Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tony swung open the door of the secretary’s office to find Peter slouched in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair next to the wall with an ice-pack pressed to his jaw. The kid looked up, wide-eyed, when he entered, straightening up and lowering the ice pack to reveal a swollen, red patch on his jaw that would likely blossom into a bruise.

“Leave that on,” said Tony, pursing his lips. He stepped closer and pulled the kid’s hand up by the wrist to push the ice-pack against his face. Peter stiffened, looking down at his lap.

“Mr. Stark.”

It was only then that Tony noticed the secretary behind the desk, who was watching the exchange with the air of a woman who had seen far odder things in her life than Tony Stark barging into her office.

“What’s the deal?” Tony asked brusquely. “I got a call that Peter’s been suspended, but it looks to me like he’s the victim, here.”

“There was an exchange of blows on both sides,” the secretary said, tightening her jaw. “The other party has been suspended as well. The principal heard both sides of the story, which was corroborated by witnesses.”

Tony glanced back at Peter, who had, once again, lowered the ice pack and was swinging his legs back and forth.

Tony huffed. “How long is the suspension?”

“Two days,” the secretary replied. “We have a zero tolerance policy for-”

“‘Yeah, yeah,” Tony said impatiently. “Is this going to end up on his record?”

“You’ll have to discuss that with the principal.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely do that,” Tony said sharply. “Can I take him home now?”

“Of course, please sign him out here…” she pushed a sheet of paper towards him, where he scribbled his signature without looking.

“C’mon, Pete,” Tony said, maintaining a calm, even tone. “And keep that ice pack on.”

Peter jumped up, ice pack in place, and scrambled to match Tony’s brisk stride towards the parking lot. The kid was silent the entire time, avoiding eye-contact as he slid into the passenger seat and staring at his lap while Tony started the car.

“Any injuries I can’t see?” Tony asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. Peter shook his head in the negative, eyes still on his lap.

Tony let him keep his silence for the duration of the drive, only speaking to remind the kid to keep the ice-pack in place whenever he lowered it. It didn’t take too long to get home, not having to navigate much traffic in the middle of the day. It was only when they settled in the living room, side-by-side on the couch, and Tony pushed a glass of water on the coffee table in front of the kid that he spoke.

“I’m sorry.” Peter clutched the glass in his free hand, thumb drawing circles in the condensation.

“For what?” Tony asked, eyeing the kid carefully.

“You know what.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

The kid finally looked at him. “What does it matter?” he asked, squeezing the glass tighter. “I got in a fight, you had to drive out there in the middle of the day to pick me up, and-”

“Keep that thing on, would you?” Tony said, exasperated, reaching to push the ice-pack back in place. Peter flinched back, nearly dropping the water glass.

Tony held his palms out, an unpleasant mix of guilt and frustration surging in his chest. “Jesus, Peter, I’m not going to hit you! How many times do-”

The tense, frightened look on Peter’s face was replaced by sudden anger. “Well I’m sorry,” Peter snapped, slamming his glass down on the table so that some of the water sloshed over the edges. “Sorry if your feelings are hurt because my body doesn’t always know that you won’t.” Peter’s mouth contorted and he looked away abruptly, his hands curling into fists on his lap.

Tony felt like the world’s biggest jackass.

“Peter, I-”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” Peter jumped to his feet, ice pack sliding off his lap. “Stop treating me like I’m a fucking five-year-old!”

Tony let out a long, slow breath through his nose. “Sit back down.” He pointed to the vacated couch cushion, maintaining a stern expression, and the kid visibly deflated.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, dropping back onto the couch. He stared at the table.

“Peter, look at me, please.” He gave the kid a moment to collect himself, holding very still.

Peter finally looked at him, his eyes shiny. Tony felt his heart contract.

“Listen to me, Peter. Are you listening?” Peter nodded, chewing his lip.

“I should have realized that you’re not gonna get over what Westcott did to you just because I want you to.” Peter hunched his shoulders. “Because that’s all I want, Peter. I want you to feel safe.” Tony paused as the kid bit his lip hard to stop it from trembling, and he had to actively restrain himself from reaching out.

“I do,” Peter said hoarsely. “Most of the time. I just…” The kid trailed off, staring resolutely at the floor.

“I know,” said Tony gently, placing his hand on the couch cushion next to Peter’s knee. “I shouldn’t have taken your reaction personally, and I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said in a low voice. “I’m sorry, too. For yelling.”

Tony lifted his hand slowly and rested it on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing it when the kid didn’t pull away. “It’s all right, Peter. You’re fine.”

He pulled his hand back and let the kid breathe for a few moments before speaking again.

“So, you want to tell me what happened?”

Peter took a sharp breath. “No.”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment. “Let me rephrase,” he said in a carefully even tone. “Please tell me what happened.”

“I just- I- ugh,” Peter groaned. Tony waited patiently, tapping a finger on his knuckles, until Peter finally gave in.

“I, um, I got into a fight with a guy who- who’s always messing with me.”

“Messing with you?” Tony asked sharply. “How? Has he gotten physical with you before?”

“Not- not really,” Peter said, picking at his cuticles. “He mostly just- says stuff, or sometimes bumps into me and makes it look like an accident. I can handle it!” he added quickly when Tony narrowed his eyes..

“And this is you, handling it?” Tony asked, eyeing the kid’s swollen jaw.

Peter gritted his teeth. “I just-” he huffed. “I just got sick of it.”

“And?”

“Do I have to say it?”

Tony just looked at him.

“Fine.” The kid fell back against the couch cushion. “I was already having a bad day, ‘cause my stupid History teacher yelled at me for spacing out during class, and we had a pop quiz in Algebra and I know I got at least two questions wrong, and then Flash came out of nowhere and shoved me into the lockers, and I just- lost it.”

“Lost it?”

Peter pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and began ripping it into tiny pieces. “I’m tired of it.” Several scraps of paper landed on the rug. “I usually ignore him because he’s an idiot and no one really likes him, but I- I-” Peter swallowed hard, and Tony edged slightly closer, enough for the kid to reach out for contact if he wanted to. Peter continued ripping his paper.

“I had n-nightmare about Skip last night, and I’m so sick of being a victim all the time. I was too scared to fight back against Skip and he- he-” Peter cleared his throat, brushing the paper roughly off his lap. “I’m not scared of Flash, though, and I just wanted to fight back for once in my stupid life. So I punched him.”

The kid stopped talking and learned over to press his forehead against his palms, elbows digging into his thighs. Tony lay a careful hand on his upper back, from which Peter didn’t pull away.

“You’re not a victim, Peter,” Tony said. He patted the kid’s back when he shrugged his shoulders. “You hear me, bud?” Another shrug.

Tony sighed, stilling his hand. “Look at me, Peter. Please?”

Peter looked up, his eyes a little red. “How am I not a victim?” he asked roughly.

Tony gripped both his shoulders firmly “Being hurt by someone doesn’t make you weak.” He held up a hand when Peter opened his mouth as if to argue. “Nope, quiet, a wise old man is talking.” Peter pressed his lips together.

“Listen to me.” He paused for a moment, holding Peter’s gaze. “When someone hurts you, it says a whole lot more about them than it does about you.” Peter’s brow furrowed, and Tony squeezed his shoulders more tightly.

“We can’t control what other people do, but we can control how we react.” Tony lowered his hands to wrap them around Peter's wrists. “And I gotta tell you, Pete, the way you reacted, the way you managed to pick yourself up after all the shit you’ve been through, makes you one of the strongest people I know.”

Peter stared at Tony. “You- you really think that about me?” he asked haltingly.

Tony smiled, letting go of Peter's wrists. “Do I ever say anything I don’t mean?”

Peter’s lips pulled up at the side. “No.”

“You’re a strong kid, Peter. The best kid.” Tony lifted his hand to tuck an errant curl behind the kid’s ear. “Nothing anyone tries to say or do to you will ever change that, you hear me?”

Peter nodded at his lap, ears reddening.

After a few moments of quiet, Tony spoke again. “Is the faculty aware that this Flash kid has been bullying you?”

“I’m not going to tattle,” Peter said, scandalized. “What is this, third grade?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it, snitches get stitches and all that, but, at this rate, you’re gonna end up with stitches anyway.”

It was Peter’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Maybe I am, but it’s not okay for this to continue.”

“I know it’s been, like, eighty years since you were in high school, but this is just how it is,” Peter said sulkily.

“Hey!” said Tony, suppressing a snort. “You know you’re just asking to have that nicely-gelled hair of yours messed up, right?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not going out again.”

“Oh, well, in that case…” Tony reached out to muss Peter’s hair until he was suppressing a laugh and batting at Tony’s hands.

“There’s that smile.”

Peter scowled. “Stop making me laugh.”

“Why should I? It’s hilarious.”

“Glad you think it’s funny.”

“Well, so do you, apparently, since you’re the one laughing.”

Peter groaned and leaned his head back against the back of the couch, his hair sticking out in every direction. He looked marginally more cheerful, so Tony considered it a win.

“Just say the word, and I’ll come down on that kid so hard he won’t know what-”

“God, no.” Peter shuddered. “That would be so embarrassing, to have my- my, uh, you, come and make a scene like I’m a little kid-”

“My you?”

Peter glared at him, his face reddening.

“Fine, I’ll back off, but if anything like this happens again, I don’t care how embarrassing you think it is for your me to come down there-”

“Okay, okay!” Peter covered his flaming face with his hands. Tony shoved his shoulder playfully and flicked his temple until the kid lowered his hands to bat Tony’s hand away.

“Stop, that’s annoying,” Peter muttered.

Tony held up his hands innocently before reaching forward to wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders. The kid looked up at him, cheeks still tinged red.

“I know I’m not your dad or your uncle, but I’m definitely your something, yeah?” Peter nodded, his eyes flitting away. “You can call me whatever you want.”

“I’m not gonna call you dad,” Peter said to his lap. “It’s not- it’s-”

“And that’s fine.” Tony said calmly. “But for the love of god, isn’t it about time you started calling me Tony? This Mr. Stark business is making me feel old. Don’t even start!” Tony warned when Peter opened his mouth, undoubtedly to comment once again on his advanced age. The kid pressed a hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh.

“Okay, Tony,” Peter said, smiling, his eyes a little wet. Tony felt as though his heart had swelled to twice its size, and he pulled Peter close so that his kid’s head was resting against his chest. And if he lowered his head to drop a kiss on the top of Peter’s curls, well, no one would ever have to know.