Innocent eyes

The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the soft hum of conversation inside the café. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting golden hues over the wooden tables, creating a cozy, familiar atmosphere. Yet, despite the inviting setting, tension sat heavy between them.

Peter had just finished taking his medicine, his pillbox resting quietly on the table. He had been relieved—grateful, even—that Tony hadn’t said anything about it, letting him finish his donut in peace. But the silence felt deceptive, like the calm before a storm. Maybe his best-kept secret wasn’t as safe as he thought. Maybe Tony already knew and was just waiting for Peter to say it himself.

Peter’s fingers tapped a restless rhythm against his ceramic mug, the only disruption in the otherwise tranquil space. Across from him, Tony Stark leaned back in his chair, the picture of effortless confidence. But his sharp eyes never wavered from Peter, studying him, waiting.

Peter swallowed. He suddenly felt small, like he was being examined under a microscope. The excitement that had buzzed through him moments ago—about the internship, about Spider-Man—had all but vanished. Now, there was only the weight of unspoken words pressing down on him.

"So," Tony began, his voice casual but laced with intent, "what's the medicine for?" He nodded toward the pillbox resting on the table.

Peter stiffened, his fingers tightening around the handle of his mug.

Tony had debated whether to bring it up, wanting to give the kid a chance to come clean on his own. But Peter was holding onto his secret with white-knuckled determination, and Tony Stark was not known for his patience. "Your aunt made sure you'd take it no matter what, so I’m guessing it’s important."

Peter's eyes widened, and he nearly choked on his hot chocolate. "Oh, um..." He swallowed, scrambling for an answer. "Vitamins?" The second the word left his mouth, he winced. Even he knew how unconvincing that sounded.

Tony didn’t bother to hide his unimpressed expression, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Try again."

Peter exhaled, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I assume you already know, so... why are you even asking?" His voice was quiet, reluctant.

Of course, he knew all about the protocols that Tony had put in his suit—Ned had walked him through them when they disabled some of the more restrictive features. One of those changes had been cutting Karen’s connection to FRIDAY, something Peter had been particularly excited about. Without that direct line to Stark Tower, Tony couldn’t lecture him every time he ended up in trouble. At least, that was the plan.

Tony shrugged, leaning back. "I had my suspicions," he admitted. "After Karen showed me the missed alerts from your suit, and after I almost had a heart attack myself when I found out you’d had two—two, Peter—AFibs, I figured something was up." He met Peter’s gaze, his voice steady. "So, let’s try this again."

Peter inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching around the spoon. He stared down at the tabletop, tracing the wood grain with his eyes as if searching for an escape. Maybe if I focus hard enough, this conversation will just disappear.

"I'm fine," he muttered. The words felt flimsy, weak, even to him.

He didn’t know what to say—what he could say. The truth sat heavy on his tongue, but the fear of saying it out loud was worse. If Tony knew about his heart, really knew, what would he do? Would he take the suit away? Revoke the internship? Peter had just gotten the suit back—even if he was still technically grounded from using it. But if Tony thought he was too much of a liability, if he decided Peter was full of baggage he didn’t want to deal with…

I can’t lose this. Not now.

Tony sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Sure. You're fine. That’s why we're having this conversation."

Peter stayed silent, staring into his mug like it held all the answers.

Tony leaned forward, his voice softer now. "Look, you’re still here, which means you’ve been managing. But we need to keep it that way—especially if you want to keep running around in spandex saving people. As I’ve said before, I’m your glorified nanny in the superhero world. And if I’m going to be responsible for keeping you in one piece, I need to know these things. If not for your sake, then for mine."

Peter swallowed hard, still not looking up.

Tony exhaled, shaking his head. "Because, frankly, I don’t plan on getting gray hairs over a toddler in a onesie."

That pulled a reaction. Peter huffed, finally glancing up, his expression somewhere between reluctant amusement and defiance. "You already have gray hairs," he muttered, just barely loud enough to be heard.

Tony stilled. Narrowed his eyes. "One more word, and you’re grounded for longer."

Peter gasped, scandalized. "I haven't even—" Tony arched a brow, and Peter deflated instantly. "Fine," he muttered.

"Good," Tony said, straightening. "Now, one more time: can you tell me about those AFib alerts?"

Peter hesitated, shifting in his seat. For a moment, he looked like he might lie again, but then he must have realized it was pointless. Tony already knew—he just wanted Peter to say it himself.

Peter exhaled slowly. "I have..." His fingers curled around his mug, gripping it like an anchor. "I have dilated cardiomyopathy."

Dilated cardiomyopathy.

Tony felt his stomach drop. He had known something was wrong, had suspected it. But hearing it confirmed—hearing that—was different.

Peter cleared his throat. "I've always been a pretty sickly kid—allergies, asthma, you name it, I had it. But I was diagnosed when I was, I think, six or seven?" He shrugged, like it was nothing, like he was talking about the weather. "I had chest pains, fatigue... all the works. But then I got bit by the spider, and everything just... disappeared."

Tony stared, unable to believe how casually Peter was recounting his medical history, as if he were reading off a grocery list. "Disappeared? How?"

Peter shrugged again. "I don’t know. After I got bit, everything just… went away. No more asthma, no more nut allergy—which is great, because now I can finally eat Reese’s cups. My strawberry allergy? Gone too." He paused, then added with a small, almost amused huff, "Oh, and I woke up with abs. Biceps, too. All the works. It was amazing."

Tony’s jaw tightened. "And the cardiomyopathy?"

Peter hesitated, the instinct to lie bubbling up again—to brush it off, to tell Tony he was fine now. But what was the point? The evidence was stacked against him—the medicine, the alerts from Karen. Denying it would only make him look ridiculous. So instead, he sighed, shoulders sagging slightly as he admitted the truth. "At first, it seemed like it was getting better. My ECG showed some improvement, but it never really healed." He swallowed, glancing down at his hands. "I still get palpitations. Chest pain sometimes..."

Tony inhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. His brain was already shifting into problem-solving mode, calculating risks, running through potential solutions. But this—this wasn’t an engineering problem. He couldn’t just fix it with an upgrade or a reinforced suit.

"Your last episode?" he asked, his voice tight.

Peter shifted uncomfortably. "Uh... this month?"

Tony gave him a look. "Be specific, kid. If I’m going to help you, I need you to work with me here. I’m already racking my brain for solutions, so humor me."

Peter exhaled, tapping his fingers against his mug again. "After the ferry."

Tony's breath hitched.

Peter must have seen something in his face because he quickly backtracked. "But it wasn't that bad! I didn't even need to go to the ER or anything, so..." He gave a weak shrug, as if that would make it better.

Tony closed his eyes briefly, swallowing down a flood of emotions. He exhaled slowly before opening them again. "And you still want to play hero every night?" His voice was calmer than he felt. "You seriously think it's worth it? Risking your life every single day when you could drop dead at any moment?"

Peter frowned. "Okay, now you're overreacting, Mr. Stark."

Tony let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "I really don't think I am, kid."

Peter sighed, his grip tightening around his mug. He took a slow sip of his hot chocolate, then set it down with a quiet clink. "When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen… they happen because of you," he said quietly. "I have power. And with that power comes the responsibility to use it the right way."

Tony blinked, then scoffed. "Is Nelson Mandela your father?"

Peter shot him a flat look.

Tony huffed, shaking his head. "You’re fourteen. You shouldn’t be carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Peter shrugged. "I’m fifteen," he muttered under his breath. Then, with more indignation, he added, "Maybe I am."

Tony exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "You’re not giving this up, are you?" He already knew the answer, but he asked anyway—maybe out of hope, or maybe just to hear Peter say it out loud. Because looking at the kid now, Tony could see it. The unwavering resolve. The same damn determination that had led Peter to web-slinging long before Tony or Natasha ever knew he existed.

Even without the suit, even without him, Peter would still be out there, throwing himself into danger, no backup, no safety net—just sheer will and stupid, reckless bravery. If Tony fought him on this, all he’d do was push him into more danger, without anyone in his corner.

Peter met his gaze, steady. "No, I won’t," he said, voice clear, certain.

Tony studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair in resignation. This wasn’t the conversation he had expected. When he first saw the alerts, he thought it was a fluke—a glitch in the system. But now, looking at Peter, really seeing him, Tony realized it was far more serious than he wanted to believe.

The kid wasn’t just hiding something. He was managing it—like it was just another part of the job. Like it was normal. And that self-sacrificing bullshit? It was as big as Tony’s. Maybe bigger.

Tony hated it.

But what could he do? Tell Peter to stop when he was doing the exact same thing every day? That would be hypocrisy. And Tony Stark was a lot of things, but a hypocrite? He tried not to be.

He sighed. "Alright, Private Doss," he said, tone resigned but firm. "Here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re setting up more protocols for your suit—failsafes, monitors, whatever it takes to keep you alive. You don’t have to fight every battle alone. Not anymore."

Peter hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Tony gave a small, satisfied nod in return. "Good. Now, drink your damn chocolate before your aunt both ground us."

Peter huffed but picked up his cup, and for the first time since this conversation started, Tony felt like maybe—just maybe—he could keep this kid safe.

--

It had been days since Tony talked to him about Spider-Man and the internship. Days since May had refused to sign the papers.

Peter had begged, reasoned, pleaded, but May’s answer remained the same. Her decision was final.

Now, he sat at the kitchen table, hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie as May rinsed out her coffee mug. He had tried not to bring up the internship for the past few days, hoping that if he gave her space, she’d reconsider. But the longer this dragged on, the more suffocating the silence became.

May set the mug down and turned to face him. "Are you gonna keep looking at me like that all night, or are we just gonna rip the band-aid off again?"

Peter straightened up. "I really want to do this, May."

May sighed, leaning against the counter. "Pete..."

"I know what you’re going to say," he rushed out. "But just—just hear me out first, okay?" May crossed her arms but gave a small nod, letting him continue. "This is huge. It’s not just some random job. It’s Stark Industries. It’s working with some of the smartest people in the world. And Tony—he believes in me. He wants me there, not just as some kid running errands, but as someone who actually belongs."

May pressed her lips together. "Peter—"

"And it’s safe!" Peter cut in, desperate to make her see. "Yeah, it’s Stark Industries, and Tony’s a billionaire with a crazy life, but this isn’t about him. This is about me. About my future."

May exhaled, rubbing her temple. "Peter, it’s not just about safety. It’s about you. Everything that’s happened—your last internship, the stress, your health—it’s too much."

Peter flinched. He knew where this was going, but that didn’t make hearing it any easier.

May’s voice softened, but the worry in her eyes didn’t fade. "You lost the last internship, and I saw what that did to you. And then, right after, you had an attack." Her voice wavered slightly, but she steadied herself. "I can’t pretend that didn’t happen. I can’t just let you pile even more on your plate when I don’t even know if you can handle it."

"I can handle it," Peter insisted, leaning forward. "That attack—it was the first one I’d had in months. And I’ve been fine since then. I promise you, May, I’m okay."

May’s jaw tightened. "You say that like you know for sure. Like you know that pushing yourself won’t make it worse." She shook her head, crossing her arms again. "I’m not just worried about the internship, Peter. I’m worried about you. You’re fifteen. You’re already juggling school, your health—everything—and now you want to take this on too?"

Peter swallowed hard. "I know it sounds like a lot. But I wouldn’t be pushing for it if I didn’t think I could do it."

May’s expression softened, but the fear in her eyes never left. "I lost Ben," she said quietly. "I lost him, and it tore my whole world apart. And I won’t—I can’t—lose you too."

Peter’s breath hitched.

He knew May worried. He knew she was terrified every time he ended up in the hospital. But hearing her say it—hearing the rawness in her voice—made his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with his heart condition.

"I don’t want to lose you, Peter," she continued, voice thick with emotion. "And if saying no to this means keeping you safe, then that’s what I have to do."

Peter looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of her words pressing against him. He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was worrying too much, that he would be fine. But how could he promise that when he wasn’t even sure himself?

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, May let out a soft sigh and reached across the table, placing a hand over his. "I know this isn’t what you want to hear. And I know how much this means to you. But I need you to understand where I’m coming from."

Peter nodded slowly, his fingers curling slightly under hers. "I get it," he murmured. "I just… I wish I could make you see that I’ll be okay."

May squeezed his hand. "I wish I could believe that without a doubt."

And for now, that was where they had to leave it.

--

Tony's workshop was quiet, save for the occasional beep from the computers running diagnostics on Peter's suit. His fingers moved expertly over the plating, reinforcing the structure, smoothing out the damaged fabric. The kid had really put this thing through hell. He exhaled sharply, setting down the tool in his hand and rubbing his temple. He wasn't supposed to care this much. He wasn't supposed to get attached. But he did. Dammit, he did.

The sound of the door opening made him glance up, expecting Friday's automated reminder to take a break. Instead, it was Rhodey, arms crossed, standing at the entrance like a disappointed parent.

"You wanna tell me what the hell you're doing, Tones?" Rhodey asked, his voice edged with something between frustration and worry.

Tony sighed, picking up the suit again. "I would, but I think the enhancements I'm adding here are a little above your pay grade, Colonel."

Rhodey wasn't amused. "You're getting too close to the kid."

And that was that. No preamble, no sugarcoating. Just the truth, laid bare.

Tony had told himself—more than once—that he'd keep his distance. That Peter Parker was not Peter Stark. That no matter how much the kid reminded him of his son, the past was the past, and he couldn't afford to get lost in ghosts. But the truth was, he just couldn't stay away. Not because of the name. Not because of the face. But because of the things Peter had said, the way he carried himself, the weight he put on his own shoulders.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Tony had heard a lot of noble bullshit in his time, but that? That wasn't just words to Peter—it was a creed, a burden he refused to set down, no matter how much it hurt him. And maybe that's what got to Tony the most. Because he understood it. Because he saw himself in it. He had the power to keep the kid safe. He had the knowledge of what Peter was up against—not just the bad guys, but his own damn body turning against him. And if he had the ability to help, wasn't it his responsibility to do so?

Tony exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. Keeping his distance was never really an option. Not when he knew. Not when he cared.

He scoffed but didn't look up. "Is this what it's about? You drove all the way here to give me the talk?"

"A talk we already had," Rhodey said. "I told you the kid is not good for you."

"Why?" Tony asked, unamused, still keeping his focus on fixing the suit. "Because he reminds me of my son?" Rhodey hesitated, but Tony didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he kept working, his voice quieter now. "Did you know Parker had a blonde mom?"

Rhodey frowned. "What?"

"But he got the brown locks of his old man... and the eyes too." Tony huffed out a humorless chuckle. "Funny thing is, the kid was born with blonde hair. Outgrew it as he got older. My Peter, though? He was my mini-me from the start. Dark brown hair. Just like mine."

Rhodey's expression softened, but Tony wasn't done. "Do you know Parker bawled his eyes out at seven years old, and the only thing that shut him up was ice cream?" Tony gave a sad smile, lost in the memory. "My Peter won't ever have those kinds of stories. His life stopped at five."

Rhodey shifted uncomfortably. "Tony..."

"And Parker?" Tony continued, ignoring him. "Hates bananas. Loathes the texture. I bought him a banoffee pie the other day, and the kid wouldn't even touch it. Meanwhile, our Peter—God, that kid was like a monkey. Could scarf down three bananas in one sitting."

Rhodey exhaled sharply. "Why are you telling me this?"

Tony finally looked up, meeting his best friend's gaze. "Because I'm not insane." His voice was steady now, steel beneath the exhaustion. "I don't think Parker is my Peter. Okay? I'm helping him because he's Peter Parker, not because he looks like my dead son."

Rhodey sighed. "Tony—"

"And to add to that," Tony cut him off, standing now, his voice firm. "Parker has dilated cardiomyopathy. He told me over coffee and pie—pie that he hated, by the way." He let out a breath. "My Peter had leukemia. This Peter has a bad heart. It's different." He shook his head, voice quieter now. "And nuts... yeah, the kid was allergic—he isn't anymore, but that's another story. He actually boasted about it. Said he could finally eat a Reese's cup without it killing him. Meanwhile, our Peter? Never had a food allergy in his life. That kid ate anything, especially if it was from Pepper."

Rhodey pressed his lips into a thin line, concern still lingering in his eyes.

"The point is," Tony continued, "you don't need to lecture me about getting close to the kid or making him my personal therapy project. Because I'm not." He met Rhodey's gaze, unwavering. "Parker is Parker. And that's okay."

Rhodey took a breath, like he wanted to argue, but then he just shook his head. "I'm not telling you that."

"But you're implying it." Tony's voice was quieter now, but just as sharp. "Don't pretend like I didn't hear you and Pepper talking about it behind my back." Rhodey flinched, guilty. Tony's jaw clenched. "I know she told you about what happened in India. About the port." Rhodey didn't respond right away, and that was answer enough. Tony let out a breath, shaking his head with a tired smile. "You don't need to protect me, Rhodey. I know what I'm doing."

Rhodey studied him for a long moment before sighing, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I just don't want to see you go through that pain again, man."

Tony's smile turned bittersweet. "Yeah, well... neither do I."

For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of machinery. Then, Rhodey stepped forward, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Just... be careful, alright?"

Tony nodded, his throat suddenly tight. "Yeah."

Rhodey gave him one last look before stepping out of the workshop.

Tony didn't look up. But he still felt the weight of his friend's concern linger even after the door had closed. With a sigh, he turned back to Peter's suit, picking up his tools once more.

There was still work to do.

--

The floor of Peter's room was covered in blankets, pillows, and an impressive assortment of snack wrappers, the aftermath of a proper sleepover. Peter lay on his bed, scrolling through his phone while Ned sat cross-legged on the floor, finishing off the last slice of pizza May had ordered for them earlier. The apartment was quiet now, save for the distant sound of cars outside and the occasional creak of the old building settling.

"So," Ned said around a mouthful of pizza, "you never actually told me what happened at your meeting with Mr. Stark." He swallowed and grinned. "And by 'never told me,' I mean you have been avoiding the topic all night."

Peter sighed, setting his phone down. "I wasn't avoiding it."

"You totally were."

Peter groaned. "Fine. It wasn't a big deal or anything. He just... offered me an actual internship at Stark Industries."

The slice of pizza nearly fell from Ned's hand. "DUDE." Peter barely had time to react before Ned lunged at him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?"

Peter shoved him off, laughing. "Yes, I'm serious! And keep your voice down—May's asleep."

Ned fell back onto the pile of pillows dramatically. "This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to you."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I don't know about that..."

"No, no, don't downplay this! You are literally going to be working at Stark freaking Industries. Learning from actual geniuses. Working under Tony Stark. Do you understand how crazy this is?"

Peter chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's definitely insane."

Ned sat up quickly. "Oh! You have to put in a good word for me! Imagine—both of us, interning at Stark Industries together! Dude, we could change the world."

Peter winced. "Uh... yeah, about that..."

Ned's smile faltered. "Oh no. What?"

Peter sighed. "May doesn't want me to take the internship."

Ned gasped like Peter had personally offended him. "WHAT? WHY?"

"She thinks it's too much," Peter admitted. "That it's a huge responsibility and that I already have enough on my plate."

"But it's Tony Stark! And it's literally what you love doing!" Ned groaned. "Man, if my mom found out I got an internship at Stark Industries, she'd frame the acceptance letter."

Peter smiled, but there was a hint of sadness to it. "Yeah, I know. But May worries. She thinks Stark Industries is too... complicated."

"Complicated how?" Ned frowned.

Peter hesitated before answering. "I think she's afraid of me getting too close to Mr. Stark. Like... she doesn't want me to get caught up in his world."

Ned looked thoughtful for a moment. "I mean... he is kind of a big deal. And he's got a lot of... baggage."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. But the thing is, I want to do this. Tony—Mr. Stark—he's not just offering me some random job. He wants to help me grow, to teach me. He even talked about upgrading my suit, adding failsafes and security measures."

Ned's eyes widened. "Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me Tony Stark himself is going to personally upgrade your suit? Peter. Do you hear yourself?"

Peter couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. It's... kind of cool."

"Kind of? Kind of?! That is legendary!" Ned threw his hands up. "Dude, this is like Batman personally designing Robin's gear. You HAVE to say yes."

Peter sighed, leaning back against his pillows. "I want to. And honestly? It feels... nice. Like someone actually gets it. The whole me—not just the science nerd, or the guy trying to balance everything, but the stuff I don't really talk about. Like the spider thing. And, you know... the heart thing."

Ned's expression softened. "Yeah. That's gotta be weird, right? Having Tony Stark know all of that?"

Peter exhaled. "Yeah, but he didn't freak out. He didn't treat me like I was fragile or tell me I shouldn't be doing what I do. He just... listened. And then he started coming up with ways to help. It's like, for the first time, I don't feel like I have to do this alone."

Ned grinned. "Well, I, for one, am very pro-Tony-Stark-being-your-mentor. So, if you ever need a fellow intern—or, like, a snack guy—I am so in."

Peter chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Ned flopped onto his back. "So... serious question."

Peter raised a brow. "What?"

Ned turned his head dramatically. "Does Stark Industries have, like, a secret snack bar, or is it all protein shakes and billionaire food?"

Peter snorted. "Oh, you have no idea."

And just like that, the conversation shifted to ridiculous debates about the Avengers' eating habits, laughter filling the room. For the first time in a long while, Peter felt like things might actually be okay.

--

Peter's sleep was restless, his body tangled in sheets damp with sweat. The dream came as it always did—Ben’s voice, soft and warm, like sunlight filtering through an open window. They were in the car again. The steady hum of the engine, the gentle sway as they turned corners. Peter’s small fingers clung to a worn action figure, its red and gold paint chipped from years of love.

"Hey, champ," Ben’s voice floated through the haze. "You know I love you, right?"

Peter’s younger self nodded, eyes fixed on the toy, not fully grasping the weight behind the words.

The dream had played out countless times before, looping through the same moments of comfort and inevitable loss. But this time, something was different—a sharper focus, an unsettling clarity that made his heart pound even as he slept.

Suddenly, the car was gone.

He was in the alley now. That alley. That damned day.

“Breathe,” Peter pleaded, staring at Ben’s face. “Ben, please.” His voice broke. “The—the ambulance is coming, okay? I—” He choked on his words, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Somebody, help!”

Ben gasped, blood rattling in his lungs. "Peter..." he whispered. "Buddy, listen to me."

“No,” Peter whimpered, shaking his head. “You need to stop talking.” His small hands pressed harder against Ben’s bleeding chest, desperate, trembling. “I—you need to save your strength.”

“Peter,” Ben murmured, his voice weak but urgent. “You run, okay... Go to—"

Then—

It was like plunging underwater.

The alley vanished. Ben wasn’t dying in his arms anymore.

But—

"He's not who you're looking for," Ben's voice echoed, filled with worry. "I swear—"

"Parker," another voice cut in, sharper, unfamiliar. "Your brother—"

The light turned red. 

The car stopped—he was back in it. Everything doesn't make sense—like a broken tape recorder jumping from one clip to another, rewinding from one point to another.

Ben’s hand rested on the gearshift, his thumb tracing absentminded circles. Peter looked up, and for the first time, he saw it—Ben’s expression. Not the calm, easy smile he always remembered, but a tightness around his eyes, a weight in his brow.

Worry.

"Ben?" Dream-Peter’s voice was small, muffled, lost in the thick air of the car.

Ben opened his mouth to respond—

Screeching tires. Metal against metal. A violent symphony of crunching steel, shattering glass.

The world flipped.

Peter’s toy slipped from his grasp, weightless, lost in the chaos.

Every other time, this was when the dream dissolved into static. When Peter woke up gasping, his chest tight, his pulse frantic.

But not this time.

This time, there was stillness.

The car had come to a stop, upside down. Glass sparkled like diamonds in the streetlight. Peter hung suspended by the seatbelt, his vision blurred, his head pounding.

"Ben?" His voice was fragile, barely above a whisper.

A groan. Movement. Ben’s arm, bloodied and bent, reached out. His fingers brushed against Peter’s, a whisper of warmth.

"You okay, buddy?" Ben rasped. But—then it wasn’t Ben anymore.

Peter stared.

He should remember this man.

But he didn’t.

His small hand clung to the outstretched fingers, the only anchor in a world turned upside down.

"I’m scared," Peter admitted, his voice barely holding together.

"I know," Ben whispered. "I am too... Peter—"

"Peter! Peter, wake up!"

Peter jolted awake to the sight of Ned crouched beside him, eyes wide with worry. His hand gripped Peter's shoulder tightly, shaking him with more force than necessary.

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, his heart still hammering in his chest as he tried to ground himself in the present. The darkened room. The scattered blankets. The faint glow of Ned's phone screen casting nervous shadows across his face.

"Dude," Ned whispered, voice tight with concern. "Are you okay? Your breathing was all messed up, and you were sweating like crazy. I thought—" He hesitated before finishing, "I thought it was your heart."

Peter blinked, still catching up to reality. "It's okay. I'm okay," he rasped, voice thick with sleep and leftover fear.

Ned didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? Because you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were having an episode again." His voice softened, but the edge of panic was still there. 

Peter let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "It wasn't that. Just a bad dream."

Ned studied him for a long moment before sitting back on his heels, exhaling in relief. "Okay. Good. Because I was about to wake up May and tell her to call an ambulance."

Peter chuckled weakly, running a hand through his damp hair. "Yeah, let's not do that. She would kill me."

Ned smirked but still looked uneasy. "You sure you're okay?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. My heart's fine, I swear. It was just... a lot."

Ned didn't press further. He just sat there for a moment, watching Peter like he wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't collapse any second. Then, finally, he let out a breath and flopped back onto his sleeping bag.

"Well, now I'm too wired to sleep," Ned muttered. "You wanna watch something? Maybe a dumb movie?"

Peter smiled, the last remnants of the nightmare still clinging to him but fading just a little. "Yeah. That sounds good."

Ned grabbed his phone and started scrolling through their movie options. "And just for the record? Next time, give a guy some warning before scaring him half to death. My heart isn't defective, but it sure as hell felt like it was about to stop."

Peter snorted, nudging him with his foot. "Yeah, yeah. Drama queen."

The TV screen lit up, and soon enough, the comforting sounds of some ridiculous sci-fi movie filled the room. The dream still lingered in Peter's mind, but Ned was there, and for now, that was enough.

--

Peter's phone buzzed against his desk, the unexpected call making him jolt. He frowned at the unknown number before hesitantly answering.

"Uh, hello?"

"Wow, is that how you answer your phone? No 'hello, Mr. Stark, how can I assist your billionaire needs today?' Honestly, kid, I'm disappointed."

Peter blinked, momentarily stunned before realization hit. "Oh! Mr. Stark! Uh—sorry, I just—didn't know it was you." He sat up straighter, suddenly feeling like he had to be more formal, more professional—whatever that meant when talking to Tony Stark.

"Yeah, yeah, no excuses. I figured I'd give you a call before I started assuming you ghosted me." Tony's voice was light, but there was an edge of impatience beneath it. "So? What's the verdict? Am I getting a new intern, or am I getting my time wasted?"

Peter swallowed. "Uh... May hasn't exactly said yes yet."

Silence. Then a heavy sigh. "Kid, that is not the answer I wanted to hear."

"I know, I know," Peter rushed out. "But I'm working on it, okay? She just—she needs time. And I really, really want to do this."

Tony exhaled dramatically. "Fine. I'll wait. But you do know I get grumpy when people make me wait, right?"

Peter hesitated, unsure if he should joke back. But there was something in the way Tony spoke—the exaggerated exasperation, the slight pause like he was expecting something. Peter had seen this before, in the way Tony talked to people he was comfortable with.

So, cautiously, Peter mirrored the tone. "Oh, yeah, I kinda figured. Something tells me you don't like waiting."

Tony huffed. "Good, because Tony Stark doesn't wait." A beat passed before he added, a little too casually, "But maybe I can make an exception for Nelson Mandela's son." Peter let out a surprised snort, quickly clamping his mouth shut. But Tony had definitely heard it. "Wait, was that a laugh? Are you laughing at me, Parker?"

Peter hesitated for half a second before deciding, screw it, he was already in too deep. "No, no, of course not. I would never laugh at you, Mr. Stark." He cleared his throat, trying to sound serious. "That would be highly unprofessional."

Tony chuckled. "Hah. See? You're learning. Alright, listen up, ground rules—one, do not sell my phone number to the press or paparazzi. Two, this number is not—I repeat, not—for emergency calls about love problems, prank wars, or any other teenage nonsense. If I find out otherwise, I will put a hole in your spider suit."

Peter bit his lip, debating, then went for it. "So, uh... I shouldn't call if my prom date bails on me last minute?"

Silence. Then, "...Why did I even hire you?"

Peter grinned, his nerves finally settling. "No idea."

Tony groaned. "Alright, kid. I'll wait—begrudgingly. But don't keep me in suspense too long."

"I won't," Peter promised. "I'll call you as soon as I have an answer."

Tony sighed. "Fine. But if I grow a gray hair over this, I'm blaming you."

Peter chuckled, this time without hesitation. "Deal."

As the call ended, Peter stared at his phone, something warm settling in his chest. Maybe talking to Tony wasn't as intimidating as he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this.

--

Tony stood by the bar in their penthouse, pouring himself a coffee he wasn't entirely sure he wanted. The liquid sloshed into the cup, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room. Pepper stood near the window, arms crossed, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.

"So," she finally said, her voice careful. "Rhodey talked to you."

Tony took a slow sip, exhaling through his nose. "Yeah."

Pepper turned, leaning against the window frame. "And?"

Tony let out a humorless chuckle, swirling the coffee in his cup. "And he thinks I'm in over my head. That I'm getting too close to the kid."

Pepper sighed, walking closer. "He's not wrong."

Tony looked up at her then, something guarded in his expression. "That an official company statement, or just a personal one?"

Pepper didn't bite. Instead, she softened, her gaze filled with something more fragile. "Tony... I know you. And I know how much losing Peter broke you."

Tony's grip tightened around his cup. He didn't answer.

Pepper hesitated before continuing. "I just—I'm afraid. Because this Peter—he's not our Peter, but he looks like him. And you taking him under your wing, letting him in... I just don't want you to go through that pain again."

Tony set his cup down with a soft clink against the counter. "You think I don't know that?" His voice was quieter now, but still firm. "You think I don't remind myself every damn day that he's not him? That no matter how much he smiles like him or how he talks like him or—hell, even the way he tilts his damn head when he's confused—it's not my Peter?"

Pepper swallowed hard. "Then why are you doing this?"

Tony exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Because he's not our Peter. And that should make it easier, right? But it doesn't. It doesn't because he's still a kid. A good kid. And I—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "I can't just ignore that."

Pepper stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. "I know. And I know you want to protect him. But Tony... you barely survived losing him once. If something happens to this Peter—"

Tony's jaw clenched. "I know." He looked at her then, eyes tired. "But what am I supposed to do, Pep? Walk away? Pretend I don't care? Because I do care. And you know what? Maybe that's stupid. Maybe I am just setting myself up for another heartbreak. But I already made the mistake of pushing him away once. And it didn't work."

Pepper searched his face, her worry evident. "I just don't want to lose you to this, Tony."

Tony let out a breath, placing his hand over hers. "You won't."

Pepper didn't look convinced, but she squeezed his hand anyway. "Just... be careful. Please."

Tony nodded, the weight of her words settling over him. "Yeah," he murmured. "I will."

But they both knew it wasn't that simple.