#spiderbabyfanfics

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

I wish you would write a fic where peter has some trouble sleeping and he goes to tony for help (irondad is best and I love how you write them)

A/N: I added a Read More break in this; I’m so sorry if it isn’t working on your Dash or in mobile. 

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((WOW as per usual this took forever; I’m so sorry, and thank you for your patience!!!))

I can do that. As many of my IronDad fics are these days, this is set in a Post-Endgame Universe that ends the way we deserved it to. (Also thank you?? So much????) As per usual, I don’t know if this is what you envisioned, but here it is anyway. I hope you like it!

— 

A Week in the Life of an Overly Anxious Insomniac (a.k.a. Post-Finals Week)

-

Friday

Peter Parker crawls in through his bedroom window after the fullest week of his whole life. He’s just finished his Junior year of high school, meaning that his end-of-year finals are the roughest and toughest, and he’s barely made it through them unscathed. Peter’s an above average student for above average students, much less the general population, so he keeps up with his studies well, especially after Tony and May teamed up to implement some Big Brother-level safe guards to make sure he was held accountable for his allotted homework and Spider-Man hours. 

The teenager pulls himself upright and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh emanating from his chest as he pulls off his Spider-Man suit. He glances at the clock; 1:30AM shines back silently at him, the one-time extended patrol hours Tony and May had allowed him in light of the end of the school year and successful exams.

Once he’s free of his enhanced spandex, Peter pulls on a t-shirt and sweatpants and collapses onto his bed, his nose buried in his covers, but his eyes remain open. He stares languidly at a spot on his wall, likely food from his and Ned’s last sleepover. 

The seconds tick past, soon turning into minutes, and then an hour has gone by, and somehow he’s still wide awake. He’s tried to drop off multiple times, but a prickling sensation across his back, like’s he’s being watched, keeps him from relaxing into sleep.

Peter sighs in frustration and takes out his phone, scrolling through countless ridiculous news articles until his body shuts itself off around 5AM.

Saturday

Peter awakes at 9:30AM and groans. At least it’s Saturday, so he can sleep more. He rolls over just in time for his phone to go wild where he’d discarded it beneath his bed earlier that morning. He gropes blindly for the device and clicks it on, sleepily scrolling through the barrage of messages in his group chat with Ned and MJ. 

Ned: Expo day!

MJ: Expo day.

Ned: Peter!! EXPO DAY!

Ned: P

Ned: E

Ned: T

Ned: E

Ned: R

Ned: WAKE UP

Peter rolls his eyes but can’t suppress a grin as he types out his response.

Peter: I’m awake geez

It’s not even until 4PM

Ned: Yeah, but still. We have to make sure we have our itinerary down and the layout of the place just in case something ya know crazy happens.

Peter: Right yeah sure

MJ: I’m not wearing the matching t-shirts

Ned: Pleeeeeaaassse MJ!!!!!!!!

MJ: …..without something else over it

Ned: *peace fingers emoji*

MJ: why didn’t you just send the actual emoji

Ned: You have an IPhone. The emojis always show up differently.

MJ: Not that one, idiot

Ned: Oh whatEVER

Peter nearly drops his phone on his face, so he rolls to his side and types out a final message.

Peter: I’m hitting snooze. See you guys this afternoon.

Peter switches his phone to silent mode and lays an arm over his face. After a week of multiple all-nighters on top of a full patrol and 4 ½ hours of sleep last night (this morning, he corrects himself with a grunt), he just wants to sleep until he absolutely has to be up. He sends a quick wake-up call request to May before pulling his covers back over his head.  

-

Peter, Ned, and MJ crash at Ned’s apartment around 12:30AM. The Expo (an invitation courtesy of Tony Stark, of course) had been incredible, showcasing the latest and greatest technology on the market and coming to the market, from Stark Industries to OsCorp and everything in between. 

The trio reclines on the Leeds’ comfy sectional, Ned passing out as soon as his body hits the cushions. MJ is curled in a half doze in the crook of the couch, and Peter spreads along the unoccupied middle section, propped sidelong against the back. He stares at his crossed ankles as the TV plays quietly in the background. His vision swims in and out of focus, trying to let him fall into sleep, but something keeps pulling him back just as he’s on the brink, like fingers trailing across his back. 

Peter knows no one else is in the room with him. He hears Ned and MJ’s separate, steady breathing on either side of him, but something about their presences, how strongly he can sense them, keeps him from falling out of consciousness. Their presence should be a comforting tether, but he finds it more restrictive now. He shakes his head minutely at the thought.

After about fifteen minutes, Peter sighs in defeat and positions himself to watch Nickelodeon’s late night programming, finally dropping off around 4AM.

-

Sunday

Sadly for Peter, Ned and MJ are both early risers; they stir around 7:30 but lay poking at their phones until 8. Peter tries to fall back to sleep, but MJ’s accusatory “faker” has him popping his eyes open to defend himself. 

“I think I deserve it.” Peter grumbles while rubbing an eye. “My longest night of sleep all week was like 5 ½ hours. Maybe.”

“That’s unhealthy.”

“That’s finals week.”

“I wish you’d told us, Peter.” Ned chimes in with a yawn. “We could have come home way earlier last night.” 

“It’s fine.” Peter sighs and pushes himself up. “It was totally worth it. I’ll probably pass out tonight, so it’s fine.”

-

As if the universe loves proving him wrong, that evening once again finds Peter restless. He can’t seem to get comfortable in any position.

Left side.

Right side.

Back.

Stomach.

He even swaps his head to the foot of the bed and tries a diagonal position.

No dice.

He tenses up every muscle in his body and releases.

He keeps his eyes open for as long as he can without blinking.

He tries to force his breathing to become heavy and even.

Nothing.

His mind and body are exhausted, he can feel it, but they just refuse to shut off.

Peter pulls his pillow over his face and groans loudly.

-

Monday

Peter gets about 3 hours of sleep before May pokes her head in to ask for his help; she’s been on a minimalist kick lately and wants Peter to help her carry her donations to her car.

He smiles bitterly when he sees the black Sharpie scribbles on the outsides of the boxes:

Ben’s Clothes

Peter’s Toys

Wedding Pictures

Kitchen

Labels marked over and re-named Donations. 

Peter’s eyes are suddenly watery, and he quickly deposits the boxes in May’s car before running a hand over his face. 

May shoots him an inquisitive look but drops the issue, giving him a quick squeeze of a hug before thanking him and getting in her car. Peter waves as she leaves and sighs.

He could text Ned or MJ to go get coffee, but the walking distance just seems to far today.

He goes back upstairs and spends the day watching lame TV on the couch.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night.

-

Tuesday

Peter spends the whole day keeping busy. He organizes and cleans the apartment. He volunteers to walk his neighbors’ dogs. He goes for lunch with MJ and Ned and even sets out early as Spider-Man. 

The evening hours come around, and he settles in with May on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. They keep score, Peter easily beating all of the contestants, and he begs May to stay with him and play with his hair as he puts on the most boring documentary he can find.

May acquiesces after studying him briefly, but she nods off after about half an hour, her hand resting in his hair. 

Peter puts his hands over his face and swallows a sob, painfully, fully awake.

-

Wednesday

It’s starting to get to him, the lack of sleep.

He ignores May that morning when she calls to him to join her for french toast and fruit.

He tells Ned and MJ he can’t swing lunch that day though he has nothing planned.

He nearly cries when his phone lights up with his reminder that Tony Stark is back from his business trip, and again when said man sends him a message.

Tony: Hey, squirt. I’m back stateside. You free to come to the Lakehouse for a few days? Mo misses you.

Peter actually takes a few moments to consider before he catches himself. Not a good sign.

Peter: Yeah, I’m free. I’ll come tomorrow.

-

Thursday

Peter kisses May goodbye that morning with a promise of letting her know when he gets to the Cabin. 

Happy comes for him around 10:30, and it’s after noon by the time they pull up to Tony Stark’s home away from home. 

Morgan is on the porch the moment their car doors slam and is tackling Peter nearly to the ground before he can reach the trunk to get his bag. She squeezes the air from his lungs as she babbles excitedly about how they’re going to spend the next few days, her first days of summer vacation, together. 

“Let him breathe, Monkey.” 

Peter looks up to find Tony on the porch, metal arm on a post and flesh arm waving lightly. Peter ushers up a smile and a small wave in return before hoisting Morgan up into his arms. The teenager crosses to the porch stops before his mentor. 

“Made it through another finals week, huh?”

“Barely.” Peter’s tone is more biting than he wants, and he hopes Tony didn’t notice. He’s definitely giving Peter a once-over now.

“Hap? Take Morgan inside, please?”

“Sure. Come here, Princess.”

“Uncle Happy, can I have cookies?”

“Don’t let her fool you, Hap; she’s already had her post-lunch snack.”

Morgan folds her arms and pouts as Happy chuckles and takes her inside. 

“He didn’t say anything about juice pops-” 

“Traitor.” Tony mumbles as Happy shuts the door behind them.

It’s quiet for a moment, the lake lapping at the shoreline barely audible as they look out and then at each other. Tony’s gaze stays on Peter, and the boy can’t help but look away.

“What’s up, kid?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your eyes are bloodshot. And last time I checked, Pep didn’t pop out a ten ton toddler, so Morgan shouldn’t be able to knock you over like that.”

“I was just playing with her.”

“Uh huh. Well,” Tony is clearly a bit peeved with Peter, but he drops the issue. “I assume you haven’t had lunch yet, so maybe some food in you will make you more talkative.”

“Thanks.”

“Turkey?”

“Perfect.”

-

Peter passes the afternoon between Tony and Morgan, the former occupying him with projects in his small workshop and the latter demanding to be occupied by him all over the property.

For all intents and purposes, he should be exhausted. 

And yet 2:30AM finds him wide awake and near to breaking.

He’s laying on his side facing his clock, the red letters displaying “2:31AM.” He stares and stares and stares until he feels like the letters are bored into his brain. He closes his eyes, and they pop back open again like they’re on a spring.  

Peter rolls into his back and stares at the dark patches on his ceiling, remnants of the knotholes that used to be, tensing and relaxing his gaze, squinting and releasing, rolling his eyes around in vain hopes of exhausting his eyes to closing with no luck.

He flips onto his left side with a huff and curls into the fetal position, hoping somehow he can trick his anxiety-ridden brain into believing he is safe and can sleep soundly. He’s in the middle of the woods of New York in what is likely the safest cabin in the entire world, and yet his body refuses to relax and let him sleep. 

Peter slaps his comforter in frustration and bolts upright, his heartbeat drumming painfully in his chest and blood pumping in his ears. He swings his feet over the side of the bed, grabs his Midtown hoodie, and slides open the window; he sits on the edge for a moment or two before dropping silently to the ground. Slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket, Peter quietly follows the moonlit path to the dock; he stands there for a little while, tracing every shape and shadow the reflected glow will let him see, listening to every scuttle and shuffle in the trees and on the ground. 

He wouldn’t pick out the light footsteps in any other circumstance, but their contrast to those he’s more familiar with sets him at ease.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up.” Peter chokes out as Pepper comes to stand beside him.

The woman is hugging her bathrobe to herself despite the warmth of the season, but she doesn’t seem agitated from what Peter can tell. 

“You didn’t.” There’s an undercurrent of a scoff in her tone. “Overseas conference call. We had to meet on their terms.”

“That’s not fair.”

“We trade off.” 

“Oh.”

They stand in silence for a few beats before Pepper sighs.

“He struggles with insomnia, too, you know.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Afghanistan. His heart. New York. That crazy Russian. Hammer. Ultron. Thanos. St-….Everything. I’d be amazed if he went through everything he has while maintaining a decent sleep schedule.” Pepper’s tone is a little hard, but Peter knows she doesn’t mean ill will toward him. She’s been with Tony through far longer than he has. She’s quiet for a few seconds before quietly adding, her tone lighter, “He called an Iron Man suit on me once.”

Peter sucks in a breath. 

“I don’t think he meant to, but he had so much going on that he wasn’t dealing with already, and…we were going through a rough patch…The anxiety was eating him alive. Don’t tell him I told you all of that.” Her tone is more conspiratorial than regretful. “He’s never forgiven himself for it, but you should know. He deals with it, too. The anxiety. Feeling unsettled all the time.”

“There’s just…always something. I feel like can’t really rest.”

Pepper nods. “I don’t know the full scope of your abilities, but May’s told me about your…Peter Tingle?”

Peter cringes. “Spider Sense is what I prefer, but yeah. Maybe that’s related to all of this.”

“Probably.” Pepper is quiet for a moment. “You know…he would do whatever he needs to help. All you have to do is ask.”

“Okay.” Peter turns just a bit and gives her a tired smile. “Thanks, Pepper.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Pepper holds out an arm for him, and he gladly steps in to it. 

Peter will always be secretly, selfishly thankful for how Morgan softened the Starks while he was gone, allowing him to fall in their never-ending streams of comfort that didn’t exist before he disappeared. 

Peter feels a pull where Pepper’s hand rests on his shoulder, and he allows her to guide them back inside. He falls asleep an hour later.

-

Tony has multiple business calls the next day, so it’s mid-afternoon when Peter finally gets some alone time with his mentor-turned-father-figure. They’re sitting on a small pier Tony built over the lake, swinging on a bench swing Morgan insisted they needed after Pepper had one installed on the front porch months earlier. They’re seated on opposite ends of the swing, Peter’s feet propped between them as they gaze out over the water, each lost in their respective thoughts. 

Peter taps Tony’s arm with his toes after a while, and the man scrunches up his nose in false disgust. 

“The last thing I want on my arm, even lower on the totem pole than Morgan’s boogers, is stinky teenager feet.”

“I will have you know that I clean my feet quite well and quite regularly, my good sir.” Peter falls into a vaguely British accent, accentuating each of the last three words with its own individual toe tap to Tony’s arm. 

“Disgusting. I’m tainted.” Tony rests his arm over the back of the swing. “So, I hear you and Pepper had a little late night stroll to the dock.”

“She told you?”

“FRIDAY did. She’s a bit of a tattletale.”

“She really is.”

“Woke me up and everything, and I was finally getting a good night’s sleep.”

Peter feels heat rise to his cheeks. “Sorry. Uh, and sorry you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Tony shrugs. “It happens. Especially when I go from being in the city, as we were in Bangladesh, to being back out here in the quiet. Hard to adjust sometimes. To relax fully.”

“Yeah.” Peter stares resolutely out at the lake.

“So, what were you and my wife chatting about at such an hour?”

“Just…business?”

“So you got up and took Pepper out to the dock to ask her about her business call?”

“Not exactly. I mean, it came up, but…I was out there first.”

“Oh, really? So she came out as a recon. mission, then?”

“I guess so.”

“Why were you out there in the middle of the night, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“….I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

Peter inhales through his nose. “Not sure. But it’s not a big deal.”

“If you say so.” 

Peter looks through the corners of his eyes and finds Tony studying him before the man decides to stand, stretching and popping his back as he does so. 

“Care for a walk around the lake?”

-

Peter collapses onto the couch when they return, staring through the windows to the side porch and watching Tony and Pepper prepare dinner together on the outside grill. 

Morgan is hunched over at his feet, scribbling furiously in her current favorite coloring book. 

“Whatchya doodling, Moomoo?”

“A cat.” Morgan holds up a good-sized image of what is now an orange tabby.

“Looks good.”

“Thanks.” The little one goes back to her coloring, more quietly this time, and Peter settles back against the arm of the couch. He stares at the ceiling, willing himself to relax if it means he can even get a nap in before dinner, but his body just won’t have it. He can hear his heartbeat. Morgan’s heartbeat. Every mechanical and electrical noise in the house goes in and out of focus as he just lays there, trying not to show his frustration and upset Morgan.

“Hey, Pete.” Tony pokes his head in and nearly makes the teen jump. “Can you grab the meat out of the fridge?”

“Yeah.” Peter sits up slowly and stands, feeling Tony’s eyes on him as he crosses to the kitchen. “Sh-oot.” Peter catches himself just in time after his toe has a gnarly collision with a dining table leg. “Missed that somehow…” He grumbles as he pulls the food out of the freezer and brings it back to Tony. Peter just catches the man’s critical gaze before it snaps into easy speculation.

“Thanks, bud.” Tony claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and they go out together, Peter’s hopes of relief forgotten as the afternoon melts into evening.

-

It’s the same old story, and one he is so tired of re-living.

Peter full on glares at the ceiling as his heart pounds in his chest, refusing to slow down no matter how he tries to force out slow, even breaths. He clenches his eyes shut but the frustrated tears have already bloomed there and spilled over his cheeks, drawing twin lines down over his temples and pooling on his pillow. He swipes a hand over his face and sniffs hard, rolling onto his side to glare at the clock now. 

3:33am.  

The witching hour. Or at least that’s what MJ calls it. It definitely feels like he’s being hexed right now as his eyes seem to remain open of their own accord, in spite of all of his efforts to get them to comply with the exhaustion in his limbs, his bones. 

“Why the hell can’t I sleep?” He mouths silently at the glowing numbers, the frustration spilling over again, but he doesn’t bother to wipe them away this time. He doesn’t cry all that often, really, not when he’s mad, at least, but night after night of not sleeping enough, especially after exerting himself so much, has worn him thin, and crying is all he can do to keep from screaming, stomping, hurling and throwing things. He’s past the point of being upset with his insomnia and reached the point of searing anger, at himself for not being able to overcome this obstacle and whatever power has placed this plague on him. He grits his teeth until his jaw aches, and he nearly cracks a tooth when an owl sees fit to chime in on his thoughts from outside his window.

Peter pushes himself up and gazes toward his window, the scene from last night playing through his mind in a strange 3rd person point-of-view, as if he is FRIDAY watching him from the house instead of himself experiencing it. Something Pepper said pokes at his consciousness, and he frowns.

You know…he would do whatever he needs to help. All you have to do is ask.

All you have to do is ask. 

Peter stares intently at the window for a moment, contemplating before he finally sighs deeply and throws his covers off. As much as he hates to put anything else on the man’s plate, Peter knows that Tony will understand his plight; plus, he’s been eyeing Peter ever since he arrived, so the teen figures it’s more merciful to put the man out of his miserable curiosity.

Peter stops outside of Tony and Pepper’s door, listening for a moment and frowning when he only hears one person breathing and snoring softly. Definitely not Tony. He quietly pads to Morgan’s door and listens, only hearing the even lighter breathing of the little girl, and his brows crease. 

Peter heads toward the stairs and picks up the faint light shining from downstairs; he quietly mounts them and steps down to the ground floor, absorbing Tony sitting on the couch with a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. It’s so domestic that it brings the tears back to Peter’s eyes, the idea of Tony finally being this relaxed and at home somewhere pulling at something deep in Peter’s core. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Tony’s voice startles Peter, the silence Peter hadn’t realized he’d settled in to shattered, and now the air holds an expectation of being filled with vibrating waves that Peter isn’t sure he’s ready to relinquish. The idea of finally confiding in Tony had seemed palpable when he was upstairs, alone and breaking anyway, but now that he’s here and sees Tony, thinks back to everything he’s been through, Peter suddenly feels selfish and silly.

“Quit overthinking. Come sit with me.” 

Peter’s gaze snaps from the window to which it’s wandered and back to his mentor. Tony has put down the book and tea by now and is watching him intently but not oppressively; there’s no scrutiny in his eyes or demand in his body language, just an open invitation.

Peter crosses the room stiffly and sits beside Tony, staring ahead and body refusing to relax right away. 

“Geez, you’re wound up tight. Come here.” Tony beckons Peter toward him, and the teen stares. 

“What?”

“I’m gonna rub your shoulders, kid. Don’t make it weird.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Unless you’re genuinely uncomfortable with it, then I won’t.”

“No, it’s okay….I’m just….getting used to it.”

“To what?”

“To you being all…”

“Domestic?”

“Exactly.”

Tony snorts.

“That’s like, the one benefit of disappearing for five years.”

Tony clenches his jaw, and Peter sighs through his nose. It’s always too soon for Tony.

“Sorry…I just mean…You had a kid while I was gone. You got all paternal and stuff, and now I get to reap the benefits of that, I guess.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely more touchy feely than before, huh?”

“I just figured that was because you missed me.” Peter smiles a bit, mischief tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“I did, kid. So much.”

Peter’s smile falls to neutrality. “I know. I….I guess I missed you, too. I don’t remember much.”

“Hopefully we’ll keep it that way.” Tony mumbles. “So, shoulder rub?”

Peter considers for a moment. “Sure, why not.” He scoots closer to Tony, and the man’s warm hand on his tense neck and shoulder muscles immediately help him relax just a fraction.

“Geez, kid; you been working out these muscle groups or have you been that tense over finals?” 

Peter blinks. “You know, now that you mention it, I guess I have been pretty tense over the last couple of weeks.”

“Yeah? You think that’s causing your sleeping problems?”

“How did you know about that?”

“This is the second night in a row that you’re awake with a Stark parent in the dead of night in one of the safest places in the world. Call it a hunch.” 

Peter lets out an involuntary snort. “Yeah…It’s been a solid two weeks since I got a good night of sleep.”

“Two Fridays ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Did you procrastinate? Too many Spidey hours?”

“No, no, I was ready just…nervous I guess. Not sure why. I guess because I had a lot of tough academic classes this semester. There’s just kind of an air of tension, you know? Even if I feel okay, if everyone else is stressed out, I just kind of pick up on that. I guess it’s my senses.”

“That makes sense.”

“And sometimes I tend to just….hang on to that tension even after the school year is over, you know? After I took my first AP Exam, I had three separate dreams that I was taking the exam over again. It’s like a high that I can’t come down from or something.”

“Mmm.” Tony hums his attention while giving special care to a particularly tough knot near the base of Peter’s neck. “Geez, kid, we really have to work on your posture. No more studying in bed.”

“Oh, yeah, May told me not to do that.”

“Wait, did you actually study in bed?”

“…..Yeah.”

“Pete. Kid. You’re too smart for this. Seriously, you should only sleep in your bed. Anything else encourages you to be awake in that space.”

“When did you become an expert on this stuff?”

“When I became a workaholic and was doing work in the comfort of my bed that I couldn’t ever sleep in because my mind was always buzzing with work to be done.”

“Oh….ah!” Peter flinches as Tony pushes his metal thumb against the aforementioned knot. 

“Sorry, bud. This one’s a booger.”

Peter squirms uncomfortably as Tony presses on the tough spot in his back, sucking in a harsh breath when the man ups the pressure but sagging in relief when he eases off. 

“Anything else bothering you?” Tony prompts quietly as he places his flesh hand over the base of Peter’s neck to massage the top of his spine. 

Peter nearly groans as Tony works at the new spot of tension he’s found. “….No, not really.”

“You hesitated.”

“So?” There’s more discomfort than bite in Peter’s tone.

“You’re not exactly one to choose your words carefully, Pete.” Tony’s lowers his voice and evens out his tone as much as he can. “You speed through every conversation like that ugly blue hedgehog thing.”

“Sonic.”

“Sure,” Tony shrugs. “But we were talking about you hesitating.”

“You were, really.” 

“Sure, I was, but it really is one of your tells for when you’re not being totally honest with me.”

“Since when do you pay so much attention to me?” Peter’s nostrils flare just a bit after the fact.

“Ooo so that’s it, then? Feeling neglected by your mentor-slash-idol?” Tony has laced jest into his tone to compensate for the pinched brows Peter cannot see. He knows Peter looks up to him as a father figure, especially considering all they’ve been through together, and icy guilt stabs through him as he thinks of Peter missing him and longing for his re-assurance in these last days of the semester. “You know I’m always a video call away, buddy.”

“I know….” Peter winces, and Tony apologizes quietly. “…but you’re busy.”

“I’m retired, kid. Not a superhero anymore, remember? And Pepper and her people run Stark Industries.”

“You were just in Wakanda for two weeks.”

“That was…a friendly visit, we’ll call it.” Tony pats Peter’s back lightly and reclines against the couch cushions. “That’s all I can do for now, kiddo. Hand’s too tired.”

“Thanks.” Peter rolls his shoulders and settles back, too, distanced from Tony at the other end of the couch. 

“Seriously, though.” Tony levels Peter with a gaze, and the teen can’t look away. “Anything you need, any time, Peter. I’m here for you. I didn’t invent time travel to get you back and pawn you off on May again.” 

Peter nods, his face unreadable as he continues to stare at Tony like an animal deciding if he’s trustworthy or not.

“C’mere, squirt.” Tony holds out an arm and blinks when Peter hesitates before crawling into his partial embrace. The man sighs and leans his head back, tracing the barely visible grooves in the wood paneled ceiling. “Do you remember the last time we sat like this?”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes, smartass, but I was thinking more about the hour. The last time we were both up at 3am.”

Peter considers for a moment, following Tony’s gaze before realization seems to strike him; his eyes widen a fraction before falling to the coffee table. 

“Oh, yeah.” 

Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder.

“We didn’t do a lot this year. We were both too busy on the day of to go to his grave.”

“Does that bother you?”

“A little…but it’s not like he knows. And…I don’t know if we really wanted to this year, you know? With everything that’s happened, death is just such a weird thing to think about right now.”

“That makes sense.”

Peter’s breath catches just a bit. “She gave some of his stuff away the other day. She asked me to help her carry it out to her car, and she didn’t even…acknowledge it or whatever.”

Tony is quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

Peter is lost in thought for a few moments. “Well, I think so, anyway. She had donation boxes, and they were taped up, but the side was marked, ‘Ben’s Clothes’ and ‘Wedding Pictures.’ I never saw inside, so I don’t know for sure. And like I said, she didn’t say anything, which is weird for her, honestly, so maybe she was just using the boxes.”

“You could ask her.”

“I don’t think so. That would probably upset her…Besides, I doubt she actually did get rid of them, but something about loading all of that stuff into her car just…it felt like the day I first came to them, or when we moved after the blip. So much transition, and the thought of transitioning past Ben on top of how much I haven’t been sleeping was just…”

“The straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Exactly.” Peter’s voice is thin and quiet, wispy like a passing breeze, strained like a taut muscle, and weighted with meaning like a fierce whisper. 

Tony is rubbing his hand over Peter’s shoulder and pretends not to notice when Peter rubs his hand over his eyes. He does notice the second time, though, and laughs a bit when Peter lets out a loud yawn. “You sleepy now?”

“Yeah. I could sleep for days.”

“Do that. I’ll keep Momo occupied tomorrow-” Tony snorts. “Today. Sleep as long as you need to.” 

“Thanks, Tony.” Peter smiles tiredly and leans his head against Tony’s shoulder; he stares blankly at the fireplace until his eyelids begin to droop. 

“Oh, no. I can’t sleep here tonight; my back is too bad for that.” Tony roughly rubs Peter’s shoulder before shifting to get up. 

Peter grunts and pouts, slouching into the couch. 

“You can’t, either. Morgan won’t let you sleep if you’re down here.”

“True…” Peter rises with him.

“Hey, if this sleepless stuff persists, I’ll get some of the stuff we gave Steve when he was fighting insomnia after-….some stuff happened.”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

“No problem at all, bud.”

They climb the stairs in silence, pad down the hall and turn to face each other when they reach their respective doors.

“Night, Pete.” Tony whispers, hand on his doorknob.

“Night, Tony.” Peter lingers for just a moment as Tony goes into his room. 

The man turns to close his door but stops when he catches Peter still waiting. His brows crease, and he moves to come back out, but Peter shakes his head and looks at the floor shyly, before waving for Tony to go. Tony considers Peter for a moment, squinting at the kid before he sighs silently and nods, closing the door all the way. 

Peter sighs and goes into his own room, closing the door silently behind him before he crawls into bed and falls into a dead sleep until that afternoon.  

(Tony only slightly regrets promising to entertain Morgan on 4 hours of sleep.) 

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

One Spider-Man and a Baby

A/N: This was supposed to be part of a 5+1 in response to an ask prompt, but I’ve been stuck for...honestly I have no idea how long at this point, and I really want this one to see the light of day, so I’m posting it. 

Summary: Peter is definitely out past his bedtime, but to be fair, babies are also definitely not supposed to be out in the dead of night...or in dark, spooky alleys. 

It’s a slow night on patrol.

Peter is sitting atop a Subway, his legs hanging over the edge, and he’s just finished munching on a complimentary six-inch. He stands, stretches, and shoots his balled up trash in to the large silver can below him before hopping to the ground, opting to walk in the shadows instead of webbing so that his food can settle.

It’s very early in the morning (or late at night, depending on how you look at it); it’s low traffic hours, so for once, Peter is able to navigate his own city as Spider-Man with ease. Every once in a while, he passes a pair or a group of partygoers, slurred exclamations of “Spider-Bro!” and “Wow, Spider-Man!” making his cheeks burn with pride. He’s just fist-bumping an especially enthusiastic passerby when a new sound reaches his ears.

The cries of a baby definitely aren’t novel sounds to Peter, especially around bedtime in New York, but something about these cries are wrong, aside from the fact that it’s almost 1 in the morning. They seem raw, desperate, even.

Following his ears, Peter comes to the mouth of an alleyway. He listens for a moment more before slowly inching his way into the darkness.

“Hey, Karen,” Peter mumbles. “Do we have night vision?”

“Of course, Peter.”

Instantly, the small space is lit up in a strange, fluorescent green that Peter has seen on numerous ghost-hunting shows.

“Seriously? Green? I feel like I’m on ‘Ghost Hunters.’”

“I believe that was the intended effect. Mr. Stark was aware of your television preferences.”

Peter smiles a bit, but it melts when he realizes where the cries are coming from. Peter carefully steps toward a large dumpster and hoists himself up; a dark blue infant car seat sits on top of a pile of full black garbage bags. Peter quickly dives over the edge of the large bin and wades toward the source of the continuous cries until he’s able to lift the blanket draped over the handle; the smallest baby Peter has ever seen lays swaddled inside. The tiny human’s face is so wrinkly and pinched that even Peter can tell it’s the closest to a newborn you can get without being in a hospital. Peter feels his stomach turn over when reality sets in: someone probably abandoned this baby here. The night vision just picks up the tear tracks on the baby’s cheeks, and Peter’s heart clenches.

“Karen, can you scan the baby for injuries?”

“She appears to be unharmed, Peter, but her body temperature is low. Considering she is a newborn, I suggest skin-to-skin contact if possible.”

“Oh....” Peter considers for a moment. “I have my Midtown hoodie. It’s pretty thick.” He knows his backpack is webbed up behind the aforementioned Subway, about fifteen minutes away, but he knows he can’t leave the baby behind. “You said skin-to-skin, right, Karen?”

“Yes, Peter.”

“Okay, Babygirl, we’re gonna get you warm.” Peter hits the spider logo in the center of his suit, and it becomes lose all around him. He slips out of the top half of his uniform and reaches into the car seat; he carefully brings the squirming infant against his chest and grits his teeth when she cries louder at the movement and harsh cold. He holds the surprisingly light little body with one arm and then the other as he slips them back into his sleeves. He presses the little spider again, and the suit becomes form-fitting around them. “Hey, Karen, can you loosen the suit around Babygirl?”

Immediately, the pressure against his chest lessens, and he cradles the little one there, shivering at how cold she is against his warm skin.

“Can you put the heater on low, Karen? Don’t want to hurt her.”

His suit is instantly less warm than normal, and Peter hugs Babygirl close. She’s still crying, so he tries to bounce her a bit, like he’d seen on countless T.V. shows.

“She’s probably hungry, huh, Karen?”

“Most likely.”

“Mmmhmm...Is there like a shelter or something nearby?”

“May I suggest a hospital?”

Peter smacks his forehead. “Duh. Get me directions to the closest one with a 24 hour emergency room.”

“Done. Directions starting.”

Peter grabs the carrier and sets off under Karen’s direction. It’s an hour journey on foot, but Peter would rather not risk upsetting the baby more than has already been done.

As they’re walking, Peter tries to keep Babygirl as steady as possible, running a hand over her head over and over, cupping the infant to him as he silently pleads for her to calm down. 

“Karen, what calms babies down?”

“Top results include: feeding.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Diaper changes.”

“Also can’t do that.”

“Pacifiers.”

“Didn’t see one.”

“Rocking.”

“Limited ability right now.”

“And singing.”

“If I do that, she’ll scream.” Peter snorts. 

“Why is that, Peter?”

“Let’s just say I’m not the best singer.”

May may not be his biological aunt, but he definitely inherited his tone deafness from her by proxy. 

“You don’t have to be. Just the sound of a voice can be comforting. Studies show that babies are calmed by hearing familiar voices talking, but singing has been shown to be even more effective.”

“What about humming?”

“Close enough.”

“Hmmm...this is weird, Karen, but I have ‘Bella Notte’ from Lady and the Tramp stuck in my head right now.”

“I can play that quietly for you, if you want.”

“That works.”

The opening accordion notes of the Disney classic play quietly around them, and Peter smiles. “I’ve always loved this song. There’s just something about it.”

“Are you going to sing along, Peter?”

“I already told you I’m awful, Karen.”

“You can still hum. The vibrations might be soothing for Babygirl.”

“I guess-hey, Bella. I’ll call her Bella. That’s nicer than Babygirl.” 

“Bella is a nice name. It means ‘beautiful.’”

“I like it. Bella Notte...” Peter takes a deep breath and silently resigns himself to humming for Bella’s sake.  

The baby has quieted down quite a bit by the time the hospital comes into view, and Peter has literally memorized “Bella Notte” as it plays for the 20th time.  

The ER only has a few scattered patrons when they arrive, and thankfully, none of them really acknowledge the strange pair. “Karen, voice disguise.” Peter whispers as he crosses into the reception area. 

“Uh, hi. I’m, uh-”

“Carrying a baby in your shirt?” The receptionist is terse but smiling just a bit as Peter fumbles with the carrier.

“Uh, yeah. I found her abandoned in an alley.”

“Oh, dear.” The woman clicks her tongue and picks up her phone. “Katie,” She sighs after a few moments. “Can you come to my desk please? An infant. Yup. Thank you.” She smiles softly at him this time. “One of our pediatric nurses is coming. There is a single bathroom back here if you you want to take her out...privately.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” Peter tentatively rounds the desk and nods when the receptionist, Patricia, her nametag says, lets him in the locked door.

In the privacy of the one-person restroom, Peter rips off his mask and sags against the wall, breathing deeply and unevenly as he tries to get his bearings. He can’t believe he walked all the way here with a tiny baby in his suit. He presses the logo and carefully extracts her, immediately bundling her in the blanket he’d found her under. He realizes in the light that she’s only wearing a dirty white onesie, and he feels tears spring to his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Bella.” Peter coos softly, his voice breaking as he really looks over her scrunched up face for the first time. “You’re safe now.” 

Before he can think, he places a featherlight kiss on her little forehead, and his heart flutters. He clenches his eyes against the tears welling there as she whimpers in his arms, exhausted from crying for who knows how long. The boy stares at the baby for a few more moments before sighing deeply and pulling his mask back over his tired features.

Peter keeps the baby cradled to him with one arm and carries the car seat with the other; he carefully opens the bathroom door and inches out into the employee area behind the reception desk. A young woman with a brown ponytail and soft hazel eyes catches his gaze and gives him a small wave; she pushes off of the table she’s leaned against and meets him halfway.

“Hi, Spider-Man.” Her voice is like tinkling bells. “Pat says you have a visitor for me?”

“Yeah....I don’t know her name, so I’ve been calling her Bella.”

“That works for now.” Katie smiles and reaches out. “Mind if I take her off your hands?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Peter hesitates and looks down at Bella, his eyes filling again, and he feels himself blush. He looks back up at Katie but subconsciously pulls the baby closer.

“You can hug her good-bye if you want,” Katie offers softly, gently pulling the carrier from his arm. “I’ll be right out front with Pat when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thank you, Katie.”

The young nurse smiles and leaves quietly.

Peter looks down at Bella, his view of her distorted through tears. “You’re gonna be okay now, Bella. Katie and Pat will take good care of you.” Peter swallows thickly and places her laterally against his chest, bouncing her gently to comfort both of them, if he’s honest. He squeezes her against him and brings his head to rest on top of hers. “This is so weird. I only met you like an hour ago, but...I love you so much, Bella.” Peter sighs and sniffs before straightening up; he continues slightly rocking Bella as he walks toward Katie and Pat, the former continually smiling at him as he hands the tiny bundle over.

“She’ll be okay. Thank you for bringing her to us.” Katie pats his shoulder and holds an arm out. Peter is taken aback for a second until he really looks at her, sees the lines in her face and bags under her eyes. She suddenly reminds him of May, the desire to help and love so evident in every part of her, and he steps into her embrace. Katie squeezes him lightly and rubs a hand over his back. Peter breathes shakily, and she squeezes again before pulling away. “You’ll both be okay,” Katie promises.

“Why...was she abandoned?”

Katie’s eyes turn down at the corners. “Any number of scenarios for why, but Pat told me you found her in an alley.”

“In...a dumpster.” Peter chokes out.

“Sadly, not the first time we’ve heard of that, but she’s definitely better off now that she’s here. Our social worker specializes in infant care, so she’ll find a good foster family for her.” Katie pats his back one more time before holding Bella close to her; she runs a finger over her forehead.

“She was so cold when I found her,” Peter whispers. “But I think I helped warm her.”

“I’d say so; she doesn’t feel too cold at all. You did good, Spider-Man.” Katie turns back toward the door he came through, and Peter holds it open for her.  “You’re welcome to stay here until we’re done looking her over and getting her settled, if you want.”

“I...I want to...” Peter sighs and rubs his arm. “But I already said good-bye. I should go home. Someone is waiting for me. Plus, I trust you guys.”

“Well, thanks.” Pat laughs and rubs his arm. “This is what we do, baby. She’ll be just fine. You did good.”

Peter nods, puts a hand on Pat’s shoulder as he passes, and heads out of the emergency room before he can break down.

-

It’s after 3am when Peter finally climbs in his window. He shouldn’t be surprised to find May asleep on his bed, but his vision, physical and otherwise, is a little hazy thanks to his senses being on alert ever since he left the hospital. It wasn’t like the normal shriek of danger but a buzz at the base of his neck, like the area there has somehow fallen asleep.

Peter shakes his head when he finds himself still sitting on the windowsill. He crosses to May silently and gently rubs her shoulder. “May?”

May stirs and squints up at him; her eyes widen before she sighs and laughs, slightly delirious. “Oh, shit, Peter. I always forget about you under there.” She sits up and stretches. “Why didn’t you call me? Way past curfew.” She yawns into her hand.

Peter hits the spider logo and strips out of the suit, exhaustion flooding his bones and tears in his eyes at her comment. “I’m sorry, May. Crazy night.”

“Yeah?”

Peter slips into a t-shirt and sweatpants and turns to face his aunt.

May’s expression falls when she really sees Peter’s face.

“Oh, baby, what happened?”

Peter bites his lip and blinks, releasing a few of the tears he wouldn’t let fall in the hospital. “That’s exactly it. I...I found a baby.”

“Oh my god.” She’s across the room and hugging him before he can blink again. She pulls him back toward the bed and hugs him close as he begins trembling.

May hugs him against her cups the back of his head; she looks down at him and murmurs, “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve helped you, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never had a baby, May.” Peter says between shuddering breaths. “And I was six when you got me.”

“Touché.” May brushes some bunched up hair form his forehead. “But I had cousins growing up. I know how to deal with babies.”

“I just....didn’t think to. I took care of her, though. Took her to an emergency room. I had it handled.”

“Good thinking, kiddo.”

“It was Karen’s idea.”

“Well good on Karen, then.”

Peter nods mutely, staring blankly at the floor.

May wipes the stray tears from his cheeks and just lets them sit in silence for a few minutes, letting Peter get himself together before a yawn shudders through her. They both laugh a bit, and May asks, “Good?”

Peter nods.

“Good.” May carefully detaches herself and picks up his bedside water glass. “I’ll fill this for you, then bed time.” She goes and returns swiftly, kissing him tenderly on the brow while whispering, “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. The hero with a heart of gold.”

Peter’s smile is wobbly, but he forces it up for her.

When she leaves, he lays on top of his covers for a little while, staring at his ceiling. Even with his windows and doors closed and locked tight, Peter can’t seem to shake that buzz in his senses.

It’s a little after 5am when his eyes finally fall closed, though the threat was long gone.

Stories below him and hours before, a hooded figure had slipped off into the night, having been at the right place at the right time for his own gain.