InsaneJournal

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Who: Peter Parker, Tony Stark
What: Hospital visit
When: after a wounded Spider-man was rescued from Hammer Industries.
Rating: Green

Peter felt really tiny in the large hospital bed. He had plush, comfortable pillows underneath his head and even the blanket that was covering him was nice and soft but it was so white. He kind of thought that it was a silly colour to have the sheets in a hospital considering how many people were bleeding everywhere. And blood was pretty obvious on white. In fact, it had been when they’d brought him in and put him in a room. Black Widow had taken his suit away, told him that it was better if it wasn’t anywhere near him and even though he realistically knew that he was safe here because they didn’t know his identity, Peter couldn’t quite get those creeps calling ‘Marco’ out of his head.

They’d really wanted to kill him. Toombes had too, that was true, but this time it had felt so much more… frightening? Was that the word? Maybe. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about it too much but honestly he was jumping a little every time someone walked past.

The doctors said he’d been lucky. That whatever had been fired at him could have done a lot more damage if only they’d aimed slightly more to the left. Peter didn’t say that they’d had perfect aim and it was only his reflexes and the hairs on the back of his neck that had told him to move. It just hadn’t been quick enough and the bullet had ripped through his suit, and his side, stealing his breath and meaning that he’d ended up vulnerable.

They’d stitched him back together; he had twenty two in total and it had been remarked on more than once that it had been a miracle that he’d survived. Clint had the bright idea to rip off the webbing before they hit the hospital to sell the story that he’d just been a bystander, but the moment they’d done that, the bleeding had gotten so much worse and he’d ended up pretty much passing out in the hospital foyer.

He gingerly reached out and took hold of the plastic cup he’d been given. It was a sippy-cup for patients who had limited mobility to mean that they could drink without having to exert themselves. He took a few sips of luke-warm water and grimaced, attention drawn by the sound of commotion from outside.

Commotion that was getting close to the Tony Stark-provided private room that had a TV of his own and curtains. If it was rampaging murders, Peter thought, reassured only a little, that the commotion would be distinctly more….screams-of-terror-y.

The commotion was Tony Stark was in the building, and any time Tony waltzed into the aftermath of a catastrophe, he had to start doing an apology tour. So he poked in to say hi to some injured kids and then navigated through only a mildly uncomfortable talk with May. Natasha covered tracks and smoothed things over already, and Tony was footing the bill for Peter, so it wasn't squashing May's budget. He'd offer to pay their healthcare from then on out, but that might look too suspicious so he was leaving that for another time. After this dust settled.

The door opened and the talking was already in progress.

"...yep, ok, nuh uh, uhh nope, it's all taken care of. Just popping in to say hi. Promise I won't put ideas in his head," Tony was saying as he backed his way through the door, giving May a big smile and a thumbs up.

It seemed he had time to hit the showers and throw on a clean change of comfy clothes after the rescue ops, but his hair was damp and the cuts and bruises were evident on his face and hands. As for sleeping, he didn't have the time yet, and he was running on adrenaline and worry. It clearly showed by the way he hastily closed the door and leaned against it, huffing out a sigh as he turned the lock.

"Hey, Bleedy. How're you doing?" he asked, moving toward the bed. He leaned against the bed railing. "You know, after getting shot at Hammer's place. Which, hi, why were you in Hammer's place? Alone? With tracking turned off?"

Tony smiled and it was frozen there, like he was waiting for an answer and it better be a damn good one. There was a bit of an intense staring at going on, too. Intense stare is intense, even with the smile locked in place.

Peter grimaced a little, because even though Mr Stark was smiling at him it sort of looked like one of those plastered on smiles that people wore when they were bracing themselves for bad news or trying not to yell at someone for something that they disapproved of on the basis that there were other people around. He had noticed the door locking and was actually wildly glad for that on the basis that at least no one could come in and interrupt the conversation.

He was surprised to have heard May’s voice - she was meant to be going to work, she couldn’t afford to miss time, they couldn’t afford it, so another sweep of guilt rocketed through him at that. He’d really screwed up big time.

Putting the cup on the table - knowing that Mr Stark had probably already seen it but was hoping that on top of everything else he wouldn’t tease him about the non-spill cups that the hospitals dished out to their patients - Peter shifted a little, trying to sit up.

His hand covered his side and he groaned in pain, feeling the stitches pulling and - not for the first time - wishing that he had the super healing powers of someone like Captain America. Because that would be neat right about now. He could do with that. That would be super helpful. Super helpful. As it was, he was durable but he still got injured and when he did, it still hurt like nobody’s business and took ages to heal. Like a normal person.

He was officially out of action for a while. Not just because he was injured, but because his suit was damaged. His suit!

“Uh- Black Widow has my suit,” he blurted, the painkillers having made his thought processes a little foggy. Hammer Industries. Oh. Yeah. Right, he’d been asked a question.

He rubbed the hand that wasn’t pressed against his side as if that would magically make the pain stop over his face.

“I- um- I was just looking around?” He looked at Mr Stark, wide eyed and apologetic. “I- I meant to turn the tracker back on but I didn’t get a chance,” and by ‘he’, he of course meant Ned but he wasn’t about to drop his best friend in it. “I’d managed to find out where the black market weapons were coming from and I was gonna call you but you were... “ he waved his hand, “busy with the Hulk so I thought I’d just go in and have a look but then I got caught and had to hide but my hiding place was mobile so I-”

He cleared his throat and winced. “But I’m okay? Are you? Uh- okay, I mean. I saw some of the footage on the news- it- um- thanks for this…”

Tony was definitely bracing himself for bad news, because he spent the afternoon saving trapped victims, and because he had failed again. Spectacularly. And more people were dead because of it. One of his favorite friends, the biggest quietest dork he had ever met in his entire bombastic life, was currently big and green. And he had been pathetically unable to stop his buddy trapped inside a big green rage monster from racking up an even larger body count. He should have called for Natasha, or asked for Wanda and Strange right away. He shouldn't have waited so long for things to get that out of hand. He'd been too confident he could hit the brakes or try to talk down Hulk. His guilting wasn't going to be as deep a pit of despair as Bruce's was going to be, if he managed to come back out of being green. From the way Bruce talked about it, he might not snap out of it. Brilliant brainiac bro? Potentially gone forever.

And now, because he had lured a sixteen year old kid into the Secret Avengers mess, the kid was in a hospital after being shot by potentially deadly experimental weaponry. It felt like his heart stopped, and made him wonder if the docs had missed a piece of shrapnel. Needless to say, it was not the sort of message he wanted to get while on Mr. Stark's Wild Ride. Which - after being battered around inside the rough equivalent of a armored Russian nesting doll - he considered to be the world's worst bemusement park attraction, ever.

In short, Tony knew he screwed up, big time. Pretty much the standard protocol. It was nearing time to drink and pass out, followed by the hair of the dog that bit him. And logging a whole lot of lab time to cope with countless upgrades and trying to fix everything that went wrong.

"She'll drop the suit off. I'll fix it. How about you don't move around, because that looks bad," Tony said with a sympathy wince, pointing a finger toward Peter's side, still in mid-lean. "Ok, first. I'm glad you're ok. Throwing that out there. Also want to know what you found out. Next? You don't get to stick your nose in stuff without a heads up where you're going first. What's the network for again? Refresh my memory....let's see...."

He didn't give Peter a chance to answer, because he pinned him in place with a fiercer staring at. Sure, he wasn't the kid's dad and would be the world's worst parent ever, but he was doing an admirable job of turning the mad dad dial up to 11.

"It's for coordinating and letting other people know what's going on. I told you that I'd be putting a call out, and I did that. You didn't. So yeah, I'm disappointed." He held up one hand to stop that guilt train. "Uh uh. We all fuuu-...oh shit...oops! Don't tell May I said that. I mean, we all screw up. Do better next time. Let us know. Or I will make nanny mode a permanent operating feature on the next upgrade."

Which meant that Peter was getting that other suit. That was a done deal, that Tony was fine tuning.

“It wasn’t about getting it fixed. Karen has all the data,” Peter managed right before Mr Stark launched into a hyperverbal spiel, accompanied by an unimpressed, disappointed look that Aunt May would have been exceptionally proud of. He had opened his mouth to respond but it was useless; Mr Stark barrelled on like a freight train.

He winced, feeling Mr Stark’s disappointment - verbalised disappointment was so much worse - and thinking briefly that being shot again would be better than being on the end of the stare he currently was. He only ever wanted to make Mr Stark proud of him, and he’d messed that up too. He’d just wanted to help, to do the right thing. The Hulk had everyone busy and engaged and he had only wanted to take a look. It wasn’t as if he’d intended on getting himself into hot water.

“I don’t- I mean- Mr Stark,” Peter sat up properly, gritting his teeth against the pain. He’d lifted concrete off himself, he could handle a little pain in the side. His fingers gripped the metal railing of the bed and it groaned a little, bending ever so slightly under the pressure of his hand. “I- I swear,” wide-eyed, Peter started talking himself, “I only meant to take a look, to see what was going on but then the truck I’d hitched a ride on went inside before I could leave without being noticed, and then I got spotted so I had to hide and-”

He wet his lower lip, “I didn’t think it’d get so out of control. I just wanted to be able to give you something helpful, so you knew you didn’t have to hold my hand all the time.” Because ultimately he still wanted to prove that he could do this, that he was adult enough - even though he was a teenager and, evidently, still prone to making the wrong decisions - to be respected and treated like one of the team that didn’t need to check in every time he was going to go off and do something.

"Stop...just stop sitting up," Tony said, before he slapped one hand over his face with such force that it made a smacking sound. A muffled 'ouch' could be heard afterward, but Tony nodded along at certain points to let it be known he was listening. He was also trying not to barrel over the kid again, because he knew that impulse to want to help at all costs. It was fine when it was him, but didn't feel fine at all when it was Peter. Hearing that the teenager was hurt and bleeding and cornered? Tony swore he was going to have a coronary, and even though he was facing off with a Hulk, there had been a strong impulse to rush off and go crack open a can of whoop ass on some bad guys for daring to lay a finger...a bullet...whatever...on Peter Parker.

"Ok, but it did get out of control," Tony said, after a long moment of quiet with his hand pressed to his face. His hand dropped away and he let out a slight sigh. "I know you want to help. I get it. That's great! But you need to let what I'm about to tell you kinda sink in. I want to help. I never think it's going to get outta control. I go rushing off, doing my own thing. I don't let anyone know. I just do it. But you know who doesn't like that, because they have to rush in or mop up the mess afterward? Teammates. That's the number one complaint about me. Don't be me."

He hesitated, wondering if it would be weird, and then finally reached out and ruffled Peter's hair with the hand he had facepalmed with.

"I don't want to have to hold your hand. I want to trust you, so why don't you tell me what you found and we'll...wait, is that a sippy cup? Wow. You got a sippy cup. That's cute. It's like a thing they give to toddlers, innit?"

By then, Tony stopped hair ruffling so he could point at it. The only way this could possibly get more embarrassing was if Iron Man whipped out his watch gauntlet and used the repulsor tech light to illuminate the sippy cup, like a spotlight shining down on it.

Peter was going to point out that he really didn’t have any team mates at this point; just Ned, who was his Guy in the Chair and maybe Mr Stark? He was surprised that people came to help him out but honestly, it was embarrassing that he’d needed to be carried out of the building and then again into the hospital, bleeding all over Hawkeye’s clothes. Mr Stark had never needed carrying anywhere. Neither had Captain America, he thought.

Of course, any conversation and thought was derailed by crippling, overwhelming, tsunami-like embarrassment at Mr Stark’s sudden fascination with the cup that he’d been given to drink out of. He couldn’t move his arm too much right now, and straws were a bit of a trial.

“I- uh- Mr Stark,” Peter started, trying to reach out to hide the cup. “It- it’s an anti spill cup. Because I can’t move too much right now.”

Tony stopped testing the structural integrity of the sippy cup, holding it upside down so some dribbles came out on the floor, and then jiggling it around to see if more water came out than if it was held upside down. Don't judge while he's judging this cup and thinking of approximately 2,574 ways that this cup could be improved before it was good enough to give to a very injured Peter Parker.

With a disgruntled hmph that it dribbled even a few droplets, Tony held the cup out to see if Peter wanted to take it.

"Whatever. Anyway. Intel. Spill it." He eyed the cup for a second before adding, "The intel, not the water. Sleeping in damp is oogy."

Peter blinked a few times and took the cup, largely because he was still trying to catch up on the conversation before Mr Stark had become distracted by trying to spill water all over his bed. Thankfully there were just a few dribbles that dropped onto the floor, but Peter put it on the tray that was across his bed anyway, turning it around on the spot nervously with both hands.

“Uh, but Karen-” he started, realising that he should likely give Mr Stark the cliff notes beforehand so he could understand the information more quickly? He didn’t even know.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Traced a call back from one of the dealers,” he said, “found out he worked for um… a company,” he waved a hand, that bit wasn’t important and Karen had that information anyway, “but then we did- uh- I did some extra digging and found that it was owned by Hammer Industries.”

He cleared his throat and relaxed into the pillows, trying to unwind his body from how stressed out he felt just being stuck in here.

“Then we- uh- I found footage of one of the cars on the way to a deal based on information the Lady Sif and I found out and I tracked the car back to Hammer Industries. In Queens, Mr Stark, right under my nose. Pretty sure you knew that already, though, that they’re being made there. But I-um- I think they’re being distributed by them too to all the kinda people you don’t want having guns.”

Tony was listening. It was obvious because he was staring fixedly at Peter's face, and looking like he was filing away some things and sorting through other files in the cabinet, so to speak. So, while his gaze was fixed, it was also just slightly...detached...at the same time. He nodded once, said 'uh huh' once, and then held up one hand to interject. Once. Luckily, it was at the end of what Peter was saying.

"Ok, first. Not gonna get into the fact that you traced calls and found footage before you even when in there, because tell me at least? Now we're done with that. Moving on. Am gonna say that I don't think it's just that one place. Because there's some weird fake newsy type social media things getting bounced around, and I'm pretty sure it's some kind of secret flag wave to people in other countries. While keeping tabs on us. So you?"

Tony pointed at Peter.

"Glad you're grounded. You're not bulletproof. Yet. Working on it. And I've gotta go have a talk with Cap about this, so...good job. I'd pat you but I've already ruffled your hair and I don't know if that'd be too weird. Here. Shake this."

He held out his hand. Then he flapped it around until Peter could take it.

“Wanted to make sure it was actually a something, and then I followed the car back and sort of thought I’d just take a quick peek inside and- hey, can Karen upload to the network for me?” Peter asked, because they’d already gone over - multiple times - how much he’d screwed up.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah- there’s… stuff on the internet. But to- I mean- I haven’t read a lot of it because some of it’s really gross and-” he cut himself off, rubbing the back of his head and then took Mr Stark’s hand, shaking it.

“Thanks for coming to visit me, Mr Stark,” he said finally. “I-” He appreciated it. “Uh- it means a lot. So yeah, thank you.”

Not really multiple times, just two or three. For emphasis. And because it boggled Tony's mind and he was worried enough to harp on it. He didn't have the best coping mechanisms after all, and there was a squirrely sixteen-year-old in a hospital bed after being shot, because he dragged a teenager into a superhero mess. Admittedly, the teenager was great at superheroing, but that didn't mean that Tony didn't blame himself when things went unexpectedly wrong. He did. A lot. It could be weighed out in metric tons.

"Yeah, I'll get her hooked up when I fix the suit." He shook Peter's hand and let go, with a nod in the affirmative. "Just in case it's not clear, I get what you were trying to do. I'm just glad you're alive after doing it. You know...I might've been...worried or whatever."

Tony rolled his eyes like it wasn't a big deal. Don't make a big deal out of it. He pointed at the spill-proof cup as a means of distraction, while backing away.

"Sip that quick. Before it dribbles," he said as a parting shot, before he quickly headed out the door and beat a retreat to the upstate HQ.