Here’s my Secret Santa gift for @wokeupinawalnut! Irondad fluff with a tiny bit of angst (or maybe whump, I can never tell the difference haha). Sorry it’s a little late. I hope your holidays were relaxing and you have a good new year!! Thank you to @startrekkingaroundasgard for hosting MCU Secret Santa this year!!!
“Hmm?” Tony didn’t even look up from the complex mathematical equation in front of him that demanded to be solved. The eraser of his pencil bounced against his paper, providing a steady rhythm for his thoughts to follow like the beat behind a melody.
“So, uh, something kind of happened,” Peter started, small and tentative. “Nothing super bad, I swear, nothing you have to, like, freak out about.”
Tony nodded absently. “Uh huh.”
“It’s really minor, not even a big deal—I’m probably just overreacting, honestly, ‘cause you know how I get sometimes, especially with this kind of stuff, I just blow everything out of proportion all the time—”
Peter was rambling again. Tony was used to it. One of the only times he was ever silent was when they would sit together in Tony’s lab at the compound upstate, listening to the gentle whir of machinery as Peter completed his homework and Tony breezed through the differential equations and matrices he liked to do for fun. Really, was String Theory supposed to be hard?
Leaning back into the dull green cushions of the couch, Tony chewed his bottom lip between his teeth. He squinted at the paper and folder balanced precariously on his right thigh, half illuminated by the sunlight filtering in through the open window. He was missing something, something big. A variable or an exponent, maybe.
“—that was actually funny, though, because I totally scared the crap out of Aunt May, you should have seen her face!”
He sucked in a sharp breath, a hiss between his teeth.
“You okay, kid?” Tony asked, eyes roving over the lines of calculations that seemed to be laughing at him, mocking his inability to solve them.
“Oh, yeah, totally, that’s just, ah—what I wanted to tell you,” Peter said, the edges of his voice strained. “Like I said, though, it’s not super serious, but maybe you can take a look at it?”
Tony hummed. “Sure, give me two minutes. I’m about to make Rhodey pee his pants. He’s been trying to solve this thing forever and keeps insisting that he’s close. It’s been six years, Rhodey, sure you are.” And… bingo. He had the answer. Tony smirked, graphite marking the white of the paper as he muttered, “Sorry, Honeybear, looks like I win this time.”
Peter was uncharacteristically quiet for a second, his exhales heavy and labored against the gentle scratches of Tony’s pencil.
“I really need you to look.”
Tony’s head whipped to the side so fast his neck popped, pencil dangling precariously from his fingers. He didn’t hear what he thought he just heard, absolutely not. There was no way—
Face pale and ashy, Peter was leaning against the doorway to the living room with his arm pulled tight against his chest. Where his hand curled around his forearm, a dark stain spread out across the sleeve of his jacket, accentuated by the tan material in a way that made Tony sick. A similar stain painted the sweater he was wearing underneath, right in the middle of his stomach.
Tony couldn’t even form words, struck dumb. Until finally he said, rather intelligently, “You what?”
“I, uh, I got shot?” Peter answered, like even he wasn’t entirely sure.
“And you didn’t think to call an ambulance?” Tony yelled.
Peter grimaced and Tony was at his side before he realized he’d gotten up from the couch. As carefully as he could, he pried Peter’s blood-covered fingers off of his arm to take a look at the damage. He tried to push down the anxiety rising in his throat so he wouldn’t scare Peter.
“How the hell did you get shot?” Tony asked, gingerly rotating the boy’s arm.
“Well, I was—ow! —I was on my way to Delmar’s bodega to grab a bite after school, ‘cause you know how I’m always hungry, right, and I was really craving some gummi bears, so I figured I’d stop by instead waiting to ask Aunt May—”
Peter nodded. “Right, sorry. Anyway, there were, um, these guys outside, and they came in and tried to rob the store and I swear I didn’t mean to get involved but they were threatening Mr. Delmar and—”
“It’s okay, bud,” Tony assured him, trying to soothe Peter’s obvious fear. “You did the right thing. That was really brave. Stupid, but brave.” He smiled. “Looks like the bullet nicked your arm, but let’s get you to the hospital, okay?”
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