A/N: Hey guys!:) Happy Halloween! I hope everyone has a fantastic and safe holiday and gets a whole bunch of candy and yummy foods!;) Enjoy Chapter 10!
Dedicated to Alana on AO3.
Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.
It is around 3:15 a.m when Peter wakes up screaming.
His chest heaves as he sits up, ribs throbbing as his heart monitor beeps frantically in the empty room. The thin Hospital sheets are tangled around his legs, the fabric soaked with sweat and making the boy shiver. The light from the moon is filtering into the room, the half open blinds tapping against the wall from the air conditioning. The flickering glow from the machines surrounding him casts eerie shadows on the cream walls and Peter can feel his panic beginning to rise.
He blinks, eyes red and glassy, bringing his knees up to his chest, and tucking his face into the small pocket formed by the motion as tears fall down his bruised cheeks. The silence of the room quickly becomes suffocating, and the young Stark gives a low moan as the memories flash behind his clenched shut eyes.
Dark, wet, scared, rough hands grabbing, hitting, bringing pain and fear and oh god no no nononononono get away get away, run run run, don't touch me, don't please please stop! why? Whywhywhywhy? The ground rises up, swallows him down down down down. . . head throbbing, eyes blinking open, harsh screams ringing through metal and damp hallways thick with crazy laughter Peter Peter Peter peterpeterpeterpeterpeterpet-
"-eter! Peter!" A voice suddenly says, too close, too close.
Hands suddenly grab his shoulders, the grip too tight to be his father, and Peter cries out on instinct, trying to vain to scoot back against the cool metal headboard behind him. The person says his name again, the tone desperate and the fingers curling even tighter around his arms, shaking him and forcing him to squint against the bright light now falling into the room. He looks up, hiccuping with silent sobs and falls limp when he notices who it is.
"U-Uncle Happy?" He croaks, voice cracking.
His Godfather lets out a relieved breath, dark eyes glowing in the limited light as he lets go of the once struggling teenager. Running one hand through his hair, the normally grumpy man takes a step back, face weary as he keeps a sharp eye on his beaten Nephew.
"Jesus, kid, you scared me half to death." Reaching out once more, Happy sets one warm hand on Peter's still trembling shoulder, the weight comforting now that he has calmed down slightly. "I though somebody was fucking murdering you."
Peter feels his cheeks heat up, and he ducks his head, not meeting his Uncle's eyes as he blinks back more tears. With shaking hands, he fiddles with the wires connecting him to the many machines surrounding them, the rubber burning his sensitive skin.
"I'm sorry." He whispers, swallowing against the lump in his throat.
Happy humphs, his hand tightening slightly as he leans against the bed frame, the metal squeaking under his weight. For the first time, Peter notices he is barefoot, his blue pajama pants getting ruffled in the breeze coming in from the window.
"Don't apologize, Pete. It isn't your fault." Hesitating slightly, he coughs before asking the next question, "Do-uh-do you wanna talk about it?"
Shaking his head, Peter picks at the invisible lint on his night shirt, feeling his mouth go dry as his Uncle continues to awkwardly pat his arm. The only sound for a few minutes is the relentless beeping of the Heart Monitor, the leftover bag of popcorn from the movie night reflecting the red glow. Ignoring the pain of his injuries, Peter shifts, tucking his legs even closer to his chest as he leans more comfortably against the headboard, shivering as the cold Hospital air settles on his skin.
Out of the corner of his eye, the teenager sees Happy raise his hand, a frown on his face and his eyes concerned. Flinching away when the man reaches toward him, Peter feels guilt churn his stomach as his Uncle tucks the blankets further up his lap, trapping his body heat and making the spiderling feel warm inside. Smoothing down the white fabric once it settles, the Driver seems to be studying his face, eyes flickering over the dark bruising and welting cuts fading beneath the gown. Crossing his arms over his chest, Peter licks his lips, wincing at the taste of the stitches and the lingering rust of blood.
"Where is Dad?" He asks quietly, hunching over slightly as his head swims.
Happy shifts from foot to foot, his tan-yellow shirt bright in the incoming light. His shadow falls onto Peter's form, the darkness a welcome relief from the burning of the glow.
"He isn't here right now, Peter. You knew he was leaving tonight, and I'm supposed to be watching you." Softening his voice when he notices the teen start to shrink further into the bed, the man starts to take a step closer. "He will be back in a little while, kiddo, I promise."
And goddamn it, Peter knows this. He knows that Tony was leaving to go deal with S.H.E.I.L.D and that he didn't want to go, didn't want to leave his son who just got rescued alone in an empty Tower without his protection.
"You need to go to this meeting, Tony." His Uncle Bruce had said, voice hushed as the last ray of sunshine disappeared behind the horizon.
His Dad had sighed, the sound of his pacing audible above the monitors. "I know that Bruce! I know-but I can't just leave Peter, not after what happened. . . "
The footsteps stopped, and Peter felt the sensation of being watched as both his Uncle and Father seem to stare at his supposedly sleeping form on the bed a few feet away. The next time Bruce spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"If you want that bastard locked up for the rest of his disgusting existence, then you need to go to this meeting. That is the only way you can protect Peter now."
His Dad had sighed and kissed his head, lips brushing gently against the bandage wrapped around his hair line. His whispered "I love you" tickled the teenager's scalp, and then he was gone before Peter could even open his eyes.
So yeah, Peter knows that he will be back later that day, and they will watch movies and everything will be fine and he will be safe. But that doesn't stop the panic that settles in the young Stark's bones as the dark shade of the room seems to close around him, his own personal monster lurking in the corners just out of sight.
So with his heart in his throat and his stomach churning with a mixture of guilt and blood freezing fear, the spiderling looks up at Happy, fresh tears pooling in his brown eyes as his body continues to shake.
"I want my Dad, please Uncle Happy. C-can you just call him? Please, I-I really need him, please. I just want my Daddy." Reaching out with trembling hands, Peter weakly grips his Godfather's shirt, watching as the man's face cracks at his tearful pleads.
Letting out a harsh breath through his nose, the Driver reaches quickly into the small pocket of his pajama pants, the black glass reflecting the light poring in from behind him. Taking a seat on the bed a little ways from his Nephew's legs, the man dials Tony's number, reaching over and patting Peter gently on the arm when the boy begins to cry again.
The phone seems to ring for a decade, the dialing tone bringing back memories that Peter would like to forget, and making him almost lose himself inside his head once more.
Dark cold pain fear, get away, run run runrunrunrun, so dark, a deep voice, laughter thick with madness Peter Peter Peter Peterpeterpeterpeter-
"Hey Tony, sorry to bother yo- hey, hey slow down, he is fine! He just had a nightmare and needs to talk to you." A pause, Peter's harsh breathing breaking the near silence as Happy talks with his Dad. "No, he is not bleeding! Yes, I checked. . . Yep, his bandages are still wrapped tightly around him, and his blankets are too. . . No, he did not get out of bed, I would know if he did- okay okay mama bear, here he is!"
With a roll of his eyes that Peter would normally snicker at, his Uncle holds the phone out to the boy, the screen lit up in his Father's overly dramatic contact photo, all fingers guns and sunglasses. Trying to desperately get a hold of himself and to stop freaking crying oh my god, Peter tries in vain to clear his throat before lifting the cell phone up to his ear, the screen warm to the touch.
"H-hello?" Yeah, real smooth Pete.
"Peter?" His father's voice is weary with stress and concern, the rustling of sheets on the other end of the line signifying that the man was shifting on a bed. "Are you okay, kiddo? Are you hurt anywhere?"
"No-no, I'm fine!" Feeling suddenly stupid and guilty for waking the man up when he was obviously sleeping, Peter tries to hide the tremor in his voice, his poorly hidden fear making his teeth chatter. "Just, uh, ha-had a little bit o-of a bad dream, but I'm good now, I p-promise!"
His Dad hums on the other end, the flickering of a lamp on sharp in the speaker and Peter winces as he imagines the dark circles now forming under Tony's eyes because of him.
"Yeah, something tells me that isn't the whole story, Peter."
His tone is soft and the boy feels his resolve begin to melt at the love behind his Dad's words.
"I know that you told Happy to call me because you needed to talk, and I also know that you aren't telling me what's wrong because you feel bad that you woke me up. But if you need me, baby, I will always be free to chat or anything you need because you are the most important thing in my life."
At these words, Peter finally cracks, sobs slipping from his lips as he curls his body sideways on the bed, his legs bumping against his Uncle's knees. Happy doesn't say anything, just watches him cry with a tortured look on his face and his eyes blazing with a hidden emotion. The teen grips the phone with both hands, digging the metal into his cheek so hard that pain shoots up his face and down his neck, trying to bury himself in the soothing sound of his Daddy's voice.
He babbles a string of words and phrases all smushed together, the whole sentence running out of his mouth as he cries. As he continues to relay the nightmare, Tony makes gentle noises into the phone, his voice cracking at some points as he listens to his child's internal agony. Out of the side of his eye, Peter sees his Uncle quickly becoming an alarming shade of white as he describes the way Jason had beaten and ridiculed him, and how in his dream it had happened again and again and again and again and again. . .
Finally, Peter finishes telling his tale, his whimpers and sobs slipping to a halt as he feels exhaustion creep into his bones. His father is still on the line, his voice deep and warm as he continues with his reassurances, the only indication of the genius's own tiredness being a poorly held back yawn that cuts his sentence in half. A glance at the clock on the screen shows it has been a little over an hour, his Uncle's throaty snores rattling the bed frame as he leans sideways against it.
"Do you think you can go back to sleep now, kiddie?"
The young Stark begins to nod his head, then remembers that his father can't see him, and instead answers with a soft "Yeah, I think so."
Tony's end of the call rustles as he seems to lay back down, the blankets blowing air into the speaker and making it staticky for a second. Once it becomes clear again does the Billionaire speak.
"Okay, Pete. I'm going to let you go now, but don't hesitate to call at anytime if you need anything. Alright? I will always answer. I will be home later today, and we can finish our movie. I love you."
Suddenly, the teenager gasps, feeling silly as he clutches the phone tighter. "Wait! Wait, do you think that you can-that you can sing to me please? Like you used to do when I was little?"
His face heats up, but he can't force himself to regret asking when his Dad chuckles quietly, his laughter making something loosen inside of Peter's chest and seeming to scare away any lingering dark thoughts floating around his head.
"Of course I can, sweetheart. What do you want me to sing?"
"I don't care. Anything."
Lowering himself further into his pillow, Peter brings the phone up to his ear as he tugs the sheets back up, making sure to not kick his Godfather's still snoozing form resting on his legs. The dried tear tracks on his face gets wiped away as he nuzzles into the soft fabric of his pillow. Feeling his eyes beginning to droop for the second time that night, the spiderling slowly slips away into dream land with his Dad's gentle and protective voice cooing in his ears.
"Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monster's gone
He's on the run and your daddy's here
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy. . . "
A/N: Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!:D
Song Used: "Beautiful Boy" by John Lennon.