I hope you guys enjoy Chapter 2!:D
Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.
Chapter 2: Snow And Ice (Makes Everything Not So Nice)
No matter how much Tony wants to get the hell away from those footprints, he knows that he can't, at least not right now.
When he finally staggers back into the car, finally gets his racing heart and heavy breathing under a little bit of control, Peter is sheet white, his small hands immediately reaching out and squeezing Tony's shirt sleeve so hard the fabric nearly rips in half.
"D-Dad?" His voice is shaking, shuddering in a way Tony never wants to hear. "What's wrong? Can we move at all?"
The Billionaire takes a deep breath, slapping on a reassuring smile even as his ears strain for a hint of movement from outside, his own hands, gauntlet extinguished but not put away, shaking as he lifts up the middle consul. He tugs his son against his side, as much to comfort the boy as to protect him against a sudden attack from whoever—or whatever—is lurking deep in the surrounding darkness.
"Not exactly, kiddo." Tony says softly, reaching up to run his fingers through his child's hair, the curls slightly damp. "We might be here for a while."
Peter is quiet for a few minutes, his thin frame shuddering a few times under his father's hold as the man adjusts the Heater. His grip tightens a little as the storm kicks up around them, shaking the frame of the car and throwing up bellows of snow.
"What did you see, Dad?"
The question is so quiet, whispered in a way that Tony isn't sure if his son even spoke, the only indication being the way Peter glances up at him through the blue tinged darkness, his eyes bright with barely held back fear.
"Dad?" The boy repeats when all Tony does is close his eyes, the hand that was running down Peter's back raising up and squeezing the bridge of his nose. "Wh—"
The genius cuts him off, his tone desperately grasping at an even mixture of faux reassurance and all too real frustration. "Nothing Peter, okay? Just some ice, it stuck to the wheels and now we can't move."
Suddenly his son sits up, his eyes blazing a fierce panicked anger. "Don't-don't lie to me, I'm not a little kid anymore!"
Tony grits his teeth, hooking his fingers onto Peter's arms and forcing the boy still when he attempts to scoot back. "P-Peter—stay still, okay? Just-just stop please—"
"No! Not until you tell me what's really going on." The teen's voice catches on a sob, his body suddenly sagging against Tony's. "Please Dad, please don't leave me in the dark."
Tony feels his own cry travel up his throat and he swallows down acidic bile. His eyes, however, continue to shift around them, straining to catch a glimpse of the washed out world beyond the fogged windows.
"The—" Pausing to clear his throat, the billionaire continues, his voice raspy with dread. "—the tires were slashed. All four of them."
Peter gasps from under him, his shaking increasing slightly as he seems to fight to keep his breathing even. "M-maybe we just ran over something, I mean, with this storm—"
Tony hates himself when he has to cut his son off, has to tear the last shred of hope from under the boy. "No, no buddy. That wasn't all I saw. . . "
The man can't continue, can't force the reality of what is outside because when he does, when he speaks of the horror he can feel building up in his chest, it becomes real.
Shared between them. Passed like a flame between two candles. One spark of fear and panic to ignite a roar of flames, a heat wave of terror and hysteria.
But he must.
"There was also footprints, Peter. Leading from the car into the woods. A person—they did this to us."
There is no loud gasp of shock. No cry of panic or sob of fear and desperation. Nothing. Peter is completely silent, the only indication of him even hearing his father's words being the hitch in his breathing and the grip of his hands tightening.
"They're out there right now." It isn't a question.
It's a whispered accusation, a solid statement said in a hoarse voice of harsh fact and bruising realities.
Tony swallows and his hands shake as they wrap around his son, tightening with each pulsing beat of his worn down and aching heart. "Yes. How can you tell?"
When the billionaire looks down at Peter, the teenager isn't squeezing his eyes shut like Tony assumed he was, isn't burying his face into his father's chest or nuzzling against the Arc Reactor. He stares straight at the window, his eyes wide with fear, dark pupils reflecting the blue glow below his chin.
His gaze is focused, brows furrowed, hands shaking as they grasp Tony tighter and tighter, fingers digging into the man's skin like the claws of a frightened animal.
"Because I can feel them. Their heartbeat—" The boy pauses, breath hitching. "—it's loud, steady. Like a-a drum. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Over and over again."
Tony feels the chill travel up his spine, his whole world closing in around him as the wind howls outside, rattling the car. Snow continues to rise, encasing the interior in a growing darkness. He reaches over to turn off the headlights before speaking.
"Do you know where it's coming from, Pete?"
But instead of responding, all his son does is raise one trembling hand, finger pointed to the almost hidden world outside. Tony immediately flips around, pushing up his now glowing hand as he practically flings his entire body to cover Peter, a snarl rumbling his chest.
But all he can see is the dreary whiteness of the snow and the faint outline of the dead trees beyond.
"Do we have to turn the car off again?"
Peter's voice is so small now, so low and dragged out that Tony almost doesn't hear him. The man lets out a harsh sigh, reaching his arm from around his kid and quickly turns the key, the interior lights clicking off and plunging father and son into static darkness once more.
"We have too, kiddie." The genius says once he sits back against the leather seat, dragging Peter back against his chest. "Need to save as much energy as possible."
Peter doesn't respond, just let's put a small puff of air, cuddling even closer to the man as his father sets his watch for another thirty minutes.
Another thirty, brutal, cold minutes.
The time ticking by so slowly Tony thinks he is going to straight out scream, pound his fists against the now completely snow covered windows until his fingers break and his knuckles are slick with warm blood.
But he doesn't. He can't loose control right now.
Not when Peter's shivers are increasing and his moments of haunting silence are becoming longer.
He can't take that risk.
The next three hours pass with only two temperatures. Only two ways to think.
A feverish heat, blowing out of the air conditioning ducts as the car engine rumbles below the few feet of snow stacked on top of it. The ice covering the windows start to melt, exposing a hazy image of the outside. Both Tony and Peter take turns sitting in front of the vents, letting the warm air sooth their aching and tired bodies, glancing out the window and straining to see the dark trees rising high above the white landscape.
Straining to see the allusive source of their never dwindling terror.
Suddenly a beep from Tony's watch shatters the thick silence and it's back to the cold. The pure chill that seems to freeze the world and their bones, push against their skin till it's buried deep in the cracks, freezing the blood running through their veins.
Peter seems to feel it the most, his small body shuddering and shivering against Tony's chest every couple of seconds. The man tries to warm him up, to gather his own body heat and pass it along to his son, but nothing seems to work, not even the heavy winter jackets he grabbed from their luggage, a pale green hat sitting a top his son's erratic curls.
And every single jolt of his child's body against his own, every visible, misty breath the boy exhales, jabs through Tony's chest and freezes along with his own air.
The next time Tony turns the key, the car stalls.
The man tries again and again, pushing the metal into the slot and lets out a curse as the engine stutters. Peter blinks up at him as he finally falls back against the seat, his nose ice cold as it gets pushed against his father's neck.
"What's w-wrong?" The boy asks in-between shivers, clutching Tony with stiff fingers.
The genius pauses before answering, wrapping his arms around his boy and presses a slightly numb kiss to the crown of his head. "The car won't start, kiddo. I would go see what's wrong but—"
"You d-don't want to leave me here." Peter says, voice small and raspy. "I know."
Tony huffs out a small laugh, his breath floating in the dark air around them. "You know me too well, buddy. C'mom, scoot closer, it's gonna start to get a whole lot colder."
After making sure that Peter is as warm as possible, Tony begins to plan for a way to check on the engine, quickly eliminating all opinions that involve him leaving his son in the car alone.
So that only leaves one choice.
Letting out a harsh sign, the billionaire tucks his kid closer to his chest with one hand, the other running through the boy's soft and cold locks when he squirms. Tilting Peter's face upwards, Tony cups his chin, running his thumb across his cheek when the spiderling leans into the touch.
"Listen to me, Pete." He whispers, watching as his son blinks, eyes wide and slightly glazed in the pale blue light from the Reactor. "We've got to go check on the car, okay?"
Peter tries to sit up, slumping against his Dad's chest when his arms shake from the exertion. "W-we?"
Tony swallows down his fear, pushing his boy further against his chest. "Yeah, me and you bud. You always like helping your old man out right?"
Peter hesitated before nodding, snuggling up closer to the man and hangs on like a spider monkey. Tony cups his face, pressing his lips against his son's forehead only once before he starts to push the door open, the metal creaking as it cuts through the snow layered on top of it.
Finally, both Starks make it out, the world still as dark as tar and deadly silent. Tony's footsteps crunch in the fresh snow, Peter tucked against his chest with his legs around his father's waist. His doe eyes are wide as he glances around them, grip tightening at every false movement his mind decides to make up at the moment.
Tony makes soft shushing sounds used his breath as he walks to the hood, gripping the metal with his gauntlet covered hand and pushing up with all of his strength. It take a couple of tries but finally the latch gives, flying upwards with a low groan and exposing the ice covered engine within.
"See anything we can fix, kiddo?" Tony asks as he shines his light into the hood, adjusting his son against his chest as the boy looks down. "I'll see if we have anything we can use in the trunk in a minute."
Peter just studies the engine, his cheeks a dark shade of red and his peaked nose leaking snot onto his black coat. Tony reaches down to wipe away the liquid with the edge of his sleeve, smoothing down the visible strands of hair peaking out from under Peter's hat after a second.
"Well," The spiderling says, throat crackling like newspaper. "I think we could—"
Suddenly, he cuts himself off, tensing up and his head snaps to the side, eyes wide and bright with a panicked sort of terror that makes Tony feel sick.
"What's wrong?" The billionaire asks, curling his body around his son and holds up his gauntlet, the pale light casting long shadows against the white ground. "Peter?"
The boy claws at his father, breath coming in pants as his nostrils flare. The air around them grows foggy from their combined, harsh breathing, settling the back drop of dead trees in a misty and ice cold haze.
"What's w—"
His kid cuts him off, voice strained and high in terror. "They—they're there. Dad, they're right there."
Tony stares at the spot his son shakily points too, squints his eyes and raises his hand up higher, taking a step backwards and positions his body so Peter is behind him.
He stares until he finally sees.
A lone shadow, somehow darker than the rest of the surrounding trees, stands around 5 yards from them. It seems to stare at them through the night, teetering on the edge of the woods, looking larger by the second.
Peter sucks in a sharp gasp, seeming to choke on the air as he squirms, curling further against his father as his body shakes. Tony barely has time to open his mouth, to even make a sound before the thing—the person takes a step forward, their foot crunching in the snow.
And Tony doesn't stop to think, to do anything but wrap his free arm around his child, turn around so fast the white world spins after him, and sprints in the opposite direction.
He doesn't realize his mistake until it's too late.
A/N: Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!;D
