The road to recovery was long and grueling, but Peter was nothing if not resilient. The physical wounds healed faster than anyone had expected— his enhanced metabolism saw to that—but the scars they left behind were a constant reminder of the nightmare he had endured.
Tony Stark had spared no expense in making sure Peter received the best possible care. A private medical team worked tirelessly on his leg, mending the shattered bones and torn ligaments. The stab wound in his shoulder, though deep, was treated quickly enough to avoid permanent damage. Tony never left his side, as he was bedridden in the hospital. He had food brought up to him, and he would sleep on the chair next to Peter's bed, even if it left him with a knot in his neck. As always, he was there for him.
Despite the meticulous care, Peter carried a slight limp for weeks after, a ghost of the injury that lingered even as his body recovered.
But the real battle wasn't in his body—it was in his mind.
At first, Peter couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that cold, concrete room. He could feel the chains digging into his wrists, hear Jason's cruel laughter, and see the barrel of the gun pointed at his head. The memories clung to him like a suffocating fog, making it impossible to relax.
It was the weirdest thing that set him off. From the sound of the water dripping in the sink to the smell of cigarette smoke floating in the air. His breathing would quicken, and his heart would beat in his ears, as his body began to shake. And most of the time, Tony would find him curled up in a ball, in the corner of a room, in a full-blown panic attack, unable to register where he was. That he was safe now. The sight broke Tony's heart into a million pieces.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One evening, Tony had been working in the lab while Peter sprawled out on the couch nearby, his textbooks open but clearly ignored. The kid was trying to act normal—cracking a joke every now and then, pretending the shadows under his eyes weren't there. Tony didn't push. He's learned that Peter needed to open up in his own time.
The lab was quiet except for the occasional hum of machinery and the soft tap of Tony's tools against metal. Then, from somewhere nearby, came the plink,... plink,... plink of water dripping.
Peter froze. His hand, which had been idly flipping a page in his book, went still. Tony barely noticed at first— he was focused on a tricky piece of circuitry— but when the sound of Peter's breathing hitched, sharp and uneven, he looked up.
Peter's wide, glassy eyes were fixed on something far away, something only he could see. His chest rose and fell erratically, his breaths shallow and rapid.
"Kid?" Tony called, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Peter didn't answer. His hands were shaking now, clutching the edges of the book as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded.
"Peter," Tony tried again, softer this time as he stepped closer.
And then it happened. Peter dropped the book, scrambled off the couch, and retreated to the corner of the lab. His back pressed against the wall, and he slid down until he was curled into himself, knees to his chest. His fingers clutched his hair, and he rocked slightly, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.
Tony was there in an instant, crouching in front of him, hands up like he was approaching a scared animal.
"Hay, hey, it's me," Tony said, keeping his voice calm, even though his heart was breaking at the sight. "You're ok, Peter. You're safe. You're here, with me. No one's gonna hurt you."
But Peter didn't respond. His whole body trembled, and his gaze darted around the room like he was still looking for a threat.
It hit Tony then, what must've set him off. The sound of the dripping water—it was faint, barely noticeable, but in Peter's mind, it must've brought him back to that room.
"FRIDAY, mute all external noise," Tony ordered sharply. Instantly, the sound disappeared, leaving nothing but silence.
He shifted closer, careful not to touch Peter yet. "Kid, listen to my voice," Tony said. "Breathe with me, okay? In and out."
Peter's head snapped up slightly at the sound of Tony's voice, his glassy eyes locking onto him for just a second before darting away again. But it was enough.
Tony exaggerated his own breathing, drawing in deep, steady breaths. "Come on kid. You can do it. In,... and out. That's it."
It took a long time—longer than Tony wanted to admit—but slowly, Peter's breathing began to sync with his. The trembling didn't stop entirely, but the wild panic in his eyes started to fade.
"See?" Tony said softly. "You're ok. You're right here in the lab, with me. You're safe."
Peter's hands loosened their grip on his hair, and he blinked as if coming back to himself. "M-Mr. Stark?" He whispered, his voice cracked and uncertain.
Tony's shoulders sagged in relief. "Yeah, kid. It's me. You're good now."
Tears welled up in Peter's eyes, and before Tony could say anything, the boy lunged forward, wrapping his arms around him in a desperate hug.
Tony froze for just a moment before, wrapping his arms around Peter, holding him tightly. "I've got you, Pete," he said quietly. "I've got you."
Peter's breaths were still shaky, but he leaned into the embrace, his head resting on Tony's shoulder. "I-I thought I was back there," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I couldn't,... I couldn't,... stop it."
"You don't have to stop it alone," Tony replied, his voice firm but kind. "That's what I'm here for, ok? You're not alone in this."
They stayed like that for a long time, Tony letting Peter hold on as long as he needed. Eventually, the boy's breathing evened out completely, and he pulled back, his face flushed with embarrassment.
"Sorry," Peter mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.
"Don't apologize," Tony said firmly. "You went through hell, kid. This is normal. It's gonna take time."
Peter nodded, though he still looked hesitant. "Thanks, Mr. Stark."
Tony ruffled his hair gently. "Anytime, Pete. Now, how about we take a break from this depressing lab and find some ice cream?"
Peter managed a small, genuine smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After the incident, Peter avoided mirrors for a while, unable to look at the fading bruises and healing cuts on his face. Every time he caught a glimpse of himself, he was reminded how helpless he had felt, how close he had come to losing everything.
Tony noticed, of course. He always noticed.
"Kid," he said one evening, pulling Peter out of a silent spiral as they sat in the living room of the penthouse. "You're allowed to feel messed up about this. Hell, I'd be worried if you didn't."
Peter had nodded, but he couldn't find the words to explain what he felt. How could he tell Mr. Stark, that he didn't just feel scared— he felt weak?
Peter avoided Spidermanning as well. Not purposely of course, but the idea of going into an alleyway alone, or fighting a guy with a knife or gun, sent him spiraling. And he would give it up saying he had school work to focus on, or his injuries hadn't healed all the way.
Therapy had been Tony's idea, and while Peter had resisted it at first, it quickly became a lifeline. Slowly, he began to open up about the things he couldn't say to anyone else: the guilt of being captured, the helplessness of being unable to fight back, the lingering fear that he might not be strong enough to protect the people he cared about.
The therapist reminded him that surviving wasn't a weakness— it was a strength.
Tony was there every step of the way. He even came to some of the therapy appointments with Peter when he asked him to and would be scribbling down notes and advice from the therapist the whole time, and then take his kid to get ice cream after.
He stayed up with Peter on the bad nights when the nightmares came, sitting silently beside him until the kid was ready to talk. He made sure Peter never felt alone, even when the silence between them stretched long.
Eventually, Peter began to heal—not just physically, but emotionally. He went back to school, and after a few months, resumed patrolling as Spider-Man, and found comfort in the familiarity of his routine. But there were changes, too.
He was more cautious now, more deliberate. He double-checked his surroundings before every patrol and always let Mr. Stark know where he was going. The carefree confidence he once had as Spiderman was tempered with a sharp awareness of his mortality.
Tony saw the change and worried.
One evening as they tinkered on one of Peter's suits in the lab, Tony broke the silence.
"Kid," he said, not looking up from the gauntlet he was repairing, "you don't have to prove anything to anyone. Not to me, not to you, not to the city, not to yourself. You've already done enough."
Peter hesitated, the words settling over him like a blanket. "I know Mr. Stark," he said quietly. "But,...I don't want to stop. I don't want what happened to define me. I just want to do better."
Tony met his eyes then, a mixture of pride and sadness in his expression. "You've got nothing to prove. But if that's what you want, I'll be here. Every step of the way."
Peter smiled, the first genuine one in weeks. "Thanks. For everything."
Tony nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Always, kid."
And so, Peter continued, carrying the weight of what he had endured but refusing to let it break him. The scars remained, both on his body and in his mind, but they became a part of his story, not the end of it.
He was still Spider-Man.
He was still Peter Parker.
And though he would never forget the darkness he had faced, he would always keep moving toward the light.
