Karen kept the suit cool enough to prevent health risks, but on warmer days in the summer, Peter liked to open some vents to let the air stream where he could feel it. Swinging was always better when he could touch the air as he left it behind. He needed that kind of pick me up after getting shot twice in his right leg. It was so soon into patrol, too! But Peter had to go to Tony to get patched up because Karen can’t keep her trap shut when it involves Peter’s safety.
Tony was waiting in the medbay when Peter stuck a one-legged landing on the window of an examination room. Tony would have been aware enough to open the window for him before he roundhoused the bulletproof glass, but he was busy ordering a discreet cleanup of the blood Peter left at the scene. And maybe bribing a few crime scene investigators to keep any potential clues to Spider-Man’s identity away from DNA testing labs.
“Friday, get the kid in here,” Tony muttered.
The window promptly flipped over, and Peter flopped into the room and straight onto the padded bed/table thing he never learned the name of.
“Come on, Mr. Stark! I already felt the bullets fall out as I started healing! Karen’s overreacting,” he huffed at Tony when he made eye contact.
“Karen can’t overreact. You got shot. Twice. And continued fighting. Are you really that bad at taking care of yourself?” Tony’s voice was somewhere around a disappointed growl.
“Mr. Star-“ Peter tried interjecting, but Tony kept the brisk pace in his tirade.
“Maybe I need to help you more in that area. Your mutation could have lowered your self-preservation instincts…” Tony started muttering to himself. Of course, Peter could hear that and responded.
“Queens is more important than my leg, Mr. Stark. I’ll heal from a bullet, but that cell phone repair guy wouldn’t.”
“So, you decided that a gunman who’d already made contact twice was fine to continue engaging with despite the risk he posed to Spider-Man, the beloved protector of your precious neighborhood?”
“Mr. Stark- I don’t get it! One day you’re in my apartment convincing me to fight against Captain America, and then you turn around and say I can’t handle a single robbery? What are you saying, Mr. Stark?” Peter said through a tremulous tone and reddening cheeks.
“Desperate times, desperate measures, whatever. Now that the world’s not in imminent danger, you have to think ahead. You’re a child. You have to keep yourself alive at least until Aunt Hottie can’t murder me for killing a minor under her watch. You barely think about self-care at all. In fact, when was the last time you ate? Showered?”
“Mr. Stark, I show-“
“Fri, pull up any data you have that shows evidence of Peter being in a bathroom while in the suit.” Tony had a gleam in his eye. Peter usually liked that gleam. It meant Mr. Stark was working on a solution to a problem. But his analytical gaze wasn’t fixed on a faulty circuit board or an unstable repulser. Peter had the distinct impression that he was the problem his mentor was solving.
“Mr. Stark?! What? What are you talking about?” Peter’s shrill voice hurt both his ears and his pride. Tony’s erratic monologue had his head spinning.
“I have no GPS data indicating Peter ever being within two feet of a toilet while wearing the suit.”
“Figures. Bet you only eat those churros old ladies give you. You really need someone to take better care of you. I don’t blame your aunt for missing the signs. She’s not as observant as I and my tech. Plus she has to spend her time working to support you both. Fri, bring out the restraints,” Tony delivered the command without a second thought. Vibranium cuffs and loops appeared out of the sides of the table to strap Peter to the paper covered padding.
“Mr. Stark! What? Why? What are you doing?” Peter asked, eyes flitting around to each pinned down joint. The boy immediately began squirming and struggling to break free. His wrists, ankles, knees, chest, and forehead each met unyielding metal.
“Had these installed in case a Norse god or a super soldier had to be treated for a cold and got a little aggressive. Lucky for you, it works for spider teenagers too. Now, open up for the thermometer,” Tony said, letting the gleam in his eye somehow translate to his voice. Triumphant yet manic, like he’d finally gotten his prize after obsessing for years.
Peter drew his lips between his teeth to avoid the end of the thermometer. He didn’t want this. He had to find a way out of this so he could tell someone. He could get… uh… Happy? Yeah, that sounded good. Good enough for a plan scraped together while Mr. Stark drew a device out of the cabinet under the table.
“Oh, little boy, I’m not looking for your mouth. Let me just tap your suit away so I can deal with what’s underneath,” Tony remarked. Peter’s brain took three entire seconds to process this information but shortly began protesting.
“No! Mr. Stark, stop! This isn’t funny!” Peter said.
“Of course it’s not funny. Your health is serious, Mister! You can’t keep flinging yourself around!” Tony rebuked lightheartedly. He tapped the suit off his mentee and held up a pair of instantly materialized scissors. Ok, maybe they had been there and he hadn’t noticed. There was a lot going on. But his briefs were definitely coming off.
“Mr. Stark?? Tony! What are you doing? Please, stop! I’ll do better, just put the scissors down! I’ll do whatever you say, please!” Peter knew as soon as his pants came off they were wading into dangerous territory. Memories started bubbling up. You’ll be okay, just let me take a look at you. Hey, why don’t we try something fun? That was fun, but I need you to keep this between us, yeah? You’re so grown- “No!! Stop! Get away!” Peter renewed his squirming.
“Peter, honey, it’s ok! It’s just that this thermometer gets a better reading. I know it feels weird, but your sister Morgan’s done it before. You can be a big boy, I know you can,” Tony said. Peter officially had no idea what was happening, but now he had an inroad to begin exploring.
“Mr. Stark, I’m sorry but I’m not your son. Please let me go. I know you’re upset about Morg-”
“Now, now, none of this nonsense. Are you playing pretend again? I need you to be serious with me right now, okay?” Tony’s tone took on a more solidified Dad Voice, and Peter couldn’t handle it. He had heard Tony’s semi Dad Voice when he got his suit taken away, but this was insane. Tony was insane. And Peter needed out of this room. He couldn’t let Tony touch him. No, he had promised himself that. No one would ever touch him again.
“I’m not your son! I’ve never been your son! I’m sorry about your loss, I really am. But you can’t do this to me, Mr. Stark! I don’t want you touching me!” Peter started off determined, but found his courage waning as Tony’s eyebrow rose. Tony always radiated confidence and authority. Peter couldn’t take it. His voice trailed off into tears as Tony spread his ass cheeks and inserted the object.
He was careful. Gentle. Loving. He heard the beep and immediately slid the thermometer out of him, but not so suddenly that it would hurt. At least not physically.
“Ah, good. No fever to worry about. Now that that’s out of the way, I’ll check out your leg,” Tony said as Peter lay astounded . He watched Tony disinfect the thermometer and return it to its place below the table. He watched the only father figure he had left pat his leg encouragingly and smile at him. Uncle Ben would comfort him like this after waking up with tears in his eyes. Uncle Ben never rushed him. Never made him do anything he was afraid of. Or at least, he talked about it with him first.
Tony thought he was doing the same thing. It tore Peter apart.
“Lookie there! Seems like these are healing nicely! No one will be able to see a scar. Isn’t that great, son?”
“Please, please just let me go. I’ll take care of myself, I will. Mr. Stark, let me help you, too.”
“Aww, thank you for the offer, but I don’t think there’s much a little boy can do to help his daddy except have fun and keep healthy,” Tony reassured. Peter was anything but.
Tony’s hands left the already clotted wounds. Peter couldn’t let himself breathe his relief. He was still exposed and restrained. And Tony was still deep in his delusion.
“Thank you, Mist-umm Daddy. Can you let me go now? I… want to play,” Peter had to adjust to Tony’s world if he was going to make it out. Besides, anyone would have switched tracks when Tony pulled his disappointed dad face. There was nothing he could do but give in.
“All right, little guy. Just one minute though, I need to put on your diaper. Can’t have play time interrupted by an accident!” Everything about this was so wrong, and Peter was so afraid. If he let Tony have a kid again, even for a short time, what kind of damage would that do? How much harder would it be for himself? And-hold on did he say Diaper??
“No! Listen to yourself! Tony, please! Please stop. I’m sorry, but I’m not your baby,” Peter said, his heart breaking for Tony. And for himself. This is not a situation his psyche would let him forget.
Tony’s hands emerged yet again from that stupid cabinet laden with supplies for changing his baby. He kept a cloth diaper, baby powder, and Butt Paste(™) balanced in a strong grip. Peter wished something about him would shake or crack or show some sign of weakness in his resolve. But of course, Tony remains the stubborn pain in the ass he’s always been. This time he’s hellbent on turning Peter into his perfect baby boy, with Peter’s opinion on this issue rendered moot.
“There, there little guy. I’m sorry you’re so fussy today. I’ll get you all set up with your fresh nappy and we’ll be good to go! Oh, but I am going to keep you here until these,” Tony held up a bag of intravenous fluids, “have worked their way through your system, just to make sure everything’s still flowing.”
“No! You’re not going to make me do this! I’m not letting anyone touch me again!” Peter yelled. His face flushed in what he chose to call indignation instead of mortification, and he gave a go at his restraints again.
“Daddy’s got you, baby. Don’t you worry. Your sister Morgan would be just as fussy as you when she got her diaper changed. But then she calmed down when she felt fresh and clean. I bet it’s uncomfortable going without a diapey, huh? I’ll keep you covered all day and all night. Because I love my little boy!” Tony clearly was not taking in Peter’s words. Peter teared up in frustration when Tony popped open the baby powder to puff a bit onto his diaper.
Peter shifted his groin as far away from the man as he could while pinned. Tony just tutted and reached to his left to scoot him back. Now Tony was touching him again. Peter felt every square millimeter of contact like a brand onto his soul. Tony brought the diaper over his cock.
“Peter, lift up for me, huh? I just need to get it in position so you’re fully covered,” Tony explained to the fussy little one he saw before him. Peter immediately tried to arch his back and plant his ass firmly on the table; common sense, however, kicked in once he took into account the still tingling skin on his side. He used the muscles he’d gained through chance to lift his ass for the deranged man in front of him. Yes, muscles used for upholding his promise to Uncle Ben were now breaking the one he had made to himself.
“There’s my good boy,” Tony cooed as he fastened the diaper around his baby. Peter had to hold back his vomit and let himself go limp. “I have to poke you for this next bit, but I promise I’m only doing it to help you. I’ll always take care of my baby boy.”
One blink later, Tony was sanitizing a patch of forearm. The bags of saline hanging from the medical coat rack had gone from decor to weapon. Peter only realized he had been holding his breath when he released it after the needle found its target. Next Tony hooked a syringe into the port and pushed the plunger. Peter had been only watching the proceedings until he realized he could also taste the contents. A musty, briney, feeling rushed onto his tongue and off just as fast.
“Please, please Tony. I can’t do this. You have to see I’m not your baby!” Peter tried one last time. Tony, of course, continued the task of hooking up the saline to his baby. Once set up, he ran his eyes over everything one last time and gave a slight nod of approval to his own handiwork. Which brought his attention back to Peter.
“I can’t believe you’re still so fussy! I have to find a way to help with that… Don’t go anywhere,” Tony said as he left towards the elevator. Peter again let out a sigh upon Tony’s departure. Now, he had a chance to think clearly. And he needed to use the resources at his disposal.
“Friday? Tell me when Tony’s on his way back. That’ll be helpful. I guess. Not really,” Peter muttered.
“I have picked up from voice recognition software that Baby Peter is babbling. I will play soothing songs and alert your father of your condition,” Friday intoned.
“No! What? No, help me!”
“Baby Peter is now fussing. I will update your father,” Friday helped.
He lay there in his shirt, pant legs, and diaper wondering how the hell an AI was calling him a baby. Tony could have reprogrammed her to recognize his voice and disregard any words in favor of tone and volume. But when? Peter had seen Tony the whole time…
Tony had planned this. Of course, looking back, it’s the only explanation for a cloth diaper and baby powder in the medbay. And Friday had referred to him as Baby Peter. Holy fucking shit. This made all of Flash’s premeditated torments look like a blue alien’s failed revolution.
Because this was Tony Stark, he had to have the best, even when driven insane by grief. Peter did miss both Pepper and Morgan terribly. He thought when Mr. Stark realized it really was a car crash and that he should quit lobbying for Bucky’s arrest, he would be getting better. Peter hoped he was moving on. Just not moving onto him. Not like this.
Peter shut down that train of thought before it could splatter him on the tracks. Instead, he turned towards his predicament. Tony had left saying he would soothe his “fussing.” Whatever that meant, he was sure to find out soon.
Soon burst through the door about eight seconds later. Tony sauntered in with a bright smile and a suspicious lack of visible hands.
“Hi there! I’m sorry I left my baby for so long! I had to get your paci out of storage,” Tony said, producing something from behind his back that was more akin to an instrument of torture than a pacifier. A five inch length of chain with an almost two inch wide metal “pacifier” in the middle dangled from Tony’s grip.
“Mr. Stark! Please don’t do this!” Peter said once his eyes snapped back to Tony’s from the pendulous device.
“Shh it’s okay. Just open for your paci,” Tony said. Peter clamped his jaw shut as Tony brought the chain up to his mouth.
“Oh silly boy, let me help you,” Tony’s suit glove surrounded his left hand. Peter flinched away when he felt sudden heat by his right temple. When Peter saw Tony with two free hands, he realized the chain was somehow welded to his vibranium forehead restraint. He would have wondered how the hell he was able to survive the astronomical temperature if he wasn’t busy freaking the fuck out.
Tony pressed his gloved hand to each side of his baby’s jaw and squeezed to open his mouth. It opened with a pathetic whine, and shortly stretched around the pacifier. Tony made quick work of the left weld and smiled at his quiet, perfect, baby boy.
“There! Now we wait to make sure you can wet that diaper. Shouldn’t be too long for such a little bladder,” Tony said. “It’s too bad your pacifier makes it harder to pinch those baby cheeks!”
Peter lay there in silence, waiting for his saliva to spill out of the gag. And, ultimately, his urine to spill out of his bladder.