Rating:

Teen, let me know if you think it should bump up into mature

Pairing:

NoSlash. Peter Parker & Tony Stark. Irondad!
Tags:

Platonic Soulmates. Soulmate AU. Mentions of Non-Con/Skip Westcott. Mentions of Sexual Assault of a Minor.

Expanded Description:

Soul-marks were a private thing, so it wasn't weird that Peter Parker never let his wrists go uncovered. There were plenty of reasons why someone hid their marks. 'I don't want anyone else to know my words, they're mine and mine alone,' or 'It hurts too much to see those words and remember the person I lost.' For Peter, however, it was different. Peter never wanted to think about those words again. The ones that tied Peter to him.

And years had passed, and Peter was doing okay. The words didn't haunt him as much as they used to, or at least Peter didn't think they did.

"Hey, Einstein." A hand waved above his display, and Peter did his best not to flinch. "How in the world did a seventeen year old kid figure this out?"

Peter always had his wrists covered up. It was comforting, at this point, to have something covering his wrists. Wrist wraps, bracelets, web-shooters. Anxiety pushed him to obsessively check over and over again that his wrists stayed covered. Most people covered theirs, too. Soulmarks were usually a private thing, so it wasn't weird that Peter Parker never let them go uncovered.

It was a good excuse. There were plenty of reasons why someone hid their marks. 'I don't want anyone else to know about them, they're mine and mine alone,' or 'It hurts too much to see those words and remember the person I lost.' For Peter, however, it was different. Peter never wanted to think about those words again. The ones that tied Peter to him.

Steven 'Skip' Westcott had never hidden his, hadn't cared that his words were long destroyed by cigarette burns. But when Peter responded to him: 'You said my words!' Skip had clutched his wrist and gasped 'and you said mine!' It hadn't mattered that the words were hidden under a mess of scarred tissue. There was no contest, no debate. He said Peter's words. And Peter trusted him, cause why wouldn't he? He was only nine.

Soulmates were endgame, that was a fact. They were the one person you knew would love and protect you, no matter what. The only person to always have your best interest in mind. Two halves of the same soul, or whatever. So, of course he trusted Skip. May and Ben did, too. He suspected that they were just happy that he finally made a friend. Let Peter's joy in finding his soulmate dissolve their worries.

That month, Peter let himself be convinced into spending his birthday with Skip instead of going to the Stark Expo. A couple months after, Skip asked him to spend more time at his house, and Peter gave in. About a year after their first meeting, Peter decided it was easier to just look at those weird magazines rather than argue with Skip. And, some time after that it was easy to just go along with whatever Skip wanted. 'I'm your soulmate, I'd never hurt you,' Skip argued. 'Don't you trust me? I know you'll enjoy it,' Skip pushed. 'Just between the two of us,' Skip made him promise.

And it was 'okay,' because Skip was older, and Skip was smarter and Skip was Peter's soulmate.

Or it was, then Aunt May and Uncle Ben found out.

And then Peter figured out it'd never been 'okay.' And it wasn't until then that Peter realized that he might never be okay again. Soulmates weren't supposed to hurt each other like that, but his still did. The one person who was supposed to love and protect Peter had broken off pieces of him until all that was left was a desperation to please.

Years of therapy had helped him be a bit more 'okay.' May and Ben received a sponsorship from the Survivors Foundation, which gave them access to resources and medication their wallets never could've sustained. At school his grades slowly returned to normal, and he finally made a real friend. He remembered the hobbies he used to have and joined the AcaDec team.

Now he was seventeen, and mostly okay. Well, as okay as anyone who moonlights as an arachnid-themed, spandex-clad vigilante ever could be. He still only had one friend, Ned, who, thank god, knew about his nightly escapades. Someone had to. And there was MJ, too, but she was more like an acquaintance who sat at their lunch table.

And, despite the fact that it was a strain on his time, body and occasionally his mind, Spider-Manning helped. Five years after the Three Years of Skip and Peter was finally starting to feel whole again. Like he was one of those vases that had been put back together using gold. Knowing he could throw off any would-be attackers was good, but preventing it from happening to others was better. It didn't matter what bullshit the Bugle said about him, because Peter was helping people. He was a hero, whether Jameson wanted to admit it or not.

And the thought shoved him right out of his introspection. Heroes. Or, more specifically, Tony Stark. He was in Avenger's Tower, where his class was on a field trip.

God it was nerve-wracking.

The September Foundation was holding their annual competition, which was less of a contest and more like a suped-up science fair. Stem schools from across the state were crammed into the event halls that - apparently - made up an entire floor of the Tower. It was loud and boring and if Peter didn't want the internship so damn badly he wouldn't have even entered. He could be two stories up, spending his Friday afternoon in a Q&A with the Avengers or exploring the Visitor's Lab with Ned and MJ.

Instead he sat in the drafty back corner of a very loud, very crowded convention center, watching as people walked in and out of the stairway.

At least he had a place to run if he needed to do a Magical-Girl costume change. Or just a regular costume change. Were there bathrooms near the stairway? He really wasn't trying to expose himself today, thank you.

Tangents aside, he really thought he could have a chance of winning this. He'd spent the last few weeks researching and preparing, coming up with as many practical uses as he could think of for the invention he was presenting: his web-fluid.

Well, not his actual web fluid, but a failed version from the initial tests. It wasn't anywhere near as impressive as the webs he used for swinging. It couldn't take the pressure from the web-shooters nor could it hold much weight, but it did have some uses. It couldn't be shot like his other webs, but if it was put in an aerosol container it could be used for spray on bandages. It had other uses, too, but he didn't think 'tape you can spray' was half as impressive. So, yes. Spray on bandages were his golden ticket.

Hopefully the judges thought so, too.

A pair of professional heels strolled their way up to his display. He couldn't see her, but he was fairly certain she was one of the judges. They floated around asking questions and making notes about the projects. He knew that, if he really wanted to win, he should be out in front of his display waiting to present for onlookers and judges.

But…

That just wasn't in the cards for him right now. He'd been so excited to share his invention with the judges a day ago, but a day ago felt a lot different than right now. He really wanted to win, but right now he was way too exhausted to do more than respond to the occasional questions. He really wanted to win, but at this moment he felt like everyone was staring at him like they knew. They weren't, and they didn't know anything about it. He knew that. But knowing that rationally and convincing his anxiety were two different stories.

It had been a really long, bad night.

So he hid behind his poster and adjusted his web-shooters and readjusted his web-shooters and watched funny videos on his phone so he wouldn't pass out.

The next time he looked up from his phone, the kitten heels were gone and replaced by a nice pair of men's loafers. The man rocked back and forth on his heels, humming a tune he didn't recognize.

Was this hell day ever going to end?

"Hey, Einstein." A hand waved above his board, and Peter did his best not to flinch. "How in the world did a seventeen year old kid figure this out?"

Peter cautiously poked his head up, and yelped when he first made eye-contact. But really, could you blame him? Tony freaking Stark was standing in front of his table, staring at him like he had two heads.

The man snorted and turned back to the project, ignoring Peter's obvious inner panic. Tony continued reading, and letting his fingers dance over the canister of spray. "I've never seen anything like this, Banner's been trying to synthesize spray on bandages for years. Does it work?"

By the time he mentioned Bruce Banner - oh my god Tony freaking Stark was actually talking to him - Peter had gotten over the initial panic and fan-boying. Well, not entirely, but at least enough to respond.

"Would you like a demonstration, Mr. Stark, sir?" He squeaked.

Mr. Stark paused for a moment, looking at Peter strangely. Under his breath, Peter heard him mutter, "guess I owe Rhodey fifty bucks." Then more loudly, he replied: "I'd love to see it, kiddo."

Peter grinned, and practically ran around the booth. He snagged the can off the table while Mr. Stark shouldered off his suit jacket, letting Peter get a look at his bare arms. Bare arms, as in no wraps or bracelets to cover his soul mark. Peter, respectfully, avoided looking at the words, and instead shook the can and sprayed a patch onto the superhero's arm. Tony gave the bandages an experimental tug and gave an impressed hum.

"I've made some versions that come with antibiotics and stuff to numb the pain. I figure they'd be good for first responders or emergency situations. They should maintain their structure and elasticity for about a week, then they'll dissolve..." Tony gave him a look that was somewhere between agitation and confusion. "- But, I've also synthesized a solvent for it, sorry, should've led with that. I wasn't going to just leave it on you. Here let me just-" Peter turned and found the solvent on the table, when he turned back Mr. Stark was looking at him with even more confusion than before. "Uh, what?"

Tony huffed and held out his wrist. "You didn't even look."

"I… what?"

"My words, you didn't even look at my words."

"I -uh- most people keep those private, sir."

"You're killing me here kid," the Avenger sighed, "you can look, in fact, please look."

"I guess, if you're okay with it…" Peter trailed off as he read the words.

'Would you like a demonstration, Mr. Stark, sir?'

His brain short circuited. He probably made a pretty funny picture, all bug eyed and slack jawed, and Tony seemed to think so, too, since he started snickering. If he was any other person, Peter would've laughed as well. It'd be a bear hug and a 'I finally found you.' Instant understanding and companionship. But instead, all Peter could do was stare blankly as two words bounced off the insides of his skull.

'Hey, Einstein.'

'Hey, Einstein.'

'HEY, EINST-'

"Kid!" Gentle hands shook him back to the present and - when did he end up on the floor? Where did all the oxygen go? Why were the lights so bright? "Hey. Look at me, hey. You need to breathe for me, okay, kiddo? I need you to take some deep breaths, okay?"

Peter was sitting in the stairway, propped up against one of the railings. Mr. Stark crouched next to him, trying to catch Peter's sightless eyes while mumbling curses. "Damn it. C'mon kid, you've gotta help me out here."

Calloused fingers gripped Peter's wrist and placed his hand on a warm chest. Tony took an exaggerated breath. Peter took a stuttering, gasping breath.

"Just focus on me, kid, I'll get you through this. It's going to be okay. You're safe. I've got you," the older man rambled, but Peter could barely comprehend that things were being said at all. So instead he focused on the voice. The voice that was a little bit too strained and rushed to be completely calm, but it was still familiar and warm. For a moment, he could pretend that it was Ben talking him down from a panic attack, Ben who was coaching him on how to breathe and Ben engulfing him in a hug so tight it scared the demons away. But… it wasn't Ben. Ben was gone.

"Hey hey hey, none of that." Mr. Stark gripped his other hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "I need you to focus here, okay? Can you give me a squeeze? Okay, good. Strong grip. How about you try to copy my rhythm, okay?"

Two short squeezes, a long one, and another short.

Peter tried his best.

"Good job, but I know you can do better than that. Let's try another one, okay?"

A long, a short, a long, two short.

A long, a short, a long, two short.

"Good! Let's keep it going."

Before he knew it, the panic slipped away and gave way to exhaustion.

"Hey, you with me, kid?"

Peter nodded sleepily, peeking his eyes open to see the frazzled Avenger. "'M sorry, mm'Stark," he mumbled.

Tony let out a little huff, halfway between a sigh and a laugh. "It's okay, kiddo. You get some rest. I'll take care of the rest."

"… and I don't know what I did to trigger it."

Peter stirred to fingers carding through his hair and a conversation being held on the other side of the room.

"Don't say that, you couldn't have known," May's stern voice filled the quiet room.

"I just… What if I fuc - sorry - I don't want to screw it up again."

May let out a short laugh, "he's a lot stronger than you're giving him credit for."

It took a couple more seconds of gentle scratches on his scalp and light brushes over his forehead for Peter to gain full consciousness. It took even longer for him to realize that if May was talking on the other side of the room, someone else was next to him, petting him. He slowly sat up, and the hand fell away. He blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Who…"

The sympathetic smile of Pepper Potts, as in, The Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, greeted him. For the second time that day, Peter was caught halfway between freaking out and star struck.

"I saw your project, it was impressive," she said, and he nodded dumbly, before pausing.

"Wait, you saw my project? And you liked it?"

"I was the one who recommended it to Tony," She smiled at him and he gasped.

"Tony? As in, Tony Stark? That wasn't a dream?"

She covered her grin with a delicate hand. "Why don't you ask him yourself?" She glanced over and Peter followed her gaze. Tony and May were sitting together, watching him.

"Hey, kiddo," Tony sounded breathless, like he didn't know what to say.

"Hey, Mr. Stark."

That weekend passed in a weird daze. Tony fretted over him like he was a sickly child and May just watched with thinly veiled amusement and fondness.

"Trauma bonded," she whispered to Pepper that first night, when she was certain that neither could hear her. Peter heard anyway. Radioactive spider bites do that to a person, apparently.

They had to sit down and rehash the whole soul mark situation and that, obviously, led to the elephant, which took up half the room, being carefully dissected.

Pepper had to keep Tony from hunting down Skip and personally blasting a hole through his chest.

Instead Tony hung out with Peter and worked almost frantically on his tablet.

May was still, understandably, wary. She didn't think Tony would do anything to her baby, but she'd let it happen under her nose once, she wasn't about to let it happen again. So, anywhere that Peter went, she did too.

Thus, Tony had a two room suite set up for Peter and May on his floor. It was twice the size of their whole apartment and ten times nicer.

May jokingly asked if they could stay permanently. Tony had a moving team paid and working in under ten minutes.

"I wasn't even serious, but he seemed so happy I couldn't take it back," May whispered to Natasha over breakfast, when she was sure neither man could hear her.

Natasha hummed and sipped at her smoothie. "He's eccentric. Grand gestures are one of Tony's favorite ways to show he cares. Clint mentioned his favorite color was purple once, and the next day his whole room looked like a grape threw up in it."

Peter was still in a state of shock, things moved around him and people made light conversation, but he wasn't there most of the time. Instead his mind got stuck on the same fact: 'He lied to me that whole time.'

And Peter couldn't tell if it made him feel better or worse.

Not to mention the little voice in his head that, after all this time, still jumped to Skip's defense. 'He never lied to us, he loved us.'

By Sunday night a tablet was dropped into Peter's lap. The only thing that kept it from crashing to the floor was his Spidey reflexes. Spidey reflexes he was trying to keep on the down-low. He didn't need anyone to stop him from doing what he could to help.

"What's this?"

Tony sighed, his fingers anxiously twitching around his coffee cup. "Just read. It's not… I can't guarantee it'll fix anything, but it might help?"

"Is that a question, or?"

"Just read, you brat."

So he did.

It was a birth certificate.

Name of Child: Westcott, Steven S.

Sex: Male

Date of Birth: 09/07/1995

Place of Birth: Metro General Hospital, Hells Kitchen, NYC.

Name of Father: Westcott, Christopher L.

Name of Mother: Baker, Suzanne O.

Soul Mark: "Can I steal a pencil from ya?"

There was more information, but it didn't matter past that. He gently set the tablet down, ignoring Tony's concerned look, and spent the next few hours lost to the world. His lost eyes stared blankly out the window, watching the city lights as they twinkled at him.

The next morning, Monday morning, he didn't get up for school. Tuesday morning was also a stay in bed type of day. Wednesday rolled around and Peter wasn't feeling any less numb, but May pulled him out of his room to force a pile of mostly unburnt pancakes down his throat. After which, she made mugs of cocoa and pushed him over to the couch so they could watch shitty reality tv together. The rest of the week continued much the same, though occasionally with the inclusion of Tony, Pepper or a random Avenger.

Next Monday he went back to school with a shy smile and a new Stark Internship.