Chapter Text
Tony Stark was many things—genius, billionaire, philanthropist, and, as he was slowly coming to realize, a reluctant but hopelessly attached mentor to one Peter Parker.
Not that the kid made it easy. Peter was a hurricane of energy, all wide-eyed enthusiasm and unshakable optimism, a bundle of nerves wrapped in spandex who somehow managed to juggle calculus exams, robotics club, and web-slinging patrols all in the same day.
It was impressive. Admirable, even.
But it was also exhausting to watch.
Lately, Tony had been noticing the cracks.
It started small—Peter zoning out mid-conversation, taking longer to respond to texts, skipping out on Friday movie nights at the Compound with the excuse of “so much homework, Mr. Stark, you don’t even understand.” Tony did understand, actually. He’d been a workaholic since he could hold a screwdriver. But he also knew what burnout looked like, and Peter was walking straight into it.
Tony Stark had never planned on being a mentor.
He wasn’t the type. The idea of some kid looking up to him, relying on him—it was terrifying. He could barely take care of himself, let alone guide someone else. But somehow, against all odds, Peter Parker had wormed his way in.
The kid had that effect on people.
At first, Tony had kept his distance, offering upgrades and missions but nothing too personal. Peter had a life outside of all this, and Tony wasn’t about to disrupt it. But that life—school, friendships, Spider-Man—was a balancing act that even an enhanced teenager couldn’t sustain forever.
It was in the little things.
Peter showing up to the Compound later than usual, muttering something about “traffic” even though he could swing here faster than most people could drive. The way his texts had started getting shorter, less animated. His usual long-winded, rambling messages reduced to clipped responses:
Mr. Stark, can’t make it today. Studying.
Sorry, got caught up with patrol. Next time!
All good! Don’t worry about me!
It wasn’t bad exactly, but Tony knew better than to take things at face value. Peter was the type to downplay, to shrug things off like they didn’t matter. It was what he did after Berlin, after Vulture, after the ferry incident.
It was what he was doing now.
So Tony paid attention.
He started checking in more often, dropping by Queens unannounced, watching Peter closely when he was at the Compound. And the more he looked, the more obvious it became.
Peter was exhausted.
Not the “stayed up too late playing video games” kind of exhausted. The deep, bone-weary kind.
And the worst part?
He was good at hiding it.
Too good.
Tony could see the strain in the way Peter held himself, the way his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way he swayed slightly when he thought no one was looking. But whenever Tony tried to bring it up, Peter just brushed it off.
“I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”
That was his go-to line. Always delivered with a too-easy grin, as if that made it true.
Tony wanted to believe him.
But he didn’t.
And he had a feeling it was only a matter of time before Peter’s house of cards came crashing down.
_________________
Peter was fine.
He had to be.
Sure, his eyelids felt like they were lined with lead, and sure, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept a full eight hours, but that didn’t matter.
Spider-Man didn’t get tired.
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
The truth? He was stretched too thin.
Between school, patrols, Decathlon practice, and his responsibilities at the Compound, he barely had time to breathe. Every second of his day was accounted for—if he wasn’t studying for a physics exam, he was stopping a mugging. If he wasn’t in class, he was training with the Avengers. If he wasn’t training, he was—
Well.
Crashing.
Not that anyone knew.
Peter had gotten good at pretending. He made sure to crack jokes, to smile, to keep up the endless energy everyone expected from him. As long as he played the part, no one would question it.
And he couldn’t afford for them to question it.
Because if they did, they might tell him to slow down.
And slowing down meant people got hurt.
So, he kept going.
Even when his hands shook from exhaustion. Even when his head pounded from lack of sleep. Even when his vision blurred just a little too often.
He kept going.
Because that’s what Spider-Man did.
———-
Peter had always been good at multitasking.
His life had been a balancing act for as long as he could remember, juggling school, friendships, and being a superhero without letting anyone catch on. For the most part, he was proud of how well he managed it. He got decent grades, showed up to Decathlon practices, kept up with his patrols, and still had time to joke around with Ned at lunch.
But lately, that balance had started slipping.
The first time he nodded off in class, he brushed it off as a one-time thing. It was during English, the teacher droning on about The Great Gatsby, and Peter had let his eyes close for just a second.
Then suddenly, he was being shaken awake, and Mr. Harrington was standing over him, looking half concerned and half annoyed. “Peter, if you find this discussion that boring, feel free to take a nap in the principal’s office instead.”
There were a few chuckles from his classmates, but Peter forced a sheepish grin, rubbing his eyes as if he were just a little tired instead of completely wrecked. “Sorry, Mr. Harrington. Long night studying.”
The excuse was easy enough. No one questioned it.
But then it happened again.
And again.
By the end of the week, Peter had lost count of how many times his head had dropped onto his desk, only to snap back up in a panic. His notes were a mess of half-written sentences, and his teachers had started calling on him more, probably to make sure he was still conscious.
It wasn’t just school, either. His patrols were suffering. His swings weren’t as precise, his landings heavier. The city blurred past him in streaks of light and shadow, his mind lagging just a second behind his body. Twice, he nearly miscalculated a web and had to scramble to correct it before he went crashing into a rooftop.
And then there were the headaches—dull, aching things that settled behind his eyes and never quite went away.
He told himself it would get better.
Once midterms were over, once Decathlon regionals were out of the way, once he got a real night’s sleep.
But every time he tried to take a break, something came up. A stolen car, a fire, a high-tech weapons deal in a back alley. And if he wasn’t on patrol, he was at the Compound, training with the Avengers, pushing himself harder to make up for his mistakes.
It was a never-ending cycle.
And it was catching up to him.