Fixing Spider-Man

Peter Parker had faced worse. He’d been thrown through buildings, webbed to exploding drones, and once—once—had to sit through a three-hour lecture from Tony about proper web-fluid viscosity. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the sheer terror of being fussed over by the Stark family.

It started with a simple mission. A HYDRA remnant had gotten its hands on some Chitauri tech, and Tony had called Peter in for backup. The fight was quick, mostly hand-to-hand goons with malfunctioning repulsors. Peter had taken a particularly nasty fall—twenty feet onto concrete—and rolled his ankle. He’d finished the mission, webbed up the last bad guy, and landed on the Quinjet with a wince.

Tony noticed, of course. He always noticed. “You’re limping,” he said, not looking up from the diagnostics on his tablet.

“I’m not,” Peter lied, hopping slightly as he sat down.

Tony’s gaze flicked up, sharp and assessing. “You’re hopping. That’s worse.”

By the time they landed at the compound, Friday had already alerted Pepper, who was waiting with a first-aid kit and a look that said, “I love you, but you’re an idiot.” Morgan was there too, clutching a Band-Aid with Iron Man’s face on it.

“Uncle Peter! You’re hurt!” Morgan’s voice was a mix of concern and excitement. She held up the Band-Aid. “I have a superhero one!”

“Thanks, kiddo,” Peter said, ruffling her hair. “I think I need something bigger, though.”

“Nonsense,” Tony said, taking the Band-Aid from Morgan. “This is high-grade Stark tech. It fixes everything.” He slapped it onto Peter’s forehead, where there wasn’t even a scratch.

“Tony, he’s hurt, not a wall for you to decorate,” Pepper said, gently removing the Band-Aid. “Let’s get that ankle elevated.”

Harley Keener, who had been visiting for the weekend, sauntered in with a bag of frozen peas. “Figured you’d need this. Also, nice landing. I gave it a 6.5.”

“Shut up, Harley,” Peter groaned, but he was smiling.

The next hour was a blur of ibuprofen, ice packs, and unsolicited advice. Harley insisted on showing Peter the “correct way” to fall—which ended with him sprawled on the floor. Morgan brought a stuffed animal for Peter to hold. Tony argued with Pepper about the merits of a nanotech ankle brace vs. a traditional ACE bandage. Pepper won.

Through it all, Peter felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the heating pad someone had placed under his foot. This was family. Chaotic, loud, and ridiculous.

“Alright, everyone out,” Tony finally declared, shooing Pepper, Morgan, and Harley out of the room. He sat down next to Peter, his voice dropping. “You did good today, kid. But next time, call for backup before you decide to audition for a stunt show.”

“I had it under control,” Peter said, but his ankle throbbed in protest.

“Sure you did. That’s why you’re sitting here with a bag of peas on your foot.” Tony smirked. “Stay off it for a day. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony stood, then paused. “Oh, and Peter? Happy early birthday.” He tossed a small box onto Peter’s lap. Inside was a sleek, silver ankle brace with the Spider-Man logo.

Peter blinked. “My birthday isn’t for two months.”

“I know. But I figured you’d need it now.” Tony winked and walked out, leaving Peter laughing despite the pain.

Yeah, he definitely had the best family a guy could ask for.