Chapter Text
WARNING! - Please be aware this is family angst to fluff. I know some people who read these types of fics are sensitive to that. Yelling, punishments and some mild, not well described physical punishments will occur. I'm not a sadist, that's not what this fic is at all. But if that's something you can't read even in subtext, please take care of your mental health and consider if you want to proceed. TY <3
The last thing Peter remembered was sitting in the school cafeteria. Ned was across from him, highlighting every other word in his organic chem notes. MJ was to his left, working on a very unflattering doodle of Mr. Harrington. All in all, it was a pretty normal Tuesday at Mid-Town High…
Then Peter woke up in his car seat. He felt…woozy.
“Hey little duck – almost there – you’re okay; Daddy has you now-”
Daddy was talking to him. The sky was clear and the sun was low. They were driving past Central Park…they were heading home…
Home. Peter knew the smell of it; warm leather, talc powder, the sandalwood and jasmine candles Papa would light when he had a stressful day at work. Which was most days.
He was in his bed and the sidebars were down, allowing Peter an unobstructed view of his desk. Tomes that proudly boasted titles like Quantum Physics, Geometry in Application and SAT Prep were stacked to one side, while a 64-colors crayon box and a fully expanded Hoberman sphere sat on the other.
Navy blue curtains were drawn over the windows. Curtains that began at the ceiling and puddled on the floor. The pattern was simple; little white stars and moons with a few rocket ships darting through. String lights were looped over and around the curtain rod.
The familiar shape of his orca stuffy tucked under his arm.
He was wearing a diaper. A dry one, thankfully. But Peter didn’t remember it being put on. Nor did he remember being redressed in a two-piece pajama set.
He didn’t remember…anything…
“Peter?”
It was Papa’s voice; Papa was home? It must have been bad; what happened…?
Peter watched as a small sliver of light appeared on the wall. Slowly it expanded, opening wider and wider until it allowed for Papa’s silhouette to step in.
“You didn’t put the bars up?” Papa asked in a stern whisper.
“I figured he’d age up after a nap and,” Daddy’s sighed, “I don’t know, he was already so upset. He wouldn’t even take a bottle before I put him down.”
At the mention of a bottle, Peter’s stomach grumbled.
“It’s nearly six; he needs to eat something.” The bed dipped behind Peter. Antiseptic; Papa must have performed surgery today. Peter’s nose wrinkled at the smell. “Hey Peter, it’s Papa. Can you look at me?”
Peter slowly rolled himself over, bringing his orca with him.
“How’re you feeling? Daddy said you had a bad day.”
“Did you want to talk about it?” Daddy was pulling a tufted ottoman up to the bed. As he sat, he added a sincere, “Only if you want to, of course. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.”
Peter closed his eyes and nuzzled his nose into the plush belly of his orca. He put himself back in the cafeteria…Ned with his organic chem notes, MJ with her drawing – everything was normal. Everything was normal…
His Pull-Up began to swell. Peter recognized the feeling as unpleasant. But he didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know how to…the Pull-Up wasn’t enough. The warm wetness kept spreading. Peter’s chest pitched as he let out a needy cry.
“Woah, Peter!” Ned looked up, “What happed?”
“Oh, no; Ned, get Mr. Harrington – hurry!” MJ turned to some of the students laughing behind them. “Shut up! It’s not funny!”
Peter felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. He was breathing; he could feel his chest rise and fall. Why did it hurt though? Why was there a sharp pain in his tummy?
“It’s okay; Ned’s getting help. I’m here,” MJ put her arms around him, “I’m with you – shhh, it’s okay…”
“Little duck?”
Peter was back in his room; the orca now damp from his tears.
“I don’t wanna to talk ‘bout it…”
“That’s perfectly fine,” said Daddy, “we feeling big enough for some pizza?”
Peter’s stomach made another hungry gurgle.
“You need to eat something,” Papa reached down to pet Peter’s hair, “even if that something is processed cheese and refined carbs.”
“Pizza’s good,” Peter began to clumsily push himself up into a seated position. His head was still spin-y and it sounded like an ocean was sloshing around inside. But pizza would help…
“We can watch a movie too,” Papa added, “whatever you want. I don’t think we’ve watched the new Zootopia since it started streaming.”
“And we only saw it three times in the theater,” Daddy’s deadpan remark sounded like an echo.
“Yeah,” yet Peter’s own voice thundered in his ears.
He was going to drop. He was right on the edge, looking down into the inevitable. Everything inside Peter was crying out for a free fall; to just let go of all the stress of finals week and the marathon study sessions and all the to-dos for graduation and college acceptance letters and-
“Peter?” Peter turned to see Papa’s eyebrows knitted in worry.
“N-no movie…gotta study. Organic chemistry’s tomorrow and…and Ned’s crashing out…”
Papa’s gaze shifted over Peter’s shoulder; right to Daddy. They were having one of their secret conversations. The type of conversations that never ended well for Peter.
“So,” Daddy reached out and squeezed Peter’s knee – also a very bad sign, “I talked to Dr. De Luca-”
“You talked to my counselor?”
Peter was officially doomed.
“In my defense, she talked to me first. But, anyway,” Daddy swiped his hand through the air, as if pushing aside the tangent, “Dr. De Luca suggested that – with all the pressure of finals and graduation, that maybe you should take a small-”
Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach.
“No, I’m okay, it was just one accident.”
“It was one big accident,” Daddy continued, “and she let me know that you’ve come to her office a few times over the last month to get new Pull-Ups. We send you to school with two a day, so…,” he then shrugged, asking Peter to fill in the blanks.
“I’m not dropping. It’s just, when I’m studying and I’m super focused and,” Peter shifted uncomfortably, the diaper crinkling beneath him, “I don’t notice that I need to…,” his fingers began to fidget with the hem of his sleep top, “…you know.”
“Peter,” Papa drew the boy’s attention, “I think it’s clear you know where this conversation is going.” Peter wanted to protest; he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs that this was wrong. But Papa’s warm timbre and easy tone had a way of disarming him. It had a way…of making him feel small, even in his biggest headspace.
“Dr. De Luca believes the best thing for you right now it to take a few days off from school. And Daddy and I agree. There is no reason for you to exacerbate your condition for a few finals.”
“You already have a 4.0 GPA,” Daddy added, “your SAT scores were 1535, in the top 99th percentile-”
“For a regular school,” Peter huffed, “that’s like the 50th percentile for MIT.”
“More like 90th percentile when you factor in that your daddy in an MIT alumnus.”
“The point is,” Papa once more commanded Peter’s attention, “you need a break. The days off won’t count against you. Dr. De Luca called a little while ago and let both me and Daddy know that because of your condition, Midtown has an additional…,” Papa’s dulcet voice trailed off into nothing.
His condition. Peter had heard it called a lot of things over the years; a handicap, a mental illness, emotional dysregulation, cognitive impairment…
In the most basic sense, Peter was a Little. An adult who could not control his mental age. Peter had held a fragile hope that turning eighteen would suddenly make his “condition” more manageable.
Two months into eighteen and Peter had already blacked out after completely releasing his bladder.
In the middle of a high school cafeteria.
“Hey, Peter Parker; where’d ya go?”
Another loving squeeze was applied to his knee.
“I’m here…I’m just…thinking…”
“Baby, listen to me,” Daddy touched the bottom of Peter’s chin, pulling the boy’s attention away from his fidgeting, “you’ve got graduation in the bag. You’re going to walk the stage and wear all your honors society cords and shake Principal Morita’s hand.”
“And, um…we’re going to Tavern on the Green after, right?”
“That’s right! A big fancy dinner in Central Park with all your friends. And,” Daddy lowed his voice into a tender whisper, “you will become the very first level one Little to not only attend, not only graduate, but graduate with honors from Midtown Science and Tech.” A bright smile pushed out his goatee, “Papa and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Peter compressed his lips, as if afraid of the sudden joy blooming inside him. As if he wasn’t worthy of such praise.
The day had been so defeating. When none of his sequences would function in coding class, Peter had brought his middle and ring finger to his mouth and began to suck on them in an effort to stem his frustrations. It was a risk…in more ways than one. First of all, he had coding with Flash (because of course he did) but giving into self-soothing acts could also have the opposite effect of what Peter intended.
Who knows, maybe it did. After class, Peter had a small accident while putting his books up in his locker. It was the last Pull-up that Daddy had sent him to school with, which meant he had to ask for an additional one from Dr. De Luca. Which sucked, because he really, really liked Dr. De Luca. She always in his corner, fighting for Peter when other members of the faculty wanted to nit-pick at his Little quirks. Asking her again for an extra Pull-Up felt like he was letting her down.
Peter had to fight back tears in the private bathroom of the nurse’s office as he pulled down the third dampened pair of training pants of the day.
“It’s important for you to know your limitations and when to step back,” Papa’s voice wafted into Peter’s memory, “you can’t live like a candle burning at both ends. Trust me, mental exhaustion is part and parcel to medical school. And residency. And, really, the entire healthcare industry.”
“Engineering isn’t exactly a bastion of self-care either,” Daddy chuckled.
“I know,” Peter muttered, “I need to watch out for my HALTS,” Peter knew the Little triggers as well as he knew the biological taxonomic hierarchy - hungry, angry, lonely, tired. The four horsemen of sudden drops. “And give myself more breaks and try to relax. But,” he let out a long sigh, “but this is my last four weeks at Midtown. Please, don’t keep me home…please?”
“It’s not up for debate. Daddy and I discussed it and-”
“Daddy,” Peter made a pitiful whine and he turned to his other caregiver, “It was just one drop! I haven’t had one at school since, like, before Christmas.”
“Peter…”
“How about this,” Papa began, “you can go back if you wear a full diaper every day, and you’ll need to check in with Dr. De Luca before school, during all breaks and before we pick you up.”
“A f-full,” Peter made a hard swallow, “a full diaper?” It was one thing to have an accident. Everyone at Midtown knew Peter’s condition by virtue of his ability to attend Midtown with said condition.
The proposal felt too intrusive. A diaper couldn’t be hidden, especially now that the weather was warm and any sort of oversized clothing or layers would be torturous. Everyday…everyday he would have to waddle up and down the halls. Every movement he made would cause the diaper to crinkle. Every bathroom break would require him to remove it and then secure another in its place. Something far less convenient than his Pull-Ups.
Then there was the chaffing. The Pull-Ups were easy to forget about; Peter could even wear them during P.E. and keep up with the other boys during a half-court b-ball game or a rope climbing race. A diaper though would mean powder and oil to keep his skin from getting irritated. And any kind of exertive activity was off the table. Peter would have to sit on the bleachers, like he was now with a big stack of padding between his legs, watching the other boys play and have fun.
“Papa, please…that’”
“Those are your options.”
Something sticky and prickly began to crawl up Peter’s throat. The same sticky-prickly he felt in the nurses’ bathroom; the one made his eyes damp and cheeks burn with shame.
“Stephen, how about we put a pin in this? Have some dinner, decompress…see how we feel in the morning?” Daddy’s voice was quiet, but Peter could tell he was very, very unhappy with Papa.
“There’s nothing else to talk about,” but Papa didn’t seem to care, “this was Dr. De Luca’s recommendation. And, since she’s the professional, you and I both decided that this was the route we’re going to take.”
“I don’t care what Dr. De Luca thinks!” Peter threw his orca to the ground. “She’s stupid! She doesn’t know anything!”
“Peter, I know your upset,” Papa furrowed his brow at him, “but this is no way to behave. Pick up your toy, please.”
“No!” Instead, Peter shot to his feet.
“Hey, little duck,” and Daddy was quick to meet him, “I know you’re having really big feelings right now. Let’s try and take some deep breaths, okay? In and out; come on.”
“No,” Peter howled the single ‘o’ as if he had been wounded, “I wanna go to school!”
“Peter, stop yelling,” Papa’s voice was still even, but the volume was rising. “You are really on thin ice, mister. If you keep this up, Daddy and I might have to cancel your graduation dinner.”
“Stephen!”
“You can’t do that!” Peter cried.
“I certainly can.”
“Stephen; stop it! You are so out of line right now!”
“No, I am not,” Papa’s eyes flitted briefly to his husband before returning to Peter, “this sort of behavior is unacceptable. We do not yell and scream when we don’t get what we want. Now, for the last time, you are staying home from school for the next two days. Maybe even more if you can’t learn to respect me or Daddy.”
“Y-you can’t m-make me do anything! I’m eighteen n-now!” Peter’s words were breaking apart into wet sobs. “I-I wanna go to school! I wanna be with my friends. It’s not fair!” Peter let out a scream, a raw and broken scream. All his sadness was now a white-hot rage burning in his chest.
And he needed to get it out.
“I HATE YOU!” Peter lunged for Papa, “I HATE YOU! I WISH YOU NEVER ADOPTED ME!”
One strong arm grabbed him around his back, pulling Peter closed into Papa’s chest. The suddenness of the action caused Peter to gasp in surprise. Then-
“Stephen! Don’t you-!”
Three hard slaps hit his backside.
Papa had spanked him. Papa had spanked him.
The moment Papa let him go, Peter collapsed onto the ground. Daddy dropped down and gathered him up in his arms.
“Tony, listen-”
“Stephen, I fucking swear, if you don’t get out of this room right now-!”
The world began to slow. Peter finally felt like he could breathe. Nothing hurt anymore.
“Shhh, it’s okay little duck, I’m here.”
The last thing Peter remembered was the sound of his Daddy’s voice.