Spider-Son & Iron Dad one shots

Some Nights

a/n: i was going to not upload this one but I just really like the vibe it gives so here's a short lil fic about Peter's senses at the end of patrol

On quiet nights, Peter liked to find a nice place in the city and just sit. He breathes in the chilled air, watching the lights of the distant buildings sparkle and shift. He would take off the gloves of the suit, letting his hands dig into the cement and gravel of the rooftop.

Sometimes he sat on the tallest building, watching the people that he loved to protect pass underneath him. Observing quietly as New York worked in the twilight of day.

He breathed in, deeply, listening to everything around him. The buzzing of electricity, humming and thrumming low in his ears. The incoherent conversations of civilians, talking about struggles, hobbies, and their work, which cut in and out. Sometimes if he was lucky he would hear a mother singing lullabies to her child, which he would close his eyes to pay the utmost attention to.

All of these sounds were faint, like a light sketch on a page or hearing a conversation whilst half-asleep. Peter often loved sitting up in the taller buildings when he was stressed, letting the sounds wash over him comfortably so his shoulders could sag and he could breathe, finally.

Sometimes he would sit on the shorter buildings, giving him the ability to soak in the city's more discreet beauties. Such as the way old couples would dance quietly outside their house, soft generational music playing on stereos that set still on their stairs. The way small-time store owners would close up their worn shop, and then go to sit with a cigarette outside their porch. Everyone in this city had their own mission, even if it was as simple as feeding the birds.

Other nights weren't as quiet.

Peter would fight hard, leaving stains of blood, sweat and tears in the mask of his suit. He worked hard because there were kids just like him out there who needed something to hope for, something to hold on to when their life looked lack of all light.

He would fight until his muscles, aching and burning, screamed with agonizing pain every time he moved. He would fight until he had to pull his mask up to spit out the blood from biting on his tongue during a takedown. He would fight until he was starving by the end of the night, and if he got lucky, then a local would give him free food from their cart or food truck.

He would sit on one of those rooftops and bite into a churro, letting iron mix with sugar and cinnamon on his tongue. Maybe he would get pizza. Cheese, olives, pepperoni, peppers—his favourite has changed over the years, being persuaded by the kindness of whoever would give him a slice.

Peter saw, heard, touched, tasted, and loved so much of his city. On better days, days where his heart beat quieter and his breath came easier—he couldn't think of a better way to live.

When the moon finally comes up over the building stretched closest to the sky, signaling Peter's quiet return to the warm home that he loved even more, he stood easily, knowing that he would be back to a rooftop soon.

Very soon.