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If you forget the way to go
And lose where you came from
If no one is standing beside you
Be still and know I am
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know I am
Peter wakes up to the soft piano notes of an unfamiliar song. He lays back in bed, listens to the soothing melody and tries to figure out why his heart has doubled its pace and what the nagging feeling in the back of his head is all about.
He breathes out through his mouth deliberately until all air is drained from his lungs, then slowly inhales through his nose, holds his breath there for 5 seconds and repeats the whole process again until his heart rate has somewhat calmed down.
An ominous warning sits at the base of his neck and spreads down his spine like ice water. It’s feels very much like his spidey sense but somehow less urgent. It’s not like he’s going to be hit by a truck in the next few seconds and more like he just booked a ticket to a plane that’s destined to crash. Or what he imagines that would feel like anyway.
The piano music fades away and for almost a minute complete silence encases the building. Somehow, this silence rings all his alarm bells even more violently and they are joined by a grip of fear in his stomach that makes it harder to breathe.
Again, he breathes out through his mouth, inhales through his nose. Before he has finished inhaling, the same song starts back up again and the knot of anxiety in his gut slowly unravels. The memory of the unpleasant feeling, however, stays.
It’s enough to pull him out of bed, throw over his favorite hoodie and tiptoe to his door. Gingerly he presses down on the handle and watches the door silently fall open. He’s not sure what he’s expecting but he’d rather not test out his freaky additional sense when it’s already acting wonky on him.
The hallway is fraught with darkness but at the end of it, towards the living room, the lights of the city shine through and, as if pulled on strings, Peter follows the familiar, soothing sight into the big, open space. The pale couch almost glows in the stark neon lights of a nearby skyscraper and he looks out the bottomless windows out into the city he calls home.
The sight calms his nerves and makes the prospect of figuring out what his body was warning him about seem less daunting.
He wanders towards the elevator, pauses with his finger on the call button, then decides to take the stairs. He pushes open the door to the rarely used stair case and heads up two stories towards the only room in the building he knows holds a piano. The closer he gets, the louder the music becomes and he sinks down at the top of the stairs, leaning against the door right as the last verse starts.
Now that the music is accompanied by a familiar heartbeat, his own heart returns to a more relaxed pace as well and he relaxes against the cold metal door. By the end of the song he’s drowsy and peaceful and briefly considers just staying there for the night. Then again, he really doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of the mocking that would get him for at least a few weeks.
When the music stops, however, so does his feeling of peace and the anxiety returns full force and he doesn’t get it. Until Mister Stark starts talking.
“Peter.”
His head snaps up so fast he almost hits it on the door.
“No, that’s crap, Fri, let’s scrap that.”
Peter relaxes marginally on his side of the door but to his anxiety now comes a big case of confusion.
“Hey Peter,” Mister Stark starts again and this time Peter is prepared and does not destroy the door in surprise. However, the following frustrated grunt seems to say he’s not entirely happy with – with whatever he’s trying to do.
Slowly, Peter’s confusion is joined by curiosity. Is he overhearing something he shouldn’t be? Is this supposed to be a present? But what kind of present would it be? Should he leave before he finds out more? The decision is made for him when Mister Stark finally finds the right opening.
“Hey kid,” he says, voice impossibly soft and gentle, “If you’re hearing this I didn’t make it.”
It’s almost as if Peter’s body understands the words before his brain has time to absorb, process and decipher their meaning. The knot to his stomach returns viciously, the ice water is back to running down his spine and he is standing up and has barged into the room before he fully realizes why.
“Peter,” Mister Stark stares at him in consternation, “Are you okay?”
He just stares at him, unbelieving, shaking, angry.
“Am I okay?” he repeats, shrieks. “If I’m okay?” his voice rises another octave and he’s all but squeaking. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“Peter,” he says, slowly pushing up from the piano stool with his hand reached out as if approaching a wild animal.
He completely ignores his words and stumbles back until he hits the wall furthest away. Only then does he realize that his body is trembling – with fear? Anger? He’s not sure – and when he raises one shaking arm up to brush away the strands of hair from his face, he realizes he’s also crying. In disbelief he lets his eyes wander from the sign of betrayal of his own body to Mister Stark.
“What are you doing?” he says, voice now so low it’s barely a whisper. “What were you thinking? What– Why–?“
“Peter,” Mister Stark repeats, more firmly this time, and takes one careful step closer to him, both hands raised up in a non-threatening gesture but Peter doesn’t try to move away from him anymore. He simply stares.
“Why would you do that?”
Mister Stark sighs. “Because I’ve been thinking a lot these last few days.”
“Well, stop thinking,” he glares, fully realizing that he sounds like a petulant child.
“Pete,” he pleads, “You have to understand–“
“I do understand,” he shoots back and takes one step forward, “I do understand,” he emphasizes, hands clenched to fists at his side. “I’m a superhero, too, and I worry about all this all the time. I’m constantly afraid something’s gonna happen to me or to you or to May or to anyone I love and care about.” With every word his voice has risen until he’s just barely not screaming.
Peter opens his mouth again, searching for words to add and things to say but his brain is put on halt, his every thought a mess and he can’t say anything else. A sob rakes through his body and he’s glad when Mister Stark closes the distance between them and takes him into his arms.
He falls into his mentor and clutches at his back so harshly he’s sure it’s bound to leave marks but Mister Stark doesn’t complain. He just holds him and cards a hand through his hair and he apologizes. Over and over and over again.
“It’s not your fault,” Peter finally admits quietly after they have migrated to the piano stool where they are now sitting next to each other. “I overreacted and I’m sorry. I’m just… scared.”
Mister Stark rubs at his arm and leans his cheek atop Peter’s head. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he says quietly, “I just wanted you to have… something, I guess, should I… you know.”
“Yeah.”
They grow quiet, everyone dwelling on their own gloomy thoughts.
“I think I’d like to have something of you if… you know,” Peter finally says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nods and further relaxes into his mentor’s side, “Do you think you could play that song for me again? Just… without the… you know.”
“Yeah.” Mister Stark moves around until he can comfortably reach the keys while making sure Peter stays comfortably tucked into his side. His fingers hit the first keys and, to Peter’s surprise, on the second verse he starts to softly sing along.
This is how he falls asleep and how Mister Stark ends up carrying him back to bed, softly humming a lullaby.
“Good night, kid,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to his forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”