Spider-Son & Iron Dad one shots

Contrasts in New York

A/N: i was told at at the start of the month about nanowrimo and literally gave a full body shudder because i was still recovering from spooktober—have a good day everybody

Peter Parker was in no way a professional hero.

Sure, he had been through a lot of big-time hero stuff—Vulture, Thanos, Mysterio...

Which is why it hurt so much more when he lost somebody on a simpler patrol. When all there had been was a cruddy bad guy with somebody who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Peter just wasn't quick enough to save them.

This was one of those times.

He had heard the deafening scream before he heard the gun, and he could only wish he was the one hit. He wished he was the one hit when he had been pressing against the victim's wounds—a teenage boy, not much younger than he was. Probably around thirteen or fourteen.

The boy probably had a family. He knew better to make assumptions, being an orphan and all... but the boy must have had someone.

And it was Peter's fault he didn't make it home to the someone.

"You're gonna be okay," Peter chokes out, holding the boy's jacket to the wound and applying pressure. The armed assailant had already fled the alleyway, leaving the two of them. "Karen, call 911! Hey, hey—yeah, what's your name?"

"B-Ben," the kid had whimpered out. It felt like a punch to the gut. He sounded so scared. Tears had been falling down the boy's cheeks.

Peter frowns. "It's gonna be okay, Ben. Stay awake for me."

Ben lazily shook his head. "Can't. 'M so tired."

"You can do it. Stay awake, Ben. The ambulance is gonna be here soon."

Instead of nodding, Ben just looks up at Peter. He gives him a tired smile, and tears are making his face shine in the street-lamps. "You're Spider-Man."

"Yeah, that's right. I need you to stay awake," Peter continues. He can feel the boy's heart getting weaker as he keeps his hand on the wound. All Peter needed to do was stay strong until the ambulance got here. Stay strong until the boy was safe, with his family— and he was in the comfort of his own apartment.

"Thank you," Ben murmurs, his eyes drifting closed. "You're my favourite superhero."

"Hey! No, c'mon, Ben. C'mon, stay awake. Keep your eyes open," Peter said frantically.

Ben's heart slowed down even more. This time he didn't respond to Peter.

It was at this point where Peter could hear the sirens of the ambulances and firetrucks. He could tell they weren't going to get there in time. He could tell it was too late.

Peter bites his lip hard. He had to keep it together. Just a little longer, he tells himself.

Most of the evening after that is a blur. He remembers explaining the situation to the ambulance. He remembers staring at the blood on his gloved hands.

He doesn't remember making the subconscious decision to show up at Tony's house instead of going back home, but he was there anyways.

He had knocked on the door, and just stood there in the cold, swaying slightly. Maybe he had his mask on. Maybe he didn't.

Either way, the door opened and Tony stood there with raised eyebrows. He automatically scanned Peter for injuries, and notices the blood on his suit.

"That better not be your blood," Tony says dimly before pulling him inside.

"It's not," Peter replies in a bland state. His head felt fuzzy. How did he get here again?

Tony pauses. He softens, sighing quietly. "Peter, take off your mask."

Peter reaches a lethargic hand up and pulls his mask off. His eyes look sunken, and his face is pale. Mostly, he just looks emotionally out of energy. Tony frowns at all of it.

"Okay. Here's the plan, okay?" Tony starts. Peter nods faintly for him to continue. "You're going to shower and change into pajamas, I'm going to call May and tell her you're staying over. Then we're going to watch movies and chill for a bit, mkay? Give you a bit of a break."

Peter nods again, staying quiet. He sits there for a second and then trudges out of the hallway.

He comes back about thirty minutes later, and Tony has already called May, made popcorn, and a mug of tea for Peter. (He liked tea when he was stressed, hot chocolate when he was happy, and coffee whenever Tony let him.)

Peter plopped himself onto the couch and Tony went to sit next to him, and he gave him his tea.

They sat there for hours, watching movies. They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Peter found comfort in the silence. Found comfort in the peaceful home that Tony had made for his family.

That was all he needed now, when the world felt too big for him to handle.

When the world felt like it put death upon death on his shoulders, and everything was dark—all he had to do was look up to see Tony would help him carry the weight, and he would lend hugs, movie nights, and mugs of tea at three in the morning along the way.

This is why Peter was able to sleep peacefully.

This is why Tony held him close, telling him: I'll always protect you, son.

This is why the contrast was easy—bright hope on a dark, cold night.

Fin.