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maicaly · 2 years

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Febuwhump Day 25 - Muffled screams

Read on Ao3

Summary: Peter is taken hostage at a gala that Tony is presenting at.

-----

Peter doesn’t realize something is wrong until it’s much, much too late.

He’s sitting in the front row facing a large stage, his knee bouncing fast and Tony, sitting beside him, having to nudge him every thirty seconds to get him to stop. But it’s not Peter’s fault he’s excited. It’s not exactly everyday your literal hero invites you to a prestigious engineering conference, after all.

When the keynote speaker before Tony presents is wrapping up, his mentor leans over and whispers, “having fun, kid?”

Peter nods vigorously, his knee bouncing again. “This is great, Mr. Stark. Really. Thank you.”

“No snoring during my presentation, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good,” Tony says, squeezing Peter’s shoulder with a calm, fond expression. Peter is struck by it for a moment, but before he can dwell too long, Tony’s name is called and he stands, waving back to the audience. As Tony walks to center stage, Peter scoots forward in his chair, his hand tightening around his pen and every ounce of concentration pouring into Tony. How he walks, how he smiles, how he acknowledges the screen behind him when it lights up with a powerpoint on nanotechnology.

He absorbs every word as if they’re the key to saving humanity. Heck, maybe they are. His concentration is so unbreakable, he’s sure he wouldn’t even notice if the back of the room exploded.

Which is why, he figures in hindsight, everything went wrong in the first place.

Halfway through Tony’s presentation, he’s grabbed from behind. Three bullets are fired into the ceiling at close range, causing most in the busy auditorium to scream and scatter. Before he can fully react to the danger, his arms are wrestled out of his lap and handcuffed behind the chair. A thick wad of fabric is forced between his teeth, followed by a heavy strip of tape over his lips, sealing it in. Two guns are aimed at him point blank on both the left and right.

All in the span of ten seconds.

The other guests continue to cry and scramble to the exits, though the group of thugs seem to pay them no mind. Their eyes are trained on the stage. On Tony. Peter stares up at him, his chest aching with how fast his heart is beating. And Tony, Peter decides, looks worse. His hands are shaking at his sides, his face screwed into fury.

Peter tries to twist out of the cuffs, and almost immediately the guns on either side of his head draw closer, pressing hard against each temple. He stills, knowing for certain that this isn’t something he can dodge.

Tony must see it too, because he raises his hands up by his heads, his palms spread wide. “Hey, hey. Back off. What the hell do you want?”

His microphone is still on, carrying the anxious tremor in his voice into every corner of the auditorium. Most of the people in the room have disappeared. Peter hopes they have enough common sense to call the police.

“Twenty million dollars. You have four minutes to transfer the money to the provided account, or your intern dies.”

Peter watches as one of the thugs walks up to Tony, handing him a slip of paper and a burner phone. His hands curl into fists around the items, like he’s about to punch the man. But then his eyes graze across Peter and he loses his strength. He looks at someone above where Peter can see, his face leaking with desperation. “That’s not enough time. Give me more time.”

“I believe you have enough motivation to meet our time limit, Stark.”

Peter’s head is forced back by a heavily muscled arm, forcing his eyes to the ceiling as the barrel of a gun is placed firmly at the base of his throat. From his new position, he can’t see Tony at all. He’s surprised by the white, blinding panic that it causes.

It’s hard to breathe through the tight grip the man has on his neck, but Peter forces himself to be calm. For once, he’s completely helpless.

He trusts Mr. Stark to make the right call.

Each minute lasts an eternity. Somewhere through his blurred panic, he hears Tony trying to bargain. And when it doesn’t work, he hears Tony on the phone. Talking fast. Too fast.

“Times almost up, Stark,” one of the thugs says. A pistol clicks.

“You’ll get your goddamn money,” Tony bites back from the stage. “Just- ease up on him, alright? You’ll get your money.”

“If we don’t, you’ll be getting a dead intern.”

“I know. Jesus Christ…”

Seconds tick away like digits on a pipe bomb. With what’s surely within the last few moments, there’s a loud, electronic beep.

“Holy hell,” someone says. A woman, this time. “He actually did it.”

The man holding his throat releases him and Peter snaps up his head with a gasp. He pulls at his cuffs again and shoots unintelligible curses at his captors, hating again just how truly helpless he is.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Stark,” the lead thug says with a half bow. He motions for his accomplices to head to the exit, but remains behind. He takes a half step toward Peter, his pointer finger curling around the trigger of his pistol. “But I can’t have you following us.”

Without further warning, he raises the pistol and shoots Peter in the leg.

It hits the skin of his left thigh and goes in deep. Peter’s been shot before, but this time, the pain surprises him. It’s white hot. Burning him. Aching and creating lightning bolts of agony in both directions of the wound.

He screams into the gag, but it’s muffled. Incomplete. A part of him is glad for it.

By the time the initial shock of the shot wears off, the lead thug is gone and Tony has materialized in front of him. His eyes are shining, the cuffs of his shirt already stained with blood. He peels off the tape from Peter’s mouth and presses down hard against the worst of the bleeding. Which is a lot, Peter notices in some sort of detached awe. It shouldn’t be bleeding that much.

Now that his captors are gone, Peter snaps the link between the handcuffs. Without the support of the chair back, he tips forward with a groan into Tony’s shoulder. “Oh- oh man. G-great presentation, Mr. Stark. It was… really exciting…”

“Shh, kiddo,” Tony says. “We’ll joke about it later, alright? Just focus on breathing for now.”

“Did you… actually pay them?”

“What the hell else was I supposed to do?”

Peter closes his eyes. He’s dizzy as hell. “I don’t know.”

Tony must notice the difference in the weight he’s bearing because he sacrifices a hand to shake Peter’s shoulder. The grip is warm with his blood. “Hey, hey. Eyes open, kiddo. I sent a distress call to FRIDAY the second those assholes got a hold on you. Help will be here soon.”

He really shouldn’t be bleeding this much. They must’ve hit something important.

“Hey,” Tony repeats. “You promised you wouldn’t sleep during my presentation, kid.”

“Sorry,” Peter mumbles, trying in earnest to get his body to respond to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just stay awake.”

If Peter were more lucid, he would hear the pain in Tony’s voice, as if it were him that had been shot, not Peter. He would notice how fast Tony’s heart was beating.

But he doesn’t.

All he notices is how much blood is leaving him.

And how scared he is.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter slurs. There’s so much he wants to say.

“Yeah, kiddo?” Tony asks, his grip on Peter tightening. There’s apprehension in Tony’s response. Fear, too.

Peter opens his mouth to respond, but the words become lost to him. He doesn’t even realize that he’s slipping.

But he does, and anything that he might have said to Tony slips with him.

-----

Hours later, when most of his mind-scrabbling medication has worn off, Peter lays across from Tony with a sour feeling in his gut.

He feels absolutely wrecked, but only a small part of it has to do with the now-stitched and bandaged wound in his thigh. His mind feels stuck within his and Tony’s last interaction, and judging by the solemn look on his mentor’s face, he is too.

Eventually, when the silence becomes unbearable, Peter clears his throat. Everything in his body feels as if it’s been stuffed with white static. “I’m sorry you lost that money.”

Tony snaps out of focus. His mouth turns into a frown, and Peter knows it was the wrong thing to say. “Don’t worry about that, Pete. We got it back, anyways. Happy tracked them down. They’ve all been arrested.”

For some reason, that doesn’t really make Peter feel better. “Oh. That’s good.”

Tony’s frown doesn’t lift. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot, I guess.” In a way, it’s a familiar feeling. But also different. He’s been shot as Spider-Man before, but never as Peter Parker.

“Yeah,” Tony says with a humorless chuckle. “I guess that chalks up.”

“Tony?”

A long, long, pause. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“I’m sorry I almost died.”

Tony sighs and hangs his head. “Only you would apologize for something like that, you know.”

“You invited me to that conference. It was supposed to be fun. I feel like me being there- I ruined it. If it weren’t for me, everyone would’ve been safe.”

“You were the only one who was hurt,” Tony interrupts. “And none of that was your fault.”

“I know, I just-”

“No ‘justs’, Pete.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

This sobers Tony up. He leans back in his chair, his hand rising to cover his face. Peter almost regrets saying it, but he presses on. “I was thinking about everything I wanted to say to you, but I couldn’t.”

“Kid…”

“I just wanted you to know… That I wanted to listen to you. That I wanted to stay awake, and that I wanted to tell you…” he trails off. “You know.”

Tony’s hand falls away from his face. He looks weak, but a small smile lightens his face. “Yeah, Pete,” he whispers, “I do. And I’m sorry, too.”

Peter sits back, something displaced inside of him snapping back into place. “For not finishing your presentation?” he asks, smiling too. “Because yeah, that was really unprofessional, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, definitely. How dare I, really.”

“You better give it again,” Peter says, motioning for Tony to hand him the doctor’s notepad and pen from the bedside table. He does, and Peter settles back with his pen poised.

“No napping this time?” Tony asks, his eyes glinting.

“I pinky promise.”

There’s something deep and unreadable on Tony’s face. Peter’s too tired to decipher it, but it leaves him feeling warm. “Alright then,” Tony says. “Now where did I leave off?”

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maicaly · 2 years

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Febuwhump Day 24 - Too weak to move

Read on Ao3

Summary: Peter is rescued after a long kidnapping.

----

On the first day, Peter has fight in him.

He doesn’t know who took him. At first, he doesn’t care. There’s a confidence burning inside him that overpowers his fear, a confidence that he’s going to escape, or, if it all goes wrong, that Mr. Stark is going to come in guns blazing and save him himself.

They throw him into a cell that he can’t punch his way out of for three days, and only then does some of his confidence flicker. After he’s positive he’s going to starve to death, they come for him, strap him to a table, and poke at him until he can’t tell where his pain begins and ends.

He’s thrown back in his cell, and the process continues.

On the eleventh day, he stops fighting back.

On the twentieth day, he’s too weak to even try.

On the thirty-ninth day, he’s convinced he’s going to die.

When they toss him back into his cell, he can’t even find it within himself to peel himself off the floor. He shuts his eyes, unable to stare at the grimy stone, and pictures the people that he loves. Sometimes, sleep finds him, and he dreams that he’s safe.

Other times, he’s not so lucky.

On the fiftieth day, he almost does die. On the fiftieth day, there’s something different.

He’s laying on his side on the floor where they had dropped him. He’s lightheaded and short of breath, each pull of air sending stabs of pain through his chest and abdomen. Even breathing is killing me now, he thinks grimly. He closes his eyes and pictures May’s face. She’s smiling at him, reaching to pat down his messy hair. “You, mister, are in great need of a shower.”

From somewhere in the compound, there’s a booming sound. Almost like an explosion. It’s nearly enough to rouse Peter out of his daydream, but he fears he lacks the energy or ability to investigate. He pictures MJ and Ned, next. “Your homework is really late, man.”

“Yeah, Mr. Harrington will have you in detention for ages.”

Sorry guys, he thinks, a darkness separate from the back of his eyelids beginning to stick to his consciousness. I’m sorry I’ve been gone.

More noises come from the compound. After a particularly loud blast, his cell shakes. Tiny rocks shift and fall from the ceiling, coating him in a layer of dust. His fingers twitch against the sensation, but it’s about all his body can muster.

He might dip into sleep. Or maybe the darkness just gets too heavy. Regardless, when light streams over him from the open door of his cell, he attributes it to a dream. Even when they come for him it’s dark. Cold. Silent.

But this time, there’s noise. Warmth. Light. Something familiar that he’s too afraid to name, not able to bear the disappointment.

The voice that follows feels too real to be a dream, so he must be dead.

“Peter. Oh my god.”

After more noise, more chaos, there’s a presence beside him. A hand on his arm. There’s callouses there. Strength. Life. He’s shaken gently, ever so gently, as if he’s a prized piece of china. “Peter? Buddy.”

The hands manipulate his body until he rolls onto his back. His head is caught before his neck carries it too far to the side by those same, gentle hands.

And above him… Above him…

Peter didn’t think he had the energy to cry, but he feels the wetness roll down the sides of his face. Don’t waste water, his mind immediately scolds, but he simply can’t help it. His body shakes with sobs, though everything else remains unresponsive.

Because it’s Tony.

The man looks absolutely wrecked, tears of his own dripping off his chin as he rushes to shakily brush away Peter’s own. “Oh, kiddo,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Peter doesn’t understand the apology. In fact, he doesn’t even understand if this is real. He tries to move his arms, to reach out and touch Tony to make sure he doesn’t dissolve, but his fingers hardly even twitch.

More tears leak out of him, and Tony gives up on wiping them away. Instead, he picks up Peter’s upper body and brings him up into Tony’s lap; cradling him like a child. Tony’s grip is strong, his presence sure as he runs his hand across Peter’s hair and frames his face. “Oh, Peter. Oh, Peter…”

Peter stares. And cries. And lets himself be held. He’s dreamt of Tony before, but never this clearly. It’s nice. He closes his eyes and wonders if the illusion will stick, but as soon as his eyes shut, Tony’s hand grips his face and jostles them back open. He’s still there. Looking at Peter with wide, fractured eyes.

He hasn’t spoken in weeks, but he tries, now. The words come up broken, scraping through his throat as if passing through thorns. “Are. You… Real?”

Tony’s bottom lip trembles. He sacrifices the hand cupping the side of Peter’s hair to run his sleeve across his face. When his tears are gone, he replaces his hand and rubs a wide, soothing circle around Peter’s temple. “Yeah, buddy. I’m real. I’m here.”

“You are?” Peter whispers. Safe, his mind sings, loud as a choir. Safe.

“I promise. I promise.”

“Oh,” Peter says, and his body becomes absolutely lax. Tony tries to support him, talking loud, but Peter can’t hear anymore. Everything is static. There’s nothing left for his body to protect him from. He’s safe.

His eyes close, and for once, he doesn’t beg to dream.

Because his dream is tangible. His dream is cradling him in his arms.

------

Recovery takes nearly as long as his captivity.

For the first two weeks, he can’t sleep in a room alone. For the first three, he isn’t allowed to leave bed. After four weeks, he’s allowed to eat solid food again.

After six weeks, he’s discharged from medbay.

May, Tony, Ned, MJ, and Happy are there when he is. They suffocate him in a group hug that he never wants to leave, and then help him to the table for dinner. He picks at his food, full after half his plate, and tries to avoid the worried looks everyone gives him when he sets down his fork for good.

They play seven games of UNO. Happy wins five of them, and MJ wins the other two. By the time Ned and MJ leave, he’s practically falling asleep in his chair.

Happy and May take them to the door, hand in hand, and Peter is left at the table with Tony. Peter can tell his mentor is staring at him, but he doesn’t complete the contact. He grips the table hard and closes his eyes, trying to battle his thoughts.

“Big day, huh? How’re you doing?” Tony asks. Gentle in a way that reminds him painfully of the day of his rescue.

“I’m okay,” Peter says, quiet but truthful. “Thanks for organizing all of this.”

“I know recovery has been hard.”

“We don’t need to talk about it. It’s okay, really.”

“I just- I feel like there are things you’re not telling us.”

Peter swallows deliberately, hoping it’ll drown his emotion. “I’m just tired, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, kiddo. You know I hate it when you do.”

“Sorry,” he repeats with a drawn smile. He peaks open an eye and relaxes when he sees the humor painted on Tony’s face.

“That’s not funny.”

“It kinda is.”

“Maybe for an alien on their first day on earth.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Tony chuckles, and it repairs another small part of Peter’s heart. But then he grows more serious, his smile dropping and his eyes pointed. “But- jokes aside, kiddo. I really do want you to be okay. When you’re ready to talk about it, I want you to know you can come to me, okay?”

“I know I can,” Peter says, raising his chin. For the first time in months, he doesn’t hide in on himself. “You’re safe, Mr. Stark.”

“I’m safe?”

Peter closes his eyes. “When you came, I couldn’t even move anymore. I couldn’t- There was nothing-” Peter breaks off and takes a deep breath. “When you came, I was safe. I know that’ll never change. Does… Does that make sense?”

Tony doesn’t respond for quite some time. When he does, his words are tight. “Yeah, kid. That makes sense. Thank you.”

Peter smiles. “Okay, then.”

“Okay then.”

“Do you want to play another round of UNO?”

“You bet. With Happy gone, I might even stand a chance. That man cheats, Peter. It’s a crime, really.”

Peter sits with a warm feeling in his chest as Tony deals their cards. His mentor rambles on about Happy’s secret methods of winning as Peter laughs and agrees. He lets Tony beat him to see the satisfaction on his face when he does.

He’s healing, he realizes after their third game.

And one day, everything is going to be okay.

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maicaly · 2 years

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IronDad & SpiderSon Fic Rec Masterlist

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while, (I will be back soon I promise) however, until then here are some IronDad fics to make you smile, laugh, cry and everything in-between. This is also to celebrate (over) 100 followers! Thank you so much!! 💙🥳

Enjoy reading, and don't forget to leave kudos and a comment (it really helps!)

Iron Dad/Spider Son Short stories and One Shots (Series 213k incomplete) by @aimaim94

part 46: Peter watched the elevator numbers move up as he waited. He had texted Tony he was coming home this weekend to spend time with him. He hadn’t told Tony why. He hadn’t told Tony that he had to tell himself something—Something that Peter had avoided for a very long time. He was so worried about losing people, but he also wanted to be able to be his true authentic self...

Leave Me to Dream (20k) by blackwatchandromeda (avenris)

Peter freezes for a second, eyes flicking to focus on Steve for one still moment. Then, his gaze drags sideways to Tony, and his eyes clear of confusion.

"Dad!" he breathes. The room goes silent.

if your wings are broken, borrow mine (5k) by thelast_ofellie

The Rogues come back to the Compound. Peter isn’t happy about it.

AKA the “call me son one more time” line from Meet Me Inside but it’s Peter yelling at Steve AKA self-indulgent Protective Peter Parker

Wish We Could Turn Back Time (50k incomplete) by Girlinpink44

With a snap of his fingers, Tony Stark finds himself with the chance to change everything. Armed with foreknowledge and his found family, can he figure out a way to stop Thanos before he snaps? They say hindsight is 20/20 and Tony is about to find out how true that really is.

Becoming Belonging (18k) by sahiya

Peter barely remembered the week after he came back, five years and two minutes after dying on Titan. But he did remember this: looking at Morgan Stark and feeling––to his immediate shame––wildly, insanely jealous that Morgan had had those five years with Tony and Peter hadn’t.

it passes (after a while) (3k) by Ary18

Tony Stark just wants to know why Spiderman keeps getting spotted in the Underoo Suit when he has the clearly better Stark Suit and ends up getting conned into a heart-to-heart with a teenager instead.

My Wish (Is For You) (10k) by SheabeePrime

Peter Parker is just another poor cancer kid, but he won’t let that stop him from getting the great Tony Stark wrapped around his little finger from the moment they meet. Tony, on the other hand, just wants to protect this new precious presence in his life from all the hurt the world seems to dish out onto it.

Go, little Rockstar (10k) by Angeeelatin

warning: MCD, Endgame compliment

Tony Stark had only ever wanted for Peter to be safe.

or: Tony Stark and Peter Parker's relationship through the years with bonus Ironfamily

You'll Be in My Heart (Series 38k) by @emsxworld

After May dies, Tony doesn't hesitate to take Peter in. Follow the ups and downs as the two begin to become a family.

Always, Kiddo: Always (5k) by PinkEasterEggs

warning: implied/referenced child abuse

Tony knows that something is up with Peter. He's been acting differently and shying away far more often. However, when he finds out the truth, he never expected it to be so heartbreaking.

I will restore all that was broken (12k) by @akillerqueenwrites

“He took my kids!” Clint shouts.

“And he took mine!” Tony roars back.

After watching Peter disappear, Tony is lost. People keep finding him.

It’s A Better Place Since You Came Along (88k) by Ashleyparker2815

Tony Stark had never been the type of person to become a father. With all of his drinking, partying, sleeping around and bad habits, he just wasn’t the type to raise a child. That was until he found out he had a son and then everything changed.

love and all its meanings (9k) by inverted_paradox

people can't always be brave when the word is so cursed

Tony and Peter are scared to lose each other again.

I'll Love You (When You Can't Love Yourself) (8k) by josywbu

In which Tony doesn’t believe he’s a hero and Peter doesn’t want to hear it. Because even superheroes need someone fighting for them sometimes.

nobody understands us and i don't understand it (16k) by searchingforstars

Five times somebody doesn’t quite understand Tony and Peter’s relationship + the one time it finally makes perfect sense.

One Whose Worth Lies Far Within A Diamond In The Rough (19k) by @justme--emily

Penny doesn't know why she's been captured...why the terrorists decided to take her out of all the people in her village. Then they drop the Merchant of Death into the cave where they've been keeping her and it all comes together. They need Tony Stark to build them a weapon...and they need her to translate.

Unplanned but not Unwelcome Sleepovers (in Mom and Dad's room) (2k) by AKAuthor

After it all, Tony keeps waking up to find his family has sneaked into his room for a sleepover he didn't know was happening.

Ohana, (132k) by @jen27ny

HYDRA?”

(The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a chill runs down his back. He dismisses it, thinking it’s because of the cold metal bedframe.)

“Yes, HYDRA. Our home.”

Note: By now, everyone knows that I love this story so much I've gushed about it enough on my main account! 😂❤

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maicaly · 2 years

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Thanks to those who nominated me and to @irondad-creator-awards for the super hard work 💖💖💖💖💖

Writer Award Nominees - OG category!

Hello everyone!

It’s been so awesome to see all the nominations rolling in over the past couple months, and we’re very excited to share with you all a list of our current nominees for the OG Writer Category! This is for writers who have been posting for over 12 months in our amazing fandom, and if you have a OG writer in mind that you’d like the nominate, you can still access the form here until the 27th of February! So remember to fill out your nomination form and check out all these awesome creators below!

~Nominees for the OG Writer Award~

@akillerqueenwrites

@angeeelatin

Annie_Walker

@ashleyparker2815

@asyouleft

Bergen

BlackNekoo6

Chaeyoung26090

@chvotic-ao3

@frostysunflowers

@geekymoviemom

ilove_klance

@inkinmyheartandonthepage

@jenniboo311

@jen27ny

@jinxquickfoot

@justme–emily

@keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars

@kitcat992

@krystalpomme

Lansfics7

@losingmymindtonight

@madasthesea

@maicaly

@marvelousbutterfly

@mjscornerr

@mshermia

@polaroid15

@starrykitty013

@superherotiger

@yes-i-am-happyaspie

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maicaly · 2 years

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Febuwhump Day 9 - Kidnapped

Read on Ao3 HERE

Summary: Peter struggles to escape a kidnapping in process.

------

Peter wakes up in pieces.

The first thing he becomes aware of is a deep vibration. It travels through the bottom of his feet, up through his spine, and against his face. He’s cold. Cigarette smoke and gasoline burn his nose. He’s distant from his body. Not quite in control.

It all comes together to form something unfamiliar, something displaced. His spider sense thrums steadily in the back of his mind, pushing him uncomfortably out of a dreamless, staticy sleep.

When he lifts open his eyelids, he finds himself in a stranger’s car. It’s a large SUV, probably expensive, with deeply tinted windows. He’s slumped against the window, his neck aching, with his hands secured to the door with a set of handcuffs. He tries to pull on them, but whatever is in his system is making him weak.

Panicking, Peter shimies himself up the door and tugs harder. The cold metal is digging harshly into his skin, keeping him pinned. He tries to shift his body and realizes, with growing dread, that his ankles are also secured together with handcuffs.

“Stop squirming.”

Peter squints toward the front of the car. The driver is a man, probably in his late forties, wearing a suit and dark glasses. Peter doesn’t recognize him.

“Why are you wearing sunglasses at night?”

The man doesn’t react, which is somewhat disappointing. Peter pulls on both sets of cuffs again, begging his body to regain its strength. Under normal circumstances, the metal would be as easy to pull apart as a paper chain.

“Who are you?” Peter asks.

“John.”

“Why am I here?”

“My boss requested you.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“You’ll see.”

Peter doesn’t like that answer. He jangles the cuffs and bites the inside of his cheek when it pinches his skin. “What if I don’t want to meet him?”

“You ask too many questions.”

Peter rolls his eyes, and in the process catches a glimpse of a road sign. Montpelier - 15 miles. His stomach sinks. “We’re in Vermont?!”

“The drug lasted a lot longer than I thought,” John says with a shrug. Peter squints to see the time on the dash. It’s nearly three in the morning.

“You suck, dude. It’s a school night.”

“Shut up. We’ll be there soon.”

Yeah, no way. Peter braces his cuffed feet against the base of the car and pushes, straining the metal links between his cuffed wrists. The metal groans, close to snapping, but it stays stubbornly connected.

“Stop that,” John says, turning his head to look at him through the rearview mirror.

“Stop trying to escape? Do you even hear yourself?”

“Stop, or I’ll knock you out again.”

Peter stills a little before shaking his head and tugging harder. He watches as John’s knuckles turn white against the steering wheel.

“Last warning, brat.”

“You’re not very intimidating, you know.”

The SUV screeches to a stop so abruptly Peter is thrown hard into the back of the passenger’s seat. He gasps around lost breath, his wrists flaring with pain from where they had twisted against the cuffs. John is muttering under his breath, zipping open a black case and pulling out a needle and vial of clear liquid.

“Okay,” Peter admits. “You’re a little more intimidating now.”

“I can’t wait for you to shut up,” John grumbles. He fills the needle before throwing off his seatbelt and exiting the car. He opens the back door opposite to Peter and slides in, the needle extended.

“Nope,” Peter says, just managing to pull on the car handle with the tips of his fingers. It opens and Peter falls out, sliding down the ditch as far as his cuffed hands will allow. John yells in frustration, following him out and grabbing Peter by the neck.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.”

With his neck and arms pinned to the door, there’s not a lot of wiggle room to evade the oncoming needle. It pinches the top of his arm and he jerks violently. He feels more than he sees the needle break off in his arm and he uses John’s surprise to raise both of his cuffed feet up to kick the man away. He flies back into the ditch and lands hard on his back.

“Crap,” Peter whispers, pulling harder than ever on the bands of metal keeping him trapped. “Crap, crap, crap. Please break. Please.”

John stands back up, his glasses gone and his eyes glinting with anger. There are no cars, no signs of light or life. They’re alone. “You suck, man. You suck so bad-”

John’s large hand clamps against Peter’s mouth. His skin smells like cigarettes. He squeezes Peter’s jaw, hard enough to bruise, but Peter refuses to grant a reaction past the reflexive watering in his eyes.

“Listen here, you insolent little brat. My boss is getting his hands on you whether you like it or not. Whether you arrive in one piece or not is up to you.”

Peter glares with feigned courage, his arm stinging where the needle had broken off.

“Do you understand?” John asks, shaking him.

Peter nods.

John removes his hand.

And Peter kicks him hard between the legs.

John grunts, crumbling to his knees, and Peter pulls viciously against his cuffs as he rises back to his feet. This time, John doesn’t say anything. He takes off his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Slowly.

The first punch hits Peter in the chin. The next one breaks his nose. The next three hit him in the ribs and makes it hard to breathe. The last one snaps his head back into the window and makes his ears ring.

As Peter fights to clear his vision, John disappears to the rear of the SUV and returns with a roll of silver tape. Peter tries to squirm away but the gag is inevitable. The tape is wrapped twice around his head before John seems satisfied. He smooths it down with a cocky smirk and a slap to the face.

“Get back in the car.”

It’s hard to breathe with the blood trickling out of his nose. If it clogs, he’ll suffocate. The drug has made it impossible to break through the cuffs, leaving him with one other option.

Hesitantly, Peter shakes his head.

John kicks him in the ribs. Peter bends over, blood spraying from his nose and his groan muffled by tape. John wraps his arms around him to manhandle him back into the SUV, and Peter reaches his fingers into the man’s pocket. Please. Please…

By some miracle, he finds what he’s looking for and clutches it hard in his fist. He becomes pliant as John drops him back in the seat and slams the door.

In less than a minute, they’re driving again.

Peter fights to slow his heart rate, dizzy and shaky from his adrenaline. John is speeding, his jaw clenched so hard Peter is surprised not to hear his teeth breaking.

“What?” John mocks, catching Peter looking at him through the mirror. “Nothing to say?”

Ha-ha. Peter glares again before breaking their contact. If this is going to work, he needs John’s focus off of him.

In a stroke of good fortune, John receives a call. “Yeah, yeah. I’m almost there. Calm down.”

Peter opens his fist, revealing the small set of silver keys sitting on his palm. It’s slow work, but Peter manages to unlock his left wrist. Trying to be as slow and silent as possible, he unloops the cuff from around the door and lifts up his feet, feeling for the keyhole and freeing his ankles.

“...you can tell Boss we’re about five miles out of the city. Yes, I know I’m late.”

Sorry John, Peter thinks, pulling the pin to unlock his door. Then, oh my god this is going to suck.

With all his strength, he opens the door. The force of the wind threatens to shut it, and John swerves dangerously toward the ditch and yelps in surprise. Peter doesn’t wait for a window. He needs out now.

So he jumps.

There’s a split second of weightlessness before Peter hits the ditch. Hard. His ankle rolls and the wrist with the cuff still attached to it lights up in pain. The breath is knocked out of his lungs and with the tape around his head, he struggles desperately to pull air back in. Get up, Peter. Run.

Ahead, the SUV swerves to a messy stop at the side of the road. John screams and slams his door. Peter manages to stagger to his feet and is suddenly grateful he can’t quite feel the extent of his fall. He only takes three steps before John’s hand grips his shoulder and throws him to the ground.

“You are the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met,” John spits. He throws his leg back in a vicious kick, but Peter rolls before it can land. Peter shouts through the gag and scrambles upward, just barely escaping a strong uppercut.

John lunges forward and Peter doges with a quick step to the side. With too much momentum, John lands on his hands and knees in the grass. Peter jumps on him before he can think it through, wrapping his good arm around the man’s neck and squeezing.

John struggles, but for the first time that night Peter has real strength, though from his fear or his powers he isn’t sure. It doesn’t take long before John collapses forward, unconscious, and Peter rolls off to the side breathing hard through his nose. He feels around his head for the end of the tape and sighs in relief when he finds it, unraveling it with fervor.

It hurts his skin to remove it, but it doesn’t matter, because suddenly he can breathe again. He sucks in air greedily as he rushes to the SUV, sliding into the driver’s seat and locking the doors behind him. The vehicle is still running, thankfully, and Peter throws it into drive and accelerates hard, leaving John behind.

There must be a cut on his forehead, because after a couple miles there’s too much blood in his eye to see the road. He pulls off to the side and sets the car into park, trying to rub the blood away with trembling hands.

He’s hyperventilating.

Something buzzes in the cupholder. John’s phone. Peter picks it up and though he doesn’t know the passcode, he’s able to swipe open the calling screen.

He only knows three numbers by heart: Ned’s, May’s, and Tony’s.

Still breathing harshly, Peter types in the latter and presses it hard against his ear.

“Who gave you this number?”

Peter collapses against the steering wheel in relief. “Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s tone changes in an instant. “Kid? Oh, thank god. You’ve been missing for over six hours. Where the hell are you?”

“C-can you send a suit to Vermont?”

“Jesus Christ, kiddo. Vermont?”

“John knocked me out,” Peter tells him, his head lighter than air. “Was handcuffed to the door and couldn’t get out. Until- until I did. Jumped into the ditch.”

“Breathe, kiddo. Focus on my voice.”

“There’s blood in my eye. I can’t… I can’t see out of it…”

“Buddy. Listen to me, alright? You need to breathe.”

With great effort, Peter inhales deep and holds it steady for blowing it back out. “S-sorry.”

Tony sounds like he’s breathing easier, too. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.”

“Pete…”

“How do I get home?”

“I can have a suit there in under an hour. Do you think you can get somewhere safe until then?”

“I stole his car,” Peter says, his words a little shaky. “I can get to town.”

“Good, good. Do that.”

Peter nods, fastening his seat belt now that his thoughts are running more clearly and peeling the SUV off the side of the road. “Will you stay on the phone?” Peter asks.

“Of course, kiddo. Anything.”

“Thanks.”

In the fifteen minutes it takes to get to town, Tony asks him questions that he struggles to find answers to. Who took you? What did he look like? Who was he working for? By the time he parks under the low glow of a gas station, his head is spinning.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter interrupts.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“I’m really dizzy.”

“Okay,” Tony says, his voice darkening with a new layer of worry. “Try pushing your seat back and hanging your head between your knees. Breathe deep. The suit will be there soon.”

“There’s a needle in my arm. It broke.”

“Kiddo…”

“I didn’t want to sleep again. It made me so weak.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Peter startles at the new nickname and doesn’t try to dwell on it as he sticks his head down. “Woah,” he says. “This helps, Mr. Stark. Thank you.”

“Good. Stay like that for a minute, alright? Until you feel better.”

“Okay.”

But as the dizziness fades, an overwhelming exhaustion washes over him, and by the time the suit dents the pavement outside his door, Peter can hardly keep his eyes open. The suit opens the door, helps Peter out, and forms around him in the span of thirty seconds. Peter relaxes against the metal, hardly feeling it as the suit shoots off and up into the air.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice is coming from the suit now. It’s close. Comforting. “FRIDAY’s sending me your vitals. Looks like you took quite a few hits, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The drug is still kicking around too, by the looks of it.”

“Mm. Tired.”

“You can rest, buddy.”

“Safe?”

“Yeah. You’re safe now.”

Peter closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Tony is catching him from the open suit. Peter wraps his arms around his mentor’s shoulders before he fully climbs back into consciousness, tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh Pete,” Tony whispers into his hair. “We were so goddamn worried about you. We’re going to figure out who took you, okay? We’re going to figure all this out.”

Peter is too tired to do anything more than nod and squeeze Tony back. In his arms, he’s safe. Nothing can touch him here.

“Thanks for answering your phone,” he mumbles.

Tony laughs and cups the back of his neck. Holding him together.

“I always will.”

27 notes · View notes

maicaly · 2 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 8 - No anesthesia

Read on Ao3 HERE ;)

Summary: Peter and Tony get into a car ‘accident', and Tony is forced to make a hard decision after fighting off the men who had tried to kill them.

------

“Peter. Peter! Oh god. I need you to wake up, kiddo.”

He’s numb. Floating. Tony’s voice is as distant as a memory.

“Pete. Peter. Eyes open. We’re in trouble here.”

Trouble?

“That’s it kiddie. Come back to me. Nice and slow.”

The fog in his brain lifts, exposing Peter to bright spots of pain. In his head. In his shoulder. In his side. He tries to shy away from it, to fall back into the comfort of some self-made oblivion, but it’s slipped from his grasp.

“Come on. That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

A groan crawls up Peter’s throat, and somehow, even that hurts. His body curls instinctively around his pain, his heart loud in his ears.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice is clearer now. Closer. It gives him the strength to open his eyes, but he squeezes them back shut as smoke makes them sting. He coughs, lightning bolts of pain shooting through his side. Broken ribs, probably.

When the fit passes Peter notices Tony’s hand on his back, patting and helping. Peter sucks in a lungful of smokey air and forces his eyes back open. They’re in Tony’s car, the glass shattered so completely it’s impossible to see through and Peter’s door crunched inwards like a flattened soda can. There’s blood on the window. There’s glass on his lap and in his hair.

He hurts.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaks. His mentor doesn’t look much better than Peter feels. There’s sweat and blood on his face, mainly trailing from a cut on the bridge of his nose and a spot just underneath his hairline. His left hand is curled unnaturally in his lap. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” Tony answers, his words bleak but his face melting with relief. “How about you? Where are you hurting?”

“I’m fine,” Peter says quickly. “What…What happened?”

But even as he asks it, it all comes back. Tony had picked him up from a late decathlon practice. They had been heading to the compound to spend a weekend on the suit, and had been over halfway there when the truck had come up from the ditch, hitting Peter’s side and throwing them off the road.

Peter gasps at the memory, struggling to get his shaking fingers to unbuckle his seatbelt. “They- we-”

“Slow down kid,” Tony says, grabbing Peter’s hand with his own. “Look at me. I don’t think this was an accident, okay? Whoever hit us is still out there.”

Peter nods, his body trusting Tony before his mind can fully process the words.

“My leg is pinned under the dash. I’ll need your help getting out,” Tony says, his eyes holding something like regret.

“My door-”

“You’ll need to climb into the back.”

Peter feels spacey. The meaning behind Tony’s words are like puzzle pieces, half of them missing or jamming together incorrectly. “Okay.”

Tony helps him unclick his seatbelt and Peter bites back a moan of pain when it slides against his shoulder. Tony cups the back of his neck, grounding him. “Kid?”

“Shoulder. I think it’s dislocated.”

Tony swears as Peter blinks back reflexive tears.

“But I’m okay,” Peter continues in the next breath. “I can do this.”

Before Tony can object, Peter grabs on tight to the back of Tony’s seat and uses the strength in his left arm to push himself between the seats. By the time he makes it onto the backseat his ears are ringing and his vision is gray. He lays back, trying to blink away the gloom.

“Peter?”

It takes a long moment before Peter gets his breath back. “What?”

“Did you catch anything I just said?”

Peter shakes his head before realizing Tony can’t see him. He clears his throat. “No. Sorry.”

Tony makes a small, wounded sound. “What’s hurting?”

“My head feels funny. Like ‘m gonna pass out.”

“No no no,” Tony says, trying to twist in his seat to look back at him but being unsuccessful. “I can’t help you back there. Stay awake.”

“But…”

“Help me out.”

Peter groans, like Tony’s telling him to do his homework instead of rescuing him from a bent, twisted ruin of metal and smoke. The gray blanket in his head has helped numb the pain some, so Peter fights with the passenger side door until it opens.

Getting out is a different story.

He can hardly hear Tony’s firm reassurances through the increasing static in his ears. He crawls onto grass, his breath thready and not quite reaching his lungs. By the looks of it, the truck had careened them into the opposite ditch. Somewhere through his failing ears he hears a car idling. Men talking.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispers, pulling the driver’s door open and grasping onto Tony’s arm. “I hear- there are people here.”

“Let’s be quick, then.”

Peter nods. He’s sweating and uses his good hand to slide his damp hair away from his forehead. “What do you need me to do?”

“See this? It’s pinning me down. I need you to pull the metal back.”

“Okay. Okay.” Peter curls his fingers around the busted interior of the car. “Ready?”

“Go for it, kiddo.”

Peter pulls, and bright explosions of white bloom in front of his eyes. His side burns hot with agony and he must slump forward because he comes to with his face pressed against Tony’s thigh, his arms hanging limply and his entire body vibrating with pins and needles.

“...hear that?” A distant echo of a voice asks. There are footsteps, and Peter tries to recover, but he can hardly keep his eyes open. Tony’s leg tenses as the footsteps stop, and the distant voice sounds again, right behind them. “Damn it- they’re alive. Get over here, Leo!”

Tony’s hands are on Peter, holding him close. Guarding him. He must lose time again because his eyes fly open at the sharp pain of unfamiliar hands on his arm.

“Get your hands off him!” Tony spits.

“Shut up, Stark.”

They pull harder and something twists further in Peter’s arm. He howls, and Tony’s eyes widen. In that split second, they’re separated. Peter is slipping. Away from Tony. Away from consciousness, but his body refuses to give in.

Because if he passes out, Tony is dead.

He’s dropped on his back a few feet away from the car. He must not have bent the metal back far enough because Tony remains in the car, screaming profanities and reaching desperately. His eyes are trained somewhere above Peter, so Peter looks up.

And- oh.

There’s a gun between his eyes.

Even half delirious, Peter’s sense anticipates the shot. His body jerks, purely from reflex, and the bullet bites deep into the earth where his head had been. The barrel of the gun is close enough to reach, so Peter shoots his good hand upward to grab it, twisting it away and snapping the man’s wrist.

The adrenaline is enough to get him up and back to the car. Tony grabs the gun and lifts it with cold fury. He shoots two bullets.

Then there’s silence.

“God,” Tony breathes. His hands wrap around Peter’s head, pulling him into his side in an awkward half-embrace. “I thought-”

“I’m okay,” Peter says, but of course he isn’t. His adrenaline is shrinking, abandoning him with his pain. His side. God, it hurts.

Something is wrong.

“Pete?”

Tony’s voice is murky, but Peter manages to look up at him. “T-Tony. Something’s wrong.” His words are slurred. Sloppy. He presses his hand against the worst of the pain in his side and startles at the sharpness of it. He doesn’t just feel flesh. There’s something hard, too.

He looks down and sways at the short stick of metal piercing out of his side, just below his ribs. It had been impossible to feel in the shock of the crash and impossible to see through the dark fabric of his hoodie, but it’s there.

“Oh.”

His hand is red with blood. Tony is talking to him, but nothing makes sense. He feels light and heavy. Hot and cold.

Scared.

Tony has let go of him, his muscles straining to shift the metal around his leg himself. His lips are still moving, his face pale with panic.

“Tony,” Peter repeats, his vision fading.

He falls back and watches the dark, dark, sky. It’s so big. And he’s so small. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could be a part of it.

A hand cups his cheek, turning his face away from stars and toward Tony. Peter smiles, tasting copper on his teeth. “Hey,” he says. “You got out.”

“Stay with me, kiddo. This is going to hurt, but I’m going to help you.”

“What?”

Tony disappears for a moment then returns without his suit coat. It’s wrapped around his hand, a smoking stick of metal stuck in between. He sets it on the ground and it singes the grass. It must’ve come from the engine.

“What’re you doin’?” Peter asks.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Look up at the stars.”

Tony’s voice is tight, like he’s about to cry. So Peter listens, because he doesn’t want Tony to cry. He feels a sudden pressure in his side. Then the metal is ripped free.

He gasps as warmth spreads across his midsection. His hoodie is pulled upwards and Peter looks down just long enough to comprehend what’s coming next.

The piece of the engine. Tony presses it down on the gaping, gushing wound.

Peter doesn’t hear the end of his scream.

-----

He comes to in pieces.

He’s cradled in someone’s lap. His side stings and his shoulder aches, but less so than before. Tony must’ve reset it after he passed out.

There’s a hand in his hair. A whisper in his ear.

“Pete?”

Such a gentle, fragile question.

“I’m okay.”

Tony laughs, wetly. “I got a hold of Happy. An ambulance is on it’s way.”

“Mm. Are you okay?”

“You almost died, Peter. You still could.”

“I’m fine,” Peter protests weakly. He curls his hand around Tony’s wrist. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry for the whole no-anesthesia-operation thing, by the way. You were bleeding out too fast-”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter interrupts.

“Peter.”

“Are you okay?”

Tony nods. They’re both crying, now.

“You’re alive,” Tony says. “I’m okay.”

67 notes · View notes

maicaly · 2 years

Text

count to seventeen and close your eyes

There was a picture of a baby with big brown eyes and curly brown hair. His chubby hand was shoving chocolate cake into his mouth, the puffy cheeks reminding Tony of a chipmunk. But why would anyone send him a picture of a baby?

That question was answered when he looked at the text below the picture.

Peter’s celebrating his first birthday

Or - seventeen instances of Peter's presence in Tony's life.

Word count: 8.5k

read on AO3

One:

Tony’s phone pinged, the shrill sound feeling like a sledgehammer hitting his skull.

Groaning, he blindly felt for his phone. Damn hangover. Tony felt exactly zero desire to deal with whatever was sent to him right now, but Obie said he should be more responsible.

Ugh, where was that damn phone? He knew it was there somewhere… aha! Tony’s eye opened a smidge as his fingers closed around the device and pulled it to his face. What he didn’t account for was the brightness of the screen and his eye was immediately getting stabbed with what felt like a hundred pins.

“Shit,” he grumbled under his breath. Trying again, it took him a good ten seconds to realize what he was looking at.

That question was answered when he looked at the text below the picture.

Peter’s celebrating his first birthday

Oh, right. That was from Mary and the baby in the picture was a result of their drunken one-night stand. Something had failed and… well, the result was there. Tony had no desire to be a father, but Mary assured him that she had a boyfriend who was willing to raise the baby as his own, since he couldn’t have his own because of some illness that killed the man’s brother.

So, a lucky accident.

The first and the last time (as he’d hoped) he’d seen the baby was when he’d been born. Tony hadn’t been there longer than five minutes – just long enough to give his congratulations. Mary had thanked him as she cuddled the ugly, wrinkly potato, her now-husband’s hand on her shoulder and a look of total adoration on his face.

Still, Tony couldn’t fathom why Mary sent him the picture. She’d said they didn’t want anything from him back then, that they had enough resources to raise him… maybe she thought of him as an awkward or proud man that didn’t know how to reach out and ask about the kid’s well-being, so she sent this?

Well, the baby obviously did well. They were obviously a big, happy family.

And with that, Tony switched off the phone, threw it back on the bedside table and buried his face into his pillow.

Two:

The chandeliers casted a soft glow over the room, adding to the already sophisticated vibe of the event. A quartet played somewhere in the corner as Tony gulped down another glass of champagne. A few more minutes and then he could ditch this event. He’s already found a company for the night.

Two couples passed him, the women gushing about wanting one of their own to their partners.

He glanced to the direction where the pairs came from to see a small group of people started to dissolve. For reasons unknown to him, it sparked Tony’s curiosity.

It’s gotta be something interesting if so many people are interested in it.

He still had time until his company returned, so why not check it out in the meantime?

The last couple of guests left just as Tony got there. A single woman remained at the table, her back facing him. And when she turned, Tony wished he would’ve never come here. The chatter and music faded into the background, feeling almost like an invisible barrier pulled them out of time and space.

“Tony,” the woman said, surprise clear on her face.

“Hey, Mary,” Tony greeted, though a bit stiffly. He sniffed. “You’re… here?”

Mary laughed. “Well, yes. Same as many other people involved with science. It’s… it’s been a while.”

Tony nodded. He could tell that neither of them knew what to say next, making the whole situation even more awkward as the silence stretched on.

“Done,” young voice – way young to be at an event like this – said.

“Already?” Mary asked as she turned around, revealing the source of the voice.

“Done,” the small toddler repeated, smacking the picture in front of him.

“This puzzle was forty pieces,” Mary said before beaming proudly. “Great job, Petey! I think my little genius deserves a treat for how smart he is.”

“Yes!” The boy grinned as he kicked his legs in excitement, reaching for the sugar-coated biscuit Mary was handing him.

“So… this is…”

“Yeah. This is Peter,” Mary confirmed. “Our babysitter called in sick last-minute and we had no back-up, so we had to take him with us. We’re lucky he’s not a difficult child. At least in this sense,” she added as an afterthought.

Tony looked closer at the toddles that was stuffing his face with his treat. He had Tony’s curls and eyes, but Mary’s lighter hair color and nose. From what Tony remembered of Richard, it had to be easy to pass the kid off as his own. “He’s… bigger,” Tony said. “He’s…”

“Two. He’s two,” Mary supplied, releasing him from his suffering.

Wow. Two years has passed already. The boy in front of him was a far cry from that wrinkly potato wrapped in the blanket. The boy looked up at him with eyes full of curiosity and something about that look…

Something about that look triggered Tony’s flight response.

“Consider his college paid.”

Mary blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Whatever college he chooses. He can even pick multiple, I don’t care,” he said, already turning around, “he’s obviously smart, so…” he didn’t finish.

“Tony!” Mary called out, almost horrified. “You don’t—"

“There you are!” a young woman latched onto his arm. “I’ve been looking for you. This is my friend,” she nodded to the other woman that latched onto his other arm. “I hope you won’t mind if she joins us.”

Okay, this was something Tony knew. Familiar territory. Safety. “Of course not,” he smirked. “The more, the merrier.” Feeling his heart begin to calm down as his companions led him away, Tony focused on the two women, ignoring the soft, childish “bye-bye” coming from behind them.

Three:

Tony threw his head back, sighing. This was a mistake. It probably would’ve been faster to have someone deliver him his coffee to the tower, not have Happy to go get it while he was driving Tony from the airport.

Now he was stuck here, waiting with nothing to do because his phone had died along the way. To pass the time, Tony opted for people-watching as he was mentally working on how to improve the battery life on his phone. Come to think of it, he could make his own as a side project.

The people came and went – a businessman on a phone, an elder couple hand in hand slowly walking by, a teenager on a skateboard, a frantic-looking student trying to organize her papers at least somehow as she rushed by…

The streets of New York offered a colorful variety of people, as always.

The door to the optics a little further down the street opened. A woman holding a little boy’s hand stepped out, then kneeled down and adjusted the glasses on the boy’s face, a soft smile on her face.

Tony immediately attempted to become one with the seat once he spotted the pair. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath.

They were approaching, immersed in their conversation, until the boy looked at the car and pointed. Tony felt like the kid pointed right at him, even though it was impossible. Tony was never so grateful for tinted windows.

“Look, mommy! What a nice car.”

Mary’s smile turned sour as she glanced at the car. Lines of worry appeared on her forehead as her eyes darted around the streets. The sudden shift from smiling to looking ready to bolt was… odd.

“That is a nice car indeed,” she said stiffly. “Come on, daddy’s waiting. I bet he can’t wait to see your new glasses.” She placed her hand on the boy’s back and ushered him faster. Tony caught her throwing one last glance over her shoulder at his car, then they disappeared around the corner.

That was… odd.

The door opened. “Sorry for the wait,” Happy said, handing Tony the coffee. “The line was insane.”

Four:

There were only a handful of instances where Tony was at a loss of what to do. This was one of them.

“Here you go,” he sighed as he put the plate on a table. “I don’t really know what you like, so,” he sat down, “sorry.”

The little boy stared at the sandwich, not saying anything.

The social worker arrived in the morning, holding the kid’s hand and carrying some of his things. Mary was dead. Richard was dead as well. And as he learned, a foul play was suspected, though that was still left to be proven. There was a more pressing matter.

The kid had no one to look after him now.

No one except Tony.

He didn’t know how they found out that he was Peter’s biological father. He didn’t think of himself as being fit to be a father. Maybe if the social worker had seen the mess in his house yesterday, she would’ve spun on her heel and didn’t allow the kid to set a foot in here. Unfortunately, the maid left an hour before they arrived and Tony was sober for once.

Though he really itched for a drink right now, he needed a clear head to figure things out. Pepper, his incredibly skilled and capable assistant, has been alerted, sure, but until then, he was on his own.

The kid sniffed. Tony stiffened at the sight of tears. “If you don’t like sandwiches, you could’ve just told me. No need to react like that.”

The kid looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes, wiped away the tears sliding down his cheeks and hopped down from the chair. In five tiny strides, he was at Tony’s side.

To Tony’s horror, the child started climbing into his lap. Once he was seated, he wrapped his short arms around Tony’s middle and buried his face into his shirt.

“Uh…” What should he do? He couldn’t hold his arms up forever. Should he put them around the kid? But how? Whatever he’ll decide to do, he’ll have to do it quickly because he started to feel the tears soaking into his very expensive shirt.

God, he hoped those were only tears…

“Hey, hey,” Tony began as if he was soothing a frightened animal. Albeit a bit awkwardly, he placed one hand on the boy’s shoulder, the other on his back. “What’s wrong?”

“I miss mommy!” Peter cried. “And daddy. My other daddy.” Ah, yeah. The kid has shown a frightening understanding that he had two fathers. For how long he possessed that knowledge, Tony didn’t know. “Everybody says they went to heaven, but grandma went to heaven too and I never got to see her again! They left me—” the rest of the sentence got interrupted by a loud sob.

And just like that, something in Tony’s heart broke. The pain this little kid felt… he shouldn’t have to feel it in the first place. He shouldn’t know at such a young age that he had no one…

Except he did have somebody, didn’t he?

Tony took in a shuddering breath. It was known that he destroyed everything he touched. Now there was a kid depending on him. Truth be told, it was scary. There was a voice whispering to him viciously that what if he’ll turn out exactly like Howard? Wouldn’t the kid better off without him in the end?

But here was the child, crying his eyes out and wanting only one thing.

Comfort.

Tony let his arms snake around the frail little body and pulled it close. “I know. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispered.

This was something Howard had never done for him. But maybe… just maybe…

It’ll be scary, he could tell. There will be a lot of things he’ll have to learn, and sure, he’ll make mistakes, but he’ll be damned if he won’t at least try.

Tony ran his hand up and down Peter’s back and eventually, the full-blown crying fit turned into light sniffling.

“I don’t like crust,” the boy murmured.

A soft smile pulled at Tony’s lips. “You don’t like crust?” Peter shook his head and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. Tony nodded to himself. “Okay. One crustless sandwich coming right up,” he said gently.

Yeah, maybe he could do it.

Five:

“Come on, Roo, what’s wrong?” Tony prompted the five-year-old.

A lot has happened since Peter started living with Tony. It was mostly thanks to Pepper, Happy and Rhodey getting him on the right track that the boy was allowed to stay with him instead of some foster family.

No more parties. No more sleeping around. No more drugs. Alcohol… that one was still a struggle, but he was trying his best. When the urges overwhelmed him, he drank just the necessary amount to trick his mind. The thought of his son prevented Tony from getting blackout drunk.

He also made sure to never stink of alcohol or drink around Peter.

The man standing here now, holding his son’s hand as they stood in front of the school gate, was a far cry from the man he used to be.

Peter kept his eyes down, shuffling his feet and holding the straps of his backpack. “Can we go home?”

Tony knelt in front of the boy and lifted his chin with two fingers. “What’s wrong? You were so excited for the first day of school. Why the sudden change of heart?”

Peter mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“’m ‘frai’”

Oh. “You’re afraid?” Tony asked, making sure.

Peter averted his gaze and nodded. “You won’t be there with me. Aunt Pepper and uncle Happy and uncle Rhodey too. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh, buddy. Come here,” Tony said and pulled Peter in for a hug.

Yeah, it made sense. Peter was too preoccupied with being excited about starting kindergarten that he hasn’t stopped to think that he will be truly alone for the first time since he’s come to live with Tony. Ever since that social worker brought him, Peter has never been left alone. There was always one of the four of them watching over him.

Until now.

“I know it’s scary,” Tony cupped Peter’s cheeks, “I was scared too on my first day.”

Peter gasped, disbelief written all around his face. “You were?”

“Yes,” Tony nodded. There had been no one to see him off to school. Jarvis would’ve gladly do so, no doubt about that… if it wasn’t for the presence of Howard.

Tony chased that memory away. He will be way better father that Howard ever was.

“But listen,” he continued. “You won’t be alone. There will be the teacher and a bunch of kids your age. You’ll find new friends, there will be new toys and you’ll have lots of fun. And once the clock strikes two, I’ll be waiting here for you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. And I bet Pepper and Happy and Rhodey can’t wait to hear about your first day.”

Peter’s face scrunched up in thought before it set into determination. “Okay.”

Tony smiled and, hand in hand, he led Peter all the way to his classroom’s door. Peter gave Tony one last look before disappearing inside.

And that was it. Wow. How the time flew. It seemed like yesterday that Peter was nothing but an ugly potato wrapped in a blanket.

“Mr. Stark,” the teacher tried to conceal her smile. “Are you crying?”

“No,” Tony replied.

(He was.)

Six:

Well, considering that the living room was clean when he left, Tony was expecting to find it in at least similar state when he returned. Instead, he found out that someone had done a total makeover of the space. Not a single couch or chair remained at its original place and it felt like every single blanket in the building was brought here.

“Shh! Shh! He’s coming,” came a giggle from underneath the blanket fort.

“Okay,” replied a deeper giggle.

Tony stood at what he assumed was the entrance to the fort. The whole thing didn’t look like it was up to par with safety regulations and would bury its two occupants should the slightest outside pressure be applied. “Knock, knock, knock,” he said.

“Who’s there?”

Tony could hear the grin in Peter’s voice, which in turn made him grin too. The kid never failed to lift his spirit. “Dad.”

“Dad who?”

“Aw, come on. Don’t you know who your dad is?” he pouted. “Can I come in?”

“Nope,” said the deeper voice over another muffled giggle. “Sorry, this is a super-secret blanket fort. Only cool and fun uncles and their favorite nephews are allowed.”

Tony blew a raspberry. “Oh, bummer. Then I guess I’ll have to eat all this ice-cream all by myself,” he spoke in a singsong.

“…what flavor?” came after a moment of intense whispering.

“Chocolate chip and mint, raspberry and hazelnuts.”

A few more moments passed before the “door” opened, Rhodey’s face greeting him. “You may enter.”

“I knew you would come around,” he smirked. Tony plopped on one of the pillows lying around. “Nice place,” he commented as he handed the raspberry ice-cream to Peter and mint one to Rhodey. “You had fun with uncle Rhodey?”

“Yeah!” Peter beamed and promptly began to devour his frozen treat.

“Glad to hear that,” Tony nodded. “Thanks for watching him,” he said to Rhodey.

Rhodey waved him off. “Don’t mention it. I love spending time with my favorite nephew. How was the meeting?”

“Ugh. Don’t mention it.”

“That bad, huh?”

“It was so boring! They didn’t even need me. Obie did most of the talking anyway—”

“Ugh,” Peter threw his head back with all the Stark theatrics, “this is a fun fort! Don’t talk about work in here,” he complained.

Rhodey was quick to support him. “Yeah. We’ll have to banish you out of here if you’re boring.”

“Oh wow. My best friend and my own blood teaming up against me. Okay then. I guess I’ll have to eat all of that pizza I ordered earlier by myself too.”

Seven:

The clicking of the heels was way too fast and forceful to signal good news. Truth be told, Tony had a pretty good hunch about why the sound the death itself would be scared of was making its way towards him.

And there she was.

“If you’re going to yell,” he said lowly, his own face set in a frown, “do it later. I finally managed to calm him down,” he pointed to the child asleep on his chest.

Pepper pursed her lips, then pressed them into a thin line. “What the hell were you thinking?!” she hissed. Forcefully but quietly, she placed the tablet on the table. “That guy is suing you for assault and damage of property!”

“If you want me to say sorry then too bad. The asshole got what he deserved.”

“Tony—”

“Don’t Tony me, Pepper!” he gritted through his teeth.

“You broke several of that man’s teeth and destroyed his camera!”

“And have you stopped and thought that maybe I had a reason?” he bit back a tad more forcefully. Peter shifted in his sleep. Tony held his breath, releasing it only once the boy’s breathing evened out again. “I don’t go around randomly attacking people,” he continued softer. “How about you remember my schedule today and then take a look at Peter’s face and right wrist.”

Pepper had all of his schedules memorized. She was great like that. Smart too. She’ll piece two and two together.

“You went to see the movie with Peter,” she mumbled to herself. Her brows knitted together as he walked around the table and bent down to look at Peter’s face. Or more on the tear tracks on his face. Her mouth fell open when her eyes landed on the boy’s wrist. “Is this…?”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. Peter, being the fragile little thing he was, bruised easily. The bruise wasn’t big, it was pretty small, but Tony would’ve preferred if there was no bruise to begin with. “Can you believe it? That flock of vultures caught us after the movie. That one wanted a good picture to sell, so—” Tony had to cut himself off. The anger threatened to overflow and make him go and finish that guy. “He grabbed him and yanked him and… who does that to a child? I lost control. I’m not sorry about it in the slightest.”

Pepper sat down next to them on the couch. “Oh no. Tony, I’m sorry.” She gently ran her fingers through Peter’s hair. “Is he okay?”

Tony huffed. “Who would be okay after an experience like that? But yeah – like I said, I got him to calm down.”

“I’ll go and have the legal team countersue,” she stood up, determined expression on her face. “We won’t hold back. That asshole won’t get a single cent from you, a restraining order will be issued, I don’t know what else. We’ll send a message to the likes of him.”

If Pepper Potts ever called you an asshole, you knew you’re done for. Tony nodded and buried his nose in Peter’s hair. “Thank you.”

Eight:

“This is your legacy,” Obadiah said as he held the arc reactor for both of them to see. “What a masterpiece. Look at that,” he admired, and no! If he was the old Tony, he would’ve agreed, or wouldn’t care at all. But now… after everything he went through in Afghanistan…

“A new generation of weapons with this at its heart.”

No, he’s never meant for this to happen.

“Weapons that will help to steer the world back on course, put the balance of power in our hands. The right hands.”

Tony wanted to scream, to tell the man he’d considered a friend – a family – that something like that will only result in more innocent lives lost… unfortunately, all he could do was sit there, paralyzed, as blood trickled from his ears.

Obadiah pulled back, reaching for a bag, still droning on about his prototype and whatnot. It wasn’t until he brought up Pepper that a fresh wave of terror washed over him. “I would’ve preferred that she lived. Oh well,” he shrugged and stood up, “I guess your precious little boy will have to make do.”

The mention of his son – peacefully sleeping upstairs and unaware of what was going on – made his chest hurt even more. Tony was pretty sure that if he wasn’t pale as a sheet before, he was now.

“You know, I was really annoyed when he got here at first, but now,” he smiled, “I guess it was a blessing in disguise. There’s plenty of time before he can run the company, which in turn gives me enough time to make sure he won’t end up selfish like you.”

Don’t you dare touch him!

“I guess you could blame him for your end,” Obadiah chuckled to himself, “if it wasn’t for him, you would still be the same old Tony, drinking his life away and letting me do what’s the best for the company.”

No. He could never blame Peter. He would neverblame Peter for any of this. Peter wasn’t the one ordering the hit on him or ripping the reactor from his chest.

“Goodbye, Tony.”

And then he was gone, leaving Tony all alone.

No, no, no! It couldn’t end like this – with Tony slowly dying in his own house while the bad guy just got to walk away. He had to get up, he had to go and save Pepper, he had to protect Peter from Obadiah’s clutches—

It was the terrifying image of Peter finding him lying dead here, Jarvis offline and Obadiah providing comfort with some sweet words while mentally celebrating that made Tony push through the excruciating pain and paralysis. He won’t let that man win.

Tony will protect his loved ones, even if it would be the last thing he’d ever do.

Nine:

He really couldn’t catch a break these days, could he?

With all those kidnappings, explosions, arc reactors that were slowly killing him, crazy Russian guys seeking revenge… as much as he tried not to, he started to fall back to his destructive habits he’d been indulging in before Peter had come into his life. He stupidly believed that if he behaved like a jerk, then Peter, then everyone, would accept Tony’s inevitable demise easier.

How wrong he was.

The sight of his son in Happy’s arms, tears streaming down his face as he watched two of the most important people in his short life fight – it broke his heart.

And then the drones were all over the place, one of them wanting to hurt his kid because of a cheap plastic mask. He didn’t deserve Peter. After all of his mess-ups, he still idolized his father.

Heartfelt apologies had to wait though. For the moment, Tony opted for a simple nice job, kid, picked Peter up and flew him to Pepper and Nathalie or Natasha or whatever her name was. As much as he hated to let the boy out of his sight, he knew he had to. He would simply be in too much danger if Tony was carrying him around.

Thank God for Rhodey, because Tony didn’t think he would be able to carry both Pepper and Peter to safety. After a quick glance to where Rhodey was gently trying to get Peter to open his eyes and loosed his death-grip on the armor, Tony faced Pepper.

Dealing with his long-time-assistant-now-CEO while she was mad at him was easier than to face the child whose trust he definitely broke.

What he wasn’t expecting was the conversation turning into a make-out session. “Weird.”

“No, it’s not weird,” Pepper whispered.

A squawk came from somewhere to his right, closely followed by, “I think it was weird.” Rhodey smirked, covering Peter’s eyes. “You guys look like two seals fighting over a grape,” he said, nodding to the boy, “come on, little eyes are present here.”

Peter chose that moment to break free from his uncle’s hold. “Dad!” he cried out.

Despite his shame and fear, Tony was on his knees immediately, catching the little body flinging itself at him. One arm around the boy’s back, the other in his hair, Tony held him close, muttering apologies and reassurances. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

The tiny body wiggled in his embrace and two wide eyes were looking at him. “Does this mean the old dad is back?”

“Yes, God, yes.” Tony felt like crying his eyes out. “The old dad’s back and the bad one will never return,” he said, then planted a kiss on Peter’s forehead. “I promise.”

Ten:

Tony paced the width of the hallway, the shiny white tiles reflecting the lights from above. His shoe squeaked as he spun on his heel and, like countless times before, made his way to the opposite white wall.

White, white, white. It was driving him crazy, along with the sterile smell.

“Tony.”

“What?” Tony snapped as he whirled around to face Happy, who was sitting in one of the plastic chairs, looking at him with concern. “If you’re going to tell me to calm down, then save it.”

His bodyguard sighed. “Your stomping back and forth certainly won’t help anyone either. Definitely not Peter.”

Tony’s jaw clenched at the reminder of his kid. Happy patted the chair next to him, which Tony gratefully slumped into. Placing his elbows on his knees, he hid his face into his palms. It didn’t matter if his eyes were opened or closed. He couldn’t get rid of the image of Peter, clawing at his throat as he desperately tried to get some air into his lungs.

“Is it my fault?” he asked softly, his voice muffled by his hands.

It was, wasn’t it? It was his fault they had to rush his kid into the hospital because of the anaphylactic shock.

“Tony,” Happy placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder, “it wasn’t your fault. You’ve never had that dish before. You couldn’t have known that Peter was allergic to it. Look, we had the EpiPen, we got here fast enough, the best doctors are caring for him, so I think it’s safe to say that he’ll be okay. He’s a tough kid.”

The words did little to console Tony though. “But isn’t it my fault that he’s…” he glanced at Happy from the corner of his eye, “that he’s like this?” At his friend’s puzzled expression, Tony decided to elaborate. “I’d been basically marinating in various substances for months – hell, years! – when he was conceived.”

It was possible, wasn’t it? Those years had to lead to some consequences. Tony already accepted that he’ll most likely have some health issues later in life as a result, but… but Peter didn’t deserve any of this.

That innocent, sweet, wide-eyed kid shouldn’t suffer for Tony’s stupidity.

When Peter had come to live with Tony, he already had a peanut allergy. He’ll never forget the time he accidentally let him eat some. But then more and more health issues kept piling up – worsening vision, asthma, more allergies, weak immune system…

And it was all Tony’s fault Peter was sickly. God, he really just kept ruining everyone around him, didn’t he—

“Mr. Stark?” a nurse walked up to the pair.

Tony was on his feet immediately. He kept grilling her about his son’s status all the way to Peter’s room, whether he would be okay… sometimes repeating the question several times to reassure himself. Happy was right at his heels the whole time, providing a silent reassurance.

The nurse opened the door, allowing Tony to step in. Peter laid on the bed –so small – an oxygen mask over his face and an IV stuck to his arm. His half-lidded gaze shifted to the door, giving Tony a tired smile.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said gently as he forced his stiff legs to move. Tony did what he called a ‘dignified collapse’ on the bed when his legs threatened to buckle under him. He placed his palm on Peter’s knee. “How are you feeling?”

Instead of verbally responding, Peter merely flashed Tony two thumbs up.

“Okay,” Tony breathed out, “okay. Kid, I’m so sorry—”

Before the man could fall into a spiel of apologies, Peter held up his hand, stopping Tony’s rambling. “’S ‘kay. Not yo’ fault,” he said, barely audible.

More guilt swelled in Tony’s chest. “No, Pete, don’t force yourself to talk. You have to save your strength and focus on getting better, okay? Okay. As I was saying…”

Irritation settled on Peter’s face, which frankly looked kinda adorable in his tired state. He almost looked like he was pouting when he was little. He weakly batted at Tony. “Then don’ make me talk.” He then proceeded to do grabby hands at his dad.

Huffing, Tony shook his head, but complied with the request and laid down, wrapping Peter into a hug. After all, who was he to deny his son cuddles?

Eleven:

Shit, shit, shit!

How could he be so stupid? How could he forget?

Tony pushed the suit faster. Okay, it was one thing knowing where that crazy reindeer was headed, but it was completely another thing knowing that your son was in the same location! Faster. He had to go faster. He had to get there first.

He had to.

The tower came in view and Tony redirected all the power into the thrusters. He should think about making some booster for similar scenarios, but there would be enough time to think about the upgrades later. Hopefully.

Getting to Peter was his priority now.

His feet didn’t even properly touch the ground before he was already sprinting across the balcony into the building. “Peter?” he yelled as he slammed the door open, scanning the room for any sign of his son.

Oh, don’t let me be late. Please, don’t let me be late.

“Peter?!” he called out again, more urgent. His heart was about to jump out of his chest when a mop of curly hair popped up from behind one of the couches.

“I stayed away from the windows,” Peter said, running up to his father.

Tony opened his arms and pulled Peter into a hug, a wave of relief washing over him. “Good. You did good.”

Peter pulled back a little, but Tony didn’t let him out of his arms. “What is going on out there?”

Okay, Tony got here first. That was good, but he couldn’t afford to waste a single second since he had no idea how much time there was left. “I’ll tell you everything later, but right now, I need you to go to the safe room and lock the door behind you.”

“What? But—”

“Pete, there’s no time!” Tony stressed. “I promise I’ll come and get you once it is all over. In return, you have to promise me that you won’t open the door to anybody.”

“I—”

“Anybody, do you understand?”

It had to be the fear and urgency in his eyes that in the end convinced Peter. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded. “Now run along. And remember – don’t leave until I come and get you.” I hope I’ll be able to come and get you.

When Jarvis announced that Peter made it safely to the safe room, Tony allowed his indifferent mask to slip back on. It was maybe thirty seconds later that the door to the penthouse opened again.

All right, Tony thought, let’s do this.

Twelve:

“Dad!”

Tony’s eyes filled with tears as he dropped everything and ran up to his equally teary-eyed son. He was so thankful that Pepper had the foresight to hide him with her secretary she’s become a good friend with. Tony couldn’t imagine what would happen if Killian had gotten his hands on Peter.

“Pete!” he pushed himself to his limit to close the remaining distance. Once Peter was in an arms’ reach, he didn’t hesitate to wrap him in crushing hug. The two of them were a sobbing mess.

“Dad! Dad!” Peter kept crying. “It was so scary. I th-thought you were dead!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Tony choked out. “I guess you didn’t imagine this year’s Christmas like this, huh?” he added with a wobbly laugh, falling to his regular coping mechanism. It was a joke, but Tony hasn’t imagined Christmas like this either. In hindsight, he should’ve known better than to taunt a terrorist when his son was living in the same house as him, but the crowd was too big and there were flashes everywhere and the wormhole and Happy—

No.

It was all right now. Everyone was okay. Killian was gone. He couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.

He’ll fix Pepper. He’ll fix himself while he was being at that too. Peter will probably need some fixing as well. Happy too.

But first-

“So,” Tony said, “what do you say we spend Christmas in New York this time instead of here? The presents got blown up,” he winced, “but I’ll figure something out.”

Peter squeezed him harder like he was some damn python. “I don’t care about the presents. I have the best present right here.”

Fresh tears flooded Tony’s eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

Thirteen:

Great. Just great. This was exactly what Tony needed right now. Who wouldn’t like the news that a crazy system programmed to eliminate future human threats based on their behavior pattern was targeting them specifically?

Okay, Tony had to admit, fair. Lots of bad guys rightfully saw him as a threat and wanted him dead, but Peter?

Just how exactly did his sickly son get flagged as a future threat?! Peter’s numerous conditions didn’t allow him to fight, and Tony will first willingly go to space before allowing Peter to use one of Tony’s suits.

Sure, he had a suit for Peter like he had for Pepper, but that was for emergencies!

Still… in a weird, twisted way, it made him kind of… proud. Being seen as a threat to Hydra was basically a good thing. If the system already flagged Peter, a child, as a threat, then that what Tony has been saying will come true.

Peter was the best of them and he will change the world.

The tiny smile that settled on Tony’s lips vanished the exact moment he came through the med-bay door. Peter will change the world… but he’ll have to survive whatever was happening to him now.

I bet the program didn’t foresee that, Tony thought bitterly.

He shouldn’t have let Peter go on that field trip to Oscorp. He’d been perfectly fine in the morning and now look at him! Almost dangerously high fever, occasional seizure, pale, sweaty, and Tony couldn’t figure out what was wrong with his kid!

In Tony’s humble opinion, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to suspect foul play.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said softly as he sat on the edge of Peter’s bed. The kid didn’t as much as stir; just the same old labored breathing. Well, if Tony would look for a sliver of light in otherwise dark situation, it was a good thing that Peter was unaware of how they’d been marked for elimination.

“There are crazy things happening out there,” he continued despite not receiving any answer. Tony being Tony, he couldn’t sit still for too long. The man was on his feet in an instant, dunking a cloth in cold water before wringing it. “But don’t you worry about that. You focus on getting better, alright?” He placed the cool cloth on Peter’s forehead and for a short moment, Peter’s eyes half-opened. When he noticed Tony standing above him, he gave him tiny smile before falling asleep again.

“You’re a fighter, kiddo,” Tony said, more to assure himself. “You’ll get through this.”

Fourteen:

“No,” Tony stated firmly.

“But dad—”

“I’m not letting you fight a homicidal robot.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“Peter, no. That’s my final word. You’re staying here with Bartons.”

Powers or not, there was no way Tony would allow his son to willingly throw himself headfirst to danger. He was determined before, but the vision he saw… he knew it wasn’t real, but the sight of Peter’s lifeless eyes staring into his will haunt his nightmares for the foreseeable future.

“Look,” he went for a gentler approach, “it’s gonna be incredibly dangerous and I wouldn’t be able to properly focus if I kept looking over my shoulder, checking if you’re okay. I know—” he said when he noticed Peter opening his mouth to protest, “I know you can take care of yourself, but right now, you lack experience.”

“I can’t get any experience if you won’t let me help,” Peter grumbled.

“You’ll get plenty of experience when we get back,” Tony placated. They really had to go now if they wanted to save the world. Again. “Happy can teach you some new moves.”

That seemed to displease Peter. “Happy always goes easy on me. That doesn’t count.”

Tick-tock. Tony didn’t want to leave on a bad note in case something went wrong. And boy, could a lot of things go wrong. “Okay, uh… how about Natasha?” Would Natasha do it? She’s never spared with Peter before.

Peter blinked. “Natasha?”

“I won’t go easy on you if that’s what you’re worried about,” she smirked.

The cogs in Peter’s head were visibly turning until his shoulders fell in acceptance. “Okay.”

Tony shot Natasha a grateful look. “We have a deal then. Now listen,” he said as he wrapped Peter in a hug. “Stay here, don’t do anything stupid, hang out with little agents and help the big agent with everything she needs.” He was vaguely aware of Laura huffing as he felt Peter hug him back.

“You come back, alright?”

“Always.”

Fifteen:

Tony has survived many things in his life – being kidnapped by terrorists, twice, an attack of hammeroids, flying through a wormhole… He was pretty sure it would be one of these things that would get him into the grave.

He never thought a man he’d once considered a friend would be the one to do so.

Two years.

He’s been lied to for two years and the truth came out now, in some freezing Siberian bunker in the middle of nowhere.

Steve raised the shield above his head, ready to deliver the finishing blow into the arc reactor. His heart. Funny how that worked. First figuratively and now literally. The shield began to descend in slow motion – or at least it appeared to Tony in slow motion. He started to close his eyes, not wanting to see when the blow came.

“No!” a voice ripped through the air, and suddenly everything was too fast, giving Tony a whiplash. There was a shadow standing over him, the shield changed its course and the shadow flew through the air in a blur of red and blue.

Then there was silence, the three of them standing frozen as if the bunker already claimed them.

“No,” Tony whispered shakily. He diverted the little remaining power the suit had into his gauntlet to shake Steve off. It was hard to move, but he didn’t care. He pushed himself beyond his limit until he was kneeling above the still figure for the second time in a few days.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he kept repeating as he yanked off the mask. “Peter. Pete. Can you hear me?” he pleaded. Tony was faintly aware of the faint oh my God coming from somewhere behind him. Right. The two of them were still there.

Peter didn’t as much as stir. “Come on, open your eyes. How did you get past Happy? Why did you come here?” he asked, his voice cracking on every other word.

The shock of finding out it was his own son who was running around Queens dressed in a onesie and who Tony recruited to the Germany was frankly… for the lack of better word – shocking. Peter had been going out fighting crime behind his back since after the whole Ultron mess and Tony should’ve figured it out sooner, he should’ve, but if someone was smart enough to outsmart him, it was Peter.

Finally, the faintest sound came from the depth of Peter’s throat.

“Tony…” Steve hesitantly approached.

“No!” Tony whirled around, placing himself in front of Peter to shield him as best as possible. “Go! Leave! Disappear! And take that buddy of yours with you!”

It was easy to guess what was going through everyone’s mind right now. Barnes took Tony’s parents away from him.

And now the two of them almost took his son away from him too.

“Just go away!” Tony practically growled around the lump in his throat. The look of hurt on Steve’s face was not enough to satisfy him. “I hope to never see you again,” he said, softer this time, already patting Peter’s cheek.

Minutes went by before Peter cracked one eye open. “Oh, thank God,” Tony exhaled. “How are you feeling?”

“Wha’pp’n?”

“You’re okay now. You’ll be okay,” Tony said. He looked around the bunker to scan for threats. That meant for Rogers and Barnes too. There was no one in sight. Only the shield – that damned shield– was left behind. Tony didn’t want to see that thing ever again.

“Da-?”

Tony did his best to prevent his smile from shaking too much. “You’ll be in so much trouble. But there will be time for that later. Let’s get you home.”

Sixteen:

A chin landed on Tony’s head. “What are you doing?”

Tony smiled. “Why won’t you come here and see?”

Peter removed his chin from Tony’s head and hopped over the backrest of the couch, flopping effortlessly next to his father. “Hey,” his face lit up, “those are my childhood photos.”

“Sure are,” Tony nodded and turned over the page. These were from the attempted camping trip when Peter was ten. It was attempted only because the tent had decided to pick a fight with Tony and almost poked his eyes out.

Four times.

The trip was saved when Tony had gone and got a caravan instead. So what if they hadn’t been watching the start from the tent but from the roof of the caravan?

“I remember that,” Peter hummed. “That tent won.”

“Like hell it did!”

“I’m pretty sure it did.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, moving on!” Tony exclaimed and turned a page. These were from when Tony allowed Peter to try on the repulsors. Pepper almost killed both of them, but he promised he was being careful!

Peter shifted closer, side to side with Tony. “Why’d you pull this out? Decided to get sentimental, old man?”

“Little shit,” Tony muttered and ruffled Peter’s hair.

But yeah, he guessed he did. He’s already gone through two albums – one from the time when Peter was still living with Richard and Mary, the second from his time here. There were plenty of pictures since then – courtesy of Jarvis and then Friday.

When he remembered how he’d felt the time the social worker brought Peter, he had to smile. His past self was so afraid, and for what? Peter had turned out fine if he said so himself. Maybe a little bit reckless – or a lot, as Pepper or Happy or Rhodey would say – but that was in his blood.

Tony was so lucky to have a brave, kind-hearted kid like Peter.

Seventeen:

“I’m sorry.”

And then Peter was gone. All that was left of him was a fistful of ash and dust Tony clutched in his shaking hand.

“He did it,” the blue woman said, sounding so far away.

All Tony could see was the ash in his hand, the whisper of I’m sorry echoing in his mind.

No, this couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real! This was just a really messed up nightmare and he’ll wake up any second and then he’ll go make breakfast for him and Peter and Pepper and- He opened his hand slightly, sure that he was just imagining it. But deep down he knew he wasn’t.

He knew this was the reality.

A soft gust of wind flew by, stealing some of the ashes from his hand. Tony immediately curled his fingers in a white-knuckled grip and brought his hand to his chest, cradling the pile of ashes protectively.

It was all he had left.

“Let’s go,” the woman said and Tony wanted to say no, that he won’t be going anywhere, that he wanted to stay here and die along with Peter because his heart died with him and the shell wanted to follow-

For some reason, he obeyed. He got on his feet, the pain from the wound shooting through him like a lightning.

There were five stages of grief. Tony didn’t remember the exact order, just that the first one was denial. There was anger there too; was that one second or third? No need to answer. Tony knew exactly where he wanted to direct the anger once it came.

If the titan thought the drop of blood Tony had drawn was pathetic, then he had a storm coming.

Thanos fought Iron Man before, but he never fought a grieving father fueled by rage.

“We won. Dad. We won, dad.”

Tony let his eyelids fall shut. It was so quiet.

No more battles.

No more fights.

“Dad, please.”

He’d done everything he could for the world.

Yeah, he could rest now.

The universe had a twisted sense of humor to let him be reunited with his son only to leave him moments later. But Peter would be safe. That’s all that mattered.

I’m sorry, he thought, and then everything went black.

Eighteen:

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Tony opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. An involuntary smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? Tell Pepper?” he teased with a grin.

Peter frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know you’re supposed to be resting. That means you shouldn’t be venturing outside on your own.”

Tony laughed. “Come on, you know that I can’t sit still for too long. Besides, it’s been over a year.” Tony’s eyes softened. “I think I’m gonna be alright now. Here,” he patted the wooden pier next to him and scooted to the side a bit, “you can join your old man and keep him company. That way you can’t say I’m out unsupervised.”

The concern on Peter’s face was perfectly understandable. After Tony had snapped, it was touch and go for a few months. Nobody could tell if he’d make it. There was no guarantee. Zero. Nada. His heart had apparently stopped beating sixteen times on the first day alone!

Hell, Tony thought he wouldn’t make it; he’d accepted that fact when he’d decided to make the ultimate sacrifice to save the universe. He’d known he would be leaving Pepper and Peter, whom he’d just gotten back, alone to deal with the aftermath, but if it meant they would be living together in a world safe from a madman that wanted half of everything dead, they so be it.

Thankfully, he’d made it… mostly in one piece.

Peter’s arms fell to his sides with the long exhale he let out and went to sit down on the pier. “How does it feel?” he asked softly after a moment of silence.

Tony shrugged. “Same as in the morning.” For emphasis, he moved the prosthetic around.

Yeah… remember how he said he made it mostlyin one piece? As it turned out, there was no saving the arm where the stones had been.

Up until a month ago, where his arm once used to be was only empty, tied sleeve. As much as he wanted to make his own prosthetic, he was given one from Wakanda. But hey! It was all his for tweaking. He will still have to calibrate the whole thing manually because unlike Barnes, Tony’s nerves suffered significant damage – which so far resulted in a lot of shattered mugs, dents in surfaces and snapped tools – but once he could ruffle his kid’s hair without worrying about accidentally hurting him, he could start on the modifications.

Peter kept his eyes on the water with an empty expression.

“Stop that,” Tony said.

“Stop what?”

“Thinking about it. I’m here, I’m alive, and that’s what matters.”

The birds chirped in the trees, their song a contrast to the conversation.

“It was so scary,” Peter whispered.

Tony’s eyes softened. “I know, kiddo.”

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he nudged Tony’s prosthetic.

“Cross my heart.” Tony shuffled closer, and gently, gently, placed his prosthetic arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Does it hurt?”

Peter shook his head. “No. Almost like your flesh one.”

Tony pulled his son even closer. “I’m so glad to have you back.”

“I’m so glad to have you back, too.”

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maicaly · 2 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 7 - Used as an experiment

Read of Ao3 HERE :)

Summary: Peter is followed home by a man in a trench coat. It goes down hill from there.

------

Peter runs into a man wearing a trench coat on the train.

“Sorry,” he says, repositioning his backpack on his shoulder and sidestepping to give him room. The man stares down at him, unblinking, and Peter’s spider sense gives a distant twinge. Unnerved, he walks to the other end of the carriage and sits tensely, keeping the strange man in the corner of his eye.

When Peter gets off at his stop, the man in the trench coat follows.

He tries to convince himself it’s purely coincidence, though he can’t help but quicken his gait regardless. Every step he takes seems to equal two for the man behind him and Peter debates breaking into a run.

No. You’re being dumb. Vigilantism has made you paranoid.

Peter slows down, because it’s just a man in a trench coat. Nothing more.

He walks another two blocks with the man behind him until he passes over the mouth of an alley. He peers into it, his paranoia creating shadows just as his spider sense screams.

Something sharp embeds itself into Peter’s neck. He stops short with a gasp, his hand responding quick to pull it out. It’s a small dart, it’s glass canister empty, which means whatever had been in it is now in his system.

All too quickly, the world goes hazy. Peter stumbles and is caught by strong arms. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s the man in the trench coat.

“Woah there,” Trench coat says. “You don’t look so good. Let me help you.”

Countless New Yorkers stream past them. Peter tries to use his voice to raise alarm but his voice is locked in his throat. He struggles weakly against Trench coat’s grip as he’s guided toward the curb. The man opens the back door of a beater car and stuffs Peter in.

Peter collapses against the seat, everything distorted and the dirty interior of the car blurring together like a kaleidoscope. “Stop,” he says, his throat dry.

“There’s no need to fight the drug,” Trench coat says. He’s in the driver’s seat now, looking back with slate gray eyes. “Give in, Peter.”

Give in.

Peter groans and ungraciously peels himself off the seat. He tries to pry the door opened but it sticks tight. His strength has abandoned him.

“Give in, Spider-Man.”

Peter’s blood runs cold before another brutal wave of dizziness passes over his eyes. The world outside turns dark at its edges.

And Peter lets go.

-------

Peter’s eyes are hard to open. His spider sense is urging him into wakefulness, its urgency almost painful, but there’s not much he can do to combat the heaviness in his eyelids. Pain rolls over him like a low tide, originating from a spot in his elbow.

Finally, it's enough to make his eyes blink open. He’s in a small basement by the looks of it, a TV and couch set in the corner and a pool table pressed against the wall. Peter himself is sitting in a wooden chair, his wrists and ankles tied tightly to the wood.

He tugs experimentally on them and winces when the pain in his elbow flares. There’s a needle sticking out of it connected to a red tube. He follows it, his brain turning slowly, to a bag filling gradually with his blood.

“Awake, I see?”

Peter cranes his neck to the side, the small movement making him astronomically dizzy. Trench coat waves at him, lines appearing beside his eyes as he smiles.

“What… what’s happening?”

“I’m collecting your blood. Purely for experimental purposes. I hope you understand.”

Peter certainly does not understand. His head is filled with fog, obscuring rational sense and thought. “Why?”

“You’re Spider-Man.”

“No. How…?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already collected over a liter, so it’s no surprise you’re a little confused. Just sit back and let the needle do it’s work. We’ll be finished soon.”

His spider-sense pings again. Get out. Get out. He wrestles with the ropes binding his wrists down, anxiety burning a hole through his gut. “N-no.”

Trench coat grabs him around the throat. His fingers are hot, or maybe Peter’s skin is just cold. “Sit. Still.”

Peter gasps when Trench coat releases him. Nausea flares in his stomach and his heartbeat begins to climb. “I’ll die.”

The admission surprises him a little. Blood loss makes him honest, apparently. Or maybe it’s the drug still lingering in his system. Trench coat is not as surprised. He shrugs. “Perhaps.”

Peter struggles harder against the ropes binding him down even though it makes his elbow light up with pain. Trench coat clenches his jaw, then sighs. “Fine. Squirm, if you must. It will only make the process faster.”

Tears sting at Peter’s eyes. He was taking the train home, excited to tell May about the A he’d gotten in chemistry. Why am I here? Why am I… am I dreaming?

“Please,” he whispers.

But Trench coat walks away.

Peter sags against his bonds. His hands are shaking, a thin sweat breaking out across his face and neck. Darkness gathers in his vision as his head dips, unconsciousness begging him to give in.

He may, because the next time he blinks, Trench coat is back and he feels three seconds away from throwing up. Peter cries, his mind starting and stopping like a busted cassette. Somehow, he manages to raise his head. He’s breathing so heavily he can hardly hear Trench coat’s voice over it. “Over two liters now. Impressive.”

“Screw…you.”

His eyes roll back in his head.

Then his spider sense blows up like a firework.

Without fully comprehending his ability, Peter’s leg bursts free from its ropes and kicks hard against Trench coat’s kneecap. It pops loudly and he yells in pain, collapsing down against the ground. The new position brings his head down and Peter kicks again, this time hitting him under the jaw. He goes limp.

“Oh god.”

Peter uses the last of his strength to break himself free from the remaining ropes, pulling the needle ungently from his arm. Goosebumps spread across his arms and legs as he wrestles his phone out of his pocket, surprised but grateful it’s still there.

The room is spinning again. Spinning. Spinning. Peter clasps his hand hard against his mouth to keep from throwing up as he clicks on Happy’s ID and pushes the call through.

“Peter?”

“H-Happy?”

“God, kid. You sound terrible. Are you okay?”

Peter shakes his head. Vigorously.

“Kid? Hey, Tony. Somethings wrong with Peter. Come over here.”

“Happy...”

“Peter?” This time it’s Tony’s voice, shaking with worry. Peter hates it when Tony worries. “You with us, kiddo?”

“Not okay,” Peter chokes. “Blood. Bad. Gone.”

Happy and Tony both swear. It awakens a new layer of fear in Peter and he stands, determined to escape and to relieve their worry. But as soon as he’s vertical his vision tunnels and he falls flat on his face, the world getting swallowed up in an angry black hole.

“...ter? Peter Parker!”

“Present,” Peter mumbles against the floor. His phone is lying by his face. On it’s other side, Trench coat is still a heap on the floor.

“Thank god, kiddo. You were unresponsive for about six minutes. Did you pass out?”

“Blood,” Peter whines.

“Are you bleeding?”

The question spins in his head. Am I?

“Happy and I are on our way, okay buddy? We’ll be there soon. Are you in danger?”

“Trench coat.”

“Trench coat?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. Are you bleeding?”

“Mmm.”

“If you are, I need you to put pressure on it.”

Peter tries to listen but his limbs are numb and tingling. He’s been Spider-Man long enough to know that his body is shutting down, and he tries to tell Tony as much, but his eyelids have fluttered closed. He doesn’t have the energy to open them, let alone speak.

“Kiddo?”

“Pete?”

“We’ll be there in three minutes, okay? Just hang on a little longer.”

“Hang on.”

“Hang…”

------

Hot hands jolt him into wakefulness. Everything is a blur around him. He tries to fight, but he can’t feel anything aside from the raging pulse in his neck. There’s not enough air. Everything is shrinking.

“...so much blood, Tony.”

“Hypovolemic shock-”

“We don’t have much time.”

He’s lifted up and his breath stalls in his throat. His whole body is a mess of nausea, his mind blank. He tries to voice his discomfort, but it’s gibberish.

There’s a hot hand on his forehead. Reassuring. Kind.

“Stay with me, buddy. Don’t go anywhere. Keep your eyes open.”

Eyes open? Funny. Everything is black.

“We’re right here. Happy and I. We’re going to get you home safe.”

Home.

Peter gasps as his lungs stall.

And then he falls.

-------

Peter’s head is wrapped in bubble wrap. Everything is muffled. Quiet. He’s not cold anymore.

“Buddy? You waking up?”

Peter groans and lifts a hand to rub at his face. His limb is weak, trembling with strain. He already knows he’s in medbay. He can tell from the firm mattress and the harsh smell of antiseptic. He can tell from how fast Tony’s heart is beating.

“Peter?”

With great effort, Peter manages to open his eyes. He winces against the light at first, then tilts his head toward Tony, offering a weak smile. He’s holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, dark bruises of exhaustion under his eyes.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. What… what happened?”

A shadow passes over Tony’s face. He sets down his mug. “You don’t remember?”

“Mm. Not really. Tired.”

“We can talk about it when you’re feeling better.”

“No. Wanna know.”

Tony bites his lip. Sets his jaw. He looks as weak as Peter feels. “You lost nearly 40% of your blood volume. Some asshole was bleeding you dry.”

Trench coat. Sharp images come into his mind that he flinches away from. His panic must show because in the next second Tony is closer, one hand on his back and his other on Peter’s arm. “Breathe, kiddo. You’re safe now. You got out.”

“I- I kicked… is he okay?”

“What?”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“He- he knew I was Spider-Man.”

“Don’t worry. Happy took care of it. He’s rotting in a holding cell as we speak.”

Peter relaxes enough that Tony draws back, though a deep line of worry still sits between his eyebrows.

“That was really scary,” Peter remembers. “I really thought I was going to die.”

The look on Tony’s face tells Peter he thought the same thing, though he doesn’t voice his agreement. “You’re okay now. It’s over.”

“Being Spider-Man really sucks, sometimes.”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “Speaking of that, I made you something while you were conked out.” He pulls a watch out of his suit jacket; a slim thing with a brown band and a simple silver face. He drops it into Peter’s outstretched hand, directing his finger to a button on the side. “A panic button, of sorts. If you ever get into trouble again without the suit, it’ll send a direct notification to me with your location.”

Peter gapes at the watch. “What? Mr. Stark…”

“No need to thank me, Underoos. It’s for my own sanity.”

“Thank you.”

“Kid-”

“Help me put it on.”

The edge of Tony’s lip quirks up as he helps Peter fiddle with the watch strap. It fits perfectly. Of course it does.

“Maybe now you’ll finally be on time for lab sessions,” Tony says.

“You wish.”

Peter smiles widely and Tony picks up his mug to hide his own grin. Peter falls further into his pillow, confused as to how he can be feeling so safe after something so awful. “Really, Mr. Stark,” he says, fighting a yawn. “This- it means a lot to me.”

“Someone’s gotta look out for you.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s you.”

He’s awake just long enough to see Tony’s fond expression. The watch sits lightly on his wrist, the cool metal of its back calming him.

He’s safe.

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