The Chilling Realities Of Hunting And Being Hunted

All The Trees Are Dead (Just Like Our Hopes)

NEW 2020 EDIT: THIS IS NOT STARKER.

The snow is soft under Tony's feet, twinkling powder that muffles his steps as he huffs.

His breath wraps around both him and Peter, his child's pale face peaking out from under Tony's chin, glowing in the bare light of the moon. All around them the woods are silent and still. Dead trees, snow hanging off their branches like chilling white scarves, stand tall and allusive against the backdrop of darkness.

"C-can you h-hear it, Pete?" He asks his son for the millionth time, voice shaking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. "Is-is it still behind us?"

But Peter shakes his head, shivers racking his body and Tony feels a hot flash of guilt cut through the chill gripping his bones. Lifting the boy higher into his arms, the genius presses a cold kiss against his forehead, feeling the reassuring puffs of his son's exhales against his cheeks. Pushing Peter's hat further down his head, Tony smiles softly, twisting an ice layered curl between his numb fingers.

He stalls suddenly, blinking away sudden stinging tears of panic and desperation, and turns his attention back to slowly continuing to climb the steepening hill.

He is angry.

So fucking angry at himself. How could he ever be so stupid, so careless to run away from the car. The only thing that was keeping him and Peter relatively warm and safe. The only thing keeping his son from fucking freezing to death. Now here they are, stumbling through the woods, guided only by the patchy spots of silver moonlight and the glow of the Arc Reactor.

Tony can't stop himself from looking around, his head and eyes snapping to the side, the tree's surrounding them turning taller and more sinister every second, towering above the shivering father and son as they move. Looking behind them every couple of seconds, heart skipping a beat when his gaze finds the darkness between the faded light, the genius half expects to see the figure appear and snatch them up.

But it never does.

So they walk. And walk. And walk and walk and walk. Tony walks so far his legs grow stiff and his tracks travel back, sinking deeper so that he can't see the end. Peter grips him all through the movement, his eyes blinking lazily as his body slowly grows colder under Tony's touch.

They need to find shelter. Soon.

"Dad?" Peter's voice floats up, drifting on the stale wind as it blows across their faces.

Tony hums in affirmation, pulling his child's jacket up further against his thin neck as goosebumps rise against the boy's pale skin. He has contemplated setting Peter down but decided against it the second the spidering's legs had started to buckle, instead letting Peter curl up against his chest using his spider powers, cuddled between both his and his father's winter coats.

"M-maybe I could climb a-a tree and see w-where we are?'

The genius is so put off that he stops completely, sucking in a sharp breath as his eyes snap to his son's face. Reaching around, Tony wraps himself around Peter, his insides churning at the very thought, the very impication, that he would ever allow his child out of his arms and out of his sight for even a second.

His voice, when he speaks, is final. "No."

Out of the corner of his eye, when the superhero forces his gaze away from Peter's precious face to stare into the gloom around them, he can see that his son wants to argue, can see the spark of his normal self light beneath his chilled exterior, but it is gone almost as soon as it appears. Sucked back into the hollow of his throat and dried in the almost painful air. His eyes, having started to slip shut once more, fly open and he blinks rapidly, whites glowing as he stares behind them, a shudder ranking his body in goosebumps, legs knocking against Tony's hips.