Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

Spider in a Jar

Spooktober 27: Mad Scientist

⚠️TW: implied human experiments, implied torture, graphic injury⚠️  

The air was dense, heavy with a thick coating of dust and spots of dried blood dotting along the rim hallway. Tony's palm is outstretched, a beam of light from the repulsor leading a trail forward for him.

He's following the heat signature in his helmet's visor, trailing down the abandoned, decrepit building with his nose upturned in disgust. Cement crumbled from broken walls littered cracked floors, the whole place looked as if it would fall apart with one determined gust of wind.

He remembered something the kid told him one night, a smile feeble on his tear-stained face and his tight-strung fingers clung around the sleeve of Tony's sweatshirt. He said how he didn't like buildings that looked like they were about to fall apart. Because, he said, as lightly as he could with the stress in his jaw, he didn't ever want to be under the rubble of one ever again.

There was no kid who deserved to be kept in a building like this, but the fact that Peter was here, in a place Tony knew he was hating, only stood to make his blood boil and even more violent red. He was leaving this place with Peter in his arms, whether the asshole who took him here ended up alive or dead.

Speaking of, he was rounding the corner now. Two heat signatures. One sitting, one standing beside. The one sitting was of a smaller frame. Tony narrowed his eyes.

"Run diagnostics," Tony muttered, low. "I want to see vitals."

Silently, FRIDAY brought up a reading of the two. As suspected, the standing one had every normal except for an elevated heart rate, Tony caught that up to psycho-induced adrenaline. The sitting one— Peter— his vitals were all over the place. Higher temperature than Tony would like, increased pulse. He'd have him checked better as he could get him to a hospital.

He wouldn't be waiting any longer

He kicked through the door, raising his palms and striding forward. He didn't make any moves to actually blast anything, because again, this place was one wrong move from a detrimental collapse.

Tony could hear the laboured breathing coming from Peter beside him, but at that moment, his eyes were glued to the perpetrator who was scrambling backwards. A scrawny, ashen-faced man, wrinkles in his face and his hair a silvery, copper toned mess of waves, overgrown under his ears. His eyes wide behind wirey rectangular glasses, nose twitching like a rat while he scowled madly.

"Get back," Tony ordered. He was yelling. He could hear it, only after it fell from his tongue, and found he really didn't give a shit how loud he was. This man was too close, and he was going to fix it right now.

The man's back hit the wall. He had a white lab coat on, pristine compared to the rest of the building, except for the fresh and old crimson blooms around the sleeves and imprinted faintly across the front.

Tony's gaze flicked over the blood stains, and wildly, he felt every joint in his body tense with an indescribable rage. His ribs snapped, something feral taking over him, something fiercely protective. He wordlessly raised his palms and shot out a series of small mechanical anchors, pinning the man to the wall by his very skin.

The man seethed in pain, twisted, and then yelled when the movement only increased his pain. Good, Tony thought.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Tony was faster. He shot a band of metal his way, which immediately took refuge to clamp over the man's mouth, leaving any attempt at speech muffled.

With that taken care of, Tony finally turned to look at his kid.

On the way here, Tony had physically restrained himself from imagining what Peter may have looked like. Anything Tony's mind came up with, even in passing, was painful, nauseating, too much for him to bear. It was distracting, because any mental image he conjured of the kid in various states of distress had him weak in the knees, and he needed to be strong if he was going to rescue him.

And by god, Tony was going to rescue him.

But, now that he's looking at him, looking at the teenager who he's only ever been able to describe as 'bright' in every sense of the word, he couldn't help but admit that all of his mind's nightmares still couldn't compare to the shock of the real thing.

Peter's head was tilted, facing down so only a mess of sweaty, blood-soaked curly hair was visible rather than his face. His trembling shoulders heaved up and down, as he breathed in too fast, too shallow, and the kid was sniffling, making weak groans of pain when he did so.

The suit was torn at his waist, exposing his chest— full of methodical pin-prick marks, each about an inch apart. Some swollen and irritated looking, some bruised. He was hooked up to an IV, a dark, deep blue liquid flowing into the vein of his arm. His skin was blanched, with the exception of carefully crafted wounds that were lacklusterly cleaned, leaving flaked blood where Tony would usually see freckles.

He'd been used as a science experiment. That was clear. Peter Parker, reduced to just some creature to prod at, as if weren't the most deserving of everyone in the world to respect, safety, and— and love.

And Tony was...

He was...

"Kid," Tony's voice broke, so full of grief and guilt and horror that it splintered, crackled, like burning wood. He was caught between wanting to cradle him, or turning over to strangle the person who did this to him.

Of course, he chose Peter. He would always choose Peter.

His footsteps were fast and purposeful as they crossed the space. "FRIDAY, what do I do? What am I doing here? Help me get him out."

"Gently pull the IV," FRIDAY said immediately. "It may be needed later for analysis."

What went unsaid was haunting, that the fluid being pumped through his kid's blood could be something that needed an emergency antidote, as if this wasn't stressful enough. Tony cursed violently and let the nanoparticles of his suit fall away from his hands. This would require a delicate touch.

He took Peter's wrist with one hand and gently guided his arm up. Peter made a pitiful sound, something between an annoyed groan and a pained whimper.

"I know," Tony muttered. "I know, Underoos. Hang in there, I'm getting you out."

He carefully tilted Peter's arm, and then slowly pulled out the IV with a grimace.

Peter choked a breath, his arm twitching under Tony's hands. "Ow..."

Tony looked up in surprise, and relief, because Peter just spoke, and maybe he wasn't as horrifically injured as he looked. It wouldn't be the first time. "Pete?"

Peter's head tilted towards Tony. He still was looking down, for no other reason than he was simply too weak to lift his chin.

"My name?" He mumbled, sounding so confused, and so young that Tony's heart burned a pit deep in his chest.

"Yeah," Tony said. He forced a weak smile, and ran a hand up through the kid's hair. "Yeah, kiddie. That's your name."

"Mh."

He shifted to Peter's side, and thanked his past-self for making the suit so strong, if not for the very purpose of being able to safely pick Peter up.

"FRIDAY, I'm getting the kid out of here and back to the Compound. Get a doctor ready," Tony said carefully, maneuvering the two of them out of the room. He jaw grated with his next bitterly-chosen words. "And someone else to get the bastard who did this out of this building and out of this city before I send him out of this mortal plane."

"Yes boss."

With his left hand, still free of nanoparticles, he swept it over Peter's forehead, flushed with fever. His eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed with a confused distress. Tony bit back as much of his concern as he could, but some of it escaped with a deep sigh.

Peter mumbled, curling into the cool metal of the Iron Man chest plate and placing his forehead firm against it. He let out a soft exhale, and the distress eased slightly.

"Okay, sickie," Tony said with a frown. "Let's get you home."

With that, he lifted off the ground and began his flight back to the Compound.