If They Knew All About You

This Might Sting a Little

Tony's hands were resting on the cold porcelain of his bathroom sink. His eyes cast down, unfocused, as he stared at the space somewhere between the faucet and the tiled wall. His mind was focused on his breathing, long deep breaths to push down the queasy feeling in his stomach. He reached for the tap, splashed some water on his face and rubbed his hands sharply across it. A creative amount of curse words fell out of his mouth, too low and muffled by his hands to even reach his own ears. He looked up and stared at his own reflection in the mirror.

This was a horrible idea. He was no physician! Stitching up a wound on himself was one thing. This was insane. And reckless. Irresponsible.

He groaned, "Did I mention insane?" He was in way over his head...

The kid was right to be scared of a trip to the hospital though. If Tony would drag him there and they figured out that the boy was an enhanced... He had no idea if pointers to the kid's powers would pop up in some way when the hospital would test his blood type to give him a possible transfusion, which they were bound to do.

Shit... Should he test the kid's blood in case he needed a transfusion? In case Tony screwed this up royally?

Well, he had no idea how to set up a blood transfusion anyway, so probably a no on that one. If he wasn't able to stop the bleeding by stitching up the wound...

Fuck... Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

His fists pounded the sink in frustration. He'd gotten next to nothing out of the boy. He needed parents' names, relatives, friends... just someone. Someone that could weigh the boy's current state and health risks versus the danger of him ending up in government custody. Anyone but him who could make this decision.

And it wasn't just the boy's safety that was at stake here. If the hospital would connect the dots, they'd inform the police, who would inform the government and Ross would have a field day with Tony's involvement with a vigilante. He had been working hard enough as it was to keep the Avengers out of trouble with the officials, careful not to give them any ammunition they could use against his team. He could absolutely not be caught trying to smuggle the Spiderling past the authorities. But he couldn't give the boy up to them either. Not with Ross still in charge. He couldn't have that on his conscience. He wouldn't.

The Compound then. FRIDAY might be able to sneak them in. He'd have access to more supplies, medical staff, and antibiotics. But Tony wasn't entirely sure of the Compound staff's loyalty. Sure, he was the one paying their salaries, but when it came to social skills and unintelligent small talk, Rogers and especially Wilson had him beat. The blame for Ultron was still squarely put on Tony as well, which hadn't left him on the best terms with Helen Cho. Rogers surely would find some way to put the blame that Spider-Man turned out to be an under-aged kid on him somehow. Especially if that particular bit of information was snitched to him by the Compound staff.

Tony shifted on his feet and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't in control of this situation at all and he was not ok with that. Too much that he didn't know about the boy. The rest of the team was pissed off already that they were outplayed that afternoon. That they almost messed it up. There was no telling on how much of the fault they'd pass of to the kid and then him by association. If anyone knew about being passed the blame for a fuck-up it would be him. Chances were that kind of heat would break the kid.

Well, it followed that he would have to deal with those stitches on his own for now.

He stood up straight, slid the mirror to the side, which revealed a collection of bandages, medical tape, and disinfectants as well as his suture kit. After another deep sigh, he reached for the kit, gloves and for some of the other supplies that would come in handy. As he made his way back to the living room, the boy was still stretched out on the table where Tony had left him. He knelt down next to him, the supplies still firmly in his hands. The dressing he had applied to the boy's side was already soaked again. A small stream of blood had seeped through the bandage and was slowly flowing down his side and pooling beneath the kid on the table.