⚠️tw: usage of pain meds⚠️

Peter had gotten hit hard, going down like a bowling pin. Obviously, the mission sat at a standstill for Tony when it happened, because the kid was his responsibility and May was scarier than the new minor-league baddie on New York's streets this week.

"How're you feeling?" Tony asked the kid, as the two of them sat in a jet on the way back to the Avengers Compound. The armor dissolved from his body, leaving him in just the greasy mechanic get-up that he left in.

Peter didn't answer, instead he swayed away from Tony and nearly fell off his seat in the process. Tony instinctively lunged, and steadied him at his side. He scoffed lightly. "Geez, kid. Not that great, then?"

Peter groaned in pain. "This sucks."

"Just hang in there," Tony said, patting him on the back. When Peter slumped forward again, Tony once again jolted forward to catch him.

"Just—" Tony slung an arm around his shoulders to prevent him from falling again. "I'm just gonna keep you still, alright?"

Peter didn't argue, but nodded, keeping his arms strictly around his middle in a tight self-protective hug. Tony didn't want to imagine the kind of bruising he might have, the possible broken ribs, mucked up organs.

Tony's face screwed up, features pinched as he saw the eyes of Peter's mask narrow with obvious pain. He couldn't do anything. That was the most frustrating part about it. The waiting.

His job extended for everything.

The kid needs training? Tony will train him. He'll make a protocol.

The kid needs extra protection from bad guys? The weather? Himself? Tony will spend hours of sleep instead thinking of everything. All the gidgets and gazmos, extra metal arms, a parachute, a heater, a tracker, a suit cam, an instant kill mode, drone, an AI—

In the battles, Tony will be there at his side making sure that if ALL ELSE FAILS, Peter goes home safe, with hopefully no injury, not a scratch, not even a misplaced hair on his head.

But sometimes, all else fails, and then some. It still hurts that Tony can't and won't ever be able to think of everything to protect this goofy goody-two-shoes, especially when this usually babbling bubbly teen is in obvious pain, quiet and hurting.

"The medical team is at the Compound, ready to administer pain medication upon landing," F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up on the speakers of the plane. "Dr. Cho is there upon your request."

"Didn't know FRI was on the plane," Peter mumbled.

"Yeah," Tony said bluntly. "She's everywhere. Hey, ETA?"

"Two minutes," F.R.I.D.A.Y answered.

"Thanks, honey." Tony huffed and leaned his head back. "Peter, don't fall asleep."

"'I'm not sleepy," Peter argued, having the audacity to lie right to his face. He swayed again. "And I don't have a concussion."

"I'll believe it when I hear it."

"It's true. Karen told me so. And you made Karen. So technically you told me so."

"That's not how that works, smartass. Just don't fall asleep yet, okay? For my sake." Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm looking after you, in case you forgot. We're not taking chances."

"Is that an official Avengers lesson?" Peter asked, and Tony could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah. You better be taking notes," Tony shot back. "Cap once said to walk it off if you get shot. This ain't an easy gig, Parker. You don't get breaks."

(Under no circumstances will Tony be following old pal Steve's advice for trying to train the kid in "superheroing." What's that thing they say about parenting? Everyone does it differently, right?)

"Yessir. No breaks. Got it," Peter nodded. Tony honestly couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but his head was lolling to the side again, and Tony was losing his confidence on whether or not Peter could stay awake.

He looked out the window of the jet— It was hovering over the Compound. Almost there.

"Hey." Tony snapped his fingers. "You still with me?"

"Yeah, I lied." Peter sighed heavily, his shoulders sinking and his head bowing down. He pulled his mask off with one lazy movement and held the crumpled thing in his lap. "I'm exhausted, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah," Tony looked at him with a deep frown. He looked exactly like the situation proved. He had spent the past two hours getting beat up—it showed in his puffy cheeks, dark circles, bruises, scratches. Tony's chest hurt. "I can see that."

The jet landed, shaking the seats with turbulence. Peter groaned in pain, and went back to clutching his middle. Tony unclicked his seatbelt and stood up, hauling Peter up with him.

"Ow, ow ow ow," Peter hissed.

"I know, bud." Tony half-carried him down the ramp of the jet.

The medical team quickly swarmed, and in a blink Peter was being pricked in the arm with a syringe needle. ("Ow... Bleagh, that feels so weird every time. Ughhh.")

Cho stepped forward, clearing the field to get to them. "What's hurting?"

"Great question," Peter joked weakly.

"I'm guessing bruised internal organs," Tony said firmly. "He's not bleeding anywhere and I didn't get an alarm from his suit. Figured I'd ask for a medical doctor's opinion."

Helen paused and furrowed her eyebrows. "Mr. Stark, my medical work is better focused toward cellular regeneration. I also... didn't know you were one to ask for a second opinion, when you're already so sure of the answer."

"This is different," Tony shrugged off. It's the kid; no room for mistakes.

"I think he'll be fine," Helen said with amusement. "You would know more about bruised organs than I would."

"Right," Tony said awkwardly. He shifted on his feet. "Well, he's just been set up with some pain meds, so he'll be resting now, I guess. Uh. Thank you, Dr. Cho."

Ignoring how suddenly very silly he felt, he turned to Peter and then helped walk him inside.

"What was that?" Peter asked, grinning. "Who was that?"

"Old friend," Tony answered shortly. "Listen, we're gonna head to your room, alright? Then you're gonna change out of your suit and go to bed."

Peter scrunched up his nose. "Go to bed? You told me to stay awake."

"I changed my mind."

"You're so weird." Peter stumbled on a step and Tony immediately took hold of his arm. "Woah."

"Yeah. Feeling woozy there, Johnny Cade? That's the pain meds kicking in." Tony led him gently down the hallway into the elevator. He pressed the button for the third floor and stepped back.

Peter leaned on Tony's side. "Woozy is such a goofy word. It's such a weird combination of letters. Woozy."

"Wow. You're so zonked already, it's almost funny."

"Am not," he defended, pointing a finger at Tony's chest. "I'm tired. But I am not going to sleep. Just to spite you."

Now that the bad guy had been dealt with, a new challenger approached: Teenager who needed to go the fuck to sleep.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, we'll see about that. I don't know how much you know about super-powered pain meds but they don't mess around."

"I don't know much," Peter admitted. He let himself be dragged from the open elevator and into the hallway. "But I do know that if I was on Disney Channel, I'd be able to draw those Mickey ears so much better than everyone else."

"Very impressive." Tony opened the door to his room and then led him to the bed. He then walked to the dresser and rummaged through a collection of his own STOLEN hoodies and sweatpants. He picked out a pair and looked over at Peter with narrowed eyes. "You're so lucky I'm a responsible adult who will not scold you for stealing half of my laundry bill."

"Oops?"

Tony threw the clothes at Peter's face and watched him blink a second later with surprise. Lordy.

"Alright, get changed," Tony gestured to the clothes and then walked out the door. "Don't take too long or I'm putting you in that ugly Gucci tracksuit you hate."

"Noooo," Peter whined.

Tony closed the door and waited. There were some dull thuds from inside the room, and Tony itched his hand to linger near the handle, just in case Peter ended up passing out and hitting his head, or... or something. Just in case, right?

The door opened from the inside, and Peter gave him a thumbs-up wearing his baggy old clothes. He dropped his arms to his sides. "Are you banishing me to the sleep zone now?"

"Yeah. You're going to rest, and I'm going to call May," Tony said blankly. "Done deal."

"What about the mission?"

"Don't worry about the mission. Go to bed."

"But—" Peter threw his head back with a groan. (God, the physical drama. Teenagers.) "I can't sleep if the mission isn't done!"

"You are seriously acting like a toddler right now," Tony said, gently pushing him back into the room. "Lay down. I'll tell you a bedtime story."

"A bedtime story?" Peter crawled onto the left side and curled up, pulling the covers up to his chin and grinning like he knew some sort of secret. "You're gonna tell me a bedtime story? I'm fifteen, I don't need no stinkin' bedtime story."

Tony pushed his face back into the pillow and then sat next to him. "Well, you aren't acting like you're fifteen aren't you? 'Cuz you're high as a kite and also, mentally five. So yeah, bedtime story. You listening? I'm gonna quiz you when you wake up."

"I'm listening," Peter yawned. "But I will not fall asleep. I'm— I've never been—My mind is so alive right now."

"Alright, kiddo." Tony snorted. He leaned back on the headboard and closed his eyes. "Once upon a time—"

"You're gonna make it up?"

"Yeah. Shuddup, I'm trying to narrate here."

Peter honest-to-god giggled. "Okay, Mr. Stark."

"Okay, Mr. Stark," Tony mocked. "Whatever. Once upon a time, there was a... a cyborg, who had an electronic heart. And he—"

"Isn't that a little on the nose?"

Tony inhaled deeply. He rolled his eyes. "You're really messing with my mojo here, kid."

"I'm sorry!" Peter burst into more barely hindered laughter. He shifted to look at him. "Okay. I'm sorry. Continue."

Tony shook his head. He restarted. "Once, there was a cyborg, with an electronic heart. And he got into a bunch of problems when he was a kid, right? Drinking... motor oil, and crap. But then he grew up, learned how to be something more than himself."

"Motor oil," Peter mumbled, blinking slowly.

Tony dragged a hand over Peter's face and gently shut his eyes, avoiding the cuts and scratches the kid got from the earlier fight. "When he grew up, the cyborg was in another one of midlife crises. Missed one too many therapy sessions, or so his uh, his friends said. He went into a fight— a war with his... coworkers."

Peter let out a quiet snore. The corner of Tony's mouth rose up. Mission successful. He lowered his voice as he continued the story.

"And it's all debri under a broken bridge now, but this one important thing happened. Because he met this little human boy. Just this shrimpy, little, string-bean—"

Peter shifted and his head landed on Tony's thigh.

He stopped, holding his breath, and then slowly raised his hand and let it rest on Peter's head. Then something came over him, a nagging presence that fought its way through his veins and took over his brain. Fondness warmed at every smile line and crow's feet on Tony's expression.

He slowly carded through the sweaty curls.

"...And he promised he would try to do better," Tony said softly. "He'd do better for the kid, and it would help him be better for himself a little, too. He would look after this boy, because he was only human, and he was only a kid."

Tony hesitated, not sure where the story should end.

"He isn't sure when," Tony said, his heart was healing with every word. "But at some point, some random day, some random conversation, he decided... He decided he would live the rest of his life trying to keep the kid safe."

"And that's how he lives now," Tony finished. "Protecting, like a proud... suit of armor."

...

He snorted softly. "I guess it is a bit too on the nose, huh, Pete?"

Peter didn't reply, as he was fast asleep.

Tony slowly sunk away from Peter, leaving him to sleep in the guest room. Next on the responsibility agenda: Call May Parker.

And who said co-parenting was easy?

nearly 4 years of writing irondad and finally got on the irondad ranking, let's get it ig

(no but fr thank you guys🥺❤️✨)