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the-reverse-mermaid · 5 years

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Feel Again: a whump fic

Hey buddies! I’m working on my WIPs currently and i am so grateful for ur patience but i’ve also had this thing sitting in my docs for several months and I wanted to share it at last, but just a clip because..well...in whole, it’s kinda darker than my usual stuff so the whole thing may or may not be posted in the future. This is a gift for the wondrous @parkrstark who had a birthday recently and who is a beautiful person and talented writer <3 Enjoy, my love~

FIC INFO: around 5k words, IronDad and SpiderSon, hurt/comfort, warnings for nightmares, panic/anxiety attacks, past dehumanization; also it’s implied that Tony is Peter’s guardian bc May died...sry, i was too coward to write her ^^;

...

It’s been seven days, ten hours and fifteen minutes.

Peter watches, blank-faced and empty-eyed, as bowl and spoon are placed in his hands. It makes Tony feel like he’s dealing with a robot, but even his robots are more lively than this. Taking Peter’s spoon, the man presses the Cheerios under the milk so that every piece of cereal will be soggy, just the way Peter likes. In times past Tony had made fun of him for the preference, and Peter had ardently defended it as the only right way to eat cereal.

Now the memory of Old Peter echoes in the back of his mind like a glimpse of an alternate reality.

“Think you can finish all of that, buddy?” Tony asks, leaning down so he’s in Peter’s line of sight. Dulled brown eyes trail up to him, then back to the bowl and he nods, picking up the spoon. Tony breathes a sigh of relief as the kid starts to eat, chewing slowly.

He checks his phone and feels a nervous thrill at the notification there: I’m about to come down. Still want to do this? He glances at Peter before typing and sending a quick, Yes, ty.

“Hey, bud, remember that time you, me and Pep spent Saturday morning watching dumb cartoons and eating breakfast food til noon?” he begins, picking at his own cereal to seem casual about it. “I thought we could do that today, since she’s got no meetings til this afternoon. Whaddaya say?”

Peter pauses. He lifts one shoulder indifferently, but Tony can see anxiety hidden in the movement. Apathy and fear; whatever happened in the last four months stripped Peter-- lively, expressive Peter-- of all but these two emotions. They might as well have stolen Tony’s entire fortune; that loss would’ve hurt less.

Before Tony can think how to reassure him or possibly backtrack, there are footsteps in the hall and Pepper is rounding the corner with a bright smile on her face.

“Hey, guys!” she greets, pausing in the entrance of the kitchen to look them over. She’s comfortably dressed in pajama bottoms and her ‘I lost an electron’ shirt that she and Peter both own, her hair down and feet socked. It’s 10 times less intimidating than her usual business suits and high heels but still Peter squirms closer to Tony’s side and eyes her warily, choosing to look at her feet rather than her face. Pepper wilts a bit at the reception.

“Morning, hon,” Tony calls. He pushes a pleading ‘we can do this, just act normal’ into his gaze, and Pepper, bless her, seems to get the message. “We’ve got cereal over here, help yourself.”

Pepper grabs a bowl off the counter and crosses the room, her movements deliberate and nonthreatening. There’s no change from Peter, whose own bowl is sitting in his lap like something hardly worth his interest.

“Hmm,” she hums. “Cheerios are good, but mind if I add to the spread? I think we’ve got some frozen quiches around here somewhere, that sounds good to me.”

Tony smiles. “Go for it.” As soon as she walks away he nudges Peter and says quietly, “You’re okay, Pete. Nothing to be stressed about, yeah? Pep is just like me: she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

For what it’s worth, the kid does relax minutely. In the interim of Pepper opening packages and using the microwave, Tony picks up the remote and turns on the TV, browsing around for something safe and feel-good before settling on Nickelodeon, which is showing some animated movie. Peter’s eyes flick up to the screen.

“Alright, I got mini-quiches and even some blueberry muffins, ” Pepper announces upon her return, both hands holding trays of said items. “Totally gourmet... And by gourmet, I mean Costco brand.”

“The best,” Tony agrees, snatching one of each as soon as she sets them down. “Which would you rather have, bud?” He turns to Peter, who is done with his cereal and is now looking at the new food. At Tony’s invitation he hesitates but points at a muffin and Tony tries not to get too excited about it as he hands one over and watches the kid begin nibbling the top. So far things seem to be going well.

Now he’s just gotta go through with the next step.

Around ten minutes in, the movie cuts to a commercial break. Tony shifts in preparation to stand up and Peter immediately follows suit, not even questioning, but carefully Tony takes the boy’s hands and holds them at arm’s length. Peter looks at him questioningly, a rare moment of eye contact.

“I’m just gonna take a bathroom break, okay, bud?” he explains. “You stay here with Pep.” He tucks Peter’s hands to his lap and stands.

Peter keens and sits up straighter, wide eyes kindling anew with anxiety. Tony feels like the worst human being on the planet, but he knows he needs to do this. He needs to help Peter do this.

“It’s just a few minutes apart,” he promises. “I’ll go straight there and back.”

“And I’ll be here with you the whole time,” Pepper chimes in. She scoots closer from the other side of the couch and puts a soothing hand on Peter’s back, easing him back into the cushions as Tony leaves the room. The man tries not to look back as he hears her quieting and comforting the boy’s whimpers. Pepper is a better people person than Tony will ever be and he knows she’ll take good care of him, but Tony’s fingers still itch with the urge to turn right back around.

As soon as he gets to the bathroom, Tony pulls up a feed of the living room on his phone via FRIDAY’s cams to watch the room he just left. On the couch, Peter is decidedly not coping as well with Pepper as he does Tony, but he isn’t having a meltdown; in fact, he’s allowing her to sit close and keep an arm wrapped around his shoulders, though his forehead remains creased in apprehension. The poor kid looks like he’s fighting with himself to be patient; his gaze is torn between watching the TV and checking the doorway for Tony’s return.

Biting his lip, Tony puts his screen away and sighs. He paces the small space, checking his watch impatiently until at last five minutes have passed.

On his way back he hears it.

The yelling.

“Peter? Peter, honey, you’re okay! Please calm down, you’re home, you’re safe-” Pepper.

His walk turns into a sprint as he rounds the corner, heart in his throat, and takes in the worrying scene before him.

Peter is curled up in a fetal position on the couch, Pepper kneeling in front of him with helplessness on her face as she tries to get his attention. Peter’s hands are pressed over his ears, his eyes clenched shut, his whole body shuddering as he rocks and cries inconsolably.

“What happened?” Tony demands.

Pepper hurries backwards so Tony can take her spot. “I don’t know what- what agitated him,” she says in a rush. There are tears in her eyes. “He just suddenly started panicking and hyperventilating and- and he won’t let me touch him, he screams if I try-”

“Don’t scream!” Peter says suddenly. Both adults’ attention snaps to him. His eyes have opened but they’re unseeing as he croaks, “Don’t scream, they- they’ll hear! Be good, be good, be good, I- I’m good- please, I’m--”

“Peter, hey,” Tony tries, carefully putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

At the touch, Peter flinches, his head smacking against the couch. His whispering gets more frantic. “I’ll be better! I will! I-”

“Peter, please, stop!” The man takes Peter’s face between his hands. “You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Can you hear me, buddy? It’s your- it’s Tony.”

Peter goes still.

“Tony,” he repeats. His face crumples slowly, lip trembling. “I miss Tony...”

The man of iron feels his heart splinter. I miss you, too, Pete. Come back to me.

“You’ve got him,” he says. “Tony’s here now. He’s got you. He’s gonna keep you safe.”

In the stillness that follows, all is quiet save the sound of Peter’s rapid breathing, but even that is slowing and evening out. His blinks several times as the storm clouds in his eyes dissipate, light returning gradually as the seconds pass. Tony’s thumb strokes away a tear still rolling down the boy’s cheek, and at last Peter focuses and looks at rather than through him.

They stare at one another for a long moment. The teen swallows and opens his mouth with a shaky inhale, a fresh sheen of tears filling his eyes.

“S-sorry… my bad,” he rasps.

Tony’s brain short-circuits for a moment, and all he can think is how unbelievable it is that the most of Peter he’s seen in so long could come as the result of such an episode. He doesn’t know whether it makes him want to laugh or cry.

He pulls himself onto the couch and gathers his kid into his arms, one hand bracing Peter’s back, the other nestling in his still-overgrown curls. Peter responds by clinging around his middle and pressing his ear to Tony’s chest, no doubt timing his breaths by the heartbeats there.

It’s only after Pepper leaves to find them a blanket that Tony sees the TV screen and the image it’s paused on. It’s an infomercial… an infomercial for obedience training. The closed captioning advertises “Don Sullivan’s Secrets To Training The Perfect Dog: order the DVD set now and get a complimentary Command Collar”.

Tony had never had strong feelings about infomercials in general but at that moment he wants nothing more than to buy every single TV station and destroy them all. Screw Don Sullivan.

He’s surprised when Peter suddenly huffs a humorless sound. “I’m pretty broken, aren’t I,” he states quietly, voice wrecked.

Tony pushes his fingers through the scruff on the back of Peter’s neck, wishing so hard that he could turn back time. “No,” he refutes. “No, you’re not.”

Peter is quiet for a long time, so long that Tony wonders if he’s given in to the pull of post-panic-attack exhaustion and fallen asleep. But in a tired voice weighted by more sadness than any man, woman or child should ever know comes a tiny reply:

“Yes, I am.”

...

Peter has scars. A lot of them.

It’s been fifteen days since and he’s barely improved, still clinging and hesitant to speak or make eye contact with anyone other than Tony. He lets himself talk in small bursts but it’s nothing like he used to be; he can also manage up to fifteen minutes alone without having a panic attack if Tony has to shower or use the restroom. He does the same so long as Tony waits for him outside the door (within range of hearing his heartbeat).

After the disastrous separation experiment, Tony isn’t eager to push much more than that.

(Peter has scars.)

Some are thicker than others, especially on his wrists and his back; the white lines criss crossing over his form tell tale of screams long since silenced. Just seeing the marks makes Tony’s knees weak with a concoction of feelings he can’t describe-- prominently there’s horror, because he remembers how every injury was discovered and treated on that first night back and it was like Tony himself was taking a beating… and then there’s regret-guilt-anger-helplessness, because the cuts are healed now-- Peter’s healing capabilities took over soon after he got the proper nutrition and medical attention-- but poison memories are sealed inside.

If he hugs the kid a little longer than necessary after watching him get his boot cast removed and seeing the scar tissue that mars him there too, Peter doesn’t seem to mind. The kid leans into his touch more now than he ever did before.

“Alright, little shadow,” Tony says brightly as he pulls away, using the nickname that had never been more appropriate in their relationship; having a kid clinging closer than a literal shadow at all times did that to you. He glances one more time at the newly-healed foot and gets an idea. “What do you say we celebrate this cast coming off? Wanna take a walk around the compound, get some fresh air?”

Peter looks up at him through his ragged, unstyled hair, doe eyes wide but empty. Tony smooths his bangs back and the kid blinks once as if to focus. Tony can see him trying to be there, trying to care. Trying and trying and trying.

“...’kay,” he whispers, fragile. He lets Tony take his hands and help him stand.

Once he’s got them bundled up in jackets to withstand cold winds that roll off the water, Tony hiding a wrist gauntlet on the hand in his pocket (because yes, he’s that paranoid), the two of them (as one figure) step outside for the first time in-- in a while. Definitely a while.

A cool breeze follows them on their walk and Tony allows a deep breath of actual fresh air to clean out his lungs and settle in his veins. It’s not very often he gets to enjoy the benefits of living outside the city.

They end up walking along a trail that follows the Hudson and Tony decides that this actually was a good idea: the nature-y sights and sounds seem to help bring Peter to life. There’s a glimmer of contentedness in his face as he looks out over the trees and water and sky. He loosens his grip on Tony’s arm and settles for a gentle handhold. Tony looks at him sideways, feeling a swell of hope rise in his chest, right behind where his arc reactor used to be.

“It’s nice to get out, huh,” he says softly. The edges of Peter’s eyes crinkle in what might be the world’s tiniest beginning of a smile.

Other than occasionally checking that Peter’s leg isn’t hurting, Tony shuts his mouth and lets the white noise around them do its thing. He’s been talking too much lately anyway, trying to overcompensate.

They’ve been walking for almost an hour and stopped to admire a small waterfall when Peter suddenly bristles and presses himself close to Tony’s side. In paranoia, the man pulls his gauntlet hand out of his pocket and is all but ready to activate it, when all that comes around the path toward them is a wobbling toddler in a puffy coat.

They stare at him. He stares back, a gap-tooth grin on his face. “‘Ah-dy!” he says in greeting.

No, nope, I’ve definitely got my hands full being just ONE kid’s Daddy, Tony thinks worriedly, when behind the toddler appears a man who moves to scoop the boy up in his arms. The man holds the boy, who’s probably about 18-24 months old, by his feet and the kid shrieks in delight, wiggling around upside-down.

“Leaving me behind, guys?” a woman’s voice calls before a third person appears, putting her arm on her husband’s shoulder and glancing curiously at Tony and Peter. Peter hides himself behind Tony, eyes on the dirt, and Tony manages to cast them a weak smile to be polite whilst squeezing his kid’s arm reassuringly.

The man sets their kid down and he immediately spins around, looking at the waterfall. “Wa-er!” As he tottles away, Tony catches sight of the symbol on the back of his coat and does a double-take.

“Nice jacket,” he says without thinking.

He glances down at Peter. The kid has noticed too-- his eyes are locked on the symbol, expression unreadable.

The man turns around from where he and his wife are watching their toddler. He follows their gaze and laughs. It’s a tiny Spider-Man themed coat.

“Thanks! Spidey’s our family’s favorite. He saved Shannon’s life when she was pregnant with this dude,” he says, indicating his family members respectively. “The guy may not be around lately, or moved, or- whatever, there’s lot’s of theories- but... he isn’t forgotten, not for us.”

“-ah-DEE!” the little guy calls from where he and the woman have wandered, and this time he seems to be referring to his actual daddy so the man gives them an awkward little wave before walking off to catch up.

The strangers gone, Peter sags into Tony’s side. His face is still unreadable. Tony can’t think of anything to do other than wordlessly steer them down the path toward home, wondering at the heavy thought bubbles building over his kid’s head.

…

Sixteen-and-a-half days.

A strangled-sounding scream cuts through the dark and into Tony’s heart like a knife.

Tony’s startled but he isn’t surprised; startled because of the rude awakening from being asleep at the kid’s side, and the ever-terrifying possibility that something might be wrong, but not surprised in the conventional way because he’s aware that this has happened every night since the kid came off the heavy meds.

Peter is whimpering strings of ‘please’ and ‘no’, and Tony turns on the bedside lamp to see him huddled in a ball, eyes closed and budding with tears, one fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the noise. He winces when Tony puts a hand on the side of his head.

“Peter,” Tony whispers, so tired. “Peter, bud, you’re okay. It’s just a bad dream. Open those eyes for me?”

Peter whines, but his eyes do crack open to anguished slits. He’s shaking beneath Tony’s palm, and biting down so hard on his hand that the man sees a trail of blood running down his knuckles. Tony’s other hand gently pries the fist out away from his mouth. Peter lets him.

“Hey bud,” the man greets softly, catching the kid’s gaze. Peter stills as his surrogate father rubs a thumb along his temple soothingly.

Tony smiles sadly. “What did I tell those nightmares last night, huh? My kid is off-limits; only good dreams allowed. Iron Man decrees it.”

Peter stares at him, breathing erratic as his awareness returns. He inhales sharply, an attempt to calm down, but his breath catches on a sob on the exhale. He covers his face with both hands and dissolves into fresh cries, leaning into Tony as the man takes the back of his head and pulls him close.

“Shhh,” Tony murmurs, fingers carding through the curls at Peter’s nape. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry, I’m here.”

It takes some time for Peter to cry himself out. Tony doesn’t stop whispering reassurances the whole time. He can tell by the pace of the breaths beneath him that Peter’s still awake.

“You can tell me anything, Pete,” he offers gently, as he has every night. “I’m here for you.”

Peter has yet to tell Tony about what happened to him, or about the nightmares that haunt him so badly. As he comforts, Tony traces his thumb across the hollow under Peter’s eye, wiping away wetness there and remembering how the straps of a muzzle had traced the same spot in a perverse fashion not so long ago, before Iron Man had removed and destroyed the thing in disgust.

Some scars can’t be bandaged as easily as others, but for the first time in all such nights, Peter does respond.

“Mr. Stark,” he says so softly that Tony holds his breath so as to not miss anything, “Mr. Stark, I- I don’t- I just don’t understand.”

It’s in these moments, somehow, that Peter is most himself. The storms drag Peter out of his hiding place. “What don’t you understand,” the man prompts. He pulls back to see the teen’s face. His young brow is furrowed in- confusion? concentration?

Peter chews his lip for a moment before going on. “It’s like, when I was there… all I could- all I dreamed about was home. But now I’m here and I, I can’t- I’m st-still there, you know?” He meets Tony’s eyes. “What if I can’t ever really come home?” he concludes hopelessly.

Tony does unfortunately, painfully know what he’s asking about, because he has a similar trauma and it’s called Afghanistan.

“You just need time, buddy,” he says. “I know what you mean, trust me, I do. It just gets better with time.”

“Is it worth it?” Peter presses suddenly. “Am I-” His eyes trail sideways to the sheets and he swallows. “Am I even worth it?”

Tony’s jaw hardens. “That’s not even a question.”

“I-I did bad things… And, and I’m not the same.”

“You didn’t have a choice, kid. And being different? That’s not as bad as you think.”

“I’m ruining your life.”

“Peter, you are not-”

“I’m inhuman and I’m a waste of space.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s a known fact, something he’s been drilled with and long since accepted, that really gets under Tony’s skin. He’s been pretty good at holding himself together so far, all things considered, but can’t help that he feels his own eyes stinging with tears at the sound of his kid reiterating the garbage he’s been brainwashed with.

He sits up so suddenly that Peter startles.

“I’m not really tired anymore,” he says briskly, throwing the covers off himself and trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

Peter pushes himself up too, eyes wide and concerned. “Mr. Stark?”

“I’m feeling like a trip to the lab, maybe a snack on the way. How ‘bout you, kid? Wanna join your old man for some late night wandering?”

Peter presses his lips together in confusion, but he nods. Tony pushes the covers back more so that the kid can get his feet on the ground before stepping out himself, the both of them slipping into their usual bracing of one another.

Apparently speaking, and now getting up, is too much deviation from the routine for Peter because in his eyes he’s slipping back into himself, expression closing off. Tony hopes he doesn’t feel embarrassed; Before-Peter would’ve been, but Now-Peter is hard to read.

FRIDAY turns on lights as they pad down the hall, already long since attuned to Tony’s nocturnal habits. A quick stop at the kitchen supplies them with a bowl of Chex mix, and then the lab doors are whooshing open and Tony’s realizing he doesn’t actually feel like tinkering. He just needed a reprieve to collect his thoughts but now he’s got Peter out of bed for no reason and it’s not healthy, he’s gonna ruin his kid, he’s a terrible guardian-

He shakes his head. One thing at a time.

“Come sit with me,” he says unnecessarily, leading a compliant Peter to the couch and settling him down with the bowl of Chex in his lap. Neither of them move to eat any of it. Tony takes a seat beside him and drums his fingers on the knee of his worn sweatpants for a long moment, looking around for something to do now that he’s brought them here.

His eyes fall on a forgotten Target bag sitting stuffed in one corner and the metaphorical light bulb goes on.

As quickly as he sat, Tony’s back on his feet. Peter’s gaze follows him as he crosses to a nearby screen, booting it on and then retrieving the items he needs from the shopping bag. He shields his activities from Peter and whispers instructions to FRIDAY before finally whirling around to look at his kid with a crazy grin. It probably seems like he’s gone crazy at this point.

“Buddy, I have one question for ya,” he states, hands raising and pausing for dramatic effect. “Have you ever played… Just Dance?”

Peter stares at him the way one might stare at a fascinating tornado. He slowly shakes his head.

Tony laughs nervously. “Uhh... me neither. But listen, after you moved in, I kind of-” ...panicked... “-sent Happy to the store to find things you might like to have around the house? Like video games? I don’t know what kids like. Happy doesn’t either. He must’ve checked the internet or something because he came home with this, and kid, can you imagine Harold Hogan in the store buying a dancing game? Now that’s an image I treasure. On behalf of his efforts, I think we should give it a go, right here, right now.”

By the time the rambling stops, Dum-E, U and Butterfingers have made their way to this corner of the lab like curious cats trying to interpret their boss’ strange behavior. Noticing their presence, Tony throws his arm out to point at Dum-E. The other two bots startle comically.

“You,” Tony declares. “You can hold a wii remote, right? You and me. Let’s dance. Pete, you’re on the tambourine. I don’t actually have a tambourine. Just keep time by knocking, like this.”

The man leans forward and raps his knuckles twice against the side of the chex mix bowl. It’s not like it’s loud, or even necessary, but it’s something to get the kid involved. Peter looks a little lost, but not in the dissociative way- more like he’s trying to figure out if he’s actually awake or if this is a weird dream he’s having. Still, Tony’s on a roll and he feels dangerously confident. Not quite confident enough to ask Peter to dance, but enough to make a fool of himself in the hopes of bringing comic relief to one of their awful nights.

Within a few minutes, FRIDAY has configured the game on Tony’s screen and the main menu music is playing through the speakers. One newly-unwrapped wii-remote is clutched in Dum-E’s claw, safety strap secured, and Tony’s using the other to flip through the menu and create player profiles.

“Okay, so…” he mutters, finally arriving at the song selection screen. “What do we have here... Gotta make sure we choose an easy one. Not for me, of course; I’m worried about dum-dum over there.”

His eye catches on a song title, and he pauses to let the sample play. At first it was just because the song is marked “Beginner Level”, but he recognizes the clip as a tune he’d once caught Peter humming as he worked on some homework. Being the privacy-respecting parental figure he is, Tony had proceeded to tease him relentlessly because One Direction? Wow, Pete, gotta say I didn’t peg you as a pre-teen girl from 2012.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter perk just slightly, the little dork-- and it’s enough that Tony’s pressing the ‘play’ button without further mental argument.

The screen changes to four dancers, two of which are labeled for his and Dum-E’s remotes. As the opening measures of guitar riff begin, Tony mimics the pose of the avatar on screen and peeks over his shoulder.

“I need my tambourine player,” he reminds, and though Peter’s face is twisted in an expression of intrigue, he quickly readies his knuckle against the side of the Chex bowl and starts tapping it in time with the music.

And Tony dances.

“You’re insecure… Don’t know what for. You’re turnin’ heads as you walk through the do-o-or.”

“How the crap?” Tony mutters, watching Dum-E hit every move perfectly whilst his own avatar misses several points. “How-“

“Don’t need make-up… to cover up. Bein’ the way that you are in en-uh-uh-ough.”

The graphics go crazy for the beginning of the chorus and Tony cringes, though that changes when behind him he hears a small laugh that makes his heart stutter. He doesn’t look just yet, just tries harder to wave his remote hand in time with the song with exaggerated movements.

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else. The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed-“

This is definitely written for preteen girls, he sighs internally. Still... it’s undeniably catchy. To add to the show, he starts mumble-singing out the words aloud as they scroll on-screen:

“The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow, you don’t know you’re beautiful-”

That’s when the ‘tambourine’ beats stop. When Tony looks behind him he sees the kid shaking with silent laughter, an open-mouthed smile on his face.

He meets Tony’s eyes and for once there’s no weight of the world there. He’s just-- Peter.

It’s a sight too beautiful to describe.

“Oooh, keep trying!” the game prompts when Tony forgets to keep up. Their eyes flicker to the screen and Tony huffs.

“I’m not cut out for this follow-along stuff,” he says airily, giving up on it completely. “Tony Stark follows no one’s rules but his own.”

And with that, he slings his remote strap around U’s claw and breaks into his own freestyle moves, the ones he usually reserves for dancing in private, when he’s sleep-deprived and a little loopy. Be that as it may, Tony Stark knows he is a good dancer; he never imagined it would come in handy for a moment such as this, but heck, there’s not much he wouldn’t do if it got Peter doubling over in peels of giggles like he is right now.

When the song hits the chorus a second time, Tony grabs a screwdriver off the shelf, turning it upside-down as an impromptu microphone, and he sings the next words directly to his beaming kid:

“Peter, you light up my world like no-bo-dy else. The way that you- have- hair? Na-na-nanana-- The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow--”

Peter goes still, a lingering smile on his face as he listens to Tony’s altered lyrics.

“-If only you saw what I can see, you'd understand why I LOVE you so PERFECTLY-- Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe you don't know, oh oh- You don't know you're beautiful! Oh, oh-oh, Pe-ter you’re so beau-ti-ful!”

Tony breathes out, surprisingly choked up. He repeats the message as emphatically as he can, for however many times the song repeats it, his movements getting more silly and more sloppy until the music finally ends, bots trilling excitedly in the background about Dum-E’s somehow-perfect score.

He lowers himself to the ground in front of Peter, panting from exertion. The hum of menu music plays behind them but the game is forgotten.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony breathes. “You are worth… everything. The whole world. You were, you are, and you always will be.”

Peter’s eyes shine like stars. He melts into Tony’s hold when the man leans forward.

…

Peter has scars, but Peter is not his scars.

#tag as starker and i hunt u down and replace your shampoo with hair remover #im joking but PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS A SHIP #the song is supposed to be cute and silly and dad-jokey #Irondad and Spiderson #tony stark and peter parker #irondad fanfiction #my writing

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rkmason · 5 years

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▰▰▰▰▰▰ MNET GLOBAL AUDITIONS, SEASON 5 ˟ EP. 2 PERFORMANCE ▰▰▰▰▰▰

memories come flooding back the him the more he goes through the motions of the competition. he remembers asking luna for her opinion on his stage outfits so far, on what he ought to go for next, running into someone he didn’t know would become his sunbae in nova to ask something similar: how to step up his fashion game other than stealing from ty’s closet, something his roommate at the time was bound to notice when they competed on the same reason, on the same stage.

walking into the set for the next round, with its new layout, its less crowded layout, it feels bittersweet. he’s already lost a few friends from the last round to this one and he lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding onto. compared to last week, he realizes it’s better to show his nervousness, to show weakness, but it’s a concept he has to become comfortable with. [he won’t grow otherwise, will stop changing if he doesn’t.]

his palms are sweaty and he still isn’t done using the same tired ass joke about eminem and 8 mile, as if he focuses on it to keep his own spirits up instead. maybe he needs to. because he heard about how his appearance was edited, how it looked, how he seemed too casual for someone coming back after debuting once already, acting like he didn’t leave two companies by now. patting his hands on his pants, he takes another deep breath, looks around for a familiar face.

when she walks in, sakura comes by to greet him and he feels calmer, sated, relaxed again for a moment because seeing sakura reminds him of seeing his little brother again, makes him feel as if he’s seeing his own little sister. he hugs her back, gives her wishes of good luck and affirmation that she’ll do great but saying that to her, seeing the chairs surrounding them remind him this is a competition and it could come down to them in the rapping category. she’s someone he wouldn’t want to go against because he’d feel weakened by it and it reminds him of the conversations he’s had since they left the set last week.

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀��▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ PAUSE, REWIND ⭯

“hey dabin—”

“not right now, hyung.”

“oh, okay. yeah, later then.”

he’d stopped by the apartment dabin shared with seik and it didn’t feel like home the way it used to a few years ago before he moved where he is now. it didn’t feel like he could crash on their sofa again and wake up to seik scolding dabin for not telling him when they ran out of something in the kitchen again. everything had its own routine back then, when things were simpler, but not anymore.

seik walks out of his room, hair messy after waking up from his nap because of a particular door slam. “he still upset?”

“…yeah.”

“he’ll get over it.”

“feels different this time.”

“maybe he’s jealous.”

“what?”

chuckling, seik quirks his brows, pouring himself a glass of water and sitting on the edge of the kitchen table. he looks more amused than minho thinks anyone should be when his friends are at odds like this. his exasperation only grows as seik doesn’t speak just yet, taking sips until he finishes, accented by the loud ahh he lets out, the clink of the glass in the sink the only sound until minho’s patience wears out.

“come on, man. explain yourself.”

“you didn’t make the same offer.”

brows furrowing, his face twists in confusion as he follows seik to the living room. “what offer?”

“to give your spot to him.” this time, he’s the one who goes silent and all he can manage is wetting his lips, eyes widening every once in a while before returning to their previous state, just more hesitant in expression.

“i get it.” seik’s voice is softer this time, almost apologetic, the past coming back to him too. “but to dabin… the hyung he followed for so long, the one he defends every time…”

“yeah.” minho doesn’t sound like himself when he says it, nodding his head, fists clenched at his side, and, instead of going to dabin’s room, he leaves the apartment quietly.

going to the only other place he knows as well, the other place he’s as comfortable in on his own, he goes to the dance studio they rent for Kill.U.Strate. it’s empty today, not in as much use as before when they practically lived there now that the guys’ projects began to split off, and he lays there. eyes closed, hands folded on his stomach, legs crossed at his ankles, he just lays there.

he doesn’t have any answers for his family, for his friends, and the joy that he found after finding out he moved on, after getting that call from mijoo when she watched the episode air and hearing her cry because of him again but for a good reason, that joy is slipping from his fingers again. he doesn’t know what to say to kikwang either when he comes into the practice room and he’s sitting up, letting out a slight groan because he’d been in that position for too long. the smallest things could affect your back and posture after all. he should’ve been more careful.

not much has to be said and he’s glad kikwang is a good enough friend to join him, to talk like things are normal, and to not skip a beat when minho asks, “do you wish i could give you my spot on the show?”

“i meant what i texted you. i want you to win this season, hyung.” they spend some time in the practice room just hanging out, dancing a little, before kikwang says it’s all his so he can prepare for the next episode filming. he can’t get a protest out in time before kikwang’s gone and he’s running his fingers through his hair, sighing as he looks around, the room only seeming more glum when he’s alone.

there’s no progress when the door opens an hour later and the last person he expected to come in walks through. there’s a cap over his head, shielding half his face, but minho would recognize him anywhere. sure, some of his friends remind him of his younger brother but, on days like this, dabin pretty much is minho’s little brother and he’s gesturing for him to come over. the hug is brief and dabin sighs as he stands in front of the older.

“i don’t want you to give me your spot.”

“i know.”

“so if y— wait… you know?”

“yeah.”

“seik told you.” dabin gets the same answer and he inhales sharply, exhales slowly. “i thought that’s why you left the apartment without saying anything. i thought you were gonna go…”

the thought is there even if the sentence is left hanging, words dabin doesn’t seem to want to say, and minho shakes his head as he puts a hand on dabin’s shoulder. “i care about ya as much as i did jaebum back then but… i’m not planning on giving my spot up for anyone this time.”

“okay.”

“you jus’ sayin’ that or are you okay with it?”

“i’m good.”

narrowing his eyes, he wraps an arm around dabin’s neck, pulling him closer. “so… you thought it meant i like jaebum more than you?”

“hyung.”

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ PRESS PLAY, BACK TO THE SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING

finding a seat proves more difficult than he thought it would be and when more people settle in, minho realizes he needs to figure out what he’s doing soon. although he could sit near sakura and talk to her, he knows she’s there with friends and that he’d end up distracted. besides, when people were still convinced he broke his contract for dating without his own confirmation, he doesn’t want to add fuel to the fire. instead, he goes another route, ends up recognizing someone from their performance last time and how he liked their vibe.

so he’s standing near them, calling out and going, “hey do you have ig? let me add you” because he’s thought of the first face-to-face impression he wants to make and is committed to it as stupid as it is. the name is given to him and he types it in as quickly as he was told, opening the messages and sending him one.

can i slide into that seat next to you like i slid into ur dms

the laugh he gets is enough of an answer for him to sit down with a proud grin, laughing at himself. even if he told himself not to brush everything off, to not laugh everything off, there are some moments that ought’a be like this. his instagram is distinguishable enough to him as he gets comfy in his new seat and this time he’s the one that bursts into laughter when ian says to him, “anyone ever tell you that you’re a thirst trap?” definitely not the first time and minho shares that sentiment before opening his phone to look at ian’s posts too. it was a good distraction in the meantime but when it appears all the sears are filled, he feels the nerves building up again, his thoughts wander and they go back further than he should let them.

he had a wounded ego years ago. thought too much of himself and his future and yet not enough. a dream to be someone of influence but not decisive enough to follow through, ill-educated about life in general. there are days he still doesn’t feel ready but no one wants to know about that. at least, that’s what he’s told himself for years. no one wants a gloomy gus. no one wants to hang out with the weird kid in the back sulking over the lack of acknowledgment by his father. no one wants to be the friend of someone who dwells too much in the past instead of making sure every moment is a good time. that was the lesson he insisted on from a young age. on days that his brother was too busy, that her sister was annoyed by everything, days when his mother was too tired to cook, days that his little brother whines for someone to play with, he knew what his role was. a mood-maker, a mood-lifter.

the performances he gave years ago were bits and pieces of him, scraps sewn together by a beginner. this song feels more complex, more complete, each thread and stitch made by someone more honest with himself. because it’s okay not to feel like the best sometimes. because he told the audience back then not to let anyone convince them otherwise and ignored that the person who told him that most was himself; the one that convinced him he wasn’t the best he could be was always him.

his mother called him the same night he’d talked to kikwang and dabin in the practice room and his mind is still hazy, he can’t think coherently about a song or anything. whether he should dance or not, but just before that hung up that day, his mother said something he’s brought with him today, on his mind, in his heart, lyrics dancing around in his head, ready to spill from a thirsty mouth— thirsty to tell the truth, to put his truth out there. “don’t keep everything inside.”

when he first heard about the comments, was told about them, read them himself, he thought he should just let it go, push his heart back into its proper place when it lodged itself in his throat. two minutes, two minutes to show who he is again, and answer the concerns that’d been brought up. answers, answers, answers.

in school, we’re taught the same. find the right answer. every time, find the right answer but he doesn’t follow that. rules in black and white, but he operates in shades of gray. that’s how he finds his next song. a simple beat, but lyrics with a powerful message. this isn’t for his ex-group members, for his parents, for his siblings, for his girlfriend, or for his friends. this is for his own clarity by letting his heart purge. instead of layering it with band-aids, wrapping it to be kept safe, he lets his heart bleed onto the page. he adds color to his own world.

●●●●●● NEXT ON STAGE, CHOI MINHO, EP. 2 — 7월 4일 ●●●●●●

one more time today, his hands are sweaty. no eminem joke. it doesn’t even cross his mind because his heart is climbing, racing as it tries to scale his throat, and he swallows thickly, wills himself to breathe.

shit, just breathe.

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ 탓 BLAME ♫ SELF-WRITTEN TIME STAMPS ( IN ORDER ) 0:20 to 1:10 / 1:20 to 1:26 / 1:48 to 2:15 / 3:02 to 3:29 NOTE: his gestures and expressions are similar to that of vinxen’s in the video if not written !

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ 난 이 늪에 있어 난 이 늪에 있어 I’M IN THIS SWAMP, I’M IN THIS SWAMP

모두가 날 내려다보는 이 늪에 있어 I’M IN THIS SWAMP WHERE EVERYBODY IS LOOKING DOWN

넌 내 옆에 있어 주기를 바랬던 마음 I JUST WISHED YOU WERE NEXT TO ME

아직 선명히 남아있어 등 돌리던 날 BUT IT’S STILL VERY CLEAR, THE DAY YOU BETRAYED (ME)

나 혼자 늪에 있어 혼자 늪에 있어 I’M ALONE IN THIS SWAMP, ALONE IN THIS SWAMP

저 네티즌가 날 비웃고 하늘 날고 있어 THESE NETIZENS* ARE MAKING FUN OF ME, FLYING UP HIGH

난 알고 있어 애초에 알고 있었어 I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT FROM THE BEGINNING

흐려져가는 시야를 탓하고 있어 I BLAME (IT ON) MY BLURRY VISION ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

nothing confirmed, but it’s easier to believe anything that way, isn’t it? it didn’t matter if sphere spared him the scandal, spared the group the scandal, it would follow him and being lonely has to be about his love life. his age. the audacity he has to come back. how he should be giving other people a shot. he’s seen it all and instead of letting it go, he wears it on his sleeve. he lets the weight of his own guilt show instead of hiding it away with i’m okay and i’m gonna do me like he’s been saying since he walked out of the company one last time.

he stops pretending that he wasn’t hurt by the fact that he did know who outed his relationship, that he did know who wanted to see him fall.

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ 난 이 늪에 있어 난 이 늪에 있어 I’M IN THIS SWAMP, I’M IN THIS SWAMP

아주 더럽고도 추잡한 이 늪에 있어 I’M IN THIS SWAMP FULL OF TRASH*

냄새도 못 맡을 정도로 떨어져 멀리 GO AWAY SO YOU CAN’T SMELL ME

보이지도 않니 손에 미세한 떨림 CAN’T YOU SEE MY FINGERS SHAKING

넌 변해있어 많이 변해있어 YOU CHANGED A LOT, YOU CHANGED A LOT

나란 그늘을 치우니 안색이 밝아졌어 AS I REMOVED MY SHADE FROM YOU, YOU LOOKED OKAY

위로 혹은 악연으로 포장해낸 것들이 PLEASE BLAME ME FOR WHAT HAPPENED

내 탓이라고 말해줘 제발 EVEN THOUGH IT LOOKS LIKE MISFORTUNE ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

when he left, he told himself he was laying in the bed he made and it’s why as he raps, he can’t make eye contact, can’t look directly at anyone. he’s avoiding people and it was a tell-tale sign that he wasn’t okay, a sign he ignored for months because he kept busy, said he didn’t see people as often because he was working but it was more than that. he didn’t know how to feel.

it was still his fault in the end. still because of him that he had to leave. reckless, stupid, all the insults he had for himself in high school chase him to this stage again, try to stain the page with spilled ink, with trash, but he holds the pen, keeps it held high the same way he holds onto the microphone.

the news article said he chose to depart from the group. it was right. he just didn’t know how far back the decision was that sealed his fate.

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ [NEW HANGUL PENDING] THOUGHT IT WAS UNFAIR THAT NO MATTER HOW HARD

[NEW HANGUL PENDING] TRAINEES AND IDOLS DO, IT’S NOT ENOUGH

확실히 압살하고자 아빠 손 벌려 잡은 지하방에서 손꼽아 기다리고 있어 FOR MY COMPLETE VICTORY, I WAIT IN THE ROOM I BOUGHT WITH THE MONEY MY DAD GAVE ME

난 기대치를 두 배로 올려 I DOUBLE MY EXPECTATIONS

그래야 상실감이 거대해지니까 SO I CAN DISAPPOINT BADLY

그래야 사람이 더 초라해지니까 SO I CAN FEEL MORE MISERABLE

그래야 내가 정말 간절해지니까 SO I AM MORE DESPERATE

아니 얼마나 더 간절해야 합니까 NO, HOW CAN I LOOK EVEN MORE DESPERATE?

박�� 갈채는 누굴 위한 겁니까 WHO IS THE APPLAUSE FOR ?

대학에 가라는 아버지 말을 웃어넘기고 대충 끄덕거린 나는 불효자 되는 겁니까? I LAUGHED AND NODDED AT MY DAD* WHEN HE SAID I SHOULD GO TO UNIVERSITY*, AND DOES THAT MAKE ME A BAD SON? ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

there’s so much in life that was given to him and nearly everything left unsaid. how miserable he was about the competitive lifestyle when he was in nova, how he felt left out at times but pretended he was fine. the truth about how he felt when how he told his friends he didn’t mind that they were moving onto bigger and better projects without him, how his family was living their lives without him, how he was missing everything, how he couldn’t see his girlfriend for months, how he felt like life was still being decided for him and he had no clue what the hell he was doing.

he goes here and there, only says no sometimes, and none of it feels right because he’s not saying a damn thing. underneath everything else, underneath the rules he follows, the routine he keeps to, the predictable patterns he lives by, he let himself be defined by black and white, then wondered why he was unhappy living without color, without doing whatever he could to paint everything himself.

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ 주변에 대입해 그런진 몰라도 I THINK I MESSED* UP MY OWN LIFE

볼수록 뭣같이 느껴져서 MAYBE BECAUSE I COMPARE MY LIFE WITH THE OTHERS

내가 날 가둬둔 상황이 위안이 돼 BLAMING MYSELF FOR EVERYTHING COMFORTS ME

아직 말해줄 게 많아서 BECAUSE I STILL HAVE A LOT TO SAY

모르겠네 사람들이 피해 보인 탓 DON’T KNOW WHY I STARTED TO AVOID* PEOPLE

몰라 내가 이 노래를 불러버린 탓 DON’T KNOW WHY I STARTED SINGING THIS SONG

몰라 내가 한심하고 어이 없는 탓 DON’T KNOW WHY I AM PATHETIC AND DON’T HAVE NERVE*

몰라 내가 여러 기회들을 날린 탓 DON’T KNOW WHY I BLEW MY CHANCES AWAY ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

it could’ve started years ago, when he found out things about his past, when he didn’t get into trc on his first audition, when he was rejected the first time by mijoo, when he fought with seik for the first time about being an idol. every time he didn’t take a call from his brother. every time he let himself go this way or that way during training without any real aim or purpose. he did this to himself. that must be why he ended up in rap unit instead of dance unit in convex. his roots are no longer his and he’s not seen as a dancer. training made him a rapper and he secretly let it make him miserable instead of embracing it like he does now, his voice wrecked with emotion as he starts to yell. the peak of the song and he puts the mic stand behind him, mic in his hand as he shouts.

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ 모르겠네 사람들이 피해 보인 탓 DON’T KNOW WHY I STARTED TO AVOID* PEOPLE

몰라 내가 이 노래를 불러버린 탓 DON’T KNOW WHY I STARTED SINGING THIS SONG

몰라 내가 한심하고 어이 없는 탓 DON’T KNOW WHY I AM PATHETIC AND DON’T HAVE NERVE*

몰라 내가 여러 기회들을 날린 탓 DON’T KNOW WHY I BLEW MY CHANCES AWAY ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

he’s social. friendly. a moodmaker. he tells himself this again. everything that made him come as far as he did, all the positive traits he showed off and every negative thing he hid. that’s what he considers different this season. he’ll show all of it. he’ll lay it all out so that he can finally be himself too, so he can leave and be a performer again instead of just going through the motions, filling whatever spot he needs to. the stage feels covered in color, his yells were red, his tears were blue, and when he places the mic back on the stand, bowing deeply, he makes sure to take those colors, his favorite colors, with him, so that his heart doesn’t just bleed but heals.

PROFILE / SKILLS / AUDITION / EPISODE 1 ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ EP. 2: PERFORMANCE / INTERVIEW

#rkmga5 #rkmga5skill #rkcheri #rksakura #rkxkikwang #rkluna #xrkyoona #rkjooyoung #yeets this out wHILE I CAN #i probably have to add more tags later but we'll worry about that then

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