Tony Stark was loud.
Not obnoxiously so- even as prone to theatrics as he was, the man rarely yelled or shouted. But when Tony walked into the room you could always hear him before you saw him. The smooth talking, the deflective one-liners, the never-ending banter with Rhodey or Happy.
Peter had always admired the strength and authority behind his favorite superhero's voice. Always cocksure and confident, whether ordering exotic wines in Italian or talking down government officials. Tony talked, people listened.
Peter was no exception.
He felt like he'd spent his entire life listening to Tony in one way or another.
In the few months after he'd moved in with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, back when he'd still been shy around them and made himself scarce out of fear of bothering them too much, Tony's voice had been the only thing to coax him out of his room. Uncle Ben would turn up the TV volume whenever there was a Stark Industries press conference, face passive but eyes sparkling as he watched little Peter slowly pad into the living room and crawl onto the sofa so he could watch Tony snark his way through the journalists' questions.
After the Homecoming fiasco, Tony had started inviting Peter over for bi-weekly lab sessions. Lab Tony was Peter's favorite Tony. The man talked constantly, either ranting to Peter about the minor inconveniences of his day ("Why is the ice cream machine always broken when I get there? I'm taking this as sign. I'm officially swearing off of dairy."), or fake- arguing with Pepper over the phone just to rile her up.
Peter had even had the privilege of hearing Tony laugh on more than one occasion, a rare feat after the events in Siberia. Sometimes the laughter was directed at him after a particularly clever joke, giving Peter a feeling of pride and accomplishment. Honestly, Tony's laugh was more like a giggle. But Peter never told him that because 1.) Mr. Stark might chuck something at him and 2.) He didn't want Tony to get self-conscious and stop laughing around him. He liked the sound too much.
Tony would call him during patrols occasionally (overriding Peter's annoyed declines and pushing his call through) to inquire about things like "why the hell are you in the Bronx?" and "must you insist on throwing yourself in front of so many guns?"
One time, during a particularly grueling mission, he even swore he could hear Tony in his head. Peter called it a "connection". Tony had called it a concussion.
"Kid. Sit up. I am not talking to you in your head. It's through the sui- Jesus how hard did you hit your hea-NO I'm not a ghost-that's it I'm calling medical."
Concussed or not, Peter always knew Tony's voice when he heard it.
Not for the first time, Peter woke up gasping and drenched in sweat.
Struggling to steady his breathing, he clawed at his shirt to unstick it from his skin and toss it over the side of his bed. He could vaguely make out the sound of someone keening, as if in pain. It took him a few minutes to realize that the noises were coming from him.
Peter rarely remembered his dreams, but his nightmares were always vivid.
He couldn't focus, his head was all over the place and his thoughts were scattered as he reached for his phone. The night air coming through his open window was helping some, but the New York noises were not. The sirens from a distant firetruck sounded ominous, leaving a ringing in his ears long after they stopped. He could hear cabs honking from blocks away. There was a couple arguing a few doors down, their firm tones sounding like angry shrieks in his ears…
"This better be good, kid."
The smooth voice on the other end of the line startled him. In his haste to shake off the feeling of terror his nightmare had left him with, he hadn't even realized he'd been dialing. He had thumbed the numbers as if on auto pilot.
"Kid. You there? Is this a butt dial? I'm begging you, just let me give you a Stark phone."
Peter blinked dazedly, letting out a shaky breath.
"Peter." There was concern underneath the irritation.
"T-Tony." He didn't realize how wrecked his voice sounded. Weak and worn, likely from the screaming that had eventually startled him awake.
"Yep. The one and only." Tony's voice, usually so sure, sounded slightly suspicious. "You good? Are you patrolling? I thought we agreed on the 1am curfew."
Peter let out a rattling sigh, wiping his hand across his face and grimacing when he realized there were tears there.
"Alright, you're starting to worry me a little." He could hear the sound of Tony rolling a chair, likely over to one of his smart screens so he could get a read on where Peter was. A few beats went by, and
Tony must have seen that Peter was not in his suit and therefore couldn't be tracked so he let out a sigh and shifted gears.
"Hey. What's up kiddo?"
"C-can. Can you just…" Peter hated how small he sounded in the moment. He felt as if he was drowning in the noises around him. But a part of him, the part that had dialed Tony's private number without thinking, knew this was the only thing that would help.
"Tell me what you need." Tony said simply, taking cues from Peter's soft voice and softening his own in response.
" Can you just….talk?"
There was silence on the other line, and Peter started to worry that Mr. Stark had hung up on him. But then he heard his mentor clear his throat and settle into his chair.
"Ok. Have I told you about the time Rhodey almost got hitched in Vegas? Settle in, this is a wild one…"
Peter grinned and flopped back against his pillow, trying to focus his senses so that all he could hear was the sound of Tony's voice. He was out like a light in the span of minutes.
"Goodnight Peter. I….I'll come see you tomorrow."
Click.