Chapter Text
Peter’s awake.
He doesn’t remember the dream he had. It could have been anything, honestly--getting crushed by a gangway or a giant hand in Germany, falling out of the sky and into the cruel water of the Hudson, metal talons plunging into his chest.
Concrete and metal, pressing into his back. Water trickling over his face. Breathing. Not breathing.
A gun, aimed at Ben. At Mr. Stark. At--at his dad.
It could have been anything. It could have been dying. It could have been someone else dying. Regardless, he wakes up flailing and disoriented, a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, sweat collecting in the hollows of his temples and his collarbone.
Well, he certainly isn’t going back to sleep. Nope . Instead, he pulls a sweatshirt on and shuffles down to the kitchen. The lights over the counter turn on automatically, set to their lowest settings and shedding a warm glow on the marble countertop. Peter gets a mug down, grabs the kettle, yawning. Turns the sink on and fills the kettle with enough water for…
...two people. He can hear someone stumbling around upstairs. He doesn’t know who, he’s too tired to identify the heartbeat he can hear.
(On the days when things are quiet, Peter closes his eyes and listens carefully. Sometimes, he’s able to identify every Avenger in the building based on their heartbeat, their muffled voices.)
Peter squints at the stove, turning on the lower right burner. (It’s his favorite burner.) The little green numbers on the stove say 2:53 A.M. As he sits and waits for the kettle to boil, he hears the shuffling footsteps of... ah . Of course.
Tony’s sleep-mussed head appears around the corner, followed by the rest of him. His voice is bleary and tired when he says, “Hi, kid. What’s goin’ on?”
“Hi, Tony,” Peter says in response. “I’m, uh, I’m making hot chocolate. D’you want some?”
Tony nods silently and goes to grab pillows and blankets from the living room. Peter takes the hissing kettle off the burner and sets it on the counter. Ripping three packets of cocoa mix open, he pours two packets in one mug and one packet in another (Peter likes his hot chocolate sweet), then adds the water and marshmallows.
Walking into the living room with the cocoa, he’s greeted by Tony sitting on the sofa in a mass of blankets and pillows with the first episode of Brooklyn 99 fired up on the TV screen. Peter hands him his mug, then plops down beside him, letting Tony wrap the blankets around them both. Neither person asks what the other is doing awake. They know already.
The episode plays quietly on the screen.