Archive of Our Own ^beta

‘Stay down or I’ll call Aunt May’

Peter felt himself collapse into the hot concrete, glancing up blearily to see the Ironman suit fly up toward the sky. His mask sat heavily on his face, almost as heavy as the disappointment he knew Mr. Stark was feeling towards him.

Peter had failed.

He knew he had let his idol down, he had let the team down, and there was no way he was going to be taken seriously as an Avenger now. Everyone around him was still fighting, still running and shooting and helping. Yet Peter was being sent home, left on the bitumen humiliated.

He knew he needed to prove himself. Needed to make it up to Mr. Stark for not living up to his expectations. He needed to show that he wasn’t some kid, banished to the sidelines. He was a superhero, just like the rest of them.

Peter scans the airport, taking note of the fallen, the ones still firing frantically. His eyes lock on the Black Panther who moves at an incredible speed towards to collapsing hangar.

This was his chance.

Stumbling until he was standing up, Peter yanked down his mask and took off into a sprint, legs moving in a blur. He launched himself into the air, webs latching onto whatever he could see to propel himself faster to his target. If he took down Captain America now, Mr. Stark would surely be proud of him. His stomach rolled with adrenaline, body moving even faster.

He nearly collides with the quinjet, exploding out of the debris. Peter makes a split-second decision before he misses his only opportunity. He fires his webs, body jerking violently as he is thrust into the air following the speed of the jet.  His body slides at an angle and lands painfully on the cool floor of the loading zone.

He actually made it.

Rolling silently and listening for any indication the two men sitting in the cockpit heard him, he slips unnoticed into a crack between shelves.

His heart was beating wildly in his chest, he desperately held his breath and let it out slowly to stop his loud pants.

What now?

Peters stomach rolled uncomfortably. He had no idea what his plan was. If he attacked now, he didn’t know how to fly the plane, and if he didn’t beat them, they would kill him.

“Did you see that!” He hears from the front of the jet. His heart leaps into his mouth. They had found him.

“I think Rhodes just took a hit” he heard a voice that he recognized as Captain America say alarmed. Peter peered around the corner anxiously. Neither man paying him any attention.

“Jesus Buck, I think he just hit the ground”

Peter flinched back. Had Mr. Rhodes been hurt? He was up here and should have been down there to catch him.

What was he thinking?

Guilt coursed through his body horribly. What if Mr. Rhodes was dead and it was all Peters fault for trying to prove himself? Mr. Stark would never forgive him.

He cringed, trying to formulate any kind of plan in his mind, his heart slamming against his rib cage with anxiety.

Maybe if he stayed quiet until they landed he would have a better chance at tying them up and then calling for backup. He took a shuddering breath in. He just had to wait until they landed. He could do that.

. . .

In the hours it takes for the jet to make a jerky, off balancing landing, Peters injuries have healed, and his stomach is in knots. He had imagined every possible fight outcome he could. Two versus one was always a struggle out on the streets, but they were never against super soldiers. This was way out of his league and he was so far in over his head he was drowning.

Pressing himself further into the shadows that the compartments allowed, Peter watched as the two men grabbed their weapons and shield before disembarking the plane. Cold frozen air whooshed past Peters face, sending a shiver right through him.

The sight of the Winter Soldiers gun and arm was also sending warning tremors through him. All he had was his webs. Was he any match?

He shook his head, trying to fight his own inner turmoil. He had to stop them. This is what Mr. Stark had wanted. He just needed to fight them long enough for them to get tired and for Mr. Stark to find him. Easy.

Except, not so easy, because Peters internal monologue had taken his attention away from the closing rear door, effectively locking him in the jet alone.

“Shit” he cursed aloud. He slapped his hands against the metal door in frustration. Looking around, he tried to find a release button. But there was nothing. Crying out in anger, Peter slammed his body into the junction, trying to use his strength to dislodge the hinges.

He was taking too long.

The soldiers might have already done what they had come to do. Not that Peter even knew what it was that they wanted to do. He had only been told that Captain America was harboring a fugitive and it was Peters job to bring them both to ‘justice’ according to Mr. Stark.

He ran into the cockpit, hands glazing over all of the buttons and panels. He took a deep breath. Circuits and systems were always Neds specialty, he was great at the inventing and mechanics and the sciences, but he was at a total loss with what he was faced with.

There had to be some kind of obvious button, he decided. Something along the lines of ‘open’ or ‘door’. His eyes scanned over each command, fingers dancing over the larger of the buttons. The heavy feeling in his gut reminded him that this was a jet for the Avengers and one wrong button could fire off a missile or activate some kind of defense that he didn’t want to think about.

Verging on giving up, Peter let out a frustrated breath of air, leaning back onto the wall, looking up for a sign.

Looking up for a sign.

The button sat on the roof, big and red, the words “RELASE” labelled in black block letters. Peter cheered internally, pressing the button immediately.

The door of the jet whirred and begun to open, the freezing breeze blasting through.

Peter scrambled out, pulling his mask back over his face, familiar pre-fight adrenaline beginning it course through his veins. He needed all the chemical help he could get if this fight was to go as spectacularly bad as he anticipated. He just prayed that the time it took him to get his way out of the captivity of the jet allowed Mr. Stark more time to find him.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to fight as long, he thought selfishly.

He hears the fighting before he sees it. The grunts and yells, the sound of metal hitting metal, blasters and repulsors ringing through the empty walls of the strange factory he had found himself in.

He makes out Mr. Starks voice, and relief floods through him. The words are muffled by the walls that separate them, but Peter has reason to pick up the pace and find the fight. To fight side by side with Ironman. Prove himself.

The sounds silence before he skitters around a corner, so close to where the fight was happening. He hears footsteps storm towards him. Or well, limp and drag towards him rather.

His survival reflex kicks in and he finds himself ducking and hiding in the shadows before he even registers himself doing it. Kicking himself for being so cowardly, he holds his breath as two men move past his hiding spot. He makes out the Captain and the Winter Solider, his eyes widen when he sees the damage on their faces, caked blood and missing limb.

Where was Mr. Stark?

Once the figures retreat far enough, Peter launches up, sprinting toward the way they had come. He almost falls when he sees him.

Mr. Stark was dead.

The suit was mutilated, the helmetless man’s eyes closed, blood running all over his face. Peter gasped, tearing off his own mask, throwing himself on the ground beside the lifeless man.

“Mr. Stark?” He whispered, shaking fingers pressing under the man’s jaw, trying to locate a heartbeat. He almost collapsed in relief when he finds it. Weak but steady. Not dead.

“Hey Mr. Stark, you gotta wake up okay?” he says gently, shaking him to try and rouse him back to consciousness. “They’re gone now, you need to get up in case they come back” he says more hysterically.

“Please get up” he grits out, pulling harder on the mans shoulder. Nothing.

Puffing out a terrified breath, Peter tries the next best thing. Find what was wrong.

His hands breeze over the ruined suit, looking for the worst that might be causing the most damage. The center of the suit where the arc reactors dim almost blank light shudders is concave, a mess of metal and wires.

Peter scrunches his eyebrows. On instinct he brings his hand over the unconscious mans mouth, holding his own breath to find a sign that the man was breathing.

He finds none.

“Oh god” he curses, his hands frantically pulling at the metal pressing on Mr. Starks chest.

It was crushing him.

He couldn’t find any fail switch, so he decided on plan b. He began tearing it away with his bare hands. Grunts and yells fall out of his mouth as he pulled with all his strength, the suit breaking and flying out of his hands as he moves onto the next piece.

A small part of his hysteric mind reminds him how much this suit probably costs. But a life was worth more.

Finally, and not without a cost to Peters own torn hands through the shreds of his suits gloves, the suit lays in pieces, Mr. Starks chest bare of armor.

A violent gasp burst from the mans mouth, he jerks to sit up, hissing and gasping as he does. Peter slumped back on to the floor, his own breathing ragged and exhausted. Mr. Stark looks around, Peters hearing picks up on the rattle of each breath, his mind racing with its implications.

“Peter?” He finally rasps out, eyes blinking wildly. “How the hell…” he coughs, Peter doesn’t miss the blood staining his chin that wasn’t there before. “Am I dead?” Tony gasps out, falling back onto the floor.

“No Mr. Stark, you’re not dead,” Peter reassures, “And I was on the jet with Captain America… I just wanted to help and I’m so sorry…”

Mr. Stark closes his eyes, and Peter tries to control his breathing, his anxiety. He had failed again. There was a fight and he had missed it, all because he couldn’t work out the controls of the jet. And now Mr. Stark was injured, and they might be stranded in some strange country in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you know how we can get home sir?” he asks apprehensively. He looked around at the ruins of the Ironman armor, there was no way that would get them anywhere, and the soldiers most definitely took the jet.

The man in question sits up again slowly this time, wincing as he does. He yanks his arms out of what remains of the suit, standing up unsteadily once he is free of the confines. “We need to find a phone or a computer to send out a distress signal” Mr. Starks voice wavering. Peter wishes he knew what had happened in the fight. Wished he understood why Captain America had left his shield behind… Why Mr. Stark looked like he was about to break down.

It was his chance to be strong for the both of them now. He nodded his head determinedly. “Phone or computer. I won’t let you down Mr. Stark, you just stay right here”

He took off into the warehouse, not waiting for a response, darting between open rooms and hallways. He scanned each area desperately, the place looking like it was last used in the world war. Was there any useable technology left here?

Each room coming up with blanks, Peter walks into the next open space, heart already constricting painfully in defeat. This room looks recently destroyed, small fires littering its combusted large area. Peter assumes this is where the fight might have started, judging by the destruction.

He almost turns to leave, his eyes landing on something lying on the floor discarded amongst the debris.

A computer.

Excitement bubbles up to his throat, he hadn’t failed again. He had found a laptop. Surprisingly still intact despite the wreckage surrounding it. Peter lunged forward, grabbing the laptop and sitting it on a fallen panel at waist height. His fingers flew over the keyboard, attempting to turn the singed device back on. The screen turned static before settling on an image. A video.

It played automatically, as if it was the computers only function. A clip rolled, security footage of a darkened road. He watched curiously, ever so infatuated with old computers and what they had to offer. A car slammed into a tree within the footage, Peter jerking back in shock at the brutality. Not long after, he watched as a man… the Winter Soldier stepped into frame, moving towards the cars occupants.

It took Peter a moment to recognize the man being hauled out. And then his stomach dropped.

He had seen that face a million times as he walked into his school. It was painted amongst the other great scientists and futurists on the mural in the main hallway.

That was Howard Stark.

Mr. Starks father.

A gasp escaped his lips, watching as the man he had studied for years was brutally murdered. A hot sickening feeling settled within him. He had never witnessed death like this before.

“Doubt that computer is going to offer much”

Peter jumps in shock, swinging around to face Mr. Stark, who was standing, albeit unsteady, behind him.

“Mr. Stark, I- I didn’t mean, I didn’t know…” he stuttered, throat closing up. I didn’t know it was your parents being violently murdered.

“That makes two of us,” he mutters, “Did you find anything useful?” his voice slightly strained, eyes more distant than when Peter had spoken to him last. Peter feels his cheeks heating in shame. Not only had he let the man down again, but he had watched this private video and betrayed his trust. How could he be so stupid? “No, I’m sorry Mr. Stark.” He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for. His failure again or for what he had just witnessed on the tape.

“We might need to walk then. Find a town or somewhere with a phone” He trails off, already turning his back and limping towards the way he had come, Peter was left standing dumbfounded before quickly scampering after him. “Are you sure Mr. Stark? You’re pretty injured… I can – I don’t know – I could just go alone… or-” he stuttered out, trying to feel brave despite his incandescent fear of heading into the winter wilderness alone.

He peered quickly out into the white terrain, squaring his shoulders in an act of courage. “Yeah, I can go, you stay here and-” He was cut off with a raised hand. “Kid. Please. I have a killer headache, probably concussion, and I really don’t want to hear your rambling right now.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and Peters blush deepens with embarrassment. “Look, we can’t leave this shi- sorry, this stuff here, so you grab the shield and I’ll handle the… well, what’s left of the suit” he commands tiredly. Already groaning as he bends down to gather the discarded pieces of metal.

Peter cringes with every hiss and wince that he hears as he moves towards the shield. His hands tremble slightly with the weight of the task. This was Captain Americas shield. The man who Peter had looked up to for years. Who he had upmost respect for, despite this crazy experience. But he was also the person who had left his teammate stranded in a foreign country to die.

His hands clasp around the cold metal, bringing it up to walk towards Mr. Stark, who was toeing the scraps of the Ironman armor dejectedly. “Guess were leaving you here buddy” he mutters to himself. He looks down at the shield hanging loosely in Peters grip, his face hardening for a moment before he sighs quietly. “Alright kid, hope you’re up for a winter-wonderland trek” his eyes glancing around their surroundings, before deciding on a path.

Peter hurries to catch up, falling into stride beside the stony man. He opens his mouth to try start a conversation. So what happened with the Captain? Why do we have to walk to get help? Doesn’t anyone know we are here? Are you okay? They all sound stupid in his head so he decides to keep his mouth shut, walking silently along.

The snow on the floor was hard, easy to walk over. Peter is somewhat grateful. He can hear the rattle of Mr. Starks breathing, the wetness of every choked back cough or groan. He can smell the metallic blood that encompasses the injured mans body. But he doesn’t mention it.

The silence eats away at Peter. His overreactive brain desperately needing to fill the space with chatter. He needed to talk to get his mind of the bone numbing chill that was spreading through his body. The suit provided absolutely no warmth, and his face was turning blue with the freezing wind. Distantly at the back of his mind he recalls reading something about spiders in the cold, being more affected than any other species. His hands shake in agreement, but he can’t wrap them around himself like he would like, with the shield gripped in his tightly clenched fingers.

Mr. Stark was still moving relatively quickly despite his condition. His face determined and bloody. Peter could see the shivers that worked their way through him sometimes, but he was so much stronger than Peter, and wasn’t letting something like the weather bother him.

The trees around them thicken as they go deeper into the forest. Peter takes a moment to appreciate the beauty. The leafless branches hovering above him, the icicles hanging like chandeliers. He finds himself stopping to look up in awe. He had seen snow before, but not like this. Not out in the wild, surrounded by nothingness. Living such a busy life in a sleepless city like Queens, having the quiet suddenly wasn’t so bad.

When he looks back down he flushes with embarrassment, seeing Mr. Stark look at him curiously, brow raised. He quickly casts his eyes down and trudges forward to catch up nervously. A heavy hand lands on his shoulder surprising him with a squeeze. He looks up confused, Mr. Stark offering a half smile “How’s your first time overseas then?”

Peter smiles shyly back, “I mean, not completely terrible?” he replies with a shrug. “Really now? You’re in the middle of Siberia with no resources” Mr. Stark questions sarcastically. Peter shrugs again, eyes downcast once more “But you’re here with me so it’s not so bad.”

He can feel the eyes staring at him, but he keeps his reddened cheeks ducked down, and walks ahead, breathing out in relief when he hears the footsteps fall beside him. They resume their silence and walk further into the trees, until Peter feels like his lungs have frozen through and he’s stopped being able to feel his extremities.

He almost collapses in relief when he spots the shack up ahead, dark and hidden amongst shrubbery. Mr. Stark seems to notice it as well, his own shoulders slumping in relief. They walk, albeit faster now, towards the run-down house, knocking on the door loudly. Waiting a moment, Mr. Stark pushes forward, the door swinging open to reveal the empty space.

“Must be a hunting cabin” he comments, before disappearing into one of the rooms. Peter looks around nervously. The place was dusty and worn, clean but dirty at the same time. But it was so much better than the freezing outside, so he closes the door quietly behind him and sits awkwardly on the couch, setting the shield down beside him.

Mr. Stark appears minutes later, material bunched into his arms. “Found some warm clothes. Can’t have you walking around in negative degree weather in spandex, can we?” he tosses half the bunch over, Peter catching it reflexively. He squeezes it in gratitude, fearing he was about to start losing limbs the way he was going. The suit is soaked from the snow, so he drags it off his frozen body first, then bringing the flannelette shirt over his head, buttoning it all the way up, and pulling the large coat over the top. The pants are slightly too large, sitting low on his hips, but he rolls them over enough times to not fall down.

The socks are slightly disgusting and torn and suspiciously browned, but the warmth is too inviting, so he slips those on too, sighing in happiness as his frozen body adapted to the newfound heat.

“I’m going to grab some firewood from out back, you stay here kid, and see if there’s anything to eat” he hears from the other side of the room, the door opening and closing quickly before he can argue to do that task himself.

Walking into the kitchen, he scans through the cupboards, finding scarce cans of soups and beans. He sets down a couple, deciding to not take them all in case someone else stumbled across this cabin whilst lost in the future. There was just enough food to last them maybe another day or two, but he’s sure they would find civilisation by tomorrow.

He spots a sack tucked into the corner and piles his findings inside. He adds some rope, a small torch and a canister that he fills with water to the collection, setting it all down on the counter.

Maybe he should be helping bring the wood in. Surely it was heavy, and Mr. Stark was definitely too injured to be lifting heavy items. He wanders out the door, walking around towards the back of the house.

He hears Mr. Stark before he rounds the corner, and he’s glad for his hearing on this one, because the heartbreaking sobs that were coming from the older man stop him in his tracks before he can make a scene and interrupt. He peers his head around slowly, holding his breath to not make a sound, but needing to make sure the man wasn’t more injured or in distress. Instead he sees him with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking with his cries.

“fucking why rogers?” he murmurs into his cries, his head snapping up to grab a piece of fallen wood, only to throw it across into the forest with a growl. “WHY?” he grits out through his clenched teeth, before dropping his head down again in a sob.

Peter, stunned, backs away quietly, retreating into the house shakily. He plays with his sleeves uneasily, trying to think about what he was supposed to do with the broken man just outside the door. He had seen May after losing Ben exhibiting similar behaviour, cold, crying, anger…

But he couldn’t just crawl into bed with Mr. Stark and hug him until he stopped crying, now could he?

Frustrated, Peter kicks the side of the couch, regretting it immediately as his toes light up in pain. He throws himself down onto the sofa, ever the teenager. Exhaustion slipping through him at an alarmingly fast rate now he was lying down. He shuts his eyes, wanting to just give himself a moment to think about what the game plan was going to be for the rest of the night. Should he go out and comfort Mr. Stark? Should he be starting the fire himself?

He doesn’t even realise he was falling asleep.

When he wakes groggily, it’s pitch-black outside. There’s a scratchy blanket draped over him, the warm flicker of flames emitting from the fire place in the middle of the room lighting up the space.

Peter sits up, stretching out his legs as he looks around. He spots Mr. Stark curled up on the floor donning a similar outfit to Peter, clutching another dirty rug around his shivering body. Peter can still see the redness under his eyes, the harsh creases of his face, the whiteness of his fingers as he holds the blanket tightly. Sadness rolls through Peters heart, a surge of protectiveness follows.

But it wasn’t his place to feel protective. So, he does the only thing he can. He pulls his blanket off himself, already feeling the content with the encompassing warmth around him and placing it gently on the shivering man.

He settles back into the couch, feeling terribly guilty at being the one on the lounge when he clearly didn’t need it as badly, but he didn’t think Mr. Stark would be very happy if Peter lifted him up and swapped places. Peter lays back onto the uncomfortable pillows and shuts his eyes again, warning away the nightmares that were already creeping towards him. ‘

. . .

The next time he wakes it’s significantly colder, and Peter blinks his eyes open warily. The fire was smoking and smouldering, verging on extinguishing, the sun streaming through the dusty curtains, reflecting brightly off the snow.

“We want to start moving now, before the blizzard comes in” Mr. Stark comments as he steps into Peters view, hand outstretched with an open can of beans. Peter takes it gratefully and eats silently, watching through the window at the looming clouds afar. He hoped they hit a village before that hit them. It was already cold enough without a storm in the midst.

Once the can was emptied, Peter moved quickly around the space, cleaning up any mess they had left and folding blankets back into the cupboard. On second thought he takes back one and guiltily packs it into the sack. He tries to ease his conscious by promising himself to come back and return everything they had taken after they were picked up.

Mr. Stark had an amused look on his face, slightly pinched, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Peter. Peter picks up the shield and ties it into the sack, slinging both over his shoulder like a rucksack. They move out the door in unison, Mr. Stark taking the lead and beginning their daily trek.

“Do you think we will hit a town today Mr. Stark?” Peter asks after 20 minutes of walking. His breaths already coming out in white clouds in front of his face with the freezing temperatures. At least he didn’t feel it biting on his skin so terribly this time with all the clothes he was now wearing, and the hiking boots tightly laced around his feet.

“Not sure kid, I saw something on my way in, but I can’t be sure how far out. And can we drop the Mr. Stark? That was my father. You can call me Tony”

Peter winces at the mention of Mr. Sta – Tony’s father. Of course he didn’t want to be reminded of his dad given what had just come to light. “Sorry” he mutters under his breath.

Tony sighs and slows down a fraction, so he was walking side by side with Peter. “You did good, out at the airport, by the way, I don’t know if I- ” he gestures out into the air “you know, mentioned that.” Peter preens at the praise, looking up hopefully at the man. “Thanks Mr- Tony, you did good too, not that you don’t always do good, I mean you’re Ironman, I just mean, you know,” he takes a breath realising he was being stupid and rambling again. He felt his cheeks pink.

Tony let out a puff of laughter. “Thanks kid.”

They settle back into silence, Peter feeling more of a skip in his step now. They pass through more trees and thick snow, bushes and nothing. Peter keeps his eyes peeled for any sign of life or light out there, coming up with blanks.

The minutes turn to hours, and Peter can feel himself tiring from the cold, his strength being the only thing keeping him walking.

Tony wasn’t so lucky.

Peter had noticed the man decreasing rapidly in speed as the time ticked on. He had fallen back too to stay aligned with the man, but they were almost at a stop with their speed by this point. He had also noticed the wetness of Tonys breath was increasing and he could hear every time he swallowed a cough or groan. Peter, not wanting to embarrass him, just walked slower, and did what he was best at. He rambled.

“I’m a huge fan of your work by the way, not just the superhero stuff, even though that’s awesome. But the clean energy project? It’s so amazing, I can’t wait to see you go global with it, I read all the journals you posted” he continued to praise the scientist, detailing all the elements of the article he had found interesting or wanted further understanding on.

Tony looked surprised at first, probably not aware of Peters ‘nerdiness’, but took it in his stride quickly, giving Peter back the explanations into the equations and thoughts behind each component.

Peter face was heating with excitement, mind distanced from the frozen climate around them.  “You’ve got brains kiddo, you thinking MIT? I’ve got a bit of pull there.” Peters jaw dropped in shock, “No way, it would be amazing for sure, but I’m thinking of keeping it local, might do chemical engineering or something at a community college and get an internship somewhere.” He couldn’t afford somewhere like MIT, not even with a scholarship. And he couldn’t leave May. Couldn’t be another person in her life to go.

Tonys face pinched in a frown, but he doesn’t push any further. Peter shrinks back into himself again, worried for potentially angering the older man in his dismissiveness.

Brewing in his head he almost misses Tony fall. Almost. His lunges forward to catch him, taking both their weights as they crashed to the floor. Tony hacks out coughs, violent and rattling, groaning once the fit was over.

Peter cringes at the blood staining the white snow and the mans lips and chin. He quickly rummages through the bag to pull out the water canister, pressing it to his lips and watching as he gulped it down. His face was still scrunched in pain, breathing ragged and uneven. Peter knelt next to where he was sprawled, concern bursting from his features. “Tony?” He whispers cautiously. “Should we stop?”

He shakes his head weakly, “we need to keep going” he stops to cough, “need to find shelter before the storm hits.”

Peter bites his lip to stop the string of arguments from tumbling we can stop for an hour at least, we don’t even know if there will be another shelter. He gets up instead, pulling Tony up with him, stumbling back with the effort. Tony sways, hand curling around his stomach, the other coming up to wipe away the drops of blood with a wince. He begins to shuffle forward, stumbling and finding his footing.

Peter walks beside him, watching every muscle move to not miss if he was going to fall again. After enough time for Peter to see 10 (and counting) near miss collapses, he ducks his head and tugs Tonys arm over his shoulder, taking half the mans weight and continuing walking without a word.

Tony doesn’t need to say thank you for Peter to know he’s grateful.

He can feel the chill in the air deepening, the breeze picking up into more of a windy howl. The sky had darkened considerably, despite it only being late afternoon at best. Tonys coughing had stopped being repressed and shuddered through both of their bodies every time it burst from his blood caked lips.

They were both weakening. Peters strength was only so good when he was freezing cold and taking extra weight whilst walking through ankle deep snow.

No signs of houses this time, no shelters in sight. Peter can feel the panic clawing up his throat. If they didn’t find a place to stop and hide from the fast approaching storm, they were surely dead.

Up until now he had thought this would be over in a few hours, but now he was coming to terms with the gravity of the situation at hand. They were in a terrible mess, and if he didn’t get Tony to a doctor soon, it was going to get a whole lot worse.

The snow was already beginning to fall on their frozen faces, Peter wants to take in its beauty, but he was already becoming petrified with fear. He needed to move faster, he needed to do something.

“Peter, we need to find cover” Tony rasps out, eyes bloodshot and hands shaking. “The storm…” Peter nods his head quickly, eyes darting around their surroundings. Heavy boulders and rocks were lining the terrain, thick trees hiding most of them. Peter decided to try his luck there first, maybe if there was one big enough to crawl under, they could use it like a cave.

His luck seems to be in check, and he sighs in relief at a junction large enough for them to both fit under comfortably, and long enough to be away from the downpour. He pushes Tony through first, letting him crawl weakly into the darkness. Peter follows closely behind, fumbling for the torch from the sack. Flicking it on, he feels remotely pleased with himself at his discovery. The space was large enough to sit up straight on his knees, and wide enough to not feel cramped. The rocks, though slightly damp and cold, were sturdy enough, and he got to work moving around the space, setting down the bag, and tossing the water to Tony. He drunk less greedily this time, not in the midst of a coughing fit, and handed the bottle back to Peter.

“If you can grab some wood, I’ll start up a fire” Tony says, his voice husky and clearly worn out from the coughing. Peter nods mutely, the adrenaline of almost not finding a place to set down still thrumming through his veins. He crawls out of the cave, noting that the snow was much heavier now. Quickly running to the closest tree, Peter breaks off the driest branches he can find, coupling them with rocks that had the least moisture. Satisfied with his collection, he hurries back into the cave, shaking off the snow in his now damp hair.

Tony looks worse for wear, pale even in the shadowy light. He moves sluggishly to set up the fire pit, Peter watching in a trance as his hands work around the rocks and the twigs to bring up a flame. Tony makes it look like childs play, even with his shaking hands. He sees Peter staring with awe and smiles slightly “Boy scouts” he clarifies. Peter looks at him with confusion, he hadn’t taken Tony to be the kind to go on survival camps as a kid.

Tony sees the confusion and huffs out a laugh “Well, not really. But I did get survival skills drilled into me when I was young, something about being a man and all that.” Peter believes that more.

“I always wanted to be a boy scout. Never got around to joining” Peter says woefully. His parents had promised to sign him up in the summer, but then they never made it to summer, and Peter felt stupid to ask May and Ben to spend even more money on him.

“Never too late, I can teach you a thing or two, how to tie a knot, how to build shelter, all that jazz” Tony smiles warmly, maybe sensing the loss in Peters eyes. Peter looks up with wide eyes “I’d really like that” he says happily.

Once the fire burns in hot flames, they sit with their opened cans of soup and watch the storm take full swing outside. It’s magnificent. The white and grey swirls past them, howling and screaming. The fire creates a shadow on the cave wall, the red, oranges and blacks juxtaposing with the pure white outside. It takes Peters breath away.

Tiredness sets heavily within him. He turns to see Tony already curled up, eyes closed, shivers still wracking his body. He reaches into the bag and drapes the fleece blanket across the sleeping man, pleased as he sees him curl further into it.

Peter curls up in a ball on the parallel wall, trying to make his body as small as possible to keep himself warm through the night. Despite the fires best efforts, the open mouth of the cave blew in the chilled air.

He fidgeted and squirmed to find comfort on the rocky surface, desperately aware that he needed all the sleep and energy he could muster before another day of walking, especially after the storm inevitably blanketing the floor with thick snow.

“Kid, get over here” Tonys raspy voice demands. He lifts the blanket up, conveying his meaning for Peter to get underneath. Peter hesitated, looking at the warmth it offered, but also not wanting to cross any boundaries. “You will freeze over there kid, come on.”

Peter moved quickly, sliding under the warm blanket with a sigh. He made sure there was enough space between them to not make Tony feel uncomfortable, but the cold was still nipping at him, causing him to tremble slightly. Tony just huffed out an exasperated breath and pulled Peters back closer to his chest, draping an arm over his torso. Peter melted into the heat of the embrace, the warmth the body offered. He felt Tony do the same, obviously pleased with the extra body heat Peter gave.

Peter tried not to think about how the strong arms around him felt. Tried not to think of Ben. Tried not to think about how he had been desperately searching for a fatherly embrace since Ben had died. The arms are protective, like a shield. A better shield than the red and blue one sitting meters from his face. He holds his breath as the unexpected tear slips down his cheek, clenching his eyes shut to avoid any more coming out.

He didn’t know why being held was making him so emotional. Maybe he just missed Ben, and May. Maybe he was just terrified because he was stranded in the wilderness with a dying man and he was only a kid. Comfort meant everything to him right now.

His clenched eyes relax finally, and he finds himself falling into a warm peaceful sleep. Nobody needed to know that he held onto Tonys hand as he did.

. . .

Waking up, Peter instantly knows something is wrong. His neck buzzes angrily and urgently.

He pulls the arm off his stomach, rolling out of the blanketed heat. The sky was still relatively dark, so not morning yet. Peter looked around to see what had awoken him, why his spider sense was screaming like crazy.

He reached out blindly until his hands clasped onto the torch. He flicked it on and shone it around the cave walls, looking for any sign of danger. He directed it to where Tony still lay asleep, wincing with the thought of waking the man.

But he backtracks quickly, shining the light on his face again. Blood had leaked out of his mouth, trailing from the corner of his lips and pooling under his chin. His skin was ghostly pale, and he was uncomfortably still.

Peter moved towards him, his hands shaking as he pushed him onto his back. Still no movement.

“Tony?” he whispered, voice weak and afraid. “Tony wake up” he said more urgently.

A strange sense of deja vu settled over him from when he had found Tony in the factory, but this time, when Peter pressed his trembling fingers to the mans jugular, there was no pulse.

“Tony? Please wake up, please!” he whined, tears brimming in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks.

He dropped the torch onto the floor, light warping over the two figures, shadows looming over them. He pulled open the jacket and lifted up the mans shirts to expose his stomach. Dark black bruising covered his sternum, so dark, Peter had a shuddering realisation of the gravity of internal bleeding.

He pulled the shirt down again, body vibrating with adrenaline, with incomprehensible fear. He straddled his legs over the man, knees bracing either side of his stomach, careful not to press hard on any of the bruises. He clasped his hands together, his eyes blurred with the strong stream of tears barrelling down his face. He brought his hands over the middle of Tony’s chest, locking his elbows like he remembered being taught, and pressed down.

The compressions were mechanical, but Peter sobbed and begged throughout it. Please wake up, please don’t leave me. Please, please, please. He sobbed brokenly. He was becoming more hysteric by the second, snot, tears and sweat pooling over his clenched face. He couldn’t do this alone, he wouldn’t survive. He couldn’t lose the man he had idolised for over decade, the man he was finally feeling closer to.

His hands came down harder, he felt the ribs bellow his fingers shift awkwardly under the pressure. Peter knew he was doing more damage, but more damage was better than dead right?

“I can’t do this, I need you! I need you!” Peter cried, pumping as hard as he could on the chest. He ducked his head, still silence. “You don’t get to leave me! You’re not allowed!” he sobbed.

He slammed his weight down, a feral wail bursting from his lips. “WAKE. UP!” he screamed, punctuated with his fists pounding down on the man’s sternum, the sound echoing through the caved walls.

Tonys body convulsed with a wet cough. Peter scampered off quickly, pulling the man with all his strength to the side, allowing him to spit and gargle all of the blood out, coming to with gasping shuddering breaths.

Peter sobbed louder in relief, falling forward onto the mans leg. Loud pitiful cries howling out of him. He listens closely to the rattle of breaths whirling through Tonys assaulted lungs. He looks up to see him still unconscious, but at least alive. His eyes sting with tears, his body shivers violently but not from the cold this time.

He spends the rest of the night, fighting back tears, poking at the flames too keep them alight, and monitoring every breath, every heart beat with the focus of all of his senses. He becomes almost manic with checking, heart beating wildly as he presses his ear to Tonys chest, listening to the wet rattles and creaks with each intake of air. His fingers shakily pressing to pulse points, eyes zeroing in on every miniscule movement. By the time the storm disperses and the sun shines through the cave mouth, Peter hasn’t slept at all.

Looking through the supplies, Peter realises they have a bigger problem. No food or water left was going to pose a pretty big setback if he wanted to keep Tony and himself alive for the foreseeable future. Stepping out into the snow-covered forest, Peter takes his first real breath of air in 5 hours. Lifting a handful of the icy snow to his face, he feels his eyes awaken with shock of the cold, clarity already rising to the surface.

What the hell am I going to do? Peter thought miserably, so horribly aware that staying here would kill them, if Tony’s injuries didn’t finish the job first, surly the cold or the starvation would.

Panicking, Peter paced around the trees, trying to map out options or possible scenarios, coming up empty handed. There was really only one thing he could do. He had to keep moving. Keep walking until he found a town or another cabin like before. For all he knew it could be simply an hour walk. Or it could be days he thought darkly.

But it was a risk he had to take.

Striding back into the cave, Peter made a final attempt to wake the unconscious man up, finding the same luck he had every other time he had tried to wake him. He tried to ignore the unhelpful terror sitting high in his throat, the constant reminder that failing meant both of them would die. No looks of disappointment or being sent home. This was life or death now.

Peter had already let one mentor die, he wasn’t about to let another.

Using the rope to fashion the sack into an over shoulder bag, Peter slung all the remaining supplies and shield onto his back. He kept the blanket tightly wound around Tony, giving him as much warmth as he could. Bending down, not without a cry of strain, Peter lifted the man into his arms bridal style. His knees shook with the effort, cold sore muscles whining in protest.

But Peter was determined above all.

The first few hours, Peter kept his head held high, math equations and recitals of his favourite dissertations circulating in his mind to keep his focus away from the burning pain in his arms and legs.

He stops for a break, eats some dirty snow with a cringe, and checks on Tony, counts the beats of his heart slow, checks his temperature cold, checks his breathing unsteady. His anxiety rises the longer he scans over the dying mans limp form. He looked as far as his eyes would go for any lights in the distance. He didn’t even know if he was going the right way. He didn’t even know what country he was in.

The rest gives him the reprieve he needed before carefully deadlifting Tony back into his arms. The body feels heavier now somehow, though Peter knows it’s just his muscles protest. He continues in the direction he eventually decides on, beginning the next leg of the day’s journey.

He hadn’t anticipated the storm.

It comes slowly and then all at once, blankets of snow suddenly rising to his calves, ice sliding into his boots and weighing down his pants. He tries to move faster, tries to find shelter to stop, but nothing is in sight. Only tall trees and fallen wood. Nothing large enough to fit a body under. So he keeps moving.

Peter doesn’t realise he is crying until he falls for the first time.

His knees, caught in the heaviness of the snow, give out, plunging him forward. Tonys body sprawls in front of him, pale as the snow itself. Peter drops his head, the wetness on his cheeks now apparent. He didn’t know how much longer he could go. His body screamed at him to stop but stopping wasn’t an option anymore. If last night was anything to go off, he needed to find shelter. Now.

Biting his lip to stifle the sobs, he pulls Tony closer to him, using momentum to push them both up. He stumbles, falls again, and finally finds his footing with a clenched teeth shout.

The wind decides to add to his misery.

Billowing forces slam into the both of them, snow and precipitation slapping into his face brutally. He tries to cover Tony as best he can as they plough through the track, tries to keep them both protected.

He falls again.

This time it’s harder to pick himself up, harder even to pick Tony too. He screams out in frustration as he staggers back with the added weight, tries to adjust to find a comfortable position that won’t endanger Tony more.

The panic in his chest swirls like the wind around him. Punishing and terrifying, pushing him to his knees, demanding him to give up. But Peter never listens anyway, so he keeps moving.

Sobs come as a constant, streaming out of his mouth, caught behind his teeth, eyes pouring with tears. His body shakes with the strain of the journey, his legs wobble with each horrible step.

When he falls the third time, he doesn’t get back up.

He drops his head onto Tony’s chest, his sobs are muffled by Tonys jacket, fists clenched into the material. He couldn’t do this.

He thought he was strong enough, he thought he was a superhero.

Right now, he couldn’t even be a hero. His body locked with exhaustion, his chest pounded with anguish. Cold seeped into his bones, harsh wind whipped his mattered hair across his face, his fingers numbed in the ice surrounding him. Peter cried. He cried until his face burnt with tears, and his voice was hoarse from his shouts of pure desperation and grief.

“I can’t do it Tony, I can’t- I can’t” he sobbed pitifully. The wind drowned out his cries, howling around him, almost deafening. He was giving up.

The world could live without Spiderman, hell, most people didn’t even know he existed. But could the world live without Ironman? He thought back to the terror he felt watching Sokovia crumble to pieces on the news, the horror of watching the Ironman armour slip into the portal above the sky from his balcony, the fear as the stark expo exploded into flames and fury. But Ironman had saved them every time. The world couldn’t live without Ironman. And Peter wasn’t about to let them.

With his final ounce of strength, screams tearing from his throat as he moved his frozen joints, Peter stood. “come on Peter, come on!” he screamed into the storm. His hands clasped Tonys, pulling him up into a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. He stumbled and waivered, shook and slid on the ice, but once he got his footing, he was off.

The wind pushed against him, challenging him to continue his death walk. Peter stumbles with each step, sweat dripping down his brow. His face runs hot and cold simultaneously, exhausted and frozen all at once. His teeth near break with how hard he clenches them, muffling his groans and cries.

The snow has risen to almost knee level, and Peter spares a thought for the dangers of frostbite, tries to wiggle his toes uselessly.

The shack is barely standing up, but Peter falls to his knees the moment he sees it. His heart fills with triumph, his body decides it can’t possibly make the final hundred-meter stretch. He doesn’t listen to his body this time. Getting up feels like he’s being drenched in acid. The burning sensation traveling all the way to his fingertips.

When they crash through the door, Peter can’t hold himself up any longer. Can’t convince his body to stay up.

Tony falls to the floor, sprawled on his back. Peter checks and heaves out the last of his breath when he sees the small rise and fall of the mans chest, despite all odds.

Peter sprawls onto the dirty floor himself. His own breath coming out in pants. He was exhausted beyond belief. Now stopped and mostly shielded from the storm raging outside, Peter can finally take in his bodies composition. He could feel the hypothermia settling into his skin, the chill spreading right through his bones. He couldn’t stop shivering, lips blue with the temperature, hands bright red and numb.

He was too dehydrated to cry anymore, too worn out to beg for help.

He dragged his body closer to Tonys, sliding his wet and frozen, useless legs behind him. The shack did nothing to block out the cold, but at least it held back the horrible snowfall. He curled around the man, trying to use the last of his own body heat to keep Tony warm, keep him alive.

“You can’t die on me okay? Okay Mr. Stark? Do you hear me?” He whispered, his teeth chattering with the cold. “You’re not allowed to give up. You fight okay! You’re the one that has to survive. I can’t – I can’t lose you too”

Turns out he did have enough tears left.

His body quakes with his silent cry, “I can’t go through that again. Please Tony, please don’t make me go through that.” His shoulders shook with his sobs, his mouth as dry as the wind outside.

His body coiled closer in, hands gripping onto Tonys ice cold ones. He pressed his face to where they were joined, trying to bring warmth back into them. He felt the fingers twitch bellow his palm. Just in the slightest. Peter gasped nonetheless. “Tony?” he whispered, breath coming out in white puffs, despite their close proximity. The man didn’t open his eyes, but his hands tightened a hair on Peters, and that was enough for him.

His tears slip down his cheeks in relief, grasping back just as tight.

When Peter wakes up, Tonys hand is still clasped in his own, his eyes groggily scan to see the rise and fall of his chest and the shift of skin under his neck with his heartbeat. They had survived another night.

Peter, now taking time to address himself, has never felt so cold. His legs body is tensed, shivers wracking his body like a seizure. His clothes stick horribly to his skin, still wet and frozen, cold as though he was swimming in frozen water. His face burns with the cold, teeth fatigued with their chattering. He can feel where icicles have begun to form on his wet exposed skin, his complexion a mix of blue and red.

Tony’s face is similarly blue and red, ice sticking to his beard, open cuts dark and grotesque. But he’s alive. And that’s all that matters right now.

“Tony?” he tries to ask, his voice doesn’t come out though, his words trapped within his frozen throat, his mouth as dry as ice. “Tony” he tries again. It’s soft, barely a whisper. The fingers tightly coiled around his shift, Tonys body twitching slightly. Peter blinks hard to make sure he’s not imagining it.

A rough cough expels that thought. The cough spills flecks of blood onto Tonys icy face, its horribly dark when contrasted on the pale flesh. “Kid?” he chokes out. It sounds wrecked and boomingly loud to Peters ears, having not have heard anything but his own sobs for the past 32 hours.

His lip trembles, the effort pulls and stings his frozen face, tears pool in his eyes, searing in their heat as they track down his cold cheeks. Relief slams into him. He didn’t have to do this alone anymore. The fear, terror, desperation that he had been bottling up explodes. He pulls himself closer, too cold and overwhelmed to be embarrassed by his childishness.

Burying his face in Tonys chest, he cries. His heartbreaking and pitiful, but so raw. He feels Tony shift in confusion below him, clearly unaware of the past day and a half. Peter feels a strong hand, albeit hesitant, cup the back of his neck, pulling him even closer.

“I thought you were dead, I thought you were gone” he sobs, voice husky and broken. The hand tightens its hold. Tony shushes into his hair, soothes him in a way Peter didn’t know he was capable of doing. Peter melts into in, his sobs shuddering even harder. The heat of his breakdown warms his face enough to forget about the biting air, if only for a moment.

“You did good Pete, You did good” Tony whispers.

As his panic resides, he feels himself flush with embarrassment, ashamed at his own immaturity, launching himself into Tonys arms like a frightened toddler. He pulls his body back, the cold already replacing the inviting heat. It takes almost all of his strength to sit up, his body demanding he fall back down and rest in the body heat Tony could offer. But he keeps his distance now.

Tony groans, his hands shakily lift his own shirt up, letting out a shuddering breath at the sight of his black and blue chest. As the shirt lifts higher, Tony surveying the damage, prodding around at the tender bruising, he stops at more fresh, newer bruising sitting high on his sternum, shaped suspiciously like a hand. Peter feels his stomach tighten, cheeks filling with blood. Tonys eyebrows crease in confusion, tracing the unknown injury.

Eyes set on the floor, Peter mumbles an apology “I didn’t mean to hurt you, you just weren’t breathing and I- I didn’t know what else to do.” He keeps his eyes downcast, too ashamed to see Tonys anger. He was no better than Captain America and the Winter soldier, inflicting bruises and pain.

“I wasn’t… you had to resuscitate me?” comes and awed response, tinged with horror. Peter nods sheepishly. He shouldn’t have let him die in the first place. He was supposed to be looking out for him.

“Kid… where are we?” Tony only now noticing they weren’t in the same place he probably remembered. “I’m not sure. I tried to remember the way you told me, but another storm hit, and this was the only shelter I could find…” he stutters out.

“You carried me… for a whole day. In the snow. After you restarted my heart.” Peter hears him take a deep breath, uttering quieter now “Jesus Christ kid.”

Peter curls into himself, bringing his knees to his chest. “I’m sorry” he whispers hoarsely. He should have kept them in the cave or walked back to the cabin even. Why didn’t he think of that? The cabin had food and water and a fire place. Stupid he thinks bitterly.

“Fuck kid, no. You saved me. You hear me? I’m only alive because of you” he tries to reassure. But Peter’s too deep in his own head, coming up with every other option he should have taken. Thinking about how stupid he was for choosing this one.

“Kid, hey, Peter” Peters head jerks up at his name, eyes locking with Tonys angry- no, soft and completely warm eyes. Confusion settles in his face, why wasn’t Tony mad?

“You did the right thing okay? We are probably closer to the town now, and that’s only because you didn’t give up, I know I probably would have. We just need to put our heads together and figure this out alright? We are okay.” Peter finds himself nodding, agreeing. They were okay … for now.

“Are we?” he slips out. “Probably not” Tony replies back, head thunking on the hard wood as he lays back down. Peter presses his own head to his legs, pressing his hands in the crevasse of his knees to keep some warmth. “Come here Pete” he hears, looking up to see Tony lifting the blanket, almost with the same expression from when he had done the same thing in the cave, this time his eyes are more soft, reassuring.

Peter unlocks his body to crawl over, curling into Tonys stomach once more. “Are we going to die out here?” he breathes out, unsure if Tony could even hear his confession. “I don’t know kid. I hope not.”

Peter hums in response, burrowing his face further, desperate for any warm reprieve from the frozen air. “I’m so cold” he shivered. Hands wrapped around him, a blanket covering both bodies. Tony hushed him again, Peter could feel the older man shivering just as much, so he pressed his body closer, trying fitfully to share the warmth.

They ended up curled together, bracing the wind and chill. Peter thinks he falls asleep once or twice… he’s not sure by this point. Tiredness weighs heavily within him, drowsy and completely void of energy. Thirst and hunger gnaw at him, as he’s sure it does Tony too. He becomes encompassed by thoughts of too cold and Tony. At times he doesn’t even know where he is, just held in a protective embrace, one which becomes weaker and weaker as the time ticks on and the cold billows harder.

“I think we need to move again” Tony murmurs eventually, his voice strangled and torn. Peter shakes his head, pressing further into the body, ignoring Tonys wince and sigh. “Kid, we need to keep going, we will die if we don’t keep going.”

Peter shakes his head again “I can’t, Mr. Stark” he whines, “I can’t.” his bones feel like stone, anchored to the ground and frozen solid.

He can feel Tony roll over, pushing away from Peter and bracing himself on his hands and knees. With a groan, wince and a sharp intake of breath, Tony pull himself to his feet, wobbling and swaying dangerously. Peter watches from the floor, shivers more violent now the body heat was ripped away.

“Not an option kiddo” Tony mutters. Peter feels hands pressing under his underarms, pulling him up. Peter struggles for a moment, before working in tandem to get his feet underneath him, his own body tripping and tilting as he tried to stand straight. He moaned as he did, hands wrapping around himself to conceal the heat that was rapidly disappearing.

Peter nodded his head doubtfully, but he knew he would follow this man to his own death, knew he always would. The blind trust was naïve, but Peter didn’t really have any other options right now. He took a wobbly step towards the entrance of the shack, almost falling with the effort.

Hands wrapped around his back, his hands mirrored the action, so they were both holding each others weight. They both hesitated in synchronisation as the door swung open to reveal the still brewing storm. “Maybe we should wait- ” Peter mumbled worriedly. “Nope. Now or never” Tony soldiered on, stepping out into the windy terrain. Peter stumbled along, hands still gripping on to each other.

“Okay spiderboy, I need you to use that super hearing of yours for me. Can you hear anything? A road… running water… anything.” Peter looked at the man tiredly, he hadn’t been able to feel most of his senses since the hypothermia begun is ascent, but he nodded anyway, shutting his eyes and trying to tune into his surroundings. The fear of messing up again, or sending them to another death trap was stinging the back of his eyes. If he got this wrong…

A distant zoom registered in his mind, crackles and screeches. “A road! I think a road – or at least cars” He said excitedly, newfound hope bubbling up into his stomach. Tony looked pleased, “Which direction kiddo?” he prompted. Peter shut his eyes again, trying to find the sounds again. Once he had locked in on them, he turned his body in their direction, nodding his head up at his mentor.

“Okay then” Tony said almost with an uncertain but confident inhale of air. “Off we go”

Peter grit his jaw tightly, stepping out into the whipping and staggering air. Determination was subpar, but at least present and persistent. Peter gripped onto Tonys jacket, walking in unison towards the sounds.

They started strong, but even the strongest stumble. Tony was the first to drop, falling to his knees and hacking violently into his hands, blood splattering the white floor. Peter winced, the terror creeping higher and higher in his throat. Once the coughs subsided, Peter pulled Tony back upright, moving forward once more.

Peter felt himself slipping, knees giving way, ankles and hips screaming with the added pressure. Tony kept him upright as best he could, but eventually they both pummelled into the soft wet ice. Letting out an almost battle cry sob, Peter pulled himself back up, not missing the way Tonys eyes were more pinched, complexion almost grey. “Common Tony, we are almost there” he pushed, bringing them both back to striding.

Peters heart wasn’t beating as fast anymore, sluggish and slow now, just like his legs. He could feel the change, the circulation not running so desperately through his veins. Tony coughed, spluttered and spat, blood darker, almost black. His breaths were sharp like glass, hitched and clearly effortful.

If they didn’t stop soon, they wouldn’t get the choice.

“Pete, I’m – I don’t think I can keep going.” Tony coughed out, falling again and rolling onto his side. Peter dropped down, cradling the mans cold face in his hands. “No. No. You gotta keep going!” He grits. “Peter please. Listen to me. You gotta keep going, find help” he paused to cough horribly “find someone and bring them back for me okay?” Peter shook his head, tears frustratingly welling in his eyes. “No! I don’t care what you say. We are in it together. Nobody gets left behind! I’m not leaving you” he begged desperately.

Not waiting for an answer, Peter pulled Tonys arm over his shoulder, taking almost all the weight. His body protested, threating to keel over immediately. He ignored it. Moving much slower now, half dragging them both through the thick blankets, he kept onward.

Tony tried to help, tried to move his legs, Peter at least appreciated the effort, but it was fruitless. They stumbled forward, Peter catching them last second every time, crying out with pain and strain with every step.

He could feel himself letting go, the cold, the pain, the dehydration… it was too much to bare.

They pitched forward, landing painfully in the ice. Peter couldn’t pull himself up this time. Didn’t have anything left in the tank. He sobbed into the wet snow with agony. Using his final will, he pulled Tony closer to his chest, the man curled into it, shielding his face from the stinging wind in Peters shoulder. Peter pressed his face into the mans neck, holding back his tears.

This was it.

They were done. They couldn’t go any further and they both knew it.

Would anyone even find their bodies? Would anyone care to keep looking for his after they found Tonys? Would May ever have peace?

The tears didn’t hold back for long. “I don’t want to die” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry kid, I’m so sorry” Tony sniffled back, muffled into Peters clothes.

They held on to each other desperately, accepting their doom.

He felt as Tony’s body became heavier, grip loosening. He could feel his eyes fighting to stay open, his body finally finding the rest it had been searching for.

A bright light moved towards them, two lights, almost blinding. It took Peter a moment to realise what the light meant, what the sound of the engine accompanying it meant.

He shook the man in his arms. “Tony” he rasped, barely a sound coming out. “A car” his voice was non-existent, frozen and absent. The man didn’t move, not even a flinch. “Tony?” he whispered. “Tony” he tried to shake the body again, but he wasn’t strong enough to make any impact.

His head fell forward onto the mans iced hair, he stopped fighting his own battle, eyes slipping closed, a tear slipping out as he shut them and fell into the darkness.

. . .

Peter climbs into the back of the town car woefully. He had spent 3 days stuck in a hospital bed, hooked up to IV bags of nutrients and fluids, wrapped in blankets and hot water bottles to bring his body temperature back up. He was ready to go home, like yesterday, but not like this.

He hadn’t seen Tony once since he woke up. Happy had informed him that Tony was alive, survived surgery, and was recovering in his private quarters. Apparently, the man should have been dead from the internal bleeding, punctures in his lung and broken ribs and sternum, but Peter was a hero and kept him alive. Peter scoffed when he heard that word. He was no hero.

If he were a hero, why had Tony avoided him? Why was he being sent home again without any consolidation? Why had he been flown on his own across the world, and nobody had spoken to him? Other than the concerned glances Happy had thrown him, and the questions about how he was feeling every now and then. He felt so alone.

He had escaped death. God knows how. He thought he had bonded with Tony, thought they would recover together. But he was wrong. And he was hurtfully upset.

The leather seats are already warmed, Happys doing most likely. Occasional phantom shivers still spread through his body unannounced. He smiled at the review mirror gratefully, curling in on himself in the seat.

The keys in the engine turn and Peter rests his head on the cool glass, the contrast on his burning skin grounding. 

Just before the car could lurch into action, the backseat door wrenched open, Tony Stark himself sliding into the seat beside Peters.

Peter blanched, glancing at the review mirror to Happys exasperated, but pleased, smile reflected at him as the partition raised.

He looks over Tony’s hunched awkward posture. “How are you?” he asks quietly. Tony raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m fine… better now I’m not coughing my intestines out” he grimaces, Peter wincing in affirmation. “What about you kid? How are you holding up?” Peter tightens his lips to stop himself from blurting out pretty shit seeing as I’ve been alone for the past 3 days, but he nods, pursing his lips stubbornly “Getting there” he responds tightly.

Tony sees the resistance, and sighs, dropping his head back onto the seat “I screwed up kid. I felt so stupid and shitty for dragging you into my mess, and then to see you… put your life on the line? For me? I couldn’t understand why.” Peter goes to argue, to say Tony’s life was worth so much to so many people, but Tony continues on. “And then when I woke up, and I knew we didn’t die, all I could think was- I can’t let you do that again. I can’t ask you to risk your life. So I thought if I stayed away, I could protect you, like you protected me out there.”

Peter huffs out a breath in annoyance at the words. “I’m not some kid. You don’t get to decide who I risk my life for. Even knowing how it would have ended, I’d still jump on that quinjet all over again if I got the chance. Nothing would have stopped me” he argues determinedly.

Tony smirks fondly. “I know you would kid. Took me a couple of days and one too many prodding nurses to realise that. And you were already on a flight back to the states when I did. I feel like an idiot for leaving you on your own”

“Yeah it sucked pretty bad” Peter mutters, a smile curling at his lips. “For what it’s worth, my nurses were very good company” he grinned. Tony let out a choked splutter, punching Peter playfully on the arm, “Little shit” he laughed.

“Peter. You saved us. I don’t know how to express my gratitude. You barely know me and yet you stayed with me when no one else did. I don’t have a lot of people in my life who would do that for me. And I want you to know, if the tables had been turned, I would have stayed with you too.”

Peter warms with praise, cheeks flushing under Tony’s fond smile. “So, if we are doing this, we are going to do it right. I want you to train with me, learn how to fight, learn how to work with the team” He proposes. Peters jaw drops in shock. “You want me to train with the team? Like an Avenger?”

Tony scoffs “Not an Avenger. I don’t even think the Avengers exist anymore… but a trainee. I’ll mentor you until you get sick of me and help you to be a little safer out on the streets”

Peter nods enthusiastically. “And if you want, I was thinking maybe I could test out those brains of yours in the lab? See what you’ve got. If MIT is where you’re going, were going to need to train that big old nerd in you too” Peter almost melts into the chair, brain combusting with this information.

“Hell yes. Oh god yes! A hundred times yes! I’d love that Mr. Stark” he was practically vibrating with excitement, annoyance long forgotten. “But, you’re not just doing this because I saved your life right? Because I didn’t do it for any repayment” he drops his tone to prove his point, trying to sound authoritative and less like a child.

Tony shakes his head, “Absolutely not. It gave me a chance to get to know you, and now I want to get to know you even better. And please kid, call me Tony”

Peter smiles heartfully, noticing distantly the car had stopped outside his building. He threw himself into Tony’s arms, the man’s coming up on instinct to wrap around Peters small body. “Is this okay?” Peter quickly asked, not moving from where he was curled around Tony.

“Yeah Pete, I think we’re there”