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“You can’t do that – that’s cheating!” Peter exclaims with a smile as he watches Morgan, yet again, attempt to pick up a 20 dollar bill from the monopoly bank. It was meant to be Pepper’s job to handle the money, as ‘nobody else could be trusted’ according to Tony – but, she wasn’t paying much attention to this game. Peter could sense something was a bit off, but deemed it wasn’t his place to say anything, so he did not speak up.
Morgan gasped and put down the money immediately upon getting caught: “I didn’t do anything! Mummy, I didn’t do anything, tell Peter!”
However, Pepper didn’t seem to hear her daughter whilst she was on her phone. It took Tony’s gentle nudging for her to finally look up from the device. “Sorry, what?”
Mr Stark rolled his eyes and scolded her playfully. “Pepper, what happened to your no devices whilst family games rule?”
“I’m sorry,” Pepper flashed a thin smile, “but Tony, the babysitter, he’s late.”
In a split second, Peter looks up instantly at the mention of a babysitter. “What babysitter?” His entire face drains of colour at the mere mention. It had been a long time since he had gotten last babysat, but to be fair, he was fourteen now, so ordinarily, Tony and Pepper would’ve argued that he could look after himself and Morgan at home. But, due to last time, when the fire alarm went off because Peter attempted to bake cookies with the five-year-old – the parents were not too willing to leave them home alone.
“We got you and Morgan a babysitter this time round whilst Pepper and I have a date night.” Tony explains simply with a smirk as he puts his monopoly money down on the table.
“Why?” Peter asked, his voice becoming blatantly shaky, “we don’t need a babysitter!”
At the sudden voice change, both Tony and Pepper looked up and raised a brow. “After last time, don't you think you need adult supervision?” He asked.
“We can’t have a babysitter.” Peter declared, as he also put his money down and stood up.
“And why not?” Mr Stark sighed audibly. He had no idea why the kid was being so weirdly stubborn about this. “It’s no different to when we get Happy or Bucky to babysit you two when we go out.”
“It’s very different!” The fourteen-year-old exclaimed, alarmed by the notion of having a babysitter.
Pepper was also very bewildered by Peter’s behaviour. Usually, he was compliant with the Starks’ decisions and she had no idea why he was suddenly acting out. “Peter, why is it different?”
“You don’t know the babysitter!”
Tony chuckled, running his hand through his hair. “Trust me, kid. We did a full background check on the guy to make sure he was more than suitable for taking care of you and Morgan. He’s a good guy.”
“You don’t know that!” Peter said, growing more frightened and on-edge as each second passed. “You can’t leave us here with a babysitter!”
“And why not?” The man spoke up, a little irritation prominent in his voice. However, when Peter didn’t speak up to provide Tony with an insight, Tony sighed. “If you can’t talk to me, kid, then you’re going to get the babysitter.”
Peter bit his lip angrily as he dug his nails down into the palm of his hand, watching as crescent shapes engraved. He couldn’t tell anyone. He should’ve told someone when he was young whilst it happened, but now he was older; he should’ve gotten over it by now! Mr and Mrs Stark would surely think he was weak if he were to admit the true reason why he could not stand the idea of having a babysitter take care of him and Morgan even for a few hours. Maybe he could’ve dealt with it a bit better if it was only him, but now he had Morgan to take into account. He had to prioritise her, and vow to make sure nothing ever happened to her.
He would never forgive himself if something did happen.
“So, you’re not gonna tell?” Tony asked. Then, after a moment, “fine, then you two are having a babysitter. His name is Charlie, and he’ll be here any second, so the pair of you better be on your best behaviour this evening.”
Morgan looked up at Peter. She was unsure why Peter didn’t want a babysitter – she’s had them loads of time! And they were always nice, and they let her eat sweets and stay up a whole half an hour later than her bedtime! Despite not understanding Peter’s reluctant behaviour, she still stuck by him, and took his hand with a toothy grin.
The boy looked down at Morgan after she held his hand, and forced himself to smile back at her. He was going to make sure nothing happened to her tonight.
Not on his watch.
Once Pepper and Tony had left the house, Peter made sure he was above his main objective: keep Morgan safe. “Morgan, do you wanna play a prank on the babysitter?”
To which, Morgan obviously grinned and nodded enthusiastically.
They had roughly ten minutes before Charlie would come over, and in that time they would boobytrap the entire floor to ensure that this would be the idea of a nightmare. The pair began with the door, so when Charlie would enter, he’d be immediately greeted by a bucket of Morgan’s weird gooey slime falling over him. It was an old trick, but for sure a good one.
Then, whilst Charlie would clean himself up – in the bathroom, they would lock the door from the outside, and beforehand Peter had already used a screwdriver to loosen the door handle from the inside so it would look like an accident. He was going to make this an awful experience for the babysitter without him getting too angry at Peter and Morgan.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang and they immediately called out: “the door’s open!”
However, when it was in fact not Charlie who walked through the door, but Tony - Peter’s face paled. Unlike Morgan who thought it was the funniest prank of all time. The boy knew it was ultimately his fault as he was the one who thought of the idea and therefore, led Morgan into trouble.
Mr Stark walked through the door, fury etched across his face.
“Mr Stark–” Peter attempted to apologise profusely, but was stopped by Tony raising his hand. After all, how could Peter explain this to Tony? That, a fourteen-year-old teenager, was going to play a childish and irresponsible prank on his babysitter.
Tony’s jaw clenched as he stood before the pair, silent, his eyes narrowing. He slowly wiped the slime from his eyes and mouth. “What the hell is this?” He demanded, his voice steady but thickened with fury.
When he was met with no response from either Peter or Morgan, he continued: “Was this meant to be funny?”
Morgan giggled a little. “It is a bit…”
Tony turned to Morgan. “Does this look funny? You just crossed the line.”
The brown haired boy looked down, shame and guilt preventing him from speaking out.
“Peter,” The older man spoke, “you’re fifteen years old and–”
Foolishly, Peter mumbled out, “I’m fourteen…”
“No! This is where you zip it – the adult is talking.” Mr Stark’s voice rose, his anger no longer contained.
The air was suffocating (to Peter, at least), the air felt thick, heavy, and stagnant, pressing down on everyone inside as if it were a physical weight. The walls, closed in and unyielding, seemed to draw inward, making the space feel smaller, more confined. Every breath came with effort, the oxygen scarce, as though the very atmosphere was reluctant to allow them air.
“Daddy it was just a silly prank!” Morgan said, a cheeky smile plastered on her small face.
Tony sighed, crouching down to his daughter’s height, trying to get himself to calm down before responding to his five-year-old, trying to explain to her why a prank like this was not funny. “Morgan, there is a time and a place for jokes. This was not the time, you knew your babysitter was coming!”
“It was for Charlie, it wasn’t for you!” The little girl argued.
“Morgs – you cannot do pranks like that to your babysitter, or anyone!”
“Why?” She whined, with a small pout.
Mr Stark exhaled methodically, his jaw tight, but anger slowly simmering down. “Imagine you’re playing with a water balloon. It’s fun to throw it outside on a sunny day, right? But what if you threw it inside the house, on the sofa? Suddenly, it’s not fun anymore, because now the couch is wet, and someone has to clean it up. Pranks are kind of like that water balloon. They can be fun when you pick the right time and right place. For example, pulling a silly prank on a friend who likes jokes can make everyone laugh. But doing it when someone is busy, tired, or in a serious mood might make them feel upset or hurt. Like how daddy is tired now.” He explained.
Morgan formed an ‘o’ shape with her mouth, which signified her understanding as she nodded hesitantly. “Sorry, daddy.”
Tony nodded in response, accepting her apology. “Can you get me some paper towels from the kitchen?”
As Morgan scurried off to do as she was told – Tony looked at Peter. “Why?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Stark, it was stupid–” He tried to atone with a flood of apologies, as his words tumbled over one another in a stuttering mess.
“Peter. I did not ask for an apology, I asked why.” He said, “or did you do it simply for a laugh? Because if you did; you have ruined not only my night, but Pepper’s as well!”
The boy looked down. He couldn’t tell Tony the real reason, because… he had never told anyone the real reason! He wasn’t ready to tell anybody, and he hoped it would’ve stayed that way until he chose to tell. However, he couldn’t tell him it was for a laugh because then Mr Stark would freak out.
“It… it was meant to be a small joke like an icebreaker.. almost.” Peter said hesitantly, then cringed. Was that really the best excuse he could come up with?
Tony’s expression didn’t soften nor waver in the slightest as his disappointment hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and unmoving, pressing down on Peter painfully. “I expect this kind of shi– crap, from Morgan. But you’re older, Peter. I don’t expect this from you.” He sighed, “I’m disappointed in you – you disappointed me today.”
And with that simple yet heartbreaking phrase, Peter looked down, ashamed. He could feel the tears pooling in his soulful eyes. “I’m sorry,” He breathed out.
“The babysitter will be here a bit late, but I expect you and Morgan to clean up this mess before he arrives. Poor Pepper’s going to be wondering why I’m taking so long.” He sighed, the last part mostly meant for himself but with Peter’s heightened senses, he could hear him loud and clear. He was such an awful person.
“The babysitter’s still coming?” The younger boy asked, looking up at Mr Stark.
“Of course he’s still coming. What, you expected me to just call him off? Wreck Pepper’s and mine’s evening because you couldn’t handle a babysitter coming round for a few hours?”
“But–”
“No, Peter, there are no but’s. If…” Tony looked down at the ground with a serious expression before meeting the kid’s gaze again, “if you can’t behave tonight, then I think I should call May to come and collect you. The sleepover’s off for this weekend.”
Peter’s heart sank, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His chest tightened, and a wave of shame crashed over him, drowning out any protest that might have formed in his mind. The sleepover—he’d been looking forward to it all week. Now, the thought of calling May, of hearing the disappointment in her voice when she showed up to take him home, made his stomach churn.
His throat felt tight. He glanced down at his shoes to avoid Tony’s eyes. The weight of those words hung heavy between them, suffocating. He wanted to explain, to tell Tony he hadn’t meant for things to go so far, but the stern tone and the finality in Tony’s voice made it clear — there was no room for excuses.
Peter blinked rapidly, trying to push down the sting of tears threatening to surface. He felt small, like a kid again, not the responsible young man he was trying so hard to be. The silence stretched on, and the guilt gnawed at him. He’d messed up. Again.
“No, I can do it. I can behave!” He pleaded desperately. Though he wanted more than to go home, and conceal himself underneath the duvet in his bedroom; he knew if he went home now, and something happened to Morgan, he would simply never forgive himself. So, he had no choice in being a crybaby child who went home and sulked whilst having it on his conscience that Morgan could be in grave danger. “Please, Mr Stark. Don’t call Aunt May.”
Tony sighed, the wrinkles engraved in his forehead prominent, “this is your last chance. I am going to take the quickest shower of my life, and get dressed. By the time I finish, you and Morgan had better leave the hallway and living room spotless. Do I make myself clear?”
Peter nodded. “Mr Stark…?”
“What, kid?”
“Can you use the upstairs bathroom though… this bathroom isn’t really…”
And by that phrase, Tony already guessed that they had boobytrapped the bathroom for the babysitter too. Simply accepting it: he just sighed and walked upstairs. He had no idea what had gotten into the kid as usually he was well-behaved, and he never tried to be a troublemaker on purpose.
“Teenagers,” The older man mumbled under his breath, trying to calm himself as he entered the upstairs bathroom.
Upon Tony leaving, Morgan crept back in, a bunch of paper towels shoved into her arms. “Why did daddy come back?” She asked with a pout.
“He came back to tell us the babysitter is coming a bit late.” He replied, clearly upset that the babysitter was still going to be coming.
“Oh. Do we have to clean this up?”
“Yeah,” Peter said as he took a few paper towels and got down onto the floor, trying to scoop up the neon coloured unicorn slime from the floor, cringing at how it stuck to the surface of the tiled floor.
This was going to take a while.
The pair eventually managed to clean up all the slime, and get rid of all the other boobytraps, though Morgan was mostly just fascinated at how her slime finally came in handy, despite how her mum had told her dad not to buy it and that it would be useless.
“Petey are we done?” She asked, tired of doing nothing apparently.
“Yeah. And Mr Stark should be coming back downstairs any second now. I’m surprised Miss Pepper never came into the house wondering why he was taking so long.”
Morgan agreed as she threw all the paper towels in the bin.
Afterwards, they proceeded to take a seat on the couch with a blanket covering them as they picked a movie they could both watch together and enjoy. Once Mr Stark had finished getting ready for the second time, he was now a lot more relaxed and tranquil.
“Okay, if Charles comes, open the door for him and then let him know you two haven’t eaten dinner yet but there is some pizza he could heat up. Tell him to, um, help himself to food and drinks in the fridge, and we should be back by 9:30pm, if we are not, we expect him to have Morgan in bed already.” He mainly directed the instructions of what to tell the babysitter at Peter but nonetheless they both nodded.
“Silly daddy! The babysitter’s name is Charlie!” The young girl giggled from the sofa.
Tony smiled warmly and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Love you 3000, Morgan.” He whispered. He then moved over to Peter, leaning down as he planted a kiss in his chestnut curls too. “Bye, kid.” Though Peter had been staying over loads at Tony’s house, especially after the events of Civil War and Homecoming, the man had never really expressed his love for Peter. Not that Peter was complaining! He was just satisfied Tony was able to hang out with him so often.
Morgan waved her dad out of the house, and now they just had to wait for Charlie to come. And Peter most definitely hated waiting. To Peter, waiting was like a deliberate taunt, it was unbearable. The worst part was the uncertainty; he could feel it twisting his stomach into fragile knots, and leading his thoughts to spiral uncontrollably. Waiting was a suffocating stillness that he hated. It didn’t help that now he had Morgan to take into account.
So, when there was a knock on the door, and the younger one was about to get up to go and answer it – he shook his head at her motioning for her to remain quiet. Undoubtedly, she was confused but she trusted Peter a lot.
Eventually, Charlie realised the door was already unlocked, and so came in, taking off his muddy shoes so as not to leave a mess in the house. “Um, hello?” He called out. The man kept walking, hesitantly until he got to the living room and let out a sigh of relief seeing two kids on the sofa. “Hello, I’m Charlie.” He smiled.
Peter stood stiffly and warily. His eyes never fully met Charlie’s, watching every movement with quiet suspicion, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if shielding himself and Morgan from whatever could happen next.
“You must be Morgan!” He leaned down to Morgan’s height, and the young girl grinned back, “you must be Peter!” He looked to Peter, who was staring him down for some reason.
“Yeah! I’m five years old!” She said, holding up her hand, with five fingers up.
“That’s so big! You’re so old!” Charlie joked, exaggerating.
“She isn’t big.” The brown-haired boy said, his jaw clenched. Morgan was five! That was practically a baby. She was not old enough. “She’s five.”
Charlie chuckled, “I- I know. It’s a joke…”
“It’s not funny.” Peter responded harshly. He kept his gaze permanently on Charlie as if there was a chance he could attack at any given moment.
“Sorry bud,” he apologised, a sympathetic look in his eyes, “should I make you guys dinner or any snacks?”
With a slight grin, the girl with oak-brown hair replied: “Daddy said that there’s pizza in the fridge for us, and you can eat and drink whatever you want.” The babysitter nodded in response, and went to the kitchen, which was in plain eyesight from the living room. The kitchen was somewhat easy to navigate his way around as he got to heating up the remaining pizza.
For a while it was calm, Charlie sat on the sofa but a good few seats away from the pair. Peter made sure he put on Morgan’s favourite movies, so she would have no reason to need anything, whilst the boy watched the babysitter out of the corner of his eye. Just in case he tried anything.
Until Morgan started growing restless. Yes, whilst she was a five-year-old who was easily entertained, she also had the attention span of a goldfish. “Petey, I wanna play!” She whined.
“You can watch TV, isn’t that fun?” He replied, hoping to settle her before Charlie could get any smart ideas about hanging out with them.
Instead, Morgan pouted, obviously opposed to Peter’s idea. “I don’t want to watch TV anymore. Let’s play!”
Upon hearing the suggestion, the babysitter looked up from his seat and smiled at Morgan. “We could play hide and seek?”
“No.” Peter immediately shut down the idea of a game with Charlie, “no thanks, but we can just watch TV.”
“If Morgan’s said she wants to play then—“
“I said no!” The boy argued, irritated.
The young girl crossed her arms angrily. She didn’t understand why Peter was being so mean! Usually, he would’ve been the first one to want to play games with her, but now he was distant, and cold.
Suddenly, Charlie spoke up: “I’m sorry, Peter, but you cannot control what Morgan would like to do,” he took a deep breath before continuing, “if she would like to play with me, then we will play.”
Peter clenched his fists, his jaw tight. Fear coiled in his chest, a gnawing, inescapable dread of what was coming – of what could happen. But beneath the terror, beneath the quickened breath and cold sweat, burned something hotter: anger.
Anger at the uncertainty, at the helplessness, at the cruel edge of fate that dangled over him like a blade. He wasn’t just afraid. He was furious that he had to be. He had one objective for this night: protect Morgan. And he was going to stop at nothing to achieve that.
After all, he knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if the same thing that happened to him years ago… happened to the little girl. The mere thought of it possibly occurring caused bile to rise up in Peter’s mouth – he felt sick.
He kept his expression steady, finding Morgan’s small hand to hold onto. She couldn’t know how wrong everything felt, how his stomach twisted with something more than hunger. Bile is meant to neutralize the stomach, emulsify the fats in the stomach… The thought drifted through his mind, useless against the nausea creeping up his throat: the only thing he could think of right now, was how he couldn’t seem to get rid of the overwhelmingly traumatic memories. He swallowed hard and forced a smile. He knew he couldn’t get Charlie anywhere near her.
“She doesn’t want to play.” The young boy insisted, a determined look painted on his paled face.
Morgan’s small face hardened, “you’re not the boss of me! I wanna play!” She said as she let go of Peter’s hand, sliding off the sofa and walking over to Charlie.
His eyes widen as he stands up too. He takes a step towards Morgan, still having a cautious gaze on the babysitter. You can’t trust them – they’re always nice at first.
“Morgan.” Peter warns, using his best ‘older brother’ voice he could muster with the little courage he had.
“No! You’re being weird, go away!” The young girl yelled as Charlie stood up, a protective look on his face as he held Morgan’s hand in his.
Peter watched as Charlie retreated back, jaw tight, every instinct screaming that something wasn’t right.
Peter’s breath hitched. “Morgan. Come here. Now.”
She blinked up at him, frowning. “Why?”
Charlie didn’t even look up.
Peter stepped into the room, more forceful this time. “Because I said so.”
Morgan’s face crumpled in confusion. “Why are you being so weird?” she asked, scooting back slightly. “You’re acting like... like Mummy when she’s mad at the neighbors.”
Peter froze. His vision shimmered at the edges — too many thoughts trying to pile in at once. So many that the boy was worried they would start spilling out uncontrollably; even the ones depicting his childhood. His trauma that he had attempted to lock away. “Morgan, he’s not who you think he is.”
“Stop,” she said, her voice sharper than it had any right to be for a five-year-old. “Charlie’s nice.”
Peter flinched. “He’s not — you don’t see it. But I do! He stares too long. He — he —” he stopped, chest rising and falling too fast, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. The ache in the pit of his stomach, and the constant wary voice in the back of his head seemed to be a constant companion through this… manic episode of his.
Charlie finally looked up, calm as ever. “Peter... why don’t you sit down?”
Peter snapped toward him. “ Don’t talk to me like I’m crazy!”
“I didn’t say you were,” Charlie said, voice even, soothing. “But you seem tired. Maybe you need some rest.”
“I’m not tired!” Peter barked. “I know what I saw.”
Morgan shrank back. “You’re scaring me.”
The words hit Peter like a slap.
His stomach dropped. He took a step forward, reaching out. “No — no, I didn’t mean —”
Charlie just looked at Peter. Not smug. Not threatening. Just... concerned.
“Peter,” Charlie said gently, “do you want me to call your parents?”
Peter’s mouth opened and closed. His heart pounded so hard it drowned everything else out. The sound of Charlie’s calm voice, and Morgan’s small, but clearly audible whimpers as she huddled closer towards the babysitter.
Was Charlie gaslighting him?
Was Morgan being manipulated?
...Or was he?
For a long second, he just stood there, staring at the two of them; the way Morgan clung to Charlie, the way Charlie rested a protective hand on her back, the normalcy of the scene, like Peter was the intruder.
A slow, horrible thought crept in: what if they were right? What if he was the danger?
He felt the bile rising up in his mouth as he slapped his hand to his mouth, before sprinting to the bathroom. He kneeled beside the toilet as he threw up everything in his stomach. What was wrong with him? He had only wanted to protect Morgan… be her hero like nobody was for him.
A while later, Peter was sitting on the floor of his bedroom he had whilst he stayed over at Tony and Pepper’s. It was painted an aesthetic dark blue colour – posters of Star Wars and other ‘nerdy’ franchises hung up all over the walls. Tony and Pepper really wanted this room to feel as authentic as possible for the boy, so they heavily encouraged him to hang up his own decorations, providing the room with a wonderful, homely feeling.
Though after today, if the couple still wanted Peter anywhere within a ten-foot radius within their house, he’d be shocked. He was such a wreck, and all over a stupid babysitter.
Peter knew that Morgan and Charlie were downstairs watching some kids' movie as they awaited for Tony and Pepper to arrive, and effectively, kick out Peter from their house: he was obviously an unwelcome guest now.
Soon after, Tony came rushing in, opening the door without knocking, practically swinging it wide open as his eyes darted around the room looking for Peter. When he spotted him on the floor, his face softened slightly.
“Peter…” He said softly as he came, sitting on the carpet beside Peter, “what the hell happened today?”
He looked up slowly, his eyes red and glossy as he whispered. “I messed everything up, Mr Stark.”
Tony let out a slow breath, trying to remain calm, cool, and collected. “That’s not an answer Pete.”
Peter looked down. He just stared at the fraying edge of the rug, twisting a loose thread between his fingers until it broke off in his hand, before repeating it to another loose thread. “I know you’re going to kick me out.”
Tony frowned. “Who said that?”
“You don’t have to.” Peter said, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “Morgan hates me. Charlie thinks I’m crazy. And you — you’re gonna believe them. Because why wouldn’t you?” His voice cracked, raw and thin. “Charlie's perfect, isn’t he? Always smiling. Always calm. He’s the perfect babysitter. He knows how to play the game.”
Tony tilted his head, confusion written all over his face, “Play what game?”
“The one where you worm your way in. Make everyone love you.” Peter’s tone was brittle. “He’s not what he seems, Tony. I don’t care how many bedtime stories he reads or how great he is at playing hide and seek. There’s something wrong with him.”
Tony was quiet for a moment. “Morgan said he tried to play with her, and you didn’t let her. She said you began getting all upset about it too. Besides, he’s left now.”
Peter winced. “That’s not — he was taunting me. You didn’t see the way he looked at me! The way he spoke to me.”
The older man shook his head: “Peter, what?”
Peter let out a bitter, almost manic laugh. “He’s not what he seems! No babysitter is!”
“There it is. Peter, you’ve had a vendetta against Charlie before he arrived; this is something a lot more… serious, isn’t it?” Tony asked, his face serious as he leaned in closer.
“Mr Stark, it’s all an act. I promise, it’s an act, he’s acting! He’s gonna hurt Morgan!”
At this outburst, Tony’s brow furrowed. He was completely lost at what to do with Peter now. Peter sat – knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. He still hadn’t turned on the lamp, but he didn’t need to. He knew this room like the back of his hand by now.
“You don’t have to talk,” Tony said quietly, “but if you want to… I’m here.”
Peter’s throat tightened. The silence hung for a moment too long.
“I was seven,” he whispered.
Tony didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. Just waited.
“I had this babysitter,” Peter went on, voice barely audible. “A man. It was just May and Ben, and they were working overtime just to keep things running. I used to spend a lot of time alone. Except when they hired Skip.”
Peter looked at his hands, fidgeting.
“He was always really... touchy . At first I thought it was normal. Like, hugs, and holding hands, and sitting too close. But then he started getting weird. Saying things. Asking me to keep secrets.” His voice cracked slightly, but he kept going. “And I didn’t know what to do, Tony. I was a kid. I didn’t understand it all, just that it felt wrong .”
Tony’s chest rose and fell slowly. “Did you ever tell May or Ben?”
Peter shook his head. “I tried. Once. But he’d already made me feel like I’d be in trouble if I said anything. And by the time I got the courage to even hint at it, he was gone. Moved out of state or something. I never saw him again.”
The boy could feel the bile rising up in his mouth again, but he tried his best to contain it. He swallowed it, feeling the uncomfortable burn as it settled in his tummy again.
“He did things, Mr Stark… stuff I didn’t like!”
Tony knew he didn’t need a genius to realise what Peter was insinuating. “Stuff?”
Peter looked up, his eyes telling a dark story of trauma: “don’t make me say it… please.” he croaked out, hurt.
The older man nodded solemnly as he sat closer to the boy, letting him lean against his side, “you’re so brave, kid.”
Peter sniffled, “I don’t feel brave.”
Tony let out a small sad smile. “You’re the bravest boy I’ve ever met.” he thought for a moment, “is that why you were so protective of Morgan today? You were worried Charlie was the same as… Skip?” Even uttering that name brought shivers to Tony’s spine.
Peter responded with a simple nod; he could feel the exhaustion taking over his body, “if he hurt Morgan like I got hurt… I’d never forgive myself.”
Now it was Tony’s turn to get emotional as he ran his hand through his silver streaked hair, before he planted a gentle kiss into Peter’s hair. “I’m so proud of you, Peter.”
The fourteen-year-old could feel butterflies in his stomach – he thought he was going to be kicked out. And… here he was, opening up about his trauma for the first time ever. And surprisingly, he didn’t feel a sense of dread like he assumed he would. He felt… warm, safe. It was a comforting feeling – a feeling he could get used to.
“I love you Mr Stark.”
Tony’s breath hitched for a moment, before he relaxed, his shoulders slumping gently, “I love you kid.”