Hello! Here's the next installment of my Peter-is-Tony's-android-son AU (any suggestions for a simpler, more elegant name will be considered). This fic assumes you've read the last fic in the AU.

I'm glad people were enjoying the one-shot I posted yesterday so here's another! Bear in mind these were pre-written so I'm probably not going to post things only a day apart again.

Cross-posted on ao3 under Footloose_Poets

There is a cut above Tony's left brow from the fight earlier that morning, where a hit from the Wrecker's crowbar crumpled his helmet until it split his skin. It's swollen and bruised underneath, but the wound itself is small enough that it's easily held together with a steri strip from the Tower's medical bay.

As soon as Tony's elevator arrives at his floor, his waist is squeezed by two strong arms and he winces.

"Easy, kid," he grunts. "Some of us are soft and squishy on the inside, remember?"

Peter relaxes his crushing hug but does not pull away. Tony brings a hand up to run fingers through his hair and waits. The elevator door remains patiently open.

"Okay," Tony says after almost a minute has passed. "Inside now."

He puts a hand on Peter's shoulder and eases him back. They shuffle into the apartment and Tony makes his way to the couch. Peter sits down beside him, turning inwards to rest his forehead against Tony's shoulder. He's quieter than he's probably ever been and that's not a good sign.

"Hey." Tony nudges him. "What's up?"

Peter begins to speak—

"Eye contact please."

Peter sits up. "If Garthwaite had hit you with three more newtons of force he would have crushed your skull."

"Oh."

It's the first time Tony has been told how close he's come to death with such precision since Jarvis and honestly he hasn't missed it. Peter is frowning deeply, eyes periodically darting up to his injury. It's not the kind of attention Tony's fond of.

"You know I'm okay, right?" he says.

Peter should know that; he's equipped with body scanning technology that doesn't require a single outward symptom to make a diagnosis. He was at the fight – he saw Tony get up and keep going after he was knocked over.

"You could be concussed." Peter's gaze jumps about Tony's body as if he's monitoring every part of it as he speaks. "Symptoms don't always appear right away. You could feel nauseated, fatigued, irritable, have a headache—"

"I know the symptoms of concussion, Peter."

"—changes in mood, confusion, difficulty concentrating—"

"If you don't stop Googling concussion right now I'm uninstalling your browser program."

Peter stops, blinking. "Sorry."

Tony takes a deep breath, leaning his head back on the couch. "I don't have any symptoms of concussion – or anything – right now."

"But you could soon," Peter argues. "They show up late sometimes."

"And if they do, you'll detect them."

Peter's frown deepens; he's clearly not satisfied with that answer. At this point, Tony's not sure what else to tell him, so he gives him a single pat on the back and stands up.

"Let's go build something," he proposes.

Time in the workshop is Tony's go-to when Peter is in a mood. A hyper-efficient electric engine is their current project – something nice and light as a break from armour and web-shooters. They usually work on it together, but right now Peter seems content to watch Tony.

And cling, apparently.

It works for a few hours. When Tony's in the middle of bolting something he feels a face rest itself against his back. He insists Peter doesn't follow him to the bathroom and says nothing when he finds the android waiting right inside the door to the workshop when he returns. He draws the line when Peter tries to turn handing him a screwdriver into an excuse to get a hug.

"Alright," he snaps, spinning around to look Peter hard in the eye. "What's going on?"

He expects confusion in response. Instead, Peter blinks, ducks his head and moans. It is a long, low, uniform tone and oh God Tony is a terrible person and a horrible father because he knows exactly what that sound is.

Without lungs or tear ducts, it is the only way Peter knows how to cry.

"I'm sorry." Tony switches straight into desperate damage control mode, pulling Peter into his arms. "You're allowed to want hugs, it's okay. I'm sorry."

He's screwed up. He's callous and uncaring and should not have ever tried to raise anything to be emotionally healthy when he isn't even sure what that means.

Peter's arms make their way around him in return. His awful moan hums through Tony's chest as he buries his face in it. Tony hates the sound but will listen to it as long as it has to go. He runs his hand in slow circles over Peter's back. He isn't sure if it's comforting but it's all he's got right now.

Soon, Peter's moaning stops. He stays where he is, curled against Tony's chest for several minutes. Tony waits patiently until he pulls away of his own accord.

"Sorry," Peter says, standing back. "That was an accident. I'm just stressed."

"Don't be sorry for crying, Peter."

It's still odd to see him look so neutral after being so upset. There's no red flush to his face or swollen eyes to wipe at. Once Peter stops moaning, that is the end of it – but that doesn't make Tony feel any less guilty.

"When you got hit, I wasn't close enough to read whether you were okay. You were supposed to be, but I didn't know." Peter's eyes are unfocused like they are when he's accessing remote data – data like video.

"You can read me now," Tony reminds him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

At the touch Peter's gaze refocuses. "I can. But…" He frowns.

"You don't feel like you can trust it," Tony finishes for him.

Peter looks up and nods. His lips are set in a concerned line, and his gaze still occasionally flitters over Tony's form, scanning.

"I'm gonna get hit a lot harder on missions, Peter," Tony tells him. "And I'm gonna be up against bad guys a lot stronger than the Wrecking Crew."

"I know." Peter doesn't sound at all happy about it. "I guess I'm just not used to seeing it."

"Well if Spider-Man's gonna be a fixture in the Avengers you're gonna see it a lot more."

"Yeah."

"And I'm okay." Tony waits until Peter meets his gaze. "Are you?"

"You're safe, so…" Peter eyes the cut above his brow one more time then nods. "I'm okay."

"Good." Tony sighs, relaxing. "You know if you ever feel like you need a hug, you can just ask, alright?"

That earned a grateful smile. "Thanks, Dad."

It's the best thing Tony's ever heard anyone call him and he will never get tired of hearing it.

"Okay." He claps. "I'm hungry."

"Good for you, metaboliser," Peter says with a completely straight face.

"Wow." Tony raises his eyebrows, genuinely impressed. He's inwardly relieved that no lasting damage seems to have been done. "Good one."

Peter smirks proudly. "And it wasn't a reference."

Yep, he's just fine.

"Excuse me, references are hilarious, Threepio. Just for that you can watch me eat lunch."

Thanks for reading friend :) Let me know what you guys think. If there's an element I know people enjoy, I'll be more likely to include it in future works ;)