Work Text:
Fandom: Marvel
Prompt: “Where did you get those bruises?”
They have their disagreements, Steve and Tony, but when it really matters, neither of them gives a shit what they may’ve been fighting over. They’re a team. So when Natasha reaches over to pull Peter into a hug and the little spider-ling hisses through his teeth, Steve drops the sketchbook in his hands and is by Tony’s side immediately, leaning over to nonchalantly grab a glass of water.
“Patrol?”
Tony shakes his head minutely, eyes focused on Natasha who pulls him in gently. “He hasn’t gone out recently.”
“Training?”
“Not with me.”
“May?”
Tony pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to May, asking if she knows if Peter got hurt recently. Steve watches Natasha make eye contact with him over Peter’s shoulder. She moves her hand purposefully over Peter’s ribs and his shoulder.
Multiple points of injury, then.
Peter doesn’t like being fussed over, they’ve learned, preferring to seek out help when he wants it. Problem is, sometimes that annoying voice in his head won’t let him ask for help, so they have to walk a fine line.
“May doesn’t know anything,” Tony mutters, sliding his phone away, “you thinking sleep deprivation?”
Steve shakes his head. “That’s a shin or elbow type of thing with him, isn’t it?”
Peter mumbles something into Natasha’s arms, shifting slightly to pull away and look at Steve and Tony. “Are you guys talking about me?”
“Sure are.”
“Yep.”
Peter blinks, shifting again, stopping when he winces. “Why?”
“They can see you’re hurt, baby spider,” Natasha says, running her hand through Peter’s curls, “they wanna make sure you’re okay.”
“But I’m fine.”
“And they’re overprotective puppy dogs.”
Peter squints, craning his neck around to look at Natasha. “You say that like you’re not overprotective Momma Spider.”
Natasha boops him on the nose and Peter squawks, failing. Steve doesn’t bother to hide his smile until Peter accidentally wriggles too far, falling from Natasha’s lap to the floor with an unceremonious thump.
He’s around the counter and kneeling by Peter’s side in an instant, hovering anxiously as Peter…doesn’t move. Natasha mouths something—probably ‘overprotective’ or some such bullshit—but Steve can only focus on the wheezing breaths coming from the boy in front of him. Peter’s shoulder shakes. He tries to push himself up off the ground. His upper arm trembles, barely holding him up, before he gives up and lets it collapse.
“Pete,” Steve calls softly, “Pete, can you hear me?”
“‘M not that bad, guys,” comes the mumble from the floor, “I’m fine.”
“I’m sure,” Steve says.
“I am.”
“No, absolutely, I totally and utterly believe you right now.”
“Steve!”
“Peter.”
Peter flails his arm, trying to bat Steve away. “Stop it! Leave me alone.”
“Uh-huh, sure, kiddo. That big smile on your face definitely means that you want me to leave you alone.”
“I am not.”
“No, of course, you’re not. You’re definitely not smiling really big right now.”
“I’m not!”
“No, I heard you the first time.”
Steve’s got his own shit-eating grin on as Peter curls himself into a ball, trying to hide his face from them. Natasha giggles from the couch and Tony just shakes his head at their shenanigans. Then Peter’s shirt slides up a little and Tony freezes. He snaps his fingers to get Steve’s attention and indicates the part of Peter’s back that’s just been exposed.
Peter flinches when he feels the warmth of Steve’s hand near his back. Steve doesn’t move. Natasha watches Peter’s eyes squeeze shut before he lets his body go slack. He gives up. She knows that reflex.
“Baby Spider,” she says, slipping to the floor, “Baby Spider, can we help you?”
Peter shrugs, staying quiet. She glances up to see Steve’s angry puppy-dog face back in full force, Tony standing guard by the door. Peter’s not agreeing to let them help, he’s surrendering. Natasha swallows the impulse in her throat and sits back, stands, and pulls Steve away. She quells his protest with a look, all but shoving him towards Tony.
“We have to respect his boundaries,” she hisses when Steve makes to go back, despite how much she wants to make sure Peter’s alright, “if he doesn’t want help, he doesn’t want help.”
“But sometimes he can’t ask,” Tony murmurs, “then what do we do?”
“Trust him.” Steve leans against the counter, making sure none of them are starting at Peter. “That’s what we do.”
Peter, of course, can hear them perfectly well. He doesn’t want to be a bother, this one wasn’t even that bad, he’s just been…well, it’s been different lately. He can deal with this. Still…he knows they want to help. He knows they won’t be angry at him. He knows he can trust them. With a sigh, he resigns himself to getting up and going to ask for help. At least until he tries to uncurl and realizes that he’s either going to have to roll onto his back or his front to get the leverage he needs to push himself up and uh, that’s not gonna work.
“…guys?”
“Yeah, Pete?” Tony looks over Steve’s shoulder.
“I, um, can you help me up?”
“Sure,” Tony says, stepping around the others to reach down for Peter. “You want me to pull?”
“Mhm.” Peter takes Tony’s offered hands and pulls himself up, wincing when all of his back decides nah, not today. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“I, um…” Peter twists his hands together, looking at the floor.
“Take your time,” Tony says.
“…I got hurt,” Peter manages finally, feeling his face flush, “and I, um…need help.”
“Okay. We need the medbay?” Tony starts them toward the elevator, hoping that Peter’ll shake his head and say he just needs some basic stuff. That’s not what happens.
“I don’t know.”
Tony grits his teeth. “Okay. Come on, better to be safe than sorry, hmm?”
“Okay.” Peter glances over his shoulder as they near the doors. “Can, um, can they come too?”
Steve, of course, hops right alongside them, Natasha following behind as they make it to the elevator. The elevators are always a little cooler than the surrounding floors, making Peter shiver slightly as they start down. Steve steps up behind him, silently offering something warm to lean against. He smiles when Peter leans against him, his weight barely noticeable thanks to the spider DNA.
Tony turns the medbay lights down when they walk in, not needing the retina-damaging intensity, and plops them into one of the closed rooms.
“You want all of us in here, Baby Spider,” Natasha asks, “or do you want some of us to wait outside?”
Peter glances back and forth between the three of them before shyly holding on to Natasha’s sleeve. Tony and Steve nod, promising they’ll be just outside.
“You want the room soundproofed, that’s fine too,” Tony reassures, “FRIDAY’ll let us know if you want us.”
Peter nods and the door slides shut. He sits carefully on the bed and Natasha watches as he starts to pull off his T-shirt. He winces when he tries to raise his arms above his head.
“Nat—“
“I got you, Baby Spider.” She takes the hem of his T-Shirt and slowly, slowly pulls his arms out of the sleeves. “And just over your head…there.”
She sets the item of clothing aside and turns back, years of training the only thing keeping her from visibly reacting.
“Where did you get those bruises, Peter?”
There’s so much purple and green covering Peter’s ribs, even below his binder. If his wince earlier was any indication, he’s got them on his back too. His shoulder isn’t exactly pristine either. Natasha settles her hands carefully behind her back, asking quietly if she can touch them to see how bad they are. At Peter’s nod, she comes forward, resting her hand lightly over his side. It’s warm to the touch. He breathes in sharply through his teeth even though she’s barely touching him.
“Sensitive?”
“Mm.” He grits his teeth. “I don’t think anything’s broken…”
“Can we run a scan to make sure?”
He nods. FRIDAY whips out one of the fancy little gizmos tucked in the corner of the room and the blue beams move up and down, a copy of their findings appearing on the screen in front of Natasha. Peter’s right, nothing’s broken. Some heavy bruising, sure, but that looks about it.
“We’ll put something on those,” she says, reaching for the right ointment, “should make it much better. You want one coat of the numbing before the freezing or…?”
Peter shakes his head. “Don’t need painkillers, it’s fine.”
“Peter…you don’t have to play tough here.”
“But I’ve had worse!”
“Uh-huh. That’s why we have painkillers.” She taps his uninjured side. “Can we take this off too? I don’t want you to lose circulation or miss an infection.”
She has to help him get the binder off too. Red marks, more bruises…now she understands why Peter didn’t want Tony or Steve in here at first. Poor kid looks like he’s been through the wringer. She takes a few of the surgical towels and rinses them with the disinfectant, using slow strokes to make sure everything’s clean before she starts with the ointment.
Sometimes she curses her ability to see everything. She can read what happened to Peter on his body, right now.
They shoved you up against a wall.
Your binder dug into you here…it slipped.
Someone shoved you to the ground.
What the fuck kind of shoes were they wearing when they kicked you?
Peter, I’m gonna fucking kill them.
“Okay,” she murmurs, when everything’s taken care of, “are you okay with not wearing your binder for a few days? Just until the worst of this goes down?”
Peter nods. “We’ve got a long weekend from school. And I, uh, I’m staying here for it.”
Her heart swells. “Of course, Baby Spider.”
“Thanks…” Peter’s gaze flicks towards the door.
“Do you want the others to come in now?”
Peter nods. The worst of the injuries are hidden behind bandages to keep the creams in place. Natasha will keep them in check. The door slides open and they come in, Tony glancing surreptitiously at the scans and Steve giving his body a quick once over before smiling at him. He fights the urge to hide his chest when they look at him, forcing himself to keep his hands by his sides.
“Hey, bambino,” Tony says, coming close to ruffle Peter’s hair, “how’re you holding up?”
Peter lays his head on Tony’s shoulder, using it as an excuse to hide himself a little behind the older man, luxuriating in the warmth of Tony’s hand fluffing his hair. Steve and Natasha come closer too, forming a wall between him and the door. There’s no one that’s going to come in, no one who would dare hurt him here, but he appreciates the added security. And this way, they’re too close to really get a good look at him.
“Pete,” Steve calls, watching Peter’s head turn to look at him, “can you tell us what happened, kiddo?”
Peter swallows, his throat working against Tony’s shoulder. “I, um…got in a fight at school.”
Peter doesn’t get into fights at school, he gets beat up by kids at school.
“They, um, I slipped and they, uh, took advantage.”
Peter doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t want to hurt somebody.
They don’t call him out on it; they’ve had these conversations before. They’ve got their own little code now with Peter, where he can tell them what happened without having to say it. He’s been trying to get himself to be better about that, he promises, but they said it’s okay if he needs to keep using the code for certain things.
“They, um…they were really fast.”
The second those words come out of Peter’s mouth, Natasha’s nails dig into her palms and Steve’s jaw tightens. Tony simply turns his head and pecks Peter’s forehead, still running his fingers through his hair. Steve reaches out, making if he can fix one of the bandages that’s starting to fall off. He works quickly, making sure Peter’s as covered up as possible, reaffixing the bandage and checking the others.
“Can we get you something else to wear,” he asks softly, “maybe a bigger T-Shirt?”
“C-can I have one of yours?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”
He’s gonna go walk off some of his righteous fury too, Tony thinks, letting Peter stay buried in the crook of his neck.
“When Steve comes back,” he says, “can we get some food in you and then get you to bed?”
Peter nods.
“You have any preferences?”
“Pizza?”
“FRIDAY, let’s do number 13.”
“You got it, Boss.”
Steve returns with the shirt, helping Peter pull it on carefully, taking the other shirt and his binder to be washed. They move to the nearest room with couches, Peter curling up as best he can, his head in Natasha’s lap, as Steve and Tony resume whatever they were talking about earlier. Peter doesn’t remember eating much, just the taste of the pizza and the warmth of Steve behind him. He remembers sliding into bed out of someone’s arms—also probably Steve—and the satisfaction of falling asleep when the numbing agent kicked in, thrumming pleasantly through his veins.
Steve makes it back to the common room before he has to stop, breathing heavily and fighting the urge to let all the creative curses he’s been saving loose. Natasha’s still perched on the couch, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her face a stoic mask. Tony’s typing away on his phone.
“What,” Steve grits out, “the absolute fuck.”
“There’s nothing on his record,” Tony says, glaring at his phone, “nothing. No disciplinary warnings, no consequences, it’s like it never even happened.”
“I think Peter’s covering for him,” Natasha muses, her conversational tone hiding the fury in her chest, “he knows Flash has his own set of problems.”
“And that excuses this?” Steve takes a deep breath when Natasha sends him a ‘preaching-to-the-choir-here’ face. “So we’re adding physical assault to the list now.”
“Deadnaming, transphobic slurs…” Tony taps a few more buttons on his phone. “Alright, you know what, yeah, we’re adding assault.”
“This is a kid,” Steve snarls, his hands landing on the countertop, “both of them are.”
“We have to talk to Peter before we do anything.” Natasha raises a hand to stifle their protests. “You know we do.”
“Are we gonna wait until it’s worse?”
“We’re telling May, though, right?”
“You have the whole dossier prepared, I bet.”
Tony just raises an eyebrow at her.
“Figured.” Natasha sighs, glancing at the display of Peter’s vitals she had FRIDAY pull up. “Who else knows?”
“I’m pretty sure everyone’s figured something out,” Steve says, “at least I know Sam and Buck have.”
“Bruce knows,” Tony says, “so do Rhodey and Thor. They, uh, know the signs.”
“Clint does.” Natasha rubs her face. “Okay. Cool. We can see if he’s ready to talk by the end of the weekend.”
“May’s coming to stay too, right?”
Natasha nods.
“It might be easier for him to talk to her,” Tony muses, “just because of…well, you know.”
Steve nods. “She knows a little already, right?”
“Told her he’d been hurt. Didn’t say how bad. She’s on her way up first thing tomorrow.”
Sure enough, when May pulls up, Natasha takes her aside and gently explains a little of what happened. May takes it in stride, nodding and knocking softly on Peter’s door.
“Peter? Can I come in?”
“Uh, yeah, May,” Peter says, scrambling to get his—Steve’s—shirt pulled on, “come in?”
She opens the door, smiling at her boy in the bed. She shuts the door carefully, coming over to take him carefully into her arms.
“Hey, baby,” she murmurs, rubbing his arms, “Nat says you had a rough day yesterday, huh?”
“Mhm.” Peter closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of May’s cooking, her flowers, and the scented candle they leave in the bathroom. “They helped me with it after I asked.”
“That’s good, Peter,” May says, “I’m glad you felt like you could ask.”
“…Aunt May?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“Can I talk to you about something?”
May smiles, pulling back so Peter can see her face. “Of course, baby. Tell me everything.”
He does.