I just posted 10 chapters all at once! Now we're all caught up. Updates will come about once a week from here on out.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's my favorite!
~Somnis


"You have a missed call and several unread messages from Harley Keener." FRIDAY announced the minute Tony stepped into the elevator, ascending to the penthouse.

Tony sighed, rubbing his temple. "Okay, I'll check it out in a bit." He probably had all sorts of missed notifications. Though a call from Harley was a little unusual. He'd never known the teen to do anything other than text.

The meeting had been a little intense. Actually, intense was an understatement. The whole thing had been a bureaucratic nightmare, one that left him with a dull headache and a deep desire to drink something strong and forget the whole day.

That was the last time he let Pepper fly off to Japan without triple-checking his calendar first.

As the doors slid open, he walked into the eerily quiet penthouse. Strange.

There were no faint sounds of Peter watching a movie, no soft clatter of tools as he tinkered with something he probably shouldn't be messing with. No half-finished projects scattered across the coffee table.

Tony set the takeout bags on the kitchen counter and glanced toward the living room. He wasn't that late.

Okay, fine, he was late. It was well past ten, but Peter was usually still up at this time. And Tony had never known the kid to pass up good Thai food, no matter the hour.

"Hey, FRI," Tony called, toeing off his shoes. "Peter asleep?"

"No. He's sitting up awake in bed, boss."

Tony frowned. "Reading?"

"No."

Um… okay. Weird. He'd half-expected Peter to still be up reading. But awake and just sitting there?

He made his way toward Peter's room, knocking lightly. "Hey, kid, you hungry? I got that curry you like."

Silence.

There's a part of the body, somewhere in the gut, that tallies up all the "that's strange" moments and draws the conclusion that something is very wrong. That part of Tony's body was twisting with dread.

"Peter? I'm coming in." Tony shoved the door open and stepped inside.

The room was dark. His eyes took a second to adjust, and when they did, his breath caught in his throat.

Peter was curled up in the farthest corner of the bed, knees drawn tightly to his chest, completely still. Tony's missing MIT hoodie bundled around him like a protective cocoon.

At first glance, he just seemed to be sitting there quietly. No wonder FRIDAY hadn't alerted him.

But the kid seemed frozen. His eyes were wide, staring blankly ahead at nothing. He didn't even react to the door opening. Tony's eyes zeroed in on the kid's hands, which looked scratched and raw, the skin on his knuckles bright pink and painful looking.

Shit.

Had something happened? Or had Peter had another nightmare?

Tony stepped inside, slow and careful. "Hey, kiddo," he murmured.

Peter flinched.

Tony stopped dead.

"Peter?" Tony's voice dropped lower, calm and steady. He took a slow step forward and crouched beside the bed, keeping his movements smooth, non-threatening. "Hey, bud, it's just me."

Peter blinked, his expression dazed, like he was just now realizing Tony was there. His breathing was wrong, too shallow, too fast. His hands trembled where they gripped the sleeves of the hoodie.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter's voice was hoarse, disoriented. "W-when did you…" His gaze darted around the room, like he wasn't sure how he'd gotten there. Then his eyes fell to his hands.

And suddenly, everything got worse.

His breathing stuttered, his shoulders tensed. He clasped his hands together, hard.

Tony reached out but Peter flinched back again. "Peter. Hey, you're okay. Just breathe, kid."

Peter dug his fingers deeper into the backs of his hands, pulling at the sleeves, scratching at his own skin.

Tony winced. He wanted to reach forward and pry the kid's fingers apart, but he was afraid of how Peter would react if he touched him.

"Hey, don't do that. Just focus on me."

Peters hands slowed their assault on each other.

"Okay, listen, bud. You're going to take some slow breaths and I promise you'll feel better." Tony practically pleaded. "Just follow me, okay?"

Peter shook his head in quick, jerky motions. He looked so small like this, shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold into himself. "I—I can't—"

He went back to wringing his hands—really it looked like he was trying to pull his own hands off.

Tony felt completely, utterly useless. This wasn't in the Parenting Books, damnit.

How the hell was he supposed to fix this? He wasn't built for this. He was built for solving impossible physics equations, building suits, fighting aliens—not for figuring out what to do when a fifteen-year-old kid was panicking in his bedroom, looking like he was about to shatter.

But Peter whimpered, a tiny, broken sound that hit Tony like a bullet to the chest.

Screw it.

He sat on the edge of the bed and covered Peter's most battered hand with his own, blocking the scraping and pulling. Peter stopped instantly.

Tony took that as a good sign and scooted closer. He grasped both trembling hands and held on tight.

"Okay, kiddo. Okay. I got you," he murmured. "It's just a panic attack. I'm going to help make it go away but you gotta work with me. Yeah?"

Peter squeezed Tony's hands back, and he took that as an affirmative.

"We'll count to four. It's as easy as that. Breathe in for four… hold for four… out for four."

Peter swallowed, blinking rapidly. He was shaky and unsure. But he tried.

Tony started counting. His first inhale was ragged. But it was a start.

"Atta boy. You're doing great, Pete." Tony's voice was calm, steady, even as his own chest ached watching the kid struggle. "You're safe, kid. You're here. Nothing's going to hurt you here. I won't let it."

Peter's breath hitched again—but this time, not from panic.

His wide, brown eyes finally flicked up, locking onto Tony's.

Tony could see the exhaustion in the kid's eyes, the sheer weight pressing down on his small frame. The fear.

What the hell happened today?

"Pete," Tony said gently, "Talk to me. What's going on?"

Peter swallowed, his whole body trembling. A long, tense moment stretched between them.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he admitted, "There was a mugging."

Tony's stomach twisted as he looked the kid over.

"Are you hurt?" He was ready to staunch some bleeding or hoist the kid over his shoulder and book it to Medbay, but he couldn't tell if Peter had any injuries under that hoodie.

Peter huffed a bitter laugh. "You sound like Harley."

Tony frowned. Was this what Harley had been calling about? He could kick himself for missing those calls.

"Pete, please tell me if you're hurt so I can help you."

The kid shook his head, bringing a moment of relief before he continued.

"I saw it happen. I wanted to help, but I—" His breath hitched again. "I waited too long. I hesitated, and—" He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. "He shot him."

Tony felt the blood drain from his face.

A gun. A victim. Blood.

No wonder the kid was spiraling.

"I could've stopped it." Peter's voice cracked. His whole body shaking now. "I should have stopped it. I just didn't want to make it worse. But then it was too late, and he got shot, and—I had his blood on my hands—"

Oh, kid.

Without thinking, Tony moved closer and did something he'd never done before. He wrapped his arms around Peter and held him.

Peter stiffened at first, as if touch was foreign, like he didn't know what to do with it. But then something broke inside of him, and he sagged bonelessly against Tony, shaking. He didn't make a sound, but his fingers twisted into the fabric of Tony's shirt like he was afraid to let go.

Tony exhaled a slow, steady breath and tightened his arms, resting his chin lightly atop Peter's curls. "Listen to me, kid," he murmured. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Peter shook his head against Tony's shoulder. "I hesitated—"

"You thought," Tony corrected gently. "You assessed the situation. You were trying to make the right call." And you're a child, Tony thought. You shouldn't have to make the right call.

Peter swallowed hard. "He still got shot."

Tony's grip tightened. "That's not on you." He pulled back slightly, just enough to look Peter in the eye. "Look at me, kid. You didn't pull the trigger. You weren't the one who made that choice."

Peter's breath came out shaky, his lips pressing together. "I tried to help, but I didn't know what I was doing. What if I hurt him more? And everyone else was just standing there, doing nothing…" His breath hitched again.

Oh, this kid. Of course he'd stopped and helped.

"And then there was so much blood. It made me think… I just…I know there were times it was my fault. Times when I h-hurt people."

Tony's heart ached.

"And I should've done something to stop it today. I should've jumped right in, because if I was a good person–"

"Woah, woah, I'm gonna stop you right there. You were just a kid when Hydra had you. You still are just a kid! None of that was your choice. None of it."

Peter clenched his jaw and didn't look very convinced. Tony sighed. When did this start? Had Peter been worried about this the whole time? Tony thought back to that first night, when Peter had been so adamant that he never wanted to remember his past. Was it not just fear of what had been done to him? Was it also fear of what he had done to others?

He thought about all the time Peter was scared to hurt anyone. Tony thought it was a natural worry for a kid who just realized he had super strength. He'd knocked Dr. Cho over, given Tony a black eye, but he was just a scared kid with little control over his strength. He didn't really think he was a bad person, did he?

"Peter, you did what you could for that guy." Tony ducked his head to catch the teen's downcast gaze. "You stayed. You helped. That matters, Pete. It counts. And I think that was very brave of you, kid. It couldn't have been easy."

Peter's brows furrowed, and he looked down at his hands, flinching at the sight of them. Tony was ready for an argument, but the kid swallowed thickly and nodded, just once. Then, slowly, cautiously, he leaned forward again, pressing his forehead against Tony's chest.

For a long moment, Tony didn't move. He barely breathed.

Peter had leaned into him. Him.

This kid—this stubborn, brilliant, scared kid—had spent weeks keeping himself at arm's length, flinching when touched, tensing whenever Tony got too close. This kid who–if it hadn't been for Harley's reassuring presence, probably would have bolted ages ago. He was pressed against Tony's chest, not just allowing the contact but seeking it.

Tony felt Peter's breath flutter against his shirt, felt the way his fingers twisted weakly into the fabric, holding on like, well, like a sad, scared child might cling to a parent.

Tony swallowed thickly as he gathered him gently back into his arms.

Peter let out a small, shuddering breath. He turned so his forehead rested heavily against Tony's sternum, his body finally starting to uncoil from the tension that had kept him rigid for so long. He was exhausted, Tony could feel it—physically, emotionally, all of it. This wasn't just about what he witnessed tonight. This was everything Peter had been carrying since he woke up in the compound with no past and nowhere to go–everything he'd kept bottled up because he thought he had to.

"I've got you, buddy," Tony murmured, rubbing slow circles against Peter's back. "You're okay."

Peter nodded against him, a jerky little movement that barely registered. Tony exhaled slowly, resting his chin again atop Peter's head. His chest ached, but in a way that felt right, like something was settling into place.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually Peter's breathing evened out. The trembling in his hands stopped.

Tony let out a breath and glanced down at the boy, fast asleep against him. He didn't get up yet, didn't slide Peter onto the pillow and pull the covers up to his chin. Not just then.

Instead, Tony sat there, perfectly content to hold the kid. And he let the slow reconstruction happen in his mind as everything shifted.

His play-it-safe strategy wasn't working. Peter needed more.

Tony had spent weeks thinking he needed to give Peter space, needed to wait for the kid to come to him. But maybe that had been the wrong approach. Maybe Peter had been waiting for him all along—for Tony to prove that he wasn't going anywhere.

Tony's arms tightened just slightly around the kid, the realization settling deep in his bones.

No more waiting. No more hesitation.

Peter needed him. And Tony wasn't going anywhere.


Later, in the kitchen, Tony put away all the untouched takeout and texted several apologetic messages to Harley.

At least he hadn't been waiting around wondering if Peter was in danger. FRIDAY said the first thing Peter had done, the moment he got to the penthouse, was to have her text Harley that he'd made it back to the tower.

And then when the kid realized Tony wasn't there, he waited up for him, silently stewing in all those dark thoughts and panic.

Peter had needed him today. Tony scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration.

"FRIDAY," he called quietly. "Why weren't there any alerts from the watch today?"

FRIDAY paused for a beat. That wasn't a good sign. She was reviewing things.

Finally, she said, "Peter appears to have altered the watch."

Tony's stomach dropped. "What?"

"His vitals never fluctuated."

Tony frowned. "Never?"

"The data hasn't changed for days, despite going on hours-long runs."

And despite having massive panic attacks today. Tony exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

"Why didn't we notice before?"

"My protocols direct me to check vitals only when the readings reach certain parameters that would indicate Peter is in danger or hurt. Since the readings never changed, I never read the data."

So, he'd messed with the watch. What else had he done?

"And, unfortunately, I do not check the tracker's data once Peter is within the tower." FRIDAY added ominously.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me. It shows he's somewhere else, doesn't it?"

"Current location shows the East Midtown Library, despite the fact the watch is on his nightstand."

Tony let out a sharp, humorless laugh, rubbing his temple.

"Oh, you little shit."

The kid was good.

He had figured out how to dodge surveillance, how to cover his tracks, how to manipulate the data so FRIDAY wouldn't alert Tony that anything was wrong.

Tony was annoyed.

He was also deeply concerned.

…And maybe impressed. Okay, definitely impressed. His mind was already spinning, piecing together exactly how Peter had done it.

One thing was clear. This wasn't a one-off. Peter had been doing this for a while.

What was he up to? Just evading Tony for fun? Or something else?

And what should Tony do about it?

He pulled out his tablet and skimmed through his eBooks. He scrolled past:

The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read
Trauma-Sensitive Parenting
Caring for Kids from Hard Places: How to Help Children and Teens with a Traumatic Past

They'd become his go-to reading material during his late nights in the kitchen, while he pretended to read emails. Or when meetings dragged and he needed something actually useful to focus on.

The current selections were helpful, sure. But obviously lacking. With a small frown, he added two more to the collection:

Setting Limits with Your Strong-Willed Teen and
Keep Your Cool When Parenting Teens

He shook his head and started the coffee maker, settling in for a long night of reading.

Because tomorrow? Tomorrow, he and Peter were going to have a little chat.