Spider-Son & Iron Dad one shots

Secret For The Mad

a/n: this takes place just after endgame...but tony stark lives. It's kind of sad for a little while though, so please take care of yourself and don't read if you aren't ready --also unrelated but i really wanted to put shawarma in the title of this fic

(inspired by a dodie clark song! the name is the title, I suggest everyone listen to it, it feels like a hug when you are sad)

The air felt sweet today, easing through the open windows of the Parker's apartment in a tranquil fashion. It was the type of day where the sun shone just slightly through white puffy clouds, and the sky was a baby blue that came right out of a Bob Ross paint set.

All things considered, Peter really didn't have a reason to be feeling this way. Most of the time, he was the person to be happy with the little things. The way little kids look at him when he swings over the city, crunchy leaves in the fall, the first flower blooming in Central Park in the spring--Even things such as seeing the Iron Spider suit charging in his room used to make his chest swell with pride.

Now, as he's sitting on his bed and staring at the armour, and he just plainly feels empty.

Peter doesn't remember the final battle against him. He vaguely remembers a bright flash of white, seeing Tony, being pulled away...He remembers the whispers the most clearly. The whispers that came from Pepper when they all thought that it was goodbye. He couldn't ever forget that. Then he remembers being in a hospital, unshowered with blood still caked on his face as he went to prove to himself that Tony in fact survived.

(The months following the battle had been slow and painful. Peter and May had to build their lives again from the pieces that Tony had managed to salvage, such as their furniture, personal memories, etc. It was hard, and things were still difficult to manage sometimes. Many nights were spent holding each other and crying on the floor, with May whispering: "I promise you, it'll all make sense again." It became a mantra when things were tough.)

It's been a year now, and Peter and Tony are still very close. They had both lost each other, and this was the only thing they could fall to at times. Nobody would understand the pain that Tony felt when he lost his pseudo-son, and nobody would understand the pain Peter felt seeing, essentially, his dad die for the third time in his life. But, as usual, Peter and Tony understood each other, and it hurt too much for them to just pull away from the other's life.

Peter usually called Tony when he felt like the colours were dimmer and his heart stopped to sing about the little things, but today he was too tired to pick up the phone. He just sat on his bed, in the still-unfamiliar room, and stared at the suit.

He watched as the red and gold swirled around in the glass container, and a shiver ran down his spine. The feeling of dread washes over him. The panic. The fear. The whispers. It overpowers the numbness, and Peter finally gets out of his bed before it completely sends him into a panic attack.

He walks down the hall, watching his shadow dance with the lighting on the floor. Footsteps are heard just outside of the front door. Peter stops completely, waiting for the steps to pass. They don't.

There's a knock at the door.

Peter slowly walks forward, and then hears a familiar heartbeat and opens the door, relief flowing through him. "Hey, Mr. Stark, what are you doing here? I was just about to call you."

Tony shrugs and makes his way inside. "Just checking up on you. I saw you haven't been going on patrols as often."

"You don't have to worry about me," Peter says and then pauses. Tony just gives him a look. "That's not what I meant. I mean that it isn't really a big problem, I've just been busy with other stuff..."