Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony Stark had never wanted to be a father.

His own father, Howard Stark, had been a pretty efficient deterrent from that idea. Tony would never forget the way the man’s eyes would stare upon him, cold and distant, almost bordering on disdain. Did he realise he was his son? His child? His blood? He’d looked at Tony like a stranger, and the further the boy pushed for his father’s affection the further Howard pulled away. The only time he even batted an eye in Tony’s direction was when he made a mistake, shouting at the cowering boy and later, hitting his teenage son across the face when Tony worked up the nerve to bite back.

Was that all a father was good for? Harsh discipline and icy words? Because if it was, then Tony wanted nothing to do with it. And he promised himself years later as he stood beside his parents’ graves -not even feeling a hint of grief flowing through his veins at the sight of Howard’s name etched in stone- that he would never be a father. That he never, ever wanted a child of his own.

But that’s the funny thing, isn’t it? What you want and what you need are not always the same thing, and the universe seemed intent to prove it so.

Because almost a decade after that fateful promise was made, Tony Stark sat in the maternity ward of the hospital and felt his entire world shift when Mary Parker gently lowered a baby -his baby- into his awaiting arms.

James Edwin Stark was born on the 10^th of August 2001, and for the first time in his life, Tony cried tears of joy.

All the fears, all the dread that had once consumed his soul washed away with a single look at the baby’s gentle features, so familiar and yet so distinctly unique at the same time. And when James burrowed further into his hold, Tony was so overwhelmed with a wave of love that he could barely keep it contained, murmuring words in Italian that he hadn’t spoken since his mother had died.

My son. My treasure. My star in the sky.

Within mere seconds it had become the best day of Tony’s life, and he knew when those baby brown eyes fluttered open to meet his own that he would love this child until the end of his days. His son would never know the cruelness of Howard, but instead, he would only know the adoration that Tony held for him. A few months ago the idea of infinity had once seemed terrifying to Tony, but he knew deep in his bones that the love he held for his son would never diminish. His love for James was endless; it always would be.

Tony cradled this precious little being against his chest long into the night, murmuring these promises in a whisper, as if it were a secret between the two of them alone.

My love for you is endless…

When James’ mother was killed by a drunk driver three months later, Tony promised these words again as he held the boy protectively in his arms, tears cold from agony leaking down his cheeks as they watched the coffin be lowered into the cold earth.

My love for you is endless…

And when the fear that James would someday notice the absence of his mother -of her love- began to overwhelm him, Tony sought out the family jeweller to make a special request. A pure silver ring with James’ birthstone -a vibrant green peridot- in the centre, and engraved on the inside, the words:

My love for you is endless.

The ring -so beautiful in its simplicity- slid onto Tony’s right index finger with ease, as if it were always meant to be there. A circle has no end, and neither did Tony’s love for his son. Some days he would stare at the simple gemstone and wonder if the whole thing were just too sappy, if James would one day recoil at the symbol of affection his father displayed so proudly and beg him not to wear it. Both Pepper and Rhodey assured him that he wouldn’t, that it would mean the world to James to know how deeply his father cared, and that “No, Tony, you’re not going soft” despite the even sappier words engraved beneath it.

But they weren’t just words, they were a promise. The promise he’d made the day James was born to be a father -a better father than Howard had ever been. The promise to raise him even without the aid of Mary.

The promise that he loved him, no matter what.

A week after James’ first birthday, Tony would stare down at the words engraved into the ring between his fingers and remember all those promises. He was sitting on the rocking chair in the nursery, but the air was cold and the moonlight was dim as it filtered through the windows. Tony couldn’t bare to look at the crib. At the broken glass still littering the carpet from a shattered photo frame, the image it once contained of father and son stolen away.

Stolen, just like James was.

The thought brought tears burning back to his eyes and Tony pushed his face into his hands, the sobs that tore from his throat sounding like thunder in the silence of the empty nursery. It had happened so fast. One moment Tony had been laying James down in his crib on the night of his first birthday, tuckered out after a day full of celebrations, and then the next morning, he was gone.

Police swarmed the mansion like bees for the two days that followed. Interviews were taken. Searches were held. But by the end of the week, his son was still missing.

Tony spent hours just staring at his cellphone, waiting, begging in his mind for a demand of money or weapons or whatever the hell they wanted so long as they gave him back his son. His precious little James.

The phone never rang.

And now, a whole week since his son had been stolen away, the feeling of failure crashed into Tony like a tidal wave as he tightened his hold on the ring, whispering the same promise into his hands like a prayer.

…My love for you is endless…

…

The sun shone down like a warm summer blanket across the dry, cracked fields and the surrounding forest of pine, their deep green needles seeming to shimmer like an ocean when the wind passed through the branches. Clouds that looked as soft as feathers were scattered across the otherwise bright blue sky, and though signs of the shifting seasons were bound to appear soon, the day was as bright as the middle of summer, beautiful and peaceful in every sense of the word.

Peter closed his eyes and hummed at the birdsong that drifted through the air, absorbing the warm rays of sunlight that hit his bare arms. He liked it up here on the sloping roof outside his bedroom window. On the nights Peter had trouble sleeping he would always crawl out onto the cold tiles and search for constellations, marvelling at the beauty of the stars and wishing he could reach as high as them. The sunshine was just as inviting though, and Peter couldn’t help but be thankful for the lively atmosphere that surrounded him: Birds chirping to each other, bugs humming across the field, the gentle creaking of trees from the forest. They all came together to create a world filled with sound and movement and life, and for just a moment, Peter felt a little less lonely.

Tilting his face up to the sky, Peter drew in a few more seconds of serenity before forcing himself back to his feet. As much as he wanted to sit out here for hours and enjoy the view of the property he called home, Peter still had chores to do while his father was at work.

Not even the beauty of nature would be worth Beck’s fury if he missed any of his daily duties.

So crawling back through the window with one last glance at the golden paddocks beyond, Peter slipped into his daily routine and began to clean his room. It wasn’t a difficult task. He kept the space as orderly as possible to avoid his father’s scrutinising glare, but he still went through and straightened and dusted every last surface for the next half hour out of habit. Not that he actually owned that much to clean, but what he did have, Peter made sure to keep in the best condition.

After that he move down the hallway and collected the empty glass bottles scattered at the door of Beck’s locked bedroom, the glass knocking against one another rhythmically as he descended the old wooden stairs. The kitchen tiles were cold beneath his toes and he caught the smell of something burnt as he disposed of the bottles, and judging by the cracked and mangled appliance laying across the bench top, Peter figured the old toaster must have finally become a victim of Beck’s frustration. A note with the words “Buying a new one tonight. Take whatever you want,” laid beside it in Beck’s quick handwriting, and Peter’s engineering brain immediately kicked into gear at the sight of the deconstructed machinery now at his disposal.

Today just kept getting better and better!

So carefully moving the broken toaster back to his room for later, Peter rushed around the house in an excited whirlwind to finish the rest of his chores. He cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the bathroom, washed the dirty laundry, swept the porch, hung out the wet clothing and wiped down the windows with meticulous accuracy. The routine was so familiar to Peter at this point that his thoughts drifted away for most of it, running on muscle memory alone as he did his morning rounds.

By the time he finished it was only midday, so Peter pulled out one of the textbooks on the shelf and forced himself to study for at least another hour. He must have done the equations in this math book at least a thousand times before but the small collection of books were all he had to keep his mind sharp, his only chance at an education after the incident. Memories of schoolyards and teachers and other children came to mind but Peter pushed them away almost immediately, ignoring the deep pit of longing in his chest at the thought of school. He hadn’t been to one since he was twelve. Not after the field trip, not after Beck…

Peter rubbed the back of his head anxiously and forged ahead with the equations, hoping the phantom hands on his neck would fade if he just ignored them.

It had been his fault, really. Peter remembered the day the teacher had handed out the permission slips for the excursion, remembered how he trembled in his seat as he held it, fear and excitement crashing into him all at once. The excursion would be a day trip to a neighbouring town where OsCorp -one of the leading tech companies of the world- would be hosting an exhibit for rural schools. It was a one in a lifetime opportunity; a chance to see what the experts in the field were working on and a glimpse into Peter’s dream job. All of that in the form of this one little paper.

So Peter -knowing that his overprotective father would never approve of a field trip outside their small town- had done something bad. He’d lied.

And the worst part was that he almost got away with it too. The teachers hadn’t questioned the forged signature and Beck hadn’t seemed at all suspicious the morning that Peter left for the field trip. After all, the exhibit only went for the day, so he’d be back home before his father had even finished work. It was foolproof. It was perfect!

If only that stupid spider hadn’t broken out of its exhibit. If only Peter could have hidden his growing illness on the bus well enough. If only his teachers hadn’t called his father to explain his condition, and in turn, spilled the truth about the field trip in the process.

The silence in the car as Beck drove them home that night had been excruciating, but the shouting when they entered the house had been worse.

“You little piece of shit! I provide for you, take care of you and you have the nerve lie to me!”

Peter, who had been too weak and tired from the probably venomous spider bite on his arm could only try and sob out an apology.

“Shut the fuck up!” Beck had screamed, throwing his frail body against the wall. “You did this to yourself, you hear me?! If you ever lie to me again Peter I will fucking end you! You understand?!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll ne-never do it again, I swear!”

“You’re damn right you won’t! I hope you said goodbye to all your friends Pete, cause you’re never leaving this fucking house again!”

Peter had never cried as hard as he did that night, because despite the alcohol lingering on his father’s breath, he knew he would hold true to his word. Beck always meant what he said. And so that night, aching all over and lying in his sweat and tear-soaked bed, Peter came to terms with the fact that he would never set foot outside the property again. No more school. No more library. No more anything. He’d taken a risk and paid the ultimate price, and Peter had never felt so miserable -physically or mentally- in his life. The only small gift he got in exchange for his suffering was the following day when his father, upon realising Peter was still violently ill in bed, began to stroke his hair comfortingly and whisper soft reassurances. “It’s alright buddy, it’s alright,” he’d murmured, grabbing the Harry Potter book from the shelf and sitting at Peter’s side. “How about some wizardry to cheer you up. Maybe I can even cast a spell to make that flu go away, huh?”

The lightness of his father’s chuckle drew Peter to his side like a moth to flame, so desperate for his forgiveness and comfort that he was able to block out the awful night that had preceded it from his memory for a little while. And Beck, true to his word, read through the chapters of Harry Potter until Peter had fallen into a fitful rest, his father’s hand laid soothingly atop his head. To this day it was still one of Peter’s favourite memories…

That, and of course, the morning that would come to follow when he realised he could suddenly see without his glasses. That he healed faster and could jump higher and hit harder and had -in every sense of the word- super powers!

Peter never told his father about that detail, and he never planned to either. These powers, these gifts were the best thing that had ever happened to him! They gave him something to work for, gave him hope for something greater. What it would be, Peter wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that it was worth protecting. Worth fighting for, even if the fighting came in the form of secret projects and hidden practice sessions in the woods with his newfound powers.

Maybe someday these powers would even lead him to a life outside the property…

Shaking the hopeful thoughts away, Peter scribbled down the rest of his answers and moved on to his next objective. For the next three hours he sat on the floor of his room and completely took apart the already mangled toaster, sorting every useful piece into neat little piles around him like a star system. When everything was in its place he sketched out ideas and mapped out potential gadgets he could make with the spare parts he’d have after he finished his latest project; mechanical wristbands that could dispense the chemical solution he’d recently perfected with his chemistry kit.

The substance -or webbing, as he liked to call it- was entirely for medical purposes, designed to create a strong and flexible mesh that could cover an open wound, sticking it together and staunching any blood flow until the wound could heal itself. He was still tinkering with the formula to see how durable he could make it since it would always dissolve after three hours, but it was still effective none the less. And now he had the final parts for the web-dispensers, he might actually get to try it out without accidentally sticking his hands together for three miserable hours like last time.

And so Peter worked the rest of the day away, crafting mechanical wristbands and mixing a new batch of his secret formula. He stored everything away in his wardrobe when he noticed the sun slipping down the horizon through his window and began to set up everything for their dinner. Beck would be finishing work any moment now, and if it was a good day, then he would be home within the hour. And if it was a bad day…

Well… Peter tried not to think about that.

The pasta was minutes away from being ready when he heard the familiar crunching of tires against dirt in the distance, glancing at the clock anxiously when he realised his father was later than usual. Hoping his day wasn’t about to take a sour turn, Peter lowered the heat on the stove and stepped out onto the front porch just as Beck’s car skidded to a halt in front of the stairs, the engine growling into the quiet evening like a wild beast on the prowl. Peter’s shoulders tensed as he waited anxiously to gauge his father’s mood, but the moment the car door opened and the absence of alcohol filled his senses, Peter couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey buddy,” Beck called as he shut the door behind him, the sunset painting a red hue across the comforting smile on his lips. “How you been?”

“Good! Really good! It’s been a such a nice day out,” Peter practically beamed as he raced down the stairs to meet his father. He loved it when he was in a good mood.

“It sure was. Did you get all your chores done?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, feeling a brief spike of anxiety as Beck’s eyes narrowed scrutinisingly at the windows, before feeling his muscles relax when his father turned back with a light smile. He inclined his head approvingly before reaching into the back seat and lifting out a box, a new toaster Peter realised as he turned towards the light.

“Want me to help?” Peter offered lightly.

Beck just shook his head, cradling the box under one arm and pulling something else out from the back of the car. “I got you something today,” Beck said cheerily.

“Really?”

“Mm-hm.” Shutting the door with his foot, Beck handed Peter the aforementioned gift and smiled when Peter stuttered at the sight.

“A new textbook?” Peter practically gasped, his eyes wide with awe as he stared up it his father hopefully. He hadn’t gotten a new textbook in months; it was almost too good to be true.

“Yeah, a chemistry one too. I know you like all that weird shit,” Beck scoffed, but Peter was too enraptured by the heavy book weighing down in his hands to acknowledge the mocking tone in his voice. Beck had always thought chemistry was a useless subject. He was an engineer after all, never seeing the point in the ‘organic crap’ as he called it. When Peter asked about mechanics though his father’s eyes would light up with an excited fire, rambling for hours about projects and machines he’d worked on decades ago. Things that would change reality as we knew it, he proclaimed once. Peter had never been daring enough to ask what he actually created though.

“Thank you so much Dad, I love it,” Peter said as he hugged the textbook to his chest in awe. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been today. Between the broken toaster, the clear sunny day and this precious gift, Peter might’ve thought he’d jumped a week into the future by accident.

At least a birthday would explain all of the luxury he’d been graced with in a single day.

Peter still couldn’t believe he turned fifteen in a week. He wondered if he would feel different on the day- if he would wake up filled with energy and knowledge that he hadn’t possessed at fourteen. It was unlikely, but nevertheless, it was fun to think about. The most he probably had to look forward to were some new books or figurines, -which were still like gold to Peter- but, he’d just hoped there would be something… more this time. Something big, something fun-

Something outside of the property.

Now that was a lot to hope for. Beck held true to his promises, and Peter doubted anything he said would change his mind, birthday or not.

But maybe… with the amount of good luck he was having today…

Dispelling the thoughts with a shake of his head, Peter smiled sheepishly at his father and followed him back up the stairs into the house, immediately moving to place the textbook alongside the others on the shelf. When he walked back into the kitchen he found Beck lifting out the new toaster and placing it in the corner, heading for the fridge the moment his hands were free and pulling out a beer. Peter tried not to feel uneasy about that as he turned his attention back to the still boiling pasta, shifting around the small kitchen as he finished everything off for dinner.

Beck was scrolling through something on his tablet when Peter finally placed a bowl of spaghetti on the table in front of him, earning a quick “Thanks bud,” as Peter settled down on the seat beside him. They ate in silence, just like they always did. For Peter it was mostly out of ravenous hunger -the only downside from his little spider friend-, while for Beck it seemed purely out of disinterest as his eyes scanned over whatever was displayed on his tablet lazily.

When Peter had eaten as much as possible without arousing suspicion, he thought he might try and break the eerie quiet that had fallen across the household. “Was work busy today?” he asked, his voice carefully light.

Beck’s shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “Nah. It was pretty boring actually.”

“Maybe you can show me the ropes someday?” Peter suggested as he took both of their empty bowls to the sink. “I can become, like, your apprentice!”

At that Beck finally broke out into a smile, replying teasingly “Can you imagine? The town would go nuts with two gifted mechanics here to fix every dented bumper and busted engine that rolls our way.”

Peter froze, the unexpected praise coiling around his chest like a warm hug before he turned towards his father in surprise. If Beck noticed his reaction though he didn’t show it, staring down at his tablet once more with the hints of a smile still lingering on his face. The thoughts that Peter had so valiantly tried to push down from earlier returned with a vengeance at the sight of his father’s light expression, whispering- begging him to say something. Peter bit down on his lip anxiously.

God, Beck was in such a good mood. Peter hadn’t seen him like this for a while now, so relaxed and open with his praise and affection. Part of Peter wanted to just sit in this bubble of warmth and savour it for what it was, but the other part -the selfish part- wanted to take advantage of it. He’d pushed boundaries with his father before and rarely come out victorious, but maybe tonight, maybe it would work…

“Hey Dad?” Peter spoke before the rational side of his brain could catch up.

“Yeah Pete?”

Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat, figuring it was too late to turn back now and beginning softly “You know how it’s, uh- its my birthday next week?”

“Again? Shit, I thought that happened last year,” Beck said jokingly.

Mustering some courage, Peter decided to test the waters and replied with a hint of sarcasm “It did happen last year, and the year before that and the year before that.”

Peter waited for the snap, the reprimand for snarking, but it never came. Instead Beck only scoffed out a laugh, his eyes still fixed to the screen in front of him. “Touché,” he said, causing Peter’s lungs to deflate in relief. “So, you got a list for what you want this year then?”

Now the panic flooded back into Peter’s chest, scratching the back of his neck anxiously as he tried to gather his words. He never thought he’d make it to this point in all honestly.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Beck chimed when Peter still hadn’t responded.

Peter sucked in a breath and forced his voice not to shake as he said “Well, it’s just one thing actually.”

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

Here we go.

“I was wondering if we- if we could… um… go to New York for my birthday?”

Cold air rushed into the room so fast that Peter actually shuddered.

“What did you just say?”

All the confidence that had been building in Peter’s chest seemed to fall apart like sand at his father’s harsh tone, flinching when he met the deep blue eyes that were suddenly fixed on him from across the room. Peter gripped the edge of the stone bench top behind him and tried not to let the terror show on his expression. He searched for any semblance of the warmth that had filled the space moments ago but it was long gone, leaving only a tension so thick it was actually suffocating to take its place.

Peter felt the stone straining beneath his white knuckled grip when Beck rose from his seat at the table, his eyes never breaking from Peter’s.

“What was that again?” Beck asked, his tone deceivingly light. But Peter could see the coldness in his eyes, warning him not to make a wrong move.

Too late for that, Peter thought drearily.

“I just… I just thought it might- might be nice to…”

“No go ahead. Say it,” Beck prompted when his voice trailed off into silence.

Peter swallowed harshly, his mouth as dry as a desert. “I… I just wanted to, to see New York…”

Walking towards him with slow, powerful strides, Beck asked, “And where exactly did this big idea come from?”

Peter knew exactly what that question really meant.

How do you know about New York Peter? How do you know about a city I’ve never mentioned?

“I- I heard about it back in school,” Peter forced out as evenly as he could manage. “The teacher had a presentation about it one day… about the history and the architecture, I just… I just thought it might be nice, that’s all…”

It wasn’t technically a lie. He really had learnt about the city from his schooldays, listening attentively as his teacher described the towering skyscrapers and speeding subways one day in class. He was so enraptured, in fact, that at recess he went straight to the school library and pulled out any book on New York he could find, instantly falling in love with the city that never sleeps and retaining that love even now in his sheltered little world. For years he’d dreamt of a day he might get to see it, assuming it would be when he turned eighteen and moved out of home.

But with the way this conversation seemed to be turning, Peter had the horrible feeling it was going to be a lot longer than that.

Beck had stopped in front of him now, towering over the teen and staring down at him with hard, calculating eyes. He seemed to be contemplating Peter’s statement, judging how true it really was. And grasping onto the honesty in his words, Peter managed to keep his gaze steady and locked onto his father’s in their silent staring match.

The sincerity and fear in Peter’s eyes must have accounted for something though as Beck released a tense breath through his nose after a moment, adverting his gaze to the wall. “New York is almost a three-day drive away,” he said, though the tension in his jaw suggested a different issue.

Peter stared down at his bare feet, desperately trying to keep his breathing under control. “I know…” he started, his voice soft, before he tried to say with a hint of courage “It’s just… it’s been so long since I’ve been outside the property I-“

“And whose fault is that?” Beck snarled, snapping his attention back to the boy with an icy glare.

With nowhere to go and nowhere else to look, Peter felt himself shrink under the intensity of those murky blue eyes, saying swiftly “I- I know, I’m sorry… I know that it’s my fault…”

That seemed to quell the anger in Beck’s eyes slightly, his jaw loosening but shoulders still squared in such a way that Peter had no option but to face him. Bowing his head timidly in an attempt to break the tension dragging the oxygen out of his lungs, Peter mustered his voice just enough to say “I just wanted to spend time with you… I feel like I hardly see you anymore…”

A moment of silence passed between them. Then another.

Peter waited with bated breath as he stared at the cracked, tiled floor and his father’s scuffed work boots, shifting his weight back and forth in anticipation for his response.

Unlike the cold air that had swept across the room within seconds early, this change was slow. Painstakingly so. First Beck’s shoulders lowered from their fighting stance, then his frown released, and finally his eyes softened as he let out a sigh. It was nowhere near the jovial attitude he’d had before, but it was an improvement nonetheless.

Beck lifted his hand and Peter couldn’t help the flinch that followed, but if his father had noticed then he didn’t seem to care as he carded his fingers through the boy’s chestnut curls. Peter, unsure why he was receiving such affection after that fiasco, kept his gaze locked on the floor and his body tensed for an unexpected move. Waiting for the shouting. Waiting for the blow to the head…

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy bud,” Beck said, his voice a warm hum compared to the growl it had been only moments ago. “But if you want food on the table at the end of the day then I gotta work as much as I can.”

Peter nodded slowly, allowing himself to feel the comfort of Beck’s hand against his cheek as he murmured “I know… I miss you though.”

“Me too bud,” his father said through a light, but, empty smile. “How about I shut down the shop on your birthday and we’ll have a marathon of all the Star Wars movies, huh? Does that sound like fun?”

Just like he’d seen through Beck’s other statements, Peter saw through this one like glass.

They weren’t going to leave the house.

Peter wasn’t going to leave the house, not even for his own birthday.

It took the teen a few moments to swallow this realisation, the hope that he hadn’t even realised had been building up his heart suddenly plummeting to the floor and shattering into a thousand unsalvageable pieces. He should have known better… He knew it wouldn’t work, but he’d let himself hope anyway. Maybe his dream of exploring the towering city of New York would just have to stay like that.

A dream.

But collecting himself enough to gaze up at his father, Peter nodded and said through a forced smile “Yeah, yeah that’d be fun.”

Beck smiled fully this time and tugged the teen into a firm embrace, one arm wrapped around his shoulder blades and the other hand remaining curled in Peter’s silky hair. His presence was steady. Safe. It didn’t take long for Peter to melt into the comforting -and frankly, rare- touch and duck his head into the crook of Beck’s collarbone. He could still smell the motor-oil clinging to Beck’s work shirt and the faint hint of aftershave on his beard. The powerful beat of his heart beneath his eardrum. The even rise and fall of his chest with each controlled breath. All these familiar elements came together and wrapped around Peter like a heated blanket, drawing away those bitter thoughts of New York and his dread over a punishment that he’d seemingly managed to escape from. And for a moment, things didn’t seem so dreary…

“Peter?”

“Yes Dad?”

Peter felt all the terror rush back into his bones again when his father’s hold suddenly tightened from reassuring to restrictive, the fingers in his hair twisting into a painful grip on his skull.

“Don’t ever bring up New York again,” Beck practically hissed into Peter’s ear, his voice dripping with venom. “Got it?”

Unable to move his head to nod, Peter was forced to muster his voice and answered shakily “Yes sir… never again.”

“Good,” Beck said as he relinquished the embrace all together. A sense of emptiness rushed over Peter in that moment and left him blinking up at his father in subtle disappointment, hoping the affection could have lasted a little longer. It had been so long since someone had hugged him, he just wanted to hold onto that warm sensation in his chest and never let it go.

But despite recognising the saddened look in his son’s eyes, Beck made no move to reassure him, instead squaring his shoulders again and saying with an eerily blank stare “Everything I do, I do it for your own good.”

Peter ducked his head in a submissive nod. “I know Dad.”

“And I do it because I love you, son.”

This time Peter glanced up, straightening in surprise when he noticed the sincerity in Beck’s expression, the warmth shimmering from his clouded blue eyes. It was a rare declaration these days, but not an unwelcome one by far. And feeling something akin to pride tingling throughout his nerves, Peter tried his best to push down the shattered remains of his dreams and whatever thoughts lingered over New York as he held onto the praise, trying to muster a smile of his own.

“I love you too Dad,” he said, meaning every word.

But still, he couldn’t stop the longing -the calling- towards the city of his dreams that had settled in his subconscious, quiet for now, but laying in wait for the right moment to strike…

…

When Peter woke up the next morning the sky was overcast in a sheet of foreboding clouds, the birds and crickets eerily silent throughout the usually lively fields and forest that surrounded the house. A sharp wind swept across the trees and made the branches rattle, and the sound of the wooden frames of the house creaking were the only sound to greet him that morning. The teen stared out at the grey expanse through the window with a heavy sigh.

Maybe this was karma for last night, but at this point, Peter couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d been lucky to get away with what he had, and he wasn’t keen on pushing his luck any further.

So after a few more moments of staring out at the dreary world before him, Peter dragged himself out of bed and fell back into his daily routine.

Throw away the empty bottles at his father’s door. Eat breakfast. Clean the kitchen.

Wash, rinse, repeat…

Scrub the bathroom. Wash the laundry. Sweep the porch.

Again and again like he had for three years…

Hang out the wet clothing. Wipe the windows-

Peter paused midway through swiping the cloth down the glass pane, turning towards the gust of wind that hit the porch and breathing it in deeply. For a moment he thought he had smelt something strange on the breeze, something metallic… something familiar.

Placing down the lemon scented bottle in his hand with the cloth, Peter stepped out to the edge of the verandah and drew in another breath through his nostrils, trying to figure out if he had just imagined the scent in his boredom.

But no, there it was again. Metallic… almost like copper. And the smell was stronger this time, thick and acidic to Peter’s heightened senses.

He knew that smell though, the answer lingering at the back of his throat but unable to leave his mouth.

Then another gust of wind swept through the field and the smell became a flood to Peter’s senses, a tingling sensation running down his spine in realisation.

Blood. The smell was blood.

Peter was sprinting down the dirt driveway without a moment’s hesitation. There was only two things that could bleed enough for Peter to smell it all the way from the house, and that was either a wild animal -in which case he might be able to save them if they were friendly enough- or someone on the property.

That thought scared Peter even more.

He hadn’t talked to or even seen anyone other than his father since that fateful field trip to OsCorp, and even to this day he regretted not trying harder to make friends when he’d had the chance as a child. He’d been too shy then, too quiet… boy what he wouldn’t give to have a friend now.

But shoving away the regrets of his past, Peter focused all his attention on finding whatever was bleeding out on their land, his feet pounding against the rocky ground as he searched for the source. The smell grew stronger as the fence-line came into view, the forest of pine trees stretching in every direction beyond the border except for the narrow road that his father would take to go to work.

When the wind began to lull Peter skidded to a halt and drew in another breath to find his direction.

He was close. The smell of copper was almost pungent now, weighing in the air like a heavy rain cloud.

Peter scanned the surroundings from his spot in the middle of the driveway, wondering if whatever had stumbled onto the property was lying in the tall golden grass, hidden from view. It was a possibility, he supposed. A wounded animal would surely choose to conceal themselves in the grass rather than become an easy meal for something else out in the open.

But then he saw it; a dead tree with barren branches standing not too far from the fence line. It had been struck by lightning a couple of years ago during a tremendous storm, but though the bark had remained scorched and twisted, the limbs unable to shed new leaves, it had stayed rooted in the ground out of sheer stubbornness and become a staple of the fields.

Without thinking, Peter began to walk towards the dead tree. He couldn’t explain why, but he had this… feeling that he needed to go there. Not the same feeling as his spider-given sense or even the buzz in his nerves when Beck walked through the door reeking of alcohol, but something different. Instinctual, almost.

Stepping through the sea of dry grass, Peter rounded the tree trunk fully expecting to find a wounded fox or maybe even a lost fawn beneath the little shade it provided.

What he didn’t expect was to find a man laying against the tree, eyes half lidded and blood pouring steadily out of a wound in his shoulder. Peter stumbled back at the sight of his dirty and battered figure, thinking the man might already be dead if not for the short stuttering inhale that was immediately followed by a harsh coughing fit. If this stranger knew that Peter was there then he didn’t acknowledge it, but Peter got the feeling he had bigger things on his mind at the moment. Namely the unhealthy amount of blood currently outside of his body from the wound on his shoulder and -now that he looked closer- a nasty cut near his temple that was leaving a trail of crimson red down his cheek.

Peter quickly snapped himself out of his stupor and knelt down next to the half-conscious man, saying cautiously “Sir… Sir can you hear me?”

When he didn’t reply Peter reached out and gripped his good shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Sir? Uh, can you feel that?”

This time a groan erupted from the man’s throat, and Peter took that as a good sign. “Okay, cool um… there’s, uh -wow, there’s a lot of blood,” Peter mumbled to himself. He could feel the panic beginning to rise in his throat but adamantly pushed it down in favour of pulling off his jacket and pressing it against the oozing wound on the man’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp cry of protest.

“I know -I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter muttered, desperately trying to maintain his resolve as he pushed harder against the open wound. He didn’t know much about first aid but he knew that applying pressure was the most important thing to do for excessive bleeding.

And despite his pained groans, the man didn’t try to stop him either. Probably didn’t even know what was happening considering his current state, head barely staying upright as his eyes fluttered back and forth in a daze. The mere sight made Peter’s chest ache in sympathy.

Quickly, Peter ran through what he needed to do next in his head. This man needed medical attention and fast, maybe even an ambulance at this rate. He wasn’t going to last much longer if they stayed out here in these dirty fields, but there were no phones in the house, and the town was at least a thirty-minute drive to the property from memory. At the very least Peter had to get him back to the house and try to bandage the wounds, but one look at the barely conscious stranger and he knew it would be impossible to get him to stand, let alone walk.

That left only one option. An unpredictable option no less.

He’d tried it in the woods before with fallen tree trunks and small, mossy boulders, but surely it couldn’t be that much different from a human, could it?

Swallowing any doubts he had, Peter tied the jacket firmly around the man’s bleeding shoulder and positioned one arm beneath his upper back and the other underneath his legs. “Sir?” Peter spoke to check he really was as out of it as he suspected. He didn’t exactly feel like explaining what he was about to do to a complete stranger when he’d never even had the courage to tell his own father.

“Uh, if you can hear me sir, uh… don’t panic, alright?” Peter said, his tone deceivingly light. “I’m just gonna lift you up, okay? Nice and easy.”

When there was only a disoriented huff as a response, Peter took that as the go ahead sign and rose to his feet steadily, the man cradled awkwardly in his arms as he stood. He was surprised when the man that must have weighed at least eighty kilos felt lighter than a sack of flour in his hold, shifting his footing experimentally to make sure he wouldn’t fall. And when he noticed the blood-stained fabric clinging to his fingertips like glue, Peter was somewhat thankful for one of the lesser known powers he had acquired: a strange ability to stick to anything and everything.

Now, certain that the man was secure in his arms, Peter began sprinting towards the house at lightning speed, a plan already formulating as he ran down the driveway. He would patch the man’s wounds as best as he could and do everything in his power keep him alive, and when Beck got home in the afternoon then he would beg his father to call an ambulance for the stranger and hope he wasn’t in a bad mood. There was no good reason for Beck to deny him so, but still, he could never be too certain when it came to his father’s decisions.

A weak mumble escaped the man’s lungs as Peter reached the front porch, manoeuvring his way through the thankfully open doorway and making sure not to hit the man’s head on the way up the stairs. It was a cumbersome task for sure, but Peter was determined to keep this stranger alive.

If he did nothing else in his life, he hoped this would be the one thing he succeeded in.

So pushing through the door to his bedroom, Peter quickly lowered the still incoherent man onto his bed and began rushing around the house like a loose tornado of deadly concentration. He was down-stairs and dragging the first aid box out of the kitchen cupboard in the flash of an eye, returning to his room with the kit, some old but clean towels and a bottle of water in record time. It wasn’t much, but he could do the best with what he had.

Peter’s biggest concern was the bleeding shoulder, and judging by the entry and exit wound he found when he peeled the ruined jacket away, he could only guess that it was caused by a bullet of some kind. He needed to stop the blood-flow if the man was going to survive, but as he rummaged through the first aid he realised in horror that there was hardly any dressing left in the kit. It wouldn’t be enough for the amount of blood still flowing from the injury, and Peter could feel his time slipping away rapidly as he stared down at the almost depleted roll of bandages in his hands.

But like lightning, his mind was struck with an idea and he scrambled for his wardrobe, almost ripping the door off its hinges as he lunged for the neatly packed vials and mechanics sitting in the corner. Slapping the metal bands on his wrists, Peter began to say shakily “Alright sir, this is going to feel a bit strange for a moment, but it’ll stop the bleeding in no time, alright? I’ve tested it before so don’t worry… then again, my healing goes a lot faster than yours so…”

Shaking himself out of his rambling, Peter clipped one of the vials of formula into the gadget on his arm and returned to the man’s side, figuring there was no better trial for the new dispensers he’d created than on a man who was bleeding to death.

Not the time to joke Peter, he scolded himself mentally, but hardened his resolve regardless.

The man was almost completely out of it at this point, so Peter met no resistance as he reached over to the wounded shoulder and pressed down the mechanism against his palm. A spray of fine, white strings shot out of the wrist dispenser and began to seal over the open gash within seconds, creating a strong layer that would stanch the blood for at least three hours. Long enough for the blood to clot, Peter hoped.

Once he was certain that the wound was properly covered in the webbing, he carefully shifted the man onto his side and repeated the process for the second opening, taking care to make sure that no blood was seeping through either patch in the moments that followed. When five minutes passed without even a speck of blood seeping through the thick webbing, Peter released a tense breath and sagged down to the floor with his back resting against the side of the mattress. The adrenaline was starting to fade now but he could still feel his heart pounding against his ribs like a bird trying to frantically escape its cage.

“That was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done,” Peter declared to no one in particular. He gripped the metal around his wrists tightly, first in awe, then in pride. He knew the formula worked -he’d tested it on himself on multiple occasions- but to have functioning dispensers that he’d mangled together from scrap metals, frayed wires and a broken toaster, well… he couldn’t help but feel a little bit pleased with his handiwork.

And for a moment, there was quiet. A moment to rest.

But at the sight of the blood-soaked jacket that was now discarded on the floor like a filthy rag, Peter was quickly drawn back into reality. He might have fixed the biggest issue for now, but this stranger -whoever the hell he was- still had a plethora of other injuries marring his body, demanding attention and assistance. And with no one else available, the responsibility fell on Peter to make sure that he survived.

So dragging the first aid kit back over with a sigh, Peter found himself smiling up weakly at the unconscious stranger that had somehow wound up in his care, wondering what had gotten him into this state. What his story was…

Whatever it was, it was probably a whole lot more interesting than Peter’s life anyway.

“Don’t worry sir. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

Chapter Text

I need to run…

That was the first thought that drifted past Tony’s mind as he slowly crawled his way back to consciousness, the shadows that parted as he gathered his energy leaving an awfully painful ache in his bones. His senses followed shortly after his thoughts, and he heard a stiff groan fill the air as a sensation akin to fire erupted across his arm and chest, only to realise that he was the one who had made the pathetic noise in the silence that followed. It took all of Tony’s strength to even pry his eyelids open, shoving through the tar that had seemingly encased his body and wondering why he felt like he’d just been dragged from hell and back.

Was he drunk? No, he couldn’t be. He’d been sober for almost three years now, swearing he’d never drink again after a particularly catastrophic attempt to drown his sorrows on the most awful day of the year:

The 10^th of August.

A day that should have been filled with joy and laughter and celebrations was instead weighed down with loss and regret and pain. So much pain…

Just thinking about the date sent a swirl of bittersweet memories crashing into Tony’s already unsteady mind. He tried valiantly to shove them all away, refusing to feel the emotions that so desperately wanted to burst from his chest, but felt a newer memory jump back to life as he tried.

“Are you sure you want to take this mission Tony?”

Tony blinked, and for once allowed himself to be pulled back into the memories with the help of the captain’s steady voice.

“Absolutely,” he’d replied. “It’s just a basic recon mission, right? Nothing Iron Man can’t handle.”

Steve had grimaced, holding the file just out of reach of Tony’s searching fingers as he said, “It’s not Iron Man I’m worried about.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means Tony,” Steve glared, only for his tone to soften as he added carefully “I just… I know that August is a hard month for you...”

This time it was Tony who adverted his gaze, trying not to notice the way that Rhodey and Natasha had stiffened at the table and shoving down the sadness that had become his permanent companion for the past decade. “All the more reason for me to take the mission,” Tony said, cracking his jaw. “It’ll be good for me. Like a, a-“

“A distraction?” Steve asked incredulously.

“A release,” Tony corrected, ignoring the concerned gaze Rhodey was giving him in the corner of his eye. “I need to do something, Cap. I need to keep busy, get my mind focused on something useful. Especially now when…”

His words trailed off, but everyone understood the message in his silence.

After a few more tense moments, Steve sighed heavily and offered Tony the file, which the mechanic swept up and began reading swiftly. “We believe it’s a Hydra research facility, but we need some more information before an attack can be scheduled,” the captain explained, non-too pleased about it if the creases in his brow were any indication. “We need to know their defences, weak spots, escape routes and so on.”

“So it’s a stakeout?”

“Exactly, which means no obvious suits or tech,” Steve answered sharply. “I have to warn you though, it’s a two week mission in the-“

“Done,” Tony said before the captain had even finished speaking. Two weeks would take him to mid-August, which means he’d be plenty busy on the dreaded anniversary that always seemed to approach like a road-train on the horizon, ready to mow him over every single time. Call it whatever you wished: a mission, a distraction, a release. For Tony, this assignment was a godsend.

“I’ll see you all in two weeks,” Tony said as he shut the folder in his hand with a satisfying snap. “Don’t go having any crazy parties while I’m gone-“

“Tony.”

The man hesitated on his way to the door, knowing he could never ignore his best friend but so tempted to just leave while he still had the chance. Slowly, Tony glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Rhodey, feeling those deep brown eyes staring into the emptiness of his soul like he was made of glass.

For one terrifying moment he thought he might say it. Might tear the great Tony Stark down to a sobbing mess with a single name.

But after offering a sympathetic smile, Rhodey just nodded and said with all the care he could imbue into his voice “Be careful Tones.”

Tony’s shoulders visibly sagged in relief. “Don’t worry platypus, it’s just a recon mission anyway. How hard could it be?”

Very hard, apparently.

Because on the fifth day of his stakeout when the sun had barely edged over the horizon, he was met with a Hydra patrol squad sweeping through his supposed ‘safe house’, being forced to make a run for it since he was not only lacking a suit of armour but all the minimal tech that he had left downstairs the night before. He’d jumped out of the second story window with nothing but the clothes on his back and sprinted for the nearby pine forest bordering the property to escape. There hadn’t even been time to send an alert to the other Avengers before gunshots began raining through the air, just managing to disappear into the trees as bullets whizzed by at an alarming rate.

What happened after that became a bit of a blur. He remembered running like hell, terrified of the gunfire that seemed to be hunting him down like a pack of hungry predators chasing down their prey. He thought there might have been blood on his shirt, on his hands, on the bark of the trees as he stumbled towards safety, and he remembered falling too- no, tripping over a rocky slope and slamming his head on a particularly jagged boulder on the way down. He must have continued to move though because the next thing he remembered he was trekking through a paddock of gold, red paint staining the grass as he passed. He remembered seeing a dead tree and thinking that he would sit down -just for a moment- to regain his strength. Maybe his balance too since he seemed to be listing to the side with every step he took like a rowboat in the middle of a storm.

It would just be a short break, barely even a minute, he told himself.

But as his mind finally seemed to kick into gear, he realised quickly that he was, in fact, not lying in a field anymore, and that the surface that should have been dirt and grass beneath him was actually a mattress. Cheap, uncomfortable, and springy, but a mattress nonetheless.

Cracking his eyes open again, Tony’s sluggish brain registered the pale grey roof above his head and what looked like an old, ragged Star Wars poster on the wall to his left. He could feel the soft fabric of a blanket as he twitched his fingers and winced at the stab of pain that spiralled up his arm in response. When he turned his head he was met with a series of action-figures sitting at the edge of the bedside table, chipped from years of use and obviously cared for dearly.

Not the typical Hydra jail cell, so that was a good sign.

With his shoulder aching and bones creaking and mind still spinning like a top, Tony dragged himself to sit up and take stock of whatever strange, nerdy world he had somehow landed himself in. Warm afternoon sunlight poured in from the window to the right and cast the room into an inviting, comfy haze. Books with fraying edges were lined up neatly on a bookshelf and a scarce collection of toys were stacked up on the shelf below. A modest wooden wardrobe covered in what looked like newspaper clippings and photographs stood in the corner of the room, and though it was obviously a child’s bedroom based on the figurines and posters, he was surprised by how clean everything was. Neat. Orderly. Not even a speck of dust on any surface.

Tony couldn’t explain why it sent his nerves on edge, but he found himself tugging the blanket higher up his bare chest and fighting off a shiver anyway.

It was only now that he registered the state of his own body, and compared to the pristine room he sat in, he found he was anything but in perfect shape. Bruises trailed up his side from the earlier tumble and his right ankle was swollen and throbbing from where he had -less than gracefully- hit the ground after jumping down from the second story window. Whoever had found him had at least laid an ice pack over it, but it felt like a pinch compared to his left shoulder which burned and ached in an unfortunately familiar fashion.

I need to stop getting shot so much, Tony thought grimly as he inspected the torn-up rags covering the wound. It was fairly basic, but to his pleasant surprise it didn’t look like there was any blood seeping into the cloth either.

Prodding the bandage with his fingers, Tony instantly regretted the action as hot, fiery pain laced up from his arm again. “Don’t take the suit they said…” Tony hissed under his breath. “It’ll be fine they said…”

“Sir?”

Tony almost leapt out of his skin at the soft voice, whipping his head around to find a pair of big brown eyes staring back at him from the shadowed doorway. “Who’s there?” Tony called, keeping his expression guarded. Even if this person had saved him that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat, and with the arc reactor in his chest laying completely exposed without a shirt, he had no doubt they had figured out his identity by now. Billionaire and superhero was not usually a great reputation to have while being completely vulnerable to a stranger.

“Sorry,” the voice spoke again as they pushed further into the room, the muted sunlight shining down to reveal their youthful face and curly brown hair. Those eyes, so gentle and warm, gazed over at Tony with concern, before the boy -a teenager, he quickly realised- offered him a smile.

“Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said sheepishly.

Tony blinked in surprise but was quick to collect himself. “No harm done,” he said, wincing at another painful tug in his muscles as he asked, “I’m assuming you’re my knight in less-than-shining armour then, huh?”

“Something like that,” the boy chuckled as he scratched at his neck bashfully. “I found you by the dead tree in the field. You were bleeding pretty badly, but- um, I ran out of bandages, so I tried my best to wrap it with old cloth instead. I, uh… I hope it’s alright.”

“It’s great kid. Couldn’t have done a better job myself,” he assured, lightly inspecting the rags.

He didn’t notice the way the boy stiffened; how his eyes grew wide at the praise or how his smile beamed wide in response. And by the time Tony’s eyes lifted back to the teenager he was already moving towards the door and rambling about something at a speed that was surely incapable for humans to achieve. His youthful voice continued to echo down the hallway as he disappeared out of the room, and Tony found himself smiling at the innocent crack of his voice that interspersed each rapid sentence.

Tony assumed that he was going to get his parents or guardian now that he was awake, but he was surprised when the teenager returned balancing a tray of food on one hand and some clean clothes in the other. “Sorry- sorry,” he stuttered, shaking his head and sending his curls swaying wildly. “You’re probably starving. I made some, uh- some soup earlier. I wasn’t sure when you were gonna wake up, but it’s hot so-“

The words continued to tumble out as he set the tray down on the bedside table and offered the clothes -an old flannel shirt and accompanying black jacket- out to Tony, who was just watching him with a tired but amused look on his face. “These are my dad’s winter clothes,” the boy explained, finally slowing his speech enough for it to be understood. “I tried to salvage your other shirt but there was way too much blood. Like, it was soaked-“

Tony waved off the inevitable apology and took the clothes from his hands, relieved when he was able to cover the distinctive glow of the arc reactor with layers of warm fabric. He was a little surprised though that the boy hadn’t mentioned it yet. No shock. No horror. Just talking to him excitedly like he was any other person.

Tony had to admit, it was a nice change from the deranged villains he would usually wake up to in these kinds of situations.

“Sorry, I’m uh- I’m rambling again…” the boy said, suddenly looking timid, before placing the tray carefully at Tony’s side. There was hot, steaming soup poured into a bowl and some squares of plain toast resting on a plate beside it, and much like the chipped figurines on the table or the bandage of rags around his arm, it was simple but… thoughtful. Done with the upmost care.

Tony flashed a grateful smile to the boy and took hold of the soup, feeling pretty confident that he wasn’t about to get poisoned by the awkward, rambling child standing before him.

“Sorry if it tastes bad,” the teen rushed to say as he wrung his hands together nervously. “My dad says I’m not really good at making soup, but I- uh, I read a thing once about giving sick people soup when they were sick, so…”

Instead of replying to his anxious stuttering, Tony just lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth and resolved to decide for himself. He took a bite and-

“Holy shit…”

The boy winced at Tony’s murmur, asking softly “It’s that bad, huh?”

“No,” Tony shook his head, shovelling another spoonful into his mouth in awe before adding “It’s good. Like, really good, kid.”

For the first time since meeting each other, the boy was rendered speechless.

And feeling an old instinct flicker back to life like a flame, Tony went on to assure him, “Honestly kid, it’s great. You’re a natural chef.”

“You really think so…?” he asked, his breath catching in disbelief.

Tony’s heart ached at the hopefulness in his bright, young eyes. Did he honestly think his cooking was that bad? Was he aware that most teenagers didn’t even know how to make a soup, let alone a good one? And what kind of father would be so cold as to tell their kid straight up that they were bad at cooking instead of trying to teach them?

Bitterness coiled up in Tony’s guts like a python strangling its prey, resenting the fact that he never got to teach his own son to cook. Never got to praise him. Never got to see him grow up…

“Your father obviously has no taste if he thinks this isn’t good,” Tony scoffed before he could stop himself, realising he had already devoured half the bowl in the midst of his spiralling thoughts.

The boy, who had taken a seat at the end of the bed, ducked his head with a somewhat cautious chuckle, saying “Yeah, well… I haven’t made it in a couple of years. I never really tried again after, uh…” He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “Guess I finally got it right this time, hah…”

Tony narrowed his eyes a little, sensing something more to that comment but not wishing to pry. He’d barely known this kid for five minutes and somehow his instincts were calling out to him in a way they hadn’t for many, many years.

He’s not yours though…

He’s not James…

Tony shoved those thoughts far down into the crevices of his mind, glancing up at the boy and asking lightly “Got a name kid?”

“Um… Peter, sir,” the teen smiled. “Peter Beck.”

“Well, ‘Um, Peter’, it’s nice to meet you,” Tony said, earning a sincere laugh out of the boy.

“Sorry, we don’t get many visitors out here,” Peter explained. “I’m a little rusty with my conversation skills.”

“Eh, you’re doing fine,” Tony said, finishing the rest of his meal and choosing to brush off the fact that he wasn’t technically a ‘visitor’ but an unfortunate passerby.

“I, uh… I never got your name,” Peter said after a few moments of silence.

Now that was a surprise. Tony glanced up quizzically to see if the teen was just messing with him or maybe even just trying to be polite, but Peter’s expression was nothing if not sincere, and Tony found the snarky reply waiting on the tip of his tongue dissipating in an instant. “Tony Stark,” he answered, watching to see if the name would spark any recognition.

Obviously it did not if the kind, completely unaware smile that Peter gave him was any indication. “Nice to meet you Mr Stark…” He paused, before adding teasingly “Now that you’re not dying and all that.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me kid,” Tony scoffed. “So how bad was it? Give me the damage report.”

Peter smirked as he leant back against the wall, saying casually “Where should I begin? Bleeding shoulder, head wound, swollen ankle, and bruises and scratches to last a lifetime.”

Shrugging, Tony mumbled “Not the worst I’ve had before…”

“Can I ask what lead to such a laundry list of injuries?” Peter asked.

“Sorry, that’s confidential,” Tony mused, causing Peter’s eyes to widen slightly.

“Are… are you are a spy?”

“Not exactly,” Tony said. “But I am on a mission, yes.”

Those big eyes were now racing with electricity as he asked, “Is it an important one? Like… Like Luke Skywalker blowing up the Death Star important?”

“Oh yeah, very important,” Tony said, stifling a laugh at the teen’s nerdy streak finally making an appearance. “So, big Star Wars fan huh?”

If he thought Peter’s eyes were bright before, then it was like the sun had just appeared from behind a stormy cloud as he grinned back at Tony. “Oh definitely!” he beamed, sitting up from the wall to swing his hands around excitedly. “I only get to watch them when Dad brings the TV down for movie night but I’ve watched the whole trilogy a hundred times!”

Tony felt himself smiling again -god, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d smiled this much- as Peter continued to ramble about the nuances of Star Wars and why it was his favourite franchise. It seemed he’d opened the floodgates because the words were flowing out of Peter so quickly you would think he’d lose his voice forever if he stopped. Tony just watched, and smiled, and ate his soup with little interruption, enjoying the way the teen would use his hands as well as his voice to emphasise a point, or how his nose would scrunch up slightly when he criticised something.

As he placed the now empty bowl back onto the tray, Tony tried not to think about his own son as his looked at Peter. Tried not to wonder if James would have looked the same way when telling him something he was excited about, something that he loved.

Just like always, those painful memories resurfaced.

And just like always, Tony shoved them right back down.

When Peter’s tirade had finally begun to slow, the man quickly dragged himself out of the little carefree bubble that he’d found himself in and asked instead “Hey kid, you got a phone I could borrow?”

Regret washed over the teen’s once joyous expression so fast it was actually frightening. “Sorry Mr Stark. My dad’s the only one with a phone and he doesn’t get back until the afternoon.”

“Geez, a teenager with no phone, who’d have thought,” Tony said glumly. “Alright then. Any neighbours nearby?”

Again, Peter shook his head. “We’re thirty minutes out of town.”

“Well how are you supposed to contact your dad if you need help?”

Peter looked puzzled at that, saying as if it were obvious “He’s working though. I don’t bother him while he’s working.”

Tony stiffened.

Can’t you see I’m working Anthony? Get the hell out!

“But if you’re in an emergency…” Tony said, his mind still caught up in long lost memories. “What are you supposed to do if you’re hurt?”

Peter shrugged, picking at flecks of dried blood from his nails to distract himself. “I wait for him to get home…”

A cold wind swept over Tony as he stared at the boy that was once filled with so much light and joy and excitement mere moments ago. Now all he could see was an emptiness in the depths of Peter’s brown eyes, and the tension in his shoulders, and the way his jaw clenched as the silence continued to drag.

Something’s wrong, his instincts whispered. You know there’s something wrong here…

But before Tony could try and figure it out, Peter seemed to find his own resolve as he stood up from the bed and said reassuringly “Don’t worry Mr Stark, as soon as my dad gets home I’m going to ask him to call an ambulance or take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital kid,” Tony replied, aware that he was diverting the subject but figuring there would be time to investigate later. “I just need to call a friend of mine back in New York to let him know I’m alive and all that.”

Peter’s eyes widened in that familiar and oh so missed awe. “Did you say New York?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Sure did.”

“Have you been there?” he pressed, before shaking his head and amending quickly “I mean, of course you have, your friend’s there. I meant, um… is, is it as big as they say it is?”

Tony wasn’t sure if he should be amused or concerned by the sudden flood of interest, replying casually “Yeah, it is a major city after all-“

“And are there really massive skyscrapers like in the pictures?” Peter said as he slowly lowered himself to sit back on the edge of the bed, completely enraptured with every word that Tony spoke.

Seeing his opportunity, Tony smirked and said “Sure do kid. I live in one of them.”

“No way!”

“Yep. Stark Tower, owned by yours truly,” Tony said with a grand gesture of his arms, only to curse when his shoulder retaliated in agony.

“Oh gosh, so you’re like, super rich then aren’t you?” Peter muttered, even as he leant down and pulled a first aid kid out from under the bed. “I’m so sorry Mr Stark, I didn’t mean to ramble about Star Wars for so long. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of better things to do then-“

“It’s fine kid,” Tony immediately hushed him. “It was nice talking to someone like a normal person for once. Feel free to keep doing it too, I am still human at the end of the day.”

Peter smiled up at him warmly, checks a little red from both embarrassment and excitement, before he gestured to Tony’s shoulder and said, “I probably need to replace the wrapping soon.”

“It looked pretty sealed to me,” Tony replied cautiously.

“Yeah, but it’ll dissolve in another ten minutes or so.”

“Hate to break it to you kid, but cloth actually doesn’t dissolve,” Tony said with a slightly teasing tone.

Suddenly Peter looked nervous, wringing his hands together again and scratching at something beneath the wrist of his hoodie as he murmured “No… but, uh… the chemical solution I put over it will.”

“You what?”

Peter immediately threw his hands up in a peaceful gesture, saying swiftly “It’s completely harmless! It’s just a web-like substance that seals and stanches a bleeding wound for three hours, that’s all!”

But Tony was already tearing his jacket off and pushing the edge of his flannel shirt to the side to get a better view of his injured shoulder, not wanting to relive his experience with the arc reactor again even if every bone in his body was screaming that Peter would never do such a thing. Said teenager was still stumbling over his words in an attempt to calm him, but Tony was purely focused on peeling away the make-shift bandages to reveal some kind of white, dry patch lying beneath it. The formation of the patch resembled that of a thick spider web, and when Tony ran his fingers over it he was surprised that the frail-looking strings held up against the pressure.

“What’s it made of?” the man asked, less out of fear and more out of curiosity now.

Peter listed off all the ingredients in a nervous stutter and Tony just nodded along as he mentioned more and more stable, non-threatening chemicals. Finally, when he was satisfied that Peter had not tried to kill him with some kind of biological weapon, he leant back against the wall with a sigh and marvelled instead at the boy’s clever handiwork.

Peter, in his rush to assure the man that it was completely safe, dragged on old leather journal out of his wardrobe and brought it over to him, showing the formula that he used written down amongst the pages and handing the book over when Tony reached out for it. It only took a brief scan of the pages to realise that the kind, nerdy teenager that had miraculously saved him was also, as it turns out, a genius.

“I’m impressed,” Tony said, whistling to re-enforce his amazement. “This is some pretty advanced stuff, and the tensile strength of your formula is off the charts kid.”

Peter seemed stunned by his words at first, before answering sheepishly “It took a lot of tweaking, but- but it’s completely safe, I promise.”

Tony nodded along, asking “You said it dissolves after three hours?”

“Yeah, I -um, I haven’t been able to figure out how to extend or shorten it yet.”

“Don’t need to if you can make a dissolvent for it instead,” Tony suggested as he handed the book back to the jittery teen.

“Oh man, I… I didn’t even think about that,” Peter muttered, staring down at his notes scrutinisingly as the gears began turning in his head. “Yeah… yeah! Oh gosh, that’s a heaps better idea! Then it doesn’t matter when they dissolve because you can just remove and re-apply them before it happens!”

Tony smiled at Peter’s seemingly never-ending excitement, admiring the wonder he still held for the world and the future. Such an innocent spirit was a rare thing these days, usually lost through trauma or trampled by reality. But here, in the middle of damn nowhere, Tony had somehow managed to find one of the few rays of hope left on this whole godforsaken planet.

Maybe his mission hadn’t been such a bust after all…

After Peter had scribbled down the beginnings of his new dissolvent formula -with a few tips from Tony here and there-, the two spent the next ten minutes throwing ideas back and forth and adding a new layer of the webbing to Tony’s shoulder when the old one began to fall apart. Tony praised the boy for his ingenious wrist dispensers and found himself genuinely laughing when Peter told him about all the scrap materials he’d used to make them, the rest of the world seeming to fall away as they spiralled into discussions about engineering and chemistry and New York shortly after. Peter began to bandage his shoulder again as they spoke, but this time it was just a precaution since the bleeding had considerably slowly thanks to his formula.

“So, what are you going to sell it as?” Tony asked when Peter was packing away the first aid and vials of formula back under the bed.

“For medical stuff, hopefully,” Peter explained humbly. “Ambulances, hospitals, first aid maybe… I just wanna be able to help people, you know?”

A pang of understanding hit Tony’s heart at the boy’s awfully mature answer, and he just knew in that moment that this kid was going to do great things someday. If he had the chance to spread his wings, Tony had no doubt that he would soar above everyone else.

“That’s really good of you kid,” Tony said with a weak smile, his energy depleted after so much talking and moving and planning.

Peter seemed to realise this though as he rose back to his feet with the empty bowl and tray in hand, flashing the man a comforting smile of his own as he said “You should probably rest Mr Stark. I’ll wake you up when my dad gets home and then- then you can call whoever you need to okay?”

A warm flutter passed through Tony’s chest as he lowered himself to lie back down in the bed. “Thanks kid,” he mumbled hoarsely. “I owe you one for saving my sorry ass.”

“Well, you helped me with my formula,” he reasoned. “So how about we call it even?”

The last thing Tony saw before his eyes slid shut from exhaustion was Peter’s soft smile, his striking brown eyes as warm as the summer sunshine. And for the first time in years, Tony didn’t fall asleep feeling as empty inside.

“You got it kid…”

…

When Tony woke up next, he knew that something was off.

Blood orange rays of sunlight were painted across the walls and fading quickly as he opened his eyes, his shoulder now stiff and aching instead of the enraged fire it had been earlier. It didn’t take long for Peter to return to the room, but unlike the uncontainable ball of energy he’d been before, he was quiet and skittish as he brought in a plate of freshly cooked stir-fry and placed it on the bedside table. Tony asked if he was alright but the teenager just nodded stiffly, turning to gaze out the window and the rapidly setting sun before disappearing back downstairs again without another word.

When Peter returned about five minutes later, it was with a bowl of his own dinner and a somewhat forced smile. “Uh, sorry about that Mr Stark, I just… I got lost in thought…” he said while taking a seat on a nearby stool.

“Anything I can do to help?” Tony asked, genuinely concerned for his new-found friend.

Peter’s expression became blank as the last lines of sunlight fell behind the horizon, the shallows of his eyes appearing almost haunted in the shadows. “My dad is usually home by now…” he said, his voice void of emotion as he turned the lamp on and started to eat, as if that would somehow put Tony’s racing mind at ease. Something told him not to pry though; at least not yet. Not when Peter looked like he’d checked out to another planet by now.

And so they ate in silence, Tony growing more and more concerned for the unusually reserved teenager as more shimmering stars began dotting the sky beyond the window. He tried to start conversations with the boy, mentioning robotics and chemistry and engineering and everything that had brought him so much joy before, but to no avail. Finally though, as they both neared the end of their meals, Tony brought up New York again, and Peter glanced up at him with wide, wary eyes.

“Can you… Can you tell me about it please?” he’d asked in a whisper, the first full sentence he’d spoken since they’d started eating.

Tony was quick to oblige, dredging up every fantastical and mundane story he could think of about the city he called home until the tension in Peter’s shoulders began to slack, his eyes clearing back into that warm, chocolate gaze the longer he spoke. And since Peter hadn’t known about his infamous reputation earlier Tony decided to steer clear of any superhero or alien stories for now too, wondering in the back of his mind how much the boy truly knew of the world outside his little home. Gradually he began to ask Tony questions and chuckle at his jokes and smile at his voice like before, and it was almost like the world had shifted back into place.

Tony couldn’t explain why his own chest suddenly felt a thousand times lighter in response, but before long Peter was sitting at the end of the bed again with his journal out and pencil at the ready, sketching down the city streets and skyscrapers that Tony continued to describe and eventually divulging back into new gadgets and formulas scribbled along the pages. It didn’t bother Tony. In fact, he was utterly relieved to see that the teenager he’d grown so fond of was returning back to his usual, bubbly self. And if all he had to do was retell dumb stories about subways and taxis and alleyways to keep that darkness out of his eyes, then god, he’d do it all day long.

Time slipped by again as the two conversed throughout the evening and enjoyed the light company that seemed to be keeping both of them grounded. After clearing the empty plates away and receiving yet another round of praise from Tony for his great cooking, Peter got to work replacing the webbing on Tony’s shoulder and bantering about who the best Star Wars character was.

“But Han Solo’s got everything going for him,” Tony reasoned playfully. “Good looking, rich girlfriend, loveable best friend-“

“And he’s also a scoundrel,” Peter replied with a smile of his own, tying the bandages back over the sealed wound as he retorted “Luke is a hero and a Jedi Knight! You can’t get much better than that.”

“Han is literally the space equivalent of a cowboy. He wins, straight up.”

“Ego doesn’t equal value, Mr Stark,” Peter said as he shot Tony a mischievous glare. “I thought you would have known that, Mr I-Live-In-A-Skyscraper.”

Tony’s uninjured arm lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “What’s the point of having money if you don’t get to flaunt it, huh?”

Peter just rolled his eyes in typical teenage fashion before packing away the first aid kit again, saying “All done Mr Stark.”

“Thanks kid.”

“No problem,” he smiled, glancing back over his journal with a proud glint in his eye, so much brighter than they had been barely an hour beforehand.

Remembering the emptiness he’d witnessed in Peter’s young face, Tony’s expression softened as he asked, “Hey kid, you sure you’re alright?”

He looked startled at first, blinking up at the man as if he’d forgotten he was there, before nodding his head weakly. “Yeah Mr Stark, I’m fine. I just… I feel bad that you can’t call your friend yet,” he admitted with a sigh.

“It’s fine kid, really,” Tony assured. “Stop worrying your little head over it and focus on something better, like all those great ideas you’ve scribbled down in that book, yeah?”

After a few moments of hesitation, Peter finally nodded, not quite finished feeling guilty but obviously not keen to fight Tony over it either. Instead, he pulled out his chemistry kit and got to work on his new and improved dissolvent, seeking Tony’s advice as he worked until the man was forced to lie down again with a tired groan. Peter assured him that it was fine, that he could figure it out no problem, and that “Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell you if something goes wrong, I promise.”

Tony had a feeling that was a lie, but he was too exhausted to argue with the teen at this point, staring out at the blanket of stars outside the window and listening to Peter’s soft mumblings until he eventually fell back into the slumber.

When Tony woke up next, he knew that something was definitely wrong.

It was Peter’s gasp that had him jolting back to reality, sitting up and blinking wildly until his eyes finally focused on the boy sitting across the room. The lamp was still on, and if the unkempt look of Peter’s hair was any indication, the boy must have fallen asleep on the floor during his experiments at some point, sleep crusting his now wide-blown eyes as he pressed his hands against his neck anxiously. The hairs on his arms were standing up straight despite the air being a little warmer than room temperature.

“No.”

Another flare of alarm set off at Peter’s quiet murmur.

“Kid?” Tony asked firmly, shoving the blankets away and turning to stare it the teen more directly. “Are you alright?”

Peter didn’t seem to hear him though, scrambling to his feet and throwing the window open with a wild look in his eyes.

“You’re starting to freak me out kid,” Tony said. “Is this some kind of night-walking to the extreme or-“

He was cut off by an abrupt “Shh!” from Peter, his head tilted towards the outside as cool air began drifting into the room. Tony considered a retort, but he’d never seen the teen this anxious before, so he decided not to push it. Maybe he’d heard something outside. A fox or a bear or something that he needed to be aware of.

But in the silence, that’s when Tony heard it.

Car tires.

Screeching car tires, growing louder and louder-

Peter suddenly slammed the window shut and twirled around to Tony with an almost unnoticeable gasp, as if he’d just seen a ghost and didn’t know where to run first. Tony wanted to ask what was wrong, if he was in danger, how could he help, but then Peter started heading towards the door with a determined stride and collected expression. A picture of pure confidence.

Tony almost believed it too if it weren’t for the violent tremor running down his hands.

“I’m so sorry Mr Stark I- I just… I need you to wait here for a minute,” Peter said hurriedly. Panicked. “And what- whatever happens, don’t say anything okay? You can’t- can’t make a sound!”

Tony’s voice grew dangerously stern as he said “Kid, you better tell me what the hell is going on right now because I’m not a big fan of surprises.”

Peter shook his head stubbornly and opened up the door, refusing to meet his eye.

In an attempt to stop him, Tony went to stand and was immediately met with a protest from his sprained ankle, falling back onto the bed with a groan and being forced to watch as the teen stepped into the hallway. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed when Peter went to close the door behind him. “You hear me kid? Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to face it alone. Let me help you.”

Half concealed in shadows, Peter’s lips turned down into a grimace as he hesitated at the doorway. “I’m sorry Mr Stark,” he murmured, his eyes glazing over eerily like they had earlier. “Just please stay quiet…”

And with that, he was gone.

The door shut with a resolute click and Tony was almost tempted to call out for him, but the screech of tires and the roar of an engine arriving outside was quick to change his mind. The peaceful atmosphere that the fields had maintained was broken in an instant as the mechanical growl echoed into the night, the sound of rushed footsteps descending down the stairs from the other side of the doorway following shortly after.

Whatever was happening, it was anything but good. But worst of all was that it was about to happen to Peter.

The voice that had been whispering “Something’s wrong, something’s wrong,” before was now screaming “HE’S IN DANGER HE’S IN DANGER!” at full speed, and Tony forced himself back onto shaky legs -being sure to avoid his injured one- and hobbled over towards the closed window.

Peering through the darkness, Tony quickly caught sight of the sapphire blue Ranger that had skidded to a halt at the front yard, watching as the door swung open and allowed a man to stumble out of the driver’s seat a moment later. There was the clang of glass as the figure gripped onto the edge of the door for support and hurled into the grass, his horrible retches even audible from all the way over here. It was a little hard to see his face from this angle, but Tony could see there was a bottle clutched in his hand as he swayed his way over to the front porch dazedly.

Tony’s nerves were on fire with dread as the warning alarms became blaring sirens.

Tell me it’s not Peter’s father. Tell me it’s not Peter’s father. Tell me it’s not-

“Dad!”

Tony’s blood went cold at the sound of Peter’s voice drifting up through the floorboards, dragging himself closer towards the door instead of the window as the drunk man disappeared behind the veranda. He had only just leant against the doorframe with a huff when he heard a new voice echo from downstairs, though what he heard only proved to strengthen his fear, not soothe it.

“Wha- What the fuck is that on the floor, huh?”

The voice was slurred at the edges but as cold as ice, and Tony could practically envision Peter’s doe eyes widening in shock and panic.

“I’m- I’m sorry Dad, I had a, a nose bleed earlier and-“

“Ugh! You got it on the fucking carpet!” the voice scowled. “Do you have an-any idea much it’ll cost to clean that shit?!”

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to-“

Tony’s heart ached at the boy’s wavering voice, only for an anger so powerful it could wipe out an entire planet to flood his system as the man -Peter’s father- began shouting “You’re such a useless piece of shit, you know that? I pay for all your clothes, all your food, all your dumb little projects and this is how you re- repay me? By bleeding all over the fucking carpet!”

“I t-tried to clean it, but- but-“

“Lemme guess, you fucked that up too. Just like you always do, huh?” Their voices began to move, still below but closer to the stairs now. It only made the tremble of Peter’s voice that much more devastating.

“It… It was an accident…”

The man’s voice was as sharp as a blade as he spat “You’re a god damn accident.”

Hell. Fucking. No.

No matter what the kid had said, Tony Stark was not going to sit by and let Peter -kind, generous, intelligent Peter- endure this utter bullshit. The mere thought of a father saying such awful things to their child let alone actually hearing it enraged Tony in a way that no monotonous board meeting or Avengers debrief could. Suddenly there was a fire burning in his chest, and for once, he was ready to let it out. Ready for it to burn down this piece of human garbage and save Peter from the ashes, just like someone should have done a long time ago.

But the moment he turned the door handle he was met with a sudden resistance and the door remained planted firmly in position. “No…” Tony muttered as his hands began searching for the locking mechanism only to find nothing but smooth metal beneath his fingertips. Because the door, the one thing currently holding Tony away from saving an endangered child, had been locked from the outside.

Horror gripped Tony’s lungs as he tested the handle again and pushed against the stubborn frame and asked himself furiously what kind of door would lock from the outside?!

The ones that keep abused children inside, his mind replied unhelpfully.

Damnit. Damnit! Peter had locked him in, probably knowing that he would have tried to intervene when he realised what was happening. God, it was no wonder the boy had been acting so skittish in the afternoon if this is what he knew was going to happen. The thought that Peter had prepared for this moment though almost scared Tony more, and he began looking around the room in search of anything to pick the lock with as the shouts continued to rumble from downstairs.

“Where-… where the hell is dinner?”

It’s the middle of the night, jackass, cook your own food, Tony thought bitterly as he staggered towards the wardrobe.

“I… I didn’t think you were going to- to be home tonight-“

“Yeah? Well you thought fucking wrong.”

Tony’s hands ripped open the small toolbox inside the wardrobe as he heard Peter say shakily “I’ll- I’ll heat it back up...”

“I don’t want heated up shit.”

“It’s, um- it’s your favourite though… I made… I made it for you…”

Oh Peter, you don’t deserve this…

“Well then, what the hell are you waiting for?” the man snarled, so heartless and cruel and enraging to the billionaire listening from upstairs.

Screwdriver in hand, Tony rushed back to doorway as fast as he could with his sprained ankle and got ready to either unlock or break the handle entirely in his frustration. He hadn’t quite decided yet, preferably wanting to save as much anger as possible for the douchebag waiting below.

But then, to Tony’s horror, things went from bad to worse.

There was some more grumbling from the deeper voice. A hiss of a fridge opening. And then, ever so faintly, a sarcastically pitched mumble filling the air.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Tony felt his blood go cold at the man’s harsh growl, hurrying to release the lock on the door with a sudden flood of adrenaline.

“I-…I…” That was Peter stumbling now, his voice near petrified. “I didn’t say anything, I just-“

The sound that followed next was almost like thunder in the otherwise silent household, and Tony’s heart dropped into his stomach in an instant as he remembered all the times that Howard had backhanded him in his teenage years.

No, it can’t… not to the kid…

“Lie to me again. Go on, do it,” the man’s voice was practically dripping with venom. “Come on. Say it!”

“D-Dad I-“

This time there was a thud, enough for the vibrations to travel up the floorboards and snap Tony out of his own torment and focus on saving Peter from his instead. He considered yelling out and dragging the man’s attention away from the boy, but he didn’t want to risk losing a fight in his current condition and possibly leading to something worse for Peter as a result. At least if he could sneak down quietly he’d have the element of surprise, and then all he would need was a well-timed punch to render the drunken man unconscious.

So, with the threads of a plan beginning to weave themselves together, Tony bit his tongue from trying to call out and worked harder to release the locked door.

Come on, come on! You gotta save this kid, you have to protect this kid-

“Say it again.”

“I di-didn’t mea-“

Another thud. A muffled cry.

“Say it again!”

“’M so-sorr-“

Thud. Cry. Whimpering.

God, please no…

“Say it!”

If Peter said anything it was drowned out by the symphony of shattering glass that shook the house, the man screaming “Lie to me again Peter! Do it! You know what’ll happen if you do!”

Heartbreaking, muffled sobs were the only reply, and Tony could feel the sweat forming on his hands when he realised the lock was only moments away from breaking open.

Just another few seconds, come on…

“That’s what I thought,” the man sneered, heavy footsteps echoing towards the stairs as he called back coldly, “And clean that shit up!”

All the muscles in Tony’s body tensed up when the pounding of the floorboards reached the other side of the door -ready to punch this bastard in the face as soon as the opportunity arose-, only for them to continue down the hallway and disappear with a final, foundation-shaking slam of a door. On one hand, Tony wished he’d had the chance to give that faceless monster a taste of his own medicine, but on the other hand he knew that Peter was more important. Even if he hadn’t been able to stop it, Peter was in desperate need of help right now, and Tony was the only person left who could give it to him.

So, carefully jimmying the door so not to make a sound, his shoulders sagged in relief when the lock finally released, the soft click sounding like music to his ears compared to the horrors he was forced to listen to only moments ago. The door opened without any resistance now and though Tony was careful as he stepped out into the empty, shadowed hallway, he also didn’t waste any time in trying to find the boy who’d been left to the hands of that monster in the neighbouring bedroom. Tony had never seen the house before since he’d been bleeding out and almost dead when Peter had brought him in, but based off the man’s earlier footsteps and the echo of their voices, Tony quickly found the staircase and began to hobble down it. Each step he took sent fire up his leg but it was nothing compared to the dread that had settled over his heart and consumed every nerve until he was almost overwhelmed with adrenaline.

How had he not seen it coming? Tony Stark was a genius, and yet he hadn’t pieced together all the hints -whether intentional or not- that Peter had been laying down throughout their short time together. His skittishness. His self-deprecation. His dead-eyed stare when his father didn’t come home on time. Every moment he’d spent with the boy over the past day seemed to rush back like a tidal wave in that moment, displaying everything in a new and painful clarity.

I’m so sorry Peter, Tony thought guiltily. I should’ve known… I’m sorry…

Planting his socked feet on the floor of the lower level, Tony pushed away the nausea rising in his stomach and turned instead to the adjoining kitchen. At first it seemed empty, but a quick survey of the surrounding rooms showed it was the only one with the light on, meaning that this must have been the right place.

Had Peter moved after the fight?

No, Tony corrected himself. Not a fight. A fight implied that both parties were able to attack, but there was no situation where a child could fairly defend themselves against their drunken, abusive parent. There should never be a situation where they would need to either…

His thoughts were cut off by a muffled whimper from further inside the kitchen though, snapping his gaze towards the dining table and urging him to step towards it.

“Kid?” Tony whispered, mindful that the walls weren’t exactly soundproof and hoping not to attract unwanted attention. “Kid, you there?”

The strained wheeze that followed was all Tony needed before he stepped around the edge of the table and stumbled at the sight laid out before him, gripping onto one of the wooden chairs out of fear of collapsing on the spot. Shards of glass were scattered against the pale, tiled floor and trails of blood were tricking along the grout like tiny crimson rivers, so vibrant and glistening under the fluorescent lights above. And then in the middle of all the chaos, curled up and shivering on the unforgiving floor, was Peter.

The sweet, selfless kid who had saved his life was now trembling on the floor with barely contained sobs, hands stained red and his face hidden in the crook of his elbow.

“’M sorry…” Peter suddenly croaked out, his voice reduced to a whisper. “So-sorry… ‘m sor…”

His incoherent mumbling is what finally tore Tony out of his horrified trance, rushing over and avoiding the glass on the floor until he was kneeling beside the boy with a hand hovering just above his shoulder. “Kid…? It’s me, it’s Tony,” he said softly, soothingly. “It’s gonna be alright Pete. I’m here now… I’m here…”

Every muscle in Peter’s body was as tense as a bow string, waiting… waiting for a punishment he’d been promised for daring to speak at all.

With his own heart shattering, Tony finally rested his hand over Peter’s bicep and ignored the shudder that rolled down his spine in response, whispering “Don’t be afraid kid, okay? I’m here and- and god… you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this…”

Maybe it was his warm voice, or maybe it was the mournful words that never would have been spoken by his asshole of a father, but the boy finally lowered his arm from his face to stare up at Tony in shock. It took everything in the man not to physically recoil at the red, swelling bruise that had enveloped Peter’s eye, or blood smeared down his chin from the cut in his lip, but he shoved away his own dismay and forced himself to smile instead. Forced himself not to show the absolute devastation he felt inside.

You have to keep it together, for him… For Peter…

“Mister Stark…?”

Tony’s gaze softened at the weary murmur. “Hey kid…”

Peter blinked, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing, before his gaze trailed down to his blood stained, glass impaled palms. “Oh…” he breathed, his eyes going foggy again.

Whatever paternal instincts that had somehow survived his years of grief reared back up in Tony like a tsunami as he took a gentle hold of Peter’s wrists and began guiding him to his feet, leading Peter away from the shattered glass and towards the sink with a reassuring chant of “It’s alright kid, you’re safe, I got you… I got you…”

It almost seemed like second nature as he rubbed a hand up and down Peter’s back in comforting motions and rummaged around the drawers quietly with his other hand to find a pair of tweezers. He somehow managed to find one without ever leaving the boy’s side and pulled one of Peter’s shaking, blood stained hands into his own, surprised when he received almost no resistance in response. But the moment that Tony caught sight of Peter’s blank expression, his eyes glazed with more than just tears as he stared off into a different galaxy entirely, he was suddenly awash with guilt.

“I’m not going to hurt you Peter. Never…” he whispered, his own voice cracking at the boy’s name. “Christ, I’d- I’d never even think about it kid… and I’m sorry…”

Peter’s gaze remained unseeing despite his solemn promise, stray tears falling down his cheeks with every sluggish blink.

Every overwhelming emotion building up in Tony’s chest demanded that he comfort the boy until his eyes were alight again with sunshine, but his mind, so used to panic and horror, took over and dragged his attention back to Peter’s bleeding hands. Fix the physical first, then work on the mental later, he told himself firmly.

“This might sting a bit kid, but I need to get the glass out, okay?”

Just like he’d expected, Peter didn’t respond, his eyes remaining empty.

Tony breathed out a sigh and hated himself for feeling the smallest bit grateful for the boy’s dissociation, not wanting to inflict any more pain than he had already endured but needing to get the glass out in order to help him. So steeling his nerves, Tony got to work and began pulling out every little shard of glass that had lodged into his palm with careful precision. One by one. Piece by piece.

Soon enough Tony’s focus began to override the boiling, chaotic emotions that had been brewing in his soul, rendering him a blank-faced machine of his own as he removed shard after shard from Peter’s fragile hands. Hands that used to swing around in excitement and awe. Hands that created amazing formulas and sketched down every idea that came to Peter’s brilliant mind.

Hands that -though clear of glass now- were torn up and bleeding from silent wounds that may never truly heal.

Tony had to blink a few times to realise that he’d finished his job already, glancing up hopefully only to find that Peter had not moved from the position he’d started in, except maybe for a few more tear tracks running down his face. With a deep breath to steady himself, Tony kicked himself back into gear and turned on the tap, ushering Peter’s hands under the stream and watching the water stain red before swirling into the drain. Next, he grabbed some clean cloths out of one of the nearby drawers and tied it around Peter’s hands to stop the blood flow. The wounds were small, but they were many, and Tony didn’t want to take any risks.

“Alright kid, all done,” he murmured with what he hoped was a light tone. “I’ll get some… some real bandages for you soon, once we get out of here-“

“I can’t leave,” Peter said, his voice coarse but eyes still glassy. “I can’t leave the house…”

“Well you sure as hell aren’t staying,” Tony muttered as he guided them towards the nearby chairs.

When Tony lowered him into a seat though that’s when the boy suddenly blinked, as if dragging himself back to reality, and stared down at his wrapped-up palms with a shuddering exhale. Tony was still cradling Peter’s hands in his own, almost afraid to let him go as he sat across from the teen with a sudden weight on his shoulders. Now that the immediate had been resolved there was a lot to address, and it seemed neither of them knew where to begin.

“I can’t leave,” Peter said after a few painstaking moments, the sorrow present in his eyes giving it a different kind of weight this time.

“Why not kid?” Tony asked.

Gazing up at him with wide, teary eyes, Peter whispered “It’s against the rules…”

Tony shook his head. “You can’t stay here Pete. Not with him, not after this.”

“He didn’t mean it,” Peter said, much to Tony’s disgust. “He gets- gets tired sometimes and can’t… can’t control it. It’s not his fau-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Tony hissed, that rage flaring up in his throat without warning. Peter was quick to recoil at the harsh tone though, and within a heartbeat Tony was back to that soft, paternal voice, saying “I’m sorry Pete, but everything that happened tonight is entirely his fault. A father should never hit their child, never.”

Fingers twitching, Peter said weakly “I shouldn’t have talked back…”

“That doesn’t matter Pete. No parent should hit their child, no exceptions.”

“But-“

“Ah ah!” Tony cut him off with a firm shake of his head. “You hear me? No exceptions.”

For a moment, Peter stared the man dead in the eye, searching for something. Trustworthiness? Safety? Comfort, maybe?

Tony wasn’t sure if he found it or not, but Peter suddenly bowed his head with a pained exhale, whispering “But I’m- I’m his son…” A beat of silence, and then, “H-He cares about me…”

Tony knew this was coming, but it still broke his heart to no end to hear it. He knew deep down that the abuse must have been ongoing, that this had happened repeatedly for Peter to act the way he did, and that Peter may not know how bad it truly was. But the statement, so shaky even in Peter’s own voice, solidified for Tony the need to protect this kid.

Because if he didn’t, then who would?

Fourteen years old and it took Tony, a complete stranger, to accidentally stumble along and almost die at the front of his house for these demons to be revealed. If Tony were to leave without taking Peter out of this hellhole, then he would be just as bad as the monster lying in wait upstairs, just as responsible for the wounds on Peter’s body as if he had thrown the punches himself.

So against all odds, it was up to him now to make it right.

“A father should love their son kid, but this,” Tony squeezed the teenager’s bony wrists, before raising a hand and grazing his fingertips over the edge of Peter’s bruised eye. “This is not love. This is not care. This is wrong, Peter. And I think somewhere inside, you already know that...”

Tears fell out of Peter’s eyes as he stared down at the floor with a strained grimace. “…Where would I go?” he asked, his voice so small, so afraid.

“With me,” Tony replied without hesitation, hope rising in his chest as he added swiftly “We’ll- we’ll go to New York, okay?”

Peter’s deep brown eyes were locked back onto his in an instant, entranced just like they had been every other time he’d mentioned the city but this time with a certain gravity to it. The realisation that he could really see it if he dared.

Seeing his opportunity to convince him, Tony continued hastily “We’ll go see everything. I’ll give you a tour of my tower, and we’ll go to Central Park, and I’ll take you to Coney Island- god, kid, you’re going to love it.”

For a moment there was something- something like hope in Peter’s eyes, and Tony wanted so desperately to cling onto it, only for the shadows to cast over his expression once more. “How will we get there?” Peter asked shakily. “It’s a three-day drive, and there’s no phones in the house to call anyone…”

Tony’s mind was already running at hyper speed so it didn’t take him long to snap his fingers and say resolutely “I’ll hotwire the car outside and call my friend once we reach town. How about that?”

“What about your ankle?”

Damnit, this kid is so selfless.

“We’ll figure something out,” Tony said confidently. “All that matters is that we get as far away from here as possible, alright?”

There was another slither of light shining through Peter’s eyes, but he dragged his teeth over his lip anxiously a moment later and said “He’ll notice though… he’ll find us-“

“I swear to you kid, he will not find us,” Tony said, feeling just as confident as he had the day he came out to the world as Iron Man, or the day he held his son in his arms. “I will protect you, no matter what. All I need you to do, is trust me…”

Such a bold statement. Such a riskier gamble.

They hadn’t even known each other for a full day and yet here Tony was, a stranger in almost every way, promising to protect him like no one else had for his entire young life. Offering to take him to a new city, a new life, a new everything. It was crazy! Absolutely insane.

And yet every atom of Tony’s body knew he was doing the right thing. He’d made many decisions in his life; some not so great, others really not great, but this time, he just knew that it was the right choice. No doubts, no second-guessing. This was the only option.

Now all he needed was for Peter to agree.

And naturally, the teen looked startled, his eyes searching Tony’s face for any sign of distrust or deceit and -upon finding nothing- he ducked his head and stared down at his hands with a sigh. His cut up, bandaged hands that still rested in the palms of the man offering him a chance to escape. A chance for something better. The kitchen remained quiet for a long time, but Tony just let the silence drag on, knowing he was thinking. Knowing that he’d at least gotten him to the point of considering leaving, which was a miracle of itself. And when Peter’s hands began to shake again, Tony rubbed his thumb against his palm comfortingly, watching the ring on his index finger shimmer with each small movement.

Tony couldn’t help but think that James -wherever he was- would be proud of his decision.

And then Peter looked up, his expression surprisingly masked but his eyes alight with emotions, and Tony found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

Come on kid, trust me…

Trust me…

“Okay then.”

A relieved grin broke out on Tony’s face, and he couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered when Peter smiled back.

Chapter Text

Dark, inky swirls of blue and black were painted across the sky, thousands of stars scattered along the beautiful expanse and shining like pearls in the sea. They stood out against the shadows of space and danced in a hypnotising movement of light, so beautiful, so quiet…

Peter breathed in and allowed himself to fall into their tranquillity, forgetting how he got here or why he would ever want to leave.

It didn’t matter if his hands were burning, or his face aching, or that he tasted metal in his mouth. All that mattered were the shimmering stars above, calling out to him but just out a reach.

Kid…? Kid, you there…?

The stars faltered in their dance and Peter felt his breath hitch, begging them not to stop. He opened his mouth to call out but no sound met his ears. Had he gone deaf? He could feel the vibrations in his throat, the way his mouth moved to form the words, but still he heard nothing.

And then, quietly, softly-

Kid…? It’s me, it’s Tony…

Peter tensed his shoulders nervously. Did he know a Tony? Surely not. The only things out here were Peter and the stars…

It’s gonna be alright Pete. I’m here now…

Oh…

I’m here…

Wait…

I like that voice, Peter thought after a moment, lowering his gaze from the beautiful sky above and searching for the source of those gentle, soothing words.

At first all he could see was darkness; a pitch-black void that laid empty of any stars.

Peter considered looking back up again to the sky with all its constellations and light, before the shadows ahead of him began to part like fog evaporating in the wake of the sun. A figure was standing there, and as the darkness pulled away, Peter felt his memories swirl back in at the same time that pain began shooting up his palms.

He wanted to pull away again, but that voice came back as gentle as before.

Don’t be afraid kid, okay? I’m here and- and god… you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this…

Light finally cast over the stranger’s features and dragged the shadows away to reveal a man. A man with a funnily trimmed beard and sharply styled brown hair and a bandage over his temple and deep brown eyes that reminded him of the bark of a pine tree-

“Mr Stark…?”

Peter’s voice sounded disjointed even to him, and he grimaced at the pain shooting across his face and hands as he spoke.

“Hey kid…” Mr Stark greeted, but he looked sad for some reason.

Peter wanted to tell him about the beautiful stars above in the hopes to cheer him up, but he was met with a striking pain in his hands as he opened up his mouth, glancing down in confusion and freezing at the blood he saw dripping across his palms. Shards of glass stained crimson from the blood were piercing his skin and sending trickles of red down his arms, the image of it alone igniting the pain in his nerves again. There was a flash of panic across his system but then, just as quickly, the shadows wrapped back around him and hid the damage from view.

“Oh…” he murmured at the numbness that accompanied the darkness, looking back up at the stars in the hopes to get his mind off the gruesome sight he’d just witnessed. And just liked he’d hoped, the constellations twinkled back at him from the sky like a greeting, lulling him back into a trance.

It’s alright kid, you’re safe, I got you… I got you…

Who was that…?

Oh well, it didn’t matter. Not when the stars were dancing for him again.

The voice became a warm mumbling in the back of his mind while his eyes soaked in the magnificent view above, drifting through the peace like he was floating on a cloud. Sometimes the voice would get a little louder and say things like “I’m not going to hurt you Peter. Never…” and “This might sting a bit… get the glass out…” but it all fell back into white noise again before long. As time went by and the stars continued their entrancing movements, Peter noticed a tingling sensation flittering across his hands, choosing to ignore it in favour of observing the stars.

Alright kid, all done…

Done? Peter wasn’t done yet, he wanted to watch for a while longer…

I’ll get some… some real bandages for you soon, once we get out of here-

“I can’t leave,” Peter said, thinking about the sky above him, only for the disjointed words “I can’t leave the house…” to tumble out after.

Well you sure as hell aren’t staying…

Peter wanted to ask why he couldn’t, why he would even think of leaving this place, and then the ground fell out from beneath him and he was plunged into darkness. He drew in a breath to scream, but the moment the shadows had enveloped him they scattered just as quickly, leaving a much brighter, much harsher light to take the place of the stars from before. That familiar sting raced up from his fingertips and Peter stared down to find his once numb hands now wrapped in cloth and stained lightly with blood, letting out a shaky breath at the pain that crashed over his body like a tidal wave.

It took him a few moments to realise that his hands were resting within someone else’s, furrowing his brow at the calloused skin that would usually make him think of his father only for the gentleness of their hold to scratch that idea out swiftly. There was a silver ring on their index finger, but that did little to narrow it down. And then a heartbeat -perceivable only by his enhanced senses- began to drum away across from him, steady but irregular, with an odd jump here and there. And a humming sound too, like the electricity that would buzz out of the old TV…

Oh, Peter quickly realised. Mr Stark…

The events of the past day rushed back in a rapid slideshow at the man’s name, remembering their laughter and debates over Star Wars and the way he showered him in praise for his cooking. He remembered the way the man smiled when he asked about New York, and the way his eyes lit up in astonishment when Peter showed him his formula and web shooters. He’d looked at him in awe, in pride even, which was a look that Peter hadn’t seen in quite some time…

And then he remembered waking up to his nerves alight with panic. The sound of tires tearing through the property, and the pungent smell of alcohol that drifted across the breeze before Beck had even opened the door.

And then Beck shouting, and swearing, and then slapping him across the face and shoving him to the ground and- and-

“I can’t leave,” Peter blurted out in the midst of his spiralling memories. He didn’t want to think about them, didn’t want to remember.

But he did, just like he had every time before. And the aching across his cheek and the sting in hands were quick to remind him so.

“Why not kid?” Tony asked, drawing the boy’s eyes back up to the man in momentary surprise.

“It’s against the rules…”

The rules, so few but so ingrained into Peter’s mind that he could recite them in his sleep.

Don’t talk back.

Do your chores.

Don’t leave the house…

That was the rule; the one Beck had set in stone the day Peter lied about the fieldtrip and left the boy fighting off aches and bruises and cuts for days to come as a result. Peter had already broken one rule today -and paid the price again-, so he sure as hell wasn’t about to break another. He’d be dead if he broke that one, Beck’s screams of “If you ever lie to me again Peter I will fucking end you!” echoing through his skull.

But despite what seemed like an obvious situation to Peter, Mr Stark shook his head with a grimace and said “You can’t stay here Pete. Not with him, not after this.”

“He didn’t mean it,” Peter replied almost instinctually. “He gets- gets tired sometimes and can’t… can’t control it. It’s not his fau-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Mr Stark’s voice went cold so fast that Peter naturally recoiled, remembering how his father’s voice had done the same the other night when he’d been stupid enough to mention New York.

Why can’t you just shut up, shut up- SHUT UP-!

“I’m sorry Pete,” Mr Stark’s voice continued, back to its soft and warm rumble again, if not a little firmer than before. “But everything that happened tonight is entirely his fault. A father should never hit their child, never.”

Something was coiling up inside of Peter, something he didn’t want to acknowledge, and he flexed his fingers anxiously as he murmured “I shouldn’t have talked back…”

“That doesn’t matter Pete,” Mr Stark was quick to object. “No parent should hit their child, no exceptions.”

“But-“

“Ah ah! You hear me? No exceptions,” Mr Stark cut him off, but with a kind, almost sympathetic smoothness to his voice. Not like Beck did, with a backhand to the face and a bottle waving around in his clenched fist and his eyes blazing with cold flames…

When Peter looked up, he met the man’s deep brown gaze and revelled in their warmth, so different to the wild blue eyes that had glared upon him what felt like a heartbeat ago. Mr Stark had appeared similar to his father when Peter first cleaned him up -with his calloused, mechanic’s hands and carefully maintained beard-, but within minutes of talking to the man Peter knew that he was different in almost every way possible. Energetic where Beck would be reserved. Playful where Beck was often serious. Soft and gentle where Beck could be sharp and fierce…

Peter forced himself to break their gaze when he realised just how much their differences were making his chest constrict, blowing out a steadying breath to remind himself who his father really was. “But I’m- I’m his son… H-He cares about me…”

Peter could hear the way Mr Stark’s breath caught in his lungs across from him, wondering what expression he was making but too afraid to look up again.

The silence seemed to drag on for a century, tension rising with each passing second, before the man leant forward with a sigh and murmured “A father should love their son kid, but this…” A light squeeze to Peter’s wrists, and then a hand ghosting over his bruised eye, eliciting a flinch but leaving Peter in awe at the feather-light touch. “This is not love. This is not care. This is wrong, Peter. And I think somewhere inside, you already know that...”

Did he know that?

Peter thought back to his long-lost school days and remembered staring at other children’s unblemished skin and loving embraces with their parents, wondering why his bruises stayed longer. Asking himself why other kids seemed to heal so much faster, and got to wear t-shirts when he wore sweaters, because surely, surely he wasn’t the only child who accidentally broke a rule now and then? Who met the end of a fist or a bottle when they stepped out of line?

Maybe they didn’t…

Maybe it was just you…

Peter didn’t even realise that tears were spilling down his cheeks as he said with a shaky voice “…Where would I go?”

“With me.”

Now that caught the boy off guard, his reeling mind unable to process the words even as Mr Stark ploughed on “We’ll- we’ll go to New York, okay?”

Peter’s head really was about to explode now.

Snapping his gaze back up to the man’s, Peter searched for any signs of mocking, of deceit, only to find Mr Stark’s eyes alight with a determined fire. He was dead-set serious about taking him -a random kid who just so happened to have saved his life- to the city of his dreams. The city of towering walls and concrete mazes and endless traffic and streets bustling with other people…

The wistfulness swirling around his head must have shown up on his expression because Mr Stark was quick to add “We’ll go see everything. I’ll give you a tour of my tower, and we’ll go to Central Park, and I’ll take you to Coney Island- god, kid, you’re going to love it.”

Mr Stark’s words -so entrancing and vivid- made Peter’s chest flutter excitedly, imagining what it might feel like to actually be there, in a city with no limits, that stretched so far it made the little property he called home seem like a drop of water in the ocean.

It sounded incredible- absolutely amazing!

But if there was one thing Peter had learnt from his trip to OsCorp, it was that things that seemed too good to be true usually were.

“How will we get there? It’s a three-day drive, and there’s no phones in the house to call anyone…” Peter said drearily, remembering his father’s words from the other night. He was about as close to New York as Pluto was to the sun. He may as well give up hope now-

“I’ll hotwire the car outside and call my friend once we reach town,” Mr Stark said, cutting off his miserable train of thought. “How about that?”

A glimmer of hope. A small flicker in the shadows. A light he wanted to bury deep down alongside his many other broken dreams, but instead found himself asking “What about your ankle?”

Mr Stark’s eyes softened at his concern. “We’ll figure something out. All that matters is that we get as far away from here as possible, alright?”

Peter wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that his birthday wish might just come true, but then a voice -eerily like Beck’s but more scarily like his own- began to chant how impossible it was, how stupid he was being. The years of being screamed at in drunken hazes by his father was enough to remind him that he would never survive out there in the world, outside of the sanctuary of their property. Not because he wasn’t capable or that the outside was dangerous, but because Beck would know if he left, and if he knew then he would hold true to the terrifying promise he’d made that night three years ago.

If you ever lie to me again Peter I will fucking end you…!

Biting his lip, Peter tried to voice these fears to the man across from him, saying weakly “He’ll notice though… he’ll find us-“

“I swear to you kid, he will not find us,” Tony interjected, his words fierce with confidence. “I will protect you, no matter what. All I need you to do, is trust me…”

Peter blinked up at the man, startled.

Trust him? Trust him…?

He barely knew this man, other than the fact that he had terrible survival skills and a mind that ran as fast as Peter’s own. He claimed to be a billionaire, but that could have easily been a lie. Peter wasn’t stupid, he knew how ridiculous the man’s story had sounded, but he also trusted his instincts and they had given him no warning from his injured guest at the time. But now…?

Peter stared into Mr Stark’s eyes, both their stares unwavering, and he felt his lungs tighten at the absolute lack of warnings from his gut. No raising of his hairs. No tingle in the back of his neck. No twisting in his gut. Certainly not the shudders that overtook him whenever Beck came home on a bad night like today…

Just calm, and quiet, and serenity.

Peter quickly ducked his head at the sudden revelation and forced out a breath to calm himself. Surely he wasn’t gullible enough to trust a stranger of all people, right? Was he going insane?

Peter was beginning to think yes, but then he stared down at his hands and froze, remembering how they had been resting in Mr Stark’s palms since they sat down, the warmth seeping into his cold fingertips managing to ease the panic in his chest. They cradled his smaller hands like one might hold a baby bird, or a glass trinket. Something fragile and precious. Peter tried to remember the last time anyone had treated him -or held him- like something treasured, something worth protecting, and felt his hands begin to shake when he came up with nothing.

And then Mr Stark’s thumb began to rub along his injured palm, so tender and so gentle, and he knew- he just knew that he was telling the truth. That this man wanted to help him. Wanted to protect him.

So finally lifting his head, Peter took one last good look into the man’s brown eyes and felt a swell of confidence rise within himself like never before.

“Okay then.”

The smile that broke out across Mr Stark’s face was so relieved and joyous that Peter couldn’t help but smile back, if not a little sheepishly.

“Alright, alright that’s- that’s good,” the man said after a few more moments of blissful silence. “We’ll hit the road right now then. Try and get some distance from here before that jackass realises we’re gone.”

Peter mentally recoiled at the name Mr Stark had chosen for his father, almost feeling the punches ghosting across his skin just for thinking about it. But shaking himself out of his shock, Peter’s mind quickly jolted into gear as he said, “I’ll need to grab my stuff from upstairs before we go.”

“Not with that bastard up there you’re not,” Mr Stark refuted. “Whatever’s up there can be replaced but-“

“No, no, I’ve- I’ve got to get my webs and my notebook first,” Peter said, trying to infuse as much urgency into his voice as possible. “Please Mr Stark, they’re all I care about.”

The man’s hesitance was obvious in the way he cracked his jaw, eyes darting around the kitchen before he suggested “We can come back for it. Once we’re safe and out of here, I’ll get the police around to collect your stuff-“

“If you want your shoulder to stay bandaged I’ll need the formula and my web shooters,” Peter pointed out, much to Mr Stark’s chagrin.

If the man was smart enough to understand his formulas and notes, then he was surely smart enough to realise that they wouldn’t get far with only the clothes on their backs. Peter watched the way Mr Stark glared at the wall, thoughtful, but mostly frustrated. He knew as much as Peter’s instincts did that they needed to be strategic about their next move.

And finally, with a displeased huff, Mr Stark turned back to the boy and said “Fine then. But be quick and quiet, alright kid? Only grab what you need.”

Peter didn’t wait to be told again, rising to his feet and slipping up the staircase without ever making a sound. His hands were still stinging beneath the makeshift bandages but the pain was getting washed out by a deadly mix of adrenaline and dread and excitement and pure determination. It had been a split-second decision, one based purely on instincts -which hadn’t historically produced the best results- but even though his head was saying he was being completely moronic, his heart was pumping strength into every step and movement he made towards his bedroom. Towards his freedom.

Is that what it was? Freedom?

Peter shook the thoughts away as he snuck into his bedroom, too hyped up on adrenaline to think about anything like that. All he could focus on right now was grabbing what he needed and getting back downstairs without crossing paths with Beck again. If he did, well… both he and Mr Stark would be as good as dead.

So moving around the space with quiet but precise strides, Peter tried not to think about how he was about to leave his home, his room, his everything for a city he’d only known from books and his old teacher’s stories. He tried not to acknowledge the fact that he was breaking every rule in existence as he threw his web shooters, formula and notebook into the first aid box, or how much trouble he would get into if Beck found out as he dragged his secret money-box out from under his bed. Tried not to think about how he was choosing a stranger over his own father…

Peter’s hands hovered over the tin box with a slight tremor, initially intending to just take his small collection of spare notes and change inside when he caught sight of the old, worn photograph lying beneath it. Slowly, Peter pulled the image out of the depths of the container and stared at it under the dull moonlight drifting through the window. The paper was thin and two of the edges were torn, but the figure, the baby presented in the picture smiled back at him as clear as day.

It was the only photo his Dad had ever kept of him as an infant. Peter knew, because he’d asked him once why there were never any photos of them on the walls like he’d seen at other people’s houses, to which Beck had replied distractedly “It hurt too much to look at them after your Ma died. I don’t know where they went…”

Naturally, Peter thought he would be dismissed shortly after that, but then his father surprised him by dragging the old, folded photograph out of his wallet and presenting it to the nine-year old. “You can have this one though buddy. It’s the only copy, so don’t wreck it, alright?”

Peter had taken the photo excitedly and hidden it in his little treasure box, vowing to keep it in pristine condition for the rest of his life. The only image he had of his infancy; a small grinning baby with wild, curly hair and big brown eyes beaming up towards someone out of frame -his father, he’d assumed-, large hands hovering just at the edge of the torn paper.

Smiling in a painful kind of nostalgia, Peter carefully folded the paper back into the tin alongside the crumpled notes and old, dusty camera that he’d kept locked safely inside. He hadn’t dared to bring it out after Beck began to break things out of frustration in recent years, fearing the day he might take his anger out on Peter’s most prized possession if he left it out. So with all his most valuable items now securely in his hands, Peter got to work shoving the money-box, first aid kit, and whatever other clothes would fit into his old school backpack. It was small and a bit uncomfortable to slip on over his shoulders, but it would do the job.

Just as he was scanning his room in search of anything else to take though, the entire world seemed to freeze at the sound of a nearby door swinging open, the smell of stale alcohol flooding through his senses.

No…

Panic crept up Peter’s spine so fast that he slid down to his knees within seconds, hearing those heavy footsteps stumble across the hallway like thunder about to bear a storm.

Oh god no…

He waited, ready- ready for Beck to come storming into his room and scream and-

Another door hinge creaked and the footsteps echoed across tile instead of carpet, a horrible retching noise following not even two seconds later. Then silence. Silence so thick that Peter could actually hear Mr Stark’s heartbeat racing downstairs, and the way that Beck’s breath trembled before another bout of heaving overtook him. Peter remained kneeling against the floor though, listening, waiting. Slowly, he managed to unfurl himself from his defensive ball and turned towards the source of the noise, listening to his father’s familiar gagging from across the hall where the bathroom was located.

He didn’t see you… he doesn’t know…

Swallowing down his rising terror, Peter forced himself back to his feet before he could freeze up again, peeking his head out of the door before cautiously making his way down the hallway. Thankfully, the bathroom door was almost fully closed so there was no chance Beck could spot him on his way back to the kitchen. Despite knowing this though every step he took was twice as careful as before, slow but precise, agonising but quiet. It wasn’t until Peter reached the top of the stairs that he realised he hadn’t even been breathing, sucking in a breath of relief as he caught sight of Mr Stark standing on the bottom level with a panicked expression. The moment Peter’s eyes met his own though his shoulders visibly sagged, ushering the teen forward with a quick wave of his hand.

Just as carefully as before, Peter descended the stairs and shuddered when he was close enough for the man to reach out and grip his shoulder. “You good kid?” he whispered, so quiet Peter had to strain to hear it. “Got everything?”

“Um… Y-yeah,” he stammered.

“Good. Let’s get the hell outta here-“

Mr Stark’s soft words and Peter’s fragile confidence fell away almost immediately when a pained groan suddenly echoed down the hallway, voice weak and yet somehow thunderous all the same.

“Pete… Peter…!”

Beck’s call cut through the air like a knife, and Peter hated that he was torn between running away and moving back up the stairs to his father like he had done so many times before. Instead he remained as still as a statue and stared up towards the hallway that had echoed the call, feeling a chill go down his spine when his father yelled his name again, more forceful this time.

Peter was startled out of his shock when he felt a gentle touch over his wrist, whipping around to find Mr Stark staring back at him with wide, urgent eyes. “That’s our cue to go kid,” he said as he tried to tug him away from the stairs.

But Peter’s feet were planted firmly to the ground, his gaze wandering back upstairs when he heard a disgruntled huff from his father. If he didn’t go to see him now, it wouldn’t be long before Beck came looking for him instead. And Peter knew that he couldn’t put Mr Stark at risk like that, not with the condition he was already in.

So quickly finding his resolve, Peter slid the backpack off his shoulders and said to the man “Take this for a second. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Mr Stark hissed, his grip tightening over Peter’s wrist but still gentle enough that he could pull away if he really wanted to. “Don’t even think about it kid. You’re not going anywhere near that monster.”

“But if I don’t go he’s going to come looking for me-“

“I am not going to sit by and listen to him beat the shit out of you again,” Mr Stark said bluntly, guilt and shame and so many other emotions flashing across his expression all at once. “Please kid. There’s still time, let’s just go.”

No one had ever asked Peter to do something so sincerely, so genuinely before. It caught him off guard, and it made it all the more painful when he pushed the backpack into Mr Stark’s chest and took a hesitant step up the stairs, his expression set in remorse as he whispered “I’ll be back in a moment…”

“Peter!” Mr Stark hissed after him but the teen was already halfway up the staircase, knowing the man wouldn’t be able to follow because of his sprained ankle.

So leaving Mr Stark’s distraught face and panicked heartbeat to the back of his mind, Peter raced up the steps and approached the doorway that was pouring dull yellow light into the surrounding shadows. His body had switched back onto autopilot at the sound of his father’s call, so Peter wasted no time in entering the small, cramped bathroom and meeting his father’s eyes steadily. He knew how this worked. He’d been doing this routine for years, and he knew exactly how to react as if he’d been doing it from birth.

“Th’re you are,” Beck muttered from where he sat slouched over the toilet seat, hair dishevelled and breath reeking of vomit even from where the teen stood. “What t- took so long…”

“I was cleaning,” Peter replied evenly, no bite or sarcasm -he was smart enough not to try that again. Instead he moved towards the sink and ran a cloth under the cool stream of water, his father’s gaze following him dazedly as he shuffled around the bathroom with practiced ease. And when he eventually knelt down at Beck’s side with a glass of water and wet washer for his face, he was rewarded with an approving nod instead of a scowl.

“Th’nks…” Beck said weakly as he took the cloth from Peter’s hand and dragged it down his face, wiping away the trails of spit and bile that had fallen from his mouth.

Peter didn’t speak. He knew better than to speak when his father was in this state, even if the most dangerous stage had passed. So he simply flushed away the remaining sick in the toilet and offered Beck the cup of water, waiting at his side patiently as he down the whole glass.

And after a few more moments of nothing but their breathing filling in the silence, Beck wiped his face one last time and said tiredly “Help me up.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice, and sliding one of Beck’s arms over his shoulders, he gracefully rose to his feet and lead them out to the hallway. His father’s weight pressed against him with each staggering step but Peter’s powers made it nothing more than a slight annoyance, which was another thing that the teen was grateful for. He couldn’t imagine how he would’ve done this if he hadn’t been bitten by that spider. Or maybe he wouldn’t have to do this at all if he hadn’t been bitten to begin with…

The thought made Peter’s gut swell with a bitterness he couldn’t afford to acknowledge, at least not right now.

As they approached the bedroom, the pungent stench of beer began to taint the air until Peter couldn’t help but visibly grimace at the smell. The door that was almost always locked during the day now laid slightly ajar, and Peter waited until he received an approving grunt from his father before nudging it open further and stepping inside the bedroom. Peter didn’t go in here often. Would never even dream of it if it weren’t for moments like these. The room was cast into thick shadows, cluttered with objects and machines that Peter couldn’t even try to comprehend. Beck had told him once that they were from his old workplace, but when the boy had asked to see them his father was quick to shut him down, claiming that they were too dangerous and expensive for him to mess with.

Now hidden in the darkness of night, hardly anything in the room was distinguishable besides the rickety old bed that Peter led Beck towards, the man sliding down onto it with a pained groan. He had yet to change out of his work clothes but it didn’t seem to bother him as he lowered himself into the mattress, eyelids like cement as he prepared to fall back into slumber. Peter remained quiet as he pulled the blanket up to his father’s shoulders and repositioned a fallen water bottle back onto the bedside table, within arm’s reach for when his Dad inevitably grew thirsty in the morning.

Usually Beck would be out like a light at this point, so Peter almost jumped when he heard the man murmur with his eyes still closed “You… you c-cleaned that shit up yet…?”

Peter swallowed back a wave of panic, saying steadily “Yes sir.”

He had never been a great liar, but for once the alcohol pumping through his father’s veins seemed to be an advantage rather than a detriment as Beck just nodded his head with a tired hum, taking Peter’s words at face value. “Good… good,” he slurred, blue eyes fluttering open for just a moment to land on his son as he said “Y’know I h… hate it when we fight.”

Peter tried not to flinch at the words or the hand that came to rest over his cheek, cold and calloused fingertips pressing against his bruised eye accidentally. “I know,” he found himself saying when Beck’s gaze remained fixed on him for an answer. “I’m sorry…”

A sharp breath escaped Beck’s lips as he tapped Peter’s cheek lazily with his hand, replying “I know you ‘re. Just don’… don’t pull that crap again, ‘lright?”

“Right, never again…” Peter said as his nerves suddenly grew alight with anxiety. This wasn’t usually how this scenario played out…

A shiver ran down the boy’s spine as Beck moved his hand from Peter’s cheek to the back of neck, his grip firm as he muttered “Don’t forget that I- I know what’s best for you, ‘kay?”

Against the tingling in his nerves Peter leant into his father’s touch, seeking that familiar comfort, though it felt hollow compared to the way Mr Stark’s hands had felt against his own.

Peter blinked in alarm at the thought of the man waiting downstairs, probably out of his mind with worry after the way Peter had abruptly stranded him down there. The teen’s heart ached when he remembered what he was about to do next. Could he really leave this all behind? His life? His family? He didn’t want to let it go, but there was also so much confusion swirling around his head about what his life really was. What it meant, and where it could go.

But one thought seemed to rise above all the others, demanding his attention with a booming presence:

I want to see New York.

That was the dream. That was the opportunity that Mr Stark was offering him. And as much as he cared about his father, he knew he wasn’t going to get there under his watch. Who knew? Maybe if Peter explained how he was trying to help an injured stranger back to his home, Beck might even go easy on him when he eventually tracked him down. Because he would find him. Peter was almost certain of it. But maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it…

So despite how much it pained him, Peter gently pried Beck’s hand away from his neck and lowered it back to the mattress, watching as his father’s body grew slack in exhaustion. “Bye Dad,” he whispered, taking a cautious step away.

Beck’s eyes, though glassy and disoriented, continued to stare back at him for a few prolonged moments, before his eyelids finally fell shut with a weak “Night Pete…”

Peter drew in a breath and held it until he was certain his father had fallen unconscious, the rise and fall of his chest levelling out into even intervals. It must have only taken a few moments but to the teenager it felt like a lifetime. When he finally had the energy to leave the room, his thoughts began churning again like a tsunami, asking why- why- why was he doing this?! This crazy plan with no guarantee of actually working?

God, it was too much, all of this was too much-

He was so distracted by the roaring protests in his mind that he barged straight into the figure waiting on the other side of the door, holding back a scream just in time to recognise those warm brown eyes that stared back at him in the shadows. Peter had to blink rapidly to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, but no matter how many times he scrubbed his eyes Mr Stark was still standing right there, his own expression contorted in a mixture of concern and frustration. And while Peter just gaped at him in shock for a moment, Mr Stark’s hands hovered in the space between them, his eyes darting around the teen’s face in search of any new injuries. Any new wounds caused by the man sleeping just a few steps behind them.

For some strange reason, fear gripped Peter’s heart like talons at the idea of Mr Stark being so close to his father, causing him to suddenly shut the door and usher the man down the hallway in haste. Peter’s first thought when they were far enough away was ‘how the hell did he climb the stairs with that sprained ankle?!’, but the harsh limp he noticed in Mr Stark’s walk was quick to answer his question, a stab of guilt jolting into the boy’s chest.

“You shouldn’t have come up here,” Peter whispered as he helped him back down the steps to the kitchen, bearing most of the weight on Mr Stark’s bad side similar to what he had done for his father only minutes ago. “I had everything under control.”

Mr Stark just huffed, clearly in pain from his earlier trip up the stairs, before he said matter-of-factly “I said I’d protect you from now on, so that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

Peter blinked, startled by the sudden declaration.

It seemed Mr Stark was also a man of his word, but unlike his father, he reinforced his promises with encouragement instead of fear. Peter never realised how much of a difference it could make…

But obviously not keen to delve into that right now, Mr Stark just shook his head as if to refocus himself and said, “We need to go kid.”

“Right… yeah, let’s go,” Peter said, grabbing the discarded backpack with his free hand and holding the man upright with his other. Together they walked past the kitchen scattered with glass and through the living room reeking of beer. Neither mentioned the blood stains on the carpet that Beck had snapped about, a few stray droplets of crimson from when Peter had carried Mr Stark into the house earlier that day to save his life.

Had it only been a day? It felt like they’d known each other for years, working in harmony without ever having to exchange a word and pushing against the front door until the cool night air hit their skin. It felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the suffocating tension inside the house, and they both paused for a moment at the edge of the porch to fully draw it in. A moment of serenity just for them to hold.

And then just as quickly, the moment was over, manoeuvring down the rickety steps and onto the crisp grass below. “We’ll have to be quick once the car starts,” Mr Stark said as he cast an apprehensive glance back at the house. “If I could hear that damn engine from up there, there’s no doubt he will too.”

“Don’t worry, he’s asleep. He’ll be out of it till dawn at the very least,” Peter was quick to assure, though he could still hear Mr Stark’s heartbeat thrumming nervously in his chest.

“I’ll just hit the gas ASAP to be sure, better safe than sorry-”

“You? Oh no, no, you can’t drive like this,” Peter almost scowled as they hobbled towards the Ranger parked haphazardly before them, forcing the man to stop when he reached for the driver’s side door. At the resistance Mr Stark quirked a brow at the teen in confusion, but Peter’s resolve was set, and he tried his best to hold a glare that he was sure was failing miserably.

But if he couldn’t convince him with his eyes, then he would do it with his words.

“Mr Stark, you can hardly walk let along drive,” Peter explained as he gestured towards their current standing position. “The last thing your ankle needs is more pressure than it already has.”

“And who do you suggest would -I don’t know- drive the car then kid?” Mr Stark replied with a sarcasm that Peter was slowly growing accustomed to.

“I’ll drive.”

The scoff he was met with sent a flare of irritation through Peter’s nerves, frowning as Mr Stark asked offhandedly, “No offense kid, but do you even know how to drive?”

“Of course I know how to drive!” Peter hissed, hating that his voice chose that particular moment to crack and destroy his point entirely. Shaking his head through the embarrassment though, the boy continued “Trust me, I know how to drive. Dad’s let me practice in the car plenty of times before and I’ve never had a problem.”

“Oh yeah? And how many times has that been?”

It seemed Peter’s flimsy lying skills had infected his ability to make a good pitch as well, because Mr Stark seemed to be peering through him like glass right now, feeling his cheeks heat up as he mumbled sheepishly “U-uh… twice…”

“You’ve driven a car twice.”

“I’ve driven this car twice,” Peter snapped, a heat he didn’t even realise he possessed rising up in his throat as he snarked “Which may I remind you, is two more times than you’ve driven this car.”

Peter recoiled the moment the words left his tongue, his muscles bunching up in anticipation, awaiting the inevitable backhand for daring to back talk once again. Two times in one night? Damn, Peter really was off his game today.

But even though Mr Stark seemed just as surprised by the retort, his eyes shone with something brighter. Something akin to amusement, but hardened at the edges with pride. The idea that someone would be proud of him for talking back, for breaking a rule nonetheless confused the teenager. He’d been disrespectful, and that deserved punishment, didn’t it?

But the corners of Mr Starks lips just turned up ever so slightly, his expression as warm and gentle as it had always been. “Fair enough,” he said simply. No reprimand. No punishment. It was almost too good to believe.

“You… you agree?” Peter asked cautiously, testing the waters in an ocean he didn’t recognise anymore.

“Not really, but I know a losing battle when I see one,” Mr Stark mused. “I don’t want to bicker out here and waste any more time kid, so if you’re certain you can do this, I’ll let you. Just until we get away from here at least.”

Surprised and somewhat wary, Peter nodded back. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually taken one of his ideas on board let alone actually go through with it. It felt strange, but… oddly comforting at the same time.

So using that warm sensation coiling inside his chest to motivate him, Peter lead Mr Stark towards the passenger door and helped him into the seat. By the time he had rounded the car and buckled into the driver’s side the man had already pulled off a panel from the steering wheel and was messing with the wiring behind it. Peter couldn’t help but watch with an intent gaze as Mr Stark pulled apart the wires and stripped them down with ease, longing to ask questions but too afraid to speak up.

But as if sensing his curiosity, the man said casually “You should never do this because- you know, it’s a crime and all that. But, for future reference that you will definitely never need, this is the starter wire-“

Peter leant forward, completely enraptured, as Mr Stark began to explain each wire and how they functioned, his voice as steady as his hands as he pressed the two wires together and sent the engine rumbling back to life. Despite the sudden noise and the adrenaline now pounding through his veins, Peter let out an excited breath and smiled up at the man in awe. Mr Stark returned the smile with a relieved sigh of his own and carefully pushed the wires back into the compartment, making sure to keep the live current far away from the teen’s reach.

“That’s our timer kid,” he said, his casual tone undercut by his tensed shoulders. “Let’s hit the road.”

“Right, okay -um…” Peter fixed his hands on the steering wheel and tried to dredge up every memory he held from the few times his dad had let him drive. The images felt blurry in the wash of his sudden panic though, and the longer it took to move, the more Peter’s heart began to race, knowing that Mr Stark was watching him flounder. He had to start the car. He had to because he’d promised Mr Stark he could do it and now he was failing. His palms were sweating, and he needed to move his hands but he couldn’t reach the gear stick because his fingers were sticking to the leather because he was a freak-

Oh god, come on- come on! Don’t be so useless!

“Do you need help?”

Peter didn’t move his eyes away from where they were locked onto the display, feeling his skin itch in preparation for a hit that was bound to arrive. He was messing it up, just like he messed everything up.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, forcing the words out in a tight breath. “I can’t- I can’t remember how… how to-”

Mr Stark’s answer was immediate, resting his larger hand over Peter’s own and saying “It’s okay kid, don’t panic. We’ll take it one step at a time, alright?”

Peter knew they were on a time limit. He knew that he deserved to be punished for his failure. But Mr Stark’s hand, so gentle and secure, somehow managed to coax his sticky grip away from the steering wheel and onto the dial beside it, pointing towards the setting that sent the headlights blazing back to life. “That’s it,” Mr Stark said with a smile, before he tapped the gear stick and -like ice thawing in the wake of the sun- kicked Peter’s head back into the game.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding, Peter shifted the car into drive with his foot resting against the brake and felt the engine rumble in anticipation beneath him, ready to tear off at a moment’s notice. The teen returned his grip to the wheel as an old instinct flickered back to life and glanced over at the front porch again, fully expecting to see Beck’s shadowy figure storming out the door but finding the space empty. Even if his father had heard the engine, Peter doubted he would be conscious enough to respond.

“You’re doing great kid,” Mr Stark said, drawing his wandering attention back to the task at hand. “Now just ease up on the brake and turn the wheel into a full spin.”

The cuts across Peter’s hands stung with how tightly he was gripping the wheel, twisting it to the side and letting his foot off the brake. Mr Stark was quick to praise him despite the fact they were moving at a snail’s pace, and when the car was finally facing the narrow, dirt road out to the fence, Peter tested his luck with the accelerator and almost screamed when the car jolted with a roar. After slamming his foot against the brake and throwing Mr Stark into the dashboard as a result, Peter rushed to apologise, only to be met with a slightly winded chuckle instead.

“My fault, should’ve seen that coming,” the man said lightly as he strapped the seatbelt over his chest. “Don’t worry kid, we’ve all done it. Try and give me a bit of warning next time you want to rip a skid on the driveway though, yeah?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. We all make mistakes, and that’s a good thing. It’s how we learn,” Mr Stark replied, hesitating for a moment, before resting his hand gently over Peter’s shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, alright? It’s going to take some getting used to, but for what it’s worth, you’re doing great for someone who’s not technically allowed to drive.”

Disguising a relieved sigh under a scoff, Peter turned his eyes back to the road and felt steadied by the man’s words, easing his foot off the brake once more. After crawling down the road for a few more moments, Peter slowly tried the accelerator again and smiled sheepishly when Mr Stark squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. Everything felt loud in this car. The engine, the tires, the dirt road. But when Mr Stark spoke with reassurance and guidance, everything else seemed to fall away into a peacefulness Peter couldn’t describe, feeling his heartbeat ease with each moment the car travelled down the path.

Everything was going perfectly. There was no movement from the house that grew smaller by the second in the rear-view mirror, and Peter had yet to throw Mr Stark into the dashboard again which was definitely an improvement.

But then the fence-line came into view through the reach of the headlights, the rusty metal gate laying wide open to a road that disappeared under the shadows of the forest. A path out to the world. A world that Peter hadn’t seen in almost three years…

Peter didn’t even realise that his foot had fallen over the brake until the car rolled to a stop just before the edge of the property.

“Kid?”

Finger’s tightening over the wheel, Peter felt the metal begin to dent under his touch as he stared out into the darkness before him.

“Peter.”  

What am I doing? I can’t- can’t leave… I’m not allowed to leave the house because then I’ll get punished, and I don’t want to be punished- I don’t want to-

“Tell me what’s running through that head of yours Pete.”

The voice was warm and encouraging, so drastically different to Beck’s scorching words from before, and Peter tried to focus on it. Tried to obey the command like he knew he should. But he couldn’t get his mouth to cooperate, the words lodging in his throat like a dam just waiting to burst. A strangled sort of gasp was all that left his lips and Peter slammed his eyes shut in revulsion.

Useless, useless, you’re so damn useless-!

“It’s okay kid, just let me help,” Mr Stark soothed again. Peter thought he felt a weight against his shoulder, but his mind couldn’t seem to sync with his senses anymore, leaving him feeling weightless and chained down all at once.

“I want to help you, Peter. Just tell me what you need.”

Forcing a breath out through his teeth, Peter stared into the darkness of his eyelids and tried to bring himself back to the reality he knew he was losing a grip of.

Peter didn’t need anything. He knew how to work with the cards he was given, how to navigate the current through peace and through storms. But Peter wanted so many things, and he knew, he knew it was selfish to want so much. He wanted to see New York. He wanted his Dad to hold him like when he was little. He wanted to get Mr Stark back home safely. He wanted his father to look at him with pride. He wanted to feel the thrill of adventure but longed for the comfort of safety.

In the same way, New York called out to him like a siren’s melody, promising a world he longed to see while his home offered assurances of safety and familiarity and a place that he belonged. To leave his entire life behind at a moment’s notice was suddenly seeming less and less appealing, but then the stories of the famous city crashed back into his mind like the waves of the ocean, washing away the doubt with hope. With a burning need to see it.

“Is-… Is it worth it?” Peter finally managed to speak, opening his eyes back to the road ahead despite the blurry haze now covering them.

“Is what worth it?” Mr Stark asked, concern layering his tone.

Peter’s hands were stinging again, burning at his nerves like tendrils of fire. It served as a reminder of the punishment he’d received for talking out of line, and a promise for a harsher punishment he would get for leaving.

“New York,” Peter repeated. “Is it worth it?”

Is it worth the punishment? Is it worth dying for…?

“Yeah kid, you’re going to love it,” Mr Stark said, unknowing of the dark thoughts running through Peter’s mind. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

Peter wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that Mr Stark was right and that New York would be everything he dreamed it would be, but he also knew the risk he was taking. The consequences he would face if this failed. He could already feel the glass piercing into his skin again, the burn in his hands and his eye and his ribs-

Maybe he was wrong? Maybe he was making a mistake.

Maybe his Dad was right.

But then, like a ray of sunlight breaking through rain clouds, Mr Stark said “He was wrong, you know.”

“W-What?” Peter stammered, looking over at the man for the first time in minutes.

Like Peter had been, he was staring out the front windscreen with a firm expression etched into his features, his eyes glazed in thought. He appeared frustrated at first glance which made Peter tense a little, but then Mr Stark’s gaze levelled his own and the haziness dissipated into confidence, steely and secure. Like there was nothing in the world that could knock him down.

“He was wrong back there. The only person who knows what’s best for you, kid, is you.”

Though his words were as encouraging as his voice, it was the pure conviction in Mr Stark’s eyes that really caught Peter’s attention, the warmth that blossomed in his chest when the man squeezed his shoulder in encouragement and melted away the fear that had claimed his heart. He wasn’t telling him what to do. He wasn’t telling him what was right. But instead he was letting him choose, trusting his judgement.

Peter’s heart soared again with determination and he mustered a smile for the man who had lifted it back up. If Mr Stark trusted him, then maybe he could trust himself too.

So swallowing down the lump forming in his throat, Peter drew in a sharp breath and stilled the energy spiralling across his body. Refined it into something steady and powerful.

And with a final deep breath, Peter moved his foot back to the accelerator and urged the car forward, disappearing into the shadows of the night and into the world waiting for him beyond.

…

“Stark Industries secured server. Please enter passcode.”

“100801.”

Tony tapped his fingers restlessly against the glass of the phone booth as he waited for the robotic voice to confirm, glancing up again to check on the boy waiting for him in the car. Just like the past ten times he’d checked, Peter hadn’t moved from the driver’s seat, feet swung out of the opened door as he sorted through the worn backpack in his hands. He seemed to be flattening crumpled notes against his knees and folding them into a stack, meticulous with every motion but his eyes still present, much to Tony’s relief.

He’d been worried that Peter would panic back at the gate, but the teen’s doubts were quickly stilled into determination and they’d had little trouble on the way to the nearby town. Peter had been deathly quiet the entire way, however. Tense, but not afraid. More focused than anything, and Tony did everything in his power to help him through it, offering tips for holding the wheel and how to operate the high beam among other things. Bit by bit Peter started to relax, and eventually he began to smile at Tony’s occasional quips again. By the time they had reached the deserted main street Peter was driving smoothly -if not a little cautiously- and stared at the buildings surrounding them in awe, though Tony wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Passcode accepted,” the monotone voice chimed through the phone, drawing Tony’s attention back to the present. “Connection request?”

Tony quickly spoke the name and waited anxiously as the line began to ring, finding himself watching Peter who had moved on from the backpack to staring around the street with curious eyes. There wasn’t much to look at considering all the shops were closed, but the boy seemed enraptured by the simple buildings, taking in every detail like a sponge before glancing down at his crudely wrapped hands.

As soon as possible, they would get some proper bandages for those cuts…

“Hello?”

Tony startled at the familiar voice, snapping his gaze to the archaic phone before him and breathing out with a smile “Oh platypus, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Tony!” Rhodey exclaimed, sounding just as relieved as his friend. “Oh thank god, you’re alive!”

“Was there ever any doubt?”

“I can never predict anything when it comes to you,” Rhodey scoffed, and already Tony could feel the weight on his shoulders easing.

“I just like to keep you on your toes, that’s all.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Rhodey joked right back. “So what state are you in?”

Shrugging with a wince, Tony answered “Not too bad. Gunshot to the shoulder, twisted ankle and a few bumps and bruises. Nothing I haven’t faced before.”

“Sounds about right for you,” Rhodey scoffed, a hint of concern leaking into his voice as he asked, “Are you at a secure location now?”

“Yeah, I’m in some kinda country town -sorry, was too distracted to catch the name- but I don’t think it would be that far away from the safe house. Less than an hour away probably.”

“Alright then, well you probably shouldn’t stay around there for long.”

“Why’s that?” Tony asked, shooting another glance at Peter and feeling his stomach twist at the sight of his bruised eye.

“Well, when you didn’t report in we figured something had gone wrong, so Rogers went to find you and instead found that the Hydra base was on a complete shut down,” Rhodey explained evenly. “They were moving everything, probably trying to relocate before we arrived, but Steve called in the others and they’re in the middle of a raid as we speak. Looks like the Hydra base isn’t going down without a fight either from Natasha’s report.”

“Good. Make sure they get a few good hits in for me then too,” Tony said with a smirk.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a suit on the way there right now to go join them,” Rhodey replied.

“Yeah well… I’ve got a new priority to sort out,” Tony found himself sighing, the weight of reality beginning to press down on his shoulders again. “It’s… It’s why I’m calling, actually.”

“Uh oh, what happened?”

“Well, after Hydra sent around a welcoming party I had to make a run for it and got lost in the nearby forest. Stumbled into some kind of field, I don’t know… it’s kind of fuzzy.” Tony gave his head a firm shake to refocus himself. “The point that I’m trying to get to though is that I was bleeding out in the middle of nowhere and got saved by a kid of all people.”

“A kid?”

“Yeah, name’s Peter. Fourteen years old and smarter than any teenager I’ve ever met,” Tony added, a warm feeling that he couldn’t quite describe flowering in his chest. It felt almost like pride, but… softer. More personal. For a moment he would even consider it paternal, but Tony quickly swept the notion away in fear of the bitterness that might try and ruin it.

“If he’s caught your attention then he must be smart,” Rhodey mused, before adding sharply “I know you didn’t call just to talk up a child prodigy though so let’s just get to the point.”

The point? Right, the point, which was that Tony had taken a fourteen-year old child in the middle of the night to bring him to New York, which according to Peter, was a three day’s drive away.

Shit, Rhodey was not going to like this.

And like it he did not when Tony finally worked up the guts to say it, the mortified hiss of “You did what?!” echoing through the receiver.

“I’m bringing Peter back to New York with me,” Tony tried to say, only for Rhodey to shoot back harshly “No, what you mean to say is that you kidnapped a minor during the middle of the night, is that correct?”

“I was -am- trying to protect him!” he snapped back, the rage that had been quietly simmering under his skin since he’d heard Peter getting beaten to the floor now flaring back up at the new target. “You weren’t there Rhodey. The kid saved my life, and after a whole day of tending to me and my -may I remind you, fatal wounds, I had to listen as his alcoholic asshole of a father decided to use him as a human punching bag!”

The line stilled; silence so thick you could practically feel it layering the air. In his frustration Tony glanced up for a moment and caught sight of Peter staring right back at him with wide, blank eyes, before the teen quickly adverted his attention back to the old backpack beside him like it had never happened. Surely Peter hadn’t heard that, he was too far away and Tony had tried his best to keep the volume low…

But shaking those thoughts away, Tony stared back at the old phone and waited for his friend’s reply.

“He was being abused?” Rhodey clarified after a moment.

“Yes.”

“And you’re certain about it?” Rhodey asked, adding fuel to the fire in Tony’s chest as he spat “Considering I had to pick the fucking shattered glass out of his hands afterwards, yes, I’m certain.”

“Shit…” Rhodey muttered regretfully. “I’m so sorry man, that’s… that’s awful.”

A growl was working up in Tony’s throat as the images of blood and glass and big doe eyes welling up with tears filled his vision, gripping onto the phone cord so tightly his knuckles had gone white. “I tried to stop it, I swear I- I tried…”

The excuse trailed away before it could even really form, those meaningless words leaving a bitter taste in Tony’s mouth. “I couldn’t get there in time…” he decided to say instead, refusing to try and excuse his failings. “Peter locked me in his bedroom to… damnit, to try and protect me, and by the time I got the door open it was already over. It was bad though Rhodes… made my old man seem soft in comparison.”

A heavy silence settled over the line and Tony wished desperately that he could see his friend’s face right now, missing his stable presence when his own emotions felt as raw as a live wire.

“Are you both safe now?” Rhodey eventually asked.

“At the moment, yeah. But I want to get Peter far away from here. New York preferably.”

Then there was a deep sigh, a sigh Tony immediately recognised as Rhodey’s bad news voice, before he said almost reluctantly, “Listen Tones, I know you like to handle things on your own, but… I think you should take Peter to the police for this one.”

Within the blink of an eye Tony’s entire demeanour shifted. “You must be joking,” he deadpanned. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Look, I know this is frustrating, but there are rules about how to handle these kinds of situations,” Rhodey tried to explain, but every word spoken only sent flames rising in Tony’s throat, threatening to burst out. “You can’t just disregard the law because you want to do things your way.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s about Peter,” Tony practically hissed, his voice low and icy as he said “The first thing they’ll do if I bring Peter to the police is ask for a statement, and the kid is nowhere near ready to talk about what he’s been through. He, he doesn’t- fuck Rhodey! He doesn’t even know that he was being abused!”

“Tony-“

“The kid was beaten to shit and you know what he said to me? ‘It’s not his fault,’” Tony pushed onward, all his rage pouring over into his trembling fists as he spat “Not his fault? How- How long do you screw a kid over until they think that being hit with a beer bottle is their fault?”

“Tony, just breathe for a second-“

“It’s so unfair. It’s so god damn unfair.” Tony’s hands found his hair and tugged harshly to try and distract himself from the emptiness in his chest. The void that permanently resided in his heart. “How do people like that get kids, huh? How do fuckers that beat their children get to have kids like Peter, let alone keep them. It’s not right. They don’t deserve it! I… I didn’t…”

A pained grunt caught the words in his throat, and having finally reached the height of his turmoil, the anger slipped down into despair like rain extinguishing a fire.

Rhodey didn’t try and interrupt him this time. He must have recognised the pain in his words, the downward spiral that he so often found himself in. They’d done this all before. At the beginning, Tony was breaking down more often than not, yelling at officers who refused to investigate further and throwing phones into walls when they remained silent of demands. And then, on the rarest occasion, Tony would collapse against his best friend with horrible, stifled sobs, clinging to Rhodey like he was the only thing keeping him alive.

If anyone knew of Tony’s pain, it was Rhodey, and somehow he stayed by his side anyway. Tony couldn’t be more grateful to have a friend like him.

So drawing in a breath to steady himself, Tony murmured into the receiver “Sorry Rhodes, I didn’t mean to snap at you…”

“It’s fine Tony. I get it,” Rhodey answered, his voice lowering to match his friend’s.

Sighing, Tony pressed a hand over his eyes and said huskily “I just… I just know that Peter’s not ready for that yet. And I can guarantee they won’t listen to me either. Not when I’m a complete stranger to the kid with no ID or money to my name right now.”

Rhodey hummed in reply, acknowledging the man’s point but not entirely convinced either.

For some reason, the lack of his approval made Tony’s stomach twist into knots, and the fears that he had valiantly pushed away came rushing back to the forefront. His confidence was slipping, he could feel it. But he couldn’t afford to lose his stability now. Peter couldn’t afford it. He had to be strong, or at least fake it well enough to get by.

So forcing confident words onto his tongue, Tony said to both himself and to Rhodey, “I am not going to let this kid down. I made promises, promises I can’t break. And I’ve fucked up so many times in my life but just this once, just this one time I want to get it right. I have to.”

Tony drew in a breath and let it out like the waves of an ocean pushing and pulling on the shoreline.

“Please, Rhodey,” he said, softer this time. More vulnerable than he had allowed himself to be in years. “I don’t need you to agree, I just want you to understand…”

A beat of silence fell over the line, before it was followed by a heavy sigh. “I do understand... More than you realise,” Rhodey answered, and once again, Tony was reminded that he wasn’t the only one who had lost part of their family all those years ago.

Sighing, Tony lifted his gaze from the scuffed, borrow boots on his feet to the boy waiting for him outside of the rickety phone booth. He hadn’t moved from his position in the driver’s seat, but those kind and intelligent eyes stared out at the world through the veil of his curly locks in wonder and pure, childish innocence.

And Tony knew in that moment that he would do anything to protect this kid.

“I can’t fail this time…”

Rhodey only paused for a moment to contemplate the weight of his words before he replied confidently, “You won’t. I know you won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?” Tony scoffed.

“Because you never failed the first time.”

It felt like a truck had hit Tony right in the chest, drawing all the oxygen out of his lungs in one swift blow as he tried desperately to push away the images of a baby with big brown eyes and a wide smile. “We both know that’s a lie, Rhodes…” he said, his voice thick with emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“It’s not, because you were- are a good father Tony,” Rhodey reinforced, voice firm but kind. “You have to know that. You were the best father possible for Ja-“

“Don’t…” Tony’s voice quivered with the plea, slamming his eyes shut once more. “Please don’t. I can’t do this, not right now…”

Rhodey inhaled sharply, as if realising his mistake, before letting it out in a steadying breath. “Sorry Tones…” he said, sounding truly apologetic. “But my point still stands. You always did right by him, and you’re going to do right by Peter too.”

“God, I hope so…” Tony muttered. “He’s a good kid Rhodey, and I promise once I get him to New York where I know he’s safe and I’ve got lawyers that can defend him from a legal standpoint, I’ll get the police involved.”

Humming a little, Rhodey conceded “Alright then. I’m not pleased about it, but I know I can’t change your mind. You’re going to have to be careful about this though Tony. His father will probably report Peter missing, so you’ll become a target real damn fast.”

“I know, I know… we’ll just have to stay away from the main cities and roads for now.” Tony tapped his fingers mindlessly against the old phone machine as he thought about all the obstacles in their path, saying gruffly “We shouldn’t run into any police on the backroads at the very least, so I’ll pick up a map and we’ll take it from there.”

At that Rhodey scoffed, amusement clear in his voice and he asked, “Do you even know how to use a map Tones?”

“Shut up platypus,” Tony chuckled despite his harsh words. “I’m not called a genius for nothing.”

“Alright then genius,” Rhodey said, and Tony would bet a million dollars he was smirking right now. “I have to fly to DC at noon to meet with Fury, but if you need anything let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks Rhodes, I know I can always count on you.”

“Of course man,” Rhodey said as if it were obvious, before adding with that familiar hint of concern “Just be careful, alright?”

“Always,” Tony assured.

“That’s what you said last time.”

Shrugging his good shoulder, Tony said casually “Well we can’t win ‘em all,” which was rewarded shortly after with a bemused chuckle. Before his friend could end the call though, Tony quickly asked “Can you let Pepper know I’m, you know, not dead or anything?”

“Sure Tones, I’ll let her know.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, voice trailing away for just a moment, before he added sincerely “For everything…”

Without a hint of doubt in his tone, Rhodey replied “You’d do the same for me.”

“I sure would,” Tony smiled. “See you soon Rhodes.”

“Bye Tony.”

And with one final, lingering moment, Tony lowered the phone back to its hook and held onto the echo of his friend’s voice, so steady and assured. If Rhodey believed he could do it, then Tony would too, and he cast his doubts aside as he left the cramped phone booth with a confident stride. He was going to get Peter to safety, to a new life and a new family if it was the last thing he did. There would be no repeats of this night, never again. But first, he just had to get Peter to New York, and he had to be careful not to break his fragile trust in the process.

Climbing back into the passenger seat and biting back a groan at the flare in his ankle, Tony flashed the boy an encouraging smile and said, “You ready to head back out kid?”

Peter’s gaze shifted across the deserted storefronts again almost longingly before he turned back to the steering wheel with the same determined expression from before. “Yeah… yeah I’m ready.”

“Is there something you were looking for?” Tony decided to ask before they began their journey.

“No, it’s just…”

A heartbeat passed by in silence, and when it seemed like he wasn’t going to continue, Tony prompted gently “Just what?”

Slowly, almost cautiously, Peter’s gaze returned to the window and observed the stores, the trees, the gardens and the street signs that made up the small main road. Wonder and excitement shimmered in his eyes like stars, but it took Tony a moment to recognise the sadness residing beneath it. Sadness that he wouldn’t quite understand until Peter turned back to him with a worried flex of his hands as he murmured “It just looks so… different, that’s all…”

“Different? How so?” Tony asked.

“Well… uh, there’s some new stores, and the- the butcher’s moved,” Peter answered anxiously as he shifted his eyes back to the steering wheel. “The flowers in front of Miss Sparrow’s café finally grew…”

Puzzled by such a random selection of details, Tony turned his gaze towards the barren street and tried to see the same beauty that the teen had, only to pause at something different. The beautiful pink roses that Peter had mentioned outside of a dainty little café had clearly been there for many years, and the confusion only lasted for a moment before Tony turned back to Peter with a concerned frown.

“When was the last time you came here Pete?” he asked, knowing for a fact that there hadn’t been any other towns in range for at least another hour or so. Surely he must have gone to school close by. Must have accompanied his scumbag of a father once and a while to buy groceries and other essentials.

But the awe in Peter’s expression when they’d first arrived, and tension in his jaw right now as the silence dragged on, and the eerie chant of “I can’t leave, it’s against the rules,” flashing back to Tony’s mind told a different story. One he wasn’t sure he could bear to hear, but one he needed to know.

“How long has it been kid… since you left that house?” Tony asked again, feeling a pang of guilt when he noticed Peter’s eye twitch in response.

But just when he thought the boy might try and evade his question, a voice as quiet as a mouse answered solemnly “Three years…”

Shit…

Tony wanted to say he was shocked, but the clues had all been there, hidden in plain sight just like the abuse had been. It twisted at his heart, made his stomach churn in disgust at the complete inhumanity of it all. To know that Peter -kind, intelligent, generous Peter- had been suffering through not just beatings his whole life, but isolation and neglect and loneliness for three solid years filled Tony’s heart with such rage that it ran like magma through his veins.

But anger did him little good here. Not when Peter needed his help, needed gentleness that his father had never been bothered to give him. He had to stay calm, if only for Peter’s sake.

So turning his eyes back to the road ahead, Tony said softly “It’s alright kid, we’ll just… take it easy.”

There was a moment of pause, and Tony could see the boy staring at him from the corner of his eye; studying him, calculating if he were a danger or not -which Tony vowed would never be the case. Until finally, much to Tony’s relief, Peter’s shoulders lowered and his hands loosened over the steering wheel. With a final tentative smile at the man, they fell back into that place of familiarity and safety, the one that had gotten them this far as it was.

So buckling in their seatbelts and restarting the engine, the two set off again on their journey, leaving the town and the memories that were attached to it far behind.

…

“What you got there?”

Peter perked up from his position in the driver’s seat, smiling up at Tony with that awful split lip and blackened eye that he assured wasn’t as bad as it looked, before holding up the device in his hands with pride. “It’s my old camera,” he explained, fiddling with the lens almost mindlessly. “I’m not sure if it still works though, it’s been so long since I last used it.”

“Photography nerd too huh?” Tony asked as he placed his bag of goods in the backseat.

They’d come across a fuel station a few hours into the trip and decided to take a rest, not wanting to strain the poor kid when it was still technically his first time on the road and the sun hadn’t even risen yet. Outside of getting a full tank of fuel, Tony was also able to buy some other bits and pieces such as bandages, granola bars, and water bottles with some of the money Peter revealed he’d been saving over the years. At first Tony had refused to take it, but with the boy’s insistence and reasoning that if they didn’t have fuel, they wouldn’t get to New York, the man was forced to accept defeat. The only way the billionaire could live with himself as he took the money was by assuring himself that he would pay for Peter’s tuition and then some when they got back home.

But right now Tony’s number one priority was tending to Peter’s injuries, much like the boy had done for him since the moment they first met. As he was pulling out his supplies though Peter continued to talk, which eased the worry in Tony’s soul when he remembered how quiet and distant he had been earlier at the beginning of their escape.

“I’ve always enjoyed photography,” the boy explained as Tony sat back in the passenger’s seat and guided one of Peter’s hands into his own. He didn’t even seem to notice in the midst of his enthusiasm though, ploughing on warmly “There’s something about trying to get the right shot, the perfect angle, that’s just so… calming, you know? I can’t really describe it, but it’s… it’s special.”

Tony hummed in agreement when he thought about his own work in the lab, how he could get so lost in the sensation of creating that everything else just fell away.

“You should see if it still works,” the man suggested as he wrapped Peter’s hand up in the fresh coil of bandages. “Maybe I can take over the driving for a couple of hours and you can test it out.”

At that, Peter’s smile dropped into a concerned frown. “What about your ankle?”

“It’s fine, I’ve been resting it for a couple of hours and I can barely feel it,” Tony assured. “Besides, you must be getting tired by now. You barely slept and you’ve never driven for this long before.”

Peter didn’t seem entirely convinced by Tony’s argument if the grimace he flashed was any indication, but it was obvious that the long hours of adrenaline and concentration had taken its toll as well. “Will you tell me if it starts to hurt again?” he asked with an expression that was so worried and caring that it made Tony’s chest ache.

“If that’ll make you feel better,” Tony answered, because he didn’t really want to concern Peter with his own woes when the boy had so many of his own to focus on.

“Yes, a whole lot,” Peter said quickly. “And don’t forget we need to change your bandage too, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, one at a time kid,” Tony teased as he tied off the bandage on one hand and moved over to the other. Once both hands were neatly wrapped up and secured, Peter wasted no time in dragging out his backpack and rummaging around for his formula and web shooters. They reapplied the solution to Tony’s shoulder and cleaned off the blood that had stained to Peter’s chin like some sort of amateur-medic chess game, bickering over who should be tended to first until all their wounds were finally addressed.

The sun was just edging over the tree line when the two began preparing to head off again, double checking their supplies and eating a few granola bars as their meagre form of breakfast. Peter tore through his in lightning speed, and Tony felt bad that he hadn’t bought more, or that he couldn’t even buy it with his own money.

But Peter was too focused on his camera to notice Tony’s concerned glances, a crease growing between his brows as he fiddled with the device that refused to turn on.

“Not working?” Tony asked.

Peter shook his head in disappointment, only to blink in surprise when Tony held out his hand for it.

“Let me try,” Tony said lightly, only to realise just how much Peter must have cared about the old camera when he hesitated to give it to him.

But despite whatever concerns he must have had, Peter eventually placed the camera in his palm and watched intently as Tony inspected its inner workings. After a few moments of tinkering with the wires that had frayed over the years, the screen flickered back to life with the press of a button and a minor miracle that the batteries somehow still worked. The complete wide-eyed look of awe and gratefulness that had enveloped Peter’s expression though was priceless, and Tony couldn’t help but smile at the innocent sight. Somehow, against all odds, Peter managed to retain his wonder for a world that he treated him so poorly, which was a miracle all in itself.

“Does it work?” Peter asked anxiously.

“Let’s find out,” Tony said, lifting the small window up to his eye and snapping a shot of Peter’s beaming expression before he’d even had a chance to respond.

Pulling the camera back down to inspect the screen, Tony found himself pausing for a moment at the image displayed before him. The first streaks of morning sunlight had begun to shimmer through the tree line behind them, and the warm red hues cast over Peter’s profile, hiding his split lip and bruised eye in shadows but highlighting the curve of his smile, the wonderful shimmer in his eyes when he was excited about something. He had seen it many times since the moment he’d woken up in Peter’s room, but now, to see such unbridled joy captured in this one image, Tony felt his heart swell in a way it hadn’t done for many years.

“Is it broken?” Peter asked curiously when Tony still hadn’t responded.

“No…” Tony murmured, lips tilting into a smile as he peered down at the image again. “It’s perfect.”

…

Once he started taking pictures, Peter just couldn’t stop.

Every shift of the horizon, every new landmark, every little detail that crafted the trees or the road were quickly captured by a faint mechanical click, excitement radiating out of the boy as he inspected each new image. Since Tony was driving he wasn’t able to see what exactly Peter was photographing, but with some gentle prompting, the teen was quick to describe it for him. And in some ways, Tony thought his words were probably more beautiful than the sights themselves.

“The sun is piercing through the clouds, like… like gold pouring out of the sky,” Peter described one of them with a mesmerised grin.

“There must have been a fire around here a while ago because the tree bark is all charred and cracked, but look! The branches are already starting to sprout back,” he said with another mechanical click of his camera. “Isn’t that just incredible Mr Stark?”

“Whoa! Look at that eagle up there!” he gawked, leaning forward eagerly to catch a better view, before stuttering out sheepishly “I mean- don’t, don’t actually look Mr Stark, keep your eyes on the road and all that- but it’s- it’s huge!”

Everything about the world surrounding them became filtered through a new lens, a new perspective, as Peter explained his findings with unfiltered glee. Occasionally he would grow shy, or would apologise for rambling too long, but Tony was quick to urge him onward. The moment he noticed Peter shifting anxiously in the corner of his eye, Tony would ask about his newest picture, or any fun facts he had about their environment, and it almost instantly lifted the boy’s mood. He had a million and one fun facts to share about the landscapes that stretched in every direction, and despite the commonality of some things -of chipped road signs and mossy boulders and any wildlife that scuttled into view-, Peter loved all of it. Loved every moment of his newfound freedom, whether he was ready to call it that or not.

And Tony loved seeing every second of it right alongside him.

…

“Hope you like cheeseburgers,” Tony announced proudly as he walked back to the car holding two grease-stained bags up in the air.

It was almost noon, and after Peter’s stomach had rumbled so loudly that it cut through the dreary radio channels they were forced to endure, the two unanimously decided to stop for lunch. A few minutes of wrestling with a map Tony had collected from the gas station and they were eventually able to find a local town not too far off their main route; small enough to not get attention, but big enough to have its own dainty Burger King. Tony silently sent his prayers to whoever had planned that one out.

“I’ll eat anything at this point,” Peter tried to joke, but the hunger burning in his eyes would suggest it was anything but.

“Don’t scoff it down too fast,” Tony smiled as he handed the teen one of the bags, the scent of fresh chips and greasy burgers that wafted through the air making Peter’s fingers twitch in anticipation.

But despite Tony’s warning, the boy tore through his meal in record speed, finishing the whole bag by the time Tony had barely made it through a third of his own. And judging by the guilty flash in his eyes as he stared at Tony’s meal, the man could tell it had barely made a dent in his hunger too. So, without even a moment’s hesitation, Tony split his burger down the middle and offered one half to the shocked teenager beside him.

“You- you don’t have to Mr Stark,” Peter stammered, his bashfulness bordering on shame, which just wouldn’t fly for Tony.

“Go ahead,” he insisted kindly. “You’re a growing boy, it’s fine.”

“I… I shouldn’t.”

“I’m saying you can,” Tony said, hoping the sincerity of his voice would be enough to ease his worries. “Seriously kid, take it. You’re going to need a full stomach when you go behind the wheel again anyway.”

It took a little more encouragement, but finally Peter seemed to cave, gingerly taking the burger from his hand and trying to hide the embarrassment behind a grateful nod. As endearing as the sight was though, Tony didn’t want him to feel guilty for something as simple as eating. Heck, he didn’t want him to feel guilty for anything that had happened in his tormented life, but Tony got the feeling that that would be a conversation for another day.

Instead, Tony gazed across the parking lot with a wistful smile of his own and said “You know, once when me and my friend were in college, we were pulling an all-nighter trying to study for an exam, but I was just starving, and I begged him to get us some burgers. Rhodey- god, he’s a saint- he actually agreed to take me, but only on the condition that I went through the practice test with him as we drove.”

“Really? How’d it go?” Peter asked, clearly amused by the story.

“Aced the test right then and there in the Burger King drive through,” Tony chuckled fondly.

Trying not to laugh through his mouthful of burger, Peter smiled up at the man beside him before following his stare out to the quaint little town they’d parked in. Before the silence could settle for long though, Peter said lightly “I know it sounds crazy, but I used to love tests.”

“Yeah?”

Peter hummed, his lips pressed into the faintest of smiles. “My science teacher used to hand out these trophies to whoever had the highest grade in his exams. They were tiny and plastic, but… I still loved them.”

“I imagine you got them quite often with that brain of yours,” Tony smirked.

Peter tipped his head in a bashful little shrug, saying “I was okay…”

“Oh, don’t be modest kid. You can’t make a formula like yours without some kind of genius up there,” Tony implored, earning another sheepish smile from the boy who had been deprived of encouragement for so long.

Seemingly unsure of how to respond though, Peter finished off his meal and distracted himself with the camera once more, snapping a photo of the Burger King and asking Tony for more stories of his college days. Tony knew he was diverting the topic, but in the end he just smiled and continued to recall his many misadventures at MIT with his dear friend Rhodey. Because even though Peter had evaded his praise, he hadn’t outright rejected it either, and Tony considered that progress.

One day Peter would be able to accept his own strengths: his intellect, and his kindness, and his selflessness. Maybe not today or even tomorrow, but long after this mess was sorted, he would see how amazing he really was.

He would see himself the way Tony saw him now.

…

“Mr Stark?”

“Yeah kid?” Tony hummed, trying to rub the heaviness out of his eyes as he turned to face the boy.

While they had been travelling at a relatively decent pace before, they were now stuck behind a little, rickety car that chuffed along at a snail’s pace on the abandoned stretch of road. If it had been Tony driving he would have easily overtaken the sloth of a vehicle, maybe even revved the engine for good measure, but he’d reminded himself that this was Peter’s first time driving at all, let alone on a road with other people. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm the kid, so he had just let it slide as they trailed lazily behind the car.

To his surprise though, the frustration that had been eating away silently within Tony was now on full display in Peter’s tensed muscles, his fingers twitching where they were locked around the steering wheel as he asked “Should… should I overtake?”

Now the weariness left Tony’s system as he leant forward in his seat and said calmly “Only if you want to kid. No pressure from me though.”

“They’re going pretty slow…” Peter mumbled, as if trying to reason with himself. After a few more moments of silent debate, Peter glanced over at Tony with wide, searching eyes, asking nervously “Do you, um… do you think I can do it?”

Expression softening into a smile, Tony assured, “Oh yeah, easily. It’s the perfect conditions too; no other traffic, big smooth road. You could do it without a hitch I’m sure.”

“You really think so?” Peter asked as hints of doubt flickered across his features.

“Yeah Pete, I do. But if it’s going to stress you out, you don’t have to either.”

The boy frowned in concentration as he stared at the car before them, still rolling along at that torturously slow speed, before he straightened his spine with a determined set of his jaw. “I want to do it,” he said, nodding his head like a soldier about to go to war.

His dead-serious expression though only made Tony chuckle in amusement, all his senses back on alert as he said “Alright kid, I’m gonna walk you through this nice and easy. You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Alright…” Tony quickly surveyed the road only to find it as empty as it had been for the past hour. “Turn on your indicator.”

Peter let out a breath to steady himself and pulled down the lever for the indicator, waiting for Tony’s signal before steering the car to the side and pressing down on the gas. There was a moment of hesitation when the engine roared back at the boy, but with a proud grin from Tony and an encouraging “That’s it!”, he pushed through the moment of panic and urged the car back up to speed. And while adrenaline pounded like thunder in Peter’s heart, all Tony felt was an immense sense of pride as he watched the kid overcome such a milestone.

He never got the chance to teach his own son how to drive, but here in this moment, with Peter’s face breaking out into a beaming smile as he pulled back in after a successful overtake, he didn’t feel loss or grief or regret. No, he only felt peace; like he had finally, after so many years of unrest, found the place he was meant to be.

And as the other car became nothing more than a spec in the rear-view mirror, Tony took hold of the camera resting in the divider and held it up just in time to catch Peter’s relieved and awestruck grin. A moment of triumph captured in a simple photograph.

“Congratulations kid,” Tony chimed proudly. “You’re a natural.”

…

Despite his best attempts that afternoon, sleep continued to evade Peter on their journey.

The teen claimed it was because there was too much to see, too much to photograph whenever he wasn’t in the driver’s seat, but Tony didn’t miss the tension still coiled up in Peter’s shoulders, or how his hands would fidget restlessly when the silence dragged on for too long. It was obvious he was exhausted though, what with the haziness in his eyes and the yawns he tried uselessly to stifle. Tony could only assume that his nerves were catching up to his body after almost a full day of being on alert as driver and passenger, and the man hoped it wouldn’t ruin the progress they’d made to get him out of that house to begin with.

Instincts urged Tony to reassure the boy, to praise him or entertain him with stories that had brightened him up like before, but his mind knew that Peter needed to sleep above all else. In order to rest, he needed to be at ease, and Tony didn’t want to make Peter retreat any further by talking about their situation or offering a comforting hand on his shoulder like he usually might.

No, he had to be careful about this… Casual, but encouraging.

And then like a gift sent from above, the radio that had previously been cycling through dull instrumentals shifted into something far more familiar.

“That’s more like it,” Tony grinned as he twisted the dial up, blasting the car with the iconic sounds of AC/DC. “Now this is a classic kid. Tell me you’ve heard of it before, otherwise I’ll have a heart attack.”

Peter perked up with a smile of his own as he seemingly recognised the tune, but just as Tony’s heart began to lift, it was shot down just as quickly by Peter’s next words.

“Oh! I love Led Zeppelin.”

The complete and utter horror that flooded over Tony’s soul must have shown up on his expression, because before he could even start to voice his mortification, he was startled back to his senses by a familiar mechanical click!

Tony whipped his head to the side in shock as Peter burst into laughter, the one that swelled with a warmth and light that made Tony’s heart soften like honey. It took him too long to notice the camera still clutched in Peter’s hand though, and as the boy pulled it back to inspect the image, he let out another amused snort.

“Sorry Mr Stark, but that was priceless,” he said with absolutely zero remorse.

After levelling the boy with a mock glare, Tony rolled his eyes and turned back to the road ahead. “This is outrageous… bullying, I think the proper term is,” he teased, thankful when Peter only relaxed further at the banter.

“Pretty funny though,” Peter mused.

“For you maybe,” Tony said as he cast a playful smirk to the side, just to reassure the boy that he was only joking.

And catching the little gesture in the corner of his vision, Peter shot him back a teasing grin of his own, shoulders lifting in a half-hearted shrug like he could do no wrong. The simple action eased the worries swirling around Tony’s mind in a heartbeat, and it relieved him to no end to see that the boy was finally bantering with him once more. That he was comfortable with making jokes again without the fear of punishment, or could comment knowing that he wouldn’t be struck down for it. And most importantly of all, the reassurance that Tony was nothing like the monster back in that house.

So as the sun began to edge its way slowly towards the horizon, the two talked about their favourite bands, favourite music, and even their favourite jokes in an attempt to make the other laugh. Within twenty minutes Peter’s once tremoring hands had stilled against his jeans, and another ten had him leaning back into the seat with an unrestrained yawn. Their menial chatter had eased the tension out of Peter’s posture, showing just how much he was comfortable with the man in the driver’s seat. How much he trusted Tony to keep him safe.

Until finally, with the muted rhythm of Led Zeppelin humming in the background, Peter slipped into a peaceful slumber and left a smiling, relieved Tony at the wheel, guiding him to his new life.

…

When Peter first stirred, it was to a soothing voice and warm touch on his shoulder, swimming around in the darkness behind his eyelids as his senses gradually returned.

“Hey Pete, time to wake up,” the voice chimed softly.

Peter hummed an acknowledgement and cracked open his eyes, only to be met with silhouettes and stark shadows of a landscape he didn’t recognise. The confusion swirled in like a thick fog as he went to rub the sleep from his eyes, asking instinctively “D-Dad…?”

The hand on his shoulder stilled, and Peter felt dread flood into his system like a bucket of icy water getting dropped on his head, snapping to attention as he wondered what he had said wrong. What he had done wrong. Because he must have done something wrong, right…?

A dull yellow light switched on from above, and Peter was startled to find not his father’s face, but the face of Mr Stark illuminated through the darkness, sorrow etched into his every feature as he met the boy’s gaze. Instinct urged him to apologise for whatever he’d said to cause such an expression, but it soon faded into a weary smile instead, leaving Peter’s unspoken apology to fade along with it.

“Sorry for waking you kid. How’re you feeling?” Mr Stark asked lightly as he glanced out the front window.

The view wasn’t much, Peter quickly realised as he followed the man’s gaze to find a dingy looking motel and a barren stretch of desert in all directions. Even the shadowed car park they were sitting in looked worse for wear with weeds sprouting out of every tiny crack and tire marks marring the cement. But up above, stars littered the sky and a glorious full moon shone down from its perch alongside them, as beautiful as they always had been when Peter had gazed up from his bedroom roof. They were a long way away from the pine forests of Peter’s home now, and he hadn’t yet decided if that were a good or a bad thing. Maybe it was both.

Still, as his mind remembered why he was here to begin with, Peter couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten with unease. The doubts and worries that he had so easily pushed away during the day were creeping in again, and he could feel their twisted roots start to coil around his lungs, ready to strangle him if he dared to let his guard down.

Instead of dwelling on those painful feelings though, Peter was drawn back to the present by Mr Stark carefully untying the stripped wires beneath the steering wheel and saying calmly “You can go back to sleep soon Pete, just thought you might appreciate a real bed instead of breaking your neck on these seats.”

The comment was followed with a light chuckle, but Peter could only muster a weary nod in return. It was as if he had been sapped of all his energy and left an empty husk instead, desperate for the blank void of sleep to ignore the deep ache running through his chest. The many emotions he could feel building up like a volcano, but was unprepared to face.

Mr Stark seemed to sense his exhaustion though and shot him a sympathetic smile, assuring gently “You did great today, you know that? An absolute trooper.”

At that, Peter mustered a smile, the warmth that blossomed in his chest managing to settle the storm that rocked his stomach for just a few moments. And with an encouraging pat on the shoulder from Mr Stark, the two collected all their valuables and left the car behind them, checking in with the half-asleep receptionist for one of their cheapest rooms available. If the woman thought it was odd that the pair had bruises and bandages littering their bodies, she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she probably didn’t even notice considering she barely looked up from the blocky, outdated computer screen, taking Peter’s handful of precious notes and replacing it with a rusted key without ever meeting their eyes.

Both Mr Stark and Peter were too tired to care about etiquette at this point however as they pushed into their room and dumped their few belongings on the rickety wooden table. Just as Peter was about to collapse on one of the two single mattresses however, Mr Stark raised his arm and gave the beds a sceptical look, his lip twitching ever so slightly in disgust.

“Better check them for bed bugs first,” Tony said in an attempt to be light-hearted, but his smile fell short before long. “Never know with places like these…”

Too tired to argue and maybe even too tired to fully understand, Peter just nodded sluggishly and allowed the man to inspect both the beds and their respective sheets. “You can go clean up in the bathroom if you want kid, I’ll sort this out,” he assured the boy, who simply nodded and dragged his backpack into the adjacent room. Peter felt like a zombie as he moved around the bathroom, changing into a fresh shirt and untying the bandages around his hands to find the cuts completely healed below, just like he knew they would be. And when he glanced up at the mirror above the sink, he found no black eyes or cut lips, but a healthy -if not exhausted- face.

No scars, no marks. Not even a scratch. And Peter couldn’t help but think that maybe that was worse. Because if there was nothing but a memory, a ghost of what might have been, did it ever really happen to begin with…?

Shaking his himself out of his own thoughts, Peter rummaged through his backpack and pulled out his precious camera. He’d gotten more use out of it today than he probably had his entire life, and flicking through the images again, he felt his expression lift with the reminder of all he had seen, and all he had done. The shot of Mr Stark’s horrified expression when he’d joked about AC/DC was especially a highlight, and even now Peter found himself snorting softly at the sight.

Cycling through the many photographs seemed to steady Peter’s tired soul, drawing himself back into those wonderful moments and the feelings that were encased within them. The adrenaline, and the laughter, and the tension, and the smiles. Every single part of it. It made him feel light- made him feel free. Like a bird soaring on the currents of the wind.

But then he flicked back one image too far, and instead of reliving the highlights of his journey to New York, he was reliving the highlights of his childhood.

Photos of the fields, and the pine forest, and the all too familiar walls of his house.

Of his action figures and science experiments, and blurry shots of meals as he tried to document his successful cooking in the crappy kitchen light.

Of his dad… happy- smiling in the way that was only reserved for good days.

Peter slid down to the dirty bathroom floor and stared at the image cradled between his hands like it were made of glass, emotions as fierce as the waves of a storming ocean crashing into him in full force. He couldn’t explain why. Had no words to describe the emptiness that was getting carved out in his heart, or the subsequent stabbing sensation that followed. At first he thought it was shame for leaving, for running away with a stranger to New York and leaving his dad all alone. Then he thought it might be guilt when he remembered all the rules he’d broken just to get here.

Then he realised with a painful throb in his chest that what he was really feeling was longing.

Longing for his bed, and his room, and his house, and his dad and all the familiar little things that made up Peter’s life. He missed it even though it hurt. He missed it even though he didn’t want to.

Without warning, the image of Beck’s smiling expression became nothing more than a blur of light and colours. Peter scrubbed at his eyes in frustration, but the tears didn’t stop, seemingly keen to keep flowing now that they had started. In an attempt to force back the tidal wave of emotion that had now been unleashed on his soul, Peter shut off the camera and shoved it into his backpack again, hoping it would ease the shame in his chest.

But it didn’t, and that familiar image of his father stayed burnt behind his eyelids. The rumble of his laughter echoing through his skull. It pained Peter to admit it, but he missed him - and his smile, and his praise, and the way he would stroke his hair on movie nights to show Peter how much he loved him.

This is not love. This is not care. This is wrong, Peter.

The vines around Peter’s chest now tightened around his skull as he remembered Mr Stark’s firm words. He hadn’t had time to really process them back then -what with the idea of New York and needing to get the man out of the house first taking precedence-, but now that everything had finally stopped, the words lingered with him. Because if it wasn’t love, then what was it…?

Peter’s hands brushed against the tiles below him, cold and cracked and harsh to the touch, and he remembered what it felt like to get pushed into them. Remembered what it sounded like when a glass bottle shattered right beside your head, and how the cleaning chemicals would burn when they soaked into the wounds from the shards he was left to clean. How terrified he felt as he would cower on the cold, kitchen floor…

A father should never hit their child, never.

Peter hesitated at that one, the statement that Mr Stark had claimed as solid fact conflicting so fiercely with the boy’s own experiences. But while he had brushed it off at the time in favour of focusing on more pressing matters, this time he allowed himself to ponder, and think for just a moment…

…Maybe he was right…

“Kid? Everything alright in there?”

Peter blinked, startled, at the gentle voice calling through the door. In the midst of his spiral into the past he had forgotten about the present, and quickly reminded himself that this wasn’t just about him. This was about getting Mr Stark back to his home, and maybe seeing New York along the way.

So quickly scrubbing his face with the sleeves of his jacket, Peter opened the door and prayed he looked more composed than he felt, though the sad twinge in Mr Stark’s smile as their gazes met suggested otherwise.

“Yeah, I-I’m good Mr Stark,” Peter lied rather blatantly as he ducked his head to the side. “Sorry for hogging the bathroom.”

“It’s fine kid,” the man was quick to assure. “I was about to hit the hay, but I just wanted to check you were alright.”

“Of course, yeah, yeah I’m… I’m just tired,” Peter murmured, which wasn’t exactly false either.

Mr Stark gave him a questioning look, as if he didn’t quite believe him and hoped that he would continue, but Peter could barely understand the war of emotions raging in his chest, let alone be able put them into words. So in the end Mr Stark just offered a weary smile and sat down on the bed closest to the door, allowing Peter to follow him and collapse onto his own springy mattress shortly after, the conversation dropped in favour of a decent sleep. They deserved it after all the hours they’d spent driving that day, and they weren’t even halfway done yet.

“Ready to turn off the lights kid?” Mr Stark asked through a yawn as he climbed under the covers. Unlike Peter who had managed to change into a fresh shirt at least, the poor man had to stay in the clothes he’d left in, though he never complained once.

“Does your shoulder need rebandaging?” Peter mumbled from where his face was pressed into the pillows.

Mr Stark just chuckled, saying “It’s fine. The formula would dissolve during the night anyway, so we’ll patch it up tomorrow.”

“M’kay then,” Peter hummed, about ready to fall asleep the moment the lamp shut off before Mr Stark asked softly “How’s your face feeling?”

“Better,” Peter answered honestly, though he was sure the man must have noticed how quickly the wounds had healed. At first he’d been worried that Mr Stark would ask why that was, but now he was getting more concerned that he hadn’t asked at all.

Taking his word for it as the darkness enveloped them, Mr Stark said simply “Alright kid, sleep well.”

“You too Mr Stark.”

A mused chuckle filled the air, warm and soothing in a way that eased Peter’s mind more than he realised. “You know you can call me Tony right?”

“Yeah, but Mr Stark is more polite.”

“You don’t have to be formal with me kid,” Mr Stark said lightly. “Lord knows I’m anything but formal.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to laugh as he turned his head to the side, peering over at the man in the opposite bed through the shadows of the room. It wasn’t hard to find him though, at least not when Peter caught sight of the glowing blue circle that was cutting through the darkness like an inbuilt night light. He’d noticed the strange contraption when he first tended to the man’s shoulder what felt like a lifetime ago, but he’d forgotten to ask about it in the midst of all his other questions about New York and chemical formulas.

“Mr Stark?” Peter called softly, earning an inquisitive hum in reply.

“What’s… um, what’s that thing in your chest?” he asked after a moment of deliberation. Was that rude to ask? What if it was health related, or something personal that he didn’t want to talk about? Damnit, he should have just shut up and not said any-

“I was wondering when you’d ask me that,” Mr Stark said, the hints of a smile playing at his voice.

Immediately Peter relaxed again, sensing the storm cloud of dread that had been lingering in his chest begin to ebb away. Mr Stark’s presence had a way of soothing him like that.

“It’s called an Arc Reactor,” the man began to explain as he tapped the circle of light through his shirt. “I can give you a proper run down of how it works tomorrow, but put simply it’s a power source that generates over three gigajoules a second.”

“Holy shit…” Peter whispered with renewed awe. “That- that’s incredible! What does it power?”

“An electromagnet that sits just behind the reactor.”

“Oh? What’s that for?”

The only reply was silence, and Peter felt his confidence dwindle the longer it dragged on. ‘What did you say wrong this time?’ whispered the incessant voice in the back of his mind, always waiting for him to screw up. Like always his first instinct was to apologise, but just as he was readying the words on his tongue, Mr Stark broke the silence with a swift, forced cough.

“I made some bad decisions a while ago…” he began with what one might assume was nonchalance, but Peter had spent enough time with the man to know there was a hollowness to it as well. “Before my company made green energy tech, we used to make weapons. Guns, vehicles, missiles, you name it.”

Sensing Mr Stark’s hesitation, Peter asked softly “What changed?”

“Well, during a demonstration in Afghanistan, I got my own weapons turned against me,” he answered with a stilted sort of humour. “And I realised it wasn’t so much fun to be on the receiving end of one of them…”

Before Peter could even begin to understand the ramifications of that statement, Mr Stark tapped the glass casing of his arc reactor again and added bluntly “My own missile blew up in front of me. Sent a handful of shrapnel right into my chest, heading straight for my heart.”

“Oh gosh, that… that’s awful Mr Stark…” Peter said with wide, mournful eyes.

Even through the darkness Peter could see the man shrug, desperately trying to brush it off. “Was my own fault really,” he replied, though Peter doubted that was entirely true. “After getting this handy little magnet to keep the shrapnel at bay, I kicked myself back into gear. Shut down the weapons manufacturing, shifted to clean energy… I wanted to make something that my-” Mr Stark’s voice cut off suddenly with a reluctance that Peter couldn’t quite understand, before saying with a tense undertone “I wanted to make something that I could be proud of. Something good, instead of just stuff that blew up.”

Offering a weak smile even though the man couldn’t see it, Peter assured “Sounds like you did a pretty good job of turning it all around.”

“I suppose... There’s always room for improvement though, isn’t there?” Mr Stark sighed.

“Spoken like a true scientist,” Peter simply laughed, relieved when the man chuckled alongside him.

And despite learning about such a dark, painful memory of Mr Stark’s past, Peter actually felt lighter for speaking to him. At ease again, unlike he had felt in that bathroom only minutes ago, drowning under his own guilt and longing. Something about knowing that Mr Stark had suffered through such an enormous challenge and ended up victorious made him feel hopeful for his own future. Yes, there was still doubt, and even that underlying dread when he remembered what would happen if Beck went through with his promises.

But for now those thoughts were nothing but a whisper in the back of his mind, forgotten amidst the swell of fondness and compassion he felt for Mr Stark. This stranger who seemed to understand him like no one else ever had.

“I know this probably won’t make you feel any better Mr Stark,” Peter murmured into the darkness. “But I think your arc reactor is pretty cool.”

A warm chuckle rumbled into the air and cast away the last of Peter’s lingering fears.

“Thanks kid. That does make me feel a lot better actually.”

And with a last little smile and exhausted breath of relief, Peter fell into a deep slumber, feeling safer than he had in many, many years.

…

Due to his usual, ingrained routine, Peter was the first to awake as the sun crawled over the horizon. It was a beautiful sunrise to say the least, and the teen made sure to get as many pictures as possible through the dusty windowpane of their motel room. The large stretch of desert didn’t have quite the same effect as the golden grass and evergreen forest of his home, but the way the sun painted the very ground with streaks of red and orange was a sight to behold all in itself. Peter was just grateful he got to witness it; another benefit of being an early bird, he figured.

A benefit that Mr Stark clearly seemed to disagree with as he laid stone-cold unconscious in his bed, the only sign that he was still alive being the occasional rumbling snores that slipped through.

Peter simply stifled a laugh and took a picture of the man with his hair ruffled up into a bird’s nest and his face buried halfway into the mattress, adding it to his collection of most-entertaining-faces-made-by-Mr-Stark. Something told Peter that the man wouldn’t find it quite as entertaining as he did, but it was amusing nonetheless.

So, needing to burn some time until his friend awoke, Peter explored the confines of their room and eventually settled on activating the television when he got bored of everything else. Honestly, there wasn’t much to look at anyway besides some tacky motel art and whatever mould was currently breeding in the old, clawfoot bathtub. He’d been hesitant to reach for the TV remote at first, worried that the sound might wake up Mr Stark -which was a big mistake if he were anything like Beck in the morning-, but he remained blissfully lost in slumber even as Peter began flicking through the channels.

When the teen found nothing worth watching, he left it on the news channel for background noise and dragged his backpack over to organise it once again. It was probably important to check how much money was left for their journey, though he had a dreadful feeling that there wouldn’t be many notes left to count. There was only so much you could save through the occasional bits of cash slipped into birthday or Christmas cards after all.

But as Peter was laying out his few belongings on the bed, his attention was quickly snatched by the latest report on the TV, eyes growing wide as he recognised the familiar face across the screen. The very same face that was now pressed into the mattress barely a foot away from him.

Peter glanced between the television and Mr Stark at least three times before he confirmed that yes, he wasn’t going insane. That really was the same man whose face was now plastered over the television and was being discussed by a panel of morning news hosts like they normally reserved for celebrities or royalty even. Within a heartbeat Peter snatched up the remote and raised the volume again, stepping closer towards the screen until he was almost leaning into it with a stupidly awestruck expression.

Avenger Tony Stark reportedly MISSING in action, read the scrolling headline below, but despite the grim sentence, Peter was unphased knowing that said missing man was in fact resting peacefully behind him. So instead of feeling panic, Peter felt his chest tighten in excitement as footage too incredible to even comprehend began flashing across his vision. 

Grandiose images of Mr Stark in a three-piece suit on what looked to be a red carpet. Shaky camera footage of what could only be described as aliens falling from the sky, the caption reading Attack of New York - 2012. And finally, a figure of red and gold. Metal and flight. Strength and protection.

A suit of armour piloted by a familiar face that the news reporters simply referred to as Iron Man.

“Whoa…” Peter whispered, unable to hold back his astonishment as a montage began to play of Mr Stark both in and outside of the incredible suit, jetting across the skyline or blasting aliens to pieces or flashing a cocky grin at a reporter’s camera. He moved and talked and acted so different in every video that Peter almost began to wonder if he was thinking of the wrong person, or at the very least had found a doppelganger of some sort.

But despite the insanity of it all, everything checked out. Same name, same face, same eyes. And both billionaires supposedly which -Peter had to admit- he had still been pretty sceptical about up until this very moment.

As the report continued, Peter blindly fumbled around for his camera just in time to capture a photograph of Mr Stark’s amazingly crafted suit, the arc reactor that he had fallen asleep to the sight of just the night before now fully on display in the centre of his armoured chest. At this point the teen was so busy just absorbing the images on the screen that he wasn’t even paying attention to what the reporters were saying or the original subject of the report. Something about Mr Stark’s wellbeing and an anniversary of some kind… Peter wasn’t really listening.

But then just as the hosts were about to segue into a different report, the sound of creaking metal springs had Peter spinning around in a flash, muscles pent up with barely contained excitement as the man -the billionaire, the hero- finally stirred from slumber. Mr Stark had barely even cracked open his eyes before Peter was knelt at his bedside, startling the poor man and sending his heartrate spiking almost comically as he registered the teenager staring right into his very soul. Before he had a chance to voice his confusion however, Peter was holding the camera up with the screen facing outward, leaving the half-blurry image of a gold and crimson suit on full display as Tony blinked at the photograph in shock.

“You’re a superhero,” Peter breathed in awe, lips gradually tilting into an elated grin. “Like… a real superhero!”

Expression softening ever so slightly, Mr Stark scratched the back of his neck and replied sheepishly “Guess I forgot to tell you about that part, huh?”

“Um, you think?!” Peter practically burst out in a strange combination of frustration and adoration, jumping to his feet and pacing the length of the cramped motel room as he began rambling at a thousand miles a minute. “This is incredible! You’re a real freaking superhero- right in front of my very eyes! You can fly, and shoot light out of your hands, and holy crap, that- that explains why you were all beat up when I found you! You were probably on some secret hero mission and then- oh my god, I saved a superhero’s life! That’s so damn cool! I- I just… I don’t even know what to say!”

Spinning on his heel to face the man who was still rubbing sleep out of his squinted eyes, Peter asked breathlessly, “Why… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

With a hint of amusement flashing across his features, Mr Stark simply shrugged and replied, “You never asked.”

“Mr Stark,” Peter said exasperatedly, which was supposedly the reaction the billionaire was looking for as he let out a sharp chuckle in response.

But despite the initial irritation, Peter was quickly overcome by a familiar wave of fondness as he watched Tony’s eyes shimmer brightly in the morning sun, so full of life and experience and inspiration. And drawn to his calming presence like a moth drawn to a flame, Peter sat down at the end of Mr Stark’s bed with the camera still clutched carefully between his hands and asked lightly, “Is it too late to ask now?”

Meeting Peter’s curious gaze with a genuine smile of his own, Tony leant back against the headboard and replied “Never kid. Ask away.”

…

Unlike their first morning of travel which had been strained and weighed down with dread, the next day was overflowing with excited chatter and seemingly endless questions. The air was buzzing with electricity as Peter and Tony went back and forth about- well, everything. What New York was like in its entirety, the attacks from extra-terrestrial life, the threats from humankind, and maybe most mind-blowing of all; the nature behind Mr Stark’s true profession. Not a genius, billionaire, philanthropist -though he was still certainly all of those-, but a superhero.

Iron Man.

Whether Peter was the passenger or the driver, the questions never ceased. Any answer that Mr Stark seemed to give him only opened up three more lines of thought, but despite the nagging urge to just shut his mouth and not annoy the man with his rambling, Peter continued to ask. And even better, Mr Stark was happy to listen. After three years of hearing nothing of the outside world -and however many years before that of being sheltered away from it in his remote little town-, Peter was finally starting to understand that reality- that life was far larger than he ever could have imagined. From the extraordinary down on Earth, to the unbelievable up in space. It reached further than the stars themselves, and as frightening as that sounded, it was also incredibly beautiful.

Just like he had soaked in the sights on the first day of their journey, Peter now held onto every word and syllable that came out of Mr Stark’s mouth, desperate to understand the world that had been out of his reach for so long. At first Mr Stark seemed unsure with what to say; careful in his tone but gentle in his delivery. Peter figured he probably didn’t want to overwhelm him with so much information at once, but once it became obvious that the boy was trembling with excitement not fear, Mr Stark eased up and began spouting stories at the same speed the Peter was asking questions. A feat that Peter would’ve thought impossible if not for the hours that sped by with their easy chatter, the conversation flowing back and forth as if they could read each other’s minds before they’d even spoken.

But as much as the talk of aliens and armoured suits made the drive go quicker, it also made them forget about other important things. Things like Peter’s rapidly dwindling money supply from all the fuel they needed, and the fact that said fuel was practically sitting on empty as they travelled down yet another barren backroad later that afternoon.

“Mr Stark? The fuel light just went off,” Peter pointed out hesitantly as he flicked his eyes back up to the road.

The man had just been in the middle of explaining the story behind Captain America when he turned his attention to the dashboard, finger tapping restlessly against his knee in what Peter realised was anxiety as he asked the boy “How much money was left after last time?”

“Not enough,” Peter grimaced. “Maybe ten bucks if we’re lucky.”

“Shit…” Mr Stark murmured and turned to stare out the passenger window with a thoughtful furrow in his brow. “I should’ve been more careful…”

“Sorry Mr Stark,” Peter said softly, thinking back to the double serve of pancakes that he’d bought that morning to soothe his ravenous hunger.

But with a quick shake of his head and a sympathetic smile, Mr Stark replied “Don’t be. I should have been more strategic about the fuel use, really. We’ll just get to the closest town and figure out our next step from there.”

After a moment of hesitation, Peter nodded, and they continued down the roads with an unspoken tension in the air. Sure, Mr Stark continued his earlier story about thawing the super solider out of the ice, but their gazes kept flickering back to the dashboard against their will, watching the dial drop lower and lower with a brewing dread in their stomachs. Or maybe that was just Peter’s hunger striking back for round two if the muffled grumbling in his abdomen was any indication.

Stupid spider metabolism, Peter internally cursed.

There was a bigger problem at hand though, that being whether a town would finally appear in the deserted landscape they roamed, or if the tank would hit empty before that could happen. A race against time. One that Peter wasn’t so sure they would be able to get out of if they lost.

But then, just as Peter began feel the engine stutter with unease, a miracle sent down from the heavens appeared on the horizon. 

“A town?” Peter asked with barely contained hope as the building came closer into view.

“A roadhouse,” Mr Stark answered quickly. “Should have fuel for us and the car though, which is just what we need.”

The thought of food sent an ache through his stomach, but feeling his excitement dwindle, Peter asked “Will we have enough money?”

A beat of silence filled the air, which wasn’t a great sign from the man who loved to speak.

“I’ll figure something out,” he eventually replied, doing little to soothe Peter’s worries.

But it wasn’t like there was any other option either. If they didn’t stop here, they’d probably break down in the middle of nowhere anyway. At least here they could rest for a while and reorganise their plan, maybe get some food if they were lucky.

And as if to confirm the decision, Peter’s stomach let out a loud protest, one that had his cheeks burning bright red as Mr Stark shot him a teasing little smile.

After parking the car and walking up to the creaking wooden steps, Mr Stark and Peter shared an apprehensive glance at the state of the building. The windows were coated with dust and grime, the door had patches nailed in where it had previously been broken, and the scent of alcohol and body odour were like a kick to the senses as Peter naturally recoiled from the repulsive smell. And though he wasn’t enhanced like Peter was, Mr Stark’s lip also twisted at the pungent odour, disgust shimmering clear in his eyes.

“Stay close to me,” Mr Stark instructed after a few more moment of deliberation, his distaste hardening into resolve in the flash of an eye.

Peter didn’t feel quite as confident about the whole situation, but trusting Mr Stark’s judgement -and truthfully having no other option-, Peter gave a sharp nod and followed the man into the beaten down building.

The interior wasn’t much of an improvement from the exterior, and Peter found himself instinctively drawing closer towards Mr Stark when a loud outburst erupted from one of the tables in the far corner of the room. Burly men and women who were downing beer and whiskey at an alarmingly fast rate shouted back and forth with one another over various card games and races getting displayed on the boxy television set, and the floorboards shook with the force that one of the men began slamming his fist on the table as his horse fell behind the others. Though the room itself was quite large with dozens of tables scattered around and a bar set up along the wall, most of the space was taken up by the noisy, drunken crowd it had attracted, hollering in anything from delight to fury without a care in the world.

The overwhelming combination of smells and sounds and sights had Peter’s senses at their limit, and he had to admit he was shamelessly relieved when Mr Stark grabbed his hand and led him through the crowd with an encouraging squeeze of his fingers. It was like an anchor in all the chaos. A moment of quiet he could shelter himself in from the assault of noise in every direction.

Once they pushed through the crowd though Mr Stark turned all of his attention to the scrawny, balding bartender behind the bench, asking the man about the price of a meal and a tank of fuel while Peter hovered just behind his shoulder like a shadow. But instead of listening to the exchange, Peter’s focus was on the many eyes now shifting towards them from across the room. The hushed whispers echoing throughout the clamour and causing people to go silent with shock. And the unsettling tension that began to layer the air, making Peter’s neck tingle with anxiety like a swarm of ants crawling over his skin.

Danger…

The room that had once been bursting with shouts and laughter had now become a void of silence.

Danger.

But their stares, narrowed and suspicious, weren’t trained on him…

Danger!

They were trained on-

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Tony Stark!”

Peter twisted around at the booming voice and cowered when he saw a man stepping out of the crowd with broadened shoulders and a hardened glint in his emerald eyes. Tattoos wound up from his wrists to his neck like a tangle of vines or the swirls of a raging ocean, and the grin stretching across his face was betrayed by the angered clench of his jaw as he set his sights on the pair at the bar. Peter glanced up at Mr Stark with alarm, but despite how suffocatingly tense it had become in the room, the man didn’t turn his attention away from the bartender. Didn’t once acknowledge the crowd that had built behind them. But Peter knew when Mr Stark’s hand brushed against his own, hovering over his arm as if trying to hold him close, that he wasn’t as oblivious as he first appeared.

So forcing his limbs to remain still as the stranger approached, Peter watched on as the tattooed man leant against the edge of the bar right next to Mr Stark and tilted his head almost mockingly. “Finally crawled out of your ivy tower then, huh? Come to mingle with the commoners?”

Mr Stark’s expression remained perfectly neutral, but Peter could hear his heart beat just a little bit faster at the acidic tone.

“We’re just passing through,” he eventually answered, which only lead the stranger to scoff.

“Surprised you didn’t just fly through in that fancy suit of armour of yours.”

“Well sometimes I like a change of scenery,” Mr Stark bit back, finally levelling the stranger’s stare with a confident one of his own.

But with a pleased smile spreading across his face, the stranger leant closer into Mr Stark’s space and replied sharply “Well if you like it so much, I expect you’ll give a generous tip then, huh? Maurice puts a lotta effort into running this joint. It would be rude not to thank him for his services.”

Mr Stark clenched his jaw carefully and angled his body to further shield Peter from the stranger’s scanning eyes, and when Peter noticed the mumbles of agreement rising up from the crowd, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Peter had spent enough time with his father to know an unspoken demand when he heard one, and despite knowing that Mr Stark was wealthy, he’d never thought that people would go so far as to threaten him for that money. They didn’t even know him. Didn’t know that he had protected Peter and guided him every step of the way on their crazy journey together, consulting him every time they had to buy fuel or food and apologising profusely that he couldn’t buy it instead. Didn’t know that Mr Stark had promised to pay him back tenfold when they reached New York, no matter how many times the boy brushed the offer away.

Peter didn’t care about money, at least not in the same way that others seemed to. What was the point of money when you had nowhere to spend it, after all? But now it seemed they had the opposite problem, which was that they needed to spend money -and were essentially getting forced to spend money- that they no longer had. It was a lose-lose situation, one that Peter was certain would end in disaster if Mr Stark and this stranger stood off for much longer.

But if money was the cause, then it could also be the solution. And in a sudden burst of confidence, Peter pushed himself between the two men and asked abruptly “How about a bet?”

The pair -both equally startled by the interruption- could only stare at the boy with confusion as silence reclaimed the room, so quiet that Peter could hear a fly buzzing around in the far corner of the ceiling as clear as day. The only thing louder than that was the rapid pound of his heartbeat in his eardrums, but despite the adrenaline suddenly flooding into his system, Peter held his ground. He kept his stare steady and firm, just like Mr Stark had done, and told himself that he was strong enough to do this. That he could protect Mr Stark for once instead of being protected.

“Kid, let me handle this,” Mr Stark’s rushed whisper broke the silence, reaching out for his arm to try and guide him back.

But the stranger’s attention was fully on Peter now, locked in a staring contest with the unwavering teenager as he asked, “A bet huh? What kind of bet?”

“A challenge. Just me and you,” Peter answered immediately, much to the dismay of the man standing right behind him. “Winner gets a hundred bucks.”

Now that had the man’s eyes lighting up with a grin, and Peter felt his heart thrum faster as Mr Stark gripped his shoulder with barely contained anxiety. He knew as Peter did that they didn’t have that kind of money. They barely even had ten bucks let alone a hundred, but it didn’t matter, because Peter wasn’t going to lose. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” the tattooed man laughed, as did some of his fellow companions in the crowd. “What’s the challenge?”

Peter’s lips tilted up ever so subtly.

“An arm wrestle.”

Everyone joined in the laughter now, all except for Mr Stark whose breathing had ratcheted up in speed as he tugged the boy closer towards him.

“What are you doing?!” he whispered worriedly, his voice almost drowned out by the teasing remarks floating around the entertained audience.

“It’s alright, I’ve got this,” Peter assured.

Mr Stark’s grip didn’t ease up though, and for the first time Peter glanced over and realised just how much concern was carved into his features, a nervousness that he had never witnessed in the man’s brown eyes now flickering like lightning.

So laying his hand over the larger one resting on his shoulder, Peter gave Mr Stark’s fingers an encouraging squeeze and said “Trust me, Mr Stark. I know what I’m doing…”

Mr Stark grimaced, the scepticism clear in his frown.

“Please,” Peter added just as the laughter began to die down, signalling they were running out of time to negotiate.

And searching the teen’s gaze to find nothing but certainty and strength, Mr Stark let out a sigh and reluctantly released his shoulder, an unspoken moment of trust passing between them. That’s what they had been doing since the beginning; trusting each other. It had gotten them this far, and Peter wasn’t about to break that cycle now.

So turning back to his opponent with a carefully composed expression, Peter was ushered towards the nearest table by the many excited patrons and sat across from the hulking tower of a man. To everyone else, the situation seemed obvious. One, a fierce giant of muscle, and the other a scrawny fourteen-year-old boy with the physique of a stick. It was no wonder everyone began putting money on the man they called “Steel” in the spontaneous public bet that Peter could hear spreading across the room.

But even though the adrenaline had fully consumed his system now, Peter didn’t feel worried. No, he felt surprisingly calm. In the past, all he’d had to practice on were mossy boulders and fallen logs in the nearby forest, wondering if there would ever be a day when he could use his strength for good. Finally that day had come, and Peter was ready.

“Good luck,” Peter said with a smile as they both locked their hands together over the table, Steel’s fingers practically engulfing Peter’s own.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need it,” the man smirked, though Peter noticed it lacked the same venom that he had spoken to Mr Stark with. In fact, he almost seemed playful.

So deciding to follow his lead, Peter narrowed his eyes and replied lightly, “Trust me, you will.”

Steel blinked in surprise, before immediately bursting out into a hearty chuckle of his own. While obviously surprised by the banter, he took it with a pleased grin and newfound amusement in his eyes, as if he had finally found an opponent worthy of his attention. But there was no more time for words however as the crowd began to get more and more rowdy around them, Mr Stark pushing through the riled-up audience in order to lay a reassuring hand on the back of Peter’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but the flash of admiration that surfaced amongst the fear in his gaze was the only answer Peter needed.

The teen turned back to his opponent with a shaky smile, but what others mistook as worry was in fact anticipation. “Ready?” he asked and tightened his grip over the man’s hand.

“Set,” Steel answered with an overconfident smirk.

“Go.”

The word had barely left their mouths before Peter released the tension building up in his muscles like a bowstring and slammed Steel’s hand down into the wooden table in the blink of an eye. A heartbeat passed in silence. The crowd was deathly still, and Steel’s eyes that had previously been staring down at their hands in disbelief now flickered up to the boy who had defeated him. Neither spoke as the realisation began to set in. In truth, what else was there to say other than-

“Holy shit…” Mr Stark whispered, voice thick with awe, before planting both hands over Peter’s shoulders and practically shouting “Holy shit! You won!”

The exclamation was enough to draw the audience out of their stunned trance, and just as quickly as the silence had started, it was washed away in favour of the incredulous cries and hollers that echoed across the room. Mr Stark’s voice was amongst the clamour of noise, the excitement clear in his beaming grin as he leant into Peter’s view. He was trying to say something -something like “How?!” or “You did it!”- but it was drowned out under the sea of sound. Peter didn’t need to hear the man’s words to understand the pride shimmering in his eyes though, or the overwhelmingly relieved sag of his shoulders as he squeezed Peter’s arm in congratulations.

And feeling his own confusion begin to thaw into wonder, Peter turned back to his opponent with a victorious grin, knowing that he won. He’d won!

“I’ll take that hundred now,” Peter called over the last shouts of the excited and awestruck crowd.

Steel blinked, physically taken aback by the realisation of his failure, before he shook his head and pulled out his wallet in an almost desperate rush. Instead of throwing out a hundred dollars though like Peter expected, he slammed two hundred-dollar notes onto the bench and demanded, “Double or nothing!”

Peter’s smile brightened and he wasted no time in placing out his hand for a rematch. This time he decided to go slower though, make a show out of it for the many eyes now fixed on them with a scary amount of precision. Including Mr Stark, who watched on in delight instead of concern like he had before. Because even though he trusted the man like no one else, the powers that Peter had been gifted -or cursed- with had always been his secret to keep. The part of himself that no one else could truly know, like the boy that had been locked away for three lonely years alongside it. Best to keep it that way if he could.

So taking his time, Peter pretended to struggle and gave Steel a bit of give every now and then, only to gradually push his hand back down to the table in an agonisingly slow defeat. The crowd was roaring in laughter as they witnessed the seemingly impossible feat, and Steel leant back in his chair with the most puzzled expression on his face. Peter had to admit he felt a little bit guilty for using his hidden advantage against the man, but he also knew it was the only way that he and Mr Stark would be walking out of there without a fight.

The next time that Peter met Steel’s eyes, he found them filled not with shock, but with respect.

“For a twig, you sure are strong.”

“I did try to warn you,” Peter replied, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly as the crowd began cheering for him in triumph.

“You sure did,” Steel chuckled warmly, before turning his head towards the bar and shouting “Hey Maurice! Get some steak for the twig will ya? We’ve gotta get some meat on his bones!”

And just like that, the tension was gone. The anger nothing but a memory that had been replaced by laughter and celebration. Despite winning hundreds of dollars, Steel still paid for Peter and Mr Stark’s meals and took the first seat beside them at the table. Others soon joined to marvel at Peter’s surprising amount of strength and challenge him to an arm wrestle themselves, all of which Peter swiftly won and gained more food and money for in the process. One of his opponents even tried to offer him a beer once, but Mr Stark was quick to shoo them away with a disappointed scowl at the man. Yet another image that had been saved to the most-entertaining-faces-made-by-Mr-Stark collection.

Within the hour, Steel and Mr Stark had gone from almost ripping each other to shreds to barking light-heartedly at one another over a game of Blackjack, and Peter had practically been accepted as a part of the motley crew on the spot. Who knew all you needed to win over the hearts of a rowdy, drunken crowd was a mind-blowing display of strength and an endearing smile?

And when it finally came time for Mr Stark and Peter to hit the road again, Peter was engulfed into a hug by Steel and sent off with a full stomach and equally full tank of fuel in the car. “Come back soon Twig!” he called with a final wave of his hand. Most of the crew could be seen through the cracked windows waving them goodbye as well, and when Mr Stark pulled out of the carpark, Peter took one last photograph of their wide grins and hearty laughter as they disappeared amongst the trees.

…

With the fear of breaking down or starving no longer hanging over their heads, the afternoon passed by in companionable silence and a comforting sense of peace. The radio played soft tunes into the air, and the scarlet rays of light as the sun dipped below the tree line wrapped Peter in a cosy blanket of warmth. It was different to what they were used to, but it was nice too. Gentle. It reminded Peter of the mornings he would sit out on his roof and soak in the sunrise, enjoying the moment of serenity. The quietness of nature.

And after three years of never having enough food, Peter’s ravenous hunger had finally been put to rest, and with it, his former flood of energy. Even now he could feel his eyelids growing heavy, the thud of Mr Stark’s heart in the driver’s seat ready to lull him to sleep…

“So, superpowers huh?”

Peter’s eyes snapped open in a flash, and his once relaxed muscles now coiled around his bones like snakes. “W-What?” he stammered as he fixed the man with a panicked glance.

Seemingly unperturbed by the hitch in Peter’s voice however, Mr Stark just replied lightly “Your powers I mean. I assume you have more than one?”

Peter blinked once, completely paralysed by his shock like a deer caught in headlights, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a drum.

“Not that I’m putting the super strength down or anything,” Mr Stark assured as he lifted his hand in up a casual shrug. “But I just had a hunch, you know? Thought you might have some more tricks up your sleeve like you pulled back at the roadhouse.”

“I… I didn’t…” Peter’s voice caught in his throat, unsure how to spin a lie that could possible explain how he’d defeated a fully grown adult in an arm-wrestling match with no assistance. At the time he’d been able to shrug it away with jokes and teasing, but now Mr Stark -who was surely the smartest person Peter had ever met- was searching for answers. Answers that Peter couldn’t give without sacrificing his biggest secret of all.

But judging by the pointed look Mr Stark sent over his shoulder, Peter got the sense that he already knew.

But how… how did he…?

“I live in a tower full of super soldiers, kid,” Mr Stark answered his unspoken question, lips tilted up into a kind smile. “Let’s just say I know an enhanced individual when I see one.”

A lump had appeared in Peter’s throat, and he felt his stomach churn with dread. He’d never prepared for a moment like this. Never even dreamed of someone discovering his powers, let alone someone like Mr Stark. Maybe once or twice he considered telling his father, but he’d always backed out at the last second with a foreboding tingling running across the back of his arms. A warning, he later realised. One he didn’t intend to ignore.

And so, dismayed and uncertain, Peter said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m sorry…”

Mr Stark’s brows furrowed but he didn’t take his eyes off the road ahead. “What for?”

“The- the powers, I didn’t mean… I was just trying to…to… ” Peter cut himself off, unsure what he was truly apologising for at this point. Was he sorry for not telling him sooner? Was he sorry for using his powers to cheat Steel out of money? Was he sorry for forging that signature and getting on a bus to see the Oscorp display all those years ago? Peter wasn’t sure out of his hundreds of regrets where to start first.

But before his thoughts could spiral too much further, Mr Stark’s voice cut in like a sword and soothed “Hey, hey, don’t be sorry Pete. There’s nothing to apologise for, alright?”

“You’re… you’re not mad?” Peter asked hesitantly.

“Of course not,” Mr Stark assured, fondness now melting into his former worry as he said “You have powers, nothing wrong with that. I know plenty of people just like you. The abnormal is essentially my normal these days.”

He finished the statement with a chuckle, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to join in. The dread still sat too heavy in his stomach, the panic still coursing through his veins despite his senses remaining calm. All day Mr Stark had told him story after story about the super soldiers and enhanced heroes who worked alongside him as Iron Man, but that knowledge seemed weightless compared to the fear that Peter had harboured over all these years. The fear of someone knowing about his powers, and the shame of remembering how he got them.

“It… it was an accident,” Peter found himself murmuring as he stared down at his clasped hands nervously.

Out of the corner of his eye Peter could see Mr Stark glance over at him with a sympathetic expression; not pitying nor consoling, simply understanding. “Wanna tell me about it?” he asked, the offer as gentle as his voice.

At first Peter paused, glancing out the window towards the quickly diminishing sunset as he clenched his jaw in thought. For years Peter had tried to forget the events leading up to his powers, and especially the ones that had proceeded them. He shoved those memories deep down, because if he didn’t, he’d think about how things could have been different. He’d think about the school he never got to return to, or the library he could no longer hunker down in with a pile of books by his side. He’d think about what life might have been like if Beck had never found out, or if he’d never been bitten at all. The years of schooling and friendships and exploring the world he might have gotten if he hadn’t had gone on that stupid field trip.

There was so much to regret, so much to envy from the life he’d missed out on.

But there was also a sense of comfort with Mr Stark that Peter had never experienced with anyone else before. He listened to Peter’s every word, answered every question he threw at the man. Never once had he snapped or shouted or laid a hand on him with the intention to harm. No, Mr Stark was gentle, and he was patience, and he was caring. For some strange reason, he wanted to know about Peter just as much as Peter wanted to know about him. A concept that seemed entirely foreign to the boy who’d fought so hard for his father’s affection most of his life.

So here, in this moment, Peter turned back to Mr Stark and found comfort in his alert but patient eyes. Ready to listen if he was willing to talk, though never pressuring him to do so. It was yet another thing that Peter admired about the man so much.

And feeling nothing but safety in his presence, Peter stilled his nerves and drew in a deep breath, ready to tell the story that had been locked within him for so long.

“A couple of years ago… back when I still went to school, my class got invited to a fieldtrip,” Peter spoke softly, feeling like his every word were thunder in the quiet of the car. “Oscorp was running an exhibition in one of the neighbouring towns to draw in the rural crowd, showcasing their newest developments in chemistry and bio-engineering. Events that big rarely happened anywhere near our town, so… it was a pretty special opportunity.”

Mr Stark nodded in understanding, though his grip had tightened over the steering wheel slightly at the mention of Oscorp.

“My dad would’ve never let me go, I knew that…” Peter continued as he fingers began to twitch anxiously. “So I… I-I forged his signature on the permission slip and handed it in, thinking it was only for a day. I’d be back before he knew it, and then it would be okay…”

Both Peter and Mr Stark tensed up this time, one at the memory and the other in dread of what was to come.

“Everything was going great at the beginning. Nobody suspected a thing, and I got to see a lot of amazing exhibits throughout the day.” The brief flash of fondness that swelled up in Peter’s chest was struck down by the bitterness that soon followed, saying sharply “But there was one exhibit near the end about spiders- well, spider silk to be exactly. They had crossed the genes of multiple spiders to create some kind of super spider… I don’t know, it’s all a bit blurry. All I remember is that it got out of its cage without anyone realising, and the next thing I know, my arm’s in pain and I start to feel sick.”

Mr Stark’s eyes widen a fraction in concern, but he remained silent nonetheless.

“I tried to get through the day, I really tried… but I threw up on the bus ride back to town, and my teacher… she…” The words clogged up again in Peter’s throat as his chest began to tighten, but he pushed onward, determined to finish the story now that he had started. “I begged her not to, but s-she called my dad anyway… told him that I got- that I got food poisoning on the field trip… it didn’t take him long after that to realise that- that I’d lied…”

Peter’s voice trailed away into silence as he pressed the back of his hand against his quivering mouth, terrified his voice might break if he weren’t careful. But after a few passing moments of suffocating tension, Mr Stark spoke for the first time since Peter began his story and asked ever so gently “What did he do, when he found out…?”

Feeling a familiar sting in his eyes from the rapidly forming tears, Peter gritted his teeth and replied shortly “Yelled for a bit… p-pushed me into the wall and, uh… hit me for… for you know, l-lying to him…”

“Oh kid…”

Peter ignored the sorrowful whisper in favour of pushing through his own hesitation, his arms subconsciously coiling around his torso as he murmured shakily “T-Then he said I… I w-wouldn’t ever be allowed to le- to leave the house again… and I didn’t… not- not until now anyway…”

“Christ…” Mr Stark breathed out, his expression incredibly pained. “I’m so sorry kid, that’s… that’s awful…”

Knowing that Mr Stark wouldn’t accept the truth which was that it was his own fault anyway -because it was his fault, right?-, Peter drew in a breath to steady himself and finish the story that had built up in his throat, ready to finally be spoken. “I was sick for- for the whole day after, but, the next morning… I woke up like this… strong, and- and quick and sticky, like a spider. And my senses-“ Peter pressed his hand over his eyes and brushed away the last of the tears. “-It’s like they were dialled up to eleven… there was so much to take in, so much more information to process.”

“How’d you handle that?” Mr Stark asked, his voice noticeably quieter than before.

“Practice,” Peter answered plainly. “I got used to it all in time. I had plenty of it, after all…”

A deep sigh left Mr Stark’s mouth as the two fell into silence, the last rays of sunlight slipping past the horizon. Suddenly Peter felt cold, and it had nothing to do with his lack of thermoregulation, which was a less desired effect from the spider bite. At first the boy wondered if this was how the story would end, in a cavernous silence.

But like always, Mr Stark’s voice returned, as strong and as soothing as the moment he bandaged his hands in the kitchen on that first night.

“I know this might be hard to understand right now Peter, but I want you to know that what he did to you was wrong,” Mr Stark spoke evenly, a flash of fury getting concealed behind the sorrow in his eyes. “It was wrong of him to hurt you, and it was wrong to lock you away like that. It’s not just wrong- it’s a crime. And no kid -especially you Pete- should ever have had to suffer through that.”

It was the same message Mr Stark had given him before, but this time, it seemed to hit harder. Made all those painful memories of fists to his face and boots to his stomach resurface in a new light. One that almost seemed to hurt more, because if there hadn’t been a real reason for the punishment- if the punishment had been wrong in the first place, then what was the point of it all? What had all the pain been for in the end?

“You told me… that a parent should never hit their child,” Peter recited wearily, turning to stare up at the man he trusted with his life as he asked, “If that’s not what a father is meant to do… then what is?”

While saddened by the question, Mr Stark’s eyes were alight with something new as he explained softly “Fathers… they protect their child. They keep them safe, keep them well. They walk their child through life, all the ups and downs… and when the time comes, they let go, and become a safe place their child can turn to for the rest of their life.”

For a moment Peter thought about Beck, about the tension he felt whenever in his presence- the terror of making the wrong move, and realised he never would have turned to him for safety. Familiarity maybe, but rarely safety.

“A father should love their kid,” Mr Stark pressed on, his voice growing sombre. “No matter what they do… no matter what they say. Even if they disagree, or even if they’re apart… you never stop loving them…”

Realising that the man’s eyes had gone glassy with tears, Peter offered him a concerned glance, and wondered for the first time since meeting the man if he had any children of his own. He wouldn’t have been surprised really; Mr Stark seemed like he would have made a great parent. But he’d also never mentioned any family members in all their talks before… Maybe Peter would have to ask next time the opportunity arose.

“Will my dad get in trouble? For… for hitting me?” the boy asked as he remembered Mr Stark’s earlier words.

The frown that overcast Mr Stark’s expression seemed to say yes, but before Peter could even think about feeling guilty over it, the man assured “He’s committed a crime by abusing you and locking you away on that farm Pete. Whatever happens to him, he brought it on himself.”

Peter paused for a moment, his jaw tightening, before he murmured “And what… what happens to me…?”

For once Mr Stark’s expression seems to brighten, hope and relief swirling in his gaze as he replied “I’m going to get you to a better home, alright? One with parents that take care of you and protect you and give you everything you could ever need. A good home with good people.”

Considering the nicest person Peter had ever met was sitting right beside him, he asked without a second thought “Like you?”

Mr Stark’s heart audibly skipped a beat.

For a moment Peter worried he’d said something wrong, but then Mr Stark cleared his throat, and the shock that had been etched into his every feature was masked behind a bittersweet smile. “Even better,” he assured, though Peter doubted that was possible. After all, who could be better than Mr Stark? The man who had protected, guided and cared for him from the moment they first met? If that wasn’t a good person, then Peter didn’t know what was.

But sensing that was a battle he wasn’t likely to win, Peter didn’t argue, and instead focused on the fact that he might be losing his father after all of this was over. That he would not only lose the only family he knew, but would be given to a new one filled with people he’d never even met before.

Just like everything else that had been happening over the past two days, it was a lot to process. And just like every time Peter got overwhelmed over the past two days, Mr Stark was quick to ease his mind.

“I know there’s a lot to take in and it all seems kind of frightening Pete, but it’s going to be okay,” the man vowed with that familiar steady confidence. “No matter what happens next, you’re going to be safe. I promise.”

This time, Peter didn’t hesitate to smile.

“I know.”

Because I already feel safe with you…

…

It was nearly three in the morning when they finally parked the car in a quiet little outlook just off the main road, the relentless hours of travel combined with the exciting events of the day finally catching up on the two. Peter had taken a few naps here and there along the way, but with Tony needing to supervise the boy whenever he took the wheel, the man never got a wink of sleep. It took a lot of tired debating but Peter finally managed to convince the man to pull over and just sleep the night away. They both were in desperate need of some shut eye, and even though New York city was edging closer and closer to their reach, Peter knew it would be unwise to keep travelling in this state.

And so with the next town at least an hour’s drive away, the two settled on hunkering down in the car for the night and continuing their journey in the morning. It was cramped and the constant sitting made their limbs stiff, but Peter was too tired to care, and Mr Stark insisted that he had slept in worse conditions.

But while the man had fallen into a deep slumber within the first five minutes, Peter had found himself staring out the windscreen in a trance, lost to the sea of stars that shimmered against the inky black sky. He’d seen them a hundred times before. From his rooftop, and the desert, and now the lush green forest they sat in barely three hours away from the city he’d dreamt of since childhood.

Maybe more frequently though he’d seen them in a different world. A world of nothing but stars, and wonders, and hope. Of serenity and beauty and stillness…

But while their light had once been a marvel, and their silence a relief, Peter realised that he craved so much more than the emptiness of the stars now. He longed for the thrill of adventure, and the joy of capturing a moment in time. Of the laughter of friends and the adrenaline of competition, not fear. He longed to listen and to be listened to, and he had found it not up there in the abyss of his mind, but right here on earth.

Right here with Mr Stark.

So maybe instead of falling back into that lonely world to find a shred of beauty in the darkness, he would stay here -in this moment- and enjoy the beauty all around him, with the one who had given him the world again.