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Tony shut his eyes like he meant to sleep, despite knowing how fruitless the effort would be. Still, he laid there, Pepper’s soft breathing by his side, and waited. And waited. And started hoping that sleep would be a visitor tonight, though it hadn’t come by in a few days.
He’d been catching sleep for five minutes between meetings, or in his workshop on the floor before DUM-E inevitably ran him over. Tony couldn’t sleep in bed, though. He couldn’t sleep at night, when he was supposed to, when Pepper was finally resting and at peace. Tony didn’t know the word peace. He didn’t know how it was supposed to settle in his chest like a balm and make the whole world quiet.
Instead, he laid there with his eyes shut, counted to a hundred and pulled himself out of bed. Making sure not to disturb Pepper, he grabbed the blanket draped over the chair at the edge of the room and wrapped it around his shoulders as he headed back out into the hall of the penthouse.
The problem was, Tony was tired to his bones. He was aching and slow and he felt the desperate need to sleep, but it just wouldn’t come. He wasn’t afraid of the nightmares that plagued him when his guards were lowered – no, he’d seen the worst and come back from it. He’d seen Pepper fall into the flames, seen Rhodey crash without a parachute. He’d pulled Peter out of the Hudson, heard the story of the building collapsing on top of him. He’d watched as Steve rammed his shield into Tony’s arc reactor, believing he was going to aim for his head.
The dreams had nothing on reality.
The dreams couldn’t replicate the wormhole in such magnificent detail; couldn’t piece together Ultron’s voice the way Tony remembered it; would never replay the footage of his parents’ murder with the same heart-breaking intensity.
No, he was more afraid of reality than he was of his dreams.
Tony wasn’t avoiding sleep. Sleep was avoiding Tony.
He collapsed onto the sofa in the living room, New York spread out around him; just golden lights in a haze of skyrises and distant car alarms. He’d never known such a wonderful view – except maybe that of the sea from his Malibu mansion on the cliff – and he stared at it now, as he did most nights when sleep was playing a game of cat and mouse he couldn’t hope to win.
Eventually, Tony pulled himself from the sofa and moved out onto the balcony that stretched out in a U shape at the top of Stark Tower. The wind was cold at this time of night, so Tony pulled his blanket tight around his shoulders before settling in, leaning against the fence and staring out across the city.
He watched a plane fly overhead and a helicopter a few minutes later. Tony dragged his eyes from them to his hand, faintly scarred from the glass he’d cracked in his grip a few weeks before. Peter hadn’t been stabbed since that horrible night and the ocean of blood he’d been drowning in, and Tony had put him into training immediately to make sure it stayed that way.
Pushing his mind from the mistakes that kept piling up, he considered the wormhole, then regretted it. Considered Steve Rogers, then shoved the name from his mind. The flip phone was buried somewhere in the desk in the office Tony never used. The Avengers were his family, Steve had said, and yet Captain America had taken them all with him. Even Vision vanished for weeks at a time to visit the rogues.
He thought about Pepper, after that, recreating her smile in his mind a hundred times. Thought about the life he wanted to have with her - fiancé, fiancé, fiancé – and the family they could build. He lived a dangerous life but kids were never off the table for him. He’d never even wanted them until she came along.
In the distance, he heard a shout and frowned, leaning forward to get a better look. Tony couldn’t find it, and waited until there was another, and another. The shouts weren’t fearful, he noticed on the third time around – they were exuberant; yelping and cheering. It wasn’t long before he spotted it; spotted the red and blue blur flipping down the street.
Tony couldn’t help but breathe out a smile as Peter soared through the air and caught himself a moment later.
He slipped his phone from his pocket and typed out a quick text at the sight of him.
TONY: A little far from Queens, huh?
He watched Spiderman settle on a rooftop not too far from the tower. Peter wasn’t close enough to see in detail, but Tony’s phone vibrated a moment later, and he guessed he’d stopped to reply.
KID: do you just watch the baby monitor footage for fun or?????
TONY: Not footage. I’m on the balcony.
It was only a moment later that Tony caught sight of Spiderman leaping off the roof and swinging in the direction of Stark Tower. His relationship to Peter was strange in a lot of ways, all of them good. He was a bright light when Tony was wading through murky darkness. He was a ray of something like hope, something like the future. He was only a kid, too young to betray Tony in the way everyone he loved tended to do, and Tony wasn’t sure if he should be using the word son to describe Peter, but it wouldn’t be far off.
It wasn’t long before Spiderman was crawling up the side of the tower and jumped over onto the balcony.
“Hey, Mr Stark,” Peter greeted, pulling off his mask as he approached. His hair stuck out in all directions and Tony supressed a smile. “What- what are you doing out here?”
Tony nodded him over and Peter hesitated before joining him, sliding to sit by Tony’s side, backs against the glass fence and eyes looking out across Manhattan.
“It’s a good view,” Tony replied, evasive. The kid didn’t need his baggage, too. “What are you doing out so late?”
“It’s a Friday,” Peter said. “Curfew’s at one.”
Tony quirked an eyebrow. “That’s in ten minutes. It’s a long trip back to Queens.”
Peter smiled ruefully, pulling his knees up to his chest and crossing his ankles. His arms hugged his legs, mask discarded by his side. “Can you keep a secret?” Peter asked, nudging Tony lightly. The time of Peter being nervous around Tony had passed, and since the night and morning after of Peter being stabbed and still waking up and cleaning off Tony’s blood-stained hands, they’d fallen into something more comfortable.
No matter how he called Tony “Mr Stark”, Peter had stopped seeing Tony as unknowable, billionaire Iron Man, and started seeing him as someone who always had his back, who occasionally needed a little help, too.
“Of course I can,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.
“May’s got the night shift at the hospital,” Peter whispered, as if they were co-conspirators. “She’s not going to be home until seven AM.”
Tony shook his head but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Is that technically lying?” he asked.
Peter shrugged. “I haven’t lied. I think it’s just general disobedience.”
“And here I thought you were a good kid.”
“Hey!” Peter nudged him again. “I’m a great kid. Like, one of the best.”
“Oh, yeah? Says who?”
“You, once,” Peter said, then raised his voice a few octaves to say, “Oh, Peter, you’re a great kid. I’m trying to break the cycle. Good job on being great.”
Tony frowned but barked out a laugh anyway. “I have a deeper voice than you,” he said, making Peter snicker. “I am a grown man and you haven’t even hit puberty.”
When Peter laughed, Tony felt something relax in his chest. It certainly wasn’t peace but it was close enough. Tony leaned his head back against the fence, shutting his eyes, a smile still on his face.
A moment later, Peter said, “You look real tired, Mr Stark.”
“I am real tired.”
“I can go if you need sleep.”
Tony waved a hand. “I need sleep but I’m not getting any.” So much for keeping his baggage from Peter’s shoulders.
“Me neither,” Peter replied.
“That’s because you’re staying out as Spiderman all night. There’s no time for sleep when you’re teenage vigilante-ing.”
Peter shrugged. “Even when I’m Peter Parker-ing, I don’t sleep much.”
They were quiet for a moment. Tony didn’t know how to help Peter and Peter didn’t know how to help Tony, so they breathed in the night air and let the sounds of the city envelope them for a while. Eventually, Tony opened his eyes. He was always more relaxed around Peter (so long as the kid wasn’t bleeding out or anything). It was as if Peter’s light was contagious. It was as if he was always trying to share it with others.
“Come inside, kid,” Tony said as he shuffled to his feet. “It’s cold out here.”
“Oh, it’s alright Mr Stark, I’ve got the suit heater and a city to protect.”
Tony quirked an eyebrow at the kid. “I’ve got hot chocolate,” he said, and Peter’s lips pressed into a thin line as he tried not to smile.
“I guess Daredevil or someone can watch out for the city for a little while,” he said, climbing to his feet and following Tony inside.
They made hot chocolate in the kitchen and drank it on the sofa, Peter pulling a blanket from the armchair and curling up in it as FRIDAY turned on the television at a low volume, some Lifetime movie playing. The lights were dimmed and for a while, they just sat there in the quiet.
Tony had missed this kind of quiet.
It was the type of quiet that sleep might visit him in. The type of quiet where Tony might just be able to rest for more than five minutes of borrowed time.
He realised that if Peter left, the quiet would leave with him, but his worry faded when he looked over and found Peter curled up in his blanket, eyes shut. Tony smiled, asking FRIDAY to send off a quick text to May, telling her where Peter was sleeping that night.
Then, he shut his eyes, and if this wasn’t what peace felt like, then maybe he’d never know that feeling.