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When FRIDAY tells Tony that Peter is crying, Tony immediately stands and makes his way to Peter’s room, but once he gets there, he hesitates.
The kid has never let Tony in before. And things are getting better between them—Peter is finally becoming a little more receptive to Tony as a guardian, opening up a little bit more—but... he doesn’t know if they’re to the point that Peter will actually open the door if he knocks.
Tony stands in the hallway, facing Peter’s door like it’s a riddle he can’t figure out, for a long time.
He never works up the courage to knock. He can’t bring himself to leave.
Feeling like a coward, Tony slides down the wall and sits outside Peter’s door, his head in his hands. If he breathes slowly enough, he can faintly hear Peter crying on the other side. It hurts. It hurts.
Tony jumps when Peter’s door flies open. His neck cracks as he snaps his head up to see Peter, tear-stained and rumpled, standing there.
For a long moment, it’s silent. Maggie breaks it by brushing past Peter’s legs and coming to Tony, nudging his hands with her nose, licking gently at his fingers.
Peter watches her as if dazed and then says quietly, “I could hear you breathing.”
“Oh,” Tony whispers.
Peter opens his mouth to say something, then closes it and shakes his head. He turns and walks back into his room, leaving the door open.
Maggie pads after him without hesitating. Tony takes a moment, standing slowly from the floor. If Peter hadn’t wanted him, he would have closed the door, he reasons.
Cautiously, as if waiting for Peter to slam the door in his face, Tony steps into the room. It’s dark inside, but Tony can see Peter sitting cross-legged on his bed, fiddling with the covers. Maggie jumps on as well, burying her head in Peter’s lap.
Steeling himself, Tony closes the door behind him. He wants Peter to know that he’ll stay as long as he’s allowed.
He sits next to Peter on the bed, their legs brushing.
“Can I—” Tony starts, then breaks off. “What can I do, kiddo? Tell me what you need.”
He doesn’t see the point in asking what Peter’s crying about. He’s pretty sure he knows.
Peter sniffles. Tony can barely see him shrug.
It would be so easy to just leave him be after that. It would be so easy to say some patronizing line about it getting easier as time went on. But Peter had been the one to come find him in the hallway, and the one to invite him in, and now it’s Tony’s turn to act like an actual parent and help his kid.
He remembers exactly what it’s like to be recently orphaned: grief stricken and touch-starved and aching with loneliness.
He reaches out and finds Peter’s elbow in the dark, follows it down until he’s covering Peter’s hand with his own.
“If you just need me to be here,” Tony says quietly, “I’ll be here.”
Peter’s breath hitches. His fingers close around Tony’s at the same time a tear drops onto Tony’s wrist.
Tony forces himself to not pull Peter in. He just holds his hand and lets Peter come to him on his own time. After a long minute of Peter silently shaking next to him, the boy tips against Tony’s shoulder and it feels like approval.
Heartbroken and hardly daring to breathe, Tony rests his cheek against Peter’s hair. He strokes his thumb over Peter’s knuckles.
Peter’s still crying and Tony’s so focused on how desperately he wishes he could fix him that it takes him a long minute to realize that Peter’s pressing firm against his side now, practically nuzzling into Tony’s neck.
Touch-starved, he remembers with a jolt of embarrassed guilt.
Peter wants to be held but he doesn’t want to ask.
He probably doesn’t even care if it’s Tony that holds him, he just needs human contact. May used to hug him a lot, Tony knows. And Tony... Tony doesn’t.
He may not be able to fix Peter—put him back together like a broken machine, like following instructions on a blueprint—but he can fix that.
Feeling more tentative than he ever has before, Tony gently sets his palm against Peter’s neck. Peter hiccups, turns his head to rest more securely against Tony’s collarbone.
Step two. He squeezes Peter’s hand once before letting go, smoothing his thumb along Peter’s jaw when the boy’s breath hitches again. He wraps his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulls him against his chest, safe and protected and wanted. Peter curls into him like the child he is and Tony feels it in his heart, in the warmth that spreads behind his ribcage.
Tony settles against the headboard, Peter warm and heavy against him.
“Mags,” Tony says quietly, briefly removing his hand from cradling Peter’s head to pat the bed. Maggie dutifully shifts, laying on her stomach behind Peter, sandwiching him between them so he’s being touched on all sides. Then Tony buries his hand in the short hair at the nape of Peter’s neck, scratching gently as Peter’s breathy whimpers quiet and eventually cease as Peter falls asleep.
And now step three: the hardest one. He has to stay. Even when he spirals into thoughts of self doubt and guilt and fear that he’ll break this kid even more than he’s already been broken; even when the way Peter’s trusting him enough to sleep in his arms, snoring softly with tear tracks still drying on his cheeks, makes Tony feel like most undeserving person in the world; even when looking down at Peter’s young face makes Tony’s throat close up with so many emotions, named and unnamed, that he feels like he has to run away from it, he has to stay.
He can’t let Peter wake up alone. Not when he’s already spent so long lonely and hurting.
He doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep, but he slides down onto the pillows. Peter’s legs tangle with Tony’s, his hand limply catching Tony’s sleeve.
Tony passes the time counting Peter’s heartbeats, cataloging the way he shifts and breathes.
He didn’t know he could love anyone as much as he loves Peter Parker.
When Peter wakes up the next morning, Tony is still there.