Short Author's Note: for those of you who know my writing and just want to dive right in, this is another 'turn the cliché on its head' story. Shocking, I know. For those of you who are understandably wary about the things my mind comes up with, there are more detailed notes at the bottom.
Huge thanks and gratitude to TaleWeaver for being my beta on this story. And I can't wait to hear from you guys! So, without further ado . . .
Putting Together the Pieces of a Broken Shadow
Ned Leeds was a quiet, underappreciated genius.
And that was more than fine; it was actually what he preferred, all things being equal. He'd had a firsthand view of what the blazing supernova minds like Peter Parker suffered for their gifts, and the stories of Robert Oppenheimer, Rosalind Franklin, Marie Curie, Howard Stark, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Grace Hopper, and Hank and Janet Pym, just to name a few, were well-known. All that tragedy, all those headaches, all the constant nitpicking because 'it's not possible you can know that much about so many things', and the never-ending putdowns that those people suffered even as their haters and detractors demanded more and more and more from them?
No, thank you. Ned was not remotely interested in that.
But he was considerably more observant than most people knew or would believe, an impression he unintentionally reinforced with his tendencies toward babbling like an idiot when he got excited and/or nervous. It provided a good cover for him, because people saw the outward awkwardness and didn't take as much care to guard their tongues and secrets as they should have, meaning that Ned was, among other things, the unofficial Rumor Monger of Midtown School of Science and Technology.
The catch is this: all the details and clues in the world are useless without context.
See, Ned, who had been Peter Parker's best friend since they were nine years old, had seen and heard a lot, but he'd been too young at the time to know there were pieces to put together, much less guess at the final picture, and then those pieces and details faded to the background over time. So when Steven 'Skip' Westcott came to Midtown to substitute for Roger Harrington for the last three months of the semester, due to an unfortunate accident involving his daughter's tree house, a skunk, a rabid raccoon, and maybe a trampoline (no one could confirm that one, but given he'd broken both arms, one leg, and his clavicle, the bookies were taking higher odds on it), it took Ned six days to not only remember all those old pieces of knowledge, but also put them together.
His first real clue was Peter's unexpected response to the blond-haired, blue-eyed, blandly handsome Westcott sauntering into the classroom, winking at the boys and flashing smiles at the girls. He was so carefree and charming that Ned actually winked back without thinking before he turned to Peter, ready to share his excitement about a new teacher who clearly wasn't as uptight as Harrington.
And stopped dead, frowning in confusion, when he saw the stunned horror in his best friend's eyes.
It only lasted a few seconds before Peter blinked and wiped his expression clean, and Ned would have dismissed it as him imagining things, but for the fact that Peter's hands were trembling.
His fisted hands.
Hidden beneath his desk.
Which was also shaking.
Yeah, that was strange. But Peter was so clearly trying to act normal that Ned simply decided to let it be, at least for today. There was no telling what he was really worried about, after all; knowing Peter, it could be anything from an assignment he'd left at home to 'forgetting' to tell Mr. Stark about something (an injury) happening on patrol, to lying to May about why, exactly, he'd had to rescue that cat from a rose bush.
(he'd never been good at lying to himself)
That was Wednesday.
Then Peter had the same response to Westcott on Thursday, coupled with the fact that he was wearing Mr. Stark's MIT hoodie, despite it being nearly 80 outside (and close to 100 inside; the school's A/C system left much to be desired before the addition of 1000 students and staff, and when you combined those two things with insulation that Ned was pretty sure someone's Uncle Bob had done as a cheap favor thirty years ago, Midtown came very close to being an active nudist school during the hot months). Since Peter never wore that particular piece of clothing to school, ever, the sight was enough to ping Ned's radar, and also make him thank God that Flash wasn't present that day. Shockingly, considering her blunt nature, MJ said nothing; instead, she simply helped Ned, both in forming a human barrier between Peter and the students, and in keeping the teachers' attention away from him. It spoke volumes about Peter's mental state that even MJ's uncharacteristic protectiveness and silence went unnoticed.
The fact that he spent the entire 45-minute class period staring at Skip without blinking, taking a single note, or scribbling out new equations for his various side projects, made Ned's hackles rise. But his soft questions predictably resulted in firm, almost frantic denials that anything was wrong before Peter bolted for the car waiting to take him to Stark Tower, while Ned frowned from the top of the steps before slowly making his way to the Robotics Club meeting.
And his mind started churning, so subtly he didn't realize for more than a day, trying to make sense of this bizarre behavior.
Then, on Friday, Peter wore That Hoodie again, and didn't turn in a single assignment for any of his classes. Truly worried now, Ned became his friend's personal guard, making sure no one got within five feet of him, much less touched him, and ensuring that Flash never got closer than eyesight of his favorite target and the teachers were kept occupied with mysteries like vanishing lesson plans, coffee spills, and missing keys to locked lab cabinets. Not only did these endeavors require Ned's full attention, but it was also exhausting, so he didn't really register his friend's tremors and hitched, almost gasping, breaths until just before they walked into Westcott's classroom. Peter actually shuddered and looked away when the man saw them and gave Peter a smile.
And had it been anyone but Peter, Ned would have thought it was a pleasant smile, maybe even joking. But his friend went rigid and stalked to his desk, sitting down stiffly without once looking at the man — but Ned would bet his entire monthly allowance that Peter's senses were dialed up to 20, and focused completely on the adult. When a puzzled Ned risked a glance in Skip's direction, he saw too many gleaming white teeth for a substitute Physics teacher and what looked a lot like malicious satisfaction in those blue eyes, which were glued to Peter's unmoving form. And despite the fact that Ned knew Peter was hyperaware of that intense gaze, he never looked directly at Westcott, though he held himself so stiff and taut physically that his knuckles were white and the muscles of his forearms were clearly visible against the thick fabric of his hoodie.
Most tellingly — and worryingly — he only broke his unnerving stare at the desk to give the pop quiz Westcott was handing out a dull look. He refused to accept the test from the man, forcing him to drop it on the desk instead, and didn't move a muscle until Westcott had gone on to the next row. Only then did he show any sign of life, but even that was minimal, and he dragged his pen listlessly across the page. Since Physics wasn't his thing, Ned was forced to pay attention to the damned test and only saw the movement of Peter's hand, but assumed he was answering the ridiculous questions. So, seeing Peter's blank paper when he put it on top of Ned's before passing the pile to the left? Was more than a little surprising. Wait — had he . . . okay, now Ned was starting to freak because Peter written 'Einstein' as his name. But that made no sense . . . of course, neither did Peter failing to complete a quiz he could (and had) do in his sleep.
Wait, Einstein? That — that was just odd. Why would Peter . . . forget failing to actually take the quiz, why would he write Einstein as his name?
And why did that make Ned's brain itch?
Why was the mere sight of their new Physics teacher enough to make Peter act so strangely?
What the fuck was going on?!
To Ned's panicked frustration, Paul from Robotics Club cornered him as soon as the bell rang and he was just too polite to tell the boy to fuck off immediately, so once again Peter was able to escape, actually running from the room and leaving Ned floundering with the knowledge that something was wrong with his best friend, seriously wrong . . . and he didn't have a clue what it was.
Other than something to do with Skip Westcott, that is.
Peter's refusal to answer any of his texts made it that much worse, though thankfully (but extremely out of character, and yet another sign that Something Wasn't Right) he didn't go out as Spiderman that weekend, which was both a massive worry and an equally huge relief. Instead of being Spiderman's Guy in the Chair, Ned spent Friday evening placating MJ, who — again, disturbingly — let him, while hacking various systems in an effort to find more information about Westcott, only to discover a big fat nothing. One would think the absence of any criminal records would have helped, but his record was too clean, without even a speeding or parking ticket to his name, which was suspicious in and of itself. Beyond that, Ned simply knew Peter too well, so all the lack of official data told him was the man was good at hiding . . . well, whatever he'd done to Peter.
Friday night found Ned failing to sleep and worrying himself sick, both about Peter and about he could help his friend. He didn't even try catching him at his aunt's home on Saturday, because he knew Peter, so it was simply understood that he would hide at Mr. Stark's home for the weekend; his mentor/dad (depending on the day and how off-guard Peter was when the subject was brought up) would know something was wrong, but Peter had enough other side issues that he'd be able to deflect.
Well, at least for a few days. Tony Stark was too intelligent, too driven, and too invested in Peter's well-being to let that last long, but — God willing — Ned wouldn't need that much time. And once he finally figured it out, if need be, he'd go to Mr. Stark himself to enlist his help.
He therefore had a somewhat frustrating, extremely lackluster Saturday, where all he did was turn his thoughts about Peter over in his head. And when he woke from a strange dream during an unexpected nap shortly after a lunch he had to force himself to eat, Ned suddenly remembered, apropos of nothing, how Peter had begun to exhibit similar skittish, wary behavior when they were kids, maybe 10 or 11 years old. Then he recalled how, quite literally overnight, Peter had begun to shy away from any adult male except his uncle and Ned's father. And how blond-haired, blue-eyed men made him hide when he could. From there, Ned heard again Peter's infectious, joyful laughter stop, saw his carefree love of life dwindling to a frightened, terrified grip on the few people he had and would let stay in his life, his disturbing (in retrospect) inability to trust new people, especially if they were male, and his abrupt hatred of closed doors.
All closed doors.
Incongruously, he also considered the fact that despite being 16, Peter was not only oblivious to the appreciative looks he got from more than a few girls, but he was completely uninterested in anything related to sex. He said this because Peter enthusiastically agreed that Carrie Fisher was the most badass woman in Star Wars, and Sigourney Weaver's role in Alien would forever be one of the top five characters in the History of Ever, but he never contributed to Ned's various soliloquies of his female movie star crushes (not even Catherine Zeta Jones in Zorro).
And while he would always listen with a fond smile as Ned waxed rhapsodic about Betty or the seriously hot troupe of senior cheerleaders or their new classmate Tabitha, she of the platinum blonde hair, vivid green eyes, and impressive hourglass figure, not once did he offer his own insights, and certainly never mentioned anyone he was, or might be, interested in. Even poor Liz Allen had been an intellectual thing, though Ned was positive that Peter didn't realize that; he had just wanted so badly to be normal for once, to not be the kid everyone tormented, and Liz was both sweet and one of the few people who could somewhat match his intellect.
In point of fact, Ned was sure he'd only allowed himself to develop a crush (of sorts) on MJ because she was The Ultimate Unattainable Girl he knew. He talked about her intelligence, her fierceness, and her careless coolness, but never said a single word about her looks (and frankly, most of her views about capitalism and Tony Stark were in direct opposition to Peter's, which would make for some spirited debates, certainly, but Ned was fairly sure that kind of political divide wasn't conducive for a stable, healthy relationship). And he never mentioned or showed any physical interest in her.
Ned rolled all this information around over the course of the weekend, using the soothing actions of putting together one of his older Lego sets help him better filter the data; he kept getting glimpses of the picture out of the corner of his eye, but couldn't force it to finish coming together, and he was so distracted with his efforts that it was a good thing his parents were at some work conference, leaving his cousin Thomas in charge. As long as Ned didn't leave the house or throw a party, Tom didn't care what he did, so his mental absence didn't raise any flags.
He spent Sunday evening designing a plan to corner his self-sacrificing, tightlipped, unhappy/hurt/upset/all-of-the-above best friend and finally find out what in the name of heaven was going on, a plan he was quite proud of, only to be stymied by the man himself, who avoided any and all cornering by dint of strolling into homeroom as the final bell rang.
Wow. Ned blinked at Peter, shocked by who — or rather, what — had appeared before his horrified eyes.
Peter looked immaculate: brand new Nikes, something he'd long coveted but could never afford . . . meaning he'd let Mr. Stark buy them, which was yet another sign that there was A Huge Fucking Problem; clean, non-wrinkled, non-threadbare new jeans; an Iron Man red button-down shirt that Ned hadn't seen in two years, one that used to dwarf him and now fit like a glove, something else he typically shied away from; and a new, dark grey Stark Industries backpack. The clothes were bad enough, but even worse, his hair was actually gelled and styled. There was nothing endearing or 'cute' about him. He looked like he'd just gotten out of a photoshoot with Young GQ.
It was the most terrifying thing Ned had ever seen.
And then he finally managed to catch Peter's gaze, only to find it hard . . . and disturbingly blank.
Dear God. What in the name of all that was holy, unholy, and undecided was going on?!
A second look into that cold, blank stare told Ned that he would get no answers today, and possibly for the rest of the year. But Ned Leeds was Peter Parker's Guy in the Chair, and it was his job to guard his friend, protect him, and even serve him if necessary. So Ned gave that terrifying visage a single resolute nod and took his place at Peter's shoulder. He warned MJ off with a single shake of his head, gratified (albeit more than a little surprised) when she simply nodded in reply and melted into the crowd, where she did her own version of 'guard', by ensuring that Flash never got within a hallway of Peter, and neither did any of Midtown's indiscriminate bruisers. Between the two of them, even the two classes that Flash and Peter shared were calm today, though Ned spared a few brain cells to worry about the repercussions of that later, when life got back to normal.
Peter didn't say a single word to anyone for the entire day, though astonishingly, no one seemed to notice, a mercy Ned was pathetically grateful for, and he and MJ made sure to get all the homework and reading assignments. He didn't eat, either, though he did at least come to the cafeteria . . . but he was unpracticed at maintaining this type of façade, so as lunch ended, the cracks finally began to show. His breathing, which had been calm and measured all morning, devolved into uneven hitches and quietly-strangled gasps and his hands lost their unnatural steadiness, and as Chemistry ended, meaning Physics was his next class, his face abruptly lost most of its color.
Ned, who was already well into 'my best is about to become a Sith Lord' panic (and Peter wouldn't be Darth Vader. No. No, Peter would be Darth Plagueis, which meant Ned was doomed to become Darth Sidious, and he didn't want to be the Emperor, dammit! Oh, wonderful. Now he was stuttering and rambling in his own mind. Wasn't that just fantastic?), felt another nudge at the back of his mind, telling him that he should know what was wrong. He had all the pieces, he knew he did, but the picture refused to coalesce.
And of course, because Ned wasn't stressed enough, Peter managed to re-don the icy mask he'd worn most of the day in the 75 seconds his best friend had been arguing with himself. Seeing that instantly knocked any and all thoughts of solving this puzzle out of Ned's mind and he paced forward with Peter, staying at his shoulder. He was simultaneously afraid that Peter was going to keel over any second from the sheer tension radiating from his unnaturally brittle body and hopeful that he'd finally give in and bolt from the room, because for some reason that Ned still couldn't quite grasp, being in this classroom with Skip Westcott was dangerous for Peter.
Dangerous. For Peter.
That thought jump-started the process, but before everything could come together, the man in question sauntered past them and perched on the front of his desk, giving them all a bright smile that made Ned's stomach turn for a reason he would never be able to explain.
"All right, kids, it's another pop quiz! This one will be comprehensive, going over everything I've taught you since I got here. I need to gauge how well you're absorbing the material."
That unnatural smile widened at the chorus of groans his announcement elicited, while Ned barely registered the words. Peter was still unresponsive and every sense Ned possessed was screaming 'danger'. He just didn't know why.
Westcott was moving through the classroom, handing out a stapled set of papers to each student, and Ned couldn't keep from giving him a small glare as he accepted one. That same stupid grin was his only response, and then Westcott moved behind Ned and Peter, his hip brushing the latter's shoulder, and a strangled gasp escaped Peter's frightening control, yanking Ned's attention completely back to him. Westcott kept going, coming around to Peter's left side and offering him a packet. When he got nothing but a flat stare and no attempt from Peter to accept the test, he arched his eyebrows and then he grinned.
"Come on, Einstein, it's time to show your stuff," he actually crooned, and Ned watched in dawning horror as Peter went chalk white. His fists clenched so tightly it looked like his knuckles were going to split from the strain and he was quietly but noticeably gasping for air.
Westcott looked startled for a few seconds . . . and then it shifted to something that looked like — fear?
. . . Einstein.
Again. But why would th—
Out of the corner of his eye, Ned saw Skip reach out a hand to grab Peter's shoulder . . . and then he watched, slack-jawed, as Peter tried so hard to avoid the man's touch that he climbed halfway up the back of the chair. But his feet were scrabbling to keep him balanced and the next thing anyone knew, Peter was out of the desk and pressed against the opposite wall, pupils completely blown and terror etched all over his face as the entire class stared at him in shock.
Except Ned, who turned back to look at Skip, again for a reason he didn't completely understand.
Westcott was wheezing, pushing Peter's desk out of his stomach, and his eyes were now so full of rage it should have been frightening. But something about it pinged Ned's senses, because it was the wrong kind of anger. He remembered the malice he'd seen on Friday, and how obvious it was that Peter had clearly had no control over his physical actions just now.
Before he could chase that thought down, Westcott had recovered and unleashed his anger on Peter.
"Get to the office now, Parker!" he spat, eyes blazing with that same combination of rage and fear that were making Ned's mind positively itch. He knew what this was, he just . . . couldn't put it together, and God, would the bastard never stop talking?! "Like hell you're going to get away with attacking a teacher because you aren't prepared for class!"
Peter didn't answer or bother to grab his stuff; he simply bolted like the hounds of hell were chasing him. Westcott stared at the door for several minutes, eyes burning with emotions that made Ned feel dirty, before finally following him, pausing just long enough to wave a hand at the rest of the students before disappearing into the hall. They instantly started talking, most of them at the top of their lungs, while Ned hunched in on himself and mentally retreated to what Peter had dubbed his 'Jedi Mind Bubble', ignoring the world around him as he sank into thought. He disappeared so completely into himself he didn't notice when, after ten minutes with no 'substitute' substitute teacher coming to watch the class for Westcott, a few brave students grabbed their stuff and hauled ass out of the classroom. When they weren't caught after a few minutes, everyone but Ned followed suit, leaving him alone.
And all the while, his mind was whirring and buzzing and processing, moving and rearranging all the pieces of data he'd accumulated, desperate for them to finally come together and form the picture he knew was there.
· Fact: Peter became afraid of adult men at a young age, around 10 or 11
· Fact: around the same time, Peter became terrified of blond-haired, blue-eyed men in particular
· Fact: Skip Westcott was a blond-haired, blue-eyed adult male
· Fact: Skip would have been an older teenager at the time Peter began to fear men
· Fact: Peter had stopped laughing freely and openly around that time
· Fact: Peter had become a mess, both physically and emotionally, the second he'd seen Skip Westcott walk into their classroom six days ago
· Fact: said physical and emotional distress had not improved with time. In fact, they'd gotten worse. Exponentially worse
· Fact: Peter and Skip had both reacted poorly after Skip had called Peter 'Einstein'
· Forgotten Fact: shortly after he started fearing men, Peter had hesitantly asked Ned to take down his new Einstein poster, offering no explanation but looking so . . . broken . . . that Ned had removed it that very second and shoved it under his bed, where he'd promptly forgotten about it.
· Fact: Peter, at the age of 16, had no interest in sex or girls, or even boys.
· Forgotten Fact: Peter had skipped the school's mandatory Sex Ed classes, last year and this year, and gotten violently sick their freshman year, when he'd been unable to avoid it because the teacher had forgotten to tell them about the course.
· Fact: Peter became afraid of adult men at a young age, around 10 or 11
· Fact: around the same time, Peter became terrified of blond-haired, blue-eyed men in particular
· Fact: Skip Westcott was a blond-haired, blue-eyed adult male
And:
· Fact: Skip had just tried to touch Peter . . . who had nearly killed himself to get away.
. . . oh, God.
The picture finally came together, creating an image so horrifying that Ned would never understand how he didn't throw up every meal he'd eaten for the last year and he prayed desperately that he had just binged too many episodes of Game of Thrones last weekend, because what he was seeing was . . .
No. No, he was wrong, he had to be wrong, please, God, let him be wrong . . .
But he knew he wasn't. The facts were clear: Skip Westcott had molested Peter as a child.
And now he was going to get Peter in as much trouble as he could to hide his secret, the secret he'd inadvertently just exposed. To hide his crimes.
Fuck. That.
Another fact about Ned Leeds: he would be the first to acknowledge that he disliked confrontation — no, he hated it — unless it came to people he loved. Insult Ned? Fine, whatever. His voice would probably shake as he threw back a half-hearted response before scurrying away. Go after his family? He'd beat you unconscious with a crowbar and never break a sweat. That was a lesson Flash had learned the painful way, and why he kept his insults confined to Ned himself.
Insult Peter? The perpetrator determined Ned's response, though it was usually staunch, albeit ineffective, support, peppered with the occasional scathing, moderately-effective rebuttal.
Threaten Peter? Like, seriously, genuinely, threaten him?
No one at Midtown had done that since senior Sullivan Biddington III had broken Peter's wrist for knocking him out of contention in the National Science Fair two months before the end of their freshman year. An enraged Ned had reluctantly obeyed Peter's panicked refusal to tell the school staff (not that it would have done any good, the boy had to admit) and gotten revenge in a much more effective way: he'd hacked the bastard's school records and tanked his grades. But he'd gone back to the beginning of his junior year and made it look like a steady, natural decline. Scholarship offers had vanished, as had the option to attend high-end schools like MIT and Columbia, and even his mommy couldn't buy his way in. Not after the fact. The last Ned had heard (or cared), Sullivan had been forced to settle for a smaller local college, with greatly reduced prospects.
In other words, Ned was a complete and total rabid wolf when it came to protecting the people who were his. And now Skip Westcott was threatening his brother.
Fuck. That.
Without a second thought, Ned grabbed his and Peter's backpacks and took off, barreling into the hall and heading unerringly for Morita's office. He was so focused on getting to Peter, protecting him, that he didn't notice Tony Stark coming in the door behind him, as he'd just arrived after being summoned by a puzzled, unhappy May Parker. He didn't see the thoughtful frown on the man's lips as he recognized Ned, or the speculative look that replaced it, or the resolve to allow whatever Ned intended to do play out. Tony was well-aware of how valuable and protective a true best friend was, after all, and it was obvious that Ned knew more than he did, and given how out of character Peter was acting, well . . .
But Ned was oblivious to this new development; his entire being was focused on getting to and shielding Peter and God help anyone who got in his way. Had the 2012 New York invasion happened right then, Ned would have Hulk-punched the entire army back to space without ever slowing down, he was that determined to get to Peter's side.
He set a new land speed record in getting through the halls of Midtown, blissfully unaware of his superhero shadow, only to screech to an unbelieving halt at the partially-open door, his jaw dropping as he heard May Parker actually fucking scolding her nephew for behaving strangely.
Because God forbid someone who supposedly knew Peter take a minute to stop and wonder just why, exactly, he was acting so oddly. It wasn't like there could possibly be any correlation between, say, a new person in his life and a change in behavior, right?
This? This was the primary reason why so many teenagers had trust issues when it came to the adults in their lives.
But it took Ned a few minutes to really process what he was hearing, which turned out to be a good thing, because it meant that Tony also heard it . . . and he paid even closer attention, forewarned by Peter's request for him to come and rescue him instead of simply going with his aunt.
"—er, you cannot talk to your teacher like that, just because you knew him as a kid!" May exclaimed, frustration in her voice, which was replaced by shame as she apologized to Westcott for her nephew's rudeness. In Ned's current mental state, that was enough to make him barge in and start shouting, but Skip spoke before he could move . . . and inadvertently sealed his fate.
"Don't worry, May. He's just stressed because he doesn't know as much as he thinks he does and I keep calling him out on it. But it's okay, kiddo, we'll get you caught up."
Ned's vision flooded red with pure rage, but paradoxically, it calmed him to a quiet, dangerous stillness and he carefully pulled the door all the way open, just in time to see Westcott reaching out to touch Peter's shoulder — and see Peter, once again, physically launch himself backwards to keep that filthy hand off him. His chair skittered loudly across the floor in Westcott's general direction.
And yet again, May and Principal Morita showed a complete lack of both empathy and base intelligence.
"Peter!" Morita snapped, giving the boy an angry, disappointed look. "I don't know what is going on, but violence against adults will not be tolerated, young man!"
Even hearing that, Ned might still have maintained his calm . . . but his best friend, his brother, couldn't prevent a tiny, choked sob of utter despair as he slid down the wall and huddled into a ball, burying his face in his knees. He was shaking so hard, the picture frames on the cinderblock were moving — and still, neither his aunt nor his principal put even the most basic of pieces together.
That was Ned's breaking point. He fumbled at the side pocket of his bag and removed a small green case before tossing his and Peter's backpacks in a random corner as he stormed across the room, shoving rudely past May and giving Morita a scathing look as he dropped to his knees in front of Peter, shielding him from the room and starting to murmur nonsense in an effort to help him re-center himself. It took nearly five minutes for the traumatized young man to respond, and to Ned's absentminded astonishment, no one actually spoke while he got Peter a little more settled. He didn't delude himself that they'd finally figured out the problem wasn't Peter, of course, but he'd take 'silent due to shock' in a pinch.
Once Peter had resumed breathing fairly normally, Ned pulled back a few inches, caught his eyes, and softly said, "Can I touch you?"
The shock that flooded his friend's face was infuriating, but the gratitude that followed was worse, and it took everything Ned had to remain calm so Peter didn't retreat again. When he got a hesitant nod of assent, Ned smiled as sincerely as he could and laid a tender hand over Peter's heart. The beat was steady, though way too fast, and he nodded his approval before clasping his other hand on a too-thin shoulder, squeezing in reassurance as he gave Peter another smile, this one a little more natural. He got a shaky smile in return, which shattered his heart, and Ned swallowed hard, leaned forward, and whispered, "You're safe now, Peter, I swear. I'll set them all on fire and shove them off a fucking cliff before I let them hurt you again, okay?"
A puzzled look was Peter's only response, but he also nodded slowly and leaned into his friend for a few seconds before slumping back against the wall, clearly exhausted and mentally checking out. That was enough for Ned, who squeezed his shoulder once more and fumbled for that small green case, removing Peter's Stark-designed and specially-made noise cancelling headphones, and quickly but thoroughly worked the buds into each ear. Once Peter was protected from 99% of the room's noise, Ned squeezed his shoulder in a final reassurance, then got to his feet and turned, finding Westcott standing a few feet from Morita's desk, somehow looking both smug and disapproving. When he saw that Ned was looking at him, he opened his mouth to speak but never got the chance.
"You sorry piece of filth," Ned hissed, fists clenching at his side because he couldn't strangle the bastard. Yet. "It was you! You fucking . . . you fucking molested him when we were kids, and you have the balls to walk in to the school he's attending and pretend to teach him so you can torment him AGAIN?!"
His words fell into a vortex of stunned silence . . . until Westcott made a single choked noise and stepped back. It was clearly an involuntary reaction, one that screamed his guilt, and it was followed by a second step, then a third.
The fourth saw him jerk to a startled halt when he ran right into Tony Stark's fisted, gauntleted hand, a gauntlet that was backed up by the rage in his eyes. He clearly believed Ned and seeing it made something in the young man's chest loosen. He wasn't alone, though it wouldn't have mattered. With or without support, he was going to protect Peter.
But having support was a gift he wasn't going to waste, especially the support of Peter's mentor/dad, who was also one of the most powerful men on the planet.
Behind him, Peter started to keen, a helpless, desperate sound that shredded Ned's heart and enraged him even more. His rage was not helped by Morita, who spluttered in disapproval.
Well, he tried to.
"Mr. Leeds, this is a private matter!" he began. "And you cannot make that kind of accusati—"
"Shut up!" Ned hissed, some small part of his mind reminding him to stay as quiet as he could, so Peter didn't hear more than he had to, cutting Morita off as he pivoted to face his principal. Three years of frustration at the man's willful obliviousness regarding the true depths of the bullying and favoritism in his school burst free at the sound of Peter crying behind him and he finally unloaded on the man. "You're seriously standing there, after seeing Peter accidentally kick a chair across the room to keep this fucker from touching him, and instead of thinking, 'hold on, this is the kid who lets Flash shove him into a locker every other day', YOU'RE ACTUALLY BLAMING HIM?!"
Silence.
Morita broke it by clearing his throat and saying, with a completely straight face, "I asked Peter and he refused to answer. I had no choice but to assume his guilt."
Ned and Tony both stared at the man in utter astonishment, and May gave Morita a quick disbelieving look before looking back to Ned, denial and what he savagely hoped was horror on her face. Even Westcott looked taken aback by this stupidity.
"You — you know what, that tracks. You ignored it when Brad broke someone's arm three feet away from you, but the second someone fights back, you're all over that and punishing them, so naturally, Peter shoved a desk at a teacher on purpose 'just because'. It wasn't clearly involuntary and there can't possibly be a reason. God, how did anyone think it was a good idea to allow you around kids?" Ned finally spit in disgust, taking a subtle step back so his calf was pressing against Peter's knee.
The contact seemed to help calm his friend, which in turn helped Ned regain some control, and he reined in his ire at Morita, turning his blistering gaze back to Westcott. The man swallowed hard and tried vainly to escape Tony's iron grip, cringing when Ned started to step forward. The fleeting feel of Peter's fingers across his jeans stopped the movement and Ned settled for spreading his feet a bit, planting himself more firmly and pointing a steady, accusing finger at the child rapist standing — well, hanging — from Iron Man's fist.
"I remember, you know. I just wasn't old enough to understand at the time and it's taken me a few days to put everything together," he began, his voice now dangerously even, and everyone in the room suddenly gave him their full attention.
Everyone but Peter. Even without looking, Ned knew that despite the earbuds, he'd heard at least part of that and was now curling further into himself, trying to escape his awful reality and stay sane a little longer. And that made the young man's blood boil.
"I remember how Peter started flinching at every adult male who got too close, and how he showed up at my place one day and flipped out when my 15-year-old cousin Tom was supposed to babysit us, even though he'd liked him two weeks earlier, and how for months he refused to let anyone close a door in the apartment the entire time he was there. I watched him actually hide behind a trash can one time when he saw a blond-haired man walking our direction, and I remember when he stopped laughing, because he was too afraid to relax and enjoy things — because you shattered his trust in the worst possible way."
Ned paused and swallowed, hatred sizzling through him when Westcott managed to straighten a little and give him a sneer, clearly believing that he wasn't as 'caught' as he'd initially thought.
Too bad for him that Ned was an observational genius.
"I remember when he asked me to take down my new Einstein poster, so terrified at the name that it took him three tries to get the sentence out," he breathed, eyes narrowing in dark satisfaction when the bastard went pale. "And I saw him almost kill himself to get away from you not an hour ago. You know, after you called him 'Einstein' and tried to touch him?" he continued, venom dripping from each word. "And I just saw him again, willing to hurt himself to keep you from touching him."
Unable to stop himself, he turned his head and gave Morita and May a cold, contemptuous glare. "It's like there's a correlation or something. You know, an outside stimulus creating a visceral, uncontrolled response."
Morita gave no reaction, still looking both stunned and sick from Ned's accusations against Westcott, but May at least looked a little ashamed, her eyes skittering to her now-silent nephew for a few seconds before falling to the floor.
To his fury, Westcott had recovered more of his poise and was smirking, because he thought that he'd won. Ned's words, while awful, weren't proof, after all, and everyone knew it.
But they'd all forgotten that Tony Stark was standing there, listening. Watching. Observing.
Ned Leeds was an observational genius. Tony Stark was a pure genius — and he had nearly thirty years more experience.
He could put things together faster than anyone, including the vaunted Bruce Banner. Unbeknownst to the people in the room, he also recognized some of Ned's data pieces, having experienced them personally, and he'd been watching Peter the same way Ned had, seeing and worrying about the changes but never once thinking to blame the boy for them. He'd been missing the information about his protégé's earlier years, when it first happened, so he didn't have enough context (and his questions had been exactly as successful as Ned's), but he'd already been more than halfway there just from seeing the downward spiral in Peter's attitude and behavior for the last week. All Ned had done was confirm his horrified suspicions, and FRIDAY had been running a search on Steven Westcott from the moment the young man had started talking.
What she found was damning, though it took some time. Westcott had covered his tracks reasonably well, but it was just that: 'reasonably well'. Ned had been agonizingly close, actually, but he lacked the knowledge of how true criminals think, so he missed the flags that FRIDAY found and investigated. The school, however, absolutely should have discovered at least some of this information and how it had been missed was a mystery, one that Tony would solve later . . . and by the time he and Pepper were done, Midtown would never be the same.
Again, Ned was unaware of this dawning understanding, and right then, he wouldn't have cared if he had known. His entire focus was narrowed on Steven 'Skip' Westcott, and he was literally aching to hurt him, to damage him, so that he might begin to feel a fraction of the suffering he'd caused Peter. He saw no reason to say anything else; he'd already given his evidence and he cared not at all for any defense the prick could come up with, nor was he interested in hearing May or Morita try to justify themselves. He knew the truth, and it was obvious that Tony also knew, and right now, that was enough.
So instead of speaking, he took a step forward, feeling Peter's fingers slip from his jeans, and fought back the feeling of loss. He'd only be away from his brother for a minute, but this needed to be done. And Peter wasn't in any shape to do it.
Westcott's eyes widened when he realized Ned was coming straight for him, but he didn't understand what was about to happen, and his agonized scream shattered the silence of the room when Ned kicked him in the groin as hard as he could. Tony gave a harsh laugh of approval, tightening his grip to keep the fucker on his feet and nodding at Ned in an open invitation to land another blow if he wanted. And God, it was tempting, so very, very tempting, but Peter needed Ned's support more than he needed revenge. And he would not want Ned to kill Westcott, not even for himself.
Especially not for himself.
Ned Leeds loved Peter Parker beyond reason, but there were times his best friend was too noble (and frequently too lacking in common sense) to breathe if doing so would inconvenience someone else.
Besides, Tony Stark was more than capable of castrating Westcott, should he choose to do so. Or should an actual miracle occur and Peter asked him to.
But Ned would honor Peter's wishes, so he simply spit in the bastard's face, not even bothering to watch the glob of saliva ooze down his cheek, and turned on his heel, crossing the office in two giant steps to kneel in front of his best friend, his brother. He didn't try to talk to Peter, or force his attention back to the room. He brushed his fingers over one knee, just firmly enough to let Peter know he was back, and then he curled his hands around those stiff elbows and gently coaxed him to stand.
And Peter Parker, despite all the abuse and betrayal he'd experienced in his life, trusted Ned Leeds so completely that he followed without a second of hesitation. He didn't understand everything that had happened, but he knew that Ned wanted to take him somewhere, away from Skip and Morita and May, and he would destroy the world before he'd hurt Peter or allow someone to hurt him. So he followed his brother out of the room, not seeing Tony yank Westcott out of the way so roughly his shirt tore half down the back, and he didn't see the anguished understanding in his mentor's eyes . . . or the darkly satisfied approval that he gave to Ned, backed by fierce pride.
Tony didn't speak as Ned led Peter past him, and he didn't try to touch his protégé, though he clearly wanted to. But he understood how fragile Peter was right then, and Ned's bloodlust was still riding high, so Tony just nodded at Ned and quietly said, "Call Happy when you're ready to leave. I know you want to keep him with you and that's more than fine, but it can't be . . . it can't be me, not right now, but you can't — not the subway. If — if you don't want to go the Tower, then please let me know where you do go. I — please," he asked, shockingly incoherent and his voice shaking with emotion, and Ned easily agreed. He didn't really have a plan for where to go, but the Tower was probably the safest place. There was no way on God's green earth Westcott could get to Peter there and they would have quite a few options for distraction once Peter was able to mentally check back in to the present.
"The Tower is good. Can you let him know?" he asked just as quietly, just as seriously, and blew out a relieved sigh when Tony immediately nodded and gave a quick command to his AI, nodding again to Ned less than a minute later. "He's out front, but take your time. He'll wait as long as you need," he reported, angling his body to keep Westcott's eyes off his kid and giving him a brutal shake just to make sure.
Ned had barely gotten Peter clear of Morita's office door when his friend suddenly paused, bringing Ned to a startled stop, and stretched an arm in Tony's direction, though his eyes were still glazed and he had yet to look up.
"Come?" the boy whispered, sounding so hopeful that tears sprang to Ned's eyes. "Dad? Come?" he asked again, and everyone in the room watched as Tony Stark emotionally collapsed. He wanted to answer Peter's plea and take him somewhere safe so badly he was visibly shaking . . . but he was the only one anyone trusted to keep Westcott restrained until the cops showed up. Happy would kill him, full stop, and as satisfying as that would be, it would also cause more problems than it solved.
Tony literally could not come with Peter. And nobodywanted him in the same building as Westcott.
So Ned took a deep breath and put his free hand on Peter's shoulder, getting a little of his attention. "He will, Peter. Tony's gonna come in a little while, after we're in your room and buried elbow-deep in our X-wing Lego set."
Peter's expression contorted for several seconds before it settled on 'confused'. "But why can't he come now?"
This was a lot more heart-rending than Ned was expecting and tears welled up again, along with fresh hatred for Westcott, who was seeing and hearing everything.
Well, Ned had a secret weapon of sorts, and it was time to use it. "Because he's the only one I trust to keep . . . Skip . . . restrained until the cops take him to jail," he replied, feeling bitterness coat his tongue at being forced to say the bastard's name. "And you know how much he loves to repulsor deserving people in the crotch."
Despite his knowledge of Peter's mental state, it was a sobering indicator of how out of it he still was when this statement elicited a grin and several vigorous nods. "That's true," he agreed amiably, unaware of Tony's sudden feral smile . . . a direct response to Skip's obvious fear of that actually happening. "He does like watching things go boom. Or splut."
Westcott actually collapsed at that, forcing Tony to grab his shoulder with his free hand to keep him upright until he managed to regain his feet . . . but the man's worried, loving gaze never left Peter.
Ned simply snorted, keeping his friend's attention as focused on him as he could manage. "Exactly. So let's get going and I promise he'll come find us before we finish Luke's favorite ride, okay? I'll keep you safe until then, yeah?"
As trusting as a child, Peter nodded, his eyes clearing for a few precious seconds as he actually lookedat Ned. "Yeah," he said, nodding again. "I'm safe with you. You're my Guy in the Chair."
Tears began to stream down Ned's cheeks as he finally lost control of them and he pulled Peter into a half-hug, sniffing hard to keep from blubbering in front of God and everyone. He couldn't break down now. He needed to get Peter to a safe place before he could collapse. A warm, calloused hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed, making him give it a quizzical look, and he was met with the astonishing sight of Tony Freaking Stark keeping Westcott's face pressed so hard against the wall by the door it would probably leave an imprint and looking at Ned with so much pride and gratitude that he wasn't sure how he didn't lose it and start bawling on the spot.
"Yeah, Pete, you're safe with Ned," Tony murmured, his eyes flicking to his . . . well, his son . . . as he spoke.
But his hand didn't leave Ned's shoulder.
"He'll take you somewhere safe and I'll be there before you know it. I promise," he vowed, and Peter gave him a tiny smile that almost broke both his brother and his dad.
"Okay," he whispered, fading so suddenly that Tony jolted in alarm, only stilling his instinctive movement to go to Peter when Ned shook his head. This was normal for him when he was in this particular emotional state. "Ned. Dad. Safe. Soon?"
"Soon," Ned answered, carefully urging Peter to look at him as Tony audibly choked down a sob. "Ready?"
A docile nod was his response, and Tony squeezed Ned's shoulder again before letting go, reaching out to Peter in a clear wish to touch him as well, before clenching his fist and letting him leave with Ned. The heartbreak and regret in his expression as he watched them go darkened to acidic rage as he glanced back at Westcott and the last thing Ned saw before he led Peter around the corner was Tony whispering something in Westcott's ear that clearly terrified him, pulling a cold, satisfied smile to Ned's lips.
Tony would make sure Westcott was taken care of, so Peter would never have to worry about that again. And he trusted Ned to keep him safe. Despite the hideous reason for it, that knowledge did more for Ned's personal confidence than anything he'd experienced in his entire life. It also formed a new bond that day, one that would eventually lead Ned to Stark Industries as one of their best coders.
Peter said nothing as Ned started down the hall to the restroom, fingers wrapped around that slender wrist to guide him. He didn't realize that he was crooning nonsense words to soothe his friend and let him know he was safe and protected until his mindless monologue was shattered by a hoarse, "I can't believe you think there's anything good about the Star Trek reboot movies except Karl Urban."
This statement was so incongruous that it actually stopped Ned in his tracks and he gawked at Peter, who was standing up straight and looking remarkably . . . well, sane.
But Ned spoke Peter fluently, and it took only a few seconds to recognize this defense mechanism for what it was. Peter wasn't okay, not by a long shot. But he had hit rock bottom and managed to climb back up to the first shelf on the way to sanity, and while it wouldn't last, that was enough.
For now.
It wouldn't be easy, or quick. Peter would spend most of the next year hating the fact that so many people knew his darkest secret, but it was a hatred that Ned and Tony (and, eventually, May, once she got her head out of her ass) would take in stride. They would be there for him for each and every step of his recovery, because like hell were they going to lose the supernova that was Peter Parker to someone as despicable as Steven fucking Westcott.
(who did indeed go to prison, after confessing to the molestation of 23 children. Tony located the other 18 who were still alive and somehow managed to give them the option to see Westcott after the trial but before formal sentencing. Several of them accepted this offer and Westcott entered prison missing an eye, having a permanent limp, and fully, completely castrated. He died very unpleasantly less than two years into his sentence)
It was largely thanks to Ned's observational genius that Peter recovered as well as he did, because Ned didn't just see and remember the bad things. He also catalogued the good things, the positive things, and would do whatever it took to make sure Peter continued to get those good, positive things, be it Legos or a new Star Wars movie or TV show, or playing with kittens at a shelter on Saturday mornings. If pistachio gelato from that place in north Queens that was only open two days a week from 10am–3pm (seriously, what were those hours?!) was the only thing that made Peter smile one day, then Ned would cut school and go get it for his friend.
(this only happened twice before Tony figured out what he was doing and why, and took on that responsibility himself. After that, Iron Man and Spiderman's Guy in the Chair came to a firm understanding that Ned would call Tony for help when it came to that sort of specialized thing. Tony knew that Ned wanted to be Peter's primary source of support, because after Morita's refusal to actually admit he'd fucked up that day in his office (mysteriously, he resigned effective the end of the school year) and May's desperate, guilt-fueled, weeks-long denial that Peter had been hurt so badly while in her and Ben's care, Ned's trust in adults had taken a substantial hit. Tony could not and did not hold that against the kid, but there were things he simply couldn't do, or do as effectively as Tony, because he was a kid. Unsurprisingly, Ned's acquiescence came much quicker and much easier than Peter's, and Tony frequently found himself thanking God that Ned did not possess his best friend's self-sacrificing streak)
Time passed. Sometimes slowly, other times at light speed, occasionally backwards . . . but it passed.
Then, one day on their way to see the new Avatar movie, a blond-haired, blue-eyed man crashed into Peter so hard they both ended up on the sidewalk, with Peter pinned beneath the man . . . and he didn't panic. He didn't freeze, or retreat from reality. He just wheezed in surprise at the loss of both breath and his footing, accepted Ned's hand to stand back up, and turned to help the other man without a second of hesitation.
That was when Ned finally knew that their efforts had succeeded. Peter was well and truly far down the road of recovery, of healing, and he would be all right. He would recover from what Westcott had done to him, and his life was going to be amazing.
And Ned was going to be there, supporting him every step of the way and basking in the honor of being Peter Parker's best friend. It was one of the most cherished titles he would ever claim, and it would hold true for the rest of their lives.
After all, Ned Leeds was a quiet, underappreciated genius.
~~~
fin
Well. If you're familiar with my work, you know that I tend to strongly dislike clichés in fic writing, and so have developed (acquired?) the habit of writing stories that address said cliché and try to turn it on its head. Hence, this story.
I'll be honest: as much as I love Peter whump and hurt/comfort stories - fairly dark ones at that, sometimes - I often find myself gritting my teeth and this is why: for angst/tension/hurt the protagonist purposes, extremely unusual behavior is introduced, noticed, and worried about . . . but never addressed, much less figured out.
For weeks or even months.
I could probably buy that on a daytime soap opera, where nobody is known for their brains, but to see it from Tony Stark - certified genius - or Ned Leeds - best friend for multiple years - actually gives me a headache. But I keep running into it, and it often kills the story for me, because there is only so much belief I can suspend, you know?
So I wrote this, because I wanted someone to actually *correlate* the change in behavior with the tangible catalyst, confront it, and succeed. And frankly, I also wanted to see the younger set make a valid, legitimate point to an adult, and succeed there too. Less realistic, perhaps, but I hope it's ultimately satisfying.
Now, last but possibly most important: I deliberately chose not to use the archive warnings, because while this story deals with Skip Westcott and what he did to Peter, the focus of this is Ned and Peter's relationship. What Skip actually did is mentioned only twice in direct terms, and is not remotely descriptive. But the subject is still there, and one of the central themes to the story, so I want people to be aware that it's there, but also know that it isn't heavy or prevalent or the main focus of the story, really. It's simply the catalyst for a negative behavioral change for Peter, and to provide Ned (and Tony, to a lesser extent) to shine as the best friend who *knows* his best friend so well and thus doesn't put up with something/someone hurting him.
TaleWeaver stepped up here to beta read for me, and I cannot express my thanks and gratitude for her help. Her insights and comments helped smooth this fic out and tighten it up and just made it a better story.
Umm . . . I think that's it, really. I really hope you guys enjoy this and I can't wait to hear what you think. So with no further ado . . .