A Stark of Mine || Peter Parker x Reader || Tony Stark's Daughter

This Is Me - Part 3 [CHAPTER 30]

SORRY it took so long. Some of you may know I was having some trouble with characterisation but hopefully that's fixed. Unfortunatly due to that it made the chapter a lot shorter than I liked so I was going to add on the next bit but that would've made this way to long. 

Also, I have an insta art account now for mainly marvel so yehaw that's @JustStarkMate. Ok shameless promo done, heres the chapter!

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"Mr Stark?" Peter stood in the doorway of the intensive care unit. The harsh lights casted dark shadows down their faces, exaggerating their tired and beaten expressions. The disturbing sound of a ventilator echoed throughout the room, pushing air in and out of your broken lungs, manually breathing for you. Peter couldn't bear to look at you and the ominous and creepy sound was only a reminder of his guilt. But Peter wasn't the only one whose guilt was consuming him – even if he shouldn't feel guilty at all.

"Mr Stark? Sir?" He called for him once more. Tony didn't move nor respond. He was slumped back in the chair, his empty eyes searching for something in his twiddling hands. Stark knew that Peter was present, but right now he couldn't find the courage to even say a single word. At first, he had been happy with his success but then his mind was left to stew.

'If I hadn't said anything none of this would've ever happened.' He kept repeating to his numb mind. 'It's all my fault.'Tony was broken, a shell of a man that life used to flow through. Never had he taken a hit this bad, except for when his parents were assassinated all those years ago.

Peter took a step into the room shutting the door behind him. He had to tear his eyes away from Stark's glumness to be able to look at you. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stood away from Tony.

"I did what you said..." He began. "No one else was hurt..." No response, no acknowledgment. Peter gazed over your frail figure noticing the glowing blue coming from under the sheets. "Is that what I think it is?" He asked curiously trying to get any attention from Tony. Right now, he needed his support, but it was as if no one was home. "How is she?"

Stark shifted his gaze towards Peter, the blackened bags under his eyes hollowing his face. A silent conversation that did not require any words. Peter's heart sunk as the hopeful and usually optimistic look in his eye began to fade.

"Oh..." Was all he could say in response. Slowly, Peter made his way over to you. Your face had been cleaned as well as your wounds but all he could imagine was the blood pooling from your chest and the ashes on your face as he held you close. He looked away from you no longer able to handle his own emotions. He felt his eyes beginning to well up. He was angry, he wanted to find whoever did this to you and make them pay. Revenge was an unhealthy emotion and that was something he understood very well. So instead, he pushed it away and turned his attention back to you.

He couldn't find the right words to fill the still air, couldn't find the right words to say to your coma-state mind. He squeezed you hand lightly feeling as if his very touch would break the strong person he knew.

"I'm sorry (Y/N)." Is all he could muster to say. He had so many questions to ask Mr. Stark, but right now it looked like he needed a moment alone with you and he didn't want to feel like he was intruding too much into Stark's personal life. Peter began to pull away slowly and retreated towards the exit. His mouth hung open slightly as he was about to announce his departure. Instead, he sighed lightly and left the two of you in the deafening silent room. He needed time to process and so did Tony. Peter headed back towards him home in Queens where a worried Aunt May cleaned his cuts as he stared at the blank wall.

Hours seemed to pass until Tony's eyes finally fell upon you. Shifting his weight forwards, he rested his elbows on the side of the bed.

"The doctor's told me that it would help if I spoke to you...they say that people in comas can sometimes hear the outside world." He pressed a kiss to your forehead and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "C 'mon kid. You have to wake up...you've got school tomorrow." He pleaded quietly hoping that he'd hear your words and that it'd make you wake sooner. But there was still no response and the ventilator continued to chug onwards.