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Chapter Text

"Peter? Oh my God, Peter."

Harley sounds panicked, uncharacteristically so, his voice higher and more shrill than usual. Which, yeah, Peter understands; he supposes he'd be stressed too if someone first called him, announced that they'd apparently been attacked and that they were promptly going to bleed out from an injury they couldn't remember getting.

See, this is why Peter hates talking to people on the phone, because he's just so damn bad at it. He should've just had Karen send Harley a text instead, though looking back Karen had been very pushy about wanting him to call someone, citing 'serious injuries'.

He dares to glance down at his abdomen, and almost throws up again at the sight of the blackened flesh and the slow pulsing of blood down his skin. God, burns suck. He can't even remembering receiving such an injury, only waking up in an unfamiliar alleyway, his stomach throbbing with pain and his leg all sorts of broken, not to mention feeling his very likely concussion.

This is really bad. He knows that.

So, of course, Karen had been very insistent that he call someone, which he understands. But it had taken frankly a shameful amount of time to decide exactly who to call.

May was out of the question from the outset. He absolutely cannot do this to her after everything she'd gone through with his parents, and then Ben, then all of the various horrible injuries he's sustained throughout his Spider-Man career. That also made Happy out by proxy, because he would certainly tell May now that they were dating.

(Peter still struggles not to shudder childishly at the thought.)

He'd briefly considered Ned or MJ, but their lack of a driving license had made them non-starters fairly quickly. Johnny had been another option, but Peter isn't entirely sure where the other boy is right now. He's been off world for a few days and he's supposed to return either today or tomorrow, but Peter hadn't been about to call and tell him that he's grievously injured, especially if Johnny isn't close enough to do anything about it. That had left only two other people.

He'd opted for Harley immediately because the idea of calling Tony like this, after the argument they'd just had - well, he's glad he doesn't have to call the man.

(God, but he wishes he could call Tony. All he wants is for him to swoop in with the suit he's supposed to be retired from, hold him close to his chest and stroke his hair.)

"Peter, please, you gotta say something, man. You can't just go silent on me."

Oh, right, Harley. Still on the phone. Waiting anxiously. Right.

"S-sorry." He's finally able to whisper back, his voice catching painfully in his throat. If the world would just stop spinning for a hot minute, he'd be very grateful.

"No, that's not - don't apologise. Just tell me what's wrong and where you are so I can come get you."

Where he is. Does he know where he is? He's not even sure how he made it here if he's being really honest. There's a notable gap in his memory between leaving Stark Tower at 10pm, still fuming with anger, and now, 2:12am, according to Karen. What the hell could have happened in four hours and twelve minutes for him to have wiped out quite so hard in an alleyway?

He peers around, head pounding as if it's about to split open, and only then notices the warm, sticky substance coating the left side of his face. He lifts a shaky hand and runs his fingers over the stuff as lightly as he can; his hands come away red.

He knows he should be scared. He thinks he is scared, somewhere beneath the layers of pain and confusion he'd woken up with, but he can't work up the energy to feel much at the moment. He should take a nap. That might help. Unfortunately, just as he's about to close his eyes for some well-deserved sleep, a voice speaks softly in his ear.

"Peter, would you like to me share your location with Harley Keener?" Karen asks gently. Come to think of it, he's sure she's never sounded this concerned before. Is it even possible for an AI sound concerned? She's certainly pitching her voice quieter to accommodate for his concussion, so maybe it is.

Right. Location. He manages to grunt, "Um, yeah - location. With Harley."

"Location has been sent."

"Thanks, K." Peter whispers, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"Okay, you're actually not too far away. Maybe fifteen minutes. I'm coming now, Pete. Don't fall asleep, okay?" Harley's talking again, but his voice sounds fainter than previously. Probably not a good sign. "How injured are you - oh, Karen? How - "

Harley falls silent without warning, for long enough that Peter begins to feel some semblance of fear, his heart dropping into his stomach. Then, Harley swears sharply under his breath and Peter suddenly hears the sound of a car accelerating.

"Peter, what the hell? Karen just sent me your vitals - I don't even... what happened? Are you - Jesus, man..."

Peter has definitely never heard Harley this rattled before. In the two years that they've known each other, the two years that they've become brothers, Harley has always been so collected, so sure of himself and what he wants to say, with no regard for the consequences. But now it's like his mind and his mouth are completely disconnected, and his brain's struggling to comprehend whatever it's processing.

"Wh- what's wrong?" Peter asks anxiously, voice catching.

Harley makes an inelegant noise of disbelief that Peter really isn't impressed by. "What's wrong? Are you seriously asking me that? You're - what - Jesus, Peter. You look like you took on an army and lost."

Peter frowns. "I think I'd be dead if I lost to an army."

"Peter, you - ugh. Now is not the time for that, idiot!"

"Rude."

Harley growls under his breath in the way he only does when someone is driving him utterly insane or when he's really, really afraid. Like when Peter had gotten shot the day before his own 17th birthday - which, by the way, not cool - or when Tony had been so panicked by the aforementioned bullet wound that he'd almost had a heart attack. Which hadn't been fun at all and was definitely all Peter's fault, but who's keeping score, right?

Harley had behaved similarly then to how he is now: stressed, clipped tone, no time for quips or banter - a massive red flag for him - and a general lack of eloquence that he normally masters.

Oh, so this must be really bad, then.

Peter peers down at his abdomen again to further inspect the damage, perhaps to reassure himself that he's not injured too badly, that this is like all the other times he's hurt. All he needs a quick bit of surgery and then he'll be fine.

But the wound appears no less grotesque upon second viewing. In fact, the longer he stares at it the more nauseous he feels, and he's honestly not sure if that's the concussion or the terrifying burn he's sporting.

Jesus, it hurts. It hurts so bad. The pain hadn't quite registered until now, what with the general confusion of waking like this and the distraction that is Harley, but now it suddenly increases tenfold in a way that makes him grit his teeth and fight not to cry out. His adrenaline must have crashed, and now the pain's rushing in to fill the void.

He tries to suppress his cry of pain, but, to his horror, the tail end of it manages to tear out from behind his teeth.

"Peter? What happened?" Harley sounds, if possible, more frantic than before.

"No, I - Jesus, ow - it just hurts. Like - a lot." He grits out, hardly noticing the tears that begin to slide down his cheeks. He's scared all of a sudden, truly scared. He's in utter agony and all he can see is the grim darkness of the alleyway he's in, no warmth around or other people in sight, just the vaguely wet ground and the looming presence of the brick walls that surround it. God, he'd give anything for someone to give him a hug right now, to stroke his hair and tell him he'll be okay.

Before he realises, he's sobbing. Not loudly, but in the way of someone trying to hide their tears, with small, shuddery sobs that rock the body. Every movement hurts but he can't stop.

"Peter? I'm - I'm coming, okay? 11 minutes, man. Just, please - " and dammit, Harley sounds choked up as well, and Harley never cries. Peter realises how he must have sounded to the other boy, talking fine one minute and then in tears the next.

"S-sorry. I - I..." Peter tries to reassure him, but he's sobbing too hard to get the words out. He hasn't felt this young in a while, all of eighteen years old, hasn't felt as if he needs an adult to come and save him and hold him close.

(It's moments like these that remind him of Ben, the most steady and comforting presence he's even known, who would know exactly what to do to assuage Peter's fear.

Sometimes Peter wonders how Ben felt as he died, whether he had felt at all reassured by his nephew's presence or whether he'd been as terrified as Peter is right now. God, he hopes not.)

"No, don't apologise. It's not your fault. Okay? I'm ten minutes away, just hold on."

"O-okay." He can hold on. He has to. 11 minutes isn't even that long. Right?

"Pete? I need to you to keep talking - wait." Harley cuts himself off, sounding even more serious all of a sudden, if that were even possible. "Wait, I didn't even think - you've called Tony, haven't you? Or Johnny? Like, I'm not the only one coming to get you? Because I can keep you company but they can get you to help faster."

"I don't know when Johnny will be back, so... I didn't call him." Peter murmurs, knowing what's coming next and bracing himself.

"Okay, but Tony?"

Peter remains silent for a good, long moment and Harley swears.

"Dammit, Peter! Why didn't you call him? You know what he's like! Karen, why didn't you tell Tony?"

"I was instructed not to by Peter. I told him it was against my protocol but he was particularly insistent." Karen cheerfully informs Harley, as if she somehow knows what a hole she's digging for him. Traitor.

"Peter, you stupid - God. I - what the hell, man? What are you trying to prove?"

And that's it, isn't it? That's the root of the problem, and Peter knows it. All he's ever wanted to do is to prove himself, prove that he doesn't need the adults to save the day, that he can take care of himself, that he can do the right thing. But Tony just doesn't seem to understand that. Or at least, he hadn't earlier when Peter had accused him of spying on him while he was patrolling, and Tony had grown progressively more cutting as the argument devolved into frustration and thinly veiled insults.

Peter hates arguing with Tony more than anyone else. The man simply has a way of making him feel like a child - a bratty, whiny child - that no one else quite has.

But Peter had really thought he was in the right this time. Tony shouldn't have been spying on him as if he were some sort of child that needs a babysitter while he's out stopping crime and saving people. Peter hates people treating him like he isn't capable, and that's exactly what Tony had done. It's what he's always done, even more so since the Blip.

But now look at him. Lying broken in an alleyway, frightened and in pain. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe he isn't capable. Maybe, maybe, maybe. God, he hates how he acts sometimes, hates his foolish self-confidence and woefully misguided belief that nothing bad can ever happen to him because he's Spider-Man.

The Blip should have taught him to know better.

"I... I didn't want him to come save me." He finally whispers, voice wrecked. "I wanted to prove that... that I could... that I didn't need anyone else."

Harley is silent, though Peter hardly notices through the sobs wracking his body, as hard as he tries to silence them. He was so, so stupid. What if he dies now because of his damned pride?

God, he hurts. He hurts so damn much.

"I was so stupid, Harley." He moans. "Tony was right. I am just a stupid kid."

Harley swears again suddenly. "No, you're not." His voice sounds shaky, like he's holding back tears, which is crazy because Peter hadn't thought Harley even had tear ducts. "You made a mistake, a big one, but you're not just a stupid kid, and Tony knows it. He just says mean things sometimes. Usually when he's angry, though honestly I think it's just a personality trait. It doesn't - God - it doesn't mean that it's true."

Peter sobs again. "But he was really mad this time, Harley. Like the ferry incident, but way worse. God, he's going to be so mad, and disappointed -"

"Peter, he's not going to be mad. He'll freak out because you're - you're -" Harley breaks off and pauses for a long beat, though Peter notices how he skirts the 'disappointment' part. "He'll be angry after we've sorted you out but you know it's only because he's scared. All he wants is for you to be safe, okay?" He pauses again, then says with forced nonchalance: "I'm surprised he hasn't already jetted across the city in his tin can. I thought he got alerts about your health on his watch or whatever."

Peter is silent.

"Oh no. Don't tell me you - oh hell no, Peter. You -" Harley's really starting to sound mad, and that's two people that are mad at him now. God, Johnny would be fuming if he knew so it's probably good that Peter hasn't contacted him. Johnny may be the Human Torch and a human disaster, but he hates it when Peter manages to be even more stupid than him. Harley continues, voice taut, "You disabled it, didn't you?"

"That is correct." Karen responds for him, sounding as if she's enjoying this somehow. Peter hadn't realised an AI could be so pointed in her unspoken 'I told you so'.

"Oh my God, Peter - ! That's it, I'm calling Tony. Like you should have done a lot sooner."

"No!" He cries, the force of it causing pain to jolt through his body. "Please, don't - I don't want him to be mad..."

"Peter, he's not going to be mad, okay? Well, he might be. No, he will be. But it's because he's scared, remember? Just - don't be so stupid. I'm calling him."

"No, please -"

"Peter, no offence, but I literally don't care."

Peter falls silent, feeling like an idiot, blubbering like a child but in so much pain that he doesn't even care, and now Harley's mad, and Tony's going to hate him and he's going to take the suit away from him and ask to never see him again and -

"Peter, your breathing indicates you are having a panic attack." Karen's voice is gentle, more gentle than she was before. "I must advise you to breathe deeply and slowly, as hyperventilation is likely to aggravate your condition."

He tries, God does he try, but it's so difficult. Everything is so dark and he's so afraid, and he doesn't want Tony to take the suit again, he doesn't want Tony to hate him - through his growing distress, he can hear the sound of Harley ringing Tony, as apparently Tony's cars were just that smart.

Tony, of course, answers immediately and Peter wants to cry all over again when he hears the man's obvious anxiety.

"Harley? Are you okay?" He asks, and when Harley responds in the affirmative, he asks, "Are you with Peter? Is he okay? He removed his tracker again and we had a big fight and now I have no idea where he is - "

"Tony -" Harley cuts him off, voice heavy. "He's, um, not in good shape. I'm about five minutes away but you'll be able to get him to Helen faster."

Tony's silent for one horrible moment, and Peter can practically see the awful expression that covers his face, and the way he reaches to hold his chest as if to prevent it from collapsing under the weight of his own panic.

(What has he done, what has he done -)

"Okay." Tony finally manages to say, though even that sounds strained. "Okay. I'm on my way. Have you - have you spoken to him?"

"Yeah, he's on the phone right now. He can hear you."

"Kid? Peter? Pete, can you hear me?"

Tony? Was that - No. It couldn't be. He couldn't be talking to Peter, could he? Because Peter had messed up so badly, and Tony was going to hate him so much, he probably wouldn't even come to the funeral -

"Peter, I'm on my way, okay? We are going to have words, I can tell you that right now, but you are going to be okay. Don't worry, Pete. I'm on my way... Just hold on. Harley, what's wrong with him? Why isn't he saying anything? Where is he?"

"Hold on, one second." Harley sounds more anxious than Peter's ever heard him, as if he's preparing himself for something awful - such as sending Peter's vitals to their collective stressed father figure. Yeah, Peter wouldn't want to be Harley right now.

Actually, never mind, he'd rather be Harley than himself at this precise moment in time. Everything feels as if it's washing over him in waves, the world fading out and closing in rhythmically, pain ebbing and flowing. He can hardly even see anymore, his vision waning with every passing second as he fights to remain conscious.

"Okay, I've sent you his vitals and location." Harley's voice is deathly serious, no traces of his characteristic humour or ambivalence to be found. There's a noticeable pause following his words, which Peter hardly dares think about, because that route leads to hyperventilation, which leads to aggravation of injuries, which leads to - "I'm only four minutes away." Harley continues, evidently attempting to prompt Tony into speaking.

There is only silence.

"Tony? Tony, did you get that?" Harley stresses.

There is no response. Peter's rough gasps fill the space, loud and ragged and awful.

"Mr Stark?" He manages to choke out, his previous capacity for speech deserting him. The words feel as if they're trapped on the edge of his tongue, forcing their way through a sea of hazy confusion and pain just to be spoken aloud. "M-Mr Stark? Are you... coming?"

"Peter."

He sounds - wrecked. There is no better word to describe his voice. He sounds as if he's the one dying, as if something is being painfully extracted from inside of him and is choking him. Somewhere beneath the agony pulsing through Peter's body, a rush of guilt rears its ugly head. This is all his fault, because he was selfish and childish, and now Tony and Harley are suffering for it, and everyone else is going to suffer for it.

Then, Tony speaks.

"Pete, of course I'm coming." His voice is incredulous, deeply pained. "I will always come for you, why - why would you think I wouldn't?"

Peter shrugs to himself as best as he can, through the crushing pain in his body. "I m-made you mad. Was stupid." It's perhaps not his most eloquent response, but he thinks it accurately sums up the torrent of whirling thoughts in his mind, despite his physical inability to speak them.

"You're right." Tony replied without hesitation, and it stings. "You were stupid - so very stupid - and, trust me, I am very mad."

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"But," Tony continues, and his voice is soft and quiet, as if he's somehow managed to steady himself. "God, Pete, that doesn't change the fact that I will always come for you, no matter what. You are - you... you're like my kid, Peter. And that means that I will always look out for you. Even when you're stupid - especially when you're stupid. It's my job to look after you when you make mistakes... God, Pete."

His voice trails off then, losing momentum, as if his previously acquired steadiness has already faded away with that small speech. All Peter can hear from his end is the sound of Iron Man's thrusters propelling Tony across the night sky, faster than he's ever gone before, a mere streak amongst the glittering stars.

Peter has no idea how to respond, so he doesn't. He's not sure he's able anyway.

Suddenly, he hears tyres screeching - both nearby and over the phone - and he cranes his neck upwards to find Harley pulling up at the end of the alley.

"Tony, I'm here now, so I have to end the call, okay?" Harley fires out, not giving Tony the chance to reply before he turns the car off, throwing the door open and spinning in Peter's direction. He must not see him at first, because he freezes and peers into the alley as if afraid to go nearer, his face visibly pale in the flood of the lamppost beside him.

Peter knows he has to do something, has to let Harley know that he's there, so he summons all of his remaining strength - though it's a colossal effort - and croaks out a weak, "Harley-"

The other boy's head turns towards him instantly, and relief washes over his face. Then, he's running towards Peter, faster than he ever has before, covering the short distance between them in mere seconds. He skids to his knees - seeming not to care about the dirty rainwater that immediately dampens his jeans - and then all the remaining colour drains from his face as he takes in the state of Peter's body.

"Peter, I - oh my God - what..." His voice seems to cut out like a faulty recording in a video, except this is real, because Harley's in shock, he's overwhelmed, he's distressed -

Peter distantly muses that it's one thing to be informed of his injuries, but it's quite another to witness them in the flesh.

"You're gonna be - gonna be okay, yeah?" His voice is wobbling, tears shining in the darkness and carving a path down his cheeks. Peter can't help but sob at the sight, because Harley never cries, and it's his fault Harley's crying, no one else's. "Tony's gonna come and fix it, okay? Like he fixes everything. R-right?"

Peter can't speak anymore, so he instead reaches a trembling hand towards the one he considers his brother. Harley immediately takes it and clutches it tightly between his own, squeezing hard enough to hurt, but Peter doesn't mind. Harley needs the comfort, not him.

"God, I'm sorry, please don't... you can't -" Harley continues, voice splintering now as he begins to weep quietly, on his knees in an alleyway beside his dying brother. "Please."

Peter tries to shake his head, tries to tell him that he's not going anywhere, but time is moving strangely now, somehow elongated while also a mere blink of the eye. He desperately wants to reply, wants to let him know that he's sorry, that he's an idiot, but his mouth isn't working and his vision is slipping between his fingers. He's reminded of the building that came crashing down on him, and of that awful, accursed planet where he felt his body disintegrate into mere dust particles, carried away by the unforgiving wind.

He wants - he wants May, and he wants Johnny, wants Tony, Ned and MJ - but he's glad Harley's here, if this is how he goes.

Harley's still crying, and there's a light blazing towards him in the sky, and Peter's...

Slipping. Falling. Tumbling.

Darkness.

And nothing at all.

Chapter Text

"Mr. Stark, what is this?" Peter sounds confused, just teetering on the edge of sharp. It's an odd tone for him, and not what Tony's expecting at all for a late-night lab session, and it makes him frown as he turns to face Peter.

To his surprise, Peter's not watching him at all, but rather the screen in front of him. Tony squints at it but can't quite deduce what could have perturbed the kid enough to put such a frozen expression on his face.

"What's what, Pete? What are you looking at?"

When Peter still doesn't respond, Tony rises to his feet with a huff and strides over to where the kid is sat, hoping to solve this quickly so that he can return to what was originally working on. Namely, Peter's Iron Spider suit, his crowning achievement.

He reaches Peter's side, and peers over his shoulder to find -

Oh.

Not good.

"Tony? Tony?" He hears footsteps thundering down the corridor towards him, interrupting the haze of static that Tony finds himself trapped in, unable to claw his way to the surface. He blinks and only now realises that his eyes had been staring at the wall in front of him, though he can't remember seeing anything at all.

He manages to turn his head towards the frantic voice and finds Harley almost upon him, his face streaked with tears and his hands -

His hands, trembling in front of him, held aloft as if burnt, covered in - covered in vivid scarlet, staining his skin and his clothes -

And God, that's Peter's blood - that's all Peter's blood, thick and crimson and coating Harley, who appears one wrong word away from losing his clearly tenuous grip on self-control, much like Tony himself. He can see the energy Harley's expending in his desperate attempts to keep himself together, to not give in to the tears that he won't allow to continue.

"Harley -" Tony manages to choke out, stumbling to his feet and catching the boy's hands in his own. Harley gasps then, a shaky, awful sound that tears at Tony's heart.

"Tony, is he - is he going to be okay? P-Peter?" Harley stammers, tripping over his words as his breathing hitches and his mind runs away from him. "Did they - have they said anything?"

Tony squeezes his hands. Hard. "Harley, Harley, breathe, okay, you have to breathe with me, okay?"

The boy simply stares at him uncomprehendingly, a distinct lack of understanding in his bloodshot gaze for a moment. "What - Tony?"

"He's still alive." Tony rushes to reassure him, hating the sight of Peter's blood all over his child and wishing that, just once, he could have prevented any harm from befalling either of his kids. Maybe then, if he'd been good enough, one wouldn't be traumatised and the other wouldn't be -

Dying.

No. He refuses to allow it.

"When I got him here, he was still alive." He elaborates as clinically as he can, even though it breaks his heart. "He's been in there ever since, and that was about twenty minutes ago. They're - they're doing their best, bud, but we'll have to wait a bit longer."

"How much longer -"

Tony closes his eyes for a moment, "I don't know, I don't - I don't know how long they need."

Harley's breaking, he can see it in his eyes. He's holding Tony's hands so tightly that it's beginning to hurt, though Tony hardly cares, not while his kid has such a dreadful expression on his face and is covered in his brother's blood.

"Have you called everyone?" Harley whispers. He seems to have lost the ability to speak any louder. "L-like May? And Ned and MJ? And, oh God, Johnny. He's going to - you have to tell him, he needs to know, and I need - "

"Harley, slow down, they're all already on their way -"

"Tony, I need to wash this blood off," Harley continues as if Tony hadn't spoken, "it's Peter's, not mine, I want it off - he needs it, not me - we need to - he can't - oh God -"

And then Harley's face crumples completely, and his knees are buckling and he's collapsing in on himself as if someone had forcibly cut his strings and let him fall. Tony's there to catch him, though, scooping him into his arms and lowering them both to the ground before any further damage can be done.

And Harley - sobs. He clings to Tony, in a way he never has before, and cries harder than Tony has ever seen from him. Gasping breaths tear from his mouth, and his slender frame shudders in Tony's arms. It's awful, and it hurts to listen to, and Tony wishes he could take Harley's pain, wishes it was him and not Peter who was injured. His children, suffering.

It's too much, it's too much for anyone.

"Mr Stark, are you - I don't understand. What is this?"

Tony tenses, eyes flickering back to Peter to gauge his reaction. "Pete, I..."

Peter interrupts him then, his hands clenching into fists on the table and his frown clearing to leave a steely expression that freezes Tony to his core. Peter is never angry, not with him - he may still be a teenager, and he may get moody sometimes, but he's relatively level-headed on the whole, and rarely gets truly angry with any of them.

Tony desperately hopes that this won't be the exception.

"If you're about to say this is nothing or it's not what I think, then you're going to have explain, because, to me, this looks like footage from all of my patrols. And that... that can't be right. Can it?" Peter's gaze is fixed unseeingly on the screen before him, and his tone is eerily flat.

"Wait, Peter, that's not..."

Peter's jaw clenches, before he continues, "No, that can't be right, because you told me that Karen didn't send you any footage from my patrols, that you couldn't watch me anymore. You swore that you weren't watching, and - and you were the whole time, weren't you?"

Tony can't find the words to contradict him, partly because it's impossible. Peter's entirely correct, and Tony should have been smarter about it than he has been. Peter was never supposed to find out.

"Oh my God, you're not even trying to defend yourself, are you?" Peter has risen to his feet now, and he's turned to face Tony, face darkening with every word. "I can't believe - God, you looked me in the eye, and you lied to me!"

Tony huffs at that, a misplaced irritation beginning to build in his chest as Peter hurls accusations at him, not giving him the chance to explain himself. He can feel it, and he knows he shouldn't release it, but he's never been one to sit and take a beating.

"Okay, Peter, that's enough." He cuts the boy off, tone sharper than he'd been aiming for. "I get you're angry, okay? I lied to you, you feel betrayed, I get it. But stop yelling at me. This doesn't have to be an argument."

Peter visibly bristles, the exact opposite of what Tony was going for, and his eyes flash. "No, it doesn't have to be an argument because I'm right and you know it. You were watching the whole time to make sure I didn't screw up, because you don't trust me, even though I've saved your life and I literally fought Thanos -"

Tony can't quite keep himself from rolling his eyes. "Peter, stop. You were not supposed to fight Thanos at all, you weren't even supposed to be in space with me -"

"But I was, and I helped you, you needed me there -"

"Yeah, and then you died."

Peter falls silent. He stares at Tony, his eyes widening in shock. Clearly he hadn't been expecting that, because Tony never talks about what happened on Titan, especially not around Peter. He hates even thinking about it, hates remembering how Peter collapsed onto him as his legs disintegrated from beneath him, how Peter's final act was to look him directly in the eyes and apologise.

He hadn't wanted to bring it up, especially not in such a dismissive tone, but he hopes that it will make Peter understand his reasoning a little better. Maybe he'll understand how Tony can't stomach the thought of his kid out there every night, alone, vulnerable, under attack, one mistake away from disappearing between his fingers once more.

There's silence between them, until finally Peter speaks, voice brittle. "Is that what this is about? I died once, and you don't trust me not to do it again? You don't think I can handle myself?"

Tony's head jerks up to Peter from where his gaze had fallen to the ground. He hadn't expected that, not at all, though he supposes he should have.

"What - no, Peter, that's not -"

"What will it take for you to trust me?" Peter growls, and Tony hates this entire situation so much, hates how it's spiralling and he can't rein it in. "You don't treat any of the other Avengers like this! You don't practically stalk them because you don't trust them to care of themselves!"

Tony rolls his eyes, hackles rising. "That's because the real Avengers are all over eighteen." He's not sure where that came from, but he wishes he hadn't said it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

There's a momentary pause as Peter registers Tony's words, hurt flashing across his features. Tony has only a second to regret putting that expression on his kid's face before Peter glowers at him, firing back, "I've been doing this since I was fifteen!"

"Despite my best efforts to make you stop."

Peter actually growls this time, a harsh cry of fury tearing from his throat as he slams a hand down onto the table. It audibly creaks under the power of Peter's super-strength, but Tony hardly cares.

"You can't keep doing this! You can't just turn around and tell me that I'm not a real superhero when we both know that's not true!" Peter yells, cheeks scarlet. "I'm never going to stop being Spider-Man, and I don't care what you have to say about it anymore!"

"Peter, stop acting like a child." Tony bites back. "You're just proving my point."

"What is your point? That I'm not mature enough?"

"Right, because you're being so mature right now." Tony rolls his eyes like the asshole he is. "Do you know who you sound like right now? Morgan when she has a temper tantrum. And she's six. What's your excuse?"

Peter doesn't reply. His jaw sets again, and his knuckles go white with how tightly they're clenched by his side.

But, instead of rising to Tony's comment, he just - stops. All the fight appears to drain from his body, and his gaze falls to the ground, an awful, wounded expression settling on his face. He looks the very picture of defeat, and Tony hates himself all of a sudden with a fiery passion.

"Pete-"

Peter just lifts his head to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes is like ice. He doesn't say anything, just stares him down. Before Tony can do or say anything, he stalks to the door and yanks it open.

Then he's gone, and Tony's alone.

Johnny is the first to arrive, obviously, because he can light himself on fire and fly. It transpires that he'd already been on his way back to see Peter, so it hadn't been difficult for him to quite literally jump ship and fly to the Tower himself, leaving a blazing trail of fire in his wake.

Tony had called him first, partly because he hadn't known how far away the boy was and partly because he knew Johnny would kick up a fuss if he didn't. He'll never admit it to anyone, but Tony's grown rather fond of Peter's superhero boyfriend, in spite of his more irritating qualities, such as his ego, his ability to snark right back at Tony and his narcissism.

(And yes, Peter has pointed out on many an occasion the endless similarities between Tony and Johnny. He doesn't need reminding that these irksome personality traits are not limited to just Johnny.)

But, for all of that, Tony understands how much Johnny loves Peter, knows how much he'd do for him. He sees the fear in his expressive eyes every time Peter is injured, even if it's just a scratch, and he's seen him gaze at Peter like he's the centre of his world, as if he wants for nothing more than to see Peter's smile and would be able to die in peace with Peter by his side.

Tony is forcibly reminded of this when Johnny comes careening into the Med Bay waiting area, still ablaze and body rigid with furious tension.

"Where is he?" Johnny demands, running towards Harley and Tony where they're slumped on the floor, Harley tucked under Tony's arm. "Where's Peter? Is he okay?"

His eyes fall to Harley's clothing, and he visibly blanches at the sight of the blood that still stains the other boy's hands and trousers, splatters of crimson speckled across the fabric. Almost immediately, Johnny's flames are extinguished, leaving him standing before them in his blue Fantastic Four suit.

"That's not - you said -" Johnny's gaze returns to Tony, a wild look in his eyes. Tony's never seen him this unravelled before, fraying at the edges and desperately hanging on to any semblance of composure. "Is he - you said he was still -"

"He's still alive." Tony cuts him off before he can spiral further. It's evident that the boy, only Peter's age and still so achingly young, has already leapt to conclusions, but Tony doesn't think he could stomach it if he voiced them aloud. He's barely been able to calm Harley down, so he doesn't think he has the emotional bandwidth to prevent his own impending breakdown if - when - it reaches for him. "When I called you, he was still alive. I haven't - I haven't heard anything since."

Johnny is silent, an almost blank expression crossing his face. Shock.

"Johnny?" Harley finally speaks, shifting from under Tony's arm and gently moving the man aside so that he can rise to his feet.

There's no response from the other boy, and Tony's heart aches as he watches Harley ever so carefully place a hand on Johnny's shoulder, as if he could burst into flames at any second. Johnny doesn't react to the touch, doesn't even look away from the wall in front of him. In the moment, he resembles a statue, cold - ironically - and still, expression shuttered and gaze faraway, as if his mind is elsewhere in the cosmos, or, more likely, trapped in his own panic.

"He'll be okay." Harley murmurs, before drawing Johnny into a hug and lowering him to the ground. The only sign of acknowledgement that Johnny makes is the way he lets his head fall onto Harley's shoulder, but his eyes continue to stare in front of him without seeing anything at all.

No one speaks for a while after that, until finally Johnny whispers, "He has to be."

Tony can't do anything more than fervently agree.

May is furious when she finds out what happened. Her entrance is quite frankly terrifying, hair everywhere and her eyes spitting fire as she stalks into the Med Bay, as if it's personally offended her.

"What the hell happened to my nephew, Tony?" are the first words out of her mouth, and the conversation only goes downhill from there.

Tony doesn't trust himself to give an accurate account of his and Peter's argument - which May demands to receive an overview of, for context - so he has FRIDAY show her the security footage from within the Tower, and when he says that he's never been more afraid of someone in his life, he genuinely means it.

As soon as he hears himself say the words, 'real Avengers' and 'temper tantrum', he physically cringes, a burning self-loathing overtaking him in an instant. He cannot believe he uttered those words - not to a teenager, and definitely not to Peter. He's supposed to be the adult in this scenario, especially one who is at fault, and yet his voice had been filled with a venom he hadn't intended or even been aware of, and he can only imagine how Peter had felt hearing it.

Harley appears resigned upon hearing the footage, as if he'd known about Tony's needless callousness, or hadn't expected anything better from him. Johnny, on the other hand, is glowering at him with literal fire in his eyes, snapping out of his near catatonia when he registers the cruel words that had driven his boyfriend away from the safety of the Tower and into the dangers of the city.

However, it's not Johnny - the only other superhero present - that Tony fears in this moment.

May's knuckles are stark white, the bone almost piercing the skin with how hard she's clenching her fists, and there's a fury in her eyes that he'd only seen once before, when she discovered the truth about Spider-Man's identity. She's practically trembling with rage as she - ever so slowly - turns away from the tablet and towards Tony.

And then she starts yelling.

During the onslaught, Tony decides that Happy deserves a medal of bravery for his valiant attempts to calm May down, vain as they are. Unfortunately, she ignores him and continues to highlight all the ways Tony has just failed her child, from the infantilising comparison to Morgan to the fact that he's been lying to Peter for months and had the gall to practically try and blame the kid for.

She's still yelling when Michelle and Ned arrive, even though it's half three in the morning and they definitely have school in the morning. Tony's not even sure how they made their way here, but he makes a mental note to apologise to their parents anyway.

Ned seems nervous in the face of May's shouting, while Michelle appears to instinctively understand that this situation is entirely Tony's fault. They both move towards Johnny and Harley and slump down beside them on the floor, their warring exhaustion and fear evident in the contraction between their tired bodies and wide eyes.

It's this sad image that finally makes May stop yelling, the mother inside of her - deprived of her child at present - evidently aching at the sight of her nephew's friends and boyfriend in such anguish. She sends Tony a harsh glare that reminds him just how unfinished their business is, before crouching in front of the kids and gently explaining Peter's situation to them, as had been relayed to her before she'd learnt exactly why he'd ended up in such a state.

In any other situation, Tony would have marvelled at her dual ability to be both terrifying as well as incredibly comforting, but he's too wrapped up in his own self-loathing to even consider this. God, he can't believe himself, can't believe he'd lied to the kid for months and called him a child, thus inadvertently and ironically resulting in the kid's current and precarious situation.

"He's going to be okay." May soothes the group of young adults, and Tony hates the way they're all huddled together like small children again, even if Harley is 21 now and the rest are 18, because it reminds him once more how young they all are, how young Peter is. "He always is."

"He has to be." Johnny says again miserably, exactly as he had earlier.

May's face twists as she nods, her own fear rising to the surface for them all to see. Then, her expression clears through sheer determination, and she continues. "Come on, let's get you off the floor and get you all something to eat and drink."

Tony watches as they rise to their feet and drop into the chairs they'd all collectively ignored in favour of the floor. MJ kindly offers to help May and Happy get the food and drinks for everyone - even Tony, as May begrudgingly relents - and they disappear in the direction of the compound kitchen. A moment later, Ned runs after them as if he can't bear to wait around any longer, which Tony more than understands.

Unfortunately, this leaves only him, Johnny and Harley, the former furious at him and the latter disappointed. An unpleasant silence falls in the hallway, heavy and stagnant.

Tony keeps waiting for Johnny to say something, to justifiably chew him out for his behaviour, but surprisingly, Harley gets there first.

"Peter wasn't angry at you."

And that, Tony wasn't expecting. He's unsure of what to say, looking up to find Harley's grave but earnest expression.

"He wasn't mad," Harley continues quietly, "just scared. That's why he didn't call you. He didn't want you to be disappointed in him, despite - despite what happened earlier. I know you talked to him, but I wanted you to understand."

Tony is silent, mind already returning to his panicked flight across the city, to listening to Peter's choked words and seeing his condition from the vitals Harley sent him and being entirely incapable of getting there any faster. He remembers landing unceremoniously in the alleyway where Peter lay, in the bracket of Harley's arms, only to see Peter's eyes roll back in his head and his body - so broken and bloody - go limp.

Harley had cried out, but Tony hadn't had time to reassure him as he pulled Peter away from him and took off once more, the kid's dead weight and motionless form against his chest. The entire flight - too long, too long - had been agonising, Peter's head lolling against Tony's shoulder and his arm dangling limply.

He hadn't woken up once, not even a groan or a flutter of the eyes.

"I understand." Tony whispers now, voice cracking. He coughs slightly, before saying, "He's too good for me, not being mad even when I deserve it."

Johnny very much looks like he wants to agree, but once again, Harley interjects. "That's not true," is all he says, face weary.

Tony, albeit warmed by Harley's innate belief in him, doesn't think he'll ever agree. Not when his kid is undergoing emergency surgery from injuries no even knows how he received, all because he'd been furious at Tony. And Tony had deserved it.

God, he wishes Pepper were here, and Morgan. Pepper's seen the worst of him, and had still returned, still loves him. He needs the endless, admirable patience that she has for his antics and his outbursts, the unconditional positive regard. She and Morgan had been due to come home in three days after staying at Pepper's mother's for a week, but Tony's call - though brief - had hurried their return.

He has no idea what to do with himself while they wait. He can hardly look at the sandwich that Happy provides him with, for fear of throwing up from his own nerves, though he downs his coffee in mere seconds. No one else seems sure what to do either, low murmurings arising and then ceasing completely.

Time passes, and they wait. It's all they can do.

It's half seven in the morning - so many, too many hours after Peter was first been admitted - that the dam finally breaks. Finally, finally, finally.

Helen, miracle worker Helen, emerges from where they'd been operating on Peter, her face tired, shadows lining her eyes and her clothes rumpled. Tony's incredibly grateful that she'd clearly taken the time to clean herself of blood, as her hands are spotless and she's changed out of her surgical attire, which would only have been an awful reminder of what occurred.

Tony's heart leaps into his throat, and his blood begins to rush in his ears as she approaches them. He can't fathom what he'll do, what any of them will do, if she brings anything but good news, if the unthinkable has happened, if Peter -

"He's going to be okay." Helen smiles wearily at them all, and it's like-

A huge surge of relief fills through the room instantaneously. The tension rushes out of them in one great release of emotion, and Tony feels his breath hitch as he looks around at everyone, at their exhilaration, and -

He breathes for what feels like the first time since Harley called him at 2.22am.

Because Peter's going to be okay. And that's all that matters.

Helen keeps talking, and she's listing off Peter's injuries and how difficult they had been to fix - though Tony doesn't want to devote any of his mental capacity to what could have wrong and how close they had been to losing Peter - and she reminds them that he still has to recover, albeit much faster than a non-enhanced individual. However, the overall prognosis is overwhelmingly positive, and Tony catches himself meeting May's gaze from across the room.

To his great surprise, she's already looking at him, with no trace of hostility or resentment. Instead, she's smiling that wonderful smile of hers with tears in her eyes as she crosses the room and pulls him into a tight embrace.

She doesn't say anything, but he can feel her forgiveness. Our kid's alive. He's going to be okay; it feels like.

They still have a lot to discuss, but for now, he's overjoyed.

Chapter Text

"Peter? Are you awake, sweetheart?"

His eyes flutter open at the sound of May's soft voice, almost involuntarily. The first thing he becomes aware of is the dull pain pulsing throughout his body, heavy and leaden. He can already tell that he's on a cocktail of painkillers that are only partially numbing his injuries, so he hates to think how he'd feel without them.

He groans as the light burns his eyes upon opening, and he scrunches them closed once more.

"That's it, you can do it." May coaxes him again quietly, and he's never been able to deny her anything. He cracks his eyes open, waiting for them to adjust before opening them fully. When he's able to see once more, though his vision is slightly blurry, he takes in his surroundings and almost laughs because -

Because everyone is here. The Med Bay is full of nearly everyone he loves, and they don't even look that comfortable because there's so many people here, and he almost feels overwhelmed but for the warm feeling that spreads through his chest.

May is sat in a chair right by his bedside, holding his hand in hers, a soft smile on her face. Behind her, he sees that Happy is fast asleep in an uncomfortable-looking chair that Peter knows Tony could replace if he wanted to but instead keeps as incentive for everyone to keep out of the Med Bay.

Across the room, MJ and Ned are similarly passed out, though someone has had the decency to get them pillows and blankets because Peter is all too aware that the floor is an incredibly uncomfortable place to fall asleep. He can only assume that they fell asleep throughout the night - nights? - and someone, likely May, settled them into a more comfortable position. Ned is snoring slightly, while MJ's expression is far more relaxed than he's ever seen her before, and Peter finds himself smiling at them both.

Then, he catches sight of Tony on an actual sofa - and since when has there been a sofa in the Med Bay? - with Morgan in his arms, both asleep. Pepper is slumped against him, though somehow she still looks as elegant as she does in the day.

His chest pangs when he looks at Tony, because the last time he'd properly seen the man was when he'd stormed from the Tower and subsequently disabled his tracker like an absolute fool. He can still remember their conversation, as clear as day, and he remembers his own petulance and childish rationality. Of course, he understands why Tony had kept all the footage from his patrols now, in case of stupid, avoidable situations like this.

All Tony had wanted was to keep him safe, and Peter had thrown it back in his face. Insisted that he was mature enough now, that he didn't need help.

And yet here he is, recovering in a hospital bed because of his own hubris.

It's then, as his self-loathing latches on and begins to dig deeper, that Peter notices the final person in the room, because there, beside the Starks, is Harley. He's slumped awkwardly into the corner of the sofa, as if he hadn't wanted to be near anyone, his head tilted back against the cushion behind him. Peter's heart hurts when he takes in the frown on his brother's face, even in slumber, and the rigid tension in his body as he unconsciously curls into himself.

God, what has he done to everyone? He wonders if Johnny knows yet, dread filling him at the thought of his boyfriend's anxiety for his wellbeing. Johnny, despite his 'too cool' attitude, is the biggest mother hen Peter has ever met, which says a lot given that he knows Tony.

"Peter, honey? How do you feel?" May whispers, and he returns his attention to her at once. Her face is gentle and open, her voice low so as to not wake anyone else up.

He hesitates before responding, the drugs causing his words to be slightly slurred. "Okay, I think. Tired."

She looks at him like she doesn't believe a word out of his mouth. "Are you in any pain?"

"A bit." He relents, the drugs lowering his inhibitions and making him more honest that he might normally be. Her mouth pinches together for a moment, and she squeezes his hands a little tighter, not replying. "Are you - are you okay?" He murmurs to her.

Surprise fills her expression, her mouth falling open slightly. She lets out a quiet, slightly hysterical laugh. "Am I okay? Peter, you're the one who - who almost died. You - it was really close, baby. You've got everyone worried sick about you, you know."

He closes his eyes briefly, having expected as much. "Sorry."

"No, silly, you don't need to be sorry." Her voice is warm, fond, and he opens his eyes to find her smiling once more. "You did something stupid, very stupid in fact, but you don't need to apologise for almost dying on us. That wasn't your fault, honey."

"But if I hadn't disabled my tracker and vitals-"

She nods patiently. "I know. And trust me, we are going to have a long conversation about that when you're fully recovered, which will probably be very soon knowing you. I know you know that what you did was wrong, but we'll talk about that later. All you need to do now is rest and recover."

He feels the corner of his mouth lift unconsciously, even as sleep begins to drag him down into its depths once more. "Love you, May."

"I love you, too, sweetheart." She whispers back, her fingers carding through his hair slowly, unhurried in her affection. "So, so much."

Peter begins to surrender to the call of sleep, until the sound of soft footsteps in the doorway grabs his attention and forces his eyes to open again. He glances tiredly over to find Johnny standing there, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, staring at Peter like he's his very own miracle, seemingly frozen in place like a statue.

Even tired and clearly emotional, he's still the most beautiful person Peter has ever seen.

Johnny mouths Peter's name silently, and Peter huffs out a laugh without meaning to at his boyfriend's overdramatic entrance, because when has Johnny ever been stunned into silence? Most days Peter can't get him to shut up, so this is unprecedented.

At the sight of Peter's grin, Johnny seems to relax, a smile curving his own lips as he rushes forwards to collapse into the empty chair on Peter's other side. Then, he's wrapping himself around Peter in a gentle embrace, clearly wary of his injuries. Peter settles into his arms and buries his head into Johnny's neck with a content sigh, feeling so serene in the moment that he almost doesn't care what happens later.

Johnny pulls away far too soon but doesn't move far as he takes Peter's other hand and brushes a strand of his hair aside. Peter can feel his eyelids slipping shut against his will, even though all he wants is to see Johnny's face.

"I'm so glad you're okay." Johnny whispers, voice cracking. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't."

The last thing Peter senses before succumbing to slumber is Johnny's soft kiss against his temple and the warmth of May's hand. He smiles, and then he knows no more.

The anticipated conversation with Tony comes far too soon for Peter's liking.

It's only a few days later, when Peter is able to maintain consciousness for extended periods of time - as opposed to less than an hour - that Tony pounces, clearly awaiting an opportunity to discuss exactly what happened less than a week ago.

Peter hadn't wanted to talk about it, really. He'd been hoping that they could brush it aside, perhaps let it fester a while until their relationship inevitably suffered, and they could deal with it then when it really became an issue.

("Peter, that is not the right way to deal with an argument. At all." May fixes him with a stern look, though he can glimpse the amusement in her expression. "It isn't good for anyone to let it fester. I know you know that.")

He hasn't yet been cleared to leave the Med Bay, and he should have guessed that something was amiss when everyone vacates his room, gradually enough that he doesn't realise what's going on until he's by himself all of a sudden. This is only unusual in the fact that he hasn't been alone since he'd opened his eyes, always surrounded by someone fretting over him and asking if he was hungry, did he need anything, how was he feeling -

And he loves them all. Of course, he does. He loves them all more than anything in the world.

But, if he's being truly honest with himself, he's beginning to feel more than a little overwhelmed by the constant attention. It's almost suffocating at times, when Johnny can hardly tear his eyes away from him and can't bear to move from his bedside, or when Morgan plays nurse and supplies him with a steady stream of juice pops, much to Pepper's exasperation. Ned and MJ bring their - and, unfortunately, his - homework to the Tower and bicker, all while constantly glancing at Peter as if he might suddenly collapse before their eyes. May and Happy exchange many a worried gaze, though it's never vocalised.

The only two who've maintained a careful distance have been, unsurprisingly, Tony and Harley.

He understands completely, of course. Tony had quietly removed himself from Peter's room upon waking and discovering that Peter was awake, and it didn't an expert to know that he was disappearing to have a solitary weep. Following that, he hasn't tried to initiate too much contact between them, likely unsure of what to say to ease the ache that still stills in both their chests at the thought of their argument.

Harley, on the other hand, only appears when Peter is on the verge of sleep, a silent spectre in the doorway. He hardly says anything at all when Peter's awake and alert, even as others attempt to draw him into conversation.

Peter knows he deeply frightened the other boy. He can't imagine how he'd feel if Harley called him, half-dead and whimpering, only to have to hold him as he lay dying in his arms. Horror surges inside of him, along with a deep-seated need to fix the situation, to ease Harley's pain. He hates this strange distance between them, when it seems as if Harley can hardly look at him or address him in any way without remembering what happened and how close he'd come to being the last person to speak to Peter.

It's a close thing, but Peter hasn't felt quite this guilty in many years. He hates what he put them all through - May, Johnny, his friends - but Tony and Harley most of all, because what if he'd died and the last conversation he'd had with Tony was an argument, and the last time Harley had seen him was when he was broken and bleeding?

Everything feels so wrong suddenly, and he's just so tired.

So, when May finally vacates his room and leaves Peter blessedly alone for the first time since the accident, he doesn't think anything of it. He's too busy lying back and rejoicing in the silence that engulfs him, relief rushing through his veins at the prospect of a quiet, guiltless moment.

He really should have known better.

A quiet knock sounds from outside his room, and before he knows it, Tony’s gently pushing the door open and stepping inside. Peter knows the knock was merely courtesy, and that were they technically not still in an argument, Tony would have had zero qualms about just barging inside. This almost makes him wince because it only serves as a reminder of how wrong and uncertain their relationship is now.

Tony seems to hesitate for a moment, something wildly out of character for him, before finally murmuring with a tired half-smile, “Hey, Pete.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say, so he simply responds with a quiet, “Hey.”

His emotions feel all over the place in the moment – a strange mixture of remorse, humiliation, latent resentment, and then guilt for still feeling angry when the stunt he’d just pulled absolutely validated Tony’s arguments. How can he be trusted to patrol by himself without anyone checking up on him, because clearly he’s not mature enough to do so. He’d stormed out without telling anyone where he was going, turned off his tracker when he needed it the most and then traumatised the person he basically considers his brother, not even to mention everyone else.

God, Tony had been right. All Peter had wanted was to be his own person, and to show people he could do this, but here he is, ensconced in his bed while recovering from almost fatal injuries.

“Kid, look -”

“Mr Stark, I’m sorry -”

They both break off as their voices overlap, and had this been any other situation, they likely would have laughed. Instead, they each fall into awkward silence for a moment, eyeing the other with trepidation.

Finally, Peter tries again, his head lowering as he stares pointedly at his bedsheets. He keeps his tone contrite, even as he can’t meet the man’s gaze. “I – I don’t know what you were going to say, but I have to say this, so – I’m sorry, Mr Stark. I – you were right. Obviously. I was stupid – like, really stupid – and I know that now, and I’m sorry that you had to come save me again, and, um, for almost… you know. I just – I’m sorry. You were right.”

There’s a moment of silence, in which Peter definitely does not look at Tony, his cheeks likely scarlet by now. He has no idea how the man has received his apology, whether he’s going to take the suit away again, whether he wants Peter to leave and never return –

Then, Tony laughs slightly. Peter’s eyes snap towards him incredulously.

“Sorry.” Tony has the decency to say, but he evidently can’t keep himself from blatantly chuckling at Peter’s heart-felt apology. The audacity is - off the charts. He continues, still smiling wryly. “It’s just… that was so – Peter. You didn’t practise that at all, did you?”

Peter’s mouth falls open, and his cheeks feel as if they’re on fire with how red they must appear. He flails for a moment, unsure of how to respond because it’s true. That was entirely unrehearsed, and it definitely showed. He settles for glowering down at the bed, mortified.

“No, Pete -” Tony continues, tone kinder now. He moves forwards and seats himself on Peter’s bed, reaching out and gently guiding Peter’s chin upwards so that they meet each other’s gaze. “That wasn’t supposed to be an insult, I swear. I just meant it was very you, and I – well, I thought it was sweet.”

Peter glares at him. “Sweet.”

Tony just smiles in that soft way of his, an expression Peter had never seen until he quite literally returned from the dead, only to discover that a gentler, more paternal version of the Tony Stark had apparently been mourning him for five years and was overjoyed to be reunited with him.

However, when he responds, it’s not what Peter had anticipated at all. “I was so scared, Pete.”

Peter is silent, staring at the man with wide eyes.

Tony’s hand moves to brush an errant strand of hair from in front of Peter’s eyes, his thumb gently swiping over his cheek. “You nearly died - again – and that – well, that just can’t happen, kid. You are just not allowed to die, especially – especially because of me.”

“Because of you?” Peter echoes disbelievingly. “This was my fault, I just said -”

“But it wasn’t.” Tony sighs sadly. “Well, maybe a little, because we both know you never should have disabled your tracker or your vitals, even if you were angry, but – well. You were angry because of me, and you were out there because of me and you did all of that because of what I said and did, and that – that makes it my fault, kid.”

“Mr Stark, I don’t blame you -”

“But I do.” Tony says firmly, as if he were speaking the absolute truth. “All I can say is that I’m so sorry, Pete, for lying to you like that, for calling you immature or suggesting that you’re not a real Avenger, when, of course, you are. You’re the best of us, kid, and it was wrong of me to say that.”

Peter swallows hard, before asking quietly, “Why did you say it then? Why did you lie to me like that?”

Tony’s gaze falls, as does his expression. “I – I’m not proud of it, but I guess I was foolishly hoping that you would stop putting yourself in danger every night, that I wouldn’t have to lie awake in bed worrying about whether you were home yet, whether you were safe. I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, I just want you to know. God, you died in my arms once, Pete. I can’t – I can’t do that again.”

He pauses, gaze dropping to the ground and his knuckles whitening as the memory seems to play in his mind. Peter finds himself instinctively leaning forward and pressing himself into Tony’s side in some attempt at comfort; he must succeed because Tony runs a hand down his arm and continues,

“And about the lying and the patrol videos – it’s not what you said before, about me not trusting you; it’s about me and my paranoia, and my fear that someone’s going to really hurt you if I don’t check up on you all the time. Pete, when I said I wouldn’t watch the videos anymore, I meant it at the time, but it became too hard to actually do, so – I lied, and I shouldn’t have, and for that I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t want you to know how much I still worried about you.”

Peter watches him with wide eyes for a long moment. He can tell that this has been seriously weighing on Tony, can see it in the tired quality of his gaze and hear it in the solemnity of his tone. He knows how much Tony means this apology, so how could he ever not forgive him? How could he ever remain resentful of something that he of all people understands?

The incessant paranoid thoughts about harm befalling his loved ones? Peter knows better than anyone how these can plague a person, haunt their dreams and make them do misguided and foolish things. Of course, he understands what Tony is saying, and he can’t believe it didn’t occur to him sooner – perhaps if he hadn’t instantly assumed the worst when he’d discovered Tony’s lies, this might not have happened, he realises with a dull pang.

“I understand.” He whispers finally, and he knows this next part is important. “And I know you won’t forgive yourself, so – I forgive you. It’s okay.”

Tony laughs, and it sounds brittle but sincere. “Thanks, Pete.”

A comfortable silence fills the space between them, and Peter lets himself relax in the security of Tony’s arms, his body and head still vaguely aching from his injuries. Despite this, he feels content in a way he hasn’t since he’d discovered those videos, at home and at peace.

This is inevitably broken a while later, when Tony says in a firm voice, “But - and your aunt was very clear on this – you are grounded from Spider-Man for two weeks.”

“What?”

“Yes.” Tony pulls away so that they’re facing one another, and while his eyes are serious, he seems to be fighting a smile. “Two weeks, kid. It was going to be more, but we figured you’d just sneak out anyway.”

Peter gapes incredulously. “But why?”

Tony’s eyebrows climb so high up his forehead that Peter is momentarily distracted and vaguely unnerved. “Why? Pete, you removed your tracker and then didn’t call me when you needed urgent medical attention. That’s not okay. You can’t do that, even if you’re angry and never want to speak to me again, okay? From now on, your tracker and automatic health alerts stay online at all times, and you must always call me if you need help. Do you understand? This can’t happen again.”

Peter is silent for a long moment - shame burning him from the inside out – before finally mumbling, “Okay, Mr Stark.”

Tony simply watches him, eyebrows still raised and an expectant look on his face.

With a sigh, Peter elaborates. “Okay, Mr Stark, I won’t disable my tracker and automatic health alerts again, and I promise to always call you if I need help. Is that okay?”

Tony smiles once more, pulling Peter back against him. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

A sudden rustle behind the door draws both their attention in an instant, and they watch as the door is pushed open cautiously, as if the person doesn’t wish to draw attention to themselves. A moment later, a dark blonde head appears, followed by a lanky body clad in jeans and a hoodie. Harley’s eyes are downcast, his hair unkempt, but he steps into the room regardless.

Peter is stunned into silence for a long moment, because he’s hardly seen or spoken to the other boy since the accident itself, though not for lack of trying. He hates this entire situation, hates that he doesn’t know how to approach this or how to console Harley. Beside him, Tony has similarly gone quiet, though Peter can detect the knowingness in his gaze even when not looking at him.

Harley and Tony seem to have some kind of silent conversation with their eyes, which clues Peter to the fact that they’d discussed this previously, before Harley relents and breaks the silence, “Uh, hey, Peter.”

Peter smiles hopefully at him, trying to appear as open and non-injured as possible. “Hey.”

Harley watches him wordlessly, eyes raking over Peter’s form, eyebrows pinched together. Finally, something in him seems to relax at the realisation that Peter really is okay, that he’s not suddenly going to keel over in his arms. The tension in his shoulders dissipates and he audibly exhales, as if to clear his mind. Then, he shuffles over to the two of them on the bed, awkward in a way Peter hasn’t seen before. He comes to an abrupt halt right in front of them.

Neither Peter nor Harley say a word, but Peter can read everything left unspoken in the other’s expression – the overwhelming relief, the love, the residual fear, everything. Peter does his best to express his deepest apologies for what happened, for almost dying in Harley’s arms, for putting him through that.

He must be successful because Harley eventually smirks. “Idiot.”

Peter winces, but revels in the internal relief upon the other boy finally beginning to return to his obnoxious self. “Well, I can’t really argue about that. Sorry, for... you know. And – thanks.”

He can hear Tony laugh quietly, likely at how bad his apology was, but Harley just sits next to them on the bed, still smiling slightly. “Don’t do it again.” Is all he says, but Peter can feel the weight behind the words and he nods in response.

He can’t promise he’ll never be that close to the brink of death again, with his abilities and tendency to throw himself headfirst into danger, but he’ll never be that stupid again. Not when he’s seen first-hand the impact on his loved ones.

But right here, laughing as Tony forcibly pulls Harley into their hug – Harley pretending he hates it but leaning into them anyway – he’s grateful that he’s here with them. Grateful that he gets to have this, that they put up with him.

Peter smiles, content beyond words.