Secrets

Peter dragged himself over to the sparring ring, made a painful duck under the ropes, and stood as straight as he could in front of Cap. He tried to contort his face into the smile he had practiced, stretching his mouth up and squinting his eyes.

Steve stepped back as Peter entered the ring slowly, stood to face him and adorned what looked like a painful grimace on his face. Peter’s face was scrunched up, his eyes squinting and his teeth bared. He looked awful.

“Hey, Pete. Are you doing alright?” Steve asked in a cautious tone. Taking a careful step towards the boy, Steve threw a quick glance at Nat, who stood outside the ring with a concerned expression.

Peter gave Steve a quick wave of the hand and choked out, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just a bit tired.” Steve gave a nod.

“You ready to get your butt kicked, old man?” Peter tried to make a quip like he normally would.

Steve gave a pained smile. It did not land.

Steve and Peter circled each other in the ring. Peter took a defensive stance, much too tired to attempt any attacks. Even raising his fists against Mr. Rogers was breathtaking, and not because of his good looks. The other Avengers in the room had stopped what they were doing to watch the two spar. 

Normally, it was a very entertaining show. Peter liked to make quick jabs at Steve and poke fun at him while he got his ass kicked, so usually people liked to stop and watch. Sometimes Bucky and Sam would exchange bets on the fights.

Today was not a normal day. Today Peter did not want people watching. All Peter wanted to do was curl up on the couch in the lounge and cry. Maybe even have someone run a hand through his hair. His head went fuzzy at the thought and he shook to focus up. Cap lunged toward him and made the first hit, a weak punch to Peter’s face. Peter was not quick enough to dodge it and took the blow straight to his jaw. 

It whipped Peter’s head around, pulling at his side and making his skull rattle. Stars speckled Peter's vision. It was increasingly hard for him to feel the mat beneath his feet. The arms out in front of him felt unfamiliar, detached, as they grew numb from the pain. Turning back toward Cap and raising his fists again, Peter tried to hit him back. Cap quickly ducked out of the way and made his move back.

The world fell in slow motion. He fell forward as his blow was dodged and watched blurrily as Steve ducked beside him, raising his fist to connect with Peter’s side. A move Cap had done a million times. A soft blow to Peter’s left side, just to keep him on his toes.

Cap’s fist connected with the soft flesh just below Peter’s ribcage, sending shockwaves up his side. 

His bruised side. 

Peter’s vision went blank and he curled inwards on himself, fiery pain shooting across his nervous system. As his body smacked against the floor, shockwaves of fiery pain shot across his body and through his bones. His head bounced thoroughly against the mat and his vision went black, eyes slipping shut.

There was shouting and screaming. It sounded like someone had called out his name, but maybe he was mistaken. Someone did shriek, that was clear as day. Maybe that was him? 

Peter faded out of consciousness just as he felt hands running along his body.

Faint voices filled Peter's head, almost as if he were overhearing from another room. It sounded like they were talking through water, their sound getting muddled in the waves. Only certain words rang clear in his head.

“Cap– what–” that voice was yelling.

“I’m not–” that voice was quieter. 

“Peter–” yelling again.

Peter.  

That was his name. They were yelling about him. 

Peter. Peter.

His name was being called with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He had to respond. It was hard to pry open his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. Groaning out in frustration, the noise scraped out of his throat and left his mouth dry.

The voices immediately fell silent. His body was moved slightly, head pounding as it was lifted and put back down. He thought to try to open his eyes again, but there was a hand brushing through his curls. It scraped back the sweaty curls from his forehead and ran through to the back of his skull, softly scratching along the way. 

Peter’s body shook and he felt goosebumps appear on his skin. Maybe it wasn’t worth opening his eyes. Not when he could lose this. 

Selfishly, he laid back and let out a deep breath, relaxing into the hand. 

Tony watched Peter laid out on the couch in the lounge, head now pulled onto Natasha’s lap. She carefully ran her fingers through his sweat-caked hair and watched as he settled deep into the touch. The boy let out a deep exhale, the tension in his face melting away as he leaned toward her hand. Nat looked up at Tony, giving him an angry look. He took a sip of his whiskey and turned back to Cap.

“What exactly happened, Rogers?” 

“It’s like I told you,” Cap sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “he looked rough before we even started sparring. And when I hit him in the side, he just sorta crumbled to the ground. I didn’t hit him any harder than I normally would either.” 

If there was guilt in Steve's eyes, Tony was too blinded by rage to see it. 

A crashing noise from down the hall turned Tony’s murderous gaze from the Captain towards the origin of it, which happened to be Happy running to the living room from the elevator. 

Happy just had enough time to gasp for breath before choking out, “Tones– Peter– vitals– passed– out–!” He held up a pad of Peter’s live vitals for Tony to see.

Tony gave him a pointed look and an eye roll before stepping out of the way for Happy to see Peter on the couch. 

“Yeah, we know.” Tony snatched the hologram pad from Happy’s hands and read Peter’s vitals. “Friday, what’s your diagnosis?”

The dehumanized voice sounded loudly in the living room, giving Steve a fright (it always did).

“It seems as though Mr. Parker has a minor fracture and some severe bruising on his left sixth rib, likely the result of a fall. His vitals also indicate he is experiencing chills and a rising fever, given his temperature is 101 degrees Fahrenheit.” 

Setting his whiskey glass down on the table, Tony took a seat on the couch next to Nat and gazed down at his– at Peter.

“I told you something was up, Tony,” Happy pointed, “I knew the kid wasn’t doing alright. But did you listen? No–”

“Hap, please. I get it.” Tony cut him off. He knew he should have listened to Happy, or maybe even stopped Pete before he went into training, but Peter never kept things from Tony. Not since the incident. Tony had thought- he tried to make it clear that the boy needed to tell him everything, especially about his health.

Please, Pete, you gotta tell me everything. Especially when your hurt like this, Tony stated firmly as he ran his eyes over the scars on Peter's back.

It was after you took away the suit, Peter shuffled and pulled his shirt back down. I couldn't- I didn't know how to reach you.

Tony grimaced as he pictured the kid screaming out for him under a skyscraper, his own lungs closing at the thought of it.

But, I promise, Mr. Stark. I promise I'll tell you if anything like this happens again. The boy offered the older man a warm smile.

Tony smiled back.

Nat and Tony locked eyes, leaving the latter with even more guilt from the anger swimming in her eyes.

Make this right , her eyes said. Tony gave a curt nod. 

Standing up, he reached down carefully for the boy, not wanting to injure him further. Tony hoisted him up and held him firmly against his chest, carrying him down the hall and to the spare bedroom. 

The spare bedroom was supposed to act as a guest bedroom, but since Peter’s Aunt May started working more graveyard shifts and Peter let slip he had some paranoia being alone in their apartment, it now acted as Peter’s room for when he slept over at the base. Which was, to make clear, extremely frequently. 

The plush bedding and soft lights were purchased kindly by Pepper to accommodate the teen's senses. Tony felt no hesitation laying the boy down and tucking the covers far up his body, knowing the fabric wouldn’t scratch his sensitive skin. 

For a superhero, Peter really was just a boy. A boy with a sensitive body who got sick and hurt like anyone else. Sometimes Tony forgot that.

Sometimes Peter forgot that too.

Tony stayed just another moment, sitting delicately on the edge of Peter’s mattress. Brushing the hair from his forehead just as he had watched Nat do, he felt him burning up.

Icepack. Definitely. 

Savoring just one more second with his– the kid, Tony ran his fingers through Peter’s curls, watching him unconsciously lean toward his hand. This was an action Tony understood well, having seen it while they worked on recovering Bucky. 

Steve held Bucky’s face gently in his palm while he thought no one was watching, letting Bucky lean into his touch, face relaxing and eyes fluttering shut. They each took a deep breath, melting into each other's touch. Tony watched from behind a corner.

Touch-starved, Nat had whispered in Tony’s ear, watching the scene as well. 

Touch-starved.

Tony ran his fingers through Peter’s hair again and again as if there was a magnet connecting the two. He couldn’t bear to leave him now, not when he looked so vulnerable.

God, what was Tony becoming? A softie? He shook his head of the thought and removed his hand, standing up to grab the boy an ice pack. As he shut the door slowly behind him, he heard the faintest shuffle of blankets. Stopping dead in his tracks, Tony peered in at his– no. the. kid. sleeping soundly in his bed.

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Tony shut the door and hustled to the kitchen for an ice pack.