Chapter 4: Tony Stark

Tony crawled into bed around one in the morning. Not unusual considering his insomniac tendencies. He was hardly ever went to bed early unless ordered by Pepper and FRIDAY.

That night, he spent his time tinkering on new projects and searching into the Osborn investigation. He read over the financial files they "borrowed" and nothing look out of place. Nothing incredibly sketchy at least. Sure, there was some off-shore banking accounts, but most millionaires and billionaires have those accounts. Not him, but others do.

He went to bed after a headache built up behind his eyes. He closed the documents and decided to scan the internet again for reports on the press conference. The first wave of articles were all positive. It was no different from tonight. Even Everhart's report was somewhat positive, but he doubt that was of her choosing.

Pepper did a great job in damage control. When he went to check-in on her after the doctor's visit, he found she already wrote out a press release that would make readers feel even more sympathy for Peter Parker. Approved, they released it through a public spokesperson that afternoon and on their website. It became the number one trending subject in less than two minutes.

In the bed and under the covers, Tony slugged a protective arm around Pepper, but was careful not to be close to her swollen belly. Even in this state, Tony feared he may cause some type of damage to his unborn child. No need to take any risks.

He was drifting in and out when a voice activated overhead. Tony was too tired to listen. It was probably FRIDAY alerting him of another viral report on Peter's publicity. He turned away from the noise and buried his head between the pillows. "Later," he mumbled.

An elbow nudged him in his arm. "Tony? Tony?" came Pepper's concerned voice.

Tony lifted his weary head up. "Are you okay? Is the baby coming?" He glanced to her belly.

Pepper gestured to the ceiling. "Isn't that Peter's AI?"

"Huh?" Tony sat up in the bed. "What?"

FRIDAY's voice came back on again. "Sir? KAREN is emitting an emergency response request."

Tony threw off the blankets, rolling off the bed. Dressed in sweatpants and an AC/DC shirt, he looked around for a pair of shoes. "Talk to me FRIDAY," he said upon spotting shoes. "What's happening?"

"I'm not quite sure, sir," FRIDAY responded. "KAREN only informed me that Peter activated the emergency signal."

"Shit," Tony cursed underneath his breath. "Okay—where?"

"KAREN's location is in the Parker residence, sir."

Once Tony got his shoes on, he saw that Pepper was getting up as well. "No, Pepper, stay in bed."

Pepper frowned. "Tony—"

"I don't want you to get hurt," Tony said, leaving out the door. "FRIDAY? Activate safety protocols around Pepper."

"Yes, sir."

That relieved Tony's mind a little. He didn't want Pepper to get caught in the cross-fire if dangerous individuals infiltrated the compound. Tony slapped the gauntlet to his wrist, readying it to activate upon a single command.

"FRIDAY? Medical?"

"On their way, sir."

He would beat them to the residence. Already, he was nearly there, turning the corner at a speed he reserved for Avenger missions. Despite May's public refusal to share the passcode to their apartment, Tony knew it. Not because May confided in him. Tony learned it on his own, believing he would need it in the future. Like now.

Tony computed the passcode and was granted access to the apartment. He expected to find the apartment in a mess, with armed mercenaries manhandling Peter and May Parker.

He didn't find that at all. The apartment was clean. There were no signs of an intrusion. Only him standing in an empty living room. Tony heard a noise in the back and followed the sound to the bedroom.

He never expected what he found.

May Parker laid haphazardly on the floor by the wall. Her red hair fell everywhere with eyes closed, unaware of her nephew kneeling beside her. Peter looked worse than May. Sickly pale, his ghost skin shined in sweat and his eyebrows furrowed in apprehension and self-hatred.

Peter then shot his head up. Eyes enlarged as he spotted Tony in the doorway. "I-I… I don't know," his voice broke into pieces. "She won't wake. I-I don't…"

Tony's feet moved on their own accord. He dropped a knee beside May's still form. He took her wrist and placed two fingers on a vein. Steady… and strong.

"She's alive," he announced in a big breath of relief. "Just unconscious."

Tony looked to Peter. The kid was shaking, his limbs barely supporting his weight as he remained on his hands and knees. An uncharacteristic grim line took over his face. His eyes were on May. Round and glossy and full of heartache.

"She's dead," Peter choked out, his voice reaching a crescendo in hysteria. "Oh god. I killed her. I killed her!"

What? Didn't he hear him confirm her living status? Tony gripped Peter's arm. "No—she's alive," he stated again. "Unconscious, but alive."

Peter shook his head, disbelieving every word Tony said. "It's all my fault. All my fault," he cried, squeezing his eyes shut. "I killed her."

"No, Peter, listen to me," Tony demanded, but the boy stayed rattled, unresponsive to his calls. Peter's breathing heightened to a burned heaving. One right after another as if he couldn't get a decent amount of air into his lungs.

Hearing Barton's words in his head, Tony took Peter's head in his hands. His palms covered the ears and he forced Peter to look away from May and only to him. "Come on, Underoos," he calmly said to the kid. "Breathe with me. Okay? Just breathe."

Tony inhaled. Then exhaled. Inhaled again. Followed with an exhale. Peter struggled to follow, but eventually, his breathing settled. No more hyperventilation.

The medical team finally arrived, along with Happy Hogan. Tony asked Happy to help him move the kid away from his aunt. With Happy on one side and Tony on the other, they easily lifted him off the ground and carried him to the bed as the doctors checked May's vitals.

"Happy? Find his headphones, will you?" Tony asked as Peter vigilantly watched the doctors hoist May up on a gurney.

Happy found the headphones and passed them onto Tony. "You need anything else, Boss?"

"I got it from here, thanks," Tony answered.

"What about the kid? Will he be all right?"

Tony didn't know. He took the headphones and placed them on Peter's head. Peter tried to fling them off, but Tony pressed the headphones down on his head. He needed Peter to wear them until his chalk-white skin returned to a more pinkish color.

The medical staff rolled May away out of the room. Peter went to follow, but Tony held him back. "Let the doctors take care of her," he told Peter. "Let them do their job."

Tony then signaled Happy to follow May. He bowed out, traveling with May Parker to the medical wing of the compound. Meanwhile, Tony stayed with Peter in his room. He kept a hold on Peter, refusing to let him go until the boy broke down sobbing in both anguish and hatred.

"It's okay," Tony murmured over Peter's head. "It's going to be okay."

"Here."

Peter rolled his eyes up to the hot coffee Tony offered. He shook his head.

"Good," Tony declared, sitting next to Peter. "The coffee was meant for me anyway."

He took a drink, relieved to feel the warmth go down his throat and straight to his stomach. He already contacted Pepper and informed her what happened. She immediately wanted to join him down in the medical wing, but Tony convinced her to stay where she was. No need to add more people to the circus and get Peter riled up. Pepper agreed, but made him swear to keep her updated.

They sat in the waiting room, where they were surrounded by hotel art and junk magazines. Not that they were interested in the artwork or magazine. Peter especially. He took a side-glance to Peter. The boy had been relatively quiet since the doctors took May away. The shakes and cries stopped, but Peter remained dispirited. He sat in his seat, arms folded, as he stared blankly in front. His headphones laid limp around his neck, no longer needing them to control his hearing. In fact, he hardly registered anything. His mind preoccupied with tensions and thoughts that swam in deep, dark waters.

Unable to stand the silence, Tony leaned close to Peter. "She's going to be all right," he assured. "Just knocked out."

Peter didn't say anything. He remained impassive, distant and downtrodden. Nothing Tony's ever seen.

Tony sighed. "Hey, it's not your fault for what happened."

"Yes, it is," Peter finally spoke up. His voice dead and toneless. "I'm a monster."

Tony blinked, gobsmacked by the kid's response. "Excuse me?"

Peter turned in his seat. His face set and unmoved. "I'm dangerous," he said. "I hurt people. I get people killed."

"What?" Tony dumfounded by Peter's words that he hardly took it in a serious matter. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes I do!" Peter's voice rose.

"Peter—stop it. I know you're in a great deal of grief, but yelling nonsense—"

Peter pushed himself out of the chair. His eyes popped and red from all the angst and fear that fueled his anger. "You don't get it! None of you guys do! You're human! You don't have to worry about accidently hurting someone every time you shake their hand. Or if you're squeezing the life out of someone when you hug them. Or pushing them too hard that they go through the wall. Or losing your temper and breaking things with ease before you can stop yourself.

"You don't have those fears!" Peter's voice shrilled to a desperate scream. "I do! I have to live like this every single day, hoping that I don't hurt someone and then… and then…"

Peter sucked in a deep breath. All that adrenaline from the scream washed out of him. Fatigue began to set in as the boy's shoulders fell in desolate. "But it doesn't matter," he mumbled his confession. "I still hurt them. All of them. That makes me the monster."

Tony stayed in his seat. He didn't get up right away. Partially because he was stunned by Peter's outburst. Once he overcame that shock, Tony slowly got up from his seat. "Is that what you really think? That you're some kind of monster that needs to be chained up in a dungeon?"

Peter half-shrugged. "If I keep hurting people."

Tony rolled his eyes. Time to be extra serious. "Okay, kid, now that you got your five minute rant, it's my turn," he said to Peter. "And I am going to start it off by saying you couldn't be more wrong."

"I—"

Tony cut Peter off. "Nope. Zip it. I'm talking now," he ordered and the kid fell silent. Good. "This past decade, there is one thing I have learned about being a hero and it's that fear is inevitable.

"You're right. I am only human, but that doesn't mean I can't do a lot of damage on my own. All my actions have led to countless deaths around the globe," Tony continued on, holding up his hand to start off his list. "First with the weapons I made. Murdered tons of civilians with those. Then Ultron. You know—that killer AI I created? Basically destroyed an entire country. Then of course, the incident in New York. Lots of people died there too. All because of my actions… and others too.

"And you know what?" Tony proposed to the kid. Peter smartly remained silent. "I live with that regret every single day. Mothers and fathers come up to me and call me a murderer. Sometimes much worse names are spat in my face.

"The point I am making is that you are not alone in your fear or doubts. I have them too about myself," Tony revealed to Peter. "I constantly think about what my actions may do upon others. Or what I could have done to spare this person pain. Hell—why do you think I spend my nights awake rather than asleep?"

Again, Peter didn't respond. He opted to wait for Tony to answer.

Tony sighed, massaging his temples. "Anyway, the point is that you're not a monster because of your powers. You're not even a monster at all. Not compared to me. And I'm only human. We all may have a monster inside of us, but that doesn't mean we let it win over our better judgment.

"You, kid," Tony said as he took Peter's shoulders. "What happened tonight with your aunt… that was an accident. You didn't mean to hurt her. She knows this. It doesn't make you a monster. It doesn't even make your dangerous. It only means that you are a scared kid, suffering from a traumatic experience. There's nothing wrong with that. I had experiences with PTSD before too and one time, Pepper was nearly injured. But, with a bit of time and a good chat or two, I got better. And you will too. Okay? I promise."

Peter hesitated, uncertain in Tony's confidence. "What if I don't?"

"You will."

"You don't know that," Peter argued. His dark lashes glistened with tears. "I don't want to hurt her again."

"And you won't," Tony promised him, ensuring he made eye contact as he spoke. "You're going to get through this. I know it doesn't feel like it will, but as a PTSD survivor, you will. I have faith in that."

Peter sniffled, running his hand underneath his nose. "Aunt May wanted me to talk to a psychiatrist," he confessed. "I told her no. I didn't want her to think I was… broken."

"You're not broken."

"I feel like I am."

"I did too at one point."

Peter breathed out. His muscles finally relaxing from his pent-up tension. "Who did you talk to? What psychiatrist?"

"Oh…I didn't speak to a psychiatrist," Tony answered. "But I did speak to a doctor."

"What doctor?"

Tony's lips slipped a little. "Oh, um, Bruce," he said, remembering his old friend. "Bruce Banner."

Peter's mouth fell open. "Bruce Banner was your shrink?" he said, before his brows knitted in puzzlement. "But… he's not that type of doctor."

Tony snorted at the reminder of when Bruce told him that exact same thing. "As he told me so on many occasions," Tony commented with a sad smile as he remembered Bruce dozing off on one occasion. "Hey—you know what? If you don't feel comfortable talking to a stranger about any of this, you can talk to me. I know I'm not a certified psychiatrist or anything like that, but I am a doctor. Well, not a medical doctor, but I do understand a bit what you are going through.

"If you want, we can meet once a week and talk whatever you want to talk about. See if that helps your PTSD or not," Tony extended the offer to Peter. "What do you say?"

Peter thought it over. "I would prefer that over a random person," he quietly admitted. "But I'll have to ask Aunt May. If she ever comes out of this."

"She will," Tony avowed when he heard footsteps approaching. "Speaking of the devil."

Peter turned in the direction of Tony's line of sight. A doctor, dressed in his fashionable white coat, approached the duo after he parted the doors. "Peter Parker?" the doctor questionably addressed to the kid.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. That's me," he replied as he fiddled with his sleeves and rocked on the balls of his feet. "Is she all right? Will she be okay?"

The doctor nodded. "She's all right. Performed a few X-rays and a MRI scan. Found nothing, but a small hairline fracture on her wrist. She has on a cast that she will need to wear for six to eight weeks. She has some bruising along her stomach and back, but those will go away in a week or two," he reported to them. "So, to summarize, she's perfectly fine. Nothing serious."

"Nothing serious," Peter repeated, sounding both relieved and a bit apprehensive. "Really? She's not… paralyzed or her heart…"

"Her heart is still strong," the doctor proclaimed. "No troubles there. She's awake if you want to speak to her. She's been very adamant about seeing you this past hour."

The doctor led Peter and Tony back behind the doors. It was a room Tony was familiar with, especially when Rhodey had to have surgery done on his legs. The doctor steered them through the hallways until they came to a closed door.

He knocked before entering. "Someone is here to see you," he said to the person inside as he widened the door.

Inside was May Parker. Alive and awake. She was sitting up in her bed, a blue cast wrapped around her left arm. Her red hair was out of her face, pulled back in a messy ponytail. She took one look from her casted arm to the door.

She beamed. "Peter!"

Peter slipped underneath the man's arm with ease and raced to his aunt's bedside. "Aunt May! I'm so sorry!" he rapidly apologize. His face screwed up, doing his best to stifle the cries coming up his throat. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Aunt May brushed Peter's crazed hair back with her fingers. "Oh, Peter, don't apologize," she gently chided. "I was so worried about you. I kept asking the doctors about you and they wouldn't tell me a darn thing. Are you all right? Are you hurt?" May started surveying Peter's frame, raising a concern eyebrow upon his state of duress.

"Me?" Peter choked. "I'm not the one wearing a cast."

May cupped her nephew's face and brushed a runaway tear aside. "No, but you're the one that looks like you're in pain," she responded. "Oh, Peter. Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. You were scared."

"But I hurt you."

"Not on purpose."

"I'm still sorry."

Tony watched as May affectionately pulled Peter into a hug. It time for him to be sparse and let the two reconcile after a night of turmoil. He ushered the doctor out and quietly sealed the door behind him.

"Just to be clear," Tony said as the doctor and him walked away from the closed room. "You were telling the truth. Only a hairline fracture and bruising?"

The doctor nodded his assertion. "We checked for all possibilities. It's why we did a MRI scan. Needed to see if there was any head damages. Obviously, we are going to keep her overnight. Make sure her concussion isn't too bad. Overall, though, she's fine. Just those two things."

"Good," Tony said, happy to know May would be well. "So, um, the kid is probably stay the night in the room. Best to order a rollaway for the kid to sleep on."

The doctor nodded. "I can call for one, Mr. Stark."

"Thanks," Tony said, heading to the exit. He called over his shoulder. "Keep me updated on any changes."

Once he was out of earshot from the medical wing, Tony pulled out his phone and dialed. He pressed the speaker to his ear as he unlocked his office. The other line kept ringing until he heard the hook click on.

"Stark—you better have a fucking good reason for calling me at this hour."

"It's nearly four in the morning," Tony rebutted. "You were already up. And don't lie to me, Barton. I stayed at your place a few times to know your schedule."

Clint Barton sighed on the other side. "What's wrong then?"

"It's Peter."

"What happened to him? Is he okay?"

Tony heard the panic in Clint's voice despite the archer's concealed tone. "Yeah, he's um, fine," he said. "I called because I wanted to talk to you about his panic attacks. How often did he have them when he was with you?"

There was a small pause on Clint's end. "How bad was this one?"

"Just… answer the question."

"Peter only ever had three terrible panic attacks," Clint relayed to Tony. "Happened either late at night or early in the morning. Never lasted very long. Got him through it and he was fine." He went quiet for a moment. "I saw what happened at the press conference."

"You and the rest of the world," Tony gruffed, not quite enjoying talking about that moment. "He was just under a lot of stress. He returned to the scene of the incident. The school, I mean. Met up with some friends before the conference. That and the pressure of the reporters. It got to him."

"Not surprised," Clint responded. "I figured he may have more when he returned to New York."

"How did you know?"

"The same way you knew he would have one at the conference," Clint countered. "I saw you too, you know. You were watching him. Waiting."

Tony took a seat on the couch. "You're right. I did know," he confessed. "But, I want to know how you handle it. Besides the whole dim his senses. How did you get him to calm down? Did he ever attack you?"

He heard shuffling in the background. "So Peter attacked someone? Who?"

"Jesus, Barton. Stop nitpicking at my words and answer my questions!"

He heard Clint draw in a sharp breath. "Look, Peter never lashed out at us. Not physically at least. Anytime he was experiencing a nightmare or some kind of flashback, I kept my distance. I waited until he snapped out of it on his own before I confronted him," he said. "So—you going to tell me what happened?"

Tony decided to fill in the entire evening to Clint. Hawkeye was oddly quiet during the whole story. No interruptions at all. And when Tony finished, Clint didn't admonished or mock him. Instead, he released a weary breath of sorrow.

"How is she?" Clint asked. "The aunt?"

"Hairline fracture and minor bruising," Tony replied. "Good considering what could have happened."

Clint agreed. "Still… poor kid. He's had it rough this past year."

"No kidding," Tony snipped. "I need to find something to help him get better."

"Then talk to him."

"That's it? Just talk. No like… questions I should ask or avoid? Anything?"

"Just let Peter talk to you naturally," Clint advised. "Eventually, he'll open up. Give him time, though Stark. I know how you like to rush into things without thinking first."

Tony pressed his lips in a firm line to stop himself from making a snarky reply. "Okay. Fine. I can do that. I can talk to him. I already offered anyway. Hopefully, his aunt will be okay with it. Originally, she wanted to go with a psychiatrist."

"I wouldn't suggest a psychiatrist," Clint said. "Peter won't be open to them."

"That's what Peter said."

"Then that's what you should do."

Tony fell back against the cushion, curling his neck over the top to stare up at the ceiling. "Hopefully, I can help him. I'm not exactly a poster-child in good, mental health."

"No, you're not."

"Hey! When I say that, it doesn't mean you can agree," Tony rebuttal with a huff. "Anyway, I was calling only to see if you had any tips for me or not. Guess you really don't. Waste of a phone call."

"As always Stark, it wasn't that great of a talk with you," Clint retorted before he softened his hostilities, "but I wish you the best of luck in helping Peter. The kid doesn't deserve this mess. Any of it. He's a good kid, you know. Better than any of us."

"I know." And he knew. Since the beginning, Tony always knew Peter would be the best hero out of all of them.

"He's got a long journey ahead of him," Clint said. "But, he'll make it there. I know he will."

"Yeah," Tony softly replied. "He will."

A short, reflecting pause followed. "Look—I got to go, but tell Peter to not be a stranger," Clint said to Tony. "The kids miss him. Especially Lila." Tony heard another shuffle of a phone being switched to another hand. "Tell Peter we send him our best and that if he ever wants to talk, he can call us. Whenever."

The call ended and Tony stayed seated, thinking. Peter's got a long road to recovery. While the public may see a bright-eyed, happy boy, they don't understand the horrors Peter went through to get to where he was. They thought it was all over for Peter upon his return home. Little did they know the truth. Behind the scenes, coming home didn't mean it was over. He and the rest of the Avengers would agree that nothing ever stays exactly in the past. Didn't mean it had to dominate one's present and future.

It'll take a bit of time, but Tony had confidence. Slow and steady as the children's tale once claimed. Slow and steady, and Peter will get back to his normal state of mind.

He'll be back to being good, old Peter Parker.