Summary: aslihan n turgut inspired poison scene gala thing ma bob + someone also requested this but i changed it up a lil bit so i hope u dont mind 
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To say that Peter “Parker” Stark was excited was an understatement. The boy was practically giddy with joy as he followed his dad outside Happy’s limousine and into the city building for what would be the teenager’s first ever gala ever. 

It took Tony some convincing to let him go, as the father knew what happened at these galas and didn’t the most important person in his life to get hurt somehow, but after days of constant pleading, puppy-eyes and a pinky promise to do whatever the older man had said and would stay safe made Tony budge his opinion. 

So there they were, exitting out of the car while his dad spoke lowly cause, well, paparazzi. “Alright kiddo,” he said while putting a hand on his son’s shoulder with a fatherly grin, “This is it.”

Peter beamed as the father and son duo entered the ballroom with tons of people dressed in expensive clothes and jewerly while soft classical music played in the background. “Woah,” said Peter, all of this was so surreal. He wasn’t overly interested in galas, but the fifteen year old did want to see what they were all about. Plus, he’d rather much be with his dad than all alone at the Tower. 

Tony turned to face Peter, “Alright, here’s the deal. You stay with me unless I say otherwise.”

Peter tilted his head, “Otherwise?”

Tony winced through his aviator sunglasses despite being indoors, “I do not need the sharks to look at you like how they look at me. All business,” he made a pun, “They smell one whiff of blood and the next thing you know they’re all on top of you.” Tony also added as he playfully bumped shoulders with Peter, “And they hate how successful we are.”

Peter chuckled, “Of course they do.”

Tony nodded, “Remember the rules?”

Peter nodded, “Yep. No alcohol, obviously but we have to reinforce that. No talking to strangers because that could backfire on us five to ten years later when they come for vengeance. Don’t trust what anyone says besides the people you know. Stay with Dad at all times unless sharkface.”

Tony smirked at Peter’s nickname. “I’d mess with your hair, but seeing it all gelled up like that…”

Peter rolled his eyes, “I hate this gel. You know that. Please do it.”

Tony laughed as he led the pair, “You wish, c’mon.” 

. . .

Currently, Peter “Parker” Stark was seated on a barstool in a crisp tuxedo and slightly gelled hair while humming along to the tune that was playing from somewhere within the gala. His father was about six feet away facing him while he dealt with the so-called “sharks”. 

Peter was glad that he didn’t have to sit with his father, nor did he have any clue how Tony had the patience and will to deal with them. They all looked like literal sharks, with tight pinchy faces and gaudy jewerly that was overkill with either long fancy dresses, or ones that were skimpy making Peter advert his eyes to the ballroom floor. 

Not to mention the way they looked at his father and himself when they walked by them, as if they wanted to tear them apart. 

Peter wondered while flashing his dad a thumbs-up cause it looked like he could really use one, what’s their beef? First they hate us, now they’re trying to get all close with us. Like that song, funny how bitches turn into my fans. Heh.

Not wanting to be anywhere near the toxicity that screamed volumes, Peter decided to sit by the refreshments area, which for galas meant a bar. Not that Peter wanted to be near the stench of alcohol, but the stench was tolerable compared to the sharks that looked like their heads were about to spin. 

Peter was just sitting there minding his own business when the bartender turned to him and asked if he wanted a drink. 

“No thanks,” said Peter, knowing better than to drink at a gala especially when he didn’t know what could be put in a drink. Getting the son of Tony Stark drunk would be a field day for the press. 

“Oh, but I must insist,” said the bartender with a flirtatious wink, “There’s no alcohol, I can tell you’re underage. Please, all the cute boys get this treatment.”

Well that’s uncomfortable. Peter shook his head, “No thank you, I already had a drink before, I’m good.”

And still the bartender persisted, “Please? If I don’t sell enough drinks my boss will fire me and I need this job to take care of my sister. Help a bro out, would’ya?”

Peter caved in, reluctantly accepting the beverage since he didn’t want to mae the bartender feel bad despite the fuzzy feeling coming from his spidey senses. He took a small sip at first and didn’t smell any alcohol so he kept drinking to get the bartender to leave him alone. 

He didn’t know why his spidey senses were tingling to the point where Peter could feel a headache, there wasn’t any alcohol in the drink so what was there to panic or worry about. There couldn’t be any attack since his dad was keeping the A.Is’ scanning the place as well as their location if anyone suspicious was to approach them. So what the heck is going on? 

When Peter stood up, he swore he felt his stomach drop but then immediately recovered afterward so he dismissed the whole thing altogether. He joined his dad’s side, listening to what his father had to say about the sharks. 

At some point during Tony’s rant, his side began to hurt so he unconsiousally moved a hand to clutch his skin there and massage it in an attempt to soothe it. 

Tony picked up on this asking softly, “Pete, you okay, bud?”

Peter immediately realized what he was doing, “Yeah, suit’s a bit itchy, that’s all.”

Tony raised a brow, not believing what Peter said as his son was a terrible liar. Which was good for the father. “Itchy?”

“Mhm,” affirmed Peter as he moved his hand back down, “So then what did they say for negotiations?”

The pain only increased tenfold in his chest but the teenager kept quiet about the pain, assuming that it’d go away soon. 

Throughout the rest of the evening, the pain continued in an on and off pattern, making Peter feel slightly more tired than usual but trudged on, something that Tony discreetly picked up on, but didn’t want to openly state it in front of his son. So, he came up with a plan. 

Tony put an arm around the back of Peter’s neck, “It’s getting late, huh, buddy?”

Peter nodded without knowing the actual time, “Yeah, I’m a little tired, but I’m alright.”

Tony continued, “Me too, I think we’re done here. Let the sharks kiss my ass another night,” he joked. 

He led the two of them out of the party and back into Happy’s limo. 

During the car ride, the pain had disappeared, so Peter assumed that whatever he was feeling was just from the gala itself. Probably overstimulants, the teenager thought, with all those lights and sounds. I just need some rest. 

. . .

The feeling remained astray until Peter had finished changing into a pair of pjamas. It was a sharp stabbing pain that came right from the center of his chest and Peter groaned, he hadn’t felt such pain ever in his life before. It was raw and convulted, it took the breath away from Peter’s body and spread like wildfire throughout Peter’s chest, causing the boy to lose control over his breathing. 

His chest began to feel like it was on fire and Peter’s steady rate of breathing became sharp pleas of gasps while he felt something wet dribble from his nose. Peter forced a hand to reach to his nose despite his weight feeling a lot heavier than it normally did besides the dizziness and stumbled when he saw crimson-colored liquid on his fingers. 

Peter choked out as his throat constricted to the point where it began to hurt, “Huh?”

Immediately after, his knees buckled and he crashed onto the ground. He jutted out a clammy hand to reach out to his dresser for support, knocking a few things off which clattered to the ground in the process. However, that still wasn’t enough. 

A grunt-like sound escaped Peter’s lips as he moved his hand down the dresser but stumbled once again, this time falling to the ground with more things falling over. Peter felt fire sting inside of him, closing his airways, preventing his thoughts from functioning normally until he lurched forward uncontrollably, and fell forward.

He moved to the side, desparate to get for help if he could, but felt a fizzy feeling break out in his throat as he convulsed, heart skipping beats. FRIDAY said something, but the words washed over Peter’s ears as he lay on the floor limp, only able to helplessly feel his heart weaken. 

After agonizing moments that felt like entire lifetimes, Tony rushed into Peter’s room and cursed as he practically threw himself by Peter’s side. “Hey,” Tony said frantically while trying to figure out what had happened to his son while stimuataneously panicking that his son was hurt and struggling to keep his eyes open. 

Tony cupped Peter’s head in an attempt to keep him awake, “Pete, you gotta stay awake, okay? Dad’s here and he’s going to get you some help. FRI, tell Bruce to ready a medbay…” 

Peter merely blinked, a limp hand in his vision. A wheezing sound came from somewhere, Peter presumed him since his father was alright. Tony moved to Peter’s chest to try and help Peter’s breathing, “Bud, I got you, hang in there okay?” 

His voice died as foamy liquid spilled from Peter’s lips and the teenager’s hand stopped moving. “Shit,” he said. Poison. 

“Pete,” the father practically yelled as he realized that his son’s eyes were open but there was emptiness to them. No response, not even a blink. 

Tony scooped up Peter and took off finishing, “Tell Bruce that Peter’s been poisoned.”

Tony couldn’t recall running any faster than he did as he burst into the medbay where Bruce was waiting for him with creased brows. After all, this was Peter, their bean child, and whenever he got hurt it was like an attack to each and every single one of them. 

Bruce inquired as Tony set Peter down, trying to get the boy to say something, anything, “What’s the last thing he had to eat or drink?”

“Uh,” said Tony who was panicking wildly, “At the party, yeah. That was a few hours ago, maybe three or four. He looked like his chest was hurting but he said that he was fine. Shit, shit, shit.” His voice dropped suddenly as tears sprang from the corner of the genius, billionaire, philanthropist’s eyes, “Bruce, is he?”

Bruce moved a hand to Peter’s neck since Tony’s hands were shaking too much to adequately tell, “He has a pulse. It’s weak though.”

Tony looked like he was about to faint. He kept his hand tightened around Peter’s cold one, hating that he hadn’t noticed that something awful had happened to his kid. His son, the one that carried his blood. The son that was the light of his life, his everything, was on the brink of death and Tony couldn’t just stay calm. Getting hurt on patrols, bad days at school, hell, getting kidnapped was one thing. Things that Tony had power over and could reassure himself to some degree that he’d get Peter back safe and sound. But poison?

How was he to react to that?

“Tony,” said a different, more fememine voice, “let us work. I know it’s hard and you’re scared but let me and Bruce work.”

Tony turned to see Helen with her lips pressed tight against each other who immediately opened a kit and took some of the fluid that was spilling out of Peter’s mouth. “Go, Tony. Bruce, this smells like wolfsbane. We need some helvy…”

The rest of what Helen said was drowned out by Tony who stumbled outside the operating room and had blown into a panic attack. 

. . .

Peter didn’t know how he felt. Or, at least how to best describe it. He felt exhausted, drained and weak. His head left him with a raging headache and his stomach really, really hurt. His hands, his whole body, actually, felt too heavy to move. He wanted to speak but the mere thought of that took too much of whatever energy he was sapped with left. 

And when he opened his eyes, he found himself in a ceiling that definitely did not match the one that he was accustomed to. Where am I? What happened? 

A moment later, memories of falling over and feeling hurt all over resurfaced, leaving Peter with one less question but at the same time a few more. 

Someone was holding his hand tightly, and it’s warmth emitted all over his body. The hand could only belong to one person; his dad. 

His dad was seated in a chair next to him, eyes puffy and red with his face littered in creases and wrinkles, making the man look a lot more older and vulnerable than Peter had ever seen his dad like before. It hurt him deep in his heart. 

Someone let out a sigh of relief who sounded awfully like Bruce’s voice, “Thank Odin, that was some poison there, kiddo.”

Peer double-taked as he rasped, throat dry but unable to not clarify, “Poison?”

At the sound of Peter’s voice, Tony turned his head to face Peter and smiled widely, “Pete? Thank Odin you’re alright.”

Peter tilted his head, utterly bewildered, “Poison?”

Bruce nodded, “You were poisoned, Peter. Luckily, we could make an antidote in time. Do you have any idea what could’ve caused it?”

Peter strained, “The drink from the bartender.” He slurred, “I told him I didn’t want it, but he said that he needed to sell drinks.” Peter yawned, vocal chords unable to loosen anymore. 

Bruce nodded, “Alright. I’ll tell Clint and Nat, they’ll get that guy. For now, rest.”

That won’t be hard, Peter thought as a soft groan escaped his lips. He weakly nodded as Bruce and Helen left the room to give the father and son some privacy. 

Tony looked over Peter, “Pete, you okay? What do you need?”

Peter felt incredibly thirsty, “Water, please.” His lips felt so cracked and the dryness in his throat was making his head hurt even more. 

Tony had a bottle of water ready to go as he propped Peter’s head up so the boy could refresh himself. Once Peter pulled away, indicating that he was done drinking, Tony pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead. “How are you feeling, bud?”

Peter replied quietly, “Tired. Really, really tired. It hurts all over.”

Tony softened, “I’m so sorry, bud. What can I do to make it better?”

Peter rasped, “Can you lie down with me, please? That was really scary.”

Tony smiled as he helped Peter move, “You’re not wrong kiddo, that was really scary. But, I’m so glad that you’re okay. You gave me a heart attack,” the father joked to lighten the atmosphere, “and I don’t even have one.”

Peter argued tiredly, “Yes you do. Your arc is your heart, dad. Want cuddles.”

“And cuddles you shall have,” said Tony as he wrapped his arms around Peter, pulling his exhausted son close to his chest. A hand moved to pull at Peter’s curls at the back of his head while the other rubbed patterns on Peter’s back. “I love you so much,” the father murmured as Peter tucked his head under the crook of the former’s neck. 

Peter mumbled as he drifted asleep, “I love you 3000, dad.”

A/N: pls ignore the spelling mistakes ty I'm too lazy to fix them