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Peter wasn't afraid of thunder, of course not. He never was— on the contrary, he used to love spending rainy weather placed as close to windows as possible. Sitting on the windowsill and listening to the distant rumble and the pouring rain against the glass and pavement helped him gather his thoughts and focus.
But the Peter now wasn't the same boy as the Peter from before. Now the rumble of thunder, even if it came from someplace far away, was loud enough to echo in his ears with a painful ringing, and every burst of light that came before it felt almost blinding to his sensitive eyes. Not unlike a camera flash pointed right in your face, only a few times stronger— make it ten separate cameras, all going off at the same time.
So now, lying on his bed in a room on the ninety-something floor, he was on the verge of crying from the horrible sensations that followed after every lightning strike. He clasped his hands tightly against his ears, eyes wet and clenched shut. He groaned.
"You appear to be in distress, Mr. Parker," FRIDAY suddenly spoke up, startling Peter out of his tiny bubble of suffering.
"You don't say," he grunted, turning his gaze to look at the spot where he knew one of her cameras was ingrained. He momentarily regretted it once another burst of light illuminated his room. "Oh, god. FRIDAY, can you somehow make it stop?"
"I can shut the blinds to reduce the light penetrating through the windows," FRIDAY said, understanding him without question, and then, after a short silence, almost apologetically added, "I cannot, however, help you with reducing the sounds."
Which wouldn't be utterly horrible, but was still terribly not enough. He could deal with his sight by wrapping himself in a blanket and pushing his face into his bedsheets— exactly the method he used back at home, where no curtains were thick enough to close the window. The sound, however, didn't evaporate, no matter how tightly he pressed his hands against his ears, and the booming clatter was a sensory hell to him.
"Mr. Stark might have something to help with that, however," FRIDAY added after another minute— Peter wondered if she had consulted with her creator before giving him such clear advice to go to his mentor.
Had it been anything else, Peter would have been hesitant and, perhaps, downright opposed to even entertain the idea of asking for help in something so childish and ridiculous as this. But with every passing second spent in unnatural pain, his resolve crumbled more and more— until the decision of whether he should seek help from Tony or not became a resolute 'yes.'
Peter grabbed his blanket, wrapping himself in it as tight as he could, and hopped out of bed, course already set on one room in particular, FRIDAY helpfully illuminating the path for him.
By the time he remembered that, at a time as late as this, Mr. Stark was probably asleep, he already stood before the door to the man's room, and FRIDAY dutifully told him that she had already notified Stark of his arrival. With a deep sigh, Peter opened the door.
The room was dimly lit by the overhead lights, just enough for Mr. Stark to be visible, lying on his— and Pepper's, who, for whatever reason, was still stuck at work several floors down despite the late hour— bed. Instead of lying under the covers half-asleep, as Peter expected him to be, Tony lay on top of the covers, back propped against the wall behind him, a tablet held in his hands.
The man looked up at Peter, hovering hesitantly in the doorway, arms wrapped around his body. With a smirk on his lips, he put the tablet away onto the nightstand, where— Peter noted with immense relief— a pair of headphones lay, no doubt of high enough quality to drown out the noise should he ask for them.
"Hey, kid," Tony greeted. He raised his hand and waved, gesturing for Peter to get closer. "Friday told me you can't sleep. C'mere, then."
Peter nodded and stumbled over, dropping himself on the empty half of the bed. He crawled closer to Tony, settling at his side, and laid his head on the man's shoulder. Wrapping an arm around the kid, Tony chuckled, and Peter only hummed with content— all too comfortable in his spot.
"What, is Spider-Man afraid of a little lightning?" Stark asked, smirking at his protégé with a shimmer of glee shining in his gaze.
"I'm not!" Peter insisted, his voice raising just the tiniest bit, looking up at the man with fury written all over his expression, and Tony raised an eyebrow at him, sceptical. "I'm really not, but it's loud, and my ears really don't appreciate it!"
As if trying to prove Peter's point, another rumble echoed through the room, the sound so deafening and the light so blinding that he couldn't help the sudden desire to curl up and shield himself from the thunderous ringing. With a flinch, Peter clasped his hands tight against his ears and firmly pressed his face into Tony's clothes.
Tony frowned, concern suddenly pulling at his heart, all previous humour evaporating at the sight of deep misery painted all over his kid.
"Come on, Tony," the boy whispered, his voice now much more subdued than it was only a moment before. "Can't you just hold me?"
Tony sighed, pulling the kid into a proper embrace, and Peter gladly slumped against the man, content to lie there for the rest of the night. One of his ears pressed against the Arc Reactor, and Peter tried to focus on its quiet hum, synced with the heartbeat in Tony's chest, drowning out the noise of pouring rain. Peter couldn't help the way his body stiffened once another rumble rang through the floor, and he clenched his eyes shut against the onslaught of light coming from the windows.
Tony frowned, a hand pressing against Peter's open ear. He clicked his tongue and, to FRIDAY, gave a quiet order: "Be a dear, shut the windows."
FRIDAY didn't respond, and she didn't have to: the blinds smoothly rolled down, blocking any and all city lights and the sudden bursts of lightning that could be seen from their position. Tony picked up his pair of headphones from the nightstand and passed them to Peter to put on.
He couldn't drown out the thunder completely, but it was the best he could do at the moment without taking a retreat to the workshop, and if the smile on the boy's face was any indication, then it was quite enough.
"Thank you," Peter whispered, his body finally, blessedly, slumped against Tony with no stiffness remaining in his posture. He glanced up, looking right in Tony's eyes. "This is so much better."
"Of course," Tony said, wrapping his arms around the kid and burying his nose into the kid's hair. "You did good today, actually. I'm proud of you, okay?"
"Proud? What for?" Peter snorted, but his fingers grasped at Tony's shirt. "That I probably woke you up in the middle of the night because of something as childish as loud noises?"
"Because you came to me and actually asked for company," Tony told him, tone firm and words serious. He squeezed the teen in his arms. "Instead of sitting alone in your room and suffering."
Like you always do, the unsaid words hovered in the air. Peter hummed and turned his gaze away, a giddy realisation that yes, he just did that coming to his mind.
When Pepper finally came back home, exhausted and worn-out after a long day of work, she was greeted by a wonderful sight: her husband and his kid, sprawled over the bed in their shared room, quietly snoring in each other's embrace.
She snapped a picture and, as a loyal friend that she was, sent it to May, Happy, and Rhodey right away. And if the former two wouldn't see it until morning, no doubt already asleep, then Rhodey, who worked just as much as Pepper did, responded right as she fell into her spot on the bed.
His message read, 'How long do you think before the kid starts calling me 'Uncle?''
Pepper chuckled and then put her phone away. She reached over, pressing a soft kiss against her husband's cheek and then, too, on the top of the boy's head.