[survivor, the hard way]↣ p. parker | t.s. daughter

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I thought I was having a nightmare the next morning when I woke.

Brandon, May's boyfriend, had Peter pushed up against the bedroom door by his throat. I was watching through half asleep eyes, still in a sleeping daze, when I heard the familiar crack of something slapping something.

Peter was looking at the ground, not fighting, not even struggling. And Brandon was yelling, something about no damn respect and something else about teach a lesson.

I was out of bed before my thoughts could catch up to my body. I grabbed Peter and pushed him behind me on to the bed.

Brandon didn't have time to react before I put my hands on him.

I attacked him the way Bucky had attacked me. He was on the wall, begging, and I was in front of him, not listening.

Peter eventually pulled me back.

Brandon stumbled out of the room and the door slammed behind him.

Peter put his back to it, and due to my protesting screams, he let go of his grip on me. I tried to push past him out the door, but Peter would not allow that.

"Ari, Ari, Ari," he repeated, "I'm alright, Ari, look at me."

He grabbed my chin and made me look at him. His grip on my face was firm but forgiving. Not harsh. Not uncaring.

He had a black eye.

My hand went up to it, softly. I traced the bruised orbital bone with my thumb.

"I'll fucking kill him," I mumbled lowly.

"Nothing like that, now," Peter corrected.

He pulled me to sit next to him on the bed. I held his hand. Both of us were shaking.

"Tell me the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Peter."

He sighed. A heavy, weighed sigh.

"He just has a temper. That's all."

"He's done that before, hasn't he?"

Peter's expression change was enough to tell me that was the truth.

And that was when all of the pieces starting clicking into place.

Why Peter put so many locks on his door.

Why he showed up at the compound with bruises all the time.

"He gets mad when I eat the food May buys, says I eat her out of house and home."

Why he had lost so much weight.

"Oh, Peter," I whispered. "How long?"

"Ari..."

"When did he put hands on you first?"

"February." It was September. "I'm Spider-Man. It's not a big deal. I'll be alright."

"No, it is a big deal. We have to tell Aunt May."

"No. No telling Aunt May, or Tony, or anyone. I mean it."

"But-"

"No," Peter repeated firmly, shaking his head.

"Why?"

"...May really likes him, Ari," Peter sighed. I pressed my lips together. "I don't want to be the reason they don't work," he continued, much quieter.

"Oh, baby," I hummed. He put his head on my shoulder. "It's not your fault."

He was quiet. His face turned into my neck and we listened to each other's breathing.