Endgame 2.0 (A Peter Parker and Avengers fanfiction)

Chapter 5

"I'm sorry, Peter." Tony choked out. Like... choked, choked. Whenever he heard someone talking about 'choking on their words' or some shit like that, he'd always rolled his eyes and, depending on the person talking, decided whether or not to stay or abandon the situation completely. He was a man of science and mechanics, and it wasn't possible to be choking on nothing, especially not on feelings- things that were just chemicals excreted by the brain. 

Oh, how wrong he was.

The feelings, arising from his very core, swarmed up his throat, causing him to swallow and try and force them down, similar to the feeling one gets when they're about to vomit. His breath came quicker than normal, and no matter how many times he swallowed, attempting to get rid of that annoying, painful lump in his throat, it wouldn't budge, and soon he had no moisture in his mouth left.

He felt a hand, comforting, warm, and familiar, rest on his back, grounding his mind so it didn't drift away, back to the holographic screen, back to-

His shoulders shook and his breath hitched, but the hand remained. Rhodey's hand. It was painfully similar to the position they used to take up while at MIT almost every morning after Tony got wasted at some party the night prior.

Tony drew in a long, shuddering breath, but he'd managed to keep the panic attack at bay. He stumbled up and towards the door, instinctively grabbing the case holding the Iron Spider suit in it and taking it with him. No one uttered a word of protest behind him, though Tony wasn't sure whether that was due to them being just as shaken up as he was or whether Rhodey was giving them all a shut-up-or-you'll-wish-you-were-dead stare. He was willing to bet on the latter, though, and he couldn't be more thankful to his long-time friend for knowing just what he needed at the moment.

Now outside of the room and free of everyone's inquisitive, searching, intrusive gazes, Tony sighed and allowed most of the tension to bleed out of his limbs, though a significant amount remained. His jaw locked and his teeth gnashed together before he decided to call out to his AI.

"FRI, where's the kid?"

He knew, he knew that the kid was safe in here, that he hadn't left and nothing had happened, or Fri would've alerted him. But there was a primal, instinctive (his mind violently shied away from paternal) fear clawing at his chest and sternum that he knew would only be appeased if he saw the kid alive, alive and not turning into dryer lint.

"He's in the empty room next to yours, Boss," Friday said. Tony opened and closed his mouth. Next to his? No one took the room next to his. He said it was because he needed to work in there sometimes, though everyone knew it was simply because it made him feel less crowded and overwhelmed. And they didn't mind; it's not like there was a shortage of rooms in the Tower. But why was the kid there? 

"He appears to be asleep," Friday continued, and Tony nodded, the fear - coiled in his chest where his mechanical heart used to be - loosening but not disappearing, not yet.

The elevator slid open and he stepped out onto his floor, quietly moving towards the door placed directly next to his. His hand grasped the cool doorknob and he turned it, opening it slightly without a sound. He was extremely thankful that his doors didn't creak- though if they did, Tony wasn't sure whether he'd wake Peter or not (the poor kid looked exhausted). The beam of soft yellow light from the hallway spilled into the dark room, illuminating the kid's peaceful and youthful expression and causing a halo of golden light to wrap around his head, adorned with a mass of curly brown hair.

Seeing the kid here, alive, breathing, and bathed in yellow light, the unpleasant coil of emotions in his chest finally unraveled, and a soft sigh escaped his mouth. Eyes lingered on the kid's face, reluctant to look away, and a small smile graced Tony's face as he slowly shut the door, plunging the room into darkness once more with the Spider-kid none the wiser.