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Peter winces when he wakes up and realizes he’s in a warehouse, blinding pain spreading across the back of his skull; his stomach sputters and his nostrils flare at the smell—Jesus Christ, the room is doused in blood—and he’s instantly fighting, fighting furiously against his restraints but-
Fuck.
...they’re not breaking and he’s panting because Jesus, the weight on his chest is crushing, suffocating and then… Peter notices the pack of explosives strapped to his suit, preset to 5:00, and if there was a chance it wasn’t before, all the air is swept clean from his lungs.
But Peter is fine, Peter is fine because, look, look, the device is at a stand-still and-
4:59
...the device beeps: 4:58, 4:57, 4:56-
I don’t feel-
Peter just inhales.
3:21
When the Iron-Man suit (finally, finally) bursts through the door, Peter is still fighting, still fighting-
“Jesus, kid,” Tony breathes—God, his voice is fucking gravel, far, far too rough, but still the sound lights up Peter’s world. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“Wha-Mr. Stark? No! You need to leave, you need to go-” he chokes as Iron-Man kneels in front of him, wild and distraught. Peter almost collapses, whether in fear or relief, well, that doesn’t really matter.
“I’m getting you out of here first, kiddo.”
Peter swallows hard as he childishly holds onto the flame of hope that flutters in his chest.
2:50
“I want you to go, Mr. Stark,” his voice is brutal, not vicious, never vicious, but distant, devastating—like he’s trying to fizzle out his emotions. “Please. Go. I want you to go.”
“No,” he grounds out as he inspects the device strapped to Spider-Man’s suit, wires forked into each other—it’s simple, it’s nothing but his hand still trembles on the LED lights flashing 2:50. “You’re alright, kid.”
Again, it’s nothing, but white still creeps into his vision as his entire world is clouded by the fucking bomb, like plumes of thick, black smoke, strapped to his kid’s chest.
“Please, Mr. Stark,” he pleads. “Go, you have to go.”
“Peter, Jesus, I’m not leaving.”
“I don’t want you to die, Mr. Stark, please. Iron-Man can’t die, not because of me—if something happens-”
“You’re not dying, kid. I’m here,” he swears as he steps out his suit and wet, hot tears begin to lick at his cheek.
I’m not leaving.
“Shit,” Peter hisses.
2:15
“Please, sir,” he sighs—his voice is liquid, watery from tears. “Please, Mr. Stark, please. Just go.”
He brushes tendrils of hair from Peter’s forehead to his temples as he finally, finally tilts his head upward and ignites something like-Hell in him; if the ever-ticking time-bomb wasn’t enough to fan Tony’s fear every few seconds, Peter’s broken expression was enough fuel for a lifetime.
1:57
“Mr. Stark-” his voice wavers like a flame in the wind—like Tony’s breath is enough to just blow him away, like-
“You’re alright. Just…”
“Mr. Stark, please,” he finishes, barely able to conceal the emotion building up inside him, threatening to set him on fire if Tony doesn’t just fucking leave.
“FRIDAY knows, kid. FRIDAY knows—I programmed her, alright? She’s feeding me directions. You’re alright—we’re gonna be alright. Just-”
“Mr. Star-”
“...stay calm,” he interrupts, his voice absolutely blistering. “It’s a waiting game, now. Okay, kiddo? You’re alright—we’re gonna be alright. Just, for the love of God, shut up and wait.”
1:36
“You’re alright,” he repeats into Peter’s curls as he gently, gently embraces him, careful to avoid the fucking bomb strapped to his chest; his pulse is as frazzled as the wires that hang from the device and he wonders, briefly, if he should have been there sooner. He expected more than minutes. He expected more than seconds.
1:00
He watches Peter, not for the first time, as a flicker of fear crosses his features when he glances again at the timer: one minute, one minute, one minute. He simmers over whoever did this to his kid, counts down the seconds until he just… boils over and explodes—go ahead, try and disarm him.
0:34
Peter blinks back tears and, if only for a moment, Tony’s anger dissipates—leave it to your friendly-neighborhood Spider-Man to extinguish his rage and save-
0:15
He catches Peter’s shoulder and wonders how a fifteen-year-old can have so much fire in his blood that even Tony “Iron-Man” Stark feels nothing but warmth at the gesture.
0:09
“I don’t know…” Peter whispers as his breath billows from his lips, too soft, too soft, too soft. “Go, Mr. Stark, please. Sir, I can’t…”
“Peter-”
“I’m good, Mr. Stark, please, I’m good. Okay, Tony? Leave. Go. ”
“God, I’m not leaving, Peter. I’m not leaving my kid,” he almost screams—his voice is raw, burned-out. God, he’s exhausted, and if it wasn’t for his hell-like grip on Peter’s shoulder, burning half-moons into his skin, he’d collapse into himself.
0:05
“Hey, Peter?”
“Yeah?”
I love you.
“Do you trust me?”
0:02
He ruffles Peter’s hair, mops the sweat from his forehead; blood like kerosene pours over his fingers as he cradles his cheek. He sees red—blood, anger .
“I love you, dad.”
Love.
0:01
“I'm sorry.”