A/N: This fic is a sequel to "Five Times Peter Said Sorry to Tony Stark", and it picks up right where that one left off. You should read that first if you haven't already.

"Sacrifice is at the heart of repentance. Without deeds, your apology is worthless." -Bryan Davis

…

Peter might have blacked out for most of the flight home. He had no memory of it except for vague impressions of the wind cooling his skin and Tony murmuring soft words. The next thing he knew, he was inside, being laid down on a cot inside a bright room. Everything was dim and fuzzy, and he had to focus very hard to get any of his senses to work.

"I don't know the extent of his injuries, but it's bad," Peter heard Tony say to someone Peter couldn't see. "He said something about drugs? About being drugged, maybe, but I didn't stick around to try to find out what it was."

"We'll have to risk it and sedate him anyway. He's in too much pain, and we don't want to risk him trying to fight us while we operate."

Tony made a grunt of agreement, and Peter only realized he was limply holding the billionare's hand when the man tried to pull away. "No!" Peter protested, tightening his grip. Tony pulled his hand out anyway, resting it for a moment on top of Peter's head.

"I'm right here. The doctors need space to work, but I'm not leaving, okay?"

Peter wanted to say something else, but he suddenly wasn't sure what as he felt a needle sink into his arm and he got the overwhelming urge to fall asleep, his eyelids drooping instantly.

Tony's firm voice saying, "I'm not leaving you," was the last thing Peter heard before being consumed by darkness.

…

It was nice. The darkness. It was a place without pain, or discomfort, or nightmares. He wasn't aware of time, couldn't really grasp how long he had been there or would continue to be there, but he appreciated it all the same.

He floated in that nothingness for a while, but all too soon, it came to an end, and just as he had slipped into the darkness, he was now slipping into the light. Not like, the light kind of light, "the light at the end of the tunnel" kind that led to pearly white gates and people with wings. Actual, physical light, just beyond his eyelids. It wasn't as bright as Peter expected it to be.

His eyes felt uncomfortably stiff and dry, and he had to blink a few times before he could get them to focus. He was in a room that looked very much like a hospital room, except for the luxury and expense in the design and devices around him that screamed Stark money Curtains were drawn over the one, large window to his left, and there was no clock nearby to tell him the time. The lights in the room were dimmed, casting a soft yellow glow over everything, including Tony Stark himself, head resting on his arms at the foot of Peter's bed while the rest of his body was stretched uncomfortably on a chair.

He wasn't snoring (Peter could never imagine such an important man as Tony Stark doing such a thing), but his back rose and fell softly as he breathed, deep in sleep. Peter had never seen him so un-composed. He had dark circles under his eyes, and a hint of stubble marred his usually impeccably-shaped facial hair. His hair was unkempt, like he'd run his hand through it multiple times, and it almost looked oily. His suit jacket had been at some point been replaced with a soft grey hoodie. The normalness of it all almost seemed unnatural.

It looked like he really needed the sleep, uncomfortable though it was. Peter didn't want to wake him, but he was starting to feel more and more pain, and though it wasn't nearly as bad as he had felt before, it was enough to make his heart rate pick up. He couldn't stop the acceleration of the monitor's beeping behind him, and the sound seemed to rouse Tony. He rose slowly at first, seeming confused, but as soon as he noticed Peter was awake every hint of exhaustion was wiped from his eyes.

"Peter!" he said, and he had to clear the hoarseness out of his voice, "You're awake. What's wrong, what do you need? Water?"

"Hurts," Peter responded, voice sounding worse than Tony's had. Something changed in Tony's expression. Something in his eyes looked…sad. Or defeated, maybe. Peter couldn't really put a word to it, but it was more vulnerable than he had ever seen his hero.

"The doctor hoped…" he trailed off, almost saying the words to himself, but then he snapped back into focus. "I can give you a little more painkiller, but more than that will start to send you into overdose." He stood up stiffly and moved to Peter's side, pressing a button on his IV that brought a wave of relief to his body. The pain was still there, but it was now more of a minor annoyance than anything.

Tony pulled his chair closer to Peter's bedside and sat back down, voice cautious as he asked, "Do you remember what happened?"

Peter only had to think for a moment before it all came back. He'd been kidnapped. By a serial killer. Knives, and burns, and blood, and so much pain. He'd been drugged, he'd been helpless, and then…oh my god, I killed a man…

"It's okay!" Tony said frantically, hand coming to rest on Peter's, trying to calm him as his heart rate rocketed, "You're safe, Peter, you're okay, just calm down…breathe nice and slow, good boy…"

"Where's Aunt May?" Peter asked once he found the breath, avoiding Tony's previous question. He would have expected her to be the first person at his bedside, worried sick about him. Unless something had happened to her…

"She's here. At the compound," Tony reassured, "She'd been by your side all day, I only just managed to convince her to get some sleep a couple hours ago. It's almost three a.m." he glanced at his watch. "Do you want me to get her? I can have FRIDAY wake—"

"No!" Peter answered quickly. If she looked anything as bad as Tony did (and if he knew his Aunt, she probably looked at least as bad, if not worse), she'd need the rest. "Let her sleep."

Tony nodded, dropping the subject. His hand was still on Peter's almost unconsciously now, but Peter didn't want to bring attention to it in fear he would stop. It wasn't a gesture he'd usually expect from Tony, but it was comforting.

"How long have I been out?"

"Three days. Your body still hasn't completely healed."

Peter ignored the obvious last statement for a moment in favor of being shocked by the first one. He'd missed three days? And that was on top of the extra day and a half he'd been missing. So what would that make it…Tuesday?

"I have school," Peter blurted out.

Tony looked confused. "You almost died, and you're worried about school?"

"I'm in five AP classes, and a huge presentation in Spanish. Oh my god, the homework…" Tony hadn't been to high school in like, decades, or something, there's no way he'd understand…

"Your Aunt told the school that a relative in California died. You're currently attending the funeral across the country," Tony explained. "When that excuse runs dry, we'll tell them you got into a car crash on the way home. Have to stay in the hospital for an indefinite amount of time."

"How long is indefinite?" Peter asked.

"Don't worry about that. It'll be as long as you need."

Part of Peter felt relieved about that answer, but another part of him flared with anxiety over the thought of being away from school for so long. Going back there was just about the last thing he wanted right now, but he knew the work would just pile up more and more the longer he was away. The confliction must have shown on his face, because Tony said, "If it makes you feel better, we can have all of your schoolwork sent here. You won't fall behind."

Peter let out a breath and nodded. Just then, the door opened, and a doctor with dark, curly hair and kind-looking eyes stepped in. She gave a small smile, polite smile to Tony before looking at Peter.

"Hi Peter. I'm Dr. Young. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Peter responded automatically, even as he heard his Aunt cursing him in his head for being so vague.

"He was in pain when he woke up. I turned up his meds to the maximum amount allowed," Tony informed her when it was clear Peter wasn't going to. He stood up, pulling his hand away from Peter's bedside and stretching his shoulders, "I think I'm going to grab some coffee. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

Peter had a feeling it was just as much of an excuse to give him privacy as it was to actually get coffee, but Tony still held Peter's gaze as he said it, as if asking for permission. Peter nodded.

"Okay."

He watched Tony go, mind flashing back to how angry the man had been the last time Peter had seen him walk out the door. He pushed those thoughts away. That was so long ago now. Things had changed: for better or for worse, Peter wasn't sure. He had a million things he wanted to say to Tony, a million questions he wanted to ask, but he knew it would have to come later.

No matter where things stood, for now, Peter was safe. He clung to the solace of that thought.