A/N: This is literally just my shameless need for Tony Stark to receive the TLC he deserves after watching the A4 trailer. I needed an outlet, and the fluffy prompts came through for me. Lol

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit anything Marvel related.

…..

"Hey, man!" Peter calls when he sees his mentor walk through the door one frigid night in December. The two mugs of hot chocolate he carries are quickly set down on the counter when he sees the limp in Tony's step. Snow and wind blow in behind the billionaire before the giant doors can close.

"Hey, Pete."

A shiver erupts from the man as he sets down various bags and a briefcase on to the nearby half wall.

"What happened?" Peter says, running over to dust the white powder from Tony's coat. "You're limping."
Tony sniffs in amusement as the boy fusses, "Old age. Doc says there's no cure."
"You're not old, Mr. Stark," Peter protests, helping the man remove his coat and scarf before setting it down next to the other items.
"Yeah? Tell that to my feet," Tony replies, grimacing when he moves again.
Peter winces with him, licking his lips in a nervous fashion before turning back to the mugs.

"I-uh…asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to let me know when you were ten minutes away-"
"What's this?" Tony interjects, following Peter's line of sight.
"Hot chocolate," the teen replies with lips pressed in to one of those smiles that destroys Tony's best efforts at staying aloof. "I thought you'd be lonely with Mrs. Stark being away this weeke-"
"Alright, where's the off switch?" Tony says, spinning Peter around and searching him up and down.
"What? What are you-"
"Adorable mode," the billionaire continues, "There's just gotta be a way to shut it down."
Peter's face burns but he lifts his chin haughtily, a trait he's picked up over time from his guardian, "Why? You'd hate it," he replies, making Tony grin and nod at the floor.
"Think so, huh?" the older man replies, taking another step and faltering.

Peter's quick to swoop in and grab his arm, lifting it over his shoulder to steady his mentor.
"Kid, come on. You don't have to-I'm fine."
"Just to the chair, old man, " Peter teases, receiving a playful slap to his cheek.
The fire place roars across the room as Tony flops down into the giant suede recliner, a drawn-out sigh leaving his lips as his body settles in.

His brown eyes widen when he feels gentle tugging at his shoes, tilting his head down to see Peter pulling them off and setting them next to the coffee table.

"Spill. What do you want? What's with the royal treatment?"
To say Peter pouts at the comment would be an understatement. The boy looks down right offended. "What do you take me for?" he asks, "I'm just…"
Tony lifts an eyebrow, waiting for the kid to finish.
"I'm just…sick of seeing you so exhausted all the time."
"Yeah? Well if you're not used to that by now, I can't help you, kiddo," the older man says, pursing his lips, "I don't really know how to be anything else."
Peter stares down at Tony's slim, black socks, moving his jaw around in contemplation before crisscrossing his legs and scooting closer. "Then…can't I at least do this much?" he asks.
"Yeah, alright, squirt. Where's your hot chocolate. Let's drink it before it gets cold." Tony replies.
Peter's face lights up as he bolts back up towards the counter. "Oh, yeah! Hang on."
When the kid returns with the mugs, he hands Tony the one with Master Yoda on the side with giant font reading: COFFEE I NEED OR KILL YOU I WILL. (Peter had bought it for him as a birthday gift months prior. It's been Tony's favorite ever since.)
The older man smiles when he sees the melting marshmallows piled high on the surface; bringing the cup to his lips; he risks a tiny sip. "Ahhh, the taste of youth."
"You should drink it more often," Peter laughs, even as Tony gives his head a playful shove.
The older man takes a bigger swig and this time there's a spark in his eye, "Ooooh, mocha, huh? You put coffee in this?"
Peter gives the goofiest grin, crossing his arms and shrugging, "What can I say? I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you, Mr. Stark."

Tony shakes his head in wonder at the plucky teenager, "We're feelin' our oats tonight, are we?" he comments, wishing he had the energy to wrestle the kid in to a headlock.
Instead he pulls back the lever at the side of the chair and lets the footrest elevate his legs, chuckling when it makes Peter scramble out of the way.

The teenager stares intently at the older man's socks again as his mentor drinks more of his mocha.

"What? They stink?" Tony asks, ignoring the fact that it's making him feel a bit self-conscious.
Peter shakes his head, taking a sip of his hot chocolate before setting it back down on the coffee table. He glances up to his mentor's calm face and back to the feet.

Thin fingers hover and hesitate before cautiously grabbing the one nearest him.
"Whoa! Whoa!" Tony cries in alarm, nearly spilling his drink in the process.
Peter freezes, keeping a firm hold despite the raucous.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Stark. Don't be such an…Ironbaby," he says. He'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity to use that one after being teased with 'Spiderbaby' multiple times a week, so why does it feel like the delivery was less than satisfactory?
"Nope. Nobody touches my feet. Hands off, ki-"
An involuntary groan cuts off his words as he feels Peter dig his thumbs in to his aching arch, cheeks turning a rosy color at his inability to finish his sentence.

His head lulls backwards until he finds himself gazing up at the ceiling fan in bliss.
"I'm sorry. What was that?" Peter snickers, fingers moving down to rub the sore heel next.
"Smart ass."

Peter sniffs and smiles again, carrying on with his ministrations when he sees there's no fight left in his mentor's countenance.

"Aunt May comes home with tired feet all the time…I've spent hours on the internet learning how to give a good foot massage. You might as well surrender."
"Youtube certified," Tony says.
"I don't hear any complaints," Peter shoots back.
The billionaire can't but agree. The kid's put him in some kind of evil trance as all the usual quips are fizzing around in the back of his brain somewhere, while a thick layer of fog stifles his usual sharp wit.
In fact, it's under ten minutes later when Tony's half-finished drink starts to tip from his calloused hands. Peter stops the massage long enough to remove the mug to a safer surface, annoyed when the movement rouses the sleeper.
"Hey, man," Peter whispers, setting a reassuring hand on Tony's shoulder, "Relax…just…don't want you to spill."
Tony looks up at him…dark eyes, red and weary. The teenager isn't sure if it's a glare or some kind of acceptance since this was clearly out of his father figure's comfort zone.

A quiet Mr. Stark was something he wasn't used to, and it's a little scary, if he's honest.

None the less, he goes back to work, deciding to finish rubbing the older man's ankles before sending him off to bed.
The roles were definitely reversed tonight and something stirs in Peter's chest…a surge of protectiveness…responsibility.

He's always wanted Tony's safety…but the closer he gets to the man beneath the armor, the more he sees just how fragile Iron Man really is…

…and becoming more fragile by the day…

Quiet snores snap him out of his thoughts and he glances up to see Tony passed out again, brows still furrowed and fighting the peace he so desperately needs while his head droops down to his chest.
Another ten minutes and the teen finishes off his hot cocoa, tip-toeing to the kitchen and rinsing the cups out before returning to the older man's side.
"Hey," he whispers, shaking his mentor's shoulder ever-so-gently. "Mr. Stark."
The billionaire doesn't budge, and Peter guesses it's been well over twenty-four hours since he's last slept.

Still, he gives it another shot.
"You can't sleep like this," he says, "You'll hurt your neck."

Still nothing.

…I could carry him…

Tony would feel lighter than a feather in his arms…but somehow, he feels it would insult the other man were he to go through with it…especially after the TLC he's already forced upon him.

And yet…

…he hasn't stirred once in the last five minutes. The teen could risk total embarrassment and a scolding if it meant the possibility of his Mr. Stark having a good night's sleep.

Before he can change his mind again, he slides an arm behind Tony's back, pausing a bit before slipping the other one under his knees, careful not to jar as he lifts the limp form from the chair.

Though the weight is nothing for the teen, his charge is still taller and it takes some effort to adjust him into a more comfortable position. Tony stirs from the movement and Peter gulps, searching for signs of consciousness before moving forward with his mission.

Reaching the bedroom at last, he sets the man down on the bed, removing the decorative pillows and unfolding the sherpa throw hanging over the footboard.

He brings the blanket up to Tony's chin, keeping his fingers there.
"Goodnight, Mr. Stark," he mouths, and before he can stop himself, he rests a gentle hand over short dark tresses, bringing his cheek to the man's forehead and stroking his thumb over Tony's ear.

"Sorr, bud…didn't finish…" Tony slurs, wet lashes fluttering.

The teenager knows he's referring to the mocha but questions the sudden tears. "…'s fine, he whispers back, "I'll make you another one in the morning…You okay?"

"Fine…"

"Are you lying?"

"…Yeah…Yeah…"

Tony swallows, keeping his eyes closed. "Thanos."

Peter hears the code word shared between the two of them and climbs on to the other side of the bed, shifting himself under the blankets so Tony can quickly grab a hold of him.

As soon as the truth is out, Tony's full on hyperventilating, panic unbridled, though exposed.

What had triggered it? Should he have just let him stay in the chair?

"You're okay…I'm okay," the teen whispers, gripping the man's hand and bringing it up to his cheek. He's learned from many an episode that staying quiet during one of Tony's anxiety attacks did far more for the man than spewing off whatever comes to mind.

Hearing his mentor struggling to breath is never not painful…

He knows Tony feels the same way whenever they switch roles.

"Pete…Pete…please, buddy…" the older man whimpers in to his curls.

"Right here, Mr. Stark."

"…'m Sorry, kid…You don't need this crap-"

"Shh, Just hold me. You'll feel better soon, I promise."

"You're here."

"I'm here."

…..

A/N: Did you enjoy this fluffy garbage? If so let me know and thank you muchly!