"'lo?"

"Good morning, Peter—this is Pepper."

Peter sat bolt upright in bed, hoping, the sound of his blankets didn't transfer to the phone. "Hi!" he said, swinging his legs off the bed. "Ms. Potts—I mean, Mrs. Stark." He cringed. A few days back, and his head was still reeling with information missed from the last five years. "What's up?"

"Tony's sick, but I can't leave him and Morgan alone," Pepper replied. "I would stay, but if I don't show up for this next government meeting…" Her voice drifted, and Peter cringed again. Not for the first time since coming back, he was grateful he didn't have to deal with the political fallout after half the population came back to Earth. He saw the news, saw the good parts—families reunited, couples finding each other, schools filled with students—and the bad parts—countries with already-hectic governments scrambling for power, businesses overrun with a sudden influx of new workers, debates over which house should belong to who now that original owners are back. Sometimes, the bad parts seemed to run more frequently in the news than the good parts. And in those cases, Aunt May would shut the TV off, smile at Peter, and suggest they watch a movie instead. And Peter always nodded, not for himself, but because Aunt May's eyes always looked a little too shiny for him to suggest otherwise.

And, of course, there was Mr. Stark. Tony. Who made it out with half his face and body charred. Who Peter thought for sure was gone. Who still somehow survived. Somehow. With bright lights and high-powered technology far out of Peter's depth and probably stubbornness from everyone else to keep Tony alive.

Peter tried not to think too much about what happened after the Avengers picked Tony up from the ground. Peter had been shaking, begging, begging that someone help Mr. Stark, he's not gone, please help him, make him come back—

Someone (several someones) had held him back. The women nearest to him—Pepper and another one, with short golden hair, the one who had ripped through the spaceship—gripped his arms, and Peter remembered Pepper telling him to let Tony go, he'll be fine.

And then there was the medical bay, and the long days and longer nights when Peter and Pepper just sat still while everyone else paced back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until the machines picked up a heartbeat.

It was that close—they were that close before Tony was gone.

"Peter?"

Peter swallowed. "Yeah, of course," he said. "Don't worry about a thing."

"Thank you, Peter," Pepper replied. "I'll see you in a bit."

As soon as Peter hung up, he scrambled for his clothes. Lucky for him, most of his clothes were just as he had them five years ago. Aunt May washed a few, insisting five years' worth of dust just wasn't healthy, which made at least wearing them a little more comfortable. Other classmates hadn't been so lucky. Ned told Peter that some poor kid returned to his house just to find that all of his belongings had been tossed out.

Five years.

Huh.

Peter swept through the kitchen and snagging an energy bar off the counter, started to open the door when he heard a tired, but somewhat indignant Aunt May ask, "And where do you think you're going?"

Half of the energy bar already in his mouth, Peter replied, "Um…Tony's?"

"At nine in the morning?" Aunt May pressed her lips together. "Peter, I don't really think—"

"It's an emergency," Peter interrupted. He swallowed down the rest of the energy bar, fake chocolate and hardened oats scraping down the back of his throat. "He's sick, and Pepper can't stay. And someone needs to babysit Morgan, too."

Aunt May pushed her hands up to her face. "Peter, Tony's a grown man. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"He can't—" Peter stopped himself and twisted the corner of the energy bar wrapper. "He needs my help." He looked up at his aunt. "Please."

Aunt May bit down on her lip, staring down at her feet. "He needs your help, or you need to see him, Peter?" she asked softly.

Guilt twisted in Peter's chest, and he returned to fiddling with the energy bar wrapper. Still, he added quietly, "A lot has just…happened." He looked back up at his aunt. "So yeah. Maybe I—yeah."

Aunt May's eyes tilted upwards. "Fine." She said, her lips still pressed tightly together. "Just stay safe."

"I will." Peter reached for the door handle. "I promise."

"Peter—"

Peter only barely had enough time to turn back around before his aunt flung her arms around him. He could hear the tears in his aunt's voice even though he couldn't see her face as she said, "Just come back home sooner rather than later, okay? Please?"

Peter brought an arm over his aunt's back. "Yeah, I will," he replied, and he stood there like that, feeling his aunt tremble just the slightest before she finally stepped away.

"Just stay safe." She repeated.

"Promise." Peter replied, and with a halfhearted smile, he left the apartment.

"Thanks again for coming, Peter," Pepper said, squeezing Peter's arm. "Tony's sleeping now. I've already given Morgan breakfast, but there's more food in the fridge." She looked over Peter's shoulder and added, "And Morgan promises to be good."

"Uh-huh," Morgan said from Peter's left.

"No guarantees on that, though," Pepper whispered as she gave Peter a quick hug. "She's been wanting her daddy to wake up ever since she woke up. You'll just have to distract her."

"No worries, Mrs. Stark," Peter replied with what he hoped was an optimistic smile. "Distracting's my thing."

Pepper smiled back and turning to Morgan, said, "Mommy's gonna go to work, now!" She planted a quick kiss on her daughter's head and with a final, "Love you!" she was gone.

The moment the door closed, Morgan said, "So you're Peter." She looked up at Peter, head tilted all the way back. "Is it true you can climb walls?"

"Um…yeah?"

A few moments later, Morgan was dangling from Peter's back, her legs locked tight around his waist and arms wound around his neck. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Peter asked, trying to breathe around Morgan's arms.

"Uh-huh," Morgan said, giving a little bounce on Peter's back. He almost toppled backwards off the wall and clung decidedly tighter to the surface. Not for the first time since Morgan clambered onto Peter's back, Peter hoped Tony wouldn't choose now to wake up and come see what was going on.

"Can you climb the ceiling, too?" Morgan asked as Peter crept along the walls.

"Yeah, but we're not gonna do that right now," Peter said, huffing as he struggled to keep Morgan from slipping off his back. The girl had a death grip, but still, Peter made sure not to go too high up the walls. "Don't want your parents getting mad at me."

"They won't get mad," Morgan said matter-of-factly. "Daddy let me say 'shit', even though Mommy said I shouldn't say that."

That almost made Peter topple off the wall. "What'd you just say?"

"Shit!" Morgan said cheerfully. "Daddy used that word a lot before he went to work."

Went to work—or, in other words, make some kind of time contraption to bring everyone back. To bring Peter back.

"Maybe you shouldn't say that word," Peter only suggested, crawling down the wall. He swung Morgan off his back and, settling down on the floor, asked, "Do you wanna do something else?"

Morgan paused. Then, brightening, she asked, "Can we watch cartoons?"

Peter smiled. "Sounds like a good plan."

Peter hadn't meant to fall asleep on the couch, but after just a few minutes into a pastel cartoon, Peter let his eyes close. That was another thing that had been happening since he came back—he wasn't sure if it was because he was snapped back from dust or something, but not a night had passed when he couldn't get through a few hours of sleep without being forced awake or disturbed by the strangest of dreams.

Before, though (before being turned to dust, that is), Peter had been able to sleep through everything. Aunt May used to joke that the world could probably burn down around him, and Peter still wouldn't wake up. Not that Aunt May made jokes like that anymore.

So when a dull crash sounded from somewhere in the house, Peter almost fell out of the couch in alarm.

"Wha—" Peter scrambled to his feet, looking wildly around the room for an intrusion. Morgan was at his feet, her eyes closed and face occasionally lit up by the glow of the television. Good—she wasn't hurt.

Tony.

Peter hurried out of the room, navigating the hallway and passing a few bedrooms before coming to the last one in the long length of doors. Another small crash interrupted the otherwise silent air of the house. This time, the crash coming from behind the last door in the hallway.

Someone was in Tony's room.

No, no, no, no—Peter's thoughts blurred together as he pushed into the bedroom. "Mr. Stark—" Peter's voice died in his throat as he stopped short in front of the room.

For a second, Peter was in the medical bay again: him, standing in front of Tony's bed and trying to fight out of Pepper's grip as machines tried to keep him alive. Tony hadn't moved at all—not a single twitch of the finger, not a single flutter under the eyelids, not even the slightest rise and fall of his chest until nearly hours later.

Peter blinked.

There weren't any machines this time, no Pepper, no other Avengers standing around the room, but there was Tony, lying in bed with his face pale and lips cracked dry. Dark hair flattened tight against the forehead by a sheen of sweat. Dark purple and blues bagging down his eyelids, even though his eyes were closed. Sunken cheeks.

But awake.

"Hey, kid," Tony said, slowly propping himself up on his elbows. "Thought I…heard you." His eyes, voice seemed a thousand miles away, but still, he somehow smiled at Peter—actually smiled, as though he hadn't just come back from the dead nearly a week ago.

"Mr. Stark," Peter's voice came out smaller than he anticipated. "Are you…I thought I heard something."

"That would be me." Tony pointed a slightly trembling finger down at the ground where, sure enough, a shattered glass lay. "Tried to get water." He promptly lowered his hand, which landed with a loud thump on the blankets. Tony looked down at his hand, a tired smirk already playing across his face. "Can't seem to get my nerves working straight. Bummer."

"I'll get you water," Peter said. "And…uh, food?" He glanced at the clock—almost one now. "Lunch, right? Pepper said something about…" He jerked his thumb at the door. "I'll get that right now." His eyes flitted down to the broken glass. "Actually, I'll just pick that up first—"

"Wait, kid—"

But Peter was already on his knees, picking up the larger shards of glass and dunking them into the slightly more intact part of the cup. He knew his hands were moving fast (a little too fast), so when several somethings dug into Peter's palms, he wasn't altogether surprised.

"Pete—don't—" Peter flinched at the sudden press of a something warm on his shoulder. Peter forced his head up, meeting Tony's fevered gaze for the first real time. "Did you…?" Tony looked down at Peter's hands and sat up quickly. "Your hands."

The warmth moved from Peter's shoulder to his forearm, and then his arm was yanked up so one of his palms was facing Tony. Peter didn't have to look to know what his palm probably looked like; little beads of blood had already started to form on his other palm, which Peter discreetly hid behind his back so Tony wouldn't grab his other arm, too.

"Shit," Tony muttered, letting go of Peter's forearm. Then, before Peter could react, Tony shoved the blankets away and swung his legs over the bed, feet just barely missing the bits of still-shattered glass across the floor. "C'mon, gotta get that fixed."

"It's nothing," Peter said quickly, scrambling to his feet. "Wait, sir—Tony!" He lunged forward just as Tony started to sink to his knees. A sudden heat fell on Peter's front as he wrestled Tony back to his feet. "I've got you," Peter said, leveling his weight against Tony's. "Hold on, Mr. Stark, everything's fine—"

"Embarrassing," Peter heard Tony mumble. "That was embarrassing."

Peter forced a laugh. "No, sir, definitely not," he said, trying to swallow down the panic at the definite, nearing painful heat radiating off Tony. He needed to get supplies, fast. Peter gently pushed Tony back into the bed, careful to not put any additional force than needed. Shoving his hands behind his back, Peter added, "I'll be back in a second, Mr. Stark."

"Don't forget—your hands—" Tony called after Peter, but he only waved the comments away. As soon as Peter was out of the room, he started running for the kitchen. Head and heart racing, Peter swung open the fridge door, hoping that whatever Pepper left in there could be re-heated…and yes, Peter took hold of a glass container of what could only be soup.

"Whatchya doing?"

Peter whirled around to find Morgan standing right behind him, one chubby fist rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Hey, Morgan!" Peter's voice was an octave higher than he was used to. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Hey, Morgan. Hungry? I'm getting your dad some food, too."

Morgan brightened. "Daddy's awake?"

Oops. Peter wondered if it was a good idea to let Morgan know her dad was up. But Morgan looked so hopeful, so happy, so innocent, with her eyes gleaming under the kitchen and fridge lights behind Peter. Hands tucked neatly behind her back, hair still slightly mussed from sleep framing her pink cheeks. For a second, Peter wondered if Tony ever said 'no' to this little girl. Or if he ever could.

"Yeah," Peter finally said, closing the fridge door behind himself.

"Can I see him?" came the predicted answer.

"How about we get both of you guys lunch first?" Peter asked instead.

Morgan paused before giving a sage nod. "That sounds like a good idea." She walked past Peter and opened the freezer door instead of the fridge. "Daddy says you can't do things on an empty stomach." She poked a finger at a bright bag towards the back of the freezer. "Can we have dino nuggets?"

Peter looked down at Morgan and then at the bright bag in the freezer. He distinctly remembered Pepper saying there was lunch in the fridge, not the freezer, but Morgan was looking at him just as expectantly as she had a minute ago when asking about her father.

"Yeah, why not," Peter said, shrugging.

A few minutes later—after Peter at least managed to negotiate with Morgan that they were going to use the toaster oven, not Tony's gloves to heat up the dino nuggets—Peter plated lunch for Morgan and got to heating the soup.

"Your picture's next to the sink," Morgan said, dunking a dino nugget in a glob of ketchup. She had been very insistent that Peter squeeze just the right amount of ketchup on her plate, otherwise the entire dino nugget experience would be ruined. "Daddy used to look at it a lot."

"Picture…?" Peter turned away from the microwave and to the sink. For a second, he didn't know what Morgan was talking about until he caught a glint of metal from underneath the lights. The picture frame was tucked in a nook a little darker than the rest of the kitchen, but when Peter brought it out, the frame was clean, as though someone had taken care to polish it regularly.

A sudden lump rose in Peter's throat at the photo—Tony and he were holding a certificate for Stark Industries upside down, Peter wearing a goofy smile on his face while Tony looked stern and unamused. But Peter remembered how just a second before the photo had been taken, Tony had been laughing at something Peter said, and then, after the photo, Tony had said, "Kid, you know this thing's upside down, right?"

But Peter was too giddy—too excited about whatever—to care, and he insisted that they keep the photo that way. He had his own copy of the photo, of course, in his room and in his locker (which Flash gawked at), but he hadn't known Tony kept his own copy.

"Are you crying?"

Peter quickly wiped at his eyes and put the picture frame back where he had found it. "No," he said, wiping at his eyes again before forcing a smile at Morgan.

"You're crying," Morgan said decidedly, putting a half-eaten dino nugget back on her plate. She slid off her chair and padded towards Peter. Placing one hand on the hem of his sleeve, she added, "It's okay. Daddy cried sometimes, too."

Peter laughed. It came out strangely choked. "I don't think your dad wanted you to say that."

"It's okay," Morgan repeated solemnly. "Just don't tell him."

Peter raised a finger to his lips. "I promise."

"Good." Morgan went back to her seat and finished the rest of the nuggets. "Can we see Daddy now?"

"Sounds like a plan," Peter said, carefully drawing the soup out of the microwave. "Can you get some water for him?"

Morgan nodded and after the two were ready, they headed to Tony's room. Morgan bounded through the door first, water slightly sloshing in the tall glass as she cried, "You're awake!"

Tony sat up, the beginnings of a smile spreading across his face just before Morgan set the glass at the bedside and launched right into the bed with her father. As Tony mussed with Morgan's hair, he looked up at Peter, who still stood in the doorway. "How're your hands?" Tony asked. His voice was still weak, but he, too, looked somewhat brighter now that Morgan was in the room.

Peter had forgotten about that part. He had wiped his hands on a paper towel and deemed that enough while getting food ready. "They're fine," Peter lied, setting the soup down at the bedside. "You should…eat something." He gestured at the soup and water.

"Did you eat something?" Tony asked.

Also something Peter had forgotten about. "I—"

"I told him he should eat dino nuggets, but he said he was too busy," Morgan piped up from Tony's side. Peter subtly shook his head at Morgan, but the damage had already been done. Tony turned to Peter, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, you were too—"

"I'm not hungry right now," Peter interrupted. He picked up the bowl of soup and started to hand it to Tony. "I'll eat later."

"Kid," Tony started to say and eyed Peter's hands. "You didn't even get Band-Aids or something?"

"Why does Peter need Band-Aids?" Morgan asked, looking between Tony and Peter.

"I didn't need Band-Aids," Peter said hurriedly. "My hands weren't that bad—"

"You were handling glass—"

"I've handled worse—"

"That's not an excuse—"

"I can go get Band-Aids!" Morgan said, jumping up from Tony's side. She patted Peter's arm, the expression on her face so full of caring and sympathy that Peter almost forgave her for blowing his cover. But as soon as she was out of the room, Peter heard a long, slow breath come out of Tony. The one that only came out of Tony when he was very, very frustrated.

"Peter." Tony's voice had somehow gotten deeper and more solidified in the last minute than it had in the last hour. "What's going on."

"Nothing." Peter said, lowering his eyes to the ground. "Just…I got you soup, sir." He nudged it towards Tony.

"Peter—"

"Please, Mr. Stark." Peter interrupted. He forced his eyes back up to meet Tony's, which watched him carefully. "Just…I'm trying to help."

"By cutting yourself with glass and skipping meals?" Tony deadpanned.

"Not on purpose," Peter protested. "There's just more important stuff to worry about, and—"

"Peter."

"Can you just take the soup?"

"No. And look at me."

Peter's eyes returned to Tony. Even sick, Tony's dark eyes were just as intense as they were when not. "You can't do stupid things like this," Tony said. "I get they seem pretty harmless, but trust me, you can't go about pulling this kind of stuff. Doesn't look good on anyone, especially not you." Tony gave Peter a slight nod. "Do you understand?"

"Stupid things?" Peter asked. He set the soup back down at Tony's side, feeling something warm roil inside his chest. "How am I—" He set his hands firmly at his sides. "Then why'd you use Thanos' glove, sir?" Peter knew that wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't fair, but the words were tumbling out of him now, and nothing was stopping him. "Why couldn't someone else use it? Why couldn't Hulk or Thor or—or—I don't know, even the cool glowy woman? Why did you?" He was distinctly aware of the salty sting in his eyes, but he couldn't stop going. "You knew you could die, and you used it anyways, and we all thought you were dead. I saw you!"

Peter inhaled sharply, bringing his hands—stinging again now—to his face. "I saw you die, Mr. Stark." He swallowed hard. "And I thought you were gone. And you know what they told me when we were trying to bring you back?" He didn't bother waiting, not that Tony was saying anything. "Everyone told me to let it go. To calm down. Everyone—" Peter's voice cracked, and he started to slump to the ground before something took hold of him.

Peter looked up. One of Tony's hands, surprisingly firm this time, latched around Peter's arm (again).

"Peter." Tony's voice was quiet this time.

"Why'd you do it?" Peter asked, voice cracking again.

"Same reason why I thought time-traveling was a good idea." Tony slowly brought Peter up, forced Peter to sit down on the bed. "Because we had people here to protect." Tony pointed a finger at Peter. "Because I had people like you to protect." Tony straightened. "When I found out Lang's plan could work, you know who I was thinking about?" He pointed at Peter again. "You." He paused. "We all have people to protect, Peter. People we care about. And sometimes we'd do anything to make sure they stay protected."

Peter swallowed, looking back down at his hands.

"Daddy cried sometimes, too," Morgan had said.

Peter's hands blurred before him. "Just…" he swallowed. "Don't do that again."

"You know I can't promise that, Peter." Tony said. He sounded tired.

"Then promise you won't die next time," Peter said, turning to Tony.

Tony looked tired. "Can't promise that, either."

Then what can you promise? Peter wanted to scream. What was the point in being a superhero if you couldn't make some promises?

Tony rested a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Some promises are hard to keep when you want to keep people safe," he said, as though he had read Peter's mind. "That's the difficult part."

Peter gave a slight nod, trying to blink the tears out of his eyes. "Then…" He racked his brain for something—anything—just to keep Tony here. "Promise you'll at least try not to die next time. You'll use dying as a last resort." He met Tony's eyes. "Please." His voice came out as a beg. "Promise that."

Tony smiled. It was a sad smile. He squeezed Peter's shoulder. "I'll try to keep that one."

I'll try. Not what Peter wanted—far from what Peter wanted.

But it was a start.

A/N: So anyways, Endgame ruined me, which of course means I'm burying myself into fanfic because denial is fun, hahahahaaa. This was my first time writing Tony Stark and Peter Parker, so any feedback and comments would be appreciated, as I would love to keep writing these two! Thanks for reading, everyone!