Fighting And Helplessness

Picking up the pages and flipping the cover over was one of the hardest things Tony had ever done. The entire first page was writing, in fact the view was predominantly ink, it was organised in order of the suspected times the injuries were sustained, marking back to the day that he was thrown into that van. His eyes flickered over the page so briefly, like he was dipping a toe into a pool of the pain Peter had felt, he didn’t see much, he only got a few words that stuck in his head, but he didn’t like it. He really didn’t like it one bit.

Severe.

Final Stages.

Shattered.

Bloody.

God, those words should never, in no universe, ever be associated with his kid. His poor, innocent, young child. Peter hadn’t even graduated high school yet, hadn’t gotten his first girlfriend, or boyfriend, or his first car and the milestones he hadn’t reached yet stretched on and on, but it didn’t change the fact that despite him not having experienced any of that yet, he had experienced this.

Kidnapping, torture, psychological trauma.

How had someone so precious reached PTSD levels of horror before they reached their seventeenth birthday? How was that fair?

He took a breath. He steadied himself, or at least attempted to. He looked down at where his son’s cheek was pressed against his chest, fists curled into the fabric of his shirt by his neck and legs splayed over the bed, wrapped around Tony. He loved the clingy kid, but it hurt to know that he was only seeking out extra physical affection now because he had been starved of any gentle, comforting touch for three weeks. Three entire weeks and the only thing he felt was the bite of chains, harsh beatings from guards and agonising surgeries and experiments. He got a world full of nothing but pain for three weeks while Tony was sat in their home and losing himself because he knew it, he knew what Peter was having to endure because he didn’t have any leads.

“I’m sorry, I – I have to know baby, I have to understand what happened, so I can help you.” It was almost ironic really, he had seen five words off the page and his cheeks were already wet with tears and he was already holding Peter closer to him. He took another breath and pulled his attention back to the page beneath his eyes. He took it in chunks of information, going slow, trying not to overload himself with the reality of what had been done and how serious it was.

Patient Information:
Name: Peter Benjamin Parker
Age: 16 Years
Date of Birth: 10 August 2001
Abilities/Notable Factors: Superhuman strength, speed, durability, agility, ability to stick to most surfaces, precognitive ‘Spider-Sense’ – Please note that healing ability was not functional at time of treatment
Alias: ‘Spider-Man’
Relation to Stark Industries/Reason for access to Med Bay: Employed Stark Intern

He paused, pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead and took a third breath before delving into the actual part of the report which was most difficult to read.

List of Injuries and/or Health Conditions by Assumed Date of Occurrence:
Mild taser burns on sides of abdomen and neck
Lip split and bitten into
Bruising on right eye, left cheekbone, ribs, stomach and neck
Bullet wound – entry through back, lodged next to left shoulder blade and scarring from bullet extraction surgery
Additional bruising to right side of face, cheekbone and temple
Eighty cuts and lacerations increasing in depth and severity covering back and hips
Evidence of drowning and subsequent health complications including the following:
Water Inhalation – Pulmonary Edema – Hypoxia – Respiratory Failure – Patient was most likely held underwater without air for extended periods of time before unconsciousness occurred *

He stared at the Asterix and followed to the next page over where there was another section of writing. He was suddenly very glad that the people he hired were thorough because someone had printed information and research on something called secondary drowning, which Peter had apparently experienced.

* ‘Inhaled water leads to a condition given the name ‘secondary drowning,’ which is when water gets into the lungs where it can irritate the lungs’ lining and fluid can build up, causing a condition called Pulmonary Edema. Pulmonary Edema (Symptoms: Extreme shortness of breath or difficulty breathing (dyspnea) that worsens with activity or when lying down, a feeling of suffocating or drowning that worsens when lying down, wheezing or gasping for breath, cold or clammy skin, anxiety, restlessness or a sense of apprehension, a cough that produces frothy sputum that may be tinged with blood, blue-tinged lips, a rapid or irregular heartbeat (palpitations)) causes respiratory failure due to hypoxia  hypoxia is a deficiency in the amount of oxygen reaching the tissues (symptoms: change in skin colour, increased or decreased heart rate, rapid breathing, shortness of breath, sweating, wheezing).’

He flipped back to the other page, determined to push through and finish reading the list of injuries.

Open bone biopsy on hip, knee and shoulder – Patient not administered anaesthetics and was likely forced to walk immediately after surgery
Patient appears to have been kept in early stages of hypothermia for extended durations of time
Patient appears to have undergone some form of sensory attack and deprivation due to increased sensitivity to light and sound
Severe ankle breakage – likely caused through weight dropped onto limb and continuous disruption and aggravation to the broken bone after breakage
Severe Asphyxiation – likely caused by strangulation
Additional bruising to jaw and mouth area causing second split lip
Severe bruising across entire face
Three broken ribs, two fractures
Trauma to eye socket likely caused by multiple blows
Bloody nose due to assumed assault
Dislocated shoulder
Injuries consistent to those of beaten and/or assaulted patients
Thoracentesis surgery without anaesthetic – needle inserted into pleural space between lung and chest walls, likely to remove excess fluids (pleural effusion) from the pleural space to improve ability to breathe
Shattered hyoid bone and evidence of poorly-executed bone reconstruction surgery
Severe Epiglottitis – condition which occurs when tissue protecting windpipe becomes inflamed
Please note that the patient was administered a fibreoptic intubation procedure without anaesthetics or ventilator to assist breathing
Extreme fever caused by infections *

* ‘Infections in both lungs’ air sacs causing them to swell – Caused Pneumonia
Respiratory tract infection in upper and lower respiratory tracts
Pharyngitis – caused by severe swelling in pharynx and larynx
Severe Sepsis throughout body (condition arises when body’s response to infection causes injury to tissues and organs)
Multiple opportunistic infections (infections caused by patients weakened immune system and deteriorating physical health)’

Evidence of more water inhalation and an increase in the severity of multiple infections
Evidence that the patient underwent severe and final stages of hypothermia
All external wounds were re-opened for reasons unknown
Severe electrical burns on points of contact (both temples, toes, fingers) and contusions/abrasions from suspected metal clamps and plates used to administer high amount of electrical currents
Severe injures from restraints on ankles, wrists, all joints, chest, collarbone, hips, temples and neck
Severe electrocution
Severe hypovolemic shock caused by amount of blood loss
Major concussion
Throat inflammation caused by screaming
Multitude of severe contusions and abrasions
Evidence of multiple seizures and spasms
Extreme starvation
Extreme dehydration
Extreme sleep deprivation

Interesting/Unexplained Features:
Gasoline residue found on clothing and skin – inhalation of these subsequent fumes caused high risk carbon monoxide poisoning which is the likely cause of the seizures and heart arrhythmias
Surgery guidelines over skull and spine despite no evidence of any surgical procedures
Finger-shaped bruises in unusual places such as hips, thighs, lower back and shoulder blades
Wound on chest had been carved into the patient in order to cause emotional and psychological damage
Although no anaesthetics were administered to the patient, they suffered from (intentional) Opioid-Induced Hyperalgesia * and extreme amounts of Varenicline * which were found in the patient’s system

* ‘Opioid-Induced Hyperalgesia is a state of nociceptive sensitization caused by exposure to opioids. The rare condition is characterised by a paradoxical response in which a patient receiving medication (specifically opioids) for the treatment of pain actually becomes more sensitive to certain painful stimuli. In this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) the specific synthesis of drugs he was unwillingly supplied with were used to intentionally increase the amount of pain felt during and following most experiments and attacks.’

* ‘Varenicline goes by the brand name ‘Chantix’ and has been highly scrutinised for causing severe neuropsychiatric adverse events including abnormal dreams, nightmares, night terrors, aggression, anxiety, heavy fatigue, insomnia, irritability, somnolence (sleepwalking) and other various sleep disorders.’

Tony could feel his silent tears running down his face, but he was dead-set on reading the last paper before he completely broke down. When he turned to the final page he had to put the paper on his lap and cutch Peter with both of his arms to stop himself from cracking. The specialists had used the list of injuries to write up a list off every torture method that had been used. He buried his lips and nose into the loose curls that topped the boy’s head as if to offer as much comfort as possible for Peter while reading through the list.

Likely Methods of Torture Based on Sustained Injuries:
Beatings and physical violence
Blinding temporarily with light - in this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) has enhanced senses therefore has an increased sensitivity to noise and light
Bone breaking
Garrotte/Strangling – a Garrotte is a weapon, most often handheld, used to strangle someone
Crushing – in this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) the ankle, rib and neck bones seem to have been crushed
Cutting
Dehydration
Disfigurement – although in this case the wounds are not likely permanent, the sheer amount and range of bruises inflicted are disfiguring to the patient
Drowning/Dunking – the forceful submersion of the head in water
Flagellation – (also called flogging, whipping or lashing) is beating the human body with special implements such as whips, lashes, rods, etc.
Flaying – the process in which large areas of skin are removed from the body
Hypothermia – (also called cold-cell torture)
Kneecapping – specifically injuring the knee in order to prevent the victim from escaping or moving on their own
Medical/Surgical
Noise/Sound – inflicting extremely high volumes, dynamic ranges, low frequencies and/or high-pitched noises intended to interfere with rest, cognition and concentration, in this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) has enhanced senses therefore has an increased sensitivity to noise and light
Oxygen deprivation – (also called asphyxiation) causes generalised hypoxia and short or long periods of unconsciousness
Parrilla – victim is strapped to metal frame or bench and subjected to electric shocks
Pressure Points – pressure point torture is when specific areas of the body which produce intense pain when manipulated in a particular manner are targeted in order to maximise the suffering of the victim
Reverse Hanging – (also known as Palestinian hanging) a form of torture in which the victim’s hands are tied behind their back and suspended by ropes or chains, resulting in dislocated shoulders
Restraints
Sensory deprivation
Sleep deprivation
Starvation
Stress position – placing the human body in a way that forces the weight to be placed on only one or two muscles and forced to hold for extended periods of time, in this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) was made to hold multiple different stress positions over the course of each day or night as indicated by the severity of the muscle damage
Walling – when the victim’s neck is encircled by a collar or metal band which is then used to slam them against a wall, known as ‘beating by use of collar’

Tony choked on a sob and didn’t even try to hide the tears that were beginning to fall into Peter’s hair.

“Oh my god, oh my god… baby – my – my baby…”

“Ad – Dad?” He tensed as Peter’s groggy voice startled him.

“Pete? How come you’re awake buddy?” The boy shrugged and sniffled, shuffling around so he could look up at his Dad from where he was tucked under his chin.

“Are you – are you reading my file?” He didn’t even know how Peter knew about the file.

“How long have you been up?” He asked worriedly, deliberately skipping over Peter’s question. There was a long pause and for a split-second Tony thought that maybe the teen had gone back to sleep, but he spoke.

“Long enough to see how upset you got when you read that…”

“Pete…” He didn’t know what to say, he was at a loss. He didn’t know what he could say to make this any better, any easier for his kid. He wanted to make the teen understand how much he loved him, how he was going to help him through this, how he was going to make everyone involved pay for how they hurt him, he would wipe away all his pain if he just knew how. The only thing that came out was a shaky breath and a stutter “I – I… oh god, baby.” He turned the boy over and brought his hand to the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together as he tried to contain his tears. Something inside him uncoiled itself a little when Peter’s hands fisted in the front of his shirt and tugged him closer.

“Dad, I don’t – I – this isn’t your fault, you know that, right?” He kept his voice low, comforting and Tony felt horrible about it. He was supposed to be the one looking after Peter right now, rocking him through the nightmares, playing with his hair to keep him asleep, making sure he was okay. It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around, so he pulled himself together as best he could, twisting Peter around so the curve of his back was resting against Tony’s chest and closing the file quietly.

“I won’t lie to you, that was – I – I don’t even understand all of that, so we aren’t going to worry about it right n –”

“Let’s talk about it then.” Peter cut him off abruptly and he spluttered in confusion.

“I – you want to – to talk about the file?” Peter nodded, and his ruffled curls bounced along with his head. “Why? Won’t that be – I don’t – it’s not a good idea buddy…” The boy reached out with his bandaged hand and placed it carefully over where Tony was clutching the closed file.

“I think,” he started slowly, “that it would be good, f – for me to talk about it and you to, um, understand what happened, b – because some of the things on there aren’t as bad as they’re made out…” He turned to look at his Dad, hazel eyes flickering in the dim light of the room. “Do you think – can we do that?” Tony searched his face for anything that might indicate he didn’t want to talk about things yet, but it was open, a little sadder than it was before any of this, but still so trusting.

“I – yeah… if you’re completely sure and just – if you change your mind you gotta promise you’ll tell me you want to stop?”

“Yeah, I promise Dad.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead while Peter moved off his lap, so they could see each other’s faces. He put the papers between them and laid the sheets out on the bed before resting his arm around his child’s small shoulders and letting his head lean against his side. “Um, do you, uh – where do you wanna start?”

“Kiddo, I don’t – I don’t understand any of those unexplained features, but I don’t want to – I’m afraid of hashing this stuff too soon, you haven’t even healed yet buddy…” Peter ploughed forward, desperate to push through everything and appease the voices in his head that whispered he was broken.

“You say what you don’t know, and I’ll talk about it as best I can, I’m okay Dad, it’s okay now I have you.” He fixed a lopsided and not very convincing smile on his face and reached a hand out to squeeze the one draped over his shoulders. Tony sighed and squeezed back, hoping desperately that he was doing the right thing. He lifted a shaky finger to the third point down, ‘Finger-shaped bruises in unusual places such as hips, thighs, lower back and shoulder blades.’

“Baby… did – did they…” he sucked in a choked-off breath and tried to say the words. “D – did they…” Peter caught on quick enough for someone recovering from a major concussion, inhaling his own small breath and shaking his head.

“No. No, nothing like… nothing like that – it was just when they finished a surgery on my front and needed to turn me over on the bench to g – get to my back, they used those places as… handholds, I guess. It wasn’t ever like – like that.” Tony ignored how much he calmed after hearing Peter assure him that the worry scratching deep inside him since reading that sentence was unwarranted.

“Okay, okay, I – I’m sorry it just sounded… I was worried that… I love you so much, I couldn’t deal if they had – I, yeah…” He played with the fabric of Peter’s Med Bay clothing and knew he was speaking more to himself than the teen.

“I know, it wasn’t like that… I love you too Dad.” He leaned up and rubbed his nose and cheek against his Dad’s shoulder, letting his head rest fully against him and tangling his fingers as much as he could through his bandages with the hand holding his. “What else?”

“The gasoline?”

“I’m not certain, but I think I heard them talking about… testing my resistance to f – fire, but when I had such a bad reaction to the, um, the cold, they disregarded it because they weren’t ready for me to… to die yet.” He stumbled over his words and took an incredible pause before he spoke about actually dying, because the thought of it was still difficult to grapple with.

“What was the wound they… carved into your chest and how would it have caused –” he read directly off the page “emotional and psychological damage?” The question dislodged a memory, and while one part of his head screamed for him to answer the direct question before pain, the other part reminisced the same day Ryan had figured out he was Tony Stark’s child. For a moment, Peter’s mind was so filled with the memories of the restrains holding him down, the scalpels and the echoes of his own screams that he found it hard to do anything but fall into his own head.

----

He was strapped to the bench, everything hurt, his whole body was aching and searing with the pain, but he couldn’t care because it was out now, he knew. Ryan Knew he was the son of Tony Stark and Peter couldn’t lie because he had worked it out himself.

He saw the man approaching him, holding an image and pulling over a bench with various sized blades resting atop its surface. He smirked as Peter’s wild and unfocused eyes darted to the photograph he was holding.

‘W – what is that – why do you have that!’ He didn’t understand why Ryan needed that, or how he had an image of it.

‘I fancy myself somewhat of an artist, but I still need reference images if this is going to come out perfect for dear old Mister Stark.’ Ryan spat the name, mocking how the teen had pathetically tried to hide it from him, how he refused to call the man ‘Dad.’ Peter whimpered as he realised what was about to be carved into him, and he hated it because he understood exactly why it was happening.

‘You – you can’t do this, please, please, please don’t…’ He tugged at the restraints, wishing he was strong enough to snap them and run home to his Dad before… that… was etched into him, possibly leaving a permanent scar.

‘You’re just saying that because you know how much this’ll destroy your Daddy to see.’ Ryan leaned in, so his lips were inches away from Peter’s ear, ‘he won’t be able to look you in the face ever again because all he’ll see is a pathetic freak who wasn’t strong enough to escape.’

‘N – no, no, no, he won’t…’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway, because all he’ll see is this carved into his son’s corpse. He’s never gonna see you breathing again.’ Peter’s lips parted as if to argue, but he couldn’t, because he knew how hard it was going to be for his Dad to look at him the same way with that thing on him. Ryan began to mirror the image by burying the various blades and sinking them into already bruised flesh.

He screamed. Peter couldn’t pass out, but he could scream, and he did. He screamed, and he sobbed, and he hiccupped on his tears and he begged. It didn’t stop. The pain, the thing being etched into him wouldn’t stop, and he feared it would never fade away.

----

“Peter? Peter, Pete? C’mon baby, c’mon…” He felt hands on his cheeks, they were warm. The fingers cupping his face were so gentle and so warm and his eyes fluttered closed. He took a deep breath in, ignoring the sight of his own bloodied chest that presented a perfect representation of… of what Ryan knew would hurt the most. Coffee, oil from the workshop, calloused hands, the brush of stubble against his forehead as a soft kiss was pressed into his hairline. “Hey, hey, it’s me. You’re here with me Petey, it’s all okay.” He realised after a moment that the small whine was made by him as his body involuntarily leant into the touch, relishing in the feeling of how safe he was right now, with his Dad curled around him. “Yeah, good boy, come on back to me now. You’re safe, you’re okay now, nobody’s going to do anything to you.” He was starting to come back to himself, he couldn’t feel the bench under him, he couldn’t feel the scalpel buried in his chest anymore. He was with his Dad.

“M’ sorry, I don’t – I can’t… I don’ wanna talk about that…” Peter’s whisper was barely audible, and he flinched involuntarily, expecting a harsh blow for not answering. Instead, he was met with the feeling of arms enveloped in soft fabric wrapping around him lightly and lifting his small body into a lap before burying a hand in his hair and pulling him closer with the other.

“No, baby, no it’s okay, it’s so okay. You did so well, focus on breathing with me, there you go.” His Dad was moving the hand on his back to behind his neck and leaning his head forward, so it rested over his heart. “There you go, listen to my heartbeat, match it to your breaths. Just like that, good job, keep going, it’s all okay.” He focused on the steady rhythm of the beat and he had never felt more loved and more protected than right now. After a few minutes, he had completely calmed, and his monitor beeped in time with his Dad’s chest.

“I’m okay, you can keep going now.” Tony’s head shook slightly from above him.

“No, it’s okay buddy, we’re good for now.” He swirled his fingers in Peter’s hair and scratched his scalp soothingly.

“It’s fine, I wanna keep talking, we can keep going.” Even as he spoke his eyelids felt heavy, but he needed his Dad to understand that it was okay, he wasn’t broken, it wasn’t that bad. The whisper in his head said differently, and so did the nightmares and panic attacks, but they didn’t matter, he was okay, he wasn’t ruined.

“I think that’s enough for now, you did so much, I’m so proud of you Peter. You did good kiddo.” He pressed another kiss to the boy’s forehead and gladly ran his fingers through his soft curls until he was limp from sleep, cheek once again resting lazily on his chest, nose hidden away in the crook of his neck at the pulse point and arms wrapped around his neck, grasping at his Dad’s shirt tightly. He sat there for another hour or so, just running his fingers through the soft hair and hoping to keep the nightmares at bay.

----

“Hey Nat?” Clint lowered his bow as the scan came back clear. He didn’t even need to raise it in the first place, considering the facility had been abandoned after they raided it and took out all the employees.

“What?” Her boots pounded on the tiled floors, and the archer realised she could walk and exude an authoritative ‘tap’ with each step, or she slid around like a shadow without even needing to change shoes.

“What did you end up getting from the leader dude?” She paused at a doorway and turned to flash him a sly smirk as she replied and proceeded to nudge open the door with her gun.

“Everything.” The pair searched through the building and only really found a few rooms that contained anything useful. The lab, which was clearly where the experiments had occurred and gave the two a fleeting feeling of sorrow for the small family. There was the cell, which they spent the least time in for obvious reasons. Walls and ceilings decked out with tech and sprinklers, chains, collars and braces lined the room and when Clint flicked a switch in curiosity the two both clapped fingers over their ears and slammed their eyes shut. “Turn it off!” Natasha yelled over the various noises emitting from the speakers at horrible volumes and pitches. Clint opened his eyes against the lights only to swipe the switch back off and fix his partner with an apologetic glance.

“Uh, yeah that was my bad,” he winced and fiddled with his hearing aids. “Was that as horrible for you as it was for me or is it just the frequencies messing with the tech” he pointed to his ear and quirked an eyebrow.

“Firstly, yes, your fault – stop flipping random switches for the fun of it, and secondly, yeah that was absolute hell.” She thought of the teen’s enhanced senses then, wrinkling her nose at the idea of being locked overnight and having to endure that for three weeks straight. From the look on Clint’s face he was thinking of that too, but the two of them left it unsaid, neither of them were willing to start a conversation based on pity whilst weaving around the sensitive subject of both of their pasts. Security room, holding all the files and tapes of every subject the ‘company’ had ever worked with, all of whom endured the same style of treatment as Peter, except of course the rescue. The footage marked Spider was collected and they marked the rest to be sent off for Fury’s database.

“You telling Stark that you were the specialist who looked at Peter’s file first?” She walked to the file room and did the same, Spidey’s information was salvaged, and the rest were sent off. Natasha nodded slowly after a period of thought.

“I figure it’d be unfair to keep it from him, besides, if he asks questions I can… answer with the kid in mind.” Clint raised his eyebrow again.

“How psycho is the guy in charge of all this exactly?” She looked up from the cabinet she was searching through and shrugged nonchalantly.

“Broke pretty easy and spilt the beans, but he’s one of the smilers, wouldn’t stop getting this sadistic smirk all over his face when he talked about what exactly he did to the poor kid. He actually seemed pretty proud that he managed to figure out he was Tony’s son, said some poetic stuff about being able to ‘shatter the great Stark’ or something along those lines. Typical things, too self-involved to realise how tough the two are.” Clint nodded and fiddled with one of his arrow tips as he watched Natasha collect the last of the information they needed. “Just the suit and the web things now, they’re probably in the storage room that was mentioned on the intubation video. He internally cringed at the memory of hearing that, and the fact that the boy was only sixteen kept creeping into his head. How long until his kids were that age now?

“You think they’re tough, huh?” Nat rolled her eyes and viewed the diagram of the building’s layout once again before leading the way to the storage room.

“You read Peter’s file, no denying he’s tough. Remember when you poked fun at Cap for his ‘oh I’m from Brooklyn kid’ line and laughed for two days? Yeah, that was the Spider kid he was talking too, so, double points to him for not dropping the shipping container on himself because he was too busy laughing at Steve.” She smirked at the memory, if she had the time and had known Tony had a Spider-son back then, she probably would have actually voiced her thoughts on no longer being the only spider on the team.

“What about Tony?”

“He flew a nuke into a hole in the sky and busted his way out of a cave he was held in for three months.” She turned to face Clint and continued to walk backwards with practiced ease. “Face it, everyone on this team is tough in their own way, even you bird-brain, the idiot who won’t stop flicking random switches because they ‘look cool.’”

“They do look cool” he muttered under his breath as Natasha turned on her heel and pushed open the door to the storage room in one fluid movement. A drawer marked ‘Subject: Spider’ contained exactly what they were looking for, along with a few more files and a small plastic container with a single, fired bullet resting inside. Old and dried blood stained one side of the bullet and Clint carried what they had found so far back to the car, calling ahead to say they were on their way back and had what was needed. For no good reason, Natasha was glad they had located the boy’s belongings, his suit, mask, web shooter things and bag could all be easily replaced by his Father, but she figured he would be happier to have his things back. Perhaps she could foresee the feeling after recovering the things from a horrible experience made a person feel like they had beaten their tormentor.

----

“Hey Tony, come up and get some more food and say hey to Clint and Nat, I’ll watch Peter.” He turned his head and watched the teen’s bandaged chest rise and fall as he slept. Rhodey watched the heart monitor dance normally, proving the healthy rate at which the kid’s heart was beating. “They said they found some of his things, so you should get those from them too.” He bent his eyebrows in concern, “is – is everything good? Did you talk about the file…” Tony shifted and slipped out from under Peter, making sure he was laid carefully and comfortably in the bed before straightening out.

“I’m fine, yeah we talked a little bit, but things are still fresh… there’s something I want to know that he didn’t want to talk about, so I think I’ll ask the doctors.” He turned back to Peter and brushed his hair back from his forehead and pressed a kiss there. “Thanks for staying, I’ll go quick, but can you call me if he wakes up or looks in pain or… I don’t know if he does anything really.” Rhodey laughed lightly at the request but nodded regardless.

“Tell them I say hi,” he says as Tony quietly shuts the door to the room.

Clint was drinking coffee straight from the jug again and Nat was leaning against the counter and watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. She unfolds her legs and walks towards him as he enters the kitchen.

“Eat this, Cap made it.” She pushes a plate of some sort of sweet pie into his hand and he assumes it’s apple.

“I helped make it” Clint calls before tipping back more coffee.

“You helped eat the raw batter” Natasha calls back with a fond eye roll, if there was such a thing.

“Thanks, Rhodey said you found some things when you went back there?” She nods and points to the counter where Peter’s bag lies. “Did the suit I sent before you do the heat signature and layout okay?” She nods again and smiles in thanks, appreciating the man’s help despite the very trained pair not necessarily needing it.

“How much time do you have?” She asks evenly, watching Tony reach a hand out for the bag and brush the strap before putting down his half-eaten pie in favour of picking it up gently.

“If you come down to the room with me we can talk until he wakes up again.” She nods and warns Clint to re-fill the machine when he’s finished. “Rhodey says hi to both of you” he says before they’re in the elevator. “What’s up?” He asks, curious but slightly worried that they found something bad at the building.

“Did you read the file?” She doesn’t make eye contact and Tony’s glad, it something about her that he’s always been thankful for. Eye contact was another one of his OCD tendencies, but it had more to do with avoiding personal involvement where he could. The only times he really made a specific effort to make eye contact were during important meetings when Pepper was breathing down his neck, in arguments and with Peter. Peter was an exception to pretty much all of his avoidance of intimacy with other people, and it would always be that way.

“I read the file” he replies, not bothering to mask the hardness in his tone when he thinks of all the things that he didn’t know had happened to his son that were very well laid out on those pieces of paper.

“I figured you’d want to know that I’m the specialist who used the injuries to compile the list on the last pages.” She carefully avoided saying the words ‘Likely Methods of Torture Based on Sustained Injuries’ because she knew exactly what was on that file, obviously, and that kid had been through a lot.

“Thank fuck, did you – do you know what the, uh, thing that was on his chest was?” She didn’t except that reaction from him, but like always her face stayed a mask of calm and knowing.

“Yes.” He looked at her then, waiting for an explanation. “I don’t think it’s really my place to tell you, you should talk to Peter, he might not want to ye –”

“I did, he had an anxiety attack and I’m not talking to him about it, but he was mumbling about… things and he thinks, shit…” He rubbed his face with his hand and bit the side of his cheek. “He was mumbling stuff about me never looking at him the same? I don’t – it – I’d never do that, I can’t explain to him that I won’t, but I need to – it’s… I need to know.” She turned to face him and fixed a very serious look at him, forcing the eye contact.

“What was carved into him wasn’t done to hurt him, it was to hurt you, that’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it and that’s why he thinks you’ll be upset.” She softened her facial expression and said plainly, “he’s trying to protect you, and I can see why Tony.” He stared right back, a frown on his face as he thought.

“I need to know, Nat, please. It’s not healthy for him to do that, he cannot bottle stuff up like me it’s too… he just can’t.” She looked at him a moment longer before turning and fixing her gaze ahead again.

“You think this is his own Afghanistan, if he bottles it up and keeps things from you.” His face pinched at the memory, but he nodded. “That’s going to make telling you hurt more, that comparison.”

“Please just tell me, I don’t think it could hurt anymore than the rest of the shit I had to watch.” She stayed silent, “I listened to people shove a fucking tube down his throat and heard him saying goodbye because he genuinely believed he was never going to see me again.” The elevator opened and neither of them moved, F.R.I.D.A.Y closed the doors and kept them on the same floor. “Please.” She pressed a button and the doors opened, she ushered him to get out before answering.

“Go see your son.” She paused and for a moment Tony didn’t think she was going to say anything more, but of course she caught him off guard. “They carved an Arc Reactor into his chest, replica of your mark one, in the same place. I’m sorry.” She spoke all in one tone, to someone who didn’t know her the apology would have sounded clipped and fake, sarcastic even, but he did know her, and she meant it. The doors closed, and he walked down the hall and into Peter’s room.

“Tones, you alright?” He mouthed a ‘yeah,’ but his voice cracked, and it didn’t make a noise but Rhodey understood. “Okay, call if you need, I’ll leave you to it.” He left the room and Tony crawled into the bed, lifting Peter into his lap softly and resuming his hands to their positions, one fluffing through his hair and the other wrapping around him as gently as possible. After a moment he needed more, so the hand wrapped around him slid to his neck and Tony placed two fingers over Peter’s pulse.

He thought of Afghanistan.

The fire, the bombs, the dust underneath him and the noise of something metal and heavy landing right beside him with his name plastered over it.

The cloth beneath him, the blood, his own screams, the hands of people he didn’t know and the blare of lights he couldn’t focus on. The tapping of metal instruments, something metal and bulky being pressed into him, the pain that covered his chest and flared across every inch of him before something scratchy was pressed over his mouth and everything faded.

The hard bed he laid on, the sight of his breath in the chilled air, the musty and metallic smell of the room, the plastic irritating his nose, his shaking, numb fingers and heavier chest.

The water, the hands ripping and shoving his head under, the yelling, the threats, the lack of air in his lungs, the gasping breaths he takes and the feeling of water cascading from his nose, down his face, dripping from his hair.

The fucking car battery attached to him.

Everything he went through and Peter was following in his footsteps. From the surgery, the tube, the cold, the drowning, even down to the fucking burlap sack they covered his head with as he was forced forward on shaky legs.

‘I just wanted to be like you…’

Peter, his son, his child, his world. He couldn’t protect him, he went through something so horrible in Afghanistan and yet he couldn’t stop the exact same thing from happening to the person he loved. Peter had gone through more. He spent three months and Peter spent three weeks, but he had it so much worse. Peter endured so much more and yet he still looked up at him with his soft, hazel eyes and stared with a gaze filled with such love, such trust, such innocence.

‘I wanted you to be better…’

He got one surgery and was awake for part of it, Peter got daily surgeries and was awake for all of them. He got a cold cave and was given gloves and a jacket, Peter got a freezing cell that sent him into hypothermia while he was shirtless and chained. He got to wake up with a tube already, which he pulled out slowly, himself, Peter was awake when a large, black tube was shoved down his throat brutally by faceless doctors and ripped back out, coated in his blood, by guards. He got one session of drowning where he was pulled up for air long before he passed out, Peter got two sessions and was held under until he was unconscious before being woken with a cattle prod. He got to fight his own way out of a strange place and get revenge on who took him, Peter got to wait for someone who promised to save him in a place teasingly close to home and was hanging onto life when he was finally rescued.

He didn’t know how long he sat with Peter, thinking about things. It could have been hours, he didn’t know. He thought about the rescue and tried to remember what Peter’s chest had looked like, it was smeared with old, dried and fresh blood which must have covered the wound. Tony was slightly glad he hadn’t been able to see what was carved into his son when he saw him for the first time in three weeks. Not because he didn’t care, but because he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from flying back to where Natasha was dealing with Ryan and snapping the man’s neck.

Peter shifted in his lap and made a small sound in his sleep that sounded like he was beginning to wake. Tony twirled the curls around his fingers more and the boy nuzzled closer to the soft touch, mewling and twisting his fingers so they gripped his Dad’s shirt. God, Tony loved those curls so much and he wished the kid appreciated them for what they were instead of pressing them down and straightening them out each morning before school. By the time he got home the edges had furled and the general shape of his hair was a curved wave anyway, so it didn’t matter much. Anytime he took his mask off, got wet or sweaty, too hot or it grew out the strands would flourish back to its natural state. When he was younger and played outside in the rain he would come back inside, dripping water, flushed cheeks from the excitement and waves of dark hair. Peter mumbled something unintelligible and tucked himself closer to his Dad, a few more minutes went by and then his eyes were fluttering open.

“Hey buddy” Tony murmured softly, moving his fingers from the pulse point to cup the teen’s cheek gently. Peter’s eyes flickered up to meet his and at first there was a tinge of confusion and fear as he woke not knowing where he was, but then when his gaze set of his Dad and he felt the warm embrace he was in, the timidity melted from his face. Pure trust and love remained on his face when his twinkling, hazel eyes stared back.

“Mm… hi Dad” he whispered lightly, furrowing himself closer into his Father’s chest.

“How about we get some food into you and then have a talk, that sound alright?” Honestly, Peter still didn’t have much of an appetite, but he knew he needed to eat if he wanted his accelerated healing to kick in properly again. He nodded meagrely and tucked his head down as Tony reached over and pressed the call button. “How’d you sleep?” Peter shrugged and rested his forehead down on the mechanic’s collarbone. “Not feeling very talkative?” He asked as he ran his fingers over the boy’s scalp and played with his hair.

“M’ just glad you’re here,” Peter mumbled quietly.

“Me too baby, me too.” Helen came in, once again without her usual white coat and nametag, Tony was glad she had picked up on how uneasy that made Peter feel.

“Morning Peter, I’m just checking your vitals and giving you a smaller dosage of the meds, are you feeling much pain since you’ve woken up?” He shuffled and then winced, making his Dad’s face pinch sympathetically with worry.

“Uhm, y – yeah, a bit.” Helen nodded and injected a small amount of something into his I.V carefully before jotting something down on the papers at the end of his bed. Peter’s fingers tightened, and his body tensed when he heard the all too familiar sound of something being scribbled down. He didn’t relax until Cho had left the room with the promise of food and then he was shoving his face deeper into the crook of Tony’s neck and stammering wistful apologies into the pulse point.

“Hey, no, sweetie it’s okay, there isn’t anything to be sorry for. You’re alright, you did good.” He looked up from where he had pressed his lips into the boy’s hair to see one of the other doctors placing a tray of food onto the small table next to the bed. He nodded a thanks and was glad when the man left without another word. “Let’s get some food into you, huh?” He delicately moved Peter from his lap and reached out for the tray, pulling it up to the bed and setting it between the two of them. “Breakfast in bed, pretty spoilt, aren’t you?” He crooned with a smirk on his face, which quickly broke into an affectionate smile as Peter rolled his eyes in reply.

“I’m not sure if I can… eat all that. I mean it – it’s a lot of food.” Tony eyed the tray, it had a bowl of salad, a plain bread roll with a small tub of butter, an apple, a plastic cup with water and another with orange juice, a plate of beans, potatoes and three small sandwiches. The quantities were mediocre, but he knew that with his enhanced metabolism Peter would normally scarf down the equivalent of three meals in one. The teen must have picked up on his Dad’s concerned face because he reached out and held on to the cuff of his sleeve, so their fingers brushed together. “It’s just… a lot more than I’m used to.” He looked up apologetically and Tony was quick to wipe the worried expression from his face.

“That’s okay buddy, just eat as much as you can and we’ll work up from there next time,” he smiled and wrapped an arm around Peter’s less injured side and pulled him closer as he began to tentatively pick at the potatoes and beans. There was a knock at the door and through the glass the two could tell it was just Rhodey. Tony looked down for permission to let him in and when he received a light smile and nod he gladly motioned for him to come in.

“Hey Tones, hi Pete, how you feeling?” He sat in the chair to the side of the bed but didn’t shuffle it forward any closer.

“M’ a lot better, thanks… uh, th – thank you for coming and getting me…” He looked down at his plate and pushed some of the unfinished beans around with his plastic fork. Tony pressed his lips together sadly, wanting his kid to know that he didn’t have to thank everyone.

“Any time kiddo,” Rhodey said casually, easily skipping over the fact that Peter didn’t need to thank him in order to pull the conversation away from his rescue. “I got some good news, once you’ve eaten the doc – uh, Helen said your vitals were looking really good and when she changed the bandages everything was on track. She said that after you’ve been slowly taken off the meds and IV you can look at having a proper shower and even a small walk around the compound, if you were up to it.” The mechanic grinned happily and looked to Peter for his reaction. He had a small smile on his face and was staring up at him with large, doe eyes.

“When you get your portion sizes back to normal the super-healing you’ve got going on will probably speed the whole process up.” His heart jumped excitedly at seeing the twinkle in his son’s eyes once again.

“Does that mean I can get discharged from the Med Bay?” The warmth and excitement in his soft voice relaxed Tony slightly, but he still glanced down at the bandages that swaddled majority of the teen’s small form and sighed quietly.

“That’ll be a little bit further down the track, not too far away though. We’ll focus on the eating and sleeping then I’ll be more inclined to let you run rampant again.” He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to the boy’s forehead, gesturing for him to eat some of the sandwiches and water. He furrowed his brow when Peter only managed to finish half of one but collected himself when he actually drank all the water. He turned to Rhodey thankfully and asked quickly, “how long did she say it’ll take to wean him off the pain meds and IV?”

“I think a day or two, but he’ll still have to take some pills for about a week or until the healing kicks in.” Tony nodded thoughtfully and shot him an appreciative smile as he slipped out of the room again. He turned when he felt a light tug at his sleeve.

“What’s up baby?” He wiggled closer into Peter’s side and began to play with his hair again.

“M’ feeling full already…” his voice wavered, and he spoke faintly with an apologetic look on his face. He had finished the water and taken at most half of one sandwich, a few forkfuls of potatoes and beans while the rest of the plate was untouched.

“Have a bit of the roll and a little bit of juice and you can nibble at the rest later once it’s settled, that sound okay?” He hooked a finger further inside his Dad’s sleeve but took a small sip of the orange juice in reply. “Good boy, are the pain meds kicking in yet?” He affectionately stroked at the unruly mop of curls and hummed softly.

“Yeah, not as much pain anymore.” He broke off a chunk of the roll and chewed at it for a while, leaning against Tony’s side tiredly as he did so. “Thanks for understanding Dad,” he swallowed and reached an arm around his neck and pushed his cheek into his chest, “M’ finished.”

“Okay, good job baby” he put the tray aside, on the table and out of the way. “Can we talk if you’re up to it?” He felt a tentative nod from below him and ruffled the kid’s hair before sitting him up carefully. “I need you to know something buddy,” he reached his arms out and rested them on Peter’s shoulders. “You gotta know that this here,” he pointed at the thick gauze wrapped around the boy’s chest, “this doesn’t change anything.”

“Hm?” He quirked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “What do you mean?” Tony took a breath and ploughed forward, hoping he didn’t trigger any bad memories from either of the two’s plagued pasts.

“I mean, I talked to the specialist who did your report, turns out it was Nat –”

“Like… Black Widow Nat – Natasha? With the cool taser disks?” He huffed a laugh and shook his head in disbelief of how adorable Peter was. Even in the face of trauma he was more concerned with his awe for the team and their various weapons and suit advancements.

“Yeah, the ones I based your taser webs on.” His face brightened, and he reached up to grab hold of the hands that still rested on his shoulders.

“That’s – Dad, that’s so awesome,” for a moment his smile was pure, but then it fell slightly, and he dropped his hands to his lap and bowed his head to fiddle with them. “Does – does that mean she told you about…” He trailed off and flicked his eyes down to his chest as the rest of his smile faded away sadly.

“That’s what I want you to know about,” Tony was quick to move a hand from Peter’s shoulder to cup his chin and cheek comfortingly, pulling his gaze back up. “You have to understand that, baby, this doesn’t change anything in the slightest, okay? I still love you and I still think you’re amazing and the bravest kid out there. Peter, you were so brave for me, I understand why…” He tried to think of a way to avoid Ryan’s name. “I understand why they did that and you obviously do too because you’re trying to protect me from it.” The shoulder under his hand shrugged in response and the sadness in his gaze flickered temporarily. “See what I mean about the self-sacrificing? You’re in the Med Bay on pain meds and yet you still devote yourself to protecting me. You are selfless, and I can’t emphasize that enough, I love you so much Petey.” He pulled the child into a tight embrace and leant the side of his head near his lips, so he could keep talking through the hug. “I don’t care it’s an arc reactor, and I won’t care if it scars. All I care about is you and how amazing you are, okay?”

“O – okay… m’ sorry still. I – I tried to get away but the restraints and I just – I just couldn’t tell you because… it was supposed to make you upset and it’s just like Afghanistan and I can’t – I couldn’t tell you, I was afraid that you’d… I was scared you wouldn’t be able to look at me without thinking about what happened with the bomb and your reactor… I just – I’m just sorry.” He sniffled and hiccupped on his words. Nonetheless he pulled closer to his Dad and sobbed quietly into his shoulder, dampening his shit and continuing to apologise profusely as Tony murmured praises into his hair and told him that it was all okay, he was okay, he was home.

The two stayed curled up in the Med Bay bed for the next two days. They spent most of the time with Peter sleeping, his face pressed in Tony’s neck while he talked quietly with doctors or Rhodey, and once or twice Steve, drinking coffee. The rest of the time was spent with Peter eating as much food as he could and getting his bandages changed, the amount of cloth needed gradually decreased as his healing slowly helped the smallest wounds begin to fade enough to not require bandaging.

Nat spent majority of the time away from the compound, where the guards, doctors and Ryan were being held. Rhodey worked on the legality of everything and so did Pepper, but she was hidden away behind the scenes. Sam and Clint kept themselves busy, mostly training and fiddling around in one of the labs Tony gave them temporary access to. Steve cooked for everyone and drew a lot more, checking in on Tony and Peter more frequently than he would have thought. He expected to feel more awkward around the mechanic, especially when his time was fully occupied with a sleeping teen, but they had actually found a good system of comfortable silence. Steve only visited the room when he knew Peter was asleep because Tony had made it known to everyone that the kid wanted to meet them as Peter Stark, when he was up and moving on his own. They respected that, of course, but that didn’t mean anyone’s curiosity about the boy lessened, they just wondered from afar until they could properly meet him.

Once again, Tony was hugging Peter close to his chest and carding his fingers through his hair while his other hand rested on the boy’s pulse. Both of their eyes were open, but while Tony’s gaze was just filled with caffeine supressed tiredness, Peter’s were still clouded with slowly fading bruises that covered his skin and hid the dark circles. They picked their heads up when Helen entered the room.

“Hello, I thought it would be nice to let you know that your wounds have improved enough for you to leave the room, walk around a bit and shower normally.” Tony smiled proudly down at his son and whispered something about ‘washing that wild bedhead you got going on’ with humour heavy I his tone. After Cho had left he helped Peter up from the bed and waited a moment to make sure he was steady on his feet.

“You want to have a shower now, or later?”

“Now,” he answered firmly, taking a wobbly step toward the door before his Dad placed a steadying hand on his back and shoulder, letting him grip his arm while he guided the teen to the bathroom.

“I’m gonna come in and make sure you’re okay but I need to get you some normal clothes first, any preference?” He gently sat him down on the toilet with the seat down, so he could wait comfortably.

“Uh, long sleeves or just anything warm, its – its just kinda cold.” He played with the hem of his sleeve and rubbed at his nose, which was a shade of pink from the cold.

“I’ll turn the temperature up then,” he assured, rubbing a hand up and down the boy’s arms in hopes of warming him up.

“No, its not that its too cold, it – its just… I’m cold, I think cus of the, uh, lack of temperature regulation, you know the whole spidey deal.” Tony smiled and kissed his forehead gently, running a thumb across his cheek and promising to be back shortly. “Thanks Dad.”

Of course, being a Stark, the curiosity and boredom got the better of him before a minute had even passed. He looked around the room and realised he had only used this particular bathroom once before, after he had been dragged to the Med Bay with a poorly healed broken ankle that still nursed a bullet wound. When he couldn’t hear his Dad’s footsteps any longer he stood from the toilet and walked shakily to the vanity on the opposite wall. Taken aback by the reflection in the mirror he was met with, Peter stumbled slightly but managed to catch himself by gripping the corners of the sink.

He stared back at himself, his eyes raked over his head, face and neck while he hurriedly peeled off the Med Bay shirt he wore. His gaze flickered down further to his chest, torso, arms and shoulders before the length of the mirror cut him off. Since the morning he was taken Peter hadn’t seen himself in the mirror, the most he had seen of himself was when he was strapped to the table and caught glances of his blurred face in the steadily growing pools of his own blood that rested on the metal surface. He wasn’t an overly vain person, he only looked in mirrors when he needed to brush his teeth or do his hair and various other things along the same lines, but on good days he could appreciate that he wasn’t hideous. Staring at his reflection now, it was hard to do.

His face was sunken in, cheekbones and jawline angled too much and unhealthily defined ribs and collarbone. The parts of his skin which weren’t mottled with harsh bruising shone a pale white that he had only seen when he had been carsick as a child. His lips were split in two places and a small amount of dried blood was visible through the cracked skin. Where the bandages weren’t covering the worst of the wounds, he could see the shallowest of the cuts and lacerations that decorated most of the entirety of his torso and, assumingly, his back too. When he lifted his hand to brush away a lock of hair he was disappointingly surprised to see the sharp, deep bruise that encircled his small wrist, and lifting his other hand up he was upset to see the same wound marking the flesh. He lifted his chin and choked on a silent sob when he saw his neck, which was adorned with an even thicker and pronounced contusion. The wound was so dark it was practically black and lining it were a large number of small gashes that he guessed were from all of the collars and neck restrains that had been secured there.

Peter desperately tried to look on the positive of things, like the fact that his previously broken nose wasn’t bent at an odd or noticeable angle, but the thought that this is how he looked after days of treatment and rest made him think how horrible he had looked when his Dad found him. Tears slipped from his eyes and slid down his cheeks, he tried not to think about how familiar that sensation was to him now. Tearing himself away from the mirror wasn’t an option when his gaze was so transfixed on the sheer severity and amount of all the wounds that tarnished him, he hated how it looked and he knew why it upset him so much. Because he understood how his small, skinny, bruised, beaten form looked, and it looked broken. He was so focused on his broken reflection that he didn’t see or hear over the sound of his sniffing and sobbing, as Tony stepped back into the room.

He rested the pile of clothes he had on the floor and turned to see Peter, looking at himself in the mirror and crying quietly, teardrops running down his face and falling into the sink.

“Oh baby…” he said soft-heartedly and moved to stand beside his child at the sink. “Petey, hey, what’s wrong baby?” The boy turned and looked up at him with mounds of sorrow and torment glittering in his watery eyes.

“I – I – I look like… that…” he sniffled and tripped over his words before he was pulled into a tight hug, his face pushed into his Dad’s chest and turned away from the mirror. “I – I didn’t know th – that’s what I looked like… he – he – they made me look like that.” He was fully crying now, whimpering and heaving on unsteady breaths, his fingers twisting desperately at the fabric of Tony’s shirt. A hand ran up his back and neck, tangling in his hair and rubbing small circles while he was hushed softly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay. You look so much healthier already baby –”

“N – no! That’s exactly it…” He pulled back from the embrace slightly, enough to tilt his head back and look into his Dad’s eyes as he spoke. “Th – that’s what’s so h – horrible. If I look this grotesque now, wh – what… h – how bad did I look when you f – found me?”

“Pete, kiddo, you are not grotesque and–”

“No Dad, I – I wanna know… I n – need to know.” Peter demanded, making Tony sigh and step away to sit with his back against the wall, rubbing his face with his hands firmly. His glistening eyes seemed to beg for an answer and his chest still rose and fell rapidly with uneven, choked-off breaths.

“Shit, I – Jesus Pete, your – you looked fucking dead.” The boy clutched his bare torso and gripped the sides of his arms as if to comfort himself. “God, you were so – you were so pale and skinny and – and absolutely covered in blood… I –” he cut himself off and bit his trembling lip, reaching up with a shaky hand to wipe away a tear of his own. “I – I thought I was too late…” he whispered the words so quietly that they were almost inaudible. Peter sniffled loudly in the silence of the room that followed the sombre confession. Tony stood abruptly, crossing the space and enveloping Peter in such an intense embrace that they both had to sink to the floor. The boy’s knees wobbled as he lowered, and his fingers scrabbled at his Dad’s shirt, franticly locking around his neck so he could easily shove his face into his neck and muffle his cries. “Baby I thought I lost you, th – then you were in my arms but you started to cough and there was more b – blood coming up and you could’ve been internally bleeding and everything was so touch and go I – I didn’t know if you were gonna make it… fuck, I was – I was so terrified of loosing you.” He leant them both back until his back rested against the opposite wall and he could cradle Peter in his lap like in the Med Bay bed. “I didn’t leave your side for so long and after the surgery they still weren’t completely sure if you had brain damage… I – I couldn’t – I was scared shitless baby.” He stopped rambling, instead littering Peter’s head with kisses and pushing their foreheads together with closed eyes.

“Dad… Dad I couldn’t – I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stay awake a – and everything h – hurt so, so much. I just wanted you, but I couldn’t scream because h – he put a gag in my mouth and I tried so hard not to pass out but… I just c – couldn’t and I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Tony tensed at the mention of the gag and he instinctively pulled Peter closer and curled around his small figure protectively. The sight of the bloody and tear-soaked piece of cloth on the ground next to Steve’s feet helped him remember how furious he had been when he saw the man leering above his child on the metal table.

“No, no, no don’t apologise, you did so well Petey, you were so brave for me. I’m sorry, I – I should’ve gone straight to you, but I didn’t, I flew right past because I lost my temper. I didn’t hear you calling and I messed up, you were all alone and I shouldn’t have left you there while I took my anger out on – on him.” He slowly started rocking and soon enough he felt the small hands around his neck pulling him closer. “I love you baby, I love you so, so much you don’t understand.” Peter sniffled the last of his tears away and drooped his neck, so his head fully rested on the junction of his Dad’s shoulder.

“I love you too” he replied, his voice cracking from the tears. They stayed on the bathroom floor for a few more minutes until Peter heard footsteps approaching and he stiffened up.

“Tony? Peter? Everything okay, Rhodey said you were probably coming out soon?” His ears had healed enough that his hearing was almost back to normal, so he could tell when Steve pushed open the door to the Med Bay and he heard when he began to move further down the hall.

“Just Steve, you can relax kiddo,” he felt his Dad rubbing circles over his shoulder blades and he sunk into the touch, sighing contentedly.

“Tony?” Steve stood in the doorway and when he saw the two cuddled up on the floor of the bathroom his mind reeled for a brief moment, worrying one of them had slipped and hurt themselves. Once he worked out they were both fine, if not a little shaken up, he stepped hesitantly into the room and crouched down to eyes level, keeping his distance from Peter for fear of putting him on edge. “You guys alright in here?” The mechanic nodded and turned so both himself and the teen he held in his arms were facing him. “I just got worried because nobody had heard from you in a while and Rhodey mentioned you were given the all clear to walk around and get cleaned up a bit.”

“We’re good Cap, thanks for checking up on us though.” He shot the worried soldier a grateful smile and Peter lifted his face from his Dad’s chest before his lips curled into a very timid smile.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he moved to the doorway again and rested a hand on the handle, pausing briefly. “When you’ve showered you can always come up to the kitchen and meet the team, I’m making lunch for everyone.” He looked at Peter with a face that implied he didn’t expect an answer, it was merely a suggestion, and even that slight thoughtfulness to avoid direct questions made Tony make a mental note to thank the man later.

“Th – thanks, I think I’ll do that,” Peter said after a moment’s consideration. When Steve moved to close the door and leave the room the teen gave a shy wave goodbye. The small wave absolutely melted Tony’s heart at how precious the kid was and judging by the look on the Captain’s face he felt the same way. He returned the gesture and said a brief goodbye to the two Stark’s before pulling the door shut. Peter turned back to his Dad before he could speak, “so, are you two… good now?”

“Uh, y – yeah we’re on the track to getting the team back and they’ve decided to stay at the Tower for a little bit…” Peter nodded and then scrunched his nose in thought, prompting Tony to peck a quick kiss to his forehead.

“What about the Accords? Are we just gonna… hide them here for now?”

“Ah Pete, always the logical thinker, aren’t you? No, I’ve actually decided to scrap the Accords so once you’re feeling better I’m going to talk to Ross and the United Nations panel to get them disregarded.”

“That’s good,” he said tiredly, sinking further into the hug and nuzzling his forehead and nose closer.

“Let’s get these bandages off you now so you can shower and get into warmer clothes, that sound alright?” He felt the small nod against his chest and let his lips curl into a smile as he lifted Peter up and helped him to his feet. “I’m gonna walk you over to the sink and sit you up on the counter so I can start to take off the bandages.” He guided the teen and scooped up his still too-light form, positioning him comfortably next to the basin and brushing his knuckles gently along his cheek. “Not feeling too lightheaded or dizzy?” He asked as he pulled the bin closer.

“No, just… glad you’re here” he perked his head up and smiled widely at his Dad. “Also, uh, that was – that was Captain America and he totally just invited me to lunch with the Avengers… so that’s pretty cool too.” He shrugged and fixed a lopsided grin on his face, downplaying how exited he probably was at the prospect. “Um… you – you’ll come up too right? A – and have lunch with us?”

“Yeah, of course kiddo. I’m staying next to you for the foreseeable future, so you better get used to me really quick.” He returned the smile and leaned in to give the boy another kiss on the forehead, but Peter lifted his arms and looped them around his neck, pulling him in close,

“M’ glad, I don’t wanna be alone for a while,” he mumbled from where his lips were resting against his Dad’s collarbone. He dropped his hold and leant down to start unrolling the gauze from his legs, but Tony caught his hand.

“Hey, I’ll do that, it’s okay. You need to relax a bit buddy.” He stroked a hand idly through the teen’s curls and let him melt into the loving touch before loosely beginning to unfurl the gauze from his ankles. “Just let me know if it hurts at all,” he received a happy hum in response and ran a thumb over his less injured knee while continuing to collect the old bandages. He threw them in the bin to the side of the sink and wondered if he should comment on how the bruises and cuts from where he had been restrained were beginning to clear up. After finishing the second ankle he decided against it, the bruising was still relatively deep, and he didn’t want Peter worrying about how much darker they had looked when he was found. “Just gonna do the knee and hip now.” After noticing how often the boy cowered away from movement, he made extra sure Peter was aware of all the movements he was making before anything else, trying to save him some fright. Seeing how jumpy and tense he always was worried him, but he tried to assure himself the constant flinches and wide eyes would only fade away with time.

When he got the nod of approval he moved up and began to very carefully unwrap his knee, going slower the closer to the skin he got, wary of the way his bone had previously been exposed. When the cloth finally pulled away he was glad to see that the bone wasn’t visible, just slightly raw, pink skin that had healed over. Regardless, it still looked painful and the skin surrounding it was tinged with other bruising. “It – it’s looking a lot better Pete; the food must be helping. You’ve been really good with eating more each day, I’m proud.” He reached out for the small hand and gripped it firm enough not to hurt but ran the pad of his thumb over the back of his wrist and smiled.

“Thanks Dad, for staying with me and – and having good hospital food, not the crappy stuff.” He smiled back humorously and squeezed his Dad’s hand as he blew out a breathy chuckle and ruffled the teen’s hair.

“Yeah, yeah, real funny kiddo. Can you stretch your legs out, so I can reach your hip?” Peter answered by extending his legs slightly and Tony was quick to oblige and start pulling the gauze away with caution. The hip was still deep, but the same new skin was layered overtop the old wound and he was confident it wasn’t going to start bleeding again unless it was torn open, which he wouldn’t let happen. “I’ll do your shoulder and leave the chest for last, just remember it won’t change anything about how I see you… you’re still the bravest kid I know,” he promised and stood fully to reach the shoulder bandaging, letting Peter lean against his chest while he did so.

“I know, I just – I don’t want to give… him, the satisfaction of – of… bringing your memories back.” He pulled back from where he had leant his forehead on Tony’s chest and looked at him with sadness clouding his gaze. “It’s stupid and I hate that he… put that on my chest, I just – it just makes the whole thing worse because it wasn’t just to hurt me, he did it to hurt you. I feel like I got you involved in it and I just feel like shit about everything… m’ sorry.”

Tony paused from where he was throwing the shoulder bandages into the bin and arched his back to lean down at eye level with Peter. He tilted the boy’s chin up with a guiding finger then moved to cup both of his cheeks softly and peer right back into his shining eyes.

“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for, he didn’t pull me into this with that,” he gestured to Peter’s chest. “He pulled me into this as soon as he laid a finger on you, okay? You mean everything to me and I would do anything to protect you from things like this.” He laid a steady but light hand on the edge of the gauze wrapped around Peter’s chest and slowly began to detach it. “Whatever this looks like, however bad it is, whether it scars or not, it doesn’t change anything, and I’ll never stop loving you.” He continued to murmur reassuring promises into the boy’s hair and stilled just before the last of the cloth fell away. “I love you baby, this won’t change how I see you, I swear.” He looked into Peter’s eyes and he returned the look, reaching a hand up and pulling away the remainder of the gauze himself, letting it fall away from his chest but keeping his gaze locked ahead.

“If it… if it reminds you of Afghanistan too much then p – please just look away and I’ll cover it…” Tony shifted and looked down, keeping one hand on Peter’s cheek for reassurance as he looked at the wound. Even if he hadn’t known what it was supposed to be before, it was quite obviously a mirror drawing of his first reactor, mark one, the same one he built in the cave to replace the car battery they attached to him. The skin resembled the wounds on Peter’s knee, hip and shoulder, they were fresh, raw and tinged pink as if the skin had only just grown in. Some of the lesser lines that had been carved were already starting to turn silver and white, only slightly raised from the rest of his flesh. When the wound was new, it must have been agonisingly deep and carved with multiple tools because the gashes were all different sizes. Fuck, someone dedicated considerable time and effort into making this the most realistic they could, it was sickening how accurate and similar it was to the mark one. Tony didn’t even know how they had gotten a good reference of his first arc reactor because he replaced it almost as soon as he was home and had access to his lab and proper tools, he didn’t even like to take off his shirt and show it off. The hardest part of seeing that etched into his son wasn’t how many memories of Afghanistan it forced to the surface, it was the fact that he knew it had been dug into Peter specifically to hurt him, not the innocent boy, but his Father. He reached out a shaky hand and rested it beside the laceration, running a finger along the shallowest of the cuts which were almost fully healed already. “Dad? Can you… say something? Please…” He forced his eyes up into Peter’s and was surprised to see the teen and the room around him was blurred by water. He blinked and felt something wet trailing down his cheek. “Dad, Dad please just turn around, I – I’m gonna cover it, please st – stop looking, it – it’s making you upset, ple –”

“No! No Pete, it… it’s not – it isn’t making me upset because of what it means or the memories… it’s just…” He looked down on instinct, to avert eye contact as his composure wavered, but he didn’t think far ahead enough to realise that looking down meant staring at Peter’s chest. He sucked in a shaky breath and tried again, “it’s just, I feel… responsible for it. I mean, they wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t to hurt me an – and it’s just a repeat of all the times you’ve been hurt because of me. Baby, I – I can’t forgive myself for putting you in danger anymore, you – you could’ve died…” Peter’s face immediately softened but the sad expression lodged in his eyes and surrounding the small concerned crinkles in his brow didn’t ease up.

“Dad…” He reached out with grabby hands and fisted them in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer and burying his face in the crook of his neck, but being careful to keep his still unhealed chest from the embrace. “Dad, Dad no, no, please d – don’t do that, it isn’t your fault, it isn’t, I swear. He would’ve done something else, something worse – I – I don’t know, and I don’t care, I just… please, please don’t blame yourself.” He looked up and when he did Tony could see the tears forming, “If – if it makes you feel better, when I was a – alone that night, trying not to think about how much everything h – hurt, it made it easier… knowing I was being strong f – for you and not j – just me…”

“Yeah baby, that – that’s good but, I just – it’s hard to not think about everything that’s happened to you because of me… your whole life is just – it’s always because of me.” Peter tugged incisively at his shirt until Tony looked to him.

“Dad, you’re forgetting how often you’ve saved my life too. You’re looking at the bad stuff, not focusing on the good things you’ve done for me.” He hated it when his son was so painfully right, he had a pretty good balance going of saving the kid’s life, but that was only really because of how reckless he was when it came to Spidering around the city. “Don’t you understand how much you’re there for me? How much you help me? You say I mean everything to you, but you always overlook how much you mean to me.” His tears hadn’t fallen, and Tony was glad, because it would have triggered his guilt complex and thrusted it into cycle. “Dad, please… please stop blaming yourself, for me?” Peter moved his face closer and looked up at him through thick, dark lashes, hazel eyes gleaming in the light of the bathroom.

“God Petey, you know I can’t get mad when you’re like this,” he pointed out the heavily evident puppy eyes the kid was flashing him. “Fine, fine, you win. Let’s get you showered and in some better clothes.” He managed a soft smile and helped Peter down from the counter, steadying him when the jump made his legs shaky. He tilted his face up and brushed a stray curl aside before looking at his son seriously, “I don’t think that it’s going to scar, and it hasn’t changed anything, the only thing it’s done has proven how brave you are, okay baby?” He pulled Peter close again and rubbed the nape of his neck lightly, running his hand up and down his spine and skipping over the worst wounds.

“O – okay,” the boy whispered, returning the embrace and resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. After a moment of silence, they pulled back.

“I’m going to make sure you’re okay getting into the shower then I’m waiting just outside so I’ll hear if you call. Does that sound okay for you?” He picked up the pile of clothes from the floor and set them where Peter had sat by the basin.

“Yeah, sounds good… um, thanks for – for helping and not, yeah, just – for not, I don’t know, not getting upset.” he waved his arm and gestured to his chest offhandedly while Tony stayed close to his side, helping him over to the shower.

“Well I promised didn’t I, and I’ll always keep my promises kiddo.” He smiled warmly and hovered with his arms outstretched, as if to catch Peter if he fell while stepping into the shower. “Alright, clothes are on the counter, towels are just on the wall and I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He reached out and bowed Peter’s neck, so he could press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Just take it slow and keep in mind the water’s gonna sting the cuts at first, be careful.” He stepped back and toed the bathmat with his foot, so it was closer to the shower.

“M’kay Dad, I won’t be too long.” He gave another small wave as Tony moved for the door.

“Take your time Petey, you deserve it, and it’s not like we’re going to run out of hot water.” He returned the wave and closed the door quietly behind him.

Once he was sure the door had clicked shut, Peter slipped off the Med Bay pants and underwear, throwing them to the side of the room, next to the sink. He closed the tinted glass door to the shower before he shuffled back and turned on the water, standing to the side of the spray so he could ease into it rather than shock his system. Logically, he remembered what warm water felt like, but going just over three weeks without a real shower made the sensation of the heat over his skin feel unfamiliar. He moved his arms under first, trying to get a feel for the temperature before stepping fully under the shower head. Once his arms had adjusted he stepped hesitantly forward so the water hit his neck and ran down from there. He hissed when it dripped down over his chest but quickly turned around on his side, bad hip facing away from the spray. Once the stinging had calmed he slowly turned in a circle, wincing again when the water touched his lower back, where the deepest of the eighty cuts were. It took him a few minutes to get used to the water, but once he did his shoulders sagged and the tension he seemed to hold flooded away.

Soap didn’t burn as much as he expected it to, but it did sting similar to how the water had. He rinsed the suds away thoroughly and hung his head, pressing his forehead against the wall and watching the bubbles fall down the drain methodically. He cupped the spray in his hands and rubbed his face, keeping careful of the bruising at the same time. He stepped forward and stood directly under the shower head, letting his hair get wet and begin to drip down his back. He squeezed some shampoo into his hands and worked it into his scalp, rubbing the drenched hair and feeling the bubbles lather up under his fingertips. He tilted his neck back and let the water drain away majority of the residual shampoo, but he shivered when his eyes snapped back open at the memory of trying to stay awake to avoid the sprinklers. The sensation was so vivid in his head that he could practically feel the various chains cuffing his body into rigid, painful positions and holding him there overnight. He shook his head as if to clear it and water flew off his hair when he did so.

Peter took a deep breath and focused on the warmth of the shower, and how different it was to the freezing sprinklers. He wiggled his wrists and legs, unconsciously demonstrating the lack of restraints on him despite the tiles and water. He directed his attention to conditioning and while it lathered up similar to the shampoo he experimentally pressed his hand to the wall and pulled back. His lips stretched into a grin when he stuck like normal. Before he rinsed out the conditioner he lazily finger combed his hair with his good arm, letting the other shoulder hang slack at his side. Once his head was clean of suds he just stood for a moment, arms wrapped loosely around his middle and the water hitting the back of his neck. He groaned when he tilted forwards to turn the handle down to shut off the water, shuddering when the cool air hit him as the shower door pushed open. He used a grip on the door to lift himself over the lip of the shower and wriggled his toes in the overly-fluffy bathmat he stepped onto.

“Done with the shower?” He heard hid Dad call from somewhere in the hall outside the bathroom.

“Yeah, getting dried and dressed now.”

“Did the water sting too much?” His voice was slightly high with concern and Peter could picture the angle his head was quirked at in question.

“Only a little at first, then it was nice, thanks for letting me take my time.” Tony grumbled something about not having to thank him for everything, which Peter caught thanks to super hearing, but he smiled nonetheless. He wrapped himself in a towel, which was thankfully already warmed from the heated rack and dried himself paying specific attention to the least healed injuries. He tied the towel around his waist and unfolded the pile of clothing his Dad had left on the counter. Plain, grey sweatpants fitted him not as well as usual, but he pulled the string taught and tied a knot to keep them slung over his jutting hipbones. A smirk painted his face when he lifted up the very oversized, white t-shirt with the words ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ printed above a yellow cap. He looked to the last piece and recognised it as his Dad’s black hoodie, the same one he wore during the whole Mandarin and Extremis situation. He lifted the shirt to pull it over his head but grimaced when it tugged at the cuts over his upper-back and shoulders. Toying with the idea of stepping into the shirt and pulling it up that way, he swayed on his feet slightly and rubbed his cheek with a short sigh.

“Hey, Dad?” Almost immediately he heard a weight rest on the doorknob from outside and he knew Tony was readying himself to burst in at a moment’s notice.

“Yeah, what’s wrong Pete? Need me to come in?” His voice was somewhat more frantic and laced with more concern than before, but he was keeping his calm enough to not barge down the door.

“Uh, yeah can you give me a hand please?” He looked up when the door opened, and he met his Dad’s eyes which were, of course, filled with worry. “I’m okay, it’s all good. I just need some help getting the shirt on… my shoulders kinda hurt,” he forced a meek smile to try and calm the evident distress.

“Oh, okay that’s – yeah that’s good,” he moved to take the shirt from Peter and arrange it, so he was holding the sleeves and head hole low enough for him to slip into it without raising his arms so much. “Need me to get Helen to check them out and make sure you don’t need anything more for the pain?” He helped the scrawny teen into the shirt by tugging it over his head and letting him pull it down the rest of the way.

“No, it’s not too bad, just… a little stiff is all,” he down played how much they actually hurt, it was more of a dull throbbing pain than anything, but he didn’t need any more meds. “Thanks, can I – is the hoodie for me?” He held the soft fabric in his hands and resisted the urge to tuck in under his neck to bury his face in.

“Yeah, I figured it was warmer than your blue jumper and I don’t wear it anymore… it might, um, might smell a bit burnt?” He picked a spare towel from the rack and came to stand beside Peter again, helping him zip up the chest and un-ruffle the sleeves. He absolutely swam in the outfit, the sweatpants could probably fit someone with legs three times bigger than his, the tourist shirt had always been too big for him, but now it slipped on his form and presented his collar bones and looked ready to fall off one shoulder. The hoodie didn’t really smell too burnt, which he was happy about, but it was far too large for Peter whose gangly arms were much shorter than the sleeves. “C’mere kiddo,” he urged, moving him back against the counter and letting the teen lean forward while he dried his hair with the towel messily. “Your hair’s gotten pretty long, it’s super curly now,” he commented, finishing drying it as best he could and proceeding to card his fingers through the wavy locks. Peter must have washed his hair because it was incredibly soft and was beginning to fluff up and coil near the nape of his neck and forehead, where it was drying the fastest.

“Yeah, I should probably get it cut so it doesn’t get in my face so much.” He leaned into the touch and bunched his hands in the long sleeves of his Dad’s hoodie.

“Or you could leave it, I’m pretty sure that’d make it easier for me to play with while you’re asleep.” He pressed a kiss into the curls and led them both out from the bathroom, throwing the Med Bay clothes into the washing basket on their way out. “You still up for lunch? Remember you don’t have to.” Peter shook his head but drooped into Tony’s side while they walked to the elevator.

“Nah, I want to, it sounds nice to eat where we normally do. Besides, I should meet everyone and have a proper introduction as… well, I mean as me, I guess.” He let Peter rest his head on his shoulder as he pressed the right button and started moving toward the dining area. He pushed a disobedient bang back behind Peter’s ear and smiled when he noticed the exited flush in his nose and cheeks.

“So, you already know Rhodey pretty much, met Cap a couple times, caught Clint in the vents once, Sam and Natasha still haven’t really spoken too?”

“I know Rhodey as an intern, haven’t talked to Natasha or Sam except as Spider-Man and when I saw Hawk – uh, Clint, in the vents he apologised and said, ‘wrong conference room’ then I’m pretty sure he just crawled a few rooms over and came into your meeting through the ceiling holding coffee.”

“Yep, I remember that, he jumped onto a desk chair and took Cap so off guard that he almost punched him, luckily Nat kicked his seat and it lowered enough, it was a whole thing.” He waved his arms in dismissal of the story and pulled Peter closer to his side. “Just be your normal self and there’s no doubt they’ll find you as endearing as I do.” The boy’s blush spread further and tinted a rosier pink while he looked down to his feet and covered a smile. He had barely managed to murmur a bashful ‘thanks,’ when the elevator pinged and F.R.I.D.A.Y was opening the doors for them to a roomful of Avengers.