Irondad Ending in Platonic Cuddles

Anxiety: Paradigm Shift

Happy Midnight update!! It's 12am my time and just felt like publishing a chapter :) we all need a bit of irondad hurt-comfort right before bed <3 Hope you enjoy, and thank you all so much for the support!

TW // anxiety and mild intrusive thoughts!!

Have fun and stay safe🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

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Anxiety is a vicious beast. It takes the smallest things, a misplaced look, a different word, a lack of context, and makes a mountain out of a molehill. Suddenly that tone of voice isn't distraction, it's disinterest. That quick sign-off isn't being busy, it's not caring. That frustration aimed at something else is aimed at you and your mind buzzes with a million different scenarios. Did you say something wrong? Should you have listened better? Should you have been better? And you want to take everything back. But you can't. Neither can Peter. He should have just listened.

"Don't engage, Parker."

He should have heeded the warning.

"Peter, I said do not engage!"

But he didn't.

"I said stop!"

And now he's sat in his room, head in his hands, heart hammering in his chest, wondering if Tony will ever want to talk to him again. He knows it's an irrational thought, but it isn't enough to quell the copious amounts of anxiety sprawling through his stomach. He hates that feeling. The same kind of feeling he'd enjoy while falling a bit longer during a swing, but this one wraps its overwhelming clutches around his lungs and squeezes without remorse. And now the thoughts won't stop.

He's not gonna want me to come to the workshop tomorrow. I screwed up. He didn't just get mad, he got livid. I let him down. He just wanted to do what was best for me, make sure I was okay, and I ignored him. I should've taken his word for it. I'm so stupid. He squeezes his eyes shut, painfully gripping his hair as tears slip out and drip onto his knees, soaking into the fabric. He can't focus on anything. Every time his phone buzzes, he looks up only to be disappointed that it isn't Tony. It's driving him insane, and he's practically letting it. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin atop them.

He's not even mad about what happened, bumps and bruises he could take all day long, but the way Tony was short with him is what hurt. Tony only spoke if he had to.

"Get cleaned up."

No elaboration, no emotion, no nothing.

"Happy's taking you home."

Distancing himself as much as possible.

"G'night."

And Peter could tell he was trying not to lose it. He could take the anger, he wanted that anger, but all he got was exasperation. He let Tony down. He expected more. He expected better. Instead, he got Peter. He finds himself zoning out a few times, rerunning the situation through his head and even conjuring up possible what-if scenarios. Of arguments where Tony says things that Peter knows he would never say, but he thinks of them all the same.

"I can't do this anymore."

Disappointment.

"Get out."

Rejection.

"Don't bother coming back."

Isolation.

And all because he didn't listen.

Somewhere amidst the overwhelming thoughts, the sun starts to rise. There are dark rings around his half-lidded eyes, a flushed face, and a pit in his stomach. He looks to his phone against his better judgement...and he wishes he hadn't. No messages from Tony, but could he blame him? God, he just wants to curl up in a ball and cry. May's out doing a recertification for a majority of the day, so technically he could. He wishes he had the energy to move. Fresh tears drop off his nose.