Warning: Swearing.

Matt drags Peter into the Avenger's Compound little after their breakfast (it's a Saturday, lucky for them), Peter oblivious and cheerful all the way there, all the way up until Matt marches up to Tony and snarls, "Peter has been keeping secrets."

Peter suddenly becomes very, very, alert spine curling and eyes widening. "No-no I haven't," He stutters, mouth instantly stilling as he stares, wide eyed, at Tony. "Matt's lying."

Matt locks his jaw and glares in Peter's general direction, Peter shrinking under Matt's off beat gaze. "Oh, really," He hisses will all the over-protectiveness of a father, and Peter knows that while this is a battle he can probably never win, he'll at least try.

"Really," He agrees boldly, sticking out his jaw and looking every bit the stubborn mule it is.

"The fuck, that's true." Tony sighs, dragging a hand over his face and looking as weary as Pepper when she deals with his antics. "You, kid, don't know how to take care of yourself and you have this creepy habit of carrying your own burden. It's, like, seriously disturbing."

Peter has the nerve to look offended by this. "I do not!" He protests vehemently, straightening ever so slightly.

Tony raises an eyebrow, completely unimpressed, and he asks, exhausted, "Saffron tea? It's good."

Matt inclines his head and Peter smiles gratefully, "Yeah, thanks."

They all get their tea, and Tony thinks, alright, he can handle this.

Then Matt says, "He had a panic attack."

Tony's face freezes, fearful and stunned and furious and he snarls, tight and low, "Fuck."

Which, really, just about sums up the whole situation.

Peter shrinks back and fiddles with his web shooters, then runs a finger along the rim of his cup as he murmurs, "Sorry, Tony, I didn't mean to..."

"You're apologizing?" Tony shoots him an incredulous look, before he stares at his shoes and lets loose a very creative string of curses. "Of course you are. You fucking martyr." He turns to Peter and narrows his eyes as he curls his lip and snarls, "This isn't your fault, kid, you got that?"

He doesn't. Not really. But Peter nods anyways.

"You're lying," Matt observes, and Peter is so close to strangling him right now, but he can't, so he takes a sip of his tea instead and tries not to act like it burned his tongue.

"I'm not," He sulks, crossing his arms over his chest, but Matt raises an eyebrow (how does he look so elegant so early in the morning?) and Peter caves. "I wish you didn't have those lie detector ears."

"Duly noted," Matt tilts his head to the side and purses his lips, "But you must admit, they come in handy more often than not."

Peter sticks out his tongue, an effort that's mostly lost on Matt, who just laughs at him.

"Why the fuck are you having panic attacks?" Tony's voice cuts in through their banter, and Peter goes back to looking down at his web shooters and idly fiddling with them. He drags a heel against the floor and it leaves a smudge, a clean spot through a layer of oil and dust.

He mumbles something intelligible, and Tony waits, his intense stare burning a hole into Peter's forehead. "When, when I was fighting the Vulture..." Peter's words seem to stick in his throat, tight and tense and coming out kind of garbled, rushed, like he can't stand the taste of them on his tongue. "He, he dropped a, a building fell on me. Because he dropped it. With his wings. So it fell." He coughs. "On me."

It's a mess of a sentences, well, a mess of words, all jumbled up and repetitive, but Tony obviously gets it, because he turns ash white and swears a bit more.

"Have you been having them ever since then?" Tony all but snarls, demanding even as he thinks I don't want to know, wishing he didn't have to know.

"Remember," Matt adds helpfully, "I can tell if you lie."

Peter, stares hard at his shoes, stares at the floor, rubs the toe of one foot against the heel of the other. Then, slowly, almost apologetically, he nods. "I had my first one the night after," he says in a small voice, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck as he uses his toe to trace the arc he made with his heel on the ground. "Ned found out a few days later."

"A few days later?" Tony's voice is sharp and shrill. "How often do you have these?"

Peter bites his lower lip and very pointedly does not look up at Tony.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Tony raises both hands to his head and hisses, "I fucked up."

"It wasn't..."

"I fucked up, Peter. Don't act all stupid and do your whole martyr thing here." Tony snaps, ruffling his hand through his hair as he turns and kicks the nearest inanimate object. "I was the one who took your suit away. Why the fuck did I do that?"

"You didn't know," Peter sounds desperate now, like he needs Tony to believe this, "You wanted to keep me safe."

"But I didn't!" Tony snarls, pulling his hands away from his head. "I didn't, and now you're as messed up as I am! Now you have panic attacks, and now you know what it's like to have a building on you! Tell me I didn't fuck up, I dare you!"

"You didn't fuck up." Peter says, and he sounds like he wants to cry. "You have to believe me, Mr. Stark."

He's crying. Fuck. He's crying, and now Tony's crying too, and it's just a big sappy emotional fest of whatever.

Tony swears a bit, and Matt says quietly, "It's not your fault, Stark. It was the Vulture's."

"Like hell it was." Tony chokes a bit, his forehead creasing ever so slightly as he bows his head and presses his forehead to his knees. "I took the suit away."

"But you gave it back." Peter says quietly.

He reaches out to hold Tony's hand, and Matt smooths a bit of hair from Tony's face. God, he's a mess.

A fucking mess.

"No more secrets," Tony says quietly, burying his face in his hands.

Peter hesitates.

Tony doesn't know if he wants to strangle him or just laugh hysterically.

Peter squeezes his hand. "One day." He promises.

Tony keeps crying. "Okay." He says, and it's not, it's really not, but for now, maybe it is.

They came to sort out Peter's mess, but somehow they ended up working with Tony's. This sucks.

"Okay," Matt says instead of blaming Tony, instead of getting angry.

Tony doesn't think he quite deserves it.

"Okay," Peter sort of giggles, and then holds out his empty cup. "Seconds on tea, anyone?"