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Shame, Peter thinks, is a funny thing. It takes up quiet residence in your chest and your mind and your fingertips, colonising your body until you can’t quite breathe for dislodging it – and dislodging it, Peter has come to realise, means your chest shattering all over again: shame seeping into your bloodstream until you’re hot and sick with it all.
Everyone has it to some degree. Peter knows that everyone has those awkward memories they wish they could gut out with a sharp knife and some anaesthesia, but he feels confident enough to venture his is more debilitating than most. The worst part about it is that he knows better; he knows what happened shouldn’t be causing him this much shame and embarrassment; he knows that he didn’t do anything wrong and he doesn’t have any reason to feel this shame so acutely.
That doesn’t make it any less potent.
He walks around with it bogging him down, thickening his blood and tiring his mind, stabbing at his chest whenever something triggers a memory again. He carries it around the school corridors and into English class, feels it tugging at each breath he takes at night. It colours his cheeks in Tony’s lab and even the Spider-Man suit can’t dull it.
Yes, shame is a funny thing, but it’s also fucking relentless. And all Peter wants is to escape it, please, just to escape it for one day.
It’s worsened, lately. Sure, it’s always been there, ever since it happened in sixth grade, but it was manageable. Researching sexual assault recovery and other survivors’ stories on the library computers helped, but if he’s honest, a good amount of repression and refusal to believe it really happened helped more. So he’d moved on and gotten over things and it only ever crept up his neck if something triggered it, and that didn’t happen all that often.
Things changed when Skip had made it into the local news last month. It was innocuous really: he has a new job working at a cancer charity, and a local newspaper did a focus piece on it, interviewing Skip and proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was back in New York City, intending to stay.
“I moved away from New York years ago with my mom after she was diagnosed, we went back to Massachusetts. But when she passed a couple of months ago, I knew she’d want me to come back to the city and work for the charity who helped her so much in those first couple of weeks. Now, I can’t imagine myself doing anything different.”
Peter felt sick reading that, for multiple reasons. The knowledge that Skip was back was enough to have the nausea clawing its way up his throat again, but the reminder of how well he could manipulate the people around him, the knack he has for pulling on people’s heartstrings and coming across as not only harmless, but a genuinely good guy.
Sometimes, late into the night when May is snoring and his Spider-Man suit has been hung up for the day, he wonders whether it’s time for him to say something. He’s older now, braver too, and maybe he shouldn’t let this guy continue getting away with it. After all, Peter’s not stupid, he knows how people like Skip work. Peter’s most likely not the only one he’s preyed upon, and he’s working with such vulnerable people. Is it his duty to speak up now?
But then the shame twists sharply in his chest and doubt creeps in. Who would believe Peter Parker over a stand-up guy like Skip? Over the man who moved cross country to volunteer for a cancer charity in memory of his late mother?
What if nobody believed him, or what if they did but thought it was his fault? He’d been just old enough to understand what was happening – what if they thought he wanted it?
As much as he tells himself that sexual assault is never the victim’s fault and survivors aren’t ruined or dirty or filthy, he can’t fight the way he feels, and the way he feels is ashamed. Weak. Hollow.
Fear keeps him quiet but it’s the shame that keeps him silent.
“You alright, kid?”
Peter snaps his head up sharply at the sound of Tony’s voice breaking the fallen silence between them. The lab is always filled with machines whirring and screwdrivers against metal and music in the background, so silence never feels loud, but the sound of it breaking startles Peter, nevertheless.
“Uh, yeah, yeah,” he says, shaking himself out of his stupor and forcing himself to focus on the lines of code Tony had parked in front of him an hour ago. “Sorry.”
“Pete,” Tony says gently, “Peter, look at me.”
Peter forces himself to meet his mentor’s eye, hoping desperately that he’s disguised what’s going on in his head well enough that all he’ll see is tiredness.
“Are you alright, bud? You’ve seemed a bit… absent the last few weeks.”
Peter’s chest squeezes. His fingertips burn. “Yeah, I’m fine. Of course, I’m fine. Just a lot going on at school, I think.” He forces a chuckle, relieved when it comes out naturally enough.
Tony nods, looking placated if not entirely satisfied. “Well, in that case, it sounds like you need a break.”
Before Peter even knows it’s happening, Tony’s swiping away his hologram and dropping his tools, ushering him towards the elevator. “The penthouse, please, FRI.”
“Mr Stark, this really isn’t necessary, I’m fine, I really am,” Peter tries to insist. His chest twists again, sharper this time, the shame amplified at the thought of inconveniencing his mentor with his silly daydreams and mixed-up feelings.
“Pete, we’ve talked about this. I don’t keep you around just for your massive brain and eagle eye. I want to hang out with you, too. I’ve had a shocker of a week as well and if I’m honest, all I want right now is to sit on the couch with my favourite sixteen-year-old and watch Star Wars for the umpteenth time. That okay with you?”
The snake hissing in Peter’s chest quietens, and he allows a smile. “I guess so.”
“Good,” Tony replies firmly, swinging an arm around Peter’s shoulder as they walk off the elevator into the penthouse. “You get that set up, I’ll bring the popcorn, okay?”
The afternoon is nice, exactly what Peter needed, and he feels his harried, anxious brain relax as the evening approaches and the second film draws to a close. He’s eaten enough popcorn to feed an entire cinema screening, and being tucked under his mentor’s arm had him feeling safe enough that memories and worries and doubts didn’t have any space to bother him.
That is until Pepper steps off the elevator in a glamorous emerald dress and her hair carefully curled and styled.
“Oh, Tony,” she sighs exasperatedly as she lays eyes on their curled up heap on the sofa. “Don’t tell me you forgot. Again.”
Tony winces. “The board dinner?”
“The board dinner.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Pep, we got a little caught up. Do we have time to drop Peter off before it starts?”
Peter sits there awkwardly, feeling like nothing short of a massive imposition.
“Tony it starts in fifteen minutes, you’re not even dressed yet, and Peter lives in Queens,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll call you a cab, sweetheart, or get one of Happy’s guys to drive you home. I’m sorry, Peter.”
“Oh, it’s fine, I—”
“Come on, Pepper, it won’t take—”
“Tony, if you aren’t dressed to the nines and back out here in less than five minutes, fuck the venison, I’ll serve your damn balls to the board tonight.” Her stare is ice cold and Peter knows her well enough to be fully aware of the implications that sharp arch in her eyebrow carries.
Tony shoots him an apologetic look before racing to the bedroom, calling over his shoulder, “don’t leave before I’m back, Pete!”
“I really am sorry, darling, I had no idea you were up here otherwise I would’ve come to sort everything out sooner,” Pepper says gently, joining him on the sofa.
“It’s fine, really,” Peter says awkwardly, chuckling a little as he stands to go. “I can make my own way home.”
“No, Peter, Tony would want you to wait, and I want to make sure you get home safely, just—”
“Really, Pep, it’s fine. I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but his chest is aching again and he’s feeling worse about himself with every passing second. He loves the Starks, but moments like this remind him that however much he might love spending time with them, he’s not a part of their life together. Not really. He’s an outsider.
Before Pepper can say another word, he jumps into the elevator and escapes the building, the cold mist of the evening air hitting him in the face as soon as he enters it. May won’t be back from the hospital for another few hours and Peter had secretly hoped he could pass that time on Tony’s couch because being alone right now is stifling. With nothing and nobody to distract him, he feels the shame eating him up again, memories playing across his eyelids, and nothing he does can make them stop.
When he checks his phone a little while later upon entering his bedroom, his arms burning for swinging so fast and so relentlessly, he sees two texts from Tony that make him feel better and worse in equal measure.
Tony [7.13pm]: Traitor
Tony [7.42pm]: Can’t believe I’m here with all these stuffy suits instead of watching Star Wars with you and you didn’t even say goodbye. We will be having words, young man, we will be having words.
P eter only collapses further in on himself as the next week goes by. Faking being okay is exhausting when his body and mind ache and yearn for the rest and solace they can’t find, and it quickly becomes too difficult to be around the people who know him so well. May is fairly easy to avoid since she’s at the hospital for at least 12 hours a day and then too tired to do anything but mindlessly watch TV in the evenings, and Ned has been working for extra credit in the robotics lab at lunchtime, so he only sits with him in class.
Tony, though, is a little more resistant to his self-inflicted isolation. Peter tries to blow him off with weak excuses and a fair amount of flattery ( I wish I could, Mr Stark, you know how I love spending time with you ), but Tony is stubbornly undeterred. He’s just coming out of his first period, bone weary and already desperate for a nap, when he notices the text on his phone.
Tony [8:23am] : The Tower, tonight. No arguments. If you dodge Happy again you’re grounded.
Peter winces at the memory of spying Happy sitting in his usual sleek black car yesterday and promptly hiding behind a confused and mildly irritated MJ and running away, even as he saw Happy climb out of the car and look him right in the eye, an unimpressed expression on his already disgruntled face.
He should’ve known he wouldn’t have gotten away with that.
He sighs, dragging a hand down his tired face and drags himself to his next class, resigned to his fate. Just the thought of looking his mentor in the eye, though, has the shame uncurling in his chest, swiping sharply at any dignity he has left. Would Tony be this insistent on getting him back over to the tower if he knew what Peter really is? If he knew this burden that he carries? As much as he tries to shake the thought out of his head, to just buckle down and get on with the rest of his day, it eats away at him, haunting the back of his mind.
It comes back in full force when he steps out of Happy’s car later that day, shepherded into the Tower by a still unimpressed Happy – although if Peter didn’t know better, he might think there’s a tinge of concern somewhere in his eyes. Peter expects Happy to leave him once they get to the elevator like he normally does, but clearly there’s been some sort of coordinated plan made by a very suspicious Tony Stark, because he steps right in behind him into the carriage.
FRIDAY shoots them up to the lab without needing to be asked, and Happy places a hand on his shoulder, steering him out to face Tony. “One Spider-Baby delivered, boss,” Happy says gruffly, turning around to leave but not before giving Peter’s shoulder a surprisingly comforting squeeze.
Once the elevator doors close, Tony sighs and drops the oily rag in his hands, stepping forward to envelop Peter in a tight hug.
“Way to make your old man have a heart attack, kid,” he murmurs as he lets Peter go. Shame coils tighter in his stomach. He’d been expecting anger but he thinks that maybe this quiet tenderness is worse. He doesn’t deserve this, not as he is. “The last time you dodged me this hard you had an infected stab wound you were trying to conceal. You haven’t got some egregious injury you’re hiding from me again, have you? FRIDAY?”
Through the thick guilt clogging his throat, he manages a laugh. “I’m fine, Tony. I really was just busy.”
Tony hums, clearly not buying it, but when FRIDAY confirms he’s unharmed he doesn't push the matter further. “Alright. Well what will it be today then, bambino? Are we working in the lab or heading upstairs?”
Part of Peter longs to be cuddled up on the couch, safe and happy in Tony’s arms, but a pang in his stomach turns him off the idea as soon as it pops into his head. Maybe working in the lab will be a nice distraction anyway.
“I’ve got a new robotics assignment,” he shrugs.
Tony smiles, although his eyes don’t gleam as much as they usually do. Peter hates worrying the people who care about him, that was the whole point of pulling away, but with Tony it seems he can’t win. Maybe working in the lab will take his mind off things a little bit.
They head down and quickly find themselves in a flow. The complexity of Peter’s blueprints have Tony impressed, and they lose themselves in the mechanics completely, slipping easily into their familiar flow of back and forth, a well oiled machine of productivity and innovation. It’s not until Pepper steps off the elevator a couple of hours later that Peter’s brought back up to earth. It had been a nice little holiday from the pull of guilt and shame eating away at him, but as soon as his feet are back on land and his mind is firmly in the real world again, he feels it all rushing back.
“Have you boys eaten anything yet?” she asks with an unimpressed raised eyebrow that tells Peter she already knows the answer to that question full well.
“We were just about to stop and get something to eat, right Pete?” Tony says innocently, though the wink he throws his way in plain view of Pepper undercuts the whole performance.
Peter plays along anyway. He always does. “Absolutely,” he says, blinking up at her.
Pepper rolls her eyes, but fondness creeps onto her face regardless. “Well,” she says, playing into Tony’s ruse with fond exasperation, “let’s get something into you regardless.”
She beckons them into the elevator and soon they’re sitting down around the kitchen table tucking into a delicious homemade lasagna. “Where do you get the time to make all this food, Pep?” Peter asks curiously through a mouthful of garlic bread.
She winks at him. “A magician never reveals her secrets, Pete.”
“I’ve been trying to figure it out for more than a decade, bud,” Tony sighs, devotion to his wife clear and shining in his eyes. “The busiest woman in the world and still there are baked goods on the counter top every week and more often than not a home cooked meal on the table at 7. Witchcraft, I’m telling you.”
Peter giggles. The Starks do have a way of making him feel at home and relaxed, even when he’s swallowing around heavy emotions he’s not sure what to do with, haunted by memories he just can’t get out of his head.
“I’m sorry about the other week, Peter honey,” Pepper says gently a little while later. “We both felt terrible having you run off like that, we just couldn’t be late for another investment function when Tony’s credibility with the board right now is not exactly sky high.”
The guilt already weighing heavy in his stomach trebles at the thought of having upset Tony and Pepper with his reaction. He swallows thickly and sets his fork down. “No, I mean– I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you guys or anything, I just–”
“Pete,” Tony cuts him off, his voice fond, “we’re not looking for an apology or an explanation. We’re the ones who wanted to say sorry in case we made you feel upset, that’s all.”
Peter nods, the last of the shining hope and contentment dying in his chest. He’s lost his appetite all of a sudden. He wishes that this stupid fucking Skip thing didn’t affect him this much; that it didn’t sully his relationship with his pseudo-parents and make him feel so alone, like such a goddamn burden .
He sits quietly through the rest of dinner, knowing he won’t get away with making another hasty escape, but as soon as Tony starts tidying the dishes away, loading them into the dishwasher, he sees his chance. “I should probably get home,” he says, feeling a little awkward still. “May will be back from work soon.”
“If you’re sure, darling,” Pepper says, frowning. “Are you alright?”
He forces a smile onto his face. “Yeah! Of course. Just the day catching up with me a bit.”
“Alright then, kid,” Tony interjects, walking over and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”
The whole way home Peter’s sinking stomach makes him regret ever having given into Tony this afternoon. He’d been perfectly content in his delicate, new insular ecosystem until Tony ruptured it, breaking the dam that was doing quite a good job of holding the heavy weight of these feelings at bay. They never left, but the wall of numbness meant they didn’t sting quite as badly.
His chest is throbbing.
It all comes to a head four days later.
Peter’s day begins innocuously, as these kinds of days tend to do. He starts his day with a hug from May, goes to school, does the Spanish homework he’d forgotten about on his way into class, eats lunch quietly next to MJ, sees Ned briefly after his robotics extra credit task, and then heads to the subway after school to get home.
It’s a familiar environment, the subway. He takes it every day, albeit only a couple of stops to cut down on his walk to and from school, and the acrid smell that haunts the stations – and most of the train carriages, too – doesn’t get him to anymore. Nor do the rats or the screaming babies or the suspicious spillages or anything else that makes the NYC subway system so repulsive to tourists and those not used to it.
He takes the steps down to his familiar station without a second thought, adjusting his backpack slightly as he steps onto the platform to wait for the train that will be along in a matter of minutes. Sure enough, the rush of wind and deafening roar that sweeps the platform moments later signifies the arrival of his train, and as soon as the doors open, he goes to step on until–
Skip.
He’s sat there in a grey t-shirt and khakis, and he meets Peter’s eye almost immediately, his face slowly creeping into a cheek-splitting grin, that same sparkling glint in his eye that he remembers so acutely from when he would–
“Get out the fucking way, kid,” someone behind him says, barging his shocked, frozen body aggressively to the side so he can step onto the carriage, jolting him back into reality as the world he hadn’t even noticed had faded away comes roaring back to life. He’s jostled from side to side by busy, irritated passengers until he steps aside, no longer able to see Skip’s grinning face through the smeared and dirty windows, but that makes him feel even less safe. If he can’t watch him, how can he make sure he doesn’t come near him?
Fear races through his body, the only emotion strong enough in weeks to dislodge and replace the crawling shame that had been haunting his body since Skip came back to NYC. Adrenaline pulses in his blood and all his desperate heart is screaming for is safety, and safety means Tony.
He runs out of the station, taking the steps two at a time as his heartbeat bangs loudly in his ears, his breathing harsh and ragged. As soon as he’s out at street level he leans against the nearest wall and fumbles for his phone in his pocket, hitting dial as soon as he sees Tony’s blurry name through his tear-filled eyes.
“Hey, Pete! What’s up?”
Peter’s face crumples at the sound of Tony’s voice, a sob tearing its way out of his throat.
“Peter? Kid, where are you? What’s going on?”
“Dad,” he sobs, too out of it, too terrified to form any other words. “Dad, help.”
“Kid, I’m on my way, alright? FRIDAY’s traced your location. Just stay on the phone with me, yeah? Peter can you do something for me?”
Peter nods, making a tiny noise in assent. “Can you find an alleyway or somewhere a bit more sheltered for me to find you, buddy? I don’t want to draw too much attention with the suit.”
The suit. It’s not just dad coming, it’s Iron Man. The very same person Peter used to dream would save him during those horrible nights with Skip. He’d close his eyes and imagine Iron Man knocking down the door and sweeping him away, sheltering him somewhere safe and warm. The thought is relieving enough for the fog to clear a little and he staggers across the road to the nearest alleyway he can see, sliding down the wall onto the concrete.
“That’s good, Pete,” comes Tony’s soothing voice over the phone. He can hear the quiet hum of the repulsors, the rush of the wind, the faint sounds of the city in the background, and he knows Tony’s going to make everything okay. “You’re doing so well for me, bambino. I’m nearly there, alright? You just hold on.”
Peter does hold on, crying silently into his knees as he listens to Tony’s calming words over the phone, until soon enough the repulsors can be heard above him instead of through his phone’s speaker. He looks up to find Tony landing with a slightly clumsy clunk, racing out of the suit to crouch next to Peter.
“Are you hurt, Pete?” he asks gently, looking him up and down with fatherly, discerning eyes, hoping not to find any wound too deep to patch up himself. “What’s going on?”
Peter looks into his dad’s chestnut eyes and finds a fresh wave of tears overtaking him. Before he knows it, he’s throwing himself into Tony’s arms, burying his face into his chest as he sobs helplessly, unable to control himself.
Tony, a little surprised at first, reacts quickly sitting down on the ground next to him and adjusting Peter into a more comfortable position, before pulling him as close as humanly possible and holding him as he cries. “You’re alright, bambino,” he murmurs into his hair. “I’ve got you now, okay? You’re safe. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Tony always thinks of everything, and Peter’s reminded of that when he nudges him ten minutes later to see Happy’s car parked at the end of the alleyway. “Let’s get you home.”
“Tower,” he begs tearily, looking into Tony’s eyes with frightened concern that he’ll be deposited in his cold and empty apartment, the one Skip has the address of, oh God–
His breathing picks up again and Tony tilts his chin up until their eyes meet again and looks at him earnestly. “You’re coming to the tower, Pete. I’m not going to leave you, okay? I need you to breathe for me.”
Peter tries just for his dad, and within a couple of minutes, it’s easy enough to have Tony programming the suit to fly back to the Tower before helping him into the backseat of Happy’s car.
They make it back to the Tower in one piece, and although Peter is still trembling like a leaf, at least he’s with Tony now. And Tony’s personal bodyguard. And Tony’s state of the art AI security system. Skip– Skip can’t hurt him here.
“Where do you want to go, Pete?” he asks gently as they step off the elevator and into the penthouse.
Peter quickly thinks on what will make him feel the safest, and decides immediately. “Your room.”
Tony looks a little taken aback at first, but wastes no time in steering them into his and Pepper’s room. Peter doesn’t spend much time here, naturally, but it’s where he crawls on the nights he’s plagued by nightmares, and sneaks in on Saturday mornings to be sandwiched between two of the people he loves most in the world. Just like he did with his parents, like he did with May and Ben, and like he and May still do sometimes.
It feels safe. Nobody’s getting into Iron Man’s bedroom.
Tony, still gripped with fear and anxiety as to what’s going on with his kid, wastes no time in getting him tucked into bed, suddenly thankful for the mass of pillows and blankets Pepper keeps on the bed when usually he finds himself fighting them for space each night. Peter melts into the comfy nest Tony has constructed, but as soon as he goes to step away, Peter grabs onto him.
“Don’t leave,” he begs desperately, terror still gripping every inch of his being.
Tony’s eyes soften even further and he nods once before climbing into bed next to him. “Happy?” he calls, as he gets them situated comfortably, noticing that it only takes the bodyguard seconds to appear in the doorway, clearly waiting to see if he can be of any assistance. “Could you get Peter some sugared tea and something to eat, please? I would do it but–” he gestures down at Peter curled tightly around his middle, smiling ruefully “–well.”
Tony puts the TV on for Peter while they wait, letting the familiar sounds of his favourite TV show wash over the quiet room as he feels Peter ever so slowly relax. By the time Happy returns with tea, toast, yoghurt, and a slice of cake – Pepper’s newest endeavour no doubt – Peter’s stopped shaking completely, and his breathing is the most even it has been so far. Tony’s watching him so closely he swears he can predict every hitch in his breath, every movement of his body moments before it even happens.
“Come on, buddy,” he urges gently, shifting them upright a little as Happy carefully hands him the tray. “Let’s get your blood sugar up again.”
He smiles gratefully at Happy as Peter takes a reluctant nibble of one of the slices of toast. Hot, buttered toast is one of Peter’s favourite foods, and the gesture of kindness and comfort on Happy’s part doesn’t go unnoticed by Tony.
“You call me if you need anything,” Happy says gruffly, awkwardly, but Tony knows he means it. “I’ll be in the living room. Do you want me to tell Pepper?”
Tony looks down at Peter who seems to have zoned out of the conversation all together, engrossed in the toast he’s eating and his own thoughts, no doubt. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I’ll speak to her when she’s done with work for the day.”
Happy nods once before leaving, and Tony’s attention turns back to Peter. He stays quiet as he finishes his food, stroking his hair and watching the TV show that he isn’t even sure Peter really knows is playing, too busy staring at the wall and methodically eating and drinking everything Happy put on the tray.
Once Peter’s swallowed the last sip of tea and all that’s left on the tray are crumbs, Tony lifts it off their laps and puts it on the floor next to the bed before turning back to his kid, turning them until he can look him in the eye. He reaches out to swipe away a stray tear from Peter’s cheek. “So, bambino,” he says softly, “are you going to tell me what’s happened?”
Peter sighs, seemingly coming back down to earth as Tony wraps a curly strand of hair around his finger, and holds one of Peter’s hands. Tony examines him as subtly as he can, and he doesn’t like what he finds. Peter looks scared and sad and apprehensive, all of which Tony might have expected, but what he doesn’t expect to see is something akin to… shame.
It makes him ache inside to think that Peter might not feel completely comfortable in expressing his emotions around Tony, or that maybe he thinks it’s shameful to have been as scared as he was.
“Pete,” his voice is hesitant but gentle – he really doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, “you don’t have to be ashamed of being upset, or of–”
“I know,” Peter says suddenly, the clearest thing he’s said since Tony found him. “I know I don’t– I’m not. That isn’t what I’m ashamed of.”
Tony’s brow knits because what else could there possibly be in this situation to elicit such an emotion? “Okay,” he says slowly; patiently. “What are you ashamed of, bud?”
Peter sighs, evidently trying to find somewhere to start. Before he says anything else, he settles back down to put his head on Tony’s chest facing away from him. Tony’s immediate instinct is to stop him, to turn him back around and make him look him in the eye, but something about the way Peter moves, the heaviness that seems to be weighing on his shoulders, prevents him from doing so. Instead, he simply contents himself with playing with Peter’s hair and waiting for him to find the right words.
“Someone has come back to the city,” Peter says quietly. “Someone who… hurt me. And I saw him. Today, on the subway. I saw him. And he saw me.”
It’s the barebones of an explanation, but it’s something. He feels unsettled already, but he tries not to show it in the way he continues twisting Peter’s curls around his fingers, and caressing Peter’s arm with his other hand.
“Okay,” he says. “Did this person hurt you as Spider Man or as Peter?”
“Peter,” comes the whisper.
His stomach sinks further. Please, he thinks, please don’t be what I think this is.
“Okay,” he says again, his voice less strong. “Who is this person?”
“His name– his name is Skip.”
“Do you want to tell me how he hurt you, bambino?”
Peter takes a deep, ragged inhale, and Tony can hear the tears in just his breath, knowing a fresh round has overtaken him. He gives him a small squeeze of encouragement.
“He– he was my babysitter…”
God, no, please–
“He wasn’t very… he hurt me. He… well, he…”
Fresh tears spill down Peter’s cheeks and Tony knows just from what his kid can’t say, he knows his worst fears are right and he quickly gathers Peter up into an even closer hug, holding him tightly as he tries so damn hard to keep his own tears at bay.
“Okay, baby, okay,” he murmurs as Peter sobs wretchedly. “I understand. You’re safe now, okay? I’m not going to let a single thing happen to you. I’m here.”
When Peter’s calmed down again, he twists out of Tony’s hold, sitting up in the bed and turning to face him, although he still can’t quite meet his eye. All of a sudden, the shame he saw in Peter’s expression makes sense, and he feels the vehement urge to correct whatever Peter’s thinking.
He reaches over and lifts Peter’s chin until their eyes meet. “Peter, whatever happened, it is not in any way something you need to feel ashamed of, do you understand me?”
Peter nods, his eyes turning downwards again. “I know that logically,” he says quietly, “but it’s so hard, I just– I don’t know how to not feel this way. I– I never did, not until I saw he was back in town.”
“So, you knew he was back in the city before you saw him today?”
“I saw a couple of weeks ago that he’s back working for a cancer charity. Local puff piece.”
Tony nods, understanding and despair melting together in a painful honeypot of desperate emotion. “When did this happen, Pete?” he asks, voice low and quiet. He fears the question asked loudly will only spook him away.
“I was eleven,” he whispers, and when he looks back up at Tony, his eyes are shining with tears again. “It hurt so much and I didn’t know what to do.”
His worst fears being reconfirmed – the knowledge that his own kid was violated so brutally so young – makes him feel physically ill. Still, he nods understandingly, hoping his face shows empathy and compassion and not the grief and nausea that’s slowly wrapping itself around his windpipe.
“Did you ever tell anyone?”
Peter shakes his head in an almost undetectable motion, and that only compounds the hurt already caused by this evening’s revelations. Peter had to go this long carrying such a heavy burden completely alone.
“Roo?” he asks gently, the nickname being enough to raise Peter’s head to eye level again. “I’m really glad you told me.”
The faintest hint of a smile lifts Peter’s lips ever so slightly, and the minute clearing of fog and shame from his expression has Tony leaning forward to pull Peter back into his embrace. “I’ve got you now, okay? I’m on your side. We’re going to get through this together, do you trust me?”
Peter nods, his face buried into Tony’s t-shirt as he clings onto him for dear life. “I trust you, dad.”
Tony hugs him tighter.
The next few days are hard. With Peter staying at the Tower, too terrified and retraumatised to go back to the apartment where it happened, Tony gently teases details out of him until he has a clear enough picture of who Skip is and a vague idea of what happened.
He has to tell May which is maybe the hardest thing he’s ever done. Tony tucks him under his arm and kisses the top of his head as May falls apart into Pepper’s arms, all of them grieving for what was lost and the new knowledge gained.
The shame finally shifts with the acceptance and love from his family, but it shifts mostly into constant fear, paranoia, and sadness, and he clings to Tony like a limpet. He feels bad about it until he overhears Tony guiltily admitting to Pepper one night that as sad as the events were that led to his clinginess, he can’t help but love having Peter around as much as he does right now.
He has to decide what to do about Skip. It’s a terrifying and difficult decision, but with the promise of the best legal counsel there is, and stained underwear stashed under his bed from that time period as evidence, he decides to prosecute. Tony had also seriously offered Natasha and Bucky’s services, and if Peter didn’t have the DNA evidence, he thinks he probably would have accepted.
The night after day one of the expedited trial has him reconsidering whether he should have just gone that route, but Tony, Pepper and May stay up with him all night, playing board games, eating food, and watching movies, and it reminds him of why he decided to do this. Not all victims have the support network he does, or Tony’s money at their disposal, so not everybody could pursue the legal route. He’s doing this for them.
Healing happens slowly, but it happens regardless. Eventually, he tells Ned and MJ, and they help him find the courage to walk outside in the city without an adult. Eventually, after months of staying at the tower, Tony and Pepper suggest May and Peter move in with them.
“I’m not accepting charity,” May insists, wanting her nephew to have what he wants but refusing to let her pride be dampened.
“Of course not,” Pepper soothes. “But we don’t need your money. How about you donate the amount you’re paying in rent now to charity each month? You’re not accepting charity, you’d be giving to it.”
May is quickly pacified by her arguments.
“To family,” Tony toasts as they sit around the dinner table the first night that they’ve officially moved in. Pepper made Peter’s favourite sundried tomato risotto and her famous homemade garlic bread. He’s also heard a very intriguing rumour that there might be Eton Mess for dessert.
“To family,” they all toast back, cheeks wide and beaming.
Peter feels safe and warm in the gentle, ambient kitchen lighting, surrounded by this strange hodgepodge family he’s found for himself, and yeah, he thinks. Tony was right. They did get through this together.