Chapter Text
“I’m just saying, Happy,” Peter rambled on, dragging his suitcase up the steps onto the private jet – private jet! What is his life? – following close behind the other man. “The picture was dark! You can’t even tell what colours I was wearing. They don’t know it was Spider-man. They don’t even know who Spider-man is. They called me ‘Sticky Boy’.”
Peter stepped into the cabin and froze in his tracks when he saw Mr. Stark sitting on one of the white leather airplane seats, gazing out the little window through his blue-tinted sunglasses. The light of the late morning sun catches the dark bruise around his left eye and Peter winces in sympathy. He had been pretty bruised up after the airport fight too, with a couple of cracked ribs, but he was all healed up by morning.
“Uh … Mr. Stark, I didn’t know you were-“ Peter starts uncertainly, still clutching his suitcase. He heard what happened with Colonel Rhodes and he thought Mr. Stark would be with him.
“We’re headed the same way. Figured I’d hitch a ride,” Mr. Stark gives him a tight smile.
Peter chuckles nervously. “Heh, it’s got your name on the plane, sir. If anyone’s hitching a ride, it’d be me. ‘Cause it’s your plane and all. And I’m just-”
Happy nudges him. “Bag in the overhead, kid. Come on.”
“Right, right.” Peter lifts up his suitcase easily and stows it away on the overhead bin before latching it closed. Happy goes to the cockpit to lock in coordinates while Peter turns uncertainly on the spot. Would it be rude to sit in one of the four-seaters Mr. Stark is sitting in? Would it be rude not to sit with him? Happy didn’t like it when he-
“You need a formal invitation or something?” Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at him. “Sit down already. We’re taking off soon.”
Peter lowers himself slowly onto one of the seats opposite Mr. Stark, not directly opposite, just off to the side, next to the aisle, watching the other man closely for any sign of disapproval of his choice of seating. But Mr. Stark is back to staring out the window and doesn’t say anything so Peter relaxes.
Until the jet engines start revving up that is. Peter tenses in his seat and closes his eyes anxiously. The plane’s vibrations thrum through his oversensitive body and he’s keenly aware of the gears shifting in the machinery around him.
“Nervous flyer?”
Peter’s eyes flick open to find Mr. Stark scrutinizing him. “It’s only my second time on a plane. I’m still not used to it, I guess,” he admits.
“Sit here,” Mr. Stark offers, nodding at the empty seat right next to him. “The G’s won’t feel so bad when you’re facing the front.”
Peter hesitates for a second, then figuring Mr. Stark wouldn’t be able to see how anxious he is if they’re both facing the same way, he nods and does what the other man says.
He buckles in just as the plane moves to take off. It’s really disconcerting how one minute he can feel the rough drag of the asphalt on the plane’s wheels, then the next it’s nothing, they’re speeding through the air. He can’t see it through the plane’s carpets, but he can imagine the ground falling farther and farther away with every second the jet engines propel them forward. Peter’s not afraid of heights, exactly. He spends a decent amount of his time swinging around tall buildings. But this is like, open, empty air. Nothing around to web himself onto safety, nothing to break his fall.
Mr. Stark grabs Peter’s knee and squeezes it until it stops jittering.
“Sorry,” Peter says sheepishly. He has a bad habit of bouncing his leg when he’s nervous. He doesn’t notice when he does it and it annoys Ned to pieces.
“You wanna watch a movie? Get your mind off the fact that we’re hurtling through miles and miles of empty air in a tin can?”
Peter’s actually forgotten all about his uneasiness over flying the moment Mr. Stark’s hand landed on his knee – it’s still there, by the way – but he nods anyway. “Sure, what did you have in mind?”
Mr. Stark presses a button and a monitor slides down from the ceiling. He finally takes his hand off Peter’s knee to grab a remote from a panel under the armrest, handing it to him. Their fingers brush as they do so.
Peter uses the remote to scroll through the movie selection. It’s pretty comprehensive, from new release blockbusters to famous classics. He’s not sure what he feels like watching at the moment though. What kind of movies does Mr. Stark like? He pauses when he finds Back to the Future and grins at the other man.
“If you call this a ‘really old movie’, I’m throwing you off the plane,” Mr. Stark warns him. But there’s a tug of a smile in the corner of his mouth and it makes Peter grin wider.
“I used to watch this a lot when I was a kid,” Peter says, hitting play and putting down the remote. “I was obsessed with the idea of time travel. I really wanted to make a time machine of my own and … I don’t know, I just thought it’d be cool.” There’s that familiar twinge in his chest when he remembers why he wanted to travel back in time, who he wanted to save, but he shoves it aside.
“You know that’s not how time travel works, right? Even if it is possible.”
“Well, I know now.” Peter settles in his seat and watches the beginning credits roll. “When was the last time you watched this?”
“This movie? God, I don’t know. When it came out?” Mr. Stark rubs at his chin. “I can’t even remember the last time I watched any movie.”
“Wow. The last movie I watched was-“ Peter cuts himself off, blushing, suddenly remembering exactly what movie he watched in his hotel room last night. “- uh, Star Wars,” he lies. “Empire Strikes Back. That’s why I remembered it when we were at the airport doing the thing with the giant man. ‘Cause it was fresh in my mind. ‘Cause I watched it when-“
“Uh-huh, sure kid,” Mr. Stark says absently, eyes on the screen.
Peter shuts up, face still feeling a little warm. He tries to push out of his mind the actors in that particularly, uh, graphic film he watched last night, and exactly who one of the actors resembled with the dark hair and stubble.
Peter makes himself focus on the movie as they watch it quietly. Mr. Stark’s right, Peter does feel a lot more relaxed as he gets lost in the familiar storyline.
“How does a high school kid end up buddies with a crazy old physicist anyway?” Mr. Stark pipes up suddenly as they’re watching. “I feel like that’s a story they could’ve explored here somewhere.”
Peter shrugs. “How any friendship starts, I guess. Mutual interests, compatible personalities, that kind of thing. They both seem kinda eccentric. Maybe the people at Marty’s school can’t relate to that side of him.”
“Good thing you don’t have that problem at Midtown Tech huh? Bet you’re all weird little nerds there.”
Peter chuckles. “It’s not the fact that I’m a nerd that makes it hard for me to relate to other people.”
“That you’re a jock, then? That you can probably lift up all the cheerleaders with one hand without breaking a sweat?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
Midtown School of Science and Technology isn’t like the high schools portrayed in most American media. The hottest girl in school is captain of the academic decathlon team and Peter’s “bully” isn’t exactly the popular jock. Peter is by all accounts painfully average relative to his schoolmates and he gets along okay with most of them. But there’s just some things that makes him feel … removed from the wholesome everyday teenager life. Having been orphaned at a young age, acquiring superpowers, watching the uncle who raised you die in your arms will do that to a person, he supposes.
It hits Peter that, age difference aside, he probably has more in common with Mr. Stark than he does with his friends from school.
--
They’re halfway through Back to the Future II when Peter nods off. It’s a 10-hour flight and the kid must be exhausted, having spent the night cavorting through Berlin’s party scene. Yeah, Tony knows about that, but he doesn’t feel like making a big deal out of it at the moment. From what he’s heard, Happy’s given the kid a thorough telling off anyway.
Tony turns the volume down on the TV, low enough for it to just be a soothing drone to lull Peter’s sleep. He’s not super interested in the movie anyway. The special effects are terrible and the science is wildly inaccurate, but he enjoyed watching Peter watch it, seeing him smile and hearing him laugh softly at the characters’ antics. It’s a pleasant distraction from the storm of thoughts roiling in the back of his mind. Thoughts on Rhodey, falling from the sky. Natasha, letting Steve go. Steve.
He hadn’t wanted to board the medevac with Rhodey back to the States. The medical team would be working on him immediately to prevent further nerve damage and Tony didn’t want to get in their way. He also didn’t want to spend 10 hours staring at his best friend’s unconscious form, knowing that he did that.
Rhodey risked his life for Tony’s cause. For a fucking squabble between him and Steve. Tony wants to blame Mr. Tall, Blond, and Righteous for it, for being such a goddamn stubborn son of a bitch, for forcing his hand. But Rhodey was there because Tony was, because he asked him to. Whatever happens to Rhodey, it’s Tony’s fault. It’s on him.
Now that the kid’s asleep, those thoughts are starting to push through the forefront of his mind again. He stares out the window, wondering what’s waiting for him when they land. He’s gonna have to deal with Ross after this, which sucks major ass. Natasha’s switched sides apparently – fuck, the fact that there are sides now. Whatever happened to being the Avengers? To being a team? – and they’ll be after her head too. Steve and Barnes are in the wind. Everyone else that were with them are in cuffs. Tony’s alone. The only one left on his side is Vision, who probably won't be much longer now that Tony's locked up his girlfriend, and ...
Peter’s head lolls onto Tony’s shoulder and rests there as he continues to snore softly.
Something stirs in Tony’s heart, seeing the kid so relaxed around him. It’s because he doesn’t know what an utter disaster Tony really is. He looks at Tony with something uncomfortably like admiration, something he’ll grow out of soon enough if this whole superhero thing works out between them. If Tony’s not careful, he’ll ruin the kid, just like he ruins everything – everyone – that ventures to come near him.
Tony turns his head to bury his nose in Peter’s soft curls. He smells like generic hotel shampoo.
Tony hates being alone. But right now he’s got one Peter Parker sleeping peacefully on his shoulder and it settles something in his chest for the moment.
--
It's past midnight local time in New York when they land. Peter texts Aunt May letting her know that he's back on US soil. He's not surprised when she texts back right away. She must be waiting up for him.
Peter was bewildered enough to find Mr. Stark on the flight back home from Berlin with him, he's super bewildered to find the man climbing into the car that's taking Peter home, telling Happy to drop Peter off first. Not that he's complaining, of course. He'll gladly take any extra time he gets to spend with the older man.
Mr. Stark is not at all like what Peter's seen on TV. The expensive-looking suits, the colour-tinted glasses, that face, it's all there. (And he's so much more handsome in person. Those eyelashes. Cameras don't do them justice. Peter doesn't think he's ever seen eyelashes like that on a grown man.)
But he's quieter in real life, more subdued, like the mode's turned off on his flashy public persona, like this is what he's really like off camera. Peter feels a flutter of thrill that he gets to see this side of him that he doesn’t think a lot of people get to see.
They're in the car, both facing the camera lens on Peter's crappy phone, and Mr. Stark honest-to-God giggles right after making an inappropriate comment about his aunt and it's such an astonishing sound that Peter frowns in bemusement. But then Mr. Stark grabs his shoulder, telling him something about editing the video - he can't be expected to pay attention when they're pressed that close - and his brain short-circuits a little.
Before they start the video again, Mr. Stark takes the phone from Peter and holds the front camera up to his face as he turns it this way and that. "God, I look like I got hit by a Mack truck," Mr. Stark criticizes at his bruised face. "Your aunt's not gonna be suspicious about that, right? I get into fights. I'm Iron Man. It's no big deal." He runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it, using the front camera as a mirror.
He's so fucking hot, Peter thinks.
"Alright, here we go, let's try again." Mr. Stark returns the phone to Peter, who holds it up to get both of them in frame, shuffling a little closer so that he's practically leaning on Mr. Stark's chest. His cologne smells like a sweet, woody citrus.
Peter smiles awkwardly through the short video, listening to Mr. Stark lie as smoothly as his voice. He’s so charming, it’s unreal.
They're interrupted once more by Happy swerving the car sharply and cursing at the road.
Mr. Stark grows bored of making the video and takes Peter's phone to tease Happy instead, then turns the camera towards Peter and pretends to interview him.
"So, Mr. Parker," Mr. Stark says in his faux-respectable reporter-voice. "Any thoughts on the Stark Internship retreat and any tips you want to share with future hopefuls? That Tony Stark, he's really something, huh?"
Peter grins and adopts his own fake-voice. "Why yes, sir, Mr. Stark is something alright. Really challenged me and put me to work, that guy. It was a real beating. Could barely stand up when he was done with me."
Mr. Stark snorts in laughter, and in his normal voice, he says, "I don't know if that sounds more abusive or sexual."
Peter takes his phone from Mr. Stark and points it at the other man. "Wait, wait, let me do you." He blushes when he realizes what he just said.
Mr. Stark laughs again. "Okay, second one it is." He straightens up and raises his eyebrows expectantly at the camera.
"So uh," Peter clears his throat. How do reporters do this when they have the full force of Tony Stark's attention on them? He's watching Mr. Stark's image on the phone’s screen instead of the real thing, as though that would help. "So Mr. Stark, what did you think of the new recruit?"
Mr. Stark looks amused. "You fishing for compliments, kid?"
Peter shrugs.
Mr. Stark hums thoughtfully. "He's got potential, alright. With a bit more training and experience, he might even be the next Captain America. You know, since the current one is being an unreasonable ass at present." Mr. Stark shakes his head. "Anyway. Happy, can you give us a moment?”
Happy, who has pulled up on the street right outside Peter’s apartment, turns to look at Mr. Stark incredulously. “You want me to leave the car?”
“Why don’t you grab Peter’s case out of the trunk?”
Happy exits the car with a disgruntled huff.
Mr. Stark turns to Peter. “You did good, kid. You'll get plenty of chances to log some more hours under your belt. Do your friendly neighbourhood spider-thing. Break in that new suit of yours-"
Peter looks up in shock. "I can keep the suit?"
“Yes, we were just talking about it.” Mr. Stark clears his throat. “Do me a favour though. Happy’s kinda your point guy on this. Don’t stress him out. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ve seen his cardiogram. Alright?”
Peter is still trying to process all of this. “Wait, does that mean that I’m an Avenger?”
“No,” Mr. Stark says sharply. Peter jumps a little at the tone and Mr. Stark’s face softens. “Not sure there’s even still an Avengers after this. Band’s all broken up.” He gives Peter a pained smile and puts on his tinted sunglasses. It’s almost 1 am and it’s dark outside. “Just … stay out of trouble, will you? Don’t do anything I would do. And definitely don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Peter looks confused.
“There’s a little grey area in there and that’s where you operate,” Mr. Stark adds helpfully. “Just keep doing what you were doing before. Look out for the little guys, right? Just ‘cause you got a taste of the big leagues don’t mean you get to bite off more than you can chew, even with the new suit. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. God knows I don’t need any more of that on my plate.” He mutters that last bit under his breath and Peter’s not sure if he meant for him to hear it. Peter’s super-hearing doesn’t hide much from him.
Mr. Stark’s eyes are obscured by his sunglasses and Peter thinks that might be the point. Iron Man has his armour and apparently so does Mr. Stark.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Stark,” Peter assures him. “I’m totally responsible.”
Mr. Stark snorts. “People much older and much more experienced than you can still get severely hurt on the job so you’re gonna have to forgive me for being sceptical.”
Peter chews on his bottom lip, frowning. He knows Mr. Stark is probably projecting his worries about Colonel Rhodes onto him but he doesn’t know what to say to assuage his concerns.
There’s a knock on the window behind Peter and he turns to see Happy holding up his case.
“Seventh floor!” Mr. Stark calls out.
Peter quickly assures Happy that he can take his own bag upstairs. When he looks back, he sees that Mr. Stark is not looking at him and instead is gazing out the opposite window.
Peter is being dismissed, he knows that, but he pauses before leaving the car. He can feel Mr. Stark closing in on himself again and he wants to say something, though he's unsure if it's his place to say it.
"Mr. Stark," Peter begins hesitantly. "I know what it’s like, feeling like you messed up so bad that you’d screw up everything around you. But for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, the best thing you can do under the circumstances."
Mr. Stark is still looking out the opposite window, unmoving, showing no signs that he even heard Peter at all, making him wonder if he just massively blew it with his big mouth.
Way to go, Peter, he berates himself silently.
"Anyway, thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Stark," Peter says quietly and slides out the car.
"Peter," he hears Mr. Stark say.
Peter turns to see Mr. Stark watching him, eyes inscrutable behind the blue-tinted sunglasses. His smile is small and sad.
"Thank you." Mr. Stark sounds sincere. He tugs at his jacket awkwardly. "Now get up there before your aunt sends out a search party."
Peter smiles and does as he says.
--
Tony doesn't know how long he sits there on the roof of the Hydra facility. He can't feel his face, having been exposed to the frozen winds of the cold Siberian highlands. The chill does nothing to abate the rage burning inside him though, the betrayal he feels over Steve risking everything, throwing everything away, choosing to leave with the person who killed - murdered - his parents.
I was your friend too.
Tony doesn't remember going back to his jet or clocking in the coordinates for New York. He spends the flight fixing up his dinged up suit as best he can with what he has on board, but his movements are automatic, unthinking. Replacing the arc reactor in what's left of the suit's chest plate, hammering out the dents, readjusting the joints, don't take up much of his considerable brain power and his thoughts keep circling back to the grainy security video of that dimly lit road. The flash of the gun as-
Tony's grip on the screwdriver slips and he scratches the palm of his hand on an exposed screw. He curses.
Why the hell doesn't he stock alcohol in this jet? He doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts.
He doesn't want to be alone, period.
He rubs at his chest, feeling the blooming bruise there from where his chest plate caved in under Steve's shield. For a terrifying second, Tony was convinced that Steve fully intended to kill him when he ripped off his helmet and lifted that shield over his head. He had flinched, expecting a fatal blow of sharp vibranium to the head with all the deadly force of a super soldier behind it. But Steve slammed the shield into the suit’s reactor, shutting it down, killing the armour as effectively as he killed whatever was left of their friendship.
God, Tony wishes he still had Pepper. He wonders if he's still welcome to go to her, to talk to her about ... everything. Anything. All of this. In his heart, she’s still his best friend, his partner. But …
I think a break would do us both good.
What does that even mean? Is there anything but a grammatical difference between being on a break and being broken up? Is this like a trial run? See if she can live without him? Because she definitely can, Tony has no doubts about that. Pepper is the strongest person he’s ever known. She’s seen him full of life and at his worst, seen him dying and at his best. If even she can’t find it in herself to put up with him, then there’s really no hope for anyone else.
In her defence, I am a handful.
Tony's shitshow of a life stops for nothing and no one. Pepper gets to have a break from that, but not him. He's stuck with himself, by himself. Which is great for everyone else because when people stay with him, when they stick with him long enough, they get broken.
Tony thinks of Rhodey lying paralyzed on that hospital bed.
I know what it’s like, feeling like you messed up so bad that you’d screw up everything around you.
Tony checks the map. His ETA is less than an hour to New York. He steps into his banged up suit. It's good for flight even if it won’t hold up in heavy combat, and it's got just enough juice to get him to go where he suddenly wants to go.
--
Peter is in bed, watching the video of him and Mr. Stark on his phone for possibly the millionth time. Peter's alone in the apartment and he doesn't need to use earphones to watch it in private, wanting to hear Mr. Stark's voice bounce around the walls of his room like he's really here.
He gets a weird tingle whenever he remembers that Mr. Stark has been in his room, that he once sat right there at the foot of his lumpy mattress. He squirms under the blanket, feeling that tingle persist, even going so much as to get stronger and more urgent.
His super-hearing picks up a distant hum of an engine growing increasingly loud and, suddenly realizing that it's an entirely different kind of tingle, the danger kind, Peter leaps out of bed and grabs his web-shooters from his bedside table, taking a fighting stance and aiming them out the open window.
Hovering right outside his window is Iron Man, the scratched up face plate retracted to reveal Mr. Stark's wry expression, looking even more battered and bruised than the last time Peter saw him.
"Oh my God, Mr. Stark!" Peter exclaims, stepping back, letting the man step out of his suit and climb through the window. The empty suit flies off out of sight. "Where is he going?"
"Don't worry about him." Mr. Stark waves a dismissive hand. "He's just gonna find somewhere inconspicuous to park."
Peter turns to him with wide eyes. "Oh my God, Mr. Stark," he says again. "Are you okay? What happened? We're so lucky Aunt May isn't here. She's staying at a friend's house tonight, family emergency of some kind and May wanted to be there to help and stuff.” Peter is suddenly aware of what a fucking mess his room is and he begins pacing around as he rambles, randomly straightening things up. “Can you imagine if she was here when you zoomed up to the window? ‘Cause no offence, Mr. Stark, the suit’s not exactly quiet-“
“Relax, kid. I scanned the unit. I knew you were the only one here. Wouldn’t have ‘zoomed up’ if I didn’t know it would be safe.” Mr. Stark helped himself to sitting at the foot of Peter’s bed, making himself comfortable, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, not even opening them to do the air quotation marks.
Mr. Stark looks terrible. Still devastatingly handsome, but he looks dead tired, the dark circles under his eyes punctuated by the bruises on his temple and fresh cuts on his cheekbones.
“Wait here,” Peter says. He rushes out to the bathroom across the hall. He keeps a freshly-stocked first aid kit ever since he started the whole Spider-man gig. He heals fast, but not so fast that May won’t notice. He stops by the kitchen to take an ice pack from the freezer and returns to the bedroom.
Mr. Stark hasn’t moved. Peter would’ve thought he had fallen asleep if he didn’t see Mr. Stark fingers drumming restlessly on the mattress.
Peter sits tentatively on the bed next to him, handing him the ice pack to press over his swollen eye. “What happened?” he asks in a quiet voice.
“Shit happened,” Mr. Stark mumbles. He sees the first aid kit in Peter’s hands. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” Peter says. “Can’t have you bleeding all over my bed.” He takes a clean wet cloth and holds it up. “May I?”
“Knock yourself out,” Mr. Stark says.
Peter wipes away the dirt and congealed blood around Mr. Stark’s face. It’s mostly scrapes and bruises, no active bleeding, but the man winces when Peter presses against a particularly large abrasion.
“Sorry,” Peter murmurs. He tries to be gentler in his movements.
“It’s fine. You don’t happen to have any booze lying around here, would you?”
“I think May has some box wine somewhere in the kitchen.”
“Gross,” Mr. Stark comments blandly.
Peter rubs some Neosporin on the wounds and tapes gauze over the worse-looking ones. Mr. Stark leans back against the wall with his eyes closed, letting Peter take care of him. Peter wonders if the other man is hiding other injuries under his clothes. He wonders if it’s okay for him to ask if he could check.
“I lost him,” Mr. Stark says after a while, eyes still closed. “It’s not just the about the Accords anymore. I don’t even know if… I think if it was just about not seeing eye to eye about signing the damn thing, it would’ve been okay. Someday, somehow. Stuff like that’s meant to be amended anyway, revised, rewritten. We would’ve come to a compromise at some point. Maybe. Even with Rhodey…”
Peter knows the gist of the whole Sokovia Accords situation, having been briefed before the incident in Berlin. When they flew back to New York together he seemed … well, not fine, obviously. But not like this, like the beating he sustained wasn’t just physical. Something must have happened between the last time Peter saw him and now. Something that made Mr. Stark fly in the middle of the night to the apartment of a kid he barely knew, broken in more ways than one.
Mr. Stark still hasn’t opened his eyes. It seems easier for him to talk that way. “I know it’s a tall order to call anything between me and Cap as something along the lines of friendship. Or at least I know that now. But I thought we were at least civil, you know. We saved the world together, several times, for fuck’s sake. But he chose him over me. He chose him.”
“He chose who, Mr. Stark?”
Mr. Stark opens his eyes at that and looks at Peter. There’s a raw, bitter hatred there and it breaks Peter’s heart to see it. “Barnes,” Mr. Stark spits out. “The Hydra agent Steve’s been running around with. The Hydra agent who murdered my parents.”
“What?” Peter whispers. "That doesn't sound like Captain Rogers."
"Apparently they're childhood friends," Mr. Stark says with disdain. "Never mind that he's been Hydra's deadliest assassin for the last seventy odd years. Or that he literally murdered his way out of that cell in Berlin. That sanctimonious bastard with all his ‘morals’ and ‘high ground’ and ‘doing the right fucking thing’. But the minute it’s about his best friend, his Bucky, then fuck all that, nothing else matters. Not all the people he’s killed, not … not me."
In all honesty, in the beginning, Peter could kind of see where Captain Rogers was coming from about the Sokovia Accords. It sounded restrictive. Dangerous situations are often time-sensitive. It doesn't seem right waiting around for a greenlight from politicians, who sit safe behind taxpayers' desks arguing circles around each other, when people could be in danger right at that moment. If you can do something, it's your responsibility to do it.
But Mr. Stark must know all of this. He’s the farthest thing from stupid. And he's right, multinational agreements are fickle things that get amended and revised all the time. The important thing is that at the end of the day, there's still even such a thing as the Avengers to meet future threats when they come.
Now, thanks to Captain Rogers, the dream team's broken up, on the run, or in jail, or in the hospital. And Mr. Stark ...
That's why Mr. Stark is sitting here, in a dingy bedroom of a Queens apartment, sitting on some old, generic IKEA sheets, faded from multiple washes. Peter's heart splinters further when he realizes that the man may not have anywhere else to go.
“No offence, Mr. Stark, but it sounds like you need better friends.”
Mr. Stark snorts. He looks over at Peter with a strange look on his face. “You know, everyone’s so quick to make me into the bad guy. Kinda makes you think … These people are supposed to know you better than anyone. Maybe they’re right. Maybe you are the bad guy.”
“Do you really think that?”
Mr. Stark shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’m right. Doesn’t matter if that makes me the bad guy or not. What I did … If we wanted to keep doing what we’ve been doing, you know, the whole Avengers thing … It was the only way.” Mr. Stark huffs self-deprecatingly. “But it seems like I was the only one who wanted that. Well, me and Rhodey, I guess. And I broke him. The only friend who actually stuck with me.” Mr. Stark looks at Peter wryly. “You better watch out or you’ll be next, kid.”
“I can take care of myself,” Peter says, eyes steady on the other man.
I’m not afraid, Mr. Stark, Peter thinks. I’ll be your friend. If you’ll let me.
Mr. Stark sighs and closes his eyes again, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. "I'm so fucking tired, Pete."
"You can sleep here if you want. I can take the couch outside."
Mr. Stark shakes his head. "No, you don't have to. I ... I don't really wanna ... be by myself. And I probably won't be able to sleep anyway." He makes to get up off the bed. "You should sleep though. I can rest over there," he says gesturing at the chair at Peter's desk.
Peter stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "No, Mr. Stark, I mean, if you don't mind if ... I mean, it's a tight fit but it's probably more comfortable in here than sitting in that chair all night. But ... you could ... if you don't mind me staying here with you?" he asks shyly.
Mr. Stark just stares at him for a while. There's something contemplative in his look that's making Peter's heart pound. He must look so transparent, sitting there in his baggy pyjamas, offering a place on his childhood bed.
"Alright," Mr. Stark finally says. He stands up and gestures to the side of the bed closest to the wall. "You go on this side, though. I'm not letting you roll off the edge."
Peter must be blushing something fierce, but he tries to hide it. "Do you, um ... do you want the lights off, or ..."
"Up to you, kid. I don't mind either way." Mr. Stark takes off his jacket and folds it over Peter's chair. The T-shirt he’s wearing underneath is a plain thin cotton that hangs snugly over his torso.
Peter flicks off the light switch. It's not too dark, the streetlights from outside casting a soft glow through the open window. Peter can see Mr. Stark's silhouette against it, a solid figure standing in the middle of his room, tapping something on his watch. He's grateful for the semi-darkness because he feels himself blush harder than ever. He can hear his heart racing as he climbs into bed, tucking himself under the blankets, back against the wall facing the other man.
Mr. Stark takes a few seconds to regard him, his expression inscrutable even with his sharp features illuminated by the dim gold of the streetlights.
Peter's not gonna lie, he feels warm all over, blood rushing through his body to swell between his legs. He angles himself, curling over slightly to conceal his burgeoning hard-on even as he wills it to go away.
Mr. Stark smooths down the bed covers and settles on top of it, flat on his back. It really is a tight fit, even with Peter's back flat against the wall behind him. Mr. Stark's hip is so close to his groin, the weight of it pulling at the blankets.
"You don't wanna get in?" Peter asks in a quiet voice.
Mr. Stark looks over at him with a shadow of a smile. "No, that's alright, Pete," he says. He rests an arm over his forehead and closes his eyes. "Don't wanna get too comfortable or I'll sleep through the alarm. I told F.R.I.D.A.Y. to alert me when you're aunt's getting home."
"I thought you said you won't be able to go to sleep."
"I underestimated how cozy your bed is."
"Pretty sure 'cozy' is just real-estate speak for 'cramped'."
Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow. "I did offer to take the chair."
"No, no, no take-backsies. You're stuck with me now."
Mr. Stark chuckles, a low, soft sound which does nothing to help Peter's under-the-blanket-between-his-legs situation. "Sleep, Pete," the man orders.
Peter closes his eyes, certain that such a thing would be impossible.
--
Tony isn't surprised that Peter falls asleep quickly. He is surprised, however, that he managed to fall asleep too. He wakes to a soft buzzing on his wrist, informing him that May Parker is on her way home, ETA 10 minutes. He should go. He doesn't want to think about what would happen if she found him like this, in bed with her nephew, regardless of the circumstances.
It's almost 6 am. Tony actually slept through the night, no nightmares or anything. It's probably the longest, uninterrupted sleep he’s had since he can't even remember, and it's tucked up in a too-small bed and spine-unfriendly mattress. It's the company, he supposes. It's been so long since he's slept with anyone else in his bed, and his subconscious welcomes the presence.
Tony pulls himself gingerly to a sitting position, registering soreness all over his body. The injuries he sustained from the fight with Cap and Barnes are catching up with him, and sleeping in a cramped bed all night probably didn't help. He moves slowly, partly from pain, mostly because he doesn't want to wake the sleeping boy next to him.
If it's possible, Peter looks even softer in sleep. His mouth is parted slightly, and his brown curls fall onto his peaceful face. It's hard to believe that this gentle-looking kid could throw a bus with his bare hands. But if anyone were to have superhuman powers, Peter is probably the only person Tony knows who deserves it. He’s special. The kind of special that doesn’t come out of a bottle.
Tony feels a serious urge to brush his hair back, drop a kiss to his forehead, but he doesn't want to wake him. He's afraid that if Peter so much as looks at him with those eyes, sleepy-soft and trusting in the morning light, then he might not be able to leave, go back to his life that's heavy with obligation and marred with betrayal. That seems to be par of the course when it comes to superheroics. But Peter's not going to have that life, not if Tony has anything to say about it. Peter is going to have a normal, safe life, away from assassins and terrorists and aliens and politics. Tony's going to make sure of it.
The suit is open and waiting right outside the window. With one final look at Peter fast asleep in his bed, he steps into his suit and flies away.