#hurt Peter Parker

[possumdrawsstuff]

Pov: u just died like 4-5 times

(MORE DARK MATTER FANART)

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: "You said you would let them go" Find the fic on Ao3

"You said you would let him go.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut—the only part of his body he can move—at the sound of Tony’s voice. He’s lost track of how long it’s been since he’d woken strapped to this table, the scents of chemicals and ocean heavy in the air.

“That’s when I thought I was ransoming an intern,” Osborn replies, running a finger down the side of Peter’s cheek. Peter manages to glare at him—the most he can do when he’s unable to pull away. “But he’s more than that, isn’t he, Stark?”

“Whatever narrative you’re trying to spin to wring more cash out of me, save it. You have the money you asked for. Now let him go, or I’m going to stop being civil about this.”

“Civil?” Osborn muses. Even from this end, Peter can hear the distortion from the tech Osborn is using to disguise his voice. “Civil would be returning what’s yours, Stark. Which was the plan before I realized that you stole this specimen first.”

“He’s a high-schooler. Only thing he’s been stolen from is gym class.”

Osborn bends his finger, causing the nail to catch on Peter’s skin. “A high-schooler, yet you gave him access to your personal labs. He must be very special.”

“Rumours, and half-baked ones at that. Get better sources.”

“Don’t lie to me, Stark. It wasn’t hard to run some blood work. This kid isn’t human, not by a long shot, so the price just tripled. Have the money in the same account by midnight, or I’m putting him on the black market in pieces.”

“Or,” Tony counters. “I figure out who you are, come pick the kid up myself, and you can face me head on. How does that sound?”

“Is that an UN-approved mission, Stark? Heard you’re on a tight leash these days. Good luck getting a rescue mission signed off in time to save the kid.” Osborn grins down at Peter, the expression all teeth. “Either way, I get paid for him. How much pain he goes through during the interim is entirely up to you.”

“Listen, you do not want to—”

But Osborn has already hung up. “So, Peter. Looks like we have a few more hours together. How do you want to spend them, huh? Shall we have a little more fun while your dashing hero decides if you’re worth paying for?”

Not being able to throw quips at bad guys sucks. Peter tries to move his tongue, but it’s as immovable as the rest of him. When he’d first woken up, he’d been terrified that the paralysis might be permanent. But he regains feeling every couple of hours or so, just enough to strain his limbs against the restraints, which is exactly when Osborn gives him another dose of whatever drug is keeping him immobilized.

“I’ve got all the blood I need,” Osborn is saying, moving over to the table that Peter is trying very hard not to look at. “But if we have time, why don’t we go a little deeper?”

If he could move, Peter would flinch at the sudden whir of what sounds horribly like a bone saw starting up. He might not be able to move his body, but the past few hours have certainly proved that he can feel it.

“Aw,” Osborn coos at him, the sound of the saw growing closer. “Don’t be scared, kiddo. You heal quickly enough. And after all, I’m only taking back what was mine in the first place—” He breaks off, turning to a bank of monitors that Peter can just see out of the corner of his eye. There’s a green dot traveling towards them at breakneck speed. “Well, would you look at that? I guess Stark isn’t as stupid as that goatee makes him look.”

A breath punches out of Peter as the saw switches off, hoping Osborn’s words mean the one thing he’s been praying for since he first woke up here. Tony’s coming.

Osborn sweeps Peter’s hair off his forehead in a mock gentle gesture. “Looks like I’m about to have an unexpected visitor, which means I’m going to have to put you away for a while.”

Peter narrows his eyes at him, trying to look as intimidating as possible while unable to move on a surgical table.

Osborn just laughs. “I see. You think he’s going to find you. Ah, Peter—where I’m about to put you? No one will even think to look.”

Somehow, getting cut open with a bone saw might have been preferable to this.

It’s freezing. If Peter’s body was cooperating, he knows he’d be shivering violently right about now. It’s pitch black, the oppressive darkness making him want to scream. And none of that compares to the overwhelming claustrophobia of being chained to an anchor deep, deep underwater.

Peter’s not sure a normal human would have survived the plunge into the ocean’s depths, even with the diving suit Osborn had stuffed him into. He can breathe, at least, but he’d caught a glimpse of the oxygen tank before Osborn had tipped him overboard. It had already been half-empty.

He’s tried to slow his breathing, to make whatever air he has last, fighting the instinct to panic and attempt to strain against the chains. Logically, he knows it’s no use. He’s still paralyzed. Even if the drug wears off, he’s not going to be strong enough to swim to the surface. He’s down here until Osborn pulls him up or until Tony finds him. If Tony finds him.

“Wow,” Osborn’s voice crackles in his ear. The earbud had been jammed in before Osborn had secured the diving mask purely, Peter knows, so that Osborn could keep taunting him. “He got here fast, little spider. Guess he really cares about you. Too bad he’s not going to find you, though.”

Peter closes his eyes, even though it doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to what he can see. If anyone can figure out where Osborn’s hidden him, it’s Tony Stark.

It’s the thought he holds onto as he hears the distant roar of thrusters, right before Osborn whispers over the comms, “Show time.”

A stomp of boots and the crack of a door being kicked open. “Where is he?”

“Stark. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Osborn. That line about a stolen specimen? I know you have him.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’ll have you know that there are security cameras all over this boat. It would be a shame if the UN saw the Accords’ greatest defender attacking without so much as a warrant.”

“I don’t need a warrant if I have probable cause of harm.”

A surprised laugh. “Probable cause of harm? I am merely out here alone, enjoying a little me time.”

“Uh-huh. So you won’t mind if I search your toy boat, then?”

“Go ahead.” Osborn is all confidence. “Search away.”

More sounds—footsteps, mostly. The sounds of doors opening. The noise of a search.

Please, Peter sends up to the boat, as though if he projects through sheer force of will Tony’ll hear him. Please think to look down here, Tony. Please.

“I have to say,” Osborn speaks up, and Peter wants to punch him for the undisguised glee in his voice. “You must have lost something very important to go to all this trouble.”

“Don’t play the ignorant card, Osborn. It’s not a cute look on you.”

“Simply making an observation.”

“And you know what I observe? The room you have hidden below the ship.”

Peter’s heart skips. That has to be the room he had woken up in, where the surgical equipment, where Peter’s blood is.

“Not hidden,” Osborn corrects him. “The door is simply an aesthetic design, I assure you. I’d be more than happy for you to take a look.”

A sudden ocean current sweeps past Peter, knocking him hard against the anchor. It steals the wind from him, and there are a few terrifying moments where he can’t catch his breath, he can’t breathe, he can’t—

“Interesting space you’ve got in here. Very… clean.”

Peter latches onto the sound of Tony’s voice, using it as a much kinder anchor than the one he’s bound to. He doesn’t know how much oxygen he just wasted. He doesn’t know how much he has left, either. It belatedly occurs to him that if Tony can’t find him, then the more time his mentor spends searching, the longer Peter’s going to be stuck down here.

“I hardly use this space,” Osborn says. “The previous owners used it for fishing equipment, so I had it scrubbed to get rid of the smell and have barely touched it since. And I believe you’ve now seen the whole boat. Satisfied?”

I’m not on the boat, Peter thinks desperately. I’m below the boat.

“Not really,” Tony answers. “So, he’s not here. You’ve got him somewhere else.”

No, no, no, I’m here, come on Tony, please figure this out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Stark.”

There's an ugly pause before Tony says, “Don’t make me make you tell me, Osborn. You won’t enjoy that.”

“Go ahead,” Osborn challenges him. “Threaten an innocent man on camera. Let’s see how that holds up under the Sokovia Accords.”

Peter’s breath catches. At first, he thinks it’s just the tension burrowing its way under his skin from the dark, the cold, the oppressive weight of the water. Then he takes another slow breath. And another.

He’s not imagining it. The air feels a little lighter than before. As though he’s already scraping the bottom of the oxygen tank.

“I paid what you asked for,” Tony snaps at him. “Tell me where he is, Osborn. Now.”

Peter slows his breathing, trying desperately to make whatever is left in the tank last as long as possible.

“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me. I’ve got all night.”

Barely an hour ago, those words would have been music to Peter’s ears. Now, they’re a death sentence.

“All night, huh?” Amusement radiates from Osborn’s words. “Sure, I’m not busy. Can I offer you a drink?”

“I’m taking a second look around the ship.”

“Please, be my guest. Take all the time you need.”

Peter’s next breath rattles in his lungs. He’s definitely on dregs, and it’s not as though Osborn can pull him up while Tony’s still there. Osborn doesn’t need him alive, either. He’s made it clear that Peter’s body parts will sell just fine.

Peter listens helplessly as Tony continues to search, refusing to leave without answers that Osborn isn’t giving him. This is it. Peter’s going to die down here.

“Sure I can’t get you that drink, Stark? You did come all this way.”

Even over the comms, Peter can pick up Tony’s frustrated sigh. “This isn’t done with, Osborn.”

No, be done with it, Peter pleads with him. Go, Tony. Please just leave.

“I’m not sure what this even is,” Osborn replies, his tone all congeniality. “Of course, you did just invade my private property, which I will have to report. We all have to do our bit to keep the community safe.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Another sound of frustration, and then Peter hears the joyous sound of an Iron Man suit starting up. Tony’s going to leave. Osborn is going to pull him up.

And then cut him to pieces and sell him.

Peter barely has time to register that last thought before he tries to take his next breath, and finds that he can’t.

“Goodbye, Stark,” Osborn is saying. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Peter forces himself not to panic—to preserve the last molecules of oxygen he has left.

“Oh believe me, Norman. I will.”

Just go just go just go just go just go—

There’s silence for far too long before Peter hears Osborn speak again. “Just making sure he’s out of sight, kiddo. Can’t take any chances.”

Peter’s lungs are on fire. Instinct finally kicks in and he jerks in the chains, the paralytic drug wearing off far too late. A very different kind of darkness from the undersea depths is creeping in around him, and he can’t hear Osborn anymore, and the anchor isn’t moving, he’s going to die down here and he doesn’t want to die he doesn’t—

The last thing Peter’s aware of before he passes are strong arms on his, and the sensation of rising, rising, rising…

“Peter? Come on, kid, don’t do this to me.”

When Peter’s eyes open, he doesn’t see darkness. He’s not strapped to a table either. He experimentally shifts his arms and legs, breathing a sigh of relief as they move, only to realize that they’re shaking beyond his control.

“That’s it, Pete. Hey, look at me. Peter.”

The blurry shapes around him finally coalesce into the face of one very worried-looking Tony. “Oh, hey Mr Stark.”

“I need to stop pulling you out of freezing waters, kid.”

“S-sorry.” Peter can hear his teeth chattering, trying to wrap his arms around himself, only to realize that they’re oddly heavy. He peers down at himself, realizing he’s encased in red and gold metal. “Woah, that’s so cool.”

“Don’t get too excited, the suit’s a loan. Just getting you warm.”

Peter frowns. “Don’t feel warm.”

Tony’s brow creases. “We’ll get there. Don’t want to shoot your temperature up too quickly with your funky thermoregulation. Once you’re good I’ll fly us home.”

“Home sounds good. Away from…” Peter suddenly tries to sit bolt upright. It’s more of a half-sit-up before he collapses back with a groan.

“Woah, kid, take it easy.”

“Osborn, he’s here, he’s—”

“I got him. You’re safe, kid. I promise.”

Peter stills. “Really?”

“Really really.” Tony places a hand on Peter’s forehead, and Peter sighs at the warmth. “Sorry, kid. This one’s on me.”

“But you found me.”

“Yeah, that was one of my better brainwaves. Still, I don’t need villains kidnapping my intern because they think it’s an easy payday. We’ll work on it.”

Peter’s beginning to feel something other than completely frozen, the violent shivers abating a little. He pulls in a full breath, savoring it. “Yeah, that sucked.”

“Agreed.” Tony checks his forehead again. “I think we’re okay to turn it up a bit, FRIDAY.”

Heat suddenly bursts from the Iron Man suit’s interior, and Peter sighs in relief. “Thanks.”

“Any time, kid.” Tony lays his hand on Peter’s arm, finally seeming to relax as Peter’s temperature climbs. “Any time.”

[ddringo]

Becoming A Hero

His brain tells him to get back up. To run. To get away. That the next attack will happen in just a second. That someone will come, and they’ll shoot a bullet through his head. That’s it. End of Peter Parker. But his body doesn’t respond to anything. He can barely lift his arms, because it feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest.

Peter knows this is the end. Knows nobody will get to him in time… he’ll bleed out, in the desert sand. Alone.

His eyes feel heavy and slowly he closes them. Tries to breathe, knowing he can’t. Tries to forget the pain, but he can’t do that either. It digs through his chest, not like a bullet, no… It’s sharp and hard. There’s not one, there are a million. A million little things in his chest. But he can’t see them.

And soon, he can’t see anything, but darkness…

[explosivetangerines]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Avengers Team Members & Peter Parker Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Vision (Marvel) Additional Tags: Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, BAMF Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Irondad, spider son, Tony Stark Feels, Protective Tony Stark, Light-Hearted, Back Pain, no beta we die like peter parkers relatives, Short One Shot, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, a little fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Series: Part 1 of Spider-Man writing practice oneshots Summary:

“Oh my gosh, Mr.Stark, I'm so sorry.” Peter started making his way back to Mr.Stark, all his previous adrenaline sapped out of him, he grabbed the web dissolver out of the little belt on this suit, but a sharp pain made its way through his spine, making him suddenly stop and fall on his back “Owwww.”

Peter gasped as the pain got worse, sinking deeper in his spine.

Mr.Stark carefully ambled over to Peter, web still covering his eyes. “Are you alright?”

[themaidenofwords]

Final bit of art for my story Rats and Rogues. https://archiveofourown.org/works/52451017

Final chapter up now!

[elvenfforestydd]

Pretty Eyes Fetch a Pretty Price

Guys! I've got a new fic out. Please give it a read on A03.

Let me know if you want to be on a tag list.

Have a fantastic day :)

Chapter 1/7 - Read Here

While trying to buy a new comic, Peter is kidnapped and taken to an underground children's trafficking network. With the clock ticking until he disappears into the dark underworld, Bucky will do whatever it takes to find and bring Peter back home.

[littlemissagrafina]

"Hi, bored, I'm Tony."

For @call-me-coley cuz she's the sweetest.

@comfortember Day 20. Self Care

Summary: "Nope." Tony frowned. "Nice try. Back to the couch, Kid. I'm not even joking. You're hurt and I don't care how bored or stir crazy you are, you need to let yourself heal. Then you can do all the cartwheels around the training room you want."

Peter sighed and slinked back the way he came.

Tony rolled his chair back towards the doorway, shaking his head to himself as he watched Peter settle back on the couch.

He loved Peter but damnit if the kid didn't contribute to the amount of hair dye he had to use.

Read on AO3

Tony looked up when the lab doors slid open. He jumped up from his chair when Peter started limping his way into the lab, crutches tucked under both arms.

"Hey! Nah uh, nope. Not happening, Kid. Kudos for at least using the crutches but you're not meant to be up." Tony moved forward and started gently ushering Peter back the way that he came. 

Peter grumbled, half heartedly planting his feet firm to the ground but giving up quickly when Tony moved as if to pick him up entirely. "I'm bored!" He dragged out the word, and Tony bit back a laugh at his whiny tone.

"Hi, bored, I'm Tony." 

Peter's head whipped around to stare at him, betrayal written plain across his face as they stepped (and hobbled) into the elevator, and Tony did laugh this time.

Which apparently served to further Peter's disgruntlement if his pout was anything to go by.

They arrived back at the penthouse level and had Peter situated back on the couch in the living room, making sure his leg was propped up and that he was comfortable.

"Mr Stark, C'mon! I'm wasting away here!" Peter fidgeted, still frowning.

He very much resembled a puppy that was grumpy about having a toy taken away.

"You have homework, every movie and series that Friday has access to (which is practically everything that ever existed. And yes, I have parental controls on everything so no Game Of Thrones), and you have books and puzzles." Tony smirked at him. "Nice try, though. Not your best, but kudos for the dramatics."

Tony grabbed Peter's backpack and left it next to the couch. Anything Peter wanted was in it, and if it wasn't, then Tony would get it anyway.

"Cho has you on minimal physical activity until she clears you personally. And I, personally, don't like having to carry my kid who's covered in blood back to the medbay." And with that, as well as a pat to the top of Peter’s head, Tony went right back to his lab.

"Have fun wasting away, Bud! I'll check up on you later."

-

"Boss, Peter has just entered the training level." 

Tony swore, waving his hand around, his thumb throbbing where he'd hit it with the hammer. 

He sighed, pushing away from his workbench. When he last checked, Peter had been napping and Tony had assumed he would still be out for another half hour. Apparently not.

He left the lab and strode into the gym just in time to see Peter grab onto the enhanced and super spy proof monkey bars.

"Peter!" Tony barked, his heart clenching at the idea of Peter slipping from the bars and hurting himself even more. He took a breath and brushed the thought away, stepping back and taking momentary amusement at the way Peter froze and turned to him with an almost comical deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"Uhh…" 

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, 'uhh' to you, too, Pete. You have three seconds to carefully get down and grab your crutches before I come over and carry you back upstairs. Got it?"

Peter slumped, but listened anyway.

As Tony once again escorted Peter back to the living room, he called out a request to Friday.

"Fri, block Peter's access to the gym, the garage, and the lab unless he's accompanied by someone. Spider baby is officially grounded."

He ignored Peter's spluttering, instead he ruffled Peter's hair and asked what snacks he wanted.

-

Instead of going back to the lab, Tony set up in Pepper's office just off the living room. Even with the temporary access ban, Tony knew Peter would somehow find a loophole and had decided that staying closer was the best option. Both to keep an eye on him and for Tony's own peace of mind. Hell, a deadline he'd already extended twice was the only reason he'd been down in the lab instead of with Peter in the first place. But he would push the deadline again, if he had to. He'd much rather be here.

The accident during Peter's patrol had shaken Tony, and even though Peter's healing time was a fraction of that of a regular person, the damage from the break had been bad enough that the teenager would be laid up for at least two weeks. 

Nearing the end of the first week, Peter was almost bouncing off the walls with his pent up energy. He'd decided he was healed enough to be able to move around more, which led to today's shenanigans.

Tony had just managed an hour's work on the technical side of the project, various holograms floating around Pepper's office, when he caught movement from the corner of his eye.

Tony whipped his head towards the door, locking eyes with Peter as he tried to creep past. 

"Nope." Tony frowned. "Nice try. Back to the couch, Kid. I'm not even joking. You're hurt and I don't care how bored or stir crazy you are, you need to let yourself heal. Then you can do all the cartwheels around the training room you want."

Peter sighed and slinked back the way he came.

Tony rolled his chair back towards the doorway, shaking his head to himself as he watched Peter settle back on the couch.

He loved Peter but damnit if the kid didn't contribute to the amount of hair dye he had to use.

-

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. 

"Peter, c'mon, Bud. Can you please just stay here?"

"No, I don't want to." Peter mumbled from where his head was buried in his pillow as he lay face down on the couch. 

He was so obviously tired and sore and it was driving Tony insane that he wouldn't just let himself rest. It was even making Tony restless and agitated at this point.

"Why don't you want to? And don't say you're bored, cuz you've said that all day." Tony sat on the couch next to Peter, careful that he wasn't in the way of Peter's legs as he rested a hand on his head. He gently brushed his fingers over the messy and slightly knotted curls.

"What's really going on, Pete? You're usually pretty bad at being on bed rest and whatever, but this is far worse than other times."

Peter was silent, but Tony waited, slowly working out the few knotted curls.

Eventually the teenager sighed and turned his head so it rested sideways on the pillow. "I didn't wanna be alone." He admitted gruffly and Tony froze.

"Oh."

Peter hummed and Tony carried on running his fingers through his now tangle free hair.

"You could have asked me, you know?" Tony prompted softly. "I would have stopped what I was doing and kept you company, Bud."

"I know!" Peter sighed. "That's the problem! You had to work and I know you already delayed that project. Besides, you were with me for most of the week already and I didn't want you to get in trouble from Pepper and the board."

Tony's heart almost broke. Even when Peter was hurt, he still tried to put it herself before himself. "Kid, I can promise I wouldn't have gotten in trouble. I know it doesn't always seem like it, but I don't actually take that much leave from work. I'm on time with 90% of what's needed of me, and if I need to have it officially stated, I know that the board would accept extension reasons if they knew it was because of you being injured. This project just became time sensitive because it was part of the 10% that I wasn't on time with, and that's on me. Not you."

Tony tilted his head down, leaning so I could look straight at Peter. "And if you need or want something, I will drop everything I can to be there for you. So why don't you scooch over a bit, and let's put on a movie and you can have a nap. Because I can see you're tired."

Peter stared at him, smile growing wider as Tony spoke. "Are you sure that it's okay?"

Tony smiled back. "I am."

Peter nodded then, hesitating for only a moment. "Okay. Can, uh, can you make me some of that butter popcorn?"

"Of course I can, Bud. And it's about time for some more painkillers. I'll grab those for you too."

Just before he could get up, Peter sat up and dove forward, hugging Tony tightly. Tony held back equally tight.

"Thank you."

"It's my pleasure, Roo."

[koiffeeart]

Once a blue moon the Peter brainrot will win and I’ll attempt humans again exactly once, then scurry back into the cave I came from

Anyway I love him and that means he’s gotta hurt 🖤 hurt comfort fics are my lifeblood

[magickhajiit]

Sokovia and Spiders (Chapter 1)

Rating-teen and up

All Chapters

Hail races away from the grey clouds above, meeting their mark they feel like freezing bullets when they hit Peter’s suit. There’s an actual bullet heading towards him right now, slicing through the air as a knife would butter. Appearing in the form of a prickle of apprehension his spidey sense warns him of it, giving him enough time to flip out of the way before splashing back onto the gravel. Within minutes of sneaking out of the apartment his suit had been drenched, the colour darkened to navy and blood red. The hail is a hallmark of New York winters right along with freezing breezes and angry people, summers might bring forth warmth, but winters bring a blistering hot derived from the anger of New York’s citizens.

Spiderman had been on his way back home when he heard the commotion, the reason for the noise became quickly apparent as he leaned over the edge of the rooftop. A man was stood there, in one hand he was waved a gun threateningly in the air, in the other he was clutching the coat of a young woman. Despite his words being slurred and the stench of alcohol he was steady on his feet when he demanded her purse. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to use an authentic weapon but Peter was unwilling to take that chance. She hadn’t yet had a chance to react when spiderman leapt from the roof. He braced himself against the impact of the kick that made the assailant stumble backwards. Before he had the chance to regain his footing the woman took the opportunity to escape, heels clicking on the ground mark her departure. The moments distraction provided the criminal with ample time adjust his stance and pull the trigger.

Now there’s a bullet lodged in the brick wall, cracks spiralling from where it imploded, having sailed through the air where Peter had been standing only seconds earlier. Irritated at the murder attempt Peter flicks his wrist, he can just about hear the click of the web shooter mechanism firing before the criminal is secured to the wall.

‘’Hey, hey, hey, this is a new suit.’’ The guy just shouts obscenities at him from his place on the wall, eyes red around the edges, his scowl turning the lines on his face into deep crevices. Peter’s too busy looking at the newly formed hole in the wall, to pay any notice. In his mind's eye he can see what would have happened if the bullet hadn’t missed, metal slicing through spandex and skin before ripping through muscle. Turning his insides into a bloody smoothie. Damp gravel crunching under his weigh as blood loss causes him to crumple. He’d never been shot before, and he’s not adding it to his bucket list any time soon.

Inserting a new canister into his suit, his finger quick to fire. He hoists himself upwards, as soon as the web is secured onto a nearby lamppost, before sending a second. The rain has let up slightly as he swings through the city, no longer feeling like violent needles sticking into his skin.

Peter can hear him before he can see him, super senses allowing him to detect the suit’s inner engines from streets away. Why Ironman is hovering over the city at 11pm on a Tuesday is anyone's guess. Racking his mind for answers Peter theorises that he was after some criminal trading black market Stark tech. This area was halfway to home and a rough area of the city, infamous for its active drug gangs and weapons dealings. Yeah, that made sense.

Still, Spiderman slips into the alley, between two apartment blocks, hoping he'd either fly overhead or spontaneously change direction. He wasn’t hiding exactly, just temporarily avoiding. Ironman ignores Peter's inner prayer and continues onward. Just a couple of blocks away now, Peter can hear another accompanying voice.

‘’Do you have eyes on?’’ The question has a tinny quality about it, undetectable to most, making Peter think there must be a radio installed in his suit relaying the words.

Fortunately, he can’t recognise the voice, meaning Captain America or Thor are unlikely to drop in on him at any moment. Letting curiosity get the better of him he strains to hear more, hoping in this scenario curiosity doesn't kill the cat- or the spider in this case.

‘’No, not yet. Police reports confirm he’s been in this area recently.’’

‘’Maybe he’s already gone.’’

Peter’s stomach tumbles uncomfortably listening to the conversation unfold. They could be talking about someone else. They probably are. They have no reason to be hunting him. Though with Parker's luck there’s a good chance they are.

Still, there’s nothing to confirm this until, ‘’No, the web-slinger might be quick, but he doesn’t have super speed.’’ Unless his brand image has been stolen and there’s another web-slinging hero flinging himself around New York then it’s probably him.

Can I sue if there is? Peter wonders.

To be fair, hunting gangs is more of a Daredevil rather than an avenger thing. Ironman is practically on top of him now, a few more metres and he could look down and see him hanging from the wall uselessly. Futilely Peter shuffles down, wondering if it was better to be discovered or reveal himself. ‘’Hold on. I installed heat detecting sensors last week.’’

The flight part of fight or flight should kick in now, but at this moment, it evades Peter. Leaving him frozen as thin metal panels slide into place in Stark’s suit. ‘’See anything?’’

Ironman ignores the question in favour of hovering a little closer. So, he can glance directly into the mouth of the alleyway. Without the barriers of cloth and metal, Peter is sure they would be making awkward, uncomfortable eye contact right now.

When the silence continues for a beat too long Peter fills it, ‘’Err, Hi? I’m a big fan.’’

[ao3-whump-recs]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson (Marvel) Additional Tags: Summer of Whump, Summer of Whump 2021, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, for warmth, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Ice Skating, Medical Procedures, Hypothermia, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Parent Tony Stark, Tony has a heart condition Peter why are you like this, Fluff, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony didn’t die because screw that, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker Series: Part 1 of Summer of Whump 2021 Summary:

There’s nothing Peter loves more about winter than spending the entire season ice skating. The fact that Mr. Stark’s lake freezes over so well just gives him the perfect excuse to hang out with his mentor, pseudo-sister and still get to skate for free.

(For the Summer of Whump on Tumblr Day 1 Prompt - Freezing)

[nature-writes29]

A little snippet from the 6th chapter of my latest fic 'A Day of Unfortunate Events'

.....

     He could feel himself slipping away…. His breaths coming in laboured. His whole body was on fire. He could feel his heart wearing down now with all the trauma and blood loss. His eyes were dry now, all of their moisture gone. If he could have, he would have cried now. He had disappointed them. He was a failure, not even being able to override a simple protocol. He hadn’t felt this helpless since the Vulture and Thanos. He still got nightmares from the ordeals. He had finally asked MJ out and it had been a bliss. Everything was now finally falling in their place. But his Parker luck couldn’t take a break right?

      The flashes of his teammates' faces came in front of his eyes. He was disappointing all of them. Not only them, but he was also disappointing MJ, Ned, Pepper and even Tony’s and Pepper’s unborn Baby. He needed to get them out now, at least for their future, a future which he most likely won't be a part of. The burning fire of responsibility and sacrifice was run down to a flicker now. But the flicker of fire was still there. He was spider man, he could do this! And more than that he was a friend, bestfriend, boyfriend, ally, son, nephew and an avenger. He will fulfil his last ever duty. He will stay true to his Uncle Ben’s last words.

      He raised his good hand towards his watch, he could see Bucky and Steve coming towards him from his periphery. He touched the cool surface of the watch. It was still blinking green. His shaking fingers finally able to press the side button three times. A loud Bang sound came and the metal doors started to part. His eyes gazing at the NY sunset. It felt nice, passing away during the Twilight. While his eyes were staring at the playful but peaceful game of hues. He was proud that he was able to fulfil the last of his duties. 

      He was taking his last breaths now. His vision and brain went blank as his last thoughts were filled with his family, the feel of their hugs and love, Ned’s bear hugs, MJ’s lip’s touch on his, her smile…… In the end it was worth it, for him.

.....

Link to the story:

Hope you like it! Any kind of feedback is appreciated.

Have a good day:)

[possumdrawsstuff]

a little doodle of Peter from Dark Matter by Mysterycyclone on ao3!

I love him so much ❤️❤️❤️

[whateverithinkof]

Daily Fanfic Rec (Day 30)

Avengers

5/24/2024

Masterlist

Title: Unnamed, Unknown, Unspecified.

Author: 0_Reve_0

Words: 26,892

Chapters: 7

Completed?: No

"Peter Parker has a secret identity and he desperately wants to keep it that way. He just wants to keep his head down, do his job as Spider-Man and to keep his loved ones safe. So why are the Avengers on his case? Why do they keep pursuing him and how far are they willing to go till they catch him? If the Avengers being out to get him wasn't enough there's also the small issue of a team of new enhanced bad guys on the scene. They're out to cause mayhem and they don't care who gets in their way, plus taking down a certain annoying crime fighting bug at the same time is just a chance they aren't planning on missing.

A whump heavy different take on how Peter meets the Avengers."

-- -- -- -- --

This story can be not Avengers-friendly at times, focusing on their wrongdoings while trying to capture Spider-Man, as they don't know he is a teenager. This is a very good story that is great for people who like Peter Parker angst!

[ddringo]

Written in the scars

“Peter, could you tell me about what’s going on in that head of yours?” Sam tries to distract from the stitches, from the necessary work, that would allow the wound to heal. But he also needed to know what had happened, why it had happened, how he could help, how he could prevent it from happening again. “I can see the gears ticking in there. What has you so wound up?”

“I-“ Peter stops himself. Sam watches carefully as Peter takes a deep breath, giving the kid space to center himself, to calm himself. “I… I didn’t mean to,” Peter stammers out, eyes still glued to the floor, “I just, but then… I-“Then the first sob echoes from him, and tears stream down his cheeks, leaving wet trails behind. “Please, I… don’t tell dad… don’t tell Tony I-“

“Hey, hey” Sam snaps his fingers in front of Peter’s face, attempting to get him to look up at him. Meeting him at Peter’s level. “You did nothing wrong, okay? You’re okay. No one blames you for this, it’s okay. You are safe here. Alright?”

Prompt: Nervous Breakdown. @badthingshappenbingo

**Trigger warning: Self-harm**

[lenawin4]

I’m trying to do a Bad Things Happen Bingo! Click on AO3 or read below!

Orange blossoms in a dry heat. There is dust everywhere, even before what comes next, as it always does. It’s the remnants of a civilization long dead, and its ashes are what lead to a five-year-long nightmare of grief. He knows that, now that he’s older and alive to understand it. But in this moment, he clings to Tony, feels the pinpricks in his limbs as they’re dragged away, atom by atom, into the wasteland.

He can take this part. Dissolving like salt is easy, but Tony shrivels up as quickly as the rain stops, his skin turning purple-red-black from the stones, and it’s unclear who is clinging to who. Tony smiles, and Peter feels solid again, until he can’t hear the steadfast beat of Tony’s heart.

...

There’s a desert below them. The specks of sand do nothing to quell his nerves. Peter folds his hands and leans back in the leather seat until it reclines. If he reaches under his seat, he’ll find the first-aid kit Tony used to stitch him up after he had a little run-in with a train in the Netherlands. Then Tony rushed in and helped him save MJ and Ned and, well, all of London.

He was seventeen and struggling, as seventeen-year-olds did when they came back to life, and it saved his life twice over that Tony and May and Happy and Pepper were all by his side.

Now, Peter is a poster presentation away from graduating college, and he can’t sleep a wink. It’s stupid.

“Pete?” Tony chooses to sit across from him on an empty plane piloted by Friday. He looks at Peter like he’s still newly alive. “You okay?”

“Just tired.” His back aches from being slammed into a building by the giant armadillo shooting lasers out of his eyes in Madagascar, and there’s a bruise on his cheek that he spent the last thirty minutes covering up. The presentation is in three hours in a ballroom at Columbia, and Peter has to rush into his dorm without his roommate noticing so he can change into business casual.

Sam and Bucky are still on the ground for the clean-up. Peter’s lucky he has an excuse and a billionaire to bail him out with a private jet.

Tony taps his knee lightly. “Hey, I’m serious. I know you have to present your groundbreaking thesis, but if you’re hurt anywhere else, we have to take care of it.”

He rolls his eyes. Groundbreaking is not the word to describe scouring papers and crying in the library at three in the morning. “I’m okay, Tony. I promise.”

According to Pepper, ever since Morgan was born, Tony grew a sixth sense for kid stuff. When Morgan was about to cry, he was there a few seconds before it happened. When she fell off the monkey bars, he was there to catch her. Peter’s seen it a couple of times. Tony gets a look in his eyes before he does something to save his kids. The worst part is, it’s not the glare he had when he snapped. It’s the resigned, peaceful gaze he had when he laid there half-dead and burnt against a metal wreckage. Like he can handle anything now, because he has everything he ever wanted.

It’s something Peter sees nearly every night. It’s what he sees now.

“Tony.”

“Pete, what’s eating at you?”

“It’s nothing.”

Tony’s mouth twists and he wrings his hands. “They shouldn’t call you out here on a school day.”

“It’s Saturday morning.”

“Well, you have your presentation, so it counts as a school day.”

“They didn’t have anyone else,” Peter protests, as sternly as he can with Tony. “I had to help.”

“I know,” says Tony, too bitterly for Peter to digest it.

There’s no time for it. A sharp, tight grasp around his throat. It squeezes.

Peter turns around, trying to find the source of his nervousness, when it happens: the back of the plane bursts into flames.

Peter has his suit on, the Iron Spider helmet fastening around his head. He has his webshooters and his armor. Tony has nothing.

A deep groaning croaks, the metal bending, and the jet rocks back and forth. Peter shouts a warning, but it doesn’t do much to stop the motion from tossing Tony off his seat.

Half of the jet takes a nosedive. The other half screeches and rips away. Friday’s voice fills the remaining space. “Boss, I’ve contacted Bird Brain and Manchurian Candidate. Would you like to deploy…?” And she’s gone, the connection abruptly snapped.

Tony’s hanging by his fingers on the back of a leather seat. No gauntlet, no suit. His weak arm is failing.

“Tony!” Peter crawls closer, thanks the spider for his stickiness, and grabs Tony’s arms. He grimaces, and Peter says, “Sorry, sorry, we’re going to be fine.”

“That’s my line,” says Tony, and he turns the grimace into a smile. It almost reassures Peter, if not for the bulging road marks in his neck and the way Tony’s eyes are fluttering closed. They’re going down too quickly, and Tony’s losing air.

Peter shoots a web out to attach to Tony’s shoulder, and he yells out, “We need to get out of here!”

That’s when they hit the ground, and the rest of the plane blows up.

…

There’s the dry heat he can never shake. There is dust everywhere, even before what comes next, as it always does.

Except it’s not dust, it’s sand, and something is trying to suffocate him.

Peter jerks, and metal creaks. Rubble is piled on his chest. His ribs feel like they’re cracked as easily as twigs under a bear’s paw.

“Tony?” croaks Peter. He swivels his head around and ignores the crick in his wet neck. It’s probably blood. He’s not going to make it to his poster presentation and, although it’s not a make or break for his graduation, Peter considers what it could mean for his grad school apps.

“Peter. You okay?” The voice comes from the left, underneath another pile of rubble. A piece of the plane juts out of his side, his bad side, and panic starts to set in. Because it’s Tony, who’s been retired for years. But he came because Peter practiced his presentation ten times in front of the Starks, and Tony said that he’d never forgive himself if Peter didn’t make it back to Columbia in time. If not for Peter, Tony would be safe at home, playing Barbies with Morgan.

“I’m fine, I’m perfectly fine, but you—just hold on, hold on, I’ll get out of this.” He braces his hands on the metal pile, and you can do it, Spider-Man, come on—the warehouse is dark, and he’s in his own onesie suit. The cement digs into his palms and scrapes his skin.

But it’s easier this time. The metal is nothing compared to an entire building being dropped on him, and that’s what snaps him out of it. Peter stands up so soon and throws the wreckage as far as he can. Sand flies into his eyes, and he coughs out the dust in his lungs.

Peter pats down his sides and his legs. He’s whole, alive, no longer disintegrating. That’s because that already happened.

“Pete?” Tony wheezes out a wet cough. “Don’t want to rush you, but I think I’m stuck in a waffle iron right now. Flattened and skewered.”

“Don’t take it out,” says Peter quickly. “I saw it on Grey’s Anatomy.”

Tony laughs. “Grey’s Anatomy, or your own little stabbing incident?”

“That was fun,” he says, tossing remnants of the plane off. “When was the last time you yelled at me that loudly?”

“Last week.” Peter wraps an arm around Tony’s good side, avoiding the wound. “When you almost crashed us into the park near Morgan’s preschool. Guess you’re an industrialist. You want to destroy every last tree in New York.” He stands with a groan. Peter can pretend that he’s just getting off the couch to get Morgan ready for bed.

“Fake news,” says Peter. “I swerved because of that stray cat. I’m a lifesaver.”

“Your arm, Peter.” Tony points, and it’s only then that the pain registers. Something pierced the suit. It left a pretty big, nothing-whatsoever-to-be-worried-about hole in his arm. Dark red spills over the torn flesh, open like red lips, and he can see muscle and veins.

Peter gags, but recovers quickly by looking anywhere but there. “Huh. We match.”

Tony tears a piece of his suit and ties it tightly around the wound. “The first aid kit?”

“Probably a hundred miles from us with the rest of the plane. I can’t reach Karen or Friday.”

“We’ll have to wait for the Disaster Brothers to pick us up. We’ll need to find shelter, a cave, anything before the wind picks up and a sandstorm blinds us.” Tony’s rambling until he frowns, studying him, and Peter tries to blink away any sign of sleep deprivation, worry, and pain. He’s fine.

Tony doesn’t disagree, but he pulls Peter close and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Sorry you’ll miss your presentation.”

Peter lets out a breath. Everything is better right here, and he wants to believe it’s nothing to be ashamed of. “It’s okay, Tony.”

Then he pulls away. Tony covers his softness with something determined. “You’re not too old for a field trip, right?”

“‘Course not,” Peter says. “But I think you are.”

“Hey, you know some retirement homes take their seniors out for field trips.”

“Yeah, either to bingo or the bathroom.”

“I’m making you and Morgan play bingo with me in twenty years.”

“Twenty years? Try five.”

“Parker…”

…

He tries Karen every few minutes, but there’s no static beneath the mask. It’s like they’ve gone off-planet, a very Tatooine-esque place. Sand stretches on and on, but Peter can see the outlines of caves carved into a mountain, a long way from the wreckage, so he leads them on.

They both leave blood trails in the sand, erased by gusts of wind. Peter’s arm dangles by his side, and each step they take stings, sends a million tiny needles up his neck. Tony is faring worse because he’s still in his three-piece suit, dressed for Peter’s talk on biologically catalytic heteropolymers, and the puzzle piece that was probably part of the plane’s wing still jostles and shifts.

“You sure you’re okay? Don’t need me to carry you in a baby sling?”

“Baby Sling Protocol,” muses Tony. “That does ring like music.”

“When we get back, I’m coding a Help, I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up protocol into Friday. For exact situations like this.”

“I’m retired, Pete. These situations don’t happen as often as when an empty suit has to carry you out of a burning building.”

Peter sighs, conceding, but he keeps the distance between them short. He slows down enough so Tony is always half a step in front of him and he pretends that he’s out of breath so Tony doesn’t feel bad about it.

They make it maybe, hopefully halfway there when Peter staggers. The heat bears down on him like an angry bird, pecks at him with a sharp beak, and builds a migraine behind his eyes. Tony blurs in and out, and the throbbing in his arm flares.

He blinks, and Tony kneels in front of him, arms secured around Peter’s wavering body. It’s hot, so, so hot, and Peter wants to sleep. He should have slept the night before, and the night before that, but it’s impossible these days.

Peter licks his lips and hopes Sam and Bucky arrive with a ten-gallon jug of iced water just for him. “This suit doesn’t have A/C, does it?”

Tony chuckles. “I’m sure you can figure it out, Einstein.”

“There has to be some cooling technology we can install. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it.”

“Didn’t think you would need it. The desert isn’t something I like to think about,” says Tony, and that shuts Peter up. He lets Tony hover, ready to catch him if the heat makes him lose his balance again, but Peter drags himself forward.

The world tilts, but Peter refuses to let it and takes another step. He spies Tony’s stricken face in the corner of his eye, sees the impaled side, and he half-expects to see a giant purple alien behind them, ready to strike again.

The desert, Tony says, and maybe when he was younger, Peter would have pried. His sixteen-year-old self would have tried to comfort Mr. Stark. But Peter knows there’s no comfort that can erase these things.

“We’re almost there.” He says it for both of them because this emptiness isn’t something Peter likes to think about either.

By the time they make it to the caves, Peter’s feet feel blistered to oblivion. There should be trees in the desert. Aren’t palm trees supposed to be here? He could have used his webs and saved their feet. Instead, he feels flayed and skinned at the soles. The only thing he’s useful for is swinging them up into the lowest mountain cave, so Tony doesn’t have to drag his bleeding body up these damn cliffs.

Peter lays them down near the entrance. His helmet retracts, and he drinks up the shade like it quenches his thirst. Relief comes, but it feels undeserved, like this journey is just beginning. His lips are cracked. Tony’s are bleeding. He’s half-conscious and still has the heart to mumble, “Good job, Underoos. We’ll be fine, they’ll find us soon.”

His voice echoes, bouncing into the darkness. The sound doesn’t reassure him like it should, like Tony’s voice usually does. The tingling in the back of his neck is back, sharp and unforgiving and screaming. He has to stay awake. There’s something wrong, there’s something—the shade swallows Peter in its cold, open mouth.

…

Somewhere, a harsh orange glow burns, and he sees it happen in dark shadows against his eyelids, his senses dialed up to five hundred. “You’re all right,” says Tony, but Peter can’t believe him, not when his legs go first before his arms, and then there’s nothing left for Peter to believe.

“You’re all right,” Tony says again, and this time, it’s in a cave illuminated by a fleeting sunset, painting shades of orange-red on stone. Peter gasps, scrambles away from the entrance because the light burns. He retches out nothing but saliva and gags out a sob. He wants to sleep, just wants to present his thesis and go to bed and wake up and be a college almost-graduate, and he wishes—wishes for more time.

“Hey, hey, kid.” Tony hasn’t called him that for ages. He approaches with his hands out, cautious like Peter’s going to lash out like a wounded animal. “You’re going to be okay. Do you know where you are?”

Peter sniffs and answers in between gulps of air. “Desert. Cave. Sam and Bucky are taking too long.”

“That’s right. I’ll yell at them for a long time when we get back, because we’re going to get back. They’re going to answer to my wrath and then I’ll let Morgan have a turn. She’ll use some corporal punishment and they’ll never be late for anything again.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, and Tony takes that as a sign to get closer. And out of instinct, Peter shuffles closer, too. He’s too exhausted to be embarrassed about it. Tony hugs him tight, puts Peter’s head on his chest.

Twenty-two, and all he needs is a hug to calm him down. It’s been five years, and Peter, Spider-Man, hasn’t grown up at all.

When he can breathe again, Peter crawls out of Tony’s grasp and wipes his nose with a fist. “Are you okay? How’s your side?”

“I’m going to be okay, Peter,” he lies. There’s blood on the ground where Tony dragged himself to Peter’s side. His pallor is gray, his hand is perpetually clenched near the wound, and his weak arm is trembling. He keeps looking left and right, searching for something hidden in the blackness of the cave. Even Peter can lie better than that. But Tony’s face is filled with concern, barely any pain in his features. Once someone holds the power of six Infinity Stones in his hand, any other pain probably becomes minute.

“What about you?” Tony asks. “What was that just now?”

“Nothing.”

“I thought you were talking to people.” By people, he means counselors with high enough clearance, and by that, he means Sam Wilson. But Peter hears the words trauma and counselor, and he thinks, no. He doesn’t need that.

“Sam has enough to deal with.”

“He only has a one-armed guy to deal with. You get to talk his ear off. I thought you wanted to do that.”

“Not about—urgh, Tony,” groans Peter. “I don’t need anything. I just want to go home.”

Tony nods, and Peter feels like he’s made a mistake. “I know. That’s why I’ll tell them you’re off-limits when you’ve got other things to do. They’ll manage without you—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“—and you can prioritize your stuff before Avenger stuff.”

“Tony, I don’t need you to butt in for me all the time,” Peter snaps. Tony reels back as if he slapped him. Peter crosses his arms and feels like a child. “I get that you’re worried, but, like you said, we’re going to be fine.”

They have a staredown. Too bad both of them are too stubborn for their own good. Peter knows Tony’s not going to let him look at the wound until it’s close to infection, which it will be if they don’t get rescued soon. Tony knows Peter won’t tell him about anything until he passes out stone-cold on the Compound floor and needs to take some sleeping pills that a) will actually work and b) won’t give him even worse nightmares.

But they’re stuck in the desert with no food or water or Friday or Karen, and the dust of the past refuses to settle around them, taints the air like a sandstorm.

Tony sighs and leans against the rocky wall. The sun disappears from the horizon, and the orange glow is replaced by complete darkness. “Okay,” says Tony, with a voice of patience he acquired in the five years Peter was gone. “We’re going to be fine. But when I wake you up next time, you’re telling me exactly what’s wrong.”

That’s if I fall asleep, he wants to say. But Peter doesn’t answer.

…

Tony does wake him, but it’s with a scream. It’s strangled and fighting, like someone covers his mouth and clamps down on the sound.

Peter rushes to him—he can’t lose Tony, not now, not ever. When his eyes adjust to the dark, there’s no one else there. It’s just Tony: he’s writhing on the ground, hands protecting his wound, and the screams have changed to soft groans that Peter wants to unhear, immediately. Peter grabs Tony’s shoulder, and he wakes with a shout.

“You’re all right,” Peter blurts out, because that’s the only goddamn thing they can say to each other, is it?

“How’d you get here?” Tony clocks the cave, squinting at the darkness like there were monsters in the depths. His voice rakes against Peter’s ears like creaky floorboards in a haunted house. “Your mom signed off on a field trip to the Middle East?”

Peter blinks. “I… don’t have a mom.”

“Is your dad one of the generals who pays my bills?”

And then it all hits: that tingling in the back of his neck, the clarity that comes when he understands the problem that’s haunted him since they entered the cave. “Tony, what year is it?”

Tony swallows, and then his hands crawl upwards with urgency, scratching and clawing at his chest. He’s muttering over and over, where is it, and Peter can’t take it. He catches Tony’s wrists, pulls his hands off before he can hurt himself. Tony slaps his hands away.

“It’s 2008, right?” He’s breathless. He can’t hold Peter’s gaze, keeps looking around the cave like he’s expecting terrorists to attack at any moment. “It’s 2008.”

“No, it’s—it’s 2028. It’s Peter, sir.”

“Peter?” Tony spits out the name with disbelief. “Okay, Peter, just tell me where it is.”

“The arc reactor’s gone. You don’t need it anymore.”

“Arc reactor? The battery—the goddamn car battery, kid—please.” He grabs Peter’s bad arm, and the pain comes without warning. He sees nothing but darkness for a moment, winces at the squelch his flesh makes, and yelps. Tony’s eyes widen and he lets go immediately. “Shit, sorry, you’re just a kid, you’re—Peter. You’re Peter. Peter, I’m so sorry.”

“Tony?” His voice sounds worse than he wants, like a scared kid on another planet. “Tony, do you remember?”

“Yeah. Yeah, desert, cave, Morgan’s going to kill Sam and Bucky.”

“Yeah.” Peter takes in a breath of fresh air. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Did I hurt your arm?” Tony’s eyes are closed, and he turns his face away from Peter.

“Hey, no,” Peter says. “No, you didn’t, don’t worry about that.”

“Of course I worry.” Tony twists and hisses. There’s an old patch of blood on the ground, and new droplets near it, and it’s then Peter notices the dislodged piece of plane on the ground. There’s a gaping hole where it used to be, now starting to bleed profusely. It must have been moved when Tony was confused.

He tells Tony to stay still, takes the Tom Ford jacket off, balls it up, and presses it against Tony’s side. It wets quickly, and it feels heavy in his hands. “Tony, we have to do something. If we wait for Sam and Bucky, what if you don’t—”

“Just keep your hand there. I trust you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Peter laughs. “I’m just—I’m just this. Just a kid.”

“You were never just a kid,” Tony says gently. “You fought aliens and saved wizards. You pulled me out of whatever the hell that was.”

Peter shakes his head. “What was that?” Whatever that was, it was terrifying. Tony’s invincible; he can only be brought down by a bunch of glow-in-the-dark stones. Not nightmares and panic attacks and memories.

“I don’t have a great track record with waking up in caves and missing a bit of my flesh and blood.”

Peter imagines a car battery, wires poking out of Tony’s chest instead of the arc reactor he came back with, and feels sick. “I guess that makes sense.”

“It gets worse if I get no sleep, I’m worried about other things like the Accords or Morgan or Spidey or, God forbid, something like school, and I’m working my ass off because my entire graduate school applications depend on it.” He looks pointedly back at Peter. “How long has this been going on?”

He could avoid Tony’s gaze and he could try to change the subject. Tony pokes his arm with a shaking finger. “Come on, Pete. I won’t nag you any more than usual.”

“Since Boram.” There was a mission during spring break, two months ago. Peter was nearly stabbed by an angry cyborg that was terrorizing a nearby galaxy. “When I went with Carol and Sam, the sunset made the planet look so orange, like Titan. When we got home, I just couldn’t sleep anymore.”

“Why not talk to Sam? Something else bothering you?”

“I don’t know, I just thought I was fine. That it’s been five years, and I’m over it. I don’t have to freak out about it again.”

“But you’re not over it.”

“No, I’m not.” Tony nods, doesn’t give him pity or worry or anything. Just keeps that calm look he gets whenever he needs to fix his kids’ problems.

“It doesn’t get easier.” Tony shrugs. “It’s only manageable when you let people around you help.”

“Why not? Why can’t it get easier?” Peter hardens his voice. “What am I doing wrong?”

Tony takes a deep breath and grips Peter’s wrist. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re doing just fine. I’m still struggling with things that happened twenty years ago.”

“You were—I mean, they put a car battery in your chest.”

“And you died. Apples to oranges.”

Peter clears his throat. He can’t cry now. He just has to keep his hands on the bloody jacket. “I feel like a kid,” he says. “I’m going to graduate in a week, and I feel like I know less about the world now than I did at sixteen. I wish I had more time to figure things out. More time to be that kid you met in a onesie.”

“That’s okay. The end of college isn't exactly the start of adulthood. You don’t have to know how to do everything you need to do right away. You have all the time in the world. I didn’t figure anything out. Pepper did that for me. And besides, feeling like a kid is a good thing. That means you have all the adults in your life looking out for you. At least, that’s what Pepper tells me.” Tony smiles, and Peter knows it’s the safest thing in the world. “Don’t worry about knowing anything, Pete. I know nothing about the world, but everything about my kids. That helps me more than anything else I could ever know.”

…

Not long after that, the rescue comes with the fanfare of a metal arm thudding against the cave’s opening and Sam’s mechanic wings folding inward.

“My feet were on the ground first.”

“I touched it first, Sam.”

“It was Bucky,” Peter says.

“You little shrimp, do you want me to second-guess rescuing you?” Then Sam takes over for his numb arms and the rest is a blur: they pile into a quinjet and the next thing he knows, he’s in Medbay with Tony sleeping in the adjacent bed.

Sam walks in a couple minutes after Peter wakes up, just as he’s about to try escaping Medbay. He crosses his arms and glares until Peter climbs back into bed. Then he says, “The evil armadillo tried to blow you guys up, but Carol flew in and blew him up, instead.”

“That sounds awesome.”

“It was, in fact, ‘awesome.’” Sam grimaces as he uses air quotes. Then he tries to go for a stern dad look, but it really comes out as an awkward uncle look. “You know what’s not awesome? Not talking to me for months after Boram.”

“I was busy,” says Peter, because he’s stubborn. “But I guess I can squeeze some time for you soon.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he gets the message. He just barely manages to hide the little smile on his face when he mutters, “Squeeze some time for me. He really is Stark’s kid.”

…

After he recovers from dehydration and some slight sunburn, Peter sneaks his way into Friday’s code. Mostly because Friday lets him. “Let’s call this protocol…ICCITFYBICCY. I Can’t Carry It For You But I Can Carry You. Hey, it sounds like Itsy Bitsy!”

“No, Peter, it does not.”

“It’s close enough.”

“No, it is not.”

“Friday, I can’t call it ICCY. That’s just…icky.”

Peter’s never heard Friday sound this snarky before. “Boss named his multi-millionaire dollar technology BARF. You can call this ICCY.”

“True. Okay, protocol complete! Thanks, Fri.”

“My pleasure, Peter.”

Friday does sound quite pleased. It’s because the next time either he or Tony has a rough night, Friday or Karen will call the other person. If Tony doesn’t know what the protocol name is from, then Peter’s forcing him to watch twelve hours of Lord of the Rings. But they’ll carry each other through whatever tries to beat them, no matter how long it’s been, whether it’s the glow of an orange sun or the dark corners of a sandy cave. They’re going to be just fine.

[themaidenofwords]

Even more art for my fanfic Rats and Rogues https://archiveofourown.org/works/52451017

Am I drawing instead of writing? Yeah, kinda.

I wasn't super happy with this, but hey, I acknowledge that my crappy mechanical pencils can only get me so far sometimes, and that's ok.