~Iron Family~

Mostly Dead is Slightly Alive

For three of the longest, most heart-wrenching minutes of Tony's life, Peter was dead.

He had gone completely still, although since his eyes were wide open Tony expected him to make a comment about how he was squeezing his hand too tightly or jump up and start tickling Morgan.

It didn't happen.

Pepper started sobbing as soon as the heart monitor flatlined, half-cradling Peter in her arms and calling his name. Morgan started crying too.

"What are the kids doing in here?" Tony yelled harshly, as if just now realizing they were next to him. "Get them out! Away from the bed!"

Harley dragged a kicking and screaming Morgan from the room, looking heartbroken.

"I want to stay with Peter!" he protested as they neared the door.

"Out!" Tony roared, trying to keep his own voice from trembling. He refused to look down at the kid that had trusted and depended on Tony, now lying dead on an operating table because of what Tony had done. Peter's eyes, dull and devoid of the joyous light that had always sparked in them, were locked onto where Tony was standing, as if wondering why he hadn't helped him. Traces of fear still lingered in his eyes, in his expression.

This is all my fault.

He should've had FRIDAY scan Spider-Man anyway. He should've checked each and every one of his surveillance cameras to figure out his identity. But he hadn't, and it had cost Peter his life.

How could he have been so stupid?

With shaking hands, he reached down and picked up Peter's bloodstained mask from the floor. His breaths rattled in his chest as he felt overwhelming grief and guilt building up in his throat. What had he done?

He watched as Pepper leaned down and kissed Peter's forehead, tears still streaming down her face.

"Come here," Tony whispered. She hugged him tightly and Tony gently wiped the tears from her face, ignoring his own.

"It'll be okay," he murmured in her ear.

That wasn't true, and Pepper knew it. How could anything be okay ever again? Peter was gone.

"Start CPR!" Bruce barked, hurrying across the room like a little Hobbit. He shoved past Tony and Pepper, more doctor-tools in his arms.

New hope suddenly flared in Tony's chest, so strong he almost fell over.

He began with thirty chest compressions. Peter's chest felt stiff and cold, and he could feel the jutting broken ribs, but he continued to shove hard to the tune of Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees like he had been taught in the foster parent course. He counted to thirty like Peter's life depended on it--as it did.

Trying to ignore the fact that he was standing over his son's dead body, he imagined he was just working on another dummy at the foster parent course. But it wasn't easy. The science behind CPR was simple--mimic the heartbeat, breathing, and whatnot. But this wasn't a dummy or a training video. This was Peter.

Sweat was dripping down Tony's forehead by the time it came to start mouth-to-mouth. He tilted Peter's limp head back and pinched his nose, trying to ignore how ice-cold he was. He opened the kid's mouth, almost retching at the rank of blood, and bent over to do the first breath.

Before he could, Bruce stopped him.

"No breaths!" he called as he frantically rushed over with his tools. "Just do the chest compressions! It won't work with his lung!"

Tony was still shaking. He realized his cheeks were wet with tears, and he swallowed back a bad taste in his mouth as he began pumping on Peter's chest again, harder and faster this time. He was determined to save his little boy.