Work Text:
Tony's combing through his emails when his personal assistant appears in his doorway.
"You're supposed to knock-"
"Did Peter call in sick this morning?" Harley demands, eyebrows furrowing. "He's been working his ass off on a case, and I kind of expected he'd be here all night, but he wasn't here for rollcall."
Tony looks up from his computer, fear genuinely igniting in his chest, but he's quick to set his expression as nonchalant. As Captain of the precinct, he can't have his detectives worried before he knows anything.
"Could you send Sergeant Maximoff in here," Tony says instead. He checks his phone, but no texts from Peter. "I'll look into it. Thank you, Mister Keener."
Harley frowns childishly like he thinks Tony isn't taking his worry seriously, but he doesn't argue.
A few moments later, Sergeant Maximoff appears in the doorway, Harley and Detective Leeds hovering over her shoulder.
"Parker didn't show up for rollcall and nobody's heard from him since yesterday." Wanda's expression is already grim like she's expecting the worst. "His desk was a mess of information and ideas, plans of how to catch the guy he's after. Jones checked the security footage and he was here until nearly midnight before he left without an explanation. It looked like he was planning on coming back, but never did."
Tony folds his hands on his desk. "We can't just jump to conclusions-"
"He was tracking a fucking serial killer!" Thompson exclaims, pushing to the front. He's holding a case file in his grip. "There's been a serial killer that's killed five people so far, that's who Parker was after."
"We can't jump to conclusions," Tony repeats. "Parker could've just gone home and fell asleep. We can't just assume-"
Flash crosses his arms over his chest, jaw clenching. He shoves the case file at Tony. "Listen, Captain, the serial killer had an M.O. He's only killed men between the ages of twenty and thirty. All of them disappeared without a trace until their bodies were dumped near places they frequented."
"I'm going to his apartment. I don't care what you say. I have to make sure he's not..." Harley trails off, shaking his head. "Call me if you find anything."
"Take Detective Jones with you, just in case," Tony sighs, trying to think rationally without jumping to conclusions. "All of you are dismissed, back to work."
*
"Peter!" Harley calls out, knocking on Peter's door. He lives in Queens, in an old apartment by himself. Harley's only been to his place twice in the years they've known each other.
"You don't really think he wound up, you know, in a bad situation?" MJ says, leaning against the opposite wall, one hand nervously hovering over her gun strapped to her hip. "Because, I mean, he's Peter, right?"
It's a fair point. Peter may be a self-sacrificial jerk who gives everyone heart attacks, but never like this. Never in a way that he could prevent. He's one of the greatest detectives ever, he doesn't just get taken.
"Out of the way," MJ says, nodding her head to the side. She pushes herself off the wall, takes a deep breath, and like a total badass she kicks the apartment door in.
Harley freezes, heart dropping.
Almost immediately noticeable is the red stains, everywhere.
There's blood in the floor, staining the hardwood of the living room. More blotting the couch and the coffee table. There's a fucking awful bloody handprint on the wall beside the door like Peter might've tried to escape.
Harley squeezes his eyes shut, wishing it was just a dream, that it wasn't happening, that Peter would walk out of his bedroom. But it doesn't happen. Instead, the smell of metallic blood hits him and MJ barely manages to drag him into Peter's bathroom before he coughs and throws up.
By the time he manages to catch his breath, MJ's already started doing her job of blocking off areas of evidence and getting police tape up at the door.
Harley's not a police officer. He's just the Captain's assistant. He just does desk work, like calendars and scheduling and phone calls. Not blood and serial killers. Peter's missing, and his blood is all over his apartment, and it's been nine hours since anybody's seen him.
"Keener, you need to calm down or I'll have to send you home." Harley turns his head to find Detective Lang at the door to the bathroom. Over her shoulder, he can see MJ filling Stark, Leeds, Maximoff, and Thompson in on what happened.
"He's just gone, Cassie," Harley says, blinking back tears. "He's fucking gone, probably taken by a fucking serial killer. How am I supposed to calm down?"
Cassie offers him a sad smile, leaning against the doorframe. "I know this is scary, but he's a detective and he has an entire team of detectives working to get him back as soon as we can."
"And if you can't? If you fail?"
His question hangs in the air, unanswered.
*
Tony's put in charge of security footage. Harley sits at his side, exhaustion radiating off him in waves. Because of how old and small Peter's apartment building is, the closest security camera they can get to is one in the bakery a few doors down from his building.
Everybody's been given jobs to get Peter back as fast as they can. They have all of Peter's work and by the looks of it, he was getting close to finding the killer.
"Wait, look," Harley says, leaning forwards so his elbows rest on his knees. "That's Peter's car. So we know he got home at around two in the morning."
"But why?" Tony questions, flipping to the security camera from across the street. "He's not the kind of person to leave his desk a mess, he's always careful about putting everything where they're meant to be."
They watch as Peter gets out of his car, parked haphazardly beside his building. He pulls open the backdoor of his car and pulls out a box with casefiles. And then he jogs into his building.
"He took casefiles home. Lots of them," Harley breathes. He doesn't know what that means, the big Why of the scenario, but he does know that nobody's allowed to take casefiles home.
Tony shakes his head. "Everything on the serial killer was left here, at his desk. He didn't take anything when he left the precinct."
"Knock, knock. We found something." It's Leeds at the door. He walks in, dropping a box on the desk. It's the same box Peter took out of his car in the footage. "It was in Peter's apartment."
Tony tugs the box open, immediately scanning for evidence or clues, but Harley can't stop staring at the bloodstain on the side of the box.
"This is a nightmare," he says, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. "This is a fucking nightmare. Peter's been taken by some Horror Movie Killer and we're here watching security footage and searching his apartment when he could be, I don't know, dead?"
He drags a hand through his hair, tears burning his eyes, and Tony sends a glare at him.
"Don't say things like that. We're going to find him," Tony says. There's no room for argument. "This is all about his uncle."
Ned looks up, nodding enthusiastically. "That's the point. It's been sitting in his closet for years. Ever since he became a detective, he took it with him. It's a cold case anyway, but he's been quietly working it while off duty."
"So? What does this have to do with him getting fucking kidnapped?" Harley demands.
"I'm getting there," Ned hisses. "The point is that MJ brought up an interesting point. Every single one of those people were connected to Peter's Uncle. They were all people that Mister Parker saved when he was a detective. People that would've died if not for Ben's work. We went through all of the casefiles Peter had and referenced all of Peter's notes about the killer. It all matches up."
"So you're saying that the person who killed Ben is not only undoing all of Ben's work, but is also the one who took Peter."
All of their phones buzz simultaneously, making them jolt in surprise, including the computer that's still playing the security footage.
"Holy shit," Harley breathes, opening up the file. It's from an unknown number and all it contains is a video. "I'll- Fuck, I'll play it."
It's Peter. He's sitting against a wall, chin resting against his chest, hair falling in front of his eyes. His wrists are handcuffed to the radiator behind him, hands limp in them.
"C'mon, Petey, it's kind of pointless for proof of life if you look dead," a voice behind the camera says. There's some kind of voice jumbler that makes it sound more like a British Darth Vader. A steel-toed boot kicks Peter in the side making him jolt and blink blurrily up at the person holding the camera.
It's obvious he's drugged, eyes glazed and pupils blown. He's leaning heavily against his handcuffs, letting them hold him up, and he has a nasty bruise across the bridge of his nose and spread under both eyes.
"I just wanted your little friends to know that you're only getting what you deserve after all the harm you've caused the world. If only you were faster, right?" the stranger continues. "If you were better, maybe Ben would still be alive? And then Queens would have a real detective, not your poor excuse of trying to follow in your dear uncle's footsteps."
Peter whines quietly, tugging at his restraints. His hands are shaking. "What... What're you doin'?"
The stranger laughs quietly and then a syringe appears in shot, filled with a golden liquid. "This is a little concoction of mine, hm? It'll prove to you exactly what you need to know."
The video gets closer to Peter's face showing off the dried blood covering his old t-shirt, his bruised face, the dazedly drugged look in his eyes.
For a solid few minutes after the drugs have entered Peter's bloodstream, nothing happens.
And then Peter's eyes glaze over and he looks away from the camera, squinting up at something they can't see.
"Ben?" Peter slurs, tugging at his restraints pointlessly. His eyes are watering and his bottom lip trembles. "Ben, 'm sorry. I- I'm sorry, I- please, I-"
Tony slams the laptop shut with a bang making both Ned and Harley jump. His jaw clenches and he rubs at his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he's been crying.
"Find him," he order to Leeds. "Tell everyone to find him. Now."
But it doesn't matter how much they want to find him, they still don't have anything to go off. The number isn't trackable, trying to decipher the voice will take too long, there's nothing visually that gives away their location.
They can't find Peter.
*
"You okay, Cap?"
Tony turns, holding his mug of coffee in a tight grip. MJ's standing in the doorway to the lounge room with narrowed eyes.
"Do you think I'm okay?" Tony demands. "I'm his Captain and I let one of my detectives get kidnapped by a fucking serial killer. How is any of this okay?"
"You didn't let anything happen. What happened, happened, and you're doing a really good job trying to find him. You're doing everything right," she murmurs, dropping her tough façade and her eyes shine with worry.
She crosses the room and takes Tony's mug, setting it down on the counter. "From a friend to a friend, not a detective to her captain, I know you're scared. We all are. But we trust you to do everything in your power to get him back to us."
"I'm just so fucking worried," Tony admits quietly, blinking back the tears that threaten to escape. "He's- He's just a kid, you know? He's so young and he's scared and hurt, and I just- I just want him back safe."
"I know. We all do." She shrugs, offering a half-smile. "He's going to be okay."
And, just to break the quiet moment that passes between them, their phones buzz.
The last thing Tony wants to do is watch another video of Peter being tortured by some psycho, but if it has clues, he needs to know. Motives, locations, anything to help them find Peter.
The video is the same as the one before except the camera is stationary and the stranger is in the frame. The killer is obviously a man, tall and lanky, wearing a ski mask over his head.
"They don't care about you," The Darth Vader-like voice says to Peter. He's gripping the kid's hair, holding his head up. He looks even worse than the last time they'd seen him. "They would've found you if they cared. I've been painfully obvious about everything."
Peter's drenched in water, hair sticking to his face where the man isn't holding it. His nose is dripping blood and his cheek is split open, blood washing down his face with the water. He looks incoherent, blinking blearily at the floor.
The man looks up at to the camera. "You've got twenty-four hours before I kill him. Have fun."
Before the video ends, Peter lets out a broken sob, chains rattling, and then the image goes dark.
MJ presses her fists against her eyes, taking deep careful breaths. "Fuck."
Tony wraps an arm around MJ's shoulders, picks up his coffee mug and leads her out into the main part of the precinct.
"Listen up!" he calls out, taking a sip of his coffee. "We have twenty-four hours for find Peter. I'm going to go to his apartment, see if I can find anymore clues. Maximoff and Thompson, I want you to continue working the Ben Parker Case and link it to any leads we have for Peter. Jones and Keener, I want you on the security tapes. Look through anything and everything. Lang and Leeds, I need you to question every person that might've seen Peter before he disappeared."
He knows, rationally, he shouldn't be asking Harley to do anything related to the case. He's not a police officer. But the kid is smart and desperate to help, and they need all hands on desk now that they have a time constraint.
"Everyone's going to meet back here in six hours and we'll put all of our knowledge together. And get Peter back."
*
With all their collective knowledge, they finally have a plan of action nearly twelve hours later.
MJ and Harley managed to go through enough security footage to find a suspicious car a few blocks away from Peter's apartment and later, they see a man that resembles what they saw of the man in the video. They tracked the car all the way into a rural area outside New York before they lost it. Wanda, Flash, Cassie, and Ned managed to get a description of what the man looked like, got a police sketch of him, and ran some facial recognition to get the name of the man.
On top of all of that, Tony found out where the man, Tyler Fitzpatrick, had a recent residence nearby where MJ and Harley tracked the car. As well as that, he kept the precinct running while the detectives were busy.
"Not to be the bearer of bad news, and not that Peter isn't important, but don't you think it would be dangerous for us to go now?" Wanda says, face falling with guilt. "I just- We don't have any second chances. We can't fuck this up. And we're all sleep-deprived and not doing too well."
As if on cue, Ned yawns widely, making at least three others yawn as well.
It's hard for Tony to split apart the need to save Peter, and knowing that he has to be a good captain. He can't just throw his team of sleep-deprived detectives into this. He can't risk not saving Peter or risk hurting anybody else in the process.
"Fitzpatrick is dangerous," Tony starts, crinkling his nose to try to push back the tears. "Everyone's dismissed for the next nine hours. Go home, rest, prepare yourselves. We'll meet near Fitzpatrick's location in nine hours, no more no less. That gives us three hours before our time's up."
"What if we're wrong?" Thompson asks, looking over from their board of clues.
Jones shakes her head. "We're not wrong. We can't be."
The detectives all take this as their cue to leave, saying small goodbyes to Tony and Harley who stands at his side. Everyone has the same ghostly reflection, eyes cloudy and face set in determination.
As soon as Tony's alone, he lets himself break, shoulders slumping and sliding into a chair. He hides his face in his arms, crossed on the table, and let's himself fall apart at the seams.
Peter's hurt. He's alone. He's scared.
And Tony still can't do anything to help him. He has to wait until it's safe. He has to protect his own detectives before saving Peter, as awful as it sounds. He's not allowed to be selfish, putting Peter's needs above everyone else's, it's unfair.
He cries and he cries and he cries, hating the world for ever taking Peter from them in the first place.
Peter's been nothing but the best person imaginable. An amazing detective, always working for the greater good of Queens. Peter doesn't deserve the pain and cruelty the world's put him through. The world doesn't deserve the selflessness of Peter Parker.
Tony failed him.
He should've kept him safe.
And now Peter's paying for it.
*
Tony doesn't catch a wink of sleep over the next nine hours. He alternates between working and talking himself down from panic attacks.
But eventually, all six of them are prepared to head in. Harley, despite his protests, is in a car a few blocks away until they give him the okay.
"Whatever happens, our main priority is apprehending Fitzpatrick and rescuing Peter," Tony instructs. "Stay safe in there."
And they go.
Tony's been working for the police force for the better part of three decades. He moves without having to think, a plan formulated in his head, adjusting for any roadblocks.
He knows his detectives are all hardworkers and he trusts them to take care of themselves as he moves quietly for the staircase. He hears, distantly, MJ shouting for people to get on their knees, he hears a gun cocking, he hears the jangle of handcuffs.
There has to be at least a dozen people, but his detectives have it under control. They're smart, strong, and brave. They don't need him hovering and making sure they're doing things right. He trusts them.
His job is to find Peter. No matter what. He can let the others handle the rest.
Footsteps light on the stairs, he makes it down to the basement unnoticed.
And surprisingly, it's empty. Everyone must've gone upstairs when they heard the commotion.
Peter's the only one there.
He's still chained to the radiator, hands hanging limp in the handcuffs. His chin rests against his chest, head bowed, and hair falling in front of his face. There's a pool of blood around him, staining the dilapidated wood a dark red.
"Peter?" Tony calls out, hurrying over. He falls to his knees, ignoring the way the blood splashes and seeps through his jeans.
The kid looks up slowly, blinking blearily up at him. "Mis'er...?"
"Yeah, buddy, I'm here, I've got you," he murmurs, making quick work of undoing his handcuffs.
Peter hands fall into the blood like he can't catch them fast enough. His face is bruised and bloody, pupils blown with whatever drugs are still making their way through his system. The old nerdy pun on his t-shirt is stained the same red as the floor, and his head dips again like it's too hard to keep it up.
Tony catches him when he starts listing sideways, unable to hold himself up without the handcuffs.
"Buddy? C'mon, we've gotta get you out of here and to a doctor, alright?" Tony's panicking, hands trembling where they grip the kid's shoulders.
He's not a kid, Tony reminds himself. He's twenty-three. He's Queens's best detective.
But here? Covered in blood and drugged beyond belief, he looks so young, so small.
"Mis'er S'ark?" Peter repeats, words slurring as he manages to lift a hand and twist it into the fabric of Tony's shirt. "S'ar'..."
Finally, the word comes through his walkie talkie. "It's all clear up here. Let's get him out of here. Over."
"That means I can come, right?" Harley's voice appears, desperate to help in anyway he can.
"I want you to pull up outside the house with the car," Tony instructs. "Lights on and everything, keep it running. Wait for us to get to you."
Leeds's voice is even smaller than Harley's. "Is Peter okay?"
"He's hurt and pumped full of drugs. Ambulance would take too long. Harley, you're going to step on it when we get there, okay? Take us to the nearest hospital. The rest of you will do your job, get everybody involved to the precinct and get your paperwork together. You can meet us at the hospital when you're done."
Surprisingly, there's little complaints to that, and he can hear sirens and the squealing of tires as the detectives peel out.
"C'mon, buddy, let's get you out of here," Tony murmurs, carefully lifting Peter into his arms when Peter gives him a weak nod.
It takes far too long to get up the narrow staircase, blood dripping to the floor from some unseen wound on the kid. But soon enough, Tony's closing the car door behind them and Harley's pulling out of the driveway as fast as he can.
Peter's head is cushioned in Tony's lap, glazed eyes fighting to focus on Tony.
"T'ny?" Peter chokes out, blinking as tears fall from his eyes and into his hairline. "I- I-"
"I know, buddy, I know. We're going to get you help, okay? A doctor will patch you right up."
Peter shakes his head, sniffling miserably. His hands are shaking violently. "Made me- Made me see... Nightmares were real."
Frowning down at the boy, Tony brushes back his curls. "They drugged you a lot, Peter. Whatever you saw, it wasn't real."
"Ben was there," Peter breathes. "Was... He was angry. Said it was my fault that he- that he-"
"It wasn't your fault, kid."
Peter sniffles. "Was like... Was like my nigh'mares were real, like- like he was there."
The hospital is in sight, nurses and a gurney already waiting for him. Harley, bless him, must've called in advance.
"It's not your fault. It never was. You don't have to beat yourself up for things that you couldn't have prevented."
Peter doesn't respond, shaking fingers finding Tony's and hanging on.
*
A few hours later, everyone's congregated in the waiting room.
Harley's finally fallen asleep, after having not slept the night before either, passed out between Flash and MJ who are both sipping on coffees and trading work back and forth, quiet conversation passed between them every once in a while.
Wanda's back at the precinct, saying something along the lines of somebody needs to watch over the precinct while you're all here. The night crew must be there by now, sun setting through the big glass windows.
Cassie and Ned are opposite them, both of them asleep as well, resting against each other.
Tony paces the center of the room, trying to distract himself by doing some work for Wanda, but nothing seems to help the anxiety that thrums in his veins.
Eventually, though, a nurse walks in.
"Family of Mister Parker?" the nurse says, reading off her clipboard in hand.
They must look like some interesting family. Nobody looks even remotely similar, but they all stand, nudging the others awake.
The nurse, surprisingly, doesn't question it. "Mister Parker's awake and requesting you. We'll have to keep him in the hospital for at least another day, but his recovery will be short and simple."
It's like the whole universe breathes a sigh of relief.
They're led down a hallway and into one of the rooms where Peter's waiting. He looks tired but otherwise alright. All the blood and dirt's been washed off and little butterfly bandages hold him together.
"I'm so sorry it took so long to get to you, there was a lot of-" Tony tries to say, the monologue he'd been writing and rewriting in his head prepared to spill out.
But Peter cuts him off. "No, thank you, guys, for real. I'm alive because of you. There's nothing you have to apologize for."
"We saw videos, Peter," Harley exclaims, looking wide awake except for his messy bedhead. "We saw what happened to you... You can't just act as though we didn't fail you."
Like the wonderful selfless person he is, Peter just shrugs casually. "After events like these, you all spend as much time as you need talking me down from blaming myself, it's always the bad guy's fault. So, take your own advice. Fitzpatrick is the only one at fault for what happened."
Somehow, his knowledge seems to help and everybody relaxes a little, taking seats around the room, as the stress finally rushes out of them.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm good, Mister Stark. Really," Peter says, smiling easily. "The doctors patched me up, just like you said they would."
MJ narrows her eyes. "And mentally?"
"I was living my nightmares for three days." Peter shrugs again, looking young and somehow unbothered in the hospital bed, pale face scrunching up in another smile. "So, yeah, I'm good. I'm safe. I've got you guys, don't I?"
"We love you, Peter. Don't forget that, okay?" Cassie says, smiling back at him.
Everyone else echoes their agreements and Peter's smile widens.
"I'd never forget that," he murmurs. "I love you guys too. You're my family."