Casualty of the Darkness

Peter was precariously perched on the edge of a metal examination table in the usually bustling medical bay of Stark Tower. On any normal day, you could find half a dozen scientists and doctors working on groundbreaking medical treatments or treating minor injuries on the staff of the tower.  However, it wasn't currently busy due to an angry Tony Stark having yelled at the entire staff to get out immediately.

When Mr. Stark had first appeared outside to collect Peter, he had been fuming. He had been barefoot and only been wearing an old, worn out ACDC t shirt and plaid boxers- looking ridiculously out of place on the sidewalk outside of a billion dollar company’s headquarters. His dark locks of hair stuck up crazily in every direction like a wild mane. He looked like he hadn’t slept in hours, if not days and he was out of breath from having run to reach Peter as quickly as possible.

The moment he laid eyes on Peter, the man had pulled him into a bone crushing hug. It was a sweet gesture, but Peter wasn’t sure his body could take anymore pain. Nonetheless, he tried to keep a straight face through the embrace to just focus on the feeling of being safe. To listen to the steady heartbeat where his ear pressed against the man’s chest and enjoy the smell of his mentor’s cologne and motor oil mixing. But the hug stopped quicker than it started, because in the end he couldn’t help but flinch and recoil away from the touch. It hurt too much and his body wanted to protect itself. To reject the pain and run away from the one causing it.

When Peter had flinched away, Mr. Stark’s features had flashed with a mixture of confusion and concern. He held the boy out at arms reach. Running his calloused hands up and down Peter’s face and body. He searched for the cause of the flinching, sure there was a physical ailment at the root of the cause. And to be fair, his hands burned and his ass throbbed painfully. But he also hated being touched. Not only was it sensory hell for the boy, but Alex taught him that touch was bad. Touch meant that he was going to be hurt, be unloved and unwanted. Touch was the physical representation of others’ hate for him; and regardless of the love he had for Mr. Stark, he didn't want to be touched by him. If Mr. Stark touched him now, he was sure it would be in some sort of pain inflicting way. After all, why else would someone ever want to touch a freak like him?

The man frowned at him when he had continued to flinch away and shake nervously. He looked on the verge of tears as he dragged the boy into the building, ignoring the strange looks he was receiving, and into the elevator. Pushing the button for the med bay, silence sat like a heavy weight on their shoulders. Peter had stood curled into himself and looking down at his shoes as Tony fumed like a tea kettle whistling and violently boiling over.

When they had reached the medical bay, Mr. Stark had automatically started yelling orders at the staff around him. His mentor seemed to have two completely different attitudes, flipping back and forth like a switch. He calmly ushered Peter to sit on an examination table, treating him like a something fragile that could break at any second. All while yelling at the staff to ‘get the fuck out, right fucking now. Or else their ass would need to find a new job immediately.’

That was how Peter found himself angrily sitting on a metal examination table in the medical bay of Stark Tower. His eyes darting between glaring at the man across the room and down to his feet dangling off the table. His heart was beating faster than a wild stampede and he hunched his entire body into itself in order to feel smaller. His hands were shaking nervously and he kept his injured palms hidden under the long, dangling sleeves of his fades blue hoodie. He was hoping Mr. Stark wouldn’t see the angry red flesh of his hands if he hid them well enough, but the realistic part of him knew that wouldn’t happen.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s voice rang throughout the room.

The boy ducked his head further down in response, refusing to answer or catch the man’s eyes. He could hear footsteps resonating through the room getting closer and closer to him with each second passing.

A hand landed softly on his shoulder and the boy flinched away from the touch.  “Peter... please talk to me kid.” His voice cracked and he tried to catch the boy’s downcast eyes. “Please talk to me sweetheart, I know something’s wrong...let me help you….please Peter….just talk to me kid”

A warm, calloused hand gently touched the cool skin of Peter’s jaw. Softly, Mr. Stark pulled his face up. Dark brown eyes bore into his own and Peter desperately tried to pull away. But the man tightened his grip slightly, refusing to let the boy go. “Peter, you need to tell me what’s wrong right now kid.” His voice was harsher now, demanding an answer.

Peter’s voice felt stuck in his throat. He desperately wanted to speak and explain what was wrong (or rather come up with an excuse), but his voice wasn’t letting him do that. It was like his body was trying to protect him. He feared rejection so deeply that his body physically would not set him up for that situation. He refused to let himself be hurt by the man he loved and respected like a father. What if Mr. Stark hated gay people??? What if he hated Peter??? What if he didn’t hate gay people, but he hated Peter??? If Mr. Stark found out not only that he was gay, but also that he was pathetic- he would cut Peter out of his life completely. He would ditch hum and never, ever, ever come back.

Tony caught a tear falling like a raindrop from Peter’s eye on the pad of his finger. Until that moment, he hadn’t even realized he was crying. But the feeling of the rough finger catching the tear felt like the dam was breaking. Suddenly the single raindrop tear turned into an entire thunderstorm. He was full out sobbing now, his body wracking and shaking under the pressure. Peter was clutching to his mentor like his life depended on it. The blistering palms of hands connected painfully with Tony’s bare lower arms. He held on tightly, sobbing into the worn out band t-shirt and trying to ground himself.

Warm hands encircled his bony wrists and the man peeled the tiny boy away from his body. He flipped over the boy’s hands, revealing his blistered palms. A single finger ran over the boy’s angry red skin, trying to assess the damage in as gentle a way as possible.  

“Peter…” his voice started softly.  

Peter shook his head violently. He wasn’t answering any questions the man asked. No. No. No. His lips were sealed.

Tony soothingly ran his hands over the unmarred backside of his hands, trying to calm the boy down. “Hey….hey kid, please just tell me what happened. I promise I can help you if you tell me what’s wrong. You just need to tell me what happened, sweetheart.”

Peter aggressively pulled his hands out of Mr. Stark’s firm grasp. In a sacred manner he  scrambled backwards and toppled off of the metal table like a leaf falling from an autumn tree. His head connected painfully with the tile floor with a loud thud. His mind instantly felt fuzzy and suddenly he felt like he wasn’t there anymore.

His head connected painfully with the floor of The Midtown High School locker room. Disturbed dust floated up into the air, present under the glow of flickering fluorescent lights. His nose burned with the scent of cleaning detergent and spit dripped onto his face, from the male standing menacingly over him. His jeans and boxers were pooled around his ankles. Semen, blood and spit dripped down his legs and he cowered away from the man. He tried to fit himself into the space between the heavy wooden bench and the space where the bottom of the metal lockers connected with the floor.

“Don’t you ever, EVER say no to me again Peter. I don’t care where we are, or who is around. You’re not ever allowed to say no. Not now, not ever. Don’t ever say no to me again.”

A heavy, steel toed boot connected with the side of his body. A loud crack echoed through the room and his ribs exploded with pain.

“Please stop..” Peter softly vocalized between sobs. “Please….please… please don’t do this to me Alex….please”, he begged over and over and over again.

The boot connected once again with his side, his ribs cracking and shifting painfully.

“Learn your place Peter.”Alex seethed down at him, “Learn your fucking place.”

Peter was cowering half under the examination table now. He couldn’t quite distinguish between his flashback and reality. He could feel the cool metal of the examination table against his lower leg, but he could also see the flickering of fluorescent lights and smell the cleaning solvent used on the locker room floor. He held his hands close to his chest, almost as if he was protected the area around his ribs, and he muttered ‘please..please don’t do it’ over and over and over again. He was trying to hide from the tormentor that only existed in his mind.

The smell of motor oil and expensive cologne mixed with the harsh scent of cleaning detergent present only in his own nose. Trying to focus on the new scents, Peter tipped his head back. However, this time he only let it softly connect with the floor. He focused on the points of contact with the ground and the feeling of the cold metal on his lower leg. He tried to focus on the scent associated with his mentor and pull himself away from the harsh cleaning product scent.

A soft, constant murmuring mixed with the boy’s loud pleas to stop. At first it was just a constant hum. Something to focus on and a tool he could use to pull himself away from the pleading and feeling of being kicked over and over and over again. But the murmuring eventually formed into words the more he concentrated on them.

“...kiddo, I know this is scary but you need to breathe. You’re having a flashback, I have PTSD so I know what that is and I know how scary it is, but I need you to trust me. I’m going to help you feel better, but I need your help to help me help you.”

Tony sat criss cross on the floor, rubbing his hands together nervously in an attempt to soothe himself. “I know it feels like you’re not here right now, you probably feel like you can’t breath and like you’re somewhere entirely different right now. But I need you to take in a deep breathe and try to listen to me. Can you do that for me sweetheart?”

Peter sucked in a deep breath and slowly nodded his head. His head felt fuzzy and he felt like he couldn’t focus at all. Like his mind was bouncing around the room at a million miles an hour.

“Can I touch you Peter?” Tony asked softly, rubbing his hands on his bare legs in anticipation.

Peter quickly nodded again, craving touch from the man. Tony gave a soft pat on the boy’s upper arm. “Good boy, breathing is good sweetheart.”

When Peter hummed contentedly at the praise, Tony continued speaking.“Alright, here’s the deal kiddo. First I am going to stand up and go across the room.”  The man shifted his body nervously, “Then as long as I can touch you again, I’m going to help you sit up. I am then going to hug you close to my body and touch the back of your head and maybe your hair. When you’re feeling better I’m going to help clean up your hands and then get you upstairs and into your bed.” He paused for a second, in order to let it all sink in and then continued. “Does that sound ok?”

Peter nodded his head again, but Tony was looking for more than that. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but I need a verbal response so there’s no confusion about what's happening here. I can’t risk hurting you in anyway kid and I need to make sure you’re ok with everything I’m gonna do.”

The boy understood where the man was coming from, though he hated Mr. Stark for asking this of him. He didn’t feel up to speaking at all, a combination of embarrassment and a scratchy voice. The demand for a verbal response truly sucked. But if he didn’t verbally consent to whatever Mr. Stark was about to do, how could the man truly know he was ok with it. He knew Mr. Stark didn’t truly want to hurt him and this was probably just a precaution he wanted to take. Knowing this, he cleared his throat and let out a hoarse ‘yes’.

When Tony heard the affirmation, he automatically jumped to action. He quickly stood up, immediately commanding his AI to lower the light to a considerably softer level. He then grabbed an ice pack from the freezer across the room and hastily returned back to the boy crouched under the table. He sunk down to floor, positioning himself closer to cowering boy on the floor. Reaching forward, he gently helped the boy sit up. His calloused hands were careful to only touch clothed parts of his skin and stay away from his blistered hands. He made sure to be gentle when handling the frightened boy.

When he was fully sitting up, Mr. Stark tendlery pulled Peter close to his skin. He nestled Peter’s head close to his chest and ran his hand lovingly through his hair. He used the the other hand to gently push the icepack into the boys lap. “Usually you would hold it squirt,” he chuckled “but this will have to do. The cold will help you feel more grounded.” Peter hummed in response and pushed his head closer to Tony’s chest- trying to hear his heartbeat. Tony carded his hand through Peter’s hair. Rubbing the pad of his fingers on his scalp. “You don’t have to talk right now, but I promise we’re going to figure this out soo. I love you loads kid and we’re going to figure it out.”

Peter listened to the beat of the man’s heart, loud and steady in his ear. “...I love you too Mr. Stark.” His voice cracked, but he put everything he had into those words. He truly did love Mr. Stark and he wanted the man to know that. He appreciated everything the man did for him. He would cherish these moments for the rest of his life, especially if Mr. Stark disowned him in a homophobic rage when he heard the news of his portagee's sexuality.

The ice pack sat partially melted, dripping into his jeans. The smell of cologne and motor oil was heavy, a warm hand continued to run through his hair and the sound of Mr. Starks heartbeat was constant and loud. For once, it felt like his senses were in check. It was a weird balance, but everything felt equally present and equally grounding.   

Tony went to move, but Peter attached himself to the man like a baby koala. “Please don’t go.” He whispered, terrified of being alone.

“I won’t ever leave you Peter, I promised.” Tony leaned back and took Peter’s smaller hands in his own larger ones. He rubbed a single finger over the blistering skin, frowning down at Peter’s hands. “But we really need to treat these before they get worse.” Peter flinched back at that idea, but Tony is having none of it.

“I’m not going to force you to talk about it, at least not now, but I need to grab you some burn ointment for your hands. They look super painful, don’t you want it to feel better at all?”

Feeling only slightly coerced, Peter grumbles a small ‘yes’. He truly does want his hands to feel better, he just doesn’t want to talk about it or answer any nosey questions about how he obtained the injuries

Tony quickly stands up, dropping Peter’s hands in the process and rushing forward. When he reaches the other side of the room, he rifles through drawer after drawer of medical supplies. It is surprisingly loud and Peter cringes away from the sound. But before he can curl back in on himself, Mr. Stark is sitting in front of him once again. He has set a water bottle and tube of ointment on the floor next to him. He then swiftly opens a bottle of painkillers, popping two straight into the boy's mouth- quickly followed by pressing the open water bottle to his lips. “Drink” He commands softly, tipping the water back for the boy to drink. Peter gulped back almost half the bottle in one sip. He hadn’t realized how dehydrated he was until this moment. But now, when the water bottle was pressed to his lips, he was able to drink half the bottle in one go.

When it was pulled away from his lips, Peter turned to Mr. Stark and gave a large, lopsided smile. Tony smiled softly back at him in response. The man’s figure was framed by the  dim light of the room. His dark hair stuck up in every single direction, even his goatee sat strangely, and he looked like an angel of chaos. For the first time in this entire exchange, Peter truly appreciated how much his mentor had done for him in the past few hours. Seeing the usually sauve billionaire sitting in an old band t shirt and his underwear, with his hair sticking up in every direction and a single tear running down his face, made him see the man in a whole new light.

The man opened the small tube of ointment and squeezed a generous amount of the white cream into his own hands. He rubbed his palms together and then gently spread it over Peter’s  burned skin. His mentor paid extra attention to rub it into the festering blisters, yet was gentle when handling the injured flesh. The entire experiences had Peter simultaneously hissing at the small amount of pain the cream caused, while also sighing at the cool, soothing  properties of the cream.

When the man finished applying the cream, he carelessly rubbed the excess off on his plaid boxers. It was clear to Peter that the man cared far more about him, then his own well being or clothing. In a strange sense, the small action was comforting to Peter because it made him quite aware of that fact.

Mr. Stark then clapped his hands together and started straight ahead at the boy. “Alright kiddo, time for bed.”

Peter groaned, “..buuuuut Mr. Stark, it’s like noon.”

“Now, I will have none of that Peter.” Tony commented, while trying to stifle his laugh. It was clear Mr. Stark was excited to see him acting a little more normal, but still wanted to keep the situation under control. “Kiddo, I got to sleep too and naps at noon are definitely a Stark thing to do.”

A smile flashed across Peter’s face. “Does that make me a Stark?” His hoarse, post crying voice asked innocently.  

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair, “Definitely kid, you are 100 and 10 percent a Stark...though I’m not sure that’s exactly a good thing”

The man then stood up, smoothing the fabric of his boxers under the palms of his hands. “You know kid, I didn’t even realize I was in only my boxers until now.” He chuckled softly and glanced his dark eyes over the boy’s outfit, “maybe we could both use a change before bed, I can grab something for us upstairs.”

When he stood up, Peter’s entire body shook and he wrapped his arms around his small frame. He glanced down at his ratty sneakers. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten into this situation, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave. He felt calmer than he had in weeks and the rough surface of his injured hands felt cool and less aggravated. It made him want to tell Tony about what had been going on his life recently. But he still felt hesitant and terrified of garnering a negative reaction from the man. Despite the amount of love and dedication to their relationship Peter had shown over the past hour, queer relationships tended to bring out the worst in people. It morphed people’s affection towards others and caused them to question the normalcy of those people’s relationships. If Mr. Stark found out he was gay, he might hate him. Or worse, validate what Alex did to him. If he kept quiet, there would be no opportunity for hate between them. Mr. Stark would keep on caring about Peter like he was any good, normal teenager; And the boy was willing to lose his sense of self in order to to receive even a little bit of affection.

Mr. Stark placed a large hand on his back and tried to guide him towards the elevator. Peter’s felt like his feet were stuck to the ground. But Mr. Stark kept on gently pushing on his back, murmuring “Please help me, help you kiddo.”

Peter nodded his head, but he wasn’t quite sure he had the ability to actually make his feet work.

Mr. Stark pushed further, but his feet still refused to work. He was stuck, petrified in his place while his body and mind refused to work together.

Mr. Stark clapped his hands together, Peter consequently flinched away from the sound. “Alright kiddo, time for plan B.” Peter hoped plan B didn’t involve getting kicked out or forced to move. But, he wasn’t holding his breath for kindness- Peter didn’t deserve kindness.

“Do I have permission to touch you further?” Tony asked, receiving a swift nod from the boy.

Without a single second passing, strong arms were pulling the boy up and off of the ground. The man’s muscles bulged impressively. Sometimes Peter forgets Mr. Stark is Iron Man, but after being taken care of and swept off of his feet, he can’t forget it. Tony is the definition of a hero, running outside in his underwear and barefoot in order to save a boy he isn’t even related to. He would do anything for Peter, probably die for him, and the man was his hero through and through.

When Mr. Stark started walking, his ass shifted and connected with the man’s lower arm. He let out a startling yell at the contact, shifting his face to hide in Tony’s chest, tears already soaking into the worn out band shirt. He felt humiliated at the contact, cursing himself for the pain he couldn’t help but feeling.

The man’s face flashed with surprise and understanding. He felt like there was a fire growing in his heart. But, he quickly pushed the flames down and shushed the boy in his arms. “It’s ok kid, I’m just gonna shift to make you feel more comfortable.” He then moved the boy, so he wasn’t resting on his arm anymore. “Is this ok sweetheart?” Tony asked soothingly and Peter nodded against his chest in response.

The elevator door smoothly slid open when they reached Mr. Stark’s personal floor. The layout was modern and beautiful. A sleek leather couch sat on top of fuzzy white rug. Large, floor to ceiling windows were took up the entire left side of the room.  However, unlike in Alex’s house the windows felt homely. They contributed to the beauty of the space and the expanse of sky rises around him made him feel infinite. He felt like he could run out the windows and start flying at the snap of his fingers.    

On the way to Peter’s room, Mr. Stark stopped quickly in the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water from the sleek stainless steel refrigerator and an apple flavored granola bar from the counter. He stuffed the water and snack into the boy’s arms and grabbed a sweater from the back of a white, wooden counter stool. When the sweater was pushed into Peter’s arms, he smiled when he saw it said ‘MIT Robotics Team’ on the front and ‘Stark’ in flowing cursive on the back. Peter buried his face in the sweater, feeling instantly calmed by the scents of motor oil and distinct cologne mixing.

Still carrying Peter, careful to keep his ass off of his arm, Tony bustled down the hallway. The man passed by door after door, until he abruptly stopped at the second to last door on the left. It was a sleek white door, with a giant sign in the center. The sign was made of a thick white paper and was covered in little swirls of red and black spiderwebs. The large lettering in the center proudly proclaimed it ‘Peter’s Room’. He remembers the day Mr. Stark had first shown Peter his room. He didn’t offer it, knowing that the boy would decline, but rather took him to it with no warning. The only thing he asked the boy to do was create a sign for the door, hence the large Spider-Man themed sign on the door. They had made it together, although Peter did all the art and Mr. Stark only contributed through insanely neat handwriting (for the record his normal handwriting was a hot mess).    

Tony pushed the door to the room open. Shaking his head in loving manner as he navigated half completed lego sets and textbooks like a maze. The soft blue walls of the room were covered in posters for indie bands Tony had never heard of, a poster proclaiming every element on the periodic table a different superhero and one poster of Iron Man that Peter claimed was a joke (He knew Tony was aware that it wasn’t actually a joke).

He deposited the boy on the rumpled blue and black sheets of his unmade bed. Peter sat there unsure. He was gnawing violently on his bottom lip, wringing his slightly healed hands and staring up at the man in front of him. Tears threatened to splash down his face at any second. He wasn’t ready for Tony to leave. He wanted him to stay. He needed him to stay. He needed to feel safe. safe. safe.  

A warm hand brushed a lock of his hair behind his ear, “Hey kiddo, you’re going to be ok. I promise it’s going to be fine. You’ve had a really long day though and I think you need to sleep now.”

The man helped the small boy pull off the ratty blue hoodie and put on his mentor’s sweater. He then walked across the room and grabbed Peter’s favorite pink, fluffy hello kitty pants from where they had been precariously thrown near the hamper. The man handed them to him gently, “I’m going to turn around now, so you can have some privacy- but please tell me if you need help.”

Peter nodded and the man quickly turned around. Wiggling out of his pants, the boy looked down at his bare legs. The marred skin looked like a galaxy of finger shaped bruises, stark and alarming against the rest of his pale skin. On the sides and back of his thighs there were trails of sticky dried semen and blood staring up at him. He shuddered, scrapping a small amount of it away with his short fingernails, but he quickly abandoned the attempt when he realized it made him feel no more clean than before. He pulled his pants over his legs, biting his lip to stop himself from groaning in pain and hiding the view of his leg from his sight.

He let out a small hum to let Tony know he was done changing and the man spun around on his heals as soon as he heard it. He reached forward and ruffled the boy’s hair fondly. “Now look at that, all comfy and ready for bed.” A blush spread over his cheeks and he ducked his head down to stare at his lap.

“Alright kiddo, I’m going to leave now…” Tony started backing away from the boy, glancing at the door and pulling at the bottom of his t shirt. But before he was able to leave, a hand darted out and encircled his toned arm. For a second it felt like time stopped. Peter was left staring into Tony’s dark brown eyes, trying to communicate silently. ‘Please don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave,’ he tried to beg silently.   

But all of a sudden, time came rushing back and they were hurtled into reality. Mr. Stark tried to pull away from the boy, and Peter let out a strangled cry. “Don’t leave, please don’t leave,” his voice cried suddenly.

Mr. Stark stopped trying to pull away when he heard the cry. He tilted his head to the side, catching Peter’s eyes in confusion. Peter felt like he couldn't breath anymore. He was sure this was the moment he wound up asking for too much, the moment Mr. Stark finally stopped caring.

But alas, this wasn’t that moment. “Alright Peter, I won’t leave you kid.” Gently, he  pushed the boy down onto his bed. He pulled the sheets and comforter over Peter, tucking him in and smoothing his hair down. He then rushes across the room in order to flip the light switch off the old fashion. He then slumps down onto the floor, leaning his head back onto the bed near Peter’s torso. “Go to bed Peter” He says gently, closing his own eyes.

Peter waits with bated breath for minutes, staring down at the man leaning on the bed. His beard is ruffled and he wants to reach forward and smooth it. But he keeps his hands to himself, and simply watches the man until his breath eventually even out. Finally content in the fact that Mr. Stark is not leaving him alone, he closes his eyes and rolls over. The pillowcase smells like strawberries and web fluid disolvent- nothing like the harsh citrus smell of lemon always present in his nose. It smells like safety, like he is finally at home.

Peter fell asleep with the thought of home in his mind, the smell of strawberries and disolvent in his nose and the sound of Tony breathing in his ear. He let the pain fall away from him, the bruises and throbbing ass and burning hands leave him for just a second. He lets it all fade away, in order to just focus on his senses and fall asleep knowing that he was truly safe in that moment.