A/N: I decided to do a bit of a different take on the prompt fill than what most people might expect. I kept it a bit more lighthearted and just Tony giving some good ol' fashioned advice. I didn't have time to read it over, so apologies for any small errors scattered around. I hope you enjoy! x

"Something's eating you. What's up?"

Tony sat on the dark leather lounge chair across from Peter, who was sitting at the almost exact centre of the couch. Tony was leaned forward, his hands locked, arms braced on his knees. Tony was starting to feel a stress headache - or an eye strain headache, not that it mattered - emerging so he felt a break was in order. And here he was.

Peter almost felt like he was at a psychologist appointment. He half expected Tony to bring out a notebook and pen and begin asking him about his childhood, and what traumas he'd experienced up until that point.

"Nothing, don't worry about it…" Peter continued typing on his laptop, the soft sounds of clacking keys filling the silence.

Tony had been busy. Really busy. In the leadup to Peter's visit to the compound that week, Tony had laid down some ground rules. The first was imbuing Peter with the knowledge that although he was welcome to be in the labs alongside Tony, he did not want to hear a peep out of the kid. The second was that Tony would be in charge of the music; his lab, his rules.

The first rule rarely ever lasted more than half an hour, however. So it was with great surprise and eventual concern when Tony realised Peter hadn't said a single word since he set himself up on the lounge almost four hours prior. Tony saw it as akin to a bird not flying, or a fish without gills - simply unnatural.

"You're worrying about it, so I'm worrying about it. And I don't want to have to worry about it. Let's have a little father-son moment here, c'mon." Tony tilted his head slightly to the side, brow furrowed.

Flipping his laptop lid closed with a faint smack, Peter pushed it off of his lap and onto the cushion beside him, watching warily for a moment as it bounced a little bit before sitting still.

"Well…" Peter sighed, stalling for a second while he searched for the right words. "I've been really busy with the Friendly Neighbourhood Spider stuff, right?"

"Sure."

"Which means I haven't really had a lot of time for anything other than homework and helping Aunt May with some of her stuff."

"So…?" Tony prompted.

"So I've kind of been ignoring Ned because I'm really tired and really busy and when I come home I just want those few minutes to myself, y'know?"

"Don't you guys talk at school, pass notes in class or whatever it is kids do now?"

"This quarter we don't really have as many classes together, and the ones we do have I've maybe been just a little bit on Mars…" Peter winced, feeling like he was just pouring out empty excuses. "So anyways, he hasn't really been talking to me for the last few weeks." He paused, trying to dislodge the lump that had appeared in his throat. "I just really miss him."

Tony was silent for a moment, and Peter was afraid that a wave of judgment and the tough love treatment were about to come flooding his way. The question that Tony followed up with was anything other than what Peter was expecting.

"Have you given yourself a break? And I don't mean staring at the ceiling in your room listening to angsty music and brooding. I mean just let yourself be a kid?"

Peter thought hard, biting the inside of his cheek. Well, really the answer was a resounding, "no."

"I don't want you at the compound next week." Tony raised a finger in a shush gesture, successfully having anticipated Peter's jump to protest. "I want you - when you go home tomorrow - to call Ned and do something over the weekend together. Build the biggest Lego set or something."

"Mr Stark, the Lego set Ned and I have been after is basically like, hundreds of dollars, and it's huge."

"You're getting hung up on the wrong thing here, kid. Don't worry about the Lego. The point is, just let yourself have one weekend being a high school teenager. Queens isn't going to fall to pieces if you take a day off."

"I mean it might." Peter smirked. Before long, his smile faded once more.

"Look, if Rhodey can forgive me for some of the stuff I've done - the less you know the better - I'm sure Ned can forgive you for going AWOL for a few weeks. And hey, I've never met him, but on the odd occasion I have listened to - the frankly absurdly high volume - of voice messages you leave on my phone, that doesn't really seem like Ned."

"Yeah...I dunno, I think he's going through some stuff of his own."

"Call him tomorrow." Tony stood up and stretched, and Peter swore he could hear some joints popping. "And if he doesn't pick up, just leave him a few hundred messages. You're really good at that."

"Thanks Mr Stark."

"No problem, kid."

It had taken - surprisingly - only six call attempts for Ned to pick up, most of them missed due to Peter calling during family dinner time. After a brief and somewhat awkward exchange, they had agreed that that Saturday night - Peter's usual night at the Avengers compound - would become a games night.

The second they set foot in Peter's room, he could feel something was off. It was almost pitch black except for the faint light oozing in through his window from the streets below. Outlined against the warm glow, was a rectangular box, and Peter could vaguely see a piece of paper tacked to the side.

They both stepped closer simultaneously, and Peter almost had the fright of his life when Ned exclaimed "Oh my god, no way! How'd you even get this? They don't even sell these anymore, man, they're basically vintage and crazy amounts of money!"

The box in question was the Ultimate Collector's Millennium Falcon set, which held such a cult status and was so incredibly hard to find that Peter wondered how he was even seeing one right there on his bed.

Peter grasped the corner of the piece of paper that was lightly taped to the box, pulled gently, and read the message in slanted block letters.

I think you were looking for this.

-TS

Peter had to wonder if Tony was secretly a mind reader.