Work Text:
”Friday, where’d I leave my screwdriver?”
“It’s on your right under the draft paper for Mark 92, boss,” Friday’s automated voice echoed throughout the lab.
”Thanks sweetheart,” Tony murmured, snatching up the screwdriver before returning to the fabricated mask resting on his workbench, its white, triangular eyes staring blankly back at him.
He was hoping the material for this suit would be a lot more durable than Peter’s previous ones, which deteriorated after every bizarre disaster he managed to stumble into.
Just a few weeks ago, Peter had been splashed with some strange red goo that had burned through most of the suit and left a nasty burn on his arm. A month before that, some guy hit him with a weapon that had reduced the entire suit to dust.
So Tony was hoping this material would withstand whatever substance, weapon or alien nonsense Peter inevitably encountered. And hopefully the kid would actually accept his gift once he returned from his school trip around Europe, instead of insisting Tony was doing too much.
Which maybe he was.
“Sir, I have received an injury alert from Karen,” Friday announced.
”What?!” Tony exclaimed, sitting up and discarding the screwdriver. “What happened? How badly is he hurt?”
”I cannot say, boss,” Friday replied.
”What do you mean, you can’t tell how?!” Tony snapped, “Did the kid mess with her coding again?”
Tony gritted his teeth, already planning to chew into the kid before Friday spoke up again. “It seems Karen’s systems are not functioning properly. The only connection I can establish is the injury alert, which was issued five hours ago.”
Tony’s heart skipped a beat. “Five hours ago?” Tony choked out, “Why the hell are you only telling me now?”
”I’ve only just received it, sir,” Friday snipped back.
Tony pushed his chair away from his desk, skidding to a different one as he chewed on his bottom lip. “Fri, pinpoint the last location of this connection.”
”Prague, Czech Republic,” Friday announced, projecting a map in front of Tony, a circular spider-man symbol, representing the last known location.
“Get me surveillance footage for the area, for the past twenty four hours,” Tony ordered.
He waited, his foot tapping impatiently. What if the injury was bad? It’s been five hours. If Peter hadn’t gotten it treated, his condition could be getting worse. He shoved the thought aside. Peter was old enough and had enough experience under his belt to look after himself. He’ll be fine.
A video feed finally flickered to life in front of him, beginning eight hours earlier. Tony pulled over his keyboard, holding down the arrow key to speed up the footage until a flash of red streaked across the screen.
Instantly, he rewound it, slowing the playback to normal speed the moment Peter was in the frame.
Spider-Man swung down into the open area, rolling into a stand before throwing…a punch? Tony’s eyes furrowed as he noticed Peter threw another one. Then a kick. But nothing was there. It was like he was fighting an invisible force.
Tony watched as Peter continued moving forward, still swinging at thin air, backing further and further across the dirt until his feet stepped on the railway tracks and Tony didn’t think much of it. Until a train suddenly appeared on the feed.
Then Peter was gone.
Tony’s heart lurched, his finger jamming the replay video before his brain had even caught up, his eyes glued to the screen. But all the feed showed was the train once again speeding down the track. Straight into Peter.
”Shit!” Tony exclaimed, shoving himself away from the desk so hard the chair skidded backwards. His hands flew to the back of his head. “Fuck!”
He couldn’t breathe, his throat constricting as his hands began to shake. Peter got hit by a train. A fucking train. Going at full speed.
Nobody could survive something like that. Nobody…
The thought struck Tony harshly. Peter could be dead.
He got a hit by a train moving at full speed. He could be dead.
What was he going to tell the kid’s aunt?
She's going to kill him. Tony was the one who’d put Peter in that suit. The one who’d encouraged him to keep being Spider-Man. He’d handed a fourteen-year-old kid armour and told him he could be a hero.
Tony tried to take a deep breath. But he couldn’t.
“Sir, I believe you’re having a panic attack,” Friday noted.
”No shit, Fri,” Tony choked out.
”I suggest trying breathing exercises,” Friday commented.
Peter was dead. Peter was dead. His kid was dead.
Tears filled his eyes as he still struggled to take in a deep breath.
There was no body.
Tony froze. He didn’t see a body.
Instantly, he lurched back towards his desk. “Friday replay.”
”I don’t suggest that sir it may cause—“
”I said replay, Fri!” Tony snapped, slamming his fist on the table.
Friday replayed the video without another word and Tony couldn’t help but wince as the train collided with Peter once again. Then he played it again, this time slowing the footage down. And again, even slower. Each replay somehow made it harder to watch. Finally he slowed it down as much as the system allowed, moving frame by frame between the moment Peter was standing on the tracks and the next, where he was gone.
But the only thing he could focus on was that there was no body.
A spark of hope ignited inside him.
If anyone could survive being hit by a train, it was Peter.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, running search after search through surveillance cameras, airport security footage, traffic cameras and everywhere he could think of. But then minutes turned into hours. Then eight. Fourteen hours without a single sign of Peter since a train hit him.
The spark of hope that had kept him going slowly began to fade, replaced by a stilling numbness.
A sharp ring cut through the silence of the lab and he nearly ignored it, until he noticed it was an unknown number. His heart lurched and he snatched up the phone, swiping to answer before pressing it desperately against his ear.
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then came a deep inhale. And after far too many visits to the medbay, Tony would recognise that breath anywhere.
”Mr Stark?” A timid voice asked.
A rush of air left his lungs. “Peter…” he gasped, his eyes burning with tears of relief, “Christ kid, where are you? Are you okay?” He choked out, the words tumbling from his mouth.
He needed to know where he was. See for himself he was okay.
”I’m in the um…Netherlands in uh—“ Peter mumbled, sounding far too exhausted for Tony’s liking. After trailing off, there was a muffled conversation before Peter spoke again. “One sec here—“
He heard more shuffling as the phone got passed to someone else. “Broek op Langedijk,” another voice said into the phone.
”Friday,” Tony said, knowing his A.I would instantly pinpoint the location and plot the fastest route there.
”Did you get that?” Peter’s voice returned, still shaky enough to make Tony’s brow crease with worry.
“I’m coming, kid. I’ll be there as fast as I can, alright?” Tony reassured, trying to keep his own voice steady. “You sure you're okay?”
”…Mr Stark, I really messed up,” Peter mumbled, and he sounded so distraught that it made Tony’s chest clench.
”Hey, we’ll deal with that later,” Tony said softly. “Right now I just need to know if you’re okay?”
”Yeah…yeah,” Peter stuttered but Tony didn’t really believe him, “I should go.”
Before Tony could even say goodbye, the line went dead.
Tony closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The feeling that his world was collapsing had eased, but the worry still lingered.
Peter had just been hit by a train.
There was no way he had escaped without injuries.
Tony only hoped they weren’t severe enough that the kid would kick the bucket before he reached him. Still, the fact Peter already survived being hit by a train gave him a small sliver of reassurance.
Tony flew alone to the Netherlands in one of his private jets, specifically one fitted with a slightly illegal, souped-up engine that got him to the Netherlands in record time. However, most of the journey was spent lost in thought. What if the kid had died? What would Tony have done? All he would’ve been able to do was blame himself. He was the one who’d given Peter the suit.
Before he could spiral too far, the jet began its landing onto a vast, colourful flower field. Under any other circumstances, Tony probably would’ve appreciated how beautiful it was.
The moment the jet touched down, he was out of his seat and rushing towards the door, repeatedly jamming the release button until it finally slid open. The first thing he saw was Peter, walking towards the jet, a limp in his step as dried blood was smeared along his temple, trailing down the side of his face. For some reason, he was also wearing a bright orange shirt.
“Peter!” Tony called out, jogging down the plane ramp, towards him. ”Kid, you okay?”
As he neared closer, Peter’s hand suddenly shot out. “Wait!” He exclaimed.
Tony froze.
“Is it really you?” Peter asked, sounding genuinely afraid of the answer.
”What? Of course it is,” Tony said, taking another step forward, now barely a foot away, worry steadily eating away at him. Maybe Peter got a head injury?
”No!” Peter shouted again, his voice trembling. “Just—just tell me something only you would know.”
Tony blinked, thoroughly confused, but nodded anyway just to reassure Peter.
Tony was confused but decided to comply just to reassure Peter. “Uh..remember our internship retreat? You wouldn’t stop talking about the avengers and I kept answering your question but then later I told you how I hated you mentioning them but I didn’t really want to upset you so I—“ Tony rambled but before he could even finish, he had an armful of Peter.
Peter had thrown himself at him, practically collapsing into his arms and Tony clutched him back just as desperately, only now realising how badly he’d needed to feel Peter was alive himself.
A warmth dampened his cheek and for a split second he thought Peter was crying.
Then he realised the tears were his own.
”Mr Stark, I messed up,” Peter choked out, sounding on the edge of breaking down in tears. And if he did, Tony feared it would just make himself break even further. “I messed up so bad.”
”It’s okay. It’s okay,” Tony soothed softly, his voice muffled against Peter’s hair, “We’ll sort it out.”
”You don’t even know what—“
”But we’ll sort it, alright?” Tony interrupted gently.
Then Peter shifted back slightly and all Tony wanted to do was pull him right back.
“Mr Stark…are you crying?” Peter asked incredulously.
Tony scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I saw the footage of the train. I didn’t know where you were.” Tony said, unable to stop himself from choking up. “Peter…I thought you were dead.”
”I’m sorry—“ Peter began, but Tony cut him off.
“Enough of that,” Tony murmured, reaching out to cup Peter’s face with his hands, just so he could see the kid, “You’re okay. That’s all that matters.”
He pulled Peter into another hug, one arm wrapped tightly around his back while the other cradled the back of his head, his fingers threading gently through the kid’s hair.
Tony closed his eyes as his lips brushed Peter’s temple, silently thanking whatever was out there that Peter was alive.