#but do I wanna waste my lives before the boss? Nope but the alternative isn’t good either

[no1ryomafan]

Playing more umbraclaw and after beating two bosses suddenly some gunvolt looking ass furry reject just showed up and made things harder he has three health bars which isn’t normal for the bosses and he showed up first at the start of one stage I just got to what the FUCK is going on

[loki-thorbrother]

This is a submission, written by a friend who does not have a tumblr. This is not written by me!

—

Whumptober #5- Gunpoint

Takes place between the events of Homecoming and Infinity War.

The objective had been simple enough: find the rest of Edwin Cord’s guys, steal the assets back, and blow the place to hell. 

Tony had beaten Cord himself; it’d made for a pretty wild Friday night, even for his standards, but once Rhodey disabled Cord’s power system, the guy had been helpless against Tony’s tech. There seemed to be more and more of those jealous moguls who thought Tony had cheated them out of something, but at least they weren’t hard to knock out of the park. It was ridiculous how those guys all seemed to repeat the same mistakes: overconfidence, fallible technology, and dependence on rookie guards. 

The first two were expected, but that last point was an insult to his intelligence. If he had to deal with one more sleeping guy guarding the power system, he’d leave the next mission entirely in Rhodey’s hands. 

And then there was this. He’d thought he was done with Cord, then he’d gotten an assignment from Ross; turns out they wanted him to root out the rest of Cord’s guys, rather than a low-level hero or even the police, who could’ve done it just as well. That was even worse of an insult. He was Tony Stark; he’d taken out terrorists, invented new elements, (destroyed a city, don’t think about that one), fought Captain America and the Winter Soldier at the same time; and for god’s sake, he’d thrown a nuke into freaking outer space. 

But Ross was barely tolerating him now, so he’d better go out and at least pretend he was obeying the Accords. 

According to the intel reports he’d received that morning, Cord’s main back-up guy--or something--was Ethan Rooker, who was holed up with some of the other boys at a place in South Manhattan, allegedly an old Irish bar. After drinking a full pot of coffee, Tony suited up and took off for the bar. 

“Hey, FRIDAY,” he said with a yawn, “you up and running?”

“More than you are, Mr. Stark,” came the reply. 

Tony blinked. His AI was getting more sarcastic by the day. 

“Great. Fine. Can you get me anything on one Ethan Rooker?”

“One moment, Mr. Stark.” There was a brief silence, in whichTony thought about how much he hated awkward pauses. “Rooker is American-born, but was raised in Afghanistan; he emigrated at the age of seventeen. No record of personal life. He was a brilliant child, but was refused admittance to MIT.” 

Tony snorted. “And here I thought Cord was the one who was jealous. Already we’re racking up some serious envy points: he can’t go to MIT, I graduate at seventeen and become a billionaire--”

“In all fairness, you did inherit that position.”

“Thank you for your honesty. I guess someone needs to keep me in check. So, no MIT, no family connections; and then I blew up an entire terrorist organization, which, since he’s technically American, he’d probably wanted to do his whole life anyway. So I stole his thunder, became a superhero, and put his first-rate felon boss in jail.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Some people find the most ridiculous reasons to hate me, don’t you--”

“Boss!”

FRIDAY’s sudden warning brought Tony’s attention back to the mission, and he lowered the rocket boosters enough to bring him out of the clouds. The skyline of east Manhattan appeared below him, and he grinned. Even with years of experience and a hell-mix of PTSD, depression, anxiety, and just a touch of alcoholism, that sight never failed to be amazing. 

A few seconds later, and the bar was right under him, like magic. 

“All right, FRIDAY,” he said. “We’re going in.”

                                                       ~

The bar was empty. 

That was the first sign that something was really wrong. 

Tony had crashed down, straight through the ceiling--just like they were on live TV--but when the dust cleared, there was nothing. No security guards, no Rooker, no back-up...not even a few terrified bartenders. It was empty. Of course, there was the possibility that someone could have seen him coming and run away, but that was unlikely. His timing had been too perfect(thanks to FRIDAY, he had to admit). No one would’ve had time to run without him seeing them…

So that meant this was a trap. 

“Come on, Rooker,” he said loudly. “I’m here, and I know you are, too. Show yourself now, and you’ll just go straight to prison. But if you keep playing games like this, I swear I’ll--” 

Tony stopped mid-sentence. The back door was opened. 

The metal of his suit clanking as he walked, Tony hurried to the back of the bar, past tables and chairs and expensive wine glasses--why he had to waste his time on this, he had no idea--seized the back door, ripped it off…

And there, in the alley behind the bar, was Ethan Rooker.

But he wasn’t alone. There were four guys behind him, and to his left...oh, god. To his left, kneeling in the dirt, hands bound behind his back, with a gun held to his forehead, was Peter Parker.

Peter turned at the sound, his eyes widening. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” he stammered quickly, “I-I didn’t think this was something Iron Man was gonna have to take care of, just a little neighborhood problem, I could figure it out. I-I mean, he was terrorizing a bunch of kids! I didn’t think--”

The words tumbled out one after another in that too-fast, overly earnest way of Peter’s that was usually so irritating. Usually. But not today. 

“Oh, shut up,” Rooker snapped, pressing the gun tighter against Peter’s forehead. “You see, Stark, you can’t lock me away.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Tony knew he probably shouldn’t sound so rude, but he couldn’t help it. The kid was right there--one twitch of Rooker’s finger, and he’d be...no. No, don’t think about that. Stop it. Fix it. “Want me to add threatening a sixteen-year-old kid with murder to your list of charges? Wouldn’t look good in court, I can tell you that.”

Rooker laughed. “You think I’m going to court? It’d be pointless. You’re here, and you’re pissed, which is why I’m willing to bet that this is an Accords-sanctioned assignment. They wouldn’t have put Barnes through the legal system, they won’t do the same for me.”

Tony laughed bitterly. “You’re comparing yourself to the Winter Soldier? He’d have killed you by now, and without breaking a sweat.”

“I’m doing no such thing. But my trial isn’t going to be fair...which is why I’ve got insurance.” His finger tightened on the trigger; Peter flinched. Tony’s hands clenched at his side. “One step forward, and he’s…” Rooker shrugged. “Well, you know.”

That callous shrug almost got Rooker killed then and there. Before he knew it, Tony was keying up his guns. “So you think I can’t take you in and save him?”

“Not a chance.” Rooker laughed. “You need me alive, Stark. Those precious world leaders don’t want you killing somebody else, or they’ll lock you up in the Raft, just like half the Avengers. You can’t afford to kill me.”

Tony glared at him through the mask. “Wanna bet?”

“Actually, I do. And I have a better alternative for you. You leave now, I’ll let the kid go in...well. Let’s say twenty minutes. Only once I’m sure you’re away, and that I’m safe.”

“And how do I know he’ll be safe?” Tony demanded. Peter looked up in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected Tony to say something quite so...protective? No, that wasn’t the right word. Not nearly. “If I’m back in my penthouse, how do I know you haven’t killed him?”

Rooker smiled. “You’ll have to trust me.”

“Careful, boss,” said FRIDAY in his ear. “There’s a forty percent chance he’s lying. There is also a chance that he hates all of the Avengers, not just you--”

Which includes the kid, was the unspoken rest of the sentence. And I can’t take those odds.

Tony clenched his fists again, the metal creaking; he had no idea what to do. He looked at Rooker, so smugly confident in himself, at the four bodyguards, ready for an attack...and then at the kid. For some stupid reason, he knew with an absolute certainty that he did not want Peter Parker to die. The desperate look on Peter’s face was enough to tell him that.

Sure, the world needed Iron Man. But how could it count on him, when he only had a solid moral compass four out of seven days of the week? 

The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was just as important. If not more.

“Stark,” Rooker said again, looking unsure that Tony had heard him; he was anxious, even if he didn’t show it. “I said, you’ll have to trust me. Is that clear?”

Tony looked up, staring down Rooker; and then, thinking back to Afghanistan, he turned off his hand blasters...and instead selected five out of six targets he wanted dead. 

“Nope,” he said. “Definitely not clear.”

The most Rooker could do was gasp in shock as Tony’s shoulder guns shot him and his goons dead. 

Peter, no doubt surprised beyond anything he’d ever seen, began gasping for breath; adrenaline, Tony diagnosed. He’d had a rush of adrenaline, preparing himself to die, and now he wasn’t dead--and someone else was--so, boom. Loss of adrenaline, leads to exhaustion. 

In an instant, Tony lifted his face mask and hurried to Peter’s side. 

“Hey,” he said, and Peter’s head snapped toward him, eyes still wide. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” The gauntlets vanished at his command, and then he was able to free the kid’s hands. 

Peter immediately started rubbing his wrists, which were chafed red. Second diagnosis--Rooker had died too quickly. “Wow. Uh--uh, wow, Mr. Stark. Uh, uh, thanks?”

“Don’t have to thank me. Heroes save people, and you know that. From experience.” Tony finished looking Peter’s body over, and then turned the kid’s head to face him. “Tell me honestly, you okay? Don’t you dare lie to me, I’m gonna know.”

“I...I think so, yeah.” Peter’s rapid breaths were becoming less and less frequent, slowing down; that was a good sign. Great sign. “Just, maybe…” He touched a spot on his cheek that Tony realized, belatedly, was a pretty dark bruise. “Hit me here. When I woke up, I--I had a gun to my--” 

Peter’s face went white suddenly, and he stopped talking. Tony knew immediately what was happening; Peter was realizing exactly how close he’d come to dying. 

“You’re okay,” Tony said again, then amended himself; that excuse never worked. “No, sorry. You’re not okay, that’s me lying to you, that’s on me. But here’s the thing, kid.” Peter’s eyes had lost focus; Tony had to turn his head back to him again, or else he knew Peter was going to pass out, or something. And that, he didn’t want to deal with. “Here’s the thing. You’re going to be okay, because it’s over now.”

Peter looked at Rooker’s body, and a tremble shook his frame. “But--”

“Nope. No buts. It’s over.”

Peter sighed. “But you killed him. Doesn’t--doesn’t that--”

“Violate the Accords? One hundred percent. Absolutely. That’s also on me--hey, look! Seems like we’ve found a common theme here: Everything Is Tony’s Fault. Perfect. But…” Tony raised a finger. “I think I’ll be able to get a little leeway here.”

Peter frowned. “Uh, I don’t think it works like that, Mr. Stark.”

“Uh, actually, it does. For me, at least...and for you, ‘cause you’re protected under the Accords, too. So if I saved you, they just might not send me to the Raft.” Tony let himself smile, just briefly. “Oh, and also because I can pay a fine of two hundred or three hundred or even two billion dollars if they want.”

Peter grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess you could do that, Mr. Stark.”

“I definitely can. Hand?” 

Tony held out his hand for Peter to stand, and the kid took it. “Yeah, definitely.”

They stood up; quickly, Tony dusted off Peter’s clothes and took one last look at him. “Yeah, you’re good, kid. Just go ice that bruise, and lie down. Rest.”

“Rest?” Peter exclaimed; Tony rolled his eyes. Here we go again. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many problems I skipped on my way over here? Kids in trouble, cars locked, bank robberies, hostage situations--”

“None of which you will be fixing. Not today, Spiderboy. You need a rest. No more...no superheroing, not today. Tomorrow, maybe. But today you need a rest.”

“But, Mr. Stark--”

“What’d I tell you? No buts.” Tony threw an arm around Peter’s shoulder, helping him walk. “And if I find you sneaking out, I’ll call your aunt.”

“Okay, fine. No superheroing, and that’s not a word.”

“Sure it is. I can make up any word I want. I’m Tony Stark.”

Peter laughed. “Maybe.” They walked in silence for a few seconds, and then-- “Mr. Stark?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, kid?”

“You were wrong, you know. About before.”

Tony frowned. “Before? Before, what?”

“When you said everything was your fault. It’s not.” Before Tony could say anything, Peter looked up at him with those bright, too-honest expression that somehow had come to mean the world to him. “You tell me not to lie to you, but you’re lying to yourself. You tell yourself everything is your fault, and it isn’t.”

Well. What the hell could he say to that? Not everything is your fault. Weren’t those the words he needed to hear, every hour of every day, after every nightmare and mission and before every breakdown and...and all the time? Yes. Absolutely. 

But he couldn’t say it to the kid, so he settled for slapping Peter’s shoulder.

“First rule of Avenging, kid--only complain up the chain of command. So, nothing I do or think or say to you is wrong. But you can tell the guard at my front door he thinks everything is his fault all day long. Sure he’d love that.” 

“But Avenging isn’t a word either.”

Tony couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Whenever he was around the kid, it was like a miracle; he stopped thinking about New York, Sokovia, Germany, and every other thing he’d ever done that would haunt him forever.

And that meant he could never let him get as close to dying as he had today. 

But instead of say that aloud either, Tony laughed. “God, Pete, I don’t know where you get these lines from, it’s like you’re a constant snark machine.” The physical contact was helping him somehow, he realized. He moved his hand up to Peter’s hair and ruffled it.

“Learned it from you.”

Tony glanced at Peter in surprise. “Now that’s witty. There’s no way I could’ve taught you that.” Taking Peter’s arm, he guided him around the bar and back into the city of Manhattan. “Come on, Spider-Man, let’s get you home.”