Work Text:
Tony leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head and pencil balanced above his lip. Translucent 3D schematics of the Iron Spider suit rotated slowly before him. He narrowed his eyes at the innocuous image.
He knew he could make it better. There were improvements he could make. He had the ideas, but so far he had been unable to figure out how to integrate them with what he already had in place.
What most people don’t know is that the day to day life of an inventor and engineer is quite often spent staring at the ceiling, mind traveling in confusing circles and waiting for a eureka moment.
He wanted to have something concrete to work on with Peter when he arrived. He was due to bounce through the door in about an hour and for the first time since Tony had started inviting him on a regular basis, there were no current projects in the works. Nothing that would be beneficial to Peter, at least.
Of all the ways Tony feared he would let Peter down, boredom and lack of work was not one of them. But he supposed it could be a lot worse.
His phone buzzed beside him on the workbench and he leaned towards it, letting the pencil drop to his lap. Peter’s name showed on the screen.
“What’s up, kid? You still coming today?”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Peter’s youthful voice came through.
“Hey Tony!”
...Tony? That was the first time Peter had ever used his first name. He smiled and leaned back in his chair again.
“What’s this, you finally decided to -“
“Listen, Tony, I was thinking. I’m still planning to come by, but I was wondering if you’d want to come to Queens and have a coffee with me first?”
Tony’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Coffee? You know I have every possible flavor of coffee here.”
Another pause, this time slightly longer. “Well, there’s this one particular café that I want to show you, I think you’d like it.”
Tony wasn’t sure what to make of that. Peter had never invited him anywhere, not for pleasure. He was always too nervous, too worried about overstepping. They had gone out to grab a bite to eat during lab breaks, sure, but this felt different. It was a noticeable deviation from their semi-professional mentor/mentee relationship.
“It might cut into our lab time,” he said, but then glanced around himself at the lack of interesting work.
“It would only be for a little while, I promise! I’m already here, I got my usual black coffee.”
That was what finally set the warning bells off in his mind. Peter hated black coffee. He had expressed multiple times how it was too bitter and too strong for him.
Tony straightened in his chair and swiped away the Iron Spider schematics, bringing up the tracking data on Peter’s phone instead.
“Where is this super special café?” he asked, taking care to keep his tone casual. “Is it the one on Bayside with the ugly orange sign?”
“No, not that one. It’s near Queensborough Hill, it’s called Carrie’s.” Peter cleared his throat. “Are you going to come?”
“Sure, I could use a fun outing.”
The boy gave a small sigh, but Tony couldn’t tell whether it was one of relief or resignation. Nevertheless, his voice remained relatively upbeat. “Awesome. Want me to order you a white chocolate mochachino? That’s still your favorite, right?”
Tony might have chuckled if the situation wasn’t so worrisome. He despised frilly drinks. He wasn’t even sure what a white chocolate mochachino was, and he fully intended to never find out.
“That’s the one.”
“So um... how soon do you think you can get here?”
Peter’s location finally popped up before him, showing him in, yes, a coffee shop named Carrie’s. Tony could probably get there in about fifteen minutes if he hustled.
“How’s about twenty, twenty-five minutes or so? There’s just a couple things I need to square away here before I head out.” He needed to figure out what kind of situation they were dealing with before he walked into what was very clearly a trap of some kind.
There was yet another pause, long enough that he could make out the murmur of other patrons in the background. It gave Tony a small amount of comfort to know that whatever was happening, at least Peter was in a public place.
Unless of course he was being threatened with a bomb.
The teen swallowed, and this time when he spoke his voice was noticeably unsteady. “Um. Twenty?” Another pause. “Okay yeah, twenty minutes is okay. I’ll wait to order your drink.”
He wanted to tell Peter that everything was going to be okay, that Tony would get him out of whatever situation he was in. Instead, he tried to infuse as much reassurance as he could into his parting words. “I’ll see you real soon, okay kiddo?"
“Okay, see you soon.”
As soon as they hung up, Tony was moving.
Peter’s hands curled around his cup, filled with black coffee that had gone cold some time ago. He’d had to drink some of it when he first ordered to avoid suspicion, and the bitter taste still lingered on his tongue. He wasn’t used to the caffeine either, and it left him feeling jittery, which didn’t do his already live-wire nerves any favors.
A steady pain had been growing in his head. It started as the familiar tingling ache he felt in the back of his neck when danger was close by. Then that man had approached him on the sidewalk under the guise of needing directions. One gun and the threat of opening fire on the surrounding New Yorkers later and here they were. He had never before gone so long without acting on his danger sense and was learning the hard way that it only increased in intensity and pain as time went by. It had slowly grown from an ache to a throbbing pressure that wrapped around his head and pulsed through his temples.
He could feel the man’s eyes on him and had to make a conscious effort to keep his gaze on the table before him. He didn’t like being forced to sit still for so long.
He had run through multiple plans of action in his mind but each one ended with the frustrating reality that any move he made put innocent people in danger. He had been told to not get up, not touch his phone again, and not talk to anyone.
The bell over the door kept ringing every few minutes. That stupid jingle that caused his anxiety to spike involuntarily. He was starting to genuinely worry that he was being conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs, because one of those jingles was going to be Tony Stark. His mentor, whom this man, for whatever misguided reason, was planning to shoot the second he sat down across from Peter.
“You know you can’t go in there, Boss,” Happy insisted from the driver’s seat as he accelerated through a grouping of cars on the freeway.
“I’m not making any promises or plans until I know the situation.”
“Tony.”
At Happy’s tone of voice, he looked up and met his eyes through the rear view mirror. It was his ‘I’m your head of security, so for the love of God please listen to me for once in your life’ voice.
“C’mon, Hap, you know I’m not that stupid.” He turned his attention back down to the screen in his hands. The small drone he had deployed was nearing the cafe and he tapped his feet impatiently against the floor of the car as he watched it zip between buildings. “But I am Ironman, and Ironman has bulletproof armor.”
“Yeah but the kid doesn’t and neither do any of the other people in that café. This isn’t something you can fix by blasting in as Ironman. It’s not some super-powered alien blowing cars up in the street, it’s a precarious situation in a enclosed area and one wrong step could get Peter -“
“I know!” Tony snapped. He realized his fingers had tightened around the edges of the tablet and forced them to relax again. “I know. I already said I would work with the cops on this one.”
“We have to,” Happy pressed. He cursed briefly under his breath as a pickup truck cut in front of him on the road. “But you know it’s mostly going to be our guys running the show when we get there,” he added, referring to the car close behind them containing four more members of Tony’s security detail. They too were watching the drone’s progress.
Tony just ground his teeth together and focused on his screen, where finally the café came into view. It was small and unassuming, squished between a high class restaurant and a clothing store. A chalkboard sign on the sidewalk advertised their lattes and espressos along with a small trivia question and a drawing of an open book. Ironically, it did look like a place Peter might enjoy under normal circumstances.
He kept the tiny drone low to the ground next to the entrance and slipped it inside when a customer opened it to leave. The happy little ding of a bell hanging above the door welcomed him. As quickly as possible, he snaked the drone up the wall and found a high corner to plant it in, where he had a view of the entire room.
He immediately found Peter sitting alone at a small round table in the dead center of the cafe. Both hands were on the table holding a coffee cup and his eyes were downcast. Tony zoomed in a little. He appeared unhurt, though it was impossible to tell for sure under his collared shirt and sweater. The bell jingled again to signal a new person entering and Peter’s eyes darted to it without moving his head. He relaxed slightly upon not recognizing them, then snuck a glance over what he could see of the room. His gaze locked onto the drone then quickly went downcast again, but Tony caught the briefest flash of a relieved smile.
Tony began to scan the rest of the room, letting the drone’s programming isolate faces and run its recognition software. There was a young couple in the back corner, the drone’s visual overlay identifying them as college students, a theater major and a psychology major. An elderly couple sat with a rambunctious toddler next to them. Two middle aged business men on lunch break. A young woman on her laptop typing away with earbuds in her ears.
He scanned through the patrons as fast as he could, bypassing the seemingly harmless ones, and soon had his suspicions narrowed down to two separate people. Both of them sat alone, one directly at Peter’s back and the other a little farther away to his right. The man to his back had an athletic build and dressed in loose, well-worn clothing. He faced Peter and his hands were deep in his front pocket, where he could easily be keeping a weapon trained on him. According to the readout, he was convicted of attempted armed robbery of one of Stark Industry’s damage control warehouses. Recently released on probation after serving a two and a half year jail sentence. No family. History of domestic abuse.
His other suspect, off to Peter’s right, was a large, heavyset man. He wore a simple polo shirt, which he was clearly sweating through. He sat with his back against the wall, both hands hidden under the table by a white and yellow striped tablecloth. He appeared to be people watching, which in and of itself was not abnormal, but it allowed him to keep his eye on both Peter and the door. Apparently used to work for Accutech, a subsidiary of Stark Industries. Had a violent mental breakdown at work three months ago, causing several broken fingers of another employee. Subsequently spent three and a half weeks in a mental health ward.
Red marks appeared on his screen over the two men, indicating that his guards had narrowed it down to those two as well.
Not knowing the motivation or intention behind the situation left Tony frustratingly in the dark and unsure of how to proceed.
The only thing they knew for sure was that Peter had invited him there under duress.
What their guy was threatening Peter with was unknown. Could be a gun, could be a bomb, could be something entirely different. What Tony was wanted for was also unknown. Perhaps to kill him. Perhaps to demand money from him. It was almost always one of those two things.
“Okay, we’ve got four minutes,” Happy cut into his thoughts as he parked the car along the road out of view of the cafe. “Cops aren’t here yet.”
Tony wordlessly handed the tablet up to him to give him the opportunity to scope the room out as well. It took his friend just seconds to come to the same conclusion that Tony had.
“We have to find a way to get the civilians out of there without endangering Peter.”
Peter was relieved at the sight of the drone. Tony had picked up on Peter’s signals, which admittedly were about as subtle as taking Captain America’s shield to the head. He could only hope that Tony wouldn’t put himself in danger by actually stepping inside the café.
He chewed on his bottom lip and resisted the urge to look up at the tiny drone again. He didn’t know how much time had passed. The café’s clock was behind him and his phone was faced downward as instructed. He would have guessed that maybe a half hour had passed, but the man would have surely done something already if that were true.
He could hear the man breathing and wished he couldn’t. He tried to block it out or lose it in the dozen or so other voices and conversations taking place in the room, but his ears had zeroed in on that particular breathing pattern as the source of danger. It was nasally and congested and would speed up once in a while seemingly at random.
Suddenly a loud, shrill noise split the air and Peter jumped in his seat, slapping his hands over his overly sensitive ears and squeezing his eyes closed against the painful noise. He realized it was the café’s fire alarm and opened his eyes again to see the other customers around him wincing and covering their ears as well. The toddler in the corner began to cry and Peter looked to the gunman as the people around him began to stand and move.
The man appeared startled at first, but then to Peter’s horror he stood from behind the white and yellow striped tablecloth and barreled straight toward him, handgun in plain sight. Peter’s instinct was to bolt, whether towards the man or away he wasn’t sure, but the fact that they were surrounded by innocent people hadn’t changed. The other customers continued to hurry past, oblivious to the danger in their chaotic rush to get out the door.
The pain in Peter’s head was growing closer and closer to unbearable with every passing second that the piercing sound continued. Like knives being shoved into his ears, even with his hands pressed over them.
He stumbled to his feet just in time for the heavyset man to grab a fistful of his sweater and forcefully drag him deeper into the café. He had to uncover his ears and hold onto the man’s wrist to keep his balance, and his eyes reflexively squeezed shut instead, as though they would somehow be able to compensate against the debilitating noise.
The hand began to shake him roughly and he peeled his eyes open again to see that the man was yelling at him. His face was flushed and sweaty and spittle flew from his mouth as he gestured furiously behind Peter with the gun.
Peter twisted to look over his shoulder and saw police cars lining the street just outside. He couldn’t see Mr. Stark, thankfully, but he knew he was out there. The drone was still watching.
The alarm finally shut off, leaving a still painful but far more preferable ringing in his ears, and Peter sagged a little bit. His relief was short lived, however, as the man’s bellowing voice became audible.
“-omething, didn’t you?! You said something! This is your fault!”
Peter quickly shook his head, hands tightening around the man’s wrist where he held onto Peter’s sweater. “You heard everything I said! I didn’t say anything about y-“
The butt of the gun whipped across his face, cracking against his cheekbone and forcing his head to one side.
He had sensed it coming, and as Spider-Man could have blocked it. But he was just Peter here, under the close eye of the New York Police Department and whoever else might be watching from the street. Peter Parker wasn’t strong enough or fast enough to overpower this man.
So he took the hit, as frustrating and painful as it was.
“Why can’t things just go my way for once?!” The man growled, jerking Peter close and shoving the gun up under his jaw. He could feel blood begin to dribble down his cheek from where his skin had split. “It’s all I want, this was all I wanted!”
Peter knew he should be reassessing the situation and planning how to take this man down. It’s what Mr. Stark would be doing. It’s what... any of the other Avengers would be doing. But he was finding it difficult to focus on anything other than the cold hard metal of the gun digging into his skin.
He had dealt with guns many times before, but on all those occasions he had been relatively protected in his suit and was free to fly around, crawl up the walls, and shoot webs from a distance. Only once before had he encountered a gun as Peter Parker and that was the night his uncle was shot and bled to death in front of him.
“This is all I wanted!” The man screamed again into his face, and Peter flinched away from the spray of spittle. Then the man’s expression slowly morphed into one of gleeful realization. “I bet he’s out there. I know he likes you, I’ve seen you together. It can still happen. I can still be remembered as the man who killed Tony Stark. Then it can all be over.”
A crazed glint came over his eyes and Peter subconsciously tried to pull away only to be yanked forward again like a rag doll.
“Anton Harding?” A new voice was projected through a megaphone from the police line. “This is the NYPD. Put your weapon down immediately, let the boy go, and come out with your hands up!”
In response, Anton bashed Peter across the face again. This time he couldn’t hold back a cry as the hit sent dizzying new pain shooting through his skull.
“I want Tony Stark!” Anton bellowed. He shoved Peter backward toward the front of the café, closer to the police line, and Peter had to clutch tight onto the man’s wrist again to keep from stumbling. “If anyone takes a single step closer, I’m going to shoot this kid! And I’m going to keep beating his face in until I see Tony Stark!”
Peter’s heart pounded as he stared up at this deranged man who was using him to threaten his mentor, his hero.
“Why do you want to hurt Mr. Stark?” The least he could do was try to stall for Tony and the police. “What did he -“
Whack.
Peter’s head snapped to the side again as the gun connected with his jaw and blood began to fill his mouth. He didn’t even have a chance to straighten before the next hit came, and then the next.
His awareness rapidly narrowed as the blows kept coming, ratcheting his pain up into near blinding levels.
Don’t come in, Mr. Stark.
His whole face felt like it was on fire. The megaphone was blaring behind him again. The man was screaming and the hits kept coming. Blood began to trickle backwards down his throat, forcing him to sputter and cough.
Don’t come in.
He began to lose his grip on the man’s arm and his vision started to darken around the edges.
Then behind him he heard the voice he both did and didn’t want to hear and couldn’t help but sag in relief when the blows stopped.
“-win, buddy. I’m right here. So why don’t you let him go and you and I can talk.”
“Get out of the suit!” Anton demanded.
Peter tried to get his feet under him, tried to gather his wits and peeled at the man’s fingers in his sweater. He had to do something. This man wanted to kill Tony and Tony was here now.
“I’ll take the suit off after you let him go and only after.”
“No, take it off now! I want to see your face!”
“I’m flattered, but that’s not going to happen until Peter is safe.” Tony’s voice was sharp and commanding but even through his pain-induced haze Peter recognized the vulnerability underneath.
He tried to turn around to look at him. He wanted to see anything other than this giant man, his red puffy face, his manic eyes, his sweat-soaked polo shirt that blocked almost the entirety of the rest of the café from Peter’s view.
He got a single glance back, a flash of the outside world where cop cars lined the road, the policemen themselves braced behind them with their guns trained inside the café. He had one second to look into Ironman’s cold eyes before he was jerked forward again and the barrel of the gun was planted right against his forehead.
“I’m not negotiating!” Anton screeched, twisting his huge hand even tighter into Peter’s sweater and shaking him roughly.
Peter’s vision swam and he had to close his eyes, trying to manage the throbbing, crippling pain in his head and his rising panic. He was one trigger pull away from dying at this unstable and unpredictable man’s hands. A voice inside told him that Mr. Stark would never let that happen, but that thought was infinitely worse. Because that meant Mr. Stark might actually retract his armor. Mr. Stark might get shot.
Peter tightened his shaky grip on the man’s wrist. He would rather die himself than ever let that happen. Surely he could use just a tiny amount of his super strength to break out of -
“Peter, don’t move!” Tony warned behind him.
Not a second later a shot rang out. Peter jerked in shock at the sound and looked up, wide-eyed, to see a bleeding exit wound in Anton’s forehead. The man immediately went limp. The gun clattered to the floor but his grip on Peter’s sweater lingered as he began to fall and Peter was yanked forward until a pair of metal arms snagged him from behind and pulled him away.
Now that he didn’t have the giant man’s body blocking his view, he could see the swat team that had filtered in silently from the rear of the café. Tony had been a distraction, then, allowing them to find a way in and take the man down from behind.
“Peter.”
Tony had turned him around at some point and was now leaning down to look him in the eye, helmet retracted and hands on his shoulders. The older man looked rattled. His face was pale, eyes bright with worry and something else Peter couldn’t quite place.
Peter just stared back in shock. His brain kept replaying the last few seconds in flashes, but pain interrupted his thoughts and he was left shaking and unable to speak, much less process what had happened.
Policemen began to swarm the café. Medics approached. Reporters pushed at the police barriers, trying to find a way in. There were too many people, too much noise. Tony seemed to pick up on his distress immediately because he pulled Peter out the door, hugged him close, and then blasted into the air. The surprising change in altitude made Peter’s vision go dim again and he wrapped his arms and legs around his mentor, clinging onto him as best he could.
Only seconds later, it seemed, they were landing gently on a rooftop several blocks away. Peter’s legs felt weak as they touched down and he feared he would fall as soon as Tony let go of him. But Tony didn’t let go. He kept Peter in a tight hug and eased them down to their knees. The Ironman armor disengaged from under Peter’s touch and then he was being hugged by Tony himself, in just jogging pants and a soft long-sleeved shirt.
Peter was still too stunned to speak. He was breathing fast and he was trembling, adrenaline coursing through him with nowhere to go.
He let his mind stay blank and instead focused on the warmth of the concrete under them, heated by the late afternoon sun. The rooftop was blessedly quiet, such a change from the yelling and megaphones and alarms that he could actually hear the ringing in his ears.
His head throbbed. His heart kept pounding and he felt dizzy. Blood continued to collect in his mouth and parts of his face were numb and tingling. His eye was swelling.
But there were warm, comforting arms holding him close, protecting him. Mr. Stark was still hugging him. At the realization, Peter melted into his embrace, grasping at the back of Tony’s shirt and letting out a long, calming breath.
Then he noticed that Tony’s arms were shaking too.
“Are you okay, Mr. Stark?” Peter croaked, finally finding his voice. His lips weren’t completely cooperating, as they were split and still bleeding, but he got the words out. “I’m sorry. I tried to think of a way to-... but I couldn’t. There were always innocent people... I’m sorry I couldn’t -“
Tony squeezed him hard, almost to the point of being genuinely painful, then ripped out of his embrace to hold him at arm’s length. His face was frozen but in his eyes Peter found myriad emotions directed at him with such intensity that he found himself scared to speak again.
“You aren’t going to apologize.”
That was an order, clear as day.
“Are you okay?” Somehow the question was expressed as a command as well.
Peter swallowed and blinked a few times when he realized he hadn’t done so in far too long. “He was going to kill you, Mr. Stark,” he said quietly. “He was going to shoot you.”
“I wasn’t the one he was holding a gun to, kid, in case you forgot.” Tony’s odd deer-in-the-headlights expression remained for only a few more seconds, then his eyes roamed over Peter’s face and he winced in sympathy. “God, kid, you look like you tried to high five Mjölnir with your face. Do you still have all your teeth?”
Peter knew he was only partially joking, but he smiled nonetheless and made a show of exploring his mouth with his tongue. “Yup, all here.”
Tony gave him a brief, humorless smile, then his frown returned. “I should’ve let the EMTs look at you before whisking you away.”
Peter immediately shook his head. “No, no, it’s way better up here, Mr. Stark, really. Thank you. It was... too much. There. I mean it’s not like they’d be able to do much for me anyway. In a day or so you won’t even be able to tell that anything happened.”
Tony stared at him with a furrowed brow and Peter couldn’t help but fidget under the scrutiny. He wiped at some of the blood on his face with his sleeve but kept accidentally brushing against the open split on his lips, so he gave up with a grimace and stared at the floor.
A heavy hand plopped onto Peter’s knee and then slid off again. “I’m so sorry, kid.” The words were released in a long breath, world-weary and guilt-laden. “I really am.”
“But why?” Peter looked up and chuckled. “It’s not like it’s your fault.”
Tony’s gaze moved off to some distant, sun-kissed building on the horizon. His hands fiddled with each other where they rested loosely on his bent knees. “I just really wanted to keep you off the list.”
“The list?”
“Yeah, the list. Of people who have gotten hurt just because they know me. I really, really wanted you nowhere near it.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. Stark,” Peter said earnestly. “It’s not your fault. You know I don’t even think that guy was trying to get revenge for something bad you did. He said he wanted to be known for being the man who...” He trailed off, not even wanting to say the words. “You know... killed you. He just wanted to be famous before he died or something and was going to use you to do it. If you think about it, you’re just as much a victim here as me.”
Though he hadn’t meant it as a joke, he was rewarded with a laugh and another pat on the knee. “Yeah, take a look at yourself in a mirror and try saying that again. Speaking of which, we really need to get you fixed up.”
Peter just nodded. The ache through the majority of his face had not lessened, nor had the pulsing pressure through the rest of his head. Fatigue had been slowly setting in as his adrenaline faded and he was left feeling unnaturally sleepy as his healing ability tried to go to work.
“Tell you what,” Tony said suddenly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Peter jumped slightly and realized that he had been staring off into space. “Why don’t you come back to the tower still. We’ll clean you up, get you into some comfy blood-free clothes, pop some painkillers into you, and then you can take a nice long nap with ice packs all over your face.”
Peter sighed and closed his eyes happily at the thought. “That sounds perfect, Mr. Stark.” Then his eyes flew open again. “Well wait, what about, you know... everything else? The police and everything? I really should thank them. We sort of just ran away. Oh man, there were reporters... I don’t know how to deal with that kind of thing.”
Tony just shook his head and guided Peter slowly and carefully to his feet. “Don’t worry about all that. Happy is there, he’s a pro at this kind of stuff. We can give the police your statement later, and I don’t even think the reporters got your face. If they did I’ll make sure nothing gets out.”
Peter smiled in relief.
“What about your aunt?”
Peter didn’t even have to think about it before shaking his head up at Tony. “I’d rather she didn’t know. She has enough to worry about with me going out as Spider-Man, I don’t want her to have to worry about me as Peter Parker, too.”
Tony raised his eyebrows. “Oh I see, I’m the lucky one, then, who gets to worry about you twenty four hours a day?”
It was by no means the first time his mentor had said something similar, but Peter couldn’t help but feel a giddy sort of warmth spread through him at the notion of Tony Stark worrying about him.
The older man seemed to notice his blush because he gave a knowing grin and squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “Okay, Underoos, your choice. By car or by air? Unless of course you want to stop for coffee. You still owe me some sort of white-chino-chocolate-mocha-thing.”
Peter gave a little giggle. “You know you might like it Mr. Stark! But maybe just a car ride for now.”