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“It’s probably my fault,” Peter says with a sigh. “Parker Luck and all...”
Tony huffs out an amused breath as he sets the car in park, the two of them looking out through the windshield of his Audi over endless giant waves set out below a gray sky—and closer, a nearly abandoned stretch of beach. “You think you can control the weather now?”
“Not control,” Peter corrects. “Just influence it a little bit, you know?”
“Uh huh, sure,” Tony says, stepping out of the car just as Peter does. At the crisp sting of the wind, he calls out across the hood, “Don’t forget your coat.”
The two arrived in Malibu only that morning, part of an impromptu Christmas break trip that Tony and May plotted together the week before. His aunt has been worried lately that Peter was going out as Spider-Man too much, pushing himself too hard. In the spirit of wanting her nephew to have a real break, she’d brought up the idea of Tony showing him his old home—or the area anyway, since the mansion itself was relatively new.
When he brought up the idea of driving down to L.A. for the afternoon to see the sights, Peter jumped at the chance. Only after they’d gotten their fill of taking pictures along the Hollywood Walk of Fame and checked out the art at the Getty had Peter mentioned wanting to finally see the beach, Tony inwardly grimacing at the unusually cold weather—even for December—but obligingly setting the GPS to a public beach all the same.
Tony watches as Peter cups his hands in front of his mouth and blows a puff of warm air into them. It’s a balmy thirty-nine degrees out today—nearly unheard of for southern California. “You didn’t bring gloves?” he asks with a frown.
Peter makes a dismissive hand gesture before crossing his arms over his chest, tucking the fingers of each hand under the opposite arm for warmth.
“Here,” Tony says, pulling off his own wool gloves and holding them out. “Use mine.”
Peter shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
“Take ‘em,” Tony insists, shoving them at Peter. “You’ll be doing us both a favor. Spider-kids aren’t as easy to thaw as a frozen chicken.”
Peter rolls his eyes at the motherhenning—or perhaps the bad joke, it’s really a toss-up—but he accepts the gloves all the same, tugging them on with muttered thanks as the two climb the stairs to the nearly abandoned wooden pier.
The windchill is even worse up here than it was down by the car, and Peter’s nose and cheeks have taken on a pink tinge. The pier is pretty much deserted, apart from a group of middle school age kids carrying skateboards and taking pictures a good fifty or so yards down the platform.
“You know, Uncle Ben told me that my dad was born during the nor'easter of ‘78,” Peter says as they walk down the pier. “They couldn’t even make it to the hospital because of all the snow, so their neighbor—he was like a retired cow-farmer or something? He came over and helped my grandma deliver him in their bathtub.” He snorts a bit. “If that’s not Parker Luck, I don’t know what is.”
Tony grimaces. “I mean, that definitely sounds unpleasant, but I’m not sure I’d call it controlling the weather.”
“But it gets weirder,” Peter says, almost conspiratorially. “Did you know the coldest temperature ever recorded in Hawaii was twelve degrees fahrenheit back in 1979?”
“Why would I know that, Pete?”
Peter grins. “Guess where the Parker family went on vacation in 1979.”
Tony stops to prop his elbows up on the wooden guardrail overlooking the choppy sea below. “Was it Hawaii?” he guesses in a deadpan.
“It was definitely Hawaii!” Peter confirms, his grin widening. He mirrors Tony’s stance, also turning his attention to the water. “And then in 1980, they all went to Seattle to see the Space Needle, and–”
“Peter, I am not going to stand here and let you tell me that the Parkers caused the eruption of Mount St. Helens.”
“I’m just saying...”
The wind is whipping at them, bringing with it the sound of the children’s laughter at the end of the pier. Despite the dreariness of the day, Tony decides it’s actually kind of peaceful.
“But really, it’s not just about the weather,” Peter explains after a moment. “It’s all kinds of bad things.”
Tony scoffs, but it’s fond. He’s thoroughly enjoying this conversation. “So by that logic, if we were to get a flat tire on our way back to the hotel, that would also be Parker Luck?”
“That’s like the definition of Parker Luck,” Peter agrees.
“And if we get food poisoning from that taco truck you made us stop at?”
“Also Parker Luck.”
Tony points upwards at the squawking flock of seagulls overhead. “And if one of those birds poops on your head...?”
“Parker Luck.” Peter bobs his head up and down enthusiastically.
As they continue on down the pier, Tony’s gaze drifts to the group of kids who they’re just now coming upon. Two of them are sitting up on the railing while the others crowd around with their skateboards at their sides, all staring intensely at what he assumes is a phone. Tony watches with mild concern as the tallest kid attempts to climb up the rail herself and jostles the curly-haired one’s leg, only for that boy to nearly topple backwards over the edge. But he easily pulls himself back up to balance, remaining precariously perched as he and the others laugh at the antics.
Oh, the immortal confidence of youth.
“That actually happened to May on her wedding day,” Peter says, startling Tony back to their current conversation. “She was walking out of the church, and the guests were throwing rice at them, which attracted all these pigeons…” he trails off and Tony shudders at the mental image. “She’d only been a Parker for like, eight minutes, but Ben said that the bird made it official. Like an anointing.”
“Does this curse apply to others in the vicinity?” Tony asks with a snort, gesturing back at the kids climbing the wooden rail. “Because if so, maybe we should let them know before–”
The words have barely left his mouth when there’s a high-pitched scream followed by a sudden chorus of dismayed shouts. Tony’s head whips back toward the group of kids to see the curly-haired boy conspicuously missing.
It becomes all too clear what had just happened when the kids—all feet now firmly planted on the pier—lean over the railing. The tall girl whips around, looking around frantically before her gaze lands on Peter and Tony. “Help! My brother—he’s in the water! He can’t swim!”
Before Tony can so much as respond, in the corner of his eye, a blur of sneakers and jeans goes by. He glances up, panic hitting him full force when he sees Peter already halfway back to the kids, shucking off his jacket as he runs.
“Pete, don’t–”
“I can get him!” Peter reassures him over his shoulder even as Tony stumbles forward, instinctively reaching out an arm to keep the teen from hopping over the railing. But he’s too far away to stop Peter, and by the time he reaches the wooden railing himself the kid has already dived in, disappearing underneath the waves.
Damn that immortal confidence of youth.
“Peter!” Tony cries out, glancing every which way even as he yanks his phone out of his side coat pocket. A second later he spots the teen’s head pop up. Peter takes one lone, gulping breath before he ducks down again to search for the missing kid.
For a moment Tony considers jumping in after Peter, but logic wins out. Loathe as he is to admit it, he’s of far more use up here, keeping an eye on the teen’s location until help arrives. Speaking of, Tony starts to dial 911, only to realize the girl—the curly-haired boy’s sister—is already on it, his friends glancing between her and the water with wide, terrified eyes as she stammers out answers to the operator’s questions.
Assured that help is on the way, Tony focuses back on the water, eyes frantically scanning the waves. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees Peter pop up again—this time with the kid in his arms—coughing as he cranes his neck to look around for the beach.
As soon as Peter spots it he begins to kick his way in that direction, seemingly letting the waves do half his work for him as he valiantly works to keep the unconscious boy’s head above the water.
For his part Tony pauses only long enough to pluck up the discarded jacket before he starts to follow the kid’s progress along the pier, heart dropping into his stomach every time he loses sight of Peter only for it to rise all the way up into his throat when he reemerges again—hacking up seawater but never stopping to just float and rest, not even for a moment.
“You won’t need your suits, Pep said. It’s supposed to be a vacation, she said,” Tony mutters in an effort to distract his panicking mind. He jogs along the side of the pier, staying parallel to Peter—stopping and holding his breath every time a wave hides the kids—all the way back to the stairs. As he reaches the top, he stops to look one more time, relieved when he sees Peter is now close enough to the shore that he’d be able to stand up were it not for the crash of the roaring waves still bearing down on him and the limp boy in his arms.
Distantly he hears the sound of sirens, and somewhere in the back of his mind he can’t help but be impressed at the response time of the local emergency services—glancing up from one of the stairway landings to see an ambulance, a police car, and a firetruck park in the same lot his Audi was in.
The twenty seconds it takes him to race down back to the beach are some of the longest of his life. Only the sight of an exhausted, drenched, but very much alive Peter stumbling out onto the shore soothes his frayed nerves. All the same, Tony doesn’t hesitate to splash in himself, up to just above his knees by the time he reaches the kids—letting out an oof when an ashen-faced Peter readily hands over the boy before leaning over and hacking his lungs out.
“Pete? You okay?”
“He’s...not...b-breathing,” Peter says between coughs. “H-help him!”
Satisfied Peter isn’t in imminent danger of keeling over, Tony staggers out of the water, not stopping until they’re on completely dry sand. Carefully he sets the boy down, his sodden curls reminding him far too much of Peter’s the night he’d fished him out of the East River as he checks the kid’s pulse.
“Is Aiden okay?” someone asks from right above him, the scared, small tone just barely audible over the sound of the pounding waves. Tony doesn’t have to look over to know it’s the boy’s sister—feeling the girl kneel at his side only to clutch her brother’s hand. The whole group of kids must have followed him along the pier. Tony hadn’t even noticed.
Tony doesn't answer her, but he does let out a sigh of relief when he feels a faint beat, and is just about to give the boy two rescue breaths when he’s swarmed by paramedics.
“How long was he in the water?” one asks as he takes over checking vitals.
“Uh, maybe three minutes,” Tony replies, quickly getting out of their way as they start to attend to the pre-teen, while two others calmly lead the sister and her friends away.
He turns his attention back to where Peter is standing—immediately alarmed at the dull look in Peter’s gaze as he looks on at the chaos. Tony worries shock might be setting in, and he looks around quickly for where he’d dropped Peter’s jacket—grabbing it from the sand and hastily wrapping it around Peter’s shoulders. He pulls Peter into a hug.
“Kid? You okay?”
“I…” Peter trails off, Tony’s worry ratcheting up at the confusion he hears in the boy’s voice. “I’m… ‘m c-cold, Mis’r s-Stark.”
Shit, Tony thinks. In all the panic of the last few minutes he’d forgotten the biting wind and cold temperatures completely, but all it takes is Peter’s small utterance to bring it back in force. If his legs and feet are already freezing, he can’t imagine how cold Peter must be. And with his thermoregulation issues, if Tony doesn’t get him warmed up soon, things could go downhill fast.
“M-m-mis’r–”
Okay, forget could. Things are already going downhill fast.
“I’m here, Pete,” Tony says, shucking his own jacket off and putting it atop Peter’s only to hug the boy to his chest, rubbing his hands up and down Peter’s arms through the thick material. “We’ll get you warmed up, just hang on–”
“You guys alright?”
Tony looks up to see one of the first responders who was talking to the group of the boy’s friends heading over to them, a large medical bag slung over his shoulder. “My name’s Eddie, I’m with the LAFD,” he introduces himself. “Those kids said you dove in after Aiden and pulled him out of the water. Is that right?”
Peter nods, his frame shivering violently. “I-Is he gonna b-be okay?”
Eddie glances back over his shoulder, and Tony follows his gaze to see three other emergency workers gathered around the kid, urgently checking vitals and hooking him up to equipment.
“He’s in good hands. My team is taking care of him,” Eddie says firmly, his warm smile not once wavering. Tony has to hand it to him—this guy is exuding so much calm reassurance that he could probably give Steve a run for his money. “I just wanted to check on you, if that’s okay.”
Peter starts to shake his head. “I’m fi–”
“Yes, please do,” Tony cuts him off, and Peter turns his head to give him the weakest of glares in return. It might have been amusing if Tony wasn’t so concerned with getting the kid warmed up at the moment. He nods toward Eddie’s bag. “Do you have any shock blankets in there?”
Eddie frowns. “Not here, but we definitely do on the truck. One second,” he says, then turns back to call over his shoulder. “Hey, Buck?”
The firefighter talking to Aiden’s sister looks up immediately, and when his eyes land on Tony, they go wide with obvious recognition and Tony finds himself groaning internally. This is not the time for celebrity nonsense.
“Can you grab us some blankets from the truck?” Eddie calls.
Thankfully, professionalism must win over because Buck’s surprised expression is quickly replaced with a carbon copy of that same damn reassuring smile. “Coming right up!” He throws his partner a mock salute before jogging down toward the parking lot.
Eddie turns back to Peter. “Let’s go sit over here, alright?” he suggests, pointing toward a nearby bench.
Tony leads Peter over, keeping a tight arm wrapped around his shoulders as he continues to rub the kid’s forearms to get the blood flowing. He knows from far too much experience that Peter isn’t usually one to give in readily to medical help, and thus it only serves to scare him more when the teen presses further into his chest with every increasingly shaky and uncoordinated step.
There’s no denying it any longer: Peter is already suffering from mild hypothermia, if not worse. Tony takes in a sharp breath, opening his mouth to tell Eddie the truth only to shut it tight again when indecision takes over. On one hand, Tony knows he’s a professional—one who no doubt had it drilled into him at some point that honoring a patient’s privacy as much as possible was paramount. But on the other, it’s not like Tony’s exactly had a chance to vet the guy yet. If he finds out Spider-Man is in his care, who knows what he’ll do with that information? The possibilities are endless, and all potentially disastrous.
No, it’s best to hang back for now, Tony decides. Give Eddie a chance to get things under control before Peter gets any worse, and then nobody has to be the wiser. God, he hopes so at least.
A few more faltering steps and they finally reach the bench. Tony carefully helps Peter to sit down before doing the same next to him, and quickly resumes his protective, comforting hold.
Eddie deposits his bag on the other side of the bench and crouches down to Peter’s level. “Can you tell me your name, bud?”
“P-Peter,” Peter answers, his eyes flitting nervously over to Aiden. “Are you– y-you’re sure they d-don’t need you?”
“Nope, I’m just focused on you right now,” Eddie assures, unzipping the bag. He pulls out a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. “Where are you from, Peter? You live around here?”
“N-No. New York,” Peter says through chattering teeth.
Eddie lets out a low whistle. “New York, huh?” He wraps the cuff around Peter’s arm, positioning the bell of the stethoscope over the inside of his elbow. “Hope you weren’t coming to L.A. for the weather, because if so, you picked a helluva weekend.”
“‘S… my f-fault,” Peter murmurs, and Tony can’t help but roll his eyes this time, because of course the kid would blame himself for this. “Got the… worst… luck.”
Eddie catches Tony’s expression and smirks. “I think Dad disagrees with that assessment.”
Tony freezes right in the middle of rubbing his hands up and down over Peter’s shoulders. “Oh, no, I’m not–”
“Somebody order some obnoxiously-orange blankets?” an overly-chipper voice interrupts. Tony snaps his head up to see the other firefighter jogging back towards them, carrying two bright orange shock blankets that Tony’s never been more happy to see in his life. He nods to Peter. “This our hero?”
“Sure is, right, Pete?” Tony replies, looking over at Peter with as encouraging a smile as he can muster in the moment. But it falls right back into a worried frown as he takes in the way Peter merely continues to blink slowly, seemingly not even having registered the man’s presence or Tony’s comment. With increasing alarm Tony realizes that Peter is also shivering less than he was only a minute or two before, and he vigorously rubs the kid’s arms all the harder, no longer worried about being gentle. “Pete? You with us?”
Peter finally glances over at him, still lazily blinking. “W-Wha...?”
“Yep, Buck, this is Peter,” Eddie casually explains as he inflates the cuff, though he continues to keep a watchful eye on the teen. “He was just telling me how he’s from New York.”
“Oh, a northerner?” Buck grins, shaking out one of the blankets. “But our little L.A. cold snap is too much for you?”
It’s obviously meant as a joke—lighten the mood, build a rapport, all the stuff they surely learn in training—but Tony bristles nonetheless. “He doesn’t do well in the cold, okay?”
It comes out a little harsher than Tony intended it, but Buck remains unfazed. “Oh, me neither, man,” he admits, wrapping the blanket around Peter. “I moved here from Pennsylvania, but I have no plans to move back, let me tell ya. I do not miss the long underwear season...”
While Eddie continues to take vitals, Buck runs through a few short questions about the incident and Peter’s medical information. Outside of a few hums and the occasional murmur, Peter doesn’t seem very interested in answering them, so Tony fills in the gaps to the best of his ability, all while worry twists in his gut.
With every reading Eddie takes, his expression grows a little more serious. “Did Bobby and Hen already take off?” he asks his partner in a low voice.
Buck nods. “Yeah, as soon as they got Aiden stabilized and loaded up.” Warily, he reaches a hand up for the radio clipped to his shoulder. “Why? Need me to call someone?”
Eddie gives a grim nod. “Vitals are a little concerning. We got a BP of 85 over 60, pulse of 75.”
Buck frowns. “You thinking shock?”
Eddie hesitates, then nods again. “His respiration is low, but—it’s gotta be. Unless there’s some kind of underlying issue…”
“It’s not shock,” Tony says gruffly before he can stop himself. That immediately gets both Buck and Eddie’s attention, the pair looking at him with intense curiosity. “He’s just really cold.”
Buck clears his throat. “Uh, sir, I know it might seem strange since he’s not visibly injured, but all sorts of traumatic events can lead to shock, not just–”
“Right, I understand how shock works,” Tony interrupts, too concerned at Peter’s rapidly dropping temperature to bother with politeness. “I’m just telling you that that’s not what’s going on here.”
There’s another pause. “Okay, Dad, we hear you,” Eddie says slowly, and Tony doesn’t bother to correct him this time. “But if it’s not shock, then—what is it?”
Tony opens his mouth only to close it again, teeth clicking.
“Sir,” Eddie continues with new urgency, “if you don’t tell us then we can’t–”
“It’s hypothermia,” Tony interjects. Peter’s eyes are now fully closed, the kid instinctively burrowing his chin into his neck. He looks back at the two responders. “He’s very… susceptible to cold temperatures.”
“Susceptible how?” Buck demands, brow furrowing. “I know it’s chilly today, but the chances of hypothermia occurring this quickly if he was only in the water for a few minutes are–”
“His pulse is at just over 50 now, Buck,” Eddie interrupts in a low tone. His expression is one of grave concern when he looks over at Tony. “Sir, in order to give Peter the best care we need you to level with us. And that means everything.”
“Is this because you’re Tony Stark?” Buck asks quietly before Tony gets a chance to respond. “Because we don’t care that Iron Man has a secret love child or whatever, we just want to help the kid.”
Tony closes his eyes, before looking back down at Peter. The kid is ashen-faced, his lips pale. He’s barely staying upright of his own volition, leaning more on Tony with every passing second.
They’re past the point of no return, Tony realizes with a new rush of panic. He has to come clean.
“If this gets out, I’m suing you both for all you’re worth,” he threatens, only to be surprised when both Eddie and Buck laugh as if he just made a silly joke.
Buck raises his arms up placatingly. “Believe me, I’ve had enough of lawsuits, Mister Stark. Just spill so we can help Peter.”
Tony takes a deep breath. “He’s enhanced.” At the twin pairs of raised eyebrows he continues, “Enhanced as in, a radioactive spider bit him and altered his DNA, which gave him certain abilities.”
“Abilities,” Buck repeats dumbly. “Such as...?”
“Super strength, enhanced healing factor, heightened senses to name a few,” Tony quickly lists off, Peter now fully ensconced in his arms. “Flip-side is they come with some serious thermoregulation issues.”
“Gotcha,” Eddie says with a nod, having moved past his astonishment and back into professional mode. “So, a dip in the ocean on a day like today could be–”
“Really dangerous,” Tony admits.
“Then there’s no time to waste,” Eddie replies. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
Tony immediately shakes his head. “No, he can’t be taken to a–”
“Buck, get a backboard from the truck and radio Chim. Tell him we need emergency medical transport stat,” Eddie orders smoothly, ignoring Tony.
Buck doesn’t bother replying, just takes off for the parking lot again.
“Can’t you just treat him in the ambulance?” Tony asks pleadingly as he watches Eddie once more check Peter’s vitals.
“Absolutely not,” Eddie replies, still focused on Peter. After a few moments he glances back up at Tony. The aggravated concern must be all over his face still because Eddie adds in a softer voice, “Look, I understand you’re just trying to protect him. But this is a life or death matter, and I’m not risking Peter’s life. So unless you have another idea—he’s going to UCLA Med.”
Tony grits his teeth. He doesn’t argue, though he can’t help but curse silently to himself. It’s bad enough two unvetted strangers already know Peter’s secret. But if word gets out at a major metropolitan hospital, well… Spider-Man’s identity will likely be plastered all over Times Square within the hour. And that’s one of the better scenarios Tony can think of.
The only words exchanged for the next few minutes are Eddie and Tony speaking encouragingly in turns to Peter, who is past the point of words, but is at least responding to commands to keep his eyes open.
Buck is just returning with the backboard when things go fully sideways. Peter completely slumps into Tony’s arms, head lolling.
“Pete? Wake up, Pete!” Tony tries, jostling him, but the kid doesn’t so much as twitch. The lack of response has Tony’s heart leaping up in his throat. “Eddie—Buck, he’s–”
“He’s going to be alright. Chim is on his way with the ambulance,” Buck reassures, voice calm as he reaches for Peter. “Let’s get him on the board so we can get him to a doctor, okay?”
Tony curses, but lets the pair take Peter from his arms, expertly setting him on the board and strapping him in. Within seconds the group is heading back down the beach, Tony at the back, somehow having ended up with the medical bag while Buck and Eddie carry Peter.
It’s just then the sun finally makes an appearance, popping out between the clouds and sending waves of bright light down across the sandy beach. The change momentarily blinds Tony, and even in his panic he finds himself wishing he had his sunglasses on him, that he could shield his–
Tony gasps, eyes going wide. He jogs clumsily across the sand until he’s caught up with the others. “Eddie, I know where we can take him.”
“Where’s that?”
“SHIELD’s Los Angeles HQ.”
“SHIELD as in Strategic Homeland?” Buck repeats skeptically. “Nah, we were there just last month. A coffee maker caught on fire. The place is nothing but offices.”
“Aboveground, yes,” Tony shoots back. “But there’s a larger facility underneath, including a fully stocked medical area. I’ve seen it in person. Believe me, it’s much safer for him to go there.” When neither man replies, he adds in frustration, “Look, I’ll cut you both a check if I have to, whatever you want, just–”
“We don’t take bribes, Mister Stark,” Eddie interrupts with a curt shake of his head. To Buck he says, “What do you think?”
Buck considers the question. After a few moments he looks back at Eddie, shrugging. “Just gotta get Chim on board, but I think if we explain…”
The two responders share a long look before glancing back at Tony and giving him twin nods. Tony nods back in solemn gratitude. Far better that only one more person has to be in-the-know versus an entire emergency department’s worth.
They finally reach the parking lot just as the ambulance Buck called for arrives. A medic who Tony assumes must be Chim steps out from the front.
“Heard you could use a lift,” he says by way of greeting, eyes flitting across Peter’s still form with professional assessment before he opens the back doors for the group.
“You heard right,” Eddie replies. “Chim, listen…”
Tony doesn’t pay further attention to the words exchanged between the trio, instead pulling out his phone and making a quick call to one of Fury’s West Coast underlings. He doesn’t bother giving specifics, just lets them know to expect an ambulance with three LAFD personnel, himself and one very cold Spider-Man at the headquarters imminently.
By the time he hangs up Peter has already been loaded into the back where Eddie and Buck are with him. Buck reaches out a hand to help Tony climb in, closing the doors behind him only to call out to Chim, “Cleared to go!”
The ambulance rockets forward, Tony hearing the siren begin to blare overhead but paying it no mind as he watches Buck and Eddie work on Peter, quickly peeling off his outer wet layers of clothing and wrapping him tightly in the blankets.
“He doesn’t have bulletproof skin, does he?” Buck asks with full seriousness, holding up an IV.
“No, thank god,” Tony replies, taking Peter’s nearest hand in his—worry climbing again at how freezing and limp it feels.
“Good.” Buck expertly slides the needle into the crook of Peter’s arm, messing around with some wires before looking at the teen’s slack face with a kind smile. “Because we left the Kryptonite needles back at the station.”
Eddie gives a short laugh, then suddenly frowns as though he’s just remembered something. “Actually, that’s a good question. Is there anything else we need to know about, enhancement-related?” he asks as he continues working to rewarm Peter. “Allergies or anything like that?”
“No.” Tony shakes his head. “Not unless you’re planning to give him peppermint.”
“Peppermint?”
“Or pesticide,” Tony adds. “Or citronella, or lemongrass, or straight vinegar.”
“Wait,” Buck says, still staring at Peter. “Is he…?” He turns to lock eyes with Tony. “Is this Spider-Man?”
Before Tony can respond, Eddie rolls his eyes at his partner. “Buck, c’mon,” he chides. “Be serious.”
“I’m dead serious.” Buck starts ticking each point off on his fingers. “He’s from New York, got bit by a spider, super strength, can’t thermoregulate, doesn’t like bug repellant–”
“That’s not how this works,” Eddie protests.
“Well,” Tony begins, his tone the auditory equivalent of a shrug. “It’s not not how it works…”
“No.” Eddie turns to look at him, utter disbelief on his features. “No way. He’s a child.”
“‘M s-seventeen,” a small voice chatters from underneath the mound of orange blankets.
A flood of relief washes over Tony as he looks down to see Peter blinking up at him, still concerningly pale and disoriented-looking, but not quite as ghostly as before. He squeezes the kid’s hand reassuringly. “Hey. Glad to have you back, bud.”
Peter’s gaze moves around the ambulance, his expression growing worried. “Are w-w-we… g-going to the h-hospital?”
“SHIELD base,” Tony explains, which only makes the creases in Peter’s forehead deepen. “It’s okay, Pete. They know, but they’re not gonna say anything. Confidentiality.”
That seems to appease the kid. He makes a small, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat before his eyelids start to close again.
“Hey, no, Peter, we need you to stay awake,” Eddie says, tapping the boy on the shoulder until his eyelids pry themselves back open. “At least until we can get the doctors to check you out, okay?”
“‘M t-tired…” Peter murmurs, still shivering. Tony pulls the blankets a little tighter around him.
“I know,” Eddie says gently, “but it’s important, okay?”
“That’s right,” Tony agrees, rubbing Peter’s arm briskly. “You can have a nap once you stop being a spider-cicle.”
Peter lets out a small moan, but Tony’s glad when it sounds more annoyed than anything else.
“Hey Peter,” Buck says, diverting the boy’s attention—albeit much slower that usual. “I’ve always wondered, how does Spider-Man climb up buildings?”
The blanket mound shifts ever so slightly as Peter pokes his index finger out from under it. He touches it to Buck’s finger, which is resting on the gurney, letting their skin adhere together.
Buck’s jaw drops. “Holy crap.” He tries to pull his finger back, only taking Peter’s with it. Turning, he gapes at his partner. “You seeing this?”
“I’m seeing it,” Eddie confirms.
“I’m r-really st… st-sticky,” Peter says through chattering teeth.
“Incredible.” A grin spreads across Buck’s face as he moves his finger around, taking Peter’s along with it. “So you literally just stick yourself to the sides of skyscrapers? Like some kind of human suction cup?”
“More like a syrupy preschooler on pancake day,” Tony quips, eliciting a very weak approximation of a glare from the kid, but Tony’s still grateful for it. Anything that keeps him awake and talking.
Buck seems to have similar thoughts. Still grinning, he turns back to Eddie. “You know when you asked me last week what superpower I’d want? Well, I’m changing my answer.”
Eddie raises an eyebrow skeptically. “You’d rather be sticky than able to fly?“
“Yeah, because then I could scale buildings,” Buck emphasizes. “How is that not more useful for our job?” He looks down at the kid. “Peter, back me up here.”
Peter gives a shaky nod. “No m-more... ladders,” he agrees.
It’s clear what they’re doing—trying to engage Peter in conversation to keep him alert. Tony figures he can play his part. “Sorry kid, but Eddie’s right. Flying is better,” he declares.
“I c-can swing though,” Peter points out. “And sh-shoot webs, which can re-re-repair structural d-damage.”
“Ooh, that’s a good point,” Buck interjects, bobbing his head up and down enthusiastically. “The webs would be useful, Eddie. Plus we could detain the bad guys.”
Tony frowns. “Aren’t you a firefighter?”
“Eh,” Buck shrugs. “We get shot at more than you’d think.”
“You can web them, sure,” Eddie allows, “but if they shoot you, it’s still gonna hurt. That’s why Iron Man is better. He’s got armor.”
“Not to mention a hydraulic lifting system,” Tony adds. “Which, I can confirm, comes in handy for rescue missions.”
“See, Buck?”
“Don’t n-need it if you’ve got s...super strength,” Peter argues.
“Exactly!” Buck agrees. “Plus, if you put Iron Man in a blaze, he’d roast in there. Like a potato wrapped in tin-foil. No offense, sir,” he tacks on quickly when Tony balks and Peter starts to giggle.
The two firefighters keep up the banter for the ten minutes or so that it takes to get to the SHIELD base, and by that time, Peter’s condition has improved enough that despite his less-than-ideal vitals, he’s begging Tony to just take him home.
“No way in hell, kid,” Tony declares as one of the SHIELD nurses wheels over a new gurney. “We pulled so many strings to make this happen that I’m gonna be filling out paperwork for the next week. The least you can do is make it worth my while.”
Peter grumbles, but still allows them to transfer him to the new gurney.
Finally feeling like he can relax now that Peter has been handed off to the SHIELD medical team, Tony turns to Buck and Eddie.
“Thank you for looking after him,” he shakes both their hands, “and I don’t just mean keeping him from freezing to death.”
“Y-yeah, thank you,” Peter says from where’s sleepily listening in from the gurney, a nurse strapping him in.
“Just doing our job,” Buck replies congenially. “Though, Pete—maybe think twice before diving into the ocean on a chilly day again, huh? Don’t always have to be the hero.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Eddie teases him, making the kid giggle again. “It was really nice to meet you Peter. You’ll have to come back and visit L.A. sometime when it’s a little less arctic.”
“Yeah, better luck next time, man,” Buck agrees.
Tony laughs, smirking at Peter. “Better luck indeed.”
Peter just groans.