Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony walks into the compound's communal kitchen just as the sun is rising above the trees-- going straight to the sink to wash the lingering stains of oil off his hands. It had been a long and productive night in the workshop, made longer by the fact that he had technically gone down there before the sun even set the evening before. 

At the time he’d made a hasty exit from the common area, just as he did every night-- as soon as he finished inhaling his dinner and before he had to endure any more awkward fumbles at small-talk. 

Still, he hadn’t been fast enough to miss the glare Sam sent him, or how Natasha had narrowed her eyes perceptively, or the way Steve had looked away first the one and only time they’d made eye contact.

And even though he never once looked at the man, Tony couldn’t possibly have ignored Barnes’ presence if he tried.

At the moment however it appears nobody else has decided to show up for breakfast. Tony starts to make quick work of some eggs and bacon, half considering just making enough for himself before he begrudgingly pulls enough out of the fridge for everyone-- thinking with a smile that it'll be more than just the rogues who make an appearance.

As Tony cooks, he thinks about how every time he had imagined getting the gang back together, he hadn’t ever thought it’d be quite like this. 

It had taken nearly a year to get the Accords amended, and even then the negotiations - courtesy of Ross’ strong-arming - had been limited only to the fate of the rogues and the few known-but-vocal dissenting vigilantes. 

Were it not for prominent mutants rights activist Professor Charles Xavier stepping in and using his considerable influence to sway the tide, Tony honestly wasn’t sure the deal would have ever been finalized. 

As it was, the rogues were officially pardoned - Barnes included - but only after agreeing to two years of what essentially amounted to house arrest before the deal could be reworked, if it ever was.

Besides Clint, who opted to return to his farm and family, Xavier had kindly offered the entire group teaching positions at his school just north of New York City. Wanda had readily accepted, and Tony had figured the others would do the same. 

Which is why the phone call he received from Natasha the day after the bill was passed, politely asking if she, Sam, Steve and Barnes could come to the compound instead had been… well, surprising was a kind word for Tony’s initial response. 

But Nat as always was a force to be reckoned with, arguing that the arrangement could be mutually beneficial. 

“You said yourself that something big is coming, Tony,” she’d said solemnly. “There might be bad blood right now but we’re still the Avengers, if we choose to be. If that threat materializes, do you really think we should all be scattered?”

When Tony didn’t answer, she’d added, “Besides, I kinda miss you. When you’re not making a complete ass of yourself, that is”

Tony had huffed out a laugh despite himself. “Have I ever told you how much I hate talking to you over the phone? I can never tell when you’re being honest and when you’re just playing to my damn insecurities.”

He could practically hear the shrug on the other end. “Why not both?”

They had moved in four days later, and the two weeks since then had been nothing short of awkward as hell.

That first week, Tony had steered clear of the common areas and taken long detours through musty hallways to get around, barely interacting with any of them but for crossing paths in the gym. 

It wasn’t until Pepper caught him preparing to escape out a window in the Iron Man suit for the short trip from his office to his personal lab in the same building that she put her foot down. 

“You can’t avoid them forever, Tony,” Pepper said, pursing her lips. “I thought the whole idea was to work on being a team again-- all of you.”

“I am working on it,” Tony replied, waving a hand. “I’m just using an… unconventional method.”

“I didn’t realize ‘Acting Like a Child and Hiding From My Problems’ was a legitimate method, unconventional or not,” Pepper deadpanned. “You’re the one who invited them to stay here. You can’t do that and then just-- just drop them without saying anything.”

“I can’t believe you just accused me of ghosting the Avengers,” Tony scoffed, Pepper rolling her eyes.

“If it looks like a duck,” she said, sighing. “Look, I’ve already spoken with Steve and the four of them meet for dinner at 6:30 every night. You better start joining them and making a real effort or I’ll have no choice but to lock you all in a room until you’ve sorted out your issues.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “You would never.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “Test me even once and I’ll kick you out of our bedroom too-- you can go share a bunk bed with Bucky.”

Tony groaned, closing his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Potts.”

“An unfortunate byproduct of making me your fiancée, Mister Stark,” Pepper replied, mouth quirking.

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know why you put up with me sometimes-- hell, most of the time.”

Pepper stepped forward, giving him a soft peck on the lips. “It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.”

“I’m glad it’s you then,” Tony replied, smiling softly and kissing her back. “As much as I like Hap, canoodling with him isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”

Pepper laughed and pulled away, giving Tony one last kiss on the nose before turning business-like again. “I have a meeting in ten, but don’t forget-- communal kitchen, 6:30. No excuses.”

“Yes ma’am.”

That had been five days ago, and it seemed with every dinner things were only getting more tense instead of being smoothed over.

So why Tony brings himself to the communal area to make breakfast instead of just going to the penthouse kitchen as usual, he isn’t sure. 

Maybe he is making actual progress.

Or maybe he’s just in a better mood than usual because it’s finally Saturday-- which means the kid’s currently on his way with Happy to the compound.

It was an arrangement Tony and May had worked out following Peter’s face-off with the Vulture and once May had come around regarding Peter’s ‘vigilante shenanigans.’ Tony had been as surprised as anyone that the woman still wanted Tony in their lives, much less allowed Peter to come stay with Tony every other weekend and over school breaks. 

He had considered canceling on the kid due to the rogues’ presence, but ultimately his desire to hang out with Peter overruled his paranoia.

He wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t have been so cavalier however, when Natasha strolls in only to greet him with a scrutinizing look-- hopping up to sit on a counter and continuing to watch him closely as he prepares breakfast.

“I’d forgotten how unnerving you can be,” Tony finally mutters after a few minutes, side-eyeing her only to almost drop the spatula when she speaks. 

“Is Pepper pregnant?”

Tony whips around, a piece of egg flinging off the utensil and sticking to a cabinet door. “What the-- why the hell would you ask me that?”

In response Nat raises a hand, swiping it in the direction of the two towering piles of bacon and three large plates of different types of eggs with a smirk. “You’re making enough food to feed a small army, Stark. I know Steve and Buck have quite the appetites, but you’ve easily made double what even they could eat. Ergo, you must be cooking with more than just us in mind. Now, Pepper’s a pretty conservative eater but if she were--”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Tony warns, pointing the spatula at Natasha menacingly. “And I hate to break it to you Sydney Bristow, but you’re way off the mark on this one. I’m not-- I don’t want to be a father.”

Natasha looks like she has something to say to that, but seems to think better of it. 

“Okay, Pepper’s not pregnant,” she finally says, tone casual. “Got it. So who is joining us for the most important meal of the day?”

Tony sighs. “My intern, Peter Parker. Don’t let the inevitable flailing when he introduces himself fool you-- kid’s a verifiable genius.”

“Peter Parker,” Nat repeats carefully, rolling his name around her tongue. “Didn’t know you took on personal interns.”

“Yeah well, not like you’ve been around much lately, have you,” Tony responds, barely managing to bite back any traces of bitterness. “Things changed.”

He can feel Nat still watching him even as she jumps down off the counter, avoiding her gaze and instead focusing on pulling out the various juice cartons from the fridge. He doesn’t flinch when she brushes against him, grabbing plates and cutlery to set the table with.

“If you hand-picked him then I’m sure he’s a great kid, Tony,” she says softly, Tony turning to her with a measured expression. The two of them stare at each other with twin looks of appraisal when the elevator dings-- Sam, Barnes and Steve all stepping out. 

The three of them are in workout clothes, clearly having just come from the gym.

They’re talking amongst themselves only to stop short when they catch sight of Tony and Nat. Barnes looks immediately down at the ground while Sam eyes the food hungrily, but it’s Steve who steps forward first.

“Tony, Nat, good morning,” he says with a soft smile, only to gesture to the packed plates. “Wow, is this all for-- for us?”

“Yep, and Tony made it,” Nat says before Tony can respond. “I call first dibs on the sriracha candied bacon.”

“Sriracha candied bacon?” Sam says, racing forward to grab a piece only for Tony to tap his hand in warning. 

“Nuh-uh. Not until we’re all here,” Tony says, then pointing at Nat, “and the kid gets first dibs on everything-- cook’s rules.”

“The kid?” Barnes asks softly, him and Tony meeting each other’s eyes for the first time since the rogues arrived only for the elevator to ding again, Peter hopping out with his backpack slung over his shoulder and carrying a small duffle.

“Hey, Mister…” Peter trails off, eyes going wide when he spots Barnes-- the one nearest to him. The duffle hits the ground with a plop. “Whoa. You’re-- you’re Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes!”

Barnes laughs then, the sound startling Tony for how relaxed he looks-- how much it doesn’t fit Tony’s perception of the man as a cruel, cold assassin.

“Just call me Bucky, kid,” he says, putting out a hand. “And you are…?”

Peter readily grips his hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “Peter Parker! I’m Mr. Stark’s intern, I’m--”

He cuts himself off abruptly, now noticing the others as well. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Everyone chuckles at the kid’s shock, Peter's face inventing a new shade of red in response.

“Okay yeah, this is fine, everything’s fine,” Peter squeaks out, looking like he wants nothing more than to poof out of existence right where he stands. “I’m not like, dying of embarrassment right now or anything.”

He turns when Tony puts a hand on his arm-- handing Peter a glass of orange juice. “Here you go, Pete. Small sips and deep breaths. Last thing we need is you fainting.”

Peter does as he’s told, only to set down the glass after a few sips and pin Tony with a glare.

“You could’ve warned a guy, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles, eyes narrowing. 

Tony shrugs, smirking as he puts an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “I could have, but it was admittedly way more fun to watch you freak out just now.”

“I will remember this betrayal.”

“Shakin’ in my boots, Pete.”

“I like this one, Stark,” Sam pipes up, putting out a hand. “Sam Wilson.”

Peter shakes his hand, then Steve’s. Finally Natasha comes forward, a soft grin on her face when she takes Peter’s hand in hers. 

“Peter Parker, how nice to meet you,” she says, casting a knowing glance Tony’s way before turning back to the kid. “You don’t happen to live in the city, do you? By your accent I’d wager you’re from the borough of--”

“So who’s hungry?” Tony interrupts, shooting Natasha a warning look-- Nat rolling her eyes almost imperceptibly in response. 

“I am,” Sam says, hurrying forward to grab two of the food plates and bringing them to the table. Steve and Barnes follow suit, and soon enough they’re all seated around the table, passing plates.

Tony barely has any time to feel discomfort at how domestic the situation feels - how relaxed and familial it is compared to the previous meals he’d shared with the rogues throughout the week - before he’s captivated by Peter making small talk with everyone at the table, all of them seeming genuinely happy to listen to him chatter away about school and decathlon. 

“So Peter, tell us more about your internship,” Steve finally says as he piles more bacon onto his plate. “How long have you been working with Tony?”

“Um, I guess about six months in earnest,” Peter replies around a mouthful of eggs. “Lately he’s been putting me to work on a sustainable water source project for SRF’s eastern Africa division, but sometimes we work on my Sp-- on the Iron Man suits.”

“Wow, Stark trusting a teenager to work on his suits?” Sam asks, eyes wide. “You must really be something else, kid.”

“He is,” Tony says, smiling proudly at Peter. “Pete here is gonna be the best of us all, someday-- mark my words.”

Peter blushes, grinning back at Tony for a few moments before looking back down at his food. 

Tony glances around the table to see the four rogues all looking between the two of them with expressions that range from slightly curious (Barnes) to downright dopily fond (Steve), and clears his throat-- wishing he had a pair of sunglasses to throw on.

“I mean, jury’s out until you’re done with puberty--”

“Mister Stark--”

“--but I think with my tutelage you’ll turn out at least twelve percent more awesome than me, and at least thirty-five percent cooler than this bunch of cretins currently eating me out of house and home.”

Where at any other meal that week calling the rogues cretins would have been met with a sneering taunt from Sam and a disapproving look from Steve, today it only elicits laughs-- Peter’s light airy giggle the brightest of them all.

“I dunno, Mr. Stark,” Peter says as he shovels his last bite of eggs into his mouth-- shooting Natasha a grateful look when she slides the last of the sriracha candied bacon onto his plate without being asked. 

After a few seconds Peter swallows, only to take a large gulp of juice and swipe an arm across his mouth before continuing. “Pretty sure if eating you out of house and home is what makes someone a cretin, then my metabolism already wins that one hands down.”

Peter’s eyes go impossibly wide, as if realizing what he just said. Quickly he adds, “Y’know, me being a growing teenage boy and all.”

The other three just laugh, but Tony doesn’t miss Natasha’s look of triumph. She glances at Tony only to smile and give a slight shake of her head-- Tony knowing her well enough to take that as her way of reassuring him that Peter’s secret is safe.

It’s only then that Tony realizes that no matter what his desire to see Peter, he never would have let the kid within fifty miles of any of the rogues if he didn’t trust them to keep Peter and his vigilante identity safe. 

Still, he doesn’t trust them enough yet to just come out with it-- but the foundation is there.

Tony doesn’t know what to do with that - what it says about the future of their fractured friendships - so he opts to just ignore it for now, focusing instead on Peter and chuckling along with the others. 

“Anyway,” Peter says as he plucks up another piece of candied bacon, popping it into his mouth and grinning at Tony. “Total cretin. That’s me.”

Tony’s unable to hide the fondness in his tone when he murmurs, “I wouldn’t have it any other way, kid.”

“So when can I tell everyone I’m Spider-Man?” Peter asks the next day as the two of them tinker in Tony’s personal lab.

Tony sighs, shaking his head even as he doesn’t look up from the gauntlet he’s repairing. He’d known the question was coming ever since breakfast the day before, but he hadn’t expected it quite so soon.

“Not yet, Pete.”

“But why not?”

“First of all, you only met them yesterday--”

“Technically I met them all last year--”

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Then what is the point? We’re a team!”

Tony throws down his tools, glancing up at Peter only to be met with a petulant scowl.

“Last I checked you’re not on the team, underoos. And I’d like to keep it that way for now.”

“But you asked me to join!”

“And you turned me down, which was a good move,” Tony replies in a clipped tone. “Anyway, again, that’s not the point. What is the point is that this is still very much a new arrangement, and I don’t trust them with that information yet.”

“You mean you don’t trust Bucky.”

Tony’s jaw clenches. “And why should I? I barely know the man.”

“But what he did-- that wasn’t his fault, Mr. Stark.”

Tony takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to quell his rising anger. 

It’s not really Peter he’s mad at anyway, he knows. In fact, he’s not even sure who he’s mad at anymore for everything that happened last year. Maybe he’s just mad at himself.

“I know that, kid,” Tony finally says, wiping a hand over his face. “But it doesn’t change the fact I still barely know him - just Barnes - on his own. Just-- let’s not be too hasty, okay? I know you being Spider-Man isn’t exactly something you’re good at hiding--”

“Har, har.”

“--but if the wrong people found out, things could go south really quick. And I can’t…”

Tony trails off, a fear that’s become all too consuming ever since he saw bloodstains in the sand of a fiery beach coming to the forefront of his mind. 

He shakes his head, meeting Peter’s gaze determinedly. “It’s my job to make sure you stay safe, kid. I promised May that no harm would come to you and I intend to keep that promise. And part of doing that is keeping only those who need to know in the actual know, capiche?”

Peter bites his lip thoughtfully, only to nod in defeat and say, “Okay, Mister Stark.”

Tony watches in resignation as the kid turns back to his project, Tony doing the same only for an idea to come to him-- one that might appease Peter while also helping to protect him.

“You know though, I’m pretty sure one of them already has your secret identity figured out.”

Peter’s head pops up, eyes wide. “Seriously? Who?”

Tony smiles. “What would you say to one-on-one training with the Black Widow?”

Chapter Text

Natasha finds Tony in his lab later that day, hair in a messy bun and still wearing her gym sweats.

“Where’s Pete?” Tony asks.

“Showering and packing up for the trip home,” she replies, taking a long drink from her water bottle as she sauntered over, glancing around the lab.

Tony nods. “How’d it go?”

“The kid has good instincts,” Natasha says, shrugging as she crosses her arms and leans back against his lab bench. “But riling him up is too easy-- he gets distracted.”

“Riling him up?” Tony repeats, confused.

“Taunts, verbal jabs, threats against his loved ones,” Natasha says smoothly, as if the answer were obvious. “Things actual villains will have no problem trying to use against him.”

“Jesus, Romanoff,” Tony exclaims, anger rising to the surface. “I asked you to train him, not traumatize him!”

“Tony, he still refers to the criminals he fights as bad guys,” Natasha says, voice stern. “The kid’s obviously been through some shit but he hasn’t met the worst of humanity yet, not even close. And that’s not even taking into account the war that we’d all be drafted into - him included - if you’re right about what’s coming.”

“Hell no. Pete’s not getting drafted into anything,” Tony says, furious but also - even if he won’t admit it - terrified by her words. “I’m not-- I won’t let that happen. I don’t care how much he argues his case when the time comes. That’s not ever going to be his battle, got it?”

Natasha levels a stare, the two of them glaring at each other before she says, “I don’t know how you can possibly think that’s within your control, but. Fine, if you say so.”

Her expression softens just slightly then, the storm in her eyes receding even as her voice echoes like distant thunder in the room. “Alien hordes aside, Tony-- you know as well as I do that he’s going to make plenty of enemies in this gig. Eventually - if it hasn’t happened already - he will become a target for some truly nasty people. Peter needs training before that happens, and not just of the body but of the mind. He can’t let his fear get the best of him in a fight or he's going to lose one day.”

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Tony replies after a few moments. “But Peter’s fifteen, Nat. Can we just-- lay off all the toughen-up shit for now?”

Natasha purses her lips, considering him. “The villains won’t care if he’s fifteen or fifty, Tony. But again-- fine. If that’s what you want. He’s your kid, not mine.”

“Thank you,” Tony says with a sigh, studiously ignoring her last sentence. He leans over until his palms rest on the bench surface-- the two of them shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Natasha gives him a friendly nudge. “So what training have you done together?”

“Together? Nothing. I’ve had him go a few rounds with Happy before but that’s about it.”

“You haven’t trained him yourself?” Natasha asks, tone light but gaze accusatory. “Tony, what have you even been doing with him all this time? Because I know it can’t just be that ridiculously transparent front of a foundation project.”

“Look, it’s-- it’s not just about Spider-Man for me, okay? It’s about Peter,” Tony says begrudgingly, blowing out a slow breath through his nose. “I want our time together to be focused on the things I actually want for him. Things like nailing his next decathlon meet, or winning first place at the Midtown science fair, or encouraging him to go to MIT. Or, hell, just talking to him-- teasing him about any crushes he might have, or listening to him list off what reddit is saying about the upcoming Star Wars film, or having him do a poor imitation of something funny his buddy Ned did that week.”

Tony waves a hand at the wall of retired Iron Man suits. “Just-- anything but this superhero bullshit, y’know? Not when all it’s ever done for me is break my damn heart. Peter deserves better.”

Natasha bites her lip thoughtfully. “I get it. But the kid’s been working with you and still going out as Spider-Man for almost an entire year, Tony. You can’t tell me in all that time you didn’t think more critically about--”

“It hasn’t exactly been a year,” Tony says with a sniff.

“And what does that mean?”

“I kind of-- dropped him, after Germany and Siberia,” Tony says guiltily. “Not entirely dropped, but-- I basically ignored him and let Happy handle things, and then when I did finally show up it was mostly just to tell him off for poking his nose where I thought it didn’t belong. Where it could get him seriously hurt, or even killed.”

Tony clenches his fists, trying to blot out the memory of the fear that had gripped him when Happy had called to say the plane had crashed. That Peter had been involved and had almost certainly been injured-- yet was nowhere to be found.

“I took away the suit I made for him-- took away any real form of protection and assistance he could have had,” Tony says, chuckling bitterly. “And yet he managed to save all our tech from Toomes and still make his damn curfew. It’s been half a year and the kid’s never even asked me for an apology. Hell, I’ve had the whole damn thing written in my head for months-- but Pete’s never once seemed to need to hear it.”

“Damn, Tony Stark wanting to apologize? Never thought I’d see the day,” Nat replies, one side of her lips curling up. 

When there’s no response Natasha just rolls her eyes, playfully bumping his shoulder with her own. “No need to be so glum, Tony. Peter clearly adores you, and it sounds like whether or not he wants your apology you’re making amends anyway, just by showing that he can trust you not to cut and run now.”

Before Tony can respond to that she adds, “But without proper training and honing of his skills he’ll be in a world of trouble when a larger threat than a card-carrying AARP member in a high-tech bird costume comes for him.”

Tony scoffs. “Seriously, Romanoff? Look, I get it. But I can’t exactly--”

“Which is why,” Natasha continues carefully, “I think he should be training with the whole team.”

Tony’s head whips up, gaze fierce. “The kid put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“You think a teenager can sway me?” Natasha asks, only to raise her eyebrows when Tony keeps glaring. “Okay, fine, he might have mentioned it. But he has a good point, Tony. Look at what the last big secret did to us. Sam, Steve, Bucky, they fought Peter - hurt him - having no idea he was a child. That’s not just something you can keep hiding-- not without facing massive repercussions down the line.”

Tony pushes away from the bench, rubbing at his temples. “I’ll tell the others, just-- not yet. I mean, hell, Nat, you guys barely just finished moving in. I need some time, alright? Time to get used to things, to... to trust again. To forgive. So I’m asking you-- don’t say anything. Not yet.”

Natasha sighs, standing up straight. “I won’t say anything. But as soon as that trust is back and you’ve found a way to forgive, even if only a little-- you need to tell them. Preferably sooner rather than later.”

Tony nods. “I will.”

It isn’t long before the oddly-relaxed nature Peter’s presence brings to Tony’s relationship with the rogues starts to bleed into Tony’s interactions with them even when the kid isn’t around-- though Tony knows at least part of that is due to Peter’s own (poorly concealed) orchestrations. 

It’s Peter who convinces Tony on his second visit since meeting the rogues to start going running with Steve and Sam in the mornings, arguing that it’d be good for his heart to do more cardio.

It isn’t anything Pepper hadn’t argued before but coming from Peter, Tony found it far more guilt-inducing to say no.

At first Tony had just kept about twenty feet behind Sam-- only for Sam to keep pace with him on the third morning, throwing out jabs at Steve under his breath every time the man would lap them, Tony chuckling despite himself as the taunts grew increasingly creative. 

“Damn, Wilson,” Tony finally says at the end of their run. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you wanted nothing more than Rogers’ head on a platter after that last lap.”

Sam laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Nah man, it’s just how Cap and I roll. Same with me and Buck. If I ever start giving you serious grief, that’s when you know I got your back.”

Tony hums, taking a drink of water.

“Speaking of, we wouldn’t have been lapped that last time if you weren’t so damn slow, old man.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, seeing the gleam in Sam’s eye. “Maybe I just didn’t want to further damage your precious ego, birdbrain. Seems pretty fragile.”

Sam grins knowingly. “How about putting your money where your mouth is, Stark. A Benjamin says you won’t be able to keep pace with me all next week.”

Tony smirks. “You’re on.”

The first full day of Peter’s spring break finds Tony busy with specs on his tablet in the common area living room. He’s barely glanced up in nearly three hours, deeply engrossed in his work and ignoring everything around him. It’s a bad habit but one he’s never been able to break. Even Pepper jokes that only an explosion could distract him when he gets like this, and Tony is pretty sure it's true. 

Or he had been sure of that, looking over when his brain registers an annoying and ongoing conversation from the couch opposite. 

Steve and Peter sit together, each holding a notebook with a set of fancy colored pencils between them. Peter is showing Cap his page-- Steve pointing at part of it and saying something about adding more shading.

“Could you two pipe down?” Tony blurts out-- knowing he’s being childish but feeling just irritated enough at that moment not to care. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

The question has Steve and Peter whipping their heads up and assuming twin looks of guilt.

“Sorry, Tony,” Steve finally says. “If we’re disturbing you, we can go elsewhere.”

“No we can’t,” Peter argues before Tony can say a word.

Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Peter--”

“We can’t leave,” Peter says, looking at Tony. “Steve hasn’t finished his drawing of you.”

“Drawing of me,” Tony repeats dumbly, only to set down his tablet with a smirk and hold his hand out in Cap’s direction. “Alright, let’s see how badly you’ve mangled this beautiful mug, Winghead.”

Steve blushes, clearing his throat. “It’s uh, bad luck for an artist to show a work in progress.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s honestly painful how obvious it is that you just made that up on the spot. Now gimme.”

Reluctantly Steve passes his notebook over, Tony turning it to get a proper look.

He’d been ready with about three different disparaging remarks but they all die on his tongue as he takes in Steve’s drawing. It’s a remarkably life-like portrait of himself sitting on the couch just as he had been moments before, clearly unfinished but for Tony’s head. Looking at it, Tony can’t help but note how much could be seen in his expression-- from the delighted gleam in his eye to the focused purse of his lips. 

It’s no secret Tony gets passionate about his work, but looking at Steve’s drawing, Tony can’t help but feel that the man was trying to convey that deep sense of pride only those close to Tony knew he took in his work. That drive to make every project he touched be the absolute best it could be. 

Only then does Tony notice what Steve had only just started to draw on the screen of the tablet: the edges of Captain America’s shield-- the same one Steve had nearly used to kill Tony in Siberia, and which Tony had kept afterward for reasons he still couldn’t quite articulate.

Tony might be a genius, but it doesn’t take one to infer the meaning behind the drawing. Tony had never dedicated as much of himself to a project as he did to the Avengers-- making sure their equipment, weapons and tech were top-notch, yes, but also making them feel like a family.

To see Steve drawing Tony looking at specs for his shield, well… it says a lot about how Steve views their relationship now.

Or maybe just how Steve wants things between them to be again.

He hands the notebook back to Steve with a sniff, not looking at the man when he says softly, “It’s, uh-- it looks good.”

“You think so?” Steve asks, and Tony can hear there’s more to the question than just what’s on the surface.

He looks up, meeting Steve’s gaze head-on. “I do.”

Tony glances over at Peter, not missing the delight in his eyes as he looks between the two Avengers. Sniffing again, he extends his arm in the kid’s direction.

“Alright underoos, your turn.”

Peter’s smile falls as his expression turns panicked-- clutching the notebook to his chest. “Nope. No way, Mister Stark. This isn’t-- it’s personal.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Not too personal for you to show Cap though?”

“That’s different. Steve’s helping me.”

“And to think I thought you trusted me, Pete.”

Steve chuckles. “Just tell him, bud.”

When Peter remains obstinately silent, Steve brings a hand up to half-cup his mouth, mock-whispering to Tony. “It’s a portrait of his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Peter exclaims, voice squeaking.

Tony laughs menacingly. “Oh, this I have to see. What’s her name, kid? The Toomes girl - Lindsey - moved out of state if I recall--”

“Her name’s Liz, and I know you know that just like I know you know Ned’s name--”

“So who’s the new crush?”

“She goes by MJ,” he finally admits as he hands the notebook over, adding with the kind of dramatic dejection only a love-lorn teenager can muster, “I don’t even know if she likes me.”

Tony gives the drawing a once-over, only to let out a high whistle. “While I have no doubt she is stunning in person, kid-- I think it’s best you stick to the sciences. Because I genuinely can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a nose or a third eye.”

Peter groans, dropping his head into his hands.

It’s the night before Peter is set to return to Queens that Tony goes in search of the kid when he disappears after dinner, only for FRIDAY to announce that he’s in Barnes’ quarters. 

“What the hell,” Tony mutters to himself, carving out a path in the compound he had avoided since the day he’d agreed to let them stay.

He debates for a solid minute if he wants to knock on the closed door before he finally musters the courage, a soft “come in” answering him.

Tony opens the door to a sight he couldn’t be more surprised by. 

Peter is sitting on the floor, a bunch of tools surrounding him and the innards of Barnes’ metal arm on display as the kid pokes at various wires-- only for one to spark.

Meanwhile Barnes sits on his bed, wearing a t-shirt but with the sleeve of his missing arm rolled up-- massaging some type of lotion over his stub, which appears to have small burn marks peppering it.

For as obvious as it was that Barnes was missing an arm, Tony had never given thought to the everyday pains and aches that the man had to endure-- particularly considering the clearly shoddy job HYDRA had done at maintaining his prosthetic.

“Stark,” Barnes says softly in greeting, Peter looking up with wide eyes as if caught and opening his mouth only for another wire to spark.

“Whoa, what’s this?” Tony asks, stepping forward and kneeling down across from Peter. “Kid, you know better than to do this kind of work anywhere but in the lab.”

“I know, but Bucky’s arm was glitching and apparently has for a while and--”

“For a while?” Tony says, looking up at Barnes who just stares down at his bedspread. “I would have thought those assholes would have at least taught you how to fix the damn thing at some point.”

“Just minor repairs,” Barnes replies in a low voice. “The old tech included a tracker-- they didn’t want me to know how to disable it in case I ever went off-grid. The Princess removed that in Wakanda but I didn’t wear the arm while I was out there, so never got round to learnin’ about it.”

Tony gives a tight nod, looking back down at the prosthetic. The thing was clearly more a hunk of junk than anything else, and a dangerous one at that. Tony’s half-surprised it hadn’t yet burst into flames.

He catches Peter looking at him, the kid frowning as he watches Tony carefully-- Tony seeing the silent question in his eyes.

They both know why Barnes went to Peter and not Tony and moreover, why Peter opted to perform the tech version of crude make-do surgery in the man’s quarters instead of bringing it down to the lab where Tony might catch him.

Neither Barnes nor Peter trusted Tony to do the right thing, and even now Peter’s waiting to see if he will.

Tony clears his throat, looking back down at the arm - not just any arm but the actual hand at which his parents had met their demise - for a few moments before turning to Barnes and meeting his gaze. 

“This thing’s scrap metal,” Tony says, waving a hand over the wrecked tech. “I can’t fix this.”

“Mister Stark,” Peter begins to argue but Tony throws a hand up, still looking at Barnes.

“Let me build you a better one.”

Barnes goes still, clearly taken aback. He glances over at Peter before his eyes go back to Tony. “You’d build me a new prosthetic?”

Tony nods. “I will. And a much better one than those scum did. Mine won’t glitch, it won’t spark, and I can guarantee it’ll be much more comfortable. I’ll even teach you how to repair it yourself, if you want.”

Barnes looks down at his old arm, taking a deep breath. “I’d be mighty grateful for a new arm. Lord knows I hate everything ‘bout this one. Where it came from… what it’s done.”

Barnes gets up off the bed and walks over to Tony, holding out his flesh hand to the man. 

“Thank you, Tony.”

Slowly Tony stands up, ignoring the way his knees pop as he takes Barnes’ hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Don’t mention it, Buck.”

Tony drops his hand only to glance around the room once more, eyes lighting up when he spots a familiar board.

“You play chess?”

Bucky nods. “Captain of the school chess team from ‘33 to ‘35.”

“Even better,” Tony says, smirking. “Let’s bring it out to the common area, play a game or two.”

At Bucky’s nod, Tony turns to Peter. “Kid, you can come cheer on your favorite superhero once you have all this cleaned up, capisce?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I’m a neutral party, Mister Stark. And anyway, my favorite superhero is Thor.”

Tony brings a hand to his chest dramatically. “Et tu, Brute?”

Peter shrugs, smirking. “I told you I’d remember your betrayal.”

As the spring carries on, Tony finds himself less and less inclined to hole away in his lab. He still works late into the night but whole chunks of his day are spent with the others. By the time May rolls around, the team have been doing training and drills together for a month, and have already been sent out on two successful missions by SHIELD.

Yet still Tony finds himself reluctant to share Peter’s identity with the rest of the team, worried in a way he can’t articulate that doing so will inevitably lead to losing the kid. Not because Peter will befriend and find common ground with the others - that ship has already sailed and anyway, Tony finds he doesn’t mind sharing when it makes Peter so obviously happy - but because he can’t shake the feeling something far more sinister is on the horizon, biding its time beyond the clouds.

Something bad is coming, Tony knows it-- saw it. And the longer they go without word from Thor - and with Bruce remaining MIA - the more Tony’s desire grows to keep Peter as far away from the big action as the kid can possibly get. To keep Peter from having to be anything but a kid, while he still can.

If protecting Peter means keeping Spider-Man at arm’s length from the Avengers - not to mention pushing off Natasha’s Red Room-esque training tactics - well, that’s something Tony will happily do.

He promised May - promised himself - he would keep Peter safe and protected. If it’s the last thing he does, Tony intends to keep that promise.

Chapter Text

The alert comes in on a Thursday afternoon. The entire team is gathered in the common area, having just finished an afternoon training and now lounging about-- discussing increasingly ridiculous party ideas for Tony’s birthday in a week.

Sam has just suggested renting a petting zoo - complete with an alpaca - when FRIDAY announces, “Alert. Major security breach at Rikers Island Correctional Facility. NYPD has requested back-up from SHIELD Team A. I repeat, major security breach at Rikers Island--”

“We got it, FRI,” Tony says, the AI’s voice cutting out as the entire team stands up.

“You all know the drill,” Steve says. “Ten minutes and the jet leaves, with or without you.”

“You guys can meet me there,” Tony says, Steve opening his mouth to protest only for Tony to add,”Peter lives in Queens, Cap. I’m not waiting.”

To his credit, Steve only hesitates for a moment before nodding and heading for his quarters.

The others disappear to grab their gear while Tony calls for the suit, FRIDAY switching to his personal comm as a window swings open, Tony taking to the sky and heading south toward the city.

“What’s the 411, FRI?”

“At approximately 3:47pm, an emergency call was placed to NYPD requesting assistance with a break-in at the prison facility, boss.”

“A break-in? So not an escape attempt?”

“Yes, although it is unclear yet what the motive of the break-in is. It is more than likely the end goal is to release a certain inmate or group of inmates.”

Tony frowns. “Go on.”

“Police arrived by boat shortly thereafter only to be overtaken by an external as-yet-unidentified group who have swarmed the island. Thus far only five personnel and no prisoners have been reported dead, but they are currently holding an unknown number of prison workers and officers hostage.”

FRIDAY pauses, before adding. “It is believed they have Chitauri tech, boss.”

Tony’s stomach drops-- his mind starting to connect the dots. “Toomes is being held at Rikers, correct?”

“Correct. Adrian Toomes has been an inmate at Rikers for the past seven months and twenty-one days.”

“Shit,” Tony mutters. “If Toomes gets out he’ll go straight for the kid. Call Peter-- now.”

Tony increases his speed as he listens to the ringing of Peter’s phone, dropping the call as soon as the kid’s cheerful voicemail message comes through.

“Damn it,” Tony says. “The kid usually patrols right now. Is he in the suit, FRI?”

“He is, boss,” FRIDAY replies only to bring up Peter’s vitals and location on Tony’s HUD screen. 

Tony is glad to see Peter’s vitals are all within normal range, but his own veer into oncoming traffic when he sees where the kid’s at.

“FRI, connect me to Peter’s comm.”

A few seconds and then Tony hears the distinct sound of wind and machinery, followed by a shaky yet excited, “Whoaaa!” 

“Peter.”

“Oh - uh, hey, Mister Stark. What’s up? I’m just, uh, out on a regular patrol.”

“That’s funny, it doesn’t seem all that regular to me,” Tony says. “Care to tell me why your tracker has you flying out over the East River at a height of 224 feet?”

“Uh… no?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Try again.”

A long sigh, then, “Karen says there’s a potential escape attempt going on at the prison and I need to get out there so I maybe… webbed myself to a police helicopter?”

“Jesus,” Tony mutters. “Look Pete, NYPD called the team in for this one. It’s above your paygrade. I need you to stay out of it.”

“What? I can’t stay out of it! This is my city and if these guys get out--”

“Don’t argue with me, kid,” Tony says. “Whoever invaded Rikers has Chitauri tech which means they’re most likely there to break out Toomes, and if Toomes gets out there’s only one person he’ll be coming for, and that’s you. So I don’t care if you have to do the damn butterfly stroke back across the river-- get your butt over to Queens, get May and get yourselves to the compound now.”

The loud sound of the helicopter in the background fades suddenly, followed by a small oof! and a rustling sound. 

“I’m on the ground,” Peter whispers. “Karen says there’s at least seventy prisoners climbing a fence on the northeast side-- I’m gonna stop them.”

Tony’s heart-rate skyrockets. He can see the island in the distance now-- only thirty more seconds and he’ll be there.

“This isn’t a goddamn negotiation, Parker. Get your ass--”

“No. I’m--I’m sorry but I can’t, I can’t just stand by. This is one of the bad things, Mister Stark. I’m not sitting it out-- not when I can do something to help.”

Tony’s jaw clenches. This kid.

There’s two helicopters over the island, and Tony can see countless NYPD and SWAT teams swarming on the south and east edges. On the roof of the main prison complex there’s what looks like a bastardized form of a SHIELD jet parked, along with dozens of men in black gear and ski masks lining the perimeter, each of them carrying Chitauri blasters of two distinct types-- keeping them aimed at the cops below and helicopters above.

FRIDAY is immediately able to pull up specs on the two blasters-- one designed to disarm any enemy tech and the other to cause direct damage.

Tony looks over at the north end and can just make out Peter racing down a patrol road that hugs the shoreline. In front of him not five hundred yards away, a large group of men in orange jumpsuits are clumsily trying to climb a security fence that separates them from a dock of small, unmanned security patrol boats.

Even considering the size of the group, Tony knows Peter won’t have any trouble handling a bunch of panicked, unarmed criminals.

“Fine,” Tony says with a sigh. “But no engaging anyone with Chitauri weaponry, you hear me? You stay away from the prison and focus on webbing up any wayward escapees before they can get to the boats or river. Let us handle the big bads.”

Tony can practically hear the grin in Peter’s voice when he replies, “Got it!"

Tony rolls his eyes fondly. “Stay safe, kid.”

“You too, Mister Stark,” Peter responds in a serious tone before their comm goes silent.

With Peter sorted Tony brings his focus back to the main prison complex, where on the roof no less than five dozen men are carrying Chitauri guns and shooting at the cops haphazardly-- almost like they’re trying to distract rather than kill.

Only once they spot Tony do they start shooting with intent-- but at this distance he’s easily able to dodge the beams. The two helicopters aren’t as lucky however, and Tony watches as one gets clipped-- only for both to fly farther down the river and out of target range.

Just then two more men climb up onto the roof wearing orange jumpsuits, a group of terrified prison guards coming out behind them, followed shortly by even more armed, masked men.

“Toomes,” Tony mutters as he takes a closer look at the two inmates, recognizing the man even from a distance. “FRI, who’s the other guy?”

“My sources identify the second prisoner to be MacDonald Gargan. He is a close associate of Adrian Toomes and was arrested on September 26th following the ferry incident, ten days before the plane crash.”

“Oh yes, I remember him now,” Tony mutters, watching as Toomes looks up at him hovering in the sky before making a hand motion to beckon him down-- simultaneously yelling at his men to quit shooting at Tony. “He’s one of the assholes that targeted Peter.”

“That’s correct, boss. His facial scarring and left eye impairment are a result of injuries sustained in that altercation.”

“Couldn’t have happened to nicer guy,” Tony deadpans, watching as some goon hands Gargan a measly pistol before zooming in again on Toomes, who has his hands raised toward Tony with his mouth still moving. “FRI, what’s he saying?”

FRIDAY hones in, boosting up the helmet volume until Toomes voice - slick and smarmy - is clear.

“--come on down, Stark. Otherwise I’ll have to start shooting these guards one by one, and I think we’d all hate for it to come to that. So come down. I just want to talk, I swear.”

“Sounds like a trap, boss.”

“It’s definitely a trap,” Tony replies. He hovers in the air, gauging his options. “How far out are the others?”

“The quinjet will arrive in approximately seven minutes.”

“That’s too long to wait,” Tony says. “He’ll start killing these guards long before then.”

As if Toomes heard him, the man motions to Gargan who grabs one of the guards from behind with a sneer. He presses his pistol right up against the guard’s temple as the man starts to sob in earnest, clearly terrified.

“Well?” Toomes asks. “Larry here has a newborn at home. I wonder, will that kid blame you if he grows up without a father, or will it be me?”

Jaw clenched, Tony starts to fly down.

“Boss, I don’t think--”

“We’re out of options, FRI,” Tony replies shortly, landing on the roof roughly twenty feet away from Toomes and letting his faceplate retract.

“So kind of you to join us,” Toomes greets, grinning. “I honestly wasn’t sure you’d make the party, Stark. Here I had this whole plan to capture Spider-Man and lure you out of your ivory upstate complex, but it seems just little ol’ me and my outfit was good enough for you silver spoon-fed assholes for once.”

Tony's heart skips a beat at the mention of Peter, but he doesn’t let emotion show on his face as he replies in a low voice, “Alright, Toomes. You got me. Now let the guards go.”

“Hand your suit over, and you got it.”

“What, so you can sell it to the highest bidder along with the Chitauri tech?” Tony asks with a growl. “I gave up the weapons manufacturing business a long time ago, Toomes-- you’re not getting the suit. Now let the guards go.”

Toomes shakes his head, laughing almost resignedly. “Well, if you won’t just hand it over, I suppose we’ll just have to take both of you.”

Toomes make an almost imperceptible wave with his hand and before Tony can dodge he’s hit with no less than three beams from the same type of Chitauri blaster-- all designed to short-circuit the enemy’s tech. 

One blast would have caused only momentary loss of power, but the combination of the three has the suit powering down instantly, Tony falling to the roof pavement as his multi-million dollar Iron Man suit is reduced to nothing more than six hundred pounds of useless metal. 

“FRIDAY? FRI?” Tony calls, panicked-- but there’s no answer except Toomes, who chuckles.

“Alright boys, let’s roll on out--”

Just then there’s a thwip behind Tony, followed by a grunt from one of Toomes’ lackeys and the sound of one of the Chitauri blasters skittering across the roof surface.

“Leave Mister Stark alone!”

Tony’s eyes widen, his breath picking up instantly. 

“Kid, get the hell out of here!”

To Tony’s complete surprise, Toomes agrees-- telling his men to lower the weapons trained on Spider-Man before smiling almost kindly at the teen and saying, “Your boss is right, kid. This isn’t your fight. Now scram.”

Gargan speaks up then, scowling. “But boss, he’s the asshole who--”

“No,” Toomes interrupts sharply. “Today isn’t about your personal vendetta, Mac. Now go, Spider-Man-- you’re no longer needed. Don’t make me hurt you or worse, reveal who you actually are to my men-- Gargan here in particular has a nasty bone to pick with you.”

To Tony’s dismay, Peter doesn’t listen-- stepping forward until he’s standing right next to where Tony is splayed out.

“Kid, just do what he--”

“You’re not taking Mister Stark,” Peter says, ignoring his mentor. 

There’s silence for a few moments before Toomes cocks his head and with a smirk says, “Very well.”

Chaos erupts on the roof. 

Tony watches, useless and terrified, as no less than ten beams fly through the air above him. Toomes and Gargan duck while Peter expertly dodges every one, simultaneously sending out volleys of webbing-- Tony not missing the clatter of at least half the Chitauri guns as they hit either the roof surface or the ground far below. 

But then one of the beams hits a guard - Larry, Toomes had called him - who makes a choked sound of pain, eyes rolling back in his head.

The sound distracts Peter, who turns to Larry and is about to send out a web to cushion the man’s fall when one of the larger beams finally hits its mark-- slamming right into the kid’s side. 

With a cry Peter falls to his knees, only to ignore Tony screaming for him to get away as he valiantly gets back up. Peter throws out an arm out toward yet another armed masked man aiming a weapon at him, web hitting the guy square in the chest.

“Enough,” Toomes calls out, as Peter twists to turn and look at Tony--clearly assuming Toomes was about to harm him. But no, Toomes’ plan has nothing to do with Tony-- it’s far more insidious than that.

“This is your fault, Spidey. Remember that,” Toomes says, lifting a cellphone to his ear, eyes lit with a maniacal glee.

“Kill the kid’s aunt.” 

And with that, Toomes chucks the device right over the roof ledge.

“No!” Peter screams, lunging for the phone-- suddenly and dangerously oblivious to everything else around him.

“It’s a trick, kid!” Tony yells but Peter doesn’t even glance at him, so desperate to reach the phone that he doesn’t even think to just use his webs instead of literally jumping after it.

But he never gets that far as just then two well-aimed beams hit him directly in the back, one after the other. Tony cries out in horror as the kid collapses, clearly unconscious as he lands unmoving in a heap of limbs not four feet from where Tony is splayed out.

“Wake up, Spider-Man!” Tony demands, voice shaky with mounting panic as Toomes steps forward, lifting Peter’s mask just enough off his neck to check his pulse.

“Kid, get up right the hell now!”

“He’ll live,” Toomes utters in a dull voice, and if Tony didn’t know better he’d almost think the man was attempting to reassure him of Peter’s well-being. Toomes grins at Tony, chuckling. “And you’re damn right it was a trick. If he’d thought it through he’d have realized that I already told him nobody knows who he is except me. Tsk tsk.”

“You son of a bitch,” Tony says through gritted teeth, furious as he is frantic. But Toomes only chuckles again. “He’s just a kid!”

“And whose fault is that?” Toomes asks, brow furrowing. “You shouldn’t let children do your dirty work for you, Stark. They could get hurt. A little irresponsible, don’t you think?”

Before Tony can respond Toomes stands up, turning away. “Alright, let’s go while the kid’s out. You two, send the guards downstairs. You four, grab Stark. Be on the jet in thirty seconds or we’re leavin’ without you.”

Four of the lackeys come over, Tony shouting obscenities at them as they each take a limb and begin to lift him up off the ground. 

But even as he curses Toomes’ men Tony only has eyes for Peter-- Peter who remains unconscious. Now he’s slightly less panicked Tony can tell the kid is breathing, but it’s not much comfort when Gargan passes right by the men carrying Tony, eyes trained on the kid and an expression of smug fury on his face.

“No!” Tony screams, neck craned as Gargan lifts his pistol and aims it right at Peter’s head. “No! Don’t! Please!”

Gargan doesn’t even flinch, just cocks his gun. “Dodge this, you piece of--”

Toomes reaches out then, clasping a hand around Gargan’s forearm. At the same time the four lackeys carrying Tony come to a halt, listening to the exchange between the two men.

“I said no, Mac,” Toomes commands, his voice steel. “The kid’s off-limits. Or do we need a change of hierarchy around here?”

Gargan lowers his arm then, Tony breathing out a sigh of relief as soon as the pistol is no longer trained on Peter. But Tony’s nervousness only grows at the evil glint in Gargan’s good eye when he raises his head to look at Toomes.

“Y’know, boss,” Gargan sneers. “I think we do.”

Gargan raises his gun. Toomes is barely able to lift his arms in time, a choked cry escaping from between his lips. But his efforts to shield himself offer no protection, and with a bang a bullet slices right through the side of his neck-- thick arterial blood splattering across the roof.

If Tony had any more concern to spare, he’d have spent it on witnessing Toomes collapse to the ground, clutching uselessly at his neck as blood continued to pour out, his orange jumpsuit quickly morphing into red as he lies there, choking and spasming.

But Tony is only worried about one person’s well-being right now, and he doesn’t even wait until Toomes is dead to train his eyes back on Gargan-- Gargan who watches with a sort of sociopathic glee as his long-time boss dies viciously at his deputy’s own hand, only to turn back to Peter with a malicious grin and cock the gun again.

“Gargan, don’t,” Tony cries out even as the men readjust their hold on him and start carrying him once more to the jet-- away from Peter. “Don’t, god, please! Whatever you want it’s yours, just don’t--”

Just then there’s the clear sound of the quinjet approaching, Tony breathing out a sigh of relief as the Gatling gun mounted on the front - no doubt being manned by Natasha - starts to rain down bullets across the roof.

Toomes’ - now Gargan’s - goons all start shooting beams, just barely keeping the jet at bay but Tony knows they won’t be able to hold up for long-- not against the full team.

He looks back to see an expression of consternation pass over Gargan’s face before the man turns to the lackeys carrying Tony. 

“Drop Stark and take Spider-Man!” Gargan orders. Tony immediately lands with a clank and a groan only to once again lay prone as Peter is hoisted up by two of the men, who promptly sprint him to the parked getaway jet.

“Kid, wake up!” Tony cries out one last time, but Peter doesn’t stir. Tony can only watch helplessly as Peter’s limp form disappears from view, Gargan giving Tony one last evil grin.

“Don’t worry Stark. We’re just going to hang out for a while!” Gargan calls out, a menacing laugh escaping him as he enters the jet, the door sealing shut behind him.

Even as the aircraft starts to lift off Tony hears feet land on the roof, Bucky and Steve both racing toward the plane and making a leap for it-- fingers just barely grazing but not managing to grasp the belly of the jet as it shoots up into the sky. Sam emerges right behind them, beelining for the aircraft as well.

They won’t get away, Tony tells himself-- not with Sam and Nat both on their tail. But then the jet starts to shimmer, Tony choking on a cry as it disappears from sight.

Sam abruptly comes to a halt, seemingly scanning the sky and putting a hand to his comm before flying back down to the roof where Bucky is already tearing away at Tony’s suit.

“Tony, are you alright?” Steve asks from next to Bucky with no small amount of concern, but Tony barely registers it-- too focused on the fact that Peter was just here and now he’s gone.

“What the fuck, Wilson? Go after them!” Tony yells at Sam even as he scrambles out of the broken suit, looking up at the sky for any sign of the jet again before turning desperate eyes back to the three Avengers who are all watching him with worried gazes.

“Didn’t you hear me? Get the hell back up there and--”

“Nat can’t get a read on the jet, Tony,” Bucky says gruffly, gesturing to the comm at his ear.

Tony turns to Steve, eyes wide and pleading. “Steve, please, we have to--”

“We’ll find Spider-Man,” Steve says, clasping a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “But for now we have dozens of escaped inmates to track down before they make it to the city and god knows how many injured prison staff who--”

“No, we have to find him now!” Tony shouts at them, feeling one step removed from losing it entirely. “They took-- they have Peter!”

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Tony would have laughed at the identical expressions of shock on the other Avengers’ faces. 

“Tony,” Steve breathes out, face suddenly ashen. “You can’t actually be saying Peter is--”

“He’s Spider-Man,” Tony says, voice wavering-- the others seeming to barely process his words.

“Peter’s Spider-Man.”

Chapter Text

Tony’s announcement is met with silence, the others staring at him incredulously-- mouths gaping like fish.

Sam breaks out of the collective daze first, tossing out curses as he turns away, palms resting on the back of his head. Meanwhile Steve shakes his head back and forth disbelievingly, eyes hard as he looks away from Tony and out at Manhattan. Tony ignores them both to focus on Bucky, whose own face has gone blank-- the brewing storm behind his gaze the only evidence of emotion.

Sam suddenly whips back around, expression furious. “You let us fight a goddamn child? What the fuck, Stark? Are you out of your damn--”

“Not right now, Sam,” Steve interrupts, but it’s obvious by the way his jaw is clenched tight that he agrees with the sentiment. “We need to focus on figuring out where that jet went.”

“And how do you propose we do that? The damn thing’s clearly outfitted with advanced stealth tech,” Sam says, shaking his head. “If the quinjet’s radar can’t track it--”

“Then we’ll figure something else out,” Steve says smoothly, ever the calm leader. “But first we need a lead. Everyone, back on the quinjet.”

Tony scoffs. “We can’t just leave, we have to--”

“Why? We don’t have the first idea where they’re going, and it’s not like Peter is still here,” Steve snaps with a scowl, before schooling his features and meeting Tony’s gaze. “We need to regroup, Tony.”

When Tony doesn’t answer readily Steve turns away, jaw clenching as he makes for the quinjet. Sam follows quickly behind, swearing once more under his breath.

Tony throws one last desperate look at the sky - the damn empty sky - before slowly stumbling forward on shaky legs. 

Behind him, Bucky easily lifts the fried Iron Man suit over a shoulder-- eyeing the clouds just for good measure before trudging back to the jet with a worried sigh.

“They must have somehow acquired the specs for SHIELD’s retro-reflective paneling,” Natasha says back at the compound lab. “Probably from some Hydra remnants looking to make a quick buck following their exposure. Combine that with tweaking the Chitauri armor’s advanced evasion tech and voila-- an easy escape.”

“Damn it,” Tony says tiredly, only to tug at his hair in frustration. It’s been three hours since Peter was kidnapped right in front of him and they’re no closer to figuring out where Gargan took him than they were when the jet disappeared into thin air.

Tony had hoped Gargan wouldn’t have been smart enough to fry the kid’s suit like Toomes had done to Tony’s. But his hopes had been dashed upon accessing Karen’s baby monitor footage and seeing that the very first thing Gargan had ordered his men to do once they were on the jet was blast the kid with the Chitauri disarming tech-- the screen going dark almost immediately. The last thing Karen had recorded was a low, painful moan from Peter before the audio also blinked out.

The revelation that they had lost access to Peter’s suit had been a big blow, and after witnessing how bloodthirsty Gargan had been on the roof, Tony could only hope that Peter was still alive, even as a treacherous part of him wondered if that would be worse. Gargan would almost certainly harm the boy in the most sadistic ways possible.

Just thinking about the pain Peter could be enduring while Tony wastes time panicking in the lab is enough to make him nauseous, and if it weren’t for the fact he hadn’t eaten in nearly eight hours - and only a light lunch at that - he’d be running to the nearest trash can.

“Is there anywhere else Toomes might have kept a hideout?” Steve asks from where he’s leaning against a wall, hunched over with his arms crossed. “Even just a place to start to look.”

Tony shakes his head, looking again over the data FRIDAY had compiled on Gargan and the rest of the henchmen she was able to identify from footage the Iron Man suit had captured.

“We cleaned out Toomes’ base of operations right after the plane crash,” Tony explains, voice barely a croak. “Handed over everything incriminating to NYPD except the Chitauri tech which went back into SHIELD storage. FRIDAY has a copy of all the files-- if they had another identifiable location, she would’ve found the evidence by now.”

“And still no connection with Peter’s suit?” Steve asks softly.

“FRI knows to alert me immediately,” Tony responds, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If she so much as registers a spark of a signal, this entire place would be lighting up like fuckin’ Christmas.”

“So we really have nothing?” Sam sneers from where he’s been silently seething for the last few hours in a corner next to Bucky. 

When nobody answers Sam stands up abruptly, stalking over to Tony and getting right in his face. “You were supposed to keep the kid safe, and now some second-rate lowlife criminals are besting you. Tell me, Stark, did you ever give an actual shit about Peter? Because where I’m standing, you left that poor kid pretty damn defenseless.”

Before Tony can react Steve slams up from the wall, getting between the two men. “Sam, this isn’t the time or place to--”

“No, I’m done waiting my turn,” Sam barks at Steve, before looking over the man’s shoulder at Tony. “Peter is fifteen now, which means he was fuckin’ fourteen when you took him around the world to fight a bunch of superheroes. I already knew you were an asshole, Stark, but putting a literal child in the crosshairs of a war he had no business being a part of? What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

The admission has the rogues all snapping their heads over to Tony, who looks around at each of them in turn before continuing. “I know what you’re all thinking, and you’re not wrong. It was reckless and maybe the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever done.”

Nobody says anything-- the others seeming to absorb Tony’s words, Sam’s shoulders slumping as the fight goes out of him.

“We were all acting recklessly that day,” Steve finally replies. “I just-- I thought we agreed on no more secrets. Why didn’t you just tell us that Peter was Spider-Man?”

“I think we all know the answer to that, Stevie,” Bucky says quietly, speaking up for the first time in hours. 

All eyes turn to him as he stands up, looking out across the lab monitors before turning to Tony. “I understand you wanting to keep your secrets, Tony-- and especially from someone like me.”

Steve shakes his head. “Bucky, that’s not--”

“I’m not wrong, am I?” Bucky interjects, gaze still on Tony.

“You’re not wrong,” Tony confirms, everyone but Bucky staring at him with narrowed eyes before he adds, “You’re not wrong that that was my excuse when you all first arrived. But it’s not anymore.”

“‘Not anymore’?” Sam asks. “What the hell does that mean?”

Tony sighs. “I just-- I was afraid, okay? Not of any of you exactly, even Buck-- but for the kid. I’d already fucked up twice with him, first with Germany and again with Toomes. I just didn’t want him any closer to all this crap than he had to be. So I figured if I could keep Spider-Man away from the Avengers but keep Peter close, that would be the answer to keeping him safe.”

He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle escaping him. “Clearly I was wrong, as usual.”

Nat stands up, reaching an arm out. “Tony, it’s not your--”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Nat,” Tony warns, stepping back. “It’s my fault Peter got taken, because it’s my responsibility to make sure he gets home safely every night. And a bang-up job I’ve done of it… he’s probably being tortured or worse by an asshole that should have never had the chance to get close to him again and-- fuck.”

Tony takes a shaky breath, clutching at his left arm where it’s starting to go numb. “Just-- don’t tell me it’s not my fault. Because you know damn well it is.”

Before Nat or anyone else can respond, FRIDAY speaks up. “Boss, Mr. Hogan has arrived with May Parker. She is requesting you meet with her at once.”

Before they’d even arrived back at the compound Tony had called Happy, asking him to go retrieve May and take her upstate-- worried that she would become a target were Gargan to remove Peter’s mask and use facial recognition tech. Or worse, Tony thinks grimly, if he tortured Peter into giving him the information. Peter wouldn’t break easily, Tony knew-- but he had no doubt Gargan had his methods for getting people to talk, the likes of which the kid at least had never dreamt of before.

“That’s the kid’s aunt, right?” Bucky asks.

Tony gives a tight nod, staring down at the floor. “Direct her to the main common area, FRI.”

He bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds, before glancing back up at the group who are now all looking back at him with expressions of concern.

“Believe me, nobody blames me more for this than I blame myself,” Tony says. “Not even that woman out there-- though she might after I figure out how to explain to her that I have no idea where her kid is at, or if he’s even still alive.”

Sam grimaces. “Tony. Look man, I’m sor--”

“Save it, Sam,” Tony says, brushing past the other man. “I don’t deserve it.”

With that Tony disappears through the lab doors, not looking back even once.

As soon as Tony enters the Avengers common room May jumps up from where she’s sitting at the dining table and walks with purpose toward Tony, who meets her halfway. 

May looks about as wrecked as Tony feels - eyes red and mascara running under her eyes - and Tony fully expects to be slapped when she raises her arms.

But instead of a harsh crack against his cheek Tony instead gets pulled into a hug-- an oof escaping him as May squeezes him tight. 

“Have you found anything yet? Any sign or lead or--?”

Tony pulls away, shaking his head somberly.

May bites her lip so hard it turns white, clearly trying to hold back a sob. 

“Happy gave me access to his suit’s footage,” she says quietly. “Thank you for trying to keep him safe.”

“Don’t thank me, May,” Tony replies, swallowing down the unrelenting lump in his throat for the thousandth time. “I promised I’d do more than try. I promised you nothing like this would happen.”

May smiles sadly. “I’m not naive, Tony. I knew as soon as I agreed to let Peter keep being Spider-Man that eventually I was going to get a phone call like the one I got today. I had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, but I always knew it was a possibility.”

“It should never have been so soon,” Tony argues. “It shouldn’t have been ever. I even told him to stay away from the prison complex, but he--”

“Peter isn’t ever going to be someone who stands by when a person he loves is in danger,” May says, equally as stubborn. “Hell, if anyone is in danger. Why do you think I said yes to Spider-Man in the first place, Tony? I knew it was futile to try to stop him, just like I knew that phone call from Happy would come.”

“Damn kid,” Tony mutters, wiping at his eyes-- knowing May will see right through him.

“It’s part of what makes him so easy to love,” May says sagely, Tony hearing every hard-fought day of her ten years of experience raising Peter in her voice. “But, it’s also what makes our job all that much more difficult.”

“What job is that?”

May barks out a small, humorless laugh. “What do you think? Parenting.”

Tony takes a deep breath, letting it out in one long shudder. He had done his best the last eight months to resist thinking of Peter as anything even slightly resembling a son- - telling himself he didn’t want to overstep boundaries but in reality just avoiding the scope of his own emotions for the kid.

Because Peter was May’s kid but he was also Tony’s, at least in all the ways that Tony was capable of being any sort of father figure. And here now, with Peter missing and Tony’s panic at losing him laid bare for all to see it was impossible to deny. 

Trust, respect, honesty, love. They were all there between him and Peter, made all the more evident now by the fact that Tony had nowhere to put them at the moment-- except channel them into his actions in the hopes they would never have to be funneled into a well of grief and mourning.

“Parenting, huh,” Tony says sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess it is. God knows I couldn’t care more about Peter than I already do, even if he was my own.”

May attempts a smile at that, her lips curling up-- but it’s gone with the tide of emotions that threaten to overwhelm them both.

She leans in again, hugging Tony tightly. “Find our kid, Tony. Get him back, and then lay waste to the bastard who dared take him-- who dared hurt him.”

Tony gives a tight nod into her hair, holding back the sob curled tightly in his chest. His voice is miraculously steady when he whispers into her ear, “I don’t care how long it takes, I’m going to bring him home to you. To both of us.”

The entire time, the team continues to search--  Fury having pulled a few strings at Natasha’s behest to give the rogues clearance to leave the compound for the next few days. Individually and in pairs they chase down leads only for every single one to come to nothing. The jet, along with Gargan and his men all remain MIA-- as does Peter’s suit, which FRIDAY, for all her attempts, fails to locate.

Tony barely eats or sleeps, only giving in to the former when Steve siccs Pepper on him and the latter when his body finally succumbs of its own accord.

Eventually one day turns into two, and still there is no sign of where Gargan is holding Peter-- if Gargan even still had Peter, Tony’s treacherous mind thinks. Despite his promise to May, Tony’s hope is steadily dwindling that Peter would be found alive. 

But Tony can’t let it die-- not yet. He’s pretty sure it never completely would as long as Peter was missing and not recovered, no matter how vengeful Gargan had looked as he eyed Peter on the prison roof.

The evening of the second full day finds the team all back in the lab-- Nat and Sam having arrived back from rural Massachusetts where a fresh and beaten John Doe that had perfectly matched Peter’s description had been found in the woods. Thankfully it hadn’t been his kid, but the hours in between when they had left and when Nat had called Tony with the news had been some of the darkest of his life.

Now it’s nearing dusk and the whole team sits in silence, having once again run through every single possible idea to find Peter only to come up empty.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Tony says grimly, rubbing at his dry eyes and feeling a deep weariness settling into his bones. “How do I tell May that an entire day passed again without anything to show for it? How do I--”

“We’re going to get Peter back,” Steve interrupts, ignoring the way Tony shakes his head. “You know how I know, Tony? Because even badly injured, Peter’s a hero. He’ll keep fighting no matter what.”

Something about Steve’s phrasing niggles at Tony’s brain, and his breath stutters as he glances up at the man with wide eyes. “What did you just say? Say it again.”

Steve cocks his head. “Uh, that even hurt the kid’s a hero? He won’t give--”

It all clicks then, Tony’s jaw dropping. “Cap, you’re a genius!”

Without explaining, Tony turns back to the nearest lab bench. “FRI, initiate the EDITH program. Have her do a sweep in her monitoring systems for any sign of Peter’s suit over the last fifty-one hours. Even the smallest ping.”

“Yes, boss.”

“What the hell is the EDITH program?” Sam asks but Tony doesn’t reply-- too focused on the screens in front of him.

After a few moments commands start filling up the monitors. Both Nat and Bucky - the only other two able to decipher the codes - come closer, reading the screens over with looks of bafflement only for their expressions to turn to ones of impressed surprise.

“Am I reading this right, Tony?” Bucky finally asks. “You’re storing a cache of drone tech ready to deploy at any moment in a giant satellite in space?” 

“Technically earth’s thermosphere,” Tony replies, leg bouncing as he waits for EDITH to report any findings. “It still has some bugs and it’s only about two-thirds complete, but the program’s scanning capabilities already out-rival FRIDAY’s by leagues. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”

As if summoned, FRIDAY announces, “EDITH managed to detect a signal before it went abruptly offline, boss. The program is unable to pinpoint the exact location with any precise accuracy, but it came from within a ten square mile area of the western edge of Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn,” Natasha repeats. “So they stayed close by. A bold if reckless move.”

Blood rushes through Tony’s ears as he wraps his right hand around his left wrist, squeezing. It’s like chewing on broken glass when he asks tonelessly, “When was the last signal, FRI?”

“According to EDITH, there has been no trace of Peter’s suit since 11:38pm Thursday night.”

Nobody knows what to say to that, Tony letting his head drop into his hands as the last bit of hope he’d been carrying circles the drain of his soul.

It’s Steve who finally breaks the silence. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Tony. They could have just fried the suit again. It doesn’t mean--”

“You don’t know that!” Tony snaps as his head whips back up, only to close his eyes-- desperately trying to rein in what little sense of calm he has left. 

There’s a metal hand on his shoulder then, and Tony turns to see Bucky. “He’s strong, Tony. And now at least we have a lead, yeah?”

Tony gives a tight nod, the fingers of Bucky’s new arm squeezing just once before he drops it back to his side.

Steve clears his throat, everyone turning to him. “Avengers, assemble. And this time make it five minutes-- we’re not leaving Peter waiting even a second longer than we need to.”

“Alright team, time to pack it in.”

Tony curses in frustration at Steve’s announcement over the comms before exiting yet another empty, decaying warehouse.

The team has been out all night sweeping the area in Brooklyn EDITH had pinpointed, searching and scanning every building they can. But just as with every other lead the last two and a half days, they’ve found nothing.

It had taken all of Tony’s resolve not to scream in protest like a toddler when Steve had finally announced just as dawn was approaching that they needed to return to the compound to rest and regroup. Instead, Tony had asked to do one last sweep of the old, abandoned meatpacking district within the designated perimeter-- arguing that of the entire area it was easily the most advantageous place to keep Peter, being both secluded and relatively void of cameras and police activity.

Steve had hesitantly agreed, but after another thirty minutes was once again calling the team back to the quinjet.

About to lift off, Tony lets his faceplate retract to look up at the soft purple shades of the sky-- a new day upon them.

“Where are you, Pete?” Tony asks the emptiness, sighing. He starts to trudge forward, about to lift off to go back to the compound when--

“Boss, to your right-- look,” FRIDAY suddenly chirps, her tone tentatively hopeful.

Tony glances over, only to see what looks like a mess of filthy blue and red rags sitting out in the middle of the cracked pavement of an alley between the warehouse he had just left and the one next to it.

“FRIDAY, was that bundle there the last time we swept this area?”

“No, boss.”

Swallowing down the wave of emotions FRIDAY’s response brings, Tony starts to walk forward toward the bundle of dirtied fabric-- only to begin to jog when he spots a cracked and very familiar eye-screen amongst the mess. 

“Oh, god,” Tony says as he picks up the remains of Peter’s suit, which he sees now was resting right over a large sewer grate. His mind goes to terrible places when he realizes the filth covering the torn and tattered suit is in fact a mix of grime and blood stains of all shapes and sizes. Tony turns on his team comm, voice barely above a choked whisper when he manages to say, “Everyone to my location, I’ve found Peter’s suit!”

Immediately the rest of the team responds, questions and exclamations on their lips-- but Tony pays them no mind when FRIDAY alerts him to a new presence at the opening of the alley.

Tony whips around to see Gargan standing alone not ten feet away, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and carrying no visible weapons besides the pistol he had executed Toomes with.

“Fine morning, isn’t it Stark?” he says, looking up at the sky almost whimsically before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose, as if to take a whiff of the crisp dawn air.

Opening his eyes, Gargan levels Tony with a menacing smile. “Something tells me it’s going to be a beautiful day.”

Chapter Text

Tony doesn’t hesitate to lift his gauntlet, aiming a charged repulsor at Gargan’s chest-- the rags of Peter’s suit falling out of his other gloved hand and back to the ground in a heap.

The other Avengers are still yelling in his ears, and with a soft command he mutes his comm-- knowing they’re on their way and will be listening in soon enough.

“Where is he, Gargan?” Tony calls out, voice thick with disgust. “Tell me or I swear to god, I will take you out here and now.”

If anything, the threat makes Gargan grin even wider, the man cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow in a display of mock concern. 

“Use your head, Stark. Take me out and then where would that leave your precious boy? If anything - and I mean anything - happens to me, they know to take the spider-baby out once and for all.”

“So he’s alive?” Tony asks, barely managing not to stutter.

“Yeah, Stark,” Gargan replies. “He’s alive.”

Peter’s alive. Peter’s alive. Thank god.

Tony is grateful his mask is still down-- Gargan unable to see the pure relief Tony knows is etched on his features at the man’s words. But despite that relief, Gargan’s earlier display of violence toward Toomes remains just as etched into Tony’s memory-- not to mention the bloodied mess of fabric currently resting at his feet. Tony has no doubt that while Peter may still be alive, he’s probably not in great shape.

And of course, it could also just be a lie-- Tony wishing he could somehow dismiss the thought from his mind, even knowing it’s entirely possible. For as much as the team had combed through Gargan’s past, it’s still hard to say which precise brand of insane the man is. Would he dangle Peter over Tony’s head just for kicks, knowing the kid is already dead? Or would he keep the boy alive as a trap to lure Tony in, or for another nefarious purpose? With a sociopath like this, it could really go either way.

But the fact is that in this moment, at least, it doesn’t matter whether Peter is still alive or not. Tony’s conviction remains exactly the same as three days ago, when Peter went missing: until he sees a body or some other form of ironclad proof that the kid’s dead, he will always do what is in Peter’s best interest.

Which means no matter the truth of Peter’s well-being, for now Tony must operate on the premise - the hope - that Peter can still be saved.

“I’ll ask you one more time, you piece of shit,” Tony says, putting as much steel into his tone as he can muster. “Where. Is. He?”

Gargan shrugs.

“I already told you we were just going to hang out,” he says as if Tony’s some forgetful child. “I’m frankly offended you think I’m not a man of my word.”

“Don’t play games with me, asshole,” Tony grinds out. “Why reveal yourself now, huh? What the hell do you want? You must want something.”

“Entertainment, of course. Turns out life on the run ain’t much better than life in the big house. Plus, the boy is getting rather boring, unfortunately. And oh, there was one more thing, now you mention it… what was it…”

Tony rolls his eyes as Gargan brings a hand to his chin, mocking a look of contemplation for a few moments before doing an overexaggerated aha expression and pointing at Tony.

“Oh, that’s right. I’m here to make you a deal, Stark. I can take you to see the kid-- for a price.”

Just then, FRIDAY lights up Tony’s HUD screen-- giving him a visual layout of the positions of the other Avengers, each of whom are camped out at strategic points surrounding the alley. They’re all no doubt listening in-- Steve, Natasha or both probably muttering under their breath that Tony better not fall for what is most likely a trap.

Too bad Tony hasn’t ever been one to listen to logical reasoning when the people he loves are in danger. It’s one of the few ways the kid is far too much like him, he thinks with regret.

“Name your terms,” he says steadily.

Gargan’s eyes widen in surprise before he lets out a pleased giggle, looking utterly delighted for a few moments before his expression turns serious once more.

“Adrian may have been weak, but he wasn’t dumb. The people that want Iron Man specs are still open to negotiations with me. So, here’s my offer: you can see the boy-- if you give me control of your suit first.”

Tony’s jaw clenches. He knows if his teammates weren’t whispering furiously at him before, they definitely are now.

Or maybe not-- knowing with as much certainty as Tony does that he will always do what gives Peter the best hope of rescue, regardless of his own safety.

“Not just see the kid,” Tony throws back at Gargan. “I get to take him with me. The suit’s yours-- if I get to take the boy home.”

“Done,” Gargan replies automatically-- Tony’s eyebrows furrowing at the quick agreement before he schools his features once more as Gargan approaches.

Neither man speaks as Gargan walks forward, advancing until there’s hardly a foot of space between him and Tony. He stops, eyeing the suit up and down possessively.

“Well? Get out, Stark.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?” Tony asks.

“I already told you I’m a man of my word,” Gargan says with a sigh, fixing Tony with an eerily sane-looking expression of solemnity. “I swear to you on my mother’s grave, Stark-- give me the suit, and I’ll let you take the boy.”

Tony swallows, staring hard at the man for a few moments before saying softly, “Initiate the Handover Protocol, FRI.”

“Are you sure, boss?”

“I’m sure,” Tony replies smoothly.

Tony’s HUD screen immediately fills up with code, FRIDAY taking only a few moments to disable all access to SI and SHIELD networks before also destroying the suit’s transmission link with the Stark Secure Server.

As soon as all network connections are severed, the suit begins to dissemble off Tony-- flying over in pieces to wrap around Gargan whose grin couldn’t be more victorious. It’s the last thing Tony sees of the man before the faceplate covers him, completing the changeover.

 Tony can’t help the wrench of wrong that attacks his gut as he looks at his suit being worn by someone he doesn’t trust. The visual serves as a reminder of Obie’s betrayal, and while that night feels like a lifetime ago, it still takes every ounce of self-control Tony has not to lunge at Gargan and try to pull the suit apart piece by piece.

But this isn’t about Tony, it’s about Peter. So Tony merely stands still, watching as Gargan stares at the gauntlets covering his palms in seeming wonder.

“Alright, I held up my end of the deal,” Tony says. “Where’s the kid?”

The faceplate retracts, Gargan’s grin as conniving as ever. “One little bug coming right up-- but first, there’s a few snags to snip off.”

“Snags? What the--”

“Your little friends,” Gargan says, before lifting a gauntlet and shooting a beam right above Tony’s head at the upper corner of the warehouse to their left. Tony ducks only to swivel his head and watch as Natasha just barely jumps out of the way from where she was hidden on the roof-- doing a tuck and roll and disappearing out of sight. 

Tony turns back to Gargan. “What the hell Gar--”

Just then the criminal’s jet appears out of thin air not fifty feet directly above Tony and Gargan’s heads-- men using ropes to hop down onto the roofs of various buildings while Chitauri weapon beams blast out from within. Tony can’t see who all they’re aiming for but he can only assume from their vantage point they were able to pinpoint the locations of the rest of the team.

He instinctively raises an arm to shoot a repulsor blast at the jet only to remember with a curse that he’s not in the suit-- turning back to Gargan who is watching him in amusement.

Just then Tony spots Sam flying through the air with Bucky in his arms-- dropping the super soldier onto the top of the jet and out of sight once more. 

All of a sudden Tony feels a metal arm wrap around his back, turning his head to see Gargan has come close and pulled Tony into his chest-- only to fly them three feet to the side.

“Time to make our exit, Stark,” Gargan says, the Iron Man faceplate coming down again.

Before Tony can reply Gargan blasts the cement around their feet-- Tony realizing just a beat too late that the criminal had maneuvered them to stand over the same large sewer grate he’d left Peter’s suit on top of. The last thing Tony sees before they disappear underground in a cacophony of blasted, broken concrete is Sam looking on in shock from far above-- soon lost to dust and darkness.

Tony doesn’t know how far they drop, his senses hardly able to make heads and tails of the sudden shift to dark quiet after the raging battle aboveground. It can’t be more than ten or fifteen seconds however before they land softly on solid cement ground again-- this time complete with the sounds of water flowing through nearby pipes and tunnels. 

As soon as Gargan lets go of Tony he starts to stumble-- only to cry out in surprise when another set of fingers wrap tightly around his bicep. Instantly two flashlights turn on, illuminating the tight, dank space. 

It’s two more of Gargan’s men-- Tony recognizing them from the mugshots he’d seen when the team had been investigating those who could lead to possible clues to Peter’s whereabouts. 

He doesn’t get very long to look between the lackeys now however, as soon enough one twists him around, pulling his hands behind his back and cuffing them together. Tony’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t resist, unlike the vicious flinch he can’t help when the second goon raises his hands to Tony’s head, a blindfold stretched between his fingers.

Gargan must’ve caught the movement because he chuckles and lifts the face plate again, raising an eyebrow at Tony as if to say behave or there will be consequences. His smarmy grin is the last thing Tony sees before the man with the blindfold covers his eyes, roughly securing the fabric at the back of his head.

He barely has a chance to gather his bearings before a hand grips his shoulder, and starts to lead him through the sewer system.

He tries to count steps and turns, only for Gargan to stop the group every few minutes and order the men to twist Tony in circles several times before taking them in a seemingly new direction, disorienting him completely. 

He can see why Toomes had chosen Gargan as his second-in-command, now. The man might be sadistic and bloodthirsty but he’s smarter than Tony had given him credit for.

The thought terrifies Tony more than just dealing with a garden-variety sociopath would. Not that instability is any better, necessarily. But the clear method to Gargan’s madness speaks of a mind that  - when it chose to - could think ahead and problem-solve from multiple angles. Those were simply not the types of villains Tony preferred. 

He just has to hope that whatever Gargan’s plan is, he has already gotten what he wanted and intends to stand by his part of the deal. Tony doesn’t really believe in honor among thieves, but Gargan had seemed truthful enough in the alley. 

Ultimately, there is only one thing of which Tony is certain: as long as Peter is alive, they could deal with the rest.

After at least twenty minutes of walking, the sound of flowing water starts to fall away as the echoes of their footsteps change, and Tony can tell they’ve entered a larger room. A door shuts behind him, Tony led by the shoulder across the room and into another, and inexplicably-- a dormant ember lights up in his soul. 

Peter is near, he thinks, and even though he has no logical reason to be so sure, Tony knows it’s true-- can feel the ember catching fire within him. 

All it takes however is a whiff of the stale air for Tony to suddenly feel nauseous. For where up until now his senses had been accosted with the dank, moldy odor of the old New York sewer system, here they are instead attacked by the thick scent of copper. Someone has been bleeding in here, and heavily. 

But any concern over the smell falls to the back of his mind when he hears the clear sound of wheezing-- the unsteady, stilted noise grating on Tony’s panicked mind like sandpaper. It sounds wrong and foreign and painful and too much like the final, desperate gasps of someone who no longer has the energy to keep fighting.

Even as his mind wants to deny the horrible truth, Tony knows there’s only one person it can be. Peter Peter Peter--

“Kid!” Tony risks calling out, but there’s no answer except the continued wheezing and a gleeful laugh from Gargan. The man clasping Tony’s shoulder tugs at him until his back hits a wall, forcing him down on his knees. His arms are wrenched back as the man pulls at his handcuffs, and Tony feels the links scrape against metal before there’s a click. As the man finally pulls away Tony desperately tries to yank on the cuffs only to find he has barely a few inches’ leverage, having been thoroughly secured by - going off feel - some type of wall-mounted metal ring resting barely a foot off the ground.

Meanwhile the wheezing continues, Tony now able to pinpoint it as somewhere directly ahead and above him.

“What the fuck is this?” Tony finally sneers in the direction he’d heard Gargan laugh just a minute earlier. “You piece of shit, you promised me you’d--”

“Now now, Anthony, have patience,” Gargan says mockingly. “I’m just waiting on my men to confirm they’ve eliminated the rest of your pesky teammates. After that, you and the little shitstain can both be on your way.”

Tony takes a deep breath, trying not to let on to the fear that jabs at his heart at Gargan’s words. Peter’s his main concern but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about the welfare of the others. 

Because while part of Tony knows the team could handle whatever Gargan’s men threw at them, another part - a smaller but more insidious one - can’t help but think how there’s still a simmering tension between them all since the moment he’d come clean on the roof. 

Two years ago Tony would have said it didn’t matter, they’d get through it. Then Siberia happened and, well-- Tony now knows far too intimately what those sorts of cracks can do to a team. How even the tiniest of fissures meant that with the exact right pressure-- it could all fall apart.

It’s a distraction that they really can’t afford - that Peter can’t afford - but it is there all the same. And if Gargan had even more men and Chitauri tech at his disposal than what Tony had already seen, well-- he doesn't know if they’d come out on top in this one.

But no-- Tony can’t afford to go down that path. The team is coming, and even if they aren’t-- Tony would get out of here with Peter. There’s simply no other option he’s willing to live with.

“Take off the blindfold,” Tony says after a few moments, clenching his jaw and raising his chin.

“Are you sure, Stark? Because I honestly feel like I’m doing you a favor, letting you keep it on,” Gargan replies, tone almost bored before he chuckles again. “Here at The Motel Gargan we charge by the hour, and I don’t mean cash or credit.”

“Let me see the kid, you piece of shit!” Tony demands, spit flying in the wake of his growing fury and desperation.

Tony hears Gargan sigh, the Iron Man suit walking over until it’s right in front of him, Tony feeling a hot breath engulf his ear when the man leans over.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Gargan whispers, an amused giggle escaping him when Tony again yanks on his handcuffs at the words, nearly managing to headbutt the criminal if he had been just a touch slower to pull back.

Gargan walks a few feet away then, and there must have been some silent signal because one of his men goes to untie the blindfold. Tony’s sight is blurry as the fabric is pulled off, and he has to blink down at the ground for a few seconds before looking up at where the wheezing is coming from-- a guttural moan escaping from between trembling lips as he takes in the scene before his eyes.

Above him and dangling from a chain bolted to the ceiling, is Peter. He’s unconscious and wearing Gargan’s orange jumpsuit, now marred with bloodstains from wounds Tony can only guess the severity of. His face is a bruised mess, one eye swollen completely while the other looks to be on its way there, or maybe half-healed.

It’s an awful sight, easily one of the worst Tony had ever been witness to-- up there with Pepper falling into roaring flames and Rhodey crash-landing in an otherwise picturesque grassfield.

But what truly does Tony’s heart in - what makes everything in him go numb with shock and denial - is that Peter isn’t hanging from his wrists or arms. No, Gargan had put a goddamn meathook through the kid’s shoulder and just left him there, the entirety of his bodyweight all coming down to that one point just under his collarbone.

Seeing the kid suspended so cruelly - gasping for air with lungs no doubt strained to their limit, his distorted ribs keeping them from expanding enough to ever take in a full breath - does things to Tony, things he’s not sure he’ll come back from.

Because the kid’s lips are blue and his fingernails are purple and there’s twin dried tear marks that cut slim rivers of bruised beige through the blood staining his cheeks.

The pale trenches are proof Peter had at one point not long ago been awake and crying, maybe even calling for May or Tony-- only for nobody to answer his pleas.

Tony had already assumed Gargan was torturing Peter - had thought he’d been mentally prepared for finding the kid in any condition that wasn’t simply a corpse - but this? This was unimaginable, straight out of Tony’s worst nightmares of Afghanistan or the Battle of New York. Or - worst of all - that cursed night on Coney Island when Peter had left a note in the wreckage and disappeared-- a well-meaning gesture but one that made it all too clear where he thought things stood with Tony. 

That he thought Tony only cared about the state of his goddamn tech and not the well-being of the kid who’d saved it for him.

But it hadn’t been true then - even if Tony had been crap at showing it - and it wasn’t true now. Tony cared about Peter. He needed Peter to be okay, and to be safe, and to not to have to endure the same betrayals and trials Tony had. 

There’s no doubt the kid was incredibly resilient considering how much he’d been through. But Tony knew all too well that everyone had a breaking point— a threshold of trauma that led to things like panic attacks, and insomnia, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

All he wanted was the brightness that sang so clearly from Peter’s soul to stay intact for as long as possible-- forever, if Tony had any say.

But seeing Peter now - hanging helplessly from the ceiling like a piece of meat, with god knows what other horrors inflicted upon his body and mind over the time he’d been gone - well, Tony’s not sure even Peter can come back from this without losing that brightness. 

The thought has Tony spiraling into a place of contempt deeper than what he’d ever harbored for Obie, or Steve, or Bucky.

“See Stark, I told you we were just hanging out,” Gargan says, only to laugh maniacally at his own pun. “I have to say, punching the kid just wasn’t doing it for me, but putting that old rusty warehouse hook through his back, hearing him scream for the first time… well, damn if I didn’t get a taste for a good sting. Turns out vultures are absolute shit at besting little spiders but do you know what can, Stark?”

Gargan saunters over to the kid, grabbing one of Peter’s dirtied bare feet and using his gloved hand to wrench a few of the kid’s toes.

There’s two snaps right in a row and Tony gasps in horror at the sound, only to stare up at Peter’s face when a low moan escapes him-- the kid’s unswollen eye slitting open but not focusing on any one thing.

“Scorpions,” Gargan finishes, softly patting the kid’s foot and turning away.

It takes all of Tony’s self-control not to break his own thumbs to get at the man in that moment. Only the thought that he’d be more useless to assist Peter when they finally get out stops him. But he can’t stop the pure hatred that comes forth from between his lips-- a pyroclastic flow spewing out from the crater of his mouth.

“You’re dead,” he says to Gargan, voice thick with venom. “Do you hear me, you asshole? You’re dead. I fuckin’ swear to you, there is nowhere on this earth you can hide that I won’t--”

“Mis’r S’ark?” 

Tony’s threats die in his throat as he whips his head back up to Peter. 

“I’m here. I’m right here, underoos.”

The boy’s gaze continues to roam the room without settling. “Wh’re?”

“Down here, buddy. Right down here. Follow my voice.”

Slowly Peter tips his head forward, blinking lazily for a few beats before his eyes finally focus on Tony.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony says, giving the kid the most reassuring smile he can muster. “How’re you doing?”

“It h’rts,” Peter says, his voice barely a whisper, the broken sound of it almost worse than the wheezing to Tony’s ears— nails on a chalkboard. 

Tony swallows down a sob. “I know, bud. I’m going to get you down soon, I promise.”

Yet even as he says it the lie burns on Tony’s tongue. He watches helplessly as Peter opens his mouth to say more only for his shoulder to involuntarily spasm– his bloodied, beaten body swaying back and forth as his wheezes grow more desperate. 

Peter’s good eye squeezes shut again, Tony’s own stinging with tears as the kid slowly lifts his good arm to the chain, wrapping sprained fingers around it and attempting to hoist himself up-- trying to take the strain off his injured shoulder and lungs.

But after nearly three days without any food and what Tony can only guess is the bare minimum of water, the kid’s energy stores are utterly depleted-- his arm muscles trembling at first only to escalate to full-on shaking before Peter finally has to let go. His arm flops back down against his side as he moans from the pain of his entire body weight once more dangling from the hook-- Tony mumbling incoherent assurances to the kid that he knows neither of them will remember later.

But then the wheezes abruptly stop, Peter’s lone open eye widening as far as it can as his lips start to morph to a darker shade of blue.

“K-kid?” Tony whispers, only for his own lungs to stutter as he cries out, “Breathe, buddy! You gotta keep breathing!”

But Peter’s body won’t cooperate, and after a few long moments the kid’s gaze goes unfixed again, eye wandering as short, choking croaks staccato out from between his purpling lips.

“Peter!” Tony screams, any lingering concerns about Gargan figuring out the kid’s identity forgotten in his panic. 

He looks to the criminal, expression pleading. “Get him down! Get him down!”

Gargan turns from where he’s excitedly watching Peter slowly suffocate to death to stare at Tony, looking rather annoyed at the distraction.

“Get him down, Gargan!” Tony screams, as desperate as he’s ever been. “Can’t you see he’s fuckin’ dying?”

“Oh, fine,” Gargan says, rolling his eyes. Lazily he flies up to the kid’s level. Taking the long end of the hook in his gloved hand Gargan gives a yank, the metal easily snapping off the chain-- only to let go of it altogether and watch with a sadistic laugh as Peter collapses to the ground in a heap of limbs and blood, body falling forward as his head lands just inches from Tony’s knees. 

“Peter?” Tony pleads. “Peter, breathe.”

The kid doesn’t move or otherwise acknowledge that he heard Tony, face turned away from his mentor. But all the same some part of him must have heard the order, because just then he takes in a desperate wheeze-- followed shortly with another, much deeper one as his lungs gulp in precious breaths of air.

“Peter,” Tony calls out softly as he watches the kid lying there, breathing but otherwise not moving. Tony yanks with all his might on his chains only to be stuck fast. He’s so close - so close - and yet too far.

God, and he needs Peter in his arms now. Even if it means carrying Peter out with crooked fingers-- in that moment, he needs to hold and comfort the kid like he himself needs oxygen. 

“You got what you wanted, Gargan,” Tony says then, jaw clenched so tight he’s in danger of cracking a tooth. “Now hold up your end-- let me take the kid and go.”

Gargan doesn’t answer at first, just looks over at one of his men who shakes his head. Gargan sighs, turning back to Tony. 

“Well, I had planned to wait until the rest of your team was taken out, but I’m afraid we’ve had no confirmation on that front quite yet.” The criminal shakes his head as if disappointed. “God, I really have to do everything myself, don’t I?”

He steps toward the second lackey, who hands him something Tony can’t see. 

“Alright Stark,” Gargan says, walking back over and up all the way to where Peter is splayed out, having still not regained consciousness. “Time to show you I’m a man of my word. The suit in exchange for you getting to take the kid home, right?”

At Tony’s nod Gargan whips his arm up from his far side, Tony seeing the pistol in his hand-- fury and terror warring for dominance as for the third time in as many days Tony has to watch helplessly as the villain aims the weapon at Peter’s temple.

“What the hell are you doing? You said--”

“I said you’d get to take the kid home,” Gargan interjects with a pleased smile. “It was you who failed to specify if he still had to be breathing when the time came.”

Tony doesn’t even pause long enough to steel himself-- just jerks his left hand as hard as he can out of its cuff. He barely registers the sudden pain radiating up his wrist from his snapped thumb knuckle as he flails out his arm, aiming to slap the cursed gun from Gargan’s hold-- the man easily stepping out of the way even as he looks down at Tony’s broken hand with a mix of disgust and admiration.

“I’m impressed, Stark. You must care for the boy even more than I realized… but even your considerable efforts aren't enough to save the bug.”

In response Tony tries to pull his right hand out of its cuff, the attempt pulling a long groan from his throat-- but without the leverage of his other hand in the cuff, his second thumb simply won’t give as easy. 

Gargan cocks the gun just as Tony yanks his arm again, staring up at the criminal and screaming, “No, no no! Please, god, please--”

“Nighty night, Petey boy,” Gargan says, finger tightening on the trigger-- only for the pistol to fly out of his hand as something circular and unyielding hits him hard in the side.

Tony watches in shock as Gargan goes sprawling-- his gaze whipping over to the entrance of the room.

Steve stands in the doorway, his uniform torn and his cheek bruised but seemingly unhurt and looking more pissed off than Tony’s ever seen him. Flanking him are Natasha and Bucky, wearing identical expressions of loathing as they stare down the criminal.

“It’s over, Gargan,” Steve says, voice hard. “Surrender the suit or we’ll have no choice but to take you down by force.”

Gargan stands up, the pure hatred on his face saying everything he doesn’t as he raises a gauntlet, readying to strike-- both his men picking up the Chitauri weapons at their sides and aiming for the superheroes as well.

The three Avengers assume a fighting stance, Steve nodding. “If that’s how it has to be."

And the room erupts into chaos.

Chapter Text

It’s utter pandemonium.

Gargan immediately sends out repulsor beams at Steve while the criminal’s two goons target Bucky and Natasha. The three Avengers jump out of the way just in time to avoid the blasts-- Steve expertly rolling to pick up his shield. 

Tony watches the action for about two seconds before an errant beam lands not half a foot from one of Peter’s kneecaps, and he immediately switches his focus to the kid. His broken hand screams in pain but he pays it no mind as he clasps his fingers around the far side of the kid’s waist and pulls him as close to him as he can get. 

As gently as he can he awkwardly maneuvers Peter around until his good shoulder is resting on Tony’s knees, Tony’s mangled hand cradling the back of the boy’s head. But despite all Tony’s care the movement jostles the hook in Peter’s left shoulder, the teen moaning in pain as his eyelids flutter.

Tony ducks over as far as he can, trying to shield the kid from the fight even as he whispers, “Peter? You with me?”

Another soft moan greets him, Peter’s good eye slitting open to Tony’s great relief. “Hey buddy. I’m right here, I got you. Just stay awake, okay?”

Peter’s gaze wanders from Tony’s face to the side-- the kid trying to turn his neck toward the blasts and taunting yells of the fight. Tony risks a glance up as well-- seeing Steve and Bucky swinging around on the various chains hanging from the ceiling to get close to Gargan who has flown up into a corner, cackling as he shoots beam after beam at them. 

He looks back down at Peter-- only to see the kid’s lone good eye has closed again, face gone slack.

“Peter? Peter!”

Just then a blast hits right behind Tony, causing him to yelp and clutch Peter closer even as he instinctively looks behind him. But it’s just Natasha, holding one of the Chitauri weapons-- both of Gargan’s men unconscious or worse on the floor behind her. Tony realizes that his other hand is free from the wall-- Natasha having used the alien gun to break the chain tethering him. 

Immediately Tony brings his other arm around to hold Peter, clutching the kid close and starting to stand up. Were it not for Natasha’s arm on his shoulder to steady him he’d have fallen, but between the two of them they manage to get Tony to his feet, Peter cradled in his arms with his head on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony looks at Natasha. "How'd you guys even find--"

"You think I don't know how to get criminals to talk?"

Together the trio makes their way out of the room, Natasha sending another Chitauri beam at Gargan which hits him right in the chest. The distraction allows Bucky to get close enough to wrench the man’s right arm until the metal gives and the criminal’s screams fill the air. 

Tony doesn’t even stop to admire the view of Gargan being overpowered, too focused on the broken, bleeding kid in his arms as he moves into the second, smaller room that opens directly back into the sewer system. He’s about to head out the door and back into the tunnels when he feels Natasha’s hand on his arm, halting him.

Tony whips his head to her, barely holding back a scowl. “We gotta-- the kid--”

“Wait,” Natasha says, before pointing at the hook-- Peter’s bad shoulder and arm swinging at Tony’s side. “We have to secure that arm first, or taking him through the tunnels is just going to make things worse.”

Natasha looks around for a moment before turning back to Tony-- eyes looking down and then back up at his face.

“Don’t make this weird, Stark,” she says, before crouching down in front of him and starting to undo his belt. She pulls it out of Tony’s jean loops, only to start winding it around Peter’s upper torso-- gently lifting his injured left arm so it sits at a ninety-degree angle around his chest before tightening the belt around the kid until the arm is safely secured.

Tony goes to readjust Peter only for his broken thumb to cave from the movement-- Tony letting out a groan and nearly dropping the kid again.

Natasha shakes her head. “This isn’t going to work. We need to let Steve or Buck--”

“I think they’re a little busy right now, don’t you?” Tony snaps at her over the sounds of the blasts from the room over.

Natasha frowns, crossing her arms. “Oh, because dropping Peter and his dozens of open wounds into sewage water is any better? Or how about wrenching the impaled meathook resting only inches from his heart and lungs? I know you’re scared, Papa Bear, but just wait a damn second.”

As if on cue there’s a scream of frustration from the other room, followed shortly by the sound of something heavy and metallic hitting the concrete floor.

“It’s over, Gargan,” Tony hears Steve say again, and Tony sighs in relief only for--

“You still here, Stark?” Gargan yells out. “Or did you run away like the coward you are?”

Jaw clenching, Tony glances over at the doorway into the other room only to turn back to Natasha. “Take him.”

Natasha’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Tony--”

“Just take him, Nat,” Tony implores, before starting to move Peter into her arms anyway-- the woman having no choice but to take the kid, slowly lowering them both back down to the floor and whispering soft sentiments in Russian to Peter when he lets out another low moan.

Natasha checks his pulse and listens to his breaths, before nodding up at Tony. “He’ll be okay. But make it quick.”

That assurance is all Tony needs-- glancing over Peter’s unconscious form a final time before turning around and heading back into the other room. 

Steve and Bucky stand over Gargan, who is sprawled out on the ground-- the arc reactor of the mangled Iron Man suit stuttering in and out of power, clearly on its last legs. One of the super soldiers must have wrenched the suit mask off at some point because it’s nowhere to be seen-- revealing Gargan’s bloody mess of a face.

But none of that is where Tony’s focus falls. Instead his gaze lands on the suit’s chestplate which is almost completely shattered-- the sight a visceral and undeniable reminder of a day not all that long ago when Steve had taken that same shield he wielded just moments before and beaten another Iron Man suit - and Tony beneath - into submission.

Thinking of Siberia normally causes nothing but pain and bitterness to rise to the surface of his psyche, and Tony nearly expects the same now. But somehow, he finds he feels nothing but gratitude toward Bucky and Steve-- the scene before him showing how far the three of them had come since that cold, lonely afternoon. 

Because yes, Steve had once again destroyed one of his suits— but for the exact opposite reasons they had before. Now it had been done not to disarm Tony but to protect him, as well as someone Steve knew Tony loved, instead of the other way around.

Tony looks over to Steve, who just gives him a tight nod, as if to say I got your back.

Were Tony a more sentimental man he’d ascribe some sort of poetic symbolism to the situation, but as it is he has no more time to dwell on the past-- Gargan letting out a maniacal cackle between bloody teeth when he spots Tony coming near.

“What do you want, Gargan?” Tony asks, coming to stand right next where the man is laid out.

Gargan looks around at the three men, before his gaze narrows back on Tony.

“I’m a man of my word, Stark,” Gargan begins, voice low and venomous. “So know this: you can lock me up in the pits of hell, and I will still come for that kid. Do you hear me? Spider-Man is dead, and there is nothing you assholes can do to stop me. Even sitting in a cell, I’ve seen his face-- I know who he is and I ain’t afraid to share it.”

Gargan giggles before his face twists into a sneer, practically growling at Tony as he continues, “So it’s just a matter of time, because no matter what you do, no matter what prison bowels you toss me in, I swear to you-- your precious Peter will never be safe. One way or another, I will be his end. That’s a promise.”

Before Tony can reply or move out of the way, Gargan spits at him-- a wad of red saliva landing on his shoes.

There’s silence for a few moments, before--

“Steve, Tony. Get out of here.”

Tony turns to Bucky-- Bucky who is staring Gargan down, the criminal's own pistol secure in his hand.

Tony glances at Steve, but Steve just stares at the gun in Bucky’s grip for a long moment before turning to Tony and giving a small shrug. Your call.

Tony’s jaw clenches and he turns to look out at the room, first up at the chain that Peter was hanging from before his gaze falls down to the floor below-- the earlier hatred toward Gargan rising up in his chest as he takes in the large smears of blood - Peter's blood - staining the concrete. 

But for as much as Tony wants Gargan to die, he also knows Peter would never forgive them for murdering a man in cold blood, no matter what atrocities he’d committed. He turns back to Bucky, about to tell him they would take Gargan in alive, when the criminal speaks up.

“Oh, this is-- this is fuckin’ pathetic.” 

Gargan lets out a harsh laugh, gaze fierce as he fixes Tony with a disappointed scowl. “I knew you were a coward, Stark. Gonna let your rabid guard dog do the dirty work, eh? What kind of man are--”

Bucky lets out a vicious kick to the criminal’s mangled arm, Gargan screaming as his broken bones scrape together.

“Let me do this, Tony,” Bucky says over the man’s howls, Steve and Tony gazing back at him. “We can’t give him another chance to get at the kid. Let me--”

“No, let me,” Gargan says, Tony whipping his head down to see Gargan using the last of the suit’s dwindling power to raise a charged repulsor right at Tony’s unprotected chest, just about to release a lethal beam at point blank range when--

BANG.

Gargan’s arm drops listlessly to the floor, Bucky lowering his own not a moment later-- the pistol smoking ever so slightly from the bullet it just unloaded straight into Gargan’s skull. Carelessly the super soldier tosses the gun into a corner, before looking back to Tony and giving him a nod not dissimilar to Steve’s just a minute before.

Tony nods back-- a silent understanding passing between the two of them.

“C’mon,” Steve says from where he stands between them, putting a hand out to both Bucky and Tony’s shoulders and giving them each a squeeze. “SHIELD can handle clean-up. Peter needs us.”

Without another glance at the corpse that was once Gargan, the three men shuffle into the adjoining room-- Nat looking between them from where she’s still sitting on the floor with Peter in her arms. 

“Are we good?” she asks simply, voice hard-- none of the three men missing her meaning.

“We’re good,” Tony answers in a low voice.

Natasha nods at him only to turn to Steve, the man moving to gently lift Peter from Natasha’s arms into his own. The kid is still unconscious, bloodied and impaled-- but he’s breathing, and for now that’s all Tony can ask.

Stay with me, kiddo.

“Sam has the quinjet parked at an exit a quarter mile from here,” Nat says, standing up and leading the way back into the tunnels. “Let’s go.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Tony wipes a hand over his face wearily, vision going blurry from rubbing hard at his bloodshot eyes. He considers for not the first time shutting off the lights and getting some rest, but that would mean taking his eyes off the sight in front of him, and that’s simply not acceptable right now.

For in front of Tony, not even two feet away lies Peter, pale and unconscious. How the kid could look closer to death when he’s cleaned up and in recovery rather than bleeding out and wheezing, Tony doesn’t know-- but he somehow does. Maybe it’s the oxygen mask tightly covering his face, or the bulge of bandages that rest over the kid’s left shoulder, or even just that the medbay room lights highlight the flushed, feverish pallor of his cheeks in a way a dank sewer maintenance room never could. 

Or maybe it’s because the sight looks too much like it had when Tony had been standing outside the surgical area just that morning, staring through the viewing window with pleading eyes when the kid’s heart monitor had broken out in a long whine-- Cho and her assistants immediately jumping into a frenzy. It wasn’t until Tony pounded on the glass with a bloody hand and screamed Peter’s name that a nurse glanced up and quickly moved to a switchboard on the wall. With the flick of her gloved finger the viewing window had promptly gone black-- the cacophony of frantic attempts to thwart a child’s death turning silent. 

Only Steve’s firm hand on his shoulder had stopped Tony from racing into the room and flipping that damn switch back himself-- or well, that’s how Tony was choosing to remember it. In truth, the panic attack that came on fast upon losing sight of Peter and sent him crashing to the floor was probably the real culprit. 

Honestly, it didn’t really matter if it was Steve or Tony’s damn PTSD anyway-- both were right bastards in that moment for keeping him from seeing his kid. Potato, poe-tah-toe. 

It hadn’t been until an agonizing two hours later that Cho had emerged - looking tired but accomplished - to let them know Peter had made it through surgery.

“Peter’s body had already begun healing around the object, so it was a tricky but ultimately manageable extraction,” Cho had informed Tony and May-- May who held tightly onto Tony’s hand throughout the entire conversation.

Or perhaps Tony had been the one who couldn’t let his grip release.

Cho continued, “There were a total of sixteen unhealed or semi-healed bone fractures-- I won’t list them out now but they’re in his file. All should heal given time, along with numerous flesh wounds and contusions. Most critically, he’s suffering from low-grade sepsis which we have already begun treating.”

At Tony and May’s stunned silence Cho had softly smiled. “I know all of these together sound scary, but if Peter makes it through the next 24 hours without further complications, I think it’s safe to say his enhancements will keep him from taking a turn we don’t anticipate.”

“And his shoulder?” Tony asked.

“Permanent nerve damage to his shoulder and upper left chest are distinct possibilities,” Cho carefully replied, Tony sharing a worried look with May. “But with his healing factor, I would never rule out a complete recovery. We’ll see where things are in a few days and assess then, but I recommend finding him a physical therapist either way.”

Cho had taken them in to see Peter shortly thereafter, May squeezing Tony’s hand gently before letting go and moving to a chair at Peter’s side while Tony did the same.

Only once the two of them were alone and situated in Peter’s recovery room - their fingers now intertwined with two of Peter’s unsprained ones - did May speak more than a few words.

“How bad was it?” she asked him, and Tony knew she didn’t mean the physical injuries.

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t good,” Tony replied, his index finger squeezing Peter’s right pinkie gently.

May leaned over, brushing a curl back from Peter’s bruised forehead, before eyeing Tony-- gaze full of concern. “He’s just been through so much. Losing Mary and Richard and Ben, then that building collapse and now this… he’s always locked any negative emotions up so tight and I’m just afraid that’s what he’ll do again but I just don’t know--”

“Whatever he needs, he’s going to get, May,” Tony says, willing his voice to be as steady and reassuring as possible. “Therapy, an emotional support animal, hell, I’ll rent you two a summer villa in the Loire Valley if he wants. Whatever he needs, we’ll make it happen. I promise.”

Now, eight hours later, May was two floors above resting in her guest quarters while Tony stood vigil at Peter’s bedside, having taken over as soon as his thumb had been splinted. The teenager was currently up a few pints of stored spider-kid blood and - even better - down one rusty hook, but he still had yet to wake.

Meanwhile, Tony’s exhausted mind see-saws between unspeakable relief that the kid is alive and horrific guilt that he’d been put through this situation at all. 

Tony remembers with a heavy heart how he’d once told Peter that criminals like Toomes and Gargan were below the Avenger’s pay grade, right after he’d fished the kid out of the East River. God, what he’d give now to go back and take care of Gargan and the rest long before things had gotten this far. 

Tony is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the third presence in the room until a familiar voice softly asks, “How’s the kid?”

He glances up to see Bucky in the doorway - rested and clean in jeans and a t-shirt - looking back at him, before his eyes glance back to Peter.

Tony sighs, scrubbing his hand across his face again as he leans back in his chair. “He still hasn’t woken up yet, but it should be any time now.”

“Is it alright if I…” Bucky gestures at the room, looking uncertain.

Tony tiredly nods. “Be my guest.”

Having been granted permission, Bucky silently makes his way in-- sitting down in the chair May had been occupying earlier. Tony watches with mild curiosity as he carefully places his hand over Peter’s, squeezing it ever so gently before pulling away-- looking slightly uncomfortable. Yet Bucky’s eyes never strayed from Peter-- the man seeming like he could wait days in that position without so much as a twitch of complaint. 

Tony has a feeling he actually could, if he needed to.

They sit like that for a few minutes in silence, just listening to the beeping of Peter’s monitors before Tony finally finds his voice again.

“I, uh… I wanted to thank you.”

Bucky looks up at him, eyes sharp and curious. “For what?”

“For saving my ass back there from Gargan, for one.” Tony bites the inside of his cheek hard, before plowing on and adding, “But also for being patient with me while I came to grips with you being here.”

Bucky looks down, lips twisting with a somehow mournful smile before he catches Tony’s gaze. “You don’t have to thank me, Tony. If anything, I owe you for--”

“No, you don’t,” Tony interjects, voice hard and unrelenting. “Whatever you think you owe me for, you paid it in full when you helped me get my kid back alive.”

There’s silence then, the two of them staring at each other, Tony narrowing his eyes as if daring Bucky to contradict him. 

To his surprise Bucky caves quickly, chuckling softly before putting his hand back over Peter’s, looking down at the kid and saying, “Well, for better or worse I’m uh, kinda used to him being around now. Reminds me a bit too much of Steve for my liking, what with the whole knack for finding trouble, but….there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for him, now or ever.” 

Bucky looks back up at Tony, eyes full of steel. “That goes for the whole team.”

You included, Tony hears even if Bucky doesn’t say it aloud. 

Before he can think better of it, Tony reaches out an arm across Peter’s prone form, Bucky not even hesitating as he lifts his own-- the two of them firmly shaking hands for the second time in as many months.

Before, back in Bucky’s room, the gesture had been a peace offering-- something Tony was willing to try out even if he didn’t yet fully trust the man.

This time however, it’s a promise. One forged by blood, and tears, and loss, yes-- but somehow - inexplicably - coming out all the more binding for the pain.

Well, maybe it’s not entirely inexplicable, Tony thinks as he drops his arm back down-- glancing at Peter with a fond smile.

Damn kid.

After a few seconds Tony sighs again, rising out of his seat. “Listen, I’m about to keel over. Would you mind staying with him while I go catch a few winks?”

Bucky’s brow raises in surprise. “Of course not.”

Tony nods. “I’ll be back in a half hour or so-- just gonna crash on one of the waiting room couches for a bit.”

Unlike Pepper or May or even Steve, Bucky accepts his words, not bothering to suggest he go get some proper rest. “We’ll be right here.”

With a final nod, Tony takes his leave-- only to stop five feet down the hall when he hears a very muffled but no less distinct voice ask, “Bucky?”

Tony twists around, about to walk right back in-- only to pause at the door when he hears the soft, gentle response. “Hey, pal. How ya’ feeling?”

“Good… s’two of you.”

“Yeah, that’ll be the drugs. Gonna bet you’re on enough to tranq an elephant right now.”

“I… am?”

A soft chuckle. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

“Sleep tight, kid.”

“Th’nks Buck.”

There’s silence again after that, Tony considering going back in only to glance through the door crack and catch a sight he never would have dreamt of even weeks ago.

It’s Bucky, leaning in and giving Peter a quick, chaste kiss on the forehead-- a fond smile of his own playing across his features before he resumes his earlier, more serious vigil.

Tony mulls over his options for just a moment more only to shake his head, wandering down the hall. He could rest easy, at least for now.

Peter’s in good hands.

Chapter Text

After making his way to the waiting area of the medbay, Tony had passed out almost as soon as his head hit the couch cushion. He must have needed the rest more than he realized because he slept hard for hours, only to be awakened by the sound of screams coming from Peter’s room-- the kid stuck in the throes of a nasty nightmare.

In his drugged state it had taken both Bucky and Tony to calm Peter down, and it had been another hour before the kid had fallen back asleep, though he tried to fake it-- almost certainly for Tony’s benefit, something Tony hated the thought of but didn’t have the heart to call Peter out on.

Only once they were certain he was asleep again did Bucky speak up. 

“The second time he came to - before the nightmare - he asked me what happened to Gargan,” Bucky tells Tony quietly.

“What’d you say?”

“I told him the truth,” Bucky replies. “That Gargan was about to kill you, but that we stopped him-- and now he’s dead.”

“How’d he take it?”

“He thanked me for looking out for you,” Bucky says with a sad smile, shaking his head before swiping a hand through his hair. “Then he asked me if it was okay that he didn’t feel sad about it. I uh, didn’t really know what to tell him. Ended up saying that of course it was okay, and that if he ever changed his mind about it, that would be okay too.”

Tony nods, looking back down at Peter-- all the creases of pain on his forehead smoothed out by unconsciousness.

“You did good,” he replies softly. “Thank you.”

The night nurses must have jotted the nightmare incident down in Peter’s files, because Cho knocks on Peter’s door early the next morning-- both to check on the kid and to give what Tony is certain Peter would see as bad news. Peter has to stay in the medbay for at least two weeks, she announces-- not only to heal but also out of abundant caution he doesn’t accidentally aggravate his injuries in his sleep.

To Tony’s surprise Peter takes the news stoically, hardly looking bothered. It only takes the rest of that day for it to become apparent that almost nothing bothers him anymore, the kid silently agreeing with everything any adult says to him. It’s not normal Peter behavior by a long shot, and Tony’s concern goes up a dozen notches as the day wears on and still Peter remains quiet and submissive.

“I don’t know what to do,” May admits to Tony that evening, during what would end up being one of many conversations between them in the hallway outside the medbay. “I know my kid. If one of us can’t get him to open up at least a little bit, a therapist isn’t likely to stand a chance.”

Tony grimaces, wiping his good hand across his face. “I know. Pete’s worse about that shit than I am-- thinks it’s better for everyone else if he just says nothing.

“But,” he adds with a knowing smile, “I think between both of us prodding him, he’ll eventually crack after a day or two. He always does.”

As it turns out, Tony ends up having to amend always to almost always. For as the first week wears on, it becomes clear that some part of Peter had been left behind in those tunnels-- and not just his blood, sweat and tears. 

Tony visits no less than five or six times a day, sometimes sitting with the kid for hours. With each one he keeps trying to get a rise out of Peter in the form of a smile or even a giggle, only for the kid to remain carefully neutral-- as though he feared that showing any feelings - good or bad - would open an emotional floodgate he wouldn’t be able to close again.

The continued lack of any kind of response has Tony and May constantly sharing worried glances whenever Peter isn’t looking, which seems to be all the time-- since along with his bright, opinionated personality, Peter also seems to have lost any curiosity, never questioning a thing. He eats when he’s told to, sleeps when he’s told to, and follows the nurse’s instructions to a T. And, like he had that first day, continues to silently nod along with whatever is said to him.

It’s the lack of any sort of complaint more than the rest of the kid’s unusual behavior that has Tony deciding on day ten to gather the whole team in a last-ditch effort, cramming them into Peter’s medbay room. 

It’s meant to be a cheerful yet calm visit, Cho having only barely given the okay-- muttering that no recovering patient should have that many visitors at once until they were released.

The memory of Cho’s words is why Tony is more than a bit annoyed when it seems the team only showed up with the express intention of being nothing more than a hindrance to the kid’s recovery, and - at least in Sam’s case - to give Peter grief for hiding his vigilante status.

“So you’re Spider-Man, eh?” Sam asks loudly almost as soon as the various hair ruffles - along with a fond kiss on the cheek from Natasha - had been doled out to the teen.

“Yup,” Peter says with hardly any enthusiasm, only for his face to somehow fall further as he adds softly, “I’m really sorry I kept it a secret from you guys.”

“No apology needed, Peter,” Steve replies kindly before Tony can say the same-- knowing the kid had only kept quiet on his orders. 

“Honestly, I’m just disgusted none of us figured it out sooner,” Sam says, shaking his head forlornly.

“Speak for yourself,” Nat murmurs-- Sam, Bucky and Steve turning to her with looks of incredulity.

“You mean you knew and didn’t tell us?” Steve asks, sounding utterly betrayed.

Natasha just shrugs. “Not my fault you three are oblivious dumbasses half the time.”

Sam looks like he wanted to retort but seems to think better of it, which Tony thinks is fair. Natasha’s scary when she wants to be.

“Seriously though, what’s up with the red and blue, Pete?” Sam asks instead, addressing the teen once more. “Because I gotta say, while you do wear it better than Cap here, personally I’d choose--”

“Language,” Steve interjects.

Sam scowls. “What the fu-- heck, man? I didn’t even swear!”

“Keep it down, you miscreants,” Tony orders from the back, the four other Avengers looking properly chastened for only a moment before Steve speaks up.

“Of course you didn’t swear, Sam. I just didn’t feel like listening to you harp on Peter or me anymore,” he smoothly replies, before stealing a mischievous glance at Peter and adding more loudly, “Also, you’re one to talk. At least our suits have some real character. Yours is just boring old grey.”

Sam - apparently a lot less scared of Steve than Nat - opens his mouth, clearly about to boisterously retort that slight, and Tony walks forward, about to reprimand the wayward band of hooligans yet again -- only for both of them to have their tongues halted at the bright sound of laughter echoing throughout the room. 

Tony turns to see Peter flashing a giant smile as he takes in the back-and-forth banter going on over his head. It’s the first real laugh he’s heard from the kid since he’d been taken.

“Sorry Sam, but Steve is right-- grey is boring,” Peter says, giving Sam a cheeky look as he adds, “Also, 1992 called. They want their shoulder pads back.”

There’s silence for a moment before the entire team falls into an uproar, Sam trying to defend his suit structure on the basis of safety precautions while the others chime in to agree with Peter-- the kid laughing all the while. The sound has Tony joining in on the raucous ribbing despite himself, if only to keep hearing it.

The conversation eventually moves on, and Tony leans back against the wall-- content to listen as the team continues to wisecrack without missing a beat, all too happy to play up their usual antics if only for the kid’s amusement. 

For Tony, Peter’s kidnapping had been like visiting his own personal hell in every single way, but at least he hadn’t had to go there and back alone. And now, watching the scene before him, it was obvious that Peter wouldn’t be alone in the aftermath either, and not just because he had Tony, or May, or his friends.

Tony hates the idea of being overly sentimental, always has. But watching the team - his team - do together what he’d been unable to do on his own, and all because they loved his kid nearly as much as he did? Well.

Tony thinks he can live with being a big softie, just this once.

By the end of the second week the kid’s arm was still in a sling but to everyone’s great relief it had already become apparent from the scans that Peter’s healing factor was repairing the nerve damage to his shoulder and upper chest. As for the other wounds and contusions, they had healed fairly quickly once the kid was getting proper nutrients, although - on Cho’s orders - Peter would continue to be on a strict extra high-calorie diet for at least another two weeks following being discharged. Turns out even three days without food was enough to send the kid into starvation mode.

But while the kid was physically on the mend, psychological scars were another thing. Ever since the team’s visit Peter had certainly perked up a bit, talking and joking more than he had the first week. But still, anybody who was really close to him could tell he was far from okay.

It’s with all these things in mind that Tony knocks on Peter’s bedroom door the day after Cho releases him from the medbay, carrying a protein shake in his good hand. 

Peter glances up from where he’s packing his weekend bag with just his one good arm-- nodding at Tony to set down the glass on his desk. He and May were heading back to the city for a few days, May telling Tony that she thought being back at home - with his own bed and his friends and the sounds of the city - might help Peter readjust. Tony had readily agreed, even though part of him never wanted to let the kid out of his sight again. But he knew Peter needed the familiarity, and Peter’s needs would always trump his own.

“You didn’t make that, did you?” the kid teases as he nods at the shake with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m deeply offended, underoos,” Tony says, playing along. “But no, you’re in luck-- turns out making anything one-handed,” - Tony lifts his broken hand, waving his good fingers - “is pretty difficult. Cap made it for you.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs, using the elbow of his slinged arm to hold his bag steady as he zips it closed with his other hand. “I’m kinda finding that out myself. Even though I broke my arm when I was eight-- I guess I forgot what a pain it is.”

“Speaking of, are you ready for your PT to start tomorrow? Veronica doesn’t tolerate slackers, which is why I already informed her you’re a hard worker. She worked with Rhodey too, after his injury.”

Peter shrugs. “I mean, I guess? Dr. Cho says it’ll help me get back out as Spider-Man sooner, so-- yeah.”

“Yeah,” Tony says with a sigh, sitting down on Peter’s bed. “About that-- I wanted to actually talk to you about our neighborhood friend Spider-Man before you headed out. Come sit down, kid.”

Peter grimaces slightly, hesitating a few moments before shuffling forward and moving his bag to the floor. He plops down next to Tony, looking at him with a hint of trepidation.

Before Tony can say anything, Peter says, “If it’s about going to therapy, May already talked to me. She told me what you guys decided.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what do you think about that?”

Peter lets out a slow breath, looking around the room before meeting Tony’s eyes. “I don’t really like it, but I get it. I know I haven’t really been…” He trails off, looking uncertain.

“Yourself lately?” Tony offers.

At Peter’s reluctant nod Tony wraps an arm around the kid’s shoulders, mindful of his sling. Peter leans into the hug readily, murmuring, “Just four weekly sessions, right? And then I can go back out on patrol?”

Tony cocks his head, a soft hum escaping him. “We’ll see what your therapist says at the end of the month, bud. But if they give the go-ahead, then I don’t see why we can’t figure something out. This mandatory month off though-- I want you to just focus on you, okay? Not Spidey, but Peter.”

Peter slings his head forward so he’s looking down at his lap, before giving another tight nod of assent. It’s not much but Tony will take it-- knowing that like himself, Peter has a hard time prioritizing his own needs over others. 

Peter leans back then, lifting his head back up to Tony, giving him a small smile and looking almost bashful as he says, “I, uh, I got something for you. For your birthday.”

Tony blinks, surprised. “Ah kid, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Peter says earnestly, standing up and going over to his desk. He opens a drawer and pulls out a small, wrapped rectangular item before walking back and sitting down, handing it to Tony. “Just because you didn’t care if everyone forgot about it doesn’t mean we were automatically going to.”

Tony shakes his head. “Me turning another year older and crankier doesn’t mean a thing when you’re holed up in the medbay after nearly dying, Pete.”

“Yes it does, Mr. Stark,” Peter says forcefully. “It means a lot of things, to a lot of people.”

Tony considers him for a moment, Peter narrowing his eyes as if daring him to argue. Finally Tony just smiles, looking down at the gift in his hand. “Well, I suppose I better see what this is then, huh?”

It’s a tedious process to unwrap the taped paper, what with his broken thumb. But any annoyance at the task is quickly forgotten when Tony pulls out the gift.

It’s a framed photo of him and Peter from back in the fall-- one from a set May took of the two of them in the SI tower’s lobby the day Tony gave Peter his official internship certificate. They’re doing bunny ears, and Peter’s mouth is comically wide open while Tony had done a mock grimace-- purposely holding the certificate upside down. 

Looking at it, Tony knows most people would wonder why the kid chose such an objectively silly photo out of the dozen or so that were taken the same day-- but Tony can tell why. Beneath the silliness, there’s a clear yet casual intimacy to the picture. It spoke of an earned affection-- one that had only been a spark between them at the time but was now a full flame. 

Tony stares down at the picture, lip trembling just slightly before he lets out a tiny sniff, glancing back up at Peter who is looking at him expectantly.

“I love it, Pete.”

Peter smiles at that, a big, full grin that warms Tony’s heart to see. He’s already looking forward to when that particular expression is back in regular rotation.

“It was actually kind of a team effort,” Peter admits. “First Natasha found the file set and helped me pick the photo. Then Bucky cut the glass to size, while Sam made the frame and Steve painted it.”

Tony looks back down at the gift-- noticing now the clear care and craftsmanship that had gone into it. 

“That’s-- that’s awesome, kid,” he says, trying to rein in the mix of emotions welling up inside his chest. They pour out anyway, and he has to blink back tears as he gruffly adds, “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“For what?”

“Take your pick,” Tony says with a sad chuckle as he sniffs again, swiping his good hand across his eyes. “For not handling Gargan long before it came to this. For not finding you sooner. For getting you involved in all this crap in the first place. For-- for all of it.”

There’s a long-suffering sigh from the kid then, Tony turning to him just in time to catch Peter rolling his eyes. 

“Y’know, Mr. Stark, you’re lucky I have to leave in five minutes, because that means I have to skip over explaining all the reasons why everything you just said is dumb and go straight to how none of this is your fault. Like, not even a little bit.”

Tony sighs, wanting to argue the point but knowing at the same time that it would be futile. Instead he goes with, “I’m just glad you’re back, kid. Kind of boring around here without you.”

Peter smiles-- hearing everything Tony isn’t saying just like he usually does.

“I’m glad I’m back too,” he says, before quirking his lips at Tony and adding, “It wasn’t always easy but thankfully I managed to hang on until you arrived.”

Tony frowns. “Oh no you don’t. We’re not doing that. We are not joking about you getting strung up like a piece of meat. It’s too soon. Not funny.”

Peter shrugs nonchalantly. “It was kind of funny.”

“Nope, not funny,” Tony sternly repeats. There’s a few seconds of silence before he solemnly adds, “But I’ll let you off the hook, just this once.”

Peter’s eyes go wide, jaw dropping in surprise. At Tony’s smug grin, he says, “That was stone cold, Mr. Stark. I don’t know whether to be scared or impressed.”

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, kid. Just don’t joke about it with your aunt yet, okay? Pretty sure she wouldn’t be quite as amenable to your morbid Gen-Z humor as I am.”

“Pfft. Who do you think I got the pun from in the first place?”

“No way, underoos. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“...”

“Seriously?”

“No. But I had you there for a moment, didn’t I? Hook, line and sinker.”

“And just like that, I’m ready for things to go back to being boring around here again.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, I suppose I don’t.”