Bless The Broken Road

Lover's Spat

"I wish to be alone with the patient," the voice of the Doctor said, his heavy Russian accent cutting into Peter's brain. He wasn't sure if this was real or not but Peter felt uncomfortable and scared as the man with the voice stepped closer.

Out of hooded eyes, Peter could make out a man with a square face and rugged skin dressed in Doctor clothes. His hair was a thin blonde, looking more white in the harsh hospital lights. The sound of the door opening and closing made Peter aware he was alone with this guy.

"Let's do some tests, shall we?" The man hummed to himself, rattling around as he picked up what he needed. Peter's head hurt as he watched with bleary eyes as the man picked up a large needle and a vial. There was something familiar about his voice, something about the way his accent grated on Peter's skin until all the hairs were standing up.

Memories of jumbled words, thick accents and a tight grip on his arm flooded his brain but all answers left the second the Doctor jabbed a needle into Peter's arm. The kid whimpered, resulting in the Doctor to shush him harshly, no sympathy in his voice as his arm grabbed on to Peter's and the small vial became filled with Peter's blood.

It was like scratching at the surface of an answer Peter knew, the words were on the tip of his tongue but the letters were all mixed and lost. Peter's skin felt clammy and hot, his mind switching off for a second as he felt the needle get pulled out. The Doctor left as if he hadn't even been there.

Peter fell back asleep, the memory mixing with other nightmares until he wasn't sure if it had been real or not.

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The journey back to New York had to of been the worst of Tony's life. The entire time he'd been pacing the length of the jet, despite the flight attendants asking multiple times for him to sit down when they landed, his terror and anxiety bubbling up into a restlessness that made his hands shake and his legs push on forward. Tony's mind kept going around the 'what ifs' and the worst possible scenarios, merging into this one nightmare that always ended with a child's dead body and Tony crying himself into a stupor.

He shook his head as his non-Happy driver (his favourite forehead of security was still in Malibu just like where Tony should've been) sped through the streets to the hospital. On Tony's orders, he came to a screeching halt outside the front doors, the billionaire's feet already touching the pavement before the car had even properly stopped.

All Tony could think was Peter, Peter, Peter; the boy's face was all he could see each time he blinked and something that felt like a deep sense of loss was clawing at Tony's chest each time he is mind came back to the what ifs. He hadn't even stopped to call Bruce or any of the others since the plane landed, the fear of a sad voice speaking down the line, telling him it had been too late scaring him out of reaching out.

The nurse looked up in alarm as a disheveled Tony Stark, his eyes wide and hair a mess from running his hand through it a million times, slammed into the reception desk. To someone who didn't have kids, Tony would just look like a madman who needed to calm down but to a parent, they would easily be able to recognise the universal look of terror when their child's safety is threatened.

"My son!" Tony yelled at the poor nurse, her green eyes widening even more as she was taken aback at his abruptness. "My son was brought in here a few hours ago! Peter Stark!" He was sure half of what he was saying was unintelligible but the burning desire to see Peter was growing every second and it physically hurt being so close to his son and not being able to see him.

"Sir, i'm going to have to ask that you lower your voice," the nurse, in her defence, stayed strong when Tony settled her with a glare.

"How dare you—"