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Tony never believed in ghosts. Even with how crazy his life has gotten with literal gods and aliens and whatnot, the idea of souls staying behind after death simply seemed too ridiculous. Once you were gone, you were gone. There was nothing to do about it.
However, the situation he found himself in made him reconsider.
He looked up from the bubbling pot on the stove to the balcony, where a lone figure surrounded by black spots sat, its back facing Tony. The figure was bundled up in a warm jacket that was hiding heating pads underneath, enjoying some of the last rays of sun before the winter hit with full force.
Okay, enjoying wasn’t the correct word.
Those were the doctor’s orders; make the kid get plenty of sun exposure to help with the recovery.
Sighing, Tony loaded the bowl with a rich-flavored broth. Usually, he would’ve filled the bowl to the brim, risking spillage and burns at the slightest wrong move. Again, the doctor’s orders were preventing him from doing that.
“Smaller portions every few hours, Tony,” Helen had said.
With the kid’s fast metabolism, the malnutrition and the, ah… stress the kid’s body went through, it was quite a feat to figure out a meal plan to combat the condition and reintroduce solid food into his diet.
Tony had no other choice than to obey. It was better than keeping the kid hooked to IVs.
He slid open the glass door and stepped outside. A loud caw alerted other occupants to his presence.
Yeah, the army of crows might’ve left not long after Peter was released from the med-bay, but not all. Eight of them stayed behind, keeping the kid company whenever he was on the balcony. They were clearly comfortable around him, though not around Tony.
In the first days, he got dive-bombed every time he stepped a foot on the balcony, until they realized – well, to some extent – that he was trying to help the kid.
Even now they didn’t trust him by no means but they… tolerated him. To a certain degree.
Upon Tony’s approach, the crow sitting on Peter’s shoulder stopped preening his hair, cawed in a way that could only be interpreted as aggressive before flying off to join the others sitting on the railing. There was no doubt they were watching his every move, ready to swarm him at the first hint of hostility.
“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said gently as he placed the bowl on the small table next to Peter. Aside from the bowl of peanuts for the birds, several coins and shiny things got added there since the last time he checked on the kid. “I got you some soup. And I talked to Helen earlier. She thinks you could stomach some noodles and a bit of a carrot too.”
“Thank you,” Peter replied softly without tearing his tired gaze from the New York skyline.
His voice was hoarse from the lack of use. His hands were in his lap, holding the mug of tea Tony gave him before he went inside to prepare the food. It must’ve gone cold by now.
The boy sitting next to him was a far cry from the lively, chatty teenager from a month ago.
So, yeah. Tony didn’t believe in ghosts, but it looked like one was right in front of him.
He placed one hand on Peter’s shoulder, the other one reaching to take the mug. His fingers closed around it and gently pried it from the kid’s hands, and as he began to straighten his back again, his gaze slid lower from the now-empty hands to Peter’s legs.
Or more like the empty pant leg.
There was nothing below Peter’s right knee.
He couldn’t help but remember those awful, agonizing hours after he’d brought Peter to the med-bay, bloodied and barely breathing.
Despite Helen and her team doing their best, the infection was so bad, and with the blood loss Peter sustained in that attack, there was no way to save it. There were two options; it was either an amputation or death.
The decision was clear.
Even then, it wasn’t guaranteed Peter would make it, but his chances increased significantly. Tony kept vigil at the teen’s bedside, watching for the slightest sign of complication. In the end, it took him about a week to regain some consciousness, and another two days before he was fully conscious.
They’d managed to talk a bit until Tony said something that upset the kid. He didn’t even remember what it was. What he’ll never be able to forget was what came after.
Peter had pushed himself into a sitting position, ready to hop off from the bed before he froze. With a shaking hand, he slowly reached for the blanket covering him. He stared in a silent horror at the empty space where his right calf and foot were supposed to be.
The heart monitor suddenly spiked up, beeping like a bomb about to detonate.
The kid began to hyperventilate, panic flooding his body, making him trash around on the bed, legs kicking and arms flailing. Despite his weakened state, Tony had to put in extra effort to hold Peter in place so he wouldn’t rip out any wires attached to his body or hurt himself by falling on the hard floor.
“Kid, kid, come on. Look at me, Peter. Look at me. Deep breaths,” Tony pleaded, his voice strained, but Peter didn’t listen. In fact, he didn’t seem to hear him at all. He kept trashing around in Tony’s grip, repeating the word no like a broken record, an odd sob and wail slipping past his lips here and there.
Tony started to panic as well. “Damn it. Friday, get Helen!”
The woman ran into the room not too long after, taking only a moment to realize what was happening and jumped to action immediately. Tony was vaguely aware of some cabinets being yanked open until she stood next to the IV pole and injected something into it.
Peter trashing began to cease, his body slumping against Tony’s as if someone had pulled a plug and drained all the fight from him. Tony just sat there, cradling Peter against his chest and murmuring quiet reassurances that everything will be okay as the kid sobbed his heart out.
Would it be okay, though?
Tony knew nothing about how to care about teenagers. Sure, you feed them, you water them, but what then? How long they slept? What things they required for living? He couldn’t base an average teenager on himself, since he’d been attending MIT at Peter’s age. But Peter was no average teenager either.
Were there even books on how to take care of superpowered kids? Tony doubted that.
Something started soaking into the fabric of this shirt.
“Let’s take a look at him,” Helen had said.
Reluctantly, Tony lowered the boy’s head back on the pillow. He wiped the tears from the sunken cheeks, aware of the unfocused gaze on him before moving away to give Helen space to work.
For some reason, Tony felt like he failed.
***
Briefly closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Tony chased away the images burned into his mind. He had to focus now. He could always fall apart later, when the kid wasn’t around.
“Here,” he moved the table in front of Peter and stepped aside so he wouldn’t block the view, “eat up before it gets cold. Or would you prefer to eat inside?”
Peter’s face was unreadable, still gazing ahead with the same unchanging apathy. Then, ever so slowly, he reached for the spoon.
Helen had explained all about how to go around malnutrition and refeeding. How at this stage, it was important to just eat. Sure, each person needed to get a plan tailored to them, but it was usually around a thousand calories a day. Peter’s whole metabolism threw a wrench into that.
Thankfully, their hit-or-miss seemed to avoid the miss part so far.
About five minutes later, the bowl was empty. “Great job, Underoos,” Tony praised as he took the bowl away. “What do you want to do now? Go inside and watch a movie? Tinker with something? Or read some of Bruce’s works that haven’t been published yet?”
Tony always gave Peter several options so he wouldn’t feel pressured into anything. Still, he had a hunch what the kid will pick.
“I’ll stay here.”
And there it was. No luck coaxing the boy into some activity this time around either. Tony pushed the disappointment down.
“Okay then. Do you want me to bring you anything here to entertain yourself?”
“No, thank you.”
And that was basically how all their conversations for the past weeks went; yes, no, and a few simple phrases. Rinse and repeat.
Tony nodded despite it killing him inside. “Fine. I’ll at least bring you some more hot tea. Just to warm your hands if you don’t want to drink it.”
He would prefer if he drank the tea, but it wasn’t like he could force him. That would end in a disaster, and the last thing either of them needed was for Peter to shut down, destroying all the slow and painful progress they’ve made. The kid needed all the energy to get better so they could start the rehabilitation.
Put on the weight, rest and let the stump heal properly. That was the primary focus. Tony debated with himself the pros and cons of telling the kid again to motivate him. On one hand, it could help greatly. On the other hand, knowing how eager Peter was (or used to be) could make him rush the process and cause more damage.
Not to mention the mental state the kid was in. Helen already told him they would get him back on his feet eventually. Tony repeating that could feel like he was pressuring him.
In the end, he chose to keep his mouth shut and let Helen deal with the psychological aspect. God knew Tony wasn’t the best when it came to emotions.
As Tony slid the door shut, he watched the crows resumed their place next to Peter.
***
First, it was his parents. Then his aunt and uncle, and his home along with it. The grief was somewhat bearable when he was out as Spider-Man, either helping lost people or stopping crimes. But then he lost his leg.
And Spider-Man along with it.
The tablet in his hands radiated a white glow, contrasting the dimness of his room. Peter looked down at it, roaming around the various headlines on the local Queens news website. One in particular caught his attention.
“Queens’ vigilante Spider-Man: Where is he?”
It’s been a little over three weeks since the incident and yet new headlines would still appear, wondering about his whereabouts. Some speculated that he was just recovering. Some speculated that he was dead.
He might as well be, no?
It was always the same for Peter. When his parents had died, all adults in his life – except Ben and May – paid him extra attention for about three weeks. After that, their attitude turned from sympathy and understanding to a mix of impatience and pity. You had your share, now back to normal. Get out of my sight.
He spotted the first signs of it already happening. Following the incident, every fifth headline was about him. The same footage of him being smacked into the ground and then swinging from the site has been replayed everywhere, over and over again. Everyone had seen it by the time the second week rolled around. With no new information regarding Spider-Man’s insane battle, the articles no longer attracted clicks. It was time to move onto the next big sensation, pushing Spidey further back.
This headline was the only one appearing in the past two days. It was only a matter of time until there will be none.
Sure, there might be a few odd people remembering him from time to time, but in the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t matter.
Spider-Man will be forgotten by the world the same way Peter Parker has been.
Except by Mr. Stark.
The man practically refused to leave Peter’s side. He was always in the vicinity. He fed him, clothed him, provided entertainment, even allowed the crows to stay living on the balcony.
There were times when Peter wanted to scream why?! Why bother? Why waste time on something you couldn’t fix?
Hell, he couldn’t even shower on his own!
Before the anger could rise any higher, the apathy overtook him once again, swallowing it.
***
Another week passed before Dr. Cho deemed him better and suggested that he’ll start some light physical therapy.
“Nothing extreme. Just some light exercise to start building up your strength again.”
Disuse of muscles lead to atrophy, Peter remembered that from a biology class. After about three-to-five weeks of bed rest, almost half of the muscle strength was lost. Peter’s been bedridden for a month. Throw in his pitiful state before he lost his leg…
He hated it.
He hated how exhausted the exercises left him. He hated how there was nothing to exercise below his right knee.
And most importantly, he hated he was being treated like some fragile glass figure that was about to break any second.
Still, he did as he was told.
Because the least he could do was not being even bigger burden.
The pressure behind his eyes hurt. Still, no tears came.
***
Tony… wasn’t exactly thrilled about the situation. No, scratch that, he wasn’t thrilled at all.
He scowled at his reflection in the mirror as he was tying his tie to look presentable for some stupid meeting with some “important” people. Were they really that important if he couldn’t remember who they were supposed to be?
The meeting in question required both him and Pepper to attend. It’s been postponed several times (for obvious reasons), the true reason behind Tony’s absence known only to the select few. Which was Tony and Pepper.
The “important” people seemed to think he wasn’t showing up just to mess with them and threatened to call off the deal.
And so here he was, loathing that he was about to spend about two hours in some boring meeting, leaving the kid alone. Crows didn’t count. Helen was out, Happy as well, and Rhodey had yet to meet the kid.
Though, Peter would probably hate meeting another superhero in his current state, Tony thought. Meeting new people could worsen his state. Maybe later. Rhodey could offer some insight about a life-changing injury way better than Tony ever could.
Trauma was trauma, but the kid would probably relate better and take advice from someone whose injury affected their ability to walk rather than from someone who got hit with shrapnel.
Still, there was no way Tony would leave the kid here alone, no. He’s got a suit on a stand-by, ready to be deployed by ever-watching Friday should any emergency arise. He went over the coding several times last night to make sure it was ready for anything ranging from another alien invasion to the kid falling out of his wheelchair.
It eased some of Tony’s frayed nerves.
“Pete?” Tony popped his head out of the balcony door, “I’ll be going now. If you need anything, just ask Friday and she’ll deal with it, okay?” He waited for the lethargic nod before making his way to the elevator.
The first thing he was once the sleek silver door opened was Pepper, looking great as ever. She held several thick binders. Just the sight of them made Tony want to turn around and run. “Hey, Pep.”
“Here,” she stepped closer, scooped several binders and held them out to him, “these are for you.” Tony was about to open his mouth and question how she was able to hold that weight easily in one hand when Pepper added in a whisper, “how’s Peter?”
“He’s doing better physically,” he replied in an equally quiet tone as they started to make their way towards the conference room. To occupy himself, he fiddles with the binders, aligning the edges. “Little by little, he puts on some weight. But otherwise…”
“Still no good?”
“Not at all.”
A pained expression flashed across her face before she schooled it into the professional mask. “Okay. Let’s get this meeting over with. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can leave.” She looked him in the eyes. “You have to focus. For Peter,” she added, effectively shutting down any protests forming on the tip of his tongue.
Tony nodded. “For Peter.”
***
Half an hour into the meeting, the sky began to fill with thick grey clouds. An hour later, a raindrop splattering against the window caught his attention.
Was it supposed to rain today? No, that didn’t seem right, he checked the weather forecast. Or did he?
“What do you think, Mr. Stark?” one of the “important” people asked him.
For Peter, he repeated in his head like a mantra. “Sounds good to me.”
***
By the time the meeting ended, it was pouring outside. Tony exchanged last pleasantries, shook hands, and scurried away before anyone could say anything else. He felt bad for ditching Pepper like that, but she understood. He’ll make it up to her once things were better.
Sighing and closing his eyes, he let the back of his head hit the elevator wall, allowing himself a moment to regain his composure.
The door opened. “Kid? I’m back,” he called out into the penthouse. As expected, there was no answer.
Tony stood at the mouth of the elevator, hands on his hips as he looked around. The living room was empty, as well as the kitchen. A quick run down the hallway to the kid’s room proved to be fruitless too.
Strange. No sign of the kid, but no sign of anyone leaving or entering either. No alert on Tony’s watch. And no suit standing around.
An unpleasant feeling clenched at Tony’s heart. “Friday?”
As if reading his mind, Friday’s disembodied voice spoke up at the same time. “Boss, I believe Peter requires immediate assistance.”
“Yeah, but where is he?”
“On the balcony.”
Balcony? Was Friday malfunctioning? It was raining cats and dogs, no way the kid was outside! Unconvinced but driven by some strange instinct, Tony rushed across the living room.
The water cascaded down the glass panels, blurring everything outside. Despite that, a vague shape with several black dots on it was present at the same place Tony left the kid at before he left.
“Peter!”
Tony threw the door open and ran onto the balcony, gasping as the icy rain immediately soaked him. He pushed past the shock.
The crows cawed like crazy when Tony threw himself on his knees in front of the kid, the noise sounding accusing to his ears. One of the smaller ones – Trisha if he remembered correctly – smacked Tony’s head with her wing as she circled around before going to hide with the rest of her family under the roof. They sat there huddled close to each other, observing Tony’s every move.
How can an animal’s gaze feel so judgy?
Turning his attention back to the crisis at hand, Tony went and cupped Peter’s cheeks. His skin was pale and cold, sucking away the warmth from Tony’s hands.
He was limp like a ragdoll.
“Pete? Kid? Can you hear me?”
The boy showed no sign of doing so. His eyes were almost closed, and even with his head lifted to be on the same eye level as Tony, Peter was seeing right through him.
Tony shifted his right hand around, frantically feeling for a pulse. “Please no. No, no, no, no, no,” he pleaded, the snake of fear coiling around his heart, squeezing. “Come on, Peter, please, don’t do this to me—"
There!
The pulse was weakly pressing against his fingers in regular intervals, but it was there.
Wasting no more time, Tony grabbed the handles and ran.
Once inside, he unzipped the jacket, grateful that it kept most of the water out, and the heating pads under it to combat the coldness. Though, with Peter’s spidery powers and lack of proper thermoregulation, combined with his wet hair and legs, it didn’t mean much. As quickly and carefully as he could, Tony maneuvered Peter’s arms from the jacket, throwing it aside. It landed on a floor with a wet splat. That could be dealt with later.
Peter hasn’t moved an inch during the whole ordeal. And when Tony said not an inch, he meant the kid actually didn’t move at all. Tony spent in the rain about fifteen seconds and he was already shivering like some purse chihuahua from Beverly Hills. Peter wasn’t shivering at all.
“Friday, what the hell?” Tony shot at the ceiling.
“Weather conditions weren’t in your protocol,” the AI replied, sounding a tad regretful. “You instructed me to step in case of emergency. Despite that, I did a wellness check on Peter, asking him whether he required assistance. He refused. His core temperature dropped to a dangerous level when you arrived.”
Tony muttered a low curse as he began to wheel Peter away. How could he be so stupid to forget about the weather? This was on him. He couldn’t blame it on Friday, she couldn’t go against the programming specifically made by Tony.
“Whatever. Call—” He faltered. Helen wasn’t an option. Bringing in some random doctor was out of questions. Shit. “Forget it. Have some nurse from the SI infirmary prepare a warm saltwater solution; just in case it will be needed.”
Hopefully, it wouldn’t be.
By the time Tony barged into his spacious bathroom, the heat difference was noticeable. He dived under the sink for the first aid kit, wasting no time pulling out scissors.
He snatched the nearest towel and put it over Peter’s hair to absorb some water, then went to cut his shirt. Then his sweatpants.
When Peter was only in his underwear, which thankfully remained dry, Tony scooped him up and moved him onto a stool so his back would be supported by both the sink cabinet and the wall. He went over the process in his mind.
Get away from the cold. Be gentle. Dry the person up. Warm the person up.
Warm, warm, warm.
He needed blankets.
A string of all-too-familiar chirps made him turn around. Dum-E stood at the entrance, a bunch of towels and sheets thrown over his arm.
Tony reached for the bundle, feeling its warmth. “Did you take this from the dryer?” The bot let out a few more affirmative beeps, waving the arm up and down. Tony smiled. “Thanks, buddy,” he patted the bot on the head.
It was definitely Friday who made him fetch these. He’d have to go fetch more blankets and heating pads once he was done here, but for now, these would do.
Tony set the bundle on the counter, picking two largest sheets to swaddle Peter in. One was thrown over his upper body, the other one wrapped over his legs. Then he swapped the wet towel on the boy’s hair for the dry one. “Geez, kid,” he sighed, rubbing his scalp with a feather-light touch, “at this rate the crows will really prove they can take better care of you than I can.”
***
The cold was numbing. Good. If he can’t feel his body, then nothing can hurt anymore, right?
Though, he was vaguely aware of something. Were his arms being moved? Was he being moved around? He couldn’t tell. Besides, it was ridiculous. He couldn’t move around on his own anymore. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, making him imagine the warmth.
Paradoxical undressing. Yeah, that happened when you get so cold you start to feel hot and—
“You’ll be okay, kid.”
Hold on.
“We’ll get you all nice and warm again.”
Peter wasn’t imagining this.
No… no. The feeling was returning into his body. He didn’t want that.
Make it stop. Make it stop.
MAKE IT STOP, MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOP—
***
The hit came unexpected, like a lightning from a clear sky. Tony stumbled back. It didn’t actually hurt; knowing how strong the kid was, he could’ve made Tony’s ribcage cave in with no problem. Still, considering Peter’s condition, the sudden movement was surprising.
“Peter?” Tony asked carefully as he returned to his previous position in front of the stool.
The second hit was a tad stronger. Then the third one came, then fourth, then fifth… yet Tony remained kneeling because what the hell was going on?!
The hits were uncoordinated, somewhere between punches and slaps. None landed properly – every single one of them slid down Tony’s torso, occasionally catching on the buttons on his suit. Tony’s hands hovered over the kid’s shoulders, unsure of how to proceed. He was out of his waters.
But then again – wasn’t he always out of his waters when it came to this whole taking care of a teenager?
A drop of red landed on the white sheet, pulling Tony out of his stupor and springing him into action of finding the source.
Another of the kid’s sloppy slap-hit caught on his buttons, causing Tony to look down. A smear of red near the middle one caught his attention.
Peter was shaking now. That was a good sign. His lips were moving; so quiet Tony couldn’t hear a thing. But whatever it was, the kid was repeating it over and over like a mantra.
A third flash of red drew Tony’s attention to the kid’s hand. A thin trail of blood was flowing down his knuckles from where the tender, frozen skin broke on Tony’s button.
“—it sto—”
The words were quiet like a breeze, it would’ve been so easy to miss them. Gradually, they built up in volume, until Tony could make them out clear enough.
“—make ‘t ‘top, make it stop, make it stop—"
Tony caught the kid’s wrist before he could land another hit, holding it strongly but gently enough so Peter couldn’t hurt himself further. The boy wiggled his other hand from the sheet cocoon, making Tony to repeat the process. A sob ripped from Peter’s throat. He began to shake his head, still not looking up.
“Come on, Pete,” Tony coaxed softly, rubbing his thumb against still-cold skin. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Can you look at me? Please?”
Peter obeyed and Tony froze.
The look in those brown eyes was something that will probably follow him to the grave. That pure, raw sadness and desperation didn’t belong on anyone’s face, let alone the kid who lost everything, everyone, and a piece of himself.
“You should’ve- you should’ve left me there,” Peter let out a choked sob. “It would’ve all stopped. You shouldn’t have come. You should’ve left me there,” he repeated.
“But, kid,” Tony said, “you would’ve died if I did that.”
“It would’ve been for the best!”
For a moment, Tony swore he forgot how to breathe.
“I don’t know what you ever saw in me. What you see in me now. I’m a walking curse. Everyone close to me always dies! It would’ve been only fair if I finally—"
“Don’t say that!”
Tony sucked in a breath through his teeth, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. He didn’t mean to raise his voice.
Before either of them could blink, Tony released Peter’s wrists in favor of pulling him into an embrace. He buried his face into Peter’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. The tears fell. “Don’t you ever dare finish that sentence.”
Was this on the kid’s mind all this time? “Kid, listen to me,” Tony said once the barbed wire around his throat loosened, “none of it – and I mean absolutely none of it – was your fault. There was no way for you to prevent any action of those who chose to do wrong. You can’t control others’ actions. Only your own.”
The world was a cruel and unjust place. Most of one’s success was either tied to money or luck. Tony was born into money, which pretty much opened all doors of possibilities and set him on a path of success. Some people, were just dealt bad cards at birth, seemingly sentencing them to a life of suffering. Like Peter, for example.
Luck or not, Tony will do everything in his power to ensure the kid, his kid, won’t have to go through any cruel play of fate anymore. He’ll fistfight the destiny itself if necessary.
Impossible? There were many things that were supposed to be impossible.
It was supposed to be impossible to for him to survive the shrapnel to his heart. Yet he did.
It was supposed to be impossible for him to escape from the cave with a box of scraps. Yet he did.
It was supposed to be impossible to shut down the weapons department and rework the whole business so it would focus on green energy instead without destroying the company. Yet he did.
He could go on, listing what else was supposed to be impossible. That word simply wasn’t in his dictionary.
Peter kept shaking against his chest; whether it was from the cold or all of those repressed emotions, Tony didn’t know. However, it was a big step up from the lifeless shadow he used to be.
Peter let out a heart-breaking wail, then buried his own face into Tony’s shoulder.
Maybe, just maybe, this was the first step on the kid’s path to a recovery. Sure, it might be rough and long, but no matter how many times will Peter stumble, no matter how long it might take, Tony will faithfully remain at his side, supporting him all the way through.
And he won’t be alone. Pepper, Happy and Rhodey will be there too.
“We’ll get you the coolest prosthetic the world has ever seen. You’ll be able to kick the butts of the bad guys into next Sunday. It’ll have all the functions we can think of – a place to store extra cartridges, first aid supplies, snacks. A cupholder? I offered it to Rhodey too but for some reason he refused.”
Peter chuckled. A god-honest chuckle, first time since he woke up after the life-changing surgery. “That sounds so stupid.”
Tony smiled, a few more tears sliding down his cheeks. This time though, they were happy.
Nothing was ending yet.
It was just beginning.