One Shot Collection

We have one more day - Starker

Tony is not a street level hero. Never has been, will never be. He takes care of terrorists and aliens. He doesn’t fly around New York hunting petty thieves. That’s Pete’s job. And while Tony is swearing up and down as he zooms past buildings and people and cars, he’s actually glad Peter didn’t decide to join the Avengers. 

Peter is good at this. He knows the city better than anyone. He knows how to talk to these people, how to help and how to act. Tony has no clue how to stop a guy with a gun except to use his own fire power. 

But Peter had asked him to take care of the guy, and had even put a tracker on him, so Tony’s not going to complain too much about it. It’s an easy job, so different from all the big time stuff he’s used to dealing with, but there’s no real challenge to it. Corner the dude, tell him to put the gun down and send him off to the nearest police station. 

It’s odd, really, why Peter needed his help with that. He’s been dealing with worse on his own before. Has even taken down several guys at once, no problem. This dude is covered in blood, though, so maybe Pete got stuck with the victim. 

Which means Peter is going to be grumpy for the next week, at least. No matter how many times Tony tells him he can’t save everyone. Hopefully the victim is going to pull through, Tony knows how it feels to fail, but he’s learned to deal with it. Peter has been doing this for a decade now, and he still struggles with it. Tony has just accepted it as a part of his bleeding heart for everyone. 

“Pete, I got the guy. Where are you?” 

He doesn’t answer, but Tony can hear the panting and grunting, so maybe he’s busy fighting off someone else. Tony’s already out in the suit, though, so he might as well join in on the fun. He just needs to find out where he is. And yes, he did promise to remove the tracker from his suit, and he did. He just had to replace it with an emergency one. But that’s the only thing he still has access to. 

So Friday points him in the right direction, and while he’s avoiding hitting the busy civilians or misplaced buildings, he wonders for a second why Peter is so quiet. He’s like the chattiest hero in the city, right next to Deadpool. He doesn’t just shut up, all of a sudden. 

He’s still making a lot of noise, so at least he’s alive. If he managed to get himself hurt again, Tony’s seriously considering locking him up in the Tower for safe keeping. He’s stumbled onto the balcony with knife wounds and gunshots and broken bones a little too often for Tony’s liking. 

Not that telling him to be careful has ever done anything. Or yelling at him for being reckless. Or crying because he lost so much blood that Tony was sure he’d never wake up. Peter is even more selfless than Steve, if that’s even possible. And Tony kind of hates it. Hates the blood red stains of his dreams, Peter’s slack face when he passes out, the fake reassurance that comes with every single injury. 

I’m fine, Tony. Relax. I heal. And Tony will raise his voice every damn time, You’re not fucking indestructible, Pete! You could die! And Peter will smile softly at him, grab his hand and kiss his knuckles, calm him down a little before he breaks his heart again. Yes, I can. And I will, one day. I’m not gonna stop, Tony. But I’m fine, now. We have one more day.

And how evil is that, really, to use Tony’s one decent reason for not stomping on his own feelings for Peter, just to stop the argument and win. It’s not fair, not at all, but Tony realistically knows that they do in fact only have days. There’s no telling when one of them will die, and neither is really willing to step down. 

So waking up grateful for another morning where they can just smile at each other and has become a new standard. It’s not something Tony ever thought he would have to do. Especially when he’s with a man twenty years younger than him. But he enjoys the lazy kisses and Peter’s sleep warm body wrapped around him. And he almost forgets the nightmares about him trembling, bloody and broken in his arms. Almost.

“Tony?” Peter whispers, voice cracking and riddled with pain. Oh God. Tony rounds the corner and lands in a dirty alley. There’s no need to scan the area, Peter is sitting propped up against the brick wall, panting, clutching his chest with one hand. His head is rolling aimlessly on his shoulders.

Tony is by his side in seconds, suit on standby by the entrance as Tony kneels in front of the hero, gripping his shoulders. “Hey, gorgeous.” Peter chuckles weakly at the pet name, and Tony lets out a breath. At least he’s still with me. Peter hates that name, and Tony usually gets a laugh and a middle finger sent in his direction for it. It doesn’t matter now, he can worry about sneaking it into their home later. 

He inhales sharply before he tries to pry Peter’s hand away from his chest, but it slips and everything is wet and Peter whimpers and Tony’s head spins from the sudden rush of the all too familiar sweet, metallic scent. No. This isn’t happening. This is just a nightmare. It’s not real. It’s a dream. I have to move him, get him home. No, I’ll only make it worse. I need to fix this. I need to do something. I need to— 

“Tony. Look at me.” Even suffering from blood loss and slurring his words, Peter manages to calm Tony’s erratic breathing and force his eyes to search for Peter’s brown, lovely orbs. Even though they’re hidden behind white lenses. Tony can imagine what he’s face looks like. The crooked smile and understanding eyes, always keeping Tony’s feet on the ground. Always taking care of him. 

“I’m fine.” No, you’re not, Tony wants to say. Scream even. But his tongue is held down by the weight of his worst fear coming to life, and all he can do is shake his head. Peter’s hand that’s not trying to stop the bleeding comes up to cup Tony’s cheek, but misses and grazes his nose before it drops back down.

He’s crying now, and he rips Peter’s mask off. He needs to see his face. He needs to know that everything will be fine. That Peter’s going to be okay. He’s still breathing, slow and ragged, eyes closed, face relaxed. No, Pete, come on. Don’t do this. 

With trembling hands, Tony cups Peter’s cold face and connects their foreheads. He can hear his own sobbing and sniffling in the background, but all he can really focus on is Peter’s breath against his face, the pale skin and whispering heartbeat. 

“I love you.” He murmurs against Peter’s faded lips, a quiet secret for them alone as Peter exhales his last bit of life. I love you.