Chapter 17

Harry ate his pasta slowly, dread filling his stomach. He wasn't stupid. When Bruce and his father got in the car, they both tried to put up a good front that something wasn't bothering them, but he knew. The way his father kept shooting him worrying glances whilst tapping his fingers (something Harry had learned in the past month he did when he was nervous) and how Bruce would place his hand over the other's to stop his tapping, giving him a knowing look – And now at dinner how his father had barely said a word and Bruce had to keep the conversation going –

Yeah, something was going on.

Finally, Harry couldn't take it anymore.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, putting his cutlery down and pushing his half eaten pasta away. "And I know something is! It started after you made me leave when we were talking about a place for me to dance – which is not really that big of a deal. I'm enjoying doing something different for a change. So, what is it?"

Bruce and his father looked at each other, and Bruce nodded as if he was encouraging his father to say something. So, Harry focused his gaze at his father.

"Well, Harry," started Tony, and then he stopped and took a breath. All throughout dinner all he could think of was all the signs he missed. Harry pulling away from skin contact, for one. After that first night, Tony hadn't seen the boy's hands as he insisted on wearing those gloves.

Okay. Stop panicking. He can do this. He needed to be the parent, needed to be calm.

"Harry, Bruce said," Tony started again. "well, Bruce and I – we have something in common, something that makes us wonder if you have been through – that is to say –"

"My father severely abused me as a child," Bruce interjected. Both Tony and Harry gasped at his bluntness on such a serious topic. "It included physical and emotional abuse, with beatings and being screamed at." Then he looked to Tony, putting a hand on his arm. "And you, Tony. Tell Harry about Howard."

"I know I told you how Howard wasn't a good father," Tony said, but then stopped. Bruce squeezed his arm reassuringly, and Tony continued. "He was neglectful at the best of times, and – and physically abusive at the worst. Usually when he was drunk. I was never good enough for him, and he would make that clear with his belt from time to time."

Tony could see Harry start to tear up.

"Why – why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, looking away from the men to stare at his hands.

Okay, Tony you can do this. You can do this. Take a breath, and –

"Harry, please tell us," Tony entreated gently. "Did – did your aunt and uncle hurt you while you lived with them?"

Harry couldn't breathe.

"Why – why would you think that?" Harry asked defensively, hugging himself in comfort.

"I didn't – not until Bruce said some things," his father said, looking at him sadly. "Some things that, well, reminded me of me when I was your age. Your not mentioning your – your relatives, your independence, not wanting to be touched, wearing those gloves all the time – although for me, it wasn't gloves; it was baggy, filthy sweatshirts I never washed – so no one would see what he had done to me, nor be near me because of the smell. So, please, tell me the truth."

Harry opened his mouth but couldn't speak. The temptation to tell them everything – it was nearly overwhelming.

"Harry, nothing you say will cause Tony and I to turn away from you," Bruce promised. "I care for you very much, and your father loves you beyond all measure. That may be hard to understand if you lived your life until now without it but try and believe me. Take this chance. Tell us."

"Freak," Harry whispered, holding tighter to himself and tears starting to flow down his face. "That's what they called me: Freak."

AN: That's it for now! See you next week!