Archive of Our Own

zero. 

Peter hates these things more than anything. He hates going to the park and sitting around as adults walk around and shop for kids. Well, not shop. The boys in his home get in trouble when they say that. Their foster father says that they’re not shopping, they’re meeting their future family. 

But Peter doesn’t agree. He feels like a dog in the pound when they all come to these stupid adoption fairs. 

Maybe he’s just bitter that he’s always the one left without anyone at the end of the day. 

He’s not sure why they don’t pick him. He thinks he’s cute enough and he’s only 7. There are older kids here too, some teeangers. But they don’t get adopted either. 

Usually, it’s the little kids or the social ones. 

Peter is young, but he definitely isn’t social. Parents probably don’t want a kid that hasn’t spoken a word since his aunt and uncle died. He just sits there under a tree or at a table far away and keeps himself busy until they come to take them back to the home. 

He knows there are secrets to getting adopted, but he doesn’t want to play a part to get someone to like him. If they don’t like him as the silent kid that can label a periodic table in under 5 minutes. 

Today he really doesn’t want to be anywhere near the adults or the kids, so he finds a tree and climbs up it until there’s a sturdy branch for him to sit. He leans against the trunk and settles himself before he begins to read his Harry Potter book. He’s only read this one in the series over and over, and he’s not even sure it’s the first one, but it’s the only book he’s got. 

He thinks he’ll read all day, avoid everyone, and just climb down when they call his name, but someone finds him first. 

“Hey, kid, what’re you doing up there?”

The voice isn’t harsh or mean. He sounds like he thinks it’s funny that Peter is up there. 

Peter glances down and sees two men standing there. He isn’t sure which one asked the question until the one with a funny looking beard on his face waves up at him.  Peter answers by showing him his book. 

“You wanna come down here and show me? I can’t see that all the way up there.” 

Peter shakes his head and looks around the park, carefully so he doesn’t fall. He doesn’t see his social worker hiding around. He wonders who sent these men to come get him. He tries to go back to reading his book, but then noise from below steals his attention. 

“Tony, what are you doing?!” 

“I’m fine, Steve. Just catch me if I fall.” 

Peter watches as the man starts to try and climb the tree in his fancy suit. His sunglasses fall off his face as he slides down the trunk a little. The man on the ground, Steve, jumps forward, “Tony!” 

“Get my sunglasses! They’ll scratch on the ground like that!” Tony shouts down at him. 

“Don’t be dumb! Just please be careful.” 

Peter giggles as he watches them freak out trying to get up here. Peter got up easily when he climbed, so he thinks it’s funny that an adult can’t. He doesn’t stop giggling until Tony is up there with him, sitting on the branch just below him. He’s out of breath and wipes his forehead. “Phew, never thought I’d make it up here, kid.” 

Peter quickly stares back down at his book. 

“Ah, that book must be really good. Is that Harry Potter?” 

Peter glances up at him again to see him smiling. It’s a nice smile and he hasn’t seen a nice smile like that in a long time. Peter can’t help it when he smiles back. 

“I like Harry Potter. So does my husband down there.” He points to the other man. “I’m a Ravenclaw and he’s a Gryfindorr. What about you?”

Peter holds the book close to his chest. He doesn’t know what he is. He wants to, but he doesn’t have the hat. Maybe Tony does. He wants to ask him. 

“Do you know?” 

Peter bites his lip and shakes his head. 

“Well, that’s alright. We can do and maybe sit at a table and talk a bit. I’ll tell you which one I think you are.” 

Talk. They want him to talk. Peter doesn’t talk. They won’t want him when they realize that. 

Tony reads his mind and asks, “Can you speak?” 

Peter nods his head. He’ll talk to himself sometimes when he knows he’s alone but never to another person. 

“Do you want to talk?”

Now, he shakes his head, waiting for Tony to climb right back down the tree. But he doesn’t. He smiles again. “That’s alright. I like talking. I can talk for the both of us.” 

Peter tilts his head. Why would Tony do that? Why would he want to waste his time with a kid that doesn’t talk. 

“Do you mind coming down with me, though? I’m a little hungry and I can smell those burgers all the way over here.” 

Peter’s stomach is feeling a little hungry too. There’s never enough food at home because there are so many boys. This is the most fun they ever have. But he hates going over there to get food by himself in fear of being stopped by an adult. Now he has an adult with him so no one will give him another look. 

“I’m also a little scared of heights,” he whispers. “So, even if we just chill at the bottom of the tree, that’d be great. I can climb down first and help you or I can stay up here and drop you into Steve’s arms. 

Peter sticks his book back in the band of his pants so he can use both hands and starts to climb down. Tony sounds shocked and impressed above him. He almost makes it all the way down before his foot slips and he falls backwards. 

He’s scared for only a moment before he’s in someone’s arms. He looks up, trying to calm his breathing, and sees blue eyes and a smile. 

“I got you, bud. Don’t worry.” 

Peter relaxes. 

“Put him down now, love!” Tony shouts from up the tree. “Catch me next. I’m going to fall.” 

Steve rolls his eyes but puts Peter down on his feet and then holds his arms out for Tony. “C’mon, doll, I’ll catch you.” 

Tony looks back and lets go of the tree from up high and doesn’t even make a sound until the small grunt when Steve catches him. Before Steve puts him down, he leans up and kisses his lips. 

Peter can run now. He can run away while they’re too busy with each other and go find a new hiding spot. But he doesn’t because he doesn’t want to go away from them. He likes them. He smiles with them. So he stands there and waits for Tony to be on his feet again. 

Then Tony turns to Peter and holds out his hand. “Alright, kiddie. Let’s go eat. 

Peter grabs his hand and then Steve holds Tony’s other hand. 

Once they get to the food, Peter sees his social worker and she stares at them with the widest eyes. “Peter?” Then she looks up to Steve and Tony. “I see you’ve met Peter…” 

Peter stares down at his feet while the adults talk. 

“We have and he’s a great kid. We just wanted to come and get some dinner.” 

“Oh! Of course!” She sounds too excited. Peter never stays with any of the adults. “You can come right over here and see what sounds good to you.” 

“We can’t wait,” Tony says before he tries to start walking away. 

The woman doesn’t seem to want them to leave. “Peter, honey, tell these nice men what you’d like to eat.” 

Peter’s hand tightens on Tony’s. He doesn’t talk. She knows this. 

Tony knows it too. “He’ll have a little bit of everything. If he likes it then he eats it, if not, I’ll give it to my husband. He’s a bottomless pit.” 

“He’s right,” Steve says. “I’ll eat anything.” 

“But--.” 

“But nothing,” Tony says, waving her off. “We’ll be fine. Peter will let us know what he likes without even saying a thing.” 

Peter looks up, surprised that Tony is so okay with him not speaking. His social worker tells him all the time he needs to talk. He won’t find a family if he doesn’t talk. But Tony and Steve like him and he hasn’t said a word. 

“Of course, sir. You’re free to spend all day with him. If you have any trouble communicating, don’t hesitate in coming to find me,” she says even though she never knows what Peter wants. She tries, but it’s not enough. 

“I’m sure we’ll be quite alright,” Steve answers. “I’m excited for all the food I’ll be getting.” 

She nods and walks away, leaving the three of them alone. Peter lets his shoulders sag when she’s not hovering over them. 

Tony and Steve don’t say anything about it as they start to fill plates. They narrate everything they’re putting on the plate to let Peter know and then they sit down at a table furthest away from everyone else. 

Peter tries everything, most of the food he’s never had before. Most he likes, some he makes a face at and Steve laughs before finishing it himself. 

“You know it’s okay that you don’t want to talk, Peter? There are other ways to communicate.” 

Peter stops eating the mac and cheese to look up at him. Rarely anyone ever uses his name. 

Tony notices this and says, “Peter. That’s your name, right? That’s what the woman said.” 

Peter nods his head immediately. 

“Well, Peter,” Steve says and hearing another person say his name makes him smile. “Tony’s right. If you don’t want to talk...that’s fine. We’ll wait for you to feel comfortable or we can all learn sign language.” 

They want to learn a language for him? They won’t force him to talk when he doesn’t want to?”

Tony takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’re okay, Peter. It’s all okay.” 

one. 

Peter doesn't know when it starts. There's no significant moment in his life that triggers it. He can't remember when it changed. He can't remember when he was last truly happy either. 

Sure, there are moments in his life when he's happy-- or distracted--, but it's not his normal feeling. 

He hates it, but he can deal with it. It just makes things more difficult 

Like school. 

School used to be fun. It used to be challenging. 

Now, it's just miserable. 

He doesn’t care about his classes and he doesn’t care that the highest grade he has is a C+ in gym class. It doesn’t matter. Often, he wonders if it ever did. He’s late more than he’s on time. 

This morning, he zoned out on the subway and didn’t realize he missed his stop until it was too late. For the rest of the day, he’s in a rush to catch up to everything. That’s why he crashes into someone in the hallway without even realizing it until he's being held by his collar against the lockers. 

He winces as he feels one of the handles digging into his back. He doesn't recognize the kid but he recognized the football jersey he's wearing. 

Classic jock beating up the nerd in the hallway. 

Peter can call for help or he can do something to stop what's about to happen. But...he doesn't want to. He wants to start something and he wants to be angry and he wants to hurt. He wants to be seen. He wants to be asked if he's okay and he doesn't want his parents to believe him. 

"What the hell are you doing, nerd?" 

Peter tries shoving the hand off of him, but it doesn't budge. "Nerd? Real clever, jock." 

The jock actually growls at that and slams him against the lockers again. It draws a crowd. "Who do you think you are?"

That question sparks a bit of grief in Peter. He knows the answer all too well. "I'm nobody." 

He makes the jock laugh, but it's not a nice laugh. "As if I didn't already know that, nerd. I've never even seen your face here before. But then again I don't sit at the pathetic and lonely table at lunch."

Pathetic and lonely. That's him alright. 

"Probably because you're too busy at the dumb and douchebag table."

He gets some gasps. A few kids pull out their phones. One actually waves goodbye to him. 

The rest is a little blurry, honestly. 

Peter's punched. He's thrown to the ground. He's kicked. He's picked back up. He's taunted. He's laughed at. He's punched again. 

He doesn't fight back. He takes it all until the jock is dragged off of him. He looks around the hallway and all of the kids have dispersed. It's just Peter, the jock, and the principal. 

Peter's bleeding from somewhere above his eyebrows because there's blood slowly dripping into his eye. His ear is still ringing from a particularly nasty punch. 

A nurse meets them in the principal's office and the two of them are sat across from him at his desk. 

Peter ignores the lecture he gives about a zero tolerance for bullying. He ignores him when he asks what happened. He just stares down at his lap. 

The jock tells the story for him. Not the true story though. "I was in the hallway, and yeah, I got a little rough with this guy but only verbally. I was just teasing. We're kids that's what we do!"

That's exactly what he does. He targets kids he knows are weak and will break with one blow and makes them feel worthless and pathetic. Maybe that's why he chose Peter. 

"Explain to me then, Mr. Benson, why I pulled you off of Mr. Parker." 

"I was defending myself!" He shouts. "Is that against the rules now?" 

The principal huffs in frustration. "Mr. Benson, I don't think this is cute or funny. You really expect me to believe that Peter just punched you because--." 

"It's true," Peter says. He's not sure why. 

He needs help. 

"What?" The principal asks as the jock smirks. 

"I punched him. I started the fight. He won obviously because he's stronger than me. But I started it." Peter says that like it's a script he's reading, but he doesn't care.

The principal stares at him like he's gone insane. Maybe he has. Maybe that's why his brain is different now. "Why did you start a fight, Peter?" 

Because I want someone to hear me scream. "I dunno. I was bored."

With a disappointed sigh, the principal says, "I'm going to have to call your parents so they can come down here to pick you up. And starting tomorrow you have a week of detention." 

The jock gets off with a day of detention. Of course he does. 

And Pops and Dad come to pick him up at school and immediately rush forward. They hug him tight, inspect his face, and ask the million dollar question. "Peter, are you okay?" 

Peter nods his head. "Yeah, I'm okay." 

And unfortunately, they believe him.

two.

Peter's been up since before the sun was. His alarm isn't going to ring until another two hours, but he's wide awake. He's found himself waking up this early quite often.

Most times, he just lays in bed, hoping he'll fall back to sleep. He'll usually have to just scroll on his phone for hours until he nods off or it's time to get out of bed. 

This time, when he wakes up and hears birds chirping despite the darkness in the sky, he gets out of bed. It's cold in the tower so he pulls on a sweatshirt he keeps on his desk and slips into a pair of slippers. Then he shuffles out of his room and down the hallway. He's not sure why he's up, but he needs to walk around. He feels restless just laying in bed. 

He finds himself in the kitchen, staring into the fridge, a few minutes later. He doesn't remember the rest of fhr walk or even opening the fridge. But he's standing here with the cold air hitting him and he's not even hungry. He rarely is nowadays. 

He shuts the fridge door and paces back and forth until he goes back to the fridge. He opens the doors and just leans towards the cold. He wants the cold to wake him up from all of this. He wants to go back to his normal life. He wants to feel. 

"Peter?" 

The voice scares Peter so much that he jumps and lets go of the fridge doors. They slam shut as Peter turns around to see Pops standing in the doorway to the kitchen. 

He's wearing shorts with legging underneath and a compression shirt. He's getting ready to go on a morning run, but now he just looks confused and concerned. 

"Pops, I didn't see you there." He feels his heart racing in his chest and he hopes Pops can't hear the way it's beating 10 times a second. 

"Sorry if I scared you, bud. I didn't expect to see you down here." He walks into the kitchen, flopping the light switch on. Peter squints his eyes at the sudden light. He hopes Pops can't see how tired he looks in this light. 

"I was…" Hungry? Restless? Lonely? "Uh, I was making my lunch." 

Pops' concern grows when Peter says that stupid excuse. "Make your lunch? Peter, Dad does that for you every morning." He checks his watch and furrows his brow. "And it's not even 5." 

"I woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep. Wanted to do something productive." Peter shrugs his shoulders. He wants Pops to believe him and just leave, but he also wants him to notice something wrong. 

"So you came downstairs to make yourself lunch?" The suspicion is heavy in his voice as he comes closer to Peter. He cups his cheek gently and the touch makes Peter want to cry. He's not sure why. "Pete, are you feeling okay?" 

Peter doesn't want to cry so he pushes Pops' hand away. Now it looks like it's Pops' turn to cry. "I'm okay, Pops." 

"You're up early. You're never up early." He smiles at Peter as he continues, "I'm used to my little guy still asleep when I go on my runs… and when I get back." 

Peter shrugs his shoulders. Usually, moments with Pops are his favorite when it's just them and Captain America uses the most gentle voice as he calls him one of his many nicknames. But this time, it doesn't make him feel good. 

He actually feels a little annoyed because he is so obviously not okay, but Pops is acting like everything is okay. He hates the feeling, but it doesn't go away. It sits in his stomach and claws at his insides. 

"I'm not tired," he snsps, forgetting what he is even responding to. 

Pops freezes and a look passes through his face that Peter can't decipher in time. "Oh...um…" 

"Just go on your run. I'll be fine." I won't be. I don't know what's wrong. Help! 

"Peter," Pops says as if one of them did something wrong and he wants to apologize for it. 

But he didn't do anything wrong. Peter shouldn't be mad at Pops like he is. It's not fair. 

"No," he says because he doesn't want Pops to be upset. Pops was trying to make him smile and see if he was okay. Peter doesn't want to punish him for being a good father. "I'm sorry, Pops. I just didn't sleep well last night. You know how I get with no sleep." He forces out a laugh to try and seal the deal. 

Pops' eyes soften as he studies Peter. "Yeah, I know, bud," he says in a voice just as soft. 

"I just want sleep," he says, his voice cracking as he practically begs Pops for something he can't give him. 

Pops wraps an arm around his shoulder and leads him out of the kitchen. "Let's get you into bed then, yeah? I'll tuck you in and sit with you. No school today. I want you to rest." 

Peter nods his head and lets Pops lead him up to his room. He pulls down his covers from his already disheveled bed and pats the mattress. "Come lay down, baby bear. You need a long hibernation."

Peter finds himself laughing slightly as he gets back into bed. Pops fixes the blankets around him as he gets comfortable. "I'd miss you if I slept too long."

Pops smiles softly and leans over to kiss his forehead. "I'd miss you too, bud. More than you could ever imagine." 

Peter rolls his eyes and Pops just kisses him again. Then he sits by his bed until he falls asleep, his run forgotten.

two and a half.

That day ends just like it started. 

He's laying in bed, twisting and turning, unable to sleep. He tries to shut his brain off and sleep because he's utterly exhausted. He always is nowadays. 

He tries to pretend like Pops is sitting by his bed again and is talking to him in a soft voice, slowly lulling him to sleep. But he's not here. 

He's alone and he doesn't want to be alone. 

He pushes himself out of bed and takes his blanket with him, wrapping it around his shoulders. Then he shuffles out of his room and heads down the hallway. 

Peter gets to his dads' bedroom and stops there. It's late now, late enough for them both to be asleep. Peter doesn't want to bother them. 

But really, he does. He wants to crawl into their bed and snuggle between the two of them so he felt warm and safe. 

He bites his lip before looking up to the ceiling and asking, "Hey, FRIDAY, are Dad and Pops sleeping?" 

"Your Pops is asleep, but your Dad is in his lab."  

Peter feels better knowing that he won't be waking Dad up since he's already keeping himself up. He turns around and takes the elevator down to the lab, punching in the passcode before walking in. 

Dad is sitting on his couch with his StarkPad in his hands. Peter walks over and falls to the cushion next to him. 

Peter settles himself so that his head is laying on Dad's thigh and he's curled up comfortably. 

Dad smiles down at him with his glasses perched on his nose and smiles. "Hey, bubs. What're you doing up?" 

"Couldn't sleep." 

Dad puts his StarkPad on the table besides the couch to give Peter his full attention. "Pops told me you were having trouble sleeping this morning too. You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter fibs, “I’m okay. Just a rough day I guess.” It’s been a string of rough days, but Peter doesn’t want to worry them about his sleeping habits. 

“How can I help?” Dad starts to run his fingers through Peter’s hair, scratching gently on his scalp as he does so. 

“Can I lay here with you until I fall asleep?” 

“Of course, kiddo. Close your eyes. I’m not going anywhere.” He continues to run his fingers through his hair and Peter can’t help but let his eyes flutter shut. 

“What’re you working on?” He asks in a quiet voice, not wanting to keep himself up but also not wanting to lay here in silence. His mind goes to scary places when it’s silent. 

“Upgrade for Pops’ suit. I want the fabric to be just as lightweight but tougher. I’m tired of bullets and knives getting through it.”

“You’re going to reinvent kevlar?”

“Sure am,” Tony replies immediately. “It’s my job to keep him safe out there.” 

Peter is quiet when he asks, “What about me?”

Tony looks down at him with intense eyes. It's like he's making a life or death promise. "Of course. I will keep you safe from everything." 

Even myself? 

"Everything." 

Peter nods and lets Dad believe the lie. It's easier that way. 

three.  

Just like the empty feeling in his gut, Peter doesn't know when the need to hurt himself starts. 

Well, actually, it starts when he wants to feel something. But then it's something entirely different. 

The pain he feels when he drags a blade across his skin is his own pain. He controls that. He can stop it at any time if he wants. 

So when days are hard and nights are worse, he takes a blade and closes his eyes. He takes every bad thought in his mind and brings it up front. For a moment, he's so nauseous from it all he feels like he may throw up. 

But swallows down the shame and digs the blade just deep enough to break skin. He takes that fear and he keeps it with the pain and then he pulls the blade away. The pain leaves immediately and for a short while, so does the anxiety. 

He's clear and he's free. 

Until the blood starts to drip and his arm throbs slightly. 

He always forgets that part when he brings out the blade. He forgets that he's adding another scar to his blemished skin. He forgets the way it hurts whenever something even brushes against it. He forgets the shame he feels every time he sees it. 

Despite knowing how it leaves him feeling worse than he felt before, he does it again and again just for those few seconds where the world is silent.  

Hiding it from Pops and Dad is easier than he wants it to be. He wants to be stopped. He wants them to see because he doesn’t want to tell them. There’s no way he’s telling them that he cuts himself. 

He feels stupid and ashamed. 

One night, he’s in his room cleaning the blood off his arm, waiting for it to scab when he hears a knock at his door. He panics and quickly wipes at it before sticking a bandaid to it and he shoves the blade under his pillow before he clears his throat. “Come in!” 

Pops sticks his head in the doorway and smiles. “Hey, bud.” 

Peter wonders if he can see it. Does Pops see that Peter is suffering? He’s his father. Doesn’t he notice? “Hey, Pops.” 

Pops steps inside the room and shuts the door behind him. He sits down right next to Peter on the bed and he doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. “I wanted to tell you something, Pete.” 

I want to tell you something too! I’m hurting! I’m lost! I’m broken! I need help! “Hm?”

"Fury called me in for a mission this weekend." 

"What?" 

"It won't be dangerous. Just some recon. I'll be home before you know it." 

Just show him. Show him and he won't go. He'll stay and he'll hug you and he'll make it better. 

But Peter doesn't want to have to show him. He just wants him to know. 

"Is that okay, Pete? Will you be okay if I go?" 

"I'll be okay," Peter answers even though he's not sure why Pops would ask that. Why does it matter if he's gone for a few days? 

"Dad will be here. He has a gala on Saturday night, but we can call Natasha and Bucky to come stay with you." Pops brushes a strand of hair off of Peter's forehead. Does he know? Did he see? 

Peter wants that to be true. He wants for it to all be over. He wants Pops to make it better. "You don't need to. I'm okay with being home alone." 

"Alright, bud," Pops pats his arm right where he just bandaged and he can't help but wince. Pops freezes. "Peter, are you okay?" 

Peter takes a deep breath and he wants to tell him no, but he thinks about the consequences. He thinks about having to talk to his fads and explain what he's doing, telling them about how he hurts himself, going to a doctor, taking meds...he doesn't want all that. He just wants it gone. Immediately. 

"I--..." 

"Are you sick?" He moves his hand and places it against Peter's forehead. "You don't feel hot…" 

Tell him. Just tell him. It'll be hard, but it will get easier. It has to get easier. "I'm just a little nauseous. Must have eaten too much at dinner." 

"Too much?" Pops frowns. "You didn't finish one plate full." 

Oh, right. Peter's appetite has almost disappeared lately. So Pops has noticed that. Does he care? Does he think it's something worse? "Because my stomach was bothering me." 

Stop lying. Stop digging yourself deeper. There are so many ways out. Take one! Tell him! 

"Alright." He hesitates, studying Peter's face. "Are you sure you're alright for me to go? I'll be leaving tonight." 

"Go. Please don't worry about me." He tries to smile and make it convincing. "I'll bother dad if I need it. And when he goes to his party, I'll binge something on Netflix." 

"You sure?" Pops asks after a moment of just staring at him. 

"Yeah. Of course." 

Pops hesitates for one moment more before leaning forward and kissing him on the top of his head. "I love you so much, buddy. I'll see you Sunday night." 

Peter watches him leave and hates himself for not stopping him. Once the door is shut, he drops onto his pillow, knowing that bloody blade is still there and his self-hatred increases even more. 

He stays in that spot all weekend. He gets up to use the bathroom but that's it. He doesn't shower and doesn't change. He doesn't want to see the bandage on his arm and he definitely doesn't want to see what's underneath it. 

He wakes up on Saturday feeling karma's sweet revenge. He feels absolutely sick to his stomach. Which is another reason why he doesn't get out of bed. A headache soon follows the nausea. 

Dad checks in on him every few hours and when it gets later on in the night, he carefully walks in and sits down by his bedside. 

Leaning over, he gives Peter a soft smile and brushes his hand through his hair. "How're you feeling, bambino?"

"Gross." 

"I'm sorry, kiddo. Is there anything I can do?" 

Make the pain go away. Make it stop. Make it end. I want to be okay. "I dunno…" 

"Well, I already had Pepper cancel my appearance tonight. I'm staying with you, baby." Dad begins to brush his hand through Peter's hair. 

"What? You didn't have to cancel it! I'm fine by myself." He already feels like a burden. 

"You're not staying here alone when you're sick." 

"Then invite Bucky or Nat to come watch me. You don't need to miss this!" He tries to push himself up so he doesn't look as sickly and pathetic. 

Dad pushes him back down to his pillow easily both because Peter doesn't have the strength to fight it and because he puts his hand on the bad spot on his arm. Just like Pops did. "You're my son and I'm your father. You're not having someone babysit you because I'm out partying while you're sick. 

Peter hates this. He hates being the reason Dad can't go and work because he's in bed feeling sorry for himself. He probably made himself sick from all the worrying and not eating and barely sleeping.

He thinks about all that Dad and Pops have done for him and then he thinks about everything he's keeping from them, and the burden he already puts on them, and the increased burden if they knew how messed up Peter is. They don't deserve that. They don't deserve to deal with him. 

"I'm sorry," Peter whispers, trying not to cry.

Dad, as always, is so comforting. He bushes him gently and gives him a kiss. "It's alright, baby boy. I promise. Don't cry. It's okay. It's all going to be okay." 

four. 

Peter isn't supposed to pay attention to the press and news when they say things about his family. He's supposed to change the channel or turn the page. 

But this headline stops him in his tracks. He's been scrolling through his phone and when it comes on his Instagram feed, his thumb pauses. It hovers over the screen. 

It's a picture of him. 

His heart jumps into his throat and he feels sick. He's going to hurl any second. Because that's him. That's him in the picture trying to duck away from paparazzi on his way home from school. 

Son or Burden? is written across the top. 

He swipes to the next slide in the post and it's a video from some news reporter. She starts talking immediately. 

"This is a question we've all been wondering since the adoption back in 2009 when they adopted Peter, an orphan from a Queens foster home." 

Why were they wondering? It wasn't their business. 

"Many weren't sure it was such a good idea to bring a child into their lifestyle. Their jobs as Iron Man and Captain America are incredibly dangerous. The last thing that kid needed was to become an orphan. Again." 

That fear haunts Peter every night. He hates the thought of them not coming home. When Pops was on his mission he couldn't sleep at night until he was home safe. 

"But now it's obviously a concern for them to have to be his parents." 

The video ends there and Peter has to swipe to the next slide to continue. He does quickly and almost doesn't want to hear what comes next. 

"Sources close to the family have told us that Tony cancelled his appearance last week at a charity fundraiser because of his son." 

Dad had assured Peter multiple times that he didn't miss anything important when he stayed home with him. Peter believed him because he didn't want to think of Dad ditching something important when he was only staying home with Peter because he made himself sick. 

"They'd been planning that for months. Tony was a key guest to the ceremony. What was so important that had Tony canceling only hours before he was supposed to be on stage?" 

But I'm his son? Isn't that important enough? 

"This isn't the first time something like this has happened I bet. Wonder if he really thought that through when he brought the kid home." 

I've been his son for 9 years...why would he regret it now? That's stupid. So stupid. There's no way that Dad would suddenly regret having Peter as his son. 

Unless…

No, that can't be true. Because if it is… then he was never wanted. Dad and Pops never wanted him. Or they realized that they didn't need him soon after adopting. 

Why didn't they just send him back then? Did they pity him? Why? 

Peter doesn't deserve to be their son. Not then and not now. He wishes he did because he wants to stay with them for the rest of his life, even if they can’t see how broken he is. Maybe that’s why they haven’t gotten rid of him yet. 

To them, he may be a burden, but at least he isn’t broken. 

But he is. He’s broken beyond repair and they don’t even see. Do they even care?

Peter throws his phone against the wall and lays back down. He doesn’t plan on ever leaving this bed. He squeezes his eyes shut but doesn’t fall asleep for hours. 

The next morning when he wakes up to his alarm, he shuts that off and lays right back down. His clock blinks angrily at him because he’s not getting ready for school. His alarm goes off again 15 minutes later and Peter unplugs the digital clock from the wall. He pulls his pillow over his head and tries to go back to sleep. 

No one checks on him to see if he’s up and at school. Peter wants his door to open and he wants to hear Dad or Pops ask him why he’s still in bed this late. But it never comes. 

Because they don’t have time for me. They have lives. Important things to do. They shouldn’t have to worry about their teenage son being too pathetic to get out of bed. 

He lays there for hours until his door is shoved open without a knock. It brings a world of chaos, killing the silence Peter’s been drowning in. 

“Peter, oh, my God!” 

“What the hell are you doing in bed?” 

Both of his parents are here and both of them sound upset-- worried and angry. An overwhelming combination of the two. He keeps his back to them as he stares at his wall. 

“Peter Rogers-Stark, turn around and look at us right now .” 

Peter doesn’t. They never listen so why should he?

Before he can continue his brooding, one of them grabs his shoulder and moves him to his back. Peter turns his head to glare at them. He doesn’t know where the sudden anger came from. He doesn’t understand why he wants to scream and yell just because they’re upset he’s still in bed. 

“Peter, why aren’t you in school right now?” Pops asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s trying to be the bad cop in their interrogation right now. Dad looks too worried. 

“Didn’t wanna go,” Peter answers with a careless tone. 

Pops raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t want to go? Hate to break it to you, bud, but school isn’t optional. You can’t just decide not to go because you don’t want to.” 

“Why not? Dad can just decide not to go to work.” 

Dad doesn’t catch on. “What? Pete, what’re you talking about?” 

“Last week you had a charity event. Big important one. You didn’t show up because you didn’t want to.” 

“I didn’t go because you were sick. I didn’t want to leave you alone.” Dad looks genuinely confused and Peter should feel bad. He knows he should. But there are too many emotions running through his mind to focus on any. He’s tired of it all. He just wants it to end. 

“I don’t need you watching me! I’m fine!” 

“Obviously, we need to watch you. You’re skipping school. You can’t afford to skip school right now with those grades,” Pops argues. 

Peter’s heart skips a beat. How do they know? “My grades are fine," he fibs. 

“Cut the crap, Peter. Your principal called today wondering why you weren’t in school. He told us about your grades and how you’re failing.” 

“I’m not failing!” Not all of them. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard. Can’t you see that? 

“If you’re not, then you’re close to it. Skipping school, failing classes, getting into fights. What’s gotten into you, Peter?”

“I don’t know!” I don’t know what it is, but it’s killing me. It’s wrapping it’s claws around my heart and it’s squeezing the life and love out of me. I’m dying and I can’t get it out. Get it out!

“Don’t yell,” Dad says calmly. “We can talk about this without any of us yelling.” 

Peter wipes his eyes when he feels them start to burn. He doesn’t want to cry. Why is he crying? “I don’t want to go to school.” 

Dad raises a hand to Pops, stopping him from speaking. “You’ve told us that but not why. And no matter the reason, you can’t just not show up at school and ignore all your phone calls. We were both with Fury when your principal called and we had no idea if you were okay or not.” 

Peter scoffs. “I’m okay. See me? No need to worry.” 

Pops doesn’t take that as an answer. “Do you understand who your parents are? Iron Man and Captain America. Very well known people with lots of dangerous enemies. So if we get a call saying you never made it to school and then you don’t pick up your phone, don’t you see how that could be a little scary for us?”

The tears start to fall without permission. He stares down at his lap so they don’t have to see how weak he is. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for being such a burden to you!” 

“Burden?” Pops repeats incredulously. “Don’t be putting words in our mouth, Peter. Neither of us ever said you were a burden.

“And we certainly don’t think that,” Dad adds. 

“You don’t have to say it! I know! I’m just some stupid kid. I ruin everything and I shouldn’t be your son.” Peter glares hard at his blanket, not even able to see it through his blurry vision. 

Dad’s voice is soft. “Bubba, what are you talking about? Where is this coming from?” 

Peter doesn’t know. “You should have left me in that stupid tree. You should have brought me home.” 

“No, no, no,” Dad immediately starts saying as he sits down on the bed. “Petey, don’t say that. We brought you home and made you our son because we love you.” 

“No, you don’t. You don’t love me. You can’t.” 

Before Peter even finishes that, there’s a hand under his chin to lift up his head. He’s staring up at Pops and he’s giving him a strong look with his own glassy eyes. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. You don’t get to say that. Your father and I love you more than anything. Everything we do is for you, because of you. I’m sorry. I’m genuinely sorry if you can’t see how much we love you. But you don’t get to tell us that we don’t love you. Because we do. We love you with every fiber of our beings.” 

Peter’s crying steadily by now. His nose is running and he’s struggling to take in a breath without choking on a sob. 

“Pops is right, baby. We love you more than anything. I’m sorry if we don’t remind you enough, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” Dad grabs his hand and squeezes it. 

“You shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I’m broken.” Neither of the answer right away so Peter rambles on, “You don’t know...you don’t know how broken I am. I’m not the son you want. You don’t deserve to put up with me.”

Pops sits down next to Dad and his voice is softer than it was, but it’s still charged with something. Fear? “Bud, you’re not broken. No human being is broken. Especially not you.” 

Peter sobs again. “But I am! I am!” 

Dad tries to calm him down. “So then why don’t you tell us, baby. If you tell us, then we can understand.” 

Why does he have to tell them? Can’t they see how pathetic he is? Can’t they see how he doesn’t want to do this anymore. Can’t they see how lost he is? Why don’t they notice? 

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” Peter’s voice sounds devoid of the emotion he carried this entire conversation. It’s like a switch was flipped. He feels calm. His decision brings him peace. 

It doesn’t bring peace to Pops or Dad though. 

“Why do you mean, Peter? Why does that mean?”

“I’m going back,” he answers, shaking Dad’s hand off his and then shoving Pops’ hand off his shoulder. 

“Going back where?” Pops aks. 

“Dunno. Wherever you got me from. That stupid kid market. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.” Peter tries to lay down because he’s done with this conversation, but Dad doesn’t let him. 

“Peter, what the hell does that mean?” Now Dad is the one that sounds close to angry. “You can’t just go back. You’re our son and we’re not letting you go.” 

“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t love the idea. I know you both want me gone so you don’t have to worry about me skpiping school or my stupid grades or miss important galas. I’m tired of being a burden.” 

“Peter, please,” Tony begs. “What’s gotten into you? What’s wrong?”

Dad doesn’t know what’s wrong. It’s been months and he doesn’t even have a clue. That’s part of the problem. “Nothing’s wrong, Dad.” 

“Something’s wrong, Peter. Something has been wrong for months. Why won’t you just talk to us?”

“I don’t need to talk,” Peter snaps and he doesn’t know why he snaps. 

“You do. You need to tell us what’s going on. We can’t read your mind,” Pops says, keeping his voice gentle even with Peter’s sudden aggression. 

“Don’t you remember what you told me all those years ago at that stupid barebecue? I don’t need to talk,” Peter spits the words back at Dad. He hates that he feels accomplished when a flash of hurt goes through Dad’s eyes. 

You’re broken, Peter. You feel like that because you’re broken. 

“I said that so you’d know we’d find a way to communicate. But, Peter, lately, it doesn’t feel like there’s been any communication from you. And whatever we get doesn’t tell us what’s going on.” Dad tries so hard to placate him, but he’s too late. 

Peter’s passed saving. 

He flops back down on his bed and refuses to answer them. Regressing back to not speaking doesn’t do anything. Peter knows this. But he wants to be spiteful and this is his best idea. So he lays there and ignores both of them as they try to get him to say something. 

Eventually, Pops sighs heavily. “Come on, Tony. He’s not going to answer us. Let’s give him some space.” Then he leans over and kisses the top of Peter’s head. 

Dad follows him but doesn’t say a word until his lps are pressed against his hair. “We love you, bambino. We love you so much.” 

Then they’re both gone and Peter’s alone. He’s alone with his thoughts and right now, all he’s thinking of is how he wants them back. He wants them back and he hates himself for pushing them away.

But he has to get used to that because that’s what’s best. 

five.

That night, Peter packs a backpack full of things he thinks may come in handy most when he’s gone. He’s got a few changes of clothes, blankets, and some money to get him somewhere. He can’t go back to that old foster home, nor does he want to. 

He just wants to get away and let Dad and Pops live the life they were meant to have. 

So without looking back, he sneaks out of his room and tip-toes down the hallway. He’s almost to the elevator when he hears Pops. His voice is low and it doesn’t sound like Pops. He never thought anything could make Pops sound so...wrecked. “Are you leaving?”

Peter glances over his shoulder and sees Pops standing there in nothing but his sweatpants and undershirt. They both stand there without moving. It feels like a standoff. Peter doesn’t answer him. He doesn’t want to. 

Pops either gets tired of waiting or knows a verbal answer won’t come. He sighs and looks at the bag in his hand before looking back at him. “At least let me drive you to wherever you want to go.” 

Peter freezes. Why would he want to help him leave?

Because he’s happy to finally have you gone. 

Peter nods his head quickly even though he wants to scream at Pops to hug him and not let go. But he doesn’t because even if he did, no one would hear him. 

"Wait here. I'm going to grab my shoes." 

Peter feels like this should be a trap, but he waits there anyway. Soon, Pops comes back with shoes and Dad by his side. Peter stares at him in confusion. 

"If you're leaving, I want to spend a few more moments with you before you're gone." They start walking towards him and Peter turns around to walk to the elevator before they see his face. He knows this is what he needs to do, but he doesn't want it. 

Do they?

It seems like it as they take the elevator down to the garage and get in the car. Dad drives them around the city and even though it's late at night, people are still around. 

Would they hear him if he stuck his head out the window and screamed? Probably not. 

Peter stares out the window, trying not to think about how compliant Pops and Dad are with helping him run away. They probably took him to the nearest bus station even though they didn't ask where he wanted to go. 

"Come on, kid," Dad says as he shuts the car off and gets out. Pops does the same and Peter takes in a deep breath before he follows them out. 

It's too dark for him to see what's around them, but he trusts his dads. Of course, he does.

They walk through grass and past lamp posts that just barely light up the area. It's a park, Peter realizes. But he's not sure why they're at a park. 

Not until they stop by a tree. Actually, the tree where it all began. Peter holds his breath as he looks up at it. 

It's the only tree in this section of the park and that makes Peter's heart hurt. He steps forward to place a hand on the bark, hoping the tree isn't as lonely as him. 

"I hope by now you've caught on that we're not letting you go anywhere," Pops says from behind him. 

"You're right, Peter. You don't have to talk. You didn't have to talk that day and you don't have to talk tonight. But we need to communicate."

Peter feels a lump grow in his throat as he slowly takes his hand off the tree stump. He turns around to look at his parents. 

"You're hurting. I don't know how...but you are," Dad continues. "I'm sorry we didn't talk to you about it sooner, but we thought you wanted to figure it out on your own or you didn't need us in your business." 

Peter looks back at the tree and still, doesn't say a word. 

"I don't know what's going through that brain of yours, bud, but we love you." Pops' voice sounds thick with tears. "We will always love you and we will never see you as a burden. You're our family, our child, our baby." 

"You don't have to say anything tonight, but soon...you need to talk to us soon because we just want to help you." 

Peter turns back around again, completely this time. When he speaks, his voice matches the unsteadiness of his dads'. "I was screaming and you didn't listen." 

Pops and Dad both stumble to say something, but Dad lets Pops go first. "We couldn't hear you. I know in your mind, it sounds like you couldn't be any louder, but...we didn't hear you." 

Dad continues, "Maybe if we listened more, we would have, but we didn't. But now we're listening. You have our full attention. You scream or you can whisper and we'll hear every word." 

This is what Peter's been waiting for. But now that the moment's here, he doesn't know what to say. There's so much to say. He can't sugar coat it, he can't make it sound any less harsh. 

So he takes a deep breath and says what he can. 

“Some nights," I feel like a tree falling in a forest. A giant tree crashing to the ground, but no one hears it. I’m screaming and yelling, but there’s no sounds made. And no one comes running to see if I’m okay.” 

He pauses and stares up at the tree. It’s bigger now, but it’s still that same tree Peter fell from right into Pops’ arms. 

“And some nights, my screaming is too loud. It’s too much for me to take and I want it to be silent. Those nights, I want to climb to the top of the tree and...I want to jump.”

He hears the quick intake of a breath at the admission of wanting to end it all, wanting it to be quiet. 

"Peter," Pops says in a gentle voice. "Do you remember when I told you that I'd miss you if you hibernated? If you slept too long, I wouldn't know what to do?"

Peter remembers the memory. He didn't think Pops was serious at the time. That's just somethig parents tell their kids because they have to. Especially to kids like Peter. "Yeah." 

"I meant every word of it. If you were gone, I don't know what I'd do, bear." 

Not knowing what to do with those words, Peter says, "Okay."

They should make him feeling something, Peter knows, but they don't.

Pops continues after a moment.  "Why didn't you tell us?" 

"I wanted you to know," he says earnestly. "But I couldn't tell you. It's hard to say those things, but I hated you for not noticing."

"We knew something was wrong, Peter. We did. We just didn't know what." 

"I told you I was broken. I knew you wouldn't want me after you knew." 

"Of course we want you," Dad says immediately. "We adopted you because we want you and that doesn't change because of this." 

"I shouldn't be like this. I've had a good life. You've always taken care of me. I shouldn't be so messed up!" He shouts. 

"Sometimes people's brains...they're chemically imbalanced. That's not your fault. It's not your fault for feeling this way, but your feelings are still vaild," Dad says. 

Peter falls to his knees in front of the tree, gripping his hsir in frustration. Maybe that thing will leave if he pulls hard enough. 

Before long, Pops is grabbing his hands and pulling them away though. "Stop, Peter. You're going to hurt yourself!"  Peter takes his hand from Pops' hold and pushes up his sleeve. Even in the low lighting, the scabs on his arm are clear to the three of them.  Pops' hold loosens on him. He uses that scared voice he's been using a lot lately to ask, "Peter, did you do that?" 

"Yeah. But I'm okay. It'll heal." Just in time for me to give myself more. 

"No, Peter," Pops says. "This isn't okay. Hurting yourself isn't okay." 

Like a dam breaks, Peter feels all the numbness chased away by the shame snd guilt. He starts crying and tries to pull his sleeve down so Dad and Pops can't keep staring. "I'm sorry! I know!"

Pops pulls him into a hug. "No, sweetie. Don't apologize for anything. You're alright. We're going to take you home, and we're going to get some rest, and tomorrow morning we'll call you a doctor and figure this out." 

Peter shakes his head but doesn't pull himself out of the hug. "No! I don't to see a doctor!" 

"They'll help you, Petey," Dad reassures him. "There is nothing wrong with asking for help." 

Peter sniffles but doesn't argue it again. He just lets himself be held. After a moment, a sob breaks through his lips and he says, "I just want it to be quiet." 

Then Dad kneels behind him and wraps his arms around him too. He hushes him softly. "It's going to be okay, baby. With time, it'll be quiet and you'll be okay." 

Once again, under that tree, his dads were there to catch him when he fell and make it all feel just a little bit better. 

six. 

Some days are harder than others. Some days, he can’t bear to get out of bed. Some days, he wants to bleed. Some days, he wishes he was never born. But those days aren’t so bad anymore. Because every day, whether good or bad, his dads are there. Never with shame or pity but with love and patience. 

Today isn’t a good or bad day. It’s an in between. 

He wakes up and kinda wishes he didn’t. So he lays in bed, not having the energy to step out of bed. Before long, there’s a knocking at his door and Pops sticks his head in. “Hey, bud. You didn’t come down for breakfast. We just wanted to see if everything was okay.” 

He shrugs his shoulders, staring over at Pops. 

Pops comes in the room and walks over to him. He brushes his hand through his hair a few times. “Bad day?” 

Even though Peter can’t decide yet, he nods. 

Pops leans down and kisses Peter’s head. “I’ll call school and tell them you’re sick. Dad will be up with a light breakfast for you to eat.” 

It’s hard for Peter to remember that he deserves this. 

It’s even harder to ask for what he wants. To communicate. 

“Can you just come lay down? Get Dad and lay down with me?”

Pops hesitates but then nods his head. “Of course, bud. I’ll be right back. I promise.” 

And he is. He’s gone and back within 15 minutes. Peter hasn’t looked away from the door. He’s not sure why. 

But it doesn’t matter because now Pops is back and Dad is with him. Dad has a plate of toast and a cup of orange juice. He doesn’t want either of those. He wants his Dads. He holds out his hands. He feels like a needy baby, but he doesn’t care. 

He wants these bad thoughts to go away and his dads can make that happen. 

They’re there in bed within a minute. Dad is putting his food on his dresser before climbing into one side while Pops gets into the other. 

They don’t say a word because they don’t need to. They just hold him close. 

Peter nestles his head against Pops’ chest while Dad runs his fingers through his hair. “Are you okay, baby?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He wants to be honest. He promised to be honest. Everything else before this moment was Bad. He was not okay. But right now...he feels okay. “I’m okay.” 

“Good,” Dad says before they both place a kiss on the top of his head.

His day isn’t good because there are too many dark thoughts in his mind, but his day isn’t bad because he has his dads holding him close. 

And that’s okay.