I Will Carry You (Always)

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/14806889.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-
Man: Homecoming (2017)
Relationship: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Character: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Happy Hogan, Ned
Leeds, Michelle Jones, Pepper Potts, The Avengers - Character
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Peter Parker Whump,
Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Needs
a Hug, Panic Attacks, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Dead Aunt May,
Dad!Tony, Grief/Mourning, Separation Anxiety, Precious Peter Parker,
Abandonment Issues, Whump, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD,
Platonic Cuddling, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Compliant, Depression, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark- Freeform, Post
Spider-Man: Homecoming AU
Language: English
Collections: Irondad Creators Awards 2021 - Nominations, The Best of the Best
Peter Parker Fics, Irondad and Spiderson, Aurelia’s heart did a squee,
Irondad, Best of Peter Parker
Stats: Published: 2018-05-31 Updated: 2019-08-03 Words: 163,381 Chapters:
61/?

I Will Carry You (Always)

by TheStarvingWriter

Summary

On November 23rd, Peter receives a call. It's Queens Hospital, and Aunt May is dead.
Alone and scared, it's up to Tony Stark to take care of him.

Notes

Hello! Welcome to my fic; the first one I've ever posted on ao3.
Basically, I rewatched Spider-Man: Homecoming a few weeks ago and couldn't help but
think about Tony parenting Peter. Thus, this was born.
The title of the story comes from the Novo Amor song called Carry You, and I recommend
you all take a listen. It's a beautiful song.
 Torn Down
Chapter Summary

"Peter was wide awake now. His hands shook as he spoke, 'I-I’ll be right there.'
The call ended, and Peter stood, his legs shaking.
An accident?"

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The door clicked shut, and Peter sighed deeply. Finally. He was alone.

He relaxed his slightly hostile body language and flopped down on the couch, hearing the springs
groan with his weight. He placed a hand over his eyes, slightly amazed at how tired he was.

It was Friday, November 23rd, which also happened to be the day after Thanksgiving. He was on
break from school, crime was low, and there was little to do besides watching TV and occasionally
tinkering with the stuff he had in his room.

Yet exhaustion pulled at him, making him want to do nothing more than take a nap.

Maybe it was the fight with his aunt that drove so much out of him.

I just wish sometimes she would back off. She’s suffocating me. Peter thought, shutting his eyes.

Indignation swelled within him. I should be able to go out as Spider-Man as much as I want, when
I want. I have a power. I should be able to use it.

Protests filled his head as he lay down, his eyes still closed. May wouldn’t be back with dinner for
a while, so maybe he’d just take a little nap…

--

His ringtone woke him.

He vocalized his annoyance and tried to block out the noise, mentally cursing himself for picking a
ringtone that was so irritating. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into unconsciousness,
where everything was nice and quiet. Thankfully, after several minutes, the ringtone eventually
faded into silence, the loud yodels that it produced echoing off the walls for seconds after.

It was quiet for about thirty seconds before his phone went off again.

Peter groaned loudly. Whoever was calling was persistent, and he grumbled as he sat up. He
rubbed his eyes and picked up his phone, not even bothering to look at the Caller ID.

“Hello,” Peter mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“Am I speaking to Peter Parker?” The voice was sharp, but not unkind. More urgent than anything.

Peter blinked, suddenly more awake. “Uh, yes.”

“Peter, this is Doctor Lane. You need to come to the Hospital Center in Queens right now.”

Peter felt like he had been doused in ice water. “What? Why?”

“Your aunt has been in a car accident. I’m sorry, but we cannot provide any more details over the
phone.”

Peter was wide awake now. His hands shook as he spoke, “I-I’ll be right there.”

The call ended, and Peter stood, his legs shaking.

An accident?

He swallowed hard, nausea sweeping over him and pushing bile into his throat. He took a deep
breath through his nose, calming himself.

She's fine, Peter told himself as he rushed to his bedroom and searched for his old web shooters,
knowing that he couldn't show up clad in his Spider-Man suit. She's probably just a little banged
up. They always take you to the hospital after car accidents, right?

Dammit. Where did he put his shooters?

He pretty much tore up his room before he found them, beneath his bed, under all kinds of stuff he
had previously deemed useless.

He hooked them on his wrists quickly, pushed open the window, and threw himself out of it.

--

The hospital halls were sterile, bright, and smelled strongly of rubbing alcohol.

Peter’s overly-sensitive nose burned every time he inhaled, and his legs shook with every step. The
lady at the counter told him that his Aunt was in room 324, and he had sprinted down the hallway
in the direction of the stairs. He took the steps two at a time up until the third floor, when the
apprehension slowed him down.

He counted the door numbers as he walked, his hands balled into fists at his sides, his nails digging
into his palms.

320, 321, 322, 323…

There was a doctor standing outside of room 324.

She looked up as he approached.

“You must be Peter,” She said, a note of sadness in her voice.

“Where is my Aunt?” Peter spoke, surprised that the voice he heard was his own.

The doctor’s gaze turned pitiful. “I’m sorry.”

Peter felt the world collapse around him. He barely heard the words that followed the doctor’s
admission. “Her car collided with a semi-truck on 164th street. Her injuries sustained from the
crash were too severe. She had lost too much blood. We couldn’t save her.”

There was a sudden sharp ringing in Peter’s ears. Everything seemed too loud. The lights were too
bright. All he could smell was isopropyl.

“Peter?” He blinked up at her, his vision blurry with tears.

“Where is she?” Peter whispered. “C-can… can I see her?”

The doctor nodded solemnly and opened the door. Peter forced his shaky legs to move.

The room was dark, with only one light on, and Peter almost cried with the relief from the
brightness. The alcohol smell was stronger, almost sickening, but he suddenly didn’t care.

His aunt was laying on the cot in the middle of the room.

He walked over to her, feeling floaty.

She was pale. Lifeless. Cold.

The tears slid down his cheeks.

“May…” Peter whispered, his hand reaching out and touching her face. There was a cut on her
cheek. It made Peter cry harder.

He fell into the chair that was placed next to her bed. His throat felt tight and his chest hurt as sobs
ripped from his throat. His eyes burned with tears, and his breathing grew labored. He found his
Aunt’s hand and gripped it, hating how cold it was. He hated everything then. He hated how his
heart beat in his chest while hers didn’t, how his lungs inhaled and hers never would again.

His mind raced as he sat there, bouncing frantically from one thought to another, neurons firing so
fast that he couldn't concentrate on one thing for longer than a second. Aunt May did always joke
that he had trouble staying focused, but his mind was going so fast that it was making him panicky
and shaky, making him feel like everything was spiraling out of control faster than it already was.

Oh god, what was he going to do? He was alone, truly and completely, for the first time since
childhood. Where would he go? He didn't have any money saved up, nor did he have a method of
income. He needed that for emancipation, right? He need a steady income to emancipate himself,
or else he was going into the system, and oh god, he didn't want to go into the system—

He pressed his fist to his mouth and let out a muffled scream, unable to do anything but let his
thoughts swirl into a tornado, wrecking havoc inside his mind and leaving disaster in its wake.

Calm down, he told himself, noticing that he was unconsciously rocking back and forth. He forced
himself to still, swallowing. Think for a second. You need a plan.

With shaking fingers, he took out his phone and unlocked it without thinking. Maybe he’d stay at
Ned’s house tonight. Or maybe he’d just go home.

The thought of being alone in the apartment made him nauseous.

His fingers found the calling app on his phone. His thumb hovered over Ned’s number.

I can’t.

He had to act like he was okay in front of Ned, and the mere thought of having to put on a smile
was enough to make him scroll past the number. He felt tears enter his eyes again.

Through blurry vision, he saw Happy’s number. Maybe he’ll give me a ride somewhere. I have
 enough saved up for a hotel room. He tapped the screen and held the phone up to his ear.

One ring. Two. Three. Four.

Voicemail.

“This is Happy’s phone. Leave a message.”

Peter shut his phone off, his heart sinking. Just when he was about to pocket it, it rang.

It was Happy.

Peter accepted the call.

“H-hello?” Peter whispered.

“Hey kid. What’s up?”

A sob escaped Peter’s lips. He pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to smother it. “I, uh… I’m in
a bit of… a s-situation?”

There was a beat of silence. “Are you alright?”

Peter had no strength left to lie. “N-no. I… I need you to pick me up.”

“Hold on,” Happy said, concern rising in his tone. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

Peter tilted his head up, wanting the tears to recede back into his eyes. “Queen’s Hospital Center.”

“You’re at the hospital? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Peter didn’t want to say it, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer. “Aunt May is dead.”

Silence. Tears rolled down Peter’s face again. His hands shook.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry Peter.” Happy sounded sad. It didn’t make Peter feel any better.

“C-can you pick me up? P-please…” Peter trailed off, a sob punctured his sentence.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hang tight kid.”

The line went dead.

And Peter sobbed.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks for reading. Feedback is much appreciated, but please be nice!

 Full Of Aching
Chapter Summary

"He was dressed in a sharp looking suit that probably cost more money than Peter’s
entire wardrobe. His hair was slightly ruffled, no doubt from the verbal fight he just
had. His face was slightly tense, his eyes showing something Peter could only identify
as some sort of guarded concern."

Chapter Notes

Whoa! I did NOT expect the first chapter to get the reaction that it did. I am so pleased
and blown away that I just had to post another one.
A quick little trigger warning: This chapter (and quite a few chapters after this)
contains a panic attack. It's not too graphic, but if you are sensitive to that sort of thing,
then please click away.
Now that that's out of the way with, enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The silence was deafening.

He didn’t know how long it had been since he got off the phone with Happy. He didn’t have the
energy to even look at what time it was.

He felt like he was dying, and a part of him wished he was. But he pressed his fingers to the pulse
point in his neck, and found that his heart still beat.

His head rested on the bed where Aunt May lay. He stared at the floor, silently pleading with
whatever was out there that this whole thing had just been a dream, and he’d wake up to Aunt May
making pancakes, wearing her favorite apron.

He heard movement outside of his room, along with some muffled voices. He was too tired to lift
his head, so he just sat there, listening at the voices stopped and the door opened, a sliver of light
entering the dark room, before disappearing as the door shut with a click.

Peter raised his head as curiosity got the better of him, and the action alone made him dizzy. He
turned slowly, his head spinning.

If he wasn’t so bone-tired, his jaw would have dropped.

Tony Stark stood in between the door and Peter.

He was dressed in a sharp looking suit that probably cost more money than Peter’s entire
wardrobe. His hair was slightly ruffled, no doubt from the verbal fight he just had. His face was
slightly tense, his eyes showing something Peter could only identify as some sort of guarded
concern.
Peter stared at him, blinking several times, waiting for the illusion to shatter and for him to be
alone once more.

It didn’t. He was still standing there.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaked, hardly daring to believe he was actually there.

An expression Peter didn’t recognize crossed Tony’s face. “Hey, kid.” His voice was soft, yet
somehow strained and uncomfortable.

Peter tried to stop the tears from forming (because he just couldn’t cry in front of Tony Stark), but
then he realized that he wasn’t alone anymore, and he couldn’t help the strangled sob that escaped
his lips. Finally, Peter thought numbly. Someone I know. Someone who knows me.

He was crying in front of Tony Stark, something that should have embarrassed him, but he just felt
resigned instead. His Aunt was getting colder on the table as the minutes passed and each second
felt like a knife to the heart, for it had been many hours since he had last heard her voice and he
suddenly realized he wouldn’t hear it ever again.

He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to quiet his sobs.

Tony crossed the room. His eyes strayed to Aunt May’s body, and he shut his eyes briefly. Shit,
kid, He thought, slightly shocked at the burning he felt behind his eyes. It had been months since
he had felt the familiar sensation of tears about to form. God, this is bad. This is really bad.

Peter looked up at Tony from where he sat, tears still streaming down his face, his eyes burning.

Tony looked down at the child, because with a jolt, that’s what he realized Peter was. A child. One
that just had everything that ever mattered ripped away from him. A lump formed in his throat.

“C’mere, kid,” Tony said quietly, pulling Peter off of the chair and into his arms. Peter put his face
in Tony’s chest and let the sadness pour out of him.

Tony’s arms closed around Peter’s shaking figure, holding him close. Peter’s sobs were painful and
the intensity of them hurt his throat, but he couldn’t stop. Someone was here. He wasn’t alone with
his Aunt’s body anymore. Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s middle, trying to push him closer.
Tony’s arms tightened around him, and Peter let out a sob of relief.

“Alone,” Peter choked out. “I'm alone.”

“No. I’m here. You're not alone,” He whispered, making Peter cry harder.

Tony smelled like oil and aftershave, mostly the latter, and for the first time since he’d entered the
hospital, he didn’t smell the strong, astringent smell of rubbing alcohol.

Tony ran his hand through Peter’s hair, hoping it would provide some sort of comfort. God, I’m
terrible at this. I’m petting the kid like a fucking animal, he thought bitterly. He dropped his hand,
but then Peter made a strange noise, and he hesitantly put it back.

Peter then realized that he was ruining Tony Stark’s expensive suit, and the embarrassment that
filled him almost sent him into hysterics. He removed his face, his tears slowing slightly. “Your-
your s-suit,” Peter’s voice was shaky. “’Spensive. Don’ wanna ruin it.”

Tony shook his head and gently pushed Peter’s face back into his chest. “Don’t worry about it.
This is important than a suit.”
The waterworks started once more.

Peter didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually, when Peter's tears had dried up and a
still silence had fallen on the pair, Tony gently pulled Peter off of him. The billionaire held him out
at arms length and examined his face.

There was no color in Peter's face, with the only exception being the skin around his eyes, which
were a bright red. His lips were swollen from his teeth biting on them, and his pupils were blown
wide, the whites of his eyes bloodshot.

Tony had never seen Peter look like that, and he felt it sear into his brain. Welp. That was
something new to keep him up at night.

After a minute, Tony spoke hesitantly. “Are you ready to leave?”

Exhaustion pulled at Peter. He nodded, the movement making his head hurt. Peter took a step
towards the door, but his legs shook and he wobbled, feeling like he was about to fall flat on his
face as he couldn't establish his equilibrium.

“Whoa,” Tony said, reaching out and catching Peter before he could fall. “Alright. I’ve got you.”
Tony wrapped and arm around Peter, supporting him, and guided the two of them towards the
door.

The fact that Peter's legs were shaking so bad that he couldn't stand terrified Tony. This is bad.
This is really, really bad, He thought to himself, opening the door that led back out into the
hallway.

The bright lights of the hallways felt like someone stabbed Peter’s head with a knife, and he
couldn’t stop the gag that escaped him. Tony’s gaze snapped to his face. “Peter? Are you going to
be sick?”

The world spun as Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing the bile back down. I am
not throwing up in front of Tony Stark. He shook his head.

There was a pause. “Okay. Just… Just tell me if you are, okay?”

Peter nodded, keeping his eyes closed. “Too bright,” He mumbled.

Tony sighed, wishing that there was something he could do to help. “I know. I’m sorry.” He led
Peter down the hallway towards the elevator. Somewhere along the way, Peter buried his face into
Tony's side, groaning lightly. "M'head hurts," Peter mumbled as they entered the elevator, Tony
pressing the lobby button with his free hand.

It was silent in the elevator. “Your head hurts?” Tony asked quietly, concern etched into his voice.

Peter nodded. “And my chest and my throat and everything…” He whimpered against Tony.
“Everything hurts.”

Tony’s grip was so tight that it was nearly painful.

The elevator dinged and Tony led Peter out. Peter had no idea what was happening or where he
was going, but he trusted Mr. Stark, so he just let him lead.

Suddenly, they were outside. The darkness was a blessing. Peter wanted to sob in relief.
He removed his face from Tony and the two of them slowly walked down the steps of the hospital.
There was a black car out front, and Tony slid him and Peter into the backseat.

Peter would have been so happy about being in Mr. Stark’s car any other day, but today he was so
physically and emotionally exhausted that he could barely lift his head to look around.

The Audi was clean and smelled like new car. Happy sat in the driver’s seat, and he glanced at
Peter and gave him a smile. Peter tried to smile but the effort was exhausting. Tony closed the door
to the car as Happy started the engine.

“Peter? Are you cold?” Tony asked from next to him, and Peter noticed that he was shaking.

Peter shook his head. At the moment, the only thing he felt was suffocating claustrophobia. The car
was small and Peter suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“Kid?” Tony asked uncertainly and Peter tried to take a breath, but it felt like someone had
removed his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

“Peter,” Tony said, but Peter couldn’t hear him. He was hyperventilating, breaths getting caught
somewhere in his chest, a pathetic wheezing noise issuing from his mouth.

Tony knew at once what was wrong.

Shit. Shit shit shit. The swear word was a mantra in Tony’s head as he watched Peter’s eyes get
more panicked with each passing second. The poor kid was having a panic attack, and Tony was
freaking out.

It was an inconvenient time to be bitterly reminiscing, but suddenly Tony was thinking about when
he was 15 and alone at MIT. His 18 year old roommate had gone out with friends an hour ago and
Tony was in the fetal position on his bed, shaking and hyperventilating, crying for his mother.

No one came. His roommate didn’t return until Tony had long since passed out, only being able to
breathe freely in unconsciousness.

And it only got worse from there, for now Tony averaged about one panic attack a month,
sometimes more if the situation arose.

As his throat tightened to the point of pain, he vowed that no matter how uncomfortable and out-
of-his element this made him feel, he would never let that happen to Peter.

Ever.

“Peter,” Tony said loudly, grabbing Peter’s shoulders. “Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. Just breathe,
kid.”

Peter sucked in a breath and it burned. His wild eyes met Tony’s with fear, but there was nothing
but strong resolve in the billionaire’s brown irises. “Calm down, Peter. Breathe with me, okay?”
Tony breathed in and Peter tried his hardest to mimic him. He couldn’t.

He grabbed at his throat, his eyes crazed with panic. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

Tony reached out and grabbed Peter, yanking him towards him. He pressed the kid up against his
chest. “Peter. Come on, kid. You have to breathe. Feel this?” Tony breathed in deeply, and then
exhaled loudly. There was slight panic in his voice. “I want you to do it with me, okay? Together.”
 Tony breathed and Peter did the same. Peter felt the man’s chest rise and fall, and he concentrated
on that rather than the panic that rose within him. He inhaled slowly, feeling Tony’s heart beat in
his ears.

“That’s right, Peter,” He whispered encouragingly as Peter’s fist clenched on Tony’s white button
down. “Breathe with me, kid.”

They breathed together and Tony met Happy’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Tony nodded, and
Happy started the car.

Peter’s breathing evened out, but he continued to shake. Despite knowing that the shivers were
more from shock than coldness, it didn’t stop Tony from rubbing his hands down Peter’s exposed
arms.

Why the kid was wearing short sleeves in late November, Tony would never understand. But right
now, there were more important things to worry about. Like the shivering, recently orphaned child
in his arms.

Tony gently peeled the kid from him, examining his face and expression.

Peter was absolutely beat as he sat back in his seat, bowing his head. He had only been this tired
once before, and that was after he defeated Vulture nearly two months ago. But he had a building
fall on him and caused a plane to crash then. Now his aunt was dead and he was an orphan and he
couldn’t even cry anymore. His head felt heavy and his eyes were on the brink of closing.

“Peter? What’s up?” Tony sounded worried again. Peter didn’t want him to worry, but at the same
time, it felt nice to have someone care.

“Sleepy,” Peter mumbled.

Not surprising, Tony thought, watching as the kid struggled to keep his eyes open. You just had
severe emotional trauma.

Tony inwardly winced at the kid’s position. He was en route for neck soreness in the morning if he
fell asleep like that.

“Lay against me, kid,” Tony said, trying to sound braver than he felt. He was so out of his league it
wasn’t even funny. “You’ll hurt your neck if you sleep like that.”

Peter didn’t have to be asked twice. He slowly slid horizontally down the backseat until his head
was against Tony’s shoulder. Tony sighed deeply and adjusted the kid so that the kid was snuggled
comfortably against him.

Not a single word more was uttered, for Peter was already asleep.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry that this chapter is so sad, but damn, was it fun to write. As always, feedback is
much appreciated, but please be nice, for I am a fragile human.
I'll be out with a new chapter in a few days!
 Somehow
Chapter Summary

"Tony sent him a piercing look. 'The kid’s fucked up enough as it is. He shouldn’t
have to deal with a basket case as a fath—guardian,' Tony backtracked. 'As his
guardian.'"

Chapter Notes

And another chapter! Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony Stark was in a state of silent distress.

It was silent distress because he didn’t want to wake the kid, but it was distress none the less.

He hated not knowing what to do. He despised how powerless it made him feel, and Tony Stark
was not powerless.

But, when he looked down at the resting human being tucked under his arm, he realized he was.
At that moment, there was no suit that could save him. No quick fix to the problem, no cheat code
to enter, nothing to invent.

And it terrified him.

Because Peter Parker was an orphan, and even thinking the word felt like a crime against
everything he stood for. Because he was an orphan once. Hell, he still is an orphan. He hasn’t had a
family since he was seventeen.

God, what the fuck am I going to do, Tony pondered, staring out the window. The city had long
fled from view, and the only lights were the moon and the stars. I can’t send him into the system.
Who knows where he'll go, who'll take care of him?

But what else was there to do? The kid had no family left. What, was he supposed to ship Peter
back to the city when he woke up? Was he supposed to tell him to go back to his Aunt’s apartment
and continue living life, pretending that everything was fine and that the ache in his chest would
eventually go away?

Tell him to ignore the fact that everything still smelled like the perfume that she wore? To ignore
the fact that she would never make it to his wedding, only for him to vow to never get married
because of it?

Tony shut that train of thought down before it drove him into a panic attack. He took a deep breath.

I can’t do that to him. The kid is fifteen. I can’t do that to him.

“Boss? We’re here,” Happy said softly. Tony blinked.

They had somehow gotten into the garage of the Compound.

“Oh,” Tony said, surprised. “That was quick.”

Happy didn’t say anything, just opened the car door and got out.

Tony sighed deeply, looking at his watch. Damn, 2:15 in the morning. Looks like it was another
sleepless night for him.

Happy opened the car door and held it aloft, waiting for Tony to make a move.

Tony thought briefly about how he was going to transport Peter. He didn’t want to wake him, so
his only option was carrying him.

Tony slowly put one hand under Peter’s legs and transferred the other one to the small of his back.
Ever so gently, he picked the sleeping kid up, holding him bridal style in his arms. Peter made a
little noise and moved in the billionaire’s arms, nestling his face in Tony’s shoulder and his hand
clutching the white button-up Tony was wearing under his suit jacket.

Tony smiled fondly as he made his way into the elevator and quietly told FRIDAY to lift them to
the fourth floor, where the bedrooms were.

The elevator ride was quick and quiet, the only noise being Peter’s rhythmic breathing from his
place in Tony’s arms.

The elevator didn’t ding when it reached the fourth floor, which Tony was thankful for.

However, when the doors opened, Rhodey was there, dressed in pajamas, his eyebrows raising in
surprise when he got a look at Tony.

A smile crept up on Rhodey’s face and Tony rolled his eyes, but in that moment, he didn’t care that
Rhodey would tease him about going soft. Because he was carrying a child in his arms and he just
wanted to get him to bed.

And then maybe Tony would have a drink or twelve.

No, Tony thought, pushing past Rhodey. No alcohol. I can’t do that to the kid. I have to be
coherent in the morning because he’s going to need me.

Not to mention he hadn’t touched the stuff in months. It wasn’t good for his mental health, and
when Steve finally came back and joined the Avengers again, he had been a complete mom about
his alcohol problems.

Tony came to stop outside the room he made for Peter two months ago. He managed to get the
door open without dropping the kid, which was a feat even he was amazed at.

The room was pretty standard. The walls were a nice gray, the floor a cushy carpet. There were
dozens of nerdy and movie posters on the walls that Tony’s interior designer managed to find,
which made the room look more personal. There was a queen bed in the middle, with a Spider-Man
comforter and white pillows. Tony smirked; he couldn’t wait to see Peter’s reaction when he saw
them.

Tony walked over to the bed and attempted to pry Peter from him. It was more work than he
thought, but he eventually was able to lay Peter on the bed. He put the blankets on Peter, making
sure he was comfortable.

He took one last look at the kid. He didn’t even look peaceful in sleep. His eyebrows were
furrowed, his lips set in a frown. Tony sighed again and brushed the kid’s hair back with his hand.

And with that, he turned off the light and left the room.

--

Rhodey found him a couple of minutes later, on a barstool at the island. His face was in his hands
and he was nursing a glass of apple juice, because there was no alcohol in the Compound and he
was trying to be good.

Tony didn’t even move when Rhodey clapped him on the shoulder. He heard the stool slide out
next to him and felt his best friend staring at him.

“Go ahead,” Tony spoke, not removing his face from his hands. “Go ahead and ask. I know you
have questions.”

"Just a few,” Rhodey said softly. “The first one being: who the hell was that kid?”

“Peter Parker,” Tony said, his hands falling from his face and landing on the counter. He took a sip
from his disappointing drink. “Spider-Man.”

“That kid from Germany?” Rhodey questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“That’d be the one,” Tony said, his voice heavy.

“Alright. Second question: why is he here?”

Tony didn’t answer right away. He drained his glass, a part of him wishing it was scotch instead of
fucking apple juice.

“Tony?” Rhodey pressed. “The kid. Why is he here?”

“Because I got a call from Happy at eleven,” Tony began, staring at Rhodey, the words pouring out
of his mouth before he could stop them. “And I thought, ‘oh, Happy’s calling. Must be something
simple, like him calling in sick for the next day. Or him asking for vacation time.’” Tony grabbed
the jug of apple juice and poured himself another glass, needing something to do with his hands.
“What I didn’t expect was to have him nearly in fucking tears about a call he just got from fucking
Peter Parker.”

Tony took a shaky breath. His hands were trembling around his glass and his insides felt like lead.

Rhodey was silent, waiting for Tony to continue. He wasn’t sure he could.

“Happy told me that he got a call from Peter. The kid was crying on the phone, saying he needed a
ride from a hospital in Queens. And…” Tony ran a hand down his face. “And he said that the kid's
aunt had died.”

Tony’s hands were shaking so badly around his glass that liquid was spilling onto the counter. He
let go of it and instead grabbed his hair, wondering where his self-control went.

“Okay,” Rhodey said, oblivious as to why Tony was so upset. “I don’t think I understand… why is
he here, then? Why isn’t he with his family?”
Tony stared down at the counter. “Why do you think?”

Rhodey was silent for a second. “Oh. Oh.”

“So I dropped everything and had Happy take me to the hospital. I talked to the doctor, she told me
what happened. And then I walked into the room Peter was in.

“And do you know what I saw? I saw this kid, this smart, energetic child sitting in complete silence
in front of his aunt’s corpse.”

“Tony…”

“And you know what else?” Tony’s voice was reaching almost hysterical. “The kid fucking sees
me and just breaks. He cries into my fucking shirt and then we go down to the car and he has a
fucking panic attack and—“

“Tony!” Rhodey says loudly. “Stop. Right now.”

Tony stares at him, realizing that his whole body is shaking and his breaths are coming out in sharp
gasps.

“Deep breaths, man. Alright?” Rhodey says, his eyes not leaving Tony’s face.

Tony inhaled sharply, his lungs feeling like they’ve disappeared. He breathed out, and then
repeated the action several times.

“Okay,” Tony said. “Okay. I’m better.”

“Good,” Rhodey said calmly. “So basically, the kid is an orphan.”

“Don’t say that word,” Tony said through clenched teeth.

“Sorry. What are you going to do, man? Are you… are you going to put him up for adoption?”

The thought made Tony nauseous.

“No,” Tony said shakily, feeling green in the face. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Okay,” Rhodey sounded supportive. “Are you going to adopt him?”

Tony laughed without humor. “Very funny, Rhodes.”

“It’s not a joke.”

Tony sent him a piercing look. “The kid’s fucked up enough as it is. He shouldn’t have to deal with
a basket case as a fath—guardian,” Tony backtracked. “As his guardian.”

“You’re not a basket case,” Rhodey said firmly. “You would be great at taking care of a kid.”

“Look at me, Rhodey,” Tony said desperately. “I’m a goddamn mess and you know it.”

Rhodey shook his head but didn’t argue, knowing he couldn’t win this fight. “So what are you
going to do? Send him on the streets? There aren’t a ton of options, Tony.”

Tony sighed, bone tired. “I know. I’ll think of something. For… for the time being, he’ll stay here.
My lawyers are already drafting a temporary guardianship document. I’ll look after him. God
knows I owe it to the kid.”

Rhodey stared at Tony for a minute. “Are you going to be okay?”

No, probably not, Tony thought before answering. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Rhodey considered him, then got up, clapping Tony on the shoulder before walking back to his
room.

Tony stood up as well, walking back over to the elevator.

“Lab, FRIDAY,” Tony spoke.

There was no way he was sleeping. So he might as well work.

--

He ended up not getting any sleep that night, but that wasn’t anything new.

Instead, he ruthlessly pushed all of his emotions aside and he worked. He finished several
important emails and made some upgrades to his suit, trying his hardest to ignore the exhaustion
that pulled at him.

He didn’t stop working until the sun had come up, and that was when he decided to venture into
the kitchen to get a strong cup of coffee.

When he entered the living space, however, he was greeted with a table full of Avengers.

Natasha, Steve, Sam, Bruce, and Wanda. The only ones missing were Rhodey and Vision.

They all stared at him, and Tony suddenly felt like he was onstage, about to give a speech.

Natasha was the first one to speak up, because of course she was. “You look terrible.”

Tony rolled his eyes, walking past them to the coffee maker. “Thanks Romanoff, right back at
you.”

“I mean it. You look exhausted,” Natasha said.

“Cool. Thanks for noticing. Next topic please,” Tony said shortly, waiting in agony as his coffee
brewed.

“Where were you last night?” Bruce asked. “You disappeared halfway through our movie.”

Tony said nothing, just stared at the Keurig as the coffee slowly poured into the mug.

“Tony?” Steve had gotten up, and was now hovering like a goddamn mother hen. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” He said immediately. Come on coffee. “Everything’s fine.”

“Tony,” Steve said quietly. “Is everything okay?"

“Jesus Christ,” Tony snapped at him, frustration and lack of sleep taking hold of him. “Can you all
stop pestering me about what's wrong? I had a really shitty night and you all aren't making it
better!"

He realized he admitted to not being fine as soon as his coffee was done brewing, so he grabbed his
 mug and walked as fast as he could out of the living space.

Tony sighed as the elevator went down to the lab again. Peace at last.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and answered. “Tony Stark.”

“Hello, Mr. Stark. My name is Amy, I work for Queen’s Hospital Center. You are the temporary
guardian of Mister Peter Parker, correct?”

Damn. His lawyers worked fast. “Correct.”

“Excellent. So, as you are aware, May Parker died last night, and her body has been transported to
a morgue.”

Jesus Christ.

“So, if you would like to have a service for Mrs. Parker, preparations need to begin.”

Tony swallowed. “Right. Okay. Yes, we would like a service.”

“Excellent,” Amy sounded happy. “First things first. Would you like her body cremated or
buried?”

Tony almost spit out his mouthful of coffee. “Oh. Uh…”

“I understand that this seems sudden, but studies have shown that a quick funeral helps jumpstart
the grief process.”

“I get it,” Tony tried to control his annoyance. “I’m going to talk to Peter and I’ll call you back.”

“That’s perfectly—“

Tony hit the end button.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all so much for all the comments! They make my day! As always, feedback
is much appreciated, but please be nice!
Love you guys!
 Our Youth Will Take the Blame
Chapter Summary

"Peter pulled a face, but there was a slight glow of humor in his eyes. It made Tony’s
heart soar. 'Also, just to let you know, there’s a whole group of Avengers downstairs
who are probably dying to meet you.'"

Chapter Notes

Sorry that this was a day late, I was too tired to post it last night when I got home.
Also, sorry if this chapter is kind of slow, it's a bit of a filler.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Peter Parker woke up, the sun was glinting through the blinds in the room he was staying in.

He also noticed that his chest was sore. And that his head hurt. And his eyes burned.

He didn’t get up. He just rolled over, his back to the door, and stared at the walls, trying to ignore
the empty feeling in his chest.

He knew he was at the Avenger’s Compound, but it didn’t excite him. He would rather be at home,
with Aunt May, than be at the Compound any day.

God. It hurt to even think her name.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

The door
opened.

Peter didn’t move.

“Underoos? Are you awake?” Mr. Stark’s voice broke the silence. Peter said nothing, not moving
from his spot on the bed.

“FRIDAY?” Tony asked the room. “Is Peter awake?”

“Yes, boss. Peter Parker woke up ten minutes ago.”

Peter silently cursed the AI.

“Peter?” Tony asked him. “Come on, up and at ‘em, bud.”

Peter didn’t move. “Go away,” He muttered hoarsely.

Tony raised his eyebrows. Well, that wasn’t what he was expecting. “Come on kid, you can’t lay in
bed all day.”

“Watch me,” Peter retorted.

Tony sighed tiredly, walking over and sitting on the bed. “Peter. I need…” The words died on
Tony’s tongue. He thought back to the phone call he had received a few minutes ago. God, how
was he going to ask this grieving child whether or not he wants to burn his aunt, or bury her?

“Peter. I know this is soon, but the hospital called,” Peter finally turned to face him, propping
himself up on his elbow. There was something that looked a lot like hope in his eyes. “There are
preparations to be made. For… for her funeral.”

The remaining color left in Peter’s face drained from it, as well as the hope in his eyes. He sat up,
his back resting against the headboard of the bed. “Right. Okay.” He couldn’t meet Tony’s eyes.

Tony felt so out of his comfort zone that it took all he had to keep from running out of the room,
tail between his legs. “Do you want to help me plan it?”

Peter’s eyes filled with tears. “I… I would… but…”

“Okay,” Tony gave the kid a gentle smile. Or at least what he hoped was a gentle smile. “I’ll take
care of it bud.”

Peter nodded fiercely. “Th-Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

The tears in Peter’s eyes just about broke Tony’s heart. He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, trying
to provide a semblance of comfort. The kid looked so damn small.

God, and I thought this kid could fight against Steve? Against Wanda? Irresponsible, Stark.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked quietly. “Do you need anything?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m… I’m just going to get some more sleep.”

Tony nodded, squeezing Peter's shoulder and standing up silently. “If you need anything, and I
mean anything, tell FRIDAY and she’ll notify me.”

Peter nodded again. Tony mussed his hair up, and left the room.

Peter lay back down, letting the tears slip.

--

Peter didn’t come out of his room the rest of the day, or the next.

Tony was worried. He would check on the kid every hour or so, but he’d either be asleep or
pretending to be. He understood that he wanted his space, but the amount of space was slightly
worrying.

Peter also wasn’t eating much, which stressed Tony out more than anything.

He knew the kid liked, and needed, to eat a lot. When they were in Germany, he took Peter out to
dinner. His meal was twice the size of Tony’s, and the kid still had room for dessert.

He knew it was due to the advanced, super quick metabolism that the spider bite gave him. The
serum made Steve was the same way, although he tried to act like he wasn’t always hungry.
But Peter barely touched any food that Tony brought him. The first day, he brought in a peanut
butter and jelly sandwich. He sat with Peter as he nibbled on the sandwich, then watched as he laid
back down. A few hours later, he brought in some scrambled eggs. Peter had a couple bites, before
pushing the plate away.

The second day, he brought in another plate of food. Peter ate a little more than the day before, but
not enough to be sustainable, even for a normal person.

It was the third day, and Peter hadn’t come out of his room. May’s funeral was the next day, and
Tony wasn’t sleeping well. He was up late into the night worrying about the kid, wondering what
he could do to make him feel better.

The day of the funeral came, and Tony got Peter up early. He basically had to drag him into the
shower, and helped him put on a suit that Tony had bought him a day previously.

The day was cold and gray, and the funeral itself was a small affair. A few people came and paid
their respects, but it was mostly Tony and Peter, who sobbed quietly into Tony’s suit throughout
the whole thing. Tony just held him, whispering small reassurances and pretending that the
wetness on his own face was due to the rain that had started to pour.

The ride back to the Compound was in silence. Peter was tucked up against Tony, who rubbed his
arm, wishing that he knew of a better way to help.

Peter fell asleep in the car again, and Tony carried him back to bed, uninterrupted this time.

--

It was on the sixth day that Tony had decided that he had enough.

He walked into Peter’s room at 9 in the morning and opened his curtains.

“Rise and shine, kiddo.”

Peter blinked against the intrusion of light. “Wha—?”

“Come on. It’s time to get up,” Tony said, crossing his arms and staring down at the disheveled
kid.

A shadow crossed Peter’s face. He lay back down, facing away from Tony. “I’m fine here.”

“Are you?” Tony questioned. “You’ve barely gotten out of this bed for six days. Not only is it
gross, but it’s not healthy. And on top of that, you’ve barely eaten anything kid.”

Peter opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t hungry, but the words died on his tongue. He was
hungry.

“I ordered French toast,” Tony offered, noticing the look on Peter’s face. “But I’m afraid you can’t
have any unless you come downstairs.”

Peter pulled a face, but there was a slight glow of humor in his eyes. It made Tony’s heart soar.
“Also, just to let you know, there’s a whole group of Avengers downstairs who are probably dying
to meet you.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “E-Even Captain America?”

Tony grinned. “Yep.”

That had the kid flying out of bed and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Tony chuckled, smiling to himself. Improvements.

--

Peter showered quickly, trying not to let intrusive thoughts distract him from the task at hand. Once
he was out of the shower, Mr. Stark knocked on the door and told him that there were some clothes
waiting for him outside.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door. There were a pair of jeans and a
graphic t-shirt waiting for him, along with a black jacket.

He quickly put them on, brushed his teeth and hair, and left his room.

Mr. Stark was waiting for him in the hallway, phone in hand.

“Ready, kid?” Mr. Stark asked him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Mr. Stark was my dad. Call me Tony.”

“I’ve always called you Mr. Stark,” Peter pointed out.

“Yeah, well, times have changed,” Tony muttered as they walked into the elevator. “To the great
room, FRIDAY.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “What’s a great room?”

“Another word for living room.”

“Then why don’t you just call it a living room?”

“Because it’s my Compound and I’ll call it whatever I want.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Stark.”

“Exactly. And for the second time, it’s Tony.”

The doors opened, and they stepped out.

The room was large and open, with big windows and hardwood floors. Left of the nook where the
elevator sat was the kitchen, which was equipped with fancy stainless steel appliances. There was a
flat screen TV positioned above the stove, which was off at the current moment. There was a fancy
bar, made completely of marble, with cushy gray bar stools. There was a large white table adjacent
to the kitchen, which had chairs that matched the barstools.

To the right was the living area, which consisted of three large, white, and expensive looking
couches. There was a glass coffee table in the space in the middle, and a large TV sat on the wall.
This one was turned on, however, and MSNBC news was playing.

Overall, the room looked well decorated, and probably cost more than Peter thought was
necessary.

The second thing Peter noticed was the smell of French toast wafting around the space. He inhaled
deeply, his stomach growling.

The last thing Peter noticed was that there were six pairs of eyes on him.

The Avengers were all dispersed around the room, most of them at the table eating, and they had
all looked up when Tony and he entered.

Peter felt a blush rising to his cheeks, but Tony spoke before he could think too much about it.

“Everyone, this is Peter Parker.”

They all continued staring at him, until a man with dark skin got up and walked over to them. “Hi,
Peter. I’m James Rhodes, but you can call me Rhodey,” He smiled warmly, and Peter shook his
hand, star struck.

War Machine, in the flesh. Wow.

The second person to get up was Captain America, and Peter had to rein in his excitement to keep
it from showing on his face.

“Nice to meet you, kid. I’m Steve.” He held on his hand, and Peter took it.

“H-Hi. I’m Peter. I mean, uh, you knew that. I’m a really big fan.” Peter rambled as Tony rolled his
eyes. It was then that Peter realized he was still shaking the man’s hand. “Oh, uh, I should
probably stop shaking your hand now.”

He dropped it abruptly, now red in the face. Steve looked at him, a strange expression warping his
features.

“Have we met before?” Steve asked, bewildered.

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but Tony interrupted. “Nope. You must be thinking of someone
else.”

Peter closed his mouth slowly, confused. Odd.

He was slowly introduced to Natasha, Wanda, Vision, Sam, and Bruce, all of them incredibly
friendly. Peter could hardly contain his excitement.

“Breakfast, Peter?” Tony asked him, pointing over to the pile of French toast that lay on a plate
atop the counter. Peter’s mouth watered. He had forgotten how hungry he was.

Tony led him over and handed him a plate. Peter piled the food high, barely making it to the table
before he started to eat with gusto.

Tony sat down next to him with a substantially lesser potion of French toast and a large cup of
coffee.

“Slow down, kid. You’ll make yourself sick,” Tony chastised him. He cut into his breakfast and
Peter paused, swallowing a large mouthful.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” He said sheepishly. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry. Actually, I should have
realized. Did you know I eat more ever since—“

Tony shot him a warning look and Peter abruptly stopped talking, instead shoving an entire piece
of French toast into his mouth whole.
 After breakfast, Tony took him on a tour around the Compound. Peter was amazed at the sheer
size of it, and at the fact that he got to stay here, at least until Mr. Stark kicked him out.

After that, they had lunch, which was a large plate of sandwiches. Peter was halfway through his
meal when Captain America told Tony that they all had a meeting to go to.

“And why wasn’t I notified?” Tony asked, an edge to his voice. “There’s a reason why I carry a
phone with me all the time.”

“Sorry, but it was scheduled last minute,” Steve said. “We just found out a few minutes ago.”

Tony muttered something that sounded like “pain in my ass”, but got up from his place next to
Peter nonetheless. “I’ll be back in a half an hour or less. Find something to do, okay? We have a
ton of gaming systems and the TV has all the channel packages.”

Peter nodded, ignoring the empty feeling in his stomach. “Uh, okay. I’ll… I’ll do something.”

Tony gave him a small smile, before it faded and he turned back to his teammates.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Chapter End Notes

Once again, thank you all for all the kudos and comments. It really makes me smile.
As always, feedback is much appreciated, but please be nice, for I cry very easily.
 Worn Out
Chapter Summary

"Tony suddenly felt very sick. He had brought a child to a battlefield. Peter could have
gotten injured, or worse. Oh god, what was he thinking? He was suddenly found
himself remembering the kid getting thrown around, getting hit by cars…"

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The conference room was smaller than most rooms in the Compound, but still large enough to
comfortably fit seven Avengers.

The first thing Tony realized was that it was empty, and the screen that was used for video chats
was off.

The second thing he realized was that he had been set up by his friends, and that there was no
meeting. However, before he could turn and leave, Steve was standing in front of the closed door.

Tony glared at them. “Let me out.”

“Just sit down, Tony,” Natasha sighed. “We all need to talk.”

“Really?” Tony asked, annoyed. “You guys forced me in here to have a talk? Jesus Christ, I feel
like I’m at group therapy.”

Steve glared at him, so Tony strode over to the chair at the head of the table and sat down,
defeated. “Alright. Fine. Let’s have a nice talk, because there definitely isn’t any work I have to do
or anything.” He crossed his arms, voice dripping with sarcasm.

It was quiet for a minute, during which Tony angrily tapped his bicep, before Wanda broke the
silence. “Who’s the kid?”

Oh god. It was that kind of talk. He would have much rather it had been about his unhealthy
coping habits. His tapping stopped. “I already told you. His name is Peter Parker.”

“Yeah, but why is he here? You’ve never brought a kid here, ever,” Natasha pressed.

Tony swiveled back and forth in his chair. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Tony,” Steve inquired. “Come on. You left in the middle of our movie the other night and we’ve
barely seen you since. And now you just show up with a kid? We deserve to know.”

Rhodey looked at him, and Tony met his gaze. He shut his eyes. “Fuck,” He muttered, rubbing his
eyes. “Fine. Fine, I’ll talk.”

Tony sighed. “The kid is here because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. His aunt, his last
remaining family member, died a week ago, on November 23rd. I couldn’t let him go into the
system, so I brought him here. I’m now his temporary guardian.”
It was quiet for a few seconds. “That’s incredibly noble and all, Tony, but… why? There are
thousands of orphans all over New York… why did you choose him?” Steve asked, bewildered.

“Also, you’ve said you hated children,” Natasha pointed out. “Why did you suddenly decide to
bring one in?”

Tony avoided eye-contact. “I have my reasons.”

“Don’t be coy, Stark,” Natasha said seriously. “There is a stranger living in our Compound. We
have every right to know why he’s here.”

“Oh, shove it up your ass, Romanoff,” Tony retorted, his blood pressure rising. “I don’t owe you
shit.”

“Alright, everyone relax,” Steve spoke up again, ever the peacekeeper. “Language, Tony.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Come on, Tony,” Rhodey finally spoke up. “Just tell them. It’s not so bad.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Peter is Spider-Man. Happy now, everyone?”

Complete silence.

“Oh, my god,” Wanda spoke first. She sounded horrified. “The… the one you brought to
Germany?”

Tony couldn’t say anything. He just nodded.

“Jesus Christ,” Natasha breathed. “Tony… How old is he?”

“Fifteen. Fourteen in Germany,” Tony’s voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be.

“Oh my god,” Steve whispered, looking perturbed. “I fought a fourteen year old. I could have
killed him.”

“I threw cars at him…” Wanda fretted, twisting her hands in her lap. “I pitched him across the
airport.”

Tony opened his mouth to tell them to stop being so dramatic, but then he thought back to the night
at the hospital and the words died in his mouth. Peter had looked so small…

Tony suddenly felt very sick. He had brought a child to a battlefield. Peter could have gotten
injured, or worse. Oh god, what was he thinking? He was suddenly found himself remembering the
kid getting thrown around, getting hit by cars…

He sucked in a sharp breath. He will never be in that much danger ever again. I won’t permit it.

“Tony, that’s—“ Steve started.

“Child endangerment. Irresponsible. Reckless,” Tony found it difficult to move his lips.
“Horrifying. Sickening—”

“Stop,” Bruce cut in, the first time he said anything. “Now I know I wasn’t here for that, and we
can all agree that you made a mistake. But I think you taking care of the kid makes up for it.”
It didn’t make Tony feel any better. Horrifying images flew through his mind. Peter bleeding, Peter
on the ground, Peter dying…

“Tony,” Rhodey’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears. “You okay?”

Tony swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, trying to breathe. “I’m fine. Are we done here?”

He didn’t wait for their response. He stood up, and without a glance backwards, strode out of the
room.

--

After Tony left for the meeting, Peter couldn’t help but feel alone.

Mr. Stark had barely left his side this past week, and he had gotten used to his presence. Even
when Peter stared at the walls and didn’t talk, Mr. Stark was there, sitting in silence, just keeping
him company. He must have realized that even though Peter told him that he wished to be alone, it
was actually the last thing he wanted.

But now, Peter thought as he started on his last sandwich, he was truly alone for the first time
since… since…

He set his sandwich down, the hunger leaving him. He stood up from his place at the table, a
hollow feeling in his gut. Alone.

His hands were shaking as he sat on the couch, picking up the remote and turning on the TV.

MSNBC was still on, and Peter quickly turned it, knowing that more depressing news was the last
thing he needed. He instead settled on something nice and mindless: the first Back to the Future
movie.

It was one of his favorites, but for some reason, it didn’t distract him. Dark thoughts were creeping
back into his mind, and his attempts to push them away were futile.

It was his fault that his aunt died. He knew it was. They had fought a half an hour before she left,
and just five minutes before she stepped out the door she asked if he wanted to come with her to go
get the food, and he had declined.

He had declined. He sealed her fate.

He could have stopped the accident. He could have used his senses to tell when the semi-truck was
coming. He could have stopped the accident.

But instead, he was in the apartment, relieved that she had left.

It was his fault. Maybe if they hadn’t fought, she would have been paying more attention to what
she was doing.

His fault.

“Peter?”

Peter pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked up. Tony was staring down at him, concern
etched into his features.

That was when Peter realized that there were hot tears streaming down his face. He swiped at
 them, but more kept coming. Stupid, stupid.

“H-Hi,” Peter spoke, his voice shaking.

Tony sat down softly. “Are you okay?”

Peter nodded, wishing the tears would stop.

“Are you sure?” Tony pressed quietly.

Peter nodded again and climbed into Tony’s arms, the sickening loneliness leaving and the
exhaustive depression setting in.

--

Peter ended up falling asleep on Tony and woke up an hour later, incredibly embarrassed.

“Good morning sunshine,” Tony said teasingly. “Have a nice nap?”

“Could have been better,” Peter muttered, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Do you want to put on another movie?” Tony offered, handing Peter the remote. “I don’t have
anything planned for the rest of the day. It’s just you and me, okay?”

Peter nodded, taking the remote and putting on another movie.

After the movie, it was time for dinner. Tony had ordered pizza, which was Peter’s favorite food.
He wasn’t sure if the man knew that or not, but he must have realized it after Peter ate four slices.

It was a nice meal. Everyone else ate as well, and the table was filled with loud and happy voices.
Peter was fully distracted for the first time since Aunt May died.

The Avengers decided to watch a movie after that, and Peter watched it with them. Tony told them
to keep it to something PG, but Peter had loudly protested that he was fifteen and

that he had watched PG-13 movies, and even a few R-rated ones. They all decided on the fourth
Star Wars movie, which was one of Peter's favorites.

It kept his mind quiet, and he was thankful for that. He was even enjoying himself, something that
he didn't think was possible anymore.

After the movie was over, he went up to bed, staving off the dark thoughts as he entered his room,
content after having a good day.

He was asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all so much for reading. As always, feedback is much appreciated, but
please be nice!
 The Way We Let It Stay
Chapter Summary

"Tony chewed on his lip. 'It’s basically when something makes you feel this crazy,
intense sensation of fear, and your body reacts. Usually, your heart rate increases and
it becomes difficult to breathe. Sometimes you feel like you’re going crazy. Other
times you feel nothing but your own heart beating in your ears.'"

Chapter Notes

This is late, whoops. I didn't have time to post on Saturday; I was having my
graduation party, my family stayed in town all day Sunday, and I had my college
orientation on Monday and Tuesday so I literally had no time to post. But hey, late is
better than never. Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony knew his peaceful sleep wasn’t going to last, but he had hoped.

He woke up four hours later, when the clock read 2:18am. When he awoke, however, he knew he
was up for the day. There was a strange unease in his bones, one that he knew he couldn’t just
sleep away. So he got up and went over to his “late night office”, which sat adjacent to his
bedroom.

He did work for a while, but then his eyes started to burn, and he decided to go down to the kitchen
and prepare himself his favorite late night snack: mozzarella cheese sticks.

He got up from his chair and stretched, feeling his muscles pop, before leaving his room and
walking quietly into the hallway, his mind focused on the cheese sticks he was excited to eat.

“No… Please…”

Tony stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. The noise was coming from Peter’s room.

Without even stopping and thinking, he walked into the room.

--

Everything was pitch black.

“Peter!” His aunt called out to him.

He couldn’t find her. It was too dark. He ran, trying to follow her voice.

He found her, laying down, blood seeping from a wound in her chest.

“Why did you fight with me, Peter?” Aunt May whispered. “I wouldn’t have been distracted if you
didn’t fight with me. I would have lived, Peter.”

No.

“No!” Peter yelled, kicking violently in his sleep.

Lacerations appeared all over her body. Blood started pouring from May’s mouth. She tried to say
something, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle.

“Aunt May!” Peter screamed.

“Kid! Kid, it’s alright!”

Blood. So much blood.

No. No. No.

“No…” Peter whimpered.

“Peter, wake up!”

His eyes shot open.

The room was dark, the only light being the nightlight that was plugged into the wall in the corner
of the room.

Mr. Stark was staring down at him, concern etched into his features.

And that was when Peter’s breathing quickened.

He sat upright in bed, his hand creeping up and resting on his chest. It burned as he tried to inhale,
the breath getting caught in his throat. His breaths were gasps as he twisted his shirt in his fist,
starting to freak out.

“I—I can’t—I can’t breathe,” Peter gasped, grasping the sheets with his other hand.

“You have to,” Tony’s voice was strong and calm. “In and out, bud. Come on.”

Peter tried to breathe again but it suddenly felt like he had no lungs. He was suffocating.

Oh my god, he was suffocating.

“I’m having—a heart attack,” Peter managed to say. The panic coursing through his veins was like
nothing he had ever felt before. “I can’t. Tony. Please.”

It was the first time Peter had ever called him Tony, and for some reason it broke his heart.

“Peter, look at me,” Peter’s eyes, wild with terror, found Tony’s. Tony made his face show none of
the sadness and terror that coursed through his heart. “You are not having a heart attack. You are
fine. I would never let anything happen to you. Breathe.”

Peter sucked in a breath, but it was shaky and uneven. He tried again, though, and it evened out a
little.

“That’s right,” Tony encouraged quietly. “Just breathe.”

Peter inhaled again, his breathing almost completely normal. But, seemingly out of nowhere, Peter
began shaking violently. Tony reached out and ran his hands up and down the kid’s bare arms,
trying to provide some warmth.

“I’m s-sorry for waking you,” Peter apologized quietly. “I d-didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said immediately. “I was awake anyways.”

Peter stared down at his pajama clad legs and bit his lip.

Fuck, Tony thought, his heart breaking. The kid looks so damn small. How the fuck do I fix this?

“How about you tell me about what you were dreaming about?” Tony pressed gently.

Peter picked at a thread on his pants. “What just happened to me?”

Ah yes, avoidance. “That was a panic attack.”

Peter met Tony’s eyes, confused. “A panic attack? What… what does that mean?”

Tony chewed on his lip. “It’s basically when something makes you feel this crazy, intense
sensation of fear, and your body reacts. Usually, your heart rate increases and it becomes difficult
to breathe. Sometimes you feel like you’re going crazy. Other times you feel nothing but your own
heart beating in your ears.”

Tony suddenly felt like he had overshared, and cleared his throat.

“Tony?” Peter’s voice was so small. “Do… Do you have panic attacks?”

Tony felt his throat tighten. “Yeah, I do. I usually get them once a month, sometimes more.” His
voice sounded incredibly off.

“How… How do you deal with them?” Peter whispered.

I don't. Tony cleared his throat again, pushing the thought away and wondering why there was
moisture in his eyes. “I don’t let them affect me too much. It sucks in the moment, yes, but then I
try to move on. I don’t let it define me. And you shouldn’t either, Peter.”

Tony could see the tears welling in the child’s eyes, and he sighed. “Come here, kid.”

Peter didn’t hesitate. He climbed into his mentor’s arms, and cried.

--

Peter’s nightmares didn’t go away.

FRIDAY would alert Tony whenever one was occurring, and Tony would go to Peter’s room and
find the kid in varying degrees of distress. Thankfully, none of the nightmares triggered any more
panic attacks, but the frequency of the nightmares were a little anxiety inducing for Tony.

Not only that, but the kid refused to talk about them.

Every night, after he would wake up screaming, Peter would cry silently against Tony, and
whenever Tony would press him for details about his dreams, Peter wouldn’t say anything.

Tony told himself he didn’t mind getting up and helping Peter through his nightmares, but it had
been several days, and Tony was tired.
He told himself he needed less sleep than the average human, but he needed some, and thanks to
the nightmares that Peter was having, he was only getting about three hours a night.

And the scary thing was that Peter was getting even less.

It would take ages for him to fall asleep, according to FRIDAY, and when he finally did fall asleep,
it was only for a few hours before he awoke to his own screaming.

And after Tony had calmed him down enough for him to stop shaking and crying, he was too
wound up to sleep. So he waited until the sun rose and then got up to start the day.

It was during the evening on the third day of this torturous cycle that Tony decided to stage an
intervention.

Most of the team was either gone or busy, so it was only Tony and Peter for dinner.

“FRIDAY, tell Peter it’s time to eat,” Tony said distractedly, opening the boxes of pizza and
getting out plates for him and Peter. A few minutes later, Peter came out of the elevator, looking
excited.

“Dig in, kid,” Tony said, handing Peter a plate. Peter excitedly piled his plate full of pizza,
babbling happily about something or other, and sat down next to Tony at the island.

They began eating. It was quiet for a few moments, and then Tony finally worked up the courage
to talk.

“You look tired,” He said quietly.

Peter looked up from his food and met Tony’s eyes. “M’fine.”

The dark circles under the kid’s eyes told otherwise. Tony snorted. “And I’m a big purple
elephant.”

Peter cracked a smile at that. “That’s easy to imagine.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Anyways,” He grinned, before becoming serious again. “We need to talk.”

The humor left Peter’s eyes. “About what?”

“The fact that you haven’t slept in days,” Tony said blatantly. “And don’t lie to me. I know you’re
not sleeping.”

Peter frowned down at his pizza. “I’m fine.” He said again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve already heard it,” Tony bit into his pizza a little aggressively. “We need to talk
about this, Peter.

Something flashed in Peter’s eyes. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Nope,” Tony said briskly. “Because, if you look around, we’re the only ones here right now. So I
think it’s a perfect time to talk.”

Peter’s bottom lip shook, and so he bit down on his hard and looked away. “Please, Mr. Stark. I…”

Tony’s heart broke. So we’re back to Mr. Stark now? “We have to talk about this, kiddo. It’s not
healthy to keep everything in. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to deal with this.”
 Peter’s hands shook and he removed them from the counter. He stared at his lap. “I can’t. Please.”

His voice was so fucking small and sad that it made Tony want to never talk about it ever again.
But he knew he couldn’t do that. Talking about this would be good for both of them, not matter
how uncomfortable it made him.

“You have to,” Tony said, feeling the hurt in his heart. “They’ll never stop if you don’t.”

Peter looked up, meeting Tony’s eyes. Tony suddenly felt self-conscious but met the kid’s stare.
You’re the adult. Act tougher than the kid.

Peter looked sick suddenly. He took a deep breath. “I… It’s…”

“Hey guys, what’s up?” The elevator door had opened and Rhodey strolled out, sweaty and red in
the face. He must have been in the gym, working out. “Damn Tones, is pizza? Hell yeah!”

Anger filled Tony, but just as he was going to tell his friend to fuck off, Peter spoke up. “Yeah! Mr.
Stark ordered a bunch. You can have some.”

Tony glared at the kid, who was purposefully avoiding his eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” Tony muttered, wondering why the fuck his eyes were burning with tears. Why
did I ever think I was capable of doing this? I can barely take care of myself, why did I think it was
a good idea to bring a kid into the fucked up reality that is my life?

I’m failing him, the sad, desperate thought broke through his mind. Maybe it was better for him to
go into foster care. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with a fuck up as a guardian.

“Fuck,” Tony swore harshly. He grabbed his plate, angrily slammed it down next to the sink.
Without a look back, he went upstairs, where he stayed for the rest of the night.

Chapter End Notes

As always, feedback is much appreciated:)

 Taught How
Chapter Summary

“'That’s enough,' Tony said, not unkindly. He pulled Peter from him and looked the
kid in the face. 'We are going to talk, and you are going to listen.'"

Chapter Notes

I'm currently in Boston, but that doesn't stop me from updating. Enjoy the chapter.
Sorry that it's short; I'm still editing the next part, since I'm not sure if I like it or not.
tw: graphic description of a panic attack.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The loneliness had crept back as soon as Tony went upstairs, and Peter stared down at the counter,
trying to control his breathing. Alone.

The evening had passed slowly, and Peter turned in early, the loneliness unbearable. His heart was
racing as he bade everyone a short goodnight.

As soon as the elevator door closed, Peter shut his eyes, which were quickly filling with moisture.

The doors opened again and Peter dragged himself to his room. He closed the door quietly, before
he sank to his knees.

His back found the wall as ripping sobs escaped him, and within seconds, he couldn’t breathe.

The only thing he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears. His hand unconsciously came up and
grabbed at his chest, pulling at his shirt, which suddenly felt too goddamn tight and oh my god he
couldn’t breathe. He kept trying to inhale but the air got stuck, and the more time that passed, the
more panicked he became.

Can’t. Breathe.

Peter’s other hand dug his nails into his palm, trying to ground himself. His throat was closed. His
lungs had disappeared. He was dying, surely.

An intense nausea filled him and Peter doubled over, feeling sick. His hand snaked up and grabbed
at his neck, pulling at the constricting force that wasn’t even there.

“Peter,” Tony was there, but Peter had no idea when he had arrived. “Peter, you need to breathe.”

Peter’s mind spun, dots rapidly appearing and spreading across his vision. His head suddenly felt
heavy.

“Peter Parker, do not pass out on me,” Tony snapped, his voice filled with barely controlled panic.
“For the love of god, breathe.”
Peter’s wild eyes found Tony’s and the kid exhaled shakily. Tony wrapped Peter in his arms and
breathed loud, over-dramatic breaths that the kid could easily copy. It worked, and soon, the dots
on Peter’s vision cleared and the room stayed stationary.

Peter sat and breathed for several minutes, the panic receding. Not alone.

“Oh Peter,” Tony sighed. “You’re gonna make me gray, kid.”

“You’re already gray,” Peter tried to joke, his voice a gasp.

Tony’s mouth twisted but he didn’t smile. Instead, he gently helped Peter up off the ground and
walked with him to the bed, and he sat down. Peter stared at the sheets, avoiding Tony’s eyes.

Now or never. “We have to talk, kid,” Tony said quietly. “You know we do. It’s only going to get
worse.”

“Why can’t you understand,” Peter whispered. “That I can’t. It hurts too much. Tony, please.”

Tony, please. God, the whimper hurt more than anything. The kid was hurting, and Tony knew the
feeling all too well. He still experienced it sometimes, late at night, when the world seemed loud
and the thoughts in his brain even louder.

“Why are you so scared?” Tony asked, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Talking about it is
going to help. Why is the thought of telling me what is happening in your mind so scary?”

Peter’s chest moved up and down, his carefully controlled breaths becoming harsh again. Tony
quickly pulled the kid into his arms before he could spiral into another anxiety attack. “No more
panic attacks. You need to let yourself breathe, Pete. Okay? Calm down.”

Peter gripped Tony’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him alive. “I’m scared because…
because it’s my fault that she’s dead.”

Tony’s eyes didn’t leave Peter’s face. “Why do you say that?”

Agony ripped across Peter’s features. “Because I fought with her, just a half an hour before she left.
She told me that I couldn’t go out and be Spider-Man whenever I wanted, and I complained. I… I
told her that…”

The kid started crying then. His face scrunched up as the tears fell. “I told her that… that she
wasn’t my mother and to stop acting like she was.”

Peter dissolved into heartbroken sobs and Tony gently rocked him back and forth. Fuck my comfort
zone, Tony thought then, absolutely refusing to feel uncomfortable. His hand twisted into Peter’s
curly hair and tried to pull Peter, if possible, even closer.

“And then she asked me if I wanted to go get the food with her, and I said n-no, and if I would have
gone then… then she would h-have been alive.”

“You don’t know that,” Tony’s arms tightened around the kid. “You could have gotten hurt as
well.”

“I could have stopped it!” Peter’s voice was high, fast approaching hysterical. “I'm a superhero!
I'm supposed to prevent things like this from happening! If I was there, she would still be alive.”

“That’s enough,” Tony said, not unkindly. He pulled Peter from him, grabbed him hard by the
arms, and looked the kid in the face. “We are going to talk, and you are going to listen.”

Peter was so shocked that he stopped crying. Tony took a breath.

“It does nothing to dwell in the past,” Tony’s voice was shaking, but he pressed on. “You can’t just
sit around and contemplate the ‘what ifs’. Sometimes you must grit your teeth, tell yourself you’re
okay, and move on.”

Peter’s eyes were wide. Tony’s chest was heaving. “Secondly, her death was not your fault. Was it
not cool for you to say that to her? No, it wasn’t. But you’re a kid. Hell, at your age, I told my dad I
hated him daily.” Tony refused to let himself get caught up in the past. He surged on. “Lastly, and
I want you to understand this: It’s a good thing that you weren’t in that car. Because then the world
would have lost its Spider-Man and I would have lost my Peter Parker.”

Tony’s eyes were blazing. Peter was staring at him, his brown eyes as big as saucers

“I want you to say it, kid,” Tony said then. “Repeat after me: ‘her death was not my fault.’”

Peter opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “Her death was not my fault,” He said,
his voice small.

“Again,” Tony urged.

“Her-her death was not my fault,” Peter said again, his voice stronger.

“Once more.”

“Her death was not my fault,” Peter’s voice was serious, his eyes focused. “It wasn’t.”

Tony stared at the kid for a second longer, before pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m proud of you
kid.”

Peter inhaled deeply, and then let the breath go. He hugged Tony back, feeling safe.

“Sit tight, I’ll be right back,” Tony let Peter go and stood up. “I’m going to go get us some ice
cream, and then we can watch shitty movies. Okay?”

Peter let himself smile slightly. “Okay.”

--

Peter surprised himself by sleeping through the night without being awoken by awful nightmares.
However, when he woke the next morning, it barely felt like he had slept at all.

He awoke with an aching head and puffy eyes. He was still exhausted, but the sun leaking into the
room signaled that it was morning, and that he needed to get out of bed. He sleepily reached for his
phone, wanting to check the time to see if he could just sleep in a few more minutes.

Just as he turned it on, he got a text from Ned.

Peter sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Thanksgiving Break had ended over a week ago,
and Peter hadn’t been to school. His mouth twisted; Ned probably thought he either miraculously
dropped off the face of the earth, or was lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

Peter took a deep breath and opened his messages, bracing himself.
Ned had texted him twenty times in the past week.

It started off with a simple text, the day that May died. “Hey Peter, do you want to come over
tomorrow and build a Lego?? I have an old one I found under my bed that I haven’t built.”

“Are you ready for school on Monday? I’m not.”

Then, Ned’s concern set in. “Peter? Why aren’t you answering?”

And on Monday: “Dude, seriously. You missed school today. What’s up?”

“Why aren’t you here? You never miss school.”

“Peter, it’s been four days.”

“You missed a whole week.”

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

And finally, this morning. “Are you okay?”

Peter swallowed hard. He didn’t mean to make Ned worry, but he hadn’t been on his phone at all
the past week. He hadn’t done much of anything, besides sleep and cry.

“I’m alive, if that’s what you mean by okay.” Peter responded, sending it hesitantly.

“Peter! Oh my god I thought you were dead. What’s going on? Why aren’t you at school? You
never miss school!” Ned’s reply was fast.

Peter bit his lip. “Aunt May is dead.”

There was a pause. The bubble that popped up showing that Ned was typing appeared,
disappeared, and reappeared.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry.”

Peter’s eyes stung. I’m okay. “It’s fine. It’s just been a hard week.”

“Where are you? Are you at your apartment?”

“No. I’m upstate.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m staying with Tony.”

Pause. “Tony who???”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Tony Stark, Ned. I’m staying at the Avengers Compound.”

A few seconds passed with no response. Then his phone buzzed. “Holy shit, Peter.”

Peter couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “It’s pretty awesome, ngl.”

“Can you talk after school?” Ned texted. “Like on the phone?”

Peter hesitated. “Yeah, I suppose. I’ll let you know. Gtg, I’ll text later.”
 “Bye Peter!”

Peter turned his phone off, sitting upright in bed. He sighed, before getting up and starting the day.

Chapter End Notes

Fun Fact: I hate cities and I am very uncomfortable right now since I'm in Boston.
We're only stopping here though, for two nights, before heading up to Bar Harbor,
Maine.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys soon!
 To Celebrate It
Chapter Summary

"Steve stayed, keeping his distance but still looking at Tony. 'What happened?' His
voice was still quiet, calm and controlled, but had the undertones of understanding."

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

His shower did little to help his headache, which he knew would spiral into a migraine if he wasn’t
careful. The rhythmic pounding only made his mood turn sour, as he crankily got dressed and
brushed his teeth.

When he went downstairs, he found Tony sitting at the table, phone in hand. He looked up when
Peter entered, and the first thing Peter noticed was the dark circles under his eyes.

“Morning, kid,” Tony said with a smile.

Peter didn’t return the gesture. “Morning.”

Tony stood up, groaning slightly. He walked over to the fridge and opened it. “Breakfast? You can
help me make it.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Tony looked at him with disbelief. “You’re not hungry?”

Peter shook his head. “No.” He sat down heavily at the table, unable to help the crankiness that
threatened to consume him.

Tony considered him for a moment, before turning back to the kitchen. “Too bad, you’re eating.
What will it be, kid? Pancakes? Eggs?”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter repeated, an edge to his voice this time.

“Got that the first time,” Tony said, wondering what had gotten into Peter. The kid had never
challenged him like this. “I’m not going to ask again: do you want pancakes or eggs?”

“I’m. Not. Hungry,” Peter’s voice was steely.

“I. Don’t. Care,” Tony turned and faced Peter, anger filling him. “You are going to eat.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Peter rose, his hands coming down on the table hard. “I am
not hungry, and I am not going to eat! You can’t force me to!”

“Yes I can,” Tony’s voice inched towards a yell. “I am in charge of you and I can make you do
whatever the hell I want, dammit!”

“I hate you,” Peter snapped, face pale, eyes flashing.

“Yeah, well,” Tony shrugged, unable to keep from feeling the sting of the words. “Right now, I’m
not too big a fan of you either.”

Peter’s face turned red and he turned sharply. He kicked his chair, which flew across the room
before hitting the wall. Tony startled, shocked at how far the chair had flown before remembering
that Peter had super strength. Peter stormed away, walking up the stairs.

“Oh, real mature,” Tony shouted, his heart racing. “You’re acting like a child!”

“Leave me alone!” Peter screamed, turning into his room and slamming the door.

The sound echoed across the empty space. Tony gritted his teeth, closing the refrigerator with such
force that he wouldn’t be surprised if he broke it.

He barely heard the sound of quiet footsteps behind him, and for a second, he thought it was Peter.
But he turned, and to his disappointment, it was Steve.

Steve was clad in a plain white shirt and pajama pants, his blonde hair slightly disheveled from
sleep. The pity in his damn blue eyes only spurred Tony’s anger further.

“Leave me alone,” Tony said, his voice heated, hands shaking.

“Tony…” Steve started, his voice quiet.

“Fuck you, Rogers, I said leave me alone!” Tony was yelling again. His heart was pounding.

Steve stayed, keeping his distance but still looking at Tony. “What happened?” His voice was still
quiet, calm and controlled, but had the undertones of understanding.

Tony wanted to tell him to fuck right off, but suddenly words were spilling from his mouth like a
waterfall. “I don’t even know,” Tony couldn’t keep the desperate note out of his voice. He ran a
weary hand down his face. “God, one second I was asking the kid what he wanted for breakfast
and the next he was yelling and I was yelling and now he apparently hates me,” Tony winced.
“Shit.”

“He told you that he hates you?” Steve’s voice was soft and Tony didn’t know if he wanted to slap
him or hug him.

His eyes burned and he turned away from Steve. “Yeah, he told me that he hated me,” Tony ran a
shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know why I thought I could do this. Me, taking care of a
teenager?” Tony laughed without humor. “Yeah, right.”

He heard Steve come up behind him and suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. Somewhere,
deep in Tony’s mind, he realized that it was the first time that he and Steve had been truly alone
since Siberia, and he pretended that the sadness he felt in the pit of his stomach was just hunger
pains.

“You’re doing all you can, Tony,” Steve’s voice was gentle.

Tony gripped the kitchen counter. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing?”

The hand on his shoulder tightened. “You’re not failing. You’re giving him support and comfort,
but he’s going through so many emotions right now that you can’t expect him to not lash out.”

Tony sighed, trying to let the words comfort him. “Should I go and talk to him?”
“No. Not yet. Wait for him to cool down and then go up and see him.”

Tony ran his hand down his face again. “Right. Right, okay.”

Steve was quiet behind him. His hand was still on Tony’s shoulder. "Have you been sleeping
enough?”

Tony briefly shut his eyes, before opening them again. “Do I ever?”

“Can you face me, please?”

“Depends,” Tony couldn’t help the bitter words from escaping. “Are you going to hit me again?”

Silence.

The hand was gone then and Tony mourned the loss. His eyes closed again. You and your big
goddamn mouth.

Tony felt Steve start to walk away, and Tony felt like somebody had a hand around his heart and
was squeezing it. “Fuck, Steve, I—“

“You what?” Steve’s voice held none of the menace Tony was expecting. It was pure resignation,
and somehow, it hurt worse.

“That was shitty of me. I’m sorry,” Tony’s eyes were burning again, but he wasn’t sure if it was
exhaustion or tears.

Steve sighed. He walked back over to Tony, standing behind him again. “I know you are,” Steve
sighed again. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night,” Tony answered.

“And for how long?”

Tony thought for a minute. “An hour. Or two, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Tony…”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s unhealthy, whatever,” Tony cut him off and walked towards the coffee pot,
grabbing a mug from the shelf on his way. “I’ll be fine, I just need coffee.”

“Nuh uh,” Steve gently tugged the empty mug out of Tony’s hands. “No coffee. Bed. Now.”

Tony met Steve’s eyes with a frown. “No bed, coffee.” He tried to get the mug back, but Steve held
it over his head, so Tony couldn’t reach. He smirked, and Tony bristled. “Asshole! Give it to me!”

“You can have some after you’ve slept,” Steve grinned, a teasing glint in his eye. “Do you need me
to tuck you in?”

“Shut it, Rogers,” Tony actually smiled. “Fine, fine, I’ll go.”

He made his way towards the staircase.

“Hey, Tony?” Steve said softly.

He turned, and Steve was looking at him with his blue eyes. “Yeah?”
“Sleep well.”

Tony felt a smile creep up on his face, and he looked down to hide it. “Yeah. Thanks.”

--

Peter flopped down on his bed heavily, his heart still racing and head throbbing.

God, he’s so freaking controlling, Peter thought bitterly. I’m not hungry, I feel awful, I don’t want
to eat. Why does he feel the need to force me to do whatever he wants me to do?

Self-righteous anger filled Peter again, and he got up and paced around his room. He spent several
minutes cursing Tony in his mind, before he stopped abruptly.

Oh my god, I told him I hated him.

Peter felt guilt pool in his stomach. Tony didn’t deserve that: he took Peter in when he had nobody,
when he was a sobbing mess after May died. He had been nothing but kind and patience with Peter
since this whole ordeal started.

Peter sat down on his bed heavily, feeling like a terrible person. His headache had amplified, and
he clutched his head, wishing the horrible pain would just go away.

He lay down, his head meeting his pillow. Maybe it would leave if he just closed his eyes…

--

Peter woke up six hours later, confused, disoriented, and not feeling even remotely better.

At first, Peter didn’t know where he was. But once he grounded himself and wracked his brains, he
remembered that he was in his room, at the compound.

Then he remembered the fight that he and Tony had.

Remorse and dread filled him like lead, and he sat up slowly. His headache was worse, and he ran
his hands though his hair, feeling terrible and guilty.

A spike of pain drove through his head and he grasped at it, kneading his forehead with his hand,
trying to lessen the pain. The light from the windows seemed too bright and he quietly told
FRIDAY to shut the curtains. The semi-darkness was a blessing.

It had been a long time since he had gotten a migraine this bad. He had headaches on occasion,
sure, but the last time he had gotten a migraine was a week after Ben had died, which was almost a
year and a half ago.

He hoped that they had stopped when he got the spider bite, but apparently, they hadn’t.

Peter’s eyes stung. He missed Aunt May. Whenever he would get a migraine, she would always
tuck him into bed, turn off all the lights, and give him some ibuprofen and a cold washcloth to lay
on his head. Then she would leave the room, but she would always check on him every fifteen
minutes or so, just to make sure he was okay.

The lump in Peter’s throat was painful as he pushed back tears. He missed her so much that
sometimes it seemed like he couldn’t go on without her.

The door creaked open.

Peter looked up, and saw Tony standing in the doorway, looking significantly less tired. His face
was guarded, and Peter knew that he was way out of his comfort zone.

They just stared at each other for a second, unsure of what to do or say.

But then a tear rolled down Peter’s cheek and he uttered two, small words. “I’m sorry.”

Tony sighed deeply then and crossed the space with long strides. He knelt in front of Peter, his
expression serious.

“I know you are,” He sighed again. “But that doesn’t make what happened okay. What I say goes,
Peter. You must understand that. Whenever I tell you something, you have to listen to me.”

The tears were flowing freely now, and Peter’s head throbbed painfully. He felt the beginnings of
nausea, but he pushed the queasiness down. “I… I’m sorry Mr. St—Tony. I’m sorry, Tony.”

Tony stood up and wrapped the poor kid in his arms. Peter buried his face against his chest, feeling
horrible and pathetic.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Tony murmured, one hand on Peter’s back and the other buried in his hair. “I
understand.”

Peter sniffed. “I’m sorry.” He repeated.

“Hey, hey,” Tony consoled. “It’s okay, Pete.”

“I don’t hate you,” Peter whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“No more apologizing,” Tony said sternly. “I better not hear you say ‘sorry’ one more time.”

Peter hiccuped and removed his face from Tony’s chest. Tony noticed how pale the kid looked,
and concern took over every other emotion. “Are you okay?”

Peter rubbed his forehead. “Head hurts.”

Tony frowned, now understanding why the room was so dark when he walked in. “How bad?”

Peter shut his eyes for longer than a blink. “Pretty bad.”

Well, shit. “Okay,” Tony stood up then. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Peter wiped his face off with his sleeve and kneaded his forehead, trying to make the pain go
away. When that didn’t work, he stood and walked to the bathroom.

He opened the medicine cabinet and observed the contents. It was well stocked, with band-aids and
eye drops and an extra tube of toothpaste, amongst a plethora of other things.

He sorted through the many different types of medicine, taking in the names of each of them.
There were vitamin supplements, cough medicine, nasal decongestants including Sudafed and
Sinarest, a bottle of NyQuil and DayQuil, and finally: Asprin, Tylenol, Excedrin, and the one he
was looking for, Ibuprofen.

He picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid. He filled up a Dixie cup of water before piling ten
pills into his hand.
He was just about to raise them up to his mouth when there was a sudden shout next to him. Peter
looked just in time for the pills to be aggressively knocked out of his hands by Tony, who was
white-faced and wide-eyed.

Peter barely had time to blink before two strong arms were around him, yanking him out of the
bathroom and onto the bedroom floor.

“Tony, what—“

“What the fuck, Peter,” Tony sounded out of breath and panicked. “What the fuck were you
thinking?!”

The arms around him were shaking, and Peter was so confused that he momentarily forgotten how
much his head hurt.

“Uh… My head hurts… I needed painkillers?”

“Eight of them?!” Tony shrieked. The arms were shaking more violently now. “Do you know what
happens when you take too much?”

His voice was getting faster. Tony knew he better calm down, but fuck, the image of Peter with a
handful of pills was burnt into his retinas and he couldn’t get a grip.

Tony stood then, pacing and gripping his hair. “You were going to take ten pills. That’s a whole
400 milligrams of naproxen and ketoprofen, not to mention that you would have inhibited your
body’s ability to produce prostaglandins tenfold.”

Peter watched silently as Tony paced, his voice rising in pitch. He was breathing heavily. “Your
body may have gone into shock, but that would have been the best case scenario. You would
proceed to bleed, from your eyes and your mouth and your ears until you bleed out, or until your
kidney’s fail or your brain hemorrhages.”

“Tony,” Peter found himself speaking, trying to relieve the man of his stress. “Tony, I—“

“You what?” Tony snapped at him. “You’re sorry? Sorry that I would have found you dead on the
bathroom floor? Sorry that you—“ Tony couldn’t breathe. He stopped talking abruptly and put a
hand on his chest, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Whoa, Tony, calm down,” Peter stood quickly, unsure of what to do with his hands. He settled for
keeping them by his side. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I’ve got powers, remember? Senses dialed
to eleven?”

Tony stared at Peter, his eyes uncomprehending. He still had a hand over his heart.

“Taking ten ibuprofen gives me the same effect as you do when you take two,” Peter rambled. “My
body burns off the medicine too quickly so I have to take more in order for the pain to go away. I
wasn’t trying to kill myself, I swear. I wouldn’t ever do that, I promise.”

Tony’s eyes met Peter’s and he exhaled. “You weren’t trying to kill yourself?” His voice was
shaky, and it was frankly alarming.

“No,” Peter breathed, his body slowly starting to recognize the blinding pain in his head again. He
needed medication quickly or it would get too bad to combat. “I wouldn’t do that.” To you. The
words were unspoken.
Tony breathed again, seemingly remembering how to again. His cheeks were faintly red. “Let’s
never talk about this again, okay?” His voice was low. He was embarrassed.

“Er, okay,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

His migraine had to decided to remind Peter of it's existence at that moment, and he groaned,
pressing a hand to his head.

“Pete? You okay?” Tony’s voice flitted into his ears, but Peter was so overstimulated that his voice
was way too loud.

“Ibuprofen,” Peter whispered. “Please.”

Peter wasn’t looking at Tony, but he knew he was making a face. “Okay… but you’re only taking
two.”

He would have argued, but he didn't think his mouth would work. The pain radiated to the back of
his head and he desperately clutched at it, swallowing down bile.

Tony walked to the bathroom and returned a few seconds later with two red pills and a cup of
water.

Peter threw back the pills and gulped down the water. He rubbed his eyes, wishing the pain away.

Tony picked him up bridal style and gently placed him in the bed, careful not to jostle him or cause
any more pain. Peter made a small noise, but his face was pale and his hands were clutching his
head. Tony covered him with the blankets, pulling the comforter all the way up to the kid’s neck.

He laid on the bed next to Peter, sitting up against the headboard and his sweatpants clad legs
resting on top of the covers.

“Have you always gotten migraines?” Tony asked softly, unsure of what to do or say in this
situation.

Peter made a noise of confirmation. “Ever since I was little,” His voice was muffled by the pillow
his head was on, but Tony could hear the strain in it. “Thought it had stopped.”

Tony nodded before realizing the kid couldn’t see him. “Because of the spider bite?”

Peter made another noise. “Really hurts,” His lips barely moved to form the words. He wanted to
sleep so desperately, but the throbbing in his temples wouldn’t let him. He needed more medicine.

“Tony,” Peter whispered. “Can I have more medicine please?”

Tony sighed, but obliged. A minute later, Peter was upright, downing the pills and drinking the
small cup of water Tony offered.

Peter lay back down, feeling worse that he had in a long while. He shut his eyes, knowing that he
wouldn’t sleep but hoping that the darkness of his eyelids would alleviate the pain.

Tony looked down at Peter and sighed deeply, his hand coming down and lacing itself into Peter’s
curls. He kept it there, just absently tousling his hair and, hopefully, providing comfort.

Tony’s hand in Peter’s hair was soothing and grounding, and Peter kept his eyes closed, the pain
less in darkness.
Chapter End Notes

Listen here, ya'll, in this house we STAN STEVE ROGERS. He doesn't deserve the
hate, smh.
I'm in Maine right now on vacation, and damn this state is so pretty. The temperature
is cool, the ocean is blue, and the mountains are so grand. I'd honestly consider living
here.
As always, feedback is much appreciated!
 All Out
Chapter Summary

"He felt like an asshole. He had heard the crack in the kid’s voice, the quiver in the
undertone. But Tony knew what he was doing was right, no matter how much it hurt.
The more distance between them the better; maybe then Tony wouldn’t corrupt the
kid."

Chapter Notes

Wow, it was hard not to update. I really wanted to post this chapter on Friday, but then
I saw the length, and I decided to wait. I've got another really long chapter for you this
week, there wasn't any way I could split it up. I hope you enjoy ~
(Also, Happy Fourth of July to all my American readers!)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

After about twenty minutes, Tony gently untangled his hand from the kid’s hair and quietly got off
of the bed, making sure not to move too quickly. He wasn’t sure if the kid was asleep or not, but
Peter didn’t move, so he figured he was in the clear.

He left the room almost silently and shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

He went to his room and showered, trying his hardest to relax. But the image of Peter with eight
fucking pills in his hand was burned into his brain.

Thankfully, the warmth of the shower helped loosen some of the tension in his muscles, and while
he wasn’t relaxed in any sense of the word, he didn’t feel like he was going to have a panic attack,
and he counted it as a win.

He changed into a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a new pair of sweatpants, before making his way
downstairs to the Great Room.

He was greeted with happy chatter and the smell of bacon. He got off the elevator and took in the
scene before him.

Steve was at the stove, flipping burgers onto a plate. Bruce was standing behind him, giving him
quiet orders on how to get the best flip. Natasha was on her IPad at the table, along with Sam and
Rhodey, who were both eating. Wanda and Vision were over on the couch, sitting way too close to
each other to be just friendly.

Natasha looked up when he entered. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Evening, Nat. Seems like you’re your normal, chipper, happy self today.”

She ignored him, looking down at her IPad once again. “Where’s the kid? Stuck to a wall or
something?”

Tony walked further into the room, grabbing a chip from an open bag on the counter. “He’s
sleeping.”

He saw Steve give him a sideways glance, but he didn’t say anything. Tony was incredibly
grateful.

“Sleeping?” Sam questioned in between bites of his food. “It’s five o’clock.”

Tony didn’t respond, instead eating another handful of chips. They were barbecue; not his favorite,
but still good.

“So, how’s being a dad?” Natasha asked slyly, not looking up from her IPad.

Tony glared at him. “I’m not a dad.”

“Of course,” Bruce said easily, taking the plate he was holding and putting it on the counter.
“Because that scene on the couch a few days ago is definitely not something a dad would do.”

Tony avoided his eyes. “He just fell asleep. People do that when they’re tired, you know.”

“Oh, just face it, Tones,” Rhodey said. “You’re his dad.”

“I am not his dad,” Tony said, walking over to the coffee maker. He pressed the brew button,
watching the hot liquid pour into his favorite mug.

“Come on, Tony,” Wanda said, from her place next to Vision on the couch. “He idolizes you, and
everyone here knows that you would be a great dad.”

Tony didn’t respond, staring at the steady stream of coffee pouring into his mug.

All of this dad talk made him incredibly uncomfortable. He wasn’t the kid’s dad; he was a
temporary guardian. He was there to pick up the pieces, to make sure the kid didn’t drown in his
tears. He was not there to go to parent-teacher conferences, not there to play ball with. He was a
caregiver, a keeper, an impermanent solution.

Impermanent. For some reason, the word made his mouth twist in revulsion. Maybe I don’t want to
be impermanent, Tony thought. Maybe I want consistency. Maybe I want a stable force, a steady
responsibility. Maybe I want to be Peter’s dad.

Dad.

Suddenly, Tony wasn’t in the compound anymore. He was hundreds of miles away, standing in the
house of his youth, in the plaster white kitchen. He was thirteen, officially a teenager but still a
child, and he had gotten a B on an English test. His dad was there, screaming at him, telling him
that he was useless, a shame of his own flesh, a waste of his money. The room seemed to get
smaller and Howard got angrier and angrier and that was when Tony saw him raise his hand—

“Tony?” Steve’s voice broke his thoughts. “Your coffee is done.

Steve frowned then. “You’re white as a sheet. What’s up?”

Tony molded his face into a stoic expression and grabbed his coffee. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Steve opened his mouth to question him, but Tony made a beeline for the elevator.
A few seconds later, he was gone.

--

“Mr. Parker is up, sir,” FRIDAY announced to Tony, breaking the silence he was working in.

Tony sighed and sat up, stretching out his aching back. He was bent over new thrusters for his suit;
ones that were energy efficient and fast.

He had been down in his workshop for almost two hours, barely taking a break. His hands were
starting to hurt, but Tony reveled in the pain, for the aches meant he was working, and working
was good.

He thought while he worked, and after a couple hours, he came to a sturdy conclusion.

There was no way he could be a dad. Ever.

He just wasn’t made for it. He shied away from emotions and became incredibly uncomfortable
around tears. He was brash, rude, and egotistical; all of which were characteristics that didn’t
belong in a dad.

Not only that, but he had too much baggage. He was, as he so often called himself, a basket case. A
neurotic, broken, emotionally constipated basket case.

He heard the elevator ding behind him, and he immediately knew who it was.

“Tony?” Came the small, timid voice.

Tony didn’t want to face the kid. He had a strong resolve built, but he felt it lessen when he heard
Peter’s voice.

“Hey, kid,” Tony said, not looking behind him.

It was quiet for a second. “What… what’re you up to?” Peter sounded unsure.

Tony’s hand shook around his project. Toughen up, Stark. “Just tinkering.”

Peter bit his lip, staring at the billionaire’s back. When he had opened his eyes, he had wasted no
time in asking FRIDAY where Tony was and had swiftly gotten to his location before the
lonesomeness could swallow him whole.

And now, here he was, in Tony’s workshop. And Tony wouldn’t even look at him.

He hasn’t forgiven you from your fight, a sly voice told him in the back of his mind. You’ll be
kicked out. You’ll have to live in your old apartment, or on the streets. You’ll be alone.

Terror washed over Peter.

“C-Can I help?” Peter’s voice shook.

“No, I’ve got it.” Tony replied in the same cool, disinterested tone.

Peter’s eyes burned with tears. He knew he should have left, but the thought of being alone kept
his feet still.

“A-Are you sure?” Peter pressed, wanting Tony to look his way desperately.
“Yep.”

Silence fell.

“Do you want me to leave?” Peter’s voice cracked.

Tony’s hands stilled for a second. He shut his eyes. Fuck, this hurt. “Yes.”

Peter bit his quivering lip and turned to leave.

Tony heard the doors to the elevator close and released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He felt like an asshole. He had heard the crack in the kid’s voice, the quiver in the undertone. But
Tony knew what he was doing was right, no matter how much it hurt. The more distance between
them the better; maybe then Tony wouldn’t corrupt the kid.

He went back to his work, trying to ignore the guilt in his gut.

--

The rest of the day was bad, and the next torturous.

Peter went to bed at nine, just a couple of hours after he had left Tony’s workshop.

He awoke the next morning at 9am, to an empty room and a gray sky. He could feel the heavy
weight of depression pressing on his chest as he lethargically got into the shower, before getting
dressed and going downstairs.

There wasn’t anyone in the great room when he arrived, which didn’t help the loneliness. His heart
sank as he looked around the empty room, before slowly walking over to kitchen to make himself a
bowl of cereal. He sat at the table and ate, before making his way over to the couch and plopping
down on it, a hollow feeling in his stomach.

He flicked the TV on and spread himself out, lounging over the cushions. He grabbed one of the
couch throws and wrapped himself in it, before putting his head on one of the accent pillows.

He then proceeded to curl into a ball and attempt to watch whatever was on the screen, but he was
too numb to focus on anything, except for how cold the room was and how alone he felt.

A couple people came and went, but for the most part, Peter was completely by himself and he
pretended it wasn’t ripping him apart.

He lay there for several hours, not moving.

He only got up twice, to eat at noon and to go to the bathroom at 5. He managed to “watch” (he
mostly just stared at the screen, hardly reacting) the first three Star Wars movies before he fell
asleep as the fourth one started, waking up just at the end of the movie.

The fifth Star Wars movie played, but Peter was too numb and sad to even focus.

His phone rang.

It startled him a little, but he finally moved and grabbed it from the coffee table.

“Hello?” Peter asked, his voice low.

“Peter?” Ned’s voice came through, and Peter wanted to cry.

“Hey, Ned,” Peter kept his voice even.

“Peter! I was afraid you weren’t going to answer.”

“Yeah. Well, I have nothing else to do.”

It was quiet for a second, before Ned said a meek “How are you?”

Tears entered Peter’s eyes. He rolled over and stared at the high ceiling. “I’ve… been better.”

It was quiet again. “We miss you,” Ned said, a sad note in his voice. “MJ and I. School sucks
without you.”

Peter sighed. Oh right. He hadn’t been to school in a week. “Sorry.”

“What are you going to do?” Ned pressed. “Are you going to commute to the city every day? Or
are you moving back to the apartment?”

Shit. The apartment. He had almost forgotten about it.

Most of his stuff was there. Hell, all of his stuff was there, minus his suit and the clothes he went to
the hospital in. Not only that, but May’s stuff was there too.

May…

Peter shoved his fingers into his eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I… I don’t know. I...
I’ll ask…”

Another pause. “So… how’s living with Tony Stark?”

Peter could hear the burning curiosity underneath his words, so Peter sat up and indulged him a
little. “It’s actually really great. He’s… he’s helped me a lot. I was… I was a mess the first couple
days, and he sat with me and made sure I was okay.”

“Have you met the other Avengers?” Ned sounded so excited that Peter couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, I have. They’re really cool."

“Dude, what even is your life!” Ned exclaimed.

Peter grinned. “It’s crazy.”

A quiet fell again. Peter started to pick a few loose threads on the throw that covered his legs.

“How long do you think you’ll be there?” Ned’s voice was low.

Peter opened his mouth, then slowly closed it, remembering the stiff silence that Tony had given
him the day previous.

“I don’t know,” Peter whispered.

“Is… Is Iron Man taking care of you permanently?”

Peter swallowed. “I don’t think so,” His voice was quiet and small. “I… I think he’s just helping
me get back on my feet. I don’t know what’s going to happen after that.”
“Could you file for Emancipation?” Ned’s voice was still low, but it was fervent; his curiosity was
obvious.

“No,” Peter said, his hand curling into a fist so that his nails dug into his palms. “I can’t. I don’t
have a job.”

“So… what would you do?”

Peter knew the answer, but saying the words would make them real and he desperately didn’t want
them to be. “I… I guess I would go into f-foster care.”

The line was silent for a minute. “But that’s not gonna happen, right?” Ned said, trying to keep the
anxiety out of his voice. “Iron Man wouldn’t let that happen.”

Peter remembered their fight yesterday, and the coldness Tony directed towards him when he went
down into the workshop.

“I…” Peter started, a lump in his throat. “I don’t know. He’s mad at me right now and I think… I
don’t know what he’s going to do. He’s not legally in charge of me, he’s just doing me a-a favor,
letting me stay here.”

“But he’s not just going to kick you out,” Ned reasoned, sounding like he was trying to convince
himself just as much as he was Peter. “Right?”

Peter felt sick. “I, uh… I have to go, Ned. I’ll text you tomorrow about school.”

“Okay,” Ned sounded sad. “Bye, Peter.”

The line went silent, and Peter stared down at the floor, his heart pounding. What am I going to do
when Tony kicks me out? I don’t have anywhere to go.

Peter stood then and anxiously paced back and forth, his finger nails digging into his palms. Do I
go back to my apartment and stay there as long as I can? I can go to school and act like nothing’s
wrong, but what about when the rent’s due? I don’t have money, but I can get a job. I can work
someplace within walking distance.

Peter stopped dead then. But… what about Spider-Man? How am I supposed to go to school, work,
and then patrol?

He wracked his brains. Maybe… maybe I should give up Spider-Man.

When the thought made him ill, he ruthlessly squashed it. Spider-Man was who he was; not being
him was like chopping off one of his arms.

I’d have to not patrol as much, Peter thought. Maybe just on weekends. I can go to school and work
during the week and then patrol on the weekends. It’ll be hard, but at least it’s not foster care.

Peter glanced towards the elevator. Should I ask Tony when he wants me out?

He bit his lip anxiously. But… he doesn’t want to talk to me. He told me as much yesterday. Maybe
I should just leave now.

The thought was scary, but then he thought of Tony, cold and distant, and he made up his mind.

He grabbed his phone from the couch and walked to the elevator, his heart pounding.
“Fourth floor, FRIDAY,” Peter said, his voice shaking.

The elevator surged upwards, dinging when it got to the right floor. Peter walked quickly to his
room, shoving the only pair of clothes he brought with him and his Spider-Man suit into his
backpack. He quickly got changed into one of the outfits Mr. Stark had someone buy for him, only
feeling slightly guilty for stealing it.

He slammed his feet into his shoes and slung his backpack over his shoulder, glancing around the
room once more before turning off the light and leaving.

Walking down the hall towards the elevator, he couldn’t help but feel wayward. This feels like
running away.

You are running away, a part of him reminded. Tony’s going to flip when he finds out.

Peter paused for a second, right outside the elevator. A slight panic filled him. Oh god, Tony’s
going to lose his shit.

He almost bailed, for a second. But then he remembered the fight they had the day before.

Right now, I’m too big a fan of you either, Tony had said, his eyes guarded and angry.

Peter tightened his jaw as his eyes stung, and stepped into the elevator.

Right, he thought, trying to calm his racing heart. Now what?

“FRIDAY?” Peter asked, his voice sounding odd. “How much is it to take an Uber from here to
the city?”

FRIDAY was silent for a second, before her robotic voice spoke. “It would be approximately one
hundred and eighty dollars.”

Peter swore loudly. Fuck. What am I going to do? I don’t have that kind of money.

An awful idea filled his mind before he could stop it.

Steal a car.

Peter stared at the walls of the elevator.

What other choice do I have?

“G-Garage, FRIDAY,” Peter’s voice shook.

FRIDAY paused for a second, before the elevator started descending. “Your heart rate is
accelerated, Peter,” FRIDAY said. “Would you like me to get Mr. Stark for you?”

“No!” Peter yelped, his heart skipping a beat. “FRIDAY, you can’t tell him what I’m doing,
okay?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Peter. Doing anything dangerous is a part of the Baby Monitor
Protocol.”

“But it’s not dangerous,” Peter pressed. “I’m fifteen, I have my learners permit. I’m actually a
really good driver; M—my aunt used to say so.”
 FRIDAY was silent for a second. “Okay. I won’t tell him.”

“Thanks, FRI,” Peter breathed, relieved. The doors opened, and Peter was greeted with the garage.

There were several cars, most of them incredibly conspicuous Audis. Peter’s heart sunk when he
looked at the flashy cars, knowing full well that he couldn’t drive one of them without it being
obvious that he stole it.

Then, he glanced towards the back of the rows of cars, and he found a simple, black car. His heart
raced as he ran over to it, hoping and praying that the key was still in the ignition.

He could have cried when he saw that it was, and he quickly started the engine.

He backed out of the garage, and he was off.

Chapter End Notes

This was an angsty one, whoops.

As always, feedback is much appreciated, but please be nice!
 I'd Replicate Your Pain
Chapter Summary

"The relief he felt to see him alive and well was palpable, so much so that he felt some
of the anger drain. Peter came to a shaky stop outside the car, and Tony didn’t hesitate
to pull the kid tightly into his arms. He felt the tightness in his chest loosen a little and
he hugged the kid tighter, grounding himself."

Chapter Notes

I am so blown away by all the positive feedback that this story has gotten. Thank you
guys so much!
This chapter is probably my favorite thing that I have ever written, so that's pretty
cool.
Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The car ride was silent, since Peter was too focused on driving to turn on the radio. At first, the
road was dark, and he was incredibly afraid that he was going to hit something or get lost. But then
he got on the highway, which was lit with streetlamps, and he relaxed a little.

It was midnight, so there were barely any cars out. As he was driving, Peter remembered going on
road trips with Aunt May and Uncle Ben and traveling late into the night, when the constant
flashing of lights as they flew past lulled him to sleep. He remembered being roused from his
slumber, however, when Ben pulled off the highway and stopped for gas. But the radio was turned
down low and the engine rumbled soothingly, and he eventually would fall back asleep, feeling
warm and safe in the backseat.

Peter longed for those times. But now he was in Tony Stark’s stolen car on the way to Queens to
live in his dead Aunt’s apartment, and sometimes he just felt like he was going crazy.

The cars on the road became more plentiful as he got closer to the city, and before he knew it, it
was one thirty in the morning and he was in the middle of New York City, heading towards
Queens.

He parked the car outside of the apartment and took a minute to breathe.

Oh god, what was I thinking? Peter looked out the window, up at his old apartment. He raised a
shaking hand to forehead. I can’t go back in there. I can’t.

Because that apartment was May’s, and he couldn’t live there without her.

“I just drove an hour and a half to a place I can’t even stay at,” Peter said aloud, realizing how
stupid he was. “And I can’t go back to the compound because Tony will actually murder me.”
He wracked his brains, then remembered that he had brought his suit with him.

I can patrol for now, He decided, a sigh escaping him. It’ll be fine, I’ll think of something.

Grabbing his backpack from the passenger seat, he got of the car and went into the back alley next
to the apartment building.

A few minutes later, he was swinging from building to building, catching the wind and feeling
alive for the first time since May died.

--

It was two in the morning when Tony finally cracked and asked FRIDAY about Peter.

He had left his workshop the night before, sometime between two and three in the morning. He had
stumbled blearily into his room and fallen asleep on top of his covers, before waking the next
morning to a heavy, remorseful heart and steadily weakening resolve.

He barely left his office all day, only once to get food around six thirty. Peter was asleep on the
couch, and Tony was both tempted to sit there with him and run as fast as he could in the opposite
direction. But instead, he made himself a bowl of ramen noodles and made his escape as quickly as
humanly possible.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t avoiding Peter, but it was blatantly obvious that he was. But
distance was good; maybe then Tony would stop thinking about Peter as his son.

He was still working on Stark Industries business at 2:02 in the morning when the curiosity got the
better of him.

“FRIDAY,” Tony said to his empty office. He was nursing a glass of apple juice, which he had
taken a liking to, since he had been forced to give up alcohol. “What’s Peter doing right now?”

FRIDAY was silent for a moment.

“Peter Parker is not in the compound.”

Tony stared at the wall, blinking several times. “What?”

“Peter Parker is not in the compound,” FRIDAY repeated.

Tony’s heart missed a beat, before kicking into a sprint. “What do you mean, he’s not in the
compound?” Tony barked, standing.

“Mr. Parker left the compound.”

His chest tightened. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What happened? Where did he go?” Tony suddenly
pictured a scared, broken, dying Peter Parker and Tony had to take a steadying breath, before the
image his brain conjured could send him into cardiac arrest.

“Mr. Parker did not share that information with me,” FRIDAY replied.

“Wait, how the fuck did he leave? He doesn’t have a car.” Tony demanded.

FRIDAY was silent. Tony ground his teeth together. He didn’t fucking have time for this.
“Override all past requests as per the Pants on Fire protocol. How did Peter leave?”
“Mr. Parker took one of your cars at midnight. He did not specify where he was going.” FRIDAY
sounded incredibly guilty.

Rage filled Tony as he walked over to his desk and grabbed his phone. He tapped Peter’s name in
his contacts and held his Starkphone up to his ear, a scowl on his face.

“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system: 718-815-3109. At the
tone, please record your voice message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up, or
press pound for more options.”

Tony swore loudly and called again, receiving the same thing.

When I find him, Tony decided, pressing a shaky hand to his heart. I’m going to hug him, then I’m
going to fucking ground him until he’s eighty.

--

Peter had a successful night. He saved a cat from getting run over by a car, stopped an attempting
mugging, and even alerted the fire department about a small apartment fire.

Being back as Spider-Man was truly liberating. It was a nice distraction and doing good helped
lessen the discontent that swirled in his stomach. It was nice to have a clear objective for once.

But around three thirty in the morning, there was a lull in activity. So, he sat, webbed to the roof of
a skyscraper, and thought.

I guess I’m going to have to go back to the apartment, Peter thought, staring up at the dark sky.
The bright artificial lights of the city made it impossible to see the stars, but Peter didn’t need to see
them to know they were there. Unless I blow the only money I have on me to get a motel room, but
I need that for food.

I guess I could sleep in the car I borrowed, Peter mused. But I’ll need to have it running since it’s
cold out, and it’ll waste the battery.

God, he really didn’t want to go back into that apartment. But, at the moment, it seemed like the
only option. Not only that, but he was getting cold and hungry, and he knew exhaustion wasn’t too
far behind.

With a sigh, he unstuck himself from the building and made his way back to where he parked.

He knew the area and the streets were lit, so it was easy to find his way back. There were few
people out, for the hour was late and the weather cold.

Peter swung back to his street, and nearly fell from where he was in shock.

There, behind his stolen black car, was a sleek, silver, Audi R8.

There was only one person that car could belong to, and Peter wanted to swing the other way as
fast as he could.

Holy shit, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. I’m so dead.

He landed a feet yards from the car and painstakingly walked to where it was parked, feeling ill.

The door of the R8 opened and out strolled Tony Stark, his face molded into a cold expression but
his eyes alight with worry.
Peter removed his mask and stared down at the uneven sidewalk, guilt pulsing through his veins.

Tony walked over and stood right in front of Peter, so that Peter was staring down at his expensive
shoes.

Then he was being wrapped into the tightest hug he had ever experienced. Tony’s strong arms
pulled him close and Peter relaxed a little, inhaling deeply.

A second later, and Tony had let him go and was strolling around to the driver’s side.

“Get in the car,” He was pissed, and Peter felt his heart sink. I’m fucked.

--

When Tony had tracked Peter’s suit to Queens, he was so mad that he couldn’t see straight.

He got in the car, his mind reviewing all the terrible things that could happen to Peter while he was
out patrolling, and then reminding him that if the kid needed immediate medical attention, he was
too far away to help.

He literally sped down the highway, his speedometer reaching ninety, not giving a single fuck if he
got pulled over. He made it to the city in record time and parked in front of Peter’s old apartment,
right behind his stolen car goddammit the kid is going to kill him.

Then he proceeded to sit and stew for about a half an hour before he saw a red and blue blur
swinging down the street.

The relief he felt to see him alive and well was palpable, so much so that he felt some of the anger
drain. Peter came to a shaky stop outside the car, and Tony didn’t hesitate to pull the kid tightly
into his arms. He felt the tightness in his chest loosen a little and he hugged the kid tighter,
reassuring himself that Peter was alive and safe.

As soon as he let Peter go, however, the burning anger in his stomach was back.

“Get in the car,” He growled, getting in himself and slamming the door.

A second later, Peter was scrambling into the passenger side, looking too much like a kicked
puppy for Tony’s liking.

Tony started the car in silence, and Peter glanced at the stolen car in front of him. He felt like
explaining himself or asking Tony what he was going to do with it. But Tony was pale, and his lips
were pressed into a firm, angry line and Peter decided to keep his mouth shut.

Tony pulled out of his parking space and drove through Queens in silence. Peter could see his
hands shaking on the steering wheel.

They were in Manhattan when Tony finally spoke.

“Why.”

Peter started, his eyes shooting over to Tony. Tony was still pale, but now he was glaring at the
road, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

A strange rebellion filled Peter as he looked away from Tony and back out the window.

“Answer me,” Tony’s voice was controlled, but the anger in the undertone was enough to kill.
Peter remained silent, his jaw set, staring out the window. He thought of how he had felt over the
last day, and he was suddenly so enraged that he wished that he wouldn’t have gotten in the car
with the man.

“I don’t think you understand what you did,” Tony’s voice was shaking with anger. “You took
your stuff, told FRIDAY not to tell me what you were doing, you stole my car, you drove it without
a license, and then proceeded to jump around Queens in the suit I made for you. Not only that, but
you ignored my phone calls and made me drive all the way to New York City to pick you up. You
broke two laws, one of which would be considered a felony and you need to give me a good reason
not to ground you for the rest of your life.”

Peter ground his teeth together, scowling angrily out the window.

“Don’t you dare ignore me,” Tony threatened. “I want an explanation. Now.”

“Oh, so now you want me to talk to you?” Peter exploded, his head swiveling to glare at Tony. “I
have to fucking steal your car for you to want me around?”

That was it. Tony violently jerked the car to the shoulder, so that it was parked in a no parking
zone.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tony slammed his hand on the top of the steering wheel and then
turned to face Peter. “This was a fucking cry for attention?”

Peter didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes firmly looking out the window.

“You could have died,” Tony’s voice shook with anger. “You could have gotten into an accident,
someone could have shot you while patrolling, you could have gotten arrested. I was worried sick.
And what, all for atten—”

“You were avoiding me!” Peter shouted, his eyes stinging. “Don’t you get it? This wasn’t a cry for
attention, I thought you wanted me gone! Because that’s what happens, right? Everyone I fucking
care about either leaves or dies and I just—I can’t—” The car was suddenly too small and Peter
tugged on the top of his suit, which felt like a vice around his neck. The air was thick, and his
breath caught in his throat, choking him. The stress and sadness and anxiety that had plagued him
the last few days came to a head, and he frantically pulled on the locked door handle, trying to get
out of the suffocating space.

“Peter,” Tony was starting to say, but Peter senses were overloaded in panic, that his ears were
overly sensitive and suddenly the hum of the car’s engine was too loud, and he could hear his
blood pulsing through his veins…

“Peter,” Tony’s firm, strong voice broke through the noise. “Breathe.”

He suddenly became aware that he was shrunk back in his seat, his right hand fumbling with his
suit and his left hand curled into a tight fist. He was gasping for air and Tony’s left hand had a
death grip on his knee.

He gripped the part of his suit that covered his chest and painfully breathed in, still feeling too
much like he was suffocating. He looked to Tony with wild eyes.

“Come on, Pete,” Tony’s voice was soft. “Breathe for me.”

Peter let Tony’s hand ground him as he spent the next couple of minutes breathing, feeling the
panic recede, getting quickly replaced by embarrassment and guilt.
When his breathing was normal again, Peter felt an embarrassment so intense that he couldn’t meet
Tony’s eyes, so he stared down at his feet instead.

“Are you alright?” Tony was the first one to break the silence.

Peter nodded, shame bubbling inside of him. Tony didn't talk to you for a little bit, so you stole a
car and ran away, his mind supplied. Pretty bad, Parker.

The hand on his knee was gone and the car started to move again.

“Do you understand what you did was wrong?” Tony was tired, resigned, and it hurt Peter more
than his anger.

Peter nodded, not trusting himself not to burst into tears. He isn’t going to forgive you for this.

Tony looked over at the kid, once again noticing how childlike and small he looked. He wasn’t
angry anymore, although he knew he should be. He was just glad to see the kid alive.

Oh yeah, I was supposed to be keeping my distance, he remembered. But Peter looked so sad that
his resolve crumbled into dust.

The car was silent once more, and Tony focused on Peter’s breathing, trying to convince himself
that the kid was alright.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter said timidly, and Tony’s heart just about broke.

“Yeah?” He sighed.

The kid looked like he was holding back tears. “W-When do you want me out by?”

Tony balked, nearly crashing into the car in front of him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He said, harsher than intended, and the kid flinched.

“I can stay in my old apartment,” Peter explained quickly. “I can get a job and go to school and
patrol on the weekends. You don’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“Christ, kid,” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He was positive that his blood pressure was off
the charts. Bruce would be pissed. “I’m not going to kick you out.”

Peter peered over at him. “Y-You’re not?”

Tony sighed. “No.” Never. “So that’s why you ran away? You thought I was going to kick you out,
so you left before I could?”

Peter grimaced. “Well, it sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“Kid, it was dumb,” Tony glanced over at Peter with an eye roll. “You are grounded for, like, ever,
by the way.”

Peter sighed and slowly relaxed his hand, which was curled into a fist. He examined his palm,
which stung, and found four crescent shaped cuts where his finger nails had dug into his skin.
Damn. “Yeah, I suspected as much.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth quirked upwards in a smile and a quiet fell on the car once again.
They were on the highway now, heading out of the city. Peter rested his head on the window,
watching the city lights disappear in the side mirror.
Tony occasionally looked over at the kid, still trying to convince himself that he was safe.

“Peter,” Tony surprised himself by speaking. They only had ten minutes left in the drive, and the
lights of the Compound were in view. “You know that I’d never get rid of you, right?”

Peter didn’t move, and for a second, Tony was relieved: the kid must have fallen asleep.

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” Peter whispered in a small, watery voice.

Silence followed the admission, and Tony felt like the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth.

You ignored him, something in his mind whispered. He came to you, wanting to just sit with you,
and you pushed him away. No wonder he thought you didn’t want him; you pretty much told him
that.

“Jesus,” Tony whispered, feeling so sickened with himself that he wanted to lock himself away, so
he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. “I… fuck. I’m so sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to make you feel that
way.”

Peter shrugged. “S’fine. I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Tony said desperately. “It’s my fault. I pushed you away, all because I couldn’t
let go of something that happened over twenty years ago.”

Peter looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Tony tried to calm the panic rising in him. He didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it.
“Just… just something that happened with my dad. It’s a long story.”

Peter nodded. “You don’t have to tell me, Tony. But why did I remind you of your dad?”

Because you’re like a son to me and it’s killing me a little bit every day. “Something Wanda said,”
He said noncommittally.

A beat of silence. “So, you’re not going to kick me out?” Peter asked in a small voice.

“Kid, you do know I’m your temporary legal guardian, right?” Tony rolled his eyes. “You belong
to me for now.”

Peter was silent, which was incredibly uncharacteristic. Tony took one look at his face and realized
that no, Peter did not know that Tony was his temporary legal guardian.

“I signed the papers the second day, kid,” Tony said gently, pulling up the drive to the compound.
“You’re my ward. And, uh, considering how undoubtedly high my blood pressure is right now, I
don’t think I’d survive if I kicked you out.”

Peter was still silent, and Tony panicked for a second. Maybe he doesn’t want to stay with you.

But Tony pulled into the garage, finally looked over, and saw that there were silent tears running
down his face.

I’m wanted, Peter thought, wondering why it was making him cry. I’m not going into the system.
I’m not going back to the apartment. I’m staying here, with Tony.

Speaking of which, the man had a slight “deer-in-the-headlights” look when he took in Peter’s
tears, but his eyes were soft and genuine.
 He silently got out of the car, and Peter sat there a second, trying to calm himself down but not
being able to. So, when Tony opened up the passenger door, Peter didn’t hesitate to throw himself
into his guardian’s arms.

Tony knew he shouldn’t be so attached, for attachments didn’t serve well in the lifestyle he lived,
and, in the end, they were just something to rot your state of mind in the middle of the night.

But, as Peter hugged him tightly, he began to realize that maybe this attachment was worth getting
hurt for.

Chapter End Notes

Ahhh I love this chapter so much. I'm not usually a big fan of my own writing but I
loved how this one turned out, mostly because it took so damn long for me to actually
write it. I kept writing and rewriting, but I was eventually happy with the finished
product.
As always, feedback is much appreciated, but please be nice! It might be awhile
before the next chapter because I'm getting behind again.
 Climb Down
Chapter Summary

"Peter cracked a smile, but it faded quickly. The kid was falling apart, and Tony
regarded him warily. 'I… I’m sorry, Tony. I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.'

And fuck, if that didn’t break Tony’s heart. 'I know, bud. It’s okay.'"

Chapter Notes

Hi guys! Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments on the last chapter,
they made my week.
I'm going to have to limit my updating schedule to once a week, because I'm currently
posting faster than I can write, and I don't want to burn out, you know? I hope you all
can understand.
Anyways, enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony expected to be up for awhile with Peter, but the kid shocked him again by falling asleep
almost immediately.

The culmination of all the stress and anxiety over the past few days must have been exhausting,
because the kid was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Tony even had to cover him up,
which was so parental that it was frightening.

Tony, however, didn’t sleep for another hour. He was laying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling,
up until 5:30 in the morning, when his body told him to sleep.

He awoke mid-afternoon, groggy, disoriented, and feeling slightly hungover; which was surprising,
since he hadn’t had alcohol in months.

He showered lethargically, the hot water soothing the knots that had formed in his back from the
stress of the night before. He toweled off his hair and changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants,
slipping on a pair of slippers before asking FRIDAY if Peter was awake.

“He woke up five minutes ago and is in the shower,” FRIDAY informed him. “Would you like me
to tell him that you’re looking for him?”

“No,” Tony said, pulling on a light hoodie. “Just tell him that I’m going to be in the great room, if
he needs me.”

“Will do.”

Tony nodded to himself before walking out of his room, heading towards the elevator.

When he arrived in the great room, he was met with his entire team, sitting on the white couches in
front of the flat screen TV. Steve and Natasha were next to each other; Nat’s legs thrown over
Steve’s thighs, her back pressed into the side of the couch. Steve’s position looked uncomfortable,
and it probably was, but his face didn't show it. Instead, his eyes were flicking toward Wanda and
Vision, the former practically on the latter's lap, seated a couch adjacent. Every few seconds, Steve
would glance from the TV to Wanda and Vision, his expression soft and sad, his eyes glazed over.
(Tony bookmarked that expression for later; he needed answers on why Steve looked like a kicked
puppy.)

Sam and Rhodey sat on the other couch. Rhodey looked up when he entered.

“Well damn, would you look who it is,” Rhodey remarked, staring at Tony. “I thought you’d
dropped off the face of the earth.”

Everyone looked up at him then, and Tony avoided their eyes. He, once again, made his way over
to the coffee maker.

“Nope, I’m still here,” Tony replied, fishing out a mug from the cabinet. “Is there a pot made or do
I have to make my own?”

“You’re having coffee at 3:30 in the afternoon?” Sam asked. “Doesn’t that, like, keep you up all
night?”

“That’s the point,” Tony supplied flatly, putting in a coffee pod and putting his mug under the
spout. “Do we have any food?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, getting up and stretching. “We have leftovers from breakfast and lunch, but
you wouldn’t know that, since you, y'know, slept through both.”

Tony rolled his eyes opened the fridge, spotting a plate of grilled cheese with plastic wrap over it.
His mouth watering, he took it out. There were six grilled cheese; he was so hungry that he could
have eaten all of them, but he knew Peter would be hungry when he woke up, so he took one and
left the rest.

He microwaved the grilled cheese before walking over to the table and scarfing it down.

“Okay,” Sam began angrily, taking out an empty jug of apple juice and slamming it on the counter.
“Who the fuck keeps drinking my apple juice? This is the third jug I’ve bought this week. It’s my
apple juice, I’m spending my money to buy it, so whoever the fuck keeps drinking it, knock it off.”

“Dude, you probably just drank it yourself,” Rhodey said, rolling his eyes.

“I did not drink it myself someone keeps taking my apple juice—”

A small laugh interrupted Sam’s tirade, and everyone turned to look for the source.

Peter was standing in front of the elevator, dressed in sweatpants and a shirt that looked too big for
him. His hair was wet and sticking up, his brown eyes shining with barely concealed mirth at
Sam’s misfortune.

The kid looked snuggly, Tony realized. A second later, he was disgusted with his mind for using
the word “snuggly” to describe anything.

Peter noticed that all eyes were on him, and he turned red. His hands unconsciously formed fists.
“Uh… good morning?” He said awkwardly to the room.
“It’s afternoon, kid,” Tony said from the table. “I know, I made the same mistake.”

Peter looked to him with gratitude, silently thanking him for the save.

Tony stood and gestured to a plate that sat on the counter. “Are you hungry? There’s grilled
cheese.”

Peter’s mouth watered as he sped over to the counter, ready to shove them all in his mouth. He
hadn’t eaten much the past two days; mostly because he was too sad to do anything but just lay on
the couch and stare at the TV screen.

But now the room was full of people, and the crushing loneliness was gone. Not only that, but
Tony was here, talking to him, looking at him, taking care of him… it seemed too good to be true.

Peter was about to shove half a grilled cheese into his mouth whole when Tony yanked the plate
away. Peter’s face fell, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Tony just put the plate in the
microwave. “Cold grilled cheese should be illegal,” He remarked, punching a minute into the
machine.

When the food was done, he placed the plate in front of Peter, who started shoveling food into his
mouth.

“Hey Tony,” Natasha said, and Tony took his eyes off Peter and glanced her way. “We’re all going
down to the gym. I’m going to spar with Steve and everyone wants to watch. Do you want to bring
Spider-Infant and join?”

Peter made a noise of protest at the name and Tony shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got some things I
need to do. Beat his ass, though, and make sure you film it. God knows I need some
entertainment.”

Natasha nodded, a wicked smile on her lips, and the crowd of people filed out, leaving Tony and
Peter alone.

Peter watched them leave, before turning back to his food. Tony was half-amused at the way Peter
ate the grilled cheese and half-worried he was going to choke, so he just sat there anxiously as the
kid cleaned his plate in an astonishingly quick amount of time.

“So, what are we doing today?” Peter asked excitedly, once he was done eating. “Can we do
something fun? Like… I don’t know, what is there to do around here? Hiking?”

Tony fixed him with an amused expression, his eyes hard. “That’s cute. You think you’re leaving
this compound.”

At once, Peter deflated, his eyes falling to his empty plate. “Oh. Right. I, uh… forgot.”

“That must be nice,” Tony said, his voice tight. “I didn’t.”

Peter’s hands curled into fists, a wave of sadness rolling through him and making him nauseous.
He suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten all of that grilled cheese.

“Don’t look like that,” Tony said, taking in Peter’s absolutely distraught expression. “You look like
I’m about to kick a puppy or something.”

Peter didn’t even crack a smile, despair curling over his heart like a fist. He’s going to send you to
your room and you’re going to be alone again.
The thought of experiencing that terrifying numbness like he did yesterday was absolutely
nauseating.

“Hey, look at me,” Tony said softly. Peter slowly looked up, hopelessness swirling in his gut.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true.”

Peter nodded, still feeling like someone had placed a ton of bricks on his chest. He could breathe,
but the air seemed to be getting thicker, which meant that not breathing wasn’t far off.

Meanwhile, Tony was fixing Peter with a strange expression. “God, kid. You’re making it nearly
impossible for me to punish you.”

Peter dropped his eyes and stood slowly, unconsciously pressing his nails deeper into his palms
and shoving his fists into his pockets. “I’ll go to my room. How long do you want me there?”

“Jesus Christ, Peter, sit down,” Tony ordered, startling Peter. “Stop assuming shit, okay? I’m not
going to send you to your room.”

Peter dropped back into his chair, shuffling his feet. “You said you’re going to punish me.”

“Yeah, I am, but I’m not going to isolate you,” Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s what got us into this
mess in the first place, kid. I’m not about to go through the trauma of finding out that you’re an
hour and a half away, swinging from skyscrapers at two-thirty in the morning, again.”

Peter met Tony’s eyes. “You’re not going to…?”

“Nope,” Tony answered his unasked question, shaking his head. “But you have to understand that
what you did was bad, Pete. Like, really bad, not to mention incredibly dangerous. I can’t let it go
unpunished.”

Peter nodded, his heart hammering.

“So, it’s clear to me that you can’t be alone right now,” Tony explained, his gaze unwavering from
Peter’s. “That’s why you ran away.”

“I didn’t run away—" Peter started.

“Nuh-uh, the adult is talking,” Tony said, silencing Peter with a finger. “You did run away,
because you felt alone. I was too wrapped up in myself to realize, and I’m sorry.”

Peter was staring at him. “It’s… it’s okay. I understand, you don’t have to—”

“That’s another thing, kid,” Tony said, piercing him with a look. “I know I don’t have to,” Peter
nodded again, his eyes downcast. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to, okay? No one can
force me to do anything, not Steve, not you, not even the government. I do things because I want
to. And taking care of you,” Tony’s throat felt tight, and the words threatened to die on his tongue,
but he forced them out. “I do it because I want to.”

Peter’s eyes shone with unbridled happiness, and it did something to Tony, for his mind was
suddenly filled with the urge to hug the kid and the corners of his mouth wanted to jump into a
smile.

“As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted,” He said, glaring playfully at Peter, who still
looked like he just had the world handed to him. “You can’t be alone right now, so I’m not going to
leave you alone. For your punishment, you have to help me in the workshop or in the lab, doing
whatever job I assign you. You are not allowed to leave the compound unless I am with you or tell
you to, no exceptions. The garage—” Tony sucked in a breath, trying to release some of his anger.
“—is completely off limits, unless I am with you. No exceptions.”

Peter’s expression changed to one of incredible chagrin, guilt falling over him. “Yes, sir—”

“Another rule: don’t ever call me sir, unless I tell you to. I’m… I’m not my father,” Tony muttered
the last part, willing it to be true. He cleared his throat. “FRIDAY has already been notified about
these measures, so you won’t be able to enlist her help.” He once again had to reel in his anger. “I
do not take well to people turning my AI’s against me.”

Peter nodded regretfully. “Yes, s—Tony. Yes, Tony.”

Tony looked at Peter for a minute longer, before sighing deeply. “Punishing you is like punishing a
puppy. It’s nearly impossible, kid.”

Peter cracked a smile, but it faded quickly. The kid was falling apart, and Tony regarded him
warily. “I… I’m sorry, Tony. I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

And fuck, if that didn’t break Tony’s heart. “I know, bud. It’s okay.”

Peter looked like he was about to cry, and Tony held out his arms in an open invitation, not
thinking. He was about to lower them, but then Peter was on his lap, his face pressed into his
shoulder, his body shaking.

Tony’s arms were still out awkwardly, but then he relaxed them, one hand unconsciously coming
up and intertwining itself into Peter’s curls, the other on his quivering back.

The position was awkward, and Tony was both physically and mentally uncomfortable, but Peter
was distraught, and Tony cared about the kid so much that he didn’t shrug away from the contact.

Tony picked himself and the kid up and walked to the empty couch, sitting them both down.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered tearfully. “I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

Now there were tears in Tony’s eyes. He didn’t trust his voice, but he reassured the kid anyway.
“We’re all messed up, Pete, and I’m probably the most messed up out of all of them. Don’t worry
about it.”

“Everyone’s dead, Tony,” Peter’s voice was so quiet that Tony had to strain to hear it. “Why is
everyone dead?”

Well. Tony sure as fuck didn’t have an answer to that. He asked himself the same question daily. “I
don’t know.”

Peter dissolved into sobs, and Tony could feel his shoulder starting to dampen with saltwater. He
held the kid tighter, listening to the kid’s breathing, making sure he didn’t spiral into another panic
attack.

There was a quiet noise to the left of where Tony was, and he slowly turned his head to find the
source.

There, standing by the elevator, was Natasha, Sam, Steve, Vision, Wanda, and Rhodey, all looking
directly at Tony and Peter.
Tony instantly felt exposed, and every part of him was telling him to run away, either to his room,
the lab, or the workshop, to get away from their prying eyes.

But Peter was sobbing into his shoulder, making horrible, hiccuping noises. His entire form was
trembling with an onslaught of grief, his hands pulling at Tony’s hoodie in agony.

The kid needed him, and Tony decided that making Peter feel better was more important than
maintaining his sardonic façade.

Tony locked eyes with Rhodey, trying to tell him to get them the fuck out of here.

It was then when Peter spoke. “I miss he-her.” His speech was punctured by a shuddering sob. “It
fucking hurts.”

Fuck. “I know, buddy,” Tony spoke softly, his full attention back onto Peter. “I know. She was a
fantastic woman.”

Peter only cried harder, and Tony looked to the group of people around the elevator again.

Except, most of them were now in the elevator. Rhodey was silently ushering them in, with the
help of Steve. Steve made eye-contact with Tony, and there was an annoying softness in his eyes.
Tony looked away.

Soon, it was only the two of them again. Tony tried not to think about how he was going to get a
bunch of shit for being a dad later from his friends, and instead focused on running his hand down
Peter’s spine, trying to quiet the kid.

It seemed to work, because Peter’s sobs turned into just small hitches of breath. His form still
trembled, however, and Tony made no move to unlatch the kid from him.

Eventually, Peter’s breathing managed to normalize, and even the shivers stopped. He still leaned
on Tony, however, before Tony became concerned with how still the kid was.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked after several minutes of silence.

Peter nodded against Tony. “Sorry.” He whispered, embarrassed.

“You don’t need to apologize, Peter,” Tony assured, ruffling the kid’s hair.

“I ruined your hoodie” He said mournfully. “I’m sorry.”

“Peter,” Tony said seriously, removing the kid from where he had latched on to him. Peter’s face
was tear-tracked, and his lips were swollen. He looked absolutely miserable and, in that moment, a
lot younger than fifteen. “Stop apologizing. It’s just a hoodie, I have a dozen like it.”

Peter wouldn’t meet Tony’s eyes. Shame was written all over his face. He was still in Tony’s lap.

“Do you want to see what I’m working on?” Tony asked, before the thought had even fully formed
in his head.

Peter’s eyes darted to Tony’s face, before dropping. The kid nodded.

“Great. Let’s go,” Tony said briskly, trying to diffuse the strange awkwardness that was thickening
the air between them. He glanced down. “Uh. You’re going to have to get off me.”

Peter looked mortified and scrambled off of him so quickly that he almost ended up on the floor. It
 was so pathetic that Tony couldn’t even laugh.

With a sigh, he led the kid toward the elevator, wishing there was something else he could do to
make the kid feel better.

Chapter End Notes

I'm leaving for the beach tomorrow and I'm super excited! My family goes every year
and it's one of my favorite vacations.
As always, feedback is much appreciated, but please be nice. I'll see you guys in a
week!
 If Only For A Taste
Chapter Summary

"'Uh… I have a question,' The kid was stood behind Tony, looked incredibly nervous.
His hands were balled into fists at his sides.

'Shoot,' Tony said, massaging his wrists, which had started to ache.

Peter chewed his lip. 'What am I going to do about school?'"

Chapter Notes

Wow, it feels like I haven't posted a chapter in forever! My vacation wasn't the best... I
got some kinda shitty news about my health half-way through the week but it's fine,
I'll manage.
Enjoy the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“How’s the kid?” was the text Tony received from Steve about an hour later.

He looked across the space at Peter, who was tinkering with a new project Tony had set for him.
His face was pinched into a look of complete focus, a pair of pliers in his hand.

When they had gotten down to the workshop, it was shocking how easy it was to distract the kid.
He took one look at the Iron Man suit and immediately shot off at the mouth, asking excited
questions about how things worked and just gushing about it in general.

Tony indulged him, for a while, before telling him to go work on something to add to his own suit.
They had been working ever since.

Tony wiped his oil-covered hands off on a rag, before picking up his phone. “He’s alright,” Tony
texted, surprised at Steve’s concern. A bitter thought threatened to surface, but he pushed it down
before it could. “We had a rough night last night.”

“What happened?” The text was almost immediate.

Tony sighed. “It’s a long story and it’s not mine to tell.”

“Of course. Just remember that we’re here.”

Tony appreciated it, and as he worked, he thought of how far the team had come since their fight in
Germany, and his and Steve's fight in Siberia.

It was incredibly difficult at first. There was some hard feelings, especially from Tony and
Rhodey, the latter having gotten permanently damaged from the fight. Over time, however, they
became civil, and slowly even kind towards each other. The Accords were modified so that
everyone was happy, Ross was dead (Tony wasn’t sure who did it, and he decided he didn’t care.
He always hated that bastard.), Barnes was back on ice, and everyone had come back.

It wasn’t a gooey, happy reunion, however. They had met up again in a meeting with several
United Nations representatives. Tony had to excuse himself halfway through, when everything was
too much for him to handle, claiming that he had to take a call from Pepper. His left arm was tight,
a strange pain running up it into his jaw and neck and his chest felt tight, almost like someone had
reached their hand inside and was squeezing his heart. He took several deep breaths, clutching his
arm, before setting his face and going back into the meeting, bravado firmly in place.

After the meeting was adjourned, and the representatives had left, it was a room full of people
determinedly not looking at each other. Tony remembered wanting to make a sarcastic comment,
but the bite had died in his throat and he remained silent.

And then Steve had said three, simple words: “He’s in cryo.”

It had made Tony want to punch him in the mouth. It was the first sentence they had said to each
other in a year, and it was about the wellbeing of the person they had fought about.

Because no matter what happened, Steve would only care about one thing: Bucky Barnes.

Eventually, they started talking. Things were discussed, arguments occurred, but eventually, they
had fallen back into a routine. They typically ate meals together, they laughed together, and on
Friday night, they would sit down all together and watch a movie.

It was starting to feel normal again, and Tony didn't know how to feel about it. A part of him was
still pissed off at Steve, but the larger part was just tired of fighting, longing for times when they
were all okay with each other, when the fights he and Steve had were about stupid things, like
Tony's inability to show up to meetings.

“Tony?” Peter’s voice broke his thoughts.

Tony startled, realizing that he had been staring at the same piece of machinery for awhile. “Yeah,
Pete?”

“Uh… I have a question,” The kid was stood behind Tony, looked incredibly nervous. His hands
were balled into fists at his sides.

“Shoot,” Tony said, massaging his wrists, which had started to ache.

Peter chewed his lip. “What am I going to do about school?”

Tony stared and him, blinking. He hadn’t even thought about that.

Peter seemed to misread his reaction, because his eyes grew panicked. “I can go to school up
here!” He insisted. “I would just need to go back and get my stuff and maybe say goodbye to my
friends—”

“Peter,” Tony said, giving the kid a serious look. “What do you want to do about school?”

Peter looked at Tony a second longer, before his gaze fell to the floor. “It’s not up to me.”

“Uh, yeah, it is. I’m not the one going to school, kid.”

Peter’s tightened his fists. “I wanna go back to Midtown,” He said quietly, scuffing his feet across
the linoleum floor. “I miss my friends.”

Tony nodded. “Midtown it is, then. How much school have you missed?”

Peter met Tony’s gaze. “More than a week.”

“And are you ready to go back?”

Peter blinked. “Tony. How are you going to get me to Queens every morning? It’s an hour and a
half away. Not only that, but you’d have to pick me up every day and drive back up here. That’s a
three hour round trip, not counting if you want to come back once you’ve dropped me off—”

“Let me worry about that, kid,” Tony said briskly. “And you didn’t answer my question. Are you
ready to go back right now?”

Peter bit his lip. He missed his friends terribly; it was like a constant ache. But the thought of going
back, doing his work and talking to people and having to be okay was remarkably unappealing. Not
only that, but the wound of his Aunt’s death was too fresh. Walking on territory he used to frequent
while she was alive would hurt too much.

“No,” Peter admitted. “I’m not. It’s… it’s too soon.”

Sympathy ripped through Tony. “Okay. You don’t have to go back until you’re ready.”

“But I’m going to be so behind,” Peter stressed, his nails pressing into his palms. “I have honors
and AP classes, there’s no way I’m going to be ready for the tests in the spring if I don’t go—”

“Relax, kid,” Tony assured. “You’re practically a genius. You’ll be fine.”

At Peter’s stricken expression, Tony changed tactics. “Or we could go get your work from the
school,” He said hastily. “Maybe you could, I don’t know… email your teachers and have them
get some work together for you to work on?”

Peter pondered the suggestion. “I guess I could do that.”

Tony clapped his hands together. “Excellent. We’ll give that a few days and then we’ll go get it. I
need to conference with your principal anyways.”

Peter blanched. “W-What? Why?”

Tony wasn’t expecting that reaction. “Because you can’t just miss a bunch of school without
consequence. Believe me, I’ve tried. People start looking for you and shit.” He said slowly.

“Oh. Okay, yeah, you’re right.” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Tony raised an eyebrow but ignored the gesture. “Get back to work. This is supposed to be your
punishment, remember?”

Peter mocked him with an eyebrow raise of his own. “This isn’t much of a punishment?”

“Ah, it isn’t?” Tony asked gleefully. He grabbed his oil can and purposefully poured oil on the
ground. “Oh no. Look, a mess. Peter, go get that mop and clean it up,” He gestured to the mop that
sat idle in the corner.

Peter’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”

Tony crossed his arms, trying his hardest not to laugh. “You stole my car. You get to clean up the
mess.”

Peter scowled at Tony but got up anyways. “Are you going to hang that over my head forever?” He
asked as he grabbed the mop and bucket.

“Yep,” Tony said, turning back to his work. “Get used to it, kid.”

--

Tony made two phone calls that evening.

The first was to Midtown High School. He had found the number online and excused himself to his
daytime office, feeding Peter a lie about a short meeting. The kid didn’t need to stress about the
meeting until it actually happened.

It took a while, but it was settled: He and Peter would have a meeting with Principal Morita the
following Wednesday, on December 12th.

The second call was to his retail agent, Ed. He answered on the second ring.

“Mr. Stark? What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Ed. I’m going to need you to do me a favor.”

“Anything, sir.”

“Remember when I sold Stark Tower? Yeah, I’m going to need it back.”

It was silent on the line. “You… you want the Tower back?”

“Yeah, pretty sure I just said that.”

“… Mr. Stark, we were going to sell it tomorrow. We have a buyer; he’s willing to pay 800 million
for it.”

“I don’t care,” Tony said, settling into his office chair. “It’s my tower. Cancel the transaction, tell
the guy to fuck off, all of that jazz. I want it back.”

There was a long silence. “O-Okay. Uh… we’ll get right on it, Mr. Stark… sir. Er… when do you
want the tower back by?”

Tony pursed his lips. “I’ll let you know on Monday. Thanks, Ed.”

He hung up before Ed could answer.

Tony sighed, cradling his glass of apple juice in his hands. His idea was for him and Peter to move
back to the city, and to live in his old tower.

Truth be told, the last thing he wanted was to live in that Tower again. That was why he put it on
the market in the first place. After Siberia, he couldn’t stand to even be in it. Staring at places that
used to be occupied by the warmth of friendship and company consistently wrecked him, and he
would turn to the only thing that took all of his worries away: alcohol.

He knew it was unhealthy, but after Siberia, he spiraled. Pepper was gone, and all of his friends
were fugitives. He didn't eat enough, he drank too much, and he didn’t leave his workshop. Every
 time he would close his eyes, he pictured Steve, sat on top of him, about to impale him with his
shield.

Rhodey, who couldn’t even walk, was worried about him. He suggested therapy, and even
recommended someone to him. But accepting help wasn’t in his nature, especially since no one
seemed to care about his problems. So, he did what Starks did best; endured in a stoic, drunken
silence.

But it got better. Ross died and Steve (and crew) got pardoned, and their relationship was much
better. Tony was still apprehensive about going back to the tower, however, as the Compound was
much safer, for both his mind and body.

But this time, he had someone to take care of. Maybe it would be better.

Tony sighed, downed his apple juice, and left his office.

Chapter End Notes

As always, feedback is much appreciated, but please be nice. I'll update soon!
 Hallowed
Chapter Summary

"Tony gazed down at Peter, whose face was white, his pupils dilated in fear.
'I have to go,' He repeated, his voice no longer a yell. He shook off Peter’s hold. 'You
are staying.'"

Chapter Notes

Lmao what even is my posting schedule anymore.

So I got excited and have decided to post two days before I was planning on it.
Also, I love this chapter. Like, a lot.
Enjoy the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter was getting better.

It made Tony painfully happy to see. The heavy weight that had settled in the kid’s eyes had lifted
a little, he smiled more, and he didn’t shed a single tear the whole rest of that week. He only had
one nightmare, but it wasn’t bad, and he fell asleep right after.

He joked around with Tony and the rest of the Avengers, sparred with Natasha (which just about
gave Tony an ulcer to watch; he didn’t like to see his kid getting kicked around under any
circumstance), and just seemed happier in general.

Until Monday night.

The day was normal. They had spent a lot of time in the lab with Bruce, something Peter seemed to
enjoy immensely. He asked a ton of questions, most of which Bruce had an answer to, and bounced
around looking at all of the projects the man had been working on.

Then Tony had to do a conference call, but that only took an hour, and during the time, Peter
watched Sam and Rhodey play Xbox.

Dinner was a nice affair. Sam cooked, which was a skill Tony didn’t know he possessed, and the
stir-fry he made was surprisingly good.

After dinner, they decided to watch a movie. They picked Forrest Gump, a movie that Steve,
Wanda, and Peter hadn’t seen.

Tony remembered when the movie was released, and he tried not to feel old as the opening scenes
started.

They were only fifteen minutes into the movie when all of their phones went off simultaneously.

Peter immediately looked around at the noise, the hairs on his arms standing up. Something was
wrong.

“FRIDAY, turn on the lights, cut the movie,” Tony ordered. He looked around at his teammates.
“You all got the message?”

“An attack in DC?” Steve questioned, standing. Everyone was staring at their phones, reading the
alert.

“Hydra?" Sam questioned, standing. Peter’s eyes jumped from person to person, nausea curling in
his stomach. Something’s wrong.

“Looks like it, unfortunately,” Natasha said, intently staring at her phone. “They said they’ll brief
us on the Quinjet. We need to go.”

“Bruce or no Bruce?” Rhodey asked, him and Sam standing.

“Let’s bring him just in case,” Natasha said. “We should get going.”

Wanda and Vision straightened as well, Vision phasing back into his Android form.

Tony tapped his watch, sending in the request for a suit. “This better be good. I love Forrest
Gump.”

Finally, Peter stood, the grating feeling of all his senses rebelling making him a little shaky. “I’ll go
get my suit.”

Everyone stared at him.

Peter froze, suddenly feeling like he was onstage. He searched for Tony, his mouth about to open
in a question.

Tony was staring at him as well, a strange expression on his face, something even stranger in his
eyes. The question died on his tongue.

“Funny joke, kid,” Tony said a second later, no humor in his voice. “You’re not going.”

Not going?

Peter stared at him. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m going!”

“No, you’re not.” His voice was quiet. “You’re staying here.”

Peter’s stomach suddenly felt like it was full of lead. “No,” His voice was wavering. “I’m going.”

“Don’t argue with me,” Tony threatened, and now there was something else in Tony’s eyes. Anger.
“You’re not going. Period.”

Irritation flared within Peter. “I can help,” Peter said, his jaw clenched. “You guys can use me!”

“Dammit, Peter,” Tony was quickly losing his temper. He couldn’t let Peter go with them. There
was too much risk, and suddenly all Tony could see was his kid, lying on the ground, broken and
bleeding… “I said no.”

“We’ll be on the helipad,” Natasha muttered to Tony, glancing back at Peter before gesturing for
the rest of the group to follow her.
“I don’t care,” Peter countered Tony angrily. “I’m going. You can’t stop me.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony accepted the challenge. “FRIDAY, Peter is not allowed to leave this Compound
under any circumstances.”

There was a ringing in Peter’s ears. His heart was pounding, both with anger and fear. “So you’re
just going to keep me here? I’m not a child!”

“Yes, you are!” Tony bit out. “You are fifteen years old, dammit. You are not an Avenger, and this
is not your fight.”

“You offered me a spot on the team!” Peter’s voice was inching towards a yell. “What if I want to
accept the offer?”

“I said no!” Tony yelled, his chest heaving. “Stop arguing with me! I have to go.”

There were tears in Peter’s eyes. He could already feel the loneliness start to invade. Tony turned to
leave, and Peter’s hand jutted out and grasped the older man’s wrist, stopping him.

“Don’t go,” Peter whispered, his heartbeat in his ears. “Please. Don’t leave me here alone. Please.”

His pleas were making him sound younger than he was, which he knew he would resent later. But
there was pure, unadulterated fear pulsing through his veins at the thought of being alone.

Tony gazed down at Peter, whose face was white, his pupils dilated in fear.

“I have to go,” He repeated, his voice no longer a yell. He shook off Peter’s hold. “You are
staying.”

He was walking away again. Peter made a small noise of desperation and trailed behind him.
“Please. Tony. I can’t. I can’t be alone. Please.”

Tony didn’t look back. He kept walking towards the elevator, each step feeling like a betrayal.

“Don’t go,” Shamefully, tears trailed down Peter’s cheeks. “Please. Don’t leave me here.”

Tony got in the elevator, his heart breaking. “I’ll be back, Peter.”

Peter reached out, trying to stop Tony, but the elevator was already shooting upwards, taking his
guardian away from him.

--

The Quinjet fell silent when Tony got on, hands forcibly shoved in his pockets, left arm numb and
tingling.

They took off a few seconds later, Tony covering his face with his hands. The kid was going to kill
him.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, and Tony looked through his fingers at him.

“Oh, it’s peachy,” Tony bit out, his temper flaring once again. “Everything is just grand right now,
Cap—”

“Okay, okay,” Natasha interjected, before another argument could start. “What just happened?”
“None of your business,” Tony said angrily.

“Mature. Is Peter okay?” Natasha questioned.

“He’s great. Just fantastic. Not only is he mad at me, but he’s also fucking terrified and he
probably hates me.” Tony spit out, his jaw clenched. “So, it’s just a normal fucking night for us.”

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Bruce interjected. “That kid idolizes you.”

“Probably doesn’t anymore,” Tony muttered, his arms crossed, one finger angrily tapping his
bicep.

“Relax, Tony,” Natasha said. “Kids get over things quickly. You’ll come back, and he’ll be over
it.”

Tony’s mind was suddenly filled with the image of Peter, gripping his wrist, pale and terrified. It
reminded him of when he picked him up from the hospital after May died. The thought made him
feel ill.

Tony cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So, what's going on?”

--

Peter would say that it was the worst night of his life, but he had a lot of “worst nights ever” in his
life.

It was high up on the list, though. After Tony left, he tried all of the possible escapes he knew of,
all of which were locked. He was trapped.

The loneliness was suffocating. He paced the great room, blinking back tears every few minutes.
He knew the fight was probably on TV, but the thought of watching as Tony got… it made him
sick to his stomach. He was alight with anxiety and nerves, his nails pressing on his palms so hard
that it drew blood and he could feel the sparks of pain.

Eventually, his body shut down. He went up to his room and sat there, staring at the wall, feeling
numb and empty. For he was alone, truly. There wasn’t anyone in the entire compound.

There was a horrible sinking feeling in his gut when he thought of Tony not coming back from the
mission. He imagined the Quinjet, falling through the air, crashing hard into the ground. He
imagined Tony, on the battlefield, getting impaled.

He imagined the funeral, just like May’s. He imagined the loneliness swallowing him whole.

The images spurred on the panic attack, and he sat there, shaking like a leaf, his breath catching in
his throat. His hands, throbbing from the crescent shaped cuts in his palms, grabbed at his shirt,
which suddenly felt too tight.

When the attack passed, he was exhausted. The panic sensation was gone, and he quickly fell into
a cold, silent despair. His body curled in on itself and he shut his eyes, too tired and sad to get up
and turn off the light.

Shivering and on the verge of tears, he fell into a slumber, despair a fist around his heart.

--

It was much later when he awoke.

He was greeted with complete darkness, the only light coming from the full moon, which cast
silver shadows onto his bed.

He lazily turned over and closed his eyes again, his mind fuddled with sleep. He had drifted with
the covers off, but now they were snugly tucked underneath his chin.

A second later, his eyes were flying open as memories trickled back. He looked around wildly, his
movements lethargic with the residue of being unconscious, before his eyes landed on a dark figure
sat on the edge of his bed.

Emotions so powerful ran through him that in an instant, his eyes were burning with tears.

“Tony?” He asked, his voice cracking halfway through the word.

“Hey, kid,” Tony’s voice was weary but warm, and the tears spilled onto Peter’s cheeks.

He immediately reached out and latched himself onto Tony, his face pressing into his collar bone,
his hands clutching the soft fabric of his shirt.

He felt the man sigh as he wrapped an arm around him, his other hand coming up and entangling
itself in Peter’s curls.

Peter let out a sob, his body shaking.

“Shh,” Tony murmured, gently rocking the two of them. “You’re okay.”

“I didn’t think you were going to come back,” Peter sobbed, relief so potent flowing through him
that he couldn’t help but fall apart. “I th-thought I was going to be alone again.”

Tony shushed him again, running a tired hand down the shaking kid’s back. “I’m here now. I’m
not going to leave again.”

Peter shivered, and Tony hugged him tighter, trying to put as much comfort as possible into the
action. Peter clung to him like he was afraid Tony would vanish into thin air if he let him go.

After some time, Peter stopped crying, and just shivered his guardian’s hold.

“Are you cold?” He finally asked, when Peter’s shivering began to make him anxious.

“I’m always cold these days,” Peter whispered, successfully scaring the shit out of Tony. His hold
on the kid tightened even more, just short of crushing.

It was silent for a few seconds, before Tony spoke. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said quietly. "I'm sorry for arguing."

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek, debating on how to say his next sentence, which he ended up
saying very slowly. “We don’t communicate very well, and I think that’s my fault. But—” He
made circles on Peter’s back with his thumb. “You need to tell me when you’re sad, upset,
anxious… because this isn’t working, Peter.”

This isn’t working. The words felt like a blow to chest.

“I’m a lot to deal with,” Peter whispered. “I’m sorry. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I did sign up for this, and stop apologizing,” Tony said, Peter feeling the man’s chest vibrate with
 each word. “We just need to be able to talk, which I am terrible at, may I add,” Tony mentally fist
pumped when he heard Peter laugh quietly. “But I need to know when you’re not okay, Pete. You
need to talk to me, and me with you, when either of us have a problem.”

Peter was quiet for a few minutes, scaring Tony a little.

“Okay,” Peter said eventually, his voice small. “We can try that.”

Tony released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Good.”

Peter sighed into Tony’s shirt, exhaustion suddenly hitting him. “I’m sleepy.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me, kid,” Tony said gruffly, peeling Peter from him, who protested. “Come
on, lay down.”

Peter grumbled, but he did lay down, worn out. His eyes were drifting closed as Tony gently pulled
the covers up to his chin.

“Goodnight, T’ny,” Peter murmured, half-asleep.

A quiet laugh, and then, “Goodnight, Peter.”

And he was asleep.

Chapter End Notes

Ahh, I love these two. This story is so much fun to write.

As always, feedback is much appreciated!.
 But Hesitated
Chapter Summary

"'I don’t want to be alone,' Peter said quietly. 'I’m tired of being alone.'
'I know buddy,' Tony said softly. 'You’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere, ever. I’m
going to always be here, even if I have to go away for a little bit.'"

Chapter Notes

Hi guys, this chapter is early because I can't ever stick to a posting schedule.
I really love this chapter; it's soft and sweet and definitely one of my favorites.
Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next day, Tony announced that he was taking Peter out to lunch.

It startled Peter, who hadn’t left the Compound since his escapade to the city. But he got ready
nonetheless, changing into a pair of jeans and a nice shirt that he found in his closet.

Tony collected him from his room and they rode down to the garage together. Peter immediately
noticed that the car he stole was back in its parking spot, and he looked down guiltily as he got into
the passenger seat in one of Tony’s less flashy cars.

The restaurant Tony took him to wasn’t far. They got out of the warm car and into the icy rain, and
the both of them ran into the restaurant, not wanting to get wet.

The restaurant was really nice. He felt under dressed, but when he voiced his concern to Tony,
Tony assured him that he was fine.

The hostess seemed flustered when she took in the frankly intimidating form of Tony Stark, and at
his request, sat the two of them in a private corner of the restaurant.

Peter looked at the menu and immediately blanched at the prices. Thirty dollars for a bowl of
spaghetti? He was used to boxed pasta and store-bought, warm-in-the-microwave marinara sauce,
the total of which would only add to about five dollars.

“Tony,” Peter said quietly. “The spaghetti is thirty dollars.”

Tony fixed him with a weird look. “Uh, yeah. That’s what it says. Why?”

“That’s so expensive!” Peter sputtered. “We can’t afford—” The words died in his mouth. He
suddenly remembered who he was talking to.

Tony Stark, philanthropist, genius, and most importantly, a billionaire.

“Kid,” Tony said, amused. “I think we’ll be okay.”

Peter turned red. “Right,” He said quietly, hiding his face in his menu.

He ended up ordering the thirty-dollar spaghetti, still feeling guilty at the cost. He and May weren’t
necessarily poor, but he knew May sometimes had to take extra shifts at the hospital to make ends
meet.

It still hurt to think her name, so he shut down the thought process before he started crying in the
middle of a fancy restaurant.

Tony ordered a filet mignon, and the waiter left, leaving Tony and Peter alone.

Peter took a sip from his water, unsure of what to do.

“So, talking,” Tony said, leaning back, then thinking better of it and leaning forward, clasping his
hands together on the table.

“Right. Uh…” Peter couldn’t help but feel awkward. His hands unconsciously formed into fists.
“Do we have to?”

“Afraid so, kid,” There was a hint of apology in Tony’s voice. “I might need to go away again.”

The breath caught in Peter’s throat and he made a strangled noise. “You’re leaving?”

“No, no,” Tony quickly clarified, alarmed at Peter’s distress. “Not right now, hopefully not soon.
But we can’t have a repeat of what happened every time I need to leave.”

Peter forced himself to breathe and nodded. “Oh-Okay.”

“Yeah, uh…” Tony felt so out of his depth. “So, you’re scared of being alone.”

Peter winced, and Tony felt bad for being so blunt. “No, I’m n—” Tony fixed him with a look, and
Peter immediately conceded. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Why? You know that I’m going to come back,” Tony asked, the awkwardness starting to melt a
little.

“No, I don’t know if you’re coming back,” Peter said, his chest feeling tight. “You… You could
say you’re coming back, but then something could happen, and I’ll be all alone—”

“Hey,” Tony said softly. “Nothing’s going to happen, Peter. The chances of anything happening
are—”

“What were the chances of my parents getting in a plane crash?” Peter interjected hotly, his heart
hammering. “What were the chances of Ben getting shot? What were the chances of May getting in
a c-car accident?”

Tony stared at him, silently cursing himself. You’re making it worse. “I-I’m sorry,” Tony said
quietly. “I should have chosen my words more carefully.”

“Disaster follows me, Tony,” Peter said helplessly, a weight settling on his chest. “It follows me,
and it takes away everything I love. And soon, it’s going to take you away too.”

The desperation and sadness in Peter’s speech knocked the breath out of Tony. Oh, Peter, his heart
ached for the kid.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Peter,” Tony said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere, nothing’s
going to take me away.” I care about you too much.

“You don’t know that,” Peter said desperately. “Something’s going to happen, and I’m going to be
alone forever with the fucking numbness—“

“Numbness? What numbness?” Tony asked sharply, so alarmed that he didn’t tell Peter off for
language.

Peter suddenly looked like he had said too much. He looked down at the table. “It’s nothing. I
just… I feel… I feel weird when I’m alone. It’s like I’m feeling too much but nothing at all at the
same time. It… it’s horrible and I…” Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I can’t deal
with feeling like that, Tony.”

Jesus Christ. Tony was staring at Peter, his face pale, his heart lurching painfully for the poor,
broken child in front of him.

“Your filet mignon, sir,” The waiter was there, suddenly, placing a warm, medium rare steak in
front of Tony. He didn’t spare the waiter or his food even a glance, he was too busy staring at Peter
in horror.

A hot plate of spaghetti was placed in front of Peter. He was staring down at his lap, his cheeks
red. He mumbled a thanks to the waiter, twisting his napkin under the table.

“Kid…” Tony said quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Peter didn’t look up. “I… It hurts to talk about.”

Fuck, this kid is actually going to give me a heart attack. Tony breathed in heavily through his
nose, feeling incredibly nauseous. “Peter…” Tony said sadly. “This is why we need to talk. I need
to know these things, kiddo, so I know what upsets you. We need to figure out something that
works, for the both of us.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Peter said quietly. “I’m tired of being alone.”

“I know buddy,” Tony said softly. “You’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere, ever. I’m going to
always be here, even if I have to go away for a little bit.”

Peter picked up his fork, then thought better of it, and dropped it. He took a deep breath. “But what
if something happens?” His voice was childlike, and his eyes were large, round, and scared.

“Kid, I’m Iron Man,” Tony said, like it was obvious. He cut into his steak, not because he was
hungry but because he needed to do something with his hands. “I’ve survived against all odds. I’ve
been tortured, almost drowned, poisoned, thrown into space… I don’t think you have to worry.”

Peter picked up his fork again and moved the spaghetti around on his plate. “Am I being stupid?”

Curveball. “What do you mean?”

“Is it… is it stupid, or—or childish, that I want you around at all times?” Peter was suddenly
embarrassed. No one wants a clingy kid.

“No,” Tony sounded sad. “You just have separation anxiety, with maybe a little bit of PTSD
thrown in.”

Peter was startled with how ready Tony was with that answer. “H-How do you…”
“I was worried about you,” Tony said, taking a small bite of his steak. “So, last night, I did some
research. Separation anxiety disorder seemed to match up pretty well, and I’m the posterchild of
PTSD so I think you might have a bit of that as well.”

The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked up. “Did you become a therapist overnight?”

Tony grinned. “WebMd is a gift, kid. You don’t need a degree for that.”

Peter snorted and twirled the spaghetti around his fork before taking a bite.

His eyes popped as his taste buds danced. Huh, thirty-dollar spaghetti.

They ate in relative silence, Tony trying his hardest to enjoy his expensive steak but finding it
difficult. Peter is suffering worse than I thought. How did I not notice how bad it's gotten?

God. If his heart condition doesn’t kill him, the guilt probably will.

He paid once they were done eating, Peter finishing his entire plate of spaghetti and the slice of
cheesecake Tony ordered him for dessert.

They had to dart to the car, since the cold rain from either had turned into a freezing rain, small
pellets of ice sticking to their hair as they ran.

Once inside the car, Tony started the engine and cranked the heat to the highest setting. Fuck
winter, he thought bitterly, running a hand through his damp hair. I miss summer.

“I wonder if Midtown has the day off today because of the weather,” Peter mused, shivering
slightly as the car slowly warmed up.

“Who knows,” Tony put the car in reverse and backed out of his parking space. “Speaking of
Midtown, our conference is tomorrow.”

He saw Peter go still out of the corner of his eye. “O-oh. Right.”

“What’s up? You nervous?” Tony asked, peeling out of the parking lot.

“A little, yeah,” Peter said quietly, staring out the windshield.

“Don’t be,” Tony spared Peter a quick look. “I’ll be there.”

“I’m not nervous about the meeting,” Peter blurted, looking scared.

Tony looked in his side mirror before pulling the car over, turning his body so he’s looking at
Peter. “Talk to me, kid. What’s bothering you?”

Peter’s hands were balled into fists, something that Tony was starting to notice he did when he was
nervous. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I’ve been too, uh…”

“Scared?” Tony guessed, hating himself. Am I that unapproachable?

Peter bit his lip and nodded. “Because I don’t… I don’t even know if I want to do it. But I think I
need to.”

Tony reached out and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Come on, bud. Out with it.”

“Can we go to my old apartment afterwards and… and get some stuff?” Peter looked terrified at
the thought.

Suddenly, Tony wasn’t pulled over on the side of the road in upstate New York. He was 17, at his
parent’s house in Santa Barbara, a pink sweater in his hand. The air smelled like perfume and was
thick with his sobs, his lungs constricted so he couldn’t breathe…

Fuck, Tony shut his eyes briefly. I’m tired of all these goddamn parallels.

“Yeah,” Tony said softly, feeling a burning pain in his chest. “Yeah, we can.”

Peter didn’t relax, but he nodded. “Thank you.”

Tony sighed deeply and pulled back into the road, already mentally preparing himself for the next
day.

--

When Peter was startled from his sleep by Tony the next morning, the last thing he wanted to do
was get up.

Not only was his bed so warm and comfy, but he had been dreading this day since Tony mentioned
it about a week ago.

It wasn’t the meeting with the principal he was worried about, however. It was going back to his
old apartment.

He didn’t want to do it. Actually, it was the last thing he wanted to do. The apartment held too
many ghosts, too many good memories turned sour by the passing of his aunt.

But he knew he couldn’t let the memories, no matter how bitter they've gotten, get repossessed.

That didn’t mean he wanted to get out of bed, however…

“Kid, you’ve gotta get up,” Tony said, shaking Peter once more. “Come on, Pete.”

“Still sleeping, sorry,” He muttered, his eyes still closed.

“Seriously? I even got Sam to make you waffles,” Tony sounded incredibly offended, and it made
Peter crack a smile. “I guess I’ll just let Steve eat them all…”

Peter’s eyes shot open. Steve ate just as much as he did, so he knew that there wouldn’t be any left
if the man got to them first.

Tony was stood over his bed, already showered, dressed in a sharp suit. He was already donning
sunglasses, giving him the signature Tony Stark look.

“Up and at em, kid,” Tony said, ruffling Peter’s messy hair. “Our meeting’s at 9, so we’ve got to
leave in forty-five minutes.”

It was the thought of being late that propelled Peter out of bed, rushing to the bathroom to shower
and get ready.

They managed to get out of the compound by seven-thirty, a feat Peter couldn’t believe they
managed (The waffles Sam made were delicious, even when they were scarfed down in about
seven minutes). Peter was donning a white button up shirt underneath a gray sweater and one of his
nicer pairs of jeans, his curly hair still damp but looking decent.
 Tony pulled out of the garage, and they started their long drive to the city.

Condensation made the window foggy and Peter used his sleeve to wipe it off, so he could watch
as the trees few past. The car was pleasantly warm, and Peter wanted to curl up and go back to
sleep.

Tony fiddled with the radio, settling on a classic rock station. He drummed his thumbs on the
steering wheel to the beat, occasionally mumbling the lyrics to the songs under his breath. Peter
laid his head against the cool window, his eyes drifting shut.

He was about to fall asleep, the heat of the car like a blanket around him, when suddenly the radio
blared loudly.

Peter jumped violently, his senses making the sound even louder. His hand shot out to turn it
down, but Tony beat him to it, cackling.

“Why?” Peter asked weakly, shaken up.

“No dozing off in my car,” Tony said, still chortling. “If I’m awake, so are you, kid.”

“You’re always awake, Tony,” Peter mumbled, laying his head back on the window. “That was
cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Oh, poor baby Petey,” Tony teased. “Can’t handle a little loud music?”

Peter’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “Not when it’s Pat Benatar. Pick better music next time.”

“You don’t like Hit Me With Your Best Shot?” Tony looked scandalized. “It’s a goddamn classic,
kid. You’re lucky I don’t kick you to the curb for that.”

“None of her songs are good, Tony—”

“Alright, get out of the car. You’re officially done.”

Peter laughed. “I never pegged you as a Pat Benatar fan.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony challenged. “Why’s that?”

“I thought you liked better music…”

Tony blistered, and Peter laughed harder.

“Okay, confession,” Tony said a few minutes later. Peter quirked an eyebrow as Tony spoke in a
low voice. “I hate Pat Benatar.”

This time, they both laughed.

Chapter End Notes

Aww, that's nice. The next chapter is... not so happy, but it's LONG and probably my
favorite, so look out for it :)
As always, feedback is much appreciated.
See you in less than a week (probably)!
 Shallow
Chapter Summary

"'It’s not my stuff that I’m worried about, it’s… it’s hers,' Peter’s eyes were wide, but
they had a resolve in them that made Tony’s heart lurch with pride. 'It just… I just feel
like it should be me, you know? To get her stuff.'”

Chapter Notes

Me? Actually sticking to an upload schedule? More likely than you'd think I suppose.
So, I love this chapter like a whole bunch, and oh boy is it long. It's like a little over
3,000 words? It's a lot.
Uh, so someone throws up in this chapter so disclaimer if you're grossed out by that
sort of thing.
Okay, I'm done. Enjoy! This is one of my favorite things I've ever written!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

However, an hour later, as they were driving through Manhattan, nobody was laughing.

Anxiety had gripped Peter, hard. His fingernails were embedded in his hands, and he was restless,
shifting in his seat.

He wasn’t sure why he was so anxious. It was just his stupid school, and he wasn’t even attending
classes.

But what if someone saw him? With Tony Stark? The questions would never stop.

Not only that, but the last time he had been at the school, May had been alive. The thought brought
a lump to his throat.

“You okay?” Tony asked as they crossed the bridge into Queens.

“I’m fine,” Peter said automatically. Tony gave him a look, and he conceded. “I’m… I’m anxious.
Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Pete. Why are you anxious?” Tony asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Peter didn’t answer. He looked out the window, his heart jumping at the familiar sights.

“Kid.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He mumbled.

“Nope, try again,” Tony countered.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Peter snapped.

“Watch your tone, kid,” Tony’s voice was hard, and he gave Peter a stern look before softening his
tone. “I know you’re anxious, but I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”

Peter crossed his arms. “You don’t understand.”

“Au contraire, mon frère,” Tony quipped. “You know what they say about assumptions.”

Peter’s mouth twisted, but he remained silent.

They pulled up to Midtown High, then. The sight of the school twisted a knot in his stomach.

“Peter,” Tony said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. Peter turned and looked at Tony with
panicked eyes. “Calm down. It’ll be fine.”

Peter sucked in a breath, although it felt like his lungs had disappeared, and nodded. Tony nodded
as well and got out of the car.

Peter stepped out into the December air, the cold biting at his hands. He shoved them in his
pockets.

Tony walked around the car, put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and led them both inside.

They made it to the main office without coming into contact with any student, but then they had to
deal with the flabbergasted secretary, who seemed unable to grasp the concept that Tony Stark was
standing in her office. Luckily, only a minute after Tony and Peter had walked in, the principal
came out of his office. He shook hands with Tony, and Peter noticed that Tony had slipped into his
business persona as he led Peter into the principal’s office.

The chairs were uncomfortable, and the office was hot, but if Tony noticed either of those things,
he didn’t say anything. He sat up straight, one of his legs crossed over the other, as Principal
Morita offered him coffee.

“Sure,” Tony replied. “Black, please. Thank you.”

As Morita busied himself with the Keurig that sat by his desk, Tony looked over to Peter.

“You okay?” He asked lowly, his business exterior dropping briefly. Peter nodded, his fists
clenched on his lap. Tony patted his knee affectionately.

Morita gave Tony his coffee, who took it with a nod of thanks.

Principal Morita sat at his desk and listened attentively as Tony explained the situation. Peter
couldn’t help but envy how charismatic the man was. Tony was calm, collected, and businesslike;
everything about him dripped wealth and sophistication. If Morita was intimidated, he didn’t show
it.

Peter was insanely thankful that Tony took charge of the meeting, because Peter knew that if he
said anything, it would most likely come out wrong and he would end up sounding like an idiot.

The meeting lasted a half an hour, during which Peter sat silently, sweat gathering on his forehead.

But it was settled: Peter would return to school after the holidays, and his missing work would be
sent to him via email.

Both Tony and Morita stood and shook hands, and Peter followed suit. He took Morita’s hand
when it was offered and shook it too quickly.
Then they walked out of the main office and towards the front of the school.

They were almost to the doors when Peter heard a “Hey, loser!”

Peter’s blood ran cold. Please don’t be Flash, please don’t be Flash…

He turned stiffly and was relieved to see MJ, walking calmly down the hall towards where he and
Tony stood.

“Oh. He-hey, MJ,” Peter stuttered, caught completely off guard.

“Why haven’t you been coming to practice?” She demanded, holding a book called March: Book
One. “Flash has had to stand in for you, and he is really trying my patience.”

“I’m sorry!” Peter put his hands out. “Just… stuff’s been happening. I’ll be back after break.”

“You better,” MJ threatened. “Semi-Finals are in February, and I don’t want to have to deal with
Flash for that. Not only that, but Ned is getting on my nerves. He doesn’t shut up. Like, ever.”

“I’ll be back, I promise,” Peter insisted, forgetting that Tony was standing right next to him until he
cleared his throat.

MJ tilted her head up to look at him, eyes squinted. “Huh,” She said, her tone bored. “I thought
you’d be taller.”

Tony sputtered, and MJ turned her attention back to Peter. “Take care of yourself, loser. You look
like shit.”

And with that, she turned her heel, and walked down the hall.

Peter watched her go, before turning to Tony. “Let’s get out of here.”

They stepped back out into the cold and hurried to Tony’s car.

Peter got in, shut the door, and shivered. Tony started the engine.

“Who was that?” He asked, turning to Peter.

“MJ,” Peter shrugged. “She’s a friend and captain of the Decathalon team.”

“Huh,” Tony said. “She’s intimidating.”

Peter laughed. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Tony chuckled, putting the car in reverse and backing out of his parking space.

“Where to, kid?” Tony asked, pulling out of the school.

The smile on Peter’s face immediately fled. The apartment. “Oh. Uh…”

Tony looked at Peter. “It’s up to you.”

The thought of even being back in the apartment made his stomach hurt, but he knew he had to.

He couldn’t let May’s stuff get repossessed. It was all he had left of her.

“T-The apartment,” Peter said quietly, apprehension settling like a weight in his stomach. Tony
nodded, pulling out of the parking lot.

--

Tony parked the car in front of Peter’s old apartment building, sat back, and looked over at his kid,
trying to read his expression.

It wasn’t very difficult. Peter was white as a sheet, his fists trembling.

“Peter,” Tony said, worried. “You don’t have to do this. I can get someone to pick up your stuff.”

“It’s not my stuff that I’m worried about, it’s… it’s hers,” Peter’s eyes were wide, but they had a
resolve in them that made Tony’s heart lurch with pride. “It just… I just feel like it should be me,
you know? To get her stuff.”

Tony sighed and gripped Peter’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. God, I’m so proud of you. “Alright
kid,” He said. “Just you and me. Let’s go.”

--

The elevator was broken, which didn’t surprise Peter in the slightest.

If Tony was put off by the idea of taking the stairs, he didn’t let it show. They reached the third
floor, and Peter’s anxiety kicked into overdrive, making him stop at the top of the stairs.

“Pete? You alright?” Tony asked, looking behind him at Peter.

Peter wanted to assure him that he was, but the words died on his tongue.

He realized he was shivering, then. Maybe they turned off the heat in the building. Maybe there
was a window open.

“Cold,” Peter mumbled.

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not cold in here, Peter.”

The hairs on Peter’s arms were standing up as his stomach curled with nausea. Something’s wrong.

“Tony,” Peter said, swaying where he stood, feeling lightheaded. The world was tilting, and his
knees were buckling. Something’s wrong.

“Woah, woah,” Tony immediately reached out to hold Peter, who looked like he was about to faint.
“Okay. You’re okay.”

“Tony,” Peter said again, his mouth feeling like it was full of cotton, an overwhelming sense of
dread filling him. Something’s wrong. “Tony. Something’s wrong.”

“Hey, it’s okay, kid. We don’t have to do this,” Tony said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
“I’ll get someone to come by and get some stuff—”

“Tony,” Peter said loudly, trying to convey what he was experiencing, but feeling too locked down
with terror to explain it. “I can’t— Something’s wrong.”

“Peter,” The alarm was creeping into Tony’s voice. “What do you mean?”

“I can feel it,” Peter gasped, bile creeping up his throat. “I think it’s my s-spider sense… it’s…”
Tony’s face drained of color. “Are we going to be attacked?” He asked in a flat voice.

Peter felt like throwing up. “I… I don’t know. I…”

Tony made a noise deep in his throat and started messing with his watch. A second later, his hand
was covered in the red metal of his Iron-Man armor.

“Is it in the apartment?” Tony asked, his voice low.

“I don’t know,” Peter swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in his mouth.

Slowly, Tony crept towards the apartment, his thruster charged, ready to fire at his command.

He kicked the door open, steadying himself into a fighting stance.

There wasn’t anything there, besides the same apartment Tony remembered faintly from when he
recruited Peter, right before Germany.

Wary, Tony walked in, taking in his surroundings.

A thick layer of dust had settled on the furnishings, and the air had a strange, stale smell to it.

Everything looked untouched. There was a blanket thrown on the ground next to the couch, and
there was an empty drinking glass on the coffee table. Both were covered in dust.

Tony instantly knew that no one had been in the apartment since Peter left. The panic that had been
squeezing his heart lessened, but the uneasiness was still there. What had Peter sensed?

Speaking of Peter…

Tony quickly left the apartment and went back to the kid, who was still standing there, pale as a
ghost.

“There’s nothing in the apartment, Pete,” Tony explained, his eyes glued to Peter’s face.

Peter took a deep, gasping breath. “A-Are you sure?” He whispered. The sense of fear was starting
to fade, though. The hairs on his arm had laid back down again and his skin had stopped crawling.

The nausea was still there, but Peter was sure it would linger.

“Are you alright?” Tony asked, as color started to return to Peter’s face.

“I-I think so,” The kid looked incredibly shaken up, and Tony felt the same way.

“Care to explain what just happened?” Tony asked, his thruster phasing off of his wrist.

“I don’t know. I just… I felt like something was going to a-attack me, or something…” Peter tried
to explain. “I’ve felt like that b-before… when I was f-fighting the V-Vulture…”

“But you’re okay, right?” Concern was burning within Tony. “You’re not going to pass out or
anything, right? Maybe we should just go—”

“No!” Peter said vehemently, cutting Tony off. “I’m going to do this. I… I need to do this.”

Tony gave Peter a stern look. “Kid, you literally almost passed out, like, two minutes ago.”

“I’m fine now,” Peter insisted, fixing Tony with a pleading look. “Please, Tony. If we leave, I
won’t be able to convince myself to do this again.”

The goddamn puppy dog eyes, Tony thought, his heart melting at Peter’s expression. They’re going
to be the death of me. “Okay. Okay, fine.”

Peter sighed in relief. “Thank you.” He set his face. “L-Let’s do this.”

--

It was a lot harder than Peter thought it was going to be.

The second he entered the apartment, it was like someone had driven a sledgehammer to his
stomach. The blanket was like he had left it when he had received the call from the hospital. His
door was open, from when he nearly wrenched it off its hinges, trying to retrieve his web-shooters
as quickly as possible.

The room smelled musty, and it overwhelmed his senses immediately. He wanted to leave, but he
willed himself to stay.

“Where do you want to start, kid?” Tony asked softly.

“My room,” He said, walking towards it, trying to seem confident.

It was like he had left it: a mess. There were gadgets thrown everywhere, his bed was unmade,
there were clothes scattered across the floor.

Peter stared at the mess, his mind trying to figure out how he was going to transport all of it.

A few seconds later, Tony appeared with a trash bag. “I found this in the pantry. Just stuff it in
here, we’ll go through it at home.”

Peter nodded wordlessly, taking the trash bag and starting to shove stuff into it.

He went through the room pretty quickly, his body on autopilot, his mind far away. Each item had
a memory attached to it, and he found himself getting caught up in a tide of thoughts.

He forgot Tony was there until the man shook his shoulder. “Pete. I’ve been calling your name for
five minutes.”

Peter scrubbed a hand across his face, surprised at the fact that it was dry. “Sorry. I was, er,
thinking.”

Tony nodded, his mouth pressed into a line.

“I think I’m done,” Peter said, a knot forming in his stomach as a lump sat in his throat. “I… I
guess we should do… h-her room.”

“Peter,” Peter didn't know Tony’s voice could get so soft. “Don’t torture yourself. Please.”

Peter swallowed, his stomach turning. He felt queasy, but he pushed past Tony nonetheless.

The door to May’s bedroom was foreboding, and he stopped in his tracks right in front of it.

He could feel Tony behind him, and he wanted to prove that he could do it. So, he stiffened his
resolve, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
He was instantly greeted with the flowery smell of May’s perfume, and another smell that
reminded Peter of home, and safety.

The room was clean; spotless, actually. The curtains were drawn, her vanity clear of clutter.

At the end of her bed, was an outfit. Just simple black pants, a blouse, and a sweater.

Peter forgot that May used to plan her outfits the day before she went to work. She said that she
liked to be prepared, so she wasn’t rushing around in the morning looking for something to wear.

She would never wear that outfit. She would never go to work again.

It was a mistake to come back here. It was a mistake to think Peter could walk into her room and
not be reminded of what was, of what would never be again.

The grief choked him, and his stomach rebelled. The next minute found him kneeling in front of
the toilet as he emptied his stomach, sobs mixing with heaves, tears dripping off his face.

Tony was in the kitchen, searching the sour-smelling fridge for a bottle of water.

He knew it was a mistake the second Peter walked in. He was behind him, so he couldn’t see his
face, but god, the room was saturated with the woman’s perfume. Even he could smell it, and he
didn’t have Peter’s senses.

He wasn’t the least bit surprised when he heard Peter heave in front of him, nor when he sprinted
to the bathroom and threw up.

And now here he was, pushing past rotten produce and nearly-month old leftovers to find his
vomiting kid a bottle of water.

He found one, unopened, and he slammed the fridge door hard, letting himself be angry at the
world for a moment, angry at whatever higher power there was that Peter had to deal with all this
hurt, all this suffering.

He went to the bathroom after collecting himself, and found Peter sobbing into the toilet, the sound
punctured by choking heaves.

Tony sat on the floor, right behind the kid. He rubbed his back, a feeling he’d never felt overtaking
his body and making him short of breath. He silently thanked his drunken past for his strong
stomach, the first time he had ever applauded his alcoholism for anything.

Peter was shaking violently; from being sick or from emotional upheaval, Tony didn’t know.

Peter’s retching turned into dry heaves, and eventually stopped altogether. Tony reached over and
flushed the toilet, pushing the water into Peter’s hand.

“Drink,” He said, knowing that the kid would be dehydrated.

Peter took a sip, tears still running down his face. “I’ve gotta—”

“No,” Tony’s voice was hard. There was no room for argument. “We’re done here.”

“No,” Peter groaned. “No, Tony, I’ve gotta—”

“Jesus Christ, Peter,” Tony said, anger overtaking him for a moment. “Do you even see yourself
right now? You are on the ground, sobbing.”
 “I don’t care!” Peter bit out, salty tears getting in his mouth. “I have to do this—”

“You don’t!” Tony was shouting, his frustration boiling over. “You don’t have to do this! You are
fifteen years old, dammit, stop fucking torturing yourself! I don’t know what you think you’re
doing, whether you think your suffering is retribution or something, but it’s got to stop!”

Peter looked over at Tony with an expression of misery, and Tony just about lost his mind.

“We’re leaving,” He stood, before helping Peter to his feet. “Come on.”

Peter was still shaking, but he was surprisingly steady on his feet. Tony kept one arm around him
and used the other arm to carry the trash bag full of stuff from Peter’s room.

He closed the door to the apartment behind him, and they made their way down the stairs and back
out into the cold.

Peter got in the passenger’s side while Tony put the bag of stuff in the trunk. He also grabbed the
cotton blanket that he kept in the back of his car, before closing the trunk and getting in the
driver’s side.

He covered Peter with the blanket and started the car, pulling out of his parking space.

Peter was quiet. His head was laid against the window, his knees pulled up to his chest. Tony’s
heart ached for him as they crossed the Queensboro Bridge back over to Manhattan.

They were soon on the highway, and Tony didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. He just drove in
silence, occasionally glancing over at the kid, who hadn’t moved since they got into the car.

It was a half an hour into the drive that Tony realized the kid hadn’t eaten lunch and had thrown up
his breakfast. “Are you hungry?”

A small nod.

“What would you like?”

He was expecting silence, but instead he received a quiet, “McDonalds.”

Tony snorted. He hadn’t been to a McDonalds since college. “Classy,” He remarked, but got off
the highway at the next exit nonetheless.

“What would you like?” He asked, pulling up to the drive thru.

“Big mac and large fry,” Peter mumbled, and Tony smirked.

The car reeked of fast food, and Peter accidentally spilled ketchup on his seat, but fuck, it was
suddenly the best goddamn thing in the world to Tony.

Chapter End Notes

I don't know why I like Tony saying "Don't torture yourself," to Peter in a soft voice so
much but FUCk it killed my heart when I wrote it.
As always, thank you for reading and feedback is much appreciated!
See you guys soon!
 But Full in All Your Veins
Chapter Summary

"Then he chose the side of a murderer and left him for dead in the middle of Siberian
winter. He had betrayed everything: all the confidences, all of the trust, all of the
brotherhood.
And fuck, it hurt. It took a lot for Tony to build trust in someone, and Steve had torn it
down, and Tony with it."

Chapter Notes

New Chapter! Ayyy.

So this chapter is the start of a story arc I like to call, "Tony Stark Is Not Okay." It's
really angsty (I mean, all of my writing is angsty, this is just, like, double the angst) so
be prepared for that.
Anyways, enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony found out why Peter’s senses had gone haywire in the hall of the apartment building the next
morning.

He was scrolling through his private Twitter, looking at news headlines, when he found it.

“Peter,” He said instantly, a strange feeling in the pit of his gut.

The kid looked up from his cereal, looking tired but alert.

It had been a rough night, for the both of them. Tony got about an hour of sleep, and Peter didn’t
get much more. The kid had trouble falling asleep, and then woke up violently from a nightmare.

He eventually fell back asleep, but then Tony was up the rest of the night, worrying.

“What?” Peter asked, his mouth full.

Tony showed him the headline, his mouth pressed into a line.

“Local Woman Stabbed To Death In Queens Apartment,” was the simple headline.

“This woman was stabbed to death in the apartment below where we were standing,” Tony said,
torn between feeling sick and a strangely proud. “You sensed it.”

Peter had gone pale. He blinked several times. “I… She was… holy shit.”

“Language—” Tony started, but Peter silenced him with wild eyes.

“A woman was murdered right below our feet and I didn’t do anything about it?” Peter looked
absolutely distraught.

“We had no way of knowing, kid,” Tony said, trying to soothe him.

“I shouldn’t have just ignored how I was feeling,” Peter groaned. “That woman would be alive if I
wasn’t—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Tony cut him off. “First lesson of being a hero, kid: You can’t save
everyone.”

“I already know that lesson, Tony,” Peter said bitterly. “I had to learn it the hard way.”

Tony reeled back, because Jesus fucking Christ, that didn’t sound like Peter. That sounded like a
man twice his age, who was familiar with the art of war, familiar with the red stains of blood on his
hands.

“Who?” Tony couldn’t help but ask. “You have an 100% success rate, kid. No one has died on
your watch.”

Peter’s mouth twisted, his eyes carry strange weight. “My uncle.”

Tony kicked himself. For a genius, he was such a goddamn idiot sometimes.

He had even read about Peter’s uncle, right before he went to fetch him to fight in Germany.

He was stabbed outside of a gas station by a man who was attempting to rob it, a year or so
previous. Peter had been in the car and had watched his uncle get stabbed. He died on the way to
the hospital.

Sometimes he forgot how much death Peter had seen in his life, only to be brutally reminded in
moments like this. He was so young, only fifteen, and had dealt with so much. The death of his
parents, the death of his uncle, the death of his aunt. Fuck, when Tony was Peter’s age, he was
going to parties at MIT and getting blackout drunk.

Tony couldn’t even imagine dealing with grief at that age. He couldn’t even deal with it when he
was seventeen. Hell, he still couldn’t deal with it, and he was pushing fifty.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, kid,” He said, guilt churning in his stomach. “I’m sorry,
I didn’t even think—”

“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,” Peter muttered, pushing his cereal away, his fists clenched
on his lap. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Even so,” Tony conceded, locking eyes with the kid, lowering his voice. “I know you think that
woman’s death was your fault, but it honestly wasn’t, kid. It was on whoever murdered her, and
whoever murdered her alone.”

Peter’s eyes were still heavy with grief. “But I was there,” His voice broke, but there weren’t any
tears in his eyes.

Tony sighed deeply. “I was there when Rhodey lost his legs,” He said without thinking, and then
his chest constricted. “Does that make it my fault?” His throat closed up as his brain screamed, Yes,
it absolutely fucking does! You should have stopped it, you should have been faster, Rhodey’s done
so fucking much for you and you couldn’t save his legs--
“No,” Peter said quietly, looking chagrined. The kid was staring at the table, and Tony thanked his
lucky stars that he couldn’t see his face.

Tony’s lungs tried to pull in air, but suddenly there was no air. He cleared his throat, trying his
hardest not to fall apart into a full-on panic attack in front of his kid.

His guilt over Rhodey’s paralysis was… unresolved, to say the least. Rhodey had, of course,
reassured him a million times, but it still kept him up at night, contemplating the what-ifs.

“Tony?” The kid’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you okay? You’re pale.”

Tony focused on the kid’s voice and pulled out of his panicked state. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks,
kid.”

Peter gave him a weary smile, and slowly began eating his cereal again.

--

It was almost the holidays, and Tony was stressed.

Not only was the festive season his least favorite time of year, but it meant two things:

The anniversary of his parent’s death, and the annual Avengers Holiday Party.

Howard and Maria Stark were killed on December 16th, 1991. So, naturally, the entire month of
December was ruined for him ever since.

It was the first December 16 th since Siberia, and when he woke up that day, he knew it was going
to be rough.

He woke up with a headache, which was just par for the course, he supposed. He laid in bed for
about a half an hour, staring up at the ceiling, his heartbeats synchronized with the pounding in his
temples.

“Sir, you’ve been laying there for thirty minutes. Are you ill?” FRIDAY eventually asked.

Tony sighed. “Nope. Just fucking depressed. I’ll get up in a minute.”

“Would you like me to get someone?”

Tony snorted. “Sure, how about you get Steve? You know, the one who lied to me about my
parents deaths for years."

“Detected sarcasm. I will not get Steve Rogers.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “Good girl, Fri.” He groaned as he sat up, the action not helping his headache
in the slightest.

He showered, but then changed back into comfy clothes. He didn’t want to leave his room, but he
desperately needed coffee. He seriously debating just ordering a Keurig for his bedroom and
waiting to get coffee until it got there, but then he realized that he was being stupid and that it was
probably just best to face the music.

The elevator ride was too quick for his liking, and he stepped into the Great Room.

Everyone was up, and Tony was not in the mood to socialize.
He had told himself that he was over what happened in Siberia, but on that day, he knew a part of
him was still burning with anger at the whole situation. Because Steve should have told him,
dammit. He should have said something, instead of keeping it a secret, and he really didn't want to
talk to him, because he knew he would say something he'd regret.

And of course, because his luck was completely rotten, Steve was next to the coffeemaker.

“Morning, Tony,” He said, and Tony wanted to turn around and go to the workshop without his
coffee.

He didn’t, though. He ignored Steve and brushed past everyone, hell-bent on making the fastest
cup of coffee possible.

His hands were shaking, and his left arm ached, but the coffee wasn’t done.

He kept his eyes on the coffee, because if he looked Steve in the face, he would either start
shouting or punching, and he didn't want to do either of those things, because he knew he was
going to regret it later.

The coffee was done just as Steve went to put his hand on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony instinctively moved out of the way, ramming his hip into the counter, and Steve withdrew his
hand like it had been burnt. Tony knew if he turned around, he would see that damn expression on
his face, the one filled with guilt and self-loathing, and he didn't think he could deal with it right
then.

So instead, he made for the elevator, keeping completely silent.

He caught sight of Steve as the doors started to close, saw the downtrodden expression and sad
eyes, and he swallowed hard.

The doors closed before anything was said.

--

God, his head hurt.

He had swallowed twice the acceptable dosage of Advil, but the rhythmic throbbing in his temples
continued.

He was in the workshop. He had been for several hours. He worked on various things, none of
which he could recall now, but then the pain became too much so now he sat, at his workbench,
his face buried in his arms.

He hadn’t felt this shitty in a long time. He thought he was getting better; he stopped drinking, he
didn’t mope as much, sometimes he felt almost happy.

But now, all he wanted was to drink himself into oblivion, just to get the goddamn footage from
replaying on a constant loop in his head.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He tried thinking about something else, anything else, but it
would always lead back to the footage that was melting his brain.

It had been almost a year, but god, the footage was still fresh as it was eleven months ago.

The expression on Howard’s face as Barnes bashed his face in. The horrified screams of his mother
when she watched her husband get murdered.

The silent terror in her eyes as his hand closed around her throat, his metal arm collapsing her
trachea, killing her…

The pain in his head intensified, as did the blind rage that filled him. His hands shook as he gripped
his arms, resisting the urge to go upstairs and yell at Steve. Forget the apologies, forget the family
that they all started to form again, forget how Steve had cried when he had apologized... he was
seconds away from ruining all of it, seconds away from going upstairs and listing everything that
Steve had ever done wrong to him.

Because it took a lot for Tony to build trust in someone, and Steve had ruined it.

“Tony?” Came the small voice.

He lifted his head, and the light burned. “Agh. Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes, a spike of pain driving
into his skull.

“Are you okay?” Peter’s voice was high, a telltale sign that he was anxious.

“Just peachy, kid,” Tony muttered without heat. He stopped rubbing his eyes and opened them.
“What’s up?”

“I got,” Peter bit his lip. “Lonely. You’ve been down here awhile.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, I suppose I have.”

“Do you want to take a break? Mr. Captain Rogers made enchiladas—” Peter trailed off at the look
of anger on Tony's face, before his expression smoothed out.

“I'm good, Pete,” Tony said, spinning on his stool and going back to work. He clenched his hand
around a screwdriver.

“O-okay,” Peter said, taken aback. “Are you sure everything's okay?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tony muttered, picking up his screwdriver and making a minor
adjustment to his project.

“Maybe... maybe you should. It’ll make you feel better—"

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tony said, louder.

“Did you and Captain Rogers get into a fight? Because he looked kind of upset upstairs—”

“Dammit, Peter,” Tony’s temper fumed out of control. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Peter’s jaw audibly slammed shut, and hurt coursed through his veins. He opened his mouth again,
but no sound came out.

Tony sighed, deeply, guilt washing over him. God, his head hurt— “Shit, kid. I…”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, rushed. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tony said, forcefully ripping open the casing on a wire panel.

Peter was quiet for a second. “You seem to be having a bad day.”
Because his hands were shaking so violently, his finger slipped, and he accidentally shocked
himself on a wire. “Ow, fuck,” He exclaimed, rubbing the burn.

“Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Tony said, an edge to his voice. He didn’t want to be mean to the kid; Hell, it was the
last thing he wanted. But his emotions were out of control and his nerves were frayed, so his
lashing out was out of his control.

Peter didn’t know what to do, so he just stood there, watching Tony’s back. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” Tony said shortly, feeling guilty a second later.

Another pang of hurt flooded through Peter. Why was he acting like this?

“Why are you acting so weird?” The words were out before Peter could stop them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony snapped.

“Why are you snapping at me?” Peter refused to feel hurt.

Tony slammed down his tool angrily, and then forced himself to take a deep breath. “Kid. Peter.
I’m not in a good mood and I don’t want to yell at you. You should go.”

“But…”

“Peter.”

Peter was too confused to be hurt. “Er… okay. Uh, bye, Tony. I hope you feel better?”

And with that, he was gone, and Tony hated himself a little bit more than he did before Peter came
down.

--

Everything hurt.

His head was on his workbench again, and pain was shooting from his left hand up to his neck. His
chest hurt something horrible, and one shaking hand came up and clutched it, gripping the soft
material of his shirt.

It was probably a panic attack he was experiencing, but it felt different. Panic attacks didn’t usually
hurt this bad.

He took several deep breaths, but the pain persisted, and he debating calling someone, because it
sure as shit felt like he was having a heart attack.

No, you're fine, Tony told himself, taking a few more breaths, hating himself. He hated that he was
like this, hated how weak he was. It had been years, decades, since his parents died. He shouldn’t
be falling apart like this.

“Tony?”

Shit, Tony panicked silently.

“Tony? Are you feeling any better?” It was Peter again.

 He sucked in a breath, but it lodged itself in his throat. “H-Hey, Pete,” He tried to say normally, but
pain shot up his arm, and he made a small noise of pain.

Peter froze. “Are you… Are you alright?”

"Yeah," Tony said, shaking out his left appendage. "I'm good. I'm good."

He heard silent footsteps behind him, and Tony took another deep breath. Don't freak out the kid...

“Tony,” Peter’s voice behind him was so soft, it hurt Tony’s heart. “What’s going on?”

Tony swallowed. "It's just been a shitty day."

Peter was silent for a beat, before he asked quietly, "Do you want a hug?"

Tony's eyes burned. "Sure, kid."

He turned and Peter put his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

God, how did I survive before him, Tony mused, putting his chin atop of Peter's head, shutting his
eyes.

“Did something happen, Tony?” Peter asked, after a while.

Tony sighed. “Today’s the anniversary of my parent’s death,” Tony confessed. “It’s… It still
sucks, even after all these years.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “I… I think I know how you feel.”

Tony’s hold tightened. “Yeah, I’m sure you do, kiddo,” Tony paused, before saying, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Peter said, confused.

“Yeah, you did,” Tony said, smiling for the first time that day. He let Peter go and was met with a
smile on the kid’s face. Tony’s heart melted just a little bit. “You know what I want? Ice-cream.”

Peter’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Me too! Do we have any?”

Tony chucked, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Yeah, I think we do.”

Chapter End Notes

As always, feedback is much appreciated.

See you guys soon!
 Shadowed
Chapter Summary

"Tony looked at her, and for the first time, there wasn’t any doubt in his heart. 'I know,
Pep. I know they need love and affection and assurance, I’ve seen it firsthand.' He
thought back to the first night, when he picked Peter up from the hospital. He thought
of the funeral, of the nightmares, of the panic attacks, of the times Peter’s cried in his
arms."

Chapter Notes

So I'm a day early with a super long chapter; this boy is about 4500 words? Also,
Pepper is in this chapter. I hope you enjoy.
Once again, thank you for all the great feedback, I really appreciate it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next few days were filled with preparations for the annual Avengers Holiday Party, which
Tony honestly wasn’t excited about.

He usually looked forward to their holiday parties; it was a staple, they had them every year since
the group was formed all those years ago.

They didn't have one the year before, since it was too soon after Sokovia, but it was back this year,
and the compound had been scrubbed spotless and elegantly decorated for the holiday season.
Even though Tony wasn't looking forward to the party, he couldn't deny how amazing the
compound looked.

The day of the party was stressful. People were running around, getting things ready, adding to
Tony’s already mounting anxiety about the whole thing.

Peter didn’t know how to feel about the party. The biggest party he ever went to was the one at
Flash’s house, and he was only there for a few minutes, during which he got relentlessly teased. He
had been to smaller, more intimate parties though: sometimes, one of Aunt May’s coworkers would
have a get together and he would tag along. They would play games, like Monopoly or Apples to
Apples, and Peter would always have a blast.

He didn’t realize how formal of an event it was going to be until Tony dragged him upstairs at six
in the evening and made him put on a tuxedo, a garment he had never worn before.

He didn’t even want to know how much money he was wearing as he looked at himself in the
mirror. The tux was black and sleek, the fabric feeling incredibly silky. He was almost scared to
touch it.

The bow-tie sat on his bed, untied. He had given up on trying to tie it himself, after he became
frustrated when the knot wouldn’t stay. He would just ask Tony to tie it.
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. At Peter’s “come in!” Tony strode inside.

He was dressed in an elegant tux, one that hurt Peter’s wallet just to look at. It was no doubt the
most expensive tux that money could buy, and Peter decided at once that his life had turned crazy.

“Lookin’ sharp, kid,” Tony complimented, while Peter gaped at the man’s tux.

“What kind of suit is that?” Peter asked as Tony grabbed the bow-tie from Peter’s bed.

“It’s made by a company called Kiton,” Tony explained, tying Peter’s bow-tie around his neck.
“It’s based in Naples. They make suits.”

“How much money was it?” Peter squeaked, afraid to come in contact with it.

“About sixty-thousand—Why is your hair wet?” Tony gave Peter’s hair a quizzical look.

“Oh, uh… I tried to gel my hair, but it looked bad, so I, uh, washed it out.” Peter explained shyly.
He decided not to mention that he had gotten gel all over the shirt he was wearing previously, or
the fact that he washed it out by sticking his head under the faucet.

Tony snorted, resuming his tying job. “You never cease to amaze me, kid,” He did the last look,
and tightened the bow so it wouldn’t fall down. “There you go.”

Peter repressed the urge to fiddle with it. “When is the party starting?”

“Seven,” Tony said, fiddling with his own tux in front of Peter’s mirror. Peter shifted
uncomfortably, and Tony met his eyes through the mirror. “You okay?”

Peter shrugged noncommittally, and Tony’s eyebrows furrowed in worry. He stood straight,
turned, and crossed his arms. “Out with it, kid.”

Peter shrugged again. “There’s not much to tell, I’ve just never been to a fancy party before.”

Tony uncrossed his arms and pulled Peter into a one-armed hug. “They’re not bad. You’ll have a
good time.”

Peter smiled, trying to make the gesture genuine, but falling slightly short. Tony let Peter go, and
they both headed down to the great room.

It was at 6:50 when Peter began to feel anxious.

Stop, he chided himself. It’ll be fine, Tony said so. It’s just for a couple hours, and tomorrow’s
Christmas Eve!

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He looked around, and saw the rest of the
Avengers, all dressed up to the occasion. The men were wearing tuxedos, just like Tony, and the
women were in cocktail dresses of different colors. Peter shifted uncomfortably and tugged on his
bow-tie.

Guests started showing up a few minutes later, and at once, Peter knew there wasn’t going to be
any Monopoly at this party.

The great room was soon packed with warm bodies, chatter, and soft music. Peter stood to the side
and watched as a woman with white gloves up to her elbows whispered something to a man in a
maroon tux, and they both laughed.
Peter knew it was impolite, but he focused his super-hearing on their conversation.

“I heard he has a drinking problem,” The woman whispered, the tone of her voice naturally low.

“I heard that too,” The man muttered. “It’s distasteful, in a man of that caliber and wealth.”

“I agree,” The woman replied, still in a whisper. “Tony Stark, an alcoholic. I mean, with a father
like he had, how could he not?”

“Mm,” The man made a noise of affirmation, before the couple got interrupted, and returned to
their normal speaking voices.

Peter noticed he had become quite still, and his breathing was a little heavy. His hands curled into
fists. Tony has a drinking problem?

He wished he hadn’t eavesdropped, because now there was a nauseous feeling in his stomach.

It’s probably just a dirty rumor, Peter tried to reassure himself. I would have noticed if Tony had a
drinking problem.

Right?

Peter bit his lip and tightened his fists, wanting to go back up to his room and not come back down
until this stupid party was over with.

Soon, his corner started to get crowded with people, and so he made his way over to the bar,
wanting something to take his mind off of what he just heard.

He sat on one of the barstools, his fists clenched on the counter. “I’ll have a cherry coke,” He said
to the bartender, his voice strangely off.

He was given the drink a few minutes later, and he fiddled with the straw, his anxiety off the
charts.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blonde woman with a ponytail sit next to him. “A Manhattan,
please.”

Peter looked over and the woman, and almost fell off his stool in shock.

Next to him, was Pepper Potts.

“Y-You’re Pepper Potts,” He found himself saying, dumbfounded.

She started, but then she smiled. “Yeah, that’s me. What’s your name?”

Peter felt a flush creep up his neck. “Uh… My name’s Peter Parker, ma’am.”

“And how old are you, Peter?”

“I’m fifteen,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was then gripped by the sudden urge to
compliment her, so he zeroed in on her wrist. “I, uh… I like your watch.”

He wanted to pitch himself off a cliff a second later. I like your watch? Stupid.

Pepper glanced down at it. “Thanks, Tony gave it to me. I’ve never seen a kid at one of his
parties.”
“Oh,” Peter said, his cheeks red. “I’m, uh… I’m his intern?” That was a safe bet, right?

Wrong. Pepper looked incredibly confused. “Tony has high school interns? Since when?”

Shit. “Y-yeah, he does. I help him out with some tech stuff.” Peter lied through his teeth. Actually,
Pepper, I’m just an orphan kid with abandonment issues that Tony has to deal with, Peter thought
bitterly.

Pepper looked suspicious but nodded along to his words. “You’re really young to be Tony’s intern.
You must be really good.”

Peter blushed at the praise. “I’m alright,” He muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

Pepper smiled at him again, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder what happened between her and
Tony. Pepper was so nice, and Tony was amazing… what happened?

Maybe it was because he had a drinking problem, Peter thought bitterly. That I didn’t know about,
apparently.

Feeling a little depressed, Peter finished his drink. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Potts,” Peter said
quietly, getting off the barstool and entering the crowd of people.

It seemed like more people had arrived, because the space felt more congested. Peter tried to avoid
contact with people, but things kept coming in contact with him, and he suddenly felt extremely
claustrophobic.

A stray hand accidentally hit him, and he cringed, the feeling suddenly amplified. His arms curled
into his chest, hands balled, trying to avoid contact.

A dress brushed against his suit, and the sound it made was loud enough for it to hurt Peter’s ears.
The music was too loud, the voices were too loud… when did it get so loud?

It was like he could hear every voice in the room all at once. Someone laughed from next to him
and he flung himself away from the noise, which sent chills down his entire being. He could feel
the tuxedo’s fabric moving against his skin, and it was like ants were slowly crawling all over his
body.

“Excuse me,” Someone said to him, and he cringed away, the voice sounding like a scream.
Something else brushed against him, and his stomach wanted to heave at the feeling.

He had never felt so wired in his life, and he didn’t know how the situation could get worse.

That was when his eyes reacted.

Everything was bright. The light bounced off the jewels around a woman’s neck, and it nearly
blinded him. He made a noise of discomfort and looked away, but there was no escaping the
brightness.

Every blink was a sweet relief. The light was so bright it was painful, and he closed his eyes for
longer than a blink…

Crash. He opened his eyes.

He had walked straight into a server, who was carrying glasses of champagne.

Then the feelings came.

He nearly passed out from the onslaught of sensation. The liquid missed him, as well as the glass,
but the feeling of his body hitting another was so much that he could handle it.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” The server apologized, but it sounded like he yelled, and Peter flinched away.
Too much. Too much. “Are you alright?”

I need to get out of here, Peter thought to himself, a panic pressing on his chest. It’s too much. I
can’t.

Peter made a noise like a whine and stumbled blindly past the server toward the elevator.

He got in just as his knees gave out. He crawled to the corner of the elevator and curled into a ball,
his back pressing against the metal wall.

He buried his face in his knees, trying to block out the light. He could still hear the noise of the
party, and the feeling of his tuxedo on his skin was driving him insane. He tugged on his bow-tie
viciously, close to hyperventilating.

He heard the elevator doors open again, and he could see the light, even though his eyes were
closed.

“Peter?” The voice of Steve Rogers was way too loud. He whined again, his ears aching.

He heard the rustle of Steve’s tuxedo, and then there was a hand on his shoulder.

He let out a muffled shriek, throwing Steve off immediately. It was like the contact had burned his
skin, and he could feel tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his voice quiet and confused. “Are you hurt?”

“Tony,” Peter half-whispered, half-groaned. “I need Tony.”

“Okay, I’ll go get him,” Steve said quickly, and the elevator doors opened again.

“Where would you like to go, Mr. Parker?” FRIDAY asked, her voice incredibly quiet.

“Somewhere quiet,” It hurt to talk, and even his own voice was too loud.

The elevator moved.

--

Tony Stark was in his element.

He was a natural born host; entertaining guests was in his blood, thanks to his mom. He knew how
to make someone laugh, how to turn a sour conversation sweet again.

There was a lull in the action, however, during which he stood to the side and watched as his guests
socialized with each other.

He heard the soft clicking of heels and turned to find the source of the noise.

Pepper Potts was approaching him, and he couldn’t help the slight swoop in his stomach.

Even though they had been broken up for almost a year, she was still an important aspect of his
life. She pretty much ran his company, as the president of Stark Industries. Not only did she know
how to deal with all of his bullshit, but she knew how to maneuver it as well.

No matter how much time passed, Tony was still in love with her. She was strong, intelligent, not
to mention absolutely beautiful, both in spirit and in appearance. Tonight held no exception; she
wore a dark blue cocktail dress, equipped with a soft gold necklace and tall heels.

“Hi,” Tony said, his eyes glued to her breathtaking face as she approached.

She smiled. “Hey. How’s it going?”

Tony put his hands in his pockets. “Really good, actually. Better than expected.”

“I’m glad,” She said sincerely. “What with all that happened, I’m surprised you even had the party
at all.”

Tony shrugged. “We’re over it,” He said, and was surprised when he found himself not lying.

Pepper nodded, and they fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“I met your intern,” Pepper said then, breaking the quiet.

Confused, Tony gave her a look. “I don't have any interns.”

Surprise flickered across Peppers face. “He said he was your intern.”

There was a dull feeling of dread in the pit of Tony’s stomach. “What was his name?”

“Peter, if memory serves,” Pepper informed him, and Tony wanted to bury his face in his hands.

Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course, it was him.”

Pepper gave Tony a look. “If he’s not your intern, who is he?”

I’d say we’ve moved past intern status, Tony thought, and he almost snorted. God, I’ve seen the kid
shake and cry and fall apart. No, we’re definitely past intern status.

“He’s Peter Parker,” Tony said slowly, a part of him still feeling like he shouldn’t be sharing the
information, even with Pepper. “And I’m his temporary guardian.”

The word “temporary” left a bad taste in his mouth, but that was immediately knocked from his
head when he saw Pepper’s reaction a second later.

She blinked, several times, before narrowing her eyes. “Tony. Tell me you’re joking.”

Uh oh. “Er… no?”

She took a deep breath. “Tony. You can barely take care of yourself, and you think you can take
care of a fifteen-year-old kid?”

Indignance rose in him at that. I think I’m doing a pretty good job. “Hey, I—”

“I’m not done,” She interrupted him, and Tony knew better than to cross her. “Kids need a lot of
time and attention, Tony. They need constant love and assurance, and that’s not even half of it.
Have you even thought this through?”

Tony looked at her, and for the first time, there wasn’t any doubt in his heart. “I know, Pep. I know
they need love and affection and assurance, I’ve seen it firsthand.” He thought back to the first
night, when he picked Peter up from the hospital. He thought of the funeral, of the nightmares, of
the panic attacks, of the times Peter’s cried in his arms.

He thought of the trip to the apartment, of the feeling that washed over him as he rubbed Peter's
back when he was sick. He thought of Peter’s laugh and of his smile, of his happy babbling
whenever he got excited.

“I know you think I can’t take care of another person,” Tony said slowly. “And I don’t blame you.
I haven’t exactly shown you that I can. But he doesn’t have anyone else, and I think I’m doing a
pretty damn good job, considering the circumstances.”

Pepper watched him, her head tilted. “That’s… wow, Tony.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. “He’s the best, Pep. Really, he—”

“Tony,” It was Steve, and Tony turned, his mouth already formulating a witty mark.

It died on his tongue when he saw Steve’s expression.

“What is it?” Tony asked urgently. Are we under attack?

“It’s Peter,” He said, and Tony’s worst fears were confirmed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with
him—He was curled in a ball, asking for you—”

“Where is he?” Tony asked, his heartrate starting to pick up speed.

“The elevator,” Steve said, and he began to say something else, but Tony was already gone.

He couldn’t run, since it would draw attention, but he walked as fast as he could to the elevator.
When he got in, there was no Peter in sight, and Tony began to panic.

“FRIDAY, where—”

“Taking you to Peter Parker,” FRIDAY said, the elevator already moving.

The doors opened on the top floor.

The top floor was locked to pretty much everyone in the building except for Tony, but for some
reason, FRIDAY had overridden his protocols and brought Peter here.

This part of the top floor was his own personal living space, which he had designed right before
Steve and company moved back in. He knew he would need space to de-stress from interacting
with them, so he transformed it into somewhere he could just try to relax and unwind.

The lights were all off in the space, but the large windows provided some natural moonlighting. He
found Peter almost immediately, sitting on the plush couch with his knees pulled up to his chest.

The sight was unnerving. The kid was so still that it was stressing Tony out, so he immediately
rushed to Peter’s side.

“Peter,” Tony said quietly, approaching him. Peter looked up at him, his face ghostly pale. Tony
took a step back in shock.

“What’s going on?” Peter flinched, and Tony lowered his voice. “Are you feeling okay?”
Peter swallowed. The sensory overload had died down for the most part, but his hearing was still
amplified. “Something happened with me. Everything became too loud.”

Tony considered him. “Was it a panic attack?”

Peter shook his head. “No, it was different. It was like… It was like every noise was hooked up to
a speaker, and the speaker was blasting into my ear. It hurt.”

Tony pushed down the anxiety rising within him. “So, sensory overload?”

Peter nodded miserably. He leaned against his guardian, his head on Tony’s shoulder. His skin was
still crawling, but the panic that overtook him before had changed into tired resignation. “I don’t
feel good.”

Tony sighed, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders, guilt pulsing inside him. “I’m sorry, bud. I
should’ve known that your senses are too heightened for crowds like that.”

Peter shrugged, feeling wrung out and a little nauseous. “You didn’t know. It’s okay.”

Tony didn’t agree, but he knew arguing wouldn’t do anything, so he kept quiet.

Peter kept quiet as well. So quiet, in fact, that it began to worry Tony. “Something else on your
mind, kid?”

Peter stiffened, and Tony immediately knew something was up. “Spill.”

Peter didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to accuse Tony of something he had overheard. But the
question was slowly rotting Peter’s mind, and if he didn’t ask it now, he knew he wouldn’t get to
sleep that night. “Do… Do you have a drinking problem?”

Silence.

Peter panicked, his head lifting off of Tony’s shoulder. “Uh, it’s okay if you do. It’s fine, really, I
just was wondering because I overheard someone talking about it…”

It was still silent, and dread was a rock in Peter’s stomach.

Then Tony gently pushed Peter’s head back on his shoulder, his hand in the kid’s curls. He sighed.
“I used to,” He murmured ashamedly. “After Germany, and Siberia. Everything hurt, so I drank.”

Peter remained silent, holding his breath.

“I stopped, though. Cold turkey, when Steve and everyone came back,” He explained, his voice
quiet. And I stopped for you, was the unspoken thought. “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since
September.”

Peter released the breath he was holding. “Okay,” He whispered. “I… I didn’t mean… I mean I
wouldn’t care if you did or not,” Peter lied.

Tony chuckled. “Sure, kid.”

Peter huffed, but they fell back into a comfortable silence.

“I need to go back down,” Tony said after a few minutes, glancing at his watch. “You can stay up
here, if you want—”
“I’ll come back down,” Peter said immediately. Tony stared at him a second, and a faint blush
appeared on Peter’s cheeks. “It’s… It’s l-lonely up here.”

Tony grimaced, before throwing an arm over the kid’s shoulders. “Alright, kid. Let’s go.”

--

They stepped back into the crowd of people, Tony’s hand firmly on Peter’s shoulder. He glanced at
Peter’s face for any sign of discomfort, but if he felt any, he didn’t show it.

Tony led the pair of them over to the edge of the crowd, where he knew Peter wouldn’t get too
overwhelmed.

“You okay?” Tony asked Peter quietly, and the kid nodded.

“When, uh, when will the party be over?” Peter asked, trying to hide the anxiety pulsing inside
him. Okay, it’s decided, Peter thought to himself. I don’t like parties.

“In an hour or so,” Tony said under his breath, before smiling and shaking hands with someone.

Peter felt out of place. People would approach Tony and he shake their hands, make a witty joke or
remark, and start up a conversation. Peter just stood there, a little off to the side, and watched the
billionaire enchant his guests.

He looked around, bored but anxious, and saw Wanda, standing by herself.

Peter glanced at Tony, who was in the middle of a conversation, before walking over to her.

She didn’t see him approach, and when Peter said, “Hi, Miss Wanda,” She jumped.

“Oh,” She said, glancing up him, before looking back up at the crowd, a strange expression on her
face. “Hi, Peter.”

Wanda was dressed in a pale gold cocktail dress, her hair pinned up in a half-up, half-down style.
She wore soft eye makeup, which was unusual, since she typically wore darker, heavier pigments.

“Why are you over here by yourself?” Peter asked, noticing how far she was from everyone.

She bit her lip, and Peter noticed that there was a soft tremor in her hands. “It’s not by choice,” She
said softly.

That was when Peter noticed. People occasionally glanced over at Wanda, but if she made eye
contact with them, they immediately looked away. Everyone gave her a wide berth, and it was
almost like—

“They’re scared of me,” She whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Everyone’s always
scared of me.”

It made Peter’s heart physically ache. “But you’re not going to attack them,” Peter said softly.
“You’re an Avenger, you’re on the good side,”

“Some people don’t consider me good,” She said spitefully. “Some people would rather I’d be
locked away, where I can’t hurt anyone.”

“I don’t think that,” Peter said quietly. “I think people just don’t know you well enough.”
Wanda sighed. “Yeah, maybe. Thanks, Peter.”

Peter smiled at her. “No problem, Miss Wanda.”

A small smile formed on her face at that. “Do you address everyone like that?”

“Everyone except Tony,” He said. “He makes me call him Tony.”

Wanda snorted. “I never thought he would adopt a kid. Even though I’ve only known him for a few
years, he doesn’t seem to be the dad type.”

A strange feeling erupted in Peter’s chest. “He’s… He’s not my dad.”

Wanda glanced up at him. “Sure,” She allowed. “It’s been eight years since my parents died, but
my father, he acted like Tony does with you.”

Peter pushed down the tirade of feelings. “You’re mistaken,” He muttered. “I’m temporary. I’m
just his ward.”

He knew he should be thankful that Tony had even taken him in, and he was, but there was
something in the pit of his stomach that wanted more.

Wanda made a noise but didn’t say anything.

Peter stayed by her until the party started to wind down and people began leaving. He returned to
Tony’s side and watched as he bade his guests goodbye.

Pepper Potts was the last to leave. Peter saw her approaching, and his gaze dropped to the floor, his
face burning.

She came to a stop in front of him. “Intern, huh?”

Peter swallowed. “S-Sorry, Miss Potts. I, uh…”

“Antagonizing the kid, Pep?” Tony asked good naturedly, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Good, he needs
it.”

“Tony,” Peter whined, fixing his hair, momentarily forgetting Pepper was there. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Tony asked innocently, and Peter glared at him.

Pepper lightly cleared her throat, and Peter’s face flamed as his gaze sought the ground again.

“The party was lovely, Tony,” Pepper said, giving the man a hug. Tony didn’t want to let go, but
he eventually did, right before the hug got uncomfortably long. “Thank you for the invite.”

“Of course,” Tony said immediately, wanting desperately to say something to keep her from
leaving. “You’ll always get an invite, Pepper.”

She smiled, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter making kissy faces at him.

That little shit, he thought, as he kissed Pepper on the cheek. Tony thought for a second that she
blushed, but then he blinked, and the illusion was shattered.

She left, then, biding Tony and Peter goodnight.

 The second she disappeared from view, Tony flicked Peter’s ear. “Watch it, kid.”

Peter had the audacity to look innocent. “Whatever did I do, Tony?”

“Oh, you know what you did,” Tony said, glaring at him.

Peter looked smug. “You loooove her.”

Tony sighed, his hands tucking into his pockets. “Of course, I do. Never stopped.”

Peter considered him, his head tilting. “Then, why don’t you do something about it?”

Tony didn’t want to have this conversation, especially not with Peter. “Something she said.”

“Out with it,” Peter said, mocking the sentence that Tony often used with him.

“Thin ice, kid,” Tony threatened without heat. “That’s what you’re on.”

“Seriously, though. I want to know.”

Tony sighed again. “Not tonight, kid. I’m tired and I’m sure you are too.”

Peter whined but didn’t press it any further. He was tired; the combination of his sensory overload
earlier and dealing with the stress of the party completely sapped his energy.

He yawned loudly, and Tony gave him a triumphant look. “Time for bed, kid. Come on.”

Peter grumbled a little, but let Tony lead him up to the fourth floor.

“Goodnight, kid,” Tony said as they approached Peter’s room.

“Goodnight, Tony.”

Chapter End Notes

As always, feedback is much appreciated. I'm moving in to college on Thursday and

I'm super nervous? (Don't worry about this fic, though, I have up to almost 70k already
written and I don't plan on stopping any time soon)
See you guys soon!
 By Every Other Weight
Chapter Summary

“'Want to tell me what’s going on?' Tony asked quietly.

'It’s Christmas,' Peter said slowly. 'And she’s dead.'”

Chapter Notes

This is hella early, but I just need some positivity, so here we are with a bittersweet
chapter. Enjoy Christmas in August.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Christmas Eve was fun.

It snowed outside as Peter, Tony, and quite a few other members of the Avengers made Christmas
cookies and watched movies, like A Charlie Brown Christmas and The Grinch.

That night, before Peter went to bed, everyone settled on the couch with hot chocolate and watched
Elf.

It was the best Christmas Eve he had ever had, Tony thought, sipping his hot cocoa. He had never
been so happy on Christmas Eve; it was usually a day, spent alone, during which he’d drink
himself nearly comatose. But this year, it was so full of light and joy that he couldn’t even let
himself be sad.

The movie ended soon, and Tony got up and stretched. “Alright, kid, bed.”

“Come on, Tony,” Peter complained. “It’s nearly Christmas, can’t I just stay up a little later?”

“No way, kid. Santa Claus doesn’t—”

“Tony, I’m fifteen, not five, Santa doesn’t exist—”

Tony gasped. “Peter, how could you? Steve believes in Santa Claus, you just ruined his
Christmas.”

Steve glared at Tony from across the space, before looking away, his expression turning sad and
wistful once more.

Steve had always been like this around Christmas, and although Tony desperately wanted to know
why, he knew not to pry. He knew that being in the future sometimes still got to him, so he gave
him his space and didn't ask unwanted questions.

Although the hour was early, Peter did end up going to bed, since he was starting to feel the
exhaustion pull at him and he wanted Christmas to come faster.
He closed his eyes that night, happy and excited for the day to come.

--

The next morning, the last thing he felt was happy.

It was Christmas morning— and he didn’t want to get out of bed.

He stared at the wall, and the numb apathy that he would normally feel when Tony left began to
take over.

I guess Tony leaving isn’t the only trigger, Peter found himself thinking.

Christmas was May’s favorite holiday. She would wake Peter up early, and then they would open
presents, spend the day watching A Christmas Story, and order Chinese food for dinner.

It was times like these that her death hit him the hardest. He wouldn’t ever experience another
Christmas with her, and the grief was so potent that it was slowly eating at his insides.

His door creaked open, but Peter was too numb to lift his head.

“Merry Chris— what’s wrong,” It was Tony, and by the tone of his voice, he had taken one look at
Peter and become instantly concerned.

Peter exhaled. “Nothing,” He said quietly.

Tony stared at his kid, wildly concerned. Peter was lying in bed, on his side, staring at the wall, a
blank expression on his face.

“O-kay,” He said slowly. “There’s breakfast downstairs, kid—”

“Not hungry,” Peter barely moved his lips, wanting to feel something but being unable to.

“You’re always hungry,” Tony said, his eyes not leaving the bed.

“Not hungry,” He repeated.

Tony licked his lips, anxiety coursing through him. He tentatively sat on the edge of the bed,
keeping his eyes on Peter.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Tony asked quietly.

“It’s Christmas,” Peter said slowly. “And she’s dead.”

Fuck. Tony stared at the kid, processing. “And you’re sad.” It wasn’t a question.

“I can’t feel anything,” Peter whispered, fear leaking into his voice.

Tony’s thoughts flashed back to the day at the restaurant, when Peter explained to him how he was
sometimes overtaken with a numbness.

It’s like I’m feeling too much but nothing at all at the same time, he had said, and Tony took a
shallow breath.

“Alright,” Tony said slowly, wracking his brains for something to make this better. “You say you
don’t feel anything?”
I don’t feel real, Peter almost said, but shook his head no instead.

“Sit up, Pete,” Tony said softly. “Can you do that for me?”

Peter sighed and slowly got up into a sitting position. His body felt heavy and lethargic and he
looked at Tony through tired eyes.

He grabbed Peter’s hand and started pinching his fingers. “Can you feel that?”

Peter could, so he nodded. Tony slowly made his way up his hand until he reached his wrists, and
he squeezed them. “Feel that?”

Peter nodded, clinging to the sensation of touch. Ashamedly, tears sprung to his eyes.

Tony had literally no idea what he was doing, but he gripped Peter’s forearms, and a tear slid down
Peter’s cheek.

The numbness had faded, and was replaced with a forceful sense of wretchedness, tinged with the
relief of being pulled out of whatever state he was in.

“Are you okay, bud?” Tony asked softly, and Peter collapsed into the man’s chest, shaking.

“She loved Christmas,” He whispered. “It was her favorite holiday. How am I supposed to
celebrate it without her?”

Tony pulled the kid closer, his heart bursting with affection. “Just because she’s gone doesn’t mean
you can’t enjoy your life,” Tony said gently. “She would want you to have a good Christmas, kid.”

Peter sniffed, but his eyes were dry. “It seems selfish,” He said quietly. “To be happy without her.”

“It’s not,” Tony said immediately. “It’s not selfish. You deserve to be happy, Pete.”

He removed himself from Tony’s chest. He fiddled with the blankets on the bed. “What’s for
breakfast?” He asked in a small voice.

Tony’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Waffles, eggs, and bacon. All for you, kid. You want some?”

Peter perked up a little, but there was still sadness in his eyes. “Yeah,” He said softly, his hands
curling into fists as he stood.

He does that when he’s anxious, Tony thought to himself, his eyes on the movement. I wonder
why.

Tony stood, wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders, and marched the two of them to the
elevator.

“Great room, FRI,” He ordered.

The elevator surged downwards and let out in the great room.

Everyone was awake. Even Wanda, who liked to sleep late.

Half of the team was in the kitchen standing around the island, including Bruce, which surprised
Tony. The man usually spent most of his time down in the lab. The other half was strewn on the
couches, in front of the fire.
“Morning, Tony,” Natasha said, standing in the kitchen. “Morning, Spider-Infant.”

Peter didn’t rise to the bait, and brief concern flashed across Natasha’s face, quickly replaced with
her usual stoic expression.

Wanda and Vision— who was in his human mode— were curled up on the couch together, but
Wanda turned and smiled at Peter when he walked in. “Merry Christmas, мали паук,” Wanda said
fondly.

Peter glanced at her, but then returned his gaze to the ground. “Merry Christmas,” He said quietly,
and Tony suddenly felt like coming downstairs was a bad idea.

He sat the kid down at the table before fixing him a plate of food. He kept an eye on Peter, who
was staring at the table, while he worked.

He picked up the plate and was about to bring it to the kid, when Natasha grabbed him by the arm.
“What’s wrong with him?” She asked under her breath, and Tony shook his head. He mouthed tell
you later and she nodded, letting him go.

He placed the food in front of Peter, who picked up his fork and took a tentative bite. Tony
watched the kid eat, wanting to cheer him up but being unsure of how to do so.

Steve sat down next to Tony, as quiet and as somber as he was the night before. Tony looked at
him briefly, noticing the slump of his shoulders and redness of his eyes, and once again decided to
not ask about it. Whatever it was, it was eating Steve up, and he didn't want the man to become
angry with him. Or worse, weepy.

Peter pushed away his plate a food after just a few bites. Tony immediately pushed aside his
brooding and looked at his kid with concern.

“Not hungry,” Peter said quietly, and Tony grimly pursed his lips.

“Please eat, Peter,” He said, just as quiet. Steve glanced up from his food, but immediately looked
back down and pretended like he wasn’t paying attention to the interaction.

Peter shook his head, his arms curling protectively around himself. Tony’s heart broke at the
action.

“Not eating isn’t good, Pete,” Tony said, sliding the plate back towards the kid. “Come on. You
have to eat.”

“Stop acting like my parent,” Peter hissed, and Tony stopped dead.

It was like Peter had hit him. Tony froze, his hand hovering over the plate of food. Hurt flashed
across his face, and he tried to wrangle his expression into one of impassiveness, to no avail.

Because fuck, that hurt. It was the lowest of low blows, and Tony floundered, panicked.

He could feel Steve’s eyes on him. He could feel the eyes of the entire damn kitchen on him. He
wanted to create a witty remark, something to brush it off like he always did, but his mind was
utterly blank.

Peter paled, his eyes widened, and he left the great room before Tony could even form a coherent
thought.
Tony knew he should’ve stopped the kid from leaving, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

He stared at the space Peter was just seconds ago, before blinking several times and snapping
himself out of his stupor.

“Stop acting like my parent.” Shit, Tony ran a hand down his face, his other pressed to his heart.
This kid is actually going to kill me. He’s going to say some more shit like that and my fucking
heart is going to give out.

“Tony,” It was Steve, and Tony was too resigned to be angry. “Are… Are you okay?”

He sighed, rubbing his chest with his knuckles. “Just great,” There was no bite to the words. “Just
great.”

Steve was looking at him with his sorry blue eyes, and it made Tony feel worse. He pinched the
bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself down.

But it hurt. He couldn’t move past how much the words wounded him. He was trying his best…
why couldn’t Peter see that?

Steve laid a hand on Tony’s forearm, and Tony moved it as soon as Steve touched it. He couldn’t
deal with Steve’s careful condolences right now.

Steve moved his hand back, the sadness back in his eyes. “You have to remember,” Steve said
quietly. “That kids act out of their emotions, not out of their heart. He’s just upset, and he wanted
you to leave him alone, so he said what would hurt you the most.”

“And you know so much about kids?” Tony retorted, and now there was a bite to his tone. “Are
you and Barnes hiding a secret lovechild that none of us know about?”

The mention of Bucky had the color rushing to Steve’s cheeks as shock crossed his face, before his
expression settled on something between anger and the same despondent, crushed look he had all
of the past night and that morning.

“Stop,” It was Natasha, with Rhodey right next to her. “No fighting on Christmas.”

Tony grit his teeth, but Rhodey gave him a look, one that clearly said, Bite your tongue, Tony.

He listened to the look and repressed his misdirected anger. Natasha sent Steve a look as well, and
he instantly relaxed.

“Good,” Natasha said, and Tony wanted to fight her. “Now, we’re all going to watch A Christmas
Story and be happy, dammit. I’m tired of fighting.”

“As am I,” Rhodey said severely, and Tony felt the fight drain out of him. “I agree with Nat. We all
need some Christmas cheer.”

Tony grumbled, but let Rhodey guide him to the couch and push him onto it. Once everyone was
settled, FRIDAY turned down the lights, and the movie started.

Tony glanced at his teammates and sighed.

As much as he hated to admit it, Steve was right. Peter was wired this morning; Tony knew it from
the get-go. It was only a matter of time, he supposed, until the kid snapped at him. Because that’s
what Peter did when he was scared or upset, he either cries or reacts angrily. And this time, it was
the latter.

The hurt was gone, replaced by understanding.

They were almost done with the movie when Tony heard the sound of sock-clad feet approaching.

He knew it was Peter, so he kept his eyes on the movie. The kid slowly sat down next to him on
the couch, and Tony glanced over at him.

He was still dressed in pajamas, but now he had a fuzzy blanket draped over him. His hair was
mussed, and his cheeks were tinted with color. He looked a lot younger than fifteen.

The kid’s lip was quivering. Tony sighed and brought him close.

Peter immediately latched onto him, his hands grasping Tony’s shirt and face pressing into the
man’s shoulder. Tony’s hand crept up into Peter’s curls and he ran it through his soft hair.

“I’m s-sorry,” Peter was crying quietly, and Tony’s grip on him tightened. “I d-didn’t mean it.
Don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Pete,” He promised softly. “I forgive you.”

Peter shuddered, and Tony ran a hand down his back. He let Peter soak his shoulder with saltwater
as the movie ended.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him again, but he truly didn’t care. He sent Rhodey a look that
plainly said, next movie, and Rhodey nodded.

They put on Home Alone, Tony’s favorite Christmas movie. Peter made a small noise against his
shoulder and Tony shushed him, still running his hand down the kid’s spine.

Peter separated himself from Tony about twenty minutes into the movie but kept his head on his
shoulder. Tony kept his arm around Peter, running his hand up and down the kid’s arm.

“I actually like it,” Peter said quietly.

“Mm?” Tony asked, glancing down at the kid.

“I like it when you parent me,” Peter whispered. “It’s nice to have someone who cares.”

Tony’s arm tightened around him, a strange, swooping feeling inside of him.

Peter fell asleep after that but woke up when the movie ended. Tony ruffled his hair, and he smiled
sleepily, rubbing the remnant of his nap out of his eyes.

After that, it was time for presents.

There weren’t many presents underneath the tree, which was unusual. Before Germany, Tony
would go all out; there would be stacks and stacks of presents for all of his friends, but this year, he
only got each of them one gift. It seemed more appropriate, more genuine.

He had been working on them since February, but he would never admit it. There was something
unbelievably pathetic about making gifts for people who he refused to even talk to.

He made them all small weapon upgrades. He made Natasha a new knife, which she admired with
a satisfied expression on her face. Sam got new wrist gauntlets, which he showed off to Steve
before thanking Tony.

He gave Wanda a ruby necklace, one he saw while overseas. She didn’t use weapons to fight, and
Tony knew how much she hated violence, so he decided to go with something more domestic. Her
eyes grew as she took in the gemstones, before she thanked Tony.

He made Vision new gloves, which he accepted with a word of thanks and a smile. He got Bruce a
bunch of books that he thought the man would find interesting, and Tony seemed to be right,
because Bruce lit up when he took in their titles.

Steve got a new utility belt, made out of expensive materials. He smiled shyly and thanked Tony
quietly, and Tony felt so guilty about earlier that all he could do was nod.

Rhodey’s gift was too big to wrap, so Tony gave him a card instead.

He wrote it several nights ago, at a quarter past two in the morning. He passed it to Rhodey
silently, and the man smiled at him as he took it and opened it.

Rhodey,

I’m bad at words, so I’m going to try and keep this short.

I know you tell me that your legs aren’t my fault, but we both know that it definitely is my fault
because if I had been faster you would still be able to walk is a bunch of bullshit. The fight started
because of me, and you were trying to be a good friend by helping me out which I don’t deserve.

I’m so fucking sorry Rhodey. I’m sorry that this happened and even though I can’t fix it, I can at
least try to make it better.

I made you some new prosthetics. They’re down in my lab if you want to try them on sometime.

Merry Christmas, I don’t deserve you

Tony.

Tony fiddled with the hem of his shirt as Rhodey read, but accidentally looked up and met the
man’s eyes when he was done.

Rhodey’s eyes were sorrowful as they fell on Tony, and Tony’s eyes drifted down towards his
friend’s legs, before flicking away.

“Tony—” Rhodey said quietly, and Tony avoided his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” He said, his tone clipped. “Or sorry. Whatever.”

Peter tugged on his sleeve in concern, but Tony ignored him and stared at his clasped hands that
sat in his lap.

He cleared his throat and looked up. “Is that everyone then?”

“Well, we got you something, Tony,” Steve said, grabbing a small box from under the tree.

Tony hid his surprise as he accepted the gift, tearing open the wrapping paper with curiosity.

He opened the cardboard box and was met with a red mug, with gold writing on it that said,
“World’s Best Billionaire.”
Tony snorted at the stupidity of it, but he was touched. “Thanks, guys.”

Peter watched as Tony set down his mug, twisting his hands anxiously.

He had a gift for Tony too, but he was nervous. What if he thought it was stupid?

“There’s another gift under the tree,” Sam said, picking it up. “To Tony, From Peter. Aww.”

Peter blushed all the way up to his hairline. “O-Oh yeah.”

“You got me a gift?” Tony asked quietly, and Peter nodded, his hands clenching into fists.

Sam put the gift on the couch next to Tony, who picked up the rectangular parcel, and Peter waited
with bated breath as he opened it.

Tony tore through the poor wrapping job to find a simple picture frame, with a photo in the middle.

It was a simple photo of Tony and Peter in the workshop; Tony was sitting at his workbench,
grinning but not looking at the camera, a pair of plyers in his hand. Peter was in the foreground,
beaming from ear to ear.

He knew it was taken before May died just by looking at it. There was light and happiness in
Peter’s eyes, no anxiety or uncertainness that had been plaguing them as of late.

If he needed any more indication that it was taken before May’s death, it was written at the bottom.
It was dated 10/9, and there was a simple caption, “Before All This Happened.”

There was a note taped to the back, and Tony unstuck and unfolded it.

Tony,

Merry Christmas! I know you said that this is your least favorite holiday and you don’t like
receiving gifts, but I couldn’t just not get you anything. Especially after all you’ve done for me.

I just want to say thank you for everything. You’ve done so much for me that I don’t even know
what to say. I’m a lot to deal with, and I know you don’t like it when I say that, but it’s true. I snap
at you, I cry a lot, I have trouble being alone… but you seem to just take it in stride and deal with
it. I don’t know what I can do to repay you.

I wrote “Before all this happened” at the front of this, because that was taken before my life kinda
turned upside down. But you were even there before it happened. You were always there for me.

So, thank you for taking care of me and helping me breathe through probably the worst month of
my life. If you keep me around, maybe we can see if January is better.

Thank you again,

Peter.

Tony’s eyes were burning with tears by the time he got to the end of the letter, and the room had
gone silent, minus the soft crackling of the fire.

“Thank you for taking care of me and helping me breathe through probably the worst month of my
life.”

Peter was staring at the shag rug, his anxiety out of control. Oh god, he hates it, I knew he would—
A second later, he was being enveloped into the tightest hug he’d ever experienced. He was
pressed against Tony’s chest tightly, and Peter hugged him back just as tightly. Tony buried his
face in the kid’s curls.

“Thank you,” He whispered. Peter didn’t know what to say, so he just hugged Tony as hard as he
could.

They separated, and Tony smiled. “I got you a present too, kid. He stood, ducked behind the tree,
and walked back carrying a small wrapped box.

He handed it to Peter, who immediately ripped open the paper.

It was a sleek black watch. Peter’s eyes grew as he took it in, his finger brushing across the face.

“This watch tells me your vitals, such as your pulse, breathing, and blood pressure. I only have
access to them if they get high or low enough to be of worry.

“There’s no tracker, since I didn’t want to be stalkerish, but it does have a button to send me your
location. It also has a panic button, that I only want you using if there’s an emergency,” Tony
explained. He fidgeted nervously, a gesture Peter thought looked bizarre on a man of such caliber.
“I know it seems like I’m being overprotective and weird, but… I worry about you, kid.”

Tony’s voice was so soft that Peter immediately nodded. “Okay. I’ll wear it.”

Tony smiled slightly, reached out, and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Good. Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

--

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Tony decided that he wanted a mug of hot chocolate.

He didn’t frequently drink hot chocolate: it was incredibly sweet and reminded him too much of
his mother, but he was so merry and full of Christmas cheer that he figured he’d indulge a little.

He made his way down to the great room, surprisingly excited for the sugary substance he was
about to drink.

He stepped into the room and was about to make his way over to the fridge but stopped dead when
he saw that he wasn’t the only one up.

Natasha and Steve were standing in the middle of the kitchen. Steve was hunched over, his face
pressed into Natasha’s shoulder. Natasha was running her hand up and down Steve’s back, the
other in his short hair, and… wait, was he shaking?

Tony stared, shocked, as Steve’s breath hitched in a sob, a horrible, choked noise. His hands
tightened their hold on Natasha’s nightshirt, trembling from head to toe.

“I miss him,” He whispered. “I c-can’t…”

“Steve…” Natasha said quietly.

“We used to celebrate Christmas together b-before the war, even though he was Jewish,” Steve
whispered, and Tony knew immediately who he was talking about. “After my m-mom died, I
didn’t want to celebrate it, b-but he did, and he got me a sketchbook and—”
 “Shh, Steve, come on,” Natasha murmured, as Steve dissolved into heartbroken sobs.

“I need him, Nat,” Steve sobbed. “It’s almost been a year since I’ve seen him, a-and I don’t know
how much longer I can…”

“He’s dangerous, Steve,” Natasha soothed. “He said so himself.”

“I don’t care,” Steve whispered heartbrokenly. “I don’t care if he’s dangerous, I don’t care that he
thinks he can’t be trusted. I c-can’t deal with not seeing him. I've already had to live without him, I
had to watch him d-die, and I can't t-take watching him leave anymore," he took a deep, shuddering
breath, before whispering in a soft, broke voice, tinged with hesitancy, "Natasha, I... I...”

"I know, Steve," she said, her hold on him tightening. "I know you do. It's okay. It's okay that you
do."

Tony suddenly felt like he was intruding on something exceedingly private and secretive, so he
turned on his heel and went back into the elevator.

Christ, Tony thought, as he was lifted back up to the fourth floor. Everyone in this goddamn
compound has issues.

Chapter End Notes

So, I'm moved in to my dorm room; I have been since Thursday. It was rough at first,
but I'm getting settled and my roommate and I are getting along really well. Anyways,
thanks for reading, and feedback is much appreciated, especially since I could use all
the positivity I can get right now.
See you guys soon!
 A Doubt Can Make It
Chapter Summary

"It was too much. Peter’s eyes darted all over the room, and everything they landed on
costed more money than the monthly rate of the apartment in Queens."

Chapter Notes

I'm creating a playlist for this fic! If you have any songs that you think fit the theme of
this story, leave a comment!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Tony mentioned in passing about moving back to the Tower, everyone insisted on coming.

It was a surprising turn of events that Tony hadn't expected, but they all seemed determined to
come with, and Tony couldn't say no. Things were going well, and he knew that distance would
probably hurt instead of help, so he agreed. Maybe having them all with him would make the
transition easier, at least for him. The last time he was living in the tower, he was a mess because of
how lonely he was, torn up because of Steve's betrayal and the grief of his parents. Perhaps having
them there would make it better.

The following days passed in a whirlwind of packing and preparing, and it almost seemed like
everything wouldn't get done in time. Tony didn't realize how much of his life he had moved into
the Compound, and he ended up hiring a staff to help pack and move things. Peter stuck at his side
for most of it, not having much of anything to pack. He had few belongings, just some clothes and
other odds and ends, so he was glued to Tony's side the entire time.

Surprisingly, by move-out day, everyone was set and ready to leave.

Tony felt bad for leaving the Compound, in all it's safety and grandeur, but he knew that Peter
needed to go back to school, so he tried not to think about it too much.

Peter was quiet the day of the move. He put his stuff in the moving truck without saying a word,
and the excitement Tony was expecting wasn’t there.

The ride to the city was long and quiet, even though the radio was on. Tony kept giving Peter
worried looks from the driver’s seat, and Peter just stared out the window.

They pulled up to the Tower, and Tony couldn’t help the dread he felt.

The last time he was at the Tower, it was a couple of months after Siberia. He had a bad day that
day, and that night, he had drunk himself nearly unconscious. He was found by a very pissed off
Rhodey, who told him to move upstate if he wanted to live to see his forty-sixth birthday. Tony had
cried, shit-faced and hurting, before tearfully agreeing to move.
It was an embarrassing memory, one he wished he would forget. But it was the only thing he could
think of when he stepped out of the car and looked up at the building.

At least I’m not alone this time, Tony thought to himself, his eyes drifting over to Peter. The kid’s
hands were in his worn jean pockets and he had white earbuds in. He was wearing a thick winter
coat, one that he had grabbed from his old apartment when they were there a couple of weeks ago.
It was slightly too large for him, and the left sleeve was ripped, but Peter was dead set on wearing
it, even when Tony tried to get him to wear the new coat that he had bought him.

There was a slight shiver to the kid’s frame, and Tony could see his breath, so he bit the bullet and
dragged both of them inside.

The lobby was as spotless as ever, with the polished white marble floors and the sleek, platinum
Stark Industries logo, which sat behind the main desk.

“Don’t we have to bring our stuff up?” Peter asked quietly, taking in the sight of the lobby.

“The movers already did that,” Tony said, as though it was obvious. “Your stuff is in your room,
which you’ll get to see at the end of the tour.”

Peter nodded but didn’t crack a smile or do anything, except remove the earbuds from his ears and
shrink in on himself a little bit more.

Tony noticed that the kid’s hands were balled into fists as his side, and was concerned for a
second, but then dismissed the gesture as an attempt to get warm.

He led Peter into the glass elevator. “Formal living space, FRIDAY,” He told his AI, and the kid
watched as they shot upwards, the ground getting farther away and the city rising before their eyes.

“Floors one to seventy-five belong to Stark Industries. This is the main base of operations, so you'll
probably see a lot of my employees come and go. Floors seventy-nine to ninety-three, however, are
the living areas. You need special clearance to have access to them,” Tony explained. “You have
platinum level clearance, so that means you get to go anywhere in the Tower.”

Peter nodded, watching as the glass elevator climbed farther into the sky, before stopping on the
ninetieth floor, the doors opening.

They stepped out into the common room, and Peter couldn’t stop the shock that crossed his face.

The living space was smaller than the great room at the Compound but looked way more
expensive. The floors were a dark, polished marble, and several light fixtures hung from the high
ceilings.

To the left of the elevator was a sitting area, with soft white couches and chairs. There was a flat
screen TV perched on a dividing wall.

To the right was the kitchen area, with silvery stainless-steel appliances and marble counter tops.
There was another dividing wall, and behind it was a sleek dining table, with several chairs tucked
into it.

The north side of the room was lofted, with stairs leading up to it. There was another sitting area,
except instead of a TV, this one had a bar. Peculiarly, though, all of the shelves that should contain
alcohol were barren.

The north wall was completely covered in large, ceiling to floor windows, which brought natural
lighting to the whole space.

It was overwhelming. It was nothing like the Compound, which had expensive features, but at least
looked lived in. This was like an art exhibit, something to be admired but not touched.

Peter had never even been in a place this expensive, and the thought of living here was absolutely
mind-boggling.

His anxiety was high as Tony led him further into the room, and Peter became incredibly aware
that his shoes weren’t clean. He walked carefully, making sure not to scuff the floor. His balled
fists were closely tucked at his side, to make sure he didn’t break anything.

“This is the formal living space, kind of standard,” Tony said with a shrug, and Peter felt
incredibly out of his depth. Standard? “Kitchen to the right, living room to the left, bar and hang
out area to the front. There’s a bathroom down the hall, as well as a conference room."

Tony brought him around the floor, but then back into the elevator for the rest of the tour.

Tony showed him the gym, Bruce's lab, the workshop, some of the Avengers living quarters,
before taking him up to the 93rd floor, which was the penthouse.

The living space had nothing on the penthouse.

The flooring was a polished hardwood and the furniture was a soft macchiato color. The walls
were entirely made of windows, with large curtains pulled to the side. There was a giant sparkling
chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and off to the side, sat a shiny grand piano. There was a small
kitchen off to the side, right next to a hallway.

“This is the penthouse,” Tony explained. “Only two people besides myself are allowed access to
this room: Pepper, and now you.”

Peter nodded, carefully walking over to where the piano was. “Do you play?” He asked quietly,
reaching down to touch it, but then rethinking and pulling his hand away, curling it into a fist
again.

Tony looked pained as he walked over to where Peter was. “I used to. But, uh… not in years.” He
cleared his throat. “Anyways. You ready to see your room?”

Peter nodded again, and they walked back to the elevator.

The elevator stopped at the eightieth floor, and the two of them stepped out.

The elevator opened out into a small living space. The floors were a light, polished hardwood, and
the walls were a delicate white. There were windows on both sides, showcasing the clouds that
hung over the New York City skyline. The furniture was a pristine white with accents of grays, as
well as quite a few plants strewn about. There was a small kitchen as well, nowhere near as big nor
as advanced as the kitchen that was in the common space, but still had a fridge, oven, and
microwave.

Tony started to walk forward, towards a small alcove with two doors, and Peter stumbled after
him, caught up in the grandeur.

“To the left is your room, to the right is mine,” Tony explained, and Peter’s eyes shot to Tony’s
face.
“You don’t get your own floor?” Peter asked, surprised.

“I used to,” Tony said. "This area we're in right now used to be part of my bedroom, but I had it
divided so that you could have a room."

It felt like a punch in the gut. Peter looked down to the floor, color rising in his cheeks. He spent
money to divide the room in half. He had to give up his space for you to have a room.

“Pete? What’s up?” Tony asked, concerned, and Peter’s fists tightened with the horrible sense of
being a burden…

“I, uh…” Peter said huskily, before clearing his throat. “You didn’t have to do that. I could have
slept somewhere else. I didn’t mean to take up your space.”

Tony blinked, confused. “You’re not taking up my space. I wanted to divide my room anyways, it
was too big. And besides, I think it's the best for both of us for you to be near me while you sleep."

Peter swallowed hard at that, hating himself and all of his issues at that moment, but nodded
anyway, trying to wipe the guilt off his face. Tony gave him a worried look that he didn’t see
before showing Peter his room.

The room was larger than the one he had at the Compound. It had dark hardwood floors with gray
walls, with an accent wall of wood paneling behind the bed. The bed itself was large and sat in the
middle of the room with a black comforter, gray pillows, and a light gray rug surrounding it on the
floor. On the right wall were closed closet doors.

There were framed vinyl records on the wall above his bed, and in the far corner was a desk, with a
laptop and the tech equipment that he collected from his room back at the Queens apartment.

The opposite wall was entirely window, with large gray curtains tucked to the side. There was a
glass door in the middle of all the windows, and it led outside onto a balcony.

In the middle of the room sat his suitcase and the other things he packed from the Compound. His
bright red bag looked incredibly out of place.

Peter was frozen in the doorway, and Tony pushed past him and opened a door that sat to the left.

“This is your bathroom,” Tony said, and from where Peter was standing, he could see wooden
floors and stone walls.

It was too much. Peter’s eyes darted all over the room, and everything they landed on costed more
money than the monthly rate of the apartment in Queens.

He didn’t like when people spent money on him. Ned used to sometimes spend his money to buy
Peter’s lunch for him if he was out, and it made Peter feel like a freeloader. Tony took it to a whole
other level though, and Peter stared at the laptop in the corner, his heart drumming his chest.

Tony smiled at him as he walked over to it. “Do you like it? I thought you would need a laptop for
school. It’s a Stark brand laptop, top of the line. Well specked: 8 gigs of ram, a terabyte of storage.
Pretty nice.”

Peter took a hesitant step into the room, suddenly feeling incredibly nauseous. “This is… crazy.”

Tony pulled him into a one-armed hug, one that Peter was too stunned to returned. “Glad you like
it, kiddo. Come on, there’s more to see.”
Peter realized his lip was quivering, and he bit down on it hard. “O-Okay.”

--

After the tour was over, Peter felt incredibly drained. It was seven, almost time for dinner, but he
was ready for bed.

The tour ended back in the living space, with its expensive chandeliers and marble floors. The team
was there, sitting casually on the white couches, watching the news.

“Hey, Peter,” Wanda waved at him from the couch, and he gave a half-hearted wave back. “Come
sit with us, мали паук.”

Peter didn’t want to sit on the couches, they looked incredibly expensive and he knew he would
find a way to mess it up.

But he couldn’t say no to Wanda, so he slowly walked over and sat on the edge of the couch, trying
not to touch it much.

“Dinner, everyone,” Tony announced, and Peter was saved from having to sit in that uncomfortable
position for long.

Dinner was Chinese takeout, but Peter was startlingly unhungry. They sat at the giant dining table,
and Peter pushed his chicken around on his plate, not hungry in the slightest.

I bet Tony paid for this too, he thought, as he stared down at his food. I’m such a freeloader. I
should get a job. I should start pulling my own weight.

“Kid? Why aren’t you eating?” Tony asked him quietly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He said, hopefully earnestly.

It’ll go to waste if you don’t eat it, he reminded himself. Then Tony would have spent money for
nothing.

The thought made Peter immediately start eating, despite his lack of appetite.

The team settled into a movie after dinner, since it was Friday. They watched it in the
entertainment room, which was situated on the eighty-ninth floor. They watched the first Lord of
the Rings movie, which half the team had never seen.

Peter sat on the expensive leather chairs in the movie room for about half the movie, before his
eyes grew heavy and he decided to go to bed.

He stood, and Tony paused the movie. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to bed,” Peter said, his body feeling strangely heavy with exhaustion.

“It’s eight-thirty,” Sam questioned, eyebrow raised.

“You really are a Spider-Infant,” Natasha teased, and Peter wanted to crack a smile, but he was too
tired.

“Are you feeling okay?” Tony asked, eyes narrowed.

“Jesus, I’m fine!” Peter insisted with a little heat. “I’m just tired, today was a lot. Can’t I just go to
bed in peace?”

Tony looked taken aback. “Watch the attitude, kid. I’m just worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Peter said, hands balling into fists with anxiety. “I’m fine. Goodnight.”

And with that, he went into the elevator.

--

Getting ready for bed was an adventure in and of itself.

Peter’s closet was huge, filled with new clothes and shoes and other things. It made him incredibly
uncomfortable and guilty, and his eyes filled with tears as he searched for his old pajamas, finding
them in the back of the closet, tucked behind a silky shirt with matching pants.

He put them on and trudged to his new bathroom.

The bathroom was smaller, with wooden floors and gray, stone walls. It still looked expensive, but
not as dramatically pricey as everything else. The shower was big enough to fit two people, which
Peter found bizarre.

The toilet and the sink were pretty standard, though, and he almost felt comfortable as he brushed
his teeth.

He turned the light off in the bathroom and made his way back to his new bed.

He was hesitant to sleep on it. The comforter looked expensive, and he was sure the sheets were
the best money could buy, but he was absolutely exhausted.

He tentatively got in, careful not to rustle anything too much. He put his head on the pillow and
laid there.

God was the bed comfortable. It was like he was being wrapped up in a soft, memory foam
cocoon. His eyes were drifting shut, and soon he was floating.

--

He woke up several hours later, trapped in his own sweaty sheets, choking down a scream.

He flailed wildly, trying to free himself from his entrapment, knocking all the blankets off the bed
in panic.

His eyes darted around the room, trying to remember where he was.

Stark Tower, in my fancy, expensive room.

Placing where he was didn’t do much to help his mounting anxiety. He had gotten his gross
nightmare sweat all over the high thread count sheets, he had drooled on the expensive pillow, and
now the undoubtedly pricey blanket set was all over the floor.

He sat so his legs dangled over the right side of the bed, hands gripping the sheets, and sat there
breathing erratically. He was destroying everything that Tony had so nicely bought him with his
stupid problems. Tony had given up his space and his money for Peter to have a nice room, and
now he was ruining it.
He hoped FRIDAY hadn’t alerted Tony about his decaying mental state. Tony deserved to sleep,
not have to deal with Peter’s bullshit every night.

He’s not going to want to keep you around, he thought, his hands tightening into fists. No one
wants a burden.

“Peter?”

Peter froze. Shit.

“Why aren’t you asleep? It’s two am.” Tony asked, voice deep with sleep.

Peter bit his lip, eyes burning. You woke him up.

“Peter.” Tony was getting impatient.

“You should go back to sleep,” Peter said, his back to him. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

Tony paused, considering Peter’s tense posture and tightened fists. “It’s no problem.”

“Yes, it is,” Peter’s voice cracked, much to his annoyance. “You don’t have to give up your sleep
for me.”

“I’m not giving up anything,” Tony said, wondering where the hell all of this was coming from. “I
don’t care about how much sleep I get.”

Peter breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself down. He heard Tony approach the bed.

“What’s going on, Pete? You haven’t been yourself since we got here,” Tony asked, standing on
the other side of the bed behind Peter.

“Nothing’s going on,” Peter insisted stubbornly.

Tony took in the rumpled sheets and blankets on the floor. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“…No.”

“Peter.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Am not.”

“Mm… are too.”

Peter didn’t crack a smile. He sat there, in silence, guilt and sorrow fighting for dominance.

“Wanna tell me what it was about?” Tony asked quietly.

Peter shook his head. “I don’t remember it,” It was the truth: he barely remembered what the
nightmare was about, just the horrible feeling of terror that it provided.

“Then why are you upset, bud?”

A small sigh escaped Peter’s lips, and it was enough to have Tony circle around the bed and sit
down next to him.

Tony lifted his hand, and was about to put it on Peter’s back, but the kid shifted away from him,
causing him to awkwardly lower his hand.

“Talk to me,” Tony said, a little hurt. “I can’t help you unless you let me inside your head, kid.”

“No one wants to be inside my head,” Peter said under his breath.

Yikes. “Try me,” Tony offered, pretending like what Peter just said didn’t scare him.

All of the sudden, Peter’s face crumpled into a look of misery. “You keep w-wasting your money
on me.”

Tony blinked. Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’m not—”

“You bought back the Tower for me—” Peter accused, cutting him off. “—When you could have
just told me to suck it up and move schools o-or live back in the Queens apartment. You split your
room in half, giving up your space and money, even though I could have just easily crashed on a
couch. You spent so much money on my room, and now I got sweat on your sheets and the
blankets are on the ground and…. A-and…”

Peter’s chest was heaving with emotion, hands grasping at the sheets. Tony sighed and gently
pulled the kid in, so that his head was tucked into Tony’s collarbone. He threaded his hand through
the kid’s curls, trying to soothe him.

“I bought back this Tower because I want you to be comfortable,” Tony explained in a low voice,
and Peter could feel the vibrations of his speech against his head. “Sure, I could have forced you to
move schools, but you would be sad, and I don’t want that.”

“But you spent so much money on—” Peter whispered, and Tony shushed him.

“I spend money on you because I want to, Peter,” Tony said firmly. “I want you to be comfortable,
I want you to be happy. I’d spend all my money to do that.”

Peter twisted his hands in his lap. “Tony… I’m not worth it.”

“Wrong,” Tony said, tugging a little on Peter’s hair. “You’re worth all of it and more, kid, I just
don’t know what I have to do to prove it.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Peter said, shutting his eyes in relaxation at the feeling of
Tony’s hand in his hair. “I just feel bad. I keep you up at night with my stupid nightmares, I cry all
over you—”

“We’ve talked about this. If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t do it. Simple as that,” Tony
explained, shrugging. “I care about you a lot. I’m shitty at showing it, but it’s true.”

“You’re not shitty at showing it,” Peter whispered, snuggling into him. Tony pulled him closer,
and Peter sighed. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop,” Tony tugged on his hair again, and Peter let out a small whine of discomfort. “I don’t want
to hear you say that again. Come on, kid, you’re killing me.”

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled, sleepy.

“Can you try and not think the worst of yourself, please?” Tony murmured, still combing his
 fingers through Peter’s hair. “Can you do that for me?”

There was a lump in Peter’s throat and his eyes burned. “Yeah,” He whispered, suddenly feeling
raw and emotional.

“I’m not asking you to be happy,” Tony murmured. “I’m not even asking you to be okay. I’m just
asking you to try.”

Peter wanted to cry, but he was too tired, and Tony was too warm. “’kay.”

His eyes were starting to slip closed, his mind starting to drift.

He fell asleep, warm and comforted, Tony’s hand in his hair.

Chapter End Notes

Good Dad! Tony strikes again.

As always, feedback is much appreciated. I have so much in reserves for this fic, so
I'm kind of posting twice a week again.
See you all soon!
 A Love That Never Came
Chapter Summary

"When the ball did drop, everyone cheered and toasted. Tony grabbed Pepper and
gave her a kiss on the cheek, which left her blushing. Tony hugged Peter, and Peter
didn’t feel sad, because he had Tony."

Chapter Notes

So this chapter's a little shorter, but I'm still unsure if I want to introduce the major plot
line I have planned in the next chapter or not.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony had a small get-together for New Years, and at this party, they did play Monopoly.

It was only the Avengers, Pepper, and a couple other people close to Tony or the team. He got to
meet Maria Hill, an incredibly intimidating woman that made Peter more than a little nervous.

Tony wanted to use real money in the game, but everyone told him it was a stupid idea, so they
stuck with the stupid, colorful paper.

It was an intense game, but Natasha ended up winning, something no one was surprised about.
Peter came in third, behind Tony, which earned him an affectionate hair ruffle from the man.

They watched the ball drop on TV, and Peter felt incredibly sad that May wasn’t there to welcome
2017 with him.

Tony must have sensed it, because he stayed close to Peter the entire time they counted down to
ring in the New Year.

When the ball did drop, everyone cheered and toasted their flutes of champagne. Tony grabbed
Pepper and gave her a kiss on the cheek, which left her blushing. Tony hugged Peter, and Peter
didn’t feel sad, because he had Tony.

New Years Day was a slow day, during which Peter moped around the Tower, dreading the day to
come.

The next day was the first day back to school after break, and the first day of school since May
died for Peter. Dreading it was an understatement.

He accidentally snapped at Tony in his anxiety, which didn’t sit well with the man. It earned Peter
an angry glare and a “Watch what you say, kid.”

Tony made him turn in early that night, since he had to get up early the next day. Peter was too
anxious to even complain, so he went to his room without a word.
He got changed into pajamas and did his nightly routine, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling for
an hour and a half. His brain was buzzing with anxiety and nerves, but eventually his eyes grew
heavy, and he fell asleep.

He was woken the next morning at 6:30am by his alarm clock, and the second he heard the noise,
he was wide awake and filled with dread.

He laid in bed for five more minutes before forcing himself to get up and take a shower. He
changed into a pair of jeans, a black X-Files “I Want to Believe” t-shirt, and his gray heavy winter
jacket.

He got in the elevator and rode up to the living space, where he found Tony, dressed in a sharp suit
and drinking a cup of coffee.

“Morning, kid,” He said, smiling at Peter as he entered. “Pancakes? I made them how you like it
—”

“M’not hungry,” Peter mumbled, walking over to the counter, plopping down on a stool, and
burying his face in his arms. “I’m tired.”

“You’ve gotta eat, Pete. Sorry, just how it is,” Tony placed a large stack of pancakes on a plate,
doused it in syrup, and set it down in front of the kid.

Peter couldn’t eat. His stomach was bubbling with nerves and he was afraid that if he ate, he would
be sick. “I can’t eat, Tony. My stomach hurts.”

“Try, please. I don’t want you going to school without eating anything,” Tony said, vaguely
wondering when he started sounding like his mother.

Peter gave him a dirty look but took a bite. He managed to eat four pancakes, before he pushed the
plate away. Tony ruffled his hair proudly before putting the plate next to the sink, for the maid to
wash.

Peter got up and went back to his room to brush his teeth, put on his shoes, and fasten the watch
Tony gave him to his wrist. He grabbed his backpack, made sure he had everything, before going
back up to the living space.

Tony was still there, looking at his phone, when Peter walked in. “Ready?” He asked, and Peter
nodded, feeling sick.

The two of them went down to the garage and got into one of Tony’s black Audi’s, and they were
off.

The drive was mostly silent. Peter had an earphone in, listening to his music, trying to calm himself
down. It worked, a little bit.

But then Midtown came into view and the little bit of calm Peter had developed was thrown out the
window.

Tony pulled up to the school and put the car in park.

Peter’s knee bounced up and down anxiously, his nails imbedded in his palms, face pale and eyes
wide.

Peter’s voice was shaking with terror when he spoke. “I can’t do this.”
Tony laid a hand on his knee. “Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t,” Peter’s voice was high, and his breathing was shallow. “I can’t do this.” The kid was
nearly hyperventilating, and Tony squeezed his knee.

“Hey, look at me,” Tony urged. Peter looked at him with wild eyes. “You can do this, Peter. It’s
just school, it’ll be over in six hours.”

Peter bit his lip and breathed heavily out of his nose. “I can’t—”

“Remember what we talked about?” Tony said softly. “I want you to try, Peter. I’m not asking you
to be happy, okay? I’m asking you to try. So, try. Please.”

Peter took a deep breath, before nodding. “Okay. I—I’ll try.”

Tony nodded. “You okay?”

“No,” Peter gave a humorless laugh. “But… I’m trying.”

Affection filled Tony and he reached over to hug his kid. “I’m proud of you, Peter,” He whispered.

Tony pulled away after a minute, but Peter’s hand was still attached to his suit jacket. Tony pried it
off, before giving it a light squeeze. “Text me if you need anything. And I mean anything, kid.”

Peter nodded, still pale. He put his hand on the car door handle, paused for a second, and pushed
the door open.

“Have a good day, kid,” Tony called, and Peter nodded jerkily before shutting the door.

He took a few steps towards the school, looked back, and Tony was already gone.

His heart was in his throat as he walked up the steps of the school. He pushed open the doors and
entered.

Everything looked the same. Same cinderblock walls, same tiled floors. He sighed a little as he
made his way to his locker, anxiety lessening. It’s just school, it’ll be over in six hours.

“Peter!” He jumped, and saw Ned came barreling down the hallway towards him, an expression of
utter glee on his face.

Peter felt his own face melt into a smile, and Ned came to a halt next to him. “You’re back! Oh,
thank god—”

“Nice to see you too, Ned,” Peter said, opening his locker.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” He said, relieved. “I can’t handle another one of Cobbwell’s classes
without you, I’ve had to partner with Gabe Cardin and he doesn’t do any of the work.”

“Well, I’m back now, so you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Peter said, putting his
Chemistry book into his backpack.

Ned got quiet for a second, before asking hesitantly, “How are you doing?”

Peter paused in the action of closing his locker. He suddenly felt like someone had removed all the
air in the room, and he cleared his throat as he closed his locker. “I’ve been better.”
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Ned said quietly. “Is there anything I can do?”

Peter shook his head, the healing wound that was May’s death suddenly feeling ripped open. “No.
Thank you though. It’s… It’s been hard. But Tony’s helping a lot.”

“I can’t believe you’re living with the Tony Stark,” Ned said, trailing behind Peter as he walked to
his first block class. “Have you seen the Iron-Man suit?”

Peter smiled and decided to indulge Ned a little bit. “Yeah, and I’ve seen his workshop. It’s so
cool.”

Ned gasped. “Dude. What is your life?”

Honestly, kind of shitty. “It’s crazy, man.”

The warning bell rang, and Peter hurried to his AP Physics class.

First period didn’t help Peter’s anxiety in the slightest. He was so far behind, half of the things
Mrs. Warren said didn’t make any sense. By the end of the block, Peter felt anxious and stupid.

Second period, which was Honors English, was a little better. The class was halfway through
reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but Peter had already read the book, so he wasn’t worried about
catching up.

The bell rang for lunch, and Peter trudged to the cafeteria, tired and wanting to go home.

He bought his lunch and sat down at his normal table. A few seconds later, Ned and MJ sat down
next to him.

“Hey, Peter,” Ned said, just as MJ said, “Hey, loser.”

“Hi guys,” Peter said quietly.

“Mr. Wainwright gave us so much homework,” Ned complained, opening his milk carton. “I
wanted to watch the new Clone Wars episode tonight, but apparently I have to do his stupid
assignments instead.”

“Clone Wars is a dumb show,” MJ declared, taking a bite out of her apple. “The animation isn’t
even that good.”

Ned squawked. “Are you kidding me? It’s an amazing show! The plotlines are so interesting—”

“Not really, they’re kind of basic.”

Ned swelled with indignation, and opened his mouth to retort, but MJ turned to Peter instead.

“What’s up? You’re not usually this quiet.”

Peter met her eyes, and then looked away. “It’s… nothing.”

MJ narrowed her eyes. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Peter glared at her, and she met it evenly. Peter dropped his eyes again.

“Seriously, though, what’s wrong,” MJ asked, a little bit of concern in her voice.
Peter stabbed a chicken nugget with his fork. “It’s… It’s weird being back here, after all that’s
happened.”

“With your aunt?” She asked quietly, and Peter nodded, not trusting his voice.

“I’m sorry,” She said, after a long pause. “Are you doing okay?”

Peter shrugged honestly, because lying was too much effort. “Better than I was,” His voice was a
little husky, so he cleared his throat. “I’m trying.” I’m just asking you to try.

Suddenly, he missed Tony so much it hurt. It had only been a few hours since he last saw the man,
but he had gotten so used to having him around that it felt strange being away from him.

“We’re here for you, you know that,” She said. “Just don’t be stupid and not ask for help if you
need it.”

Peter nodded, a part of him wondering when she started to care about how he felt. “But Ned’s
right, MJ, Star Wars the Clone Wars is a great show.”

--

Gym sucked, but it always did. He forgot how much it sucked to hold back his strength and act
weak, but he knew it was necessary, so he did it. Both he and Ned were last to get picked for a
game of basketball, and then he had to spend the rest of the period acting like he had never done
anything physical in his life.

Fourth period, Spanish, was the worst. He was bad at it, and now that he was behind, it was even
worse. They were supposed to be memorizing preterite and imperfect verbs, but Peter kept getting
the two mixed up. His teacher, Senora Fernandez, wasn’t happy and scolded him in front of the
whole class.

Embarrassed and upset, he was unbearably happy when the dismissal bell rang at 2:45.

He met up with Ned by his locker and they made their way out of the school together.

“I got two new Star Wars Legos for Christmas,” Ned said excitedly, pushing open the school
doors. They started to make their way down the steps. “You should come over some time, so we
can put them together!”

Peter couldn’t help but get excited about that. “Dude, definitely, we should—” He stopped
speaking abruptly, when his spider-sense tingled.

He didn’t even have time to process the feeling before he was tumbling down the steps, his hands
flying out to catch him as he hit the concrete at the bottom.

The wind had been knocked out of him, so he sat there, gasping as laughter filled his ears.

Flash stood halfway down the steps, foot outstretched, a triumphant look on his face. “Watch
where you’re going, Penis.”

Peter looked at his hands, which were throbbing with pain. They were scraped so badly that blood
was running down his wrist, and there were a couple of small pieces of concrete stuck in his skin.
The wounds burned horribly, and Peter felt a hot wash of shame run through him as he heard
Flash’s friends laughing.
“Peter! Are you okay?” Ned came running towards him to help, but Peter was already on his feet.

His head ached from where it hit the steps and his hands hurt like a bitch, but nothing felt worse
than the humiliation.

“M’fine,” Peter mumbled, brushing Ned off. “I’m going home. See you tomorrow.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

--

The ten-minute subway ride home was a non-event, which Peter spent with headphones in his ears,
the cuts in his hands bleeding.

When he got off, it was only a five-minute walk back to the Tower. As soon as he saw the tall,
gleaming building, his heart swelled so much that it brought tears to his eyes. Home.

He walked into the lobby, and then entered the elevator.

“Good Afternoon, Peter,” FRIDAY said. “How was school?”

Peter leaned his head against the wall of the elevator, feeling sad and bone-tired. “Not… not great.
Where’s Tony?”

“Mr. Stark is in the living space. Would you like to see him?”

Peter’s eyes burned as his hands throbbed. “Yes, please.”

The elevator surged upwards, and Peter tried to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Tony was getting the jug of apple juice out of the fridge when he heard the ding of the elevator and
soft footfalls.

He couldn’t help but smile. Finally, Peter was home.

It was strange not to have him around, since they had spent an entire month practically glued to
each other. He did some work and messed around in the workshop a bit, but his mind was occupied
with thoughts of Peter, wondering what and how he was doing.

“Hey, kid, how was school?” He asked, his back to Peter, grabbing the jug of apple juice and
shutting the fridge.

He turned to smile at Peter, but as soon as he saw the kid’s face, his smile immediately fled.

The kid looked… fragile. His eyes were wide and watery, his shoulders hunched. It was almost like
he was curled in on himself. “It… It was o-okay.”

Tony stared, heart sinking. Shit. Why can’t something just go right for the kid?

“I just…” Peter was crumbling, and Tony could see it. He set down the jug of juice. “Can… Can I
have a h-hug?”

Tony nodded, crossed the space, and pulled the kid into a hug.

Jesus, Tony thought, as Peter collapsed into the embrace. The kid was trembling in his arms,
making small, hiccupping noises. Tony twisted his hand into Peter’s hair, and the kid made a
small, heartbroken noise, which made Tony sigh.

After a minute, Tony realized that Peter’s hands weren’t on his back, or clutching at his shirt like
they usually did. No, the kid’s hands were by his side, and Tony was about to dismiss it, but then
he saw a flash of red.

Tony instantly let go of Peter and grabbed his arms, examining his hands.

They were torn up and raw. There was a large scrape on his right hand, which sat bleeding, where
the skin had been ripped off. They looked incredibly painful.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered, before looking back up at Peter. The kid was still crying, his breath
stuttering, face scrunched up.

He pulled Peter over to the dining table and sat him down, before rummaging through the kitchen
for the First-Aid Kit. He found it and knelt down in front of Peter, opening the red container. He
pulled out the small bottle of rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball. He doused it and began to clean
Peter’s cuts.

Peter made a noise of pain, and more tears fell. “You don’t need to do that,” Peter hiccupped,
wanting to wipe his face but being unable to. “T-They’ll heal.”

Tony didn’t respond, anger overtaking him. “How did this happen.”

“I tripped and f-fell down the front stairs.” Peter said tearfully.

“Bullshit,” Tony said through his teeth. “Spider-Man doesn’t trip and fall. I’ve seen you balance on
the edges of skyscrapers, I’ve seen you walk on a tightrope of webbing. Someone did this to you,
and I want to know who.”

“Peter Parker trips,” Peter said, trying to glare at Tony through his tears. “I wasn’t watching where
I was g-going, and I fell.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Tony accidentally raised his voice. “Tell me.”

“It’s the truth!” Peter lied angrily. “I was talking to Ned about Legos, I wasn’t looking where I was
going, and I missed a step! Stop yelling at me!”

Tony stopped and watched as Peter let out a smothered sob, biting his lip.

“Okay, okay,” Tony said softly, reaching out and wiping away a tear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
yell.”

Peter nodded spastically, and Tony sighed. He reached into the first aid kid and pulled out several
band-aids, before turning back to his hands.

He unwrapped the band-aids and smoothed them over the kid’s injuries. Peter sniffed, and Tony
stood, pushing the kid’s head against him as he gently ran his hands through his hair.

“What happened at school today, bud?” Tony asked quietly.

“I forgot how much it sucked,” Peter shuddered. “It’s hard, to pretend like I’m this helpless nerdy
kid, when I can do so much more.”

Tony couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just comforted the kid silently.
 “I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.”

“Stop,” Tony said helplessly, sad and frustrated. He wants the kid to get better, but he just seems to
be getting worse.

“I’m going to go take a nap,” Peter said, standing abruptly and walking towards the elevator. He
was gone before Tony had a chance to say anything.

Chapter End Notes

Poor Peter. Literally nothing goes right for him, but he has Tony so it's not so bad.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you guys in a few days!
 Followed
Chapter Summary

"'Tony Stark,' The voice on the other line had a deep, African accent. 'It’s been
awhile.'
Tony immediately straightened. 'King T’Challa?' He asked, surprise coloring his
tone."

Chapter Notes

So I've got a relatively warm and fuzzy chapter for you. It's very plot heavy, I hope
you enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter couldn’t nap.

He tried—he really did—but he was too wound up to sleep. So, he laid in bed, on his phone.

It was 4:15 when he got a text from Ned.

“Hey, are you ok?”

He was about to respond, but then another text popped up.

“Why wouldn’t he be ok?” It was MJ, and Peter blinked in confusion for a second.

“Shit, that wasn’t supposed to be in the group chat,” Ned responded.

“What happened?” MJ again.

“Flash pushed him down the stairs. His hands were cut up.”

Peter flexed his hands and was surprised they still stung. Damn.

“I’m fine. Tony patched me up,” Peter texted.

“Tony, as in Tony Stark? You’re staying with him?” MJ sent.

Peter bit his lip. “Yeah.”

There weren’t any messages for a second, but then his phone buzzed. “Cool. Ask him if he believes
in climate change, because the way he runs his factories make it seem like he doesn’t.”

Peter huffed as he wrote out a text. “I’m not going to do that.”

“It’s a valid question.”

“You can’t just ask Iron-Man that kind of thing!” Ned joined the conversation again.

“Believe me if I ever meet him for more than three seconds that’s definitely what I’m going to be
asking.” MJ replied quickly.

Peter found a laugh escaping his throat, and he smiled as he typed. “I’m sure he believes in climate
change MJ. He’s a scientific genius.”

“Your hero worship is sickening.” MJ sent.

“It’s not hero worship!”

“It kinda is. You and Ned are annoying with your love of him.”

Peter thought back on all Tony had done for him, and his heart swelled. “He’s done a lot for me.
He’s earned the hero worship.”

There was a pause. “Fair enough, loser. Now stop texting me, I have to do homework.”

Peter laughed a little, but then closed out his messages app. He tapped on Twitter and started
scrolling through his timeline.

The word “Spider-Man” caught his eyes, and he quit scrolling.

It was a CNN article, the headline bearing, “Serial Killer on the Loose in the Suspicious Absence
of Spider-Man.”

His stomach dropped as he clicked on the article, a part of him screaming at him not to read it, but
it was too late.

It’s late, and the streets of Queens are deserted. Carla Norton, age 27, is standing on the corner
where Kent Street meets 80th Drive, waiting for her Uber to pick her up and take her home to her
apartment on 177th Street, which she shared with her long-time boyfriend.

Her Uber driver arrives 20 minutes later, but Carla is nowhere to be seen. The driver tries to
contact her, but the texts won’t go through and the calls all go directly to voicemail.

Carla’s body was found the next morning, strung up by her wrists, off a second-floor balcony a
couple blocks away. Her injuries? A slit throat and identical cuts running vertically from her
wrists to her Antecubital Space, or the inside of her elbows.

Carla isn’t the first victim the NYPD has seen with a slit throat and wrists, nor the first one strung
up. She’s the third in a series of apparently connected murders, and police suspect they’re all
being done by the same person.

Peter’s mouth went dry as he read further, his stomach turning.

Something unusual about these killings is the strange absence of the hero Spider-Man.

Spider-Man, who seems to be based in Queens, is a masked vigilante that stops crime, and overall
helps the community. His last sighting was November of last year, and in his absence, crime rates
have risen, even without these seemingly linked murders.

Peter couldn’t read any more. He hit the power button on his phone and lay there, breathing
heavily.
Oh my god, he thought, his heart racing. There’s a person killing people in the place I’m supposed
to be protecting. What kind of a hero am I?

He sat up in bed, hands shaking. I need to go patrolling. I haven’t been since I snuck out of the
compound. People need me.

He swung his legs off the bed and his feet landed on the soft rug. He stood and went over to his
closet, rummaging through it for his Spider-Man suit.

He found it, got it off the hanger, and immediately stripped down to his boxers.

He suited up, and was about to put his mask on, when there was a knock at his bedroom door.

Peter froze, accidentally dropping his mask in shock. There was another knock, and the door
slowly crept open.

Tony stood in the doorway, the worried look on his face changing into one of surprise, then one of
anger. “What are you doing?”

Peter set his face. “I’m going patrolling.”

Tony ignored the stab of fear he felt, and instead channeled it into anger. “Oh, really? And when
were you going to ask for permission to do that?”

Peter sent him a glare. “I don’t need permission.”

Tony made a buzzer noise. “Nope, wrong answer. Take the suit off, you’re not patrolling today.”

“Yes, I am!” Peter said, indignant.

“No, you’re not,” Tony said, angrily gesturing with his finger. “Suit off. Now.”

The injustice of it all made Peter grit his teeth. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I actually can,” Tony said, spreading his hands out. “I’m your guardian, kid, so you have to do
what I say, whether you like it or not.”

Peter stared at him, scowling. “Stop being so controlling—"

“Would you rather I just not care, Peter?” Tony inquired, walking up to him with narrowed eyes.
“Would you rather I just let you do whatever, and let you face the consequences?”

Peter wanted to say yes, but it was such a lie that he couldn’t force it out. So, he just stood there
and glared.

He expected Tony to look happy that he won the argument, but instead he just looked bitter.
“That’s what I thought. Take the suit off.”

Peter’s lip quivered in anger, his jaw clenched.

Tony looked at him a second more. “I don’t want to see you try this shit again,” He turned and
started to walk out. “FRIDAY, make sure Peter doesn’t leave.”

The door slammed shut, and Peter screamed through his teeth in frustration.

--
“I’m sorry.”

It was about an hour and a half later, and Peter was stood in Tony’s workshop, twisting his hands
nervously. Tony was looking up at him from his workbench, arms crossed.

Peter anxiously scuffed his feet. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I was going patrolling and I
shouldn’t have gotten mad. I…”

Tony was waiting for something, and Peter sighed. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“Why did you want to suddenly go patrolling, after not expressing any wish to for a month?” Tony
asked, tapping his finger on his bicep.

Peter bit his lip. “There’s a person running around Queens killing people, and I haven’t been there
to stop it.”

Tony considered him. “That’s not your fault.”

Peter cracked a humorless smile. “Isn’t it? They rely on me, Tony. I’ve let them down.”

Tony shook his head, eyes soft. “You’ve dealt with so much shit this past month, kid. You can’t
take on any more. It’s not your fault.”

Peter stared at his feet. “Why does it feel like it is?”

Tony sighed and stood. “Because you think everything’s your fault and it’s making me gray.”

Peter shook his head. “Four people have been murdered, strung up by their wrists and ankles,
throats and wrists slit. Those people would be alive if I hadn’t been feeling so sorry for myself—”

“Stop it, Peter, and I’m serious,” Tony scolded. “Look at me.”

Peter met Tony’s gaze, sad and frustrated. “It’s not your fault, alright? You can’t save everyone,
and you know that. Plus, whoever’s doing this seems dangerous. I don’t want you to go looking for
him, okay? Leave it to the police.”

Peter stared at Tony in outrage. He opened his mouth to say a retort, but Tony held his hand out.
“No more arguments, please. We can talk about this later.”

Peter huffed but let the subject drop.

Tony turned on his stool and went back to work on one of his gauntlets. “Are you still upset about
school?”

Peter shrugged. “A little, but not really. It was just a hard day.”

Tony gave him a look. “A hard day? You came home in tears, Pete.”

Peter blushed. “Fine, it sucked, but I’m over it. At least I’m home now.”

Home. Tony couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. “Yeah. At least you’re home.”

--

The rest of the week wasn’t as bad.

Peter didn’t come home crying, but he was always subdued. It took about an hour for him to revert
back to normal upon coming home, and Tony couldn’t help but be a little worried.

Friday morning, after Tony got back to the Tower from dropping Peter off at school, he got a
phone call.

The Caller ID was unknown, and the number was 925-263-2824. Tony declined it. Damn sales
calls.

He settled into doing a spreadsheet for a new project he was working on, but then his phone rang
again.

It was the same number. Tony declined it again.

Not even a minute passed before the number called again, and Tony finally picked up with an
eyeroll.

“Stark.”

“Tony Stark,” The voice on the other line had a deep, African accent. “It’s been awhile.”

Tony immediately straightened. “King T’Challa?” He asked, surprise coloring his tone.

“Correct,” Tony could hear the smile in his voice.

“They have cell phones in Wakanda?” Tony teased, knowing full well that Wakanda had the most
advanced technology in the world. “Color me surprised.”

“Very funny,” T’Challa was unamused, and Tony could help but chuckle. “I’m checking to see if
you remember that you’re visiting Wakanda tomorrow.”

Tony could’ve kicked himself. He had totally forgotten about his scheduled visit to the not-so-
third-world country.

He had scheduled the visit in early November, but then Peter came crashing into his life, and it was
knocked from his mind.

Still, Pepper should have reminded— oh. Maybe she did. There were a bunch of unread emails in
his inbox, and he recalled seeing her name amongst the senders.

“Right, yes,” Tony said, fiddling with a pencil on his desk. “I didn’t forget.”

“Mhmm,” T’Challa said, unbelieving. “Then why do you act so surprised to hear from me?”

Tony sighed. “Fine, I did forget. But now I remember, and I’ll be…” He trailed off, remembering
the last time he left Peter alone.

He’s going to lose his mind if I leave, Tony thought. I don’t want him to be upset.

“Are you still there?” T’Challa asked after a minute, and Tony sighed.

“I’m in a bit of a… situation. And I don’t know how to get out of it without collateral damage,”
Tony explained, tapping his fingers.

“You make no sense.”

“I’m a genius. I always make sense,” Tony said absently, trying to think.

An idea popped into his head. “King T’Challa, can I bring a guest?”

--

Peter was in Spanish when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Glancing up to make sure Senora Fernandez wasn’t looking, he secretly pulled out his phone.

It was a text from Tony. “Don’t take the subway. I’m picking you up today.”

Peter stared at it in surprise, before glancing back up to make sure no one was looking. He quickly
typed an “ok” before tucking his phone away.

Forty-five minutes later, the bell rang, and Peter walked as fast as he could to his locker, excited
that it was finally the weekend.

He was shoving books into his backpack as Ned came up next to him.

“Hey, Peter! What are you doing this weekend?” Ned asked as Peter zipped up his backpack.

“I don’t know,” Peter said, slamming his locker. “Tony’s picking me up today.”

Ned gasped. “Tony Stark is outside our school?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing new. He drops me off every morning.”

Ned’s jaw dropped, and Peter laughed a little. They made their way to the front of the school and
pushed open the doors.

The first thing Peter saw was Tony’s flashy red Audi R8, parked in the same spot he drops Peter
off every morning. The second thing he noticed was people staring at it as they walked past,
talking and wondering who was in it.

Peter nearly went into cardiac arrest when he saw Tony start to get out of the car. Peter sprinted
over to it, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste.

“Get in the car,” Peter hissed when he got near enough, casting a worried look around. Tony
immediately got back in, and Peter got in the passenger’s side, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Embarrassed by me?” Tony accused, starting the car.

Peter gave him a look. “No, but if people saw me getting into a car with you, they’d ask questions
and I don’t like being asked questions.”

Tony nodded and started to drive, pulling out of Midtown.

Peter checked out for a while. He stared out the window, deep in thought.

It took him about five minutes to realize they weren’t heading towards the Tower.

“Tony, where are we going?” Peter asked, snapping out of his trance-like state. “This isn’t the way
to the Tower.”

Tony’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Have you ever heard of the country Wakanda?”
Peter arched an eyebrow. “It rings a bell. Why?”

“It’s a small, third world country in the middle of Africa, known for their agriculture.” Tony
explained, stopping at a red light. “The population is just under one hundred thousand and it’s
considered to be one of the poorest countries in the world.”

Peter nodded, absorbing the knowledge. “I think we learned a bit about it in AP World History. It’s
in Eastern Africa, right? It’s king… it starts with a T… T’Chaka?”

Tony furrowed his brow. “Do you not watch the news at all, kid?”

Peter glared at him. “The news just makes me depressed. I don’t really want to watch things about
starving children or terrorists. It makes me sad.”

Tony’s heart swelled. “Good point. It’s depressing, but if you would have watched it, you would
know that King T’Chaka died at the signing of the Accords in Vienna. A bomb went off, and he
was killed instantly.”

Peter stared. “Wait. I didn’t know about that. Who set the bomb?”

Tony sighed. “Jesus, kid, do you really not pay attention? It was a HYDRA agent. Anyways, that
doesn’t matter. His son took over as king. You’ve met him.”

Peter started. “I’ve met him? When?”

“Germany,” Tony said, gripping the steering wheel tight. “Cat suit.”

Peter gasped. “That was a king? Wait, wait… he was only going after the dude with long hair.
Why? I’m so confused.”

Tony’s mouth twisted. He didn’t like talking about it, but it was important for the kid to know,
especially since they were heading there. “Okay. Basically, a creepy HYDRA dude named Zemo
made it look like the dude with long hair killed King T’Chaka, but it was Zemo all along. But his
son, T’Challa, thought it was the dude with long hair. So, he fought him in Germany. He was the
only person out for blood in that fight. The rest of us were just venting our frustrations.”

“Venting frustrations,” Peter rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t venting. You all need therapy if you
think that’s venting.”

Tony bit back his retort. “Anyways, T’Challa found out that long hair dude didn’t murder his dad,”
Bitter anger overtook Tony for a second, and his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “But
turns out he killed someone else’s dad, so T’Challa wasn’t too off the fucking mark.”

Peter was silent for a moment. “Tony? Are you okay?” His voice was soft, concerned.

Tony took a breath. “I’m fine. I’m telling you this because we’re going to Wakanda. Today.”

Peter blinked. “We’re… wait. We’re going to Wakanda? Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t pack
anything, I don’t know any African… wait, what language do they even speak?”

Tony couldn’t help but smile. “Relax, Pete. You’re packed, I had someone do it. Their native
language is Xhosa, but most citizens speak English as well, don’t worry.”

“Why are we going?” Peter asked, twisting his hands. “I’ve never been to Africa before.”

“I have to talk to King T’Challa about some trade stuff, amongst other things,” Tony waved his
hand. “It’s a short trip. We’ll be back Sunday.”

“Why am I going?” Peter asked quietly, knowing full well that he wasn’t important enough to meet
a king.

Tony gave him a soft look. “Would you rather stay back by yourself?”

A prickle of fear ran up and down his arms, and his hands curled into fists.

He shook his head, and Tony nodded. “That’s what I thought. I forgot that I was supposed to meet
him tomorrow, but he called me this morning to remind me. He said that I could bring a guest, so
we’re all good.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, feeling like a problem. “I don’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said, taking a left turn. “I’d cancel my trip for you, kid.”

Peter didn’t know how to feel about that, so he changed the subject. “Where are we driving to?”

“My private jet hangar. It’s a little bit out of the city.”

Peter nodded, and the two of them lapsed into silence.

--

The drive turned out to be shorter than Peter expected. It took only a half an hour to reach the
hangar.

Tony parked the car and the two of them boarded the plane, Peter feeling incredibly out of his
depth. What even is my life? Peter mused, as he followed Tony up the stairs and onto the jet.

He had never been in Tony’s private jet before. When Tony sent Peter to Germany, he bought him
an all expenses paid first-class plane ticket. It was the first time he had ever been on a plane, and it
was surprisingly nice, minus the jet lag.

Being on a private jet was completely different, though. The only people on board were the pilot,
co-pilot, and two flight attendants, who both greeted Tony with a smile and a “Nice to see you
again, Mr. Stark.”

They also smiled at Peter, who blushed and gave a small smile back.

Tony sat down in one of the soft leather seats, and Peter immediately sat down next to him, fists
clenched in anxiety. He didn’t feel important enough to be on this jet, to be sat on the expensive
leather seats.

“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Stark?” One of the flight attendants asked. She looked
young and was short with dark brown hair.

“Just water. Kid, you want anything?” He asked, turning to Peter, who started.

“N-No, thank you,” Peter stuttered. The flight attendant gave him another smile and left the area.

“Relax, kid,” Tony said, squeezing his knee. “We’ve got a long flight. Don’t be afraid to ask for
things.”

“How long is the flight?” Peter asked, trying to relax a little.

“Just short of thirteen hours. So, get comfy,” Tony winked at him, and the corner of Peter's mouth
quirked up.

--

After six hours, Peter was insanely bored.

Tony was hunched over his computer and had been for three hours. There was a look of utmost
concentration on his face as he typed and wrote things on a separate piece of paper.

Peter had done all of his homework, watched a movie, and eaten dinner. It wasn’t too bad, but he
was getting restless. They still had six hours to go, and Peter didn’t know what to do.

Peter listened to music for a half an hour, before getting bored of that and staring out the window,
into the dark world below. There were no lights, so he assumed they were over the ocean.

Peter found his thoughts drifting, to the events of the months previous.

His life was crazy, and it had been ever since he had gotten bitten by the spider, but these past few
months were especially insane.

It started with Germany. It started with Tony coming to his apartment and offering him a chance to
fight with the man side-by-side, against Captain America, of all people.

Then, it was the illegal weapon smuggling acts of the Vulture, which pretty much changed his
perspective forever. He had almost drowned, almost been crushed to death (the feeling of being
suffocated by a building that had been dropped on him was something he didn’t think he’d ever
forget, especially since he sometimes relived it in nightmares), and almost died at the hands of his
crush’s dad, all in the span of a couple weeks.

He thought back to the day of the car accident that changed his life forever. He thought of the
phone call, the sterile stench of the hospital, and for a moment, it was almost as if he could still
smell the hydrogen peroxide burning his nostrils.

It was the worst day of his life, hands down. He thought he was familiar with the choking
sensation of grief before May’s death, but he had been blissfully ignorant to what it really felt like
to lose everything.

“Peter?” Tony asked, his voice breaking Peter’s tirade of thoughts.

He became violently aware that he was gripping the seat rests so hard that they were in danger of
breaking and that his breathing wasn’t as smooth as it should be.

He looked over at Tony and saw that the man had put away his laptop and was looking over at
Peter with concern.

“You alright, buddy?” He asked quietly, and Peter nodded, taking a deep breath.

“I started thinking, which is never a good thing,” Peter tried to laugh it off, but Tony wasn’t buying
it. There was a soft look in his eyes, mixed with worry and something that looked an awful lot like
affection.

Peter sighed. “I was thinking about November 23rd. I just got caught up in the past.”

Tony considered him. “You alright?”

 Peter nodded, not sure if he was lying or not. “Yeah,” He yawned, puncturing his sentence.
“M’tired.”

Tony’s eyes were soft. “So am I. The seats recline, and—hold on,” He opened a plastic casing on
the arm of his chair and pressed a button.

Within seconds, one of the flight attendants were there. “What would you like, Mr. Stark?”

“Can I get two pillows and blankets? Thanks,” He said, and the girl nodded and hurried away.

She returned within seconds, with two fluffy white pillows and two fuzzy gray blankets. Tony
passed one of each to Peter, who took them both with a word of thanks.

He reclined his chair and got comfy, exhaustion hitting him hard.

Tony reclined his chair as well, and the plane lights were dimmed to almost complete darkness.

“G’night, Tony,” Peter muttered, as his eyes slipped shut.

“Goodnight Peter,” Tony whispered, and Peter was out like a light.

--

Sometime, in the night, Peter whimpered a little in his sleep. Tony didn’t say anything, just reached
over and soothing ran his thumb across the kid’s cheek until he stopped.

Chapter End Notes

I'm still looking for song requests for the playlist for this fanfic, so if you have any,
just leave a comment!
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you guys soon!
 In Every Other Shade
Chapter Summary

"T’Challa stopped right outside it. 'What is behind this door may upset you, and I
understand that. But please, try and be rational and think before you act,' the King said
severely, and Tony immediately nodded, wondering why there was a sinking feeling in
his stomach."

Chapter Notes

Back with another chapter. I hope you like it ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“—eter, time to get up. We’re almost there,” was the first thing Peter heard when he woke.

He opened his eyes and was greeted with sunlight dancing across his vision. He took in a breath,
groggy and slightly disoriented.

“Where am I?” Peter asked thickly, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

There was a low chuckle. “We’re flying over Uganda right now. We’re about a half an hour away
from Wakanda.”

Oh, right. Tony had to meet with the king of Wakanda, and he brought Peter with him.

Peter opened his eyes again and saw Tony sitting next to him, dressed in an expensive looking suit,
hair looking immaculate, tinted glasses already on.

“What time is it?” Peter asked, stretching.

“Well, in Wakanda, it’s 9:15 am. At home… it’s about 4:15 am.”

Peter groaned, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. “Time zones are stupid.”

Tony laughed again. “You’re not wrong. Go get dressed, kid. You’re meeting a king today, you
shouldn’t be in pajamas.”

--

There was a shower on the plane, which was the most bizarre thing Peter had ever seen.

He took probably the fastest shower in his life, not trusting showering several hundred feet in the
air, before getting changed into the dress shirt and pants someone had set aside for him.

He combed his wet hair, which was already starting to curl, and made sure he looked decent before
heading back to where Tony was.
Tony was on his tablet but looked up when he heard Peter approaching. He smiled up at him.
“Lookin’ sharp, kid. You excited?”

Peter sat down next to him. “I’m nervous,” He admitted.

“Don’t be, kid. It’ll be good,” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder.

The plane began to dip downwards, and both Tony and Peter buckled their seatbelts.

Peter looked out the window at the mountainous landscape, watching as the green blobs that
vaguely resembled trees became closer and more defined, and for a heart-wrenching second, Peter
thought the plane was going to crash into the soft brown dirt.

But suddenly, they weren’t heading for the ground anymore. They were flying through the air,
above a river, and in front of them was a gleaming city.

Peter blinked several times, trying to shatter the illusion. The metropolis stayed in place, however,
and Peter gasped.

“Holy sh—”

“Hey, watch the language, kid,” Tony cut across, giving Peter a stern look, who was too busy
gaping to care about being reprimanded.

“This is…”

“Not a third-world country,” Tony said, grinning. “I may have lied to you. A couple months ago,
King T’Challa spoke in front of the United Nations, explaining that their country was the most
technologically advanced in the world. The reason? They grow a metal called Vibranium, which
has the capabilities to do incredible things.”

“Whoa,” Peter muttered, in awe of the sight below. “Tony, this is so cool!”

Tony grinned, and the plane began to dip down once more.

The plane was about to touch down on a landing pad, and Peter couldn’t help but feel nervous. His
hands clenched into fists and Tony lightly squeezed his knee.

“Don’t be nervous, kid,” He said. “They’re nice people, and T’Challa is a good friend of mine.”

Peter nodded, and the plane landed. Tony unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, and Peter did the same.

Stomach churning with nerves, Peter followed Tony off the plane.

There were three dark skinned people standing on the platform. One was a bald woman, holding a
spear, dressed in armor of red and gold. She had a mask of intimidation, and she carried herself
with power and dominance. Next to her was a man dressed in black and purple robes. He was
smiling, his dark eyes shining with happiness. He radiated importance and authority, and Peter
knew at once that he was the King T’Challa Tony was talking about.

Lastly, there was a girl, who looked no older than a teenager. She was wearing a black top with a
white jacket over it, and dark pants. Her hair was eloquently pinned in a half-up, half-down style,
and her posture was one that displayed confidence.

Peter almost missed a step in his careful analyzation, but quickly regained his footing and made it
down the steps, stopping just behind Tony.
“Your majesty,” Tony said, a smile on his face. Peter was unsure of what to do, so he just stood
there anxiously.

“Tony Stark,” T’Challa gave him a nod of the head. “It’s very nice to be seeing you again.”

“Likewise,” Tony’s smile was charming, and he gestured to Peter. “This is Peter Parker. I’m his
temporary guardian.”

Temporary. Peter pretended like the word wasn’t a stab in the chest.

King T’Challa inclined his head at him, and Peter felt the strange urge to bow. “Very nice to meet
you.”

Peter nodded, blushing. “Very nice to meet you too,” Peter stammered, and T’Challa immediately
looked down at him, a calculating look in his eye.

Peter felt like he was being x-rayed, and he resisted the urge to fidget. His fingernails were
imbedded into his palms, and he felt hopelessly small and weak under the king’s gaze.

King T’Challa looked away from Peter, who quietly let out the breath he didn’t realize he was
holding. “We have much to talk about, Tony. Come with me,” King T’Challa gestured with his
hand, and he and Tony started to walk towards the building behind the landing platform.

Peter started to follow, but someone behind him called, “Hey, white boy!”

Peter stopped, turned, and saw the girl with the jacket running towards him. “Uh, hi,” Peter said
awkwardly.

“How old are you?” She asked, coming to a stop right in front of him. She was shorter than him,
but something about her made it feel like she towered over him.

“I’m fifteen,” Peter said, fists at his sides. "I'm Pet—"

“I already heard your name," she cut him off, a grin pulling at her mouth. "My name is Shuri.
Would you like to see my lab?"

Lab? Peter couldn’t help but have his interest piqued. “Yeah!”

--

“Is he your son?”

Tony started at the question, eyes widening. He looked at T’Challa. “Excuse me?” He gasped.

“Peter,” T’Challa said, as though it was obvious. “He was in Germany, in the red suit. Is he your
son?”

Tony’s heart jumped to his throat. “N-No,” He said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Not
biologically.”

“But adopted, yes?” T’Challa pressed, leading Tony down a long hallway.

“Not exactly,” Tony said uneasily. “He’s… I’m his temporary guardian.”

The word “temporary” felt like acid in his mouth.

“So you’ve said,” T’Challa allowed. “And yet, you bring him with you on this trip.”

“He’s afraid of being alone,” Tony muttered. “I couldn’t leave him.”

“Which proves your affection for him,” T’Challa commented, gesturing Tony into a small
conference room. “Why have you taken him in?”

“He doesn’t have anyone,” Tony said, sitting down in one of the chairs. No one else was in the
room; he and the king must be early. “His aunt, which was his last living relative, died in
November. I’ve been taking care of him ever since.”

“That is kind of you,” T’Challa sat down as well. “You must care about him a lot.”

Tony’s heart swelled. “Yeah,” He said, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I do.”

T’Challa sat back, looking triumphant, and the other members of the council poured in.

Tony pushed all other thoughts from his mind, focusing on the business at hand.

--

“Holy shit!” Peter exclaimed, watching as Shuri showed Peter her specially designed gauntlets.
“Those are so cool!”

“I know, right?” Shuri said, showing him the different settings. “It even has a setting for
disintegration, wanna see?”

“Yes!” Peter said excitedly and watched as Shuri fired at an old piece of hardware, which turned
into dust immediately. “That’s seriously dope. And you designed them yourself?!”

Shuri took off her gauntlets and set them on a nearby table. “Yep. Everything in this lab is mine. I
even designed by brother’s suit.”

“Whoa,” Peter said, unable to even comprehend how smart this girl was. “Can you show me
how?”

Shuri pulled a face. “How do I know you’re not a filthy American spy, trying to mooch off of our
technology?”

Peter stopped, arching an eyebrow. “Because… I’m not?”

Shuri smiled then. “Good enough for me! Let’s go, white boy!”

--

After a series of meetings, which took close to four hours, Tony was expecting T’Challa to take
him on a tour of the palace, or for them to have lunch.

He wasn’t expecting T’Challa to look at him with a guarded expression and calmly say, “Follow
me.”

Taken aback, Tony followed him, a little nervous. T’Challa normally looked serious, but this was a
whole other level.

He was led into a different building, which had higher security. Tony felt like he was being led
into something sinister as T’Challa led him to a staircase which led them underground.
The staircase led them to a hallway, with only one door.

T’Challa stopped right outside it. “What is behind this door may upset you, and I understand that.
But please, try and be rational and think before you act,” the King said severely, and Tony
immediately nodded, wondering why there was a sinking feeling in his stomach.

T’Challa opened the door, and Tony walked inside.

He stopped dead.

In a cryostasis chamber, face void of expression, eyes closed, sat Bucky Barnes.

Tony’s heart stopped, then beat ferociously in his chest. His mind wasn’t working, and yet was
going at a million miles a minute.

The Soldier wraps his hand around his mother’s throat, and Tony can’t help but wonder if she
thought of him in her last moments…

Tony's left arm twinged painfully, and he wrapped his right hand around his wrist, his jaw
clenched.

He’s in cryo, Steve had said. He never said where.

He could feel T’Challa’s eyes on him, so Tony tried his hardest to compose himself. “You’re
housing a murderer.”

“A murderer, or a victim?” T’Challa questioned, and Tony wanted to fight him.

Tony tried to take a breath, but found it difficult to pull in air. “A murderer. Why wasn’t I notified
of this?”

“I don’t need to notify you of what happens in my kingdom, Tony Stark,” T’Challa said, but there
wasn’t any heat to it. “Take a breath.”

“I’m fucking trying,” Tony said, through gritted teeth, trying to keep the panic at bay. His left arm
shook, and he gripped his wrist tighter.

“Calm yourself. He cannot hear us.”

“He better fucking not,” Tony ground out, taking a heaving breath.

He stared at the face of his parent’s murderer, heart racing, stomach churning.

“We have almost completely gotten rid of HYDRA’s programming,” T’Challa explained. “He has
only one more session left with the mind-healer before it is gone.”

Tony could hear his pulse in his ears. “And why are you telling me this?”

T’Challa fixed him with a look. “He would be a normal man again. He deserves a second chance.”

Tony bit his tongue as a retort surfaced and looked back at Bucky. “He killed my parents.”

“James Buchanan Barnes did not murder your parents,” T’Challa explained. “HYDRA murdered
your parents. It is unfair to blame someone who was not under control of their own actions.”

Tony knew he was right, but his heart hurt. “Does he remember?” Tony asked, a bite to his tone.
“Does he remember killing my mom?”

“I am unsure,” T’Challa explained. “His last session with the mind-healer is set for later this week,
after that, he will be safe enough to be around other people again. I ask of you to let him return to
New York.”

Tony’s eyes shot from Barnes to T’Challa, disbelief etched on his face. “You’re asking me to let a
murderer live with me?”

“He was not working of his own accord.”

“I don’t care,” Tony spat, hands shaking. “He killed my mom.”

T’Challa was silent for a second. “He doesn’t have a life here,” T’Challa explained. “He would
have a life, in New York, with Captain Rogers. I am just asking you to allow him a second chance.”

Tony suddenly thought back to Christmas night, when he stumbled across Natasha and Steve in the
kitchen.

I need him, Steve had said, crying into Natasha’s shoulder. I've already had to live without him,
I've had to watch him d-die, and I can't t-take watching him leave anymore.

Goddammit, Tony thought, blowing out a breath and shutting his eyes. Fuck you, Steve. Fuck you
for being so pitiful.

But imagine if you were in the same position, something in him whispered. Imagine if Bucky was
Pepper, or Rhodey, or god forbid, Peter. You wouldn’t care if they were dangerous, if they had
blood on their hands.

Tony opened his eyes and found T’Challa looking at him intensely. “He has permission to stay in
the Tower,” Tony said, not happy about it at all. “Notify me when he’s decommissioned.”

T’Challa extended his head. “You are a forgiving man, Tony Stark.”

“I’m really not,” Tony said bitterly. “But… he does deserve a second chance.”

They left the room soon after that, and Tony could’ve sworn he saw T’Challa smile at him.

--

The rest of the visit went by quickly. Both Tony and Peter were treated to a wonderful feast, during
which T’Challa talked to him more about trade deals and Peter talked to him about what he did
today. He had never seen the kid so excited, he was practically vibrating with glee. It brought a
smile to his face and pushed the thought of Bucky Barnes from his mind.

They left a while after dinner, Tony feeling mentally and emotionally drained and Peter starting to
yawn. He thanked T’Challa for his time and hospitality, and Peter said goodbye to his new friend
Shuri.

They boarded the plane, Tony a little worse for wear than when he came, Peter happier than he had
been for quite a while.

Once on the plane, they both changed into more comfortable clothes, and Peter watched a movie
while Tony did some work.

The lights on the plane dimmed soon after he finished his movie, and he put his phone away and
 stared out the window.

The stars shone against the dark African sky, and Peter couldn’t help but be filled with wonder as
he looked up at them.

He could never see the stars from Queens; the artificial lights of the city blocked them from view.
He didn’t get to see the stars often, but they always filled him with wonder when he did.

He looked over at Tony, who was typing on his laptop. “You can see the stars,” Peter said quietly,
and Tony looked up. He met Peter’s eyes, and silently closed his laptop. He moved the armrest and
slid over into Peter’s seat, so that their shoulders were touching.

“They’re beautiful,” Tony said quietly, his low voice mixing with the sound of the plane. Peter laid
his head against his guardian’s shoulder, and Tony wrapped an arm around him.

“You can’t see the stars from New York,” Peter said softly. “There’s too much light. But out
here… they’re beautiful.”

Tony made a noise of agreement, and Peter’s eyes began to slip shut.

He fell asleep, curled into Tony.

Chapter End Notes

Some Announcements:
A few people have asked me what my update schedule is, and right now, it's twice a
week. Not specific days, but since it's Tuesday, I probably won't post again until
Friday at the earliest. Sorry that I can't give you a more structured schedule; I hope
you understand :/
Also, every chapter name is a lyric from the song that this fic is named after, Carry
You by Novo Amor. I thought it was a good idea originally, but I'm quickly running
out of lyrics from the song to name chapters after. So, because of this, I'm probably
just going to rename chapters to things that correspond with the content. Just wanted to
give you all a heads up.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. I say that every time, but I really mean it.
Honestly, the support that you guys give me makes my life so much better. Thank you
so much.
See you all soon!
 Let It Lead Your Love Away
Chapter Summary

"Behind him stood the Ex-Winter Solider. His hair was long and hung in front of his
face, and his beard was neatly trimmed. He was wearing a long sleeve shirt and a pair
of jeans, carrying a backpack on one shoulder. His metal arm shone in the light coming
in from the windows."

Chapter Notes

The calm before the crazy storm of next chapter ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next week is a stressful one for Tony.

Although he wasn't the CEO of Stark Industries anymore, Pepper still wanted him to have input in
the happenings of the company, and to sit in on conference calls every so often. It made sense,
since it was his name on everything, but he spent the entirety of that week either trading emails
with the higher ups of the company or on the phone with Pepper, talking about a big project that
was set the following week.

During that stressful week, Pepper reminded him for what seemed like the millionth time that she
wanted him to go to Dubai, for Stark Industries business, but he knew Peter wouldn’t like it if he
left, so he kept putting it off.

That wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to leave, however. T’Challa informed him on
Wednesday that Barnes had been completely deprogrammed and was completely safe to be around
people again. He was flying out to New York on Sunday, something that made Tony’s blood
pressure rise and stomach sink.

He didn’t tell Steve. He knew he should, but maybe if he avoided acknowledging that Barnes was
coming, it wouldn’t happen.

Peter’s week wasn’t much better.

He failed a Spanish quiz, but he knew he would. He was terrible at learning languages and being
absent for about a month didn’t help. Senora Fernandez looked at him in disappointment as she
handed him his quiz back, a 59.1% marked with red pen in the corner.

He hid it from Tony, worried about the man’s reaction. He was behind in Physics, but quickly
catching up. Chemistry was as easy as ever, and AP World History was boring but simple.

He walked into school on Friday and was concerned when he saw everyone conversing in low
voices, slightly scared looks on their faces.
He found Ned by his locker. “What’s going on?” Peter questioned, a hand on his backpack strap.
“Why does everyone look so… scared?”

Ned looked nervous as well. “Last night… there was another person found hung up by their wrists
and ankles. It was a kid who graduated last year… Frank Edwards.”

Peter felt like he had been punched in the stomach. “Oh my god,” He muttered, falling against a
locker. “I could’ve stopped it.”

“I don’t think you could have,” Ned said uncertainly. “The police don’t have any leads; literally no
one knows who he is. The media… they’ve dubbed him The Marionette, since he, you know…
strings up his victims.”

“But I’m—” Peter glanced around, before whispering, “Spider-Man. I can do what the police
can’t.”

“It seems dangerous, Peter,” Ned said in a low voice.

“I can’t let him keep killing people,” Peter said helplessly. “I’m supposed to protect Queens. I’m
doing a lousy job.” He stared at the floor but perked up with an idea. “I’m going to ask Tony if I
can patrol tonight.”

“Do you think he’ll let you?” Ned asked as he closed his locker.

“He’s got to,” Peter said as the bell rang. They hurried to class.

--

Turns out, Tony didn’t want Peter to go patrolling.

When Peter asked, a strange look came over Tony’s face and he said, “Not tonight, bud.”

“What? Why?” Peter asked, taken aback.

Tony glanced up at him from his laptop, dark circles under his eyes. “It’s not safe, with this lunatic
out there. I don’t want you out there until he gets brought in.”

“But I can bring him in!” Peter insisted. “I’m Spider-Man!”

“You’re Peter Parker,” Tony said, his voice slightly hoarse from strain. “And I’m in charge of you.
So, no.”

Peter groaned, flopping down in the soft black chair that Tony kept in his office. His head lolled
over the back of the armrest. “I haven’t gone out in so long, I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You and me both,” Tony muttered, typing something. Peter looked up at him, his head tilted in
concern.

“When was the last time you slept?” Peter asked, taking in Tony’s slumped posture and multiple
coffee mugs.

He expected to be met with a glare, or a sarcastic remark. Instead, Tony heaved a big sigh. “I
honestly don’t remember.”

Yikes. “That’s, uh, not good. You should get on that,” Peter said, watching as Tony rubbed his
eyes.
“I can’t,” He sighed again. “I’m really behind on work, I have to get on a call in five minutes.”

“Skip it,” Peter suggested. “You're the boss.”

“I can’t just skip it, and I'm not the boss, Pepper is, Tony said tiredly, taking a small sip from his
coffee. His face twisted in disgust and he put it back down immediately. “That tastes like shit.
Ugh.”

Peter laughed. “Come on, Tony, just take a nap. You’ve been working your butt off all week.”

Tony buried his face in his arms. “God. I’m so tired,” He let out a laugh.

Peter stood and walked over to his guardian, tugging on his arm. “Come on, Tony. Go to bed.”

Tony let himself be dragged to the couch, which Peter pushed him on to. Peter covered him with a
blanket, before asking FRIDAY to turn off the lights.

“Do you need anything?” Peter hovered anxiously, and Tony snorted.

“Do your homework, kid. Stop worrying about me.”

“Fine. But you better be asleep by the time I’m done,” Peter warned, and Tony laughed.

He heard Peter’s footsteps lead away from the couch.

I should get back to work, Tony thought, but a second later, he was unconscious.

--

Saturday was a slow day, filled with anxiety for Tony and relaxation for Peter. The former spent
the majority of his day pacing around his office or the living room, wondering what he was going
to do when the murderer of his parents showed up at his front door the next day.

T’Challa says he’s safe, his mind supplied. He didn’t kill Howard and Maria. The Winter Solider
did.

It was Sunday before Tony even knew what was happening, and he hadn’t been so anxious in a
long time.

People were starting to notice, too. He walked into the living space, accidentally said “good
morning” in Spanish, tried to correct himself, and ended up saying it in Italian instead. His hands
were shaking so much at breakfast that he couldn’t pour himself a cup of coffee without getting the
hot liquid everywhere. Rhodey asked him if he was okay, and Tony only gave him a spastic nod in
response.

He was a nerve ending, and he literally couldn’t eat that morning. Peter was concerned; he kept
glancing over at Tony when he didn’t think the man was looking.

It was around noon when he cracked and told Natasha.

“Okay, don’t hate me please,” Tony said, mouth running a mile a minute. “But Barnes is coming
today from Wakanda because T’Challa removed his programming and I didn’t tell Steve because I
didn’t know what to say and I—”

“Barnes is coming today?” Natasha hissed, and Tony shut up. He nodded jerkily.
“Shit,” She muttered. “Oh my god, Steve is going to go crazy. Everyone’s going to go crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony apologized. “But I didn’t know what to do.”

Natasha sighed. “When is he arriving?”

“Three,” Tony said, wishing he had something to do with his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Is he living here?” Natasha asked, and Tony nodded.

“I promised T’Challa,” He said with a sigh. “I’m not happy about it, but his highness starting
preaching to me about second chances, and I felt like I didn’t have a choice.”

Natasha considered him. “You know, it wasn’t him that killed your parents. It was HYDRA.”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” Tony muttered.

Natasha gave him her equivalent of a pitying expression. “Should I tell Steve?”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know what state Barnes is in, T’Challa just said he wasn’t
programmed anymore. I don’t know how much he remembers.”

“Steve should know,” Natasha said. “So at least he knows not to get his hopes up if Barnes doesn’t
remember him.”

--

When Tony saw Steve next, the man was pacing around the living room. His face was set in a look
of worry, and he kept wringing his hands, a gesture looking silly on such a large man.

Two o’clock turned into two-thirty and Tony regretted his decision. He felt like one big ball of
anxiety, and judging by Steve’s face, he felt the same.

Peter was confused. Steve looked nervous, and Tony was pale. He was sat next to Tony on the
couch as Tony differentiated between looking on his phone and putting it away.

“Tony,” Peter asked quietly, around 2:55. “What’s going on?”

Tony glanced down at the kid. “We’re expecting a visitor.” His tone was clipped.

“Who?” Peter questioned, and he was going to press further, but then FRIDAY interrupted.

“King T’Challa and Mr. Barnes are here. His highness is asking for permission to access the living
space.”

Tony’s heart pounded, and Steve looked torn between happiness and nervousness.

“S-Send them up,” Tony said, his voice shaking. He stood, his legs wobbly, and the doors to the
elevator opened.

First stepped out T’Challa, dressed in elegant robes. He looked around good naturedly, and
everyone who was congregating in the living space stood.

Behind him stood the Ex-Winter Solider. His hair was long and hung in front of his face, and his
beard was neatly trimmed. He was wearing a long sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans, carrying a
backpack on one shoulder. His metal arm shone in the light coming in from the windows.
His expression was one of awe mixed with confusion. His mouth was in a line, but his eyes actually
had life in them, which was a new development.

Tony immediately shoved Peter behind him, trying to protect him in case Barnes went crazy. Peter
gasped behind him. “It’s metal arm dude!”

Barnes either didn’t hear Peter or chose to ignore him. He glanced around the space, blinking and
scanning.

His eyes landed on Steve, and the entire room held their breath.

“Stevie?” He asked in a low voice, and Steve’s face lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

“Hey, Buck,” He murmured, blue eyes warm. Tony rolled his eyes. Lovesick puppy.

Steve walked forward and encased Bucky in a hug. He was shaking; Tony could see it from where
he was standing. Barnes clung to him, pressing his face into his shoulder. The sheer intimacy of it
made Tony look away.

They broke apart, but Bucky had his flesh hand clenched around Steve’s shirt, refusing to let go.

His eyes roamed around the room again, and he met Sam’s gaze. He scowled, but nodded, and Sam
glared back. Tony blinked several times at the interaction. Weren’t they on the same side?

He glanced at Natasha, who smiled in her creepy way. “Soldat,” She said, in fluent Russian. “Ili vy
ne pomnite?”[1]

Bucky scowled, eyes sending death threats her way. “Ne nazyvay menya tak,”[2] he spoke angrily,
and Tony’s hand hovered over his watch. Jesus Christ.

But Natasha’s smile widened. “On skuchal po tebe.”[3]

Bucky didn’t respond to that and kept searching the room. His eyes landed on Rhodey’s prosthetic
legs, and Tony felt like he was going to throw up for a second.

But Barnes just nodded and continued scanning the space, almost like he was looking for possible
escapes.

Finally, his eyes landed on Tony, and Tony was ready to call a suit to him, ready to fight if need
be…

But Barnes didn’t do anything. He just stood there, one hand still tight around Steve’s shirt. Tony
hardly dared to breathe, and his heart was racing in his ears.

But then Peter popped out from behind him, and said, “Dude, is that a new arm?”

Bucky tensed, then blinked as Peter walked over to him, “That’s so freaking cool!”

Tony choked on air, and every part of him was screaming to grab Peter and get him away.

Bucky looked down at this arm. “A girl named Shuri made it.”

“I know Shuri!” Peter said excitedly. “She showed me her lab!”

T’Challa walked quietly over to Tony, who stood frozen, face pale. “Tony Stark,” T’Challa said
gravely. “That is not the man who killed your parents.”
Tony swallowed, and watched as Peter babbled excitedly. “N-No,” He admitted, taking in Steve’s
expression of pure affection, directed at Barnes. “No, it’s not.”

--

Steve and Bucky were inseparable. They spent the entire afternoon on the couch, Steve’s face
buried in Bucky’s collarbone, large arms wrapped tightly around the man. Bucky sat there, his
flesh hand stroking Steve’s hair, occasionally whispering something in his ear.

Everyone left them alone. They deserved their reunion, and no one wanted to intrude on their
happiness.

T’Challa left not long after Bucky got settled, bidding everyone a good day. He gave Tony a
grateful nod, which Tony returned.

It was strange to have another person living with them in the Tower. That night, when Tony
couldn’t sleep, he went to kitchen to make some mozzarella cheese sticks, and found Steve and
Barnes sitting at the counter. Steve’s hand was on the back of Bucky’s neck, gently massaging it.
Bucky was staring straight forward, his face lacking emotion.

“How much do you remember?” Steve asked in a low voice.

Agony shot across Barnes’ face. “Enough,” He whispered.

That had Tony turning on his heel and walking back into the elevator. I’m too sober for this.

--

It soon became obvious that Tony was going to have to go to Dubai, whether he liked it or not.

Pepper was consistently on his ass about it. It was the first thing she said on Monday morning over
the phone. “You need to go to Dubai.”

Tony sighed. “Pepper. I can’t. Whatever you want me to do there, I can just do from my computer.”

“You can’t, Tony,” She said, frustration apparent in her tone. “This requires field work. You can’t
just do it from the Tower. I booked you a flight for Thursday.”

Tony nearly spit out his coffee. “What part of ‘I can’t go’ do you not understand?”

“You’re going to have to clear your schedule, then,” Pepper snapped over the phone. “You are
leaving for Dubai on Thursday at 10am. You can’t get out of it.”

Tony groaned, wanting to slam his head against the wall. “Fuck.”

“Watch your language,” Pepper reprimanded. “I’ll see you on Thursday, on the plane. Don’t be
late, or I will castrate you.”

And with that, she hung up.

Tony buried his face in his hands.

Peter’s not going to like this.

--
He broke the news to the kid that night.

Peter was in bathroom, brushing his teeth, and Tony was loitering in his doorway.

He watched as Peter washed his mouth out with water from a Dixie cup and spit toothpaste into the
sink.

“We need to talk,” Tony said finally, and Peter froze in the act of wiping his mouth on a towel.

“Okay,” He said hesitantly. “What about?”

Tony resisted the urge to shift from foot to foot. “I have to go to Dubai on Thursday for work.”

Peter stared at him, his stomach dropping to the floor. “Oh.”

Tony looked apologetic. “I’ll be gone until Monday.”

Silence filled the room, and Peter pretended like he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack.

“Can I go with you?” He asked in a small voice, then wincing at how childish it sounded.

Tony’s eyes were sad. “I’m afraid not.”

Peter couldn’t say anything, so he just stared at Tony. “I…”

His legs were shaking, and the bathroom was tilted at an odd angle. He took a step towards Tony,
but his legs were unsteady, and he nearly collapsed to the floor.

“Whoa, okay,” Tony reached out and caught Peter before he could hit the ground, alarmed. “Okay.
You’re okay.”

Peter took a breath, stars dancing across his vision. Tony sat him down on the closed toilet seat,
worry etched into his face.

He took one look at Peter’s terrified eyes and made up his mind. “That’s it, I’m cancelling.”

“No, don’t,” Peter gasped, grabbing Tony’s forearm. “I can’t keep you from doing things. You
need to go to Dubai. Don’t cancel, please.”

Tony looked down at Peter anxiously. “Peter, you just almost passed out at the thought—”

“I’ll be fine,” He said instantly. “As… as long as there are other people here, I’ll be fine.”

Tony stared at him. “Are you sure?” He asked worriedly.

Peter nodded enthusiastically, trying to quell the fear in his heart.

“I’ll be fine,” He said again, pretending like he wasn’t trying to convince himself as well as Tony.

--

Thursday morning came, and Peter was anything but fine.

He woke up feeling strange and stumbled to the shower, half asleep. He got ready for school and
then headed up to the living room, where Tony was.

The man’s flight left at 10, but he promised to take Peter to school before he left.
 Peter was dreading Tony leaving, and he couldn’t tell if Tony knew it or not. He tried to put up a
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine” façade, but he was scared to death of being alone and he couldn’t help
but selfishly want Tony to stay.

The ride to school went too fast, and before he knew it, they were there.

Tony parked a block away from Midtown, so they could have a proper goodbye without any
prying eyes, and Peter instantly regretted saying he was fine with Tony leaving.

Peter looked over and saw Tony staring at him, almost as if he was waiting for a bomb to go off.

Peter didn’t say anything as he looked away, staring down at his knees.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked softly.

No. Don’t go. “Yeah,” Peter said timidly. “I… I guess I’ve got to go.”

Tony sighed. “I can cancel, if you want.”

Please. “No, you can’t,” Peter said, even though it hurt. “You can’t cancel. You’ve got to go.”

Tony sighed again. “You’re right. Pepper said she’ll castrate me.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Then you definitely can’t cancel.”

Tony chuckled and ruffled Peter’s hair. “No, I guess I can’t.”

A silence fell, then, and Peter opened the car door. “I’ll… I’ll see you on Monday?”

Tony blinked. “What, are you trying to get rid of me? Don’t I at least get a hug?”

Peter smiled and walked over to the driver’s side just as Tony got out of the car.

Peter sighed as Tony pulled him close, hugging him tightly. There were tears in his eyes as he felt
the steady strum of Tony’s heart against his ear. Don’t go. Please.

“Take care of yourself, please,” Tony whispered in his ear. “I’ll be back Monday. Text me or call
me whenever, okay?”

Peter nodded, not wanting to let go. Tony sighed and pressed a kiss to the top of the kid’s head,
before prying his hands off the front of his suit.

Tony got back in the car, and Peter could already feel the anxiety start to wash over him, his brain
producing horrible what if scenarios, all involving the death of his guardian.

A tear rolled down his cheek as Tony drove away, and he began the trek to school.

--

[1] “Soldier,” She said, in fluent Russian. “Or do you not remember?”

[2] “Do not call me that.”

[3] “He missed you.”

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys on Tuesday (probably)!

 I Never Strayed
Chapter Summary

"He rolled over in bed and had to suppress a groan. Everything hurt: his head was
pounding, his body ached horribly, his throat felt raw, and in the pit of his gut, there
was a vague feeling of nausea."

Chapter Notes

I wanted this chapter to be longer, but if I put the entirety of this arc in one chapter, it
would be, like, 7,000 words and I don't think anyone wants that. Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

School sucked that day.

Even though he was surrounded by people, he couldn’t help but feel lonely. Usually, the thought of
going home to hang out with Tony was what helped him get through the day, but now that he was
without that, it was like he had no point of even going to class. Not only that, but his throat felt
weirdly sore, and it was irritating.

When the bell rang at the end of the day, Peter sighed with relief. He took the subway home to the
Tower and was met with an empty living room, which was incredibly depressing.

Feeling apathetic, he took out his homework and started to conjugate Spanish verbs. It was hard to
concentrate; his throat felt raw and overall, he felt slightly… off.

He finished his homework by dinner time, and the team ordered pizza. Everyone was up in the
living room, even Steve and Bucky, and for the first time since Tony left, he didn’t feel the
suffocating loneliness.

He wasn’t especially hungry, and he didn’t know why. Usually, by the time dinner came around,
he was ravenous. But tonight… he didn’t really feel hungry. It was strange.

He still ate two pieces of pizza, though. It made him feel oddly full and slightly sick, which was
bizarre. Usually, he could eat a whole pizza, no problem.

The team and Peter watched a movie after dinner, but Peter couldn’t focus on it. His throat was
really bothering him and his head felt kind of heavy.

He kind of wanted to go to bed, but he knew if he went to bed, he knew he would start thinking
about Tony being gone and start to panic. So, he drank a ton of water and sat through the first
Harry Potter movie, which he usually enjoyed but just… couldn’t, that night.

Once the movie was over, he bade everyone a somber goodnight and made his way down to his
room, his stomach twisting in anxiety.
He changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth, before getting into bed.

The darkness wasn’t helping the sickening anxiety he was feeling. He lay there, staring up at the
ceiling, wanting Tony so desperately that his breathing started to get shallow, until he forced it to
even with a few deep breaths.

His phone buzzed from next to him and he reached over and grabbed it, his stomach in his throat.

“Hello,” Peter said, chewing on his lip.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice was at the other end.

Peter felt tears creep into his eyes, relief washing over him. “Tony?”

“Hey bud,” He said warmly, and Peter could hear the smile in his voice. “How are you doing?”

Peter bit his lip, tears sliding down his face and dripping onto the sheets. “I’m doing good,” He
made sure his voice was steady. “School was boring, but that’s okay.”

“Sorry about that, kiddo,” He apologized. “Also, sorry for calling so late. I just got in a few hours
ago and service is kind of crap here.”

Peter swallowed down a sob. “It’s okay,” He whispered. “I’m still up.”

His voice shook a little, and Tony paused. “Are you okay?”

Peter took a breath. “I’m fine, why?”

“Peter…” Tony said quietly, because he could have sworn it sounded like the kid was crying. “Are
you sure you're okay?" Tony sounded so concerned that Peter nearly lost it.

“Yes,” He lied. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“All I do is worry about you, kid,” Tony said anxiously. “Give me a reason not to worry and I’ll
stop.”

“I’m safe in the Tower,” Peter whispered. “I’m only going to school tomorrow, and then it’s the
weekend and I’m not going anywhere. I’m fine, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about me, Tony.”

It was quiet on the other end. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry for worrying… I guess I don’t like
being away from you,” Tony admitted after a second.

Peter smiled genuinely, feeling loved. “Only three more days and you’ll be back here, dealing with
me,” Peter whispered. “Four more sleeps.”

“Four more sleeps,” Tony promised. “Well, three for me. It’s six in the morning and I’m jetlagged
to all hell.”

Peter laughed, but then yawned.

“Get some sleep, kid,” Tony said softly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Peter swallowed, the action hurting his throat. Ouch. “Okay. Goodnight, Tony.”

“Goodnight, Peter,” Tony said, and the call ended.

Peter put his phone down and stared back up at the ceiling.

Three more days, four more sleeps.

The numbness was still there, but it was more manageable.

He felt weird, though. It was a sensation he couldn’t explain, and paired with his throat hurting, it
was almost like he was getting sick.

He snorted to himself a second later. I’m Spider-Man. I’m pretty sure I can’t get sick.

--

The next morning, when he woke up feeling like actual garbage, he realized that yes, Spider-Man
could get sick.

He rolled over in bed and had to suppress a groan. Everything hurt: his head was pounding, his
body ached horribly, his throat felt raw, and in the pit of his gut, there was a vague feeling of
nausea.

He wanted nothing more than to stay in his warm bed, under his blankets, but he begrudgingly
pushed himself up and into the bathroom. Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he looked in the mirror
above the sink, and did a double-take.

His hair was ruffled from sleep, and there were bags under his eyes. His face was sickly pale, his
cheeks and ears flaming red. He took a breath, and it caught in his throat, making him cough
violently.

His chest burned and his eyes watered. He cursed under his breath.

He rummaged through his medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen. He loaded a
bunch of pills into his hand, filled a Dixie cup, and downed them all.

He then got ready for school, even though he felt awful. He wore a science t-shirt, his heavy winter
coat, and a pair of jeans, as well as his converse.

He took the elevator up to the common room and was relieved to find that nobody was awake yet.
He made himself several pieces of toast, slathered them with peanut butter, grabbed his backpack,
and headed off to school.

--

By lunchtime, Peter was pretty sure he was dying.

It had been so long since he had gotten sick that he had forgotten how much it sucked. He had no
appetite, he felt hot and cold at the same time, and his head hurt so bad that it felt like it was going
to explode.

He sat down heavily at the lunch table, feeling worse than he had in a long time. He buried his face
in his arms, hoping for relief in darkness.

“Peter?” Ned sat down across from him, just as MJ sat next to him. “Are you okay?”

Peter raised his head, and the world spun so much that he felt like he was going to pass out.

“Fine,” He muttered, his voice hoarse.

“You sound terrible,” MJ observed from next to him, and Peter opened his mouth to say
something, but the only thing that came out was a cough.

It was a deep, wet chest cough, and it hurt. Peter gasped, unable to breathe. His hand curled into
his chest, wishing for the coughing to stop.

He grabbed his water bottle out of his backpack and took a drink, trying to sooth the hot flares of
pain that seared throat.

His coughing fit subsided, and left Peter feeling even more drained then before. He reached inside
his backpack, pulled out his bottle of ibuprofen, and downed a few pills.

“You need to go home,” MJ said, placing a hand on Peter’s arm. “You’re sick, Peter.”

“No,” Peter croaked, clearing his throat. “I’m f-fine.”

“Call Tony and tell him to pick you up,” MJ ordered.

Peter shook his head. “He’s in Dubai this weekend.”

“Tell him to come home?” Ned suggested.

Peter shook his head again, his gaze dropping to the table. “I want to prove to him that I can be
away from him,” He croaked. “I can’t just tell him to drop everything and come home.”

Both Ned and MJ looked to be at a loss, and Peter sighed. The bell rang a few minutes later, and
Peter stumbled to his third period class.

The rest of the school day passed in agony. Peter’s esophagus began to burn from all of the
coughing and his ibuprofen was starting to wear off, meaning his fever was going back up.

He knew the reason he was burning through pills so quickly was because of his fast metabolism,
but it didn’t stop him from being irritated when he felt his fever start to return.

School let out for the day, and Peter was too tired to even celebrate the fact that it was the
weekend. He made his way out of the school and onto the subway, and then walked the five
minutes back to the Tower.

Once inside the elevator, he nearly collapsed. He coughed violently, doubling over as he hacked up
mucus.

“You have a fever, Peter,” FRIDAY said when the elevator doors closed. “Would you like me to
call Mr. Stark?”

“No!” Peter gasped, trying to stop coughing. “Don’t tell anyone, FRIDAY, please.”

“If your fever reaches one-hundred-and-three degrees, I’m afraid I have a protocol to alert Mr.
Stark about it.” FRIDAY informed him, sounding a little regretful. “I suggest you eat, hydrate, and
then get some rest.”

Peter nodded weakly. “Thanks, FRI. Living room, please.”

The elevator surged upwards and let out in the living room. Peter walked blearily over to the fridge
and opened it, looking for something to eat.

His eyes landed on the leftover pizza from the night before, and he got it out. He stuck it in the
microwave for a minute, then took it out and began to eat.

He was surprisingly hungry, probably since he hadn’t eaten lunch. Even when sick, he supposed he
still needed to eat more than the normal person.

After the pizza had been reduced to a few crumbs, he took a few more pills of ibuprofen, went
down to his room, and started on his homework.

It was Chemistry homework, so it should have been relatively easy, but his focus kept slipping due
to the pounding in his forehead. He knew his fever was climbing again, and he cursed his fast
metabolism as he tried to write down the chemical compound formula for argon, before stopping to
cough.

His throat burned, and chest hurt with each cough, and by the time he was done with his fit, he was
gasping for air. There was sweat pooling at his temples, but he was shivering at the same time. His
head felt incredibly heavy, plus the room was spinning, and he had to take several deep breaths to
keep himself from passing out at his desk.

Okay, this probably isn’t good, Peter thought to himself as he closed his chemistry book. Maybe I
should lay down.

He dizzily changed out of his clothes and put on sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Shivering, he put on
a pair of socks and climbed into bed, quietly asking FRIDAY to turn off the lights.

He shivered feverishly under his blankets, his eyes screwed shut to stop the dizziness. His head
pounded horribly, and his entire body hurt.

He wished for Tony desperately, but the anxiety wasn't as intense, undoubtedly due to how drained
and sick he felt.

Body hurting, fever high, he fell asleep.

--

He woke several times during the night; once when his clock read six pm, once when it read nine
pm, once when it read eleven pm, and once when it read one am.

Each time, he felt like he was either being burned alive of frozen to death, so he responded with his
blankets accordingly, either kicking them off or dragging them back onto himself. He was
drenched in his own sweat and his head was pounding violently, and it was usually his need to
cough that startled him from unconsciousness.

When he woke at one am, he was sure he was going to throw up. He was incredibly nauseated, and
his horrible headache didn’t do anything to help, but he managed to keep down his dinner.

He fell asleep once again.

--

Tony Stark was in a ten o’clock meeting when his phone beeped in the pocket of his three-piece
suit.

Based on the tone it made, he knew it was from FRIDAY, but he assumed it was her daily check
in, and didn’t bother to take a look. The meeting was almost over, anyways.
His phone beeped again, and he finally took it out.

“Peter Parker has a fever of 103. Code: SPIDERBABY.” Was the message, and Tony nearly
dropped his phone in shock.

What?

He reread the message, his brain not comprehending what he was reading.

A fever of 103?

“Excuse me,” He choked out to the room, and hastily made his exit.

He had tried to call the kid earlier that morning, when it was ten o’clock at night New York time,
but he didn’t answer. He questioned FRIDAY, but she just responded with “Peter Parker is
currently asleep.”

He thought the kid was just tired, but now he was being told that his kid had a fever of one hundred
and three?

Hands shaking, he quickly dialed Steve’s number.

After three rings, the man picked up. “Tony, what do you want?” The man’s voice was groggy and
deep. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Go check on Peter,” He said immediately.

“What?” Steve rubbed sleep out of his eyes. His brain was foggy. “Why?”

“I just got an alert from FRIDAY saying that Peter has a fever of one hundred and three,” Tony
said, his voice rushed and anxious.

That woke Steve up. “Seriously?” He exclaimed, concerned. “A fever of a hundred and three?”

He must have said that louder than he intended to, because Bucky shot up in bed next to him, his
hands searching for a weapon that he didn’t possess. “Steve?” He asked in a low voice, his hazel
eyes darting around in the darkness. “What’s wrong?”

Steve’s heart ached for the man next to him, and he laid a hand on his arm.

“Nothing, Buck,” Steve said soothingly. “Go back to sleep.”

There was a pause on the phone. “Is that Barnes?” Tony’s voice had a weird tone to it.

“Yes,” Steve responded.

“You two share a bed?” Tony asked, almost unbelievingly.

Steve’s cheeks turned pink. “Maybe.”

There was a beat of silence, before Tony said, “Okay, I don’t have time to be thinking about that
right now. Just go check on my kid, please?”

“I am, hold on,” Steve stood and grabbed a pair of sweatpants, throwing them on.

Bucky was getting up too. “What’s going on?” He asked, sounding completely lucid.
“Peter might be sick, I’m going to check on him,” He told Bucky, who immediately got up.

“I’ll come,” He muttered, throwing on sweatpants as well, and the two of them headed up to the
fiftieth floor.

When they entered Peter’s room, it was completely dark.

“FRIDAY, lights at fifteen percent,” Steve muttered, and the room lit with just enough light to be
able to see.

Steve immediately saw Peter in the bed, a head of curls popping out of a mountain of blankets.

Steve smiled at the precious sight.

His smile immediately faded, though, when he heard a wet cough come from the bed.

Stomach sinking, Steve treaded closer to where the kid was, Bucky following.

Peter lay there, eyes opened just a little bit, cheeks flaming red, face white as a sheet. There was a
thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and he was shivering.

“Shit,” Bucky swore from next to him.

“Steve?” Tony asked worriedly, pacing in the hallway outside the conference room. His stomach
was flipping with nerves. “Steve, is he okay?”

“Peter,” Steve said, walking up to the bed, still holding the phone to his ear. “Peter, can you hear
me?”

Peter coughed violently but nodded. “H-hurts,” He croaked, his eyes burning at the light. “Don’t f-
feel,” A violent shiver wracked his body. “Don’t feel good.”

“Steve, answer me, dammit,” Tony just about yelled into the phone, panicked. “Is he okay?”

“No,” Steve said finally. “He’s… he’s not good.”

Tony’s stomach dropped to the floor. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with him?”

“Peter,” Steve knelt by the bed, feeling the kid’s forehead with the back of his hand. It was sweaty
and hot. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Everything,” Peter whispered, his eyes starting to well up with tears. “Everything h-hurts. I want
T-Tony.”

“He’s asking for you,” Steve said quietly into the phone.

“Put him on,” Tony said immediately.

Steve held the phone up to Peter’s flaming red ear.

“Peter?” Tony asked softly, and the tears slipped out of Peter’s eyes. “What’s going on, bud?”

“T-Tony,” Peter sobbed, hot tears running in rivulets down his cheeks. “I don’t f-feel good.”

“Shh, Peter,” Tony pushed down the fear he was feeling and focused on trying to soothe his kid.
“Talk to me. What hurts?”
 “M-My head and my chest, everything is s-spinning and I’m hot but I’m c-cold,” His entire body
was quaking, his teeth chattering. He let out a sob, feeling so horribly overwhelmed and overly
sensitive and awful that he couldn’t help but cry.

His resolve to prove he could be away from Tony had crumbled into non-existence as soon as he
heard the man’s voice. “C-Come back,” Peter whispered pitifully, wanting Tony so desperately
that he couldn’t think of anything else. “I m-miss you and I f—”

He cut off, coughing violently. His chest ached from the strain of consistently coughing and his
esophagus was raw and burning. He grasped the sweaty bedsheets, eyes streaming.

There was a metal hand on his back then, rubbing smoothing circles.

“It’s okay,” Bucky mumbled, and when Peter looked up at him, there was a strange protectiveness
in his eyes. “Breathe through it.”

Steve gently moved the phone away when it became obvious Peter wasn’t going to be able to
answer.

“Peter,” Tony was saying, his voice growing panicked. “Peter.”

“He’s okay,” Steve said, wondering if it was a lie or not. “Bucky's got him.”

Tony made a strange sound into the phone, almost like a strangled gasp. “How did this happen? He
sounded fine yesterday!”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, watching as Bucky helped stop Peter’s hacking coughs. “He didn’t
come to dinner, but FRIDAY said he was asleep, so we didn’t question it.”

There was a beat of silence. “You should come home,” Steve said, regret in his voice. “He’s in bad
shape, Tony.”

Tony was one step ahead. His phone was propped against his cheek by his shoulder and he was
already calling a suit to him. “I’ll be home in five hours. Keep an eye on him, call me if anything
changes.”

“Will do.”

There was a pause. “Take care of him, Rogers,” Tony whispered. “He’s my entire life, I can’t lose
him.”

Steve’s heart broke. Tony. “He’s just a little sick,” Steve assured in a soft voice. “He’s made of
strong stuff. He'll be fine.”

Peter heard Tony say something else over the phone, but his eyes were slipping shut. Bucky’s hand
felt nice on his back, and he was whispering soothing Russian in his ears.

Sick and tired, Peter fell back asleep.

--

Tony pushed his suit to its maximum power as he jetted across the Atlantic Ocean, his mind a
manta of “Get to Peter, get to Peter.”

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

Okay... I'm going to be honest, I love sick fics. They're my literal favorite, so I just had
to incorporate one into my own story.
(Also, I'm 200 kudos away from 2000 that blows? my? mind? like holy shit how.)
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you guys soon!
 Let It Bury You Away
Chapter Summary

“'Missed you,' Peter whispered, defenseless.

Tony shut his eyes. 'I missed you too.'”

Chapter Notes

aaaAAAHH this chapter is cute as shit and I'm so excited to share it with you guys!
Also, this chapter has vomiting in it and it's kind of gross, so I don't recommend
reading it if you're sensitive to that sort of thing ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Peter woke up next, there was something cool being pressed to his forehead.

It felt incredibly soothing against his hot face, and he made a small noise of contentment.

A bead of cold water slipped down the side of his face and onto his neck, making him shiver
violently and blindly reach for the blankets, seeking warmth. He didn’t want to open his eyes.

The covers were suddenly tucked under his chin, and his eyes flew open in alarm.

It was dark, and the room was spinning horribly. He groaned softly.

His eyes adjusted slowly, and he noticed was that his alarm clock read 8:30am before his eyes
zeroed in on a dark figure perched next to his bed.

It was Tony, a worried look on his face, eyes soft and anxious.

Peter blinked owlishly, his brain working slow. “T’ny?” He croaked, the words burning his throat
on their way out. His mind was working incredibly slow and a part of him didn’t believe Tony was
even here. “Wha…”

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said quietly, and he brushed his thumb across Peter’s burning cheek. “How’re
you feeling?”

Peter shivered under the blankets, his teeth chattering. “N-not good,” He whispered. “I t-think ‘m
sick.”

Tony let out a strained chuckle. “I’d say, buddy. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“E-Everything,” Peter coughed weakly, chest constricting. “Hurts to cough.”

“It’s probably from the strain of doing it so much,” Tony murmured, gently wiping Peter’s face
with a damp washcloth. “Your throat hurt too?”
Peter nodded, closing his eyes for longer than a blink, trying to sooth the pounding in his forehead.
He blew out a breath. “Burns. Head’s killin’ me.”

Tony brushed his sweaty hair back. “I’ll give you some of the good stuff in a minute. Do you think
you can eat something for me first? Is your stomach okay?”

Peter nodded weakly. His stomach was surprisingly calm, which was strange, since he vaguely
remembered waking up in the middle of the night nauseous.

Tony slowly helped Peter sit up in bed, which left Peter a little dizzy. He gathered his bearings as
Tony placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, with a piece of toast.

“You don’t have to eat it all,” Tony assured him in a soft voice. “But you need food, especially
with your metabolism, and these pills make you nauseous if you take them on an empty stomach.”

Peter nodded and stabbed a piece of egg with his fork. He lifted it up to his mouth, chewing
slowly.

He managed half the plate of eggs and a couple bites of toast, before he gave it back to Tony. He
saw the man put it on the nightstand.

Tony pushed a cold glass of ice water and several pills into Peter’s hand, who accepted it with a
hoarse “thanks.” He threw back the pills and took a drink, the cool liquid soothing his esophagus,
which was raw from the coughing.

Feeling weak and tired, Peter laid back down. Tony gently covered him with the blankets and ran a
hand through his sweaty hair.

Peter closed his eyes and drifted.

--

When Peter woke next, the hand in his hair was gone and so was the cool washcloth.

He felt worse than he did when he woke before, which was strange, since he had taken medicine.
His stomach was churning uneasily, and he grunted, uncomfortable and suddenly burning hot.

He kicked his blankets off, the action making the ache in his gut worse. He laid still for several
seconds, trying to push the nausea down. He took deep breaths in through his nose and out through
his mouth, his hands gripping the sheets.

He could feel the bile creeping up his throat, and he swallowed convulsively several times, trying
to keep the sick at bay.

He flew into a sitting position when he gagged, a hand clamping firmly over his mouth.

Tony had been resting his eyes in his chair next to Peter’s bed, but he heard the movement and his
eyes flew open, his body jerking. The chair he was on almost toppled over.

He took in Peter’s alarmed eyes and hand over his mouth.

“Shit, okay,” He swore, standing up and helping Peter out of bed. The kid stumbled a little as his
feet hit the ground, but Tony made sure he was steady as he quickly led him to the bathroom.

Peter fell to his knees in front of the toilet, his stomach churning dangerously as he spat a mouthful
of spit into the bowl. He tried to take a breath, to keep the inevitable from happening, but it was
futile.

He retched and vomited into the toilet, the eggs he had eaten just a little bit ago making a
reappearance. It was gross and it hurt, and tears of shame and pain slid down Peter’s feverish
cheeks.

He breathed for a second, but gagged and threw up again, coughing and sputtering.

Tony sat behind his kid on his knees, rubbing a hand up and down his back as Peter was violently
sick. He was expecting to feel disgust, or discomfort, but all he felt was pity and worry.

The waves of vomit had turned into painful dry heaves, and Peter wasn’t sure if he had ever felt
worse. The heaves hurt his chest, his throat felt raw from the stomach acid, and his nose burned.
The force with which he threw up made his head hurt worse, and it was a steading pounding in his
temples.

He collapsed weakly into Tony, exhausted and feeling terrible. The man’s arms immediately
wrapped around him. “You okay?”

Peter shook his head. “Don’ feel good,” He whispered, the awful taste of vomit in his mouth. Tony
gently wiped the leftover tears off of Peter’s face and handed him a Dixie cup of water, which
Peter used to swish his mouth out.

Tony let Peter go for a second, standing and leaving the bathroom.

He was gone just long enough for Peter to feel lonely and returned with a new glass of water and a
sleeve of saltine crackers.

He handed Peter the glass of water, who sipped it carefully. Tony sat down next to Peter on the
bathroom floor, who put his head on the man’s shoulder, whining low in his throat.

“Do you feel any better?” Tony asked softly, and Peter shook his head.

“Worse,” He whispered, and Tony’s heart sank. “Hate throwing up.”

“Yeah, it’s not fun,” Tony said sorrowfully.

Peter coughed violently, placing a hand on his chest. He felt like his ribs were going to crack from
the strain of his coughs.

When the hacking fit subsided, Peter was left tired and sore.

“How’s your stomach?” Tony questioned, his quiet voice filling the bathroom.

“Dunno,” Peter croaked.

“I think the eggs were a little risky. Try and eat these,” Tony said, giving Peter two saltine crackers
from the sleeve. “Hopefully they don’t upset your stomach.”

Peter nibbled on them, not hungry but trying to eat for Tony. He managed a whole cracker and a
few nibbles of the second one, before giving it back to Tony. He shivered violently, pressing his
face into his guardian’s shoulder.

“Bed?” Tony asked softly, and Peter nodded.

Tony helped Peter stand on shaky feet, and he led him out of the bathroom and back into the dark
bedroom.

Peter got into bed, body shaking. Tony covered him up and then disappeared from Peter’s view for
a second.

The bed dipped down suddenly, and there was a hand in his hair once again. Peter made a noise
and instantly melted into the touch.

He fell asleep once again.

--

When Peter woke again, the first thing he registered was how cold he was.

The second thing he registered was that Tony was gone from his position next to him.

The third thing he registered was that he was going to throw up.

He gagged and sat up, hand cupping his mouth again. His brain was fuddled with sickness and
leftover sleep, and the room was spinning horribly.

My fever must have gone up, he thought vaguely.

He tried to move, but he was so unsteady, and his head hurt so bad that every motion felt fake,
almost like he was in a dream. He gagged again, and panic filled him.

Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, Peter pleaded with himself. Don’t make a mess.

Just as he thought of how uncomfortable Tony would be if he threw up all over himself, he heaved
and vomited in his hand, tears in his eyes.

Tony walked out of the elevator and down the hall to Peter’s room, carrying a thermometer and a
frozen washcloth.

It was almost 1 o’clock in the afternoon, and Tony was jetlagged to all hell. His body was on
Dubai time, and it was nine o’clock at night there. Even before Peter had gotten sick, he wasn’t
sleeping well; he was too worried about being away from his kid to be able to rest comfortably.

But now that Peter was sick, sleep was the last thing on his mind, even though he was exhausted.
He was completely focused on taking care of his kid.

It was strange. Tony had never really cared for anyone before… if Pepper got sick, she took care of
herself and stayed away from him.

But Peter… Peter was a kid, one who didn’t know how to care for himself if he got sick. And Tony
didn’t mind stepping up to the role of caretaker. Anything to make his kid feel better.

Tony opened up Peter’s door, expecting to find the kid where he left him; fitful in sleep, but in
sleep nonetheless.

He wasn’t expecting Peter to be sat up in bed, face tinted with green, cheeks red, a hand clamped
over his mouth, a trail of sick running down his arm.

Peter took a breath, trying to stop himself from vomiting again, but all he could smell were the
sour contents of his stomach.
Tony swore loudly and immediately dropped the thermometer and washcloth, watching as Peter
threw up again, and it ran from his hand onto the bed sheets and the front of his shirt.

Tony grabbed the bin from the side of the bed and placed it in front of Peter, who let out a
strangled noise and coughed, removing his hand from over his mouth.

Tony winced at the sight. Poor kid, he thought as Peter coughed up bile.

Tears were streaming down his face by the time his heaves had stopped, his entire body aching and
his face burning with fever and embarrassment.

Tony handed him water and he rinsed his mouth out, feeling disgusting and mortified.

A second later, there was a cool towel wiping the sick off of his face, before a thermometer was
pushed under his tongue.

104.3. Cold dread filled Tony. Shit, he thought, re-reading the number. That’s not good.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whimpered, tears dripping onto the dirty sheets.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, buddy,” Tony murmured, helping Peter out of bed. The kid was
incredibly unsteady, trying to navigate with a spinning head and teary eyes.

He was hellbent on trying to go to walk to the bathroom without Tony’s help, since he had already
made such a fool of himself. But the room was spinning, and he felt weak and nauseous. He nearly
fell over, but Tony reached out and caught him.

“Slow your roll, kid,” Tony muttered, taking charge and leading Peter to the bathroom.

Tony walked over to the shower and started it. “I’m going to leave so you can shower,” Tony
explained, watching as Peter’s bleary eyes focused on him. “I’ll be right outside that door, so don’t
hesitate to call for me.”

Peter nodded, tears still slipping down his cheeks.

Tony didn’t think he had ever seen a more pitiful sight. Peter’s face was pale, but his cheeks and
neck were flushed. His hand, arm, and shirt had sick on them, and his entire form was trembling.

He gently wiped the kid’s tears away with his thumbs and ruffled his hair affectionately before
leaving the bathroom, unable to keep from worrying.

Peter got undressed and into the shower, shutting his eyes as the warm spray hit him.

He showered quickly and dizzily, scrubbing his sweat covered body with a bar of soap, before
getting out and drying himself off.

There was a soft pajama shirt and fuzzy pants waiting for him, and he put them on.

Peter opened the door to the bathroom and found Tony standing outside, forehead creased in worry.

Peter pitched forward and buried his face in Tony’s chest, sick, tired, and full of a childish want to
be held.

Tony sighed and wrapped his arms around Peter.

“Sorry,” Peter said huskily. “Didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t do that,” Tony reprimanded softly. “It’s not your fault. I’ve thrown up on Rhodey before,
back in college. A little puke on the bedsheets is nothing compared to that.”

Peter gave a small laugh, but then coughed weakly, jostling his stomach a little bit. He groaned
softly.

“You okay?” Tony asked warily. “You still feel nauseous?”

Peter shrugged, and Tony nodded. “Let’s sit in the bathroom for a little bit.”

Peter nodded and let Tony lead him back to the bathroom. The two of them sat on the cold, tiled
floor, Peter in front of Tony, so he could have quick access to the toilet.

Tony handed Peter a glass of water with a straw. “Drink slowly,” He ordered, and Peter obeyed.
Tony got up and left about fifteen minutes later and returned with some pills, placing them in
Peter's hand, who took them immediately. They slid down his raw throat, chased by water, which
done nothing to ease the burn. He groaned quietly and laid his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Tired?” Tony asked softly.

“Mm,” Peter mumbled.

“Go to sleep bud.”

He slept again.

--

He was only asleep for a half an hour before he was awake and throwing up again, his insides
burning. Tony rubbed his back and gave him water when he was done.

He drank the water, laid his head back on Tony for only ten minutes, before he was throwing up
pure water and bile, his stomach constricting painfully.

Tony was beyond concerned. The kid sank back against him with a pitiful moan, his eyes already
fluttering shut.

Tony gently tried to give Peter a glass of water, but the kid shook his head. He was sweating
profusely from the exertion of throwing up, and his face was pasty white.

“Come on, buddy,” Tony whispered, trying to get the kid to drink. “You’re dehydrated. You have
to drink.”

Peter shook his head again, and Tony tried to keep his mounting panic at bay. “Peter. Please. You
have to.”

Peter let Tony force the straw between his lips, and slowly sipped the water, his eyes still shut. The
cool liquid did nothing to ease the pain in his throat, and his eyes pricked with tears as he continued
to slowly drink.

His eyes were shut for ten blissful minutes before his stomach was constricting again, and he found
himself dry-heaving over the toilet. It lasted for few minutes, and then Tony had to gather the kid
in his arms when Peter began crying.

“It hurts,” He whimpered. “Please.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tony whispered, stroking Peter’s hair, panicked. “We should go see Bruce.”

“No!” Peter groaned against Tony, fisting his shirt and tugging on it. “No doctors. Please.”

Tony sighed. “Peter, you can’t keep water down—”

“No doctors,” He let out a pitiful sob, and Tony’s resolve crumbled.

“Alright, no doctors,” Tony conceded in a murmur.

Peter passed out about a minute later, and Tony fished his phone out of his pocket.

He dialed Bruce’s number, and the man picked up on the second ring.

“Tony? What’s up?”

“Peter’s sick, and he can’t keep down fluids,” The words tumbled from his mouth in a rush. “His
fever is at 104 and he keeps burning through medicine faster than I can give it to him. I don’t know
what to do.”

“Whoa, slow down,” Bruce said calmly, instantly snapping into doctor mode. “What are his
symptoms?”

“Vomiting, fever, chills, dizziness, sore throat, cough, he’s sleeping a lot,” Tony listed off, his
voice anxious but quiet. He didn’t want to wake Peter. “He told me his head hurts too, and he can’t
keep anything down and he was crying and—”

“Tony,” Bruce spoke over him loudly. Tony’s mouth slammed shut. “Relax. From what you’ve
told me, it sounds like he has the flu. For normal people, the symptoms go away in three or four
days. How long has he had it?”

“Since yesterday,” Tony whispered, carding his hand through the kid’s hair. Peter made a sleepy
noise.

“Knowing his metabolism and healing factor, he’ll probably be better by tomorrow. For now, make
sure he rests and keeps taking fever reducers. To hydrate, give him some ice chips, or a little
Gatorade. If he doesn’t improve, bring him down to the lab and I’ll give him an IV drip.”

Tony sighed, relieved. “Thanks, Bruce. I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The line disconnected.

--

The ice chips were a godsend.

Peter ate half a cup full, and then promptly fell back asleep.

An hour passed, and the kid didn’t stir.

Tony nearly cried in relief.

--
When Peter woke next, he was in possibly the most comfortable bed he had ever laid in.

His eyes opened slowly, the room still spinning but not as violently as before.

His vision skirted the place he was in, noticing the size of the room and the expensive furniture.
There was a large flat screen TV in front of him, turned off, on a wooden wall. Underneath the TV
was a fireplace, which sat indented in the wall. To the left was a gray sofa and a chair, placed in a
“L” formation, with a glass coffee table in the middle.

Peter’s eyes looked to the right side of the room and was met with nothing but window. The sky
was a blanket of gray clouds, looking like they were ready to dump snow at any time.

He looked to the side, at the nightstand, and saw that the clock read 5:57pm.

The darting of his eyes back and forth hurt his head, so he shut his eyes and groaned softly.

“Kid? You okay?”

Peter’s eyes flew open, and there stood Tony, dark circles under his concerned eyes. He was
carrying a bowl of something, and another glass of ice chips.

Tony sat on the edge of the bed next to him, and Peter pushed himself into a sitting position.

When his stomach stayed where it was supposed to, he silently thanked god and immediately
pressed his face into Tony’s shoulder. “Where am I?”

“My room,” Tony turned so that Peter was more comfortable. “Your sheets are still in the wash
and I didn’t want you to have to sleep on the bathroom floor. Are you feeling better?”

“Mm…” Peter took inventory. “Think so.”

Tony breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. You had me worried, kid.”

“S’rry,” Peter mumbled.

“Don’t apologize,” Tony whispered. “At least you’re better now. I brought some broth; can you eat
some for me?”

Peter nodded, and Tony placed the warm bowl of broth in his lap. Peter took the spoon and slowly
consumed the salty liquid, finishing most of the bowl before giving it back to Tony.

He had some more ice chips, before laying back down.

Tony made to get up, but Peter grabbed his sleeve. “Stay,” He whispered, feeling childish but
desperate. “Please.”

Tony looked down at his kid and conceded, crawling next to him in bed.

He was expecting to just lay there beside Peter while he slept, but the kid instantly latched onto
him, snuggling into him like a child.

Tony blinked and held the kid, who was shivering against him. Peter’s face was pressed into his
chest and Tony ran his fingers through his curls.

“Missed you,” Peter whispered, defenseless.

Tony shut his eyes. “I missed you too.”

“Mm,” Peter mumbled. “Sorry to make you come back.”

Tony ran his hand up and down Peter’s back. “No worries, kid.”

“Wanted to prove I could be without you,” Peter whispered. “That you don’t have to stay for me.”

Tony’s hold tightened. “You don’t need to prove anything to me,” Tony said quietly. “You don’t
need to change how you feel to put me at ease.”

“M’kay,” Peter conceded, snuggling even closer to Tony. He laid his head on his chest, feeling the
metal of the arc reactor under his cheek. Home, his mind whispered.

“Missed you,” Peter mumbled again. “Don’t leave.”

Tony’s heart melted. God, this kid… “I won’t,” He vowed. “I’m staying right here.” Until work has
me leave again, but he neglected to say that.

Peter made a noise, but he was starting to feel the pull of unconsciousness.

He succumbed, warm in Tony’s embrace.

--

Tony easily could have slept like that, but his mind didn’t shut up.

Peter had fallen asleep twenty minutes ago, and he was breathing heavily into Tony’s chest.

There was a sadness in his heart, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

How long is this going to last?

He looked down at Peter, unable to stop from feeling despondent.

Because his guardianship over Peter wasn’t permanent. It was temporary.

Temporary.

He despised that word. It was like acid in his brain every time he thought it, poison in his mouth
every time he uttered it.

Temporary meant that it would come to an end. All of the hugs, the laughter, the familiarity, would
conclude.

Eventually, Peter would leave.

And where would he go? To another caregiver, who doesn’t know that their new ward had
experienced more emotional trauma than anyone should in their whole lives? Who doesn’t know
that Peter lived in Queens, with his Aunt and Uncle, before they were stolen from him? Who
doesn’t know that the kid had nightmares, panic attacks, separation anxiety, PTSD, nor how to deal
with them?

Who doesn’t know that Peter Parker had the biggest heart in the entirety of New York, possibly the
whole world?
 Because Tony knew all of those things.

Because Peter… Peter was his kid.

Tony gripped the sleeping kid in his arms hard, his eyes burning with exhaustion.

I’m done with being temporary, Tony thought, burying his face in Peter’s curls. I’m done with
being impermanent. I can’t live without this kid. And he can’t live without me.

He knew he would regret it later, when he was more awake and the sleeping child in his arms was
gone, but in that moment, he made a promise to himself.

I’m going to adopt Peter.

Chapter End Notes

This story just hit 1900 kudos, and I'm in like a state of shock. That's INSANE! Thank
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 In All Your Blame
Chapter Summary

"Tony looked at the kid sadly. He had picked up on the fact that Peter didn’t eat when
he was anxious or upset, and tonight, the kid hadn’t even glanced at his chicken
piccata. 'What’s up, Pete? You’ve been quiet all night,' his voice was gentle,
concerned. 'Did something happen at school?'”

Chapter Notes

This is a LONG BOY; I hope you enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony did end up sleeping, giving into his jet lag at about 7:30.

It was strange, to sleep with a child tucked under his chin. He woke up several times in the night,
his eyes snapping open and immediately checking to see if Peter was still there.

The kid moved in his arms at 12:15am, coughing and then gasping for breath. “My chest,” he
whimpered.

“You’re okay,” Tony whispered, clutching Peter with one hand and running the other one through
the kid’ hair, his voice low and gravely with sleep. “Just breathe.”

Peter’s fever broke during the night, and he shook with chills, and then sweated profusely as his
body temperature tried to right itself.

The next morning—Sunday morning—Peter was more coherent and managed to hold down a plate
of pancakes.

Around midday, he even got out of bed and went up to the living room.

He was greeted by Steve. “Hey kid, you feeling better?” The man asked from his place in the
kitchen. He was putting mayonnaise on a sandwich, and Bucky was hovering at his elbow. His
long hair hung in front of his face, and his eyes jumped from the sandwich to Peter’s face as soon
as he heard him enter.

There was a strange look in his eyes, almost one of protectiveness. Peter blinked, and Bucky
looked back down at the sandwich.

“I’m feeling better, yeah,” he said, his voice still hoarse. “Thank you for checking up on me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said good naturedly, and Bucky tugged on his sleeve. “What do you
need, Buck?”

“Less mayonnaise,” he muttered. Steve complied, and Tony rolled his eyes. He guided Peter over
to the couch, even though the kid protested.

“I’m fine!” he said hoarsely, giving Tony a look of annoyance. “I don’t have a fever and my
headache’s gone!”

“Yeah, well, you spent half of yesterday in bed shaking with said fever and the other half with your
face in the toilet, so I think that constitutes me wanting you to rest more.”

Peter rolled his eyes but kicked his feet up and leaned back against the cushions. “You never take
it easy,” Peter grumbled.

“Yeah, well, don’t be like me,” Tony said, anxiously shifting his weight. “I have a phone call I
need to make, you think you can be alone for a bit?”

Peter glared at him, and Tony chuckled before leaving the living room.

Once in the elevator down to his office, he let himself give in to the mounting panic.

Oh my god, oh my god, Tony’s wide eyes stared at the wall of the elevator. I’m going to adopt a
kid.

The elevator dinged, and Tony stepped into his office, his hands shaking. He began to pace around
the space, panic bubbling in his stomach, his breathing heavy.

He fumbled for his phone and called Pepper’s number before he could even think.

“Tony?” she answered, and the man let out a strangled noise.

“Pepper,” he gasped, one of his hands coming up and gripping his hair. “Help.”

“What’s going on?” she asked immediately, worry lacing her tone. “Are you hurt? Are you in
trouble?”

“I…” Tony swallowed hard, feeling vaguely sick. “I don’t…”

“Tony, talk to me,” she begged, and Tony was too anxious to even be touched at her worry.

“IthinkI’mgoingtoadoptPeter,” he said in a rush.

“What?” Pepper asked, and Tony imagined her squinting her eyes. “I can’t understand you.”

Tony took a deep, shaky breath. “I think I’m going to adopt Peter,” he said, chest tight.

Saying it aloud made it real, which only made the panic worse.

There was a beat of silence on the other end. “You’re going to adopt Peter?” Pepper asked, her
voice soft.

Tony tried to take a breath, but it sounded like a wheeze. “Y-Yes.”

“Tony, that’s amazing!” she said happily.

“Is it?” Tony asked, gripping his desk hard. “I can’t take care of anything, Pepper. You’ve said it
yourself. What if I fuck it all up?”

“You’re not going to f—”

“I fuck everything up!” he nearly shouted, breathing heavily. “I can’t be anyone’s father,” He
stumbled over the word. “I don’t know how to be a father. I don’t know how—”

“Tony, calm down,” Pepper cut across him. “Take a breath.”

Tony inhaled, not calm in the slightest. “I can’t take care of a kid, Pepper.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for almost two months now?” Pepper questioned. “Why does
adopting Peter change anything?”

“It changes everything,” Tony choked out through his tight throat. “It would make me his dad.”

“Tony, that’s not a bad thing,” Pepper said gently. “Maybe he needs a dad.”

The repeated use of the word dad didn’t help. Tony swallowed, shutting his eyes. “I don’t know
what to do.”

“Let me be the judge,” Pepper said softly, almost as if talking to a scared animal. “I’ll come over
for dinner some night this week. We can talk in person.”

Tony exhaled. “Please.”

“How does Thursday at six sound?” Pepper asked, and Tony could hear the sound of keyboard
clicks over the phone.

“Perfect,” Tony breathed, his panic fading. Talking to Pepper always helped.

“Good. It’s on my calendar,” she paused. “I still feel like I haven’t truly met Peter. It’ll be nice to
get to know him.”

Tony’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Yeah. It will.”

--

The first half of the week wasn’t too bad.

School was long and boring, but he aced a Spanish quiz (a feat he didn’t know that he was capable
of) and even got praised by his Calculus teacher.

Wednesday was a hard day; it was the two-month anniversary of May’s death, and even though he
was sad all day, being around his friends and Tony helped.

Thursday rolled around, and Peter was told by Tony days before that Pepper would be coming to
the tower for dinner.

He was anxious, but also kind of looking forward to it. Even though he had only interacted with her
a little bit, he liked Pepper a lot. She seemed like a powerful woman, but still nice and kind, like
May. He could see why Tony liked her.

School dragged. Peter glanced at the clock every five minutes, but time seemed to tick by at
abnormally slow speeds. First period turned into second, and second into lunch. He sat with MJ
and Ned, as per usual, and they all chatted animatedly about school and other things.

Third period, PE, flew by, since there wasn’t a clock in the gym for Peter to stare at.

But fourth period, Spanish, moved agonizingly slow. He almost fell asleep, but a sharp, “Peter!
¡No hay sueño en mi clase!” kept him awake.

The bell rang, finally, and Peter walked to his locker to grab his backpack.

He put in his combination, opened the locker, and grabbed his bag. He was about to put his books
away when suddenly the locker was slammed shut.

Peter started, taking a surprised step backwards.

Flash stood there, a hand on his now closed locker, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Is it true,
Penis?”

Peter stared up at Flash, chin jutted out. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you really an orphan, Parker?” Flash looked overcome with glee, and Peter felt like a bucket
of ice had just been dumped on him.

Peter paled, and Flash took it as confirmation. His face lit up. “Holy shit! You are!”

Peter took a breath, but it felt like his lungs had disappeared. “No-No. I’m not.”

“Damn, Penis. Where are you living now, on the streets? Begging for money? Prostitution?”

“Piss off, Flash.” Peter tried to push past, but Flash moved in front of him, blocking his exit.

“Or are you in foster care? Do you belong to the state, since no one else wants you?” Peter’s blood
ran cold in his veins as Flash got in his face. “No one wants you, Penis.”

Peter opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. No one wants you.

“Leave him alone, Eugene,” Someone said behind him, and suddenly MJ was next to him. She
looked bored. “Don’t you have better things to do, like, I don’t know, kicking babies?”

Flash’s eyes flashed, and he stared down MJ. “Watch it, freak.”

“Maybe you should watch it, since you are talking to the captain of the Academic Decathalon
team,” she towered over Flash. “I can kick your ass off and not think twice about it.”

Flash glared at her, but walked away, muttering.

Peter slung his bag over his shoulder, a feeling of dread and sadness in his gut.

“You okay?” MJ asked, and she reached out to lay a hand on Peter’s shoulder, but he jerked out of
the way before the contact was made.

“I’m going home,” he muttered. “See you tomorrow.”

He felt MJ’s eyes on him as he walked out the metal school doors.

--

Peter was subdued when he came home from school, but Tony was too busy getting ready for
dinner with Pepper to press him about it.

At quarter to six, Tony told Peter to go and change into something nice, and Peter rode down to the
fiftieth floor, anxious and sad.
Usually, Flash’s taunts rolled right off him, but today was different. His insults hit right on the
mark, right where Peter was sensitive.

No one wants you.

Peter swallowed around the lump in his throat as he put on his gray button up and black pants, and
tears blurred his vision as he tied his black dress shoes.

Because what Flash said was true. No one wanted him… it was a fact.

Tony was temporary. He said so himself. Whenever he introduced Peter to someone, he always
said, “I’m his temporary guardian.”

Peter trudged into the elevator, heart heavy.

FRIDAY took him up to the penthouse, where they would be having the dinner. It was just Tony,
Peter, and Pepper, so Tony suggested they go somewhere more private.

Tony was dressed in a sharp suit, and his hair was neatly styled. He grinned when he took in
Peter’s appearance.

“Looking sharp, kiddo,” he said affectionately, and Peter managed to give him a half-hearted
smile.

“Ms. Potts is on her way up,” FRIDAY announced. “She will be arriving in approximately thirty
seconds.”

Peter inhaled sharply, anxiety settling in. Tony put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, kid. It’s just
Pepper.”

Peter nodded just as the elevator doors opened.

Pepper Potts stepped out into the penthouse, and the first thing Tony noticed was how beautiful she
was.

Her strawberry blonde hair was pinned in a half up, half down style, revealing a pair of dangling
silver earrings. She wore a simple, sleeveless black dress that cut off just above the knee, which
she paired with a silver necklace and black flats.

Tony’s heart throbbed. Every time he saw her, he was reminded of how much he was missing.

He walked forward and kissed her on the cheek in greeting. “Hi, Pep,” He saw, his voice low.

She smiled at him, and Tony was a goner. “Hey. How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying, and she swatted his arm
affectionately.

Tony glanced back at Peter and Pepper followed his gaze. Peter shifted his weight anxiously, his
hands balled into fists.

“You’ve met Peter, of course,” Tony said, walking back over to the kid. Peter looked up at Pepper,
a weak smile on his lips.

Pepper walked forward and grasped his hand. “Nice to see you again, Peter,” she said with a smile.
“You too, Miss Potts,” he said timidly. Tony put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him, and he
relaxed a little bit.

They made their way over to the elegant dining table, and Peter sat down next to Tony and across
from Pepper. She smiled at him again as Tony got up and opened a bottle of expensive-looking
wine, pouring both him and Pepper a glass.

“What do you want to drink, Pete?” Tony asked, returning the cork to the bottle of wine.

“Just water,” he said politely.

Tony poured Peter a glass of ice water, before sitting back down at his place at the head of the
table. He instantly drew Pepper into a conversation, and Peter sat there in silence, not bothering to
follow what they were talking about.

The food was brought out soon, courtesy of a woman that Peter had never seen before in his life.
He assumed Tony had hired her for that night only, since he couldn't cook. She placed a steaming
plate of pasta in front of Peter, who said a quiet thanks.

“So, Peter,” Pepper said, as both her and Tony dug into their meals. Peter grabbed his fork, but he
didn’t feel like eating. “I hear you go to Midtown School of Science and Technology.”

Peter nodded “Yes, I do.”

“Do you like it there?” she asked, and Peter’s mind was immediately brought back to the events of
the afternoon previous.

“No one wants you, Penis” Flash had said. He was right.

“Kid?” Tony asked concernedly, breaking Peter from his thoughts. “You okay?”

Peter blinked, and then blushed. He had taken too long to answer. “Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. I like the
school, they have a good science program.”

“What kind of science are you interested in?” Pepper questioned.

“I like Chemistry a lot,” Peter said, smiling slightly. “I think it’s really interesting and I’m pretty
good at it.”

Pepper nodded, smiling at him.

She continued to ask him questions, about school and what he was interested in. He didn’t touch
his food and twisted his hands underneath the table anxiously. Pepper was really nice and
exceptionally friendly, but Flash’s hateful words rattled around in his head, making him sad and
upset.

Tony kept glancing over at him, but Peter avoided his gaze. His hands were fists, his nails pressing
so hard against his palms that it stung.

Pepper excused herself to the bathroom, and Tony immediately turned to Peter.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Tony questioned, his eyes glancing down at Peter’s untouched food and
then back up at his face.

“Not hungry,” he muttered, not looking at Tony.

Tony looked at the kid sadly. He had picked up on the fact that Peter didn’t eat when he was
anxious or upset, and tonight, the kid hadn’t even glanced at his chicken piccata. “What’s up, Pete?
You’ve been quiet all night,” his voice was gentle, concerned. “Did something happen at school?”

Peter shook his head, still not looking at Tony. “Everything’s fine.”

“Can you look at me?” Tony pressed softly, but Peter was spared from the action, because Pepper
walked back in.

The meal changed from dinner to dessert, which was a panna cotta with fresh berries. It looked
amazing, and Peter felt bad about not eating his dinner, so he begrudgingly took a bite.

Tony and Pepper had started to talk about Stark Industries business, and Peter listened as they
began to talk about trade.

“Peter and I visited Wakanda,” Tony told Pepper, eating a spoonful of his dessert. “King T’Challa
and I discussed trade. It was very productive.”

“Excellent,” Pepper said happily. “I’m glad to hear that. Wakanda is important to have as a trade
partner.”

Peter took another bite of his dessert.

“Dubai was a success as well,” Tony informed. “They liked me.”

“Okay, that’s good then,” Pepper ate a berry. “Oh! By the way, you have to leave for Europe next
week.”

Peter froze.

“—And you can’t back out of it either,” Pepper was saying, but Peter could barely hear her through
the ringing in his ears. “It’s really important…what’s wrong?”

Tony had frozen as well, his gaze snapping to Peter as soon as soon as Pepper said the word
“leave.”

The kid had gone completely pale and his huge, fearful eyes were staring at Tony. His heart was
beating so fast he could hear it in his ears as crippling terror filled him. His spoon fell from his
hand and onto the table, making a loud noise.

Alone.

Tony mentally said all the swear words he knew in all the languages he was familiar with,
watching as Peter took a shaky breath.

“You’re leaving?” he whispered, fear and panic closing his airways, cutting of his oxygen supply.

“No,” Tony said without a second of hesitation. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

But Peter didn’t seem to hear him. He struggled to breathe, and he swore he could feel the horribly
numbness already setting in…

“Peter,” Tony reached out and grabbed Peter’s hand, holding it tightly. “Peter, I’m not leaving.”

Peter was trembling, his scared eyes glued to Tony’s face.

He began to hyperventilate, his breaths coming out in sharp gasps. He’s going to leave and I’m
going to be alone, I’m always going to be alone.

In the back of his mind, he knew he would regret freaking out in front of Pepper later, but he was so
panicked he couldn’t think.

Tony immediately stood, rushing to Peter’s side. “Peter, look at me.” he ordered, putting his hands
on either side of his face

Peter’s frightened eyes found his, and Tony’s heart broke. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here,
with you. Breathe.”

Peter shook his head, one of his hands coming up and tugging on his shirt, which felt incredibly
confining all of the sudden. You’re going to be alone and numb and then you’re going to have to
lie and say you’re fine…

“I-I…” he stuttered, gasping. “T-Tony. C-can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Tony urged softly. “Come on, bud. Breathe for me.”

Peter tried to breathe, but the panic was compressing his lungs, leaving him even more frightened.
His eyes were wild as he shook his head. His veins felt like they were on fire, his body feeling like
it was being held down. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe—

The room was starting to get fuzzy around the edges, and Peter’s chest ached from the
hyperventilation.

Tony’s saw the kid’s face get even whiter, as not enough oxygen was reaching his brain, and in an
act of desperation, Tony pushed Peter’s head against him.

“Breathe with me,” he inhaled deeply, and Peter took a gasping breath, the smell of aftershave, oil,
and soap filling his nostrils. Tony.

“That’s it,” Tony murmured, one of his arms draping around the shaking kid’s shoulders and one
of his hands entangling itself in Peter’s curls. “Just breathe, Pete.”

Peter inhaled and exhaled, his chest loosening. The panic was fading.

His eyes were filling with tears, though, before he could stop it. He let out a strangled noise against
Tony, his trembling hands grasping the man’s shirt.

“You’re okay,” Tony whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

But for how long? “S-sorry,” he whimpered. “I…”

“Don’t,” Tony’s voice was sad and low. “Don’t do that.”

Peter’s eyes screwed up, tears leaking from his eyes and down his cheeks.

Tony let Peter’s tears soak his shirt as he looked up at met Pepper’s eyes.

She gave Tony the softest look he had ever seen. I’m sorry, she mouthed, and Tony shook his head.

You didn’t know, he mouthed back, running his hands through the kid’s curls, his nails scratching
his scalp. Peter’s breath stuttered, a soft noise escaping his lips, and Tony repeated the action.
Give us a minute, Tony mouthed, and Pepper nodded, turning and disappearing from the room.

Tony peeled the kid off him, using his thumbs to wipe off the tears that had gathered. Peter bit his
lip, trying to stop crying.

“I’m s-sorry,” Peter whispered. “Y-You can go to Europe, you don’t have to stay f-for me…”

“Stop,” Tony said helplessly, stroking a thumb over Peter’s cheek. “You don’t have to do that. I’m
not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, kid.”

BUT FOR HOW LONG—“Y-Yeah,” he took a breath. “I didn’t mean to freak out.”

Tony nodded, still running his thumb over Peter’s cheek. “Are you okay?”

Peter took another breath. “Yeah. I’m… I think I’m going to go to bed.”

Tony dropped his hands, and Peter wanted to cry all over again. He wanted to curl up with his
guardian, he wanted to feel safe, he wanted…

He took another breath. He stood, turning away from Tony and walking into the elevator, his heart
hurting.

--

Time for damage control, Tony thought as the elevator doors closed, and Pepper came back into
the room.

He opened his mouth, wanting to explain what just happened, that Peter was terrified of being
away from him, but the words died on his tongue.

Pepper just looked at him, taking in the wet spot on his shirt where Peter had cried into it and the
worry lines on his forehead, and said two words. “Adopt him.”

Tony balked, blinking several times. “W-What?”

“Adopt him.”

Tony opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say.

“No one is going to take care of him as well as you can,” she said gently. “Listen… I know you
think that you can’t be a father, but what you just did… that’s exactly what a father does.”

Tony stared at her.

“He looks at you like you’re the best thing in the world, Tony,” She whispered, and Tony’s heart
skipped a beat. “And you look at him the same way.”

“I can’t be a father,” Tony whispered.

“Tony, you already are his father,” Pepper said, looking up at him. “This just puts a label on it.
Makes it permanent.”

Permanent.

Tony breathed.
--

Pepper left shortly after that, and the first thing Tony did was get himself a glass of apple juice.

He stood in front of one of his large penthouse windows, staring out at the lights of the city below.

Adopt him.

Tony swirled his juice around in the glass, before taking a sip.

He fished the phone out of his pocket, tapped the calling app, and hesitated, his thumb hovering
over the device.

He swallowed hard, before his thumb pressed down, and he lifted the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Larry,” Tony said into the phone.

“Good evening, Mr. Stark,” His lawyer, Larry, said smoothly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know how I asked you to draft me a temporary guardianship document two months ago?”

“Yes, sir. Of one Peter Parker?”

“Yep, that’s it. Yeah, I want to adopt him.”

--

When Peter got back to his room, he got changed into pajamas and then immediately curled up in
bed.

He felt miserable. There wasn’t another word for it. He wanted to sleep, but he didn’t at the same
time.

No one wants you.

Peter rolled onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

No one wants you.

He could already feel the embarrassment start to set in. He just had a panic attack in front of the
Pepper Potts. She probably thought he was a lunatic.

No one wants you.

Why did Tony always have to say, “temporary guardian?” Why couldn’t he just say, “guardian?”
Why did he have to be temporary?

No one wants you.

Peter reached for his phone, and it lit up brightly in the dark room. He immediately opened up
Google, paused, and then typed, “Temporary guardian.”

Several results came up, but he clicked on the first one.

“Temporary guardianship is a type of guardianship that exists for a specific purpose, for a limited
 period of time.”

How long?

Peter’s heart was in his throat as he scrolled down, not wanting to know the answer but unable to
stop himself.

“In most cases, temporary guardianship lasts up to 60 days.”

Peter’s heart broke, and his eyes welled up with tears.

60 days.

It had already been sixty days.

Time was up.

Peter let out a sob, tears running quickly down his rosy cheeks. He bit his lip, wanting to scream.

I’m going into the system, Peter realized, sobbing loudly as his hands gripped the sheets, tugging at
them in agony. I’m going to be alone.

He wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream.

He buried his face in his pillow, his salty tears soaking the fabric.

I can only be loved temporarily, he thought, sobbing harder. I can never be loved permanently.

He cried himself to sleep.

Chapter End Notes

As I am writing this, this story is 10 kudos away from 2,000. I'm, like, shell-shocked.
This is literally insane, I never thought I would get anywhere NEAR this many. Thank
you all so much, literally. Like, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
 In All Your Pain
Chapter Summary

“'Okay,' Tony swallowed, butterflies in his stomach. 'I have something I need to talk to
you about.'”

Chapter Notes

THE LONG AWAITED CHAPTER OF CUTENESS~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next week for Peter was agony.

He spent it on auto-pilot, going to school, attending classes, and then coming home. Like
clockwork.

He couldn't eat and he couldn't sleep—his appetite had left him after that dinner with Pepper and
his thoughts kept him awake well into the night, his brain frantically speculating and making plans
about what was going to happen when Tony kicked him out. He didn't get very far with the
planning, however, because he always broke down into tears whenever he thought about leaving
Tony, being alone again.

He showed up to school every morning with puffy eyelids and bloodshot eyes, an arm hugging his
stomach, hands in fists. He didn’t talk much, just quietly doing his work and staring off into space
when it was done.

His friends were worried. MJ was consistently trying to get Peter to eat lunch, even though he
refused. Most days, though, she was able to bully him into eating a chicken sandwich, or a handful
of fries. Ned shot him worried looks every time he saw him, and would babble on about anything
and everything, trying his hardest to distract Peter from whatever was making him so upset.

They kept asking what was wrong, but Peter didn’t have the energy to explain (and saying it aloud
would make it more real).

He braced himself for the loneliness that was sure to come with him leaving, but he knew trying to
prepare himself wasn’t going to do anything. It was still going to break him down and tear him
apart, leave him in pieces that he didn't think would ever come back together.

He was also avoiding Tony, for he couldn’t bear to see him. Every glance, ever touch reminded
him that everything was temporary, that someday soon he was going to have to say goodbye to the
man.

He would have to say goodbye to all the affection, the comfort, the care…

So, he walked on eggshells, asking FRIDAY where Tony was constantly and giving him a wide
berth.

He didn’t want to not see Tony, though. It physically hurt to be away from him, and some nights…
he even felt the apathy start to creep up on him.

--

The next week was a waiting game for Tony.

His lawyer told him that it would take about a week for him to collect the correct adoption
paperwork and fax it to him, so Tony decided to wait and breech the subject to Peter once he read
through all the documents.

He spent the week doing work for Stark Industries during the day and reading about permanent
guardianship at night, either in his office or curled up in bed.

After just one night of research, he knew it was going to be a long process. The fastest it could get
done was thirty days, and he had read that in some cases, it took almost a year.

But Tony would wait. Without a doubt.

After about four days had passed since he called Larry, Tony began drafting what he was going to
say to Peter when it came down to it.

It was… frustrating and anxiety inducing, to say the least. He would write something, scoff at
himself for how stupid it sounded, and then start over, again and again.

He wanted it to be sincere, to be from the heart, but everything just sounded hokey and gross.

He got so frustrated on Tuesday, January 29th that he called Pepper.

“Tony?”

“Why am I shit at writing?”

There was a beat of silence. “You’re not bad at writing. Why are you calling me?”

“I’m trying to write what I’m going to say to Peter about the whole adoption thing,” he mentally
punched himself as he stuttered over the word “adoption.” Grow a pair.

There was a soft “aww” before Pepper said, “You have to write from the heart.”

“How?” Tony asked desperately. “I’m not good with touchy-feely, Pepper. Everything I write
sounds superficial.”

“How does Peter make you feel, Tony?” Pepper asked gently. “Write down your answer.”

Tony thought about it for a second, suddenly feeling warm on the inside, and wrote down his
thoughts.

“Why do you want to adopt him?” Pepper questioned. “Write down what you’re thinking.”

Tony’s throat felt tight as he wrote, his pen fluid over the pad of paper.

Pepper continued to question him, until he had a page full of thoughts and ideas.
“Now, just string the ideas together and make it sound good,” Pepper instructed. “And tell me how
it goes.”

Tony promised her, and then ended the call.

The paperwork came that Thursday, on the last day of January. Tony stared at it as it came out of
the fax machine, his heart pounding.

His hands shook as he picked it up, examining the pages.

Tony exhaled shakily.

Today is the day I tell Peter I want to adopt him.

--

It was a regular Thursday for Peter.

He had gotten up, skipped breakfast, and had taken the subway to school. Fifth period was fine, if
not a little dull, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Sixth period came around, and Peter was diligently working on a Chemistry worksheet when his
phone buzzed.

It was from Tony. Hey kid, we need to talk when you get home, okay?

Peter stared at the text, his breaths quickening, his eyes filling with tears.

We need to talk.

No, no, no.

The bell for lunch rang, and Peter numbly walked to the cafeteria, his legs feeling shaky.

He didn’t eat lunch. He couldn’t.

Seventh period came and went, as did eighth period.

Peter walked out of the school at the end of the day, on the verge of both tears and a panic attack.

He spent the entire ten-minute subway ride deep in thought.

How can I say goodbye?

Peter pressed a shaking fist up to his mouth, shutting his eyes. How can I say goodbye to the one
good thing that has happened to me since May died?

His knees were shaking. He gripped the bar he was holding harder. He’s helped me through so
much. He’s held me as I’ve cried, weathered multiple panic attacks, dealt with my anger, bought
his tower back for me… How can I possibly repay him?

His breathing was uneven, and he bit his lip. What if the people in foster care are mean? How am I
supposed to go out as Spider-Man? How… How am I supposed to live without Tony?

His stop came around, and he trekked to the tower, his legs feeling like jelly.

He walked into the gleaming building and slowly made his way into the elevator.
“Good afternoon, Peter,” FRIDAY said pleasantly. “Mr. Stark is waiting for you in the living
space.”

Peter took a breath, suddenly feeling strangely dizzy and unsteady. “O-Okay.”

The elevator surged upwards.

--

Peter stepped dizzily out into the living room.

His heart was racing, his palms sweaty, his knees shaking.

Tony was stood by the table, his body radiating nervous energy. His hands were tucked into the
pockets of his casual pants, and he shifted from foot to foot.

Peter’s eyes drifted to the table, which had a stack of paper on top of it. His eyes went back to Tony
though, pure terror running through him.

“Hey buddy,” Tony said, a nervous smile on his face. “I, uh… I’ve got something I need to talk to
you about.”

Peter stared at him in panic, his throat feeling constricted.

The gravity of the situation hit Peter like a ton of bricks, and he swayed where he stood. This is a
goodbye.

He took a step, and his vision whited out.

--

When Peter stepped out of the elevator, Tony couldn’t help but notice how awful he looked.

The kid was as pale as a ghost, his hands in fists so tight that his knuckles were white, his eyes
wide and scared looking.

Tony did a slight double-take but recovered quickly. The kid is probably just nervous.

“Hey buddy,” he said, sending Peter what was hopefully a genuine smile. “I, uh… I’ve got
something I need to talk to you about.”

Peter’s face went, if possible, even whiter. His eyes widened, his pupils blown.

Tony saw him sway, and he hurried towards the kid in alarm.

Peter took a step forward, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Tony swore loudly as Peter crumpled like a ragdoll, and his hands shot out to grab the kid before he
could faceplant.

Tony shoved his panic down and wrapped his arms around Peter’s unconscious figure, supporting
him.

He dragged him over to one of the dining chairs and gently sat him down.

Peter came to a few seconds later, his eyes flying open and darting around the space.
Tony looked down at him in worry, unconsciously holding his left arm. “Peter? Are you with me?”

Peter took a gasping breath, his eyes meeting Tony’s.

He nearly passed out again as he remembered what was happening, his vision blurring around the
edges.

Tony saw Peter start to pass out again, and he panicked, grabbing the kid’s face. “Hey! No, don’t
pass out. Look at me.”

Peter took another labored breath, his arms and head feeling heavy. “T’ny,” he muttered thickly,
the room spinning.

“Deep breaths,” Tony ordered, and Peter obliged, clutching the man’s shirt as he breathed.

When his vision had stopped swimming, there was a beat of silence, and Tony removed his hands
from Peter’s face. “When was the last time you ate?” He asked, taking in Peter’s thin arms and the
way his shirt seemed to hang off of him.

“Breakfast,” he said, his voice a little wobbly still.

“Today?” Tony accused, his eyes narrowing.

Peter swallowed, looking away. “Yesterday,” He whispered.

Tony’s jaw clenched, and he walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled out a
Styrofoam box, before popping it into the microwave for a minute. How have I not noticed that he
hasn’t been eating?

Peter stared at the floor, his eyes prickling. I don’t want to say goodbye.

Tony walked back over and placed the food in front of Peter. “Leftover Pad Thai from last night,”
Tony explained, giving Peter a stern look. “I want all this food gone, you hear me?”

Peter nodded pathetically, picked up his fork, and began to eat.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he was actually eating. He shoveled the food into his
mouth, his stomach no longer having the dreadfully hollow feeling it had before.

The food was soon gone, and Peter put his fork down.

“You feel better?” Tony asked, picking up the trash and throwing it away.

Peter nodded, his shaking hands clenched into fists on his lap. His eyes drifted to the papers across
the table, before they flicked back up to Tony’s face.

The man pulled up a chair, so that he was sitting adjacent to Peter. “Okay,” Tony swallowed,
butterflies in his stomach. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Peter swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat at that. “O-okay.”

Tony took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, before he took a deep breath in through his
nose. “Okay. Fuck, okay,” he ran a hand through his hair, and Peter didn’t know if he had ever
seen the man so nervous. “When I met you a year ago,” he started reading, his voice a little shaky.
“I saw an excited, nerdy kid who was almost too eager to help me out in Germany. You were
happy and loud, everything a child should be. I… I felt myself getting attached to you, even though
I had barely met you. You were so full of light and happiness, and it reminded me that there was
some good in the world.”

Peter’s eyes burned with tears as Tony read on. “When I got to the hospital on November 23rd, I
had no idea my life was about to change forever. I walked into that room, saw you hunched over
her, and I knew immediately that I needed to—” Tony stopped, blinking several times. He cleared
his throat, making sure his voice was steady, before reading on. “I needed to take care of you. I
knew, from that point on, that you were my responsibility, and that I needed to keep you safe and
sane.”

There were tears flowing down Peter’s cheeks now, and a shaking hand was pressed up against his
mouth. Is this goodbye? What is going on?

Tony read on. “At first… At first, I thought that I was just there to watch you, to make sure you
didn’t drown in your tears, or did something that you would regret. But soon, I understood that
neither of us were happy with my hands-off approach, and it only took you stealing my car for me
to realize it.”

Tony’s voice turned soft and gentle. “I had never… parented another human being before you,
Peter. I never held someone while they cried, I never talked someone down from a panic attack. I
didn’t think I was capable of it, but you showed me that I was.”

Tony eyes stung as he read the next part. “No one knows you like I do, and I’m starting to believe
that no one can take care of you as well as I can. I know your history, your fears… and I know how
to deal with them, and how to help you deal with them.

“You’ve been under my guardianship for two months. Two months of tears, laughter, sadness, and
happiness. Two months of you being afraid of being alone, and me afraid being afraid of leaving
you. Two months of both of us slowly realizing that we can’t live without each other.”

Tony’s voice shook and broke, and he looked up from his paper. Peter was sobbing, his chest
heaving, tears pouring down his rosy cheeks.

“I’m done with being temporary,” Tony whispered, setting down his sheet of paper. “I’m done
with thinking that someday, I’m not going to want to take care of you anymore. Because that’s not
going to happen. Ever.”

Tony reached out and grabbed Peter’s shaking hand, holding it firmly in his own. “Peter Benjamin
Parker…” he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion. “Will you let me adopt you?”

Peter let out a sob and nodded, and Tony didn’t think he had ever felt such pure joy in his life.

“Come here,” Tony’s voice broke, and Peter immediately slammed into him, hands grasping
tightly onto his shirt. Tony immediately pressed his face into the kid’s hair, his heart so full and
happy that he was sure it would burst.

Peter was crying incredibly hard, and Tony couldn’t help but be a little worried. “Calm down a
little, bud,” he whispered, but Peter continued to cry, fisting Tony’s shirt and tugging.

It was when the kid’s breaths started to get quick and panicked that Tony pulled him off of him.
Peter was edging towards a panic attack, which Tony could tell by just looking at his face.

“Hey, no,” Tony was incredibly concerned, then. “Deep breaths, Pete. Calm down.”

Peter calmed himself, and he collapsed back into Tony’s chest.

Tony didn’t want to say it, but he felt like he had to. “If you don’t want this, then I completely
understand—"

“No!” Peter just about shouted, and Tony jumped a little. “No.”

Tony felt high with relief. “Thank god,” he muttered, his hand that was intertwined in Peter’s hair
pulling his head down, so Tony could rest his chin atop it.

“I thought…” Peter whimpered, pathetically, and Tony was concerned again. “I thought this was…
I thought…”

Tony blinked. “You thought what?”

“I thought this was goodbye,” Peter whispered, and Tony could feel the tears start to seep into his
already wet hoodie. “I thought y-you were going to tell me t-that time was up, and you were going
to… I was going to have to…”

“You thought I was going to send you into the system?” Tony murmured sadly, rubbing Peter’s
back.

Peter nodded, shuddering horribly. “Temporary guardianship only lasts sixty days,” he whispered,
and Tony unconsciously wrinkled his nose at the word “temporary.”

“I should ban you from the internet,” Tony said lightly, making designs on the back of Peter’s
sweatshirt with his finger. “It’s not good for you.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Peter said quietly, tearfully. “I want to stay here with you.”

“You are, Pete,” Tony whispered. “You’re not going anywhere, I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter shuddered again. “Thank you,” he whispered, so soft that it was barely audible. “Thank you.”

God. Tony tightened his hold and pressed a kiss to the kid’s hair. How could I have ever
considered letting this go?

--

Dinner time rolled around, and Tony made it his personal mission to make Peter eat as much food
as possible. The kid had felt thin and small in his arms, which worried him to no end, so he ordered
a ton of pizza for dinner.

Another thing that worried him was that Peter had barely let go of him since Tony had asked him
about the adoption. Whenever Tony would sit down for more than five seconds, Peter would grab
his shirt and hold tight.

The team joined them for dinner, even Bruce and Vision. Everyone chatted with each other, but
Peter stayed quiet at Tony’s side, his hand holding Tony’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles were
white.

He also wasn’t eating much, which was the opposite of what Tony was trying to achieve when he
ordered the pizza.

“Eat, Peter,” Tony commanded in a low voice as Peter picked at his pizza.

Peter took a small bite, chewing and swallowing. He looked at his pizza for a second, but then his
eyes darted back to Tony, almost like he was expecting the man to have disappeared.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

Peter took a deep breath and nodded, going back to eating. His hold on Tony didn’t loosen.

Peter managed to eat half a pizza by himself, and Tony was satisfied.

The everyone settled in for a movie afterwards, but Peter wanted to go to bed, so Tony followed
him to his room, so concerned that he couldn't concentrate on anything else.

“What’s going on?” he asked Peter once they were alone. “You don’t seem yourself.”

Peter bit his lip and looked away. “It… I… I don’t…”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Tony tried to joke, but he was burning with concern. He sat down on the
kid's bed and tugged Peter down with him. “Are you okay?”

Peter thought about that for a second.

He was positively exultant that Tony wanted to adopt him. He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy
and relieved about something in his life.

But it didn’t seem real. The past week had been so shitty that this just felt like a really, really good
dream… and he’d wake up the next morning only for Tony to tell him that he was to be shipped off
to a random foster family, away from him.

It was too good to be true. The universe had a way of taking things Peter loved away from him, and
he had a feeling that this was going to be another one of these things.

“I’m… I’m okay,” Peter said, holding onto Tony tighter, afraid he was going to disappear.
“Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s obviously not fine,” Tony said, glancing down at Peter’s hold on him. “You haven’t
let go of me all night.”

Peter’s lip quivered, and he bit down on it hard. “I…”

Tony wrapped an arm around Peter, and the kid immediately buried his face in Tony’s collar.

“I’m so thankful,” Tony whispered in Peter’s ear. “that you’re going to be my son.”

And that was when Peter began to cry again, his shoulders shaking as silent sobs ripped through
him.

Because he didn’t know what he did to deserve Tony’s love, his affection, his care… and he still
felt unworthy of it.

Tony pulled Peter into his lap, a hand woven in the kid’s hair. He’s going to be my son, Tony
thought, and his eyes stung. He’s going to be mine.

He wanted to yell in happiness, wanted to run around and scream and plaster the news everywhere,
that this kid is going to be his son, that Peter Parker is soon going to be Peter Stark, and Tony had
never been happier about anything in his entire life.

--

Tony separated Peter from him after a half an hour, telling the kid that it was time for bed, and
Peter had to choke down the panic that rose at the thought of being out of Tony’s eyesight.

He didn’t understand why he was so afraid, or why the thought of being away from Tony for five
minutes set his teeth on edge, but when Tony left him for the night, he had to take several breaths
to keep from freaking out.

He put his pajamas on and got under the covers, asking FRIDAY quietly if she could turn up the
heat.

He didn’t cry himself to sleep that night, but he did wake up at 2:05am, gasping and shaking from a
nightmare.

He had dreamt that he was in foster care, away from Tony. He dreamt that no one liked him and
that he was completely alone—so alone that every time he would try to speak to someone, a
nameless, faceless shape, they would just ignore what he was saying, not responding or even
acknowledging his existence.

He shakily got out of bed and stumbled across the hall to Tony’s room, quietly opening the door
and shuffling to the foot of his bed.

The lights were at about five percent, which was just enough for Peter to see.

Tony was asleep on his side, his face far more peaceful in sleep than in the waking world. Peter let
out a soft sigh of relief.

He was torn between wanting to wake the man up and just going back to bed to suffer in silence.
He stood there, opening and closing his mouth several times.

As he stood there, he let himself get caught up in his thoughts.

Yesterday, he was so sure that Tony was going to tell him that time was up, and to pack his things.
But instead, he got a speech that clearly came deep from the man’s heart and an adoption offer.

Peter was so sure he would have to live with the horrible feeling of numb loneliness, but now, he
didn’t have to worry about it.

Until Tony leaves for one reason or another, that is.

“Peter?” Came the sleepy voice, and Peter started. Tony was sitting upright in bed, looking half
asleep. His eyes were squinted, adjusting to the faint light that filled the room. “What’s going on?”

“I…” Peter gathered his bearings and took a breath. “I had a nightmare.”

Tony made a noise and rubbed his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Peter nodded, biting his lip. “Can I…Uh…”

Tony patted the bed. “Get in, bud.”

Peter climbed into the bed, reveling the warmth and comfort it provided. He made a small, happy
noise as Tony covered him up with the blankets.

Peter turned on his side and faced Tony, who was looking at him, obviously waiting for
something.

Peter sighed. “Go ahead and ask.”

“What was it about?” Tony questioned softly.

Peter stared at Tony’s chest instead of his eyes as he talked. “I dreamt I was in foster care.”

Tony made a noise. “And?”

Peter swallowed. “No one liked me, and even when I tried to talk to them, they would just pretend I
didn't exist and I felt so n-numb...”

Fear pierced Tony, and it showed on his face, but he replaced it with a look of muted concern.
“Oh.”

Peter nodded, dragging the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands and meeting Tony’s eyes. “It
scares me,” he admitted. “I don’t want to feel that way ever again.”

“You won’t,” Tony promised, cupping Peter’s face and running a thumb along his cheek. “You’re
stuck with me now, kid.”

Peter’s eyes darted away, and he bit his lip.

Tony’s heart sank horribly, and he stopped his ministrations.

He sighed quietly. “You have to be honest with me, Pete.”

Peter’s eyes flicked up for a second, before flicking back down.

“Do you want me to adopt you?” Tony asked softly. “It’s fine if you don’t, I understand. There are
other options.”

“No,” Peter said quietly, but firmly. “No. I want this. More than I’ve ever wanted something
before.” He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“Then why don’t you seem happy?” Tony whispered, albeit a little heartbrokenly.

Peter’s breathing stuttered a little bit, and he briefly shut his eyes. He didn’t want to say it, because
saying it would make it more real, but Tony needed to understand. “Because I’m not your son yet,”
He whispered, the word “son” feeling odd on his tongue. “I’m still an orphan. I don’t belong to
anyone.”

And fuck, that broke Tony’s heart. “You belong to me.”

“No, I don’t,” Peter shook his head slowly. “Temporary guardianship lasts sixty days. The sixty
days are up. I belong to no one right now.”

Tony stared at the kid, lost for words.

He had never heard Peter sound so jaded. It was almost as if he had made peace with the situation,
but his tense posture and clenched fists told Tony how much he was really hurting.

“Peter,” Tony tried to keep his voice even and soothing. “You are mine. I don’t need paperwork,
and I don’t care what a court says. You’re my kid.”

Peter shook his head, blinking quickly several times. “Don’t get my hopes up like that,” he
whispered, the sound barely audible. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not,” Tony’s voice was hushed. “It’s the truth. You’re my son. No one can tell me that you’re
 not.”

Peter shook his head, desperation in his brown eyes. “It’s not going to last,” he whimpered.
“Nothing good ever lasts for me.”

“This will,” Tony whispered. “Just you and me, buddy.”

Peter’s face crumbled, and Tony pulled him against his chest.

“You’re mine,” Tony whispered. “This is your reality, Peter.”

Peter swallowed and nodded against Tony, finally starting to believe him.

Chapter End Notes

PETER IS FINALLY GETTING ADOPTED IT ONLY TOOK 80,000 WORDS.

Also: 2100 KUDOS?! OH MY GOD?! Thank you all so so so so much!
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you soon!
 I WIll Carry You
Chapter Summary

"Ned glanced anxiously between the two of them, his eyes wide with worry. MJ
squinted at Peter again. 'I don’t think Tony Stark is a good influence.'"

Chapter Notes

This chapter is pretty light (well, as light as I can go) compared to next chapter, which
is really plot heavy. Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Someone gently shook Peter from his slumber the next morning.

“Time to get up, buddy,” Someone was quietly saying.

Peter opened his eyes a little and saw Tony leaned over him, a gentle smile on his face.

“Morning, Pete,” Tony said softly. “How are you feeling today?”

Peter peered up at him, still half asleep. “Mmm… Good,” he gave Tony a sleepy smile.

Tony’s smile widened. “Good. I’m glad,” he stood straight. “There’s breakfast waiting upstairs in
the kitchen for when you’re done getting ready.”

Peter nodded and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes as Tony left the room.

He lay there for a minute, thinking about the events of yesterday with a smile on his face.

I’m going to be adopted. I’m going to be Tony’s son.

He let out a sigh of contentment, his brain full of happy thoughts, before getting out of Tony’s bed.

He made his way across the hall to his own room and got ready for school, before going up to the
common room, donning a Midtown sweatshirt, jeans, and his converse.

There were waffles waiting for him, with bacon, eggs, and hash browns.

There was also a note tucked under the plate, which he took out before settling down and eating.

Kid,

I had to leave for a meeting, it was called last minute. But I had the chefs prepare you this
breakfast, since I know how much you love waffles.

Have a good day at school. I’ll text you.

Tony.

Peter smiled fondly, before tucking the note in his pocket, sitting down, and eating breakfast.

He then trekked to school, the biting cold freezing his still damp hair, which then thawed when he
got on the subway.

It refroze when he got off, however, and he shivered violently as he walked the New York streets,
his chapped hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He passed by a bank, and the electronic
sign showed what temperature it was. Twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

Winters were hard for Peter ever since the spider-bite. Spiders couldn’t thermoregulate, and while
it didn’t drive him into hibernation like it would an actual spider, it made him lethargic and sleepy,
as well as wracked his body with horrible shivers.

Twenty-five degrees wasn’t bad, however. He was tired, sure, but not to the levels that he would be
if it was ten degrees colder.

He zipped his coat up to his chin, hurrying his pace to keep himself warm.

He walked into Midtown with five minutes to spare before the bell rang, and he hurried to his
locker, shoving his backpack in and grabbing the things he needed for his fifth period class.

The bell rang, and Peter hurried off to class.

He sat down in calculus, and quickly sent a text to Tony. “Thanks for breakfast. The waffles were
really good.”

He tucked his phone away as Mr. Hapgood walked in.

They had a test on derivatives, which Peter thought he did well on. Even though calculus wasn’t
his favorite subject, he was still good at it.

As he was walking to second period, chemistry, his phone buzzed.

He withdrew it from his pocket. “I aim to please. How’s school?”

Peter smiled. “Not terrible. I just took a calc test and I think I did well. Abt to go to chem.”

He walked into his chemistry classroom just as another text came in. “Proud of you, kid.”

Peter beamed, a warmth blossoming in his chest. He typed a response. “Thanks Tony.”

Chemistry started, and the teacher had them do a lab. Ned was his lab partner, and Peter could feel
his eyes on him as they put their goggles and gloves on.

“You seem happier today,” Ned observed, turning on the hot plate.

Peter snapped his latex gloves over his hands. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ned said, tilting his head. “Did something happen?”

Peter smiled as he put an Erlenmeyer flask on the hot plate but didn’t say anything.

The lunch bell rang, and Peter and Ned made their way to the cafeteria.
Peter ordered a large lunch and sat down across from MJ and next to Ned, digging in.

“You’re eating again,” MJ observed, taking a bite out of her red apple.

Peter shoveled a bite of mac and cheese into his mouth. “Mm.”

“So, is depressed and moody Peter gone?” she asked, her eyes squinted.

Peter swallowed. “I wasn’t depressed—”

MJ fixed him with a look, and Peter sighed. “Yeah, okay. I was depressed. But everything’s fine
now. Actually…” he smiled down at his food. “Everything’s better than fine.”

“Are you going to elaborate?” she said in annoyance.

“Why were you so upset last week?” Ned questioned, concerned. “You’re not usually like that.”

Peter dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to calm himself. “I… I thought Tony was going to
put me in foster care,” he mumbled.

Ned gasped. “He would never!”

Peter shrugged. “He’s my temporary guardian. Temporary guardianship only lasts sixty days, and
the sixty days are up. I thought I had a one-way ticket into the system.”

“So, you thought you were going to be alone,” MJ said slowly, and Peter winced at the word
“alone. “

“Yes,” he whispered. “I thought I was going to be alone."

He cleared his throat. “But… yesterday, he asked me if I wanted him to adopt me.”

Ned gasped so loud that a couple people looked over, and MJ blinked in shock. “Oh my god, Peter,
that’s awesome!” Ned whispered excitedly. “Iron-Man’s going to be your dad!”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat at the word “dad”, and a smile slowly spread across his face.

“Yeah,” he grinned stupidly. “He’s going to be… yeah.”

Ned immediately launched into a monologue of excitement, but MJ stayed quiet. She fixed Peter
was a piercing, calculated gaze.

Peter raised an eyebrow at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

MJ pursed her lips. “Don’t take this the wrong way… but are you sure this is a good idea?”

Peter blinked. “What do you mean?” There was an edge to his tone, one that he was sure MJ
picked up on.

“Tony Stark isn’t exactly a role model,” she said hesitantly. “He has a reputation as a party animal,
has a history of alcoholism and chauvinism, used to sell horrible weapons … and he’s a little self-
centered, Peter.”

Peter stared at her, blood rushing to his face and his heart racing. “How can you say that?” he asked
in an angry whisper. “You don’t even know him!”
“I know what I see on the news,” she said, still hesitant but not backing down. “I don’t think he’s
good, Peter.”

“You don’t know him,” Peter hissed, angry tears entering his eyes. “You don’t know how much
he’s done… How much he’s helped me. The news is wrong!”

Ned glanced anxiously between the two of them, his eyes wide with worry. MJ squinted at Peter
again. “I don’t think Tony Stark is a good influence.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t care,” Peter grasped his tray, glaring at her.

MJ looked at Peter, and Peter was a slight glimmer of pity in her brown eyes. “I’m just worried
about you,” she said finally.

“Don’t be. I don’t need your worry,” he stood, taking his tray with him. “I’m going to the library.”

He dumped his lunch into the trash, put away his tray, and walked out of the cafeteria.

--

“How’s your day going, Pete?”

Peter stared at Tony’s text, trying to ignore the misery in his gut. He sighed, which earned him an
angry glare from the librarian.

“It’s ok,” Peter sent back, which was a total lie.

His phone buzzed. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

Peter ignored the text, but his phone buzzed a second later with a new one. “What’s going on,
bud?”

Peter swallowed, and hastily typed another text. “I’ve got to go to class. I’ll talk to you later.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. The bell rang about a minute later, and Peter walked to AP World History.

His teacher, Mr. Reid, droned on about the Industrial Revolution, and Peter fought to pay attention.

How can she say that? Peter thought, watching with his head propped up on his hand as Mr. Reid
flicked through Powerpoint slides, his languid voice nearly putting Peter to sleep. She doesn’t even
know him and she’s judging him!

He started to get worked up, and angry tears ashamedly sprung to his eyes. Tony’s not self-
centered; that’s the last thing he is! He gives up sleep to comfort me and to make sure I’m okay
and he cancels trips because I don’t like being alone and he talks me down from panic attacks
and… and…

A tear slipped out of his eye, and he swiped at it. Great, now he was crying in class.

He silently thanked God that the room was dark as he stuck his fingers in his eyes to prevent more
tears from falling.

His heart ached for Tony, for his dad, and he took a quiet breath.

The bell rang soon, and Peter trudged to Study Hall, which he shared with both Ned and MJ.
MJ was already there when he entered the room, and he made it a point to not sit next to her. He
knew it was childish, and he knew it would probably regret it later, but the things she said about
Tony were fresh in his mind.

Ned sat down next to him, looking distraught. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’m getting real sick of people asking me that,” Peter muttered, and Ned looked even more upset.
Guilt churned in Peter’s gut.

“MJ’s sorry,” Ned said quietly. “She didn’t mean to upset you.”

“How could she say that?” Peter asked quietly. “She’s never met him. Why would she just assume
all those horrible things?”

Ned looked sad. “She reads the news a lot… and they’re not exactly nice towards him, Peter.”

“But it’s not true,” Peter’s voice filled with emotion. “He’s not like they say. He’s…”

“I know,” Ned said, cutting across Peter. “I know he’s not what they say he is, but MJ doesn’t have
anything to go off of except what she reads.”

Peter flared his nostrils. “You shouldn’t judge someone by their reputation,” Peter said heatedly,
taking out one of his binders and putting it on the desk, opening it up to his homework. “It’s not
fair.”

“Peter—” Ned started.

“Leave me alone,” Peter snapped.

Ned sighed, but stood and walked away.

Peter started his homework, feeling worse than before.

--

When he got home, he was horrendously irritable.

He walked into the living room with a scowl on his face. Tony was in the kitchen, about to greet
his kid with a smile, when he took in Peter’s hostile body language.

Uh oh, Tony thought as Peter threw down his backpack.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said carefully, pouring both Peter and him a glass of orange juice. “How was
school?”

“Fine,” Peter said shortly, his face still pulled into a scowl.

“O-kay,” Tony said slowly, treading carefully. “Want to tell me about it?”

“No,” Peter said, avoiding Tony’s eyes. “Can I go patrolling?”

Tony blinked. “Can you what?”

“Can I go patrolling?” Peter asked snappishly, and Tony reeled back.

“First of all, cut the attitude,” he said sternly. “And I mean it, kid. Don’t talk to me like that.
Second of all, why?”

Peter took a breath, trying to calm his anger. “It’s been two months,” he said, with a little heat.
“I’m done just sitting around and letting shit happen.”

“Hey, watch your language,” Tony reprimanded, and Peter threw him a look. “Christ, kid, what is
up with you?”

“Nothing,” Peter took another breath. “Can I please go patrolling?”

Tony pursed his lips, considering. “You can… after you tell me why you’re so angry.”

Peter looked jubilant for a second, but then his expression darkened. “It was just a hard day. That’s
all.”

“Nuh-uh,” Tony shook his head. “You were fine when I texted you in the morning, kid. Something
happened.”

Peter avoided Tony’s eyes. “I had a fight with one of my friends. That’s all.”

“That’s not all, obviously,” Tony observed. “What did you fight about?”

Peter still didn’t look at Tony, as MJ’s words rattled in his brain. “Just something stupid. We’ll get
over it.”

Tony opened his mouth to press further, but Peter cut him off. “Well, this was a nice chat. See ya!”

He dashed towards the elevator, and Tony was left alone in the kitchen with his orange juice.

--

It felt amazing to be in the suit again.

Peter admired himself in his bathroom mirror, smiling slightly. His anger had abated, and he was
thrilled to go out and start helping people again.

There was a knock at his door, and he ran over and opened it.

Tony stood there, hands tucked in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his toes.

“Lookin’ sharp, kid,” he observed, pushing down his panic. “Listen, I want to just lay down some
rules—”

Peter groaned loudly. “Ugh! Really?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. This is dangerous, Pete.”

“I’ve patrolled a million times, Tony,” Peter insisted. “This isn’t any different.”

Oh, but it is, Tony wanted to say. If something happens…

“Rule number one,” Tony took a breath, trying to calm his anxiety. “I want you to text me every
hour. It doesn’t matter what it says, but I want to know that you’re okay.”

Peter opened his mouth in objection, but Tony gave him a look, and he shut his mouth.

“Rule number two: You must have your phone on you at all times. No exceptions. Rule number
three: I want you back at the tower by eleven o’clock.”

“What!” Peter exclaimed, outraged. “Eleven o’clock? Are you kidding—”

“Fine, ten o’clock,” Tony crossed his arms, and Peter blanched.

“Nonono, eleven’s fine!” Peter squeaked, gesturing with his hands.

“Mhmm, that’s what I thought,” Tony said, smirking in satisfaction. “Anyways. Rule number
four: you must have your watch on. I know you haven’t been wearing it to school,” Peter looked
down guiltily. “—but that I don’t really mind. I know you’re relatively safe at school. This is
different. I want that watch on your wrist at all times.”

“Sorry,” Peter muttered. Tony laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Rule number five,” Tony said quietly. “If you feel overwhelmed, or if you’re in danger, call me.
If you can’t call, send your location.”

Peter raised his eyes and was met with pure fear in Tony’s eyes. It made him stagger slightly.

“Tony,” Peter said, his voice a mere whisper. “I’ll be fine.”

Tony pulled Peter into a hug, not wanting to let him go. “Rule number six,” Tony murmured.
“Promise that you’ll be safe?”

Peter hugged Tony tight, trying to comfort the man. “I’ll be safe.”

Tony hugged him a second longer, burying his face in his hair, before letting him go. “Alright. Go
get em, kid.”

Peter beamed. “Thanks, Tony.” He pulled his mask over his head and ran out of the bathroom.

Tony stepped out as well, and saw Peter run out onto the balcony. Tony blinked, confused.

Then, he realized what his kid was about to do and let out a strangled "No!" as Peter leapt off the
railing, plummeting into the city below.

He dashed out onto the balcony himself, his heart in his throat, panic seizing him violently and
leaving him unable to move.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Tony muttered, watching as the red and blue blur that was
his child fell through the air.

Peter shot out a web, which latched itself onto a building and he swung, shooting another web at
another building, propelling himself forward.

He let out a cry of exhilaration as he continued the action, hearing the cold air whistle in his ears.

I’m back, Peter thought, unadulterated happiness flowing through him. Finally.

--

Tony was anxious.

He paced the living room, phone in hand, worrying about Peter.

He checked his messages and Peter’s vitals every couple of minutes, and then checked the news in
between.

He’s going to be fine, Tony tried to reassure himself. He’s Spider-Man, he can handle himself.

It didn’t stop Tony from being alight with worry. Disastrous scenarios played through his head, and
several times he had to calm himself down from the edge of a panic attack.

The hours dragged, and Tony just wanted his kid home safe.

--

Peter forgot how much he genuinely enjoyed being Spider-Man.

Even though it wasn’t a very action-packed patrol, it still felt good to get out and not be Peter
Parker for a few hours. He helped a couple elder ladies across the street, stopped a guy from
harassing a couple of high school girls, and even reunited a lost dog with his owners.

He sent Tony a text every hour, with two simple words: “I’m okay.”

It was about six thirty when he decided to head back to the tower for a quick dinner, so he swung
back, propelling his body through the open air, narrowly avoiding trees and buildings in his wake.

He leapt onto the side of the tower and sprinted up the side, grinning to himself.

He climbed onto one of the living room windows, peering inside.

Steve and Bucky were in the kitchen. Steve was sitting on one of the barstools, and Bucky was
bent over a cookbook by the stove, his face scrunched up in a look of concentration.

Tony was pacing around the entire space, his phone in hand, worried etched on his face.

Peter knocked on the window, and everyone looked to the source of the noise. Tony let out a yelp
and ran towards the window, yelling at FRIDAY to open it.

Peter climbed inside, pulling off his mask with a laugh.

Suddenly, he was being hugged tightly by a slightly-shaking Tony, who was running his hands
across Peter, obviously checking for injuries.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Tony held him out at arms-length and continued to pat him down.

“Tony, I’m fine!” Peter insisted, watching as Tony ran his hands down his arms, eyes slightly wild.

“Are you sure?” Tony asked, taking Peter’s face in his hands. He peered into his eyes, checking for
a concussion.

“Yes, I’m sure!” Peter batted his hands away. “Seriously!”

Tony heaved a breath, before hugging Peter again briefly.

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The most I did was stop a dude from harassing some high
schoolers, relax.”

Tony ignored him. “Are you hungry? I can make you something.”
 “Since when do you cook?” Peter asked, looking at Tony weirdly.

“I cook!” Tony insisted. “I can make a mean mac and cheese.”

“Yeah, from a box,” Peter teased. “I’ll just make myself a sandwich.”

“Actually, Buck’s making something,” Steve said mildly, smiling slightly. “It’ll be ready in a few
minutes.”

“Oh, cool!” Peter exclaimed. He turned to Bucky. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Haven’t in a while,” Bucky mumbled, checking on one of his pots. “It’s good.”

“Good,” Steve echoed, smiling in an aloof way. Tony mimed vomiting behind him.

Peter watched as Bucky scooped some rice onto a plate, followed by some beef and vegetables.

He thanked Bucky for the food with a smile, before sitting at the table.

It was a delicious dinner, but Peter probably would have enjoyed it even more if Tony wasn’t
watching him the whole time. His gaze skirted over Peter, protectiveness in his eyes.

Peter ate quickly, before standing. “Thanks for dinner! Gotta go!”

Tony paled. “You’re going back out?” he asked, barely concealed worry in his tone.

“Well, yeah,” Peter said, glancing down at Tony. “I have until eleven, right?”

Tony looked incredibly unsure. “Can’t you just stay in the rest of the night?”

Peter stared at him a second, before slowly shaking his head. “People might need me.”

But I need you too, Tony almost said, but stopped himself last moment.

“I’ll be fine, Tony,” Peter insisted. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

He turned away. “FRIDAY, open one of the living room windows.”

“No—” Tony started to say, but the window opened, and Peter was already leaping out of it.

The window closed, and Tony buried his face in his hands.

It’s going to be a long few hours.

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter is a pretty big deal, so look out for that on Sunday or Monday :)
As always, feedback is much appreciated. The fact that this story has 2200 kudos is
fucking insane, thank you all so much. See you soon!
 Always.
Chapter Summary

“'Don’t,' he said, his eyes flashing. 'Don’t say you’re fine.'”

Chapter Notes

Okay, so this turned out shorter than I anticipated, but I hope you guys like it anyways
~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was a pretty dull night.

Nobody seemed to be out, which Peter found sort of peculiar. Even at night, the streets of Queens
had a smattering of people mulling about, but now, it was almost as if they were deserted.

Sure, there was the occasional homeless person that would hobble across the empty lanes, but they
didn’t stay around.

It was ten-thirty, and Peter was perched on top of a building, looking down on the abandoned
streets below.

He heard a scream about a minute later, and he felt guilty about the pulse of excitement that ran
through him. Finally, something to do.

He swung through the streets as another scream pierced the air, and he increased his speed.

He dropped down and then sprinted into an alleyway.

He turned the corner as another scream tore through the quiet night, and he stopped dead.

There was a woman, crouched in the corner of the dark and dirty alleyway. She was screaming
loudly, clutching her forearm, and a figure was standing over her, dressed in dark clothes and a
hood.

Based on the build, height, and stance of the person, Peter deduced it was a man. There was a
blood-coated knife in his hand, and Peter immediately shot a web, trying to wrap the blade of the
knife to keep it from hurting anyone else, but he missed, and the web glued the knife to the
person’s hand.

The figure turned, his face hidden by shadow, and Peter’s spider-sense went haywire.

It was almost like someone had driven a blade of dread into his stomach. Every fiber of Peter’s
being was screaming that he was in danger, that he needed to get away and run.

It was a terrible feeling. Every cell in his body felt like it was on fire, rejecting whatever creature
was in front of him.

“Jason, is that you?” Peter snarked, but the Friday the 13 th joke was ruined, because his voice
cracked halfway through.

The person didn’t say anything, just started towards Peter.

He was inhumanly fast, and Peter had to quickly dart out of the way to avoid getting stabbed.

“Didn’t someone teach you not to run with knives?” Peter asked, jumping up onto the side of a
building.

The woman screamed again and ran away, leaving Peter to deal with the hooded figure.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter said, backflipping back onto the pavement. The hooded
figure stood a few feet away, his shoulders moving. “Maybe if you put down the knife we can talk
—”

“Shut up,” the figure growled, voice gravelly, worn, and menacing.

It sent a chill of revulsion up Peter’s spine, his spider sense still screaming at him, trying to warn
him.

“Jesus, you need to lay off the cigs, man,” Peter said, trying to ignore how his gut churned with
unease. “Smoking kills. Didn’t you take DARE in school?”

The figure growled again, tore off Peter’s webbing like it was made of string, and charged forward.

Peter blanched, and had to dodge several knife swipes, before he successfully knocked the blade
out of the figure’s hand.

He noticed cracked, pale skin, and bruises on the knuckles of the figure’s exposed hand. Peter stole
a look at the person’s face.

He wore a black mask, which covered most of his face. The person’s eyes were exposed, however,
and they were heavy lidded, with bruise-like circles underneath. His irises were as black as the
pupil, and whites of his eyes were laced with red veins. The person had no eyelashes, and the eyes
were wide, almost eerily so.

Peter’s senses screamed, and he dodged a swipe of a new knife, which had suddenly appeared out
of nowhere.

It threw Peter’s balance off, and he was distracted for a split second, but it was enough for the
hooded man.

He bolted, and Peter expected him to head for the streets, but he watched in awe as the figure
scaled the building on the left and disappeared onto the roof.

His agility was impressive, and Peter gawked for a split second before scaling the building as well,
following after the figure.

The person was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, moving incredibly fast. Peter was fast as well,
though, so he kept up pretty well.

“Who are you?” Peter called, using his webs to propel him forward. “Why do you have so many
knives?”

The figure glanced behind.

It slowed him down, just a fraction, and Peter finally caught up to him. They immediately started
fighting again, swinging and slashing with the knife. It zinged through the cold air, and Peter
ducked and dodged, listening to his spider-sense as it told him when to move.

It was intense. The mysterious person was incredibly skilled, wielding the knife like it was a part
of him, but Peter was fast and good at dodging.

A car honked on the street below, and it distracted Peter for a fraction of a second, but it was
enough. He slashed right underneath Peter’s right collarbone to his shoulder, slicing through the
spandex of the suit and leaving a long, deep cut on his skin.

Peter gasped, and quickly dodged as the person jutted the knife outwards, in a stabbing motion.

But then, the figure was off running again, and Peter let him go, the cut on his collarbone bleeding
profusely.

Wow, He thought. That hurts.

It wasn’t the worst pain he had experienced, though. Not by a fraction, but it was enough to cripple
him a little bit. Every time he moved his arm, the cut smarted and oozed blood, and he sighed.

He took out his phone and glanced at the time. 10:55.

Shit. He only had five minutes to get back to the tower.

Not wasting any more time, he shot a web and swung off the building, before repeating the motion.

He cried out as he felt the cut burn with the motion, and he nearly flattened himself against a
building in his momentary agony.

He shot a web just in time however, slinging away from the building.

It was a painful trip back to the tower; every movement of Peter’s arm opened the cut a little more.
By the time he was climbing up the tower, the entire right shoulder and right pectoral of his suit
were drenched in blood, staining the already red fabric even darker.

It was starting to bleed and hurt less, however, as his healing factor started to kick in.

He attached himself to one of the living space’s windows and peered inside.

Tony was sat at the kitchen counter, staring at his phone, a hand shaking around a glass of apple
juice.

Rhodey was next to him, talking to him, but Peter couldn’t hear through the glass and he didn’t
possess the ability to read lips.

Time to bite the bullet, Peter thought, and knocked on the window.

Rhodey and Tony both instantly looked up, and Tony knocked the barstool over in his haste to get
up.

“FRIDAY, open the window!” he barked, and the AI obliged, one of the large windows ascending.
Peter clambered inside, shivering slightly.

Tony breathed a sigh of relief and went to hug Peter, but then he saw the kid grasp slightly at his
shoulder, and Tony zeroed in on the action, his eyes landing on the gash.

Peter saw the color drain from Tony’s face, and immediately launched into reassurances. “Don’t
freak out, it’s not that bad, it just bled a lot—”

“Don’t freak out?” Tony thundered, obviously freaking out, his eyes widening as he took in Peter’s
slashed and blood-soaked suit. “What the hell happened?”

“Uhh… some guy brought a knife to a fist fight?” Peter said sheepishly. Tony let out a strained
breath, before leading Peter over to a kitchen chair and sitting him down in it.

Rhodey came over as Tony checked Peter’s eyes for a concussion.

“Oof, that’s deep, kid,” he said, examining Peter’s gash. “We’ve gotta clean that so it doesn’t get
infected.”

Tony pressed onto Peter’s stomach and ran his hands over his ribs, checking for any breaks.

“Tony, I’m f—”

“Don’t,” he said, his eyes flashing. “Don’t say you’re fine.”

“But I am,” he insisted softly. “It’s just a little cut—”

“Your suit is soaked in blood,” Tony said through his teeth, his face still pale. “It’s not just ‘a little
cut’”

Peter sighed, throwing his head back with a groan. Rhodey rummaged under the sink for the first
AID kit and brought it over.

Tony snatched it out of Rhodey’s hands and wrenched it open, ripping open an alcohol-free
cleansing wipe with his teeth.

He bent down over Peter and started to clean the cut.

Peter hissed in pain when the cleansing wipe touched the wound, his face scrunching up. Tony
stopped, his eyes flashing to Peter’s.

They stared at each other for a second, before Tony’s expression broke slightly. He made a
strangled noise deep in his throat before tucking Peter’s head under his chin, taking deep breaths.

Peter instantly felt bad. He didn’t realize how scared Tony was, for he could feel the man’s
pounding heart and hear his shallow breaths.

“I’m alright,” Peter promised shakily, trying to reassure him. “It’s honestly not bad, it doesn’t hurt,
I swear.”

“Fuck,” Tony whispered, his breath hitching. Peter’s concern morphed into full on anxious worry
as Tony took another deep breath.

“Dad,” Peter murmured, not thinking. “It’s okay. Breathe.”

Dad. Tony froze, caught between terror and ecstasy. Peter froze as well, realizing what he said.
“I don’t, uh…” his voice was high with mortification. “I didn’t…”

Tony let Peter go and gently said, “I’m going to clean the cut, okay?”

Peter stared at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, before nodding.

Tony was gentle as he cleaned out the wound, and Peter bit his lip to keep from crying out. The
gash was already healing, but the cleansing process still hurt.

Once he deemed it clean enough to avoid infection, Tony began to dress the wound, using the
gauze from the first aid kit. Peter sat still, his face flushed with the embarrassment from calling
Tony dad.

Once Tony was done, he stood back, looking Peter up and down. Peter felt like he was being x-
rayed.

Then, Tony sighed. “You’re going to kill me, kid.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said again, feeling like a broken record.

“That’s not helping,” he said, taking a seat in one of the kitchen chairs. “Jesus.”

“Relax, I’m not dying,” Peter said with an eyeroll. “It’s just a cut.”

There was silence for a minute, during which Tony stared unabashedly at Peter, his eyes flicking
between his face and his gauze-wrapped shoulder.

“What happened?” Tony said, trying to let himself calm down. He’s fine. Stop freaking out.

Peter sighed. “I was perched on top of a building when I heard a woman scream. I rushed to where
it was and saw a dude standing over her with a knife. I then began to fight said dude.”

“And?” Tony asked, somewhat hysterically.

“Well… he slashed the knife at me, and I dodged it a bunch, and I even managed to knock it out of
his hand. But then he pulled out another one. He… he was really agile. It was weird… he scaled a
building and then ran on the rooftops, trying to get away from me. He didn’t seem to be worried
about falling.”

Tony considered this, his lips pursed. “But how did you get cut?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I got distracted for like point-zero-zero-one second and he managed to cut me. I
was preoccupied by it and he got away.”

Tony looked stricken. “Did you see his face?”

Peter nodded, the hairs on his arms standing up as he recounted it. He shuddered involuntarily, and
Tony’s concern grew.

“Uh, yeah. He was pale, I think… I only saw his eyes.”

“What did they look like?”

Peter bit his lip. “They were dark and bloodshot. He had dark circles underneath and…” Peter
shuddered again. “He didn’t have any eyelashes. And his eyes were like, wide. Like, freakishly
wide.”
Tony tried to school his expression into one that wouldn’t convey how deeply worried that
description made him.

A bitter expression crossed Peter’s face. “I shouldn’t have let him go.”

“No. You did exactly the right thing,” Tony countered. “I’m proud of you.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Peter whispered. “He’s going to go out and hurt someone else, like that poor
woman. She was scared out of her mind.”

“You said he was holding a knife over her, right?” Tony asked, trying to get all the details.

Peter nodded. “Yeah. He was holding a bloody knife and she was in the corner of the alleyway,
clutching her a—” Peter cut off, his eyes going wide, the blood draining from his face.

Tony rushed over and knelt next to him, not at all liking the look on the kid’s face. “What? What’s
wrong? Are you in pain?”

Peter shook his head and took a shallow breath. “I… I think… I think I just fought the Marionette.”

The breath caught in Tony’s throat. “The serial killer? Are you sure?”

Peter nodded minutely. “The woman… she was clutching her forearm, and all of his victims had
cuts on both their forearms, leading up to the crease of the elbow.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “How much have you read about this?”

Peter looked slightly guilty. “Uh…”

Tony groaned. “Kid. You shouldn’t be reading that stuff. It’s not good for you.”

“I should have gone after him,” Peter said miserably, twisting his mask in his hands.

He looked close to tears, and Tony sighed. “Alright, time for bed, buddy.”

Peter blinked. “What? No! It’s only eleven!”

Tony stood, his joints popping. “Yeah, and someone cut your shoulder open with a knife. Bed.”

Peter groaned, but obliged, and the two of them took the elevator down to their floor.

They said their goodnights and went into their rooms, and Tony was so shaken from the night that
he stayed up for another two hours, either watching TV or doing some work on his laptop.

He turned off the lights around one but didn’t fall into an uneasy sleep until around two.

--

“Tony.”

He looked up and saw Peter, walking towards him. Tony’s face broke out into a smile, and he
stood, about to meet his kid halfway.

“Tony.”

Peter’s side was suddenly covered in blood, his face bloodless. He staggered and fell, and the
wound in his side gushed a fountain of blood, staining the floor.
Tony rushed to him, crashing to his knees beside his child, his hands coming down on the injury.

Peter coughed, and a trail of blood ran down the side of his face from his mouth. Tony was lost for
words.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, more blood escaping his lips.

Tony remained speechless, his eyes glued to his son’s face.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Peter said, his eyes drifting

shut.

He stilled.

--

Tony’s eyes jetted open and he bolted upright in bed, a strangled gasp escaping his lips.

The blankets were too heavy and entrapping, so Tony kicked them off violently, his breathing
already starting to get quick and unsteady.

He settled a hand over his chest, trying to breathe. His entire body quivered as he sat there, trying
his best to to stop his racing heart.

It didn’t work. His mind kept bringing up images of Peter’s body on the ground, bleeding horribly,
his small voice saying, “I’m sorry, dad.”

Stop, his brain tried to rationalize. Peter’s fine. He’s in the room next door.

But the dream had just felt so real…

He had felt Peter die in the dream. He had seen his body go still, saw the life leave his eyes.

Tony took a breath, trying his hardest to calm down.

Once he could breathe a little better, and his heart wasn’t threatening to give out, he got to his feet.
He ran-walked out of his room and into the hallway, before stopping right in front of Peter’s room.

He gently pushed open the door, thankful that the it didn’t squeak.

“Lights five percent, FRIDAY,” he ordered.

There was a head of curly brown hair poking out of a mountain of blankets, which rose and fell
steadily. The room was filled with heavy breathing, both Peter’s and his own.

The relief was intoxicating, and Tony let out a sigh, slumping a little.

He stood there for a minute, breathing, watching Peter sleep soundly.

The panic was still there, but it was less so, and he took a deep breath.

He shut his eyes briefly and scrubbed a hand down his face, attempting to chase away the leftover
muddled confusion and panic left due to his nightmare.

“He’s fine,” Tony whispered to himself, taking another breath. “He’s fine.”

There was a small noise, and the mountain of blankets moved.

 A very sleepy Peter emerged, hair stuck up in several directions, eyes barely open.

“Wha—?” he whispered, rubbing his eyes. He looked around, his eyes undoubtedly adjusting to
the darkness. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

Tony looked at his kid, his heart swelling. Peter looked incredibly warm and snuggly.

“Who’s there?” Peter asked, his sleepy voice slightly fearful, and Tony quietly approached the bed.

“It’s just me,” he whispered.

“T’ny?” Peter asked, his eyes finally focusing.

“The one and only. Go back to sleep, bud.”

“Why are you up?” Peter asked, sounding more awake.

Tony sighed. “I had a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

“You had a nightmare? What was it about?” Peter asked, sounding concerned.

“Nothing,” Tony snapped. “Go to sleep Peter.”

Peter grumbled, laying back down. “Well, you’re the one who came in here.”

Tony sighed again, sitting on the end of Peter’s bed. “You got me there. I didn’t mean to snap at
you.”

“S’fine,” Peter said, his voice muffled somewhat by his pillow. “’re you sure you don’t want to
talk about it? You always make me talk about my nightmares.”

Yeah, but how do I tell you that I dreamt about you dying? Tony thought desperately, watching as
Peter turned over, fixing him with his large brown eyes.

Tony let out a sigh, gently running his hand through Peter’s curls. “I’m sure, buddy. Thank you.”

“M’kay,” Peter said, his eyes drifting shut. Tony could see sleep starting to creep up on the kid
again. He continued running his hand through Peter’s hair, love in the gesture. “G'night dad.”

Dad. “Goodnight, Pete.”

Chapter End Notes

As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you guys soon!

 Fade Me Away
Chapter Summary

"'Peter?' MJ asked, getting on the same level as him. Peter’s ears were ringing, so it
was hard to hear her. 'Peter, can you hear me?'"

Chapter Notes

Better late than never, right? Enjoy this chapter ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was finally February, which meant it was Academic Decathlon season once again.

Peter walked into school on Monday and was assaulted by MJ, who came charging up to him like
an angry bull.

“Decathlon practice after school,” she said, glaring at him. “Be there.”

Peter still hadn’t forgiven her for the comments she had made, so he glared at her before walking
away, not giving a response.

He spent half the day listening to Ned trying to persuade him to talk to MJ again, but he wouldn’t
budge.

When the bell for lunch rang, Ned was hovering anxiously next to Peter as they made their way to
the cafeteria.

Peter bought a large lunch (which he could afford, now that Tony was taking care of him, but he
tried not to think of that too much) and sat down in the spot he usually ate.

Ned sat next to him, and then MJ was there, looking bored and uncaring as usual.

“Sup, losers,” she said, setting down her paper-bag lunch and swinging her legs over the bench.

Peter stayed silent, putting ketchup on one of the three cheeseburgers he bought. He took a bite,
noticing that meat was dry and overcooked but being too hungry to care.

“You’re going to eat three cheeseburgers?” MJ asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Peter stayed silent, setting his face and chewing slowly.

“Are you still pissed at me?” she asked in a disbelieving tone.

“Depends,” Peter shot, glaring. “Are you going to take back what you said about Tony?”

MJ narrowed her eyes, considering him.

“No,” she said finally. “I meant what I said. Based on his past history, I don’t think he should be in
charge of a minor.”

“You don’t know him,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“I know enough,” MJ said firmly. “I don’t need to meet him. His public actions tell me enough
about him as a person. He’s not meant to be a father.”

Peter scowled at her. “Then yes, I’m still pissed at you.”

MJ gave him a look, and he scowled down at his food.

They didn’t talk for the rest of lunch.

--

Peter loved Academic Decathlon. Truly, he did.

But he didn’t love Flash’s consistent comments thrown his way.

Throughout the entire practice, Flash was either making comments or sending him dirty looks,
which was distracting, to say the least.

It happened at the next practice as well, the following day. MJ would throw out a question, Peter
would answer while pointedly not looking at her, and Flash would say something rude at Peter’s
expense.

It didn’t bother him, really. It was usually just comments about Peter being a loser, or something
similar. Plus, after practice, Tony would pick him up, and they would either go back to tower for
dinner or Tony would take him out somewhere. Peter would talk about school, and Tony would
talk about anything and everything, cracking jokes and making Peter laugh so hard that his sides
hurt.

Flash’s insults were annoying, but dinner with Tony afterwards made them bearable.

But then Thursday rolled around, and it got much, much worse.

It hadn’t been a good day for Peter. Tony wasn’t there when he had woken up, which made Peter
feel sickeningly lonely for some reason. He had gotten a B+ on a Chemistry quiz, which he wasn’t
happy with, since he knew he could do better.

Not only that, but he still wasn’t talking to MJ. It was draining to be mad at someone, but Peter
wasn’t going to stop until MJ took back what she said about Tony.

Decathlon practice rolled around, and Peter was half-tempted to skip it that day. He was tired,
achingly so, and sitting through an hour and a half practice just sounded incredibly draining.

But skipping gave him anxiety, so he went begrudgingly.

When he got to the practice room, he glanced at the schedule to see when he was going, and he
blanched at what he saw.

He was the last one to go, and who was he against?

Flash.
He stared at it, silently pleading with the universe for it not to be true.

No such luck.

Setting his face, he marched up to MJ, who was writing something on a clipboard.

“Why am I against Flash?” he hissed.

MJ didn’t look at him, just kept writing. “Because he needs to practice, and you were the only one
that I hadn’t paired anyone up with yet.”

“Can you change it? Please?” Peter asked, an edge to his voice.

MJ finally looked at him, and her eyes were cold. “Why should I?” she asked, her voice icy.

Peter stared at her, before turning on his heel and sitting down in a chair, crossing his arms.

Practice went by fast, and before Peter knew it, it was his turn.

He got onto the stage and sat at the right table, his hands clenched into fists.

Flash sat on the left table, and his glaring eyes were sending daggers Peter’s way.

MJ started to fire off questions, and Peter quickly pulled ahead of Flash, being quick and accurate
with his answers.

He could see Flash’s glare out of the corner of his eye, but he was so focused on getting the
questions right that he didn’t pay it much attention.

His ten minutes were up quickly, and he had won by a landslide.

He stood from his place and started to walk off stage, when a loud voice rang out.

“Where’re you going, Penis?” Flash asked loudly. Peter rolled his eyes and kept walking, his hands
curling into tight fists.

“You going home? Oh, wait,” Flash snickered. “You don’t have one.”

Peter froze, his hand on the railing of the stage stairs.

“That’s right, everyone!” Flash called, and Peter knew everyone was listening. “Penis here is an
orphan! He has no family!”

The room was deadly silent, and Peter felt a flush creep up onto his face. He stared at the ground,
but he could feel everyone’s eyes on him. His fists tightened.

Cold dread filled him. Oh god, everyone knows.

“How does it feel, Penis?” Flash said venomously, and Peter swallowed, his heart racing, stomach
churning in embarrassment. “How does it feel knowing that no one wants you?”

Peter swallowed, his eyes stinging.

“How does it feel,” Flash continued. “knowing that you’re alone?”

Alone.
He needed to get out. He needed to leave, because he could feel the panic attack beginning to start,
and he didn’t want his teammates to watch his meltdown.

The next breath he let out was a wheeze, and he bolted, running out of the practice room in a dead
sprint, nearly tripping over his feet in his haste.

He sprinted down the empty halls to the bathroom and collapsed against the wall, sliding down and
pulling his knees up to his chest.

Everyone knows now, he thought, shutting his eyes, shaking horribly as he struggled to breathe.
Everyone knows no one wants me. Everyone knows I’m alone.

I’m a freak with no parents. Everyone either leaves or dies and I’m always going to be alone.

He gasped a breath, his chest and ribs hurting. He was making involuntary hiccuping noises, but no
tears escaped his wide eyes. Trembles wracked his body as his heart raced, a sense of impending
doom filling him. His heart shouldn't be racing that fast, right? Oh god, was he dying?

The bathroom door swung open, and in came MJ, her face guarded, eyes concerned.

Peter choked on a breath, letting out an involuntary whimper.

“Peter?” MJ asked, getting on the same level as him. Peter’s ears were ringing, so it was hard to
hear her. “Peter, can you hear me?”

Peter wheezed, trying to breathe, and worry flashed across MJ’s face.

“You’re having a panic attack,” she said, more to herself that to him. “Okay. Um…”

He buried his face in his knees and let a couple tears slip, biting his lip to keep from sobbing.

Peter’s phone buzzed in his backpack, and MJ immediately searched his bag for it.

She fished it out and accepted the call.

Tony smiled as he heard the phone on the other end accept the call. “Hey bud, I’m outside,” he
said, leaning back leisurely in the driver’s seat, contemplating where he wanted to take Peter for
dinner.

“Uh…” The smile immediately fled Tony’s face. He sat up straight, dread filling his stomach.
That’s not Peter. “Is this… is this Tony Stark?”

“Who are you and why do you have Peter’s phone?” he asked coldly, a hand already on the car
door handle, the other hand on his wrist, ready to call a suit to him.

“I’m his friend, MJ,” the person on the other end explained, her voice shaking slightly. “Peter’s
right here… I think he’s having some sort of a… a panic attack?”

Fuck.

Tony pushed the car door open and starting fast walking up to the front doors of the school.
“Where is he?” he demanded, taking the steps two at a time.

“He’s in the boy’s bathroom by the auditorium,” the girl, MJ, said. A second later the call was
ended.
“He’s coming, Peter,” MJ said softly, and Peter let out another whimper.

Tony opened the metal school doors and glanced at the sign that pointed him to the auditorium,
before running down the hall, glad that the school was mostly empty.

He found the boy’s bathroom and pushed open the door.

Peter was on the ground, face buried in the knees pulled into his chest, shaking. There was a girl
with frizzy brown hair and dark skin sat across from him, on her knees. Tony recognized her, from
that cold, December day, when he and Peter had the meeting with the principal.

Tony immediately walked forward and got onto his knees next to Peter, who had removed his tear-
streaked face from his knees. The relief Peter felt at seeing his dad made the breath rush from his
lungs in pitiful hitches.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said softly, gently.

Peter’s lip quivered, his wide brown eyes miserable. He let out a horrible gasping sound, almost
like he was being strangled.

“Breathe for me, buddy,” Tony murmured, and Peter choked on nothing, wheezing. "Peter. I need
you to breathe."

Peter took in a breath, and another, repeating the action several times before shutting his eyes and
leaning his head back against the wall, physically and emotionally exhausted.

“Keep breathing,” Tony coached quietly, and he turned to the girl who was sitting adjacent to him.

MJ looked over at him, and the first thing Tony noticed was how intimidating her stare was. She
seemed to peer into his soul, with her calculating brown eyes, and Tony blinked.

“Do you believe in climate change?” she asked, eyes narrowed, and Tony was completely thrown
for a loop.

It took him a second to gain his composure. “Yes, of course,” he responded, bewildered.

MJ didn’t so much as blink. “Good,” she said, before looking over at Peter, who had one eye
cracked open, watching the interaction.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding sincere. “I shouldn’t have paired you up with Flash. That was a
dick m—” she cut off abruptly when she saw Peter’s frantically panicked eyes.

“Flash?” Tony asked, looking between the two of them sharply. “Who’s Flash?”

Peter wasn’t up for this. He didn’t want Tony’s questions, or MJ’s apologies. He wanted to go
home, cry, and fall asleep all at the same time.

“No one,” Peter mumbled, his tired eyes landing on Tony. “C-Can we go home, Dad? Please?”

Tony’s eyes turned soft in an instant. Dad. “Sure, buddy. Can you stand?”

Peter nodded, sighing. He stood, his legs shaking slightly but not too much, and Tony stood as
well, his back protesting.

Peter looked at Tony, and Tony wrapped him in a hug. Peter made a noise into his chest.
“You’re okay,” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to Peter’s hair. “We’re going home. You’re okay.”

Tony had momentarily forgot that there was someone else in the room, and he looked up sharply,
trying to find MJ.

But the girl had left, leaving the bathroom unoccupied.

“She’s gone,” Tony whispered, and Peter let out a deep sigh of relief.

Tony kept one arm around Peter and reached down with the other one to grab the kid’s bag and
sling it over his shoulder.

They left the bathroom and made their way to the front of the school, and Peter was just glad they
didn’t run into anyone.

They got to the car, and Peter got in the passenger side as Tony threw his backpack in the backseat.

Tony started the car, and Peter curled up, his head against the cold window.

They pulled out of the school, and Peter shut his eyes, feeling strangely hollow.

--

They got home, and Peter wanted nothing more than to cry and sleep.

Tony had other ideas, though. He brought the two of them to the living room, sat Peter on the
couch, and brought him a tub of ice cream.

Peter wasn’t hungry, but he took the metal utensil and the cold dessert anyways, digging out a
small bite and stuffing the spoon in his mouth.

He hummed happily when he realized it was Brownie Batter, his favorite ice-cream flavor from his
favorite ice-cream brand, Ben & Jerry’s.

Tony sat down next to him, with his own Ben & Jerry’s flavor, New York Super Fudge Chunk.

They ate silently for a few minutes, Peter thoroughly enjoying his ice-cream.

But of course, they couldn’t just enjoy the silence. “What happened, bud?”

Peter paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth. He slowly lowered it and dropped his eyes.

“Just a bad day,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I’m going to worry about it,” Tony said, giving Peter a look. “That was not just a bad day.”

“It was,” Peter said, a challenge to his tone. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Your hands are shaking,” Tony observed, narrowing his eyes. “and you're avoiding my eyesight.
Something happened, and you don’t want to tell me for some reason.”

Peter shot him a venomous look, one which Tony frowned at. “And now you’re angry because I’m
pressing you on it,” Tony said, holding his gaze. “Who’s Flash?”

“Some kid on my Decathlon team,” Peter said, dropping his stare and looking at his ice-cream, no
longer hungry.
“Why did MJ apologize for pairing you up with him?” Tony pressed, wishing that Peter would give
him something to work with.

“Because he’s… really good,” Peter lied, not even sure why he was lying.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Tony observed, no heat to his tone. There was a pause, before Tony asked
in a soft voice, “Does this kid bully you?”

Yes. “No,” Peter lied, again, but his voice shook. His hands curled into fists.

“Peter,” Tony said, his voice still soft. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There wasn’t anger, there wasn’t betrayal. There was pure sadness in Tony’s voice, and it hurt even
worse.

“How am I supposed to tell the person I look up to that I get called Penis Parker every day at
school?” Peter hissed, his fists tightening, drawing blood from his palms. His eyes prickled. “That I
get called a loser, or a freak, or an orph—” Peter couldn’t finish the word.

“Or a what?” Tony asked, voice so soft and gentle.

“An orphan,” Peter whispered, hating the word and the fact that it was true.

“Peter,” Tony said, still gentle and soft. “You are not a freak, and you are not a loser. You’re
compassionate, incredibly smart, brave to a fault…” Tony gently grabbed Peter’s chin so that the
kid was looking at him. “And most importantly, you’re my son.”

“I’m not your son y—”

“I don’t care,” Tony cut across him. “I’ve told you, Pete. I don’t need papers or a court to tell me
that you’re my kid.”

Peter sighed, closing his eyes, letting Tony’s words wash over him. “It just gets annoying,” Peter
said quietly. “I get tired of constantly being at the butt of his jokes.”

“I’ll say something,” Tony promised. “I’ll tell the school. Do you want me to have him expelled?”

Peter shook his head, staring down at his ice-cream again. He sighed. “No. It’s fine.”

“Peter,” Tony said, a little agitated. “It’s not fine. I don’t want someone treating you like this—”

“Yeah, but it’s no something to ruin someone’s life over,” Peter insisted. “It’s fine. I deal with it.”

“You shouldn’t have to—”

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have to deal with a lot of things, but I do,” Peter snapped, his eyes flashing
up to meet Tony’s. “It’s better Flash picks on me rather than some defenseless kid. I can take it.”

“I’m not okay with this,” Tony said firmly. “Something is going to be done about it.”

Peter gritted his teeth, wishing they could just drop the subject. He regretted even telling him what
was going on.

“Eat your ice-cream, Pete,” Tony said then, taking a bite of his own.

Peter looked down at his ice-cream, before shaking his head. “Not hungry.”
“Don’t care,” Tony said smoothly. “Eat.”

Peter clenched his jaw again but shoved a mouthful of brownie batter ice-cream into his mouth,
hating how much he enjoyed the flavor.

“Why did you have a panic attack?” Tony asked quietly.

Peter sighed. “Just something Flash said. It was stupid, I don’t know why I freaked out.”

Tony ate a spoonful of ice-cream. “What did he say?”

Peter didn’t say anything. He clenched his fists tightly, his fingernails opening the already healing
cuts that he had made a few minutes previously.

How does it feel, knowing you’re alone?

“Peter?” Tony asked quietly, concernedly, and Peter’s eyes met Tony’s. “You’ve gone pale. What
did he say?”

Peter’s hands shook, and he placed them on the sides of his pint of ice-cream to steady them. “H-
He said… ‘how does it feel, knowing you’re a-alone?’”

Tony stared at his kid, heart hurting. Jesus, that kid hit right where Pete is sensitive, didn’t he?
“You’re not alone, buddy. You know that, right?”

Peter shrugged, digging his spoon into his ice-cream and playing with the substance, just to have
something to do.

“Peter,” Tony said lowly. “I’m right here. You’re not alone.”

“I know that,” Peter mumbled. “I’m just scared of you leaving.”

“I’m not leaving,” Tony said automatically, which may or may not have been a lie. Just that
morning, Pepper had sent him and email regarding a five-day trip to Europe. She wanted him to go
within the next few weeks.

Tony didn’t want to go, but he knew he couldn’t get out of it. He would have to leave, eventually.

Peter sighed deeply, biting his lip. “But you’ll have to leave eventually.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Tony said, brushing Peter’s hair back. The kid
leaned into the touch. “Right now, though, we’re going to sit, eat ice-cream, and watch Disney
Movies.”

Peter shifted. “Can we watch The Incredibles?”

Tony groaned. “Again? Seriously?”

“I like superheroes!” Peter insisted. “You know it’s a good movie, don’t even pretend.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Ugh, fine. But only because you’ll be annoying if we don’t watch it.”

Peter smiled, and Tony couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from quirking up, as well.

--
 The next day at school, MJ approached Peter with a guilty look on her face.

Peter was at his locker, putting a binder away, when she came over to him, clutching a thick book.

“Peter?” MJ asked quietly, causing Peter to turn around and face her.

“Oh,” Peter blushed in embarrassment, remembering that she saw his complete meltdown
yesterday. “H-Hi, MJ.”

“I just… wanted to apologize,” she said nervously, which made Peter blink in shock. MJ was a lot
of things, and nervous wasn’t one of them. “I shouldn’t have judged Tony Stark before I met him.
I’m sorry.”

Peter blinked, shocked. That wasn’t what he expected.

He shut his locker and let out a breath. “It’s okay. You were just worried about me. But… you get
it now, right? He’s… He’s a big part of my life, and he’s helped me a lot. The news, the media,
Twitter…” Peter shook his head. “They just don’t know him.”

“I didn’t know,” MJ said sadly, fixing Peter with her piercing brown eyes. Peter’s stomach
swooped, and his face burned hot. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

Peter smiled. “It's okay. I forgive you.”

Chapter End Notes

I didn't mean for this to get posted so late, but here we are. Thank you all for your
continued support, by the way.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys soon!
 I Won't Ever Be The Same
Chapter Summary

"An idea popped into Peter’s head. 'Do you want to play twenty questions?' he burst
out, much to Tony’s surprise.

'What, like the game that gross thirteen-year-olds play when they want to get in girl’s
pants?' Tony pulled a face."

Chapter Notes

This chapter is light and fluffy and happy.

It's a good precursor for all the pain to come.
Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter went patrolling again that night, but there was no sign of the Marionette anywhere.

Tony had warned him specifically not to go looking for the serial killer, but curiosity had gotten
the better of him, and he went back to the scene of the stabbing.

He spent about a half an hour in the area around it, but the most notable thing that happened was a
car alarm going off.

He went back to the Tower at his curfew, windblown and slightly disgruntled.

Tony was waiting up for him, looking slightly less anxious than he did the other night but still
worried.

The weekend passed quickly, much to Peter chagrin, and soon it was Sunday night.

He crawled into bed at ten thirty, scrolled through Instagram, Twitter, and watched a couple
YouTube videos for about an hour and a half, before shutting off his phone and staring at the
ceiling.

He wanted to sleep, but his mind thought it would be a great idea to replay all the depressing shit
that happened in his life (like how May said goodbye as she left the apartment on November 23rd,
which was the last thing he heard her say, before she drove to her death, just to get them dinner. He
wondered if she was scared. If, in her last moments, she experienced the rush of death approaching
and felt fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of being alone).

Needless to say, when his alarm went off after only an hour of sleep, tears filled his eyes as he
buried his head in his pillow.

But Tony came in about a minute later, his sock-clad feet barely making any noise on the
hardwood. “We’ve got a blizzard warning, bud,” Tony whispered, sitting on the edge of Peter’s
bed, gently carding his fingers through his hair. “School’s cancelled.”

The pure, intoxicating relief that followed Tony’s words was enough to make Peter cry, exhausted
and still raw from the night before.

“FRIDAY told me you had a rough night,” Tony murmured, his nails softly scratching Peter’s
scalp. “Are you okay?”

Peter let out a sob, and Tony shushed him, his hand coming down and wiping away the tears that
made their way down Peter’s cheeks.

“I’m here,” Tony murmured, and Peter sucked in a shaking breath, shuddering. “Go back to sleep,
Pete. You’re exhausted.”

Peter’s tears slowed, and he fell back into an uneasy slumber.

--

He woke up around noon, feeling slightly like he had been run over by a train but also decently
well rested.

He put on the large MIT sweatshirt that he stole from Tony and a pair of his comfiest sweatpants
and took the elevator up to the common room, where FRIDAY said that Tony is.

He stepped out and took in the scene before him.

The large windows were foggy, but Peter could see the thick, fluffy snowflakes falling from the
light gray sky.

The common room was warm and cozy. There was a fire in the fireplace, casting warm light over
the surrounding area.

Steve and Bucky were on the couch. Bucky’s head was in Steve’s lap, his sweatpants-clad legs
stretched out the length of the couch. He was watching whatever was playing on the TV intently, a
look of concentration on his face.

Steve was smoothing back Bucky’s hair, a look of soft affection on his face. He wasn’t looking at
the TV. His eyes were only for the man in his lap.

Rhodey was at the island, his prosthetic legs dangling beneath the stool he was sat on, a Starkpad
in his hand. Tony was stood in the kitchen, leaning against the marble countertop. He was staring
at Steve and Bucky, his expression one of muted sadness.

He looked over to Peter when he heard the elevator door close, and the sadness was replaced by a
look of soft happiness and barely concealed concern.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said, smiling at him. “How are you feeling?”

Peter tugged the sleeves of the MIT sweatshirt over his hands and considered that.

“I’ve felt worse,” he shrugged, his voice slightly hoarse. He cleared it.

Tony nodded, a sad look coming over his face, before being replaced by a slightly happier
expression. “But hey, at least there’s no school today, right?”
Peter nodded, walking over to the window and looking out.

It was hard to see. The heavy, white precipitation made the entire city look white, and the
surrounding buildings were just vague, blurry gray shapes.

“How much snow are we going to get?” Peter asked quietly as Tony joined him in looking at the
snowy city.

“I just watched the news, and they said about a foot and a half,” Tony said, his eyes drifting down
to Peter. “The entire city’s shut down. We’re stuck in here today.”

Peter shrugged. “That’s fine. I didn’t really want to go out anyway.”

Tony resisted the urge to sigh. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

Whenever something was bothering Peter, he would take on this strange apathetic personality. It
was completely unlike how he was normally, so full of light and purpose.

This was one of those days, Tony supposed, looking down at Peter, whose face was clear of
emotion.

Tony knew the kid had a hard night last night. FRIDAY told him when he woke up that Peter
didn’t fall asleep until five in the morning, and his heartbeat and breathing were irregular all night.

Tony wished the AI would have woken him during the night, but he supposed he couldn’t be with
Peter every time something was bothering him. They were already codependent enough.

But that didn’t mean Tony wasn’t going to find out what kept him up so late. He just needed to go
about it the right way.

“Since there’s nothing to do, because the city’s shut down,” Tony said slowly, an idea blossoming
in his mind. “What do you say we make some cookies?”

Peter started, the first sign of life Tony has seen him exhibit that morning. “You can bake?” he
asked incredulously, and Tony hit him lightly on the arm.

“Watch it, spider-baby,” he admonished, but a smile was playing on his lips. “I’ll have you know
that I’m an excellent baker. I’m the best baker in the world—”

“I’ve seen you burn water, Tony,” Rhodey said absently from his place at the island. “You can’t
bake for shit.”

Tony turned to Rhodey, a mischievous glee written all over his face. “Honeybear, you know I’m a
master-baker. I’m so good at master-baking—”

“You’re disgusting,” Rhodey’s face pulled in revulsion. “Ugh.”

Tony chuckled, and Peter looked between the two men. “You’ve lost me,” Peter said, hopelessly
confused.

“Good!” Tony said jovially, throwing an arm around Peter. “Cookies?”

Peter shrugged. “Sure.”

Tony led the two of them over to the kitchen and pulled out a cookbook, flipping through it and
finding the first cookie recipe he found.
Chocolate-chip cookies. Perfect.

What’s a better remedy to a bad night than chocolate-chip cookies?

“Okay, Pete,” Tony said, clapping his hands together. “So, we’re going to need ingredients. Flour,
baking powder, salt, butter, eggs, vanilla, white sugar, brown sugar, and a bag of chocolate chips.
The one who gets the most items first wins.”

Peter took in Tony’s words and nodded, pushing back the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “You’re going
down,” Peter taunted.

“Sure,” Tony rolled his eyes. “Just don’t cry too much when I beat you, Spider-baby.”

“I am not a baby!”

“Mhm, whatever you say, Spider-baby.”

Peter growled, and Tony chuckled. “Ready?”

“To kick your ass, yes.”

“I’m scandalized! A toddler, using such language? What would Steve say?”

“Hmm?” Steve asked from his place on the couch, sounding a little out of it.

“Not talking to you, Romeo,” Tony shot at him, causing Steve’s eyebrows to furrow. “Go back to
cuddling your boyfriend.”

Steve sputtered for a second as Tony turned to Rhodey.

“Count us down, Rhodey,” Tony said, cracking his knuckles. Peter rolled his eyes.

“There’s no way you’re going to win,” Peter said, but readied himself anyways.

“Alright, three… two… one—!”

Both Tony and Peter dashed to the pantry, tripping over each other in their haste.

Tony was determined to win, his competitive streak coming out in full force. He quickly grabbed
the flour and baking soda, before dashing over and grabbing the bag of chocolate chips.

His arms were full, so he dashed back out, depositing the ingredients on the island before turning
on his heel to grab some more.

But, suddenly, two sticks of butter, two eggs, a bag of granulated sugar, a bag of brown sugar, and
a small bottle of vanilla extract were placed onto the island.

Tony spun around, gaping at the ingredients, and being even more confused when he looked
around and couldn’t find Peter anywhere.

A small giggle raised his eyes upward, and there Peter was, hanging from a web on the ceiling.

There was pure triumphant joy on his face, and even though Tony was a little peeved at the fact
that he lost, he couldn’t be mad.

Because Peter hadn’t looked that happy since before May died, when their relationship was just
mentor and mentee, Iron-Man and Spider-Man.

“Cheater,” Tony reprimanded. “Using your freaky spider powers to win. That’s cheap.”

Peter sprung down off the ceiling and landed gracefully on the balls of his feet. “You didn’t say I
couldn’t use my abilities.”

“The kid has a point,” Rhodey commented, as he stood and started to make his way out of the
kitchen.

“You’re no help!” Tony called after him, which Rhodey ignored.

“Just admit that you lost, and we can get down to actually making the cookies.” Peter crossed his
arms.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

“You're just mad that you lost," Peter taunted. "Seriously, though. I’m starving and I want
cookies.”

“So demanding,” Tony muttered, leaning over the recipe book.

They got to work, Tony listing out steps to Peter, who would follow them.

It was going great, until it was time to bring out the hand mixer.

Neither Tony nor Peter had ever used the instrument before, so after spending ten minutes trying to
stick the whisks in the appropriate spots, they finally got it right and decided to cream the eggs,
sugar, vanilla, and butter together.

The mixer was loud and a little difficult to use, but Peter got the hang of it and switched the mixer
to high speed, learning over the bowl to see the dough get mixed

“It says to add the dry ingredients gradually,” Tony announced, and Peter grabbed the bowl of dry
ingredients.

He was going to add it gradually, but his wrist had a spasm and he accidentally poured all of it in.

Immediately, flour, baking soda, and salt came flying out of the bowl, coating Peter’s face, hair,
and the counter in powder.

It would have been funny, hilarious even. But it got in his eyes and his nose so he couldn’t breathe,
and for a second, he was back under the building that the Vulture dropped on him.

The response was instantaneously and purely instinctual. Peter dropped the mixer, which fell onto
the counter, whirring violently and jerking erratically. He couldn’t see, his eyes blurry and stinging
and his nose burning.

He coughed violently, trying to get the powder out of his lungs.

“Hey,” Someone’s hands were on him, and Peter coughed again, his sinuses on fire.

There was a click as the mixer was turned off, before he heard the sound of a paper towel being
ripped from the roll, and the running of tap water. Then, there was something cool and damp
wiping the powder off his face.
“Open your eyes, Pete,” Tony asked gently, and Peter obliged, the whites of his eyes bloodshot and
irritated.

“Can you see?” Tony questioned, and Peter nodded. Everything was a little blurry and his eyes
stung but he could see, and he counted it a win.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony was still wiping his face, his eyes surprisingly tender. “Only you would cause
an accidental flour bomb.”

Peter wanted to respond with something witty, but there was flour in his mouth, so he doubled over
and coughed, trying to hack the powder out.

Tony led him over to the sink and Peter coughed up a mouthful of wet flour, before rising out his
mouth and taking large drinks from the tap.

“I’m never letting you bake again,” Tony vowed, as Peter continued to flush out his mouth.

Once Peter could see and breathe relatively well, Tony took over, mixing the ingredients together
with the hand mixer on a much slower speed.

They then scooped small amounts of the cookie dough up and dropped it onto the baking sheets,
Peter still sniffing from inhaling the flour, Tony still chuckling slightly.

Tony placed the cookie sheet into the oven and set the timer for nine minutes.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Tony said, and just as Peter opened his mouth to respond, his nose
started bleeding.

“Jesus,” Tony said, and Peter blinked, wondering exactly what was happening. “Well, maybe
making cookies was a mistake.”

“It’s from the flour,” Peter said, unsure of what to do.

“Pinch your nose and tilt your head forwards a bit,” Tony instructed, grabbing a paper towel and
handing it to Peter. “It should stop in a minute.”

“How do you know what to do?” Peter sassed, his voice nasally.

“I used to get them all the time,” Tony rolled his eyes. “They were a pain. I used to wake up and
feel the blood running down the back of my throat,” Tony shuddered. “Not fun. I got over them,
though.”

“Huh,” Peter said, interested. “I didn’t know that.”

Tony shrugged. “Just one of those things. Keep it pinched, kid. I don’t want you to ruin your
sweatshirt.”

“I am keeping it pinched!” Peter insisted. “Why did you use to get nosebleeds so much?”

“Bad allergies,” Tony informed him, wiping the blood that had run onto Peter’s chin and upper lip.
“I still take medication for them.”

Peter was fascinated. He didn’t realize that there was so much more to Tony that he didn’t even
know.

An idea popped into Peter’s head. “Do you want to play twenty questions?” he burst out, much to
Tony’s surprise.

“What, like the game that gross thirteen-year-olds play when they want to get in girl’s pants?”
Tony pulled a face.

Peter rolled his eyes. “No. Just… I’ll ask you a question, and then you’ll ask me a question. Simple
as that.”

Tony considered that. While he didn’t really like talking about himself, (at least, not about anything
important) he knew it would be a good idea to hear about what was going on with Peter, since his
other tactic of corner and press for answers wasn’t really working out.

“Sure, kid,” Tony shrugged. “But on one condition: no weaseling out of answers, and no lying. If
either of us asks a question, we have to answer it.”

Peter looked uneasy at that but nodded anyways. “Okay. I’ll go first.”

Tony looked at him expectantly, and Peter wracked his brain. “What’s your favorite food?”

The billionaire chuckled. “Cheeseburgers. My turn.”

“Wait! Why cheeseburgers?” Peter asked, bemused. “I was expecting, like, something stupidly
fancy and French.”

“Well, you know what they say about assuming,” Tony commented, before a slightly darker look
came over his face, and the smile faded. “A cheeseburger was the first thing I had when I came
back from Afghanistan—” They remind me of freedom and starting over. “— and they’ve been my
favorite ever since.”

Peter felt guilty for asking, then. “O-oh. I-I… I didn’t realize—”

“It’s fine, kid,” Tony said firmly. “My turn. How often do you have bad nights and just not tell me
about them?”

Peter looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “I, uh…”

“Peter.”

Peter looked down, thankful that his nose had stopped bleeding. “A lot. My mind doesn’t like
shutting up.”

“How often is a lot?” Tony pressed, his stomach twisting.

Peter shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Three or four times a week,” he muttered. “Sometimes
less, rarely more.”

“Jesus,” Tony breathed, feeling like the worst goddamn parent in the world. “What do you do?”

“Lay there,” Peter shrugged. “Cry, sometimes.”

“Peter,” Tony whispered. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“What are you supposed to do about it?” Peter asked, slightly snappishly. “I can’t just wake you up
every time I have a bad night. You need to sleep too.”

“I don’t give a shit about my sleep!” Tony said heatedly. “If you’re upset, or having a hard time,
you need to tell me!”

“I already ask too much of you,” Peter expressed, his hands curling into fists. “You can’t go
anywhere without me freaking out, I have panic attacks, I cry all the time, I can’t take your sleep
away too.”

“I’m literally giving you permission,” Tony said, gesturing with his hands. “Jesus, Peter, you don’t
have to do things alone.”

Peter winced at the word, fists tightening. He and Tony glared at each other, before Peter dropped
his eyes to the floor. “My turn.”

“Fire away,” Tony snapped accidentally.

“Why did you and Pepper break up?”

Tony blinked, heart stuttering a little. “I’m not answering that.”

“I answered your stupid question,” Peter snapped, his knuckles white. “You promised.”

Tony glared at him. “She told me that I was obsessed with being Iron-Man, and that I didn’t care
about anybody but myself.”

Peter gaped, suddenly wishing he hadn’t asked the question. “What? But… but you care about
everybody but yourself—”

“Yeah? Well, tell Pepper that,” Tony said bitterly. He took a breath. “It’s whatever. I’m over it.”

“But not over her,” Peter commented. “You’re in love with her.”

“Of course, I am,” Tony said angrily, blood pressure undoubtedly high. “She’s… perfect, she’s
Pepper. I couldn’t not be in love with her if I tried.”

That made Peter unexpectedly, unbearably sad. “Then why don't you tell her that?”

“Because I ruin her life,” Tony said, spitefully. “She deserves better than me.”

“Who’s better than you?” Peter asked, reaching into the bowl of cookie dough and eating a
fingerful.

“She deserves someone normal,” Tony tried to explain, not sure why he was even bothering. “I’m a
lot to deal with, kid. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“And you don’t deserve to be lonely,” Peter said, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you just talk to
her? Thursday’s Valentine’s Day… why don’t you ask her out to dinner?”

Yeah, and give her another chance to reject me? I’m good, thanks.

Tony shook his head. “Anyways. It’s my turn to ask you a question.”

Peter sighed. “Hit me.”

“On a scale from one to ten,” Tony started, watching Peter for his reaction. “One being how your
felt right after May died, ten being the best you’ve felt in the world, how do you feel?”

Peter blinked and considered the question. “Right now? Like, right this second?”
Tony shook his head. “In general.”

Peter bit his lip. “About a five.”

Tony held his breath. “And what were you at before May died?”

Peter swallowed. “A nine.”

Tony let out the breath he was holding. A five he could deal with. “Okay. That’s not too bad. I’m
proud of you, Pete.”

Peter flushed with happiness. A second later, the oven beeped, and Tony took the cookies out of
the oven.

They set them aside to cool and placed another sheet of unbaked cookie dough in the oven.

“My turn!” Peter said excitedly as Tony set the timer on the next batch.

“Jesus, I’m regretting agreeing to play this game,” Tony complained, taking off his oven mitt.

Peter rolled his eyes, before turning serious. “What are you most afraid of?”

Tony stared at him, stomach dropping. Sick images flashed through his head, most consisting of
Peter dying in a gruesome manner, and the smell of the cookies baking suddenly made him
nauseous.

He took in a sharp breath through his nose, fixing Peter with a hard look. “You dying. My turn.”

Peter looked taken aback at that. “I’m not going to—"

“I’m not talking about this,” Tony snapped, accidentally, and Peter blinked.

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “You can ask your question, jeez.”

Tony took another breath. “What are your triggers?”

Peter stared at him. “My what?”

“Your triggers,” Tony repeated, gauging Peter’s reaction. “What sets you off, or makes you have a
panic attack? Because I know mine, and I think it’s important for me to learn yours as well.”

Peter opened his mouth, to tell Tony that he didn’t have any triggers, but then the word “alone”
flashed across his mind and he winced.

“I…” Peter shifted his weight and looked away. “You’re going to laugh.”

Tony balked. “Peter, nothing about this is funny. I would never laugh at you over something this
serious.”

Peter bit his lip. “I don’t like the word alone,” he whispered, shamefully. “Whenever I hear it I
start feeling anxious and panicky, which is dumb, because it's just a word—"

"It's not dumb, Peter," Tony said, before nodding seriously. “Okay. I won’t say it, then, at least in
regard to you. Anything else?”

The "no" was on the tip of his tongue, before he remembered being underneath the building that
the Vulture dropped on him.

He remembered choking on the dust, remembered the weight of the structure pinning him down,
remembered the thoughts of oh my god, I’m going to die here.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Uh, n-no,” he stuttered. “No, I don’t have anymore.”

Tony gave him a transparent look. “You’re pale.”

Peter shook his head. “M’fine.”

“Peter.”

“Seriously!”

“Don’t bullshit. Come on, out with it.”

Peter blistered, before the words came pouring out. “Fine! I don’t like tight spaces. Are you happy
now?”

Tony stared at him, before nodding. “Claustrophobia? That’s reasonable, a lot of people don’t like
tight spaces. Is there a reason, or is it just a fear?”

Peter swallowed, suddenly feeling the concrete pressing into his ribs, just like it did a few months
ago. God, he hated talking about this. ”Nope. Just—Just a normal phobia.”

“You’re stuttering,” Tony observed. “You do that when you’re nervous. Why are you afraid of
small spaces?”

Peter's nostrils flared. “You can’t ask two questions on your turn.”

Tony ground his teeth. “Fine. Are there any more triggers I should know about?”

Peter let out the breath he was holding. “No. Just the whole… the whole being by myself thing. I
can’t… I can’t be a-a—”

“I understand,” Tony cut across, saving Peter from having to say the word. He sighed. “Your turn
to ask.”

“What are your triggers?” Peter blurted immediately, then blushed, afraid he overstepped.

“Me?” Tony asked, almost as if he was surprised. “I have a lot. Are you sure you want to hear
them?”

Peter nodded. “Then I can know what to avoid.”

Tony’s face softened, and his eyes were warm. Fuck, I love this kid. “The worst is water. I can’t go
in pools, and I definitely can’t go underwater.

“The second worst is the dark. I can’t stand it. I sleep with the lights dimmed, and always have a
light on in the car if it’s night and I’m in a dark area.

“Sand is another one, but not nearly as bad. I can’t go to beaches, but that’s not a big loss. I never
liked the beach anyway,” he shrugged. “But that’s pretty much it.”

Peter nodded, and before he could stop himself, he had his arms around Tony, squeezing him
tightly.

Tony reciprocated, wrapping his arms around Peter. “I’m okay, buddy,” he said quietly, touched by
Peter’s concern. “Thank you.”

Peter released him after a few seconds, before walking back over to the bowl filled with cookie
dough and scooping up another fingerful.

Tony rolled his eyes at the gesture. “Alright, my turn.”

Peter licked his finger and quirked an eyebrow at him, and Tony took a second to admire how
goddamn precious his kid was.

He cleared his throat. “You curl your hands into fists when you get nervous. Why?”

Peter started a little. “Oh. Uh…” he looked guilty. “It grounds me, I guess.”

Tony quirked his head. “How does it ground you?”

Peter looked away. Oh, he’s not going to like this. “It… I feel a little pain, and it grounds me.”

Tony stared at him, stomach dropping to his feet. Peter looked sheepish.

“Peter,” Tony said, even though it felt like his lungs had disappeared. “that’s… that’s not good.”

Peter shrugged. “It helps.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“But it does.”

“Pain shouldn’t help anything. That’s dangerous, Peter.”

“Why, though? It doesn’t hurt bad. It’s just a pinch.”

Tony ignored the rising anxiety in his chest. Sure, it starts with a pinch, and then…

“Show me your palms.”

Peter started violently. “What?”

“Palms,” Tony said, his voice low, slightly threatening. “Show them to me. Now.”

Peter stared at Tony for a second, his mouth ajar slightly, before turning his palms up.

Tony grabbed them, trying to be gentle, and examined them.

There were crescent shaped marks on them, but they weren’t deep enough to draw blood. Tony ran
his finger over them.

He took a breath. “I don’t want you to do this anymore.”

Peter sighed. “I think you’re overreacting.”

“I assure you,” Tony said, squeezing Peter’s hands, trying to calm himself down. “I’m not.”

Peter saw the raw fear in Tony’s eyes, and swallowed. “Okay,” he whispered, trying to be
reassuring. “I won’t do it anymore.”

Tony nodded, and let his palms go. The over timer beeped again, and Tony took out the second
batch of cookies, setting them aside to cool.

Peter scooped up the last of the cookie dough and put it on another sheet, which Tony put into the
oven.

Peter washed his hands and dried them, before saying, “Alright, my turn to ask a question.”

Tony nodded, setting the timer on the oven. “Shoot.”

“What’s something that you’ve been keeping from me?” Peter asked, leaning against the kitchen
counter.

He wasn’t expecting Tony to pale, or for the humor and warmth to leave his eyes.

Cold dread settled in the pit of Peter’s stomach. “What is it?” he breathed, eyes growing wide.

Tony swore under his breath. He hadn’t planned on telling Peter this way, but the kid was going to
have to know eventually.

Pepper, apologizing on every breath, told him she booked him a hotel in London for next Thursday
through Sunday. As the president of his company, she would be joining him on the trip as they
discussed tax on Stark Industries imported goods with the HM Revenue and Customs department,
amongst other things.

Peter would have to stay behind, and Tony knew it was going to be hard on him.

Tony looked over at his kid, and his mind flashed to the last time he told Peter he was leaving.

“Maybe you should sit down,” he said quietly, and fear flashed across Peter’s face.

“Why?” he asked anxiously. “Why do I need to sit down?”

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek. “Next week,” he said slowly, afraid of Peter’s reaction. “I’m
going to London for a few days.”

Peter stared at Tony, his heart skipping a beat before breaking out into a sprint. His hands shook as
he gripped the counter behind him. The room suddenly felt hot.

“I’ll come with you,” Peter said immediately, his voice cracking and shaking.

“Buddy…” Tony said quietly, seeing the fear in Peter’s eyes and hating the fact that he put it there.
“You… You can’t. I’m sorry.”

The remaining color left Peter’s face, and his knees shook horribly. He had to hold himself up by
gripping the counter tightly.

“Shit,” he gasped, feeling lightheaded as panic raced through him. He tried to take a breath but was
met with the familiar sensation of not being able to, his heart beating so fast and loud that he could
hear it in his ears.

Tony was there, then, holding him up by pulling him close, and Peter buried his face in Tony’s
shoulder, gasping.
 “I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, hating himself. “I’m so sorry, buddy.”

“I’m going to be a-a—” Peter gasped, legs still trembling.

“No,” Tony said firmly. “I’m not going away for long, and I’m going to call you every night. You
can text me whenever you want, and you’ll be around the team. You’re not going to be by
yourself.”

Peter took a shuddering breath. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Tony murmured, running his hand up Peter’s spine. “This is one of
your triggers, Pete.”

“I’m such a baby,” Peter whispered, eyes filling with tears. “I c-can’t even be away from you for a
few days without freaking out.”

“It’s one of your triggers,” Tony repeated. “I understand, okay?”

“I just—” Peter sniffed, and Tony tightened his hold. “—I just wish I wasn’t so w-weak…”

“Peter Parker, you are not weak,” Tony said fiercely, pulling Peter off of him so he could look him
in the eye. “You have dealt with so much—”

“I’m afraid of the world a-alone,” Peter whispered, and shuddered. “I’m weak.”

“Peter, sometimes I can’t even shower because I’m so afraid of water,” Tony said, giving Peter a
hard look. “Does that make me weak?”

“N-no,” Peter whispered, his eyes wide.

“Exactly,” he said softly. “You’re not weak, bud. It’s okay to be scared and anxious.”

Peter looked away, his eyes still wet.

“Hey, look at me,” Tony commanded gently, and Peter’s eyes snapped back to his. Tony ran his
thumb across Peter’s cheek. “We’ll get you through this. Just you and me, buddy, okay?”

Chapter End Notes

So I think next chapter is the last relatively pleasant one before all the agony. I
apologize in advance :)
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you all in a week!
 Chapter 32
Chapter Summary

"Peter shrugged. 'You take care of me,' he muttered, cutting his pancakes up. 'That’s
what a dad does.'"

Chapter Notes

The last of the calm before the storm. Enjoy it while it lasts ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony lay awake that night, listening to the faint noise of the snowplows, thinking about what Peter
had suggested earlier.

Thursday’s Valentine’s Day… why don’t you ask her out to dinner?

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

He missed Pepper more than ever these days, and he wasn’t sure why. It had been months since
they’d together, so rationally, he should be over her.

But every time he heard her voice over the phone, or saw her in person, it was like all that time
away had meant nothing. He was as infatuated with her as ever.

He groaned and rolled over, annoyed at Peter for putting the idea of being back with her in his
head.

She told me it’s not going to work, Tony thought bitterly. She’s not going to get back with me. I
need to stop kidding myself.

But maybe a simple dinner wouldn’t be too bad. And maybe he would pretend that he didn’t know
it was Valentine’s Day. It was characteristic of him to forget the date.

He reached over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The screen illuminated his face, and
he tapped his messages app, hesitantly typing out a text to Pepper.

Do you have plans for Thursday night? He typed, before sighing and backspacing.

Maybe he should be assertive. Dinner. You and me, Thursday night.

No, no. That was rude. He can’t just assume she doesn’t have something more important to do.

He took a breath and tried again. Hey, if you’re free Thursday night, do you want to catch dinner?

He sent it before he could overthink.

He laid there in the semi-darkness, silently dreading her answer, when his phone buzzed.

Where at?

Tony let out a breath. Eleven Madison Park. I’ll pick you up at seven and we can eat at seven
thirty.

His phone buzzed a few seconds later.

Is this a date?

Tony swallowed. If you want it to be.

Do you want it to be?

Tony chewed the inside of his cheek. Yes. Very much so.

His phone buzzed. Then it’s a date. I’ll see you at six thirty on Thursday.

Tony let out the breath he was holding. See you then, Pep.

He turned off his phone and beamed at the ceiling.

Thursday couldn’t come fast enough.

--

Thursday rolled around, and Peter woke up to FRIDAY’s voice.

“Good morning, Peter,” FRIDAY announced. “Today is Thursday, February 14 th. Mr. Stark is
waiting for you in the living space.”

Peter sighed. Valentine’s Day.

Valentine’s Day used to be special for Peter. When Ben was still alive, they would have a three-
way date night, and go to a fancy restaurant that they definitely couldn’t afford. Then, Ben would
surprise May with a bouquet of roses and give Peter a small box of chocolates, since he said he
loved May and Peter equally, just in different ways.

It was a good memory, and Peter had loved Valentine’s Day.

And then Ben got murdered, in front of Peter’s eyes, and their tradition ceased. May would try to
do something for Peter on Valentine’s Day, whether it was taking him out to eat cheap Chinese
food or getting him a piece of chocolate, but they both knew that the holiday was ruined somewhat.

And now May was gone too, and Peter realized that he wished the holiday just didn’t exist.

With another heaving sigh, he got up and dressed, putting on a white button up with a gray sweater
overtop, along with a pair of jeans.

He combed his curls and shoved his feet into his New Balance sneakers, before he somberly made
his way up to the living room.

He was met with Tony, who was wearing a pink apron and flipping red velvet pancakes onto a
plate.
“Jesus Christ,” was the first thing Peter said when he took in Tony’s outfit, the shock driving the
depressing thoughts of May and Ben off his mind.

“Morning, Pete,” he said happily, as Peter sat at the counter. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“You look ridiculous,” Peter observed, smiling slightly.

“I look great, actually. My ass looks amazing in this apron,” Tony said, posing.

Peter scrunched his face up in disgust. “Eww. You’re weird.”

“Sue me,” Tony said with a shrug, passing Peter a stack of red velvet pancakes. “Today is going to
be a good day.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason, or can you just feel it?”

Tony grinned at him. “Oh, I can feel it.” He paused. “And I have a date with Pepper tonight.”

A smile slowly spread across Peter’s face. “Really? An actual date?”

Tony nodded, smiling. “Yep, and I’ve got you to thank for it, Pete.”

Peter started, a bite of pancake halfway to his mouth. “Me? Why?”

“When we were playing that god-awful game of twenty questions the other day, you suggested I
ask her out for dinner. So, I followed your unusually good advice, and now I have a date,” Tony
explained, a smug smile playing on his lips. “We’re going to dinner tonight, at a place in
Manhattan.”

“That’s awesome, Dad!” Peter said happily, before wincing and pressing a hand to his forehead.
“Shit. I need to stop doing that.”

But Tony was beaming at Peter, eyes light and happy. “No, you should do it more.”

Peter looked up at him, feeling self-conscious. “It doesn’t weird you out?”

Tony shook his head. “Quite the opposite. I’m glad you think of me that way.”

Peter shrugged. “You take care of me,” he muttered, cutting his pancakes up. “That’s what a dad
does.”

Tony’s heart swelled. God, I love this kid. “You’re adorable,” Tony remarked, smirking.

Peter huffed. “I am not.”

“Are too,” he responded, turning back around to check on his pancakes.

The red velvet pancakes that had been on the skillet were now black, and an acrid burnt smell had
started to waft around the kitchen.

“Shit!” Tony exclaimed, immediately turning the stove off.

“You burnt them?” Peter asked, craning his neck to try and see Tony’s mistake.

“Nope,” Tony lied, blocking them from Peter’s view. “Nothing to see here, buddy boy.”

“What’s burning?” Rhodey said, then, coming into the living space in his pajamas, nose wrinkled
in disgust. “It smells like shit in here.”

Tony groaned. “Honeybear, you have the worst timing.”

“Nice apron,” Rhodey remarked, sniggering. “It makes your ass look good.”

Tony gasped, and turn to Peter. “I told you!”

Peter shook his head and ate his pancakes, wondering when his life got so weird.

--

Peter’s day went downhill from there, but he wasn’t really surprised.

Nothing bad happened necessarily. Flash was being an annoying dick to him, but that was pretty
much the usual for Peter.

Maybe it was the fact that it was Valentine’s Day, and everyone at school was celebrating the
holiday with gusto. He walked by three people making out on his way to his second period class,
and he had to side-step around them, face pulling in disgust.

Everywhere Peter looked, he saw pink or red hearts, strewn up on the walls or stuck to
blackboards, a constant reminder of what day it was.

By the time school had let out for the day, Peter decided that he really, really hated Valentine’s
Day.

He took the subway home but didn’t go immediately to the Tower. He stopped by a nearby
sandwich stop (one whose sandwiches didn’t even remotely compare to Delmar’s) and bought a
footlong and a pack of gummy worms. He paid with the ridiculously flashy gold debit card that
Tony had given him and tried to ignore how terrible he felt spending Tony’s money.

It was one of those days, he supposed, munching on his sandwich on his way back to the Tower,
his exposed hand frigid in the bitter cold. One of those days that he just couldn’t be happy, even
though he should be. Nothing bad happened, he had food to eat, a warm home, no financial
troubles… but for some reason, everything just sucked.

Peter tossed the white paper that the sandwich was wrapped with in a nearby trashcan, sticking the
gummy worms and his hands back in his pockets.

He walked into the Tower lobby and into the elevator, grateful for the warmth.

“Good afternoon, Peter,” FRIDAY said. “Where would you like to go?”

Peter sighed. He didn’t really feel like socializing with anyone. “My room.”

The elevator surged upwards.

--

Peter silently cursed his Spanish teacher as he started on the third worksheet, signing his name at
the top angrily.

He didn’t understand why his teacher felt the need to assign them three worksheets a day. It was
excessive, really, and bordering ridiculous.
He silently thanked himself for doing his physics homework the day before. After he was done
with this stupid worksheet, he could relax and watch some TV with Tony.

There was a knock on his door. “Come in!” Peter called, looking up from his worksheet.

Tony strode into the room, dressed in a very fancy black suit, with a white dress shirt and a pink
tie.

His hair was immaculate, perfectly styled, and his beard was neatly trimmed. He wore rose tinted
sunglasses, and his hands were tucked into his pockets.

Peter turned back around and continued to work on his homework. Oh, right. Tony had a date.
Because it was Valentine’s Day.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said, walking over to Peter and standing right behind him. “How was your
day?”

It sucked. “It was fine,” he shrugged noncommittally, turning back to his homework.

Tony wove his hand into Peter’s curls and glanced down to see what Peter was working on.
“Spanish, huh?” Tony asked sympathetically, gently scratching Peter’s head. “That’s rough.”

Peter wrote down an answer and pretended that he didn’t love it when Tony played with his hair.
“Yeah, it’s my worst subject. Are you ready for your date?”

Tony grimaced, stopping his ministrations.

Truth be told, he was nervous. And he hadn’t slept the past two nights before because of it.

He was afraid he was going to say the wrong thing, piss her off, and ruin the whole night. It was
more likely than not; he had a big mouth and sometimes he just said things without thinking…

“Of course, I am,” Tony lied, trying to act confident. “It’s going to be great.”

Peter made a noise of agreement and accidentally let out a soft mewl when Tony started scratching
again. He leaned into the touch, needing the attention after having such a bad day.

“I’m going to head out in about ten minutes,” Tony said softly, gently pressing Peter’s head against
him. Peter clutched the front of his suit, burying his face in it. He smelled like aftershave, soap, oil,
and something that made Peter feel safe and secure. “will you be alright?”

Anxiety pierced through him, and it left him momentarily breathless. His grip on Tony tightened
momentarily. “Y-yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Peter,” Tony said in a low voice. “you don’t have to be okay with it.”

“I know,” Peter lied, removing his face from Tony’s stomach and looking up at him. “I’m okay
with this, though. Really.”

Tony stared at him, before pushing Peter’s face back into him. “I’m proud of you, Peter.”

Peter’s throat felt tight. “Thanks, Dad.”

Tony’s hold tightened, before he let go. “I’ll be back soon. Text me if you want, okay?”

Peter nodded, and Tony was gone.

Chapter End Notes

So, I'm doing NaNoWriMo this month, so I'm afraid this fanfic is going to have the
take the back burner for a while. Posting will be reduced to once a week, sorry :(
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you all soon!
 Chapter 33
Chapter Summary

"The watch on his left wrist, however… that was directly connected to the watch that
Tony gave Peter for Christmas, which alerted him whenever Peter’s vitals were
abnormal, or something was seriously wrong."

Chapter Notes

Okay, buckle up everyone and get ready for some AGONY

(tw: blood and violence)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The car ride to Pepper’s apartment was stressful.

Happy chauffeured, so Tony was left in the backseat, anxious and getting really sick of having to
sit through New York City’s Valentine’s Day traffic.

There was a bouquet of exactly fifty roses next to him, which emitted an aroma so strong it was
giving Tony a headache.

God, he was nervous. He tried to tell himself that it was just Pepper, and that she had seen him at
his worst (and his best), but it wasn’t working. He felt like a nervous high-schooler going on his
first date.

It felt like a first date, which was an issue. Tony hadn’t been on a date in years, not since before he
and Pepper broke up. Maybe it was because this all felt new.

Maybe it was because he was so scared he was going to fuck it up.

Because that’s what he does, especially with Pepper. He fucks up and he fucks up and he fucks
up…

There was knot in his stomach as they—finally—pulled up to her building, in the expensive part of
Manhattan.

Hands shaking for some unknown reason, he sent her a text saying that he was outside.

He got out of the car and was met with cold February air, which nipped at his hands before he
tucked them into his pockets.

Pepper came out of her building a few minutes later, and Tony’s heart raced as soon as he saw her.

She was dressed in an elegant, backless, dark red dress. It was strapless and form fitting, slightly
cinched at the waist and cutting off a few inches above her knee. Her hair was down, which was
unusual, since she usually wore it up.
She wore gold heels with her dress, and as she came closer, Tony could see her red lipstick.

The breath was knocked from his lungs as she approached him.

“Tony,” she said with a smile as she came up to him, her heels clicking on the pavement.

He gaped at her, trying to find his voice. “Pepper,” he said hoarsely, before clearing his throat.
“You look…” amazing, stunning, gorgeous, sexy, "beautiful.”

She smiled warmly, and they stared at each other for a second, before Tony fumbled with the car
door. “After you.”

Pepper got into the car, and Tony followed in her wake, shutting the car door.

Tony grabbed the overtly large bouquet of flowers and handed them to her. “For you, m’lady.”

Pepper’s eyes sparkled, and Tony’s heart skipped a beat. She took the roses with a smile. “They’re
beautiful, Tony. Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” he finds himself saying, like a lovesick puppy, but he doesn’t care. Her
beautiful blue eyes are on him and he could see all the freckles on her face, the laugh lines around
her mouth.

Fuck, she was so beautiful.

He started up a light conversation, asking her how she was, if she had a good day, how work was.
It was pleasant, and before Tony knew it, they were at the restaurant.

Eleven Madison Park was located on Madison Avenue, which was right in the heart of New York.
It was a busy night, so there were people everywhere.

As they were getting out of the car, Tony was grateful for the crowds, because it was easier for
them to blend in.

Tony held the door to the restaurant open for Pepper, and they were immediately greeted with a
hostess, who led them to their table in the corner of the restaurant, like Tony had asked for when he
made the reservation.

They sat down at the table, and Tony ordered the eleven-course tasting menu, which cost almost
three hundred dollars.

He imagined what Peter would say if spent three hundred dollars on a meal, and he let out a small
chuckle.

Pepper gave him a look. “Why are you laughing?”

Tony shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking about Peter.”

Pepper’s face softened, and Tony’s heart skipped another beat. “You never told me… how did the
adoption thing go?”

Tony’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “It was good! Well, besides the fact that the stupid kid
thought I was getting rid of him instead of adopting him, but other than that—”

“He thought you were getting rid of him?” Pepper asked, taking a sip of wine. A look came over
her face, and she peered inside the wine glass. “Huh. This is really good wine.”
“Yeah, he thought I was sending him into the system,” Tony rolled his eyes. “he stressed himself
out so much that he fainted, so it didn’t go exactly as planned—”

“He fainted?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t eating enough. I can’t believe I didn’t notice, I usually get on his ass about not
eating as much as he should. Bad parenting, on my part. But the actual asking went well.”

“Was he happy?” Pepper asked, smiling at Tony, eyes soft.

He was about to answer when a waiter came and delivered their first course, which were warm
cheese gougères.

The waiter left, and Tony placed a gougère on his plate. “He cried,” he answered. “Almost had a
panic attack too, but I stopped that before it got bad. He wouldn’t let go of me the rest of the night
either.”

Pepper tilted her head, concerned. “He scared that you’re going to leave him.”

“You’re telling me,” Tony muttered, taking a drink of his water.

They continued to talk about Peter amongst other things as more courses came, and soon they were
both openly flirting with each other, Tony’s lips pulled up in a smirk and Pepper’s blue eyes
dancing with glee.

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the night, Miss Potts?” Tony asked smoothly, leaning
forward, smirking.

Her blue eyes were dark, and she learned forward as well. “I think my schedule is free, Mr. Stark.
Do you have something in mind?” her voice was suggestive as she looked up at him through her
lashes.

Fuck. The muscles in Tony’s stomach clenched and he resisted the urge to shift as his perfectly
tailored pants suddenly became uncomfortably tight. “Oh, I have several things in mind, Miss
Potts,” he murmured, his voice low.

“Would you care to enlighten me, Mr. Stark?” she asked, her tone quiet, low, sensual.

Jesus Christ almighty. If she kept talking like that, they weren’t going to be able to finish their
remaining four courses.

Tony honest to god couldn’t remember the last time he had sex. It was definitely before he and
Pepper had broken up, and that was awhile ago. He was still in love with her, and his sleeping
around—using pleasure to replace the pain—days were a thing of the past.

But now… now Pepper was literally undressing him with her eyes and his mind was conjuring
lewd images, some of which were memories and some of which were fantasies, and every part of
him was thrumming with want.

“There are several things I would like to do to you, Miss Potts,” Tony murmured huskily. “God, if
we were alone, I’d—”

Alert. Alert.

The watch on Tony’s left wrist flared to life, making warning noises, beeping anxiously.
He wore two watches, one on each wrist. The one on his right wrist functioned as a gauntlet,
equipped with all the functionalities as a gauntlet on one of his Iron-Man suits. It could also call a
suit to him if need be, amongst other features.

The watch on his left wrist, however… that was directly connected to the watch that Tony gave
Peter for Christmas, which alerted him whenever Peter’s vitals were abnormal, or something was
seriously wrong.

Something was seriously wrong.

--

A few hours earlier.

--

Peter was bored and anxious.

Tony had left for his date about thirty minutes ago, and he had finished his Spanish homework. He
sat at his desk, spinning around in his chair, his mind active and annoying.

The anxiety that he used felt when Tony wasn’t around him was there, and it and the
overwhelming boredom were enough to make any person go crazy.

He made his way up to the living room and made himself a snack, which was him just eating
peanut butter straight out of the jar. If Tony was there, he would call him a heathen and snatch the
jar away.

The thought made him sad, and suddenly the peanut butter in his mouth didn’t taste as good as it
did before.

He set down the jar and sighed, his appetite gone. He looked around, trying to find something to
do.

The thought came to him, and excitement filled his gut.

I can go patrolling. That’s a good way to pass the time.

He took the elevator back to his room and donned his suit, before sliding his mask over his face
and running onto the balcony.

The sky was already dark, but the various streetlamps and the light pollution of the city kept it
bright enough for Peter to feel comfortable leaping off the eightieth story.

The wind whistled in his ears and the fast decent made his stomach leap, and god, he felt so alive.

He shot a web and swung through the February air, yelling in exultation.

He loved being Spider-Man. He didn’t know how he survived the two months without it. Not
being Peter Parker was a heady experience, one he couldn’t get enough of. Who knew his own skin
could be so suffocating?

He made quickly toward Queens, occasionally stopping to help someone out. By the time he
reached Queens, he had already stopping a mugging, which left him feeling pretty good about
himself.
He swung past Queens College, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. Nothing seemed to be
out of the ordinary, though, so he swung on.

Soon, he was in a more desolate part of Queens, which lacked the bustling Valentine’s Day
commotion. The housing was low-income, and the streets were pretty bare, despite the relatively
early hour. It wasn’t even ten, and it seemed like the whole neighborhood had decided to go to bed.

Peter was swinging between buildings, in an alleyway, when it happened.

His spider-sense flared violently, startling him, and suddenly something leapt at him, a flash of
silver ripping through his webbing.

Suddenly, Peter was falling through the crisp air, a yelp escaping his lips.

And crack. He landed hard on his left leg, which immediately crumpled underneath him.

Pain shot through his leg, and he let out a strangled cry.

Through the haze of pain, he saw a dark figure standing at the end of the alleyway, a blade hanging
from their gloved hand. The déjà vu hit him, and dread filled his stomach like acid.

Oh shit, you again, Peter thought, struggling to stand as the figure charged towards him.

Every cell in Peter’s body screamed against standing, but he got to his feet, and agony like Peter
had never felt ripped through his leg, burning hot by icy at the same time, and his spider-sense
howled as the figure got closer.

He lurched to the side when the figure thrust the knife at him, and just the small action was enough
for bile to creep up Peter’s throat.

“You’re who they’re calling the Marionette, right?” Peter asked, trying to keep his voice strong.
“The one killing and stringing up all those people?”

The figure stopped and turned, so that he was facing Peter. A moonbeam crossed his masked face,
illuminating his wide, lash-less eyes.

“You’re Spider-Man,” the figure enunciated, in his gravely, worn voice. “and I’m going to make
you bleed.”

Peter’s spider-sense shrieked, and he tried to move fast, but his leg was burning in agony. He just
barely managed to dodge the slashing motion that the Marionette made with his blade. He shot a
web, trying to aim for his feet, to slow him down, but he missed and caught the pavement instead.

He dodged another swipe of the knife, but the Marionette grabbed him by the neck, tightening his
grip until Peter couldn’t breathe.

Peter easily pried the hand off with his strength, but then the Marionette violently kicked his
broken leg, and Peter crumpled like a rag doll, screaming out in anguish.

Nausea gripped him, and he panted, the pain making it hard to breathe.

The Marionette climbed on top of him and pulled the mask off of his face.

Panic filled Peter and he tried to grasp the mask, but the figure dug his knee into Peter’s leg, and he
gasped, his vision whiting out for a split second.
 A long-nailed hand crept up and grabbed his hair, the grip iron tight.

Crack. Peter’s skull smacked against the pavement, once, twice, and all went black.

--

When he came to, his arm was on fire.

His eyes were too heavy to open, but he felt the flames lick his forearm, charring the skin.

His head throbbed, his leg felt dead, and his arm was on fire.

It was with great effort that he opened his eyes, and when he did, the world spun. Black spots
appeared on his vision, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness once more, but he blinked and
managed to stay conscious.

There was a sharp ringing in his ears, as he tried to sit up, but there was something heavy pressing
on him.

He glanced down, and saw the dark figure, crouched over top of him, a bloody knife in his hand.

“Oh look,” The Marionette said, voice grating and gravely. His bare eyes peered down at him,
wide, gaunt, and bloodshot. “Spider-Man is awake.”

Fear gripped Peter like a vice, and he struggled to find his voice.

“I’m done with your right,” The Marionette said, devoid of emotion. “Time for your left.”

The figure leant down, and Peter cried out as the blade was pressed into his wrist, and then his cry
turned into a blood-curdling scream as the knife was dragged upwards in a vertical line, and
suddenly his left arm was on fire too.

Peter watched as blood squirted from the wound, and he glanced at his right arm and saw that it
was the same, a deep cut running from his wrist to his inner elbow, blood gushing.

A whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it, and his eyes burned with tears.

The Marionette crept up him so that his masked face and horrid eyes were blocking everything else
from view.

He positioned the knife so it was in front of Peter’s throat. “And now for the throat.”

Realization filled Peter, and he shut his eyes.

I’m going to die here.

I’m so sorry, Tony.

Chapter End Notes

I'm sorry don't hurt me.

Also, I am being so unproductive this month. I've decided that I'm not going to do
NaNoWriMo but instead I'm going to binge watch all of Downton Abbey.
I have started another fanfic though. It's Steve/Tony, so if you're interested in that,
maybe look out for it? To be honest, I don't know if it's going to see the light of day
but you never know.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you all next week :)
 Chapter 34
Chapter Summary

“'Dad,' Peter tried again, feeling himself start to fall away. 'Dad, I’m sorry.'”

Chapter Notes

AHH OKAY I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY ABOUT THIS ONE IT'S PURE EVIL
(tw: blood and BRIEF mention of suicide)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony’s stomach flew to his throat when FRIDAY began to speak.

Peter Parker is suffering a minor to moderate head injury, rapid blood loss due to multiple
lacerations, a broken tibia and fibula. His blood pressure is 110/90 and his heart rate is 70 beats
per minute. He is currently unconscious.

Tony’s vision whited out for a second, before snapping out of his trace like state, and realizing that
he was repeating the words “oh my god,” over and over again.

“Tony,” Pepper was speaking to him, and his gaze snapped to her. “Tony, what’s going on?”

He couldn’t answer her. He was as white as a sheet, his pupils dilated in gut-wrenching fear. He
got to his feet, pressed the “call suit” button on his right wrist and made a mad dash for the doors
to the restaurant, accidentally slamming into a server and sending water filled glasses flying in his
rush.

“Tony, wait!” Pepper called, and Tony knew she was chasing after him.

He pushed open the doors to the restaurant and was met with a blast of cold, and he doubled over,
the panic catching up to him as he waited for his suit to arrive.

He couldn’t breathe. His child was bleeding out, unconscious and alone.

Fuck. Fuck. He made a strangled noise, trying to pull in air.

“Tony,” Pepper voice was soft and concerned, and she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Tony, what’s
happening?”

He gasped, pushing the panic down as he heard the sound of the Iron-Man thrusters. “Peter’s in
trouble,” he informed Pepper, feeling so horribly sick and scared. “I’ve got to go.”

The suit landed, and Tony got inside, letting the titanium alloy encase him.

“FRIDAY, full power to the thrusters, and send a message to Doctor Helen Cho. Tell her to go to
the Tower medbay as fast as possible,” he ordered, and he shot off the ground, taking to the dark
New York skies.

“Track Peter Parker.”

“Right on it, sir,” FRIDAY responded, and a white dot immediately appeared on his vision, where
Peter was.

He may not have put a tracker in the watch, but he would be damned if he didn’t put a tracker in
Peter’s suit.

“FRIDAY, update me on Peter’s vitals.”

“Peter Parker’s blood pressure is 122/90 and his heart rate is 120 beats per minute. He is no longer
unconscious.”

Small victories, he supposed, shooting towards the white dot, his heart in his mouth.

--

When Peter heard the thrusters, he thought he had officially gone crazy.

He was getting lightheaded from the blood-loss anyways, so he thought it was his mind trying to
put him at ease before he died.

But suddenly, there was a clunk, and Iron-Man was there, grabbing the hooded figure off of him
and slamming him into the pavement until he was still.

Peter tried to sit up, but everything screamed against it, so he laid there, the wounds on his arms
pouring blood onto the pavement.

“Oh my god, Peter,” came the startled gasp from Tony, the man sounded terrified.

His dad’s face suddenly came into view as he crouched next to Peter, and if Peter wasn’t so dizzy
from blood loss, he may have cried.

He felt airy for some reason, but there was one thing grounding him from floating off into
nothingness.

He had to let Tony know. He had to.

“Dad,” he managed to get out, his words sounding weird.

“Don’t speak,” Tony’s voice was shaking violently, terror in every syllable. “Don’t speak, buddy.
I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Can’t… walk.”

“I'll carry you,” Tony whispered, a hand caressing Peter’s face. “Just you and me, buddy. Come
on.”

“Dad,” Peter tried again, feeling himself start to fall away. “Dad, I’m sorry.”

“God, don’t apologize,” Tony’s voice was desperate, and the hand on Peter’s face was gone. He
heard the heavy footfalls of the Iron-Man suit approach, and strong, metal arms wrapping around
him.
And then he was flying, the thrusters of his dad’s suit the only sound he could hear.

His eyes were slipping closed. No. I have to… I have to say it.

“Dad,” he tried one last time. Tony’s faceplate came off and he looked down, and Peter met his
eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, black curling around the edges of his vision. “I love you.”

And everything went black.

--

When Tony landed in the dank alleyway, and saw a dark figure on top of his kid, he saw red.

He grabbed the person by the back of their hoodie and slammed them onto the pavement until they
were still, before breathlessly telling FRIDAY to call the police.

He stumbled out of his suit and over to his kid, and oh my god…

Peter was lying in a puddle of his own blood. There was a small flesh wound on his neck, but his
arms were completely cut open and oozing scarlet blood, staining his kid’s skin and the pavement.

His left leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and his face was the color of chalk, sweat sliding from
his hairline down his cheeks. His lips were tinged with blue.

Tony could see his chest rise and fall rapidly, and his pupils were blown, his lazy eyes trying to
focus.

He fell to his knees, brain momentarily shutting off, panic and agony overtaking every other
feeling. Peter. Peter.

“Oh my god, Peter,” Tony found himself saying, hands shaking as they hovered over him.

“Dad,” Peter whispered, his eyes trying to find Tony.

“Don’t speak,” he said, scared out of his mind and not wanting Peter to cause himself any more
strain. “Don’t speak, buddy. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Can’t… walk.” he watched as Peter’s lips, which were rapidly turning blue, tried to form words.

“I'll carry you,” Tony whispered, his hand gently caressing Peter’s cheek, hating how cold and
clammy his skin felt. “Just you and me, buddy. Come on.”

He started to get up, but Peter wasn’t done. “Dad. Dad, I’m sorry.”

“God, don’t apologize,” Tony whispered, every cell in his body pleading with whatever greater
power that he didn’t believe existed that Peter would be okay. He stood and got back into his Iron-
Man suit, letting the metal encase him.

He gathered his child in his arms and took off, being careful not to jostle his head or broken leg.

He pushed his thrusters to the max, shooting through the sky and to the Tower, his heart beating so
fast he thought it was going to give out.

The tower was in view, they were almost there…

“Dad,” Peter whispered, and Tony flipped his faceplate up, drinking in Peter’s face, watching his
pale lips form the words, “I’m sorry.”

Tony was going to tell him not to apologize again, but the kid wasn’t done.

His large brown eyes met Tony’s, acceptance in their depths. “I love you.”

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, and Tony’s world turned gray.

No no no no no no…

“No!’ Tony screamed, but it was lost in the wind.

He crashed into the Tower, flying backwards through a window in the medbay, not caring about
the damage.

Bruce was there, as was Helen Cho, and a team of nurses and other doctors. There was a beat in
which everyone looked startled at his entrance, and then even more startled at the bleeding child in
his arms.

“Fix him,” Tony pleaded, his eyes meeting Bruce’s. “Fix him. Please.”

Everyone sprang into action, yelling things at each other and suddenly Peter was taken from his
arms and placed on a hospital bed. He shakily stepped out of his suit, his legs threatening to
collapse under him.

They were yelling things about blood transfusions and hypovolemic shock and IV’s when Bruce
came up to him and started to push him out of the medbay.

“No,” Tony tried to keep Bruce from forcing him out. “I’m not—"

“Tony, you need to leave,” Bruce said, not unkindly. “You’re not helping him by being in here.
You need to go.”

“Bruce, I can’t,” Tony whispered, clutching at Bruce’s arm, eyes wild. “I can’t leave him…”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Bruce apologized, forcing Tony through the medbay doors. “I’ll notify you
when he’s stable.”

And then Bruce was gone, leaving Tony alone in the shitty waiting room that he had someone
install as an afterthought when he had the building built.

Tony’s legs were shaking, so he hobbled his way over to one of the chairs and sat, his entire body
trembling.

He stared at the doors to the medbay, knowing that behind those doors, his child could be dying.

Peter could be dying.

It was that thought that triggered the panic attack, but it had been building for so long that he was
surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

His airways closed, and he slid off his chair, landing on all fours. His chest ached, and his left arm
was so numb he couldn’t feel it, shooting pain in his jaw and his neck. Chills danced across his
skin and sweat beaded on his forehead, and fuck, he couldn’t breathe…
 He was making involuntary gasping noises as his body was shaking so violently that his teeth
chattered, and he was starting to grow lightheaded from not breathing.

It was then that he realized that he might be facing a life without Peter. A life without his loving,
selfless, overall good kid.

Tony couldn’t do it.

He would rather kill himself than live without Peter.

He vaguely heard a door open, and suddenly there was a warm hand on his back, a soft voice in his
ear.

“You need to breathe, baby,” it was Pepper, and Tony let out a shaky breath, his eyes burning with
tears.

“P-P-Pep—” Tony managed through his chattering teeth, the tears slipping and streaming down his
face.

I would rather kill myself than live without Peter.

“I’m here,” Pepper whispered. “I’m here.”

Chapter End Notes

So this is kind of when that unhealthy codependency sets in. Tony not being able to
live without Peter isn't really good...
Anyways, feedback is much appreiciated. I'll see you guys next week!
 Chapter 35
Chapter Summary

"His lips pulled back in a sob as he whispered, 'I’m sorry, buddy.'"

Chapter Notes

This one's sad. What else is new? Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony felt like he had aged fifty years before the doors to the medbay opened.

Bruce came into the waiting room, and Tony immediately sat up, alert and attentive.

Bruce took one look at Tony and did a double take. “Jesus Christ, you look terrible.”

“Fuck you,” Tony snapped, getting shakily to his feet. “Is he okay?”

Bruce took a breath, and Tony’s legs threatened to give way underneath him.

“It was touch and go for a while… he lost nearly four and half pints of blood, which is a Class 4
hemorrhage, and extremely dangerous. He went into hypovolemic shock, but we combatted that
and gave him transfusions of blood. He might not have made it if his blood type wasn’t AB, but
thankfully, it was, and we were able to give him the blood we have here. He’s doing okay and is
expected to make a full recovery.”

He nearly passed out with relief, and Pepper forced him into a chair before he could collapse.

“We stitched his wounds up, but they’re definitely going to scar. His tibia and fibula are broken,
and the typical recovery time is about three to six months. However, with his healing ability, it’s
likely that that time will be cut in half. His concussion is a grade 2, which means his head’s going
to hurt a lot in the next few days, but it’s not dangerous in the slightest.”

Tony buried his face in his hands, high with relief.

God, he had been so scared…

“Can I see him?” Tony asked, his hands sliding off his face.

Bruce nodded. “He’s asleep right now, but you can sit with him.”

Tony rose and followed Bruce into the medbay.

The sight of Peter was enough to make him want to cry again.

He was lying still on a hospital bed, an oxygen mask on his face, hooked up to an IV and a heart
monitor, which sent out beeps that filled the room.

His arms were heavily bandaged, and Tony silently thanked whoever bandaged them. He was
pretty sure if he saw the stitches, he would lose his mind.

His leg was in a cast, which was propped up on a pillow.

Tony staggered over to a chair and sat down heavily, his eyes only for his kid, who’s face was pale
and body so unnaturally still…

“Breathe, Tony,” Bruce said from next to him, and Tony realized that he was holding his breath.
He exhaled shakily, reaching out and taking Peter’s hand in his.

“When will he wake up?” Tony asked Bruce, hating how shaky his voice sounded.

Bruce gave him a look that was way too pitying for Tony’s taste. “Within the next few hours, I’d
say. We pumped him full of general anesthesia, so he’s going to be out for the count for a while.”

Tony nodded, unable to keep his eyes off of Peter.

“He’s going to be fine, Tony,” Bruce said gently. “Maybe you should get some sleep. It’s late.”

Tony glanced at his watch.

Two in the morning. Damn.

“I’m not sleeping,” he said stubbornly, setting his jaw and glaring. “I’m not leaving his side until
he’s better.”

Bruce stared at him. “Tony…”

“Don’t ‘Tony’ me, Bruce,” Tony snapped, eyes blazing. “I’m not moving from this spot. Fuck off.”

With a sigh, Bruce left.

Tony was alone.

He stared at Peter’s face until his eyes blurred with tears, which he tried to blink back, to no avail.

His lips pulled back in a sob as he whispered, “I’m sorry, buddy.”

--

Three hours later, Pepper came in, dressed in pajamas, and tried to coax him out of the room.

She came over and stood by his side, massaging the nape of his neck with her hand.

“You need to sleep,” she said, giving him her softest look. “Come to bed with me.”

“I’m fine,” he said stubbornly, not sparing her a glance. His head hurt so badly that everything was
flickering strangely in front of his eyes, but the only thing he could think about was Peter. “and I’m
not leaving.”

“What are you going to do?” she challenged. “Sit here and wallow until he wakes up?”

“Yep,” he said, no humor in his words.

Pepper sighed “Can you at least eat something?”

“Not hungry.”

“Tony, come on.”

He finally looked at her, narrowing his tired eyes. “I’m not leaving.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “I gathered that. I’ll bring you something down.”

She left, and Tony let out a breath, watching Peter’s chest rise and fall evenly.

--

The first time Peter awoke, he felt fuzzy.

His entire body felt like one big blurry blob, and he felt strangely light and floaty. He tried to move,
or to make sound, but his body didn’t want to comply.

There was a staccato beeping noise right next to his ear, which he wanted to shrink away from. The
pitch hurt his ears, which were overly sensitive at the moment, for some reason unbeknownst to
him.

He made a noise. “Mmf.”

Tony, who was sitting silently beside Peter’s bed, looked so quickly at Peter that his neck cricked.

It had been almost six hours since Tony had taken a seat by Peter’s bed, and he had barely moved
from the spot. He had stood up to stretch his legs and his back, but his eyes hadn’t moved from
Peter’s sleeping form.

The food that Pepper had brought him down, a plate of eggs and some lightly buttered toast, lay
forgotten on Peter’s bedside table. He couldn’t bring himself to eat.

Tony had to find his voice. “Peter?”

Peter heard Tony say his name, and he fought against the darkness even harder, wanting to get to
him.

He finally managed to open his eyes, and was met with blinding, fluorescent lights.

They seared his over-sensitive eyes, and he shut them again with a groan.

“Lights fifty percent, FRIDAY,” Tony ordered, when he saw Peter struggle.

The lights dimmed, and Peter opened his eyes again.

His vision skirted the room, and he realized he was in the medbay. He blinked, momentarily
confused about why he was there.

Then he looked down at himself, and saw the matching bandages on his wrists, as well as an IV in
his hand. He sat up a little and saw the cast around his leg, but the movement sent a spike of
dizzying pain through his head.

He gasped and let his head fall back against his pillow, blinking through the pain.
“Peter?” Tony saw the pain flash across Peter’s face, and his hand hovered over the “call nurse”
button. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

Peter’s eyes darted over to Tony, and love and relief filled him so fast that it made him
lightheaded.

He was sat at his bedside, looking tired, tense, and pale.

He was still in the suit he wore on his date with Pepper that night, but he had shed his jacket and
the fine material of his cuffed dress shirt was considerably ruffled. His tie was loosened, and his
hair was a mess, like he had driven his fingers through it so many times that it just decided to stay
sticking up.

He looked thoroughly exhausted, with deep, puffy circles under his eyes and slumped posture. His
forehead was creased in stress, his eyes alert but tired.

All in all, Tony looked like a wreck.

“M’okay,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse from his throat being so dry. “Water?”

Tony stumbled over himself in his haste to get the cup of water that sat on Peter’s bedside table. He
grabbed it and held the straw up to Peter’s lips, and Peter noticed that his hands were shaking.

Peter drank, kind of bummed that the water wasn’t cold but enjoying it anyways, his throat no
longer dry.

Tony put the water down once Peter was done, before sitting back in his seat, gripping his left wrist
as it tinged painfully.

Peter watched the action, and asked, “You okay?”

Tony stared at him incredulously. “You’re asking if I’m okay after you just…” he trailed off, and
Peter saw him swallow.

Peter winced, remembering the events of the night before. He looked down at his arms again, the
image of them gushing blood coming to the forefront of his mind. He remembered the feeling of
the knife piercing and dragging on his skin, the feeling of his leg breaking underneath him.

Yeah, that wasn’t good, Peter thought, taking a breath. But I’m okay. I’m alive.

“I’m okay, though,” Peter said quietly, trying to reassure Tony.

“You are not okay,” Tony said vehemently, his eyes fiery. “Do not say you’re okay.”

“I’m alive,” Peter said softly, looking over at Tony with his big, brown bambi eyes that Tony
thought he would never see again. “I’m just a little beaten up.”

Tony grit his teeth, wanting to yell and argue with Peter, to tell him to stop undermining what he
went through, tell him to stop brushing it off like it was nothing…

But the sheer relief of seeing the life in Peter’s eyes and watching him talk and show life made him
want to just hug the kid and never let him go. He couldn’t be mad, because just a few hours ago, he
thought Peter was dead.

He took a breath. “You’re more than a little beaten up,” he said in a forced calm tone. “You lost
almost five pints of blood, which caused you to go into hypovolemic shock. You broke both your
tibia and fibula and you have a concussion. Please don’t downplay this, because I might lose my
goddamn mind if you do.” His sentence ended up sounding very clipped.

Peter sighed. “Sorry. But I am fine, Tony. I heal fast.”

Tony shook his head, his nostrils flared. God, this kid was going to kill him.

Peter went to sit up, but another spike of pain drove through his head. He groaned and went to rub
his head, but the simple movement of trying to bend his elbow made him yelp in pain as the newly
stitched cut smarted.

Tony was on his feet in an instant, hovering anxiously, his eyes wide and concerned.

“What’s going on? What hurts? I’ll call the nurse,” he went to press the button, but a panicked
noise from Peter made him stop.

“I’m fine,” Peter insisted. “I just shouldn’t have moved my arm. I’m fine.”

Tony didn’t believe him, but there was fear in Peter’s eyes, so he didn’t press the button.

He reached out and gently cupped the kid’s cheek, and Peter leaned into the touch, seeking
comfort in the form of Tony’s shaking, calloused hand.

“Your head hurt, bud?” Tony asked softly, watching as Peter closed his eyes.

He nodded, before wincing. “Concussions suck.”

Tony nodded somberly, moving his thumb across Peter’s cheek.

Shamefully, his eyes blurred with tears. He tried to blink them away, but he was so tired and raw
that his control on his emotions was slipping.

“I was so scared,” Tony whispered. “There was so much blood, Peter. And you… you were so pale
and clammy…”

Peter opened his eyes back up just in time to see a tear slip down Tony’s cheek. “You kept calling
me dad,” he laughed without humor, his quivering hand gently running his thumb across Peter’s
cheek in a continuous motion. “and then you told me that… and I thought that was going to be the
last thing you said to me.”

Peter watched, thunderstruck, as a sob tore across Tony’s face, and god, he wanted to lift his arms,
to comfort Tony, to do something. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Truth be told, Peter didn’t think he was going to make it either. In those last few moments, he
thought he felt the clutches of death, and the only thing he could think about was letting Tony
know how much he meant to him.

But he was alive, and he didn’t realize how much damage his actions caused.

“I’m fine now,” Peter said in a low voice, trying to comfort. “I’m on the mend. I didn’t… I didn’t
mean to scare you…”

Tony shook his head, continuing his ministrations. “You have to promise me that you’re never
going to do that to me again.”

Peter wanted to nod, but he knew it would hurt his head. “I promise,” he whispered, putting as
much conviction as possible into the words.

Tony took a breath and wiped away his tears. “God, I’m so tired.”

“How long was I out?” Peter asked quietly, watching Tony with sadness in his eyes.

“Nine hours,” Tony choked. “It felt like a lifetime.”

“Pretty solid,” Peter remarked, trying to lighten up the mood. “Not the longest I’ve slept, though.
Once, I pushed almost twenty-four hours. M-May was pissed.”

Tony let out a small, watery laugh, and his hand moved up into Peter’s hair, ruffling it fondly.
“You’re going to kill me, Peter.”

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” Peter teased, grinning. “I’m your kid. I’m supposed to give you a
minimum of three heart attacks a week.”

Tony’s heart swelled, and he smiled. “Let’s try to take that down to one, please. I do have a heart
condition.”

Peter snorted, but his eyes were closing. Tony’s hand in his hair felt incredibly good and he was
starting to feel the pull of unconsciousness once more.

“Hey, dad?” he mumbled, almost asleep.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I meant what I said. I love you.”

Tony’s mind reeled, his heart beating wildly. Say it back, his mind whispered, and he opened his
mouth, the words on his tongue.

But Tony was a fucking coward. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead instead.

Peter smiled as he fell asleep.

--

Tony desperately needed to sleep, but it wouldn’t come.

He refused to leave the medbay for more than a few minutes, but he let himself be coerced into a
rollaway bed that Bruce rolled in by Pepper.

He even let her force him into putting on pajamas, but he couldn’t deny that it felt amazing to be
out of the constricting suit.

The mattress on the rollaway was incredibly uncomfortable, and he knew his back would be
hurting tomorrow, but he was in the same room as his kid, so he wouldn’t complain.

But he couldn’t sleep

He tried everything. He counted in his head, he tossed and turned relentlessly, and he even tried to
trick his body into sleeping by keeping his breaths long and even, his limbs still, his eyes closed.

It didn’t work. Nothing did.

 He kept looking at the clock, watching as the morning hours ticked by, getting more exhausted and
angrier by the minute.

Bruce came in at about ten-thirty to check on Peter. He wasn’t expecting to find Tony still awake,
curled up in the bed, an expression of exhausted-misery on his face.

“You’re still up?” Bruce asked, approaching Tony with a raised eyebrow.

“I’d be asleep if it were up to me,” Tony said, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. “I’ve tried
everything, Bruce. I just can’t seem to go to sleep.”

Bruce sighed. “How long have you been up, Tony?”

“Seventy-three hours,” Tony sighed, rubbing his eyes. “and counting.”

Bruce pulled up a rolling chair next to Tony’s rollaway bed and sat on it backwards, straddling the
back. “You have two options,” Bruce informed him softly. “You can try and sleep some more, or I
can knock you out with some drugs. I know you don’t like being doped up, but you look terrible,
and you need sleep.”

Tony gave him a dirty look. “This isn’t even the longest I’ve ever been up. My record is one-
hundred twenty hours.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Bruce asked, his voice flat. “I’m serious, Tony. If you
don’t sleep within the next few hours, I’m going to knock you out. This staying up and worrying,
it’s not good, especially with your heart condition.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re being dramatic. I’m not going to keel over from a few hours of no
sleep. And if you drug me, I’ll kill you.”

“Then you better sleep, or I’ll sic Pepper on you,” Bruce threatened. He stood and began to walk
out of the room.

Just before he left, however, he stopped and turned. “At the speed Peter’s healing, he should be
free to leave within the next day or so. He’s fine, and when he wakes up again, he’s going to want
his dad. You need to be coherent for him. So, sleep.”

Bruce walked out of the room, and Tony buried his face in his hands.

Chapter End Notes

My update schedule might be a little off because it's finals season, and I really need to
focus because my math grade is in the toilet.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you guys soon!
 Chapter 37
Chapter Summary

"Peter looked up at her sharply, anxiety overtaking him once again. 'But the scars will
fade, right?'

Doctor Cho shook her head. 'I’m afraid not. Like I said, because the cuts were so deep
—'

Peter paled and looked up at Tony in panic."

Chapter Notes

So I forgot to post on Friday because I'm the fucking worst but oh well ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter woke up feeling better rested than before, but still tired.

He blinked his eyes open, and found himself to be still in the medbay, except without Tony at his
bedside.

He full on panicked for a second, his anxiety kicking in so violently that the beeps on the heart
monitor increased in speed, keeping up with his racing pulse. Alone.

The doors to the medbay opened, and in strolled Pepper Potts, looking as well-put-together as ever.

She was dressed in casual clothes, just a simple sweater and jeans with some flats, and yet she
looked incredibly sophisticated.

She came over to Peter and took a seat next to his bed, giving him a soft smile. “Hey, Peter. How
are you feeling?”

Peter knew he should say, “better, thank you”, but instead he blurted, “Where’s my dad?”

Her eyes were soft. “He’s right there.” She pointed to a rollaway bed that was sat only a few feet
away from Peter, which he had dismissed as empty upon first glance.

But… now that he really looked, he saw the white blankets rise and fall, and slight snoring filled
his ears.

Relief flooded him, and he laid his head back, taking a deep breath.

“He refused to leave,” Pepper continued, in a gentle voice. “So, he slept here. Do you want me to
wake him up?”

Peter glanced over at him, and even though every cell in his body yearned for him, he shook his
head. “He doesn’t sleep enough as it is.”

Pepper nodded. She gently reached out and grabbed his hand, and Peter let her. “You gave him
quite the scare.”

Peter sighed. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to. I just… wanted to let him know, in case… you know…”

Pepper squeezed his hand. “I know, honey. It’s okay. Just… when Tony gets scared of losing
someone, he feels the need to protect them, so he hovers. Be prepared for that.”

Peter let out a small laugh. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Pepper smiled. “Oh, I definitely am. Believe me, if he could wrap you in bubble wrap and make
you wear a helmet, he would. But, since he can’t do that, he just sticks really close. He used to do
that with me too.”

There was the faintest note of sadness in her voice, and Peter’s eyes jumped up to her face.

“He’s still in love with you, you know,” Peter said quietly, knowing he shouldn’t be saying it. “He
told me so.”

Pepper gave him a sad smile. “I don’t deserve him. I… said some things that I shouldn’t have. I
don’t think we can move on from that.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Funnily enough, he doesn’t think he deserves you either. He thinks
you’re too good for him and that you deserve someone better.”

Pepper stared at him a second, before letting out a laugh. “He told you all this?”

Peter nodded. “We played twenty questions. It was fun.” Until Tony said he has to leave… why
does he have to leave?

Pepper saw the fall in Peter’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

Peter shook his head. “I just… I have this weird thing… I don’t like being a-a… by myself,” he
didn’t include that fact that it was sometimes hard for him to go to school because the thought of
Tony not being there when he came home was paralyzing. “and Tony… he has to l-leave in a
week.”

Pepper sighed deeply. She knew this would happen as soon as she booked Tony’s flight to Europe.
The dinner Pepper had with Peter and Tony a few weeks ago basically spelled it out for her: Peter
was terrified of being without Tony.

She thought back to the Christmas Party, where Tony said that Peter “doesn’t have anyone else.”
Something must have happened to his parents, then. Was he an orphan? He must be, Pepper
thought, if Tony took him in.

“He’ll only be gone for a little bit,” Pepper soothed, running her thumb along Peter’s hand. “It’s
only for a few days. You won’t be alone for long.”

Her saying the word alone caused Peter to give a full-body flinch, and there was a spike in the
heart monitor. He took a breath, almost like he was trying to ground himself. “Y-Yeah. I don’t
want to be by myself at all though.”

That made Pepper incredibly sad, and she was going to ask him more about it, but then the sheets
on the rollaway bed started to move.

Peter’s eyes snapped to it, his eyes growing wide and bright.

There was a muffled groan and a sharp curse, followed by the creaking of springs as Tony sat up in
bed, a hand running down his pale face.

His hair was stuck up and his eyes were closed. He still looked tired, and a hand came to rest on his
back.

“Good evening, Tony,” Pepper said, laughing slightly.

His eyes opened, zeroing in on her. He didn’t seem to notice the fact that Peter was awake. “Make
a note for me to buy a better mattress for this thing,” he said grouchily, his voice low from sleep.
“My back feels broken.”

Peter let out a smothered laugh, and Tony’s eyes immediately snapped to him.

An expression of barely concealed adoration flitted across his face, and he immediately got up
from his bed, stumbling slightly over to Peter.

“Hey bud,” he said gently, grasping Peter’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than before,” he said with a smile. “My head feels better, and I can lift my arms.”

He demonstrated by holding his arms out, and Tony smiled.

“That’s awesome, kid! You’ll be out of here in no time,” Tony said enthusiastically, ruffling
Peter’s hair happily. “Hey Pep, can you go get Helen Cho? I want her to look at the stitches—”

“No!” Peter exclaimed, and now there was fear in the kid’s eyes as he peered up at Tony. “I’m
fine. I don’t need to be looked at. Everything’s good.”

Tony frowned slightly, tucking a piece of hair behind Peter’s ear. “She’s just going to check your
stitches, Pete. Nothing scary.”

Peter pressed his lips together, his eyes still wide and scared. “They’re fine. They don’t need
checking.”

Tony sighed. “Peter. I know you don’t like doctors, but this is important—”

“It’s not important,” Peter counteracted, narrowing his eyes. “I guarantee that the cuts are already
healed. It probably didn’t even scar—”

Peter cut off, his eyes flying towards the door, face paling.

Doctor Helen Cho stepped into the medbay, her face a mask of authority. Peter instantly shrank
back into his blankets, and Tony immediately put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Good evening, Peter,” Doctor Cho said kindly, bowing her head at him. “I’m Doctor Helen Cho.
It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Peter was staring up at her with eyes as large as saucers, terror in his eyes. Tony squeezed Peter’s
shoulder.

She seemed to notice his terror, and she smiled gently. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to
take your bandages off and take a look at your stitches, okay?”

Peter shook his head, and Tony let out a sigh. “Peter, she’s just going to take the bandages off.
She’s a world-renowned doctor and one of my friends. She’s not going to hurt you.”

Peter bit his lip, but gave her access to his arms, laying them on the bed.

She gently took off the bandages, her fingers quick and nimble. The ace bandages were removed,
revealing nearly identical stitched wounds, running from his wrist down to his inner elbow. Peter
grimaced and looked away, burying his face in the nearest part of Tony he could reach, which
happened to be his side. A hand wove itself into his hair.

“Your healing factor is amazing,” Doctor Cho said, slightly in awe. “These stitches are already
ready to be taken out. It usually takes at least a week for the wound to heal enough.”

Tony grinned. “He’s pretty special, isn’t he?”

Doctor Cho smiled, before rolling the chair she was sat on to a nearby table and grabbing a tray of
medical instruments and bringing it over to the bed.

Peter stuck a peak at what she was doing and caught sight of the silver utensils.

Panic filled him. “What are you doing?”

Doctor Cho looked up at him. “I’m going to take your stitches out. It won’t hurt, trust me.”

Peter bit his lip. “I don’t… are you sure it won’t hurt because it looks like it will hurt, and I don’t
really like pain and those tools look scary—”

“Slow down, motormouth,” Tony said, with an affectionate eye roll. “It’s not going to hurt. You
might just feel a little bit of pressure.”

Peter shot him a look but gave a small nod at Doctor Cho and buried his face back into Tony, the
man continuing playing with his hair.

Tony was right, of course. Removing the stitches didn’t hurt, but he didn’t remove his face from
his father. Tony massaged his head and occasionally planted a kiss on the top of his hair.

When the doctor was done, Peter looked down at his arms.

The stitches were gone, and in their place were long, raised white scars, nearly identical on each
arm.

Peter blinked at them. Doctor Cho caught his confusion, and quickly explained, “The cut was
extremely deep, so the wound scarred.”

Peter looked up at her sharply, anxiety overtaking him once again. “But the scars will fade, right?”

Doctor Cho shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Like I said, because the cuts were so deep—”

Peter paled and looked up at Tony in panic.

Tony started at the intensity in Peter’s eyes. “Scars are cool, kid. Don’t worry about it.”

Peter shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m going to be called a freak,” he
whispered.
 “No. No, you’re not. It’s not that bad, Pete, come on.”

“Do you know what this looks like?” Peter hissed, his eyes wide. “It looks like I tried to off myself,
Tony!”

Tony balked at that, staring at Peter, who shut his eyes and leaned back against the pillows, misery
written all over his face. “I’m going to have to wear long sleeves for the rest of my life.”

“No, you won’t,” Tony said immediately. “You don’t have to hide them, Peter. You shouldn’t care
what other people think.”

“I already get made fun of enough,” Peter said miserably, peering up at Tony through his lashes. “I
don’t want to add onto it.”

Tony frowned. “You shouldn’t be getting made fun of in the first place. I can make them stop.”

Peter shook his head. “It’s better me than someone who can’t take it. Yeah, it stings, but I deal with
it and move on.”

Tony sighed deeply, pushing Peter’s head into him. “But you shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

Peter shrugged, before looked over at Doctor Cho, who had been watching Tony and Peter with
soft fascination.

“So when can I get out of this bed?” Peter asked.

Doctor Cho considered him. “Doctor Banner and I still want to monitor the healing of your leg, so
probably not until the day after tomorrow.”

Peter looked bewildered. “My leg is probably already healed by now,” he said, brushing her off.
“My healing—”

“Even with your healing factor,” Doctor Cho cut across him. “It will still take quite a bit of time for
you leg to heal. You broke both of the major bones in your leg. It usually takes three to six months
for the average person to be able to walk without assistance—” Peter let out a choking sound. “—
but with your advanced healing, it should only take a fraction of that time. My guess is probably a
month.”

“A month?” Peter squeaked in horror. “I won’t be able to walk for a month?”

“Without assistance, yes.”

Peter paled considerably, and Tony put a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Pete. We’ll get
through it.”

“I can’t patrol for a month?”

If it was up to me, you’d never be patrolling again. “I’m sorry, buddy,” Tony apologized, even
though he was incredibly grateful that Peter couldn’t patrol.

Peter threw his head back. “Ugh. I just want out of this bed.”

“In two days. You can do that, kid. I know you can.”

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

Oof finals are almost here and I'm stressed out. This might be the last chapter for a
little bit.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you guys soon!
 Chapter 37
Chapter Summary

"Peter fought his hold, thrashing around in his arms. 'Let me go,' he hissed, and there
was something in his eyes that had Tony hold him harder."

Chapter Notes

Oof, I'm the worst. This should have been out ages ago, I'm so sorry.
Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was an agonizing two days, for both Tony and Peter.

Peter was miserable. He was an incredibly active kid, and being cooped up in a hospital bed,
unable to move made him short and irritable. He snapped at Doctor Cho, and Tony had to
apologize to her on his behalf.

Tony didn’t move from his side, even though he knew he should have. They didn’t talk; Tony just
sat in a chair on his Starkpad, trying to do work in between slightly panicked glances at Peter. The
kid sat in stony silence, on his phone or staring bitterly at walls.

Something was bothering him. Tony knew it.

But every time he tried to reach out, to ask the kid what was going on, he got a vague, annoyed
answer. So, he stopped trying and settled for sneaking worried looks at his kid, every part of him
burning with concern.

It probably didn’t help that he wasn’t sleeping well. He refused to be away from Peter, so he slept
on the rollaway bed. He woke up every hour, stifling a groan as his back felt like someone had
repeatedly kicked it, before glancing over at Peter through blurry vision, checking to see if the kid
was alright.

It was a horrible, painful cycle. But Tony wasn’t going to leave. He could forfeit a few nights of no
sleep and back pain for Peter.

Sunday came around, which was the day Peter would be discharged from the medbay.

He expected the kid to be in high spirits, but Peter was as sullen as ever, greeting Tony with a
“good morning” grumble.

Doctor Cho came in not long after, giving Tony two orange prescription bottles.

“Pain meds for Peter,” she explained, handing them over. “He’s not in a lot of pain right now
because of all the morphine we’ve been giving him, but once it moves out of his system he should
feel some discomfort. These should help with that.”
Tony nodded. “Thanks, doc. Is he free to go?”

She nodded. “He’s going to need to use the crutches, even though he thinks he won’t. Make sure he
doesn’t overwork himself. He needs to still take it easy.”

“Got it. Thank you so much, Doctor Cho.”

She smiled at him. “He’s a good kid, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiled. “Yeah, he is.”

She left, and Tony was alone with Peter.

“Alright buddy, we’re free to go,” he announced, smiling down at his kid. “Let’s get you dressed.”

Peter was quiet as he slid on a sweatshirt and Tony helped him put on sweatpants, being incredibly
careful not touch the boot cast that encased Peter’s left leg too much.

After he was fully dressed, Peter started to move, pulling himself up into a sitting position and
gingerly swinging his legs over the bed so that his feet were on the floor.

Tony grabbed the crutches and held them out for Peter to take, but the kid sent him a venomously
look. “I don’t need those.”

Tony sighed. “Yes, you do, Peter. Your leg is broken. You can’t put weight on it.”

“It’s fine,” Peter said stubbornly. “I can walk, Tony. Jeez.”

Tony pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Peter, you can’t—”

Peter didn’t listen, however. He stood in one movement, putting most of his weight on his right,
unbroken leg. He grinned triumphantly and took a step with his left leg.

Pain, burning and rippling, raced up his leg, and Peter let out a shriek of pain and crumpled to the
floor, unable to keep pressure on his leg.

“Peter!” Tony cried out, immediately reached out to catch him, and he lowered them both to the
floor, making sure not to hurt Peter’s leg. “Jesus, are you—”

“Get off me!” Peter cried, pushing Tony off him, and Tony dropped his hands, alarmed, concerned,
and a little hurt.

Peter struggled to get up, gritting his teeth as he tried to put his legs underneath him. He put
pressure on his leg again and let out a groan of pain, falling back onto his butt with a gasp.

Tony watched as tears filled his eyes, before he reached out and dragged Peter into his lap,
encasing him in his arms.

Peter fought his hold, thrashing around in his arms. “Let me go,” he hissed, and there was
something in his eyes that had Tony hold him harder.

“You need to let me help you,” Tony said, his voice hard. “Your leg is broken and I’m not going to
let you try and walk on it. But that doesn’t matter right now, because right now? We’re going to
talk. Because this shit isn’t like you and I want to know why you’re acting the way you’re acting.”

He expected Peter to act angrily, to push him away and say something that would make Tony’s
heart hurt.

But the kid didn’t do any of that. He met Tony’s concerned, loving eyes and burst into tears,
sagging in the man’s hold.

“Okay, we can start with that,” Tony muttered, his hand crawling up and entwining in Peter’s hair,
pulling the kid’s head down so it rested in the crook of Tony’s neck.

“I’m s-sorry,” he sobbed. “I d-don’t… I don’t know what’s wrong with m-me…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Tony comforted softly. “I’m just worried about you, buddy.”

“I can’t do a-anything,” he said wretchedly, heaving a sob into Tony’s shoulder. “I c-can’t be S-
Spider-Man, I can’t get d-dressed, I can’t even walk. I’m l-like dead weight!”

That made Tony nervous. His hold on Peter tightened. “I don’t want to ever hear you call yourself
that again, do you hear me?” he asked sternly, no room for argument. “You are my son, Peter. You
are not dead weight.”

“I feel so crippled,” Peter cried, his hands grasping Tony’s shirt. He shuddered, and Tony ran his
hands through his hair, vaguely wondering when he became comfortable with all of this.

Peter stopped weeping after a minute, and just laid there, his head against Tony.

“You have three options,” Tony murmured in his ear a little bit later. “One, I can get you a
wheelchair and you can wheel yourself up to the living room. Two, you use the crutches to get
there. Or three, I can carry you and we can try the crutches again later.”

Peter sniffed, not liking any of his options.

Crutches were demanding, and a wheelchair was demeaning. Having Tony carry him would make
him look like a child, but he was exhausted and comfortable in his dad’s arms and the thought of
moving was unappealing.

“Can you… can you carry me?”

Tony didn’t answer, just adjusted his grip and rose to his feet, making a small noise of exertion.

He carried Peter to the elevator and told FRIDAY to take them up to the living space.

Peter sincerely hoped there was no one in the living space to see him look like an actual six-year-
old, but of course, the universe was against him.

Everyone was there. And they all looked up when he and Tony entered, Peter stationary in his
arms.

Peter flushed deeply, heat encasing his face and rushing down his neck.

Tony didn’t care, though. He ignored the audience that was standing in the kitchen and took Peter
over to the couch, setting him down.

“That was embarrassing,” Peter whispered, sinking back into the sofa cushions, his face still beet
red.

“Not really,” Tony shrugged, grabbing a pillow from the couch and placing it on the coffee table.
“I’m going to touch your leg. Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”
Peter nodded and braced himself, his fingers clutching the soft cushions.

But there was no need to brace. Tony gently reached out and held up Peter’s cast, helping him
extend his knee, and placed the boot on the pillow.

“You good?” Tony asked Peter, who nodded, once again hating how handicapped he felt.

Tony grabbed the TV remote and sat down next to Peter, wrapping an arm around him and clicking
the TV on.

Peter put his head on Tony’s shoulder and watched as Tony flicked through TV stations, before
settling on Food Network, which was showing a re-run of the show Chopped.

They watched two whole episodes before a thought distracted Peter. “Do you have work?”

Tony blinked, but didn’t move. “It’s Sunday and I’m not even the CEO. If I want to watch
Chopped with my kid, I can.”

Peter chuckled, but fell silent, burrowing into Tony a little more.

It was after another episode and a half of Chopped that Peter’s breathing became slightly labored
and his body went rigid against Tony’s, but the kid stayed quiet.

Tony glanced down and saw how pale Peter’s face was, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Peter?” Tony asked, and the kid’s eyes slid up to meet his, something hidden in their depths. “You
okay?”

Peter took a breath. “Fine,” he muttered, trying to ignore the pulsing pain running up his leg. It was
starting to give him a headache, or was that just the concussion? Peter didn’t know.

Tony didn’t buy it. With a sigh and a groan, he stood, his joints popping. “Alright, time for pain
meds.”

Surprisingly, Peter didn’t argue. Tony plucked the two orange bottles off the counter and grabbed
a water bottle from the fridge, before making his way back over to where Peter was.

He shook the pills into Peter’s hand and handed him the water. Peter threw the pills back and took
a sip of the water to wash it down.

They resumed their position, and it was not long before Peter was asleep, his head resting on Tony.

--

They decided to try the crutches again the next day.

Peter, who was already upset about having to miss school, looked at the crutches with anger, dark
circles like bruises under his eyes.

It had been a hard night. Peter couldn’t sleep due to his aching leg, and Tony had to weather
several hours of bitterness and angry tears before Peter drifted off, at just past five in the morning.

Tony had drifted off some time after that, in Peter’s bed, before the sound of Peter shifting woke
him.

It was seven thirty when they decided to get up for the day, and after a breakfast made by Bucky,
 Tony decided that Peter should try the crutches again.

He had brought them up from the medbay, and Peter glared at them, seated on the couch, his arms
crossed.

Tony sighed. “Alright, bud,” he said, leaning the crutches against the couch. “Let’s try this again.”

Peter, still looking pissed, grabbed the crutches and tucked them under his arms. He used his good
leg to help himself into a standing position.

Hesitantly, he took a step, using the crutches to propel him forward. They made a clicking noise as
they hit the floor and Peter took several more steps, getting the hang of it.

“Look at you!” Tony said happily, walking over to Peter and ruffling his hair. “You’re a natural!”

Peter, however, didn’t look very happy. “I hate this,” he said, looking down at his crutches.

Tony frowned. “I know. It’s only for a little bit, Pete. You’ll be able to use your leg soon.”

Peter met his gaze, and there was sadness in his eyes. “I’m going to get made fun of.”

Tony was unable to stop himself from raising a hand and stroking his thumb across Peter’s cheek.
“If something happens,” Tony said, his voice low with seriousness. “Tell me. I’ll make it stop,
Peter. This Flash douchebag, or whatever the hell his name is… if he tries something with you,
you need to let me know.”

Peter bit his lip and nodded, and Tony pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Chapter End Notes

So, finals just ended. My grades are pretty decent and I'm finally fucking home, thank
god.
I'm going to TRY and keep on top of this story but I'm not sure if I'm going to be able
to: I'm starting to write a new series of fics. I have drawn inspiration from scifigrl47's
Toasterverse series and would like to explore the dynamic of the Avengers as a team,
before the fall of SHIELD and the fallout of CA:CW.
(Also Clint and Coulson are so fucking cute)(And so are Steve and Tony fuck)
As always, feedback is much appreciated. I'll hopefully seen you guys soon!
 Chapter 38
Chapter Summary

"He laid there, gasping, his hands burning and bleeding. He had just started to get up
when he heard the yell,

'HEY!'"

Chapter Notes

This one's short. Sorry ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter went back to school on Tuesday, which was the day before Tony was originally going to
leave for his Europe trip, but Pepper pushed it back a few weeks.

The relief that filled him when Tony told him was palpable, and it improved his mood
considerably.

He walked into school that Wednesday, on his crutches, trying to not let anyone know that he was
incredibly self-conscious.

He made his way over to his locker and opened it, trying not to be incredibly irritated about the
fact that it was difficult to do literally everything, and put his backpack away, grabbing some books
from his locker in the process.

That was when Ned made his way over with a gasp, unleashing a stream of questions and “are you
okay’s?”

“I’m fine, Ned,” Peter mumbled, readjusting his grip on the books in his arms. “I just fell down the
stairs.”

Ned stared at him. “Peter. You’re—” he looked around before dropping his voice. “—You’re
Spider-Man. You can’t just fall down stairs—”

“Yeah? Well, that’s what happened,” Peter said grouchily, slamming his locker. His forearms
suddenly burned, as if reminding him of what really happened. “I was walking down the stairs and
I got distracted. I fell. That’s it.”

But Ned was looking at him with concern, his brown eyes wide and soft. “Right. Stairs. Are you
okay, Peter?” His tone was gentle and worried, and Peter was reminded why Ned was his best
friend.

Peter took a breath. “I’m fine. I heal fast.”

Ned nodded. “Do you need me to carry your stuff to class? I don’t mind.”
Peter grit his teeth at that. A part of him knew that it was dumb to try and carry all of his stuff and
use crutches, but another part of him was bitter at the fact that he couldn’t carry it by himself.

“I’ve got it,” Peter said, not unkindly. “Thanks anyways, Ned.”

He positioned his books in one arm and used his free one to tuck one of his crutches under his arm
pit, and then picked up the other one.

He got about a step before his books went tumbling to the floor, his Physics textbook making a
booming thud as it hit the linoleum.

Everyone in their immediate vicinity looked over, and Peter flushed red, avoiding the prying stares
of his peers.

But Ned, being the good friend he was, bent down and picked up Peter’s books for him, sending
looks at everyone who was glancing their way.

“I’ll carry them for you,” Ned said, smiling at Peter. “Don’t worry about it.”

Peter’s heart swelled. “Thanks, Ned.”

--

It wasn’t a good day at school.

He had gotten asked a total of five times what happened to his leg before lunch, and six more after
lunch. Each time, he had to explain that he had fallen down the stairs, which was usually met with
mixed reactions.

Several people called him a klutz, and one strange, greasy haired girl in his Spanish class asked if
he was being abused.

Peter’s broken leg also gave Flash more ammunition for his taunts, calling Peter a “cripple” or
otherwise going out of his way to make fun of him.

Peter wasn’t surprised. He expected this.

What he didn’t expect happened right after school.

There was no Decathlon practice that day, since it was Tuesday, which Peter was thankful for. If
one more person asked about his leg, he would start screaming.

Tony would be picking him up, even though Peter insisted that he could just take the subway like
he always did. Tony shut him down immediately, claiming that he shouldn’t be going long
distances on his crutches.

Peter was secretly grateful, though. By the time school ended, his under arms had began to ache
from the pressure of the crutches, and he just wanted to sit and not have to use them.

He walked out of the school and began to make a slow descent down the stairs, making sure to not
trip and fall.

His spider-sense flared viciously when he was a little more than halfway down, and he turned
quickly, ready to fight off whatever was going to attack him.

Flash stood behind him, flanked by several of his friends.

He couldn’t do anything before Flash’s hands were on him, pushing him backwards, tumbling
down the stairs.

He was met with strong déjà vu, of a month or so before when Flash did this for the first time. But
this time, it was worse; he had a broken leg and he couldn’t land on it.

He twisted in midair, so that he was forward again. He kept his boot from hitting the ground and
instead let his hands and stomach take the full impact, rocks imbedding into his skin and the breath
knocking from his lungs.

He laid there, gasping, his hands burning and bleeding. He had just started to get up when he heard
the yell,

“HEY!”

--

Tony was in his car, listening to Fade to Black by Metallica when he saw Peter exit the school.

He was illegally parked as close to the school as possible, in one of his less flashy Audi’s, his
finger tapping a beat on the steering wheel.

He watched closely as Peter carefully made his way down the stairs, slowly to make sure he didn’t
trip.

He narrowed his eyes at the kids who were going down the stairs behind Peter. The person at the
front of the group had darker skin and greasy, slicked back hair. He was wearing a shit eating grin,
one that made Tony place a hand on the handle of his car door.

He watched Peter whip around just as the kid behind him put his hands on him, and suddenly, Peter
was falling backwards towards the concrete, his limbs flailing.

Tony was out of the car before Peter hit the ground, his heart racing and blood boiling.

He watched as Peter braced his fall with his hands, landing hard on them and his stomach, keeping
his leg elevated. He watched as Peter gasped for breath.

“Aww, look at little Penis Parker,” Flash taunted. “A cripple with no family. Pathetic.”

Something snapped within Tony, and he saw red.

“HEY!” He bellowed.

Peter’s head snapped up, misery being replaced with shock, which then turned to panic.

Tony bared his teeth and walked up the front steps, clenching and unclenching his fists.

The greasy little bastard blanched and took a step back, his eyes growing wide and his jaw
dropping.

“Y-you’re Tony Stark,” Flash said in shock.

“Who the fuck are you?” Tony snarled, getting in the kid’s face.

The kid sputtered, obviously lost for words.

“I said, who the fuck are you?” Tony yelled, and the kid shrunk back.

“F-Flash Thompson, s-sir,” Flash whimpered.

“So you’re the greasy piece of shit that’s been giving Peter trouble?” Tony sneered.

Flash blanched again. “You know Penis Parker?”

Tony gritted his teeth. Do not hit a child. “His name is Peter and he’s my kid,” he got close to
Flash’s face, inches from his nose. His voice was low, deadly calm. “If I ever see you talk, look at,
or even breathe near my kid again, it will be the last thing you will ever do. Your chances at
getting into a college? Null and void. I can ruin your life. I can find where you live. Don't test me."

Flash’s face was white as he frantically nodded his head. “Y-yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t
happen again.”

“It better fucking not,” Tony growled, and stalked down the stairs.

Peter was staring at him, his brown eyes wide. Tony calmly picked up Peter’s fallen crutches,
before walking over to Peter and gently helping him up, noticing how his hands were cut open and
bleeding.

He held the crutches in one hand and wrapped an arm around Peter with his other, supporting him.

He could hear Peter breathing irregularly, but he couldn’t focus on that right now. He had to get
Peter to the car.

Peter could feel everyone’s eyes on him as Tony helped him hop to the car on one leg, his father’s
arm firmly around his waist.

Tony held the door to the car open and Peter climbed in, his face burning red and his breaths
coming out in short, panicked gasps.

Tony got in the driver’s side, shut his door, and hit the gas. The car peeled out of the school lot,
away from all the prying eyes.

Peter’s injured hands were shaking as Tony drove too fast down the streets of Queens. The man’s
face was pale, his lips pressed into a hard line.

“How are your hands?” He asked shortly, taking a right turn.

Peter took a breath, swallowing hard. “They’re fine.”

“I would really appreciate it,” Tony said through clenched teeth. “If you wouldn’t lie to me right
now.”

Peter stole a look at Tony’s face and saw steel in his eyes, his knuckles white as they gripped the
wheel.

“They sting,” Peter admitted quietly, his voice still seeming too loud in the quiet car, “but they’ll
be healed within the hour.”

That didn’t seem to put Tony at ease. He still looked livid, and he blew a red light at the next
intersection.

“That was red,” Peter supplied, not sure what he was trying to accomplish.
Tony didn’t respond.

Peter let out a sigh and sunk back against the seat. “You’re mad.”

“Damn fucking right I’m mad,” Tony growled.

As Peter looked over at him, he was suddenly hit with another feeling of déjà vu: Last December,
when he had stolen Tony’s car. Tony looked just as mad then as he does now.

“Flash is a dick,” Peter said, looking out the windshield. “It’s not a big deal.”

“He pushed you down the stairs while you were injured,” Tony snarled. “You could have re-
broken your leg. You could have busted your head open. You could have gotten another
concussion.”

“But I didn’t,” Peter mumbled, “and now the entire school knows that I’m your kid.”

And just like that, the anger was sucked from Tony, hesitance replacing it. “Is that a bad thing?”

Peter shrugged. “They’re going to treat me differently. They’re going to want things.”

Tony’s mouth twisted. “If they do that, let me know, I’ll—”

“Jesus Christ!” Peter snapped, glaring at Tony. “You can’t fight all my battles for me! I’m fifteen,
Tony!”

“You shouldn’t be bullied at school!” Tony snapped back. “You deal with so fucking much, Peter!
You shouldn’t have to deal with this too.”

“Well, I do,” Peter retorted. “You can’t change it. I can’t change it. I just deal with it.”

Tony grit his teeth. “You will tell me if they bother you again.”

“After what you just did?” Peter scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“God dammit, Peter!” Tony swore, his temper fanning out of control. He just wanted to protect his
kid, and now he was getting attitude for it? “Why are you being so fucking difficult?”

“Don’t swear at me!” Peter said, some part of him deep inside curling up and shying away from the
hurtful words. His hands curled into fists, his nails puncturing his palms. “I’m tired of you fighting
my battles for me! I’m my own person!”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Tony went in for the kill. “You tell yourself that now, but what about when I
leave? Are you your own person then?”

Peter stared at him, his mouth falling open.

A shudder wracked through his body, and he curled in on himself, his throat growing thick and his
eyes burning.

“Fuck, shit,” Tony swore, jerking the car over to the shoulder, putting his hazards on. “Shit, Peter.”

“Do you think I ask for this?” Peter asked, his eyes full of tears. “Do you think I don’t hate myself
when I ask you to stay?”

Tony’s heart broke, and he reached out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m—”
 “How can you say that?” Peter whispered, choking on his words. “I don’t want to keep you from
going anywhere, I just… I can’t…”

“I know,” Tony whispered, reaching out and wiping away a tear that streaked down Peter’s cheek,
hating that he put it there. “I’m so sorry, Pete. I didn’t mean it. I don’t care that—”

“Yes, you do,” Peter said miserably, turning his face away from Tony. “You do care. I’m a mess
and you know it. You can’t even leave me alone for more than a day before—”

“But it’s you,” Tony interrupted, cupping Peter’s cheek with his palm. “I don’t mind it, Peter. I
really don’t. I didn’t mean it, I promise.”

Peter sniffed. “Can we just… can we just go home?”

Tony let out a small sigh. “Yeah, buddy. We can.”

Chapter End Notes

Alright, so that's it for all the saved content I have. I don't think I'm going to give up on
this story, since I know so many people like it. But it'll probably be awhile before the
next chapter comes out, so sorry in advance for the wait.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys soon!
(Also, I just posted a new fanfic. It's called Tacet Nox, and I'd love it if you guys
checked it out!)
 Chapter 39
Chapter Summary

"'There’s a difference between being mean and sticking up for yourself and not being a
doormat, okay? Strangers coming up to you, trying to befriend you to get something
from you… it doesn’t feel good. You’ve got to stick up for yourself, Pete. You can do
that, right?'”

Chapter Notes

I like this one. Enjoy~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When they got home, Tony immediately got out two pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream and sat
next to Peter on the couch, so close that their arms almost touched.

He handed Peter the brownie batter flavor and a spoon, while he himself opened a coffee-flavored
pint.

He watched Peter take a bite of the ice-cream, his eyelids fluttering in delight, and Tony smiled
slightly.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Peter eating the chunks of brownie out of his and Tony
watching him fondly, absently scraping his spoon on the top of his ice-cream and eating little bits
of it.

“So, we’re going to play twenty questions again,” Tony said hesitantly, watching Peter’s reaction.
“Because I think that worked really well last time.”

Peter gave him a look. “It ended in tears, Tony.”

“There’s my first question,” Tony said, not missing a beat. “Why is it ‘Tony’ sometimes, and ‘Dad’
others?”

Peter gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing, before he collected himself. “I… I don’t…”

“Be honest, please,” Tony said, running his spoon along the edges of the container of ice-cream.

Peter let out a breath. “I don’t know. It just happens. I’m just used to calling you Tony, I guess.”

“Okay. That’s all I wanted. Your turn, kiddo.”

Peter pursed his lips, thinking. “How did your date with Pepper go, that night?”

Tony froze for a moment, before relaxing again. “It went well. Really well.”
“Ew,” Peter objected, wrinkling his nose. “You’re nasty.”

Tony blinked. “What garnered that response? I didn’t even say anything!”

“The way you said ‘really’ was gross.”

Tony thought back to the restaurant, and a grin crossed his face. “What can I say, it was going
really well—"

Peter made another disgusted noise. “Okay, nope. We’re not talking about that. Next question,
please. Anything is better than this.”

Tony chuckled, and Peter wrinkled his nose again.

But then Tony turned serious. “On a scale from one to ten, one being how you felt just after May
died, and ten being the best you’ve ever felt, how do you feel? Last time you said five. I want to
know if that’s changed at all.”

Peter avoided his eyesight. “A four.”

Tony’s heart sank. You’re supposed to be getting better. “Why the change?”

“Well I haven’t exactly had the best week,” he snapped, before drawing in on himself, looking
guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Let me know if it changes again, okay?”

Peter nodded. “Okay. My turn.”

“Hit me.”

“What happened when I was unconscious last week? Like, after I passed out on the way back to the
Tower.”

Tony’s face darkened. “I’m not answering—”

“No avoiding answers,” Peter interrupted, brandishing his spoon at Tony pointedly.

Tony avoided Peter’s eyes when he answered. “I broke through one of the medbay windows,
before getting kicked out. I then had one of the worst panic attacks of my life. Happy?”

Peter stared at him. “You had a p—”

“Yes, I did. It was horrible. I don’t want to talk about it. My turn.”

Peter looked sad, then. “I’m sorry.”

Tony sighed. “It’s not your fault. I was just really scared, okay? I thought…”

“You thought you were going to lose me.”

Tony resisted the urge to shudder. “Yes.”

Peter stared at Tony a second longer before shifting closer and dropping his head on Tony’s
shoulder.

“I thought I was going to die,” Peter whispered, an admission that Tony wished he hadn’t heard.
I thought you were too. “You didn’t,” Tony said. “You’re alive. You’re okay.”

“Where is he now?” Peter asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“In captivity,” Tony answered. “They’re trying to find out his motives.”

Peter shivered, and Tony reached over and grabbed the ice-cream out of Peter’s hands, setting it on
the coffee table.

“He’ll never touch you again,” Tony said as Peter snuggled closer. “Ever. I swear.”

“I have a weird feeling,” Peter admitted softly. “I’ve had it ever since I met him. Something about
him just makes my senses scream.”

“In a way you haven’t felt before?” Tony asked, concerned.

Peter shrugged. “When I fought the Vulture, my senses reacted, but not like this.”

Tony paused, before asking cautiously, “What does it feel like?”

“When my senses go haywire?” Peter questioned, and Tony gave a nod of confirmation. “It feels
like something’s trying to jump out of my skin.”

That set Tony’s teeth on edge. “I’m sure Bruce and I could find a way to put a stop to that—”

“No, it’s more helpful than harmful. It lets me know when I’m in danger.”

“But you’re not in any pain?”

“No. It only kind of hurt when I was around the Marionette. And I don’t plan on being around him
anymore.”

Tony put his arm around Peter, a wave of protectiveness washing through him. “You’re never
going to see him again, if I have anything to do with it.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re so protective.”

You almost died. That’s not going to happen again. “I’m your dad. That’s my job.” Tony paused.
“Do you care?”

“Is that your next question?” Peter asked, deflecting a little bit.

“No, but I would like it if you answered honestly.”

Peter sighed. “I don’t mind most of the time. It’s just different. M-May was very… lax, with her
parenting. Mostly because she was so busy. You’re not very lax and it’s an adjustment.”

Tony ran his hand up and down Peter’s arm. “You know it’s just because I care about you, right?”

Peter nodded. “I know. It’s just… I’m used to fighting my own battles. It’s hard to let you take
charge, sometimes.”

“Like with Flash.”

“Yeah. Like with Flash. He’s been horrible to me since middle school, it’s not a big deal. I’m used
to it, I can deal with it.”
“But you—”

“Dad. I know, ‘I shouldn’t have to deal with it.’ I do anyways. It’s fine.”

Tony sighed, disagreeing but letting the subject drop. He knew he couldn’t win that battle.

Besides, something else was eating at him. “I’m… I’m sorry about what I said in the car.”

Peter stiffened. “It’s… fine.”

Tony’s stomach bottomed out. He’s mad at me. “It’s really not. I didn’t mean it.”

Peter picked at his jeans. “It’s just… hard, you know? I don’t… I don’t want to be so clingy. I
don’t want you to be unable to go anywhere without me freaking out. I just…”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Peter,” Tony said quietly. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not, though,” Peter sounded wrecked, and Tony hated himself violently. “I’m fifteen. I
shouldn’t… I shouldn’t need my dad around me at all times. It’s… I…”

“Peter, you’ve been through a lot in your life,” Tony said softly, his hand weaving into Peter’s hair.
“You’re not exactly like most fifteen-year-olds, bud. It’s okay to want me around, bud. I promise I
don’t mind.”

Peter turned his face into Tony’s side, and Tony set his ice-cream down before embracing Peter,
his hand cradling the back of his head.

“It’s getting worse,” Peter admitted, his voice muffled. “You’re going to Europe in a few weeks
and I’m already freaking out about it.”

Tony sighed softly. “I know. I don’t want to leave either.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to leave you alo—all by yourself.”

Peter burrowed closer to Tony, but removed his face to take a deep, calming breath. “Can we…
Can we talk about something else?”

Tony nodded, even though Peter couldn’t see him. “Of course, bud.”

There was a pause. “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.”

Tony let out another sigh. “You have to, buddy. You know that.”

“People are going to be weird to me. They’re going to want things.”

“Tell them to fuck off.” Peter laughed, but Tony was serious. “I’m not kidding. Use those exact
words. Don’t let people use you, Pete.”

Peter winced. “Easier said than done. I don’t want to be mean.”

“There’s a difference between being mean and sticking up for yourself and not being a doormat,
okay? Strangers coming up to you, trying to befriend you to get something from you… it doesn’t
feel good. You’ve got to stick up for yourself, Pete. You can do that, right?”
Peter nodded, confidence swirling in his gut. “Yeah. I’ve got this.”

--

The following school day was horrible.

The next morning, after another hard night (his leg kept twinging, and it was just enough pain that
it made it difficult to sleep) had left him tired and a little cranky, he snapped at Tony for bringing
up Flash again, (“I can make it stop, Peter.” “Jesus, we’ve been over this a million times! Let it go,
for the love of god!”) which Tony didn’t take too poorly, but the frown that marred his features
was enough to make him feel bad.

He got driven to school again, since he wasn’t allowed to take the subway with a broken leg, and
before he even got into the building, he knew it was going to be bad.

Everyone was staring, and they weren’t even being subtle about it. Whispers followed him as he
hobbled his way up the front steps, feeling like he was onstage, about to perform.

He got to his locker fine, and he was in the process of unlocking it when a tall, skinny girl with
black hair approached him.

He had seen her before, in the hall and in the lunchroom, but she had never talked to him, or even
looked at him, really.

“Hi, Peter,” she said, a wide, white-toothed smile on her face. “I like your shirt.”

Peter glanced down instinctively at his Star Wars shirt, before looking back up at her. “Uh,
thanks?”

She leaned closer to him. “Do you need help taking your books to class?”

Anxiety pierced Peter, and he struggled to answer. “Uh, I don’t…”

“No, he doesn’t need help,” MJ said, her voice strong and confident. She came up from behind
Peter and stood at his side, an unmovable force. She stared down the girl, whose façade cracked a
little bit, the smile wavering.

“Leave him alone,” MJ warned, crossing her arms. “He doesn’t need help.”

She gave MJ a dirty look, but left anyways, her long hair swinging side to side as she walked.

Peter could feel himself getting worked up, and he itched to call Tony, to get out before that
happened again.

A shoulder bumped his. “You good, loser?” MJ asked, her face bored, her brown eyes concerned.

Peter took a breath. “I’m good.”

--

It got worse.

Ned was in his AP Physics class, and was able to keep anyone from bothering him, but neither of
his friends were in his English class.

Two kids approached him, both boys, both more popular than Peter was.
They offered to do his work for him, and Peter stammered out a no, but they were both persistent.

“You don’t have to worry about it, Petey, we can do it,” one of them said, and the nickname made
Peter’s blood boil.

“I’ve got it. Can you please leave me alone?” He said, tripping over his words a little bit in his
haste to get them out.

They left, but ten minutes later he was tapped on the shoulder by the red-haired girl that sat behind
him.

She wore too much eyeliner, and it made her eyes look heavy. “Hey, Peter. What did you get for
number ten? I’m kind of stuck on it.”

“Oh,” he hastily grabbed his sheet. “I got Ad Hominem.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” she wrote down the answer. “You’re really smart.”

Peter felt himself blush. “Thanks.”

“No, really. You’re really smart, and you’re funny too. I see you with Ted and Michelle, and you’re
always making jokes. Girls like funny guys.”

Peter’s stomach turned to ice. “Oh…”

“Also, it’s so cool that you know Tony Stark. Do you, like, live with him?”

He was getting worked up again. His body was hot, and he felt trapped, with the girl’s wide blue
eyes on him. “Uh, y-yeah—”

“Really? That’s so dope,” she paused for a second. “By the way, do you want to hang out
sometime? I think you’re really cool.”

Peter’s face turned bright red, and it felt like his entire body was on fire. Did I just get asked out?

Absolutely overwhelmed, he stuttered out a “Uh, sorry—” as he stood abruptly, grabbing his
crutches, and without asking for permission, left the class.

He got the bathroom as fast as he could, before closing himself in one of the stalls and fishing his
phone out from his pocket. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest as he called Tony, his hands
shaking around the device.

He picked up after only one ring. “Peter? What’s going on? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted in a rush, and words began to pour out of him. “People are
talking to me and being nice and I’m trying to tell them to leave me alone but it’s so hard and this
girl from my English class just asked me out and I don’t even know her name and I’ve never been
asked out before and I don’t even know if I like girls or not because the only one who’s ever
showed any interest was Liz and her dad turned out to be crazy and I didn’t even like her that much
anyways I don’t—”

“Whoa, slow down,” Tony cut him off. “Take a breath and explain.”

Peter took a shaky breath, sliding down the tiled wall of the bathroom and onto the gross floor.
“People are being weird and nice to me. This girl came up to me at my locker and said she liked
my shirt. These guys in my English class wanted to do my work for me. A-and I just got asked out
 by this girl who sits behind me and it’s so freaking weird, Tony, I don’t know what to do.”

“You knew this was going to happen, Pete,” Tony said softly. “It’s just par for the course, buddy.
Remember what I told you?”

“You told me to tell them to fuck off,” Peter mumbled, staring at the walls.

“Exactly. And if you don’t want to swear, tell them to go away. And if they don’t, you’ve gotta
walk away yourself.”

Peter nodded, a lump in his throat. He missed Tony viciously, then, and he wanted nothing more
than to go home.

“You okay, bud?” Tony asked, and Peter swallowed hard.

“I want to go home,” he whispered, sliding his hand down and grasping the fabric of his jeans,
trying to keep from crying.

Tony sighed into the phone. “I want you to stay and finish out the day, but if you really don’t think
you can, I’ll come get you.”

Peter took a deep breath. “I… I think I’m going to stay. I have to try.”

“Atta boy,” Tony said fondly. “You’ve got this, kid.”

Peter stood. “I hope so. Thanks.”

“Get back to class, kid. I’ll see you when you get home.” There was a beat of silence. “And Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Peter’s heart swelled, and his stomach was filled with warmth. “Thanks, dad.”

The line cut out, and Peter walked back to class, instilled with confidence.

He took his seat, and the girl tapped him on the shoulder again.

Peter turned, and before she could say anything, he calmly said, “Fuck off.”

--

Chapter End Notes

So, I'm back to writing this story. I forgot how much goddamn fun it was. Also, I
never really thought about making Peter lgbtq+, but since I'm bi myself, I thought:
why not?
Also, we've surpassed 3000 kudos! Literally, I don't understand how. Thank you guys
so so so much for the support; it means so fucking much to me.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys soon!
*note: a lot of people are asking me who I’m going to pair Peter up with, so I’m just
gonna put it out there that I don’t think Peter’s going to date anyone in this story. He’s
not really in the right mindset for dating: he’s still grieving the loss of his aunt and his
mental state isn’t good. Just wanted to clear that up. Thank you for your comments,
though! I love the feedback :)
 Chapter 40
Chapter Summary

"Tony sighed. 'It’s serious talk time. Food now or after?'"

Chapter Notes

Sorry, this is a little short ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Lunch was bad.

He walked (well, crutched) into the lunchroom alone and was immediately stared at by almost
everyone in it. It made his heart race, and he walked into the lunch line with his head bent,
avoiding all of the gazes set on him.

He got his lunch and went over to his usual lunch table, and to his disappointment, Ned and MJ
weren’t there yet.

He set down his tray and took a seat, his eyes trained to the door, waiting for his friends to walk
through the doors.

The back of his neck prickled, and suddenly there was a group of people sitting down next to him.

Peter immediately recognized the girl from his locker this morning, and the two guys from his
English class. There were others, one Peter recognized as Tom Jansen, an asshole from his
Chemistry class with a reputation of using girls.

There were two girls on either side of him, and Peter daresay that the rumors were correct.

“Heya, Pete,” Tom said, smiling crookedly. “What’s up?”

Peter could feel the flush working its way up his body. “Uh, nothing. W-Why are you sitting with
me?”

“Well, we saw you sitting alone, and thought you could use some company,” the girl from his
locker said with the same pearly smile. “Whatcha eatin?”

Peter glanced down at his tray. “Uh… chicken nuggets? I’m sorry, but my friends usually sit with
me,” he said, trying to sound confident, but his voice cracked halfway through.

“There’s room for them,” another one of the guys said smoothly. “Nate and Meghan—”

“It’s Ned and Michelle,” Peter interrupted, firmly. “Can you all just—”

“You’re in my spot, fuckers,” MJ bit from behind Peter, and he turned, gratitude washing through
him.

MJ and Ned stood there. MJ looked pissed, and Ned concerned, his eyes flicking between MJ and
Peter.

“Get out of my spot and leave him alone,” MJ said, jerking her chin up, all sass and confidence.

Slowly, the people started to leave, the last one being Tom Jansen. “We can hang some other time,
right, Pete?”

“Yeah, if you can ever find your way out from between a girl’s legs,” MJ jabbed, sitting down next
to Peter, glaring at him. “Leave us alone.”

Ned guffawed, and Peter gaped at her. Tom Jansen turned red and walked away.

“That was so cool, MJ!” Ned said excitedly.

Peter bit his lip and looked down at his food, suddenly not hungry. “Thanks, MJ,” he mumbled.

“They need to leave you alone,” she said vehemently. “Who gives a shit that Tony Stark’s your
dad? It doesn’t change anything.”

“Tony’s rich and a superhero,” Peter shrugged, picking at his milk carton. “They want to get to him
through me. It makes sense.”

“It’s gross and I don’t like it,” MJ said, angrily taking out her sandwich from a brown paper bag.

Peter sighed. “I don’t like it either. I got asked out during English.”

MJ stilled in taking out an apple, and Ned gasped. “By who?” he demanded.

“I don’t know her name,” Peter said, somewhat miserably. “It was so weird. I, er… I kinda freaked
out and called Tony.”

“What did he say?” Ned asked, taking a bite from his chicken.

“He told me to tell everyone to fuck off,” Peter shrugged. “He’s right, but it’s hard. I don’t want to
be mean.”

“It’s not being mean if you’re sticking up for yourself,” MJ sniffed, taking an aggressive bite out of
her apple. “Or if it’s Tom Jansen.”

Peter coughed a laugh. “True.”

“By the way, we have decathlon practice tomorrow. Semi-Finals are next weekend.”

“I’ll be there,” Peter said. “Sorry that I missed the last one… I was kind of dying.”

The corner of MJ’s mouth quirked. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

--

Gym, for once, was a relief. Everyone was too out of breath to bother him, and he couldn't
participate due to his broken leg, so he just sat off to the side, watching.

Spanish was just as bad as English, maybe even worse since he despised the class. His underarms
had started to hurt from using the crutches so much, and his teacher yelled at him for talking, even
though it was the girl next to him that initiated the conversation.

A kid named Bryce kept asking him for help on the worksheet they were supposed to complete,
and when he was finished with it, asked Peter if he wanted to help tutor him.

Peter got out a shaky no, before the two of them got reprimanded for not speaking in Spanish.

When the bell rang, relief like he had never felt coursed through him. Home.

He crutched to his locker and grabbed his bag, cramming books and binders in it the best he could,
before crutching towards the metal doors leading outside.

Stepping out into the sunlight felt like heaven, even though the cold February wind made his
cheeks flush.

As he hobbled down the stairs, he scanned the parking lot for Tony’s Audi. When he couldn’t find
the black car, he frowned, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

On cue, his phone buzzed. Sitting in traffic, will be there soon.

Peter sighed, standing off to the side as he waited, scrolling through his phone.

The back of his neck prickled in warning, and he immediately jolted backwards as a hand came out
and tried to knock the phone from his hand. He looked up, searching for his assaulter.

Flash leered down at him, flanked by his two closest friends. Peter met his gaze evenly, not willing
to put up with any shit after the day he had.

“What the fuck, Penis,” Flash hissed. “How the fuck do you know Tony Stark? I thought you were
lying about the internship bullshit.”

Peter stared him down, not saying anything.

“He called you his kid,” Flash spat. “I thought you didn’t have a family, Penis. So, what are you to
him, huh? Servant? Slave?”

Peter felt anger boiling in his pit of his stomach, but he just jerked his chin up defiantly and didn’t
say anything.

“Oh, I know,” Flash got in his face, his white teeth glittering in the sunlight. “You’re his boy toy.”

The anger boiled over, and Peter felt something in him snap. He felt his face turn red, and he spit
right in Flash’s face.

He reeled back, wiping the saliva off his face. He bared his teeth, looking down at Peter, his face
menacing. “You fucker—”

The back of Peter’s neck prickled again, just as a car door slammed. He looked to the side and saw
that Tony had pulled up to the school and was standing outside his black Audi. He was in a dark
pinstripe suit and dark red tie, sunglasses perched across the bridge of his nose.

Flash’s eyes darted over to where Tony was standing, and he paled, immediately backing off.

Tony gave him a look that could kill, and Peter crutched over to his car, relieved.
He threw his backpack and crutches into the backseat and got in the passenger side, shutting the
door behind him.

Tony got in and started the car, before driving off. There was silence between them.

“What did he say to you?” Tony asked after a while, noticing Peter’s tense posture.

“Nothing,” Peter muttered, anger flashing across his face.

There was a pause, during which Tony thought how to phrase his next sentence. “I saw you spit in
his face.”

Peter stiffened, his eyes darting to Tony’s face, trying to detect any anger.

There wasn’t any, and he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

There was a beat of silence again. “I don’t want to keep arguing about this, but I really think
something should be done—”

“He called me your boy toy,” Peter blurted, and then blushed furiously red, his hands clenching
and unclenching in his lap. “God, I wanted to fucking—”

“Language,” Tony cut him off, giving him a sharp look, before saying mildly, “Also, I think that’s
a first for me. Never had someone accuse me of having a boy toy. I was always the boy toy.”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “Spare me. Please.”

Tony snickered, before he sobered. “Why do you only get mad at him when he picks on someone
other than you? Why can’t you spit in his face when he calls you those god-awful names—”

“First, I don’t want to get in trouble. I don’t retaliate because it looks just as bad on me as it does
him when I react with violence. Second, if I lost my temper, I could seriously hurt him. I have
super strength, Tony; if I punch him, I could kill him. Third, I wouldn’t have reacted anyways,
but…” He looked out the window. “I was already having a pretty horrible day, so…”

Tony sighed. “I’m proud you made it through though.” There was a pregnant pause, during which
Tony bit his cheek. He turned into a McDonalds parking lot, pulling into an empty spot and putting
the car in park.

Peter stared at him. “Uh. Why are we parked in a McDonalds parking lot?”

Tony sighed. “It’s serious talk time. Food now or after?”

“I thought we ate ice-cream when it was serious talk time?” Peter said, deliberately stalling.

“We had ice-cream yesterday,” Tony said, with a wave of the hand. “We can’t have it two days in a
row. Food?”

Peter clenched his fists, anxiety making his stomach flip. “Food now, I guess. I’m hungry.”

Tony nodded, put the car in drive, and pulled into the drive thru. “What do you want?”

“Large vanilla milkshake and two large fries,” Peter said, compressing himself further into the seat,
his fists tightening. He’s leaving. He’s leaving or he’s giving me away. Or he’s dying. Or he’s mad
at me. Or—
A bag was put in his lap, and he snapped out of his thoughts. His vanilla milkshake was put in the
cup holder, and the food smelled heavenly, but Peter’s stomach was in knots, making him feel sick.

Tony pulled back into the parking spot and turned to Peter, his face serious.

Peter stared at him, terror running through him. He reached inside the McDonalds bag and handed
Tony his cheeseburger and fries, his hand shaking.

Tony noticed, because of course he did. “Don’t be nervous, bud. It’s not bad.”

Peter nodded, taking out a fry and nibbling on it.

Tony took a breath. God, this was the part of parenting he didn’t want. “Okay. So… when we were
on the phone earlier, when you were freaking out, you said… you said you didn’t think you liked
girls.”

Peter dropped the fry he was holding, his eyes bugging in shock. He felt a blush run from the tips
of his toes up to his head, the heat almost painful.

“O-oh,” Peter stammered, trying to think when he said that. He didn’t remember saying it, and he
was surprised that he did say it, since it wasn’t something he actively thought about. “Oh. Uh-
um…”

“Breathe, Peter,” Tony reminded softly, and Peter sucked in a breath that hurt.

“Listen. I’ve done everything, okay?” Tony watched as Peter squirmed, his face insanely red. “I’ve
been with guys and girls, sometimes at the same time. It’s not a big deal at all. I just want to know,
okay?”

Peter swallowed. He didn’t know about Tony being with guys, but it made it easier to breathe,
somehow. “I don’t... know what I like? I m-mean… I liked this girl Liz a few months ago, but I
thought I liked her a lot more than I actually did. I think I liked the idea of her? I dunno… I’m not
sure. I guess I c-could see myself with both?” He avoided Tony’s gaze as he talked, before stuffing
a handful of fries into his mouth to give him a reason to stop talking.

Tony lifted Peter’s chin so that he was looking at him. “You’re still my kid no matter what. You
know that, right?”

Peter swallowed and nodded. “I know. I… it’s not something I think about a lot. A relationship is
the last thing I want right now, no matter who with.”

“Understandable,” Tony unwrapped his cheeseburger, relaxing a little. The horrible part was over.
“You can always talk to me, kid. Or, if you want experts, talk to Steve or Bucky. They’re
disgustingly happy and both gay, which I did not see coming, and my gaydar is pretty much
perfect, mind you—”

“I don’t think anyone saw it coming,” Peter shrugged, taking a drink from his milkshake. “But it
makes sense, I guess. It’s weird; I used to sleep on Captain America bedsheets, and now I know the
guy. It’s bizarre.”

Tony snorted loudly. “You should tell him that. He’d get all embarrassed.”

Peter smiled, dipping a couple of his fries in his milkshake and eating them, humming at the
delicious contrast between sweet and salty. “I didn’t know you’ve been with guys.”
 Tony arched an eyebrow. “I’ve been with everyone, kid. I dated a drag queen once, and let me tell
you, the sex—”

Peter shrieked and covered his ears. “Why do you feel the need to gross me out? I really, really
don’t want to hear about your sex life!”

Tony chuckled, before taking a bite from his burger. “It gives me enormous amounts of joy to
watch you bluster. It’s like my favorite thing in the world.”

Peter scowled at him, reaching into the bag and chucking a fry at him. “You’re the worst.”

Tony grinned, snatching up the fry and eating it. “You’d be lost without me, kid. Admit it.”

Peter couldn’t deny it, so he just threw another fry at him.

--

When they got home, Steve and Bucky were curled up on the couch. Steve was asleep, his head
tucked into Bucky’s stomach, his large shoulders moving up and down steadily. Bucky was staring
down at Steve, his dark eyes soft as he made circles with his metal thumb on the side of Steve’s
neck.

Peter remembered what Tony said, about them being disgustingly happy, and he thought that about
summed it up.

Chapter End Notes

I really enjoyed writing the talk between Tony and Peter. God, I love these two.
They're so fun to write.
I don't know what my my update schedule is going to be since school is about to start
back up again (lord, help me) and I probably won't be writing as much. I'll try to keep
updating as much as possible.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys soon!
 Chapter 41
Chapter Summary

"Two nights. In Boston.

Away from Tony."

Chapter Notes

This chapter's boring. Sorry! The next one will be better ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next day at school was just as bad as the previous one, except he was better rested and a little
more confident.

It became easier to tell people to leave him alone, since he stopped worrying about being mean.
They didn’t care about his feelings, so why should he care about theirs?

There was Decathlon practice after school, which he was actually looking forward to. He loved the
short two-week period leading up to a competition; it was stressful and intense, but the thought of
winning kept him going, and when they did do well, all the preparation was well worth it.

The bell rang at the end of the day and he walked with Ned to the practice room, both of them
chatting excitedly about semi-finals next weekend.

They walked into the room and took their seats, waiting for the practice to start.

MJ strolled in a few minutes later, and began the practice with an, “Okay, dorks, semi-finals are
next weekend. I don’t want us to lose and look like idiots, so we have practice every day next
week.” There were murmurs amongst the team, and MJ rolled her eyes. “Yeah, say goodbye to
your free time. Two hours, every day after school next week. You’re lucky you get this weekend
off.”

There were a few groans, mostly from Flash, but Peter didn’t mind. He quit band and robotics club
in the beginning of October, after the whole homecoming incident, so this was his only
extracurricular.

“Alright, we’re going to begin by breaking up into pairs, and then I’m going to quiz the group as a
whole and keep score. Whoever wins gets a pat on the back or whatever, I didn’t actually buy
anything.”

Peter and Ned immediately paired up, and MJ paired up with Kimiko, a new member of the team
who took Liz’s place when she left.

Ned quizzed Peter first, starting with easy questions and then moving on to the harder ones. Peter
missed a few, which Ned highlighted for him to study later.
Peter then quizzed Ned, who answered more questions correctly than Peter, but Peter didn’t take
offense. He knew Ned was smarter than him.

When they got together as a whole team, however, they worked as a well-oiled machine. MJ
quizzed them on a quarter of the book, and they only got ten questions wrong. Satisfied, and with
only ten minutes left, MJ said, “Alright, everyone. That’s pretty much all the time we’ve got.
Before you go, Mr. Harrington has some announcements about semi-finals.”

She gestured to Mr. Harrington, before walking over to Peter and sitting in the chair next to him.
The chemistry teacher stood, clutching a stack of papers in his hand. “I have the permission slips
for the trip. It’s in Boston, so it’s about a four-hour bus ride and we’re going to be staying for two
nights in—”

Peter stared at him, watching him mouth move but not really comprehending the words. His ears
were ringing, his stomach dropping.

Two nights. In Boston.

Away from Tony.

The panic was compressing his chest, and he struggled to breathe through it.

“—The fee for the trip is fifty dollars, which covers the hotel and meal fees. We leave Friday, at
three, and should be in Boston by seven. We’ll be staying both nights in a Courtyard hotel, and the
convention will be held in Hynes Convention Center. Saturday is a practice day and there’s a
banquet in the evening, so I want everyone to look nice. Sunday is the actual competition, and we
leave at four o’clock, which should get us back at the school by eight.”

Peter was having trouble breathing. Ned nudged him, looking concerned. “You okay?” He asked.
“You look a little pale.”

Peter swallowed, clasping his shaking hands in his lap. “Fine. I’m fine,” he said roughly, before
clearing his throat.

Ned didn’t look like he believed him, but he let the subject drop. Peter was immensely grateful.

“Permission slips are due next meeting, which is on Monday. Make sure to have your parent sign
them,” Mr. Harrington began to pass out the slips. “You won’t be allowed to go if they aren’t
signed.”

Peter grasped his permission slip in his shaking hands, biting his lip. People began filing out of the
room, but Peter stayed sitting, chewing his lip until it started to bleed.

Mr. Harrington was closing his briefcase as Peter stood and crutched over to him, still clutching
the paper in his hands. “Um, Mr. Harrington? Can I talk to you for a second?”

The chemistry teacher glanced at Peter and straightened. “Sure, Peter.”

“Er, so… do you think it’s, um, possible if my dad drives me up to Boston early Sunday morning
instead of me taking the bus with everyone else?”

Mr. Harrington’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, no, I’m afraid not. There is a mandatory
practice on Saturday, as well as the banquet that I mentioned. It’s also too difficult to keep track of
everyone if their driving separately. Sorry, Peter, but if you’re going to participate, you have to
take the bus.”
Peter bit his already bleeding lip, letting the pain distract him from the fear coursing through his
veins. “O-okay. Thanks, Mr. Harrington.”

He nodded, and Peter turned to leave. “By the way, Peter,” he interrupted, and Peter turned. “I
thought you lived with your aunt. I didn’t know you had a father.”

Peter took the words like a full body blow. I had an aunt, but she died, just like my parents and my
uncle and everyone else. “She, uh…” he cleared his throat. “She passed in November. I’m, uh,
under the guardianship of someone else now.”

Mr. Harrington’s face showed surprise, then immense guilt and regret. “Oh. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Peter said jerkily, grabbing his backpack with his shaking hands, the movement
difficult with his crutches. “Have a good evening, Mr. Harrington.”

He was out of the practice room before the man could say anything else.

He sped-crutched through the school hallways, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

He felt like crying. Because what if something happened while he was gone? What if Tony got in
an accident, what if something attacked New York, what if there was a car accident and Tony was
involved, and he wouldn’t even be there—

What if Tony died, while he was away? What if he died and Peter was left alone forever—

His breaths were starting to quicken as he got out of the school, getting down the stairs as fast as
possible.

He stumbled a little towards the bottom in his haste, and he crutched as fast as he could towards
Tony’s black Audi, opening the back door and shoving his stuff in before getting in the passenger
side.

“Hey, bud,” Tony said, a smile on his face, which quickly faded when he saw Peter’s pale face and
heaving chest. He frowned. “Hey. Hey, Peter, look at me.”

Peter met Tony’s concerned gaze, and he let out a shaky breath. “I…”

“Take a second, calm down, and catch your breath,” Tony ordered, his body facing Peter, giving
him his full attention.

Peter breathed in and out for a minute before he spoke again. “Decathlon semi-finals are next
weekend,” he explained, his voice wavering, “and they’re in Boston.”

Tony stared at him. “Oh...kay? Are you nervous or something?”

Peter shook his head. “They’re in Boston. The bus leaves… the bus leaves Friday and d-doesn’t
come back until Sunday night and I’m going to be all a-alone up there and…”

“Hey,” Tony said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take a breath, Pete. It’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it is!” Peter said, his voice a little high. “I don’t… I’m going to be…” Peter swallowed,
looking down at his lap. “I’m not going to be with you,” he admitted quietly.

“But you’re going to be with your friends,” Tony said, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “You’re not
going to be by yourself, buddy. You’re going to be having so much fun, you won’t even think
about me.”
Peter shook his head, his fists tightening where they were clenched in his lap. “I’m not going to
have fun. I’m going to be sad and miserable, I can just feel it—”

“Peter, you love Decathlon. You talk about it a lot, about how you really want to win it all this
year, since you’ve never done that before. You’re going to have fun.”

Peter bit his lip. “I do want us to win,” he said quietly.

“And they can’t win without you. It’s two sleeps, okay? Only two sleeps,” Tony soothed, his
thumb running circles against Peter’s collar bone, a soothing gesture.

Peter took a breath. “Two sleeps. Right.”

Tony squeezed his shoulder again, before putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

Peter curled up in his seat, his head against the window. He shivered, thinking about talking about
May to Mr. Harrington.

God. It had only been two months. Almost three, now.

Less than a summer break. She had only been dead for less than a summer break.

And he hasn’t been thinking about her.

Peter flinched in his seat as the realization hit him.

He had thought about her on Valentine’s day, but that was it. God, he was the worst. She did so
much for him, and now he’s just forgetting her?

“Peter?”

Peter looked over at Tony, and realized that his face was hot and wet, and he sniffed, wiping away
the tears.

“What’s going on?” Tony asked quietly, and Peter realized they were already back at the Tower, in
the garage.

He sniffed loudly. “N-nothing. I just…”

“It’s not nothing,” Tony said quietly. “You’re crying.”

Peter choked back a sob. “I haven’t… I haven’t thought about M-May in a while. It feels like I’m
forgetting her, and I don’t want to forget her.”

Tony looked heartbroken. “Peter. You’re not forgetting her. You’re moving on.”

“She’s only been dead two months,” Peter said, self-hatred in every syllable. “Two months. That’s
it. Less than a summer break, and I haven’t thought about her in a week, at least—”

“Peter. Listen to me,” Tony sounded so serious that Peter stopped crying momentarily, swallowing
down a sob. “You aren’t forgetting her. You can’t spend your life thinking about her every minute,
Pete. You’ll drive yourself insane.”

“But it feels like I’m forgetting her,” Peter said, soft and tearful. “I don’t know. I’m being s-
stupid.”
Tony shook his head. “What brought this on?” he asked gently, reaching out and cupping Peter’s
face with one hand, a thumb stroking across his cheek.

Peter leaned into it, hiccupping a small sob. “The decathlon admin Mr. H-Harrington… I asked if
you could take me up on Sunday to Boston instead of me taking the bus. He said no and I guess me
calling you dad confused him since he knows I lived with M-May so he asked what happened to
her, and it just g-got me thinking about her—”

Tony’s eyes were hard. “I’ll have him fired.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide. “No! He didn’t know, Tony. You don’t have to fire anyone.”

Tony frowned, but the anger left his eyes. “I don’t want you to be sad, Pete. It breaks my heart.”

Peter shrugged. “I’m sad all the time.”

Tony stared at him. “All the time?”

Peter bit his lip. “A lot of the time.”

Tony stared a second longer, but then nodded. “Scale of one to ten, how do you feel?”

Peter let out a small laugh. “This again? Did you find this on the internet or something?”

“The internet’s a gift, kid. It solves all of our problems,” Tony shot him a grin, before asking again.
“Scale of one to ten, come on.”

Peter considered. “Five. Maybe a five and a half.”

Tony felt his face break out into a smile. “It’s gone up. Can I ask why?”

Peter blushed a little. “It’s because I know you’ll always have my back. Even… even if I’m
questioning something about myself, or if I’m upset about M-May… I know you’ll always be there
for me.”

Tony’s smile was radiant. “Aww. You’re so damn cute, Pete, did you know that?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I am not.”

“You are,” Tony sing-songed. “You’re adorable.”

“And you’re embarrassing,” Peter quipped, opening the car door. “You’re like a soccer dad. It’s
crazy. I have Tony Stark as my soccer dad.”

“I don’t drive a mini-van,” Tony pointed out, grabbing Peter’s crutches from the backseat and
bringing them over to him, “and you don’t play soccer.”

“God, could you imagine if you drove a mini-van?” Peter asked, pulling a face. “You would
instantly be uncool.”

“I feel like my stocks would crash,” Tony mused, grabbing Peter’s backpack and handing it to him,
who then slung it over his shoulder. “It would be a PR nightmare.”

Peter laughed, but then a thoughtful look came over his face as they walked towards the elevator.
“I’m surprised none of the news sources have caught wind of me being your kid yet. I mean,
everyone at my school knows.”
 “Thank god,” Tony said fervently, as they stepped through the metal doors into the elevator. “God,
I don’t even want to think about that.”

Peter’s face fell a little and he shrunk into himself, avoiding Tony’s eyesight. “Are you
embarrassed by me?”

Tony started, jolting where he stood. He looked down at Peter, disbelief written all over his face.
“What? No! How could you say that?”

Peter shrugged. “Would you care if the media found out about me?” He questioned.

“Yes,” Tony said firmly. “But not because I’m embarrassed by you. If they found out about you,
they’d lie and say some horrible things about you to get to me. They’d say I abused you, or that
May abused you, or that you’re my accidental son that I got from not being careful in my twenties,
or—”

“Point taken,” Peter said, cutting him off. “I don’t like attention, either. That was a stupid question,
I’m sorry.”

“Yes, it was,” Tony agreed. “Don’t ever think that I’m embarrassed by you, kid, because it’s quite
the opposite.”

Peter smiled to himself. “Thanks. By the way, what’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

Chapter End Notes

The Far From Home trailer looks sooo good!

(also if tony dies in avengers 4 i'll drop myself off a cliff)
ANYWAYS, feedback is much appreciated! I love you all and I will see you soon!
 Chapter 42
Chapter Summary

"The kid looked horrible. He was paler than usual, and he had dark circles under his
slightly bloodshot eyes. His eyelids were puffy, no doubt from crying, and his posture
was defeated and absolutely exhausted."

Chapter Notes

Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next day of school was a non-event. More people came up to him, asking about Tony, but it
was less than the other days. He aced a chemistry test and when he got home that night, the entire
team watched a movie after eating a pizza dinner.

The weekend flew by in a blur of studying for semi-finals and hanging out with Tony, as well as a
little physical therapy, courtesy of Dr. Cho and Bruce.

His leg was starting to feel better, but it still hurt a little bit when he put his full weight on it, which
he was incredibly bummed about.

However, his healing factor was so fast that Dr. Cho and Bruce said that within a week or two, he
wouldn’t have to use the crutches anymore. The cast would stay on, however, which Peter was
irritated about. It was a pain in the ass to shower with, and it itched like a motherfucker, but being
able to stand up on his own was going to be amazing.

He went to school on Monday filled with excitement for Decathlon practice, and it didn’t
disappoint. The entire team took the practice seriously, and they got through another quarter of the
practice book, only missing a few questions.

Tuesday passed the same, and on Wednesday, Doctor Cho and Bruce cleared him to walk without
the crutches. It was liberating to walk without having to rely on the crutches, even if it did hurt his
leg a little bit.

Thursday rolled around, and Peter woke up with a rock of dread in his stomach.

He was leaving tomorrow for Boston. Without Tony.

He got dressed for school, showering with difficulty (as he did every morning) and ate a quick
breakfast. Happy drove him to school that morning, since Tony had a meeting he had to go to.

Classes went by too fast, which he normally would have been happy about, but he didn’t want the
next day to come.

Decathlon practice passed quickly as well, and Tony was waiting for him outside.
He got into the warm car, uttering a quiet hello to Tony, and then falling silent.

God. Just the thought of leaving the next day was enough to send him into a panic attack. He didn’t
want to be away from Tony and he didn’t want the crushing, numbing loneliness to take over like it
did whenever he was away from the man.

“You okay, bud?” Tony asked softly.

Peter nodded, putting his elbow on the small ledge just under the car door-handle and using his
hand to prop his chin up, hating the fact that his eyes were burning with unshed tears.

It was starting to flurry when they pulled into the tower, but the sun was setting later, a sign that
spring was almost upon them.

Thank god. It had been the longest winter of Peter’s life.

They made their way up to the living space in silence, Peter trying to keep himself together and
Tony sending him concerned looks, almost like he was waiting for the breakdown.

Peter got himself a snack and sat at the table, eating it quietly, his mind running a mile a minute,
coming up with different scenarios of what could happen while he was away.

Once he was done eating, Tony took a seat next to him. “I bought you a duffel for you to pack your
stuff in,” he informed. “It’s in your room for whenever you want to get started.”

Peter nodded, swallowing down the anxiety. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I… I guess I’ll go start
now.”

He got down to his room, curled up into a ball in the corner, and had a short panic attack, his entire
body shaking with it.

Tony didn’t come down, so FRIDAY must not have notified him. Thank god.

After he caught his breath, he began putting clothes into his suitcase, folding his Decathlon jacket
and making sure it was in there, next to his best pair of jeans. He packed something a little fancier
for the banquet, which was a simple button up shirt and a pair of dress pants.

He tried to push the fear from his mind as he packed, instead focusing on the good parts of the trip.
He would get to hang out with MJ and Ned, meet some new people at the banquet, and then
compete for first at the actual competition.

He tried not to think of three-and-a-half-hour bus ride, or of the nights he would be spending, alone,
in a hotel room, without Tony in the next room.

He tried not to think about how much he relied on Tony, on how much he needed him. About how
he freaked out if he was gone for more than a few hours, or how he went completely numb if he
wasn’t around when Peter went to sleep, or when he got home from school.

It was unhealthy how much he needed him. And Peter decided he didn’t care.

He finished packing his clothes, and moved on to his toiletries, tossing his toothbrush and
toothpaste into his suitcase. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and found that he was pale.

“Peter, Mr. Stark wanted me to inform you that it is time for dinner. He would like you to join him
in the living space.” FRIDAY said.
Peter let out a small sigh. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

He took a breath, before leaving his room and getting in the elevator.

He stepped out into the living space, and found Tony, Steve, Natasha and Rhodey all sitting at the
table, all kinds of Mexican food strewn out between them.

“Hey kid,” Tony greeted. “Come get some food.”

Peter shuffled over to where they were, grabbing a plate off the counter and taking a seat at the
table next to Tony.

Tony put four tacos on his plate, and Peter unwrapped one of them and took a small bite, not
hungry in the slightest.

They were good tacos, too. He wished he wanted to eat them.

Tony was talking to Rhodey and Steve to Natasha, and Peter let the conversation wash over him as
he nibbled on his taco, trying his hardest not to think about the following days to come.

Steve finished his food first, and then Natasha. They left the living space for the gym, to go spar.

Tony and Rhodey were still conversing, but Peter wasn’t listening anymore. He wasn’t really doing
anything anymore.

“Peter?”

Peter started, his eyes snapping up from where they had been trained to the table, his mind
snapping back from the clouds.

Both Rhodey and Tony were looking at him with concern, and he realized he had been completely
spaced out.

“Sorry,” Peter said, blushing a little. “What were you guys talking about?”

Rhodey glanced at Tony with an arched eyebrow, and Peter felt a hot wash of shame.

God, why was he so fucked up?

“I’m going to go finish packing,” Peter said, too loudly, tripping over himself in his haste to get out
of there. He knocked his chair over, and it fell to the ground with a loud thud.

His eyes were stinging as he walked as fast as he could with his cast on to the elevator, after telling
FRIDAY his destination in a wavery voice.

He could hear Tony calling his name, could see him start to get up out of his chair, but the doors
were closing and then Peter was falling, safely in the elevator, down to the fiftieth floor.

His chest was heaving like he had just run a marathon and he was shaking, his knees wobbly.

He went to his room, laid on his bed, stared at the ceiling, and tried to ignore how he felt like he
was spiraling.

--

About an hour later, around eight o’clock, there was a knock on his door.
Peter had begun packing again after not moving for almost forty minutes, and now he was numbly
throwing things into the suitcase, his eyes filling with tears every so often, but he blinked them
back every time.

There was another knock, and then the door was pushed open.

Tony stood in the doorway, concern etched on his face and in his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he said quietly. “How’s it going?”

Peter turned away from him. “Fine,” he said from his position on the floor.

There was a beat of silence. “Looks like you’re almost done,” Tony said, watching Peter’s every
move, waiting for the slightest break in his kid’s feeble armor.

“Yep,” Peter said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Tony chewed his cheek. “Do you have everyth—”

“Can you just leave me alone?”

Tony cut off, watching as Peter hunched forward, his arms trembling where they rested on his
thighs.

He was hurting. Tony could see it clear as day. “Peter. It’s alright to—”

“Leave me alone!” he practically yelled, his chest heaving.

Tony let out a small sigh. “I’ll be in my workshop if you need me.”

The door shut, and Peter drove his fist into the floor.

--

Tony tried to tinker in the workshop, but he was too keyed up. After an hour or so of getting
nothing done, he said fuck it and decided to go to bed.

Stepping onto the fiftieth floor, his eyes shot to Peter’s closed door, uneasy.

He listened for any noise coming from the room, but all he heard was quiet.

He sighed. He should leave him alone, he knew he should. The kid probably needed space; god
knows they spent as much time as possible around each other.

But he knew Peter was aching over having to leave tomorrow, and even though he knew he said he
needed space, it was the last thing he wanted.

Because codependency.

He knocked on Peter’s door. “Hey, Pete. I’m going to bed, but if you need me, just come in and
wake me up.” He paused. “Are you okay?”

“Go away,” came the small voice, through the door, and Tony let out a small sigh.

“Goodnight, Peter,” he said, waiting for Peter to say it back.

Silence.
Tony went into his room, feeling in over his head.

--

Tony woke up at five thirty the next morning, wide awake and concerned.

He was honestly expecting Peter to come in during the night, but Tony woke up to an empty bed,
so he must have just stayed in his room all night.

With a sigh, Tony got in the shower, dressed, and got ready for the day, donning one of his more
casual suits.

By the time he was finished with his routine, it was six-thirty, and time to get Peter up for school.

He left his room and knocked on Peter’s bedroom door. “Time to get up, Pete.”

He got in the elevator and went up to the living space, trying to decide what he wanted for
breakfast.

After rummaging through the fridge, he made a noise of frustration. “I want crepes. FRIDAY, how
long would it take to have, like, a bunch of crepes delivered to the tower?”

“About twenty minutes, sir.”

“Excellent. Get, like, one of every kind. I’m not sure what Pete’s in the mood for this morning.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Thanks, FRI,” he started the coffee maker, excited for his daily dose of caffeine.

Within a half an hour, all the crepes were here, and the boxes took up the entire table. It took Tony
an additional five minutes to find a type he was interested in (egg, ham, and spinach) and just as he
found it, the elevator dinged, and Peter walked into the living space.

The kid looked horrible. He was paler than usual, and he had dark circles under his slightly
bloodshot eyes. His eyelids were puffy, no doubt from crying, and his posture was defeated and
absolutely exhausted.

“Oh, Peter,” Tony murmured as Peter walked over to the table.

Peter didn’t say anything, just pressed his face into Tony’s chest.

Tony set the crepe box he was holding down on the table and gently carded his fingers through
Peter’s curls, his other hand running down his back.

“M’sorry ‘bout last night,” Peter mumbled, and Tony shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he felt Peter let out a breath against him. “Bad night?”

Peter nodded. “Didn’t sleep.”

Tony’s hand slowed for a second as he processed that, before resuming. “At all?”

Another shake of the head.

Tony sighed. “Okay.” He gently peeled Peter off of him, who looked up at him with heavy eyes.
He pressed a kiss to the kid’s hair. “Let’s get some food in you, okay?”

Peter looked at the boxes of food on the table like he was just registering they were there. His
mouth twitched. “Did you buy an entire—” he opened one of the boxes, “—crepe place?”

“Nope, just bought their menu,” he gave Peter a wink. “Take your pick. There’s savory, sweet—”
he glanced at one of the boxes, “—and taco, apparently.”

That got a laugh out of Peter, and Tony mentally fist pumped.

Peter rummaged through the boxes and settled on a Nutella crepe with strawberries. They ate in
relative silence, and when they were done, Peter stared at the table, looking faintly sick.

“Are you packed?” Tony asked finally, and Peter reeled back like Tony had just slapped him.

He swallowed and nodded. “Y-Yeah.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Okay. Go get it, I’ll meet you in the car.”

Peter nodded again and stood. His knees wavered, and he had to brace himself on the table to keep
from falling.

He knew Tony saw the movement, but he was too tired to care. He walked to the elevator on
unsteady legs, Tony’s eyes burning a hole in his back.

When the door closed, he sank to the floor, breathing shakily.

He couldn’t do this. God, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t leave, he couldn’t be without Tony, what
if something happened, what if Tony needed him, what if Tony got hurt, whatifwhatifwhatif…

“It’s your floor, Peter,” FRIDAY said gently, and Peter stood, the hallway in front of him tipping
and blurry around the edges.

He grabbed his duffel and slung his backpack over his shoulder, bone-achingly exhausted.

He stayed standing on the way down to the garage, but his legs still felt like jelly.

Tony was waiting by his usual, black Audi, and Peter resisted the urge to cling to him and never let
go.

He tossed his duffel bag into the trunk before climbing in the passenger’s side, feeling nauseous
and dizzy.

Tony pulled out of the garage after a worried glance at Peter, who was curled up against the
window, his knees pulled into his chest.

His hands curled into fists as he thought of the nights he would be spending away from Tony, in a
city he had never been to, in a lonely hotel room.

He had Ned and MJ, but they weren’t Tony. They weren’t there with him when he had nightmares,
or calmed him down when he had panic attacks…

Too soon, they were pulling up to Midtown, and Tony was parking the car.

Peter fought to keep his breathing even, despite the fact that his entire body was shaking. He hated
this. He hated that he couldn’t leave Tony for two days without being reduced to a shaking,
panicked mess.

“Peter, look at me,” Tony said tenderly, and Peter turned his misty eyes to his father. “You can do
this, buddy. I know you can.”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to go, I want to stay here, with you.”

As if Tony’s heart wasn’t broken enough. “You’ll be okay, Peter. Two sleeps, okay? Just two
sleeps, and you’ll be back.”

Peter shook his head violently, feeling himself come apart. “I can’t. I can’t. Please, don’t make
me.”

Tony sighed. “Peter. You have to.”

Peter’s eyes welled up with tears, and Tony looked at him sadly. “Don’t cry, Pete. It’s okay.”

Peter shook his head again. “I want to stay with you. Please. They don’t need me, I can just stay
here—”

“You can’t,” Tony said softly, hating himself. “You have to go, buddy. I know, it’s hard and it
sucks, but it’s only for two days. You’ll be back on Sunday.”

Peter’s body was shaking, and his pupils were blown wide. He was terrified, and Tony felt like the
biggest asshole in the world.

A part of him wanted to tell Peter that he didn’t have to go, and just take him home. It would be so
easy to do that, to give in.

But it was important that Peter do this. Not only because it was a commitment, but because he
couldn’t stay with Tony forever. Tony knew he was going to have to go to Europe soon, and maybe
if Peter did this, him leaving to go overseas wouldn’t be so bad.

But god, his kid looked so scared. He was so tempted to take him home.

But he had to do this. “You’ve got to go, Pete. I’m sorry.”

Peter let out a whimper, and the tears fell and streaked down his cheeks.

“Come here, buddy,” Tony said quietly, and Peter climbed over the center console and into Tony’s
lap, clinging onto him like a koala bear.

With one hand, Tony pressed the button and made his seat inch backwards, so Peter’s back wasn’t
in danger of hitting the horn.

Peter buried his tear-streaked face into Tony’s neck, sobbing quietly. Tony ran a hand up and down
his back, shushing him quietly at the same time.

“You’re going to be okay, Pete. It’s just for a little bit, and you can call me whenever,” Tony
murmured as Peter shook against him.

After a few minutes, Peter stopped crying, and removed his face from Tony’s neck.

“Okay,” he said shakily, wiping his eyes. “I c-can do this.”

“You can,” Tony affirmed, running his thumb over Peter’s cheek and wiping away the tears that sat
 there. “I know you can. You’re stronger than you think, bud,” he paused, and his face twisted.
“You’ve made me go all Hallmark card on you, Pete. See what you do to me?”

Peter gave a watery chuckle, and Tony gave him a smile. He glanced at the time, and saw that
Peter only had ten minutes to get to class.

Tony gently cupped Peter’s cheek. “Time to go, Pete.”

Peter closed his eyes and took a breath, before climbing across the center console again, back into
his seat. He grabbed his backpack and got out of the car, slinging it over his shoulder. He went to
the back and grabbed his duffel, trying not to give into the panic that was rising in his throat again.

He shut the trunk and went back to the front, looking at Tony from outside the car, not wanting to
leave.

Tony rolled down the window. “You okay?”

Peter shrugged, giving Tony a humorless half-smile. “Not really.”

Tony’s eyes were pitying. “Call me whenever, okay? It doesn’t matter if it’s three in the morning,
or one in the afternoon, if you need me, call.”

“I will,” Peter mumbled.

Tony gave him a smile. “I’m proud of you, Peter. I really am.”

Peter felt the praise roll through him, relaxing him. “Thanks, dad,” he said, cracking a small grin.
“I love you.”

Tony felt his heart soar. “You too, Pete. See you Sunday.”

Peter nodded, steeling himself, and walked towards the school.

A glance behind him told that Tony had driven away, and Peter had to stop and take a calming
breath.

I can do this.

Chapter End Notes

So, I'm back at school, which sucks, but oh well. My roommate is a nightmare, but it's
fine, it's only for another semester.
I should keep my upload schedule pretty normal, but if I miss a week, I'm sorry. I'm
taking five classes this semester and it's a little crazy.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you guys soon!
 Chapter 43
Chapter Summary

"But then Ned’s shoulder brushed his, and the small gesture spoke volumes. MJ was a
solid, steady presence next to him, and he took a breath, pushing down the anxiety and
sadness."

Chapter Notes

Oof. Enjoy~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The day went surprisingly fast, and before Peter knew it, the bell was ringing at 2:45.

He walked to the practice room and found his entire team there, all of them buzzing with
excitement.

He was no longer on the edge of an anxiety attack, but he still didn’t want to go, and would rather
had be at home with Tony.

He took a seat in one of the plastic chairs, trying not to feel sorry for himself.

Ned and MJ came over after a few minutes.

“Hey, loser,” MJ said as preamble, smacking him in the shoulder. “You ready to kick ass in
Boston?”

Peter gave her a smile, hoping it was convincing. “Yeah. I’m… I’m really excited.”

Ned was staring at him, his head quirked in concern. “You good? You look pale.”

Peter nodded, trying for earnest but missing the mark. “I’m good. Just tired.”

“Alright, everyone!” Mr. Harrington announced. “It’s time to board the bus. Make sure you have
everything.”

With a sigh, Peter stood, grabbing his duffel and backpack and following his teammates out of the
school.

There was a yellow school bus waiting outside, and one by one, they all got on the bus. Peter sat
towards the middle, and Ned sat next to him. MJ was towards the front, getting ready to quiz the
team on some questions.

The bus started moving, and soon, they were bustling through the city, seemingly getting stopped
at every light.
They went through Midtown, Manhattan and drove past the Tower.

Peter stared up at it as they went past, wondering if Tony was in his workshop, or in the living
space. If he was missing Peter as much as Peter missed him.

God, he longed to be with him. Every fiber of his being ached for his father, for the comfort he
provided and the overall feeling of safety.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to jump out of the bus and climb the building and into his dad’s arms.

Instead, he put his head against the window, a headache blooming in his right temple.

MJ started quizzing the group, but Peter didn’t pay attention. He continued to stare out the window,
even when the buildings of the city were replaced with the jersey barriers of I-90, and when the
blue sky started to darken with the falling of evening.

About an hour and a half into the drive, the bus pulled into the parking lot of a Sheetz, and Mr.
Harrington stood from his place at the front of the bus.

“This is our dinner stop,” he announced. “We still have another two and a half hours to go, so use
the bathroom, get something to eat, and stretch your legs.”

Everybody stood and shuffled off the bus and into the gas station, excited chatter following in their
wake.

Peter stood at the edge of the group, his hands tucked into his pockets, his shoulders hunched.

He felt lost, being away from Tony and his home city. It was a weird, horrible feeling of not
belonging, of being in a new place and being with people who he didn’t really know that well.

Ned stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, the only thing keeping Peter grounded.

“Are you going to buy food?” Ned asked Peter.

Peter shrugged. “I’m not really hungry.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “Well, you’re going to eat anyways. Come on, I want Funyuns and I know you
want Doritos.”

Peter cracked a small grin. He did love Doritos.

He let himself be dragged to the snack aisle, and he grabbed a big bag of Cool Ranch Doritos,
some gummy worms, and a Coke. Ned got a bag of Funyuns, a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter
Cups, and a water bottle.

They walked up to the cash register, and before Ned could even attempt to take out his money,
Peter slapped his golden debit card on the counter.

Ned opened his mouth to protest, and Peter gave him a look. “Tony Stark’s my dad, Ned,” Peter
said to him in a quiet voice. “I’ve got a ton of money. Besides, I owe you.”

Ned smiled shyly at Peter, and they collected their things and got back on the bus.

The next two hours were better. He spent it talking and laughing with Ned, and then MJ, who
joined the pair of them at the back of the bus.
He almost forgot about how much he missed Tony.

But then they pulled up to the hotel, and he realized that he had to spend the night without his dad
across the hall, and he grew nauseous.

He grabbed his backpack and his duffel and got out of the bus, his stomach twisting with nerves.

The group of them went into the hotel lobby, which was surprisingly nice. It had polished marble
floors and fancy décor, and it reminded Peter of the Tower, which made him horribly sad.

Mr. Harrington went up to the front desk to check them in, while everyone talked and laughed
loudly.

Peter, who was feeling more than a little nauseous, stood to the side, his hands balled into fists.
Exhaustion weighed on him, dragging him down and making him feel slow and gross.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Harrington announced, and everyone quieted. “Here are your room
arrangements. Sally, MJ, Kimiko, and Cindy, you’re all in room 411. Abe, Ned, Peter, and Flash,
you’re all in room 320.”

Peter stared at Mr. Harrington, hoping he didn’t hear him right.

“I have to share a room with Penis?!” Flash complained loudly, and Peter felt like he was going to
cry, not needing Flash’s ridicule on top of everything else.

He was so tired. Tired of being picked on, tired of being unable to be away from Tony, tired of
being so fucked up…

He hunched his shoulders and ducked his head.

But then Ned’s shoulder brushed his, and the small gesture spoke volumes. MJ was a solid, steady
presence next to him, and he took a breath, pushing down the anxiety and sadness.

Mr. Harrington led the group into the elevator, and the four boys got out on the third floor.

Peter was so exhausted that the bright lights of the hallway hurt his eyes, and each step was a
grueling task. His duffel bag suddenly weighed a hundred pounds.

When they got to the room, after Abe had unlocked it with the keycard, Peter took a look at the bed
and wanted nothing more than to face plant onto it.

Instead, he was pushed into the wall as Flash shoved past him with a “move it, dumbass.”

Abe gave him a sympathetic look, and Ned grabbed Peter’s bag and set it next to his own on the
bed.

Flash turned on the TV as Peter grabbed his duffel and went into the bathroom, locking the door
and searching for the pajamas he packed.

He found his pants, but then he dug a little bit deeper into the bag and found a black shirt that he
was sure he hadn’t packed.

With surprise, he took it out.

It was one of Tony’s old rock t-shirts. The material was soft and worn, the letters that spelled the
word Metallica faded.
On it, there was a note. Hope this helps -dad.

It made Peter’s chest hurt, and his eyes burned. He pressed his face into it and inhaled, smelling
fabric softener, home, and most importantly, Tony.

His chest heaved a sob, and his shoulders shook with the force of it.

Still crying, he unbuttoned his jeans, slid them off, and put on his pajama pants. He took off his
shirt with one movement and put on Tony’s shirt instead.

He threw his clothes into his duffel and left the bathroom, keeping his head down so that no one
could see the tears still cascading down his face.

He threw down his duffel, grabbed his phone and a room key, and left the room.

Once out into the hallway, he let out a loud sob, his shaking hands and blurry eyes making it hard
to use his phone.

He tapped on the phone app with quivering fingers and called Tony, pressing the phone up to his
ear.

Tony answered on the second ring. “Hey, Pete.”

Peter sobbed, stumbling down the hallway towards the elevator. “Dad.”

“Oh, Peter,” Tony said, sounding sad through the phone, and Peter ached for him.

“I f-found your s-shirt,” Peter sobbed into the phone, his diaphragm shaking. “Why would you do
that to me?”

“Oh,” Tony muttered. “So it didn’t help?”

“N-no. It s-smells like h-home and I m-miss you and I c-can’t—” he dissolved into hysterical sobs.

“Peter,” Tony’s voice was quiet, soothing. “Calm down. Take a breath. I’m right here, buddy.”

“No, you’re not,” Peter cried, stumbling into the empty elevator. “You’re not here. You’re in New
York and I’m alone in Boston—”

“Peter, stop,” Tony said, his voice slightly commanding. “You need to relax. You’re all worked
up. Take a breath, bud. In and out.”

Peter sobbed instead, grabbing a fistful of his hair with one hand and clutching the phone with the
other, barely able to breathe.

“Peter,” Tony tried again, and Peter could hear voices in the background. “Peter, calm down.”

“I can’t!” he nearly screamed, and then the elevator dinged, indicating that they had reached the
ground floor.

He walked quickly out of the lobby and into the parking lot, tears and snot making their way down
his face.

His stomach hurt, and he gagged on the next sob that tore from his throat, the chips and soda and
candy he bought threatening to make a reappearance.
“Peter,” Tony said, his voice alarmed and commanding. “Peter, calm down.”’

Peter sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself. “I wanna go home,” he whispered. “I can’t do this.
Please, Tony.”

“You have to,” Tony said softly. “I’m sorry, buddy. It’s only two days.”

Peter shook his head. “I can’t. Dad, please. Come get me.”

“No, Peter,” Tony’s voice was firm. “You have to stay, kiddo.”

Peter’s lips pulled back in a sob, and he looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why do you
hate me?”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony nearly snapped. “Peter, that’s ridiculous.”

“Why won’t you come get me,” Peter said, breaking down once again. “Please, please, please…”

“Stop,” Tony nearly begged. “Don’t do this, Peter. Come on.”

“I wouldn’t have to do it if you would just come get me,” Peter said angrily.

“Your teammates need you to win. It’s two days.”

It was then that Peter realized that Tony wasn’t going to come get him, no matter how much he
begged and pleaded.

He moved the phone from his ear and screamed through his teeth, every part of him roaring in
pain. He took a breath, falling to his knees onto the asphalt as he felt like he was going to be sick.
He coughed violently, but his stomach stayed where it was supposed to be.

A minute passed, and Peter slowly calmed down, the nausea leaving him. Shakily, he put the
phone back up to his ear.

There was silence on the other line, and for a heart wrenching, agonizing moment, Peter thought
Tony had hung up.

But then, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter said quietly, then rethought. “Not really.”

Tony sighed audibly. “You need to go to bed,” he said quietly, but leaving no room for argument.
“You’ve been awake for far too long.”

“I can’t sleep without you here,” Peter admitted in a whisper. “I feel so a-alone.”

“Try. Please, Peter. You have to try,” Tony’s voice was a touch pleading, and Peter let his head
thunk back against the wall of the building, defeated.

“Okay,” Peter said in a small voice. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Tony said gently. “Where are you? Are you outside?”

“Yeah. I… I had to get out,” Peter said in a small voice.

There was a beat of silence. “I’m proud of you, Peter,” Tony said softly.
Peter let out a derisive snort. “Why? I just cried so hard I almost threw up. There’s nothing to be
proud of.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony said. “You’re there. I’m proud of you.”

God, Peter missed him so much. “Thanks, dad.”

“I’ll see you Sunday, bud. Get some sleep, text or call if you need anything,” Tony said, and Peter
breathed out deeply.

“Okay. Bye, dad,” Peter whispered, and the call ended.

He took a deep breath and went back inside, into the elevator. The doors closed, and Peter buried
his face into his hands, trying not to freak out again.

He stumbled back to his room, opening the door with his keycard.

Flash and Abe were on one bed, both watching whatever was on the TV. Ned was on the other
bed, dressed in pajamas, scrolling through something on his phone.

They all looked up when Peter entered, and Peter ducked his head, knowing that his face was
probably red and blotchy from crying.

Flash opened his mouth to say something insulting, but Peter retreated to the bathroom before he
could get a word in.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and what he saw was alarming. His face was pale and blotchy,
his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. Tony’s shirt hung off of him, too big for his skinny frame.

He splashed his face with water, hoping that it would help some of the blotchiness.

He emerged from the bathroom about a minute later and made a beeline for the bed, craving sleep.

He got under the blankets and turned to the side, facing the wall. Ned shifted next to him, still
sitting up in bed.

“Are you okay, Peter?” Ned asked quietly.

A lump formed in Peter’s throat, but he was too tired to cry. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired.”

There was a hand on his arm, then. “You sure?”

Peter sighed. “Yeah. I just…”

“Just what?”

Peter sighed. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Okay.” Ned accepted it immediately, unflinchingly, and Peter felt a rush of gratitude.

“I’m just gonna go to sleep,” Peter said, shutting his eyes and curling up. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Peter.”

There was a click, and the lights flicked off. There were protests from Flash, but both Ned and Abe
stuck up for him, making Peter feel warm inside.
 He pulled the shirt up to his nose and inhaled deeply.

Tony.

He was asleep within minutes.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was very emotional, so sorry if you wanted something happier and you're
welcome if you like all the angst like I do.
I'm home for the weekend and it is truly the best thing ever. School is ROUGH.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys soon!
 Chapter 44
Chapter Summary

“'What are we supposed to do?' Ned asked Peter in a low voice. 'Mingle?'

Peter nodded. 'I guess so. Uh… how do we do that?'

MJ gave Peter a look. 'You live with Tony Stark. How do you not know how to
mingle?'”

Chapter Notes

Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter woke up during the night, sweating and shaking from a nightmare, and he very nearly called
Tony again, but a quick glance at the clock that showed just a little after one in the morning
changed his mind.

He didn’t get back to sleep until five in the morning, and then woke up every half an hour after
that, but it was better than no sleep at all. When the other boys began to rouse around seven due to
the scheduled wake up call, Peter couldn’t have been more relieved.

One sleep down. Only one more to go.

Peter showered and dressed, wanting to wear Tony’s shirt all day, but knowing that he couldn’t,
due to how ratty and big it was.

Instead, he dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt, before brushing his hair and teeth.

Ned was next to get ready, and once he was, the pair of them went down to the lobby for the free
hotel breakfast.

As Peter piled his plate high with powdery eggs, microwave sausage, and reheated muffins, the
girls arrived, all looking much more awake than Peter felt.

MJ punched his arm fondly as she got in line for the breakfast, and Peter gave her a small smile.

“Morning, loser,” she said, grabbing one of the blueberry muffins from the platter. “You look
slightly less terrible today.”

“I got some sleep,” Peter said, and it was only partially a lie.

“Cool, I don’t care,” she said, even though Peter could see right through her.

Peter found Ned at one of the open tables and sat down, stabbing one of the sausages and taking a
bite.

It was one of the worst sausages he had ever had, with its dry and papery mouthfeel, but he
swallowed it anyways.

He then thought of a funny joke to tell Tony about the sausage, and he turned to tell the man, but
then he remembered that he wasn’t there.

He remembered that he was alone in Boston, and he suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.

He sat back in his chair, his shaking hands on his thighs, as MJ sat down with them, her curly hair
bouncing with her movements.

Ned was scarfing down a muffin, MJ was eating her oatmeal, and Peter felt cold, for some reason.
He covered his hands with his sleeves.

“Hey,” Ned said, poking Peter’s shoulder. “Eat.”

Peter looked at him for a second, before shaking his head and giving him a small smile. “I’m not
really hungry.”

“Yeah, sure,” MJ said, with a roll of her eyes. “You’re anxious.”

Peter started. “N-no I’m not.”

“You don’t eat when you get anxious, and you’re anxious now for some reason,” MJ observed,
gesturing at him with her spoon.

Peter avoided her eyesight. “M’not anxious. I’m fine.”

“Then why aren’t you eating?” Ned asked, his boyish face concerned.

Peter resisted the urge to groan and took a bite of powder eggs. “I’m eating! See?”

His friends dropped the subject as Peter began eating, and before he realized it, he had cleaned his
plate entirely.

Mr. Harrington then brought the group together and announced that they would be doing a little
sightseeing in the city before heading to the competition venue for their practice session.

The day was cold, and the sky over the capital of Massachusetts was blanketed with a thick layer of
clouds. Peter wondered if it was ever sunny in Boston, or if the weather just decided to be
depressing that day. “Boston is so gloomy. How did you go to school here?” he texted Tony as he
climbed back in the bus, taking a seat next to Ned. They were moving a few minutes later, and
were headed downtown, which was bustling with cars and busses alike.

“I wasn’t really focused on the weather when I was at MIT, kid,” Tony responded a few minutes
later.

“I’m going to school where it’s sunny all the time,” Peter sent.

“I’m going to disown you if you go to Cali,” Tony’s text was threatening, and Peter let out a
chuckle.

They were let off the bus at the Boston Commons, right in the downtown area. From there, they
went to the Massachusetts State House, and walked the Freedom Trail to Faneuil Hall.
It was interesting to see all the history, but there was a niggling in the back of his mind, a want to
know what Tony was doing, if he was missing Peter as much as Peter was missing him. “The
Freedom Trail is so cool! I might have been a little too quick to judge Boston,” Peter texted Tony.
He didn’t get a response, and it made his stomach hurt.

After they all froze walking the Freedom Trail, they got lunch at Quincy Market, which was the
most exciting part of the entire trip for Peter so far.

There were so many different food choices, and everything smelled so good that Peter wanted to
get one of everything.

Instead, he settled on clam chowder and a sandwich, which were both incredibly tasty. Surrounded
by the sights and bustling sounds of Quincy Market, he forgot about how much he missed Tony.

--

It became more difficult that night.

The banquet started at six, and it was currently five thirty. Peter was stood in front of the bathroom
mirror, his stomach twisting.

He was in a very nice dress shirt and formal slacks. His curls were delicately put in place on his
head, and he had even washed his face with the ivory bathroom soap.

But his insides were twisting violently, and his skin was crawling with anxiety. He didn’t want to
go to this banquet.

Peter wasn’t a necessarily shy kid, but parties and big social gatherings made him feel suffocated
and anxious.

He was tempted to just not go. Tempted to tell Mr. Harrington that he wasn’t feeling well, that he
just needed to rest up for the competition the next day.

But he had to do this. Not only did he think his excuse wouldn’t work, but he knew he should be
there.

There was a sudden pounding on the bathroom door, and Peter jumped a little.

“Hurry up, Parker!” It was Flash, and Peter hastened to pull himself together. Taking a deep breath,
he pushed open the door and was face to face with a very irritated Flash.

Keeping his head down and brushing past him, Peter made his way over to his bed, where Ned was
sitting on his phone. He was dressed in a nice shirt and slightly too big dress pants, which he had to
keep up with a belt.

Peter sat next to Ned on the bed, his nails cutting into his palms. He wanted Tony desperately.

“Are you okay?” Ned asked, his brown eyes concerned.

Peter shrugged. “Nervous.”

“We’ve only gotta be there for an hour or so,” Ned said, knocking his shoulder against Peter’s.
“Then we can come back up here and order pizza or something. And you can talk to Tony and
everything’ll be good.”

Peter nodded. Just an hour. He could do that.

He was also genuinely surprised to hear the comment Ned made about Tony. Ned wasn’t the most
intuitive person, so it came as a shock to hear that he had actually picked up on Peter’s intense
attachment to the man.

Peter tried to relax, but his heart was racing. His nails dug deeper into his palms, cutting them
open, and he wondered what Tony would say if he saw him now, his nails embedded in his skin.

He would be furious. He would tell him that it wasn’t good, it wasn’t healthy.

Peter dug them in deeper.

There was a knock at the hotel door, and it startled Peter out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Time to go, boys!” Mr. Harrington said, and Peter stood shakily. Ned gave him a brief one-armed
squeeze.

The four boys shuffled out, all clad in nice, dressy clothes. They took the elevator down to the
lobby, where the girls were waiting.

Peter’s eyes immediately jumped to MJ, whose blue dress complimented her skin tone. Her
normally frizzy and wayward hair was styled so that it was out of her face.

She was also wearing makeup, which was a shock to his system. MJ never wore makeup, but sure
enough, her cheeks were blushed red and her eyelashes were volumized with mascara. Her usually
plain lips were accentuated with red lipstick, and maybe it was seeing one of his best friends
dressed up, or maybe it was because of the nerves, but Peter’s breath drew up short.

“Whoa,” Ned said from next to him, clearly catching sight of MJ as well, and Peter thought that
pretty much summed it up.

MJ caught them staring and gave them a glare. “Would you like a fucking picture? It would last
longer.”

Both Peter and Ned dropped their eyes immediately. “Sorry,” they muttered.

MJ rolled her eyes. “Lets just get this shit over with. These shoes are already killing my feet.”

Mr. Harrington did a headcount, and they all walked out of the hotel towards the venue, which was
only a block away from where they were staying.

As they were walking, Peter said in a quiet voice, “You look nice, MJ.”

MJ’s sharp eyes fell on him. “Thanks. I thought I’d actually try and look nice for once.”

“You look nice all the time,” Peter said, truly meaning it.

MJ gave him a weird look. “Thanks, I think,” she gave him a once over. “You look tired.”

Peter shrugged. “M’fine. I just want this banquet to be over with.”

“That makes two of us,” MJ sighed.

“Three of us, actually,” Ned said, falling in step with the pair of them. “I just want pizza. Hey MJ,
if this banquet thing is as boring as I think it’s gonna be, do you want to go back with Peter and I to
order a pizza and watch a move?
MJ nodded. “That’s like the best idea you’ve ever had.”

Ned grinned bashfully as they entered the huge venue.

The banquet was being held in the same place as the actual competition, Hynes Convention
Center. It was an old building, but it was grand and well-maintained, and Peter found himself
appreciated the architecture and overall aesthetic.

As they entered the room that the banquet was being held in, Peter realized that it was much more
formal than he had previously thought. There were people in suits, and Peter looked down at his
own shirt and slacks, feeling completely underdressed.

It was a mixture of kids and adults, Peter noticed as they walked further in. He assumed that the
adults were either judges, or coaches, or other important people that ran or managed the Academic
Decathlon.

“What are we supposed to do?” Ned asked Peter in a low voice. “Mingle?”

Peter nodded. “I guess so. Uh… how do we do that?”

MJ gave Peter a look. “You live with Tony Stark. How do you not know how to mingle?”

“He doesn’t drag me to parties or anything!” Peter protested. “I’m his kid, not his business
partner.”

“You just go up to people and start talking,” MJ said, like it was obvious. “Introduce yourself,
smile, shake hands, talk about what you like. Mention that you’re Tony Stark’s kid, that’ll
definitely get you some attention.”

“No one knows about that, MJ!” Peter protested shrilly. “I can’t just go up to some random
stranger and be like, ‘hi, nice to meet you, I’m Peter, Tony Stark’s adopted son—'”

“Okay, okay, leave out the ‘Tony Stark’s my daddy’ part. We don’t want to start a mob anyways.
All these nerds would be all over you.”

The other members of the Decathlon team had already started to converse with the other
contestants and judges. Peter spotted Flash talking to a tall, pretty girl off to the side, and Mr.
Harrington had already captured one of the judges in a seemingly intense conversation.

“I’m not great at talking to people,” Peter said quietly, eyeing all the people with apprehension.

“You’re fine at talking to people,” MJ said immediately. “It doesn’t matter if it’s awkward,
everyone here’s awkward. We’re all in Academic Decathlon. No one here has social skills.”

Ned put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll stick with you. We can do this together.”

Peter gave Ned a small smile. “Thanks.”

The two of them made their way into the crowd of people, engaging in handshakes and painful
small talk, judges asking where they wanted to go to college, fellow competitors asking what
school they were from.

Ned broke from him about a half an hour in, saying something about getting some food, but at that
point, Peter had stopped being anxious, and was more comfortable with the socialization.

He joined a group of people who were talking about the competition the next day and noticed that
one of the kids was wearing an Iron-Man tie.

“I like your tie,” Peter said, gesturing with his chin.

The kid looked down instinctively, his glasses sliding down his nose a little, before looking back
up to meet Peter’s eyes. “Thanks. Iron-Man’s the best.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, smiling widely, a warm feeling in his chest as he thought of Tony. “Yeah, he’s
awesome. I’ve, uh, I’ve actually met him.” I spend half of my time in his arms, and the other half
wishing I was in them.

“Really?” The kid’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, how?”

“Uh,” Peter quickly wracked his brain for something, but then remembered the first time he had
met Tony. “I was at Stark Expo when I was eight, and you know, it got attacked by Hammer
Drones. I almost got blasted by one, but Tony—er, Iron-Man stopped it and told me, ‘good job,
kid.’ It was the best night of my life.”

“Whoa…” the kid said, before blinking. “I’m James, by the way.” He held out his hand.

“Peter,” Peter took the hand and shook it. “I’m from Midtown School of Science and Technology.
It’s in Queens. What about you?”

“I go to Ithaca Senior High School. That’s seriously so cool that you got to meet Iron-Man, by the
way. I’m so jealous.”

Peter smiled. “It was pretty dope.”

“Peter! They’ve got mini pigs in a blanket!” Ned said excitedly, jogging up from behind Peter.
“Come on!”

Peter gave James another smile. “Nice to meet you! Good luck tomorrow!”

He let Ned drag him to the food table.

--

Peter, Ned, and MJ left the banquet about an hour and a half after it started. Peter was anxious and
exhausted, Ned wanted pizza, and MJ was complaining about her feet hurting.

So, after letting Mr. Harrington know, they left the venue and headed back to the hotel, walking
quickly since it was so cold out.

The warm air of the hotel lobby was an absolute blessing, and the three of them went into the
elevator and took it up to the third floor, where the boys were staying.

“We’re going to get in some serious shit if Mr. Harrington catches me in your room,” MJ warned
as Peter used his keycard to unlock it.

“He won’t catch us,” Ned said, striding in and taking off his shoes. “The banquet isn’t over until
nine, and it’s only seven thirty right now. Just make sure you’re out of here by the time they get
back.”

MJ’s mouth twisted, but she didn’t protest further. Peter let out a sigh and sat on the bed, burying
his face in his hands for a moment.
 Ned and MJ exchanged a look.

“You good, Parker?” MJ asked.

Peter swallowed. “Fine,” he said, letting his hands fall off his face. “M’good.”

“Don’t lie,” Ned said quietly. “We can tell when you’re not yourself.”

Peter took in Ned’s saddened expression and looked at his lap. “I’m really anxious right now for
some reason,” he admitted, with a little humorless laugh. “I don’t know why. I think… I think it’s
because I’m away from Tony.”

“You get upset when you’re away from him,” MJ said, and it wasn’t a question. She took a seat
next to him on the bed. “You’ve been through a lot. It makes sense.”

“What does?” Peter asked miserably. “The fact that I can’t even go away for two goddamn days
without freaking out? That sometimes I don’t want to go to school if it means being away from
him?”

“You’re attached to him,” Ned said, taking a seat as well. “You’ve lost a lot of people, Peter. Of
course you would want him around where you can keep an eye on him.”

Peter twisted his hands. “But I’m fifteen. I shouldn’t want my dad around all the time. I should… I
should want to be away from him! I should be going on trips and hanging out with friends and…”

“Who cares what you should be doing?” MJ said. “Do what you want to do. No one expects
anything out of you. If you want to hang out with your dad all day, who cares?”

“Definitely not us,” Ned said quietly. “We’ll be your friends either way, Peter. We just want you
happy.”

Peter’s eyes stung. God, what did he ever do to deserve such good friends? “Thanks, guys,” Peter
said thickly. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Crash and burn,” MJ said, flicking his ear and standing, reaching for the remote. “This TV better
have Netflix on it. We’re in some serious need of comedic relief. Ned, order a pizza.”

Chapter End Notes

What MJ said, the part about doing what Peter wants to do and nobody expecting
anything from him, is what my mom tells me when I'm sad at school. I love my mom,
she's the best. This entire part about Peter being away from Tony is kind of me coping
with me being away from home while at school, as sad and pathetic as that is lmao.
Anyways, feedback is much appreciated, and I'll see you guys next week!
 Chapter 45
Chapter Summary

"He wanted to text Tony, but it was one thirty in the morning, so he decided against it.
So he just stared at the dark ceiling, or at the dark wall, wishing time to go faster.

Because the faster time went, the sooner he got to see Tony."

Chapter Notes

Enjoy~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A half an hour later, all three of them were sat on one of the beds, Peter sandwich between Ned and
MJ, eating pizza, dressed in pajamas (Peter was wearing Tony’s shirt again), and watching
Emperor’s New Groove.

Peter wanted to feel content. He really did. But he needed to call Tony.

He wasn’t sure why, but he needed to hear his voice. It had been a whole day since he had heard it,
and he just needed to make sure that he was okay, that there wasn’t anything wrong.

MJ must have realized his silent dilemma, because she said, “Go ahead and call him. We’re not
going to judge you or anything.”

Peter resisted the urge to wince. “I don’t—”

“You keep glancing at your phone,” Ned said. “Call him. We’ll pause the movie.”

Peter sighed and gave in, grabbing his phone and climbing off the bed. He tapped the phone app
and called Tony, holding his phone up to his ear as it rang once, twice, three times, four times…

“This is Tony Stark’s phone. Leave a message, maybe I’ll get back to you. Don’t count on it.”

Oh, god.

Peter’s breathing picked up and he stared at the phone, all color draining from his face.

“Peter?” MJ got slowly up from the bed. “What’s up?”

“He didn’t answer,” Peter said in a rush, feeling lightheaded. “Oh god. He didn’t answer.
Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. Oh god, what if… I don’t—”

“Calm down and take a seat,” MJ commanded, her voice leaving no room for nonsense. Peter sat
on the end of the bed, on the edge of hyperventilating.
“He’s fine, Peter. He’s probably just doing something, he’ll call you back,” Ned said soothingly.

“He always answers,” Peter said, his voice unnaturally high, feeling like he was either going to
pass out or throw up. “He always…” he sucked in a breath. “H-He always…”

His phone rang then, the Imperial March filling the room. Peter nearly dropped his phone in his
haste to answer it, standing up and holding the device up to his ear.

“H-Hello?”

“Hey, Pete, what’s up?”

Relief, sweet, sweet relief flooded Peter, and he leant against the wall, shutting his eyes as Tony’s
voice filled his ears. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked, concerned. “What’s going on?”

Peter took a shaky breath, but his voice was still breathless when he said, “You didn’t answer.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry, I had to wash my hands before I could answer the phone. They had chemicals on
them.”

Peter breathed in and out. “Please never do that to me again.”

Tony made a concerned noise. “Did I scare you?”

“Half to death,” Peter said, reveling in his dad’s voice. “Why did you have chemicals on your
hands?”

“Just working on some new upgrades for my suit. Thought I’d take a leaf out of your book and try
to go for something biological. It didn’t go so well, I nearly blew up my lab.”

That didn’t make Peter feel better. “Be careful. Please, please be careful.”

“I was kidding,” Tony’s voice was soft. “Don’t stress, Peter. I’m fine, I’m whole, I’m right here.
You’ll be seeing me tomorrow, bud.”

Peter’s eyes filled. “Yeah. One more sleep.”

“Just one more. You can do that,” Tony said gently. “How was your day? It sounded eventful,
based on the texts you sent.”

Peter brightened a little. “It was really good, actually. Would have been better with you, but… um,
we went on a tour of the city and walked the Freedom Trail and did Quincy Market and stuff. It
was fun.”

“I love Quincy Market,” Tony said wistfully. “This summer, kid. You and me, we’re going to
Boston together. I’ll give you a tour of MIT, and we can eat clam chowder until we’re both sick of
it.”

Peter smiled. “That sounds awesome.”

“It’ll be great. By the way, how was the banquet?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Boring as hell. All we did was stand around to talk to people. Some kid had
an Iron-Man tie, though, so that was pretty cool.”
“Did you tell him that Iron-Man’s your dad?” Tony asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Peter rolled his eyes. “No. I wanted to, though. Like, ‘hey kid, nice Iron-Man tie, I spent half of
yesterday clinging to him and the other half missing him.’”

Peter intended for it to be funny, but it just kind of came out sounding sad.

Tony sighed. “I’m sorry, Pete. I know this is hard.”

Peter stared down at the carpet. “It’s fine. I guess it’s important I do this.”

“It is,” Tony said gently. “And you’re doing well, Pete.”

Peter gave a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. Because last night was great.”

“Just a bump in the road,” Tony said smoothly.

Peter rolled his eyes. “It was more than a bump. It was like a mountain.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Where do you think I get it from?”

“Definitely not me, kid.”

Peter laughed, but then a sadness fell over him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Pete,” Tony said softly. “One more sleep.”

The thought of sleeping again without Tony a room over was daunting. “I don’t think I can do it,”
he admitted quietly. “It’s hard sleeping when you’re not here.”

“This is it, though, bud. At this time tomorrow, you’ll be home and we can do whatever you want.”

“Can we watch Chopped?” Peter asked softly, because nothing sounded better in that moment than
being curled up on the couch with Tony, watching a shitty Food Network show.

“If that’s what you want, sure. And we can order food. It’ll be our own little party.”

Peter closed his eyes against the burn of tears. His stomach hurt with how much he missed Tony.
“Okay,” his voice shook a little. “Okay.”

“I’m so proud of you, Pete,” Tony said softly.

A tear slipped down Peter’s cheek, and he became hyper aware of the fact that his friends were in
the room. “I don’t know why, but thanks.”

“Because you’re doing this, even though it scares you,” Tony explained, his voice still soft. “And
you’re trying. I couldn’t be prouder.”

Peter hiccuped on a sob. “God, I m-miss you.”

“I know,” Tony sounded sad. “It’s okay to miss me.”

Peter exhaled shakily. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Tony agreed. “Get a good night sleep, okay?”

“M’kay,” Peter swallowed. “Love you, dad. See you tomorrow.”

“You too, Pete,” Tony said softly, warmly. “Bye, bud.”

The call ended, and Peter took a breath, wiping his tears away with his fingers. He crawled back
onto the bed and once again sandwiched himself between his two friends. Ned briefly wrapped and
arm around him, and MJ tightly squeezed his hand.

Peter felt unbelievably loved.

--

He didn’t sleep that night.

Abe and Flash got back a little after nine, but MJ had left around eight forty-five, not wanting to get
caught.

It was lights out at ten, since they had semi-finals the next day, and Ned, Flash, and Abe were all
asleep by the time the clock read ten thirty.

Peter was awake, though. All night.

He switched between being on his phone and laying in the darkness, and the hours dragged.

He wanted to text Tony, but it was one thirty in the morning, so he decided against it. So he just
stared at the dark ceiling, or at the dark wall, wishing time to go faster.

Because the faster time went, the sooner he got to see Tony.

Slowly, ever so slowly, one o’clock turned to two, to three, to four, to five, to six, and at seven
thirty, the knock that signified the wake-up call came, and Peter nearly cried.

He showered, turning the water to cold to wake him up, and dressed in his Decathlon uniform. He
glanced at himself in the mirror, took in his eye bags and ghostly pallor, and sighed deeply.

He washed his face, left the bathroom, and packed his stuff. Once Ned was done getting ready, the
two of them went down to breakfast.

In the elevator, Ned gave Peter a worried look. “You look really tired.”

Peter shrugged. “I’m fine.”

Ned looked sad. “Did you sleep at all?”

No. “Yeah, I did. Just took a while.”

Ned didn’t look convinced, but true to character, he let the subject drop.

They stepped out into the lobby and started helping themselves to the free breakfast yet again
(today they had bacon instead of sausage, but it was so burnt that when Peter tried to pick it up
with the tongs, it crumpled into bits) and MJ came down a few minutes after they had taken their
seats.

“Morning, losers,” she said in greeting, taking a seat and setting down her breakfast, which was a
bagel with cream cheese and a pile of powder eggs.
“Morning, MJ,” Ned said. “You ready for the competition?”

“Definitely,” she said confidently, and her eyes drifted to Peter. “Christ, you look like shit.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

MJ gave him a scathing look. “Don’t fuck this up for us, Parker.”

“I’m not going to fuck anything up,” Peter said, scowling. “I’m here, I’m fine, I’m ready to
compete. Stop worrying about me.”

MJ glared at him, but didn’t say anything else, just took an aggressive bite out of her bagel. Ned
was watching them, his eyes wide and concerned.

They finished their breakfast in relative silence, and once they were done, the entire team moved to
one of the private conference rooms the hotel had and began to practice.

It was an intense practice. Everyone was silent as MJ read off questions, only talking to answer
them. The nervousness in the air was palpable, and MJ snapped at Flash when he attempted to goof
off.

Peter was tired, but the thought of doing well at the competition kept him awake and his mind
sharp.

At about ten, after a long practice, they took their stuff out to the bus before walking to the venue,
no one really socializing due to nerves.

The venue was packed. There were Decathlon blazers of every color of the rainbow, and everyone
was either excitedly chatting or leafing through index cards, studying intensely.

The competition was set to begin around eleven, and it worked like this: each member of every
team will take a test of one hundred questions, with a time limit of an hour and a half. Whichever
two teams have the highest total score moves onto a verbal trivia round, during which they will be
asked fifty-four questions. Whoever gets the highest number of questions right wins the semi-finals
and will be representing the state of New York at Nationals in May.

It was high stakes and it was intense. And Peter loved it.

So, when it was time for everyone to sit down and take their tests, Peter was ready.

The test was held in a room that resembled something like a lecture hall, and ever table had privacy
barriers around it so that no one could cheat.

The tests were passed out, and on the judge’s command, everyone flipped them over and began
working.

Peter flipped his test over and read his first questions.

Question 1: What are the outermost electrons of an atom called?

Peter scoffed quietly to himself. Too easy.

He filled in the dot next to C, which was Valence Electrons.

Peter smiled to himself. I’ve got this.

--

After the test, there was a break while the judges graded the tests and the competitors got fed
lunch.

It was catered by Moes, so Peter helped himself to a subpar burrito and some chips with queso. MJ
and Ned were sat at a table across the way, so he made his way over to them.

“How d’you think you did?” Ned asked him immediately.

“Pretty well, I think,” Peter said, feeling confident. “What about you?”

“I know I got at least two wrong, but other than that I feel good,” Ned said, taking a bite out of a
crunchy tortilla chip.

“MJ? What about you?” Peter asked, rolling his burrito.

“I think I got them all right,” MJ said, taking a drink. “It doesn’t matter how well I did, though, if
the rest of you messed up.”

“I have faith in us,” Peter said, truly believing it. “I think we’ve got a good chance.”

“If Flash didn’t fuck it up,” MJ said darkly. “He doesn’t answer a lot of the practice questions. He
better be smarter than I think he is.”

“He is,” Peter said, and he was being truthful. Flash was a dick, but he was incredibly intelligent.
“We’ll move on, I swear. A lot of people here just do Decathlon as practice for the SATs or to put
on their college apps. No one is as serious as we are.”

MJ nodded, looking a little less stressed.

At two, everyone together as one of the judges came in, carrying a piece of paper and an excited
smile.

“Alright, everyone! I have the two teams that will compete to represent New York at Nationals in
May!” She held up the paper. “Congratulations to: Ithaca Senior High School from Ithaca and
Midtown School of Science and Technology from Queens!”

Peter shut his eyes in relief as all of his team members freaked out, and Ned squealed, hugging
Peter excitedly. Peter opened his eyes and beamed, his eyes seeking MJ.

Her lips were twitching. She was as excited as he was.

--

The two teams were given a half an hour to practice for the verbal competition, and Peter was so
nervous that his stomach was in knots.

He didn’t do very well in front of crowds, and there was a lot at stake. MJ was barking questions at
them, and her hands were shaking as she held the practice booklet.

With about five minutes left before the final competition, Peter texted Tony, “Made it to the final
round. Lowkey freaking out. Wish me luck.”

He didn’t receive a response until a minute before they were set to walk onstage. “You’re gonna
kill it kiddo. Proud of u. See u in a few hours.”
See you in a few hours. It was the best thing Peter had ever read.

--

The room in which the final competition was held was huge.

It reminded Peter of the auditorium at Midtown, but ten times bigger. There was loud applause
from a large crowd as Peter and his teammates took their seats at one of the tables.

The other team was sat adjacent to them, and Peter recognized the kid from the banquet the night
previous. James, if his memory served.

Peter was really nervous. He felt like every eye was on him as one of the judges stepped up to the
podium, briefly explaining the rules to them.

They were simple: every member of each team had a buzzer in front of them, and whoever presses
theirs first would answer the question. The question must be read in full before anyone buzzes in.
Any answers that were shouted out without having pressed the buzzer would automatically result
in a disqualification.

Then the questions started.

The first one was “In what year was President Franklin D. Roosevelt elected?”

It was easy. Peter’s hand lunged for the buzzer, but a pretty black girl with neatly braided hair from
the other table buzzed in before Peter could, answering with a swift, “1932.”

The second question was “What is toxicology?”

MJ buzzed in on that one. “The study of drugs and poisons.”

Ithaca got the next one, and then the one after that. But then Midtown got five in the row, quickly
pulling them into the lead.

It was exhilarating. Ithaca Senior High was good, so even when Midtown tried to pull ahead, they
were right behind them.

The scores were tied twenty-seven to twenty-seven at the end of the fifty-four questions, and
Peter’s stomach was in knots.

“The final tie-breaking question is… What is the hardest, most durable metal in the world?”

Peter’s heart leapt to his throat. He knew this question.

It was sewn into the dirt of Wakanda, the place that he and Tony visited together. It was the thing
T’Challa’s suit was made out of, when he fought him at the airport in Germany, completely
indestructible.

It was the metal in Tony’s arc-reactor before he had it taken out. It was what had kept his dad
alive.

His hand flew out and he pressed down the buzzer. “Vibranium.”

The judge looked at him. “That is correct.”

There was a brief beat of silence, before he was being engulfed on every side, his teammates
 throwing themselves at him.

Ned was screaming in his ear a constant litany of “We won! We won!” and everyone was hugging
him, yelling and cheering.

It was MJ’s voice that broke through them all, though. “Nice one, Parker,” she said, but then her
voice turned gentle and softened.

“Tony’s going to be so proud of you.”

Chapter End Notes

I have soooo much shit to do. College is ridiculous. I have three essays due by
Wednesday. Ugh.
Next chapter is the long awaited reunion... I'm excited to share it with you guys.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. See you guys soon!
 Chapter 47
Chapter Summary

"It's dangerous, Tony realized. How much he depends on me. It’s dangerous.

But the scariest thing was that Tony couldn’t bring himself to care."

Chapter Notes

This is pure hurt/comfort. Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

After being congratulated by what felt like everyone in the entire convention center, it was time to
go home.

Peter was riding some sort of euphoric high from winning the competition, and he couldn’t stop
smiling. It had been a long time since he had felt so happy, so positive. He boarded the bus
beaming, excited to go home and see Tony.

But he knew he was due to crash, and about an hour into the bus ride back to New York, crash he
did.

The excitement fled and left him the most exhausted he had ever been, no doubt due to the fact that
he had only gotten about five hours of sleep in the past three days, and he felt the beginnings of a
migraine starting on the right side of his forehead, and he rested his head against the cool window
of the bus, trying to alleviate the pulsing pain.

He didn’t think he had ever felt so tired. Even when May first passed, and he was plagued with
nightmares, he wasn’t this tired.

There was still two and a half hours until they would be back at Midtown, and Peter ached for time
to go faster. He just wanted to see Tony and fall asleep, and he couldn’t do either of those things
while on the bumpy bus.

At about two hours into the trip, his migraine had gotten bad enough that smells had started to
make him feel woozy. He could smell the gasoline the bus was burning, the salt and vinegar chips
Abe was eating towards the front, and even MJ’s light perfume from the seat in front of him.

Peter groaned and curled into a ball, burning his face in his knees, trying to keep the smells away.

“Peter? What’s up?” Ned asked, sliding over into Peter’s seat. “Are you okay?”

“Migraine,” was all Peter said, and Ned must have understood, because Peter heard the sound of
pills rattling around in a bottle.

“Here,” Ned said, putting two pills in Peter’s hand. “Take these.”
Peter uncurled slightly and grabbed the water bottle out of his backpack, before tossing the pills
back, chasing them with water.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled, and Ned retreated back into his seat, no doubt to give Peter space.

The pills helped a little, not enough for the pain to go away, but just enough make it a little more
manageable.

It was quiet on the bus, everyone exhausted after such a stressful day. The sun had gone down, and
the sky was a deep blue, almost black. The lights of the highway occasionally illuminated the
inside of the bus, and Peter could see that MJ’s eyes were closed, her head resting on the window.
Ned was on his phone, and he could see the shadow of Abe’s large headphones.

Peter let out a soft sigh. It was peaceful on the bus, but Peter knew he wasn’t going to be able to
sleep. He needed Tony, for some reason, and it made him feel like a child.

I need my dad near me to be able to sleep, Peter thought, letting his head thunk against the
window. That’s literally so pathetic.

He shut his eyes and wished for sleep.

--

Time passed slowly, but soon enough, they were only twenty minutes away from Midtown.

Noise had filled the bus again, and they were stuck in traffic in the middle of Manhattan, heading
towards Queens.

It was aggravating. He was half tempted to get off the bus and either run or web to Midtown, since
he could probably make it there before the bus at this rate.

Slowly, they inched towards Queens, and traffic cleared a little. Before long, Midtown was in sight,
and Peter’s heart was racing. He was almost there. He was almost to Tony.

The bus pulled up to the curb and stopped, but Peter was already stood, grabbing his backpack and
duffel and clutching them both, making towards the doors.

He tripped over himself in his haste, stumbling down the stairs, his head darting left and right,
searching for Tony’s car or—

There.

There was an Audi parked off to the side, and Tony was stood by it, and Peter was running, as fast
as he could, towards him.

Tony saw him, his face breaking into a smile, and Peter’s eyes burned. Tony. Tony. Tony.

As soon as Peter reached him, he threw his bags down and wrapped his arms around Tony, burying
his face in his chest and whimpering.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said, and Peter could feel the vibrations of the words. He let out another
whimper as Tony rubbed a hand up and down his back and entwined the other in Peter’s hair, just
how he liked it.

“Dad,” Peter nearly sobbed, and Tony pulled him impossibly closer.
“I’m here, Pete,” Tony murmured. “Right here.”

Peter let out a shaky breath. “M-missed you.”

Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s hair, his heart melting. “I missed you too, bud. Are you ready to go
home?”

Peter nodded, wanting nothing more.

“Can you get his bags, Hap?” Tony asked quietly, and Peter started a little in surprise. It had been a
while since Happy had driven him anywhere. Tony usually drove him wherever he needed to go,
and it left Peter wondering why Tony had decided to have him drive them back to the Tower.

Almost like he could hear Peter’s thoughts, Tony whispered, “I had Happy take us so you wouldn’t
have to let go of me so I could drive.”

Peter nodded, grateful.

He heard Happy’s heavy footfalls. “Is he okay?” Happy questioned, keeping his voice quiet and
low.

“Yeah,” Tony said softly, and Peter heard the sound of a car door opening. “He’s okay.”

Peter felt Tony try to separate himself, and Peter made a startled whining noise, tightening his grip.

“We have to get in the car, Pete,” Tony said softly, patiently. “You’ve got to let go for a split
second, alright?”

Peter shook his head, and Tony gently pet his hair. “It’s just for a second, okay? Then you can go
all koala again.”

Peter sighed, but let Tony go reluctantly. The man got into the car, and Peter got in after him,
immediately seeking Tony.

He crawled into the man’s lap, pressing his face into his collarbone, trying to get as close to the
man as possible. Tony arranged him into a more comfortable position, and Peter heard the driver’s
side door open and close.

Tony met Happy’s eye in the mirror, and Happy gave him a small smile and mouthed, “aww.”

Tony rolled his eyes and Happy started the car, pulling out of Midtown and onto the New York
streets.

Peter’s breath was hitching, and Tony immediately looked down at him, concerned. “Peter?”

Peter shook his head against Tony, tears beginning to fall. “I missed you s-so much.”

Jesus, Tony thought, heart melting, this kid. He met Happy’s eyes in the rearview mirror again, and
Tony made a circular motion with his finger, silently telling happy to put up the privacy screen.
Happy obliged.

“Hey,” Tony said softly, once the screen was up. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter swallowed down a sob, his head pulsing in time with his racing heart. Tony gently removed
Peter’s face from his neck and wiped his tears with his thumbs. “Why are you crying, Pete?”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice weepy and miserable. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said, keeping his voice gentle despite his concern. “I’m just worried
about you.”

Light was cast over Peter’s face from a streetlamp, and Tony noticed the dark circles under his
eyes, the flush across his cheeks.

Christ, did the kid sleep at all?

“You look tired, Pete,” Tony said, running his thumb across Peter’s warm cheek.

Peter shut his eyes, a tear slipping out between his eyelashes. “I’m exhausted,” he admitted,
sniffing. “I didn’t s-sleep.”

Tony felt like a wave of cold had fallen over him. “At all?”

Peter bit his quivering lip. “A few hours F-Friday night. None last night.”

“And none Thursday night,” Tony finished, frowning. “Peter. That’s not good.”

“I know,” Peter’s face broke, and a few more tears leaked out. “I’m s-sorry. I t-tried, but I c-
couldn’t. I’m s-sorry—”

“Shh, Peter, come on,” Tony let Peter collapse against him once more, stroking a hand up and
down his shaking back. “I’m not mad, bud. Calm down.”

Peter took a breath, the ache in his head making him see stars for a second, and he made a pathetic
whimpering noise against Tony, his head feeling like it was splitting open.

“Is that all?” Tony asked quietly. “Are you just tired, or is something else wrong? Did you guys not
win?”

Peter shook his head. “N-no, we won. I actually… I got the winning question right.”

Tony’s face broke out into a proud smile. “Did you really? Peter, that’s awesome!”

“Y-yeah,” Peter said, sniffing. “It was about Vibranium.”

“Oh yeah, of course you’d know that one,” Tony said, ruffling Peter’s hair. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, and blew out a breath, shutting his eyes against the pain in his head. “I’ve got
a migraine.”

Tony made an upset noise. “A bad one?”

Peter nodded. “Really bad.”

“Okay,” Tony said, taking it in stride like he always did when it came to Peter. He glanced out the
window and saw that they were about to pull into the Tower. “Painkillers and then bed, okay?”

Peter nodded as Happy parked the car, got out, and opened the door for Tony.

“You’re going to have to let go of me again, okay?” Tony murmured, and Peter obliged, tumbling
off of Tony and onto the plush leather seat. Tony got out of the car and Peter followed, latching
onto Tony’s side as soon as they were out.
Happy handed Tony Peter’s duffel bag and backpack, which he threw over one shoulder. He held
the duffel bag in arm that wasn’t around Peter and led them towards the elevator.

“Welcome back, Peter,” FRIDAY said, her Irish voice kind.

“Thanks, FRI,” Peter mumbled, his eyes slipping shut. “Good to be back.”

The elevator let them off on the fiftieth floor, and Tony led Peter towards his room.

He flicked on the light and dropped Peter’s stuff. “Time to let go, kiddo,” Tony said, patting Peter
on the back. “Bedtime.”

Peter didn’t move.

Tony looked down at him, surprised. “Peter?”

The kid was shaking, he realized with a jolt. He was stood still but shaking, his grip on Tony’s shirt
deathly tight.

“Peter. What—”

Oh. He doesn’t want to let go.

He was scared of letting go.

No. Scratch that. He was terrified of letting go.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony asked slowly, and Peter looked up at Tony, his
exhausted face lighting up.

“C-Can I?” Peter asked, and his shaking began to subside.

It's dangerous, Tony realized. How much he depends on me. It's dangerous.

But the scariest thing was that Tony couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah, Pete. Grab some pjs, okay? I’ll meet you over there,” Tony said gently, and Peter nodded
against him, dropping his hold.

He unsteadily walked over to his dresser as Tony left, and pulled out the first pair of pajamas he
saw, which happened to be a soft pair of sweatpants and a shirt with a science pun on it. He put
them on as fast as possible, his migraine making it difficult for him to focus.

He stumbled over to Tony’s room and found the room to be empty, but the bathroom light was on.

Peter crawled into the big bed, beyond exhausted. He shut his eyes but didn’t sleep, not yet. He
wasn’t going to sleep without Tony here.

He didn’t need to wait long. The bathroom door creaked open, and light temporarily flooded the
room, before being shut off abruptly.

Peter closed his eyes as he heard Tony approach, and a hand was brushed across his forehead.

“Sit up for me, buddy,” Tony said quietly, and Peter got slowly into a sitting position, his eyes
opening a little.
Tony put four pills in his hand. “I’ll give you more if these don’t work,” he said quietly, his voice
a soft rumble in the dark room. He handed Peter a water bottle. “But hopefully they will.”

Peter nodded and swallowed the pills, drinking down half of the water bottle before laying back
down, seeking one of the soft pillows that Tony kept on his bed.

There was a soft thud as Tony set the water bottle down on the nightstand, and then another clatter
as he set down the pill bottle.

The bed dipped down, and Tony tugged the covers up over both him and Peter, who immediately
rolled over and latched onto him, pressing his face into Tony’s chest.

Tony gently scratched Peter’s scalp, and the kid made a soft, sleepy noise.

“Love you,” Peter murmured, half asleep already.

“You too, Peter. I’m glad you’re home,” Tony whispered. “We’ll sit on the couch and watch
Chopped tomorrow, okay? Just you and me.”

Peter’s eyes burned and he nodded.

Tony started to hum softly, and Peter drifted off to sleep, safe and secure in his father’s arms.

--

When he woke next, it was to someone gently wiping off his face with a cloth.

His eyes cracked open, and a small noise of confusion slipped past his dry lips.

Tony shushed him. “You’ve got a slight fever, buddy. Go back to sleep.”

He blinked languidly in shock, before his eyes were slipping closed again.

He fell asleep.

--

The clock by Tony’s bed read six-thirty when he woke next, but the room was still dark as night.

He didn’t feel great. He still had a migraine, and he was freezing cold.

He pulled the blankets up further and curled them around himself, shutting his eyes and shivering.

There was a hand on his cheek, then, and Peter jumped. It moved to his forehead, and then brushed
his sweaty bangs back.

“Dad?” Peter asked quietly, his voice low and husky.

“Right here, bud,” Tony said quietly, and the bed dipped down. “You’re still running a fever.
How’s your head?”

“Still hurts,” Peter said on a small sigh, still exhausted and wanting to go back to sleep.

“Alright,” Tony said, and then there were steady, capable hands helping him into a sitting position.
Peter opened his eyes slightly, and saw Tony unscrewing a bottle of pills.

Still shivering, Peter removed one of his arms from the blanket and held out his hand as Tony
 shook four more pills into it.

Peter swallowed them one by one with the cold water bottle Tony gave him, and Tony capped the
bottle and put it back on the nightstand.

He stood, and Peter whined low in his throat, wanting him to stay. Tony sighed and pressed a kiss
to his hair.

“I’ve got a teleconference in ten minutes, buddy,” Tony said gently. “It shouldn’t take too long,
and then I’m yours the rest of the day.”

Peter looked up at him, and shamefully, pitifully, his eyes filled with tears.

“O-okay,” Peter said, willing his voice into steadiness.

“Go back to sleep, okay?” Tony said softly. “You’re not feeling well.”

Peter nodded and blinked away the tears. He laid back down and curled up into the blankets again,
sniffing a little.

Tony stroked his thumb across Peter’s cheek, and Peter shut his eyes in response, soaking in the
affection. Tony continued the ministrations until Peter fell the tug of unconsciousness.

Sleep claimed him once again.

Chapter End Notes

I'm in love with this fic again and I'm really happy about it. I'm glad you guys are still
loving it too.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. Speaking of feedback, I had my first
creative writing critique and oh BOY did it make me want to die. Turns out I can't take
criticism. Someone told me to make my paragraphs longer and I nearly lost it.
Anyways. See you guys next week!
 Chapter 48
Chapter Summary

“'I know,' Tony whispered. 'This weekend was rough for you, buddy.'

'You have no idea,' Peter mumbled, remembering the sleepless nights and the dreadful
days. 'I’m so glad to be home.'”

Chapter Notes

Enjoy ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next time he woke up, he knew he was awake for good.

His headache was gone, but he still felt strangely off. He blew out a breath and rolled over, his eyes
opening.

Tony was sat in bed next to him, dressed in comfy clothes, his Starkpad propped up on his knees.

Peter immediately rolled so that his face was buried in Tony’s side, snuggling close to him.

Tony chuckled softly and wound his fingers in Peter’s hair. “Morning, Pete.”

“Dad,” Peter said softly, his voice muffled by Tony’s shirt.

“Do you feel better?” Tony asked softly, tucking a curl behind Peter’s ear.

“Mm,” Peter said in affirmation. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” Tony said with a quick glance at his watch. “You’ve been asleep for sixteen
hours.”

Peter blinked. “That’s… a lot.”

“I’d say you were pretty sleep deprived, buddy,” Tony said, and then his hand moved from Peter’s
hair to his cheek, checking his temperature.

“You’re still a little warm,” Tony murmured. “How’s your head?”

“Fine, the migraine’s gone,” Peter said, starting to sit up. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast and meds,” Tony said with a hair ruffle, starting to get out of bed.

Peter slowly got out of bed, feeling lethargic and shivery from the fever, and grabbed one of
Tony’s soft, fuzzy blankets and wrapping himself in it.
Tony took in Peter’s messy curls and the fuzzy blanket curled around him, and his heart ached with
fondness. The kid looked soft and snuggly, and Tony had missed him while he was away.

The two of them walked towards the elevator, Peter walking so close to Tony that they were
practically touching.

The living space wasn’t crowded, but there were a few people milling about, either preparing or
eating lunch.

Peter sat in one of the chairs at the table, still wrapped in his blanket.

“What’ll it be, kid?” Tony asked, rifling through the cupboards. “Is your stomach okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Peter said, a shiver rippling through him. He tugged his blanket closer to him
even as a bead of sweat beaded on his forehead. “Can I have waffles?”

“Coming up,” Tony said with a wink, before sobering a little. “Tell me if you feel worse, okay?
You’re only at a one-hundred-degree fever right now, so it’s not too bad, but we don’t want it to go
up.”

Peter nodded. “Why do I have a fever?”

“Well, I’m not a doctor,” Tony said, getting the stuff out to make the waffle batter, like flour and
eggs and baking powder. “But I think it’s because you were sleep deprived and stressed, which
makes you more susceptible to getting sick.”

He fixed Peter with a stern look. “You need to take better care of yourself when you’re away from
me.”

An icy shiver went up Peter’s spine that he knew had nothing to do with the fever. “Well, I won’t
be away from you, so it won’t be a problem,” Peter muttered, staring at the table.

Tony still has to go to Europe, he realized with a jolt, like a cattle prod had been shoved into his
stomach. Tony is going to leave.

Peter’s stomach flipped, and he curled into himself, hopelessly sad.

It’s an endless cycle, Peter realized as Tony was scooping batter into the waffle iron. I’m miserable
without him, and I’m miserable when he’s here because I’m terrified of him leaving.

Tony placed a waffle in front of him, fully dressed up with butter and syrup. Peter gave him a weak
smile of thanks, and Tony ruffled his hair.

He picked up his fork and knife, his hands shaking around them. He took a bite of the soft, buttery
waffle, and found that it was difficult to swallow around the tightness in his throat.

The thought of having to go through what he went through the past three days again was enough to
make him want to vomit. He couldn’t do it.

Tony sat down with a waffle of his own, spreading the butter on thick and drizzling on maple
syrup, before cutting it up and taking a bite.

Peter watched him, his every move. He wanted to cling to him desperately and not let go.

Under the table, his hands curled into fists, his nails pressing into his palms deeply, and Peter felt
the sharp sting of pain.
He wasn’t hungry. He took an unsatisfying bite of waffle before pushing the plate away, wanting
to curl up and cry.

Tony looked at him in concern. “You okay, Pete?”

Peter shrugged. “M’not really hungry.”

“Is it your stomach?” Tony asked, concerned. Peter shrugged again.

Tony sensed what was going on. “You’ve got to eat, bud. You look like you’ve lost weight since
I’ve seen you last.”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t want to eat. I just…just…”

“Just what, Pete?” Tony asked quietly, his eyes concerned.

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, somewhat miserably. “I don’t feel well.”

Tony’s look was soft. “I know, bud. Do you want to go over to the couch?”

Peter nodded and got to his feet, shuffling over to the couch and taking a seat, curling up and
tugging the blanket more over himself.

He heard the running of tap water, and then the clatter of dishes as they were piled into the
dishwasher. Peter stared at the turned off TV, wondering why he felt numb and apathetic when
Tony was in the same room as him.

Usually, feeling this way would have terrified him. But he was too tired to be terrified.

There were soft footsteps, and then Tony was sitting down on the couch next to him, looking softly
concerned. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Tony said softly.

Peter didn’t say anything.

“You were fine when you woke up, but now something’s off. What’s going on, Pete?” Tony was
still looking at him, and Peter’s eyes were stinging for the second time that day.

“Can we watch Chopped?” Peter asked softly, his voice shaking a little.

“Of course,” Tony said softly. “But I want you tell me what’s going on first.”

Peter bit his quivering lip. “It’s just my stupid mind. It won’t shut up and let me be happy for one
freakin' day.”

“What are you thinking about that’s making you upset?” Tony asked, but somehow, he felt like he
already knew.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Peter mumbled, and he leaned over and put his head on Tony’s
shoulder. “I just want to watch a bad Food Network show.”

“Your wish is my command,” Tony said, trying to make his voice light. He turned on the TV and
found a re-run of the show, putting it on.

Tony and Peter arranged themselves, so they were in a more comfortable position, and as Peter
curled up with his dad, he felt content.
--

Peter’s mood brightened after an episode, but at the end of a second, he started to feel sick again.

He kept quiet but kicked the blanket off his legs as he grew hot and resisted the urge to shiver at
the same time.

“You scared me half to death with that first phone call, Pete,” Tony said suddenly, his voice quiet.

Peter turned to look at him. “Sorry.”

“You were hysterical, kid,” Tony said somberly. “I’ve never seen you like that.”

Peter bit his lip and looked away. “I was feeling sad all day and seeing your shirt pushed me over
the edge. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t do that to me again,” Tony said. “I hung up with you and nearly had
a panic attack myself, kid.”

Peter felt immensely guilty. “I don’t like being away from you,” he mumbled, turning away from
watching the host of Chopped talk to the contestants to bury his face in Tony’s chest.

“I know, buddy. We just need to figure something out that works for the both of us,” Tony said,
like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Peter bit his tongue. There’s nothing to work out, he wanted to say. I’m just not going to leave. And
hopefully you won’t either.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” Tony asked, moving so that he could feel Peter’s cheeks and
forehead.

He frowned, his brows furrowing. “I think your temperature’s gone up. Why didn’t you say
something?”

Peter shrugged, exhausted. “I don’t know. I’m so tired, dad.”

“I know,” Tony whispered. “This weekend was rough for you, buddy.”

“You have no idea,” Peter mumbled, remembering the sleepless nights and the dreadful days. “I’m
so glad to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” Tony said, ruffling Peter’s hair. “It was so quiet without you.”

Peter didn’t say anything, just curled up closer to Tony, basking in his presence.

“But I’m glad you did it, kid,” Tony said, running a hand up and down Peter’s back. “It wasn’t so
bad, right? Being away from me?”

“It was terrible,” Peter said hollowly into Tony’s chest. “I’m never doing that again.”

There was a beat of silence. “It couldn’t have been that bad,” Tony said, but he sounded unsure.

“It was,” Peter mumbled, before repeating, “I’m never doing that again.”

“You’re going to have to, Peter,” Tony murmured sadly. “You’re going to Nationals in May and
I’m probably going to have to go away for work.”
Peter gripped onto Tony harder as terror ripped through him. “Don’t go, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere yet,” Tony promised. “Don’t worry about it until it happens, Pete. You’ll
drive yourself crazy otherwise.”

“Okay,” Peter breathed a sigh, pushing aside his worry. Something else popped into his mind.
“Ned and MJ are probably going to wonder why I’m not in school.”

“I called you in sick,” Tony explained. “I would have kept you home today either way, though.
You deserve a day off.”

Peter didn’t respond to that. He felt gross and sweaty, the fever worsening. He made a small noise
against Tony, dangerously close to a whimper.

Tony removed Peter’s face from his chest, feeling his face again. Peter shut his eyes as Tony’s
hands moved from his cheeks to his forehead, melting into the gesture. “FRIDAY, give me Peter’s
temperature please.”

“Peter Parker has a temperature of one hundred and one point six,” FRIDAY read out. “It has risen
one point one degrees in the last hour.”

“Alright, buddy,” Tony said, staring to sit up. “We’ve got to get that back down.”

Peter let Tony go, his head falling back down against the soft couch cushions, feeling sick and
miserable.

He heard Tony turn on the sink, and then he heard the refrigerator door open. The water cut off
and a few seconds later, the fridge door slammed closed.

“Are you hungry, Pete?” Tony asked from in the kitchen. “Do you want me to make you
something?”

Peter, whose stomach was the tiniest bit uneasy, shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he said, his voice
quiet and a little miserable.

“You sure?” Tony asked, the concern in his voice carrying. “You haven’t eaten all day. I’ll make
you some soup, maybe it’ll help you feel better.”

“Do you even know how to make soup?” Peter asked, staring at the TV screen.

“Duh. Can opener, microwave, and boom. Easy as shit.”

“You’re missing an important step in that process,” Peter replied, the corner of his mouth quirking.
“Can opener, bowl, microwave. I like the Tower, I don’t want it to burn down.”

“Alright, smartass,” Tony groused, and Peter heard the familiar sound of a can opener sliding
along the rim of a can. “You must be feeling better if you have the energy to sass me.”

“It’s the best medicine,” Peter said with a smirk. “What soup are you making?”

“Chicken Noodle,” Tony said, popping the bowl in the microwave. “I know you don’t like tomato
soup so—”

“Tomatoes are gross,” Peter said darkly. “Ketchup is the only exception.”

“You’re weird,” Tony told him. “There’s nothing wrong with tomatoes. They’re delicious.”
“They are not,” Peter tried to say with conviction, but all the talking was giving him a headache.
He shut his eyes, curling up a little bit. He wished he felt better.

“I should make you eat tomatoes. That’s what parents do, right? Make their kids eat vegetables. I
should do that.”

“I’m fifteen, not five,” Peter mumbled, “and I eat my vegetables, thank you very much.”

Tony hadn’t heard him, and about a half a minute later, he came over to Peter, holding soup, a
frozen washcloth, and a glass of water.

He set them down on the coffee table and sat down next to Peter on the couch, gently helping him
into a sitting position.

Peter didn’t want to open his eyes, but he did anyways, and Tony gently put the bowl of soup in
Peter’s hands.

“M’not hungry,” Peter said laying his head on Tony’s shoulder, his eyes closing.

“After all I went through to make the soup?” Tony teased quietly but took it away, placing it back
on the coffee table. “You need to eat, buddy. You haven’t all day.”

Peter shrugged. “I just want to sleep,” he mumbled. “I’m tired.”

“You’re probably tired because you haven’t had anything to eat,” Tony said, his tone gently
reprimanding. “Can you just try and eat a little soup for me?”

Peter sighed but sat up straight and held his hands out for the soup. Tony ruffled his hair and
handed him the bowl, being careful not to spill any.

Peter ate slowly, afraid that rapid consumption would upset his stomach. But the soup warmed him
from head to toe, and before he knew it, he had finished the whole bowl.

Tony put the bowl down and Peter curled up against him, shivering slightly.

The cold washcloth was gently pressed to his forehead then, and Peter let out a sigh at the feeling
of something cold touching his burning forehead.

“This happened the last time I was gone too,” Tony murmured, almost like he was talking to
himself. “You got sick when I went to Dubai.”

“I don’t think it has any correlation,” Peter mumbled.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Tony said, his nails gently scratching Peter’s scalp. “But I don’t want you
getting sick every time I have to leave.”

“Mm,” Peter mumbled noncommittally, feeling the pull of unconsciousness. “Maybe just don’t
leave, then.”

“I’m going to have to leave eventually,” Tony murmured. “And you’ve got to go to college in a few
years, kid.”

Peter’s eyes snapped open.

College.
He hadn’t thought about college since before May died. He had been too distracted, first by her
death, and then with school. College had been so far out of his mind that he had almost completely
forgotten about it.

But now it was back, the thoughts of moving away and living in a new place overshadowing
everything else in his mind.

A look of horror stole his features. College meant a new place. College meant leaving.

College meant being without Tony.

And it was only two years away. He would take the SAT’s in the fall, and then the following fall
he would start applying, and then the following fall…

He would have to leave eventually. And he would be alone.

Peter made a small, whimpering noise. Alone.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, the noise that escaped Peter’s lips puzzling and concerning him. He
looked down and saw that Peter had gone as white as a sheet. “Peter? What’s going on?”

“I can’t go to college,” Peter choked out, his body starting to tremble. He was dangerously close to
a panic attack. “I… Tony.”

“Hey, okay,” Tony said placatingly. “We don’t have to talk about college now. That’s not
happening for a couple years, you have plenty of time to decide what school—”

“No,” Peter bit out, bile in his throat. “I’m not deciding what school. I’m not going to college, I’m
—”

“Peter,” Tony said, his voice calm and commanding. He looked Peter in the eye. “Take a breath
and calm down.”

Peter took several deep breaths, and slowly, the nausea passed. He swallowed several times before
speaking again. “I’m not going to college. I can’t.”

“I’m not going to talk about this if you’re going to get worked up again,” Tony said, his voice not
necessarily unkind but not leaving room for debate.

“You don’t understand,” Peter said, his voice slightly desperate. “I can’t… the thought of being…
away…”

“Peter, it’s not for another two and a half years,” Tony said consolingly, brushing Peter’s sweaty
bangs off his forehead. “You’re not going anywhere right now, and neither am I. You can’t keep
worrying about this.”

“It’s all I think about,” Peter whispered. “Even when you’re here, I worry about when you have to
leave.”

“You can’t live life like that, Pete,” Tony murmured sadly.

Peter looked down at his pajama-clad legs. “I know.”

“Let’s table this discussion,” Tony said softly. “You’re not feeling well, and I don’t want to get you
all worked up again.”
 “Okay,” Peter breathed out, leaning against Tony again and closing his eyes. “Okay.”

“Take a nap,” Tony murmured. “Chopped will be here when you wake up.”

Peter’s mouth quirked into a smile, and he fell asleep.

Chapter End Notes

Midterms are here, and I am SUPER stressed. But luckily, once I'm done, I have a
week off for spring break. I can't wait.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. I'll see you guys soon!
 Chapter 49
Chapter Summary

“'He’s good. Much better than he was. His leg is almost completely healed, he should
be out of the cast by Friday,' Tony explained.

'Good. That’s… that’s good,' Pepper’s voice was nervous now, and Tony immediately
sat up, grabbing his phone with his fruity-smelling fingers."

Chapter Notes

Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter didn’t want to go to school the next day.

He was feeling much better, but he got up out of bed with hesitation, the thought of going to school
for six hours daunting.

He showered lethargically, moving in slow motion. He was running late by the time he got out and
had to hurriedly decide what to wear.

It was March, and the weather was slowly getting warmer. Peter decided on a short-sleeved
Midtown shirt with a hoodie to wear over it, and a pair of jeans. He combed his hair and brushed
his teeth, making quick work of it since he was running late.

He rushed up to the living space, jamming the foot that was in the case into his sneaker as the
elevator door opened. Tony was stood at the counter, dressed in a sharp suit, a glass of apple juice
resting in between his elbows, which were propped up so he could look at his phone.

He looked up when Peter came in. “Morning, bud,” he held up a plate, which had two pieces of
toast on it, both slathered in peanut butter. “Toast?”

Peter grinned and made his way over, snatching up one of the pieces and taking a bite. “Thanks.”

“Ready for school?” Tony asked, taking a drink of his apple juice.

Peter shrugged. “Would rather stay home, but it’s something I have to do.”

Tony grinned and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Good kid. That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

Peter ducked away from Tony’s hand, giving it a glare. “I just brushed my hair, Tony.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m your dad, I have every right to touch your hair as much as possible,” he
ruffled it again, just to prove he could. “Besides, who are you trying to impress?”
“I just like looking nice,” Peter said, trying to dodge the hand again. “I’m not trying to impress
anyone.”

Tony raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, instead changing the subject. “By the way, you
should be out of that boot by the end of the week,” he gestured with his chin towards Peter’s cast.
“You’ve just got to take it easy on it.”

“I walked around Boston with it on,” Peter said, taking another peanut butter filled bite of toast.
“My leg doesn’t even hurt anymore. It’s just annoying.”

“Dr. Cho just wants to make sure it’s completely healed,” Tony said. “You don’t want any lasting
damage, do you?”

Slightly chagrined, Peter shook his head. “No, you’re right. It’s just annoying.”

“Only a few more days, Pete. Then you’re home free.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, and then a smile lit up his face. “Then I can be Spider-Man again!”

Tony froze, his glass halfway to his lips.

Right. Of course. Spider-Man.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, Peter would want to don the mask and go out as soon
as his leg was better. Of course.

But god, if it were up to Tony, Peter would never go out as Spider-Man again.

He resisted the urge to shudder. The possibility of Peter ever getting hurt like that again scared
Tony shitless.

God. If he ever had to feel Peter limp and lifeless in his arms ever again…

Tony took a breath and stopped that train of thought before it could freak him out any more and
make him spiral into a panic attack.

“Mhm,” Tony said noncommittally, taking a large swallow of apple juice. “Eat your toast. You’ve
only got a few minutes before you’ve got to leave.”

Peter took a big bite, chewing quickly and swallowing. He devoured the pieces and wiped his
mouth with a napkin, before he launched himself at Tony, hugging him tightly.

“Oof,” Tony made a noise as he got an armful of Peter. It was a morning ritual; if Tony couldn’t
drive Peter to school because of work, he would say goodbye before he left, with a bone-crushing
hug.

Tony kissed the top of Peter’s head and savored the feeling of his kid in his arms, safe and sound.

But it was time for Peter to go to school. “Alright kid, time to go.”

Peter made a sad noise. “Don’t want to.”

“No one wants to go to school, Pete. It’s just something you’ve gotta do.”

“Are you gonna pick me up after school?” Peter asked, still in Tony’s arms.
“Sure. You want to go out to dinner?”

Peter nodded. “I want burgers or pasta. Or tacos. Not Chinese.”

“Got it. Burgers, pasta, or Chinese.”

“Not Chinese.”

“Just messing with you, kiddo.”

“You’re mean.”

“And you’re crushing my ribs.”

“You love me.”

“For some reason, yes.”

He could feel Peter smiling against his shirt. “You’re a sap.”

“And you have to go to school, Pete. Come on, hug time over.”

Peter let out a loud, exaggerated sigh and dropped his arms, taking a step back. “I’ll see you after
school?”

“Definitely,” Tony nodded. “I’ll be there, kid.”

Peter smiled and grabbed his backpack. He walked towards the elevator, and with a final glace
backwards at Tony, he stepped it.

The doors closed, and Peter was gone.

--

Pepper called that afternoon, after Tony’s meeting but before he had to pick Peter up.

Tony answered on the second ring, propping his phone between his shoulder and his neck so that
he could use both hands to peel the tangerine he was planning on eating. He leaned back in his desk
chair, kicking his feet up.

“Hey, Pep, what’s up?”

“Good afternoon, Tony. How was your meeting this morning?”

Tony’s face broke out into a smile at her voice. “Boring, but I got through it. Why are you
calling?”

“I just wanted to check in. It’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you.”

Tony considered that. It had been almost three weeks since they had spoken. “Good point. It’s
been almost three weeks.”

“Sorry I didn’t call sooner,” Pepper said, a little shyly, which was something Tony was not used to
hearing in her voice. “You seemed to have a lot on your plate.”

“Yeah,” Tony said softly, dropping the half-peeled tangerine. “Yeah, it’s been pretty hectic around
here.”
“How’s Peter?” Pepper’s voice was careful, and Tony briefly wondered why.

“He’s good. Much better than he was. His leg is almost completely healed, he should be out of the
cast by Friday,” Tony explained.

“Good. That’s… that’s good,” Pepper’s voice was nervous now, and Tony immediately sat up,
grabbing his phone with his fruity-smelling fingers.

“What’s going on?” Tony asked, a little urgently. “Why are you talking like that? Am I going to
have to leave again, because I really can’t right now, Peter just got back from a Decathlon thing in
Boston and it was really, really hard on him and—”

“No, you don’t have to leave right now,” Pepper said, “but you will, I hope you realize that. You
have to go to Europe before March is over.”

“Pepper, I don’t think you understand me,” Tony said, his voice urgent. “I can’t. It’s too hard on
the kid.”

“Tony. It’s out of my hands. Can’t someone at the Tower watch him so he’s not lonely?”

Tony snorted. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” Pepper’s voice was soft. “He told me that he doesn’t like being alone,
that’s it. Anything else I know is just speculation.”

“Remember the dinner?” Tony said. “Remember how you just mentioned me leaving and he had a
full-blown panic attack? That was just at the mention of me leaving.”

Pepper was silent for a minute, and when she spoke again, her voice was hesitant and soft. “What’s
he like when you actually leave?”

“He was away this weekend, in Boston for an Academic Decathlon event,” Tony said, shutting his
eyes. “He called me Friday night from his hotel hysterically sobbing. He was practically screaming
into the phone, Pepper. He cried so hard he nearly threw up. Nearly gave me a coronary.”

“Oh my,” Pepper said quietly, her voice sad. “But why? Why is he so afraid of being without
you?”

“His parents died in a plane crash when he was four. He was under the guardianship of his aunt
and his uncle, who were his last remaining family members,” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose,
his heart aching for his kid, who had seen so much death in his life. “His uncle got shot in front of
him about two years ago. Bled out on the ground before an ambulance could come. His aunt died
in November; killed in a car accident after having a fight with him. I think he’s afraid that if either
of us leaves, I’m going to die too.”

There was a pregnant pause. “That poor child,” she whispered, breaking the silence. “I can’t even
imagine…”

“And he’s a good kid, too. You’d think he’d be all hard and jaded and fucked up, but he’s not. He
still wants to help people and he’s still kind and sweet—” A lump formed in Tony’s throat, choking
him and cutting off his speech. “He’s the best, Pepper. He really is. He’s just sad a lot and has
abandonment issues.”

“You don’t need to prove anything to me, Tony,” Pepper said softly. “I know he’s a good kid. And
I wish you didn’t have to go to Europe, but you do. I’ve tried to get you out of it, but I can’t. I’m
sorry.”

Tony blew out a breath, sliding a hand down his face tiredly. “Fuck. Okay. How long do I have to
be away?”

“A week would be best—”

“Hell no,” Tony gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to start shouting. “Absolutely not. No way.
Pepper, he didn’t sleep while he was away—”

“—But I cut them down to five days,” Pepper finished.

“Still too long. Cut them down to three.”

“I might be able to do four, but three is a pipe dream, Tony.”

“I don’t care. I can’t be away that long.”

“We can argue about this later,” Pepper said, her voice patient. “I did not call you to tell you that
you had to leave.”

Tony sat back from his tense position, forcing himself to relax. “Then why did you call?”

There was a beat of quiet. “When Peter was hurt… he told me something.”

Her voice was nervous again, and Tony’s stomach twisted. “What? What did he tell you?”

“… He told me that you were still in love with me.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. That was the last thing he was expecting Pepper to say.

He opened his mouth, ready to deny it, or make a joke, or laugh it off.

But it was true. He couldn’t deny it. “He was right,” Tony said, lowering his voice.

Silence followed the admission, and for a second, Tony thought she had hung up.

“But why?” Pepper breathed.

“Don’t make me answer that,” Tony said quietly.

“Tony,” Pepper whined. “I don’t get it. Why. You deserve so much better—”

“There’s no one better.”

“There is. Someone who hasn’t broken up with you half a million times, someone who doesn’t
have a problem with you being Iron-Man—”

“Pepper.”

“What?!”

“I’m never not going to be in love with you,” Tony enunciated, each word ringing nothing but
truth. “I’m sorry. It’s the truth. There isn’t anyone else for me other than you.”

“Tony,” Pepper whispered, sounding emotional. “I’m not that great.”

 “That is wildly untrue. I’ve never heard a more untrue thing in my life. No one compares to you,
Pep.”

Pepper took a deep breath. “Can we… can we try again?”

“Yeah,” Tony whispered, a part of him thinking that the whole situation was too good to be true.
He resisted the urge to pinch himself. “Yeah, we can.”

“Okay,” Pepper breathed. “Okay.”

“Let me take you out,” Tony said, his voice still soft. “We can get dinner or something. Maybe not
Eleven Madison Park, since that place gives me PTSD now, but somewhere… nice,” he thought
about it, and an idea popped into his head. “There’s a restaurant at Columbus Circle called Asiate.
It’s an Asian restaurant… you wanna try it?”

“I’d like that,” Pepper said, and there was a smile in her voice now. “Is Friday good for you?”

“Friday’s perfect, I’ll pick you up at seven,” Tony said, a grin pulling on his lips. He slid his
tongue over his teeth. “See you then, Miss Potts.”

“See you then, Mr. Stark,” Pepper said, and there was something in her voice that made Tony shut
his eyes and tilt his head back, sighing.

Christ.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry that this is so short. I had literally no time to write this week because of
midterms, but it's spring break now so I should be writing a lot. I have a lot of ideas
planned for this fic and I'm actually really excited to write them. I'm also sort of
writing a My Hero Academia fanfic too, which is uncharted territory for me. Writing
fic for anime is SO CONFUSING.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. I'll see you guys next Saturday!
 Chapter 50
Chapter Summary

“'Before we get dinner, we’re gonna have to stop at the grocery store,' Tony said, and
that startled Peter from his brooding. 'We need a few things.'

'You’re shopping at a grocery store?' Peter asked in disbelief, blinking. 'You’re Tony
Stark. Don’t you have, like, minions to do that?'"

Chapter Notes

Sorry that this is a day late. Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter had a good morning.

He got a quiz back in AP Physics with a large 100 scribbled on it, and he was so pleased with
himself that he couldn’t stop smiling. In his English class, they were reading To Kill A
Mockingbird, which was keeping his interest, unlike most books.

Lunch rolled around, and Peter was ravenous. His appetite was always larger when he was in a
good mood, so he got in the lunch line in the cafeteria, ready to pile his tray up as much as
possible.

It was unusually hot in the cafeteria, so when he sat down at the table that he always ate at with
Ned and MJ, who were already sitting there, he took off his jacket.

MJ had shed her jean jacket as well, donning the tank top underneath and exposing her shoulders,
something that Peter knew she would get reprimanded for, but also knew she wouldn’t care about
it.

“I’m starving,” Peter said as a way of greeting, already digging into his mac and cheese. “Also,
why is it so hot in here?”

“Maintenance broke the heat controls,” Ned said, “or at least that’s what Abe told me.”

“Mm,” Peter said, his mouth full. “Makes sense. By the way, did they say anything on the
announcements about us winning last—”

A startled, quickly choked back gasp cut him off, and his spider-sense prickled. He looked up from
his mac and cheese quickly, and saw MJ staring at the raised white scars on his arms, her eyes
wide with horror.

Sheer and utter panic raced through Peter, and he quickly moved so that his forearms weren’t
exposed anymore. MJ’s brown eyes flicked up, meeting Peter’s.
“It’s not—” Peter cut off, taking a deep breath, realizing that if he didn’t calm himself down, he
was going to work himself up into a panic attack. He took another breath. “It’s not what you think
it is.”

MJ’s lips were pressed into a hard line. It was obvious that she didn’t believe him, and it made
Peter incredible nervous. “I swear, it’s not. It’s not.”

“People don’t just get scars like that,” MJ hissed. “You could’ve told me.”

“There’s nothing to tell!” Peter insisted. “You’ve got the wrong idea, MJ!”

Ned was watching them with wide, nervous eyes. Peter knew he hated when his friends fought, so
Peter quickly tried to diffuse the situation.

“I promise you, I did not do this to myself,” Peter said in a low voice, reaching down and pulling
his jacket back on, covering the vertical scars.

“Then who did? Tony?” MJ asked coolly, and Peter had to bite his tongue to keep from retorting
angrily.

“No. He would never. I got them in a fight.”

“As Spider-Man?” MJ asked, and Peter was completely derailed.

“Wha… How… What?” Peter asked, stuttering. “How did you…”

“I’m not stupid, Parker,” MJ said frostily. “Besides, it makes sense. Queens hero, disappeared for a
few months late last year. You weren’t at school for a few months late last year, and you’re from
Queens. You’re living with Tony Stark, Peter. No offense, but I don’t think Tony Stark would just
randomly adopt a kid from Queens without a reason.”

Peter was staring at her, his mouth hanging open. “I…”

“You never answered me, though,” MJ said sternly, “How did you get those scars?”

“I fought the Marionette and he cut me,” Peter said, still reeling from finding out that MJ knew he
was Spider-Man. “He also broke my leg, that’s why I’m in a cast.”

“You could have just told us,” MJ said, crossing her arms. “Where is this dude now?”

“Prison,” Peter muttered. “It was pretty bad. I could’ve died.”

“Where was Tony while all this was happening?” MJ demanded.

“I didn’t tell him I was going out,” Peter mumbled. “He was on a date.”

“Hm,” MJ said, sounding displeased. “Whatever. Just be careful, loser.”

Peter nodded and went back to eating, scooping generous portions of his mac and cheese into his
mouth.

Someone moved out of the corner of his eye, and he saw a pale, skinny girl with frizzy brown hair
sit down at the end of their table.

Something about her made Peter quirk his head. “Who’s that?” he asked MJ in a low voice, not
wanting the girl to overhear them talking about her.
“Lilly Hollaland,” MJ said, her eyes sliding over to the girl and then back to Peter. “She’s new.
This is her second day.” Peter raised an eyebrow, and MJ continued. “She’s in my AP Lang class,
that’s how I know her.”

Peter watched as the girl took out her lunch and began eating, scrolling on her phone as she did so.

There was something about her that made Peter watch her. His spider-sense wasn’t going off, per
say, but it was uncomfortable.

She was wearing a large black sweatshirt, and the sleeves were pulled over her hands. She took a
bite of her sandwich before opening a bottle of water.

“Do you know anything else about her?” Peter asked quietly, chewing his cheek.

MJ stared at him a second, and there was something in her eyes that looked almost like hurt. “No,
not really. Why don’t you go ask her?”

Peter cocked his head. “Okay. I will.”

So, he stood with his tray and walked over, taking a seat down across from her. She looked up in
alarm, nearly dropping her sandwich.

“Hi,” Peter said with a smile. “I’m Peter Parker.”

“Er,” Lily looked away shyly. “I’m Lily. Lilly Hollaland.”

“My friend told you’re new here,” Peter said, eyes sliding over to MJ, who looked like she had
tasted something unpleasant. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, uh, I’m from a tiny town in Indiana. My step-dad moved my family here for a job.”

The way she said it make Peter think that there was some bad blood between her and her dad, so he
changed tactics. “Wow, Indiana is far away. Do you like New York?”

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “It’s alright. I used to live here when I was younger, but it’s
been awhile. Still as loud and as smelly as I remember.”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. That’s New York for you. Especially Queens, even though I do miss living
here.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Wait, you don’t live in Queens? I thought everyone at this school lives in
Queens.”

“Oh,” Peter said, with a casual flap of his hand, trying to ignore the fact that he was cursing his big
mouth. “I live in Midtown, Manhattan. It’s still close enough for me to come here.”

“Hey,” she said, her eyeliner-clad eyes widening. “Midtown! That’s where Avengers Tower is,
right?”

Peter ignored the panic. “Yeah, it’s right downtown. I, uh, I pass it on my way to school.”

“That’s seriously so cool,” she gushed. “That’s one of the reasons I was... well, I wouldn't
say okay with moving here. More like, begrudgingly accepting. New York is so busy and there's
always something to do. Indiana was boring.”

“Yeah. I’ve lived here my whole life and it’s never dull.” Especially with Tony Stark as my dad.
“Yeah. I miss Indiana, though. I didn’t—” she was cut off as the bell rang, startling both of them.

“It was nice talking to you,” Peter said with a smile, standing up to throw his trash away and put
his tray up. “See you around?”

Lily gave him a small grin. “Yeah, sure.”

--

The rest of the day passed quickly, to Peter’s happiness, and it was the end of the day before he
knew it.

He pushed open the metal front doors of the school and saw Tony’s car waiting in its usual spot,
the sun reflecting off the shiny black exterior.

Peter walked quickly to it, wanting to break out into a run but not wanting to draw attention to
himself. He threw his backpack in the backseat before getting in the passenger side, beaming.

“Hi, dad,” Peter said enthusiastically, buckling his seatbelt.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said, donning his signature sunglasses. “How was school?”

“It was good,” he said, almost bouncing up and down in his seat. It had been a good day, and now
he got to hang out with Tony. Life was good. “I made a new friend; her name is Lily Hollaland.
She’s new and she’s from Indiana.”

“That’s good,” Tony said, pulling out of his parking spot and onto the main road. “She cute?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess? I dunno, I didn’t really notice. She’s nice, though I think she’s got beef
with her step-dad.”

“Why do you say that?” Tony asked distractedly, cutting off a car in the fast lane.

“Just the way she said it,” Peter shrugged. “My senses were… weird, around her. I felt the need to
watch her.”

That had Tony’s attention. “Has that happened before?”

“No, not that I can remember,” Peter said, thinking. “Maybe it’s still developing. Who knows?”

“Just let me know if anything changes, okay?” Tony said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I don’t
like not knowing the full extent of your powers.”

Peter shrugged. “I’ll let you know. How was your day?”

He was expecting a non-committal answer, but instead, Tony’s mouth curled into a smirk. “I have a
bone to pick with you.”

Peter blinked. “Me? What did I do?”

“Oh, you don’t remember?” Tony’s smirk grew. “You told my ex that I was still in love with her.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “Oh… shit.”

“Mhmm,” Tony said. “Let that slip, didn’t you?”

Peter winced. “Sorry…”

“I’m never telling you anything ever again,” Tony announced. “Your lips are too loose for your
own good, kid.”

“I was on so many painkillers,” Peter said abashedly. “I didn’t know what I was saying!”

“Likely story,” Tony said teasingly, and Peter pouted. “It’s fine, I did damage control.”

“Good,” Peter said, relieved. “Did you tell her it was a joke? Or that I was loopy?”

“Nah, I told her that I’m still in love with her,” Tony said smoothly, and Peter raised his eyebrows.
“Told her that she was the light of my life, or something along those lines.”

“Why did you do that?” Peter asked, bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Tony said slowly and contemplatively, “but it worked. I’ve got a date on Friday.”

“Oh,” Peter said, surprised. “Well, that worked out, then.”

“It did,” Tony smiled. “I’ve got you to thank, Pete. Except,” he pursed his lips, “maybe next time,
when we play twenty questions, don’t go telling my secrets.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, a part of him shrinking at the words. He didn’t mean to make Tony
mad… “I’m sorry,” Peter muttered. “I didn’t think.”

“Don’t worry, buddy, I’m not mad,” Tony said softly. “It all worked out.”

Peter nodded, still feeling guilty.

“Before we get dinner, we’re gonna have to stop at the grocery store,” Tony said, and that startled
Peter from his brooding. “We need a few things.”

“You’re shopping at a grocery store?” Peter asked in disbelief, blinking. “You’re Tony Stark.
Don’t you have, like, minions to do that?”

“Ha-ha,” Tony deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “Usually, I do, but since we’re out, we might as well
go, right?”

Peter brightened. “Yeah, sure!”

--

Going grocery shopping with Peter was a terrible idea.

“Peter, please… pick a cereal,” Tony begged, resisting the urge to bang his head against the metal
shopping cart. They had been in the cereal aisle for over five minutes, all because Peter couldn’t
decide what cereal he wanted.

“I don’t know which one to get,” Peter whined, scuffing his sneakers against the floor. “I like
Lucky Charms, but I also like Apple Jacks and Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Froot Loops—’

“Get all of them, I don’t care,” Tony said grouchily, taking his phone out of his pocket and
checking his twitter feed for the fourth time that minute.

“That’s too much cereal!” Peter said anxiously, his brown eyes flitting over the boxes.
“Get Cinnamon Toast Crunch,” Tony said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s too sugary,” Peter said, reaching out towards the box of Lucky Charms, before taking his
hand back. “I don’t know which one to choose,” he whined.

“Peter, I will literally buy you General Mills if it gets us out of this aisle,” Tony said, trying hard
not to lose his temper. “Pick a cereal.”

“Okay, jeez,” Peter said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture, but his lips were twitching.

He was carefully picking out a box of Apple Jacks when Tony saw it.

The flash of a camera.

His blood went cold, his breath hissed out from his teeth. His eyes searched for the source, but the
only other person in the aisle was an elderly lady, and she was paying them no mind. He narrowed
his eyes, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose and pulling his hat further down over his eyes.

“Fuck,” he swore, low and sharp, and Peter started.

“I picked the cereal,” he said, slight hurt in his eyes, but Tony was too concerned with the flash he
just saw.

“I think someone just took a picture of us,” Tony muttered, and Peter looked around, but there was
no one there but the elderly lady, who was intently reading the nutrition facts of Raisin Bran.

“Who?” Peter asked in a low voice. “There’s no one around.”

“I saw a flash,” Tony muttered. “We should go.”

“But we’re not done shopping,” Peter said with a frown. “You don’t even look like you right now,
you’re wearing casual clothes and you have on a disguise.”

Tony twitched. “It’s a risk. We shouldn’t have even come here.”

“I like grocery shopping,” Peter said, before his eyes turned downcast. “I miss it. M-May and I
used to…”

Tony’s resolve shattered. “Okay,” he said immediately, anything to wipe the look of grief off of
Peter’s face. “We can keep shopping. Let’s be quick, though.”

Peter nodded, his eyes still a little sad. Tony reached out and ruffled his hair, giving him a smile.
Peter returned it, and they left the cereal aisle.

“What else do we need?” Peter asked, looking over Tony’s shoulder at his hastily written list.

“Bread—both whole wheat and white, because Nat will only eat whole wheat for some stupid
reason—eggs, bacon, ‘something for dessert’ as per both Clint’s and Bruce’s request, Pop-Tarts,
apples, apple juice, and mozzarella cheese sticks,” Tony read aloud.

“That’s a very strange list,” Peter observed, taking left turn into the refrigerated section.

“Well, we live with strange people,” Tony muttered, steering the cart after his kid.

Peter picked up two cartons of eggs. “White or brown eggs?”

“Does it matter?” Tony asked, bewildered.

“I think so,” Peter said, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he examined the two different
cartons.

It was adorable, Tony thought, the corners of his mouth kicking up into a smile.

Just as Peter was putting down the brown eggs, a group of teenagers entered the aisle, talking and
joking loudly.

Tony tensed, immediately putting his head down. Even with his cheesy hat and sunglasses, he was
recognizable, thanks to his trademark facial hair.

“Let’s go, Pete,” Tony said lowly, keeping an eye on the gaggle of teens.

“Should we get a dozen or two dozen eggs?” Peter asked, looking at the prices. “Two dozen is
more expensive—”

“Two dozen works,” Tony said through gritted teeth. “Come on, next aisle.”

“Got it,” Peter said, picking up the cardboard carton and putting it in the cart. “You said you
wanted mozzarella sticks, that’s down here—”

“Forget it, we don’t need it,” Tony said immediately, already steering the cart away. “Let’s go,
Peter.”

“Stop being so paranoid,” Peter said in a low voice. “No one’s going to recognize you. Chill.”

“You chill,” Tony said childishly, and Peter rolled his eyes.

“I’m getting the sticks,” Peter said, strolling down the aisle and opening one of the freezers,
withdrawing a box of mozzarella sticks, before walking over to the cart.

They made their way through the store slowly, since it took Peter ages to pick anything out. Tony
tried not to belittle him for it, since he knew it was no doubt a product of Peter’s humble, not
necessarily poor but close, upbringing.

It took the kid several minutes to decide what kind of bread was the best, however, and it made
Tony want to strangle something.

They reached the self-checkout, and Tony relaxed a little. They were almost done.

He was putting his card in the chip reader when he saw it again.

A flash.

He whipped his head around, panic running through him again.

There were several people using the self-checkouts, but none of them seemed too concerned with
him.

But where did that flash come from?

“Dad? You gonna pay?” Peter asked from his side, and he shoved his card into the reader, making
quick work of entering his pin.
 Peter loaded the plastic bags into the cart, and they were quickly out of there, much to Tony’s
relief.

They got in the car, and Tony took off his sunglasses and hat, breathing a sigh of relief.

“That was stressful,” he commented, running a hand through his hair.

“Only for you,” Peter said, bucking his seat belt. “You’re so paranoid.”

“I just don’t want people to find out about you, Pete,” Tony said, starting the car. “I want people to
know you’re my son on our own terms. No speculation about you being my biological son, no
rumors about you, or what you are to me.”

Peter looked at his dad, his heart swelling with affection. “I understand. I just… I like going out
and doing stuff with you.”

“We can still do that,” Tony said, pulling out of his parking spot. “We just have to be careful,
okay?”

“Okay,” Peter sighed, before smiling. “Dinner?”

“Sure,” Tony said, flashing Peter a grin. “Chinese, right?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “That joke got old hours ago.”

“You’re just mad that I’m funnier than you,” Tony pointed out.

“First off, no, second, you’re not.”

“Tell yourself that, kid. Burgers or pasta?”

“Pasta. Can we go to Olive Garden? Their breadsticks are amazing.”

Tony smirked. “Sure, bud. Anything.”

Chapter End Notes

Two things:
One, I'm going to post my My Hero Academia fanfic either tonight or tomorrow, so if
you're in that fandom then maybe check it out. It has some of the same dynamics as
this fic, like the whole adoptive father trope.
Two, I made a tumbr! I'm going to be taking prompts and posting little ficlets there, so
give me a follow! Here's the link: https://thestarvingwriter.tumblr.com/
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys soon!
 Chapter 51
Chapter Summary

"Tony put his hands-on Peter’s shoulders, peering down at him. 'I’ll be back before
you know it, buddy.'

Peter took a breath and blinked. 'Okay. Sorry.'

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said, and he engulfed Peter into a hug. 'See you later, Pete.'"

Chapter Notes

So sorry for the wait! Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tony saw the pictures the next morning.

Peter was getting ready for school, and Tony was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of
coffee and half a bagel.

They appeared in his twitter feed, with the caption, “Tony Stark Goes Grocery Shopping with
Unknown Boy: Make a Wish or More?”

It set Tony’s teeth on edge, but it wasn’t as bad as it could be. Peter’s back was to the camera both
times, so thankfully they didn’t see his face or his blue Midtown shirt.

We have to be more careful, Tony thought, sipping his hot beverage. Or we’re going to have to say
something.

--

The week went by fast, and before Peter knew it, it was Friday.

He had gotten his cast taken off that morning by Doctor Banner, who made sure he wasn’t feeling
any discomfort. It was a liberating feeling to be free of the heavy boot, and the first thing he did
after it was off was take a shower, reveling in the feeling of being able to wash his left leg.

As Tony drove him to school, Peter noticed how nervous the man was. He was chewing the inside
of his cheek and tapping the steering wheel with his thumbs anxiously. Peter watched with his
brows furrowed, wondering what his dad was so worried about.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, his own anxieties leaking into his voice, because oh god, what if
it’s something bad? “Why are you so nervous?”

Tony’s brown eyes flashed to his, before turning back to the road, and Peter’s stomach did a
somersault, his hands immediately curling into fists.
“I have my date with Pepper tonight,” Tony said hesitantly.

Oh. Of course. Peter let out the breath he was unconsciously holding, his hands relaxing. “Oh.
You’re nervous about that?”

“Me? Nervous?” Tony scoffed, but his thumbs were tapping the wheel anxiously again. “I’m Tony
Stark. I don’t get nervous.”

“Mhmm,” Peter said, smirking. “Never, you say?”

“Never,” Tony agreed, sending Peter a look.

“You seem pretty nervous to me,” Peter said, his smirk intensifying. “It’s just a date. You’ve been
on tons of those.”

“First of all, I am not nervous,” Tony said pointedly, turning into Midtown’s parking lot. “Second
off, it’s Pepper. She’s different.”

“Aww,” Peter made love eyes at him. “You sap.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Tony said, smacking Peter playfully on the arm as the teen undid his seatbelt.

“See you later?” Peter asked, grabbing his backpack and looking at Tony expectantly.

“I won’t be able to pick you up after school, bud,” Tony said regrettably. “I’ve got to pick some
stuff up for my date tonight.”

“Okay,” Peter said, refusing to feel saddened by this. “I’ll definitely see you tonight, though,
right?”

“Yep. I’ll see you then, Pete,” Tony said warmly, and Peter shut the car door, taking a step back.

Tony drove off, and Peter watched his car disappear from view before he made his way into the
school, hating the fact that he was there but thankful for the fact that it was Friday.

He met Ned at his locker, and together they walked to class, chatting about a new episode of
Brooklyn Nine-Nine, which aired the night previous.

Peter was about to launch into an in-depth analysis of one of the characters when a shoulder
bumped against his, and Lily fell into step with the two of them, her frizzy brown hair pulled back
into something that vaguely resembled a ponytail.

“Hey guys,” she said, the side of her mouth curled into a smile. Peter’s spider-sense tingled, like it
always did when he saw her, and he smiled as amiably at her as he could. The hairs on his arms
were standing up, but it wasn’t in a threatening way. She just made him… uneasy.

“Hi, Lily!” Ned said over-enthusiastically, and Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ever since
Lily had joined their little group on Wednesday, Ned had been a little weird. If it was because he
liked her, or just the fact that there was another female in their party, Peter didn’t know, but it was
amusing.

“Hey, Ned. What class are you guys going to?”

“I’m going to AP physics,” Peter informed her, “and Ned is going to AP World.”

“Dope. I’m off to English. See you at lunch?” She asked, her eyes jumping between the two of
them.

“Yeah, see you then!” Ned said, and Peter waved goodbye as she turned the corner.

The hairs on his arms immediately flattened, and he breathed a sigh. He ran a hand wearily through
his hair, mussing his curls up further.

Ned noticed the tension leave him, and he raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Peter shrugged. “Fine. Just a little stressed; I’m swamped with homework.”

“Do you want to study after school? It’s been awhile since you’ve come over. My mom misses
you.”

Peter tensed. That means less time with Tony. “I… can’t. Uh…”

“That’s fine,” Ned said quickly, sensing Peter’s distress. “Some other time, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, suddenly feeling ashamed.

“See you at lunch, Peter!” Ned said, turning into his classroom, leaving Peter to walk by himself to
physics.

Why does it feel like this dependency thing is getting worse, Peter wondered, gripping the straps of
his backpack. The thought of going to Ned’s house instead of being with Tony makes me super
anxious for no reason.

He sighed, turning the corner and walking down the science hallway.

And why does Lily trigger my spider-sense? As far as I know, she’s not an evil villain who’s trying
to take over the world.

So why does she put me on edge?

Shaking his head, he walked into his physics class.

I need answers.

--

“Are you a criminal?”

“Am I a what?” Lily sounded confused, arching a perfectly drawn eyebrow at Peter.

“A criminal,” Peter repeated, then winced, taking a big drink of water to shut his mouth.

“No…” Lily said slowly, befuddled. “I’m not a criminal. Why? Do I look like one?”

“No,” Peter was quick to reassure, nearly choking on his water. “I… uh, I don’t know why I asked
that question.”

Both MJ and Ned were giving him weird looks, and Peter shoved his chicken sandwich into his
mouth, tearing off an outrageously big bite.

“Alright,” Lily said, turning to the other two. “Do you guys think I’m a criminal?”

“No,” Ned said quickly, and MJ rolled her eyes. “I think you’re cool!”
Lily gave Ned a small smile and turned to MJ expectantly.

“Well, we know little about you,” MJ said, shrugging. Peter wished she wasn’t so blunt. “You
could be.”

“Forget I asked, I was being dumb,” Peter said as Lily’s eyebrows furrowed together in concern.
“Sorry. I kind of attacked you.”

“It’s alright,” Lily said uncertainly, before falling quiet and pulling her sleeves down over her
hands, staring at the table.

Peter felt like a terrible person, and an even worse friend. The table had fallen silent.

Suddenly, MJ turned to Peter. “Didn’t you say Tony had a date tonight?”

Peter tensed, and Lily’s eyes shot to him. “Oh. Yeah, uh, he does.”

“Who’s Tony?” Lily asked, curious.

“My dad,” Peter said, shooting MJ a glare. “He’s going out with someone tonight.”

“Ah,” Lily said, and a dark expression came over her face. “Must be nice having the house to
yourself, right?”

Peter’s spider-sense tingled, but he ignored it. “No, not really. It’s, uh, kind of lonely without him.”

“Hm,” Lily muttered, picking at her sandwich. “Must be nice, being close to your dad.”

It’s debilitating. I can’t be without him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s pretty great.”

“He’s Tony Stark! Of course, he’s great!” Ned said excitedly, and Peter frantically shook his head
at him, but the damage was done.

“Wait, hold on,” Lily said, her eyes jumping from Peter to Ned, disbelief and shock fighting for
dominance on her face. “Wait. What?”

“Nothing!” Peter said hastily. “Nothing. Just an inside joke. Tony’s my dad’s name and he kind of
looks like Tony Stark, so Ned always jokes that Tony Stark’s my dad. Just a joke. Tony Stark’s not
my dad. Definitely not.”

“Oh!” Lily said, before giggling. “That’s funny. Do you have a picture?”

Peter was going to respond, but then the bell rang, and he fled the cafeteria before any more
questions could be asked.

--

“Ned almost let it slip to Lily that you’re my dad,” Peter said, sitting on the sink countertop in
Tony’s bathroom, watching the man tie his tie with ease. He kicked his feet, and his heels hit the
wood, making a thumping noise.

“Is that a bad thing?” Tony asked, tightening and adjusting his tie.

“She’s a fan,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “I don’t want her treating me differently.”

Tony frowned slightly. “You’ve got to get used to it, bud. We can’t keep this a secret forever,
especially when the adoption gets finalized.”

Peter stared at his knees. “Yeah, I know. I just… I want people to like me for me.”

“Ooh, does Lily like you, Pete?” Tony asked teasingly, sending a smirk at Peter.

Peter huffed a laugh. “God, I hope not. Dating is a no, and Ned’s head over heels for her, anyway.”

Tony snorted, running his hands through is hair. The pair of them fell silent, before Tony spoke in
a serious tone. “You can tell her, Pete. If she’s your friend, she won’t treat you any differently.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell her on Monday.”

“Good,” Tony shrugged on his suit jacket, and began to exit the bathroom. Peter hopped down
from his perch and followed him to the elevator.

“You going to be okay?” Tony asked, ruffling Peter’s hair as the metal doors closed.

“Yeah,” Peter said, trying to convince himself as well as Tony. “When will you be back?”

“Probably around ten-thirty,” Tony said, and the elevator dinged, opening to the garage.

“Okay,” Peter said, his heart clenching. Four hours. “Okay.”

Tony put his hands-on Peter’s shoulders, peering down at him. “I’ll be back before you know it,
buddy.”

Peter took a breath and blinked. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said, and he engulfed Peter into a hug. “See you later, Pete.”

Peter exhaled. “Bye, dad.”

Too soon by Peter’s standards, Tony broke the hug and made for one of his flashier Audis, getting
gracefully into the driver’s side and starting the engine.

Peter watched him drive away, ignoring the empty sensation he felt.

--

Being in the Tower without Tony was insufferably boring.

It was eight o’clock, and Peter had completed his homework, scrolled through all of his social
media timelines, and eaten half a tub of cheeseballs.

He laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing the minutes to go faster. He checked his
phone every minute, expecting time to have passed and being disappointed when it didn’t.

With a sigh, he checked his phone again, and it read the same time as it did seconds before, 8:12.

Peter huffed angrily through his nose, before rolling onto his side, bunching his pillow underneath
his head.

If I sleep, time will go faster, Peter thought, shutting his eyes determinedly. I’ll just nap for two
hours, and then Tony will be home…

--
He was running.

His chest was heaving, and his legs were aching as he sprinted, his heart racing.

There was something behind him. He had to run. He had to go.

He had to find Tony.

The thing chasing him was gaining on him, and he picked up the pace, his legs going so fast he
thought he was going to trip.

Where was Tony? He had to find him. Tony could help.

The thing had caught up to him and was right behind him. He tried to run, tried to get away, but it
caught him, grasping him by the forearm and yanking him back.

He turned, his breaths coming out in wheezes. The thing towered over him, frizzy brown hair
hanging over rolling eyes, body jerking abnormally.

Lily.

--

Peter awoke on a gasp, flying upright in bed.

His eyes scanned the dark room as he panted, sweat sliding down his back and his face. He could
hear his pulse in his ears.

In a panic, he threw off the covers and got up on shaky legs, making his way out of his room and
across the hall to Tony’s.

He didn’t check the time, and he didn’t remember that Tony had been on date. The only thing on
his brain was the horrible, horrible nightmare, and the desperate need to be comforted.

He stumbled into Tony’s room, his breaths coming out in stuttered gasps, his entire body shaking.

Tony was asleep in his bed, curled on his side. Peter let out a sigh and crossed the room, ready to
curl up in bed next—

Oh.

Tony was not alone in his bed.

Pepper Potts was in bed next to him, sleeping on her side as well, her face relaxed and peaceful.

Peter’s heart skipped several beats and he held his breath, his face immediately turning bright red.

Oh god, oh fuck, Peter thought repeatedly, immediately backtracking, keeping his eyes on the
sleeping pair. Shit, shit, shit.

They were both fully clothed, but something about watching them sleep in the same bed made
Peter feel like he was intruding on something incredibly private and intimate, and he knew he had
to get out of there as fast as possible, and without alerting the sleeping pair.

Just as he had that thought, however, he backed up straight into one of the shelves Tony kept in his
room, hitting it hard enough to shake the entire piece of furniture.
In what felt like slow motion, one of Tony’s fancy, expensive, glass trophies fell from the shelf an
onto the wooden floor, shattering into a million pieces.

Immediately, Pepper let out a shriek, sitting upright in bed, which then caused Tony to tumble off
the mattress and onto the ground with a loud curse, hitting his elbow on the bedside table.

“Ow, fuck,” Tony swore loudly, and Peter didn’t breathe, he couldn’t. “Jesus Christ, what’s
wrong?”

Peter felt lightheaded as Pepper’s squinted eyes fell on him. “Peter?” she asked, residual sleep
turning her voice low.

Tony’s head immediately popped up from the side of the bed just as Peter realized he was shaking
and that his heart was pounding in his chest.

“Pete?” Tony rose, walking over to where Peter stood, shaking and trying to breathe. “What’s
going on?”

Peter stumbled forward, and Tony immediately caught him, wrapping his arms around the shaking
teen tightly. “Hey. It’s alright, deep breaths. Calm down, buddy.”

“Sorry,” Peter’s voice shook around the word. “Didn’t mean—”

“Shh. Don’t worry about it, it was an accident. Why are you up? It’s almost two in the morning,
kid.”

“Nightmare,” Peter said against Tony, clutching at him desperately. “M'sorry, I didn’t think…”

“No more apologies,” Tony said, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair. “It’s fine. Let’s get you
back to bed, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter said shakily, his quivering fingers clutching Tony’s soft shirt. Dad. Safe.

Peter let himself be directed back to his room, where Tony sat with him until he fell into a deep,
dreamless sleep.

--

Tony stumbled back into the bedroom after fifteen minutes, and Pepper was still up.

Exhausted, he practically fell into bed, burying his face in his pillow. He took a deep breath,
shutting his eyes.

“He should see a therapist,” Pepper said, breaking the silence.

Tony tensed, indignation rising within him. “Are you saying he’s messed up?”

“No,” Pepper said, and there was no heat to her tone, no argument. “He’s not messed up, nor is he
crazy. But you have to see that he needs help, Tony. You have to.”

Tony gritted his teeth, wanting to launch into all the reasons why she was wrong, but being unable
to.

Because he knew Peter needed help. He’d known it for a while, and his reaction to being away
from Tony in Boston solidified it. There was only so much he could do, and he felt insanely out of
his depth sometimes.
 “I know,” Tony murmured, staring at the dark wall. “I know. I should take him, shouldn’t I?”

“Don’t force it on him,” Pepper said softly. “Just bring it up and ask him how he feels about it.”

Tony blew out a breath. “Alright. I’ll talk to him.”

“Good,” Pepper placed a hand on his back. “You’re doing good, Tony. You are. There are just
some things you can’t help him with. He needs an outlet.”

Tony shut his eyes. “I hope you’re right.”

The room fell silent, but the hand on his back didn’t leave.

Tony didn’t sleep any more that night.

Chapter End Notes

Wow, sorry that this is so late. I've been swamped with school work, and this weekend
I had a pretty bad health scare (but I think I'm fine now). I'm running on very little
sleep so this chapter is probably filled with errors, so please excuse that.
Also, thank you to everyone who followed me on tumblr! Here's the link if you wanna
check me out: https://thestarvingwriter.tumblr.com/
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys soon!
 Chapter 51
Chapter Summary

"Last night had been wonderful, and for the first time in months, Tony felt whole. A
part of him had been missing with Pepper gone, but now that she was back, he felt
lighter than air.

He had the two people he loved most in the world with him. He couldn’t be happier."

Chapter Notes

I AM SO SORRY
I'M NOT DEAD I PROMISE
THIS IS SHORT I'M SORRY
ENJOY THE FLUFF

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next day, when Peter entered the small kitchen in their shared apartment, Pepper was sitting at
the table, drinking coffee and reading something on a tablet.

Peter stopped in his tracks when he saw her, debating on whether or not to make a break for the
elevator to get away, but then she spotted him.

Her smile was pleasant, but Peter felt his face heat.

“Hi,” he squeaked, trying to force his legs to move. He stumbled over to the fridge, trying to make
sure his breaths were even so she wouldn’t realize he was panicking.

With shaky hands, he grabbed the carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass, before sitting
at the table, diagonal from Pepper. He drank slowly, using the juice as an excuse not to talk to her.

“Sorry if I spooked you last night,” she said, breaking the silence between the two of them, and
Peter swallowed an abnormally large amount of juice in his haste to answer her.

“Oh,” he said, and his voice was high with embarrassment. “It’s fine. I just, uh…”

His face burned red as he took another drink, unsure of what to say.

But what could he say? Sorry that I have issues, didn’t mean to wake you up and terrify you.

“Sorry that I, uh…” Peter trailed off, wanting to disappear on the spot. He looked down at the
table. “Yeah,” he finished lamely.

“It’s alright,” Pepper said softly. “I understand.”

Peter nodded, fidgeting nervously, feeling guilty. He didn’t mean to break Tony’s expensive
trophy, nor did he mean to wake both of them up, and the whole thing was just making him feel
horrible.

Thankfully, he was saved from spiraling into self-deprecation when the elevator dinged, the doors
opened, and Tony strolled in.

He was dressed in casual clothes, which consisted of jeans and a Duran Duran t-shirt. He was
clutching a Starbucks coffee cup in his hand, and Peter wondered vaguely when he had gone to
Starbucks.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, striding over to the table. He planted a kiss on Pepper’s cheek
and ruffled Peter’s hair, before striding over to the fridge to search for breakfast.

“Waffles, pancakes, or french toast, kid?” Tony asked. “Or I can get crepes again?”

Peter bit his cheek. “Pancakes?” he said timidly, phrasing it as a question more than an answer.

“Excellent choice,” Tony said, shutting the fridge and striding over to the pantry, coming back out
with a box of Aunt Jemima pancake mix. “You want to help me?”

Peter nodded, standing and walking over just as Tony pulled out a bowl and a whisk.

“No hand mixer, because I don’t want a repeat of the cookie fiasco,” Tony said with a roll of the
eyes, and Peter snorted, remembering the event fondly.

“Probably for the best, yeah,” Peter said, his mood lightening as Tony joked with him.

“Two cups of mix and one and a half cups of water,” Tony reminded him, before turning and
bending down, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out a griddle.

Peter got to work, opening the box of pancake mix and measuring out the correct amount of the
powder, before filling up the liquid measuring cup with one and a half cups of water.

As Peter was whisking the batter behind him, Tony met Pepper’s eyes from his position at the
stove.

She was smiling at him, her blue eyes sparkling. Tony pretended that his heart didn’t skip a beat,
but he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from kicking up into a grin.

Last night had been wonderful, and for the first time in months, Tony felt whole. A part of him had
been missing with Pepper gone, but now that she was back, he felt lighter than air.

He had the two people he loved most in the world with him. He couldn’t be happier.

Still smiling slightly, he walked over to the fridge and pulled out a stick of butter, before cutting off
a pat and putting it on the griddle, sliding it around with a spatula.

Peter brought the batter to Tony once it was made, and Tony began to ladle pancake sized puddles
of it onto the griddle.

Trying to be sneaky, Peter quickly scooped up a fingerful of the batter and ate it.

“Are you seriously eating raw pancake batter?” Tony asked him, an eyebrow raised. “That’s nasty,
Pete.”

“It’s good!” Peter said defensively. Tony rolled his eyes and tried to yank the bowl away from
Peter when he tried to get another fingerful.

The kid was too quick, however, and he smirked when he ate the batter off his finger.

“Damn spider reflexes,” Tony muttered, and Peter froze next to him, his eyes sliding over to
Pepper nervously.

“She knows, kid,” Tony said softly, and Peter relaxed a little bit.

“Right,” he said under his breath, staring down at the counter.

Tony could practically feel Peter’s uneasiness, and he silently wondered why that was. Was it
because the kid saw him and Pepper in bed last night together?

They had been fully clothed, though! It wasn’t like they were naked or doing anything
incriminating. They had simply been sleeping.

Or maybe it was just Pepper in general that was making Peter uneasy, but Tony really hoped that
wasn’t it. He wanted the two most important people in his life to get along.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he flipped the pancakes onto a plate, a part of him admiring their
golden color. He was getting better at cooking.

“I’m getting better at this,” Tony announced, proud of himself.

Peter snickered. “It’s pancakes, Tony. You can’t really mess up pancakes.”

“You can burn them,” Tony pointed out, “or you can make the batter too thick or too thin.”

Peter rolled his eyes, before perking up. “I want to flip some.”

“If you think you’re touching this spatula with your gross batter fingers, you’ve got another thing
coming,” Tony scoffed, ladling more batter onto the griddle. “Wash your hands and then you can
flip.”

Peter grumbled but went over to the sink and washed his hands, before walking back over to the
stove and grabbing the spatula out of Tony’s hand.

“It’s harder than it looks,” Tony warned, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

Peter scoffed. “Sure it is,” and to prove him wrong, Peter fliped a pancake into the air, maybe a tad
bit over-enthusiastically.

The half-cooked pancake landed on the floor with a splat, and both Peter and Tony stared at it,
before looking up at meeting each other’s gaze.

The first to laugh was Pepper, surprisingly, who dissolved into giggles at the table. The sound
made Tony start to laugh, and then Peter, who laughed so hard that tears of mirth beaded at the
corners of his eyes.

Once they all had themselves under control, Tony briskly grabbed the spatula from Peter’s hand.
“Your flipping duties are revoked indefinitely,” he informed his kid, turning to the rest of the
pancakes, which were burnt from not being attended to.

“I didn’t mean to!” Peter said shrilly, his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a smile. Tony
flipped the burnt pancakes onto the plate, frowning at them.
“You made me burn the pancakes,” Tony complained. “You’re officially banned from the
kitchen.”

“Fine,” Peter said, grabbing the plate of pancakes. “I’ll just be taking these.”

“Hey! Bring those back!”

“Nope,” Peter said, setting the plate on the table. He grabbed a pancake and tore off a fluffy piece
with his fingers, stuffing it into his mouth. “They’re my pancakes now.”

Tony bristled, and Pepper laughed, grabbing a pancake and putting it on her plate, slathering it with
butter and syrup.

Tony finished making the pancakes and took a seat at the table, stacking his plate up high as Peter
took another pancake, pouring a good half-cup of syrup on it.

“How can you even taste the pancake?” Tony asked Peter incredulously, who took a sugary bite
and hummed, pleased at the taste.

“Don’t judge me,” Peter said pointedly, stabbing his fork in Tony’s direction. Tony held his hands
up in a surrender, and Peter lowered his fork. “So, what are we doing today?”

Tony glanced at Pepper, who subtly nodded at him, her eyes serious. Peter, who was busy cutting
up his pancakes, missed the exchange entirely.

“We’re going to go to the grocery store,” Tony said, and Peter raised both eyebrows, “and we’re
going to get some stuff to cook dinner tonight.”

“Tony, the last time we went to the grocery store, you were paranoid the entire time,” Peter stated,
confused.

“Yeah, well, you enjoy it,” Tony said with a shrug. “I’ll just wear my disguise.”

Peter looked at him a second longer, before shrugging slightly to himself. He turned to Pepper.
“Are you coming too, Ms. Potts?” Peter asked politely.

“Call me Pepper, Peter,” Pepper said with a gentle smile, and Tony loved the woman even more.
“And no, I have some work to do, since someone likes to slack off,” Pepper shot Tony a look, and
Tony smiled sheepishly.

“Okay,” Peter said with a slight smile, happy that it was just going to be him and Tony.

Once they had finished eating, Tony took Peter’s plate, as well as his own and Pepper’s, over to the
dishwasher.

“Alright, Pete. Go get dressed, we’re leaving in forty,” Tony said, and Peter nodded, dashing
towards his bedroom.

As soon as his door closed, Tony shut his eyes for a second, sighing. He stood in front of the sink
and peered out the window, watching as fluffy white clouds drifted lazily over the Manhattan
skyline.

He was dreading the conversation that he and Peter were going to have. He had a feeling that the
kid was going to have a bad reaction, and he really didn’t want to fight with Peter.

But he knew he had to. They couldn’t keep going on like this, and maybe therapy would be a good
 thing for Peter.

Just because therapy didn’t work for him doesn’t mean it won’t work for everyone.

And god, he hoped it would work for Peter.

Two hands were on his shoulders all of the sudden, massaging gently and pulling him from his
thoughts.

He shut his eyes again, leaning into Pepper’s touch.

“You’re too tense,” she said quietly. “It’ll be fine, Tony.”

Tony sighed again. “This is the part of parenting I don’t like, Pepper. I’m terrible at heart to
hearts.”

“That’s not true,” Pepper said, no doubt in her voice. “At least, not with Peter. You’re great with
him Tony, and I’m not saying that you haven’t been doing the best you can, because you have. But
he’s a fifteen-year-old kid and has experienced more death and destruction than most people do in
their entire lives, and it’s obvious that he’s not coping well with it.”

“It’s not all bad,” Tony said, albeit a little defensively.

“Of course not,” Pepper said soothingly. “But based on things that you’ve told me and things that
I’ve seen, he needs to see a therapist. He’s terrified of being without you, and it’ll only get worse if
you don’t do something about it. This level of separation anxiety is dangerous, Tony. Surely,
you’ve realized that?”

And Tony had. As soon as Peter got back from Boston, or hell, even before that. It wasn’t normal
for a fifteen-year-old to be reduced to sobs and screams at the thought of being away from his
parent.

“Why do you have to be right all the time?” Tony asked Pepper, turning and facing her, his hands
falling to her waist. “It’s really annoying, but at the same time, incredibly sexy.”

Pepper rolled her eyes but leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. It was short, but Tony
could taste the syrup on her lips, and it made him sigh.

“Go take your kid to the store,” Pepper said, her blue eyes sparkling, her mouth quirked into a soft
smile. “And maybe get him something better for breakfast than Aunt Jemima pancakes.”

Tony chuckled, leaning his forehead against Pepper’s, his eyes sliding shut.

They stayed like that for several minutes.

Chapter End Notes

So, I saw Endgame (no spoilers) and my gODDAMN HEART WAS RIPPED OUT
AND STOMPED ON.
I cried violently. It wasn't pretty.
Also, I'm so fucking sorry for being gone so long. I lost steam rapidly, and I've been
worrying about my health (I've got kidney stones, and they hurt like a mother) ever
since the end of March. But I'm back now! I'm going to try and go back to my once a
week schedule, but I have finals next week, so that might not be likely. But I will try!
As always, feedback is much appreciated. I will see you all soon!
 Chapter 52
Chapter Summary

"He didn’t want that for Peter. He didn’t want the strain, and he didn’t want Peter to
think that Tony thought he was broken.

Because he wasn’t. Peter wasn’t broken.

He was a kid who had everyone he loved taken away from him one too many times."

Chapter Notes

New chapter! Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

As Peter waited in the garage for Tony, he texted his friends.

Ned had added Lily to their group chat, tastefully named The Tosche Station Power Converters, at
the obvious annoyance of MJ, and slight bewilderment of Peter. When he befriended Lily, he
didn’t realize that she was going to be come integrated into his friend group so fast, and he didn’t
know how he felt about it.

Sure, she was a nice girl, and funny too. She also liked Star Wars, which was a plus, but the fact
that just being around her set him on edge and made him nervous took away from how cool she
was.

And the dream he had…

Peter gave a slight shudder. It was probably one of the scariest dreams he had ever had, and it had
shaken him to his core. The image of Lily, eyes rolling horrifically and body spasming unnaturally,
was enough to make him not sleep again.

And he would have to face her on Monday and act like nothing was wrong.

Great.

Peter sighed, leaning back against one of Tony’s Audis. The whole Lily situation was nothing short
of exhausting, and he couldn’t wait for some mind-numbing grocery shopping to make him forget.

Almost as if it was planned, Tony stepped out of the elevator, and Peter perked up.

“FRIDAY, open garage door three,” Tony said, before grinning at Peter. “You ready to go, kid?”

Peter nodded excitedly, getting into the passenger side of the car. He buckled his seatbelt as Tony
got in, putting the key in the ignition and turning, starting the car.
He backed out of the garage, and they were off.

Peter reached out and turned on the radio to The Spectrum, his favorite Sirius XM station, which
Tony rolled his eyes at. Peter’s music was a little too soft and folky for his taste, but if it made the
kid happy, then he honestly couldn’t complain.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t tease him about it, though.

“Would it kill you to listen to Metallica for once, kid?” Tony asked as a Simon and Garfunkel song
played. “This stuff is mushy.”

“Your music hurts my ears,” Peter said placidly, scrolling on his phone. “It’s very yell-y.”

“I take so much offense to that, Pete,” Tony said, rolling to a stop at a red light. “So much offense.”

“You listen to old man music,” Peter said intelligently. “Anyone who listens to the music you
listen to is stuck in the 80s.”

Tony swelled with indignation, gesturing wildly at the radio. “This song playing is older than I
am!”

“Old. Man. Music,” Peter enunciated.

Tony grumbled, but ultimately couldn’t come up with a sufficient comeback. Peter grinned in
satisfaction.

“So, what are we cooking for dinner?” Peter asked curiously. “And why are we cooking dinner in
the first place? You’re terrible in the kitchen.”

“Who says I can’t try and do something nice for my kid and my girl?” Tony asked, drumming his
fingers on the wheel nervously.

“You just want to impress Ms. Potts,” Peter said teasingly, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief.

“Caught me,” Tony said, wishing that he wasn’t so nervous. “Pepper doesn’t believe I can cook
anything other than pancakes.”

“Well, you can’t,” Peter pointed out, and Tony playfully swatted him.

Peter laughed, and the sound was like music to Tony’s ears. He’s having a good day. Maybe
asking him about seeing a therapist won’t be too bad. “Anyways, we’re making manicotti. My
mom has an old recipe that we can follow, it should be pretty easy.”

Peter nodded, humming along to a new song that came on the radio. Tony turned in to the Whole
Foods parking lot, pulling flawlessly into a parking spot.

“You ready, Pete?” Tony asked, putting on his hat and sunglasses, flashing his kid a smile.

“Yeah!” Peter said excitedly, unbuckling and getting out of the car.

Tony took a breath.

Let’s hope no one sees us.

--
No one saw them, thankfully, but there was a close call.

A little boy dropped his portable gaming system in the pasta aisle, and without thinking, Tony
picked it up and gave it back to the kid.

Because he was nice like that.

Of course, the child took one look at his face and gaped, causing Tony to immediately look away
and shove Peter along as the kid excitedly exclaimed, “Iron-Man! Mommy, it’s Iron-Man!”

Peter laughed into the next aisle, but Tony didn’t find it very funny.

Luckily, that was the only incident, but it was enough to further put Tony on edge and question his
decision to go to the grocery store in the first place.

As he and Peter were putting the groceries in the back, Tony tactfully suggested going out for
lunch.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Ooh, can we get Taco Bell?” Peter asked excitedly as Tony closed the
trunk with a click of a button.

“Absolutely not,” Tony said, appalled. “Out of all the food in the world, you want Taco Bell?”

“It’s good!” Peter insisted, but then grimaced. “Okay, maybe good isn’t the best word to describe it
—”

“Edible is more accurate,” Tony said, getting into the driver’s seat of the car, “but even that’s a
stretch.”

“Fine, no Taco Bell, then,” Peter conceding, smiling slightly as he clicked his seatbelt in place.
“Shake Shack?”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Tony said, smiling despite the worry that churned inside
him. He was planning on talking to Peter while they ate, like he always did when he had to discuss
serious stuff with Peter, and he was on edge. He didn’t want Peter to take it the wrong way and get
angry, or worse, cry.

As Tony parallel parked outside of the Shake Shack on 3 rd Avenue, he tried his hardest not to
fidget nervously. He peered into the restaurant from the driver’s seat and saw that it was packed.

“Looks crowded,” Tony commented. “I don’t want to go in and chance getting recognized. Can
you get the food?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, sure. You got cash?”

Tony fished out his wallet from the pocket of his jeans, before opening it and pulling out two
twenties, handing them to Peter. “Get me a burger, fries, and a coke.”

“Got it,” Peter said, getting out of the car. “I’ll be back.”

The door shut, and Tony closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths.

Fuck. Fuck. He wasn’t ready to talk about this. He knew Peter was going to take it the wrong way,
and dammit, they were having a good day. Couldn’t… Couldn’t he just wait?

No, he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He had waited long enough.

God, he hated this. He hated heart to hearts, they gave him anxiety and made him feel awkward.
Talking to Peter about his sexuality was one thing, but this was completely different.

This was him practically telling Peter that he was broken and that he needed someone to put him
back together.

It was how he took it, when Pepper tried to get him to go to therapy. It was like a blow to the chest,
and it put a strain on their relationship for quite a while.

He didn’t want that for Peter. He didn’t want the strain, and he didn’t want Peter to think that Tony
thought he was broken.

Because he wasn’t. Peter wasn’t broken.

He was a kid who had everyone he loved taken away from him one too many times.

It would be too much for anyone to deal with, let alone a fifteen-year-old kid. Tony knew he
should have suggested therapy a long time ago, before it got to the point of Peter clinging to Tony
and refusing to let go.

The passenger door opened, and Tony’s eyes shot open. Peter got back into the car, carrying a
brown paper bag and a drink tray.

“I got myself a milkshake,” Peter said proudly, handing Tony his soda. “Shake Shack milkshakes
are so good they should be illegal. I swear they’ve got crack in them.”

“I should’ve gotten a milkshake then,” Tony said, trying to keep the breathless tone from his voice.

“Mhm,” Peter said, taking a sip. Tony pulled out of the parking space, his thumb beating anxiously
against the steering wheel as he tried to find an empty parking lot for him to park in.

He found one belonging to a newly-closed Hardees, and he took a right into it.

“Uh, what are we doing?” Peter asked in confusion as Tony parked.

Tony took a breath. “Serious talk time, bud.”

Peter tensed next to him, and Tony felt bad. “Is this about last night? Because if it’s about last
night, then I really don’t want to talk about it because that’s just awkward—”

“It’s not about last night,” Tony said, holding up a hand. “Although, I am sorry. That must have
been embarrassing.”

Peter was blushing furiously. “It was very embarrassing, thanks. Let’s never talk about it again.”

That made Tony smile, but he quickly sobered. He chewed his cheek, trying to think of his next
words. “How have you been sleeping, bud?”

Peter blinked. “I’ve been sleeping okay. Better, since I got my cast off. Nightmares, sometimes, but
that’s typical.”

“How often do you have bad nights?” Tony asked, opening his straw and stabbing it into the lid of
his Coke, before fiddling with the paper wrapping, starting to shred it in his hands anxiously.

Peter shrugged. “Here and there. Not as bad as before, but they still happen.”
Tony nodded. “I’ve been thinking—” he cut off, looking out the windshield.

“What?” Peter asked, and his voice had a note of panic in it. “What’s going on, Tony?”

Tony sighed. “Calm down, Pete. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you leaving, or something?” Peter asked fretfully, and when Tony looked at him, he could see
that his kid had gone pale, and his pupils had dilated in fear.

It chased away any doubts Tony had about asking the kid if he wanted to see a therapist. The kid
looked like he had seen a ghost, and it was at the mere thought of Tony leaving.

“No,” Tony said, reaching out and putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving, at least
not right now. But that’s part of what I need to ask you.”

Peter looked less worried, but his posture was still tense, his eyes still worried. “Then what is it?”

Just spit it out, Tony scolded himself, and then blurted, “Pete, how would you feel about seeing a
therapist?”

There was a beat of dead silence as Peter stared at him, his brown eyes huge. Tony held his breath.

Then Peter looked away, down at the milkshake in his hand. “I should, shouldn’t I?” Peter said,
meek and quiet.

“You don’t have to,” Tony said softly. “But therapy can be a good thing.”

Peter stared down at his lap. “Sometimes I feel like I’m spiraling,” he admitted, softly. “And I
don’t know what to do about it.”

Tony’s heart skipped several beats, before breaking out into a sprint.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m spiraling.”

Jesus Christ almighty. This kid was going to give him a coronary if he kept saying shit like that.
“Seeing someone can help with that,” he said, trying not to panic.

“I’m sorry that you have to deal with me,” Peter whispered, and Tony wanted to scream.

“Dammit, Peter,” he swore, and the kid looked up sharply. “If you say something like that again,
I’m making you walk back to the Tower. I’m not dealing with you, got it?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, his eyes red-rimmed, his lip quivering.

“God, kid,” Tony said, slamming his head back against the headrest. “I’ve never dealt with you,
alright? And it hurts me when you say that, because it makes me feel like I’m giving you the
impression that I don’t care enough.”

Peter quickly looked at Tony, his wet eyes panicked. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to hurt you—I just
—”

“It’s alright,” Tony said, anger fleeing and soft concern replacing it as a tear slipped down Peter’s
cheek. “Don’t cry, buddy.”

“I hate that I can’t be without you,” Peter said, his voice wobbly and thick with emotion. “It scares
me. In Boston…” he trailed off, biting his lower lip, which was flushed from crying. “Boston was
 bad,” he finished lamely.

“It was,” Tony acknowledged. “But therapy can help with that. We can go together, or you can go
by yourself—”

“Together,” Peter said immediately, cutting Tony off with piercing eyes. “I don’t… I don’t think I
can go a-alone just yet.”

“Okay,” Tony said softly, reaching out and cupping Peter’s cheek, running his thumb over his
cheekbone. “We can go together, don’t worry about it.”

Peter shut his eyes and let himself be comforted. “Okay.”

“I’m proud of you, Pete,” Tony said quietly. “Really, I am.”

Peter’s face broke out into a watery, self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know why.”

“This is a huge thing,” Tony informed him, still stroking his cheek. “Realizing that you’re unhappy
and that you need to talk to a therapist is difficult, and a large portion of people are too proud or
scared to accept the fact that they’re not okay. But here you are, a fifteen-year-old kid, realizing
that sometimes you need a little help. And I’m so,” a lump had formed in Tony’s throat, and his
eyes stung. His voice was husky when he spoke, “God, I’m so damn proud of you.”

The tears in Tony’s eyes made Peter start to cry, and Tony reached over and pulled him into a hug,
burying his face into Peter’s curls.

He’s going to be better than me, Tony thought, shutting his eyes as a wave of emotion fell over
him. Hell, he’s already better than me. All this time, I was worried that he would turn into me;
bitter, cynical, and proud… but he’s only fifteen years old and he’s better.

He’s going to be the best of all of us, something in Tony’s mind whispered, and for some reason, it
sounded like Steve.

Just wait. He’s going to be the best.

Chapter End Notes

This is a day later than I wanted, but yesterday I had to write a five page paper, which
exhausted me. Finals are already kicking my ass and they haven't even started.
Also, THE SPIDER-MAN FAR FROM HOME TRAILER IS OUT AND WOW
DOES IT FUCKIN' HURT. Right now is simultaneously the best and the worst time
to be in the Irondad and Spiderson fandom, tell you that much. There's so much new
content, but it's all so painful...
Anyways. Enough of my rambling. As always, feedback is much appreciated. I'll see
you all when finals are done!
 Chapter 53
Chapter Summary

"Peter followed her as familiar uneasiness filled his gut, spawned by her presence. The
dream he had Friday night came to the forefront of his mind, and he jerked out of her
grip, his eyes growing wide.

She looked at him, surprised. 'Peter? Are you okay?'

Peter shook his head, trying to get the image of her blue eyes rolling out of his head.
"Y-yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.'"

Chapter Notes

New chapter! Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Their food was cold by the time the both of them got ahold of their emotions, and there were still
tears on Peter’s cheeks as he took a bite from his burger, the skin under his eyes red and inflamed
from rubbing the salty tears away.

Tony had managed not to cry, but he still felt stripped raw and tired from their conversation, and
his appetite had fled. He idly chewed on a fry as silence filled the car, only broken by the soft
sounds of a Bon Iver song playing from the radio.

“I love Shake Shack,” Peter mumbled, and Tony’s mouth twitched.

“I remember my first trip to Shake Shack,” Tony reminisced fondly. “It was 2004, and I was drunk
as shit.”

“Good story,” Peter snorted, a glob of ketchup on his cheek.

Tony found it endearing, and he threw a napkin at Peter. “Clean your face off. What are you, six?”

“I’m almost taller than you,” Peter gloated, scrubbing at his cheek with the napkin.

“And yet, you’re still a spider-baby,” Tony said, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Doesn’t know down from
up, gets his hand stuck on a fork, sleeps on the ceiling—”

“I’ve only fallen asleep on the ceiling once!” Peter interjected indignantly.

“Yeah, and it scared the shit out of me,” Tony said, remembering when he went into Peter’s room
to wake him up for school and found his kid on the ceiling, fast asleep. “Sometimes I think you’re
actually part bat, rather than part spider.”

Peter’s eyes widened excitedly. “Wait, would that make me—”

“If you say Batman, I’m disowning you.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’re not Batman.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

Tony smirked, withdrawing his cold cheeseburger from the grease-damp Shake Shack bag.
“Batman’s lame anyways, kiddo.

“I’d take Spider-Man over him any day.”

--

Peter was surprised to find himself in a good mood for the rest of the day. He and Tony made
manicotti for Pepper that night, like they planned, and the result was… edible. The pasta was hard
in places and the sauce was watery, but it was homemade and cooking with Tony made him feel
warm. It reminded him of cooking with May, in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Sunday consisted of him, Tony, and Pepper sitting on the couch in the living space and watching
movies and eating popcorn and little else, and it was one of the best Sundays Peter had ever had.

Monday came, and it brought buckets of rain and harsh winds with it.

Peter woke to the sound of rain being whipped at his windows, and he sighed before getting out of
bed. Tony had told him the night before that he and Pepper had a meeting in Jersey City that
morning, so he would have to take the subway to get to school.

Normally, Peter wouldn’t mind taking the subway, but the weather looked so unpleasant and being
on the humid, stuffy subway surrounded by damp bodies sounded awful.

He showered briskly and ate a breakfast consisting of several frozen waffles (he lost count around
seven) before leaving the Tower, huddling under his red umbrella.

The umbrella did little to keep him dry, as the rain was falling at an angle, and the wind was
making his umbrella move in his hand. He was thankful for the dryness of the subway station,
even though it was filled to the brim with wet, bitter New Yorkers, grumbling about the weather
and the state of the nation.

Peter put in his headphones and let his music drown them out, all too familiar with the sounds of a
Manhattan subway station.

The orange line of the subway was crowded, but that was typical. Elbows bumped Peter and wet
raincoats brushed up against him, but he ignored it and focused on the lyrics to his music.

The walk from the subway station to Midtown High was wet and unpleasant, but thankfully short
lived. Walking into the dry school was bliss, and he shook his hair out as he walked to the locker.

He unlocked his locker and unzipped his wet backpack, taking out his books before putting his bag
away and grabbing his Calculus textbook, as well as his Chemistry binder.

He was about to shut his locker when his spider-sense tingled in warning, right before a hand from
behind pushed him, sending him jolting into his open locker. The rough metal side sliced into his
forearm, slicing it open.
He hissed, watching as blood oozed from the cut. He turned, and found Flash grinning behind him,
smug and proud of himself.

Peter scowled, but turned back around, shutting his locker and walking away, gripping his books
tightly.

The same hand pushed him again, and he stumbled, almost dropping all of his textbooks onto the
hard linoleum floor. Peter gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw, and kept walking.

Don’t fight back, Peter thought, tightening his grip on his books. You could hurt him. Don’t fight
back.

“What, Penis? No spitting in my face this time?” Flash taunted, his hand pushing Peter again. “I
thought you finally grew a pair, but I guess I was wrong, pussy—”

“Come on, dude,” a voice said, and Peter knew who it was immediately, thanks to his spider-sense.
“He’s not bothering you. Leave him alone.”

Flash turned, disgust on his face. “Who the fuck are you?”

Lily’s face was red with embarrassment, but she held her chin high. “None of your business. Come
on, Peter.” She laid a hand on his shoulder and led him away from Flash, who stopped in the
middle of the hallway to stare.

Peter followed her as familiar uneasiness filled his gut, spawned by her presence. The dream he
had Friday night came to the forefront of his mind, and he jerked out of her grip, his eyes growing
wide.

She looked at him, surprised. “Peter? Are you okay?”

Peter shook his head, trying to get the image of her blue eyes rolling out of his head. “Y-yeah, I’m
fine. Sorry.”

She frowned lightly, evidently concerned. “You sure? You… you kinda turned pale.”

“I’m good, I’m fine,” Peter said, trying to convince himself as well as her. “Uh… how was your
weekend?”

She sighed. “It sucked, but not as bad as this next one is going to. I had to help my step-douche
paint his and my mom’s bedroom, and he made comments about my weight the entire time. Not
exactly a fun weekend.”

Peter felt his face heat, because what the hell was he supposed to say to that? “Oh… uh, I’m sorry.
That’s awful.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” she sighed again. “Next weekend I have to hang out with my birth dad,
though, and I’m dreading it. He’s, like, the big cheese of some company here in New York, so he’s
stupid rich. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Maybe it’ll be fun,” Peter offered.

“It won’t be,” she said flatly as her face formed into a mask devoid of emotion. Her eyes looked
dead, and it made his stomach curl. “My mom divorced him for a reason.”

The words sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, and his spider-sense prickled more intensely, almost in
apprehension. It was like a warning.

“Ah,” Peter said awkwardly, completely out of his depth. Socializing wasn’t his forte, and this
conversation was the epitome of his worst nightmare. “That… that sucks. At least it’s just for this
weekend, right?”

The look faded from Lily’s face, and she smiled at Peter. She knocked her shoulder against his.
“Good point. Always gotta look on the bright side, right?”

“Right,” Peter said, giving her a small smile. “I’ve gotta go to class, but I’ll see you at lunch,
right?”

“Of course,” she said, turning the corner. “Bye, Peter!”

Peter waved, before shuddering violently.

--

Lunch came around, and it was Monday, which meant they had mozzarella sticks.

Peter bought three orders of four mozzarella sticks, before sitting down next to Ned, like he always
did.

MJ was across from him, and Lily diagonal. Lily was picking at her sandwich, like she usually did,
and MJ was biting into an apple.

“Hey guys,” Peter said, situating himself and opening his milk carton.

“Hi Peter!” Ned said excitedly. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” he said airily. “I’m starving.”

“Obviously,” Lily remarked, nodding at his tray.

Peter smiled shyly. “My dad loves mozzarella sticks, and I think it’s rubbing off on me.”

“That’s unhealthy,” MJ said blatantly.

Peter shrugged. “Sue me.” He popped a mozzarella stick into his mouth, slightly put off that the
cheese on the inside was still hard, not melted like he would have preferred.

It still tasted good, anyway, so he couldn’t complain.

“What did you do this weekend?” Ned asked, tearing off a bite of his pizza.

Peter’s smile faded, and he looked down at his tray, remembering the conversation that he and
Tony had on Saturday. “Tony wants me to see a therapist.”

MJ looked up from her phone, and Ned stopped midchew. Lily looked at Peter so fast her neck
audibly cricked.

“And are you?” MJ asked carefully.

Peter picked at his cardboard tray. “Yeah. I agreed to it. I think… I think it’s probably for the best.
Boston was…” he shook his head.
MJ nodded, understanding. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Ned put his hand on his arm, and Peter looked at his oldest friend, and could find nothing but
sympathy in his brown eyes. “You’ve been through a lot, man. Therapy is probably for the best,
you know?”

Peter nodded, and Ned squeezed his forearm before letting go.

“What happened in Boston?” Lily asked quietly, and Peter looked up and met her blue eyes.

“None of your business,” MJ snapped before Peter could answer, and Lily flinched, looking at MJ
with hurt written all over her face.

She looked down at the table, tugging the sleeves of her shirt over her hands. Peter remembered
what she said earlier, about her stepdad making mean comments about her and her appearance, and
he instantly felt terrible.

“Don’t be mean,” he told MJ softly, before turning to Lily, mentally preparing himself.

He didn’t want to tell her about his issues, but she opened up a little bit to him, and he felt like she
deserved to know.

He took a breath. “I have… I have a… problem… with being away from my dad for longer than a
school day. It’s pretty… pretty debilitating, actually. I had to go to Boston for Academic Decathlon
a few weekends ago, and I kind of had a meltdown in the parking lot of the hotel,” Peter admitted,
picking at his tray some more. “I didn’t sleep for pretty much the whole trip. It was bad. So, Tony
said he booked a therapy appointment for the both of us,” Peter snorted mirthlessly. “I feel bad.
Tony hates therapy.”

Lily was staring at him, and her blue eyes looked strangely watery. “I’m sorry, Peter,” she
whispered. “I didn’t know.”

Peter immediately felt awkward. “It’s okay! Really, it’s fine. I just don’t really tell people ‘cause
it’s kind of embarrassing that I’m fifteen and I can’t be away from my dad without having a panic
attack. It’s fine, please don’t be upset!”

She sniffed lightly, but her eyes were drying. “Sorry,” she whispered again.

“It’s okay,” he said firmly. “Therapy is going to be a good thing. I know it is.”

Lily smiled slightly. “I had to go to therapy way back when my parents divorced. I hope it works
for you.”

“Me too,” Peter said amiably. “I’m glad Tony is going to be there with me, even though he hates
it.”

“Why does he hate it?” Lily asked curiously. “Therapy is a good thing for a lot of people.”

“Tony just thinks he’s smarter than everyone,” Peter said with a shrug. “He doesn’t take well to
people telling him what to do, with few exceptions.”

“Tony is smarter than everyone,” Ned pointed out, opening his fruit snack and giving Peter all the
grape ones, like he always did.

Peter made a happy noise and accepted the gummies. “True, good point.”
“Your dad sounds pretty cool, Peter,” Lily said, and Peter chose to ignore the undertones of
jealousy in her voice.

Peter grinned. “He is. He’s the best.”

--

That evening was one of the best.

He and Tony tried to cook again, with slightly less disastrous results than the manicotti they
attempted Saturday night. Then again, it was hard to ruin pizza, especially since they bought pre-
made dough.

Pepper was there again, and Peter was starting to get used to her presence. She was incredibly kind,
but she had a sharpness to her that reminded him of May. It drew Peter to her, and he found himself
being fond of her company.

He got into bed that night happy and satiated. He was expecting a good night sleep.

But his brain had to ruin it, of course, by keeping him up literally all night.

He watched the sun set and then saw it rise the next morning, the skin on his face feeling tight and
itchy from crying. He was bone tired, and he hated the fact that it was only Tuesday, because the
thought of school was enough to make him burrow deeper into his blankets, never wanting to leave
the cocoon of warmth.

Why am I so miserable? Peter questioned himself, staring at his bedroom wall, which was dark
with a shadow created by the rising sun. I was fine yesterday, even when Tony asked me about
therapy. And now here I am, laying in bed and hating myself.

He sighed and shut his eyes. Is this what depression is? Am I depressed?

He thought back to what he learned about depression from a mandatory session about mental
health at school. The guidance counselors had gathered the entire tenth grade together way back in
September to talk about suicide prevention and mental health awareness, but he had been too busy
staring at the back of Liz Allen’s head to pay full attention.

He didn’t think he’d need the information. May had been alive, and Tooms hadn’t trapped him
under any buildings. He didn’t think, sitting in that auditorium back in September, that he would be
laying in his bed at Stark Tower in March, with a dead aunt and a plethora of mental issues.

He had a vague idea of what they were talking about. He remembered hearing the words
“hopelessness” and “trouble concentrating,” along with “insomnia” and “loss of appetite.”

Peter wanted to cry, but he was too tired. Sounds like what’s wrong with me.

He heard his bedroom door open, followed by the sound of soft footfalls. His bed dipped down.

Peter didn’t move as Tony sat on the side of his bed, nor when Tony looked at him with sad eyes.
The kid’s eyes were closed, but Tony knew he was awake.

Pepper stood in the doorway, not coming in the room, but looking on hesitantly. Tony knew she
wanted to comfort Peter, because that was just how she was. It was one of the reasons Tony loved
her so much.
 “Hey,” Tony said quietly to Peter, who opened his eyes.

“I think I’m depressed,” Peter said bluntly, rolling over to look at Tony. His eyes flicked to Pepper,
but only for a second. “I remember an assembly at school, back in September, they mentioned the
symptoms of depression and I think I have them. Do you think I have them?”

Tony looked at him sadly. “I’m not a doctor, Pete. I can’t diagnose you.”

Peter breathed out. “I couldn’t sleep, Dad,” he said quietly, and Tony’s heart broke. “I tried, all
night, but my brain wouldn’t stop thinking.”

“We’ll get it figured out,” Tony assured him softly. “We will. I promise.”

“I just want to go to sleep,” Peter’s voice shook and broke, his big, brown eyes shining with unshed
tears.

“Come here,” Tony murmured, holding open his arms, and Peter crawled into them, sighing.
“We’re going to therapy tomorrow, after school, okay? She’ll figure out what’s going on and let us
know the best method of tackling it. You’re going to be okay.”

Peter nodded against Tony. “I’m nervous,” he whispered. “I don’t like doctors, Tony.”

“I know you don’t,” Tony murmured, carding a hand through Peter’s curls, which were tangled
from hours of tossing and turning in bed. “But Doctor Masri is really nice, and you’re not going to
get poked or anything. She’s just going to talk to you, okay?”

Peter nodded, and he shut his eyes. “M’kay.”

Silence fell, only interrupted by Tony whispering, “FRIDAY, blackout protocol.”

The room was swamped in darkness, and Peter sighed. The darkness was a blessing.

Then, he remembered something. “You don’t like the dark.”

“It’s alright,” Tony murmured. “It’s not so bad.”

Peter was going to argue, but he was so tired that even moving his mouth was too much work.

Tony started to hum lightly, and it made his chest vibrate under Peter’s head, which only made
Peter sleepier.

He dozed off, his face buried in Tony’s chest, his mind finally silent.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry that I didn't get this out sooner, but finals took a lot out of me, and I'm still
having health issues. However, it is summer, so hopefully I should be back to at least a
chapter a week! I'm really excited for all that I have planned for this fic, and I can't
wait to share it with you!
As always, feedback is much appreciated! I'll see you guys really soon!
 Chapter 54
Chapter Summary

“'Calm down, buddy,' he murmured. 'I can feel your nervousness. It’s just talking, not
anything scary.'”

Chapter Notes

New chapter! Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter was anxious all-day Wednesday, and his friends noticed.

He was quiet at lunch, picking at his food like Lily always did, and he could feel MJ’s eyes on him
as he tried to eat his subpar nachos.

“You good, Parker?” MJ asked finally, after several minutes of Peter not eating or talking.

Peter shrugged. “Yeah. I’m just nervous, I guess. I’ve got my first therapy appointment after
school.”

He could feel Lily watching him, but he didn’t look at her. MJ’s face was unreadable, but her voice
was as kind as she could make it. “You worry too much. It’ll probably be fine. Maybe you’ll even
like it.”

Peter shrugged, attempting to break a soggy tortilla chip in half. “Maybe. I just… I don’t know.”

“It’ll be good, Peter,” Ned said giving Peter his grape gummies. “Really.”

--

School ended much to quickly, and when Peter left the building that afternoon, Tony’s black Audi
was parked out front.

His heartrate kicked up, stuttering his breathing, and for the first time ever, he wanted to turn
around back into the school and never leave.

But he couldn’t.

This is a good thing, Peter reminded himself as he made his uneasy way down the front stairs. This
is going to help me. This is a good thing.

He opened the door to the car with shaky hands, and Tony immediately gave him a smile as he
climbed in. “Hey, Pete,” he said, reaching out and ruffling Peter’s hair. “How was your day?”

“It was okay,” Peter said quietly. “I had an English quiz and I think I got an A on it.”
“Hey, that’s awesome,” Tony said happily, pulling out of the school.

He took a breath, before he addressed the elephant in the room. “You nervous?”

Peter nodded; his hands clenched into tight fists in his lap, his nails biting into the skin. “Very.”

“That’s okay,” Tony said gently. “It’s understandable. But this is going to be good, alright? For
both of us.”

“Okay,” Peter said quietly, looking out the window as silence fell.

Fifteen minutes passed in quiet, and Peter wasn’t exactly sure where they were. If they were going
back to the Tower, Tony would have taken a right several intersections ago, and it made him
uneasy for some reason.

Tony took a right into the parking lot of an office building, and Peter’s heart broke out into a sprint.
He shifted in his seat as he felt incredibly nauseous, his stomach sour with anxiety.

Tony turned the car off and looked at Peter. “Ready?”

Peter breathed out shakily and nodded, getting out of the car on unsteady legs.

He stuck close to Tony as they walked inside the modern looking office building, entering the
marble-floored lobby.

“The office is on the sixth floor,” Tony said, hitting the up button on the elevator. As they waited,
Tony wrapped an arm around Peter briefly.

“Calm down, buddy,” he murmured. “I can feel your nervousness. It’s just talking, not anything
scary.”

Peter nodded jerkily, and the elevator dinged, the metal doors opening. Tony retracted his arm and
the two of them stepped inside.

The elevator felt suffocating and did little to help with Peter’s high anxiety levels, so he shuffled
closer to Tony so that their arms touched.

With a ding, the metal doors opened again, and they got out, walking down a carpeted hallway.
The walls were off-white, and it reminded Peter of going to his pediatrician when he was younger.
The only thing that was missing was the smell, which was a mixture of hydrogen peroxide and
hand sanitizer, if he remembered correctly.

They turned the corner, and then Tony opened a door on the left, which had the words, Doctor
Aanisa Masri PhD, LPC-S; Licensed Psychologist written on it.

It felt incredibly foreboding, and he really didn’t want to go inside, but he forced himself to walk
past Tony and into the waiting room.

The waiting room was nice, if not a little dated. It looked like a waiting room for a doctor’s office,
it didn’t help Peter’s anxiety in the slightest. There was a young woman sitting at the receptionist’s
desk, typing at her computer, and she looked up when they entered.

If she was phased to see Tony Stark and a random kid together for a therapy appointment, the
shock didn’t show on her face or in her tone when she asked, “Hello! Are you here to check in?”

“Yes,” Tony said striding forward to the receptionist desk. “3:15 appointment for Peter Parker?”
“Yep!” she gave Tony a smile before handing him a clipboard. “I’ve highlighted the things that
need filled out. Do you have an insurance card with you?”

Tony withdrew his wallet and handed her a plastic card, before taking the clipboard and facing
Peter, who was frozen near the door. Tony jerked his chin towards two of the chairs, and Peter
followed him on unsteady legs, falling gracelessly into one of the chairs next to Tony.

The receptionist gave him a smile, and he tried to return it, but his face muscles didn’t want to
cooperate, so it was probably more of a grimace.

Tony was quiet as he filled out the paperwork, and the only sounds in the office were the
scratching of Tony’s pen, clacking of keyboard keys as the receptionist typed, and the faint music
playing overhead.

Peter’s leg jiggled uncontrollably, and his nails were biting into his palms. He knew he wasn’t in
any danger, as his spider sense told him that there was no threat, but he couldn’t help but feeling on
edge and anxious.

Tony reached out and put a hand on Peter’s knee, stopping Peter from jiggling it. “You’re shaking
my chair. Stop.”

Peter chewed on his lip. “Sorry.”

“Relax, Pete, please,” Tony said, and even though his tone was quiet, it was loud in the nearly
silent waiting room.

“Sorry,” Peter apologized again, nearly inaudibly, and Tony sighed.

A few minutes later, Tony stood and went back over to the desk, handing the receptionist the
clipboard. She beamed at him.

“Thank you! Doctor Masri will be right with you,” she said, and Tony thanked her before sitting
back down next to Peter, who was struggling to breathe normally.

Too soon, the door on the far side of the office opened, and Peter immediately grabbed Tony’s
hand, clutching it tightly as a tall woman stepped into the waiting room.

She was pretty, with toffee colored skin and brown eyes, and her head was entirely covered by a
black hijab. She wore a white button down with a black blazer atop it, and even though she hadn’t
even opened her mouth to speak, Peter could feel that she was incredibly intelligent.

She smiled at Peter from across the room and approached them slowly, extending a hand for Tony
to take when she got close enough.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Stark,” she said, her tone slightly accented, and Tony shook her hand,
smiling lightly.

“Likewise, Doctor,” Tony said charismatically, before gesturing down at Peter. “This is my son,
Peter.”

“Hi, Peter,” Doctor Masri said, extending her hand. Peter shook it, still gripping Tony’s hand
tightly. He wished he wasn’t so nervous. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“You too,” Peter said quietly.

She gave Peter another smile. “If you two would follow me, I think we would be more comfortable
in my office.”

She led them through the door she came out of, and down a coffee colored hallway. She stopped at
a door on the right, before opening it and gesturing them inside.

The office was bright, and the color scheme was tasteful. There was a plush gray couch with
yellow throw pillows on the left side of the room, facing a comfy gray chair, which had a light blue
throw pillow. There was a coffee table in between, and a plant on the far side of the room, in
between two large windows, that looked out onto the city below.

“Feel free to sit wherever you feel the most comfortable,” Doctor Masri said kindly, and Tony led
Peter to the soft looking couch, sitting them both down lightly. Doctor Masri took a seat in the
chair, and she gave them both a smile.

“Is this your first time seeing a psychologist, Peter?” Doctor Masri asked, and Peter nodded.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, the hand not captured in Tony’s grip shaking. “I’m a little nervous. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she said softly. “How old are you?”

“I’m fifteen,” Peter said.

“Sophomore year, then?”

“Yeah.”

“And how is that going?”

Peter shrugged, feeling a little less nervous. “Stressful, because it’s school, but okay. I have pretty
awesome friends.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said warmly, before asking him another question about his friends.

It was almost like he was talking to a friend, and it made him relax a little, his grip on Tony’s hand
loosening. Her questions weren’t personal, yet it wasn’t small talk, and was it like he was being
interviewed. It felt natural and it helped soothe Peter’s nerves.

After several minutes of asking questions about Peter’s everyday life, Doctor Masri asked, “So
why did you decide to see a therapist, Peter?”

Peter’s mouth dried up, and he looked over at Tony, who was watching him with a soft smile on
his face. He gave a slight nod.

“I, uh…” Peter swallowed. “I have a problem with being away from Tony.”

“Okay,” Doctor Masri said with a nod. “If I may, when did Tony adopt you?”

Peter glanced at Tony again before answering. “I started staying with him in November, after…
after my aunt d-d-died.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Doctor Masri said, her tone gently sympathetic. “It’s pretty normal for
someone to cling to a loved one after a loss of a family member, so I do not believe you have a
‘problem—‘”

“I can’t be away from him at all. Sometimes…” Peter looked at Tony, and saw the man watching
him. Peter floundered, caught between wanting to tell the truth and wanting to not let Tony know
how attached he actually was.

“Peter?” Doctor Masri said softly. “Would you rather Tony leave for this conversation?”

Peter chewed on his lip, before nodding slowly. Tony looked surprised, but he stood anyways. He
gently ruffled Peter’s hair before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Peter fidgeted in his seat, before saying slowly, “Sometimes it’s hard just going to school, because
it means I have to be away from him. I went away to Boston for a school thing and the first night, I
broke down because I wasn’t near him. I didn’t sleep the entire time I was away.”

“Okay,” Doctor Masri said gently. “I can see that this is distressing for you.”

“Well yeah,” Peter muttered, staring at his knees. “What kind of fifteen-year-old needs their dad in
the next room to be able to sleep? It’s not normal.”

“There is no structured way for you to act as a fifteen-year-old, Peter,” Doctor Masri pointed out.
“But I understand why you are concerned. We can work on that.”

Peter sighed, relieved. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling. “Would you like Tony to come back in?”

Peter nodded, and Doctor Masri got up to let Tony back in. Tony immediately sat back down on
the couch, before knocking his and Peter’s knees together.

It was a simple gesture, but it spoke measures. Peter smiled slightly.

The rest of the session went by quickly, and by the time it ended, Peter felt very de-stressed and
surprisingly non-anxious. He genuinely liked Doctor Masri, and she gave him a hug at the end of
their hour together, but not before giving him homework.

“Here,” Doctor Masri had said, handing him a black covered journal. “I want you to write in this
every day before our next session. You can write about whatever you want and as much as you
want, and I don’t have to read it if you don’t want me to.”

Peter nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

He and Tony were out by four forty-five, and there was quiet between them as they went back to
the car. Peter felt lighter, but also exhausted, and Tony kept looking at him with soft eyes.

They got in the car, and Tony immediately started the engine, cranking the heat up.

Peter looked over at him, and their eyes met.

“Okay?” Tony asked, nodding his head slightly.

Peter nodded, smiling slightly. “Yeah.”

Then Tony’s face broke out into the brightest smile Peter had ever seen, and he grabbed Peter’s
head, pressing a kiss to Peter’s hair.

He reversed out of the parking spot, then, and Peter curled up in his seat, warm and at peace.

He slept the whole ride home.

Chapter End Notes

I am genuinely surprised I got this out on time. I went away with my family for
memorial day weekend, so I couldn't write at all. Also, feel free to follow me on
Tumblr! I post updates about when I'll have a new chapter up amongst other things.
Here's the link: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thestarvingwriter
As always, feedback is much appreciated! I'll see you guys next week!
Edit 5/29/19: I was told by a reader that Anika Misrah was in fact a Hindu name,
rather than an Arabic one. I have changed her name to Aanisa Masri, which is pretty
close to what it was before, so hopefully the name change doesn't bother you all the
much. Also, shout out to whoever pointed that out, thank you so much.
 Chapter 55
Chapter Summary

"Peter smiled at her a little and relaxed, digging back into his mac and cheese. Crisis
averted, he thought.

But then two things happened simultaneously."

Chapter Notes

New chapter! Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

That night, Peter decided that he wanted to write in his journal.

He stared at the blank pages for nearly twenty minutes, wracking his brain for material to write
about, before hesitantly writing about his day.

Once he started, however, it became hard to stop. He wrote about his friends and Tony, and when a
knock at the door interrupted him, he had already written a page and a half.

“Come in,” Peter said, not looking up from his journal.

He knew it was Tony without even looking up, based on the sound of his footfalls. He looked up
when his bed dipped down and found that Tony was smiling at him from his place on the edge of
the mattress.

“What?” Peter asked warily, unsure of why Tony was beaming so hard that the crow’s feet on the
side of his eyes were making an appearance.

“You’re writing in your journal,” Tony said happily. “That’s good.”

Peter’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Tony nudged him. “Proud of you.”

Peter smiled shyly down at his lap. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Anyway,” Tony said, after a beat of silence. “I came in here to ask you something.”

Peter quirked his head in question, and Tony continued. “Saturday night, there’s a big charity
function that I’m going to. It’s basically just a social that a couple charities hold so they can get
money from all the big science and tech companies.”

Peter blinked. “Okay?”

“I’m allowed a plus one,” Tony explained. “And I want you to come with me.”

Peter stared at Tony. “Why?”

“I think it would be good for people to start associating you with me,” Tony said, carefully
watching Peter’s expression. “The adoption will probably be finalized by the end of this month,
and we’re probably going to have to tell the public that you’re my kid before they find out on their
own.”

Peter bit his lip. That sounded nerve wracking.

“I just want this to be as easy as possible for you,” Tony said, spreading his hands. “It’s only for a
few hours.”

Peter sighed slightly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go.”

Tony smiled brightly. “Thanks, Pete. I think it’ll be good. There’s not going to be a whole ton of
people there, so don’t worry. I’d say, at most, there’ll be one hundred, one fifty.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “That’s not a ton?”

Tony’s expression turned slightly guilty. “No?”

Peter sighed. “Fine. It’s fine. You’re right, I need to get accustomed to your lifestyle if I’m going to
be your kid.”

Tony gave him a small, proud smile. “This’ll be painless,” he assured Peter. “I promise.”

--

The next day at school was strange.

Peter was in a good mood when he woke up and was happy to find out that Tony was going to
drive him to school. Taking the subway was fine, but he wouldn’t say no to a ride if Tony was
offering.

The second he got into the school, however, his spider-sense began to prickle uncomfortably in the
back of his mind. It wasn’t enough to make him feel like he was in any immediate danger, but it
was enough to make him more alert than usual, and it prevented him from truly relaxing.

At first, he thought Lily was nearby, but he didn’t see her all morning. The prickling of his spider-
sense didn’t relent in both of his classes that morning, and when he walked into the cafeteria that
day, it intensified.

Even though he was uncomfortable, he knew he still had to eat. Plus, it was macaroni and cheese
day, which the school only had once every two weeks. He didn’t want to miss it.

He ordered two helpings and made for his usual lunch table, his eyes scanning the cafeteria for
anything out of the ordinary.

All three of his friends were already sitting when he approached the table, and the first thing he
noticed as he sat down, bizarrely, was that Lily’s hair was frizzier than usual.

“Hey guys,” Peter said, opening his milk with slightly shaky fingers. “What’s up?”

“Sup loser,” MJ said, her arms crossed on the table. “How was therapy?”
Peter smiled, despite the unrest swirling in his gut. “It was actually awesome. My therapist is super
nice, and I felt super comfortable there. I think it’s going to help a lot.”

Ned beamed at him. “That’s so good, Peter!”

“Yeah, awesome, Peter,” Lily said quietly, picking at her sandwich but not taking a bite. “It’s good
that you have that going for you.”

Peter observed her warily, taking in the dull tone of her voice and her slouched posture. She looked
tired and sad, and even though she made him nervous, he felt bad for her.

“Are you alright?” He asked her, and her eyes flicked up to his, tired blue meeting worried brown.

“My stepdad is a grade-A asshole,” she said angrily, and Peter’s spider-sense reacted so suddenly
that he nearly snapped the plastic fork in his hand in surprise. “He’s a piece of shit and I want him
to fall off the face of the earth.”

Peter’s spider-sense whined uncomfortably in the back of his mind, and the hairs on his arm were
standing up so straight that it was almost painful. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry. What did he do?”

Lily shook her head, picking up the top piece of bread off of her sandwich and starting to shred it
into tiny pieces. “He’s just a dick! He likes to make little comments about my appearance and I’m
sick of it. And, you know what the worst thing is? My mom does nothing to stop it! All she does is
look at me and shake her head, like she’s telling me to just ignore it! I want out.”

Peter watched as she threw down her piece of bread and crossed her arms over her body. Ned and
MJ were staring at her, and Peter’s senses were acting so weird that it made his stomach turn.

Even when she was angry, though, Lily didn’t completely trigger his spider-sense. It didn’t make
him feel like there was immediate danger, like if he was fighting someone who had a knife, but it
was almost like his sense was… wary, of her. It was basically telling him to watch her, and it was
such a new and strange sensation that Peter didn’t know how to react.

Lily sighed, then, running her hands over her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up. He’s
just… he’s horrible. I’m tired of having to deal with him all the time.”

“That really sucks,” MJ spoke up, and it was odd to hear her comforting Lily. Peter was previously
under the impression that MJ didn’t like the other female member of their little group, but it was
clear that he was wrong. “Dads can suck sometimes. Mine can be an asshole, too.”

“I wish I had your dad, Peter,” Lily said glumly. “Both of the dads I’ve had have been horrible.”

Peter chewed on his lip. “I didn’t always have Tony, though,” he said quietly. “I’ve only been
under his care for three months, really. I just got lucky.”

“What are you talking about?” Lily said, confused and miserable. “I thought he was your dad.”

“Not… not by blood, no. Uh… it’s a long story and I don’t really want to talk about it,” Peter
admitted. “But think about it this way. Only two more years and you’ll be out of there. We’re not
too far off from being adults.”

Lily sighed again. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for unloading on you all. I just had a bad day
yesterday.”

“It’s okay,” Peter assured her. “We all have those.”

Ned nodded. “Yeah, exactly. Plus, you’re our friend!”

Lily gave a small smile. “Thanks, guys.”

Peter smiled at her a little and relaxed, digging back into his mac and cheese. Crisis averted, he
thought.

But then two things happened simultaneously.

Lily reached for her water bottle, and without warning, or prompting, Peter’s spider-sense reacted
so violently that the mac and cheese got caught in his throat, choking him.

Eyes streaming from the pain, he swiveled his head to the entrance to the cafeteria, his senses
shrieking.

What’s going on? He thought, putting one of his hands over the web-shooter attached to his wrist.
Is there a shooter? Oh god, please don’t let there be a shooter.

But just as quickly as it came on, the sense of impending danger fled, leaving him confused and
slightly drained.

“Peter?” Ned asked quietly. “You okay?”

Peter shook himself, relaxing his hostile posture. He realized that he was glaring forcefully at the
entrance to the cafeteria, so he looked down at his tray instead.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quietly. “I just… I thought I felt something odd.”

He felt both MJ and Ned staring at him, so he busied himself with consuming his mac and cheese
and ignoring their looks.

He glanced up at Lily and saw nothing out of the ordinary, except maybe she looked a little more
upset than she did before. His eyes landed on her extremely frizzy hair, before he looked back
down at his food, not wanting her to catch him staring.

His heart was still beating fast, even as the adrenaline faded, and the food he was shoveling into his
mouth tasted like concrete.

Why did that just happen, he asked himself, and why didn’t anything come of it? I haven’t… my
sense hasn’t reacted like that since the Marionette.

The bell rang five minutes later, and he threw away his trash with a puzzled frown on his face.

I wasn’t in any danger…

Was I?

--

Peter didn’t feel right the rest of the day. The intense flaring of his spider-sense had shaken him to
his core, so he was restless as he sat through the rest of his classes, a headache blooming in the
right side of his forehead.

Tony was waiting for him outside at the end of the day, and he was happy not to have to take the
subway. His headache had intensified, nearing migraine status, and he just wanted to go home and
take a nap.
He opened the passenger side door, threw his backpack down, and slid into Tony’s expensive Audi
seat, stifling a groan and rubbing his palm over his forehead.

“Rough day?” Tony asked in greeting, his tone amused. Peter gave him a look.

“At lunch, my spider-sense went so crazy that I thought there was a school shooter,” he said, and
Tony froze in turning the key in the ignition, before shaking himself and starting the car. “And it
gave me a headache.”

“Jesus,” Tony said, wide eyed and nervous. “Do you know what caused it?”

Peter shrugged. “No idea. My suspicion is Lily, but she wasn’t doing anything at the time.” He
sighed angrily in frustration. “I’m sick of not knowing what’s going on with her. Something just
isn't right. She tells me about her stepdad and how he’s a dick, and that her mom doesn’t help at
all, but I can’t place what doesn’t feel right about her. I just… I constantly feel like I need to watch
her, and I’m tired of it.”

“I know it must be frustrating,” Tony said, flicking on his turn signal as he took a right. “But I
know you’ll figure it out eventually. Just be careful, okay? This isn’t worth losing a friend over.”

“Maybe it is,” Peter mumbled, leaning his head against the cold window. He was thankful for long
New York winters. “She could be dangerous.”

“Or she just has a tough life,” Tony supplied. “That could be possible, right? Maybe your sense is
warning you that she’s unhappy, or a danger to herself. You never know what people are going
through.”

That annoyed Peter, for some reason, and he shot Tony a glare. “What are you, a shitty Tumblr
post?”

Tony glanced at Peter, and his eyes flashed, his mouth curving down unhappily. “Watch it, kid. I
know you’re upset, but don’t go yelling at me, okay? I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” Peter snapped, curling up in his seat. His headache was so bad, he wanted
to rip his hair out. “You don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Tony asked, anger leaking into his voice. “Your senses are freaking out because of
this one girl, who somehow wormed her way into your friend group. She makes you uneasy and
uncomfortable, but Ned has a crush on her, and she seems sad and lonely, so you can’t just push her
away. But you’re on edge because you have no idea why this girl is making your spider-sense—the
thing that tells you when you’re about to be attacked or are in immediate danger, the thing you’re
supposed to trust—uncomfortable, and you want to know why. I’m a goddamn genius, kid, so
don’t accuse me of not knowing shit.”

Peter stewed angrily for a second, before shutting his eyes and letting out a breath. “You’re right.
I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Tony said, his tone still hard, and he pulled into Tower garage, putting the
car in park. He faced Peter, an unhappy set to his mouth. “I know you’re upset, and I know you
don’t feel well, but that doesn’t mean you can snap at me, okay? I’m— I’m your parent.”

“I know,” Peter said miserably. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired and confused and my head’s splitting
open. I think I need a nap.” He rubbed his eyes, mentally cursing at the throbbing pain in his
forehead.
 Tony sighed, before he reached out and tousled Peter’s hair. “It’s alright, I forgive you,” he smiled
slightly when Peter leaned into his touch. “Go get a nap, Pete. Dinner’s at six, but don’t be late.
It’s pizza night, and you know how much everyone loves pizza.”

Peter smiled slightly. “Can you order a meat-lovers?” He asked, hope coloring his tone as Tony
dropped the hand that was in his hair. “Just for me?”

“Stuffed crust?” Tony asked, getting out of the car.

“Duh,” Peter said, grabbing his backpack and getting out as well, walking over to Tony’s side of
the car.

“I think I can swing it,” Tony said, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder and steering him towards the
elevator.

“Thanks, dad.”

“Anything to make you feel better, kiddo.”

Peter took a deep breath, letting Tony’s hand ground him.

His sense was acting strange more often than not, and Lily was an enigma he couldn’t figure out.
He could feel his pulse in his forehead, and he was so frustrated that he wanted to bang his head
against the wall.

But it was pizza night, and Tony was here.

He could get through it. He knew he could.

Chapter End Notes

This is longer than I thought it was going to be, but still short in the grand scheme of
things. Sorry about that.
So, within the upcoming weeks, I'm going to have surgery to have my gallbladder
removed. There shouldn't be a lapse in posting, as I'm going to be laid up for a week
while I recover, but sorry if there is.
Also, so far no one has guessed what's going on with Lily. I hope you guys will like
what I'm going to do with her.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you guys in a week!
 Chapter 56
Chapter Summary

"Warm hands then encompassed Peter’s, gently straightening out his fingers. 'It’s
okay,' Tony said softly, 'I’m right here.'

Peter bit his lip. 'I’m scared,' he admitted in a timid voice."

Chapter Notes

New chapter! Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter had a game plan for the next day at school, but he had to be careful about how he executed it.

His plan was to get Lily alone and ask her a bunch of questions. He would focus on his spider-
sense and see if some of her answers triggered his sense more than others, and hopefully by the end
of it, he would have a semblance of an idea why Lily affected him so.

But when he walked in the building that Friday, he immediately knew that Lily wasn’t at school.

His spider-sense was quiet; almost eerily so, after acting up so much the day previous. Lily wasn’t
at lunch, which confirmed his theory of her being absent.

For some reason, her absence worried him. He didn’t trust her, thanks to his spider-sense, but the
way she talked about her home life made him concerned about why she wasn’t at school.
Shouldn’t she want to get away from home?

It troubled him so much that he worried Tony, who was constantly looking over at him as he drove
Peter home from school.

“What’s on your mind?” Tony questioned, after several minutes of contemplative silence from
Peter.

Peter chewed his lip. “Lily wasn’t at school. It makes me feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know. She hates her home life, so shouldn’t she want to be at school? And I don’t think
she’s sick, because she was fine yesterday. I don’t know.”

“This girl really has you confused, doesn’t she?” Tony asked softly. “I’m sorry for not taking you
seriously yesterday, when you said she was dangerous. I just… I don’t know, I find it hard to
believe that a kid can be such a big threat.”

“It’s fine,” Peter said, with a wave of the hand. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. She seems
like a normal girl, but she just makes my sense uncomfortable,” Peter sighed. “Maybe you’re right,
you know? Maybe it’s uncomfortable because she’s a danger to herself. Jeez, I don’t even want to
think about that.”

“Me neither,” Tony admitted. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“It just sucks, because sometimes I want to distance myself from her, but I can’t, without pulling
away from Ned and MJ, which I don’t want to do. Like yesterday, for example. She was making
me so uncomfortable that I wanted to get up and leave, but it’s the only time I get to see Ned and
MJ. It’s frustrating.”

“And you don’t want to hurt her feelings,” Tony finished, because he knew Peter.

Peter groaned. “You’re right, I don’t! That’s the biggest thing. I feel bad for her. Once, I asked her
if she was a criminal, and she got really upset. It made me feel awful.”

“That’s why I said that maybe your sense is wrong,” Tony said, treading lightly. “I know I can’t
feel what you’re feeling, but she doesn’t seem very dangerous, kid.”

Peter sighed. “It’s just worrying, because I don’t know. I’m lost. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Tony gave him a sad look. “Let me know if anything changes, okay? And if you really feel in
danger, call me. If you feel anything like you did yesterday, when you thought there was a
shooter,” Peter saw a flicker of fear in Tony’s eyes, "let me know. I don’t want you to get hurt,
Pete.”

“What happened to ‘this isn’t worth losing a friend over?’” Peter asked, albeit a little rudely.

“Your safety is priority,” Tony said, and there was such sincerity in his voice that it made Peter
want to hug him. “I was being dumb yesterday. You were right to call me out on it.”

Peter flushed with pride at being right, the indignant fifteen-year old side of him positively
preening at winning an argument.

“Are we having Chinese tonight?” Peter asked, changing the subject.

“If you want,” Tony said, thankful for the new topic. “Dumplings and Kung Pau chicken?”

Peter nodded and pushed the thought of Lily from his mind.

--

The following day, Peter’s mind was so occupied worrying about the charity function that he didn’t
even have the capacity to worry about Lily.

He wasn’t good at socializing, and just the thought of being around rich, affluent people and
having to converse was enough to make him break a sweat.

He moped around and watched Netflix until Tony made him to get ready around four, forcing him
into the elevator and telling him that there was a suit in his closet waiting for him to put on.

It only took him ten minutes to put the thing on, but he then spent almost a half an hour trying to tie
his freaking tie, blinking back moisture when he thought of May helping him with it for
homecoming.

Eventually, he stormed into Tony’s room, angry tears in his eyes. Tony was in the process of
choosing what sunglasses to wear, and he looked startled when Peter barged in.

“Kid? What’s wrong?” He asked, before becoming even more confused when he saw tears in
Peter’s brown eyes.

“I hate this stupid tie,” Peter said, his voice angry and choked up. “I can’t effing tie it and it’s
pissing me off.”

“Hey, calm down,” Tony said gently. “I’ll tie it for you, don’t worry.”

He walked forward and took the garment from Peter’s hands, before expertly tying it around
Peter’s neck in a double Windsor knot.

A tear had slipped from Peter’s eye, and Tony gently wiped it away. “Why are you crying?” He
asked, keeping his voice soft and concerned.

“May tied my tie for me at homecoming,” Peter said, blinking quickly to keep the rest of the tears
from falling. “It made me miss her.”

Tony’s heart ached, and he captured Peter in an embrace. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and Peter
sniffed. “You know… you don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it…”

Peter sighed, and Tony let his arms drop when he felt the kid trying to free himself. Peter wiped at
his own eyes, before meeting Tony’s resolutely. “It’s too easy not to go. Besides… this is
important. You said it is.”

“Not as important as your wellbeing, kid,” Tony said resolutely. “If you’re not up to it—”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter said, his tone honest. His nose was red, but his eyes were dry. “I’ll go.”

Tony watched him for a second more, before nodding. “Okay. But if you want to leave, we’ll
leave, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter said, nodding. “I’m gonna go do my hair.”

“I’ll meet you in the garage in fifteen,” Tony said, as Peter left the room. He stared at the doorway
a second longer before he turned back to his massive sunglasses collection.

--

Fifteen minutes later, Peter was walking out of the elevator and into the garage, his hair properly
gelled. He felt awkward in his suit and tie, and his shoes felt almost too heavy for his feet.

Tony was waiting by his most flashy, expensive looking Audi, next to Happy, who smiled at Peter
as he walked in. Tony was wearing a pressed, well-fitted suit, and Peter had a feeling it cost more
than his entire old apartment.

“Hi Happy,” Peter said, approaching them. “Hey, dad.”

Tony smiled. “Looking spiffy, Pete!”

He furrowed his brows when he took in Peter’s slicked down hair. “What’s going on here?”

He reached out, trying to mess up Peter’s hair, and he ducked backwards, frowning. “Hey! This
took me ten minutes to do!”
“Yeah, because you murdered it with gel,” Tony said with a snort. “You look like a greaser, kid.”

“Don’t be mean,” Peter pouted. “I think I look cool!”

“I like your curls better,” Tony said, but left Peter’s hair alone and opened the backseat doors of the
car, gesturing Peter in.

“Well, I don’t,” Peter said, sliding onto the leather seat. “They look messy. I want to look
professional.”

Tony snorted again, getting in after Peter. “Alright, but don’t complain if there’s someone cute
there and they say you look like someone straight out of the eighties.”

“You do look a bit James Dean, kid,” Happy said, starting the car and pulling out of the garage.

Peter opened his camera on his phone, and immediately understood what they were talking about.
“Oh god, I do look like a greaser. Tony, what do I do? I can’t present myself as your kid with my
hair like this!”

“I can fix it,” Tony said with an eyeroll. “Just chill, Pete. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I look like an idiot,” Peter bemoaned, slamming his head back against the headrest. “I hate this.”

“I gave you an out,” Tony pointed out. “You didn’t take it.”

“I know. I’m stupid,” Peter said, gazing out the window. “I can’t wait for this to be over with and it
hasn’t even started.”

“We can leave whenever you want,” Tony assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We just
have to stay for a little bit, just enough for me to shake some hands and introduce you to some
people.”

“How are you going to be introducing me?” Peter asked, looking Tony’s way. “As your son? Your
intern? Your ward?”

“I’m going to say, ‘This is Peter, my adopted son,’” Tony said simply, and it sounded so amazing
to Peter that it stole his breath away.

He tried to hide his smile, but he couldn’t, so he grinned stupidly down at his lap, his heart doing
something funny in his chest.

“What?” Tony asked with his own grin, looking over at Peter. “Why’re you smiling?”

“I just like how that sounds,” Peter said, his dopey grin still all over his face. “I wonder how
people are going to react to that.”

“They’ll probably be surprised,” Tony said, smirking. “I feel like people still think I’m the playboy
that I was before Iron-Man, and that Tony Stark would have never even considered adopting a
kid.”

“Do you think they’ll tell the media?” Peter asked, a little worriedly.

“I doubt it,” Tony said assuredly. “These people are the elites, and they have more important things
to be doing than spilling my secrets to Daily Mail.”

“Thank god,” Peter said in relief.

“…But there will be reporters out front,” Tony admitted, and Peter stiffened in his seat.

“You didn’t tell me that!” Peter said, a little loud and a few octaves high, panic stealing the breath
from his lungs.

“Yeah, because I knew you’d freak out,” Tony said, looking at Peter. “They’ll just think you’re my
intern, we’re not going to say anything to them.”

Peter groaned. “But I look stupid, Tony!”

“You look fine, Pete. Jesus,” Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than Pepper.”

“Speaking of Pepper, why isn’t she your plus one? Why me?” Peter asked, his curiosity
momentarily distracting him from thinking about the media.

Tony laughed. “Kid, do you really think the Pepper Potts is a plus one? Nah, she got her own
invitation.”

“Ah,” Peter said, but the word came out a little garbled, as Happy had pulled up to the front of the
building. There were a cluster of reporters, already flashing their cameras.

Peter felt his heart start to race and his palms begin to sweat as he took in the swarm of people. He
curled his hands into fists, his nails biting into the skin of his palms

Warm hands then encompassed Peter’s, gently straightening out his fingers. “It’s okay,” Tony said
softly, “I’m right here.”

Peter bit his lip. “I’m scared,” he admitted in a timid voice.

And it was the truth. There was a reason he hid behind a mask when he went out as Spider-Man.
He didn’t like attention, and he didn’t want to be recognized. Taking pictures with people, being
stopped on the street, cameras following him wherever he went… it was his idea of a nightmare.

He wasn’t a social person. He didn’t like approaching new people, or having to make small talk.
He couldn’t just conjure a conversation up out of nowhere, like Tony effortlessly did.

Sure, he liked talking, but only to people he was comfortable with, like Ned, MJ, or Tony. Anyone
else, he stumbled his way through a conversation, stuttering and getting tongue tied every other
word.

This whole situation was terrifying, and Peter wanted to go back to the Tower and watch a movie,
or something on the Food Network or Discovery Channel.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Tony said soothingly, and he put a comforting hand on the back of Peter’s
neck. “But I’ll be right next to you, okay? We’re not going to answer any of their questions. We’re
just going to walk right through, into the building.”

Peter nodded jerkily, and Happy got out of the car, strolling around to open Tony’s door.

Peter swallowed, briefly shutting his eyes. His hands shook.

“Get ready,” Tony said, and Happy opened his door.

The yells of the reporters reached Peter’s sensitive ears, and he jerked back, wanting to get away.
Tony elegantly stepped out of the car, before motioning for Peter to do the same.
 Peter scooted forward and stumbled off of the backseat, uncoordinated and jerky. Tony
immediately put a hand on his back, steadying him as his legs shook.

They began to move through the crowd. The lights from the cameras made the scene flash oddly
before Peter’s eyes, and the shouts of the paparazzi were so loud it hurt his ears. Tony’s hand
moved from his back to his shoulder, and he let it ground him as he was pushed through the crowd,
his legs feeling too long for his body.

The door was in sight, and someone dressed in a suit held it open for him and Tony.

Peter stumbled into the lobby, his entire body shaking, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the doors
shut behind him.

But something… something wasn’t right, though. His spider-sense tingled ominously, and he
tensed, his eyes flicking right and left.

But there was nothing to be seen, except an extremely fancy lobby, complete with shiny marble
floors and a golden chandelier.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Tony commented, straightening his suit jacket. “We got through it pretty
quickly.”

“Something’s wrong,” Peter whispered. “I can feel it. Something’s wrong.”

Tony tensed. “What do you mean? Is it your sense?”

Peter nodded. “I… I don’t think it’s immediate danger. It kind of feels like it does when I’m with
Lily… like a foreboding, uncomfortable thing.”

“Why here, though?” Tony asked, still tense. “Peter, are we going to be attacked tonight?”

Peter wished he could give a definite answer. “I don’t know.”

“Shit,” Tony swore under his breath, placing a hand over his watch. “Well, I’ve got my gauntlet,
and I can call a suit to me in less than a minute.”

Peter nodded. “We should be fine, it’s just… I don’t like how this feels, Tony. I wish I knew what
was causing it.”

“I know,” Tony said, and he gently pulled Peter to him, hugging him briefly. “We’ll get to the
bottom of it, I swear, but we can’t worry about it right now.”

Peter nodded, blowing out a breath. “You’re right.”

Tony let Peter go but kept a hand on his back. “The main event’s up in the penthouse,” he
explained. “Let’s go up.”

Peter sighed, and they walked towards the elevator.

Chapter End Notes

Oooooh, a little bit of a cliffhanger! What do you guys think is going to happen? I'd
love to know :)
Someone has finally guessed correctly as to what is going on with Lily, so kudos to
that person! I'm very impressed that someone guessed it, and it made me feel
accomplished, haha.
My surgery is on Friday, so I'm going to try and crank out another chapter before then.
However, I am going to Hersheypark on Thursday, so another update by Friday might
be a pipe dream. I'm going to try, though.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! Thank you all for the well wishes and good
luck, it makes me feel a little less nervous about my procedure. I love all of you so
much.
See you soon!
 Chapter 57
Chapter Summary

“'Pete?' a very familiar voice said from behind him, and Peter shut his eyes in defeat.
'There you are, kid, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.'”

Chapter Notes

This is short, sorry. But enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Even the elevator was fancy.

The classical music that was played over the speakers was light and pleasant, and the walls were a
reflective glass. Everywhere Peter looked, he could see his own pale face looking back at him.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out into the middle of the function.

Everywhere Peter looked, there were men in expensive suits and women in cocktail dresses, fingers
clutching champagne flutes and hands being shook.

Peter chewed his lip as he followed Tony further into the social, lagging behind him nervously. He
felt so out of place.

The first person Tony introduced him to was an older man, whose mustache was curled and hair
was parted almost directly down the middle. His hand was freezing when Peter shook it
awkwardly, and if he was surprised that Tony had an adopted son, his mousey face didn’t show it.

He and Tony chatted with the man (whose name was Larry, Peter learned) before moving on,
meeting someone else.

After about twenty minutes of introductions, handshakes, and small talk, Peter had enough.

Tony was about to lead him towards somebody else, but Peter stepped away. “I’m going to the
bathroom,” he informed Tony quietly, who nodded.

“You alright?” Tony asked, his face impassive but his eyes concerned. “I know this is a lot.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s fine. I just have to pee,” he lied, and he made a break for the bathroom,
leaving Tony standing there.

He would probably be less anxious if his spider-sense wasn’t making him jumpy and
uncomfortable. It made his skin feel like it was crawling, and every minute or so he would feel a
hot wash of anxiety that almost felt like a sense of impending doom.

It was worse than it felt when he was around Lily, but still not telling him that he was in immediate
danger, which made him nervous. He pushed open the door to the bathroom and immediately went
towards the sink, turning on the cold tap. He cupped his hands, letting the water pool, before
splashing it on his face. He took a deep breath and turned off the tap, trying to stop his hands from
shaking.

He could feel a panic attack brewing, no doubt caused by the stress of the evening, him feeling
completely out of control, and being confused and worried about his spider-sense, but he pushed it
away. He took several deep breaths to try and calm his racing heart, before wiping his perspiring
hands on the front of his pants.

He stared at himself in the mirror, noticing that he looked pale and slightly terrified. He wished he
could put on a mask like Tony could.

He attempted to school his expression into something that looked mature and suave, but ended up
looking like a dumbass, so he let out a frustrated breath and swore at his reflection. He took another
deep breath and his heart started to race in panic once again, and he managed to put on a smile
before he hesitantly left the bathroom, not wanting to go back out into the crowd and schmooze.

He opened the heavy door and let it shut behind him, before he started making his way back to
where Tony was.

He only got a few paces before someone behind him, in a tone heavily laced with shock and
disbelief, said, “Peter?!”

Peter started violently, his heart skipping several beats before kicking into a sprint, and he whipped
around, because he knew that voice—

Lily Hollaland stood behind him, and the first thing Peter noticed was that the copious amount of
product she must have been wearing in her hair did very little to calm the frizziness.

The second thing Peter noticed was that she was taller than usual, and a quick glance down showed
him that she was wearing heels. He then began to notice other things, like her light blue dress, that
hugged her extremely thin body but left her shoulders exposed, and her small, diamond necklace,
that sat in the middle of her pale chest.

He looked up at her face, and he saw that it was caked with makeup, which was a surprise to him.
Lily usually only wore mascara and light concealer, so seeing her completely made up was
startling.

She looked really pretty, and if Peter wasn’t completely terrified of her, he might have a crush on
her.

She was completely shocked to see him there; it was written all over her face. “What are you doing
here?!” she asked, almost accusatory.

“Uh…” he stuttered. “I’m, uh, I’m here as a plus one.”

“For who?!” she demanded. “This is an exclusive party!”

“I know that!” Peter snapped, angry at her accusations and how she made him feel. “Why are you
here then, huh?”

“I told you,” Lily said impatiently. “My biological dad is the big cheese of a company in New
York, and I’m being forced to hang out with him this weekend. I’m his stupid plus one.”
“My dad’s here, I’m his plus one,” Peter explained, carefully leaving out who his dad was. “He
dragged me here.”

Lily seemed to take that as an acceptable answer, and she deflated. “This party fucking sucks and I
want to go home. Actually, scratch that, going home might be worse. I want to jump out a
window.”

Peter’s spider-sense whined uncomfortably, and a chill wracked his form. Maybe it goes off
because she is a danger to herself. “I… I feel that. I don’t think I’ve ever shaken more hands in my
life.”

Lily gave him a look of sympathy. “Same here. I think my hand is going to fall off after one more.”

Peter snorted, feeling the knot of anxiety in his heart lessen slightly. “Honestly, me too. By the
way, sorry for snapping at you. I’m just, I’m a little tense.”

“It’s alright, I shouldn’t have grilled you,” Lily bit her lip anxiously, her eyes shining slightly. “I
just… I hate having to be around my dad. I don’t even like to think about him, and now I have to
spend a whole weekend pretending that he doesn’t scare—” Lily cut off, her eyes widening as she
realized what she said, and the hair on Peter’s arms stood up. “I mean…”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Peter said quietly, watching as she chewed
her lip and twisted her hands anxiously, “but I have to ask… Are you okay, Lily?”

She looked terrified by the question. “I… I’m fine. I just have a… a shitty home life. I’m okay.”

Peter nodded, and he felt a strange urge to hug her. His spider-sense was almost completely silent.
“All right. You just don’t seem very happy.”

Lily shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “How can I be?” she whispered, and if Peter didn’t have his
super hearing, he wouldn’t have picked it up. His stomach twisted.

Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but Lily’s haunted expression had been covered up
by a smile. “So, who does your dad work for? He must be pretty high up if he’s at this party.”

Peter winced. “Oh, uh…”

“Pete?” a very familiar voice said from behind him, and Peter shut his eyes in defeat. “There you
are, kid, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Peter wearily opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of Lily’s expression, which was, once again,
total shock and disbelief.

Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulders and looked curiously down at Lily. “Huh. You’ve
made a friend. Who’s this?”

End me, please. “This is Lily,” Peter said stiffly, and Tony gave a jolt of surprise against him.
“She’s a friend from school.”

“Ohh,” Tony said, drawing out the word, before giving Lily his best award-winning Tony Stark
smile and extending a hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet you, Lily. I’m Tony, Peter’s dad.”

Lily’s eyes flashed to Peter’s, and Peter wanted to vanish on the spot. “Hi,” Lily said, her voice off
and slightly high. She took Tony’s hand. “I’m L-Lily Hollaland. Nice to meet you, Mr. S-Stark.”
“Likewise,” Tony said, smiling and releasing her hand. “It’s always nice to meet Peter’s friends.”

Lily gave a shaky smile, and Peter grit his teeth. “Okay, bye dad!” Peter said, giving Tony a look
that hopefully told him, please leave, you’re embarrassing me!

Tony ignored him. “Peter told me that you’re new to New York, how are you liking it here?”

“Dad,” Peter muttered, trying to push him away. “Can you leave?”

“I want to talk to your friend,” Tony insisted, not budging. “Stop being rude, Pete.”

“You’re embarrassing me,” Peter hissed, still trying to shove him away. “Can you please just go?”

“There you are, Lily!” A loud, booming voice suddenly proclaimed from behind Lily, and both she
and Peter froze simultaneously.

And then Peter’s spider-sense screamed.

His skin crawled sickeningly, and his stomach turned in revulsion. The breath rushed from his
lungs almost as if he had been punched, and he unconsciously backed up several paces, running
bodily into Tony, who settled a hand on his shoulder.

His legs were wobbly, so he locked his knees, refusing to fall as Lily’s dad shouldered into the
space next to Lily, his large frame towering over her.

Lily was a juxtaposition to her dad. While she was stick thin, he was larger, healthier looking. Lily
held herself with reserve, almost shyly, while her father emanated confidence and authority. They
were both tall, however, with the same long legs and arms.

Something about him was just wrong, however. While Lily made him uncomfortable, her dad
made all of his senses grate against each other, made him want to run the other way and not stop
until he was across the city.

There was something unnatural about Lily’s dad. Something that Peter couldn’t focus on, since he
was currently trying his hardest to stay conscious.

“Who’s this?” The thing asked Lily, who had gone pale under her makeup.

“T-this is my friend Peter, from school,” she answered robotically, before gesturing to Tony. “And
this is his dad.”

“Ah!” Lily’s dad said jovially, and he held out a hand for Tony to shake. “I’m John Clark, CEO of
Clark BioSciences. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Stark.”

“Yours as well, Mr. Clark,” Tony said, his voice perfectly pleasant and businesslike. “I’ve heard
great things about Lily from Peter. You must be very proud.”

“Oh,” Mr. Clark said, looking very surprised, and Peter’s panicked eyes met Lily’s. “Right, yes,
yes. Very proud. I didn’t know you had a son, Mr. Stark.”

“Yep, this is Peter,” Tony said, gripping Peter’s shoulder tighter in pride. “He’s my adopted son.
He’s fifteen.”

“Nice to meet you, Pete,” Mr. Clark said, and Peter’s stomach twisted with nausea as the man’s
beady brown eyes fell on him. He felt himself start to perspire underneath the collar of his suit in
fear, even as he tried to smile to save face. “You must be a smart young man if you go to school
 with Lily.”

Peter’s mouth was dry, and he swallowed convulsively. “Mhm,” he said dumbly.

“And, of course, because your father is Tony Stark,” Mr. Clark said, flashing Tony a smile. “And
you expect nothing less than perfection, right, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s hand stiffened on his shoulder, and Peter knew that Tony didn’t like Mr. Clark anymore
than Peter did. “I’ve never had to worry about how Peter’s doing in school, but even if it was less
than perfect, I would still be proud,” Tony said, his tone a touch cold.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Mr. Clark said, his smile turning faker by the second. His hand reached out
and landed on Lily’s shoulder, who gave a whole-body flinch as he made contact. “Well, it was
nice meeting you, Mr. Stark. If you’ll excuse us.”

He led Lily away, but before she disappeared into the crowd of people, she turned and met Peter’s
gaze again.

And there was nothing but sheer terror in her eyes.

Chapter End Notes

DUN DUN DUN! Finally, some answers! I hope you guys are happy lmao.
So, my surgery went great, thank you all for your well wishes. I'm still recovering, but
I should be 100% better in a week or two. Also, sorry that this was short, I was
planning on writing more, but damn, anesthesia fucks you up for like a good three
days. Today was the first day I got through without taking a nap. I feel like an old
grandma.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! I hope you all liked the chapter, and I'll see
you on Monday!
 Chapter 58
Chapter Summary

“'We had a stressful night,' Tony reasoned, 'and I’m the adult, so what I say goes, and I
say we should eat ice-cream.'”

Chapter Notes

tHIS IS SHORT SORRY ENJOY

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“That guy was a dick,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Jesus. I hate bioscientists, they’re annoying.
Anyways, it was nice meeting your friend, Pete—” Tony cut off, taking in Peter’s bloodless face
and staring eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Kinda dizzy,” Peter mumbled, his sense quieting as Mr. Clark got further away. “Might pass out.”

The room tilted from side to side as his legs finally started to give out, but Tony grabbed him under
the arms before Peter could fall to the floor.

“Whoa! Okay, okay, hold on,” Tony said in alarm, dragging Peter towards the bathroom, who was
thankful that it was a single stall.

“On the floor, head between your knees,” Tony ordered as he locked the door, and Peter complied,
sliding down onto the elegant tile, slotting his spinning head in between his knees. He took several
deep breaths, trying to clear the fog from his head.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony said, watching Peter nervously. “Want to tell me why you’re suddenly taking a
swan dive?”

“It’s Lily’s dad,” Peter took a deep breath, swallowing back nausea. “My sense just went haywire.
I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Tony was silent for a beat as he processed that. “Even when you faced the Marionette?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said miserably. “I don’t remember. God, that was so horrible.”

“Keep breathing,” Tony said softly, crouching down next to Peter. “In and out, bud.”

“That must be why my sense goes off,” Peter reasoned, wishing the black spots on his vision away.
“It must be because of her dad. But why does he make it go off?”

“Don’t worry about it now,” Tony said. “Focus on breathing. Do you want me to go get you some
water?”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head and then stifling a groan when it spun again. “I’m alright. That
was just… a lot of sensation.”

“Okay,” Tony said, but he was still worried. “We should leave.”

Peter shook his head. “I want to get information on that guy.”

“Absolutely not!” Tony exclaimed. “You just almost passed out, kid. No playing detective.”

“There’s something wrong with him,” Peter said, meeting Tony’s worried gaze. “I need to
understand why he affects me, and why it, in turn, makes Lily affect me.”

“Maybe he’s a mob boss,” Tony joked, but it fell flat as Peter removed his still pale face from
between his knees and leant it on the wall behind him, shutting his eyes briefly. “You sure you’re
okay?”

“Just shaken,” Peter said quietly. “He felt evil, Tony. I don’t know why.”

Tony sighed, moving to sit next to Peter against the wall. He pulled the kid close to him and let
Peter rest his head against his shoulder. His hand unconsciously moved up into Peter’s hair and
slowly began working out the knots that the gel left.

“Would you listen to me if I told you to stay out of it?” Tony asked quietly after several minutes of
silence, because that’s what Tony wanted to do. He wanted to take Peter away from anything that
could harm him and keep him in the Tower, always in Tony’s line of sight.

Peter sighed, and he rolled so that he was pressed into Tony’s side, his face tucked into the crook
of the man’s neck. “This is something I have to figure out, dad,” he whispered. “It’s my friend.”

Tony shut his eyes. I need to keep you safe, though. “I know.”

“She told me she was scared of him,” Peter whispered. “She said she didn’t even want to think
about him. What if something happens to her?”

But what if something happens to you? “I know.”

“I can’t just ignore this,” Peter whispered, and Tony’s fingers tightened in his hair.

“I know,” Tony said, finally. “You want to help her. I can’t say no to that.”

Peter let go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Tony grumbled, and he stood, before holding out a hand to help Peter up.
“Come on. Let’s go back out.”

Peter sighed but used Tony’s hand to help himself up. “Do we have to?”

“We can go, if you want,” Tony repeated his statement from earlier, “but there’s going to be an
auction in a little bit. Maybe you can try and find Lily again,” Tony paused, a thought that had
immediately sprung to his mind when he saw Lily resurfacing. “She looks sad, Pete. Is she
alright?”

Peter looked upset. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Tony nodded. “Watch her. You were right. There’s something about her that makes me
uncomfortable too.”
Peter met Tony’s eyes, thankful that Tony felt the same thing that he did around Lily. It was nice to
know he wasn’t cracking up. “I will.”

--

Lily was gone for the rest of the party, and Peter’s spider-sense was dead silent.

It was eerie and Peter almost wished it would prickle, since he was so used to it these days. He and
Tony left about an hour after the incident with Lily’s dad, the duration of which was spent looking
for his missing friend, all while shaking hands and attempting to be charismatic.

It didn’t really work. He ended up saying a bunch of dumb things and being awkward by Tony’s
side, and by the time he left, he was worried that he had embarrassed Tony so much that the man
wished they hadn’t told people that Peter was his son.

“Sorry for being awkward,” Peter muttered as they drove away, still shaking slightly from having
to face all the reporters with their loud, obnoxious shouting and annoying flashing cameras again.
“I don’t know how to mingle.”

“You’re a teenager, of course you’re awkward,” Tony said with a shrug. “It’s fine, I have enough
charisma for the both of us.”

Peter plucked at his dress pants, anxiety suffocating him slightly. The entire night had been
nothing but stressful, and it was starting to catch up to him. He felt panicky and the way Lily had
looked back at him with terror in her eyes kept playing on a loop in his head.

“Well, that was draining,” Tony said with a sigh, letting his head thump back against the seat. “I
know charity functions are a good thing, but man, they seriously exhaust me.”

Peter twisted his hands in his lap. “I’m tired too. Tired and hungry.”

“I’m hungry too,” Tony said, his gaze sliding over to Peter, taking in his anxious expression and
tense posture.

An idea popped into his head. “Hey Hap, navigate to the closest Ben and Jerry’s.”

“On it,” Happy replied as Peter looked at him curiously.

“It’s ten thirty,” Peter supplied, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me not to eat
sugar before bed or something?”

“We had a stressful night,” Tony reasoned, “and I’m the adult, so what I say goes, and I say we
should eat ice-cream.”

Peter couldn’t argue with that logic. Plus, he was hungry, and ice-cream sounded amazing. “Fair
enough.”

The closest Ben and Jerry’s was in Upper East Side, and it only took a few minutes to get there.
Happy pulled up front, and Tony and Peter got out, crossing the sidewalk and entering the almost
empty ice cream parlor.

There was only one employee working, and she turned so red when she saw Tony that Peter
thought she was going to explode.

“Two ice-creams. I’ll have a small New York Super Fudge Chunk. Pete, what do you want?” Tony
asked Peter, who was looking at the different flavor options.

“I’ll have Phish Food,” Peter decided, deciding to change it up a little bit from his usual Brownie
Batter.

“What size?” Tony asked, and Peter considered.

“Can I get a large?” Peter asked Tony, who rolled his eyes and nodded.

The girl, whose nametag read Maggie, rang them up before scooping their ice-cream and handing
it to them with shaking hands.

They took seat at a table by the windows, and Peter put a spoonful of ice-cream into his mouth,
humming in pleasure when it lit up his taste buds.

“I’m sorry that was so stressful, Pete,” Tony apologized after about a minute and a half of silent
ice-cream eating. “I didn’t expect it to be.”

“It’s fine,” Peter said. “I’m just… worried about my friend, I guess. And a little freaked out about
the fact that her dad scares the crap out of me, even though I’ve barely spoken to him.”

“It’s strange,” Tony said. “Didn’t you say her step-dad is an asshole?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, grimacing. “She said he makes comments about her weight. Her mom
apparently doesn’t do anything about it.”

“That’s rough,” Tony said, and was reminded almost too much of his childhood. “She’s never
mentioned her birth dad before?”

“Once,” Peter said. “But she didn’t say anything good about him. She said that he was the CEO of
a major company, and that her mom divorced him for a reason.”

“Jeez,” Tony said, thankful that Peter never had to deal with anything like that.

Death may have followed Peter throughout his life, but so did love and affection. Everyone who
had Peter in their care had loved the kid, Tony knew, more than anything.

It wasn’t the first time he had mentally thanked May Parker for her steadiness and heart, and he
knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“The best thing you can do for her,” Tony informed Peter, gesturing with his spoon, “is be there
for her. She probably hates being at home, so try and help her make her feel safe and welcome. Get
Ned and MJ in on it too.”

Peter looked at him, surprised. “How do you know so much about this? You’re weirdly good with
advice all of the sudden.”

Tony bushed slightly, and it was such an odd look on him that Peter raised an eyebrow. “I, uh, I
might have read a bunch of parenting books,” admitted Tony, looking everywhere but Peter.

“Oh my god,” Peter laughed. “You’re such a dad.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tony said, but he was laughing too.

The charity function had sucked, and Peter was more stressed out about Lily than ever before.
 But laughing with his dad, in the bright Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream parlor, pushed all thoughts of
Lily from his mind and warmed him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

Chapter End Notes

I am so sorry that this is a short chapter, I was really busy this week and didn't have
any time to write. Next chapter should be longer, I promise.
I'm feeling much better; my incisions are practically healed and I can do a lot more.
Once again, thank you all for your well wishes! I truly believe they are what helped
me have such an easy surgery and fast recovery :)
As always, feedback is much appreciated! See you all next Monday!
 Chapter 59
Chapter Summary

"He watched as her frizzy hair bounced as she walked away, and he tried not to think
about her cold tone of voice, and the terror that was in her eyes Saturday night."

Chapter Notes

A little bit longer than the last one, but still kind of short. Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter was dreading going back to school on Monday.

He spent all of Sunday in a funk. He and Steve sparred (it was Peter’s idea, as he wanted to get
back into top shape for when he decided to go back out as Spider-Man) much to the chagrin of
Tony, who looked like he had eaten something bad as he watched from the sidelines, his gaze
tracking their every move.

The sparring was nice and distracting, up until it wasn’t, and when he got so much into his head
that Steve almost took it off with a swing, Tony called it.

Peter wanted to protest, but the look on Tony’s face made him swallow back his objections and
make for the showers.

After that, he worked on homework, but found that he was having trouble concentrating on that as
well. He finished his Calculus worksheets with difficulty, unsure if he used the correct formulas,
but he didn’t care enough to have Tony check it over.

Once that was over and done with, he joined Tony in his workshop, and tried to help him design
some new gauntlets, but he was so distracted that when he showed Tony his design, he didn’t
realize he programmed the thumb where the forefinger was supposed to be.

Tony laughed about it for a good ten minutes, which Peter spent with his head on glass display
screen, wanting God or Thor (wherever he was) to strike him down where he sat.

“You’ve been distracted today,” Tony observed as they were eating dinner. It was just the two of
them; Pepper was out of the country (Tony didn’t tell Peter that Pepper tried desperately to get him
to go, but he said no every time she asked) and the rest of the team were doing their respective
things.

Peter shrugged. “Been thinking about things.”

“Ah,” Tony said, using his chopsticks to twirl Chow Mein noodles. “And by things, do you mean a
certain girl with frizzy hair and a bad home life?”

Peter sighed, looking down at the table. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I keep trying to push it from
my mind, but she looked so scared, Tony.”

“I know you want to help her, kid,” Tony said, “but you can’t spend all of your time stressing
about it. It’s not healthy.”

Peter moodily stabbed a dumpling. “I know.”

“Just remember what I told you,” Tony advised, gesturing with his chopsticks. “Be there for her.
Try and make school feel safe for her, since home obviously isn’t.”

“I feel like I should be doing something more though,” Peter said. “Like investigating. Going out
as Spider-Man and gathering intel—”

Tony made a strange noise, cutting off Peter’s speech. Peter raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Tony avoided Peter’s eyesight. “Nothing.”

Peter stared at him. “What?” he repeated.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s obviously something. You’re not looking at me.”

“Uh, yes I am. See, look at that, hi.”

Peter glared at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. Eat your dinner,” Tony said, before wincing and muttering something that sounded
awfully like “god, I’m turning into my mother.”

Peter scowled and took a bite of Kung Pau chicken as silence fell between the two of them, the
only noise in the common area being chewing and the occasional blaring of a car horn from the
street, several hundred feet below.

“I’m afraid Lily’s going to be mad at me,” Peter admitted quietly several minutes later, and Tony
looked up abruptly, watching as worry lines creased Peter’s face. “You know, for not telling her
that you’re my dad.”

“She might be,” Tony said frankly. “But if you want to, you can blame it on me. Say that I wanted
us to keep it under wraps until I was ready to tell the public.”

“She won’t believe that,” Peter muttered. “You were way too excited to tell her that you were my
dad.”

“What can I say?” Tony grinned. “I want to show my kid off.”

Peter rolled his eyes but smiled anyways.

After dinner, he and Tony watched a movie (Jurassic Park, since Peter wanted to not think about
the real world for a little while) before Peter went to bed, dreading the next day.

He found it hard to sleep, which was pretty normal for when he was stressed out, but eventually he
fell into unconsciousness around two in the morning, a good two and a half hours after he laid
down in his bed.

He awoke the next morning by his alarm, and he spent a good fifteen minutes hating his life before
getting out of bed and showering, before dressing and making his way up to the living space in
search of breakfast.

He had his favorite sugary cereal, which calmed him a little bit, but he was twitchy the entire
subway ride to Midtown, wishing that Tony was around to calm him down.

His spider-sense flared to life as soon as he walked through the metal doors of his high school, and
he automatically knew that Lily was at school.

He walked nervously to his locker, putting away his heavy Calculus textbook in exchange for his
heavy Physics textbook, before shutting his locker and taking a deep breath.

He walked down the hall towards where he knew Lily’s locker was, and as soon as he caught sight
of frizzy hair, his heart started to pound.

He approached her slowly, shuffling his feet awkwardly as he approached. “H-hi, Lily,” Peter said,
and the girl jumped, one of her books falling to the ground with a thump.

Peter quickly bent down to pick it up, and handed it back to her, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. I,
uh… I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Lily’s lips were pressed together in a line, and her eyes held an unreadable emotion. “It’s fine,” she
said flatly.

Peter swallowed hard. Uh oh, she’s mad at me. “So, uh… that was—that was some party, huh?”

Her eyes flashed, and Peter’s spider-sense reacted negatively. “It was definitely something,” she
said in the same flat tone.

Peter was completely at a loss for what to say, so he just stood there awkwardly, trying to smile.
“So how—”

“I have to go to class,” she interrupted, walking past him. “Bye, Peter.”

Peter sighed. “Bye, Lily. See you at lunch.”

He watched as her frizzy hair bounced as she walked away, and he tried not to think about her cold
tone of voice, and the terror that was in her eyes Saturday night.

--

Lunch came around too quickly.

He was anxious and stressed, and it was stifling his appetite, so he only ordered a single slice of
pizza for lunch.

MJ and Lily were already sat at their normal table, and Ned came in the same time Peter did,
carrying the brown paper bag that contained his lunch.

Peter took a seat, his stomach twisted when he saw Lily avoid his gaze by staring intensely at his
pizza.

“Hi guys,” Peter said, a little downtrodden. “What’s up?”

Lily didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the table, and MJ glanced at her, eyebrows furrowed.
Ned sat down with a quick, “Hey guys!” and began unpacking his lunch.
“Not much,” MJ said slowly. “Though this weekend my—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lily said, voice small and hurt, cutting MJ off (which was never a good
idea) and startling Peter. Ned looked up from his sandwich.

MJ glared at her, and Peter looked down at the table, biting his lip. “I… I don’t tell anyone, really.
We don’t want anyone to know just yet.”

“But they know,” Lily said, pointing to Ned and MJ as anger took over her tone. “They know. Why
did I have to find out for myself?”

Peter wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “They… they were… Ned was—”

“I don’t get it. How come you get a cool dad,” Lily ranted, her voice growing louder and angrier,
“and I get two shitty ones who have done nothing but cause me endless amounts of trauma and
make me hate myse—”

She cut off, her jaw clenching and tears forming in her blue eyes. “How come I get stuck with the
bad ones? Why don’t I have someone who takes me therapy even though they hate it?” she
swallowed, her voice breaking. “Why don’t I get Tony Stark as my dad?”

Peter stared at her, his own eyes burning with tears he refused to let form. Guilt swirled in his
belly, making him nauseous. He curled his hands into tight fists and let his nails press on his
palms, letting the pain ground him.

He took a deep breath. “You—” he cut off, biting his cheek as his voice threatened to crack. “You
probably think I’m lucky,” Peter said quietly, no heat in his tone at all. “But you don’t… you don’t
know what I’ve gone through to get to this point.

“I was born to Richard and Mary Parker,” Peter explained, wishing he could cut himself off from
the situation emotionally, but it was impossible. “They were killed in a plane crash. I was four.”

“I was then put into the guardianship of my aunt and my uncle, who were my last living relatives.
They raised me in Queens.

“Almost two years ago, my uncle B-Ben was stabbed outside of gas station. Right… right in front
of me. He died on the way to the hospital.”

Lily’s face was white, her mouth open slightly in shock. MJ was watching him warily, almost as if
she was certain he would burst into tears at any second. Ned’s hand was on Peter’s arm, steady and
sure, comforting him silently.

“Then, last November,” Peter shut his eyes, digging his nails into his hands to feel the sting of
pain. “Last November, my aunt was out driving to get us food when she got into a car accident. She
was d-dead on impact.”

Lily’s mouth shut, and her eyes sparkled with tears. “I—”

“Tony’s one of the only good things that have happened to me,” Peter whispered, “so don’t think
I’m lucky, or that it’s not fair that I have him. Because I literally don’t have anyone else.”

Lily bit her pink lower lip, looking guilty and horribly, horribly sad. “I didn’t know. I’m… I’m
sorry.”

Peter looked away, trying his hardest not to let the tears in his eyes slip down his cheeks. “I’m
 sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just… I don’t want people treating me differently because I’m Tony
Stark’s adopted son. I want people to make friends with me for who I am, not who my dad is.”

Lily nodded, looking chagrined. She avoided everyone’s eyesight as she got out her lunch, opening
her sandwich and taking a bite.

She still looked close to tears as she anxiously pulled down the sleeves to her sweater, biting her
quivering lip.

The best thing you could do is be there for her, Tony had said. Make her feel safe at school.

Well. He royally fucked that up, didn’t he?

He was about to spiral into self-recrimination when MJ spoke up. “In other news, I became rich
this weekend.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“My grandma died,” MJ said, very matter of fact. “She wrote my family into her will, and now
we’re fifty-grand richer.”

“Fifty k’s?!” Ned gasped. “That’s like… enough to pay for college!”

“Hell yeah it is,” MJ said, her eyes gleaming. “We had no idea. Crazy old bat was always stingy
with her money, I’m surprised we got any of it.”

“That’s awesome, MJ!” Peter said excitedly, happy for his friend. “So what are you going to do
with the cash?”

“Save it, probably,” MJ shrugged. “It’s not necessarily my money, but I have a feeling that it’s
going towards paying for my college rather than my little brother’s video game fund.”

Peter laughed, feeling lighter thanks to the change in conversation.

“I wish my family suddenly got fifty grand,” Ned said ruefully. “I’m expecting to be in debt from
college until I’m ninety.”

Peter opened his mouth to comment, but suddenly, Lily gathered her stuff and stood, before left the
table without a word.

“Where’s she going?” MJ asked quietly, and Ned shook his head.

Peter watched her go, guilty and wishing that he knew how to help her.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the delay in posting this! I took a week off to kind of just focus on myself.
During that time, however, I watched Far From Home and I LOVED IT. It gave me
some good inspiration for this fic, which I've been lacking recently.
As always, feedback is much appreciated! I'll see you guys next Monday (for real, this
time!)
 Chapter 60
Chapter Summary

"Tony snorted, gazing at something across the room. 'You’ll get a lot more than fifty
thousand when I die, kid, so don’t be too jealous. I’m planning on giving you
everything.'

Peter stomach twisted, and he swallowed nervously. 'You’ve thought about this?” he
asked, fear choking him.'"

Chapter Notes

Will I ever stop being lazy and start creating longer chapters again? Only time will
tell~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Peter flopped onto the couch in the living space, groaning. His day hadn’t improved much after the
lunch fiasco, and he was thankful that he was finally home.

Tony strolled over to where he was, holding a bowl of popcorn in his hands. “Rough day?” he
questioned, taking a seat. Peter immediately put his feet in Tony’s lap.

“It was awful,” Peter said, making grabbing motions with his hands to indicate that he wanted the
popcorn. Tony obliged with an eyeroll.

“So, the situation with Lily is worse than I thought,” Peter said, putting the bowl of popcorn on his
stomach. “She kind of blew up at me, saying that it wasn’t fair that I got a cool dad while she was
stuck with two awful ones.”

“That’s unfair,” Tony said, frowning. “She doesn’t know what you’ve been—”

“—What I’ve been through, exactly,” Peter finished for him. “So, me being the idiot I am, I gave
her my entire life story, making sure to include all the sad and pathetic details.”

Tony groaned. “Peter.”

“Yep. I made her feel nice and guilty. So much so that she left our table entirely, and I didn’t see
her for the rest of the day.”

Tony pinched his toe, making Peter kick. “That was the literal opposite of what I told you to do.
For a genius, kid, you can be kinda stupid sometimes.”

“Thanks, dad,” Peter said sarcastically. “Really glad I have you in my corner.”

Tony pinched his toe again. “What are you going to do to fix it?”
Peter sighed. “I don’t know. I need to apologize. I didn’t mean to undermine her suffering.”

“Maybe you could invite her over,” Tony said, and Peter looked at him funny. “Not just her, I
mean. All of your friends.”

Peter kept staring at him, and Tony shifted awkwardly. “What?”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Peter said, watching as Tony squirmed.

He sighed. “I’m not going to be home until really late Thursday. Probably around two in the
morning.”

Peter felt his heart sink, and he put the popcorn on the coffee table, not feeling very hungry
anymore. “Oh,” he said lamely.

“I thought that, since I’m not going to be here, it’d be a good idea to have your friends over,” Tony
explained. “It’d be a good distraction.”

Peter chewed his lip. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Tony asked, his face compassionate and open.

Peter avoided his eyes. “You know that I get kinda…uh…hysterical when you’re not around,” he
admitted quietly. “I don’t know if I want my friends to see that.”

“If they’re your friends, they shouldn’t care,” Tony said softly. “I’ve never met Ned, but based on
the few sentences I’ve exchanged with MJ, it doesn’t seem like she’s the type to judge people.”

“Yeah. Neither is Ned, I guess,” Peter murmured, picking at his fingernails. “Besides, they’ve
already seen it. Back in Boston.”

“Invite them over, Pete,” Tony pleaded softly. “I don’t want you just sitting here by yourself while
I’m gone. It gives me anxiety.”

“The team’s here,” Peter muttered, but he knew what Tony meant. “Alright. I’ll invite them over.
Lily too, I guess. If she forgives me.”

“She will,” Tony said, squeezing Peter’s ankle. “Just give her some time. Maybe shoot her a text
tonight.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, sighing. They lapsed into silence, both of them thinking.

“Anything else happen today?” Tony asked, reaching for the popcorn.

“Nah, not really,” Peter said, but then a thoughtful expression overtook his face. “Actually, MJ’s
grandma passed away over the weekend, and her family got fifty thousand dollars out of it.”

“Damn. That’s a pretty penny,” Tony commented, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn and popping
them in his mouth.

“It’s crazy,” Peter said reverently. “Imagine getting fifty K in like, an instant. I’m kind of jealous.”

Tony snorted, gazing at something across the room. “You’ll get a lot more than fifty thousand
when I die, kid, so don’t be too jealous. I’m planning on giving you everything.”

Peter stomach twisted, and he swallowed nervously. “You’ve thought about this?” he asked, fear
choking him.

Tony wasn’t looking at Peter, so he didn’t notice his distress. “Of course. I have a will written out
and everything. It’s always good to be prepar—” He cut off, his eyes widening as he realized what
he was talking about, and to whom he was discussing it with. His eyes jumped to Peter’s terrified
face.

“Why do you have a will written out?” Peter asked, his voice several octaves high with distress.
“Why do you… why do you—”

“Hey, calm down,” Tony said, laying a hand on Peter’s ankle. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m
not going to die anytime soon.”

“But why do you have one?” Peter asked weakly, his hands curled into tight fists. “You’re…
you’re only forty-six. You shouldn’t be t-thinking about—”

“It’s different,” Tony cut Peter off, “because I’m the owner of a multi-billion-dollar company. It
was my lawyer’s idea to draft one up, just in case. It’s not because I think something’s going to
happen to me. I’m not going anywhere, kid. This is just so I have all my ducks in a row.”

Peter swallowed, the knot in his chest loosening as he nodded, letting out a breath. “Okay.”

“Also,” Tony said, reaching out and snagging one of Peter’s balled fists, “I thought I told you to
stop doing this.” He gently unfurled Peter’s hand, taking in the harsh indentations of jagged, bitten
fingernails. He ran his finger over them sadly. If he keeps doing this, Tony thought, he’s going to
have scars. I should bring it up with Dr. Masri.

“Sorry,” Peter said quietly. “I don’t mean to do it. I just… do it.”

“Can you please make a conscious effort to stop?” Tony asked, a bit desperately, wishing Peter
could see how dangerous the habit could be.

It frightened him, seeing the indentations on Peter’s skin. It was an unsafe coping mechanism, one
that could, if it stopped providing the relief it usually did, change into something that was more
dangerous.

“Why does it worry you so much?” Peter asked, watching as Tony’s calloused fingers gently
touched the places where his nails pressed into his skin. “It doesn’t even hurt that badly.”

“Peter,” Tony locked eyes with his kid, trying to be patient and rational, but this frightened him,
and he wasn’t good at keeping a level head when he got anxious. “Do you understand how
potentially dangerous this could be? You are pressing your nails into your skin to feel pain when
you get anxious or upset.”

“And?” Peter said, not understanding why there was so much fear in Tony’s eyes, discomfort
written on his face.

“This is a form of,” Tony swallowed, hating the term. He lowered his voice. “This is a form of
self-harm, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide, and he jerked his hand from Tony’s grasp in shock. He stared down at the
indentations on his hand, before his head came back up and looked into Tony’s eyes, frightened. “I
—it’s not. It’s not.”

“It is,” Tony said gently. “That’s why it scares me, Peter.”
“But I don’t mean—” Peter worried his lip, his eyes flicking from Tony’s face down to his hands.
“It’s not like I’m…”

“It’s not as dangerous as it could be,” Tony agreed, and he tugged Peter’s hand back into his grasp.
“But it could turn dangerous. That’s why I want you to stop.” Tony folded Peter’s hand into a
loose fist. “So please, try and stop.”

Peter swallowed. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can hope for,” Tony said, releasing Peter’s hand and grabbing the popcorn bowl,
before shoving a fistful of buttery deliciousness into his mouth.

“I’m thinking of going out patrolling tonight,” Peter said, and Tony stopped chewing, his eyes
darting to Peter’s face.

Tony swallowed his mouthful of popcorn. “Why?”

Peter shrugged. “I haven’t gone out since I got hurt. I miss it, and people need me.”

Tony bit his cheek to keep from saying something he knew he would regret. “Not tonight, Pete,” he
said instead, keeping his tone level. “You’ve got school tomorrow.”

Peter arched an eyebrow, propping himself up on his elbows. “Why does that matter?”

Because I said so. “You’ve got a Calculus test tomorrow, if I remember correctly,” Tony said,
recalling what Peter was complaining about yesterday afternoon. “You should be studying.”

Peter groaned, flopping backwards on the couch. “But I already know the material! It’s easy!”

“I still want you to look over it,” Tony said, “and when you’re done, you can help me in the
workshop. I’m designing some new thrusters.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at that, and Tony mentally fist bumped.

Crisis averted, he thought proudly, eating some more popcorn and offering the bowl to Peter, who
took some as well. For now, at least.

--

Peter was quiet when they tinkered in the workshop together that night.

It was quite unusual for Peter to be silent as they worked. Typically, Tony couldn’t get him to stop
talking, as the kid always had something to comment on, or a story to tell.

Tonight, though, Peter only talked when asked a direct question.

He worked on his new webshooters quietly, and even though Tony’s music was loud, he could feel
the silence creeping into his lungs and suffocating him, the sheer wrongness of it making him try to
fill the space between them with his own chatter.

He put the finishing touches on the design for his new thrusters and stepped back with a grin. “Hey
Pete, come take a look at these,” he called, moving the diagram of his new gadget with his finger.

The kid obediently got up off his stool and walked over to where Tony’s display was, peering at
the design.
 “Check this out,” Tony said, giving Peter a grin, before he opened up the menu detailing the
schematics. “These boys travel at six hundred knots easily. I can probably get to eight or nine
hundred if I deploy all power to them.”

He glanced down at Peter, still smiling, and saw the kid looking at the design with a sad look in his
eyes. “Peter?”

The kid swallowed and blinked. “Will this… will this really all go to me if… if you…”

Tony bit back a sigh. Me and my big mouth. Shouldn’t have just said ‘wow, that’s neat’ and
changed the subject. I really kicked him where it hurts.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly honest. “It’s all yours, Pete. Everything I’ve got, all my tech. It’s yours.”

The kid kept his big, brown eyes on the display. “Why?”

“Because you’re my son,” Tony said, watching intently as Peter’s lip quivered at that. “You’re
smart and you’re capable. You keep up with my engineering talk, you know a lot about mechanics
and technology, and you’re Spider-Man. You know what it takes to be a hero.”

Peter shut his eyes. The blue light of the display illuminated his pain-lined face. “Please don’t die,”
he whimpered, and Tony’s heart broke. “I don’t think I could survive another one.”

Tony immediately tugged the kid to him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. He
shut his eyes tightly and pressed a kiss to Peter’s curls, trying to convey all the love he had in his
heart for the child in his arms; the love he was so poor at expressing, sometimes.

“I am not going anywhere,” Tony murmured. “I’m staying right here, with you.”

“Promise me,” Peter said, his voice filled with tears and muffled by Tony’s shirt. “Promise me you
won’t put me through another funeral.”

There was a burning behind Tony’s eyes, and he blinked rapidly. “I promise,” he whispered, and
Peter let out a muffled sob and grabbed onto Tony’s soft, loose t-shirt, balling it in his hands and
tugging, keeping him from slipping away like everyone else seemed to.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you to Far From Home for giving me that plot idea. I know I overdo the angst
but I hope you guys liked the chapter!
As always, feedback is much appreciated! I'll see you guys next week!
 Chapter 61
Chapter Summary

"'Hi, Peter,' a timid yet familiar voice said from behind him, stopping his speech and
his gait. He turned and saw Lily, excessively frizzy hair and all. Her eyes looked
downtrodden and her hands were buried in the sleeves of her cotton sweater. She held
her books for class close to her chest, her arms crisscrossed over them. She was biting
her pink lower lip."

Chapter Notes

I'm so sorry. My writer's block is so bad, this is all I can give you for right now ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Nightmares plagued his sleep that night.

They were vivid and horrifically graphic, most all of them involving Tony dying in one gruesome
way after another. He couldn’t snap himself out of them either; he had to sit by and watch as his
dad was burnt to death, decapitated, and poisoned amongst other things.

He woke just before dawn in a cold sweat, tears drying on his face. He was too disturbed to go
back to sleep, and he felt guilty waking Tony up, (especially since Pepper got back from her trip
late last night, and he didn’t want to interrupt their peaceful slumber together) so he just laid there,
staring up at the ceiling and thinking of the day to come.

He made a vow to apologize to her for guilt tripping her and undermining what she was going
through. It was shitty of him to just kind of throw all of that at her. It was almost like he was
saying, “you think you have a shitty life? Take a look at mine!”

Yeah, he definitely had some apologizing to do. He rolled over with a sigh, closing his eyes and
longing for a dreamless sleep.

--

Lily was avoiding him.

When Peter had gotten to school, he immediately made a beeline for Lily’s locker to apologize, but
she wasn’t there. He knew she was at school, since his spider-sense had been tingling ever since he
walked in the building, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He waited for a couple more minutes
at her locker, ignoring the looks he was getting from Lily’s lockermates, before having to go to his
own locker to collect his books for class.

On his way, Flash purposefully bumped into him, throwing Peter sideways into the lockers,
bruising his shoulder.
“Watch where you’re going, dickweed!” Flash called, sauntering past, and Peter shut his eyes as
his shoulder smarted.

“Fuck you, Flash,” Peter muttered under his breath, rubbing his shoulder with a scowl.

“What was that, Penis?” Flash demanded, stopping in the hallway and looking back at Peter.
“What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Peter said, walking past him towards his locker. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with
Flash today. Lily was stressing him out, he had his big Calculus test, and he was still unsettled
from his nightmares.

He grabbed his books from his locker before slamming the metal door closed with more force than
necessary and walking in the direction of his first class, grumpy and irritable.

“Hey Peter!” Ned said as he fell into step with his friend. He held his hand out, and he and Peter
quickly did their handshake as they continued down the hall. “Did you see the new trailer for the
upcoming Star Wars movie? It looks so good!”

Peter blinked. “There’s a new trailer?! I didn’t—”

“Hi, Peter,” a timid yet familiar voice said from behind him, stopping his speech and his gait. He
turned and saw Lily, excessively frizzy hair and all. Her eyes looked downtrodden and her hands
were buried in the sleeves of her cotton sweater. She held her books for class close to her chest, her
arms crisscrossed over them. She was biting her pink lower lip.

Well, I guess she’s not avoiding me. “Hi, Lily,” Peter said quietly, unsure of how to proceed.

“Can I…” her eyes darted to Ned, who was looking at her with the serene expression of someone in
love. “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

Peter’s spider-sense was clearly saying no, don’t do it, but he nodded anyways. “Yeah, okay.”

She looked at him a second longer, before turning on her heel and walking back down the hall.
Peter stared at her before following, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to fall into step
with her.

She opened the door to an empty classroom, gesturing Peter inside with her chin. Peter entered and
Lily closed the door behind them, her face miserable.

“What’s up?” Peter asked, concerned despite his spider-sense prickling uncomfortably.

“I just wanted to say sorry for yesterday,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “It was wrong of me to
assume that you had it easier than I do.”

“It—it’s fine,” Peter said, confused. “I was going to apologize to you, actually. I didn’t mean to
unload all of my issues on you.”

“Thanks,” Lily mumbled, and Peter watched as she twitched uncomfortably.

Something was wrong. “Is everything okay?” Peter asked softly, trying to recreate what Tony did
whenever Peter was distraught. “You seem… upset.”

“I’m okay,” Lily said, taking a deep breath. “I’m just… stressed.”

“I feel that,” Peter said with a fake laugh, trying desperately to diffuse the situation. “I have a Calc
 test in like five minutes.”

Lily still wasn’t looking at him. She scuffed her sneakers on the floor anxiously. Peter’s gaze,
however, was drawn to the girl’s hair, which seemed to have gotten frizzier within the past few
minutes.

Weird, Peter thought, his eyebrows furrowing.

A semi-awkward silence had fallen, and Peter watched as Lily looked everywhere in the room but
him, her lip red and raw from being chewed on.

“By the way,” Peter said, breaking the silence. “I’m having a kind of get together at my place on
Thursday night. I’m inviting Ned and MJ too. I’d really… er, I’d really like it if you came.”

He ended the offer awkwardly, even though he was trying to be smooth. He curled his hands into
fists as a wave of anxiety came over him, before remembering that Tony had told him to stop and
immediately unfurling them.

She finally met his eyes, and he saw that most of the sadness had disappeared. “Really?” she asked,
her voice full of hope.

“Yeah!” Peter said enthusiastically. “There’s no school on Friday, since it’s the end of the grading
period, so you guys can totally sleep over! It’ll be a ton of fun.” And, with a little luck, I won’t have
a mental breakdown.

Lily’s face broke out into a smile. “I’ll definitely be there. Thanks, Peter.”

Peter smiled back just as the warning bell rang. Relief filled him as he left the empty classroom
with a “see you at lunch!” and he scurried down the hall to Calculus.

Chapter End Notes

SO I have really bad writer's block for literally everything right now, so it might be a
little while before I can update this story again. I'm not ditching it, I will never ditch it,
but it may be another week or so until I can get another chapter out. I'm really sorry,
but I honestly just can't bring myself to write :(
Also, I realized I never thanked you guys for 100k hits, but THANK YOU ALL SO
MUCH I LOVE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU. To have anyone read my
writing is amazing, but to have 100,000 people read it is something else entirely.
Thank you all so much!
Edit 1.22.21: It has been awhile, my friends. I'm so sorry for leaving this unfinished,
but my interests have changed since 2019, and it's really difficult for me to produce
new chapters when I'm no longer in a fandom. I will eventually finish this fic, but I'm
unsure of when that will happen. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and
comments (and even those who have followed me on Tumblr, which you can find
here) I really appreciate it.
Edit 1.25.22: No new updates on this fic, though I have started a new Irondad fic
called Leaving The Blue World. It has similar vibes to this fic, though a completely
different plot. I’d love if you all checked it out, here’s a link: link)
Much love, M.
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