Freefalling

It wasn't a big deal.

This is what Peter told himself over and over as he swung through the city in the dark, closing his eyes and feeling the wind whistle through his hair, grinning from ear to ear as he fell, his stomach flipping a little with every up and down. It wasn't a big deal. It was fun. It was harmless. It killed time. It made him something like happy. Karen never said anything about it and May was working more and more to cover the rent on their new apartment and Ned looked at him differently now. Like Spider-Man. Like a superhero. And Mr. Stark…

It wasn't a big deal.

He tried to find higher buildings, scouring the city for them, climbing silently to the very, very top, heart racing until he reached the pinnacle. And then he jumped.

At first, he'd shoot a web about halfway down, using the momentum to fling himself high into the air. But as the days and weeks and months wore on and life continued and he stuck close to the ground like he'd said he'd wanted to and heard nothing from, well, anyone, he let himself fall a little further. And, he found, the closer he got to the ground, the faster his heart beat. The more he smiled. The more laughs bubbled out of him on his way down, adrenaline pumping through his body.

May worked. Mr. Stark ran his company and the remaining Avengers and worked with the government. Ned asked him questions about patrols, eyes lighting up in excitement then dimming when Peter gave him the same old answers, and something in Peter always dimmed a little too.

He jumped. He fell. It was no big deal.

He'd climbed this building a dozen times. A hundred. A thousand. There were videos on YouTube and Twitter of Spider-Man leaping and freefalling. Scoldings from one newspaper and blog for getting footprints on the glass. Comments that Spider-Man was amazing, Spider-Man was a menace, Spider-Man was the greatest thing to happen to Queens. So he climbed it again in the darkness. It was more fun in the dark, when he was supposed to be asleep and May was at work so she wouldn't know and he couldn't quite distinguish air from ground in the shadows and darkness and lights thrown from street lamps.

He climbed. He fell. It was no big deal.

He hit the pavement.

One hand coming down on instinct when his senses screamed out a warning, something snapping, jarring. A web shot without thought, yanking him out of the road, swinging him around the corner, eyes huge and mouth gasping as his whole arm seemed to go numb, then explode into pain.

Peter leaned against the wall, mouth open, a whimper escaping as he held his arm close to his chest. "Oh god…" he choked out, cradling the arm like a fragile, broken thing. Broken. It was broken. Mind blank, he stared at his wrist, turned at an angle that didn't look right, and felt his shoulder throb in an agonizing rhythm with his heart.

"Peter, my readings indicate you have broken your wrist and dislocated your shoulder. I am required by my programming to..."

He ignored her, shaking his head back and forth as the rest of him shook uncontrollably. "No," he whispered, then yanked off the mask, pressing a hand to his chest and letting the suit deflate gently around him. No need to call Happy. He was fine. It was...it was fine.

Glad he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt under the suit, a lesson learned from the ferry, he balled the suit up under his arms, looking wildly around the alley, then the alley on the next street, until he found a plastic bag crumpled on the ground to shove the suit into.

And then he started walking. No one gave him a second glance as he hurried to Ned's building, eyes wide and breath coming too quick and he didn't know why he was going to his friend's place but he knew that Ned would be home and, knowing in his daze that climbing was out, he stepped into the elevator and tried to keep his face to the floor, struggling to contain the tears that wanted to fall.

It was fine. It wasn't that bad. Ned could help.

Ned was his guy in the chair.

Ned's mom answered the door, took one look at him, and ushered him in. "Peter? Honey, are you okay?"

"Forgot a project," Peter choked out, staring at their carpet. "It's...due."

"Honey...it's Friday night."

"I know. Just...I needed Ned's help."

"Okay." His mom nodded, eying the plastic bag in Peter's hand and the way he held his arm. "Okay. You let me know if you need any anything, alright? Do you want anything to eat?"

Peter shook his head, choking out a 'no thank you' and trying not to throw up at the thought of food.

Ned was in his room, sitting at his desk and scrolling through his phone, and when Peter stepped into his room, the other boy's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Peter? What…"

"Ned...Ned…". Peter choked out his friend's name, closing his eyes and wishing it was a few months ago right at the start when he hadn't felt like this and Ned hadn't known and hadn't expected him to be a superhero.

"What happened?" Ned hissed, jumping up and hurrying over, not hesitating to reach out and take the bag, glancing into it before dropping it. "What's wrong? Were you on a mission? Did…"

"Somethings wrong," Peter choked out around a sob, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his friend's face. "I fell...my arm. I broke it and...and I can't go to the hospital and somethings wrong." He kept his voice at a whisper as his friend led him over to his bed, easing him down and then staring, dumbfounded and concerned.

"Okay. Can we call Happy?"

"I said no, Ned! I told Mr. Stark I wasn't ready to be an Avenger and it was true but I haven't heard from him and I stopped texting Happy because he never answered and…something's wrong."

He'd wanted to fall. The knowledge hit him like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. Part of him had wanted it.

"I don't know what to do, Ned."

And that, it seemed, was the phrase to kick his friend into gear. "Okay. Okay. We can do this. We just...we need to wrap your wrist, right? And you heal fast, so...so it's going to heal on its own soon." Ned spoke with an authority that Peter doubted he felt but he just nodded, going along with it. He didn't care, he realized, the pit inside of him glad to be acknowledged. He didn't care. Not about this or Spider-Man or any of it. He just wanted the pain to stop.

He'd thought that Mr. Stark wanted to mentor him. He'd thought that he might get a miraculous third chance at having a father. And it had been so stupid. So absolutely childish and dumb and far-fetched. Of course Iron Man didn't want to mentor him. It was his own fault. His fault Ben had died and his fault for screwing up and disappointing Mr. Stark and...and Ned was staring at him, wide eyed.

He'd said that last part aloud.

"Peter...Ben wasn't your fault," Ned murmured, shaking his head and sitting close without touching or hurting his arm. "It wasn't."

"I had my powers, Ned! And I...I froze. I just stood there and he shot Ben and I just watched! And I thought.."

He'd thought that Mr. Stark might fill some of that void that had opened in his chest. That by being an Avenger, he might be able to redeem himself. That by turning him down, he would show the man that he was responsible and worth bothering with.

"Why don't we call Happy?"

"I got on his nerves, Ned!" Peter exploded, struggling to see through his tears. "He hates me! He never wanted to talk to me in the first place! And Mr. Stark is busy and...and I screwed up too much and he doesn't have time and he doesn't care!"

There was silence in the room then, heavy and oppressive as he dropped his forehead onto Ned's shoulder, and his friend seemed to be working up to saying something when he stiffened a little. "Peter?" Peter didn't look up as his shoulders shook, and then his friend continued to talk. "We're fine." The words were almost cold, and Peter glanced up, stiffening when he saw a familiar man in the doorway.

"I've got a report from an AI named Karen that tells me otherwise."

"We don't need your help."

Peter stared at the floor in mute humiliation, tears still falling down his cheeks, his heart hurting so bad it felt like it may burst. Ned sat stiffly at his side, and Peter felt a wave of affection for his friend, ready to face down Iron Man because Peter was hurting. He didn't deserve Ned.

Mr. Stark was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed, hands shoved in his pockets awkwardly, as if he was uneasy. Which seemed impossible. This was Iron Man. Iron Man was never uneasy. "Let me drive you to the compound. I've got my medical staff there. You can't go to a regular hospital."

It was true. He couldn't risk a doctor or nurse leaking the fact that he healed quickly. Couldn't risk anyone knowing who he was. So Peter nodded, and to his surprise, Ned stood with him, making it apparent that he was coming too. Mr. Stark approached, peeling off his jacket and, with a gentleness that Peter hadn't expected of him, placed the body of it under his arm, then tied the arms into a knot behind Peter's neck. Peter shuddered at the feeling, at the white hot pain that came with moving his shoulder even a little.

"That okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks," Peter muttered, not willing to meet his eyes. How much had the man heard?

Ned walked at his side, the three of them moving through the kitchen and passing Ned's mom in somber silence until Ned offered a halfhearted explanation. "Mom, we're going to do something for Peter's internship. Is that okay?"

"I'll have him back tomorrow," Mr. Stark promised, playing along, and Mrs. Leeds nodded, seeming too shell shocked to argue.

"Ned, call me," she ordered, and Ned agreed quickly, pressed to Peter's left side. A comforting presence.

The drive was long and silent, and Peter's tears dried on his cheeks as he stared out the window, the car warm enough that, except for the pain, he could have slept. Ned was close, sitting in the middle of the back seat, and Mr. Stark turned on some music, playing it on low. It was a long drive, and Peter felt every second of those endless, nearly silent two hours until they finally pulled up in front of the Avengers compound. Ned sat up, ramrod straight, and after steadying Peter as he climbed out of the car, stared in wide-eyed awe at everything from the front door to the hallway to the medbay, which was quiet except for two nurses and a doctor.

Mr. Stark waited in the corner, Ned in a chair by Peter's side, as the doctor, who introduced herself as Helen, twisted Peter's arm until it was back in place, then set his wrist. The second part was so painful that his vision turned white for a moment, and a sharp cry escaped, along with another tear. But then she was wrapping his wrist, easing a brace over his hand and placing his arm in a sling. A nurse came in with a tray, handing him two pills and a glass of water, so Peter took them without question before Helen eased him down onto the pillow.

Someone covered him with a blanket. Someone else turned the lights off. And low voices carried as he drifted off.

"Something's wrong with him."

"Do you want to stay in one of the guest rooms?"

"I'm staying with him."

"I'll have a bed brought in."

Peter opened his eyes, ready to tell Ned that he could go...that he would be fine and that a guest room would be more comfortable. But something was different. He blinked a few times, then glanced at the window, which was partially covered by curtains, and realized that it was nearly light outside.

Between himself and the window was Ned, sound asleep in a bed a few feet away, covered in thick blankets, his phone on the table between their two beds. And when Peter turned toward the door, he froze. There was a chair between himself and the door, an arm's reach away, and in that chair was Tony Stark.

The man was looking at him, face neutral, body language relaxed, but it didn't stop Peter from tensing. Had he done something wrong? As far as Mr. Stark knew, he'd hurt his arm on patrols. Right? So surely the man wasn't mad. Unless he'd heard what Peter had been saying...unless he had heard Peter say, point blank, that the man didn't care about him.

Moving slowly, almost languidly, Mr. Stark reached behind him and grabbed a cup, then filled it from a pitcher on the table beside him. Wordlessly, Peter took the cup with a hand that shook, Mr. Stark's eyes flashing from his hand to his face as Peter took a drink, draining the cup.

"You want some more?"

"No thanks."

Mr. Stark nodded, almost to himself, and Peter's hand continued to shake as he held the cup. "The nurse is going to bring you both some breakfast soon. It's only 6. You can sleep more if you want."

"Okay." Despite the word, Peter just sat there, clutching the cup until the man moved a little closer. Mr. Stark opened his mouth, then closed it, and Peter could hear his heart speed up. Was he nervous? Peter wanted to break the ice. To thank Mr. Stark for driving him to the medbay and for the water and for whatever else he needed to thank him for for this awkwardness to pass.

But Mr. Stark spoke before he could, his words coming out in a rush as if they were hard to say. "I am busy." Peter flinched without meaning to, but the man went on. "I'm insanely busy. I mean...I've got Ross breathing down my neck and the company and my consultant role which I'm pretty sure I turned down, and yet I still ended up doing." The man waved a hand dismissively. "I've got a shitload on my to do list. But, and this is the important part, there is not a time that I won't drop all of it if you need help."

It took a moment for that to sink in, and Peter stared at him, eyes widening, his own heart pounding in his chest.

"I mean it, Pete. And I get that you didn't know that. You not knowing that is my fault. I take full responsibility for that."

"Mr. Stark…"

The man held up a hand and Peter's mouth shut, teeth clacking together in the sudden silence. Immediately, he dropped the hand, clutching them together in his lap. "I'm just...I'm trying to apologize. I let time get away from me and I thought...well, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry, Peter. I meant what I said before. With some mentoring, you're going to make a great addition to the Avengers. Whenever you're ready to join."

Peter shook his head, the taste of humiliation sour in his mouth. "You don't have to…". He swallowed hard. "You don't have to do that." He didn't want it...didn't want Mr. Stark's pity.

The man softened, shaking his head for a second before looking at Peter head on. "I know. I've been a pretty shit mentor so far, and god knows I have no idea how to do this. I mean, my dad sure as hell didn't give me any kind of support. Never even told me he liked me, much less that he loved me. Cold, calculating...the whole nine yards. But Pete…". The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You're a great kid. A hell of a superhero. And I want to be your mentor. I want that. It was my plan from the start. I just...I suck at it. I don't know what I'm doing. But I swear, I'm going to do better, okay?"

Peter didn't know what to say. Didn't trust that it could ever be that easy. So he just nodded, staring at his lap up the man moved, coming to sit on the left side, a gentle hand landing on his arm.

"I'm sorry, Pete. I'm sorry that I made you think that this wasn't important to me. I really screwed the pooch on this one." Peter choked out a laugh, cursing the tears that came with it. Then, to his surprise, the arm moved to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him gently into the man's side. And then he wasn't laughing, just crying, and Mr. Stark was holding him. "I'm sorry, Pete. I'm really sorry. It's going to be okay."

Peter wanted to ask how. He wanted to know how he could ever feel okay again when it all still felt so big and so overwhelming, but his throat was too tight to speak, and the tears wouldn't stop, so he just buried his face in the man's shirt, Mr. Stark's hand rubbing his back, another resting against the nape of his neck, and it was almost like Ben.