Just Take a Breath - Chapter 10

The room was mostly quiet. Thankfully. There were only two settings Tony liked to work with. Music blasting or dead silence. He was bent over one of his workbench drawers and rummaged around the content. He was looking for a particular set of tiny screwdrivers to dismantle Dum-E's control unit, since the idiot had managed to spill water all over himself, when he tried to refill the tank of the coffee maker. Something had shorted and Tony had narrowed the faulty wire down to a particular control unit that he probably hadn't touched since college.

"I know they're here somewhere..." He closed his eyes and tried to picture where he had seen those damn screwdrivers last. Had definitely used them when he had added those cooling pads to-

"Sir-"

"Shoosh, not now!" His face was resting in his hands and he felt like he was almost there, almost had the image called up in his mind of where he'd seen them last. If not that drawer, they must be-

"Sir, the little master is restless."

Tony stood straight at once, his eyes darted to the monitor he had installed at the end of his workbench. And on the fridge. And also next to the workshop door. A quick blue pulsing light meant his son was restless in his bed. A quick glance at his watch told him it was 2:17 am. As he looked back up towards the monitor it turned orange. Distress.

"Thanks, JARVIS." He grabbed a towel from the workbench in front of him to roughly wipe off the worst of the dirt from his hands and hurried towards the door. He patted Dum-E in passing and mumbled a low "Sorry, buddy. I'll be back in a bit." and as he reached the stairs he took two at a time to get up from the basement to the second floor. In front of the door, he paused, took a couple of deep breaths to calm down his pulse and put an ear to the door, listened to what was happening inside.

There was some rustling and a soft whimper. This was no good. He'd need to work on a better monitoring system.

Slowly and quietly he pushed down the handle of the door. His son's room was dark, the curtains drawn close. Only a little moonlight was shining in through a gap between the window edge and the curtain, but it was enough for Tony to guide himself to the bed. As he kneeled down at the head of the bed, the boy's eyes were still closed but he was tossing about, murmuring and breathing heavily, hands shot up to cover his face.

Tony lightly placed a hand on his son's chest, his voice low and warm.

"It's alright, baby. You're alright."

He was still restless and as Tony's hand on his chest kept him from throwing himself from one side to the other, he was now tossing his head from side to side. Quickly Tony's other hand came up to first cup his face, then ran through his soft brown hair.

"Wake up, Addy. I'm right here. Come on, darling."

His thumb was caressing the boy's temple and Tony kept speaking to him, his voice still low, when Aiden's eyes flew open. He tried to focus on the ceiling above him then frantically moved his eyes around the room.

"It's alright, Addy. I'm here. I'm here."

At that, the boy looked right at him, still not really seeing him. His short high-pitched scream made Tony freeze just for a moment. The boy jerked away from him and started crying in earnest and while Tony's heart jumped at the desperate sound he wouldn't let it phase him. This wasn't the first time he was by his son's bedside in the middle of the night. Not the first time he had woken from a nightmare. According to the pediatrician, this was a normal way for toddlers to process all the new impressions the world made on them every day. They were quite frequent in 2 to 5 year-olds and Aiden being just a couple months shy of two years old might have been a bit ahead of the curve, but then so had Tony been. First circuit board at 4, first engine at 6. A Stark being ahead of the curve was the norm after all.

Or so he was determined to tell himself.

Just a nightmare. Nothing to freak out about.

Deep breaths to keep his heart rate even, to radiate calmness. His hand was resting on his son's chest and he continuously spoke to Aiden, softly whispered reassurances. It took another minute for the boy to come out of his panic and actually recognize Tony. Still crying, his little hands grabbed for his dad's arms and Tony lifted his son towards himself, held him close to his chest.

"It's alright, baby. You're alright." He hugged the boy in his arms as one of his hands rubbed slow circles onto his back.

Aiden's hands were tightly twisted into Tony's shirt, his face pressed against his father's chest. Tony concentrated on his boy's breathing, his own heartbeat in check. His chest was rising and falling and his son mimicked his rhythm and gradually recovered from the nightly scare. As his breathing grew less erratic and his tears ebbed off, Tony closed his eyes. Almost there. His technique still worked.

"There you go." His hand combed through the boy's locks and he craned his neck to see his son's face. The boy had his eyes closed. Maybe he could just get him to fall asleep again. Slowly he lifted him up, laid him back down onto the bed, but Aiden stiffened in his arms and clung even closer to him.

"No... Daddy... No..." The boy's voice only a whisper and still husky from crying.

He hugged his son close to his chest and stood up just enough to maneuver himself onto the bed, Aiden still securely in his arms. The boy's face remained nuzzled into his shirt.

"It's alright, darling. I'm here."

He ran his hand through his son's hair, coaxing him back to sleep.

"I'll be here."

Initially, the shock of the situation, as well as the adrenaline rushing through his body, had kept the worst of the pain at bay. Peter had been stranded on a rooftop, bleeding heavily and almost ready to embrace the pain that was paralyzing him. He'd pass out any moment. It was just too much, his consciousness was fading fast. His head fell back and then he saw the lights. His eyes had focused on Stark Tower that rose up only about a block away from him. The sight had filled him with purpose and sheer refusal to bleed out from such a dumb mistake had given him the strength to get up. To get help. To seek out someone, he could possibly trust. Who would understand. When he had reached the penthouse, knew that help was on the way, the level of adrenaline in his blood that had lent him strength quickly fell. Pain was now filling him up in its place. He had never felt pain like that before.

When his mask was lifted off his face, when he pleaded his case to Tony Stark, that pain was put out of his mind again with adrenaline charging through him once more. He still felt tense. He had sought out Iron Man in the hope of help. But really, what did he even know about the guy? What if he'd sell him out after all? But the truth was that Peter didn't have anywhere else to go. This was his best shot. Stark had helped him to lie back down on the table and was now treating the cuts on his face. Peter had his head turned to the side. That way Stark had better access to the left side of his face. His racing pulse made it hard for him to focus on what Stark was doing. Not that it mattered much. He just had to stay still, had to hold his emotions at bay. That was what he concentrated on. His eyes were cast down, unfocused. Neither of them had said much for the last few minutes, ever since Peter had settled back onto the table. The odd instruction on how and when to turn his face. But it was only a matter of time till Stark would put the pressure on him, Peter knew that much.

There was a particularly deep cut on his cheek and he really had no idea how he would even begin to explain that to May. But that was something he could figure out later. Right now he needed to find a way how he would get back home. If she found out that he was moonlighting as Spider-Man… no. Absolutely not, was not going to happen. No.

He'd known that taking the mask off in front of Stark was a risk and at the same time it was his only option. Stark was the only safe-ish haven his condition had allowed him to reach and with the man's reckless and authority-defying reputation Peter really had hoped for a little more leniency and understanding from him. But the initial reaction Stark had shown - initial freak-out might be more on point - made Peter less certain that he'd get out of this with his secret identity intact.

"How's the pain?"

Peter jerked slightly and immediately felt stupid. Stark had been right there all this time. He really had to get a grip. "It's... it's alright."

"Oh yeah? So, it's just the pleasure of my company that has you clinging to the edge of the table and trembling like a leaf?"

His eyes stung with tears again. Pain, frustration, embarrassment. He bit his lip and rapidly blinked his lashes to keep them from falling.

"You need to stop lying to me, kid. I can't help you if you keep lying. Look at me!"

His eyes darted up to meet Stark's. He did feel truly helpless and pathetic.

"Don't expect any help coming from me if you keep lying. Final warning."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then let me ask again: How's the pain?" Stark raised his eyebrows at him expectantly.

Peter swallowed hard, which in turn send a shiver through his body that caused another wave of pain to shoot through him. "Pretty much... the same."

Stark frowned and checked his watch. "It's been 20 minutes, maybe if we give it-"

"It's... unlikely to... to change... with the pills. I think... I think they aren't... strong enough for my meta... for my metabolism." Peter offered as an explanation.

Stark's eyes narrowed on him. "Because you're a child and children have a faster metabolism than adults?"

Peter closed his eyes in frustration before he slowly shook his head.

"How old are you?"

He looked back up at Stark and willed his face to be serious and strong. "I'm 15."

Stark stared at him, his lips a thin line. "What did I just say about your aversion to the truth and how you really, really need to overcome it?!"

Peter clenched both his hand into fists. "I'm 15!"

"Yeah... you look like your Hogwarts letter is still in the mail!"

His fist banged down on the table and frustration made his tears overflow at last. "I'm not lying!"

"Fine." Stark's eyes were still fixed on him. "Let's pretend for now that's true. What happened?"

Peter cast his eyes back down to the floor, rubbing his hand across his face. He'd been stupid and didn't pay enough attention to where he was going is what happened.

"I had the Falcon on my tail and after shaking him off-"

"After gluing him to the side of a building, you mean?" Peter's eyes shot back up but Stark's expression hadn't changed. "I'm not talking about tonight. You say you have an increased metabolism. You're fast. You're strong. The super-human kind. That weird web stuff you're shooting around. You've been active for a few months at best. Maybe I'm reading you wrong and these ... powers are something you actively sought out, but you don't seem like the mad professor type, experimenting on yourself. So, something happened to you. Probably quite recently."

Peter bit his lip, hesitating for a moment. Here it was. Stark wanted some answers and Peter had not yet decided how much he was willing to disclose.

"Flashy internship. Something bit me. I got sick. Then, I got better."

"What bit you?"

That made him laugh. To his own surprise, a short dry chuckle and regret along with a sharp wave of pain shot through him.

"Three guesses..."

"Did you actually see the thing or are you jumping to the obvious conclusion?"

Peter shrugged. "Saw it. Shook it off. Smashed it... with my notes." He was breathing heavily through the pain, his head had fallen back onto the table, eyes trying to find a point at the ceiling to stare at. Maybe the exhaustion in combination with the pain would just make him pass out after all. That was one way to keep some of his secrets.

"Any more where that one came from?"

"Don't know."

"Alright." Stark's gaze wandered back to his wound. "Alright. Well, I guess there's no reason for you to lie about the pills being useless with you." He shrugged. "Any medical equipment and drugs I have access to are at the Compound along with some rather pissed off Avengers."

Peter's pulse was hammering in his ears, his hold on the table stiffened again when he looked up to find that Stark was studying his face.

"They also have these kinds of things at the hospital."

"No... please, Mr. Stark..."

The man sighed. "What about your family? Do they know about your after-school activities?"

Peter managed to suppress another dry laugh to spare himself another wave of pain courtesy of his abdomen.

"No one knows."

Stark sighed again. "I'm not sure how you expect this to go. Let's say I stitch you up while you wiggle around from the pain of doing this without any anesthesia. Do you know how long a wound like that takes to heal? You'll have to monitor it, redress it, keep infection out."

"I heal fast."

"Oh yeah? I don't see your wound stitching itself up. This isn't just a scratch that will fade over night."

"I'll manage."

"You can't even keep yourself up on your own two feet! You think your parents won't notice?"

"I'll... I'll... think of something!"

"Of some more lies. Of course, you will. Why am I not surprised."

Peter grit his teeth. "I'm not... I don't lie to... I just..."

"Omit the truth. Sure. Trying semantics on me is not going to work."

"It's... I have to keep this to myself, okay?! She'd freak out if she knew and I can't..." Peter bit his tongue. He needed to shut the hell up. He already said too much.

"Your mother?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

"You're not great at that lying thing. Not even remotely as good as you seem to think you are."

Peter looked up at him. He felt his face heat up and tried his best to shake the embarrassment writing all over his face. He hadn't been lying though. May might not be his mother, not biologically, but she was the closest thing he had. The only mother he could remember.

"Do those 'parents'" Stark's hands air-quoting the word "of your's just not give a shit about you to notice all your 'truth omitting' or are you better at this without all the blood loss. What are we dealing with here, deadbeat parents or half-dead Spider?"

Not deadbeat, only dead... Peter kept his eyes up on the ceiling, stared straight ahead, his teeth pressed together. Stark's tactic was more than obvious. He was fishing for information and Peter was not going to give him the satisfaction. That trick would not get a rise out of him.

"Gotta say, that mask was a great idea. That face of yours is like glass. You really think I can't see you trying to come up with some more lies?"

Peter closed his eyes in frustration. Anger and despair pulsed through him stronger and stronger and he tried to push the feelings down.

"I shouldn't have... come here. I'll just... I'll just go."

He heard Stark snort. "Oh, yeah? Where exactly is it that you'll go and why didn't you go there before you came up here bleeding all over my penthouse?"

Peter's hands shot up and covered his face. How could he have been so careless? How had he screwed up this bad? He was in so much trouble. If May found out… What was he going to do? Hopelessness and fear slowly but surely leaked into every cell of his body. He couldn't fall apart, not in front of Tony Stark. He tried to cling to the little dignity he had left but he was fighting a losing battle. Peter could feel his heart rate quicken, his breathing shallow and fast, but still it seemed not fast enough. He wasn't getting enough air. His body started to shiver uncontrollably while his mind lost the battle against his anxiety and was swept up with an all-consuming sense of hopelessness.

Peter's hands had wandered from his face down to his neck and chest as he was tried to breathe. Panic triggered by the lack of oxygen was rising inside him. He jerked in surprise when he felt a hand settle on his arm. It was Stark who had stepped closer to the table. Peter's eyes shot over to him and he could tell that the man's lips were moving but his brain just wouldn't process whatever it was he said. All he could focus on was that pressure on his chest, a weight that seemed to crush his lungs, made it impossible to draw a breath. Then Stark yanked one of Peter's hand off his throat. He placed it squarely on his own chest right above his heart. Peter winced. He seemed to have lost control over his own limbs. His eyes were locked on his own hand that was pressed against Stark's chest. At first, his glance was simply transfixed by the visual of the slow rise and fall of the man's chest but gradually his other senses came back to him. He could feel the hold Stark had of his arm, the body heat radiating from his chest.

"Alright, kid. Take it easy now."

His eyes wandered upwards from his hand to Stark's face, stopped at his lips. He tried to grasp what Stark was saying.

"Just breath. You're alright."

Peter was panting, his lungs burned. "I... I can't... I can't..."

"Yes, you can. You just have to get out of your own head and focus."

Peter's glance shifted from Stark back to his own chest. The way his second hand was clawing on the damaged fabric of the suit seemed to be controlled by a foreign power and surely not by himself. He had no control over the rapid rise and fall of his chest either.

"Hey, Spiderling. Look at me!"

Stark jerked on the arm he was still holding and Peter pried his eyes away from his body to look up at the man standing next to him.

"It's alright. You're having an anxiety attack. You're safe here. You'll be fine."

Was he though? He had no control over what was going to happen with him. He was on his own. He-

"Hey!"

Peter's eyes shot back to Stark's face. He hadn't even realized that his glance had wandered up to the ceiling.

"I'm telling you, you will be alright. We'll figure this out."

Stark studied his face for a reaction.

"You can feel my pulse, right?"

Peter's gaze dropped down to his hand again. Stark was still holding it firmly pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady and once Peter had felt it, his ears picked up the beat as well.

"Yes." Peter nodded, not sure if his body actually did as he told it.

"Alright. That's good. Just focus on that one thing."

He could feel his own body mimicking the rhythm little by little. The hand on his chest unclench from the fabric of his suit little by little.

"There you go."

As Peter's breathing evened out, he could feel the wetness on his face. Stark's hold of his arm had lifted considerably and with some hesitation, Peter pulled his hand back from the man's grip and tried to wipe the tears off his face.

Stark crossed his arms, studied him in silence while Peter tried to collect himself. He had had some nightmare's that he struggled with after Ben died, that would wake him and leave him panting and sweating in the middle of the night. But nothing like this. Never something as intense as what he just experienced.

"Thank you."

Peter's voice still shook and the words almost inaudible. He was mortified how he had just completely lost it. In front of Stark of all people.

"I don't know..." His voice shook. "I'm... I'm sorry... I don't-"

"Okay, let's not do that." Stark uncrossed his arms and held out his hands in a calming gesture. "We don't want you to spiral down again, alright? It's fine."

"I'm sorry-" Peter stopped and looked up at Stark who'd reached out to take hold of his arm again.

"Listen to me, kid." Stark face unblinking but not unkind. "You're not the first to have an anxiety attack in here, alright."

Peter swallowed hard, his voice hoarse and small.

"I don't know what to do."

Stark patted his shoulder lightly.

"I'll get that suture kit and we'll stitch you back together. And then we'll take it from there."

Peter sniffed and cast his eyes down to his chest.

"Hey, kid!"

He looked back up at Stark.

"We'll figure it out, Spiderling."

Stark had turned, about to walk away.

"Peter."

The man stopped and turned enough to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"Excuse me?"

He cleared his throat.

"My name... is Peter. You never... you never asked."

Stark shrugged. "I figured you'd just lie."

Peter could feel his face heat up, but Stark just chuckled and turned away again to go and grab the suture kit.