Archive of Our Own

But I was made the way I am
I'm not a stone; I'm just a man
Lay down your arms and I will lay down mine

-Keane

Who knew mentoring a superhero would involve so much yelling?

Not pre-Germany Tony.

No.

That guy was an absolute moron.

And just like with everything in his life, present Tony is left to deal with past Tony’s half assed ideas. Case in point? Recruiting a 14 year old, further boosting his already developing astounding hero complex.

Somehow, in under a year, Tony's toughest battle became mentoring a reckless unexperienced kid superhero. Just like that, he’s been forced to confront every single achievement and victory in his Iron Man life and to realize that, as it turns out, the merit of heroics actually has nothing on the chaos of teenage rebellion - because, between fighting villains and getting Peter Parker alive to graduation, Tony is finding the latter to be stupidly more challenging.

Being responsible for this one kid’s life, even after battling aliens and gods and wizards and alien godly wizards, and slowly growing attached?

It's happening.

It scares him shitless.

Probably doesn’t help that it’s a very accident prone, danger-magnet, self-preservation lacking child.

“What are you doing here?!” Tony snarls, Iron Man swiftly dodging the gigantic yucky bug paws, “I told you to stay in school!”

“I am in school!” Peter shoots back, using the one web he’s swinging himself on to spin around the moving alien, tangling the strong material around the thing’s torso, “for all my class knows, that is... They probably think I’ve fallen down the toilet, but it’s not the most embarrassing excuse I could’ve come up with, so we’re good!”

“Oh, we’re not good!” Tony curses, which earns him the typical ‘Language’ from old man Steve on the other end of the line. Seriously, Tony’s not in the mood to deal with him too. They’ve barely gotten back on good terms again. Things are still too fresh for Tony’s inner monster to stop wanting to snap at the super soldier, and the goodie two shoes' unrequested commentary has always been more annoying than funny whenever Tony’s on a short fuse. This time is no different, other than it’s even worse.

Anyone would be, he thinks, if they had to drop the best lunch date with the best woman on Earth to fight a giant worm with feet, (a centipede, a fucking centipede, but Tony won’t admit it. Those things bring bad memories of caves and shrapnel.), with the man who hid the man who killed their mom and dad.

So, he thrusts his gloves and boots, forcing the suit to propel itself faster across the air of New York. In the blink of an eye, Spider-boy is flying through the air, launching another web at the creature, the next he’s struggling and complaining in Iron Man’s arms as Tony drags him away from the scene, because he’s the next best thing Tony can focus his mounting frustration and restlessness on. And he's the only variable he can actually do something about.

And because the kid is definitely on the naughty list for at least ten years after what Tony’s recently found out about...

“Awww, man! Mr. Stark!”

“No. No no no. Don’t you Mr. Stark me! Listen here,” Tony warns as they both land on the rooftop of a nearby building. In the background the rest of the present avengers can be seen battling the disgusting too many-legged thing, tiny and seemingly harmless dots before such a colossal beast. The huge explosions being set off across its back don’t even seem to phase it and the creature keeps on climbing one of the city’s skyscrapers, 65 stories tall, like a snail inching towards a bright green baby leaf.

He retracts his suit’s mask and stares intently at the teenager, so Peter knows he’s being serious… that-time-I-took-your-suit-away-serious.

“We’ve talked about this, Spidey.” He begins, index finger waving right before the red-clad figure’s masked face. The large retractible eyes widen and Tony can imagine the boy going cross-eyed as he follows the digit. “You settle for the little guy, the common thug who can’t pop your silly little head off like the cork of a champagne bottle, and leave the big bullies to us. Adults. And you absolutely DO NOT miss biology class to play superhero!”

“You know my schedule?!” Spider-Man’s voice is a bit too squeaky.

Tony ignores it. Of course he knows it. He has the kid’s schedule, decathlon practices included, glued to the main wall of his private office. Not that Peter needs to know that, or anyone for that matter…

“But I didn’t think I’d need to be repeating myself when I’ve made it pretty clear before, thanks to when you decided to get a building dropped on top of you,” he goes on, undeterred. Tony feels a heat burning in his words that’s not very usually there. It’s more than anger. It’s fear. Fear for someone that’s not Pepper, someone that’s not Rhodey nor Happy. Despite being known by billions, Tony isn’t used to really truly caring for more than a handful of people. None of which are not even yet legally allowed to so much as breathe in the direction of a steering wheel. “For the second time!!! Don’t think I’ve already forgotten about that little misadventure of yours.” He narrows his eyes in challenge, and doesn’t miss the way the spiderling’s own are stretched to the max in shock.

Yeah, it’s a low blow. But Tony Stark hasn’t always been known for playing fair and square, has he?

Even more so when he’s mad. And boy, is he mad...

It’d been the highlight of his day, back at the beginning of that week, doing backups and updates on Peter’s suit while the kid was off with his friend (Ted? Fred?) doing God knows what, something probably exciting enough to keep him from patrolling that afternoon (Lego. There had been a Lego exhibit at that one mall in Queens, Tony had checked. He had checked because he always checks whenever something seems too good to be true.). Wonderfully, upong cracking KAREN's memory cloud (the kid was very adamant on Tony not seeing his mishaps and the embarrassing situations he often got himself in, while Tony found them quite entertaining), he’d been alerted to several (way too many) breaches in the suit dating to the exact same point in time. In a fight, that would be normal more often than not, but his holos had painted the whole suit red with blaring warnings, which meant that at some point Peter’s whole body had been compromised all at once.

Scrambling to recover and watch the footage, it had been easy to see why.

And then, when he’d cornered the kid and Peter had slipped and admitted to it not being the first time... god, he’d been so angry. It should’ve had come as a surprise, how white hot the ire and worry and suffocation that had coursed through him at watching Peter covered in rubble was, his hand twitching under layers of concrete before the mask’s camera lenses until he’d grown brave and strong enough to painstakingly drag himself out of it. It should have been foreign and strange, the choking knot that had formed in his throat as Tony imagined how scared the 15 year old must’ve been the so first time it had happened while fighting the Vulture, (all because Tony had taken the suit and left him to fend for himself), but at the same time it only felt natural.

Tony can feel himself growing softer when he’s around the kid. That one week Peter had gone on a field trip and skipped lab day, Tony had even found himself counting the days to their next lab time together.

That’s also part of the reason why he might’ve reacted so strongly the other day.
It’s scary, growing attached to a child.

A very accident prone, danger-magnet, self-preservation lacking child. In case he hasn’t mentioned it before.

“But- Mr. Stark...” Peter tries, weakly, his hands twitching in the air to try and convey a point he can’t even begin to utter.

“No.” Tony instantly cuts him off, index still in the air and aimed at the teenager’s face. An inner, distant part of him points out how much of a dad he must look like, scolding the kid for skipping school to hang out with a bunch of freaks trying to kill an overgrown building-sized bug.

Okay, so not that normal of a dad…

Why is he even thinking about that at a time like this?

“This is where you nod and listen to me. Now, haul your ass back to your classroom or I will.”

“Tony, it’s breaking the top quarter of the skyscraper,” Steve’s voice sounds. “We could really use some help…”

“Evac’s nowhere near finished.” Natasha comms in, “Steve and I have split up but thermals show there’s still people on the upper floors who haven’t been able to get to an exit.

At the same time, the kid is nearly yelling over the others’ voices. “It’s not fair!” Peter’s shoulder’s hunch down and he takes a couple steps forward in Tony’s direction, just as the man shuts the faceplate of his armor back down and turns, preparing for take off, “stop underestimating me! You guys need help and I can give it to you!"

“Yeah?” Tony pauses, twists his neck, looking back at the red-and-blue clad teen. He tries to picture it, Peter helping without something going terribly wrong. He’s being overly paranoid and, despite possible, the picture his brain conjures is not even that probable, yet Tony can’t stop seeing the dust coating the red of Peter’s gloves, can’t stop imagining the concrete and the metal beams pressing down on his forcefully exposed skin and ripped hoodie. What if it happens again?! It’s happened twice already. 
“Well, life’s not fair, kid. And you’re not joining in on this one.” He points a thumb at the monster, who takes the moment to scream its horrifying, ear-splitting scream when Rhodey blasts at one of its eyes.

Thanks smelly monster, for getting the point across.

“At least let me help get some civilians out!” Peter begs, lightly padding over the roof as he races forward and as Tony flies away. 

“That’s a good idea. You can start by yourself!" Tony declares, voice distorted by the iron suit and maybe, deep down, by the twinge in his heart at the helplessness in Peter’s voice. But he reminds himself he’s doing what’s right. This whole thing is giving him Battle of New York flashbacks and he does not want Peter anywhere near it, or near any buildings that might fall and crush him to death. Not for some time… at least. It’s like his gut keeps telling him that one day- one day the kid will come all out of his way to help him and get himself killed. So, the kid doesn’t come to him, he goes and gets the kid when it’s really needed.

“Mr. Star-“

“FRIDAY, mute Spider-Man’s comms,” Tony orders, and if part of him aches at the sound of Peter’s pleading voice suddenly cutting off it doesn’t matter. He’s doing the right thing.

He’s protecting the kid.

...

The air is thick with dust and the smell of destruction as the Avengers battle the massive monster. As it climbs the skyscraper, its sheer weight causes chunks of the building to break off and crash down to the streets below. 

Tony, in his Iron Man suit, hovers above the creature, firing repulsor blasts at its armored segments. Each blast leaves a scorched mark but barely slows it down. "We need to find a weak spot!" he shouts over the comms.

"A bit hard to work on that right now," Natasha responds through gritted teeth, her voice strained and barely suppressing her frustration. She's on the ground, directing panicked civilians away from the danger zone. Her Widow’s Bite gauntlets spark to life, ready to strike at the alien monster's legs any moment even though she looks smaller than an ant near the thing’s many hind legs.

Clint is perched up on a nearby rooftop, launching arrows with precision. "I see a pattern," he calls out. "The underbelly between the segments looks thinner!"

Steve, meanwhile, is in the thick of it, his shield a blur of motion as he deflects falling debris and herds people to safety alongside Natasha. "Keep it distracted! We need to get these people out!"

Tony dives lower, aiming for the exposed underbelly Clint identified. His repulsors unleash a concentrated blast, and the creature screeches, its massive body writhing in pain. "Gotcha!" He yells, dodging a swipe from one of its many legs.

The worm centipede lashes out, smashing its head against the building and causing a massive section to crumble. Clint’s arrows find their mark, embedding in the creature's joints and exploding, causing it to lose its grip momentarily. Still, they’re tinier than needles in comparison to the beast’s size. Some of his explosive arrows make contact with the concrete instead, blowing it into tiniet pieces that rain down.

“Rhodey!” Tony calls out. His best friend turns in the air, answering him.

”On it!”

War Machine flies right in front of the creature’s front, looking like an annoying micro fly rather than a… well, war machine. The thing’s mouth opens, trying to bite at him, but instead of snatching Rhodes out of the air, the Colonel dodges the attempt and Tony takes aim. He unleashes a final, powerful blast right into the creature's mouth. The energy surges through its body, causing it to light up like a grotesque firework. With a deafening screech, the monster plummets, its massive form crashing into the neighboring buildings and nearby roads and avenues, obliterating everything in its path.

The flying Avengers descend to the ground, the dust settling around them as they continue to help the remaining civilians. Tony lands by the creature's body, scanning for any signs of life. "Everyone accounted for?" he asks, his voice weary.

"Hardly. We still need to clear out some more… Well, shit…" Natasha says, glancing up.

Tony follows her gaze and sees the top of the skyscraper, now structurally unsound, beginning to tilt. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he mutters.

"Move, now!" Steve barks, sprinting towards the nearest group of civilians.

"Get clear!" Rhodey shouts.

Tony’s frozen.

“Shit!” Clint comms in, for good measure.

Yeah. Shit.

Shit, because right above their heads, the top quarter of the building, which had been slowly but still too surely for Tony’s liking tilting down towards the ground as metal beams broke and structural posts gave in to the beasts’ weight, now makes the most jarring of sounds and, alongside loose pieces of debris, it suddenly drops.
The top quarter of the skyscraper is falling down as a whole unit, upside down, towards the ground.

Stories below.

Where the Avengers stand.

Along with dozens and dozens of civilians.

Not to speak about the ones still inside the plummeting concrete carcass.

For as highly unprofessional as it might’ve been, for a second, all Tony can do is stare as the looming weight grows closer and closer, one milisecond after the other, traveling at terminal velocity and clearly unstoppable. Because he can't process it.

They’ve lost.

Even after defeating the threat, they’ve lost.

More lives are about to be lost.

And he could take off, try to worthlessly hold it back with his high-tech suit, but he could never get to the people inside on time. And if he shot through the missing windows and got to some, the others would never get all the civillians on the ground away fast enough.

He faintly wonders, as he stands frozen in the middle of a closed off road and the building propels towards his exact spot, if Peter had felt that same anticipation before being buried alive on concrete. Had he watched the ceilings come down frame by frame, almost in slow motion, and felt all the unsettling bubbling of denial Tony is feeling in his chest?

But then, he finds himself staring up for a completely different reason.

A blur of red and blue flies across his vision faster than he can process or even blink, leaving white trails behind itself as it goes. The thick weaved white ropes cling the roof of the tower much like a safety net would, and as the figure disappears behind the falling building they grow suddenly taught, forcefully halting its descent.

Tony only has time to snap himself awake and power on his thrusters before the thousands and thousands of tons of concrete are being slammed against the side of the very same destroyed lower levels of the skyscraper and millions of pieces of wreckage come tumbling down towards their heads.

Everyone seems to have the same instincts.

Take this chance. Don’t waste it.

They needed this.

They take off, eliminating the falling debris before it can hit the innocent bystanders and victims, piece by piece, or getting the civilians out of the way, one by one.

Rhodey follows him up towards the upside-down top floors, shattered windows and cracked exterior walls surrounded by the white webs of none other than Spider-Man. The two hurry inside, searching for the injured that had been unable to escape. Given how much they’d been jostled around inside it, it would be a miracle if those people hadn't already died. Surely, some had but... Either way, Tony’s heart isn’t on the mission anymore, isn’t on the victims they’d failed nor on the ones they might still save.

Because those are Spider-Man’s webs.

Because somehow, in mere milliseconds, Peter had calculated the exact points he needed to support and crafted a web net capable of holding all that weight and stopping its free-fall.

And Tony can not be more impressed, but he's also dreadfully terrified.

Because all of that means the kid’s holding the equivalent to a whole 26-floors-building alone.

Over two hundred tons.

Peter might be enhanced and he might have super strength that freaks Tony out more times than he’d like to admit, especially whenever he sees the boy use it in his civilian clothes (the baby cheeks just don’t match being strong as hell, sorry), super strength greater than even the Steve’s and the Winter Soldier’s, but even he doesn’t have that much strength.

Not even Bruce should be able to hold that much weight.

“Kid, how are you holding up?” He questions right as he swoops four unconscious civilians into his arms. He receives no answer. “Underoos? Answer me.”

Tony grits his teeth, shaking his head. He powers his thrusters to the max again, breaking through a thin crack on an outside wall and then flees back out into open air, instantly racing to the closest safe spot to drop the people he’s carrying.

“Rhodey,” he begins, lowering the bodies into the waiting arms of a couple passerby’s and taking off again, “Rhodey. How many are there left?”

“My scans are picking up on five more.” Rhodey’s voice is hard, focused. Tony can see War Machine circling the hanging building and disappearing inside, “and it looks like evac’s nearly done as well. Just.... Couple more minutes!”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have a couple more seconds, much less minutes!” Tony stresses as he gains altitude and catches sight of the very thread that’s holding them together, “I’ve got to help the kid! I have no idea how he’s even doing this but he’s not answering me and I don’t like it!”

“Don’t worry, Tones. I got it!”

“Okay! Okay…” Tony nods to no one, circling up above the broken building, “FRIDAY, get me a map of the structural integrity and support points. Where do I need to push?”

Up above, he’s faced with a sight he’s not prepared for. Aside from all the wreckage and destruction, aside from the ginormous alien carcass fallen across an entire avenue, it’s the way Spider-Man stands on the very top and very edge of the destroyed tower that really gets to Tony.
He’s so tiny, smaller than a small dot of red yet holding over ten whole floors plus roof with just his bare hands. He’s unmoving, trapped, body taught with clear effort, arms spread out in front of him and tied to his own webs as they descend and disappear into the concrete where they mingle with each other in a complex makeshift organic net. His feet, Tony notes, are digging so hard into the floor of the exposed level that it’s a wonder they’re not broken- actually, the closer he looks, the concrete underneath them is, having cracked and given in so that Spider-Man stands in a fragile crater of the material.

Tony looks away.

FRIDAY pops up a few holos in front of his eyes.

“The best point to apply force would be low near the roof,” a red dot blinks back at him. “This way you’ll be able to press the mass against the building and balance out some gravitational force, boss.”

“Great,” Tony mutters, too preoccupied with getting the all clear from Natasha so Peter can just drop the building as soon as possible. Still, all he can do right then is to help the kid hold the weight and hope he’s being paranoid over nothing, that Peter’s simply too focused to answer, but that he’s okay.

There’s a small voice at the back of his head, however, one that should be studied, because it whispers and tingles and screams that that is not the case. That Peter’s in over his head. That he needs Tony’s help.

That Tony needs to help him. Quick.

“Peter!” He tries again, “can you hear me?!”

Silence.

Tony curses loudly, “FRIDAY, why isn’t he answering me?”

“You have the Spider-Man suit on mute, boss.”

Tony nearly drops the building right there and then.

What...?

He’d completely forgotten, he’d...

“Well, unmute him already!” He screams, voice cracking with something else other than worry, bigger than panic, more jarring than shock. “What are you waiting for?!”

Guilt. It’s guilt.

Tony’s a fucking idiot.

“Sorry, boss. According to Karen, Peter doesn’t want you to hear him. He’s asked to keep himself muted a couple minutes ago.”

“What?” Tony stupidly asks, “why?”

Why? Question of the year! Because you’re a fucking clown who managed to get the best, kindest kid on the face of the planet mad at you. All in perfect Stark manner. That’s why, Tony.

“He didn't say, but it appears he might not want you to listen to him screaming.”

Tony’s entire world drops at his feet. The heart people often doubt he has drops from his hands. The building nearly does, too. Again.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit-

“Rhodey!” He grunts, pushing the building up with renewed force. His armor’s engines whimper at the effort, “I’m letting this fucking thing go, you better be done out there!”

“Hang on...” Rhodey comms in, “... and... okay! I got the last two and just got out. All done down there too. You’ve got a double green light.”

“FRIDAY, cut off every channel." Tony commands, swiftly flying away from where he’d been pushing the building up. It creaks loudly and ominously, echoing across the city. It descends a couple meters before it’s being held shakily again by the white webs. A renewed burst of determination courses through Tony, “override Peter’s orders. Get Karen to turn on Spider-Man’s comms. Get him on the line. I want him on the line now.”

FRIDAY wastes no more time, her code immediately granting him access to KAREN’S audio. 

“Peter!”

Tony nearly regrets forcing Karen to turn on the audio. Peter’s breathing is ragged, and his voice is raw from what Tony just knows must’ve been nonstop screaming. It scratches at Tony’s core every time the kid whimpers. On the other hand, the complaints seem to be growing quieter and quieter, which he’s not sure is any better.

“Peter, hey, can you hear me? Underoos?” Tony asks, voice softening so he doesn’t spook the teenager. “Hey, come on. Listen to me. You did good, kiddo. Everyone's out. You can drop it, Pete. Drop the building, you hear me? It’s okay, I promise.”

But aside from a low, horrifying gurgling sound, Peter goes completely quiet on the other end of the line, and Spider-Man keeps on holding the nets. The way his frame trembles can be seen from all the way up in the air where Tony’s already racing his way. Not good. Not good. Not good.

“Peter! Drop the building! Now!”

He gets the sudden feeling then, that the kid’s not even listening to him or anything else anymore.

“PETER!”

God, how long has he been holding this much weight? He could barely hold two halves of a boat together months ago!

Over two hundred tons.

And Tony realizes, at that very moment, the one thing he’d been dreading ever since the kid showed up with that stupid grin in his voice and spring in his step to help them fight that stupid monster is about to happen.

This isn’t going to end well.

Peter is going to get himself killed.

Tony’s eyes widen in fear and he pushes the suit to over max. Several red blaring signs beep at him in complaint, but he doesn’t care. In a matter of seconds, he’s reached the spandex-clad teenager and in a single shot he’s ripped both webs connected to Spider-Man’s hands off.

For a moment there’s only silence.

Then the momentum catches up.

He watches as the building falls and falls, loose webs dancing in the wind as it gains velocity. Then, it crashes with the loudest sound the city’s heard in minutes, aside from the screams of the now dead monster that, even more unfortunate than dead, receives the full blunt force of the tons and tons and tons of concrete and iron beams to a great deal of its back. A cloud of dust erupts, growing so tall so fast that it reaches their height, enveloping both heroes in a veil of poor sightedness before it dissipates. The impact is so strong Tony feels his suit being pushed backwards a bit as the air moves. It's beyond jarring.

Then, the dust settles, and he’s left staring down at the ground, breathing heavily with the dying bits of adrenaline coursing through his body.

They did it. 

No- Peter did it.

That’s when he turns to Spider-Man, who’s still standing on the very edge of the broken, tattered tower, arms at his sides. The remains of the blasted webs cling to his closed fists and softly, almost lethargically, surf in the breeze.

That’s when Tony opens his mouth to say something, anything, to finally get an answer back.

That’s when the alarms start blaring in his own armor, the Spider-Man suit protocols he’d coded into the arachnid-themed spandex going on like crazy to let him know Peter’s gotten into trouble again.

Except, Tony doesn't need them, obviously, because Peter’s standing right there, right in front of him,- and his head’s dropping to his chest and he’s slumping forward, limply falling off the edge of the building.

“PETER!”

Iron Man dives down at full speed, hand reaching out towards the lax teenager cutting through the air. His teenager. His kid. Shit- shit! What did he do?! How could Tony let this happen?

“Come on come on- come on!”

His kid: who isn’t responding and isn’t shooting webs last minute the way he knows gets on his nerves and takes at least five years off Tony’s lifespan.

Underneath the mask Peter could very well be dead already.

Tony nearly gags.

The floor is closing up but there’s no way he’ll let his kid touch the ground. If Peter crashes, Tony's crashing with him.

At last, the tip of his armored fingers meet Spider-Man’s ankle, and Tony quickly closes his hand around the boy’s leg with a relieved sigh, pulling him up hold by hold until he’s closing him in fully in his arms, floppy head tucked under the chin of his iron helmet for protection. Tony only dares to breathe again when they’ve turned back around and started flying up again, having missed the ground by a hair’s length.

But his relief is rather short lived.

“Pete... Hey, come on. Say something.”

He lands in the midst of the wreckage, in a slight clearing where he knows no one with be able to take a peek through any direction whatsoever. It occurs to him that the others must be on their way to them, and that it wasn’t very kind of him to block them out, Rhodey especially, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Because Peter’s still unmoving and Tony is officially loosing his mind.

“Come on, kid. Wakey wakey, that's enough..."

Silence.

The city is still screaming.

But all there is, is silence.

"Pete. Hey, wake up. Come on, buddy, don't leave me hanging,” he unashamedly pleads, opening the mask of his suit to get a better view of the other. It doesn’t seem like slapping the boy’s cheeks is helping in any way.

He shakes his head, face scrunching up. 

“Nope! You’re not doing this to me!"

In a snap of gut wrenching panic, Tony rips the Spider-Man mask off. His eyes sting at the sight.

Because Peter’s face is ashen, not pale, not white, but blueish and grey. His eyes are still half open, the usually excited dreamy gaze gone as he stares up at the clouds yet clearly unseeing, and they look sore and red too, inflamed, as if the kid hasn’t slept for weeks. On the skin of his face, from his nostrils, clings drying blood, as well as fresh, vivid red dripping down his chin and neck all the way from his mouth. With blood coated lips and, at a glimpse, teeth, and body slumped in an odd, clearly unnatural way, all there’s left missing would be literal smoke leaving his battered form for the cherry on top of the cake. He’s not even sure the 15 year old is breathing. Tony’s frozen brain helpfully insists he’s not. Peter's completely fried his own system. Tony should have known, (he did, but believing is always the hardest party), that there was no way the kid could bear that much weight. To push his body so far past its limits and surviv-

No.

Snap out of the melodramatic panic, Tony.

This is Peter. If anyone can, it's him. 

“Buddy. Come on, Underoos... Stay with me. Stay with me, Pete.” He drawls out in a dread, trying to get his thoughts back under control all the while trying to support the spiderling’s head steadily against the crook of his arm. He knows it’ll give him nightmares for life, the way it hangs back heavily, face slack and devoid of any emotion. Peter’s always showing some emotion on his face. Always. Never this.

Silence.

This is all Tony's fault.

Silence.

He’d been so worried about keeping Peter away from any potential harm- away from buildings that could easily crush him to death (third time’s the charm, third time’s the charm, third time’s the charm), that he never even… He’d been so worried about keeping Peter safe and out from underneath any more crushing weights, that he forgot he could very well get hurt above them. That this was Peter Parker, and that bad luck follows him year round. If it could not get him some way, it would get him another. And it did.

“Underoos...” Tony frowns, cupping the boy’s cheek with his free hand and wiping the blood and sweat that had gathered and spread inside the mask. His brow twitches, wanting to slump over stinging eyes defeatedly, but Tony forces them to furrow determinedly instead.

He’s not losing Peter. Ever. Especially not now, not after the last thing he did was argue with him, dismiss him and tell him he didn’t need him. Screw the Stark ill talent for being father figures, if the kid ever even sees him as something of the kind. He needs Peter, he needs his kid. Yeah, he’s selfish. Sue him. He’s got the best lawyers in the country anyway.

Peter is getting to graduation.

He's going home to his aunt moving and blabbering and warm.

“FRIDAY, scan him.” He orders, having his paceplate slide back down.

“Scanning.” The A.I. says, and Tony clutches the kid’s broken body tighter, watching as a blue hologram of Spider-Man’s body grows before his eyes, red dots and alerts flashing over the most damaged areas. Someone up there must have it out for him, must enjoy watching him tumble around in the universe’s twisted sense of humor and its irony, because all of this wouldn’t have happened hadn’t it been for Tony’s failed attempt at never seeing those red alarms show up across the entirety of Spider-Man’s suit again.

Precisely what he's looking at now.

“Scan complete. It appears Peter’s sporting a multitude of torn muscles, ligaments and tendons all along his arms and back. His shoulders have been dislocated. His elbows, wrists and ankles are broken. Several of his ribs are cracked. Internal bleeding in several organs has been detected.” FRIDAY announces, adding to the pile of numbing panic taking over the billionaire. Just when he thinks she's done listing all the problems Tony could ONLY ever have thought of in his nightmares, she seems to go on for more hours. “Heart rate is slow and dropping at 40 bpm with presence of arrhythmia. Oxygenation levels are at 81% and dropping. State is critical. Immediate medical intervention is mandatory, would you like me to make the call to the closest hospital, boss?”

“Shit, no. We can’t. He’s not exactly normal,” he curses, adjusting the damaged body in his arms and shakily getting back up to his feet. Besides, they would know his identity and he can’t do that to the kid. Not to talk about how no drug available in a normal hospital could ever put up a front to his enhanced metabolism. (Tony also doesn't trust hospitals. He can get Peter much better care himself. That's not even and option.)

“Don’t do that, just keep monitoring him. Have Karen activate the life support protocol immediately. What level’s his healing factor at?” He asks, taking off with no second thoughts. If Peter’s shoulders are dislocated and several joints broken, he absolutely does not want them to heal in the wrong places before he can be tended to properly. That is, if the kid even makes it back alive to the tower, the pessimistic part of him venomously whispers, his heart’s fucking fried. It’s a terrifying thought, but the ugly truth nonetheless. The longer Tony spends there the closest Peter gets to crashing. 

“Metabolic healing factor is at 19% and dropping.”

Tony's eyes close. He purses his lips.

“Shit, Pete....”

Because that means, if Peter’s healing factor isn't acting, that the kid really is in the worst shape. His body must be gathering strenght and trying to redirect it to basic vital functions. Tony's a genius, but of mechanics, not medical care, yet he’s never wished more to better know that field. He's helpless. Then, a sudden burst of anger envelops his face. Where's Bruce when he needs him?!

“FRIDAY, unmute War Machine privately.”

It’s not like he needed to, because one second Tony is soaring through the sky at high speed- Peter’s ashen face tucked into his chest so it remains hidden from any curious watchers on the tallest buildings or stupid news reporters in their punny little helicopters- the next Rhodey's popping up next to him, almost as if he’d guessed Tony would unmute him that instant.

“What the actual fuck, Tony? Are you crazy? What was that all about?!” His best friend complains, “why did you- Shit, is that the kid?!”

“Listen to me,” Tony begins, conveying all and any drop of seriousness that ever existed in his body so Rhodey knows he means it, really means it. “I’m taking him to the tower. You’re going to find me Doctor Helen Cho and bring her there immediately, you hear me? She's off today, but I don’t care if she’s saving half the world on her free time or taking her dog to the vet. You grab her and bring her to the kid.”

“I will, I promise. It’ll be okay, Tony. Peter’s strong," War machine nods next to him, obviously knowing not to ask how bad it is. It’s pretty self explanatory, anyway. The way Tony’s acting, it's painfullg obvious the kid's hanging on by a thread. From underneath his own faceplate, Tony can feel Rhodey's concealed once over, that looks he gives Tony whenever he fears the genius is just about to crumble.

Then, his friend switches directions and blasts away so fast the sound barrier nearly breaks.

“I know he is.”

Meanwhile, Tony can only hold onto his kid tighter and do the same, propelling his way to the tower all the while praying that the life support protocol in his suit never ends up going off. Praying that the kid doesn’t have to pay for his mistakes. Again.

“But I’m not.”

...

"-at to do?!"

"-id, not some... go!"

"-uck! Fuck! Kid? Hey, it's oka-"

...

"-oos..."

"-diot, Pep.... Why? Why di..."

"ony-"

"-lonel Rho... you."

"...here. Right here."

"Pete-"

...

"-ashing! Get-!"

"ey!"

"...down, Peter!"

"ee me?!... iddo?!"

...

There’s a party of little lights inside Peter’s consciousness. And he has not invited them.

Nor has he ever thrown a party.

Suspicious…

They flicker and dance to the sound of muffled words and different tones of voice. They remind him of little candle lights, growing stronger in intensity the louder the voices get, and they also flicker every time that one annoying accute sound he can't make sense of drills into his headspace- intermittency in its best. It beeps to the rythm of his heart beat, and it reminds Peter of how his head aches more and more with each pumping of his blood.

There’s something else also, but it’s not sound nor sight. It’s not the movement of the lights and shapes spinning inside the lead curtains covering his eyes either. It’s not the metamorphosing lines and shapes made of static that occasionally form objects and faces long gone- his long forgotten beloved swing set; his parents’ eyes and their blurry faces that he can only remember through pictures; the slope of his usual seat in the school bus; 8 infinite lines connected to single dot in the middle and fangs diving into porous skin; Uncle Ben’s clouded smile; a book; a chemistry flask holding some white gunky solution; the round bumpy surface of a Lego Death Star; the burnt smell wafting out of an oven; the shape of muscular metal and a blue glow in the center of a man’s chest.

He realizes his mind has wandered.

It’s hard brushing the fog away and focusing again.

It isn’t any of that and Peter needs time to realize he knows what it is.

It’s the feeling of something warm encasing his hand, of something pinching his highly sensitive skin on the back of his other one, of someone carding meticulously through his hair and a weight atop his chest, making it hard to take in full breaths.

"-wake up," he makes out, "-ony"

The weight atop his chest moves and Peter thinks he loses his grip on awareness for a bit, because the next moment it's gone. The warmth has moved to his forearm.

"-when he does!"

"...if never- ubated! ...s sake!"

"-no."

"ma... ony-"

"-ete? -pETE-?"

...

The lights are back before he can complain, and this time Peter feels his body much quicker than the other time before. He thinks he may have been dreaming. The voices are gone, yet the beeping sound remains. Peter thinks he knows where he is before his eyes can open, then he forgets. One thing he knows. He is alone this time.

“Mr. Stark...?” He breathes.

Did he forget to do his physics homework again and then fell asleep at detention? No... He had biology that day, not physics. And why would Tony be at Midtown? No, he’s not at Midtown. Home then?

The nasal cannula on his face, enriching the air he breathes with oxygen, tugs uncomfortably as he moves and pulls at it. As Peter struggles to sit up, his muscles protesting with every movement, the door swings open. 

Tony Stark's frozen at the entrance of the room- one of the med bay rooms, Peter finally registers with a jolt,- looking pale and disheveled, his face twisted into an amalgamation of emotions Peter isn't often allowed to see on the man’s face. He often looks tired, but this exhaustion… Peter's never seen anything like it before. His mentor seems to snap himself out of it, though the palor remains. He eyes Peter's hunched form, the sweat gathering on his forehead, and raises a very offended eyebrow. He heads towards the bed, posture held uncomfortably straight with awfully clear effort.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to finally join the land of the living," Tony quips, his tone laced with dry sarcasm. "Trying to break the world record for the longest nap, are we?" He goes on, "because let me tell you, kid, you're giving Rip Van Winkle a run for his money.”

Peter winces as he attempts to push himself completely upright, only to be met with a stern glare from Tony.

"Lay back down," Tony orders, closing the space between them and planting himself right by Peter's side, hands gently yet determinedly (clearly leaving no room for protest) pushing him back down onto the bed by the shoulders. Peter is still staring confusedly up at the billionaire and so he lets him, back and head reconnecting with the sterile looking mattress and pillow with a relieved yet pained little sigh. "Nope. You're not going anywhere just yet.” 

He winces as his ribs slide against the mattress. Peter hadn't even realized just how sore they felt and they only seem to be getting worse by the second. Actually, his entire body feels like one sore pulp, like an egg that got dropped from a rooftop and immediately after was run over by a bus.

"Just trying to get up," he explains, muttering, frowning in dizzy confusion as he feels the weight of Tony's disapproving gaze. His elbows scream as he tries to force himself back up again on instinct. His shoulders, though not as bad, join in on the duet. He hisses.

"Jesus- stop it. I’m serious.” Tony’s frowning as he pushes him back down again, “you're in no condition to be moving around, Peter. You need to rest.”

Peter. 

Tony rarely calls him by his name.

“What happened?” He warily wonders, “why am I here? What-? Why…? And- Why is my body feeling so… And… Why do you look like you’ve been up studying for your SATs for days, Mr. Stark…? Did the-“ He shakes his head, “did the coffee machine break again or something?”

Tony turns his face away, and Peter would like to believe it to have been in an attempt to hide some sort of mocking smile while he's lying on a hospital bed. Except, there’s nothing funny to laugh about. And Tony’s sigh sounds anything but positive, “I swear, you're worse than a cat with nine lives. One of these days, your luck's going to run out."

Confused and slightly taken aback by Tony's stern tone, Peter tries again to sit up, pushing himself up on his forearms. "Mr. Stark, I’m serious. What's wrong?" He asks, his voice tinged with concern as he observes the worry lines etched into Tony's forehead.

Tony pushes him back down. Again.

 “It's not that I don't like seeing you moving again, but can you please make the slightest effort to keep still? This isn't the time to pull your usual energizer bunny moves, or I swear I’ll call Dr. Helen and put you back under again, kid.” His shoulders slump minutely and Peter is once again taken aback by the fragile tone he can hear in Tony Stark’s voice amidst the stiff snappy usual one he uses for scolding. Still, he’s far too shaky to point it out. Peter sighs and finally relents, letting his body slump back like soggy noodles.

His mentor seems to take that both as a victory and an invitation to take a seat on the edge of the bed. He seems to be fighting all those emotions Peter is honestly quite scared to see stirring inside an otherwise controlled man, a man who can speak to the world like he's ordering a Margeritta and a Chardounai, Chardonei, Chardounaei?- anyway, Peter doesn't know enough about wines to know what Tony would order along with a Margeritta, but the point still stands.

"Peter,” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, “do you have any idea what you've done?"

Peter frowns and looks down, at the IV inserted into the back of his hand, stabbed in between the bones, and the white clip on his index finger, registering his every single heart beat.

He shakes his head, trying to remember. The memory is just there, out of reach, right behind a frosted glass barrier.

“Something really cool and not at all embarrassing, I hope?”

“I think the word for it would be stupid,” Tony Stark declares, index and thumb glued together as he draws and imaginary line in the air. “Plain stupid, actually. Two words.”

“So it can still be slightly cool…?”

”No.”

”Oh…”

"You remember the fight downtown?" Tony asks. “There was nothing cool about that…”

He pauses.

”Actually? I lied. There was. The only cool thing you did there was the ease with which you went over my orders and got involved in the affairs of us grown ups instead of going straight back to learning about the mitochondria. You made that decision very cool-headedly. It was impressive. It's not like we were fighting a worm-like Godzilla at all.” Tony shrugs, eyes wide open as he presses his lips together and fakes confusion. “Sometimes I wonder whether that spider bite did something to your eyeballs and where everyone sees a gigantic fear-inducing threat looming over the city, you see a fun day at the beach instead, or I don’t know, a giant ice cream truck.”

Peter’s cheeks slowly grow some color. He wants to argue that he does what he does because if he can do it, he has to do it for those that can't. That it’s not a matter of having fun. He doesn’t find it any fun when he gets hurt like this, he hates the bumps and the cuts and the bruises. He hates Tony’s disappointed looks when he fails like he did this time. Hates May’s confused and questioning stares when he feels too tired to pay her any attention after a patrol she doesn’t know he goes on  every day. He wants to argue all that and more, yet that’s when the memories start flooding back to him in a dizzying rush with absolutely no warning. The chaos of battle, the desperate struggle to save innocent lives, the overwhelming weight of the collapsing building bearing down on him.

Peter can feel the phantom tugging of the webs pulling him down, trying to drag him down all those floors right along with the building and the very likely unconscious civilians inside.

"I remember," he gasps, his voice barely above a whisper. “Oh my god, shit, shit-” He doubles over himself, back jumping away from the mattress again, probably much to Tony's annoyance. Peter looks down at his purplish hands. There's still dried blood pressing into the inside of his skin, blossoms of angry and ugly colors marred across his palms and fingers and wrists.

Tony's face tightens at his reaction, his eyes betraying the fear and anguish he has been hiding all that time beneath a barely crafted front of stoicism. He hesitates. Then, he lays a hand on the boy’s shoulders, soft enough to avoid triggering the sore muscles and tendons and bones underneath, but hard enough to tether Peter back to reality.

“Hey, it's okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Peter is sort of heaving, he thinks, as he blinks back up at the genius with a face nearly as pale as the one Tony had found waiting for him underneath the limp Spider-Man’s mask.
Tony shakes his head, scaring the thoughts away. Peter's dim and empty open eyes are engraved into his mind, and he thinks they will forever be, but right now they look as clear and shiny as a precious day- a bit too clear and shiny, in truth. The kid is scared shitless, he realizes. Good. That means there’s still some sense left inside the boy’s thick head. Tony would be too, and he's not a 14 15 year old high-schooler with a whole life ahead.

“I- M-M…May. Wh- How-? May? How long has it been, does she-?”

“She thinks you’re on a Stark Industries sustainable energies retreat.” He doesn’t mention how close she’d been to learning about Spider-Man, and not from the kid himself. A couple more days and if Peter didn’t wake up, Tony would have no way of keeping up the lie, not with the boy spending so long without so much as phoning his aunt. May Parker is not dumb. They’d both been lucky she’d bought the excuse for as long as she did.

“She may be incredibly angry at you for not asking for permission to come. At least Happy paid your apartment a little visit one day and brought a backpack and some of your clothes, so it's not like you came without packing.” Tony forces himself to look at Peter with a serious face, which is harder than he would have liked when staring a teenager. However, this teenager, he has found over the months, has very non-teenager-like eyes: more like an abandoned puppy’s or Bambi’s when his mother gets murdered. They get especially hard to stare at when the kid looks like somebody just violently murdered the puppy he doesn’t have right in front of him.

“I’m serious, Peter. You've been in a…” Tony clears his throat, unsure on which word to use. 

Asleep. In a coma . 

No matter how long, it's never a piece of information to be taken lightly and the kid (he's also just that, a freaking kid) already seems shaken more than enough for a lifetime. But then again, this is not just some kid. This is Spider-Man. Tony made the mistake of forgetting that twice so far, and they both resulted in too many cuts and bruises. That’s what happens when you underestimate Peter Parker. He’ll prove you wrong, or die trying. This time, it had very nearly been the latter. 

In a coma. Asleep. 

If Tony didn't want Peter to be exposed to everything in the hero life the kid chose, he shouldn’t have recruited him to Germany and he shouldn’t have offered for him to join the Avengers. He shouldn’t have gotten close, shouldn’t have let his guard down and allowed for the kid to get close either, shouldn’t have become the kid’s literal mentor. 

Asleep. 

In a coma.

Half-dead.

Tony knows what he has to say even if it’s not easy. But, trust goes both ways. Peter trusts Tony. Tony has to keep that trust so it’s not lost- because Peter will keep grabbing weights that are far too great for his tiny frame and Tony needs to be there to catch him when they drop.

“You’ve been in a coma for nearly two weeks, that's how bad the little stunt you pulled got, kid.”

There’s a pause, only the sound of the machine monitoring the teen’s vitals echoes about the room.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

And then…

“But did we win?”

Tony blinks. He’d been expecting a bit more panic at the news. His voice grows, booming with unparalleled anger and disbelief, “out of everything you could say, did you seriously just ask me that?!”

“Mr. Stark, I had to do something!" Peter protests weakly, his voice squeaky even as he yells back in a dragged tone, his lungs deflating too quickly. Yet, his voice does not waver in the slightest and Tony has to fight to keep the unwanted pride out of his face. Not for the first time since meeting him, Tony finds himself wondering: who the hell is this kid? 

"People's lives were at stake!”

“Your life was at stake!” He snaps, trying to stay mad. “Did you hear the part where I said you’ve been in a comma?! Do I need to get your ears checked?!” It's hard when you're trying to install some sense into a head even more righteous than Captain America’s (though Tony can’t seem to still see his teammate exactly that way after their fallout), and about seven times younger. For all his maturity, Peter is still a teen, and teens don't listen. What’s worse is that this one decided he would absolutely not listen for all the ethically and morally right reasons. It makes the scolding Tony itches to give him sound rather hypocritical. 

He looks up at the ceiling, trying to find some godly bestowed strength to say what he’s about to say. Peter may not listen, but he needs to understand.

“Look. I’ll give you this: you did something incredible, kid," he admits, his voice a bit thick. "You held up twenty-six floors of a collapsing building. Twenty-six floors. That's... that's way over a thousand tons of weight. There's no way you should have been able to do that.”

Over two hundred freaking tons.

Peter frowns, “spiders can lift up to 50 times their-”

“-body weight. Yeah. Heard that already too. You're not a spider. You're a kid. A 15 year old kid over which I feel responsible,” he jabs a thumb into his own chest. Peter’s head lowers and he follows the movements through the corner of sad, embarrassed eyes. “A 15 year old kid I had to watch getting reanimated by the integrated life support system in the suit I made him, and that I really really hoped would never actually be needed, because you crashed. You crashed three times.”

Tony clenches his fists at his sides.

He lets the information sink in, lets him soak in it for a minute.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He almost feels bad for the kid, the way the boy’s face pales as he acknowledges Tony's words. Still, right then, as the image of the suit and then the doctors trying to get Peter's fried heart pumping again takes over his brain, he feels a bit more sorry for himself. He won't sleep for years after this. If he thought his nightmares were bad, they were about to get worse. Or, maybe they weren’t- because Tony doesn’t think there’s a nightmare worse than the reality he’d been forced to live through mere days ago. The truth is, Tony feels anger. An unparalleled amount of broken anger. It sizzles and burns, licking at his soul. He wants Peter to feel a fraction of what he felt, even if what the kid did had not been entirely his fault, but Tony's too. He wants Peter to understand that it was real, because Tony hadn’t had a choice but to believe it- he had lived it.

“But I’m…” Peter’s voice trembles before he thankfully manages to even it out again. Thankfully, because Tony isn’t sure what he would do if Peter Parker suddenly broke right there and then. Peter doesn’t break. “I’m okay.”

Peter doesn’t break and yet… part of Tony wishes he hadn’t managed to spew out those words, wishes the kid hadn’t felt the need to appear alright and composed in front of him. He'd died- for three long-awful times that should never have happened, Peter had been gone. Peter, this kid he can't help but see as sort of his, in a quiet unsure unrecognizable way, had been gone and nearly didn't return. If Tony can't deal with that information, he wonders how Peter ever could. Why he should.

Still… Jaw set. Brows furrowed. Cheeks slightly puffed. The boy looks up at him with a pair of resolute eyes and Tony really can't compute how he manages. Maybe it's Tony who has a hard time processing tragedy, because among the telltale signs of clear fear and shock, Peter makes it look easy. He makes bravery look too easy, makes watching death slowly inch back away from him only half as nerve wracking as it should feel. He had defied the laws of physics, pushed his powers to their absolute limit, all to save the lives of complete strangers. He had rebelled against the laws of biology and came out on top. And he's staring Tony dead in the eyes as he says:

"Take the suit away all you want, I’m not sorry. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. I’m glad I didn’t." Even if that had permanently cost me my life.

Tony wonders which laws of psychology he’s breaking too.

Aside from Tony's permanent frustration, the little bubble of pride deep within also grows and bursts. Unlike Tony, there’s more than guilt and selfishness and fear behind Peter’s motives for becoming a hero- there’s a massive boulder of responsibility, way heavier than the building the kid had pushed himself to the brink to hold mid air; one that’s shaping the person he’s becoming and one he’ll never stop holding and pushing for all his life, no matter how short or long it may be. Maybe that’s why Tony feels so much like the villain for wanting to punish him, for wanting to ground him for good, to send him away, back home to his aunt, suit-less, where he’ll be safe; for wanting to keep tabs on the kid when he inevitably tries to go back out again in some sweats and pajamas. Because he wants to shield the kid from that burden instead of making it heavier.

Startled, Tony realizes for the first time that Peter has become yet another person he wants to build an armor around. It’s not just about responsibility anymore. But unlike Happy and Pepper, Peter keeps proving himself to be precisely the kind of armor the world needs. And how do you shield armor from the same blows it serves to intercept?

With a purse of his lips and a sniff, Tony nods, staring sharply at the window on the opposite wall. It’s night and so all he can see besides the dark and the tiny lights down below is their own reflection. No escape.

“I’m not taking the suit away,” he declares, clapping his hands once as he stands back up from the bed, a pair of wide brown eyes following his every move. 

“You’re… not?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head, popping the ‘p’. Peter is looking at him like Tony’s the one who should be laying on the hospital bed instead. “Taking the suit away is old and unoriginal, and I’m neither of those.”

Peter snorts, lowly, shyly, unsure.

Tony turns to him, laying a hand on top of the teenager’s shoulder, “you did the right thing, Pete. You saved people. Without you, they’d be gone, maybe a lot more down below in the city, too.” Tony’s voice is firm but tinged with regret, “we— I made a mistake, okay? I underestimated the situation, and then made it even worse by not letting you help. Maybe then we would’ve gotten everyone out safely in time, and you wouldn’t have needed to do what you did.

“I’ve decided to trust you,” he announces, “because I learn from my mistakes. From now on, I’m not stopping you from pinching in to help whenever you show up.”

“Even during an maths exam…?”

“Don’t push it, Junior.” Tony rolls his eyes. He hesitates, before giving in and ruffling the boy’s hair, “but you don’t get to walk away from all this mess just like that, neither. You gotta take a lesson out of this too. Being a hero isn’t about being completely careless about yourself. You’re still human.” His voice softens, “you're not just some kid, but you’re still a kid. You're a hero. And sometimes, heroes need to be reminded that they're only- or, still part,- human."

Peter looks down, hesitating before speaking up. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I know I took a risk, but I had to do something. You get that, right?” He grips the sheets, “human or part human or not, when you can do the things I can, and you don’t, and then the bad things happen-”

Tony closes his eyes, “they happen because of you. I know. I know.” He sighs, “trust me, I get it, kiddo. But you’ve got to find a balance. You can’t save everyone if you’re not around to do it.”

Peter opens his mouth again, but ultimately seems to understand there’s not much he can argue back with. There’s no going around Tony’s reasoning.

“And try to think of my gray hairs. I’m too young to get those. So, try not to scare the hell out of me next time, okay?”

Peter manages a small smile, feeling the weight of Tony’s words sinking, the real meaning behind them.

“Got it, Mr. Stark.”

Tony nods, watching the kid inadvertently yawn. He’s not ready to see him back asleep, not when he’s been still and quiet for too long, but Tony’s got to learn from Peter too- how to be less selfish-, he guesses.
“Good. Now, get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”

Peter groans, even if he immediately turns to a more comfortable position. “But I’ve been in here for so looooong, Mr. Stark… What time even is it?”

“5 AM,” Tony answers, a smirk forming on his lips.

Peter’s eyes widen in exaggerated horror, his pale face stretching into a comedic twist of disgust. “Aw, hell no!”

Tony snorts, shaking his head as he watches Peter snuggling back into the bed. 

“That’s more like it. Sleep tight, kid.”

He turns to leave, but a quiet voice pipes in again.

”Mr. Stark…?”

Tony peers over his shoulder, “yeah?”

”Thank you,” Peter says, “y’know, for saving me.”

Tony thinks it’s more the other way around, but he doesn’t dare admit to it.

“You can thank me by steering clear of buildings in general,” he says instead, “they’re dangerous from all angles. And they really seem to want you dead.”

Peter snorts, “I'd love to, except that I need them to swing and fight. They’re kinda supposed to be my work hazard. Everyone has one, Mr. Stark.”

Yeah, Tony thinks to himself, you were supposed to be mine.

How have you become so much more?

Why have you become so much more?

As Peter drifts off, Tony stands by the door, watching him for a moment longer. He finally lets himself breathe, relieved that Peter is safe, and more importantly, that he’s still here.

He thinks he may be growing soft. Surprisingly, he likes it.

It is scary, growing attached to a child.

A very accident prone, danger-magnet, self-preservation lacking child.

He finds it’s also weirdly fulfilling.

Maybe that moronic pre-Germany Tony really was onto something, huh?