A/N: Here is the final part to the "The Mines" mini story arc :) I hope you enjoy this little chapter of IronDad fluff. It's definitely a topic I want to expand more on with IronDad, and I definitely didn't address it enough in this fic (it's nearing 2a.m so I had to wrap it up somewhere) BUT if it's something you'd like to see, just let me know and it may just become its own fic :)

Thank you to everyone who's been leaving comments, favouriting, and following. It's my first proper return to the world of fanfiction and your support and feedback means the world, so thank you! xx

This was the second time in…too soon, that Peter had to make a return to the realm of the 'awake'. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to. There was an intense throbbing behind his eyes that pounded to the percussive beat of Pomp & Circumstance; it was a tune that he had been forced to sit through every year since he was a freshman as they gathered in assembly to wave the upperclassmen goodbye as they left for the real world. He decided that if he survived until his own graduation, he would petition for a drastic change of the ceremony music. 'I Lived' by OneRepublic seemed kind of appropriate.

He couldn't hold back the groan that escaped his lips as the throbbing in his head shifted from the right to the left as he turned his head to the side. He felt smooth satin beneath his cheeks, a pleasant contrast to the rough gravel and dust that greeted him last time.

Sleep tugged at his consciousness, beckoning him away from a world that had so far greeted him with pain and uncertainty. Just his luck though that a pair of fingers began to snap repeatedly in front of his closed eyes.

"No, none of that 'going back to sleep' stuff, kid. Time to get up."

Peter waved his hand in front of his face, trying to shoo away whomever dared invade his personal bubble. "G'way…"

"Ouch…Is that how you thank me for saving your life?"

Peter's eyes finally cracked open, ready to give his speaker the biggest verbal whooping he could muster – which Peter faced it, he wasn't going to sound particularly convincing either way. It was then that his mind finally caught up with what his eyes were seeing; Tony was sitting on the occasional chair to the right of the bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands locked together. His knuckles were white, and that tension bled into the expression on his face. Dark circles that looked like bruises shaded the underneath of his eyes, frown lines gently creasing his forehead.

Now that he had a moment to register the rest of his surroundings, he noted with relief that he wasn't laying in a hospital bed, and there was no accompanying beep of the monitors that usually accompanied infirmary-esque surroundings. In the end, it was Peter's view of the half-open sliding closet door that told him his answer; he was in his personal bedroom at the Avengers facility. A T-shirt Ned bought him for his last birthday that he'd been looking for for weeks hung at the front. It was the one with a pun that first made him cringe, but eventually grew on him until it inexplicably and unironically became one of his favourites. It had a large picture of a Spiderman mask, surrounded by text that said: "What does Spiderman do for a living? He's a web designer!"

Thinking of Ned, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something…

Tony saw the second Peter's eyes widened in panic, and he quickly leaped off the chair to press Peter back down onto the bed as he tried weakly to get up. The pain in Peter's right ankle that had gone unnoticed until that moment flared up, eliciting a small cry that was a mixture of pain and surprise.

"W-where's Ned, is he okay? He was with me in the – in the mine and he wasn't waking up and -" Peter's chest rose and fell rapidly, panic flooding his senses, the weight of Tony's hand on his shoulder doing nothing to ground him, only making him feel claustrophobic as the memories of being stuck under rubble bubbled to the surface.

Tony immediately retracted his hand from Peter's shoulder. He knew when Peter needed to be left to himself. As much as he wished he could hug the kid's troubles away, the aftermath of Vulture left Peter with psychological scars. No amount of comfort, exciting new tech projects or keeping busy would undo what had happened, and it was something that Peter needed to confront on his own time and in his own way. Of course, Tony would be there. He would always be there.

"Ned's okay, just a moderate concussion, some bruises and understandably a little freaked out." Peter visibly relaxed at the update, glad to at least hear that his best friend wasn't lying in a hospital bed somewhere, fighting for life. "You know, you're lucky you're the same type of super-freak like Rogers."

"What do you mean? Isn't he like," Peter imitated a needle going into his arm and finished with a 'fshhhhh' as the imaginary needle plunger was suppressed.

"No, no, I mean he's an entirely -" Tony stopped himself, dragging his hand across his face, not quite sure how to go on without trailing Cap in the mud. He didn't particularly want to open that can of worms. Contrary to public opinion, he was trying to play nice. "Look, I'm tired, and that's not what I meant," he sighed. "I just mean you got very lucky, kid. Being strong and being able to heal like that is what saved your ass."

"I'm pretty sure you saved my ass." Peter's breathing had slowed down, and he had sunk back into the mattress, eyes no longer looking like he was a deer stuck in the headlights. Tony mentally sighed with relief - crisis averted.

"First of all, I know, I was just being polite. Secondly hey, watch your language. I'm the adult, I get to use those words." He raised a mocking eyebrow in response to Peter's expression of light-hearted indignation. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not the one who makes the rules. I don't want your aunt coming after me after you go home sounding like 'The Dude' Lebowski."

They both entered an unspoken staring contest that was soon lost by both parties as Peter couldn't refrain from sniggering after no more than five seconds, and Tony broke into a smile not long after.

Peter's expression turned serious once more. "Wait, how long have I been here? Does May know? Crap, I should text her, she probably thinks I'm dead, she's going to freak."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y took care of that when you got here," Tony looked down to check his watch, "nine hours ago."

A pregnant silence fell on the room. Peter's eyes were cast down, staring studiously at the various scrapes and cuts along his arms; his souvenirs from Sterling Hill. Tony could see the gears turning in Peter's head, and he wasn't surprised in the least when Peter posed him a question.

"I know I can't scar because of...y'know," he swallowed, fingers clenching and unclenching the sheets as he refused to look at Tony. His voice was small when he asked, "But what do you do about the scars you can't see?"

Tony paused for a moment before responding. He'd known this question was coming for some time, yet he didn't really have a response. "I still have nightmares about New York."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Point is, at the end of the day, I try not to let things I can't control get to me. You did all you could, kid, don't kick yourself for it."

Tony wanted to say more than his little anecdote but couldn't quite find the words. Years of 'tough love' at the hands of his father didn't exactly give him an ideal arsenal to deal with the sensitive nature of the topic, and the last thing he wanted to do was give Peter the same 'Stark men are made of iron" 'golden' advice he got from Howard as a boy. He felt like an elephant in a porcelain shop, and he was afraid that one day Peter would break.

As Tony rummaged through the manila folders in his brain for the right thing to say, Peter yawned. "Thanks Mr Stark," his body and mind still in recovery mode after the previous day's events.

"Get some rest, Spiderman. We'll talk about it tomorrow." He ruffled Peter's hair and turned to leave, the kid already snoring quietly seconds after his head hit the pillow.

Tony returned to his lab; he had some important unfinished business to take care of. Hours later, he had fallen asleep, head resting on his arms over his glass-top desk. The monitor above him glowed faintly in the darkness, thirteen separate tabs open ranging from 'Supporting Your Teen's Mental Health', to the one that was currently displayed: 'How to Be a Good Father'.

A/N: Ah Tony, paranoid about wanting to be the perfect father figure to Peter and not wanting to repeat his own father's mistakes. Either way, the (alluded to) topic of this concluding piece is something I want to maybe dedicate a longer fic to. I didn't really feel as if I could give it the attention and in-depth discussion that I wanted to. Unfortunately, juggling university, life, and writing these daily as they come because of the nature of the challenge (and I'm super scared of falling behind with the prompts) means that a lot of these aren't as fleshed out as I'd like them to be, and I'd love to give some of these some more love once the challenge is over at the end of the month. ANYWAYS, long rant aside, hope you enjoyed the small concluding piece to 'The Mines', and thank you for your continued support :) xx