Wishing a very happy birthday to Sunnymorn - your reviews always put a smile on my face, and I love your writing! I hope your day is as brilliant as you:) To celebrate, here's an extra-long update, and a promise that I will try to post another one later today. Enjoy!
Tony didn't actually see Peter again for a while. True, they spoke on the phone every other day. And, yes, the kid was talking more – at least, he kept up a steady stream of texts that was guaranteed to put a sappy smile on Tony's face, if it didn't give him a heart attack first:
Underoos, 10:38: Mid-terms this week – nailed algebra. Again!
Underoos, 13:42: Mr Saunderson thinks you did my physics assignment for me, but my Bio-Chem teachers say the Stark internship is the best thing to ever happen to my grades. It's kinda funny really. Sometimes I want to tell them.
Underoos, 14:33: School counsellor seems nice. Promised May I'd go once, but I think I'll go back.
Underoos, 19:21: Ned says hi.
Underoos, 19:21: *Ned says hi!:) (Sorry. I told him emojis were dorky).
Underoos, 19:22: So does May.
Underoos, 00:16: I've got a question: who would you be in that old movie, The Breakfast Club? MJ says I'm a textbook Brian. She said that third period, and I'm still not sure what she means.
Underoos, 00:18: English Lit homework is not lit. I crave death.
Underoos, 00:18: Sorry. Bad joke.
Underoos, 03:56: I miss it. Sleeping. At night. Too tired to close my eyes. Easier to stay up working. Is that a thing? I think it's a thing. Figured you'd know.
Me, 04:02: Sure, for a lucky few. Forget the homework. Get some shuteye before May knocks you out.
Underoos, 04:04: She wouldn't do that.
Me, 04:05: Maybe not. I would.
Underoos, 04:06: Right. Night Mr Stark.
Me, 04:06: Night Pete.
It was cheesy, disgustingly domestic stuff, really – but Tony was grateful for every word. He lived for the fierce pride he had in his kid, who was proving again and again how strong he was, how unendingly brave and clever.
For his part, Tony kept in touch through regular updates from May and a steady stream of gifts to the Parker residence (ok, so maybe they didn't necessarily need a new flat-screen, or updated kitchen counter-tops; and maybe Peter insisted he wasn't about to start listening to ACDC anytime soon – 'besides, Mr Stark, I don't know how long it'll be before I find something that still plays CD's.' - but it made Tony feel better). And that was it. Easy. Normal. Their comfy routine was disrupted completely by accident about three weeks after Peter's visit when they literally ran into each other in the middle of the night.
Tony, as usual unable to sleep, was out playing crash-test-dummy in the latest War Machine suit (Rhodey was too proud to say it, but Tony knew that after his injuries in the fight with Steve, there was a long way to go before he would be able to fly comfortably again, and he devoted as much time as he could to helping his friend). He'd even gone as far as to put himself under local anaesthetic to numb his legs – accurate test results, the key to every job - and that was probably why it happened.
As he was approaching the Bronx-Whitestone bridge, Tony felt his stomach drop, turning queasily, and wondered if he'd caught a bug before he realised that he actually was dropping. Fast. Stuffy, panicky red warning lights pulsed across the dashboard, helpfully informing him of a fun little cocktail of system failures. With his legs out of action and all thrusters unresponsive, there was no way he would be able to control his fall, and Tony tried not to let his mind spin out as the bridge and everyone on it grew closer and closer by the second –
Until it stopped. His head snapped back and everything began to rush away from him so fast he genuinely thought he'd been poisoned, because bridges didn't move like that…
It was an embarrassingly long time before Tony thought to turn his head and saw the web that was catapulting him by his shoulders away from the bridge and towards one hell of a splash.
'What the hell kid?!' Tony yelled as his useless legs hit the water, and he took a breath, preparing any moment for the cold that would seize him when he went under – but it never came. There was the pattering of his feet skimming the surface, and he was unceremoniously yanked back up, flying in a wide arc.
'Sorry Mr Stark!' Peter called, and Tony struggled for a second before he spotted him. Peter, in his signature red-and-blue suit was hanging upside-down from the bridge, one arm outstretched to swing Tony up, the other hand clinging to a web that, from what Tony could see, was forming a barrier just barely holding back… a bus? Of course there was a goddamn bus. A bus that at this moment in time was threatening to spill off the bridge, taking Peter, Tony, the driver, and who knew how many others with it.
'Pete, you trust me right?'
'Not the time, Mr Stark!'
'I didn't mean – never mind. On my signal, let me go, alright?'
'What?! No way –'
'Now!'
To his credit, Peter didn't hesitate; he released Tony just a fraction earlier than he would've done, sending Tony sprawling across the bridge – or almost. Instead, as he'd planned, Tony managed to clamp his hands on the side of the bus. Between the weight of the suit and his momentum, he managed to steer the bus back onto the bridge, his limp legs flying out underneath him to knock a passing vehicle out of harm's way. He saw the tension leave Peter's web as it bounced slack, no longer supporting the bus's weight, and was about to allow himself a moment of smugness when he realised he wasn't stopping.
'Parker?' Tony shot between groans as he rattled across the bridge and tore through the opposite railing. The unresponsive suit screeched in protest, clanging uselessly off the tarmac before he was falling again, tumbling off the bridge in a glorified tin-can and God, no, no, please not now - shitshitshit, there was no way to stop it, there never was, this was what Rhodey had seen in Berlin, this was Rhodey flying dead-stick, counting on Tony but Tony failed, he always failed, and this was New York, New York and Loki, aliens, space, a nuke in his hands and exploding fucking spaceships the last thing he would ever see because (how quickly he volunteered to die) his eyes were rolling back in his skull, his lungs had burst he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe just falling, falling and this was it, Pepper wasn't here, no-one was here, and this was how it was going to end, he was always going to die alone, live alone, and who cared which was worse, his skin was burning –
'I've got you Mr Stark – it's alright, it's alright, I've got you! It's me Mr Stark, open up, look at me, look at me, look - just stop it - Mr Stark, please, look at me!'
There was a rush of wind like a slap to the face and Tony's eyes wrenched open. For a terrifying second, he still couldn't see a thing, and he had to force himself not to scream - but by the time his breathing lost its desperate edge and his heart slowed a little, he could make out Peter's face, the damp brown curls and furrowed brow, the small hand holding the face plate of the suit Tony was wearing.
'Pete.'
'Yeah, it's me, Mr Stark, just me.'
'What happened?'
'Well, I – I was on patrol and I was tailing these guys over the bridge when there was a crash and I had to catch a bus and then I had to catch you and you stopped the bus from falling but you went over and I had to catch you again, and you were yelling, you were yelling so loud, I thought you were hurt – are you hurt? I'm so sorry Mr Stark –'
'Slow down, kid.' Tony begged, grunting as he sat up. 'I'm peachy, it's –'
'Careful.' Peter said sharply, his arms thrown out as if to steady Tony.
Tony almost retched when he realised why. The kid had obviously decided that the safest place for them to stop was on top of the North tower of the bridge – fine if you were a crime-fighting super-human-spider-hybrid-kid or if you had a working suit, but if you were just a man with a dead shell of a suit and mild-to-debilitating anxiety issues on a good day? Not so much.
'Okay. Okay, okay, okay, from the top. Who were you tailing?' Tony asked, choosing to look not down, but at Peter. It was safer. He couldn't freak out if Peter was watching.
'That's just the thing, Mr Stark, I don't know – a couple of weeks before I, um - well, the night you took my suit to the shop, there was another pileup, on another bridge, these three guys were after this driver, and I stopped them then, but it's been happening all over the city.'
'What do you mean?'
'Almost every night since, especially when I was… off duty for a bit, it's been the same thing over and over again. Someone, a driver, will be followed, chased towards a bridge – there'll be a huge pileup that stops anyone getting close enough to actually see anything, and then there's nothing. Just someone else missing. Nothing stolen, no demands for ransom –'
'No motive.' Tony finished, the problem quickly focusing his mind.
'Exactly. I've been doing the rounds, watching the bridges in and out of every borough, but… It's like they know where I'm going to be. Like I'm always a minute too late.'
'Not your fault Pete,' Tony said automatically, hating but understanding the defeated slump of Peter's shoulders; he found his eyes torn to the dirty night sky, as they always were when he stopped to think of the million things they could be unprepared to face. 'we could be dealing with something big here. These guys obviously do their homework, they know you're a threat –'
'Yeah, but we don't know –'
But just what they didn't know was never established. There was a faint whistle, a dull thud, and a hiss as Peter gasped in surprise – Tony turned his head just in time to see an arrow lodged in Peter's chest. His hands fluttered up, as if to pull it out, and then he was falling, someone was literally reeling him in like a fish on a hook -
'NO!' Tony screamed, only vaguely aware that the guttural snarl came from him as he lunged to catch Peter – but he was too slow. Peter fell, slipping neatly through the hatch in the roof of a waiting van, and just like that he was gone. The van sped away, and Tony watched, powerless, as Peter was stolen. Gone. Peter was gone, and Tony was 115m in the air in a broken suit like the Tin-Man reject
(goodbye, tin man, oh don't cry, you'll rust so dreadfully, here, here's your oil can, goodbye… now I know I've got a heart, because it's breaking)
nobody needed. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. All he could do was let the sheer, breath-taking terror crush him
again.
And again.
And again.
He was almost glad when a heavy, hulking, something hit him from behind, knocking him forwards, leaving him suspended for just a second before he was plucked from the air and flown higher still, carried -
In the opposite direction to Peter.
Tony registered one thought before his head was struck and he blacked out:
We're going the wrong way.