Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

TBIs, with a brief history of Bastille

Spooktober 28: Staples

By all means, and in every definition, Tony doesn't like it when kids get injured— kids, meaning, anybody under eighteen, and more recently, anybody under twenty-five. Jesus, he's getting old— which is a pretty fair rule. Nobody likes when kids get hurt. If you do, you're probably a sick and twisted individual that Tony would love to spit on in a jail cell, or you're Rhodey binging old reruns of AFV instead of doing government paperwork.

Anyways, Tony tries very hard to keep any young ones, chickadees, rascals, scallywags, munchkins, younglings, whippersnappers, juveniles, the youth, scamps, rapscallions, whatever you want to call them, away from Avengers battlefields; whether they be space, a street, or some secret third thing.

So he's not exactly sure how this one slipped through his fingers. Curly-haired Michelle Jones, who he'd had the short pleasure of meeting at the last Parker extended family dinner. She had given him quite the scare.

("Shit! What are you doing here?" Tony tossed a chunk of building off into the street and swung back to meet her. "You should not be here. It's dangerous, kid. You're smart, you should know that."

Michelle heaved, a crowbar held in a white-clawed grip. She had blood dripping from her nose, which she wiped off with her torn sleeve.

"I followed Spider-Man," she said, weightily. "He escaped from gym class. I got worried."

Tony decided he would wisely think about the parameters of all that entailed later. He refocused on the way Michelle was holding a hand to the back of her head. "You're bleeding, did you get hit?"

She nodded, taking another deep breath. The blood is dripping down her arm, soaking her shirt. "Well, yeah, genius. And, also, I think I have a concussion."

Then Tony saw a look in her eyes that was wildly familiar— and he lunged to catch her right before she pitched forward.)

"So, run it by me again, if you don't mind," Tony runs a hand over his face.

"Peter snuck out of gym," Michelle repeats blankly, the tone of someone who has indeed been forced to rehash the same story again and again. "I followed him. Last time he did that, it was because he was hiding sepsis and nearly died in the bathrooms."

"Jesus." Tony sighs. "And when did you know he was Spider-Man? Does he know that you know?"

"He knows, he told me," Michelle says casually. Then adds, "after I figured it out, though. It was easy."

"Right. Well, funny. He didn't think to mention that to me. Almost like he forgot that it was a relevant detail for me to know about his extracurricular activities or something." Tony sits back in the vinyl chair and crosses his arms.

"Weird. Sounds like a personal problem."

They stare at each other. Silence meets both of them.

Tony hums in consideration as he studies the odd kid in his med bay. One of Peter's closest friends, the one he's sweetest on. She's got spark. Tony likes her.

His eyes flick up to the IV she's been set on. "Pain meds working?"

"Good enough," she acquiesces. She's blinking slow, but her words are clear. "I can't feel the staples in my head, so, I can't complain."

"Guess not."

"Peter's going to think this is his fault," Michelle says suddenly, her mouth twisting in an uncomfortable expression. "Isn't he?"

"Probably." Tony drums his fingers across his thigh. A thought crosses his mind, and he lets it start to turn. "What do you think?"

Michelle spots a game for what it is immediately. She narrows her eyes in suspicion. "What do I think about what?"