Chapter Text
Tony’s POV
The suit screams at me before Friday does.
“Sir,” she says, calm but urgent, “Peter’s vitals have spiked and then dropped. His suit camera feed has gone dark.”
My heart drops straight into my stomach.
“Location,” I snap, already moving.
A red dot flashes on my HUD. Too far. Too slow.
I’m in the armor before my brain can finish forming the worst-case scenarios, repulsors flaring as I tear through the sky. Every second feels too long. Every memory of the kid—too thin, too tired, too quiet—plays on loop.
I knew something was wrong.
I see the armored truck first. Guns scattered. Criminals webbed to the pavement. And then—
Peter.
He’s sprawled on the concrete like someone just dropped him there and forgot to pick him back up. Blood darkens the back of his suit, spreading slowly, terrifyingly.
“Peter,” I breathe, dropping to my knees beside him. “Hey. Hey, kid.”
No response.
My hands shake as I press against his back, sealing the wound with nano-bandages while Friday rattles off medical data I’m barely hearing.
“Tony…” His voice is barely a whisper, broken and wet.
Relief hits me so hard it almost hurts.
“I’m here,” I say immediately. “You did good. You’re safe now.”
His fingers twitch weakly, curling into my sleeve like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. His breathing stutters.
“I just… wanted to help,” he murmurs. “Didn’t want to be… weak.”
Something in my chest cracks wide open.
“Kid,” I say softly, lifting him carefully into my arms, “this isn’t weakness.”
Peter’s POV
I wake up to the sound of machines and the steady weight of something warm and solid holding my hand.
For a second, panic claws its way up my throat—but then I hear it.
Tony’s voice.
“Easy, easy,” he says quietly. “You’re okay. You’re in the med bay.”
My eyes sting as I open them. The lights are dimmed. A blanket is tucked around my shoulders. Tony is sitting right next to the bed, leaning forward like he hasn’t moved in hours.
“Did… I mess up?” I ask hoarsely.
He exhales slowly, then reaches up and presses his thumb gently against my knuckles.
“No,” he says firmly. “You got hurt. There’s a difference.”
I swallow, my chest tight. “I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, it was like I was back there. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be the kid who couldn’t handle it.”
Tony’s jaw tightens—not angry. Hurt.
“Peter,” he says, softer than I’ve ever heard him. “Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve spent staring at the ceiling because I couldn’t shut my brain up?”
I blink at him.
“You think you’re the only Avenger with nightmares?” he adds gently. “You think being scared makes you weak?”
My vision blurs.
“I thought if I just pushed through it, it would stop,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
He leans closer, resting his forehead against the edge of the bed.
“You could never disappoint me by needing help,” he says. “You scare the hell out of me when you don’t ask for it.”
I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
He squeezes my hand. “Don’t be. Just—next time? You come to me. Nightmares, panic, all of it. We deal with it together.”
My eyes finally slide closed, exhaustion pulling me under.
“Mr. Stark?” I mumble.
“Yeah, kid?”
“You’ll stay?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time in days, when sleep takes me, it doesn’t feel like I’m trapped.
It feels like I’m safe.