#once he realized that peter really was 100% going to freeze him out otherwise

[ask-ursa-tonypeter]

[fic: double-blind] Question for extremis!Tony: you mentioned making it up to Peter after realizing the cure didn’t work, where do you first go from there? Obviously Peter did enjoy the sex even if it wasn’t all genuine, and the kiss after super genuine, are you capitalizing on that?

"Capitalizing." You people really think I'm just an opportunist, don't you? I did what he asked me to. He would have to work pretty hard to make me believe it was something he actually wanted after that stunt, so no, I wouldn't "capitalize" on anything.

I'd hear him out. I'd give him what comfort I could. I would show him that I love him and wasn't angry with him and would never hurt him. I'd build him a better world. I'd ask what he wanted to see in it. What else could I do?

[tonystarkstan]

a small fic that probably won’t make sense to anyone other than me because I am stupid and Sad

It is summer.

Peter feels hot pavement burning through the soles of his shoes. It’s one of the few things he’s felt in awhile, it seems. It scalds him. Grounds him.

He keeps his head ducked down as he walks through the packed streets, eyes shielded from everyone else’s. They’re not paying attention to him, but he does it just in case. Because if they really looked at him, they’d see.

(God, he just wants them to see.)

He walks. And walks and walks and walks. He goes in circles. Squares, really.

(There’s no room in the city for spirals, but his brain fills them in anyway.)

Movement, he thinks, is the only thing he really knows. The only thing he’s certain of. Velocity. It’s a good word. It glides across his tongue as if it doesn’t want to stop moving either. And when his world pauses and stutters, inertia keeps him going. But gravity keeps his mouth shut. His insides are a vacuum and he’s afraid that if he gets too close to anyone, he’ll steal their light in his desperation for his own.

Physics, it seems, exists from the inside out.

Everything is cold to Peter, except for his burning feet. His breath freezes in his lungs. It waits awhile to thaw until his organs burn painfully and he’s forced to let it out again. His blood moves sluggish in his veins. His thoughts stay suspended, and everything feels muted. Paused.

It is summer, but Peter is cold.

His tongue tastes sour from where he’s been letting lies roll off of it. He doesn’t eat much anymore, but he coughs lies up like air. He’s gotten good at that.

He lied to May this morning. Told her he was going to Ned’s. And then he lied to Ned. Said he couldn’t make it. Peter lies and lies and lies but there’s a vacuum inside of his that sucks the guilt from that up too.

Peter’s life is made up of nothing more than physics. Vacuums and velocity and friction and gravity.

He doesn’t even noticed when he’s stopped. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, in the gap between two buildings, before he blinks in awareness as he looks at the ground. His shadow isn’t moving, he realizes. But that can’t be right. An object in motion tends to stay in motion.

Unless otherwise acted upon by an outside force, his mind supplies distantly, and his eyes snap up suddenly.

Tony is in front of him, hands on Peter’s shoulders, lips moving and eyes tight with concern.

“Peter, come on. Check back in, buddy,” the man is coaxing, a sharp edge to his voice that Peter only vaguely recognizes as worry. He blinks up at his mentor in confusion.

“Ah, there you are. You with me now?” Tony asks.

Peter just crinkles his eyebrows, trying to look around him. Tony watches him carefully.

“You’ve been walking in circles for hours, kid,” Tony informs.

(That’s wrong, Peter wants to say. Inside his head, they’re spirals. It always comes back to spirals.)

“Oh,” he says instead. The stretch of his lips feels like defying gravity. He kind of just wants to sleep.

“Yeah, kid. ‘Oh.’”

They stand there for a minute, silence resting heavy between the two of them. Peter is thinking about how everything feels heavy and Tony is just studying him intently, trying to figure out how to start the conversation that needs to be had.

In the end, it’s Peter who starts it.

“Mr. Stark? Do you know Wolff’s Law?”

Tony’s grasp on his shoulders tightens slightly. “I’m familiar with it. It’s the tendency for bone to adapt under pressure, right?”

Peter nods but says nothing more.

“Peter,” Tony prompts gently. “Why does Wolff’s Law matter to you?”

The kid looks down at the ground again. He thinks about how heavy he is. How much heavier he’s getting. How maybe he’ll never move from this very spot again.

“What if it can’t adapt? What if it can’t grow stronger? What if it just splinters and breaks?” Peter asks.

His words are cold. They freeze in midair, then drop to the ground. They shatter like bits of ice against hot pavement.

Tony’s eyes suddenly light with understanding, and he moves a tender hand to cup the boy’s cheek. He knows the kid isn’t talking about bone.

“Kid, look at me,” he whispers softly. Tony taps his cheek and waits patiently for Peter to look up and lock his gaze onto Tony’s.

“Listen to me,” Tony says fiercely, looking Peter straight in the eye. “You are not going to break. I promise. And even if you did, I’d just put you right back together again. But you’re not going to break. You are so much more adaptive, so much stronger than you could possibly know. Got it?”

Peter nods again, and that feels a little like defying gravity too.

Maybe it is.

And maybe it’s all heavy and maybe once he starts moving, he can’t stop, but at the end of the day, he’s got a Tony Stark.

At the end of the day, he’s got someone who will help him carry his burden, relieve the pressure, keep him going, and help him stop.

For now, it’s enough.

-

Note: This is the most stupid thing I’ve ever written and I used 100% of these physics terms wrongly and none of this made sense and it’s 4AM and I’m going to sleep. I’m sorry for inflicting this on you guys.