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It wasn’t that Peter was a baby.
He’s 15-years-old, a Sophmore in high school and a freaking superhero . Sometimes, though, he has bad days, really really bad days, days where he can barely function, times when he freezes up, when all he can do is sob and press himself as closer as humanly possible to either Tony or May and just hold them for dear life.
Days when Peter isn’t sure if he’s going to float away again, snapped completely out of existence. Day when he isn’t sure if Tony will be there to make it better, when his mentor’s heroic words on the battlefield, the Gauntlet simmering the air around him, were his last.
This is one of those days.
Or nights, technically. It almost always starts at night.
His nightmares had kept him awake. They made sleep basically impossible and the spiderling wearily blinks up at Tony through the fizzling darkness, watching as his father-figure wordless climbs into bed beside him and gathers him close, pressing sweet kisses against his hair before Peter can even say anything.
The boy finally falls into a restless sleep, jerking awake with a cry that burns his throat.
“I’m sorry,” He sobs over and over again against Tony’s chest, soaking up the comfort and love like a sponge, feeling horrible for keeping the billionaire awake but needing him there just the same. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh,” Tony repeats, rocking them slowly, pressing kiss after kiss against Peter’s forehead, brushing his hair back and wiping away his tears. “Shh, it’s okay, bubba, I gotcha, I gotcha.”
By the time morning finally breaks, Peter’s eyes are red-rimmed, dark bags stark against his pale face and he blinks slowly. He’s vaguely aware of the golden sunlight flickering through his closed curtains, listening as the birds chirp outside, feeling Tony shift underneath him and the boy just grips his father-figure tighter.
“Come on, bug, we gotta get some food in you.” Tony whispers, sitting fully up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, releasing Peter and raising his arms in a stretch. “I promised your aunt that you’d eat 3 meals-a-day while staying here and I’m not about to break that promise on day one.”
The feeling of safety, of security and one of the only things grounding him at the moment disappears along with that stretch and Peter acts on an instinct he didn’t even know about. He swallows, jerking himself toward Tony with enough force that the genius grunts, wrapping his arms around the man’s middle.
“Don’t--” He starts, voice raspy and he swallows again, blinking away stubborn tears. “Don’t go.”
“Oh, Pete,” Tony sighs, gathering him close again. “It’s a Bad Day, huh?”
Peter nods, burrowing closer. “I feel, like, itchy? I dunno, just-just don’t wanna be alone.”
“You aren’t alone, bambino .” Tony says, cupping Peter’s cheek in his human hand, his prosthetic one wrapping gently around the teen’s trembling shoulders. “Never alone. But, listen here, bud, you need to eat and drink something, okay? You cried practically all night and that’s a lot of water leaving your system.”
Peter feels a flash of guilt shoot up his chest, hot and sharp. “I’m sorry--”
Tony holds up a hand, shaking his head. “I’m not mad about it, kiddo. It’s not your fault but we do gotta get over to the kitchen and we don’t have a way to teleport there yet, unfortunately.”
“Where’s Dum-E when we need him?” Peter jokes weakly, feeling his dad’s chest rumble in a laugh under his cheek.
“Probably feeding Morgan another gross green smoothie back at the Tower.” Tony says and this time it’s Peter turn to snort, suddenly grateful that his nightmares didn’t keep his little sister awake too. “Her and Pepper are coming back tomorrow though, so I suspect we’ll be told all of the details.”
“Every last one.” Peter says and then sighs, nuzzling closer to Tony. He startled, however, when the man starts to stand up, settling Peter back against the pillows. “What, no--?”
“Hold on, just --” Tony holds up his hands, palms out, before taking a step back. Peter trembles, wishing to reach out toward the billionaire but refrains, clenching his fists instead. His mentor’s dark eyes are soft, alight in worry and hesitation, and Peter swallows again. “Just hold on, bambi, give me just a second, okay? I gotta grab something from my room, I’ll be right back.”
Before Peter can respond, Tony’s out the door, practically running down to his and Pepper’s room. He’s back before Peter has barely even blinked, holding up a thing that causes the spiderling’s cheeks to darken in a blush.
It’s a baby carrier.
“ A backrest, Pete. Not a baby carrier. ” Tony had said when he first suggested the idea a few months ago, waving away Peter’s resulting eye-roll. “ For when you want to use your freaky little spider powers to hang onto my back like a little monkey again. You can just sit in it instead, that way you can actually rest and I don’t have to worry about you accidentally unsticking yourself and falling into my tool box. ”
It hasn’t been used in a few weeks though, not since Peter had gotten stabbed while on patrol, shown up at the Tower with blood all over him and Tony had been so worried that he wouldn’t let Peter out of his sight while fixing his suit for the next few days. . .
I guess both me and Tony have some issues, huh? Peter thinks, watching as his father-figure gets the backrest - baby carrier - situated, this time against his chest instead. I guess dying and almost dying a lot can mess you up, though.
The sentiment doesn’t get rid of his blush, however, and Peter glances away from Tony just as the man finishes getting set up, watching instead as the mid-morning sun filters through his closed blinks, dancing across the far wall.
A sudden hand against his shoulder startles the boy and he jerks, eyes snapping up to meet Tony’s. His dad’s gaze is soft and warm, filled with so much love and affection and worry that Peter could drown in it.
“I know it’s not, uh,” Tony seems to struggle to find the words, sitting down next to Peter. “It’s not something a kid your age would use. And it could be seen as a little weird --”
“It’s not weird if it helps. And it does. Help, I mean. Plus, it’s nice,” Peter admits, ducking his head. “I like using it, makes me feel, um, feel safe. Being close to you, your heartbeat--”
He cuts himself off, blinking away more tears and Tony wordlessly gathers him closer, pressing a kiss against his cheek before helping to get the teen situated in his little seat-carrier-thingy. Finally, after a few seconds of handling, Peter’s pressed against Tony’s chest, his legs on either side of the billionaire’s hips and his head tucked underneath of his dad’s chin.
The carrier wraps around the boy’s own legs, keeping him upright against Tony as the man stands up with barely a grunt of effort.
“It’s a good thing you spiderlings don’t weigh anything.” Tony laughs, brushing a hand through Peter’s unruly curls before taking a few steps toward the door, Peter swaying slightly. “You doing okay, kid?”
“Hmm,” Peter nods, nuzzling closer to his dad, feeling one of the man’s arms wrap around his middle. Peter does the same, reaching up to wrap his own arms around Tony’s neck, breathing in deeply. He sighs. “Comfy.”
“Good, good.” They make it to the kitchen, Peter’s eyes drooping and he can feel his exhaustion starting to rage back to life, full force. He muffles a huge yawn against Tony’s chest, feeling the man pause in grabbing the milk. “Get some rest there, buddy, that’s why we have this thing.”
Peter doesn’t respond, just cuddles closer, feeling his mentor sway them slightly from side to side, carefully bouncing them in a soothing rhythm. One hand comes up, absentmindedly rubbing circles against Peter's back. Vaguely, Peter’s aware of Tony doing the same thing to Morgan when the girl would wake up from her own nightmares, and his chest blooms with warmth at the thought.
“Dad?” Peter whispers after a few minutes, forcing his eyes to blink open. He stares up at Tony, craning his neck to meet his father-figure’s gaze.
“Yeah, bug, you alright?”
A soft hand cups his cheek and Peter leans into the touch, unwrapping one hand to rub at his eyes. “Just wanted to say thank you.”
“It’s no problem, Roo.” Tony says, pressing a kiss against Peter's forehead. His voice is a deep rumble against Peter’s ears, only broken up by the steady thump of the man’s heart.“Close your adorable doe eyes, got it? I’ll wake you up when breakfast is done, scouts honor.”
Peter’s not a baby.
He’s Spider-Man, an Avenger, one of the smartest kids at his school and almost old enough to drive. He’s fought in countless battles, stared death in the face and won and won and won until he lost, blown away by an alien wind on a far red planet. He watched his father-figure almost die in-front of him, watched his Uncle Ben bleed-out on the sidewalk at 14-years-old.
So, no, Peter Parker’s not a baby, he’s not childish or helpless or useless.
But sitting there, cradled against Tony’s chest while the man makes them breakfast; swaying in his childhood hero’s arms, feeling Tony card his free hand through his curls, listening as his mentor hums under his breath, knowing deep down in his heart that he’s safe?
Peter thinks he deserves to be babied, to be loved, just a little bit.