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“Stay where you are Pete, I’m coming over right now.”
Shooting the giant spaceship one last time, Tony flies higher to avoid the explosion that tears it to pieces. He swiftly makes his way through the battle, pausing only to shoot the aliens that get in his way. He finds Peter leaning against a destroyed car, hand pressed on the left side of his stomach and head thrown back, eyes shut. He isn't wearing his mask.
“Talk to me kid, what happened?”
One look at the wound in Peter’s side and the dark, crimson liquid his spider-suit is getting soaked in is enough to confirm his fears. The face plate of Tony’s suit lifts as he curses under his breath and kneels down next to him. Peter opens his eyes and looks up when Tony places a hand on his shoulder.
“How bad is it?”
“Mr. Stark, it’s nothing, really, I can—”
“FRIDAY, how bad is it?”
He tries not to wince as FRIDAY starts listing Peter’s injuries: two broken ribs, many smaller but still inevitably painful bruises, and the obvious deep cut in the stomach Peter is currently trying to apply pressure on.
“He’s in need of medical assistance immediately.”
“Obviously,” Tony mutters. “Alright kiddo, let’s get you back to the tower.”
“What?! Mr. Stark, I can still fight, I swear!”
“We’re leaving now.”
“But Mr. Stark, look around, we’re ridiculously outnumbered! I need to help!”
As if on cue, two aliens jump from one of the ships and land a few feet away from them. Tony shoots both of them down.
“Not with these injuries! You have trouble breathing, don't you? That’s why you took off the mask.” Tony motions to the familiar red mask lying on the dirt, right by Peter’s feet, then crouches down and picks it up. When Peter opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times without getting a word out, Tony huffs. “That’s right. Thought I wouldn’t notice?”
“It’s better than it looks! I can still fight, just…” Peter tries to stand up, but Tony places both hands on his shoulders and holds him down. “Hold on, give me a second—”
“No can do, underoos. You’re bleeding, you’re out.”
“This is nothing! It’ll heal in, like, two days—”
“Peter.”
“Okay, okay, it does hurt a bit—”
“Woah there, did you just admit you’re in pain? Did FRIDAY miss any head injuries?”
“Very funny, Mr. Stark.” Peter rolls his eyes, but his lips stretch up into a smile nonetheless. The sight of it makes the dull pain in Tony’s chest a little lighter—it distracts him from dwelling too much on the wound in Peter’s stomach. The kid will be okay. “Fine, but I don't know how we’ll get through all that.”
Tony doesn't have to look behind him at the battle to see what Peter means. He sighs.
“So little faith in your old man, you wound me.”
It’s only when Peter stares at him wide-eyed and says nothing in return, that Tony seriously thinks back to what he just said.
“Ah,” he says, not sure how to go about this. Suddenly, it’s very tempting to avoid Peter’s eyes and look at everything else around them apart from Peter's face.
He says nothing else, taking Peter’s silence as a sign that maybe this will be forgotten and they won’t have to talk about it ever again. In truth, Tony only does so because he has no idea how he’ll deal with it if they do.
He lets the face plate fall over his face again and picks Peter up, careful not to hurt him. He can’t afford to get distracted; there’s a wound in Peter’s stomach that needs to be taken care of.
He leaves Peter in the tower and watches as he’s being rushed into the medical bay, before joining the fight again. When Steve asks if Spider-man’s alright, Tony says he should be fine, but the more time he spends fighting instead of being by Peter’s side, the more worried he gets.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter says, hours later, eyes half-closed. His voice is raspy and weak and if it wasn’t so quiet in the room Tony’s sure he wouldn’t have heard him.
“Hey buddy,” he says, reaching over to run his fingers through Peter’s hair. He smiles when Peter leans into the touch. “How are you feeling?”
“I'm okay.” Peter huffs when Tony raises an eyebrow. “I promise.”
“You better be.” Tony stands up and takes a bottle of water from the table a few feet away from the hospital bed. “Here.”
“Thanks.” After Peter's drunk some, he says, “The fight's over, right?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.” Tony stretches his arms, wincing a little as his own bruises and wounds protest at the action. He needs to take care of these at some point. He catches the look Peter gives him and clears his throat. “They're just cleaning up the mess now.”
Peter nods. Silence falls upon them, and it isn't heavy or uncomfortable per se, but Tony feels the need to fill it with something else besides the beeping and whirring of the machines around them. He tries to think of something to say, but Peter beats him to it.
“Back then…” Peter starts, eyes trained on his hands. Tony hums, encouraging him to go on, ignoring the way his heart speeds up. All he can think is: please don't bring that up, I'm way too young to die from embarrassment like this. “What you said…”
To be fair, Tony should've seen this coming.
“Well, that was… weird, definitely weird. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. It just slipped out and, well… ”
Peter laughs a little, and Tony’s shoulders lower slightly —he didn't even realize they were tense in the first place— at the sound.
“It’s okay.” Peter’s words sound sincere enough, but something is off. His smile looks way too satisfied, and there's a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I just never thought I’d hear you call yourself old, Mr. Stark.”
“That’s it. I’m leaving.”
Tony stands up, chair dramatically scraping against the floor. He winces when he sees Peter close his eyes and scrunch his nose at the sound, but he slowly makes his way to the door nonetheless. He turns around again only when giggles erupt behind him.
“I’m kidding, Mr. Stark, I’m kidding!” Peter’s laughter is interrupted by a violent coughing fit, and Tony’s heart clenches painfully inside his chest. “Seriously, you don't have to leave.”
There's something else there: a plea barely noticeable in the words themselves, but bright and apparent in Peter's eyes, in the way his body is fully turned toward Tony, in his right hand that's clenching and unclenching at his side. Don't leave me alone, that's what everything about Peter's expression screams, and Tony's been the one lying on the hospital bed enough times to know what it feels like. So he walks over to him again, sits on the same chair next to the hospital bed and takes Peter's hand in his. It’s warm; a reminder that Peter’s still there, still happy, still breathing. Alive.
“No worries kiddo, I'm not going anywhere.”
“I didn't mind it, you know.”
“What?”
“What you said… it wasn't that weird…” Peter moves his free hand and fiddles a little with the thin white sheet he's covered with. “I mean, I've heard way weirder things in my life, trust me, Mr. Stark. Not that I'm saying you were wrong to say it was weird, of course! Because, obviously you'd think of it as weird, since you're not actually my… you know… yeah.”
Tony truly tries to keep his face neutral —he usually is a master at masking his feelings, if he says so himself— but it's hard to keep himself from smiling when his whole chest swells with warmth in mere seconds. Then again, he doesn't think it's possible for anyone not to smile when hearing that from Peter.
“I get it kid, it's fine. I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable, can't have you running away on your own in the middle of a fight, especially with those injuries.”
“Speaking of injuries, Mr. Stark, aren't you supposed to, I don't know, get these checked?”
Peter points at a particularly nasty cut along Tony’s arm. Tony’s right hand unconsciously shoots up to cover it, but he quickly shakes his head, makes a motion with his hand in the air instead and says, “I feel great. Never been better.”
“I doubt that.”
“Are you saying you don't believe me? That’s two times you’ve hurt your old man’s feelings today, kid.”
There is that laugh again. After being worried sick for him for hours, Tony now is the most relaxed he's been all week. They scare him a little, these abrupt mood changes, but according to Pepper they're good for him —they mean that he cares, she always says— and who is he to ignore her judgement?
It is a bit weird, yes, to care this much about a teenager he’s only known for a couple of months, but it isn’t so bad. The kid gives him grey hairs and reasons to worry almost every single day, but Tony can’t just ignore the way his chest swells with pride and joy at each and every one of Peter's accomplishments; whether it’s Peter winning a science competition, Peter saving the day as Spider-man, or just having brilliant ideas and making new additions to both of their suits while they work together in the lab.
As he holds Peter's hand and promises him he'll be there when the kid wakes up, he can only hope ‘weird’ situations like this one —in which Tony cares too much and takes on the role of a father, not just a mentor or fellow superhero— are something Peter is okay with, too.