Peter’s first crack didn’t come in the form of a physical breakdown. It wasn’t the aching muscles, the stinging hands, or the headaches that made his vision blur. No. It was the look in his eyes when he overheard Steve in the hallway. The conversation was casual, but the words hit Peter like a punch to the gut.
“He’s just a kid,” Steve had said, dismissing him like an afterthought, as if Peter’s sacrifices didn’t count. The weight of those words settled into Peter’s chest, and it was the first time he felt the invisible burden of his place within the Avengers. It wasn’t just physical work; it was emotional labour—constantly proving himself, always measuring up, but never quite enough.
The days blurred together, the demands from the team never letting up. Peter had become the go-to for everything—fixing this, fetching that. His enhanced senses helped him keep up, moving from one task to another, but the weight of it was unbearable. No one seemed to notice. No one seemed to care. Not when he stumbled under the weight of heavy equipment, the sharp metal edges digging into his arms.
The team walked past him, engrossed in their worlds, never offering a hand, never seeing how much he was carrying. He gritted his teeth and pushed on, but the ache in his bones was getting harder to ignore. The Invisible Burden was growing heavier with each passing day.
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The exhaustion finally hit him one night in the hangar. After hours of repairing the Quinjet alone, Peter’s hands shook, the metal tools slipping from his grasp. His body was screaming for rest, his mind clouded from lack of sleep, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to stop.
As he wiped the sweat from his brow, the tears came without warning. Silent, stinging tears that he quickly wiped away before anyone saw. In the dim light, he let himself break for just a moment. It was all too much. But no one could know. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, didn’t get to have moments of weakness. He was supposed to keep going, keep fighting, and keep proving his worth. So, after a few shaky breaths, he forced a smile and rejoined the others. He wiped away the last traces of the breakdown, returning to his role as the ever-reliable "kid."
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The worst of it came one afternoon when his phone buzzed in his pocket. May’s name flashed across the screen, and for a moment, Peter’s heart twisted in his chest. She just wanted to check in, to hear his voice, to make sure he was okay. But Peter couldn’t afford to answer. He couldn’t be weak. Not when the Avengers needed him. He hit the voicemail button and ignored the pain in his chest as he chose duty over the simple comfort of hearing his aunt’s voice. The Missed Call would haunt him for a while, but he kept going. He had to.
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Tony noticed it during a rare quiet moment. The room had gone silent, the rest of the team scattered, and Peter was standing by the wall, swaying ever so slightly. His eyes were unfocused, staring blankly at nothing, his body fighting against exhaustion. Tony had called his name twice before Peter snapped out of it, a weak, forced smile crossing his face.
“Hey, you good?” Tony asked, concern creeping into his voice.
Peter nodded, but the smile was so fragile, so wrong. It was the first time Tony realized just how much the kid was sacrificing. Just how much Peter was giving, and how little he was getting in return.
________________________________________
.
Days blurred together as Peter moved from one task to the next without a break. Every muscle ached, his head spun, but he kept going. If he stopped, he’d be useless. If he rested, they’d see him as weak. He was Spider-Man—he wasn’t supposed to get tired. So he pushed through the pain, through the dizziness, through the constant voice whispering that he wasn’t enough. He smiled through the hurt, and laughed through the fatigue, all while feeling like he was fading into the background. They didn’t see him breaking because he never let them.
By the time Tony returned, Peter’s shoulders slumped in that moment, the light in his eyes dimming, and for the first time in a long time, his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He tried to shake it off, to push through it, but the damage had been done. Exhaustion clung to him like a shadow, and it finally caught up when Tony found him swaying on his feet, eyes glazed and face pale, on the verge of collapsing. Without hesitation, Tony’s arms were around him, steady and strong, catching him before his knees gave out. Peter felt a wave of relief as Tony’s hold tightened protectively, anchoring him. Without hesitation, Tony gathered Peter close, his grip firm yet gentle, like a father cradling his child. “Whoa, easy there, kid,” Tony murmured, concern etched on his face. He didn’t waste another second, lifting Peter effortlessly into his arms. Peter’s head lolled against Tony’s shoulder, too exhausted to protest as Tony carried him down the hall and into his room.
“Hey, kid, stay with me,” Tony’s voice was tight with worry as he scooped Peter up effortlessly, carrying him to his room. The weightlessness made Peter’s head spin, and he barely registered the softness of the mattress as Tony laid him down, tucking the blankets around him securely. Tony’s hands were impossibly gentle, brushing the hair from Peter’s damp forehead with a tenderness that spoke louder than words. His touch was warm, and reassuring, lingering a moment longer as he whispered, “I’ve got you, kid. I’m right here.” He lingered for a moment, his thumb lightly grazing Peter's temple, a quiet gesture of affection that spoke volumes about how much he cared.
Tony moved quickly but carefully, placing a cool cloth on Peter’s burning forehead. His fingers moved with practised care, tenderly dabbing away the sweat as his face softened with concern. “You scared me, kid,” he murmured, his voice cracking just a little. He sat beside Peter, his hand never leaving Peter’s forehead, grounding him with warmth and security. He pulled up a chair beside the bed, his eyes never leaving Peter’s face, worry tightening his features as he watched over the kid. He muttered under his breath, a mix of worry and frustration. “Why didn’t you say something, Pete? You’re burning up.”
Peter’s eyelids fluttered, a weak attempt at a smile forming. “Didn’t… wanna bother you…”
Tony’s expression softened, his thumb gently rubbing circles on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him with quiet comfort. His voice softened, taking on a fatherly warmth. “I’ve got you, kid. You’re safe. Just rest.” “You’re never a bother, kid. Not to me. Get some rest.” He stayed there, keeping vigilant watch, his protective presence a silent promise that Peter wasn’t alone, not now, not ever. Every so often, Tony’s fingers would gently smooth the blankets or adjust Peter’s pillow, his movements tender and protective. He ran his hand over Peter’s hair, his voice a soft murmur. “You’re my kid, Peter. Nothing’s more important than you getting better.” The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, but Tony didn’t shy away from them. He meant every syllable. For Tony, watching over Peter was second nature, as instinctive as breathing.
And for the first time in days, Peter let himself relax, feeling safe under Tony’s watchful gaze. A simple dismissal, yet it shattered something inside him that would take longer to fix than any wiring or tech repair.
The Avengers Compound was buzzing with activity. Peter Parker moved swiftly through the halls, shoulders hunched as he balanced a stack of files in one hand and a toolbox in the other. His enhanced senses kept him from bumping into anyone, but his presence went largely unnoticed.
“Hey, kid!” Clint’s voice cut through the noise. He barely looked up from his tablet, waving a dismissive hand. “Can you fix the wiring in the training room? It’s been glitching.”
Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Clint was already walking away, his attention on the screen. The teen sighed, his chest tightening. It was always like this—being seen but never really noticed.
Not a minute later, Tony called from across the room, his voice warm. “Pete, can you help me out for a sec?”
Peter’s face brightened. “Of course, Mr. Stark!”
Tony looked up from his workstation, a soft smile on his face. “Thanks, kid. You’re a lifesaver.” He walked over and ruffled Peter’s hair, then placed a quick kiss on the crown of his head, not caring that the rest of the team was watching. “What would I do without you?”
Peter’s heart swelled at the affection. He craved it and cherished every word of praise Tony gave him. It was so different from the cold indifference he got from the others. With Tony, he felt seen, valued, loved. “Just trying to be useful.”
Tony’s gaze softened even more. “You’re more than useful, Pete. You’re the best among us.”
A snort came from behind them. Nat raised an eyebrow. “Don’t spoil him, Tony.”
Tony didn’t miss a beat. “Not spoiling. Just giving credit where it’s due.”
Steve exchanged a look with Natasha, his frown deepening. “You’re going to make him soft, Tony. He needs to toughen up if he wants to be an Avenger.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “He’s tougher than any of you realize. And just because I show him love doesn’t make him weak.”
Natasha crossed her arms. “You treat him like he’s made of glass. He’ll never learn how to stand on his own if you keep coddling him.”
Tony’s expression turned icy. “He doesn’t need to learn to stand on his own. He’s had to do that his whole life. I’m making sure he knows he doesn’t have to anymore.” His tone was firm, a warning laced beneath the words. He shot Peter another affectionate look. “C’mon, let’s get this sorted.”
________________________________________
Hours later, Peter found himself cleaning up after yet another meeting. Crumpled papers, used coffee cups, scattered files—no one stayed behind to help. He moved silently, shoulders drooping as he picked up after Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.
A hand gently took the broom from his grasp. Peter looked up to see Tony standing beside him, his expression a mixture of annoyance and concern.
“Kid, you’re not their janitor.”
Peter looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Tony’s eyes hardened. He turned to face the room where the rest of the Avengers were lounging. “You all have legs, right?”
Steve looked up, his brows knitting together. “What?”
“You’ve got legs, so use them. Clean up after yourselves.” Tony’s voice was sharp, colder than they were used to. “You’re treating Peter like he’s invisible. That ends now.”
The team looked away, uncomfortable and guilty, but Tony didn’t wait for a response. He placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, his voice softening as he switched to Italian, “Sei meglio di questo, piccolo.” (You’re better than this, little one.)
Peter’s eyes widened in surprise, a small smile breaking through. “Grazie.”
Tony’s face softened. “Sempre, Tesoro.” (Always, sweetheart.)
He pulled Peter into a side hug, planting another kiss on his head, uncaring of the stares they were getting. “Come on, we’re taking a break. They can clean up their mess.”
________________________________________
But the cycle continued. The more Peter did, the more was expected. Small tasks turned into larger ones. Requests were barked rather than asked. And never once did he receive a word of thanks.
It wasn’t just the tasks—it was the way they saw him. Like he was just a kid playing hero. They never invited him on missions and never consulted him during strategy meetings. To them, he was just the errand boy, the intern, the ‘kid.’ Incapable, insignificant.
He overheard them once, voices drifting from the conference room.
“He’s too young,” Clint had said dismissively. “Too green. Not ready for the real fight.”
Natasha’s voice was colder. “Tony’s just spoiling him. Giving him special treatment. It’s going to his head.”
Steve’s tone was disapproving. “He relies too much on Tony. It makes him weak.”
Each word was a knife, cutting deeper and deeper. They didn’t see him as capable. They didn’t see him at all.
It was Clint again. “Hey, kid, refill the training dummies. They’re falling apart.” He tossed the request over his shoulder, never looking back.
Something snapped.
The room went silent as Peter’s hands clenched, the air crackling with tension. His voice was low, dangerously calm. “I have a name.”
Clint turned, finally looking at him. “What?”
Peter’s eyes were blazing, a flicker of red flashing through his irises. They were cold, void of emotion as he looked down at Steve. “You think strength is about power? No. It’s about restraint. About knowing you can break someone... and choosing not to.” His posture was rigid, power radiating off him in waves that made the air feel electric. His voice was low but filled with authority, each word echoing off the walls with an underlying menace. “This is the difference between us,” he said, his tone icy. “I’ve always had control. I could end this right now... but I won’t. Not because I can’t, but because I choose not to. That’s what makes me the hero.”. “I have a name. It’s Peter. Not ‘kid,’ not ‘hey you,’ not ‘intern.’ Peter Parker. Spider-Man.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop as he spoke, reacting to the raw energy coursing through him. Unseen by the Avengers, the floor beneath his feet was starting to crack under the pressure, fine lines spiderwebbing out from his stance.
Steve stood up, his brows furrowing, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. “Peter, calm down. You’re letting your emotions get the best of you. That’s why you’re not ready.”
Steve crossed his arms, his posture radiating superiority. “I’ve fought wars. I’ve faced gods. You’re just a kid with spider powers.”
Peter’s fists clenched, the floor cracking beneath his feet. He caught Steve's punch effortlessly, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him to his knees. Peter's grip was unyielding, pressing Steve's face into the floor as the ground cracked beneath them. His fingers wrapped around Steve's neck, his hold cold and merciless. “A kid?” He took a step forward, his movements fluid, and dangerous. “Fine. Let’s see how your ‘strength’ compares to mine.”
Before anyone could react, Peter moved, faster than any of them could track. He closed the distance between himself and Steve in an instant, his fist colliding with Steve’s shield with enough force to shatter the vibranium-painted surface, humiliating Steve in front of the team and showing just how outmatched the super soldier truly was. The impact sent Steve flying backwards, crashing into the reinforced wall with a thunderous boom, the concrete crumbling on impact.
The Avengers stared in shock, mouths agape. Steve groaned, struggling to his feet, his eyes wide with disbelief as he looked at his broken shield.
Peter didn’t stop. His voice was cold, merciless. “You’ve looked down on me since the day we met. Thought I was weak because I’m young. Because I let you believe you were stronger.”
Steve tried to regain his composure, his jaw tightening. “You’re out of control—”
Peter cut him off, his voice a growl. “No, I’ve been in control. Holding back. Every single time.”
He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, power radiating off him in waves. “You’re not stronger than me, Rogers. Not even close.”
“No.” Peter’s voice was cold, a shiver running through the room. “I’m done being your errand boy. I’ve fought beside you, saved lives, and bled for this team. And all I get is this?”
Nat crossed her arms. “You’re overreacting.”
Peter’s laugh was humourless, sharp and cutting as it echoed off the walls. The sound was laced with bitterness, power crackling in the air around him. “Overreacting? You’ve treated me like I don’t exist. Like everything I do is meaningless. Do you even know half the stuff I’ve done for you? I’ve fought battles you couldn’t even comprehend. I’ve held buildings up with my bare hands, saved civilians from collapsing bridges, and faced nightmares that would leave you shaking. And yet, you don’t even see me.”
He took a step forward, the floorboards creaking under the pressure. The Avengers instinctively took a step back, unease flashing across their faces.
Peter’s eyes darkened. “I’ve held back every time we’ve trained. Every. Single. Time. Because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
Without warning, Peter moved—faster than any of them could track. One moment he was standing still, the next his hand was gripping one of the reinforced training dummies. His fingers sank into the metal as if it were made of clay, the steel creaking under his grip. With a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled it across the room. The dummy shattered against the wall with an explosive force, debris scattering like shrapnel. The concrete wall crumbled upon impact, leaving a gaping hole, steel beams exposed and twisted from the sheer power behind his throw.
The room shook, dust raining from the ceiling. The Avengers were frozen in place, eyes wide as they took in the damage. The raw strength Peter had just displayed was terrifying. None of them—not even Thor or the Hulk—had ever caused that kind of destruction so effortlessly.
The Avengers stared shock and a touch of fear in their eyes.
Peter’s voice dropped to a whisper, but it carried, slicing through the silence like a blade. There was an underlying vibration to his tone, the sheer power of it rattling the glass windows. “I’m stronger than all of you combined.”
As if to emphasize his point, the walls seemed to groan, the room itself reacting to his presence. His fists were clenched, muscles taut and ready to spring. It wasn’t just strength—there was an aura of power around him, a pressure that made it hard to breathe.
A hand rested on his shoulder, warm and steady. “Peter.”
Peter’s shoulders tensed, his breathing ragged. But Tony’s voice was calm, soothing. He tightened his hold, leaning in to whisper urgently in Italian, “Respira, amore mio. Sono qui. Sei al sicuro. Con me.” (Breathe, my love. I’m here. You’re safe. With me.) “Peter, look at me.”
The teen turned, his eyes wild. Tony’s face was gentle, worry creasing his brow. He switched to Italian, his tone soft, “Calmati, amore mio. Non lasciare che ti feriscano così.” (Calm down, my love. Don’t let them hurt you like this.)
Peter’s eyes filled with tears, but his shoulders were still tense, the body still vibrating with pent-up power. His body trembled, his breathing ragged, but Tony's words slowly penetrated his anger. He sagged slightly, the tension leaving his muscles as Tony continued to whisper reassurances, his voice steady and warm. The contrast made him look both heartbreakingly vulnerable and terrifyingly powerful. His voice cracked, and a raw wound was exposed. “Ma fanno male. Ogni volta.” (But it hurts. Every time.)
The air around them seemed to pulse with his emotions, and Tony could feel s Peter’s fingertips shaking as he struggled to reign in his power. The kid was holding back—Tony could see it in the way his muscles shook, in the way his jaw was clenched tight. Peter was fighting himself more than anything else. (But it hurts. Every time.)
Peter once again surged forward to attack upon seeing Natasha yet again rolling her eyes causing Tony’s arms to wrap around Peter from behind, muscles straining as he fought to keep Peter in place. Peter struggled, his body surging forward, raw power radiating off him in waves that made Tony’s knees buckle. It was like trying to hold back a tidal wave. Tony’s voice wavered, strained from the effort. “Peter, stop. It’s me. Don’t do this.”
Peter’s body tensed, his muscles coiled and ready to spring, but then he felt it—Tony’s heartbeat, steady against his back. Recognition flickered through the haze of his rage, his movements slowing as he realized who was holding him.
But the anger didn’t fade. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, eyes still blazing as he glared at the Avengers. He tried to lunge again, and Tony grunted, tightening his hold, his own arms shaking from the exertion. “Peter, basta!” (Peter, enough!)
Peter’s body went rigid, his eyes widening in shock. Tony never used that tone with him—firm, commanding. It sliced through his anger like a blade, making him falter. He could’ve easily broken free, could’ve shattered Tony’s grip with a single movement... but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not without hurting Tony.
His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as Tony’s voice softened, “Respira, amore mio. Sono qui. Sei al sicuro. Con me.” (Breathe, my love. I’m here. You’re safe. With me.) safe. With me.) “Lo so, Tesoro. Lo so. Ma non sei solo.” (I know, sweetheart. I know. But you’re not alone.)
He tightened his embrace, whispering words of comfort in Italian, knowing the others couldn’t understand. That was why he chose the language—it kept Peter’s pain private and protected him from the humiliation of showing weakness in front of the team. It was a shield, a way to be vulnerable without feeling exposed.
He stroked Peter’s hair, his voice softening. “Mi dispiace che ti abbiano fatto sentire così.” (I’m sorry they made you feel like this.)
Peter’s fingers clung to Tony’s shirt, his face buried in his mentor’s shoulder. “Non voglio essere debole.” (I don’t want to be weak.)
Tony’s heart broke at the words. “Non sei debole. Sei la persona più forte che conosca.” (You’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know.)
He looked up, his eyes burning with anger as he faced the rest of the team. “You should be ashamed. He’s saved your lives more times than you can count. And this is how you repay him?”
The Avengers were silent, haunted by the raw power and pain they had witnessed. They were left with the crushing realization that they had underestimated Peter Parker... and the terrifying truth that if he had chosen to, he could have destroyed them all. He tightened his hold on Peter, his voice hardening. “You don’t deserve him.”
Without another word, Tony guided Peter out of the room, his arm protectively around the teen’s shoulders. The door closed behind them, leaving the Avengers standing in stunned silence, the weight of their actions settling heavily on their shoulders.