A/N: uhh it’s been a while. Here’s this! And here’s to me posting a random one-shot every two years lmaoooooo. Disclaimer: alternate reality where no one died/left after endgame.
Summary: A mission Peter’s off the job for, and which goes terribly wrong.
Warnings: blood, major character death, this one is v angsty folks.
Word Count: almost 6k
~~~~~~~
“So, am I alright to go with?”
“No way, Peter. Your sling may be off but your arm can't handle the kind of wear you put it through yet. Give it another day or so.”
Peter sighs, exasperated, “But the mission’s tonight!”
“Nuh, uh, Pete,” my dad cuts in across the room, “You’re staying here, doctor’s orders. I told you we’d check, and we did, and Helen says no.”
“Mr. Stark—!”
“Not me, Helen, you really gonna combat her decision?”
Dr. Cho gives Peter a stern look, having had experience with his impulsively-gained-injuries before. He turns away, ducking his eyes, knowing not to challenge her.
“Peter it’s fine,” I say, hand on his good shoulder, “You’ll join us on the next one.”
“If—“ my dad buts in, “he doesn't go shatter half the bones in his arm again. And don't go assuming you’ll be on the next one, Y/N, I'm hardly supportive of you coming with tonight as it is.”
I sigh, turning stubbornly towards him as he waltzes out of the room, “I've been training for over 3 years, dad I—“
“Nope. Still my kid, don't push your luck. We’re t-minus 1 hour out, so go get ready,” and with that, he turns the corner and leaves.
“Sorry Pete, better luck next time.” Helen picks up her clipboard and departs, leaving us alone in the room.
I turn to Peter, who’s looking rather defeated about the fact that he won't be allowed on the first mission in three months. I nudge his shoulder playfully, “Hey, think on the bright side, now you get to snoop around the lab uninterrupted for a couple hours.”
He gives me a halfhearted smile, “Yeah? I still wish I could be out there with you.”
His eyes change into an anxious look. I look at him, sympathetic, and grab his hand in mine.
Since the snap, the fight with Thanos, and almost losing my dad, Peter’s had this protective, premature-guilt complex concerning the people close to him. We got lucky not losing anyone, but I think seeing my dad recover from mourning us and the near-death experience I had in the battle, he’s not really comfortable being separated from us in a fight.
“I know. But it’s relatively minor, from what I’ve heard. I mean — minor enough to convince my dad to let me tag along, so.“
“Yeah, I know. I just hate not being there to have your back.”
I lean into his side, shoving him playfully, “You suggesting I can’t handle myself?”
“Absolutely not,” and I see I’ve forced a grin onto his face, “Just think, ya know, maybe your dad’s had a few too many juice pops lately, and I gotta be concerned — I mean, a gain in weight could throw off his balance in the suit—“
“Oh! Throwing my dad under the bus here, are we?” I laugh, “That’s funny, maybe I’ll mention it to him later.”
“Kidding! Don't tell your dad I said he’s fat — he's not.” He hangs onto my hand as I stand from the med-bay bed, “He’s a very fit man, you know, for his age.”
I laugh, “This just gets better and better! I’ll make sure to tell him you think he’s old too after I get ready.”
I move to walk away, but Peter stops me, tugging my hand gently.
“Hey, but seriously,” he murmurs, “be careful tonight. Come back in one piece for me. Okay?”
“Of course,” I say, and lean my forehead against his, “And you have a fantastically boring night, let your arm rest. Don't get into any trouble.”
He kisses me long and gentle, “I’ll try not to.”
——————
Tonight’s mission was a fairly routine one. One of the lingering branches of Hydra left, hiding in a bunker and planning nothing good. We’d all been briefed on the most recent information about their weapons and tactics, and the team had decided tonight was the time to shut the place down.
I examine the repulsors in the palms of my suit, sleeker like Peter’s, but armed similarly to my dad’s. There’s about 15 minutes before we fly out, so I tuck my braids beside my neck — getting my hair caught in the helmet seriously blows — and make my way up to the launch pad.
“Hey, offspring!” my dad plants his hand on my head and shakes it, “You still wanna come along on this one? Sure you don't wanna stay home? Absolutely? Because you know, you’re welcome to, in fact, DUM-E's been missing you down in the lab, i’m sure he’d appreciate your company—“
“Nuh uh, old man, I'm going with. You said so.”
“Oh, so I’m old now? You know, I did end up with an extra five years than you, so you can cut me a little slack.”
I laugh and walk onto the quinjet to meet the team, “Never.”
————————
“You all remember your assignments?” Steve asks, “Me and Sam, Tony and Wanda, Nat and Y/N.”
A chorus of yes’s and nods follow, as if this wasn’t the fourth time we’d answered that question.
The ride to the bunker is relatively boring, other than my dad pestering me with Stay with nat, and don't get distracted, and be careful, and don’t do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything Peter would do. Nat and Wanda chuckle at my situation from across the quinjet, and it was getting pretty old by the time we landed a bit outside the target.
Once we’ve all gotten set with weapons and coms, we start out on the jog to the bunker. Upon arriving there, Nat and I are tasked with stealing a hard drive that contains targets and weapons data. From what we know, it’s in a room close to the center of the building, so we have a long way to go while trying to get noticed as little as possible.
My dad tells me to stay safe and call for him if needed before we part ways, and Nat and I are alone in a dark hall.
“Alright,” Nat whispers, “We move toward the center of the bunker, 4 floors down, we’ll use the vents if we have to. They might cause a scene somewhere else, but our job is to keep hidden, all the way in and out if we’re lucky.”
“And when are we ever lucky?” I murmur back with a smirk.
“Don’t jinx it, kid, let’s go.”
For the most part, the beginnings of the mission are easy. We used Friday’s heat signatures for a full week to map out the guards’ schedules, so we knew what halls to stick to and when. Making our way to the less-monitored maintenance stairwell, we walk in silence, keeping an ear out for updates over the coms. Just as we reach the bottom of the third flight of stairs, a pair of guards walks through the doors.
“Hello, boys,” Nat says and quickly turns to me, “I’ll take the tall one.”
With that, we spring to action.
The pair raise their weapons toward us, but Nat quickly disarms the man across from her while I blast the gun from the shorter man’s hand and drag him through the doorway before he can reach the alarm on the outside wall. Slamming him into the stair railings, he tries to get rid of me by throwing a headbutt my way, but my suit takes the brunt of the impact. Pulling my arm back and releasing his wrist, I aim a punch square at his face and hear a crack when it lands on his nose. After a disdainful grunt, he shoves me back and tries to kick my legs out from under me, but I quickly grab hold of his ankle and yank up. The man lands harshly on the floor, and one kick is all it takes to knock him out.
When I look up, Nat has already beat her opponent and is checking the outer hall for more guards. “It’s clear,” she says, and we both take the ankles of the two guards and drag them through the door into the nearest room, tying them up securely before jamming the door in place.
“I hope they enjoy a nice nap, let’s keep moving,” Natasha says, and we make our way back to the stairwell.
Finally on the fourth lower level, we hold ourselves with a bit more caution. This is where they guard more heavily, and we still have quite a ways to travel before we’re near the center of the building. With light steps, we make our way down the dimly lit halls, occasionally ducking through doorways and turning corners to avoid passing agents, guards and other workers. It seems as if most of the work they do happens down here, as we constantly see high-ranking members and people in lab coats muttering to one another as they roam the halls. I’m only able to catch a few words of any given conversation, and of the ones that were spoken in English, none of them sound pleasant.
Nat and I travel fairly uninterrupted for the next few halls before she stops me and says, “Alright, we’re close to the center now. The hard drive we need is going to be in a lab somewhere around here, so we’re checking rooms. If there are any heat signatures, we clear it together. If Friday doesn’t pick any up, we split and multitask.”
I raise my eyebrows, “Oh? Going against my dad’s orders, huh?”
She gives me a wry smile, “You seem to be able to handle yourself, and it’ll get us out of here faster,” she points at me, “Just don't make me regret it.”
I laugh, “I won’t.”
And with that, we start scanning the upcoming rooms.
The first room we check has a few Hydra agents inside, so we clear it together, check the computers for the right information and come up empty handed, breaking the doorknob and continuing on. We go about this for a while, knocking out the occupied rooms together, splitting up to clear empty rooms, checking for the right hard drive, and moving on. It’s tedious, but no alarms have been activated so far, and we make a good team.
Now very close to the center of the bunker, we come upon another few rooms free of heat signatures, so we once again divide and conquer. We have to be getting close now.
“I’ll take this one on the left, you’ve got the right?” I ask, walking carefully toward the door.
“Gotcha, call if you find anything.”
I open the large metal door and take a cautious step in, examining the room around me. There are no lights on, so I use a light on my suit to see my surroundings.
It’s strange, the room is large with high ceilings, but is pretty much empty. A few scraps of metal and packaging are strewn about the floor. Concrete floors and dark walls line the place. I take a few steps further in to double check that I haven’t missed anything, but all I see is one door on the opposite side. I turn back to exit when the entrance I came through slams shut in front of me. Alarmed, I run forward and try to open it, but the handle won't budge.
“Nat!” I whisper hushed through the coms, “The door shut behind me, can you get it from the outside?”
I hear her footsteps approach from the other side and the sound of her trying to open the door, “I can't get it, and the lock must be electric, there’s nothing to pick. How’d this close on you?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t see it.”
I hear a new voice over the coms, “Wait, did you two get separated?” My dad’s voice resounds with a hint of anxiety, “What did we talk about, Y/N? I said to stay with—“
“I tried! Not my fault the door shut behind me.”
“Well you should’ve gone through the door with Nat in the first place!”
“Hey!” Natasha’s voice cuts in, “While I would love to listen to you two bicker, we’ve got a job to do. She’s fine, Tony, we’ll figure it out.”
“I could just blast the door handle—“
“No, Y/N, it’ll be too loud, we’ve gotten this far without being noticed.” I hear Nat huff through the door, “It’s in our best interest to keep it that way. Friday’s telling me there’s another door, leads out to a hall. I can go around and meet you there. It's further toward the center, so at least if you have to blast the thing down we’ll be closer to the target.”
“Sounds good, I’ll wait for you,” I say, and with that, Natasha stalks off through the halls.
I turn to make my way across the room, walking leisurely. This place really is unusually huge for a seemingly-unused underground room, about the size of a school gymnasium. I’m wondering if it may have been used for storage or training when I hear a noise to my left.
Turning swiftly with my guard now up, I see a male guard walk through a side door. Another entrance? How did I miss that? I ready my fists in a fighting stance and call through the coms, “Hey Nat? This room was occupied, I’ve got it handled for now but you might wanna make it here quick.”
Strangely, I get no response, but I don't have time to dwell on that fact because the man is charging toward me.
He’s a good fighter, and we both land some hard hits as we combat to occupy the room. I flip over him and blast him into the wall, but he recovers abnormally quickly and rises up again for more. I land another punch to his stomach once he’s in range, but he quickly grabs my wrist after and squeezes with inhuman strength, crushing the thin-design gauntlet on my hand. The metal cuts into my palm before tear what remains off and launch him over my shoulder onto the floor. I move to kick his side but he grabs my leg and throws me off balance, and my back hits the floor in a harsh slam. Groaning, I try to sit up as the guard grabs a metal pole off the floor — oh shit — and slams it onto my other palm, crushing my second gauntlet. Two hands now bare, aching, and unarmed, I continue to fight at a slight disadvantage. But I’ve trained for years, I can handle this.
It turns out maybe I couldn’t handle it.
The guard has to be one of Hydra’s human experiments, because he’s stronger than the average adult. I struggle to gain the upper hand for several minutes. He's had me pinned me to the ground, and just when I think his weight is lifting off me he brings down the pole on my side. Hard.
I groan and curl away. Even through the thin — and now damaged — metal of my suit, the blow took the air out of me. I press my palms to the cold floor to push myself up, but another blow strikes my back and I collapse forward. Finally, the man grabs a fistful of my hair and slams my head into the ground, and a ringing suddenly starts in my ears. Dizzy, head aching, and barely able to think, the next thing I register is being dragged across the room to the opposite wall by my wrists, which are then cuffed in front of me.
And strangely, the guard who put all that effort into beating me walks out of the room.
“Hey!” I shout, “What’s going on, asshole!? Come back here!” But he doesn’t return, and shuts that same side door behind him. I groan in frustration, head still pounding in pain, and try to reach the team again, “Anyone hear me? I’m still in this room, my gauntlets are broken and I'm cuffed, anyone around?” No response, “Hello?”
I’m starting to think Hydra somehow interrupted our signal when another noise distracts me from across the room.
The door opens once again, and this time five people exit. Four guards and…
Peter.
A chill surges down my spine.
They’re dragging Peter into the room.
“Peter?” I call out, panicked, “Hey! What are you doing with him?”
He’s dressed in plainclothes, so he didn’t come here as Spiderman. He doesn’t look like he’s in the best condition, slumped and hardly fighting the guards who are carrying him to the center of the room. My mind starts racing with all the things they could’ve done — what’s wrong with him? How could they have hurt him so badly he isn't able to fight back, especially with his strength? I need to get him away from them, but if these four guards are anywhere as strong as the last, I need a plan of attack. Or backup. Where is the team?
And how did they get to Peter? Peter Parker, not Spiderman, so not out on the streets — he was supposed to be in the lab tonight. Did they get into the compound? Is anyone else hurt? My mind keeps spiraling into more and more panicked thoughts, and then I hear him.
“Y/N?” He calls out, “Where are we?” His voice is raspy and slurred, and I think they must’ve given him something, some sort of drug. I’m about to call back to him when a guard lifts him up and punches him in the stomach.
“No!” I shout, raising up to my knees and then beginning to stand before one of the four guards points his gun at me. I stay there, kneeling before the scene, not knowing what to do to stop either of us from getting hurt. The three remaining guards begin to beat on him again, kicking and punching and Peter is too delirious to serve any resistance other than curling up and grasping weakly at the ankles of the men hurting him. I can hear his pained whimpers, and my heart squeezes in my chest, I feel tears building in my eyes.
“Stop! Stop hurting him, what do you want?!” I scream, wanting to get closer to him but still at a stand still with the fourth guard, “Come on, tell me what you want! You’re not getting anything by just beating him!”
The three guards pay me no regard, but the fourth, still pointing his gun at me, snickers as if I’ve said something funny.
Peter is still at their mercy, receiving hit after hit and a voice in my head tells me, they’re gonna kill him. You have to do something or they’ll kill him.
“What do you want? Come on, what is it?!”
And with a heavy accent, the man says, “To cause you misery.”
The chill returns, and I decide — despite my terrible odds — that I have to get them away from Peter.
I get my feet firmly under me.
I charge toward the guard with the gun, bracing myself.
And he does something I didn’t expect.
He turns the gun on Peter.
I hear three shots.
“NO!” I scream, my eyes go wide and I drop to my knees once again, facing Peter and crawling toward him, “No, no, no, no, no!”
The guards shuffle back into the shadows, laughing, seemingly done with their job, but all I can see is Peter.
I’m frozen for a second, staring, shaking, unable to process the scene before me. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, hands grasping at his chest where blood has begun to pour from three wounds. I race toward him and drop to the ground at his side, placing my cuffed hands firmly over the holes in his chest.
“Peter?” I say, my voice tight and choked, “Hey, hey listen to me, you’re gonna be okay. The rest of the team is here, my dad is here, he's gonna get us out, okay?” A few of my tears leak down onto my hands, running into the blood that now stains them.
“Y/N?” He mumbles, hardly able to speak.
“Yeah, it’s me, I'm so sorry,” I sniff and try to keep my throat from closing up, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop them but you’re gonna be fine, Peter, we’re gonna get help.”
His face is twisted in pain, and when he tries to speak next, only a cough comes out, and blood bubbles out over his lips.
I fail to hold back a sob and move my hands to his cheeks, “Shh,” I try to get out, but it comes out shaky, like a whimper, “Shh, don’t— don’t try to talk.”
His eyes look into mine, I can see the pain behind them as he lies there, struggling to breathe. I stroke his cheek, and only now come to notice the blood I’ve painted there. I sob again. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, I don't know how to help him.
Can I?
Is it too late?
I cradle his head across my thighs, take one of his hands in mine and leave the other on his cheek, trying to provide some sort of comfort.
“I’m sorry, Peter, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” and I just keep saying it, breathing it out and heaving air back into my lungs between sobs. Tears are constantly tracking down my face now, and i’m doing all I can to subdue them while he’s still conscious, still looking at me.
My mantra of apologies keeps repeating, and my thumb keeps stroking along his cheek, and I don’t know how long I sit there, crying, mumbling, desperately hoping someone comes to help us before I notice him release a slow, defeated breath.
In, out.
“Peter?” I mumble. My blood freezes in my veins. My breath stills. I wait for his chest to rise again. I watch and pray for it to happen. Please, please, please.
It doesn’t move.
A long, whining sob erupts from deep in my chest as I drop my head and cry, and cry, and cry above him, “No, no, no, no. Please, no.”
I sob, loud and painful, unable to take a breath in anymore. I shut my eyes and don't look up because I can't look at his face — his eyes are still open his eyes are still open.
I’m never gonna see him again,
I’m never gonna hear his voice again,
I’m never gonna kiss him again.
The pain in my chest gets worse and I feel dizzy with the force of my sobs.
And then suddenly there are arms under mine, and I'm being dragged backwards.
Away from Peter.
“No, no, no, no, let me go! Let me go!” And what i’m saying is barely coherent between the sobs, “Let me stay with him, please, please!” But the arms hooked under me don't relent, no matter how hard I pry at them, no matter how hard I kick and scream. He’s getting farther and farther away from me, alone in that room, and I can't bear the thought of it.
“Please, let me go!”
And suddenly I hear my name, as if through a haze, but I can’t make out who’s saying it. I don't really care. I have to get back to him, I have to stay with him, I can’t leave him alone.
“Y/N— “
“Y/N it’s us! Come on!”
I pull and pull at the hands around me but I can’t remove them, I keep getting pulled backwards until—
I’m yanked through a doorway, and the room where Peter lies is dark and blank in front of me.
My hearing isn’t fuzzy anymore.
I gasp in surprise but the sobs haven’t stopped, and my father’s unmasked face appears in front of me.
“Y/N? Hey! You’re okay, we’re here!” His hands are on my face but I swat them away.
“No! Peter’s in there! We can't leave him! We have to take him home, we have to get him home—”
“Y/N— “
“Dad they shot him, I couldn’t help him, I couldn’t help him—“ my words dissolve again into cries of grief.
“Y/N he's not in there.”
I turn to him in confusion.
“He is!” I point my hand frantically toward the doorway, “In the middle of the room! They k— they killed him in there!”
“Y/N…” my dad speaks.
And it’s then that I notice my outstretched hand, pointing toward the door.
There’s no blood on it.
I start to shake harder.
“I- I saw it, I saw it happen I— “
And I notice the thin fog rolling out through the doorway, lazily dispersing along the floor.
I look up. I breathe heavy and shakily. The whole team is staring down at my red, tearstained face. Cap’s face is twisted into concern, Natasha looks sad and sympathetic. Hydra agents lie dead or out cold on the ground, alarms blaring, but no one takes any steps to exit. The raid is over…
And I can't see any blood on my hands.
“Y/N, it was a hallucinogen,” my dad says firm, but gently, “Whatever you saw in there wasn’t real.”
I stare at him, trying to make sense of this. It looked so real. It felt so real.
“But— but I saw it— I felt it, I could feel what they did—“
He gently breaks the cuffs from my wrists, “I know, I know kiddo, but it wasn’t real. They know how to get in your head.”
I shake my head in confusion, “But the cuffs? And my gauntlets are broken—?”
“Whoever did that was real.” Nat cut in, “They hurt you so you wouldn't fight the simulation and then the drugs were pumped into the room.”
I sit there on the floor in front of the Avengers. Disbelief, confusion, and grief all playing across my face.
“Check the room,” I demand.
My dad points a light into it, and Steve walks through, “No one here, see?”
My mind still races, it felt so real.
“Friday?” My dad speaks up, a gentle hand in my hair, “Where’s Peter now?”
“At the compound, sir, working on his suit in your lab.”
I sniff and mumble out, “Vitals?”
“All normal levels.”
I sigh, squeeze my eyes shut, and drop my head into my hands. A sob of leftover panic and relief fights its way out of my chest.
“C’mere,” My dad says, and pulls me closer to him, a soothing arm around my back.
“I need to see him,” I choke out, “I need to know he’s not— “
“I know, I know, we got the job done here, we’re going home.”
——————
I don't remember the walk back out of the compound. It’s all vague reassurances and worrying eyes. I think my dad buckled the straps around me once we got to the quinjet.
The flight back is somber, quiet, despite the fact that we succeeded. I feel the entire team’s eyes on me, but I don't look up. I’m too busy sitting curled on my seat, staring down at my hands.
There was so much blood. So much of his blood.
I spend the next few hours staring, not speaking, unable to stop the images from replaying in my head. My dad sits beside me, stroking my hair, muttering things I can’t hear.
I thought he was gone. All I can hear are the choked, wet sounds of the blood rising from his throat, all I can see is the stark image of dark red dripping down his pale cheek. Pain in his eyes. His chest refusing to move.
“Y/N,” I think it’s the fourth attempt someone makes to get my attention, and I look up to see my dad kneeling in front of me, “We’re almost back.”
“He’s at the landing pad?” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
My dad takes my hand and says, “Yeah, I had Friday call him up.”
The next thing I’m aware of is the quinjet touching down, and I unbuckle the straps and stand up. My dad rests a reassuring hand on my back, and when the ramp lowers, he walks me forward. He can tell I’m still doubtful. He can tell a part of me still believes what I saw back in that room.
But then we reach the ground and I see him.
Peter is standing back from the landing pad, accompanied by Pepper. He’s healthy, he’s standing on his own, he’s not bleeding, he’s not hurt, he hasn’t been shot, he’s okay.
He’s not dead.
I pick up the pace, walking out of reach of my dad, and once I’m close enough to see his eyes a sob fights its way up my throat and I throw my arms around his shoulders.
“Hey, shh, it’s alright,” his arms wrap firmly around my back, one hand landing in my hair and one stroking up and down my spine. His hair tickles my cheek, his shirt collar is bent out of shape — he never folds them right. He’s warm and strong and breathing and alive. I bury my face in his neck as another sob wracks through my body.
“What happened?” I hear him ask, confused, and his voice rumbles so low and soothing and I can feel it against my chest, hear it in his throat where my ear is pressed. I can’t stop my cries long enough to answer him but I realize the question wasn’t directed toward me.
“She’s not hurt,” my dad’s voice reassures him, “They messed with her head. She thought — she saw them hurt you—“
“I thought you were dead,” I croak out. My grip on him tightens and I let my hand trail to the curls at the base of his neck, let them twist around my fingers. My voice has risen an octave when I say, “You died, I saw you die.”
We sway for a moment, his hands still running down my back and through my hair, I don't think he knows what to say. I wouldn’t know, either.
We stay there for a minute, and the rest of the team has walked inside to give us some space, I assume.
After a while, when my sobs have quelled and I'm just quietly sniffling against him, I feel his hand on my cheek, pulling me back.
“Hey,” He whispers gently, wiping his thumb under my eye to clear away the tears there, “Good thing that wasn’t me then, right? I’m right here. And I’ve got proof— I was talking Dr. Banner’s ear off in the lab the entire time, he can vouch for me,” I let out a watery giggle at his antics, “You wanna go inside? Get you warm, patch you up?”
“Yeah,” I sigh out, disentangling myself from him, but keeping an arm around his side as we walk into the building, “Sorry, I’d give you a hello kiss but I’m pretty sure there’s snot running down my face.”
He chuckles and presses a kiss to the hair at my temple, “That’s okay, let’s get you cleaned up.”
——————
After a brief period of time, I’ve showered, changed into pajamas, and am now sitting at the bathroom sink where my dad is bandaging the shallow cuts on my hands from the broken gauntlets. We sit in relative silence, and there’s no doubt from the look on my dad’s face that I appear just about as shell shocked as I feel.
“Kiddo, you gonna be okay tonight?” He asks in a hushed voice.
I don't look him in the eye, instead watching him work on my hands as I mumble out, “Probably not.”
He huffs with a bit of amusement, “Well, thanks for the honesty, I guess.”
He finishes up on my left hand and raises my chin to look him in the eye. I don't know what to say, so I let him speak first.
“Seriously, Y/N, that was heavy, what you went through. Don’t be afraid to ask any one of us for help, okay?” He looks me pointedly in the eye, already doubting I’ll take him up on that. I am his daughter, after all.
“Yeah,” I whisper, “Got it.”
He stands with a sigh and puts the first aid kit back under my sink.
“Goodnight, come get me if you need me.” He presses a kiss to my head and leaves.
——————
Tony looks at the clock. 7a.m., three hours after they returned from the mission.
“Friday? Has Y/N gotten any sleep yet?”
“No, sir. She spent a few hours in the kitchen with Mister Parker, but it appears as if they are both headed to their respective rooms now.”
“Alright. Alert me if she needs help, Fri.”
“Will do, sir. Goodnight.”
——————
“Sir, it appears as if Y/N is in distress.”
Tony wakes up to the alert just forty minutes after he’d laid down to sleep. He's quickly alert and shuffling out of bed, down the hall to his eldest daughter’s room. Although, when he turns the corner he sees Peter already at the door.
The teen looks up at him, “Hey, Mr. Stark. I— Friday told me she needed help. I was just gonna check in.”
“Me too,” Tony sighs, “You go ahead, Pete. It’s you she needs to see right now. Goodnight.”
The man turns to leave, but stops short of turning the corner. He says, tired, but playfully, “Door open, Parker.”
“Gotcha, Mr. Stark,” And the boy walks in to comfort his daughter.
Several hours later, after Tony’s gotten his meager version of a full-night’s sleep, and after a night he’s sure has held several nightmares for his daughter, he walks back past her door to make sure she’s okay.
He smiles warmly at the scene. Wrapped in Peter’s Midtown sweatshirt, his daughter sleeps, restless but quiet, leaning an arm over the boy she loves. He holds her secure, both their legs strewn about the covers, and Tony can't help but notice Y/N’s hand. Resting softly at the side of Peter’s neck, fingers in the hair behind his ear, and her thumb rests just over the boy’s pulse point. Thrumming gently in sleep, reassuring her — even in her unconscious state — that what she saw was fake. Peter is alive and well, sleeping soundly right beside her.
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Alrighty that’s it! Let me know how you liked it and thanks for reading!
As i lay in bed beside my person. my very own soulmate. she sleeps blissfully with a soft and cute snore while i lie awake next to her. she has her hand reached back to touch me while she lays in her comfy position. little bits of contact are always held wether it’s just a hand or our legs touching or full on grasping each other in our arms. simple touches that connect us furthermore in a physical realm. gentle finger tips that caress my soft skin, the same that pull me close in more sensual manners. innocent touches and intimate grasps. i crave her warmth like a moth to a light. she is the soft fire inside a rustic cabin. it feels cozy and safe. the type of place you could enjoy forever. the home i’ve found within a person. my soulmate.
