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Peter was not having a good day- at all. Honestly, this was probably shaping up to be one of the worst days of his life, and that was saying something.
His lousy day actually started just as the clock struck midnight, early on a Monday morning. He was desperate to finish up his patrol and get home, the cold January air seeping into his bones. He had become an expert at dodging all of the protocols his father’s AI had put into place to keep him safe, but if his father made the choice of just checking up on him on his own accord, well- that wouldn’t end well.
Typically it wasn’t a problem, his father was well known for having the worst sleep schedule of anyone on the planet- Aunt Pepper was constantly trying to drag him out of the lab, especially after several day long binges of uninterrupted work. That was where they were one in the same, when they had an idea, they couldn’t stop until it was out of their head and built right in front of them.
“I’m Tony Stark! I can handle a few sleepless nights Pep- trust me.”
“Can I trust you?” She bit back, and most times that would render him silent. He never had a satisfying response to that question, especially from her. Pepper always had this uncanny ability of reigning his father in, calming his more eccentric behaviours. It had always been that way, for as long as Peter had memories of her, even before they got together.
Peter loved his dad more than anything, and he was so happy that the man was finally starting to take care of himself. The problem was that he had a habit of checking in on him right as he was turning in for the night, almost like an honours system to get him out of the lab. It would have been sweet, if it didn’t ruin his patrol schedule.
Now, Peter had to make sure he was in half an hour before his dad would come into his room to see him, and although it was rare that the man would wake him if he was already asleep, Peter doubted the whole “pillow under the blanket” trick would work on Tony Stark.
(He did it anyway just in case, because JARVIS would tell his dad right away if he directly asked where Peter was, and he would ask, if Peter wasn’t in bed at one o’clock in the morning on a school night).
So the problem now, was that it was midnight, and he was more than forty five minutes away from the tower with a stab wound in his leg and a bunch of thugs still chasing him (courtesy of Fisk, the man of the hour).
“Karen,” Peter shouted, swinging as fast as he can away from the bullets scattering around him in all directions, “plot out the fastest route home- I’m kind of on a time crunch!”
“Of course Peter,” she chirped back at him, sounding as enthusiastic as an AI could be, “Route selected, ETA- forty-seven minutes.”
“That’ll have to do.” It was going to be close, and he would have to fight Fisk’s lackeys while simultaneously trying to move in the right direction, but he could do it- he knew he could. The pain in his leg was starting to increase with his overexertion, but he didn’t have time to focus on that now. He tried his best to web up each individual goon, stringing them up by their ankles to street lights and rooftops. As usual, they struggled, but it would be of no use- the web fluid he developed was incredibly strong, and thanks to all the raw material he had access to through his father’s lab, it was almost impossible that Fisk would have figured out a way to get rid of it.
It was going well- too well, that was until his spidey sense screamed.
Looking up, he momentarily thought it was trying to warn him about the building coming up, how close he was to smashing into it face first. Quickly, he readied himself to dodge out of the way, around the building and into the street below. Before he could act on it, he felt something hot strike him through the shoulder, in through his back.
Holy shit- somebody shot him!
In his shock, he was no longer able to control the direction of his swing, and maybe he was partially right about the building, because he found himself hurtling towards it, smashing into its side with such a force that the bricks crumbled against him. He then began plummeting down, luckily landing in a bed of snow, just barely cushioning his fall.
Not that it mattered, he could already feel the bruises blooming on his face and side.
Shit
He could hear someone coming up behind him, and with the last of his energy, he rolled off of his stomach and on to his back, kicking up into the last of his opponents, pushing him up against the wall and webbing him in place. His chest was heaving with adrenaline, and he desperately tried catching his breath.
“Thank god I don’t have asthma anymore,” he mumbled to himself, taking a moment to just stay lying there in the cold, trying to get his head to work again.
Pulling himself up with as much strength as he could muster, he began to feel woozy with blood loss. His leg was healed slightly now, but his shoulder was still gushing blood, and he needed to wrap it quickly. He didn’t even have time to think, he just shot another web up and started swinging, shoulder burning, head hazy with a probable concussion.
He didn’t have time to be scared, didn’t have time to wonder what would happen if he lost too much blood, how he had many enemies and that if he were to pass out in the open, one of them might just stumble upon him.
That thought pushed him to go even faster, and at 12:54am, six minutes before his dad would check in on him, he crawled in from the window and on to his bedroom floor.
Jumping up and immediately running into his bathroom, he deactivated the suit and shoved it in his hamper, he could worry about it tomorrow. He quickly stuck gauze to both his leg and to his shoulder on both sides. There was an exit wound, so he knew his healing would take care of it. He then grabbed a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt, darkly coloured so any blood would be camouflaged, and he stumbled into bed, turning off the lights and covering himself with his comforter.
He fell asleep before he heard his dad open the bedroom door.
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He woke up the next morning feeling somehow worse than the night before. He didn’t bleed out in the middle of the night, thank god, but he had developed a low grade fever, which meant that he was probably battling a bit of an infection. Normally he would just stay home, but he didn’t want to be forced to see a doctor, because they would figure out immediately that this was more than a cold. He had no idea how he would explain a stab wound and a bullet wound to Pepper, and then she would call his dad who would freak out and come barreling into his hospital room and demand answers.
His father could not find out about Spider-Man. There was no way that, if he knew there were people who tried to kill him every night, that he would let Peter keep on doing it. He would immediately take the suit and ground him, probably until he was eighteen, and Peter needed Spider-Man. He helped people, saved them- watched out for the little guy. Sure he could donate to charities and throw Gala’s for the less fortunate like his father, but that didn’t stop people from being mugged and assaulted, didn’t stop buildings from being blown up and businesses shut down because they couldn’t afford to pay for damages.
So he couldn’t know, definitely not while he was living under his father’s roof, maybe not ever.
Blurrily, Peter made his way over to grab his phone, only to be jolted out of bed. He was going to be super late if he didn’t leave right now. He obviously slept through most of his alarm, probably because his body was desperately trying to repair him. Moving as fast as possible, he grabbed the first pair of jeans and shirt he could find and threw them on. His stomach growled, his metabolism hungering for food, but he had a spanish quiz first period and he couldn’t afford the zero- so he would have to skip breakfast. His body shuddered in protest, working twice as hard as it usually did, but Peter couldn't stop now.
Just as he was about to leave, he rounded back and reached into the laundry basket, grabbing his suit and throwing it into his bag.
Just in case.
--------------------------
What he should have done, was grab a jacket instead.
Spiders didn’t thermoregulate- it was something he learned the hard way the first time a cold spell hit New York. It wasn’t impossible to fix, but it did mean he had to be extra careful. A slightly colder day for some meant heavy coats, gloves and mittens for him. It sometimes meant he got weird looks, but he was past caring what strangers thought of him.
Today was more than that, everyone he passed was wearing layers upon layers, shivering and rubbing their hands together to stay warm, snow falling on to their heads and wetting their hair. Peter once again looked insane to the general public, but not because he was overdressed, but because all he had on was jeans and his midtown hoodie.
Peter was freezing, every breath he took hurt, his breath looked like smoke. He shoved his hands in his pocket, standing at the bus stop, praying that the bus would show.
(It, of course, was late, but considering how the rest of his day had been going, that wasn’t surprising.)
Usually Happy would drive him to school, but his dad needed him today at his office upstate, so he was unavailable to drive him to school. Peter usually didn’t mind, he liked sitting on the bus, it was calming, especially with his earbuds in- but today, of course he forgot them on his desk, and of course his senses were particularly bad. Every laugh, every screech of tires against the ground, every cell phone- made his head feel like it was going to burst.
It was a miracle that he made it to school in one piece.
Limping pathetically, he dropped his bag unceremoniously next to his desk, desperately trying to shake the snow and the slush off of him. He could feel the teacher's eyes on him, shooting him an unimpressed look, but he was in no mood to care. She passed the quiz down to each student, and set a timer for thirty minutes. Peter set to work, concentrating as much as he could on the paper in front of him, scribbling down answers with his pencil.
With five minutes left, and just a few more questions to go, the room was suddenly filled with ringing and text notifications. Most people jumped up immediately, but Peter stayed focused on his task, there was no way he was risking getting points taken off after the morning he had.
“Phones away until after class!”
No one seemed to pay her any attention, and before long the room was bursting with noise, people chattering over the news alert they had all received.
“The science building on 8th- it was blown up!”
“Iron Man is blowing the whole street- look, someone posted a video!”
“Look- he’s got missiles!”
That- that caught Peter’s attention.
Peter didn’t really have an archnemesis, didn’t really have one villain that was all his own. Still, if he had to pick one, it would be Iron Man. That tin can had been a thorn in his side for as long as he had been Spider-Man. The masked villain had no care in the world, and would constantly destroy the properties of businesses of all sizes, from Oscorp to the tiny mom and pops shop across from his school. It was always a madhouse when Iron Man was involved, the Avengers would often need to be called in, but Peter knew for a fact that they were currently on a mission across the world for Shield, and that he was the only one who was available to put a stop to what was happening.
Well- at least he packed his suit.
Taking advantage of the madness that was his class, and thankful none of the class had anyone who particularly took notice of him, he grabbed his bag and made his way out the door, running as fast as he could.
Time to take Iron Man down.
------------------------------------
Tony Stark was a man with many faces. He was a businessman, a philanthropist, a father of a wonderful kid who he loved dearly. Ever since his son came into his life, he had become a new person, giving up the bachelor life for bottles and diapers, exchanging late nights partying and sleeping around with bedtime stories and lullabies.
It was this drastic personality change that got him Pepper, who had become so much more than his assistant- who he loved so strongly that sometimes he didn’t know what to do with himself.
Sure, he wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t like his life was normal. He was still a billionaire who relied on getting his hands dirty with oil and grease and mechanical engines, who needed to build to feel real sometimes. It was a side effect of PTSD according to his therapist, the need to feel in control of something to feel grounded.
Afghanistan had changed him forever it would seem, but crippling PTSD and a bad heart wasn’t his only take away from the experience.
Iron man was a secret that only three other people knew about, those people being Rhodey, Pepper and Helen Cho. What first started out as a way to escape from his kidnappers developed into a way to protect the people. His methods may seem questionable to others, hence why his moniquor was more closely attributed to villainy than heroism, but he was doing what needed to be done. He didn’t hurt civilians, not intentionally, and he was always careful. Corruption was everywhere, and sometimes the only language people understood was destruction. As a society, they were well passed sitting down and talking it out, progress required action. Weapons were necessary, and as long as Tony was the only one who had access to them, as he knew he would make the right choices, he would keep building.
The Avengers weren’t very appreciative of his mission.
He planned the day so perfectly, he knew the Avengers were away, knew that none of them would be around to stop him. Getting ready to activate his missiles, he was violently shoved out of the air and into the street below by a blur of red and blue.
Spider-Man
That Spider Brat, the absolute menace, was constantly foiling his plans. That kid somehow always knew where the bombs were planted, where he would shoot next, a real thorn in his side. While he didn’t love hurting the kid, he wouldn’t hesitate to rough him up a bit, incapacitate him for a few days so he could work in peace. God- he was like a wad of gum that wouldn’t unstick, Tony wanted to whack him out of the sky with a fly swatter.
“Hey Tin Can! Ever get tired of blowing stuff up?”
Cheeky little shit
Tony could practically hear the smile in the kids' voice, even with the voice modifier.
“Ever get tired of being an absolute nuisance?” he snarled out, firing twice in the kids direction. Typically, Spider-Man would dodge immediately, swinging his way around him like a goddamn merry-go-round. This time, his movement seemed a lot more sluggish, only barely dodging the first hit and being grazed by the second.
“Shit” the kid hissed out, stumbling back against the roof he was now perched on. He quickly scrambled to steady himself, it would have been the perfect opportunity to hit him a third time, hopefully knocking him out for good, but something stopped him.
“First Fisk and now Iron Man, today really has been a gift.” The words were spat out with so much contempt that Tony was now honest to god concerned for the hero. Spider-Man was never angry- sure, he would snark at him, demand that he stop, fight him tooth and nail, but it was always with a smile. Always an undercurrent of playfulness that would rile Tony up, but was so expected that seeing him without it- it was like a shock to the system. He felt compelled to check up on him.
“You good Spidey?” He tried to sound as authentic as possible, but it must have not read that way, because Spider-Man immediately snapped back at him.
“Honestly- no I’m not!” He scowled, “so you either need to fuck off or just kill me already because I’m too tired for this shit.”
Before Tony could even begin to unpack everything he just heard, he noticed how dangerously Spider-Man was swaying over the edge of the roof. Before he knew what was happening, the kid collapsed, falling off the side of the building and plummeting towards the ground. Without thinking, Tony shot after him, catching him just before he could hit the ground.
The kid was out cold, head lulling uncomfortably to one side. Now being able to see him up close, Tony could see how torn up his suit looked, stained with blood and tearing at the seams. He could see what was most likely the remnant of a bullet hole in his shoulder, and a weird sort of worry settled in the base of his stomach.
Guess today’s activities need to be postponed.
With a grunt, he blasted himself into the sky, flying as fast as he could towards the tower. He may be a villain, but he had a moral code. He wasn’t going to attack the boy while he was down, that didn’t seem fair, nor would it be any fun. No, he needed to get him to the med bay, Dr. Cho could check him out.
He reached the tower in record time, through his secret passageway. There was no need to separate from his suit, only Helen was on call.
“Helen!” He shouted, sounding a lot more desperate than he wanted to, “I need help!”
Helen rushed out to his aid, eyes widening slightly at the sight in front of her. Tony quickly lifted his face plate, placing the boy on to the cot in front of him.
“What happened?” She asked as she started to prep her work station, cutting open his suit away to start an IV. Tony could only shake his head, as confused as her.
“No idea- we were fighting, barely mind you- and he just collapsed. Didn’t really give me the chance to ask him.”
As if he could hear his words, Spider-Man began to stir, head moving slightly to the side. His mechanical eyes blinked open, squinting at the bright light of the med bay. While Cho continued unaffected, Tony stood frozen, waiting to see what he would do.
“Spider-Man, can you hear me? Can you tell me what happened to you?”
The kid looked at her, dazed, before suddenly freezing up.
“Doctor Cho?”
Both Tony and Helen looked at each other- how did Spider-Man know her name? Helen Cho was known in the science community, but recognizing her face so quickly seemed like a stretch. Before either of them could question him further, his eyes landed on Tony.
Now- Tony Stark was definitely a known figure because of his company, especially in New York. He did have his faceplate down, not expecting the kid to wake up and see him. A part of him didn’t even think someone like Spider-Man would know who Tony Stark was.
What he was not expecting, was for the kid to flinch back so hard he nearly fell off the table.
“You- you’re Iron Man?” he stuttered out, the heart monitor attached to him beeping wildly.
“Spider-Man, you need to calm down- or I’m going to have to sedate you.” Helen was attempting to push the kid back on the bed, but he flinched violently at her touch, eyes still focused on Tony.
“How could you- how did this happen?”
Why was the kid freaking out so much? Was he an employee? A fan of his work? None of it was adding up, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the full picture. The kid started to hyperventilate, hands gripping at the metal bars of the bed, crushing them with the force of it.
“Kid- you’re having a panic attack, you need to breathe.”
“No- no,” he babbled, shaking his head. Tony briefly made eye contact with Helen over Spider-Man’s head, and she nodded once, moving to inject a sedative into his IV. The kid, too hysterical to notice, continued to sob, trashing when Tony began to hold him down with his metal suit.
“You’re going to be ok kid, just breathe with me- in and out, come on.”
With the sedative slowly hitting him, and Tony’s words guiding him, Spider-Man’s breath began to level out, and he slowly lowered himself back down, head hitting the pillow beneath him.
“I’m going to have to remove his mask, check for head injuries.”
Tony nodded once- he knew how important the kid's identity was to him, but there was something obviously wrong with him, he needed to be checked. If he were a better man, he might have stepped out, let him keep his identity a secret, but the kid saw him under his suit, knew who he was.
It was only fair, and Tony was so very curious.
The kid who was now incredibly out of it weakly coughed out a protest, but he was too sedated to put up any real fight. Without hesitating, Helen gripped the mask in her hand and pulled, revealing the face of the masked vigilante.
No
Tony felt his heart stop, he could barely hear Helen’s gasp in the surprise over the ringing in his ear. He grabbed on to the table next to him, desperately trying to stop the room from spinning.
Spider-Man, the kid- his kid, with a bullet wound in his shoulder and bruises scattered across his chest and his face, was Peter. His son.
Tony suddenly felt like vomiting.
He moved to grip his son’s hand in his.
“Baby- I’m here, we’re going to make it better ok? Just relax.” Tony can feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he forcefully blinks them away, trying to stay focused on his son.
His son, who was Spider-Man.
Tony had thrown him off buildings, shot him point blank in the face with his repulsors, and blown up buildings with him still in the vicinity. All this time, it was his son that he was hurting. Today, he could have lost him if he wasn’t quick enough, the image of him falling towards the ground would forever be ingrained into his brain.
Tony felt himself shake slightly, gripping his son’s hand even tighter to ground himself.
“So you either need to fuck off or just kill me already because I’m too tired for this shit.”
God what had happened to him before Tony had arrived? His son was supposed to be in school. Obviously his kid had been struggling for sometime now, and Tony had missed it. He was just like Howard, too focused on himself and his work.
Oh god, his son wanted to die, wanted Iron man to put him out of his misery. What would have happened if it wasn’t Tony he had confronted today, what if it was someone worse, someone who would have no problem getting rid of Spider-Man for good? Someone who would have let him fall?
He can hear Jarvis listing out Peter’s vitals, along with a list of injuries. As the list goes on, Tony can feel white hot anger boil beneath his skin.
Somebody hurt his baby, somebody almost got him killed.
Wilson Fisk
“Helen, please keep me updated, there’s some business I need to attend to.” His faceplate closes down back around him, and before she could react- Tony shot out of the building and out of sight.
----------------------
Whenever Iron Man attacks, he always clears the building beforehand. It was something many different news outlets had made note of, that although Iron Man was clearly unstable like all the rest of New York’s villains, he clearly tried to minimize casualties.
This time, it was different.
When Fisk Industries Tower was blown to smithereens in broad daylight, it went down without a warning. Luckily, it was destroyed outside of office hours, so the death toll wasn’t in the thousands. Still, many of Wilson Fisk’s close associates and bodyguards were present.
Unfortunately, as the day progressed, the odds of finding them alive in the wreckage was decreasing, and they would soon be presumed dead.
A body they had no issue finding was Fisk himself, who was placed outside the building, body mangled almost beyond recognition.
It was clearly a warning, but for who, the public did not know.
-----------------------
Peter woke up to the steady beeping of a heart monitor lulling him awake. He felt strangely calm, wrapped up in a warm blanket, lights dim to not hurt his sensitive eyes. He felt a warm embrace wrap around him, a body lying underneath him, and without thinking he shifted himself closer to it, nuzzling his face into their chest.
“Good morning Bambino,” the voice whispered, and Peter felt himself smile, because that was his dad’s voice.
His dad, his-
Iron Man
He jolted up suddenly, memories of the past day flooding back to him all at once. He made a move to get up, but arms kept him held back against his father’s chest. He struggled for only a moment before giving up, letting himself be held as he burst into tears.
“I know baby, I know- I’m here.”
Cradling him in his arms as he sobbed, Peter could feel his father kiss the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. Peter didn’t know what to think, it was like everything he thought he knew about his life was crumbling before his eyes. His chest hurt, and he felt himself grab on to his dad’s shirt in order to ground himself.
His dad let him hold on, let him cry until he ran out of tears. It was fifteen minutes of hysterics followed by another ten of absolute silence, nothing but the sound of soft breathing and the beeping of the heart monitor filling the room. Peter felt infinitely younger than he was, like he was a child again, running into his father’s room after a nightmare, all knobby knees and lanky arms, curled up under his father’s duvet and in his arms.
“You’re Iron Man.”
It wasn’t a question, and Peter could feel his father momentarily tense at his words.
“I am,” a pause, “and you’re Spider-Man.”
Peter knew it was coming, and he felt himself wince in response. To his surprise, his father didn’t sound angry or upset, in fact, he didn’t sound like much of anything. His voice gave away no emotions, and that was the scariest part of all of this. Peter had no idea what his father was thinking, no idea how this was going to end for him. Peter felt himself swallow, his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth.
How did this happen? When did this happen? Why are you doing this? Why are you hurting people- hurting New York?
Peter could feel all of these questions on the tip of his tongue, but instead of voicing him, he could only bring himself to say one word.
“Why?”
It’s not nearly enough, but his dad understands.
“I’m not- evil, the Avengers, as good as they think they are, they’re corrupt. The whole organization is filled with very bad people.”
“Then why don’t you just help them?”
“You don’t think I’ve tried?” His voice raises, and Peter flinches slightly. In response, his dad’s hold of him tightens.
“It’s not that easy Peter. I’m too- Tony Stark is too unpredictable, narcissistic, brash- unreliable. They wrote out a report on me years ago, tried to psychoanalyze me. They got me all wrong, but it didn’t matter, they wouldn’t listen to me no matter what I would try.” He sounds desperate now, and Peter can’t tell if it’s because he wants the Avengers to understand what he’s doing was right, or if he wants Peter to understand.
“As far as they’re concerned, Iron Man is the literal incarnation of evil, if I tried to say anything as Iron Man, they would probably think it was a trick.”
“You’ve killed people”
“Bad people, people who deserved to die-”
“No one deserves to die!” Peter shouts, and his dad’s mouth slams shut, his jaw making a clicking sound. The heavy silence returns, and Peter momentarily worries that he stepped over a line he shouldn’t have crossed. This was Iron Man, after all- whose never had a problem shutting him up before. Peter was incredibly vulnerable right now, and if his dad decided he was too much trouble to keep around-
It wouldn’t end well for him.
Instead of getting mad, his dad only sighs in response,he sounds defeated, like all the energy was sapped out of him.
“I wish you were right kiddo.” He sounds sincere, but it didn’t matter. Peter was right. No one started bad, people were redeemable. Killing was never the answer, not ever. Evidently, his father didn’t agree, and Peter could feel the spike of anxiety stew in his gut, the heart monitor jumping slightly next to him. If his father noticed, he didn’t comment on it.
“What happens now?” The not knowing was killing him, because Peter had never been lucky, never had a good outcome- but he also never gave up on people. He wasn’t about to let Iron Man continue terrorizing the city, no matter who was under the armor.
“I can’t, I won’t stop trying to keep Iron Man from attacking the city.”
“I know-” his father says, his voice softer than he’s ever heard him speak. “You were never one to quit, you got that from me.”
“Are you,” he hesitates for a moment, scared of the answer, “what are you going to do to me?”
Peter is startled when his father starts to shake underneath him, a gasp escaping his lips in what could only be shock. Straining his neck to face him for the first time since he woke up in the med bay, Peter is shocked to be confronted with just how broken his father looked. He looked like a mess, bags heavy and purple underneath his eyes, face pale. His face was twisted in pain, and Peter could see tears falling against his cheeks.
He was crying.
His father had always made sure that Peter knew that it was ok to cry, to have emotions, but it was rare for his dad to ever show how he felt.
“Peter,” he choked out, a sob breaking up his sentence, “God baby no. Nothing- I could never hurt you, I don’t care what you do- I love you.”
Peter felt his own tears cascade down his face, and as carefully as he could with an IV in his arm and the bandages wrapped around his chest, he twisted himself to face towards his father, his arms wrapping around his waist. He buries his head in the crook of his father’s neck, breathing in the scent of motor oil and metal and cinnamon and home, and he instantly feels himself calming.
“I know,” his voice is steadier than it has been since waking up, “I’m sorry- I should never have asked.”
“I love you.” His father repeats, hand rubbing circles against his back.
“I love you too dad.” He does, because this was the man who raised him, who loved him and who has been his hero for as long as he could remember.
So maybe everything changes, or maybe nothing does. Iron Man still blows up buildings, attacks those who he believes the justice system couldn’t handle themselves. Spider-Man still tries to stop him, except now Iron Man is a little less trigger happy, and Spider-Man is more focused on getting civilians out of the way instead of stopping the destruction from taking place. Both masked individuals would deny it if asked, but they have a bit of a system set between them.
If you asked Tony and Peter- well, they had nothing to do with any of it, they were content as they were, cozy up in Stark Tower, snuggled up on the couch with a movie playing and the world on mute.