There weren’t many things that Peter remembered from the past. By that he meant other than one lullaby, one that he had forgotten the words to, he had no memories of his past life.
If not for that one wordless song, Peter would have thought he hadn’t had a life outside of the cell. Would have thought that he was a child given away straight out of the womb.
Peter blinked and leaned his head back onto the concrete wall behind him. It took more effort than usual to force his eyes to open once again.
He didn’t know why he even bothered anymore. Peter’s vision refused to stay focused; the blurriness reminded him what his vision had been before they introduced him to The Spider.
Peter looked up at the chains that cuffed his arms to the wall, preventing him from pulling at or trying to adjust the pinching, tight collar that choked him.
It hadn’t always been like this.
There was a short period of time, way in the beginning, when Peter was just left in a room. When Peter wasn’t a freak. The room had been medium-sized and there were other children in there with him.
A bang made Peter lift his head up from where he had been curled up in the corner of the room.
The man with a perfect but rigid posture scanned the room with an analytical look, one that morphed into a sneer when Peter locked eyes with him. It had only lasted a moment, couldn’t have been longer than a second, but as Peter tried to bring his knees up as a makeshift barrier he couldn’t help but feel as if he had missteped.
“So, it’s true then.”
Peter blinked at the man and tried to push himself further into the corner.
The man regarded him carefully before his sneer turned into some kind of satisfied smile. One that Peter wasn't used to seeing on many faces. “I wonder what it was that made your father sell you? Maybe you were some other man’s child? Or maybe it was because of your illnesses?”
Peter swallowed and ignored the slight wheeze in his chest.
“Gregory.” Osborn appeared in the doorway. “Or would you rather I call you Your Majest?”
The man, Gregory, scowled for a moment before it smoothed out into something more pleasant as he turned to face Osborn. “We’re friends, Norman! Just Gregory is fine.”
It was a testament to how smart Norman was that the man didn’t immediately pick up on the faux kindness.
“Don’t worry, child.” Gregory had turned back to face him
Peter didn’t like the way Gregory walked toward him. Peter clenched his jaw and kept his gaze locked on the polished shoes that came to a stop in front of him. If questioned, he would say his trembling shoulders and wet eyes were because of the dusty, cold cell.
“I will help you get stronger and, in return, you will help me make things right.”
Peter wasn’t sure that his definition of ‘helping’ was the same as Gregory’s definition.
Help meant making things easier for someone. Something Gregory had never done for Peter. He was not stupid enough to think that everything Gregory was doing was for anyone else’s benefit.
Peter had long since lost his voice from screaming. Something that seemed to please Gregory, evident by the way the man had muttered: "Finally."
“Up the dosage,” Gregory commanded from where he sat comfortably, “And make sure to tighten the restraints.”
Peter heaved from where he was strapped down on the table. Any tighter and he feared that his hands and feet would just fall off. He wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears that covered his face. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.
At the warry looks from the other researchers, Gregory rolled his eyes. “We want him to be receptive to the serum, do we not?”
“But won’t this be too much? He could die.”
Gregory stood and stalked toward the researcher who had dared to question him. There was an incredulous and peeved expression on his face as he regarded the researcher.
Idiot.
“Do you want to die?”
The researcher, even behind the mask, went pale and shook his head.
“Then don’t ever question me again.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Even if Peter wanted to, he knew wouldn’t be able to keep count of how many needles had been shoved into him over the years. He had long since lost count of the days and weeks he spent in various cages.
But one thing remained the same, after Gregory had entered the picture, there was never a shortage of chains, collars, and cuffs placed on him.
Peter contorted his body as much as he could in an attempt to find a more comfortable position; there was no position that would ever be 'comfortable', but Peter could still try.
Peter hated Gregory.
One of the older children, back in the beginning, told Peter that it wasn’t good to hate and that it would only hurt him in the long run. Her face had been bruised and swollen, her hair was matted with dried blood and grime.
And while Peter does not agree, he does understand.
"You know," Gregory lightly brushed a curl out of Peter's face.
The ache in Peter’s neck, wrists, and ankles was a constant, cruel reminder of the torture he was regularly subjected to on Gregory’s orders.
"I don't do any of this to be cruel." Gregory pulled his hand back.
Peter could hear the sound of him wiping his hand on his pants. He wished he wasn’t too paralyzed to do the same.
“You’re too young right now, but I do hope that one day you’ll understand that this is for the best.”
Peter blinked the tears out of his eyes.
“My father’s greatest creation was a soldier who pushed the human body to its limits…I want to create a soldier that can push beyond.” Gregory stepped away from Peter. “And I know that it’s going to be you. You will be my perfect soldier.”
Peter hoped and prayed Gregory was right. He hoped that one day he would be strong. Stronger than any man in the facility. Stronger than the researchers who tied him down. Stronger than the guards who kicked and shoved him into the cages.
Strong enough to help Gregory the same way that Gregory had helped him.
Then he would be free.
-
Peter awoke to the sound of an explosion, so faint that a normal human wouldn’t have heard it. Peter shifted so that he could plant his feet flat on the concrete. There was a slight rumbling - the explosion had damaged the building, it seemed.
At the base of his head, there was an odd itching feeling that had Peter tensing and staring distrustfully at the bars of the door.
.
“Name?”
Peter swallowed. The itch was nothing more than a dull throb now. “Peter.”
“Peter what?”
Peter frowned as he regarded the man once again: he was decked out in some kind of uniform, one that Peter couldn’t recall ever seeing before. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” There was an incredulous tone and sharp edge to his voice.
Peter shifted in his seat and twisted his arms slightly. Although these cuffs were looser the rough metal still wasn’t a pleasant feeling on his wrists.
“Look, brat. Quit making things harder than they need to be.” The man stood and towered over Peter.
Unfortunately, thanks to however many years of being exposed to Gregory, the action had lost any real effect.
“Now, I am going to ask you one more time and if you don’t answer honestly, you will be thrown into a jail cell and left to rot.”
Oh, no. Whatever would Peter do?
“What is your name?”
Peter lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. “I already told you. My name is Peter.”
-
Peter had immediately retreated into the corner of the cell. He huddled into it and rubbed at his wrists. His cut from the warden’s ring still burned from when the man slapped him, Peter knew that an injury so superficial would heal soon enough.
Peter didn’t know how long he stayed in that little corner before his eyes slipped closed. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant position or place to nap, but Peter felt more comfortable in that moment than he had in years.
.
Peter jumped at the sound of a loud bang.
No.
“That was unnecessary.” The man, who could be none other than Gregory’s brother Antonio, reprimanded the warden. “Hello.”
Peter’s eyes widened to the point that they were beginning to sting.
Gregory was pouring himself another drink. “I do appreciate your cooperation, Peter.”
Peter’s cooperation was, in summary, him being too sore and exhausted to fight back against anything. As was the usual.
Gregory’s face had shifted into something Peter couldn’t quite place. Regardless, he knew that it couldn’t be good. “I know you must think of me as evil.”
Who wouldn’t?
“I understand why, of course,” Gregory said as he looked down at his glass. “I hope you know that I hate having to do this and I understand exactly how you feel.”
Peter doubted that.
“I know what it’s like to be lost and alone. Trapped in a place where no one will find you.”
This was all a facade.
“I also understand what it’s like to have something taken from you.”
“Like what?” Peter couldn’t stop himself from rasping. He wanted to know exactly what Gregory had lost, wanted to know what someone like Gregory could have suffered from.
“Everything.” Gregory set the glass on the table with a sigh.
Peter wasn’t stupid. He and the itch at the base of his skull knew that this was just an act.
“My brother, Antonio,” Gregory didn’t even try to conceal the hate and anger he felt toward his brother, “He took everything from me. He and my father cheated me out of my birthright.”
Peter noticed the slight shake and tremble of Gregory’s hand as he grabbed his glass, downing it in one gulp before promptly refilling it. Peter couldn’t stop the feeling of surprise; he wasn’t aware Gregory could be sincere.
“They ruined me. Sold me off so that I couldn’t say anything.” Gregory took a steady deep breath before he turned to face him. “That’s why I need you, Peter.”
Peter only blinked at the man.
“You can help me make things right. Antonio doesn’t care about anyone but himself. There’s no one he wouldn’t cut down and step on if it meant he got what he wanted.”
When Peter looked away and nodded, Gregory grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look back up. “You must never forget…Antonio is the truly evil one. He is the reason that you are having to go through this.”
Peter was brought out of his memories by the slight clanking of the cell being unlocked. “What’s your name?”
Peter turned his gaze to the ground and tried to curl into himself as much as possible. “Peter.” Even if Gregory had lied about what Antonio was like, Peter knew that Antonio couldn’t be that much different.
They were brothers, twins.
“It’s nice to meet you, Peter. Do you know who I am?”
The door was unlocked and open. There was nothing guarding Peter from Tony and there was nothing guarding Tony from Peter. And yet…for the first time in years, the itch that had remained steady and constant at the base of his skull was gone.
“You’re King Antonio.”
Tony hummed. For a moment, Peter was back on that exam table with Gregory towering over him. Humming as if he were chopping vegetables and not-
“Yes, but truthfully, I prefer Tony.”
Peter tried to skitter back, hitting his bruised and aching wrists on the cool concrete. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t know-”
Gregor never liked it when people didn’t call him by the appropriate title.
Antonio, or Tony, made a shushing sound. One Peter had heard the older kids sometimes use when they held the younger ones.
“I would never hurt you, Peter. I’d never hurt a child.”
“I’m not hurting you, Peter. It may hurt but I promise you, I am helping you.”
Peter hesitantly peeked up at him. He kept his eyes on the king as he crouched down with a slight wince and extended a hand. “Why don’t you come out of the corner, buddy?”
Peter pressed back further clueless as to what to do. He had never been presented with an option before. And without his sense, he wasn’t sure…
“I just want to talk to you, that’s all.” Tony spoke in a soothing tone, “Would you feel better if I left?”
Peter shook his head. Already, this meeting was going far better than Peter’s first meeting with Gregory.
Slowly, carefully, and waiting for his Sense to flare up, he slowly crept out of the corner. “Are you going to ask me about what happened?”
Perhaps that was what he wanted? To know what Gregory had been doing and preparing him for? It certainly seemed like a possibility.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.”
“If you’re not here to ask me about what happened, then why are you here?” Peter asked before he froze, “I’m-”
“...don’t ever question me again.”
Tony cleared his throat, “You were the only child who wasn’t reunited with their family.”
Peter gripped the fabric of his pants. Not this again. “I don’t remember them.”
“Did something happen to make you forget them?”
Peter shook his head. Aside from time passing, no. “I have very vague memories of my father, but other than that, the room is all I can remember.”
If Tony didn’t know about what happened to him, Peter didn’t see a reason to tell him.
“The room?”
Maybe if Peter didn’t reveal his previous living conditions he wouldn’t give them any reason to chain him up in addition to locking him away.
After a moment of deliberation, Peter decided to leave Gregory out of it. “Osborn kept me in a room. Far away from the others.”
"Is there anything else you would like to share?”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t wanna remember.”
The ultimate test. “Unfortunately, no one in this room gives a shit about what you want. Now, give me your arm.”
Tony nodded. “That’s okay, buddy. We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”
“You’re nice.” Peter slowly uncurled from his position.
“That’s very nice of you.”
Peter gave a wobbly smile. He could work with this.
-
In comparison to how he was being treated before, Peter was living a life of luxury. Tony had returned not too long after he left with new clothes. More comfortable and less tattered than his old ones.
Peter was allowed to clean himself and was given food regularly! The best part was having a bed and being allowed to walk around. Occasionally, when Peter was feeling particularly restless, he would allow himself to climb and cling to the wall.
For the most part, Peter was left alone. Something that was perfectly fine by him. No company was good company, after all. He’d take being left alone over being strapped down.
Surprisingly, the only people keeping Peter from being in absolute solitude were the Prison Warden and Tony. Tony more so than the Warden.
That being said, how good can a life locked away really be?
.
Nightmares were something that Peter was semi-used to. He was used to his memories being taken and twisted or being forced to relive them.
It sucked but Peter could handle it. He could handle the memories of Gregory standing over him - he wasn’t here anymore; he was safe from Gregory. He could shake away the memories of Osborn taking all kinds of samples from him - Osborn was never going to see the light of day again, as Tony told him.
What he couldn’t deal with, however, was seeing Tony towering over him. The second Peter had woken up, he knew that it had been a nightmare and that it wasn’t real…but it felt like it was.
Instead of Tony's twin, it had been him cutting Peter open and injecting him with some kind of serum. It was Tony who ordered for him to be chained and collared.
The whole time Peter had been in this cell, Tony had never been anything but good to him. Sitting with him, talking with him, and being kinder than anyone else Peter had ever met.
“Peter?”
It felt cruel and it made Peter feel dirty to ever think of Tony being anything like Gregory.
“Bambino?”
Peter hiccuped and rubbed at his eyes. Tony didn’t need to see him cry - Gregory had hated it when he cried. “Hi, Mr. Tony.” He still was too hesitant to just call Tony by his name.
“I deserve my title,” Gregory said to him after chewing out some researcher who had dared to call him by his title. “I will not allow such disrespect.”
Tony entered the cell in record time acting as if Peter was bleeding out. Peter felt himself blank when Tony gently eased his hands away from where he had been rubbing his eyes, instead of yelling at him or grabbing him.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing, I’m sorry.” Peter knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch.
“There is no need to apologize. Did something happen?” Tony rested his hand on Peter’s back, rubbing soothing circles.
Peter choked back a sob as he basked in the kindness for a moment before he shifted and patted the space beside him.
When Tony sat on the bed next to him, after a moment of deliberation, Peter couldn’t resist the urge to lean onto his arm. “You look like Gregory.”
“Well, he is my twin.” Unlike Gregory, Tony’s voice was void of any kind of hate. There was a slight air of disgust, though. One that Peter felt himself agreeing with.
Peter sniffed and held in a whine when Tony rearranged his arm so it was resting over his shoulders, a comforting weight that made him feel safer than he’d ever felt before.
“You’re a lot nicer than him,” Peter revealed as he leaned further into Tony, doing his best to memorize everything. “Why?”
“Because that’s the kind of person I want to be.”
What did that mean? Did Tony mean that he wanted to be better than Gregory? Or be the opposite of Gregory?
Peter looked up at Tony. “I don’t get it.”
Tony wore a sad smile when he met Peter’s gaze; one that was genuine and not just an act. “I’d like to be a good person.”
“But, you already are?” Then again, most people looked like a good person when compared to Gregory. “You’re a hero, Mr. Tony.”
Tony shook his head. “I’ve failed too many times.”
“...You didn’t fail me,” Peter said. It was true. Tony had, mostly, been the one to coordinate Peter’s rescue and was the one to deal with Osborn.
Peter could have cried from how gently Tony ran his fingers through his hair.
“Come on, Kid. I think it’s time for you to get some fresh air.”
.
The outside was bright and kind of hot but every now and then there was a rush of cool air.
“I know, not the best weather to be outside but at least there’s enough of a breeze to make things bearable.”
Peter was only half-listening to Tony. The outside was also beautiful.
“What is that?” Peter pointed at the strange thing with wings. He had seen something similar to it tattooed on one girl’s leg. But Peter didn’t remember if he’d been able to work up the courage to ask her what it was.
Tony was silent for a moment. “The butterfly?”
Peter shrugged, “The thing with wings. What is it?” He looked back as he asked again, Tony had an odd look on his face.
“That’s a butterfly. It’s an insect. It feeds off of nectar.”
Peter made an understanding noise. “What does the pattern on its wings mean?”
“The patterns and colors of a butterfly’s wings are important for communicating. Some patterns help scare off predators or warn predators that they’re toxic. And some patterns help to attract, uh, friends.”
Peter nodded and watched as the butterfly flew away. “And what is nectar?”
“Nectar is a sugary fluid that is produced by plants.”
“All plants?”
“I don’t think so. I think they’re typically the flowery plants.”
Peter hummed and went to investigate the flower the butterfly had landed on. “So this plant produces nectar, right?”
“That’s correct,” Tony confirmed with an odd look on his face. One that Peter had never seen before.
Peter opened his mouth to ask what the look was about when, for the first time around Tony, there was an itch at the base of his neck.
“Hey, is something wrong-”
Peter felt a sharp pain in his arm and for a second he was back in the cell with the spider-
Distantly he heard Tony saying something, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. It wasn’t until Tony gently grabbed him by the shoulders that Peter came back to reality.
“You’re okay. You’re just outside of the, uh, prison. It’s Tuesday and it should be about lunchtime, I think.”
“What are you doing?” Peter asked when he found his voice again.
“I’m trying to ground you,” Tony explained. He must have seen the confusion on Peter’s face because he added: “I’m trying to bring you out of whatever it was you were remembering.”
“Oh.” Peter blinked and looked away from Tony. He felt small and ashamed. He was supposed to be strong. “What happened?”
“You got stung by a wasp, I think. Evil little creatures.”
Peter tried for a small smile and rubbed at his arm. The mark was already beginning to fade.
“Does it still hurt?”
Peter shook his head. “Can we be done with outside for now?”
“Sure, buddy.”
-
Peter wanted to help Tony - using the actual definition of help. He didn’t have much to offer. Especially not as a little kid who got lost in memories far too often and was still scared of the outside world. Not that he would ever admit that to Tony.
And so, Peter did his best to learn and remember everything that Tony taught him. Even recalling the bits of information Gregory had given him, no matter how painful it was to recall that man and his teachings.
He memorized the rules of chess and began working on his strategizing skills. Although, he would never beat Tony. No one was smarter than The King. Yes, Peter was aware that the thought stemmed from his time with Gregory, but it rang true.
When Tony brought a book, he put all of his energy into understanding how to read and improving his reading ability.
Technically, Peter was able to read, but it was a completely different language. “You will need to be able to read this language later. It’s the language of my Kingdom, it is different than the one you speak.”
Tony didn’t really need to know that, right? It was irrelevant information.
Peter practiced reading the shorter books over and over until he had perfected them. He saved the longer books for when Tony was around.
“You know you don’t have to wait for me, kiddo,” Tony had said after he finished laughing when Peter had greeted him with the book open and ready.
Sure, Peter didn’t have to wait. However, Peter was getting better at reading Tony and he knew it made the man feel good.
Peter was putting his everything into practicing what few skills he could while in the cell. He would prove to Tony that he had potential, he could prove to Tony that was worth something.
Peter felt something light and warm in his chest. For Tony, he would be the perfect soldier.
-
Peter was beginning to feel safe in the cell. The Warden hadn’t been making as many visits. And aside from Tony and him, no one else came to this quarter of the prison.
Peter let his guard down.
Peter was working on getting his handwriting to be as neat and readable as possible. In one of the books that Tony had brought to him, there was a photo of a letter where the writing looked different than the typical text. They were still the same characters but written differently.
Cursive, Tony had told him.
Peter was going to perfect it.
Unconsciously, Peter had begun to hum the familiar song. It had been a long while since he was comfortable enough to sing or hum it to himself.
He distantly registered Tony’s familiar, irregular heartbeat. Peter continued his humming as he packed away his things and got out the book.
For a moment he got worried when he heard Tony’s footsteps pause. He was tempted to call out when there was a faint itch at the base of his skull. Familiar yet unfamiliar. He knew that he wasn’t in danger.
When Tony finally appeared, Peter clocked the slightly clenched jaw and slightly red-rimmed eyes instantly.
“Mr. Tony!” Peter greeted with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “I made this for you!”
Tony had been nothing but good to him when he was upset. It was only right that Peter returned the favor.
-
In one of the many books Peter had read there was a line: All good things must come to an end.
When Peter had asked Tony if he agreed with the line, the man had gotten quiet and reflective.
“...Yes,” Tony had hesitantly agreed. “But, that doesn’t mean that another good thing won’t come along.”
Peter didn’t understand why the man had given him this sad, pointed look or why Tony had brushed his fingers through his hair when he said that. Peter was selfish enough to soak up the comfort and not investigate further.
At that point in time, Peter didn’t know whether he agreed or not. Most of his life had just been bad.
Now, Peter supposes, as Beck leads him, that he knows his answer.
“I doubt that it’s anything personal, runt. I know you think that you’re special but really, you’re just another prisoner.”
Peter never really cared for Beck, but never outright disliked him; didn’t really care enough to.
“There’s going to be an influx of prisoners and all you’re doing is taking up space,” Beck explained while he guided Peter down long, winding halls.
Until now, at least.
“We’ve already got thirteen more executions to do, fourteen executions in total.” Beck listed off as if he was talking about errands he needed to run and not people’s lives.
“Does the King know about this?” Hadn’t Peter proven himself useful? That he had potential? Had Peter made a mistake by not bringing up his enhancements?
Beck turned to him with a pitying look and kneeled down to meet him eye-to-eye. “The King was the one who suggested it.”
Peter blinked and felt himself go numb.
No. Peter didn’t believe it.
But…the room was impeccably prepared for him. There were restraints waiting on the table, ones that Beck wasted no time in putting on him.
“Pull as hard as you like, brat, but no amount of force will break these.” Beck fastened the restraints as tightly as the researchers had.
Peter closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He refused to cry in front of Beck if he could help it.
There wasn’t a lot Peter knew for certain.
But he did know two things.
Number one, Gregory was nothing more than a liar and a manipulator.
Number two, Tony was the furthest thing from evil. Peter knew this to be true in his heart and soul. It was evident by the way Tony had given him a chance, sat with him, comforted him, and shown him more affection than anyone else had in his life.
And so the third thing that Peter knew for certain, was that he had to be the problem.
“Are the restraints necessary?” Peter asked Beck who was busy mixing chemicals together.
“Ah, yes. It’s a standard procedure to make sure no one gets hurt,” Beck paused and Peter did his best to push back memories of Gregory. “Well, no one except the prisoner, of course.”
“My left arm has an easier vein than my right arm.”
“I think I’ll be the one to decide that.” Beck was drawing the mixture into the syringe. Peter noticed he didn’t check for air bubbles.
Peter didn’t fight or resist when Beck lined up the syringe with his arm. His left arm since Peter hadn’t been lying. He accepted it just like he always did. Although this time for different reasons.
In the past, he had given up fighting because he was biding his time. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
This time, Peter didn’t fight because he knew that it was for the best.
Peter knew he deserved this.
But when the first wave of agony washed over him, he couldn't stop the silent scream for Tony.
-
The last thing Peter had expected was to wake up in a very elegant and comfortable-looking, and feeling, room.
He could hear Tony’s heartbeat before he saw the man. “Mr. Tony?”
At hearing him speak, Tony rushed to help him sit up and then gave him a glass of water. “Shh, it’s okay, Bambino.”
Peter was thirsty but more confused than anything. Was this a second chance? Or maybe what had happened was some kind of test? Maybe of him? Or maybe of his abilities?
He felt a wave of relief when Tony let Peter lean on him. “Where am I?”
“You’re at the palace.”
Peter nodded his head and closed his eyes, unconsciously leaning further into Tony.
It seemed like it was some kind of test and Peter had passed.
Peter felt Tony run his hand through his hair and felt the tightness in his chest ease.
Then Peter’s brain, still somewhat foggy, registered what Tony had said. “THE ROYAL PALACE?!” Peter lurched forward as his mind began racing.
He wasn’t ready to be here. He didn’t belong here. He was just some filthy prisoner. Tony hadn’t even seen some of his most impressive abilities!
Tony huffed and Peter allowed the man to gently nudge him back to where he had been resting.“Yes, Pete. The Royal Palace - you know, where I live.”
Of course, Peter knew that! He also knew that he didn’t deserve to be in the palace. Peter paused. He couldn’t say that to Tony. Then Tony would want to know why Peter felt that way and Peter would have to out himself before he was ready.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot you were the King.” Smooth recovery.
Tony laughed and resumed his petting.
Peter melted back into his chest with a warm feeling. “That feels nice.”
“Get some rest, Bambino.” Tony pressed a light kiss to the boy’s curls.
Peter shut his eyes and did his best to hide the few tears that he couldn’t repress.
-
“Good afternoon, il mio bambino,” Tony greeted as he entered the room with a warm smile. “How are you feeling today?”
Tony had been a lot more gracious with his affectionate nicknames. Peter wasn’t quite sure what he had done to earn the title of ‘my baby’ but he would accept it and let it add fuel to the dreams Peter was currently trying (and failing) to extinguish.
“Hi, Mr. Tony!” Peter beamed at the man, “I’m feeling great!” He was exhausted and sore from trying to advance his recovery.
He’d only fallen down three times today, unlike yesterday, which was five times. It was progress. His endurance time was also growing little by little.
Tony hummed and looked him over the best that he could. “Nothing hurts right now? No dizziness or shortness of breath?”
Not since the spider, Peter chuckled to himself. “Nope! I’m almost all better.”
Tony narrowed his eyes for a moment before nodding slowly. “Alright, well, now that you’ve gotten back some of your strength, it’s time for a bath.”
Peter nodded. He could do that.
.
Out of all the things Peter had expected this was certainly not one of them.
Seeing Tony roll up his long sleeves, “I won’t splash you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Peter didn’t know why his statement made Tony laugh as he grabbed a stool and placed it behind him.
“Mr. Tony?” Peter questioned again from where he was sitting in the bath.
“I’m going to wash your hair. I think there’s still some blood in it from when you…” Tony hesitated, “...bashed it against the metal table.” The last part was uttered quietly and almost remorsefully. However, Peter wasn’t quite sure.
Peter stayed quiet and kept his gaze on some painting as Tony’s hands tangled in his hair. Gently washing and scrubbing.
After moments of wondering whether or not he would be able to ask, he finally did. “Why?”
Tony paused his scrubbing and hummed, “What do you mean, bambino?”
“Why would you save me?” That wasn’t exactly been what Peter wanted to say, but it was something else he’d been wondering.
He needed to know if it was some kind of test or if he had done something wrong.
Peter was proud that he didn’t voice a single complaint when Tony’s hands slipped out of his hair.
“Peter-”
“I’m just a prisoner.” Peter swiped at his eyes, he didn’t understand why he was crying. “Why would you change your mind?”
Tony moved around to face him and gently tilted his face up. “What are you talking about? Change my mind about what?”
Peter‘s face scrunched up as he tried to hold back tears that he wished would just go away. “On my execution.” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn’t look at Tony. “Beck said that you had agreed-” Peter didn’t know if he could bring himself to say the words ‘had suggested’ because if Tony didn’t deny that, Peter didn’t think he would ever stop crying.
Tony let go of his face to bring him into his arms, paying no mind to the wet spots forming on his shirt. “No, oh- no, tesoro. Beck lied to you. I had no idea.”
Peter brought his hands up to clutch at Tony. This close there was no way to filter out the rapid beating of Tony’s heart. “Really?”
Peter felt Tony nod his head. “I would never agree for something like to happen.”
“But…” Peter muttered into Tony’s neck, “...I’m just a prisoner?”
Wasn’t he? He would be a prisoner until he could prove his worth and then maybe-
Tony pulled back so he could meet Peter’s gaze. “No, no, kid. You’re-” Peter heard Tony’s heart stutter. “-You’re so much more than that.”
-
Peter wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to make Tony think so highly of him. But Peter knew he was going to do everything that he could to make sure that he earned it.
Right now, Peter was too weak to even stand longer than an hour and was scared of the outdoors. Coward.
How could he be helpful to Tony with such limitations?
Pacing around his bedroom had gotten too easy; he needed a challenge. A physical and mental challenge. Perhaps he could catch two birds with one net?
Peter knew just where he needed to walk.
Every few hours the guard that Tony had positioned to wait outside of his door, one that would always rat him out if he woke up screaming from a nightmare or wasn’t able to completely muffle his fall, would take a short break.
What he did on said break, Peter didn’t care to know. But, he did know he had a very small window of time to sneak out and escape.
He also knew that Tony had a meeting with someone. Morning meetings typically meant that he wouldn’t pop in to say good morning at least not when Peter was awake.
When Peter heard the guard’s footsteps grow faint, he bolted out of the room. He closed the door with a quiet click before slowly moving down the hall. The garden wasn’t too far, at least it wasn’t when Tony was carrying him.
However, as Peter slowed to a stop to let his legs rest, he realized he hadn’t accounted for their height differences.
Nevertheless, Peter was persistent. He would make it to the garden and he would face his fear of the outdoors.
.
Peter arrived at the garden without any real issues. He had gotten better at knowing when he needed to pause so there were, thankfully, no incidences of him falling.
It was when he entered the garden that there was a problem.
Everything had been going great. There were bees and Peter noticed some wasps, but the insects were occupied with the flowers and didn’t seem to care that Peter was there.
The flowers were lovely, too. Peter wished that Tony was there to tell him the names of the few he hadn’t gotten to ask about the last time that they were here.
Everything was fine. Peter was making sure he was sitting and taking breaks so that he didn’t hurt himself and undo all of his hard work.
Peter had made so much progress, he had been doing so much better. So why was it when he turned the corner and saw a painting of the Stark Family, of Gregory that he immediately skittered back and lost his balance?
Peter hadn’t felt the nail pierce and slice his leg when he fell. Too distracted by memories of Gregory standing over him, grabbing him, and telling him-
“Peter…this is what’s best for you. There is nothing for you outside of here and away from me.”
Peter regretted ever opening his mouth and questioning Gregory: ‘What if this isn’t the best thing for me?’
Gregory gave him a look before he threw the glass of whiskey he had been holding. “Why must you always make me be the bad guy?”
When was Gregory not the bad guy was a better question.
“I know you don’t understand how the world works yet, Peter, so trust me when I tell you this: this is as good as it’s going to get for you.” Gregory stalked toward him. “Children like you don’t get to be part of a happy, loving family. Okay?”
Peter swallowed and met Gregory’s gaze with one that was defiant.
Gregory took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before relaxing. “Peter, if your own father couldn’t love you…what makes you think anyone else can?”
Peter recoiled like he had been burned.
“I could, in theory, set you up with a family, though,” Gregory said as he grabbed Peter’s chin and forced him to meet his gaze. “But you and I both know it would only be a matter of time before they sent you away, before they got bored with you.”
Peter blinked and counted down from ten.
“I don’t want that for you, Peter. I would hate for you to get your hopes up that someone could love you only to find out that they can’t.”
Peter belatedly realized his breaths were coming too fast and his head was beginning to feel light. By the time Peter registered that he needed to calm down, he was already blacking out.
-
Peter had woken up silently and sluggishly. Still mulling over Gregory’s words, he was a liar, Peter knew he couldn’t really trust a single thing out of that man’s mouth but…maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Peter!”
Peter looked up at Tony and hoped that maybe Tony would go easy on him.
“How could you even think that was a good idea?” Tony admonished with his hands on his hips.
He knew he was an idiot for even hoping something like that. “I thought I would be okay. I just wanted to see the roses.”
Peter could hear Tony’s rapid heart rate and could see the way his hands were twitching and trembling. “Peter, if you wanted to go to the garden, you should have gotten me.”
With a surge of guilt, Peter turned his attention to the blanket covering his lap. “I didn’t wanna bother you.”
Tony sighed and Peter felt the bed dip as Tony sat on the edge of it. “Bambino, you could never bother me.”
Gregory used to do that sometimes. Would sit on the edge of the exam table and would talk about how much progress he had been making.
Peter brought the cover-up to hide his face just in case he was able to stop the tears from spilling. “But, what if…”
Tony gently tugged at the blanket. “What’s that?”
Peter didn’t want to answer. “What if you get sick of me? Will you send me away?”
Tony ran a hand through the boy’s hair and gently nudged him back. “Never. I will never send you away.”
Peter couldn’t stop himself from clutching at Tony. Oh, how he wanted that to be true. He wanted to believe it and trust it so much. He wanted to remember that line and use it to override all of his memories with Gregory. “Will you stay? With me?”
Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Until I wither away.”
-
Since his trip to the garden stunt, Tony had been hovering a lot more lately.
Which, Peter supposed, was fair. Unfortunately, the gash on his leg and the infection he got from said injury, set back his recovery. That plus what had happened in the garden left Peter equally feeling like he had lost all of his progress and that he never even had any progress to begin with.
Tony had taken to carrying him in his arms, and Peter wouldn’t deny that part of him was slightly ashamed most of him was simply soaking up the affection.
It was adding large amounts of fuel to the fire that Peter had, quite honestly, given up on trying to extinguish.
Big mistake.
It had slipped out before Peter could even catch himself. “Dad?”
Peter heard Tony take a deep breath before turning to face him. “So, you figured it out.”
Peter immediately began blurting apologies before he registered what Tony had said. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Tony- wait, what?”
“What?”
“Oh, my-” The colonel had exclaimed, looking over at Tony and shaking his head. “Are you serious?”
Peter felt confusion churn in him when Tony grimaced. “Let’s take this somewhere else-”
“You still haven’t told him?”
Peter didn’t understand why the colonel had crossed his arms and leveled Tony with a fed-up look. “Told me what?”
Rhodes rolled his arms and brushed off Tony’s pushing and nudging his hands. Rhodey turned his attention to Peter, “You’ve gotten so big, buddy.”
Peter felt his brows furrow in confusion. “I’m-”
“I’m sorry it took us so long to find you.” Rhodes gently patted the kid on the head.
Seeing that the colonel wasn’t going to give any explanation, Peter turned to Tony. “What’s going on?”
Tony took a deep breath and Peter heard his heart skip a beat and saw his hand begin to tremble. “Peter, I’m your father.”
Peter blinked. No, that wasn’t possible. “I don’t understand?”
Tony stepped closer to him, carding his fingers through the curly hair. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.”
“Are you really…my father?” Peter glanced between the two of them, searching for any hint of acting or lying.
Tony kept his gaze on Peter even as Rhodes clapped him on his shoulder and wished him luck.
Peter didn't know what to make of anything anymore. Looking down at his knees, “King Gregory said that my daddy sold me.”
Peter winced when Tony snapped the wooden spoon he had been holding in his hand. "He lied," Tony assured.
That made sense.
And if Gregory lied about that then that meant Gregory had been lying about no one being able to love him!
"I always hoped that he was lying about that.”
Peter swallowed and beamed up at Tony, his father! “I’m so glad that you’re my daddy!”
Tony matched the grin and when Peter lifted his arms up, his dad didn’t hesitate to bring him into his arms.
.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Peter whispered as Tony tucked him in.
He was still reeling from everything.
Tony smiled down at him, if he looked at him any warmer Peter thought he would just melt. “You can always tell me anything.”
“I used to dream about you being my real daddy. So this really is a dream come true.” Peter had even created an elaborate plan, too.
“Can I tell you a secret, too?” Tony pressed a light kiss to Peter’s curls.
“Even if you weren’t mine biologically,” Tony brushed a stray curl out of Peter’s face.
“I was going to take you home, anyway.”
Peter laughed and brought his hands up to cover his face as his eyes grew wet. He would tell him about his enhancements tomorrow.
“Oh, il mio bambino, come here.”
Peter knew that Tony would love him all the same.
--
BONUS SCENE: Bolded text is Italian
It was the howling wind and the sound of hail hitting the roof that made Peter slowly open his eyes. His room was dark aside from the odd flash of brightness from the storm raging outside.
Peter slowly blinked and, even as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, made no move to sit up. The bed beneath him was comfortable, the blankets were warm and his pillow soft.
Still, his neck throbbed and his limbs ached. Even when introduced to the one thing Peter had thought he would never experience, comfort, all he could remember was pain.
Even though Tony was never anything but loving and gentle, sometimes all Peter could remember was Gregory. The king was never shy with his words of affirmation, at least not that Peter knew, yet in the background he could still hear the whispers of doubt and denial.
Peter slid out from under the covers and wandered over to the mirror in the room.
The last time he had stood in front of this mirror he hadn’t looked at himself, instead, he focused on Tony’s hands on his shoulders from where he stood behind him and the man’s beaming smile.
“You look perfect.”
Peter lifted his sleeves and glared at the few scars littering his body. It was a miracle that there were not more, or maybe it was because of the mutation. He would prefer it to be a miracle, at least then he would have nothing to thank Gregory for.
He wondered if Tony hated Gregory, too. He knew that Tony had no shortage of distaste and disgust for his brother…but the question was why? Were they for the same or similar reasons that Peter hated him? Or were they for much more shallow reasons?
More importantly, what was the feeling that lay beneath that distaste? Was it love? Was it hate?
Peter hoped that it wasn’t love but at the same time, he wouldn’t want Tony to hate Gregory; hate was such an ugly and corruptive feeling. One that he would never want someone as good as Tony to feel.
But, Peter?
He was already ruined. The marks and scars staining his body were a testament to the corruption. The familiar phantom aches and pains were a constant reminder.
In his reflection he saw the anger he tried so desperately to pretend didn’t exist, he saw the pain he tried not to show Tony.
In his reflection, he saw hate.
Was Tony sure that Peter was his kid? Perhaps his real son, someone a million times more like Tony, was still out there?
Either way, Peter was too selfish to bring such a thing up to Tony. All good things must come to an end, but that didn’t mean that he had to rush to it.
A clatter and strangled sound halted Peter in his movement and snapped him back to reality.
With furrowed brows, Peter lowered his fist and stepped away from the mirror. What had he heard?
“Peter.” It was Tony.
Peter crept out of his room and slowly made his way to Tony’s door.
“I’m sorry,” Tony’s voice was nothing louder than a mutter. If Peter wasn’t enhanced there was no way that he would have been able to hear it.
Who was he apologizing to?
“I’m sorry I failed you.”
Peter couldn’t stop his eyes from widening slightly in surprise, it was one of the first times he’d heard Tony utter a full sentence in Italian.
Silently he cracked open the door; just enough for him to slip through. “Dad?”
In the barely illuminated room, he could see Tony’s face twisted in a pained grimace and could see the heaving of the man’s chest.
He wondered if Tony, too, was tortured by constant reminders at night.
“It’s my fault,” Tony’s speech was fragmented.
Peter clambered onto the bed. “Dad?”
No response.
Peter placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder to try and shake him. Something Tony had done once or twice when he had accidentally passed out during one of their meetings.
”Sorry Peter, but I didn’t want you to wake to an empty cell.”
He hadn’t expected Tony to lurch awake, gasping and grabbing Peter’s arm as he surveyed his surroundings.
Peter winced and looked down, pressing his lips together to hold back a sorrowful sound. It seems like his only real talent was making situations worse.
Tony let go with a shuddering inhale. “Oh, Pete, I’m so sorry.”
Peter blinked and shook his head. Tony hadn’t done anything wrong, it was Peter that was the problem.
“I’m awful,” Tony muttered under his breath as he gently grabbed Peter’s arm once again.
Peter sniffed and felt a familiar burn in his eyes. “No,”
Tony pulled his hand away from his arm. “I’m so sorry, tesorino.”
Peter huffed and harshly rubbed his eyes.
“What have I done? Peter, I’m-”
Peter shook his head and grabbed Tony’s hands. “ I’m sorry.” He paid no mind to the way Tony’s eyes widened slightly. “You have done nothing wrong.”
Peter rolled up his sleeve and showed Tony his arm, the skin was markless. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“I made you cry,” Tony said as he, almost distractedly, pushed a curl out of Peter’s face. “I scared you.”
“Never,” Peter denied as he grabbed Tony’s hand. “The scariest thing about you is your brother.”
Tony carefully wrapped his arms around Peter, as if he was worried the boy would push him away or flinch. “I promise you, Gregory will never come within three feet of you again. Scratch that three miles.”
Peter tucked his head into Tony’s neck with a small smile. “I love you, dad.”
It was oddly freeing to use the language Gregory had taught him to express love to the person that Gregory hated the most. To do almost the opposite of what Gregory had wanted him to do to his father.
“I love you too, little one.”
Peter slightly tightened his arms around Tony. Despite never having any intention of following Gregory’s plan, the mere idea of doing so made him ill.
Either Tony didn’t feel a few stray tears leak out of his eyes or, in exchange for Peter not mentioning his, he didn’t say anything.