Archive of Our Own ^beta

Peter curled up on the floor, doing everything he could to protect his face from the kicks. He was in the school parking lot, after Academic Decathlon, and Flash and his buddies had taunted him enough to provoke a comment that had ended up with him laying in the fetal position. 

“Leave me alone,” Peter had spat at him when Flash had come at him with his usual insults—Penis Parker, etc etc. They’d just finished their latest Academic Decathlon, and Peter was alone on his walk home. Ned had missed it because of a dentist appointment, so he’d been cornered easily. 

“Or what?” Flash had asked back, raising an eyebrow. It wasn’t often that Peter stood up to him, but Peter was just so tired of the never-ending bullying. “Is Tony Stark going to come and save you? Your mentor, the best man you’ve ever known, your dad—”

He was waxing lyrical on purpose, to make fun of Peter. It was deliberate, the choice of words, to hit him right where it hurt. They’d had to do a presentation about the most important person they knew, and Peter had chosen Tony, had explained the fact that he had an internship of a kind. He’d called Tony the best man he’d ever known, because he was the best man Peter had ever known (except for Uncle Ben). He hadn’t called Tony his dad, but that was just one of Flash’s oh-so-fun words of choice because he knew Peter’s lack of a father figure was a pressure point for him, and likely to get him to respond. 

“Oh fuck off, Flash,” Peter shook his head, scuffed a shoe on the floor as he stepped away. “Just because you’re jealous.” 

Flash’s face had gone dark—there was a moment of anger before it was replaced with a spluttered burst of laughter. “Jealous? Parker, you’re making it up, why would I be jealous?” 

Right, because no-one had believed his little story. Even his teacher had looked at him with that face—the I know you’ve been through a lot so I’ll let this one slide, Peter face—which meant she didn’t believe him. He wasn’t making it up. He did know Tony, even if he couldn’t prove it to them.

Flash hadn’t finished, though. “In fact—I pity you, the fact that you’re delusional enough to think you know Tony Stark. To do a speech about him in front of the class, saying all of these things. You know he’d probably only ever speak to someone like you if you offered to suck his—"

“Don’t say that,” Peter snapped. “He’s not like that.” 

How dare he even insinuate—

“Oh, and you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Flash narrowed his eyes. 

“I know you don’t believe me,” Peter said, shutting his eyes briefly and then opening them again, trying to calm his anger. “And there’s no way I can prove it to you, so I’m just going to ask you nicely to fuck off and leave me alone, asshole.” 

Flash didn’t take kindly to that remark, hence why Peter was on the floor, and that brought them back to current timing. He could have beaten them all, easily, without lifting a finger. With a blindfold on, even. It wouldn’t have been hard. But he wasn’t supposed to show his strength in civilian settings, even in self-defence. It wouldn’t have been right, and fighting back would only increase the chance of them finding a new target that wasn’t him. 

At least he could handle it—Peter didn’t want them targeting some random freshman who would suffer more than he would from a few kicks. He’d fought aliens, from space. Teen bullies sucked, but he could take their kicks and punches. 

So he laid there and took it, praying that he could protect his face from the worst of the bruising mostly so no-one would be able to comment on it. Pain was irrelevant, it was all going to hurt the next day. 

Then a car pulled up into the lot, loud enough that Flash and cronies all turned to look—and then stare, as they properly saw it—as it parked. Because it wasn’t just a car. It was a limo. It was a very, very familiar limo. Peter’s head fell on the ground and he groaned internally—nothing to do with the blows he’d received, just a realisation. 

Because oh, shit. 

It was a lab day. He’d forgotten—in the haze of school work and Academic Decathlon, he’d forgotten that he and Tony had chosen today as one of the days to meet up. He should have checked, but it had slipped his mind, and now here he was lying on the floor whilst Happy waited in the car for him. 

And—then, the flood of terror as he remembered—it was worse than that. It was a lab day, sure, but they were going to the Compound. Which—which meant that—oh god, fuck, no, please not now, not now of all days. 

It was too late. It had already been set in motion by fate. Peter closed his eyes and made no effort to get up, squeezing them shut, knowing what was bound to happen and not being able to stop it. 

Tony always joined them in the car when they went to the Compound instead of the Tower for their lab session. Which meant that the person getting out of the car and slamming it, the person approaching him and Flash with lightning-fast footsteps, that was Tony. 

Then there was his voice, and yup, that confirmed it as he said—“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“You’re Tony Stark,” Flash blurted out, his voice high-pitched and his eyes probably wide. Peter couldn’t see, but he could just guess the expression on his bully’s face. “Can I get a photo?” 

“You’re beating up some innocent kid,” Tony’s tone was like ice, it was chilling to listen to. “And you have the nerve to ask for a photo?” 

“Uh, I—I mean, it wasn’t…we were just having a rough and tumble,” Flash was nervous. It wasn’t an emotion he’d ever seen on the boy who always projected cocky arrogance. Peter wasn't surprised—anyone would fall to pieces around an angry Tony Stark. 

Everyone said Steve Rogers was the one who didn’t like bullies. They often underestimated how much Tony Stark—the guy who’d been smarter than everyone in his year despite being younger than all of them, the guy who’d been smaller and littler and the famous one, an easy target—hated people who picked on others. 

Flash didn’t know when to shut up, though, and was about to make the entire thing about ten times worse for himself. Peter opened his eyes to Flash holding a hand out, ready to pull him off the floor. “Right, Peter?” 

His movement finally enabled two things. One, for Peter to see Tony, standing in his suit, sunglasses atop his head, ever a protector. And two, for Tony to see him for the first time, lying on the floor, because Tony hadn’t been defending Peter there, he’d just said ‘innocent kid’. Peter saw it in Tony’s eyes as the recognition kicked in, as he realised that the guy was beating him up, not some random high school kid from Peter’s school.

“Pete,” Tony mumbled—his face in shock, momentarily, and the word falling out as if he hadn’t actually meant it too. There was an expression on his face that Peter didn’t have quite the word for. He stepped forward as Flash pulled Peter up to stand (and ouch, every bone in Peter’s body was aching) and then stopped in his tracks, the billionaire’s gaze falling to Flash.

“You call that rough and tumble?” Tony had gone beyond mad, had gone beyond cold. His voice was livid, bubbling hot rage. “You’re bullying my kid and you have the audacity to pretend it’s just a fight between bros. Right. Well, you’re getting suspended. Permanently, if I have anything to say about it.”

Peter watched Flash mouth the words ‘my kid’ to himself, and then stare at Tony in alarm. Peter didn’t even know if he’d heard the threat of suspension, didn’t know if he was even remotely interested in knowing his fate. 

“Mr Stark—” Peter shook his head. Tony didn’t need to be getting involved with his petty high school drama, as much as it was nice to see how much he cared. 

Tony interjected. “Kid, we’ve talked about this, if you don’t start calling me Tony, I’m going to have an aneurysm.” 

“Alright, fine, Tony,” Peter winced at the name, so unfamiliar. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—let’s just go, this is all just a misunder—” 

Tony stepped closer to him and hissed, “Pete, I am this close to beating the shit out of this kid and if you try to apologise for him then I’m going to lose the very tenuous tether I have on my dignity r.e. not beating up children.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal, really.” 

“You’re bruised. You have bruises—everywhere. It’s a big fucking deal. I’m making it a big deal. I’m making it the biggest of deals.” 

“Please, let’s just go, I can handle this,” Peter pleaded, but Tony was spinning on his heels as Flash and his cronies backed away whilst the pair of them had been having a semi-private conversation. 

Tony shook his head, gesturing for them. “Oh no, Mr—”

He cut off, suggesting for Flash to give his surname. 

“Thompson,” Flash filled in, miserable.

Tony nodded, satisfied. “Mr Thompson and I are going to have a little chat with your Principal. Morita, right? And don’t think the rest of you are getting away with this, you’re coming with me.” 

Tony got them all suspended within five minutes of talking to his Principal, an unachievable feat considering Flash’s dad was on the school board and had always managed to avoid punishment. Peter didn’t know how he’d done it, but he was pretty sure Tony had implemented his intimidating face that had the ability to scare everyone who had a shred of sense in them. 

Then they got back in the car with Happy, and Peter received a short lecture about how hiding being bullied was never the correct course of action, and an instruction to never do it again, before Tony pulled out the first aid kit they kept in the limo and spent the rest of the journey fixing up Peter’s cuts and icing his bruises. At some point they’d have to have a discussion about the fact that Tony had said—casually, dropped into discussion, without a care in the world—that Peter was his kid, but not on that drive, no. That drive was meant for speeches and plasters, for scenic views of New York and Tony humming along to the classical music they played. Maybe no one (except Flash, now) believed him at school, that he knew Tony Stark, but because of moments like this…maybe that was okay.