Okay so bear with me because this is going to be a little bit of a long note:

So I'm writing my own story (my own characters kind of thing) and I'm having trouble with character reactions to the death of one of my characters. In trying to deal with this, I thought it might be worthwhile to try writing a death scene for established characters and since I've been writing for the Avengers recently, I figured I would give it a shot. But (and this is another problem I'm having for my own characters), I can't actually kill Peter Parker, not possible for me to do, so I wrote two endings to this set up. One where he lives and one where he dies - shudder. They are both clearly labeled if you read the titles (please do)!

So this is complete drabble, I don't have a villain in mind and it takes place somewhere in the little AU world I've set up in my mind but really all you need to know is that Tony has a son named Morgan and has basically adopted Peter.

Please feel free to let me know what you think!

"No!" Tony screamed.

He watched as the only action Peter could take was to curl around Morgan's smaller form moments before the explosion tore apart the room behind them. It opened the back wall to the world beyond and as soon as the heat from the fireball dissipated, the freezing New York air took its place. Small puffs of snow drifted in on the lazy breeze. For a moment, Tony simply stood there. His hands twitched at his side and it was not until his lungs physically started to burn that he realized his had not taken a breath since he had seen the explosion. But that burn tore him back to the present because with that breath, the sounds of the room slammed into his ringing ears. The rest of the Avengers were moving around him, rounding up the people who posed the biggest threat even while they threw looks over their shoulders toward the unmoving pile of burned scrap in the center of the room. It was as if they were taking care of the threat so Tony could see to his kids. He stumbled forward, ignoring the crunch of concrete and glass under his feet and he collapsed next to Peter. Before he even hit the ground, his suit was gone, back in its container. For just a moment longer he held his breath, taking in the blackened and torn flesh of his oldest son's back and then he heard Morgan start to cry. It was muffled and what was left of Peter's shirt shifted against the burned skin as Morgan clutched the material tightly. That reaction sparked something in Tony and he cursed himself for his weakness as he slowly put his hand on Peter's shoulder, praying to god that he got a response. "Peter?" He practically whispered, squeezing harder than he should have, hard enough to leave a bruise if his skin had not been so badly burned. But his son did not react. "Peter?" Tony tried again a little louder, his heart soaring when he heard renewed tears but when he realized it was Morgan, Tony felt his own tears catch in his throat. He knew he could ask Karen but also dreaded the answer, so he forced himself to press his fingers to Peter's throat, his heart in his own. "Please, Peter, please." Tony begged.

Nothing.

No beat. No inhale. Nothing.

Tony dropped his head against his chest. His tears fell onto the ruined skin of his son's shoulder and back. He pressed his fingers harder into the hollow of his throat, hoping he had missed the beat.

Again, nothing.

Then Morgan started to cry a little harder and Tony knew that he needed to get him out from under what was now…unsupported…weight. Tony actively forced himself to ignore the traditional phrase. Carefully, he used the hand on Peter's shoulder to roll him off Morgan. The young boy's hands moved upward with the motion, his hands still clutching the pristine fabric of Peter's shirt. As Tony rolled Peter's…Peter up slightly, Morgan winked open his tightly closed eyes. Seeing his dad, he immediately uncurled his fingers and scrambled out from under his brother. The six-year-old clambered into Tony's lap, contorting his lanky body into a small ball and hid his face in his dad's chest, an uncharacteristic, decidedly childish move for the precocious boy. Tony unconsciously wrapped an arm around the young boy, curling over him carefully, even while he lowered Peter back onto his stomach and left his hand gripping his shoulder.

But Tony could not just stop. He never just stopped. He pressed his fingers again to Peter's throat. Forcing himself to believe he had been wrong, that there would be a heartbeat if he just waited a little longer.

If you're reading my notes - the next one is the one where he lives, the one after that is the one where he dies. Please let me know what you think!

I hope everyone has a wonderful night/day and stay creative!

-Lily