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ilovereadingandilovebreathing · 4 years

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Febufluff(whump) Day 9: Sick Day (& Creators Choice)

A/N: I’m always a slut for the Terror Twins, a.k.a. Harley & Peter, being best friends (sorry, Ned.) A universe in which Harley bugged the absolute hell out of Tony until he let Harley live with him and go to Midtown. Definitely softened by Peter.

Summary: Harley gets sick. Tony & Pepper are away, so naturally, Peter has to come help.

WARNINGS for food poisoning, talk and some descriptions of vomiting/gagging, etc.

Peter is busily scribbling away at his latest AP Language assignment when his phone buzzes multiple times in quick succession, “Hardly Queener” lighting up his phone screen.

Peter

Peter help me

SAVE ME

FACETIME ME NOW

Hardly Queener would like to FaceTime...

Peter rolls his eyes and answers; Harley’s forehead fills the screen, a muffled groan filling Peter’s ears instantly.

Peter chuckles humorlessly. “What’s up?”

“I’m d y i n g.” Harley groans loudly and looks up just enough for his eyes to be visible.

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re homophobic.”

“You’re bisexual, Harley.”

“Shut up.” Harley buries his face in his covers.

“Sure, I’ll hang up-”

“NO.”

Peter sighs. “Why did you text bomb me and insist on FaceTiming?”

Harley barks out a few rough coughs. “Can you not HEAR the phlegmy evil that plagues my lungs?”

“So you’re sick. You weren’t sick at school today.”

“Not showing it, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you stay home if you felt bad?”

“Didn’t hit me until 6th period.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Harley groans again and lets his phone fall on the bed. “You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, I’m a real stickler.”

“Oh my god. Maybe it’d be better to be alone than to deal with your rancid cheese.”

“Oh yeah, Tony and Pepper are gone this weekend, huh?”

“Yeah.” Harley rolls onto his side and props the phone up against a pillow.

“But, like, you’re not alone at the Tower, right?”

“I mean, security is here, but hell if I’m getting any of them to go get me food.”

“Door Dash and Grub Hub exist.”

“Yeah, but they’re overpriced.”

“You live with a billionaire, Harley.”

“Mama raised a Frugal Hoosier.”

Peter sighs.

“So I’m guessing all of this is because you want me to come over?”

“Maybe.”

Peter looks at his phone. “I’m leaving for patrol soon. I’ll come over after?”

“Fine. Leave me to wither alone.” Harley grumbles into his comforter.

“You’re fine. It’ll pass soon. Time to go help the helpless. Adios!”

“Bye.”

Peter clicks off of the call and clicks open his Spider suit unit. He does feel a little guilty for leaving Harley all alone when he’s not feeling well, but he seems fine enough to Peter, if not a little glassy-eyed and flushed. He supposes he can make it up to his friend by bringing something by that night, and resolves to do so as he swings out his window and into the night.

-------

It’s 9:03PM when Peter latches onto the outside of the Tower, feeling a little guilty for leaving his patrol early but proud at how much he got done in a few hours.

Peter crawls up to Harley’s window and taps on the glass, frowning when a few moments pass without movement or a reply. “Harley?” Peter knocks again. “Hey, Karen? Can you patch me through to FRIDAY?”

“Sure. Connecting Peter Parker to Female Replacement Intelligent Digital Assistant Youth.”

“Hello, Peter.”

“Hey, FRI. Where’s Harley?”

“Just a moment. Harley Keener is in the west lavatory on the top floor. He seems to be in distress.”

“Does Tony know?”

“He insisted that I did not tell Boss, and the request does not violate known protocols.”

“That’s hard to believe.” Peter has crawled to Harley’s bathroom window by now and knocks lightly on the window pane. “Hey, Harls?”

There’s a muffled grunt and shuffling like socked feet on tile before the window slides open. “Don’t call me that. Too close to what I just did.”

Harley moves aside for Peter to climb through the window. The healthy teen looks his friend up and down. “Aw, man.”

“I know. I look incredible for a guy who just puked his guts out, right?”

“Not exactly.” Peter cringes at how pale Harley’s face is, sweat beading on his forehead and eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “How long you been at it?”

“On and off for the last 3 hours or so. It’s really just been dry heaving lately. Sucks ass.”

“I can imagine. Do you know if anyone else is sick?”

“Ned and MJ are fine. I’m thinking food poisoning, honestly.”

“For real?” Peter quirks a brow and lays a hand over Harley’s forehead; it’s sweaty but not warm. “Tony buys pretty high quality food.”

“I brought some leftover Panda Express from like...”

Peter swallows. “I don’t wanna know.”

“I don’t want to think about it, honestly.” Harley swallows thickly.

“You good?”

“I dunno. It’s always a surpri-” Harley coughs and trips back to the toilet.

Peter grimaces in sympathy before following carefully behind him; he comes up behind Harley. “I’m here. Whatever you need.” He sits behind Harley and places a hand on his back.

Harley finishes dry heaving and leans heavily against the toilet as Peter lightly rubs his back.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Hasn’t been long enough yet.”

“I’m gonna go change out of this. Be right back.” Peter slips out of the bathroom and quickly heads toward the guest room reserved for him. “Hey, FRI?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Can you order some stuff for me?”

“Sure.”

Peter pulls out a t-shirt and sweatpants, quickly slipping into the clothes. “Does Target deliver around here?”

“With the SmartPhone Application.”

“That works. Let security know?”

“Alerting Harold Hogan, as well as Gregory Stevens, presently at the security desk.”

“Thanks, FRI.”

“Of course, Peter. What would you like to order?”

Peter leaves his room and crosses to Harley’s.

“Saltines if we don’t have them.” Peter rummages around in Harley’s drawers for something more comfortable than his sweat-soaked jeans and hoodie while listing off the sick day (or night, now) necessities. “Schweppes Ginger Ale. Plain wheat bread, none of the ones with flakes or nuts or anything. Applesauce. Tums. PeptoBismol, tablets and liquid stuff. And a whole case of water bottles.”

“Got it.”

“Thanks, FRI. Let me know when it’ll be here.”

“Absolutely.”

Peter is back at the bathroom now and taps lightly on the door before entering. Any other day, he would have laughed at the now-stripped Harley, sitting in only a white t-shirt and his boxers, but his friend looks miserable as he sits propped against the bathtub, breathing hard with his eyes scrunched closed and a hand around his abdomen.

“Almost empty?” Peter mutters and taps Harley’s foot with his.

Harley cracks an eye and scrunches up his nose. “Maybe. Can’t tell if my stomach actually hurts or if being doubled over like this is habit now.”

“You wanna change clothes?”

“Why not.”

Peter turns around as Harley pushes himself up and struggles to change into fresh boxers.

“I’m covered.”

Peter turns back around and clenches his jaw at how exhausted Harley looks. “Here.” Peter unfolds the new t-shirt and kneels, laying it beside him before reaching out to pull up the sides of Harley’s soaked shirt. Normally, Harley would protest and bat Peter’s hands away or make a joke about Peter seducing him, but now Harley is pliable as he slowly raises his arms, allowing Peter to gently dress him. Peter cradles his feet as he slides the sweats on but allows Harley to finish the job.

“Feel better?”

“A little.” Harley mumbles. “Damn jeans were chafing me from all the damn sweat.”

“I’m sorry, but at least you’re comfy now.”

“This sucks ass.”

Peter sits next to Harley, and the blond drops his head onto Peter’s shoulder. Peter wraps an arm around Harley’s shoulder, and the boy slumps heavily against him at the confirmed invitation. Harley lets out a deep sigh.

They sit like that for a little while, until Peter’s butt and legs start to tingle, and he’s wondering if Harley has dozed off.

“Peter?”

“Yes, FRI?”

“Your delivery items have arrived.”

“Your what?” Harley mutters, hardly audible through his heavy lips.

“Thanks, FRI.”

“Mr. Stevens is bringing the items up.”

“Have him leave them in the kitchen, please.”

“Got it.”

“What’d you order?”

“Everything to make you feel better. You feel up to finding out?”

Harley considers for a moment before lifting his head slowly. He stares across the room for a moment before closing his eyes and nodding.

Peter rises and holds his hands out for Harley to take; he easily pulls the boy to his feet but moves slowly to be conscientious of Harley’s state.

The boy stands unsteadily for a moment before grabbing on to the vanity counter. “Guess I don’t quite have my sea legs yet.” Harley jokes dryly.

“Here.” Peter turns around and gestures. “I can carry you.”

“Geez, Parker, I’m not totally out of commission. What if I get motion sick or something?”

“I’ll be careful. Better to get it over with.”

Harley huffs before wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck; he lifts one leg which Peter easily takes and hoists up the other, settling against Peter’s back with a grunt.

“Where to?”

“Bedroom is closest.”

It’s a little awkward logistically because of the inches Harley has on Peter, but Peter manages his weight easily. Peter walks steadily into the living room, Harley’s hot, stale breath on his neck making him a little queasy, and stops before carefully depositing the boy on the bed.

“FRIDAY?” Harley croaks out pitifully. “Fan.”

“Of course.”

Harley groans in relief and curls up on top of his covers.

“I’ll be right back.”

Harley grunts in reply as Peter heads out into the kitchen and quickly returns with his spoils and a small stack of bowls and a cup.

“Feel like eating anything?”

“Maybe in a little bit.” Harley’s voice is a whisper as he pries open an eye. “What you have?”

“Crackers, of course, Ginger Ale. Applesauce. Pepto and Tums if you need them. And lots of water.”

“You really are a mother hen, Parker.”

“Only for you, Keener.”

“Don’t tell Ned.”

“He knows nothing can outdo our sacred bromance.”

“We’re cutting it pretty close here.”

“What sounds edible?”

“Water and Tums for now. I’ll let you know about the other stuff.”

Peter helps Harley sit up to chew on a few of the antacid tablets and sip some water before he collapses again.

“Scoot.” Peter nudges Harley, and the latter raises a brow. “I’m not going back home. I already texted May; I’m staying with you until Tony and Pepper get back tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Harley pulls himself over and Peter settles against the bed’s headboard with his ankles crossed. Harley’s head is against his thigh, and he carefully rests his hand there. Harley doesn’t protest, so Peter slowly moves his fingers through Harley’s hair, like May does for him when he doesn’t feel well.

They sit in silence for a moment. “Did you tell him?”

“Not yet.”

Harley groans. “Don’t.”

“Why’d you tell FRIDAY not to?”

“Didn’t want him to worry. You know he’s a worrier. Worse than you.” Harley sighs and looks up between Peter and his stomach. Peter nods and Harley scoots up, resting his head on Peter’s stomach, the latter’s hand still running ministrations through his hair.

“Wanna watch anything?” Peter whispers.

“Mmmm nothing I actually have to watch.” Harley replies, eyes closed lightly for sleep instead of clenched in pain. Finally, progress.

“Hmm....Disney?”

“Whatever.”

“Finding Nemo?”

“Depressing, but sure. Sadie loves it, so I’ve seen it 12,000 times.” Harley yawns through the hyperbolic estimation, and Peter gives a breathy snort.

“Perfect. We love an orphan story.”

“His dad’s alive.”

“I meant me.”

Harley lightly nudges Peter’s leg.

“FRIDAY? TV on...My movies...Finding Nemo.”

They make soft banter throughout the beginning of the movie, Harley’s voice getting quieter as his breaths get heavier, and soon he is dead weight against Peter, his arm having snaked around Peter’s waist to hold him like a beloved stuffed animal.

Peter looks down at Harley’s face, now snuggled into his abdomen, and can’t help the grin on his lips. Harley finally looks at peace, if not hilarious, and Peter can’t resist reaching down for his phone. He jumps when Tony Stark’s contact jumps out at him in a FaceTime request, and quickly gropes around for Harley’s AirPods before popping them in, answering the call, and swiping to his settings.

“Hey-hold on-okay.” Peter settles back in again, one hand holding his phone and the other on Harley’s back, and whispers, “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, Squirt.”

“You don’t seem surprised to find me here.”

“We have Find My Friends or whatever set up, remember, kid? Part of the phone upgrade deal.”

“That whole thing was your idea. I told you I didn’t need a new phone.”

“Besides the point. What’s got you all whispery in the Tower?”

“Harley’s asleep.”

“Really? It’s barely past 10.”

“He’s sick.”

“Sick how? How sick? Why didn’t I know?”

“Food poisoning doesn’t align with any of the alert protocols. It’s technically not biologically sick, and it’s not true poisoning.”

“Shocking. No wonder FRIDAY’s been so quiet. That little shit would find a loophole unintentionally.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“So, how is he?”

“Asleep. Hurled his guts out earlier.”

Tony cringes in sympathy. “Nasty stuff. How’d he get it?”

“Leftover Panda, probably.”

“Dammit, kid. I told him that junk had gone off.”

“Yeah, well, it is Harley.” Peter angles the camera down, and Tony’s eyes turn down at the sides as he studies the slumbering Harley.

“He holding anything down?”

“He’s only had water and Tums. We’ll find out in the morning.”

“If you say so. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Pep and I will be back ASAP tomorrow.”

“Take your time. We’re all good here.”

Tony smiles. “I know. He’s in good hands.” Tony looks past his phone. “Gotta go, Spider-Kid. See you tomorrow.”

“See you. Bye, Mr. Stark.”

Peter sets the phone on the nightstand and slowly reaches down to grab a throw Harley had brought from Rose Hill, a Granny Square pattern his mom had crocheted for him as a gift. A small piece of Tennessee in the middle of the big city. Harley makes a low noise in his throat in protest of the movement, but sighs and holds tighter onto Peter when they settle in again, his nose buried in the front of Peter’s shirt.

“Lights, please, FRIDAY.” The lights dim to a very dim glow, and Peter sighs. “Night, Harls.” Peter whispers with one last ministration over the boy’s back.

“Night...” Harley’s words carry along the air, light and barely there. “Love you, Pete.”

Peter blinks. Harley’s a great friend, loyal, hardworking, and will punch anyone’s teeth in with little need for reason, but affection is low on the list of Harley Keener characteristics. He’s not sure he heard correctly, so he carefully replies, “Love you, too, Harls.”

A ghost of a smile tugs on Harley’s lips and vanishes before Peter can blink, and Peter melts into a grin. Sick Harley is whiny, needy Harley, but also a loving Harley that Peter could get used to.

Peter closes his eyes and starts to doze, his hand still one Harley’s back when the pair wakes in the morning, stiff and sleepy but satisfied at making it through the night.

Harley would chomp down the scrambled eggs Peter makes and poke at him for the weird looks he keeps giving Harley, throwing snowballed napkins when Peter refuses to tell him why.

#febufluff #febufluff 2020 #febuwhump #febuwhump 2020 #irondad #spiderson #mine #spiderbabyfic #harley keener #peter parker #really platonic but if you want to read romantic you probably could but not my thing

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ilovereadingandilovebreathing · 5 years

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Lights Will Guide You Home (Ch. 1)

Story: AU in which Peter Parker, 16, is a homeless vigilante just trying to do his thing in Queens. Tony Stark is a rich superhero who flies onto the scene. Eventual IronDad will ensue.

A/N: Title from Coldplay’s “Fix You.” Sorry if this AU has been done like 10,000 times and if that song has been used like 15,000. Here’s another.

WARNINGS: Guns, gun violence, robbery, cussing, verbally abusive language

- - - - - - - - - -

It’s only midnight, but Peter’s already feeling the weight of exhaustion creeping into his bones. He stands on the Queens rooftop looking out over the city; the fading yellow streetlights give him a strange kind of warmth in his stomach, a stark contrast to the burn of hunger that usually lingers there. He sighs and leans his head against the post next to him; he pulls up his red ski mask above his nose and inhales deeply, allowing his eyes to slide closed, allowing his ears to absorb the familiar sounds of the city, unhindered as he just exists for a moment.

For a moment he feels like a normal person. Not a vigilante. Not a homeless teenager. Not a crime fighter. Not even a superhero, if he were to be so bold with such a title. For a moment he is just a human being, and that is all he could ask for after four straight nights packed full of activity. Nobody needs saving. Nobody’s chasing him down. Nobody’s crying, “Spider-Man! Help me!” For once Peter Parker can just exist, and for once that’s enough. It doesn’t feel like he has to earn his existence, like he owes the universe anything for allowing him to live when everything he loves has been stolen away from him.

But the moment doesn’t last. It never does.

Peter opens his eyes, blinking once before pulling his mask over his face. He crouches, carefully moving toward the edge of the building, and quiets his breathing as much as is possible, listening intently for what would follow the sound that he thinks is the tell-tale clicking of a lock-pick's handiwork.

There it is. The rattle of a doorknob, the shuffle of feet.

A break-in in his typical territory. These guys are getting bold.

Peter positions himself at the edge of the building, peering over but staying as inconspicuous as possible; they’re just a few buildings over in a store Peter has frequented. Had frequented with his Uncle Ben. Their last visit was a little over a year ago...before-

Peter snaps to attention when he hears the cash register shaking, the intruders trying to break it open with brute force. He can’t see them anymore from this building, so he tiptoes over the back edge and scales the back wall as quickly and quietly as he can. He comes around the left corner and listens, hearing nothing, and he comes out to the side, keeping to the shadows just in case. His tinted swim goggles, red ski mask and fingerless gloves, and blue sweatshirt and sweatpants aren’t exactly stealth material.

He can see the robbers more clearly now; one is carefully extracting something from what must be his back pocket, not paying attention to the other who has pulled a gun and is aiming at the cash register. A boom sounds through the open doorway, muted by the windows, and blinding emergency lights snap on. A screeching alarm blares throughout the shop and leaks out into the street.

“Are you shitting me?!” A rough voice cuts through the din. “We pick the lock and creep around with no detection, and you just had to-”

“I’m...I’m sorry, Man-...uh, maaan.” The second voice is deeper than the first but timid, and Peter can hear two pairs of lungs breathing: one deep and heavy, the other shallow and short. “I just-You were struggling with the drawer, so I thought-”

“To shoot the fucking thing? With your piece of shit gun? Are you serious? You don’t have a silencer!” The owner of the first voice opens what Peter now sees is a tan bag and begins to shovel in money from the register.

“Wh-what are you doing?! Shouldn’t we go?”

“We might as well get what we can and scram. The cops’ll take a few minutes anyway.”

“I was-Are you sure you could’ve gotten it open?”

“If can pick a fucking door lock, I sure as hell can pick a damn cash register lock!”

“I just-I didn’t think-”

“You’re right, you didn’t think!”

“Well, I mean it didn’t seem like his security was that good.”

“This is at least a semi-successful sandwich shop, idiot. Of course he has decent security, especially when you go around shooting shit. Why the hell do you think I’ve been staking the place out for months?”

“I’m-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t you fucking dare.” The leader has finished stuffing his burlap sack, and he throws it at the obvious younger of the pair. “I swear to god, if we get caught-”

“What? You’ll pee your pants?” Peter winced. Come on, Parker, are you five?

“S-Spider-”

“Ah, yes, the Spider-Man.” The leader steps toward Peter with carefully measured steps, eyes gleaming beneath his own black ski mask. “The local superhero, here to save the-” He suddenly tries to bolt out the door, but Peter’s enhanced reflexes are too quick, and he easily stops him with a firm arm to the stomach.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere. You didn’t even finish your-”

“Stop!” The younger voice is quivering, and Peter turns toward it, absorbing the gun barrel pointed in his direction. “Just-uh, just stand down, Spider-Man. Let us go, and you get to live!”

“My god, you idiot; you don’t announce you’re gonna shoot a guy! You just do it!”

“But that’s unsporting-”

“This isn’t a sport, asscrack! This is life or death, here! Shoot him!”

Peter’s hands are spread, palms facing each of the individuals in turn as he breathes, trying to sort out the best scenario for this situation. The one who has to be a teenager is too far for him to disarm without risking getting shot, and he can’t let the man on the floor get away either-

“Hands where I can see them.”

Peter glances down, and his blood runs cold. The leader has taken advantage of Peter’s predicament and drawn his own weapon, aiming at Peter’s head with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“You’re surrounded, Spider-Man. No hope of escape.” The man on the floor lets out a rough chuckle just the first pitches of police sirens peel through the air outside.

“Shit. You really kept us going this long, didn’t you? What a sneaky trick, but now-”

“Freeze!-” A plainclosthesman is in the doorway, his gun drawn. “Drop your weapons-”

“NO, YOU DROP YOUR WEAPON, OR SPIDER-MAN GETS IT!” The leader screams from his spot on the floor, shaking his gun in Peter’s direction. “WHERE WILL YOU PIGS BE WITHOUT YOUR SUPER-POWERED DOG TO DO YOUR WORK FOR YOU?”

“PUT IT DOWN, YOU PIECE OF SHIT-”

The cop and the robber go back and forth, spewing insults and threats as the sirens grow louder, but Peter tunes them out, facing the one chance he has left.

“Hey, dude. You don’t want to do this.” Peter inches forward, but freezes when the kid tightens his hold on the gun. “Please. I....I know what it’s like to struggle, okay? I’ve been there.”

“You have no idea what my life is like. Don’t try to relate to me.” The kid grinds out, his jaw quaking to match his shimmering eyes.

“Okay, you’re right. I don’t know your life. But I know mine.” Peter takes a steadying breath. “I know what it’s like to to be homeless. To pack up with whoever you can to up your chances of survival.” Peter nods his head toward the ground. “I use tape to hold my shoes together.” Peter gestures down to his bare feet. “Well, when I’m wearing shoes. Glad you found something thick that you could sew into it. That’s impressive. Did you know how to sew, or did they teach you?”

“Quit chatting!” The leader interrupts from the floor, eyeing the cop with the gun trained on him. “This isn’t a social gathering! Fly, stupid butterfly!”

The kid suddenly spins on his heel and takes off toward the other side of the store, vaulting over the counter and disappearing into the rooms behind. Peter shakes his head and sighs, turning back to the man sprawled on the floor.

“What are you laughing at, shithead? We got what we came for.”

“He’s gonna have a hard time navigating back there; Delmar keeps this place fully stocked, so much that it’s like a maze to get through to the back alley.”

“I know that, you idiot; I drew him a map of the place and made him memorize it.”

“A map? But how-”

Another boom sounds, and the masked man drops his gun, screaming in agony as blood pools around and out of the bullet now lodged in his upper arm.

Peter finally registers that a police vehicle has arrived. The driver enters first, shoving past the plainclothes cop toward the attempted thief. The cop yanks the ski mask off of the man’s head, and Peter holds back a gasp.

He, too, had been watching Delmar’s for a while now, and he really shouldn’t have been surprised to see that it was a recent hire under the mask. Likely in his 40s, the red-headed man is familiar to Peter; Delmar rarely took in people outside of his family, but the man has a soft spot for people who are down on their luck. He must have spun some kind of sob story to get Delmar to take him in.

“Huh, well I’ll be damned.” The plainclothesman speaks up first. “Manny the deli guy.”

The cop pulls the man to his feet and pushes him against the counter to book him, shaking his head as Manny continues to yell and the plainclothesman shakes his head. “Makes a damn good sandwich, too, Sucks ass for Delmar to lose this guy.”

The cops each take an arm and escort Manny to the cop car, somehow chatting casually amidst the animalistic howls emitting from their charge.

“What about the kid? Did Lenox find him?”

“Nah. Back door’s open, so the kid’s probably long gone with the money.”

“Shit. Hate to have to break it to Delmar.”

“We got it from here, Spider-Man.” An officer Peter hadn’t noticed before, a woman with blonde hair and soft brown eyes was taping off the outside of the shop. “Thanks for your help, as always.”

“Oh, no-” Peter clears his throat. “No problem, ma’am. Happy to do my duty.”

She nods and sets about her work.

It takes everything Peter has not to jerk toward the shuffling his ears pick up from the back of the store. “Uh-Delmar has a, uh, a cat, so I better make sure he’s okay.”

“Oh, sure.” The lady cop gestures over her shoulder. “Make it quick, though. The other guys have to come in here soon to check the place over.”

“Right, yeah, of course, thanks!”

Peter hurdles himself over the counter and slips into the back rooms, ears peeled for the scuffle of plastic soles on linoleum. What he hears, instead, is heavy breathing, and he follows the sound to the walk-in refrigerator. Clenching his jaw, Peter carefully opens the door-

“Shit.” The kid is huddled on the ground, arms clinging to the bag desperately with his eyes closed, as if he’s bracing to be shot, too.

Peter puts his hands up in a show of peace. “Don’t shoot and neither will I.”

“You don’t have a gun.”

“It looks like you don’t either.”

The kid scoffs. “Dropped it when I was trying to get through this damn labyrinth of a backroom.”

Peter looks around quickly, and then slips through the opening and into the freezer, pulling it shut behind him and leaving them in darkness. “Look, the cops are still here scoping out the place. They saw the back door, so they think you’re long gone. They’re about to actually search the place, so you might want to get outta here like yesterday.”

“What the fuck? Why’re you helping me? Aren’t you like the police’s dog or something?”

It’s Peter’s turn to scoff. “No. I work by myself and for myself; they just kind of come with the territory.”

“Still. Why help me?”

“....I know you can hear my voice as much as I can hear yours.” Peter’s tone is soft, imploring. “I was in a spot like you for a little while, but it wasn’t worth it. I got out, and so can you.”

“...How’d you leave?”

“A raid I was thankfully absent for. No one turned me over, amazingly.”

“Pack loyalty.”

“Probably. Probably hoped I’d revive the group, too.”

“Yeah. Anyway, this is a nice pow-wow and all,” Peter can hear the other boy shifting. “But I gotta bounce.” The kid stands and carefully opens the freezer door.

“They’re all out front.” Peter quickly reassures him. He stares for a second then smiles when he takes in the face of his hiding place buddy. “Hiding in plain sight?”

“Exactly. Ski mask makes you stick out. Especially if you’re a black kid when there’s cops around.”

Peter nods. “Sorry I can’t return the favor.”

“It’s cool. Vigilante status and all that.” The kid pauses. “Here.” He reaches into the bag and hands Peter a handful of bills, 20s from what Peter can see.

Peter stares for a moment, and the kid shakes it toward him.

“Street kids gotta look out for each other, you feel? This was a small bust, anyway. A practice.”

Peter’s heart sinks at the implication but eyes the money, the empty pits of his stomach crying out from weeks of going with tiny portions compared to what he needs to eat.

“I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Spend it all here, and it evens out, right?” The kid quirks a smile. “Don’t over think it.” He shoves the stack into Peter’s lap before looking around one last time and stepping outside of the chilly room. “Take care of yourself, Spider-Man. I’ll see you around.” And he’s gone.

Peter sits for a moment with the money in his lap, his mind spinning as he wrestles with the ethical implications of his actions. He needs to eat. He’s running himself ragged being Spider-Man with so little food to squelch his metabolism. He used to shelter hop, staying at one place for a bit before switching to another for a decent flow of food, but after a while, he became a familiar, lonely face. They asked too many questions about him, his parents, and why his parents couldn’t ever come with him to stay. This would be his first real meal in weeks. The kid gave him the money, and if he doesn’t eat he can’t be Spider-Man...

Peter sighs, swallowing the guilt knotted in his throat before quickly organizing the bills and sliding them into his sweater for safe keeping.

He goes back through the front of the shop, waving to the cops out front before disappearing as is his M-O.

Peter decides to turn in early that night, thoroughly wiped now, so he carefully creeps up the side of a too familiar brick building. He finally makes it to the uppermost fire escape and pulls down the dufflebag he has stuffed there, removing the chemically produced webs he uses to hide his belongings where no one else can go.

He really needs to sneak back into the school again soon; his supply is running low. He lives in anticipation of summer when he might be able to get away with making and taking more of the webs to use for fighting and not just storage and survival purposes. He has often daydreamed of what it would be like to use the webs to swing around town, hang upside down, or even make a giant web like real spiders. They would definitely up his superhero status.

Sighing at such fantasies, Peter throws the duffel over his shoulder and hauls himself up to the top of the apartment complex.

“Home sweet home.” Peter mutters under his breath as he crosses the roof for the final jump onto the top of what once was a garden shed. The tenants gave up on a roof garden years ago, so the shed usually sits empty save for cobwebs and gardening equipment long forgotten, a perfect storage place for the items Peter doesn’t want to expose to the rain. The roof of the shed is set at such a small angle that it is nearly flat and therefore not conducive to ridding itself of rainwater, but Peter loves to sleep under the stars, the honks and hums of the city akin to a lullaby, and he has managed to patch critical spots with some moldy tarps, some nails, and a hammer left in the shed.

Now Peter sets his bag on the wearing shingles and stretches his back, his arms, his shoulders before pulling a warn fleece blanket out of his bag. He spreads the blanket and lays down, pulling off his mask and goggles which he stashes away before conceding to sleep in his Spider-Man costume just once. He’s too tired to change tonight, he decides as he allows himself to drift.

His heart stalls when he hears a low rumbling above his head, and his eyes snap open, searching the sky intently for something he knows he’ll never see. Every once in a while he’ll hear it. It’s never a stormy night, no clouds in the sky, no distant roar of thunder, no smell in the air, but he’ll hear a sound, a low rumbling akin to thunder but not quite the right timbre. Peter has never figured out what it is, but once he swore he saw a dark square floating in the sky on its own, like a ghostly apparition in the shape of a metal panel.

No such sight appears tonight, but as Peter stares at the sky, his own words drift back to him: hiding in plain sight. Definitely a government conspiracy Ned would believe.

Peter sighs and rolls his eyes before turning onto his side and curling into himself, now fully allowing himself to fall into a well-earned sleep.

- - - - - - - - - -

Tony Stark sits perched in the cockpit of his plane, gazing down at the city below him with little attachment or interest.

“You really didn’t have to come with us, Tony.” Happy Hogan speaks up from his seat beside Tony. “I could’ve handled the shipment on my own.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Tony quips with a scowl, absently fiddling with the Iron Man gauntlet engaged over his right hand. “I spent way too long customizing these arc reactors to have the recipients bitching and calling me as soon as they don’t know how to use them. Might as well go and write everything off as a business expense.”

“Right, of course.” Happy rolls his eyes and turns his attention back in front of them. “I gotta say, though. I don’t think this plane needs any security from Iron Man himself.”

Tony throws him a look.

“The reflective plates are genius in their simplicity, Tony; no one even knows we’re up here.”

“Of course not, but I know about the plate incident from last year, Hogan.”

“Okay, we flew a little bit too low and bumped one of the panels on the new World Trade Center.”

“Hence why all of my planes are self-flying now.”

It’s Happy’s turn to dish out looks. “No one saw us or reported it. No harm; no foul.”

“Yeah because you left 5 hours late and no one was out to see you flying at 2am.”

“Hey, that delay was your-”

“Is that a kid?”

“What? Come on, Tony, I know you hate to have your past blunders brought up, but-”

“No, look, down there.” Tony points through the window and down toward a building Happy cannot distinguish.

“Tony, how can you even tell?”

Tony taps on his glasses frames. “Elementary zoom function, My Dear Happy. But, yeah, there’s definitely a kid sleeping on a roof down there.”

“Probably just had a fight with his parents or something.”

“He has a bag next to him.”

Happy scoffed. “Obviously threatened to run away from home and only made it to the roof. I remember someone else pulled shit like that when he was a kid.”

“You have no proof.”

“Rhodey told me.”

“Rhodey wasn’t there. We didn’t meet until college.”

Happy just rolls his eyes again and settles back into his seat. “See anything else with those glasses.”

“Just a bunch of cop sirens.”

“I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me if something interesting happens.”

“Gee, thanks, Forehead of Security. I feel so safe with you around.”

Happy just snorts, crosses his arms, and closes his eyes.

Tony rests an elbow on the window sill and puts his chin on his palm, languidly watching New York pass below, the lonely little figure soon left behind and forgotten for the moment.

#spidermanfic #spidermanfanfic #iromanfic #ironmanfanfic #spiderman #ironman #mine #mcufics #irondadfic #spiderbabyfic #mcufic

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ilovereadingandilovebreathing · 5 years

Note

Ooo I have a few weakness for irondad stuff ._. Could you maybe write Peter taking care of his dad? Or maybe Tony noticing how strong Peter is and how much he has to hold back during hugs? Or hmmm what about comfort cuddles? Honestly anything would be fine though ^-^ cause I love what you write and as long as you have fun with it I'm pretty sure I'll love it! But yeah! I hope maybe these suggestions help ^-^

IronDad writers have literally been making and breaking my whole life these last few months LOL How about all 3?? Great suggestions, Nonny! I appreciate you. This helped immensely.

Random AU in which May is dead and Tony adopted Peter. Shocking, I know, but you said dad, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Characters/Genre: Tony Stark & Peter Parker (IronDad & Spiderson); mostly hurt/comfort, tbh

⚠️ warnings: mentions of gun violence (yes I brought up Ben. Don’t hate me.), crying, broken body parts

•••••••

“Hey, Pete.” Tony tried to keep his tone light as Peter fluttered around him like an anxious little bird; the boy muttered quietly to himself as he pushed various pieces of furniture a few inches to one side, looked over the set up, and then pushed some of them back the other way again.

“Pete.” Peter seemed to not hear Tony at all as he breezed toward the kitchen at a brisk pace, quickly returning with a cold compress which he absently laid on the coffee table just out of Tony’s reach.

“Peter!” Tony’s tone was loud but not angry as he called out to the teen; Peter jerked to a stop, seeming to come out of a trance as he stared and blinked at Tony for a good five seconds before speaking.

“Yeah? Why’re you yelling?”

“Because I tried to get your attention in a normal person way, but apparently you’ve focused all of your energy on scuttling around like a frightened hen instead of allowing your ears to pick up sound outside your own head.” Tony accentuated his comment with a grin to show Peter he wasn’t truly upset with him, but Peter’s face fell anyway, his eyes wide and shimmering as he pointedly only looked at Tony’s face. “Oh, sh- Awh, buddy...”

[[MORE]]

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please just relax. I can go to my room if that’ll make you feel better. Or I can just leave all together, I guess; I’m sure Rhodey or Happy could-”

“Kid. Stop. Before you give yourself whiplash.” Tony sighed and gestured for Peter to walk toward him. “Come here.”

Peter stayed frozen in place, a look of horror washing over his features that might have been comedic if Tony didn’t know it was genuinely wrought from a place of fear.

“Pete. You’re not gonna break me, kid.” Tony grimaced when Peter flinched, catching the mistake far too late. “You know what I mean. Just get over here or I’ll come over there.” Tony reached for the crutches propped nearby, wrinkling up his nose and making a mental note to get to the lab to make a suitable replacement when Peter wasn’t looking. If that was possible.

“No! No no no! I’m coming; I’m coming. Don’t move!” Peter scurried over to Tony and stopped inches from the side of the couch; his eyes shone even brighter than before, and Tony braced himself for the inevitable flood. Peter hadn’t cried since everything started, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the kid’s guilt shattered him to pieces.

Tony shimmied back so that his side was against the back of the spacious sectional sofa, patting the now empty space beside him. Peter eyed him warily, finally looking at all of Tony before letting out a shaky sigh.

“Please, Tony.” Peter whispered, his voice catching painfully. “I....I can’t. Not yet.”

“Okay.” Tony reached out a hand, and Peter took it slowly, eying Tony in case he tried anything. Tony smiled stiffly and rubbed his thumb over the back of Peter’s hand while studying the boy’s face carefully. “It’s not your fault, Peter.”

Peter jerked violently and dropped Tony’s hand; he stared in disbelief at his mentor-turned-father, his mouth slightly agape and nostrils flaring. “That’s...how can you say that?” His voice was low, but his tone was bitter and biting though Tony knew Peter’s ire was not aimed toward him. “You wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong.” Tony sighed at Peter’s shocked expression. “You definitely played a part in this situation, but so did I. And so did the idiot who didn’t know how to stop or redirect a pair of ice skates. I guess he was shocked that a toothpick could pick up such a hunk of meat.” Tony snorted but immediately ground his teeth together when his comment didn’t soften Peter’s gaze at all. “Look, Pete. Times were had. Mistakes were made. Tonys were dropped, and a foot was broken, but it’s not the end of all things, okay? I’m not a fragile little porcelain bird; I don’t always shatter when I fall, but this time just happened to be a bad break. No pun intended.”

“But that’s the point!” Peter was actually on the brink of a breakdown, his voice manic with fear and guilt. “You’ve done so much in your Iron-Man suit, and you’ve ended up okay. I’ve been so careful to control my powers, but the one time I decide to have a little fun, I screw everything up by being careless, and now you’re hurt!” Peter threw an arm toward Tony’s left foot which was encased in a red cast and propped on a stack of throw pillows that had come with the couch.

“It was fun, though.” Tony drew up a fond if not slightly devious smile. “I haven’t been carried around like that since I was a kid. I felt like a five-year-old. And the look on that guy’s face. I’ve never seen a man more terrified of me. Did you hear how he said, ‘T-Tony Stark?!’” Tony brought his hands to his mouth in a cartoonish manner, eyes comically wide and teeth chattering like a frightened Scooby Doo. He quickly dropped the façade and smirked devilishly. “I wonder if he thinks we’ll sue. We’ll hold off on making a statement; that’ll be plenty of karma for my foot.”

Peter’s brow creased at “we,” but he stayed silent, pulling and twisting at the edges of his sweater’s sleeves and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Pete, I can’t truly have fun with the situation if you’re all pouty like that.”

“What’s fun about this?” Peter grumbled and slouched with his arms crossed.

Tony laughed out loud, startling Peter with the boom in his tone. “Now you look like the five-year-old. There’s plenty that’s fun. I can order Happy around in a way I haven’t been able to since Afghanistan. He’s even better than you at the worried hen impersonation.” Tony just wrinkled his nose at Peter’s sidelong glare. “Pepper won’t dream of getting on my case right now; at least, not like normal. A short break from Stark Industries stuff is a nice change of pace. Definitely no Avengers stuff for a while which is fine with me. I need time here to settle in with my kiddo.” Tony’s features softened when Peter’s cheeks heated with a blush; the teen refused to meet the billionaire’s gaze, so he continued on quietly. “My son. My adopted child named Peter Parker who is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, regardless of what has happened or will happen. Sleepless nights and broken feet and all.”

Peter worked his jaw painfully, his lips curling and uncurling as he fought with himself.

Tony lightly snapped his fingers and gestured for Peter to meet his gaze, smiling a closed-lipped smile that reached to his eyes before quietly but firmly declaring, “I forgive you, Peter.”

Peter didn’t react at first. He stared at Tony for a moment with his jaw clenched so tight Tony worried he might break a tooth, but then twin tears broke free when Peter blinked for longer than normal, and his face crumpled. He let his head fall forward into his hands as quiet, broken cries tore up and out of his throat.

Tony reached out and tugged lightly on Peter’s sweater until the boy finally acquiesced and dropped onto the very edge of the couch, sitting parellel to Tony. Rolling his eyes, Tony sat up and pulled Peter into his arms, cupping his son’s head with one hand as he cried into Tony’s shoulder. “I know, buddy. I know. It’s okay. I’m going to be okay. And so are you.”

Peter finally wrapped his arms firmly around Tony’s midsection, clinging to the back of his sweatshirt, and Tony tilted his head to rest against Peter’s.

Tony gasped when Peter’s hug became just a bit too hard, squeezing the air out of him, and he felt Peter stiffen in his hold and try to pull away. Tony, however, had no intention of letting go of his kid until his cries died down, so he held Peter tighter and reclined back against the couch, giving them both a second to readjust before sliding his hand back into Peter’s messy curls.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Peter was muttering repetitiously into one of his hands which was balled in a tight fist against his mouth, trying in vain to keep in his cries.

“I forgive you, Peter. For everything. I’ll never get mad at you for loving me.”

“But I hurt you.”

“On accident. While showing how much you love me by having fun and hugging me. I’m not mad, buddy, so I need you to get out whatever guilt you’re feeling, okay?” Peter took in a gasping breath, and it finally clicked for Tony; he rested his chin on Peter’s head and murmured into his hair. “Not that I don’t think you love me or anything, but what’s really got you so worked up?”

“What do you mean?” Peter stuttered quietly.

“I know you feel bad about dropping me, but we both know I could’ve gotten out easily and that it was the other guy’s fault, not yours.”

“But I snuck up behind and surprised you.”

“So? I could’ve told you to put me down, and I know you would have. Please, kid, you gotta tell me what’s had you creeping around me like a hand-shy stray kitten for the past few days.”

Peter was silent save for his cries, and Tony looked toward the ceiling and closed his eyes, willing himself to be patient.

After a full minute of silence, Peter sighed heavily.

“...You know what happened to Ben?”

“Only what you’ve told me.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Tony had definitely dug up what he could on Ben Parker’s murder, and, putting Peter’s and his pieces together, he knew Peter had his powers when his dad’s brother, a police officer and Peter’s guardian at the time, was shot outside of a gas station in Queens while trying to stop a mugging. Unarmed. Tony had come to understand so much about Peter after reading about Ben’s case.

Tony’s wandering thoughts halted when Peter cleared his throat.

“It’s just...I was there...the night he died. I was in my crummy old Spider-Man costume, watching Queens from a building near the gas station.” Peter sighed a deep, trembling sigh, and Tony felt tears drip onto the hand that held Peter against him. “I heard them yelling, but I figured it was some drunk guys fighting over a lotto card or something, but when I really listened, my enhanced hearing picked up his voice. I tried to web over, but...it was too late.” Peter’s voice cracked and trembled. “So now, knowing that I have these powers that can do good...that could have done good...I don’t want to do anything else, you know? I never want my powers to be a bad thing, so it just sucks so much that I hurt my dad-” Peter cut off with a sharp intake of breath, biting his lip hard and squeezing his eyes shut though tears still leaked out. “That I hurt you, especially after everything you’ve done for me. I just feel so bad.”

“I know.” Tony readjusted them so that Peter’s head rested against his shoulder; his tone was low and even in Peter’s ear. “I know you get your moral compass from Ben and his self-sacrificial nature, and I’m so glad you had someone as loving and dedicated as Ben to raise you during your formative years.” Peter shook against him, his breath coming in short bursts, and Tony wrapped both arms around Peter to secure him as closely and tightly as possible. “But, Peter, you have to drop this guilt, okay? I know I didn’t know Ben, but he wouldn’t want this for you. He’d want you to be living it up and happy with me. Not mulling over something you didn’t have control over. Multiple somethings.”

Peter continued to whimper into Tony’s neck, and Tony just held his newly adopted son, hoping his words sunk in as he allowed the boy to cry himself out as he needed to. The stress of the last day, really the last year since May’s passing, had really worn Peter down to the bone. Despite his healing abilities, Tony had noticed the frequent glaze that settled over Peter’s eyes and the hoarse undertones in his voice. The kid was sleepless, running himself ragged at night being Spider-Man and searching for May’s killer. (Peter has never confessed this, of course, but Tony knew there was a reason Peter just couldn’t seem to make curfew....Plus he’d used FRIDAY to make Karen tattle, but for now, Peter could believe she was keeping it all on the down low.)

Tony had heard (read: read online) some teenager adoption stories that were outright horrific, but the majority of adoptive parents just warned about emotional instability, pushing boundaries, and the critical step of forming strong relationships. Tony had definitely experienced the first two, mainly before he’d even had a reason to adopt Peter, but he often worried about that last part. Was he forming a strong relationship with Peter, built on boundaries and actual bonds? He doubted this often, especially when Peter exploded or they disagreed loudly, but right now, with his kid in his arms and finally, if not too carefully, hugging him back, Tony told those fears to back off.

Peter was his kid, and Tony loved Peter Parker more than any other teenager in the world.

Superpowers, broken foot, crying mess, and all.

#irondad #spiderson #irondadfic #irondadfanfic #irondadandspiderson #mine #spiderbabyfic #irondadfanfics #mcufics

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ilovereadingandilovebreathing · 6 years

Text

Dialed Up to 11

A/N: Warning for self indulgent hurt/comfort AF starring the Spider Boy and May. Infinity War still has me all up in my emotions (no, not my FEELINGS), so have some more! Set before the end of Homecoming (aka May has no idea about his spider powers.)

This is my first time writing Peter, May, MCU....anything for this fandom, really, so don’t be rude if you think they’re ooc. I’m working on it. :p

Word Count: 1231

Characters: Peter Parker and May Parker

Genre: Hurt/comfort

ACTUAL WARNING for descriptions of sensory overload.

Peter claims his senses are dialed to 11. Some days, it feels like double that much.

Peter pulled up in front of the apartment door and sighed deeply, running one hand through his hair and digging through his pocket with the other. “What a day.” He mumbled to himself as his fingers finally grazed metal, and he fumbled to get the aging door open. “Peter?” May’s familiar tone called out to him as he passed the threshold, and the strong scent of stir fry made him wince. “Yeah, May. I’m home.” Peter mustered up his best smile as he passed the kitchen, trying to make his speed less noticeable. He made a beeline for his bedroom and was nearly home-free, but May continued, “How was school? How has school been, for that matter? It seems like I haven’t talked to you in days...” She trailed off, really having grumbled the last part to herself, but of course Peter’s overly perceptive ears heard everything.

Peter groaned lightly before shoving his door open. “It’s been fine, May. Just busy, you know? Decathalon stuff and the Stark Internship and all.”

“I know; I know. When is the actual Decathalon, anyway? I feel bad that I’ve missed so many of your competitions.” “It’s okay, May, really.” Peter called from his bedroom, letting down his bag and pulling off his jacket. Honestly, he’d love nothing more than to lounge around in peace and quiet (and just his boxers) right now, but May always got on to him for that. Plus, he really had been avoiding her more than usual lately. He kept telling himself he was just busy, but... “But it’s not, Peter.” He heard the click of one of the stove eyes being turned off and the nearly imperceptible pad of May’s feet against the hardwood. She rounded the corner and leaned lightly against his door frame, arms crossed. “I want to be there for you. Support you. It’s my job as-“ “Your job keeps you busy enough, May.” Peter replied softly, sitting heavily on his bed with his head in his hands, and he rubbed at his temples. “Not too busy for you though, sweetheart.” May’s tone was pleasantly soft but laced with concern. “Is your head hurting again?” “Yeah.” Peter bit out as the dull, numbing ache was beginning to progress to a light throb. “We’ll eat with some atmosphere, then.” May turned and headed back into the kitchen, flicking off his light and leaving an open invitation for Peter’s presence. “Advil?” Though he knew it wouldn’t help much, Peter acquiesced and joined May in the kitchen, taking the pills with a pained smiled and a terse, “thanks.” “You’ve been getting headaches a lot lately, bud. Are you sleeping enough? Drinking enough water during the day? Please, for the love of god, remember to eat-“ “I’m just tired, May. A lot going on with the internship and Decathalon and school-“ “I got that spiel earlier, remember?” May sighed and dished out their dinner. Peter wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell, but he knew if he didn’t eat, May would worry. He caused her enough stress already. “I’m sorry, May.” Peter muttered, eyes on the bowl she’d shoved between his palms. “For making you worry. I’m okay. I promise.” “I’m your aunt-turned-mom, Peter.” May assured him with a slight hitch in her tone. “Worrying is just part of the gig.” She patted his shoulder, crossed to the couch, and flicked on their television. “Let’s have a chill night. Me, you, the couch, and some movies, huh?” She patted the cushion beside her, and Peter knew he couldn’t say no. May tried so hard, working ridiculous hours all seven days of the week to keep them afloat. And that was with the support of his full scholarship for school. As much as he wanted to escape to his room and block everything out, he couldn’t upset her. Not today. He swallowed his discomfort and joined her on their weathered sofa, slowly nibbling on his dinner as “Jurassic Park” flashed on the screen. He was almost finished when May piped up, “Do you want to watch something else?” “Why?” “You haven’t looked at the movie since it started. I can’t imagine your hands or the wall are more interesting.” “It’s just...the light of the screen is a little bright.” Peter admitted sheepishly, fingers fidgeting in his lap. “Your head still hurting?” Pounding, actually. Peter thought to himself before saying, “Yeah. It’s taking a while to die down this time.” May just hummed affirmation while reaching for the remote. She switched off the TV and stood, taking their bowls to the kitchen and turning off all but the bathroom light before returning. She sat on the far end of the couch and put a pillow in her lap.

“I can rub it if you want.” May gestured for him to lay down, and Peter didn’t hesitate to stretch out.

The pressure eased off a bit as he tried to relax, but everything still felt like it was swimming.

Overwhelming.

The smell of the food still hung in the air, and that joined up with the ticking of the clock and yells and honks and general chaos of New York and the rough fabric on his toes and pounding in his head to assault all of his senses. He grit his teeth in frustration and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as his breathing picked up. “Hey, hey, hey.” May whispered softly, removing her hand from his temples. Peter hadn’t even noticed she’d been touching him amid the onslaught. “Deep breaths, baby. It’s ok. You’re ok.” May placed her hand on his back and left it there, and in that moment, Peter was grateful for a concrete sensation to focus on. “You feel kind of warm. I can get you a washcloth if you want.” Peter shook his head roughly, regretting it immediately, but the thought of the texture of a cloth on his skin right now made him feel nauseous. The harsh jarring of his head amped up the pounding, and tears sprang into his eyes immediately. He bit his lip to hold back the sob that wracked his body anyway. “Aw, honey-“ “I know it’ll only make it worse.” Peter bit out while trying to keep himself under control. “But I can’t help it, May. It hurts like hell.” “It’s okay, baby. I know.” May’s hand was slowly moving across his back now, and Peter tried to force himself to focus on her touch, the pressure, the movement, but the uncomfortable swiping and shifting of his T-shirt was starting to get to him. “Please stop.” Peter whispered. “I can’t...please...” He cried softly in spite of himself. “What about your head?” May set her hand on his scalp and tenderly ran her fingers through his sweaty curls. “Is this better?” “Yeah.” Peter hiccuped out, forcing himself to focus on breathing and May’s touch. After a few minutes, he could control himself again. He sighed and rolled over, facing away from the window, and curled up against the back of the couch. “Thank you, May.” His gratitude was hardly audible, carrying along his breath in a near-silent whisper. “You’re so welcome, Peter. I love you.” “Love you...too...” Peter was vaguely aware of shifting as May leaned down to press a kiss to his head, but by then he was finally, blissfully carried from consciousness, May’s comfort and touch staying with him all the while.

#spiderman homecoming #peter parker #may parker #peter and may #spiderman fanfic #hurt comfort #mine #mcufics #spiderbabyfic

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