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“Fuck—” Peter hissed through his teeth, shock and pain exploding from the sudden strike.
“Language,” Natasha drawled over comms.
Steve groaned in response. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
Nat ignored him and asked, voice leaking worry she couldn’t quite hide, “Kid, you good?”
The chaos multiplied when Tony—currently wrestling several robots and barely able to focus on comms—cut in. “Wait—why wouldn’t he be good? Kid! Peter?!”
Peter tried to keep the panic out of his voice. “Yeah. Totally. I’m great.”
He had two very big problems. Tony had called him Peter. He’d been stabbed.
Tony calling him just “Peter”—no nickname, no “kid”, no “underoos”—was basically a signed death warrant for whatever rule he’d just broken. So yeah, significantly worse than problem number two.
Problem two: one of the rude, violence-loving robots had driven a very sharp, very large shard of glass into the right side of his abdomen. Wow. What a sentence. It hadn’t felt that dramatic while it was happening.
One of the greatest perks of being Spider-Man: the insane thought train that never stopped running inside his head.Anyway.
After Tony muttered a hurried affirmative and went back to dealing with the rest, Peter didn’t regret lying.
This wasn’t even the first time today he hadn’t regretted it.
Because technically… he hadn’t lied!
Three months ago, when Peter first moved into the Tower, Tony had given him one ironclad rule:
When Spider-Man gets shot, stabbed, or seriously injured—you have to tell someone. It sounded simple, but Peter had spent so many years refusing to be anyone’s burden that following the rule felt almost physically impossible.
The reason he didn’t regret it this time? He hadn’t technically lied.
He hadn’t even been stabbed stabbed. Kinda?
He squeezed web fluid over the wound to stop the bleeding while the rest of the team was still busy. Tony and the others finished up, but Peter’s mind was drifting down the river of his own thoughts.
Since he was finally eating properly again, the wound would probably close by tomorrow evening. Still—without seeing how deep it actually was, it was hard to be sure.
One thing he didn’t have to guess: it hurt like hell. Still. He didn’t want to tell Tony. Didn’t want to be a burden.
The man already had a thousand problems—Infinity Stones fallout, Hydra, that killer who’d started targeting civilians too… He knew he’d get yelled at eventually.
Some habits die hard.
They’d lived this exact scenario hundreds of times.
Once Tony had caught him trying to stitch a knife wound on his thigh with dental floss in secret and had yelled at him for hours.
“Hey, Pete—”Peter twisted out from under the hand on his shoulder, dropping instantly into a fighting stance, eyes wild, searching for the threat.
There was no threat.
Just Tony—Mr. Stark—hands raised carefully, approaching slowly like he was trying not to spook a baby deer. “Hey Pete? Remember? Same team?”
Tony was wearing a smile that looked almost… gentle. The kind he only used around Pepper. And occasionally Peter. It didn’t suit his usual personality at all. Peter slowly relaxed his stance and silently thanked the mask for hiding the fear and confusion on his face. He took several deep breaths, trying to pull himself together.“Yeah… sorry. I zoned out. Sorry, Tony.”
“What did we say? No more apologies. That’s your forbidden word. You apologize way too much! And I don’t just mean when you do something really, really bad—like the time you filled Clint’s hiding vents with water balloons. That was objectively not cool.”
Tony said all this while flashing his signature smirk and winking, which finally pulled a tired laugh out of Peter.From behind, Clint deadpanned, “Ha ha ha. Hilarious.”
“That’s the only place I can go to get away from you morons and have five minutes of peace, and you’re mocking me for a blatant violation of personal boundaries.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Really? In a 140-floor tower, that’s the only place?” Peter couldn’t see it, but he could feel Clint sticking his tongue out at her.
Tony’s grin widened. He slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders, tugged him close, and steered them both toward the Quinjet where everyone else was boarding.
“Come on, spiderling. Cap-sicle is probably starving, and we promised we’d watch a movie with him tonight so he can catch up with the modern world.”
Steve just rolled his eyes from his seat.
They’d been running on fumes for weeks, chasing the tiniest leads. Today had been a ridiculous robot invasion.They had nothing solid right now—so tonight they were going to rest. Watch a movie. Act normal.
While the others talked, Peter let himself sink into the moment. He leaned against Tony’s shoulder and laughed at the team’s banter. He tried to ignore the throbbing knife wound in his stomach.
About an hour and a half later, the Avengers were sprawled in various states of undress across two couches and the floor in front of the giant screen. Peter sat on the edge of a red armchair, Tony right beside him. Natasha was on Tony’s other side. Everyone else was scattered randomly.
Peter finished the last slice of pizza. Fullness came with a side of nausea and a dull ache, but if you looked at his face you wouldn’t know.At least, Peter thought you wouldn’t know.But the occasional sideways glances Tony kept throwing him were starting to make him doubt that.
On screen: The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.
The whole movie, everyone had been teasing Clint. Clint had responded with eye-rolls and increasingly sarcastic replies.
“Come on, Clint. Sing us a song. Katniss sings. You two are basically the same person,” Natasha said, taking a final sip of her drink before nailing the trash can from across the room. “Yeah, just a few tiny differences,” Wanda added. “If you started braiding your hair we’d be golden.”
“Ha ha. Really funny.” Clint lobbed a pillow first at Nat, then at Wanda. But he was smiling. Because Wanda had made a comment. That mattered.Peter couldn’t really focus. He was feeling sorry for himself right now because his side— which should have been calming down and starting to heal—was throbbing harder.
Also, Tony had been unusually quiet throughout the movie. Just… staring. Peter kept swallowing and avoiding those looks. He needed to get up. But if he left while the credits were still rolling it would look weird. This was officially the second time today he didn’t regret lying.
He still didn’t want to burden anyone with his problems. Everyone deserved rest after today. When the pain became unbearable, Peter moved quietly, carefully extricating himself from the couch. He was almost to the door when a voice froze him.
"Queens! Where are you going?”
Peter plastered on a dumb smile and turned to Steve—but his eyes kept flicking to Tony. Tony was watching him with a dangerous, assessing look. Silent. “Uh—” He faked a yawn. “Super tired. Gonna crash early tonight, I think. Night, guys.”
He bolted before anyone could reply.
Once he was out, he regretted the sudden movement. The wound screamed. He needed to get to his room. Then he could look at it again. Maybe re-wrap it.
Right now he’d agree to anything because it burned like fire. He threw himself onto the bed the second he reached his room.
He’d made it this far. A little rest wouldn’t hurt, right?He had no idea how much time passed. Five minutes? Half an hour? Three hours? Ten days? God, he hoped not ten days. If he disappeared for ten days Tony would lose it. Peter smiled—more like grimaced through the pain—at the thought.
He lifted his hand. Through blurry eyes he saw red.Had he drunk cherry juice today? No—wait—not juice. Blood. It was leaking. Great. But he had more important things to do. He needed rest. Cuts bleed until they stop. He’d re-bandage when he woke up.
“Peter— I’m detecting a sudden spike in your heart rate and you appear distressed. Notifying Boss.”
Peter jolted on the bed at FRIDAY’s voice. “Oh my god—don’t do that, please. Wait—what? No. No. You can’t tell Mr. Stark, I’m completely fine, FRI. Completely. Fine…”
No response. Or maybe there was—he just didn’t hear it because a fresh wave of pain rolled through him and his body shook on the mattress.
Was he going to die? Like Ben. Like May. They died. He couldn’t save them. And here he was playing house with the Avengers. Watching movies. How ungrateful.
Ben and May raised him. Had he forgotten them? How many days since he last thought about them? When was the last time he visited their graves? While he was hanging out with his new family, they were rotting underground because of him.
He didn’t realize he was sobbing. No, he thought. I didn’t forget you. You were everything. May and Ben were everything. I don’t deserve any of this. You did. It should’ve been me. I should’ve died.
You should’ve lived.
But the angry voices of May and Ben in his head kept hissing. I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry.
A sharp slap across his face made his eyes snap open. He sucked in a long, ragged breath. Tony was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide.
“Hey Pete, breathe—just like that. I’m here. I’m right here, okay? I’m not leaving you. Good. I’m here. You’re here. You’re okay. We’re okay.” Peter’s crying eased once he could breathe again, but the pain in his stomach multiplied. Tony—now an expert at reading him—saw it immediately.
His gaze dropped first to Peter’s bloody hand, then to his abdomen. His eyes widened in horror. For a second he looked like he didn’t know what to say.
“Fuck—shit—Peter look at me. Stay awake! Kid, listen to me—don’t you dare pass out. Don’t leave me, Parker. Don’t even think about it. Peter! Pete—”
He wanted to stay awake. He really did. But he couldn’t. Maybe if he died like this, Tony would finally be free of his curse.
In the silence, he prayed for life to take pity on him—just once—and stop the physical and mental agony swallowing every inch of him.
…
He woke to steady beeping. Not “woke” as in eyes open—he didn’t have the strength for that yet. He lay still for several minutes. His head was so foggy. He couldn’t remember what happened.
Slowly his eyes opened. He registered white sheets. Sterile room. Bed. He knew this place by heart now. The medbay.
What had he done this time to wake up here?
A low grumble came from his right. Without moving much, he turned his head. Tony was curled awkwardly in a chair, clearly not comfortable, but deeply asleep.
Peter watched him for a while. Memories flooded back.
He’d fucked up. Badly.
This time when Tony woke up he was probably going to yell so much. He’d broken the biggest rule Tony ever gave him—hiding an injury. On top of that, he’d had another crying breakdown in front of him. Maybe he could blame the pain this time… but it wasn’t really the pain that hurt most.
Remembering what he’d thought before passing out made his stomach turn. He swallowed it down.
Unfortunately his heart rate spiked—and the monitor’s faster beeping jolted Tony awake. After a split-second of disorientation, Tony turned and studied him.
When Peter tried to sit up, Tony gently but firmly pushed him back down.
Surprisingly… he didn’t look angry. He looked eerily calm. Or maybe he was just hiding everything so well Peter couldn’t tell. “No. Not yet. I’m calling a doctor and—”
“No. It’s fine. No doctor. I’m okay. Really. And I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. For you finding me like that—” Tony held up a hand. Peter was on the verge of a panic attack.
This should be the part where Tony yelled. Lectured. But he didn’t look angry at all—and that terrified Peter more than yelling ever could. Tony was scanning him anxiously, like he didn’t believe a word and was searching for proof that Peter was still hurting.
Yes, the wound ached a little—but nothing like before he passed out. Peter was deliberately avoiding looking at it. He knew with proper care and food, it would heal in a day or two.
After a longer examination that apparently found nothing new, Tony cleared his throat.
“Look. You definitely did something you weren’t supposed to do and you scared the hell out of me, kid. We’re going to talk about this again—you’re not getting off that easy. But… damn it, I’m terrible at these kinds of conversations.”
Tony took a deep breath, pulled his chair right up to the bed, and leaned forward. He avoided Peter’s eyes for a second.“Listen, Peter. Emotional talks have never been my thing. I suck at them. But the things you said… you know they’re not true, right? You have to know.”
The things he said?What had he said? He couldn’t remember. Tony must have seen the confusion because he kept going. “You’re supposed to live, Pete. Ben and May would want that. ‘I don’t deserve to live.’ God, kid—you are the person who most deserves to live and have the best damn life this world can give.”Tony looked at him with such certainty there was no room for doubt—like he would shake Peter until it sank in if he had to.
Peter felt so lost. But this time he didn’t want to stay in that dark hole. He was reaching for a hand—even if he didn’t realize it. With a trembling voice and tears streaming down his face, he asked:
“How do you know? I… I forgot them. Look at me.Tony stood quickly, sat on the edge of the bed, and made it impossible for Peter to look anywhere else.
“I’m tired, Tony. Everything I touch breaks and I can only watch. I lost everyone and now I have this second chance, yeah—but what if the problem is me? How can things be better when I’m here? I’m so tired, Tony… I feel like I’m betraying everything and everyone that came before. May. Everyone. They raised me. Gave me a home, a family. And now they’re under the ground while I’m here laughing with you. I know there are bigger problems. Much bigger. I just feel like a burden. Like I’m just something people have to deal with.”
It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. His emotions were like loose rocks tumbling down—pulling the rest of the mountain with them.Nothing would be left. Somewhere during the confession, Tony had wrapped his arms around him. Peter didn’t know exactly when.
All he knew was he never wanted to leave that embrace.
Tony was holding him at a weird angle to avoid the wound—but Peter never wanted the moment to end.
He wanted to bottle it. Open it whenever he felt bad and feel that hug again and again.
Just for a little while—escape the whole world. Hide in Tony’s arms from everyone and everything. Tony gently stroked his hair. It calmed Peter more than anything.
“May and Ben wouldn’t be upset seeing you like this, kid. There’s nothing in the world I’m more sure of.”
Peter gave him a questioning look—but Tony was still holding him tight.“H-how?”
“Because I’m Tony. And I care about you, kid. If I die someday… when I die someday—I want you to be happy. To laugh again. To feel again. To live for me. And most importantly—to live for yourself.
May loved you like a parent. I know she’d want the same. Call it co-parenting instinct or whatever.
When no answer came, he continued. "You’re not a burden. Never have been. I want you to be happy more than anything, Pete. I don’t want you to forget me—of course—but you’re too good a kid to do that anyway. The world took everything from you and you still feel like you’re betraying it by living.You’re not.
If I were in their place and saw you right now—I’d be proud of you, kid. For being this strong. For still fighting for the world after everything. And for letting yourself be happy sometimes.”
He straightened, took a deep breath. “I’m an expert at self-blame. Feeling good after bad things happen—letting yourself feel good without guilt—is harder than feeling bad. You want to fight the world. You think you don’t deserve to feel okay. You force yourself into that hole and stay there.You don’t deserve that. Never will, Pete. If I die someday—that’s what I want. For you to flip the world off and be happy. Tell that damn hole to go fuck itself.” Tony exhaled sharply and kept carding fingers through Peter’s hair in steady rhythm. His other arm held tight.
Time passed. Tony started thinking no answer was coming.But this kid… always full of surprises. “I’d want the same… If something happened to me. If I died or disappeared—I’d want you to keep going. To be happy. Not to forget me—thinking about that is terrifying—but… I’d want you to be happy, Tony.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Pete. I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you either, Tony. Ever.”
Tony swallowed hard but continued. “Okay then. Let’s make a promise.” Peter pulled back just enough to see his face. His own was streaked with tears. Tony’s eyes were red-rimmed.
"Pinky Promise?" Peter asked.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine, anyway. Even if something happens to one of us—the other keeps being happy.” He held out his pinky. Peter looked at it with doubt and reluctance.“Nothing’s happening anytime soon, Pete… This is just insurance, okay? Then Peter understood. Tony was trying to comfort him. Trying to lift even a little of the guilt.Trying to make him feel better. And it worked.
With teary eyes, Peter hooked his pinky around Tony’s. Both whispered at the same time:
“Promise.”
“Promise.”
They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Peter shifted. Tony raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I still don’t feel great… and, uh… the hair stroking thing was really helping with the wound and everything. You don’t have to if you don’t want to—” Before he finished, Tony tugged him back against his chest and slid fingers into his hair again. As Peter’s heartbeat finally started to slow, Tony murmured. "You have a home, kid. Always. Right here.