A/N: This is dedicated to the amazing and beautiful Parkrstark, who I love very much!:D

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

It's around 3 o'clock in the morning when someone opens the door to Tony's room.

The wood creaks at the intrusion, startling the billionaire from his blueprints on his Stark Pad and he is sitting fully up in around a second, one now gloved and glowing hand held up as a snarl of warning curls his lips.

Peter's face, tears trailing down from his beautiful doe eyes and his small body trembling, is what stops Tony in his tracks.

"Peter?" The man chokes out, immediately extinguishing the gauntlet and lets the room fizzle into semi-darkness once more. "Bud, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

By the muted light of the Arc Reactor, the genius can see his son shake his head, his messy curls swinging side to side and his thin arms wrapping around his middle, the sleeves of Tony's extra large MIT sweatshirt curling around the boy and making him seem so much smaller than normal.

His eyes are suddenly squeezed shut, painfully tight, the force creating wrinkles around his brows. Tony longs to smooth out the taunt skin, to take away all the pain his son feels, and to make him better again.

"Then what's wrong, kiddie?" Tony repeats when Peter doesn't respond, watching with his heart breaking as his kid tucks his chin against his chest, shuffling from foot to foot as though contemplating running out of the room.

Setting his tablet aside, the elder Stark scoots over to the edge of the bed. Peter's eyes snap open and follow his movements, his dark pupils reflecting the pale blue glow around him. Reaching out a hand, Tony sets it gently on the boy's shivering shoulder, moving it to cup his neck when Peter pulls away slightly at the touch. Clearing his throat, the man gently runs his fingers through the short strands of hair that his fingers can reach.

"Come here, Pete."

"N-no!" Peter suddenly spits out, his voice full of self loathing and quivering with agonized inaccuracies.

"Wha—" Tony starts to say, but his son cuts him off, ripping his body out of his father's hold and staggering a few steps back.

"I'm-I'm sorry!" The teen sobs suddenly, like a dam breaking, his middle hunching up, his arms holding his stomach as though he was caging his entrails, his too long sleeves trailing around his bunched up hands. "I-I—"

Jumping up, Tony ignores the chill that travels up his spine as his covers slide off his legs, reaching out his arms and engulfing his kid in a bone-crushing hug as the boy's legs buckle from under him. Sweeping Peter up, Tony immediately gets back into bed, resting the now crying teenager between his spread out legs and practically forcing his son's wet and hot face into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, kid, shh." He whispers, rocking both of them back and forth slowly. "It's okay, buddy, it's okay, I'm right here."

"'M sorry!" Peter keeps mumbling through his tears, his whole body jerking in Tony's hold. "'M sorry Daddy, so sorry!"

Tony just continues to rock them, making soothing sounds every couple of second as he runs his fingers through his child's soft locks, rubbing the expanse of his scalp again and again. Peter just gasps, clutching his father tighter and nuzzling even further against the man as he mumbles apologies.

Tony is at a loss.

Everything was fine at dinner. The man thinks, his fingers catching on a small knot and he tugs it loose, smoothing down the hair that sticks up afterwards. I mean, sure Peter was quiet, but that doesn't mean anything, right? He did leave some extra food on his plate when he was done. . . and he didn't even ask for ice cream. . .

Looking down at the boy cradled in his lap, Tony feels worry and confusion build like a balloon in his chest.

What's going on with my kid?

Finally, after a few more gruesome and horrible minutes, Peter begins to calm down, sagging against his Dad as Tony presses light kisses against his hairline.

"Want to tell me what's got you so worked up now, kiddo?" The genius whispers, his voice deep and vibrates Peter's face against his chest.

The spiderling takes a deep breath, playing idly with the fabric above the Arc Reactor, watching as the material glows a pale blue, his father's steady heartbeat a smooth and steady rhythm under his head.

"It's just—" he starts to say, but his voice cracks halfway through. Clearing his throat, he starts again, subconsciously matching his breathing with his father's. "Today-today was a long day."

"What do you mean, spider-baby?" Tony asks, reaching down to gently tuck a strand of loose hair behind his son's ear, cupping the boy's still wet cheek as his fingers trail down.

"Just with school and-and. . . Everything became too much."

"What happened at school, buddy?"

"Nothing, nothing! J-just forget I said anything, okay?" Peter says quickly, flailing around for a second as his body seems to repel against the very question.

Tony tightens his hold, continuing to run his fingers over the boy's head, scratching at his scalp with gentle hands. "It's wasn't nothing if it made you storm into my room at three in the morning and have a panic attack, kiddie."

"I'm sorry." Peter whispers immediately, guilt making his words bleed with youthful sorrow. "I can leave—"

"No. No, that's not what I meant."

Tony shakes his head, curling his body tighter against his child as though he could block out all the bad and depressing thoughts with just his flesh and blood alone.

"I'm not mad, Peter. I just need you to help me understand what's wrong, bud. Did something happen at school? Someone say something mean?"

Tony feels Peter tense up at the question, his grip on the man tightening. Smoothing one hand down his boy's back, the billionaire waits patiently for the teenager to answer, pulling the blanket up higher over both of their bodies.

"Flash," Peter's voice is soft and crackling along the edges, the words lifting in the thick darkness of the room and disappearing into the night. "And his gang—they put notes in my locker, horrible notes, that-that just made me feel so worthless, it weighed me d-down all day. When I got home and tried to sleep—they all just came back to me. . . "

Tony's whole body lights up in a fire, his blood boiling in his veins and his Arc Reactor seeming to glow even brighter as he fights down his anger, his fury at what those bastards had done to his kid, what they made him believe.

And Tony couldn't stand that, not even for a second.

"You know they aren't true, right? The notes?" The genius asks once he knows his voice won't shake with anger. "None of what they said is true, Peter."

His son nods, his chin hitting against Tony's chest and his hair tickling the billionaire's nose. The sleeves of the man's own sweatshirt are wrapped around him, pulled tight as Peter grips him. His soft breathe hits his father's skin, the feeling a treasure, worth much more than all of the tech or money in the whole Tower—in the whole world.

"Listen to me. You are loved." Tony whispers, tone ragged with feeling and weighed down with the force of his emotions. "You are cherished. You are precious. You are my son, my kid."

Peter begins to cry silently now, his tears cool and dampening Tony's shirt as he grips fist-fulls of the clothe. The superhero catches each of the droplets with his thumb, smoothing down the tussled locks and scraping his nails along his child's hairline, over his ears and down his neck, almost as though he was trying to memorize Peter with just his hands alone.

Tony cups his son's face, tilting his chin up and staring straight into the doe eyes that look back at him, lit up with the blue light of Tony's heart and swarmed with a trust that the man can't even begin to wrap his head around.

Swiping a finger down Peter's cheek, the youthful skin smooth, the billionaire watches as his boy blinks slowly, his lashes damp with tears and his peaked nose a light red.

Tony has never seen something quite so beautiful.

"You're all I could ask for, baby. You're you."

A/N: Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!;)