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cranescissors · 16 days ago

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And They Won (irondad)

A/N: I haven't written fanfic since i was like 16 (almost 7 years ago!) so consider this me getting back on the bike to see if I can still do it!

Classic Tony lives drabble :3

He’s hated hospitals since he was a kid – since he was told his parents weren’t coming back by a man in a white coat, since he got pneumonia and Aunt May had to run with him in her arms to the ER in all the way in Brooklyn because the Queens one was too full, since Ned broke his ankle and had to go into emergency surgery.

Peter sits in the rigid, plastic chair; legs dangling, kicking them back and forth and letting the cheap rubber squeak on the linoleum floors – his lip is bleeding, abused by his teeth, and his hands are shaking, freezing cold in this god-forsaken hallway.

Tugging the string of his hoodie left, then right, then left again, he waits.

It’s dim, there’s not a lot of lights on in this wing; he supposes they’ll be closing visitor hours down soon, but he has to stay – he has to.

The pale-yellow door to his left – room 1590 – opens gently, and clicking heels come out; he can’t look at her.

“Pete,” Pepper touches his shoulder, crouches down a bit to be at his level. She smells like vanilla and peaches. He likes that perfume she wears – it’s on all the duvets and scarves and clothes in her and Mister Stark’s house. He wondered if that smell had changed. He’s been gone so long. “Peter?”

He finally looks up at her, then. She looks tired. Older. He’s never really seen her in comfortable clothes like this, she’s been staying over at the hospital with Mister Stark since he came out of his 41-hour operation. Even then, she had been lingering; never too far from her husband – always in a waiting room or flashing her important badge to stay as long as she could. Peter wishes he could’ve done that too, just been around, but they’d insisted he stay home until Mister Stark was stable and okay. He hadn’t slept much, though; hadn’t eaten what May had lovingly made him.

He swallows, his stomach heavy with grief, like lead. “Hey, Pepper.”

She has a tiny smile, just ever-so-slight – it took Peter the longest time to figure out when she was actually smiling, as she just has that look about her that seems like she’s always happy – her eyes are glassy. She rubs his bicep gently. Happy comes out behind her, and, wiping away tears, he heads down the hall, towards where May is watching Morgan in the waiting room.

“Wanna come say hi?” She asks gently. The whole place is quiet, dulled – muffled, like a library.

Peter shivers, nods, and slowly gets up. There’s a window into the room behind him, but the blinds are drawn – the light pouring out of the doorway and into the dark hallway is a soft yellow, not the surgical, sterile white like he’d expected.

She goes in first and stands just beyond the doorway, waiting for him to come in. He, hesitantly, crosses the threshold, and – though his brain begs him to look anywhere else – he looks to Mister Stark in the big hospital bed.

Peter sighs a shudder – not at what he’s looking at, no, but how he feels now that he’s finally here, after days of wishing and wanting and overthinking – Mister Stark is there, alive. He’s in a hospital gown, sickly-green colored with neatly-lined dots striping it, and he’s hooked up to a million beeping machines, but he’s there, alive.

He looks like hell. The right side of his face and neck are scarred, pink, and stitched up in a dozen places, and his hair is patchy and missing in a few places, but stark-white where it managed to cling on. His beard is lopsided now, seared off one side of his face to make room for the pink, third-degree burn scars on his chin and down to his covered chest. Peter is a bit glad, then, that they made him wait to see Tony – he’s not sure how his stomach would’ve handled the fresh damage.

Worst of all, though, Mister Stark’s right arm-sleeve is tied up in a tight knot over his shoulder – his left arm is clearly IV’d and strong, running under the blankets at Tony’s side, but his right arm is gone, missing.

Frozen, staring, Peter sniffles – he didn’t even realize he was starting to cry.

Mister Stark looks like he’s sleeping; maybe he is, because Pepper goes and sits in a chair that’s been pulled to his bedside, clearly her spot, and rubs his forearm gently. “Tony? Tony, Peter’s here.”

Tony’s bleary, blurry eyes crack open at that, to check that she’s telling the truth. Maybe, like Peter, he’s played this scenario over in his head a million times.

“Pete,” The man breathes, voice light, breathy – strained. He tries to move, but Pepper puts a gentle hand on his chest, pushing him back down. “Hey, bud.”

Peter hesitates by the doorframe, but Pepper motions him closer, so he shuffles over – too nervous to steal the wheelie chair by the computer.

“Mister Stark.” He says, his voice thick. “Hey.”

Tony closes his eyes again, lets them slip closed, but manages – weakly – to pull his shaking left hand out of its confines, and place it palm-up on the scratchy, blue hospital blanket. “Hey, bud.”

Hot tears drip down Peter’s face, then, blurry and itchy in his vision, but he takes Mister Stark's hand. “How’re you feeling?”

“Me? Oh, peachy.” Tony smiles softly, as best he can. Each word is an exhale, an effort. “Sorry you couldn’t come see me sooner, kiddo. Wanted to be okay first.”

“Are you?” Peter asks, squeezing Tony’s hand ever-so-gently, just to be sure this is all real. It’s only been about a month since they were on that battlefield, since Thanos was defeated, since… Peter looks at Tony’s missing arm, and Tony offers him a weary smile.

“Battle scars, kiddo. I’ll live.” He hums, a tear running down his weathered cheek. He looks older, too. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“We won, Mister Stark.” Peter sniffles, a smile playing on his lips. “We won.”

“I know, bud.” He says, huffing a soft laugh. “Sorry it took me so long to get you back.”

Peter shakes his head. “I’m sorry I took so long to come back.”

Tony blinks, tiredly.

“Even Stevens?” He offers.

Peter laughs through his tears – a garbled, wet sound, but he’s just so thankful. “Even Stevens.”

They sit like that for a moment, just in the silence of how real this moment is.

“Listen, kid.” Tony breathes, groaning through gritted teeth as he moves a bit. “I said some things I’m not proud of, before you… Disappeared. I just-”

“It’s okay, Mister Stark.” Peter rubs his weeping eyes. “It’s okay. I forgive you. You’ve had five years to dish out grief about it, but I was only gone for, like, a second; I don’t even need that long to forgive you.”

Tony breathes out a deep breath and squeezes Peter’s hand back weakly.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Pete.” He says. “Cuz I love you. I know things are different now, or they seem different, but… You’re a good kid. I’ve always known that.”

Tony’s eyes flutter shut at that, and a machine beeps.

“That’s our cue, I’m afraid.” Pepper offers Peter a sorry gaze. “The staff gets mad if we stay past ten.”

She stands, kisses her husband's cheek softly, and touches his hair with her gentle fingers. Peter sniffles, unable to let go of Tony’s hand.

“I’ll be here, Peter, I promise.” Tony huffs, squeezing the kid's hand one last time before Pepper guides him away. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

#the avengers #tony stark #fanfic #iron man 3 #peter parker #irondad #spiderman #infinity war #thanos #spider man #iron man #iron dad

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