Peter was still wincing through dinner. That was not the face of someone whose parents had handled his medical care, that was the face of a kid still hiding an injury. And it made Tony angry. It made Tony furious. There they all were, enjoying dinner, and right at the table a sixteen year old kid was in pain probably because he'd broken a rib and nobody noticed. Nobody. His parents will take care of it when he gets home. Bullshit.

Peter wasn't Tony's son. Peter kind of wigged Tony out, honestly. It was weird seeing that kid's Bambi eyes and knowing that the color was his and the set of them was Steve's. It was weird watching him sketch in perfect form, the same way he'd noticed Steve did whenever they had down time at the Triskelion, while at the same time he scratched equations in the margins. Kate Tony could get over. Kate was a younger copy of her mother with blue eyes, a dryer wit, and no apparent scientific aptitude—or at least enthusiasm. Her mix of her parents wasn't so obvious. But with Peter it was an incontrovertible, visible fact. So Peter freaked Tony out a little bit, but at the same time he sympathized with the damn kid. He might not be his son, but he sure could understand living in this big house with absent parents.

All right, 3490 Tony and Steve weren't even half as bad as what his parents had been. Or his father, anyway. Really they weren't even on the same scale. It was obvious, at least, that they loved their children. But that didn't change the fact that clearly neither of them had any clue what was going on with Peter at school—hell, what had maybe always been going on. Who knew how long the kid had been bullied for? Was this not an isolated event, him coming home with a black eye and cracked ribs and no one even noticing? Tony could guess how isolating that must feel.

So when everyone dispersed after dinner, Tony followed Peter. Not your kid, not your problem, not your kid, not your problem, Tony. One part of his mind tried to pull him in the other direction, but a stronger nagging pulled him forward still. Who'll bother if you won't? So Tony followed the kid all the way back to his room. Peter didn't even notice, which was probably a testament to how distracting the pain must be as Tony wasn't exactly sneaking. Tony leaned up against the doorframe of his not-son's room. The kid hadn't bothered to shut the door and was in the process of taking his shirt off, facing the other direction. He hissed as he did so, and Tony could see why. Even from the back he could see the edge of a large, dark bruise.

"The swelling's going to be a bitch on that if you don't ice it," Tony pointed out. Peter turned around and nearly stumbled backward in his surprise, almost tripping on a stack of books on the ground. His room was littered with books. Books, comics, and little gadgets probably of his own design. It was extraordinarily messy, the kind of messy Tony's own mother would have boxed his ears for.

"What are you doing outside my room?" Peter demanded. Tony shifted uncomfortably. It was true, he was probably crossing a boundary line here. Not your kid, he reminded himself. This was really none of his business. But he couldn't help but interfere.

"I figured you didn't tell your parents what happened. Figured then that you must not have gotten any medical attention. I can grab you some ice and painkillers," Tony volunteered. Peter narrowed his eyes.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because you clearly don't want to get caught going for it but you clearly need some anyway," Tony said. "You look like you're turning into a Na'vi." Peter winced at that.

"Ok. Yeah. Point taken. Uh, thanks," he said.

"No problem," Tony said. He walked off, shutting the door behind him. He wasn't going to force the kid to tell his parents what was going on, after all. It wasn't his business. But he could at least get him some basic first aid. Tony wandered back into the kitchen, ignoring the antics of his double and the extra Steve who were currently rocking out to ABBA while washing the dishes. At any other time he probably would have just regarded it as sickeningly, disgustingly adorable and probably would have suffered heaps of second hand embarrassment. But at the moment he felt only fury. Here they were, having a great time in the kitchen, while their kid had cracked ribs and was getting beaten up at school and they were none the wiser and Tony wondered if they'd even asked.

But no, maybe that wasn't entirely fair. His double had asked when Peter came in from school. Peter had lied, and his double had believed him. Peter didn't, after all, seem like the type of kid to lie. Could he really hold a grudge against her for gullibility? For trusting? Tony didn't know. He felt conflicted. There was a kid with a black and blue rib cage alone in his room and Tony felt like he had to blame somebody for that.

He found an icepack in the freezer pretty quickly and then headed to one of the many communal bathrooms, raiding the medicine cabinet for some tylenol. They didn't have anything stronger, predictably, so Tony supposed Peter would just have to make do. He headed back to the kid's room. He knocked before heading back in again. Peter was sitting at his desk, playing a video game on his laptop. He paused it when Tony entered.

"Here," Tony said, handing him the icepack. "It'll be easier to keep on you if you just lie down. And I brought you the bottle of tylenol. Don't take too much—you can actually overdose on acetaminophen."

"Thanks Mom," Peter snorted, sarcasm evident. Tony froze. Peter took the bottle from him. "You ok?"

"Please, for the love of God, do not call me that even as a joke," Tony said, wrinkling his nose.

"I feel like I should be offended," Peter said dryly, but he clearly wasn't. He opened the bottle and swallowed two pills without any water. Tony looked at that bruise again.

"You know kid it really wouldn't hurt to get that checked out at a hospital. Unless I've been informed incorrectly, you don't have superhuman healing capabilities," Tony pointed out. Peter's mouth twisted downward.

"Yeah, no, I don't have any," he said. "But it's just a bruise."

"…A big bruise."

Peter shrugged, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Fine, Mr. Tough Guy, but if you die in the middle of the night from internal organ damage it is not on me," Tony said. Of course it was. Of course it would be. Which was why he planned on informing JARVIS (as if he didn't know already) of Peter's injury and to monitor him through the night. But he wouldn't tell the kid that.

"I release you from your responsibility," Peter said, waving him off. Tony turned to go and opened the door. "Hey, uh, Tony?" Tony turned back around. The kid offered him a tiny grin and shook the bottle. "Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever, just don't slip into a coma and die on me," Tony said. He left the room and shut the door behind him.

Later, in the privacy of his own room, he alerted J to the situation. He already knew, of course, but it eased Tony's mind. At least one member of this household was looking out for the scrawny little kid.