Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m not a kid anymore! I don’t need all these restrictions- I’m able to do more than this-”

“You’re fourteen, Peter! Either you do this with the rules I’ve put in place, or you don’t do it at all!”

The entire top floor of the tower was vibrating, the top level having been vacated and avoided like the plague the moment they had both started to raise their voices, which echoed and amplified across the empty rooms. Even Friday was unusually quiet above them.

Storming through the living room, Peter tore up the stairs, refusing to look back. He sped through the upper hallway, wrenching his door open even as Tony called out after him from the foot of the staircase.

“I’m doing this because I care, kid!”

Peter knew. He knew Tony cared. He cared too much. That was the damn problem.

Fighting the urge to say something back, lest Tony follow him into his room, because ‘The day you get the last word is the day I donate my suits to Oscorp’, Peter dipped into his room. He had to back off, needed space. He refused to let Tony see the frustrated gleam of tears threatening to trickle down his cheeks.

He slammed his door so hard behind him that the frame cracked. A moment of silence passed and he felt the tiniest sliver of regret. It was easy to forget just how strong he’d gotten. But the guilt quickly dissipated, lost in the throe of anger that now filled his whole mind like a rolling thundercloud.

Needing to vent, Peter went over to his bed, seized one of his pillows and threw it against the door with a solid smack. The whole thing was ridiculous. Curfew at ten o’ clock sharp, check in every hour, he had to wear a tracker at all times, and no tangling with alien weaponry or criminals that utilized supernatural powers or means to achieve their goals. All of that, and a height restriction of five hundred feet. Five hundred.

He started pacing across his room, angrily carding his hand through his hair as he silently fumed, a red flush still raging across his cheeks from the shouting match. He’d been grounded from the suit, from patrolling in general, after he’d snuck out the other night to stop a robbery in progress. They’d been using some weird mashup of Chitauri weapons, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Nobody had gotten hurt, everyone was fine, but Tony was still beyond furious when he’d discovered the footage earlier.

Fourteen wasn’t that young- he could make his own decisions, was able to take care of himself. And the people of New York- they needed him. With his powers he should be helping people, not worrying about curfews and homework that was far to easy for him. Crime didn’t keep a curfew, so it didn’t make sense why he should have one either.

Letting out a harsh huff of air, Peter threw himself on his bed, burying his face in the covers, letting the fabric wick the betraying flood of tears that he had desperately fought to hold back. He’d always cried when he was upset, ever since he was little. It was an infuriating trait that he’d never been able to get rid of.

He laid like that for several minutes, red face buried in his pillow when it suddenly hit him. What if he just moved out?

No, he immediately thought, that was a stupid idea. Tony would never let him do that- but.... Peter felt his eyes drift towards his closet, where he had a small black duffel bag poking temptingly through the partially opened doorway.

Why would he need to ask permission?

Almost immediately, a voice of reason pleaded out against the wall of anger that was still burning bright in his chest. He couldn’t just run away. Pack a bag and walk off into the streets of New York with little to nothing on him.

Or could he?

Cogs started turning in his mind as he slowly moved to a sitting position in the center of his bed. If he could prove to Tony that he was more than capable of making his own decisions, of taking care of himself like a real adult, maybe he wouldn’t get on him as much. He would stop treating him like a baby; like the crying four year old he’d picked up all those years ago. And it wouldn’t be like he would completely vanish, he just wanted to prove a point.

Plus, it dawned on him, it would give him a chance to deal with some of the higher crime he'd been restricted from interfering with. It would be a little tricky without the suit, but not impossible. A chance to seriously clean the streets.

Feeling a little surreal, Peter got off his bed and went towards his closet, pulling out the black duffel. It was small, yet roomy enough to hold a couple days worth of clothes and other things without being too noticeable. He’d first gotten it to bring stuff over to Ned’s for the occasional sleepover.

“Peter…” Friday’s voice broke over him, her tone small and exceedingly gentle. “Your Father wants you to know that he’s ordered dinner and it will be here soon.”

“I’m not hungry.” Peter muttered quickly. He pulled the canvas material towards him a little closer, clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the pressure. His heart started to pound a little heavier. Was he actually going to do this?

“With your increased metabolism it’s important that you’re getting at least 5,000 calories a day- I have to insist that you go and-”

“Friday.” Peter interrupted firmly.

There were several seconds of silence, before Friday grudgingly obliged. “I’ll let him know. But he won’t be happy about it.”

“Yeah I bet.” Peter snapped under his breath. Without second thought, he tossed the duffel on his bed, heading for his drawers with purpose. He could feel each beat of his heart like a steady pulse in his head as he rifled through the contents.

It was early spring, so he’d need something warm. Maybe a sweatshirt or two… He bit his lip. It couldn’t be something easily identifiable. Something told him that he wouldn’t get very far in the ratty sweatshirt he usually wore, with the faded letters of ‘Stark Industries’ still legible on the back. So he needed something he hardly ever wore, or something that would blend into a crowd.

A plain black sweat, plain jeans, black converse. Some t-shirts that had inconsequential prints or colors that would blend into a crowd...

In the end he hardly had anything, and only half the duffel was filled. But that was fine. He had a feeling staying in the same clothes for too long wouldn’t be wise.

By the time he had thrown it all together, only fifteen minutes had passed, and he resumed pacing, a sense of unreality settling over him like a cloud. Was he actually going to do this? His eyes caught on his phone, charging over on the side table.

Phones could be traced.

Actually, Peter suddenly thought, Tony would probably be able to trace any and all of his electronics. He’d have to ditch his phone, his watch-

He unclasped the offending item, throwing it in his drawer. His laptop would be out too then, and for money…

Credit cards were easy to track, so he was out of luck for money. Unless he used cash… A cursory check revealed that his wallet held a measly $35.06, which wouldn’t get him very far. But if he made a side trip to ‘school’ tomorrow, he could withdraw a large portion from the bank. He had far more in his savings, but they’d probably only let him pull out about a thousand at once, especially with no prior notice.

Would Tony get an alert about the withdrawal though? Peter could already imagine him calling the school; ‘Hey so I just got a notice that my son pulled out a thousand dollars from his bank account, which is weird because the last I checked school lunches were three dollars?’.

Regardless, he didn’t have much of a choice otherwise, since walking around the streets with no money at all would be incredibly more difficult. He’d just have to move quickly after he made the withdraw.

Taking a deep breath, Peter lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he ran it all through in his head. After a moment’s consideration he threw the duffel on the floor, kicking it under the bed.

“Lights, Friday.” Peter murmured, turning over. The room went dark, but Peter knew the absolute last thing he was going to be able to do was sleep. His mind was still racing, running over all the possible outcomes for tomorrow.

He tossed and turned a few times, eyes glazing over the view of the city below, still bright and bustling with movement. The honk of horns and buzz of activity had long been a lullaby for him, but tonight it did nothing to ease the frantic thoughts ricocheting through his head.

He’d have Happy drop him off at the deli, just a block away from school. They’d done it a few times before, when he wanted to grab something for lunch that day, or something extra after a rushed breakfast, so Happy wouldn't question it. From there the bank was a few more blocks away…

By the time the sun started peeking over the horizon, Peter had only gotten a couple hours of rest.

~

Breakfast was awkward.

Peter had gone down early, hoping to avoid Tony altogether, but his hopes were dashed when he heard the familiar whoosh of the lab doors down the stairs, followed by a heavy set of footsteps.

Tony had clearly been up for most of the night too, his hair disheveled, arms and hands covered in grease and scuff marks, his sweats effectively charred in a few places. He looked weary too, his eyes a little cautious when he caught sight of Peter sitting alone at the table, like he wasn’t sure if either side had waved the white flag yet.

They stayed mostly quiet, the silence weighing down on them both like a ton of bricks. Pepper wasn’t there to play peacekeeper either, having been called out to an important set of meetings across the country a few days earlier.

The only sound between them was the background noise of the coffee machine, the familiar bubbling the only reprieve for the next few minutes as they both sat in suffocating silence.

Peter started eating a little faster.

“You shouldn’t have skipped dinner.” Tony commented finally, watching as Peter inhaled the last few bits of breakfast. It was starting to legitimately bother him now, how Peter was hardly making eye contact with him. Even now he barely glanced up as he rinsed his plate off in the sink.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Peter said offhandedly, immediately making his way to the elevator. Actually, it was this morning that he wasn’t really hungry, the nerves that had built up all through the night knotting a tight ball in his stomach, ruining his appetite. But he had forced himself to eat anyway, knowing that he would regret it later if he didn’t.

He was nearly to the elevator, quickly grabbing the black duffel that he’d thrown by the couch as he went, adrenaline pushing him to a near speed walk as he tried to dip out. Hopefully Tony would just let him go-

“Not so fast, kiddo.” Tony called out after him.

Peter froze, the black duffel already thrown across his shoulder. He turned so that his body blocked it, and he feigned his best innocent expression. He already knew what he probably looked like; eyes a little too wide, mouth a little too drawn to be normal.

As expected, it didn’t fool Tony in the slightest, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the suspected contraband. “What’s that?” He nodded towards the hidden duffel, and Peter’s heart pounded so hard he worried Friday would say something.

“I’m going to Ned’s after school.” Peter lied smoothly, the words surprisingly confident. He was a terrible liar. He knew it, Tony knew it, the whole world probably knew it. He waited, holding his breath as Tony tilted his head, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

“Right. You didn’t think to run that by me first?” There was a trace of strictness in his tone.

Not trusting his voice, Peter stayed quiet even as last night’s anger flurried back in his chest. Why, did you want to stick a tracker in it first? Nearly came past his lips, but he held back, not wanting to risk starting another argument, which would throw a wrench in everything.

They had a quiet standoff for a few seconds before Tony sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a flash of guilt flickering across his face. “Look, Pete, you can go to Ned’s, that’s fine. I know you’re still mad at me…” The look on Peter’s face confirmed it when he glanced over, “...And I know you don’t always agree with me either, but you’re a good kid. A damn good kid.” He took a couple steps closer, taking Peter by the shoulder and forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The sincerity in Tony’s voice made Peter draw back a little, and the nagging sliver of guilt once again wormed into his chest, nearly making him second guess everything. For a moment the black duffel hung over his shoulder felt like a betrayal. But then Tony kept talking.

“So do me a favor and stay low. Stick to the rules. You’re done playing Houdini every night, you hear?”

The guilt was gone. It was replaced with solid determination. He squeezed the strap of the duffel. “I can take care of myself. I'm ready to do more.” Peter countered, feeling the walls slam back up again. He shook off Tony’s grip on his shoulder, turning his whole body away and breaking eye contact.

“No, you’re not.” Tony said firmly. His brows rose again, like he couldn't believe they were still having this conversation.

Peter didn't reply, simply waiting for him to let him get in the elevator and leave. After a few tense seconds, Tony visibly deflated, mutely cursing under his breath and running a frustrated hand through his hair. "You're going to make me go gray early, kid, you know that?" With that, Tony went back to the kitchen, still muttering and nursing the fresh pot of hot coffee like it was his salvation.

It was as good of a dismissal as he was likely to get.

"Take me to the lobby, Friday." Peter said, stepping in the elevator.

The last he saw before the doors slid shut was Tony, his back to him as he downed half the mug of straight black coffee, the morning sun casting his silhouette in harsh contrast against the crystal clear windows and empty sky. He looked drained, irrefutably spent.

He wouldn't be so exhausted if he let me actually help out. Peter thought bitterly, resting his head against the back of the elevator. There had been a surge in supernatural weapons on the streets recently, the whole ordeal scattering the whole team across the states in search of the potential suppliers, which appeared to be spreading like a virus. It was the worst in New York, though.

All he needed was a week to himself, he thought. One week without his father's restrictions and he could find the supplier, or at the very least get the majority of the weapons off the street.

He'd packed his webshooters for that specific purpose. The old ones, of course. The original pair was something he had put together in secret several months ago when he had first started showing his powers. He hadn't been able to keep the secret for long, but he'd kept the original shooters out of sentiment. He was really glad for it now. He wasn't entirely sure if the new ones Tony had specifically made for him could be tracked, but he wouldn't put it past him.

He'd ended up packing his phone as well, deciding that he'd need it, if only for a little while. He'd have to ditch it within the next couple of hours though, probably put it on a bus heading in the opposite direction...

By the time he reached the lobby, he was a hundred miles away in thought.

~

"You sure you want me to drop you off by the deli?" Happy asked again, his voice dripping with judgement. "You're going to be late as it is."

"Fashionably." Peter countered, trying to force a smile. His fingers danced on the side console, his limbs jittery with nervousness and misplaced adrenaline.

The whole car ride had been nerve wracking thus far, every blip of traffic winding the knot in Peter's stomach even tighter. He couldn't tell if the block of emotions was more uncertainty or blind determination at this point, and he was starting to feel a little sick.

Happy scoffed, shaking his head. He wasn't as observant as Tony, but he quickly picked up on Peter's fraying nerves, his forehead creasing in suspicion. "You seem jumpy." He commented, even as he turned into the deli, pulling the car to an exaggeratedly slow stop. The expression on his face commanded an answer, giving Peter his full attention. "That kid, what's-his-name or whatever, he's not bothering you again, is he? I told you either me or Tony have no issue going in and-"

"Flash?" Peter interrupted, "No, no, Happy, it's fine. I told you it's nothing. I can fight my own battles." He was already halfway out the door, his heart skipping a few beats. The longer Happy held him up, the shorter his time window was.

For a few moments it looked like Happy wanted to say something else, but then he visibly backed down. "Alright, kid." He sighed. Taking that as a green light to go, Peter shut the side door, and Happy had to roll down the window to shout after him. "Don't take forever in there kid! You'll miss homeroom!"

Peter didn't respond, simply waving his hand as he dipped inside. The second he was past the doors he quickly sidestepped to the windows, hiding behind a few stacked boxes of assorted chips as Happy backed out and drove off.

He straightened a little, heart pounding, as he waited for him to round the corner, disappearing into the flurry of traffic in the street beyond.

Time to move.

Stepping back out of the deli, Peter quickly turned into the alleyway beside the building, doing his best to ignore the stench of the dumpster as he pulled out one of the sweatshirts he had packed, quickly pulling it over his head.

Still rushing, he wrestled with his pants for a few seconds, his speed changing nearly making him lose balance several times. He crammed the morning's outfit back into his bag, trading it out for his phone.

Dialing the number for his school, Peter hesitated, his finger hovering over the 'call' button, suddenly unsure. For a few seconds he just stood there. A small breeze echoed through the alley, ruffling his hair and blowing a few stray scraps of paper across the stained concrete.

It wasn't too late to change his mind. He could still run to homeroom, crash at Ned's, pretend this whole thing never happened.

... But if he did that, how else would he be able to prove his point? How else would he be able to help?

Peter hit the green call button.

He cleared his throat, mentally prepping himself to sound like Tony. Snarky, uncaring, firm. Snarky, uncaring, firm. God, he hoped his voice didn't crack. That would be one hell of a giveaway. His heart leapt when the office attendant picked up.

"Hello? Yeah, this is Tony Stark." His back straightened involuntarily as he spoke, "My son Peter won't be coming in today, so don't bother calling about his homeroom absence. What? A doctor's note? Lady, I've got three doctorates. You want a note, you can print out a transcript for this call."

With that, Peter hung up, letting out a shaky breath. That was convincing, right? It was certainly something Tony would say.

Now that the phone-call was made, he would need to ditch his phone after he withdrew money from the bank.

Stuffing the black duffel into the front of his sweatshirt, Peter pulled up the hood and whipped around the alley-corner, keeping his head low as he made a break for the bank.

Chapter Text

8:15 am - Day One

The lady looked up at him then, filmed eyes peering over her spectacled glasses. “I’m sorry, you wanted to withdraw how much?”

Peter wanted to sink into the floor, certain that there were more than a couple eyes staring at him now. He hadn’t bothered to wear the hoodie inside, knowing that the CCTV would have pinned him down anyway, so he tried not to blush as he repeated himself.

“A thousand, please.” He repeated, shrugging non-committedly. “Big field trip today.” As though that served as some kind of explanation.

The clerk didn’t look impressed, but his credentials matched up so she didn’t have much of a choice. With a light sigh, she counted out the bills and handed it to him, along with a receipt. Peter gave her a small, thankful smile, stuffing the wad of bills in his duffel and turning for the door.

“Oh, hey-!”

Peter jerked his head up, eyes widening when he pinpointed the source of the noise. A middle aged man was pointing at him excitedly from one of the counters, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“You’re Tony Stark’s kid, aren’t you?”

If people hadn’t been looking before, they definitely were now. Peter felt his stomach physically drop to the floor.

Oh, shit. “Ah, no, I’m not.” Peter said quickly, waving him off. He didn’t stop going for the front, walking a little faster. “I get that a lot though, because of the… the…” He made weird motions around his head, “Hair, and...stuff.”

Smooth, Peter.

He quickly ducked through the door before the man could respond, no doubt to call him out on his bad lie. Behind him he heard the telltale clicks of phone cameras, and he bit back a small curse. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any social media posts, but there was little point to it anyway.

At this point he could assume Tony would later find the video footage of him withdrawing money, along with him exiting the building. Social media posts of him at the bank wouldn’t be much of a giveaway anyway.

For now he needed to find an alley or street that didn’t have video coverage, otherwise he could be easily tracked using separate city cameras. He had to watch for recording devices placed on all manner of buildings: Shops, restaurants, museums, traffic lights, and even private security cameras outside of residential homes.

The police wouldn’t have been able to access private security footage, but Tony wouldn’t think twice about it. Hacking them would be as simple as breathing, and thus all electronic recordings devices were a liability.

It was time for another outfit change, but first…

His eyes caught on one of the buses across the street pulling in for its stop. Gripping his phone in his hands, Peter made a beeline for it, cringing a little when he pushed through some of the people trying to get off.

“Sorry, excuse me, sorry-”

Shoveling a few coins out of his back pocket, he reached through the small crowd of people and threw in the appropriate change into the entry box, trying his best to ignore the dirty looks he was getting. Keeping his head low, his eyes scanned the top of the headboard for cameras. None. The bus driver didn’t look too interested either, his eyes watching the street with detached attention.

Perfect. Weaving through the line of people exiting, Peter zipped open his duffel, changing into his third sweatshirt with speed. He couldn’t change his pants, but they were plain jeans, so they wouldn’t stand out too much. Once he had it over his head he didn’t hesitate, stuffing the duffel back under the front of the shirt and quickly diving back into the crowd that was still exiting the bus, pulling up the hood as he went.

As he passed the second row, Peter dropped his phone, kicking it under the seat.

By all records, the plethora of cameras he had to have passed so far and the tracking on his phone would all lead him to riding on this bus. Plus, someone would eventually pick up the phone, and it would end up who-knows-where. That would give him even more time.

Stepping off, Peter quickly blended into the flow of the moving New Yorker’s, cramming his hands in his pockets. A demure glance to the bus sign and his heart soared. It was heading in the direction of Alley Pond Park, which was the opposite direction of where he was going. That bought him even more time.

His third outfit change would prevent Tony from knowing he had exited the bus, so for the moment, he was technically invisible.

He needed to go to Fort Tilden. It was in South New York. It was about a five hour walk from where he was in Queens, located across the bay. It was pretty much a peninsula, which left little options for an escape route, worst case scenario, but the benefits of going to the fort was high.

The thick concrete would help jam most signals, and it was almost completely abandoned, which gave opportunity for a potential base of operations. Even more opportune was the fact that most of the dealings were happening in Brooklyn, so he would be at a reasonable distance from all the action.

Peter took a steadying breath.

Five hours.

Tony wouldn’t realize anything was wrong for five hours, right?

~

9:47 am

Six cups of coffee deep. Probably about three cups too many, but Tony hadn’t been able to sleep all last night so he needed it. He could feel the caffeine pulsing through him, his heart beating just a little too fast to be normal. He’d been in the lab since the fight, his mind desperately needing some kind of distraction.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head; Peter’s face red with frustration, the telltale glisten in his eyes that indicated he was about unleash the waterworks. Tony had almost been relieved when he’d stormed upstairs, sparing him from the crippling onslaught of his tears. Shit, he couldn’t handle it when the kid cried. But he couldn’t back down either.

Rewatching the footage from the robbery the other night rekindled his determination to keep Peter off the streets without supervision. Yeah, nobody had gotten hurt, but Peter had nearly been hit by those improvised Chitauri weapons several times. Each close miss stole the breath straight out of his body.

What if he gotten hit? He hadn’t even known Peter had snuck out. Would Friday have alerted him in time? What if they had knocked him out, kidnapped him? He imagined Peter, held up for ransom like he had been all those years ago, trapped in a cave in the middle of god fucking nowhere-

The stabilizer he was working on slipped, his soldering tool jamming the trigger. With an ear-splitting bang it shot towards the ceiling, blowing up one of the ceiling lights in a blinding mini explosion.

Tony cursed vividly as the light crashed to the ground. Glass scattered everywhere and the fixture quickly caught fire. Yanking a rag off his counter, Tony tried with minimal success to smother it, the rag going up in flames as well.

“Boss, you have an incoming call on your personal number.” Friday informed.

“Little busy.” Tony snapped, tossing the rag into the rising bonfire.

“Yes, but this is-”

“Hey!” Tony snapped his fingers, pointing accusingly at DUM-E, who was standing off to the side, watching the rising inferno with idle curiosity. “Shining moment?” Tony clipped, eyebrow raising, “Scenario you’ve always dreamed of, bud? Come put this out.”

DUM-E seemed shocked at his words, its mechanical head spinning frantically as it looked for the fire extinguisher.

Dammit. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. Maybe he should get some sleep. There was no telling what else would end up breaking if he kept at it, and he could already feel the beginnings of his caffeine crash coming on. Each fresh cup only delayed the inevitable.

“I know you’re busy Boss,” Friday cut in again, “But I have Midtown on the line, and I think you should take it.”

Midtown? Peter’s high school? That immediately got Tony’s attention, his whole body straightening, exhaustion leaving his limbs in a solid snap. “Why are they calling? Another sensory overload? Did his blood sugar drop-”

“I… I’m really not sure.” Friday admitted.

“Put them on the line.” Tony picked up his cell, jerking it towards his ear. If it was another incident regarding that Flash kid, he’d go down to the school personally. He didn’t care if the kid’s parents were top donors, he’d told them the next time it happened there would be literal hell to pay. “Tony Stark speaking.”

“Ah yes, Dr. Stark,” A woman’s voice replied, her tone more than a little irritated. “This is Margaret from the Midtown office. I’ve discussed the matter with our principal, and I’m calling to inform you that since none of your doctorates are medical degrees, I’m afraid a transcript of our previous call will not be sufficient as a doctor’s note.”

………What? Tony paused, his mind drawing a blank. “You want to run that by me again?” What the hell did she just call him? Dr. Stark?

“The doctor’s note regarding your son’s absence today.” The woman clarified, her tone turning viciously dry. “Your word doesn’t count.”

“Peter went to school today.” Tony stated. Really, it was a statement that was bordering on a question. His mind struggled to process what the woman was telling him. There was no way Peter wasn’t in school. Happy had drove him that morning, dropped him off just before homeroom, like he always did.

There was a brief respite of silence on the other end of the line, followed by a rustle of papers. This time, the woman sounded confused, though the irritated lilt to her voice didn’t entirely vanish. “You called earlier saying that Peter wouldn’t be in attendance due to illness, and he was also marked absent during homeroom and first period this morning. He is not in school today.”

“Absent in homeroom? Why wasn’t I called?” Tony demanded, heart racing. He already had his floating console out, messaging Happy. Had he gotten sick in the car or something? But Happy would have told him if Peter hadn't been feeling well. He quickly typed out, ‘Did you drop Peter off at school this morning?’ sending it out just as as the woman replied.

“You told us specifically not to contact you.” This time the woman sounded completely thrown, her words slow and hesitant.

Tony froze, his fingers hovering over the console. Told specifically not to contact him? A plethora of kidnapping scenarios burst to life in his head. “When was that call placed? What number?”

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “Ah…” She sounded flustered now, the rustle of papers becoming more distinctive. “About 7:55 this morning? And the number was…” She listed it off, and Tony’s eyes widened further, his brows drawing together in a harsh line.

That was Peter’s number.

“Sir…” The woman started on the other end, “Is everything ok-?”

“Call me back if he shows up.” Tony snapped. He hung up the phone abruptly, already dialing in the number for Peter’s phone. It rang for thirty seconds before going to voicemail, his slightly flustered voice sounding over the line. ‘Uh, hey, this is Parker Peter, I mean Peter Parker, or Peter Stark, or….. Just… leave a message after the beep.’

“Call me back. Now.” Tony growled, his fingers tightening around his cell. He hung up just as his console beeped, and he opened Happy’s responding message.

“Dropped him off at the deli. He may have been late for homeroom, they may have marked him absent by accident?”

But Peter hadn't attended first period either. So then he hadn’t been to school altogether. What the hell was he doing? “Friday, track Peter’s smart watch.” Tony said, pulling up his console again. The deli had to have some kind of security camera on or around it, in which case he could access the footage and see exactly what happened after Happy dropped him off.

“It’s in his room, Boss.”

Well that was no help. He frowned as the encrypted footage came across his screen, waiting a few seconds as Friday hacked the file. It came up on screen and he squinted, very quickly picking out Peter from the crowd. He looked a little stressed, nearly leaping out of the car as it pulled to a stop in front of the deli.

There he was, walking in… And just a few seconds later walking out.

“Nobody was with him.” Tony commented, watching him walk out of sight of the security camera. He was wearing the same plain blue sweatshirt and khakis from earlier, though he had put the hood up when he had stepped outside, obscuring his face. He steepled his hands, frowning. “Track him using subsequent street cameras.”

“His face is hidden, Boss, I can’t pick it out of the crowd.”

“Scan crowds. Target his blue sweatshirt and his pants, trace route, expand search to five mile perimeter.”

There was an elongated pause, and Tony watched a series of street cameras flurry past his screen, each person pinpointed and scanned thoroughly. His frown deepened as the search continued past several streets with no results. Had he used his webshooters? But he had his suit and everything locked up here in the lab, there was no way.

“I have a match, Boss, but it’s several blocks away…”

“Pull it up.”

Peter’s face came up on screen, his hair a little mussed from pulling his hood down, but otherwise looking unharmed. Was he wearing a different hoodie? Tony drew back the image, taking note of the surroundings. He was standing at the counter of a bank, face slightly pinched together in a cute, apologetic smile. He recognized the bank as local, and he remembered it being just a few blocks down from the deli.

“Recent transactions on Peter’s account?”

“I have a withdrawal for a thousand dollars cash, Boss. It matches up with the footage timestamp.”

A thousand dollars wasn’t exactly ransom material for a Stark. So why the hell did he pull the money out? A sneaking suspicion settled like a hot coal in Tony’s stomach. “You have him exiting the building?”

“It looks like he got on a bus.” Friday zoomed in on the outside, pinpointing Peter’s face as he made his way through the door, disappearing inside. She immediately scanned the plate and bus number. “Looks like it’s heading towards Alley Pond Park.”

“What about his phone?” Tony said flatly. He grabbed the side of his mug, not even flinching as he curled his hands around the burning hot pot of coffee, pouring himself another liberal helping.

“Looks like it’s on the bus too, Boss.”

“So you’re telling me that Peter ditched school, purposefully avoided street cameras by changing outfits, withdrew a thousand cash from the bank, and got on a bus heading to East New York while carrying a duffel bag full of clothes?”

“......It looks like it.”

Tony slammed back the entire cup of hot coffee, smacking it back on the table with a loud bang, turning his head towards DUM-E, who had just finished putting out the last of the fire. It looked at him questioningly.

Tony smiled, his expression going dangerously calm. “I’m going to kill him.”

Chapter Text

10:36 am - Day One

Peter had been walking for two hours at this point, keeping a brisk and steady pace. He’d already made it into Brooklyn, and so far he hadn’t run into any trouble. He was feeling confident enough that he stopped by a small food concession stand, digging a crisp twenty out of his hidden duffel and getting a pair of churros to settle his still churning stomach.

Settling down on a nearby bench, Peter munched down on the first churro, taking a deep breath. He’d felt uncertain at first, but as he got closer and closer to Fort Tilden, his confidence started to rise as well.

He was almost halfway at this point, and he’d be lying if he said the small taste of freedom so far felt undeniably liberating. A part of him wanted to contact Ned, to let him know he’d be away for a little while, but the logical part of him knew that’d be sure to get him caught.

What was Tony doing right now? Probably still in the workshop or lab, nursing a millionth cup of coffee, Peter thought dryly. Had today been a normal school day he would have undoubtedly come home find him dead asleep on some auspicious surface in the shop.

But that led him to another line of thinking. What about Pepper? The thought had him slowing his chewing, a pang of legitimate remorse hitting his chest. It wasn’t Pepper he was trying to prove a point to, but she would be worried about where he was all the same. Tony would probably take most of the heat, too, if he wasn't back by the time she got home.

He was starting on his second churro, the thought bothering him, when a spirited conversation between two runners standing nearby became audible. They were incredibly animated, and Peter casually tuned in.

“Didn’t you hear?” The one man said, stretching. “At least six different Iron Man suits were seen in Alley Pond Park just half an hour ago!”

Peter inhaled sharply, choking on his churro.

“Six of them?” The other man parroted, incredulous. He shook his head, eyes scanning the horizon, like a wave of alien monsters would appear over the city at any second. “Did something happen?”

Peter was coughing violently, hitting his chest with his fist to dislodge the offending piece of food caught in his throat.

The first man shrugged. “Nobody knows, everything seems quiet. Although when it comes to the Avengers, I wouldn’t be surprised if something blows up anyway. Honestly with all the repairs this city is always going through, we’ll be looking nicer than D.C. by the end of next year.”

The two men turned to look at Peter then, who had successfully coughed up the inhaled piece of fried dough none too quietly. He was already scrambling to leave, stuffing his duffel in his shirt and tossing the rest of the churro in the trash.

“You OK, kid?” The second man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine.” Peter said quickly, nodding. His voice sounded raspy, and he was certain that there were still bits of sugar and cinnamon still flying around in his lungs. He practically ran out across the street, several cars honking at him as he sped by.

Oh God, Oh God- It had only been two hours, two. How the heck did Tony realize he was missing already? And he’d already tracked his decoy to Alley Pond Park. Had the bank called and alerted him about the withdraw? Peter tried to keep calm as he went back onto his planned route, expertly shouldering his way through the crowd with practiced movements. He was still technically invisible at this point, so he had time.

Despite that logic, a part of him started to panic, expecting to hear the telltale roar of the Iron Man suit landing behind him at any possible second.

A wild thought wanted him to pull out the webshooters and speed across the buildings to get there even faster, but... While he would avoid most security cameras, a supposed sighting of Spiderman in Brooklyn was bound to get social media attention. Plus, it took two hours for his webs to dissolve, so it’d be like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs. Right now, the best he could do was stick to the plan and-

A small prickle of electricity raced through the back of his head, but he was so distracted he didn’t move in time.

Coming out of the crowd, another rushed civilian roughly clipped his shoulder, their legs tangling as they both fell to the ground in a graceless heap. People made small sounds of exclamation as they fell, moving to give them room.

“Oh god- I’m so sorry!” Peter apologized. He was instantly back up on his feet, offering the dazed civilian a hand up. His palm stung a little from where it grazed the sidewalk.

“Watch where you’re going, brat!” The man snarled, refusing assistance. He angrily stood up, brushing off the arms of his jacket in short, aggressive motions. He shot Peter another livid glare before walking off again.

A part of Peter thought that had been rather rude, but it had technically been his fault for not watching where he was going, so he couldn’t blame the guy for being upset. Plus it was New York, so bitter people were never in short supply. Peter wiped off the grit from his hand. The scrape would probably be gone in the next couple of hours, like it had never even happened.

He was so preoccupied, he hadn’t even noticed that his hood had fallen down, his face in perfectly clear view.

Shit! Yanking his hood back in place, Peter wildly looked around the block, his heart falling when he saw a couple different shop cameras pointed in his direction on the sidewalk. It figured, it just really figured.

Disguise ruined. Face in full view of the street cameras.

And now he needed another outfit change, but he’d already exhausted his other outfits for the day. He would need a new sweatshirt now, which burned a good forty bucks out of his pocket. Street vendors were the best option, but they were marketed for tourists so their prices sucked.

Peter half walked, half ran through the next couple blocks, heart beating powerfully, his stomach churning with uncertainty. He knew for certain the cameras had picked up on his face, and Tony would easily be running face recognition. How soon would Friday pinpoint him?

He skidded to a stop at the nearest street vendor, eyes scanning the selection. Wow. It was… worse than he thought.

Almost all of them had some kind of terrible tourist print on them. There were a bunch of the classic “I (heart) NYC” featured in a million different colors, along with a few that had Brooklyn and Manhattan plastered across the front too. There were also a few political ones, with cheesy jokes about the president and the American flag.

Honestly, Peter didn’t care how desperate he got, he refused to wear any of the NYC ones, which severely limited his options. It already felt taboo to buy anything tourist related, he seriously couldn’t sink any lower.

His luck began to turn when he noticed a few Avengers themed ones hanging to the left. OK, those he could live with. Walking up to the stand, he gently tapped his knuckles against the counter.

The man who was running the stand was sitting in a big plastic chair, his face partially obscured by the giant paper he was reading, a half smoked cigar clenched through his teeth. His passive, disinterested gaze slowly rolled up to look at Peter, who was giving him his best smile.

“Hey, uh, this is going to sound weird-” Peter started, his face turning almost apologetic.

“It’s New York, kid.” The man cut off, eyes moving back down to his paper. He rolled the cigar in his mouth to the other side. “This whole place thrives off of weird shit.”

“No argument there.” Peter readily agreed. His eyes widened a little as a few images came to mind. “Phew, yeah, I definitely wouldn’t argue that. I was just wondering if you… well…” He winced a little, “I was wondering if I could get one of the Iron Man sweatshirts?”

“How the hell is that weird?”

“Well, can you like, very visibly bag it? But then can you swap it out with one of the Captain America ones? Like, under the table so none of the street cameras can see you switched them?”

There were a few moments of complete silence as the stand owner contemplated him from over his paper, the only movement coming from his cigar letting up a small wisp of smoke. After thinking about it the guy set down his paper, brows raising appreciatively as he went to grab the sweatshirts. “Yeah, you got me kid, that’s pretty fuckin’ weird.”

“I really appreciate it though.” Peter assured, pulling out the proper amount from his duffel. He made sure he included a tip for the guy’s trouble.

The stand owner did as he asked, giving Peter a sarcastically secretive look as he quickly swapped the two sweatshirts underneath the table, after making a show of putting the Iron Man one into the bag.

With a thankful smile, Peter gave him the money and took the bag, which was thankfully not transparent. The stand owner didn’t mention the tip, but he gave Peter an affirming nod, showing that he appreciated it.

“Shouldn’t you be in school, kid?” The man called out as he turned to leave. He took out his cigar, tapping it on the end of the stand table.

It was probably a fire hazard, doing that so close to the clothes. “Probably.” Peter admitted vaguely. He gave a small salute for a goodbye, pressing on without further explanation. His eyes were already scoping out his next alleyway, though he would probably have to go out of his way to find an underpass or something similar.

Twenty minutes later he was able to successfully change, shoving his head through the top of the cheap, dark blue Captain America sweatshirt. It had a picture of Cap’s shield on the front, and it was overall pretty standard. Nevertheless, if he had worn it around the tower Tony would have gone full diva mode, complaining about how his only son didn't love him anymore and favored the 'sentient flag' over his own father.

The mental image brought a tiny smile to Peter's face, but it was quickly crushed under all the stress. It had honestly been the most stressful twenty minutes of his life. He didn’t know Brooklyn as well as he did Queens, especially since he wasn’t gliding across the rooftops. Navigating from the ground was a little more complicated, each uncertain turn wasting precious time.

At this point, any second he expected to hear Tony land behind him. “I hope you got some sun, kid,” Tony would probably say, “Because you’re not going to see daylight again for the next six months.” And yeah, that was definitely not the outcome he wanted. If he got caught now he didn’t doubt Tony would turn him into an unwilling vampire, so he absolutely needed to make this work.

Scanning a few street signs, Peter tried to get an idea of where he was. Still about three hours out from the fort, if he took the most direct route. There was no point in diverting his original path now, and with his latest disguise he could only hope there wouldn’t be any more unseen variables.

Three hours to go… Come on, Peter, you’ve got this.

~

12:17 am

“Well, then do another one!”

“Boss, we’ve already covered this entire area.” Friday reminded. There was a trace of mild irritation in her tone that Tony couldn’t remember programming in. “There is no indication that Peter got off the bus, and the surrounding area is completely clear, we should start exploring alternatives-”

“Scan every inch of the route that bus took. Triple check if anyone exited at any point during the drive.” Tony said, trying to keep his patience. Trying and completely failing.

Empty. The park had been infuriatingly empty. Devoid of all things Peter. It was like the kid had just up and vanished. No sign of him even getting off the damn thing at any point either. Feeling confident, Tony had gotten in his suit and met the bus as it had stopped at the Alley Pond Park, waiting none to patiently as everyone unloaded. All of the passenger's eyes were wide and shocked as Iron Man stood, arms crossed, waiting for his kid to get off.

"Another alien attack?" He heard them whisper nervously, "Is he here to catch a criminal?"

Catch a criminal? Oh, yeah, that sounded about right. And hell was he ready for Peter too. He had pre-programmed the entirety of the Riot Act to read him on the way home, the words already up and ready on his helmet screen. But even as he herded all the passengers to the side, a cold feeling twisted in his gut as he didn’t see Peter’s face in the crowd.

One minute passed. Two minutes. People had long since stopped coming out, and a thorough scan of the interior revealed the bus had emptied. No Peter.

And now, two and a half hours later, he still had the bus held hostage, five of his other Iron Man suits scanning every single crack and crevice of a ten mile perimeter.

“Listen, man,” The bus driver said, exasperated. “We’ve been here for over two hours, and I’ve had other stops to make. None of us have seen your kid, so I seriously don’t know what you’re even trying to figure out at this point-”

“What I’m trying to figure out,” Tony clipped, “Is how you, modern day Ms. Frizzle, picked up my son on your freaky Magic School Bus, made only one stop, and lost him.” He’d called the kid a Houdini earlier that morning, and it stung just how right he had been.

“I can’t tell you that, man.” The driver groaned, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I really didn’t see him. It’s that other guy you should be holding up, he’s the one who had his phone!”

Oh no, Tony had already thoroughly questioned the guy who had Peter’s phone. The man was middle aged, casual looking, and had gone wickedly pale when he was confronted with the Iron Man suit. Tony had thought for a moment the guy was going to pass out. The man had immediately handed the phone over like it was on fire, swearing up and down he’d merely found the phone underneath one of the seats, hadn’t stolen it, honest. Hadn’t seen Peter either, he swore.

Yeah, right. He’d taken down every last bit of the man’s info after running a brief background check. A part of him was hoping he'd find something, just so he could find some kind of lead, but it came up completely clean. It wasn’t eventful in the least- and even worse, neither were any of the other passenger’s. He’d run into a solid wall. No leads. Nothing to follow. At this point he was chasing shadows.

“Boss…” Friday ventured over the comms.

“Fine.” Tony snapped. He wanted badly to pinch the bridge of his nose, but was unable to with the suit on, so he settled with waving the driver away. “Go off and do what you need to do. I can’t technically keep you here anyway.” He couldn't think straight with the guy breathing down his neck, and it wasn't like there was anything else he could pull from him at this point.

The bus driver let out a heavy sigh of relief even as he fixed him a small glare. “That would have been nice to know… two hours ago.”

Tony didn’t respond, merely watching with poorly hidden aggravation as the driver got back in and drove off, rounding the street corner with unnecessary speed. He'd taken note of the company's name and the bus number. Yeah, Tony would be contacting the company later about their severe lack of cameras in the interior of their buses. He probably wouldn't be too nice about it either.

A crowd of people had gathered around the area at this point, phones out and cameras clicking away. Normally a little publicity didn't phase him, but each little click of the camera was grating on his nerves now. That and they were close enough that he couldn't take off with all of them so close.

Tony made a show of starting up his boosters, the grass around him catching fire as he levitated a few inches off the ground, getting ready to take off. "Back off or get blown off." He warned the crowd irritably. Wow, He thought, That sounded a lot better in my head.

He'd have to blame that one on sleep deprivation.

Almost immediately they all seemed to take a hint, and the crowd quickly moved to give him room to take off, the camera clicks going wild as he shot off of the ground, leaving a small cloud of smoke behind him as the crowd let out a few exclamations. He'd taken off with a little more force than necessary. Once in the air, Tony started automatically scanning the streets as he flew by, deep in thought. He wobbled a little, and he willed his caffeine kick to last just a little bit longer.

It was already midday. Peter had ran off at around eight, supposedly getting in the bus at the same time after withdrawing money from the bank. His phone had been on the bus, but Peter hadn’t been. Which meant that either he knew Tony would try and track his phone, or he’d dropped it.

Tony was willing to bet it wasn’t the latter.

But now here he was, with absolutely no leads. No Peter, who was off god-knows-where doing god-knows-what. He bit back another stream of curses, instead letting the wave of anger keep the looming tide of exhaustion at bay. “Friday, plot a course back to the tower. Keep all the other suits scanning the perimeter. Increase search diameter by five miles every hour.”

“Got an idea, Boss?” Friday questioned, already changing course.

“I think I do. I’m going to give our facial recognition system an upgrade, in case he gets careless. That and I’ve got an idea for another piece of tech that might narrow down our search field.”

“I feel like it’s my job to remind you that hacking all these systems is illegal.”

“So is running away from home. I’m way past playing fair.”

“...I’ll get the coffee pot running.”

Chapter Text

2:23 pm - Day One

All things considered, Peter thought, it wasn’t that bad.

Fort Tilden was abandoned, of course, but for a building that had long since fallen into disrepair, it could seriously be a lot worse. He was just a mile or so from the beach, and the breeze felt salty and clean. Objectively, just from the outside, it wasn’t too terribly sketchy either.

The entrance was at least thirty feet high, and twice as wide. Only the front was visible, the rest of the building carved into the side of a large hill, some of it going underground. It had been abandoned by the military decades ago, and word on the street was that it was a playground for local delinquents. As far as official records went, it had been condemned and due for demolition years ago, but the paperwork always seemed to be mixed up, which kept it standing.

Invisible. Forgotten. Easily overlooked. Perfect for a secret hideout.

Plus, it was kinda cool to look at. The concrete walls of the fort were covered wall to wall in graffiti. Art that covered other art, the paint plastered on so thick that it had begun to peel in several places. Some of it was done by obvious professionals, others were just crudely sprayed impressions of names and symbols.

Peter had to fight the urge to run his hands along the chipped paint as he made his way inside. It was dark. Really dark. Even with his improved eyesight Peter had to run his hands along the walls until he got to the first room, which had a dim, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling.

An old, rusted truck sat on one side, its windows smashed to oblivion and all four tires missing. A beaten up mattress had been thrown on the flatbed, a few ratty looking pillows put up on either side. Peter had a feeling he didn’t want to know what kinds of things happened on that mattress, and he made a mental note to not touch it ever.

There were a few other weird pieces of junk lying around the room, mostly bits and pieces of twisted metal and leftover trash, nothing too noteworthy. But right smack in the center of the room it looked like…

“A boxing ring?” Peter said disbelievingly. His voice echoed across the high concrete ceiling as he set his duffel down, pulling his hood back and running a hand through his flattened hair. “Jeez, they weren’t kidding…” The locals were being serious about delinquents being up to no good.

But it wasn’t a standard boxing ring either. Boards of wood had been dug into the ground to form a makeshift square around the center of the room, and the dirt inside of it was suspiciously free of blood and teeth, instead sporting tire marks and straight, small gouges.

That didn’t hold up very well. Criminal boxing rings always had traces of blood, and knocked out teeth were a known currency amongst bad guys.

True fact.

Regardless, he had to make do, and Peter turned his head towards the top of the ceiling, eyes squinting. There looked to be an alcove in the uppermost corner, perfect for sleeping in secret. Picking up his duffel, he climbed to the top using his powers, pushing aside a few cobwebs in his ascent.

“Sorry, sorry!” He apologized, careful not to crush any of the alcove’s previous inhabitants. “Make room for a fellow spider?” He brushed away a few of the smaller arachnids as he went, chastising himself each time he felt the need to scream and drop back to the ground.

Before his powers, he had been a firm believer in the ‘See a spider, burn the whole building to the ground’ mentality, but now he couldn’t help but feel like a hypocrite each time he felt the need to smush any unexpected eight legged intruders with one of Tony’s “Top Gear” magazines. What kind of a Spiderman would he be if he murdered his own kind?

He had yet to convert Ms. Romanoff to this way of thinking, but he was definitely making progress.

Finally making it to the ledge, he was relieved to see that it was cast in dark shadow, thirty feet above the ground. Nobody from below would be able to see him, which was good considering he had no idea who would be showing up once the sun went down.

He felt something brush his hair, and he gently plucked another spider from it, trying his best not to throw it, because spiders are friends, not enemies, and he quickly set it on the beam beside him.

“Sorry dude, this really isn’t personal, honest.” Remorseful, Peter watched its furious, scorned little figure quickly waddle away, no doubt to tell its other arachnid friends about the giant four legged asshole who had just destroyed their whole neighborhood. “I won’t be here for long, I swear.” He promised. There was a wild, uncertain part of him that didn’t know if that was a lie or not.

Leaning back, Peter set the duffel behind his head as a makeshift pillow, struggling to find a comfortable position on the flat concrete. It wasn’t long before he gave up, instead opting to just rest with his head laying slightly off the ledge, his eyes scanning the empty room below.

Ok. What now?

It was still early evening, but he couldn’t go back out during daylight hours, so… Maybe sleep was the best option. He hadn’t gotten much rest last night, so it would make sense. His eyes were already heavy, and he was technically safe this high up. Once the sun went down he could risk going back over the bridge and into Brooklyn to do some investigating. By the time the sun rose again, his webs would be dissolved and there would be no trace of him. He would stay high up so cameras didn’t pick him up either.

Closing his eyes, Peter dozed, fighting back a small shiver from the cold press of concrete below him.

~

9:38 pm

It wasn’t as if he had been sleeping very hard, but Peter still groaned and turned over to his other side. Suppressing a violent shudder, he pulled his thin sweatshirt around him a little tighter as the clamor of voices around him grew louder.

He hadn’t slept deep enough to draw out any dreams, the ledge being way too uncomfortable. Which was both good and bad because, you know, nightmares. He didn’t always need Tony to pull him out of them, but sometimes they got pretty realistic, and he had trouble sorting dream from reality.

He'd once accidentally given his adopted dad a black eye to prove it.

Peter had felt so bad about it he’d slept with all the lights on for a whole week. He stopped only when Tony had finally put his foot down, saying that Peter was acting like he’d ‘Punched an elderly person’, to which the proper response, Peter quickly learned, should not have been ‘But I kinda did’.

Turning over again, Peter blearily rested his head against the edge of the alcove, cracking open a weary eye to watch the flood of older teenagers gathered below. He wasn’t one to categorize, but they looked like your stereotypical group of delinquents: Dark hoodies, snapbacks, loose fitting pants. They were currently throwing empty bottles against the wall, moving tables around and busting out in laughter whenever something smashed unexpectedly or pieces flew in random directions.

Peter wondered idly when they would start their ‘Fight Club’, and christen the otherwise barren floor of their makeshift boxing ring. Hopefully he’d have time to dip out before they started throwing punches. He’d taken his fair share of beatings as Spiderman, but there was something distinctly unpleasant about watching other people get beat up on purpose.

Sighing, Peter tried to tune them out as they started cheering, hoping to get another five minutes in before sneaking out.

“Ten minutes until the bot battles start!” One of the guys shouted. “And none of that last minute prep bullshit this time; once you’re in the ring you have ten seconds to give the green light!” There was a chorus of booing from the other people, a couple curse words peppered in the mix.

Peter perked up instantly, sitting up on one elbow to look below with rekindled interest. Did they say bot battle? Like, the robot kind of bot battle?

His eyes widened at the scene below. No way. No way. The tables that had been lining the edges of the room were now pulled out alongside the makeshift ring, a few ancient computers and modern laptops hooked together with massive tangles of wires. The majority of the teens were hovering over small looking contraptions, the group split into four different parties.

Underground robot battles! Peter’s heart soared. Ok, he took back every stereotype he had tried to pin on these guys. This was so legitimately awesome. There were still a few kids tossing bottles at the wall, but most of them were now leaning over their computer screens, debating over code and discussing programs.

Having worked with Tony in the lab, he understood the whole of their conversations, and holy shit he was dying to go down and point out some of the obvious design flaws and coding errors. Seriously, if team three didn’t fix the rotation on their main battle hammer, it wouldn’t be able to correct itself if it got flipped. And if the first team thought that bigger was better, they were about to be proven dead wrong once team four went right under its wheels and disassembled its undercarriage with its saw head.

Self control Peter, self control. A part of him desperately wanted to stay now, and watch the robot battles. He had some serious confidence in the fourth team, which looked to be the current underdog, but he had work to do. Criminals to catch.

Trying to stay quiet, Peter changed into his black sweatshirt, dark jeans, and tied a black handkerchief around his lower face. He looked like a real hoodlum now, but at least he wouldn’t be as noticed. Red and blue spandex was a little showy for the undercover stuff he was about to embark on.

Fastening his old webshooters, Peter crawled across the ceiling, moving just a little slower than usual, trying to sneak a couple last minute peeks of the battle bots before exiting. Battling bots like that was technically illegal, so he could see why they were using the fort to do it.

Since there were no buildings by the shoreline, Peter had to walk all the way back to the bridge that connected the peninsula to the rest of New York. Once there, he swung into the city, and just an hour later, he was on the rooftops of Brooklyn, eyes peeled for any suspicious characters. He made sure to keep well out of sight of any cameras, keeping his webs and overall exposure to a minimum.

Every few seconds, he glanced up at the sky, keeping vigilant watch for the familiar red and gold streak of the Iron Man suit.

~

4:49 am - Day Two

God, Peter’s back hurt. Sleeping on the concrete ledge hadn’t done him any favors, but he refused to complain. Most superheroes didn’t have luxury memory foam beds at home, so there was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to make do. Spiderman did not need silk sheets to fight crime, ok?

He’d made little headway, stopping just a few muggers, getting little information about the weapon deals. He had tried to keep low key, tying up the criminals instead of webbing them. He’d looked like a real vigilante, and a few people had called him a ‘wannabe Daredevil’ with his black getup.

No word about Tony either. After Alley Pond, he’d supposedly just up and vanished, the suits doing roundabout scans of the area, but Iron Man had otherwise been quiet. Peter wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or concerned about that, but there was little he could do either way except for being careful.

The fort was empty now, the tables moved back into their proper places, the bot fighting ring sporting several new gouges in the dirt and some new tire marks. The walk back on the bridge had been miserable, and he’d been too tired to web his way across on its underside.

He really wished he knew who won, but judging by the new scraps surrounding the ring, he’d bet it was team four.

Crawling back up to his alcove, Peter collapsed back into his spot, opting to leave his web shooters on, just in case. He’d gotten a bite to eat at a local food stand, downing at least five hot dogs in just two minutes.

The stand owner’s eyes had almost bugged out of his head. ‘You ever consider the annual hot dog eating contest, kid?’ Peter had laughed and waved him off, ignoring the next call sent after him, ‘What are you doing out anyway- Isn’t it a school night?!’

Punching his duffel into shape, Peter rested his head, brushing aside a few lone spiders who had thought to reclaim their territory. The chill of the concrete started seeping into his bones almost immediately, and he held back a shudder. He really wished he’d thought of packing a blanket of some kind, though realistically he wouldn’t have any room for it.

$954 dollars left. He’d already eliminated what he had in his wallet, already digging into his bank fund. And it was only day one.

Since when was food so expensive? Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that he needed to eat so much. If this kept up he’d be out of money before the week was out, and would be forced to go home to the tower. Either that or starve himself into a coma under some random overpass.

Even now he could already see the triumphant look on Tony’s face when he stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse, money gone, defeat weighing down on his shoulders. ‘Not so easy, kid, huh?’

That totally wasn’t happening.

He’d get a job if he had to, something under the table. It wouldn’t take too long to ask around and find one, but the real problem was that he was easily recognizable. So that probably wouldn’t work. Vigilante work didn’t pay, which sucked. How did the other guys do it, seriously?

Peter tossed and turned a few more times before finally settling into a fitful sleep.

~

5:11 am - Day Two

“Preliminary system checks complete, Boss. Twenty units available for semi-immediate departure.”

“Finally.” Tony sighed. He ran a heavy hand over his eyes, willing them to stay open and alert. He took another large sip of coffee, wincing only slightly as it burned all the way down to his stomach, mingling with the tight knot of worry that had tightly wound itself there. “Give me another update on the facial recognition program.”

His phone was going wild in his pocket, with at least thirty new texts from Happy, a few more messages from Rhodes, and about a dozen calls from Pepper. He hadn't answered a single one so far.

“Program check initialized, 52% complete. Estimate full city camera capabilities in approximately five hours.”

“Make it two.” Pushing out of his chair, Tony haphazardly made his way to the assembling unit, picking up one of the prototypes he’d perfected. It’d taken him all night to configure them, to piece it all together, but despite the lack of sleep he’d done it. Plus, they didn’t look half bad either. Another bonus: They were easy to mass produce. “System start.”

At his words, the bot came online, immediately hovering just above his hand, camera focusing in on his face. “System start. All programs fully operational. Designated orders received.” It blinked then, the hardware whirring as it booted up fully, twisting to face the other units. “Other systems coming online.”

With several loud whines, the other 19 scanning units came on, engines boosting them to face height, cameras whizzing as they scanned the entirety of the room. They were red and gold, like the rest of his armor, but were also sleek and thin. A team of advanced mini drones.

Ding.

Another beep from his pocket, indicating another message. He ignored it.

Ok, it was all borderline evil genius stuff, but Tony couldn’t help but be proud of his work. He’d successfully designed levitating facial recognition systems that could move just as fast as the suit without sacrificing durability. They were small and capable of wedging themselves into tiny corners, alleyways, underpasses. Anywhere the suits couldn’t.

“Designation?” Tony prompted, lifting his mug to his face. Another wave of heat went down to his stomach. He honestly didn’t know how many cups he’d drank at this point, though he could probably guess if he looked in the mirror and measured the size of the bags underneath his eyes.

Ding.

“Map and graph gridline of New York City. Circulate assigned zones and find Peter.” They all answered in unison. Without further prompting, the laboratory exterior doors opened and they all shot out into the sky, each of them spreading out and twisting into different directions. In the next few hours, he’d have the entire city monitored.

“Boss, if I could interject-”

“Yeah. Let me just cut you off right there.” Tony interrupted, sitting himself back down. In just a few clicks he had all twenty of the camera screens displayed in front of him. He leaned back. “I’m just going to step off the obligatory merry go round of protocol. Officially upgrade you to ‘close friend’ status. I think you’ve earned a slumber party heart to heart chat.”

“You haven’t slept in almost 48 hours.” Friday said plainly. “I think your lack of rest is impairing your rational decision making.”

“Revoke that status, you’ve immediately lost the privilege. I’m sorry, which one of us just created a tiny robot army in just one night again?” Tony looked offended. “How is this not the best course of action?”

Ding.

His phone started vibrating again. He flipped it out and muted it.

“As I’ve reminded, monitering of this scale is distinctly illegal and may carry acute consequences." Friday said firmly, her voice judgmental. "The last time this was attempted, it was discovered that S.H.E.I.L.D had been compromised-”

“Hail Hydra.” He muttered sarcastically.

“-and it was unanimously agreed upon that mass surveillance did not serve the best interests of the people.”

“I’m not trying to take pictures of people with their pants down.” Tony countered impatiently, “I’m looking for one kid. My kid. Once I’ve got him back I’ll destroy the whole program, bots and all. Maybe put a few investments in the bus companies so they all get interior cameras.”

“For you to illegally hack?”

Fighting a small snort, Tony hummed nonchalantly around his coffee mug. He was quiet for a moment, and he set his cup down on the workbench with uncharacteristic care. “He could be anywhere right now, Friday. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“I’ll be sure to remind you of that argument when Captain Rogers hears of this.”

“The only question Steve is going to have about this is, ‘How long do you plan to keep that poor kid grounded?’ Because I’m already hashing out a few dates, and in which case, I’ll have that answer ready.” He had the home school talk with Peter a while ago, when it had become apparent that the kid was miles ahead the rest of his class, but he'd backed off when Peter had insisted on staying with his class. But if this was what happened when Peter wasn't challenged enough, maybe it was time to have that talk again...

Friday didn’t have a response, and Tony sighed, carding a weighted hand through his hair again. He was fighting back the allure of rest with steadfast determination. He couldn’t sleep.

Not yet.

Not until he knew for certain Peter was safe.

Chapter Text

10:35 am - Day Two

Peter didn’t dream about anything. He’d barely been able to doze, the sharp chill in the fort making him a shivering mess. Normally a little impromptu camping wouldn't have bothered him, but getting his powers had made his inner thermo-regulation basically worthless. He got cold a lot easier than normal people, and it was definitely working against him now. His room back at the tower was always at least fifteen degrees higher than the rest of the penthouse, and it was hard not to miss it.

Sniffling, Peter groggily sat up, ignoring the slight ache in his muscles. It took a few seconds for his vision to meter out, the world looking a bit blurry. The tell-tale lightheadedness was a sure indication that his blood sugar was getting low.

Grabbing two twenties from his duffel, Peter jumped to the ground, nearly stumbling when he landed. Ok, yeah, he definitely needed to eat something. Stepping outside, he winced as the sun assaulted him.

Ugh, too bright. He tented a hand over his eyes, before decidedly pulling a hood over his head, making his way to the boardwalk. There would be a couple stands open this early, since the beaches were just starting to pick up in traffic.

It was a twenty minute walk to the nearest populated place, and each step felt like torture, his head foggy and disoriented. By the time he got to a food stand, he felt like a total zombie, and if the stand guy’s expression was any indicator, he sounded like one too.

“That’s a lot of food.” The guy commented, grabbing one of the larger to go boxes. He lifted a questioning brow, though it was clear he wasn't too particularly attached to the query.

“I’m with a group.” Peter lied easily, tossing over the proper amount of money. His mouth was already watering as he watched the guy pile on the carbs, but he was going to eat everything a ways away from the stand owner, so the lie didn't matter. He was tired enough that he didn’t say it with his usual nervousness, so it came across semi-believable too. Peter didn't want to admit it, but he was feeling a little self conscious about his eating habits ever since the hot dog owner's eyes had almost bugged out of his head watching him feast unforgivingly the day before.

“Whatever you say, kid.” The man shrugged, handing him his change.

Moving out of sight, Peter chowed down. Three giant hot dogs with everything on them, two pretzels, a sizable box of loaded fries, and a huge bottle of Gatorade. Food of the gods, as far as he was concerned. By the time he’d finished it all, he had perked up considerably. The brand new hole in his pocket was another story, however.

$918. He wasn’t scraping for money yet, but if he didn’t find a solution soon his worst case scenario would rapidly become reality. Sighing heavily, Peter picked up and tossed the empty containers in the nearest trash-can before plopping back down on a nearby bench. so he'd need an under the table job. How did someone find something like that? Did you just start asking around, or did you need to know an inside guy? Maybe some kitchen would take him in as a dishwasher or something. A job that didn't require him to be out in the open.

He sat, thinking, for a long few minutes, letting the sun soak into him. The warmth slowly chased away the cold, unforgiving press of the ledge. Peter sniffled again, wiping his nose with his sleeve. He didn’t mind the fort, but it was nice to be outside. The fort was damp and gloomy. Not very uplifting.

It was peaceful for a while, and Peter felt himself start to drift. His relaxation was rapidly cut short.

A sudden series of exclamations sounded off behind him, and he questioningly turned his head towards a large group pointing to something in the distance, excitement palpable in their voices. “Whoa! Holy- Think it’s one of Stark’s?” Someone shouted above the rest.

Peter’s heart stopped. Stark?

Like his ass had just caught fire, Peter shot out of his seat, wide eyes already scanning the sky for the Iron Man suit. This was it. Tony had found him. He was about to be dragged home by the ear and given a verbal butt kicking. He hadn’t even scratched the surface of the weapon dealings which meant he was toast.

Goodbye, Ned. It was great while it lasted. I’ll see you again in college… if I’m out by then.

But as the seconds passed, his heart beating wildly, the suit still didn’t show. If it wasn't the Iron Man suit, then what were they all talking about? Wringing his wrist, Peter stepped closer to the gathering group of people, nervously pulling his hood even further over his face. Politely shouldering his way through, he got a good look at what they were pointing at.

Worse? Was this worse? It definitely wasn’t better.

There, zipping past the buildings, was a small foot long robot steadily hovering ten feet above the ground. It was sleek, razor thin. Its red and gold paint stood out in crisp contrast against the washed out, dilapidated backdrop of the beach’s boardwalk. It was hard to miss, and visibly out of place. Oh yeah, it was definitely one of Dad's.

With a loud whir, it twisted in the air, its single black camera moving to face them.

Inhaling sharply, Peter snapped his body around, cinching the hoodie’s drawstrings until his face wasn’t visible. But what was that thing? Some kind of surveillance drone? Did it know that he was here, or was it just making rounds on this area? Shoving through the growing horde of people, Peter ignored the flurry of complaints that followed him, his steps quick and panicked.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit-

“Hey, it’s following that kid!”

Peter started screaming internally, his heart leaping out of his throat. He walked even faster, and it took all of his self control not to break out into a sprint. It was probably following him because it hadn't been able to scan his face, and would likely remain relentless until it managed to do so. He had to do something. Fast.

He made it past a few buildings, but he could hear the Starkbot getting even closer, and his mind raced for a plausible solution. The only thing that he could think of was to somehow break it. It was now or never. Without thinking twice about it, he bolted sideways, running into a small alleyway between two run down surf shops. He grabbed his wrist, feeling for his webshooters, thankful he hadn’t taken them off last night.

A spike of electricity ran down his spine.

Twisting sharply, Peter shot behind him, ducking his head low and out of sight as he did. Just as quickly, he pressed down on his shooters, casting a silvery thread towards the red and gold shadow that was now a mere breath away from him.

He heard the telltale thunk of his web hitting metal, and with a violent yank, he hurled it into the side of the building. There was a loud crash as the wood splintered and gave way. There was most definitely a hole in the side of it now. Oh god he hoped these people had insurance- Immediately squashing his guilt, Peter gave the line another vicious tug he launched it into the other building, broken wood scattering across the ground.

The bot screeched as it short circuited, spittering across the fragmented boards as it struggled to regain altitude, its mechanical eye revolving wildly.

Gripping either side of his sweatshirt, Peter jerked it up and struggled to wrestle it over his head. The second he had it loose he threw himself on top of the bot, throwing the hoodie over its camera and holding on for dear life as it bucked and floundered beneath him.

“Please hold still, please hold still, please-” Peter yelped as it shot upwards, nearly taking him with it. But he couldn’t afford to let it go now, it would see his face for sure and then he’d be done for. The whole unit was sparking, and he winced as the tiny flares bit against his skin.

Circling his arms around it, Peter struggled to regain his footing. He had to get back to the fort, he had to… had to… Ok honestly he had no idea what he had to do, but he couldn’t do it here.

Trying to look nonchalant, like he wasn’t forcefully holding a giant piece of Stark technology in his hands, Peter looked both ways outside of the alley before quickly starting back towards the fort. His knuckles were white, he was clenching the robot so hard against him. It didn’t stop struggling for a single second of the whole journey.

~

“Ok, Dad.” Peter muttered under his breath, “This is borderline evil genius stuff.”

He’d managed to haul the thing all the way back to the fort by some feat of will, and had strapped it down to one of the tables lined up against the walls. Using a crude impersonation of a hammer that he’d found lying on the ground, he’d taken off the unit’s exterior plating, revealing the inner mechanisms. And holy crap. Tony couldn’t possibly have slept the past few days, because he wouldn’t otherwise consider something like this a good idea.

“Uncle Rogers isn’t going to be happy about this.” He lamented, reviewing some of the wires. He understood what his father was trying to do, but facial monitoring on this level was super villain stuff. Did anyone else know he was missing yet? Who was with Tony right now?

He needed something to hook the system up to, if only to go over some of the coding. If he could access the mainframe he might be able to recalibrate the system in his favor. Maybe even without Tony knowing...

The overhead light flickered above him as he made his way over to one of the many junk piles scattered across the dingy room. The bot fighters had pulled out old, ancient looking computers last night for their matches that he could probably use. There was a hot feeling of doubt in his chest that told him they wouldn’t work, but it was his only shot. He found the monitor in the far corner, but its matching wires were in a loose tangle underneath the truck bed, which took him a little longer to get. He had a feeling if he got a cut on its underside he'd be at high risk for a tetanus shot, which he'd rather avoid.

By the time he’d dragged everything out and set up the long ravel of wires, the device was starting to struggle again, straining against the old ropes holding it down. His sweatshirt started to slip off its head camera as it moved, and he quickly put it back in place, dropping the entwined cords in his rush.

“Hold still Mr. Hoverbot, please.” He pleaded, pushing it back down into submission. The Windows boot up theme went off behind him and the monitor lit up, dim and sketchy. A part of him was relieved it had decided to start up for him, but it was followed by unwanted skepticism. He’d worked with older stuff like this before; what Tony would fondly call ‘Retro Tech’, but hacking into Stark technology wasn’t going to be easy.

He waited until the Starkbot quieted again before sitting himself down in front of the faded monitor on a dirt encrusted lawn chair. Tapping on the keyboard, he pulled up some of the programming systems already installed on the hard drive before attaching some of the wires to the bot itself. A few clicks later and the unit went deathly still as it reset.

So far so good.

Taking in a deep breath, Peter accessed the firewall. For anybody else, this part alone would have taken them years. Decades, on this computer. But Peter wasn’t everybody else, and he had helped build some of the newer parts of it, so he knew it like the back of his hand. Bypassing it was easy enough for someone who knew most of the access codes and backdoor safety routes.

He had the mainframe up in a matter of minutes.

Ok, so maybe hacking into Stark tech was a little easy for him. Feeling cocky now, Peter grinned, pulling up the system protocols. His smile immediately faltered. Holy crap, there were twenty of these things? Tony had probably sent them out all over the city. As if the suits weren’t a big enough stressor.

But the question was, what to do about it? Peter bit his lip, thinking. All of the systems were linked with one another, which gave him an advantage. If he could plant a bug in the code, maybe... Something so incredibly simple that even Friday would have trouble finding it. It couldn't be too complicated anyway, since he didn't have the time to cook up anything truly devious. His eyes caught on one of the lower, standard protocols.

‘Clean Slate.’

Clean slate? He had to think for a second before he remembered. The 'Clean Slate' protocol was the system killswitch, a virtual self destruct button in case the worst happened. Peter's eyes widened. That was it! A bug that would randomly trigger the device’s self destruct sequence!

Getting excited, Peter started reviewing the other unit files. It was perfect. Since they were all connected he could infect all new bots that joined the server while still crippling the ones already functioning. He’d need something that was able to rewrite itself though, in case it was automatically corrected.

Fingers immediately going to work, his eyes danced across the screen. He’d target the ones going around Brooklyn first, since that was where he needed to patrol at night, but aside from those initial targets, he randomized them. He didn’t want to create an obvious pattern.

For several long minutes, Peter typed frantically. He had to hurry up and get this particular unit back in the sky before Tony realized it was missing, if he hadn’t already. The instant he had the bug in place he yanked out the wires, putting the exterior plate back in position. Since he had knocked it off with a hammer, he had little choice but to use duct tape he’d found by the fight ring to fix it. Totally unnoticeable.

Picking it up, Peter took it back outside, tossing it in the air a good hundred feet away from the fort entrance like a frisbee. It didn’t start hovering automatically though, falling out of the sky like a rock and skidding against the concrete with a loud crash, further mangling the paint job. He flinched. Had he managed to break it?

For a few agonizing seconds nothing happened, until the machine started to sputter and spark. It took off from the ground like a wounded bird, voice short circuiting. “Syst-Syst-System rebo-o-o-o-ot. Initialize- izing- izing two step- perim- designation downloaded- amend-amend-” A few sparks caught on the grass, and it hovered there, stammering for a few seconds longer before shooting in the other direction, back towards the town. Its flight pattern was all over the place.

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. That had been way, way too close. He absolutely needed to get information about the illegal Chitauri weapons during his next patrol in Brooklyn later that night, otherwise he’d be in serious trouble.

Picking up his discarded hoodie, he jogged over to where the damaged Starkbot had taken off, stamping out the small flames that it had left before running back inside the fort. He went back towards the old computer, intending to put it back exactly how he’d find it, so the bot fighters wouldn’t notice. The last thing he needed was for them to ask questions, start looking through dark corners...

As distracted as he was, Peter didn’t notice the dark silhouette until it was far too late.

His spider sense gave him just enough time to see the shadow hurling towards his head, but he was too shocked to properly dodge it. An explosion went off behind his eyes as it collided with the side of his head.

Everything went black.

Chapter Text

2:26 am, 2007

It was late. Very late.

He’d been running around all day, and was thoroughly exhausted. The company board wanted even more weapons to show to the troops over in Afghanistan, and the stress of their timelines were starting to weigh on him.

Tony buried his head deeper into his pillow, fighting a silent, internal battle with his body to calm down and rest. Building a million different weapons and raising a six year old at the same time was going to put streaks in his hair.

Just when he thought he’d finally won the battle for sleep, he heard his door slowly creak open. It was quickly followed by the hesitant patter of small footsteps, which trailed their way over to his bedside.

For a few moments it was quiet, before a small voice whispered, “Tony?”

Grunting softly in affirmation, Tony cracked one eye open. Peter was there, standing by his bedside, looking small and heart wrenchingly unsure. He had his security blanket clutched between his fingers. His warm, doe brown eyes were wide and scared, hair hopelessly mussed.

“Why aren’t you in bed, kiddo?” Tony murmured groggily. He decided not to mention the blanket, though they’d had a conversation about Peter not sleeping with it anymore just recently. He untangled one of his hands from the covers, unable to resist running a comforting hand through the mess of brown curls.

“There’s mist all over the city.” Peter replied, voice shaky. He leaned into the contact, pulling his blanket towards him a little bit tighter. “Like in the movie.”

Movie? A few seconds passed before Tony suppressed a groan. “Which movie?” He asked, turning to face him fully, “The Stephen King movie?” No wonder the kid was scared. He’d specifically told Peter not to go through the horror films earlier that night for this exact reason. He mentally cursed himself for not making sure he’d obeyed, having been preoccupied in the lab. Six year olds weren’t exactly known for their listening skills.

Peter nodded, and Tony’s heart dropped when he noticed a wet sheen start to gather around the kid’s eyes. “The one where the monsters are hiding in it. In the mist.” He whispered, his lower lip starting to tremble. “It’s all over the city.”

Tony sighed before moving his hand to Peter’s arm, pulling him closer. “C’mere squirt.” He said softly, lifting the covers. He knew deep down he shouldn’t encourage the whole ‘sleeping in your parent’s bed’ habit, but he was feeling a little selfish. Plus he was willing to do just about anything to keep the kid from crying.

Peter hurriedly crawled in beside him, tucking his blanket between them both as Tony settled the covers back over them. He knotted a hand into Tony’s shirt, pressing himself as close as possible.

“They grab people.” Peter murmured against his chest, voice wobbly. “The monsters pull them into the mist and they go missing.”

Christ, the kid was shaking. Tony hadn’t seen the movie yet, but he’d read the novel. It wasn’t six year old material. Tomorrow he was going to put parental controls on the T.V. Everything over the ‘G’ rating was getting a seven digit passcode.

Aware that Peter was just seconds away from unleashing a storm,Tony wrapped a heavy arm around him, tucking his head underneath his chin. “You’re not going anywhere, Peter. It’d take a lot more than mist monsters to take you from me.”

“But what if I went missing?” Peter insisted, sniffling. “What if you couldn’t find me?”

“I’ll always find you.” He said firmly.

“Promise?”

Tony buried his nose in Peter’s hair, breathing him in. When he spoke, his voice rang with certainty. “Promise.”

~

12:01 pm - Day Two

Tony jerked awake.

The mug he had been loosely holding went flying, banging against the rim of the table before crashing against the floor. Coffee splashed all down the front of him, but it felt suspiciously cold. Tony blinked rapidly, chasing away the traitorous clouds of sleep that had drifted across them.

No. He hadn’t dozed off. Couldn’t have. “How long was I out?” Tony demanded, standing abruptly. He yanked a roll of paper towels from his workbench and started dabbing at the dark stain on his shirt. He seemed to be making it worse, and he quickly gave up, tossing the ruined roll to floor. There was no point in it anyway. He probably looked like shit already.

“Approximately 45 minutes.” Friday relayed calmly.

Christ, almost an hour? “Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?” He snapped, wrenching the display monitors towards him. His eyes scanned over the video feeds as his head screamed in protest. A migraine was starting to throb behind his eyes, most likely in protest from having been robbed of a much longer nap. That or the excess of caffeine. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, which only added to his anger.

“You needed sleep.”

“When all of this is said and done, you’re getting some hardcore reprogramming.” He fumed, typing furiously. His whole body felt painfully stiff, like an un-oiled Tinman. Standing again, Tony stormed his way over to the coffee machine. His fingers curled around the handle of the pot but he paused, contemplating it for several seconds before jamming it back into place.

Grabbing a spoon, he started eating the coffee beans right out of the bag.

“Boss, while there having been any matches on the drones, city surveillance registered a possible match twenty minutes ago.’’

“What?! Why the hell didn’t you-” Tony shouted, smashing the bag into the counter. Coffee beans flew in every direction, and he watched them scatter into the growing pile of mess that had rapidly accumulated in the lab the past few nights alone. He breathed in deeply, trying to keep his temper in check. “Actually, you know what. Nevermind. Just pull it up.”

The displays lit up, the database pouring on screen. In just a few seconds it was displaying a video cam feed from the alley of a small cafe by some park in Brooklyn. Tony leaned closer, spooning another bite of coffee beans into his mouth. They were disgustingly bitter, but he didn’t even flinch as he started crunching. “Zoom in. Give me a timestamp.”

The monitor magnified. The video was labeled 10:43 am yesterday morning. Sure enough, there was Peter, another apologetic expression twisted on his face. Tony felt his heart leap at the sight of him. “Rewind ten seconds.” The image backtracked, and Tony watched as Peter half walked, half ran down the sidewalk, heavily knocking shoulders with another rushing passerby.

They both fell to the ground in a jumbled heap. Tony felt his arm twitch involuntarily as Peter fell backwards, like he could somehow reach through the screen and catch him. It looked like the kid slid when he hit the ground, his palms scraping against the pavement as his hoodie fell with him, revealing his face. Tony felt his heart warm when he saw how fast Peter got up to give the other gentleman a hand, quickly followed by outrage when the man refused the help, instead appearing to curse him out. New York truly had the most callous of characters.

He watched Peter wipe off his hands before freezing, his eyes wide as they scanned the perimeter, making direct eye contact with the cafe camera.

“That’s right, kid, I got you now.” Tony murmured, steepling his hands. “Follow him, Friday.”

Peter had yanked the hoodie back into place, but at this point it didn’t matter. Friday followed him with ease down several blocks, switching between cameras until he finally stopped at a sweatshirt vendor. A minute later Tony watched him get one of the Iron Man hoodies.

That managed to get a laugh out of him. “Points for that, kiddo, but you’re still screwed.” Twisting the screen, Tony pulled up his keyboard and started inputting new program codes into the hoverbot database. Instead of just recognizing faces he needed to implement special search criteria into their scanning as well. “Keep following him, speed up the process so we’re not here all day. Let me know when and where he goes out of view.”

He’d already started the prototype for the newest hovercraft model, which was roughly the same size and general shape, but with those more advanced scanning abilities. Coffee bean bag in hand, he returned to the prototype’s metal skeleton. His headache was hitting a high, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to ease it. He wondered how dangerous it would be to mix painkillers into the cocktail of caffeine he currently had in his system.

Not paying attention, his hip knocked into the side of the crafting table. The entirety of the table contents shifted drastically, sending half of the tools scattering across the floor with a loud crash.

DUM-E startled and whirred in the background, extinguisher still in hand.

Tony was so tired it took him several seconds to process what had just happened. Staring blankly at the mess, he shuffled a few more coffee beans in his hand, throwing them back like they were pills. “Fuck.”

Friday sounded overhead, her voice suspiciously sterile. “Boss, you have a visitor.”

“I’m not here.”

“Colonel Rhodes has already entered. He is most likely here concerning the missed calls and messages.”

He was so close to catching up to Peter. He almost had him. The last thing he needed was someone responsible throwing a wrench in his operation. That or a distraction. Or maybe that was what he needed. “Friday, drop my needle. Max volume.” Maybe if Rhodey overheard the music he'd assume he was just pulling another one of his famous all nighters and leave.

“Boss?”

“Chop chop, Fri. I want ‘Thunderstruck’ carved into the goddamn walls.” A part of Tony knew Rhodey wouldn’t be put off by the earsplitting ACDC if he was determined enough to chew him out, but more realistically the coffee was wearing off faster than he could chew it and he needed something else to keep him awake.

The second the chorus hit, the speakers nearly blew out.

He felt the beat vibrate through his chest, and for a second even the pain of his migraine was drowned out by the roar. Grabbing a drill, Tony clenched the tip between his teeth to switch out the bit, tapping his foot the music. He didn’t bother putting on goggles.

Tony only got halfway through the first screw when he heard muffled shouting behind him. It looked like the ACDC pounding through the lab hadn’t been enough to turn the Colonel away, and he exhaled loudly as he turned to face his closest friend, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

Rhodey was half bent over, his hands over his ears as he made his way across the lab, face contorted as he tried to block out the screeching vocals. He made his way over to the speaker system, fumbling with the buttons for a few seconds before managing to shut it down.

“God, what the hell are you doing, Tony?” He demanded loudly, looking around. His eyes caught on the overhead light that had caught fire the day before, the glass still scattered across the floor, bits of extinguisher foam still clinging to the area. “Jesus, what the hell is all this?” Rhodey looked up at Tony then, and his eyes went wide. “Holy- you look like shit. Has your mirror told you yet?”

“Good to see you too, Rhodes. And despite my good looks, mirrors don’t talk.” Tony deflected on reflex. He actually hadn’t looked at his reflection yet, though in honesty he’d bet it was prime Halloween material. Wiping his hands, his eyes flicked back up to the monitor, where Friday was almost done tracking Peter’s last known location.

“Lucky for you they don’t laugh either.” Rhodey took in Tony’s whole appearance: His shirt was covered in grease and coffee marks, and his sweats were in much the same condition. His hair was wild and sticking in every direction, and the bags under his eyes were dark and deepset. He crossed his arms, his tone turning into a light reprimand. “She’s been away on business for less than a week, Tony.”

“No-” Tony said, running a hand over his face, “No, it’s not Pepper. It’s not-” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Rhodey’s brows furrowed. “She’s been trying to call you, I’ve been trying to call you.” He paused then, looking around the lab. “Has Peter been alright? Happy says he didn’t drive him to school this morning.”

“Oh, so Happy is texting you about this now?” Tony let out a harsh laugh, picking up the bag of coffee beans. He ignored the disgusted look on Rhodey’s face when he continued chewing them straight out of the bag. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’ll have Peter back in less than an hour. Guaranteed.”

“What do you mean, you’ll have him back?” Rhodey looked over at the computer screens then, and his mouth dropped open. The video feeds were on full display. “What am I looking at? What is all of this?” He picked up one of the prototypes from the table, shaking it in the air accusingly. “Tony, this is part of the reason why I’m here. We’ve been getting reports from all over New York about these strange robots flying all over the city. What’s going on?”

“Responsible parenting in action.”

Rhodey looked him over again, something big dawning on his face. “...Where’s Peter?”

Tony looked over at the video feeds. “Brooklyn?” It was evident in his tone that he didn’t actually know.

Eyes wide, Rhodey whipped into motion, his phone already in hand. “What do you mean, Brooklyn? Is he hurt? Was he taken? Why didn’t you tell the team-”

Nearly yanking the phone away from him, Tony suppressed a curse. “Don’t- No, Rhodey, listen. The last thing I need is Cap on my ass about this. Friday’s already narrowing down the playing field. By the time anyone figures out anything I’ll already have thrown the whole program down the disposal.”

“And by program you’re referring to the robots that have the whole city under surveillance? And you’re not going to tell Pepper about any of this.” There was a sharp, disapproving note in Rhodey’s voice that left no room to question what his feelings about it were. “Is Peter in danger?”

“Scan complete, Boss.” Friday’s voice was like the sounding of the bell. “I have him last spotted near an underpass, but the surrounding areas aren’t picking him up. It looks like he vanished again.”

That tied a wicked knot in his stomach. No. He hadn’t managed to slip away again. Not this time. “Forward the directions onscreen to the suit. I’m going in person.” He started to walk towards the Iron Man suit that was already waiting for him, but a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Tony-” Rhodey started warningly, his grip tight, “Tell me he’s not in danger.”

Christ, he hoped not. “He will be when I get my hands on him.”

Chapter Text

?:??? - Day ???

The first thing Peter was aware of was the throbbing pain in his head. Every heartbeat sent another wave of pain pounding through his temple, and it hurt to even think. Then don’t, Some weak voice inside of him supplied, Go back to sleep instead. But no, that didn’t make sense either. He was in pain for a reason, an important reason that meant he should be trying to move and not fall back to sleep.

It all came back to him then. The black silhouette, the heavy shadow that had mercilessly connected with his forehead-

Oh god. Definitely shouldn't be sleeping. Groaning, he tried to roll over, only to find that he couldn’t. The realization was slow to process, the seconds rolling by like hours before he finally managed to crack an eye open.

He recognized the dim lighting of the fort’s interior, which was quickly followed with the understanding that he was sitting up against one of the support pillars. A rope, likely the one he had left on the table, was tightly wrapping him to it.

Okay this was some action/horror movie level stuff. Either a super villain was going to turn the corner and monologue his evil plans, or a bunch of black market dealers were going to cut out his liver and kidneys and sell them on the black market. He hoped to god it was the former possibility, his mind already running a quick inventory to make sure everything was accounted for. He had a wild thought about him having to bid on his own liver, but he quickly slapped the idea away. Focus, Peter.

For some inexplicable reason, he didn’t feel scared. His spider sense was suspiciously quiet, allowing a calculating wave of stillness to wash over him. Keep calm, think of a way out. Don’t panic. He tested the ropes, hearing them groan when he pulled. They were old, but would still be difficult to wriggle out of. He definitely had his work cut out for him, but he refused to give up. He struggled for several seconds, jumping in surprise when someone suddenly spoke.

“You’re Tony Stark’s kid.” A high voice stated. It came from some place outside of Peter’s vision, and his heart started beating wildly.

"Please don't sell my kidneys." Peter blurted, voice cracking.

There was a second of stunned silence. "Ew, no. That's gross, dude." The voice responded. It sounded suspiciously young, and Peter had to crane his neck to pinpoint the source, ignoring how his temple throbbed in protest.

A girl, several years younger than him, sat hunched beside another one of the pillars. Her eyes were focused on him as she fidgeted a piece of scrap between her fingers. Her hoodie looked brand new, though it was two sizes too big for her, drawing over her face like a cloak. It obscured most of her hair as well, the few errant pieces sticking out appearing to be black and curly, falling just above her shoulders. "Are you Tony Stark's kid or not?" She repeated.

There was no use refuting it- anybody with internet access could pull up a picture of him. “Yeah. I am.” Peter admitted cautiously. His voice sounded raspy, like he’d been gurgling razorblades. That or smoked a pack a day for the last ten years. The fear of having his insides marketed quickly faded. “You didn’t call anyone, did you?”

She laughed, short and condescending. “You’re tied to a pillar in a dark and shady concrete dungeon, and your first priority after finding out I'm not going to cut you open is to make sure I didn’t call someone?” There was an incredulous note in her voice, and she flippantly tossed the scrap she was holding across the room. It hit the wall with a soft clang.

“I’m undercover.” Peter explained. It wasn’t technically a lie, but…

The girl’s eyes narrowed anyway, her nose scrunching up in distaste like the stretched truth was obvious and sour on her tongue. “So you’re not in trouble with anyone?” She pressed.

Peter looked pointedly at the ropes tying him to the pillar. “I mean, I dunno, am I?” He must have made some sort of facial expression, because something on his forehead cracked when it moved. Dried blood? “You knocked me out cold.” It came out less as an accusation and more of a surprised observation. A small piece of his ego shattered knowing that a potential nine to ten year old had managed to do that, surprise attack or not. All fear the amazing Spiderman. His one weakness? Children with heavy objects.

The girl nodded her head towards the inner ring, where the computer and the cables were all still connected. “You were messing with our stuff.” She sounded accusing, and her arms crossed in a stubborn, tight knot across her chest. Remorseless.

It all clicked then. “You’re one of the bot fighters!” Peter exclaimed, eyes widening. His head screeched from the sudden movement, but he pushed the pain aside. “You won the bot match the other night, didn’t you?” He recalled the underdog he had seen, remembering how its design was perfect to combat the current ring meta.

That seemed to only further the girl’s suspicion, and her back straightened. “How the hell do you know about the match the other night-”

“-I wasn’t trying to take or damage anything,” Peter cut in, “I swear.” The plea was partially lost on the fact that there was hardly anything left in the room to break, considering that the other delinquents had seen to that, but he continued. “I just needed to use the programming systems because I don’t have my laptop or phone with me and I needed to rewrite code-”

“Rewrite code for what?” She looked between Peter and the ancient monitor, like she couldn’t connect the two pieces, “Why would a Stark need to use a piece of junk like that?”

Peter felt oddly defensive of the dinosaur tech. “It worked pretty well-”

“It crashes when you pull up internet explorer.” She argued. “It’s trash. The only reason I don’t bring my own stuff is because I trust these other fighters as far as a two year old can throw.” She flicked the side of the computer with disdain. "The day I bring my Acer down here is the day I give up on building robots. Which I can't do in public, so I'm stuck with this thing."

A beat of silence passed. “...You get internet down here?”

It clearly wasn't the response she wanted. “Look-” The unnamed girl grit, her patience clearly running thin, “I just need to know if you’re going to rat this place out or not. The last thing we need is for the police to ransack the place and shut us down or something. That or expedite the demolition plans.”

Shut down a place like this? “No!” Peter said quickly, “No, of course I’m not going to rat you out. Dick move. I think this place is awesome, honestly. The new robotics laws are too stiff. People should be allowed to battle bots. Like, controlled arenas and stuff.” That was an honest opinion of his, and something he’d passionately discussed with Tony frequently.

“Your dad is the reason the laws exist.” She said blandly.

Peter flashed a guilty smile. “Yeah.” Ever since the creation of the Iron Man armor, engineers had seemed to crawl of the woodwork. Before anyone knew it, the streets were flooded with all kinds of different battle bots and fight rings. The government had put their foot down, banning the practice completely. They’d done it despite Tony’s incredibly vocal protests, arguing that it could be organized and controlled, but they’d fallen on deaf ears.

Humming, the girl stood up decidedly, going around the pillar to start untying the ropes. “Fair enough, then. But if you go back on your word I’ll knock you out again.” She warned, “I don’t care if I have to break into Stark Tower to do it.”

“I believe you.” Peter said seriously, still feeling the smart on his ego. His ears were still ringing from the last blow. Maybe hand to hand training with Ms. Romanoff wasn’t as bad as an idea as it first sounded. If Tony found out he’d been KO’d by a nine year old he’d never live it down. Prime blackmail. That or it'd be another reason to keep me off the streets. He thought grimly. Definitely not helping his case.

The second he was free from the pillar, Peter got to his feet gratefully, stretching out his stiff limbs. He lifted a tentative finger to his temple, wincing when his fingers met with a small lump. It felt like he’d only bled a little, and the small gash appeared to have already closed. Thank god for super healing.

When the girl walked around to face him, her eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Wow, I thought I’d left a bigger mark than that.” For a moment it looked like she was genuinely disappointed.

“I’m really glad you didn’t.” Peter deflected, making a mental note not to piss her off. Change the subject, change the subject. Super fast healing, when obvious, was bound to raise a few questions. He held out his hand. “Let’s start over. I’m Peter.”

She gave him an unimpressed stare before taking the offered hand, following the change of topic with ease. “I know who you are, Stark.” She shook once before letting go, “I’m Riri.”

She didn’t offer a last name, and Peter didn’t ask.

“Nice to meet you, Riri.” Peter said sincerely. It wasn’t everyday he came across a fellow tech enthusiast like her. He’d met a few other inventors before at parties and Gala’s, people like Norman Osborn, but there was something real and genuine about people like Riri. They didn’t do it for the same reasons. He'd often overheard Tony talking about power hungry individuals like Osborn, people who were willing to betray base morals to achieve their goals. Peter had been a product of that.

With their introductions done, Riri seemed to lose interest in him quickly, turning her attention towards a large cardboard box in the corner that hadn’t been there earlier that day. It was nestled in the center of a rusted looking wagon, and Peter perked up at the sight of it, noticing a metallic glint peeking out from on of the corners.

“Is that your bot?” Peter asked excitedly, following her. He tried to quell his outward excitement, although deep down he was super eager to see the match winning robot up close.

“Yup. It’s not the same one as the night before though.” Riri said offhandedly. She gave Peter a weird, questioning look as he drew closer, peeking over her shoulder. “Yeah. Don’t breathe down my neck. I’ll knock you out for that too.”

Realizing that he was, in fact, practically breathing down the her neck, he backed off. “Sorry.” He apologized quickly. Personal space, Peter, jeez. Tony would sometimes accuse him of the same thing when they were working in the lab, particularly when they were working on something interesting. I'm running low on air, kid. He'd complain, though his words never held any warning to them. In fact, he'd usually be fighting a smile when he said it, and Peter's heart started to ache a little at the mental image.

“So what are you doing in Fort Tilden, Stark?” Riri questioned, hauling the unit from the box. She carried it over to the table, setting it down with a comparatively loud bang. “Scoping out potential competition?” She nudged the giant, dusty monitor with her elbow sarcastically.

Pulled from his melancholy, Peter’s entire face lit up. “Holy- you made this?” It was even more amazing up close. It was an adapted version of the old, famous bot battler ‘Tombstone’, which would destroy its enemies using a giant slab of titanium. The titanium revolved at over two hundred miles per hour, and its turning speed was so quick that it made it near impossible to target its only weakness, which were the wheels.

Riri appeared to have perfected the design, shielding the wheels and tweaking the turn style by using unique building mechanics. The entire look of the bot was so simplistic, it was easy to underestimate, though Peter had no doubts that all of its opponents had been annihilated.

“Who else would have made it?” Riri scoffed, unscrewing the upper panel. She hooked it up to the ancient computer system, banging the monitor over its head when it didn’t start up right away. Her expression quickly soured, her lack of forbearance for the computer's antics obvious. “At the very least you pulled this thing out, so that makes my life semi-easier.”

The blatant abuse to the old machine made Peter cringe. “You should respect your mechanical elders;" He attempted, "That poor computer grandfathered our laptops.”

“Yeah, well gramps has ten seconds to boot up the coding program before I take him for a swim in the ocean.” Riri countered, holding up her fist warningly. As though hearing the threat, the screen pulled up the program, and she smiled, irrefutably pleased. She plugged in a few of the cords to the bot's processing unit, waiting for it to load. “You didn’t answer my question though, Stark. What are you doing out here?”

A variety of ridiculous fibs and outright lies popped into Peter's head, one of which being 'Solo beach vacay', but he decided against them. It was becoming apparent that Riri was difficult to lie to, so he opted to tell the truth. “Ah, well, I’m trying to get information about some illegal activity in Brooklyn.” He deliberately didn’t mention how, exactly, he was going about getting that info. Spiderman was still on a need-to-know basis. “Avengers business, you know. Top secret.”

“Riiiiiight.” Riri didn’t sound very impressed. “Well, this place is… To put it lightly, kinda out of your way. You couldn’t do all this top secret stuff from Manhattan?”

I couldn’t get much of anything done in Manhattan. Peter thought dryly, remembering his curfew. He cleared his throat, trying to sound professional. “Too high profile. Going underground is the best way to keep them from getting suspicious.” That was a technical truth too, but it was also logical.

“And your dad is chill with you doing this?”

The question sent a metaphorical bullet through his chest, and he had to fight the panicked laugh that nearly ripped out of his mouth on reflex. No, Tony was most definitely not chill, and in fact was most likely going to spew fire if he managed to catch him. Peter blinked and cleared his throat loudly, trying to keep his face neutral. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Well… It sounds dangerous for a kid.” Riri stated bluntly, looking him up and down.

Feeling a smidge offended, Peter straightened. “You know I’m older than you, right?” Older and able to stop a bus with my bare hands.

“Still makes you a kid.” She argued matter of factly. Peter was ready to object that, but she held up her hand to stop him before turning back to the monitor. She typed out a few lines before continuing. “Besides, it’s out of character to see you out on your own just out of nowhere.”

Was it? Peter blinked again. “I go out all the time.” Him and Ned practically lived at the Lego store, and he’d gone to his fair share of business parties and other events on top of that. Movies too, he definitely went to movies. And decathlon, that was a thing. He racked his brain for more.

“Not this far, and never alone. I mean, you’re still just 14 but...” Riri turned to smirk at him then, “Word around the street is that Iron Man usually keeps you locked up in Stark Towers like a modern day princess.”

Okay, that one he knew was a deliberate jab, but it still stung.

“He- No, he does not.” Peter argued, mortification creeping in. That wasn't what people actually thought, right?

“So he knows you’re here?” She prompted wryly. There were several long seconds of silence, and a small smile made its way across Riri’s face when Peter was unable to answer. She hummed as she deleted a couple of the lines she had been working on. “Yeah, thought so. No shame. Helicopter parenting sucks, I get it. But that gives me another idea.”

Still blubbering, Peter’s face scrunched in confusion as Riri pulled away from the monitor, turning it to face him. The lines of code displayed on the screen were for the robot’s turning startups, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously as she gave him a sly smile.

He'd seen Tony wear the same exact smile on several different occasions, and it almost certainly meant that he was about to have the rug pulled out from underneath him. It was a smile reserved for when you had something over the other person, and he was more than a little worried about what that meant for Riri. “What exactly do you-”

“-I want you to double check and fine tune some of my coding.” Riri interrupted, tapping her fingers on the table. She tilted her head questioningly. “You know how to do this stuff, right?”

In my sleep, practically. “I…” Peter stammered, “Uh… yeah?”

That seemed to be the deciding factor in whatever Riri was planning, because her smile widened even further. “Good. Next match is tonight, which we’re treating as a kind of semi-finals." She motioned to the bot sitting on the table, spinning the titanium wheel with her index finger. "Help me win, and I won’t sell you out to your dad, who I’m absolutely positive would compensate me for the trouble.”

Peter felt like he was being steamrolled. He'd been 100% correct about having the rug pulled out from under him. “Are you… Blackmailing me?” Not that it mattered. The idea of getting to participate in an illegal underground bot fight was way too exciting for him to pass up, but he tried not to make it evident on his face.

“Duh. Of course I am.” She put a hand on her hip, her tone going matter of fact. "Not that I don't already have this match in the bag, but having a Stark look over my stuff practically guarantees my glorious victory."

In any other situation, Peter might have been flattered, but there was a lot that would be riding on this. Biting his lip nervously, he reviewed some of the lines that were up on the screen. Already he could see a few that stood out, some that could be tweaked or changed to work better. The Tombstone look-alike was already well designed, and with him helping, the odds were theoretically in their favor. Theoretically.

Was he really going to put his freedom on the line for this? Do I really have a choice otherwise?

Peter smiled wide, unable to hide his excitement any longer. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

11:35 pm, Day Two

“Remind me why I was even worried.” Riri yawned, operating the controller in her hands with minimal interest. She tapped at the buttons with practiced ease.

“You weren’t.” Peter reminded her, wincing as another contender went flying. The several hours spent in the underground had returned the chill to his bones, a weakening phlegm starting to gather in his lungs. It had been well worth it though, the resulting battlebot overpowered and seemingly unbeatable against the current matchups.

There was a screech of wheels and a loud crash as their opponent slammed into the cheap wood sidings of the arena, dust clouding the air as the wall cracked under the blow. Third one in a row. No contest. The Mortal Kombat theme was playing full blast from a set of speakers someone had brought, and it was a wonder how this place had never been discovered, considering how loud it was.

A chorus of both cheers and boos erupted around them, and Peter couldn’t help but throw his own shouts of excitement into the uproar. He applauded, fighting back the urge to cough for the millionth time as the referee signaled that they had won. Again.

Him and Riri high-fived each other on perfect cue, and the nine year old was practically preening underneath the glare of the other opponents. Teens and young adults alike that were stumped as to how someone a third their age was managing to beat every single one of them. A couple of bystanders were pointing out the fact in a series of taunts and jeers, bobbing their heads along to the Mortal Kombat bassline.

And Peter had helped, yeah, but the other 98% was totally Riri. It was a wonder how she hadn’t been picked up by any of the science schools yet. Or better, by the Stark robotics unit, which was always scouting for potential. Tony had practically thrown Peter into the program early on, and he could guarantee she’d fit right in.

Riri gave him a big smile, as despite her efforts to appear cool and unaffected, enthusiasm was leaking through. Not that anyone could blame her. It wasn’t an everyday thing to totally cream a whole lineup of techies like it was absolutely nothing. And despite having only known and worked on the bot for just a handful of hours, Peter couldn’t help but be attached, and yeah, maybe a little proud as well.

Kinda made up for the whole 'Whack your head and tie you to a pillar' thing, but, Peter had always been quick to forgive.

He could remember the last time he’d had this much fun, though the memory left an empty, painful void in his stomach. It was several months ago, when he’d finally got his web design working the way it was supposed to. When he’d gone out to battle alongside Tony for the first time.

Peter wrung his wrist as he remembered.

It wasn’t planned, perse, more of a spur of the moment decision. The alarms had went off in the common room while the team was gathered, the group of heroes instantly switching into a kind of autopilot to get geared up. Peter had followed them down to the quinjet listlessly, a kind of tepid hope worming its way into his chest. He grabbed his webshooters and a red hoodie on the way down.

Ultimately it was Uncle Rogers who’d managed to convince Tony to let him tag along. He’d made it all the way to the top of the quinjet’s ramp before Tony had noticed him, his dad automatically drifting in front of his path to keep him from entering further. Ms. Romanoff watched with detached interest from inside the jet, the rest of the team too occupied to notice Peter had followed them.

“What are you doing kid?” Tony’s tone was lighthearted, laced faintly in confusion as he adjusted one of his gauntlets. “If you want to watch you’ll get a better view from the living room screen. I guarantee every news outlet will have a camera on us.” He added that last bit under his breath. When Peter didn’t move his eyebrows raised slightly in mock alarm, “Who else is keeping my spot on the couch warm?”

The thought of staying behind and doing nothing on the couch for several hours was a literal nightmare. One could only watch so many movies, and DUM-E was absolutely awful to play boardgames with.

“I thought, well, that maybe-” Peter’s confidence waned as the rest of the team started to notice him, their eyes adopting the same look of confusion at his presence. “I think I can help.” He tried to move around Tony’s figure but he was stopped, his dad holding out a restraining arm on reflex.

“Hold up. What do you mean help?” His light tone was starting to shift into something else.

Peter his wrist over, revealing his webshooters and putting on his best pleading smile. He could see the immediate ‘No’ start to form on his father’s tongue as the realization of what he was asking dawned on his face. “Now I know what you’re going to say-” Peter quickly interjected.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I’ve been training really hard and I think I could-”

“Vetoed.”

“-Really be an asset to the team-”

Tony was practically herding him out of the jet at that point, the rest of the team having gone suspiciously quiet, all eyes on their exchange. Peter had no choice but to back up, as the Iron Man suit won the current sizeup. “Over my dead body are you fighting out there.” Tony clipped with an air of finality.

Peter sighed loudly, indignance lancing through his chest as he was forced to step down the platform. “You’re an old man, Dad, it’ll happen eventually.” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

The room went deathly silent.

Press X to undo action- Press X to undo action- Peter immediately backtracked, watching the red simmer up Tony’s face, matching the crimson of the suit. “I didn’t mean that-” He said quickly, hands shooting up in surrender, “I take that back. I just meant that, well- Seriously DUM-E cheats at Monopoly and- ” Peter had a sudden image of Tony duct taping him to a giant cement block and hurling him into the ocean.

“I think it’s not a bad idea.” Steve chimed in. He stepped forward, putting a placating hand on Tony’s shoulder. Peter let out a small breath of relief at the intervention as he continued, “He can take it slow and stay in the back, web them up from afar.”

The mood shifted drastically as Tony then whirled on Steve. “He’s thirteen!”

“He can lift cars.” Steve countered, voice still steady and even. “The mission’s not that dangerous. We can keep him safe.” The opinion seemed to be shared across the team. Clint was nodding subtly alongside Vision, who was watching Tony with a thoughtful expression.

“Tony, there’s enough of us to keep an eye on him.” Bruce added helpfully. He rolled a pen between his fingers, leaning against one of the leather seats inside, a beacon of logic in even the most tense of situations. “I’ve gone over the mission status. In actuality, there may not be enough work to go around. In which case I could use some extra hands on the jet.”

“If there’s not much to do, then he doesn’t need to come.” Tony snapped.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders non-commitedly. “Or it’s a prime opportunity to get his feet wet.”

Steve pat Peter on the back, pulling him closer to the jet by his shoulder. He let go when he saw the immediate death glare Tony shot at him, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I think it’d be good, safe opportunity for him. What’s got you so worried, Tony?”

It was a fair question. The alarm that had sounded was only a small threat, the whole team being called in mainly for civilian safety. No portals, alien warfare, or other dangerous variables that would be legitimate cause for Peter to be benched.

The red was still high on his father’s cheeks, and Peter bit his lip. Whining would get him nowhere with Tony. He needed to reason with him. “I want to do my part.” He tried to explain, keeping his voice low and persuasive. “I think...I think I got these powers for a reason.” Those words seemed to have some kind of effect, because Tony’s eyes turned back at him. The tepid hope that had been squirming in Peter’s chest solidified into something borderline unbearable. “I want to use it to make the world a little safer. Or maybe not even that. Maybe just for now… I could start small. Look out for the little guys?”

There was almost a full minute of silence, the only sound to be heard the dim blare of the warning alarms from the other room. In that minute Tony seemed to be waging some kind of internal war, his face morphing between anger, worry, and sadness, until finally settling into something firm and neutral.

Tony held up a single finger, and Peter’s back straightened in rapt attention as he spoke. “You stay in the back. You do what I say when I say it, and if I say you’re done, you’re done. Got it?”

The words were barely out of his father’s mouth before Peter was beaming, throwing his arms around him and hugging him tightly. The metal didn’t give the same way a body would, but he poured himself into the embrace anyway. “I’ll be extra careful, I promise!” He murmured against the titanium, his words muffled.

Without waiting for a response he skirted around him and basically skipped into the quinjet, exchanging an energetic fist bump with Clint as he buckled himself in with jittery fervor. There were a series of muffled laughs from around the jet as it took him more than three tries to get himself buckled in correctly.

The hug seemed to have somewhat calmed Tony down, but the worried pull on his brows hadn’t completely disappeared either. Peter watched as a short breath escaped from his nose, the billionaire trying to deliberately ignore the calm, encouraging smile Steve was attempting to give him. It didn’t work for very long, a reassuring hand finding its grip on the man’s shoulder.

“He’ll do great.” Steve insisted, his voice so quiet Peter almost didn’t catch it even with his enhanced hearing, “Although, you realize that after this you’ll have to actually design him a real suit.”

Peter fingered his red sweatshirt self consciously, trying to hide the way his leg was bouncing from excitement. A suit? Of his own? Something he could go out and fight bad guys with the team in, something that would and could be his very own identity-

“Yeah.” Tony murmured back, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, “I guess so. God, he does it so subtly sometimes, but the kid can be damn stubborn when it comes down to it.”

“He gets that from you.” Steve pointed out.

It was brief, very brief, but as Peter’s heart soared, he would’ve sworn he saw the ghost of a proud, exasperated smile tug at the corners of Tony’s mouth.

“Got something better to do?”

Peter startled as someone snapped their fingers in front of his face. He blinked a few times, Riri’s face coming back into focus. “Stay with me Stark, we’ve still got one more match to win.” She ordered, “You can do anything you want after they hand me my title. Daydream, drool, whatever.”

“Sorry.” Peter said sincerely. He noticed that in the time he had been reminiscing, Riri had brought their bot out and onto the repair table. The components were practically untouched save for a few dents and scratches, but he dutifully went over and double checked the wiring. “I was remembering something about Tony, got sidetracked.”

“Your Dad?”

Peter hummed an affirmative, settling the top plate back into place and screwing it shut.

Watching him work from around his shoulder, Riri’s eyes drifted over to their next challengers, already scanning them for weaknesses. “Was it about how he’s going to beat you with a sack of loose change?”

“I don’t think he owns any loose change.” Peter supplied. He tried to think of the last time he ever heard Tony’s pockets jingle, and his memory couldn’t draw up a single occasion. “But he’d be stubborn enough to go to the bank and withdraw a whole wheelbarrow just to do it, honestly.” It took minimal effort to summon up the mental image. Hi, I’d like to make a withdrawal of $1,000 from my son’s bank account, entirely in change so I can beat him with it, please.

The acting referee waved, indicating that the next match was about to begin. Without waiting for Riri, Peter lifted their battlebot up and off the table, carrying it over to its place in the center ring. There were a few impressed nods from the crowd as he lifted it on is own. The bots weren’t exactly lightweight and it generally took two or three people to move them. He knew Riri liked to carry her own weight and wouldn’t appreciate the gesture, but he felt obligated.

Uncle Rogers may have rubbed off on him. Just a little bit.

Halfway to the arena though, Peter felt his arms begin to shake with sudden weakness. By the time he set it down, his chest was aching, his breath coming up short and his fingers trembling. What the heck? He patted his cheeks, encouraging the blood to come back to them as black spots danced around the corners of his eyes.

Holy crap, Peter realized with shock, shaking his head gently as the world spun, I seriously almost fainted.

An image of him, hand on his forehead as he fell backwards with a dramatic gasp, came into his head without prompting. He waved it away immediately. But oh my god I seriously almost just did that.

That would’ve been embarrassing. Would’ve definitely ruined the room’s current mood, too. But since when did he have difficulty lifting things? That or get lightheaded when he overexerted himself? The bot was comparatively heavy, sure, but not to him. He could almost keep up with Uncle Rogers in the gym nowadays. This kind of physical ineptitude was something old Peter would be victim too. Not Spiderman.

Riri acted as he expected, giving him a withering glare as she walked over. For a moment it seemed as though she internally debated verbally calling him out, but after a few long seconds she let it go. She blinked, taking in his appearance. “You look pale. Are you sick?”

“No.” He denied immediately. He grasped the table for support, hoping that his body wasn't visibly swaying. “I never get sick.” Especially since the spider bite, he rarely got so much as a fever. ‘Starks don’t get sick’, he remembered Tony growling once. Ironically, it had been when his Dad was kneeled over the side of a toilet bowl in Santa Barbara, but that had been him nursing a hangover, so it didn’t count.

The referee flagged them over and they both took their respective seats on the right side of the arena. Taking careful, planned steps, Peter made it to his, dropping into the lawn chair with a restrained sigh. Riri picked up the controller, switching on the system in preparation. She didn’t look convinced at Peter’s denial, but she didn’t push the issue.

The next several minutes passed in a blur as Peter leaned back heavily on his chair. When nobody was looking, he felt his forehead with the back of his hand. The bump Riri had given him was almost gone by now, nothing but a small scrape remaining. She thankfully hadn’t said anything more about it, which was a relief.

He flipped his hand over, using his palm to test how his temperature was. He turned it to the back of his hand again after a few long seconds. How could you tell if you had a fever or not? Like, he felt a little warm, but what was the difference between normal hot and sick hot? Both Tony and Pepper seemed to have had it down to a science when he was younger.

Maybe it was a superpower you got when you became a parent. Like a sixth sense.

Whatever the case, this would be the worst timing ever to come down with something. He needed all of his strength to deal with these weapons dealers, and he quite literally could not afford to take a couple sick days. A couple sick days meant two days of buying food, and possibly Nyquil.

The fear of him showing up at the tower, both hungry, penniless, and sick was just too much to handle. Tony would have a metaphorical field day before chewing him out. You know, normally I'd tell you 'I don't want to say I told you so', kiddo, but you're making it way too damn easy.

Oh no, he couldn't do that. He just couldn't. How much was Nyquil anyway? ….Or Dayquil? Would he need to buy both of them, or could he take Nyquil during the day? Or even vice versa. These were the kinds of questions he would ask Pepper, and it was bothering him how helpless he was starting to feel without that option. The logistics were seriously stressing him out, and he took his hand off of his head. He’d deal with his problems as they arose, not before.

"Test your might-" Started to blast in the background as the match started.

This time, when the cheering began as the round ended, Peter didn’t join in.

“We won! Wasn’t even worried about it!” Riri laughed breathlessly, jumping in front of him. “Honestly, the extra programming made a real difference, so serious hats off to you, part of this glory is yours. We totally have to link up in the future sometime after school or maybe even on a weekend because I’ve got this great idea for a program that automatically manages your e-mail-”

He could barely hear her above the other people in the room. A few people seemed to have started throwing glass bottles against the walls, and the shattering noises sent tiny needles of pain through his head. Ugh, god, I’m starting to get a headache.

Peter managed a smile, actively trying to push down the worry gnawing at him. “That sounds great, Riri. I’d love to link up. When I get my phone and everything back I can-” It suddenly occured to him that if everything went to shit having friends over wouldn’t be a possibility, “-Or, maybe a bit longer than week… Actually probably a few months…” A year, maybe two years, maybe when I get out of college…

A knowing look passed over Riri’s face. “Hm. Maybe you can send a letter?”

That cracked a smile on Peter’s face. “A fax.”

“Telegram.”

“Smoke signals.”

“Cave paintings. But like, in your bedroom. For archaeologists to one day uncover.”

Peter’s chuckle turned into a small cough, but he kept going. “I dunno, I think my real future will be in training pigeons to deliver messages via paper slips. I’ll have them fly up to my penthouse window.”

That had Riri throwing back her head in laughter. “That’s the most Disney thing ever. I told you that you were locked up like a princess up there. All you’d need then is to grow your hair long enough for your Prince Charming to climb.”

If Peter had been drinking something, he would have spat it out. “Dude, all hundred of those floors? By the time it was long enough I’d be an old man-”

Something suddenly changed on Riri’s face, and she held up a hand to silence him. Her smile dimmed. “Heads up.” She alerted under her breath.

There was something in her words that set off his alarm bells. Peter immediately quieted, turning to look where Riri was facing. His breath hitched, spider senses sending a bolt of electricity through his spine.

A man, significantly older than the rest of the crowd, was approaching them. He seemed to have slunk out of the shadows, his presence previously escaping Peter’s notice. He had a sinister air about him, a kind of nefarious gait to his walk that implied less than friendly motives.

Peter felt himself rise out of his chair on reflex, his hands tightening into fists at his sides as he subconsciously moved to partly put himself between Riri and the stranger. If it came down to a fight he was willing, but the dizziness in his head was still lingering and he wasn’t sure his reflexes were in good shape either.

A wild part of his brain was telling him that he had been found, sniffed out by the weapons dealers and was about to pay the price for snooping. He was wearing the same generic black hoodie he had gone out in the other night, but surely there was no way they’d be able to trace that-

The tall, darkly dressed man came to a stop directly in front of them, standing several inches taller and looking almost a foot broader. He was wearing a hoodie that obscured the top part of his face, similar to Peter’s, but he had a medium length beard that was visible and a cigarette rolled between his teeth. He jerked his chin towards them. “You two built that thing?”

“Who’s asking?” Riri clipped, crossing her arms in a tight knot across her chest. She stood in front of their Tombstone unit protectively.

She didn’t look intimidated in the least, and Peter’s heart beat a little faster. He moved a little further in front of her. Don’t start anything Riri, pleaseee-

The stranger didn’t seem put off by her tone, rotating the cigarette between his lips before continuing. “I work for a group of people who are interested in finding potential talent. People good with their hands. Inventing, putting stuff together.” He stared down at Riri with a disinterested expression, “Age isn’t an issue.”

That caught Peter’s attention. They were scoping out potential talent? This was an unusual place to do it. Illegal bot fighting isn’t the kind of stuff you put on a resume. Curiosity forced the next question out of his mouth. “What kind of stuff are you looking to build?” His voice broke a little at the end, his muscles still prepped for a fight.

The man shrugged, a puff of smoke clouding the air in front of him. “Fusion tech. Can’t say more unless you’re in. I can promise it pays well, make it worth your time.”

Fusion tech? Peter inhaled sharply through his nose, immediately regretting it as smoke burned down his throat and into his lungs. He struggled to keep his face neutral even as he was forced to cough harshly into his fist.

This was it. This could be his connection to the Chitauri weapons dealers. If this was them they were sourcing their talent from outside spaces, underground tech builders and enthusiasts who were itching for a paycheck to keep their hobby going. It made so much sense Peter had to fight to keep from facepalming. How could he have been so stupid?

“Sounds illegal.” He blurted, voice gritty. Oh. Did I just say that out loud? I didn’t mean to say that out loud, that was stupid wow-

Riri must’ve caught onto his panic, because she caught his arm, her fingers tightening to the point of pain. “So’s bot fighting, but that hasn’t stopped us yet.” She gave the stranger a fake grin, “What do we do if we’re interested?”

If they ever met up after this, Peter swore to himself, he’d owe Riri big time.

The dark stranger was smiling wide at Peter, who was actively trying not to breathe in anymore of the cigarette fumes. Pulling a small card out of his hoodie pocket, he hummed from around his cigarette, offering it to Peter. “Address is good for 48 hours. After that, window’s closed. Some advice?” His voice dropped an octave, “Don’t pass it up.” Another curl of smoke blew out of his mouth and into Peter’s space.

Nodding mutely, Peter cautiously accepted the business card, holding his breath as the smoke stung and bit his eyes, making them water. Inspecting the card, there was an address scrawled in choppy handwriting on one of the sides. It was less a business card than a piece of paper someone had written on.

Vinegar Hill, Peter translated. The numbers were for an industrial yard off the East River. It was a relatively quiet neighborhood, but it boasted one of the highest crime rates in the Brooklyn borough. He’d done a few patrols in that area and there was always something going on in the streets late at night.

Vinegar Hill.

It was dangerously close to the Manhattan bridge. Dangerously close to the Avengers tower.

Dangerously close to Tony.

But it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. By the time he had looked back up, the man was gone. Vanished back into the shadows like he had never been there at all. It looked like nobody around them had noticed the exchange either, most of the people packing up their stuff or lounging around the center ring in animated conversation. Like a dangerous weapons dealer hadn’t just approached them and mingled back into the crowd.

And this was it. Peter’s light in the darkness, the connection he needed to confront the manufacturers and put a stop to them. So why was there an uncertain knot in his stomach? Why did something feel so distinctly wrong?

“Wow. So that actually just happened.” Riri broke the silence. “That was probably the shadiest thing that’s ever happened to me, not gonna lie. And that’s coming from someone who’s lived in New York for most of their life. Think he heard me call you a princess?”

“Maybe. And you’re only nine.” Peter said weakly, mind still racing. It wasn’t going to be a question of if he was going to go to the allotted address, it was a matter of how. Did he go as he was and pretend to be legitimately interested in their offer, or did he go as Spiderman and follow them back to their secret lair?

“I guess.” Riri sighed. Her eyes suddenly widened, her hand suddenly patting against Peter’s arm with wild intensity. “Hey, snap out of it. Take a look at this.”

Peter hummed, still distracted, eyes glued to the words on the paper slip as he ran over several different scenarios in his head. He yelped as Riri pinched his arm with extreme force, hard enough to leave an angry red mark behind. “Hey-”

“Pay attention and look at this.” Riri snapped. She was holding her phone in her hands, “Uh. This is your Dad, right?”

Tony?

Still reeling, Peter’s brows lifted when he saw Riri bring something up on her phone, holding out the screen for him to take. Peter read the news headline which was flashing across the screen in bold letters.

‘Unknown Stark technology self destructing across New York’

It… It had made headlines? Peter’s mouth dropped open as he clicked the volume button on the lower corner so he could hear what the newsroom was saying.

“-Fires have been spreading across buildings and other complexes early this afternoon, just recently following the reports of unknown Stark technology spotted through multiple reports throughout New York State.” The newslady relayed, voice sterile. Images of the destruction flashed onscreen. “Officials are unable to pinpoint the exact purpose for these so called ‘Starkbots’, but some are speculating that they are being used to surveil the city and other outlying areas-”

Peter’s throat felt thick, horror leaking into his chest as the woman continued.

“-Tony Stark as well as the CEO of the company ‘Pepper’ Potts have been unavailable for comment about the city-wide destruction, however we have just recently received a video taken via phone by a citizen, featuring the, what appears to be, disheveled billionaire. Let’s take a look.”

The video cut to a vertically filmed recording of Tony, who did in fact look disheveled, but that was being incredibly kind. He looked awful, with bags under his eyes and an overgrown garden of stubble surrounding his trademark goatee. He was wearing the same clothes Peter had left him in, only now covered in coffee, oil, and burn marks.

Peter felt faint. “Oh my god.”

Tony appeared to be arguing with a few bystanders underneath an overpass, and Peter’s horror multiplied when he recognized it as the same overpass he had switched sweatshirts under. He looked positively manic, his arms highly animated, frustration evident in his movements.

“Oh my god.”

His dad looked like a madman. Like a homeless coke addict who’d guzzled down ten redbulls and robbed Starbucks of all their coffee beans at gunpoint. There was no way the rest of the Avengers wouldn’t get involved at this point. Uncle Rogers was probably going to see these headlines, take one glance at the video, and take the fastest jet back into the states. That and Pepper… Oh shit, Mom is going to kill us both.

“No… Nobody has been hurt or anything, right?” Peter glanced back at Riri, who was watching him with newfound interest. He’d never forgive himself. The random self destruct sequence had seemed a good idea earlier, but he was beginning to realize that it had been very, very idiotic.

“No, most of the destruction is exterior damage from what the pictures show. A lot of this is hype so far-” Riri paused when she saw Peter gathering up his things from the nearby table. “What are you doing?”

Digging a twenty foot grave and burying myself in it. “The other Avengers are going to be trying to figure out what’s going on and will likely return to New York.” Peter said hurriedly, pulling the sweatshirt over his head. He needed to get his duffel from the top alcove, but he couldn’t climb up there while Riri was watching and the other kids were filtering about. “I need to dip out of the city until things calm down.”

“Wait-” Riri held up a hand, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “Are you trying to escape the Avengers?”

Yes. “No, I’m trying to prove a point-” He groaned loudly, “No. Wait. I can’t leave. I have to go to that address and investigate the dealers before time runs out, otherwise I’ll be back at square one-” He checked the time on the top of the phone. Crap, had time really passed that quickly?

He amended his internal clock:

1:17 am, Day Three.

If the newscast had been earlier that evening, then it was likely the other Avengers had seen it at this point and would be on their way back to the city, which gave him an uncertain amount of time before they arrived. Via quinjet? Anywhere from three to twelve hours, depending on where they were he’d guess. That wasn’t enough time to safely travel to and from the address while maintaining the cover of night, and he didn’t even know what to expect when he got there-

“Dealers? What do you mean dealers?” Riri’s brows furrowed, “You’re talking about that shady bearded guy, right? Is this that ‘Avengers’ mission nonsense you were trying to feed me earlier because-”

Peter cut her off. “Yeah.” He buried his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair to try and calm himself down. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Riri. I’ll take care of it. Just, just promise you won’t tell anyone about me, ok? You have to promise.” He’d have to spend the rest of the night here, and then wait for all of the day to pass by as well. Leave once it got dark and hope- seriously pray that going that close to Manhattan wouldn’t be the equivalent of signing his death warrant.

The headache that had been aching through his head came back with a force. For a single, weak moment, Peter wanted nothing more than to sink into his bed at home.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Riri said sincerely, but there was a spark of deeper thinking behind her eyes. “Promise.”

Chapter Text

5:35 am, Day Three

The whole room went quiet as Steve entered.

So far none of them had been able to access the lab. Even Rhode’s entry had been denied, the entryscreen turning a bright red as it declared him temporarily unauthorized. The rumor of Peter’s disappearance was solidified when his bedroom was found empty, the penthouse unsettlingly silent and empty, like all of the joy had been sucked out like a vacuum.

So far it was Clint, Rhodes, Sam, and Natasha. An attempt to make coffee was made, but the pot remained hot, full, and untouched. Mugs were sitting empty and still in the faint light of daybreak. The decision to fly back had been unanimous.

The only thing disturbing the silence were their voices. Stiff, short, and tense. Possible options were laid and and discarded as quickly as they came. Ventilation shafts, hacking into the server, and even drilling holes into the concrete floor were all presented and discredited. Wanda and Vision were still hours away, out of reach. Getting into the lab was quickly becoming the equivalent of prying a snapping turtle out of its shell.

That was why when Steve walked through the elevator doors, a minuscule wave of relief released the tiniest inch of tension across their shoulders. It was further broadened by the sight of Bruce trailing behind him, his hands caught in nervous manacles around his wrists.

“Where is he?” Steve didn’t even start with a greeting.

“The lab.” Rhodes supplied. There were visible stress lines etching across his forehead, and he ran a heavy hand over his forehead. “Access has been blocked off to everyone. Steve, when I came over the other day, he looked like shit- I don’t think he’s slept for days-”

“Ross is giving us a timeframe.” Nat cut in, “If he doesn’t get a reasonable explanation in the next eight hours they’re going to storm the place. Armed. Might even try to label this as an act of terror.” Her tone was sterile, all business, but the trace of worry in her eyes was unmistakable.

Steve inhaled sharply, a curse barely withheld on his tongue as he ran a sharp hand through his hair. All Ross needed was one good reason to effectively screw Tony over. If they didn’t fix this soon, it’d be like throwing a bucket of blood in a sea of sharks. As if the media wasn’t already in a frenzy.

Bruce’s eyes scanned the room. The aura in the room was difficult to ignore, the emptiness tangible. “Where’s Peter?”

The question laid over the room like weighted lead.

“We don’t know.” Rhodey said tersely, like the words brought a painful slap of reality with them. Brooklyn. Tony had mentioned earlier, though the assertion was riddled with uncertainty. The screens with the multiple camera views of various parts of the city flashed to mind. He could be anywhere in the city, anywhere in the state, and Tony hadn't even been able to give him an answer to his singular question; 'Is he in danger?'

Clint cursed under his breath. The reason why they were all there was clear. What needed to be done was also clear. Steve sent his gaze up to the ceiling. He never quite knew where Friday’s voice emanated from, where her all seeing eyes were located, but he did know that she was watching. “Friday?”

“I am here, Mr. Rogers.”

“I need to see Tony.” It was less of a statement and more of a demand. He was already making his way down to the lab. Parts of the city were on fire, which was only overshadowed by the words 'surveillance drones'. The term was burning in his head, eliciting buried memories of Hydra. He’d bust through the wall if he had to, though he wasn’t precisely sure what it was reinforced with. Whatever worked. The only thing that was keeping his temper in check was the fact that Peter was missing.

“Access has been limited to two individuals only.”

Two? Steve was almost to the bottom door now, taking two stairs at a time. He heard the rest of the team follow farther behind him, one or two attempts at his name being made, but he kept going. He drew to a stop in front of the lab doors, which were sealed tight. Several bars of metal were bolted across them. “Which two people?”

“Tony Stark and Peter Parker Stark, respectively.”

Despite the knowledge, Steve tried his handprint anyway. The barely restrained curses drifted even closer across the tip of his tongue as the bio security screen declared him as ‘Temporarily unauthorized’. He pounded on the steel. “Open the damn door, Tony!” He felt ridiculous, shouting at the several inch thick metal. “Friday, can you put me over the speaker in there?”

“That specific action has not been prohibited.”

“Do it.”

The rest of the team was behind him now, Nat and Clint taking his place at the biometric pad, pulling up setting files and inspecting the outer framework for accessible panels. They'd already made an attempt earlier, but they would be nothing if not thorough. Bruce was still making his way down the floating staircase, hands firm on the rails to keep from tripping. But maybe they'd need the Hulk to put a big hole in the wall. Steve currently wasn't above that option.

“I know you’re in there, Stark, open up.” Steve shouted, leaning against the metal. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

He was met with acute silence, and his eyes flicked back up to the ceiling. “Am I on speaker?”

“Yes.”

Then why the hell wasn’t Tony answering? He banged on the door again. His physical strength was making each strike emit a loud, echoing boom. His fist left visible dents in the steel. “Dammit, Tony if you don’t tell us what the hell is going on, Ross is going to send his hounds after you, and I guarantee they won’t be as friendly.”

Nat looked pointedly at the marks he was leaving in the metal and Steve grit his teeth in frustration. “Did he mute me, Friday?”

She didn’t answer.

Steve was literal seconds away from taking out his shield and flat out knocking the whole door down. He didn’t care how long it took or how much effort it would take, he’d bring it down. A calm hand on his arm stopped him as he reached for it, and he turned to see Bruce gently shouldering past him.

Bruce came to a stop in front of the door. “Tony? It’s Bruce.” There were a few seconds of silence before he continued, “If this is about Peter, I think… I think I can help you find him.”

This had all heads spinning in his direction.

“The radiation that gave him his powers, its distinct.” Bruce continued, ignoring the stares, “We can scan the city for it using a dish instead of robots, maybe even narrow it down as close as a few blocks.” They’d done something similar when they’d hunted down the tesseract. In theory, it was incredibly plausible. Tony would know that too.

The intercom buzzed, emitting a few seconds of dead air before Tony’s voice broke through, rough and grated. “...Bruce only.”

That condition wasn't met well. The throwback was instantaneous, and Steve wasn't quite able to stop himself from cursing this time. “Package deal, Tones.” Rhodes snapped, speaking over the immediate flurry of complaints, “You get one, you get all of us.”

Muted cursing echoed faintly from the ceiling, followed by the telltale click of the lab doors opening.

-------------------------

Tony felt like shit. His head felt like it was in some kind of intangible fog, his thoughts drifting past his awareness like passing sailboats in an ocean of black. Sleep didn’t even feel like sleep anymore; it felt like his body was operating on autopilot, eyes fully open but glazed. At any moment it felt like his fuses would short circuit, his body going numb and mind going blank as he inevitably collapsed.

Peter.

Caffeine wasn’t working anymore. He’d eaten the majority of the coffee beans in the lab, unwilling to hazard the stairs and bring more down. He considered alcohol but he was already feeling drunk, the world twisting and turning in a haphazard spin with each step he took. He couldn’t rest until he found him. Peter could be anywhere right now. His anger was muting into hot, all encompassing stress that increased by the hour until he was almost suffocating in it. The images his mind procured were almost real, like swaying apparitions in a hot desert.

Desert. Heat.

Memories of Afghanistan came into his head. They solidified and became tangible, playing out in front of him like a horror movie. He could see Peter in the cave with him, could practically hear his young voice ringing painfully in his ears as he cried out for help, his body fading into the black abyss of the cave. He vanished. Somewhere he couldn’t find. Somewhere he couldn’t reach.

Missing.

Even more sickening than the absence of his voice was the not knowing. They could be doing anything to him, anything at all, Jesus fucking Christ he could already be dead and he wouldn’t fucking know-

A voice over the speakers momentarily broke his stupor. “I know you’re in there, Stark, open up.”

It sounded like Steve. Tony’s mind sluggishly put two and two together. His fucking useless surveillance units, which were short circuiting and exploding all across the city. Of course. The news would probably have that broadcasted that. Steve would have seen it. All the way from Germany, huh? He wondered idly if Pepper was making her way back home too.

The thought sent a hot lance of guilt through his chest, and he violently shoved the idea away.

“I’m not leaving until you do.” Steve continued, his voice loud and angry.

He didn’t care. Steve could try and bust down the door if he wanted to. Might even succeed. Maybe. It would make sense if he was able to, though he'd bet it would take a while. But the self destructing surveillance bots were what didn’t make sense. The code kept malfunctioning, rewriting itself. He couldn’t remember making any mistakes with the program.

Fuck, he couldn’t remember much of anything right now.

“I’ll always find you.”

“Promise?”

Tony felt his head fall between his steepled hands, eyes drawing closed. His head was filled with white noise, a static that surrounded every spoken word. There was a small part of his head that was reciting fundamental psychology, relating the words ‘sleep deprivation’ and ‘hallucinations’ in the same sentence, but he was too caught up in the sound of Peter’s voice to care.

What was the last thing Peter had said to him, even? ‘I can take care of myself. I’m ready to do more.’ A moment after he’d shaken Tony’s hand from his shoulder, body stiff and eyes heart wrenchingly red. His words were confident, indignant.

God, sometimes he just wanted to shake some goddamn sense into the kid.

When Tony opened his eyes again, he was standing over another prototype, elbow deep with a soldering tool in hand. He couldn’t remember picking it up or walking over, but that thought drifted away too, just another passing sailboat in a black ocean. The water became a toxic vat of guilt, frustration, and anger. He was just a few inches away from drowning.

“Tony? It’s Bruce.”

The soldering tool slipped, burning his fingers. He didn’t feel it, continuing like nothing had happened. If only Howard could see him now, he mused with venom.

“If this is about Peter, I think… I think I can help you find him.”

That got his attention, his head perking up like a bedraggled meerkat. Bruce never lied to him, never stretched the truth. He didn’t spout bullshit.

“The radiation that gave him his powers, its distinct. We can scan the city for it using a dish instead of robots-”

Bruce didn’t even have to finish his sentence before Tony’s mind was racing. A bolt of alertness shot through the fog, rooting him to the spot as the soldering tool fell from his hands with a loud clang. The radiation that had given Peter his powers, which was quickly becoming the bane of his existence, would be giving off a very certain pattern of waves, easily distinguishable from most other radiation forms. Faint, incredibly faint- borderline undetectable by common standards. But for a scientist that practically laid the ground for all things gamma radiation, while working with only an approximate 304.6 mile radius? It became all that more realistic.

He imagined the angry Steve Rogers waiting for him behind the metal door. He wanted to put a pin in that, deal with it later. Never, if possible. “...Bruce only.” His voice sounded like a winded chainsmoker on LSD. It was a wonder why so many people bought drugs and alcohol when the effects were so easily achieved with sleep deprivation. Maybe he’d mention this discovery if he ever went back to an AA meeting.

His demand was met with an onslaught of curses and some incredibly nasty phrases in Russian before Rhodey spoke over all of them. “Package deal, Tones. You get one, you get all of us.”

The choice words that spat out of Tony’s mouth were reflex. He needed Bruce for this to work, didn’t have the energy left to argue. He could barely form a single sentence, let alone program something that dealt with almost untraceable forms of choice radiation. Finding the tesseract had been trial enough, and sleep had been inclusive then. He was willing to do anything to get Peter back, and that most definitely included facing an angry Steve Rogers. He’d fight the whole of Hydra with his bare hands if he had to.

“Remove all restrictions, Fri.”

-----------------------------

To Steve’s absolute credit, Tony would say that it was probably a fantastic chewout. There had been yelling, arms waving, accusatory pointing, the whole works. Rogers had a high, angry red on his cheeks, and it was objectively impressive by all standards.

There was a big, fat, ‘probably’ attached to that remark because Tony couldn’t remember a single part of it. The instant the lab doors had opened, his gaze had immediately narrowed in on Bruce, who had listlessly squeezed past the barreling form of Rogers, making his way over to the computers.

He barely even heard Steve’s voice, as loud as it gradually became, the questions rolling off of him like waves. He let Friday fill in the pieces for him, his body reeling from being switched out of autopilot. What can we do now? It seemed to ask him, as if it had given up on trying to get him to sleep and was automatically reviewing other options. His addled brain wondered vaguely if this was what being a zombie felt like.

By the time Steve had finished, Friday had explained the whole situation and the team was planning their next move. The bolt of alertness that had struck Tony several minutes earlier faded away as quickly as it came, like a stain of breath upon a mirror. There was an initial thread of disbelief attached to the situation. Peter didn’t seem like the kind of kid to run away. He was the kind of person that thanked the automatic soap dispenser and apologized to mannequins when he ran into them. Not exactly delinquent behavior.

But damn, Peter was stubborn.

‘He gets that from you.’ Steve’s words echoed in his head.

The world seemed to love watching him shoot himself in the foot, Tony thought. Probably got off on it too, the sicko. Both it and karma had a personal vendetta, keeping score whenever his mouth wrote metaphorical checks he couldn’t cash. In the background, he could hear a debate going on between the team. There seemed to be an argument about whether he should be put to bed or showered first. Clint was the one who brought up drowning, and when it was decided nobody was willing to accompany him in the shower, the debate ended promptly.

“Bedtime it is, Tony.” Clint hummed. He was drawn short when Tony yanked his arm away. His eyes had gouges of red underlining them, the unkempt beard and partial snarl giving him a fierce, wild expression.

“I’m staying.”

Nat came over then, her voice matter of fact. “We need you coherent, Stark. Right now you can barely stand and you’re useless like that.” In a gentler, more understanding tone, she added, “We’ll wake you the instant we find anything.”

That didn’t fly.

It took twenty more minutes and the threat of sedation before they managed to half drag, half carry Tony up the stairs and into his room. The floating staircase had been the worst part, and when they passed Peter's room the energy seemed to zap out of billionaire completely. He was almost hanging completely limp from their shoulders by the time they made it to the bed. They didn't bother changing his clothes, figuring that was best done dealt with when he woke up.

Clint stayed for a good ten minutes more after Tony seemed to go under, as though ensuring the raving billionaire wouldn’t attempt to get back up. The blinds had been pulled down to block the rapidly raising sunrise, entrenching the room in darkness. Managing to get back up would be rather impressive, Clint had to admit, but if anyone could do it right now, it was Tony.

Steve came up beside him, hip leaning against the doorjamb. “Is he down?”

“For now.” Clint acquiesced. “Though it’s anyone's guess how long.” For any other person, staying up for this long would have them knocked out for a bare minimum of twenty four hours, but he’d bet good money that Stark wouldn’t go for more than fifteen.

“Surveillance bots.” Steve fumed as he crossed his arms, “I don’t understand what he thought he was doing, making borderline Hydra technology-” The second that Tony got back up, he was chewing him out again. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t remember much from this morning, due to staying up for over three days straight. “He should have come to us first, we could have had Bruce on this from the the first day-”

Clint gave Steve a good natured pound on the back, needing to relieve some of the tension. “You’ll have to save some of that lecture for Peter.” That kid is going to be in a whole mess of trouble when we get him back.

Steve deadpanned, though he appreciated the lighthearted gesture. “By the time Tony is done with him? There’ll be nothing left to lecture. Half the city is on fire and Ross is out for blood. That kid will be as old as me by the time he’s ungrounded.”

That made Clint laugh. “Nobody’s as old as you, Rogers, but I’d have to agree with you on that.”

Chapter Text

7:45 pm, Day Three

Peter had the Mortal Kombat theme song stuck in his head. He’d been humming the ridiculous tune all day, unable to sleep. His sniffling had become worse too, and his coughs were starting to get thick and nasty. If he were back at home, Pepper would have been fussing over him. He’d went out and bought Dayquil which had helped with the dizziness and fatigue, but he still felt awful.

Passing the rest of the day by had been equal amounts of torture. Guilt had decided that sleeping was out of the question, so instead of getting rest Peter wandered around the fort, humming the Kombat chorus and winning imaginary arguments with Tony in his head.

To further pass the time he’d also built tiny spider forts out of rocks to make up for the alcove he’d stolen from the now homeless arachnids. The project had taken him several hours. By the time he had finished, he’d constructed a tiny Taj Mahal and a two inch tall Stark Tower, surrounded by a variety of other delicately crafted condos and sprawling dirt estates.

He dubbed it ‘Spidertopia’ and officially opened the one foot wide city around two in the afternoon.

….Yeah, he’d commit murder for his Megaminx Rubiks puzzle. He’d settle for a ‘Bop It’ right now too, he wasn’t feeling picky.

He hadn’t been up to eating more than a single hot dog from the stand owner either, his appetite almost nonexistent. Part of him appreciated how light handed that was on his wallet, but the smaller side was worried about his lack of hunger. He was usually eating Pepper and Tony out of house and home these days, borderline gnawing on the fine China.

Humming the chorus line for the millionth time, Peter pulled his black hoodie over his head, adjusting the web-shooters on his wrists. He’d brought several vials of the web fluid, and could carry about four at once, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

Packing up the rest of his duffel bag took less than thirty seconds. He didn’t really have much to throw into it, and it was a little anticlimactic how quickly he was up and ready to leave the confines of the fort.

Time to go beat up some bad guys. He’d form a kind of base of operations when he got there, probably set his duffel somewhere close so he had a recon point and plan everything once he was there and had a better sense of the grounds. The moment he went to jump off the ledge, though, he stopped. A prickle of warning made the hairs on his arms raise.

He wasn’t alone.

Peter quickly shifted so that he was obscured in the dark, his back flush against the concrete as he craned his neck to see who it was. It couldn’t be one of the bot fighters, it was far too early. Riri had been early the day before, but his senses wouldn’t have warned him about her. No. It was something else.

Like a ghost, something large crept through the entrance of the fort. The stranger was deathly silent, their footsteps inaudible even by Peter’s keen hearing. They made their way over to the center arena, stepping into the dim lighting and illuminating their maroon clad figure.

Holy- Peter almost made a noise. He’d never seen the vigilante up close, only heard stories and rumors of how the horned antihero conducted his business. Tony had given him strict rules concerning Hell’s Kitchen, insisting he left that section of the city alone in favor of avoiding him-

Daredevil.

What was he doing all the way down here? Hell’s Kitchen was well over an hour away by car. And it had to be him. It was impossible not to recognize the infamous devil, the trademark horns glinting in the low light as the man’s head tilted towards his spot on the alcove.

“I know you’re there.”

His voice was low, soft. A thread of panic wormed into Peter’s chest. Him? Surely he wasn’t talking about him. There was no way he knew he was up there in the alcove, entrenched in complete darkness. He hadn’t made a single sound-

Daredevil turned to face him completely then, his mask staring up at him pointedly with its shrewd, emotionless eyes. “Hiding won’t help you.”

Wow. Okay, so the rumor of the man's speculated sixth sense was starting to become plausible. Peter inched closer to the edge, peeking out from his hiding spot. He was far beyond reach this high up, there was no way the vigilante could reach him. That thought gave him courage.

“You’re Daredevil, right?” He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice, though it shook slightly from nerves.

“I am, kid.” The man affirmed gently. “Why don’t you come down and talk with me?”

What, so he could potentially get beaten to a pulp? “No offense Mr. Devil, sir,” Peter replied, “But you don’t have the best of reputations when it comes to ‘talking it out.’” No, he’d much rather stay far out of reach. It was possible that the man had come to clear the fort of its delinquents, and by all intents and purposes, he currently qualified.

That statement earned him a small smile, and the man’s head tilted the other direction, a touch of amusement coloring his voice. “I’m not here to hurt you, Peter. Just to talk.”

Everything screeched to a halt.

“You know who I am?” Peter asked, his voice breaking. Holy shit, he’d been found. Was the Iron Man suit literal seconds away from blasting a hole in the ceiling? But since when had his Dad and Daredevil been on good terms?

“I do. Can you please come down?” The man’s voice was still gentle, but also firm.

Something told Peter that he shouldn’t get within reach. “Tony said to steer clear of your business. I’m not sure why you’re here, Mr. Devil-”

“I’m here for you, Peter. Nothing else.” The words weren’t aggressive, and neither was the man’s stance, but his broad shoulders and muscular figure were incredibly intimidating. The shadows encircling the dark red of his suit gave him a truly nightmarish form, and Peter found his eyes catching on something attached to the man’s belt.

“What’d you bring the nunchucks for, then?”

“They come with the ensemble.” Daredevil grinned faintly, “But I won’t be needing them.” There was a beat of silence before he continued, “Are you going to come down so we can chat, or am I going to have to continue to talk to the ceiling?”

Even in a potentially dangerous situation, Peter didn’t want to be rude and say ‘I’ll come down when the underworld opens their first skating rink’ outright. Instead, he asked the question that was burning in his mind. “How did you find me?” Unspoken was, Does Tony know where I am too?

The immediate, honest answer the vigilante gave was surprising. “Followed the trail. Heard rumors of an unprecedented stretch of wins in the underground bot fighting circle yesterday night. Whispers across the streets about Fort Tilden’s new and infamous Tombstone.” A sincere smile stretched across Daredevil’s face, “Figured a Stark was involved. You made a pretty big splash.”

Peter shook his head, “That was all Riri.”

The man gave an impressed nod, even though he couldn’t have known who Riri was. “Modest, unlike your father.” He tilted his head towards the table in the far corner, where the ancient computer monitor was resting among a pile of nuts, bolts, wires and other mechanical components. “You run away just to build and illegally fight bots with your friend?”

There were a few heavy moments of silence as Peter bit his lip, weighing the pros and cons of being honest. He sniffled, fighting down another wave of coughing. “What I’m doing is important.”

This time, Daredevil’s head shifted towards the architectural masterpiece that was ‘Spidertopia’, resting out in dusty splendor just a few feet away from him on the dank floor. “Yes,” He breathed, stifling a laugh, “It certainly seems so.”

Peter’s cheeks went red. Yeah, he’d admit, it was difficult to defend Spidertopia. He shifted back as Daredevil’s stance suddenly widened, his shoulders stiffening. “You’re here to take me home, aren’t you?” For some reason, he hadn’t expected to be found this way. “Did my Dad bribe you or something?”

The man nodded his head curtly. “I haven’t talked with your father. No bribes, I’m just here for both your and the city’s safety.”

It struck Peter that this was most likely about the self destructing hoverbots setting the city on fire. He should have figured the ground level heroes would have been on the alert. “My Uncle Rogers is most likely back from his mission now,” He reasoned, “He’ll keep my Dad from doing anything like that.” Not that it was Tony’s fault the bots had malfunctioned, but this probably wasn’t the best time to mention that.

Daredevil’s tone turned serious. “And what if something were to happen to you? Do you think your Uncle Rogers would be able to manage that fallout?”

Peter didn’t have an answer for that.

Shifting closer, the devil’s voice echoed with finality. “Last chance to come down quietly. I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m not leaving here without you either.” There was an ominous ring to that sentence, and a premonitory shiver wracked down Peter’s spine.

But what was he going to do? Climb up the metal beams? He still felt like he was safe, far out of reach. Using that sliver of confidence as fuel, Peter shook his head adamantly. “I’m going home once all of this is over, promise. I only need another forty eight hours.” He had no idea where his estimate was based off of, but he figured he could do it.

“That’s time you don’t have, kid.”

As fast as lightning, Daredevil reached around the back of his belt, pulling out a long, maroon wrapped chain. With a whirling lash, the man shot it towards Peter, where it instantly wrapped in a fast, tight knot around his wrist. In the next second Peter was yanked powerfully forward, sending him tumbling off the balcony and rolling roughly on the fort’s dirt clad floor.

Peter’s shoulder stung where it struck the ground, his mind racing as he got back on his feet , his newly smudged face a startled mask of shock as he was immediately overshadowed by Daredevil’s imposing figure. The man followed him as he backed up. “Sorry to be rough, kid.”

“You could have killed me!” Peter spluttered, eyes wide. He’d just been physically wrenched off of a fifteen foot high alcove. His knees and elbows were now scourged in dirt, his hair in disarray. Any normal human would have been gravely injured. “I thought you said you weren’t trying to do that?!”

“Considering what you do in your free time, I’d say that was pretty mild.” The man held out his hand for him to take. “Are we done here?”

Nope, Peter thought, Not even close.

Keeping his face neutral, Peter feigned to take Daredevil’s hand. At the last second he moved, twisting his hips and sweeping his legs underneath him, sending the vigilante to the floor with a heavy thud and equally profane curse. He scrambled to run towards the entrance but was cut short as he felt a solid hand seize the scruff of his hoodie, yanking him backwards.

Spinning, Peter shot a web towards the man’s face, effectively releasing him and sending Daredevil reeling backwards as he tried to remove the fluid that had covered his mouth. Holy shit he’s fast! It’d taken the man less than a second to get back up on his feet and grab him. The only people he’d known who could recover that quickly was Nat and Clint, and the idea of being up against an assassin who he didn’t know personally was sending pulses of panic through Peter’s stomach.

Even worse, he knew who he was. ‘Considering what you do in your free time-’ Those words held damning implications. Spiderman was under tight wraps. The idea that a vigilante like Daredevil, as nice of a guy as he seemed through his work against the mob, knew his secret identity and his powers was not good.

Daredevil was almost broken free of the web, a sharp gasp coming from his mouth as he tore it loose, inhaling a much needed breath of air.

Ignoring the hot lances of pain in his lungs, Peter turned and bolted out of the concrete fort.

--

He made it to the beach before he heard the vigilante take pace behind him.

Honestly, there was something borderline comical about running from a man in a full body devil suit across the sand.

Like, if it wasn’t so legitimately terrifying, Peter would have laughed. But right then and there he was pumping his arms so hard he couldn’t think of anything but the literal incarnation of Hell savagely cursing behind him.

Nightmare material, if he’d ever seen it. And he most definitely had.

It would be great for anyone who happened to be watching, though. Two dudes tripping and floundering through slippery, ankle deep masses of sand was comedy gold. Then again, when you didn’t have to worry about a couple hundred pounds of solid muscle knocking you out and dragging you home to your equally terrifying father, a lot of things became exponentially funnier.

Needless to say, when he got home he was deleting ‘enjoys long walks on the beach’ from his Twitter profile.

With those wild thoughts ricocheting through his brain, Peter managed to keep ahead. And whether it was because he was lighter than Daredevil and therefore more limber over sand, or because he’d played tag with the Avengers team a few times and knew how to run for his fucking life, it was impossible to tell.

He made it to the bridge first.

The instant he was able to land a web on the steel supports, relief shot through his system. Daredevil was a wicked opponent, but he couldn’t fly, which was a goddamned miracle. As he swung underneath the bridge beams, he turned back to see the devil of Hell’s Kitchen coming to a slow stop. He thought he could see the man pull out a phone, but it was hard to tell as he got further and further away.

That was too. Frigging. Close.

He suddenly understood what Tony meant whenever he complained Peter shaved years off of his lifespan. That whole exchange with the horned vigilante felt like it’d taken a solid decade off of his life expectancy.

He made it back onto the mainland in just a few minutes, dropping to his knees as he came to an ungraceful landing in the dirt next to the bridge shoreline. He heaved, coughing and hacking his lungs out as he struggled to get his breath back. His chest burned as he struggled to clear the phlegm from his sore throat. It was probably time for another dose of Dayquil.

It took him a few minutes before he was able to breathe properly again, his throat raw and painfully chafed. Every breath felt like a battle, and he turned to lay on his back, moving to get the Dayquil with habitual motion.

As he reached for his duffel though, he freezed.

He didn’t have it.

His heart stuttered as he groaned audibly, his voice cracking. Shit. Shit! Peter knew exactly where it was. It was back in Fort Tilden, forgotten on the floor somewhere with all of his web vials, clothes, and most importantly, all of his money. No money for food, no money for more outfits… No more money meant no more time. He literally had nothing but the clothes on his back now.

He tried to even his hitched breathing. He had to finish this tonight. He wouldn’t last on the streets without cash, which meant he had to clean out the weapons dealers or go home empty handed. The moment he stepped within the security perimeter of Stark tower he would be whisked up and locked away until he was gray and old, so he had to make absolutely certain he was thorough.

He briefly considered going back for the duffel, but there was no way he could risk getting caught by Daredevil. Something told him he wouldn’t be as lucky a second time. Besides, there was a good chance the horned devil had already looped back and searched for clues as to where he was going to next, and-

It suddenly hit him. The note the weapons dealer had given them. With the words ‘Vinegar Hill’ scrawled on it. That was in his duffel too. Which meant Daredevil would know where he was headed next.

Peter groaned again, rubbing his face in his hands. Things just got twenty times more complicated. He’d messed up. Big time.

Struggling to his feet, he tried to wipe off some of the dirt and sand he was now coated in. First thing he was going to do when he got home tomorrow was shower, followed closely by changing into ridiculously warm clothes, burying himself beneath the covers of his soft bed, and curling up into a ball and dying.

Filled with newfound determination at this prospect, Peter started to make his way towards Vinegar Hill, each step sending a small throb pulsing through his lungs. He was looking over his shoulder the whole way, searching for the telltale glint of devil horns. If it came down to it, he didn’t think he’d be able to run like he did last time. Normally he would have webbed his way over, but without his duffel he couldn’t risk wasting web fluid.

It was by some miracle his five hour journey back towards Manhattan passed without incident. His loud sniffles and equally chunky coughing had drawn the stare of more than one passerby as he had navigated the illuminated city streets. One woman had even offered him a pack of tissues, the unspoken question of what a kid his age was doing out so late weighing heavily between them as he graciously accepted, giving her his best smile despite how awful he felt.

By the time he’d reached the construction yard, his stomach was growling and his lungs felt like they were on fire.The yard smelled like oil and rust, the air musty and overwhelmingly stagnant. Towering metal crates and wooden boxes were littered in stacked piles throughout the area, work equipment and large machinery casting long, dark shadows with twisted and ominous shapes. Whispers bounced across the shaded surfaces from unknown sources. The only sources of light came from tall, dim lamp posts, which did very little to chase away the night.

There had been a few cheap security cameras a block or two away, but they had been pointed away from the yard.

This was it. This was definitely it. The vibes of this place were just screaming ‘illegal activity’, and Peter’s eyes zeroed in on the warehouse sitting just adjacent to the crane. Bingo. Staying deathly silent, he crept across the stacks of boxes, eyes peeled for wandering guards.

He’d decided the best course of action was to sneak in. While openly walking in as one of the bot winners would be easier, if they looked under his hoodie they would recognize him as Peter Stark. Beyond that, there was no telling what would happen. Some criminals would be intrigued by the idea of ransom, while others balked under the thought of being personally targeted by the Avengers.

Being hunted by a bloodthirsty Iron Man kept most kidnappers away, it was true.

He had almost made it to the warehouse when he saw them. A group of men, standing in lazy circle around the entrance, their faces partially obscured by shadow. Their voices were just low enough that he couldn’t pick out what they were saying, but his eyes caught on something one of them was balancing in their arms.

Alien tech.

A huge, barrel heavy blaster that had streaks of strange energy running through the sides, powered by an energy port that was attached near the trigger. It glowed with an unnatural light, which meant that it had to be a Chitauri power source. Peter absolutely did not want to know what that thing was capable of, and quickly checked off that particular man as being a primary target if it came down to a fight.

Skirting around the side and out of sight, Peter shot a web where the shadows were heaviest, pulling himself through the air and landing on the warehouse roof with a muted thud. He waited several seconds to see if anyone had heard him, relaxing when he heard the continuing idle chatter from down below.

From there, finding an open window was easy. Most of them had been shattered from weather or vandals, and he stepped carefully around the shards of broken glass as he slunk into the second level of the warehouse ramparts.

So far, so good. What was that, Tony? Something about not being able to take on some of the more dangerous missions? He’d essentially snuck into their base of operations without getting caught. The feeling of personal triumph almost overcame the misery that currently was his cold- or likely the flu. Peter grinned to himself as he scaled the floating walk lines, straining to listen in on the villainous activity below.

“International distribution had to be halted,” A rough voice supplied, their voice carrying across the room and echoing through the rusted beams where Peter had tucked himself away, “A few of the men started to disappear, quit for no reason. They claimed that the Avenger’s were starting to crack down on us.”

A mocking snort echoed across the room. “Bullshit. We’re practically spitting distance from Manhattan. Iron Man hasn’t busted down my front door yet.”

“You say that kind of shit and it’s almost guaranteed to happen.” Another voice chimed in. There was a murmur of agreements from a few other sources. “We start making a big deal about our operations and we’re gonna get company.”

“If I wanted your opinion damn well I’d ask for it.”

There was a loud bang and a hiss of heated curses. “It’s fucking everyone’s opinion but yours, asshat. You’re going to get us all caught if you keep acting like an idiot.”

The sudden argument had Peter leaning closer. Sounded like they didn’t know which one of them should be calling the shots. The whole warehouse was set up like an evil lair as well, the table the men were all sitting around littered with a variety of maps and marked distribution centers. The tables surrounding the the room were covered in a few pieces of improvised Chitauri weapons, a few of them looking like work stations. There were weapon plans laid out on a few of them. The inventor inside of him desperately wanted to get a closer look at some of the designs, and he went to lean closer, eyes squinting.

The moment his hands touched the railing though, his foot slipped.

Time went into slow motion.

Hands tightening, Peter’s eyes shot down to see his foot sliding forward on a few extra shards of glass he hadn’t noticed earlier, his ankle colliding with the metal supports. The glass flew off the walkway, and with mounting horror he could do nothing but watch the iridescent pieces of broken glass rain down onto the men below with ear splitting crashes.

All of the men shot to their feet, half of them pulling guns. At least seven pairs of eyes connected with Peter's at once, and he felt his knees go weak and mouth go dry.

Say something, Peter. Anything! He blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. "Hey, I'm... Here for a job interview?" His words sounded strangled.

Perfect.

Chapter Text

Avenger's Tower

The tension had somewhat loosened.

It wasn’t gone by any means, the lab still cast in a pensive, worried silence for the majority of the time Tony and Bruce spent huddled over the monitors, but it was better. Steve had even stopped pacing, and instead hovered over their shoulders, his eyes tracing over the lines of code they all knew he couldn’t understand. It probably made him feel better to do so.

Tony was starting to wish Steve had kept yelling. Pacing. Anything other than breathing down his neck. Each exasperated huff against his shoulder brought Tony one step closer to revolution.

“Do me a favor?” Tony spun, craning his neck a little to meet Steve eye to eye. He pointed a finger towards one of the empty chairs by Clint, who looked to be arranging the arrows in his quiver for the hundredth time. “Sit down. Twiddle your thumbs. Breathe on Clint’s neck, not mine. Got it?”

“He’s right, Cap.” Sam called in from the back of the room, “You’re hovering.”

The sour expression on Steve’s face turned hard, the angry red on his cheeks threatening to rise again. He ignored Sam’s comment, turning to face Tony. It looked like he was mere seconds away from saying something back - or start yelling again- when the monitor beside them started to flash, a rapid beeping noise that had all heads spinning in its direction.

Tony yanked the screen closer, mind not quite catching up with what his eyes were seeing. “Friday?”

“Search has been narrowed down to less than a mile perimeter. I have him primarily located somewhere in Vinegar Hill. No signs of movement indicative of leaving the area.”

Vinegar Hill. He ran the name through his mental map of New York and let out a small curse. It was literally right next to Manhattan, a brief drive over the bridge. Had Peter been lingering this close the whole time? He was literally just within reach-

Steve was in motion, as well as everyone else. Tony moved too, following the immediate, unspoken herd of superheros who were seconds away from converging on Peter’s exact location. Bruce reached for his shoulder as he went by, stopping him momentarily.

“You good?”

Too eager and distracted to be properly defensive, Tony nodded, a weak “Yeah,” making it through his lips before he stepped into the suit. He saw the concerned twige in Bruce’s face before the helmet locked into place, the systems booting up. Despite his monster nap, he probably still looked like hell, and he wasn’t at a hundred percent mentally either.

But fuck, he was going to get there first.

“Boss, you have an incoming call.”

“Tell Pepper I’ll be here by the time she gets home.” She was probably just an hour out by now, heels prepped to be used as Batarangs the second she came in through the front door.

“It’s from the front desk. They claim to have Peter’s duffel bag. Someone dropped it off anonymously along with a note.”

Tony froze. Immediately thoughts of ransom sprung into his head, and a jolt of adrenaline and panic pulsed through his chest. He’d pay just about anything to get Peter back- he’d sign away the whole damn company if he had to, but even complying with a kidnapper’s commands never guaranteed the captive’s safety. A trace of rage colored his fear. “What does it say?”

A pause, and then, “‘He’s going to Vinegar Hill next - DD’”

That made him pause. DD? The name didn’t immediately click. It couldn’t be a terrorist organization- otherwise why would they willingly offer Peter’s location- but he couldn’t remember anyone by those letters either. The only DD he knew was a Venezuelan dancer he’d spent a few nights with on a Caribbean cruise over a decade ago. Something in his gut told him that she wasn’t the one who had wrote the note, despite how sincere her flirtatious wink and promise of a favor was when she’d slipped her number in his front pocket.

“They say he was wearing a red mask,” Friday supplied helpfully.

Ah. An image of a red horned vigilante sped to the front of his mind. Daredevil.

“Any other information?” They had already tracked down Peter’s location, but the show of good faith on the devil’s behalf was welcoming. He made a mental note to not regulate Hellboy incarnate’s antics for a while as a silent thank you. Hell, he’d send the guy a Christmas card if he found out his address.

“On the back it says ‘He’s coming down with pneumonia’. The duffel is filled with prototype v.2 web fluid vials along with half a bottle of Dayquil.”

Everything stopped.

Words came and failed, a white hot fury billowing in his chest.

“Fucking pneumonia?!” Tony roared. Then something else clicked. “And he’s treating it with DAYQUIL?!”

This was loud enough to draw the rest of the team’s attention, and they all stopped at the base of the quinjet.

Childhood genius, son of Tony Stark and heir to the trillion dollar industry, the cultivated brainchild of the most powerful couple in the current known universe was trying to treat potentially life threatening pneumonia with cheap over the counter cold medicine. A wicked curse ripped past his lips. What the hell was the kid thinking? Peter never got sick, especially not after his mutation. For his immune system to have lowered so drastically his overall condition would have to be complete shit.

“Why wouldn’t he just come home?” Tony demanded aloud. “Dammit, he knows he can come home, he fucking knows better-”

“Tony?” Steve prompted, stepping forward. His brows drew together, “Who has pneumonia-?” The rest of his words were drowned out by the team as they spoke over one another. With a sighing drawl, Nat pointed out it was obviously Peter, while Clint interrupted by saying Peter would sooner have the Bubonic plague, and then Bruce pulled a pen off his ear and delicately pointed at the two of them explaining the nuances of thermoregulation and its effects on the antibodies that govern the immune system-

The noise made his head spin. “God, shut up, all of you-” Tony snapped, pushing past them. The fact that Peter was willing to suffer through pneumonia rather than just come back to him and get proper medical treatment at the tower was disturbingly unsurprising. Another testament to how the kid’s stubborn like me, he thought sourly. He was both angry and desperately worried at this point, and he wondered if there was a word that combined the two. Frangry, Peter would probably say.

Damn it all, they were wasting time.

Bruce quietly activated the quinjet general tracking system as he approached, the armored boots of the suit clicking loudly against the steel ramp as the engines starting with a resounding purr. Bruce stepped neatly aside as Tony took the helm. “Vinegar Hill.” He shot, “Double time. Anyone not strapped in is getting plastered to the back wall when we get moving. I’m pushing this thing past lightspeed.”

Clint snickered, leaning over to mumble to Nat as he sat down, “Lightspeed’s too slow.”

“Lightspeed’s too slow?” Steve echoed, not understanding.

Clint’s answering cackle was cut short as he tumbled backward, Tony’s armored foot hitting the accelerator with breakneck force.

----

Vinegar Hill

So... This was different.

Peter sipped quietly on his cup of tea, warily eyeing the bad guys sitting across from him.

The blueprints on the table had been temporarily swept aside to allow room for an electric tea kettle, a pack of half filled English Breakfast tea bags scattered across the middle. At least three out of the seven made mugs were untouched, the ambiance stifling.

Sitting down and drinking tea with a bunch of criminals was albeit a very new experience, but he was trying to embrace it. The hot tea was doing wonders for the pain in his throat and chest, so he couldn’t be caught complaining. Regardless, the mood across the table was weird. The men were sitting in various states of murderous around him. Some of them were leaning back heavily in their chairs, their faces affixed in affronted scowls and uncaring frowns. The two men who had been arguing earlier were both still standing, their glares catching with one another on multiple occasions.

Definitely weird. Peter adjusted his position in his chair uncomfortably, clearing his throat for good measure. He twirled the teabag in his mug.

At the very least their guns weren't pointing at him anymore. Well... for now.

“So, kid.” One of the men started. A quick glance up revealed that it was the man who’d given him his tea, a tall figure with a long scar cutting across his face from cheek to jawbone. “You’re here for a job. Where did you say you were from again?”

That opened the floodgates. “I want to know why he was lurking around the warehouse,” Another one demanded from across the table. His hand moved to adjust the alien gun holstered to his hip for good measure, a clear threat.

There were a few murmurs of agreement, but the man sitting next to him shook his head. “Lay off, Joe, he’s just a kid.” A few curses slingshotted across the table.

Feeling brave, Peter lowered his mug. “I wanted to make sure this place was legit.” He cast his voice out, speaking above them all. His nerve slightly faltered when all eyes fell back on him. His fingers clutched the hot mug a little tighter. “I’m not getting snuffed by no cops.” He deliberately let his New York drawl color his words.

“See?” The scarred man said. He jerked his chin towards him. “You’re from here.”

It was a loaded question. Peter considered lying again, but decided not to risk it a second time. “I go to Midtown.”

To his relief, this resulted in a lot of head nodding from around the table. “We could use smarts around here.” The scarred man continued, tapping the side of his mug thoughtfully, “We need something new to spark interest in other clients. You get picked up at Tilden?”

Peter nodded, feeling worried on Riri’s behalf. Would they be able to trace back to her?

“That’s a ritzy school. Expensive tuition.” One of the men commented. His beard framed the lower part of his face, and his eyes narrowed as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting the end with practiced ease. Peter started, suddenly putting two and two together. Was it the same man who’d recruited him and Riri back at the fort? The man puffed smoke once before continuing, “What’s a classy kid like you doing in Tilden, anyhow?”

You’re the one who wanted to recruit me, Peter wanted to snap back, but he shrugged instead. “I needed the extra cash.” The narrowed gaze eyeing him didn’t falter so he quickly added, “And bot fighting isn’t allowed at school, so I went there instead.”

He was digging his own grave, trying to lie this much. He wondered when the illusion would shatter, and he distractedly took another sip of his tea.

Legit, Peter had no idea what to do next. There was no way he would invent weapons for these people, but moreso he couldn’t take them all out by himself. There were too many, and they were too heavily armed. Plus his identity was a big issue. He subtly shifted his head, assuring himself that his hood was still in place, covering his hair and obscuring some of his face in shadow.

“There was another girl with you, wasn’t there?” He continued to prompt. The smell of smoke had already reached Peter’s nostrils, and he struggled violently not to cough. “Elementary school looking brat. Where’s she at?”

“Couldn’t make it.” Peter clipped, trying to hold his breath. His eyes were starting to water, and a surge of righteousness flared in his chest when he saw the other man smile at his obvious discomfort.

“Why don’t you take your hood off?”

“I like hoods.” Peter’s heart started to pound.

“Lay off him.” One of the men repeated, “If you didn’t like him, then you shouldn’t of given him our fucking home address, huh?”

Peter busied himself with taking another long swig of tea as mocking laughter scattered across the table. He couldn’t remember all of their names. Joe was the one sizing him up, but the other names went right over his head. Not that it mattered. At least a few of them had to have walked past the security cameras a block away at some point, and Friday would be able to pull up their files through facial scanning if needed.

A distant beeping a few tables down pulled them all out of their thoughts.

It got steadily louder, a keening wail that had all of the men at the table bristling.

“The fuck is that?” Joe demanded, pushing to his feet. The chair he had been sitting in clattered to the floor, his hand finding its way back to his holster. Peter automatically put his mug down, his whole body tensing in alarm. A tingle was starting to crawl down the back of his spine in warning.

“The sky proximity alarm.”

“Probably the Avengers-”

“They’ll just pass by, they always do-”

Horrified understanding started to dawn in Peter’s chest, and he slowly got to his feet. The note he had scrawled in the duffel Daredevil had taken, with the words ‘Vinegar Hill.’ written in clear display. Had the vigilante managed to get to Manhattan before he came here? Did he pass the information over to the tower?

Oh my god.

Of course Daredevil would sell him out. Why wouldn’t he?

Peter’s eyes went wide. In the back of his mind he dimly heard the Call of Duty defeat theme, ‘Mission failed! We’ll get ‘em next time’ echo as his eyes desperately glanced across possible exits.

But there were none. He felt a disturbing acceptance settle over his mind as his metaphorical calling to Jesus descended on him with jarring certainty.

The recognizable thrum of the quinjet grew louder until it sounded like it was just outside, and he calmly counted down his last few seconds of freedom, picking his cup of tea and taking a final sip. Cheers.

He heard the whining flare of a blaster out front that was abruptly cut off by another resounding explosion. The force of it knocked the front warehouse doors in, and Peter tumbled backwards as the table was thrown sideways. He landed on his back, some of the air in his lungs getting knocked out of him. Normally his reflexes would have kept him from stumbling, but his cold was affecting him far more than he wanted to admit.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the hot mugs break and shatter against the floor, tea bags flying everywhere as the electric kettle skittered and violently rolled across his vision. Not the tea! He thought weakly.

The criminals around him had drawn their weapons, shouts reverberating across the room as they fired at the encroaching wall of smoke coming through the doorway. There were more shouts from outside as the whole compound went into high alert. The shots rang through Peter’s ears with painful intensity, the sound multiplying against the metal warehouse walls.

Peter froze as Joe turned to face him, the man’s eyes nearly bugging out his skull when he saw him. “You-” The man hissed, his eyes filling with sudden, loathing hatred.

There was a moment of confusion before Peter realized- his hood had fallen down.

Joe’s finger went white over the trigger as he jerked the gun towards him. “You’re that fucking bastard’s spawn- I should have- I’m going to fucking-”

Peter didn’t let him finish, his leg kicking upwards and knocking the gun away just as it discharged. The bullet bit the ground just inches away from him. He felt Joe’s hand encircle his ankle with painful strength, dragging him forward as the man leapt forward, his fist coming for his face with a loud roar.

Twisting sideways, Peter dodged the punch, jerking his elbow back and connecting it with Joe’s cheekbone. The grip around his ankle loosened and he wriggled free, shooting a web towards the rafters and pulling himself through the air.

He landed against the metal beams with a muted crash, nearly falling off before his fingers found the surface, holding him in place. He scuttled on top, barely jerking away in time to avoid the second bullet that dented the metal where his head had been just seconds before.

Familiar voices broke out over the fighting as he shuffled into the shadows. The sharp pain in his chest was starting to scare him, his breath coming in short spurts. He heard Steve’s even, authoritative voice cutting across the chaos, confirming that Daredevil had indeed sold him out.

The Avengers had come.

An even more familiar noise broke through - The deep howl of the Iron Man blasters.

Unable to fight the urge, Peter leaned his head back over the beam, drawing to his knees. Tony was indeed there, the red and gold gleam of his armor standing in deep contrast against the dilapidated spread of the warehouse. He saw Joe turn his gun towards the suit, just seconds before he was hit in the chest with Tony’s blaster, sending him spinning into wall. He didn’t get back up.

As though sensing Peter was there, Tony turned towards him, the glow of the eye slits settling on him with intense finality.

So the last few days had come to this conclusion. But for all intents and purposes, he thought grimly, he’d succeeded in doing what he wanted to do. With the inventors and main distribution center compromised, they’d effectively cut off the problem at its source.

Unsure of what else to do, Peter waved at Tony weakly.

The mask lifted from the Iron Man armor, revealing the livid and terrifying face of his father. Somehow he looked angrier than expected.

“Well, well, well,” Peter said, his tone close to hysterical, “If it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he wondered distantly if it was a Stark trait to dig your grave deeper before you threw yourself into it.

“You’ve got exactly three seconds to get down here before I lose my collective shit!” Tony roared, his voice breaking on the last syllable.

Even though he was about to be rung out and hung to dry, something warm and relieving lit up in Peter’s chest at the sound of his father’s voice, even if it was several octaves higher than normal. “I found the weapons dealers-” He started explaining, motioning across the partially destroyed remains of the building, “I told you I could do it on my own-”

It didn’t seem to matter to Tony, his face solid stone as he hissed out a countdown. “Three.”

A prickle of indignance flushed across Peter’s cheeks. Didn’t he see where they were? What he’d accomplished? He started babbling, waving his hands in the air with feverish frustration. “-You never listen, but I figured all this out on my own in just a few days-”

“Two.”

“-I think I’ve more than proven that I’m responsible enough to do this-”

“One-”

Neither of them got to figure out what would happen when Tony got to zero. He heard Sam call out in alarm as a wracking explosion echoed across the warehouse. Both of them turned their heads, and Peter’s eyes went wide. The man he had tagged earlier, the one with the huge, dangerous looking blaster had walked in. The gun whined as it charged, a spiking ball of energy jutting out of the end before it fired.

It hit Tony dead center, the helmet barely shutting in time as the suit flew backwards, crashing into one of the metal beams holding the warehouse up. The entire building whined, threatening to collapse around them.

Peter panicked as he heard the blaster began to charge again, still pointed at Tony, his father still getting back on his feet.

He won't get up in time, he realized. With a sudden surge of energy, his body moved before he could think. His arm whipped forward, shooting a web at the end of the barrel, jerking it to the side as he jumped off the beam he was perched on. He landed directly in front of the weapon. It was only a split second later that he realized his mistake-

In turning the weapon away from Tony, it was now pointed towards him.

There wasn’t even time to blink as the energy shot straight into his chest.

-------

Tony managed to get to his feet just as the weapon fired, a panicked noise ripping through his throat as the blast echoed across the building, Peter’s body being thrown backwards, crumpling in a heap halfway across the floor.

He didn’t stir.

All of the anger whipped out of him at the sight, a tidal wave of icy, numbing fear crashing over him in an instant. Every reprimand and punishment he had been banking on poofed out of existence, his sudden and only desperate need to get to Peter.

He hadn’t been the only one who had seen the blow, the throaty whirl of Steve’s shield shooting across the room and knocking the weapon clean out of the man’s hands. A second later and he was on the floor, his head snapping to the side as Cap punched him with what was probably excessive force.

Tony was already moving. He shot forward, landing powerfully next to Peter’s limp form, practically tearing himself out of the armor to scoop him into his arms, squeezing him as close as possible. He didn’t care he was now without protection. He distantly heard numbers being relayed in his head by Friday, injuries being assessed.

He tucked Peter’s face against his chest, burying his nose into his curls, breathing in the familiar scent underneath the offending layer of city smoke and grime. Yelling at him from up in the ceiling hadn’t been enough. He needed this. Needed to hold him. He had just enough sense left to scour his chest for an open wound, the sweatshirt clinging to Peter’s form still mutely smoking from the blast.

Despite how horrific it had looked, he didn’t see anything bleeding, the shirt underneath still partially intact. How?

“Vitals still look stable, Boss, he’ll be alright with prompt medical attention. The webbing appears to have tampered with the blasters outer components, making it malfunction.” Friday relayed in his ear.

It was borderline gibberish, but Tony murmured several grateful phrases in Italian, combing his hand down Peter’s hair and back. The device malfunctioned. Part of his whole world had literally just been weighed against a stroke of pure, unimaginable luck.

It felt amazing. So unspeakably, unquestionably amazing to have Peter back in his arms. The warm and solid form slung across his lap was validating, the weight bringing a sense of physical reality that sent relief coursing through his limbs. He could see that he was safe, personally affirm that he was there. For the first time in days, he felt complete.

“We need to get him to medical.” Steve said, moving towards him. He clicked his shield back in place over his back. His eyes scanned for any noticeable injuries, brows drawing together as he reached over to take him. “I can carry him.”

Something borderline feral flashed in Tony’s eyes as he jerked away from his touch, clutching Peter even tighter against him. “Don’t-” He’d only just gotten him back, he wasn’t about to give him to anyone or anything unless they pried him from his cold, dead hands.

From against his neck, he felt Peter’s head move, and his heart leapt. He mumbled something against his skin, but it was hardly discernible. He was trying to talk, that was good. Steve held up his hands in surrender when Tony sent him another warning glare, turning to radio medical about meeting them on scene.

“Peter?” Tony prompted again gently.

“Too tight.” Peter repeated, his voice a murmur. His eyes were still closed, his face scrunched in a frown. “You’re holding me too tight.”

“I know, but I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yes.”

Peter groaned, burying his face even deeper into Tony’s shoulder. “D’nt regret it.”

There it was. Creeping past the initial storm of parental panic, Tony felt the tendrils of his earlier anger start to thread their way into his chest. His jaw stiffened, his tone turning dark. “I know.” He ran another calming hand through Peter’s hair, this time for his own benefit. “But that’s something we can fix.”

“You’re going to ground me.” Peter said blandly. His earlier bravado had vanished, and it had left him exhausted, sick and malleable. Lately he had protested whenever Tony would run a hand through his hair or otherwise show affection, but here he didn’t seem to mind. His easy mood was tainted only by his dry assertions of his certain punishment.

“That word isn’t really doing it for me.” Tony said.

“Imprison?”

He thought for a moment. “Closer. At the very least, if you don’t regret what you did now, you will when Pepper gets ahold of you.”

It didn’t seem like a good time to bring up the fact that she was going to rip Tony a new one too, but Peter did anyway. “She’s going to kill us both. Is she home yet?” He suddenly wanted nothing more than to go back to the penthouse. Pepper would be beyond angry, but she’d hug him anyway. After a while he’d be able to slink back into his room. His bed was probably still unmade, the blankets jumbled in a soft, comfortable tangle. He might even be able to send Ned a text through his watch before Tony managed to confiscate everything electronic.

“By the time we get back, she will.” There was a part of him that wanted to take Peter to the general hospital to get an all clear, just to avoid his seething spouse for a few hours longer, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He didn’t trust any equipment but his own and was willing to take the scalding a few hours earlier just to ensure everything was thorough.

The paramedics moved around them in a blur just a few minutes later. By the time they had given an OK that they could be moved, Peter was alert and vying to stand and walk around. Tony stubbornly picked him up, marching them to where the rest of the team was waiting anxiously.

“I can walk to the quinjet.” Peter assured, struggling to get down. But Tony held firm, refusing to let him so much as budge as he sat them down in the quinjet, where Bruce quickly followed.

Peter flinched as Bruce shined a light in both of his eyes, peering at him with clinical calculation. He asked him a few of the same questions the paramedics had, his mouth turning in a worried frown when he felt his lymph nodes under his jaw. He cast a concerned expression to Tony, who merely scowled.

Clint entered, ignoring how Tony’s scowl turned murderous as he scruffled Peter’s hair. “Doing OK, kid?” He asked, “Heard you’ve come down with something.”

“The paramedics said my lungs don’t sound too good-” Peter started.

“-Pneumonia.” Tony interrupted dangerously, eyes turning to see Bruce’s confirming nod.

The not so subtle threat of Tony’s targetless wrath rolled off of Clint in an easy wave, and it was hard not to be calmed by his lax presence. “How did you all get here so fast?” Peter continued, trying to ignore the rapid bristling of Tony’s mood. The second he had meds pumped into him, he suspected the chewout would start.

Clint grinned. “We went to plaid.”

A loud laugh from Peter quickly turned into a wracking cough, though his smile didn’t falter even as his lungs threatened to spill out over his lap. They’d both watched Spaceballs a while ago, but they quoted it every opportunity they got.

Tony angrily barked out over the heaving for Clint to both ‘get lost’ and ‘fly them back’ as he helpfully patted against Peter’s back. Steve and the others were on reluctant cleanup duty. The back of the quinjet obediently closed, and the engine stirred to life as Clint took the helm. Within moments the were flying across the East River.

“Deep breaths, Pete.” Tony murmured, a worried knot starting to grow between his brows. He hadn’t yet let go of him, and he was adamant in not doing so until they reached medbay.

Peter nodded, the coughing starting to settle. He blinked as an incessant beeping started to sound, Tony shifting to retrieve his phone from his back pocket. He saw the text ‘157 missed calls, 329 text messages’ flash across the screen before Tony swiped it aside. The knot between his brows grew. “Pepper’s home.” Tony stated.

They both shared a look.

Chapter Text

Here’s the thing.

Tony Stark was the ‘man’ of the house. He had no problem reminding everyone of that position when it came down to arguing or making decisions. He was the husband, the father, the sworn defender, and therefore all family choices and final points were supposed to be whittled down and settled in his favor.

Part of this old fashioned thinking may have been Howard's influence, though Tony would adamantly deny it to his dying breath, but the other was that he was a man who had lost too much. Maybe in his own way he was trying to spare Peter and Pepper the same fate. He was supposed to be the genius after all, and who better to arrange the chess pieces than the man who knew each piece and move like the back of his hand?

But for all that bravado and misplaced martyrdom, everyone knew that was complete and total bullshit.

Pepper ruled the house, plain and simple.

Deep down Tony had to know that too, because when the ship landed on the tower balcony, Pepper’s figure was visible from the doorway. The man seemed to shrink ten sizes, letting out a deep and heavy sigh. He muttered “Gameface,” under his breath as they exited the ship.

Peter had managed to squirm his way free of Tony’s grip once Pepper had come into view. For all the rebellious teenager he was, his Mom always brought out the kid in him, and he never once questioned it.

Pepper’s eyes were red, an angry flush lit high on her cheeks, her eyes glittering with wrathful anticipation. Her words cracked like a whip through the air. “What, in the hell,” She took big, heaving breaths in between her words, “Have you both been doing-”

She was abruptly cut off when Peter rammed into her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug.

“M'really s'rry.” He said against her shirt, the words borderline indecipherable. The ache in his chest burned from the pressure, but it was heartily ignored. Pepper smelled like she always did- of soap, linens, and a delicate undercurrent of perfume. He heard Tony come up behind him, and Pepper's body tensed, shaking with anger. No doubt Tony was just seconds away from his inevitable castration.

Clint and Bruce had yet to emerge from the ship, which was definitely both intentional and wise on their part.

“Anthony-” Pepper started to hiss, and the name seemed to shrink him by ten more inches.

“Yikes, okay, let’s all take a deep breath-” Tony attempted, but the sentence was cut off by another fit of Peter’s coughing. Which was another universal irony, one that Tony was rapidly beginning to despise. "Alright, scratch that request."

Pepper's hand patted the back of Peter's chest, who was trying his best to turn away from her as he borderline heaved his organs out onto the balcony floor. That’s what it felt like, anyway. Her anger didn’t dissipate, but it quickly veered to concern. One could only be so mad when their kid was keeled over in front of them, sounding like they were about to cough up the biggest hairball of all time.

“Oh my god, you sound-” Her hand found the front of Peter’s chest, and her eyes widened as she felt his breathing. “Are you sick? How did you get sick-” Her eyes found Tony’s, “I want an explanation. Now. And it better be good or-”

“Medbay first, explanation later. I promise it’ll be good.”

Peter had a feeling that any kind of explaining would dramatically fall short of his Mom’s expectations, but he was too busy trying to steady his breathing to make any kind of comment about it.

When they got to the elevator, the last bit of strength Peter had gave out. His limbs went wobbly, and he was suddenly nothing but exhausted. Not that he was particularly surprised, he had been running on the bare fumes of adrenaline for the last hour. Honestly he was proud of himself for having lasted this long- Daredevil had nearly sent him out of commission single-handedly. His consciousness flickered as he felt his metaphorical fuel tank click on ‘empty’.

He sagged up against Pepper, eyes shuttering. He wanted his bed, like really, really wanted his bed.

“Tony-” Pepper warned. She held him up as he started to tilt sideways, but Peter had grown almost six inches that year, and all the weight of a muscled web slinging superhero with it. She struggled to keep him upright in her heels, but she was just as determined not to let him fall.

As quick as a flash, Tony was there and hoisting him up, looping one of Peter’s arms across his shoulders. “I gotcha,” He grunted, holding him firm and steady.

A mumbled apology slipped past Peter’s lips as he leaned into his father instead, Pepper’s hand finding his forehead as she hovered next to them. Her cool fingers felt good against his skin. He distantly heard the elevator ding, and Friday’s voice started dimly relaying information as Tony half dragged, half carried him across the floor and into one of the med beds.

He wanted his own bed more, and he frowned through his sick haze. Still, it was better than concrete, and he didn’t complain when he felt an IV prick the inside of his arm. A hand tapped his cheek.

“You hear that, Peter?” Tony said with sharp sweetness, “You lost ten pounds. In just a few days. We should call Dr. Oz with your new weight loss strategy.” Anger ran as a heady undercurrent in his tone.

It would take nothing less than a full on coma to keep Peter from quipping back this time. He turned his head and blearily cracked his eyes open. “D’you think it would sell better than the Dubrow Diet?” He knew that was a mistake the moment he said the words- the Dubrow diet was famous for focusing on intermittent periods of fasting, so it struck a little too close to the point.

Tony’s already simmering rage reached a boiling point, but he managed a cheerful smile instead. “Maybe.” His gaze drifted back to the screen before meeting Peter’s eyes again. He nodded, like he’d just reached a logical conclusion. “Looks to me like you’ll need a feeding tube.”

Pure, mortal fear gripped Peter. He couldn’t tell if Tony was joking or not. The thought of having a tube shoved down his throat to pump mash into his stomach directly was not pleasant. He wondered if he could crawl away fast enough.

Pepper smacked Tony’s arm. “Stop that. You’re not helping.”

“I am helping,” Tony snapped, holding out his arms in exasperation, “That’s all I’ve been trying to do these past few days.” His voice started to raise.

“Is that what you’re calling it? Help?” Pepper matched his volume. “Tony, half of those, those surveillance drones were blowing up all over the city. I’ve had SHIELD calling me nonstop wondering if you had gone full supervillain, if you were a terrorist threat-” Her hands flew up in exasperation. "And honestly? I had no idea what to tell them."

Peter’s eyes started to drift shut again. He felt like he was floating. The IV Tony put in him must have had something to make him sleep as well as antibiotics. He tried to stay above the glimmering cloud of sleep just a minute longer.

“He ran away, Pep. I wasn’t going to let him do that-“

“Surveillance drones - you legitimately thought-”

“Special kid, special circumstances. He can lift almost as much as Steve can, he’s got genius level IQ, he managed to avoid both the bots and Friday’s tracking. Ordinary measures would not have-”

“Look at you Tony, just look at yourself and tell me you were making good decisions-”

The ache in Peter’s chest started to drift away, the voices starting to fade as well. He wished they wouldn’t fight, and he felt guilty that he was the reason. The mattress he was laying on must have been heated, because the warmth was starting to seep into his skin. It felt nice.

Sleep pulled him under at last. He was too tired to dream.

-------------------

When Peter woke, it was still dark outside. Judging by the pleasant, sleepy ache in his limbs, he guessed that he had been asleep over a day and not just a few hours, which was confirmed when he saw that he had a second IV in his other arm, hooked up to a bag that had enough nutrients to sustain him through a couple meals.

Not a feeding tube. Thank god. He owed Pepper.

Medbay was dark, the lights dimmed to the point where everything was cast in blue, soothing shadow. The only light came from the city outside, which shone faintly through the tower’s one way glass. That and the display monitors, which beeped steadily and quietly above him.

He watched the city for several quiet moments, tracing the lines of traffic cutting through the buildings far below them. The beeping of his heart set a soothing rhythm. He fought back a yawn as his body insisted he fall back asleep. Nonetheless, it took more than a bag full of liquid nutrients to keep his pitifully empty stomach from growling. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to raid the penthouse kitchen upstairs. He wondered if the filet mignon he got from the Versa restaurant a week ago was still good.

Peter scanned the readouts on the hovering holograms, fighting the drag of his eyelids. He recognized Bruce’s writing on some of the doctor’s notes- which meant the scientist had braved delving down into the tower at some point. Most of the numbers looked good.

He felt better. Not like, 100% better, but he could feel that his superhuman healing had started to kick in now that he had both antibiotics and a warm bed. I guess the cold is kind of like my kryptonite, he thought dimly, That and children with heavy objects. He smiled and wondered if Riri was safe.

Careful not to jostle any of the wires attached to him, he started to sit up, wanting to stretch his legs and test his lungs. If he sat still for much longer he’d probably fall asleep again. He stopped when he felt a heavy weight loped across his left arm.

Peter inhaled a breath. He wasn’t alone. Sprawled out exhaustively on a swivel chair, Tony was asleep beside him, body slunk back and hand barely holding up his head in what was clearly a feat against gravity. His other arm was tossed across the side of the bed, pinning one of Peter’s beneath it.

No doubt the second he moved, his dad would wake up too.

With a small sigh, he laid back down. He wasn’t going anywhere until morning. He breathed deep, studying Tony’s face. Someone had managed to shove him into a shower at some point, as he was no longer covered in questionable stains and his hair was somehow persuaded to untangle and lay in an acceptable position. The only other sign that he’d gone batshit were the dark circles underneath his eyes and the fact that his stubble was still untrimmed.

You could measure Tony’s relative sanity by the length of his stubble.

“Friday?” Peter whispered cautiously, uncertain if he wanted to break the silence. His voice was husky, but his chest no longer hurt when he spoke.

Barely a moment passed before she answered. “It’s good to hear from you, Peter.” She said sincerely, her voice equally quiet so that they didn’t disturb Tony’s dozing, “I’ve missed your company. Are you in any discomfort?"

“No, I’m fine. Feeling great, actually. Can you tell me the time?”

“It’s a quarter past one in the morning.”

So he had slept through the day. He wondered how much he had missed, if SHIELD had tried to bust down their front door yet. No doubt Ross was petitioning some branch of the government to crash through their windows and throw them all in a dank cell in the darkest corner of The Raft. “Do you know anything about what happened with the weapons dealers?” His voice lifted a little with tepid hope.

Had they managed to make connections between the warehouse and the rest of the suppliers and the buyers? If they managed to do that, just that, then Nick Fury himself could walk in and throttle him and it’d still be worth it-

“All criminals located in the Vinegar Hill warehouse were detained and are being charged respectively. Files containing information regarding the whereabouts of accomplices and affiliated companies have been passed on to other operatives within SHIELD and will be acted on appropriately-”

Peter laughed, unable to stop himself.

“-Charges include felonies of varying intent, related to everything from illegal weapon selling and manufacturing, to making and distributing marijuana laced tea-”

His laughter quickly turned to choking. “Weed tea-?!” The heart rate machine started to spazz.

Tony stirred beside him at the noise, his hand moving to grip Peter’s arm tightly, as though confirming he was still there. “Peter?” He murmured, his voice thick and groggy. His eyes flickered open, looking up at the monitors as he shifted in his seat, gauging.

No doubt if there was the slightest hint of something wrong his dad would leap out of his seat and grab the crash kit- and knowing Tony he'd probably zap him with the paddles purely out of spite.

“Hey.” Peter squeaked, trying hard to relax and calm down his heart. The machine started to beep slower. He forced himself to sink back into his pillow- he could freak out about drinking drugs later. Calm thoughts, happy thoughts-

The numbers on the display must have eased Tony’s alarm, as he sunk back into the chair. He let out a heavy breath, eyes starting to close again. “You alright?” He mumbled.

“Fine.”

“You’re here.”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Tony hummed, his grip going lax. “I told you so.”

He’s still half asleep, Peter realized. Had he slept at all the entire time he was gone? Probably not, knowing him- and by measuring the bags underneath his eyes, which would probably qualify for extra fees at an airport. He wondered if him and Pepper were watching him in shifts, or if his mom was too busy trying to clean up the latest Stark scandal to have time for sleep.

He should have just let Tony fall back asleep, but he felt compelled to prompt further. “What did you tell me?"

“That It’d take more than mist monsters.” Tony murmured, head lolling to the side as he drifted back under. If he were awake he would have seen the widening of Peter’s eyes, the sharp intake of his breath. “I promised.”

It took Peter a moment to pin down the memory. A pocket sized version of him, sneaking into Tony's room in the middle of the night after buying a scary movie on the TV. Something in the fridge had shifted halfway during it, and the sound startled him enough that he went flying down the hall to the master bedroom. He remembered the mist drowning the city, the warmth as Tony begrudgingly let him under the covers.

But what if I went missing? What if you couldn't find me?

“You did,” Peter whispered, “I guess you did.”

------

Over the next few days, Peter had to practically be bolted to the medbay cot.

Pepper visited him daily, in between meetings and interviews with the press- which was to say he hardly got to see her at all. She was up to her eyes in work, and when she was home she paced the house, phone pressed to her ear and papers clenched in her hands. His guess that she didn't have time to sleep was turning out to be disturbingly true- nobody knew when she was laying down to get any kind of rest, and Tony on more than one occasion had to wrestle to take the phone out of her hands.

"My turn." He'd quip, jerking it away, "Let me talk to these assholes-"

Whether or not he was making the situation worse every time Pepper took a break was hard to discern.

All in all, the guilt was eating Peter alive. Pepper had no qualms making sure he was, sniping statements of their idiocy between calls as she mopped up the sodden mess him and Tony had made in her absence. It was admittedly amazing to see her pace the room and essentially chokehold whoever she was on the line with. One day Peter hoped to be half as successful as his mother was in managing the company.

He’d gotten a few visitors other than Pepper, but they were few and far in between. Tony had taken to guarding the entire floor like a territorial bull. Every Avenger that dared stop by to check on him was quickly if not immediately assigned something else to do. Like hey, there was a robbery down on 34th, or some wannabe copycat was running around with a shitty pair of hoverwings and calling himself the ‘Bird Terror’ down by the Brooklyn bridge and delaying the next ferry.

Boredom was slowly killing him. To make it worse, Tony had disabled Galaga from his holo screen, instead handing him a paperback copy of 'Atlas Shrugged' to keep him entertained, which was a fate worse than death. He'd scowled as he flipped through all 1,168 pages. Child abuse, honestly.

The day he was to be finally released from medbay, Tony calculated the exact time and circumstances of his grounding. Peter had already heard his parents argue about homeschooling- which had actually ended in Midtown's favor, thank god, so he was perfectly ready to accept whatever number was thrown at him. As long as he could stay after school for Decathlon, he could weather any storm.

"So altogether," Tony said, "You lied to me about going to Ned's house, lied to Happy about going to the deli, impersonated me and lied to the school, which, by the way, I've personally made sure that'll never happen again-"

"It wasn't their fault," Peter protested, lying sideways on his cot. "I made a very good impression."

"No talking while I'm yelling at you." Tony made an aggressive zipping motion across his lips, "Each syllable adds another week to your sentence."

"Starting now?"

"That's three more weeks. Keep it up."

A protest grew and then abruptly died in Peter's mouth. He mimicked the zippering motion.

In the far corner, Bruce and Steve both faintly grinned. They had both managed to infiltrate the medbay for this under partially false pretenses- Bruce with his excuse of wanting to continue checking on Peter's condition himself, and Steve with his assertion that SHIELD needed things that simply could not wait. In truth, the organization had wanted Ross to question Peter as well, but as of yet the man hadn't been able to make it within a solid three hundred yards of him. The pair of them quietly sipped on cups of coffee as Tony grilled him.

At the very least, he was glad for the company, even though Pepper had probably bribed them to make sure Tony wasn't ad-libbing the agreed upon punishment.

"And then," Tony continued, "You took a thousand dollars from the bank and proceeded to purposefully conceal yourself, trespassing in an abandoned fort where you engaged in criminal activity and secretly risked your life every night without any kind of backup or support. Which also, by the by, is how you got sick. And if you hadn't already figured it out," He hissed the next few words out, "Pneumonia can't be treated by Dayquil."

Not wanting to risk speaking, Peter nodded mutely. It was hard to regret what he did. He'd seen the news that morning, the media was awash with reports of the weapons manufacturer being shut down both domestically and internationally. Some of the news outlets were actually arguing to defend Stark's actions based on this; some people speculating the whole debacle had been to uproot the criminals.

It was part of the reason Pepper had been glued to her phone- if the media tilted in their favor, they wouldn't be completely crucified.

"And because I'm feeling nice I'm not going to mention the marijuana I found in your system."

That Peter couldn't keep quiet about. It was an unfair accusation. "That was an accident! I had no idea, I swear." He seriously couldn't be held accountable for the underhanded tactics of New York's criminal masterminds.

"Not interested in hearing it." Tony said, "You know how your mother feels about recreational drug use- Herbal or otherwise."

“Uncle Rogers took drugs,” Peter jokingly protested, “It’s why he’s so buff.”

Steve choked on his coffee.

A reluctant smile started to tug at the corners of Tony's mouth. He clenched his lips in a straight line. "Rogers dug his own grave. You, however, are independent from anyone else's choices but your own. Even if they'd held you down as they shot cocaine up your nose, it doesn't change the fact that you ran away to begin with and deliberately put yourself in harm's way."

Peter studied his fingers.

"Your mother and I have decided on six months. No bail, no chance of parole." Tony scooted closer, tapping Peter on the forehead. "Are you listening?" When he nodded he continued, "Good. You'll be coming straight home after school during the week. Decathlon being the only exception. That's non-negotiable. You and Ned have enough shared classes, I'm sure you'll survive. On the weekends I'm taking you to the compound-"

The compound?

"-Where hopefully you can have some sense knocked into you-"

"Wait." Peter held up a hand as he sat straight up. "You're actually going to train me. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, but-"

His jaw dropped. No way. "So after all of this you're actually going to reward me?"

"It's not a reward." All three of the men in the room said at once.

Steve stepped forward then, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. He ignored the annoyed glare Tony shot him, holding Peter's gaze. "Listen Pete," He said slowly, "You need to learn responsibility. You also need to understand the implications of having these powers. Going out like that on your own was irresponsible." His head tilted, "You understand that, don't you?"

Peter was quiet for a moment. In that split second of hesitation Tony's frown deepened by a measurable degree. "Yes." He finally replied, because despite his success he had also failed. Riri managed to knock him out with a single swing, and Daredevil had pretty much handed him his butt on a silver platter. Collapsing just minutes after completing his mission wasn't a perfect job either. And if the team hadn't come when they did...

"We're going to work on that." Steve decided, faintly smiling. He'd seen the hesitation too, shared a quick glance with Bruce, who merely shrugged his shoulders. He looked over at Tony with a sigh. "We'll be heading out now."

Tony frowned. "What's all this paperwork you were whining about me having to do?"

"It can wait." Steve said. The trace of humor faded as the two superheros shared a loaded look. "But we're not out of the pits yet. Not even close." A hard undercurrent ran underneath his tone, and Peter wondered how big of a chewout Rogers had laid out while they were still looking for him. Judging by the lack of blatant bruises on either person, it had at least been partially peaceful.

Bruce gave him a quiet, encouraging wave as they left.

"Alright Houdini," Tony announced as the medbay doors closed, "You're free to leave medical and go back upstairs. But no running, until we see if there's a strain on your lungs." It was a reasonable precaution, though they both probably knew that with Peter's superhealing he was probably back in peak shape. The amount of calories Tony had been forcibly packing into him had already gained him back seven of the ten lost pounds.

Freedom! Peter was already out of bed and halfway to the biometric keypad, already planning out how he'd successfully trap and train his first pigeon to send secret messages to his allies- That or convince Friday to send out a couple e-mails. Whatever came easiest.

"And Peter?" Tony called after him as the doors opened.

Peter skidded to a stop. "Hm?"

Slowly, steadily, Tony stepped in front of him, grabbing either side of his head. His eyes flashed. "Don't ever. Ever. Do that again." His grip got tighter as he enunciated each word, squishing his face. There was an edge to his voice. Worry. Anger. The weight of the past few days were evident on his face then, the full extent of his exhaustion. Beneath it all he could see the healing touch of relief.

"Promise." Peter managed between his squished cheeks. He fought a smile.

With a satisfied hum, Tony drew him into a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of his head. Peter was starting to get too tall for him to do it, and it was almost certain by next year that they'd easily be eye to eye. It was something Peter wondered if he'd miss. Maybe. Probably. He wasn't sure, so instead of lamenting over it he decided to enjoy it while he still could.

For the first time in months, Peter hugged him back.