Spider-Son & Iron Dad one shots

It's War, My Friend

⚠️TW: panic attacks/ptsd⚠️

a/n: so,,, hi haven't uploaded in a bit. I've been working on some other non-marvel related projects and also just been like,, going through itTM so yes sorry for the delayed oneshots, I know it's been a while

Explosions rattled through his chest as he swung through a dusky sky, and they were louder than the blood pounding from his heart into his ears. People all over were screaming their war cries, and Peter couldn't do anything but keep throwing punches.

Punch by punch, seconds passed in a blur as Peter fought to stay alive. A quick breath in, a desperate kick, a quick breath out, run. Repeat. Inhale the smoke, inhale the dust, and don't blink a second too long or he's dead all over again.

He was struggling against the creatures, whatever they were, and he knew that. There were too many. Too many claws, too many scratches, too many gnarling teeth snapping at his face. The guilt wasn't heavy enough to make him choke back the command for instant kill. War did not wait for mercy.

Peter was holding the infinity gauntlet in his arms. He could feel the weight of it, he could feel how heavy it was despite it being nanotech. He could feel how warm it was, radiating with so much pure energy that he would hopefully never see again in his life.

He's never ran so fast.

Another explosion, pounding through his eardrums like he himself had exploded. For a second he thought that he did, only being able to flinch once before he continued his sprint. He kept going though, and his legs were so tired. He did not rest though; every nerve was firing just as fast as the guns on the battlefield.

He felt an overwhelming grief as he swung through the remains of the building, now being trampled and swung over and kicked around like it was nothing. But it was everything. It was the second home he had learned to love, he had learned to be safe in, because this was the place where he remembered Tony's lab to be.

Somewhere very deep in his brain, more likely articulated as a feeling than as a coherent thought, he imagined that they could rebuild the lab after this. That they could heal whatever time had forcibly ripped from them with wrenches and wires, and that whiteboard covered in half-formed equations.

And suddenly, what seemed as quickly as a clock ticks, he looked around and there was only dust. Dust, because enemies were crumbling in front of him and behind him and to the side of him, floating into the air. Dust, because they had won. So why does he feel so empty?

He feels like he's choking. The dust is in his eyes, somehow it got through the mask. He's inhaling it, he can't breathe. And then he sees Tony, pale with his eyes glazed over, and he feels like he has died all over again.

Explosions ring out again. He hears screams, they're right in his ears. He blinks frantically, trying to force air down his throat while the dust is everywhere. The dust is everywhere. Explosions. War. Death. Tony. Dust. Breathe, in, out, kick, punch, breathe—

"Peter!"

Peter throws a punch immediately, his entire body soaked in sweat. He's shivering and shaking and his brain is setting off alarm after alarm telling him to run and fight at the same time.

By some miracle, Ned holds up a pillow in defense just as Peter throws the punch. His fist goes right through the fabric, ripping it in the middle and causing the fluff inside to stick to his sweat covered hand.

"Dude," Ned says quietly, half worried and half shocked.

Peter pulls his hand away and gasps. "Crap."

Ned puts the pillow down and furrows his eyebrows tightly. "Are you okay? That's like, the third night in a row you've had a nightmare."

Peter doesn't respond for a long moment. He runs his hands over his face and through his sweat-soaked hair, which, gross. He wrinkles his nose slightly but manages to focus himself on just breathing.

Breathe in. Slow. There's no need to fight. There's no need to run.

Breathe out. Safe. He's here and he's alive. No more kicks. No more punches.

"How do you know I've had nightmares all week?" Peter finally asks.

"Because you told me," Ned says as if it's the easiest thing in the world. And Peter can't argue with that, so he just nods. "Dude, the last time you've had nightmares this bad was after Ben. Shouldn't you talk to somebody?"

"I'm talking to you." Peter looks up and reaches over, grabbing a piece of licorice from the open bag across from them.

"Peter," Ned scolds lightly, giving an eye roll. "Fine. What was your nightmare about, then?"

And just like that, it was like they were thirteen again. Peter got strangely quiet and he bit at his nails, thinking carefully about what he was going to say, because he knew that now would be the time to talk.

"It was like the final battle," he says. "But nothing was... It didn't feel real. It didn't feel like a dream either."

Ned, just like when they were younger—he listened. He stayed quiet, nodding every once in a while, and he listened to every word Peter spoke.

"I heard a lot of explosions. Like the kind you hear in war movies and stuff. And I saw—I saw Mr. Stark."

Ned frowns at him. "Peter..."

Peter shakes his head. "It's fine. I'm fine, I just— Rough way to wake up."

They could talk more about his nightmare. They could talk about how Peter shouldn't have had to fight. They could talk about how Tony is in a better place now, or how much Tony cared about him. They could talk about how Tony saved the world for his son.

But Peter has heard it all before, and Ned knows that it isn't what he needs. Instead, Ned puts a hand on his shoulder and just says, "how about we watch a movie?"

Somehow, it's all that he needs.