Title: if you're looking for solid ground, this stone will never break

Fandom: Marvel.

Characters: Peter Parker & Tony Stark.

Words: 1,500.

Warnings: Infinity War spoilers.

Summary: "Hey, kid," is all Tony says, casual as if he does this every day. "Ever seen Back to the Future?" / In which Tony worries in his own way, and Peter doesn't mind.

Notes: i just… needed to write these two being relatively happy. compliant with infinity war, set some time after avengers four. consider it an au where everything is (mostly) fine and no one is dead.

Tony shows up at Peter's door barely a week after they've returned to Earth—safe and alive and miraculously victorious. It's the middle of a Monday, but Aunt May had let him take some time off, so he's there instead of school, the apartment otherwise empty. Tony's got his usual pair of sunglasses on, a bag thrown over his shoulder, and a grin on his face.

"Hey, kid," is all he says, casual as if he does this every day. "Ever seen Back to the Future?"

Peter blinks. He has seen it—had marathoned all three of them with Ned one night—but there's something about the way Tony looks that makes him shake his head. He steps back, opens the door, and lets Tony into the room.

Aunt May finds them four hours later, Peter fast asleep on the couch, cheek pressed against Tony's shoulder; the television muted but still alight with the second movie.

She doesn't ask. Tony leaves not long after.

Peter doesn't think much of it, not even as it slowly starts to turn into a thing. It's gradual—occasional texts and calls, a couple of visits to the Avengers' Compound. Soon enough Tony invites him into his lab, introduces him to his latest projects, and it makes Peter feel like a kid on Christmas.

The movie nights keep up. Peter doesn't know how Tony manages to fit it into his schedule, but he somehow always does. They blow through films from the eighties and nineties, work their way through the early two thousands. People join them, sometimes: Aunt May, once. Happy another time. There's even a memorable occasion where Doctor Strange portals in while they're in the middle of Jurassic Park, and is promptly kicked out when all he does is complain about inaccuracies.

It's not exactly easy. Aunt May worries even more than usual, and Peter tries to appease her as much as he can. Tries to prove that she doesn't need to stress. Tony hasn't let him out on a mission since they'd returned to Earth, almost as if he's just as scared as May is to lose him again, and Peter hasn't asked. At least, not like he used to. There's still that lingering fear, the remaining trauma caused by Thanos. He has nightmares, has panic attacks. There are times when all Peter can remember is the death and destruction, is the all-encompassing terror that had gripped him on Titan, is the look of worry on Tony's face as he'd clung on tight, had tried to comfort him even in his last moments, is the black, the emptiness that had followed.

So, no. It's not easy, but it is easier with Tony around, and so Peter tries to focus on that instead of worrying about the almost.

It's not until Peter finds Tony conveniently "in the neighbourhood" three times in one week that he starts to worry.

The first time is nothing special—just Tony dropping by to return a jacket Peter is sure he never actually left at the Compound. The second is a little more suspicious, with Tony appearing in the alley behind his apartment building to explain the newest upgrade to his suit. The third, though—the third is obviously intentional.

It's late, dark out. He's on his way home: suited up and exhausted, his left shoulder throbbing with pain and his step slowed down by a slight limp—both a result of the scuffle he's just been in.

A sleek, black car pulls up alongside the sidewalk, and Peter slows, watches as the door opens to revel Tony in the back seat. There's worry in his gaze, an ice pack held in hand.

"Get in," he says, and Peter doesn't argue. He slips inside, pulls the mask from his face, and takes the offered ice pack, places it on his shoulder.

"Mr. Stark—" he starts, stops. "Wha—what are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same thing," Tony says, motions for Happy to start driving again. "Ten o'clock—on a school night. Getting into fights over, what? An old lady's purse?"

Peter opens his mouth to defend himself, closes it not ten seconds after. Secretly, he wonders if Tony's been watching the footage from his suit. If he's been using it to keep an eye on him.

Tony looks him over, reviews the damage. It's not too bad—Peter knows it isn't—so he isn't surprised when Tony just sighs, readjusts himself in his seat.

"She at least give you candy?" he asks, and Peter can't help the small smile. He opens his palm, offers Tony one of the two pieces the lady had given him. Tony unwraps it, pops it in his mouth before spitting it back into the wrapper with a grimace. "I hate cherry," he explains, shoving the rubbish in a compartment of the car door. Peter looks down at his own piece, decides he'll wait to give it to May.

The car ride is mostly quiet, the silence between them comfortable. Peter leans back against the seat, tries to stifle the yawns that force his mouth open. He pretends not to notice the little glances Tony keeps sending him, tries not to think of the questions that he wants to ask, the questions that have been swimming around in his head ever since they'd returned from the battle against Thanos.

It's easier said than done. The words press at the back of his teeth, his curiosity unrelenting. They're almost home by the time he decides to speak.

"Mr. Stark," Peter says again. "I was wondering—I mean—I. How did you know where I was?"

Tony turns to look at him, tilts his head at the question. "Your suit," he starts to explain. "Part of the upgrade—it tells me when you've been hurt. I got the alert, checked the footage, saw the fight, and..." He trails off, waves his hand as if to say here I am.

Peter bites back his smile, ignores the warm feeling that blossoms in his chest. He tries to say I'm fine, but Tony only stares, gives him a look that lets Peter know exactly what he thinks of that.

"Really," Peter says. "You don't need to worry."

"Yeah, I do," Tony tells him.

The words are sharp. Quick. Peter's brow raises at the tone, and he listens as Tony sighs again, stares as he rubs at his face.

"Okay," Tony starts. It's murmured under his breath, his head nodding, fingers curled around his knee like a clutch. "Alright. Look. My father wasn't—great," he says, swallows. "And I—I still don't know what I'm doing here, but. Kid." He stops. Inhales, exhales. Glances out the window before looking back at Peter. "You're my responsibility now," Tony tells him, soft and sincere. "I already lost you once, I'm not gonna let it happen again."

Peter blinks, face softening at the words. He swallows, tries to pretend there isn't a lump forming in his throat, but it's sort of futile. Tony, he's learnt, isn't very good at open affection. Every compliment, every supportive comment or worried statement—it's almost always hidden behind a joke, an insult. By something Tony can protect himself with. But this... well. It's obvious what Tony is trying to say; the words confirming Peter's suspicion that the increase of Tony's presence in his life was born of worry, that he's been coming up with fake excuses and plans he doesn't have time for just so he can check on Peter.

Like a father would, Peter thinks, and then swallows again.

He doesn't know what to say—can't think of anything appropriate—but as the car pulls to a stop, his apartment building in clear sight, Peter gives in to his impulses and launches forward, across the car seat. He drops the ice pack, arms curling around Tony's torso in a tight grip, and he fully expects for Tony to pull back or push him away, but he doesn't. Instead, Tony allows it, leans into it. His hold is secure and firm and nothing like the first time they did this, years ago. Peter's eyes shut, his eyelashes damp as Tony runs a hand across his back—fingers holding on as if he's trying to prove to himself that Peter is there: living and breathing and solid.

Warmth floods Peter's chest again, even as he realises that Tony is likely still as scared at he is, as haunted by what had happened as he is. He breathes deeply, holds on a little longer than he should, hugs a little tighter than what's appropriate, and hopes that Tony understands what he's trying to convey. The love—the appreciation.

"Alright," Tony says eventually. He pats Peter on the back, pulls away and clears his throat before nodding toward Peter's building. "Straight to bed," he says. "I'll know if you don't."

Peter grins, big and bright, and offers a quiet yes, sir before he finally exits the car.