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The first time Peter and Harley met, the former was shoved inside of a narrow locker with an egg-sized bump on the back of his head and the latter was sporting split knuckles and a blossoming black eye.
They had both stared at the other with mild interest, eyebrows cocked and mischievous grins quirking at the corners of their lips. It was as if the universe had pushed them together. Like we were meant to be brothers, they might say now, weeks later, with their arms thrown haphazardly around each other’s necks. In the moment, however, all they knew was that they had somehow- together- managed to jimmy their way out of getting their asses handed to them on a platter, and that was cause enough for them to learn each other’s names at the very least.
It was all decidedly unglamorous, really, how the entire episode had come to pass. Peter would insist it was his own fault but Harley begged to differ, claiming that it was the fault of one Eugene “Flash” Thompson— the one who had tripped Peter with a snort of “watch where you’re going, Penis Parker!” and grabbed Harley’s attention in the first place. In reality, it was a little of them all plus a dash of the angst of teenage rebellion and a sprinkle of peer pressure all stirred up in the crucible of a high school hallway and then broadcasted on social media as the whipped cream swirl on top.
“You’d been having a good day, too,” Ned mused as he sat loyally at Peter’s side in a stiff plastic chair outside of the principal's office minutes later. Harley sat across from them, looking on and listening unabashedly to their conversation. He splayed his long legs straight out, the tips of his sneakers intermittently tapping against Peter’s in a gesture that he was unsure if he found bothersome or somehow comforting— a sign that they were in this together. “MJ didn’t flick you this morning- which means she’s finally getting over you calling her dramatic for protesting the distribution of fruit snacks as an option for our fruit-of-choice at lunch- and you nailed your Spanish presentation. You haven’t had a day this good in months, dude! You were two for two! As long as you don’t get expelled now, the difference between a good morning and getting in a fight this afternoon practically evens out to equal a normal day— even if you have a concussion.”
Peter couldn’t hold in the small snort of mirth the words summoned despite the anxiety that was fizzing like cream soda in his stomach. Really, Ned wasn’t wrong. And he knew logically that there was no way he should be getting in trouble: Flash had been the one to start the fight, both by instigating Peter and then by tripping him. He just had to keep his head on straight when he got called into the office and explain the whole thing calmly— well, as calmly as he could while his concussion turned his thoughts to mush and his Spidey Senses roared in his ears and sent chills racing up and down his spine like they always did after a fight (recalibrating, was his joke with Mister Stark. The man had laughed the first time Peter had said it- actually laughed, the full belly-shaking kind that had become rare since Berlin and thus made Peter feel like he had won a million bucks when he could weasel it out- but somehow they had both begun to adopt it as the official term for Peter’s post-stress response.).
The principal had already rang May to come and listen to the story (and collect Peter to take the kid to a damn doctor before he sustained permanent brain damage from his injuries one of these days).
Peter knew that if he could hold out until May got there, he would be okay. When May was calm, he was calm; when May freaked out, he freaked out. But damn it all if they weren’t the best tag team of actors on this side of the Hudson river, side stepping out of everything from speeding tickets to May being catcalled with tactical batted eyelashes or false tears. With May, Peter would be fine.
Harley, on the other hand, had entered the fray of his own accord and, based on what Peter had heard about him through rumor alone, Harley had no family in New York and was staying with a family friend so that he could attend Midtown on an academic scholarship. That meant no parent was coming to save him. Peter hoped for Harley's sake that whoever his guardian was loved Harley like their own, because getting into a fight only a week into a new school year seemed like the type of thing that could create tension in a household. Especially if Harley was this volatile at home as well.
Peter wished for Harley’s sake that he had held off for one more minute and seen that Peter could have handled the situation fine on his own. Sure, he would have probably had to take a few more punches, maybe Flash would have ripped a page or two out of one of his textbooks, but Peter had both speedy healing powers and duct tape so those were temporary issues. Of course, Peter thought grudgingly, there was no way for Harley to know any of that. He just thought he was just doing the right thing. After all, I would have done the same if I saw someone getting beat on in the hallway.
For Peter, Flash Thompson’s beatings were just a midday snack; a pick-me-up before the real fight that would come later that night on patrol. For Harley… maybe not, especially since he was the resident “new kid,” the fresh meat, the newest plaything for girls and boys alike (but the girls were decidedly nicer to him). Loudly enough that he would have heard it even without his enhanced hearing, he had caught Betty, Abe, and Cindy from Academic Decathlon talking about the mysterious new boy and his blond hair and his accent. They said something about his bone structure being full Dane Dehaan and his outfits a far cry closer to New York street style than bumpkin chic, and Peter couldn't help but think they were strangely accurate.
Flash had been in the principal’s office for somewhere around ten minutes at that point- his father and mother pulling up in a shiny black BMW somewhere around minute six to listen to the story and undoubtedly defend their kid- and Peter was becoming increasingly jittery the longer they sat and waited. Even Ned had run out of things to say.
Peter rose unceremoniously to his feet and began to pace back and forth, his shoes squeaking when he turned, one hand buried in the pocket of his jeans and one holding a limp ice pack against the tender bump on his head. He felt like everything was pressing into him: the walls, the collar of his t-shirt, the throbbing at the back of his skull. Outrunning it seemed like the only option.
“Peter,” Ned called softly once he got dizzy from watching Peter march around on the linoleum, knobby knees knocking together and hands shaking. “How about you tell me about what you’re gonna work on for the internship later instead of carving out the second Grand Canyon with your pacing?” He patted Peter’s deserted chair twice and quirked his head to the side.
Peter sucked in a great, lung-shuddering pull of stale-cologne scented air and dropped back into the seat, knotting his fingers together and leaning his elbows onto his knees. “Well, Mister Stark and I have been working on developing improved stealth technology for my- uh, projects with his, uh, suits- which has taken some time since, in order to make the suit entirely stealth-mode, we’ll be using-”
“Retro-reflective panels?” interjected Harley. Ned and Peter’s gazes locked on him hard and fast. He raised an amused eyebrow. “Wonder where he got the idea,” Harley added mildly.
“Definitely not from a pain-in-my-ass squirt from Tennessee, that’s for sure,” came a teasing voice from down the hall. Peter felt a weight lift from his chest just from the sound of it, even though the jolt of surprise at hearing him here nearly knocked him clean off his chair. He didn’t even comprehend the words: that was how pleased he was to know the man was there. It was like singing bells; it was like fireworks on the fourth of July; it was like home and that was how he knew he would be safe.
“Mister Stark,” he sighed out in relief, a dumbfounded smile spreading his face so wide that he feared it might split. Then, confused, "Mister Stark?"
It was true: Tony Stark himself was striding down the hallway, looking thoroughly out of place in his narrow, dressy slacks and fancy sunglasses, a rueful grin turning up his lips. “Leave it to you to get in trouble in your first week at a new school, Mister Keener. And I mean, really,” Mister Stark deadpanned, squatting down to look Peter in the eye but continuing to address Harley, “roping il mio angelo, my (usually) unproblematic prodigy into your shenanigans? For shame, Keener. For shame.”
Tony squinted at the confusedly grinning Peter, looking him up and down for injuries besides the obvious one— the one he was icing. Seeing none, he reached out a hand for the ice pack, wiggling his fingers to summon it from Peter’s hand. He reached into Peter’s mussed curls to feel for the bump and they both winced when he found it, as if Tony could feel Peter’s pain as well. “That’s a pretty righteous goose egg you’ve got there, kiddo. Can you even see straight?”
“It’ll be gone by tomorrow,” Peter murmured back, angling his face so Harley wouldn’t hear. “Yeah, I’ve had worse, Mister Stark, sir,” he added, a little louder.
“Doesn’t make it suck any less,” Tony retorted, lifting the ice to Peter’s head and holding it there himself.
Tony turned to Harley then. “You good, kid?” he asked, gesturing towards Harley’s bruised eye.
Harley nodded. Tony deemed this a satisfactory enough response. After all, he knew at that point that Harley was not the type who needed to be doted on— at least, not in public. If they had been alone at the time? Well, then Harley would’ve pouted out his lip and looked up through his lashes at Tony so that his heart would turn to mush and he would pull the boy into his side and try to fix it- fix everything- with the power of his will alone.
Peter seemed to need that attention perpetually. And Tony was happy to provide it.
Tony turned then to see Ned staring over at him and Peter with a slack, starstruck look on his face. “You get in the tussle too, Ned?” Tony asked, his tone grudgingly impressed.
Ned winced, scrambling to pull his phone out of his pocket. "No, sir, Peter told me not to."
Tony gave an approving nod.
"But," continued Ned. "I figured this would end up blowing up in our faces somehow so I took a video for proof." Ned puffed out a breath. “The justice system is whack. This can't be Peter and Harley's fault. If I have to be honest, sir,” Ned added, leaning forward conspiratorially, “the fight was pretty badass. You should be proud of Peter and-” Ned cut off, frowning in confusion and momentarily forgetting his video. “Wait, so you know Harley, too?”
“Yeah, of course he knows me,” Harley said. He gave a little shake of his head and continued to speak, “I met him back when he spent some time in Tennessee a few years ago- saved his sorry ass too, I might add- and now he’s returning the favor by letting me bum over at his place and come to school here. Rose Hill schools just ain’t the same as our shiny, sciencey Midtown.”
Peter was staring with wide eyes. He whipped around to look up at Tony then, something accusatory in his glance. “You didn’t tell me that someone was staying at the tower! Harley is cool, we could have been friends sooner!”
Even Harley let out a laugh at that. He had more than half a mind to grill Tony on the same thing: sure, the kid seemed a little small and squeaky, but he was also stupidly brave enough to take on his bully despite being half his size and clearly had some sort of connection with Tony that had been yet unspoken to him. It would have been nice for him to have one default friend before coming to a new school— not that Harley had struggled (he was very much a lone wolf) but having a fallback at the very least would have been a comfort.
Tony looked up as if beseeching God himself. “Why? Why have you forsaken me?” Then more urgently, “Menace One is smart and devious enough on his own and almost always has malicious intentions towards me. Now you had to go and bring him together with Menace Two- the one who somehow hacked my suit technology and taught my AI about Harry Potter- to, what, kill me? Is that what this is? The foreplay to the heart attack that finally kills me?”
Tony looked back down at the boys, something in his eyes mournfully lost. “You two together are really going to kill me. I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
“I won’t let you, Mister Stark!” Peter crowed, swinging up his fists to hover near his face like a boxer in a cage match. The action would have been more appreciated, however, had the boy not nearly tumbled off of the chair when the sudden movement sent his sore head spinning.
Tony caught Peter’s narrow shoulders with a sigh, pushing him back into position.
Peter gave him an embarrassed grin, all teeth and crinkly nose and curly hair falling over his eyes, which shifted out of focus as his brain throbbed for a moment before zeroing back in on Tony.
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn’t holding the ice pack to Peter’s head, attempting to downplay the positively dopey smile that had spread across his face at Peter’s words (but not succeeding).
Peter caught the faint thrumming of another heartbeat approaching- felt this one vibrate in his chest like a familiar song- before he heard the tell-tale clacking of May’s boxy heels as she approached. Oh, crap, he thought to himself as he took in how quickly her heart was going. He looked up to Mister Stark through his lashes. “She’s angry, I can already tell,” Peter whispered, his voice thin and sorrowful.
Tony winced and his free hand cupped Peter’s cheek for a moment before he whispered, “Tutto andrà bene. Parla di solo la verità e stai tranquillo.” Peter gave a little nod to that.
If Ned found anything strange in the fact that Tony and Peter had just had a conversation in Italian that neither he nor Harley could understand, he sure didn’t show it.
Harley was confused as to why Peter and Tony seemed so nervous for only a moment before the most intimidating woman he had ever seen in his life turned the corner of the hall and began to stalk towards them like a jaguar on the prowl, her chin held high and her arms crossed at her chest. He swore he felt his heart skip a beat. She had Peter’s curly hair, but her eyes were different- more angular albeit equally as large and kind as Peter’s but now filled with a fiery sort of anger that made Harley’s skin crawl- and her nose was longer. They had similar pointy cheekbones, but the similarities ended there. The woman was taller than Peter, and, in this moment, much more imposing of a presence compared to the overwhelming softness Peter Parker emulated.
Then and there, she demanded obedience and respect.
“Hi, Aunt May,” Peter squeaked and Ned waved at her enthusiastically, smiling wide as if the woman’s anger went right over his head.
Aunt May, Harley filed the name in his brain. Peter lived with his Aunt, if she was coming to this parents and guardians only shindig. That was something they almost shared: neither had real parents, not really. Harley’s dad was out of the picture and his wonderful, kind-hearted, brave momma- bless her as equally as damn her- worked so many hours at the local diner that he had become a stand-in parent for his younger sister Poppy from the time he was six.
Harley wondered if May was like a mother to Peter. Never had he found someone who had the same capacity for love as his momma did for him. He had always been under the impression that no one could ever love you like your birth-parent did- a lesson he learned the hard way with Mrs. Next-Door from back home. No matter how much time she spent watching over him, her small words of affection and quick hugs were never quite the same as having had his momma comb his hair back and straighten his shirt collar before planting a kiss on his forehead and pushing him out the front door with a “go get ‘em, Harls!”
Tony Stark himself seemed to become nervous in the face of May Parker, a muscle visibly clenching in his jaw as he smiled at her. For Tony, however, it was a different kind of fear: his fear was not like Peter’s, who feared the repercussions of getting into a spat on school grounds and hurting another kid, but of the betrayal he was sure May would feel as a result of him allowing her kid to get hurt. After all, if Tony was really a good mentor and trainer for the young superhero, then he should be able to properly fend off bullies without getting bruised all over like an overripe peach.
May, in reality, was not as mad as she seemed.
Angry? Sure. Her baby had gotten into school-trouble for the first time ever, and it was for fighting: something she never thought Peter of all people would be involved in. But then she caught the way he trembled as if full of fear's live wires and felt something in her heart soften. She turned and looked at each of the four boys for a long moment, taking in the stiffness of their stances and realizing just how scared they were. Especially her Peter, poor thing, with ice pressed to his head and his ankle locked around the ankle of the unfamiliar boy with the shaggy hair and the blackened eye, his hands trembling in his lap and his gaze bleary but screaming (she could see it, she saw through everything Peter could say or do because he was hers just as much as she was his and so they knew each other down to their very atoms).
The tension melted from May’s shoulders. She bit hard on her lip as she scurried to kneel in front of her boys, one hand on the knee of each Peter and Ned.
“You feeling okay, baby?” she whispered huskily, studying Peter’s pale cheeks and shallow breath. She let her fingers tighten around Ned’s knee so he would know she was there for him, too, even if Peter was her priority (was always her priority— even on her one day off of the week, when she had been planning to take a hot shower, she had flicked off the water and dressed like a tornado ripping through the apartment to get to Peter- who was injured and in trouble and fighting- as quickly as time itself would allow her to).
“May, I’m sorry,” Peter whispered instead of answering. “I’m sorry I got into a fight, I really am. I just…” he scrambled for the right words, ones that wouldn’t incriminate Harley for getting involved but ones that also wouldn’t reveal the extent that Flash’s taunting had reached… “I was tired of him picking on everyone he feels inferior to, and I knew I had to stand up to-”
“Peter, don’t you go taking all of the blame for this,” Harley interpolated, his voice sharp. The others turned to him immediately. “You know that I’m the one who landed the first actual punch, and I’ve got the bloody knuckles to prove it.” The blond lifted his left hand and shook it to show off the split skin.
May’s eyes were locked on Harley, but her gaze was more calculating than unkind.
“Ms. Parker, ma’am, I think you and Mister Stark here ought to know the real truth.” Harley’s voice was solemn and his expression taut. He refused to look at Peter. The two adults were staring at the blond, unsure of what to say. Harley turned to Ned. “Have you still got that video of the fight?” he asked him softly.
Ned turned imperceptibly towards Peter to check for his consent to show the video. Peter winced but nodded lightly, tapping out an anxious, unsteady beat on his thigh.
At that, Tony knelt over so that his chin hooked over Peter’s shoulder (so that he could get a better look at the video, of course. Duh.). The ice pack in his hand had gone warm so he dropped it unceremoniously to the ground before returning his hand to Peter’s hair, carding through the mussed curls in what he hoped was a comforting motion. Peter leaned into the touch, a soft sigh of contentment tumbling from his lips before he could stop it. As his fingers had stopped tapping, he moved to bouncing his knees right in front of May’s face. She leaned an elbow across his legs to halt them.
Tony watched Peter’s eyelids flutter slightly and heard him expel a nervous puff of air as if he had no other way to get rid of the electricity running through his veins.
The kid was an irrepressible energy source. Could probably power all of Manhattan on the clean energy this kid supplies just by living. Though exasperated, Tony found his lip quirking up in amusement at the notion. Peter was constantly on edge and suffered immensely in the clumsy hands of his genetic mutation, but there was something irresistibly endearing about him. He was incredibly perceptive, intuitive, and had the biggest, softest heart out of anyone Tony had ever met.
As Ned held out the phone, fully loaded video queued up, Harley rose and dragged his chair over towards the group on the other side of the hallway to get a closer look at the fight— which had blown by so quickly in the moment that he hardly remembered any of it by that point. As he plonked his chair down to Peter’s left, Tony held out his free arm to Harley, who gladly shimmied himself under it.
With both of his boys held close (safe, in my arms, broken but alive and okay with hearts bounding and brains whirring), Tony felt he could finally relax enough to focus on whatever apparent secret the video would unfold to him.
The video began with four boys in the frame: three rather stocky ones and Peter, with his narrow shoulders hunched and his school books curled up against his chest like a life preserver. He was waving Ned away as a crowd started to close in around them. Ned was audibly arguing, but soon acquiesced.
The first great brute, a boy with reddish curls and a hooked nose, had the air of a kid who was in the middle of watching Saturday morning cartoons and was greatly displeased by having been distracted. He hung a few steps back from the center of the circle alongside a boy with thick arms and a thick neck who was cracking his knuckles— as if the only thing he knew about bullying was what he had seen in television shows and was imitating it to a T.
In the center of the circle, Flash was pointing an accusatory finger right between Peter’s eyes. His cheeks were a pink and his eyes held within them a type of disgust as Tony had never seen in someone so young. It shocked him: what could Peter- sweet, innocent, soft-spoken Peter- have done to spurn such powerful emotions in the other boy?
Peter, on the other hand, looked mildly bothered at best. An urge to laugh bubbled up in Tony’s chest. At least the kid kept his nerve about him even when standing up to bullies. At Flash's words, however, any semblance of mirth within Tony died immediately, only to be replaced by a cocktail of anger and shock that burned worse than vodka as it slid from his throat to his stomach, painting him a sour green from the inside out.
“Don’t you understand, Parker? No one is going to feel bad for you just because you haven’t got a family. You can’t go around lying about how you have to skip practice for your fake internship, and you definitely can’t go around begging teachers for extensions just so you can sit around on your ass instead of writing a paper. You are so-” Flash sputtered with the force of his words, “so pitiful. God, Penis, you make me want to gag, you really do.”
Tony scowled. It was news to him that Peter had been skipping Academic Decathlon practices in order to Spider-Man his way around the city, and news even further that he had needed an extension on a project. Peter always seemed to be weeks ahead on schoolwork. Tony wondered what could possibly change that. And Flash’s line about the fake internship— did people really think Peter was lying? Maybe he ought to make a bigger statement about Peter working for him, pick him up from school more instead of sending Happy.
The worst, however, was that Peter had no family. That was so untrue that he almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. May, Ned, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, and himself were Peter’s family. It would hurt less to swallow down gulps of broken glass than it did to imagine Peter feeling alone, a kind of forlorn abandonment resemblant of what Tony had choked down throughout his later years of school and on into his career, his parents dead and his only sources of comfort being Jarvis and Rhodey and Obadiah Stane.
Peter winced as he relived the words. That was the last thing he needed May and Mister Stark knowing about: his newfound struggles to handle his workload. He hadn't been sleeping. Couldn't, for too many reasons. Every time he shut his eyes he could feel dust and ash fill his lungs, the sharp sting of metal and concrete digging into his spine, taste the salty trails his own tears and sweat carved across his grimy skin. So he threw himself into his patrols. Longer hours. Full nights out, sleeping every other night at most. The more work he did, the less time he had for sleep. And then when he could sleep, his exhaustion was so complete that he knocked out like a light and sometimes even slept for hours at a time. And if he knocked out, he, most likely, didn't get a chance to finish his homework.
The emotional repercussions of being inferior were enough on their own to make Peter feel mortified and inferior, and having his Aunt- who saw him as a genius- and his mentor- who was everything Peter wanted to be and more- know that he was failing for the first time in his life was enough to make his hands pool with sweat. He had disappointed them. He'd really done it this time.
The Peter in the video was hunched over. A murmur was spreading through the crowd as the students packed closer together to see what was happening.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, Flash? You don’t… I’m sorry if I did something to hurt you-”
“Oh, that is rich, Parker. You don’t have to do anything to me, it’s what you’re doing in general that is so wrong. If you need this much attention then go home and cry to your aunt. Though, if I was her,” Flash leaned closer towards Peter, his nose inches from Peter’s, “I would have left you on a street corner somewhere by now.”
Video Peter visibly sagged, his face pale. May had angry tears in her eyes as she bit down hard upon her lip, her arm tightening around Peter’s legs in a silent dissent to Flash’s words.
The Peter watching the video was sat straight as a rod in his chair, face flushed. He would never admit it but Flash’s words had hit home more than they usually did. When Flash insulted his intelligence or pointed out his lack of friends and general awkwardness, it was easier to laugh at. Those were things Peter was secure enough in to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ned and MJ would always have his back; that they were the only friends he needed; that his clumsiness and nervous stutter and childish laugh were all part of him and made him who he was.
But when it came to family? To being a burden on May, a weight she never asked to carry? To bothering Mister Stark when he had much more important work to do? That was on Peter. And he could never be quite sure whether or not he was too much for them to handle.
“What, Parker? Too weak to answer? Or just too afraid to admit that I'm right?” Flash taunted. Video-Peter did not answer, looking up at Flash through wide eyes. Flash shoved Peter hard, the smaller boy banging his head against a locker with a sickening thud.
May jumped at the sound of it and looked up at Peter to gauge his reaction. His lips were pressed tight together and his face determinedly wiped blank, but his eyes were glossy in a way that let May know Peter was not watching the video. He was tangled in his own thoughts. She reached up and grabbed his hand, looping their fingers together and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He did not acknowledge her, continuing to stare at the phone unseeingly. She sighed and turned back to the screen.
Video-Peter had slid down against the wall so that he was sat with his knees bunched in front of him and one hand holding the bump on his head. When he pulled his hand away, there was blood on it. He stared at it in shock for a moment before an expression of resolve crossed his face and he began to push himself up off the ground. The crowd was buzzing, more students joining in to watch what was happening.
Flash’s friends had moved forward, sickening grins on their faces, relishing in Peter’s pain. Flash turned to them and told them to leave, that “this is between me and Penis over here.”
Tony’s stomach turned at the derogatory name.
Flash pulled his fist back and made to punch Peter. It was as if everyone in the crowd was holding their breath, waiting to see if the hit would land or if Peter would fight back. Just as the fist would have made contact with Peter’s nose, his hand came up and he caught it, stopping it before it could touch him.
Everyone in the crowd gasped.
"You have to stop treating people like garbage, Flash," Peter said softly. "It's not right. No one deserves this."
Flash stared at Peter, surprise slackening his face. Peter dropped his hand and Flash squinted, throwing a second punch. Peter ducked beneath it but the quick movement must have been affected by the bump he took earlier as his knees crumpled and he hit the ground on all fours, his head hanging limply. Flash took the opportunity and sent a kick towards Peter, hitting him hard in the side. Peter dropped like an upended table and rolled flat onto his back, one hand cradling his ribs.
“Get up, Parker!” Flash taunted. He circled Peter’s prone body. Peter’s head rolled on the ground and he met Flash’s gaze. Without breaking eye contact he struggled to his feet once more. Flash stepped forward with another punch ready to fly. Peter, however, had seemingly had enough of the beatdown. He ducked the punch, grabbed Flash’s arm and swung him into the lockers. Flash turned quickly, thrown off by the fact that Peter had fought back. Then, a sickening grin spread across his face. He looked excited at the prospect of an even fight.
The Peter watching the video closed his eyes, nausea churning in his stomach.
Flash charged toward Peter, arms poised to catch him in a headlock. At the last moment, Peter bent his knees and leaned forward like a football player. Flash’s momentum caused him to flip right over Peter's shoulder and land hard on his back, the air knocked out of his lungs. The crowd gasped and muttered. The picture bounced as Ned jumped.
"Good one, Peter!" called Ned, sounding impressed.
Even Peter himself looked shocked at his actions, whipping around to look at Flash where he lay flat, wincing and squirming on the linoleum. Something in Peter seemed to crack, his breaths coming harder and faster and his body visibly trembling. Shocking everyone, he fell to his knees at Flash’s side and could just barely be heard muttering, “are you alright? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I didn’t think-”
He was cut off as Flash grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down onto the ground, flipping over so that he was on his knees and Peter, eyes shut in frustration, was flat on his back. Flash rose to his feet and stomped down on Peter’s stomach, the smaller boy groaning out in pain and curling into a ball to protect himself.
Cue Harley.
He was easy to spot as he wound through the crowd, standing a good head taller than most of the other students. Upon seeing what was happening, he dropped his books to the floor.
“Hey!” Harley shouted, grabbing Flash’s attention. “What the hell are you doing?” He had the slightest twinge of a southern accent and the unfamiliarity of it had caused everyone to turn towards him in surprise.
“None of your business, hick,” answered Flash snarkily.
“I think it actually is my business,” Harley said as he rolled up his sleeves, “if you’re beating up on other kids.” As Flash continued to go back and forth with Harley, Peter started to push himself off the ground again. All traces of his frustration were gone and he simply looked tired.
“Hey,” Peter croaked. “It’s okay. I can handle this.”
Harley’s gaze flicked to him, taking in the blood on his fingers from the wound on his head and the hunched stance he had taken to alleviate pressure from his bruised ribs.
“Kid, no offense, but I think you should go,” Harley said.
Flash whipped back around to Peter. “You really don’t learn, do you, Penis?” There was an exasperation in his tone, as if he expected Peter would be easier to beat. He pulled back his fist and swung. Peter dodged it easily but, with his instincts slowed by his injuries, was not quick enough to dodge Flash’s next shove— the one that had him stumbling backwards until he landed on his ass, right inside of his opened locker. That time, he didn’t get up.
“Okay, that’s enough from you,” Harley grumbled. He grabbed Flash by his collar and swung him around so they were facing each other. With one precise hit, he punched Flash in the jaw. The stockier boy crumbled, surprise painted across his face. He glared up at Harley and spat out a bit of blood.
“I can take you no problem,” Flash threatened. “I don’t know who you think you are, stepping in on a private disagreement-”
“Private disagreement?” Harley demanded. “You’re beating him up in the middle of the hallway. There isn’t anything private about that.”
Flash rose to his feet and fell forward against Harley, grabbing a handful of his shirt and landing one punch, hard and true right into Harley’s eye.
“Oh, that’s it, you little shit,” Harley growled. He shoved Flash off of him and landed a kick on his knee that made his leg give out beneath him. He stepped forward and landed another punch hard onto Flash’s mouth.
The Harley watching the video gave himself an approving nod. It had been a damn good punch.
It was then when a teacher finally approached the commotion. As she shook her arms at the gathered students like an angered bird in order to disperse the crowd, Harley could be seen jogging over to the locker from which Peter’s legs stuck out. He crouched over and pulled Peter out by the hand, steadying him as he swayed on his feet. The two bruised boys shared a small, secret smile.
Ned paused the video and looked up at everyone around him. They all had leaned in closer to better see the screen but now that it was paused they gingerly sank back into their seats.
“Well, there’s that,” Harley said, a false cheerfulness in his voice. To their eternal credit, no one laughed.
“How long has this been going on?” asked May, her voice hushed.
Peter did not answer, resolutely staring at the blank wall in front of him as if trying to decode it.
“Peter Benjamin,” May implored, rising into a squat so that she could meet Peter’s eyes. “How long has he been doing this to you? How many times have you come home and told me the bruises were from- from labs at the internship, or gym class, when they were really from getting hit by this kid?”
Peter’s voice was hollow when he answered. “Since freshman year, May. He stopped for a while after Ben, but that didn’t last.” He turned away from her. The broken look in her eyes made him sick. He could feel bile rising in his throat, a swelling pressure settling in his stomach and encroaching upon his lungs. His ability to breathe was becoming limited. The back of his skull was starting to feel as if it were made of TV static. His ears rang, high pitched and horrible.
The lights were too bright. Spots danced in his vision. The smell of his own blood on the back of his head had become sickening. He needed to get out.
He stood up sharply from the seat. May’s arm and Tony’s hand fell from him and he strode away without comment.
Peter slammed the bathroom door behind him, the sound echoing in the empty room and causing him to cry out in pain as it crackled and sent a shock through his very bones. The tiles were too white, the silence pressing upon his eardrums like a vise.
Peter hunched over farthest sink, his hands in a white-knuckled grip around the edge of it, his entire body shuddering and tears building in his eyes. The porcelain was too cold, so he dropped it. The air was too sour, so he tried to breathe through his mouth. Then the air was too dusty and it coated his throat and he found himself choking, wheezing, and tumbling to his knees. The stiffness of the tiles prickled his skin through his jeans, so firm that he was sure he would be bruised, bleeding, torn open to the bone by it. The room spun wildly in his head and he slumped over in an effort to ground himself, to make it stop, please, please, please.
“Stop, please,” Peter moaned aloud. “Slow down… slow down… I can’t hold on.”
The footsteps approaching the door were loud as gunshots as they resonated in the space between Peter’s ears. He groaned in pain, his stomach turning, and clapped his hands over his ears. It did little to muffle the noise.
The door swung open. Peter recognized the heartbeat, steady and mechanized like a well-oiled machine as its gears twisted and spun together, each piece fitting perfectly into the next. The blindingly blue fluorescent lights flickered off in favor of a phone-flashlight. The only sound was that of Peter’s whimpers, so loud to Peter that they completely blocked out Mister Stark’s steps as he approached. Mister Stark sat beside Peter where he lied, curled into the fetal position as if building himself an armor to keep the pain out.
“Have some trouble recalibrating?” the man breathed, the words so quiet as to be imperceptible to the natural human ear but rang loud and clear to Peter. Peter nodded slightly, opening his eyes to meet those of his mentor. He squinted hard to try and still the spinning of the bathroom around him.
Mister Stark, he thought idly. Mister Stark can fix me, he can fix anything.
The man reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and removed a pair of earplugs in a plastic bag. They were specially made for Peter, a gift he had sketched up on the plane to Berlin after thinking long and hard about the sensory issues Peter had mentioned to him in his bedroom before the debacle. It was only fair to help the kid handle it better: then, at least, he would be on the same level as everyone else and Tony wouldn't have to worry about the kid getting distracted by the sound of the Yankees game miles away or the smell of a steak cooking in a local restaurant while tying up a criminal. It wasn’t a gift for Peter, Tony might insist, just something for his own sake so that he wouldn’t have to feel bad if the kid was overwhelmed and got socked in the face because of it.
Mister Stark opened the bag and handed them over to Peter, who took them in his shaking hands and pushed them into his ears. The ringing that pierced his skull like shears muffled to a low buzz. Almost immediately he felt a sense of relief spreading through him, so potent that he let out a sob at the reprieve. Mister Stark held out a hand and Peter grabbed it in his own, pulling it to his chest. With his free hand, Peter pressed a finger to Mister Stark’s wrist, feeling for his pulse, needing the steady thrum to pound beneath his finger so that he could pace his breaths to it.
Tony pulled Peter’s head gingerly into his lap, pushing his hair back off of his forehead. He exaggerated his breaths so that Peter could hear them, time his own breaths to them. Poor kid, Tony thought. Gets beat up and then still can’t catch a break. And we haven’t even met with the principal yet. It’ll be a wonder if he gets to that point without another attack. A fierce feeling of protectiveness blossomed in Tony’s chest. I won’t let anything else happen to you. He pulled Peter closer to him.
They stayed like that for another few minutes, Peter relearning how to breathe and Tony holding the boy while he did, until there was a soft knock on the door and May’s voice floated in, sweet and smooth as silk, “boys, Principal Morita is ready for us, if you two are ready.”
Tony looked down at Peter inquisitively. The boy gave a shaky nod and rose slowly to his feet, each movement calculated so that he would not send his world reeling once more. For a moment he paused, weighing whether or not he felt well enough to remove the ear plugs. Slowly he tugged them out and then turned to Tony, even the quiet stillness of the bathroom feeling loud now that the plugs were out.
“I’m really, really sorry that you had to deal with that, Mister Stark,” Peter said hoarsely, his eyes downturned.
Tony approached Peter, pausing when they were only a few inches apart. With one hand, he lifted Peter’s chin gingerly. Peter turned the other way, squinting his eyes shut so that he would not have to meet the intense gaze of the older man.
“Pete, look at me.”
Peter breathed and did as he was asked.
Tony studied the boy’s red-rimmed eyes for a moment before tugging him in for a quick hug, pulling away so that Peter could see his face as he spoke. “You never have to be embarrassed for going through- that. Not with me. I know you can’t control it, and if it’s something I can help you through then I want to be there for you.” Tony felt a blush rise in his cheeks at his sentimental words. “Capisci?”
Peter nodded.
Something clicked in Tony’s mind. “Pete… is this why you were having trouble with your homework? Sensory overloads? Or was it something else?”
Peter toyed with the idea of fibbing for a moment before deciding that there was no way he could really lie to Mister Stark. “Partially. It’s some other stuff, too… like, kind of like these attacks but just. With anxiety stuff. I can't sleep or focus on anything anymore.”
Tony felt a shock of surprise. He hadn’t expected Peter to be so candid, but he did appreciate it. “Pete, if you told me sooner I could’ve helped. I can work on some meds with Bruce or some sound-filtering hearing aids or glasses to help with your overloads, and you could always talk to May or me if you need.” Tony was solemn as he had ever been. “We all struggle. Me, Cap, Bruce, even Natasha. It’s not easy going through the stuff that we go through, and you go through it a lot younger than we ever did. Even if it’s not me you want to talk to, any of us are here for you, kid.”
Peter felt an embarrassed flush fire up in his cheeks. He hadn’t quite prepared himself for that sort of reassuring speech and it left him rather spent. Logically he knew that no one would be bothered by him if he asked, but the fear of being thought of as weak and immature was always there. Rather than disputing the point, he simply nodded. Tony didn’t press the issue, knowing it wasn’t the right time.
“Va bene. Adesso andiamo all'incontro così concludiamo questa fastidiosa faccenda.”
Peter nodded again. And so the two left the bathroom, meeting with May and Harley where they waited in silence. May reached out and grabbed Peter’s hand.
“Ned went back to class, baby, but we’ll go in and this can be done nice and quickly, okay?”
Peter nodded.
"Hey," May said with a teasing smile. "If I need to cry on command, give me the signal. I'm quite good."
Peter shot her a weak smile and squeezed her hand. Harley shot him an inquisitive glance and he wavered under it, but the boy seemed to have just enough tact as to not ask what had happened in the bathroom. And for that, Peter was immeasurably grateful.
As it was, the combination of the concussion and the overload had left his head pounding in a migraine of seismic proportions, the reverberations of it leaving him clammy, weak-kneed, and clumsy-lipped. Already he knew he would be struggling through this meeting. At least he would have May on one side and Mister Stark on the other.
With that, they walked into the office in a veritable train and stopped at the desk of the secretary. As any of them could have predicted, her jaw dropped open at the sight of The Tony Stark in front of her.
“We’re here to meet with Principal Morita regarding the fate of our little rugrats,” Mister Stark offered in an amiable tone. The woman squeaked a bit and pointed at the door they should enter. Mister Stark lead the way and the other three followed behind. He knocked three times upon the door and when a soft voice responded with, “come on in,” they entered.
At the desk sat Principal Morita, a figure Peter only knew from the one time he had gotten in trouble previously— after his escapades in DC that had rendered him absent from the Academic Decathlon. Just thinking about the serious tone the man had had in that meeting caused chills to rise on Peter’s arms.
In three chairs along the wall sat Flash and his parents. All three were stoic-faced and tense, his parents dressed similarly in black pantsuits and seeming as if they had left work in order to attend the meeting. Peter hoped idly that their desire to leave would ensure the meeting would be quick.
Principal Morita gestured to the four empty chairs before the desk, rising to shake hands with May and Mister Stark before they sat.
“I’m sure we all know why we’re here,” the man said. “The problem is getting to the bottom of this. Mister Thompson here says that Mister Parker instigated him, which was followed up by Mister Keener involving himself and escalated into a fight based on Mister Thompson’s actions of self-defense. What do you boys have to say to that?”
Peter could see Harley poised to fight, leaning forward in his chair like a leopard to pounce. He opened his mouth to speak before Harley could dig their joint grave.
“Principal Morita, I know this is gonna sound contradictory, and I’m sorry that this is a difficult situation, but the reality is that Flash was harassing me and pushing me around so Harley stepped in to stop him. Flash got hit and he hit both of us.” Then, fearing he hadn’t made the point clear enough, “Harley was defending me is all. It’s not his fault. He didn’t start anything.”
Flash’s parents scoffed. Flash looked as if he had smelled something nasty. The principal seemed to be weighing Peter’s words.
“So, Flash was harassing you… how?”
This time, Harley did not give Peter a chance to talk. “He was saying some really rude sh-stuff about Peter’s grades and was making fun of him because his parents are dead,” he deadpanned. He crossed his legs. “Now, I don’t know about you, Mister Principal Sir, but that sounds like a below-the-belt sort of tease and, frankly, warrants a good deal worse of a beating than what Pete and I-”
“Okay, enough from you,” Tony interjected, feeling sure that if Harley said another word then he and Peter would be suspended indefinitely. As nice as it was to have those two kids standing up for each other, it being at their own expense was exhausting. They were making it really hard to stand up for both of them at the same time. “Principal Morita, I know how we can finish this quickly. I have access to a video recording of the event, courtesy of a bystander. Why don’t we give that baby a little look-see and you can decide what happens to our delinquents after that? I think it’ll show you everything you need.”
The principal gave a nod. Tony pulled out his phone and, with a few fancy commands, was able to play the video as a hologram so that it could be seen by everyone in the room. Everyone was silent as the video played, all with eyes locked to it as if they were seeing it for the first time— except Peter, who stared resolutely at his shoes and recited the periodic elements to himself in order of atomic number so that he would not have to think about the coppery locker digging into his skin or his coppery blood on his fingers or the coppery taste of bile rising in the back of his throat at the sickening sound of Flash’s knuckles cracking against Harley’s cheekbone.
When the video finished, there was a moment of silence. Then, the principal cleared his throat and said, “I think that cleared everything up quite nicely indeed, Mister Stark. If you don’t mind, I’ll be keeping Mister Thompson and his parents for a moment. Keener, Parker, you’ll both serve a detention today after school for retaliating physically-”
“Wait. So you’re telling me these boys are getting punished for protecting themselves?” May’s voice was sharper than Peter had ever heard it. This was definitely not her faking-crying shtick. Peter wasn't sure which would go down better in this situation. “Because that’s what it sounds like you just said. What did you want Peter to do, stand there and take it until Flash knocked him out? He already gave him a concussion, for Christ’s sake, isn’t that punishment enough? And Harley, too, with his face all swollen? They were just standing up for their basic right to safety and if you can’t see that then this problem runs a little deeper than we all might have otherwise thought. Not to mention the fact that Flash over here has been tormenting Peter like this since freshman year and it was never addressed until now! Yeah, I think this is a problem with society itself, Principal Morita. Stop victim blaming.”
May’s eyes were blazing, her arms crossed tight across her chest. The rest sat there stunned, staring at her as the weight of her words floated through the room. Peter couldn’t help but be impressed (albeit mortified) at May’s outburst. She had a point, after all.
Harley, on the other hand, looked at May as if he had just found some rare and precious treasure.
“Well. Alright then. I would send you boys back to class but, frankly, I think you should just go home, clean up, and work on healing those battle scars,” Morita sighed, dragging a hand down his face as if he was exhausted. “Ms. Parker, Mister Stark, go ahead and sign ‘em out.”
Tony cracked his fingers before picking up the pen and signing his name. “Thanks, big guy. No offense to you, but I hope we won’t be seeing you again.”
“Me too, Stark. Me too.”
As May, Peter, Harley, and Mister Stark picked themselves up to leave, Peter couldn’t help but notice the unyielding grip Flash’s father had upon his arm, the skin beneath his fingers dark red from it. A jolt of shock and pity ran through him for a moment. Well, that would explain why he’s always so mean. Even he doesn’t know what real family is like. Then Tony clapped a hand on to each Peter and Harley’s shoulders and steered them out of the office.
“Ms. May, ma’am, might I just say that was the most incredibly badass thing I have ever heard anyone say in my whole life,” Harley said in awe as the boys went to collect their books from their lockers.
“Thanks, Harley,” May said proudly. “All I did was speak the truth. It really would’ve been unfair for them to punish you two.”
"And you didn't even have to fake cry," marveled Tony. "Wish I could have seen that," he added, warranting the elbow May jabbed into his ribs.
“Hey, Pete,” Harley called as Peter crouched to collect a notebook from the floor of his locker. Peter turned to the taller boy.
“Hmm?”
“I just wanted to thank you,” Harley said, crouching down beside Peter so he wouldn’t have to speak as loudly. “You made it seem like I wasn’t just being an impulsive idiot when you talked to Morita and I appreciate you covering my ass like that, even though you didn’t have to.”
Peter shrugged, his mind foggy with exhaustion. “S’nothing. You covered my ass first, so it was only fair.” He gave Harley a small smile.
Harley’s face spread in a wide grin. He held out a fist to Peter, who bumped his own knuckles against it.
“That right there was a binding contract, y’know,” Harley said solemnly. “Now you’ve gotta be my friend no matter what.”
“I wouldn’t mind that too much,” Peter mused. Harley gave a shout of laughter and slung an arm around Peter’s neck. And that was how they walked out of school that day, arm in arm into the midday sun with a promise of ice cream from Tony and May’s laugh tinkling like bells as she bid the three boys goodbye and they made their way off, hopes for a new beginning blossoming between them like wildflowers in the spring.