Chapter Text
The strong rush of air ruffled his hair as the Quinjet took off, slowly at first, but blasting away the moment it got high enough. As it began to take off Steve felt a twinge of regret. Should they have really let Peter go with Tony? Tony wasn't Peter's guardian, wasn't his parent. Would he even be able to take care of Peter properly? Taking care of a teenager was hard, much less one who was now dealing with superpowers and recovering from being kidnapped and experimented on.
As though she could sense his worries, Natasha rested her hand on his shoulder.
"They'll be alright, Steve," she reassured.
"What makes you so sure of that?" drawled Sam and it struck Steve that he also looked very unsure of Tony taking Peter, resentful even.
"Stark's no idiot, and you saw the way he and Peter interacted. They trust each other. Tony always makes sure those in his circle get the best of anything and everything,"
"Yes, because that's why we're on the run," Sam retorted, crossing his arms.
"Notice I said 'trust.' We're no longer trusted, Sam,"
Steve shook his head and rested his chin on his hand, rubbing it thoughtfully. Natasha did have a point. Tony's inner circle was always provided with the best means possible, which was something they couldn't do while on the run. Nor could any of them be the kind of familiarity that Tony obviously was to Peter. The kid was safer with Tony, not him, not the Rogues.
It was weird, he thought, getting attached to someone this quick. He guessed Peter just reminded him of Bucky. He sighed and turned to T'Challa, who had remained silent as they debated over Peter, leaving them to their conversation.
"We'll need to head back out soon, do some recon on the Hydra base now that Peter's been taken care of," he told the king of Wakanda.
"Please restock before you go. I assume you will not return for a while?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Natasha took over, "This was just for the kid, so it'll be awhile before we see you again. We need to lay low. I doubt that the base we invaded was the only one storing and conditioning mutants--or creating them,"
T'Challa nodded in recognition of her words then turned and headed back into his castle, telling them once again to take what they need leaving, the Dora Milaje following.
"Are we really leaving a child with Tony Stark?" Sam asked incredulously, still looking resentful that Tony had taken Peter. Steve sighed and Natasha blew out an annoyed breath through her nose.
"I don't like it much more than you do, Sam, but we can't help Peter, Tony can,"
"Wakanda could help,"
"He wouldn't want to stay here," Natasha butt in, her tone scornful, "Why is this such a big deal for you?"
"I don't know," Sam admitted, his shoulders sagging as he let out a stressed sigh, "It's just going to be hard for Peter to recover. I want to make sure he's safe I guess,"
"It's admirable, Sam," Steve said, "But Tony'll make sure he's okay. You know he will,"
Sam sighed again, but relented and headed back into the castle, Steve and Natasha following. After all, they needed to gather evidence from that Hydra base as soon as possible.
The steady sound of a warm breath that tickled his ear willed Peter into consciousness. It was warm and comfortable wherever he was, which...where was he? The last Peter remembered was seeing Mr. Stark arrive in Wakanda. He knew something had probably happened afterwards, but he couldn't remember what had happened exactly, it was all kind of blurred. He did think he remembered something about being hugged, but all he could put together was the strong feeling of emptiness that seemed to sludge throughout his body.
That was when it all came flooding back, crashing over him like a dam had broken, leaving him feeling overwhelmed yet somehow empty at the same time. May...she was gone. He would never see her again, never taste her terrible cooking, never get another one of her bear hugs. His body suddenly felt worn to the bone in exhaustion and he had to force himself to even try and open his eyes.
He rubbed at his eyes blearily after finding that they were glued shut and crusty from what felt like dried tears. He had become accustomed to the feeling over the past couple of weeks after he would have a bad nightmare or would simply just fall asleep crying. When he moved his arms to his face though, they knocked against something warm and solid, making him freeze immediately. Peter finally opened his eyes and found himself tucked up against someone, their chest, he guessed, since his face was more or less pressed against them to the point where couldn't see much of where he was.
Upon further investigation, which was really just him coming to his senses, he realized that he was being hugged up against their chest by strong arms with his head tucked under their chin, and, if the overpowering yet familiar smell of coffee and car grease was anything to go by, that said person was Mr. Stark. His face heated up in embarrassment at the realization that he was nestled up against Mr. Stark, yet at the same time, he was content to stay there snuggled up to his mentor. He had missed him. Missed working with him in the lab, his jabs and jokes about his age, the constant mother henning over the slightest thing which had before been bothersome now just reminded how much the man cared.
He let out a small sigh, fighting against his embarrassment and instead giving into his need for closeness, snuggling deeper into the man's chest. He froze, however, when he felt Mr. Stark shift and let out a low groan. Stupid Parker! You woke him up! he scolded himself silently, once again feeling that strange tingle he had come to associate with him turning invisible as he tensed. He couldn't look at his hands to actually confirm he had become invisible, but he was sure that Mr. Stark, or anyone really, could no longer see him.
"Peter?" came his mentor's voice, groggy with sleep yet soft and gentle, "It's okay, kiddo. No need to disappear, you're safe," he soothed as the arms around Peter tightened ever so slightly.
So he had turned invisible.
"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled in response, trying to concentrate on reappearing. Tingling sensations ran up and down his arms, but it felt more like he was coming in and out of focus rather than actually reappearing, "I d-don't know how t-to control it,"
"It's alright, bud. There's no need to apologize, okay?" he encouraged, beginning to card a gentle hand through his hair. Peter flinched involuntarily at the contact, but leaned into the touch nonetheless, letting out a little hum in response. Another tingle passed over him again as he felt himself relax against Mr. Stark.
"There you are, Underoos," Mr. Stark said, still playing with his hair.
They stayed like that for a couple minutes as Peter worked up the courage to ask Mr. Stark what was happening and how they had ended up where they were, wherever that was. He wasn't supposed to ask questions, or start conversations. Ivanov had always made sure that he knew the rules, and he shuddered thinking about the punishment for acting out, even on accident. In the end he forced himself to push past his fear, reasoning that Mr. Stark wouldn't hurt him, but still flinching as he opened his mouth to ask.
"M-Mr. Stark?"
"Yeah kiddo?"
"W-Where are w-we?"
"My bedroom at the Compound,"
"Y-y-your bedroom?" Peter choked out, flushing in embarrassment.
"Yeah," Mr. Stark confirmed, seemingly blind to his embarrassment, "I checked you into the MedBay first, but Helen said you were already mostly healed. She prescribed lots of rest, food, and fluids,"
"O-okay," he stammered, still shell shocked that he was in Tony Stark's bedroom .
"Speaking of which, you should probably eat something. Do you wanna go get something with me?"
"O-okay," he squeaked again, feeling like a broken record. Mr. Stark shifted again, slowly removing his arms from where they had been wrapped around Peter, and moving to sit up. He hesitantly mimicked his actions, wincing as he realized just how sore he was, but at least he could see his surroundings now.
Mr. Stark's room was best described as organized chaos. There were articles of clothing haphazardly draped over furniture, a few littered the ground as well. There were couches and comfortable looking chairs, all seeming relatively new and unused, which he supposed made sense since the Compound hadn't been in use for that long and Mr. Stark traveled a lot. The room itself was huge, bigger than any bedroom Peter had ever seen, which accommodated for the king sized bed that he was currently sitting on.
The mattress dipped as Mr. Stark moved out of the bed, causing Peter to turn his attention from the room to his mentor at the shift. They made eye contact for a fleeting second, but Peter immediately cowed and hung his head. He wasn't allowed to make eye contact, that was rule number two. The logical part of him knew that his mentor wouldn't punish him for it, he doubted that Mr. Stark even knew the rules, but he couldn't help how he still shivered in fear.
"C'mon, kiddo, let's head to the kitchen, yeah?" Mr. Stark prompted gently.
Peter nodded quickly, untangling himself from where he still sat under the dark gray covers to get out of the bed. Mr. Stark quickly put an arm over Peter's shoulders, as though making up for lost time. He flinched again, and didn't look up at Mr. Stark's face still, but he leaned into his mentor's side, trying to quell his shaking.
"I'm sorry," Peter apologized, though he wasn't entirely sure for what. It just felt easier to say than anything else.
"You have nothing to apologize for, Peter. You're all good," he assured, hesitating before stopping to press his nose into Peter's hair and place a gentle kiss, rubbing circles in his shoulder soothingly. The brunet closed his eyes and leaned wholeheartedly into the touch.
Ding!
The toaster went off, two pieces of bread popping out to show that they were only slightly burned, which was better than Tony could've hoped for with his absolutely abysmal cooking skills. He quickly grabbed the slices and dropped them on a plate, wincing as they burned his fingers.
"You want jam, Pete?" he asked the boy who was sitting at the kitchen counter on a stool.
"S-sure," came the boy's timid response from behind him.
"What flavor, kiddo?"
"Oh, um i-it doesn't matter,"
Tony suppressed a sigh, just grabbing the strawberry jam from the bridge and getting a butter knife from the drawer to start fixing the kid's breakfast. He knew Peter wouldn't be able to just bounce back to his old self after all that had happened, he knew that! But, it was just hard to see him so afraid, flinching at every little movement and touch, turning invisible whenever he felt threatened. That part was admittedly more strange, but Tony had seen stranger. It would probably be harder for Peter to get used to than anyone else.
He placed the plate in front of Peter who mumbled a quick thank you, though he didn't start eating right away, just stared at it for a few moments before hesitantly reaching out to grab a piece. Satisfied that he was finally eating something, Tony turned back into the kitchen to make himself a quick cup of coffee. While waiting for it to heat he poured some orange juice(Peter's favorite) for the kid since Helen had said he would need lots of fluids.
"How you doin', kid?" he asked when he sat next to Peter with his coffee, giving Peter the orange juice. He tried to keep his tone lighthearted but there was a noticeable strain to it.
Peter looked over at him, but kept his eyes trained on his chest, as though he were afraid to actually look at him, which he probably was. To be honest, Tony didn't know if there was anything Peter wouldn't be afraid of anymore. What made it more worrying, though, was the kid's reaction when they had made eye contact earlier. It had been brief, not even lasting a second before Peter had ripped his eyes away to stare at his hands, but he had seen the fear. Had seen the shaking afterwards, felt it when he slung an arm over the kid.
"I-I'm fine," his kid responded, turning back to his plate. Yeah, that wasn't going to do. The kid had barely spoken more than two words at a time and he was so far from fine it was ridiculous.
"You sure? You've been shaking like a leaf, kiddo,"
Peter hesitated, tugging at the hem of his shirt, which Tony had learned was one of the kid's tell tale signs of anxiety. He suppressed a sigh, looking over Peter worriedly, concern tugging at his heart. Hesitantly, he ran a hand through the teen's curls, expecting it when he flinched away but still having to fight down bile. His kid was so hurt, so damaged, so different from the kid he had once known, the one he was determined to bring back.
This was his fault, and Tony knew it. If he had checked up on Peter more often, installed better security in his apartment, found him quicker-anything!-none of this would have happened. Peter would be happy, still filled with hope, with his aunt. May would still be alive had he not been so careless. But this wasn't about him, not now, it was about the child who was currently crying in front of him.
"It's going to be okay, Peter," he assured, his voice soft and gentle, still running his hand through the kid's soft curls, "I know it hasn't been, I know it isn't at the moment, but it will be-someday,"
Peter rubbed at his eyes furiously, trying to stem the flow of tears. They kept on coming though, silently pouring down his cheeks and flushing them red.
"It will?"
And, God , he sounded so small, so tired, so broken. Tony wasn't surprised to find his own eyes filling with tears at the sheer force of love and regret he felt when he heard Peter.
"It will, kiddo," he swallowed thickly, trying to force down the growing lump in his throat, "I don't know when, but I'll be here with you-every step of the way. I've got you kid. I'm going to protect you, I promise ,"
Peter leaned a bit more into his hand, sniffling, and hesitantly raised his own hand to hold on to Tony's. He smiled at his kid, gently pulling him into a hug.