A/N: Hey guys!:D This is the second part of my Peter Whump Dump series (which doesn't have to be read in order) so I hope you enjoy!:)
Dedicated to Wordscorrupt on AO3.
Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.
Of course the first time Peter will be driving by himself it's raining.
He stands in his room, his new car keys getting clutched in his hand as he looks out the window, watching with a weary sigh as the clouds continue to roll across the darkening sky. The small splats of rain against his window do nothing to ease the anxiety shooting through his veins, and the 16 year old drums his free hand against his jeans.
They need milk. He had used the last of it this morning, his cereal barely getting covered up by the limited amount of white liquid dripping from the carton. After asking Friday if there was anymore left in the Tower, the teenager had grudgingly accepted his fate and went to grab his keys that were hanging by the elevator. When he looked down, Peter felt stupid when he realized that his shoes were in his room, so he had stomped back down the hall, his grumbles of complaint getting no acknowledgement from the A.I.
His left shoe was still sitting by his bed, and the young Stark shakes himself out of his thoughts, turning away from the foggy window and slipping the sneaker on. Taking a deep breath, Peter is glad to feel the beginnings of excitement fizzle in his stomach at the prospect of actually driving by himself. Satisfied that his shoes are securely on his feet, he quickly walks back to the elevator, checking his phone as he goes.
No new messages.
His Dad must be really busy then. Most of the time, Peter would have gotten a text from him by now (normally a funny picture of a cat or something) but the meetings that he got up extra early for must still be going on. The teenager frowns, tapping his foot restlessly against the moving floor as the elevator descends, trying to decided if he should tell Tony he is leaving.
He is really busy. Peter thinks, the room coming to a soft stop and the doors opening with a ding. He probably doesn't want to be bothered about something as stupid as milk.
That settles it then. He isn't going to tell his Dad that he's leaving. Twirling his keys between his fingers, the young Stark steps into the damp garage, and tries desperately to ignore the unease he feels as he walks. The rain pounds against the sides of the Tower, the sound seeming to echo through the concrete and rattle the boy's very bones. He swallows, pressing the unlock button on his keys once he is near his car.
The sleek red paint glistens even in the grey light filtering in through the windows, all of the tires perfectly shinned and creating the most traction Peter has ever seen. Pulling the driver side door open, the teenager slips into the smooth leather interior in one fluid motion, the seats squeaking against his legs. The distinguished smell of a New Car begins to get blown from the vents when he turns it on, and Peter takes a deep breath to try and ground himself.
You're fine. He thinks as he buckles his seat belt, choosing to ignore Friday's voice when she reminds him that he isn't allowed to drive without his Dad knowing. You are just going to the store, it's only like 5 minuets away.
Gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles crack, the 16 year old checks all of his mirrors before putting the car in reverse and slowly backing out of the garage, careful to avoid his father's billion dollar vehicles. The whiteness of the sky burns his eyes, and Peter flips on his windshield wipers as the rain begins to batter the car.
The vehicle is state of the art, his Dad having designed the interior and exterior with the carefulness he uses when building his Iron Man suits. The whole car is equipped with the most high tech protective and warning gear in the whole world, and Peter had protested against even looking at the car because of how much it must cost.
Tony, however, was having none of it, and made sure to tell him whenever they talked about it that it was essential to keep him safe. Peter couldn't argue with that and had grudgingly accepted the Birthday present with a wide smile.
He hasn't driven it since that day, instead choosing to learn using one of his father's older cars, so it took him a second to get used to how low his new one was compared to others. Looking both ways, the young Stark pulls out into the mostly deserted street, his tires crunching in the gavel and kicking up water. Feeling better now that he was actually out on the road, Peter lets himself relax, allowing the curvature of the road guide his hands as he turns onto a bigger street, pressing the break lightly when the car a few yards ahead of him stops suddenly.
He's actually driving.
Giving a small huff of exuberance, the teenager flexes his fingers on the wheel, turning on the radio and bobbing his head to the music, the bright red of a traffic light flashing as he gets closer. Pressing his breaks, Peter feels the tires squeak in a puddle of water as he comes to a stop, the motion jerking his neck against the seat belt. As he waits, he looks around at the surrounding lanes, turning his music up higher when he sees that there are no other cars in sight.
The guilt that seemed to follow him from home begins to settle in his chest as he thinks of his Dad and how he was disobeying him right now, but Peter also knows that it is too late to turn back. Might as well get the milk since he is already out.
Jumping slightly when the light suddenly changes to green, the young Stark doesn't bother to look both ways before crossing, too caught up in his thoughts to notice the truck approaching on his left side. His car beeps at him, warning him about the incoming vehicle as a bright red light flashes on his dashboard. The teenager squints against the rain, getting ready to use his horn to warn the other driver if he doesn't begin to slow down.
The truck doesn't stop, however, and Peter can see the glare of the red light above it reflected in the dirty windshield as it zooms closer, water splashing up from the speed. The teen barely has time to give a shout of fear before it slams into the side of his car, tires screeching and metal crunching.
Peter can feel the impact, the pure force of the blow shaking the earth like the worst quake, the air bags doing almost nothing to stop the door from concaving on itself, crushing the boy's leg in between the seats. The car skids across the road, sparks flying and making the outside glow a bright yellow, the water on the ground winning the battle against gravity and making the vehicle flip onto its' side.
Peter doesn't really know what happened next.
The car seems to teeter for a million years, the radio sputtering and the rain getting blown into the smashed passenger window. Finally with a weary groan, it tips fully over, the impact jolting Peter and making him hang slightly upside down. His seatbelt holds him in and the teen looks around in amazed horror at the crushed interior of the car.
His eyes begin to blur just as the pain sets in.
His legs burn, his left knee seeming to be crushed in between the smashed door and his seat, and Peter lets out a small cry of pain when he tries to move it. Warm liquid drips from his head, falling down his chin and dotting the deflated air bag in a pattern of red. Reaching up with a trembling hand, Peter feels icy fear shoot through his veins when his broken fingers makes contact with a thick piece of glass, the sharp material seeming to be imbedded in his forehead.
Squeezing his burning eyes shut, the teenager tries to desperately breathe, his expanding lungs making his ribs crack and a deep throb to begin pulsing up from his chest, climbing up behind his eyes and settling. His mouth tastes like a mixture of blood and smog and his tongue feels thick when he tries to lick his dry lips. His head pulses in time with the flashing of the car's lights, and Peter tries to fight the dizziness that threatens to overcome him when he tries to undo his seatbelt.
In the distance, he thinks he can hear the sound of an ambulance and police sirens, but his whole head is fuzzy and his ears begin to ring, so he doesn't know if it's real or not. He prays that it is.
Choking on a sob, the young Stark wants to hit himself because how could he have been so fucking stupid. He knew that he wasn't allowed to drive without his Dad and now-oh God, now he is bleeding and hurt and his car is ruined and Tony is going to be so mad. Tears slip from the boy's eyes, sliding down his cut up face and mixing with the blood still dripping from his head. His whole body hurts, and he is still hanging by his seatbelt, the lock on the side seeming to be blocked by the crushed seat. Wiggling his non-broken fingers, Peter can just graze the red button before he has to slump down in exhaustion, his breathing ragged and throat burning.
He doesn't know how long he hangs there, blood slowly leaking from his forehead and some now trailing down his back from an unknown source. After a few minutes does he give into his emotions, his voice cracking as he cries, his whimpers getting smushed as he brings his not broken hand up to cover his face. The rain that pounds against the car flies into the smashed window, the cool liquid peppering his skin in moisture and making him shiver.
Finally, the sirens that he heard earlier begin to echo through the street, the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the mirrors and shinning into his eyes. Lifting his head from where he had dropped it in his self despair, Peter watches as a police car swerves into the intersection, an ambulance and a fire truck a little ways behind it.
"H-Help! Please, help me, please. . . " Peter begins to shout, his voice dying in his throat as his body rocks with coughs, spheres of dark red flying from his mouth and dripping down his chin.
Footsteps pound above the sound of the rain, flashlights suddenly streaming into the car and hitting Peter in the face. With a cry of alarm, the young Stark lifts one hand up to shield his eyes, squinting. Firefighters look back at him, their eyes glowing in the grey light as they shout orders to each other. Peter tries to understand what they are saying, but their voices get lost in the pounding of his skull and the continued ringing in his ears.
The car suddenly jolts, the crunch of metal filtering in through the fog, and Peter jumps, his groan of agony escaping without his consent as he blinks at the paramedics. The car door is ripped off with a gigantic bang, the sound sending a shiver down the young Stark's spine, and the rain that is falling suddenly fills up the car with it's cold mist. A gentle hand grabs his free arm, the glove covering his scrapped skin and making it tingle.
"It's okay now, kid. We got you." The voice is gruff, the blazing blue eyes of the firefighter reaching for him shimmering in the flashing light.
Peter tries to respond, his movements becoming increasingly sluggish and his eyes starting to blur. The firefighter carefully maneuvers beside the boy, ripping the seat from around his legs and making him hiss from the pain. Gripping the young Stark under his arms, the man begins to pull him out of the totaled car, the movement tugging on Peter's injuries and causing him to scream in agony. His rescuer flashes him an apologetic frown, the fresh and misty air filling up the teen's lungs as he is finally pulled free. The smell of blood becomes stronger as his body is forced up, the warmth of the sticky liquid sliding down his back a stark contrast to the cold rain.
A jumble of voices flutters around the boy, harsh flashlights shinning in his eyes and different hands grabbing him. He is suddenly placed on a stretcher, the bright orange of the handles getting engraved in his mind, and he feels a flash of longing building in his chest so strong it feels like he could howl.
"Dad!" Peter gasps out, his raspy voice seeming to startle the nurse pulling him toward the ambulance. "W-wait, you ha-have to call my-my Dad!"
Frantically, he tries to dig his phone from his pocket, his whole arm shaking from the strain. The nurse that was pushing his cot suddenly stops, grabbing onto his hand and forcing him down gently when he tries to sit up. His touch stirs something in Peter that he can't ignore and he screams, thrashing against the restricting hands that move to hold him still, his vision blurring with tears.
"Please just call my Dad, please please please. . . I want my Daddy. . . " He pleads, voice becoming almost animalistic in his desperation.
In all of the madness surrounding the scene, Peter doesn't realize that they have put him into the ambulance until the rain that was hitting his face is cut off suddenly. By now he has resorted to sobbing, his hands getting examined by the Doctors surrounding him, their grips never wavering no matter how weakly he struggles. He begins to hyperventilate, his lungs pushing against his rib cage and making sparks of pain shoot up toward his head, his non-broken fingers curling around the bed frame as the Doctors prod at his gashed forehead.
"Please, please just call Dad, please. . ." His voice is barely above a whisper now, his throat dry and crackling from screaming.
The Nurse at his head gives him a frown, moving to take the phone clutched in his grip as he continues to tremble. Peter swallows, watching with a blurred vision as the man clicks the phone on, his thumbs tapping against the screen and the ringing audible above the beeping of the machines the teenager is now connected to.
The call automatically ends just as the sound of thrusters echoes through the intersection.
Weakly pushing himself up with his one good hand, the young Stark watches as the medical crews scatter in slight panic as the Iron Man suit lands with a massive crash on the sidewalk, the impact cracking the concrete and making the puddles ripple. His eye sight blurring with tears, Peter tries in vain to jump out of the bed, needing nothing more than his father's comforting arms around him. The nurses beside him begin to push him back down, one accidentally slipping and pressing against his ribs. The teen arches up in agony, clenching his eyes shut as he moans.
The clunk of metal against as-fault vibrates the whole truck as Tony seems to prowl toward his child, the glowing eyes of the Suit appearing to narrow further, and all people near Peter take a step back as through struck by lightning. Lifting his weak arms, the 16 year old gives a sharp whine as the Suit practically melts off of his Dad, blood sliding down the teenager's face as he curls his fingers in a grabbing motion.
Peter melts into his Dad's embrace when he finally gets close enough, his whimpers and cries of pain getting muffled against the man's business suit as he pulls him closer. Tony hums under his breath, rocking them side to side like he used to do when Peter was little, his dark eyes becoming almost black as he studies the injuries and blood littering his child's battered body. Peter just sniffs, nuzzling his face into the elder Stark's chest and tries to ignore the pain that seems to drum throughout his whole being.
Tony runs his fingers through his child's hair, his touch the best thing Peter has ever felt, and he whimpers. His Dad makes a small cooing sound, his eyes gentle as he gazes down at his boy, ignoring the Doctors as he climbs into the bed beside his son and curling his body around the small one beside him. Peter lets out a sigh, his shaking and bloody hands holding onto the genius's button up shirt as hard as he can as the Medical Personal continue to check him over, the slam of the doors closing causing him to jump.
They start moving after a second, the wires surrounding them jingling from the motion, the rain hitting the roof a soft background noise against the relentless beeping. Peter sniffs, curling his aching body closer to his father as the Billionaire tightens his grip, his lips pressing gently against the un-injured side of his forehead.
They don't speak a word as the ambulance roars down the street, both holding onto each other as tightly as they can. Squeezing his blurry eyes shut, Peter tries to pretend he doesn't notice the blood soaking the sheets under them, instead choosing to listen to the rhythmic beating of Tony's heart under his cheek.
"If you don't stop touching your head, it's going to get infected."
Quickly putting his hand down from where it was scratching at the line of dark thread above his eye, Peter lowers his eyes as his Dad walks back into the hospital room. The man's footsteps pause for a second, almost as though he was waiting for the teen to say something, shoes squeaking against the tile floor. Peter just continues to look down at his lap, the red cast around his left arm vivid against the white sheets, his Uncle Happy's surprisingly neat handwriting facing him.
He hears his Dad huff out a harsh breath through his nose, the bed slumping on one side as he sits down. His arm is comforting when it settles across his back and the young Stark leans into it, fighting against the embarrassing tears that suddenly fill his eyes.
"We have to talk about this sometime, Pete." Tony whispers, his voice deep and vibrating against Peter's cheek when he speaks. "You know we do."
The 16 year old frantically shakes his head, the whole room spinning and whirling around him as his concussion makes itself known once again. The Arc Reactor is faint under his father's shirt and the teen tries desperately to focus on that as his world seems to shift.
"I-I'm sorry, Dad." Peter says, voice ragged and chest heaving as he wills himself not to cry. "I'm so sorry! I j-just wanted to g-get more mil-milk. I will never ever go behind your back again, I promise."
Tony suddenly pulls him up by his shoulders, Peter's face getting forced from the warmth of his chest and making the teenager make a small sound of protest. Gently running one hand through the soft locks, the genius cups his child's face in his other, tilting his chin up when he begins to look down once more in shame. His eyes, when Peter finally gathers the courage to peek at him through his hair, are a deep brown filled to the brim with a mixture of seriousness and love, and the young Stark feels a sob bubble up his throat at the sight.
"I know that you're sorry, Peter, but I need you to understand how much worse this could've been." Tony says, giving the boy a small shake to emphasize the seriousness, his voice filled with a sort of agony Peter can't fully grasp. "You could have died! I-I could be burying your-your body right n-now, and God Damn it, I don't think you understand how fucking sickening and the unimaginable terror that thought m-makes me feel—"
The soft splats of his Daddy's tears against his legs are warm, the salty liquid dripping down the Billionaire's chin even as he continues to stare deep into Peter's very soul, his face a mask of weighted pain and worry. His hands tremble slightly as he clutches his boy closer, and the teenage lets him, reaching up to hold onto the man with his own unwrapped hand, the other sitting useless between them.
"What happened to the other driver?" Peter finally asks, breaking the silence that fell over the two of them as Tony continues to breath, his tears stopping just as quickly as they started.
"He was a drunk, police say he was coming from an all-day bar a few blocks away when he ran that red light."
But his father's voice is hesitant, and the teenager knows that there is more to the story. Narrowing his eyes slightly at the other Stark, Peter can feel more than see the sigh that travels over Tony as he comes to an internal conclusion.
"He died on impact, kiddie."
Peter feels his heart stop, his blood freezing in his veins as his eyes widen in horror. His head begins to throb at the overuse of his muscles, but he doesn't care. His grip on his Dad's shirt becomes painfully tight as his breath begins to come much faster.
"I killed him?!"
"No!" Tony half shouts, his hands surrounding Peter's chin as the boy's eyes fill with more tears, his grip gentle even as it tightens. "No, baby, you didn't kill anyone! If anything, it was his fault for running into you, and you shouldn't blame yourself for him being a mother fucking idiot. He was a drunk who made a very stupid decision and got what he deserved because of it."
The Billionaire's eyes are dark with a sort of simmering rage, one not directed at anything in particular, but at the circumstances surrounding this entire ordeal. Peter lets out a small puff, deflating in exhaustion as his chest begins to burn again, his head being gently lowered so that his cheek rests once again on the Arc Reactor.
His Dad's voice is barely audible, the sound a soft rumble against Peter's ear as he shifts them on the bed, pressing the faded red button on the side and sending a dose of morphine into the teenager's blood stream. Peter can feel the drug begin to take affect, his eyes dropping and his grip slowly falling limp as the pain in his muscles flows away. Tony wraps his arms tightly around his child, cocooning him in a feeling of love and protection as his heartbeat drums strong beneath the young Stark's cheek.
"I would rather a million men like that die then ever let you get even a single scratch."
Peter hums, choosing to nuzzle his face even closer to his Dad's chest as he finally slips into the darkness calling to him, content in the knowledge that Tony would keep him safe and feeling his Dad kiss his temple, the sensation fading as he dives into dreamland.
A/N: Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!:D