A/N: Thanks for 300 reads, ahh! AO3 ppl requested protective peter so that's where this came from :)

Tony doesn't remember falling asleep but he doesn't think he's ever going to forget waking up to the sound of sobbing and the scent of healing burns.

"Pete?" he asks blearily, his limbs aching from being left idle in the same position for too long.

The sobbing slows down a little before Peter sniffs. "Mister Stark?"

"Yeah, kid, I'm here, It's going to be okay, I'm sorry."

Peter seems to get control of his sniffling just as Tony fully wakes up and reality sinks into his mind like water into a sponge. The burn on Peter's chest is healing well – which they'd probably thought about so they wouldn't have to concern themselves with any kind of first aid, Tony hates to think – but it's going to scar and a reminder of this is the last thing Peter needs to recover.

"Good, you're awake," Connor announces as he walks in, wearing gloves and holding what looks like a miniature TV remote. His timing would be uncanny had Tony not already guessed there were a few cameras in the room at all times, even if he can't locate them.

"What is that?" Tony asks, "Don't hurt him."

Peter stays quiet until Conner presses the remote to Tony's shoulder but when he does then start to shout, Tony can't hear him because the world is too bright and he can't think beyond pain. It passes quickly but his hands twitch once, twice, thrice as he gasps, blinking to regain both his vision and his composure.

"Leave him alone!" Peter yells, which is probably not the first time he's said that in the last sixty seconds but it's the first time Tony has been aware enough to hear him. "We are not here for your entertainment! What, do you guys not have enough money for wifi or something?"

Connor turns to Peter and Tony's world fizzes again.

He cries out without meaning to, his muscles jerking and the metal around his limbs seeming so much tighter, so much harsher than before. He has to shut his eyes before he can recover, breathing heavily and groaning inwardly. Somehow, it's so much worse the second time around, as if someone had taken the process of immunity and reversed it.

"Stop it!"

"Why should I?" Connor sounds almost like a petulant child, the most human Tony can remember someone capable of branding to appear.

Peter seems to huff in either annoyance or fear. "You're hurting him!"

A part of Tony wants to cry at how innocent Peter still sounds, despite being more or less branded just a day before. Or maybe it was hours before, it's not like there's a clock anywhere.

"That's rather the point, brat." Connor's voice has now progressed into a scarily smooth mix of scorn and amusement. "Why does it bother you?"

"Because it's Mister Stark!" Peter fires back and now Tony has regained enough of his eyesight to see the cold fury in his eyes. It worries him that a teenager is capable of such ardent anger but, with everything that Peter's gone through, it's not all that surprising.

"He's already been hurt, what more do you want?"

Sparks flicker across Tony's vision as a strained cry is snatched from his throat and he knows that, had he been standing upright, he'd have collapsed instantly, embarrassingly. It's like his body is light, lighter than a feather, but bursting with energy that has nowhere to go but his muscles, making him heavy, heavy with the strain of being stuck in one place when his body wants to move, to use the electricity spreading across his skin.

"-op! You're going to kill him!" Peter's shouting, less irate and more desperate now.

If Tony could talk, he'd tell Peter that it's okay, that he'd made changes to his arc reactor after being persuaded by FRIDAY when he'd almost electrocuting himself in his lab, but he can barely feel his breathing and there's a low ringing in his ears that leaves him mute. Oh, how he wishes humans couldn't conduct electricity.

"And?" Someone says, probably Connor.

Peter all but growls. "You won't get anything out of this if you kill him! You can't possibly need us dead, can you? After all, what would be the point in- uh, the point in wasting all these resources and stuff if you were only going to kill us before we even know what you want?"

There's a bark of laughter after which Connor says, "What makes you think we'd have to kill both of you at the same time?"

Tony coughs, knowing that Peter must need a moment to recover from that implication. He knows he would. Unfortunately, Peter's smart enough to sense what he's doing and all but glares at him, almost warning him to stay quiet until he can feel his limbs again, until it's safe to talk without being shocked again, until he's not in immediate, life-threatening danger anymore.

"But what makes you think you'd get anything out of killing us individually?" Peter asks, his voice quiet but calm, like the eye of a hurricane.

"Hasn't anyone taught you about incentives?" Connor asks, sounding close to frustrated.

Somehow, Peter takes that in as if they're talking about how someone had bickered over carrots in the canteen last week. Shrugging, he says, "I know it's been like a hundred years since you went to school, if you ever actually did, that is, but for your information, they don't teach us the techniques of amateur kidnapping in class anymore. They tend to prefer things that aren't as evil, you know? Like mental math and how to avoid being noticed in gym class."

Out of all that, Connor picks out one word: "Amateur?"

Grinning smugly, Peter nods. "Sure. I mean, come on, you didn't even make sure we didn't know your names or put a bag over our heads, you didn't keep that red light on long enough for it to actually be unnerving and your cameras aren't even nearly subtle."

Having slowly become visibly more and more annoyed, Connor finally lunges forward and places his hand under Peter's jaw, his fingers digging into the teenager's skin with enough pressure to make his nails go white as he growls. Peter, to his credit, just chuckles. "Wow, I'm so intimidated. You're touching my face, what a nightmare. Not like I've had worse from tweens before."

Tony knows what he's doing, he knows this is all to make sure Connor is too distracted to use the remote again. He decides that, as soon as they get out of here, he's going to treat Peter to anything he wants as a token of his gratitude, no matter what he wants. Maybe even a proper embrace this time.

"Okay, ow! What, do you have a metal hand too?" Peter squeaks, his shoulders tensing.

"Did you get bored of me?" Tony asks as sassily as he can, more than aware of the slight waver in his voice but unable to watch Peter getting hurt to save him.

He doesn't care about his reputation or making an impression anymore, he just really needs to get Connor's attention away from Peter before anything happens. Somehow, it seems to work and Connor lets go of Peter, violently letting go of his head and causing it to hit the chair with a painfully loud thump. While Peter quietly groans from the force of that, Tony smirks at Connor.

"What, do I need to dance to keep your attention? He's right, you know, you're not very good at this whole kidnapping routine."

That must have been pushing it because footsteps gently echo before he might as well have dived into a swimming pool with the way water abruptly takes over his vision. He splutters, his eyes stinging as he shivers from how cold the liquid is on his skin. The cuts on his arm send spikes of pain along his skin as the water runs over them but he can barely feel it because it's just. so. freaking. cold.

"What are you doing? Playing opposites?" Peter blurts, "Burn one and freeze the other? We're not two sides of a coin, you know? I mean, you could say we're an apple and a tree but not quite, unless trees can suddenly fly and find the apples they want, I guess. Anyway, you might want to reconsider your decision if you want any results from us and if you want to stay alive even a day after you let us g- NO!"

Tony hadn't realised what it is that Peter was blabbering to save him from but, when everything becomes agony, he remembers that he'd forgotten how the composition of water means it can temporarily conduct electricity.

He can taste metal and he can feel his back arching away from the surface of the chair as he screams, his arms and legs tingling as if there are a million millipedes with needles for feet crawling across his skin. His muscles ache as if he's just finished carrying a car for a mile and he can't hear anything except for a loud buzzing, akin to a bee but so much more tangible, but he's almost sure he can see dazzling stars despite them being inside.

He thinks he can hear someone else shouting as well as himself but he can't tell if it's real or if he's imagining it. He can't even remember who he thinks is calling out, is it his son? He doesn't remember having a son; he doesn't even remember getting married. Oh, wait, you don't need marriage to have children, he thinks, just before even confusing fragments of incoherent thoughts become too difficult. Just like when hot water becomes so hot that it feels cold, the utter agony dancing through his body reaches a peak before it blurs together, his vision darkening to a pitch black nothing.

"-ter Stark, Mister Stark, please! Please, wake up! Can you hear me? Please, Mister Stark, please, come on, come on!"

He groans.

There's a sigh of relief but then pain spikes in his mind and he can't focus, can't ground himself even though there's something telling him he needs to get it together before things go wrong again, which they must because the world darkens to a murky grey.

"-top! You can't, he won't- No!"

Pain in his arm, pain in his mind, pain all over his skin and warmth... a warmth he hadn't thought was possible after the freeing liquid had become a part of his immediate environment. Something flies through his blood like an internal reminder to keep fighting, to keep trying to stay awake. He fails nonetheless, once again melting into unconsciousness.

"What the actual..." Tony mumbles groggily, then groans in pain.

He winces as someone gasps sharply, then smiles to himself as they whisper an apology, an apology that's quickly followed by a soft: "Mister Stark?"

Even if he was dead, he'd recognise that voice anywhere. There's just something so pure about Peter's voice that begs to never be forgotten. He still can't bring himself to move at all but he hums in acknowledgement, hoping that's enough, wanting it to be enough to make the boy he considers his son a little happier, a little less worried.

"Do you hurt? I mean, does it hurt? Actually, never mind, uh, what's that thing they always do...? Questions, right... Do you know your name?"

Despite the odds, Tony finds the energy to nod, albeit infinitesimally, which is thankfully enough of a reaction to warrant a moment of calm quiet. Said quiet is interrupted by a hesitant: "Do you know who I am?"

Another part of Tony's pained heart breaks because nobody, nobody at all, deserves to have no choice other than asking such painful questions. As much as he wants to say something, anything, he can't bring his mouth to move so he just nods again, wanting to let Peter know he's okay so the nervous tension in the air can fade away.

"Can you breathe? I got them to give you some food- I mean, it was an IV drip but that's better than nothing, right? Mister Stark?"

He'd laugh and cry if he could but all he can do is lift his head, blinking when there's a rush of white before focusing on Peter. Frowning, he blinks, then frowns harder at the black eye Peter seems to have acquired without him knowing.

"Uh, don't worry about it, Mister Stark, it'll go away soon enough," Peter says sheepishly, ducking his head.

"What...?" Tony manages, coughing. He hates that he can't function, he can't protect them, but he doesn't have any other options.

Peter's smile is forced when he shakes his head. "All due respect, Mister Stark, but now is really not the time. And you might want to save your energy, you looked worse than Mister Thor back then, hah..."

Mister Thor? Tony's confusion vanishes as his knees twitch and he remembers feeling like less of a person and more of a mere medium for sparks and pain. With a dim sense of horror, he realises Peter must have been watching as he'd screamed, as he'd failed to stay conscious, as he'd almost died. It's times like these when Tony wishes selective memory loss was a thing.

"Pete..." Tony murmurs, both overjoyed and saddened by the way Peter's face lights up at that as if Tony really knowing his name is the best thing he could have hoped for. Which, right now, it might actually be, but that only makes it worse because Tony wants Peter to find genuine happiness, not just clutch at superficial comfort.

"I'm sorry, kid."

Peter shakes his head but the edges of his frame seem to blur together, and has his hair turned red or is that just Tony imagining things again?

"Mister Stark? No, not again, come on, Mister Stark, stay awake, please!"

Apparently not. Tony enters a world of darkness again, the growing tingling under his skin that he'd been managing to push aside finally overwhelming his determination to stay awake and pulling him back to pain like an evil magnet. Not again, indeed.

Guys, one of my friends is in a really difficult and painful situation so I've opened fanfic commissions! (detailed post on my tumblr) If you guys wanna help and want me to write anything you want to read, feel free to let me know in some way!

Thanks for reading and happy pride month, y'all rock!