Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

All The Small Things

Spooktober 20: Cradle

a/n: when I started writing this I was neck-deep in a god of war hyperfixation with 100+ hours on the two newest games

"It's not looking good, I guess we'll have to amputate," Tony said dryly.

Peter's hands flurried over the bleeding wound, panic making the tips of his fingers go cold. There was so much of it, sticky and warm as it soaked through the torn pantleg.

"Shit," he breathed. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"Wow," Tony wheezed out. He grimaced as he held a hand tightly to his calf, trying and failing to staunch the blood at its source. "That's quite the colourful vocabulary."

Peter disregarded him. He swallowed thickly, looking around his surroundings in a frantic haze. There's really nothing to use for his benefit— the cell they had escaped from was narrow, cold, empty. Each hallway since that had been the same.

A winding building in the middle of nowhere, all grey walls, no windows. Tony had nothing. He had been grabbed in his suit, but he didn't have any connection to any servers, internal or external. No Karen. No tech. No medical supplies. A perfectly normal Friday morning.

He focused back on Tony, who in the dim light, was going paler by the second. Judging by his jackrabbit heartbeat, Peter's best guess is that he's gone into shock.

He took his own steadying breath, schooling his expression. He looked Tony in the eyes, keeping his jaw set. "Mr. Stark. It's gonna be okay."

"I know," Tony said with an eyeroll. "I've survived worse. I know. Jesus, kid. Calm down."

Calming down was, believe it or not, the very last thing on Peter's mind.

No, he was wracking his brain for anything, bits from medical journals MJ had linked him on the few (read: many) occasions that she scolded him after patrols, pieces from times where he was in Tony's position; and F.R.I.D.A.Y. gave instructions at rapid speeds while he usually was limp on the floor of the med bay.

Tony pushed himself backwards weakly, sweat gathering at his temple. "Kid, I need to get my leg up."

"Yes," Peter immediately chimed. "Right. Yes."

He helped Tony get situated against the wall, and held up Tony's leg carefully. At least with super strength, his arm wouldn't get tired. He quickly apologized when Tony winced.

"Okay," Peter fidgeted, looking wildly up and down the halls. "What do we do? How do we get out of here?"

"Well, hey." Tony rapidly tapped on Peter's chin, and when he finally looked over, he kept hold of his jaw to steady him. "Stop wandering. Keep your eyes on me for a second."

Peter jutted a nod, the motion tight in Tony's grip. His wide, beseeching eyes locking onto Tony's dilated ones, ready for the man's instruction. His anxious fingers taking refuge in their cling to Tony's bloodied pant leg.

"Breathe," Tony said firmly, shaking Peter's face in emphasis. "You need to calm down. That's an order, Mr. Parker."

Meanwhile, the idiot—sorry, he didn't mean that—was starting to sound out of breath, and Peter could see the way his eyes struggled to keep focus.

"You're in shock," Peter said, bordering on a frenzy. "Sorry if I can't just 'calm down', Mr. Stark, but you're bleeding out and I don't know where we are and—"

Tony gasped for a breath, and Peter's mouth shut immediately, his teeth clacking together.

"Listen," Tony said again. "I swear to God, kid. We're not getting out of this alive unless you trust me. Do you trust me or not?"