A Stark Contrast To The Expected

Chapter Three

A/N: I'm just going to keep repeating this for every chapter honestly LMAO. This is another fanfic I wrote in late 2017, when I was 17-years-old, and is actually my very first IronDad fanfiction ever 😂 So yeah, as I said before, please go easy on me with the characterizations and stuff, I didn't really know what I was doing back then.

Because this was my first ever IronDad fanfiction, Tony is super duper overprotective and Peter acts a lot younger than he really is 😅. I honestly didn't have the heart (or energy) to go back through this whole 5-chaptered fanfic and fix everything, so I hope you enjoy a glimpse into where my writing talent was 3+ years-ago lol.

As always, thank you so much for the support and love and I hope you enjoy this story! 🥰

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

THIS IS NOT STARKER.

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If it wasn't for the complete and utter terror freezing the blood in his veins, Peter could have called the flames beautiful.

They rose and fell with grace and accuracy, almost like a dancer, surging forward a few inches, before dropping back, as though unsure. Black smoke, as thick as tar and just as dark, spills from the peaks of the heated mountains, crossing the room on an invisible breeze, and fogging in front of their faces, making it hard to breathe. The orange light illuminating from the swaying towers casts flickering shadows on the walls, his father's wide eyes reflecting the flames as he tightens his hold on Peter.

"Dad-" pausing to cough as he inhales a lung full of smoke, the teen squints against the tears of pain and fear as he looks up, "Daddy, what are we going to do?"

"I-I don't know, sweetheart." Tony whispers, voice cracking.

Stifling a sob, Peter buries his face against his father's chest, the arc reactor a soft blue glow against his cheek, trying to block the heat of the fire and the smoke that begins to restrict his breathing. Tony just pulls him even closer, settling the sniffling boy in his lap, farthest away from the unbearable heat. 

Lifting his head, the billionaire looks all around the small room, taking in each corner and nearly crying in relief when he finds it.

A tiny enclave, about 6-feet off the ground, barely big enough for a person to stand on, sits against the right corner. It might have once been a sort of shelf, but after many years of disuse, rust and mildew had accumulated on the top, resulting in a sickening green layer of grime. 

Looking back at the slowly approaching flames, Tony gently pries his child's face away from his chest, his heart breaking at the sight of the tears falling from his doe eyes.

Pointing with one slightly trembling hand, the older Stark makes sure to keep his voice steady and soothing. "Alright, Peter. You see that ledge over there? I'm going to need you to climb up there and stay put, okay?"

The teenager blinks a few times, reaching up to grasp at his dad's shirt collar when the words register. He shakes his head quickly, the movement panicked and hysterical as he sobs.

"No! Wh-what about you?"

"I will be fine, baby. I need you to --"

Standing up suddenly, the teenager shakes in a mixture of rage and fear. Reaching out to grab at Tony's hands, he pulls them toward himself, interlocking their fingers and tightening his grip.

"N-no, I need you to trust me! I can lift us both up there, away from the fire. Just please --" Peter breaks off with a sob, the smoke sticky as it settles across his dry tongue.