Archive of Our Own

"Are you okay, dude?"

Peter looked up at Ned's voice as they were hurried down the bustling halls of the end of a school day, readjusting his backpack and glancing away from his friend's worried face.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired," he responded. In truth, he was very tired.

Falling asleep had suddenly gotten a lot harder, leaving him tossing and turning in the itching and burning blankets of his bed. No matter how much tired irritation pulled at his eyes or weighed down on his limbs, he just couldn't seem to sleep. He wanted to say that it was unsolvable, that he had no clue why pleasant dreams or quiet, sleepless nights had evaded him--it would be less embarrassing that way--but Peter knew exactly why.

Nightmares.

Peter had had nightmares before, when he'd been a little kid just moving in with his Aunt and Uncle. They'd been nonsensical but tiring in a way that the teenager had forgotten they could be. But that had been years ago, and he'd grown out of them eventually.

He hated the nightmares that had returned, full of rushing wind, looming clouds and slicing wings. Green eyes that leered through the crackling fire. He shuddered even now thinking about the last scene that had invaded his last nightly terror two days ago. Yes, he hadn't slept in two days. Shut up, he was fine. It was Friday and he had all weekend to figure out a way to get some shut eye and get through the next week on sleep-deprived autopilot.

If he could get through a mandated lab session with Mr. Stark this afternoon. It was only supposed to be an hour long, but Peter had been jittery all day with the nerves of seeing the man again. Multiple teachers had told him to stop shaking the desks, but it had already taken all of his energy not to shake the room.

He couldn't help how nervous he was. Every little anxiety popped up with his defenses down, refusing to leave. May had told him of his going to the compound nearly a week ago, and that had been too long ago. Peter only had another hour before he got there, and already his head was filled with the everything of what could go wrong. And it was a lot.

"Are you sure?" Ned asked as they stepped through the school doors and out onto the entrance courtyard. Kids were mingling in groups before heading to cars in the pick-up line or the parking lot.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I just stayed up too late patrolling last night, and I can sleep in all I want tomorrow."

"You might not want to push it with May. Didn't she give you a curfew?"

"Technically, but I am following it. Most of the time."

"Dude--"

"I'm not trying to break her rules, I just hear people calling for help and it's not like I can ignore them."

Ned gave him another once over, suspicious, but said nothing about Peter's elusive behavior. It was a little annoying, but even Peter's dark eyebags had to recognize that it was fair. He'd been unreasonably slow recently, Flash tripping him up more than usual and his answers for Decathlon had been less than satisfactory. Michelle hadn't been thrilled, and her angry disappointment alone was almost enough to make him slap himself to sleep. Almost.

"Okay," Ned agreed, moving on, "So for this weekend I was kinda thinking we could maybe put together my Hogwarts LEGO set."

"I thought we already did that one."

"My brother ran into it."

Peter tutted, thinking about it. "I don't know, man, I mean I've got patrolling and if I don't want MJ to kick me off of the team then I'm gonna have to put some effort into the cards she gave me."

Ned bumped into him lightly, a tantalizing hum of, "Three thousand piecesss."

The teenager couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his tired lips. "I'll think about it."

Ned opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a curt, "Parker!"

Their heads turned at the annoyed shout, eyes widening at the sight of Happy standing outside of a midnight black Audi. His suit was sharp and his expression sharper. Peter scurried over, Ned close behind.

"Sorry, Happy. I didn't mean to keep you waiting," Peter apologized. Happy huffed, Ned stared. Peter gestured to his friend. "This is Ned by the way."

"I remember," Happy said, "He called me."

"Oh, wow, that's so--"

"Okay," Peter cut across his friend, ready to just hurry along and leave, "I'll see you later, Ned. Bye?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah yeah," Ned said, holding his hand out. Peter complied with a hurried version of their handshake. Happy watched, one eyebrow raised. "Bye, dude."

"Bye!" Ned walked away, still a little star struck. Peter gave Happy a nervous smile. "Sorry--friend--sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait."

Happy opened the door, pointing at the interior of the car. With a roll of his eyes, he huffed, "Just get in, kid."

"Yeah, okay sure. Yeah." Peter got in hastily, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder and placing it below him. His strength got away from him slightly, forcing the bag to bounce off of the other seat and onto the floor. His hand shot out to grab it, only resulting in smacking it harder into the carpeted floor with a heavy thud. The teenager looked up sheepishly as Happy's raised eyebrows. He mumbled, "Sorry."

Happy didn't say anything, just turned back to the front with a grumble and drove off. Peter glanced between the window and his lap, twiddling his figures nervously and biting on a yawn. He'd planned on doing his homework while in the car, but now that he was in the seat, his back arched uncomfortably and his limbs stiff with stupid petrification, he couldn't. He couldn't even think about pulling out his phone, his fingers trembled.

For the entirety of the ride, all Peter could get his anxiety racked body to do was stare out the window as the city transformed into green grass and shedding trees. His fingers shook in his lap when they approached the gate to the compound, Happy flipping his badge up to security with a curt word, and then they were in the grounds.

The Avengers Compound was just as impressive as he'd last seen it when Mr. Stark had tested him, and even in his nervous state it drew an awed exhale from the boy and wide brown eyes that glinted in the setting of the October sun.

Happy parked the car, the door clenching open. Peter rushed forward to grab his bag and slip out of the car, throwing his bag over his shoulders and following the former boxer. The man huffed, "Keep up," at him. He mumbled a tired apology, but even the threat of nightmares and Happy's consistently gruff mood couldn't wipe the small and excited smile that tugged at his lips.

"Up this way, kid," Happy directed, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him past the front desk towards an elevator instead. He flashed his bag as he did before shoving it in his face with an important wave. "You'll be getting one of these before you leave today. This is your one free pass--you forget it, you don't get in. Got it?"

Peter nodded eagerly. "Yep, got it."

"Good." The elevator opened, allowing for the two to step in. Happy pressed the metal screen that extended into a list of buttons at his request, clicking on one near the top that lit up light blue. "I'm not gonna babysit you every time, I have things to do, right?"

"Right."

"Good. So pay attention to where we're going."

"Yep. Yes, sir."

Peter stayed silent, save for the occasional nod or hum of understanding, as Happy broke down the rules of the compound and the rules of Mr. Stark's lab, not that any of it actually made itself a home within his head. Every word seemed to go in one ear and out the other, distracted and tired. Still, he tried to look attentive as the door opened and Happy led him to Mr. Stark's lab.

The man was still talking even as they stepped through the glass doors of Mr. Stark's lab, loud rock music playing overhead that banged at his head in growing pain. Mr. Stark didn't look up as they entered, welding goggles glued to his face just as tightly as his attention was to what looked like an Iron Man boot.

"--and keep your hands to yourself when you're in here. If you touch something you shouldn--"

"Give the kid a break, Hap," Mr. Stark reprimanded. The whir of the tool he was using faded as he set it off to the side, lifting up his goggles to sniff at the two. He pointed at them lazily. "Has he been drilling you all the way up here? C'mon relax, it's a Friday." Mr. Stark turned back to his desk, picking up a new tool and waving at Happy. "Alright, get out of here. Kid, you over here."

Happy rolled his eyes, grumbling as he left. Peter shifted on his feet before stepping towards Mr. Stark.

"O-okay, bye, Happy," Peter said. He nervously shuffled over to the billionaire, grabbing his bag off of his shoulder and fishing the suit out. He placed it on the desk in the crumpled ball he'd fisted it up in when he'd stuffed it in his bookbag the night before. Mr. Stark glanced between him and the suit, gesturing at it.

"What? We're crumpling million-dollar suits into balls now?"

"Oh, sorry, I, uh--"

"I'm messing with you, kid. Sit down. There's a fridge with snacks over there if you want any. Just let me finish this up and we'll be good to go, Underoos."

Peter somehow managed to get himself to sit on a stool. "Okay. Thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Don't mention it," Mr. Stark said, flipping his goggles back down and picking up his discarded tool. They sat in the lab filled with mechanical whirs, Led Zeppelin, and awkward silence for a few minutes before Mr. Stark spoke. "So, how was school?"

He blinked, twiddling, "It was--it was good. Um, had a chemistry test, so." He shrugged. "How was--how your day?"

"And done," Mr. Stark smiled, his machine whirring down and his goggles flipping up, "It was good, kid. Better now that I know Aunt Hottie isn't going to yell at me anymore."

"She'll find a way."

Amazingly, Mr. Stark laughed at his joke. Nervousness bubbled up in his chest. Mr. Stark grabbed the suit and waved for Peter to follow him over to a different desk, which he did quickly, peering around the man nervously to see what he was going to do to the suit. It wasn't really broken or torn anywhere, so Peter honestly didn't know what they were supposed to do in the lab every month.

Mr. Stark answered the question as though he'd said it aloud.

"Now, the suit isn't going to need constant updates and fixes like your Aunt clearly thinks, and we've got an hour here, so I thought we'd give this 'internship' thing a try."

His brain broke. "What?"

"Internship. Think you can keep up in the lab, Mr. Parker?"

"I--uh, yeah, yeah! I'll try, Mr. Stark."

The superhero gave him an amused side-eye. He pulled out a rolley chair and sat down, screens containing multitudes of formulas and Spider-Man suit schematics popping up in front of him. Peter stared at the screens in amazement, hesitantly holding out an arm to touch one, which extended under his hand, every little thing about the eyes for the suit being pulled out.

"So, how do you think we can improve it?"

Peter Parker was brilliant. That was something Tony had known for a while, ever since he'd taken an interest in the vigilante and searched through a multitude of security cameras to catch his identity. He was brilliant in that he was selfless and kind and good in a way that the mechanic would never be. And it didn't hurt that the teenager could easily keep up in the lab with him either. Tony had never really been big on lab partners, but he had to admit, having the kid to bounce ideas off of, to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over every idea, and to poke fun at, it was nice.

It would be even better if he could get Peter to tease him back, but even Tony had to admit that the kid didn't have much reason to be comfortable around him. It was something Tony was working on after a frightful night in which the kid had almost died saving his plane because he hadn't been listening, and an even scarier afternoon in which May Parker had practically cut his ears off with the force of her words. Peter needed help if he was ever going to make it to eighteen, and Tony was going to be the one to offer it.

Peter Parker was also falling apart, but just a little. It wasn't hard to see. Peter was always nervous with Tony, but this was a whole other level. The bags under his eyes were dark and wrinkled with a clear lack of sleep. His movements were jittery and filled with a sharp fear. It seemed that whenever the man glanced at the teenager he was coiled so tightly he was about to burst.

Words were on the tip of his tongue, comforting and helpful and something that would assure the young superhero that had undergone what had surely been a painful night just a couple of weeks ago, but they died before they could even move past his clenched teeth, tied down by the doubt heavy in his mind. Peter hadn't wanted to tell him about the ferry or the weapons, he certainly wouldn't be open to talking about his lack of sleep. That was something he'd talk about with May, not his distantly hovering mentor that hadn't really been a mentor.

So Tony didn't say anything. He wasn't Peter's dad, he was his sorta mentor and if Peter wanted to talk, he would talk. Simple as that.

Instead of talking about feelings, he talked about what he was good at; inventing. Webs, suit programs, AIs. He led the kid through how he'd made the suit, relishing his childishly awed expression as he was allowed to look over coding and concept sketches and even a couple of drafts for his newest Iron Man mark. He also--and he was most proud of this--managed to coax the kid into explaining more about his webs. He was obviously nervous, but after a few minutes, Tony liked to listen, even if he already knew most of what the teenager was talking about.

"--the web's compound in the vile was the hardest--the hardest for me to get," the kid rambled, the stutter beginning to evaporate, "I wasted so much of my teacher's materials trying to figure out how to keep it compact enough for me to carry around. It got to the point where he noticed and I had to take a break for a week, which really slowed things down."

"Yeah, well it worked out eventually. Those webs are really something, kid." He'd expected the encouragement to feel awkward on his tongue, but it was natural as breathing. Peter blushed and his stutter returned in full force.

"Oh, ah--thank you, sir. But--I mean, they're alright. It took me a while."

"Took me a while to make my suit."

"Yeah, well, but I mean those were very different circum--"

"If I may," Friday interjected, cutting across Peter's embarrassed mumbles, "It is time for Mr. Parker to go home."

Tony glanced over at the nearest clock, strangely disappointed. "Huh, would you look at that. Alright, kiddo, grab your suit and head out. Happy'll get you your pass on your way out."

"Oh, ah, okay." Peter snatched the suit off of the desk and balled it back into his bag hurriedly. "Thank you so much for having me, Mr. Stark. I'll see you next month."

Next month. That was much too far away.

"How about next week?" Tony suggested in lieu of a goodbye. Peter froze in his steps.

"What?"

"Come over next Friday, kid. I have a project I want you to look over, and maybe we could work on your fighting skills too. Sound fun?"

The kid's copper eyes held an equal amount of dread and excitement. Tony had to keep his brows from furrowing in confusion.

"I mean--yeah, yeah! I'll have to ask May first, but other than that--"

"Don't worry about it," Tony waved, "I'll call her. Now head on home, Young Buck. I'll see you next week."

Tony twirled in his chair to swerve back to his desk as Peter walked towards the door. The kid said, "Yes, sir."

"And don't call me 'sir.' Makes me feel old."

In the first real show of tongue in cheek the entire day, Peter said, "Yes, sir."

When Peter got home, it was four hours past curfew, also known as five in the morning. It was just after his second week of being at Mr. Stark's lab and he'd gotten to the point where he didn't even know it was possible to be this tired. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before, more from nerves than nightmares (at least, that was what he told himself). Mr. Stark had invited him because he'd been impressed. Peter had to keep it up during the next visit too.

Apparently all the worrying had been worth it, because Mr. Stark had invited him over for the next week as well. To congratulate himself, the teenager had allowed himself to avoid his bed for as long as he wanted by patrolling. It hadn't gone great.

His vision had been blurry and his arms shaky with exhaustion. It had been very apparent in the way he'd swung around clumsily and fought like there wasn't any strength behind his horribly aimed punches. It had been a terrible night for three reasons.

One. He'd felt like shit the entire night. It was cold and bitter with that good ol' New York pollution that bothered him more nowadays than it ever had, and there was of course that every swing felt like he was running away. He wasn't exactly sure what, though. Maybe it was his bed where nightmares crawled. Maybe it was the worry that May looked at him with every time she caught sight of him. Maybe it was the way Mr. Stark had looked at him today, a strangely guarded look that Peter couldn't discern through the way his vision had swam. He placed it somewhere between disappointment and confusion, possibly concern? Like he'd said, he couldn't really tell.

Two. The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man wasn't too great at his job. There wasn't even that much going on that night, but when he'd caught a man grabbing a woman's backpack and biking off like some kind of bike-thief-ninja, he hadn't been ready. He'd fucked up. The woman was fine, but her bag was gone with her antidepressants that she'd have to go through a bunch of hoops and legal things to try and replace.

Three. The bullet lodged in his arm.

That might need a little more explaining. If he could manage not to pass out as he crawled in through his window with a pained groan.

"It is currently three and a half hours past your curfew, Peter," Karen warned in his ear, "If you do not start heading back within the next ten minutes I will have to alert Mr. Stark."

Peter nearly fell from where he was swinging, only barely managing to keep his grip as he stomped onto the side of thee building to keep himself in air and shooting another web that only just made it to its mark. Everything was hard to make out when it was dark and he hadn't slept in...three days? It was Friday night, or well, Saturday morning, and he was pretty sure the last time he'd slept had been a nap during lunch on Wednesday. He might have to start keeping track of that.

"Please, don't do that, Karen," Peter begged, shooting another web, "I just need to find Daphne's bag so I can get her her medicine back. It'll be quick, I promise!"

"You are already past curfew, Peter."

"Okay, so help me find the guy who took the bag and I'll go home. You don't need to call Mr. Stark. Everyone's happy."

Karen was silent for a moment, numbers and faces flying across the screen before the road was highlighted in front of him. "Security cameras indicate the man went this way. Follow the route and look out for danger."

"You got it, Kare Bear! Thank you!"

He arced low before swinging back up in a sharp line, swinging down the street that Karen had indicated. It took him a few minutes to catch up to Karen's route where it finally ended with the man he was supposed to catch nowhere in sight. He crouched on a streetlight and swivelled his head around, searching for the man on the bike. After a moment, he spotted the red bike leaning against the wall in an alleyway.

He jumped down into the alleyway, disappointed to see that both the bag and the man were not there. "Karen, where is he?"

"He went through that door by the dumpster," his AI answered. Peter stepped around the dumpster to catch sight of the stained door hanging ever so slightly off its hinges. Super not creepy or suspicious at all.

"So he's in there?"

"According to security cameras, that is correct."

"Great!" Peter said with forced cheerfulness, "See? We'll be back home in no time. Keep an eye on Daphne for me."

"Of course, Peter. Shall I alert Mr. Stark?"

"What? No! He doesn't need to come down here, Karen."

"You seem very out of it, Peter. I just thought I would suggest Mr. Stark's new protocols."

"What? What new protocols?" he asked.

"The Out of the Crib protocol."

Peter bit his lip in annoyance, rolling his eyes. "Yep, that's great. Of course it is. Yeah, don't call Mr. Stark, Karen, this'll be quick."

"Okay, Peter. Good luck."

Peter needed more luck than Karen could offer, because the building hadn't been occupied by one thief and maybe like, a pimp or something--he didn't really know how crime worked--because, no, it couldn't be. Instead it was filled by a large group of nearly ten men piled around a table that had stacks of wadded up cash and compact bags of white powder. And because Peter was stupid enough to assume that the building hadn't had anything but one lousy backpack thief, he'd just walked through the door. And everyone had turned to look at the superhero frozen in the doorway.

Okay, so maybe he should've been more careful. Maybe.

Guns flipped his way immediately. Peter stooped defensively, his heart immediately beginning to race its way to his throat. He held up his hands in mock surrender, forcing them to not shake.

"Hey, guys. Anyone seen a sunflower print backpack?"

Eyes glanced to the bag sat on the floor. The man who had brought it paled just a little, though Peter didn't think it was because he was scared of the superhero poised in front of him. The angry scowl of the biggest and most muscly man seemed a more likely culprit for his fear.

The backpack was kicked towards Spider-Man. Sweet.

"There, now go," ordered a husky voice. Spider-Man's eyes narrowed almost mockingly.

"Y'know I can't just leave now that I've seen all this."

A gun cocked. "Well, that's just great."

Apparently, not sleeping made you super slow and turned down super senses that warned of bullets. Peter had only been in the room of drug dealers or money launderers or whatever they were for a few minutes, but it had been enough. What with the way his vision swam, bullets rained throughout the room, and Karen wouldn't stop telling him to call Mr. Stark, it was no wonder he'd gotten caught by a flying streak of metal.

It had torn through his arm just as sharply as a strangled scream had torn through his throat. He'd dropped from his web in pain, landing on the floor with a heavy thud. The bad guys had taken that as their cue to grab their shit and leave. They even took Daphne's backpack with them. Assholes.

Peter gripped his arm to his chest, forcing himself up to his knees and then to his feet, as the last guy dashed out the door. Any evidence that they'd been there was gone, save for the bullet shells littering the floor. Oh, and his blood that had begun to drip into scarlet splashes against the corroding wood. There was also that.

It took a few seconds for Karen's voice to make any sense in his ears.

"--eter. Peter. Please respond."

"I'm here, Ka'en," he mumbled. He leaned on the nearest wall, shuffling towards the door. He had to get that bag back. The sharp pain in his arm told him he needed to go home.

"You have sustained a bullet wound to your forearm."

"Yeah. Felt that." He paused with a grimace when he reached the door. "Is the bullet still in there?"

"I cannot detect an exit wound."

"Great."

"I would advise immediate medical attention at Avengers Compound."

"What? No--"

"Calling Mr. Stark."

"Karen--"

"Mr. Parker."

Oh dear, God.

"Heyy, Mr. Stark," Peter greeted, glad that the man had at least not chosen to go with a video call. Peter was sure he was sure that if he saw his face any possible lie Peter could feed him would be thrown out the window immediately. "Sorry, uh--I didn't mean to call you. It's nothing and it's late so--"

"Karen. Report," Mr. Stark said. It was forceful cutting across Peter's rambled and demanding an answer from the AI. Peter pursed his lips and stared up into the dark plumes of the cloudy night sky and prayed that Karen would keep her mouth shut.

"Peter has sustained a bullet wound to his forearm. The bullet is still lodged in his flexor carpi radialis."

Mr. Stark let out a stressed, short sigh on the other end of the call. "Nothing, huh?"

Peter stammered. "Um, I mean, it's--it's fine. I can get the bullet out with tweezers and it'll heal."

"Okay, uh, don't do that," Mr. Stark reprimanded. Peter winced, delirious exhaustion forcing hot tears to his eyes. Mr. Stark must be sick of him already. The annoying teenager waking him up early in the morning to come rescue him from a failed attempt to get a woman's stolen bag. He was probably the worst superhero ever. "Keep pressure on your arm, I'll be there in ten."

"No, Mr. Stark, I'll be fine, really--"

"Upupup." Peter quieted. "Stay there, I'm coming to get you. See you in ten."

"Mr. Stark has disconnected," Karen told him. Peter blew out an angry breath through his nose.

"Great. Thanks, Karen."

"You're welcome."

"I really need to teach you sarcasm." Peter clutched his arm at a shot of pain, grimacing. He just needed to get home. Mr. Stark didn't need to be forced to worry about him. "Can you--can you text Mr. Stark?"

"I can send him a message, yes."

"Great. Ah, can you tell him I'm going home and that I'll be fine? Oh, and sorry for waking him up?"

"I can send that, yes."

"Cool. Go ahead and do that," he instructed. He took a few more steps into the alley. Clutching his injured arm to his chest, he flicked his right wrist. He began to swing home.

The journey was slow going and painful as he cut through the chilly night air. Everything was a blur, and by the time he reached his apartment's window, he didn't even remember getting there.

Clumsily, Peter opened his window, crawled through, stuck to the ceiling, and then dropped onto his bunkbed in the aching dark of the room. He groaned in pain, tearing his mask off. Probably not the best move, because if he was being honest, it made everything harder to see, but it was just too much at that moment. It clung to him the same way rubble and sand had. The same way blood had trickled from his hair while he was stuck underneath a crumbled building.

He didn't even notice his breaths were getting quicker, the force of adrenaline leaving him and leaving him weak.

And then a lamp flicked on.

Peter's head shot up from where he'd been examining his wound, eyes widening and a gasp escaping his lips as he spotted the man sitting on the chair by his desk.

"Mr. Parker," Mr. Stark greeted, more than a little steely.

"This isn't what it looks like!"

Tony glanced over the kid disapprovingly as he jumped down from the bunk bed. It was easy to see the way he held back a flinch, his arm curling closer to his chest.

"It isn't?" Tony humored, "I'm pretty sure I told you to stay put."

"I thought my room was a better place to stay put."

"You swung halfway across Queens with a bullet wound."

"And?"

"And?" Tony repeated, stepping out of the chair with an indignant stop. Peter took a step back and he reevaluated. He loosened his posture and softened his eyes. In the process, he really took the kid in.

It was something he'd noticed whenever the kid had come over for the lab, and something he'd double checked with Happy to make sure he wasn't going insane. This kid was exhausted. He was hunched over from it, his eyes dark and dead, his hair limp against his head. The color from his cheeks that had been so intensely rosy and childlike when he'd invited him for the "Avengers Test" was all but gone. It was a look that Tony had sported many times, and his heart dropped.

Tony had to be the one to initiate talking. He took a deep breath.

"Kid, are you okay?" Peter's eyes glanced down at his arm and stayed there. "Other than the bullet wound. You look dead on your feet, Pete."

"I'm fine," he mumbled.

Tony hummed. Placating.

"Okay. Later, then. C'mon, let's go fix up that arm."

"May's gonna get mad if I leave again."

"I think she'd prefer to know you weren't currently dying of a bullet wound."

"I'm not dying."

"Sure, kid." Tony tapped the spider on Peter's chest. A blue hologram spread out, displaying the kid's vitals. His eyes roamed over the information before he felt a stone drop in his stomach. "On second thought, we might have to stay here."

"What?"

"You're already healing around the bullet, kid. If we want to get it out, it's now or never. So, where are those tweezers you mentioned?"

"...Seriously?"

Tony winced. "Your aunt's a nurse, right? I'll go wake her."

"No, Mr. Stark--"

"Kid, this shit is going to hurt. And I'm gonna guess that pain medicine doesn't work on you," Tony cut across. Peter nodded glumly. After a moment of hesitation, he placed a hand on the kid's shoulder, squeezing in what he thought might be a comforting manner. "You go wake your aunt. She'll probably throw something at me if I wake her up at five in the morning. I'll go get supplies, okay?"

Peter nodded again. The fight looked like it had been drained from him, his skin ghostly white and looking like a gentle wind would knock him over. Tony nudged him in the direction of May's room, his steps picking up robotically when Tony let go of him, leaving the billionaire to forage for supplies in an apartment he'd never spent more than twenty minutes in at a time.

He headed to the bathroom first, checking under the sink. Luckily for him, a fully stocked first aid kit sat next to an almost empty bottle of soap. He snatched it, tucking it underneath his arm before looking for something that could pull out the bullet that'd lodged itself in the kid's arm. A surprisingly strong wave of concern and anger bubbled up out of nowhere. He blinked in confusion. Where the hell had that come from?

Tony pushed it to the side for now, grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol and the bright purple tweezers before rushing out of the bathroom. The apartment's lights had all been turned on, clearly illuminating the Parker's sitting on the couch. Peter looked like he was about to collapse into the pillows, while May was upright and furrowed with worry, looking over Peter's now bare arm. The kid had managed to slip out of the suit and into a pair of sweatpants while the billionaire had been foraging for medical supplies.

May looked up as he walked over, dark eyes flashing. "Mr. Stark."

"Mrs. Parker," he responded. He passed over the supplies, feeling Peter's eyes glued to the tweezers in his hand. He turned to the kid. "I'm gonna make this as quick as I possibly can. I'm trained, but I'm not a professional."

"Shouldn't we just go to a hospital?" May asked. Tony shook his head.

"No. The results will be the same, but we'll have to deal with NDAs and the press."

"The compound?" she tried again.

"Too far away. We have to get this done now before it seals up."

"But--"

"May," Peter's mumble cut across, "It's fine. Probably shouldn't have gotten shot in the first place."

"Oh, you definitely shouldn't have," she reprimanded, but it was soft, "But that's a talk for later."

Peter forced a laugh. "Can't wait."

Peter was tucked into the couch, his eyes lazy and half-lidded. The pain in his arm throbbed with the erratic beating of his heart, and he could feel it throughout his entire body. Even with the bullet removed and his arm wrapped tightly, he had to grit is teeth. They ground together uncomfortably, almost blurring out May and Mr. Stark's muttered conversation in the hall outside his apartment.

"Happy'll bring him over to the compound tomorrow," Mr. Stark was saying, "I'll give him some pain medication to take home and we'll check over his wound. And I'll patch up his suit too."

"Okay. Okay. Sounds good." May paused. "Do you think he'll be able to sleep?"

"Through the pain or the nightmares?"

Peter froze where he was curled up under a think blanket. And then the shame. Mr. Stark knew. Of course he knew that Peter had nightmares. He knew everything about Peter. He knew more than Peter did about himself.

Was his mentor going to berate him for letting the nightmares make him slow? For letting them get to him? Was he going to take the suit away? He probably should. Some superhero Peter was.

May's voice broke through his horrid thoughts. "You've noticed too?"

"It's pretty easy to tell. I went through the same thing a few years ago." That made Peter pause. He had? "It took a while for me to reach out for help, I shouldn't have been expecting him to be able to."

"The blame's not all on you. I didn't say anything either. He's always been so open, I just thought he'd tell me eventually. And now eventually is talking with you about it while he sleeps off a bullet wound."

"Yeah," Mr. Stark sighed, "Not ideal. But, I think I can help."

He could?

"How?"

"Just make sure he's ready to be at the compound tomorrow afternoon."

And then Mr. Stark left and May stepped back into the apartment. Peter feigned sleep for another hour before he finally slipped beneath the dark waves. He flinched back awake almost two hours later thanks to bright green eyes.

"Mr. Stark, where are we going?"

Peter glanced at his mentor as he shuffled nervously down the hall, forcing himself to take greater strides every once in a while to keep up with the man strolling slightly ahead. It'd barely been twelve hours since Peter had fallen asleep with a patchily wrapped bullet would in his arm, and well, his super healing wasn't super for nothing.

Happy had come to pick him up and take him to the compound the next morning, where both the head of security and the billionaire had shuffled him into the Avengers Medbay to redo his wrap and give him some pain medication. There'd only been a fresh scar on the teenager's arm that would likely clear up by the end of the day, but that hadn't dissuaded Mr. Stark from wrapping it up again ("Just in case you're not immune to infections.") and putting a bottle of pain medication in his backpack that was apparently meant for super soldiers.

Overall, Peter would be doing fine--great, even!--if he'd be able to stand up straight. The lack of sleep after getting shot seemed to be what finally took him out, and the bags under his eyes were no laughing matter. Peter was sure he was going to collapse from tired nerves sometime soon if Mr. Stark didn't give him a chance to sit down. Not that he told Mr. Stark that. Peter could keep it up to wherever they were going. He'd be fine.

"That's a surprise," Mr. Stark said, interrupting his racing thoughts. He snatched a look at the teenager over his shoulder. "Though let's hope it doesn't knock you out immediately. Did you get any sleep last night, kid?"

Peter nodded with an unconvincing shrug. "Yeah. A few hours."

Mr. Stark tutted. "Better than nothing I guess."

Finally, they stopped in front of a door in an abandoned hallway in the compound. Peter hadn't seen anyone but him and Mr. Stark come down this hallway, and it earned a confused frown from the kid, only growing as he turned back around from surveying the hallway to see Mr. Stark slipping off his shoes. The man flashed him a smile as Peter peered at him, nose crinkling up in amusement at his expression.

"Yours too, kid. No shoes allowed in this room."

Peter hesitated before untying his shoes roughly and placing them on the floor next to Mr. Stark's own fancy running shows that looked like a million bucks. They probably were. He shoved away the thought, looking back towards his mentor as he opened the door with a smile that welcomed him in a comforting tease.

Mr. Stark padded into the room, and Peter almost followed before stopping in confusion to gape at what was in front of him. His first thought was of those rooms for psychos in movies whenever they placed the villain in a very problematic straight jacket. The rooms that were all padded mattress that were stained a dark and dirty gray, but this room was much nicer. Mr. Stark practically bounced off of the mattress like floors, which were a sterile white, the same as the walls that gleamed in their harsh smoothness. It was like he'd walked into the train station at the end of the Harry Potter movie. He half expected Dumbledore to appear out of the walls.

"C'mon in, kiddo," Mr. Stark invited, "The room doesn't bite. Promise."

He hesitated before slipping into the room after his mentor, surprised at the softness of the mattress under his toes. It was like a combination between clouds and a memory foam mattress.

Quickly, and still very confused at what all this was about, Peter shuffled over to Mr. Stark. His mentor offered an encouraging smile as he did.

"So, what's with this room, Mr. Stark?" he finally managed to ask, turning around slowly to take it all in.

"This."

Peter turned to see what Mr. Stark was gesturing at. It was a small earbud, tiny and glowing with an outer ring of blue. The teenager raised an eyebrow, but he stepped closer in interest.

"What is it?"

Mr. Stark plopped it in his ear in response. In a swift moment, the door at the end of the room closed and Mr. Stark gripped his arm, flopping the two down on the bed of a floor. Peter tensed, but upon realizing that Mr. Stark had essentially just bullied him into laying down, he relaxed, turning his head to examine what his mentor would do next. Their arms were pressed up against each other in a strangely comforting manner. He thought that his mentor was going to pull away, but when he didn't, Peter allowed himself to sink a little more into the cushioned floor against the man.

"Ever heard of BARF, Mr. Parker?"

Peter blinked. "I mean, I threw up a lot when I first got my powers."

Mr. Stark chuckled. "No, not throw up. BARF. Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing. It's meant for therapy to help people process memories or work through trauma."

"But I don't have--"

"Kid, you crashed a plane out of midair. I'm sorry to tell you this, but your body's gonna respond to that like anybody else would."

A moment of silence. A deep breath. "Which is?"

"Nightmares. Panic Attacks. Difficulty sleeping and focusing, just to name a few."

Oh.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Mr. Stark agreed, "Oh."

"So what's, uh, BARF going to do about it?" Peter mumbled, desperate to move at least a little of the focus off of him.

"Hopefully it'll help you more along the line, for now, you just need to sleep."

Peter deflated in disappointed. "This is really nice, Mr. Stark, but falling asleep's been...it's been a nightmare."

"I know." Peter's eyebrows raised at Mr. Stark's admission, but he continued to stare at the ceiling. "Happened to me. After Afghanistan and New York and... Point is, you're not weak for this, kiddo. Every Avenger has gone through some form of this. It sucks, but it's a natural response."

"Does it go away?" It was barely a mumble, but with Mr. Stark laying next to him, arm to arm, the man managed to hear it.

"Yeah. Eventually."

"How long is 'eventually?'"

There was a sigh. "Depends. But for now, we're just gonna focus on the bags under your eyes and the fact that you can barely stand."

"I can sta--"

"For the first time 'round, the chip's gonna be in my ear so you can get a feel for it. Next time, we can pick through your brain. Sound fun?"

Peter raised his eyebrows at the man, but nodded anyway. Mr. Stark gave him a wink and then turned to look at the ceiling. After a moment, he turned to stare at the ceiling too, squinting up at whatever Mr. Stark found so interesting. There wasn't anything to look at, just the same sterile white unbroken by even a speck of dust. He opened his mouth to ask what was supposed to happen when--

There was an echoed song coupled with the splashing of water at the same moment a blob of blue broke out of the ceiling. Peter flinched, gripping Mr. Stark's hand on panicked instinct, but the blue bob swam over them harmlessly, a fuzzy blue left in the wake of its tail.

Peter gasped when he was finally calm enough to realize that the blob wasn't a blob at all, it was a whale. And the fuzzy blue following its tail wasn't just blue, but rather the ocean blossoming out along the path of the animal until the room was no longer a boxed in room of pure white, it was an unending ocean. The teenager's eyes tracked the movements of the new world floating in lapping waves around him and Mr. Stark.

Jellyfish bobbed lazily. Seaweed waved in an imitation of a mournful dance. Fish parried and flew around, darting in schools of flashy silver, bubbles trailing behind them. The whale continued to swim, moving away as though they weren't in a room that wasn't big enough for it, but they were actually at the bottom of the ocean. Peter glanced to the side as another movement caught his eye, his gaze landing on that of a stingray shuffling amongst the sand, a few crabs clicking nearby.

"Whoa."

"Pretty nice, right?" Mr. Stark asked softly.

Peter couldn't do anything but nod as he turned to catch sight of the whale again, its low song vibrating through him dully. He couldn't look away. Not from the animals or the lazy wave of plants or the way light barely managed to ripple off of the dark underwater movie theater. Doe eyes tracked the movements methodically, breaths became slow and even to fall into rhythm with the whale's song coupled with the lapping of the water.

Before he knew it, but in what could have taken hours for all he knew, Peter's eyes slid shut. There were no nightmares. There was just ocean and animals and warmth beside him. And right then, that was all Peter needed.