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Chapter Text

When the news report first flashed across Tony’s screen, he took one look and immediately brushed it away.

“A whiplash ripoff? Really?” the mechanic mused, twisting a bolt into place on the gauntlet. “Vanko isn’t someone I would consider a great role model… or even a successful one, for that matter.”

“Energy readings show that the imposter’s weapons are significantly weaker than the original Whiplash armour,” Friday chimed in helpfully.

“I figured as much,” Tony mumbled, twisting a set of wires into place with a furrow in his brow before he added distractedly “Let’s see if our friends in blue can’t handle it before we pull out the big guns, alright Fri?”

“Yes boss,” the AI replied, assembling a suit in the corner of the lab in case things got out of control and a certain iron-clad hero was needed. Tony highly doubted it though based off of the crude, thin whips and cosplay-like appearance of the copycat he had seen in the report. They were just another wannabe, looking for their five minutes of fame in a world filled with enhanced soldiers and aliens and gods.

Tony gladly went back to his work, but then a new sound chimed overhead barely ten minutes later, and the mechanic perked up at the familiar tune of Itsy-Bitsy Spider ringing in his ears.

“Hey Underoos,” Tony greeted once he accepted the call. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“Um, yes, technically I am supposed to be…” Peter said, the sound of rushing wind threatening to drown out his words.

Tony’s light smile lowered into a frown as he cut straight to the point and asked, “What have you done now kid?”

“Don’t get mad-“

“I already don’t like this…”

“-But I may or may not have seen a news report about an electrified villain a couple of blocks away…?”

Tony’s blood went cold, pulling up the holograms he had carelessly swiped away and snapping “Parker, you better not be fighting a knock off super villain when you’re supposed to be in Spanish class.”

Then, just as Tony locked eyes with the live footage of the copycat and Spider-Man going toe to toe in the skeleton of a half-constructed warehouse, Peter had the nerve to answer bashfully “What? No, no- definitely not.”

“You’re a shit liar Pete,” Tony grumbled as he jogged towards the suit hovering on standby.

“Don’t suppose I could get a hand with this definitely hypothetical villain I’m fighting?” Peter quipped, always more sarcastic with the mask on than off.

“Already on my way,” Tony assured him quickly. “Hold tight kid.”

Despite the crackle of electricity and his rapid exhales across the line, Tony could practically hear the smile in Peter’s voice as he said, “See you soon Mr Stark!”

…

When Tony arrived on the scene barely five minutes after the call, he hovered at the edge of the unfinished building to give Friday a chance to scan the imposter, who was currently playing a game of deadly tag with Peter through the maze of metal beams and supports. Tony would be concerned for the young spider if he weren’t so expertly dodging every swing of the copycat’s whips, his sixth sense allowing him to jump and weave between each attack like it were as easy as breathing. Every now and then Peter would shoot out a web of his own too, but the whips would swing back and strike them down before they could land, leaving the boy to stay on the defence for the time being.

Reassuring himself that Peter would be perfectly fine at this distance, Tony turned his attention back to the copycat and took in their obviously handmade jumpsuit and mediocre black helmet. Everything about them screamed amateur, all except for what looked like a Chitauri power core imbedded into their belt that was powering the lithe whips in their hands. Unfortunately for them, Tony had designed his newest suits -and Peter’s for that matter- to resist both electricity and Chitauri energy.

It’s funny how facing deadly aliens and lunatic humans on an almost weekly basis tended to make one overly cautious.

“Stark!” the copycat called upon noticing his arrival, their voice feminine and oddly happy considering the circumstances. “So glad you could make it!”

Tony rolled his eyes behind the mask and jetted into the metal structure. “Alright Syndrome, lets wrap this up already, I’ve got work to do.”

“Whoa! Was that an Incredibles reference Mr Stark?” Peter chirped excitedly over the comms.

Smiling a little himself at the boy’s enthusiasm, Tony said “Well you made me watch it enough times that it’s permanently drilled into my brain now, so thanks for that.”

“Hey! That’s one of the best movies to have stuck in your head!” Peter protested with a laugh.

“Whatever you say kid. Now let’s finish this already, I really do have a lot of work to do.”

It was clear once Tony got involved with his electricity-resistant armour that the copycat was at a severe disadvantage, having to move and jump and swing with twice as much effort so neither of them could get close. The spider suit also had shock absorption though it wasn’t quite as strong as Tony’s, and he naturally began to goad the copycat into targeting him instead of Peter, which the teen took as an opportunity to attack the villain from behind when possible. Under such a constant barrage, the masked villain didn’t even have a chance to shout her half-baked reasoning before Peter was able to knock her down onto a lower beam with a well-timed kick.

“Sorry, auditions for the crappy sequel lead ended yesterday!” Peter quipped as he hung from the support just above her fallen body.

Tony was about to make a comment about how he was enjoying this way too much, how he was still going to get punished for ditching school again, but then there was a sickening whistle of air and Peter’s startled scream because there was a metal whip suddenly wrapped around his throat!

“Kid!” Tony cried as he jetted forward, but he was too far away- too far away-!

The woman dragged herself back to her feet with a snarl and yanked on the whip so hard that Peter was thrown from the support beam to land beside her, a groan stifled by a desperate gasp for air as the whip tightened around his neck. Gloved fingers lifted to claw at the metal but found no relief, the purple, electric current thankfully getting absorbed by the suit but doing little against the barbed edges now cutting through the material. For a horrifying moment it seemed like Peter was trying call Tony’s name before it was cut off with another harsh tug.

“Get the hell away from the kid!” Tony growled once he was finally close enough, repulsers raised and ready to fire. “I won’t say it again.”

The dented mask tilted to face him, as if considering, before the woman leant down and gripped Peter by the forearm and forced him onto unsteady feet, essentially holding him as a human shield between them.

“Let go of the kid and surrender,” Tony said with a voice as cold as ice. Before he had just been mildly annoyed, but now, with a whip cutting off his kid’s air supply, Tony was furious. “You can’t stay here forever.”

The woman chuckled, dark and sick and far too pleased. “I don’t plan to,” she said, dropping the hilt of the whip to the beam below them before forcing one of Peter’s arms towards it. Still fighting to get air in his lungs, Peter didn’t even have a chance to fight back as the woman pressed down on his palm and shot a spray of webbing over the offending weapon. Tony didn’t understand. His mind was so caught up in the fact that Peter was being strangled, that he couldn’t breathe, that by the time the copycat’s eyes lifted to meet his again with a twist gleam of satisfaction, it was too late.

“Catch, Stark.”

Then her foot swept under Peter’s legs, drawing another startled wheeze out of his lungs before he was falling off the edge of the beam, the whip still tight around his throat, the whip that was stuck to the beam-

“NO!”

Tony’s scream split the air the same moment he blasted forward, arms out to catch Peter, to catch his kid.

He was too late.

The whip pulled taught and Peter’s body jerked mid air with a horrifying gasp. Tony felt his entire world shatter at the sight of his kid struggling, clawing -hanging by the neck, and he knew he would never be able to get that image -the sound out of his head until the day he took his own final breath.

The thought alone made Tony jolt, because this wouldn’t be Peter’s last breath. Peter couldn’t die like this, Tony refused to allow it.

Within seconds Tony was hovering in front of the suspended, squirming teenager and wrapping his metal arms around Peter’s middle, gently lifting him up until the whip was no longer straining against his neck. “Hey- hey it’s okay, I’ve gotcha, I’ve gotcha,” Tony rambled as his own heartbeat raced at a thousand miles an hour.

Peter was still jerking in his arms, coughing, choking as he tried to grab at the metal still holding a death grip on his throat.

It made Tony feel sick, but he had to keep it together. He had to stay calm. So keeping one arm locked around Peter’s waist and raising the other to the back of Peter’s neck, Tony began to examine the razor edged whip and its position around the kid’s throat. It made Tony’s own breath stutter when he realised how deep it was already cutting, and any kind of movement only seemed to make the rope tighten, threatening to kill the boy in one swift motion if he weren’t careful enough.

Not wishing to waste any more time -time that Peter was desperately running out of- Tony took hold of the whip a little way away from the boy’s head and blasted it clean off with a shot from the repulsor, though it did nothing to loosen the noose around Peter’s neck.

A scratchy wheeze pushed through Peter’s teeth as he continued to claw at his throat wildly.

“Kid stop- stop! I know it hurts but you can’t touch it,” Tony said urgently, pulling the teen’s hands away from his throat as he lifted them clear of the building. And as much as it must have pained him, Peter stopped reaching for the very thing that was strangling him to death, his trembling hands sticking to Tony’s chest-plate for some semblance of stability.

“Good, good, you’re doing great kid,” Tony muttered, before shutting off the suit’s vocal output and saying harshly “Fri, give me a run down.”

“Peter’s oxygen levels have been critically reduced. Approximately five minutes until suffocation,” the AI answered grimly.

Shit! Tony thought, barking out instead “How do we get this damn thing off!?”

“At the current position of the barbs, Peter will require surgery to not be fatally wounded.”

“Get the Medbay ready then!” Tony said, his veins flooded with adrenaline. “Call Cho, Bruce- fuck, anyone who’s available!”

“On it Boss,” Friday answered, sounding ready to help in whatever way an AI could offer.

With that, Tony lifted his faceplate and tried to catch Peter’s eye even as the teen shuddered in his arms, saying gently “It’s gonna be okay kid, alright? I’m taking you to the Medbay now.”

The only reply he received was another gargled wheeze, hot tears now streaming out of Peter’s eyes as his chest convulsed painfully.

“I know it’s hard Pete, but you’ve got to keep breathing for me alright,” Tony said as he lowered his faceplate once more and jetted off towards the Tower at record speeds. “Stay awake and keep breathing buddy, that’s what I need you to do, okay?”

Peter grunted like he was trying to speak, and though Tony immediately went to quiet him, he noticed a moment later the boy pointing at the building disappearing behind them and was flooded with understanding. “Of course the only thing you can think about while getting strangled is if the villain got away,” Tony huffed, tightening his hold over the boy as he said “They made a run for it but I’ll track them down, don’t you worry.”

They’re going to wish they were never born when I’m through with them, Tony added bitterly to himself.

But Peter seemed at least a little bit reassured with that information and leant his forehead against Tony’s armoured shoulder, desperately gasping for air that refused to come.

“I’m sorry buddy, I’m so sorry,” Tony muttered, hating how long this was taking despite it being the fastest option available. “I’m going to fix this I swear, and you’re going to be fine.”

Peter gargled again, and Tony slid one hand from the teen’s back to his head, shushing softly “Don’t talk kid. Just focus on breathing okay? Deep breaths for me, ready?”

Tony counted each inhale and exhale with him, and much to his credit, Peter tried his best to follow along despite the situation. They’d done it a thousand times before with panic attacks and nightmares, and Tony tried to tell himself that this was no different, even if it was and it was worse. It was so much worse…

Then a breath suddenly caught in Peter’s throat, and his chest heaved in instinctual alarm at the lack of oxygen reaching his lungs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay breath Pete,” Tony soothed even though he knew his own voice was shaking too. “Just keep breathing- please. Do it for me kid.”

Something harsh and ragged slipped out of Peter’s throat, his fingers leaving dents in the back of the suit, before they fell back into pained wheezing again. Tony kept up his string of reassurances as the Tower came into view, pushing his thrusters to the limits as the desperation started to grow in his voice.

“Come on Pete, almost there- almost there. I’m so proud of you. So, so proud. You’re doing amazing.”

They were close. They were so close now.

“You’re going to be fine Underoos, I’m right here, I’ve got you…”

The balcony was coming up, and they were almost there, they were right there-

Peter’s fingers slipped away from the armour in the same moment that his whole body went limp, eyes rolling to the back of his head in one last horrifying image to brand into Tony’s memories.

“No, no, no! Wake up Parker! Wake up right now!” Tony practically screamed as he landed harshly on the roof, not caring that his ankles would hate him for it later. If it weren’t for his mentor’s steady arms Peter would have immediately fallen to the ground, his body boneless and limp and not fucking breathing!

With one arm locked around the teen’s waist and the other still cradling his head, Tony barked with tears blazing in his own eyes, “Stay awake Peter! Please! We’re almost there bud! Just wake up! Wake up…!”

Suddenly there were footsteps. Lots of them. And voices, calling out to him. Voices he thought he recognised but were lost under Peter’s silence and his own cries. They were trying to tell him something, trying to take Peter out of his arms, and even though he didn’t want to let go, he wanted to hold his kid so desperately, a familiar voice helped him ease his grip over the boy. Tony watched blankly as the people -nurses, doctors, Doctor Cho- lifted Peter’s body onto a gurney and began wheeling him away with a series of organised shouts and orders that Tony couldn’t understand.

The only thing that Tony could seem to see was Peter’s wide eyes, and his strangled breaths, and a body hanging from a construction beam-

Tony shoved his face into his hands as the tears finally flooded out.

Don’t let Peter die- don’t let my kid die, Tony begged, though to who, he wasn’t quite sure. Anyone who would grant him this mercy, he supposed.

Please, don’t let my kid die…

Tony had never prayed for anything in his life, but sitting in that sterile waiting room and waiting for Helen to tell him if his kid was going to make it, Tony found himself praying. Praying and pleading and hoping with all his heart.

Maybe someone was listening after all, because when Tony awoke the next morning at Peter’s bedside to be met with a hoarse “Mornin’…” and a set of eyes -soft and warm and alive-, Tony cried like he never had before, engulfing the boy into his arms and holding him tight, afraid to let go. It was when Peter spoke that he really felt his heart soar once more though, sobbing relieved tears into those chestnut curls and relishing the sound of his voice. His every breath.

Tony wasn’t sure what he believed in, but in that moment, he was certain he’d seen a miracle. And his name was Peter Parker.

Chapter Text

Hi everyone!

 Day 2's prompt has been released as a separate story called There are no Winners which can be accessed through the attached series or through my works tab. This is because I wrote that prompt a few weeks in advance and released it thinking I wouldn't get the chance to write the other prompts, but by pure determination and some encouragement from friends, I'm now working to complete the whole challenge! All new prompts will be released as chapters to this story from tomorrow onwards.

I hope you enjoy the story (please be mindful of the warnings!), and I hope you have a great day!

-Superherotiger

There are no Winners summary:

“Hope you know that kidnapping a Stark has not historically ended well, whoever the hell you are,” Tony called towards the door, waiting to gauge a reaction. A clue as to what kind of person he was dealing with.

But then a deep, smooth voice answered, and their words made Tony freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

“How about a Spiderman?”

Peter’s eyes snapped open in horror, a hand gripping the back of his mentor’s jacket in search of reassurance that Tony wasn’t sure he could offer. The reveal of his identity would definitely make things more difficult, but if Tony played his cards right, he might be able to keep the boy out of harms way for a while longer.

“So what do you want then?” Tony called, deciding to get straight to the point. “Money? Tech?”

A pause, and then in a voice that made Tony shiver, “I just want to play a game.”

Chapter Text

Tony wasn’t sure where he was going, and in all honesty, he didn’t really care either.

All he cared about was getting out of the Tower and the room and the bed that he thrashed around in with memories of lifeless bodies and guns branded with his name plaguing his every thought. It had been years since that day in Afghanistan. Years since Tony’s convoy was brutally ambushed on their way back to base from a weapons demonstration, but the horrors seemed as fresh as the day before. It had been sudden and violent, blood smearing against bullet-ridden vehicles while gunfire rained down from their unseen attackers. On instinct Tony had tried to run, sending off a message to Rhodey as he hid behind a rocky outcrop and ignoring the carnage swirling around him. But then a missile had landed barely a metre away from the man with the infamous Stark Industries symbol flashing back at him in some kind of twisted irony, and Tony had watched his life flash before his very eyes.

Tony jumped away, and just in time too, because the missile had exploded mere milliseconds after he had found cover in a nearby ditch. Once the dust settled, Tony blinked for a moment at where he had once been hiding to find it littered with metal barbs and shrapnel. He’d been lucky to not get impaled…

And he had been even luckier to have a friend like Rhodey who rushed in with a support squadron only minutes after letting out the distress signal, scaring away the attackers with their added fire power and escorting a shell-shocked Tony back to the base with great caution. None of the soldiers that had accompanied Tony survived. Some died quickly, others bled out in the transports on the way back. Tony remembered the way the life drained out of their eyes as they took the bullets aimed for him. The smell of copper. The echo of their screams. But most of all, he remembered the way they smiled, and laughed, and were so perfectly normal only moments beforehand.

They were dead because of Tony. Because of what he had created.

Tony picked up his pace and got lost in the maze of the city, blending into the sea of strangers to ease the emptiness in his chest.

The moment Tony had set foot on American soil again, he’d vowed to better himself and his creations to never cause harm again. Promised himself that his legacy would not be a death count of innocent lives.

Of course, there had been plenty of obstacles along the way. The media. The board. Obadiah…

Every single one of them had fought back, but Tony was a stubborn man, and eventually, he’d gotten his way. Stark Industries had shifted gears from weapons manufacturing to clean energy, and Tony worked to retrieve and dispose of the entire Stark arsenal until it was nothing more than a memory of destruction. The board had been hesitant with the new direction at first, but once it was revealed that Stane had been dealing under the table, they were quick to jump on board with Tony’s plans for the company, figuring it would help with their image that had been severely damaged thanks to Stane’s treachery.

The past few years had been a whirlwind of change, but despite all the improvement -to himself and to his company-, Tony still felt stuck in the past. Stuck in that day, destined to relive it over, and over, and over again. His eternal punishment…

“Shit…” Tony muttered under his breath as he drifted along in the current of pedestrians.

He turned all of his attention to his feet, and the way they hit the cement, and how each breath expanded rhythmically in his chest. It must have been past midnight by now, but he didn’t feel the slightest bit tired. No. He couldn’t afford to sleep. Not with nightmares lurking around every dark corner, hoping to shove him back into the horrors he could never seem to escape from.

So he just walked, and walked, and walked. His feet paced with no real direction, the pounding of his heartbeat drowning out the city’s symphony of horns and yelling and engines and people. Alive people. Not dead like those soldiers were, like thousands of others were at his own hands…

Scrubbing at his eyes and pulling the cap on his head lower to cover his features, the billionaire paced aimlessly through the New York streets, thinking of nothing and everything until his heartbeat finally began to slow.

Once the fire beneath his feet had finally extinguished, Tony stopped at the corner of an intersection to see where he had ended up in his mindless pacing and found himself in some little burrow in Queens. It wasn’t the furthest Tony had ever wandered before, but it was still a hell of a long way from the Tower. And judging by his weary knees and parched mouth, his body was inclined to agree.

Spotting an open bodega on the other side of the street though, Tony figured he’d grab a drink for the way back home and crossed the road towards it, a little bell chiming over head as he pushed through the door. The place was small but, quaint, and the air smelt of bread and flowers in a fascinating harmony. Tony could tell the store was well cared for, what with its neatly stacked products and peculiar trinkets sitting along the benchtops. It was nice… homely.

Tony felt the knot in his stomach ease a little more.

At this time of night the place was practically deserted, but as he glanced around, Tony spotted the only other inhabitant behind the counter and blinked in surprise as he met their curious gaze. He looked like a kid, with a mop of curly hair falling down his face and bright, brown eyes hidden behind a set of glasses. He was thin and scrawny in stature, but his smile filled the entire space with light, and Tony found himself naturally smiling back.

“Hi there,” the boy greeted warmly as Tony stepped further into the bodega. “Need help with anything?”

“Uh, I’m good thanks,” he said, before taking note of the teenager’s Empire Strikes Back shirt and adding with a smirk “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?”

The boy blinked once, as if in surprise, before letting out an amused snort. “What can I say? The Empire’s always in need of new recruits.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the requirements; a shitty aim?” Tony mused, drawing yet another laugh out of the kid and sending Tony’s heart leaping unexpectedly.

Tapping the pen in his hand against the side of his glasses, the boy replied “Don’t worry, I fit right in.”

This time it was Tony’s turn to chuckle, but as the boy lowered his pen back to the open book on the counter, he caught sight of the equations and formulas scribbled along the pages and felt his curiosity heighten. “That looks like some advanced stuff there,” Tony said, trying his best to sound casual.

“Oh… yeah! I’m trying to practice before a test I have on Monday,” he explained bashfully.

“It must be a pretty prestigious school if they’re giving out that level of math.”

“Well… I’m not, technically in it yet,” the boy said, tapping the pen against the nearby textbook and glancing away a little anxiously. “This exam on Monday, it’s- uh, it’s actually to apply for a scholarship.”

“Oh?” Tony asked, but kept his expression light so he didn’t feel pressured to speak.

“Yeah, um… my family doesn’t have the money right now to pay for Midtown Tech’s tuition, but it looks like an amazing school and my aunt said it would be perfect for me!” he said as an excited grin lit up his features again. “She said I might have a chance if I can do well on this test, so… I’m going to give it my best shot.”

Tony wasn’t sure why his heart suddenly tugged at the boy’s hopeful determination. Maybe it was because he never had to face issues with money as a child, or even as an adult for that matter. ‘Only the best for Starks,’ his father had declared once, and with their kind of wealth, the best was always easy to obtain. But seeing this kid, this sweet, smart kid having to just hope that he might get into the school of his dreams made Tony’s chest feel heavy with remorse.

“That’s… that’s great kid,” he said, offering a weak smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Thank you, Mister…?”

“Stark,” Tony answered, extending his hand out which the boy took with a warm smile of his own. “Tony Stark.”

“Nice to meet you Mr Stark. I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker.”

Tony nodded and gave his hand a friendly squeeze, but as his arm fell back to his side, there was an awkward moment where neither of them seemed to know what to say. Figuring that was a good place to cut it off though, Tony glanced over towards the isles of food and products and asked, “Got any water bottles?”

“Oh, yeah!” Peter said lightly. “The drinks section is at the back.”

“Thanks kid.”

They went their separate ways then, Tony strolling towards the display of energy drinks and water bottles while Peter returned to his textbooks with laser focus. As Tony stared aimlessly at the assortment before him, he found his thoughts lingering on the kid at the front counter. He was obviously smart if his notes were anything to go by, and his interest in Midtown Tech only confirmed how intelligent he must be to even consider it. He wondered if Peter would get accepted, and more strangely, Tony found himself hoping he would.

Tony shook the thought away. He barely even knew this kid and yet within the span of one conversation he was suddenly rooting for his future education? Damn, Tony really must be exhausted…

The door swung open harshly, sending the bell ringing once more.

“Hi there-“

Peter’s warm welcome was cut off by the click of something metallic, the atmosphere of the store shifting within seconds as a gruff voice snapped “Shut the fuck up and do as I tell you.”

Within a heartbeat Tony had spun around and taken in the sight before him. A hooded man with a duffel bag clutched in one hand and a pistol in the other was standing off with the obviously petrified teenager, the barrel of the gun raised at the kid’s forehead. To Peter’s credit he managed to keep his expression blank, but his eyes were not just a window, but a whole damn telescope into his emotions, and Tony could see the panic flooding his gaze as it fixed onto the gun before him.

Then those brown eyes shifted slightly to meet Tony’s own, and to his surprise and utter horror, he read a new message flashing across his face.

Run.

Peter’s eyes were back on the gunman before he could even blink, saying evenly “Alright man, but… but if you want money, it’s in the back.”

The teen gestured to a door in the corner of the room, opposite to where Tony was but further away from the main entrance. It looked like a simple maintenance closet, but to an adrenaline-hyped robber, it could easy be mistaken as an office. It didn’t take long for Tony to realise what Peter was doing. He was trying to distract the man. He was trying to lead him away so that Tony could get out the front door without getting shot, leaving himself alone with a gun trained to his head.

Something fierce and instinctive rose up in Tony at that moment, and within seconds the man had raced from one end of the store to the other with scarily silent steps. Peter didn’t even have time to shout a protest before Tony’s fist rammed straight into the stranger’s jaw, sending him stumbling aside with a gasp while Tony’s shoulders heaved in unbridled strength. Where he got it from, he wasn’t quite sure. But one look at Peter’s wide, startled eyes -alive, alive, eyes that were alive- sent a wave of calm into the mix of emotions.

It didn’t quell the fire in his veins. In fact, it even seemed to encourage its power. But despite the adrenaline racing through his system, seeing Peter alive and safe released a tension in Tony’s chest that he hadn’t even realised was there to begin with.

Having recovered his balance though, the robber turned his gun on Tony with a snarl of his own. But the mechanic could see his shaking hands. His unsure hold on the weapon. He was inexperienced, whereas Tony knew guns like the back of his calloused hands. He’d made them for years. He’d been an expert in the field, and now, he was an expert at destroying them.

Tony lunged forward before you could even say “BANG!”, and the moment his hands touched the cold weapon they were dismantling it into a useless pile metal. By the time the robber pressed down on the trigger there was no barrel to shoot from and no bullets to shoot with.

Tony found himself smirking as the man stared up at him in absolute terror.

And then, just as quickly as he’d arrived, the man was running again, slamming into the door almost comically before he managed to race out of the store in a flourish. Tony only took a second to catch his breath before turning back to the kid behind the counter, Peter’s wide eyes fixed onto him with a strange mix of shock and admiration.

“You right kid?” Tony asked, concern spilling out with every word.

“Um, y-yeah… I’m- I’m good,” Peter stammered and gave his head a little shake. “Holy shit…”

For a moment Tony’s worry got the better of him, leaning forward a little with his hands hovering between them like they wanted to search for injuries. He managed to resist the urge before he could do something embarrassing, but the fear was still tingling through his nerves. The fear that this kid almost had a bullet in his head, and the fear that he almost accepted it so long as Tony got away.

But then Peter lifted his head and smiled that damn smile of his, loosening the panic that had tangled in Tony’s chest. “Don’t suppose you could teach me how to do that?” the teen asked through a chuckle.

Tony hummed in contemplation, before saying sharply “Only if you promise never to play hero like that again kid.”

Peter’s shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “No guarantees on that one, Mr Stark.”

And with that simple statement, Tony finally understood what had drawn him to this random kid from Queens to begin with. It was his kindness, his selflessness. He was everything Tony had wanted to be and more. A reflection of himself that hadn’t been tainted with mistakes and failures and the loss of innocent blood. Peter represented all that was still good in the world, and Tony found himself wanting to protect it. He wanted to see Peter become the hero that the world needed.

The hero that Tony knew he already was.

And if Peter Parker received an anonymous scholarship from Midtown Tech the next week and the offer for an internship at Stark Industries that he had never applied for, well… Tony just put it down to some long overdue karma.

Chapter Text

“Where is my kid?”

Tony’s voice came out as a snarl, cold and harsh through the filter of the mask covering his face. It wasn’t so much a question at this point than it was a threat, but the man pinned against the wall before him only grunted. There was no remorse in his eyes. Not even a hint of fear, and the greasy, smarmy hair falling over his equally as scummy features made Tony want to punch his lights out right then and there.

But he forced himself to remain calm, using the flames of his rage to forge something more deadly. Something precise and lethal, which was a hundred times more terrifying than simple chaos.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the man spat out when Tony didn’t release the bruising pressure over his collarbone.

“You know damn well who I’m talking about,” Tony hissed back just as quickly. “His name is Peter Parker, and you took him away from me three months ago.”

The name made something twisted and sick flash across the stranger’s eyes. “Ooh right,” he smirked, and Tony wished he could smear his face against the wall like a bug. “How could I forget our star freak.”

Tony’s muscles tightened like a snake preparing to strike, preparing to kill, and he wanted to- God, he wanted to. But grinding his teeth to stop any words from escaping, Tony told himself that he wouldn’t bite. That he wouldn’t get goaded into reacting like this scum bag was clearly pushing for.

But then he opened his mouth again, and Tony felt his control snap like a branch.

“He told us you’d come, you know? He was so convinced you’d save him at the start, only for his hopes and dreams to get shattered when you never showed up,” the bastard laughed even as Tony’s grip noticeably tightened over his collar. “You should have heard the way he screamed for you-“

His words were cut off with a pained cry as Tony lifted the man off his feet and slammed him into the ground, the unforgiving weight of the Iron Man armour bearing down on his ribs as he whimpered into the cement crater that had formed from the impact. The cracks branched away like spiderwebs from the suddenly terrified man’s head, blood trickling through the grout, and Tony couldn’t even find it in himself to feel the slightest bit guilty about it.

Leaning forward until the mask was hovering just beside the man’s ear, Tony said icily, “If you don’t want your face pummelled into the fucking cement, you’d better think very carefully about what you say next.”

A whimper escaped the man then, but Tony didn’t let up his hold even as tears began spilling across his cheeks. Maybe now he would think twice before mocking his kid.

“Now tell me where he is, and you might just live till morning,” Tony growled out mechanically.

For a moment it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer, but just as Tony was about to slam his skull into the ground again, he seemed to come to his senses and rasped “He- He’s in the boss’ office.”

Tony went still. Even his heart seemed to stop beating for just a moment, before ratcheting back up into a panicked speed. The first thing Tony had done upon entering this God forsaken warehouse was blast straight into the storage room, the room he knew was holding all the captives the Avengers had come to save. Tony had left the rest of the team to sort out the fight ring in the main auditorium while he went to work unlocking every damned vibranium cage with the help of his Iron Legion, women and men and children of all ages crying out their gratitude as they were finally released from their tight, metal prisons. With every door that was opened, every malnourished person that was released -not mutants, not freaks, but real people-, Tony felt his heart plummet as he failed to find the one boy he so desperately needed to see.

All the enhanced individuals that had been kidnapped by the fight ring were free again within an hour, and still, no Peter. No doe brown eyes. No teenager wrapped in Tony’s arms.

This room was where they had held all the battle-worthy prisoners, so the idea that Peter wasn’t here, that Peter had been singled out for some reason made his stomach churn.

“Why?” Tony breathed, putting a voice to his fears.

The man crushed beneath him hesitated, like he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. But learning from the blood still tricking down his temple, he glanced up at the unfeeling mask above him and murmured “Because he’s the boss’ favourite…”

…

When Tony busted through the door to the main office, his eyes immediately locked onto the vibranium cage stationed just beside the desk, a heat signature flashing across his HUD but their figure hidden beneath the cover of darkness.

This cage was different to the others. Instead of the six barred walls with gaps wide enough to reach a hand through, this one was all vibranium panels with one grated door at the front. It was stronger than the others too. Designed to keep someone from escaping. And it made Tony feel sick to his stomach.

“Peter?” he breathed as he ran to the cage and fell to his knees before it, searching for the person cowering inside it. “Pete? Is that you?”

Tony could hear breathing behind the grated cover, and even though he couldn’t see their face, he just knew it was him.

“Hey buddy, hey… it’s me. It’s Tony…” he cooed softly and moved to unlock the cage with shaking hands. “I’m sorry I took so long, but… but I’m here now, okay? Everything’s going to be okay now.”

The moment the hinge creaked a whine echoed into the otherwise silent office, and Tony felt himself flinch at the pathetic noise. With the grate now open, the arc reactor sitting in his chest-plate illuminated the space inside the metal box and revealed the shuddering form curled up at the end from too little space to stretch out. Wild, matted hair covered their face from view, and their arms were covered in scars and burns, but Tony only saw Peter. His amazing, genius kid that had been stolen away from him.

“Hey kid,” Tony whispered, his own voice breaking as he held out a tentative hand. “I know you’re scared, but I’m here now. I’m right here…”

Metal fingers grazed over Peter’s elbow and he immediately flinched away, a cry getting muffled as he twisted his body to the side. As he did so though his back became visible through the light, and Tony gasped at the fresh, crimson blood that was staining his ripped and tattered shirt.

“Oh Pete,” Tony muttered, feeling his heart shatter.

He wanted above anything for Peter to feel comfortable. For Peter to come to Tony willingly, but with those kinds of wounds, the man knew he had to get him out to medical and fast.

“Come on bud, let’s get you patched up,” Tony tried again as he rested his gauntlet over the boy’s shoulder, eliciting another stifled whimper. Wincing himself, Tony brought his other hand forward -which was awkward considering the already tight space- and gripped onto his other shoulder in a secure hold. “I’m sorry kid, but I’ve got to get you to the med team.”

Peter was stiff under his hold, but even though his chest stuttered with sobs as Tony pulled him forward, he didn’t resist the motion either. Tony tried not to think of why…

“There we go Underoos,” he hummed as the teenager’s hunched figure was finally pulled out from the cage. For a few painstaking moments, Peter kept his knees tucked up to his chest, eyes slammed shut from the light now searing overhead. It was only when the boy lifted his head slightly from the shelter of his hands did Tony realise what was keeping him silent, that inferno rising back up at the sight of a muzzle clamped over his kid’s mouth.

Pulling Peter closer until he was leaning against his armoured chest, Tony found the strap digging into the back of his head and carefully cut it away. It didn’t fall off immediately, and it took Tony gently easing it away from his blistered skin to finally release, the remnants of blood lining the edges of the metal contraption.

Tony threw it away to the other side of the room and turned his attention back to the teen, who was now staring forward with wide, vacant eyes, his breaths so light they were almost unnoticeable.

“Hey buddy,” he whispered, as soft as a broken prayer. “It’s okay now… I’m here…”

Tears were pooling inside of those big doe eyes but still, Peter didn’t move.

Sighing, Tony repositioned his arm to better cradle Peter’s injured back and moved the other hand to rest over his cheek, mindful of the blisters along his skin. “I’m so sorry Pete,” Tony said, allowing himself this moment. This moment to hold his kid like he hadn’t been able to for months. “I’m so, so sorry. I promise I never stopped looking for you, and I… I worked day and night. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t live without you buddy…”

Empty eyes stared off at the wall, tears spilling out with each staggered blink.

“I understand if you’re mad at me,” Tony continued on, needing to get the words out. “I understand if you hate me for taking so long, but… but I just want you to know that I missed you so much Pete. I missed you every day, every moment. And I-I…” Tony couldn’t help the tears that fell as he laughed out joyously “Now I’ve got you back, and I won’t ever let you go again. I promise Pete, god I promise…”

Tony felt like his chest was being torn open as he stared at his kid. His malnourished, injured, scared kid. He wanted to wrap him up in his arms and never let him go. He wanted to erase the last three months and take away all the pain that Peter was feeling right now. Tony wanted to fix this, like a good mechanic should.

But he couldn’t fix this. Not quickly, anyway.

It would take time, and patience, and a whole lot of work. It was scary, thinking about all the obstacles waiting for them in the future.

But then something familiar flashed through Peter’s eyes, watery brown stares rising to meet each other before the teen was sobbing into Tony’s collar and babbling his name like a broken record, lost in the warmth of their desperate embraces. And Tony knew he could do it. He knew they could get through this, because together, they could survive anything…

Chapter Text

“Hey honey, how are you?”

Peter slowed his steps at the slight waver in May’s voice, his brow furrowing even further than it already had when she first called. After she had found out about Spider-man and they’d had a long, agonising discussion about open communication, his Aunt rarely called after school anymore, knowing that he would be on his way to patrol and waiting until he arrived home at curfew to fret over him. That had been their agreement anyway, so Peter couldn’t help the pang of concern that hit his body at the sound of her voice, which was just slightly off key.

“I’m good May, are you alright?”

“Yeah- yeah of course I just…” her voice trailed away for a moment, the audio muffling as if she had put her hand over the phone, before she said “I know you had a, uh… a project to work on with Ned this afternoon, but do you think you could come home early?”

Now Peter was just plain confused, because one; there was no project to work on, and two; Peter had never told May anything about going to Ned’s -which to clarify, he wasn’t.

Just as he was about to voice his confusion though May suddenly blurted out “And don’t worry about swinging by the shops sweetheart. Turns out I already have some apricots at home.”

Peter’s whole body locked up in one simple sentence, a beat passing in silence as the teen stared ahead of him with wide, blank eyes.

Apricot. Such an unassuming word to others, but to the Parkers, it held a different meaning. A danger word; a signal to the other that something was seriously wrong.

They had been sitting on the couch together one evening when May suggested the idea, her tone light as she said “I was talking to my friend Nicole today and she was telling me about this codeword she has with her kids. It’s for if they’re in danger and need a way out without being too obvious.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so if they text or call her with that word, she’ll know they’re in a situation they can’t get out of and need help. It’s pretty smart, actually.”

Peter had seen the look in his Aunt’s eye, the way she tried to act casual by sweeping away her fringe, and deciding to spare her of the awkwardness, he’d asked “Do you want to do that?”

“…Would… would you want to?”

After Ben had died, May had never quite been the same. She’d been overly cautious to begin with, always worrying over Peter like she alone could prevent any and every threat that dared to harm her nephew. Even though she had been easing up over the past few months, it hurt Peter to see her so nervous, so he figured if this little word that they’d probably never use gave her peace of mind, then he was willing to do it.

“Sure. But it would have to be something we never say, otherwise we could give off the wrong idea,” Peter had chuckled, earning a faint smile from May as well.

“Alright then, how about… apricots!”

“Apricots?” Peter scoffed.

“Yeah, they’re disgusting,” May said, making an equally appalled expression to match her words. “If you -or even forbid myself- ever ask for apricots, you’ll know it must be an emergency.”

They’d both laughed at the time. It had seemed so stupid, so absolutely harmless.

Peter never expected they’d need the codeword, much less for his aunt to be the one using it.

“You… You sure you don’t want the apricots?” he’d asked into the phone, his voice dropping into something soft and unsteady. He had to be sure. He had to be certain.

“Yes honey,” May said with an urgency only he could recognise layered in her otherwise sweet tone. “I found some in the kitchen, so you can come straight home.”

Swallowing down the lump forming in his throat, Peter murmured “Alright… I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you Peter.”

Peter blinked, wondering why her words felt so final.

“I love you too May…”

Peter hung up first. It felt wrong to do so, but he knew he had to. After all, it wasn’t really May who had started the call to begin with, was it? It was someone else -someone that specifically wanted Peter. And that someone could have been with her right now telling her what to do, what to say…

May was in danger, and it was because of Peter. It was always because of Peter…

The first thing the teen did with his new found panic was sprint into the nearest alley and don the mask in his backpack, barely acknowledging Karen’s warm greeting as he ordered “Karen, I need you to send Droney to my apartment and check that my Aunt is alright, okay?”

The AI must have sensed the worry in his voice because she didn’t even ask for confirmation, simply sending out the little Spider-Drone from the suit and hooking the video feed into his HUD. It was a painstaking ten minutes as Droney flew across the Queens cityscape, and Peter -looking outrageously awkward in his civilian attire and fairly recognisable mask- began to pace back and forth in the alley with every second he was forced to wait. Forced to wonder what could have possibly put his Aunt in such a position that she had to call him with a codeword…

Peter soon learnt his answer though as Droney arrived at his bedroom window, peering into his room to find it swarming with suited men and women. Agents, he quickly realised.

“Karen, who the hell are these guys?”

“Facial recognition scans suggest they are members of the FBI,” the AI chimed, though she didn’t sound particularly pleased either. “It appears they are running a standardised search of your bedroom.”

“Oh crap… I left my stuff in the roof panel,” Peter muttered and prayed to himself that they wouldn’t find it. He wasn’t feeling very hopeful though considering Mr Stark had discovered it in less than a minute upon them first meeting.

Surely they didn’t know, right? How could they possibly know…

“Um… Karen, find where May is. Check that- that she’s alright please,” he said, feeling his voice waver again as he leant against the alley wall.

Carefully, Droney crawled through the window and flew into the living room without catching the attention of the agents currently tearing his room apart. Peter didn’t have time to feel annoyed at that though when he was met with the sight of his Aunt sitting on the sofa and at least half a dozen other agents searching through the apartment, a man in a three-piece suit and salt and pepper hair observing the destruction with amusement. And even though the video feed was imprinted onto his lenses, Peter found himself naturally leaning forward, as if he could be closer to his Aunt by doing so. The same Aunt that was now glaring up at the stranger and spitting fiery, scorching words like her life depended on it.

“You can’t do this you know? You have no proof of anything,” she all but hissed.

The man who Peter immediately had a disliking to turned to May and smiled, saying “We have it from a well trusted source that your nephew, Peter Parker, is the vigilante known as Spider-Man. And as you may know, any enhanced individual acting outside of the Sokovia Accords is considered a crimin-“

“I’ll tell you where to shove your accords,” May muttered under her breath.

That caused the man’s smugness to fall into a frown, and Peter mentally cheered on his aunt’s behalf.

“We’ll see if you feel the same when Peter gets home,” he growled. The threat was clear in his voice though, and for just a moment, May’s eyes flashed with panic, before quickly narrowing again.

Dragging the mask off his face, Peter sucked in a deep breath and felt his heart pound like a racehorse beneath his hand, adrenaline and panic and something like guilt flooding through his veins. They knew who he was. They knew who he was and they were going to arrest him -probably throw him into that raft thing that he’d heard chatter of on the streets…

Peter didn’t want to go to prison. He’d just been trying to help damnit! Help people that couldn’t help himself, just like Ben used to do…

It was in that moment that the teenager knew what he needed to do. May would never be safe with him around, especially not now that he was being hunted by officials, and that meant nobody else he knew would be safe either. It would be better for everyone if he just… disappeared.

And so, Peter did.

The first thing he did was run to Ned’s house at breakneck speeds, and upon his friend’s startled yelp when he jumped through the window, Peter dragged him into the fiercest hug he’d ever given and relished the warmth of Ned’s arms around him. “What’s wrong Peter?” he tried to ask, but the teen just shook his head and held on tighter.

He wouldn’t get the chance to see May again, but maybe, he could onto this moment for a little bit longer…

There were so many times where Peter could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as Ned guided him to sit on his soft, familiar bed, wishing he could pour all his fears out into the open but knowing he couldn’t do that to his friend. He wouldn’t let the last thing Ned remembered of him be a broken, sobbing mess. When Ned looked at him, he saw a hero, in and outside of the suit. Peter didn’t want to shatter that illusion.

“I have to go,” Peter said hoarsely when the two finally released their embrace.

“What? Where? Why?”

There would have been a flood of more questions if Peter had let him continue, but instead, he shook his head and murmured “I can’t tell you Ned, but… I have to go. It’s safer this way…”

“You can’t just leave dude! Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Are you in danger?”

“Ned-“

“Can I help? I’m your guy in the chair! Let me help!”

“No!” Peter snapped, jumping to his feet and dumping his backpack on the ground in favour of the duffel bag of Peter’s clothing that he kept in Ned’s room for sleep overs.

“But dude-“

“I can’t risk it, okay?!” Peter practically roared, but the moment he met his friend’s worried and hurt gaze, the anger fell away like sand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered with a trembling voice. “But I have to do this…”

Ned hesitated at the sight of his friend’s vulnerable state. He knew Peter well; knew him almost as well as himself. If anybody would understand, it would be Ned.

“Will… will you come back?” Ned eventually asked, knowing that any other question would be futile.

“Maybe,” Peter said even though it felt like a lie. “I hope so…”

Then, Ned rose to his feet, and within seconds he had engulfed Peter back into a fierce hug, muttering “Come back, okay man? Come back soon…”

This time Peter couldn’t hold back the tears blazing in his eyes as he whispered “I’ll try…”

Ned, like the most amazing friend he was, helped Peter prepare with no further questions. He helped him organise his small collection of clothes, he shared some of his own when there weren’t enough in his overnight bag, and then he pressed his monthly earnings into Peter’s palm and refused to take it back, no matter how much the teen protested. “Just be safe out there, okay?” he said, his eyes wet but meeting Peter’s eyes own so fiercely that he couldn’t look away.

“I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“Repay me by coming back,” Ned smiled sadly. “That’s… that’s what you can do.”

Knowing he couldn’t promise such a thing, Peter nodded his thanks and stuffed all his belongings into the duffel bag. When everything was ready and it was time for the teen to leave, he shared one last brief hug with the boy he could only describe as a saint and moved towards the windowsill, ready to disappear into the world.

He’d left the backpack with his suit with Ned so that when the time came, he could give it back to Mr Stark, safe and sound. There was no one he trusted more than Ned with such a secret and responsibility.

They didn’t exchange any last words. No, instead, they did their handshake like they’d done a thousand times before and smiled at each other with a warmth that only they could understand.

And then Peter was gone, blending into the throngs of citizens below with his hoodie raised and his heart low.

That night, long after his curfew and hours outside the city of New York, Peter stared down at his cracked cell phone and ignored the tears welling in his eyes. He knew he needed to ditch his phone soon if he was truly going to escape the clutches of the FBI, but he needed to type out this one last message. A message to May; the goodbye they never got to have.

He was halfway through tapping it out when an incoming call stopped him dead in his tracks.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raised the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey kid, I got an alert from your suit that you were in distress earlier,” a familiar voice hummed noncommittally. Like he was only half-paying attention to the conversation he’d started, which Peter figured was about right for someone as busy as Tony Stark. “Thought I might check in and all that.”

Achingly, Peter felt the tears begin to fall down his face as he murmured “Mr Stark…”

“Whoa, are you alright Underoos? You don’t sound very good.”

“I… I can’t-“ The words lodged in Peter’s throat and he turned his face away to hide the pathetic noise. He couldn’t break now, not when he was so close to protecting everyone he loved.

“Alright, now you’ve got me worried Pete,” Mr Stark said with a certain kind of hardness to his voice. “Are you injured? I can send Happy around to pick you up and we can get it checked over.”

Suddenly, a thought occurred to the struggling teen, and he felt his body become awash with dread.

We have it from a well trusted source that your nephew, Peter Parker, is the vigilante known as Spider-Man.

The phone shook violently in Peter’s hand as realisation seemed to dawn on him.

“Was it you…?” he asked, his words so soft it could have been blown away by a light breeze.

“Was what me?”

“Did you-“ Peter clenched his jaw as the anger rose up in his chest. There were only a few people who knew about his secret identity, and he knew for a fact that May and Ned would never out him like that. Not when they were so keen on protecting him in every aspect, including his vigilante lifestyle.

That only left one other person who could have told the FBI who he was…

“You sold me out, didn’t you?”

There was a pregnant pause across the line, before Tony scoffed “What are you on about kid?”

“I’m talking about you telling the FBI that I’m Spider-Man!” Peter hissed out the last part, gripping onto his loosely fitting jacket as he added harshly “I-I trusted you and you sold me out!”

“Kid, I would never-“

“But you did,” Peter cut him off, huffing out the rage that was threatening to suffocate him. “You did, because it couldn’t have been anyone else and I… I trusted you…”

The statement cut through Peter’s chest like a blade, and suddenly the tears were rising up again with the anger and all he felt was cold, utter betrayal.

“Peter…” Mr Stark tried to speak, but Peter didn’t give him the chance. Couldn’t find the strength to continue.

“Goodbye Mr Stark,” he said before abruptly ending the call.

His parting with May had been sudden, and his goodbye with Ned had been comforting. But this felt as cold as winter snow. Like despair seeping into his bones and refusing to let go, because this was it. The final goodbye. A farewell he wasn’t ready to make…

And still, he pushed on. Just like always.

Peter dumped his phone in the nearest trash can and boarded the next available bus heading away from New York, a half-finished text message to May being the last traces of Peter Benjamin Parker.

Chapter Text

Peter was doing pretty well, all things considered.

He’d been careful with his money, he’d hopped between cities without getting caught, and he’d only gotten into a few fights -both as a vigilante and a victim- over the past four weeks on his own, though it was nothing compared to what he used to face on patrol. A few scrapes here. A couple bruises there. Dread weighing down in his stomach like lead…

Yeah, Peter had taken to his new life like a fish to water. At least that’s what he told himself anyway.

Sometimes, when the adrenaline would ebb away, he would remember all that he’d left behind and it would hurt. Hurt like talons had dug into his heart and tried to fly away with it. Silent tears would slip down his cheeks as he laid in the stiff cot of the homeless shelter, and he would dream of his room and his Aunt and his best friend. Dream of what his life could have been if it the FBI hadn’t found out about Spider-Man, if Mr Stark hadn’t…

Peter was always quick to shake his head when he got too wrapped up in his mind. Out here, on the run, he had to stay in the moment. Stay vigilant in case the FBI started to track him down or an Iron Man suit came blasting over the horizon. He couldn’t quite be sure about the second one considering Peter and Mr Stark had barely spoken after his disastrous homecoming -besides declining his offer to join the Avenger, which Peter didn’t count-, but the teen always kept an ear out for that iconic whine of repulsors regardless.

Sure, Peter missed his bed and his room and his suit and his family, but they were comforts of an old life. A life that Peter no longer held. And if giving those up meant that May and Ned were safe, both from the FBI and from himself, then that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

So he continued along in his new state of being, resting every few days to regain his strength with whatever he could salvage from garbage bins before moving on to a new town. Call him paranoid, but staying in one location only made him antsy. Made his sleep grow hazy with dreams of longing and nightmares of a prison lost out at sea. It seemed better to move, and once he started, he just couldn’t seem to stop. Peter was just another nameless face in an ever-revolving world, drifting at the edges of people’s memories like a ghost.

He told himself he was okay with that, and he didn’t even bat an eye when he realised he was lying.

But just because Peter had become invisible didn’t mean he wasn’t still a Parker, and in true Parker fashion, his luck was bound to run dry eventually.

It happened one afternoon as the sun was just starting to creep over the horizon, Peter’s nerves seemingly struck by lightning just moments before a bus rammed straight off the road into the fence-line. Only problem was this wasn’t a regular road, it was a bridge, and the bus was now teetering dangerously over the edge as screams of pure, unfiltered panic filled the evening air.

Peter hadn’t even hesitated. Spider-Man may have torn him away from his old life, but he wouldn’t let these people lose theirs by not helping either.

Just as the vehicle was about to fully tip over the edge, the teenager jumped into action and pressed two sticky hands against the cold, metal rear and dragged it back with a roar. His muscles screamed with agony from the lack of proper meals and the overwhelming strain now forced upon them, but Peter just dug his heels into the cement and pulled with all his might. The bus had stopped its downward descent, but with it still so far over the edge, it made the teen’s job that much harder in dragging it back. Somewhere in the back of his adrenaline fuelled mind Peter thought he heard screaming too, assuming it must have been the terrified passengers inside the bus only to realise a moment later that it was himself that was making the awful noise.

He didn’t have a chance to dwell on that, or the crowd amassing around him, or the phones that were raised to capture the spectacle. Instead he focused all of his energy into dragging the bus back onto the bridge, the nerves in his arms burning like lava as he finally managed to gain some traction. He took one agonising step at a time. Left, right, left, right. Deep breath in, and deep breath out. Try not to scream as his forearms began to cramp, and collapse to his knees when the weight finally released from his deadened shoulders.

There was so much movement happening now, voices trying to speak to him, Peter thought, but it was all lost in a haze. Like instead of his tunnel vision disappearing it had turned the world fuzzy in its absence. A blur of voices and sirens and people and lights and darkness, but mostly, a harmony of relieved cries and laughter. Of quiet words that all melded into one simple message.

Thank you.

Peter couldn’t help but smile as he leant against the now stable bus, a sensation that had been missing for four long weeks suddenly blooming in his chest. This -this was why he became Spider-Man. To help people. To save them. That was all that mattered, and if Peter could continue to protect lives wherever possible, he thought he could get used to this new life…

Spots began to dance across his eyes, and for a moment, Peter almost considered falling into it. Surely he deserved just a little bit of shut eye…

But then a new sound cut through the muddled audio from before, and the teen felt his heart drop into his stomach with sudden realisation.

Peter was on his feet and running through the startled crowd before the whine of the repulsors had even reached the bridge, scrambling past onlookers and concerned paramedics in his desperation to get away. To escape, escape -always to escape.

He should have been more careful. Should have run right after pulling the bus back to safety, but instead he’d just sat there like an idiot and watched on in a daze as people snapped pictures and videos of the mysterious teenage hero. It wouldn’t have taken long for word to spread. One clear shot of his face was all an advanced AI would need to pin down his identity, his location, and the quickest route to said location.

It was no wonder Mr Stark had gotten here so fast.

But despite his legs wavering like a newborn deer, Peter sprinted down the sidewalk without ever looking back and twisted into the first alley that came his way. He’d done this before -the whole disappearing thing. He could do it again.

Peter reached the end of the alley and jumped up to the brick wall, completely ready to climb his way to safety, only for fire to race up his arms the moment they were forced to bear his weight. For the first time in months Peter’s stickiness failed him and he fell to the harsh cement with a stifled groan into his shoulder, biting back the scream he so desperately wanted to let out instead. He moved to get his elbows beneath him again but even that seemed like too much on his strained, weary limbs, gasping as the pain shot straight from his fingertips to his heart.

It hurt, god everything hurt. His body, his mind, his soul. Everything. Why couldn’t it all just stop -stop, please make it stop!

“Peter.”

The teen’s head snapped up at the familiar voice, scrambling for purchase against the brick wall beside him and finally managing to get his feet beneath him long enough to stare at the new arrival. He wanted to run, but he was paralysed by the look in the man’s deep brown eyes, his expression open and raw as he watched Peter with a saddened sort of relief. The suit was somewhere nearby too, Peter could hear it hovering just out of reach, but the man himself was dressed casually in a shirt and trousers, his hair unkempt compared to its usually meticulous flair.

Peter never thought he’d seen his mentor so… so informal before, but he supposed he didn’t look particularly put together either right now, thin and cold and shuddering like a leaf.

The tension was crackling like lightning between them, and as much as he knew he should be trying to escape, Peter couldn’t find the willpower within himself to leave.

Mr Stark must have realised that at some point, because he was the first to speak, his lips tilting into a weak smile as he greeted “Hey kid…”

A sluggish blink was all Peter had to offer. He was tired, so, so tired…

“It’s been a while, huh?” Mr Stark continued softly. “I’ve been trying to find you for weeks -been pulling out all the stops and everything, but… you sure know how to hide your tracks, don’t you kid?”

The last part was said in jest but all Peter could feel was a hollowness in his gut that had been filled with either adrenaline or panic or guilt for the past four weeks. Now all that was left was this emptiness, and he worried it was going to swallow him whole.

“Every time I seemed to find you, you were gone within the hour. Quite frustrating for a genius like me, I’m sure you can imagine,” he smiled, and Peter wondered why he looked so sombre. So pained. “When FRIDAY told me there was an unknown teenager lifting a bus with his bare hands, that he saved dozens of people, I just -I knew I had to get here fast.”

Mr Stark stepped forward, and the teen naturally stepped back, causing the man to flinch. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now Pete, but I need to talk to you. We need to talk, alright? Because this whole thing’s just a shitshow and I want to fix it.”

For reasons Peter didn’t understand, his eyes became wet with not anger, but grief. Grief over the life he’d lost, and over the trust that had been broken. “You gave me up,” he said simply, and he could see the hurt flashing across Mr Stark’s eyes as he said it.

“No kid, never.”

“You were the only other person who knew,” Peter murmured, but there was no fire left in his body to be angry anymore.

“I know kid, I know it seems like that. But I need you to believe me when I say that I would never in a million years tell anybody who you are. Never,” he said with such intensity that Peter couldn’t help but meet his steady gaze. “It’s your secret, not mine. And I respect that, and I respect you kid. I need you to understand that.”

Peter leant against the wall and blinked away the spots threatening his vision again. He wanted to believe Mr Stark’s words -truly, he did. He wanted to convince himself that he wasn’t useless, and that he wasn’t a danger, and that despite all the horrible thoughts that had been swarming around his head these past few weeks, he wasn’t a bad person.

But the idea that Mr Stark had given him up to the FBI had destroyed any chance of hope for the boy, claiming that he must have done something wrong for the man to turn on him. That even now, this was all just a ploy to give him over to the feds and dust his hands of the nuisance vigilante.

As if sensing his very thoughts though, Mr Stark added kindly “I know you don’t believe me Pete, but I promise on my life, I would never betray you like that.”

“If it wasn’t you, then who?” Peter asked, intending it to be harsh but coming out more exhausted than anything.

This seemed to make the man’s eyes light up with confidence though, his expression firm as he explained “Remember your little Vulture buddy? That bastard Ross -he’s in charge of enforcing the Accords- was so desperate to find you that he actually bribed Toomes into giving up your name.” Mr Stark seemed to visibly bristle with anger as he added sharply “I’ve got my lawyers tearing Ross a new one for that right now.”

Peter blinked up at him in shock, asking “It-… it wasn’t you…?”

Familiar brown eyes softened in the last rays of sunlight slipping over the horizon, replying gently “Yeah kid. Ross offered Toomes a reduced sentence if he gave up your identity. So much for a reliable source, am I right?”

The relief that rushed up in Peter’s heart was crushed almost immediately by the weight of reality. “It’s too late now,” he murmured as the tears finally fell from his eyes. “They know who I am, and they’re never gonna stop chasing me.”

“Well here’s the good part kid,” Mr Stark cut in with that soothing voice of his. “All the FBI has to work with is the word of a criminal, and a dangerous one at that. They actually don’t have any proof that you’re Spider-Man.”

“W-What? Didn’t they find my web-shooters in the roof?”

The man shook his head with an amused smile, saying “Aunt Hottie hid your stuff in a wall panel before they arrived. It was meant as a precaution, but it ended up leaving the FBI empty handed.”

“So… so they don’t know it’s me?” Peter asked, hopeful. So damn hopeful.

“Suspicions maybe, but absolutely no proof,” Mr Stark answered.

“And- And I’m not getting sent to that raft thing?”

That seemed to make Mr Stark pale a little, fear flashing across his gaze as he rushed to say “Definitely not. If I have any say in it, you’ll never go near that thing.”

“Even though I broke the Accords?” Peter asked with a trembling voice.

“Kid, you didn’t break anything,” Mr Stark replied and took a gentle step forward, obviously relieved when the teenager didn’t react this time. “As an anonymous enhanced, you’re under my supervision and responsibility in the eyes of the Accords. The only one breaking the rules was Ross, since he’s not actually allowed to interfere with your Spider-ing unless it’s through me.”

Peter blinked at the man with wide, shocked eyes. “So I’m… I’m not a criminal?”

“No kid, the furthest thing from it.”

Suddenly Peter’s knees were weak and he was laughing into his hand with overwhelmed relief, the pain in his arms becoming nothing more than a slight throb in the back of his conscience. Glancing up again with watery eyes, Peter asked “And May? She -she’s alright?”

“Yeah kid. She’s worried out of her mind though.”

“Oh my god,” Peter muttered and pressed a hand against his eyes. “I didn’t… I didn’t even say goodbye…”

“Speaking of goodbyes, care to explain this whole lone ranger act you decided to take on?” Tony asked firmly, the slightest bit of a frown edging over his expression.

Everything that Peter had done, every single mistake he’d made seemed to flash in front of him like some kind of horror slideshow, regret and guilt and shame welling up in his gut as he thought about everything he’d put May and Ned and Mr Stark through. God, he’d blamed Mr Stark for everything. He’d yelled at Tony Stark and essentially called him a traitor to his face!

“I’m so sorry,” he practically whispered, his voice rough with remorse.

Immediately, Mr Stark’s face softened in concern, saying “You don’t have to be sorry Pete. I just want to know why.”

Tears slipped down Peter’s cheeks as he met his mentor’s gaze. “I was just trying to protect everyone…”

Mr Stark’s shoulders fell with a heavy sigh, sympathy clear in his eyes as he took another step -making sure to move only when Peter appeared comfortable for him to do so- to close the gap between them. When the teen didn’t even flinch at him being right in front of him, Mr Stark lowering his hand onto Peter’s aching shoulder and said “I get it kid. You’re used to being the strong one, always making sure your family is safe and all that.”

Peter nodded in agreement, his breath stuttering on a sob.

With a quick squeeze of his shoulder, Mr Stark’s lips lifted back into a smile, warm and soft and genuine. “I know you want to be strong kid, but you should know that you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

“Why not?” Peter asked shakily.

Mr Stark hesitated, his eyes becoming cloudy with a storm of emotions, before he answered softly “Because you’ve got me now, and I’ll be strong for you.”

That was it. That was all it took for Peter’s well-crafted defences to crumble into ashes as he finally succumbed to his weariness, tears now pouring down his cheeks with broken sobs as Mr Stark tugged him into his arms. Peter couldn’t even recall the last time he’d let himself feel this vulnerable, this weak. Maybe it was with Ben. Maybe it was with his parents.

But here, in the warmth of Mr Stark’s embrace, Peter allowed himself to fall apart, knowing for once that he didn’t have to keep it together anymore. That he was allowed to breakdown and cry and just be protected instead of the one protecting.

“It’s alright kid, everything’s alright now,” the man hummed before raising a hand to cup the back of Peter’s neck soothingly. “I’m here -I’m here now. And I know that I’m kind of shit at this mentoring stuff but -I’m going to get better, okay? I’m going to get better for you.”

Laughing and sobbing into Mr Stark’s shoulder, Peter felt the burden of the world lift off his shoulders, if only for a moment.

“Thank you, Mr Stark…”

“No worries kid. I’m always here for you.”

Peter smiled and told himself that everything would be alright, and for the first time in weeks, he actually believed it.

Chapter Text

Tony awoke with a groan, forcing his eyelids open to be met with nothing but darkness and the dim glow of the arc reactor in his chest. The ground beneath him was cold, harsh cement, and when he reached out into the shadows his fingertips brushed over something metal and solid. A pole, he quickly realised, and running his hand further along the wall, he found many more lined up in an orderly pattern. Prison bars. A cage. Whatever word you picked, they all meant the same thing.

Tony was trapped. Kidnapped probably, if the throb in his skull was any indication. In the back of his mind, Tony couldn’t help but admire whatever dumbass had made that decision, considering he and captivity had not exactly blended well in the past.

Oh well, they’d learn soon enough.

So forcing himself onto his knees, the man tried to remember how he ended up in this dark, damp cell and sat against the bars to ease the nausea swirling around his stomach. Like a computer that was rebooting after abruptly getting shut down, images and voices lazily began to piece themselves together to fill the gaps in his memories. By the time the ache in his neck had faded, he could recall what had happened with painful clarity.

He’d been in Queens one night taking down a local mafia family when the Spiderling had appeared. Tony refused to call him Spider-Man, because there was absolutely no way that squeaky-voiced, awkwardly rambling kid could be an adult. Not in a million years. It was amusing however to watch him try -and fail horribly- to guard his identity. He tried to deepen his voice at the beginning, and once or twice he’d tried to put on an accent, but it was fairly obvious to both of them that he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Once the kid had started to ease up a little, their fights became a hell of a lot more entertaining.

Spider-Man versus the Merchant of Death.

It was a rare, but, enjoyable battle whenever they crossed paths. The Spider wasn’t like other heroes. He was witty and dorky and quick on his feet, giving Tony’s advanced weaponry a real challenge for once to keep up. Battles with him felt more like a game than a fight for life and death, and while he never exactly went easy on the kid, he always left him in a survivable condition so they could go a few rounds again next time. Tony got the feeling he knew that as well, because once when he had taken an awfully powerful swing of the gauntlet to his chest, the spider had tapped on his boot twice like it were some kind of friendly wrestling match. Like they weren’t superhero and super villain duking it out on a bustling New York street.

Tony had let him catch his breath anyway, and they’d gone back to the fight as if nothing had happened.

That night, the battle had been fairly on par for the two rivals, banter flying back and forth alongside the repulsor beams and spider webs shooting through the air. It had been light-hearted, fun even. It seemed neither of them were taking it very seriously as they tore up the mafia-owned restaurant through their haze of adrenaline, throwing quips at each other that they had been crafting and saving since their last encounter.

Then the lights had gone out, and there had been footsteps. A lot of them. And then before either of them had a chance to blink, something attached to the suit and fried both its circuits and its creator within it, Tony’s cry and the Spider’s scream ringing out at the same time before everything went dark.

Now Tony was here, locked up, without the chatty kid that had been ambushed alongside him.

“Bug?” he asked into the darkness, his voice unusually coarse. “Hey Bug? You here?”

“M ‘n ara-hnid…”

Tony smirked at the slurred mumble from behind him, turning around so his arc reactor faced the bars and shone just brightly enough to outline the figure lying in the other cell. Deep brown eyes narrowed at the new source of light before blinking up at the man sluggishly. “Hey man…” he murmured with that same dorky smile of his. “Funny seein’ you here, am I right?”

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. “You’re such a pest, you know that?”

The boy’s face screwed up in pain suddenly as he pressed a hand to his face, pushing himself up with his other arm with a groan. Tony stared at him curiously as he tried to regain his bearings, and he realised after a few moments that the reason he looked so different was because he wasn’t wearing his mask. Instead of staring into those ridiculous home-made and surprisingly expressive goggles, he was instead staring at a kid with soft, curly hair and wide, young eyes. He’d always known that Spider-Man wasn’t actually a man, but seeing him like this… it just felt different.

“You right Bug?” Tony found himself asking without quite understanding why.

The boy just hummed though and massaged the back of his neck, seeming not to notice the villain’s odd behaviour. “Yeah -yeah I’m good, just… I think they gave me some sort of drugs on the way over,” he grumbled. “You know, to keep me quiet and all that.”

“Very understandable,” Tony mused, earning a huff from the teen without any real heat behind it.

“So, when are you getting us out of here Tin Man?”

“And why exactly is it my responsibility to get us out of here?” Tony said while knowing full well that JARVIS would already be tracking his location from the moment he’d disappeared.

“I don’t know, maybe because you chose to fight the mafia alone.”

“Firstly, it’s your fault for interfering-“

The boy rolled his eyes with that signature spider sarcasm.

“-And secondly, it’s not the mafia behind this.”

Now that caught the insect’s attention, his spine straightening as he asked, “It’s not?”

“Those goons? No way,” Tony scoffed. “This has to be some other group. Organised enough to get us both, but not smart enough to realise that kidnapping me will be their biggest mistake.”

“So… you can get us out right?” he asked, a little nervously.

“Yeah, easily.” Tony glanced away for a moment before turning back to the teen with another mischievous smirk. “I might leave you here though Bug. You’re pretty annoying.”  

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“I mean it.”

“No you don’t,” the Spider laughed.

“Keep snarking and I will,” Tony retorted, feeling the constant pressure in his chest ease like it always did when he bantered with the vigilante. “Just watch kid. I’ll parade right out of this cell and make you watch.”

Instead of pointing out that neither of them had the means or even the knowledge to escape right now, the boy played along and said “How about this? I’ll web you to the wall and you can watch me parade out to my freedom instead.”

“Good luck,” Tony replied dryly, but it made the kid smile, and for some reason that made his own lips tilt up in amusement.

Before the teen could shoot out another word though -because there was always something he had to say- their cells were suddenly flooded with harsh, white light, and a metal door swung open from the wall on the Spider’s side of the cell. The two inmates blinked rapidly to sooth the fire in their vision, and when they could finally open their eyes without seeing spots, they realised there was a figure standing in the doorway with a sick kind of gleam in his pale eyes. His blond hair was gelled back into waves and he wore a lab coat like some kind of cheesy horror villain, but as much as Tony wanted to dismiss him as a weakling, he couldn’t help but notice the way he was staring at the kid.

Piercingly. Hungrily.

Tony was on his feet with his hands clenched on the bars between them before he even knew what he was doing. Thankfully the kid’s instincts must have agreed with Tony’s though as he quickly shifted into a familiar fighting crouch, fists balled up and at the ready to punch this stranger’s lights out if he so needed to.

“Now, now there,” the doctor chuckled gleefully. “I haven’t even introduced myself yet.”

“I don’t care,” the boy snapped, and Tony watched from his side of the cell with sharp, calculating eyes.

“And here I thought Spider-Man loved to talk,” he smiled. Not warm like the kid’s smile, but twisted and sick in a way that Tony couldn’t describe.

The boy shifted back slightly as those grey eyes scanned over him meticulously, before the man tilted his head and said with a sigh “No matter. We’ll have you singing like a canary in no time.”

“W-What?”

Tony could hear the fear in the Spider’s voice as clear as day, and judging by the pleased shimmer in the stranger’s eye, he’d heard it too.

“I-… I don’t know anything,” the Spider tried to defend when he didn’t answer.

“Oh, but you do! Your entire DNA is just a book waiting to be cracked open! And I, for one, can’t wait to read it.”

Something about that statement made Tony’s stomach flip, and he stared with wide eyes as two burly soldiers suddenly entered the room and began advancing on the kid with surprising speed. Tony could only watch on in shock as they pounced on the teen and wrestled him to the ground, feeling his fists clench against the bars when the boy tried valiantly to fight the guards away. But he was only a kid, and after a few painful sounding punches, the Spider could only moan as they dragged his half-conscious body out of the cell, blood smearing against their white, stiff uniforms.

Finally seeming to find his voice at the sight of the doctor leaving though, Tony snapped “Hey you! Shithead!”

The man turned to the prisoner with an almost curious gaze, the emblem of what looked like a skull-octopus hybrid flashing over his chest. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you take on someone your own size, huh? He’s got nothing of value to you.”

The doctor’s lips tilted into a smirk that Tony wished he could blast right off, saying “Don’t worry Stark. We have plans for you too, but I prefer not to waste time with my live subjects.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as the doctor grinned and closed the door behind him, enveloping the cell back into darkness.

…

It felt like hours until the doors opened again, but the moment the metal creaked, Tony was back at the bars and flinching at the intruding light. His focus wasn’t on his burning vision however, but on the kid getting shoved through the doorway and stumbling onto the cement. Tony didn’t even have a chance to get a good look at the teen’s face before the door slammed shut and they were back in shadows again.

“Hey Bug, you alright?” Tony asked cautiously, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

“U-Uh… yeah, yeah…” he answered, though his voice sounded shaky with tears.

“What’d they do to you?”

A grunt, and then the sound of shifting as the kid probably lowered himself to the floor. “Um… needles, and, and knives and-“ his words cut off abruptly, and Tony felt his brow crease with something like concern.

“Are you hurt?”

Drawing in a sharp breath and letting it out in a wheeze, the kid answered “I- I’ll be fine. Heal… heal quick…”

For a moment, Tony considered asking further. Considered trying to assess the damage in the light of his arc reactor that the kid was currently hiding outside of. But instead, he just nodded his head and sat back against the bars, muttering “You’ll be fine kid.”

He was surprised when he got a light-hearted hum in return, followed by the shuddering words “Got to- got to be awake so you can w-watch me leave, right?”

“More like when I leave,” Tony shot back quickly.

“Hm… w-we’ll see ‘bout that…”

Tony smirked a little, warmed from the banter, before something heavy and cold settled in his gut like a stone falling into the ocean. It was such a strange sensation, one that felt foreign but oddly familiar all at once. It continued to weigh down on him long into the day as he teased the kid and reminisced on their past encounters, wondering the whole time what that cold feeling could possibly mean.

Only hours later, when they dragged the kid out again and he was left to the darkness and the silence, Tony realised that that feeling inside of him was guilt.

…

Despite Tony’s increasing aggravation and shouts of protest every time the kid’s door opened on the other side of the bars, they never laid a hand on Tony.

It was like some kind of cruel joke. He was a billionaire, a genius -a super powered villain for Christ’s sake! And yet they left him there to rot every single time.

Maybe this was his torture? Maybe growing insane inside this cage with nothing to do was exactly what they wanted. Or maybe, and this was almost worse, it had nothing to do with him. Maybe it was all about the Spider, and the fact that Tony had to watch this kid so filled with hope and light and life get pummelled and hauled out of the room every day was just an unintentional horror they were forcing him to witness.

Tony hated it, and he hated them. Every day the kid was dragged back into the cell, sometimes unconscious, sometimes sobbing, and every day he wanted to kill every single one of them. When the kid retreated to a corner and tried to muffle his cries Tony was engulfed with rage, and the only way he could restrain himself from punching out a wall with his bare hands was imagining a metal one tearing through the skulls of those bastards once JARVIS tracked him down. Surely the AI would find him soon, surely…

“You awake kid?” Tony whispered through the bars.

He’d fallen flat on his face when the guards shoved him back in today, and from what Tony had heard, he hadn’t gotten back up either. “Bug?” Tony tried again, his voice growing softer. “Just making sure you’re not, you know… not dead or anything over there.”

There was no reply from the other side of the cell, but he could hear the kid’s laboured breathing. He took that as a good sign considering the circumstances.

“It’s alright kid, you rest up for now. It’s gonna be fine…”

The words felt bitter on Tony’s tongue, but he wanted the kid to know that it was alright. That it was going to be alright, hopefully sooner rather than later.

I’m going to fix this, just you wait.

…

The boy was wailing when he was dragged back into the cell this time, and Tony spat profanities at the guards that threw him to the ground and left him there, alone, trembling, covering in blood. The doors shut and the darkness returned, but Tony couldn’t erase the horrors from his vision.

“Shit kid, what happened?” he asked.

This was obviously no time for words though, painful sobs tearing out of his chest as he curled up on the ground inside of the light of Tony’s arc reactor this time. The blue washed over the teen’s tear-stained cheeks and trembling body and crimson stained shirt like some kind of haunting nightmare.

Slowly, Tony crouched on his side of the bars and found himself at a loss for words. What could he possibly say that could make any of this better?

In an instinct the man couldn’t describe, he reached his hand through the space between the bars and brushed his fingers over the teen’s forearm, causing him to shudder at first, before shuffling closer a moment later.

“It’s okay kid, it’s gonna be okay.”

With a little bit more encouragement, the kid was soon laid out just beside the bars separating them, his cries lessening over what felt like hours while Tony kept his hand gripped firmly over his shoulder. Grounding him. Giving him something to focus on through the pain.

The boy still whimpered, but for a moment, Tony felt like he could actually help instead of destroy.

…

“They’ve stopped u-using anaesthetic…”

It was said through a rasp, but Tony felt his fingers clench with unbridled strength.

“I’m going to kill them. All of them.”

A beat of silence, and then “They might kill me first…”

“No they won’t. I won’t allow it.”

The kid scoffed, but it was weak and strained. “Don’t think that’s how it works…”

“Then I’ll make it work like that. I’m a billionaire kid. I can do whatever I want.”

His reply was lost in a mumble, and Tony felt his expression soften again as he settled his hand over the kid’s shoulder once more, easing his troubled mind into sleep.

“Just hold on Bug. It’ll be okay soon.”

…

“It was easier today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, the guard hit me too hard in the head and I got to be unconscious for the first part.”

“Shit kid…”

“Sorry, too morbid?”

“No I just… I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because I should be able to stop this.”

The silence was back, the one that seemed to haunt Tony whenever the kid wasn’t there. But then, Tony felt something warm brush against his arm, jumping a little as the Spider reached through the bars and gave his hand a brief squeeze. It was the first time he had reached through the bars and not Tony since they’d arrived in this hell hole, a Tony didn’t know why his eyes stung as he did so.

“It’s alright Mr Stark. It’s not your fault.”

“…I’m going to fix it anyway.”

The boy smiled at him shakily through the light of the reactor, hope somehow still flickering in his eyes.

“I know you will…”

…

“Why do you do it? The killing, I mean?” the Spider asked meekly as they chewed on their stale portion of bread for the night.

“Why do you dress up in a onesie to fight me?”

“Asshole,” he scoffed, though Tony knew it was just teasing.

“Big words coming from a twelve-year-old.”

“I’m fifteen.”

“Not really helping your case Bug.”

“My name’s Peter.”

Tony blinked in surprise at the fierce declaration, turning towards his cellmate and recognising the pain in his gaze. He hadn’t been called his name for weeks. Not by their captors. Not by Tony. Certainly not by anyone that actually mattered in his life.

Suddenly, Tony felt a stab of remorse in his chest and said quickly “Sorry kid- I mean, Peter.”

Tension filled the air as he seemed to process the villain’s concern, thinking, deciding whether to trust him. Then, with the heaviness passing from his expression, Peter replied jokingly “Sounds weird when you say it.”

“Would you like to go back to insect? How about pest?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I think I’ll keep it.”

“Shut up!”

Tony smiled at the mocking scowl the teen was shooting at him, and he thought he liked the sound of the kid -of Peter- laughing above everything else in this damn nightmare.

…

Peter screamed when they brought him in next.

Within seconds Tony was at the bars and shouting at the guards, knowing it wouldn’t do anything, but feeling useless -so damn useless- on the other side of the room. There were surgery cuts all across Peter’s back as they dumped him onto the floor, the cement digging into the already inflamed wounds and making him cry out that much harder, before the room fell back into that familiar darkness.

“Kid? Kid!”

Peter tried to muffle the sobbing into his jacket, but Tony was familiar with his pain by now. Felt like it had begun to pierce his own body with each passing day.

“I know- I know it hurts kid, but can you move closer? I might be able to help,” he said, his voice wavering on a plea. “I can’t see you from here bud, so I need you to get a little closer.”

The crying continued for a few passing moments, before with a sharp inhale and a heart-breaking groan, Peter began to drag himself over to the bars and the blue light pouring out of Tony’s chest. Once he was within reach Tony helped pull him along until the were both pressed up against the metal separating them, the position awkward but necessary for the man to assess the damage on Peter’s back. He knew it was useless. He knew he couldn’t really help him. But it seemed to comfort them both by checking, by having the other close.

“It h-hurts,” Peter whined, leaning heavily to the side. “Hurts s’ bad…”

“I know kid, I’m sorry,” Tony muttered and pulled away enough to see the kid’s face. “You want to sleep? It might speed up the healing.”

Lacking both energy and stamina, Peter just nodded along with tears pouring down his cheeks and allowed Tony to guide him into a sleeping position against the bars, his butchered back facing towards the other wall where neither of them could see it. Unlike the many of other times Peter had fallen asleep like this and Tony had sat awake to keep watch over him, the man found himself laying down beside him, his hand still resting on his forearm like the anchor they both desperately needed.

“I’m so sorry kid,” he whispered after watching Peter’s entire body shudder with agony. “I wish I could help, I really do…”

Through gritted teeth, the kid somehow managed to say “You do- do help… help me…”

“It doesn’t feel like it. Quite the opposite actually,” Tony muttered.

“B-Better… with you- you here…”

Features softening, Tony pressed closer against the metal and lifted his hand from Peter’s shoulder to his cheek in an almost instinctual manner, saying “I’m sorry I can’t do more, kid…”

A strained hum filled the air and the teen leant into Tony’s touch like an adorable puppy, though it was followed by a whimper that immediately shattered the illusion. “Wanna go… I wanna go home- please,” he whispered furiously under his breath.

“I know Little Bug. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The tears came back with a vengeance, and feeling his own chest constricting, Tony did something unexpected. He took Peter’s blood-stained hand in his own and pulled it to his side of the cell, pressing it just beside his arc reactor where his heart was beating steadily. Peter, who seemed equally surprised by the motion, blinked up at the man in surprise before turning his attention to the light beneath his fingertips.

“Focus on that kid, alright? Focus on me,” Tony soothed as he raised his other hand back to the boy’s head and ran his fingers through Peter’s greasy, blood-encrusted hair. If this were anyone else, Tony would be absolutely repulsed. But he was traversing through hell with this kid, and after days and weeks of anger and regret boiling inside of him, he realised he would do anything for this kid.

“I’ve got you Little Bug,” Tony hummed, watching as Peter’s eyes began to flutter shut in both relief and agony. “I’ve got you Peter…”

…

The explosion that rocked the cell had both Tony and Peter on their feet and staring at each other with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Is… Is this it?” Peter asked, his whole-body trembling with hope. God, hope never looked so amazing before.

The familiar whine of repulsors echoed through the halls and Tony laughed through unbidden tears. “Yeah Bug, this is it.”

Screams and shouts filled the air, and it was so liberating for it to not be Tony and Peter’s voices for once. Chaos was completely tearing the outside world apart and Tony savoured every pained cry and panicked whimper that reached his ears. He wanted them to suffer. He wanted them all to suffer as much as Peter had- more even. Death wasn’t good enough for them, and the part of him that had created the Merchant of Death wanted to exact his slow, agonising revenge.

But then something new overpowered that hunger in his gut, something light and warm and powerful. And when he glanced over at Peter’s face, streaked with tears and a smile of relief, Tony knew there was only one thing he wanted to do. He wanted to see this kid without metal bars in the way. He wanted to hold him and make true to the promises of safety that he hadn’t been able to keep while locked up.

And when Peter met his gaze with an equally joyful shudder, he knew he felt the same way.

So when the remotely piloted suits tore open the doors, both villain and hero sprinted out of the shadowed cells and straight into each other’s arms, sobs melding into laughter as they relished in their freedom. Their freedom. It was beautiful, and warm, and the biggest relief he’d ever felt in his life. And it was all thanks to the amazing kid wrapped tightly in his embrace.

“It’s over now, it’s finally over,” Tony laughed tearfully into his mop of hair. “You did it, Pete. You made it.”

Smiling into his shoulder, Peter proclaimed “I knew you’d save us… knew you weren’t… a bad guy…”

The teen was sagging against Tony’s chest now, overcome with exhaustion, but Tony just glanced up at the roof and allowed the tears to fall down his cheeks in silent victory.

“You can rest now, Little bug,” he breathed out, leaning his head against Peter’s own with a smile.

“I’ve got you now… I’ve got you…”

Chapter Text

Red dirt swirled across the ground as Tony’s knees hit the unfamiliar planet, eyes brimming with tears he couldn’t remember forming as he stared down at his hands in horror.

There was dust on his palms. It was chalky and dry and stuck to his skin like spiderwebs.

Tony wanted to get it off, and at the same time, he wanted it to stay. Never wanted to let it go. Even now as he watched the stray, sullen flakes fall into the dirt below, lost in the sea of red, Tony could feel his heart begin to pound rapidly in his chest. His hands were shaking, and that sent more ash to the floor, which made his heart beat faster and his hands tremble harder and-

On instinct Tony turned around and searched for the impending danger, the cause of the lightning in his nerves and the ache in his chest, but found nothing. Nothing but the same red dirt and orange painted sky, the remnants of destruction littered across the horizon. It was quiet too. So eerily, painfully quiet…

Tony had always hated silence. It made him think of sterile labs and tense meals at the dinner table- of empty bedrooms and the pause before Howard’s shouts filled the air. Tony hated that sound as much as the silence, so for decades, he’d worked to erase that emptiness with his words and his wit. For the most part it worked, but he could feel it creeping into his bones now like a looming storm, preparing to swallow him whole.

So in his haste to escape the barren wasteland he kneeled in, Tony stumbled to his feet and began to walk. He didn’t care where, so long as it had noise, and people.

God, where was everyone?

Tony wrapped his arms around his chest and paced across the broken landscape, trying his best to ignore the ash still clinging to his fingertips. He was alone, and he knew this place but couldn’t remember why, but the tightening in his stomach told him there was probably a good reason for that too.

Tony tried to call out for anyone who might be here near but his voice travelled with no destination. No one returned his words.

The longer he walked, the more thoughts seemed to cross his mind, like wires reconnecting but in all the wrong circuits. Faces were flashing across his vision in some kind of disoriented slideshow, some he recognised -Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, Happy- and some he’d rather forget -Howard, Steve, Barnes, Thanos-

Thanos. That’s right, he’d fought Thanos hadn’t he? And he’d- he’d…

He’d lost.

It was all coming back to him now -the battle, the destruction, the failure. Blood dripping out of his mouth and a stone falling into a golden gauntlet. Hushed whispers. Wide, terrified eyes…

“Mr Stark…?”

No.

“I don’t feel so good.”

No, no, no ,no-

“I don’t- I don’t know what’s happening, I-“

Tony unfolded his arms and stared down at his hands again with a stuttered breath, the ash still coating his palms in a sickening, grey haze.

“I don’t wanna go Mr Stark… please, I don’t wanna go- I don’t wanna go-“

Spinning around on his heel, Tony’s terrified eyes searched the horizon for the face he desperately needed to see, only to realise that his surroundings had shifted dramatically. Instead of a broken, dusty planet that he didn’t recognise, he was standing amongst fire and wreckage and chaos in all directions. Echoes of battle rippled across the sky by Tony could find no figures to accompany them, his lungs tightening the longer he stared at the destruction. Tony spun in a slow circle and took in the oddly familiar hellscape, before turning around to see-

“Peter?”

The name come out in a choked breath, but Tony ran like the wind towards the boy standing just a few metres away, his hair dishevelled and upper lip crusted with blood. Deep brown eyes lifted to meet his own and the first thing Tony felt besides relief was worry, because he looked sad. So incredibly sad.

“I’m sorry.”

Tony’s concern deepened as he reached out and clutched onto the teen’s thin shoulders, about to ask what he could possibly be sorry for, when his flesh suddenly flaked away into the horrifyingly familiar ash.

“No,” Tony gasped and instinctively moved his hand to Peter’s cheek, which was also tearing apart in an aching slow fashion. “No, no, no kid! Stay- Stay with me!”

Peter’s eyes never wavered from his own, tears slipping down his face -his crumbling face, and Tony felt something sharp pierce through his chest with every passing second, more painful than anything he’d ever experienced over his years as Ironman.

“No Pete, you have to stay!” he begged out through his own tears. “Please, I can’t- can’t lose you!”

Can’t lose you again.

Again.

Again.

Because he’d already lost the kid before, and it hurt -it hurt so much.

“No Peter, don’t leave me, please!”

The grief, he remembered the way it pulled him down. It tore him apart and left him alone to rot. It suffocated him through the night with phantom dust and stole the air form his lungs whenever the kid was even mentioned. And now- god now he was losing him all over again and he couldn’t do it again-

“Please kid, stay… stay…”

He was sobbing again, and it was hard to see the teen’s beautifully familiar face through his tears but he could feel him slipping away under his fingertips all the same.

“Mr Stark…”

Peter’s voice sounded oddly stiff, but Tony ploughed on shakily “Don’t say goodbye. Don’t you dare say it! I- I need you Pete. Don’t leave. I can’t do it, please-“

“Mr Stark.”

“I can… I can fix it, just- just don’t leave me-“

“Mr Stark!”

Something pushed against his chest, warm and solid which meant it couldn’t be Peter because he was dying all over again-

“Open your eyes!”

Tony drew in a sharp breath and tried to remember when he’d closed them. Maybe when the tears had blurred out the world before him. Maybe when he could no longer feel Peter’s trembling heartbeat beneath his palm. Maybe when his kid died on an alien planet, terrified, and dragged part of Tony’s soul along with him…

“Tony…”

That single word had Tony’s breath stuttering in surprise, because it was a name he’d never heard from that particular voice.

The confusion was enough to make him pry his eyes open, and instead of being greeted by the remains of his kid and a wasteland of loss, he was staring up into a pair of warm, brown, and beautifully alive eyes.

“Peter,” Tony sobbed out, tears still cascading down his cheeks.

He could see the wooden roof of the cabin above him, and the soft plush cushion of the couch, and a blanket that had gotten tangled around his legs. But all he could see was Peter, his incredible and miraculous kid.

“Hey Mr Stark,” Peter said softly with that same sad look overshadowing his face from before.

“You’re… you’re…?”

“Alive, and completely unharmed,” the teen soothed, a hand that had been resting over his chest moving to squeeze his shoulder instead. “I’m right here, and you’re safe, and everyone is safe. I promise.”

“I thought you- you were…” Tony’s voice caught on the words that refused to fall out of his mouth, like saying them would make it a reality and shatter this precious illusion before him.

Sighing, Peter lowered himself to lay beside the man on the couch and hummed “I know, but I’m alright. And I’m right here with you.”

Tony’s arms wrapped around the boy like second nature and pulled him a fierce embrace, Peter’s head resting against his painfully racing heartbeat. It felt hard to breathe. It felt like there was ash clogging his throat and his lungs and brain, but with Peter’s warmth against his side, he felt the tension begin to unravel. And with his even softer words promising that he was safe, and that Tony was safe, and that it had just been a dream, Tony slowly sagged back into the couch without ever releasing his death grip on the kid beside him.

“It’s okay, Mr Stark.”

“It wasn’t before,” Tony whispered, stray tears falling into the boy’s unruly curls. “It wasn’t for so long, and I-… I didn’t know how to…”

“I know, but you figured it out,” Peter soothed right back. Tilting his face up a little to meet the other’s watery gaze, Peter added “You saved the universe, and you saved me Tony. You did it. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“…Promise?”

Squeezing his arms around the Tony’s middle, Peter melted into the embrace with a content hum and eased the tightness in his chest, their heartbeats falling into sync in the quiet -good quiet, calm quiet- of the lake house.

“Always Mr Stark… I promise…”

Chapter Text

“Uncle Rhodey!”

The man perked up from where he was leaning against the school gates, his face brightening at the sight of the little boy scrambling to get down the steps towards him. Peter ran as fast as his six-year old legs would allow once he hit the grass, and if his uncle hadn’t been anticipating his approach, he might have barrelled straight into the man’s legs. Instead, Rhodey knelt down and engulfed the boy into his arms just as he leapt forward, his hold warm and safe and as strong as a bear.

“Hey champ,” the man smiled as they pulled out of the embrace, hands resting on Peter’s nimble shoulders as he asked, “How was school today?”

“It was great! I got an A on my math test!” Peter explained proudly and dug the paper out of his Star Wars backpack.

As soon as he held it out for Rhodey to take, the man’s eyes grew comically wide and he put a hand to his chest, as if in shock. “Wow buddy, this is amazing! Your Dad’s going to be so proud when he finds out.”

“You think so?”

“I know it, because I’m so proud of you too,” Rhodey said, smiling at the elated beam in his nephew’s eyes. After a quick glance down at the paper marking Peter’s clearly advanced intellect, Rhodey added on with a fake expression of seriousness “You know what this calls for?”

“What?”

“Ice-cream.”

Peter jumped up on the balls of his feet with the biggest, brightest grin Rhodey had ever seen, and it melted his heart to see his bubbling excitement. It wasn’t exactly a surprise considering Rhodey always took him out for ice-cream whenever he was back from base, but Peter looked just as excited as the first time they had gone, and it quickly became their little tradition ever since. Peter loved his honorary uncle unconditionally, and Rhodey loved his nephew back just as much. Ever since the beginning they had always had a connection. Rhodey had held him as a mere baby and rocked him to sleep on countless nights, changed diapers and recorded Peter’s first steps towards an elatedly laughing Tony.

They were as close as family could be, and Rhodey cherished any time he got to spend with his kind, genius nephew.

“Come on champ,” Rhodey chimed as he rose back to his feet and immediately felt Peter’s little hand slip into his own. “For this incredible score, I’ll get you a double scoop.”

“You’re the best Uncle Rhodey!” Peter beamed with a skip in his step, before freezing, and adding sheepishly “Don’t tell Uncle Happy I said that. I don’t want him to get sad.”

Trying his best to suppress a smile, Rhodey assured “Don’t worry Pete, it’ll be our secret.”

That put the spring back into his steps within moments, and after taking a leisurely stroll to the ice-cream store with Peter retelling his day in unbelievable detail, they soon found themselves chomping down on their respective cones in the nearby park, sitting side by side on the old wooden bench. It was a nice day today. Nothing but clear skies and warm sunlight, which less fortunately, meant Peter’s ice-cream melted faster than his little mouth could swallow and soon enough, his hands were covered in the sticky residue.

“You’re such a slob,” Rhodey laughed as he swiped the boy’s cheek with his thumb, eliciting a playful squeal in response.

“But it tasted so good,” Peter explained happily.

“Whatever actually made it into your mouth that is.”

Sticking out his bright blue tongue -because of course a six-year-old could never want any normal flavours-, Peter giggled at the unamused face his uncle was making as he searched for napkins in the boy’s backpack. Finding none, Rhodey then looked around and noticed a small, brick building nearby, which was probably a public bathroom of some kind.

“Alright champ, let’s go get you cleaned up,” he said and ushered the boy towards the restroom.

Peter was clenching and unclenching his hands in front of him, observing the horrible squelching noise they made, before staring up at his uncle with those soft brown eyes that were only magnified by his rounded pair of glasses. And just when Rhodey thought he was about to make a cheeky comment, Peter spoke sincerely “Thank you for my ice cream Uncle Rhodey. I love it when you visit!”

Immediately, Rhodey’s features softened, and he ruffled the tyke’s mop of hair and said “Your welcome buddy. And I love visiting you too, even if you smear ice-cream all over your face.”

Peter laughed and pushed his glasses up with his wrist, saying “I wish you’d visit more.”

“Because you want to extort me for more ice-cream?” Rhodey teased.

“Because I miss you…”

They had just reached the doorway but the comment gave Rhodey pause, staring down at his nephew with a sombre gaze as Peter twisted his hands together anxiously, obviously noticing his uncle’s shift in tone. With a sigh, Rhodey guided the boy over to the old, metal sinks and helped him get his hands under the cold stream, rubbing away the sticky residue with soap as gently as possible.

“I miss you too, you know?” Rhodey said once he was sure his voice wouldn’t waver. “Coming back to see you is the highlight of my month.”

“Then why don’t you stay?” Peter asked, so innocent. So desperate to understand.

“Because my work still needs me, just like your Daddy needs to work sometimes too.”

Pouting and watching the bubbles swirl down the drain, Peter murmured “But what if I need you?”

“Then I’ll be there,” Rhodey said with the warmest smile he could muster. “Just like when your Dad needs me sometimes, I’ll be there for you too. I promise.”

Slowly, after some consideration, Peter’s lips lifted into a weak smile, and he nodded at his uncle with not exactly happiness, but understanding. He knew why the adults around him had to work. He didn’t like it, but he understood, and he was willing to accept it.

Rhodey wondered how he got so lucky as to have a nephew like Peter.

But then, heavy footfalls echoed across the tiles and Rhodey glanced over his shoulder on instinct.

Peter only caught a glimpse of his uncle’s eyes snapping open in alarm before a fist was suddenly slamming into Rhodey’s face, and there was shouting and scuffling and somewhere in the chaos Peter was screaming. It had all happened so fast. One moment his uncle was turning off the tap and the next he was pinned to the floor with a big, gruff man on top of him, punches and kicks and all kind of actions that made Peter tremble flying between them.

There was blood pouring down his uncle’s nose and mouth. It looked like it would never stop, and Peter felt sick to his stomach.

“Get off him!” Peter cried as tears he hadn’t even realised were there began to fall down his cheeks. “Stop! Get off him!”

His shouts seemed to only catch the attention of the burly man however, his pale green eyes darting up for just a moment before he snapped over his shoulder “Get the kid already!”

Peter and Rhodey immediately looked at the new figure silhouetted in the doorway, and like lightning had struck him, Peter felt paralysed. He could feel the hairs on his arms standing on end and something hot coursing through his veins telling him to move. To fight. To scream!

“Peter!”

The boy turned back to his uncle -still pinned on the floor, still wrestling with the man, still covered in blood- and met his panicked gaze. There was steadiness there too though. Calm in the middle of a storm, and Peter was reminded of how much he loved his uncle for that very reason.

“Run!”

Rhodey’s scream is what tore Peter out of his panicked state, immediately turning towards the door and sprinting to the side just as the second man leaped for him. He wasn’t quite as big as the first man, but Peter knew he had at least double his strength if he was lucky, so when the man slipped in his haste to catch him, Peter didn’t waste his opportunity. He ran right out of the door and didn’t stop running until his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. His lungs screamed for him to stop, to breathe, but his feet continued to pound against the grass in fear of what was behind them.

It felt like forever until Peter finally reached the path again, and at the sight of a couple walking their dog only a few paces away, tears poured out of Peter’s eyes and he called out in a haze of panic “Help! Please help! He- He’s chasing me!”

The couple was immediately alarmed, and upon locking their gaze onto something behind him, Peter spun around and screamed at the thin, lanky man that had almost made it behind him, freezing when he realised he’d been spotted by the others.

“Hey, get away from him!” one of the men snapped as he ran to Peter’s side and shoved the sobbing boy behind him protectively, like his Dad used to do when there were nosy reporters. “You hear me? Get back! I’m gonna call the damn cops!”

Now that sent fear flooding through the stranger’s gaze, and he quickly turned on his heel and ran away from both the trio and the bathrooms they had fled from. Peter didn’t even realise he was trembling until the second man knelt down beside him and touched his shoulder, causing the boy to flinch out of instinct from all the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The man seemed understanding of his fear though and offered a weak smile instead, saying “Are you alright kid? Did he hurt you?”

Peter jerkily shook his head, but though he wasn’t physically injured, his was still shaking like a leaf where he stood.

“Okay. Are you alone? Where are your parents?”

“My Uncle, he-“ Peter’s words were choked off by a horrible, scratchy gasp, because now that the panic and terror was finally subsiding, he realised that his uncle was still in there- he’d left his uncle alone with those men and what if he was hurt and what if he was dead-!

“My- My uncle’s still in there! He- they jumped on him and I- he told me to run and I- I-“

“Alright kid, it’s alright,” the man beside him tried to sooth. “Where is your uncle now?”

Peter quickly pointed towards the bathrooms and the first man who had his phone up to his ear turned to them with a severe frown across his sharp features. “Are they still there? The men who attacked you?”

“I don’t- I don’t know I… my uncle was bleeding and he told me to- to run…”

“Okay, I’m going to go check on him alright?” the man said before offering the phone to his partner and sprinting across the grass.

“Be careful!” the second man called, before turning back to Peter with a sympathetic smile and saying “Hey kid, I know you’re scared, but it’s gonna be alright now. I’m calling the cops and Clay is checking on your uncle now.”

Unable to stop the tears cascading down his cheeks or the sobs still jerking his chest, Peter gasped “Is he- is my uncle o-okay?”

“I’m not sure yet kid, but we’ll do everything we can,” the man assured him, and Peter thought he liked this man. He wasn’t scary like the other ones. He had soft, brown eyes that reminded him of his dad, and a smile that was as warm as his Aunt Pepper’s.

So, Peter nodded slowly and felt the tension begin to drain out of his muscles, only for it to be replaced by exhaustion a moment later. “I’m sorry…” he whispered without quite knowing why. Maybe because he was crying in front of a stranger, or because he’d left his uncle alone and ran off like a coward.

Flash was right, he really was a weakling…

“Don’t be sorry kid, it’s alright,” the man said, but before he could say any more he was cut off by the little of bundle of fur that stepped forward and began sniffing at Peter’s scuffed shoes. The dog, unaware of what Peter had just experienced, pressed into Peter’s hand and dragged a hoarse chuckle out of his throat without realising.

Peter had always liked dogs, and right now, the soft fur beneath his fingertips seemed to be the only thing holding him together.

“This is Lizzie,” the man said, causing Peter to look up hesitantly. “She’s very friendly, don’t worry.” When the boy remained unresponsive besides running his fingers across the cheery dog’s pelt, the man added gently “I’m Evan, by the way. What your name?”

Peter’s Dad had told him never to talk to strangers. He told him never to tell strangers who he was because there were bad people out there who would try to hurt him for his last name, which had always confused the boy.

But now, lost in the residing terror and the shame welling in his gut, Peter choked out weakly “P-Peter.”

“That’s a nice name Peter. Just hold on tight and we’ll get this sorted soon, okay?”

Peter could only find the energy to nod along numbly, the world around him seeming to blur into an unrecognisable smudge of colours and sounds as Evan turned his attention to the phone in his hand. He was talking, but Peter didn’t think it was to him. He hoped he wasn’t because he wasn’t sure he had the strength to speak anymore. But the dog was licking at his fingers and that made his legs go weak for some reason, kneeling beside the happy cloud of fur that accepted the shakiness of his hands as affection.

Peter felt lost, adrift at a stormy sea. Usually, there was always an adult at his side making sure he was safe, but now he was alone. And he wanted his dad, and he wanted his uncle, and he wanted his uncle to be safe too. He needed his uncle to be safe, because if he didn’t have him, then- then-

“Peter!”

The world shifted back into focus at the familiar voice, and the boy immediately spun on his heel only to be engulfed into those same, strong arms that had held him earlier in the day. This hold was fierce though, and it made it hard to breath, but Peter didn’t want them to let go because he was here! His uncle was safe and alive and here just like he’d promised he’d be when Peter needed him.

“Peter! Oh my god Peter!” Rhodey breathed into his curly hair, breathless as he rocked the boy back and forth in his embrace. “Thank god, I thought- shit, it’s okay. It’s okay now.”

“I’m s-sorry! I’m sorry I ran!” Peter cried into his collarbone as the shame finally spilt over.

“Don’t be sorry baby, you did great. That’s exactly what I wanted you to do, okay? Don’t be sorry.”

“B-But I left you-“

“And you got away safe, and I’m safe, and we’re okay now, alright? We’re okay champ…” Rhodey sighed deeply, and Peter would always remember the way his heartbeat felt drumming against his own. Rapid but steady. Secure, just like Rhodey always was.

Later, the police would come and escort them to the hospital, and Peter would cry when his Dad came bursting through the doors soon after with horror clear in his watery eyes. Later, they would catch the two men who had ambushed them in the bathroom and discover a poorly organised kidnapping plan in one of their offices, making Peter steer clear of public bathrooms for the rest of his life. Later, Rhodey would come home with a bandage over his newly reset nose and Peter would cling to his side like a koala for the rest of his visit, assuring the boy that he was fine. That he had faced much worse before. That he only cared that Peter was safe. And later, while hugging his nephew goodbye once more, Rhodey would tell him that he needed Peter too. That he loved him and he would always, always protect him, no matter where on the planet they were. No matter how much distance separated them, or what threats came their way.

But that would all come later, and for now, wrapped in each other’s arms, all Peter could feel was relief as his sobbed into his uncle’s chest and savoured the security of his hold. For now, this was all he needed.

“I love you, Uncle Rhodey...”

“I love you too Pete, my brave little champion…”

Chapter Text

All was silent in the Quinjet.

No one spoke a word, and any movement that caused a sound was quickly aborted. Even the engine seemed unusually subdued today, forgoing its familiar rumble as if the ship knew the horrors it was housing on board. The dead eyed stares, and shaky hands, and solemn tears.

Tony shifted from where he laid in the medical cot, his hold tightening over the boy beside him as he did so. He didn’t remember moving to the bed. He thought he’d been sitting on the chair before, Peter’s hand wrapped tightly in his own, and then Tony had blinked and he’d been lying beside the boy on the uncomfortably small cot. The whole room was cramped, designed only to house one injured Avenger at a time, but somehow they made room.

Tony always made room when it came to Peter. And now that he was here, the man wasn’t sure he had the strength to leave either. Not when Peter was resting so comfortably against his side. Not when his arms wrapped so perfectly around the boy’s shoulders, or when his fingers could weave through those familiar, curly locks as if he had fallen asleep during movie night again.

Not when Tony could pretend, just for a moment, that Peter was only asleep.

It had been a standard Avengers mission, nothing Spider-Man hadn’t helped with a dozen times before. Tony had thought it would be safe. That he could keep Peter safe. But they’d split up when the outer defences of the Hydra base had been taken care of, leaving Peter and Clint to guard the border while the others raided the building. The forest had been the ideal environment for a hero like Peter, and Tony remembered the way the kid shouted happily into the comms as he swung around the trees before realising he had forgotten to mute himself. Tony remembered the way he laughed, and he wished he hadn’t scoffed at the time. He wished he could take it all back.

The blizzard came in fast, and maybe it was arrogance on the part of the super-powered team to think they were any match for mother nature. What started as a speeding wind soon picked up into a pelting of snow and ice, and Steve made the call and told everyone to rendezvous back at the Quinjet. It wasn’t like any agents left in the building would be able to escape anyway in this kind of weather.

They were only halfway to the exit when an alert flashed across Tony’s HUD, causing his heartrate to spike in pure, concentrated panic.

“Kid, update. Now,” Tony said once Friday connected him to the Spider-suit.

The line was crackling and muffled, but after a ragged breath or two, Peter replied tersely “Whoa Mr Stark, this -agh, crap… this guy, h-he just came out of nowhere!”

“I thought you had a sixth sense for this kind of stuff,” Tony said as Friday homed in on his flickering location. It seemed the storm was making his signal more difficult to track though, and the man felt his jaw go tight as he read over the report on his screen.

“I got distracted,” Peter mumbled, and Tony could tell his was trying to hold back the pain from his voice.

“Well don’t,” Tony reprimanded lightly. “Honestly Pete. What good is a sixth sense that can’t even tell when you’re about to get shot anyway.”

“It’s not like a got to choose or any-“ Peter’s snarky reply was cut off with a sharp gasp, and Tony could see his vitals spike in the corner of his eye. Thankfully the report showed that the bullet hadn’t hit anything too life threatening, but the blood count that was slowly depleting was a cause for concern, however.

“It’s alright kid, just hold on tight and we’ll be there soon okay?”

“Okay…” Peter said, his voice tight, before he muttered “Gosh, it’s so cold…”

“Are you near the Quinjet?”

“I th-think so. Not f-…far…”

Tony didn’t like the way Peter’s voice began to shake, but putting it down to the snowstorm he was probably traversing through, he said “Get to the jet kid and we’ll patch you up, okay? I’m sure Legolas won’t be far behind you so he can help with the bullet wound.”

“Okay Mr S-Stark,” Peter had said before the line went quiet, and eventually, became filled with static.

The blizzard was fully upon them by the time the team had reached the base entrance, pushing through the pummelling winds and dragging each other back to their feet when they stumbled. It felt like an eternity before they finally reached the Quinjet, but the moment they made it up the ramp and into the warm, recycled air, the team let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Took you long enough,” Clint had smirked from where he sat idly at the pilot’s chair. “You all look like shit.”

“At least we don’t look like you,” Tony had retorted, earning an unimpressed glare from the archer, before Tony asked, “So where’s the kid?”

Confusion passed over Clint’s face, before a moment later, it quickly dropped in horror. “He’s not with you?”

Now it was Tony’s turn for his expression to fall, snapping “He was supposed to be here, with you.”

“The comms cut off, I-I just assumed he was with you guys!” Clint tried to defend.

“Shit… shit,” Tony hissed and quickly placed his helmet on again. “Fri, track the kid.”

“I’m afraid I cannot reach a signal through the blizzard,” the AI informed him regretfully.

“Then open the door and I’ll find him myself,” Tony snapped, fully prepared to just blast right out into the storm before someone caught his arm, the cold glare of the mask turning to level Steve’s icy eyes.

“Tony, you know you can’t go out in that,” he reasoned. “You’ll get stranded, and then we’ll need to find you both.”

“The kid is injured and stuck in a god damn blizzard Rogers. We need to find him now.”

“And how are you going to find him in this weather, huh?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Tony said, knowing it was a weak answer but sticking to it anyway.

“You’re not going to do anyone any good like this Tony,” Steve continued though with his hand still gripped firmly onto his arm. “Peter is a smart kid. He probably found shelter somewhere and is waiting out the storm as we speak.”

“And the bullet wound in his side? What about that?” Tony challenged, turning his body to face the soldier head on.

To Steve’s credit though, he didn’t look at all phased, squaring his shoulders as he replied, “He’s got enhanced healing, I’m sure he can last until the storm breaks enough for us to find him.”

Tony hated it when Steve went into lecture mode. Tony hated it even more when Steve was right.

In this weather, all of his tech was practically useless, and getting lost himself would only waste time in trying to find Peter. His mind knew it was completely illogical to try and fight a storm like this. Even Ironman wasn’t invincible to hypothermia. But his heart ached at the idea of Peter being out there, all alone, lost in the freezing cold and bleeding from the waist.

Still, Tony was a man of solid facts, and the fact was, he wouldn’t be able to find Peter in this blizzard. There was nothing he could do now. He just had to trust Steve’s word that Peter’s healing could keep him alive, and hope that the kid was smart enough to find shelter somewhere protected and hopefully warm. And even though Tony always teased Peter for his terrible self-preservation skills, he knew the kid was a genius too. He could keep himself alive for a while longer, he was sure.

So, reluctantly, he’d given in and taken residence near the ramp, just in case Peter miraculously made it to the Quinjet through the storm. The blizzard hailed down for hours, but to Tony, it felt like days. He waited in silence and declined any attempts at conversation with the others in favour of staying vigilant. The kid would need him soon, and he had to be ready, like he should have been earlier. But for now, he told himself he had to wait. That this was for the best…

Tony wished he’d gone out anyway.

Because hours later, once the storm had eased and the tracker -though no longer active- was able to read out Peter’s last location, the team rushed to the area and found something that made them all freeze.

It was blood. Faint and diluted under all the heavy snow, but blood none the less. The Avengers followed the trail in an eerie silence, like they were all holding their breaths, and when the path of soft pink flakes gradually become thick crimson smears, Tony felt the rest of the world fade to black with a spotlight on the blood disappearing behind a small rock overhang just ahead.

He didn’t want to step forward. His mind screamed at him not to. But Tony’s body moved of its own accord, and then suddenly he wasn’t standing in a snow laden forest with the rest of the dreadfully quiet Avengers anymore. Suddenly he was kneeling beside a body in a suit of red and blue that was stained deep crimson at the waist, a puddle of blood pooling against the hard stone they lay against. Stray snowflakes settled into their chestnut hair and clung to their face, pale and still and cold to the touch when Tony’s hand rested against their cheek.

“I’m sorry boss…”

Hot tears slipped down Tony’s face as he stared down at the boy before him, knowing what the AI was about to say, but still feeling his heart shatter with her soft words.

“I cannot find a heartbeat for Mr Parker.”

Tony hadn’t moved at first, unsurprised and paralysed by the revelation all at once as his eyes grew scarily distant. His hand was still resting over the boy’s cheek -over Peter’s cheek- but he didn’t stir from his slumber. He looked cold, Tony thought on instinct. Peter hated it when it was cold. He couldn’t thermoregulate, and in winter, he made it his mission to absorb everyone else’s body heat by clinging to them like a koala. Tony would always grumble about it, but he never pushed the boy away when he cuddled up to his side on movie nights or leant against his arm in the lab.

Even now, not wanting his kid to be cold, Tony lifted Peter into his arms and held him against his chest. It seemed he didn’t notice the way Peter’s head fell to the side limply, or how his body held no warmth or his lungs didn’t expand or his heart didn’t beat-

No, Tony just coiled a hand into the boy’s hair and held him close, rocking him back and forth, like a parent lulling their child to sleep. Because he was just asleep right? Peter had to be asleep…

It took the whole team to drag both Tony and Peter out of the small alcove, their eyes welling with tears of their own at the sight of the youngest Avenger lying completely still in his mentor’s arms, before they made the trek back to the Quinjet in silence. Always silence. No one tried to speak, and no one tried to take the lifeless boy out of Tony’s arms, no matter how much he staggered or his eyes remained unseeing. They knew they couldn’t take this away from him. They couldn’t take his child away from him, not now…

Not when he was gone.

Tony’s grip over the boy tightened as he stared at the wall of the infirmary, tears falling down into the mop of curly brown hair resting under his chin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered eventually, his voice sounding like thunder in the once silent room. “I’m so sorry Peter…”

He wanted to talk more. He wanted to tell Peter how much he had changed his life, and how he made Tony want to be better, and how he loved Peter like his own son, but he couldn’t find the strength to get the words out. His mind was lost in a storm, a blizzard of static, and he couldn’t tell the difference between being numb and being in such excruciating agony anymore.

So he pressed his nose into the boy’s hair and allowed his eyes to slip shut, murmuring “I don’t want to wake up without you Pete…”

Holding back a sob in his chest, Tony tucked Peter’s face against his collarbone and cried, “Because if I wake up, that means the dream is over… and no dream could ever be as good as you…”

Tony held him like that for a long time, weeping silently into his hair and embracing his limp form, until the tears that had been welling up behind his eyes had finally dried out and he was left staring at the roof with half-lidded eyes, too tired to fight the exhaustion and grief weighing down on his bones. Maybe if he fell asleep, he could be with Peter again. Maybe he could hold him in his arms properly one last time. Wherever he was out there…

Warm air passed against Tony’s neck and he realised that he must already be asleep. That he’d drifted off into some kind of dreamland because there was a soft thud against his chest, and a twitch of movement near his side. He must be dreaming, or was about to be at the very least.

So he waited for the dream to take him back to his kid. Waited for unconsciousness to claim him and show him a world where things were right and people as good and kind and incredible as Peter got to stay alive and fill the world with their smiles and laughter. A perfect world. The only one Tony wanted to live in…

The dream took a long time to form, the weight in his arms becoming steadily warmer and the beat against his chest gradually picking up to a steady rhythm. Tony was too tired to think the warm air against his skin was anything out of the ordinary. The others had probably turned up the heaters, because the Quinjet got cold, and Peter hated the cold… Peter hated the cold…

Tony rubbed a hand over Peter’s shoulder on instinct, trying to generate heat that would never stay.

But then the body beside him shifted, and Tony’s eyes snapped open in an alertness he hadn’t felt since before finding Peter dead in the snow. He held his breath. Hope and dread and everything in between rushed up to his throat because surely, surely it couldn’t be. His mind must be playing tricks on him. Yeah, yeah. There was no way Peter could be-

The head beneath his chin shifted with a muffled hum, the hand that was once draped limply over Tony’s side now squeezing back in a weak embrace and knocking the air right out of Tony’s lungs.

“Peter…?” Tony rasped, almost too afraid to speak the words. “Kid… Kid are you- you awake?”

A beat of silence. Hopes and dreams about to shatter to the ground again and destroy him for good. And then-

“M’sser S’ark?”

“Oh my god,” Tony cried and immediately pulled away from Peter’s side, the boy whining -breathing, moving, alive- at the loss of contact. He cradled a hand against the boy’s cheek and realise it was warm, so beautifully warm and pulsing with life as Peter naturally nuzzled into his touch with a satisfied hum. God, it sounded like music to Tony’s ears, and he couldn’t stop the tears that came flooding back with a vengeance.

“Oh god Peter,” he said, his words lost through the weeping of joy instead of grief this time. “You’re back! You- you came back Roo… you came back to me…”

Slowly, Peter’s eyelids cracked open to reveal a pair of disoriented, doe brown eyes, and even though they were blinking up at him a little dopily, Tony thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He immediately leant forward and pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead, laughter bubbling out of his chest along with the sobs to create some kind of agonising relief.

“Oh Peter, my Peter…”

The boy didn’t have enough energy to offer more than a hum, watching Tony sluggishly as he pulled back and began to inspect him in a frantic haze. “Oh god, are you- are you hurt? How is this even- shit!” Tony suddenly exclaimed. “Peter you weren’t breathing! You didn’t have a heartbeat you were- you were dead. How is this possible?”

Peter, still drifting on the edge of consciousness, just blinked up at his mentor with a semi amused smile. Like he knew something that the man didn’t, which was very rare for Tony Stark.

Still lost in his spirally worry, Tony pulled the blanket away and lifted the edge of the plain shirt they’d dressed Peter in, fully expecting to see the bullet wound that had caused his kid to bleed out only to find a red, raw scar instead. No wound. No blood. Just a remnant of the past, stitched back together from Peter’s healing ability.

“H-How?” Tony asked, his voice trembling in disbelief. “How are you… how did this…?”

“Mis’er Stark?” Peter spoke, and the man snapped his head back up immediately, soaking in every word this his kid -his miraculously alive kid- had to say. “R’member how… I don’ like the col’…?”

“Of course kid,” Tony said even though he wasn’t quite sure why it was relevant. “You haven’t been able to thermoregulate since you got bitten, right?”

Peter hummed in approval, and then his eyes flashed with something bright and warm, and he mumbled “Spi… spiders h-hibernate in win’er…”

Suddenly everything clicked into place, and Tony understood the amusement shining in Peter’s eyes because he hadn’t been dead. He’d been hibernating. His spider DNA not only saved his life by healing over the bullet wound, but by essentially sending him into a coma that was impervious to cold temperatures. The perfect solution for a blizzard.

“Oh my god,” Tony muttered, but it was quickly replaced with a watery chuckle as he pressed kisses into the boy’s hairline relentlessly. “You genius boy- you absolute genius.”

“Ag’n, not r’lly my choice,” Peter hummed but accepted the affection with a pleased smile of his own. “Sorry I sc’red you.”

“Don’t you ever be sorry for being alive, alright?” Tony said firmly, his chest aching from the tears and the emotions flooding out from his heart. “I thought… shit Pete, I thought you were gone. And I- I didn’t, I don’t think I could ever live with that…”

For a moment, something solemn passed Peter’s expression, as if he understood the absolute horror he’d just put his mentor through. But then he smiled again, and it was if the room had been filled with sunlight.

“I’m here now.”

Nodding his head with a shaky exhale, Tony smiled right back and said “You sure are bud. And you’d better stay here from now on, that’s an order.”

Peter offered a mischievous, sleepy smile and said “Well, I’m still cold, so...”

Catching on immediately, Tony barked out a laugh and pulled the boy back into his arms, his hold not quite as fierce as before but still secure and firm. Peter melted into his side like snow thawing under the sun and let out a content sigh. Only minutes ago to Tony, Peter had been nothing but a cold, lifeless shell of himself in his arms, a reminder of everything Tony had lost. But now he was warm and breathing and alive, and Tony let a few more relieved tears slip out before shutting his eyes in exhaustion.

Peter fell into an easy slumber barely three minutes later, his heartbeat steady and constant against Tony’s own, and the man considered joining him for a long while. But then, entangling his fingers into the boy’s hair and cherishing the warmth of their embrace, he decided he didn’t need to sleep.

He had his best dream right here.

Chapter Text

Peter leant over the cold, porcelain seat of the toilet bowl and watched tears fall down into his sick with foggy eyes.

He felt dizzy. From his stomach to his head, everything felt out of place and muddled. Like wires that had gotten tangled and tugged in all the wrong directions, leaving Peter a ball of tension and strain as sat against the harsh bathroom tiles. He felt tired too. So bone-deep tired, but every time his eyelids fell shut they were immediately snapped open again by the piercing daggers running up from his stomach to his ribs. Peter hunched his shoulders over the toilet bowl in preparation, but nothing came out besides those pained retches. There hadn’t been anything left to throw up for a while now, but his body seemed intent to try regardless, maybe trying to expel his faulty organs instead.

The cramps hurt like nothing else, and the only pain he could compare it to would be the day he’d been bitten by the radioactive spider that gave him his powers. That had been like dragging his entire body across hot coals, his DNA breaking apart and stitching itself together for the new biology it was spinning together. But while that had felt like fire and magma, this felt more like a storm. Stuck in the middle of the sea while waves of pain crashed over his head and dragged him further into the murky depths with each hit.

Lowering his head to the cool seat beneath his arm, Peter pushed through the final spasms in his gut and breathed out deeply.

Damn, he felt tired. Why couldn’t his body just let him sleep? It shouldn’t be this hard, but instead it felt like slumber was hovering just out of reach, and for some reason, he couldn’t seem to get a grasp of it. His stomach was refusing to allow that.

Peter supposed that was his fault though. He’d brought it on himself, really. Just like most other terrible things in his life…

His parents…

Maybe if you had been better, they would have stayed at home instead of gone on that business trip.

His Uncle Ben…

If you hadn’t stormed out that night he wouldn’t have been shot.

And now…

May would still be alive if you hadn’t distracted her in the car.

Peter’s chest lurched with a sob this time, and the tears renewed their descent down his face and into the sickness below. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. It was supposed to stop, and for moment, it had. Then his stomach had rebelled and the pain had been back except this time he was alone and that was his fault, his fault- his fault-

Peter didn’t want to be alone. He felt like right now, that’s all he ever was.

He would eat silently with Ned and MJ at lunch and hole himself up in his bedroom when he arrived back at the Tower in the afternoon. Mr Stark would always try to coax him out, using anything from gentle words of encouragement to promises of food or movie marathons of Peter’s favourite franchises. Every day he tried to reach out to him. And every day, Peter declined.

It wasn’t anything against the man. He was so incredibly grateful that Mr Stark had taken him in and given him a roof over his head in his darkest time, but all Peter’s energy was spent trying to hold back the turbulent emotions storming through his mind. It consumed him like a storm enveloped the sky, and Peter was lost in the middle, getting thrown around by forces he couldn’t hope to combat. If he wasn’t crying then he was snapping at those around him, and that only made him feel even more guilty, which made him lash out harder. It was a vicious cycle, and one Peter had no idea how to get out of. How could he stop feeling this rage, and this grief, and this shame? How could he make the pain stop?

He just wanted it all to stop…

That’s why Peter had climbed out of bed at three in the morning and locked the bathroom door behind him. That’s why he’d opened the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of painkillers designed to work with his mutated DNA.

That’s why the bottle now laid empty off to Peter’s side as he slouched tiredly over the toilet seat, unable to even lift his head as the exhaustion weighed down on his body. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he’d done something bad. Did something he shouldn’t have, but his mind was shrouded in fog, and he couldn’t find the strength to remember why. All Peter knew was that he was in pain, and that he was alone.

And that scared him more than his muddled brain seemed to realise, causing his voice to take on a mind of its own and call out into the empty bathroom around him. The sound was raspy and weak, but it echoed off the pristine walls and back to Peter’s ears like a cavern, loud and soft and headache inducing and soothing all at once. He didn’t even realise his eyelids had fallen shut again.

Maybe I’ll take a nap, Peter thought, unable to remember why he’d been worried to begin with. Maybe tomorrow will be better…

But just as the boy was about to slip into the darkness spotting his vision, a new sound startled him back to reality, tilting his head against his arm as the sound- the voice he realised, called out again.

“Hey Pete? You doing alright in there bud?”

Mr Stark’s voice sounded rough as well, like he’d just woken up from a deep slumber.

“Friday said you’d were calling for me. Are you okay?”

Immediately, Peter felt another stab of guilt in his chest for waking the man up, and he cursed the emotions that refused to leave him be.

Peter tried to speak but his mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his voice unrecognisable as he slurred “’M f-… f…-ine…”

Mr Stark’s voice was suddenly sharp and alert as he asked “Pete? You don’t sound so good. Mind if I come in for a sec?”

Peter tried to shake his head, but with the fog invading his every thought, he forgot that the man couldn’t see him. That quickly changed though when Mr Stark took his silence for approval and unlocked the door from the opposite side. Peter thought he should’ve been worried, but he couldn’t remember why and just let his head drop down on his arm again, teetering on the edge of the bowl with the tiles below looking like an oddly comfortable place to lie down for a moment.

Before he could slip down to the floor though something warm touched his shoulders and pulled him upright again, Mr Stark’s voice sounding so close he could practically feel the vibrations in the air as he said “Hey Underoos, you feeling sick?”

Peter let out a cracked hum, the only reply he could muster.

“Oh buddy, I’m sorry,” he soothed and rubbed circles into his spine.

The relief crashed into Peter in a wave and he let out a sigh on instinct, leaning back into the man’s touch until he almost fell back completely in the search of comfort. The movement drew a surprised yelp from Mr Stark as he shifted to catch him, and when Peter blinked open his bleary eyes, he realised he was leaning against the man’s chest now with Mr Stark’s shoulder wrapped firmly around his shoulders. It felt nice, he realised. This was nice…

Suddenly the gentle rubbing motion against his arm stilled though, fingers curling into his muscles as the steady breathing behind him stopped all together. If Peter wasn’t so tired he might have asked what was wrong, but all he wanted to do was sleep. He could do that now he wasn’t alone…

“Peter…”

The name was spoken in a shaky whisper, but the teen didn’t really register it until Mr Stark’s body twisted slightly and dragged Peter along with him. He let out a displeased whine that got caught in his throat, but then the hands were back on his shoulders, grip fierce and unforgiving as he was suddenly jerked back and forth.

“W-Wha-?” Peter slurred, but he was cut off by Mr Stark’s ragged breath as he snapped “Peter! Wake up right now!”

Peter cracked open his eyes to be met with a fuzzy mess of colours, and then something white being held up against his face, something shaking in Mr Stark’s hand as he stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Why is this bottle empty Peter?” he demanded firmly.

Dropping his head back against the man’s shoulder because it was comfortable and he was tired- so, so tired-, Peter murmured without really knowing why “Mm s’rry…”

“Oh my god… Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did Peter.”

Mr Stark sounded scared. Why would Ironman be scared…?

“Peter!” his voice was shaking now as he tried to regain the boy’s wavering attention. “Oh shit, don’t go to sleep yet buddy, you can’t- oh fuck. Friday! Get Helen! It’s an emergency!”

“Right away boss.”

“Peter-“

The teen tried to hum but found he no longer had the energy to. Everything felt numb now, and he thought he liked that a lot better to the previous pain.

“Oh Pete, oh god wake up! Just open your eyes for me kid, don’t- oh god don’t do this to me. Please.”

The grip around him was so tight that Peter thought it should have been hard to breath, but he couldn’t feel his lungs, so he didn’t feel worried. He didn’t feel anything, really.

“Please no- no, no, no, no Peter! I need you to stay awake kid I- I can fix it. Just stay awake, stay awake buddy…”

Something wet was dripping into his hair and the saline scent told him they must be tears. Peter wanted to say he was sorry, but the darkness was so much more tempting.

“Don’t go to sleep Pete, it’s gonna be okay- it’s gonna be okay baby just hold on…”

“Don’t go yet…”

“Don’t go…”

Peter fell into the shadows anyway.

It was quiet in the darkness. Peaceful, and devoid of emotions. This is what he’d been wanting since the moment he’d been told that his Aunt had died on impact, and with her, his last remaining family. An orphan three times in a decade. How was that fair? How was any of it fair? The idea of nothing had seemed so much better than the pain of everything, the pain he’d been forced to endure for weeks when the universe stole one last part of his soul away to the afterlife. He’d wanted this. He’d wanted this.

So why did it feel so empty? So lonely?

As much as Peter hated the turmoil of loss, he realised he hated being alone even more.

Sensations returned to his body in the form of sounds and smells and tastes and less unfortunately, pain all throughout his stomach and throat, but he pulled himself out of the darkness regardless. It hurt, but it seemed a little less overwhelming than before. The first thing he felt upon his nerves firing up again was a warmth over his hand, and cracking his eyes open, he blinked over blearily at the man sitting at his bedside, two brown gazes meeting each other in sudden recognition.

Mr Stark looked exhausted, with dark rings under his eyes and his hair greasy and dishevelled. Stubble had begun to shadow his cheeks and his eyes were red and shimmering with unshed tears, but behind the shock, behind the panic, there was something like relief. Maybe even love.

“Hey Pete,” he said with a shaky smile, leaning against the side of the bed -the hospital bed, Peter soon realised- and squeezing Peter’s hand in his own. His touch was warm and familiar, and even though Peter didn’t have much strength to return it, he twitched his fingers in the hopes the man would understand.

As always, he did, and Mr Stark sat down beside him with a pained but truly delighted smile. “Hey buddy, I missed you,” he said, his voice hoarse and gentle all at once.

Peter found it in himself to hum back, and grimaced when the pain flared up in his throat again.

“You’ve been asleep for a few days,” he began to explain. “It’s taken your body a while to heal from the…” Mr Stark hesitated and glanced away quickly. “From the damage…”

Blinking up at the man who had given him so much, who was holding his hand and sitting at his bedside after something- something he couldn’t really remember right now, but thought he might later, Peter felt his chest ache for a new reason. He’d thought that he would only be able to feel emotions for the family his lost, but he realised now that there was so much room for the family he had yet to make. The one who had been waiting patiently at his side, supporting him, caring for him, and when the time came to it, saving him. Maybe feeling didn’t have to be a bad thing…

Maybe he could make it through the storm.

So mustering all his strength to curl his fingers around Mr Stark’s, Peter murmured huskily “’M sorry… I’m s’ sorry…”

Familiar brown eyes snapped back to his in a moment and suddenly Mr Stark was leaning forward with a hand resting against Peter’s damp cheek, swiping away tears that he hadn’t even realised had fallen, before soothing “I know Pete. I know… and it’s going to be okay. Maybe not yet, but… someday. I’m going to be here every step of the way, and we’ll get through this together, alright?”

Leaning into the warm touch and allowing his eyes to slide shut again, Peter felt truly, utterly peaceful for the first time in months. Because he trusted Mr Stark, and if he was here with him, then he could survive anything.

“Stay…?” Peter rasped quietly. He could feel the darkness ready to catch him again, but he wasn’t scared this time. He wasn’t scared anymore.

The hand on his cheek slid back into his loose curls just as a kiss was pressed to his forehead, and Peter smiled weakly through the weariness as Mr Stark whispered “Always…”

Chapter Text

“This can all be over if you just give me the name.”

The man who was currently crushed beneath the Merchant’s armoured boot let out a terrified whimper, and Tony smirked behind his mask. Such weaklings these days, he mused to himself, before grabbing the man’s collar by his gauntlet and dragging him up to his feet. The man was still crying, stammering out pleas that Tony couldn’t be bothered to listen to as he threw the trembling goon against the edge of the open van door. The vehicle was filled with stolen Stark Industries weapons that had long since been decommissioned, and Tony was determined to find out where this scum had gotten it, and where they were intending to sell it.

Only a Stark could use Stark weaponry, and anyone who thought otherwise would face punishment from the Merchant of Death instead.

The man was leaning against the edge of the doorway now, trying to catch his breath after almost having his ribs crushed by the menacing figure behind him. His relief was short lived though as Tony suddenly gripped the back of the man’s skull between his metal fingers and readied the repulsors with an iconic, mechanical whine. The man must have known what that meant, because he let out a pathetic sob a moment after, trembling under his death grip.

“Tell me where you got the weapons and you might just live,” Tony said coldly. Unfeeling.

“I- I-I don’t know, I swear! I swear!”

His cries sounded honest enough, so Tony asked instead “Who were you selling it to?”

“H-Hammer Industries,” he answered shakily, and Tony had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Of course that little weasel would try and get his hands on the far superior Stark technology. If he had even one of those rarities he might actually be able to create a decent weapon for once, but even that seemed far fetched for the likes of Hammer.

“We- we were supposed to trade vans in Queens. Their van would have the- have the money, and ours would have the weapons-“

His words were cut off with a sharp yelp as Tony shoved his head into the floor of the van and hissed “You mean my weapons.”

Pitiful whimpers echoed into the air as the man trembled beneath his grip, and after letting him squirm for a moment, Tony leant closer and demanded icily “Who do you work for?”

The man’s lips drew into a thin line, obviously trying to muster whatever conviction he had left, but it was betrayed by the tears spilling out of his eyes.

“Don’t make me ask twice,” Tony warned, because really, he didn’t feel like wasting his time with this low-level criminal when there were obviously much bigger fish to fry.

In a final desperate attempt, the man craned his neck as far as possible and tried to meet his eye, only to be met with the blank, cold expression of the mask on his face. If he was trying to appeal to his humanity, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

“Please,” he begged weakly. “He- He’ll kill me if I say.”

“I’ll gladly skip that step and do it myself.”

“No- no please! I’ll do anything!”

“Then tell me who you work for,” Tony growled, his patience finally worn thin and the repulsors whirring to life under his palms, eliciting another petrified whimper. “You have three seconds before I do your boss’s job for you. Three”

“No please! Please!”

“Two.”

Pleas blended into uncontrollable sobs, but Tony’s grip never faltered.

“One-“

“Hey!”

Tony perked up at the familiar voice, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he turned to face the newest arrival.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” he called to the poorly dressed vigilante staring him down from across the long since abandoned street. “Good to see you again Bug. It’s been far too long since our last sparring match.”

Though it was a little hard to tell the Spiderling’s expression through his crappy mask and goggles, the sarcasm was clear in his voice as he said, “Afraid I can’t say the same.”

“Ouch. You wound me, truly,” Tony said, feigning hurt and clutching a hand against his chest dramatically. “And here I thought we were just starting to get to know each other.”

The Spider stilled at that, the pale lenses of his mask narrowing on him suspiciously. It had been six months since the vigilante first arrived on the scene in Queens, and three months since their first encounter with one another as Spider-Man and the Merchant of Death. Their introduction had been fairly brief back then since Tony had quite easily thrown him through the window of a nearby café and blasted off into the sky, too caught up in a million other plans to pay the insect any mind. After that though they just seemed to keep running into each other, and subsequently, fighting like all good rivals do.

Their fights were quick, filled with banter, and more importantly, exciting. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun fighting a hero. After all, there was only so many times you could outsmart a fossilised soldier before it got boring.

But this kid, this Spider, he was full of energy and charisma. His cheesy one-liners and pop culture references were strangely magnetic in a way, and Tony found himself enjoying their little sparring matches whenever they crossed paths. Both of them had significantly loosened up since their first meeting, and the Merchant was expecting nothing different from today.

But the Spider was tense, he quickly realised. Shoulders still drawn back, fingers hovering over his web shooters that Tony definitely needed to get his hands on someday, and most importantly, he was quiet. Not spouting off playful quips or retorts like he usually did, and Tony couldn’t understand why that made his stomach twist a little in disappointment.

But the Spider’s discomfort soon became clear as he stepped forward and said, “Let the man go.”

For a moment, Tony had completely forgotten that snivelling little pest was even still there, but after glaring down at the man one last time, he quickly shoved him aside and watched him scramble away with a cry. Normally Tony wouldn’t have him go so easily -he wasn’t called the Merchant of Death for nothing-, but he told himself he was only a driver in way over his head. No one important. No one worth his time. And it definitely didn’t have anything to do with the defensive vigilante staring him down sharp eyes, or how said vigilante’s shoulders immediately relaxed the moment the low life had disappeared into an alley.

No, it had nothing to do with that.

“It’s a little early in the day for you, isn’t it Tin Can?” the Spiderling teased with a sudden lightness in his voice.

It was true. Tony didn’t often come out in his Merchant suit unless it was under the cover of night, but when he’d received the tip about a van full of his weapons getting traded off at midday, he had to investigate. And thank god he did, because there was no way in hell he was letting those weapons go anywhere except an incinerator.

“Well, I thought I might get a little bit of Vitamin D for once,” Tony mused as he paced towards the Spider with falsely casual steps. The street was empty at the moment after everyone had fled upon his initial arrival, the sight of the suit alone enough to send every citizen within a three-block radius packing for the hills. They, of course, were terrified, but Tony found it more entertaining than anything.

“I hope you’ve brought your A game today Bug, because I’ve been itching for a fight,” he said, lifting into the air to glare down at the mutant with his intimidating figure.

“Let’s see if you can keep up old man,” the Spider retorted as he shifted into a crouch. Ready. Ready for battle.

Tony smiled, and blasted forward without a second warning.

As always, their fight was filled with movement and flying and swinging and quips. As quickly as the vigilante was able to gain an upper hand with his ingenious webs Tony was able to steal it right back with a brutal barrage of fire from his repulsors. Somehow he dodged them every time, like he knew exactly what the Merchant was going to do before he did it, but Tony was determined to end his little lucky streak eventually.

The opportunity came in the form of a car that the Spider threw -literally threw- at him as he hovered in the air, catching him by surprise and knocking him back a decent way before he managed to get a hold on the metal hood. Tony remained suspended in the sky for a moment, a car hanging from his grip, before he shot a devious glance at the vigilante below who visibly stiffened in alarm.

The Spider turned tail and ran immediately.

“Oh no you don’t, we’re only just getting started!” Tony chuckled as he blasted up higher and threw the car with all his mechanical might. It went soaring through the air, perfectly aimed for where the Spider was running, before just as Tony planned he turned on his heel and made for the opposite direction. A smart move normally.

But not smart enough for Tony.

Cutting of his boosters, the Merchant dropped to the street with a sickening crack of asphalt and threw out his hands towards the vigilante with his repulsors charged. It happened quickly. Too quickly for Tony’s eyes to process and obviously too quickly for the teen’s senses to step in either, because he took the blast right to the chest and was thrown right in the direction he came. It was only a weak blast. It was meant to knock him off his feet a little, maybe take his ego down a peg or two after managing to dodge so many shots in the past. But what Tony didn’t expect to happen was for the Spider to hit the hardened street and land right where a shadow was quickly forming from above.

Neither of them had a chance to blink before the car dropped right onto the Spider with a piercing scream.

“Kid!” Tony called and jetted forward as fast as possible, his heart hammering like a war drum.

The car hadn’t even finished tilting over before metal gauntlets gripped onto the frame and threw it to the other side of the street as if it weighed nothing. For Tony, it felt like nothing compared to the sight before him, eyes widening behind the cover of his mask as he stared down at the crushed figure below.

The Spider was curled up in a ball with his hands cradling one of his legs to his chest, a leg Tony now realised was rapidly staining red and jutting out the wrong way.

Shit.

Crouching down into the crater that had formed from the impact, Tony reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder, only for him to scramble away with a startled cry and cause the Merchant to hesitate. He couldn’t get far with how badly his leg was mangled but he tried his best to crawl away regardless, stifled sobs tearing out of his chest as he did so. The Spider had never cried in front of Tony before.

The Spider had never cried because of Tony before.

Something cold and heavy settled in the man’s stomach, and he felt himself freeze in the face of the kid who was trembling before him. Shaking with terror like that driver was earlier underneath his grasp. But while that left Tony feeling nothing, this made him cold. Heavy and empty and burning all at once.

He didn’t understand anything that was swirling around in his head right now, but when the Spider let out a particularly harsh cry when he mistakenly put pressure on his leg, he was overwhelmed with the need to move. To assess. To fix.

So forgoing his previous hesitation, Tony stepped forward and scooped the Spider into his arms, eliciting a sharp yelp from the vigilante before blasting up into the sky. It took the Spider a moment to realise what was happening but as soon as he did he was desperately trying to escape his hold, hindered by the agony spiralling up from his broken leg that left him weakened and uncoordinated.

“Stop moving, you’re making it worse,” Tony snapped as they reached a nearby rooftop, far out of reach of the surveillance cameras below.

“Don’… please don’t…” the boy was sobbing out. “I don’ wan… please, stop…”

“Shut up and save your energy,” Tony reprimanded as he laid the vigilante carefully across the cemented roof.

It appeared the car had thankfully -if that was even an appropriate word to use in this situation- only landed on his lower legs, and though there were some decent fractures on both sides, it was the clean break on his right leg that really caught Tony’s attention. Because it wasn’t only broken and bleeding and mangled -because of him, because of him-, it was also trying to stitch itself back together, and it was doing it wrong.

“Shit…” Tony muttered as JARVIS showed him the scan. The enhanced healing that Tony had always suspected the kid had but was never able to confirm was literally trying to re-join the severed bone in the wrong place. If Tony didn’t intervene right now, the injury could become a hell of a lot worse.

“Kid, your leg is broken and it’s healing incorrectly,” the man explained aloud without any further prelude.

“W-What?” he slurred, his voice still shaking with something other than pain. Something Tony didn’t feel like acknowledging right now.

He couldn’t bring himself to look into those awfully expressive lenses. The ones that were squinted shut in agony as soft, silent cries still hitched inside his chest. Instead, he carefully straightened out the injured leg and worked up his nerve for what he was about to do. Would it be better not to tell the kid? Rip it off like a band-aid maybe? An excruciatingly painful band-aid, that was.

Tony considered not saying anything for a moment, but at the last second, he returned his attention back to the Spider’s masked face and said “Listen very carefully Bug. Your leg is broken and if it’s not set back in place right now, it’s going to heal all wrong and you might have some serious damage that you can’t back bounce from.”

The lenses widened a fraction in alarm, and the Spider stammered “W-What do I do?”

Despite the nausea rolling around in Tony’s stomach, he let out a sympathetic sigh and reached forward, gripping on to the bottom of the boy’s webbed mask. The Spider’s hands were on his wrists within milliseconds, trying to fight him away, but before he could gasp out a protest Tony had rolled the cloth into a bundle just over his mouth, saying firmly “Bite down on this.”

“Wha’? W-Why?” the boy stammered, his hands lowering when he realised the Merchant wasn’t trying to discover his identity.

“Because this is going to hurt like hell.”

That was the only warning Tony gave the boy before he gripped both gauntlets onto his mangled leg and snapped the bone back into place. The Spider screamed like nothing on earth as he did so, and Tony was sure his cries would have been heard from miles away with how deeply in cut into his own chest. It was agonising, a torture that Tony could describe as he was forced to hurt the kid in order to help him. The world was so cruel. Was there nothing Tony touched that wasn’t destroyed?

Shaking those thoughts away, Tony focused back on the task at hand and forced the shattered bones back into place with JARVIS’s gentle instruction, ignoring the torturous flailing of the boy he was leaning over. At some point the Spider’s screams melted into pleas, shaking with anguish as he valiantly bit into the mask and saved his teeth from a similar fate to his bones. Tony wanted to tell him he was doing well. That it was almost over soon.

Instead he said nothing, and after properly resetting the bones, he quickly tore off a strip of the boy’s red jumper and tied it around the still bleeding wound. With his healing, it should all be good as new within the hour. But that didn’t mean that the pain was over just yet.

Keeping one gauntlet over his leg to apply pressure to the wound, Tony moved his other hand to the boy’s chest and settled it over his sternum. He told himself he was scanning over his vitals, but his hand remained there even as Peter’s sobs began to taper away, trembling, gloved hands coming to rest over Tony’s metal one.

They stayed like that for a while, wallowing in the aftermath. There would never be enough time to truly comprehend what had just happened, but for now, they could just sit. Two masked figures on a rooftop, breathing through the torment.

“Thank you…”

Tony blinked in surprise at the meek voice, turning down to stare at the Spider who was looking back at him through his half-lidded lenses. He looked tired. Sounded tired too. Tony supposed he would be pretty exhausted too if he’d just suffered through what he did, and in a small show of encouragement, he gently patted the boy’s chest twice, which earnt a scratchy hum of appreciation.

“Don’t mention it,” Tony spoke after a moment, before clearing his throat and adding “I mean it Bug. I’ve got a reputation to upkeep.”

With the mask half rolled up his face, Tony could see the weary smile that tugged at the Spider’s lips as he muttered “’Course you do…”

Silence passed over them for a minute, the rapid thump of the boy’s heartbeat pounding under his hand, before Tony said with a sudden wash of guilt “You need painkillers or anything kid?”

“Mm… Cap h’s the good stuff…” the Spider murmured dazedly. “Only st’ff that works… I’ll ask ‘m later…”

“How about I ask him now,” Tony said without leaving any room for argument. “JARVIS, send a message to that dinosaur of a SHIELD agent saying that I took care of his insect problem, and he should get here ASAP if he doesn’t want his favourite bug to pass out from blood loss.”

“Jackass…” the Spider muttered, catching Tony by surprise, before he noticed the boy’s weak smirk as he chided “Y’know… know I’m an ar’chnid…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say Bug.”

“Idiot…”

“Pest.”

The Spider’s lips lifted into a shaky smile, before the lenses of his eyes began to slide shut, signalling the exhaustion was getting the better of him. So with a solemn smile of his own, Tony relinquished his hold over the boy’s leg and moved to stand, knowing that Captain America and his merry band would be inbound soon. Before he could fully rise though, the hand over his gauntlet tightened, and he blinked in surprise at the peaceful aura radiating off of the vigilante despite what he’d just put him through.

“Th’nks again…” he slurred, before dropping his hand back to his chest where Tony’s had once been.

Straightening a little, Tony wondered why his chest felt strangely tight, and said with as much gentleness he could muster “Can’t have you dying on me yet. You’re way more entertaining to fight than Capsicle.”

“Don’ worry,” the Spider chuckled. “I’ll be… be b’ck out here to… kick y’r ass in no time…”

Tony smiled, and lifted himself up into the air with one final glance down at the kid’s warm smile.

“I’m counting on it Bug.”

Chapter Text

“Is Daddy cold?”

Peter glanced up from his notebook at the meek voice beside him, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked between the little girl and the unconscious figure in the hospital bed before them. His eyes trailed over his mentor in concern, looking for the tell-tale signs of chills, only to realise a moment later what the cause of Morgan’s concern was.

“It’s alright, he’s not cold,” Peter started with a gentle smile, turning to face the girl with those familiar brown eyes so she knew she had his full attention. “That’s just an oxygen mask, and it’s making sure your Dad is getting all the air he needs.”

Morgan’s nose scrunched up in that adorable little way of hers as she asked “Why is his breath all misty then? Mummy says you can only see your breath when it’s winter.”

Peter considered her question for a moment, but figuring the five year old might not understand the concept of perspiration or water vapour just yet, he said “With special masks like that, it’s much easier to see our breath like it were winter, even if it’s not cold.”

“Whoa… cool,” Morgan smiled and swung her feet back and forth happily.

Peter had to give the girl credit, she was handling her father being hospitalised out of the blue incredibly well. The world was in shambles after the battle -or wait, second battle, Peter supposed- with the mad Titan, but they had emerged victorious thanks to the Avengers and Guardians and wizards and Wakandans and so many other amazing heroes who had liberated their world. And of course, Captain America, who had stolen the stones right out of Thanos’s gauntlet and snapped his fingers to rid the galaxy of the genocidal warlord.

The action hadn’t stopped since that fateful day when everyone stood on the broken grounds of the Avengers facility and watched as dust that smelt of victory disappeared into the sky. There had been celebrations at some point, but the memories were muddled by the chaos that had ensued, rushing people to emergency rooms and organising their next moves and watching reunion after reunion unfold before him.

Peter remembered the way Tony’s arms had locked around him when they saw each other again, his shoulders trembling with uncontainable sobs of joy as he pressed kisses into Peter’s hairline like there was no tomorrow. Maybe at some point there wouldn’t have been, but now they had all the time in the world, and Peter and Tony were smiling and laughing and crying like a pair of idiots as they held each other.

Now, almost a week after the iconic battle, the Stark family -and in extension, the Parkers- were drifting in and out of the hospital room, taking shift at Tony’s side to keep him entertained between his treatments. He hadn’t told anyone about the broken ribs at first or the severe amount of smoke inhalation from the explosions, but after almost hacking up a lung and getting sent to the ER midway through their celebratory dinner, it didn’t take long for everyone to find out. When they were sure he was going to be fine and just had to remain on oxygen for a few days as he healed, Peter had just laughed and called him a hypocrite for hiding his injuries.

Tony had smiled at him them, his eyes so incredibly soft, before swatting his arm with an amused “Respect your elders Parker.”

“So you finally admit that you’re old?” Peter teased, earning another playful tussle of his hair.

Despite all the action and battles and recovery, it had been nice. No, better then nice. Because they were all alive and together and a family again.

That’s what Tony had called it. Family.

Peter liked the sound of that.

And now, he had a little sister too! Morgan had gravitated towards him almost immediately, recognising the teen from all the stories his father used to tell her at bedtime, and crashing into his legs in an impromptu hug. Both her actions and her words had knocked the wind right of Peter’s lungs, but he was quick to lean down and return to embrace anyway. It didn’t take long for Peter to grow attached to the girl, and really, who could blame him? When she smiled, it was like the whole room was alight with sunshine, and through all the darkness and loss of the past five years, that was all their family really needed.

Peter was drawn out of his thoughts though by a shift of movement in the corner of his eye, turning back to face the bed and smiling as Tony’s eyes split open sluggishly.

“Hey Mo, I think he’s waking up,” Peter said.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the girl suddenly pounced off of her chair and scrambled onto the bed, running forward to catch her just before she could slip to the floor again. By the time Peter had wrapped his arms under Morgan’s armpits and lifted her onto the plush mattress, Tony was trying to paw away the mask on his face with a confused frown creasing his forehead. So reaching over the girl that was practically shaking the whole bedframe in her excitement, Peter swatted away the man’s hands from his face and laughed at the whine Tony let out.

“Are you Starks actually capable of waiting for one second, or is that like a genetic thing?” Peter mused with a slight roll of his eyes.

As soon as Tony registered the teen’s voice, his eyes were locked onto the children at his bedside with a wide and sleepy grin. His eyes always grew shiny when he saw them together, and no matter how many times Peter rambled or made poorly timed pop-culture references, Tony would stare at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky. Peter knew Tony had missed him for a long time. The man had told him as much as soon as they were safe in the aftermath of the battle, and Peter would never forget the haunted expression that crossed his face as he did. So even though it was still a little strange to see his mentor -the one who used to tease and quip and snark every second sentence- turn into the equivalent of a teddy bear, Peter found himself enjoying the affection. The hand against his cheek and the hugs and the kisses on his forehead.

What would have once seemed like a hopeful dream had now become his reality, and Peter was growing to love it more and more with every day that passed.

Speaking of affection though, Tony was suddenly patting the space beside him on the bed and saying through a smile “Can I get a hug from my kids yet or what?”

Not needing to be told twice, Morgan jumped into his side without any care for his still healing ribs, but Tony took the attack with a pleased huff and curled his arm around his daughter without any complaint. Peter smiled at the adorably domestic sight. Tony had taken on the role of a father like a fish to water, and the teen couldn’t be any happier for him.

Just as Peter was about to step back and sit on the chair again though, Tony’s eyes suddenly flickered up to meet his with a flash of mischief. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, voice muffled by the mask thankfully still pressed over his face.

Peter blinked at his mentor in confusion, before Tony lifted up his other arm and gestured to the side of the bed that remained vacant.

Oh…

Oh.

“Are… are you sure Mr Stark?” Peter stammered as he felt his cheeks tinge pink.

“Well, you are my kid aren’t you?” Tony asked with that warm, endearing smile of his. The shimmer in his eye that told a story of loss and reunion and victory and love. Infinite love.

So releasing his fears with a steady exhale, Peter rounded the bedframe and climbed in beside the man, humming when he felt Tony’s arm loop around his shoulders. If the man hadn’t been forced to keep the oxygen mask on, Peter was sure he would be kissing both his and Morgan’s heads by now, but they settled on leaning into each other’s warmth and watching the birds fly by out the window instead. It was peaceful though, and dare he even say, perfect.

Peter smiled into Tony’s shoulder and let his eyes slip shut, content to soak in this new reality that was his to hold and keep.

Chapter Text

“Seventeen year old Queens genius announced as the new heir of Stark Industries.”

“Tony Stark’s personal intern takes the mantle of the Stark legacy.”

“Meet the new CEO to be, Peter Parker!”

When the headlines first hit the internet barely fifteen minutes after the press conference had finished, Tony watched on apprehensively as the teen scrolled through his phone with startled, blank eyes. The news spread like wildfire. All of Peter’s social media accounts were blown up with notifications within minutes, from those he recognised, and those he didn’t. By the next hour, a picture of him and Tony -the elder’s arm wrapped firmly around his mentee’s shoulders as Peter smiled at the camera meekly- from the conference was across every screen in New York. And by the end of the day, there was not a single resident in the city who wasn’t speaking about the newly named heir of Stark Industries: Peter Parker.

“You sure you’re alright with this kid?” Tony asked as he settled down beside him on the couch.

“Little late to be asking that, isn’t it?” Peter teased, but before his mentor could take it the wrong way, he added quickly “It’s fine Mr Stark. We’ve been planning this for months, and… I haven’t changed my mind. I wanted this.”

Though he was still worried for the kid -honestly, when wasn’t he-, Tony offered a gentle smile and wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulder again. “Alright Underoos. But if you change your mind, or you want to step down-“

“Mr Stark,” Peter cut him off, half amused and half irritated. “I wouldn’t have said yes in the first place if I didn’t want to be your heir.”

“I know, but I’m sure this wasn’t what you thought you were signing up for,” Tony said as he gestured to the muted television with yet another segment about his announcement flashing across the screen.

“I knew exactly what I was signing up for, and I haven’t changed my mind.” Peter’s eyes were as warm and as kind as they had ever been, but there was a steeliness behind them too. A strength.

Tony felt his features soften into a smile at the sight of his kid -not by blood, but by something stronger- looking like nothing in the world could take him down.

“As long as you’re sure, Pete.”

“One hundred percent.”

The first phone call came in the middle of a meeting. It had been a week since the announcement, and the board wanted to review the public reaction to Peter’s new position, which of course, was mostly positive. Tony glanced down once at the unknown number flashing across his screen before quickly dismissing it.

The second phone call came barely a minute later, and after a disapproving glare from Pepper, the man quickly got Friday to block the caller. If it was really that important, they could figure it out with his reception staff.

May Parker called only a few hours later as Tony was tinkering away in the lab, his head shooting up with a smile as he accepted the call. “Well hello Miss Parker, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Have you talked to Peter today?”

May’s voice sounded strained, nervous.

“No, I haven’t,” Tony answered in a tone that matched her own. “Why, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just… he’s not home yet. I just thought maybe… well, maybe he’d gone to see you.”

“We haven’t spoken since this morning…” Tony said, his voice growing soft.

Something was wrong. And they both knew it.

“I’ll call Ned,” May said quickly.

“I’ll track his suit.”

“Let me know what you find,” she said firmly, and with a final confirmation from Tony, she cut the line. Feeling something cold running through his veins, Tony turned to the ceiling and ordered “Friday, patch me through to Karen will you?”

“Yes boss.”

It only took a moment for the endearingly robotic voice of the kid’s AI to chime from above, greeting warmly “Hello Mr Stark, how can I help you today?”

“Where’s Peter right now?”

“Peter has not activated the suit since yesterday, between his patrol of 3:29pm to 8:02pm.”

Tony’s eyes darted towards his screen, tensing up even further at the 9:12pm flashing across the digital display. A whole hour after Peter’s curfew. So if he wasn’t in his suit, and he wasn’t with May or himself, then…

Tony’s heart dropped as he remembered something from earlier in the day, calling out roughly “Friday, call that blocked number from earlier and track it immediately.”

“Right away boss,” the AI replied, a hint of concern layering her robotic tone.

It only took a moment for the lines to connect after it was unblocked, but Tony felt every muscle, every nerve, every damn atom in his body freeze as a smooth voice greeted “About time you called Stark.”

“Where is my kid,” Tony growled out, his tone overflowing with venom.

“Don’t worry, your precious heir is still alive and well,” the man chuckled cruelly. “We were just about to congratulate him for his promotion actually. Quite a feat, inheriting a billion-dollar company before he’s even an adult.”

“I’m guessing that’s what you want then? A couple billion for the kid,” Tony guessed while desperately trying to keep his voice even.

The stranger just hummed, as if contemplating, before saying lightly “While that would be nice, we were just wanting to give him a… celebratory gift of sorts, that’s all.”

“What the hell are you-“

“Here, we’re just about to give it to him actually. You called at the perfect time.”

Tony went to snap back but he could tell the man was moving now, the creak of doors and echo of footsteps consuming the line for a few minutes until new voices broke the uncanny ambiance. It sounded like they were shouting. Fighting maybe, with the way they were grunting and barking out names that made Tony’s ears burn. Words like mutant, and freak, and scum.

Tony was going to kill them all the moment Friday tracked their location, which judging by the progress bar on his screen, wouldn’t be long now. And while the scuffle continued Tony sent a message out to any of the Avengers in tower to get ready for a rescue mission. He had a feeling they would all be keen to get in on the action when they knew who these bastards had taken.

The line went dead silent, and for a moment Tony’s heart stopped beating in the fear they had hung up.

But then, a few moments later, the voice returned slightly out of breath, saying smoothly “Sorry about that Stark. He’s quite the fighter your kid.”

“I swear if you even lay a finger on him, I’ll tear you to fucking pieces,” Tony hissed out, far beyond keeping his composure at this point.

“No need to get so defensive now, we just gave him a little sedative to keep him comfortable, that’s all.”

Tony could hear someone crying in the background, faint but recognisable, and he could feel his heartbeat speeding up into dangerous territory.

“Just let him go, and I’ll give you whatever you want,” Tony breathed out in a moment of weakness. Weakness for his kid, because Peter was his weakness, and that terrified him to no end.

“Come on now, let’s not ruin the surprise,” the man had the nerve to actually laugh. “Hurry up boys. Let’s give him his gift already.”

There was more shuffling in the background, metal scraping across metal and the struggling gasps and whimpers of someone familiar drifting from the other side. Tony felt like he was going to be sick. He’s pretty sure his head would be in the waste bin right now throwing up his dinner if he weren’t so paralysed with fear.

And then, Peter’s voice. Slurred. Frantic. Scared.

“W-wha… wait… no! N-No, no, no!”

Before Tony could even process the terror in his kid’s words the man announced proudly “May your reign over Stark Industries be a long and prosperous one, Mr Parker.”

Then Peter’s screams tore through the air like lightning, echoing through the lab and sending Tony to his knees in a damn near panic attack as his kid screamed and screamed and screamed-

Oh god make it stop. Not Peter, please not my kid.

It felt like an eternity that the boy cried out in indescribable agony. He was howling now, his voice shredded from the desperate calls for help that couldn’t save him, and Tony thought this must be hell. This must be his personal hell because he felt like he was dying just listening to it- unable to help, unable to save his kid who was screaming and in pain and what if he was dying- what if he was dying-?!

Then the torturous screaming faded into sobs, the hiss of something that Tony couldn’t quite remember fading off into the background. It didn’t matter. Not when he could hear Peter whimpering, crying, weeping out in a pain Tony couldn’t understand. All the man knew was that he was going to save his kid, and once he did, he would murder every single scumbag who had dared to hurt him in the first place. He would make sure everybody in the world knew not to mess with Tony Stark’s family.

And then, Friday lit up Tony’s screen with an address and a estimated arrival time, and Tony felt himself smiling through the tears cascading down his face.

“Better start running,” he said coldly before cutting off the connection to let them stew in the confusion. The realisation. The subsequent panic and understanding that they were completely screwed.

It took barely five minutes for the Avengers to arrive at the abandoned, decaying warehouse, and Tony wasted no time in mowing down every single henchmen that crossed his path on the way to Peter. Rhodey, Sam, Steve and Natasha were taking care of any strays and cleaning up the mess Tony left in his wake, but his mind was fixated on the kid. His kid. His kid that they stole and tortured and made scream out in agony.

In time, Tony would get his revenge on these criminals like he so desperately wanted to, but like always his first priority was Peter. Always Peter.

When he kicked down a locked, rusted door with a lone heat signature behind it, Tony felt his heart lift and immediately shatter to the floor the moment he saw inside. Unlike the rest of the decaying building, this room looked almost like a blacksmith’s with hand-crafted weapons lined up across the walls and a forge cracking brightly from the opposite wall. There were tools he recognised from his own work in mechanics. Some far more rudimentary. But what really caught his attention was the steel table a few feet in front of the forge, its fierce flames casting a red outline of the figure curled a top of it. It was breathing- no wait… crying Tony realised, with bare, uncovered shoulders jolting in silent agony.

Knowing who it was without even having to see their face, Tony scrambled forward and called out shakily “Peter!”

The weeping didn’t stop, but as soon as Tony’s hand gripped his shoulder, the boy let out a strangled cry and curled his arms more tightly around his chest. Like he was trying to protect himself from a horror of the past.

“Oh Peter,” Tony breathed, on the verge of tears himself, before he stepped out of the armour and gently turned the boy onto his back.

Peter whimpered at the movement, but the moment Tony’s hand settled over his damp cheek he seemed to quiet. Cautiously, the teen cracked open his red-rimmed eyes and found Tony’s worried gaze through the firelight. It took him a moment to process his presence. It was almost like he didn’t believe he was there, but then all of a sudden, the tears renewed and the sobs were jerking out of his chest even harsher than before.

“Shh Roo, it’s okay, I’ve got you now- I’ve got you, shhh…” Tony soothed, swiping away the tears with his thumb as gently as possible. “Where are you hurt Pete? I’ll let Cho know so she can get the MedBay ready.”

To his utter shock though, Peter just shook his head and clutched tighter onto his bare chest.

“Come on buddy, we need to know what’s injured so we can help.”

Peter stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes. It made Tony’s blood go cold again as he stared down at his kid, so once filled with joy and light, now gazing back at him with an emptiness, a grief that Tony didn’t know how to explain. Like something had been stolen away from him and destroyed before his very eyes.

“Peter…” Tony spoke in a whisper as his stomach twisted into knots. “What did they do to you…?”

For a moment, Peter just stared, a single tear illuminated by the heat of the forge sliding down his face. And then he shifted his arms away from his chest, the movement drawing out a final sob as he revealed the skin beneath it.

The raised, burnt, branded skin in the centre of his ribs, knocking all the air out of Tony’s lungs and crippling his knees as he finally recognised the image through the red glow of the forge. A strangled cry filled the air, and it took Tony far to long to release the noise had come from him.

Because there, imprinted into the middle of his kid’s chest, was an arc reactor, and six simple words curled around its burnt edges.

Peter Parker: Heir to Stark Industries.

Chapter Text

Tony Stark had faced many strange things throughout his life as a superhero -gods, aliens, androids of both peaceful and homicidal nature-, and he had adapted to and overcome every single one of them.

All of course, for magic, and the science-defying wizards who wielded it.

Even now as he dove through the air to narrowly avoid a beam of light from below, Tony found it hard to believe that he was fighting someone that so easily ignored his understanding of reality. Of the fundamental rules of nature that Tony understood like the inner workings of his suit. This sorcerer who had been caught trying to steal an artifact from a nearby museum seemed to think of those rules as nothing but a gentle suggestion, throwing fireballs from his bare hands as Tony flew by for another shot at the rogue. Tony would never admit it, but he found it almost terrifying that one could bend the fabric of reality with such ease.

His young protégé on the other hand, did not.

“Whoa Mr Stark, did you see that?!” Peter’s voice echoed over the comms with a giddiness that truly showed his age.

“Considering I almost got scorched by it, yes kid, I did see,” Tony huffed, though there wasn’t really any heat to his words.

“It was so cool!” Peter said in awe. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if I knew magic Mr Stark? Oh! Can I-“

“No, you cannot learn magic Parker.”

“Aww, you’re no fun,” Peter replied through a chuckle.

“Well one of us has to be the mature one on this team,” Tony said, rolling his eyes as the wizard threw a suspicious green mist in the boy’s direction.

“Hey! I’m mature!” Peter protested lightly before he expertly dodged the cloud and swung back out of harm’s way.

Smirking under his mask, Tony mused “I’m sorry to tell you Underoos, but history would beg to differ.”

The boy let out an indignant squawk, but before he could come up with a witty remark of his own, their attention was drawn to the wizard who had tried to make a run for a nearby alley in the midst of their banter. The two heroes snapped back into action and cut him off on either side of the lane with practiced synchronicity, repulsors and web-shooters raised straight for the startled rogue.

“Alright Dynamo, let’s wrap this up shall we,” Tony spoke with a faux casualness.

The corner of the rogue’s mouth tilted up ever so slightly, and Tony tensed his muscles in preparation. “I suppose you’re right; I am getting a little tired…”

Across the other side of the alley, the lenses of Peter’s mask widened, the classic sign that his spider sense was ringing.

The man glanced over at Tony with his cold, emerald eyes and smirked.

“Guess I’ll just have to leave you both to it.”

Then he was throwing his hand up with a blinding flash of light and causing Tony to stumble back from the harsh sheet of white across his vision, blinking the spots out of his eyes to ready himself for the impending attack. But when his sight finally returned, he wasn’t met with an enraged wizard, he was met with something far worse. The sight of Peter, disoriented and confused, trapped in a headlock as the rogue pressed his fingers to the boy’s temples and muttered something into his ear.

A rush of panic flooded Tony’s veins as he blasted forward and shouted “Kid!”

Tony could see that Peter was trying to fight back. He was struggling and bucking and clawing at the man’s arms, but then -horrifyingly- Peter seemed to sag, his hands falling to his sides like a puppet cut from its strings. The wizard slowly stepped back and glanced over at Tony -who was still speeding forward- with a devilish grin, which made dread and fury and everything in between settle in his stomach like a stone.

Whatever that bastard had done to his kid, he wouldn’t get away with it.

But then, just before Tony was about to scoop Peter up and check him over, a gloved hand shot forward and sent a string of web straight into his chest plate. Tony didn’t even have a second to register the action before Peter was suddenly dragging him out of the air and into the cement with a resounding crack, skidding for a few feet before stopping amidst the rubble.

A disoriented moan escaped Tony’s throat, and when he lifted his head, he was met with familiar pale lenses and a mask of friendly red. Except it wasn’t friendly anymore, and those eyes weren’t the ones he knew or had crafted with his own hands. No, this was something different. Something cold.

“Kid,” Tony tried to say, but then the figure was jumping on top of him and throwing a fist straight into his helmeted jaw. The metal clanged with each swing, and the unrestrained power of each hit made Roger’s beating seem like a slap in comparison.

On instinct, Tony threw his hands out and shoved his attacker off with his all mechanical might, feeling a rush of guilt a split second later when he realised he’d just pushed his kid away. His kid who had just as easily jumped back to his feet and pounced forward for round two with a guttural roar. So with panic overruling his guilt, Tony activated his thrusters and blasted away just in time to see Peter’s fist slam into the asphalt where his head had been lying only seconds ago, a web of cracks permanently marking the sidewalk.

Those cold, white lenses snapped up to lock onto Tony again, narrowing like a hunter who had spotted its prey, and the man felt his heart drop into his stomach with realisation.

This wasn’t his kid anymore. This wasn’t Peter.

The sorcerer -that bastard-, he’d done something to him to make him wild. Make him violent. Tony could see it in the way that the boy’s breaths had grown ragged and the muscles under his suit flexed with raw strength, strength that Peter had repeatedly confessed he was afraid of ever letting out of control. There were no smiles, no quips, no “Did you see that Mr Stark?!”

Instead there was a husk of the boy Tony once knew, crouched on the ground and rearing for an attack- an attack on him.

Never once in his life did he ever imagine that Peter would fight him, or that he would be forced to fight his kid in return. But now here he was, blasting up past the rooftops in an attempt to escape the vigilante surging after him with a scary amount of speed. Tony had just passed the railing of the nearest apartment block when there was a familiar thwip! and a sudden jerk against his left ankle, tumbling across the rooftop but thankfully regaining his balance just in time to block a swift punch from the spiderling right behind him.

“Kid- Pete, I know you’re in there,” Tony grunted as the teen threw another rapid swing against his raised gauntlets. “I don’t- shit I don’t know if you can even hear me kid, but I know you’re in there. I know you can fight this- fight this!”

As Peter went in for a kick, Tony saw his opportunity and caught his foot mid-air, dragging it up and slamming Peter’s back into the roof as a result. The strangled gasp that sounded from below made Tony’s chest ache like it had so many times before when Peter returned from a patrol bruised and battered, but this time with the added guilt of actually being the one responsible for his kid’s pain. It made his blood chill in a way that he hoped he never had to experience again.

There would be time to wallow later though. For now, with Peter trying to drag himself up in a wild scramble below, Tony had no choice but to harden his resolve and take hold of his flailing hands instead, pinning Peter’s wrists to the ground. In the sudden realisation that he was trapped Peter started to kick, but Tony readjusted his hold to avoid the attacks and tried to ignore the warping metal of his gauntlets as Peter struggled against him.

“Stop, stop Peter!” Tony called out and begged his kid to hear him again. “It’s me, it’s Tony. I don’t want to hurt you, and I know you don’t want to hurt me. So focus Pete, because I know you’re in there, and I know you’re stronger than whatever shit he put in your head, alright? You’re so much stronger than that Underoos.”

And then, like a scene out of a corny action film, Peter’s struggles began to still, and the lenses of his mask widened up at the man like he was seeing him for the first time.

Well, that was easy.

Tony’s face split into a relieved smile and he eased his death grip over the boy’s wrists, saying “Hey kiddo…”

There was a beat of calm, of blissful stillness.

And then, like a flash of lightning, Peter lunged forward and tackled his mentor to the ground in his moment of distraction. Tony didn’t even get a chance to draw in a startled breath before Peter’s fists began pummelling into his head and chest once more, growing more frantic and fierce with each powerful swing until Tony tasted metal in his mouth. Everything was happened too fast. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. His body was screaming to fight back but his mind refused to hurt his kid, even if said kid was beating him to a pulp with the ferocity of a pack of wolves.

But what was worse than the breath getting knocked out of his lungs or the blood gushing out of his probably broken nose or the pain rippling across his entire body was the fact that it wasn’t Peter’s fault. It wasn’t Peter’s fault that his body had been taken over by a magic-wielding maniac. It wasn’t Peter’s fault that he couldn’t fight against whatever spell he was under. And as much as Tony was the one under attack, it was Peter who was the true victim in this situation, forced to be a puppet to someone else’s will.

Tony couldn’t imagine anything worse.

But then Peter’s fingers dug into the metal around his arc reactor and tore the energy source out in one swift motion, and Tony realised that things could be much, much worse.

Friday stuttered out an emergency warning before the suit went completely dark, and Tony was reminded of Rogers and a vibranium shield slamming into his chest. Only now it was so much worse because this was Peter. His kid. His son in every way that mattered.

And if Tony didn’t think fast, soon, he would be his executor too.

Tony tried to muster his voice only to stumble over a clot of blood, and Peter with that mindless, wild demeaner began to tear away his chest plate layer by layer. First the outer metal, then the wiring panels, then it would be the padding. And finally, it would be Tony.

I know I always joke about it, but please, don’t let Peter be the death of me, Tony’s mind raced as he tried to shove the teen away with little success. I don’t care if I die. Just don’t make him do it, let it be someone else-

The final piece of plating was thrown to the side by Peter’s hand, leaving Tony’s chest open and exposed.

-Anyone else-!

Peter raised his fist for a finishing swing.

-Please!

And then, just as Tony prepared for a gruesome end, the ground dropped beneath him in a flurry of golden sparks and drew a cry from his lungs.

His back hit the harsh concrete just as fast as he’d left it though, and he blinked up at the clear blue sky only to realise a moment later that there was no longer a brainwashed vigilante trying to beat him to death from above. On instinct, Tony’s mind screamed “Where’s Peter?!” and he forced himself up despite the headache splitting his skull.

“Might want to take it easy there Stark.”

Tony’s eyes snapped towards the familiar cloaked figure standing near the edge of the roof -another apartment block is seemed when he looked closer- and felt his jaw clench. “You took your god damn time, didn’t you?” Tony hissed as he forced the dented helmet off of his head.

Strange glanced over at the billionaire with an unamused arch of his brow, stating plainly “You look like shit.”

“Well that’s what happens when you get the shit beat out of you,” Tony said as he tried to swipe away the blood from his broken and throbbing nose. “What did you do to the kid?”

“Nothing, he’s completely unharmed and right where you left him,” Strange answered casually. “If anything, he’s probably on the hunt for you again.”

“Yeah, about the whole ‘hunting’ thing, do you care to stop it yet?” Tony said, ignoring the pang of worry twisting in his stomach.

For the first time since he’d arrived, Strange’s expression grew solemn as he turned to face the man with his full attention. He was worried too. Tony could see it in the slight crease of his brow and the set of his jaw. Deny it all you want, but there wasn’t a hero on this planet who could resist Peter’s endearing antics for long.

“It would seem that Peter’s been hit by a huntsman spell, which means all conscious thought and action has been replaced with a drive to kill, and kill you specifically,” Strange explained grimly.

“Yeah, I got that part, but can you fix it?” Tony asked while dragging himself up onto shaky legs. “Surely you can undo it, aren’t you supposed to be the master wizard or something?”

“Sorcerer Supreme,” he corrected. “And no, it’s not that simple. The spell can only be broken if the target or the hunter dies.”

Tony’s heart dropped into his stomach at the thought of Peter dying or snapping out of his trance to find Tony dead -a price he would gladly pay if it meant his kid’s freedom-, but Strange was quick to interrupt his spiralling thoughts, saying “There’s another way though- a loophole of sorts.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Do it,” Tony urged.

Strange’s lips thinned, as if considering, before they lifted into a wry smile. “If you say so,” he mused and placed a hand over Tony’s chest.

“So do you say abracadabra or-“

A sharp cry cut off Tony’s retort as his entire body was jolted through the air, arms flailing as he felt himself fall backwards in slow motion. Except it wasn’t in slow motion, and he wasn’t falling. No, he was just suspended in the air and watching... watching his body… falling…

“What the fuck…” Tony muttered, only to hear his voice reverberate in his own skull like an echo chamber. Well… maybe not his skull, considering it was about to hit the cement before getting caught by that familiar crimson cloak. His mind might be a more accurate word, and right now, it felt like his mind was shattering into pieces.

Tony watched in bewilderment as the garment laid out his lifeless body across the pavement and patted his forehead in an almost soothing manner, before swinging back over Strange’s shoulders who stared at him with a reserved smirk. “You said to do it,” the wizard stated bluntly.

“Well, I assumed you’d give little warning before you, I don’t know- killed me!” Tony barked, trying to stabilise his arms as he hovered in the air.

“You’re not dead Stark, I simply pushed your astral form out of your body.”

“Sounds like death to me.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but try not to be dramatic,” Strange mocked as he stepped over Tony’s limp body and towards the edge of the roof again. “By pushing you out of your body for now, the spell over Peter will release, believing his target to be dead.”

“So, you can put me back then?” Tony asked.

The wizard glanced over his shoulder and offered a vaguely sympathetic expression. “I’m afraid not. There’s a chance the spell might reactivate if I return you to your body, so I’ll need a chance to cleanse Peter’s mind before you’re put back in.”

“Great, alright then,” Tony said, clapping his not-so-physical hands together. “So how long will that take?”

“Once I catch the rogue, it should only take a few moments.”

“What?!” Tony burst out. “You’re just going to leave me like this while you run off and chase Houdini?”

Strange rubbed his chin like he was deep in thought, then stared Tony dead in the eye and mused “Yes.”

“Strange, I swear to god-“

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” Strange called before stepping through a ring of sparks and disappearing again.

Then it was just Tony, his lifeless body, and a couple of pigeons left on the rooftop.

“Wizards,” Tony huffed, plotting all the obscenities he would throw at the man when he got back as he settled down beside his body to endure the wait. Surely it wouldn’t take that long. He was a master wizard after all, so it should only be ten minutes- maybe even five if he were lucky.

Tony should have known he would have no such luck.

The familiar symphony of thwips! appeared barely three minutes after Strange had left, and Tony in his ghostly form stood up just in time to see that iconic spandex figure flip up onto the other end of the roof. If Tony still had his heart he was sure it would have skipped a beat when he caught sight of his kid again, alive and unharmed and Peter once again. He knew as soon as he tore off his mask -wild curls springing back into place and his eyes soft and kind- that he had been released of the spell, just as Strange said he would.

His relief was overshadowed with concern however when Peter began glancing around the rooftop frantically, gripping the mask up to his face in a fierce hold as he muttered “That can’t be right Karen. I’d- I’d never do that to Mr Stark.”

Tony stepped -or drifted- forward just enough to hear the AI’s reply, her voice solemn as she explained “I’m sorry Peter, but my footage confirms that you did indeed fight Mr Stark.”

“No, no, no, that can’t be- that can’t be right… oh god, I don’t remember,” Peter said, running a hand through his mess of curls with a panicked glaze in his eyes. “N-No I couldn’t have… I would never…” The seconds passed in silence as Peter bit his lip in thought, only for his eyes to widen a moment later as realisation crashed into him, choking out, “Shit… Karen where did you say Mr Stark was?”

“The emergency transponder from his suit ends here.”

“Okay, okay, it’s alright, he’s fine right?” Peter stuttered, and Tony felt his chest tighten as the boy scanned the rooftop again. “He’s probably just getting backup… yeah… he’s absolutely fi-“

Whatever reassurances Peter was about to say were abruptly cut off as the boy met Tony’s gaze, reality melting away at the edges as that familiar warm sensation coiled up in Tony’s heart. It was a feeling that had become more frequent as he and Peter grew closer, and though it was strange at first, Tony realised he’d grown to like it, and even felt a little empty whenever it went away.

But though Tony’s face was alight with a smile, Peter’s expression was anything but, and reality came crashing down again.

Because Peter wasn’t looking at him. At least not in the way that Tony had first thought.

The realisation dawned on him as the boy came sprinting forward only to pass right through his transparent body towards the cold and bloodied one lying just behind him. Tony spun around and stared in shock as Peter collapsed at his body’s side, trembling hands hovering over his mentor’s chest before gently -ever so gently- resting one over his heart.

“M-Mister Stark?” Peter breathed, his voice painfully fragile. “Can… can you hear me Mr Stark?”

“Oh kid.” Tony lowered himself to kneel beside the teen only to sigh when his hand went straight through Peter’s shoulder, guilt swelling up in his throat as he said “I’m right here. I didn’t get a chance to explain, but I promise I’m right here.”

Some naïve part of him had hoped that Peter would hear him, but his reassurances just echoed into the void as Peter pressed his ear against his chest, searching for a heartbeat that Tony knew wouldn’t be there.

Tony could see the panic glazing over Peter’s expression the longer he waited, and it nearly broke his not-beating heart when tears began pooling in his young eyes. “Come on Mr Stark- come on,” he hissed through gritted teeth, a tough front to hold back the emotions that were threatening to burst out.

“Damnit Strange,” Tony muttered as he tried once again to touch Peter’s shoulder. “Where the hell are you?”

A few more moments passed by in strained silence until Peter’s breathing began to pick up from its already fast speed, scrambling for his mask and practically shouting “I can’t find a heartbeat Karen, what- what do I do?!”

“Remain calm Peter and begin chest compressions as I alert the emergency services,” the AI replied evenly, and Tony was more thankful than ever that he had programmed his suit with such a feature.

“Right, okay… chest compressions,” Peter said, shaking his head as if to refocus himself, before clasping his hands together and pushing down on Tony’s chest in a rhythmic pattern. Thankfully none of that pressure seemed to translate to Tony’s ghostly form, but watching it did leave him a little queasy when he remembered how fiercely Peter had torn away his chest plate earlier…

But no- that wasn’t Peter’s fault. The only one to blame was that magic-wielding bastard who had turned Peter against him like a hunting dog to begin with. There was no one at fault but him.

A sharp sob cut through Tony’s thoughts and brought him back to his senses, and he realised with a plummeting heart as he stared at Peter’s face -flooded with tears and agony- that he wasn’t the one that needed convincing. The tremors had spread from his hands to his entire body as he continued the compressions in an unsteady rhythm, and though Karen was trying to offer calming reassurances from where the mask was discarded on the floor, Tony knew the AI couldn’t help him now. Peter was spiralling, but this time Tony didn’t have the ability to pull him out of it.

All he could do was wait, and watch, and try not to break down himself as Peter tore himself apart with guilt that was never deserved.

“Please… please! Wake up Mr Stark!” Peter cried out after what felt like a lifetime of useless compressions. “Oh god, please, I didn’t mean- mean to… I swear it w-wasn’t me…”

“I know Pete, I know. It’s not your fault, you have to know that,” Tony tried desperately to soothe.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry! ‘M so sorry Mr Stark!”

The sobs were drowning out his words now, and his arms had grown so weak from grief that he had no option but to give up on the compressions. Instead, Peter leant down and pressed his forehead against Tony’s battered chest, blood staining his gloves from where it had soaked into his undershirt.

“Please don’t go…” Peter pleaded. So broken, so desperate. “I didn’t m-mean to… please believe me…”

“I do kid,” Tony answered through his own grief. “I know you would never do that…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… this is all my f-fault…”

“Peter please, you know it’s not…”

Tears soaking into the fresh blood of Tony’s shirt, Peter took his mentor’s limp hand in his own and leant into like a prayer, stammering out apologies that destroyed the man sitting beside him.

“Please stop Peter,” Tony begged as he tried once again to hold his kid, only for his arms to glide right through his shaking form. “I can’t take this kid. I can’t do it, please.”

But as much as his cries were torture to Tony, the silence was worse for Peter, and with a mortified expression the boy whispered “I-… oh god… I-I killed you.”

“No kid!” Tony barked without hesitation. “You didn’t Pete, you could never. Get that shit out of your head right now, I swear to god-“

“I killed you, I…” Peter words were stifled by a sob as he dropped Tony’s hand and pressed his own over his mouth, muffling that cries tearing out of it. And is if he hadn’t completely shattered his mentor’s heart already, he wept out painfully “I did it again, I… I killed you… j-just like Uncle Ben…”

“Oh god Peter no,” Tony said through a shaky breath, desperate to hold his kid close and chase away all his pain. “That wasn’t your fault, and this isn’t your fault either. You’re not to blame, for me or for your uncle alright? You’d never-… shit kid. How long have you been thinking like this?”

His last words were said in a whisper, but judging by the grief so deeply etched into the boy’s features, Tony knew it must have been a long time. Months, maybe even years of blaming himself for a death that was out of his control. What a cruel world it was where people as kind and as loving as Peter Parker forced themselves to carry such guilt.

Another cry pierced through the air and Tony raised his arm over Peter’s shoulders just in case he might feel it- just in case he might find the reassurance he so desperately needed right now.

“Fuck Strange, where the hell are you?” Tony muttered under his breath, wishing the sorcerer would hurry up and fix this mess before it spiralled any further. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take seeing Peter like this, or if he would ever recover from the sorrow that had burrowed deep into his heart at Peter’s pained confessions.

One thing Tony was certain of, however, was that once he was back in his body he would hold onto his kid tightly and never let go. Never take it for granted again. And then they would have a nice long chat about all that undeserved guilt that had found a home in Peter’s mind without any of them noticing, and he would drag it all away. He would fix it, just like he always did.

It felt like a century had passed until that mystical ring of gold appeared and revealed one Stephen Strange, Peter’s sobs permanently branded into his mentor’s memory as Tony jumped to his non-existent feet and snapped “Put me back in! Now!”

It only took one glance between Tony’s panicked gaze and Peter’s tear stained face for Strange to understand what had happened, striding forward with his usual air of authority until he was kneeling on Peter’s opposite side. The boy -still a little stunned from the wizard’s entrance- just stared up at Strange with red, pleading eyes, his voice too broken from all the crying to muster any words. The request was obvious in his gaze though, in his hands twisted tightly into the fabric of Tony’s shirt where the blood had long since dried:

Save him.

Strange didn’t waste any time with words and rested both hands over the boy’s temples, a chant tumbling out of his mouth until Peter body swayed under his hold. Tony’s gut twisted with concern until he saw Peter straighten and blink with a strange sort of clarity, and without even sparing the billionaire a glance, Strange flicked his wrist and Tony’s vision went spinning once more. Instead of everything shifting into slow motion this time, it seemed like someone had hit fast forward and Tony was jolting up with a strangled gasp as his mind rushed to catch up to his body.

His body. Wow, now that was a nice feeling. Well, everything except for the bruises and broken nose and cracked ribs, of course.

But all of that seemed trivial in comparison to the look on Peter’s face when their eyes finally met, shock and disbelief and joy all bursting out through a simple gaze before Tony lunged forward and trapped the boy in his fierce embrace. Peter returned it was just as much -if not more- fervour though and the tears flooded back over his cheeks, but this time they were born of relief instead of loss.

“I’m sorry- I’m s’rry Mr Stark,” Peter stammered into his shoulder, his words barely coherent.

Tony just tangled his fingers into the boy’s soft curls and said firmly “Don’t be sorry, don’t you dare say sorry again Peter. It wasn’t your fault, you hear me?”

“But I-“

“Nu uh! Wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could have done,” Tony muttered, clutching the boy impossibly close to himself.

“I sh-should have fought it…” Peter tried to reason, but his mentor was quick to shut that down as well, saying “The only person to blame is that wizard, alright kid? It’s not your fault, I mean it.”

The teen drew in a breath and released it in a messy sob, admitting shamefully “But I h-hurt you.”

“Peter,” Tony said, his voice so steady and secure that the two found themselves naturally pulling apart to look at each other in the eye. Tears continued to fall down the boy’s sullen cheeks but Tony was quick to wipe them away, saying with both a gentle and determined tone “You could never hurt me.”

Peter blinked up at his mentor in genuine shock, like he couldn’t quite believe his words. But just as quickly the tears were back, exhausted droplets replacing the mournful ones as Peter leant forward into Tony’s embrace once more. A place of safety, and warmth, and love. A place that would always be open for Peter to collapse into when he needed to fall apart.

So, Tony just coiled his arms further around Peter’s back and guided his head to rest in the crook of his neck, pressing his lips to the boy’s temple as another bit of reassurance. And judging by the way that Peter immediately relaxed into his hold like honey, it seemed to work.

Tony’s attention was caught briefly by a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, and he glanced over at where Strange was standing awkwardly to the side with his cloak shifting anxiously on his shoulders. His concern for Peter was as clear as day on his features, though Tony was sure the wizard would deny it if he dared to point it out.

“Thanks Doc,” Tony said, still leaning his head against Peter’s mop of curls. “I’ve got it from here.”

The wizard paused for a moment, assessing the pair, before nodding his head in what Tony could only assume was approval and disappearing through yet another portal.

Then it was just Tony and his kid.

His amazingly heroic and sweet and unfortunately self-deprecating kid.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about mister,” Tony said after a few moments of comfortable silence.

“I’m… I’m guessing you heard it all?” Peter asked timidly.

“Sure did,” Tony announced bluntly, but sensing the boy tense under his hold, Tony pressed another kiss to his hair and murmured “But that can wait till later, alright? For now let’s just… breathe.”

The corner of Peter’s lip twisted up into a smile, and the boy shifted closer to his mentor’s chest, his ear pressed into the familiar thump of his heartbeat.

“I like the sound of that…”