Raised in Tartarus (AvengersxPercy) (PeterxPercy)

Pigging the Fuck Out, pt.1

Tony's POV:

I stroke my beard lightly with one hand, leaning forward as I stare at the boy.

Six hours had already passed since Damarion passed out and Bruce is practically having a meltdown outside the door, running his hands through his hair over and over again and ranting about brain trauma. There wasn't much else he could do, so I finally had to shove him outside.

Damarion lies with his naked back against Peter's blue comforter. Every part of him appears pale and stiff, even when unconscious; to the point where, if I didn't know better, I would think him dead.

What the hell is wrong with this kid? Maybe I shouldn't have brought him here. I don't know what kinda home life he has.

My eyes dart to the scars and dark bruises wrapping around his exposed chest, abdomen, and arms.

What if Peter gets attached to him and he turns out to be an evil serial killer and brutally murders us all for the fun of it?

I grip the armrest of the chair.

Okay, that's probably too far.

Damarion's jaw clenches, his fingers curling into tight fists. He lets out a light growl.

My eyebrows raise and I lean backward. The fuck?

The boy's head suddenly jerks violently to the side and he flinches away from a seemingly invisible force.

Oh my god, what if he's possessed?

His growl twists towards a high pitch wine, beginning to raise in volume.

A possessed serial killer?? That's gotta be the worst combination!

When the whine abruptly morphs into a piercing scream, I'm jarred out of my ridiculous thoughts.

I shoot to his side, stumbling. Trying not to gauge his eyes out, I brush the hair off his forehead and run my other hand down to his shoulder, holding it firmly to the bed as he thrashes around.

My heart lurches in panic. "Damarion!"

His body is soaked in a layer of sweat, face contorted in pain, still screaming.

The door is thrown open, slamming against the wall behind it as Bruce and Peter barge through.

At the sound, Damarion's eyes snap open and he lurches up, our heads barely missing each other. Bare chest still heaving in and out ragged breaths, his piercing eyes shoot towards me.

Confusion immediately wells up inside of me and my eyebrows crash together, mouth falling slightly open. The feeling of familiarity bubbles in the back of my mind when I stare into those distinctive green eyes up close.

Suddenly, Damarion looks like a baby to me. An awfully unforgettable baby. One with baby seal eyes and a mop of chaotic black hair on his head. One who never stopped smiling and giggling when he gazed up at me.

Now, the eyes stare back into mine, unblinking, shattered, scared.

"Tony!" Bruce's voice slices through my disorienting recollection. He shakes my shoulder.

"Tony! Move!" The doctor jostles around me to get to Damarion.

I fall back into the chair, watching uncomprehendingly.

Bruce takes ahold of the kid's shoulders, swiftly examining him with almost every medical tool he owns, his eyebrows scrunched. Peter picks his lip, gazing worriedly from the other side of the bed. By now, Nat, Steve, and Clint have filed in, probably due to all the commotion.