Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

Fifty-Two Hours

a/n: the feminine urge to villainize secretary ross<3

⚠⚠GORE, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, TORTURE⚠⚠

Tony's breath came out in shallow condensated puffs against the glass walls. It was cold. Goosebumps are painful as they raise up and down his arms and legs, and he's shivering against a wall with his chest hollowed out.

It's been forty seven hours. Tony has counted each one in a masochistic manner, not letting himself close his eyes until they fall on the missing member of the party he had been kidnapped with.

Peter.

A sixteen-year-old with a humble smile and an unyielding mouth on him that won't ever stop blabbering— until, of course, he's knocked out cold and his head is lolling into the side of the heavy metal government truck they both were shoved in.

It's been too quiet since then. Too fucking quiet. Tony's only had himself for company, and he's ran his thumb over the fabric of his old shirt so many times that it's starting to wear through. Not good. It only served to make him colder.

His stomach growled. He stared at his reflection in the glass; all sunken eyes and dark circles. Pale. Messy hair. Sickly.

Forty-seven hours turned to forty-eight.

He looked up at the camera, a small spherical orb in the corner of the ceiling with a red glowing dot in the middle. He spat on the concrete floor, not looking away. "I'm getting really tired of your games, Ross."

To his surprise, the metal door a little farther out from the glass prison he sat in swung open. Ross stepped down the concrete hallway in a tuxedo and Tony mustered all his strength to stumble up and lean forward against the glass in front.

"You," he hissed, jamming a fist against the thick pane. "You think you're gonna get away with this? I thought you were a smarter man than this. I signed the goddamn accords."

"Oh," Ross chuckled. "You did. You did indeed. But you also recruited your own little vigilante, didn't you? You didn't even send an email, Stark. I'm very disappointed."

"Spider-Man isn't a part of this, he never has been."

Ross clicked his tongue and shook his head, walked up to him. He tapped on the glass. "It's a real shame you think that. Perhaps they were right about Siberia making you soft and stupid."

Tony hit the glass with his fist again, feeling lightheaded. Two days with nothing to eat, not a blinking glimpse of sleep, but it did nothing to fester his rage. "Where is he?"

Ross smiled knowingly. "Who?"

"You know damn well who," Tony growled out through clenched teeth. "Where's the kid?"

"Kid?" Ross scratched his chin. His eyes lit up. "Oh, you mean the powered individual? It's unconscious."

It fell over him like a tsunami of ice water.

"What did you do?" Tony asked blankly, staring at Ross with something incomprehensible, unholy, monstrous under his skin. "What the hell did you do to him?"

"I gave it a choice." Ross crossed his arms. "It chose not to sign. Therefore I—"

A person in a white coat burst through the metal door. "Mister Secretary, the subject is flatlining."

Tony's eyes widened. It only took a millisecond for his heartrate to skyrocket, leaving him to jump up and pound harder on the glass, trying to break it with only his strength.