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Peter’s heart pounded as he leaned over his sink, cold water dripped off his chin and fell against the cold bathroom tiles. His vision blurred with tears as he peered desperately at his reflection, trying to will it to fix this madness. Flash was a cruel person, a bully to Peter for years, but he’d never gone to extremes like this.
*EARLIER THAT DAY*
Peter had known that he was exhausted that day, he had barely slept the night prier as his nightmares had pulled him into a restless panic. He slumped through school like a zombie, Ned and MJ being absent certainly did nothing to improve his mood. At some point during chem class, Flash volunteered to finish an equation, which he’d gotten wrong. The teacher then called on Peter, hoping he could correct it. Peter was half asleep, but firmly blinked himself awake and gave his estimate, which was correct, and received a deadly glare from the bully. However, Peter brushed it off and tried his best to stay awake for the class.
Peter’s body, however, demanded rest, and for some reason felt now was a great time to get it. Chem was the last class of the day; he could handle 45 more minutes. The teen rested his head in his hands, physically pushing up his eyebrows with his fingers trying to keep his eyes open. Unable to over-power his body’s urges, Peter’s eyes drooped closed, and his body fully shut down.
When his consciousness was slowly restoring, he heard a few giggles from people around him. When he began to shuffle his head up, he heard the squeaks of their sneakers as they darted away from the scene. Peter blinked his eyes open, trying to wake himself up. As he did so, he noticed a sticky note stuck to his head. He pulled it off and turned it over to read its contents. “People should see what you really are. You’re welcome. – Flash.” Peter scrunched his face slightly, trying to comprehend what it could mean. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to wipe off his sleepiness, when he noticed a weird texture across his forehead.
At first, he assumed it was left over adhesive from the note, but it covered to much surface to be that. Peter nervously pulled out his phone and flipped the camera to selfie mode. Peter audibly gasped when he saw what the bully had done. In bold letters, the word *PATHETIC* was written across his forehead in sharpie. Peter’s hand shook slightly with disbelief, but he quickly tried to pull some curls over his forehead; he stuffed his phone into his backpack and left the room with his head held as low as possible. As fast as he could, Peter exited the building, pulled on his suit, and swung back to his apartment.
As soon as he entered through his window as discreetly as he could manage, he tugged off his suit and ran to the bathroom. Peter had never been so grateful to be home alone. May was working a double shift, so he didn’t have to worry about bothering her with this.
He drenched his face with soapy water and rubbed it vigorously with a rag. Peter looked up, but to his dismay, the words didn’t even fade. The black ink glistened with bubbly water droplets, as if taunting him. Peter tried again and again, his face becoming red with his violent scrubs, but it wasn’t working. He let out a raw cry of defeat, he slumped to the floor and wept into his hands. ‘Flash is right, you really are pathetic’ Peter thought to himself. He sniffled helplessly against the cold bathroom tiles. His body ached with sleep deprivation, his tired mind blowing all emotions out of proportion, Peter curled his body, making himself as small as possible. He wished darkness would consume him and he could wake up without all of this, but his anxiously awake mind wouldn’t let him relax to that point.
Peter had been laying there for nearly an hour when he heard the door squeak open and footsteps that followed. Heavy footsteps. Tony’s footsteps. “Pete, it’s Tony. May asked me to check up on you.” The man called out. Peter sucked in a shaky breath, praying Tony would assume he went to a friend’s house and go home. He heard the soft chuckle of his mentor, “Kiddie, I know you hate being watched but come on! Where are you? I know you’re home.” Peter tried to pull himself up against the sink, but the soaked counter surface made him loose his grip and he fell to the floor with a thud, ‘darn it’. “Peter? Are you okay?” Tony called out again, sounding very worried.
Tony made his way down the hall and towards the bathroom where he heard the thud. He softly knocked on the door. “H-Hey Mr. Stark, I’m okay, I-I just, I dropped a soap b-bottle. Y-You can go home, I-I’m fine.” He heard the teenager stutter through the closed door.
“Kiddo, are you sick?” Tony asked, not buying Peter’s ‘soap bottle’ story and ‘fines’ for a minute.
“No, no. I’m fine. You can—”
“Pete, I’m not going anywhere.” Tony flatly explained. He heard light shuffles from within the room, his heart rate climbed as he worried about all the different things that could be wrong with his kid. “Can…I come in?” Tony asked nervously. He was answered with complete silence. Tony tried the doorknob; locked.
“I’m fine, really.” Peter’s voice cracked; he sounded in pain; it made Tony’s heart ache.
“Bambi, I just want to help you. Please, let me in?” Tony heard nothing but some more shuffling around. “Please?” Tony begged. His heart clenched when he heard the sound of the lock being undone. Tony nervously wrapped his hand around the knob again and twisted it.
He lightly pushed the door open and saw Peter standing there. The kid’s body was trembling; his hair, face, and shirt were soaked; his breath was uneven and shaky; but none of that is what grabbed Tony’s attention. His eyes fixated on the letters, the word, written on his kid’s forehead. His eyes finally broke their contact with the ink and went down to Peter’s doe-like, fear filled eyes. Tony gently cupped Peter’s face in his hands, caressing the kid’s cheeks slowly with his thumbs. “What happened to you?” Tony whispered; his brain still slightly fogged with disbelief.
“I’m sorry.” Peter croaked out, his throat tight with anxiety. Tony sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his heart.
“Kiddo, I swear, one day I’m going to invent a mind wiping device simply to remove that phrase from your memory. How on earth could this possibly be your fault?” Tony asked, frustration slightly present in his tone, fully toward whatever monster had done this to his Peter.
“I was just, I-I didn’t sleep, so I…I wasn’t thi-thinking. I shouldn’t h-have, but he got mad. He’s always, b-but—” Tony wasn’t really understanding much of any Peter’s sob filled blubbering. He soothingly cupped the back of the teen’s head and pulled it towards his chest.
“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay, I gotcha.” Tony soothed as he rubbed his hand up and down Peter’s back. The teen pressed his face into Tony’s chest, gripping a loose hold of the man’s shirt, crying out painful sobs. Peter’s body weakened and the pair slowly sunk to the floor, Tony shifted Peter onto his lap and held him closely.
Peter’s mind spiraled down rabbit holes of self-deprecation.
‘You really are pathetic.’
‘You’re really letting him pity you like this?’
‘You think he really cares?’
‘He’s Tony Stark, you don’t deserve him.’
‘You don’t deserve his love.’
His breathing rapidly quickened, Peter weakly placed his hand against Tony’s shoulder and tried to push away. “I-I don’t…don’t des…deserve…th-this.” Peter tearfully stuttered. Tony just placed his hand on top of Peter’s, used his other to brush some loose curls off of the kid’s forehead, and held a gentle kiss directly on the written word.
“I love you, Peter.” Tony responded, his lips still against Peter’s forehead. Peter crumbled into sobs, still half-heartedly trying to pull away. After a few more moments of hiccupping back tears, Peter finally calmed, his breathing evened, and he melted into the affection. Tony pulled back just enough to look into the teen’s eyes. “There he is.” Tony whispered, smiling kindly. Peter looked up gratefully.
“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Peter said, his voice still quivered slightly.
“Don’t thank me yet, let’s get you cleaned up first.” Tony noted. He set Peter down onto the floor, being sure the teen was stably leaning against the cabinets. Tony then stood to find some cleaning materials.
“…let’s?” Peter questioned; his face lightly scrunched with confusion.
“Yeah, ‘let’s’. I’m not letting you do this on your own.” Tony explained with a light chuckle. Peter’s heart warmed, grateful to not be alone.
“Well…water and soap doesn’t work. Already tried.” Peter mumbled defeatedly. Tony breathed a sigh and pulled out his phone to google the situation.
“Alright: rubbing alcohol, and cotton balls. You got those?” Tony asked. Peter nodded, pointing to a mounted cabinet above the sink. Tony grabbed the materials, then knelt in front of his kid.
“Okay, buddy. The last thing I want is for this stuff to get into your eyes, so keep’em closed for me.” Tony instructed. Peter nodded with understanding and did as he was told. For extra precaution, Tony kept a hand just above Peter’s eyebrows, ready to catch the dripping liquid.
Tony soaked a cotton ball and lightly pressed it against the word. Peter winced as the cold chemical burned against his irritated skin. “I know, kiddie, I know. It’s working, hang in there.” Tony assured, relieved to see the black ink seep into the clear chemical as he cleaned the area. After a few moments of patient, careful motions, the word finally disappeared.
Tony pushed away the pile of dirtied cotton balls and lightly wetted a soft cloth with warm water. He lightly patted it against Peter’s face to remove any excess rubbing alcohol. He set the cloth with the cotton balls and gently squeezed the teen’s shoulders. “Alright, Pete. It’s done.” Tony informed him. Peter carefully opened his eyes, instantly locking his gaze with Tony’s. Tony offered Peter his hand and he helped the kid to his feet. Tony gently turned Peter around so he could see his reflection in the mirror.
The moment Peter saw zero trace of the word, his eyes pricked with tears of relief. Tony hugged him from behind, leaning his head down, resting his chin against Peter’s shoulder. “Better?” Tony asked.
“Yeah.” Peter responded, extremely tried but overwhelmingly grateful. Tony pecked a flurry of kisses against the kid’s cheek, causing Peter to smile and giggle at the ticklish form of affection.
“Good.” Tony sighed with relief. “How about you change into something less soaked and then we can watch a movie, whatever you want.” Peter smiled at this.
“Star Wars?” Peter asked, Tony said it in sink with him inwardly.
“Sure.” Tony responded fondly. He went down to the living room and settled into the couch. Peter soon followed, now wearing one of Tony’s old MIT hoodies the man had given him and some comfortable pajama pants. Peter snuggled close next to Tony, hugging his arm and leaning his head on his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Peter said warmly.
“For what, kiddo?” Tony asked, starting up the movie.
“For loving me.” Peter responded, his eyes drooping with sleepiness.
“Oh, Pete. You don’t have to thank me for that, you’re my kid.” Tony responded, chuckling lightly. Peter hummed in acknowledgement, slowly falling asleep; the safety of Tony’s presence pushed away his night terrors.
Tony grinned at the sight of his sweet Peter in such peace and contentment. Tony had full intentions of getting to the bottom of the entire bullying fiasco, but only after the teen got the rest he definitely deserved.