The Chilling Realities Of Hunting And Being Hunted

Snow And Ice (Makes Everything Not So Nice)

I hope you all enjoy Chapter 2 and as always, thank you for reading! :D

NEW 2020 EDIT: THIS IS NOT STARKER.

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No matter how much Tony wants to get the hell away from those footprints, he knows that he can't, at least not right now.

When he finally staggers back into the car, finally gets his racing heart and heavy breathing under a little bit of control, Peter is sheet white, his small hands immediately reaching out and squeezing Tony's shirt sleeve so hard the fabric nearly rips in half.

"D-Dad?" His voice is shaking, shuddering in a way Tony never wants to hear. "What's wrong? Can we move at all?"

The Billionaire takes a deep breath, slapping on a reassuring smile even as his ears strain for a hint of movement from outside, his own hands, gauntlet extinguished but not put away, shaking as he lifts up the middle consul. He tugs his son against his side, as much to comfort the boy as to protect him against a sudden attack from whoever — or whatever — is lurking deep in the surrounding darkness.

"Not exactly, kiddo." Tony says softly, reaching up to run his fingers through his child's hair, the curls slightly damp. "We might be here for a while."

Peter is quiet for a few minutes, his thin frame shuddering a few times under his father's hold as the man adjusts the Heater. His grip tightens a little as the storm kicks up around them, shaking the frame of the car and throwing up bellows of snow.

"What did you see, Dad?"

The question is so quiet, whispered in a way that Tony isn't sure if his son even spoke, the only indication being the way Peter glances up at him through the blue tinged darkness, his eyes bright with barely held back fear.

"Dad?" The boy repeats when all Tony does is close his eyes, the hand that was running down Peter's back raising up and squeezing the bridge of his nose, the genius feeling a headache starting to push against his temples. "What did you—?"

The genius cuts him off, his tone desperately grasping at an even mixture of faux reassurance and all too real frustration. "Nothing Peter, okay? Just some ice, it stuck to the wheels and now we can't move."

Suddenly his son sits up, his eyes blazing a fierce, panicked anger. "Don't-don't lie to me, I'm not a little kid anymore!"

Tony grits his teeth, hooking his fingers onto Peter's arms and forcing the boy still when he attempts to scoot back. "P-Peter—stay still, okay? Just-just stop please—"

"No! Not until you tell me what's really going on." The teen's voice catches on a sob, his body suddenly sagging against Tony's. "Please Dad, please don't leave me in the dark."

Tony feels his own cry travel up his throat and he swallows down acidic bile. His eyes, however, continue to shift around them, straining to catch a glimpse of the washed out world beyond the fogged windows.

"The—" Pausing to clear his throat, the billionaire continues, his voice raspy with dread. "—the tires were slashed. All four of them."

Peter gasps from under him, his shaking increasing slightly as he seems to fight to keep his breathing even. "M-maybe we just ran over something, I mean, with this storm—"

Tony hates himself when he has to cut his son off, has to tear the last shred of hope from under the boy. "No, no buddy. That wasn't all I saw. . . "

The man can't continue, can't force the reality of what is outside because when he does, when he speaks of the horror he can feel building up in his chest, it becomes real.