Work Text:
Peter barely remembered how he got on top of the rollercoaster.
He must have climbed—his web shooters were empty.
He remembered webbing up Liz‘s Dad with all of Mr Stark‘s belongings, using up the last of his web fluid. Remembered collecting them from all over the beach, the crates, the spilled contents, loose from the crash. The pain in his hands where they got burned pulling Mr Toones out of the burning wreckage of his wings. The pain in his ribs from, well, being broken, probably. The pain all over his body, to be honest, from being knocked around by that guy in the school parking lot and buried under a collapsed building and thrown off a crashing airplane.
Adrenaline must have carried him through it.
Adrenaline must have also carried him up this rollercoaster.
Adrenaline that had now clearly worn off, as he watched Happy and his people trudge around the beach, cleaning up after him.
He‘d been planning to only stay up here until Happy arrived, keep an eye on things until he could be sure everything was taken care of and no one would show up and try to steal any of Mr Stark‘s stuff, or free Liz‘s Dad.
Now Happy was there and Peter was still sitting here, unable to move.
He was shaking.
It was quite windy up here, but somehow he didn‘t think that had much to do with it.
Tearing his eyes away from the beach, he turned to look out over the city.
He dreaded having to make his way all the way back to Queens without webs.
He couldn‘t even just take the subway—he was still wearing his old Spidey suit but he didn‘t have his mask. That was buried somewhere underneath a collapsed warehouse, lost. He‘d have to creep over the rooftops, careful not to have anyone see him. Maybe find a change of clothes first chance he got. But how? He didn‘t have any money on him, didn‘t have his phone—that was still in Mr Toones‘ car.
He wondered, somewhat hysterically, if he would be able to get it back. How was he supposed to explain to May that he needed a new phone? It was bad enough that he kept losing his backpacks.
He knew it was for the best that May didn‘t know about him being Spider-Man, but right now, he just wished there was someone he could call, someone who already knew. Someone who he could tell “Hey, I‘m stuck at Coney Island, can you come pick me up?“, and they would, no questions asked.
But it had been his choice to keep this secret from Aunt May. It was his own fault that there was no one he could call, even if he did have his phone.
He‘d just have to make his way back on his own somehow.
Peter groaned as he moved, swinging his legs off his perch and making his slow way back down to the ground.
His limbs ached with every movement, his burned hands protested the rough touch of the wood, it hurt to even breathe.
When he jumped down the last few feet to the ground, a jolt ran through his ribs and he had to take a few seconds just to breathe through the pain. He coughed and the metallic taste in his mouth grew stronger, only this time he didn‘t think it was coming from his split lip.
“Shit”, he muttered. Every inch of his body was screaming for rest, and a part of him just wanted to collapse right here and fuck everything else.
But he couldn‘t. He knew he couldn‘t.
“Come on, Peter.” He took as deep a breath as his aching ribs would allow, straightened up, and started walking.
He‘d just barely made it off the island when he had to take a rest on a rooftop, unable to make his feet carry him any further.
His ribs and legs were screaming for a break and he didn‘t have the strength to ignore them.
He sank down in the shadow of a chimney, resting his back against it. His head tilted back and eyes closed of their own accord.
He knew he really shouldn‘t fall asleep here, but it couldn‘t hurt to just rest his eyes a little bit …
“Need a ride?”
Peter gasped and tried to scramble to his feet, but his body wouldn‘t quite obey, so he just ended up poised in a Spidey crouch. “Mr Stark?”
The Iron Man suit lifted its hands in a defensive gesture. “No need to get your underoos in a twist, I was just offering.”
Peter shook his head in disbelief, trying to push to his feet again, more carefully this time, but his knees didn‘t seem to want to carry him. How did such a heavy, high powered suit move so quietly through the air? Peter hadn‘t heard him coming at all.
Or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that his ears were still ringing from the plane crash.
“What are you doing here, Mr Stark? How did you even know I was here? I—” He looked down at himself, his old suit bloodied and burnt. “You didn‘t put a tracker in this suit too, did you?”
“Well, you see, kid, it turns out someone crashed my plane, so I figured I better make sure everything‘s in order.”
Peter winced. “I‘m sorry, I was just trying to stop the vulture guy—he was going to steal the whole plane, I couldn‘t just let him get away with it. The crash was an accident, I swear! I just wanted to stop him!”
“Relax kid, I‘m not here to get on your case, alright? In fact …” A pause as the suit tilted its head. “Ah, hell, you did good, alright? Much as it pains me to admit it, and really I should give Happy a big pay cut because what the hell am I paying him all that money for, but if it hadn‘t been for you, we probably wouldn‘t have realised in time.”
“Um …” Peter blinked as he tried to parse Mr Stark‘s rapid-fire chatter. He felt dizzy. “Thanks?”
“Yeah, well”, the suit waved his words off. “If I can call you out when you fuck up, then I should also tell you when you do better, right? Breaking the cycle and all. Now do you want a lift or not? You've barely even made it out of Coney Island and your foxy aunt is gonna get worried.”
“Oh …” Peter swallowed, thinking about how many blocks still lay between him and home, but he really didn‘t want to make more work for Mr Stark. Besides, what was he going to do, have the suit carry him to Queens princess style? “No, um, thank you, I‘ll be fine. Really. I can just swing home in no time at all.”
“Really?” The unmoving Iron Man mask still somehow looked sarcastic in Peter‘s eyes. “If you could swing home in no time, you wouldn‘t still be here, would you? And, no offence, but you look like shit.”
“I-I‘m fine, really. It wasn‘t that bad.” He tried to get up one more time, to prove his point, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain in his ribcage when he strained upright. “You know me, I‘ll heal in n—” A cough seized his throat and made him double over, the pain spiking with every convulsion of his muscles. He tasted blood and felt his knees giving way again.
“Hey, kid—”
He heard the hum of the Iron Man suit moving, and then there were arms holding him up before he could collapse again. But they weren‘t cold, unyielding arms of metal, but soft, warm cloth.
“I‘ve got you, Pete. You‘re okay.”
Peter blinked back the black spots dancing in his vision when the coughing subsided, squinting up at Tony Stark, his brow furrowed with worry.
“You‘re actually here?”
“Yeah, kid. Where else would I be?”
“I … upstate?” Peter tried to surreptitiously wipe some blood off his lips, hoping that Mr Stark hadn‘t seen. “It‘s moving day.”
Mr Stark grimaced, then shrugged. “It can wait. Come on, easy does it.” He helped Peter refamiliarise himself with the roof a little more gently, then knelt beside him, looking him over with a more assessing gaze. “That guy did quite a number on you, huh?”
Now it was Peter‘s turn to shrug. He tried to blink away the spots dancing in his vision. “It was more the plane, really. You know, crashing. And the building.”
“The building?”
“That warehouse. Where I went to confront him.” Peter hissed when a stab of pain ran through his ribs. “It kind of collapsed. Uh, on me.”
Mr Stark just looked at him silently for a few seconds, which was kind of unnerving.
“Maybe we should get you checked out. A hospital—”
Peter shook his head immediately, though it just made the pain worse. “I can‘t. The whole spider thing—they‘d realise something‘s weird. Besides, I can‘t worry May like that.”
Mr Stark looked over his shoulder at the silhouette of Stark Tower in the distance. “A few weeks ago I could‘ve just taken you to the tower, but …”
“Don‘t worry about it, Mr Stark. I‘ll be fine. I just need to get cleaned up and get home, so May doesn‘t worry. A few hours of sleep and I‘ll be good as new.”
Mr. Stark eyed him critically. “Yeah, I doubt ”
“No, really”, Peter insisted. “You know I heal fast.”
Mr. Stark sighed and muttered something that sounded like “not that fast”, but he didn‘t insist, which was a relief. He would be fine, eventually, there was no need to make May worry and rack up hospital bills that they couldn‘t in any way afford.
“I am taking you home though, and that‘s non-negotiable.”
Peter eyed the Iron Man suit doubtfully and Mr. Stark huffed. “Now don‘t argue, kid. If you didn‘t want to be princess-carried to your bed, you shouldn‘t have gotten yourself stranded damsel-in-distress-style, alright? Now come on, think you can stand?”
Despite his flippant words, Mr Stark was surprisingly careful and patient, coaxing Peter to his feet, not letting go of his arm until he was sure Peter would stay upright.
“Alright then.” He stepped back into the suit, which closed around him, giving his voice that distant, metallic sound again. “It‘ll only be a couple minutes, so hold on tight.”
And without waiting for a reply Mr Stark scooped him up and set off, jetting over the sea of lights that was New York City towards Queens.
Peter wasn‘t quite sure where to hold onto the smooth, cold suit, and his burned hands didn‘t really want to do any tight holding right now anyway. But it didn‘t seem like he needed to anyway; the suit‘s arms were holding him firmly, securely, like he didn’t weigh anything at all—which he probably didn‘t, in comparison to the suit‘s power.
All things considered, it didn‘t feel any more dangerous than swinging through the city on a razor thin string of web, just a little more embarrassing.
Mr Stark was right though; with the suit‘s speed, it only took them a couple of minutes until they landed on a much more familiar rooftop, from which he could more or less comfortably crawl down to his bedroom window.
Peter was set down and there were a few awkward moments of silence as the suit’s jets powered down.
“Well, um …”, Peter said, gesturing weakly. “Thank you. For the lift.”
“Don‘t mention it”, came Mr Stark‘s clipped voice from inside the suit.
“Alright then … I‘ll see you around, I guess.”
When there was no reply forthcoming, Peter turned to make his shuffling way to the edge of the roof.
“Listen, kid …”
Peter paused.
“Look, I already told you you did good tonight but …”
Peter turned to look back over his shoulder. The Iron Man suit was motionless, and of course nothing could be read from its expression.
“A planeful of stuff isn‘t worth your life, okay? Even if it‘s a planeful of very valuable, very dangerous stuff so … just …” Mr Stark made a vague gesture with the suit’s hand. “Don‘t get yourself killed, alright? Be careful.”
Peter tilted his head, trying to parse his tone. He didn‘t sound angry or reprimanding, but in his current state Peter wasn‘t quite sure how to take his words. “Alright”, he finally said, because that seemed safe enough as an answer.
Mr Stark didn't move as Peter started his climb down the side of the building, creeping along between windows, until he reached the right one, pulling it open and himself into his bedroom. Only then did he hear the Iron Man suit take off into the night.
“Huh.” Peter collapsed in a heap underneath his window. In a minute, he would have to pull himself up again, get cleaned up and changed, just in case Aunt May walked into the room.
But for now, he just sat there, listening to the jets of the Iron Man suit receding in the distance, or perhaps it was just the ringing in his ears.
Suddenly, Mr Stark's odd tone of voice made sense. Peter just hadn't been able to identify it right away because he didn't think he'd ever heard it before.
Not from that voice that was always flippant, always sarcastic, always eager to criticise.
But it hadn't been a reprimand, or a jab.
It was concern.