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Peter Stark was your typical sixteen-year-old. Curly brown hair, an average height, better than average at school, there was nothing really off about the boy from a first glance. But, Peter knew what else entailed at that first glance.
Well, to be accurate, the bullies at school did.
So, maybe, Peter Stark was a bit thinner than the average teenager. Big deal, right? He had been content with his body, especially with the spider bite that enforced power to flow through his veins, but it was hard to reinforce that positivity when everyday people would look at you and scream just how ugly you are.
Peter sighed as he opened his locker, switching his history book for his chemistry one. He had a long day with classes that seemed to bore him more than be a confident endeavor, to the point where all he wanted to do was go home and tinker in the lab that he and his father, Tony Stark shared.
Just as he was about to grab a snack with him, his spidey senses (or peter tingle if you were a certain Anthony Edward Stark) flared. It took everything within the boy to not fight the urge to run away when his locker door was suddenly slammed shut, causing him to momentarily flinch from the sound.
He inhaled sharply, letting his eyes close before opening them at a voice he wished wasn’t familiar.
“Oh, were you going to get a snack, loser? Wouldn’t want that to go to waste since,” he scanned Peter up and down, “there’s pretty much nothing there.”
Well, it’s not my fault being a radioactive spider-man comes with its perks and non-perks. Peter rolled his eyes, retorting, “Do you jocks have nothing better to do than waste your time with people who could care less? Oh wait, you’re jocks, so I guess you do fit the job description then.”
Shaking his head, Peter turned away, a cue for the bell to ring signaling that class would be starting soon. Before he could take two steps, Flash slammed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, grounding the teenager in place.
“Did I say you could leave? I guess your head is as dense as the rest of you,” chortled Flash. His goons that Peter hadn’t bothered to name laughed as they took his snacks out of his locker; tossing chocolate into their mouths and wrappers onto the floor.
“Lay off Flash. Maybe if we all went to class our heads wouldn’t be as dense,” returned Peter evenly. My game is good today, I can’t wait to go Spider-manning and continue my awesome quip track. And Sam said that I wasn’t funny!
Peter quickly remembered that like Sam, Flash didn’t find him funny either as he shoved his fist forward, crashing his digits against Peter’s face. The impact was so sudden, his spidey senses had merited a warning of the blow only a moment before it came.
The impact was also swift as pain rocketed through Peter’s nose, traveling all over his face as he winced, bringing a hand to soft, stinging skin. Before Peter could even come up with a response, Flash delivered another punch, this time to Peter’s abdomen, causing the teenager to yelp as his knees buckled, sending him crashing to the ground.
Flash took Peter’s fall as an invitation to gang up on him, with his goons kicking and punching whatever part of Peter they could.
Peter’s hand quickly moved to his eyes, shielding Flash and his goons from seeing the water that pricked the backs of his eyes. He was Spiderman, Spiderman wouldn’t cry when getting beat up by criminals, so he definitely wouldn’t cry in front of someone as low as Flash. Yet, the fact that he was getting beat up because of who he was, Peter Stark, was more than enough to make his heart and body ache.
He didn’t bother trying to get Flash to leave him alone, not because it would be useless, but because he knew that his voice would waver and betray his emotion.
Though, he didn’t have to bite his lip when Flash leaned close in Peter’s face and laughed, “He’s actually crying! How pathetic!” He kicked Peter roughly twice before ordering his goons to scatter, and the three headed down the hallway.
Peter winced as he slowly moved to sit up, letting a soft groan slip through pink lips. He blinked quickly, trying to fight the tears that pricked his eyes. Unfortunately, it was another battle that Peter waged only to lose after a few moments of quiet crying and sniffling.
He rested his head against a locker and closed his eyes, hating how he was so skinny and how what felt like the world hated him for something that he couldn’t change even if he tried.
And yet, I’ve tried so many times.
Peter had come to terms with it. It just wasn’t meant to be.
God must’ve pitied him because during the seconds to minutes that Peter sat there with his eyes closed, crying, he heard the concerned voice of his best friend: Ned.
“Peter?” He asked softly, quickening his pace to reach his friend faster, “Are you alright?”
Despite pressing his lips shut, Peter nodded, not trusting his voice to not betray the fact that he was in fact the opposite of alright.
Ned knelt beside him, placing a hand on the young Stark’s shoulder, “Do you want me to call your dad?”
“Please.” It was more than an answer, it was a plea that rasped out of quivering lips. The brown-haired boy reached into his hoodie pocket and handed his phone to his friend, grateful that for every bad person there was on the planet, there were just as many if not more good people that he could lean on.
The teenager kept his eyes and lips shut as Ned clicked on his father’s contact number and brought the phone to his ears. He was too embarrassed to do so himself and felt the ache in his chest tighten as Ned explained the situation to his father.
His father’s voice was laced with concern and worry, as it usually was as he concluded, “Alright, I’ll be there in five minutes. Probably less if I break the rules, which I’ll do all the time. Do me a favor, Ned, stay with Pete till I get there?”
Ned let out a hum of promise and handed the device back to Peter. He sat down, pressing his back against the locker next to Peter offering, “Do you need anything?”
Peter shook his head, opening his eyes, “Just stay until Dad comes?”
Ned wore a tight smile, “Duh.”
True to his words, Tony got to Midtown High in four minutes and thirty seconds and five speeding tickets that would later be waived by the CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts. He didn’t bother flashing his ID to the gawking security guards, muttering something about having to shoot some punk in the chest, and headed to the location of Peter’s phone, where his son inevitably lay.
When he sees his son, it took everything within the man to not crumple. Before a life of fame, fortune, and glory, the elder Stark had been an outcast in almost every sense: at home, at school, and in general, as he sought his place in the world.
It’s a part of his life that he hates reminiscing over, and even more so a part of life that he wishes he could shield from his son. He knows what it’s like, to feel exiled because of who you are—and it sucks.
As Tony slightly increased his pace, a tight smile overcame his features, a signal that Ned can leave as well as a thank you. When he saw Peter, he saw himself. When he saw Ned, he saw Rhodey. It’s comforting to the father that just as Rhodey always had his back, Ned’s got Peter’s. It’s a relieving thing to have in this dark, cruel world.
Ned mirrored a tight smile before casting a worried gaze down to Peter, who seemed like he’s somewhere between here and not, but that’s not for Ned to worry about, says the soft prodding on Tony’s face.
He crouched down next to his son, gentleness seeping in his words. “Hey, buddy. Would you like to go home?”
Peter nods.
“I need to hear you, kiddo, just so I can be sure.”
Peter’s lip quivers as it parts, “Yes, please.”
Tony nods, helping Peter up and keeping an arm around him as he packs his backpack and swings it around his shoulder. He gently shuts the locker to not startle Peter any more, and attract any attention.
Right now, all of his attention is on Peter and the bruises that have begun to self-heal judging by their fading color.
This time, the walk back to the car is brisk and the car drive slow.
Peter is quiet, resting his head against the plush of the center console, hand holding Tony’s. Tony squeezes the boy’s hand, humming a tune about how everything will be alright and always works out in the end.
The only other sound that fills either Stark’s eardrums is Peter’s soft, muffled sniffling.
When Tony parks the car inside the Tower, he doesn’t rush to get out. He sighs softly, gently nudging Peter. “Kiddo? You with me?”
Peter doesn’t respond, and were it not for Peter’s rigid chest, he’d think that the boy was asleep. He moves his free hand to Peter’s chocolate tresses, sifting through and carding the curls, while the other rubs patterns over the cotton that makes up Peter’s sweatshirt.
“Pete?”
Peter hums, an indication that’s he coming back here and away from there .
“Five things you can see?”
Tony watches his boy’s irises spark with more light and life than before as he looks around the car. “Steering wheel.”
“Attaboy,” praises Tony, “four more.”
Peter’s eyes fall on the lever in front of him. “Lever. Floor. Seat. You.”
Tony softly smiles as he pulls Peter into a sitting position, “You with me?”
“Yeah,” echoes Peter softly. He sniffles once again, this time, rubbing his eyes too. That’s when Tony sees the tears.
And that one tear was all it took for the waterworks to combust as Peter bawled against Tony’s chest, hands fisting the man’s shirt material while he whispered pleas for his dad to fix him and make it all better.
Tony, slightly taken aback from the sudden gesture, accepts Peter’s weight nevertheless. No matter where they are, he’d never get tired of holding his boy. He holds Peter, rocking him softly as a hand guides the boy’s head against the crook of his neck and the other rubs soft circles on his back.
“It’s okay,” says the father, “let it out. You’ll feel better,” he promises, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. He strokes Peter softly as his sobs turn to cries, and past the point where Peter’s throat can’t maintain the act anymore but drops of water still race each other down Peter’s face.
“What’s so wrong with me?” asks the boy dejectedly.
Tony shakes his head, pressing his chin into Peter’s hair, “There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re perfect just the way you are.” He kisses Peter’s face, “Those idiots don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re probably insecure themselves, and have nothing better to do than show their misery off.”
“But they’re so mean,” whispers Peter. “Why do they have to be so mean? I just want them to leave me alone. Why can’t they just do that?”
“I don’t know,” replies Tony, hating how he can’t answer his boy, especially when he’s in so much pain.
“I hate them! I hate how I’m so skinny! It’s not fair!”
“Bud,” starts Tony, “there’s nothing wrong with being skinny. Look at you, you’re beautiful just the way that you are. I know it feels that way, but I promise you, kiddo, that there’s nothing wrong with you being skinny. There’s nothing for me to fix. If you want to change, then you do that for yourself. Not because others are compelling you to do so, you understand? We all come in different shapes, don’t we? So what if you’re a bit skinnier than them? As long as you are healthy and you love yourself, then there’s no problem.”
Peter nods, but Tony knows that the boy still has his doubts.
He cups Peter’s face, trying to get his boy to just look at him, “Sweetheart, have I ever lied to you?”
Peter shakes his head.
“And I don’t ever plan on it. I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know why those idiots would even think such things about my beautiful baby boy, but I will make sure that they leave you alone. For good.”
For the first time, Peter looks up at his dad.
Tony nods, “I’m serious.” He runs his hands across Peter’s face, the parent in him unable to figure out which bruise to caress first, “No one should ever hit my boy. No one should ever hurt the love of my life. No one gets to walk away with making my baby cry. And, no one has the right to hurt my muffin like this. You hear me?”
Peter nods, and the corners of his lips start to twitch upwards.
Tony smiles, promising, “And, honey, no matter what, you know that I will always be there for you, alright? You don’t have to ever feel embarrassed about coming to me, or anyone that you trust for help, okay? I love you 3000,” he says while kissing Peter’s forehead, “and I’m always going to protect you. Understand?”
Peter nods, hugging his dad tightly, “Thank you.”
Tony pats the kid’s back, “I’m your dad, it’s my job to protect you.