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“Pssst. Hey. Pssst. Hey, kid.”
Peter whines being woken up, hiding in the blanket.
“FFFFive more minutes…” he protests.
The older man calling him sighs. “Peter… Come on, wake up.”
When the other opens his eyes, he’s a bit surprised to see Tony Stark. The hero, in the flesh, looking half-asleep himself. He wears an old shirt, quite unlike the fancy suits he shows off to media.
While Peter stretches his own arms, he wonders, “What time is it?”
“2 in the morning,” Mr. Stark grunts.
Peter frowns. “Oh. What’s up, then?”
“You tell me; you’re the one napping in the lab.”
Right. Peter isn’t in his room upstate. Right…
“Oh, nothing, Mr. Stark.”
“FRI told me you were in distress.”
“Really? I was sleeping like a baby.”
“More like you were crying yourself to sleep.”
Peter shivers a little at Mr. Stark’s growing irritation. He only feels worse knowing he’d woken up his mentor, when that was the last thing he wanted.
“You didn’t need to come here, Mr. Stark,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I woke you up. Just… Just give me a minute and I’ll go back to bed.”
With that, the teenager turns his face to the couch, before Mr. Stark sees the growing tears in his eyes.
The growing silence only makes Peter feel sick.
“… I didn’t tell you to go to bed,” the older man clarifies, softening his tone. “I was told you were crying and that you came to sleep here all by yourself. I just wanted to know if you were okay.”
Even though Mr. Stark doesn’t sound as angry now, it still won’t make Peter stop crying. If anything, it only makes it worse.
“You might say that it’s- it’s stupid, but it’s not. I know it isn’t,” Mr. Stark continues. Without even going into further details, Peter can hear an entire backstory behind it. So the hero concludes, “If there’s any way I can help, I want to know, kid.”
Peter won’t open his mouth, yet he realizes his muscles are less and less tense. He’s no longer as rigid, trying to harden up like a rock, like iron.
“Peter, look at me. Please?”
The last time he was asked this question, Peter left and never looked back.
Not this time again, no. Not again.
Peter turns back around, unable to dry his teary face.
“There you go,” Mr. Stark comments, not angry, not disgusted. He might look only slightly relieved in the middle of all the sadness.
The boy straight up sobs, “I-I’m—I’m sorry-!”
“Oh, kiddo,” Mr. Stark hushes, sitting next to him to hug the distressed teen. “It’s alright, I got you.”
Peter wants to say more—I’m sorry I woke you up, I’m sorry I give you white hair and heart attacks, I’m sorry I’m so annoying and stupid and needy, I’m sorry I’m staining your pajamas, and I’m sorry for everything I put you through, I’m sorry for everything—, but it’s like Mr. Stark hears all of it and he rocks Peter slightly side to side, hugging him closer, reassuring him without saying a word, other than the nonsensical whispering that calms Peter’s senses down instantly.
So much so that the boy, at one point, quiets down almost entirely.
With a clearer head, Peter snuggles against Mr. Stark’s shoulder.
“… I had a bad dream, I think,” the young arachnid explains. “Except I don’t remember anything. You were asleep and I didn’t wanna bother you, so I came here instead. I just wanted to feel safe.”
The old couch at the workshop felt safe. It always does whenever Peter crashes on it. Same for the equally old blanket that often stays here. It’s so… Mr. Stark, if that makes sense at all. It doesn’t just smell like him, it’s… him. Peter doesn’t say any of that, in fear of it sounding creepy and strange.
When Mr. Stark pulls away, Peter gulps, not knowing if he’s going to get mad again.
“I don’t blame you for coming here, kid. This is my own little safe space as well,” Mr. Stark replies. “But if you need me, then you don’t have to hide from me. I want to be here for you, bud.” He dries some of Peter’s tears. “If you’re worried about waking me up, trust me, I’m going to sleep better knowing I could help you calm down.”
Mr. Stark smiles sadly at him. Peter tries to ignore the dark bags under the other’s eyes. He looks calmer, albeit still worried.
Peter sniffs and lies against his mentor again.
“… Thank you,” the former whispers. Thank you for everything.
Mr. Stark hugs him again and gently pats his back.
Peter has gotten so used to crying to himself at night, on multiple nights, missing his uncle, not wanting to burden Aunt May, that this feels foreign. However, it does not feel bad in the slightest.
It feels nice.