"But Dad—"

"No."

"But I really—"

"No, Peter."

"Dad—"

"Zip it, squirt," Tony said as he speed-walked down the hall to his board meeting, his phone pressed against his ear. "You know the rules. No patrolling when no one's home."

"That's not fair, though," Peter continued, and damn Tony could feel the migraine building. "You and Pepper got called to emergency meetings and everybody got called on an emergency mission…people were supposed to be here! I'd planned on patrolling 'cause crime's gotten a lot higher since it's getting so hot—"

"Yeah, well, you're gonna have another emergency to worry about if I catch your butt outside the tower before we get home," Tony said with a hint of finality, hoping Peter would actually listen to him. God knew his hero complex rivaled Tony's, sometimes. "Homework done, in bed by eleven. It's a school night."

"Daaaaaaaad," the fifteen-year-old whined, obviously unhappy with being kept in when he could be out gallivanting in his suit, hunting all the baddies who seemed to operate nocturnally.

Tony nearly skidded to a stop outside the conference room door, making eye-contact with Pepper through the glass window. She tapped her wrist behind the cover of the table impatiently, letting him know he was late.

"Yes, I know, I'm a horrible father and it's my mission to make your life miserable, I kill puppies for fun, yada yada, bed by eleven. Love you! Watch him, FRI."

Tony killed the call before Peter's indignant shouting could filter through the speaker and sauntered into the room, ignoring the piercing stares at his tardiness. He took a seat by his wife, who gave him an exasperated look, and plonked his coffee cup down on the table in front of him.

Silence ensued as the Board members all gave him equally questioning looks, and he stared back with growing impatience. "Well?" He asked, glancing at the blank projector. "Who're we waiting for? C'mon, people, chop chop! Time's a'wasting."

Tony heard more than one sigh of exasperation as the projector flickered to life.

…

Peter threw his phone on his bed in frustration, following it as he flopped down. His dad was being totally unfair. He was perfectly capable of going patrolling by himself for a while. He hadn't needed backup in…what, a few months now?

He sighed, staring at his ceiling fan. The tower felt so lonely without anyone here. Well, there were a bunch of people here in the R&D department and the private hotel rooms on the middle floors and everything, but the top 5 floors reserved for his, his dad's, and Pepper's rooms as well as the Avengers' rooms and common floor (and his dad's lab) were eerily silent.

"FRIDAY?" He asked the AI, turning on the TV and putting it on a gameshow just to have some background noise. "If I go out for a little while, do you have to tell my dad?"

"Yes, Peter, I'm required to inform boss if you leave the premises," FRIDAY replied sounding somewhat amused.

Peter huffed a breath, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Worth a shot," he muttered.

He didn't like being alone in the tower, and he'd much rather spend a night of solitude swinging through the streets of New York, taking in the lights and the sounds and the late-nighters bustling around. He'd like to save some people—he hadn't gotten to patrol as much as he would've liked lately, and the guilt was starting to weigh on him. He knew he could sneak out, but his dad would find out, and he wasn't sure he wanted to risk not being able to patrol for two weeks.

His dad and Pepper had been called away to an emergency meeting for SI business—something about one of their clients throwing a temper tantrum over a faulty piece of machinery and threatening to withdraw any and all support from SI for the foreseeable future.

It would've been fine; the others Avengers—the ones who lived in the Tower, anyways (Steve, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, Natasha (sometimes), and Bruce) would probably be lounging around in the common room, and he could go hang out with them, but they'd been called away on a super-secret emergency mission halfway around the globe. He'd heard something about robots, but that was all.

Happy was away, too, not that he was usually in the Tower. And his Uncle Rhodey came by frequently—as often as he could—but he had a family thing going on tonight.

So, Peter was on his own.

His Spidey-Sense gave a gentle flare of unease, but he knew it was probably just because he was alone. He was so used to having someone with him, and he didn't particularly like the knowledge that he was all by himself up here.

He sighed, picking up his chemistry textbook and flipping to that night's assignment. He may as well get some homework done while he could, like his dad suggested.

Twenty minutes later, he was fast asleep.

…

Peter awoke suddenly to the sound of breaking glass.

He'd jolted into awareness, but he stayed very still, listening intently. Rooms away, probably in the living area, there was the unmistakable sound of boots crunching on broken glass. Faintly, he could hear a helicopter hovering just above the roof, but the sound became dim as it soared away.

There were people in the Tower.

His heart hammered in his chest as he slowly crept off the bed, sliding over to his window. His suit was in the lab—he and his dad had been working on it before he'd been called to his meeting. His web-shooters, too. He had his spares, but without his mask, he didn't want to use them and risk giving away his identity.

He grabbed his phone and checked the time—he'd only slept for a couple of hours. No way anyone was back yet; it was only nine.

Silently sliding his window open, he thought furiously. He didn't know if he could crawl down the building's side without being spotted from either a lower floor or from another building. He knew it was dark, but there were so many huge screens and promotional spotlights every night, he didn't know if he'd make it.

"FRIDAY?" He whispered, hoping the AI was watching. He didn't get a reply. His hands shaking, he sucked in a breath and whispered a little louder, "FRIDAY?"

Nothing.

Either she wasn't responding or she was down completely.

Who the hell was smart enough to get into his dad's tech?

He listened for another moment, crossing the floor quickly to lock his bedroom door before they reached his room. They were still checking rooms individually. He didn't know what they were looking for, and it scared him.

He was by himself.

With numb, shaking fingers, he called his dad.

The phone rang four times before his dad finally answered. "Pete, you know I'm in a meeting—"

"Someone's here," he whispered as loud as he dared, pressing his back against the far wall, by the window.

His dad's breath caught before he immediately went into Iron Man mode. Peter could hear the suit building around him through the phone. "Who? How many?"

"I don't know," he admitted, straining to hear the soft, trained pads of boots coming down the hallway. "Th-they broke the glass window in the living room on our floor. They're checking all the rooms. Dad, I d-don't have my suit…"

"I'm on my way," he said quickly. "Stay on the phone, okay? I'm…shit, I'm too far out. Peter, can you get out?"

"Through the window," he said quietly, his heart hammering in his chest. "N-not through the door. B-but…someone might see me, and I don't know if I can crawl all the way down the building…"

"I'm coming," his dad repeated, his voice as calm as he could make it. "Stay with me, buddy, I'm on my way, okay? Door locked?"

"Yes," he breathed, listening once again to the footsteps. They were getting closer. "They're coming, I think…Dad, what do I do?"

"Peter, if it comes down to it, crawl out the window and down the building, okay? If you can't climb all the way down, get to another window that opens on another floor. You remember which ones, right?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, looking frantically between the door and the window. He turned his back to the window, staring at the door in anticipation. "Dad—"

"Well. What've we got here?"

Peter heard the voice just as his Spider Sense gave a violent flare of warning. He whipped around just in time to see a masked form sending a fist towards his head, another one crawling in behind him. Peter dropped the phone, hearing his dad shout through the speaker, and dodged the fist, backing up to regroup.

They'd come in through the window…but the helicopter was gone, so how—

The man took the black mask off, revealing an amused smirk as he dropped it onto Peter's floor. He held up his hands, and Peter noticed the odd metal bracelets encircling each wrist and ankle, housing extensions that rested on each palm. Glancing down, he saw similar extensions around the bases of their feet, which had retracted to hover just above the floor when they stood normally.

"See something you like?" The man asked as he manually deactivated the ones on his hands, his partner doing the same. "Looks like you're not the only one with sticky fingers, kiddo."

Peter's eyes widened, his heart rate skyrocketing. These men knew who he was?

"Oh, yeah. We've been watching you and Daddy Stark for a while. Speaking of which, he's still on the phone, right?" The man casually crouched to pick up the phone at his feet, and Peter saw his opportunity the moment the man's eyes left him.

He sprung forward, barely giving himself a second to think about it, and felt his foot connact solidly with the man's partner, who hadn't even had time to move. The chatterbox guy turned sharply, his eyes following Peter's every move as he came at him.

The man dodged Peter's fist and returned with a sharp jab to Peter's abdomen, which he just barely avoided. Peter twisted out of the way and was about to come back with a strike of his own when someone kicked down the door to his room. Peter, distracted, turned to look as four more goons piled into his room.

Chatterbox lashed out, then, catching Peter in the chin with a stunning uppercut. Despite Peter's enhanced senses, and his augmented pain tolerance, he couldn't quite catch himself as the vicious blow sent him reeling, his head smacking against the bed post as he went down.

The breath left his lungs as he dimly heard the four new guys surrounding him. He rolled over, panting through the pain, trying to clear his head. He blinked his fuzzy eyes, trying to clear his vision, too. He made it to all fours before he had to stop, his stomach threatening to revolt.

"There we go," Chatterbox said, and Peter heard a rustle of fabric as he knelt to pick up his phone. "Stark? Oh, hey, glad you're still on the line. Nah, he's here." A pause. "Oh, that's pretty descriptive, dude, I'm glad you're not on speaker."

Peter sucked in another breath, falling back to sit on his heels, steadying himself with his hands on either side of him. He was definitely concussed. The scarce light in the room seemed like a spotlight shining directly into his eyes, and the room was tilting and swaying like a drunken funhouse.

"Daddy wants a word," Chatterbox said, appearing in front of him seemingly out of thin air, shoving the phone against his ear.

Peter looked up blearily, his eyes barely focusing on the phone in front of him before he fumbled for it, blinking heavily. "Dad?"

"Peter," the man breathed, obviously relieved. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

Peter swallowed thickly, closing his eyes against the spinning room. "Hit m'head," he slurred. "Dizzy."

"Shit," his dad swore, the sounds of repulsors staticky through the line. "I'm coming, kiddo. I promise. I'm almost there, okay? I'm—"

The phone was plucked from his hand before he could say another word, but he couldn't even register the event until Chatterbox was talking on the phone again. "—are a worrisome old man, aren't you? I told you, he's fine. Sure, he's concussed, nothing a little sleep won't fix. I'll send you my account numbers. You send the money, we disappear, Peter stays here nice and safe. Oh, his identity? Well, come on, that's valuable intel. You're a businessman. I do what I have to to make a living, you see."

Peter understood enough of that conversation for fear to fill his chest. Were they going to reveal his identity? Or worse, sell it to criminals, people he'd put away? He couldn't put his family or his friends in danger. He couldn't let that happen. He was Spider-Man, right? He had to do something.

Sucking in a breath, he tried to push himself to his feet, he barely struggled to his knees before there was a gun poking him in the back with just enough force to send him sprawling.

"Stay down, kiddo, the adults are talking," Chatterbox said, barely sparing him a glance before he went back to talking to his dad.

Peter felt the rest of his body collapse in a heap as his stomach gave a violent spasm again. He was most definitely horribly concussed. He wanted his dad.

"Dad…" he said quietly, trying again to push himself up. Before anyone could kick him down again, though, the room exploded.

Well, not the room. The window definitely did. It collapsed inward, the glass shattering and the frame splintering as something flew in with all the force of a freight train, taking down four of the men surrounding him like bowling pins.

Peter, who'd (albeit sluggishly) covered his head, lifted his arms to see who'd come.

He expected his dad, but instead the face plate flipped up to reveal his Uncle Rhodey, surveying the scene with cold eyes.

Uncle Rhodey shot a repulsor blast at Chatterbox, but he dodged it and rolled towards Peter, grabbing his arm and hauling him upright. The blast went wide, clipping the other man, who went down with a grunt, lying motionless. Peter had no choice but to stand as Chatterbox yanked him up, the drastic change in position endangering the already precarious hold on his stomach.

"Stand down," Chatterbox said, not sounding so casual anymore. He had an arm around Peter's shoulders, now, and Peter felt the cold metal of a handgun press against his temple. The pressure on his aching head made him flinch away, but the fun just followed him.

"Let him go or I'm gonna toss you out this window," Uncle Rhodey said, his faceplate flipping back up as he raised his repulsor beam. Peter regained enough presence of mind to raise his hands and tug at the arm around his shoulders, but it was hopelessly tight. Normally it would be no problem; it'd be like pushing off a pillow, but his concussion was messing with all his powers. His Spidey Sense was going haywire, and his senses were all out of whack. He felt off kilter and delirious.

"I'll pass," Chatterbox said, his earlier confidence returning. "Papa Stark and I have come to an arrangement."

"Arrangement my ass," Uncle Rhodey hissed, his repulsor whirring as he charged it up. "Let him go."

Peter couldn't stop the cry that left his lips when Chatterbox shoved the muzzle against his temple, harder this time, igniting the pain in his head again. "Let's see who stands down first, man. I think you've got more reasons than I do to be careful."

Peter absently saw Uncle Rhodey's fists clench, but he kept the repulsor trained on them.

"I think I'll up the price," Chatterbox smirked, tightening his hold on Peter. Peter didn't like being so close to the man. He didn't like feeling so helpless, and he definitely didn't like the gun against his head. "I'm a reasonable man. Let's go…an extra two million? Compensation for all the men I've lost to this jack mission. What do you think?"

"I think you can take you extra two million and shove it up your ass."

As soon as Peter had heard the voice behind him, Chatterbox had whipped around to see none other than Iron Man stalking menacingly throuogh the broken doorframe. Chatterbox had just enough time to utter a curse before Uncle Rhodey cracked him on the back of the head with his gauntleted hand, knocking the man out cold.

Peter and the gun both dropped to the ground, but his dad surged forward to catch him before he could fall. He wrapped his arms around his dad's neck, uncomfortable metal suit and all, as soon as he could remember how to work his limbs.

"God, Rhodey, thank you," his dad breathed, wrapping his arms around Peter's back and just holding on for a minute. Uncle Rhodey might have replied, but Peter's addled brain was too busy relishing the feeling of safety. His dad pulled back reluctantly, holding Peter steady as he swayed. "Peter? Look at me, bud. Eyes right here. You alright?"

Peter let the question settle for a few seconds before nodding unsteadily, his brain not happy with that motion. "Head hurts."

Tony let out a breath, worried eyes scanning his form before pulling Peter against him again. "I bet, kiddo. Let's get you down to Medical, okay? Rhodey, can you clear this all up?"

"I gotcha," Rhodey said, giving Peter's arm an affectionate squeeze and smiling gently before turning back to the unconscious intruders, a scowl on his face. "I hate trash duty."

His dad swept him up like a little kid as soon as Rhodey gave confirmation. Peter was about to protest, but he knew he probably wouldn't be able to walk straight, anyways, and he was exhausted. "Dad?"

"Yeah, Pete?"

"He knows my identity. I—I th-think they all do."

His dad nodded, his jaw set. "I'll deal with it. I promise, it's not going to get out."

Peter hummed, resting his head on his dad's metal shoulder, his eyes drooping shut.

"Nuh-uh, kiddo, up and at 'em. No sleeping til we get your noggin looked at."

Peter blinked his eyes open reluctantly, his stomach dropping a bit as the elevator took them down to the Medical floor. "Dad?"

"What's up?"

Peter sucked on his bottom lip, his mushy brain spouting the first thing that came to mind. "I didn't finish my homework."

His dad barked a laugh, looking down with fond eyes and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll help you do it later."

"Mm…okay," he mumbled, settling into his dad's arms with a sigh. He decided not to say "I told you so." After all, if he'd been out patrolling, he wouldn't have been ambushed in the tower.

An hour later, when he was finally allowed to fall asleep, he drifted off in his dad's arms on the couch, feeling completely, totally safe.

A/N: Helloooo. Productive night for me, huh? I know, I KNOWWW I need to be working on Whispers, but I promise that's next on my list! I wanted to get this out there. I've had a lot of people request that I do an IronDad / SpiderSon mini-series, so here ya go! I'm kind of excited for it, I love this dynamic. It'll be a series of unrelated one-shots (though if I have a particularly hefty plot I might do a couple two or three parters) of the adventures of our favorite superhero duo and their dysfunctional wonderful family.

A couple things: Tony is Peter's biological dad. Idk if I'm going to include May yet, it depends on the prompt, I guess. The Avengers live together (mostly) because Civil War and on hurt me so I'm ignoring it and everyone loves each other with the occasional spat okay.

I am MORE than open to requests! In fact, I'm really counting on them. And they can be anything, any genre, but I don't write romance very well, fair warning. Doesn't have to be action! Though I'd love some of those requests too :) I excel in Angst / Hurt / Comfort / Drama for those of you wondering, but I love writing humor and fluff, too!

If you have a minute, please drop a review on what you thought or a suggestion on another installment! Thanks for reading!