Peter's lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, whole body rigid.

His heartbeat still hasn't completely calmed down. He feels the fist-sized organ thumping loudly in his chest two times a second and he's holding his breath so he doesn't hyperventilate but it only enhances the panic sitting in his rib cage until his lips break open in a silent beg for air.

He prays for peace, for quiet, for anything but this.

Tears are running down his face and he's too shaken to wipe them away, still not completely back in control over his body.

He just wants –

Aunt May or Mister Stark.

But Aunt May is at home, probably sleeping tightly and enjoying her weekend off, and Mister Stark – Mister Stark doesn't sleep all that much but he does when Miss Potts is around and Miss Potts is finally back from her business trip and he knows how much his mentor has been looking forward to it and –

He gasps for air when his spiraling thoughts become too much to handle.

Point is, he can't wake up the man just because he's had a nightmare. He's not five anymore, running to his aunt and uncle when the demons in his head got too real. He's sixteen and, more importantly, a superhero he should be able to handle these episodes.

It's just – It felt so real.

The pictures won't leave him, they haunt him, taunt him, mock him with chilling voices that make his Spidey sense tingle and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Shadows chasing him, trying to get his mask, trying to take his most valued possession from him. He won't let them.

The empty room, the screen, Mister Stark and the kid. Who's he? Why's he there?

The girl with the curls, the green- eyed snake.

The mirror.

Paralyzed.

Piano music.

What?

The sudden shift in his room is enough for him to rip his eyes open and fall back into reality. His mind stumbles, trying to discern between what's real and what isn't but he clings to the soothing sounds. Those were not in his dream, those are real. Real and steady.

There's something familiar about them, too, he realizes when he forces all conscious thought on the song playing instead of on the bright green eyes in his head. It's a song Mister Stark always plays when he wants to relax. Something Italian, he thinks.

His senses are dialed up. They always are after a nightmare. It's why he doesn't flinch when there's a soft rap on his door because he has heard his mentor approach, muffled footsteps shuffling closer filed away mentally because they're not a threat.

"Hey squirt, you up?"

Peter grunts in reply but it's all the older man needs before he slips into the room and quietly shuts the door behind him.

The room feels different with another person in there with him. The air isn't as stifling and he doesn't feel as cold. There's a different heartbeat and breathing pattern to focus on to take his mind off his own raised vitals.

His mattress moves when the superhero sits down on the bed, joints creaking with the motion, and the teenager scoots over to make room for him. A part of him settles when the other man does.

"Nightmare?" – "Mmph."

"Panic attack?" – He shakes his head, then changes it to a shrug midway through. "Mmph."

"Can I touch you?" – "Mmh," he nods, glad when a hand comes to rest on his sternum heavily, grounding him in the moment.

This is real, he keeps telling himself. But it's hard. The thought is slipping away more often than he can hold onto it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" – "Mmph."

"Should you talk about it?" – "Mmh," he shrugs. Probably. Maybe? It's just a dream.

"Was scary," Peter says eventually, hand reaching out, flailing a little until another takes a hold of it. "Was running and," he shudders, "Killed a snake. Bit me. Couldn't move."

For a moment the soft piano music and their breathings are the only sounds in the room. Mister Stark keeps rubbing soothing circles on his chest, making the panic in there loosen a little. It's not quite enough for it to completely disappear but it makes it easier to breathe anyway.

When his mentor speaks again, his voice his heavy with emotion he doesn't have to articulate to be understood. They're evident in his tones and sub tones and the way he hasn't stopped the calming motion once.

"But you can move now, right? You're fine. I've got you. I'll always protect you."

"Not you." The snake said that. But the snake isn't real whereas Mister Stark is. His body is warm and solid and here. The snake is just a figment of his imagination. A very terrifying figment but in his head nonetheless.

"Promise?" His weak whisper is barely audible in the big room but somehow the other man hears it and for the fraction of a second puts more pressure on his chest.

"Always, kid."

He's my kid.

The dream Mister Stark had his arm wrapped around someone else. Not you, not you, not you.

But his Mister Stark is sitting on his bedside, foregoing his own sleep to talk him down from a nightmare. He cares about Peter.

Always, kid.

God. Why is this so fucking hard? Why is he always falling back into the warped up dream version of things? Why can't he stay in the moment? Why is he still scared? Why is he always scared?

"Hey, hey," Mister Stark's hand covers his ever so gently, "No pinching yourself till you bleed on my watch again. I promised May, didn't I?"

I'll always protect you. Not you. Always, kid. Not you. I've got you. Not you, not you, not you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"This isn't working."

The words have Peter's thoughts screeching to a halt. He wants to scream and kick but all that falls from his lips is a pathetic, pleading whimper. Does Mister Stark have enough of babying him all the time? Has his patience finally run thin?

The billionaire pulls his blanket back and him into an upright position, grunting when he has to move Peter's dead weight because they boy doesn't help the movement at all. He doesn't seem to mind, though, just holds him up and wraps a blanket around his shoulders before pushing both of them off the bed and into a standing position.

Somewhere along the way, Peter's neurons start firing again and he's almost able to stand on his own feet, thankful that his mentor is keeping a secure arm around his shoulders.

Always, kid.

He stumbles over his feet a few times before they reach the door but he doesn't question where they going once. It's a relief to be moving at all. Anywhere to get away from his bed, away from the nightmares, away from the snake.

"You up for your first lesson in stargazing?"

"Huh?" Peter blinks up tiredly, burrowing deeper into the embrace when the man pulls him impossibly closer.

"Tony," a different voice – female, Pepper – comes from somewhere – left, hallway to the master bedroom – sounding weirdly muffled in his ears – his head is pressed into Mister Stark's chest, oh. "You can't take him to the roof like that!"

They talk for a little after that, although Peter can't say how long for. He just zaps out after his mind has identified the rough parameters and instead concentrates on Mister Stark's heartbeat that is much better than the 60bpm piano music because he can feel his chest vibrating with the force of life behind every pulse.

He only looks up blearily when someone wraps another blanket around his shoulders and slips a warm bobble hat on his head.

"Do you need anything else? Jacket? Gloves? Scarf?"

"No, mom. We're all bundled up. We won't be long anyway." Mister Stark sounds amused and relaxed. Peter likes it when he sounds like that and his lips curl up in something akin to a smile, too.

"Okay," Pepper sounds a little stressed but her hands on his cheeks are reassuring and warm when she drops a kiss to his forehead, "Take good care of him and have F.R.I.D.A.Y. call me if you need anything. I love you both."

Oh. Miss Potts loves him, too? That's nice, right? It sounds nice. He likes the sound of her voice when she smiles so he whispers a quiet thanks because it feels right and promptly is being pulled tighter by Mister Stark. He must've done something right then, he figures.

His tired, shaken thoughts only pick up on their conversation when they're already in the elevator.

"Stargazing?"

"Yeah, stargazing," Mister Stark smiles, "It usually helps me focus after a nightmare. Jarvis taught me how to find the North Star when I was a kid and then Rhodey told me some more cool stuff when we met. The consistency of it makes me feel safe even after everything."

Consistency. That sounds nice, too. He nods in understanding. "North Star 's the guidin' star?"

The elevator stops and they step out on the roof, the chilly December air hitting the parts of him that aren't covered. It helps wake him up and clears his mind, still he buries himself as deep into the hug with Mister Stark as he can, not wanting to lose the comfort the other man is providing.

"It is, it'll always lead you back home."

He squeezes his shoulder as he leads him a little closer to the edge – but not close enough they might fall – and there's a lot more being said between the lines but they're both too tired and feeling too raw to say it out loud.

"How do I find it?" he wants to know, craning his head so he can look up at the sky.

As his mentor explains the Big Dipper to him he feels his apathy give way to the buzzing that always accompanies learning something new. It's just a fraction of the feeling that usually takes over his body but it's enough to break his mind out of its loop and follow the descriptions and explanations eagerly.

"So if that," he points to the sky with his hand tightly wrapped into the corner of the blanket, "is Ursa Major then that's the bowl and –" he pauses and frowns up at the other man who's watching him fondly. He's sure Mister Stark already said it but he can't remember. "In which direction do I follow the pointers?"

Instead of being annoyed, Mister Stark wraps his hand securely around his wrist and moves him the right way. "In winter you have to go to the left." He stops the motion when Peter's index finger is pointing to a bright star above them.

The teenager is barely listening when his mentor is listing where to point in summer, spring and autumn, too transfixed on the brightly shining star that seems to be twinkling down at him, telling him that it would be okay.

Always, kid.

"Any ideas on how to figure out the latitude once you found Polaris?"

He grins when the answer presents itself easily, a sign of his mind finding its way back to him. It's trigonometry, simplest math.

"The altitude of it above the horizon should equal the latitude."

"Pretty cool, right?"

Peter smiles, sinking back into his mentor's embrace. He's tired again but not the same tired he was before. This tired is sleepily at peace not exhausted from a nightmare.

"'s very cool," he mumbles, "'D you ever need 't?"

The admission comes hesitantly and quietly. "I did."

The promise that follows is neither. It's confident and strong. "I'll make sure you'll never do, though. I will always have your back and I will always bring you home."

Home.

Peter smiles.

Not an empty room and daunting hallway with green-eyed snakes.

Home.

A/N: Eh. I've been looking forward to writing this but then I didn't have time and now I'm not sure how I feel about this. But it's 2am and I'm too tired to change anything about it. Hope it works!
Also, I've actually written that dream sequence but I never planned on sharing it in this chapter. I might post some outtakes after this story is over. What do you say? And, does this chapter work without the dream sequence?