Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fridays were Penny Parker days.

Everyone in the tower knew it, even if no one said it out loud. Friday afternoons were when Tony Stark’s lab got louder, messier, brighter. Because Penny showed up with her backpack full of half-built gadgets, wild ideas, and a mouth that never stopped moving.

Except today.

Tony clocked it immediately. He always did.

She was perched on her usual stool, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, dark hair hanging like a curtain around her face. Her tools were laid out neatly. Too neatly. No bouncing knee. No rambling commentary about quantum spiders or web fluid viscosity.

Too quiet.

Tony pretended not to notice at first. He let the lab fill the space between them, the hum of machinery doing the talking for him. He gave her space, because sometimes kids needed that. Sometimes he needed that.

But the silence kept pressing in.

“You’re about… ninety nine percent less chatty than your baseline, kid,” he said lightly, not looking up from the arc reactor schematic he was pretending to tweak. “Either you’re plotting world domination or something’s eating at you.”

She shrugged without lifting her head. “I’m fine.”

Tony paused. He glanced at her, really looked this time, and felt that familiar tug in his chest. The one that showed up whenever Penny said I’m fine like that.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’m here if you need me.”

He turned back to his work, giving her exactly what he’d promised.

A few minutes passed.

Then he heard it.

Not a sob. Not even a sniffle. Just a tiny, broken sound, like someone trying very hard not to make noise while their heart was coming apart.

Tony froze.

Slowly, carefully, he turned.

Penny had hunched forward, one hand clamped over her mouth, shoulders shaking. Tears dotted the metal table beneath her, blurring the reflection of the lab lights.

“Oh,” Tony breathed.

He crossed the space between them in two strides and dropped to a knee in front of her stool. He didn’t touch her yet. Didn’t crowd her.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, steady. “Hey, hey. I’ve got you.”

She shook her head, pressing her face into her sleeve, like she could disappear if she tried hard enough.

Tony swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat. “You don’t have to hold it in,” he told her gently. “Not here. Not with me.”

Her breath hitched.

“I’m right here,” he added. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in her cracked.

She leaned forward suddenly, collapsing against him, fists twisted in his shirt. Tony wrapped his arms around her without thinking, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, the other solid and warm between her shoulders.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let it out. I’ve got you, Penn.”

She cried then, really cried. Great, shuddering sobs that shook her whole body. Tony held her like she was made of glass and gravity all at once.

After a while, when her breathing slowed just a little, he spoke again.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked softly.

Her head shook against his chest.

“I can’t,” she whispered, voice barely there.

“That’s okay,” Tony said immediately. “You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to.”

He hesitated, then tried again. “Would it… help to write it down?”

She went still.

Then, slowly, she nodded.

Tony eased back just enough to grab a notebook and pen from the table. He placed them in her hands like they were fragile.

“Take your time,” he said.

Penny turned away from him, shoulders curling inward. Tony looked resolutely at the far wall, giving her every scrap of privacy he could.

A minute passed. Then another.

Tony heard the tear of her ripping out the page. She held the note out behind her without turning around, her other hand coming up to cover her face.

Tony took it.

He read the words once.

Then again.

May’s boyfriend came into my room last night. 

The world tilted.

Tony felt it in his stomach first, cold, sharp, nauseating. Then came the rage, white-hot and roaring, crashing into devastation so deep it stole the air from his lungs.

He didn’t let any of it touch his face.

He put the note in his pocket and reached for her, but stopped himself.

“Can I hug you?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and turned back toward him. 

Tony pulled her back into his arms, tighter this time. Not crushing, not overwhelming, just there. Solid. Unmovable.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, voice firm despite the way his hands trembled. “Nothing. Not one thing.”

She shook, words spilling out between sobs. “I just… I froze. I just froze.”

Tony tightened his hold, grounding her against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice dropping into that steady, low hum he used when the world was falling apart. “That wasn't a choice you made, Penn. That was your brain stepping in to keep you safe. It’s an instinct. It's how the body endures something it was never meant to handle. You didn't fail. You stayed alive.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his expression fierce and certain. “This is not your fault. Do you hear me? Not one bit of this is on you. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’ve got you.

She cried harder at that.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. “Thank you for trusting me with this. I’m really, really proud of you.”

After a long while, when her breathing steadied again, Tony asked the question he already dreaded the answer to.

“Does anyone else know?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He closed his eyes.

“We need to tell May,” he said gently. “Not right this second, but soon. Today”

Penny stiffened, panic flooding back in. “No. No, no, no-”

Tony tightened his hold just a fraction. “Hey. Look at me.”

She did, eyes red and exhausted.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said firmly. “I will be with you the entire time. Every step. I promise.”

She searched his face, like she was looking for cracks.

She didn’t find any.

Tony rested his forehead against hers. “Nothing about this changes how I see you,” he added softly. “You’re still my kid. Always.”

Penny nodded, small and shaky.

____________________________________________________________________________

Tony guided Penny up to the penthouse, lights dimmed low, the city stretching out in quiet glitter beyond the windows. He didn’t ask what she wanted to do. He already knew.

He queued up Star Wars, the original, because comfort mattered, and set her up on the couch with a blanket and a bowl of popcorn she didn’t touch. Penny sat curled in on herself, knees tucked to her chest, eyes fixed on the screen.

Except… she wasn’t really watching.

The crawl faded. X-wings flew. Dialogue passed.

Penny stared straight through it all.

Tony noticed the way her gaze never quite focused, the way she flinched when the volume swelled. He waited a few minutes, sitting close but not crowding her.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said softly. “I’m gonna step away for a second, okay? I’ll be right back.”

She nodded faintly.

Tony stood and spoke quietly to the room. “Friday. Eyes on Penny.”

“Of course, Boss,” Friday replied gently.

Tony stepped into the bedroom and pulled out his phone.

May answered on the second ring.

“Tony?” she said, surprised.

“May,” he replied. His voice was steady, but only because he forced it to be. “I need you to come to the tower. Now.”

There was a pause. “Is Penny hurt? Spider-girl?”

“This isn’t a Spider-girl thing. It’s a Penny thing. She just. Please May, I can’t explain over the phone just… I’m sending Happy to get you. You need to come here to the Tower and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“What do you mean, tell me, ‘What you know?’”

“May,” he said, cutting in, not harshly, just… final. “She needs you here. Please I’ll explain when you get here. I’m not asking, May. Please.”

“I’ll be there,” May said immediately. “I’m telling my boss now.”

He hung up before his voice could break.

When Tony came back out, Penny had shifted closer to the arm of the couch. He sat beside her again, close enough that she could feel him there. After a moment, she leaned into him, her head resting against his chest.

Tony wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

She didn’t cry at first. Just breathed, shallow, uneven breaths. Every few minutes, a soft sound slipped out of her, and tears followed. Tony murmured quiet reassurances, rubbing slow circles against her arm, letting her cry without asking for anything in return.

It was the longest hour of his life.

“Boss,” Friday announced softly, “May Parker is here.”

Penny startled violently, pulling back, eyes wide with panic.

Tony immediately turned toward her. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay,” he said, grounding her with his voice. “It’s just May. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

She nodded, shaking.

Tony stood and met May at the elevator, guiding her inside quickly. She looked at Penny, small, folded in on herself on the couch, and her face crumpled with worry.

“Tony?” she whispered.

“Come with me,” he said gently.

He led her into his office and closed the door. For a moment, he just stood there, hand in his pocket, the folded paper burning like it had been branded into him. He took a breath, his fingers trembling as they brushed the notebook page.

Then he handed it to her.

May read it.

Her breath left her in a sharp, broken gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth, tears spilling instantly.

“Oh my God,” she sobbed. “Oh my God. Tony, I didn’t know. I swear, I had no idea.”

“I know,” Tony said softly. He guided her to the chair and knelt in front of her, steadying her shaking hands. “This isn’t on you. Not even a little. He’s a predator, May. They’re experts at the shadows. You didn't miss it; he hid it.”

She cried openly now, grief and guilt crashing over her all at once. Tony stayed there with her, anchoring her, until she could breathe again.

Then they went back into the living room together.

The second Penny saw May, something inside her finally gave way.

She broke down completely, sobbing as May rushed to her side and pulled her into her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” Penny cried, words tumbling out. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t……”

“Oh, baby,” May whispered, holding her tightly. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Nothing.”

Tony stood nearby, helpless and furious and heartbroken all at once.

After some time, when the crying had softened into exhausted hiccups, Tony spoke carefully.

“Penny,” he said gently. “There’s one more thing we need to do. We need to have you checked out medically. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

The reaction was immediate.

“No,” Penny sobbed, panic roaring back. “No, no, no. Please, I can’t. It’s my fault. I froze. I just froze! How could I let him hurt me? I’m Spider-Girl. I’m supposed to be strong.”

Tony moved closer, kneeling in front of her so she couldn’t look away if she tried.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly, voice thick but unwavering. “Being strong doesn’t mean being invincible. That freeze? That was a safety lock, Penn. Your brain stepped in and cut the power so you could survive the impact. It’s a survival instinct, not a failure.”

May stroked Penny’s hair, tears sliding down her own face. “Freezing is not a choice,” she said softly. “And none of this is your fault. Not even a little.”

Tony nodded. “Dr. Cho is kind. She’s gentle. And I’ll be right outside the whole time and May can stay with you. You won’t be alone for a second. I swear it.”

Penny shook, crying hard, but after a long moment… she nodded.

Tony stood, offering his hand.

“Let’s go together,” he said.

With May on one side and Tony on the other, Penny finally stood.

And they headed for the med bay, together.

____________________________________________________________________________

Tony had told them to wait in the waiting room while he found Dr. Cho. Friday had notified her they were coming. 

“She was assaulted,” Tony told her quietly, the words sharp and ugly in his mouth. “Last night. By May’s boyfriend.”

Dr. Cho didn’t flinch. She didn’t ask how Tony knew. 

She just listened. In her line of work, the "how" was for lawyers; the "what" was for doctors.

“Of course Tony. I’ll make sure Penny knows she’s in control and help assess any physical and psychological damage. I can collect any evidence that might still be present. You did the right thing bringing her here.”

Now, Penny sat on the edge of the examination table, her shoulders stiff, fingers twisted together in her lap. Her eyes were distant, staring at the floor like it held the answers to a world she no longer wanted to face. May stayed close, sitting beside the table, gently brushing a strand of hair from Penny’s face, whispering small distractions.

Tony sat in the waiting room, hands clenched into fists, jaw tight. Every second that ticked by felt like a hammer to his chest. His heart ached, heavy with anger, disbelief, and the helplessness that came from knowing Penny had been betrayed and harmed. He couldn’t go in yet, he needed to give Penny space, her privacy, but every fiber of his wanted to storm into that room, to shield her from the world.

Dr. Cho entered quietly, her presence calm and measured, her voice soft. “Penny,” she said gently, “I know this is overwhelming. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. We’ll just take it slow, step by step, and you’re in control.” She gestured to the table with a careful hand. “If you’re ready, we’ll do a basic check-up first. Vitals, weight, some simple physicals. Nothing will happen without you saying it’s okay.”

Penny didn’t move. Her lips were pressed tight together, her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. May leaned closer, softly, almost pleading. “It’s okay, Pen. We’re just making sure your body’s okay, that’s all. No one’s going to hurt you here.” She gently lifted Penny’s hand and let it rest in hers, trying to ground her.

Dr. Cho nodded at May’s careful approach. “Exactly. We’ll keep you in control the whole time. If you need a pause, just say so. You set the pace.”

Penny’s fingers flexed around May’s hand, still barely acknowledging her words. May whispered a small story about a time MJ had spilled paint everywhere and pretended it was abstract art.

Dr. Cho started slowly, checking Penny’s vitals first. Blood pressure cuff on the arm, stethoscope on her chest, gentle but precise. “Just breathe normally,” she said softly. “You’re doing really well.” Penny’s breaths were shallow, uneven, but she didn’t protest. Every touch was careful, deliberate. Dr. Cho making sure she controlled the pace, letting her have ownership over the exam.

Dr. Cho continued with the exam. Listening to lungs, heart, palpating gently, but all Penny did was tense and hold herself rigidly. Her vitals were steady but low. Dr. Cho made meticulous notes of everything. “Nothing immediately dangerous. But we need to keep tracking this. Your body’s been through a lot, and it’s telling us to go slowly.”

May whispered encouragement between steps, but Penny’s stillness was frightening. To her this was almost worse than when Skip had hurt her. Her dissociation was subtle. Staring off, small twitches, shallow breathing, and yet, beneath it all, her body was tense and bracing. Dr. Cho noticed every flinch and adjusted, speaking in calm, slow tones, “I’ll move slowly, and if anything feels uncomfortable, tell me and we’ll stop.”

May’s voice was soft, coaxing her through, “You’re so strong, Pen… even being here, you’re proving how strong you are.” 

May leaned in, keeping a quiet conversation going, her voice low and even. “After this, you can rest. You don’t have to do anything else until you want to.” Penny nodded once, faintly.

Finally, Dr. Cho gave her a small smile. “That’s it. We’re done. You did so well Penny.”

May brushed Penny’s hair back again, whispering, “I’m proud of you. You don’t have to speak or move. You just… let us help.” Penny stayed silent, eyes still distant, but she let herself lean slightly into May’s hand. 

Dr. Cho came back with some clothing for Penny and ushered May to come with her. 

Outside, Tony’s heart ached, each moment stretching endlessly. When May and Dr. Cho emerged, she spoke gently to him. “She’s stable, but fragile. She’s not speaking, but she tolerated the exam and stayed in control. That’s a good sign. It’s slow, but it’s progress.” Tony nodded, swallowing hard, his anger at Skip coiling tight inside him, but relief washed over him that Penny had come through the exam.

Dr. Cho brought them into the small consultation area, closing the door behind them. Her expression was calm, professional, but heavy with the weight of what she had found.

“I’m very sorry,” she said. “What I’m seeing is consistent with assault.”

May’s hand covered her mouth.

“I documented everything carefully,” Dr. Cho continued. “We were able to collect samples that may be helpful for legal action.”

“If they try to say she consented?” Tony asked.

Dr. Cho met his eyes. “From a medical perspective, nothing about her condition suggests this was something she wanted.”

Silence settled over the room.

“The most important thing right now,” she added, softer, “is that she has control of what happens next.”

“But with her healing factor, how is she still injured?” May asked. 

“This level of fear, stress, and trauma can slow or even stop her advanced healing. Cortisol is a hell of a drug. It overrides the regenerative process," Dr. Cho explained. "Her body is effectively in a 'stasis' mode. It’s using all of her metabolic energy to maintain her basic nervous system because it thinks the threat is still active.”

Tony made himself exhale, jaw unclenching just a little. “God. She doesn’t deserve… any of this.” His voice cracked slightly, anger and helplessness mixing together.

Dr. Cho gave a small nod. “That anger is natural, Tony. What’s important is supporting Penny, keeping her safe, and ensuring that she feels in control as we move forward. The legal evidence is important, but her well-being is primary. She needs time, reassurance, and control over what happens next.”

May squeezed Tony’s arm gently. “We’ll do that. We’ll keep her safe.”

Dr. Cho looked at them both, serious but kind. “Remember, trauma shows up in the body and the brain, and the nervous system will continue to respond long after the event. That’s normal. But what you’re doing, being present, keeping her safe, letting her guide what happens next, this is exactly what she needs.”

Tony nodded slowly, swallowing hard, his mind a storm of rage at Skip but also a quiet relief that Penny’s trauma was recognized, documented, and would support her in court. May exhaled, trying to steady herself.

Dr. Cho gave them one last gentle reminder. “Let her set the pace. Give her control. And know that the documentation we have here, combined with her courage in coming forward, will make a significant difference.”

Tony’s chest tightened with a mixture of anger, protectiveness, and determination. “We’ll make sure she knows she’s safe….”

May nodded, eyes still glistening, but with a spark of resolve. “We’ll be with her every step.”

Dr. Cho gave them a small, reassuring smile before leaving the room. Outside the exam area, the weight of what they had just learned pressed down on them, but there was also a small, crucial relief: Penny’s trauma had been documented, validated, and could now be used to fight for her.

After speaking with Dr. Cho, Tony and May stepped back into the exam room and Tony froze for a moment when he saw her. Penny sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs tucked under her, wearing the oversized sweatpants and t-shirt Dr. Cho had provided. Everything else, her own clothes, were carefully bagged for evidence. Tony caught sight of the brown paper bags on the counter, labeled with her name in black marker. It looked like she was being filed away.

Penny looked small, fragile, and distant, her eyes fixed somewhere past them, as if she weren’t fully there.

He clenched his fists at his sides. He wanted to scream, to hurt someone, to make Skip feel even a fraction of the pain he’d caused Penny. But all Tony could do right now was take a deep, shuddering breath and focus on her.

“Hey,” he said softly, keeping his voice steady despite the storm inside him. He stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re here.”

Penny’s eyes flicked to him briefly, then away again. She looked like she was trying to calculate the distance between her and the door. 

She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just sat there, hands folded in her lap, the oversized clothes swallowing her. Tony swallowed the lump in his throat. Every instinct in him wanted to reach out, to shake her gently and tell her how much she didn’t deserve any of this, how much he loved her, how angry he was, but he knew she needed to set the pace.

He lowered himself onto the chair beside the bed, leaning in slightly so she could feel his presence without pressure. “How about we go back to the penthouse now? ” he asked quietly. “You’re safe. We'll be right there the whole time.”

Her body stiffened slightly at the words, and he could feel the tension radiating off her. But she didn’t protest, didn’t move away. That was something.

He reached out slowly and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, just enough for her to feel it. “We’ll get through this,” he said, voice low, steady, but full of quiet intensity. 

Her eyes flicked back to him again, a tiny glimmer of connection. No words, no acknowledgment beyond the brief look, but it was enough to remind Tony why he couldn’t let his anger or despair consume him. She needed him to be steady. She needed him to be present.

He stood slowly, offering her his hand. 

She hesitated for a moment, then let him guide her gently off the bed.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The shower had been running for a long time.

Too long.

Tony stood near the window, arms crossed, staring out at the city without really seeing it. The med bay had been sterile and gentle, Dr. Cho calm and kind, but the moment they’d brought Penny back upstairs she’d gone straight to the bathroom and turned the water on.

That had been over an hour ago.

May sat on the couch, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Every few minutes, one of them would glance toward the hallway.

“She might just be……” May started.

“I know,” Tony said quietly. “I know.”

Silence settled again.

“I’m going to find her the best trauma therapist in the world,” Tony said after a moment, voice low but resolute. “Someone who specializes in this. No waitlists. No red tape. Whatever she needs. I’ll take care of it.”

He was pacing now, his steps short and frantic. He was already building a mental list of tasks, looking for a way to treat this like an engineering problem because the alternative, simply waiting for her to come out, felt like drowning.

May nodded, eyes glassy. “Thank you.”

Tony hesitated. “May… we’re going to have to involve the police.”

May flinched, her breath catching. “I know,” she whispered. “I just. God, Tony, I’m so scared of what that will do to her. She’s already so… gone.”

Tony’s jaw tightened. “We’ll do it carefully. And only when she’s ready to hear what’s happening. We don’t rush this.”

Before May could respond, the bathroom door creaked open.

Penny stepped out.

She looked… hollow. Her skin was flushed raw from the heat, hair hanging in a wet, tangled mess down her back. She wore oversized pajamas, sleeves covering her hands like armor. Her eyes were open, but distant, like she was looking through the room instead of at it.

May was on her feet instantly. “Sweetheart…”

Penny didn’t answer. She just stood there.

“Tony,” May said softly, not taking her eyes off Penny. “Do you have a brush?”

Tony nodded and crossed to the bathroom, returning with one and a hair tie. He handed them over without a word.

May guided Penny to the couch and sat behind her, movements slow and careful. She brushed Penny’s hair gently, working through the knots without pulling, then began to braid it. Something she’d done a thousand times when Penny was younger.

The only sound in the room was the rhythmic scritch of the bristles against her scalp. Penny sat like a statue, her spine so rigid it looked like it might snap. She wasn't avoiding the touch; she just wasn't there to feel it.

She didn’t react. Didn’t cry. Didn’t lean in.

She just… existed.

Tony watched from across the room, a tight, sick feeling growing in his chest. He caught May’s eye over Penny’s head.

This scared them more than the crying had.

After a long stretch of silence, Penny spoke.

“Skip used to say things to me,” she said flatly.

“He was nice at first. He called me Einstein. Commented on how I’m smart. Then he commented on how pretty I am.”

Both adults stilled.

Tony felt a cold, film settle over his skin. He recognized the pattern, the slow, deliberate way a predator tests the fences.

“Then he said other things. Things that were weird,” Penny continued, voice monotone, detached. “Things that made me uncomfortable. I should have said something.”

May’s hands trembled slightly in Penny’s hair, but she kept braiding.

“He was always trying to hug me,” Penny went on. “Or touch my arm. Or stand too close. He showed me stuff on the computer once. Pictures. It was disturbing. I didn’t understand why he did that.”

Tony’s stomach twisted violently.

“He told me I smelled good. That my outfit looked nice.”

“I ignored it,” Penny said. “I hated it. But I ignored it. He never came into my room before. So when he did… I was scared and my body just stopped working.”

Her voice didn’t change.

“But I could have stopped it,” she said. “If I’d told someone. If I’d fought back. I’m Spider-Girl. I’m supposed to…..”

“No,” Tony said immediately, stepping closer. His voice was firm but gentle, like steel wrapped in silk. “No. An adult chose to hurt you. That’s the beginning and end of it.”

Tony crouched in front of Penny. “I am so proud of you for telling us,” he said, voice thick. “For surviving. For trusting us now. None of this is your fault. Not one second of it.”

Something in Penny’s face finally cracked.

Her breath hitched. Once. Twice.

Then she broke.

A sob tore out of her, sudden and violent, and she lurched to her feet, bolting for the kitchen. Tony barely had time to move before she was retching into the sink, her whole body shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she cried between heaves. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

May was there instantly, dropping to the floor with her as Penny slid down, wrapping her arms around her, holding her hair back, rocking her gently. 

The smell of coconut shampoo mixed with the acrid scent of bile, a cloying, suffocating combination.

“It’s okay,” May whispered fiercely. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Tony stood a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, heart breaking in slow, helpless pieces as he watched the person he loved most in the world fall apart.

And knew there was nothing he could do.

Penny’s crying didn’t really stop.

It ebbed and surged, like waves that didn’t know when to quit. Sobs that wracked her whole body, then long stretches where she went frighteningly still, eyes unfocused, breath shallow. May kept an arm wrapped firmly around her the whole time, murmuring soft, grounding words as she guided her back to the couch.

“I’ve got you,” May whispered. “You’re okay.”

Tony stayed in the kitchen longer than necessary, rinsing out the sink, wiping the counter, lining things up that didn’t need lining up. He needed to do something. Anything. Standing there watching felt unbearable.

When he finally turned back, Penny was curled into May’s side, clutching the front of her shirt like it was the only thing anchoring her to the room.

“I’m sorry,” Penny whispered suddenly, voice thin and raw.

May immediately shook her head. “Shh. No. No apologies. None of that.”

Tony sat down on the other side of Penny, close enough that she could feel him there without being crowded. He rested a hand on the back of the couch, steady and present.

Minutes passed.

Penny sobbed again. Quiet this time, tears soaking into May’s shoulder. Then she went still, staring at nothing.

Tony felt a cold twist in his chest every time that happened.

“I’m sorry,” Penny murmured again, barely audible.

May tightened her hold just a little. “Sweetheart, listen to me,” she said gently but firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t need to be sorry for being hurt.”

Penny didn’t respond. She just leaned harder into May, like her body knew where it was safest even if her mind hadn’t caught up yet.

Tony watched, feeling useless in a way he hated more than anything. He was Iron Man. He fixed things. He fought monsters.

And he couldn’t fix this.

After a while, Penny’s breathing slowed again. Her eyes stayed open, empty, like she was watching something far away that only she could see.

Tony swallowed. “Hey, Penn,” he said softly. “We’re here. You don’t have to talk. Just… stay with us, okay?”

Her fingers twitched against May’s sleeve. A tiny nod.

May brushed a small strand of damp hair back from her face, the braid still holding, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered.

Eventually the night faded and Penny and May fell asleep on the couch clutching each other as lifelines. 

__________________________________________________________________________

But, Tony couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying the note in his mind, Penny’s careful handwriting staring up at him like a mirror he didn’t want to look into. He’d read it three more times already, and each time it made his chest tighten, made his stomach turn.

He had to do something. He needed to know how to help her. So, quietly, so Penny and May wouldn’t hear, he pulled a Stark Pad out in the dark. One hand rubbed at his face, the other hovered over the keyboard, fingers stiff with hesitation.

How to help a teenager after sexual assault.

Even typing it made his stomach knot. The words on the screen made him feel queasy, like he’d swallowed something sharp. His mind recoiled at every phrase, every statistic, every suggestion that this was happening to her, that she’d had to live through it.

He clicked through article after article, clinical advice, support group links, therapy recommendations. He read about triggers, about re-traumatization, about victim-blaming and guilt. He read about the careful ways adults could listen without shaming, without pressing, without doing more harm.

Every word made him feel sick. Not just physically, though his stomach churned and his hands trembled, it was the helplessness, the weight of knowing that he couldn’t make the world undo what had been done to her. That the safest, smartest, most informed actions weren’t enough to erase her pain.

He scrolled slowly, absorbing lists, notes, strategies. Believe her. Support her. Protect her. Be patient. He whispered them under his breath like a mantra, like saying them might somehow give him the power to fix everything.

He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, letting his head fall into his hands. His chest ached, his throat burned. The thought of Penny, carrying this alone even for just one day, nearly broke him. He felt angry. Angry at the person who’d hurt her, angry at the world for letting it happen, angry at himself for not knowing sooner, for not being enough.

Hadn’t she suffered enough? Dead parents. Witnessing her uncle’s murder. 

But beneath it all was resolve. He couldn’t undo the past. He couldn’t erase her trauma. But he could be there. He could do this the right way, even if it terrified him.

He whispered again, quieter now, almost to himself: “Okay. I can do this. I have to do this for her.”

The next day felt heavier than the last.

Penny had sat between them at the table while the police spoke gently and carefully, their voices low, their questions deliberate. Tony had kept one hand on the back of her chair the entire time. May had held Penny’s hand so tightly her fingers had gone numb.

Penny answered every question.

Flat. Hollow. Like she was reading from a script written somewhere far away.

Tony felt sick hearing it. Every confirmation, every detail that lined up with what they already knew. His stomach twisted, his chest burned, and more than once he’d had to focus on breathing so he didn’t lose it in front of her.

And yet, underneath the horror, there was pride so fierce it hurt. She was surviving every minute. That’s all they needed right now.

 He felt beyond honored that she trusted him to stay with her through it all. She trusted us, he thought.

She trusted me.

The idea that Penny felt safe enough to want him there. Needed him there. Lodged deep in his chest and stayed.

When it was over, Penny hadn’t said a word. She’d just nodded when May asked if she wanted to go shower.

That had been two hours ago.

The water was still running.

Tony sat on the couch now, elbows braced on his knees, fingers laced together so tightly his knuckles ached. May sat beside him, one arm wrapped around her own middle, eyes fixed on the hallway.

“She was like that the whole time,” May said quietly. “Just… gone.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah.”

He swallowed. “She’s dissociating.”

May glanced at him. “You’ve been reading.”

“Obsessively,” he admitted. “It’s her brain protecting her. When it’s too much. When the feelings are too big. It just… shuts the door for a while.”

May’s eyes filled. “And the crying?”

“That’s when the door slips,” Tony said softly. “When it can’t hold everything back anymore. It’s not regression. It’s actually… normal. As awful as that sounds.”

May nodded slowly, pressing her lips together. “God. She shouldn’t have to be normal for this.”

“No,” Tony agreed. His voice cracked despite himself. “She shouldn’t.”

They sat in silence again.

The water kept running.

Tony checked the time for the third time in five minutes. “It’s been over two hours.”

May’s jaw tightened. “That’s too long.”

She stood, resolve settling into her posture. “I’m going to check on her.”

Tony nodded immediately. “Okay.”

May started down the hall, then paused and looked back at him. “If she doesn’t answer-”

“I know,” Tony said. “I’m right here.”

May disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps soft but purposeful.

Tony stayed where he was.

He stared at the hallway like he could will Penny to be okay just by watching hard enough. His chest felt tight, his skin prickling with that awful, useless energy, the kind that came when there was nothing to fix and nowhere to aim the fear.

He rubbed a hand over his face and breathed.

Come on, kid, he thought.

Just… be in there. Be breathing. Let her be breathing.

May knocked softly at first.

“Penny?” she called through the door. “Baby?”

Nothing.

She knocked again, louder. “Penny, honey, can you answer me?”

Still nothing but the steady rush of water.

May’s voice sharpened with fear. “Penny!”

Tony was on his feet instantly, his heart slamming so hard it made his ears ring.

“Friday,” he said, voice tight, panic breaking through despite his best effort to contain it. “Open the bathroom door. Now.”

“Of course, Boss.”

The lock disengaged.

They burst in together.

Penny was on the floor.

She was in her pajamas, curled slightly on her side on the bath mat, the shower running behind her like white noise turned too loud. Her skin was dry, her hair only partly wet. Her chest was rising and falling.

Alive.

The relief hit Tony so hard his knees almost gave out.

He hadn’t even realized, really realized, that this was what he’d been afraid of until the fear was suddenly standing right in front of him. Cold. Absolute. Paralyzing.

“Oh thank God,” he breathed, the words falling out of him before he could stop them.

May dropped to her knees beside Penny immediately. “Penny,” she said gently, brushing damp hair back from her face. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

The room was thick with steam, the air heavy and hard to breathe, but Penny was shivering. Her eyes were open, but unfocused, staring past May, past the room, like she was somewhere else entirely. 

May slid an arm behind her shoulders. “Can you come lay down, honey?”

Penny didn’t respond at first.

Then a small sound left her throat. A thin, broken whimper.

“That’s okay,” Tony said quickly, voice steady and soothing. “You don’t have to lie down if you don’t want to. We’re just going to sit together.”

Tony reached past them to shut off the water, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. He grabbed a towel and draped it around Penny’s shoulders, damp from her hair, careful and slow.

May helped Penny to her feet, supporting most of her weight, guiding her gently out of the bathroom and down the hall. Penny moved stiffly, like her body was following instructions her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Tony moved ahead of them and queued up Star Wars without thinking. Muscle memory, comfort on autopilot. The familiar opening music filled the penthouse, grounding and warm.

They settled Penny on the couch between them.

May tucked her into her side, one arm wrapped protectively around her. Tony pulled a blanket over Penny’s legs and sat close on her other side, his arm resting along the back of the couch so she was enclosed without being trapped.

Penny leaned into both of them, trembling faintly.

Tony finally let himself breathe.

It came out shaky, broken, like he’d been holding it since the moment the door hadn’t opened.

He stared at the screen without really seeing it, one hand now resting near Penny’s shoulder, anchoring himself to the fact that she was here. Warm. Breathing.

Alive.

He tipped his head back slightly and closed his eyes for half a second.

Thank you, he thought. To whatever power might be listening.

Thank you for letting her still be here.

When he looked down again, Penny’s whimpering had quieted, her body slowly easing as the sound of the movie and the weight of them on either side of her reminded her, inch by inch, where she was.

Penny didn’t move for a long time.

She lay between them on the couch, curled slightly into May’s side, eyes half-lidded and unfocused as Star Wars played on in the background. Tony watched her chest rise and fall, slow and shallow, like she was afraid to take up too much space.

After a while, May spoke gently. “Baby…can you try and eat a little?”

Penny didn’t answer at first.

Tony leaned forward just a bit. “We got takeout,” he said softly. “Nothing fancy. Just pasta. You don’t have to eat much. Even a couple bites.”

Her brow furrowed, like the effort of deciding was exhausting. Then she nodded once.

May smiled gently and shifted just enough to grab the container from the coffee table. She twirled a small bite onto the fork and held it out, not rushing her.

Penny hesitated… then took it.

She chewed slowly, mechanically. Swallowed.

Another bite. Then another.

“That’s good,” May murmured. “You’re doing great.”

After a few bites, Penny’s hand trembled and she shook her head, pushing the container away.

“That’s okay,” Tony said immediately. “Hey, Friday, do we have any shakes left?” Thinking of the protein shakes he had after workouts. 

“Yes, Boss,” Friday chimed in. “Several.”

Tony stood and was back in seconds, handing Penny a chilled protein shake. “You can sip it,” he said. “No pressure.”

She wrapped both hands around it and drank quietly, eyes downcast. She didn’t finish it, but she drank enough.

Her body seemed to sag afterward, like the small bit of fuel had finally let exhaustion claim its due.

Within minutes, Penny’s breathing evened out.

She fell asleep between them.

Tony didn’t move.

Neither did May.

After a while, once Penny’s weight was fully relaxed against her, May spoke, barely above a whisper.

“I understand her,” she said.

Tony turned his head slightly, careful not to jostle Penny. “Yeah?”

May stared ahead at the screen, eyes glossy. “I went through something in college. Something that almost broke me.”

Tony stayed silent, giving her space.

“I tried to get help,” she continued. “My school didn’t take it seriously. They brushed me off. Made me feel like I was a problem for needing support.” Her voice wavered. “There were days I didn’t think my life was worth much at all.”

Tony’s chest tightened.

“That’s why…” May swallowed. “That’s why I was so terrified when that bathroom door was locked. For a second, I thought.”

She couldn’t finish.

Tony nodded slowly. “Me too.”

She looked at him then, startled. “You thought it too?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Didn’t even know it was a fear until it was right there. Staring at me.”

They sat with that for a moment.

Tony shook his head slightly, awe and emotion threading through his voice. “May… after everything you went through, after being failed like that, you still became this. You raised Penny into the kid she is. You protected her. You believe her. You showed up.”

May’s eyes filled. “I just tried to do better than what I had.”

“And you did,” Tony said firmly. “You’re incredible.”

She blinked back tears and squeezed Penny a little closer.

They were quiet again.

Then Penny whimpered.

It started small, just a broken sound, breath hitching. Her brow creased, her body tensing like she was bracing for something only she could see.

“No,” Penny whispered in her sleep. “Please.”

May reacted instantly. “Penny. Penny, wake up.”

She brushed Penny’s hair back gently, her voice firm but soothing. “You’re safe. You’re here with us.”

Penny jolted awake with a sob, eyes wild, tears spilling over immediately.

“I hate myself,” she cried, the words tumbling out like they’d been waiting. “I hate myself, I hate myself.”

May froze for half a heartbeat, stunned by the rawness of it.

Tony moved in immediately, his hand coming to Penny’s back, steady and warm. “Hey. No. No, Penn. We’re not doing that.”

She sobbed harder, shaking. “I’m broken.”

Tony shook his head fiercely. “You are hurt. You are not broken.”

May pulled Penny fully into her arms, holding her tight. “Oh, baby,” she whispered, voice breaking. 

Penny clutched at her, crying like the words had ripped something open inside her.

Tony stayed close, one hand grounding her, the other pressed into the couch to keep himself steady.

________________________________________________________________________________________________-

Tony didn’t do it in the living room.

He called them into one of the smaller conference spaces instead. Lights dimmed and the glass walls frosted over. It felt wrong to say any of this in a place where Penny usually laughed.

Sam, Clint, Rhodey, Steve, Bucky, and Natasha gathered around the table, reading Tony’s face the second he walked in.

Something was very wrong.

“Okay,” Tony said, arms folded tight across his chest, grounding himself. “I’m going to say this once, and then I need you all to listen.”

That alone wiped the casual edge from the room.

“Penny and May are staying at the tower for a while,” he continued. “Indefinitely. Penny needs space. Quiet. No surprise visits, no hovering, no well-meaning check-ins unless she oks it.”

Natasha nodded immediately. Sam sobered. Rhodey’s jaw tightened.

Steve leaned forward. “Tony… what happened?”

Tony hesitated. Just for a beat.

“Penny was hurt,” he said carefully.

Steve’s face went pale. “Hurt how?” he asked, voice sharp with concern. “Was she injured on patrol? Spider-Girl? Is she going to be okay?”

Tony closed his eyes for half a second.

“No,” he said. “Not on patrol. Not as Spider-Girl.”

He opened his eyes again. “May’s boyfriend hurt her. Sexually.”

The room went dead silent.

Clint’s hands curled slowly into fists on the table. Rhodey swore under his breath, quiet and vicious. Sam’s expression went from shock to something darker in a heartbeat.

Natasha didn’t react outwardly, but her eyes went cold and calculating.

Bucky was the first to speak. His voice was low. Dangerous.
“How is he still breathing?”

Tony met his gaze. “Barely.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed, something feral flashing behind his eyes. “Because if it were up to me-”

“I know,” Tony cut in gently but firmly. “Believe me. I know.”

He took a breath, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Dr. Cho examined Penny and documented physical trauma and biological evidence. The police spoke to Penny. Statements were taken. And we are letting the system do its job.”

Clint scoffed softly. “You trust the system?”

“I trust me,” Tony replied. “And I’m monitoring everything.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “Status?”

Tony didn’t hesitate. “Skip was arrested.”

That landed like a dropped weight.

Steve exhaled shakily, one hand braced on the table. “Oh God…”

“She’s alive,” Tony said quietly. “She’s safe. And she’s… not okay. But she’s being held. Constantly.”

Rhodey nodded slowly. “What do you need from us?”

Tony’s shoulders eased just a fraction at the question. “Normalcy without pressure. If she sees you in passing, be kind. Gentle. Let her set the pace. No questions. No ‘I heard’ conversations.”

Sam raised his hands slightly. “Got it. Her rules.”

“And,” Tony added, his voice firm now, “none of this leaves this room. Penny gets to own her story. Not us.”

Every single one of them nodded.

Steve swallowed. “If she wants… I’m here.”

“I know,” Tony said softly. “She knows too.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, eyes burning. “If he ever gets near her again…..”

“He won’t,” Tony said, absolute. “That’s not happening.”

The room stayed quiet for a moment longer, heavy but united.

Tony straightened. “Thank you. All of you. Just… remember….she’s still the same kid. She just needs time.”

And with that, the Avengers, soldiers, spies, assassins, heroes, understood exactly what their mission was.

Care for Penny.

____________________________________________________________________________--

It was Never Ending Friday

That’s what Tony started calling it in his head. Because the days blurred together, and it felt like time had stalled somewhere between night and morning, between before and after.

Penny was still crying.

Not all the time. Not loudly. But often enough that Tony had learned the sound of it. The soft hitch in her breath in the middle of the night, the way she’d wake from nightmares shaking, eyes wide and lost, like she wasn’t sure what year it was.

She slept in fits.

She ate because she was told to.

A few bites of toast. Half a yogurt. A couple spoonfuls of soup. Tony praised every mouthful like it was a victory because, right now, it was.

Tony hadn't changed his shirt in two days. He hadn't checked the Stark Industries stock ticker. The world was screaming for his attention, but his entire universe had shrunk to the size of a girl pushing eggs around a plate.

And he was scared.

He hid it well. Kept his voice calm, his movements easy, but the fear sat under his skin constantly. She felt so fragile. Like if the world nudged her too hard, she might disappear into herself again.

The therapist had started coming to the tower midweek.

Penny saw her every other day in one of the quieter rooms, doors open if Penny wanted, closed if she didn’t. Tony never pushed. He never asked what they talked about. He just waited nearby, pretending to scroll through schematics he hadn’t actually read once.

After one session, Penny came out and sat beside him without a word.

That felt like everything.

School never came up until the following Friday morning. It was unspoken. Penny needed time and space to heal. 

They were sitting at the table, May with a mug of tea she’d reheated twice, Penny pushing eggs  around her plate, Tony watching both of them like he always did now. 

“School. I can’t, I can’t go back yet,” Penny said suddenly.

Her voice was small, but steady.

May looked up immediately. “Okay.”

Tony leaned forward just a little. “You don’t have to,” he said without hesitation.

Penny blinked, surprised. “I feel… weak,” she admitted, staring at her plate. “Like I can’t even think about walking out of the tower. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” May said instantly.

Tony shook his head. “Not even a little.”

Penny’s shoulders sagged. “I should be able to. I’m Spider-Girl. I fight aliens.”

Tony reached across the table, resting his hand near hers. Not touching unless she wanted it. “You survived something that rewired your brain, kid. That takes more strength than punching a bad guy.”

May nodded. “Healing isn’t linear,” she added gently. “And it’s not a race. School will still be there when you’re ready.”

Penny swallowed hard. “What if I’m never ready?”

Tony didn’t hesitate. “Then we adapt. We figure something else out. There are a thousand ways to learn and exactly zero deadlines on getting better.”

She looked up at him then, eyes glassy. “You’re not disappointed?”

Tony felt his chest ache.

“No,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you for knowing your limits and saying them out loud.”

May reached over and squeezed Penny’s hand. “You don’t owe the world your recovery timeline,” she said. “You just owe yourself kindness.”

Penny nodded, a tear slipping free.

That night, she cried again.

And later, when the nightmares came, Tony sat on the floor beside the couch, back against it, listening to her breathing even out again after May held her through the worst of it.

Never Ending Friday stretched on.

But Penny was still here.

Still eating a little. Still talking. Sometimes. Still letting them hold her.

And Tony clung to that like a lifeline, trusting that one day, the calendar would start moving forward again.

Later that evening, the team had gathered in the conference room. Inside, the team was subdued. No one had brought coffee. No one had Stark pads open. This wasn’t a strategy meeting. It just felt like one.

Clint sat halfway down the table. His chair had been tipped back at first, but he’d let it fall flat onto all four legs. Now he leaned forward, forearms braced on the polished surface, hands loosely clasped like he was holding himself in place.

Natasha sat to his left, not slouched, not rigid, just still. One ankle crossed over the opposite knee, fingers resting lightly on the table. Her posture was controlled, but her eyes were sharp and distant, processing.

Steve had chosen a chair instead of standing. That alone said something. He sat upright, hands folded in front of him, shoulders broad but heavy. Bucky sat beside him, angled slightly away from the table, one arm hooked over the back of his chair, jaw tight, metal fingers flexing once before going still.

Rhodey sat near the head of the table but not at it. His arms were crossed over his chest, one hand gripping the opposite bicep. He hadn’t spoken yet.

Sam leaned back in his chair, but not casually. One hand rested flat on the table, grounding himself there. He was watching everyone, especially Tony.

Tony stood for a moment before finally taking the seat at the head. Not because he wanted authority, but because it was the one chair that let him see all of them at once.

It was Natasha who broke the silence.

“This has shaken everyone,” she said calmly. “And if we’re going to support her, we need to understand what we’re looking at.”

Sam nodded once.

“A kid’s brain is still under construction,” he said quietly. “When something like this happens, it doesn’t just get filed away as a bad memory. It can change how the world feels to them.”

Steve frowned slightly. “Change it how?”

Sam folded his hands loosely.

“When someone you’re supposed to be safe around hurts you,” he said, “your brain can start looking for danger everywhere. It doesn’t matter if you logically know you’re safe. Your body might not believe it yet.”

Clint exhaled slowly. “Like it’s happening again.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Or like it could happen again at any moment.”

He continued carefully. “Because she’s still growing, this kind of trauma can dig in deeper. She might swing between being overwhelmed and shutting down completely. She might dissociate, check out when things feel too big. She might get hyper-aware of everything around her.”

Tony’s jaw tightened.

“Will it always be like this?” Steve asked quietly.

Sam shook his head. “No. Especially not with support. She’s in therapy. She’s surrounded by people who believe her. That matters more than anything. But…” He paused. “It can shape how she sees herself. And other people.”

Bucky’s voice was low. “It changes you.”

“It can,” Sam agreed. “But change doesn’t mean ruined.”

Natasha crossed her arms. “What are we watching for?”

“Isolation,” Sam said. “Self-blame. Pulling away from people. Or the opposite,  trying too hard to act like nothing’s wrong. Trouble sleeping. Avoiding reminders. Or fixating on them.”

Tony finally spoke. “She keeps saying she froze. Like that’s a moral failure.”

“It’s not,” Sam said firmly. “But kids look for control. If she can convince herself it was her fault, then maybe she can believe she could’ve stopped it. That feels safer than accepting that someone chose to hurt her.”

Silence settled heavy over the room.

Clint ran a hand over his face. “How long does this last?”

Sam didn’t soften it. “It can echo. Certain interactions might bring it back up.”

“Like what?” Rhodey asked quietly.

“Relationships,” Sam said. “Physical closeness. Trust. Even arguments.”

Tony’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

“She might question her instincts,” Sam went on. “Second-guess what feels okay. Or blame herself if something feels overwhelming. That’s common. Especially when trauma happens young.”

Steve’s voice was low. “And if she doesn’t get steady support?”

Sam held his gaze. “Then the fear can settle in deeper. It can affect how she connects with people in general. Not just romantically. Friends. Teammates. Anyone.”

The room went very still.

Tony finally spoke. “I don’t want this to define her. I don’t want the worst thing that ever happened to her shaping every relationship she ever has.”

“It won’t,” Sam said firmly. “Not if this is what surrounds her.”

He gestured lightly, to the room. To all of them.

“She’s strong,” Bucky said.

Tony nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Strength helps,” Sam said. “But that’s not what protects her long-term. Consistency does. Adults who stay. People who respect her boundaries. People who don’t rush her healing.”

“If she keeps experiencing safety, real safety,  her brain learns something new. It learns that closeness doesn’t always equal danger. That trust doesn’t automatically lead to harm.”

Rhodey looked toward the glass as well. “We can give her that.”

“Yes,” Natasha said simply.

Steve’s voice was steady but thick. “We protect her. But gently.”

“No crowding,” Bucky added.

Tony looked around the table. For the first time since the meeting began, his voice didn’t shake.

“She’s not going to be defined by this,” he said. Not as a question. A promise.

Sam met his eyes. “Not if she’s surrounded by us.”

The team sat in quiet solidarity, processing their own shock, their own anger, their own helplessness.

This had affected them too.

But they would not let it fracture them.

Sam spoke one last time, softer now.

“The single biggest factor in how this shapes her future is whether she feels believed and supported.”

And every person in that room silently committed to making sure she always would be.

Natasha didn’t look at Tony when she spoke.

“I’d like to check in on her,” she said, tone even. Not soft. Not forceful. Just clear. “Nothing heavy. Just… let her see me.”

Tony studied her for a second. Natasha didn’t do performative concern. If she was asking, it mattered.

“She doesn’t need a crowd,” Natasha added. “But she should know we’re not disappearing.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

A beat.

“I’ll ask her,” he said. “No pressure. If she’s not up for it, that’s the end of it.”

Natasha inclined her head once. “That’s fine.”

Tony gave her a small, tired half-smile. “You hovering is terrifying enough on a good day. We’ll ease her into that.”

One corner of Natasha’s mouth twitched.

“Stark,” she replied dryly, “I don’t hover.”

“Sure you don’t.”

But there was gratitude in his voice.

____________________________________________________________________________

Tony found Penny in the corner of the living room, knees pulled to her chest, a blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. 

“Hey, Penn,” he said gently. “Nat wanted to stop by. Just for a minute. No heavy stuff. Your call.”

Penny hesitated. Her fingers twisted in the edge of the blanket.

“…Okay,” she said quietly.

Tony nodded once and stepped away.

Natasha didn’t enter immediately. She gave Penny a few seconds. Then she walked in without fanfare, no sudden movements, no exaggerated softness.

She didn’t sit right next to her. She took the armchair across from the couch instead, turning it slightly so they weren’t directly squared off.

“Hi,” Natasha said.

Penny nodded. “Hi.”

Silence stretched for a moment. Natasha let it.

“I won’t stay long,” she said. “I just wanted you to see my face. Make sure you knew I was still here.”

Penny’s eyes flickered up at that.

“I know,” she said.

Natasha studied her quietly. Penny looked smaller lately. Not physically. Just… folded inward.

“You want to tell me how today feels?” Natasha asked.

Penny shrugged. “Fine.”

Natasha raised one eyebrow slightly.

Penny sighed. “Not fine.”

Another stretch of quiet.

“I keep thinking about it,” Penny admitted, staring at her hands. “Like… if I’d just done something different.”

Natasha didn’t interrupt.

“If I’d said something earlier. Or not ignored the weird stuff. Or… I don’t know.” Penny’s shoulders tightened. “I’m supposed to notice threats. That’s literally my thing.”

Her jaw clenched faintly.

Natasha leaned back slightly in the chair. Calm. Unmoved by the self-accusation.

“When I was younger,” Natasha said evenly, “I was trained to believe that if something went wrong, it was because I wasn’t good enough. Fast enough. Smart enough.”

Penny glanced up at her.

“It’s a convenient lie,” Natasha continued. “If it’s your fault, then you can fix it next time. You can be better.”

Penny swallowed.

“But sometimes,” Natasha said quietly, “someone else chooses to do harm. And no amount of skill changes that choice.”

Penny’s fingers tightened in the blanket.

“I froze,” she whispered.

Natasha nodded once. “Yes.”

The word landed without judgment.

“That’s not who I am,” Penny said quickly, like she needed it clarified. “I don’t freeze.”

“You did,” Natasha replied gently. “Because your body decided surviving was more important than fighting.”

Penny’s breathing shifted, shallow, uneven.

“It doesn’t feel like surviving,” she said.

“No,” Natasha agreed. “It rarely does.”

Another silence.

Penny stared at the floor. “I should’ve known.”

Natasha’s voice stayed steady. “He worked very hard to make sure you didn’t.”

That made Penny blink.

“People like that test boundaries slowly,” Natasha said. “They normalize small discomforts. They count on you doubting yourself.”

Penny’s throat moved as she swallowed again.

“I didn’t want to make it a big deal,” she said. “I thought maybe I was just being dramatic.”

Natasha’s eyes sharpened slightly. “You weren’t.”

Penny’s shoulders started to curl inward again. “I’m supposed to protect people.”

“And you do,” Natasha said calmly. “You protect strangers. You protect this city.”

A pause.

“You are not required to be your own bodyguard at fifteen.”

That hit.

Penny’s composure cracked just a little. Her eyes filled, but she blinked hard like she could force it back.

Natasha didn’t rush to fill the space. She let the silence sit between them like something solid and safe.

After a moment, Penny spoke again, voice smaller.

“It feels like something’s wrong with me.”

Natasha leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on her knees.

Penny’s breath left her in a shaky exhale.

“Freezing. Crying. Shutting down,” Natasha said. “That’s survival.” 

Penny’s eyes dropped again. “It doesn’t feel like that.”

“It won’t,” Natasha said simply. “Not for a while.”

Another beat of quiet.

“I don’t see you differently,” Natasha added.

Penny’s head lifted slightly at that.

“I don’t see you as fragile,” Natasha said. “Or ruined. Or less capable.”

The implication of what Penny had been fearing hung in the air.

“You’re hurt,” Natasha finished. “That’s not the same thing.”

Penny’s eyes brimmed over this time. A tear slid down, then another.

Natasha didn’t move to hug her. She didn’t crowd her.

She just stayed.

After a minute, Penny wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“I don’t want this to be part of me,” she said quietly.

Natasha considered that.

“It may always be part of your story,” she said. “But it doesn’t get to be the headline.”

Penny let out a shaky breath.

Natasha stood slowly.

“I’m here,” she said. 

She started toward the door, then paused.

“And for the record,” she added without turning around, “you freezing doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

When she left, Penny stayed curled under the blanket.

But she wasn’t quite folded in on herself the same way.

And in the hallway, Natasha stood for a long moment before she let her own expression crack.

___________________________________________________________________________

May sat at the dining table, shoulders tense, hands twisting in her lap. Penny was with Natasha talking in the living room. Her own chest felt heavy, every heartbeat echoing the helplessness she’d felt when she learned what Skip had done.

Sam entered the room, calm and steady as always, reading her as well as he could. “May… I know this is hard,” he said softly. “You’re angry. You’re scared. You feel guilty. But I want you to hear me clearly: none of this is your fault.”

May’s voice cracked, a whisper breaking free. “I… I let myself trust him. I let myself think he was a good guy. I never thought he would. I should have seen it. I should have done something…”

“You couldn’t have predicted him,” Sam said firmly. “Grooming is insidious. It’s manipulative, and he made it invisible to everyone outside of his control. You are not to blame for trusting someone who seemed trustworthy. That’s human. That’s normal. What he did… that’s all on him.”

May shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. “It’s just… he charmed me, Sam. I let myself let down my guard, just a little, and he used that to… to get to her.”

Sam leaned a little closer, voice soft but firm. “May… listen to me. You didn’t hurt her. You weren’t complicit. Skip’s actions are his alone. He’s the one responsible for his choices. Penny survived because of her own strength, and because she has people who love her around her. That includes you. You did not cause this.”

May sniffled, trying to breathe through the guilt. “I just… I keep thinking about what could’ve happened. If I hadn’t trusted him, if I had stopped him sooner… if I had done something differently…”

“You couldn’t have known,” Sam said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hindsight is always brutal. But you need to focus on what you can do now. Support Penny. Keep her safe. Love her. That’s the part you can control. And you’re doing that, every single day. That’s huge. That’s everything she needs right now.”

May took a shaky breath, wiping at her tears. “Thank you, Sam. I needed to hear that. I just… I feel so guilty.”

“And that’s okay,” Sam said softly. “It means you care. But guilt is a trap here. Channel your energy into supporting her. That’s what matters. She’s alive, she’s healing, and she has you. That’s what counts.”

May nodded slowly, feeling some of the tension in her chest ease. “Okay. Focus on her. That… that I can do.”

“Exactly,” Sam said, offering a small reassuring smile. “One step at a time. And May… you’re doing a good job.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Sam didn’t show up unannounced.

He asked Tony first.

Tony found him in the kitchen early afternoon, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee he hadn’t touched. “You don’t have to,” Tony said immediately.

“I know,” Sam replied. “But if she wants… I can sit with her. No superhero stuff. Just me.”

Tony studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll ask.”

Penny was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring at nothing in particular. When Tony mentioned Sam’s name, she stiffened, just a little.

“He doesn’t have to,” she said quickly.

“He knows,” Tony said gently. “He just wanted you to know the option’s there. No pressure.”

Penny thought for a long moment.

“…Okay,” she said finally. “For a little.”

Sam came in slow, hands visible, movements easy. He didn’t sit right next to her, chose the chair across from the couch instead, turning it slightly so it didn’t feel like an interrogation- just like Natasha had. 

“Hey, Penn,” he said warmly. “Thanks for letting me hang out.”

She nodded, eyes down.

They sat in silence for a minute. Sam let it breathe.

“I’m not here as an Avenger,” he said eventually. “And I’m not here to get details. I used to work with people who’d been through… really hard stuff. Sometimes it helps to hear from someone who knows what trauma does to the brain.”

Penny’s fingers tightened in the blanket. “My brain feels broken.”

Sam nodded once. “Yeah. That tracks.”

She blinked, startled, and looked up at him.

“I mean that seriously,” he added gently. “Not broken as in ‘ruined.’ Broken as in ‘injured.’ And injured brains do some weird things to keep people alive.”

Penny swallowed. “I cry all the time. Or I don’t feel anything. I hate myself for freezing. And I can’t sleep. And when I do, I wake up scared. And I feel stupid for all of it.”

Sam leaned forward just a bit. “Every single one of those things is awful.”

She flinched, then nodded.

“And,” he continued, voice calm and steady, “every single one of them is normal after what you went through.”

Penny’s eyes filled. “It doesn’t feel normal.”

“No,” Sam agreed. “It feels like your body betrayed you. Like you’re not in control anymore.”

Her breath hitched. “…Yeah.”

Sam rested his forearms on his knees. “Here’s the thing. When something overwhelming happens, your brain doesn’t ask permission. It flips survival switches. Fight, flight, freeze, those aren’t choices. They’re reflexes.”

“But I’m supposed to be strong,” Penny whispered.

Sam smiled sadly. “Kid, strength isn’t about what you do in the worst moment of your life. It’s about what you do after. Like telling the truth. Like asking for help. Like sitting here even though everything in you wants to disappear.”

She wiped at her face with her sleeve. “I feel weak.”

“That’s what healing feels like at the beginning,” Sam said softly. “Before it starts feeling like strength again.”

They sat quietly for a while.

“Does it stop?” Penny asked finally. “The nightmares. The… feeling like this.”

Sam didn’t lie. “It gets quieter. Slower. Less sharp. And one day you’ll realize you laughed and it didn’t feel wrong. Or you slept through the night. And it won’t mean you forgot. It'll mean your brain learned you’re safe again.”

Penny nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“You’re not failing,” Sam said gently. “You’re responding exactly the way someone who was hurt responds. And you’re doing it surrounded by people who believe you and care about you.”

She took a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Sam stood slowly. “Anytime. And if you ever want to talk again. About this or about literally anything else. I’m around.”

As he headed for the door, Penny spoke again.

“Sam?”

He turned.

“…It helps. Knowing it’s normal.”

Sam smiled. “Good. Hold onto that.”

From the hallway, Tony watched Sam leave, then looked back at Penny. Still wrapped in her blanket, still hurting, but a little less alone.

____________________________________________________________________________

Bucky came next. He asked Tony if it was ok to see her and Penny had reluctantly agreed. Natasha, Sam, and now Bucky. Checking on her. The world's mightiest heroes, checking on Penny Parker, some girl, just because her aunt's boyfriend had come into her bedroom. 

Penny sat on the edge of the couch, knees pulled up, hoodie hanging over her hands. Bucky lowered himself onto the armchair beside her, his posture stiff, his metal arm resting on the side. He didn’t reach for her, didn’t smile. Just… was there.

“I was… like you,” he said, voice flat, careful. “Back then. Winter Soldier. They didn’t treat me like a person. They used me. Controlled me. Did things… bad things. They used my body for their own…Needs. They raped me.” He paused. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped in your own head. To feel like your body isn’t your own. To think it won’t end. That nobody can help.”

Penny swallowed hard. “How… how did you get through it?”

Bucky looked at the floor, jaw tight. “Therapy. That was… necessary. And people. People who didn’t give up. Steve. The others. They… didn’t let me stay broken. It’s not quick. Not easy. But it works. Slowly.” He shifted, his tone still clipped, almost factual, but not unkind.

Penny hugged her knees tighter. “I don’t think I’ll ever… be normal again.”

Bucky’s gaze was steady. “Normal… is not a thing. It’s a word. You’re… alive. That’s more than normal. That’s reality. That’s enough.”

She looked at him, hesitant. “Will it… stop hurting?”

Bucky tilted his head, almost like he was analyzing the question. “Not instantly. Not ever, probably. But… it will hurt less. Over time. You practice. You survive. You keep moving. And… people help. If you let them.”

Penny exhaled slowly, a shaky laugh escaping her. “I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” Bucky said flatly. “You already are. You just don’t know it yet. Step by step. You… endure. That’s what matters.”

For a long moment, the room was quiet except for her uneven breathing. She finally relaxed a fraction, letting herself sit in his presence, absorbing the mechanical certainty in his words. For once, the idea that someone else had been through something similar, and survived, felt real.

“You’re not alone,” Bucky said again. His voice didn’t waver, didn’t soften. But it carried weight. “Ever. Time helps. Therapy helps. People help. You… are not weak.”

Penny let her head drop onto her knees, just for a moment, and for the first time in a long while, she believed maybe she could keep going.

___________________________________________________________________________-

Rhodey found Tony in the lab late that night. Rhodey. His support and confidant. His closest friend.  

The lights were low, most of the screens dark. Tony sat on the edge of a worktable, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. He looked up the second Rhodey stepped in, like he’d been expecting him.

“Hey,” Rhodey said quietly.

“Hey,” Tony replied. His voice was tired. Not joking. Not armored.

Rhodey didn’t launch into it. He never did. He crossed the room and leaned against the opposite table, giving Tony space but not distance.

“I’ve got orders,” he said. “Government needs me for a mission. Recon and deterrence. Nothing flashy.”

Tony nodded automatically. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Rhodey said. Then he paused. “But that’s not why I’m here first.”

Tony’s jaw tightened just a little. Rhodey had been his rock these past couple weeks and he was afraid to be without his steady presence. 

Rhodey watched him for a moment, then spoke carefully. “I wanted to check on you. Not Iron Man. You.”

Tony huffed a breath. “You drew the short straw.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said. “But I’ve always been good with those.”

Silence stretched between them.

“You’re doing a hell of a job, Tony,” Rhodey said finally. “With Penny. With May. With… all of this.”

Tony’s head snapped up. “You don’t see the parts where I feel like I’m screwing it up.”

Rhodey shook his head. “I see a guy who stayed. Who believed her. Who didn’t bulldoze, didn’t disappear, didn’t numb out.” His voice softened. “I see someone she feels safe with. That counts for more than you think.”

Tony swallowed. Hard.

“I don’t feel like I’m doing a good job,” he admitted. “I feel like I’m barely holding it together with duct tape and spite.”

Rhodey smiled faintly. “Welcome to parenting. And trauma response.”

Tony laughed once and then broke.

He dragged a hand over his face, eyes fixed on the floor.

“May told me Penny got her period today,” he said quietly. “And we were relieved, Rhodey. Just… overwhelmingly relieved.”

He let out a thin, shaky breath. “It’s supposed to be this small, annoying, teenage thing. But we’ve been waiting for it like a bomb squad waits for a timer.”

Rhodey’s expression softened. He nodded once, steady and sure.

“I want a drink,” he said suddenly. The words came out raw, unfiltered. “God, Rhodey, I want one so bad. Just one shot. Just something to shut my brain up for five minutes.”

Rhodey didn’t flinch.

Tony dragged a hand down his face. “I’ve been fighting it every day. Every damn day. And I hate that this is when it’s loudest, because she needs me clear and I….” His voice cracked. “I’m scared if I let myself slip even once, I won’t be who she needs anymore.”

Rhodey straightened, seriousness settling in.

“Hey,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”

Tony did.

“You wanting a drink doesn’t make you weak,” Rhodey said. “It makes you human. And you not taking it? That’s strength. Real strength.”

Tony shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rhodey replied. “Feelings lie. Actions don’t.”

He stepped closer, voice lower now. “You take that shot, it won’t actually quiet anything. You know that. It’ll just make tomorrow harder and she’ll feel it, even if she doesn’t know why.”

Tony closed his eyes, breathing through it.

“You stay sober,” Rhodey continued, “and you stay present. You stay you. The guy who sits on the floor during nightmares. The guy who rinses sinks just to feel useful. The guy she trusts.”

Tony’s breath shuddered.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Rhodey added. “You just have to stay.”

Tony nodded slowly. “…I can stay.”

Rhodey clapped a hand on his shoulder, solid, grounding. “Good. And for what it’s worth? I’m proud of you.”

Tony let out a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said. 

Rhodey turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Hey, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to fight this alone,” Rhodey said. “You never did. I won’t be here, but you have a tower full of people who have your back. Who have hers.” 

The door slid shut behind him.

Tony stayed where he was for a long moment, breathing through the urge, grounding himself in the quiet.

____________________________________________________________________________

Tony was already outside the therapy room when the door opened.

He always was.

He sat in the same chair every session, back straight, hands folded loosely, pretending to scroll through his phone while actually counting the minutes. He’d learned Penny’s rhythms by now, the way she usually came out quiet but present, eyes tired, shoulders heavy like she’d been carrying something invisible.

This time, she didn’t look tired.

She looked… absent.

Penny stepped into the hallway, but her eyes slid past Tony instead of finding him. Her posture was loose, slack, like gravity had forgotten her for a moment. She didn’t register the sound of the door closing behind her.

Tony stood slowly.

“Hey, Penn,” he said softly.

Nothing.

A chill crawled up his spine.

The therapist lingered in the doorway, concern written plainly across her face. She lowered her voice, careful, professional, but worried.

“It was a very difficult session today,” she said. “She may need extra support. Extra care.”

Tony nodded once. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else. The therapist gave Penny one last look, gentle, apologetic, and then left them alone in the hallway.

Tony turned back to Penny.

“Okay, kid,” he murmured. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She didn’t respond, but when he gently guided her toward the elevator, she went. Her body followed instructions her mind wasn’t participating in.

The elevator ride felt endless. Tony watched her reflection in the mirrored wall. Her eyes didn’t track. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t even breathe deeply.

The doors opened onto the penthouse. The lights were already low, Friday, anticipating.

Tony led her to the couch and eased her down.

The moment she sat, he knew.

She wasn’t just quiet.

She was gone.

Her eyes were open, fixed on nothing. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, like she was afraid to take up space even inside her own body.

Tony’s chest tightened painfully.

He pulled out his phone.

May. Please. Now.

She arrived fast, fear sharpening her movements. The second she saw Penny, her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

They tried everything.

Tony knelt in front of her, speaking her name softly, steadily. May guided Penny’s hands into hers, asking her to feel warmth, pressure, reality. They named objects in the room. The couch. The windows. The light.

Nothing.

Tony brought ice from the kitchen, pressing the cubes gently into Penny’s palms, something he’d read at three in the morning, scrolling through trauma forums with shaking hands. Penny whimpered faintly at the cold.

But she didn’t come back.

Thirty minutes passed.

Tony felt the floor tilt under him.

He stepped away, hands trembling, and made one more call.

Sam didn’t need an explanation.

When he arrived, he took one look at Penny and his face softened into something heavy and knowing.

Tony explained quietly, what the therapist said, how Penny had come out, everything they’d tried.

Sam nodded slowly. “Her mind shut the door,” he said gently. “She can’t come back until it believes she’s safe. And right now… it doesn’t.”

May’s voice wavered. “How long?”

Sam didn’t lie. “There’s no way to know.”

Silence settled over the room.

“Dim lights,” Sam added. “Familiar voices. No rushing.”

May sat beside Penny and began to talk.

Not questions. Not commands.

Stories.

About Penny at seven, insisting on wearing the new winter jacket they’d just purchased on sale……..in July. About science projects gone wrong. About scraped knees and bedtime negotiations and how Penny once cried because she thought a squirrel might be lonely.

Over and over, woven gently between memories-

“You are Penelope Parker. You are at the tower. You are with people who love you. You are safe.”

Hours passed.

Tony didn’t sit down. He couldn’t. He watched every rise and fall of Penny’s chest, every tiny twitch of her fingers. He paced. He stood. He fidgeted.

Then, finally, something shifted.

A blink that lingered too long.

A breath that went deeper than the last.

Tony moved closer, voice low and steady, grounding himself through repetition.

“Penny,” he said. “Hey, kid. Penny. You’re at the tower. You’re safe.”

Again. And again.

Her eyes focused at last.

Confusion flooded her face, sharp and immediate.

“Penny. You’re safe. You’re at the tower. You’re safe and we love you.” 

Penny looked at him. 

“It’s dark,” she whispered, panic spiking instantly.

 “Tony, it was morning,” she continued, her voice climbing an octave. Her eyes darted to the window where the city lights were now blinking. To her, the hours didn’t exist. She hadn't just been quiet; she had been deleted.

She broke.

Sam was there immediately, steady hands, calm voice. “You dissociated,” he explained gently. “Your mind protected you. Crying is okay. It’s what your body needs right now.”

She cried, hard, terrified, shaking, but she was here. May and Tony held her- a careful dance they’d become too familiar with and she continued sobbing. When she started to calm, Sam helped her through breathing exercises. 

Tony and May joined in, they told themselves it was to help Penny follow him, but after the day they’d had, they needed it too. 

Later, when Penny was calm and the TV was playing The Empire Strikes Back, Tony mentioned food.

She shook her head immediately.

May brought her a protein shake anyway. Penny drank half of it, hands trembling.

Then exhaustion claimed her.

Sam debriefed quietly. “This might happen again,” he warned. “You handled it right.”

“Is there a way to prevent this?” May asked. Desperate. 

“Not exactly. Penny’s system is overloaded right now. Unfortunately, this might get worse before it gets better. Especially as she works through her trauma. It’s likely her therapist pushed her too close to her worst night and will likely back off for her next few sessions. But, this opened a door for Penny and there may be rough days ahead.” 

The adults continued to converse. Murmured words and quiet reassurances. At some point, Sam made sure they ate.

On his way out, Sam pulled Tony aside. “Have you talked about medication?”

Tony exhaled. “Her therapist mentioned it. Penny’s against it. We can’t make her take it. And… her metabolism complicates things.”

“If it’s okay,” Sam said gently, “I’ll talk to Bruce.”

“Thank you Sam. For today, for everything. Just thank you. I can’t imagine caring for her though that without you there,” Tony shared, with emotion clouding his voice, “If Bruce can help. If she doesn’t have to go through a day like today again. We have to try.” 

The lower labs were cold and smelled of ozone, the rhythmic click of a centrifuge the only thing cutting through the quiet. Bruce was hunched over a microscope, his shoulders tight. He’d just gotten back from a stint in Calcutta, helping contain a localized outbreak, and he hadn't even been up to the penthouse yet.

He didn't turn around when the door hissed open. "I'm almost done with these cultures, Tony. Give me ten minutes and I'll meet you upstairs."

"It’s Sam."

Bruce froze. He recognized the tone immediately, it was the 'debrief' voice. He slowly stepped away from the microscope and turned around, pushing his glasses up.

"What’s going on? Is there a mission briefing I missed?" Bruce said, his brow furrowing as he took in Sam’s somber expression. 

"No mission," Sam said, closing the door behind him. "It’s Penny."

Bruce’s face went pale, but his mind went straight to the most logical conclusion. "What happened? Did she take a hit? I told Tony her suit's kinetic dampeners were still glitching. Did she go after someone she shouldn't have? Is it a concussion? Internal?"

He was already reaching for his bag, his medical instincts kicking into high gear. "How long has she been in the medbay? Why didn't anyone page me the second I landed?"

"Bruce, stop," Sam said, his voice heavy. "She wasn't hit. This didn't happen while she was wearing the suit."

Bruce stopped mid-reach, his hand hovering over his bag. He looked genuinely confused. "I don't understand. If she's not injured, then why are you down here looking like someone died? Did she have an accident in the lab? Is it a chemical exposure?"

Sam took a breath, stepped closer, and pointed toward a stool. "Sit down, Bruce. Please."

Bruce sat, his confusion slowly curdling into a deep, cold dread. Sam didn't use flowery language. He didn't use metaphors. He told Bruce about a man named Skip Westcott. He told him about the months of grooming and the eventual assault. How Penny had been raped in her own bed. 

The lab went deathly silent. Bruce didn't move. He didn't blink. He looked like he’d been physically struck.

"Oh God," Bruce whispered, the words barely audible. "She’s... she’s fifteen, Sam. She’s just a kid."

"She’s been dissociating for hours today," Sam continued. "Just... gone. Tony is upstairs falling apart. She isn't eating. She won't look at anyone."

Bruce pressed his fingers to his temples, his eyes squeezed shut. He looked physically ill. The clinical, scientific distance he usually maintained was completely shattered. "And I’ve been halfway across the world looking at TB samples," he muttered, his voice thick with a sudden, sharp bitterness. "I'm the team doctor, and I'm the last one to know."

Bruce stood up abruptly, pacing the small space of the lab. He looked like he was vibrating with a quiet, suppressed fury. 

"I think it’s time to look into medication," Sam said. 

Bruce stopped pacing. He looked at the floor, his expression turning deeply solemn. "I can formulate something. Something to work with her metabolism.”

He looked up at Sam, his eyes raw. "But Sam, we can't force it. Not after... not after someone took her agency away like that. Even if I build the safest thing in the world, it has to be her choice to put it in her body. If we force a pill down her throat, we're just more men telling her she doesn't have a say in what happens to her."

Sam nodded. "We can't make her, but we have to try."

Bruce rubbed his face, his breath hitching. "Give me twenty minutes to pull my head together. Tell Tony I’m coming up."

____________________________________________________________________________

Days passed. Penny continued to struggle.

Some days she managed a few bites more. Some days she barely touched anything at all. The protein shakes became less supplemental and more… necessary. Tony watched her bones  grow sharper, her energy drain faster, and the fear that lived in his chest began to sharpen into something urgent.

One evening, after Penny had gone to lie down on the couch, Tony sat at the table with May.

“She’s not eating,” he said quietly. “Not enough. And she’s not sleeping. Not really.”

May nodded, eyes tired. “I know.”

“Bruce is working on something,” Tony continued carefully. “Medication. It won’t fix everything. It won’t make this go away.” He swallowed. “But it might take the edge off. Help her sleep. Maybe help her appetite come back a little.”

May stared into her mug for a long moment.

Finally, she nodded. “Then we talk to her. Gently.”

They did it on the couch.

Penny sat between them, knees pulled to her chest, twisting the sleeve of her hoodie in her fingers. Tony explained slowly, no pressure in his voice. May watched Penny’s face the whole time.

“It doesn’t mean you’re weak,” May said softly. “And it doesn’t mean you’re broken.”

Penny tried to hold it together. She really did.

But then she folded in on herself, crying hard, the words tumbling out between sobs. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she whispered. “I’m so tired.”

Tony’s chest ached.

“We can try,” she said finally. “I’ll try.”

Tony helped Bruce develop the medication personally, obsessively. They ran simulations. Cross-checked everything against Penny’s metabolism. Steve volunteered without hesitation to test it first.

“Someone’s gotta be the crash test dummy,” he’d said gently.

Steve sat in the lab chair for six hours while Bruce monitored his vitals, the Captain’s face set in that grim, immovable expression he wore during world-ending events. If there was a side effect, he wanted to find it so Penny didn't have to.

____________________________________________________________________________

When it was ready, they sat together, Tony, May, Sam, and Bruce, while Penny perched quietly on the couch, holding the small cup of water with both hands.

She wouldn't look up. Her hair fell over her face like a curtain, a shield against the eyes she felt on her. To her, this wasn't just medicine; it was a public record of her shame. It was proof that the 'noise' was louder than she was, and that everyone in the room knew exactly why.

Bruce knelt in front of her, trying to catch her eye, but Penny flinched slightly, pulling her shoulders toward her ears. The humiliation of it was a physical weight, having her ‘Uncle’ Bruce, the man who usually talked to her about science fairs, now looking at her through the lens of a trauma. 

"Penny," Bruce said, his voice soft, professional yet pained. "Can I check your pulse? Just for a baseline."

She didn't answer, but she slowly extended her arm, her hand trembling. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor and felt the heat of a deep, burning blush. The kind that felt like a fever. 

It wasn't just embarrassment; it was the skin-crawling awareness that her medical chart now contained the most private, horrific moments of her life, and Bruce had read it. She felt exposed, like the assault was written in her blood pressure and the tremors in her fingers. When Bruce’s cool hand touched her wrist, she squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear escaping.

Bruce explained everything in a calm, reassuring voice. Side effects. What to expect. 

“This is like taking medicine for a cold,” he said gently. “Or wearing a cast for a broken leg. Your brain was injured. Trauma changes how it works. It rewires things. This just gives it some help while it heals.”

Penny nodded slowly. She heard this all before. She didn’t speak, but this time she listened.

She took the medication.

Over the next few weeks, things shifted. Not dramatically, not all at once.

But noticeably.

Penny laughed once, short and startled, like she’d surprised herself. She slept longer stretches. She drank more of her shakes. Ate a little more food. Not enough. But more than before.

Bruce added an emergency anxiety medication. A gentle sleep aid. Carefully balanced. Monitored constantly.

There were no major side effects. Just headaches the first few days.

Bruce checked in with Tony one afternoon while Penny was in therapy.

“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

Tony didn’t deflect this time. “Not great,” he admitted. Then he looked Bruce square in the eye. “But… thank you. For helping her. I don’t know how to say how much that means.”

Bruce nodded, emotion flickering across his face. “I care about her,” he said simply. “She’s just a kid.”

He hesitated. “How’s the case?”

Tony’s jaw tightened. “He’s out on bail, but the trial is being fast tracked. We have a date.”

Bruce sighed softly. “Then there will be hard days ahead.” 

That night, Penny slept with her head in May’s lap, breath slow and even. May carded her fingers gently through Penny’s hair, over and over, like a lullaby without sound.

Tony came back from talking with Bruce and sat down beside them. He watched the steady rise and fall of Penny’s shoulders. She looked younger when she slept, less like a pseudo Avenger, less like a survivor, and more like the kid who used to fall asleep over her calculus homework.

For this moment, just this one, he felt something close to peace.

He knew better than to trust it. The trial was coming. The world was still loud. They were still in the eye of the storm.

But Penny was sleeping.

And for now, that was enough.