Work Text:
The lab still smelled faintly of burnt chemicals and ozone even after the ventilation system had kicked in at full power. Greenish foam had splattered across half the workbench, a few beakers lay in shattered pieces on the floor, and a thin wisp of smoke curled lazily from a cracked vial. The alarms had finally gone silent, but the quiet that followed felt heavier than the noise.
Peter Parker stood frozen in the centre of the mess, his safety goggles pushed up onto his forehead, one glove torn at the wrist. His wide brown eyes were locked onto the small cut on Tony Stark’s left forearm – a superficial scratch, no more than two centimetres long, already clotting. It had happened when the wrong bottles were mixed. Tony had grabbed the incorrect reagents in his rush, but when Peter had followed the hurried instructions and poured the second bottle, the reaction had hissed violently. A shard of glass had nicked Tony just below the elbow.
FRIDAY’s calm voice had already confirmed it: non-toxic, minor laceration, no need for stitches. Barely a scratch.
But Peter looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the low hum of the lab equipment. “Mr. Stark, I’m so, so sorry.”
Tony glanced up from where he was pressing a sterile cloth against the cut. “Kid, relax. It was my fault. I picked the wrong bottle. You were just-”
“I’m sorry,” Peter interrupted, taking a shaky step forward, then immediately stepping back again, hands hovering uselessly in the air. “I should have double-checked the labels. I should have slowed down. I know better than to rush in the lab. I-”
“Peter.”
“I mixed them wrong. I hurt you. You got scratched because of me and I-” His breathing was coming faster now, chest rising and falling in short, panicked bursts. The guilt was pulling him under like quicksand. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I was trying to help and instead I made everything worse. What if it had been something more dangerous? What if you’d been really hurt? What if-”
“Peter.” Tony’s voice was firmer this time, but still gentle. He set the cloth aside and crossed the short distance between them, placing both hands on the teenager’s shoulders. Peter was trembling, the kind of full-body shake that came from adrenaline and self-blame colliding at full speed. His eyes were glassy, lashes already damp.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said again, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m sorry I’m such a brick. I’m sorry I always mess things up. I’m sorry you have to deal with me in your lab when I clearly can’t even follow simple instructions without causing an accident. I’m sorry-”
“Hey.” Tony gave his shoulders a light squeeze, grounding him. “Breathe with me, kid. In… and out. That’s it. Good.”
Peter tried, but the rabbit hole was deep tonight. His mind was spinning through every possible worse outcome, every way this could have gone catastrophically wrong because of him. “I keep doing this. I keep apologising because I keep making mistakes. You let me in here, you trust me with your stuff, and I repay you by nearly blowing up the lab and cutting you open. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here. Maybe I should just-”
“Enough.” Tony pulled Peter into a firm hug before the boy could spiral any further, one arm wrapped securely around his back, the other hand cradling the back of his messy curls. Peter stiffened for half a second, then collapsed against him, face buried in Tony’s shoulder, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.
“It’s okay,” Tony said quietly, right beside Peter’s ear, his voice low and steady. “It’s okay, Peter. It was my screw-up from the start. I grabbed the wrong reagents. You were only trying to help, like you always do. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Peter’s voice came out muffled and thick with unshed tears. “But you got hurt… because of me. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
Tony rubbed slow, soothing circles between Peter’s shoulder blades, feeling the tension knotted there. “Listen to me, kid. You are not responsible for every little thing that goes wrong around here. Especially not when it’s my own sloppy work at two in the morning. That scratch is nothing – two centimetres at most. I’ve had worse from shaving. You’re okay. I’m okay. The lab will be fine after a quick clean-up.”
Peter sniffled, still not pulling away. “I’m sorry for panicking too. I’m sorry I’m making this into a big deal when it’s not. I just… I hate it when you get hurt. Even a little bit. It makes me feel like I failed you.”
“You didn’t fail anyone,” Tony murmured, pressing his cheek lightly against the top of Peter’s head. “You’re the kid who swings around Queens stopping muggers and saving cats from trees. One tiny lab mishap doesn’t change that. And it definitely wasn’t your fault.”
The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by Peter’s shaky breathing slowly evening out. But the guilt still lingered in the way his fingers twisted in Tony’s shirt, in the way he kept glancing sideways at the cut on Tony’s arm.
Tony pulled back just enough to look Peter in the eyes. The boy’s cheeks were flushed, his expression still raw and sad. “It’s okay,” Tony said again, softer this time, holding eye contact so Peter couldn’t look away. “Really. I promise.”
Peter opened his mouth – probably to apologise one more time – but Tony raised an eyebrow in gentle warning. Peter closed it, swallowing hard.
“Good,” Tony said with a small, fond smile. He ruffled Peter’s hair lightly, then kept his hand there for a second, grounding. “Now… what movie do you want? We’re shutting the lab down for the rest of the night. No more experiments, no more apologies. Just pizza, blankets, and whatever you pick.”
Peter blinked, still a little dazed from the spiral. His voice was small but hopeful. “Star Wars?”
Tony’s grin widened immediately. “Of course it’s Star Wars. My little nerd. Which one? The original trilogy? Empire Strikes Back? Or are we going full marathon mode tonight?”
Peter hesitated, the guilt trying to creep back in, but the offer was too warm to resist completely. “Can we… can we watch A New Hope first? And maybe The Empire Strikes Back after? If that’s okay. I don’t want to make you sit through all of them if you’re tired or if your arm hurts or-”
“Peter.”
“Sorry. I mean… yes, please. A New Hope sounds good.”
Tony chuckled softly and steered the boy toward the supply closet with one arm still draped protectively around his shoulders. “A New Hope it is. I’ll even let you quote every line if you want. But first we clean this mess together – no guilt, no overthinking. Deal?”
Peter nodded, a tiny, reluctant smile finally breaking through. “Deal. And… Mr. Stark?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“I’m still a little sorry.”
Tony sighed, but it was warm and amused. “I know you are. And I’m still telling you it’s okay. Every single time.” He gave Peter’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Now come on. Let’s get this lab sorted, order the greasiest pizza in New York – extra cheese, extra pepperoni – and settle in. Han Solo and Chewie are waiting.”
As they started sweeping up glass shards and wiping down the bench, Peter kept stealing glances at Tony’s arm. The scratch was already drying, barely noticeable. But every time he looked, Tony would catch his eye and say it again, quiet and steady:
“It’s okay.”
By the time the lab was clean, the pizza boxes were open on the couch, and the opening crawl of A New Hope was lighting up the massive screen, Peter had stopped apologising out loud. The rabbit hole was still there, but Tony’s calm voice and the familiar comfort of Star Wars were slowly pulling him back out.
Halfway through the movie, when Luke’s landspeeder raced across the desert, Peter leaned his head against Tony’s uninjured shoulder and whispered one last time, almost too soft to hear:
“…Thanks for saying it’s okay.”
Tony didn’t even look away from the screen. He just wrapped an arm around the boy and replied, “Always, kid. Always.”
And for the rest of the night, every time Peter’s mind tried to wander back into guilt, Tony was there – steady, patient, repeating the same simple truth until Peter started to believe it.
It’s okay.