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The first time Peter was too caught up in the fact that Pepper and Tony are arguing to think about what the argument is about.
Not that they didn’t usually argue, because they did. Especially when Tony was injured, like he is now. But usually they bickered when people were around, like somehow Pepper knew Tony was more comfortable expressing himself via pointlessly disagreeing with her about things that didn’t matter than he was telling the world how amazing he thinks she is.
In private their bickering usually fell closer to the realm of banter and was punctuated by soft glances and affectionate eye-rolls.
Peter would know. He spent a lot of time in the Private Stark Residence, and on top of that, like the arachnids who bore his name, he had a habit of hanging out in places where he was not expected to be and where he went largely unnoticed.
So he was confused and a little concerned as he made his way down the long, pristine marble hallway toward Tony's room in the penthouse to hear Pepper's voice raised in genuine anger.
"For a genius you are acting really, really stupid, Tony." Pepper snapped, acerbic and cutting.
Peter raised his eyebrows, shifting the tray of soup Steve sent him up with a bit to keep it from spilling over. Tony's response was so quiet Peter had to strain his hearing and only caught the tail end of it.
"...how it is, Pepper."
Another weird thing. Tony was rarely the one to keep his cool during their occasional spats. If anything Pepper and Tony fed off each other and would usually end up trying to shout each other down within seconds of starting a disagreement.
"Fine. Fine, you want to be a stubborn ass then thats on you. But don’t expect me to sit here and watch."
Peter was outside the Master Suite now. And took a couple steps back as Pepper's angry footsteps approached the door from the other side.
Pepper flung the door open and gasped slightly seeing Peter.
"Oh, Peter," she pressed a hand to her chest and glanced over her shoulder, pulling the door closed as she did. "I didnt know you were coming up." She sniffed, made an attempt at swiping a her teary eyes and folded her arms over her chest.
"Uh, yeah," he lifted the tray slightly, "its lunch time. I said I'd bring it to Mr. Stark and maybe sit with him for a while…if thats okay?"
He didn't think it would be a problem but Pepper looked pink faced and flustered and a little sad she and Tony had been genuinely fighting so he wasn’t entirely sure of anything at the moment.
"Thats fine Peter. Thats great actually. I'm going to just." She dropped her hands to her sides and gave him a tight smile, side stepping Peter in the hall. Peter looked after her for a moment and hadn’t moved when she turned back.
"Peter? He took two aspirin about an hour ago, not that that will actually touch the pain caused by three crushed ribs and a recently reinflated lung but-" she took a quick breath, shutting her eyes for a moment and pursed her lips. Peter saw her chin trembling. He didn’t comment.
When Pepper opened her eyes again her smile was still fake but the worry in her eyes was genuine. "Just, um. He can take two more in three hours, will you make sure he gets them please? I need...I can't..." she shook her head and Peter was mortified to realize she was fighting tears.
Hands going cold and sweaty, he smiled as big as he could. "Of course, Ms. Potts. I'll make sure he takes them. No problem."
Pepper nodded once and then turned to leave, heels clicking quickly down the marble hall. Peter watched her until she turned the corner before he let himself inside Mr. Stark’s room.
The man looked asleep when Peter got past the sitting area near the door and into the main part of the bedroom, and he took great pains to set the tray of soup down soundlessly.
"Hey kid." Tony said, his eyes not even opening.
"Oh. Hey Mr. Stark." Peter moved as if to sit on the bed, but aborted the movement when his eyed bounced to the numerous bandages on the man's face and arms and the bulky one around his torso. "Um." Peter shrugged, turning to look at the floor feeling helpless, worried he would make his mentor uncomfortable, with his gaze or his presence or both.
"S'okay." Tony shifted minutely, features tightening in pain before he covered it with a tired smile. "Sit. Tell me about recent patrols."
Peter hesitated, but slowly lowered himself to sit on top of Tony's covers at the very edge of the mattress. Even just that slight shift of weight was enough to jostle the older man and this time Tony wasn’t able to hold back his wince.
"Shit, Mr. Stark I'm sorry-" Peter started to leap up, but Tony's hand shot out and caught him by the wrist.
"Stay." He grunted. His face was flushed with pain and the effort not to show it. Peter winced in sympathy, but did as he was told, sitting back down beside the man even more carefully than before.
Tony's eyes were closed, catching his breath. Peter's gaze wandered over to the nightstand.
He grabbed the prescription bottles there, in hopes of finding something for the pain. Surely a couple aspirin were not enough?
"These are just antibiotics and a steroid. Where's your painkillers?"
Tony waved a dismissive hand. "Should be there."
Peter glanced over again. "All there is is a bottle of Tylenol.”
Tony nodded, finally peeling his eyes open. "Yup, thats it."
"But Mr. Stark, you need something stronger than this." He gestured meaningfully at the man’s injuries, as if he wasn’t aware of them himself.
"Nah," Tony smiled, pained and fond. "I'm just tired and a little sore. No need to call in the big guns." Peter seemed uncertain, but reached out to replace the bottles.
"If you're sure..."
"What I'm sure of is that you promised to watch the next Season of Scrubs with me. You trying to back out on your promise Spiderkid?”
Peter scoffed, pulling his feet up onto the bed and crossing them at the ankles.
"Spiderman never breaks a promise. I'll watch it if you eat this soup Steve made."
Tony made a face of discontent.
"This is extortion."
Peter just smiled innocently and handed him the bowl.
"Yup."
"Brat."
"I'll see your brat and raise you ‘self destructive genius with no self preservation’ skills."
Tony rolled his eyes and grunted painfully as he readjusted to take the bowl.
"You're grounded."
“In that case, let’s get back to our watch list, apparently I’ll have the time.” Peter reached for the remote on the nightstand and Tony started on his soup. “Where’d we leave off? Season three?”
Tony hmm’d, wincing when he moved wrong again. Peter bit his lip but averted his gaze when Tony caught his gaze and smirked at him.
Whatever Tony and Pepper had bene arguing about, Tony seemed okay about it, and it wasn’t really Peter’s business anyway.
The second time was in Tony’s lab. Peter didn’t even realize anything was wrong at first.
He had been telling Tony about his day at school, which led to a detailed account of his last few patrols and the way the new crime data algorithm had been effecting his number of encounters every night.
He didn’t even realize Tony had stopped responding. It wasn’t until he asked a direct question and didn’t receive an answer that he looked up from the wiring in front of him.
“Mr. Stark?”
Tony sat at his desk a few feet away. His elbows were propped up on the top with his head in his hands.
“Mr. Stark? You okay?” Peter asked, cautious, standing up to move toward him. His eyes scanned the lab but there was nothing new, no indication that anything had changed in the last half hour since Peter had walked in and his Spidey Sense was silent.
Peter had almost reached him, hand halfway to his mentor’s shoulder when Tony suddenly sat up with a sharp inhale.
“Sorry kid. Gonna have to cancel our lab sesh today.” He grunted, shifting off the stool and stumbling toward the door with a pained groan. Peter yelped in surprise at the man’s sudden movement and apparent difficulty with walking. Tony regained his footing and then pitched to one side but was immediately steadied by an uncharacteristically quiet DUM-E.
“But Mister-“
“FRIDAY, initiate Exploding Head protocol.”
The AI didn’t respond verbally but the lights in the lab went out and instead a strip of LED lighting lit up along the floor, giving off just enough of a glow to walk without bumping into things. Peter’s ears began to ring and he realized the AI must have also soundproofed the lab, he could no longer hear the sound of the air rushing through he HVAC vents and Steve pounding on the punching bags three floors away.
Peter blinked, realizing with DUM-E’s help Tony had already made it to the elevator and was leaning against the wall with his head still cradled in his hands.
“Wait, Mr. Stark!” Peter took off, hoping to catch him before the elevator left.
Tony flinched violently at Peter’s call and the elevator doors snapped shut, much faster than normal, locking Peter out in the hall.
“FRIDAY what gives? What’s wrong.”
“I’m sorry Underoos, it’s nothing personal. It’s the Exploding Head protocol.” The AI answered gently from the ceiling.
Peter frowned at the walls as the lights came back up to normal and sound dropped back in.
“Whats the protocol for?”
“Boss created it to help him deal with chronic intractable cephalgia. He has been suffering from the episodes since his return from Afghanistan.”
Chronic intractable cephalgia. Peter mouthed the words to himself, thinking.
“Wait. Migraines? Do you mean migraines.”
“I believe that’s what I said, Underoos.”
Peter frowned, returning to the lab to slowly gather this things into his bag.
“What kind of migraines does he have? How long do they last?”
“On average Boss’ episodes last anywhere from 48 - 72 hours. They consist of sensitivity to light, sound and smell as well as dizziness and fatigue.”
Peter winced in sympathy.
“Is there anything I can do?” He looked back toward the elevator doors.
“I believe Boss wouldn’t want you to worry Underoos. I am monitoring him. He is already in the penthouse on his way to bed. I have also already alerted Iron Maiden and she will cater to Boss when she arrives home.”
Peter nodded, chewing his lip as he left the lab, keying in his access to lock it and moving toward the elevator.
“What about Dr. Cho? Should she know? Is there any medication I can get him? Or food?”
“Dr. Cho is aware of Boss’ diagnosis, she does regular neurological checks to ensure everything is in order. He doesn’t take any medications and he doesn’t-”
“Wait, none? Not even a painkiller?”
“Boss does not take painkillers, Underoos.”
Peter frowned, leaning against the wall of the lift as it made its way down to the first floor. “Why not?”
There was a pause that Peter knew meant FRIDAY was reviewing her protocols, probably trying to decide whether or not she was allowed to answer Peter’s question. The elevator doors opened but he didn’t move. A security guard glanced toward him and then looked away.
“It is his preference.” FRIDAY answered simply, Peter’s frown deepened.
“But FRIDAY-“
“Underoos, your concern is appreciated, but I assure you, Boss is fine. He is in good hands. Would you like me to ask him to contact you when he’s feeling up to it?”
Peter sighed. “Yeah. If, I guess, as long is it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course, Underoos. I will let him know.”
Peter nodded once to himself and once more to the security guard as he passed. He felt restless and unsettled. Instead of making his way home he ducked into his favorite alley near the tower and donned the suit.
“Hello Peter.” Karen greeted him immediately.
Peter smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. He donned his backpack, planning on webbing it up when he got back to Queens.
“Hi Karen. I made some adjustments to my crime detection algorithm, lets put it to the test, shall we?”
“Of course Peter. I am detecting several crimes in a two mile radius…”
“Great. And can you connect to FRIDAY?”
“Yes Peter.”
“Good. Just have her, um, have her let us know if anything changes with Mr. Stark, okay?”
A pause and then, “FRIDAY assures she will keep us apprised on his condition.”
“Thanks Karen.”
Peter let himself get lost in the rhythm of swinging and the cadence of Karen’s voice, pushing the worry he felt for his mentor to the back of his mind for the time being.
The next time was in the medbay.
When the Avengers started out the medbay was sort of like a war zone medical tent. Lots of beds in one large room with all the most high tech medical equipment available at their fingertips.
Over the years it had been upgraded, as the team’s needs grew and changed, and there were now a few private rooms lining one side of the main ward and one nook that had been converted into a waiting area, with large comfy leather couches and some vending machines down the hall.
That was where the majority of the team had holed up. Most of them had showered and changed since the mission. Only a couple had injuries, bruises and stitches, nothing serious.
No one except…
“Please, please Rhodey I’m begging you!” There was anguish in the voice, anguish and desperation and agony and Peter could hardly believe it was Tony’s he was hearing.
“Tones, Tones please don’t. Don’t ask me that. You made me swear.” Colonel Rhodes sounded like his heart was breaking, and Peter understood the feeling, the same way he understood the strange thick quality in the man’s voice was from tears, despite the fact that Peter had never heard him cry.
“I know. I know I did Rhodey but please, Honey Bear, you don’t understand. It hurts.”
“I know Tony.”
“It hurts Rhodey, it hurts it hurts and I can’t -”
“Tony you told me not to let them give you anything. You made me give you my word so I can’t Tony I’m sorry, okay. I’m so so sorry.”
“Rhodey!”
“I’m sorry!”
“Hey kid.”
Peter flinched hard and looked up at who’d spoken. He was folded up on the floor next to the waiting nook facing Tony’s private room on the other side of the medbay. He still wore his dirty and scorched Spidersuit and gripped his mask tightly in his hands.
Captain Rogers was crouched in front of him, the only one still in his uniform, though he only wore his armored bottoms, having removed his top in exchange for a clean white t-shirt.
He felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment at the reaction. He’d been listening so hard to what was happening inside Tony’s room he hadn’t heard the Captain approach him.
“Sorry.” Peter’s eyes went back to the door on the other side of the ward. Cho and several nurses were bustling around, keeping busy. “I was…distracted.”
A sudden cry of pain front Tony’s room made both Peter and Steve flinch. A quick glance around and Peter realized no one else had reacted. They hadn’t heard it. Only he and Steve, probably because of their enhanced hearing.
“Yeah, c’mon.” Steve straighter up and held out a hand to Peter, who took it and let the super soldier pull him to his feet. “Lets go get you something to eat. Your adrenalin has probably crashed by now.”
“I’m okay.” Peter muttered, but let Steve steer him toward the door by his shoulder. He watched the clean white tile pass under his feet silently until they came to a stop at the end of the hall by the vending machines and the windows looking out over the city.
“You can hear him, huh?”
Peter bit his lip and nodded. “He was,” his voice came out as a croak and he realized with no little amount of horror that he was dangerously close to tears. He swiped his arm across his face. “He was…screaming.”
Steve took a long, deep breath and passed Peter a bottle of water and pack of cookies from the machine.
“I know. He’s in a lot of pain.”
“Why don’t they do something!” Peter shouted suddenly. “I know they can’t hear him like we can but they must know he’s in pain. He just had surgery,” his voice cracked and Peter tasted salt on his lips. “His leg was all…it was completely crushed, Captain.” Peter sniffed and held his breath, staring down at the water to try and regain his control. The label remained stubbornly blurry.
“They said recovery is gonna take months. They said he’s lucky he didn’t lose his leg. If it hadn’t been for the armor…” He shook his head, swiping a hand across his face again. “We were on the quinjet for hours and hours and he was just…it must hurt so much and I just don’t…”
After a couple deep breaths Peter looked up to find Steve looking at him with a sorrowful, understanding look on his face.
“Hasn’t he suffered enough? Why won’t they give him something for the pain?”
“He’s was on an IV of painkillers, Peter. It’s just that it’s started to wear off.”
“Well he needs more! Why are they letting him suffer?” In his anger Peter squeezed the plastic package of cookies too hard, causing them to burst and make a mess on the floor. He didn’t move except to kick at a few of the wasted cookies spitefully. He made a conscious effort to relax his grip on the water bottle.
Steve sighed, running both hands through his hair.
“It’s not up to them, son. Tony has really strict rules about what painkillers he’ll take. If he’s under or in surgery, he’ll take them. But once he’s awake…” He shrugged, looking as worried and helpless and Peter felt. “Unless he’s a danger to himself, their hands are tied.”
Peter shook his head, giving up on trying to keep the tears off his face and letting them roll down his cheeks and drip off his chin. His eyes traveled back down the hall to the ward where, across the room and through the door, he could just barely hear Tony softly sobbing while Rhodey shushed him between hiccups of his own.
“I don’t understand.” He whispered, weak and watery and worried.
Finally, Steve stepped forward, wrapping his big arms around the kid’s slender shoulders. Peter gave in to the embrace easily, pressing his face into the Captain’s shirt in hopes it would muffle Tony’s cries of pain.
“I know.” Steve murmured. “I think that might be the point.”
It didn’t happen again for more than five years.
Peter found him in the lake house kitchen. It was just after three am. Peter had been tossing and turning for hours unable to sleep when he finally gave up and headed downstairs with the hopes of finding an old movie to fall asleep to on the couch.
He hadn’t been expecting Tony to be sitting at the kitchen island in the dark rubbing at the stump on his shoulder where his right arm used to be.
Peter didn’t let his eyes linger as he took a seat beside him. Tony wore his prosthetic almost all the time, and while Peter knew he didn’t sleep in it, it still felt odd to see him without it.
He didn’t get a chance to dwell on the missing limb though, when his eyes caught sight of an orange prescription bottle in Tony’s left hand.
“Hey Kid, couldn’t sleep?” Tony asked without looking up.
Peter shrugged resting his chin on his hand. “You?”
Tony sighed, Peter’s eyes had almost slipped shut, nearly been lulled to sleep by the mere presence of Tony beside him, when the older man spoke again.
“Arms been keeping me up.”
Peter blinked and looked over at him. The light of the moon was outlining a halo around his profile and hair. The stark light made the wrinkles in his forehead caused by a frown stand out in stark contrast to the silver white of his skin in the moonlight.
“Pain?” He asked, quiet so as not to disturb the dark.
Tony nodded, his left hand went back to the stump, massaging the scarred skin where it snaked under his shirt and up his neck. The bottle rolled to one side slightly and Peter’s sharp eyes caught part of the label.
ablet as needed
drocodone
ny Stark
efills: 0
7/1994
Peter lifted a finger toward the bottle. “You have one left,” he pointed out.
Tony nodded.
“Yup. Just one.”
Peter paused, thinking slow due to lack of sleep, then added, “It’s old. Older than me.”
Tony chuckled and made a movement as if to ruffle Peter’s hair, before realizing the arm he would do it with wasn’t there.
“That’s not hard.”
Peter rolled his eyes. Sooner than it would have in the daylight, the lighthearted moment faded and Peter’s eyes went back to the bottle.
“Why don’t you take it?” He frowned, thinking back on all the times he’d watched Tony sit in silence and agony over the years. “Why haven’t you ever?”
Tony sighed, dropping his hand back to the bottle. He held it up, shaking the little pill so it rattled around in the plastic.
“I’m an addict.” He said simply, squinting at the pill as if it were something more than a pill.
Peter frowned. “But…you haven’t taken drugs in years. Decades. Or alcohol even.”
Tony nodded, he sighed, putting the bottle back on the counter and pushing it away. “But I still want to.”
Peter’s stomach dropped. Tony hadn’t said it like a fact, like a truth that he lived with.
He said it like a confession. An admission of guilt. Like the armor he’d retired from years ago had only just now, before Peter’s very eyes, been removed and set aside, leaving only the fragile, breakable man underneath.
His eyes went back to the orange bottle.
“I don’t get it,” he frowned, feeling as if his stomach were tied in knots. Of course he knew about Tony’s past with drugs and alcohol. Everyone did. But he’d never understood. He’d never been able to reconcile that reckless, angry young man from youtube clips of old media coverage with the mentor and father-figure sitting beside him.
“You’re a literal genius, why would you ever be stupid enough to do drugs? It doesn’t make sense. Why would you…” Peter cut himself off, catching sight of the blank space where Tony’s arm was supposed to be again. Guilt washed over him. Tony didn’t owe him an explanation. Tony had sacrificed practically everything just so he could be here and he was repaying him by demanding answers to questions he had no business asking. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…you-you don’t have to answer that.”
Tony sighed. “It’s fine kid. I don't...I should probably tell you. If for no other reason than so you don't make the same mistakes.”
I want you to be better.
Peter swallowed and waited, trying not to suffocate in the heavy silence. After a moment Tony leaned down to rest his head on his arm, folded on the countertop. He stared at the pill in the bottom of the bottle.
“You know I was fourteen when I graduated high school?”
Peter furrowed his brows, looked over Tony’s shoulder to a fish breaking the surface of the lake outside.
“Yes. You went to MIT at fifteen.”
Tony nodded.
“I was this…skinny, arrogant, annoying kid. Scared out of my mind. Desperate, just desperate, to fit in. Desperate to be invited to the party. Any party. Any group of people who actually wanted to be in the same room with me.” He sighed and Peter’s chest ached with understanding. He thought of Flash’s party. Of Ned’s hat.
“It was impossible, of course. I was a child, surrounded by adults.” Tony snorted at the irony, the knowledge that came from being in his fifties, looking back on adolescence. “At least I thought they were. Close enough for me anyway. They wanted nothing to do with me but, you know me, I’m stubborn.” He swallowed, rolled his head so his chin was propped up on the counter and moved his left arm to rest his index finger on the bottle’s white safety top.
“I snuck into one of the parties at my dorm. Started running my mouth. Taking dares, anything to be taken seriously. Turns out, I was good for something.” He smiled, dark and sad and lonely. Peter swallowed and clenched his fists so hard he felt crescents form in the palms of his hands.
“Turns out I was incredibly entertaining while drunk.”
“But…you were just a kid.” Like me.
Tony nodded. Peter looked back toward the moonlit lake.
“But I was invited to the party. I was funny. And fun. And as long as I drank what they handed me, and swallowed what they gave me, they kept inviting me back. And then at some point…at some point it stopped being about them. It started being about how it made me feel. How the drugs made me feel. Like I was…whole. Or at least…it didn’t bother me that I wasn’t.”
Peter blinked away a pain in his eyes that he realized was the burn of tears. Slowly, he lowered his head down until it was resting on Tony’s remaining arm. He closed his eyes and let Tony maneuver him until he was sitting up slightly, resting just in the crook of his arm so Tony could wrap it tightly around his shoulders.
“Took me years to decide to get clean.” Peter felt Tony’s lips against the side of his head. “It took nearly losing everything. Nearly losing myself, and my life, more than once. Took even more for me to actually sober up.” He sighed, rubbing his hand up and down Peter’s arm and turning to rest his head against Peter’s hair. “When all was said and done I had one pill left.”
Peter opened his eyes and looked at the orange pill bottle. How could something so small rock his world so violently.
“This is why you’ve never taken painkillers. All those times you were hurt…” Peter's voice cracked and Tony squeezed his arm.
"I never wanted to risk it."
Peter forced a deep breath into his tight chest. And then another. He sat up and reached out to take the bottle.
"Why leave just one?"
"A reminder. When...when I'm having a hard time remembering why I quit. I pull it out. I play the tape through." He made a gesture tracing a circle in the air with his finger. "If I give in and take this, I get high. The pain goes away. Then what? I gotta come back down. I gotta face Pepper, you, Morgan. I've got to deal with the fallout. Maybe go back to rehab. Or worse, try to get my hands on more. Secrets. Lies. Ruin my heart and liver more than they already are." He shrugged, then winced at the movement. "Not worth it. This,” he tapped the bottle in Peter’s hands, “helps me remember that.”
Peter nodded, putting the bottle back down, as far out of reach as he could get it. Tony smiled.
"The pain must be really bad for you to pull this out."
Tony sighed, rubbing at his stump again.
"I'll take a couple more aspirin in a few hours." He said instead of answering directly.
Peter nodded, biting his lip, remembering the day by the vending machines with Steve. The snap had happened only a few months later, Tony's screams of agony still felt fresh to Peter though five years had passed.
"I wish there was something I could do."
Tony slid a hand to the back of his neck and gave it a little squeeze.
“Distractions help. You want to watch a movie with me?"
"Definitely."
Peter stood up and then waited, letting Tony use him to balance as he pulled himself up. Once on his feet he stumbled, flailed slightly and his eyes slammed shut to ride out a wave of pain from the sudden movement. A moment later he relaxed and realized he'd been gripping Peter's forearm tightly in reaction.
"Shit, sorry kid."
"Don’t be." Peter shrugged, unfazed. "Super strength remember? You can grip me as hard as you want."
Tony smiled and waved the idea away. His hand was caught halfway through by soft, steady fingers.
"I mean it. If it helps, you can squeeze as hard as you want.” Peter squeezed his fingers once, for emphasis, a serious look on his face. "As hard as you need to.”
Tony didn’t know if he could ever take Peter up on that offer, but the sentiment warmed something in his very core. Rather than answer, he tugged lightly on their joined hands until the kid dutifully bowed his head forward and Tony could press his lips to his hair.
"You're a good kid, you know that?" He brushed a hand down the back of Peter's head, smiling fondly. "I'm proud of you."
Peter smiled. He thought of all the times over the years Tony had put the good of his family ahead of himself. The times he'd sat in misery and pain for the simple reason that he knew it was better than the alternative.
He took a small step forward and wrapped his arms around Tony's waist.
"I'm proud of you too, Tony. Really, really proud."
Tony smiled and turned his gaze toward the orange bottle laying abandoned on the kitchen counter. The thought occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, it was time to throw it away.
“Thanks kid.”