A/N: Hello all! I decided to do a sequel to I Need, I Am, I Want since people seemed to enjoy it so much!

P.S. If you follow my other story What You Can to Survive, please know that yes, I am running from writing that next chapter. But it'll hopefully be coming soon!

You don't have to read I Need, I Am, I Want for this to make sense. Can be read alone.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)

––––––––––

Trope: Nightmares

I Won't Sleep

––––––––––

Freezing. Cold. So cold.

Dark. Can't see.

Wet. Water was everywhere. Surrounding. Suffocating.

A man's muted screams. "Save her! Save her!"

A child. Small. So small.

Cold. Everything was cold.

"Peter?"

He wasn't moving. The man wasn't moving.

"Peter, honey?"

Crying. Tears. Screams. Sobs.

"Please save my daddy!"

"Peter, wake up!"

Sorry. I'm so sorry.

"Peter!"

Peter gasped, bolting upright and smacking his head against the underside of the top bunk.

"Honey, are you okay?"

Peter rubbed at his forehead blearily, heaving for air as though he'd been running a marathon a few second earlier. He turned his head towards the voice beside him. He winced as his aunt switched on his bedside lamp.

"Peter?"

"Sorry, May," he groaned as he flopped back onto his pillow. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

May smiled understandingly. "You didn't wake me up actually. I was reading when I heard you making a ruckus in here." She ruffled his hair affectionately before rising from her crouched position beside his bed. "Scoot."

Peter obediently shifted to make room for May as she squished herself onto the twin bed beside him.

"Nightmare, huh?" She said, interlacing her fingers over her stomach. Peter copied her stance, crossing his ankles under the blankets.

"Yeah," he admitted softly. "But it's okay. I'm okay. It was just a dream," he finished in a whisper. But it was much more than that. Dreams don't haunt you every time you close your eyes. They don't manifest themselves in the faces of strangers you pass on the street.

Those kinds of dreams don't leave little girls without their fathers.

"Do you want to talk about it?" May turned her head to stare at her nephew.

Peter knew he probably should. It would be a lot healthier than keeping it to himself and letting it torture him day after day after day…

"No, that's okay," he said instead. "I'll probably forget about it by tomorrow." He turned his head and gave May a small smile. She smiled back as she stretched her neck across the pillow to plant a kiss on his forehead.

"Well let me know if you change your mind. Try to get some sleep," she said, clambering out of the bunk.

"Goodnight, May," Peter called as she reached the door.

She threw a smile over at him. "Night, sweetie."

––––––––––

Beep. Beep. Beep. Be–

Peter flung a hand out and hit the snooze on his alarm clock. He risked a glance at digital display: 6:25 AM. He groaned, dragging his hands down his face, pulling at his lower lids as he stared up at the blank underside of the bunk.

He'd tried his very hardest to go back to sleep after May had left last night. But every time he shut his eyes, the dark freezing water of the East River flooded his mind.

Peter had watched the amber glow of the early sun sneak in through his curtains and heard the city becoming more and more alive with each passing hour.

Peter inhaled sharply and flung back the blankets covering his legs. He swung himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom to start getting ready for school. Peter turned on the shower water to warm it up before turning to grab a fresh towel from under the sink.

As he popped back up, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.

There were pouchy purple bags protruding under his eyes, and the whites of his eyes were starting to turn red. His hair was tousled and disheveled. All in all, he looked like hell. So he did what all teenagers do when their lives are falling apart.

He flashed himself a peace sign in the mirror and pursed his lips. "Cute."

Peter stepped into the shower and stepped forward into what was supposed to be a heated spray. Instead he was splashed with freezing water that jump started his heart into beating a mile a minute.

He flung himself backwards out of the tub, tripping and stumbling, nearly ripping the curtain bar down with him as he fell flat on his back on the bathroom floor.

There was a sharp knock at the door. "Peter? Are you okay?"

Peter panted heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine!" He called back.

"I probably should've warned you," May said through the door. "The water heater's broken. It probably won't get fixed until tomorrow afternoon sometime. I guess it's cold showers until then."

He heard May chuckling to herself as she walked back towards the kitchen.

No, no, no. He couldn't do cold showers. He couldn't do cold water. Not since–

Peter pushed himself off the floor and threw his old clothes back on. Guess he was going to school smelly.

––––––––––

"You smell."

Peter slammed his locker door and spun around to face his best friend. "Water heater at home is broken," he explained.

"Ah," Ned said, nodding knowingly. "You can come shower at my place after school if you want?"

Peter threw his friend a grateful look as he stuffed his book and folders in to his bag. "Thanks, man."

"Hey, Parker!"

Peter swung his backpack over his shoulder and spun on his heel, the opposite direction of the boy trying to get his attention.

"Parker! I'm talking to you!"

Ned scurried to catch up with Peter's pace as the teen took off at a brisk power walk down the hall. "Um Peter, the classroom's the other way?"

Peter stared determinedly ahead. He didn't have enough energy or patience to deal with Flash Thompson today. Had he had more than six hours of sleep from four days combined, he might have been able to tolerate the teen. But when Peter was tired, Peter got crabby. And when Peter got crabby, he had no impulse control.

A sharp buzzing at the back of his neck alerted Peter to the person rapidly coming up behind him. Peter swung his left shoulder forward just a hand came down with intents to grab it.

Flash's hand swept through empty air as Peter evaded him. The teen frowned, but didn't try again. Instead, he fell in step with the two other high schoolers.

"Morning, Parker. Leeds. What's got you in a mood?" He said, poking a slender finger into Peter's ribs. Peter swatted at the boy's hand but Flash had already retracted it.

"Flash, do you know what it's like to not be a dick?" Peter retaliated.

"Ooh, someone's cranky," Flash snickered, bumping his shoulder against Peter's. "Those are some hefty designer bags you got there. You know, if you're looking for a good concealer, Betty Brant is always applying some during some part of the day. You should hit her up and fix some of that ugly. Oh no wait, that's just you."

He emphasized the last three words with one jab each into Peter's cheek.

Peter grit his teeth and tried to hold it together, but on the last poke, he snapped. He grabbed onto Flash's wrist, faster than the eye could follow, and gave it a savage twist.

Flash yelped at the sudden harsh treatment, twisting and tugging as he tried to break Peter's grip.

Using the hold he had on the teen, Peter yanked him in close until his lips were at Flash's ear. "Leave me the hell alone," he growled lowly. He shoved the olive-skinned teen back, releasing his hold on the boy's wrist.

Peter ignored the shocked glances and whispers of the other students in the hall as he stalked away without once looking back.

"Dude, what the hell was that?" Ned hissed once they were in a new hallway.

Peter didn't answer, eyes staring but not really seeing. Ned spun around so he was walking backwards and placed a hand on Peter's chest. "Peter!"

The teen came to an abrupt halt. He relaxed his jaw and blinked dazedly as though waking from a dream. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. His jaw worked up and down like a fish without water, but still no noise was produced.

"Come on." Ned grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him into the bathroom.

Peter stumbled over to the sink and instantly switched on the water. He waited until steam was rising from the sink before plunging his hands in.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Ned cried, turning the cold tap to on, cooling the water to a lukewarm temperature. "Peter, what's going on?"

"I don't know," Peter whispered truthfully. "I don't know. What was I thinking?" He said in disbelief. "I could have seriously hurt him. Oh my god, what if I broke his wrist? Do you think I broke his wrist?" He turned haunted eyes on his friend.

Ned turned the water off and handed Peter a handful of paper towels. "It's probably more of a sprain. He'll be fine."

"But he didn't deserve that. He was just being a jerk, but Flash is always a jerk. And he's done worse. And I–" Peter dragged his hands down from the crown on his head all the way down his face, without having dried his hands.

"Peter, don't worry about it," Ned said consolingly as he pried one of Peter's hands away from his face and pressed the wad of paper towels into it. Peter dutifully dried his hands and threw the papers into the bin.

"Not to harp or anything, but are you okay?" A short vertical line appeared between Ned's eyebrows as they pinched together in concern.

Peter sighed and gave a slow nod. He hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder and Ned what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just… I'm okay."

Ned didn't look convinced at all, but he didn't press the matter. "Come on, we're going to be late for class."

––––––––––

"Watch out!"

Peter instantly dropped into a crouch as a large disk flew over his head, ricocheted around the elevator before disappearing back into the room. Eyes wide from the shock of the greeting, Peter stepped off the elevator.

"Whaaat are you guys doing?" He asked bemusedly at the sight in the living room.

Clint hoisted the trademark red, silver, and blue shield of Captain America. "Steve's not home, so we thought we'd try our hand at the old boomerang."

We being Clint and the metal armed guy from the airport. Peter felt a spark of excitement mixed with fear at finally getting to meet the guy face to face.

"You were in Germany!" The words escaped before he could squash them and produce something with a little more tact and maturity.

The man's stance had gone from relaxed to uptight in an instance.

'Well, duh Peter, he doesn't know who you are.'

"Ah relax, man." Clint slapped the man's back reassuringly. "Pete's cool. Aren't ya, Pete?"

Peter nodded rapidly, walking across the room to where the two men were standing.

"I'm cool. So cool. Though not as cool as you." Here came the word vomit. There was no stopping it. "I've been wanting to take another look at that arm of yours, because it's so cool. Like who made it, how does it work? Well I kinda know how it works, but you could probably tell me a lot more information about it. Does it hurt? Did it hurt when they put it on? Is it wired to–"

"Whoa, easy, Pete," Clint chuckled. "Don't make me take back what I said about you."

Peter shut his mouth with a sharp click as his teeth collided. He stepped forward, offering his hand to the man. "Sorry. I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

The man gave his hand a firm shake, although his face was still wary. "Bucky. So you're the kid Stark's always rambling on about?"

Peter felt a flush creeping up his cheeks. "Well, I don't–"

"Stark'll be home soon, kid," Clint interrupted before Peter could start expelling words at the speed of light again. "Sam's in the kitchen if you want something to eat, or you can hang out here with us. Just promise not to tell Steve what we were doing." He gave Peter's shoulder a friendly pat before retreating to the opposite side of the room.

Peter settled himself down on the loveseat and pulled out one of his homework packets. The sounds of the two men tossing this shield became background nose as his focus intensified.

It wasn't long, though, until the sounds became a sort of white noise, a soothing din that reminded Peter of just how tired he was. He leaned back against the soft suede of the couch and let his eyes drift shut.

"Save her! Save her!"

30 compressions, 2 breaths.

Please breathe, please breathe.

"Please save my daddy!"

Cold. Everything was cold. Pale skin. Blue lips.

Why won't your heart beat?

30 compressions, 2 breaths.

No, no, no,

"No!" Peter bolted upright, homework flying off his lap and landing awkwardly only the floor. The teen panted heavily, lungs heaving for air as the figure he hadn't noticed standing in front of him crouched to his level.

Tony mutely picked up the pieces of paper and the dropped pencil, setting them on the coffee table beside the couch. Once that was cleaned up, Tony rose and dropped down onto the loveseat beside Peter.

He threw an arm over the back of the couch and cross his legs. They sat in silence for a moment while Peter calmed his breathing. After a minute or two, Tony finally spoke.

"Want to explain what you're freaking out on my couch for?"

'Just say yes, Peter. Talk to someone.'

"Sorry, just a bad dream." Peter dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "When did you get here?"

Tony uncrossed his legs and planted his hands on his knees. "Literally 30 seconds ago. Put your homework away, we're having a movie night."

Peter dropped his hands from his face. "We?" He cocked his head. "As in…"

––––––––––

"Who had Chocolate Therapy?" Natasha asked, arms full of Ben & Jerry's pints.

Pepper's hand went up, the second one quickly following to catch the ice cream that was thrown her way.

Natasha continued to call out flavors until everyone had received theirs.

"What're we watching?" Bruce asked, propping his feet on the ottoman.

"The Proposal," Sam and Clint said in unison. Peter stifled a giggle as the two man clinked their spoons together in camaraderie.

"FRIDAY, lights, please," Tony called. The lights slowly faded to black as the movie began to play. Peter adjusted the pillow under his elbows where he was lying on his stomach on the floor.

He gave an involuntary yelp as a blanket was suddenly thrown over his eyes. "Hey!" He said indignantly as he pulled his head free from the fleece. He looked around for the culprit, Bucky finally giving himself up as he shrugged.

"You looked cold."

Peter rolled his eyes but gratefully wrapped himself in the blanket, resettling himself before anyone could complain that he was moving too much.

The film wasn't even a quarter of the way over when the unmistakable pull of fatigue began to weigh on his eyelids. The combination of the dark room, the soft voices coming from the screen, the warmth of the blanket surrounding him, the complete and utter lack of sleep he'd gotten recently– it all totaled up to one very sleepy teenager.

Peter eyelids bounced as he fought to keep them open, knowing that if he closed his eyes he'd he his face. He'd see the tears streaming down the face of the little girl whose father he'd failed to save.

He couldn't take another second of that torturous image imprinted behind his eyelids. But he wasn't quite strong enough to fight off the allure of the peace that was supposed to come with sleep.

His eyes slid shut and the noise of the movie faded as he succumbed.

"Son, let us take over. You've done all you can."

"No, but I have to–"

"We'll take care of him. You did good."

Lips still blue. So very, very blue.

Wrong. What'd I do wrong?

Why was it still so cold?

Should've been faster. Would have saved him. Could have saved him.

Why? Why wasn't I fast enough?

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

"Pete, kid, open your eyes." A hand was shaking his shoulder. There was blood rushing in his ears. Bile burning its way up his throat.

Peter pushed off the ground, stumbling away from the hand on his shoulder.

"Peter, talk to me," Tony held his hands out placatingly, slowly rising from his crouch.

Peter looked around wildly, eyes flitting over all the people sitting on the edge of their seats, ready to pounce into action.

Too many eyes. Too many people. Too much pressure to be okay.

"Air," Peter gasped. "I need air."

Tony didn't hesitate. "FRIDAY, unlock window 708." The was a click and the window to the left of the TV unhinged and swung outward. Peter didn't waste anytime as he raced to the window and jumped up onto the building's exterior wall.

He climbed fast, bricks and glass becoming a blur as he made his way to the roof. Once he reached it, he heaved himself over the side and onto the flat landing, lying flat on his back and gasping up at the clouded sky overhead.

It was cold up here too. Everywhere was so cold.

Peter listened to the battering ram that was his heart as it attempted to break free from its bony prison. He took deep breaths in through his nose as May had taught him to do.

'In two three four, out two three four,'

Peter repeated the cycle until he felt he was no longer on the brink of an anxiety attack. It was only once his heartbeat slowed that he realized he was crying. Tears had leaked out of the corners of his eyes and had trailed into his hairline.

He viciously swiped them away just as the door to the roof opened.

"Mind if I join you?" Tony's voice cut through the sound of cars rushing by on the streets below.

Peter sat up and nodded, but couldn't quite find the courage to look up at the man. Tony settled himself on the rooftop beside the teen, leaning his back against the ledge.

"That's twice today you've freaked out in my living room," Tony started.

Peter couldn't help but give an honest chuckle.

"You wanna tell me what's going on in that puzzle ball of a head of yours?"

Peter copied Mr. Stark's stance, leaning back against the ledge. He intertwined his fingers as his forearms rested on his drawn up knees. He couldn't quite find the words to say it, but Tony was patient. He didn't push or rush Peter; he just waited.

"On Sunday," Peter began slowly, "I was out on patrol. It was the middle of the day, and I stopped to have lunch on top of the East River bridge." Peter began systematically cracking his knuckles, pressing and twisting.

"There was this semi-truck who lost control. He hit a patch of ice and ran a car off the bridge. The semi driver was fine, so I went in after the car. I get down there and it's this man… with his daughter in the backseat."

Peter could feel his throat starting to close as the hard lump that always accompanied tears returned. "I was going to pull them both out the same time, but the man–" Peter blinked furiously against the heat burning his eyes. "–he wouldn't let me get him out until his daughter was safe. He just kept yelling "Save her!" "

His hand began to curl into fists as he kept talking.

"So I did. I saved her. I got her back up on the bridge, she was breathing fine. Some lady got out of her car to sit with her while I went back for the father. But by the time I got there," Peter didn't bother to stop the tears as they finally broke free, traces paths down his cheeks, "he was unconscious. I got him back to the surface but he wasn't breathing." A sob escaped as Peter shoved a hand through his hair.

"I tried to save him. I tried so hard. I don't know how long I did CPR until the paramedics got there. But the whole time, all I could hear was the little girl screaming for her dad, begging me to save him, and I tried." Another sob broke loose.

"He was so cold and he was turning blue and he didn't have a heartbeat and I didn't know what to do, I didn't–"

His babbling was cut off as Tony suddenly pulled him into a bear hug, arms encircling Peter with enough strength to hold the teen together as he cried. Cried for the man he couldn't save. For the girl who no longer had a father. For the wife who had become a widow.

For himself because he was tired. So tired. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"I should've tried harder," Peter gasped as Tony began to rock them both back and forth.

"No, no, no," Tony soothed. "You did everything you could. You did everything right."

Peter found his fingers grasping Tony's shirt of their own free will. "It's my fault. I see his face in the faces of people I don't even know. And every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see the little girl, and I know I don't deserve to sleep when she's dealing with so much, but I'm just tired. I'm so tired," he hiccuped as his tears began to abate.

"I know, buddy, I know," Tony murmured. "Why don't you try to get some sleep now, okay? I'll stay here with you the whole time."

"The whole time?" Peter repeated.

One of Tony's hands reached up to comb through the teen's brown curls. "The whole time, kid. Just sleep."

It was all the encouragement Peter needed. He drifted off in seconds, still pulled against Tony's chest, fingers still curled in the man's shirt.

Tony sent a text to Pepper, requesting blankets so the pair wouldn't freeze to death on the roof.

He was content to stay there as long as it took, as long as it meant peace for Peter.

––––––––––

Thanks for reading! Drop me a review if you've got the time and/or there's ever anything you want to see! Up next: Fever