Clearly, this story is a bit post-Endgame canon divergence/post-FFH canon divergence. Slight FFH spoilers ahead, but nothing too spoiler-y-mostly vague. Enjoy!

There were few things better than feeling the air conditioner blast in one's face after a long, hot day outside. At least, that's what Peter thought to himself as he slammed the car door shut. He groaned and tilted his head back against the headrest as cold air washed over his face.

The similar groan coming from Peter's side told him that Tony clearly felt the same way.

"I don't care what anyone says," Tony mumbled. "Air conditioning is mankind's greatest invention."

"Ice cream machines," Morgan suggested from the back. "Internet. Solar panels."

"Yes, but were you outside all day trying to pack up the tent?" Peter mumbled, only barely tilting his head to look at the little girl—who technically wasn't as little as she used to be. At nine years old, Morgan now had loner limbs and a growing vocabulary and, of course, growing sass and sarcasm that could have only come from a Stark.

"Well, you and Daddy told me to stay inside," Morgan said loftily.

"Fine. Next time, you'll help us pack the tent," Tony said, slowly sitting up.

"Good thing we're not camping again for a whole year," came Morgan's cheerful response.

Peter managed a tired smile as he lolled his head left to look at Morgan. The girl gave Peter a wide smile, clearly pleased with the acknowledgement to her wit before adding, "And besides, Mommy says next year, she'll come camping with us, so maybe she'll end up packing the tent."

"She probably will," Tony muttered as he pressed on the gas pedal. The dirt of the camping grounds quickly gave way to highway, and the lakes and mountains slowly gave way to masses of pine trees as Tony directed the car back home. "But who knows, Morgan—maybe you'll want to pack the tent next year."

The small hum Morgan gave in response told Peter that such would most likely not be the case, but still, he couldn't help but at least bob his head in what he hoped was emphatic agreement. "Who knows," Peter echoed, and with that, he let his head fully drop back to the headrest.

For a moment, the three sat in the almost-silence of the air conditioner and the occasional drumming of Tony's fingers against the steering wheel. Peter let his head roll from side to side with the shifts and turns of the car on the highway. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head.

"Tired?" Tony asked.

Peter abruptly put his arms back down. "I'm fine," he replied. "It was just hot out."

"No kidding," Tony snorted. He shook his head. "Next time, I don't care what people say about glamping—I'm bringing the tent with the built-in AC."

"You had a tent with a built-in AC?" Peter asked. "And you didn't bring it?"

"I didn't think it'd be that hot," Tony defended. "And it did get a little cooler in the evening, like I said it would."

"But there were bugs out," Peter pointed out. "So we couldn't even stay outside that long."

"Shouldn't you like bugs?" Morgan piped up. "Since you're Spider-Man—"

Holding up a finger, Peter replied, "First of all, spiders are arachnids. Second of all, just because I'm Spider-Man doesn't mean I like bugs."

"Scott likes ants, and he's Ant-Man," Morgan said matter-of-factly, as though this won the argument.

"But ants are fine," Peter said, waving a hand. "Mosquitoes are bad."

Tony grunted in agreement. "And gnats. And dragonflies."

Peter whipped his head at Tony. "Dragonflies?" he asked, trying to bite his smile down at the annoyed expression on Tony's face.

"They're really big," Tony said. "And they fly funny."

Peter snorted and turned back forward again. He looked out the window to the trees whizzing past the windows and let the conversation lull. For a few minutes, the three sat together in the car in comfortable silence as the trees slowly became fewer and fewer until all there was were rolling green fields and the slowly darkening sky.

Peter lifted his head upwards, where he saw the slimmest threads of white cloud floating amongst the rest of the cloud-streaked sky. "Looks like a dragonfly," he said suddenly, pointing out the window.

"What?" Tony asked.

"That cloud." Peter pointed again. "Do you see it? Kinda looks like a dragonfly."

Tony ducked his head over the steering wheel and looked up, a small smile twitching at his lips. "Huh," he said. "So it is." He leaned back against the seat, re-adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "Didn't think you still cloud-watched."

"Haven't had the time lately," Peter replied, shrugging. He smiled halfheartedly at Tony before turning his eyes back out the window. He rested his forehead against the cool window, his eyes glazing over the lazily floating clouds. He really couldn't remember the last time he had actually had time to himself, let alone time to cloud-watch or anything like that. Now in his senior year at college, Peter's days mostly seemed to be spent hiding in the library and studying for exams or working on his thesis. His diet had mostly consisted of Red Bull and instant ramen and cold sandwiches from the library café, and he couldn't remember the last time he actually slept more than three and a half hours before MJ came to visit and promptly called May to say that Peter needed to go home early, even though Peter pointed out that the next break was literally a few days away.

But Peter had packed his bags (or MJ had packed Peter's bags for him as Peter sat on his bed and protested the whole time), and he'd taken the train back to New York. And the first few days had been fine, mostly. May had made Peter sleep and eat something that wasn't pre-made. But then Peter was back to pacing around his room and spending his nights at his laptop, and that was when Peter got a call from Tony about the camping trip. "I know you're busy," Tony had said, "But it's just going to be Morgan and me, and she's in that phase where she needs at least one more person than just her dad to talk to."

So Peter had agreed (albeit somewhat reluctantly), and the next day he was with Tony and Morgan, swatting away mosquitoes and kicking up lake water and eating s'mores and letting Morgan climb on him as he swung from pine tree to pine tree.

It had been good. Really good.

Until night came, and Peter couldn't sleep. He had stayed stock-still in his sleeping mat, staring up at the roof of the tent and trying to control the tightness in his chest until the sun rose.

Peter closed his eyes now, only somewhat aware of how the window's cool surface was numbing his forehead. He let out a breath, opened his eyes, and looked down at the bit of fog he had left behind on the glass. Peter lifted his head and wiped out the fog with his shirt sleeve before turning forward.

"So how're you holding up?"

Peter glanced over at Tony. "I'm good—it's been good," Peter said, bracing on a quick grin. "Thanks for the invite, Tony."

Tony waved a hand, his eyes still on the road. "Glad that you could just make it." He shot a quick glance backwards, and Peter turned around in his seat to find that Morgan's chin was nodding gently against her chest.

"When did that happen?" Peter whispered.

Tony chuckled. "Just give her a few seconds of quiet, and she's knocked out." He cleared his throat. "Wish it could be that easy for everyone, right?"

Peter stiffened. He turned to Tony, but the man's eyes were still trained on the road. Peter sucked in a quick breath and jerked his eyes back to the front. "Yeah," he only managed to say. For that moment, the only thing he could hear was the distant hum of the air conditioner in the car.

Tony sighed—long and slow, as though he had been holding it in for this whole time. "Peter," he said quietly.

"Uh-huh?" Peter could barely hear himself speak above the air conditioner.

"When was the last time you actually slept?" Before Peter could reply, Tony added, "And I mean a full eight hours. I'm willing to stretch it to seven hours. And I mean consecutively, too."

"I sleep," Peter mumbled, sinking slightly in his seat. He felt Tony's eyes on him, but when Peter looked up, Tony had turned back to the road. Peter swallowed. "I'm fine," he said. "Just a little busy is all."

"Which is why you didn't sleep last night," Tony deadpanned. "And also why your aunt called."

Peter concentrated on a wisp of cloud floating on its own. "May called you?" he could only ask.

"I figured you'd be home for break soon, anyways," Tony replied. "So I wasn't surprised when May called. Only I didn't think she'd be that worried." Tony looked over at Peter. "Listen," he said quietly. "I get it."

Peter's eyes instantly warmed, and he blinked up at the still-floating wisp of cloud. "I'm just busy," he whispered. "That's it."

"I know," Tony said. "You're working hard."

"I just—" Peter let out a halfhearted laugh and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's a lot. I've got all this work, and then there's the whole Spider-Man thing, and I still freak out over anyone who looks at me a little funny, and Professor Robins is still mad about me about the one time I showed up to class late, and sometimes I still can't tell what's real and what isn't…" Peter heaved in a quick breath. He pushed his hands up to his forehead, only just registering how cold his fingers felt against his otherwise hot face. "It's just been a lot," Peter repeated.

Peter felt the rumble to a slow stop. Tires hit gravel. The air conditioner was still going.

And then Tony's hand was on Peter's back.

"Sometimes," Tony said quietly, "you feel like the whole world is on your shoulders. Like everything's up to you, whether it be in school or out there doing…superhero stuff." Tony's hand was warm against Peter's back. "And it feels like too much for one person to handle."

Peter's head sank lower against his chest. A small part of him wanted to shake off Tony's hand, laugh the whole thing off, and tell Tony to drive back home so that they could pretend this didn't happen. That same part also wanted Peter to dive under the covers and keep that tightness in his chest to himself.

"Peter?"

Peter lifted his head. He risked a glance over at Tony, and that tightness in his chest suddenly migrated to his throat.

Tony's dark eyes were trained on Peter, so carefully and closely watching his face. "What I mean is," Tony said quietly, moving his hand up Peter's back, "you're not alone." He nodded towards Peter. "You've got lots of people in your corner, Pete." Tony paused. "That includes me, in case you haven't gotten the hint yet. And Morgan, even if she's snoring in the backseat."

When Peter didn't smile right away, Tony squeezed Peter's shoulder. "You know you can always talk to us."

And the look Tony gave Peter was so gentle, so patient, that Peter felt that small part of him crumble to ashes.

"I don't know what I'm doing half of the time," Peter said at last.

Tony gave Peter a sad smile. "None of us do, kid. Trust me." He patted Peter's back. "But we get through it together."

Peter didn't know when he fell asleep, but Tony was suddenly shaking Peter awake.

"Sorry," Tony whispered. "We're back home."

Peter blinked once, twice before registering the dim garage around him. He swiveled slightly in his seat to see that Morgan was already unbuckling her seatbelt, one of her fists rubbing at her eyes while the other blindly pushed open the side door.

Peter didn't even notice that Tony was unbuckling Peter's seat belt until the strap hit his cheek.

"Sorry," Tony repeated. "But you'll feel better when you get inside."

Peter was somewhat aware of nodding his head before he stumbled out of the car. He felt like he was floating as he scooted off his sneakers and padded into the rest of the house. He could feel the hardwood floors underneath his socked feet, feel the brush of the air conditioner over his hair and his exposed skin, feel the rub of his jeans against his hips, feel the hardwood floors underneath him give way to carpet until he stopped in the middle of what Peter realized was the living room.

Peter only dimly recognized the couch and was about to crash right into the seats when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist.

"Come on," Tony said with a light laugh. "Bed."

Peter blinked owlishly at Tony. "Bed?" he mumbled.

Tony was smiling, but Peter couldn't tell what kind of smile it was. His brain felt too slow to decipher the expression on Tony's face at this hour. "Yeah," Tony replied. "Bed."

Peter felt another hand on his arm, and this time, when he looked down, Morgan was at his other side, wearing the same funny expression that Tony wore.

"You're heavy," was all Morgan said as both Tony and she pulled Peter along.

"Mm," Peter could only mumble as his feet dragged along the carpet. His socked feet glided across the hardwood floor again, and Peter suddenly realized that from where he was being pulled between Morgan and Tony, he could smell laundry detergent. Aftershave. Shampoo. Clean smells. Home smells.

"Smells good," he mumbled, and he felt Tony laugh from beside him.

"You're really tired, huh," Tony only said. "That's good."

Peter heard the creak of a door open, and then his socked feet gave way to carpeted floors again, and then he was being lowered against something soft—his bed, he realized a sleepy moment later. He blinked up at Tony and Morgan, and he could tell now that Morgan was fighting back a laugh, and Tony was only giving Peter the smile that told him that things would be better in the morning.

"Night," Tony said, squeezing Peter's shoulder. "We're right next door if you need anything."

Peter hoped he was smiling. He couldn't tell if he was—his nerves felt numbed to sleep, but he sincerely, truly hoped Tony could tell that Peter wanted to at least smile. "Thanks," he only said. "Night, Tony."

The last thing Peter saw was Tony's smile before sinking into sleep.

Needless to say, that was the best night of sleep Peter had gotten for that whole semester.

A/N: This was originally supposed to be a somewhat lighthearted fic, but then I got thinking about college, and ya girl is stressed. I'm personally not going into my senior year, but the fall semester is about three weeks away from now for me, and while I'm super excited to get back into the swing of things, I'm also somewhat anxious. But we carry on.

This story was written for the Irondad 1000 Feelings challenge on tumblr, prompt #97: the blissful self-absentmindedness of dragging your feet as you walk. Highly recommend joining the challenge!

Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated!