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Tony knows how unique he is, how even after generations of breeding foxes for higher intelligence Tony's is unmatched, so he's pretty surprised when his family adopts another kit.
It's during the height of summer of Tony's 4th year. The kit is a springling, already gingered but only just starting to stretch out, and very clumsy on his overgrown paws. He must also be very clever, or he wouldn't be here.
He's certainly canny enough to show the proper deference towards Tony the first time they meet.
Tony himself is a little unsure, his instincts telling him that another male fox, even a kit, is an interloper on his territory, but Tony prides himself on being able to transcend his instincts, so he decides to reserve judgment.
The first time they see each other, they're in separate cages in the Stark garden, far from Tony's den (so he'll feel less hostile, he assumes). Tony's coaxed inside his enclosure first, with a few choice bits of chicken rolled in crushed walnuts. Really, he condescends to go inside because he knows what's about to happen - he overheard Howard and Maria talking the previous day.
Just as the last of the chicken disappears and Tony's about to start getting bored, one of the gardeners turns the corner, hefting another cage that smells of a half-nervous, all-excited kit. Tony rises but doesn't prick up his ears or give any other over sign of attention. Better not make the kit's head swell so soon.
The gardener sets the second cage so that it's lined up with Tony's and backs away. The kit's in the far corner, his large brown eyes peering at Tony like he's never seen anything like him. He might not have - Tony's a silver fox, and the breeding facility for his kind is separate for the one for plain red American foxes like the kit.
Tony magnanimously allows the little tyke to gawk at him, throwing a glance the kit's way too, and is about to leisurely approach the other cage so he can finally sniff the little one. Except apparently, Tony's behavior so far is enough to reassure the kit he isn't hostile, so the kit bursts into motion.
He lets out a high whine, friendly and submissive, and darts forward halfway across the cage, keeping his body low, his bushy tail sweeping back and forth on the ground. Then he scuttles back, resting there only a moment, and darts forward once more, slightly closer.
Well, this behavior is probably too presumptuous, but friendly and respectful enough, and Tony doesn't actually feel angry or suspicious of the kit now he sees him. So he brings the tip of his nose to the metal grating, and huffs once encouragingly.
The kit practically crawls close, the whine switching to high playful gekkering, and despite himself Tony feels completely mollified by how eager the kit is to please and be accepted.
Still, the niceties must be observed. Tony sniffs the kit's muzzle, almost ceremoniously. The smell isn't unpleasant, so he brushes his nose and mouth across the kit's fur. The kit pisses himself with excitement, which Tony finds undignified but also has to admit is a perfectly normal vulpine reaction. The urine doesn't smell offensive either.
"Welcome to my beat, kit," Tony tells the kit, now that the preliminaries have been dealt with. "I'm Tony."
"I know! I mean, thank you, I really appreciate the chance you're giving me! I'm Peter! And I know you're Tony Stark, you’re so… , I've been hearing about you since before my eyes opened, Mr. Stark, this is amazing!" says the kit, Peter, managing to clumsily sneak an answering sniff at Tony's pelt at the chest, somehow acting both giddily bold by sniffing at all so soon, and respectfully deferential by not trying to reach closer to Tony's neck and face. They're not there yet.
Meanwhile, Peter continues to talk at Tony.
"Is it true you have your own set-up for experiments here? Not just a room with testing equipment and toys, but a real workshop? Can I see it? Maybe not right away, but soon? Maybe after a snack? Will there be a snack soon? Not that I'm suggesting you should share your hoards with me, sir! I would never ask that, I just mean, a snack from the humans? Mr. Stark?"
On impulse, Tony nudges the little orange head with his muzzle again so that the little ball of nerves would finally take a breath. With that it's fully decided Peter is accepted.
The humans must notice that's the case too, because Howard and Maria laugh, the gardener steps forward to set them free, and Tony sets off showing Peter around.
* * *
Mentorly as he feels, Tony wouldn't have allowed a new fox in his den, so it's fortunate that Howard and Maria have another one installed for Peter nearby. Peter's is nearly as big as Tony's, anticipating his growth, and similarly comfortable. Three wooden boxes to rest in, one raised on legs and reachable by a ramp, and each supplied with a comfortable dog bed (Tony's - red and gold, Peter’s - blue and red). There are also a chest full of dust and sand for hygienic purposes, feeding bowls fixed to the wooden floor , and also poles to gnaw at. Peter's den even has toys strewn about, because he's young and might need the extra comfort. In short, the two dens contain everything a fox needs, so that he could focus on intellectual pursuits without any material distractions.
And the kit doesn't disappoint on that front. Peter is very clever, inquisitive and eager to learn. They spend whole nights, and often, parts of the day, in Tony's workshop and play rooms, experimenting together with buoyancy, light refraction and similar other simpler tasks, until Tony deems Peter ready for the specially designed for foxes electronic machines the humans provided.
In between, Tony teaches Peter other things. Some subtleties about associating with humans and about fox behavior in the open, because Peter's only ever been kept indoors before. How long to leave hoarded food buried before it's at the optimum softness for eating, for example. How to dig structurally sound tunnels, for another. Peter never had the opportunity for any of that, and Tony feels obliged to teach him. True, so far Peter doesn't show the aptitude for engineering Tony does, but he's a talented and enthusiastic digger anyway so that the 'anthonopolis' Tony built under much of the Stark garden is quickly expanded even further.
Unfortunately, Peter is smart enough to cotton on to things Tony would prefer to keep for down the line. Peter quickly realizes that Tony's pulled the nails off a plank in his den and dug a discrete tunnel underneath so he can come and go even when the humans lock the den, so of course the little blighter does the same and starts patrolling the territory at night just like Tony is.
"But Mr. Stark, what if a- a cat trespasses while the humans are asleep?" asks the little manipulator with his ears glued to his head and his large eyes pleadingly turned on Tony.
"I’ll deal with it alone like I've done before," Tony explains for the 10th time, trying to be patient.
"But what if it's something bigger, and you need backup?" Peter doesn't give up.
"Then I'll manage, with or without the back-up of a fourteen-week-old kit."
"Fifteen," Peter mumbles.
"I'm not risking you getting into a fight until you're older. You're not as ready as you imagine even for cats, let alone other foes. An owl could take you over the wall easily, and then tear into you before I'm able to rescue you," reasons Tony, but he's pretty sure his warnings enter one black-tipped ear and fly out of the other.
"But what if I don't engage, but just run to you if I come across anything dangerous? We could cover the territory much more efficiently that way."
And so it goes. Peter sneaks out patrolling so often that Tony is forced to let the kit join him on his rounds, just so he can keep an eye on him.
A mentor’s work is never done, it seems.
* * *
One afternoon Tony awakens from a deep sleep by a clumsy body trying to scratch its way into Tony's box. The space is comfortably roomy for one adult fox and manageable for one adult fox and a fox getting there, but Tony didn't invite Peter here and this is finally too much.
He snaps at Peter, who yelps and wriggles away from Tony's jaws with the slipperiness of a ferret. Tony might not be quite as quick, but he has experience on his side, and he also has an iron bite that so far Peter's only heard about. Tony's mouth closes around the back of Peter's neck and shakes him, and the yelps turn into helpless, shocked whimpers. Of course Tony doesn’t really hurt him or draw blood, but even the threat of the pressure of teeth is enough to subdue Peter momentarily.
Tony lets go but gekkers warningly so that Peter doesn't even think about bolting, and Peter gets the hint and makes himself small in front of Tony. At the same time though, he's somehow... defiant. Or perhaps indignant. Like he can't believe Tony was so rough with him. Tony must have spoiled him way more than he realized if Peter isn't aware how much he overstepped.
"I didn't give you permission to be in my den in the middle of the day," Tony lays it out coldly.
Peter's ears twitch, but he can be stubborn when he wants to.
"You enter my den all the time!" he objects.
"Not without invitation. And I don't try to ambush you while you're sleeping."
Peter suddenly becomes more embarrassed than shocked.
"I- I wasn't trying to ambush you. I just wanted to be close for a while, without disturbing you. I was just going to lie in the corner, you wouldn’t have even noticed me."
"Really? That was the plan? So you lumbered in like a bulldog. Stealth mode ring a bell?"
They trained for stealth only two days ago.
Peter doesn't justify himself, he only silently reorients his paws towards the round hole that constitutes the exit.
"I'm sorry I sneaked in," he says stiffly, not looking at Tony. "I'll leave you to your rest."
Tony blocks the exit with his body.
Peter stares at him, surprised and maybe even a little scared. No wonder, his neck must still sting from Tony's teeth. Tony feels a pang of regret over the extremeness of his reaction, though he knows Peter was out of line and that he has to learn manners if they are to coexist once Peter is fully grown.
"Why did you want to sleep near me?" Tony asks.
Peter is stubbornly silent.
"Kit?" says Tony softly, though Peter is really not a kit any more. It's become a sort of an endearment for them though, and even now Peter responds to it.
He uncurls a little, and replies in an even smaller voice. "I had a dream about my aunt."
Tony tilts his head inquisitively. Peter spoke of everything to do with his past life - his fox friends and the humans at the facility where he grew up, the pug dog that used to share her treats with him, and the frogs he used to race. Never an aunt.
"I don't even remember my mom. She was already sold, and her owner gave her on loan to the center for a litter. As soon as she had us, he took her back. But we were too little, so we got separated and added to the families of other recently birthing vixens. I got put with Aunt May. She wasn't even a center fox, but a rescue. She'd lost all her kits and her mate, and she was really depressed, but she took me as her own from the start. She told me about life in the city, about the cars and the garbage cans and the hunters," Peter fell silent.
"What happened to her?" prompted Tony when he didn't go on.
"She might still be there, or she’s also been adopted. They were trying to find her a family when Mr. and Mrs. Stark came in and chose me. I was so excited it didn't even occur to me that I'd never see May again when we were saying goodbye."
"You miss her," Tony sums up.
Peter looks torn between admitting it and pretending to be grown-up in front of Tony, but eventually he sags and nods.
The kit wants to sleep here so he won't be alone. Which definitely isn't grown-up behavior, at least not if you aren't a mated couple denning together, and he and Peter definitely aren't. Still, wasn't Tony trying to get Peter to stop trying to grow up so fast? Even adult foxes bunk together on rare occasions, when it’s bitterly cold (and not warm and mild, like now) or in late spring, when their kind feels most sociable (and not in September, like now).
Who is Tony kidding, it was a given he'd fold like a praying mantis on a twig the moment Peter used the eyes on him.
"You can sleep on the pillow, Pete," Tony says, with a sigh. "As long as you don't fidget."
"Really?" squeals Peter, tail and ears basically buoyant with happiness.
"Hop on," affirms Tony while curling onto the dog bed himself, leaving a third of it for Peter.
Despite this generosity, Peter plasters himself all along Tony's side. He's relaxed and asleep in moments, a sniffly, warm and unobtrusive presence in Tony's life as well as his bed.
Tony has an epiphany - this is far from the last day Peter is going to spend here.
And really, Tony thinks as he gives Peter's ear, most conveniently and temptingly positioned, the tiniest lick, I can live with that.
* * *
They quickly fall into a routine. Not that Peter sneaks in every day, but he does it often enough to have a standing invitation. Tony wakes up first as a rule, and since Peter's right there, it makes sense to start grooming him while waiting for the last vestiges of sleep to (ha!) peter away.
Grooming's important, and while Tony's made do somehow without another fox, Peter's not used to keeping himself presentable on his own. So each morning Tony inspects and thoroughly smoothes the fur on Peter's muzzle, between his eyes and around his ears - all the places Peter himself can't reach.
By the time Tony's halfway done Peter's usually awake and periodically emitting happy squeaks like a toy winded-up to do so. By the end of the procedure, Peter's hind legs are twitching and the tip of his tail is beating against the ground. Tony feels amused and gratified by how visibly Peter appreciates his attentions, so he continues to groom the kit even beyond what is strictly necessary. More and more often Peter also gives Tony a few answering licks on the muzzle, not particularly effective where grooming is concerned, but an expression of gratitude and affection.
They don't have breakfast together - Tony's instinct to guard food is surmountable but so strong he'd be cranky afterwards all morning - but Tony allows Peter to snipe a single morsel of fish from his plate before departing. Even the sight of the white fluffy tip of Peter's tail seesawing madly as he excitedly makes off with his pretend pilfer makes Tony feel... fond.
* * *
His days are so busy, Tony only remembers about the October crazies when Peter's on the cusp of succumbing to them. It's a term Tony recalls from his youth, and something characteristic of all Northern Hemisphere foxes in the first autumn of their lives. While it wasn't fun to live through as a young fox, it's nothing compared to the frustration of managing it with Peter.
At first, Peter starts oscillating between too needy and uncharacteristically rebellious. He'd whine "Mr. Stark, you won't... you won't... drive me away, will you? You don't mind having me in your territory, right?" and then a few hours later go "You're always bossing me around! I hate it here, I'm going to jump the wall and go find my own territory where I'll be alone!" Eventually, he'd slink in, apologetic and confused, and he and Tony would make up. But still, Tony knows things will only get worse.
The moment Peter stops sleeping with Tony is a line crossed. Tony tries to be understanding and mature about the situation, but when Peter marks Tony's sleeping pillow in front of Tony's very eyes, Tony finds he's reached his limit. He chases the little whelp out, nipping none too gently at his legs. Then, calmly as anything, Tony muscles his way into Peter's own den and thoroughly marks over Peter's bed. Finally, he lunges at Peter every time he tries to worm his way back into Tony's den (and good graces).
For a couple of days, Tony glimpses Peter in the distance, the lost, faintly hopeful expression that comes over him every time he notices Tony back, like he can't understand how things between them got so bad so quickly, but he has faith that Tony's going to make it better. But Tony's fucking done. He's not the kit's father, and he certainly didn't sign up for getting the little shit through puberty. Let Howard and Maria deal with Peter, since they were the ones who so wanted a second fox.
So Tony keeps firm, and Peter quickly quits his attempts to get close again, and starts acting like a little terror fulltime. He digs destructively, ruining Tony's neat tunnels and Maria's flowerbeds, he unearths Tony's food stashes and either gobbles them up, or pisses all over them, and he becomes paradoxically extremely fearful. Every time he so much as takes a whiff of Tony after his little mischiefs, he bounds away, tail between his legs and ears down like a pack of starving wolves are on his heels, screaming loudly in absolute terror and desperation. The switcheroo calms Tony down no matter how livid he is at Peter because if nothing else it makes it clear how little control and rationality there is to Peter's behavior.
This is all temporary, Tony keeps reminding himself. By mid November, Peter will be back to his sweet self like nothing happened. It's just stupid hormones, nothing earth-shattering.
At the end of October, Peter runs away from home.
* * *
Tony's first clue is the horrible din by Peter's den. He's a little groggy, definitely not at his best mid-day, but the bits and pieces of human conversation he picks up are enough to get him alert right quick. The humans are concerned because Peter hasn't touched his breakfast. Even his water bowl's undisturbed. Considering how Peter has been stuffing himself these past weeks, they're right to worry.
Tony certainly is, though he can't slip away and investigate because humans constantly keep an eye on him in case he too poofs away. Maria pops in, looking so out of sorts that Tony lets her pull him onto her lap without even the usual perfunctory grumble. Soon the news come - the grounds has been searched twice and Peter's nowhere to be found. Maria leaves to organize a wider search, and Tony plots his own course of action.
He hides in the one den where he's least visible from the outside. A couple of times people come to check on him, and he bears it patiently. Dusk falls. Tony scoffs his plate of wild berries and buttered, boiled buckwheat clean, practically telegraphing that he, at least, isn't going anywhere. Then he retires back to his den.
He isn't disturbed again, which is exactly according to plan.
He waits another excruciating half hour, feeling queasy and angry in turn like he has all afternoon, trying not to imagine in vivid detail all the trouble Peter could have gotten himself into.
Finally, Tony judges it's as safe as it's ever going to get. He paws silkily to the loose board in the corner of his home, lifts it with careful teeth, and dives under it, letting it fall in place behind him. He knows from the humans' talk that Peter dug a hole right under the fence, but Tony has more discreet ways out. He runs underground to one of the points in his labyrinth that go beyond the fence, and starts digging up. He does a dirty, crude job that makes his nails hurt, but he can't afford to be fussy right now. His heart beats out an irregular, frantic rhythm: Peterpeterpeter.
It's a piece of luck that his tunnel opens by a roadside ditch, in a hard to detect place. Tony bursts out of it, fur matted with dirt and sticking every which way, teeth bared and eyes probably wild. He's certain he hasn't looked less domesticated in all his life, but he doesn't care. There are more important matters right now.
* * *
Finding Peter is easy as pi, which Tony discovered two years ago, but who's counting. All Tony needs to do is find the escape tunnel Peter dug out from the other side of the fence, and follow his nose along Peter's trail. A couple of days ago Peter jumped into the pool and his fur still smells of chlorine in addition to pungent, hormonal fox. Tony trots in the right direction, occasionally doubling back when he loses the scent. He comes across a search party meant for Peter, but his dark coat serves him well and they don't notice him back.
Tony's prepared for a marathon trek if need be, considering how long ago Peter disappeared, but he stumbles onto Peter less than an hour later.
Tony almost runs past him, in fact, but the pitiful whine rising from the near-by bramble thicket stops him in his tracks.
"Peter?" Tony calls out, and there's more whining and half-coherent chattering. "Shh, kit, it's not safe to be so loud."
Peter goes silent if you don't count a furious rustle followed by a muffled sound of pain. Tony's hackles rise immediately.
"Are you hurt? Pete, talk to me?" says Tony, trying to crawl under the bush to get to Peter, but he's too big and the wicked long thorns dig into his fur. He has to back away and dig a little, before he can fit into the small crawlspace under the branches.
Later, Peter will tell him that he looked like the scariest and most welcome sight of Peter's young life. Fur standing on end, teeth bared, eyes open so wide the white shows, and all that packaged with Tony's monochromatic coat. Being silver-black all over, he can't broadcast his mood and communicate as effectively as Peter with his white-and-black tipped ears and tail. All that combines to confuse an already scared Peter to the point he isn't sure if Tony came to rescue him, or to finish him off where Maria and Howard wouldn't see.
What follows is a desperate scuffle, Peter flopping like a fish and screaming for dear life, and Tony trying to get him to stay put before he scratches himself even worse on the bramble spikes.
Tony's bigger, better rested and able to think more clearly, so despite his desperation Peter doesn't stand a chance. Tony pins him to the ground not just with his front paws but with his whole body, practically lying on top of Peter and mouthing warningly the thick fur on the back of his neck. Peter settles. More out of exhaustion than calmness, but he settles.
This is the moment to be diplomatic, to behave like the older, better fox. Tony realizes that. Unfortunately, he's also pissed enough that he doesn't care to act on his better judgement.
"What were you thinking? I know for a fact you don't have rabies and you aren't an idiot, so why on earth would you pull something like this?! Do you know how worried Maria has been for you, you ungrateful little mange-ball?!" Tony hisses.
"That’s all you care about, what the humans will think!" Peter yells back. "If it wasn't for them you'd have chased me out of your territory or even-even killed me! You pretended to care about me, but you were lying, and you got tired of it and abandoned me!"
"Abandoned you? I was giving you space, you- Do you think acting like a brat at best and a challenger at worst would endear you to me?"
Peter opens his mouth at that, but no counter-argument comes out. He just screws his eyes shut, probably trying to hide himself from Tony the only way he can.
"So you do hate me?" he whispers.
Tony sighs, feeling all the rage drain out of him like the air from a punctured balloon.
"If I hated you, I wouldn't be here trying to keep your ginger hide out of trouble." Keeping him from dying, more like. A domesticated fox can't survive in the wild for long. Even canny wild foxes live 5 years on average. But the last thing Tony wants is for Peter to decide Tony only followed him because he didn't want Peter's death on his conscience. So Tony's only choice to convince Peter is to be more open about his feelings than he ever would have otherwise. "Just... every time you want to lash out because you think I hate you, tell yourself that it's the oppos- that I do want you around. I just want the real you, not the asshole you've temporarily turned into."
This makes Peter relax infinitesimally, if only because he's pondering over Tony's words.
"So you think I'm an asshole?"
Tony sighs. It's hard to get some things through with words. So he gives up trying. There are other ways to get a message like that across.
He starts by nosing at Peter's neck. Startled by the abrupt change in mood, Peter turtles in. Tony escalates to licking, big, broad licks that cover a lot of fur on Peter's stubborn head. The taste isn't the best - it seems like Peter has tumbled into half of the bilgy puddles Tony daintily sidestepped on the way here - but Tony ignores it. Making his point to Peter is more important.
Under him, Peter twitches and squirms. Tony shift so he really is covering Peter, so that Peter would be soaked in Tony's scent. It's a little like mounting a female, Tony thinks fleetingly, though of course much different. Tony isn't in rut now, and even if he was he wouldn't be driven towards Peter, so this is a closeness solely of Tony's choosing. If Peter would choose to reciprocate that would also be meaningful and... true, unlike the forced, irrational and fleeting nature of the copulations Tony's experienced, or of Peter's current growing pains.
The realization of that leads Tony to continue with doubled determination. He goes lower, rubbing the underside of his jaw against Peter's shoulders, then licks carefully the couple of shallow scratches he finds on Peter's rump. Peter twitches through all of it, seemingly very confused. He craves Tony's gentleness but doesn't trust it, and his instincts probably keep telling him Tony's an enemy, a grown male that has no reason to tolerate someone like Peter. That Peter himself shouldn't want to tolerate Tony's presence or authority.
Tony waits as patiently as he can for Peter to make his choice.
Warily, Peter rolls over on his back. His folded paws stick out in the air, his belly completely vulnerable. Then he throws his head back and waits, trembling. Gently, softly, so as not to spook him, Tony brushes his nose along Peter's throat, and down until he can prod it under Peter's right front leg. He doesn't lick Peter's belly because Peter is grimiest there, but he rests a paw over it. The more Tony doesn't attack, the more Peter melts, until he's almost completely stretched out. Tony is even able to close his teeth around Peter's hind leg, which is a courting gesture no male should have allowed him, and finally, pleased by Peter's submission, he checks his scent close to the gland where it's purest. Judging by it Peter's crazies ought to last a couple of weeks more, but that fact only makes the current moment of tenderness more precious and extraordinary.
"Come on, Pete," says Tony when he's completely done. He feels so calm and centered he can't believe it himself, and he's sure it reflects in his own smell and that in turn affects Peter's mood. "Let's go home."
* * *
The celebration of Peter's official foxhood consists of a lot of pets from the humans, a meal of snails and strawberries shared with Tony, and a new stack of puzzles for Peter to amuse himself with later. Peter's ecstatic and hyper while it lasts, but when the excitement is over he starts yawning and Tony persuades him easily to take a nap for part of the night.
Peter curls on his bed and Tony practically curls around him, which is the only way they can fit now in a den together. Tony finds he not only doesn't mind, he has trouble sleeping without Peter's warm body to snuggle against.
"Mr. Stark," Peter whispers sleepily, more stating than complaining. "You didn't give me a present."
"You got plenty of those," Tony replies, his muzzle resting on Peter's shoulder. "Don't want to spoil you even more."
"Tis 'kay, don't mind," Peter mumbles, in the voice of someone who has everything he wants anyway, and burrows even closer against Tony's side. He's out like a light in seconds.
Tony watches Peter for a few moments, the way his whiskers bob while he's sleeping, the edges of his ears Tony always wants to teeth at these days. He resolutely doesn't think about how attached he is to Peter.
Instead, he closes his eyes, lays his head down, and wonders exactly how fired up Peter's going to be when he finds out Tony managed to get his aunt's new family invited over.
* * *
And they lived foxily ever after.