Chapter Text
To say Tony Stark was having a bad day was the understatement of the century.
It started when he woke up to make his coffee, the essential lifeblood that was running through his veins since Rhodey had cut him off from all his alcoholic drinks.
Sure Tony managed to dig out an odd bottle here and there — not to mention his secret stash down in the lab that no one, not even Friday knew about — he still drank coffee to avoid his best friend's suspicion and it gave him a good kick to get himself started.
However, this morning was different. This morning his coffee wasn't the usual sweet nectar of the Gods he was expecting.
Out of everything on this goddamn Earth, someone had switched his life-giving caffeine, the that one he so desperately needed with decaf.
Decaf. The audacity.
"Honeybear, how could you do this to me?" Tony groaned, slouching in the chair with his arms crossed over his chest while his face pressed into a deep scowl and bottom lip puckered out in a way that was certainly not pouting.
"Tones, you've been drinking too much coffee." Rhodey shook his head, the holographic display of the call briefly glitching. "It's almost as bad when you drank alcohol."
“I’m a grown man, Rhodes." Tony continued, barreling past his friend's concerns. "If I want fifteen cups of coffee, I will have them.”
Besides, that wasn't much. Well in Tony's opinion anyway. Rhodey, on the other hand, obviously didn't agree.
"And I don't want to be the grown man that next time has to talk down Hogan from wanting to throw you out to a moving car because you won't shut up."
"That was one time and if Happy really didn't want to listen to me, he could've just put the divider up." Tony waved his friend off, looking to the side pretending to give a disinterested sniff.
"You broke the divider, remember?"
"Wasn't that one incident we promised we wouldn't talk about? Besides, I'm gonna get him the divider fixed soon anyway, so it's of no consequence."
"That's what you said last month."
"Whatever!" Tony threw his hands up before pointing an accusing finger at his friend. "Just tell me where you put my normal coffee and no one gets hurt."
"Oh, oh, I’m breaking up Tones." Rhodey gave him a full shit-eating grin and the screen started becoming shaky with clearly fake crackling sounds echoing over the call.
The five stages of grief crashed through Tony in half a second before he launched himself at the call. "No, no. Don't you dare hang up, Honeybear! I need you! Your the light of my life, role model, partner in crime, and best friend! You can't leave me in my time of need!"
"Bye!"
"Call disconnected." Friday's voice echoed through the lab and Tony stifled an exasperated groan by burying his head in his hands, praying for someone to save him from this fate.
He lifted his head, glaring at the window of Stark Tower that overlooked the city below, and his lip curled in distaste at the sunlight streaming in. It was taunting him with its brightness against his sour mood.
He — Tony Stark, infamous Iron Man, the Merchant of Death and striving villain — was being denied his coffee.
If he couldn't have his coffee, then it was alcohol. Tony pushed himself away from the table and stormed over to where his secret stash was stored.
He didn't care that Friday was going to snitch on him and Rhodey was probably going to be pissed, he felt spiteful today.
Perhaps after few glasses, he'd go out as Iron Man. He could steal the real Statue of Libery to add to his collection, not the rip off he'd stolen one night when he was drunk while gambling in Vegas.
It would be easy, considering he was in New York.
Ripping open the cupboard, Tony took out a suitable-sized glass with one of his bigger bottles of scotch before making his way back to the table.
He barely poured his first glass when his Al's voice called out to him. "Boss."
"What?" Tony snapped not bothering to hide his bitterness as he leaned back against his chair, nursing his drink while glaring up at the ceiling.
"I think I have something you might want to see."
A holographic image appeared once again on the table, right where Rhodey's call was just moments before. He squinted at it, realizing it was a news report.
"Fri, what's this?" When his Al didn't respond, Tony rolled his eyes before turning his head back to the display.
He took a swig at his glass, enjoying the burn that trickled all the way down while his gaze roamed curiously over the article.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to widen and Tony spat his drink out all over the table.
"Son of a bitch!"
"We're back, Mr. Westcott."
Peter kept his grip on Morgan's hand, pulling her back gently as they shuffled in front of the desk, feeling Harley's shoulder brush against him as they came to a stop.
Skip Westcott rose from his seat behind the table and he resisted taking a step back when the man leaned his weight forward over the desk. "Good, but you're late."
Peter swallowed but forced himself not to look away and keep his ground. He felt Morgan shrunk a little more behind him as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible and Harley took a step back.
Yet, they kept their gazes locked. It was one of the first lessons they were taught when they joined the orphanage.
Always keep eye contact.
Peter watched as Skip's piercing gaze bore into them and suppressed a shudder. "What took so long?"
"We were making a final sale." Harley piped up from behind him, crossing his arms and scowling. "But it started to rain, we had to wait for it to let up before we could walk again."
"That's no excuse." Neither of them said anything after that and Skip pointed to the side. "Do you want to be put in the box of shame? Like your fellow orphans?"
Peter's hand flew before he could stop himself, catching Harley's elbow and his fingers tightened around Morgan's hand. The thought of his siblings stuck in a small cardboard box, where they were trapped, alone. Separated from each other…
He shivered.
"No, sir." They answered, and Skip snorted, tilting his head in a way that was almost belittling. "You children know that you'll never be adopted, right?"
Peter felt his mouth suddenly dry and his breath catch at the back of his throat, trying to not let the words affect him but it felt as if he was trying to deny an intangible truth.
One he knew since he came here with Morgan just being a baby in his arms and Harley only two years older than she was now while he was ten.
It's been four years since that day since any hope of finding a family felt ripped away from them as if they were destined to be alone in this orphanage forever.
"Go to your room," Skip ordered making Peter jump at the sharp tone and he felt Harley tense at his side while Morgan's fingers dug impossibly tight into his pants. "I'll check your sales tomorrow and they better be good or else."
It was pure instinct when he tightened his hands around Morgan and Harley, holding onto them so hard his knuckles were white
If the man noticed this, he didn't point it out or care. "I expect you to be on time tomorrow or else it's the box of shame for you three for a whole week, do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Mr. Wescott." Their voices echoed in the air, and the man nodded satisfied before waving them off with a dismissive hand. "Good, now leave before I change my mind."
That's all Peter needed to hear. He turned on his heels and trudged down the hall, not daring to let go of Harley or Morgan just yet.
It felt as if they all were on the most treacherous walk of their lives.
Only when they rounded the corner and out of Skip's sight, it felt as if they could breathe again without a crushing weight hanging over them like a pendulum blade that was waiting to drop at one wrong trigger.
Peter took a deep breath, his whole body moving with it, trying to not tremble as he leaned forward a little against the wall as whatever adrenaline from before when they were standing before Skip was gone, leaving him feeling exhausted, sick and malleable.
Morgan and Harley are safe. We're not being sent to the box. They're safe. Nothing bad can happen now. They're safe.
"Peter." Morgan's voice was so small and soft, barely audible but it was still enough for him to turn at her. "Do you think we could still be adopted?"
She looked up at him, her big brown eyes reflecting so desperation, so much trust it made his gut twist horribly.
Before he could think of a reply, Harley gave a dry chuckle. "Do you think we're gonna leave this place? We're stuck here like Mr. Westcott said. We won't get adopted."
"Harley." Peter hissed, slapping his arm while pointedly not looking at Morgan, not willing to see the devastation or disappointment on her small face at her brother's words.
"What?" Harley shrugged, frowning while burying his hands in his pockets and looking down at the ground, muttering softly. "If we were meant to be adopted it would've happened already."
Peter closed his eyes, he could hear the bitterness in Harley's words. Hear that he'd already given up and Peter also wanted to so badly, but he couldn't. He couldn't give up. Not yet. Not for Morgan's sake.
"Come on, guys." He muttered, taking Morgan's hand again while jerking his head at Harley to follow. "Let's go."