Author's Note: Hey, there.

This story is a sequel to "Same Ol' Mistakes," but I suppose it can be read separately. Enjoy!

It couldn't last — that's the inevitable truth.

Tony might have retired, and he might have moved back to the tower with the kid, shutting others out and hoarding Peter all to himself, and he might have asked FRIDAY to hold back his phone calls and keep the penthouse on lockdown pretty much 24/7, and still, despite his best efforts, Tony knew it couldn't last long. There wasn't a rational reason for it — only the deep-seated knowledge that the world would catch up to them, his efforts be damned.

In a way, they held the fort for a valiant long time. Four months and twenty-eight days — a record for Tony Stark. Not even his time in Afghanistan had afforded him that much time away from the limelight, and so, perhaps, he shouldn't have felt so offended when Pepper ambushed him in his workshop, but he did.

It was early. Tony was still nursing his first cup of coffee of the day, and Peter was out of his sight — still curled up in bed, as Tony would've been if he had known what awaited him outside the comforts of his room. He liked to believe it was the lack of caffeine that locked his jaw and prevented him from doing more than groaning in her general direction when Pepper strode inside the workshop.

She had a dress and heels on, and she looked ready to conquer the world with only the help of the two phones in her hand, and Tony could do little else but to glare at the ceiling, burning with the betray of his own A.I, who remained suspiciously quiet throughout the whole ordeal.

"You haven't been answering my calls," she pointed out, unfazed by the lack of a polite greeting, stopping right in front of his work table. The words hung on the thick air between them as Tony refused to give them a response, so Pepper upped her game. "Tony, you have to know that this isn't healthy. You've both been locked up inside the tower for months now."

And the problem was that Pepper was giving him her patented look of three parts concern and eleven parts done with his personal brand of bullshit. It's a weirdly nostalgic experience to see that expression back on her face, even though he had enough sense to understand that she's quite mad at him.

It's not even like he could blame her for it. Tony's not an idiot — he had already thought about everything she's saying in between the lines before, and despite his better reasoning, he also knew that it's an exercise in futility.

Tony shrugged. "Well, I've never been a poster boy for healthy life choices, have I?"

It was a rhetoric question, they both knew that, but still, Pepper made a point of answering, of stating it, of shaping her mouth around the negative as though it gave her some kind of pleasure to do so. "No, you haven't, but this is—"

"Nothing," Tony interrupted, raising a brow. She had to agree with him. "Compared to what I've done in the past — to what I could be doing."

To what he wanted to do. Which was to search in all corners of the earth for every single person ever connected to Hydra and have them all killed. Murdering them himself. Which he hadn't done — yet.

So, there, a show of great restraint from his part.

"Maybe," Pepper agreed reluctantly, settling the phones down on the table. "It's not all about you, this time, however. I heard Peter is not going to school anymore? And what about his Aunt? Where is she?"

Instantly, Tony felt his hackles going up. It was one thing to question his choices — that he could take all day —, it was another thing entirely for her to speak about Peter's life as though she had any right to it.

"Those were his choices, Pep," Tony said tersely, feeling a tick in his clenched jaw. His hands were tight around the hot mug of coffee. "Peter's not a normal kid, you know that. Who could blame him for not wanting to go back to school?"

"He's fifteen, he's a child — it shouldn't be his choice. And, anyway, what about his Aunt?"

Tony sighed. "May is where she's always been — Queens. Sometimes she'll come here, others Happy will drive the kid to the apartment," he informed, trying to explain the weird routine they had going on, yet knowing how bad it sounded even as he spoke the words. "It's not all settled yet, Pepper. We're making this up as we go along. For now, Peter wants to be here, to live in the tower, to be with me, and I'm glad to give him that."

"I know." She nodded, sounding more resigned than anything else. "That's what's worrying me. You'll just give this kid whatever he asks for, and we have no idea if that will even be what's best for him in the long term."

And Tony would. Tony gave Peter anything he asked for — maybe 'cause he asked for so little, and always in a hesitant voice, whispering the words, afraid of the day when Tony would change his mind and say no. The kid was used to people slamming doors in his face, and Tony was determined to be the person to open every single one of them back again, just to let Peter know that he could, that he deserved all the wonderful things life had to offer.

"We're fine as we are, Pep," he said, breathing the words out, hoping beyond hope that he was telling her the truth. "He needs me."

Pepper frowned. "Tony, this is codependency," she argued, stating the words as law, and Tony felt a punch to the gut. Codependency sounded too much like a diagnostic, something that Tony avoided whenever he could. He had many of those to his name, already. "It's wrong. Peter needs friends and a therapist — urgently. God only knows what Hydra put his through, and sooner or later, he'll have to deal with whatever happened."

"You don't think he's dealing already?" Tony asked, giving her a bitter smile while thinking of all the ways Peter had been dealing with the mess that fucking Hydra made out of his life. He was having nightmares, and flashbacks, and surges of anger so sudden and intense that Tony still had quite a few healing bruises hidden beneath his t-shirt.

"Living with it is not the same as dealing, or as speaking about it, seeking treatment, getting the help he needs," Pepper pressed, reaching forward to take the mug out of his hands, which is when Tony realized that they were shaking. She put the mug down, and Tony had to fist his hands to cover the absence. "Tony...Peter needs professional help."

Did he?

"He's not crazy," he protested weakly. "He's not."

The look Pepper bestowed upon him was close to pitying. "That's your problems with therapy bleeding through," she pointed out, still calm as ever. Tony silently wondered why he hadn't done more to make them work, to keep her, to save their relationship. "I never said that, and I don't think he's crazy, of course not. What I do think, however, is that you shouldn't be pushing your bad coping mechanism onto a fifteen-years-old who doesn't quite understand the impact his choices might have on his future."

"I'm not pushing anything—"

"You're an adult, and he's a child, Tony. It's your responsibility to be the rational one in this situation, no matter how much it pains you." She exhaled, picking the cellphones back up, closing her hand around them, ending the conversation. "Look, at least talk to him. He needs to know."

Every one of Tony's instinct protested against the idea of suggesting it to Peter. It was unclear, though, if it was because his own history with therapy wasn't the best or if he was struggling against the possibility that perhaps he wasn't the most suited person to take care of Peter — that maybe his own fucked up past clouded his mind to what his kid truly needed.

In the end, it was a useless protest. Even as Pepper said goodbye and left, taking with her the judgment, and the concern, and the sympathies, and the worry, the thought remained behind, clinging to the walls, to his tools, to Tony's mind, festering and infecting his brain until he had no other choice left.

They needed to talk — even if it costed everything.

Three days later, all of a sudden, as they were watching Finding Nemo for the eleventh time, the words spilled out from Tony's mouth — rushed, like he was on the clock.

"FRIDAY, stop the movie for a bit," Tony ordered, turning sideways to face Peter, who had inched closer throughout the movie and now sat almost plastered to Tony's left. "Look, kid, we need to talk."

Instantly, Peter tensed. It wasn't surprising, but it still made Tony curse himself for choosing to go on with this.

"Can we please not—"

"Hush, kiddo, let me say my piece," Tony said, nearly begging, knowing that if he didn't speak right there and then, he would lose the strength to do so, and Peter deserved better — deserved to hear the words. Pepper was right. Did Peter even know how many options, other than Tony, he had? "Look, you know what this is about, right?"

Peter drew his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. It made him look smaller, younger. "Yeah…"

"Look, the truth is: it makes no sense to dance around it, so I'm going to say as it is, okay? Give you the hard facts, and we'll talk about it," Tony began, holding back the urge to scoop his kid into his arms and forget about the conversation. The look Peter had on his face seemed too much like fear or panic, and it triggered every parental instinct Tony had. "This thing we're doing? Sleeping in the same bed, waking up together, having every meal together, staying in the lab all day... this thing where I cannot have you out of my sight, and you cannot bear to be alone — it isn't healthy. In fact, it's called codependency, and it's pretty fucked up, apparently. You don't really go to see your friends, and I don't leave the tower for anything other than when we go out to eat."

Peter flinched, yet he said nothing, so the engineer powered on, spewing the hard truths without glamorizing it, precisely in the way he knew Pepper would've wanted him to do. "I'm going to be one-hundred percent honest with you here, and I need you to do same, okay?"

"Yeah," the kid said, sounding as though he was reassuring himself more than answering Tony's question. "It's fine. Of course."

"And I need you to promise me that you're not going to say what you think I want to hear."

"I can do that."

"Great, so let's do this." Tony forced a smile. "You're a genius, kid, so I'm going to treat you like one, and I'm not going to mince my words, okay? You're pretty smart — maybe smarter than me, even — so you have to know that it's not normal for a fifteen-year-old kid to spend all his day in the company of a fifty-year-old man. It just raises some red flags, I guess."

As he spoke, Tony tried to raise some walls, to put a little distance between the conversation and his personal, vulnerable feelings, trying to brace himself for whatever Peter might have to say, and still… It felt impossible.

Nothing happened — no detachment, no distance. On the contrary, the more he talked, the more Tony realized how badly the gaping wound was, and how terrible the strike could possibly be.

But he carried on. If for nothing else, at the very least, Peter deserved to know the packet he was buying. "But the point is: I've lived, I've partied, I've drunk, and I did all the shit I wanted to do, and more, honestly. I did all this stuff that I shouldn't have done, and I paid the price for every single one of them. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Tony."

"Good. 'Cause it's true." And it was — that was the worst part. "You should be out there, living your life, and not attached to the hip to some old man like me."

Peter took a much-needed breath at that, and a corner of his mouth tugged upward in a stretch that could almost be considered a smile. "Aw, come on, you have at least a couple of years before you really get to be old, old," he teased, grasping at a strand of Tony's hair and tugging it. "You look good for your age, you know."

Shit, kid. Don't distract me or I'll lose it.

"Shut up, smartass. I'm serious," he carried on, but shamelessly leaned into Peter's touch, way past the point of giving a fuck if his attitude contradicted his bullshit words. "Other than not being a healthy life choice, that's not all that it is. You're not just choosing to waste all your time cooped up here in this tower, without anyone your age — we are codependent, and that's not okay. You sleep in my bed, and I'm the only one you share your secrets with, and you don't really make an effort to make connections even with the other Avengers — you just want me all the time."

Peter cringed, pulling back his hand and looking away. "I know. I'm clingy. I just- I'm sorry—"

"For the love of Christ, stop interrupting me," Tony insisted, eager to get this part done and over with, so he could hopefully move on. The kid was internalizing everything he was saying, and that was the last thing he wanted. "So, am I being perfectly clear? This isn't healthy, this isn't right, this isn't what a kid your age should be doing. I shouldn't be encouraging you to do that. You got that?"

"Yeah, I did I-Yeah," Peter whispered — his voice barely coming out. The kid's knuckles were white as he gripped his own hands. "I understand."

And Tony can see that the kid is coming up with a thousand wrong ideas in his head, filtering what Tony said and absorbing only the bad parts, the ones that made the kid feel guilty and wrong.

Well, time to buy his ticket straight to hell. "Okay, so now I want to say what I think and how I feel about all this."

Peter's head snapped up. "What?" he asked, beyond confused. "Didn't you just do that?"

"No. I told you the facts — how things are, let's say. Everything I said is not up to debate, but I want to tell you how I'm dealing with it." He paused. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Yes!" Peter hurried to say, and Tony would've joked about his eagerness if he wasn't feeling exactly the same way. They both just wanted to go back to Nemo, really. "I mean, of course. Sure."

"I don't give a shit," Tony said and meant it. "I don't. I've been to hell and back many times now, and for some strange reason, I'm still here, living and breathing, despite all odds. And I almost lost you. For over a month, for weeks and weeks and weeks, I lost you. I watched you getting tortured, I lost track of you, I found you again." His mouth was suddenly dry, and he chocked a little on the words. "I-I truly believed, some days, that you were beyond my reach — that I had failed."

For the first time, Peter showed anger. His eyes burned with fire, the words cracking sharp as a whip. "You didn't. Never."

Tony wanted to scream. Peter would sit and listen, quiet as a mouse, as Tony spoke about anything, but the second he tried to imply that he may have flaws, that he was a fucked-up, that he had, indeed, failed Peter, the kid was always too quick at defending him.

Peter would not say a single thing for himself, but he would shamelessly preach to the whole wide world about Tony's virtues. It was maddening.

"I had to live with that, buddy. I still have to live with that, every day. With the consequences of my actions," Tony said, moving his hand to cup the nape of Peter's neck, keeping the contact. Holding them together. "But you're here, right in front of me, alive and well, despite everything, and for the love of everything that's holy, I want to enjoy every moment. And, okay, it makes me selfish. But I already knew that. Kid, I'm Tony Stark, the whole world knows I'm selfish."

And he was more selfish with Peter than he had ever been with anything else. Indefinitely more, and he proved that by reaching out with his other hand and carding his fingers into the kid's hair, softening his gaze.

"So, if I want to retire and spend the rest of my miserable days here, in this tower, locked up with my kid, doing shit, creating tech, helping you study, being with you, then that's exactly what I'm doing to do. I don't really give a fuck if it's not healthy, or good, or what I'm supposed to be doing, or if it makes me a dependent person. I don't like having you out of my sight, I don't like leaving you, and I don't wanna."

Tony paused. There — he said it. Whatever happened next, the ball was in Peter's court now, and the billionaire could do little else but to expect the best while dreading the worst.

"That being said, that's my opinion — how I feel, and what I want to do. But you don't have to do that because of me. You have options. So many options — every option you could ever wish for, in fact. It's yours, if only you say the words. I don't ever want this to be entrapment for you, not ever," Tony explained emphatically, holding Peter's gaze and willing his kid to understand just how far he would go for him. "So if this is not what you want, don't ever be afraid to tell me, get it?" He paused again, this time to allow the words to sink in. "'Cause I'm kind of responsible for your well-being, and it would suck if you were hiding something from me."

Peter had a determined expression on his face. "I'm not—"

"No. Don't give me your answer today — this rushed. Think about it. Okay?" He asked, although the last thing Tony wanted was to prolong the conversation, and the suffering, and the spiral of dark thoughts that were crowding his mind, at the moment. "I know you don't want to, and you think this is bullshit. But, please, just think about it, alright? If only for a little bit."

Only no one told Peter what to do when the kid had something stuck in his mind. Not even Tony Stark.

"Tony, I know what I want," Peter said, hooking his finger on Tony's belt-loop and just keeping it there. "This conversation isn't for me, is it? Someone spoke to you, probably Pepper by the sound of it, and you're freaking out internally, thinking that you're screwing this up, even if, in reality, you know you're not."

Which was spot on, to be honest. That's exactly how Tony was feeling.

"I need you a hundred times more than you need me, Tony, and you know that. It's the truth. I want you with me all the time as well, and I'm perfectly happy with how things are. In fact, I don't remember being this happy." Peter exhaled and Tony instinctively tightened his hold on the kid's nape. "I'm not the same kid I was before all this shit — I don't think I can be. And you understand it, you make me feel safe, protected. And I know it's not healthy; I'm not an idiot. I know that a fifteen-year-old should want to party, and drink, and hate their parents, I don't know, but that's not me — it was never me, and it's, especially now, not me."

Tony shifted in place, knowing his face was giving him away but being unable to contain the emotions passing through him as his kid — and Christ, it was still incredible to use the possessive, it would always be — told him that Tony made him feel safe.

"I just-I just want us to be here, as we are, doing what we're doing," Spider-baby carried on, 'cause he had no mercy. "This feels like healing to me. I don't need anything else."

Neither do I.

"God, kid," Tony breathed, shaken and a little pained. Shit — for fuck's sake. "The things you say."

"I mean it."

"I know, that's what scares me."

Peter shook his head slightly. "You don't seem very scared."

"Like I said, buddy," he pointed to himself. "Selfish."

Selfish enough to want Peter glued to his side, no matter what. Tony desperately wanted to be the one to help him, in any way he could, and the thought that Peter wanted that as well, fully aware of the possibilities, was so intense that it stole his breath away.

Christ, he loved that kid so goddamn much.

"For the record?" Tony rasped — his voice heavy with meaning. "You deserve better. So much better. You deserve to be surrounded by the most amazing people this planet has to offer, Peter."

"I agree," Peter said, a soft smile handing from his lips. "Only I happen to think you are the most incredible person this planet has to offer — how about that?"

God. How about that, hun?

"I'm not," Tony said, feeling both smaller than he had ever felt in his life and like the biggest man on earth as his kid looked at him, his eyes shining with admiration and a dozen other emotions that were far better. "I'm really, really not."

And the kid wasn't done. Of course he wasn't.

Peter Parker would singlehandedly destroy and put back together all of Tony's conceptions about himself, just so he could try, every day, to be the sort of man who deserved to have this amazing kid looking up to him.

Peter surged forward, all but crawling into his lap, his arms around Tony's neck. He was hugging Tony as someone who had something to prove. "You are," he whispered, hiding his face on Tony's neck. "You're my personal hero. Not Iron Man — Tony Stark."

"Stop," Tony begged, holding back the tears swimming in his eyes by a fine tread.

Peter shifted to settle deeper into Tony's hold, sinking into the hug while sighing contently, acquiescing to the plead, but his soft curls brushed against Tony skin, and he smelled of the shampoo the engineer had used his entire life, so it was possible that the unshed part became blurry.

"Okay, Dad," the kid mumbled, forgetting all about the movie and sounding ready to go right to sleep exactly where he was. Sure enough, a few minutes later, as Tony tried to steady his heartbeat without much success, Peter asked: "Is it alright if I get some sleep?"

Tony exhaled. "Of course it is, bambino," he cooed, tilting his head to rest it on top of Peter's. "Sleep if you want to. I'll carry you to bed later."

And he would. Gladly.

AN2: After Endgame, I'm going down writing Peter & Tony.

Anyway, if you feel like leaving a comment down below, it would be greatly appreciated. I would love to hear what you guys think about the story. Xoxo.