Drop Dead Legs - Starker

Drop Dead Legs

I.

The first time Tony noticed was innocent.

The moment took place shortly after Peter turned down the opportunity to become a full-fledged Avenger. While he may not have been ready at that time for the Iron Spider upgrade, his original Stark suit was both well-loved and well used. Just because it was a certified Stark™ product did not mean that it was indestructible. Yes, it could withstand a fair amount of damage, but it had limitations as it lacked the standard heft or protection that an Iron Man suit had.

Because of that, plus Peter’s aptitude for finding trouble, it wasn’t long before Peter ended up in Tony’s lab with a significant tear.

“Thanks for letting me swing by on such short notice, Mr. Stark,” Peter said as he approached the hunched over figure of his mentor who had yet to take his eyes off the soldering iron in his hand. Not that the boy had noticed; his own wide gaze was wandering around the lab in wonder. “Thought it’d be best to get it fixed before I managed to make it any worse, you know?”

Finishing a seal and setting his tools down, Tony finally took a look at the spiderling patiently waiting at his side. His eyes moved from the teenager down to the tear in question. When he discovered the culprit, he couldn’t help but be startled. “So, Pete…”

“Yeah, Mr. Stark?” he asked innocently, his gaze snapping quickly back to his idol sitting before him.

“I’m guessing the tear in your suit is… somewhere beneath all that blood?” Tony asked with a dead-panned tone. “That you’re… currently dripping throughout my lab.” He cocked his head to the side to look past the boy.

“Er—yeah, shit—I mean shoot. Sorry!” Peter responded in a panic. His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as his eyes glanced back at the spotty trail he had left when he entered that was now being mopped up by Dum-E. “I, uh, got distracted.” His eyes returned to gazing excitedly at his surroundings.

Tony sighed. While he could understand the fascination and general awe of seeing his lab for the first time, the fact that Peter was seemingly unphased by what appeared to be a severe laceration was astonishing. “Come on,” he said, gesturing to a nearby empty desk. When he reached it, he patted on the desk, the sound of the contact reverberating with its metal surface. “Up,” he instructed as he meandered his way to grab the well-used first aid kit. Considering the boy’s composed demeanor, Tony attempted to appear calm and collect rather than wearing his deep concern on his sleeve.

Peter effortlessly hopped on the table and obediently waited for Mr. Stark’s further direction.

Equipped with the first aid kit, a damp towel, and a pair of scissors, Tony rolled his chair over to where his patient sat to assess the damage. As he began to clean the wound with the towel, he noticed with relief that his wound had already started clotting. “Well, doesn’t look like you need stitches.” The depth of the wound wasn’t as significant as its length, running from his ankle to slightly below the knee. “What the hell caused this?” he asked.

“A knife, I think,” Peter responded innocently.

“You got stabbed?” he bellowed. All emotional restraint Tony had been trying to project was promptly thrown out the window. His posture immediately tightened as his brow furrowed. A sour feeling was now apparent in his gut.

“I mean, yeah, I guess?” the boy cringed. “Though I think technically it was more of a slashing motion,” he mimicked a swiping with his hand like he was acting out a game of charades. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony heaved, knowing that Peter would likely be the death of him. “Are you seriously trying to argue semantics? There shouldn’t have been a knife at all. What the hell happened to sticking to plan—the whole friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man thing?”