stopped, as Peter went completely limp, finally releasing the too tight grip on Tony’s hand.
“Peter?” he whispered, his own hand shaking as he raised it to Peter’s throat.
Tony jumped as a different hand batted his away and he looked up into the determined face of Dr. Cho.
“Move,” she barked, pressing her own fingers against Peter’s pulse.
It took Tony’s mind a second to catch up, but once it did, he stood on weak legs, moving to the head of the cot where Helen wouldn’t need to be, and leaned against the wall. He crossed his arms tight against his chest to hide the mangled remains of the gauntlet, ignoring the cuts he could feel in his skin.
“How long?” Cho asked, lifting Peter’s eyelids and shining a light in them.
“Twenty-four seconds,” FRIDAY immediately responded, which was good, because Tony had no idea. He’d been so panicked he’d forgotten to count.
“Heartrate and breathing are stable,” she muttered before turning attention to the sluggishly bleeding wound in Peter’s side.
“He was poisoned,” Tony said numbly, hardly aware that his mouth was moving.
Helen spared him a glance, then looking toward the computer screen where the results were just starting to come up.
“FRIDAY, alert the on-call team. I want everyone up here.”
Tony’s heart sank to the floor. He pushed himself off the wall and came closer, feeling clumsy and detached.
“Why? What is it?”
Helen opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by a low groan from the bed.
Tony instantly turned all of his attention to Peter, standing by the bed and putting a hand on his head.
“Easy, kid,” Tony murmured, the relief that he felt seeing Peter slowly blinking up at him enough to make his throat tighten with emotion.
Peter gasped as he moved his head to look at Tony, his eyes slamming shut again. He swore quietly and Tony did his best to force a laugh, to brush off the concern he could feel in his expression, knowing that Peter would notice.
“How you doing, Pete?” Tony asked, leaning over so Peter could look at him easier.
“Um,” Peter hesitated. “Ow.” The humor in the understatement was ruined when his voice broke.
Tony sighed, pressing his thumb against the soft skin behind Peter’s ear.
Helen strode forward so she was in Peter’s line of sight.
“Good news, Peter,” Dr. Cho said, offering a tight-lipped smile as the kid looked up at her with pain written on every line of his face. “We can go ahead and give you some pain medication now and then get that wound stitched closed.”
Peter’s eyes watered at the prospect of some relief and he nodded in acknowledgment. One of the nurses quickly got an IV line set up.
The wound was already beginning to close, without being cleaned or anything, so they couldn’t wait for the medication to take effect. Peter was in so much pain from the poison that his defenses were down, his admittedly impressive limits well beyond met.
“Mr. Stark,” he whimpered, looking for Tony amid the bustle.
He was just a child. Tony swallowed hard.
“Right here, buddy,” he assured, coming closer.
Cho began rinsing the wound. Peter squeezed his eyes closed, a tear tracing down his cheek as he did.
Tony’s fingers were gentle as he wiped it away, brushing his knuckle under Peter’s eye.
“Hey, it’s ok, Pete, come on,” he soothed into Peter’s ear.
“Everything hurts,” Peter whispered. “My blood feels like fire.”
“Those meds are going to kick in any second, I promise,” Tony lied. He had no idea if the pain killers would be effective against whatever was in his system. He could only pray that they would be, that they would at least put Peter to sleep so he wouldn’t have to feel the excruciating pain.
Halfway through the stitching—with Peter hissing and whimpering with every one, making Tony’s chest ache as he sat, uselessly stroking Peter’s hair and murmuring reassurance—the medicine did seem to kick in. Peter’s head lolled to the side, but Tony’s hand was there to support him, cupping his cheek as he adjusted Peter’s neck to a more comfortable angle.
“That’s right, you go ahead and sleep, kiddo,” Tony murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”
Peter’s eyes met his, so full of pain and trust that it cut Tony to his core. Because he didn’t know if he could take care of Peter. He’d failed to protect him and now he might fail to save him.
Tony sat and held Peter’s hand long after he had fallen asleep.
The nurses were quiet as they cleaned Peter up and got him out of the Spider-Man suit and into a hospital gown. Tony stayed where he was even as another nurse carefully plucked broken nanobots from his hand, wrapping it in bandages. Once that was taken care of, Tony asked for a wet rag, which he was given, and delicately washed Peter’s face of sweat and tears while he waited for Cho to be finished.
Peter still trembled, even in his sleep.
“Tony,” Helen finally said. Tony looked up and watched the nurses scurry out, glancing back over their shoulders at them.
“What’s up, Doc?” he tried to joke, but his voice was quieter than it should have been. He cleared his throat.
Helen sighed, looking at the holographic screen in front of her.
“It looks like it isn’t just one type of poison,” she said, her voice clear and blunt. She was nothing if not professional. “Are you familiar with Project Centipede?”
“Knock-off Extremis. Highly unstable.” Tony’s stomach clenched as he said it, glancing back at Peter. Hadn’t the kid said his blood felt like it was on fire?
Helen nodded. “Not to mention it’s radioactive.”
“Well, so is Peter.”
Helen’s mouth quirked up just a bit at the corners before she schooled herself. “Which might help. But it might hurt. I’ll have to do some tests.”
Tony took a steeling breath. “What else?”
“It looks like some kind of manufactured pathogen. Combined with the Extremis, his temperature is already rising steadily. We can probably expect some bouts of vomiting, difficulty breathing, and possibly hallucinations.”
“Ok.” He felt dizzy.
“But that’s not what’s—” Helen cut herself off, but the words hung in the air. That’s not what’s killing him.
She glanced at Tony again, then continued. “It looks like there’s also a very high concentration of, well, scorpion venom. A mix of many different poisonous species. That’s what caused the seizure.”
“How do we treat it?” Tony asked, his voice hoarse.
“Well, you already discovered how to neutralize Extremis. We’ll pull up your notes and get Bruce working on that factor. I can isolate the pathogen isotopes and create an antiserum from that. We’ll just have hope that the two cures won’t interact badly.”
“And the venom?”
Helen rubbed her forehead like she had a headache. “When you get bitten by a snake, you’re supposed to take the snake with you to the hospital.”
Tony blinked. “You want me to get the snake.”
“I need that venom if I’m going to fix this,” Helen said seriously. Tony nodded and stood, then paused.
“How long?”
Helen sighed, looking at Peter for a long moment before meeting Tony’s eye. “Tony. It’s a miracle he’s still alive. I’d say a few hours at most, but... he could go any time. There’s no way of knowing.”
Tony couldn’t breathe. He sank back into the chair behind him, dropping his head into his hands.
“Tony,” Helen said. He waved her off. He had to get it together, he had to go, now, and get the venom for the kid. He couldn’t waste time freaking out.
Tony’s voice was a little breathless when he spoke “FRI, tell Rhodes to suit up.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Tony stood, blinking stars out of his vision. His heart was beating fast, but he ignored it.
Cho stood with him, looking concerned.
“I don’t think you should be the one—”
“I have to,” he said, brushing past her. “I can’t just... I can’t just sit here and do nothing. FRI, tell him we’ll debrief in the common room. Pull up everything you have on Scorpion.”
“Tony, do you really want to spend Peter’s last hours on a mission? That anyone else could go on? You should be with him.”
Tony stopped at the doorway, holding onto the jamb to keep from swaying as her words hit him.
“He’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.”
The debrief was all of two minutes. By the time it was done, Rhodey was suited up and waiting, Tony’s own suit standing at attention next to him. But he hesitated.
“Give me just a second, alright?” he breathed.
Rhodey’s eyes were knowing as he nodded. Tony turned back toward the medical wing, suddenly very aware of his heartbeat.
Peter’s room was devoid of nurses for the moment. The kid was still asleep, the IV dripping steadily as it kept him on a constant stream of painkillers.
Tony approached the bed but stopped by Peter’s feet.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t say goodbye. It was unbearable.
But he had to decide, before he wasted any more time, which would be harder to live with: Accepting the very real possibility that Peter might die while he was gone and saying goodbye to him? Or living in a fantasy, denying the truth that Peter was balanced precariously between life and death, only to come back with the cure to find him already gone?
Tony shook the thoughts away. Peter wouldn’t die. Tony would make sure of it, because he couldn’t live if Peter didn’t.
“Alright, kiddo,” Tony said, his voice too loud in the silent medbay. “I’ll be back before you know it, ok? And we’ll get you all fixed up.”
Tony reached out and patted Peter’s foot. He cleared his throat, looking down at his hand where it covered Peter’s ankle. When he spoke again, there was less bravado in his voice.
“I know you’re a fighter, kid, so you fight for me, alright? And I’ll go out there and fight for you. And you’ll be right as rain in no time.”
He stood in silence for another few seconds before turning around. He took a step, then clenched his jaw and pivoted back, crossing those few extra feet to the head of the bed.
He bent and pressed a firm kiss to Peter’s forehead, cupping Peter’s cheek with one hand. He squeezed his eyes closed for a second and refused to think that this was the last kiss he was ever going to give the kid.
Then he straightened, sniffed lightly, and walked out the door.
“Don’t tell me that brat’s still alive,” Mac Gargan called casually as he watched Iron Man and War Machine land heavily in front of him.
Tony’s blood boiled, but the faceplate hid the way he winced.
He had debated on keeping Peter’s vitals on his HUD, but knew it would only distract him. FRIDAY was on strict instructions to alert him the second anything changed, but Tony still couldn’t help but feel the distance between them right now.
“He’s stronger than I gave him credit for,” Scorpion continued, his gear closing around him, clunky and slow. It was vastly inferior technology to the Iron Man suit, but Tony eyed the glowing orange fluid powering it with distaste. Project Centipede again.
“Yeah, he hears that a lot,” Tony said flippantly, circling around Gargan enough that he couldn’t see both him and Rhodey at once. “I think it’s the high voice.”
Gargan smiled at him in a way that sent shiver’s up his spine on Peter’s behalf. He couldn’t believe the kid faced down this psychopath on a regular basis.
The thought sobered him. He was paying the price now, sedated and in pain and dying in the medbay.
“That little insect deserved everything he got, Stark. He had it coming.”
Tony grit his teeth, his vision tinged with red as he looked at the man that might have killed Peter.
“That’s nice. Now do you mind holding still while I murder you?”
Rhodey jumped into action the same second the mechanical tail whipped toward Tony.
Peter was right. Scorpion was fast. And strong, stronger than Tony had expected. He maneuvered his mechanical stinger like it was a fifth limb, wrapping it around Tony’s ankle and slamming him into a support strut while Rhodey attacked, pulling his fist back and crashing it into Gargan’s face with the reinforced strength of the suit.
Tony blasted the artificial limb away, powering up his thrusters to hover several feet above the ground.
Before Gargan could recover his balance, Tony rocketed forward and rammed him in the stomach throwing him into a wall. Tony raised his repulsor to Gargan’s face, the whine of it powering up barely louder than Tony’s snarl.
His HUD flashed red.
“Boss, he’s having another seizure.”
All the breath whooshed out of Tony’s lungs. His heart skipped a beat. The only thing he could see was Peter’s vitals going haywire in the corner of the screen, his heart struggling to beat.
Scorpion’s tail wrapped around Tony’s waist and threw him into a pillar.
Rhodey retaliated while Tony got his bearings, and by the time his vision had stopped spinning, he was spitting mad.
This man was killing his kid. It was his fault, his poison coursing through Peter’s veins, contracting his muscles and causing him pain.
“Enough of this,” Tony growled. He activated his laser. If Gargan lost a limb in the process, all the better.
The laser cut clean through the base of the stinger. Gargan screamed as he fell, like Tony actually had sliced off a limb.
Rhodey rushed forward, his shoulder canon trained on the man as he fell to the cracked pavement. Tony hurried to the tail, taking the barb in both hands and tearing it in two. In the center rested a canister of what had to be the poison, glowing faint orange.
Tony trusted Rhodey enough to take care of Gargan without him.
“FRIDAY,” Tony snapped, taking to the air, the cannister cradled carefully in his hands. “I’m coming. Tell Peter I’m coming.”