Chapter Text
Heights don’t normally phase Peter, but right now, hanging from Mr. Stark’s grasp with the pavement hundreds of feet below him, there’s nothing he wants more than to be on solid ground. The situation is made worse by the knowledge that they would be completely fine if Peter had his web shooters or if Mr. Stark had any of his Iron Man gear.
Neither of them do, and they can’t contact Friday or anyone else because Mr. Stark’s glasses fell off in his desperate leap to catch Peter. The glasses probably shattered as soon as they hit the ground, and their remains mark the spot Peter’s body will crash into if—
Don’t think about that.
It’s hard not to, though. Especially when Peter’s hand slips a little bit down Mr. Stark’s wrist. His breath catches in his throat, and Mr. Stark’s grip on his wrist tightens in response.
“I’ve got you, Peter. I’ve got you. Just keep holding on. Use that stickiness of yours and don’t let go.”
The strained encouragement prompts Peter to raise his gaze from the pavement far below. Mr. Stark’s face is screwed into a grimace of concentration and pain, and beads of sweat dot his brow.
And because Peter is looking upwards, he doesn’t miss the way Mr. Stark’s grasp on the bottom of the railing loosens when a gust of wind rocks them both.
Peter knows how this is going to end. He was refusing to acknowledge it before, hoping desperately for some last minute rescue, but a cold certainty sweeps over him. Neither of them can hold on forever, but without Peter pulling him down Mr. Stark would stand a decent chance of being able to pull himself back up.
He swallows, opens his mouth to speak, then falters. A fall from this height will kill him, and Peter very much does not want to die. Saying the words would make it real.
His hand slips further in Mr. Stark’s hold, and Mr. Stark gasps in pain. That provides enough motivation for Peter to force the words from his mouth.
“You have to let me go.”
“Not a chance,” Mr. Stark grits out, but Peter doesn’t stop.
“It’s either both of us or just me, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, looking down because he can’t bear to see Mr. Stark’s face right now. It’s a long way down. “Let go of me so you can pull yourself up.”
“Cut the self-sacrificing BS, Parker.” Anger radiates from every word in the command, and Peter would be more concerned about it if he weren’t trying to save Mr. Stark’s life. Another gust of wind sends them swaying like a demented pendulum. “I’m not letting go and that’s the end of the conversation.”
Peter’s arm feels like it’s about to pull out of his socket, and he knows it must be worse for Mr. Stark. He’s trembling all over and his hand is cramping up so much that he can’t feel his fingers. His voice is quiet when he admits: “I don’t think I can hold on for much longer.”
“Look at me, Peter.” Mr. Stark’s voice is soft, but there’s an underlying steeliness that Peter responds to immediately, looking up to see an expression of determination and sincerity. “I’m not going to let you fall. Just hold on for a couple moments longer, okay? I know you can do it.”
Peter nods, then focuses all his attention on the way their hands are linked together. It looks like such a fragile hold, but it’s the only thing preventing him from becoming a smear of grease on the pavement.
He draws in a breath, holds it, then lets it out.
His hand slips a little more.
He takes another breath.
A familiar low hum pierces his awareness, quickly becoming louder until Mr. Stark lets out a strained laugh.
“Took long enough,” he mutters.
The hum reveals itself to be an unmanned Iron Man suit, which wastes no time in grabbing Peter and Mr. Stark and depositing them safely in the middle of the balcony. As soon as it releases them, Mr. Stark wraps his arms around Peter’s shaking frame, rubbing soothing circles on his back but saying nothing.
It takes a while for Peter to speak. “How did you know that was coming?” he asks, voice muffled from the way his face is pressed against Mr. Stark’s shirt.
“As soon as my glasses hit the ground, Friday would have been alerted to the fact that something was wrong.” Mr. Stark draws back a bit so he can look Peter straight in the eye. “And I don’t care what situation we’re in, I never want to hear you suggest that I let you go. It’ll never happen. Are we clear?”
“Yeah.” Peter blinks and smiles shakily. “We’re clear.”