Tony tries to help Peter cope with things after he returns. Takes place following Avengers 4.

Rated: T for language

Disclaimer: While I've seen every single movie in the MCU, some dozens of times, I've only seen Infinity War twice, and I'm not that familiar with the canon comic-book material. Also, SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't yet seen Infinity War, please read at your own risk! This story also contains mentions of PTSD-like panic attacks.

The harsh sound of a buzzing alert woke Tony from his fitful sleep. Next to him, Pepper groaned softly as she rolled over, by now used to the near constant interruptions that occurred during the nights Peter stayed with them at the Avengers Compound.

Tony scrubbed his dry eyes with his palm as he grabbed his phone, clearing his throat. "What's up, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"Young Peter is out of bed again, boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded. "His current location is the second-floor kitchen."

"Damn," Tony muttered to himself, his shoulders sagging in frustration and sadness. "Why doesn't he just come to me when this happens?"

Ever since Peter had been… what do you call it, rescued? from the effects of Thanos' snap, he'd been struggling a bit. Or, more than a bit, if Tony was honest with himself. Peter was fine—or at least he tried to say he was fine—as long as he was able to keep busy, which meant filling as many hours of the day as possible with any number of activities. Participating in extra chemistry labs at school as a teacher's assistant. Helping Ned with his Lego sets late into the evenings during the week, after putting in a few hours being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man following his last class at school. During his weekends at the Compound there were the long training sessions with Steve, Natasha, and Sam. Steve even specifically designed their training routines to try and work Peter hard so he would hopefully be tired enough to get some sleep at night.

But it wasn't quite working. Any downtime in Peter's schedule longer than a few minutes; a Study Hall period at school, or a even a meal that stretched on too long, and his mind seemed to automatically go back to that day, and how it felt for his body to tear itself apart piece by small piece as he begged helplessly for it to stop.

Tony—along with Pepper and Aunt May—had of course taken Peter for a thorough checkup as soon as they were able to after he returned. Both Tony's personal physician and Doctor Stephen Strange put Peter through every possible examination they could think of, and while he was pronounced physically fine, both doctors warned May and Tony about the psychological side-effects of Peter's experience. Stephen was especially concerned since he'd experienced the very same thing, although not quite to the extent as Peter had.

And unfortunately, downtime had also come to include any and all of the hours that Peter was supposed to be sleeping. Since he'd been back Tony didn't think there'd been a single night where Peter had gotten more than three or four hours of sleep. No matter how tired Peter was, every night around two or three in the morning the horrible nightmares and panic attacks would hit with a vengeance. Peter would wake up drenched in sweat, often screaming that he couldn't breathe, sometimes clawing desperately at his face and neck, leaving long scratch marks on his pale skin. It often took both Steve and Tony to restrain Peter when he was like that. Once he reached a certain point, Peter was simply too strong for Tony to handle on his own.

And after each of these frightening incidents, once they got the sheets changed and Peter was calmed down enough to return to bed, Tony would spend the rest of the night camped out on the floor outside Peter's room, listening for any further signs of distress.

PTSD, Peter's therapist called it. Post-traumatic stress disorder.

It was the same thing that had plagued Tony ever since the Battle of New York, and Tony was bound and determined not to allow Peter to fall into the same unhealthy coping mechanisms that he himself had acquired. When Peter acted like he needed space, Tony gave it to him semi-willingly, while still keeping a very close eye on him through Karen and F.R.I.D.A.Y. And when Peter was extra clingy with him, not wanting to let Tony out of his sight or needing extra hugs or pats on the shoulder, Tony was more than happy to indulge that too. They'd more than reached the point of hugging on demand by now.

Shaking his head, Tony swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his zippered sweatshirt—a hoodie, Peter called it—pulling it on as he quietly left the room and headed down the hall. The inside air temperature of the sprawling compound was kept at a cool 66 degrees, mainly to keep the vast amounts of expensive equipment functioning well, but which also meant that he and Peter often walked around as if dressed for winter while Steve, who always ran warm, poked fun at them both.

As Tony padded down the wide, carpeted hallway, past Peter's open bedroom door and towards the second-floor kitchen, his ears picked up the faint rap lyrics of Hall of Fame, one of the songs Peter liked to listen to on repeat during the time he spent at the Compound. In fact, he'd listened to that particular song so often lately that Tony—much to his dismay—now knew most of the words by heart.

You can throw your hands up
You can beat the clock
You can move a mountain
You can break rocks

You can be a master
Don't wait for luck
Dedicate yourself and you can find yourself
Standing in the Hall of Fame

Well, at least it's not Umbrella, Tony thought with a shrug. He was far more sick and tired of that song. Especially after that high school talent show a couple weeks ago. Tony still didn't know what in the hell Peter had been thinking with that routine.

Poking his head around the corner, Tony's eyes swept over the complicated setup of glass beakers and flasks, bunsen burners, and clear tubing that covered one entire section of the vast countertop. Peter had taken to manufacturing his replacement web fluid here at the Compound lately, saying the ingredients available were better than those he could get at school. Tony had no doubt this was true. Even if Midtown School of Science and Technology wasn't just your average New York City public school, it still was a state-funded institution, and likely didn't anticipate in its yearly budget that its chemistry equipment and materials would be used to create Spider-Man's main tool in his fight against crime.

Next to the fluid-manufacturing setup stood Peter. Or rather, stood Peter's bare feet and pale lower legs, swaying slightly as he was apparently standing on his hands again. A pair of eyeglasses with golden-colored lenses rested on the counter, made for Peter by Tony to help him filter out unnecessary stimuli after school, and Dum-E was next to him, an open bag of nacho cheese Doritos held in one of his mechanical appendages. As Tony watched, a slight smile playing on his lips, one of Peter's hands slowly reached into the bag, grabbed one of the chips and disappeared back behind the counter, followed by the unmistakable sound of crunching.

Well, at least he's not dangling from the ceiling this time.

And how the hell can he swallow a chip while upside down?

That was one of the many questions Tony often pondered about the kid. No, not the kid. His kid.

Clearing his throat, Tony rapped his knuckles against the door frame, hoping Peter would hear him above the pulsating beat of the music. Another thing they discovered after Peter returned was that he tended to react rather violently to being startled, and Tony did not wish to become suddenly entrapped in one of Peter's elaborate web cages yet again. He was getting far too old for that kind of thing.

"Pete?" he called, trying to sound casual. "You okay?"

The bare feet stopped swaying and abruptly disappeared, and a second later a tousled head of wavy brown hair popped up from behind the counter. "Mr. Stark!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes flitting nervously around the kitchen as he slammed the glasses onto his face and reached for his new iPhone, pausing the music. Tony immediately noticed that he was wearing the New York souvenir t-shirt he'd bought Peter after the ferry incident with Vulture, after he'd confiscated Peter's Spider Suit.

"Ah, what—, um, what're you doing here?"

"Oh, couldn't sleep," Tony lied, taking a step into the kitchen. "I was up wandering the halls and heard the music. Thought you might like some company."

Peter's pale cheeks reddened and he looked down, raking a hand through his disheveled curls. "Um, that was really nice of you, Mr. Stark, but I'm okay, really… by myself. I'm—, I'm sorry if the music was too loud, if it bothered you."

A small stab of pain pierced Tony's heart but he shook it off, remembering what Pepper said about trying to be understanding when Peter was being distant. Despite everyone's best efforts to tell him otherwise, including the most highly-qualified child therapist Tony could find, Peter was still trying to be far more brave than he had any right—or need—to be. He didn't seem to want to admit that even though he wasn't quite an ordinary teenage boy, he still had many of the same worries and fears as any other seventeen-year-old kid would have.

And especially after what he'd been through. No other teenager who'd faded with Thanos' snap had understood what was happening before it happened, or had felt every single part of it during the process.

"Nah, it wasn't bothering me," Tony insisted, taking another step closer to the chemistry setup. Notebook papers covered with chemical equations were laid out sequentially along the long length of the counter. "What'cha working on?"

"It's just a new web fluid formula I'm testing," Peter replied, tweaking a knob on one of the bunsen burners. "You know, trying to see if I can get it a bit stronger."

Tony winced internally. Ever since that incident with the ferry Peter had been tinkering around with his web fluid formula, trying to find that elusive extra two percent that would've been enough to hold the heavy ship together without Iron Man's help.

"Mmm-hmm," said Tony. He pulled his own glasses from his hoodie pocket and put them on, quickly reading over the complicated equations covering the pages.

Impressive, he thought proudly. With everything that had happened, and the increased protectiveness Tony felt for Peter as a result, it was sometimes easy to forget just how brilliant the kid actually was.

"Gonna test it out on Cap tomorrow?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Peter said softly, swallowing hard as he looked down at the formula pages. He tapped the counter with the tip of his pencil. "That was my plan."

"Mmm-hmm. And you don't think that maybe—I don't know—trying to get some decent sleep before taking on Captain America yet again wouldn't be a good idea?"

Peter's head snapped up, his jaw clenching as his eyes flicked quickly to his mentor and then flitted away just as fast. "I'm not tired, Mr. Stark," he said petulantly. "Really."

"Uh huh," said Tony, unconvinced. He took a step towards Peter, and was alarmed when Peter shrank back, as if he was afraid for Tony to come any closer. "I don't believe that for one second. What's the matter, Pete? What're ya hiding?"

"Nothing!" Peter protested. "I'm not hiding anything! I just—, I just want to be alone, Mr. Stark. That's all."

"And I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone right now," Tony countered, plunking himself down on a stool next to the counter. "And you know you can call me Tony, right? We've discussed this, Pete. Enough with this Mr. Stark nonsense. Most of the time when I hear Mr. Stark, I turn around and look for my dad, and that just makes us both look foolish. And you know I hate looking foolish."

"I—, I—, I know," Peter stammered, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink, contrasting with the golden lenses of his glasses. "It's just—"

"It's just, what?" asked Tony. "What is it? Is that asshole what's-his-name again at school? Speedy?"

"Um, do you mean Flash—?" Peter corrected, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Yeah, whatever, it's a dumb name anyway," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Is he giving you trouble again? Because if he is, I meant what I said. I'll—"

"No!" exclaimed Peter. He huffed out a breath. "I mean, not anymore than usual, Mr.—, Tony. He's kinda backed off a bit, actually… um… ever since the talent show."

Tony cocked an eyebrow. Ah, yes, the talent show. Tony wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting to see that night, sitting in the high school auditorium with the rest of the parents and families of Peter's classmates, but it sure hadn't been that.

"Oh? And why is that?" asked Tony.

Peter's lips twitched into a small smile. Actually, it was more like a smirk. "Because I showed him up. He expected me to fall flat on my face during my routine, and I didn't."

"Well, of course you didn't!" Tony exclaimed. "Even if you did dress in drag and do the hula, damn it, at least you did it well!"

Peter laughed, an actual, genuine belly laugh, and Tony watched as his entire upper body visibly relaxed. "Well, it was either that or join in on Michelle's trapeze routine," he said through his laughter. "And I thought that might be a cutting it a bit close to the chest, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah, I get you," said Tony, winking. "Mr. Secret-Identity and all. Still, next time you plan on donning a spangly outfit and dancing around in the rain on stage, a little warning might be nice." He pressed a fist to his chest, tapping it twice. "I have a heart condition, you know."

Peter smiled, and Tony let out a silent sigh of relief. "Yeah, okay. If I ever decide to do something like that again, I promise I'll warn you ahead of time."

"That's all I ask," Tony stated nonchalantly. He got to his feet and walked around the counter to the end of the web fluid setup, tilting his head as he studied one of the flasks with a critical eye. "Now, let's take a closer look at what you're doing here with this reaction… "

Tony's voice trailed off as he glanced over at Peter, noticing for the first time that in addition to the New York souvenir t-shirt, he was also wearing the pair of bright pink Hello Kitty pajama pants Tony had made him wear home after the ferry incident.

So this is why he was trying to hide.

"Going for comfort this evening, are we, Pete?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as light as possible.

"Aahh," stammered Peter, his face flushing red as he looked down at the brightly colored fuzzy pants covering his long, slender legs. "Yeah… um…"

Tony bit his lip, trying to stifle his laughter. "You know, if you need new pajamas, I'd be more than happy to get you something else. Something that's not quite so… cat-like, shall we say?"

"No," Peter protested. "It's okay, really—"

"I mean, I don't think it's strange at all for a young man like yourself to want to sleep surrounded by a bunch of fluffy white kittens wearing bows, but—"

"No, no, Mr. Stark, they're fine, really—"

"But wouldn't you rather have, like, I don't know, Transformers or something? Isn't that what all the young guys are interested in nowadays? Or am I hopelessly out of touch with modern pop-culture yet again?"

"Actually," Peter said, grinning as he shook his head. "Transformers is on its way out now, Mr—, I mean, Tony. After their last movie bombed, they just kinda fizzled."

"Well, then, can't have that now, can we?" replied Tony, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "No sense in wearing clothes to bed that are fizzling out of fashion. And if that's the case, then these happy white cats must be considered classics by now." He took a step back, eyeing Peter up and down. "You know, I'm surprised the proverbial 'they' aren't making Spider-Man pajama pants by now, given your increasing popularity in the city."

Peter's brown eyes widened, and he looked bashfully down at the counter. "Um, I think that would be even weirder, sir."

"Weirder? I actually think the red would go better with that t-shirt than the pink. Not that I'm a fashion expert, but I do tend to dress rather well. Or at least Pepper tells me I do. It wouldn't be the first time she's lied to me to spare my feelings."

"I like these pants just fine, sir," Peter said firmly, just as a timer started to beep. Slamming his hand onto the timer to silence it, Peter selected a test tube filled with clear liquid from a wooden rack and poured it into the lead flask, giving it a quick stir with a stirring rod before resetting the timer. Then he sat down on Tony's vacated stool and crossed his arms on the counter, resting his chin on them as he drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

"You… um… bought them for me."

Peter's back was facing Tony, so Tony had to strain to hear his softly-spoken words. But as soon as the sentence registered in his head, Tony's throat tightened and his brow furrowed. He'd bought those silly pajama pants for Peter—from a street vendor, no less—to wear home as a punishment. To embarrass him after he'd lied to Tony and disobeyed him. He'd never intended for them to become a sort of security blanket.

But apparently Peter saw them that way.

Tony placed his hand gently on Peter's shoulder, relieved when Peter didn't try to flinch away. "You know what?" he said softly. "If they're as comfortable as you say they are, maybe I should get a pair too. I don't think Pepper would mind, she actually likes cats, and then we could have a whole father/ son twin thing going on. What'd ya think?"

Peter's curly head snapped up and he slowly turned to face Tony, an expression of pure awe and wonder on his boyish face just as the realization of what Tony said washed over him. While Tony had obviously grown to think of Peter as a son to him, especially after the whole thing with Thanos, Tony had never verbalized that view out loud to Peter because he'd been subconsciously afraid that Peter would reject the notion.

But apparently he'd been wrong.

"Yeah, sure!" Peter stammered, a shy smile lighting his face. "I mean, only if you want to." He ran his palms over the plushy fabric covering his knees. "But they are pretty comfortable, sir."

"Done," said Tony, ruffling Peter's hair. "I'll send Happy out to get some tomorrow. I'm sure he'll love that."

"I'm sure—, I'm sure he will, sir—"

"Tony."

"T—, Tony," Peter said, nodding as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Yeah, I'm sure he will."

Tony smiled, winking as he brushed a floppy curl off Peter's forehead. He jerked his head towards the timer on the counter. "How much time till the next step in the reaction?"

"Um, seventy-five minutes," replied Peter. "But I've programmed Dum-E to complete each step, just in case—"

"In case you decided that you were tired after all?" interjected Tony, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah," Peter murmured, tapping his pencil. "You know, just in case."

"And are you? Tired, that is," asked Tony, in what he thought to be a fatherly voice.

Peter bit his bottom lip, his fingertip tracing the lines on the countertop as he swallowed hard. "Not—, not really."

"Well, all right," Tony said. He gently squeezed Peter's shoulder. "C'mon, Prince Charming, get your messy chips and let's go watch a movie or something. Let Dum-E earn his keep for a change."

"Yeah, okay," Peter said excitedly. He slid off the stool, grabbing the Doritos bag from Dum-E and rolling the top closed. "That sounds great!"

"Just not Footloose, right?" Tony asked as he selected two bottles of water from the fridge, handing one to Peter. "Isn't that the one movie from the great eighties that you don't like?"

"One of the few, Mr—, um… Tony."

"So, how 'bout…" Tony tapped a button on his fancy wristwatch, scrolling through the vast movie library at the Compound. "The Terminator? Robocop? Top Gun?"

"Would Back to the Future be okay?" asked Peter. "I haven't watched that one in a while. Not since—, since—, um..."

"Yeah, that's fine," Tony said quickly. He held onto Peter's shoulder as they walked down the stairs to the media room, trying to offer as much support as possible without making it seem too obvious. This was by far the most relaxed and carefree Tony had seen Peter since he returned, and he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the progress they'd made tonight.

Settling in on the plush reclining chairs that filled the small theater, Tony queued up the movie, watching out of the corner of his eye as Peter opened his chip bag and popped two into his mouth before washing them down with nearly half of his water. Tony tapped a note into his watch, reminding him to have Happy pick up a few more bags of Doritos while he was out running errands tomorrow. Can't have Peter going without one of his favorite snacks, even if they smelled funny and left radioactive-looking orange dust all over the place.

"Thank you, T—, Tony," Peter said softly a few minutes later, after Marty McFly had destroyed Doc's giant amplifier.

Tony glanced over at his kid. Peter was lying comfortably back against the seat, his head lolled to the side and his eyelids at half-mast behind the glasses. He looked ready to conk out at any second.

"You're welcome, but for what?" asked Tony.

Peter blinked, and his lips twitched before curling into a smile. "For being such a good… good… "

"Don't mention it, kid," Tony said, gently ruffling his hair. He leaned closer to whisper in Peter's ear. "Just don't tell anyone else that you've found my soft spot. I have a reputation to uphold. Deal?"

Peter nodded sleepily. "Deal."

Ten minutes later Peter was out cold, his head resting against Tony's shoulder. Tony kept the movie playing through till the end, just in case Peter woke up again. But once the end credits started to roll and Tony turned off the screen, he carefully plucked Peter's glasses from his face and laid back, closing his own eyes. May as well take advantage of the rare opportunity to catch some more sleep.

Pepper found them both the next morning still asleep in the theater, thankfully before anyone else had a chance to go looking for them. After cleaning up the mess left behind by his chips, Peter hightailed it back to his room just in time to avoid being seen by Steve and Natasha as they came down for breakfast.

And later that day in the sparring room, Tony watched with pride as Peter tested his new web formula out on Steve, managing to trap him so high up on the wall that they had to have Dum-E come and help them get Steve back down.

Tony knew that one good night wouldn't be enough to completely heal Peter from his horrible experience, but it was enough forward progress that Tony felt they'd finally turned a difficult corner.

And Tony was willing to do whatever it took to keep turning those corners.

Even if it meant sporting a pair of fuzzy Hello Kitty pajama pants.

I love reviews more than Peter loves chemistry. :) I can't wait to hear what you think!