Prompt by @anonymous: Hey you should write a drabble where Peter and Tony get into a huge argument and Peter storms out, only to be hurt or kidnapped or someyhing and when Tony comes to save him he starts apologizing either because he is dying, hurt, or at gunpoint Idk but please, if you take requests, it doesn't have to be long
**TRIGGER WARNING FOR BLOOD, ATTEMPTED ROBBERY AND STAB WOUNDS**
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By the time Peter has swung out of the Tower, he already regrets his decision.
Him and Tony had fought. Sure, they argue all the time, bickering over what movie they watch or music they listen to in the Lab. Those are normal fights, things they both father and son brush off after a few hours.
This time, however, Peter knows he really fucked up.
Big time.
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"I'm not letting up about this, Peter!" Tony had shouted, pointing with a shaking hand in the direction of the letter the boy had thrown on the coffee table. "This is the third time this week I've gotten a notice about you getting into fights at school!"
Peter had felt his face heat up, his embarrassment fueling the anger pooling in his gut.
"If you would just listen to me," He spit out, clenching his fists and ignoring the sharp spikes of pain as his nails dig into his palms."It wasn't my fault! Flash was saying mean things and--"
"And you reacted with violence instead of coming to me for help."
Looking away from his father's pointed gaze, the boy blinks away the frustrated tears that made his eyes sting. Swallowing, he crosses his arms over his chest.
"I-I didn't want to bother you with that!" Hating how his voice cracks, the spidering clenches his jaw. "I'm not some 5-year-old baby that needs to run to his dad for everything!"
"You do when it's making you upset." Tony seems to swallow down his own anger, taking a step forward. "Not to mention, I thought I already talked to this little bastard. He promised to stop hurting you! Don't worry, buddy, I'm gonna go up to your school again tomorrow and--"
"No!" Holding up his hand, Peter's head snaps up from where he was glaring at the floor. "Why can't you just mind your own business for once?"
"Excuse me?" Hands twitching, the genius shifts. "I will not 'mind my own business' when it involves my son getting fucking black eyes at school by a dickwad of a kid. Especially when I've told you to come to me if you need help!"
Peter swallows, reaching up to wipe away at his tears and pretends not to notice how Tony's whole face seems to crack at the seams.
"He was saying stuff about Ned." Peter whispers. "And I wasn't about to stand around and let that-that asshole do that, not to my best friend."
Tony walks over and starts to put his hand on Peter's shoulder, his eyes softening. "I know, kiddo, and I'm so sorry. I'm going to go up there and talk with your principle, see if we can get Flash expelled for--"
Peter wrenches his arms away, not sure where this anger is coming from but letting it swallow him whole. He sees, out of the corner of his eyes, his dad jerk back, as though Peter had slapped him.
The boy has to swallow back a sob.
It has not been a great week and this is just the icing on top of the shitty cake.
He can't take anymore.
He can't.
"I don't want that." Peter hisses, turning around and stomping towards the elevator. Tony doesn't even seem to bother to follow. "I don't want you to talk to anyone for me. You couldn't even talk to the Avengers and see where that got you."
Stepping into the elevator, Peter turns around and stares at the floor, sure if he would look up and see the heartbroken look on his father's face then he would surely burst into sobs.
"You ruin everything." The spiderling says quietly, positive Tony heard by the sharp inhale the man makes. Peter wraps his arms around himself. "Everything."
He waits, feeling his chest ache, for the doors to close before letting the bitter tears fall.
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That was around 30 minutes ago and Peter has been swinging through the city ever since.
The wind whips around him, shivering ranking his body as he flies through the air. His own horrible, cruel words echo in his ears, his chest jumping at each dry sob that crawls up his sore throat.
You ruin everything.
That's not true and Peter knows it. He doesn't know why he said it, why he got so angry in the first place. Tony had just wanted to help him, make sure that he doesn't get hurt and Peter had fucking pushed him away.
You ruin everything.
No, it wasn't his dad that ruined things. It was Peter.
It was all his fault and now Tony is upset and alone in that big penthouse and It's all Peter's fault.
"Incoming call from Tony Star--"
"Karen, mute."
Sighing, the boy swings sharply to the right and settles on top of an apartment building. The New York skyline twinkles in the distance, the lights gleaming and the cars zooming below like little electric ants.
Peter, taking a deep breath, shoots a web back toward home, intent on sitting down with his dad and telling the man how fucking sorry he is. He barely makes it a step away, however, when a scream from below causes him to startle.
Immediately turning around, the teenager swings into a cramped ally, landing a few feet away from the apparent robber and rolling to a stop.
The man, dressed head to toe in black, has a woman cornered, pointing a gun at her and screaming something in another language. The woman, makeup and tears streaming down her face, has her pulse held out to the man.
"Please." She sobs, shaking. "Please just take my money. Don't shoot me, please."
Peter feels a different sort of anger fill his body and he is firing a web before he even registers the action, his palm stinging at the gun slaps into it. The gunman, his eyes widening behind his mask, turns away from the woman to face Peter.
"You have to be above the age of never to play with a gun, my dude." Peter says, motioning with his head for the woman to get up and run, which she does with a seres of grateful and frantic nods. "And didn't your mother ever tell you to be nice to girls?"
The robber pulls out a knife without a word and charges. Peter, quickly webbing the gun to the brick wall a few feet away, just out of the way of the first swing, the knife reflecting the dim lights around them.
"Whoah, there, dude." Peter says, climbing up the wall and jumping above the guy. "Watch where you point that thing!"
They fight for a few more seconds, going back and forth, until finally, just before Peter webs up the robber, the man gets a lucky shot.
The knife, sailing through the air, digs into Peter's left arm, impaling him through the suit.
Peter, his eyes widening as his arm explodes with a burning pain, cries out, falling to his knees with the knife laying in a bloody heap next to him. The robber doesn't even hesitate before taking off into a dead sprint once Peter doesn't get up, his boots slapping against the ground.
Then the spiderling is alone, his blood pooling on the cold concrete.
"Peter," Karen's soft voice says in his ear and the boy groans. "It would appear that you have suffered a major puncture wound. Would you like me to contact Tony Stark?"
And at first Peter shakes his head.
But then his eyes start to blur and the pain escalates, his whole arm throbbing in time with his frantic beating heart.
You ruin everything.
Well, Peter is about to prove that statement completely wrong.
"Yes," He finally gasps out, feeling more blood drip down his arm. "Yes, please call him. Please."
"Yes, Peter."
The phone only rings for a second before Tony picks up, his voice breathless and smothered in worry. Peter feels as sharp spike of guilt, as painful as his stab wound, lodge itself in his gut.
"Oh my god," Tony says, the relief in his voice the final thing that breaks though Peter's carefully constructed walls. "Holy fuck, Peter, wher--?"
But the teenager cuts him off, his voice cracking in a sob. "Dad, I got-got stabbed and I-I need help."
There is a beat of silence before Tony seems to jump up and run outside, the whirling of the iron man suit as it surrounds him crackling into the speaker. "Okay, alright, bambino, I'm on my way, okay?"
Shifting on the asphalt, Peter hesitantly reaches up to lightly touch at the cut and hisses at the agony that flares up, his tears spilling down his cheeks.
"It hurts." He whines, not caring how young he sounds. "Daddy, it burns."
"I know, kiddo, I know. Just hold on. I'll be there in--" Silence as Tony checks with Friday. "--5 minutes. Can you hang on for me, buddy?"
Peter chokes down another sob. "Y-Yes."
"Good, baby. I'm almost there."
Peter rests his head on his good arm, trying to stall the tears that continue to leak from his burning eyes. Suddenly, he gasps, jolting up even through his father isn't physically there.
Tony's voice this time is more panicked. "What's wrong?"
"I--" Peter begins, choking on the words. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dad. I didn't mean what I said before and I wish we never started fighting and you don't ruin everything and I-I was so wrong and I'm so sorry--"
"Hey," Tony coos, voice so soft and tender that it makes Peter's chest ache. "It's okay, il mio cuore, it's alright. Shh, shh. I'm not mad, buddy, I promise. Please calm down, I'm gonna be there in a few seconds, shh."
True to his words, the Iron Man suit lands next to the trembling boy not even a minute later, his father stumbling out as soon as he is on the ground.
"Peter," Tony whispers, his voice wrecked and the spiderling can only imagine what he must look like, all bloody and beat up. "Oh, il mio bambino, il mio piccolo."
Falling to his knees, the genius gently wraps his arms around his son, pulling off Peter's mask with one hand. His dark eyes study Peter's wet and red face as the young Stark lets out a small cry of pain.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Shh, hold on, kiddie, I'm gonna get you home."
Calling the suit closer, Tony takes a second to press a firm kiss against Peter's temple, combing his fingers through the soft curls at the base of the boy's neck, before stepping into the metal. Scooping Peter up, resting the boy's head against his chest, the man begins their slow track back to the Tower.
Nuzzling closer to the warmth of the Iron Man suit, Peter feels his father clutch him tighter, careful of his throbbing arm. Faintly, barely audible through the whirl of the machines, Peter thinks he can hear the sound of his dad's heart beating.
And flying through the chilly night air, his arm roaring in pain and leaking blood, the wind clogging his ears, Peter has never felt quite so loved.