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Tony Stark, over the course of his life, has had his share of bad days. First it was the death of his parents, being told one desolate night that they were both dead, killed in an accident. Then it was the day he was captured and tortured, the day that led to him becoming Iron Man. Then it was nearly losing Pepper, then fighting Steve Rogers…and Thanos winning? Yeah, that was a bad day. Yet somehow, Tony believed that today would top them all, and truly become the worst day of his life.
His fingers were cold as he carefully fixed the damaged Iron Man suit. He knew that he needed to get power to it as soon as he could. If the suit’s communicator could get repaired, they could both get out of here, and Peter…Peter might make it. Might.
The kid in question was laying beside him in the snow, curled up in the rough appearance of a ball, his own Spider-Man suit frayed and torn. Tony knew just from looking at it that the damage was severe, there was no way his communicator worked, or the heating in the suit.
Peter himself was silent, occasionally shivering where he lay. He was covered in cuts, blood staining his suit, and his breaths came in harsh wheezes. His leg, which was previously bent at a sickening angle, was bound in a makeshift splint. Tony wasn’t a doctor, but he knew how to do that, at least. Two large sticks, which were easy to find in the forest they were stranded in, and ripped jeans. The jeans were his, so now he was left with shorts in the bitter cold, but it was worth it. Peter was the priority, and in the condition he was in, he could use all the help he could get.
Tony turned away from his suit and ran his hand across Peter’s back, wanting to comfort the kid as much as he could.
“Steve’ll find us soon, bud. Hang in there.”
All he needed to do was fix the communicator. Then the rest of the team could find where they had crash landed after that explosion, and get them back to base. Tony’s own shoulder ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony that swirled in his chest when he thought that the kid was on his last breath. Luckily, he kept breathing. For now.
Yes. This was definitely the worst day of his life.
Peter shifted, whining weakly, his breathing becoming short and labored, and Tony couldn’t help but frown.
“I know. But hang in there, kid. We’re getting you out of here. I promise.”
Tony Stark had broken promises before. He would never break this one.
He didn’t know how much longer he worked on the suit, but finally the communications system sparked to life.
“Yes!”
Detaching the helmet from the suit, he put it on his head, quickly calling Steve.
“Tony! Where are you? Is Spider-Man with you?” Steve asked quickly as soon as a connection was established, and Tony looked to Peter once again. Still breathing. Good.
“We got thrown west, we’re in a forest somewhere.”
“Any injuries?”
Tony swallowed. “The kid’s in a bad place, he needs medical evac as soon as we can get it.”
“Understood. The Quinjet has found your signal, we’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Thanks. But make it five.”
After setting the helmet down, he focused on counting Peter’s breaths, assuring himself that there was going to be another after it, that the kid would make it. In…out. In…out. It was the only thing he could do to stop himself from panicking with worry.
There was so much blood. He didn’t focus on it. He only watched Peter’s chest rise and fall, clinging to it like a dying man clinging to the light.
But that’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? Clinging to the light that was fading in front of his eyes. Peter was the brightest light of all the people Tony had met, so eager, so alive, so youthful. A world without him would be surrounded with darkness.
“Hang on, Pete. Please just hang on.”