Chapter Text
Peter sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. His body ached from patrol the night before, and Flash had once again taken his frustrations out on him. Normally, Peter could shoulder a lot — pain, pressure, responsibility — but sometimes it piled up so high it drowned him in voices, good and bad, all whispering in his head. All he wanted was for History class to end, so he could be back in his dad’s arms.
A spitball smacked against his cheek. Flash cackled.
“What’s wrong, Pussy? Can’t handle a little spit?” His friends joined in the laughter.
Peter wiped the damp paper away, swallowing down the urge to retch or snap back with something he’d regret. 'Breathe in.'
“Settle down, class!” Mr. Wilson barked from the front, his gaze flicking between Flash and Peter before he turned toward his desk.
'Breathe out.' His eyes stung. No matter what, somehow he’d always be the problem, always part of the blame. Sometimes he wished the world would just swallow him whole. Other times, darker thoughts whispered — that maybe he wouldn’t mind if one of those night patrols finished him off.
“Now class, exciting news!” Mr. Wilson clapped his hands, the stern look on his face melting into a grin. “This Friday, we’re going on a field trip!”
Cheers broke out instantly, desks rattling with chatter. Everyone was buzzing. Everyone but Peter.
“It took a lot of begging and money,” the teacher continued, “but we’re heading to Stark Industries! You’ll get an inside look at cutting-edge science and technology — and maybe even the Avengers. Who better to ask about your future than Tony Stark himself?”
The room erupted again, louder this time. Fangirling. Gossip. A few crude jokes about certain Avengers.
Peter shrank lower in his seat. Sure, a day away from school sounded great, but not when the destination was home — a home no one knew was his. Most of them still thought his Stark connection was just an internship. The truth was messier: his mom had died, Tony hadn’t been able to raise him alone, and so Peter had been placed with foster parents who didn’t make it. That led to May and Ben, to grief and trauma and diagnoses, and finally, at fourteen, May had told him the truth about his real family. He wasn’t angry. If anything, he understood Tony’s choice to protect him. These days, he split time between May on the weekends and Tony during school weeks. It was hard, but it worked.
“What’s wrong, whore? Afraid everyone’s gonna find out your little Stark internship’s a fake?” Flash sneered from across the aisle.
Peter clenched his jaw. He and Tony had crafted the “internship” story as cover, easier than letting anyone connect the dots: Tony’s son and Spider-Man. At least the lie had a kernel of truth — Tony did let him work in the lab. That thought made him smile faintly.
“The internship’s real,” he said at last.
Flash’s expression darkened. “We’ll see about that, tranny.”
The word hit like a punch. Peter flinched, stomach twisting. That slur always sent him spiraling — a trigger tied to his dysphoria, to old razor scars Tony had once discovered. A long, ugly story Peter never wanted to retell.
“When the bell rings, grab a permission slip for your parents,” Mr. Wilson called out as the class broke into chatter again.
'Even better,' Peter thought bitterly as the bell shrieked. He slipped out with the crowd before Flash could corner him. All he wanted was to get to his father. Nothing else mattered.
𓆩⟡𓆪
“Boss, I’m detecting distress in Peter,” FRIDAY reported, voice calm but edged with concern.
Tony froze mid-adjustment on the prototype upgrades for Peter’s suit. He glanced up at the nearest camera. “What happened?”
“Unclear. His vitals suggest heightened stress, possibly a breakdown.”
Tony was already moving toward the elevator. “Is he on his way back?”
“Yes. Happy is bringing him now.”
“Good.”
𓆩⟡𓆪
The front door opened softly. Peter stepped inside with his head down. “Thanks, Happy,” he muttered, then called out, “Dad?”
The elevator doors slid open. Tony emerged and crossed the room in seconds, pulling Peter into a tight hug. “FRIDAY told me. What happened?”
Peter pressed against him, managing a weak smile. “Just… some people.”
Tony’s jaw tightened. “Still bothering you?”
Peter nodded, shame prickling hot under his skin. “He called me a whore. And… he used that word again.”
A low growl rumbled in Tony’s throat as his hand rubbed slow circles on Peter’s back. “I’m sorry, son.”
Peter forced a change of subject, voice shaky. “We’ve got a field trip Friday. To Stark Industries. I’ll need May to sign the slip.”
“So it’s your class coming here.” Tony exhaled. “Fine. We’ll sort it out. But Peter—” He tilted his son’s chin up. “—I’m worried about you.”
Peter lowered his gaze again. “It’s the usual. I just… I just want you.” He leaned into Tony’s chest, desperate for the grounding.
Tony threaded his fingers through Peter’s hair, sighing. “That still worries me, kiddo.”
“Please? Can I just work on my suit and forget today ever happened?” Peter looked up with his best wide-eyed plea.
Tony chuckled softly, though it carried more exhaustion than humor. “For a while. But don’t push it — May will skin me alive if I let you stay up all night again.”
Peter’s smile brightened. He hugged Tony tighter. “Thanks, Dad.”
Tony kissed the top of his son’s head, wishing he could shield him from everything. “Always, son. Always.”