Part 1: Tony

Silence at last.

For days now, Tony had been getting non-stop calls from everyone's favourite neighbourhood Spiderman: Peter.

Call whenever you need me, okay?

Fair point, he had told him to call. But this wasn't what he'd meant. Peter had been meant to call him in case of emergency, or when he'd notice things way out of the ordinary. As much as he loved getting woken up at 4am a minimum of three times a week, Mr. Billionaire had eventually grown tired of the attention. Muting Peter's calls had seemed like a relatively mild sentence, and a straight-forward solution to his harassment problem. Karen would alert F.R.I.D.A.Y. in case of emergency, and he needed some beauty rest. Sue him.

Damn, did this kid ever sleep?

Of course, he hadn't completely tuned the boy out; his voicemail played on low volume in his car every morning - generously forced upon him by none other than Pepper Potts, by the way - so that he couldn't possibly miss any messages. Peter had a tendency to over-exaggerate things, often calling in to report an alien super-villain, only to call again later with the vague explanation that it actually turned out to be nothing more than a regular civilian with a severely misshapen head. Tony would never actually admit this publicly, but he always listened to his messages, often before Pepper's obnoxious car-triggered voicemail masterplan would force him to. This time, the youngster had been going on about some ridiculous theory involving neo-nazis crossed with terroristic mafia wannabes supposedly stashing up on weaponry of mass destruction. The kid wouldn't let it go, even after Tony called him about it.

Tony: I looked into it, kid. It's nothing, probably just undercover military work. Let it go.

Peter: But Mister Stark! I swear it's more than that!

Tony: Go back to your night patrols, kiddo. And don't tell me about this again.

Tony really had looked into it, briefly. He'd sent two of his most discrete men to check it out, but they'd come back with about as much as he was expecting. Nothing. There was no reason to push further investigation and Mr. Multi-Million had already debunked this whole thing as just another trick of Peter's infamous imagination. This boy was an amazing ally, and he'd always consider him a valuable partner against crime… When the threat was real.

It was barely eleven in the morning and Tony was feeling pretty damn great. He'd slept well, Parker seemed to have caught the hint and finally left him alone.
Maybe he's finally realised it was nothing.
The thought made him smile. Oh, Peter. Poor child must be feeling so embarrassed to have pushed so much for something that turned out to be… Nothing at all. Not that Tony would bring it up… Who is he kidding? Of course he would. He could already see himself nagging him about it for the rest of the week.
He sat in his office, feet resting up onto his ebony wood desk with a type of carelessness that would give anyone's furniture-police grandmother a heart attack. The creme-cheese bagel he'd asked Pepper to pick up for him earlier was laying comfortably onto his lap, separated from his black dress pants only by a thin sheet of glossed paper. His light grey button-up was halfway undone, showing a white tank top underneath it.
To call his office 'nice' would be the understatement of the century. Grandiose, majestic even, was a far closer match to the truth. The windows almost covered the walls completely, letting in a soft ray of natural light. The cloudiness of the sky muted the harsh sunlight to a kind glow, caressing everything in the room. What was most impressive in the room was the ginormous bookshelf made of dark woods and glass. What was it about glass that made things look so.. classy? Tony probably hadn't read any of the books on those shelves, but definitely had designed every one of the mini prototypes that laid here and there beside them.

Stark had barely noticed the television playing in the background, the sound had been turned down to a mere hush, and had ultimately been easily drowned out by Tony's serene thread of thoughts.

The serenity was short-lived, unfortunately. The news lady had been rambling on about some sort of explosion. A crash? Car crash, maybe? Tony had missed too much to know, but he knew she would repeat herself eventually. They always did. News people had this annoying tendency to act like a broken record. Tony looked up at the flat screen that hung in the top corner of his office, leaning forward slightly as he abandoned what was left of his breakfast into the trashcan next to his desk. His forehead creased itself with worry lines, but why was he so suddenly overcome with anxiety? The news never had anything positive to show, this was literally a daily occurrence… Or was it? The fast drumming of his heart told him otherwise, he definitely had a bad feeling about this one. His gut twisted into knots only an experimented marine could even dream to replicate. When the news lady finally summarized the situation once more, he was at the very edge of his seat. Ripples had formed into his spotless clothing, giving it the look of a stormy sea. This matched Tony's own emotions perfectly; crushed with an unexpected riptide of nervousness.

Complete wreck…

Train derailed, containing immense amounts of illegal weapons…

Suspected terrorist group…

No survivors.

The screen switched to a clumsy video that had been filmed by a civilian by-stander. The phone-quality recording wasn't great, but it showed enough for him to understand the intensity of the situation. Fire, raging everywhere. Bits and pieces of train scattered around, barely able to determine what was where through the thick dark smoke. In the middle of all this stood an unnaturally untouched piece of paper.
A note.

Tony had been watching so profoundly that he hadn't heard the few words that resonated through the compound speakers until F.R.I.D.A.Y. repeated herself.

"Sir, Mr. Parker was found unconscious and is being transported to MedBay as we speak."

Halfway through the sentence, Tony was up, had grabbed his jacket and ordered for Happy to be called.

"Tell him to pull up the car now."

Tony must have gone down the stairs pretty fast, because he couldn't remember how he even made it to the front door. If he'd broken a number of things in his hurry, he didn't care. His mind couldn't go to anything other than the agonizing worry of whether Peter was all right… Or alive, really.