A/N: Hi! This one-shot was inspired by my Endgame anxiety and my need for Tony to survive so he can be Morgan and Peter's dad. Only 23 more days until our hearts are ripped out of our chests!

Tony was awake when his phone vibrated, and Peter's face flashed across the screen.

It was 2:38 AM.

But that was normal. Not for Peter to call in the dead of night, but for Tony to be awake. He didn't sleep much anymore. It wasn't like before, when insomnia and anxiety stole his rest. He left those issues behind in space when him and Cap laid waste to Thanos and returned to Earth, along with everyone else who'd been dusted, along with Peter.

He looked down at the baby cradled in his arms. His baby. She was the most perfect and beautiful interruption to his sleep. Before sleepless nights were spent in a frenzy of tinkering and inventing and anxiety, now his sleepless nights were peaceful.

He rocked his daughter back and forth, until she was so deeply asleep, he could wander back to bed with Pepper. Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he couldn't bear to put her down in her crib and walk out of her bedroom, leaving her all alone.

Tony knew how easily perfect and beautiful were destroyed by the world. He wasn't going to let that happen with his kids.

And so, when his phone went off at 2:38 AM, and he was sitting with his daughter in her bedroom, he carefully maneuvered a way to hold her with one arm and answer his cellphone with the other.

"Hey Mr. Sstark," said Peter. His voice sounded funny, groggy, but Tony blamed the time. Maybe he'd just woken up. "Do you 'member that time you told me I call you for help? No questions asked?"

"Peter I've never once told you that."

"Oh, maybe that was Ben."

Tony frowned. "Never mind. It still applies. What kind of help do you need?"

There was hesitation on the other end, some static noises that gave Tony the impression the phone was being shuffled to his other ear.

"Umm, I'm on a building," said Peter. "I don't – I don't really know if I can get down… the world is sp - spinning up here, Mr. Sstark."

"Peter are you drunk?"

"I think so."

"Stay where you are," said Tony. "I'm tracking your phone."

Tony punched the end call button with his thumb, placed the phone on the table and looked back down at his angel. He pressed a kiss to the top of her forehead, and for a split, fleeing second, considered waking Pepper up and handing her off to her mother instead of putting her back in the crib. He decided against it. Pepper needed her sleep, too.

He put her down in the crib, carefully, and stay and watched just long enough to assure she would stay asleep. She did, and only seconds later, Tony was out the door and into the night, ready to find his son and bring him home.

Tony found him on a rooftop in Brooklyn. Without his Iron Man suits, he'd left those behind in space as well, he had to physically climb up a fire escape to reach him. After he climbed the last step, and emerged on the top of the apartment building, he saw Peter, sitting at the ledge on the opposite side of the roof.

He was dressed as Spider-Man, but the mask lay forgotten as well as a series of empty beer cans, and to Tony's horror, a half empty bottle of rum.

Tony walked across the rooftop, making his steps heavy and loud, even though he was sure Peter already knew he was there. The very last thing Tony wanted or needed was for drunk Spidey to fall off a roof because he was jump scared.

"Ok Jack Sparrow," said Tony. He reached down and grabbed Peter under his arm. "Let's get you home."

Peter didn't fight him. Just went slack in Tony's arms, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He wobbled, a bit, but together, with Tony support, they make it back to the center of the rooftop, where the mask and the empty cans laid. A few feet over Tony spotted Peter's bag.

"Stay," said Tony.

He let go of Peter and was relieved to see that he could at least stand on his own. He grabbed his bookbag from the ground, then rummaged through it until he found Peter's clothes, pulling out his t-shirt and jeans. His wallet fell out of the jeans pocket and landed on Tony's shoe, opened to his ID.

It was wrong. Peter's birthdate was wrong. The numbers implied he was twenty-two. Tony looked at his kid, who was swaying back and forth as he tried to kick at some empty beer cans. Tony pocked the wallet while he was preoccupied.

Tony might not have been allowed to ask questions, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let him keep the fake ID.

He helped Peter out of the Spidey suit and into his normal clothes, shouldered his bookbag and guided him to the staircase. It was a long, tricky climb down. Tony did most of the work, his arm stretched across Peter's back as they took it one stair at a time. The situation didn't improve once they made it to the ground and Tony, once physically putting Peter in the car, had to buckle him in.

"If you throw up in my car," said Tony. "Your hungover ass is cleaning it out in the morning."

Peter only blinked back at him. Tony's words were useless. It was clear by Peter's vacant expression he wouldn't remember them in the morning.

And he didn't. Throw up. At least not in the car. He waited until they were back at the penthouse. Tony was trying to put him in his bed when his eyes got wide, when he broke free from Tony's grip and stumbled across the bedroom floor, barreling himself into his bathroom and falling on his knees in front of the toilet.

He threw up a lot, while Tony sat next to him and rubbed his back. Once he was empty, Tony gave him a bottle of water and guided him back to his bed. He lifted up the covers, pushed him inside and tucked him up.

Peter stared up at him and Tony decided he didn't like him when he was drunk. He was quiet. Too quiet. Normally Peter talked so much and so fast it was easy to know what was going on his head. Tony didn't like not knowing. Especially when he suspected something was seriously wrong.

It wasn't like him to have fake IDs and be wasted on the top of buildings.

With a tired, worried sigh, Tony sat on the side of Peter's bed and ran a hand through his hair, squeezed his shoulder.

"Thanks for calling me tonight," he told Peter. He didn't know where the wisdom to say those specific words came from, but they were the right words to say. Peter finally spoke.

"Mr. Stark… am I disappearing… again?"

"No," said Tony. He put more pressure on his shoulder. "You're right here. You're staying right here."

"I feel like I'm ten seconds away from disintegrating… all the time," said Peter. "I – Sometimes, I can't get it out of my head."

Tony tried to keep the horror off his face. He left his problems up in space, but Peter's problem was space. That deserted planet. What happened there. Thanos. Tony remembered what it was like to have nightmares about the wormhole. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have them about his body breaking up into a million tiny pieces.

"Alcohol won't help."

"It does in the moment."

Maybe Tony was wrong. Maybe he liked Peter better when he quiet. That was the last sentence Tony wanted to hear his kid utter. It sounded too familiar. Too much like himself, but at least it was honest. Tony could work with that or hoped that he could. When Peter was sobered up, maybe, when he could comprehend more and actually remember their conversation.

Tony doubted he would remember any of this.

"Go to sleep," said Tony. He moved his hand from his shoulder, ran it through his hair one more time, then bent over and kissed his forehand. "We'll talk about it the morning."

It was a promise and order wrapped up into one single statement. Tony wouldn't ask questions. He wasn't allowed. It'd break the code, but the code couldn't stop him from pushing Peter into therapy. Tony wouldn't let Peter deal with his issues the way he himself tried to in the past. He'd help him work past it, the way Pepper and Rhodey helped him.

On his way back to his bedroom, he stopped by Morgan's room. Tony needed to be sure she was still breathing. He watched her sleep and vowed to be the kind of father Ben must have been to Peter, the kind of father who told their kids they could call him if they were in trouble and there would be no questions, no nagging, no yelling. Just help.

He hoped that whenever he told Morgan this, she would believe him, and that Peter would continue to believe him.

Eventually, he crawled back into his own bed next to Pepper. The alarm would ring in three hours, and he'd have to survive another day with little sleep, thanks to his kids. He didn't mind. As long as they were breathing.