Chapter Text
When Peter came to himself again, he was plagued by an agonising migraine, which brought back the nausea. But as he was blinking against the white ceiling, he could at least ascertain that the dizziness had vanished, on the other hand, his ability to feel his body had recovered all the more, making him recognize the hot pounding, the swelling in his face and ankle generated. His muscles felt rigid and his joints hurt. Peter tried to sort out his memories but in doing so he just discovered fragments that, at first, didn't seem to fit together.
The first hours of the party were still clear and structured, he remembered the blood-red punch in the cup he had been holding, the image engraved itself incisively in his memory, marking the point at which everything must have started going down-hill.
After that it went dark, he could barely remember what the voices around him had been saying but he felt like prey in the predator's clutches. Next moment rough hands were laying themselves forcefully on his parky skin, he was being eaten alive like meat. Thereupon he could only tell that the smell of detergent and bile ran dry, to be substituted with the one of a new car, Tony's stern expression being the last thing he could completely grasp. Everything else consisted of sensations that made his stomach ache. Peter could sense how his feelings threatened to overwhelm him, so he forced himself to snap out of it, before he risked embarrasing himself.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, groaning at the movement and looked around, he found himself in the Avenger's tower. If he should be relieved, or if he should rather prepare himself for hell breaking loose, he couldn't tell. At least he was alone for now, which was a reassuring thought for a change. Like this, he could be sure that there wouldn't be any unwelcome hands on his body. Peter shook himself, trying to get rid of this train of thought.
Peter held up a hand to shield his eyes, as he looked around the room. To his left was a window facade, through which the morning sun shone on the bright floorboards. At the opposing wall was a door, leading to an unknown room, while the big double door to his right, hid the hallway. Just now did he see the infusion line next to him, dripping an undistinguished fluid into the back of his hand, just as Peter was about to reach for the needle in a panic, Tony Stark strode through the double door, coffee-mug in hand and dark circles under his eyes that could bear testimony to a sleepless night. Peter abandoned the plaster in an instant and got back to reality.- Iron man was with him, he was safe.-
Tony replaced his worried expression with his usual humorous facade within seconds, pretending to having forgotten why Peter was here in the first place. “Did our Sleeping Beauty finally wake up, as well?“ he said jokingly and Peter's pale face went bright red.
“No reason to feign false modesty,“ he continued, while placing his mug on the side table and lightly ruffling Peter's hair. “Are you thirsty?“ Peter nervously picked at the bruises on the back of his hand, but nodded nevertheless. At that Tony vanished into the room next door and came back with a glass of water. Peter clung to the cold glass in a miserable attempt to steady his hands. Mr. Stark pulled up a chair to his side and sipped at his coffee as soon as he had picked it up again, while doing so, he stared at Peter over the rim expectantly. The boy acknowledged the silent request by lifting the water to his lips and started to drink. At first he was sceptic, if drinking wouldn't eventually worsen his nausea, but as soon as he realised how dehydrated he actually was, all doubts had been forgotten. He carefully set down the empty glass next to him and stayed silent. The stifling atmosphere remained for quite some time, in which Tony indulged in his coffee.
His nose still buried in the mug he murmured:“Do you maybe care to explain why I blew up a door yesterday?“ Tony had no clue how he should handle this conversation, so he deemed his usual strategy of escapism through inappropriate jokes to be the best available option.- He was hating himself only more like that.- Peter's big doe-eyes widened bewildered.- seems like this was a new information for the kid.-
Peter buried his fingers between the blanket's folds and he wished he could disappear like that too. Embarrassed he ducked his head, while searching for words:“I'm sorry,“ he chuckled bitterly.
“I knew it was a dumb idea and then- I didn't know what they put in the punch and I thought- It was fine at the start, you know, I really thought they were just being nice, and-“ Peter felt himself beginning to ramble again, a flawed coping mechanism of his, to avoid facing consequences, he cringed at his inability to keep his composure. By now, Mr. Stark must think of him as totally unresponsible, like this he would definitely cut him off.
“Hey, Peter! Peter, listen to me.“ Interrupted Tony, Peter bit his tounge but stayed in his position.
“There's no reason to apologize, okay? If you're in trouble, no matter which kind, you can always ask me for help, do you get that?“ Peter nodded rueful- he did not get that, at all-.
Tony sighed.- this was going worse than he had feared.- Still he left it at that for the moment and went on:“If that's the case, then I'm gonna go get Bruce, so he can fix you up for good, or you'll never get out of this dreadful room.“ Tony got up from the chair and patted Peter's shoulder hesitantly, the teenager broke his hunched position and gave Tony a cracked smile, the older one considered himself satisfied with that and left through the opposing door anew.
Peter did not feel okay at all, he knew he should be talking about something, about the night before, but neither had Tony looked really eager to do so, nor could he muster the courage to piece together the fragments of his memory, while his throat constricted with shame at every word that passed his mind. Both of them would rather forget the incident altogether and even though Tony had said, it had been okay, maybe Peter should just spare him with his pubertal drama in the future. And what if he really was at fault here and Tony knew? Ultimately he had been lucky, hadn't he? As far as he knew, nothing more had happened, than Skip's 'affectations', other people wouldn't have been privileged enough to get away this lightly, so why should he keep thinking about it, he had no real reason to worry his mentor any more.
Shortly after Tony came back with Bruce in tow. Bruce peered out behind Tony with a pitying smile and Peter really did wish he could tell why. While Bruce was tampering with removing the IV, he casually asked:“How are you doing?“
“I'm just a bit tense and by now I'm pretty sure my head's trying to kill me.“ he ridiculed. He was strongly doubting he could take another concerned face.
“If you say so, you really have been lucky. I think Tony here, can tell you way worse stuff.“ He derided. Peter looked up at Tony taken aback, while the man just grinned sheepishly, tiptoeing from one foot to another in a 'caught-red-handed' manner.
“Well, doesn't mean anyone should take me as a role model.“ he commented, while scratching the back of his head.
“Anyways, for now I can get you some ibuprofen.“ Continued Bruce and brought him two small white pills and a glass of water. Peter swallowed them obediently. Thereupon Bruce tended to his foot.
“So, ready for take-off.“ Bruce gave the bandage some approving taps and took ahold of something beside him at the foot of the bed, revealing crutches that he handed to Peter. Peter swung his legs over the edge and slowly came to his feet.
“Can I have a shower with this?“ Was his first question, he was feeling himself getting more and more jittery by every second he had to remain in those clothes. He wanted to get rid of Skip's and Flash's – He wanted to get rid of feeling dirty.
Bruce threw Tony a short sharp look, but recovered his composure just as quick and gave the boy an answer:“yes, of course, you just need to keep the bandage from getting wet, I'm gonna wrap it up for you and then you can go.“
Peter was relieved, when Bruce had finished his construction of cling film and sticky tape around his foot and he could limp down the hallways with Tony at his side, heading to his quarters.
“The other's had planned to order chinese, thought, maybe you wanna get something too.“ Threw Tony in.
Peter felt his headache subside slowly, therefore rediscovered his hunger with it's disappearance:“yeah, sure.“
“Good. That's good. Then skedaddle, but be quick with your shower, or else Clint's gonna eat your portion too.“ winked Tony at him.
Peter opened the door to his room, he wasn't actually living here but he kept some stuff here in case of emergencies, or when Tony worked with him on projects over the weekend. Peter stalked to the adjacent bathroom, in which he took off his clothing while his joins still ached. He forced himself to ignore the blue and purple fingerprints on his thighs. He gave them five hours tops anyway, until then everything would have faded away again.- he was fine-
The hot shower's water made his tense muscles loosen up, Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to internalize that he really was absolutely a-okay that there wasn't any reason to think about it anymore. Even if Tony had urged him to hurry, he was drawing it out, until he believed to having regained his composure. Cautiously he climbed out of the shower wrapping a towel around his hips and turned to the mirror, his eyes scanned the faucet, searching for his toothbrush but were torn between their actual goal and stealing glances at his reflection. The wet hazel-brown strands of his hair stuck to his forehead, meanwhile his face looked haggard. His lower lip was swollen and split. Added to that came the faint green tinge that was blossoming from his nose and mouth, he could vaguely remember how Skip had hit him there. As if he were under a spell, he was now fixated on the figure in front of him, around his wrists twined rings of blue, where Flash had grabbed him. On his shoulder abode an oval impression, which Peter could only identify as a bite mark, after he had turned around to get a better look at it. The terror that had gripped him to the marrow when Skip's hot breath had touched his skin, still sat heavily in the pit of his stomach. The fact that he now could see the bruises littering his back, didn't help either. He could scrub at himself as much as he wanted, it was obvious that he could never wash off what they had marked him with.
He felt helpless and confused.- why hadn't he been able to prevent this?- He was Spiderman, he could lift several tons and climb on walls, but couldn't fend off some bullies?! Things like that weren't supposed to happen, to people like him. He should've been smarter like this, should've known not to trust Flash, but yet. Now he was staring into the face of someone he didn't recognize anymore, as if he had left his body in the darkened bedroom and it scared him shitless, to be trapped in something that didn't belong to him anymore, skin too tight and head filled with cotton. He couldn't look at himself, so he hid his face in his hands, while silent tears were streaming down his cheeks.- He's okay, he's okay, he's okay.- He repeated it over and over again, until he eventually could believe it. Fighting to just let it go and be over with it. He left the bathroom again, having forgotten why he had been there in the first place. He put on some fresh clothes, the old ones were stuffed carelessly into a backpack, leaning on his bedframe. Afterwards he made his way to the communal kitchen.
After half an hour poking around in his food, Peter found that his appetite had left him completely.
The first day at school following the incident was nerv-wreaking for Peter, he was paranoid and couldn't concentrade, while he was constantly on the look-out for Flash or one of the other guys, but soon he had to realize that noone of them were students at his school. Flash on the other hand avoided him as far as he could, no condescending comments, no acts of violence, not even a derogatory sneer was send his way. Even if Ned welcomed this behaviour at first, after several weeks of absolutely pacific behaviour, he grew sceptic and asked Peter, if he knew what this was about. Peter only shook his head and changed the topic. He would have laughed about the situation's irony, if it wouldn't choke him everytime he thought about it.
His strategy to just ignore the whole ordeal, worked for nearly six months, until Peter jolted awake drenched in sweat and believed to have heard Skip's coarse voice. That was, to put it mildly, no good night for Peter Parker. After that his condition only got worse. He spend most of the day fraught and alert, until the point at which he couldn't focus on anything. Sometimes he caught himself at home, at his desk, in front of his homework, or at the dinner table, staring into empty space, unable to remember what he had done all the time.
At the evening he was oftentimes so exhausted that he had no interest in doing anything else and the energy he did have, he investet into his occupation as Spiderman. Trying to do anything was wearing him down, it took a great deal of effort to not loose concentration and get stuff right but being on patrol kinda came naturally to him, it was all instinct and action, it was a kind of danger he could grasp and fight, instead of the constant impending sense of doom, that lingered in the back of his head, when he had to be himself.
All of this left practically no time for Ned and MJ, so that he mostly just saw them at school nowadays. But he couldn't bring himself to get involved in hanging out with them. It seemed to be a bad idea to expect them to endure his generally depressed spirit, let alone the unpredictable mood-swings, driving him crazy on particularly bad days. He wanted to get himself together, but everything around him seemed too loud, too dangerous, too overwhelming to face it day after day, while Flash was a constant memorial for what would happen if he'd let his guard down again.
Not to mention that he already drew away from people that tried to push him to let his guard down. May had recognized that something was wrong, as soon as Peter had stepped through the flat's door with his foot in a bandage and hadn't let it go since. She hadn't exactly voiced it yet but Peter was certain that she knew and who she knew it from. Every day she found a new reason to ask him if he was okay. And it was wearing him down quickly, that she made him remember, while he was making such an effort to convince himself that he was okay. Eventually it had all escalated into an argument that left both sides at a loss, his aunt in hysterics at his door and Peter with a panic-attack behind it.
This catastrophe had Peter led to believe that it would probably be in everyone's best interest if he cut off Tony as well, just for a while, just until the fuss had died down and he felt like he could handle his life again. With Mr. Stark it went more smoothly but to be fair, it had been easier for Peter to avoid him from the start, not to mention that the man was busy as hell. Him cutting off communication even got unnoticed for a few weeks, until his phone nearly blew up from the messages his mentor sent. Peter felt guilty at first but going through the contents of his messages reassured him in his decision, even Mr. Stark wouldn't leave the topic alone. To ignore his subsequent phone calls was, after that, even easier. he promised himself, he just had to figure this out on his own and then everything would go back to normal, he only needed time.
His only opportunity to get away from all these issues, was going on patrol, the distraction was short-lived but at least it made him feel like he was in control over his life again, or leastwise over his body, because if he had to be Peter Parker, he was weak, a hare in a wolf pack, his world's ultimate had become something threatening. He wasn't anymore as safe as he wanted to be but as safe as other people allowed him to be. To be Spiderman was the best alternative to that, maybe people still wanted to hurt him but as Spiderman he had a choice, he turned himself into a sheep in wolf's clothing and hoped noone would detect how vulnerable he actually was.
The wind was howling against Peter's ears, while he swung aimlessly between New York's skyscrapers, his focus laying upon the civilians under him. They bustled around in flocks in the glow of the street lamps. By now it must be late at night, but Peter knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, hours before he had snarled at Ned, after he had held fast onto him to prevent Peter from vanishing wordlessly back to his home again, he knew Ned had meant no harm and that he was worried about him but Peter's composure had just given way, at the way to familiar touch, after he had been on edge all day long anyway. Peter didn't remember exactly how he had gotten home, only that in the next moment he had cowered on the bathroom tiles and was gasping for air, while his fingernails were chafing over his thighs. Since then he had been on patrol, maybe he should have apologized to Ned, but he had barely been able to convince aunt May that he was well, after she had called him five times, without him picking up. Therefore Peter found himself incapable to deal with anyone else.
Further on Peter took his habitual tours, but except for a few small instances, nothing had caught his attention yet. Just as he was passing some night-clubs he startled violently, when he heard a bloodcurlding women's scream. Everyone else would have missed the sound, but his enhanced hearing had amplified it so inordinately that Peter could not ignore it, even if he had tried to. He changed his course in an instant and followed the sound's source in a backalley between two discos. As he peered over the edge of one of the buildings he could watch in shock how a man was forcing himself on a clearly drunk woman. In that moment his spider-senses were screaming deafeningly in alarm, urging him with all their might to escape as fast as possible. But he couldn't allow anyone to get hurt because of his inability to pull himself together.
Therefore he jumped down to the two of them in the alley and hurled a net against the perpetrator before he could even recognize he was there. The man's hand sprung against the nearest dumpster and Peter dealed him a well-aimed blow, making im slump to the ground unconscious. Next he fixated him securely to the cointainer's metal, before he turned towards the woman, who had by now pulled her clothes into place again. Just now as he was standing still, did he realise that he was trembling all over. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the woman, who eyed him up and down, abashed.
“Peter, do you maybe want to lend emotional support?“ Karen's voice pulled him out of his trance and he was set in motion as if on command.
The young woman in front of him flinched back, unsettled at his sudden movement, which made him lift his hands in a calming manner, before he approached her:“It's okay, I don't want to hurt you. I- I can stay here, if you want me too.“
The stranger looked at him scrutinizingly, while she hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. “Can I help you somehow? I could call the police, or escort you home?“ Suggested Peter, careful not to make matters worse.
Just now did she speak directly to him to let him know, she wanted him to call the police. Once that was done, they waited together for them to arrive, Peter still kept a respectable distance from her, at which she gave him a thankful smile. Meanwhile his stomach was doing somersaults and he wasn't sure how long the adrenaline could last to keep him from doubling over right then and there.
“What- what are you gonna do now?“ Peter inquired, his voice trembled and broke in the middle of the sentence, he instantly regretted to have asked something so insensitive in the first place. But his counterpart just shrugged indecisively.
“Life must go on somehow, if I want to, or not.“ Her gaze fell down onto her toecaps.
“Do you have anyone to talk to? Someone that could support you?“ He continued, everything he said could only be another sandtrap.
“I guess so.“ She murmured back.
“You know, I just don't understand, why me?“ She looked up at him teary-eyed, she was upset and her face was painted with shame and incomprehension.
Peter shook his head resigned:“I think there's no exact reason why some things happen, even if it would be easier to have one. Still,“ He paused. “It's not your fault that there are bad people, doing bad things.“
“I just want to understand.“
“Me too.“ They were silent now, both understanding what the other wanted to say.
When the police arrived, Peter gave the woman his cell phone number, just in case that there should be troubles at court, and said good-bye, before he vanished into the night between the rooftops. A few blocks away his knees gave way under the weight of his body and he had to tear off his mask in order not to throw up inside it. What had happened back then was in the forefront of his conscience again, the unbearable heat of sweat-slick skin, the soft jacket and calloused hands, bile, detergent and red punch, red like blood in his mouth, red like sirens, red like stop-signs, red like stop, like stop, like stop, stop, stop. Red like Iron man. The sudden realization knocked him off his feet: He needed help, now.
Determined he made his way to the Avenger's tower, meanwhile he let Karen call Mr. Stark, who needed some tries until he was awake and able to take the call.
“Peter? Did something happen?“ He greeted sleepily.
“Yes, no, not directly. Can we just talk when I arrive, please?“ Peter tried to articulate, suddenly not so sure of himself anymore, questioning what he tried to get out of it anyway.
“And you couldn't think of that before three AM?“ Tony laughed into the reciever.
Peter bit his lip, but couldn't allow himself to miss this chance, because he wasn't sure if he could do this again. “yes, there's no help for it, please, I need you now.“
“Alright, it's okay. Should I come pick you up?“
“No thanks, I'll be there soon.“ Peter took a deep breath.
“Yeah, I see. Peter you shouldn't be roving around at this time, I thought we made that clear?“ Tony scolded him, but the last thing Peter cared about at the moment was his curfew.
“It's important Mr. Stark.“ He tried to justify half-heartedly.
Peter sat stiffly in the communal living room, sunken into the cushions of an armchair, that was way to big for him. Opposite of him sat Tony Stark, wearing a tank top and a makeshift sweat-jacket, he looked like he had worked all day long and Peter felt selfish to put him through additional troubles, but there was no way to back off now. Both heroes vibrated with tension and said nothing, Tony filled with presentiments, he didn't feel able to face just yet and Peter, who was struggling for courage now that his mania had subsided.
“Now put me out of my misery and spit it out already.“ Tony was the first to find his voice again. Maybe he tried push Peter to spill the beans, but his expression was begging to be spared the truth.
“I'm not okay, Mr. Stark.“ He began, indecisive if he did, what he wanted to express, justice.
Mr. Stark nodded understandingly:“That's okay.“
“I don't know what to do anymore. I thought I could just go on like nothing happened but suddenly everything got so heavy.“ He explained himself. Mr. Stark had to think he had totally lost it now, considering the crap he was spouting.
“Peter, what happened?“
“You know what happened.“ He countered dryly.
“No, I know what I saw, I know what Bruce found in your blood, but I do not know what you went through.“ Tony's tone was dark and devoid of his usual non-chalance. It gave Peter the chills.
“I can't, you don't- you don't understand, if I hadn't been so careless, then-“
“It was not your fault, Peter. Don't even dare to think it was. Whatever you did, at no point did it give them the right to hurt you.“ Interrupted Tony.
Peter swallowed heavily, before he could go on. Rationally he knew that Mr. Stark was right, he said it himself to this woman and at that moment it was obvious but the shame that chased him everywhere supressed every ounce of reason.
“Then why does it feel like it is? I'm so sick of feeling like this, like I'm running in circles but I can't- there's just-“ His breath is hitching, while his thoughts are racing through his mind, making him stumble over his words and he feels so dumb sitting in his Spiderman suit in Iron Man's living room, digging his nails in his thighs again, while the shame is eating him up, starting at his vocal cords.
“Easy Pete. You got this, just breathe.“ Peter did, deep and trembling, the heat of shame wasn't pressing so hard anymore.
“You're doing great kid, amazing.“ Mr. Stark was talking to him like he was a child, but somehow he couldn't feel bad about it, he really did feel like he was still just a child, with this problem being so much bigger than he was and he felt himself crumbling.
“God, what am I to do?!“ He spluttered “I don't know what to do anymore, I just want this to stop.“ somewhere in the back of his mind Peter could feel himself crying again, but when he had said that there was just one thing on his mind that was screaming at him deafeningly
'I don't know what I will do, when he can't help me'
“Peter, you do know I'm not qualified to handle this, so-“ Tony had to break off as a plaintive sob cut through the thick air. Peter could feel himself falling, believing he was now truly, utterly alone, how was he meant to get through this, or was he supposed to just give up all along? He buried his hands in his hair, which stuck out wildly in every direction and weeped adrift, rocking himself slightly back and forth, because now he didn't even have the illusion of hope to cling to.
Suddenly he was gently pulled out of his hunched over position as two hands grasped at his upper arms, the firm touch emphasizing Tony's intentions, until Peter looked up at his mentor, who was kneeling at eye level in front of the arm-chair, with a woeful expression.
“Kid, I would never force you to go through this alone and I promise you that I'll always be here, every step of the way. But people like May and me, we're just your support system, we love you and we support you but we can't fix those problems all on our own, as much as we would want to. That's what professionals are for. So all you have to tell me is that you're willing to try and we can get you all the help you need.“ He said determined.
Peter nodded speechless and let himself be pulled into his mentor's embrace, while he cried softly, without really getting why. Maybe it was fear, or relieve, or hope, or everything combined.
'He's okay, he's okay, he's-'
'He will be okay, he will be okay, he will be okay.'