Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

From Heart to Hand

a/n: so the funniest thing in the world happened

long story short, my mother almost died and she's been in the hospital for like the past week getting surgeries and hooked on oxygen and like four ivs at once??? she's on the mend now after a very scary 2 weeks. at her request, i've been holding her hand a lot.

i hope everyone is having a much better winter break than i am, here's a oneshot, and godbless us everyone or whatever that little tim kid said in a christmas carol

uhh go join my discord we have fun there

Spooktober 27: Presumed Dead

Peter's restless. He's been stuck in the medbay's roller-bed for, according to his count, a rough twenty-five hours— so he's basically dying. (Which isn't true, and he can tell because he's been hooked up to some kind of vitals monitor since they got off the field, but he really does feel crazy.)

His legs are stiff, like a slinky that's been super-glued together, or a glowstick in a preschooler's reach that's just begging to be cracked. He needs to get up, he needs to move, between the undiagnosed ADHD and the anxiety and the general energy always bubbling under his skin, he was not built to be sitting in one spot for this long.

In his opinion, he didn't even need to be in the medbay this long. By all standards, Tony had been entirely exaggerating the demands for his stay. After all, his arm was healing in its cast, and his sprained ankle felt way better, and the doctor said all seven of the ribs he had broken were healing a lot faster than anticipated!

This was all great news, and he was good, he was great— they literally took him off oxygen this morning.

Tony should at least let him walk around a hallway or two. At least. Peter doesn't feel like he's asking the impossible, even though it sure seemed like it earlier.

The second they pulled the intubation out, after the uncomfortable coughing and sipping of water, it was one of the first things he asked.

"When can I go home?" He rasped, blinking tears from his eyes. His throat hurt really bad, which was understandable, given the circumstances it endured by the offending tube the nurses carried away.

And Tony, whose appearance had been scarce since Peter had wound up in here, looked at him with exhaustion and something bitter. His cheeks sunken, dark circles under his eyes, a feral dullness in the way his teeth sharpened.

"You almost died," Tony said, his voice sounding miraculously almost as bad as Peter's. He wondered distantly who shoved a tube down his throat.

Peter shoveled a few ice chips into his mouth with his good arm, wincing at the way everything ached and burned like he was set on fire. He thumbed at a button to give him some more super-powered morphine, then flashed him a properly sheepish smile. "I'm getting better?"

The conversation had ended quickly after that.

Peter doesn't even know why Tony's avoiding him. He himself hadn't actually done anything to get into trouble this time, at least nothing he thought would get him into trouble— and it wasn't Tony had been the one to kidnap him. Or drug him. Or torture him.

Honestly, he didn't remember much after the bad guys started doubling, but he remembered fuzzily Tony's voice ringing through his ears right before the pain went away. He knew Tony must have saved him— because Tony always saved him.