A/N: I wrote this right before my written exam but didn't have time to reread it before my oral exam, so I've been sitting on this for two weeks now. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing. This was inspired by some art about a StarkPal by ironmess which was inspired by a post by ironmanstan, both on tumblr. Sadly I can't link them here, but you should check them both out!

Feedback is appreciated! Enjoy x

Sidenote: I also made an ao3 account for my Irondad stuff. Find me as josywbu!

Oh god. Not again.

It probably said a lot about Peter's current mental health that those were the first thoughts that came to mind when his eyes flew open and he felt his heartrate spike. That was, before the all- consuming I'm going to die took over and he felt this throat close up.

He'd been through this so often at this point that he knew what he needed to do but he couldn't bring himself to focus on anything else than the excruciating pain that shot through his chest and burnt through his lungs.

I can't breathe.

"No", he choked out before he could stop himself, kicking his feet to get the blanket off of his body because it was too hot and it was too heavy and it was suffocating him and he could feel the rubble and the dust settling in his throat. "I need. I need-", he sobbed and curled into his side when he realized that May wasn't here.

He was at the compound for the weekend to train with Rhodey and to tinker with Tony and to do a movie marathon and he had been so excited. And now, now he couldn't breathe and May wasn't here and he felt another sob slipping past his lips as hard as he tried to keep quiet.

His arms grabbed his head of their own accord, trying to protect it from the building that would be collapsing on him any time now. He could feel it. Oh god. He would be buried alive again and he wouldn't get out this time.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lips until he could taste the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and – At least blood meant he was still alive – but he might not be for much longer.

"Stop", he cried, burying his head into the soft pillow to muffle the sound until he realized that he couldn't breathe through the pillow.

The teenager flung the cushion as far away from him as he could and scrambled to the other side of the bed, hunching up on himself in an attempt to provide as little a target as possible. It wasn't working. He felt himself get more and more worked up until he couldn't really feel anything anymore.

His whole body was vibrating in pain and his vision was blurry as he tried to blink past his tears and he couldn't breathe and his heart would give out any second because it was going too fast.

Too fast, too fast, too fast.

He couldn't survive this. His heart was never meant to beat this fast.

"I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go", he heard a voice that sounded too foreign to be his own, "Please. I don't- Please, don't let me go. Please-"

"Pete?"

There was another voice suddenly. This one didn't sound like it was dying. This one sounded strong and steady and safe.

He latched onto the voice.

"Please, please. I don't-", he cried, his arms reaching out to feel for a person because if there was a voice there had to be a person, right? He needed something steady so he wouldn't die. Someone to hold him so he wouldn't just float away.

Finally his hand grabbed onto something soft and warm and he tightened his grip around it, pulling it closer to himself until he could hear and feel the heartbeat of the person vibrating through his own body. The heart was beating for him, too, and he could've cried with relief.

There was a hand in his hair and for a moment he was scared the hand would pull him away from the person and leave him to die. Alone and scared and cold. But the hand pulled him closer until his ear was resting over the steadily thumping heart and he didn't have to think twice before he buried his face into the soft fabric of the t-shirt and in the arms that seemed to be waiting for him.

He let out a breath. And tried taking in another only to find that his lungs had been closed up.

"Peter", the voice said and the strong hands in his hair moved so they were grabbing his chin. They were so gentle. But he didn't want to go and so he simply shook his head, wondering how he was going to tell them that he couldn't breathe, that he needed help.

"Of course you can breathe", the voice said gently, "You can do anything, kiddo. You're a freaking wonder child. Come on, I'll help you, okay?"

He nodded. He desperately needed help.

Then one of the hands let go of his head and grabbed his own hand that was still holding on to – something. He didn't want to let go, afraid if he did that he'd lose his last contact to the real world but the other hand was in his hair again and it held him in place. It wouldn't let go. It wouldn't let him fade away.

His hand landed on the soft fabric and the steady thumb thumb was back. He focused on it instead of on the fact that he felt light headed because he still couldn't breathe.

The hand that had guided his was back now and it was resting on his shaking chest, holding onto his shirt.

"Okay, Peter", the voice was back, "I'm going to take a few breaths and you're going to follow me, okay? Think you can do that?"

He shook his head because he couldn't breathe. He couldn't and he wanted to. He wanted to breathe so badly.

But the voice sounded so sure. "Yes, you can. I'm gonna help you."

"Deep breath in", it commanded and Peter could feel the chest his hand was pressed to moving but his own couldn't until the hand on his chest moved a little further away and his ribcage followed. He felt his thorax expand and he knew that if his chest expanded then his lungs would follow and if his lungs followed then the negative pressure inside his lungs would pull the air inside his body.

It was simple physics, a general law of nature, and science always made sense even when nothing else did.

He sobbed with relief when he felt the oxygen fill every last bit of the vital organ and he almost didn't want to breathe out again but the voice did so, too, and the hand put a little more pressure on his chest until he let go of the air he was holding.

"And again."

It worked. He could breathe again.

"Thank you", he whispered, releasing the tight grip he had on the shirt ever so slightly without really letting go.

He knew the soft, "Don't mention it, kiddo", that followed and the way the calloused thumbs drew random patterns behind his right ear. He'd know the smell that surrounded him anywhere and it told him stories of safety and family and love much like his aunt's smell always did.

"Feeling better?", Tony asked and only then did Peter realize that his mentor's voice was thick with sleep and instantly he tried to pull away and apologize. Really, the man didn't get enough sleep as it was. But Tony wouldn't budge, simply keeping the firm grip on his head until Peter relaxed back into his arms and nodded slightly.

His chest still burned and his thoughts were still going too fast but he could breathe and he wouldn't float away for the time being.

"I'm okay."

"Do you- uh- Do you want me to leave?"

"N-n-", he shook his head, burying his face even deeper into the billionaire's neck, "I mean you don't have to stay if you've got anywhere else to be. I could-"

He was interrupted by a scoff and he couldn't help the small smile that tugged on his lips when the man started to make himself more comfortable in his bed.

"It's literally the middle of the night, kid. A bed is pretty much the only place I've got to be right now", he told him gruffly though it didn't sound angry, "And look, what a surprise, you've got such a nice one right here! Just let me try to find a position my back won't kill me for in the morning."

They shuffled around for a little bit longer until they found a position that suited both of them – the one they always ended up on nights like these.

Tony was lying halfway on his right side with a pillow behind him cushioning his back. Peter was curled into him, his head on top of his right arm, his face buried into his mentor's neck and his body being cocooned by the left arm and the blanket tugged around both of them. The older man's hand had found its way into his curls and was softly carding through them, humming to himself, and Peter enjoyed the vibrations that ran from where the arc reactor used to sit, through his hand into his body and his very soul. He knew the song, too, had heard it often in similar moments. It was an Italian lullaby that never failed to calm him down. Rhodey had told him one day that it was the same one Tony's mother used to sing to him when he had had a nightmare. It was a special song and Peter loved that he got to feel it fill up his whole body with love and protection and a promise of a bright future.

When he woke up it took him a minute to realize why he questioned the fact that he was alone in his bed.

All too soon the memories of last night came back, though, and with it the urge to hide under his covers for the foreseeable future. It wasn't that he was embarrassed because Mr. Stark had seen him like this – although maybe a little bit – but he felt so tired after episodes like these and he really didn't have the energy to talk about what had triggered it. Which his mentor undoubtedly would want to do.

He let himself enjoy ten more minutes of the warmth and safety his bed provided before slowly pushing the blanket off of his body and rising to his feet. He felt his lips curl up in a small smile when he found a glass of water sitting on his nightstand along with a quickly drawn doodle of him drooling in his sleep on a pink post-it.

For the longest of times he hadn't known Tony could draw, but then again, he had never really questioned it before the man had replied to his hastily written notes in his lab with small random sketches. They were mostly of Spider-Man in situations that his mentor obviously found funny and that Peter was too embarrassed to tell him had partly occurred in a similar manner.

It was a lot of fun to watch him sketch, though, and after Peter had confessed to liking these little notes and keeping all of them in a drawer in his room, Tony had actually made an effort to leave him more of them. And they always lifted the teenager's spirit, no matter how he was feeling.

So maybe it was that or the fact that the note also mentioned breakfast that had him hurry into the bathroom to get at least halfway presentable before making his way to the kitchen area in a better mood than he had originally woken up with.

The Stark Industry hoodie he was wearing hung loosely around his shoulders and he enjoyed the way he could hide his hands in the too long sleeves. It made him feel like he had gotten his dad's too big clothes and played dress- up with them. It made him feel warm and protected. Truth be told, it probably had been Tony's shirt and sometimes, when Peter would forget it in the lab, he'd still wear it so they were basically sharing the piece of clothing. And Peter definitely wasn't too shy to admit that the man was kind of like a dad to him at this point anyway. So it was nice that the fabric smelled of the mechanic. Both of his cologne and the faint smell of motor-oil that seemed to be permanently etched into his skin. It smelled like home.

"Morning kid", the man in question greeted him cheerfully when he shuffled into the kitchen.

"Morning", he replied with a yawn and a small grin when he saw Tony standing at the stove, waving a spatula at him before turning back to the food in front of him.

"You're making pancakes?", Peter asked hopefully, suddenly realizing how hungry he actually was, and dropped down on one of the bar stools. "I hope you got-"

"Of course I've got maple syrup", Tony interrupted him with an eye roll, "This is not my first rodeo, thank you very much."

The teenager grinned, folding his arms on the counter and resting his chin on top of them. "Well, I gotta make sure, don't I?", he gave back with what he hoped was an innocent flutter with his eyelashes. His mentor simply huffed and let it slide, instead turning to Peter in a much more serious manner. Or, as serious as a guy with a spatula and an Ironman apron over a Black Sabbath t-shirt could get, which really wasn't all that serious.

"How are you feeling, Pete?"

He shrugged, turning his head so his cheek was now resting on his arms as he absentmindedly played with the hem of the sleeves. "I'm okay. A little dehydrated from crying and I've got a minor headache but nothing a good breakfast won't fix."

"And fixing it we will", Tony replied gracefully before solemnly setting down a huge plate with pancakes in front of the boy with a gentle order to eat.

Peter didn't have to be told twice and was already on his third when Tony had turned off the stove, taken off the apron and sat down beside him with his own – considerably smaller – stack. They ate in silence and he could feel his body getting back to its usual buzzing self with every bite he took. When he was finished eating, the billionaire simply slid the apple juice over without even looking up from where he was scrolling through something on his phone.

By the time Tony was finished as well, Peter had already cleared his plate and had made himself comfortable on the couch, flicking through the various channels with a commentary on the respective programs by F.R.I.D.A.Y. He barely registered when the older man dropped down next to him and he only looked up when he felt his gaze on him for five minutes straight.

"What?", he asked with an eyebrow raised, rubbing his hand over his mouth, "Have I got something on my face?"

"Nope. Just thinking", was the vague reply and that caught Peter's attention because he hated not knowing what was going through his mentor's mind, especially when it was obviously about him. He muted the TV on some sitcom and turned so he was facing the man fully, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees.

"I think I might've had a nightmare that triggered the panic attack last night but I don't remember it", he offered, knowing that it had to be about their nightly occupation, "Thank you for talking me down from it. I mean, I should know how to deal with them by now. Like on my own." He looked down, playing with the sleeves of his shirt again because, really, he had talked to so many people (including Sam and Tony's own therapist) about it and he knew everything they told him by heart but he could never actually remember it when he needed it. He always needed someone to guide him to tell him what to do and someone else's heart beat to latch onto.

Tony frowned at that. "You know, you really shouldn't know how to deal with panic attacks and least of all on your own", he said firmly, "You shouldn't even know these things exist and you definitely shouldn't be experiencing them on a regular basis but since there's nothing I can do about that, really, I'm trying to figure out how to fix this."

"You mean, fix me?" And damn, he really hated how small and broken he sounded right now.

"No", Tony said softly but Peter still couldn't make himself look up from his fidgeting hands to meet the other man's gaze until he continued. "You don't need fixing, Pete. You're perfect just the way you are."

Slowly raising his head, the teenager squinted at his mentor who looked a little embarrassed about his own choice of words but didn't take them back either. As much as he wanted to make a quip with some sort of Bruno Mars reference, the moment felt too raw and honest to let it slip away like that, so instead he settled on. "You really think so?"

"Of course I do, buddy", the billionaire replied, a small earnest smile on his lips. "You're the best out of all of us, remember? And if it helps then I'll be on stand-by for you every night until I'm gone and, truth be told, I'll always be only one call away if you need me but", he drew in a sharp breath, seemingly struggling to find the right words what he was trying to convey, "I know how much it sucks to feel so helpless and depended on other people to save you. And I don't want you to ever feel helpless if I can help it. So I'm trying to find a way to give you the tools to save yourself if necessary."

"Th- That's", Peter stuttered, blinking up at his mentor with wide eyes before letting the tension he hadn't even felt build up in his body, slowly leak out. "I mean, do you really think you can find a way? To- uh- you know?"

"Please", the older man scoffed, "I'm me." And just like that the heaviness of the moment was gone, albeit not the seriousness, and Peter found himself returning the smile. "But I'm gonna need your help. You could start off by telling me, what actually helps you calm down and then we'll figure something out."

He thought about that for a moment, letting his thoughts drift to the various moments someone else had managed to get him down from a panic attack and finally coming back to what had happened just last night.

Peter leaned back on the couch, uncrossing his legs and instead propping his elbow up on one of the big cushions, making himself comfortable as he watched Tony doing the same.

"I think listening to someone else's heartbeat or, you know just feeling it helps me a lot because my own heart is racing so fast and I'm always scared it'll just give out on me because it's way too fast and by concentrating on someone else's not-so-fast beating heart,... it lets me ignore my own for a bit and the less I concentrate on how fast it's beating, the less I can panic about it giving out, you know?"

Tony nodded, obviously putting the information on some mental list, "So is it more the sound or the feeling that helps you focus?"

"Uh, both? I'm not sure", he said, biting his lip, "Both is best but sometimes when it's not too bad and I don't want to wake up May, I just listen to her heartbeat in the next room and it helps. But when it's really bad I don't think just hearing it would be enough. My senses are all over the place and the more senses I can get to focus on one the thing, the better."

"Okay, so focusing your senses. We've got hearing and feeling. How about seeing, smelling and tasting?"

He laughed a little, "The only thing I'm tasting is usually blood when I bite my lip too hard but I don't think I'd feel very comfortable with someone just shoving something into my mouth?"

Tony glared but let it slide.

"I try to just keep my eyes shut but it depends. When I feel like I'm being buried somewhere it usually helps to pop them open so I can see I'm not actually dying. As for smelling", he blushed a little, rubbing his sleeve-covered hands over his cheek, "Some smells make me feel safe? Like it's people I feel comfortable with… Ned and May and uh, you?"

He wasn't sure why he was so mortified by telling Tony Stark that he liked his smell. Surely other people had told him that already. And they were just having a conversation about his, Peter's panic attacks, so really why would the man think any differently about him after all that? The fact of the matter, though, was that he was still worried about ruining their relationship and when his mentor only shot him a soft smile but didn't further comment on it he let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"I can work with that", the man said after a while of staring off into space and Peter frowned at him, "Work with what? Have you got an idea? Can I help?"

"Eh", Tony grinned, "Let me tinker a bit first and see if this would actually work, okay? But if it does you'll be the very first to know and to consult."

"But I thought you said we'd work on it?", he grumbled, turning on his back and crossing his arms as he glared at the ceiling, "I wanna help! You know I can help! And you can make anything work anyway."

"The faith you have is honoring me." Tony's grin only seemed to widen. "Tell you what, give me two days to work on a prototype and see if I can find the right material and then you can help me with all the fun stuff, what do you say?"

The teenager turned his head to get a good look on his mentor, still pouting. "Fine", he huffed eventually, "Pinky promise?"

For a moment Tony Stark looked lost and then he burst out into a laughing fit, real body shaking body laughter that made Peter smile.

"What are you? Five?", he asked in between laughter even as he reached out his hand to wrap his pinky around Peter's.

"Mr. Staaaark", Peter's voice echoed through the room as soon as he had unlocked the door. "Are you done yet? It's been two days!"

Tony ignored the whiny teenager behind him for the fourth time that day, focusing instead on the figure on his work bench, thankful that his body was currently hiding it from the boy in question.

He took his sweet time finishing the last couple stitches before slowly turning around, keeping his last project out of the eyes of his visitor who had thankfully opted to continue his moping on the couch. He was sprawled out on the piece of furniture and Tony couldn't help put grin at the gracelessness and utter adorableness in which he had situated himself.

His right leg was still on the ground, bouncing up and down in an irregular pattern, while he had the other stretched out on the couch. His right arm was dangling off the thing and with his left he was drumming something on DUM-E's head who was obviously concerned for the young superhero.

"I thought you had Decathlon practice today?", Tony asked after a moment of watching his kid, sitting down on one of the swivel chairs and pushing it over until he was close enough to put a hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing.

"Are you done?"

The teenager would've fallen off the couch in excitement hadn't it been for Tony's quick reflexes. The billionaire chuckled as he steadied him, brushing a strand of freshly washed, unruly curl from his forehead before nodding.

"I've laid the foundation of it and now you can help with the fun part if that's what you mean."

Peter who had leaned into his mentor's touch contently almost toppled over again when he jumped to his feet then. "Does that mean I can see it now?"

"Be my guest, kid."

Tony pointed to the desk he had been working on before the kid had made an entrance and leaned back with a smile when he leapt towards it in a flurry of happy activity.

He could make out the exact moment when Peter laid eyes on his creation from his body language alone. He watched in amusement when the boy reached out tentatively to brush his fingers over the latest project before picking it up and cradling it in his arms before turning around to face the billionaire, a look of utter disbelief gracing his features.

"Did you make this?", he asked incredulously, holding out the stuffed Ironman figure as if Tony had needed clarification on what he was talking about.

"What?", Tony shot back, barely suppressing his laughter, "Did you think I'd build you an anxiety robot? Although come to think of it… would you want one?" He trailed off, frowning at the kid who just started shaking his head so fast he was worried it might fall off.

"No! This. I- Wow- I thought- I mean- ugh."

"Think you can make an actual sentence out of that?", Tony asked bemused as he got up and walked over to where Peter was still standing stiff as a statue and staring at the figure in awe.

"Sorry", he groaned and took a deep breath before speaking again, "This is way better than an anxiety robot! I think. I mean, it's so fluffy and-", he looked up, wide eyes now directed at his mentor, "I just- I didn't know you could sew?"

And that was that. Tony stared at the teenager.

"That's what you're taking away from this, kid?", he asked, eyebrow raised, "Geez, I build things. Why wouldn't I know how to sew?"

Peter deflated visibly in front of his eyes, Ironman now clutched to his chest as if he was afraid Tony would take it away from him. "No, yes. I mean, wow. It's just so domestic." A giggle broke through his rambling. "I never pictured Tony Stark sewing! An Ironman toy of all things!"

The older man scoffed, holding out his hands expectantly. "Well, if you don't want me to make you an Ironman Plushy I'll find someone else to give it to. I think Rhodey would love a new-"

"No", the teenager interrupted him, all humor gone from his voice as he firmly declared, "Over my dead body. This is mine."

And damn him if Tony didn't think it was absolutely adorable how the kid held onto the toy as if his life depended on it.

"Relax, Underoos", he said with a placating smile and lowered his hands again, "Of course it's yours. So, I take it you like it?"

A huge smile spread out on Peter's face and Tony barely had time to react before he had his arms full of a bouncing Spiderling singing his worship at a frequency that had him grimace in pain involuntarily even as he wrapped his arms around the kid who was still clutching the toy to his chest.

"I love it!", he could make out when the teenager let go eventually and took a step back, stroking his hand over the soft fabric of the plushy, taking stock of all the details Tony had managed to include to make it look just like his Mark L suit. His hands hovered over the arc reactor imitation before looking up.

"It's so soft", he said, gently bouncing the toy up and down as if it was a kid. "What fabric is this?"

"Oh, that's Pima cotton from Peru", Tony told him with a grin, "I did some research on what materials to use on toys for babies and cotton is way up there on the list and I wanted something soft so I ordered some of the softest cotton I could find. I've got some more if you feel like taking up needlework."

The teenager rolled his eyes at the baby's toys remark but still didn't let go of the plushy.

"So what's the plan, then?", he wanted to know with a frown, "It looks like you already finished it all."

"Awh, that little stuffed thingy? That's not even close to being finished. I made the plushy, we still gotta make it help with your anxiety. So, any suggestions?"

It took them almost three weeks working on their joined project and Peter was sure that it would've taken Tony not even a third of the time but he never once touched the toy when Peter wasn't around to help him with it and every idea he had for it, he ran by him first.

When it was done it was truly their project and Peter had never felt as proud as when he connected the last wire and put the small piece of electronic inside the plushy so Tony could sew it close.

The small device inside the toy held a microchip with the recording of a heart beating at a relaxed pace of 64 bpm as well as a heating unit that could heat up the wires that were just underneath the fabric throughout the figurine and hold it at a comfortable 72 degrees. They had actually tested out the temperature Peter felt most comfortable with and eventually had decided to build in a switch so it would also work as a cooler instead, should he feel too hot all of the sudden.

The panic button hidden in Ironman's left boot had been Tony's idea and was equipped with both a tracker, that only worked when pressed, and an immediate text message sent to May's and Tony's phone, alerting them of his distress. It was a way to contact them shouldn't they be with him when the panic attack worsened and he wasn't in a state to get to his phone and actually get a message out.

"Wanna try it out, kiddo?", Tony asked with a fond smile and watched Peter nod in excitement as he pushed down slightly on the soft arc reactor until it started to glow ever so faintly.

The heartbeat they had put in was playing at such a low volume that Tony couldn't hear it but Peter pressed his hear to the soft fabric and gave him a wide eyed thumbs up.

"This is- This is your heartbeat!", he spluttered in awe after a moment, "You recorded your own heartbeat for me? Thank you so much! I- this is even better than the pre-recorded one you showed me before. Thank you, really."

When Tony ruffled up the kid's hair before putting an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer in reply, his body was working on instinct alone. "Anything for you." And, really, the fact that they just spent three weeks building a toy together solely to help Peter with his anxiety was evidence of that fact.

"Is it pulsating like the real deal, too?", he wanted to know, not wanting to take it away from the kid to see for himself.

Peter nodded, cheek still pressed against Ironman's arc reactor and eyes shining with so much gratitude and love that, if he had been anyone else, Tony would've had to look away. Good thing he was Peter Parker, though. The boy that had barreled past all his defenses and defrosted his heart with a big smile and a shy 'Mr. Stark'.

"Yes, it's perfect! I can't wait to show May and Ned. I've been going on and on about this thing for weeks now and they're so excited to see it as well! Thank you so much."

"This all you. And maybe I did throw in a pinch of my own genius in there but, really, this is your achievement."

He was currently working on a piece of coding for the Iron-Spider suit, typing away on the holographic keyboard so deep in concentration that he didn't even realize Peter had slipped into the workshop until he came to stand in his peripheral view.

"Hey Mr. Stark", he greeted him, backpack slung over one shoulder, watching the lines of code fly across the screen in, slightly dimmed, awe.

There wasn't the usual bouncing, no chattering and talking his ear off before he had even set foot into the room. Enough signs to let Tony know that something was, if not wrong then at least, off.

The billionaire put his hands down, interrupting his work to turn around on his chair and face the boy who was fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket.

"What gives, kid?", he started without greeting, already running through all the possible things that could come out of his mouth. He didn't look injured. Was May okay? His guy in the chair? Did he get hurt and he had to repair the suit? What he did not expect, however, was what actually came out of the kid's mouth.

"Do you remember the Ironman plushy we made to help with my anxiety?"

Tony frowned. "No, those three weeks of my life completely slipped my mind until you brought it back. Is everything okay with it? Did it malfunction? Did it overheat?"

"No- No, everything's working perfectly fine!", Peter interrupted him, "I haven't need it this week yet." He smiled widely at him before remembering that he was nervous and letting his hands fall to his sides and going over to clenching and unclenching them. "I was just thinking that- I mean- I don't know if it would actually work or maybe you'll think it's stupid but- I mean, it's probably stupid-"

"Kid", he broke him off, "Spit it out and then I'll decide if it's stupid."

"IwasthinkingweshouldmassproduceanIronmanAnxietyPlushy."

Tony blinked. "Now try breathing somewhere in that sentence and I might understand what you're trying to tell me."

The teenager sighed, dropping his chin to his chest for a moment before looking back up and meeting his mentor's eyes. "I was thinking we should mass-produce an Ironman Anxiety Plushy." With the words now out of his head and in Tony's, he looked like all the tension seeped out of his stance and he dropped down on one of the swivel chairs to his right.

"I have no idea if you could actually do that but I met a girl last night on patrol and I she was having an episode right in the middle of the street and no one helped her", he told Tony completely unprompted, "So I took her somewhere a little more isolated and helped her through it but she was so scared and so alone and helpless, you know? My Ironman really helps me when no one's around to talk to me and I think other people could benefit from it as well."

With a sigh he started rocking back forth on the chair, letting his backpack drop to the floor and pulling out his Ironman Plushy, letting his hands run over the arc reactor gently.

Tony watched him cradle the toy in his lap and already his mind was going a mile a minute trying to come up with a way that this could actually work and how they could best market something like that. Would Pepper let him sell it with the SI logo? Somehow he had a feeling she would love the idea. Would the rest of the board? Should he even care what they said?

"It's okay if it doesn't work. It was a lot of work for just this one, so I guess-"

The kid's rambling made him realize that he had yet to actually voice his opinion on the matter and that his thinking face seemed to look like disapproval. Well, oops, he was still getting used to having someone around when he was working.

He raised his hand to cut him off. "I think we would have to include some kind of recorder to personalize the sound. I doubt everyone wants to listen to my heartbeat. And I'm not sure about the panic button. Also, the design probably won't be as detailed if we want to make it mass-producible. Should it still be Ironman or something more impartial?"

The look in the kid's eyes was worth all the work that would have to go into this before it was even close to sellable and he smiled when he found himself, once more, wrapped into strong skinny arms.

"Can't breathe", he croaked out when his overzealousness took over and the hug became a little too tight for a mere mortal like himself to survive.

"Oh my god!" Now that he wasn't occupied with handing out deadly hugs his kid focused all his built-up tension coupled with newly lit excitement into jumping around the lab and squealing at inhuman frequencies. Tony wasn't sure whether his age or the spider bite were to blame for this particular feature.

"Yeah, oh em gee", the billionaire deadpanned as soon as he could get a word in, "Now, wanna help me work out how to actually build these so you can be the one to sell them to Pepper over dinner? I think your puppy dog eyes could come in handy today."

"Do not have puppy dog eyes", Peter huffed but sat down next to his mentor anyway, holding up his own Anxiety Plushy and eyeing it critically.

"A recorder is probably a good idea but if there's a way to program the number into the panic button from the outside then I would keep it. I think it's a lot easier to just press a button when you need help than to actively go out of your way to call for help. I know it used to be so hard for me to just call someone during one of my episodes." He thought for a moment. "Bluetooth could work. You'd connect your phone to set up the message and the number you want it to be send to and then it would basically work like mine."

"Should work." Tony nodded his approval. "But I would make it optional so you don't have to connect anything if you don't want to. And no tracker in this one, that wouldn't sit well with Pepper."

"Right", Peter grinned, "Only my helicopter parents get that."

The billionaire shrugged. "Well, one of your helicopter parents helped you make it in the first place. And may I add that you did not protest when you had the chance?"

"You're right, da-ad."

"Oh and stop that attitude young man", Tony told him with a look, "And tell me whether to make it Ironman or something else? I mean it's a little on the nose and I'm guessing most people aren't too fond of-"

"Are you kidding me?", Peter spluttered, staring at his mentor as if he'd grown a second head, "There have been scientific studies on the internet. Several ones. And Ironman wins almost all the 'Who's your favorite Avenger?' polls. And it'll make for great marketing so maybe that'd bring some good publicity to the Avengers as well as to Stark Industries since, you know, Tony Stark is Ironman."

For a moment Tony simply looked at the boy, his kid, who so earnestly and honestly always lobbied for his favorite hero and who was smart and caring and perfect and the most amazing son he could've ever asked for.

"Okay", he conceded, ruffling the kid's hair before snatching the original Ironman plushy from his hands and checking it for anything out of the ordinary that needed fixing. When everything seemed to be working as it should be, he handed it back to Peter and instead pulled up the file of his original sewing pattern and started taking away some of the details to make it easier producible.

Next to him, the teenager didn't even need to be told what to do, and was already working on modifying the electronic of the thing with F.R.I.D.A.Y.s help.

It took them all of 2 minutes to convince Pepper.

It took Pepper 15 minutes of calling the entire board and making them go along with it.

It took Peter and Tony a little over 2 weeks to tweak it to their satisfaction and figure out how to make it producible.

It took another 3 weeks and a lot of back and forth to start production and correcting possible flaws they had missed before.

7 weeks after Peter had come into his workshop with the request, Tony was getting ready to sell Stark Industry's newest product to the world.

"You do know that you're not the one having to go out on the stage and sweet talk these vultures, right?", Tony asked the ball of nervousness who had been bouncing on his feet for the past ten minutes, with amusement and fondness leaking into his voice.

"Unless you do", he added after Peter simply glared at him and continued bouncing, "You could come up there with me and we'd present it together. You're going to get half the credit anyway."

The seemed to stop the teenager in his tracks. "Really? You're gonna tell them that I helped with these?"

"Sure thing can't take all the credit, can I?"

"Only like twelve percent?"

Now he was the one glaring. "I take it back. You're a menace who's not getting any credit whatsoever."

"Awh don't be like that." Peter laughed quietly, his eyes twinkling with the sort of unconditional love that made Tony's heart melt a little every time.

"Whatever", he gave back fondly and then checked his watch again, "You gotta get in now if you want to stand with everyone else in the back. I'll be out in five."

"Do you have the showpiece?", the boy wanted to know even as he gave his mentor a hug for good luck and Tony couldn't help but scoff at the question.

"Oh no I totally forgot to take the thing that I'm going to be presenting", he told him with a roll of his eyes. "Yes, I've got it. Now get in there, Underoos, or you're joining me on stage."

Everyone loved the StarkPal from the moment Tony first took it out of the bag he was carrying and when he explained everything it could do and the way it worked while letting the Ironman figurine pass through the rows, he heard mostly approving mutters. His eyes were on the teenager in the back of the room, though, as he started answering questions and doubts about the need for a toy like that.

"Should we really encourage how everyone suddenly seems to have a mental illness?"

"Let's say anxiety really is that big of a deal for kids nowadays. Who's to say it even helps?"

"Is there only going to be an Ironman Plushy or will there be Plushies of all the Avengers."

"First of all", he started with one of his most winning smiles, "When we developed the first version of it, we did get together with professionals to make sure it would not only be useful but wouldn't be harmful for anyone using it."

Peter frowned at him and he gave him a quick nod. Of course he would let someone else look over something that was supposed to help his kid. Especially when he wasn't exactly in his area of expertise.

"There are currently no plans to make Anxiety Plushies of other Avengers but, who knows, maybe Cap and Hawkeye will put their heads together to cook something up some day." That got a laughter out of most of them and he waited until everyone was quiet before he continued. "As of now there's only one that is not Ironman and that is my own."

Now he had their attention. And most importantly, he had piqued Peter's interest just as he had planned to.

With a grin and a smooth motion, showing off with the practiced ease, he pulled out his own Plushy that he had been working on while they had still built Peter's. He had tried out a few things to work out some of the kinks so the kid wouldn't get discouraged too quickly and had never told him about it.

His expression upon first hearing about it now was worth all of that.

"This is a topic I feel very strongly about and I hope in making these Pals, we are not only helping some people – no matter their age – deal with their condition but also spread awareness of the severity of mental illness. Something as serious, hurtful and possibly life-threatening should be treated with the same respect and care as any other illness. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean we aren't suffering."

Knowing how strongly his kid felt about the subject, he was almost surprised that Peter didn't give him another one of his radiant smiles and a thumbs up. As it was, he was still staring wide eyed at the Spiderman Plushy Tony was holding loosely in one hand.

Spending time, resources and money on a Plushy that the kid made him call a StarkPal and talking openly about his own anxiety in front of the whole world, just to see that radiant smile?

Totally worth it.

Tony's Spiderman has a recording of Peter recounting all prime numbers up to thousand very sleepily ("You talk in your sleep, kiddo.") He's usually calmed down before the recording reaches 193.