Peter was genuinely happy to have the chance to stay with his aunt for a while.
He had not spent more than a week at her place in ages, so Tony’s request had come at just the right time.
Well, not exactly a request.
More of a suggestion.
Tony and Pepper had to leave on some annual charity tour they had managed to avoid for about six years.
Thirty locations, two or three days in each, plus travel time.
In other words, Tony had accepted the inevitable and decided Peter should spend those few months with his aunt so someone would be around to keep an eye on him.
And report to Stark if the kid tried to hide another knife wound.
Tony had, of course, told Peter he could still come to the Tower whenever he wanted, but it would be better if he simply lived with his aunt for the next few months.
That way “his poor old father with the bad heart” would have an easier life.
Those were Natasha’s words, not Tony’s.
May agreed happily too.
“Of course he can stay, Stark!
This is his home.
How could you even think I wouldn’t be happy to have him?” Tony declared that Peter had the most dangerous fan club in the world and departed for the irritating tour with a clear conscience.
Because Pepper said so.
*** For three whole days everything was wonderful.
His schedule no longer contained a “drink tea with the Avengers” slot, but that was hardly a tragedy.
He needed a break from those puppies every now and then.
School was the same as ever, except Flash had stopped bothering him and Ned wondered why Peter had not gone on tour with Tony.
As if.
By mutual agreement, Peter and Stark had decided to avoid missing school.
Tony simply did not want to visit the principal again.
Home was less straightforward.
At first, coming back had been wonderful.
Peter and May finally had the movie night they had postponed for so long, established a three-call rule for his patrols, and made lasagna.
Then May admitted she had met someone and really wanted Peter to meet him.
At first, that sounded great.
May had deserved happiness for a long time, and Peter was sincerely happy for her.
He really was happy—right up until John crossed the threshold of their apartment.
At first glance he seemed kind and pleasant.
He was handsome, as far as Peter could judge, fit and tall.
Peter understood why May liked him.
What he did not understand was why his spider-sense immediately began screaming at him to stay as far away from John as possible.
Parker barely suppressed the urge to run and managed to sit through the entire evening in John’s company.
The man really was nice: he smiled, acted incredibly courteous, and treated May perfectly.
Only May.
Peter caught John studying him from the corner of his eye several times, and each time he wanted to crawl under the table and hide.
At the end of the evening, John hugged him goodbye, triggering an overwhelming urge to flee.
Peter already knew the truth.
No.
He did not like this man.
“So, Peter, what did you think of him?” May carefully sat on the edge of the bed, smiling happily.
Terrible.
Please never let him come here again.
“He’s amazing.” Peter forced a false smile and watched May relax.
This man made May happy.
What right did Peter have to ruin her life again?
*** John began coming over two or three times a week.
Peter tried to hide in his room during the visits, stay out longer with MJ, or extend his patrols.
They still ran into each other.
It was unavoidable.
Ned and MJ thought Peter should tell May about his bad feeling.
He brushed them off.
John was not doing anything suspicious and treated May wonderfully.
Peter simply disliked him.
That happened sometimes, did it not?
Deep down, Peter knew he truly should tell May, but that knowledge was buried too far beneath everything else.
He was not ready to make her lose another person she loved because of him.
That would be selfish.
Another week passed.
May, practically glowing with excitement, asked whether Peter would mind if John moved in while his apartment was being renovated.
They had been dating long enough to consider something like that, she said.
Peter knew that if he said no, it would not happen.
But there was so much genuine happiness in May’s eyes that all he managed was a smile.
“Of course.
We can try it.” May squealed happily and hugged him.
God, please.
Somebody save him.
*** Tony would not be back for almost another month and a half.
He called, texted, complained about everyone being boring and Pepper being Pepper, and assured Peter that a little more of this would make him run away for good.
Tony’s calls became the only moments when Peter could genuinely relax.
Being at home was difficult.
No—not difficult.
Frightening.
His spider-sense went wild the moment he crossed the threshold.
It screamed whenever John casually greeted him.
If the two of them were in the same room, Parker barely managed to hold back nausea.
And John had not even done anything.
People had attacked Peter with weapons and dropped buildings on him, and his spider-sense had not reacted half this strongly.
Maybe it was broken.
The criticism began less than a week after John moved in.
May was working a shift.
Peter had just returned from an afternoon patrol and, doing his best to ignore every instinct in him shrieking in terror, opened the refrigerator in hopes of restoring at least half of his energy.
He tried not to eat all the food in the apartment.
May came home exhausted from work and could not constantly cook for him.
She was not Tony Stark, who, upon realizing how much food his child needed, had bought four additional refrigerators—he had panicked a little—and filled them to the top.
That did not even count the Tower’s dining room, which was closer to a restaurant since the chef, Jacques Morléon, was French.
John approached so silently that Peter did not notice.
Normally his spider-sense would have warned him, but it was already screaming.
“You eat too much for someone who doesn’t work.” Peter flinched beneath the stare of cold gray eyes.
“You could eat less.
Your aunt doesn’t make that much money, and food isn’t free.” No, he could not.
Try living with his metabolism.
“I intern at Stark Industries.” Well, lived there, technically.
“I’m paid for it.
Mr.
Stark is on a charity tour right now, so I haven’t been going in.” Almost true.
Tony did not exactly pay him.
He simply threw money at Peter from time to time.
Peter knew Tony had helped Aunt May on several occasions, but he tried not to do it too often in case it hurt her pride.
It was extremely considerate and sweet of him.
John gave a loud, skeptical hum, yanking Peter out of the pleasant thoughts and back into the nightmare.
May’s boyfriend did not really believe in the internship, and they had chosen not to advertise the adoption at all.
“Eat less anyway.” As John left the kitchen, he clapped Peter on the shoulder.
Every bit of food in Peter’s stomach immediately tried to come back up.
So he began eating less at home.
It was a small price to pay if it meant that man would not talk to him.
Peter could eat at school and pick up something from Mr.
Delmar.
Tony had left him enough money to buy not only a sandwich but the entire restaurant.
It was easier that way.
Though who the hell was he trying to fool?
Ned noticed and immediately launched a serious interrogation, eventually declaring that none of this was normal.
Yes.
Peter knew.
What was he supposed to do?
Tell May and once again take away someone she loved?
No, thank you.
The last time had been enough.
The next confrontation began over Peter’s clothes.
He had no idea how the sweatshirt had ended up there.
Usually he left all the expensive things Tony forced on him at the Tower.
“Sorry, kid, but I can’t watch you walk around my high-tech laboratory wearing that.” What had enraged John was even more of a mystery.
Peter’s enhanced hearing made shouting especially unbearable.
He drew his head down fearfully between his shoulders while the man waved the sweatshirt at him.
“How dare you beg your aunt for money to buy clothes this expensive?
Do you have any idea how hard it is for her to support the two of you?” “It was a gift.
Not from May,” Peter murmured quietly, hoping even that answer would make him stop yelling.
“That is a very expensive gift.” John practically spat the final word and threw the sweatshirt into a corner.
“Or did you earn it?” Nausea rolled through Peter at the implication, at John’s approach, at his voice, at the shouting— He froze, unable to understand for a moment what had just happened.
His cheek burned.
His ears rang.
Something inside Peter cracked.
He had been hit before.
He had even been shot.
But this was different.
Staggering, he tried to get away from John, hide, run, do anything.
He was not fast enough.
John caught his arm, squeezing his wrist painfully, spun him around, and hit him again.
John’s shouting reached Peter as though through water.
“Are you listening to me, you little bastard?” Peter nodded almost imperceptibly, silently begging him to stop yelling.
“You rude little piece of shit!
Though what else should anyone expect?
You’ve never had a proper example, and your aunt is too soft with you.
Don’t worry.
I’ll fix that.” He did have a proper example.
His father.
And it was definitely not John.
Peter tried to distance himself from the shouting and watched with sudden numbness as the man’s face twisted.
One month.
Just one month and Tony would finally be back.
Then Peter could leave.
*** John appeared to develop a taste for it, raising a hand against Peter whenever he found the slightest excuse.
Peter felt sick, filthy, hurt, and humiliated, but even that was not the main problem.
He could not sleep.
His spider-sense never fell silent.
That alone was exhausting, but sleep made it worse.
His enhanced survival instincts would not allow him to rest while a threat to his life was nearby.
At first he survived on short naps in the library or while suspended on a web between tall buildings.
Then it became worse.
His spider-sense no longer stopped screaming even when he was away from home.
At one point Peter gave a tired little laugh and compared it to Anna and her obsession with access passes.
What else could he expect from it?
Like owner, like spider-sense, and its owner was incredibly stubborn.
Even MJ and Ned could tell something terrible was happening to their friend, something he was predictably trying to hide.
They could not persuade him to tell anyone.
They wanted to contact Stark, but Peter looked so hunted as he practically begged them not to that they no longer knew what to do.
Peter looked bad enough that even Flash quietly approached Ned during a break and asked what was wrong with him.
If that was not a warning sign, then what was?
*** Peter tried with all his strength to keep his head down and make no noise.
To be as invisible as possible.
Anything so that the monster—so that the man—could not find another reason to go after him.
May had started covering a friend’s shifts and was almost never home.
When she did appear, she was too exhausted to realize that “I’m just a little tired—you know, exams, patrols” sounded false and unconvincing.
And God, Peter really did try to do everything right, even obeying curfew so John would have no extra reason to come after him.
But there had been terrorists, and children had been screaming and crying.
He could not simply walk away.
Peter would even have made it home on time if the bastards had not managed to detonate a grenade just before they were captured.
He was sure he could have dodged if his spider-sense had warned him.
Apparently it was too busy reminding him about John every second of every day to save him from terrorists.
Thanks a lot.
Experience suggested that arriving home with a grenade fragment lodged in his side while bleeding heavily tended to provoke questions.
By the time Peter reached a pharmacy, pulled out the fragment, cleaned the wound, stitched it as neatly as he could, and bandaged it, he was far beyond the permitted hour.
God, how he hoped May would be home.
Or that John had already gone to bed.
Though who was he kidding?
When had Peter ever been that lucky?
The moment he stepped through the door, moving as slowly as possible so the stitches would not tear, his eyes met John’s.
Instead of greeting him, the man raised a hand and delivered a sharp slap.
It happened every time.
Peter could have caught the hand a millimeter from his face, but paralysis and panic already controlled his body.
“Where the hell have you been, you bastard?” John seized his wrists and squeezed hard.
There would be bruises tomorrow.
“I stayed late with friends,” Peter whispered, barely audible.
He could hardly say he had been stopping terrorists.
“Please let go.” “Let go?” John squeezed harder, and his eyes gleamed feverishly.
Peter realized he was drunk.
A drunken sadist.
Of course.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” Peter blinked in confusion, genuinely unable to understand what he had said wrong.
The gesture enraged John further.
He drew back and punched Peter in the stomach.
Peter choked on sudden pain.
The blow had caught the edge of the wound.
But John had already lost himself in it and was preparing to strike again.
Peter felt every second.
He heard the crack of his rib breaking.
Perhaps that sound was what finally pulled him out of the paralysis.
Peter caught the fist raised for another blow and twisted the arm backward.
He did not even hear John’s scream as he ran out of the apartment.
He needed to get away.
And he already knew where he wanted to go.
Half an hour later, F.R.I.D.A.Y.
greeted him cheerfully and let him inside.
Peter reached his room and immediately felt beneath the bed for the first-aid kit.
He changed the bandage quickly, asked F.R.I.D.A.Y.
not to tell Tony about any of it, and blacked out.
His spider-sense finally quieted enough to let him sleep.
*** “Mr.
Stark!” A loud voice at two-thirty in the morning was not how Tony wanted to wake up.
“Mr.
Parker has arrived at the Tower.
One of the prohibited phrases was used.” “Which one?” Sleep vanished instantly.
Tony was already sitting upright while Pepper blinked beside him in confusion.
“‘Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y., how about this stays between us?
Don’t tell Tony.'” F.R.I.D.A.Y.
played a recording of Peter’s voice.
Tony could hear pain underneath the words.
“I have also detected a shrapnel wound in his side, a broken rib, bruising around both wrists, and severe physical and emotional exhaustion.
Shall I activate the ‘Coming Home’ protocol?” Tony looked grimly at Pepper, who seemed even more frightened and worried than he was.
He nodded while trying to calculate how long it would take him to fly to the Tower from goddamn Montevideo.
In Uruguay.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., if he tries to leave before I get back, lock him in.” Tony glared skeptically at the words ESTIMATED FLIGHT TIME: ELEVEN HOURS.
He was worried, which meant he would make it in nine.
“According to my projections, Mr.
Parker’s body is so exhausted that he will not wake for at least twelve hours,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.
replied as though that were supposed to reassure him.
Seriously, kid.
What happened to you?
Tony could not understand how anything could have happened.
He called almost every day, and Peter had always sounded cheerful and energetic.
If something had been happening to him this entire time and Tony had failed to notice, then that was—God, that was terrible.
While the suit followed the calculated route, Tony reviewed every news report about Spider-Man from the past month.
He could find nothing serious enough to explain the condition Peter was in.
The idea struck without warning.
It should already be around nine in New York, so Tony felt almost no guilt when he called Ned.
“Yes, yes, it’s me.
Don’t squeal.
Calm down.” Tony did not have time to indulge the kid’s excitement.
Another day, perhaps, he would let him squeal as much as he liked.
“Now try to give me an answer I can believe.
Preferably one that will calm me down.
What happened to Pete, and how bad is it?” “Um…” A tense silence settled on the other end.
Tony was afraid to imagine what the children had gotten into while he was away.
“Well, it’s definitely very bad.
Pete was hurt by a grenade too.
I saw it on the news.
I’m glad you’re coming back.
We didn’t know what to do anymore, and Peter wouldn’t let anyone tell you.
And I think I shouldn’t say anything else.
He should tell you himself.
Hopefully.
I’m kind of busy—I’m in class.” “Right, right.
Go.
Thanks.” God, what had happened to them?
*** Tony flew through the window and landed in his living room.
Without wasting a second, he went up to Peter’s room, hoping the kid would be there.
Alive and healthy would have been ideal, but those were fantasies.
Simply sleeping would be enough.
The room—especially the pile of blood-soaked bandages beside the bed—looked nightmarish.
Tony had already been on the verge of a heart attack, and this did not help at all.
Peter looked better than a corpse, which was decent under the circumstances.
He was definitely sleeping rather than dead from blood loss.
That was something.
Tony was briefly horrified that he had reached the point of being grateful for things like that.
But when your kid constantly did things like this, you learned to appreciate any condition opposite to death.
Stark went downstairs and let Peter wake on his own.
He needed to prepare food, because Pete looked very, very unwell.
Tony would never believe May had been starving him, which made his appearance even more confusing and frightening.
Three hours later, after Tony had suppressed the urge to go upstairs and wake the kid seven separate times, the elevator chimed softly and admitted Peter into the living room.
Tony looked up and studied him before Peter noticed his presence.
That alone was unusual.
His spider-sense should have warned him.
Peter was pale, had lost a frightening amount of weight, and moved very slowly, probably to avoid disturbing his injuries.
Tony immediately spotted the bruises around his wrists that F.R.I.D.A.Y.
had mentioned, along with one on his cheekbone.
One thing Tony knew for certain: Peter could not have received marks like those in a fight.
What the hell had happened to him?
Tony cleared his throat to attract Peter’s attention.
The kid flinched unnaturally hard and stared in fear, but visibly relaxed when he realized who was there.
He even produced something resembling a smile, though a bruise covering half his face did not exactly help.
“You’re back already?” Peter slowly drifted toward the table, following the smell of food.
“I thought you’d be stuck somewhere for another two weeks.
Is Pepper with you?” “Pep stayed in Uruguay.” Tony rose and approached him.
Peter gave a quiet little yelp.
“I flew back because F.R.I.D.A.Y.
told me you came to the Tower in horrible condition.
Do you want to explain?” Peter looked suspiciously at the ceiling and mouthed traitor.
Then he seemed to fold in on himself, shoulders hunching as though he needed protection.
Tony knew that posture.
It was very, very bad.
Peter looked as though he was trying to force himself to say something.
Apparently he failed, because then he looked as though he was blaming himself for the failure.
“Basically, there was a grenade.” He looked embarrassed and touched his side.
“It exploded, hit me in the side, and threw me into a wall.
And I might have broken a rib.
I couldn’t go home because May’s boyfriend was there.” Peter’s voice trembled, but he pretended nothing had happened.
Tony frowned.
He knew nothing about a boyfriend.
“And he doesn’t know about the patrols, so I came here.” “Now try again.
This time, tell me the truth.” Peter lifted one eyebrow slightly as if he had no idea what Tony meant, but Tony saw his hands begin to shake.
“I watched the footage.
You weren’t thrown into a wall.
And I can see you.
Pete, please.
You know I’m not going to yell.
I’m just really worried about you.
Tell me.” Peter blinked several times.
Tony always used that worried, gentle voice when he was frightened for him.
God, Peter had made him fly more than five thousand miles.
Did someone truly care that much about him?
He did not even notice that he had begun to cry.
Tony froze for a second, then pulled him into his arms.
The only thing Peter felt was his spider-sense falling silent.
Apparently he was finally safe.
Tony waited patiently for him to speak.
With every word that escaped the kid’s mouth—Peter could barely speak through the tears—Tony wanted more and more to kill the man who had done this.
How had he failed to notice?
He probably would have hated himself more if there had been any room left beside his fury at the bastard who had dared touch his child.
“I’m sorry.
I-I really didn’t want to bother you,” Peter sobbed.
Why was he apologizing?
“I just thought you’d come back and take me away.
And I wouldn’t interfere with May’s relationship.
She likes him.
I didn’t want to ruin it.” “Kid, this is abuse.” Tony kept his voice gentle so the message would reach him.
If explaining it had not been necessary, Tony would already have been at May’s apartment pounding the man into the ground.
“You are not ruining anything.
Do you think your aunt would be happy with someone who beats a child?
What if one day he decides to hit her too?
You never have to endure this or hide it.
I’m certain that if you had told May, she would have thrown him out without hesitation.” “You really think so?” Gratitude appeared on Peter’s face.
He probably already knew.
He only needed someone else to say it.
Tony nodded and continued holding him until the kid calmed down.
At last Peter showed interest in the food, and Tony let him go, waiting for him to say something.
He did not have to wait long.
“You’re probably right.
I have to tell her.” Peter hesitated.
“Will you come with me?” “Of course.” Tony smiled gently, then grew serious.
“But first Helen is going to make sure you aren’t dying from your injuries.
And, just in case, she’ll document the evidence of the beatings.
I probably won’t need it to sue him into the ground, but I don’t want the judge making a fuss.” Peter nodded and managed a small smile.
He should also ask Helen for painkillers.
*** A few hours later, once Tony was satisfied that Peter’s wounds were already nearly healed and that the rib had, surprisingly, fused correctly, they drove to the Parkers’ apartment.
On the way, Tony reported the situation to Pepper and assured her that they were managing without her.
To Peter’s surprise, he also called Ned, who thanked Tony with absolute sincerity.
Peter knew his friends had been worried, of course, but for some reason the proof still surprised him.
They stopped opposite the building, and Peter immediately felt his spider-sense tense.
It whispered instead of screaming, probably because Tony was beside him.
The lights were on.
May must already have returned from her shift.
Peter wondered what John had told her about his disappearance.
Tony noticed that the kid was struggling to gather his courage and rang the bell himself.
Peter saw that one of Stark’s hands rested over his watch.
He was probably hoping John would answer so he could activate the gauntlet and punch him immediately.
It would certainly be dramatic.
May opened the door.
She looked mildly surprised to see Tony and Peter but smiled anyway.
“Hi.
Tony, you’re back already.
It’s good to see you.” Tony smiled charmingly and kissed her hand in greeting.
“Peter, I’m sorry.
I thought you were staying with Ned or Michelle.
John just said you went to a friend’s place.
Come in.” Tony smiled and gave Peter a gentle push between the shoulder blades.
May noticed and frowned slightly, unable to understand what was happening.
Tony casually began talking about Uruguay and Pepper, whom he had abandoned there.
Peter giggled when Stark expressed the hope that Miss Potts would not leave him for some Uruguayan man.
Still uncertain what could have brought Tony to their home, May laughed at the joke and entered the living room.
John sat on the couch and froze at the sight of Tony Stark himself.
Peter saw him and jerked, half hiding behind Tony.
His spider-sense said that was the safest place.
Tony inspected John with a narrow, displeased stare.
Everyone in the room could see something murderous in it.
May, startled by the abrupt change in his mood, decided to introduce them.
“Um, Tony, this is John.
Peter may have mentioned him.” She looked at her boyfriend with a smile.
“And everyone knows Tony.
He’s a friend of the family.” “Yeah.
Quietly adopted Peter when no one was looking.
That’s how we became friends.” Tony placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and gave John another murderous look.
“Do you want to tell her yourself, kid, or should I?” Peter murmured something only Stark could hear.
“Okay.
May, darling, this creature has been beating my son.
Last night he returned to the Tower with a broken rib and bruises all over him.
F.R.I.D.A.Y.
summoned me from Uruguay because the kid was so physically and emotionally exhausted that even a damn artificial intelligence got worried.” “That isn’t true,” John said immediately while May struggled to gather her thoughts.
Her smile had vanished.
Only shock and a growing spark of anger remained.
“The boy is lying.
He just wants attention.” “Yes, and so is the best doctor in the country, who took X-rays of the kid’s ribs,” Tony replied calmly, though Peter could feel that one more word might make him shoot the man in the head.
“Get out of my home,” May said quietly.
The sound sent chills down Peter’s back.
“Get the hell out before I put a knife through your eye.” “But May—” John began, but Tony had already activated his gauntlet and seized him by the throat.
“I believe she told you to leave.” Tony lowered his voice to a whisper only John and Peter could hear.
“I’ve already called the police, but every word you say makes it less likely you’ll reach prison in one piece.
Or alive.
And I sincerely hope you never feel the urge to come anywhere near this apartment, May, or Peter again.
I may not be allowed to kill you, but I know several people who would do it gladly.” Tony released him and shoved him hard toward the door.
May watched him leave in silence, then drew a deep breath and hugged Peter.
While she cried and apologized—so that was where Peter got that ridiculous habit—Tony called Pepper and reported that everything was under control.
And that he was not going to prison for murder.
May agreed to move into the Tower for a few days in case John tried to return before the police caught him.
Sitting in the back seat of the car, Peter realized that his spider-sense had fallen completely silent, content that its owner was safe.