Broken Hero

An unexpected but not unwelcomed visit

An elbow to the ribs and a quiet "oops, sorry" woke Tony up around 10:00 a.m. the following morning. He looked down to his left to see his son curled up beside him, his eyes peeking out from under the puffy down comforter. The billionaire's heart melted at the adorable sight.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked upon seeing a slight tremor shake Peter's small form. The kid couldn't thermoregulate and needed extra assistance to keep warm.

Peter nodded, a small smile on his lips. "It's a lot warmer here than it was at May's apartment. The Tower is just... safe. I feel safe here."

"That's good." He began running his fingers through Peter's honey brown curls, something they both enjoyed. "There's no place safer than Stark Tower."

"I know. But that's not what I meant. Not exactly anyway."

Peter stayed quiet for a few minutes, unsure of how to continue. He'd never actually spoken to anyone about his life. MJ knew some things; of course, they loved each other and tried to always be open with one another. Not to mention how scary MJ could be when she was mad at someone for lying. Peter knew first hand how terrifying she could be. But even for her, and now Ned, he always sugar-coated things, just a little. They weren't therapists; they were just kids, like him.

So, he never told anyone how heartbroken he felt when his parents died, and he was shipped off to live with his aunt and uncle. He was sure their deaths were his fault, somehow. And as he got older, the less he remembered his parents. With each passing year, their memories faded more and more.

And Peter wasn't stupid. He knew, even at the ripe age of five, that his aunt and uncle hadn't wanted kids. That never bothered Peter, though. Everyone had the right to live their own lives the way they wanted to. Kids were not for everyone.

May and Ben had a small apartment and lived paycheck to paycheck more often than not. But they didn't mind one bit because they were happy. Until they took Peter in, he was the first crack that led to the mirror shattering.

Ben was so kind and attentive. Despite not wants kids, he had willingly accepted his nephew. He loved Peter and wasn't afraid to show it. Then, not even half a year later, he was murdered on the way home from picking Peter up from school. Shot by some robber. Peter witnessed the entire thing. May blamed Peter for her husband's death. Ben wouldn't be dead if he hadn't needed to go that route to pick Peter up. Peter agreed.

With Ben gone, May's pent up anger was unleashed full force. Nothing was holding her back as she punched, kicked, and starved her nephew. Her awful words and actions fueled by all-consuming grief and rage. Not that Peter could blame her. It was his fault Ben died, leaving her to raise a child she didn't want on her own. May had every right to hate him.

Fear pierced through him every day he stepped inside that apartment. He didn't know if May or Rick would be there, if they were drunk or if he'd done something wrong to warrant an extra beating. He was always hungry, never knowing when his next meal would be. And he was constantly reminded of how much of a disappointment he was. May never had any qualms about throwing Ben's and his parents' deaths back in his face. Her words always hurt the most. Cutting deeper than any wound ever could.

"Pete? You good, bud?" Tony waved his hand in front of Peter's face, snapping the boy out of his trance.

"Oh, uh yeah. I-I was um, just thinking. Sorry."

"You were staring at the ceiling for like, ten minutes," he chuckled as Peter's cheeks became dusted in red. "Got a lot on your mind?"

"I guess so." He stifled a yawn, nodding sluggishly. "I'm just really glad you're here."