Work Text:
Nightmares
“Five more screws, Pete,” Tony said, holding his hand out from under the workbench.
“You’ve used at least fifty screws on this thing,” Peter said with a snort as he dropped the requested amount into his hand, “I don't think it's going to fall apart any time soon.”
“Who’s the professional here?” Tony asked.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Peter said with a cheeky grin.
Tony popped his head out from under the workbench, “the sass in this room is reaching unbearable levels, I want an intern refund.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said, not looking apologetic in the slightest, “would you rather I went and found you someone who hung off your every word and was scared to disagree with you or challenge your ideas?”
“You’re a little shit,” Tony muttered, “you’d do well to remember that you were like that for the first two months you knew me.”
Peter snorted, “yeah and then I realised how lame you really are.”
“That’s it, you’re sleeping down here,” Tony said with a wave of his screwdriver in Peter’s direction.
“Really?” Peter asked with a grin.
“You weren't meant to be excited about that,” Tony admitted, scooting out from underneath the workbench, he looked over it appraisingly, “so, what do you think?”
“It’s so cool, I can't believe it,” Peter said, “Ned is gonna freak out when I tell him I have my own workstation in your workshop.”
“Well, before you and your friend start to geek out about all of this, we need to break this table in, it’s too new ,” Tony said with a scrunched look of disgust towards the sheen on the surface of it.
“What do you suggest?”
“I have the perfect plan, how do you feel about helping me to redesign some of my Iron Man gauntlets?” Tony suggested, “I want to make them more streamlined.”
They worked together, hunched over Peter’s new desk, side by side as the sun slowly set in the sky unnoticed by either of them. It was the first Friday in a long time that Peter hadn't been out swinging through the city of New York clad in his usual red and blue spandex. At first he’d felt guilty about taking the night off, but as soon as Tony had told him that May had arranged for him to spend the night while she went out with some friends, all feelings of guilt vanished into excitement.
-
Peter couldn't breathe, there was concrete and rubble pressing down on his chest heavily, pinning him to the ground. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't do anything.
Somewhere, Toomes was getting away, he was going to cause pain and suffering to so many people and Peter couldn't do anything to stop him, he was trapped.
“You’re worthless,” the disembodied voice of Tony said in the darkness, “you can't even get out from under there can you?”
Peter let out a cry as he tried to move the slab of concrete from his chest, but he couldn't do it, every breath was filled with dust and grit and it burned his lungs and made him cough.
“He can't even get up, never mind protect anyone,” another voice joined in - May.
“He couldn't protect me,” Ben said and he let out a bone chilling laugh.
“I’m sorry,” Peter whimpered, “I’m sorry. Tony, May, Ben, I’m so sorry. I failed you guys, I should have done more. I should have been better.”
He broke off into another round of painful, choking coughing.
Peter woke up coughing.
He sprang up into a sitting position, one hand twisted in his sheets and the other clutching his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. It was a dream, but it felt so real. If he closed his eyes, he could see the rubble around him once more, pressing, restricting, suffocating…
After shaking those thoughts from his head, he laid back down on the feather-filled pillow, keeping an eye on the doorway that was in the corner of the room - only visible in the darkness thanks to the thin stream of light that filtered underneath it. It was stupid, he was fifteen, he wasn't a baby, there was no reason for him to be awake at - he tapped his phone to check the time - four in the morning.
His skin was damp with a layer of sweat and he was seeing terrifying faces and figures in the darkness as his eyes played tricks on him.
“Get a grip,” he whispered, his voice sounding far too loud in the night, “there’s nothing wrong, you’re fine.”
Except, he wasn't fine, he could see the glowing eyes of The Vulture hovering over him, he could see the wings swooping around the room, getting ready to take all of the supports out and crush him alive.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you turn the lights on, please?” Peter asked.
“Of course, you seem distressed, is everything alright?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked him as the room was suddenly flooded with light. He was met with the familiar sight of the ridiculous ‘Iron Man’s No. 1 Fan’ poster that was stuck to the back of his bedroom door - something that Tony had thought was absolutely hilarious and Peter couldn't quite bring himself to remove. The truth was, he kinda liked it.
“I’m fine, thanks F.R.I.,” he said, “just done sleeping for now.”
“It’s 04:16, I would recommend trying to sleep for another four hours to hit your recommended target of eight hours.”
“I know, it’s fine though, I’ll be alright,” Peter mumbled, “thanks anyway.”
“If you need to talk to someone, the Boss is still in his workshop,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him.
“Still?” Peter asked, “I thought he went to bed around the same time I did too?”
“His sleep schedule is apparently as terrible as yours,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said dryly - if an A.I. could have such an inflexion on its tone.
“Huh,” Peter mumbled.
He took a few more moments to allow his heart rate to settle and the glisten of sweat on his forehead to dry before he slowly padded barefoot out of his bedroom.
-
“Hey, Pete, what are you doing up?” Tony asked, looking up as Peter loitered in the doorway.
“Oh, uh, sorry I can go if you’re busy?” Peter offered.
Tony snorted, “get in here, come on, what's up?”
“Why does something have to be up?” Peter asked, although he walked into the room and sat down on one of the stools so he could watch Tony as he repaired something that Peter couldn't identify.
“Because you’re in the hero gig and you’re awake at this time,” Tony said as though it was obvious, “sleep doesn't come easy to the likes of us.”
“It’s not that bad,” Peter mumbled, “I’m just not tired any more.”
“Yeah, and I’m drinking triple espressos right now because I like the taste,” Tony said, rolling his eyes, “look, Kiddo, I know I’m not a great role model and I don't portray the image of a healthy, well-adjusted person, but if you need to talk about anything, I know a killer hot chocolate recipe?”
Peter considered it for a moment, “I do like hot chocolate,” he said softly.
-
So that was how they found themselves, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, side by side as they each nursed steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped off with marshmallows and whipped cream. Peter knew that Tony was waiting for him to say something, but he didn't want to jump straight in with a detailed retelling of all the nightmares he’d been having over the last few weeks.
“Do-” he faltered, wanting to do nothing more than bottle up all his emotions but Tony gave him a reassuring smile and nodded for him to continue, “do you ever have bad dreams?”
Tony pursed his lips and stared at his drink for a moment, “all the time, why? Is that what’s bothering you at the moment?”
“Remember how I told you about the warehouse collapse?” Peter asked.
Tony’s jaw clenched as he gave a stiff nod, “vividly.”
“Well… I don't really know why, but I keep dreaming that I’m back there and I can't breathe or see anything but I can hear everyone I know telling me that I’m too weak or I’m a failure,” Peter admitted, “and even when I wake up my brain doesn't seem to catch up and all I can see if Toomes and his stupid wings.”
“Oh, Kid,” Tony said sadly, “you’re not a failure.”
“Then how come I feel like one?”
“Because you're your own worst critic,” Tony said, “you expect things of yourself that aren't humanly possible and sometimes I think that you forget that you're just a kid. Hell, sometimes I forget that too, you’re dealing with things that would have most grown adults shaking in their boots, it’s not normal.”
“What can I do?” Peter asked.
“Do what I failed to do,” Tony said, “talk to someone.”
“But who? I can't really go around telling people I’m Spider-Man.”
“You could talk to me,” Tony suggested.
Peter cocked his head and looked over at his mentor, “how about a deal? I’ll talk to you if you talk to me?”
“Underoos, there's no way I’m going to put all of my problems on your shoulders,” Tony said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, you are,” Peter said certainly, “because we’re going to help each other.”
“I was right you know,” Tony said, “you really are the best of all of us.”
-
Later that morning, Pepper tiredly strolled into the living room in her robe and slippers, a mug of coffee clasped between her hands as she desperately tried to wake up before dealing with the onslaught of emails she would have received overnight.
At first, she wondered whether she was still sleeping as her gaze landed on two figures snoring on the sofa. Tony was half-sitting, half-lying with Peter curled up in his side drooling on the older man’s shirt.
With a gentle smile, she pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa and laid it across the pseudo father and son duo before quietly leaving them to get some much needed rest.