A/N: so I was inspired by a fic I read on archive of our own. please ignore any medical or science inaccuries because as much as my parents want me to be a doctor, i'm not. i'm a proud fanfic writer. this is also a long one so buckle up boys and girls. 

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A weary Peter Strange exhaled softly while he rubbed his tear-filled eyes as he climbed up the stairs of the New York City Sanctum. The teenager didn't know what time it was, and with the night he had, he was long past caring.

Another exasperated sigh escaped thin, dry, lips as Peter whispered the chant to open the Sanctum doors and slipped inside. He hoped no one was hope because the only thing the Strange wanted at the moment was at least ten hours of uninterrupted, peaceful slumber.

Peter let out a slight curse under his breath as he bumped his bruise-littered arm against a relic, wish for sleep intensifying. Right behind him, a too-familiar British voice tsked in a tone of slight annoyance, "Language."

Peter bit back a sigh as he turned around to face his father; Stephen Strange. Stephen had his arms crossed against his chest and his left foot furiously tapping against marble, two clear indications that he was pissed. Peter bit his lip, he was in for it now.

Stephen spoke in a no-nonsense tone, "Peter?"

Peter asked tentatively, "Yeah, Dad?"

Sleepsleepsleepsleep.

Stephen frown deepened, indicating that he was in a non-playful mood. He asked sternly, "Peter, you're late. Do you know what time it is?"

Peter's stutter took a hold of him, "No, I'm sorry." His response was genuine despite the irritation that was visibly laced in it. He really was sorry, he was caught on patrols because bad guys loved to do crime at night. At a high inconvenience to anyone else.

Stephen's brow furrowed, "Peter, it's one am. What time were you supposed to be home by?"

Peter sighed, wishing harder than ever that he was already in bed, "10."

Stephen prodded, "What happened?" He eyed the weariness across Peter's body; the bruises that weren't there earlier this morning, and the continuous shifting of weight between his son's feet. A dark theory formed in his head.

He spoke carefully, "Those patrols, I don't know why I let you do that. Peter, I consider myself a fair person, and you missed your curfew by a lot, I think that a suitable punishment should be in session. No patrol for the rest of the week, because clearly you can't follow the simplest orders, Peter."

Peter bit his lip as a watery sensation pricked the back of his eyes. Were it any other day, Peter would've explained to his Dad what had happened, but he was too exhausted to even form words. So he weakly asked, "Can I please go to bed?"

Stephen didn't know what made him say it, but the man blurted before Peter could walk to the safe haven he longingly desired, "Peter, were you on drugs?"

Peter's saddened expression immediately morphed into one of betrayal and anger, "What?! Dad, I was on patrol, as Spiderman. You know that!" He spoke curtly, "Why would you even ask that? You know I'd never take drugs, I know better than that."

Stephen replied to his son's probe, "Well Peter, you tell me. You're hours late from curfew, seem oddly defensive and secretive. You have bruises and red in your eyes. The scene practically writes itself, Peter. So I'm going to ask you again, were you on drugs?"

Peter couldn't get his voice louder than a whisper as he defended himself from the accusation that made a harsh wave of anger and betrayal course through him, "No, Dad. I wasn't."

His Dad sighed softly with a trace of disappointment, "Then you won't mind if I give you a breathalyzer test."

Peter stiffened, but nodded. He looked anywhere but at Stephen, his own Dad who claimed to love him but refused to believe him. He wiped his eyes, wishing that his Dad would just hurry up and leave him alone so he could get some sleep. He didn't know why his Dad refused to believe him, but the fact that Stephen thought he was liar made his emotionally vulnerable self ache harder.

Stephen handed Peter the device. Peter frowned, speaking as he fumbled with the device, "I, um, don't know how to use this."

Stephen explained impatiently, "Put it to your mouth and exhale. If it beeps after thirty seconds, then it means that you're drugged. No beep, you're clean."

Peter sighed softly as he placed the device to his mouth and did as his father instructed. He felt annoyed, for obvious reasons but for some reason, guilty. didn't know why he felt guilty, he had done nothing wrong. His stomach hurt. He closed his eyes, urging the machine to hurry up with its verdict. Long past thirty seconds there was no beeping sound, indicating that Peter was right all this time, that he wasn't drugged.

Exactly what he was telling his Dad anyways.

Quite past irritated, Peter tossed the device into his father's hand, and before Stephen could apologize, the teen muttered that he was going to bed. The teen didn't stop walking despite his father's call until he slammed the door shut, indicating to his dad that he wanted to be left alone.

The teen instantly dropped to the floor after he slammed the door, and hunched himself into a ball. He wished to cry, let out the pent emotions that churned within him, but no salty-sweet substance spilled out of his eyes.

He leaned his head against the curve of his knees and let his eyes flutter shut. He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled, trying to remember the breathing exercises his Dad taught him to use whenever everything became too much. Huh, maybe if I started panicking earlier, Dad would've thought I was lying, or pretending. The boy wasn't much of a crier, only when his insecurities took a firm hold of him, or whenever he was in intense pain, but being talked to in that exact tone of disappointment by the number one person he loves and trusts made Peter feel that that everyone who told him otherwise was right. It made Peter remember the dark times before Stephen came into his life, when he didn't have anything, or anyone at all.

He wished his Dad would've yelled at him, anything but sound like he was a disappointment. He softly sighed, and then winced as his bruised elbow once again bumped against the wall as he slowly sat up. He was beyond tired and annoyed, the only thing he wanted was to get clean and take a nice nap. But he wasn't good at cleaning up his injuries, he didn't really bother when he had accelerated healing, and that his Dad was a doctor. However, he was in no mood for another confrontation with his Dad. He could always just wash his sheets the next day, when he felt somewhat more refreshed with a clear head. As he walked to his bed and changed to sleeping clothes, he couldn't help but replay the previous encounter that cost him his curfew and a false allegation in his head.

He was perched in his iconic spider position, bent knees, arched back with his sticky fingers perched right under his eyeline. New York City lived to it's alias, the city that never sleeps. He didn't have to strain his ears to hear some sort of cacophonous commotion. He heard the honking of cars, which was typical for New York, an excited female exclaim to someone that she got promoted, and then a loud crash.

Peter frowned beneath his mask, a loud metallic crash was something that didn't sound normal, so he went to investigate the scene. He jut out a fist and spider silk and backflipped his way onto the neighboring rooftop. He soundlessly landed onto the top of an apartment complex and scanned the situation silently, trying to grasp as much of the scene in front of him, careful not to jump to conclusions. His father taught him not to be brash, because brashness could get him in unnecessary and unwanted attention, which would delay him in his life from doing the things that he wanted to.

From what he gathered, a robbery was happening. However, this was a large scale robbery on this Manhattan street as a herd of men, Peter estimated about twelve men were carrying out a planned operation. And then the cock of a gun and screams alerted his attention. The men had guns on them. Well, it was time to put a serve to some justice.

So, Peter swooped in upside down from the ceiling and quipped, "Hey, why commit crime when you could be a good person? Not that it's any of my business, but it might benefit you?"

And of course, criminals never find his quips hilarious. But they find beating him to a pulp very, which just boggles Peter.

Peter immediately moved to disarm the men, because his number one priority was and would always be civilian safety. And his success at doing so, only angered the robbers more. So, they resorted to attacking him. Which was both good news and bad news. Good news was that the civilians could escape, which they wisely did. Bad news, that gave all twelve men a new and far more fun target: him.

But it was better him than someone who couldn't defend themselves.

So he did his best to fight against twelve armed men who used him like a punching bag. In the beginning, Peter was able to maintain his own, and fight back, sending as many men unconscious as possible, to reduce his issues and stress at the moment. And with all the men dressed in black only made his vision blur, at the fact that it was night didn't help his case as he struggled to focus, especially when one of the men pulled out a baseball bat. Where the hell did he pull that out of? His pocket?

Peter never got to see where it was, because he didn't see the baseball bat at all. He only identified it as one when a heavy clunk of something clobbered him right over his head, and made a cracking sound which caused Peter to cringe. Only then did he realize that he was the one who was struck, with the screaming agony that resulted instantaneously after.

And that heavily weakened, which encouraged the action to be repeated multiple times as the others who were batless resorted to physically punching and kicking him until all Peter felt was red pain seize throughout his body as he felt himself veer towards drifting unconscious.

And, the men only stopped at the wailing sound of sirens and bold flashy lights that were way too bright for Peter's liking. Peter hazily pondered, maybe that was on purpose. Anyway, he slowly peeled himself off the floor and used the men's feelings of frantic to get as many as he could down, and didn't like the particular look that rested upon the police officers face.

One of them strode directly to him with a look of pure annoyance, and sighed as he looked at the pile of unconscious bodies. He retorted, "What, you couldn't have done that earlier? You had to wait till we showed up right? I mean, you're a superhero, almost Avenger level? This should've been easy for you, that's disappointing."

Peter said nothing, choosing to look anywhere but at the officer as he seethed at him. But, he couldn't not let the words get close to his heart, the man had some level of a point. This should've been easy for him.

Another added, "Looks like New York isn't in as safe hands as we thought. Y'know, if you think you're going to make a difference, at least stick out with it. Otherwise, you're just useless, which is what you are. Go home, kid. Leave this to the ones that are actually able and better-equipped then some spandex and silly string."

Peter really wanted to correct the man, but didn't want to disrespect the officer so he remained silent, looking as the other officers cuffed the robbers and led them into police cars. He didn't mean to be useless, he thought he was making a difference, and he was. But, he couldn't help the harsh words twist his perspective on himself. Dozens of doubts clouded the boy's mind, maybes, what if's, all that made him look like a failure. A disappointment.

And of course, a third had to follow the rule of two before me chiming in, "Seriously kid, get out. You're just as bad as them."

Well, that was nice.

Peter bit back a groan as he moved away from the officers, jutting his fists into fingered motions that released webs and he soared through the skyline, and ducked into an alley to change out of his suit. If someone saw Spiderman walking into the Sanctum which was disguised as a library, well that wouldn't be good. But a random kid who fit the nerd stereotype most definitely did.

And then there he was.

Peter hissed as he brushed his fingertips over his chest, and then felt them grow wet. Peter let out a slight curse as he found his lower abdomen bleeding. And he didn't realize that before, ugh. He noticed his accelerated healing already work on it so he disregarded it, instead climbing onto his bed.

Right as his head was about to hit his pillow, there was a knock on his door. Peter huffed, couldn't the universe leave him alone? At least his Dad, for like six to eight hours? As if he was already pissed enough, he refused to answer Stephen.

Stephen's voice was laced with guilt and concern, "Hey, Peter, I'm not sure if you're asleep or not. I know you're upset at me, believe me, if I was in your shoes I would be pissed at me. But um, I wanted to apologize for assuming what I did, and I wanted to make sure that you're okay. Is it okay if I come in?"

Peter refused to answer as his father turned the knob of his door and awkwardly walked inside his room. The elder man laid eyes on his son and immediately felt his heart break. Peter was littered with bruises and cuts all over his body, and with his highly trained eyes he noticed shivering shoulders and light patches of blood. And when he looked into eyes that wouldn't meet his, he saw tears and pain.

A fatherly switch came over Stephen as he approached the foot of Peter's bed, still wanting to give the boy, his boy some space. He asked gently, concern seeping into his tone, "Peter, are you okay?"

And that was all it took for everything within Peter to just break as he started bawling. He launched himself into Stephen's arms, taking the latter completely by surprise but nevertheless holding him, which only provoked Peter to sob harder against Stephen's chest.

Stephen wrapped his arms tightly around the weeping child that was encased in his arms, rocking him as his delicate fingers grazed over Peter's skin, making sure that none of Peter's injuries were too serious.

Once Peter's cries lessened up, Stephen offered, "How about we talk as I patch you up, hm?"

Peter sniffed as he let out a hum in agreement, wrapping his arms tightly around Stephen, wanting the loving touch that he was well-accustomed to. Stephen chuckled lightly, "Alright, I'll carry you."

Stephen carefully stood up, a hand keeping Peter snug against his chest, as he went to his room and rummaged through a drawer until he found what he was looking for. With the unoccupied hand, he lifted the medical kit and returned back to Peter's room. He laid back down and rested Peter's head on his lap and asked gently, "You comfy?"

Peter nodded tightly, and buried his head against Stephen's thigh.

Stephen lifted Peter's shirt halfway and scanned for wounds. He set it down softly as he pulled out aloe vera and rubbed it over the bruises. He knew that Peter's wounds would heal themselves but a father could never be too sure. He presses gauze pads against the bleeding cuts and wrapped Peter's black and blue arm in bandages when he heard a muffled sniffle.

He looked back down to his son who was crying all over again. Stephen placed the materials on the bed and wiped the tears off Peter's face with his thumbs, "Love, don't cry. What's bothering you?"

Peter lightly shook his head muttering, "It's stupid."

It was Stephen's turn to shake his head as he finished up with the last of Peter's wounds, "It's not stupid if it bothers you, bud."

Peter only sniffed, as he struggled to form the words that would best encase how he felt. Then he whispered, "Do you think I'm a failure? Or a disappointment?"

Stephen breathed out softly, as he forced his lips to curve upwards, "No, never, Peter. What makes you say that?"

Peter choked out, "Well, I'm trying to help people as Spiderman, but no matter how hard I try, I can't do it!" Tears flew as Peter cried, "Today there was a robbery and I was getting the people to safety but the men, twelve of them, Dad, they all turned and started to fight me and, I, I, tried to do my best but there was just too many of them, and then one of them hit me with a baseball bat on my head and it just really hurt."

Stephen's hold on Peter tightened at the thought of someone hitting his baby over the head with a baseball hat, and immediately moved his calloused fingers to run through Peter's curls, which was always effective whenever Peter was highly worked up or just desired comfort.

Peter continued through coughs, "And then, as the police came I was able to take 'em down but when they came, they said that, um,..."

Stephen scooped his aching boy against his chest and prodded gently, "Peter, what did they say?" He didn't like where this was going, and just might have to use his wizard powers to teach some officers a lesson about appreciation when they weren't there to apprehend the criminals, their exact job.

Peter's voice was barely a whisper as he finished, "They said that I was lazy and a disappointment that I couldn't stop a simple robbery. They also said I wasn't making a difference and that I should just stop being Spiderman because I wasn't helping anyone. And that I was no different than the robbers themselves."

Stephen looked down at the trembling bundle within his arms and spoke softly, "Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that those dumb officers couldn't see through their egos to give you the appreciation that you deserve so much. You aren't any of those things, okay? You've done so much good in this world Peter, you have no idea. You are different than the robbers, and I know that you know that. You're the best out of all of us, you hear me, Peter?"

He raised Peter's slumped self against his heart to begin to lure Peter asleep, "You are so much stronger than you know, and I'm so, so sorry for assuming what I did. I know it's no justification but when I saw how hurt you were, the doctor part of me just jumped, and I swear to you on my life, Peter, I know you wouldn't have ever done or do drugs because I've taught you better, and with the way you are, I must be doing something right. You forgive me?"

Peter weakly smiled, "Yeah, I forgive you. I was just tired from everything, I didn't mean to be so secretive, I didn't want to wake anyone up. I'm sorry I missed curfew."

Stephen lightly chuckled as he lowered himself against the bed, "None of that Peter, it's not your fault." He gingerly pressed a kiss to the top of Peter's head as he concluded, "I love you Peter, now let's get some rest. Night."

Peter laughed with an ever the ready quip, "I think you mean early morning, love you too Dad." And finally, Peter got the desired sleep he had been dreaming of. 

A/N: yeah stephen was a little bit of a bitch there, but without bitchy characters there is no angst. lol i just made that up, feel free to quote me on that. how are you guys? what is UP my dudes? yall are going to lvoe my next oneshot, this will surely make up for the tears, or the lack of em. how did you like this oneshot? i tried to capture the painand betrayal, talk to meh guyss.