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It hurts.
He was flying, then he was falling. Metal latched onto his skin, easily tearing holes into the suit that he had made. The suit had become a second skin to him at the beginning of his days as Spider-Man, but in the heat of battle with flames and smoke burning his nose, clouding his vision, and pricking his enhanced senses from every degree, the metal tore holes in both layers of skin, causing an agonized grunt to tear out of dry lips.
Fingers shakily glazed over the clothed areas of skin where claws dug into him, tearing out blood. No amount of blankets had been able to remove Peter from what he was seeing as he shuddered in bed while rain pattered against his window in tune to his shaking heartbeat.
The lights were all off and May’s apartment was dead quiet, but for the human spider, he could hear the murmuring of students working on a physics project blocks away. If he wasn’t stuck in Coney Island, he would’ve laughed.
Head falling back, his limp form was raised and discarded like a ragdoll. The crash had bruised his lower left rib, a pain so sharp and staggering that it had brought the boy who had only wanted to be a hero awake.
Gasping for clean air like his lungs depended on it, Peter, sprawled with sand in his hair and mouth, found himself stuck under the warehouse under similar weather. Rock caved in on him, pressing his body to the ground as if it planned to push the fifteen-year-old all the way down to the Earth’s core and more.
Peter’s breath hitched, and his hands that were covered by sleeves too floppy and too long for anything but sleeping were pressed to his face, massaging his creased forehead and nose.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he whispered quickly and desperately. His chest constricted a moment after his throat did, and a hand moved to rub his throat as he coaxed the same way he had heard May when Ben passed, “Everything’s alright. You’re safe, Pete, see?” He looked at the Iron Man clock atop his shelves, numbers as red as the Avenger’s suit reading: 1:30 AM.
On the beach, the chocolate-eyed boy had to fight himself from panicking. He promised himself every chance to cave in later, no pun intended. Now, the teenager would’ve preferred to feel all the way then, so he wouldn’t be falling like he was now.
With every breath, his eyes watered as the weight of the building on his back choked him out. His brain released every hormone that was responsible for panic there was as he licked his lips and jut out a web.
“No, no, no, please!” Peter whimpered, lips quivering a fraction of how much they did exactly one month ago. “I need to get out!” The panic or the nightmare, the Avenger at heart wasn’t sure.
A thought rose to call May, but the voice silenced as sound as it had spoken. Peter sniffed, thin frame shaking as his eyes saw Coney Island and not sleep.
Dancing between both worlds, Peter’s eyes fluttered shut as he weakly rasped, “I’m okay.” He looked around the room that he had grown up in now to see a blur. “You’re safe, you’re at home. He’s gone, he’s not going to hurt anyone again.”
He can’t hurt me again.
Tired of telling himself that he was alright to not be believed, he reached for his phone, seeing if Ned or MJ was awake.
Anyone, please.
No one was awake, not that Peter could blame them.
With a hurt head and heavy heart, the curly-haired boy broke into sobs, hands covering his face as his breathing ragged so his lips wouldn’t make a sound. Aching. Tired. Scared. Defeated.
Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsletitstopletitstoppleasepleaseplease
He laid there for about an hour, which felt like the rest of the morning to him when there was a knock on his window.
A knock with a metal hand.
Peter bolted upright, throat lurching.
It can’t be.
He’s in jail.
Then a voice spoke, “Kid?”
Relief flooded through the boy’s chest as he kicked off all five blankets and reached to open the window and found himself face-to-face with Iron Man.
The faceplate moved, and this time Peter didn’t flinch despite his trembling fingers that he moved behind his back, “Mister Stark? Is everything alright?” He leaned out the window, looking around, “Is there some crime happening right now?”
Tony shook his head, “You tell me?” His suit retracted, allowing the man to climb through Peter’s window. His suit put itself back together and turned as if standing guard.
Closing the window, the genius, billionaire, ex-playboy, and philanthropist asked, facing Peter, “You want to tell me why Karen sent me a distress call?” Only once the Avenger finished speaking, he took in Peter’s form.
Water dripped down dark circles that hugged Peter’s lower eyelids, and his lips quivered in tune to the trembling of his body.
The man softened, recognizing the experience. He gently cusped Peter’s hands, bringing the shaking boy to the floor, “Kid, you want to tell me what happened?”
Toomes’s voice warned him a moment before it would all come crashing down on him and he could just barely breathe: Sorry Peter, but I wasn’t aiming for you.
Slowly, Peter was able to string together, “That night on Coney Island. I can’t sleep,” a fresh round of cries started, “I can’t get that night out of my head! I’m stuck and I don’t know why!” He pressed his hands to his face, embarrassed even though the two had become considerably close over the past month.
“Oh, kid.” Tony scooted from sitting by Peter’s side to sit in front of him. He gently pulled on Peter’s water-stained hands, softening at the tear tracks that dotted porcelain skin that was healing from yesterday’s mugging.
Peter looked down. “You’re Iron Man, you’re invincible at this point. You’ve seen it all and you’re so strong.” Tears continued to well in Peter’s eyes and he would’ve stopped if this wasn't helping him, “I know you said to be better than you, but I can’t.” He deflated, “I want it to go away. I don’t want to mess up again and lose the suit.”
“Hey,” started Tony, cupping Peter’s cheek with a calloused cheek, “I’m not taking away your suit again. Never,” he promised. “Even if you blow up Ohio, there’s nothing that you can do that will make me take it away from you. I know what I said, but part of wearing the suit is the protection that it brings.”
“It’s not your fault, Mister Stark,” sniffed Peter.
Tony faintly smiled, “I’m also not invincible.” He raised a brow at Peter’s face, “I know we, the Avengers, look like it, but we struggle just like you. I know what you’re going through kid, for a while after Ultron, all I could see was the damage that he was doing.”
“That wasn’t your fault either, Mister Stark.”
“This isn’t about me, Pete.” Tony pulled Peter onto his lap, rubbing circles on the hiccuping boy, “The point is: you’re not alone.”
Peter let out a breath and the weight on his shoulders felt a little bit less. “Really?”
Tony nodded, letting the weeping boy get comfortable on his lap, “Really. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m going to help you, in fact, I’m going to make sure of that, okay?”
“It hurts so much,” Peter bawled. “I just want it to go away.”
Tony raked his fingers through Peter’s curls, “I know, bud, I know it hurts. You do good, you know that? You’re so strong, you just need to relax a little bit. That happened in the past, look at you now.” Rocking the boy gently he listed, “You’re acing your classes, have great friends, are a great kid, and you have an amazing clock.”
Peter let out a watery laugh.
“I’m serious!” declared Tony. “Cap will be so jealous. In fact, I’m going to buy this for Pepper.” Looking down at the bundle in his arms, he wiped the tears away, wiping away the boy’s troubles with them. “There’s that smile,” he heeded, pressing Peter’s cheek against the blue light of his arc reactor, “you comfy here, or we can go on the bed. I’m good either way.”
“Can we stay here, please?”
Tony smiled, “Sure, we can, bud, though none of this formal stuff,” he added, waving a hand. “You’re a good kid, my kid, too.” Rubbing the kid’s arms, he nudged Peter to meet his eyes, “Whenever you get stuck, you tell me, okay? We’re going to do this together. I promise.”
Meekly, Peter replied, “Thank you, Mister Stark.”
Tony opened his mouth to argue, but with the visible relaxed-ish expression on the kid’s face, he decided it against it. With a hand rubbing Peter’s arm and the other tugging on his curls, he softly hummed, lulling the boy to the best sleep he had in a while.