OH MY GOSH IT'S BEEN SO LONG IM SO SO SORRY.

right. so i promised weekly updates. it has been three weeks. all i can say is that this chapter was such a pain and preparing to start school was hard and other things happened and i am so sorry. with the start of grade eleven i might have to switch to an update per fortnight (that's one every two weeks) but i'll try my best to stick to this schedule.

in other news, stuff has happened! Lover is out AND ITS SO GOOD? the first time i've liked pop music tbh. and I saw IT Chapter Two and it was EPIC AND WE HAVE NINETY-FIVE FOLLOWERS? WHAT THE HECK?

Thank you so much for bearing with my shitty upload schedule. i love you all.

TRIGGER WARNING: anxiety attack description from Shit Rogers to the penthouse rematerializes, and also from Tony scrambles back to bleeds embarassment. stay safe!

"I don't trust anything, or anyone

Below the sun

And I don't feel anything at all"

-King Of The Clouds, Panic! At The Disco

It takes Pepper all of five minutes to calm down. Which, coincidentally, is how long she waits before she yells at him.

"'I'm fine' my ass!" Pepper flies off the couch and starts running her hands up his arms. Her eyes are watering, face contorted and pissed.

Tony's brain, though, hasn't quite woken up yet. He flinches against the wall, eyes blinking at her, seeing but not understanding and what the hell is going on? Why is Pepper inspecting him? Deep inside, something is panicking. He can't quite reach it yet.

"Morning, Pep."

It's not morning, not by a long shot. Tony's voice is gravelly and a little strained. Did he yell in his sleep? God, he hopes not. Pepper's furious. Or terrified. He doesn't know which but he doesn't want to aggravate it.

He's aggravating it anyways, because his thoughts are way slower than usual and in the short amount of time he's studied Pepper she's given him a speech and a half and Tony has heard none of it.

God. Tony's really blown it now. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"–you said you were fine, you always say you're fine when you're not and I am sick of it, Tony–"

"Pepper–"

Tony whips around and Rhodey is there, eyes wide as he takes them in. Tony forgot he was there. His heart is still pounding–he usually calms down by now but everything is weird and Pepper's screaming definitely doesn't help–and something in him is relieved that Rhodey's with them.

"Not now, Rhodes, I'm done with Tony's bull–"

"Pepper!" His voice becomes commanding and Pepper stops talking. Tony closes his eyes and relaxes against the wall. Finally. "Let the man breathe. He's just had a nightmare."

Right. That's where Tony was. In a nightmare, with metal and ringing and Rogers–

Shit. Rogers.

Suddenly Pepper's hands on his shoulders are vices. But that's ridiculous–it's Pepper and they would never hurt each other–and yet Tony heaves and pushes and wants her off of him, because everything hurts and he can swear it's Rogers doing the hurting. The hands readily let go, and he leans against the wall, panting, but something is still wrong and his panting turns into hyperventilating and he feels sick to his stomach, and his mouth is way too dry and he can't say a word, then his knees buckle and he falls and someone screams–

The air around his shoulders shifts and he's about to be hit again, shit, but whoever's doing it stops last minute and lets Tony breathe. Or at least try to breathe. He heaves and gasps and it's like the oxygen has left the room, and it's all he can hear; the air rushing into his throat and blood pounding in his skull. For a long time he stays like that, gasping and heaving and trying to see or hear but it's all blurry and silent–where the hell are Pepper and Rhodey?– and he doesn't know how long it is before a sound breaks through the blur.

"–ony." It's Rhodey, his voice soft. Laced with–fear? "Tony, breathe. Breathe. It's only temporary. It'll be over soon, just breathe."

If anything Tony panics more, because goddamn it he's been breathing forever and it's useless, he's not getting any air–

"Not like that. Tony, you're going too fast. One, two." Rhodey says it slowly, drumming against the arm of the wheelchair. "With me, come on. One. Two. In, out."

Rhodey's voice takes on a steady rhythm, and Tony clings to it like it's the only thing that exists. And slowly, him and Pepper fade back into focus, and the penthouse re-materialises.

"Better?"

Tony nods and stretches his legs out from under him, collapsing against the wall. He's never taking the floor beneath his feet for granted again. He sits there for ten minutes, breathing slow and deliberate, trying to feel anything but tired; before he hears Pepper's voice crack.

"Crap, I'm so sorry." She looks terrified, and leans in to touch him like he might break. "I was scared, I shouldn't have yelled at you–"

He likes being held by her but he can't stand the thought of touching others right now. He gently pushes her hand away, and mumbles, "S'okay. Wasn't your fault."

There's a pause where he thinks she might protest but everyone knows it would be useless. So she instead composes herself.

"I'm still sorry. But Tony," Pepper says. Her words are strained, like she's vying to keep them controlled. "What's going on? Really."

He shouldn't lie. It's obvious, so obvious; and he's near-certain Pepper's going to tear him apart if he tries.

After-effect of my anxiety attack comes to the forefront of his mind. It's easy to say, easy to prove, and then–

And then Tony keeps living like this.

Nightmares every two days. An attack just around the corner. The two people closest to him never fully at ease around him. He'll constantly be on-edge, telling F.R.I.D.A.Y to keep his secrets and trying not to hyperventilate in front of reporters; anxiety fueling his every move.

The last time he kept this from Pepper, she nearly left him. Then actually left him, two years later.

No. That's not going to fly with him. Pride be damned, he will make this work with her. Tony won't lose her, not a second time.

Tony closes his eyes and breathes in. He tries his hardest to make it slow. There's a weight on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes to find Rhodey nodding at him. He must have wheeled himself over.

"You got this, man. Just say everything on your mind."

Tony exhales, and forces himself to look Pepper in the eyes. In the dark they morph from a deep blue to a smoky sort of gray. They're red-rimmed, the makeup around them smudged since Pepper never bothered to wipe it off last night. Tony reminds himself, this is what he wants. He wants to keep seeing Pepper, keep looking into those eyes.

Then he talks.

"It started–I guess it started a couple weeks back, the first time Ross called."

Pepper raises her eyebrows. "Ross called you? Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross?"

"The one and only."

"And... what did he want?" Rhodey ventures, bracing himself like the answer scares him.

"Wanted me to find Rogers and his crew," Tony says, shrugging. He avoids looking either of them in the eye. "I said no, he got mad, you know the story. I'm not sending anyone to the Raft, not as long as he's in charge."

He waits for one of them to say something. No one talks, so Tony continues.

"Then that night they started. I started getting these–these nightmares? Haven't had them in a while. It's like a Siberia Part Two except Rogers wins, every time." Tony lets the implications of that sink in. "So I fixed the suit; made a new shield. Tried to convince myself the dreams weren't real. Obviously, that failed spectacularly, because I'm standing here now."

He still can't face them but he hears Pepper's soft breathing. She gives him a minute of silence before the questions start.

"How come F.R.I.D.A.Y never told me?"

"I told her to round up sleeping durations. As long as I get more than six hours total she doesn't say anything."

"And the bar?" Rhodey asks.

"The kid had this drawing of the Avengers." Tony tries to stay flippant because now that it's out there, out loud, it sounds so _stupid,_ a goddamn drawing scaring him like that. "Which, fun fact, was a two-in-one package. Memories from Siberia and memories from the wormhole rolled into one."

Pepper's voice is hard when she says, "That's not funny."

"Really?" Tony sees their stony expressions. This was why the nightmares stayed private. Everyone's happier without them. "I don't know, it sounds like a great movie. An eccentric billionare can do anything except talk to kids, starring Hugh Grant and the Home Alone kid."

No one laughs.

"Tony," Pepper says. She stands up straighter and makes direct eye contact. Nausea starts to pool in his chest. Even Rhodey appears tense.

"Tony, I can't watch you live like this. We need to get you a therapist."

He's on his feet and out the room so fast the nausea builds up again.

He doesn't know where in the penthouse to go–his room reminds him of the nightmares and the kitchen reeks of Steve Rogers' team–and so his body takes him to the one place where he's never been judged, never been rebuffed.

The lab, when the doors open, is so beautiful he almost cries.

Tony finds a bench almost instantly and falls into it, panting.

"Boss, Miss Potts is asking for your location."

"Cl-Classified," Tony chokes out, looking for the speakers F.R.I.D.A.Y talks from. "Classified info, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Until I say otherwise."

"As you wish," she replies, oblivious to his panic. "Though if I may, I suspect she'll find you without much trouble."

"Hm?"

"You're in one of your most obvious locations, boss."

Tony doesn't have the energy to argue with her. He slumps onto the table, waiting for the elevator doors to open and for Pepper to storm in. God, it's too late–too early? The sun's not up–for this mess. He just wanted to celebrate a job well done and go to sleep.

When five minutes pass without Pepper's voice interrupting him, Tony looks up from the table to check if she's there. She isn't. F.R.I.D.A.Y tells him before he can ask.

"Miss Potts intended to visit you, boss, but it appears Colonel Rhodes has advised her against it."

Rhodey is–Rhodey's beyond remarkable. Tony has to thank him later. He drops his head back onto the table with a relieved sigh. Something tells him he won't leave soon.

We need to get you a therapist.

That's not happening. Tony's doing great on his own. He will not pay some stranger for free confession sessions. He never needed them, not as a kid and not as an Avenger and definitely not now. He's made it through an entire interview, on live TV, without breaking down. Except for today his nightmares never get to him for more than five minutes. And if the wormhole means anything, he'll grow out of it all in a few months. No heart-to-hearts with strangers needed.

But then–Pepper. Pepper, who left him because of this exact situation all those months ago. He can't decide if she's bossy or right. She's never been wrong in the eight years he's known her, but something about that word, therapist, makes him die a little on the inside.

She's said it before. Between kisses, laughing at Tony's cynicism; or deadpan when he makes one of his insane suggestions. Tony laughed along with her. But today there's none of that. Pepper is serious and disappointed, and now that she's looked him in the eye she's never going to drop it.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y," Tony mumbles, tracing a finger against the table, "I'm okay, right?"

"Your vitals are slightly below average, boss, but hardly life-threatening."

"No, Fri, not like that." He furrows his brows and tries to explain. "Like, mentally okay. You think Pepper's onto something with the nightmares and the therapy?"

"You do seem significantly distressed after each dream, boss." Tony looks up at the ceiling again, unimpressed. F.R.I.D.A.Y's supposed to side with him. "In addition, according to WebMD, your symptoms match with descriptions of multiple anxiety disorders–"

"Okay, stop. No more nightmare talk."

"Any other requests, sir?"

"Tell Pep I'll talk to her tonight. I'll be here if something important comes up."

F.R.I.D.A.Y dutifully redirects her consciousness to the penthouse–or wherever Pepper and Rhodey are–and leaves him in his lab, frustrated. The word 'therapist' makes his heart thump and his fingers twitch and his own stupid A.I. can't help him. Tony wants to be okay. Is okay. He has overprotective friends who just caught him at the wrong time. And even if they're right, there's so much more to think about. There's the question of who to trust, how he'll even visit if he's hunted down by journalists, how to keep said journalists from sharing that information.

And another thing. A small thing.

It's a tiny chance, he's sure. But he might have to face the fact that Tony Stark isn't invincible after all. That there's something in his head that keeps him from being normal.

He needs to talk. Not to Pepper, who might still be mad. Or Rhodey who's probably consoling her. Not to F.R.I.D.A.Y, who was never designed to analyse emotions in the first place.

Considering that they are three of the four people he considers close friends (Happy is the fourth, but he's busy with his own life outside the Tower now), that doesn't work well for him.

Okay, maybe not talk. He's got past this all before, years ago, with barely a word. What he needs to do is stop worrying. It should be easier this time, right? Immunity and all that. You do something successfully once, and you never have to worry about doing it again. And his fears, they're all tied to the people he cares about–Pepper, Rhodey, Happy. In another lifetime, maybe the Avengers. People who, if they die, will take Tony with them.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

"In need of assistance again so soon?"

Tony glares at the speakers. "How's our suit looking right now?"

"I'll be surprised if you think of something it hasn't been equipped with yet."

"Good. We're starting another one. Mark–what number are we on again?"

"The Mark 47, sir."

"Great. Begin blueprints for the Mark 47; tell me when the basic structure's done."

"Before beginning, sir, I'd like to point out that Miss Potts would not deem this necessary–"

"F.R.I.D.A.Y."

She almost sounds resigned when she says, "On it, sir."

Tony sighs like there's a weight on his chest that's been lifted. He almost tells F.R.I.D.A.Y See? I'm doing great, before he thinks better of it.

So his suits are the best they've ever been. Every upgrade he makes to them is transferred to Rhodey's War Machine, which eliminates any of those fears. The tower and the compound are both fortified beyond belief. He can sit tight for a while and wait for the Mark 47 to come out of processing. He's considered working on the suit's defensive capabilities. Building a shield of his own. There's a new scientific field that's gaining traction, too–nanotech, he thinks–which he wants to experiment with.

But all of that will have to come after the prototype is ready. Tomorrow, at the very least.

The weight that left him snakes back into his chest, and his heartbeats aren't normal. Tony needs something that can happen now. He already regrets it but he calls F.R.I.D.A.Y again.

"Hey, Fri? You got anything I can work on? Like, now?"

"All your suits are either being built or operating at maximum capacity, sir."

She sounds well and truly irritated and Tony debates calling her out on it. But he's bored, and his heart hurts from all the weight dragging him down; and if there's nothing for him to do then Tony's talking to F.R.I.D.A.Y. Even if he wants to throw a screwdriver at the speakers because of her. Tony hopes she likes Stark Tower gossip.

F.R.I.D.A.Y surprises him by initiating her own response before he even starts. "However, the suit of one Peter Parker could use refining."

Tony frowns. "The kid? He's doing great."

It's not just speculation that prompts him to say it. Happy is getting more texts and reports than ever and Tony goes through them every few days. Peter has zero complaints. In fact, he's solidifying his superhero status. He stops muggers and thieves more than anything now.

"Sure, boss, but my database says his suit doesn't have nearly as many safety precautions as yours."

Tony is half a second from firing back and saying they worked in upgrades literally two weeks ago when he realizes with a start that F.R.I.D.A.Y's right. The suit was built in one day. Including upgrades, he's worked on it for maybe thirty hours total. There's a tracker, so he can check on the kid. There's no fire safety measures, or a parachute in case his web fluid breaks, or a heater in case he's stranded or an interface to warn him of attacks; hell, there's no offence or defence equipment except for the webshooters designed by a literal fifteen year old–

"F.R.I.D.A.Y? Could we, could we get Happy on the line?"

A dial tone answers him, and it's only when Happy groans that Tony remembers the sun hasn't even risen yet.

"There better be a gun to your head," Happy whispers, voice croaky, "or I swear, Tony–"

"Sorry." He means it for once, and winces as Happy groans again. "Thought spiral, okay? This call was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing."

Happy's quiet for a few seconds. Then, "What do you need?"

"Knew you'd give in, Hogan."

"Wouldn't be myself if I didn't."

Tony's smile is slightly more strained than usual. He mentally lists everything he wants to do as he fills Happy in.

By the time Peter shows up (And he's a lot easier to usher into the elevator this time, thank God), Tony has paced the lab so many times there's a ring of scuff marks hugging the walls.

Tony still can't believe he missed it. A literal kid flying around in a suit not prepared for the worst-case scenario. Peter hasn't even gone through puberty. If this suit, if Spiderman ends up being what kills him, and the kid's aunt doesn't even know–

The blame falls on him. Tony Stark.

He doesn't think he can stomach one more murder under his name.

Peter, of course, doesn't know any of that. He's here, only somewhat less starstruck than last time; and he thinks they're working on casual updates. He definitely doesn't know that War Machine is in the tower, or that Tony's fixated on keeping the kid alive.

Tony is milling about the lobby, occasionally giving autographs to the frenzied staff–something is happening today, it's not usually this busy–when he hears the familiar squeaky voice. He has to stop himself from stealing the kid's backpack and bolting.

"Mr. Stark, hey!" Peter jogs up to him grinning, saying something about how he can't believe they're doing this again. Tony isn't paying close attention. He only listens at the end, when Peter's tone abruptly changes. "Woah, Mr. Stark. You look, like, really tired. If you want, we can leave this for another day–"

"No!"

He lashes out before he can stop himself and Peter flinches back, wide-eyed. Tony wants to wither and die–did he really just yell at a child in broad daylight?–but he doesn't want to scare the kid more than he already has. He needs this suit fixed. And he needs to stop worrying. Tony composes himself.

"No, kid, it's fine." Peter stares at him quizzically anyway. Tony tries again. "Ignore my slip. I never get enough sleep anyways. But I've an insane amount of ideas I came up during the last two weeks and I want to integrate them into the suit, alright?"

It's so slow Tony can actually see the surprise fade out the kid's eyes. But it does happen, and Peter grins. "Awesome. Thank you again, Mr. Stark. So much. This is like, seriously cool."

Please don't say thank you.

"No need to say it. You got the suit, told your aunt, all that good stuff?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm actually sorta saying we do this, like, every day?" Tony's eyebrows shoot up, and Peter's smile becomes just a little awkward. "Like, I need an excuse to keep patrolling and to May this is that. The excuse."

Tony tries to imagine that, working with this kid every day. It's not that it wouldn't be fun. But Peter's already enough like him without a daily dose of Tony Stark to amplify it. The internship two weeks ago was a one-time thing. A way to make sure Spiderman deserved his title. Peter's definitely earned it, but he's still infinitely better off away from Tony.

"That's okay, right?" Tony snaps out the internal monologue and looks at Peter. "Me saying you and I work together? That's okay?"

"'Course it is. You got a cover to keep."

"We can totally change it, most people think I'm lying anyway–"

"Peter."

"Right. Cool cover. The cover's cool."

"Absolutely. Now let's head up."

At least the elevator ride is less awkward. Peter still doesn't look directly at him, but he's not doing it on purpose, Tony thinks. They're only a few floors up when Peter talks again.

"So what are we working on this time? Maintenance, installing new things?" Peter bounces on the balls of his feet, already removing the suit from his backpack. "I got this idea for like, recording video and audio feed through the lenses–and then, later, I could check it and learn from my mistakes!"

Tony smiles. He doesn't have the heart to tell the kid that it's already there but inaccessible.

"I'll add it to the list."

Everything in that suit is for him. Spy on the kid in case Tony needs him. Stop him from creating a mess so Tony won't have to clean it up. Prevent Peter's A.I. from working so Tony can judge Peter without outside influence.

God, he's been so selfish.

It's what Howard would have done, something in him whispers, and Tony hates it because he knows it's true. He pushed the kid into a fight that was hardly his, and kept him nearby in case he'd be useful later. He dug into Peter's personal life and made sure he was okay to ease his own subconcious. It doesn't help that Peter won't stop trying to impress him. The disappointment in the kid's eyes from that stupid night–why, why did Tony have to embarrass him?–returns with a vengeance.

At least he's fixing that now, right? He brought Peter in and the elevator is taking them to Tony's private lab and they'll install everything Peter might need. Right now, Tony is better than Howard ever was.

(He refuses to think he's only saying it to make himself feel better.)

They step into the workspace together, the suit fluttering in Peter's hands as he rushes to same bench they worked at last time.

"Mr. Stark, you never answered my question." It sounds like an accusation but Peter grins at Tony as he says it, laying the suit across the table. "What are we adding to this?"

Peter's eyes are so big. And hopeful, so hopeful. And Tony doesn't plan on changing that. He can't look in the kid's eyes and tell him the multi-million dollar Peter owns is almost as useless as the onesie Peter once wore.

Tony strolls over to the workbench, reconsidering the plan he and F.R.I.D.A.Y discussed today morning. When he addresses Peter, it's done with the carelessness he's so famous for.

"Well, we're not working together today, per-se. Ever worked a group project where everyone actually does their job?"

To his surprise, Peter nods. Tony frowns but continues.

"Wow. Good for you. Today's group project is this suit, and I want you focused on the suit's code. F.R.I.D.A.Y pointed out a couple bugs last week and I want you to fix them." Peter's eyes go wide, and flicker in the direction of the nearest computer. "Maybe even rewrite a couple things for higher efficiency. Up to you."

Peter lets out a breathless laugh. The kid doesn't know that Tony corrupted his own code three hours ago so this could happen.

"It's all C++, but I can have it converted to Java if you need it. Think you can do that, kid?"

"Oh God, definitely, Mr. Stark." His voice is higher than usual, breathy and excited, and Tony feels a little less like a liar. "It's actually my friend Ned who teaches me coding, but–oh my God, I'm coding for Stark Industries. I'm actually writing code for Stark Industries, holy shit." Peter suddenly pauses. "But I can work on the suit too, right? Cause that's what's really fun–"

"Nope, no suit today. It's all very advanced." Tony hopes it's not cruel to say.

"I'm sure I can learn it, Mr. Stark–"

"No. Coding today, Pete. You got that?" Peter deflates slightly, but voices his understanding. "Well, no time to waste, kid."

As though he was never disappointed, Peter nods furiously and dashes to the computer he eyed earlier, while Tony instructs F.R.I.D.A.Y to bring up the faulty code. Peter is about to turn the computer on–Tony scoffs–before F.R.I.D.A.Y gently stops him.

"If I may, Mr. Parker, the device you're using is only there in case I'm unavailable."

Peter's gaze flicks up to the speakers, then to Tony. The kid's most likely still getting used to the idea of F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Tony shrugs. "She's not lying."

"So where will I be working from?"

F.R.I.D.A.Y sounds far kinder than she does on most days when she says, "Mr. Stark prefers to use these."

A chain of neon-blue pages light up around Peter, and Tony fights back a grin. The kid's eyes, already wide, damn near dilate as he stares in stunned silence.

"Mr. Stark, are those–holograms?"

Tony allows F.R.I.D.A.Y to answer for him. "Mr. Stark calls these holograms his work pages. Most of his experimentation and assessment occurs via virtual three-dimensional models like these, but they're also good for writing things down."

Peter lets out the same breathless laugh and moves to stroke the page, a soft woah escaping him when he gets too close and the picture distorts. Tony waits long enough to watch Peter adapt to the no-doubt weird holographic keyboard in front of him. Once Peter can type somewhat quickly (he doesn't stop giggling once; Tony's getting worried), he grabs the suit.

"Well, kid, I'll leave you to it. We'll convene in three hours, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah." The kid's eyes reflect the blue from the holograms. It's all he looks at right now. "I'll see you then. Thank you again, sir!"

Not even twenty minutes and he's being thanked again. Tony's smile is strained when he answers Peter.

"Don't even mention it, kid."

Tony was pleased the first time he built Peter's suit. Really pleased. The part of him that wasn't having Rogers-induced migraines every five minutes rejoiced at the idea of a new challenge. Creating an audio-visual system capable of tracking and contacting a teenager, wrapping it in spandex, and finishing it all in under a day? Tony was sold.

The same suit now makes him flinch.

It's one thing to know the suit works for Tony more than it ever did for Peter. It's another to see it in person–heaps of wires and silicon chips, all connected to the A.I., to the cameras and microphones, to the tracker and webshooters; none of them to emergency systems or safety measures. The suit's a testament to his own selfishness, and it's only slightly relieving that Peter is on the other side of the lab and hardly able to see what Tony is doing.

At least he won't waste time planning. A page lights up above his own bench–opaque from behind so Peter's enhanced eyes can't read it–listing everything Tony's thought of since before dawn.

Needless to say–it's a lot.

He's dying because Obie pulled his heart out.

The suit gets a built-in defibrillator. Reinforced spandex, too.

Obadiah's winning and Tony doesn't have enough guns.

He fiddles with Peter's webshooters and makes F.R.I.D.A.Y come up with combinations. They don't look different, but the kid can attack in over five-hundred ways once he graduates the Training Wheels protocol.

He's shivering and stranded in Tennessee. A dead J.A.R.V.I.S for company.

The suit gets a heater and a backup power source.

He's choking on embers and ash and Killian is laughing.

Tony manoeuvres the mask into a smoke filter.

He's fighting Steve and Rhodey is falling from the sky.

It's a challenge, but he fits in a parachute.

He's reeling after the fight with Steve and has to crawl to his phone.

He reprograms the A.I.. Baby Monitor Protocol or not, it's going to contact Tony when Peter is quiet for too long.

By the time they're all built and activated (And Tony's not done, not by a long shot), a few hours have passed. Tony is so engrossed he flinches when Peter calls out from behind him.

"Mr. Stark–oh crap, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Tony waves the page away and whips around. And puts excruciating effort into not looking guilty. "I'm, um, done with the code."

"Oh." The kid has the faintest blush but his eyes are shining and Tony assumes he should be impressed. He's mostly just panicked right now. "So, so soon?"

"I mean, it took a while. It's been three hours. Like you said. There were a lot of errors."

Tony cringes. He hopes he hasn't overdone it. "Yeah, think I might have spilled something on part of F.R.I.D.A.Y's mainframe. Took her a couple hours to recover."

"So are you done with your part of the project?" Peter grins and cranes his neck over Tony's shoulder to look at the suit. Tony moves to stand on front of it, but the kid frowns and Tony realizes how guilty that probably looks and allows Peter to analyze the suit.

Tony isn't done. At all. He needs to add emergency measures for cuts and bruising and ingested drugs, and enhance the camera Peter thought of, and update the A.I. database to recognise criminals. And then there's so many more things to consider, so many more scenarios to act on.

But not giving this to Peter is suspicious. And he can't look the kid who put him on a pedestal in the eye and tell him this suit is useless, he can't.

Tony gives Peter a smile he hopes isn't strained.

"'Course I'm done, kid. Just gotta send this in for processing and you'll head back home."

Peter smiles again, and it's so warm Tony's panic melts a little.

"You had fun?" he asks, taking the suit to be finalized.

"Yes, definitely yes." Peter starts swinging his arms the same way he did on his first day here, and runs to keep up with Tony. "Coding was–I mean, biology and chemistry are more fun, I think, but coding was amazing. And like, running it all and seeing it unfold is just–" The kid laughs, like that explains it all, and Tony's too busy enjoying it to consider the fact that his intern actually prefers life sciences to this stuff. There's a click as the machine snaps shut, and only then does Tony fully relax, and really look at Peter.

He's not prepared for the onslaught of pure joy that this kid's radiating. His eyes are shining and he keeps biting his lips like he's trying to hold back a smile. It makes Tony's insides twist, because this kid trusts him so much and Tony is just like Howard, Tony is using that trust to keep the kid in line behind his back, and he can't even admit to it; but the machine issues a faint beep and cracks open, and the sight of the newly update suit makes him feel a little more okay.

He's fixed his mistake. Part of it, anyways. And Peter–the kid trusts him far more than Tony trusted his father at that age. Which has to mean something.

"Last time was more fun, though," Peter says, accepting the suit with a giddy nod.

Tony's unfocused. He blinks.

"Hmm? What's that now?"

"You know, us working together and talking about stuff!" Tony scoffs, but he smiles, and Peter grins even wider. "Like, coding's cool, but working on the suit is way cooler. But I get it, and we're both done with today's project, right?" Tony nods slowly. "So that's great!"

Something about the was Peter says the suit is cooler doesn't sit right with Tony. But the kid's happy, and the suit is so much now, so Tony lets hid smile widen. Maybe he's not that bad for the kid. Maybe they can be friendly, so he can keep adding to the suit, and convince Pepper he doesn't need therapy–

Then without warning, the kid raises his right arm, and everything falls to pieces.

Tony scrambles back, panting–the kid's arm is moving too fast toward him, he sees RogersRogersRogers–and there's a horrid clang as he hits the metal wall and now the shield in crashing into his suit–

"Oh my God, Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, are you okay? Shit shit I'm so sorry–"

He feels a weight on his left arm and that's worse because he hates being touched, and he must have done something because Peter pulls back his hand like it's been burned–

And just as quickly as it started, it ends. And Tony is in the lab, and the kid is watching with frantic wide eyes, and every scared part of Tony bleeds embarrassment.

"Mr. Stark, I'm so sorry–"

Tony nearly chokes on the next few words.

"Happy'll–Happy will take you. Go home, kid."

"Mr. Stark–"

"Go. Now."

He watches the kid slink away, backpack heavy in one arm, until he reaches the elevator.

Tony only calls Happy when the doors close.

It's the evening, and Tony is tired because he's been awake since two in the morning.

He slams his head into the workbench a fifth time.

"Boss, I advise you to stop doing that. My scanners say there is a very real chance of you sustaining brain damage.

"Good." Tony doesn't bother getting back up. If it was anyone other than F.R.I.D.A.Y, he'd be lamenting.

Tony had a panic attack. In front of the kid. And then yelled at said kid and probably made him feel like shit.

All because the kid wanted a goddamn high five.

It's so obvious now. Peter's fifteen, and of course he celebrates with high fives, but instead Tony saw Steve Rogers and then had a panic attack about it and sent Peter home.

The part of him that hopes he is better than Howard withers. He has the despicable urge to laugh.

Peter's fifteen. He's fifteen, and his idol just had a meltdown and yelled at him.

Tony can't pretend that he's normal. Not after that. He's Tony Stark, charismatic and genius and hilarious; he should not be unable to high five kids. Peter's face from that car ride–Tony imagines it multiplied tenfold; the kid terrified and ashamed and horror-struck.

It always comes down to one thing.

Pepper's right.

Tony calls her in. They both apologize, and at least a few tears are shed.

You were right, he says, holding her hands. I'm getting therapy. Peter's stricken face on his mind the entire time.

Nightmares, anxiety, fear? Tony doesn't care. At least not enough to talk about it, to admit that he's stupid and weak and irrational.

But when it hurts others–when it hurts Pepper, when it hurts Rhodey, when it hurts kids–Tony draws the line.

Happy starts the interviews the next day.

Here's a fun factoid: this story was titled Tony's Psychiatrist back when i was first planning it before it got a halfway decent title. i'm so sorry i'm my poor baby suffer but i have to! and anyone who KNOWS what anxiety attacks are like, please tell me if im doing a good job! I really wanna know!

see you (hopefully!) next week!

love, Mariam