Work Text:
“Can Ned and MJ come too?”
Tony hesitates for a moment. He knows the two know about Peter’s penchant for photography, and even encourage it, but he was hoping this could be A Thing the two of them could share. They always had the lab, but with Bruce firmly back and Lang deciding to put his engineering degree to good, their tag team was more and more frequently a foursome.
But this was something new he’d discovered, something separate from the dangerous lives of superheroes, and much closer to the kind of enriching hobby a seventeen-year-old should have. Tony wants to encourage it as much as he can, especially since the kid is, truly, talented. Some of the pictures he took during the wedding were better than the actual photographer’s, and the kid did it on his phone.
“Sure,” Tony shrugs nonchalantly after a beat, despite being alone in the lab, Peter breathing heavily over the phone in his suit. “But tell them it’s Friday, 3:30pm sharp. Happy will pick you all up after school. No rescheduling.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Stark! Oooof,” Peter must have landed on something harder than he expected, because he grunts over the line.
“Where are you?” Tony picks up his soldering iron.
“Near Calvary.”
“Mmmm,” Tony presses it against the the delicate hinge of the glasses he’s working on. He doesn’t press about why; he knows that’s where Ben and his parents are. He briefly glances at the clock on his desk. It’s only 7:30. “You coming here tonight?”
“No, May will be home by 8, she said. She promised we’d go for Thai--oooh, hi kitty!”
Tony chuckles. “Ok. I’ll leave you to your very important Spider-man duties, then.”
“Hey! If you’re cold, they’re cold!”
“Kid, it’s a cat. That thing would outlast any one of us out there. Definitely longer than you. And then it would eat your face.”
“Of course you hate cats, Mr. Stark,” Peter sounds like he’s darting around somewhere on the ground.
“Not true--they’re independent assholes and I love them. More than dogs, anyway,” Tony smiles to himself when the delicate metal hinge holds together. “I admire the resourcefulness of their face eating.”
“Gotcha!” Peter gasps, and Tony grimaces when he hears the familiar shriek of a very angry cat. “No collar,” he seems to say more to himself than Tony. “Guess I’ll take you to the shelter.”
“Make sure you let them know you found him and he could be somebody’s.”
“I will, Mr. Stark. I only take them to the no-kill shelter,” Peter says very somberly, while his charge continues to growl in the background.
“And turn your heater on.”
“I’m fine, I’ll be home soon.”
“You better be. Don’t leave May waiting.”
“I won’t--” there’s a loud hiss over the line and Peter yelps. “Bad kitty! I gotta go, Mr. Stark. This cat is not happy.”
“I can tell, kid. Skedaddle.”
“Bye Mr. Stark!”
The line clicks dead. Tony sighs and calls up FRIDAY. “FRI, call the restaurant and add two for Friday.”
“Sure thing, Boss.”
He looks over at the brown-paper wrapped camera on the far end of his workstation. He’ll give Peter the camera after they’ve dropped his friends off and come back to the Tower.
*****
Tony saunters behind the three chattering teeangers, clicking away on his phone. The museum is interesting enough, in a boring way, and practically empty for a Friday afternoon, which is a welcome surprise.
Peter had particularly enjoyed the floor dedicated to the history of Kodak, obviously being aware of film cameras but never having owned one. Tony managed to take a picture of the three terrified-slash-disgusted looks when he explained that most people had to wait at least a day for their photos, and you had to pay extra.
“Wait, you had to drive it somewhere?” Ned looks incredulously at Peter and Michelle.
“Oh, yes,” Tony nods solemnly. “Or you could mail it, but then it would take weeks. And most of your pictures probably sucked.”
“That sounds barbaric,” Michelle deadpans.
“It was. Next week I’ll explain the horror of the busy signal.”
“The what?”
“Nevermind,” Tony waves his hand. “What’s next?” He looks at Peter, who is looking at the museum’s guide.
“Well, there’s an exhibition on photos of construction of New York places...oh, wow! They have some of the pieces from the negative of ‘Lunch Atop of a Skyscraper.’” Peter smiles at the folded paper in his hands. Tony can tell he’s trying not to geek out too much, but it’s obvious he’s the only one truly enjoying this. Ned looks bored in a polite way, and Michelle is Michelle. But Peter has practically been running room to room. “And then a dark room! They let you develop your own negatives!”
“Wow, you are a nerd,” Michelle says, but she’s smiling, looking at Tony with a raised eyebrow. Tony winks at her outside of Peter’s line of sight and the smile turns to an exaggerated grimace. Tony likes Michelle.
“You like art,” Peter says, leafing through the guide one more time to make sure they haven’t missed anything.
“I like drawing. This is your kink.”
“Well, lead the way, kiddo,” Tony gestures, not wanting to push him along exactly, but they only have another hour before the museum closes and he’s sure he’ll hear about it for weeks if they miss the darkroom.
They spend half that time in the exhibition of black and white photos of old New York steelworking, and of course Ned has to suggest that Peter could get better pictures when he’s flipping and swinging around the city.
“You know, Peter, I think you could get better shots when--during your ‘internship,’ he actually uses finger-quotes when he says it, and thank God the hipster couple in the corner of the room appear to be on a date and aren’t paying attention to anybody but each other.
“Hey Chair Guy, ix-nay on the internship-yay,” Tony rolls his eyes, and looks directly at Peter. “And don’t you even think about it. Mind on your task.”
“Well, I wouldn’t do it while I was actually swinging, Mr. Stark.”
“Nope, don’t want to hear it,” Tony makes a point of looking at his watch. “Are we done in here? Because we have thirty-five minutes until this place kicks us out, and there’s still the darkroom.”
“Yeah, ok. I don’t know if we’ll have time to develop anything, but I want to see it.”
“Then let’s go, kiddo. This is your party. Hey, Willow, Xander! Let’s go.”
“Buffy?” Michelle smirks as she walks past him. “Tight.”
*****
They sign the requisite release forms outside the entrance to the darkroom--Tony has to give the staffer A Look to sign off on everyone, as they’re underage and he is not a guardian--but in a few minutes they’re decked out in disposable coveralls and goggles and thick nitrile gloves, led by a young student who is very obviously intimidated by the fact that he’s showing Tony Stark around a museum darkroom.
The room itself surprisingly calming to Tony; the air is warm and the amber safelights--that’s what the guide called them, Tony thinks--give everything a nice, orangish-red hue. He inhales deeply--acetic acid and the slight burn of ammonia, both of which remind him of some of the laboratories back at the industrial park in California. He thinks for a moment that he needs to fly Peter out there, show him around, spoil the kid rotten on the West Coast.
“Love the smell of caustic chemicals,” he whispers, nudging Peter in the side.
“Y-yeah, Mr. S-stark,” Peter squeaks, stuttering a bit. Tony hears him exhale hard.
“Pete?” Tony nudges him again. He tries to think back, he definitely fed him on the ride here. Maybe the light is weird to his eyes? Chemicals, maybe? Some days smells are worse than others; one time he had to leave a room because Pepper was using furniture polish.
“I’m o-okay,” Peter looks up at him and smiles, but it’s tight. Tony can tell, even in the low red light and shadows. “Shhhh, I’m trying to listen.”
Tony rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment on Peter shushing him. He tries to brush it off but the longer they listen to the student drone on about chemicals and never eating in labs--Tony supposes his lab is more of a workshop--the more it is obvious the kid is not okay. He’s continuously sidling into Tony’s space, and is now pressed up against his side, his shoulders and spine rigid. He doesn’t ask a single question--after asking an obnoxious amount to all their previous guides--and every few minutes Tony can actually feel him suppress a shudder. Very much not okay.
“Now,” the guide says, “if you’d like to take a few minutes to--”
“I want to leave,” Peter exhales shakily next to him, his words barely audible. He sounds like he’s trying to control his breathing.
Tony simply squeezes his shoulder in response, then interrupts the guide. “No, I think we’re good. I have yet to feed these things.”
“Yessir,” the guide nods nervously, and Tony makes a point to let him know he did a fine job. “You can exit over there, and there are bins for your bunny suits and goggles--”
Peter tears out of the room before the guide even finishes, and Tony follows him through the heavy door and ante-room. “Kid,” he starts as he pulls off his goggles, but Peter shakes his head desperately at him when Michelle and Ned follow into the changing area. His face is as white as Tony has ever seen it, eyes wide and his forehead shiny with sweat.
“You ok, loser?” Michelle’s cool tone betrays the look in her eyes as she pulls off her goggles.
“Chemicals?” Ned asks, pulling his own off goggles. “My nose was starting to tingle.”
“Yeah,” Peter huffs, stealing a glance at Tony. He rips off his coveralls, not even bothering with the zipper. His hands are shaking. “Strong. T-too much for S-spidey.”
Tony purses his lips and side-eyes Peter, but doesn’t say anything. It’s obvious the kid doesn’t want him to, not here, so he’ll leave it, at least for now. But he knows it wasn’t the chemicals.
******
Peter keeps himself in Tony’s space for the rest of the evening, to the point where he visibly flinches when Tony announces he’s going to the little boys room. He’s moody and sullen during dinner, answering questions with one word and not even finishing his burger.
“Peter, are you ok?” Tony hears Michelle ask when he’s nearly back to the table after using the restroom. He sees Peter notice him and make brief eye contact, before turning back to his friends.
“Yeah,” he says, shoving a fry into his mouth as if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “I just have a headache.”
“Like, from--?” Ned waves his fingers around his head. It’s a miracle nobody has figured out who Spider-Man is based on this kid alone.
“Maybe?” Peter shrugs just as Tony find his seat again. “Or the chemicals?” Peter folds his hands in his lap and looks down. “Sorry.”
“Jesus, Parker, you can’t help if you get a headache,” Michelle reaches across the table and snags a fry from Peter’s plate. “But I am going to eat your fries.”
“If you don’t finish that, kid, you’re not getting dessert. May’s rules, not mine.”
“I’m not hungry anyway,” Peter mumbles, and looks back at his lap. He appears to be examining his hands; actually examining them, as if checking to make sure they’re real.
“Well, younglings, maybe we should take a raincheck on dessert?” Tony speaks to Ned and Michelle, but he looks intently at Peter. He can practically see the line of tense muscles in his neck and shoulders, and they way he’s physically forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly. It takes a trained eye.
“Really, Mr. Stark?” Ned practically falls out of his chair, and Tony is a little bit annoyed that that is Ned’s concern. Peter has told him in the past not to pay it any mind, that Ned just gets so excited he literally can’t control what he says. Peter was like that once around him.
“Yeah,” Tony swallows some water, then lifts his arm to get their waiter’s attention. Michelle continues to watch Peter, a concerned look on her face. “We’ll do something fun when Peter’s feeling better.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stark!”
“Sure thing, Ted.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Stark,” Michelle doesn’t take her eyes off Peter, and Tony thinks maybe she’s not thanking him for a raincheck on dessert. He knows from Peter that Michelle usually knows more than she lets on, and had figured out he was Spider-Man long before he told her. He’s glad, Peter needs as many people in his corner as he can get.
“You’re welcome, Michelle.”
******
Peter insists on following Tony down to the lab when they get back to the Tower, and Tony is glad, because he is definitely planning on wheedling what the hell just happened out of him, and he doesn’t want to do it through a closed bedroom door. He chooses his words carefully as Peter sinks into the second chair near his workstation. He looks absolutely exhausted, worn to the bone. Like he’d looked at the Compound, when every was on edge and just barely getting used to “normal” again.
“So,” Tony leans against his worktop. “I don’t care if you tell them you had a headache, but you don’t actually have a headache, do you?”
“Not really…”
“Then what happened, kiddo?” Tony asks gently, trying not to sound like he’s prying but very much prying.
“I don’t know…” Peter shrugs and looks at his shoes. “I just wanted to get out of there.”
“And dinner?”
“It was crowded.”
Tony hums. The restaurant was not particularly crowded, and they’d gotten the Tony Stark Treatment, and were in an isolated corner. “Do you think it was a panic attack?” He hedges. He knows Peter gets them, they just usually happen in the middle of the night after a dream.
“Maybe?” Peter shrugs again and looks back up to him.
“Ok...do you think something triggered it? Or was it one of the randoms?”
“Randoms?”
“Sometimes they just happen, Peter. They’re fun that way. No shame in in.”
“I don’t know,” Peter looks away again, eyes moving to some spot on the wall behind Tony. Something definitely triggered it, then. God, how’d he get a kid who is such a terrible liar? Tony makes a mental note to never let him play poker. “Maybe?”
“You know, if you don’t--”
“I know, and I know I said the exact same thing to you last week, Mr. Stark,” Peter looks back at him briefly, his voice testy and rising. He’d been preparing for a fight. “But I don’t want to right now. Maybe tomorrow?”
“It wasn’t anything I did, right bud? You’d tell me now if it was?”
“No! No, Mr. Stark,” Peter jumps out of his chair. “It wasn’t you or anybody. I promise.”
Tony sighs. “Alright. I won’t make you say anything tonight. But we’re going to have a nice talk over a nice breakfast, hopefully late tomorrow morning.” He reaches out and gently taps the side of Peter’s face. “But, even if this evening wasn’t the spectacular fun I was hoping, I still have this for you.”
“Tonight was fun, Mr. Stark. Until…until.”
“Yeah, and we can go again sometime. Just us,” Tony grabs the simple package from the end of his workstation; out of the corner of his eye it looks like Peter flinches. “Here, Pete. Something to get you started.”
Peter’s tired eyes look suspicious as he takes the package. He’s gotten better at accepting things from Tony, even if he still gives him a look and half-hearted protests when he does. “Mr. Stark…”
“Just take it, Spider-baby. Let’s not do the dance,” Tony leans back against the desk, smug as he thinks about how Peter is going to squeal and jump up and down about the very expensive piece of equipment in the box.
Peter sinks back into the chair and meticulously opens the package, tearing the brown paper along the seams. He opens the plain white box inside and...does nothing. He simply stares into the box in his lap.
“Pete--” Tony starts after a few long moments, wondering if the thing that finally broke the kid was a goddamn DSLR camera.
“I can’t take this, Mr. Stark,” Peter suddenly blurts, looking up quickly.
“Ok, guess we are going to do this dance,” Tony sighs and stands up straight. “You can, it’s my gift to you, blah blah blah--”
“No, I mean, I CAN’T,” Peter quickly stands up with such force the wheeled chair spins across the floor behind him. He almost throws the camera on the desk, and it’s then that Tony notices his hands are shaking. Visibly shaking, like they were after his freak-out in the darkroom. “I can’t!”
“Ok, Peter,” Tony reaches out, panic rising in his own chest, but Peter scurries away from him and over to near the couch, and starts pacing in front of the coffee table. “Ok, first of all, watch out for that table, bud. And what do you mean you ‘can’t?’ It’s a camera, Pete. A damn good one. Custom.”
“I just CAN’T, Mr. Stark!” Peter yells, flinching at himself. He walks to the couch and practically falls down on it, burying his hands in his hair.
“Ok, ok,” Tony picks up the camera from the box and brings it over to where Peter is sitting. He sets it on the coffee table and lowers into a crouch in front of Peter, who’s started crying, his shoulders shaking. “You want to tell me why?”
“No,” Peter sobs, sucking in a hard breath and tugging on his hair.
“Well, now I’m going to insist you do, kid,” Tony reaches out and grabs both of Peter’s knees. “What happened, Peter? You love this photography shit, there’s literally documentaries saved on my DVR that you won’t let me erase, then that thing at the museum and this...what’s going on?”
“Noooo…”
“Tell me, or--” but Tony cuts himself off. He’s not going to use the May threat with this. He knows all too well what it’s like to be a mess, and has long learned the last thing he should do is betray Peter’s trust. “You gotta tell me, Pete, so we can figure it out.”
“I can’t go back into that room.”
“You don’t have to, Peter. You don’t ever have to go back to that museum if there was something there that--.”
“No, I mean any of them. Any! Darkrooms. I didn’t know it’d be that color!”
“What color? Those lights? Pete, that’s for the film. You know that. I distinctly remember that from one of those documentaries.”
“I know! I know,” Peter’s hands drop from his hair to between his knees, which start bouncing in time with the shaking of his shoulders. “But I didn’t know it’d be like that.”
“Like what, Peter? You have to tell me, like what?” Tony wracks his brain. Like what? Is there some trauma he doesn’t know about? Something Peter never told him about? His own brain starts spinning stories, possibilities, and the panic rises from his chest into his throat. Something is wrong with his kid and he doesn’t know what it is and he doesn’t like the feeling.
“Like there,” Peter sobs.
“Like where, Peter.”
Peter’s voice is small, barely a whisper, like when he’d told Tony he wanted to leave the darkroom. “Like after Titan.”
Tony’s breath leaves him in a rush as his blood runs cold. The panic in his chest and throat quickly turns into a wave of nausea. He did not in a million years expect that, and he wants to start crying himself. They never really ended up talking about it, despite Tony insisting himself they had to. Despite Tony taking turns with May when he woke up screaming. Despite Peter being able to help Tony through a spiral about the horrible time in the immediate aftermath. They’d just...left it.
“Oh,” is all he can say. It’s not the first time the kid has said something Tony isn’t sure how to respond to, but now is probably the first time Tony knows he really, really needs to. And he has nothing.
“When I was there,” Peter continues in a whisper, looking at his knees. A tear drops and lands on Tony’s hand. “Everything--it was--it, it looked like that.”
“Like what, Pete?” Tony squeezes his knees and leans in a bit closer. He doesn’t want to know, but he does. He does for his kid.
“R-red,” he sniffs. “Orangey-red. The s-sky, or whatever it was. Everyone. Red and shadows. Like that room. And I can’t go back in a place like that. So I can’t.”
“Oh, kid,” Tony lifts his hand to Peter’s shoulder. “You’re not there. You’re here, with me, and Pepper is upstairs and your aunt is at the hospital and you aren’t there.”
“I know Mr. Stark,” Peter lifts his head and wipes his eyes. “I know I’m not there. But,” his face crumples and he drops his head again. “But this-this is something I love. And now, now it’s ruined and I can’t.”
“Pete, you don’t know that it’s ruined…”
“Yes it is! It was a stupid light, Mr. Stark! It was a stupid light in a stupid room and all I could think about was being back there!” Peter flails his arms to emphasize and his hand catches Tony in the shoulder; he has to bite back a flinch. That’s going to leave a bruise. “And you bought me that camera and now I’ll never even be able to use it because that stupid fucking asshole showed up!”
“Kid…”
Peter isn’t done. “And I’m apparently the only fucking one who fucking remembers any of it, so I guess at least it’ll be easy to find some other kid who actually can use that camera, because not only do I have nightmares and hate being alone and still feel like everything is too big and too loud, but the one thing I wanted for myself, which you keep bothering at me to do, is FUCKING RUINED!” Peter’s voice cracks and he buries his head in his hands.
“Ok, Peter,” Tony reaches for Peter’s wrists and tries to pull his hands away from his face, but of course they don’t budge. Damn this kid and his super strength. Tony sighs and stands, his left knee popping painfully, and sits on the couch, wrapping his arm around his shaking shoulders. “Ok, first of all, no other ‘kid’ is getting a custom-made Stark camera. That thing is yours.”
“Why?” Peter chokes, dropping his hands from his face. He hiccups. “I can’t use it.”
“Ok, kiddo, we’re gonna think through this logically, but first I have to ask: are you okay staying here?”
“At-at the Tower?”
“No, you’re not leaving the Tower, you know the deal. But here. The lab. You comfortable here? Right now? ‘Cause we can go someplace else, if you need to.”
“Y-yeah…” Peter nods, sniffing and scrubbing at his eyes.
“Ok, good. That’s good, Pete,” Tony lifts his hand and wipes one of Peter’s cheeks with his sleeve. He pulls his face away, embarrassed, but leans in closer to Tony’s side. “Now, did it hit you right away or did it take a bit?”
“Right away.”
“Ok, first of all, and I’m not demanding it, but I’m gonna ask you to let me know right away if it happens again, ok?”
“But it’s stupid…”
“It is not stupid, Peter,” Tony squeezes his shoulder. “Can I ask what you felt? Sad? Afraid?”
“Everything,” Peter’s face crumples again. “Everything. And I hated it. And I wanted to leave. And now everything is off and loud and my spidey sense won’t stop and none of it is stopping and I feel all alone. I can’t stop thinking about it. And I’m wondering maybe this isn’t real and I’m back there and I-I hate it.”
“You’re not alone, I’m right here. This, here, is very real. I promise.”
“I know. But I still feel it, M-Mr. Stark.”
“I know, and that’s ok. That’s part of this,” Tony ruffles Peter’s hair briefly, then smoothes is back down while he thinks. He sucks some air through his teeth. “You know...when I first got back, way at the start of this, after Afghanistan, it took me forever to be able to take a shower without having a freak-out.”
“Showers?” Peter sniffs, rather grossly, and looks up at him. His face is wet and horribly splotchy.
“Yeah,” Tony looks away from Peter’s face to the floor. “Some of the interrogation techniques...were, not great. And it stuck. But I had to shower. And baths were absolutely out of the question.”
“Baths are gross, anyway, Mr. Stark. It’s like a person soup.”
“Ok, gross, and ceded, but my point still stands. And then after New York, God, I was a mess,” Tony chuckles sadly. “Like, actual unstable mess.”
“You threatened a terrorist.”
“Exactly. And almost got us all killed,” he turns back to Peter. “This shit can happen to anyone, Pete. So don’t for one second think any of this is ‘stupid.’ If you ever start thinking that feeling the way you do is stupid, I want you to think of me telling you it’s not.”
Peter nods, wiping his eyes again. “Ok, Mr. Stark,” he croaks, even if he doesn’t look sure. They can work on that later.
“Now, this is all every one of your body’s--and your mind’s--defense mechanisms trying to protect you. Peter, what you went through, and what you remember, was traumatic and unfair,” Tony cups the back of his head, the drops his hand back to his shoulder. “And everything is going haywire because it’s trying to keep you safe. And with that ridiculous spider-sense,” Tony can’t help it, he rolls his eyes and Peter huffs a laugh next to him. “It’s going to be worse for you, and feel more illogical. So, we’re going to work through it logically.”
“How?” Peter squeaks, and Tony sees another tear fall out of his eye.
“Well, we’re going to walk through it. Figure out some coping. See if we can throw some monkey wrenches into that illogical machine up there,” he taps the side of Peter’s head.
“Monkey wrenches?”
“Coping mechanisms. Things you can do so that scrotum-chinned motherfucker isn’t ruining something you yourself say you love. So you can keep doing this, even if it’s purely out of spite at the beginning. Spite is an incredible motivator.”
Peter has the decency to look thoughtful and like he’s actually absorbing what Tony is saying. “So he can’t take anymore away.”
“Exactly, kiddo,” Tony looks at the camera on the coffee table. “Now, logically: did anything in that museum bother you? Until the darkroom?”
“No,” Peter shakes his head.
“And if I asked you to, would you be able to take your phone out and take a picture? Of me? Of the lab?”
“Yeah,” Peter nods again, still sniffling. “But that’s just my phone, it’s not anything professional…”
“It’s a camera, Pete, and it’s a camera that’s not that much different than that fancy one over there. Not really.”
Peter turns to look at the camera, too. “That’s a digital single-lens reflex camera.”
“Exactly.”
“I can use that and never have to go into a dark room.”
“You got it, bud. So really, so far, that shit-head hasn’t ruined nearly as much as your brain is trying to tell you.”
“But I wanted to see the darkroom, Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice cracks. Tony was expecting this, because he knows his mind plays the exact same games sometimes. Sure, everything is ok right now, but what if, what if, what if? “And I wanted to do some things at school, like for real. Like, old stuff.”
“Ok, first of all, it’s not that old,” Tony pinches Peter’s arm. “And we can work on that. It’d be easy to set up a darkroom here, and start with other kinds of lights. Bring someone else in who knows what they’re doing, work our way up. We don’t have to do this tonight.”
“But I just want it over with.”
“It doesn’t work that way, bud. But I’m here and everyone else will be here if you ask,” Tony takes Peter’s chin and turns his head so he’s facing him. “And you may never be completely ok with it. Sometimes, shit is still hard and you just have to power through and accept that you’re going to feel like garbage for awhile. But you can make things to hang on to, to remind yourself that even if you feel awful, it is not the worst-case scenario and your brain is just being an asshole. That’s just the way it is, sometimes.”
“Worst case scenario would be being back there,” Peter looks at Tony somberly, so serious and sad his chest hurts a little.
“Same for me, Peter. But even if that did happen, the absolute worst case scenario is true, I got you out once. And I’d do everything in my power to do it again. And I would.”
“I know,” Peter hiccups.
“I mean it, kiddo. I wouldn’t stop, ok? Ever.”
“Ok.”
“Ok,” Tony leans in and presses a quick kiss against the top of Peter’s head, before pulling away to lean over to the coffee table. “Now,” he picks up the sleek black camera. “This is yours. And everything else aside, you’re damn good at it, Pete. Pep’s gonna be framing some of the pictures you took at the wedding, when she gets a chance. You can’t keep talent like that from the world, especially since there’s a new kid coming in a few months, who we’re all going to want a lot of pictures of.”
Peter’s face flushes, different from the red splotches of his tears. “T-thanks, Mr. Stark.”
“You don’t have to do it today, or tomorrow, but...I’m gonna give you some assignments. And I’ll come with you if you want, and some will even be for Spider-Man--no, don’t look excited, this is therapy and if you drop that thing I’ll drop your Lego star-whatever from the top of the Tower--just with this. Just so you get confidence that this is not that, or there. And if something is still bothering you with this camera, not any lights or darkrooms, we’re going to have to escalate this outside of us, kiddo. It’ll be our canary.”
“‘Escalate?’”
“Someone else to talk to, someone who can do more than the bullshit I just walked you through.”
“Oh.”
“I have someone, bud. Remember what I said: none of this is stupid,” Tony jostles his shoulder. “Shit, even Pepper has someone. And she’s the most stable person I know. Talking feels good, and sometimes you need someone outside who’s objective and can listen, even if you’re pretty sure they have no idea what you went through.”
“Yeah,” Peter gently takes the camera from Tony and cradles it in his hands, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “I’m just tired of feeling like this. And who knows what else there is? I want to be ok.”
“You are ok. Just remember, ok isn’t perfect. Shit, I was a mess last week. But you have us, and you can develop good coping mechanisms, even if they seem weird at first, or dumb at first. And you may never be all-the-way ok, but you’ll learn to work through it. I promise.”
“Ok, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispers, wiping another tear off his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Tony squeezes the back of his neck. “Now, I don’t know how smart it is to give you sugar when you’re all worked up like this, but I kinda feel obligated. Then I want you to try to go to bed.”
“Bed?” Peter looks up at him incredulously, the usual Peter finally peeking through. “It’s not even 8:30.”
“I know, but you’re going to feel like garbage tomorrow, after this. Sleep helps. I’ll sit with you if you need me to.”
“Blue lights make me feel better,” Peter lowers his gaze to the housing unit on Tony’s chest. It’s exactly the same as his old arc reactors in that regard, and emits a faint blue glow that’s probably brighter to Peter’s eyes.
“I think I can work with that,” Tony nods tactfully, making a note to figure out the exact wavelengths the unit emits.
“And I wish I could hibernate again, right now,” Peter looks back at the camera in his hands, stroking his thumb over the shutter button.
“Don’t even think about that,” Tony scolds, squeezing the back of his neck harder, until Peter yelps.
“Hey!” He jumps, scooting away from Tony’s side. “And I think about it all the time. It was nice and warm and I think I had nice dreams.”
“Are you cold now?”
“Not cold-cold, but like...chilled? Like worn-out-cold?”
“No ice cream then,” Tony pushes himself off the couch with a grunt, then turns to pull Peter up after him. He cradles the camera to his chest as they head towards the door. “I think Pepper made some bread pudding we can heat up.” He steps behind Peter and briskly rubs his hands up and down his arms.
“When is she going to stop baking?”
“When you stop eating it all. She’s happy to finally have someone she can cook for now that she’s nesting.”
“‘Nesting?’”
“Not a conversation for tonight. And I’d rather Pep be there so she can correct me if I get something wrong.”
“Lol. Ok, Mr. Stark.”
“Jesus Christ, what did I tell you about saying text acronyms out loud?”
Peter looks him straight in the eyes, “I don’t recall a thing.”
“Of course not. Come on, spiderling. Now you learn about self-care in the come-down.”
Peter looks at him seriously, reaching out to grip the back of his t-shirt as they walk up the stairs. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“Always. Don’t forget it.”