Archive of Our Own

If Peter has absolutely nothing else to be grateful for, at least the students of Midtown High aren’t ones for fighting.

No matter how much hatred a Midtown student has toward another, no matter how heated an argument gets, punches are never thrown. It’s an unspoken rule that Midtown is more sophisticated than that and resorting to violence is the one line that doesn’t get crossed.

Good for him, since fighting back would not be an option. It’s the magic of secret identities - he couldn’t do it before, so he can’t do it now.

Thing is, though, to balance out the almost-complete absence of violence, Midtown High has a deep-seated sticks and stones ideology. If someone hasn’t hit you, they haven’t hurt you, according to the school administration.

Well, they haven’t said those exact words, but the sentiment stands. Verbal abuse is a lot harder to prove, especially when the people you’re trying to prove it to don’t actually care.

With the whole Spider-Man of it all in consideration, the pros probably outweigh the cons in the long run. But every single day Peter spends at Midtown that his super strength is only physical, not mental.

So he’s not getting hit, but he almost wishes he was. He can take a punch, and the cuts and bruises will fade much quicker than the stinging in his chest. If he was getting hit, he could take it to the principal and let the zero tolerance policy run its course.

Most people at Midtown would tell him it’s not that bad, because it’s never been physical. Most people at Midtown would tell him to just suck it up and deal with the harsh insults and the absurd rumors. Most people at Midtown would tell him that there are worse things than having a whole group of students refer to him exclusively as Penis Parker and hearing constant whispers of does he really expect us to believe that Tony Stark chose him, of all people?  

They would be right, on the third one. He’s been through plenty worse, both as Spider-Man and Peter Parker, but this is…different.

It’s one thing to be attacked by a supervillain. That is nothing personal - evil does what evil does, and evil really likes fighting superheroes.

This is personal.

“Hey, Penis!” someone yells. Peter tightens his grip on his backpack straps and ignores them.

He can feel Ned’s eyes on him, and he ignores that too. He’s not in the mood for this. Not that he ever is, but he’s already gotten into an argument with May and bombed a test so he’s already on edge today. He can’t deal with the Penis Parker bullshit on top of it all.

Peter walks faster, feet speeding up along the tiled floor. Ned makes a noise in the back of his throat as he jogs to catch up, saying, “Pete, dude, are you okay?”

His hand brushes against Peter’s and makes his skin tingle. Peter stares straight forward and grinds his teeth. “Fine, Ned. Just - tired.”

The hallway is loud. Way louder than the preferable volume, which is silent. The hallway is too loud and the lights are too bright and another person is calling about him.

“Yo, Penis Parker! I’ve got a question for you!”

Flash. Fuck.

He could keep walking. He really could. Flash doesn’t own him, he could just walk away and not have to listen to Flash’s shit. The only problem is that when Flash wants something, he’s persistent. If Peter leaves now, he’ll just have to hear about whatever this is later.

Peter stops.

“What do you want, Flash?” he asks, running a hand through his hair as he turns. Ned stays planted at Peter’s side, discomfort rolling off him in waves.

Flash grins this twisted little grin at him, leaning against the lockers on one side of the hall. “I’ve just been thinking, Parker - you know, maybe I do believe you have an internship with Stark.”

That’s.

Not what he expected.

There has to be some sort of catch. Peter stares at him, eyes narrowed, and folds his arms over his chest. He’s just pissed off enough to snark, “Good for you. What’s your point, Flash?”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Penis!” Flash says, smile widening. There’s a strange, mischievous glint in his eyes - brighter, even, than usual - and even through the exhaustion and irritation, Peter feels anxiety burn low in his chest. It’s not his spider-sense, though he does occasionally confuse the two, because it only pings when he’s in danger and Flash isn’t dangerous. He’s a complete dick, but he’s not dangerous. “I just wanted to tell you that I get it now.”

Is he really going to be this cryptic, on top of everything else?

“Get what?”

“How you landed your little internship. You’re his boytoy, aren’t you?”

What?

You’re his boytoy, aren’t you?

His boytoy, aren’t you?

His boytoy.

“ What?” Peter blurts, voice coming out an octave higher than it should. He can’t be serious. There’s no way in hell that Flash is serious right now.

People are watching. Peter doesn’t have to glance around to know that people are watching.

Boytoy.

“ Intern is code, right? I see it now, Penis - you’re not actually working for Stark. You’re just sucking his dick.”

This isn’t happening.

This is not happening. Not here, not now. Not in front of the whole damn school.

Not at all.

Someone is talking. Ned, he thinks. Peter can’t hear the words because there’s cotton in his ears. Everything is fuzzy.

He should say something. He can’t just let Flash -

Boytoy.

Boytoy.

Is this what people think? Of him? Of Tony? That they’re - that Tony is -

He knew that people thought his internship was fake. He knew. But as far as he’d known, everyone just thought he’d completely made it up. That Penis Parker couldn’t possible have earned an internship with the Tony Stark.

This can’t be what people think.

Peter can feel himself trembling. He can’t feel much else right now, but he can feel himself trembling in the middle of the school hallway.

In the end, it’s Michelle who walks over to Flash and rests her elbow on his shoulder. His face immediately drops - everyone knows better than to mess with MJ and apparently he’s done just that.

“Flash, you are aware that you’re a fucking moron, right?” she says, voice hard and eyes harder. “I mean, I might not be Tony Stark’s biggest fan, but even I’m not baselessly accusing him of dating a teenager.”

And this is way more than Peter can handle.

He’s staggering away from the crowd before he can even wonder how that will look.

The phone rings twice before Steve picks up.

“Hey, what’s going on, kid?”

Peter sobs, clapping a hand over his mouth as this awful strangled noise escapes him. He can’t speak. He can’t breathe.

“Peter?” Concern drips from Steve’s voice. “Peter, are you there? Are you okay?”

“ No ,” Peter chokes out. His fingers tingle as he pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his free arm around his knees. The floor of the bathroom stall is wet and gross, but Peter can’t bring himself to care. “I’m - I can’t - Steve, I need -”

“What? What do you need?”

He leans forward, closes his eyes. Tears drip down his nose and onto his jeans. Steve can no doubt hear him crying through the phone, but somehow Peter doesn’t care about that either. He sucks in a breath, holds it, and lets it go. His voice shakes when he says, “I need you to come pick me up from school.”

Steve is quiet for a second, then, “I’ll be there in thirty, Peter. Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

If he knew, he would.

Boytoy.

“Peter?”

Peter digs his fingernails into the side of his thigh. This is so fucking wrong. This is so messed up.

How can people believe -

He can’t even think it.

“H-he thinks - Steve, they think I’m - they think Tony and I are -”

He can’t say it, he can’t say it, he can’t.

For a moment, all Peter can hear is his own sobbing. Until Steve, with a level of both incredulousness and disgust that Peter has never once heard in him or anyone else, says, “Oh my God , Peter. They - people are saying you and Tony are - are, what, together ?”

Peter feels numb. Numb and woozy and nauseous.

“For fuck’s sake,” Steve snaps. There’s a thud on the other end of the line, as if Steve punched something. The steering wheel of whatever car he’s in, perhaps. “I’m - Tony’s a lot of things, but this is -”

Wrong. Horrible. Disgusting. Appalling.

“Who said that, Peter? I’ll fucking ruin them.”

People like to think Captain America is the absolute pinnacle of lawfulness, and yet Peter is 100% sure that Steve means this. Likely more than anything he’s ever said.

Of course, Steve wouldn’t actually lay a hand on a high school student, as much as he would deserve it. But he would find some other way to ruin his life.

If Peter asked, Steve would make sure Flash never got into a good college, never got hired by a good company, never had any sort of career outside of flipping burgers or working retail.

He’d do it, if Peter just said the word.

He’s tempted. He really is.

He could handle the bullying. The insults, the rumors, the Penis Parker ’s. It hurt, sure, but he was dealing. Coping.

But suggesting that he was having sex with his grown adult mentor?

He wants to tell Steve to handle it. To ruin Flash’s life. To completely and utterly destroy him, because he fucking deserves it .

But that’s not how he does things. That’s not how Spider-Man does things.

“It doesn’t - it doesn’t matter w-who said it,” Peter says, forehead resting on his knees. He’s still shaking, still crying, but he’s at least more aware. “I just - I can’t call Tony right now - or my aunt, for that matter. Just - just p-please come pick me up, Steve. Please.”

A pause. Peter sniffles and waits.

Quietly, Steve says, “Twenty minutes, kiddo.”

Peter nods, even though Steve can’t see him.

“Twenty minutes and then we’ll figure it out, okay? You’ll be alright, Pete, I promise.”