um? hi? i'm so sorry, it's been so long. a lot of stuff has gone down and i've been ill and school started up again and there was life problems with some of my friends but hey, i'm back, thank you to people who have kept me going with inquiries and comments and enthusiasm, you guys rock ! 3 also sorry i posted a day later on here, i wanted to reply to old reviews ;p

9: Conflicting Revelations

It's a strange thing, Tony thinks, to wake up perfectly at ease only to have the harsh truth dropped on your heavy heart within milliseconds.

He blinks a few times to wake himself up, biting his lip when Peter shifts, letting out a small whine before burrowing his head further into the crook of Tony's neck as if to seek comfort there.

Tony kisses Peter's curls and pulls him close, wincing when his handcuffs clash with the movement. He carefully shifts so his weight is evenly distributed and Peter is still comfortable before letting his head rest on the cold wall behind him, running through their limited options in his head.

If they hadn't been separated again while they were asleep, something serious must have happened, something that means they're not in any immediate danger of pain right now. That makes Tony's top priority getting out of the handcuffs so he can get Peter to safety and away from all of this, whatever all of this is.

"Pete?" he whispers ever so softly, nudging his son as gently as he can.

Peter doesn't stir so Tony pushes his hair away from his closed eyes and carefully pokes his side. "Pete, come on, open your eyes for me," he murmurs.

With a frustrated groan, Peter blinks his eyes open, freezing immediately but then wrapping his arms around Tony, pulling them closer. The movement irritates the wound in Tony's side but he says nothing, happy to be able to do this in the first place.

"Mmm… Mister Stark, is this a dream?" Peter asks quietly, clearly not thinking about what he's saying.

It just about breaks Tony's heart that Peter's dreams could consist of something so mundane and basic when he deserves to be dreaming high, of being successful and loved and surrounded by those dear to him.

"No, kid, you're definitely awake," Tony replies eventually, kissing his mussed curls, "but we have to get up, okay? Can you stand up for me?"

With seemingly great reluctance, Peter nods, peeling himself away from Tony and standing upright, wobbling for a few seconds before rolling his shoulders and offering a hand to Tony to help him get up.

Before all of this - whatever all of this was - Tony would have made a joke about his age or something mundane like that but now, with his body screaming at him to stay down, he just takes Peter's hand and pulls himself up, surprised at how much strength the teenager is able to use despite being severely malnourished.

"Where are we going?" Peter asks once they're up and stable.

"I need to find something to pick these cuffs," Tony replies, ignoring the red lights. "Do you know the way back to the usual room?"

Peter immediately shrinks back, halting, a downright terrified look on his face. "Why do we need to go back?" he asks quietly.

Tony sighs painfully. "I just don't know where else to get the right tools for me to pick these handcuffs, kid, I'm sorry."

There's a small mumble from Peter that Tony takes as something he wasn't meant to hear, so he pretends he hadn't caught any of it, ruffling his son's hair instead.

"Can we hurry?" Peter blurts as if there's even the slightest possibility that they'd do anything else.

Rather than pointing that out, though, Tony just nods, offering Peter a smile, his heart warming up when Peter wraps his arm around Tony's, clinging to him like a small monkey.

It's disorientating to see everything drenched in red but Tony doesn't let that stop him, simply keeping Peter close and guiding them - as well as getting lost a handful of times - back to the room they've spent the most time in.

Peter goes so quiet, even his breathing can barely be heard, as soon as they walk in, so Tony wastes no time, rooting around on the table he'd never noticed in their regular lighting, trying to find something sharp enough.

"Mister Stark, here," Peter mumbles, handing Tony something that looks like an elongated needle. He hates to imagine what that would have been used for, dismissing the theories and instead detangling from Peter, murmuring a quick "thank you" and quickly picking the locks on the handcuffs.

He's Tony Stark, of course he knows how to pick a lock, he's been in this situation before. Soon enough, his hands are free and his heart is a little lighter, the only difference between this time and all the others being his son's presence.

Once his hands are free of their metal prison, the first thing he does is wrap them around Peter, pulling him closer, breathing in his scent - somehow, even the combination of metal and sweat and peculiar soap is comforting to him right now - and running a hand through his mussed hair.

Peter's fists curl around the fabric of his shirt, his fingers cold and small. Unfortunately, this makes his shirt ride up and irritates the wound on his side, making him gasp, his knees buckling without his permission. Embarrassingly, he all but falls onto Peter, having to take a moment to steady himself, his vision darkening for far too long.

"Mister Stark? Are you going to be okay?" Peter's voice is shaky again, full of unfiltered fear.

"I'm fine, Petey, I'm fine," Tony mutters, although he can't tell if he's trying to convince his son or his extrapolating mind.

"Come on, we can't stay here," he says eventually, taking Peter's cold hand, rubbing circles on the soft skin with his thumb as they start to walk, heading back to the corridor flooded with red.

Peter stays quiet and when his stomach rumbles painfully, neither of them mention it, knowing there's no point in talking about food when they aren't anywhere close to any. Instead, they focus on trying not to double back, taking both left and right turns, evening out their journey and hoping they're not walking into a trap.

After a while, Peter speaks up. "You were shot before."

It takes all of Tony's willpower not to stop and simply stand still in shock, taking a second to renew their walking pace before nodding slowly in acknowledgement. "When?"

"Uh, pretty early on," Peter replies, and Tony can almost see the way he bites his lip to consider what he can or can't say. "It was- you tried to, um- well, you got into a fight about painkillers."

Tony frowns, trying to make sense of this. "Painkillers? Was this in that shower room?" he asks, pushing Peter back as he hears someone approaching.

Peter waits until the footsteps have receded before nodding. "Yeah. You didn't remember the rules so, when I fell, you- you pulled me up and then… I don't know, one second you were arguing and the next, there was, uh, b- blood everywhere," Peter manages before throwing his arms around Tony again, sniffling softly.

"Oh, Peter…" Tony has nothing else to say, he doesn't even care where he was shot and why he can't feel it, he just wants Peter to save his tears for joyous occasions, not painful retellings, so he pulls him closer and lets him shake, gently murmuring soothing words until he calms down enough to pull back with a strained smile.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Nuh-uh, none of that, kid," Tony interjects, wiping the stray tear under Peter's eye. "You're doing better than I am so don't give up now, okay?"

Peter nods solemnly, squeezing Tony's hand carefully, schooling courage into his expression. Tony can't actually do anything to help him without risking one of them falling unconscious so he just takes Peter's hand again, lacing their fingers together for further reassurance and pulling him along, the two of them simply trying to get away, get away from everything and anything this place has to - forcefully - offer.

Seconds pass and minutes go by in silence, neither of them having much energy to say anything, too worried about looking out for the men who want to hurt them to form coherent sentences.

"Mister Stark?" Peter asks again, his voice croaky.

"Yeah?" Tony replies immediately, then winces at how blunt his voice sounds. "You're not about to tell me that I was shot twice, are you?"

He doesn't get a reply for a whole minute, he counts it out, of course, but then Peter just quickly blurts: "Do you really not care for me?"

The red blood cells in Tony's body morph into lead as he hears those and he forgets to breathe, his feet halting and his heart missing an entire song's worth of beats.

"What?" he breathes eventually, turning back to Peter with incredulous horror.

Peter curls into himself, shrugging casually, as if he hadn't just broken Tony's heart with seven small words.

"They said… they said you chose- chose to, um, forget because you didn't care about the memories…"

Those absolute-

Tony exhales aggressively, putting both hands in front of his face for a second before prying his eyes open again and looking directly at Peter.

"Peter Benjamin Parker, I solemnly swear to you that I would never, never, willingly forget anything about you, especially not the memories we share, no matter how painful they are to remember. I would- I would do anything other than that because… well, kid, because I care about you more than I can explain and it would probably tear my soul in half to do such a thing, do you understand?"

Peter looks halfway between overwhelmed and overjoyed. Either way, he lets out a choked sob, biting his lip to keep it inside, and falls into a hug, pressing his face into Tony's chest as if it were an oxygen mask.

Using their embrace as a shield, Tony lets the tears fall from his own eyes, letting them fall into Peter's sweaty curls, letting them slip over his skin as if they're nothing more than fleeting reminders of bad times, when in fact they're so much more, full of agony and regret and wishes to make things right.

"I'm so sorry, Pete," Tony whispers slowly, swallowing heavily.

Peter just shakes his head, hauling in a breath and pulling back ever so slightly. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

You wouldn't be the first to, Tony thinks, but you would be the first to apologise for it.

Of course, he doesn't say that aloud, cupping Peter's cheeks, brushing his tears away with the softest parts of his calloused thumbs and placing a quick, soft kiss on his forehead. "It's okay, it's always okay, everything will be okay," he promises, meaning it, wishing he could fulfil that right this second.

"You read Harry Potter?" Peter asks after a while, smiling weakly but smiling all the same.

Tony emits an odd sound, a mixture of a laugh and a sob. Regardless, he nods quickly, taking a deep breath. "Of course I did, you told me you wanted my thoughts on it."

The shine in Peter's eyes is honestly brighter than the pain in Tony's side.

And, forget the ever-growing stabbing pain in his side, Tony talks about ludicrous school rules, the potential joy of connecting with a sentient stick, unpredictable plot twists, and character potentials that should have been expanded on until his throat goes dry and they reach a bolted door with sunlight streaming through the edges.

Peter lets go of his hand, running up to the door, apparently having temporarily forgotten what precaution is. As it is, he's thrown backwards as soon as he touches the door, a sharp electric sound ringing in their eyes as he crashes into Tony and sends them both tumbling to the floor.

"Peter, are you okay?" Tony asks without missing a beat, scrambling to sit up and push Peter's hair back, already grabbing his wrist to check his pulse.

Peter groans but nods, blinking furiously. "That was stupid, wasn't it?"

Smiling a little, Tony shakes his head. "It's okay, I would have done the same."

Peter looks dubious but offers Tony a sheepish grin, pulling him up, both of them frowning at this door that seems to promise the outdoors and a relieving freedom but also poses a challenge that neither of them has any energy to complete.

Tony glances over the bolts, hating the fact that their design seems to strike a chord in his memory. "Kid, did they mention any other names? If I just knew who built these, I could…"

Kneeling beside where Tony had subconsciously crouched down to inspect the door, Peter hums vaguely. "I'm sorry, I don't know… I think they mentioned something about hiding? And hammers? And maybe helmets? There was too much, I'm sorry, I-"

Tony looks back at Peter and cups his face with his hands, shaking his head again. "It's okay, Peter, it's okay. You've done great, thank you." After a second, he adds: "And, actually, I think I have enough to work with there…"

He turns back to the door and, with a heavy heart and hope taking the place of oxygen in his lungs, presses himself to the frame of the door, the arc reactor hitting one of the bolts dead centre.

He hears Peter scream but he just clenches his teeth and ignores it, keeping himself steady, willing this to work, hoping he'd guessed right and not just abandoned his son in the middle of a torture facility.

"Mister Stark, please!" Peter all but wails behind him, not touching him, probably in fear of the electricity zooming over his skin, around his arms and neck and torso.

It hurts, it hurts so much, too much, but Tony pushes himself to stay still, his muscles screaming at him to stop, his eyes squeezing shut to brace himself, his fingers curling into fists, and steady groans of pain pitifully escaping through his lips.

It hurts, it hurts so much, too much, but it works.

It hurts, it hurts so much, too much, and, eventually, there's a distinct clicking noise followed by crackling explosions that result in a quiet silence filled only with Tony's heavy breathing and Peter's pained sobs.

Something sparks in front of him and Tony collapses backwards, suddenly met with a perfect view of cracking, peeling paint.

"Mister Stark?" Peter asks, appearing in his vision, his teary eyes full of both unfiltered terror and an entire ocean's worth of hopeful relief.

Tony just nods breathlessly, finding one of Peter's hands and holding on as tightly as he can, smiling faintly when Peter squeezes his fingers, taking in huge, shuddering breaths. "I'm 'kay…" he breathes.

"You should have just used 'alohomora'," Peter mumbles, emitting a hysterical sob.

Tony laughs, winces at the pain, and then slowly, agonisingly, pulls himself up, leaning on his arms and glancing over the door that seems ready to topple, glad that his educated - and mostly desperate - guess had worked.

"How's about we try to leave?" Tony manages, knowing he must look somewhat akin to a ghoul, his eyes burning and his skin clammy, even to himself.

Peter nods, hauling him up, staggering a little but them manoeuvring them to the door, both of them grabbing the handle, Tony first so he could check it was safe, of course, and heaving with all the might they have left.

After sucking the strength out of their muscles, the door groans and creaks and kind of screams but slowly, surely, starts to open, bright light spilling over them like water through cracks in glass. It almost hurts to realise Tony had forgotten what natural light looked like.

"Can we really go?" Peter asks, both of them giving up on pulling the door any further than it has to go to accommodate the two of them.

"I hope so, Pete," Tony replies, taking in as deep as a breath as he can - not very deep - and stepping forwards, hesitating, waiting for traps, before turning sideways and slipping through the door, then allowing Peter to do the same, their hands still clasped as if the world would end if they let go of each other.

Nothing happens.

Nothing in the blissful sense, in that there's no sudden piercing alarms or guns aimed at them or any sort of visible consequence at all. Nothing happens and it's the best thing that's happened to either of them since they were able to hug.

Which, of course, they do. Tony immediately pulls Peter in, crushing them together, not caring that they aren't in some fresh, summer meadow but a rather dismal type of alleyway covered in snow, simply relishing in the feeling of being able to be with his son still.

Tony genuinely doesn't know where to go from here - he hadn't even expected to get this far, if he's honest - and none of his plans seem to account for avoiding hypothermia and malnutrition but he can't bring himself to complain, his head struggling to accept that this is actually happening at all.

Just when Peter pulls back to meet his gaze and they share a strained smile, finally able to breathe a little more freely, the whole world goes black.

And then white.

And then blue and red and gold and Tony must be hallucinating because there's no way he's seeing Peter in his spiderman suit standing next to Tony's own suit right now, is there?

Someone's shouting what seem like orders but it sounds like they're underwater - or is that just him? - and someone else is shaking his shoulders as it dawns on him that he's lying on the cold, unmerciful ground now, but he can't move at all, catching a glimpse of Peter's fearfully worried but no less hopeful smile before his eyelids get too heavy and he succumbs to the blissful darkness of unconsciousness.

He just hopes he doesn't wake to the feeling of metal restraints again.

again, it's rather anti-climatic and messy, but i know if i don't post it now, it'll get super delayed. i'll try to update again soon but no promises. thank you again if you read so far, i think this is my most popular fic now? 11k views? i'm shook? i love you guys so much 3

my friend is still in a really hard position so if you can donate and help her at all, let me know and we'll give you a fic x

Krystaltheelemental : thank you so much :) and yeah i assumed it was ch.8 since the others are much less comfort haha

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Guest: thanks! here you go with escape! i hope it was somewhat satisfying! oops sorry to be scary (or am i? mwah ha ha)

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