Steam hangs thick in the bathroom, clinging to my skin and lungs like it doesn't want to let go. The air smells clean. Too clean. Soap and heat and something sterile that reminds me I don't belong here.
A towel sits low around my waist as I step toward the mirror. My palm drags through the condensation, leaving streaks where my reflection waits underneath.
I look wrong.
Hollow. Pale. Like someone scraped the colour out of me and forgot to put it back.
Last week, I slept in layers because the heater in Aunt May's apartment barely worked. Socks over my hands. Hoodie pulled tight around my face. Now I'm standing barefoot on marble floors in a billionaire's ensuite, the stone cold and perfect beneath my feet.
I should feel grateful.
Instead, my stomach twists.
My ribs press sharply against my skin, each one outlined like it's trying to escape. Old bruises blur into new ones. Scars cross my torso in uneven lines, pale against the darker marks that haven't faded yet. I turn slightly, examining myself from the side.
Seeing my ribs does something strange to me.
It feels like balance. Like proof. Like if I stay small enough, thin enough, then maybe I'm not stealing something I don't deserve. Comfort should cost something. If I'm hurting, then maybe this is allowed.
I swallow and turn away from the mirror before the thought can settle too deeply.
The room feels different now.
Someone's been in here.
The desk has been upgraded, shelves mounted above it in abstract, deliberate patterns. I trail my fingers along the spines of the books lining them. Mechanics. Engineering. Bioscience. Titles that make my chest ache in a way I don't hate. Maybe Mr Stark expects something from me. Maybe he's already planning who I'm supposed to become.
The closet door slides open smoothly.
Everything inside is organised. Shoes lined up perfectly. Belts hanging straight. Folded shirts stacked with care that feels almost personal. A small note rests on top.
An upgrade – S
I unfold one of the shirts and pull it on. The fabric is soft. Too soft. The Iron Man face on the front is much larger than I expected. I huff a quiet laugh, imagining Tony picking it out without realising how obvious it is.
I check my phone.
Messages from Ned and MJ light up the group chat.
N: Pete, you HAVE to tell us how your first afternoon was!
M: Yeah, dweeb. Spill.
I hesitate before typing.
P: It was pretty awesome. Mr Stark's helping me build my own assistive lab robot. He asked Aunt May if I could stay the weekend to keep working. Dinner with them again tonight.
N: WHAT. Dude. That's insane.
I smile despite myself, lock my phone, and set it aside.
It's only six.
I grab one of the books Tony left for me. Biomechanics. The pages smell freshly printed. I sink onto the bed and start reading, losing track of time until the light outside fades completely.
The hallway is long and white and empty.
A door opens suddenly and I nearly collide with Natasha Romanoff. She's carrying a tray with wine glasses, red liquid catching the light.
YOU ARE READING
Bruised But Not Broken - Irondad/spiderson
FanfictionPeter Parker is tired. Tired of scraping by, of pretending he's fine, of enduring a school bully while carrying struggles no one knows about. Living in a cramped apartment with his aunt, Peter learns how to disappear - how to survive quietly. A scho...
