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The loud screech of an electric drill jarred Tony awake, sweating and gasping for breath. Pushing himself upright on his chair, he squinted at the monitor in front of him, rubbing at the painful crick in his neck.

"What's the time, JARVIS?" he grunted, scrubbing at his face.

"It is currently 6:30am, sir," JARVIS replied. "Master Peter has just awoken, and work has resumed on the damaged floors of the Tower."

"'Kay," Tony replied. He ran a hand through his hair, shivering at its greasy feel and his general overall feeling of ickiness. How long had it been since he'd had a shower?

"Might I remind you, sir, that it is Master Peter's first day of school?" JARVIS said. "He will be expecting you to accompany him."

"Yeah, sure," Tony mumbled, even as he was dreading the thought of appearing in public, and especially with Peter. The entire summer he, Steve, and Bruce—who had both moved into the Tower about a week after the incident with Loki—had been hounded by reporters wanting to hear their first-hand accounts of the Battle of New York. It had gotten so bad by the beginning of July that Tony had taken Peter and fled to Malibu for about four weeks, despite the fact that the Tower wasn't yet repaired and that he still felt uneasy about leaving Steve Rogers relatively unsupervised. Not to mention the Department of Damage Control venture he'd started leading to ensure that none of the Chitauri remnants left behind from the invasion made it into the wrong hands. Or rather, that he'd been trying to lead. Tony had learned way back during his days of designing and building weapons that doing anything in conjunction with the Department of Defense was often akin to repeatedly banging one's head against a brick wall.

"Might I suggest a shower and a change of clothes before you accompany Master Peter to school, sir?" said JARVIS. "You've now slept in that chair for the past three nights. If you call dozing off out of sheer exhaustion while working, sleeping."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Tony, slowly pushing himself up to his feet and bringing his arms up over his head to stretch, groaning as various joints popped in protest. "Good idea."

"Are you okay, Dad?" Peter asked, looking up from his cereal bowl as Tony walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, showered and dressed with his beard nicely trimmed. He was still able to at least look the part of the Tony Stark that everyone thought they knew.

"And a good morning to you too, young man," Tony replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee and pointedly ignoring Peter's question. He smiled down at his son, ruffling his hair. "How 'bout you? Ready to tackle the fourth grade?"

"Not really," Peter said with a heavy sigh. "I'd rather have about three more months of summer vacation. Or maybe three more years."

"You and me both, Pete," Tony said, sipping his coffee. He sat down on the stool opposite Peter, frowning at the dark purple circles under his brown eyes. "More trouble sleeping last night?"

"Yeah, a bit," answered Peter with a shrug, but Tony wasn't fooled by his causal tone. For nearly the entire summer break Peter had been suffering from intermittent nightmares and insomnia, begging Tony to sit with him on his bed until he fell asleep, sometimes joining him in his lab in the middle of the night, and in general not wanting to let Tony out of his sight whenever possible. Peter had even asked to accompany Tony to his meetings in D.C. regarding the cleanup, often just sitting on the floor outside of the meeting rooms so he could be as close to him as possible.

Pepper had suggested at the beginning of summer break that they hire a therapist for Peter, saying that it would be helpful for him to work through some of his fears, but Tony had vehemently shot down the idea. He'd been suspicious of therapists ever since Obadiah Stane had brought him to see one after his parents were killed. Instead of helping Tony to cope with the sudden loss of his mom and dad and the lack of closure he felt because of it, the only thing that particular therapist managed to do for him was reinforce his drinking problem.

"Do you still want to go to the gym after school?" Tony asked Peter. "'Cause you don't have to if you're too tired. Might be asking a bit much on your first day."

"No, I wanna go," Peter said emphatically. He looked down at his cereal, poking at it with his spoon. "I think it'll help. I've missed it."

"Well, okay, if you're sure. Just make sure you have your inhaler handy, yeah?" Tony said, taking another sip of his coffee. With his lungs finally doing better, Peter's doctor had given him the go ahead to drop his nebulizer treatments down to only once a day and to resume his gymnastics classes, as long as he promised to keep his inhaler with him at all times. Tony had offered to build Peter his own gym at the Tower and hire a private instructor but Peter declined, saying he preferred working with the teacher at the gym by his school, who was a former Olympian. After a lot of back and forth Tony had acquiesced but it still worried him, knowing he would be a lot less likely to be able to shield the boy from nosy reporters at a public gym, even with Happy watching over him.

"I'm sure, and I will."

"All right, then," Tony said, checking his watch. "Better finish up so we can get going." It was still early; Peter's school didn't start until 8 am, but Tony preferred to get Peter there earlier rather than later. With any luck, they'd be able to miss most of the paparazzi.

"Yeah, okay."

Two separate trips back up to their apartment to collect forgotten items later—including Peter's inhaler—Tony and Peter piled into the backseat of the black Audi sedan so Happy could drive them to school. Peter had taken to sitting in the middle ever since the battle so he could be closer to Tony, and currently had his right arm hooked around Tony's elbow and his head resting against his arm, his narrow shoulders trembling with nerves. Tony wove his fingers into Peter's hair and rubbed his scalp, trying to help him calm down.

"We don't have to do this today, Peter," Tony said quietly, so Happy wouldn't overhear. "We can have you start school next week, or find some other way—"

"No, it's okay," Peter whispered, even as he tightened his grip on Tony's arm. "I'd rather just get it over with."

"All right. But you call me if you need anything. Anything at all, no matter what. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," replied Peter. But Tony was unconvinced. In addition to his rather frequent nightmares, Peter had been increasingly withdrawn at times over the summer, almost as if he was afraid to bother Tony with what he assumed to be his petty, little boy issues.

Pressing a kiss to the top of Peter's head, Tony patted his hand, cursing how helpless he felt to protect his son. Sure, he'd been able to prevent that missile from destroying most of New York, saving Peter's life along with countless others, but he still couldn't protect Peter from another asthma attack, or from losing yet another pair of glasses. And it still took everything that Tony had in him to not demand the expulsion of that damn kid in Peter's class who's entire life seemed to be devoted to making him as miserable as possible.

They were only two blocks away from the school when Tony noticed the first news van, conspicuously parked in an alleyway, its antennae raised for live broadcasting. His jaw clenched as he realized what it likely meant. They were about to be bombarded. Again.

"Head for the back of the school, Hap," Tony commanded, his fingers tightening in Peter's hair as he gritted his teeth. Goddamn vultures. While he hated having to deal with the press most of the time, he knew it was expected of him given who he was. But for them to go after Peter—and around his school, no less—was just… appalling.

"They're trying to block the road, sir," Happy said, peering over his shoulder at Tony as he slowed the car to a stop, still a half a block away from the school. A sudden knock on Tony's window caused Peter to yelp, and he buried his face in Tony's side. With the heavily tinted windows Tony knew the reporters couldn't actually see them inside the car, but somehow that didn't seem to make it any better when it sounded like the car was being bombarded with baseball-sized hail.

"Then run 'em over if you have to!" Tony snapped. "The principal promised me he'd keep the school grounds clear of the press, so once we get there we should be okay."

"Daddy," Peter whimpered, his voice muffled against Tony's side. "Make them go away!"

"I will, buddy," Tony said, even as he realized there really wasn't anything he could do. Pepper's influence on the press only stretched so far, and with controversy still surrounding the events of the Battle of New York and the existence of the Avengers in general, she had already exhausted the limits of her ability to keep the media off Tony's back. It didn't help that at least a third to a half of the press were from foreign countries, over whom Pepper had no control at all.

It took over fifteen minutes for Happy to drive the last half a block into the back parking lot of the school, and another five minutes for Tony to pry Peter loose enough from his body to get them both out of the car. A private security guard stood outside the back entrance, hired by Tony to ensure that no reporters attempted to sneak their way inside the school. Tony had seen his two counterparts stationed outside of the front entrance as they'd passed.

Peter clung tightly to Tony's hand as they walked through the nearly empty hallways to his new classroom and greeted his teacher, a kind, middle-aged black woman that Tony had met a couple weeks prior during the back-to-school night. After reiterating with her that Peter be allowed to contact Tony whenever he needed, he helped Peter unpack his supplies into his desk and then exited the classroom to deliver a spare inhaler to the school nurse's office.

"Now you listen to me," Tony said once they were done in the nurse's office. He crouched down in front of Peter, gripping his shoulders. "Happy's gonna pick you up this afternoon, so you just sit tight in that classroom until he comes and gets you. I don't want you leaving the school without him, do you understand?"

"Uh huh," Peter murmured, biting his bottom lip. "I understand. It's just…"

"It's just, what?" Tony prodded.

"I just wish you could come pick me up instead. Happy always yells at the other kids to stay away from us when he picks me up. It's embarrassing. He does it the whole way down the hall, and all it does is make everybody look at me funny."

Tony rolled his eyes, not at all surprised given Happy's tendency to be both a bit trigger-happy and his absolute lack of understanding of the inner workings of children. "All right, I'll talk to him again about that. And you know I'd much rather pick you up than be stuck schmoozing with the DoD folks all afternoon, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," Peter said in a quavering voice. "But I don't understand why you need to talk to them every single day."

"Because if I don't, who knows what kind of trouble they'd get themselves into," Tony said with a grimace. "Those government types can't tie their own shoes without having a committee meeting. Without me they'd never get anything done, and we absolutely cannot have any of those Chitauri artifacts falling into the wrong hands. Right?"

"I guess not," replied Peter, shrugging.

"Come here," Tony said, pulling Peter into a hug. "I promise it won't always be like this, Pete. We just gotta wait till the hubbub dies down some more."

"I don't like hubbub," Peter muttered against his shoulder, and Tony chuckled.

"Me either, buddy. Me either." He pulled back to look at his son's face, ruffling his hair. "You gonna be okay?"

"Uh huh," Peter murmured.

"Course you are," Tony said, winking. "You're my kid."

"So," Tony said, stepping into the brand-new laboratory he'd helped Bruce Banner design. "What fun project has SHIELD sent your way today, Doctor?"

"Oh, don't you know," Bruce replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Still working on adapting your repulsor technology to their helicarriers, and now they've sent me a whole new set of data from the goons studying the scepter that they want me to double-check. Same old, same old. SHIELD says 'jump', I say 'how high'. Seems like they've forgotten that I'm only supposed to be theirs half the time."

"Well…" Tony said slowly. "Still beats treating measles victims in Calcutta. Doesn't it?" He swept his arm across the vast lab. "I mean, I know working in a rickety shack with rags for doors and windows can't compare to this, but—"

"I have absolutely no complaints about the accommodations, Tony," Bruce said with a chuckle. He shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Or most of the work I'm doing, if I'm honest. I just… never thought I'd be in this position ever again. After what happened—"

"I'm not at all like Thunderbolt Ross," Tony said firmly. "Look around you; there's nothing here that emits anything close to a gamma ray, and I would never put a fellow scientist in harm's way for my own personal benefit." He tapped his fingers on the counter. "Especially after the whole saving my life and everything."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. "It's not you I'm worried about, Tony."

Tony huffed out a sharp breath. "Look. Even after what happened onboard that helicarrier, I still don't think Fury has it in for you. He doesn't seem like the type to hold grudges."

"Mmm," said Bruce. "Well, it was nice of him to allow me to come here, at least, instead of forcing me to scrub floors on the helicarrier to pay for the damage I caused."

"Yeah," Tony mumbled, thinking back to that submersible prison out in the Atlantic, whose cells sounded remarkably similar to that cell on the helicarrier. "Plus, you can't deny that both the food and the company here are top-notch. I mean, where else are you gonna have your very own miniature cheerleader?"

Laughing, Bruce tapped a command into his monitor, recording some numbers on a tablet resting on the counter. "Yeah, that's true. I gotta admit, Tony, your kid is pretty cute. And it is nice to have one around who's… seen the other guy and still isn't afraid of me."

"Yeah, he's the best," Tony said with a grin. "You know, if you would've asked me two years ago if I'd ever see myself willingly with a kid, I'd've laughed in your face. Loudly. And probably while drunk off my gourd."

"Well, two years ago I was working in a bottling factory in Brazil and trying to not get my ass kicked on a daily basis," replied Bruce, eyeing Tony warily. "And completely obsessed with trying to find a cure for my… problem."

"Seems like we've both changed for the better," said Tony.

"Yeah," Bruce said, sighing. "Thank you, Tony. For giving me a chance."

"Nah, don't mention it," Tony scoffed. "Just offer to babysit every now and then, and we can call it even. Pepper and I could use a night out once in awhile. It's bad enough I only get to see her on the weekends."

"Aahh," stammered Bruce. "I'm not sure if that's such a good idea." He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. "And, if you don't mind my saying, you look like you could use some decent sleep more than a night out. You look tired, Tony. Run down. Like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Tony's back stiffened as he pursed his lips, mortified that his issues were apparently so obvious that Bruce would notice. Peter must be rubbing off on Bruce for all the time they've been hanging out together lately. "Yeah, well, couldn't we all use more sleep than we get?"

"Look, I didn't mean any disrespect," Bruce said, raising his hands. "I just… know what it's like. To not be able to sleep all that great."

"It's my kid," Tony muttered, shaking his head as he clenched his left hand into a fist. "Peter's been having nightmares. Well, he kinda always has had nightmares, ever since I got him, but they've gotten worse… since…"

"Have you tried having him talk to someone?" asked Bruce. "Pardon me, I don't mean to overstep anything, but isn't he really too young to be dealing with that stuff already?"

"Kid's seen more than his fair share of horrors, that's for sure," Tony said quickly. His fatigued-addled brain didn't feel like trying to explain his distrust of therapists at the moment. "But we're working through it. We'll be fine. I'll make sure that he's fine."

Bruce gave him a skeptical look. "Well, okay. But you don't want something like that to get away from you. Trust me, I know."

"We'll be fine," repeated Tony, checking his watch and turning towards the door. "And on that note, I'm late for what I'm sure will be another exhilarating conference call with the DoD. I'll catch ya later, big guy."

"Sure thing!" Bruce called as the door closed. Tony paused just outside, leaning against the wall as he scrubbed at his eyes with his palm, his heart beating a staccato rhythm against his chest piece. For how much Tony hated to admit it, Bruce was right. He wasn't sleeping. When he wasn't awake trying to help Peter get to sleep, he was awake trying to come up with ways to help protect him, along with Pepper and everybody else. And every time he would finally succumb to the overwhelming fatigue and try and close his eyes… all he would see was the massive alien fleet out there in space, just waiting for its chance to invade and kill everyone on Earth.

And in his nightmares, they always came for Peter first.

Drawing in as deep a breath as he could, Tony let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. There had to be some way he could better protect the people he loved. Because even though the Avengers had won the Battle of New York, deep down Tony knew that this was only the beginning. That the Chitauri were just a warm-up exercise.

That there was something else out there that was even worse.

"Sir, if I may—" said JARVIS.

"You may not," Tony snapped, poking at his monitor with his right index finger while inputting rapid commands into his keyboard with his left hand. While the Mark VII suit had worked well during the Chitauri invasion, it had also gotten beaten to hell during the battle, and so one of Tony's first priorities once things had settled down afterwards had been to build a new suit. That had only taken a couple of weeks, after which Tony questioned, why stop there? Having a backup is always good, right? So he built another one. And then another, because having two backups is always better than one, isn't it?

And then, during yet another night where Peter was riddled with nightmares, the idea came to him. What if he could build an entire legion of armors, each with slightly different features for different types of combat, that could be controlled remotely via a heads-up display or via JARVIS himself on Tony's command? Then he could, in a way, be in more than once place at any given time.

The idea had taken root quickly, and Tony had started work the very next night. He had already designed and built four of the suits when Peter came home with a pair of broken glasses and his first black eye.

Peter tried to tell Tony that he'd merely bumped into something at the gym, but being the terrible liar that he is, it didn't take much for Tony to learn that he'd "accidentally" had a ball thrown at his face by Flash Thompson during their PE class at school that day. Tony had been livid; it had taken every ounce of his strength to not fly directly to that goddamn kid's house and blast him into the next dimension. In the end it was Steve—in addition to Peter crying and begging him not to go—who was able to talk him down, telling Tony that one black eye was not worth going to prison over. The fact that Flash was given detention for the next week was only a minor condolence.

"Sir, I must insist," said JARVIS. "It is now past the time to pick Master Peter up at his tumbling gym, and—"

"What?" Tony snapped, gaping at the clock. Had he really been working all day on this already? Kicking his chair out of the way, Tony closed down his monitors and raced out of the lab. "Dammit, JARVIS, why didn't you say so?"

"I did try, sir," JARVIS said, with only a hint of reprimand in his voice. "Please do not be alarmed. Master Peter is simply waiting inside the gym, per your request."

"Yeah, yeah, tell him I'm on my way," muttered Tony as he grabbed his car keys, cursing the fact that Pepper's Head of Security just had to go on paternity leave last week, requiring Happy to step in to the role temporarily. And the fact that he couldn't simply fly to the gym in the suit.

But, if Pete had his own Iron Man suit, then… Hmm…

Much to Tony's dismay—and Peter's—the hounding from the press hadn't let up at all in the six weeks since the start of the school year. Tony likened it to insanity the way they crowded around not only the entrance the to Tower, but also near Peter's school and the gymnastics building as well. Even now as he approached, Tony could see them milling around near the front door, craning to get a peek inside.

Parking his Audi a half a block away, Tony assumed his usual devil-may-care expression as he walked towards the entrance, not an easy task after having been awake for the last forty-plus hours. He could feel his shoulders trembling with effort as he snaked his way through the throng of reporters yelling his name and entered the gym, spotting Peter sitting with his coach, Mr. Connor, next to the parallel bars, the pensive expression melting from his face as his eyes landed on Tony.

"Dad!" Peter exclaimed, rushing over to Tony and wrapping his thin arms around his waist. "I was getting worried!"

"I am so sorry I'm late," Tony said, patting Peter on the back and offering his free hand to the coach. "Got stuck at work, and then the traffic." He jerked his head towards the entrance. "I just—, I don't know—"

"It's all right, Mr. Stark," Mr. Connor said kindly. "I understand how demanding the press can be at times."

"It's ridiculous," agreed Tony. "I mean, it's been months now, you know? Give the kid a break, at least!"

"Yes, sir," said Mr. Connor. "Please understand that I understand."

"Dad," whined Peter. "Can we go now? I'm hungry!"

"Yeah, sure." Gripping Peter's shoulder, he clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders, wincing slightly at the tight knot of tension between his shoulder blades. "Just stay right next to me and you'll be fine, okay?"

"I know, Dad. Happy tells me the same thing when he picks me up."

But as soon as he opened the door and stepped outside, chaos erupted.

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, can you tell us anything new about the possible continuing alien threat in New York?"

"Do you truly believe all the aliens have been accounted for, Mr. Stark?"

"Mr. Stark, what are your thoughts on legislation relating to possible Avenger registration coming before the Senate Armed Forces Committee?"

Tony gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on Peter's shoulder as he barked out a, "No comment!" from the corner of his mouth.

"Dad," Peter said worriedly two steps later, covering his ears with his hands. "Why are they so loud today?"

"Just keep walking," Tony muttered.

"Mr. Stark, how has it been adjusting to being both a superhero and a father?"

"Mr. Stark, do you ever worry for your son's safety now that Earth has been invaded twice by aliens?"

"Mr. Stark, have you heard the rumors that the Department of Damage Control has been responsible for putting several area salvage contractors out of business?"

Tony could see the car, roughly thirty paces away. All they had to do was keep walking towards it and they would be fine.

But not two seconds later the toe of Peter's shoe found a crack in the sidewalk and he pitched forward, causing Tony to lose his hold on his shoulder. Before either of them could recover, Tony's eyes caught sight of a large hand wrapping around Peter's arm, and an anger the likes of which he'd never felt before in his life filled him to such an extent that he literally saw red. Tony's fist immediately reared back and connected directly with the man's nose, the sickening crack that followed echoing throughout the street.

Silence fell over the crowd as the reporters backed away, their faces wearing nearly identical stunned expressions. Shaking out his fist, Tony dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out an embroidered handkerchief and tossing it at the bleeding reporter. "Do not ever touch my son again," he said in a low, menacing voice, gripping Peter's jacket so tightly he was surprised the fabric was still intact. "Or I'll break a lot more than your fucking nose."

"Daddy!" Peter squeaked once they'd arrived at the car, his lower lip trembling. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"

"It's not your fault, Peter," said Tony as he leaned against the car, trying to take deep breaths. "None of this was your fault."

Tears started rolling down Peter's cheeks. "But if I hadn't tripped, then you wouldn't've had to—"

"I said it's not your fault!" Tony snapped, his heart breaking a little at the frightened look that flashed across Peter's face. "No, no, don't look at me like that. I'm sorry, buddy." He wrapped his arms around Peter, wincing at the throbbing pain in his knuckles. He'd have to call Pepper and give her a heads up on the incident as soon as possible. "If they hadn't been there in the first place, then none of this would've happened."

"I know," Peter sputtered. "But still!"

"But still nothing," barked Tony. "It's my job to protect you from whatever I perceive as a threat. And that's what I'm gonna do, and I'm gonna do it without hesitation. Do you understand me?" Another tear rolled down Peter's round cheek, and Tony pressed the pad of his thumb to it, brushing it gently away.

"Do you understand?" he asked again, this time in a quieter voice.

"Yeah," replied Peter, sniffing. "I understand."

"Good. Now, let's get home before my hand swells up too much for me to drive."

Tony was lucky. Thanks to Pepper's quick action, the reporter Tony clocked declined to press charges, instead choosing a small monetary settlement and the complete coverage of his medical bills.

But the incident only reinforced Tony's obsession with creating his new armor, and by the beginning of November, with his available materials running dangerously low, Tony was starting to panic. Peter's sleep had grown progressively worse as the weeks dragged on, to the point where he was regularly falling asleep in class. And Tony, fueled with vast amounts of caffeine, would often stay awake for as many as three days at a time, trying to come up with yet more designs for his suits. He was also working on a way to summon the suit in individual pieces if he so chose, thinking it a good way to keep his armor hidden should the need arise.

"Pardon me, sir," said JARVIS suddenly, causing Tony to knock over his coffee cup. "But Captain Rogers is on the line."

Swearing, Tony grabbed a towel to mop up the brown liquid, blinking his exhausted eyes at the monitor in front of him. What the hell had he been working on again?

"Go ahead and put him though," he muttered.

"Tony?" came Steve's voice a second later. "I'm sorry to bother you, but—"

"Yeah?" Tony croaked. "What do you want?"

"I've got Peter down here; he was helping me learn how to use my computer, and… well, he fell asleep in the chair while I was fiddling with it, so—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll come down and get him," interrupted Tony. He squeezed his scratchy eyes closed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just give me a minute."

"Are you sure? I don't mind bringing him up there, it's no trouble."

"No, no," Tony said warily. "Don't try and move him. You have to wake him up a certain way or else he freaks out. I'll come down and get him."

"All right," replied Steve.

Stepping off the elevator that led to the quarters of Steve Rogers, Tony cringed as the wispy sounds of The Glenn Miller Band wafted through the closed door, such a stark contrast to his own usual AC-DC and Black Sabbath playlist. No wonder the kid fell asleep. Cap's listening to goddamn elevator music.

"I'm sorry to have to bother you, Tony," Steve said as he opened the door.

"Peter's never a bother," Tony said firmly, his eyes quickly scanning the apartment, which was roughly half the size of his own. Since he'd last been there Steve had apparently done some decorating. Next to the kitchen by the east windows stood a fully stocked art cabinet, with a large easel and drawing pad slightly off to the side. An old-fashioned Victrola sat in one corner, a large pile of vinyl records stacked beside it, along with a couple boxes of old hardcover books. Opposite the kitchen was the home gym, complete with free weights, three punching bags of different sizes hanging from the high ceiling, and an old, manual treadmill.

It looked like the perfect place for the man out of time.

"Where'd Fury find all this stuff?" Tony asked, jerking his head towards the Victrola.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. Some old SHIELD warehouse, I guess. They had my room decked out like the 1940's when I came to, so… "

"Hmm," Tony mumbled. "So, you starting to adjust then? I mean, to life in the twenty-first century?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Steve replied, cocking his head. "Peter's been a big help, actually. He's been really patient with explaining stuff to me, showed me how to work the television and the stove, and your fancy telephones. Things like that."

"Yeah, he's the best," said Tony, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel another caffeine-crash headache coming on. "Doesn't get that from me, that's for sure. Now, on that note, where is he?"

"Oh, yeah," Steve said. He pointed down the short hallway. "He's in the office, I guess? Is that what you guys call them? My mom used to call it a den, but… anyway. He was trying to explain… goggle—?"

Tony smirked. "You mean, google?"

"Yeah, that's it. He was trying to explain it to me and by the time I'd typed in my first search, he was slumped over in the chair, sound asleep. I thought he looked pretty tired when he got here." Steve leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Tony. "You're looking a little rough yourself, Tony, if you don't mind my saying so."

Tony pursed his lips. "Yeah, we've both been having some trouble sleeping lately. You know, lots of stuff going on. But that's nothing you need to be concerned about. We'll be fine."

"Is there something I can do to help?" asked Steve. "I hate to think about Peter struggling and not try to help him."

"There's nothing," Tony said quickly, as politely as he could muster. "Just let me grab him and we can be outta your hair—"

"No!" came a loud, anguished screech from down the hall, causing Tony's heart to leap into his throat. Bursting into the office, his stomach dropped at the sight of Peter curled into a tight ball on the padded desk chair, obviously trapped in yet another one of his nightmares.

"Peter," Tony said firmly, his arms wrapping around the boy and pulling him onto his lap. "Pete, it's okay. Wake up, buddy, I'm here."

"No, don't go!" Peter cried, his hands pinching Tony's skin as he grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. "You promised you'd never leave me!"

"I didn't leave you, Pete," Tony said, weaving his fingers into Peter's messy curls. He maneuvered Peter's head so it was resting over his chest piece. Peter found its low humming noise soothing for some reason. "I didn't leave you, buddy. I'm right here."

A few seconds later Peter's eyes flew open, and he looked up at Tony in disbelief. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, bud. I'm here."

"What…?" Peter asked as he scanned the room, his eyes landing on Steve. "What's going on?"

"You were helping me with my computer, Peter," Steve said gently. "Remember?"

Peter shook his head. "No. I was back on the street, by the Tower." Tears pooled in his brown eyes, and his entire body shuddered as he looked up at Tony. "Watching you fly through the hole in the sky with the rocket on your back."

Almost instantly Tony broke out into a cold sweat, his lungs seizing in his chest and making him gasp for breath. He had tried talking to Peter about the sequence of events that had led to he and Ned appearing at the very end of the battle the way they did, but Peter's explanation had been a bit skimpy on the details, and Tony hadn't pressed him for more. The poor kid had been having enough trouble sleeping as it was, and Tony had been afraid that if he badgered him about it, it would only make things worse.

"Oh God, Peter," Tony said quietly, tightening his arms around the boy. "Buddy, why didn't you tell me you saw that? I promise, it wasn't what it looked like. I was—"

"You were trying to blow up the aliens!" cried Peter. "Right?"

"Yes, but—"

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, sputtering and coughing as he yelped, "But you promised! You promised you'd never leave me, and I saw you fly through that hole… and everything was so loud and the aliens were roaring and people were screaming, and…". He let out a huge shudder, covering his ears with his hands. "I didn't know if you were ever coming back!"

"Peter," Steve said in his Captain's voice. "Your dad was trying to save you. He was trying to save all of us." He paused, looking at Tony for permission to continue. "That rocket was trying to destroy New York, and your dad saved all our lives when he flew it into space. He was the only one of us who could've done it."

Gasping and sniffling, Peter looked back up at Tony, fat tears still streaming down his cheeks. "But… what if you hadn't come back? What would've happened to me? I would've been alone again!"

"Nothing's gonna happen to you, Pete," Tony said, burying his nose in Peter's hair. He could smell the scent of the boy's green apple shampoo, which Tony found surprisingly calming. "I'm not gonna let that happen ever again."

"But what if you can't help it?" Peter whimpered. "What if those aliens come back? Or—, or—, something even worse?"

It was as if Peter had read a transcript of Tony's thought process ever since the Chitauri invasion, and Tony froze, the blood ice-cold in his veins. Tony was the only member of the Avengers to actually see the massive fleet out there in space, and it had haunted nearly his every waking—and sleeping—moment since. The Chitauri were not the only threat to the Earth; there was something out there that was much, much bigger. It was almost like Tony could feel it.

"Well," Tony murmured, looking rather helplessly at Steve, who only shook his head. "Then it's up to us to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Us? You mean the Avengers?" asked Peter.

"Yeah," said Tony. "The Avengers."

"The Avengers are a team, Peter," said Steve. "And teammates look out for each other. And I promise that we'll look out for your dad, if that time comes and he needs us to."

Tony inhaled a deep, quivering breath, trying to calm his stuttering heart. He really needed to start laying off of the coffee. "And I promise to protect you, Peter. No matter what." He cupped Peter's face, brushing the boy's tears away with his fingers. "I'm so sorry you had to see what you saw. But you have to know I would absolutely do it again if it meant saving you. You and Pepper are more important to me than my own life, do you understand?"

Peter's lower lip shook as he nodded. "Uh huh."

"All right." Tony kissed Peter's forehead and got to his feet with him still in his arms. "And now, I think we should go back upstairs and get you in bed."

"No!" Peter yelped. "Please, I don't wanna go back to sleep! I'll only see it all over again!"

"Peter, you can't stay awake forever," Tony warned him. "It's not good for you!"

"Why not? You do it! You stay awake for days at a time, working!"

"I'm also an adult, Peter," Tony said, cringing at how corny it sounded. "I'm allowed to do things like that. You, however, are a child, and therefore are not."

"But—"

"No more buts, kid. Now, let's get out of here so Steve can listen to his big band music in peace, yeah?"

"I'm very grateful for your help today, Peter," Steve said gently. "Maybe after you get some good sleep you can come back again?"

"Uh huh," Peter replied, his head resting on Tony's shoulder as they approached Steve's front door. As soon as the door closed behind them Peter lifted his head, his nose wrinkling. "Hey Dad, wanna know something kinda funny?"

Tony's lips curled into a slight smile. "Sure, bud."

"Steve didn't even know what a mouse was for!" Peter exclaimed. "He said they didn't have computers when he was a kid!"

"No, they didn't," Tony said with a chuckle. "They didn't really even have televisions when Steve was a kid. Or Legos."

"Is that why he likes to draw so much?"

"Probably part of the reason," Tony said, huffing slightly as the elevator opened into their apartment and he eased Peter down. "Now. I think it's time for a bath, young man, and then straight to bed for you."

Peter stuck out his bottom lip. "Can I at least have a snack? I'm hungry."

"Yeah, go ahead."

But thirty minutes or so later, as Tony sat next to Peter on his bed, his hand resting on the boy's shoulder as he cuddled George in his arms, Tony felt the same panicked feeling he'd had in Steve's apartment come rushing back. He had promised that he would protect Peter, at the cost of his own life if need be. But how in the hell could he do that when he didn't know what he needed to protect him from?

"Tony, you're getting upset over nothing," Pepper's sultry voice said from Tony's video screen. "There's no reason for you to be concerned, it was just a business meeting. I have them multiple times a day, you know."

"Ah huh," Tony muttered. "If it was only another business meeting, then why did Happy feel the need to call me and warn me about this guy? He said the dude looked like a high-class pimp when he walked in. And his security guy looked smarmy as hell too."

"Oh my God, Tony. Aldrich Killian may be many things, but I really don't think he's a pimp," admonished Pepper. "And I hope Peter's not around right now, because he doesn't need to be hearing you say things like that."

"Pete's in bed already," Tony said. "He wanted to stay up and talk to you, but he was nodding off during dinner so I tucked him in early."

"Yeah," Pepper said, pressing her lips together. "About that. I still think we should have him talk to—"

"Don't go there, honey," Tony warned. He could feel his blood pressure starting to spike. "I'm telling you—"

"Someone," Pepper finished, scowling. "He obviously needs some help, Tony, and—"

"And I said no, Pepper!" Tony snapped. "No shrinks for the kid! End of discussion!"

"So what, you're just gonna let him struggle for who knows how long? Like he's been struggling for who knows how long? The kid's been through a lot, Tony. He needs help!"

"I am helping him!" barked Tony.

"Oh yeah?" countered Pepper. "Like you're helping yourself? You look like hell, Tony! When was the last time you got any sleep?"

"Um…" Tony sputtered. He rubbed at his eyes, struggling to remember. How long had it been?

"That's what I thought," Pepper said, softer this time. "Tony, how can you expect Peter to get better when you're not? You know how much that kid adores you. He can see what you're doing. And if it's okay for you to repeatedly run yourself into the ground, then he's gonna think it's okay for him to do the same."

"I'm not—"

"Yes you are, Tony. I can see it from here. You don't think I notice when you order yet another set of your armor plating to be shipped out to New York? How many of them are you up to by now? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

Um… forty? With two more almost completed? "Something like that. What did this Aldrich Killian want, anyway?"

Pepper's brow furrowed, and she gave a slight shake of her head. "Oh, he said he ran a think tank that had come up with a revolutionary idea. He wanted us to invest money in it so he could get it off the ground."

Aldrich Killian… Aldrich Killian… The name sounded eerily familiar. "And?"

"And I said no. It was a rather fascinating presentation, but it seemed just a little too dangerous to me. Too… potentially weaponisable if it fell into the wrong hands."

"Hmm," muttered Tony. "What was it called?"

"Extremis," replied Pepper. "Killian said he'd discovered how to unlock a dormant part of the brain and 'recode it'."

"Huh," said Tony, wracking his brain. He knew he'd heard the name Extremis before, somewhere, but his mind felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls for how well it was working at the moment. Maybe I really do need to get some more sleep.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You have that look on your face again."

"What look?"

"The 'if I don't get some sleep soon I'm gonna keel over and die' look."

"Pepper, I'm telling you—"

"If not for yourself, then do it for Peter!" Pepper snapped. "You're of no use to him when you're half out of your mind with fatigue!"

"It's not that simple, Pepper!" shouted Tony, slamming his fist down onto the counter, choking as he tried to breathe. "Nothing's been the same since the battle. I can't sleep without—." He paused, raking his hand through his hair. "What I saw, the threat is imminent. It's coming; it's only a matter of time, honey. And I have to protect the people I care about the most. And that's you, and that curly-haired, nerdy, adorable kid of mine who loves Legos and Star Wars and doing flips. But I don't know if I even can protect you. What we saw here, and what I saw out there, there's no comparison. Honey, out there is so much worse."

Pepper was quiet for a moment before sighing heavily. "Look. Peter has how many days of school left before Christmas break?"

Tony groaned. "I don't know, five? Six? Something like that."

"Okay. So on his last day of school you're gonna pick him up and drive directly to the airport. And the two of you are gonna spend two weeks out here with me, and we're gonna decorate the tree and bake cookies and drink eggnog—"

"Pete doesn't like eggnog," Tony interrupted.

"Then he can have hot chocolate," Pepper said, without missing a beat. "And you're both gonna do nothing else but take it easy for a change. Is that understood?"

"We'll see."

"Yes, we will," Pepper said firmly. "Now, I need to get going. Happy has something he wants to go over with me before I head home."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Tony. "Tell Happy that Pete misses him."

Laughing, Pepper nodded. "I will."

"G'night, honey."

"Goodnight."

Shutting down the monitor, Tony heaved out a heavy sigh, scrubbing at his dry eyes with his palm. Two weeks of the Malibu sun and sea air did sound amazing, and he had little doubt that Peter wouldn't jump at the chance to get away from New York for a stretch either. Maybe they should just go, Steve Rogers and the DoD be damned.

After checking on Peter, Tony shuffled to his bedroom, flipping on the television as he pawed through his dresser drawers for a clean t-shirt. How long had it been since he'd dropped off the laundry?

"And so here you have yet another terrorist attack on American soil," came a snarky voice from the television. Tony's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he listened closer to the late-night talk show host's tirade. "And the only response from President Ellis is to take the War Machine armor and give it a new name and a flashy new paint job?"

"Paint job?" Tony grumbled under his breath, jerking back in surprise as a picture of the new Iron Patriot flashed across the screen. "What the hell?"

Rhodey had mentioned something about a couple of recent suicide bombings when they'd had lunch together the last time Tony had been in D.C., but with Peter along he hadn't wanted to say too much more. And Tony could vaguely remember hearing about another one last fall, but he'd forgotten about it after Peter had gotten so sick.

"JARVIS," Tony said, still staring at the television. "Call Rhodey. I wanna know what the hell's going on."

"Colonel Rhodes is unable to take your call at this time, sir," JARVIS replied a moment later. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"Nah, I'll just try him again tomorrow," grumbled Tony. He flopped backwards onto his bed, groaning as his exhausted body melted against the mattress. He was asleep before he could take another breath.

"Ow!" Tony exclaimed around the bloody gauze pad stuck between his teeth, shaking out his left arm. Who would've thought subcutaneous implants would hurt so damn much?

"Forty-six," said JARVIS.

"Ah!" Tony yelped through his clenched teeth, again shaking his arm.

"Forty-seven," JARVIS said. "Sir, please, may I request just a few hours to calibrate—"

"Nope," muttered Tony as he positioned the implanter approximately an inch or so away from the last spot, shooting in the forty-eighth and final implant. "Ow!" Setting down the implanter, he blotted the blood spots away and tapped his forearms together.

Okay. I'll have to think of something else for Peter if this ends up working. That hurt way too damn much.

"Micro-repeater implanting sequence complete," Tony said, looking towards the stand where he'd mounted his his video camera. "This is a test of the Mark 42, autonomous prehensile propulsion suit."

"Very well," said JARVIS. "I've also prepared a safety briefing for you to entirely ignore."

"And I will," Tony shot back, grimacing as he noticed the blood spattered on the floor. It was high time that he brought DUM-E out here to New York, especially since he and Peter got along so well. "All right, let's do this. JARVIS, drop my needle."

As the funky chords of an old arrangement of Jingle Bells filled his lab, Tony held out his left arm, trying to summon the Mark 42 gauntlet from where it rested on a table across the room. After a few frustrated tries, the gauntlet took off from the table, flying towards Tony and attaching itself to his arm, covering the skin up to his elbow. The shoulder piece came next, sliding down to cover the rest of his arm.

So far, so good. Turning, he held out his right arm, successfully summoning the right gauntlet in a more timely fashion.

"All right," he said with a grin once the right gauntlet was in place. "I think we got this. Send 'em all."

But unfortunately as Tony's heart rate increased, a result of excitement and way too much caffeine, so did the speed at which the rest of the armored pieces flew at him. Tony was able to catch most of them, grunting and groaning as they slammed against his body, but had to duck out of the way twice to avoid having his head taken off, resulting in two broken windows and the destruction of his brand-new record player.

"C'mon," he said to the golden-colored mask, hovering in the air over the table as if it was taunting him. "I ain't scared of you."

Flying towards him, the mask turned upside down at the last second, forcing Tony to flip in order to catch it, causing the platform to crack as he slammed back down. Blinking and gasping, Tony activated the HUD, pride flooding his veins as the display came on-line. It works!

"Yeah. I'm the best," he said proudly.

"Dad?" came Peter's small voice from the doorway, a split second before one of the spare armor sections slammed against Tony's lower back, knocking him off the platform and flat onto his face as the armor scattered away from his body.

"Daddy!" cried Peter as he ran over to him. "Oh my God, are you okay?"

"Oohh," groaned Tony, more out of embarrassment than pain, although there was plenty of that too. "Yeah, Pete, I'm okay."

"Are you sure," Peter asked frantically, his small hands clutching Tony's shoulders, trying to help him sit back up. "I heard crashing sounds and breaking glass. What're you doing in here?"

"Just working," Tony said as he stripped his helmet off. "Testing out my new suit."

Peter's eyebrows knitted together as he shook his head. "Well, it looked like the suit was attacking you."

Tony let out a laugh, clutching his side when a sharp pain shot across his ribcage. "No, Pete. I promise it wasn't attacking me. I designed it to attach in pieces like that."

"Why?" asked Peter.

"Well…" Tony stammered. "Because it's more portable that way. And then I'm not dependent on any robots or funky bracelets to summon it when I need it."

"Oh," Peter mumbled, his lower lip starting to shake. "But, Daddy… why do you think you're gonna need it? Didn't you kill all the aliens?"

Tony's heart broke a little at the underlying fear in Peters voice. He was trying so hard to be brave, far harder than any nine-year old kid should be required to. Tony wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he cuddled Peter close. "Yeah, buddy, I did. But… I'm just trying to make sure that I'm prepared… if…"

"If what?" Peter asked, his voice muffled against Tony's chest. "If more aliens come?"

"Yeah," answered Tony with a heavy sigh. He buried his nose in Peter's hair, smelling the soothing scent of his green apple shampoo. "That's right. I gotta protect you, buddy."

Peter was silent for a moment. "I know. But I wish you didn't have to worry about it so much."

"Pardon me, sir," JARVIS cut in. "But Miss Potts is on the line."

"Yeah? Put her through!"

"Tony!" Pepper's frantic voice sounded from the wall screen, causing Tony's heart to jump into his throat. "There's been an explosion! Happy, he's hurt, and—"

"Are you all right?" Tony demanded as he got to his feet, clutching Peter's shoulder.

"I'm fine, Tony! But Happy's in the hospital, and he's hurt, and no one knows how it happened! There's no evidence of an explosive, or—"

"What do you mean—?" Tony started, realizing halfway through the sentence that it didn't matter how Happy had gotten injured. All that mattered right now was the fact that he was, and also that Pepper was now unprotected. "Never mind that. Where are you right now?"

"I'm at the house, I just left the hospital. They say Happy's critical but stable, whatever that means."

"All right, then I want you to stay put until I get there. JARVIS?"

"At your service, sir," replied the AI.

"Lock down the house. No one goes in or out without my express permission. I'm gonna send a security detail to the hospital to watch over Happy, and I'll be there in less than three hours."

"Tony, I don't think—"

"Yes, Pepper, it is. Just… stay put."

"Daddy—!"

"JARVIS, get Banner and Rogers on the line," barked Tony as soon as Pepper clicked off.

"Yes, sir."

"Daddy!" Peter cried, his small hands clinging to Tony's arm. "Please, I wanna come with you!"

Tears pricked Tony's eyes at the anguish in his son's voice, and he gripped Peter's shoulders, turning him to face him. "Peter, you can't. I gotta get there as fast as I can, which means I gotta fly in the suit. And as much as I wish you could, you can't fly with me."

"But—!"

"Tony?" Bruce's sleepy voice said from the half of the huge monitor, just as Steve's head filled the other half, looking far more wide awake. "It's after midnight, what's going on?"

"I need you guys to look after Pete for awhile," Tony stated. "There's been an accident out in California and I need to get there ASAP."

"Is Pepper okay?" Steve asked. "I saw a report on the evening news about an explosion—?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Tony said impatiently. "But I gotta make sure she stays fine, so I gotta go like, right now, and I need you guys to watch Peter."

"Of course, Tony," said Steve. "I'll be right up."

"Yeah, okay, but give me a few minutes," Bruce said, stifling a yawn. "I'm not too presentable right now."

"Nah, Bruce, go on back to bed," Tony said, remembering that Steve didn't really need to sleep all that much. "You can catch up in the morning. Pete's just gonna go back to bed anyway."

"No, I'm not," Peter said quietly, causing guilt to swell in the pit of Tony's stomach. "I won't be able to sleep without you here."

"I'll be right up, Tony," Steve repeated. "Just give me a couple minutes."

"Thanks," Tony whispered. As soon as the screen went blank he crouched down in front of Peter. "Look, buddy. You only have a couple more days of school before Christmas break. Once I've made sure that there's no danger out in Malibu, I'll have Steve or Bruce bring you out there to join me. But I gotta go right now, Pete. I need to make sure Happy's okay, and Pepper… she doesn't have anyone to watch over her now, so I need to make sure she's protected. Okay? Steve and Bruce will take good care of you while I'm gone."

A lone tear slid down Peter's round cheek as he sniffed. "Okay."

"It should only be for a few days at most," Tony said, trying to sound optimistic. He hated having to leave Peter behind, and felt even worse about making him cry, but he didn't see any other options at this point.

The elevator opened then, revealing a somber Steve Rogers. "Hey, Peter, Tony," he said, his eyes widening slightly as they swept around the messy lab. "Was there an explosion up here too?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned about," Tony said quickly, rolling his eyes. "Just listen closely. JARVIS wakes Peter up for school. He can get his own breakfast, but you'll need to help him with his dinner. Make sure he has his inhaler and glasses when you drop him off at school. The tumbling gym is already closed for the holidays, so you don't need to worry about that. And make sure he gets to bed on time, and that he has his polar bear, can't forget the polar bear. And he'll need you to sit with him until he's asleep."

"Got it," said Steve with a nod.

Drawing Peter into a tight hug, Tony kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his hair to try and stem the massive waves of guilt flowing through him. "I love you, Peter. And I'll see you soon. You be good for Steve and Bruce, yeah?"

"I will," Peter sobbed, nearly cracking Tony's heart in two. "Just… I hope Happy's okay."

Tony ruffled Peter's hair as he got back to his feet, pressing his palm against his throbbing side. Damn inconvenient time for a broken rib! "Me too, bud. Me too."

"C'mon, Peter," said Steve, nodding at Tony as he reached for Peter's hand. "Let's… um… get you back into bed, okay?"

Choking on a sob, Peter nodded, waving at Tony as Steve led him down the hall to his room. As soon as they were out of sight Tony summoned his armor, which went far better the second time around for some reason. Stepping outside onto his platform, he drew in as deep a breath as he could and took off into the night, heading towards California.

So we've arrived at the events of Iron Man 3. :/ The next chapter will have both Tony's and Peter's POVs.

Thank you so much for reading! I can't wait to hear what you guys think! :)