A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the delay! Real life is annoying and I just haven't had much time to write. Christmas Break is starting soon, so hopefully I will be able to get a few more prompts done by the end of the year!:) I hope you enjoy Part 3 of The Peter Whump Dump Series!

Dedicated to Wordscorrupt on AO3.

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

To be honest, Peter had never really been a big fan of gym.

It's wasn't the exercise that he disliked, quite the opposite actually. When he was younger, he would run around the Tower at top speeds, scaring his father half to death as he raced around the couches and tables, barely missing hitting his head on the corners. His Dad had scolded him, made him stand in his 'time out zone' until he had promised to stop running in the house, Tony's protective gaze never wavering even as he walked glumly back to his room, pouting the whole time.

He had tried to ignore the increasing tightness in his chest, his breath wheezing as he sat on his bed. He was so little that he didn't think it mattered.

It was about a year later that Peter was diagnosed with Moderate Persistent Asthma.

He remembers coughing violently in the middle of the night, each push against his underworking lungs causing a sharp jab of pain to shoot up toward his head. Tony had been out of his mind with worry, staying up late in the night to rub at his poor, suffering baby's back as the 6 year old hacked.

Finally after the second night of torture for both Starks, the Billionaire had made an emergency trip to the local Hospital, Peter getting cradled against his chest as his little lungs wheezed. The young boy remembers the bright lights that seemed to shoot through his clenched shut eyes, the rapid beating of his Daddy's heart audible through the night shirt.

The elder Stark had screamed for help once inside, his voice getting drowned out as Nurses had wrenched Peter from his arms, strapping an oxygen mask onto the crying boy's face as they wheeled them down the hallway. The ghost of his Dad's hands engulfed in his own still haunt him even now years later, the itchy, prickling sensation of the plastic over his face and the burning of his chest causing more then a few sleepless nights.

The appointment took hours to complete, him and his father having to sit in waiting room after waiting room as they get shifted around. Finally, the genius had enough and had Uncle Bruce driven to look him over and prescribe the medication and inhalers.

The transition was the toughest thing for Peter. His days of running around the Tower and kicking butt in gym were over. Now he could only do what his Doctors, his Uncle Bruce and especially his father allowed him to do.

No long distance running, always take you allergy pills (especially during Springtime) and never ever go anywhere without your inhaler.

It has been engraved in his mind since the 3rd grade, the dark red of the plastic medication container an everyday sight as it was moved from backpack to backpack, always in reach of the young Stark.

Until he reached Middle School.

The nurse, her pale, flabby face stretching into a false smile of sympathy as she plucked the life saving device from the sniffling boy's hand, his and his Dad's protests getting dismissed with one wave of the rolling digits, her flashy rings sparkling in the man-made lights.

"Can't have drugs getting passed around the school," she had said, her double chin bobbing around like a distressed turkey's.

She had transferred them to the office when Tony's complaints had become increasingly loud.

The genius had threatened to sue both the school and the district, his grip around Peter's shoulders tightening with every excuse the Principle had laid out for them. Peter had just leaned into his father, the man's heartbeat a steady thump under the new 6th grader's cheek. Finally the elder Stark had sighed, his hand coming up to gently smooth back his child's tussled hair as Principle Parkinson began speaking.

"I'm sure you understand, Mr. Stark. We can't just have young children running around our university with drugs. First they get a whiff of Pete's inhaler here," the red container is shaken for emphasis, Peter having to hide his wince in his Dad's side as the precious contents rattle in the small container. "Then they get hooked on crack and marajawana."

Parkinson's grey eyes were warm as he looked down at Peter, and the boy can't seem to shake the feeling that the man was hiding his craziness behind a mask of calm. Tony had pushed his child behind him, puffing up his chest as he stared up at the Principle's pleasantly smiling face, his dark eyes never wavering in their intensity. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Parkinson taking a wary step back as the superhero walked forward.

"I will allow this, only because I can see that you are too stupid to even comprehend the amount of anger I will feel if my son gets even a cough from this stupid fucking school. You won't see anything but the top of a fucking cardboard box when I am done with you."

Narrowing his eyes at the other man, Tony had turned abruptly around, and, gently taking Peter by his shoulders, both Starks had walked out of the office. Peter had looked back only once, his hands never loosening their death grip on his Dad's work shirt, and watched as the blood slowly began to drain from Principle Parkinson's face just as the oak door banged shut behind them.

They had never had an issue with the inhaler since then.

At least until today. At least until Couch Alan Douglass had started to teach Gym and made his whole job by picking on the weakest link.

Which so happened to be Peter.

—

"Move those legs, Stark! I'm expecting something more from the son of the great Iron Man!"

Peter holds back a groan as Coach Douglass's booming voice echos around the track, the afternoon sun hot against his back as he thuds across the cracked and dry pavement. Sweat, cool and thick, slides down the back of his neck, soaking his already damp cotton Gym shirt as his arms pump in time with the pounding of his heart. His legs ache, the coiled muscles springing with every heavy leap forward.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter can see the Coach's dusty blond hair get pushed aside by one meaty hand, his brown eyes pulsing straight into the 7th Grader's own as the boy rounds the second curve. Peter shivers, feeling his body turn to ice even as he pants in the suppressing heat. His lungs, having been doing fine the last couple of laps, have started to become increasingly tight, and the 13 year old knows that he needs to take a break before it gets any worse.

A little ways behind him, Ned lumbers across the poorly painted numbers just as Peter starts to slow to a walk. Looking back over his shoulder, the young Stark comes to a halt and waits, pushing his damp hair out of his face and grimacing at how hot he feels.

"Dude," Ned pants once he gets closer, his legs trembling as his dirty sneakers squeak across the sizzling track. "I-I'm so ready t-to go and eat s-some pizza after this."

Peter nods, not trusting himself to speak least he give away the alarming tightness that has began to build up in his chest. Giving a sideways glance at his best friend, the boy ignores the concerned glint in the other teen's dark eyes as they continue their slow pace across the first straightaway, the curve at the other end seeming to be a million miles away.

Beside him, Ned opens his mouth once more, almost certainly to ask Peter if he is okay, but gets cut off by Douglass, the man's voice closer now that they have rounded the last curve.

"Leeds, Stark, move your feet! I don't get paid to watch a bunch of toddlers stumble around and cry!"

Peter scowls, looking down at his feet and cursing every God above as he slowly starts to move faster, the burning that was just starting to dull beginning to flare up as he sucks in the humid Spring air. Ned appears the hang back, his hands seeming to wrestle each other as he stops in front of the frowning teacher.

"Coach, uh, sir," he says quietly, his face fierce even as his hands continue to fiddle. "I don't think Peter should run anymore, sir."

The tall man startles, squinting down at the larger boy just as he trails off. Grunting under his breath, Douglass sniffs, brown eyes narrowing as he studies the stuttering 7th Grader. Peter turns back around just as the man's eyes blink to his slowly retreating form, his gaze burning the young Stark's back almost as much as his lungs.

"Stark!" The coach yells, startling a group of gossiping girls walking a few feet away.

Peter sighs, coming to an abrupt halt and struggling to get his now raspy breathing under control as the Gym Teacher gestures him over. Feeling his stomach clench, the boy can't shake the feeling of dislike that seems to radiate from the annoyed Coach the closer he gets.

Finally, Peter stands in front of the tall man, his bulky body blocking the incoming sunlight and his hands getting folded in front of his Under-Armor shirt as he seems to glare down at the small boy.

"So, Stark, I heard that you can't run anymore today, care to tell me why?"

Clenching his jaw at the condescending tone, Peter shifts his weight, the aching in his chest seeming to expand with every wheezing breath that gets sucked in.

"I-I'm not allowed t-to run anymore, Coach Douglass." He finally rasps out, swallowing against the building pain shooting through his lungs.

His teacher just stares at him with an unreadable expression on his face, his own jaw seeming to grind the inside of his mouth as Peter feels himself becoming more and more lightheaded. Blinking rapidly, the teen tries in vain to focus on the man's stern face as he struggles to draw in air.

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit, Stark!" The Coach suddenly says loudly, his voice startling both Peter and Ned, the former frowning in anger and fear as Douglass leers down at his shaking form below him. "I know you are used to being a pampered princess at home, but here I expect you to be the man your father likes to pretend he is."

Shaking his head rapidly, Peter brings one trembling hand to clutch at his chest, the fabric wrinkling in his white knuckled grip as he feels anger flash through his veins. Ignoring the now pounding of his head, the young Stark pushes the words from his throat, mentally cursing when all that comes out is a few wheezing phrases.

"You-you don't know. . .any-anything about—" he cuts himself off with a cough, his teacher's pinched face grimacing in disgust as the teen jolts forward from the force. "—m-my Dad!"

Snarling suddenly, the adult leans forward, his freshly shaven face inches away from Peter's increasingly red tinged features. Flicking away a piece of wayward hair that gets blown in the breeze, Douglass narrows his beady brown eyes, Ned's background protests getting shoved aside as he focuses on the suffering boy in front of him.

"Prove me wrong then." Is all he says, his perfectly straight teeth seeming to sharpen like knives as his lips curl up. "Show me what being the son of the hero Tony Stark really means."

Peter straightens up as much as his coughing will allow, the challenge seeming to ignite a fire deep in his blood as this man insults his father, the man that had loved and protected the young Stark all of his life.

No one has the right to talk about him like that. No one.

Taking one shaking step back, Peter begins to turn around, the sun heating his back and his lungs burning like the rage flowing through his body. Faintly he hears Ned's protest of "But Coach, what about Peter's asthma?" before he begins to run again, his strides faltering a few times as black spots begin to fill his vision.

C'mon Peter, prove this asshole wrong. Show him how strong Starks are, show him how strong Dad is. . .

His legs begin to feel like bricks, his lungs having reached a point where basically no air is getting through, the black spots circling behind his eyes seeming to leap forward in time with his stumbling steps. Falling limp suddenly, the young boy ignores that flash of pain that erupts from his knees as he kneels on the warm concrete, his chest expanding rapidly as his eyes water with both tears and residue.

Voices echo around him, the muffled gurgles of Coach Douglass's laughter rising above even Ned's panicked cries, the man's expansive shadow looming over Peter as he attempts to sit up. Blinking against the tears now streaming down his face, the young Stark looks weakly up at the teacher's horribly triumphant expression, not having the energy to even move when his sneaker 'accidentally' makes contact with the teenager's stretched out hand.

"I should have known," Giving a grunt of laughter, the man steps over Peter's stretched out form with careless regard for the boy underneath. "Weak and pathetic, just like your useless father."

Peter can't seem to summon the energy to report back, instead choosing to rest his throbbing head on the sizzling track, the gravel rough against his damp forehead as he tries to frantically draw in air. His classmates stand a few feet back, their faces a mass of panic and confusion as more then half of them run to get the Nurse.

Ned suddenly appears at his side, his lips moving but the words getting lost to the young Stark as his ears ring, his vision darkening with each blink as tears slip onto the ground below him.

"It's okay. . . You're Dad. . . His way. . . Stay awake, Peter. . . Awake!"

Bits and pieces of Ned's despair filled pleas echo through the constant buzzing, and the 13 year old tries with all of his available strength to listen and not slip away into the darkness calling to him.

If he does, he isn't sure if he would ever wake up.

Large hands suddenly grab him, flipping him over into his back and pushing him into a sitting position, his chin brushing against the still damp collar of his t-shirt as his head lobs forward. A small amount of air gets sucked into his throat, and Peter greedily breathes, small whimpers of panic and pain escaping now that he has the ability for sound. The hands that moved him helps to steady him, his whole body swaying at the force of his sobs as he is overcome with the situation.

Daddy. Is the only thing he thinks, needing the man with the same sudden intensity that he needs the air around him.

The universe must have been listening to some of his prayers today, because almost as soon as that though passes through the teen's cloudy mind does the sound of thrusters boom in the distance, the rumble shaking the very ground as the red and golden Suit lands a few feet away.

Wheezing weakly, Peter doesn't care how young he looks when he holds his hands out, fingers grasping the air around him as he shakes. Breath hitching, his inhaler is suddenly shoved into his mouth with enough force to pinch his jaw, the pain making him flinch away and cry out in fear.

His father's Suit opens up just as the first pump of medication gets squeezed into his tight throat.

Bliss. Pure bliss. The cool, concentrated air filters out the pain, the burning and raging pressure getting slowly pushed aside as the compressed air clears his lungs. The only feeling better then this is the protective and gentle hug his father pulls him into as soon as he gets close enough. Resting his cheek against the genius's shirt, Peter wraps his still trembling arms around Tony's waist as the man begins to rock them back and forth.

"Shhh, I'm here Peter. I'm here, baby. Everything is okay now, just breathe nice and slow, good job." Tony continues to whisper, pressing loving kisses against his child's forehead every few seconds.

Peter doesn't respond, instead choosing to nuzzle closer to his father as the Principle frantically tries to usher the rest of his class back into the building. Ned gives his best friend a supportive pat on the arm as he goes, his face pinched in a mixture of relief and adrenaline and smiles gently at Tony when the man nods his thanks.

Coach Douglass still stands a few feet away, and Peter feels icy fear chill his bones as he watches the man take a step closer. Tony seems to notice Peter's terror because he turns around suddenly, ignoring the rushed apologizes spilling from Principle Parkinson, and crouches in-front of his child, baring his teeth like an animal. The Gym Teacher halts his progression, sharp eyes widening at the display but quickly becoming covered up by his signature annoyed scowl.

"I see that little baby Pete finally has his super hero daddy to take care of him now." The man drawls, voice lazy even as he flinches back when Tony leans slightly forward. "I should have expected this kind of pathetic scene from a member of the Stark family."

"You shut the fuck up." Tony hisses, not moving from his spot in front of his son, the boy's raspy breathing ripping into the elder Stark's heart. "I am mere seconds away from coming over there to rip you apart, so if you value what little free life you have left, I would suggest not testing my self control."

The man just scoffs, shifting his weight even closer to the two Starks on the ground and causing Tony to growl deeply in the back of his throat, his Arc Reactor gleaming in the glare of the sun. Peter just closes his burning eyes, curling up tighter against his Dad as the man holds him closer. His scent, strong and distinctly safe enfolds the 7th Grader, his hands becoming even more entangled in his Dad's shirt as he sniffles.

Coach Douglass must have taken the warning seriously, however, because he makes no more comments for the next few minutes, not even resisting the tight metal handcuffs that get snapped around his wrists when the School's Security Monitor finally arrives on the scene. Her grip on the now prisoner's arm is painfully tight, the dull nails required for the job digging into the man's sweaty skin as he is led away.

Peter watches with a weary sigh as they disappear around the corner, the sound of sirens echoing in the distance as the paramedics finally begin to pull into the crowded parking lot.

"Why did you do that, kiddie?" His Dad's voice startles the young boy and he glances up, a sob catching in his throat at the agony spread across the man's face.

"D-Do what?" He asks quietly, barely above a whisper and muffled against Tony's chest.

"Run like that. You know that you aren't allowed to do that Peter! If the nurse hadn't have gotten you your inhaler in time. . ."

The pain in the Billionaire's is almost too much for the young Stark to bare and he has to crush down the whimper trying to escape, barely registering the small figures of the paramedics growing in the distance. The Nurse begins to carefully check his pulse, her round face pulled down in a frown as she pointlessly pretends not to ease drop. Tightening his hold on his Daddy's waist, Peter shakes his head as the guilt threatens to overwhelm him.

"He wouldn't stop insulting you." He finally whispers, fingers tightening around the cotton of Tony's shirt. "He wouldn't stop insulting me. I was trying to prove him wrong, to show him that I was strong and that you were strong too. I-I'm sorry, Daddy."

Tony takes a deep breath, his lips coming to rest against the top of Peter's head even as his whole body gives one gigantic shudder in pure rage. Eyes blazing, he frantically tries to reign in the blazing emotions, saving them for when he can take down the mother fucker in court and get him locked up tight for his terrible actions.

Glancing up at the silent Principle standing off to the side, Tony huffs put a small laugh at the way the man seems to shrink at his heated glare. Yes, he had a lot of yelling to do.

Pressing his lips once more against Peter's temple, his next sentence is muffled against the heated skin, the love he feels for the small body in his arms threatening to choke the words from his mouth.

"You know, sweetheart, that isn't true right? That you are— that we are so strong Peter, so fucking strong?"

Looking out across the lawn, the sun gleaming against the side of the emergency vehicles, Peter watches as the police take Coach Douglass away, the red and blue lights flashing and the sirens fading as they speed down the road. Letting out a breathe of relief, the young boy nuzzles closer to Tony as his inhaler slips from his lap.

Fingers shaking, he grabs the medication container and grips it tightly, inhaling the smell of his Dad that floats around him and thanking everything above that his lungs are working normally once more. Resting his cheek against Tony's chest, the man's love covering him like a protective blanket, Peter answers just as the paramedics reach them, their faces kind and sympathetic.

"I know Dad. Trust me, I know."

A/N: Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!:D