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1. academic decathlon
“Peter’s gonna be over the moon you came,” May said quietly, leaning over to him in her chair. “This is such a nice surprise.”
Tony smiled. He sat in the back of the large room with her, dressed nicely in a suit and tie and wearing shades to hide his appearance. He hadn’t been recognized yet, probably because everyone on the stage and off the stage was focused entirely on the match.
The first round went quick. Questions went rapid fire, the woman speaking barely getting through the questions without a student buzzing in. A small group of students from each team sat at tables with their schools name written in large letters on the tablecloth. Peter’s team— Midtown Tech, all wore yellow suit jackets with the logo imprinted on one side of the chest.
“I’m more than happy to come any time,” Tony whispered back. “You’ll have to give me the dates though. I only knew about the one today because he accidentally slipped it while at the lab last week.”
May made a noise of amusement. “I’ll send you the schedule.”
“Good.”
Second round— The announcer stepped off the podium while schools switched around their teammates. In stepped Michelle Jones, and three other students Tony didn’t recognize. They all took a seat and looked expectantly at the announcer.
They began quizzing on literature. (Tony thought at least. Once again the questions were impossible to get through before a buzzer rang.) In-depth questions about the specifics of characters and books that Tony didn’t care to research in the slightest.
Michelle got her team six points in a row— Wildly impressive. She was a firecracker.
Ding! “Omniscient point of view.”
Ding! “John Keats.”
Ding! “A crocodile.”
Ding! “Oberon and Titania.”
Ding! “Medical immunity.”
Ding! “The Junior Spies; 1984.”
Tony leaned back over to May. “This is the one Peter’s got a crush on, right?”
May smiled and nodded. “MJ. She’s really smart, always racking in the points. It makes sense he’d pick someone who could keep up with that brain of his.”
Tony laughed quietly.
Third round: Mathematics. The students moved again. The three Tony didn’t recognize got up, and to replace them came Ned, another boy, and finally—
“Someone stayed up studying,” Tony commented as he furrowed his brows.
Peter slumped into his seat with deep dark circles under his eyes and messy hair. He blinked sluggishly and stared up at the announcer.
May sighed. “I bet he went on patrol last night. I was working, so he must have taken that as permission to stay up. I love that kid, but he’s a dumbass.”
The questions began. The announcer cleared his throat and rattled off a complicated question on limits. The students at all the tables scurried to write down the equation and solve it out on paper. Tony focused in on his kid– Peter narrowed his eyes at the paper and made a grimacing face as he jotted down numbers. Then he leaned over to Ned and whispered something.
Ned’s eyes lit up and he hit the buzzer in front of him.
“Midtown Tech?”
Ned cleared his throat and leaned forward to the microphone. “Negative three?”
“That’s correct.”
The screen behind them showed Midtown moved up one point. Tony internally cheered.
The announcer spoke the next question. Something simple on interior angles. Peter hit the buzzer in front of him before the question even finished.
“Midtown Tech.”
Peter cleared his throat, looking up. “Uh, that’d be 180 degrees.”
Another point. “Correct. Next question—”
Tony’s beamed. He whispered excitedly to May, “he’s so smart! Look at him go.”
“You’re in a good spot to get pictures,” May whispered back with amusement.
Tony lit up and rummaged around for his phone. He sat up and opened the camera, raising it up and grinning ear to ear. He zoomed in on Midtown’s table and took several photos— Peter didn’t even notice he was there. He put his phone away.
The announcer read the next few questions, and Tony watched as teenagers scribbled equations on their papers with tenacity. “Question eight, subtract…”
Peter’s eyes drifted closed. Tony thought for a moment that he was thinking about it, doing mental math, as he held his head up high. Then his shoulders slowly slumped, and his head did a lolling motion forward, just barely noticeable.
May narrowed her eyes. “Is he… Sleeping?”
Ned looked nervously over to his side.
“Oh my god,” Tony said, holding back a laugh.
Ned turned and said something to MJ, who narrowed her eyes dangerously. She whispered something back. Peter remained silent and asleep, by some miracle or curse. The situation was entirely comedic, probably definitely unprofessional, but Tony couldn’t help but feel a rush of adoration for the kid anyways.
He held his phone up again and began recording, because, what else was he supposed to do?
MJ suddenly pressed the buzzer in front of her, making direct eye contact with Peter as she did so. Peter startled from the noise, his eyes flashing open with alarm. His whole spine straightened.
“Midtown?”
She leaned into the microphone, not breaking eye contact from Peter. “489.8.”
“That is correct. With that, we’ll be moving into our next round,” the announcer obliviously continued. Students began to rearrange themselves– Michelle stood up from the table and leaned down to whisper something to Peter before she left the stage with a glare.
Tony watched with great delight as his kid looked suddenly very awake, blinking rapidly and keeping his posture up. May began to chuckle behind her hand while Tony looked down and hid his face, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Three rounds later, with Peter being now fully conscious to ding the buzzer several times, and Midtown Tech now stands on the stage proudly holding a new trophy. Tony and May are standing and clapping, yelling out their loudest cheers from the back.
Peter finally made eye contact with Tony, and the surprise met his face. He waved, grinning happily despite the eye bags and dark circles.
Tony gave him two thumbs up. He smiled joyfully and yelled, “go Midtown!”
Tony decided for the second time that he’ll be there for every Academic Decathlon match in the future. He could endure the soccer mom jokes. He wasn’t missing these for the world.
2. med bay
Tony was having a pretty good night, so far. He finished working on the McLaren sitting in his garage, and now he was able to take a break, all sweaty and covered in grease and drinking a well-earned mug of hot coffee. It was out of nowhere when his music shut off.
“Boss,” FRIDAY spoke urgently. “You need to go to the medical bay, East Wing. Peter Parker is experiencing severe blood loss, I suspect half a liter, steadily increasing.”
He blinked, and it took exactly that long for the words to register in his head. Then a jolt of warning shot him into action—He kicked himself up and ran to the elevator. “Why the hell didn’t I get an alert while the injury happened?”
“He isn’t in the suit, sir.”
“Well isn’t that just—” Tony let out a loud stream of curses that only Steve Rogers, retired war vet, could rebel. “Take me to him, FRI. Make it quick. Double time.”
The elevator shut and rose up floors quickly, adding to the queasy turning in Tony’s stomach. “Get cameras up. What’s he doing right now? Is he unconscious?”
“No, sir.” The doors opened, and Tony ran across the hallways, her voice echoing around the walls. “He’s currently administering himself pain medication. I believe he’s attempting to stitch his own wound. Biometric scans are saying that his BP is dropping.”
“Motherf–” Tony inhaled stiffly and kept running. “Tell him to knock it off!”
“Yes, sir.” A pause. “He says it’s his near-death experience and he’ll do what he wants with it.”
Tony saw red in his vision. He rounded the corner and burst through the door of the med bay. “You are one idiot kid, you know that?”
“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter cheered tearfully. He stood leaning against a cot, holding up a blood stained sweater with shaking hands. His whole face was pale and clammy. “How was your night? Good? That’s super cool.”
“Oh yeah, it was really great until you showed up. FRIDAY?” Tony rushed forward to the sink across the room and yanked up the faucet. He scrubbed his hands harshly with soap, not even flinching at the steaming hot water.
“Peter must apply pressure to the wound,” FRIDAY said quickly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Peter winced and hissed through clenched teeth. “Ow, ow, ow. Ouch. Okay. Cool. Cool, very cool. I really do not feel good.”
Tony pulled a box of sterile gloves out from a cabinet and quickly pulled them on. “What should I do?”
“Bandage heavily, then lay Peter down. Help apply pressure, you must stop the bleeding. A doctor’s assistance is recommended for further steps, such as ensuring the penetrating object did not damage any major arteries or nerves.”
“Call any doctor available on location,” Tony said. He grabbed bandages and leaned Peter up, just enough to wrap around the wound on his abdomen. “Peter, stay awake for me.”
Peter hung his head forward and groaned with pain. “I’m awake,” he mumbled.
“Good.” Tony finished wrapping up his abdomen. He gently led him to lay on the cot he had been leaning on. “How are those pain meds kicking in?”
“Oooh, they’re kickin’.” Peter nodded seriously. “Wound is healing too. I can feel it.”
“You astound me.” Tony said bluntly. “FRIDAY, what about those doctors?”
“On their way, sir. Peter is stable until then.”
“Woah. Thanks for patching me up,” Peter said with shaky lips. He smiled crookedly. “Dr. Stark. Doctor– Dr. Iron Man. Heh.”
“Mhm. Wanna tell me why you got stabbed out of the suit?” Tony asked, pulling his gloves off. He chucked them in the trash and crossed his arms. His heart was starting to calm down now, slowly but surely.
“Was walkin’ home. Saw someone in trouble,” Peter explained. He sniffed. “Didn’t have time to get the suit. I couldn’t do Spidey stuff because of it, so… Ouchie.”
Tony sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand over his goatee. “You’re gonna end up giving me an ulcer with your whole goody-two-shoes hero schtick. I was wrong about stressing out Happy, I’m changing those orders to stop stressing out me.”
Then he paused, as a realization hit him. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
“Because I didn’t want to stress… you out?” Peter said, furrowing his eyebrows with confusion.
“Ok.” Tony clicked his tongue. “Yep. Changing those orders again. If you’re about to tell me something detrimental to your health, then please stress me the fuck out. Would rather have a heart attack than see you bleed out in my med bay again.”
Peter nodded, his eyes drooping.
“Hey.” Tony snapped his fingers. “Wake up. You can sleep after the doctors give you the OK.”
Peter blinked several times and nodded again, a faux look of awareness on his face. “Right. Awake.”
Said doctors walked in then, and Tony took a backseat other than to explain what he had already done, and help fill in what medical information Peter was unable to give in his drugged/injured state. It was a parental role, he knew that. But Peter was his responsibility, and he was going to take this one very seriously.
As the kid was finally able to safely doze off, Tony sighed with relief.
“Boss, May Parker is calling.”
…Spoke too soon.
3. the lab
37 minutes. That’s how long Peter had been staring at the same three pages of his textbook. Tony quietly set down a screwdriver and studied him with curiosity, seeing the sleepiness in the kid’s eyes and how lethargically he sat while turning the page back and forth.
He cleared his throat. “Everything alright?”
Peter blinked and looked up. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, I’m just really tired. I spent all of last night doing homework for Art.”
“Art?” Tony quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you took art class.”
“Yeah, I–” Peter scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks powdering with a rosy pink blush. He smiled softly. “It’s– I just needed an elective credit, that’s all.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “You took Spanish.”
“Another elective?” Peter tried.
“You take trig.”
Peter blushed harder and shrugged. “Maybe I just like art, Mr. Stark. Ever think about that? Maybe I just wanted to take a class just to take the class, you know? Knowledge is power, by the way. That’s a real saying. ‘S important.”
Tony sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, throwing his legs up on the desk in front of him. He stared wordlessly at Peter.
“Okay, fine,” Peter huffed. “I thought— I dunno. I had a free period and thought I might as well take art, for, uh… Decathlon—”
Tony made a buzzer noise. “Ehhrr! Try again.”
“For MJ,” Peter corrected, exhaling sharply through his nose with embarrassment. “I took it because it’s the same period MJ has art. You caught me.”
“It backfired though,” he explained quickly. “Because I kind of pushed the class aside? I mean, it’s not as important as like, math and english, since I already have an elective credit— But the homework was starting to pile up, so I just blazed through it last night, so I could go on this field trip—”
“How much sleep did you get?” Tony asked, smiling knowingly.
“Like, three hours.” Peter grimaced. “I’m really tired.”
“Must be a pretty stellar field trip if it’s worth three hours of sleep,” Tony chuckled. He pulled his feet off the desk. “Where’s it to?”
“It’s like, a couple weeks from now,” Peter said. He closed his book and rested his chin on the cover, looking up at Tony sleepily. “It’s to MoMA. I can only go if I get my grade back up to a C and keep it at passing. It should be an A by the end of the week though, so it’s no big deal.”
“MoMA,” Tony said, nodding. “Nice. Just to clarify, though— You want to go on this field trip because of MJ?”
“Well, yeah,” Peter admitted shyly. “It’s nice to hear her talk about the stuff she’s interested in, and art is like, her favourite subject. She knows all the little trivia about artists and… She’s just so cool, Mr. Stark.”
Tony hummed pleasantly, content to listen to the teenager ramble like a lovesick puppy as he fell half-asleep. Endearing was a good word for it. Tony was endeared.
“What about you?” Peter asked, but the end of his sentence caught in a yawn. “What’s your week been like?”
“Oh, super interesting,” Tony nodded seriously. “Lots of really important stuff. Like wedding venues, and table cloths. Napkin folding. Tie colours. Cake tasting. Engagement is a real treat.”
“Uh huh,” Peter’s eyes slipped closed, smiling faintly. “You afraid of it, or is it actually fun?”
“It’s great,” Tony said genuinely. “When it’s the right person, it’s all great. I’d get married to Pepper in a potato sack found in the Hudson River and still be the happiest man alive.”
“So cheesy.”
“It really is.” Tony smiled. “But who the hell cares?”
Peter nodded, bundling into his sweater. He spoke softly to match his low energy. “That’s really nice, Mr. Stark. I’m excited to be there, it’s gonna be really fun. Never been a groomsman before.”
“You’ll be a natural,” Tony waved his hand off. “All you gotta do is stand there and give me tissues when I start crying.”
“Mhm.”
“Yesterday, Pepper had a whole thing because she found a baker who was basically perfect, had everything she wanted in the decor department and everything, and found out he was booked for the whole next three years. She called me,” Tony said with amusement, stifling a laugh. “She called me, frantic, and finally just said she was scrapping the whole idea and ordering a different cake instead. From a different baker.”
Peter quietly began to snore.
Tony glanced up at him, pausing his story. The kid was curled into his own arm, his curls mussed up against his sleeve as he dozed.
Tony laughed under his breath. “FRIDAY, dim lights please.”
The lights dimmed.
“We’re gonna let spidey-baby sleep,” Tony murmured, pulling up something more quiet to work on. “Kiddo deserves it. We’ve got plenty of time to talk later.”
Plenty of time.
Right?
4. hospital room
An almost death left Tony’s brain quiet.
It’s a weird thing to get used to. A type of clarity that someone may only get once in their lifetime, because it isn’t something someone is supposed to live through. Tony isn’t just someone, though. He accepted that a long time ago.
His whole side is numb, flesh that’s a purplish red gnarled mess creeping up his neck and the right side of his face, and a missing space where his arm used to be. His new skin from the emergency grafts still itched through the pain medication, it’s all hidden with thick layers of bandaging. He hadn’t left his hospital bed in five weeks now, but he also only woke up from the medically-induced coma one week ago, so he supposed the math fitted fine.
Silence.
All the thoughts he could have ever had already rushed through him the moments before he snapped his fingers— Morgan had a college fund and a trust fund set up. Pep would have the cabin to retire in, mortgage paid off long ago. Peter… Peter was alive. He was breathing. Peter’s things were in a storage unit (everything he could salvage, anyways), Peter had a recommendation letter to MIT written for him and saved in a lockbox and written the second Peter declined the Iron Spider suit the first time.
Tony got to hug him for the first time in five years, and he was alive, and he was breathing, something worth repeating twice because of how important it was, and Tony would die at peace knowing that both of his kids would get to grow up in a world without choking on the dust from a lost war.
When those stones were finally in his grasp, it was only blinding white pain. Then nothing. Then this.
So yeah. Five weeks in bed. One week awake. Silence.
Pepper’s holding tightly to his hand, sitting in a chair beside the bed. Peter’s right next to her. The two of them are both a half blurry thing in his vision, as one of his eyes has gone fully blind, but it still makes him so happy he could cry.
Tony couldn't talk yet. The doctors told him he’ll be able to eventually— But eventually had never been good enough for him and Tony would give anything to tell his family how much he loves them. Pepper seemed to understand, because she always does, even when half his face looked all charred off. She squeezed his hand and he blinked at her hoping she could feel the waves of gratitude.
Peter didn't speak much either. He hadn’t gotten a psych evaluation yet, it may even be too soon, Tony had no idea, but he suspected it was from trauma. The sort of thing bound to happen when kids got into wars. Whenever he sat in here, it was usually Pepper doing most of the talking, explaining what was going on at home and what Happy’s babysitting reports consisted of; funny oneliners from Morgan and her little stories she made up with her dolls.
It’s not their new normal. Tony could tell that much. He knew that they were in something of a transition period— The whole world must be, with celebratory stories on every news channel and devastating stories too.
(A nurse had it playing one time, as Tony was getting his IV bag changed with a new dosage of prescription. A grotesque story of passengers in a plane coming back from the Blip in mid air. As Tony’s heart monitor beeped faster, Pepper yelled so loudly at the nurse that her face went as red as her hair.
War is a nasty thing on its own. The aftermath is an entirely different beast.)
Tony watched quietly as Peter’s eyes grew unfocused, drooping lower and lower with heavy eyelashes. He slowly slumped to the side, his grip on the book he had been reading going lax. His head drifted to the left, where it finally fell to Pepper’s shoulder. The kid was out like a light.
Tony squeezed Pepper’s hand weakly and his eyebrows twitched.
“I’m worried too,” Pepper murmured, talking softly as the sleeping boy rested on her for support. “He hasn’t slept in so long. May has been texting me with updates. We thought it may be better to look out for him together, with him going back and forth to home and the hospital so often.”
Tony nodded just slightly, ignoring the shooting pain that it caused all down his chest and legs.
“I don’t even want to move him,” she said softly, looking down at Peter. “I don’t want to accidentally wake him up.”
Kid looked rough. The dark circles, painted heavily under his shut eyes. Greasy hair, the curls looking messy and stuck in thick unruly strands, but frizzy enough at the ends to stick up in different directions. Chapped lips, paler than usual with sores on them from the healing and re-healing caused by the anxious chewing. Even asleep, there’s an exhaustion to him that painted his whole body a very vivid grey.
Kids are supposed to look peaceful when asleep.
Tony’s lips tweaked downwards.
“He told me something,” Pepper said, rubbing her thumb gently over his scarred hand. “Before we came in today. He was signing his name on the entry papers, and he looked up at me and said, ‘Ms. Potts, I think he’s gonna get better. I can feel it.’”
Tony looked back over at Peter, all tuckered out. His kid. His kid, safe and optimistic, just like it should be. He sighed with quiet relief.
He swallowed dryly and tried to clear his throat.
“Honey,” Pepper warned, her face pulling into a frown. “You shouldn’t speak. You’re not healed enough.”
He gave her a stern look. He inhaled shakily and opened his mouth.
“Tell…” His voice came out hoarse and faded, scratched up to the nines and barely coherent. He licked his lips. “…Him… I lo-ve h—“
His jaw shook with effort, the pain causing black dots to flash in his eyes and eating at Pepper’s visage. He swallowed again, dry. “…H-Him.”
Tears were in both of their eyes. Pepper nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. She slowly brought his hand up and brought it to her lips with a kiss. “I’ll tell him, Tony. You can rest now, okay?”
Tony was too tired to nod again. He simply looked at her with gratitude and let his eyes close. Sleep took him quickly.
The silence grew louder.
5. after
Two weeks after Tony’s left the hospital, the transition period had become more comfortable.
Here were the details.
Tony Stark could hold a sentence. He practiced this right as often as he could. Pepper’s in the kitchen, he’s right next to her reading directions and telling her she’s beautiful. Morgan’s in the living room, he’s carefully propped up next to her on the couch and reading her story after story; they clean the bookshelf in the span of three hours, he’s already ordered new books. Peter’s over, he’s sitting right next to him, telling him every detail he can remember about his wedding, Morgan’s birth, movies that came out, and everything in between.
“I love you,” he said again and again. Every time he saw them.
Happy came over to babysit while Pepper drove Tony to physical therapy. “I love you, Hap.”
Pepper after gardening, dirt on her cheek as she stood at the sink and washed the fresh carrots and potatoes. “I love you, Pep.”
Rhodey came over to make dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays every week. “I love you, Rhodey.”
Morgan tucked in her bed, teeth brushed and blankets warm from the dryer. “I love you, Maguna.”
Tony Stark could only stay upright for a few hours at a time before he needed to rest again. He’s in a wheelchair, and physical therapy is a slow, arduous process. They expect him to make a full recovery with time, something Tony now found more precious than anything in the world. He voiced this opinion to the therapist, who chuckled her agreement.
Thanks to the help of Peter—
(Peter Parker furrowed his eyebrows with a deep level of thought, tweaking with the tightness of a flat head screw. He looked up at him with concern. "Is that okay? It doesn't hurt?"
"I love you, kid.")
—Tony Stark's right arm was more robot than human. Stylized like an Iron Man suit, protecting like armor. Of course, it had weaponry, but Tony prayed he'd never have to use it. Peter's face was stone cold the entire hour it took him to assemble it in. It was nice to get the kid to help with it, as Tony was missing a vital part of his previous mechanic job, you know, both hands. The new arm looked good, though. So far, the number of jokes Tony had made about being Dum-E and U's biological father was at the glorified count of six.
Speaking of Peter: he looked better. His cheeks were fuller, they had more colour in them. Every time he came back to the cabin to visit, he looked a little more muscular, a little less tired, and admittedly, a little taller. His smiles and sass weren't as often as they used to be— Or at least, from what Tony remembered them to be— but whenever he slipped a soft little grin or let out a snippy comeback, it was well worth the rarity. Tony's old heart soared every time.
Tony was keeping a dutiful mental notebook of how the kid acted, since he came back. He couldn't tell who it benefited more. After five years of not seeing him, there was not much more Tony enjoyed than just noticing the kid in the room.
After all, they said absence made the heart grow fonder.
He could agree with that sentiment entirely as the teenager glommed onto his side like an exceptionally warm baby koala.
Pepper's gone to bed, and Morgan had been tucked in two hours ago now. That left the two of them, still dressed in jeans and t-shirts, watching The Breakfast Club in the darkness of the living room. Tony's old MIT sweatshirt was draped over Peter like a blanket. It was familiar because they'd done it before, only both several years ago and a few weeks ago. Time was weird when someone disappeared from existence.
Peter yawned, mumbling along to the words of the script as the characters said them.
Tony, in all his newly parental glory, brought his hand up and began carding it through Peter's hair.
"What character do you think you're most like?" Peter wondered aloud. He leaned his head on Tony's arm, but the weight was so light that Tony could feel he wasn't actually relaxing against him.
"Hmm." Tony thought about it. "Andrew, probably. Maybe Ringwald. You?"
"Prob'bly Brian."
He hummed in acknowledgment.
"I'm sleepy," Peter said with another yawn. "I don't think I can stay awake for the rest of the movie.
Tony smiled. "It's fine, you've got it memorized anyways," he teased.
Peter grinned and shook his head. He fell back to silence.
At some point, the weight against Tony's arm deepened. He glanced over to see the kid fully lax against his side, eyes closed as the movie played on. The light from the television reflected on his sleeping face.
Almost peaceful, Tony decided. His kid looked almost peaceful.
Tony gently pushed the kid's hair away from his eyes. "Love you, Peter," he whispered. "Sweet dreams, kiddo."
It was a start.
+1. the cabin
Usually when Peter had a nightmare, he tried as soon as he was forced awake to fall back asleep. He tried as hard as he could to swallow any lingering fear and shut his eyes tightly until the darkness flooded back in to suffocate him back to unconsciousness.
("Kid, help me— Help, please help me. I can't fix it. I can't—"
Peter shook and stepped forward, holding his hands out to the man. "I don't— I don't feel so good."
He fell backwards, colliding against the floor hard. He gasped a greedy breath and felt the smoke burn his throat. Everything was so inexplicably wrong. He wasn't supposed to be on this planet, and it knew that. It fought back. He felt his joints and ligaments disconnect, each skin cell breaking apart and shifting to ash.
He yanked himself up and turned around, trying to grab at the red dirt and hold himself there, begging himself to stay together, but his fingernails scratched against something solid. A hard gravestone, with words etched onto it that stung deep.
'Here Lies Anthony E. Stark— Beloved Son, Fiancé, Lifelong Friend, Boss'
"No," Peter shuddered. His fingers scrubbed harder against the stone. Blood dripped down and stained the memorial. "This isn't right. No, no, no. You're not dead."
"I'm sorry," Peter began. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
He hit his fist down on the grave desperately. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
The gravestone cracked once, and if stretched downwards like a lightning bolt, twisting around the letters and making it incomprehensible. Peter hit it harder, and his breath couldn't reach his lungs anymore. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"I don't want to go to sleep!" He screamed into the empty air, as loud as he could, loud enough for it to ring through his ears. "I don't want to sleep! Don't make me! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
A sob blubbered from his lips. "I'm scared. I'm so scared. I'm sorry, Tony."
"Make it stop." Peter shoved his hands over his ears tightly. His words, even though they had quieted to anguished whispers, were booming through his brain, high-pitched and echoing. "Make it stop. Please. Make it stop, I'm sorry. I'm—"
He seemed to just disappear then. His voice was whisked away in a whirlwind of ash, and he was gone. He became nothing. Too loud. Too Dark. Too empty.)
...Not this nightmare, though.
Peter had woken up in a flurry of motion, his hands yanking up to his ears instinctively and then hearing his own gasping sobs the next. He could barely feel anything but his own heart beating at a record pace and the sweat making his shirt stick to his back.
"Come on," Peter stuttered, putting one hand on his chest and letting himself attempt to catch his breath. "Come on, Peter. Just— Oh god. Okay. Take a minute. You're okay. You're fine. Just a— Just a nightmare."
He sniffled and buried his face in his hands, continuing to take deep breaths through his mouth. "Everything is fine now. C'mon. You know that. Mr. Stark is literally across the hall. He's fine. He's— He's okay."
But what if he isn't?
"No. No, he's fine," Peter repeated to himself firmly. "He's just sleeping. Totally cool. You shouldn't wake him up. That's stupid. A stupid idea. You're fine, Peter."
He whimpered quietly and pressed his palms lightly into his shut eyes. His jackrabbit heart wasn't stopping, and his stomach was twisting itself into stressed knots. He was nauseous. He was sweating. He was freezing cold. He was scared.
"I should just go," he tried to reason. "I'll just— He won't even know I'm there, I'll just open his door and— and make sure he's okay, and then I'll be fine and I can go to sleep. No big deal."
He inhaled shakily and climbed off his bed, then crept down the hallway. (The hallways in Mr. Stark's cabin creak with each slow step. Peter still hasn't been back long enough to figure out the quiet spots to step on the wood, yet.)
He moved past Morgan's room, hearing her soft snores through the closed door. She was deep asleep. He was suddenly very grateful with the knowledge that Morgan is sleeping okay after all that happened. She was too young to fully understand, still is.
At the end of the hallway, he let the adrenaline he was running on carry his hand to the door handle. He turned it quietly, grimacing at the squeaking metal, and then pushed it open a few inches to poke his head in.
To his surprise, Tony wasn't asleep in the slightest. He glanced up instantly, looking up from a glowing screen that he had been reading on. His eyebrows furrowed and he gave a confused smile.
"Hey, Pete," Tony whispered. Beside him, Pepper slept soundly, curled up facing the wall. "You okay?"
"I can't sleep," Peter said, standing in the doorway awkwardly. "Um... I just wanted to, uh..."
His mind went blank for a lie. He fumbled around a bit. Shifted on his feet. "Sorry. I'm gonna go back to my, uh... room. Now."
He backed up and closed the door—Then he walked right past his own room and went down the stairs.
He tried laying down on the couch.
That's where he slept when all of this first started. The first few weeks were tricky with May trying to get a new apartment, and Mr. Stark was still touch-and-go in the ICU. With the Compound broken down to burning furniture and chunks of concrete, there wasn't a medical bay or any room that was salvageable, so things were complicated with hospital placement and everything else you could think of.
During that time, Ms. Pepper thought it was better for the Parkers to stay over at the cabin while things got sorted out. They both slept on the couch, helping out with chores and meals and babysitting whilst Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, and occasionally Peter, took shifts at Tony's bedside.
It was about the fourth night where Peter finally broke. Exhaustion was no longer an armor to shield him from the nightmares, and he woke up thinking he was still in a war, thrashing and kicking and scratching at the air, the borrowed blanket sticking to his panicked fingertips as he struggled to breathe. May had to hold him long enough for the sun to come up until he finally calmed down.
The nightmares didn't leave for weeks afterwards, even when Tony finally fought his way out of his coma, then shortly after that his intubation, then the ICU, finally the hospital. They had slowed down when school picked up again, and May told him it was probably because his brain liked the normal routine.
But it was summer, and he was staying back in the cabin for a few weeks because Tony thought it would be a good idea for him to stay over between the school year. Now all he wanted was for May to sit here on the couch with him and hold him until he didn't feel scared.
Peter swallowed and ran his hands back and forth incessantly on the knees of his pyjama pants, feeling the fabric thin from wear. 'They might rip,' he thought. 'These are the only pyjama pants that were saved from before the move and I might rip them from being jittery.'
His lungs felt all tight, like they were shivering in his chest and preventing the oxygen from hitting his brain. He couldn't possibly fall asleep.
"Tony's not—" Peter cut himself off. (Don't say the word 'dead'. In his experience, it follows you.) He inhaled. Started again. "He's okay. He's literally fine. You saw him. He's okay. Calm down. This is ridiculous."
The wood creaked as footsteps came from down the hallway. Tony walked slowly down the stairs— He's always slower than he used to be, but he's supposedly doing great in physical therapy and so Peter reminds himself of it whenever he worries.
Tony squinted his eyes at him through the dark. "Thought you were going to bed, kiddo."
"Mhm," Peter nodded jerkily. "I am. I am going to bed."
Tony scratched his chin and then walked forward, taking a seat next to him on the couch and sighing with satisfaction. "Good. That's good. Bed is important for spider-babies."
"It's also important for Iron Dads," Peter said with a small smile. "Which you are."
Tony snorted softly. He leaned his arm over and tugged Peter to his side. He sighed. "I missed you, kid. I ever tell you that?"
"Yeah." Peter sniffed. He shifted comfortably beside him and pressed his ear against Tony's chest. He closed his eyes tightly, painfully, listening to the steady heart beat and trying to commit it to memory.
"You're shaking," Tony noted. There wasn't judgement in the way he said it, but Peter could hear the concealed concern heavily undertoned.
Peter held his hand out in front of him and watched as it trembled before he stuck it back under his arm. He let out a weak chuckle. "Yeah, I know. My, uh... My head is doing crazy things tonight. I had a nightmare. I can't calm down, I don't really know why."
"Why don't you tell me a bit about it?" Tony suggested. "It can help."
"I know."
He went quiet.
After a moment, Tony looked over at him. "Well? Tell me what it was about."
Peter opened his mouth and then paused. The mental image of a gravestone, a rushing wave of unease. A shiver went up his spine and he shuddered, hard enough for Tony to adjust the arm around his shoulders. "Um..."
They went back into another lapse of silence. Tony looked away and kept his gaze on the fireplace in front of them.
"Titan."
Peter went still and hesitated before looking up at Tony. "What?"
"I have nightmares about Titan," Tony said simply. "May have been five years ago, but the old noggin still acts like it happened yesterday. Can't imagine it's any better for you."
Peter shook his head. "It's not."
"They used to be so realistic that I would wake up and have to shower," Tony admitted. "Because it just... felt like there was dust on my skin. Or there would be times that I would wake up and, uh... listen to voicemails."
Tony sighed deeply and patted him on the shoulder. "We went through something tough, kid. You came out of it with scars. They hurt like hell, don't they?"
Mr. Stark was covered head to toe in scars. Still red and raw, even though he was finally able to take the bandages off a few weeks ago. They were in a fractal formation, like the world's most terrific snowflake, and sometimes Peter swore it looked like his skin was turning to ash, as if the worst kind of poetic justice was written on his mentor's body.
He wondered if they hurt.
He wondered if they kept Mr. Stark up, or if looking at them made his heart go into overdrive and his palms sweat. He wondered if the war ever caught Tony's mind when he was in the middle of doing something, and it stopped his breath and made him break into a cold sweat.
That happened to Peter a lot, after all. Seeing dirt on his scuffed shoes will make him panic on a bad day, and a regular nightmare on a good day will ruin his whole week. Every time it seemed to hurt more and more.
It hurt like an open wound.
Peter nodded. He swallowed down the grief gathering in his throat. His voice was hoarse and thick with emotion. "Yeah. Yeah, it hurts."
"Yeah," Tony murmured. "I know, kiddo. But guess what?"
"Hm?"
Tony smiled encouragingly at him. "Scars heal."
Peter let out a surprised chuckle. "I mean..."
"Hey." Tony sat up and pulled his arm away. "Go get your pillow and blanket. Bring it down here."
"What? Why?"
"Just do it. Skedaddle."
Peter blinked but pushed himself off the couch, climbing back up the stairs. He was less quiet walking back to his room than he was sneaking out of it, now with the knowledge that Tony knew he was awake.
He was still jittery, his skin crawling with cold pinpricks while he carefully measured his breathing. He bundled up his quilted comforter and stacked his pillow on top, holding it securely under his chin, and then trailed back downstairs.
He stood in the middle of the living room, and spoke muffled over the fabric in his arms. "So, are you gonna tell me why I did this?" Peter asked.
"Yeah. Get comfy on the couch," Tony said casually. "Slumber party. It's an exclusive boys night, Pep and Maguna aren't invited."
Peter squinted. He dropped his stuff on the couch and settled down with his head on the pillow. Tony leaned forward with a grunt and helpfully shrugged the comforter over his legs.
"There you go," Tony said firmly. "You good?"
Peter felt his heart's panicked beating under where his hand was tensely sitting on his rib cage. He nodded anyways.
Tony hummed. He leaned back on the couch and patted Peter's legs. "Lying still. Guess I'll have to try a little harder, then. "
Peter scrunched his nose up. "I'm not lying."
"Double kill," Tony said, fake wincing and putting a hand to his chest. "Oof. Ouch. You're killin' me."
His whole body tensed, like ice had just rushed through his veins and it squeezed at his heart. He held his breath without even knowing. "Don't say that, Mr. Stark."
Tony tilted his head and looked at him patiently. "Mr. Stark, huh? Feeling nostalgic there, buddy?"
Peter sighed shakily. Stared up at the dark ceiling. "Please don't make me talk about this."
"Why not?"
"Because—" Peter worked his jaw. He exhaled stiffly. His skin was crawling at just the thought of it. "Because if I talk about it, what if it happens?"
Tony was quiet for a moment, leaving Peter to sit with the paralyzation of his own thoughts.
"I'm not sure I get what you mean," Tony spoke up. "Try and reword what you're saying, Pete."
His stomach sunk. Peter chewed at his lips. "Like... Ugh."
He sighed again, this time sounding frustrated. "I don't want to... mention it. I don't want to acknowledge it. It'll become a— a possibility, and as soon as it's a possibility, then that means it could happen. And it— Tony, I can't let it happen."
"Sounds like a roundabout conclusion," Tony said gently. "It'll feel better if you say something, kiddo. I promise."
Tears burned at the edges of Peter's eyes. He remained looking up, making no movement to wipe them or blink them away.
"...But no matter what you wanna tell me tonight," Tony added. "I'll sit with you till you fall asleep."
"Even if it takes all night?" Peter joked lightly, a tear slipping down his cheek. A lump was heavy in his throat. It was painful to swallow.
"Especially if it takes all night," Tony's voice softened.
Peter didn't respond. He sniffled while another tear fell down his cheeks. They collected at his neck and made his shirt itch against it. He felt like a scared, sweaty, sniffly mess— But it was comforting in the most painful way to have Tony sitting there with him.
He doesn't know how long they sit in the quiet together, before the amount of tears running down his face finally melted away the fear in exchange for a childish longing.
"It started on Titan," Peter admitted. He moved his shaking hands up to wipe his face clean, to wipe the snot away on his sleeves. "You needed my help, but I— I just... And then there was a grave. I broke it. I broke— I broke your grave, and then I faded away. They always— It always ends like that. With just fading away, and not being able—"
Peter choked down a half-broken sob, and he felt like a mewling thing. He covered his mouth with his hand. Swallowed several times, enough to control himself to speak. "I can never help you. We never win. You never— You don't— I'm so sorry."
Tony's running a soothing hand over Peter's ankles, something so paternal and fatherly that the tears can't seem to stop. It reminded him of Ben, and how he'd sit with him at the toilet while he was queasy and sick, rubbing his back. He missed Ben. He didn't want to miss Tony too.
"I know," Tony murmured. "I forgive you. I forgive you, Pete. It's alright."
His consoles sounded like a lullaby. In some distant plane of his stress-addled brain Peter knew that Tony was comforting both him and him in the dream, which was a nice reality to live with.
"Close your eyes. Just breathe in for me. It's all okay now, Peter. I'm right here."
Peter shut his eyes tightly and inhaled deeply, the breath shuddering unevenly in his chest. "I'm too old for this. I'm— I shouldn't be this freaked out."
"Shhh. None of that." Tony smoothed over the blanket. "You're only sixteen. That's a baby. An itty bitty spider. Just a wee little thing."
Peter let out a choppy breathless laugh. "You think you're so funny."
"I do," Tony said sincerely. "I really do. I'm hilarious."
He sniffed. "Are you really gonna stay down here until I fall asleep?"
"Yep," Tony said softly, popping the 'p'. "You're stuck with me 'til you go visit dreamland. Deal with it."
Peter wiped away more of his tears, letting his breaths slowly calm down. He kept his eyes closed, but the darkness wasn't enough for the eternal-seeming adrenaline to wear off.
"You know, there's this book Morgan likes," Tony began in that low lulling tone. "About a... a little rabbit, who can't fall asleep. And the big brother rabbit tells her all these things to help her nightmares go away. Real cute story."
"Mhm." Peter took another breath of air, held it for a moment, and slowly released it. He wiped the tears from his neck. "What's it called?"
"It's called 'Tell Me Something Happy Before I Go to Sleep'," Tony said. "And I'm taking big brother bunny's advice, so, sit tight—"
"I thought it was a rabbit," Peter interrupted.
"I don't know. Semantics. Anyway." (Peter sensed a waving motion in the air, seemingly Tony's throwing his hand around for effect.) Tony cleared his throat. "I'm telling you happy things. You got your listening ears on?"
"Yeah," Peter said, his voice rougher now from the crying. He kept his eyes closed and tried his best to relax back into his pillow.
"Good." Tony sighed deeply. "Let's see..."
It's quiet as Tony seemed to think.
"The sun rises every morning at five here," he said, his voice slow and easy. "The birds start chirping even earlier, around four. They got their own routine. Never changes, never stops."
"Morgan wanted a dog ever since she was three years old. She still wants one, wants to name him Peanut Butter. That's pretty spectacular, don't you think?" Tony said, a smile in his voice.
"Tomorrow we have the whole day free. We can do whatever you want. I bought 3D glasses last weekend, and you bet your biscuits I can get all the Star Wars movies in blu-ray 3D. We'll watch them in your favourite order, too. What is it again? Empire, New Hope, Return of the Jedi?"
Peter hummed in agreement.
"Yeah," Tony affirmed. "We'll do that. A whole marathon. Morgan hasn't seen them yet, right? She only knows Leia because of your shirt. Sorry. Not your shirt. The one you borrowed from the girl you like."
Peter quirked a tired smile. His heartrate slowly lowered.
"I don't know if she'll pay attention during a live action movie yet, but it'll be a fun experiment, right?" Tony said soothingly. "After movies, Pep and I will make dinner. Maybe some homemade pasta. Haven't done that in a while. I'll show you how to make my mom's favourite recipe, you can bring it home to May at the end of the summer."
Peter fought a yawn.
"Other happy things," Tony continued. "You are so unbelievably loved, with every ounce of my being and every ounce of May's being. Pep loves you. Even the little heart in Morgan's chest loves you a whole heckuva lot. Your friends— Ned, MJ— They love you, too. So much love to go around."
"At this very moment, you and I are sitting together. We're able to take a deep breath, and sit peacefully in the dark, talking about whatever. We have the whole night to do so. Just you and me. Whatever happened in your nightmare, that's past tense. Present tense, right now, in this moment, I'm okay, you're okay, and we're okay together."
Then:
"Pete, what's your happy place?"
Peter mumbled something incoherent.
"Hm?"
"Here," Peter mumbled again, feeling less and less conscious. "Jus' here."
(Here didn't mean in Tony's living room. It always ever means with family.)
"I can work with that," Tony said, slipping back into his soft lullaby voice. "Just here. Comfy couch. Warm blanket. I'm sitting right next to you, I'm here if you wake up. The frogs outside are singing you to sleep. Can you hear them, kiddo?"
Tony's voice grew quieter, like a gentle hum in the back of his mind.
Peter fell asleep.
He dreamt the kind of dream a kid would— He dreamt of summer.
He felt at peace.