Wow. Wow. Holy Moley, WOW.

Peter had opted for a light patrol tonight, to get himself acclimatized to the suit, since the first time he'd ever worn it had been, like, the day before yesterday? And he was still trying to figure out the surreal experience that was sensory control; it was something he'd… struggled with. Ignored. Coped with.

But now! If he wasn't trying to filter out noises from two blocks over, or the guy's heartbeat, across the street…he could actually concentrate!

So far, he'd been able to wait with some scared-looking middle school girls for the bus, entertaining them with flips to distract them, he'd stopped a taxi from hitting a lady with a stroller, he'd taken a picture for some tourists without charging them (he got a bird's eye view they wouldn't believe), and managed to de-escalate a territory dispute between two homeless guys. A bodega owner offered him a free sandwich for saving him from being hit by his own sign when it almost fell on him, and Peter was able to make friends with the Bodega's cat. And. You know. It was always good to be friends with cats. (Better than being enemies with them, at least.)

He ended up calling it quits around 6:00, finding his backpack from where he'd webbed it to the dumpster, and changing back into his normal clothes, hitting the subway, lamenting the loss of his sensory blockers. He ended up pulling up the rain sounds on his phone, again, just to help calm his adrenaline, and he shoved most of a special protein bar in his mouth in one go, he was so hungry. He'd just done a fair bit of exercise, after all, and he was never full enough, with his stupid super-metabolism.

He came home to an empty apartment, frowning. He pulled up his texts, finding one, sure enough, from May, apologizing for the last-minute notice, but she was taking a double shift, because she'd hit her hours and wanted the overtime. She'd be home at 9:00, instead of 3:00 like she'd planned.

Peter grinned, pulling up music and setting to do some multi-tasking his way, since he was alone. That is to say, being able to use his reflexes and actual speed to help him get some chores done and food cooking—it was Monday, which meant it was an eat in day. They had to stick to their routine because they were on a tight budget. (The only exception was when May called a mulligan after doing something disastrous to dinner when it was her turn to cook.)

Peter worked on his 'Parker Special' which was really just his way (Ben's way) of doing minestrone soup. He liked being able to do it when he had time because it used up a lot of leftover vegetables that might otherwise go bad, and also utilized canned beans, which otherwise almost never got eaten. (And so, he almost always had the ingredients on hand.) He especially liked working on it unsupervised, because his agility and speed, post-bite, had left him with impressive skills, when it came to prep work, like chopping vegetables.

He twirled a large vegetable knife in his hand, and had diced some celery, onions, and green peppers in a matter of minutes, putting them in a pot with some vegetable oil to sauté. While waiting for the onions to caramelize, he pulled out the fine tool kit he'd been carrying with him, and the Stark Phone, deciding to tinker with it, while he had time.

Occasionally checking his pot, adding different ingredients and spices, and letting the whole thing cook for a good half hour, Peter also managed to isolate some functions of the Stark Phone to try adding to the motherboard he'd built for his computer. After some thought, he started working on separating the processor, too, so that the computer would be able to handle the strain of running Stark Tech.

He added some leftover noodles to his soup, checking the time, and then dumped the rest of a bag of spinach in, for good measure. May, if he was lucky, should get home at the perfect time, when the spinach had just wilted enough to give flavor to the broth.

He was still hoping that him making a nice dinner would serve as a distraction; he'd called 'resting time,' yesterday, rather than answer some questions for her, but her taking the double shift was a good indication that she'd forgotten. And today had been the most amazing day, so far. He hadn't had any bad spells or dwelt on memories, like he sometimes did, coming back from a panic attack day. He even had some good things to tell May, when she got home, about how he'd handled band, and school and all. And how he'd turned in his work, which would get his grades changed, ensuring he be eligible for his scholarship next year.

So maybe he'd encourage the forgetting a little.

They didn't need to rehash anything.

He was fine.

May came home around 9:15, kicking off her heels and looking up in surprise as Peter ran a rag over the tops of the cupboards in the kitchen; a chore he'd chosen to do in order to be in proximity to the cooking after he'd been unsure what to do once he'd finished the dishes.

(He hurriedly unstuck his socked feet from the wall, letting them slide a little, to ensure it was clear that he could accomplish this feat without being Spider-Man.)

"Hey, May! Welcome home! Parker Special?" he said, grinning, and clambering back down to the floor, where May was beckoning for him to come give her a kiss on the cheek, watching him in amusement and tired delight.

"Hey, hey! What did I do—mwah—to deserve this?" she asked, depositing her purse on the counter and tossing her keys into a small dish and planting a kiss on Peter's cheek in return, once he was within reach.

"Nothing special," Peter said, smiling wide, pulling away from her and scurrying to get them bowls.

"Well, I think I'll change into something comfy and we can eat on the couch, huh? My feet are killing me," May crossed in front of the counter, heading for her room, and Peter pulled potholders from a drawer, sliding them under the bowls as he ladled soup into them.

And it was so great. Peter was seated where he liked, against the arm of the couch, and May's feet were propped on the coffee table, contacts out, glasses perched on her nose, her hair pulled into an inelegant knot on top of her head that Peter had thought looked Seuss-ian, when he was little, and they had dubbed it her 'who-bun' ever since, and they were both tucking into the soup. The bowls were hot, but didn't burn their fingers because of Peter's quick thinking of using the potholders.

Then May sighed, put her empty soup bowl and potholder on the coffee table, and speared Peter with a look.

"So, I got a call from Tony Stark on my way home from work, mister," she said gently. "I think we gotta talk about some stuff."

Peter just looked at her in surprise.

Well. Okay then.

And he'd been having the best day, too.

-o-

Tony tossed his phone onto the couch next to him, groaning. Gaaahh, being an adult sucked.

Aunt Hottie had been understanding about the asthma attack, and even the panic attack on the plane—she said Peter had mentioned them but hadn't gone into detail.

Then. Then she'd got all. Quiet. When he admitted to being drunk in front of her nephew.

It was actually pretty easy to explain. Everyone knew Tony Stark was Iron Man. Everyone knew all the shit going down with the Accords and Captain America.

He just. Had to leave out the part where Peter had been with him at the fight. Just brought up being with Peter on the plane.

He used all the right words. He'd been through the steps before. Making amends. Taking accountability for his actions. Promising what he could reasonably deliver.

"And I still would like to have SI's doctor look him over. Just to be sure he's okay. It's mostly an insurance thing, having him looked at because he was in our care when. Ah. The. Um. Incidents. Happened."

"Mr. Stark, I'm not looking to sue you, you don't have to spout the company line at me," she'd sighed, and he smiled. "I won't say no to a free checkup from your doctor; we haven't seen his regular doctor since the incident. Um. Last December. He had some kind of allergic reaction, we think, after his class took a field trip. That was. It was right around the time his. Ah. His Uncle died."

Holy shit. Tony had sat up straighter. "Mrs. Parker, I'm so sorry for your loss," he said, all sincerity, no glib flirting. Holy shit. That. That was real fucking recent.

"I'm more concerned with how he's coping emotionally. Mentally. To be perfectly honest. He's been…stressed. Recently. I can tell. He said he'd…been involved in some sort of misunderstanding? It was a fight, Mr. Stark. He had a huge bruise on his face. And when I tried to talk to him about whatever had triggered his panic attack, he called a—a time out. And he hasn't had to do that…in a long time. So, I am grateful to. I dunno. At least be aware of what was going on, I guess. Who was he fighting with? At the retreat?"

So. Yeah. Pretty much the nicest lady in the world. A widow. Caring for her nephew. Who was secretly a superhero. And the kid was legit, by the way. Wanted to help people because he felt like it was his job, since he had superpowers. Tony was starting to see Natasha's point when she'd reamed him for bringing the kid along.

(To be fair, Tony had done the math wrong, which didn't happen often, he'd probably been sleep-deprived; he'd missed the part where the kid was fucking 14.)

Tony didn't want to say anything that might contradict whatever story Peter or Happy had come up with to feed her. And lying didn't sit well with him. Not so recently after needing to take a meeting. Not after he was trying to be accountable.

Damn kid.

"We're looking into it. We got a full description of the events; my team is looking for ways to make sure any kind of altercation won't be happening again. I'll check with Happy. Oh. Um. Harold. Hoggan. The. Ah. I guess he's the official liaison for whenever Pete goes, um, off-site. I'm sorry to be vague, I wasn't personally at the retreat the whole time, I had—" Tony started saying carefully, and was interrupted, then.

"Yes, I saw the news, I know you had Iron Man duties. Oh, God. I. I just realized. How. How is the. Um. The Iron Patriot? He's. He's your friend, isn't he? Will he be all right? I only know he was injured."

Check this family out. Kid's a secret hero with past trauma, Aunt Hottie interrupts the kid's wellness check to check on Tony's wellbeing. Tony needed to make damn sure he kept these people on his radar.

"He's. He's all right. He'll be. He'll be okay," Tony faltered, surprised at the emotion he had to quash out of his voice. "He's. He's already. Um. Working out a physical therapy schedule. Pushing himself too hard, you know? But that's. That's Rhodey. He's always been that way," Tony rambled, before snapping his mouth shut. "Sorry. That's. I'm oversharing. Anyway. Uh, I'll keep sending paperwork to the email he provided—he's gotta set up a direct deposit, hasn't done that yet. And he gets to take a meeting with SI's President? I think he scheduled something for the 5th. Just so you're aware."

"Peter did? On the 5th? You're sure?"

"Uh…might have been the 6th? I just knew it wasn't the 4th."

"Um. The 4th is a. A bad day. For Peter. I don't know how he'll be doing."

Tony nodded uncertainly, but then voiced his thoughts for May's benefit. "I know he…he has sensory stuff. The fireworks?"

"That's. That's part of it. It sounds like. Um. Like gunfire. There's other, um, personal reasons. As well."

Tony frowned. "Mrs. Parker, you mentioned worrying for—for Peter's, uh, emotional and mental well-being? Is he. That is. SI's doctor, Helen Cho, would be happy to screen him for. For anything, everything. If. If you needed a referral for a…a med, or any kind of—"

A huffy breath preceded another interruption, and Tony cracked a thin smile, again. My mother would have liked you, May Parker. It takes a lot of moxie to interrupt a Stark man.

"We see a Grief counsellor once a month, both of us together. For Ben. And Peter has his own therapist, he's been seeing her with varying frequency for a few years, now. There used to be a med, when he was younger, but it…it stopped being effective, recently. It's common, we were told, with Peter growing up, that there would be trouble changing the dosage and making sure it was still safe for him. Peter came to us traumatized, Mr. Stark. His parents had just died. We believe in therapy."

"I didn't mean—" Tony started to apologize.

"You're the newcomer here. I've been studying Peter Parker 101 since he was four. And I appreciate that you saw the genius in my nephew. Because he's smarter than I know what to do with, most of the time. But if you want him, for this internship? You don't just get the genius part. You get all of him. And you being drunk in front of him? Triggering him? That can't be something that happens. He's worked too hard. He doesn't deserve that."

"I agree. Um. 100 percent. I. Again, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" May interrupted him, and then herself, with a groan. "I promised I wouldn't just. Just play this card willy-nilly, but what the hell. Richard. Richard Parker, you know, Pete's…Pete's father. He was Ben's brother. So, when Ben passed, it was…implied…that Peter…wasn't even really my nephew. That he'd been Ben's kin. That I just. I dunno. I just "married in," I guess, which apparently means I'm not a "real" Parker. I. I don't know. The. The fucking audacity." May took another angry snort of breath before continuing. "Mr. Stark, that boy is mine. He is my family. And I'm trying, I really am, to not. To not just fight his battles for him. He's getting older, he needs—he needs to worry about himself, more. Not me. Or school, or his scholarship, or this internship with you…He's a good kid. But…he's too good. And he puts himself, his own health and wellbeing? Last on his list."

That. That hit Tony.

Tony, who had always done…whatever he pleased. With whoever he pleased. He recalled his own realization of Peter's selfless streak when, coming down from an honest-to-God panic attack, where Peter had broken the seat of the chair he was sitting in, on the plane home from Germany. He had finally admitted that the idea of flying made him nervous. Because he'd never done it before. And his parents had died in a plane crash.

"Kid…why did you come? If…if you don't like flying?" he'd asked incredulously.

"Because…you needed my help. Because you asked me to," Peter had answered slowly. Like…it was obvious. That he should shelf his own fears for the good of a mission, even though it didn't…really have anything to do with him.

"I'll watch out for that," Tony said quickly. "He's a good kid. I'll, uh. I'll look out for him."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Stark. I'll try and wring more details out of Peter, trying to get him to admit to when he needs help is like pulling teeth," returned May, a little flatter in tone than when this conversation had begun. "Thank you for looping me in. I gotta go, my stop is coming up."

"No, of course," Tony said, frowning. "You. It's. Yeah, it's 9:00, you were working?"

"Aunts come in all shapes and sizes, remember? And we can't all be billionaires, Mr. Stark, some of us use overtime shifts to make a living. If you ever need slightly crappy dental and vision insurance, landing you as a client might let me retire early," May said sarcastically. "I'll talk to you next time."

"O-Okay. Next time," Tony said in response, and was only marginally surprised when the line went flat.

Which brought him back to now, head spinning from multiple realizations, mostly about Peter and May, and what it meant, exactly, to involve himself with them. To see the bits and pieces of their private lives.

And find a way to fix things, because he was a goddamn mechanic, and that's what he fucking did.

Which is how he found himself in a rabbit hole of research—some of it legal, much of it not—figuring out different bits of the story that he'd started piecing together.

Richard and Mary Parker had died in 2006, a small plane out of Africa had malfunctioned and the whole thing hadn't even made local news. It made sense when Tony dug just a little deeper and realized they were both CIA.

Tony didn't have time to dig through encrypted government files to get the whole story. He did bookmark the search for later, though, and asked FRIDAY to covertly gather necessary intel about it.

Because Tony was looking into the adoption, he found out it had gone through a few years after the initial placement without a hitch, really. The Uncle—Ben: His name had been Ben—had no arrest records, no red flags. He'd held stable jobs; he even sang a little on the side; did gigs with a few other guys like a sort of barbershop quartet. Did a stint in the Army out of High School, sold some kind of fancy knives at carnivals for a few years, worked in a textile factory. Just. A well-rounded, good sort of guy.

May was the same. Waitressing, sales, and now she apparently worked for a slightly crappy dental and vision insurance company. Tony looked into finances—he was making sure May could afford what they were paying in rent for their apartment on her income. And they could. But like she'd said, she used overtime shifts to make a living. Jesus, most the time. And why? They'd lived in a nicer place, moved abruptly in…2009? 2010? That was way before Ben had died. Peter would only have been 8 or 9 years old.

And this place now? The rent hikes were highway robbery. And Tony was pretty sure a few guys on the third floor were mobsters.

No, this wouldn't do at all.

Peter had to walk three blocks to catch a subway and needed a second connection to get him to his school. He was leaving more than an hour before first bell rang. Which meant he was getting up when there was a five in front of the time display. That. That was just wrong.

Well. He obviously needed to tweak the amount he was going to have Pepper lowball him with, concerning internship reimbursement, and if he could figure out a way to, like, get their building shut down and get everyone relocated to nicer places? There was an apartment on 15th street accepting applicants. The neighborhood was nicer, the subway was closer, the fire escape looked less…broken. Which wouldn't matter, except that Tony knew Peter made use of it, Spider-Manning.

Tony's phone rang loudly from the couch, where he'd just set it down—except that Tony wasn't sitting on the couch, anymore. Weird. When had he moved from the couch?

Fuck. Was that the time?

He'd been digging into Peter and May Parker's situation for six hours. He was supposed to have gone to sleep, to lift the stupid Tony-you-piece-of-shit protocol.

"Anthony Edward Stark, get your ass in bed," came the cross-sounding voice of Pepper, over his phone.

"I was going to, I promise," Tony started.

"You crossed to phase 4, which means FRIDAY calls me to force your hand because you're not listening. And I'm going to sleep, so you should, too."

"Yes, dear."

"Now!"

"Okay. On it."

Pepper terminated the call with a huffy breath, and Tony cracked a yawn.

Ah, what the hell.

He took his pain pills like a good patient, told FRIDAY to enact the plan he'd figured out with the apartment building, and went to his suite. He'd just finished moving out of the Tower a week or so ago. The Compound, being further away from the city, was, by virtue…just a little calmer. Quieter.

It was peaceful.

Pepper said he needed peaceful.

His room was nice. And comfy. Pepper had picked out his sheets. They smelled nice.

He drifted off faster than he thought he would.

And didn't wake up for eighteen hours.

All in all, it was a pretty nice ending to what had been a really terrible string of days.