A Slice Of Life, Death And Everything In-Between

Oh Yes, Carry Me Homeward Bound

A/N: This short little one shot is dedicated to the wonderful and amazing @_yoinkk_ on Instagram, who submitted the following prompt: 

**I'm very obsessed with this ever since you brought up that post😭 Kid Peter or teenage Peter and something to do with a baby carrier. You can literally do anything. b a B y C a r r I e r ummm that's it :) I love you Leah ✨❤️✨ You don't have to do this btw just a suggestion incase you don't get much(which I highly doubt because you have so much followers) Anyways this is the end of my rant. I love you: Clifford Out**

I hope you enjoy this Bri and thank you again for the adorable prompt hon, it was so much fun to write! I love you tooo!! 💖🥰😭

And to everyone else, I hope that you also enjoy this super self-indulgent fic and please please PLEASE don't hesitate to let me know what you think! ❤️💙❤️💙

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

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It wasn't that Peter was a baby.

He's 15-years-old, a Sophmore in high school and a freaking superhero. Sometimes, though, he has bad days, really really bad days, days where he can barely function, times when he freezes up, when all he can do is sob and press himself as closer as humanly possible to either Tony or May and just hold them for dear life.

Days when Peter isn't sure if he's going to float away again, snapped completely out of existence. Day when he isn't sure if Tony will be there to make it better, when his mentor's heroic words on the battlefield, the Gauntlet simmering the air around him, were his last.

This is one of those days.

Or nights, technically. It almost always starts at night.

His nightmares had kept him awake. They made sleep basically impossible and the spiderling wearily blinks up at Tony through the fizzling darkness, watching as his father-figure wordless climbs into bed beside him and gathers him close, pressing sweet kisses against his hair before Peter can even say anything.

The boy finally falls into a restless sleep, jerking awake with a cry that burns his throat.

"I'm sorry," He sobs over and over again against Tony's chest, soaking up the comfort and love like a sponge, feeling horrible for keeping the billionaire awake but needing him there just the same. "I'm sorry."

"Shh," Tony repeats, rocking them slowly, pressing kiss after kiss against Peter's forehead, brushing his hair back and wiping away his tears. "Shh, it's okay, bubba, I gotcha, I gotcha."

By the time morning finally breaks, Peter's eyes are red-rimmed, dark bags stark against his pale face and he blinks slowly. He's vaguely aware of the golden sunlight flickering through his closed curtains, listening as the birds chirp outside, feeling Tony shift underneath him and the boy just grips his father-figure tighter.

"Come on, bug, we gotta get some food in you." Tony whispers, sitting fully up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, releasing Peter and raising his arms in a stretch. "I promised your aunt that you'd eat 3 meals-a-day while staying here and I'm not about to break that promise on day one."

The feeling of safety, of security and one of the only things grounding him at the moment disappears along with that stretch and Peter acts on an instinct he didn't even know about. He swallows, jerking himself toward Tony with enough force that the genius grunts, wrapping his arms around the man's middle.

"Don't--" He starts, voice raspy and he swallows again, blinking away stubborn tears. "Don't go."

"Oh, Pete," Tony sighs, gathering him close again. "It's a Bad Day, huh?"