Chapter Text
Red punch
Peter was standing nervously on the sidewalk in front of Flash's, fairly impressive, house. He had an imposing front yard, big windows and broad stairs leading to the front door. Peter could already hear the muffled music from inside and between the courtains some stray rays of colourful light peeked out. Peter took a deep breath, he felt unwelcome and everyone else would have declared him insane, for attending the party of a boy, who only spared snideness for him. But the reason for his presence was that this particular boy had decided to invite him, just out of the blue. And why shouldn't Peter try to make peace, even if it was just for the sake of Ned and him, not being harassed anymore?
But Ned himself didn't come, even when Peter offered to take him along, after the gaffe at Liz's party and given the aspect that Flash overlooked him with an invitation, Ned didn't want to take the risk, understandably. If MJ was there, he didn't know, even though it was obvious she couldn't stand Flash, she did like free food all the more and since she got along with him at the club, it wasn't unlikely to meet her after all.
This thought in mind, he managed to gather his courage nonetheless. Intent he stepped to the door. After ringing the bell several times and still nobody opening, he carefully pushed the door open. Apparently everyone was too distracted to care for laggers. The music was uncomfortably loud and additionally to that came the hubbub from the seemingly exuberantly amused guests all over the room. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he went into the living room, which looked like it was the centre of the event, it was the source of the lights he had seen from outside too. A bit disorientated he pushed through the crowd in search of a familiar face, or anything that could keep him from standing around uselessly really.
But the first person who approached him grinning, was Flash, who straightaway gripped him welcoming at the shoulder and started to walk in the direction he had come from, all the while loudly talking to him, yet Peter still struggled to understand him:“Hey Parker! I didn't think you would come, follow me I show you around!“
Relieved he had found an occupation, Peter resumed to stay at Flash's side, who- thank god- led them out of the crowd. Arriving in the hallway, he gestured distracted at the restroom, before continueing to the kitchen, which was directly connected to the hallway and the living room, this place too, was well-frequented, most likely because it contained the beverages and Peter was already given a cup with an unknown substance in it, he thanked Flash, but decided not to drink anything for now. Suddenly he was pulled along, back into the crowd until they got to the other end of the room, at which a long row of tables had been placed, carrying a big bowl of punch and some snacks. A few feet away stood the small mixer, Peter already knew from Liz's Party and he hoped that Flash wouldn't use it again today to humiliate him.
But this didn't seem to be Flash's goal of today either, he was still dragging him behind to a group of people he introduced as his friends, they were similar to Flash regarding their demeanour and their behaviour, but they were neither condescending, nor did they seem to know about his “nickname“ Flash had forced upon him. The sudden kindness made Peter suspicious, yet he still hoped imploringly that Flash was honest with him.
“Why aren't you drinking?“ asked Flash a bit confused.
Peter nervously looked into his cup and then to Flash:“I don't even know what's in there.“
“It's a random mix, just try it.“ Flash was trying to convince him.
Peter sipped at his drink sceptically, it was red and sweet and definitely not alcohol-free, but it hit the spot.
“It's good.“ He murmured to Flash, who looked at him expectantly and then began grinning while patting his shoulder encouragingly, before going to the punch.
“Try to catch up, the others have been here for a while and are accordingly tipsy, maybe you'll unbend a bit for once.“ He was talking insistently to him, while stirring in the bowl and filling his own cup.
Peter, who still was anxious and overwhelmed, looked around for some kind of reassurance, everyone else was having fun. Apparently they could enjoy the deafening music. Is that due to the alcohol? Would it even work on him? Maybe he really should try to relax and go with the flow. Even Flash's friends looked at him encouragingly and Peter once again raised the cup to his lips.
The first one had no effect on him, which was most likely a side-effect of his new-found powers, because the others were both impressed and confused about his resilience. Peter himself could only smile at it, he felt his spider-senses getting louder by the second, being overloaded with the lights as well as the music. For this part of him, partys were just stressful. But right at the moment he had decided to leave, Flash offered him another cup and he gave the mixture a second chance.
Afterwards he was a bit tiddly and his senses were numbed too, the party got more bearable and he was able to talk with Flash's friends smoothly. This was good, he thought. He was relaxing for once not stuttering nor fidgeting, just having a normal conversation with his peers, devoid of the usual nervousness and akwardness.
After the third cup he was finally getting comfortable, Peter sat playfully with the others around the coffee table, talking about everything and nothing, some of them lit their cigarettes, others disappeared every now and again in the turmoil that was the dance floor and emerged from it half an hour later. Between them, their cups were placed, his own Peter was cradling firmly in his lap, trying to stop his hands from fumbling nervously. Flash offered to get him another drink, which Peter affirmed thoughtlessly.
After that he consistently found a new cup with punch in his hand- even though Peter lost track of when Flash had disappeared and come back- although he wanted to stop, he caught himself every time, when he began to sip at the beverage again. At first it brightend him up, just as promised, but after a while he felt how muddled he actually felt, still he didn't think about how fast the situation could escalate. Peter felt liberated in his disorientation, everything was a little bit lighter, the memories of his uncle's death were blown away and with them the caution he usually had in Flash's presence.
The events passed him in a haze, it was like being pulled out of reality every now and again and only getting back sporadically, until he found himself in the hallway, Flash and his friends were laughing, although Peter couldn't remember someone joking. The constant buzz in the back of his head was the only thing left of his spider-senses and it mixed pleasantly with the drunken hum of his thoughts. He was lost in his mind, while intently inspecting the wallpaper's pattern opposite of him, he tried to catch onto his sluggish thoughts, tuning in and out of rationality and jumping from topic to topic like a screensaver. He began humming something, he couldn't remember where he had heard the melody before but he felt like it could give his mind some direction.
“God Parker, you still there?“ A big blond boy had wined his arm around his hip and had now leaned in front of his face, a smug grin on his lips.
Peter smiled contently and simpered a slurred “yip!“ before he leaned further against the boy, his college jacket was soft and the arm around his body warm. The whole room spun, his eyelids layed themselves again and again heavily over his pupils and the only constant seemed to be the solid resistance against his right side.
“What is he jabbering about?“ commented a chuckling voice behind him.
-Did he say something?- bewildered he raised his fingers to his lips, as if they could answer his question. His lips felt numb, as did his tounge, which layed heavy and oversized in his mouth, Peter burbled under his breath, while his hand fumbled over his face. His eyes fell shut and without the blurred images swaying up and down in front of him, he could focus more effectively on his other senses.
He was now hurled roughly up the stairs and he remembered that he should probably move his legs, but they seemed to be made of lead and didn't really cooperate, aside from that, new steps knocked against his ankles more fastly than he could have reacted.
“Dammit Flash, how much did you give him?“ roared a voice beside his ear.
“A little bit more than the double of the usual amount, he should've already been knocked out by the second cup, though.“
Peter, who couldn't really grasp what they were talking about, grew more and more sceptic and tried to set himself upright. Flailing wildly with his arms he was thrashing against the grip around his waist, slurring at the same time:“L-let go, stop. I wanna go home.“ But his lacking balance just caused him to tread akwardly causing an uncomfortable pull in his ankle. Nevertheless they kept dragging him up without comment.
Reaching the landing, he braced himself against the nearest wall, away from the heated body next to him. „Already out of breath?“ Asked an unfamiliar voice that moved through the room. Peter kept his eyes shut, since he feared falling over, if he saw the tilting walls.
“he's heavier than he looks, you try it.“ Came the answer and Peter felt himself being pinched unceremoniously in the side. He staggered a few steps forward to avoid further contact and stepped a few times on his right foot, which was now throbbing painfully.
“He's all your's, Skip.“ Peter peeked woozyly at the voice in front of him, which nudged him in Skip's direction, who clutched his upper arm gruffly and thrust him in another direction. Peter's spider-senses fought themselves back into his conscious and nearly snapped, while urging him to flee as fast as possible, but his body still wasn't at it's best, causing his attemps at fighting off Skip's grasp to fail marvellously. His mind was still trying to catch up, wondering how he got here in the first place, the last thing he could remember was the reflection of the coffee table and the floral pattern on the hallway's wallpaper.
“Just look at him, he's good for nothing at the moment.“ commented the boy next to him condescending, before leading him into a darkened room. The other's were following him and spread in the room. Behind him the door was being closed, before letting him fall on the bed at the opposite wall. Adrenaline shot through his body in an instance, which incited him to begin moving again. But lifting his body felt difficult and when he tried to push himself upright a weight pushed him down again into the cushions, panicking he glanced around the room unable to concentrade, everything was dark, only the cold light of the street lamps, falling through the window above his head, illuminated the indistinct faces of the boys in the room, which were staring down at him unaffected, while a character draped in shadows, with a college jacket and strong arms was shaking him, instructing him to be still.
“Dude, just let him be, that was a dumb idea in the first place.“ Flash suddenly interjected. Every ounce of arrogance lost, he was now lingering, ashamed and guilty, at the edge of the bed and layed his hand on Skip's shoulder. Peter stared at him with panic in his eyes and dropped his defence alltogether, hoping they would decide to leave him alone, waiting how Skip would respond.
“Don't you chicken out now, either you go along, or you piss off. But don't play the virtuecrat, after you were the one who drugged him.“ Flash was silent in defeat. Anew his alarms were going off, once he shook off his paralysis, after realising that nobody would help him now.
Without a second thought, he threw his fists towards Skip, still his body refused to obey him and his unprecise blows missed exept for a brush to his temple.- God, what did they give him?- “Fuck!“ shouted Skip, before he lunged for him. Having the high ground, Skip cought him right in the face, admittedly with way less force than he probably could have had, still the impact was enough to send hot pain all over his face and let tears form in the corners of his eyes, which he tried pushing back as hard as he could. Peter reached for his nose and saw how scarlet blood glistened on his hand like a signal light.
“Ungrateful tease.“ He cursed, while Peter was still occupied with his aching face.
“Flash, come over and hold his arms down.“ He commanded.
Skip who was now putting his whole weight on Peter's thighs, grasped for his wrists and pushed them tightly together above his head, Peter breasted himself against the weight on his body, which only caused Skip to fix him more firmly against the duvet. Peter whimpered against the pain, but made no move to drop his resistance. Meanwhile the blood from his nose, was trickling down his throat and left a metallic taste, Peter felt sick and swallowed reluctantly, against the upcoming nausea.
“Stop acting like a pussy and get your ass over here.“ ordered Skip and his rough hands were replaced with smaller ones. But even if Flash was clearly weaker than Skip, Peter still stood no chance against the two of them while still being intoxicated with god-knows-what. Suddenly he heard the rustle of fabric and he realised that Skip was tampering with his trousers, while somebody or other secured his ankles and put pressure on his contusion, making him whimper softly before biting his tounge again and sqeezing his eyes shut.
Peter found himself helpless in the face of Skips volition and panic was boiling up inside of him. This couldn't be happening, it wasn't supposed to happen to boys and certainly not to superheroes. He had superhuman abilities and still he found himself manhandled by some standart school-bullies, he usually would've just webbed to the nearest wall.
With horror he now had to ascertain that Skip had begun to pull the cloth down his thighs and all of a sudden, his pride was pushed aside:“Please quit it, stop, stop please. I don't want to, no, no please.“ he was pleading.
Half way through he had lost his composure and now he was lying trembling under them and whimpered against the blood on his lips, but his laments were disregarded and soon his trousers dropped to the floor. Peter blinked desperate against the spinning ceiling, searching for an option to gain back his control over his body. The panic that was ignited in his chest was ugly and violent, racing inside him like a trapped animal, seemingly clawing it's way through his organs and shredding them on the way. He couldn't beathe, he couldn't move and he couldn't open his eyes because he feared if he did the shame would consume him at once. He was helplessly sprawled out on a stranger's bed – or Flash's bed?! –, while his clothes were being stripped away, along with his dignity and if he saw the look on the faces of the people surrounding him, how they would surely stare like they would try and consume him any moment, he was sure he would not be able to ever forget it.
Big, calloused hands wandered up his legs leaving goosebumps and sending him deeper into hysteria. Foreign fingers crept inch for inch up the legs of his boxers and Peter jolted unter the touch, before he began screaming, ripping the air from his burning lungs, even though he knew he was already suffocating.
Suddenly the fingers vanished from his thighs and gripped his jaw violently, to muffle his noises. His nostrils flared with the effort of pushing back air into his unwilling chest, that tightened impossibly, when he felt how next his pullover was dragged over his head and someone began fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, one hand still resting over his mouth. Cold sweat protruded in thick drops on his forehead and the vertigo got worse, as he was strained trying to to suck in oxygen through his nose, an unbearable heat was radiating from the hand which was now sliding over his exposed chest. Peter was disgusted by himself. To be touched like this, while only wearing his underwear anymore, without his consent, being stared at all the while, it was humiliating and disgusting. He felt like Skip would taint him, painting him red to mark him forever. It turned his stomach upside down, he had to get this all out, as fast as possible.
“Hold on for a second, he looks like he'll be sick. If he vomits, I'll never get it out of the carpet.“ Complained Flash and in a moment of clarity, Peter heaved against Skip's hand to emphasize his statement.
Skip immediately cringed away and Flash, as well as the boy to his feet, let go all of a sudden too, enabling Peter to right himself shakily, meanwhile Flash had left the room, Skip was now standing again, beside the bed and raked his finger impatiently through his hair, while Peter had bend over and was breathing heavily.
They weren't touching him anymore but that didn't mean this would be over. Peter knew. His thoughts were still muddled, but he knew. The claws were chasing, scratching, bruising, making him bleed and he didn't know what to do but to run, to make the most out of the space he had put between them. It was easier to imagine it this way, as something raw and wild, like a wolf, instead of putting them on equal ground and risking being at fault as well.
With imprecise fingers he was fishing discreetly for his trouser's pocket, hoping the others were distracted enough, not to pay much attention to him. He thought of the rustle of leaves, a soft growl far away, the puff of wind between the tree's branches. Careful with a shuddering breath his fingertips brushed the smooth surface of his phone.
“Nasty loser, could've at least tried to get your shit together.“ Skip insulted him and pulled at his hair, which made him flinch, his hands were paralysed in fear, balancing his mobile phone shakily between index- and middlefinger. A crack in the covert, the glint of claws, his muscles tense. He would bleed nevertheless.
“If Flash hadn't gotten him so sloshed, everything would've went smoothly. But he just had to go totally overboard with the lightweight. Fucking amateur.“ Countered the boy at the end of the bed and everyone joined in on the malicious laughter. Skip let go of his hair again and Peter dropped it back down, chin to his chest.
Jumping at the opportunity, Peter closed his hand securely around his phone. At that moment Flash came back into the room, carrying a plastic bucket, he pushed it into Peter's arms, who took it with his free hand and pressed the other against the bottom of the bucket, to try and hide the mobile phone, then he leaned forward and vomited with a shudder into the bucket.
While the others left the room, Flash stayed for a moment longer and opened the window, but before he left, he bowed down close to Peter's ear and whispered.
“Pull it together and get out of here, you'll have to manage on your own from here on now, so blame yourself if you don't make it.“
Peter didn't answer but just moaned dazed into the bucket, from which the smell of bile flowed, making his nausea even worse. He heard Flash sigh disappointed, then he left as well. Seizing the chance, Peter searched with blurry vision for Tony Stark's number on his phone display. He really didn't know who else he could've turned to, aunt May would've had a mental breakdown and he definitely didn't want the police to be involved, -Nobody comes running for young boys who cry rape- even if that probably would've been the more reasonable idea. While he waited for Tony to pick up, he threw up once again, then the tired voice of his mentor resonated through the earpiece.
“Peter? Do you know how late it is?!“ He disapproved, but behind that Tony sounded more concerned than disgruntled.
“Mr. Stark, pl-please help me,“ He stuttered inarticulate into the microphone, his brain still being sluggish and his tounge languid.
“What happened?! Where are you?“ Tony now seemed to be wide awake and Peter could hear him rush through the corridors. Meanwhile he himself tried to hold up his phone as well as to climb back into his trousers swaying, nothing of which his disorientated body managed to do right.
“I'm at... At Flash's, big house, I don't know, please just get here fast.“ He pleaded pitifully.
“Calm down kid, I just need the location, than I'll be there in no time, no worries.“ Even if Mr. Stark meant no harm, what he said didn't calm Peter down in the least, because he knew about the severity of the situation.
With a quivering voice he passed him the address, or at least the bit he could remember, generally speaking he wasn't sure how much of his prattling Mr. Stark could actually understand. His trousers only makeshift buttoned and his shirt still loosely hanging over his shoulders, Peter was now kneeling on the sill to the window, which Flash had opened only moments ago. The roof slope tilted dangerously from left to right and Peter wasn't sure if he could make it down there, without breaking every single bone in his body, but if he thought about it, it would still be better than staying in this hellhole of a room.
“Peter? Peter! Can you hear me?“ Reached Tony's voice through the hammering pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.
“Y-yes.“ He answered hesitating and swung his legs over the edge, one hand firmly at the window frame, he came standing on the rattling tiles, his legs wobbling.
“Flash's the kid from decathlon, am I right? Tell me what happened, okay?“ He talked to him soothingly, but his own fear was blanantly obvious. Just as Peter wanted to respond, the door got opened and he was pulled inside again, his phone fell somewhere on the carpet and Skip's hand once again made it's way back over his mouth. Next thing he knew, he was pushed face-first into the mattress, his voice smothered in the pillows and blankets.
“No, no, no. Stop please!“ he sobbed, as Skip teared his shirt from his shoulders.
After that was out of the way, he felt hot palms placed on his bare back, holding him down. Meanwhile Skip's hands crept to the waistband of his trousers and pulled at it. His face buried between the sheets, made breathing difficult and his raw panic didn't help either, causing him to thrash rampantly, while gasping for air. With a jolt his fight was interrupted, as his curls were grabbed again, forcing his head upwards and bending his spine uncomfortably. Another hit rained down on his face and Peter could taste the blood, streaming from his split lip. Dizzy and in pain his head was pushed down again causing the blood to seep into the grey sheets, which smelled like laundry detergent and bile.
Peter layed dead still, eyes wide open but unseeing and brimming with tears, his breathing came at a erratic and panting rate. He was paralysed, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind, the bone deep fear had drowned him whole at once, while his body remained afloat, frozen in place. Skip's breathing on the other hand was cadenced and throaty, his tremulous and sweaty body layed itself slowly on his back and he could feel the outline of teeth on his shoulder. Peter wished he could just disappear, that his body wasn't a part of himself anymore and that he just had to slip it off, like a snake shed off old skin. This couldn't be happening, not to him, this body did not belong to him anymore, he needed a new skin, one that would be save, one that those hands could not crawl under.
Suddenly a loud bang caused everyone in the room to jolt violently. The door had been blown out of it's hinges and the singed wood smoldered in the doorway, through which now shone the warm light of the hallway, draping the cause of the noise in deep shadows that were only broken from the soft glow of blue light emanating from the glove, the man held into the room. Without the crushing weight on his back, Peter could sit upright again, moving robotically, while still grasping for his mind somewhere under the waves. Now he really did feel sick and that everyone abruptly startet screaming didn't help either. The next thing he was aware of, was Tony taking heavy steps towards him. Peter cowered before him, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding.
But the first thing Tony said was:“Are you okay? No wait, forget I asked that.“ His voice was thin and without the usual confidence he always presented so boldly. Instead of making another attempt at comforting Peter, Mr. Stark gathered Peter's shirt from the floor and helped him put it on, before wrapping his own jacket around the kid's shoulders. Peter's gaze sank to his legs, on which the khaki-coloured trousers had slipped over his knees. With limp fingers, he tugged his trousers sluggishly back into place and pushed the button uncoordinated through the hole.
“Hey buddy, let's get out of here, you're fine walking on your own?“ Purred Tony with a saccharine voice. Peter was still trembling, the nausea got worse with any second and his mentor's sweet-tempered face blurred right in front of his eyes. But instead of answering- or listening to his voice of reason, really- he pushed his palms against the mattress, pushing himself into a standing position while his legs were shaking undeneath him, he decidedly ignored the constant pain of his ankle and staggered a few steps towards the door, not exactly knowing where he intended to go, or why he was doing it in the first place, before the ground tilted itself into a slope with a dangerous angle and made Peter lose traction. Disoriented he was laying in Mr. Stark's arms, who cautiously helped him get up and kept his grip at Peter's shoulder. The silence was pressing on his eardrums, what had he done?
At last Peter found himself on the passenger seat of a car he didn't recognise, not knowing how he got there in the first place. His mind was sluggish and could only register what was happening with a delay. Slowly he realized where he actually was and pinpointed Tony to his left, who was steering the vehicle with a pale and concerned expression. Peter's chest clenched painfully at that sight, making him aware of how much of a burden he must be for Tony right now, all just because he was naive enough to trust Flash of all people. After everything he should've known better and now he had dragged Mr. Stark into it as well, even though everything he had had to do was to be just a little bit stronger, if he could've done that, he would've made it out all on his own.
The details of the incident were getting more and more obscured, although Peter could still feel them touching him, Skip's big hands poising dangerously near at his private parts and the bitter-sweet taste of the punch, which was slowly mixing with his blood. Peter's stomach protested at that, cramping against whatever he had drunk and the lingering panic. Peter heaved and was bending forward while reaching for the bucket, that Flash had given him previously, only to feel the dashboard's expensive leather. When the realisation hit him that he was still sitting in one of Tony's sinfully expensive cars, he pressed his hand over his mouth and swallowed against the nausea.
“Stop that right now! Let it be and throw up if you have to.“ Tony warned him with an irritated tone and before Peter could do anything about it, he was hunching low between his legs and vomiting on the footmat. With a desperate gasp for air, the panic came rushing back full force, burning scorchingly hot in his chest. What had happened those last few hours was unfathomable for him, not to mention he let his role model see him like that and to top it all, he had the audacity to throw up all over his car. He couldn't help the shame to creep up on him at that thought. What must he think of him? He was a pathetic excuse for a hero, being so careless as to getting black out drunk, he wasn't even twenty one and Tony had expected so much of him, he was supposed to be better but how could he, if he had messed up this badly. He had probably deserved it anyway. He had been weak, how could he claim to deserve the suit like this? Tony should probably, would definitely, take it away again.
Peter felt himself beginning to sob, while slurring vaguely:“Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Mr. Stark.“
“Shhh, Shhh, it's fine, calm down, there's nothing to be sorry for kiddo.“ Murmured Tony nervously, uncertain if Peter could even hear him.
But in the meantime his initial crying, had evolved ito a full-blown panic-attack and the boy could barely get out anything between his hysteric sobbing and the breathless panting. Shaking his head frantically in disagreement. Bile trickled from his quivering lips once again and Tony's chest ached with compassion, he couldn't even be upset with Peter for getting drunk with the way he was trembling and apologizing. All he wanted right now was to soothe his terror. But in the end Tony found himself being unable to, seeing how Peter wasn't reacting to him talking and winced whenever Tony had tried to give him a reassuring pat. Meanwhile his stomach was twisting itself into knots, not being able to process how this kid, that had always been so tactile, now recoiled at any attempt to initiate physical contact.
For Tony this whole situation was hitting too close to home, the memories of his condition after the New York battle were still fresh in his mind and he was trying to cope with his PTSD to this day. He was only a bit relieved when he drove into his garage.
Peter felt like someone was trying to suffocate him, in his nostrils the smell of blood, vomit and detergent was burning and no matter how deeply he tried to breath in the oxygen never seemed to reach his body. The vertigo was getting worse again and his head lolled back and forth on his shoulders, while his thoughts took him elsewhere. His body was agonisingly numb and limb, he was now fairly certain he must have never left the bedroom, maybe Skip had just knocked him unconscious and he was waking up now. He wanted to get out of here, but couldn't really tell where here was exactly, or what had happened to him. His eyes were unfocused and everything he could hear was a muffled droning coming from nowhere in particular. He couldn't even be sure if Skip wasn't still manhandling him. The attempt at lifting his arms, turned out to be unsuccessful as well.
Tony pulled the unresponsive teenager out of the passenger seat, too distracted by the distressed bundle in his arms to think further about the vomit on his car's floor. Suit jacket wrapped tightly around him, he was still racked by uncontrollable shivers and took gasping breaths, while his eyes were wildly fluttering open and close. His body was heavily hanging from his grasp and Tony had now retreated into a silent panic, trying to figure out, how he could help Peter. He had already contacted Bruce in the car, before Peter had snapped out of his apathetic state, hopefully he was waiting for him in the med bay by now. Unsure of how much physical contact Peter could handle right now, Tony gently lifted him into his arms and carried him to the elevator. The elevator took them a few floors upwards and soon they were passing through the hallways on the way to the med bay until he spotted bruce hurrying in their direction. Peter was still weeping noisily in his arms, which had probably awoken everyone sleeping on this floor.
Bruce looked at him with wide eyes and asked:“What happened to him?“
Tony was struggling to find the right words, he himself couldn't even believe what he thought he had witnessed, before he just shook his head unable to explain just yet and proceeded to rush forward at Bruce's side. Tony placed Peter gingerly on one of the hospital beds, not caring to take his jacket from him just yet, whereon Bruce took action immediately, inspecting Peter's trembling form.
“For how long has this been going on?“ Came his first question, while he peeled back Peter's eyelids and shone a penlight in them.
From how far Tony could tell, Peter looked like he would pass out any second, his breath was laboured by now and his skin was pale and clammy with sweat, even though he was still wreaked with random shudders.
“I-I don't know,“ Tony was short of tearing his hair out, while he tried to remember.
“The panic attack started about ten minutes ago.“ At this Bruce eyed him, alarmed, but refrained from saying anything, he knew Tony must be familiar enough with the symptoms to know what he was talking about. The man himself on the other hand felt exposed at his own statement.
“Tony, you have to tell me what happened to him, he's obviously intoxicated and I'm not sure if this mess isn't a case for the police.“ Bruce got the backrest into an upright position to get Peter to sit, before holding up a bucket for him. Tony looked up at Bruce, distraught and placed a considerate hand on the small of Peter's back, while taking the bucket from Bruce.
“I don't know either, I just know that he called me, not the police, maybe we should wait a while, before we accidentally make things worse.“ Tony was quarreling and didn't understand exactly what he had seen in this bedroom, or how to break this gently to anyone without violating Peter's privacy.
“Tony, I'm not sure if could exactly make anything any worse at this point.“ Bruce responded sincerely.
“Well we can't exactly put him through a rape kit either, can we?!“ Tony countered, rubbing a hand over his sunken face before taking a trembling breath.
Bruce must've noticed this wasn't up for discussion until they'd know more and simply nodded, he wasn't really keen on performing a rape kit on a sixteen year old either. Then he proceeded to take some of Peter's blood for analysis, afterwards he inserted an IV with the words, Peter needed some fluids. In the meantime the panic attack had died down and now Peter's weak grasp clutched Tony's lower arm, while he was throwing up again.
It took Peter one and a half hours until he stopped heaving, the first half hour was spent divesting himself off all the food and alcohol he'd had consumed before the heaves only brought up bile and even later nothing at all, shooting painful spasms through Peter's abdomen that had him moaning and sobbing again. After the turmoil had subsided he fell back against the pillows, his face glistening with sweat and tears, crusted blood still sticking to where the wounds were slowly disolouring his skin, along with the vomit. Meanwhile Bruce had started the blood test to assess what Peter had taken exactly, because both of the men heavily doubted that he had managed to get this wasted on alcohol only, not with his metabolism at least. Tony lowered the backrest again but made no move to leave.
“If something else should happen, hit me up. And make sure he doesn't tear out the IV line.“ Instructed Bruce before heading to the hallway, on his way to go to bed again, well aware Tony wouldn't sleep for the time being and seeing no point in trying to force him to. Tony too, heavily doubted that he was able to sleep tonight and stayed at Peters bedside instead. Restless, he was moving again the next second, carefully pulling his jacket out behind Peter's sweaty back and hanging it over the chair's backrest, he emptied the plastic bucket, disinfected it and began to dab at the grime on Peter's face.
“Friday, scan Peter for injuries.“ He ordered his AI.
She informed him with her robotic voice:“Mr. Parker has a sprained right ankle, bleedings at his nose and lips, excoriations both on the knuckles of his left hand and on his lower back, as well as bruises on: his wrists, shoulders, back, thighs,“
“Yes! Got it, it's enough, Friday!“ interrupted Tony again, before the AI was able to complete her list.
“If this is a comfort for you Sir, Mr. Parker will presumably not have permanent injuries and, considering his abilities, his injuries will heal in the course of the next few days.“
“Yes, thank's Friday.“ Muttered Tony, while rubbing his hands up and down his face. He stared anxiously down on the young hero's round face, who slept peacefully and exhausted in the feather-white sheets. He did not deserve this, but ultimately no one did, and the important question now was, how they should deal with it.
Early in the morning Bruce came back, his face pulled into a stiff grimace, in an attempt not to show his displeasure with having to see Peter in such a state.
“How's he holding up?“ He asked in a hushed voice, not sure if he shouldn't also be asking about Tony, who looked equally exhausted.
“He's been sleeping for the whole time, thankfully.“ Tony answered, not moving his gaze from the Spiderling's sleeping form.
Bruce tried to approach the next topic carefully, knowing how hard this was being on the man himself, who had been caring for Peter similiar to a son. But however Bruce tried to twist the words in his head, he didn't think he could ever make this any easier to talk about.
“I've got the test results back, you know.“ He stated, making it sound innocent, while it was anything but.
Bruce waited patiently for a response, paying attention to how his friend's breaths deepend unconsciously, before he hesitantly reached for Peter's uninjured hand, stroking it lightly with his thumb. Tony braced himself with a last deep inhale and a soft sqeeze to his kid's hand before he mustered up the courage to take this kind of knowledge onto his shoulders.
He nodded before he spoke:“What did you find out?“
“Starting at the obvious, his BAC was at a 0.4, which isn't exactly an explanation. But the main drug in his system, I was able to localize, was some sort of benzodiazepine, to be exact alprazolam, which is the major agent in anxiety drugs, like Xanax, and with the dose he's had, I highly doubt he's taken it knowingly. So we have to assume his drink's been spiked, taking into consideration what you've been telling me that'd be the most likely scenario at least.“ Bruce ended, tense and breathless, he wished he could've brought better news but thinking about the alternatives he wasn't sure if there was even something like 'good news'.
Tony nodded again, rendered speechless. Speechless Tony was never a good sign. Well, rambling Tony, or joking Tony wasn't actually always a good sign either but speechless Tony was definitely a thousand times more alarming.
“I'm sorry Tony, believe me, this shouldn't ever be happening, to anyone. And as much as I understand you, you can't beat yourself up about it, not now, not when the kid is counting on you more an ever.“ Bruce tried to get through to him, shooting into the blue, hoping he could pull Tony out of his musings, before he would rile himself up too much. Usually this was Pepper's job.
“I know, I'm okay, I just need,“ He paused and Bruce noticed how he now had both his hands on Peter's arm, dazedly tracing the bruises there. “I guess I just need a good cup of coffee.“ Tony gave him a strained smile, that showed him a scary amount of vulnerability, which he hadn't seen in the man's eyes ever before.
Seeing his bewildered state, Tony quickly got up, brushing off dust that wasn't there and throwing him a challenging look.
“So you gonna show me where you hoard the good stuff in that little lab of your's, or do I have to reorganize your shelves all by myself again?“ Ignoring his short slip-up, Tony had regained his usual demeanour again, even if it was just for show, Bruce was even relieved to have him make the effort again.
“For the love of god, do not touch my folders, you're gonna get your junk soon enough.“ He joked back, in the hopes to take his mind off things for just a while at least.