Bruised But Not Broken - Irondad/spiderson

Band-Aids won't fix this

Tony POV

I don't open the door.

I stand there instead, hand hovering a few inches from the handle, like touching it might break something fragile beyond repair.

May's words echo in my head.

Scared to face you.

That one lands deep. Deeper than the broken glass. Deeper than the blood on the floor. Deeper than the security footage I can't unsee.

I've scared gods, aliens, world-ending maniacs.

But a kid?

That wasn't supposed to be me.

I glance back at May. She's watching me like she's braced for impact—like she's ready to throw herself between us if she has to. Protective. Exhausted. Furious in that quiet, terrifying way only parents get.

"I'm not here to yell," I say softly. It feels important to say it out loud. Like if I don't, it won't be true.

She studies my face, searching for cracks. For lies.

Finally, she nods once. Barely.

I turn back to the door.

Lower my voice.

"Peter," I say, not even sure if he can hear me. "It's Tony. I'm not coming in."

No response.

I wait anyway.

I don't hear movement. Don't hear breathing. But I know he's awake. Kids like him always are when they're supposed to be resting. Minds too loud. Hearts running laps.

"I just wanted you to know... you don't have to explain anything tonight," I continue. "Or tomorrow. Or ever, if that's what you need."

My throat tightens. I hate that. I hate losing control of my own damn voice.

"I screwed up," I admit quietly. "I pushed when I should've slowed down. I treated you like a project when you're a person. And that's on me."

Still nothing.

I rest my forehead against the doorframe.

God, he's so small on that bed. I saw him earlier—curled in on himself like he was trying to disappear into the mattress. Bones sharp. Skin pale. Healing fast, sure—but healing isn't the same as okay.

"I'm not mad," I say. "I was scared. That's different. Took me... longer than it should've to learn that."

I exhale slowly.

"You didn't fail," I add. "You didn't disappoint me. You didn't ruin anything."

That part matters. I know it does.

"I'm not taking anything away from you," I say firmly. "Not the suit. Not the internship. Not me."

I straighten, forcing myself to step back from the door.

"You're safe," I finish. "I promise."

I don't wait for a reply.

I don't think I could handle one.

Later, I'm in the kitchen pretending to clean something that's already spotless.

Pepper leans against the counter across from me, arms folded, eyes sharp. She hasn't said anything yet. That's worse.

"He jumped," I say finally.

She nods. "I know."

"Out of my building," I continue, staring at my hands. "Without webs. Without gear. Without thinking."

"Sounds like panic," she says gently.

"Sounds like something I should've seen coming," I snap, then immediately regret it.

Pepper doesn't flinch. She never does.

"You're good at preparing for threats," she says. "You're not great at noticing when someone's drowning quietly."

I close my eyes.

"Yeah," I mutter. "Noted."

She softens, stepping closer, resting her hand on my arm.

"He's alive," she says. "He came home. He trusted May. That counts for something."

I swallow.

"I watched him bleed on my floor," I say. "Again. And I didn't even know he was hurting like that."

Pepper's grip tightens.

"You do now," she says. "So what are you going to do?"

I think of the kid in the room down the hall. Of the way he flinched when too many eyes were on him. Of the way he eats like it's an obligation. Of the way he apologizes for existing.

"I'm going to slow down," I say. "I'm going to shut up more. Listen more."

Pepper raises an eyebrow.

"That's... ambitious."

I snort weakly.

"I'm also calling in some favors," I add. "Doctor who doesn't wear a white coat. Therapist who doesn't freak out over capes. Training that doesn't feel like a firing squad."

"And the suit?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"The suit stays," I say. "But it doesn't run his life."

Pepper smiles faintly. "Good."

I glance down the hallway again.

"Tomorrow," I say. "I'll check on him. Not as Iron Man. Not as his boss."

Pepper tilts her head. "As what?"

I think about that.

The answer scares me a little.

"As someone who's not leaving," I say quietly.