Day 78
His mentor crumpled to the ground before him with a groan of pain, the gun shot still reverberated through the air. Peter stood frozen in shock. For the first time since he had been bit by the spider someone had acted faster than his spider senses, and that person was his father. The weak cough snapped Peter out his frozen panic and back into reality. Peter sank to his knees next to still mentor. He reached a quivering hand to touch the man's shoulder, but stopped.
What if he didn't respond? What if he turned him over and he bore the same blank stare as Uncle Ben. What if he was dead?
Red slipped across the smooth tile floor toward Peter's knees. He gulped and despite himself he rolled his father over.
Deep evil red was spilling across the man's white button down.
"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark please no! Oh please no!" Peter cried as he ran his hands desperately over his father's still chest. Where was it coming from? Where was it coming from?! Where?!Where?! Where?!! Hot sticky blood pooled around Peter's fingers as he searched. He had to make it stop. Make it go away. STOP! STOP! STOP! It wouldn't stop.
"Mr. Stark wake up!"
He didn't respond. He didn't move.
Peter needed to make him wake up. He had to move. He had to wake up. He needed to. Peter needed him to wake up. He needed the hot thick red to stop spilling between his fingers.
"STOP! PLEASE STOP! STOP BLEEDING!!" Peter screamed as he pushed his jacket over where he thought the wound was, but there was too much red to tell. Peter screamed louder. He didn't form real words, he just screamed. Hot tears stung his cheeks as he pulled his father's limp body into his arms. His lonely screams echoed down the empty halls of the Stark Industries building.
Peter clung onto his mentor's body, and hugged him close. He didn't care that the blood was leaking across him. He just clung onto him like the force of his hug would force the man to stay with him, he buried his face in the mechanic’s form and his screams choked away into long rechid sobs. The smell of aftershave and oil on his father was drown out by the sour metallic stink of blood.
"STOP!" Peter wailed into the man's shoulder, "Don't die! Please! don't die!"
New bouts of sobs tore through Peter as he held his father's body in his arms.
"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!" Peter didn't know who he was screaming to. There was no one on this floor of the building. They were completely alone.
A quiet thump echoed through the man, and beat through his body. It was so faint that at first Peter thought he had imagined it, because how could it be real? Tony had taken a bullet to the chest... he had taken the bullet for Peter, a bullet that was meant to kill him. All of Peter's fathers left him. How could it be real?
But then there was another one. It was real. He hadn't imagined it that time. The heart beat was there. His father still had a chance.
Peter clutched Tony's limp form in his arms and stood up; holding his father close to him he took off at the fastest speed he could possibly muster. He had to get him downstairs. They could save him. They could call for help. They could save him. He wouldn't die. They could save him. They had to save him. They had to.
"HELP!" Peter screamed as he exploded out of the stairwell into the lobby. He could feel hot sticky blood slugging its way down his arms and body. Every second his father grew so much closer to death. There was to much blood.
It was Happy who made it to Peter first.
"Son of a bitch!" The man hissed, "Clear out of the way!"
Peter felt a firm hand guiding him. He didn't know what was happening, he just knew he couldn't let Tony go, he had to make him stay.
Peter didn't remember how he got into the back of the car speeding through the streets of New York blowing its horn. He didn't particularly care either. He just clung onto his father tried to will him to stay.
"Somebody help!" Happy was yelling beside him as they exploded through the doors of the ER, "We've got a gunshot wound to the chest!"
"Set him down on here," A nurse ordered. Peter hesitated. He didn't want to let him go. He wanted to keep him with him.
"Kid now!" Happy's bark sprang into his jumbled thoughts. Tony was almost forcibly taken from his arms. They couldn't take him! He couldn't leave! He had to stay. Peter couldn't let him go. He couldn't lose another father.
"No!" Peter screamed and tried to leap toward the stretcher moving out of his sight. A strong arm reached out and held him back.
"NO! No! I need to be with him!" Peter screamed and threw himself against the arm holding him back.
"Kid! Kid! he'll be fine! He'll be fine," Peter faught as Happy pulled him into a hug, "He'll be fine."
Peter's struggle to get away from the hug. His father needed a him.
"I need to be with him!" Peter wailed, but slowly quit struggling and leaned farther into the hug. "He can't die..."
"Let's go sit down," Happy guided Peter over to the chairs. Peter sank into one of the seats, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing in as the adrenaline pumping through his veins eddied away.
He should have acted faster. Peter banged his head against the wall behind him. His senses should seen the danger coming long before Tony stepped in front of the shooter. This as his fault. He should have stopped it... he could have stopped it. Just like he could have stopped it when his lost his last father figure. Maybe he should just stop trying to find a father. Maybe he should stop trying to have family. Something always happened to them, and it was always his fault. They always left him and the only person he could blame was himself. He blamed himself for not being fast enough... not an enough. He was never enough. He always let them die.
Happy got up- probably to call Pepper.
Peter couldn't bare to sit an wait for the bad news that he knew the doctor would bring. He couldn't bare to sit and be told that he had lost another father and that it was his fault. So he didn't. He got up, and he left.
Tony opened his eyes and found himself lying in an all to familiar hospital bed, Pepper sat beside him with his hand clutched in hers.
"Where's the kid?" Tony's throat is scraped as he spoke.
Pepper sighed sadly.
"Pepper? Is Peter okay?!" Tony demanded trying to sit up more. Something had happened to Peter. Tony had failed. He had taken the bullet fo his son, the man had shot the kid anyway. The kid was gone. More panic burst through Tony as he searched his wife's gaze.
“I think so, Happy said he left shortly after you were taken to surgery,” Pepper said easing Tony back down into a laying down position.
“Why’d he leave?” Tony had been expecting the kid’s face to be the first thing he saw when he woke up.
“Don’t know, but Happy and Rhodey are both out looking for him,” Pepper explained. He tried to sit up again. He needed to find his kid. The boy was out there somewhere, and he needed him back. He needed him here. He needed to know he was safe. The bullet that just been removed from his chest had been meant for Peter. What if the shooter was still after Peter? Worse yet, what if Peter had gone after the shooter? Alone…
“Tony, quit trying to sit up!” Pepper stopped him a second time, “You are going to tear a stitch.”
“I’ll be fine,” Tony brushed her arm away. He had to find Peter.
“Tony,” Pepper’s voice was authoritative and shrill. There was fear in her tone, “you need to lay down and rest. You lost close to two quarts of blood.”
Tony looked at her in surprise.
“But-”
“No buts Tony. You are staying,” Pepper’s voice shook.
“But I have to-”
“You have to rest. Peter will be fine.”
“Pepper I-”
“No,” Pepper’s tone was almost a shout, “Tony. You need to stay right here. They lost you on the table twice. You are going to sit right here in bed and get better.”
Her words soaked in. Two quarts of blood. He he had lost two quarts of blood. His heart had stopped twice during surgery. If he had been a second later it would have been Peter, and maybe the kid wouldn’t have made it. His kid had almost died.
Tony was pulled out of his restful slumber by the door creaking open. Standing in the doorway was his son. Peter was safe. He was okay. A smile spread across Tony’s face. He hadn’t failed his kid.