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Peter hadn’t always lived with the Starks.
He’d started out as a college student with little money but plenty of time outside of classes. That was what led him to search for babysitting gigs he could take up in his free time. In a city as busy as the one he lived in, there were bound to be countless parents in desperate need of someone trustworthy to hand off their kids to. With a spotless criminal record, impressive grades, and a CPR certification, Peter easily got hired.
He’d worked with many families over the years, but his favorites were undeniably the Starks.
The family consisted of the famous Tony Stark, who Peter admired more than ever after meeting, ten year old Harley Stark, and five year old Morgan Stark. Peter never asked about the second parent’s absence. Tony’s divorce from Pepper Potts was very public news several years ago.
Tony paid him well — to the point where Peter worked solely for him, and needed no other source of income. After a year and a half of coming in every day of the week to care for the Stark children, Tony invited him to work as a live-in nanny rather than a babysitter.
Peter didn’t hesitate to say yes. He packed his belongings, moved out of his cramped apartment, and into his new room at Tony’s penthouse. Harley and Morgan didn’t mind the development. They already saw him every day. They just saw him at night now, too. There was hardly a difference in their routine.
Living with a man he had a tremendous crush on, and his sweet, but rambunctious children was not the direction Peter had thought his life would head in when he was younger.
Furthermore, he had never thought that the day would come where he’d get with said man.
Though he couldn’t really call what they’d done ‘getting together’. They weren’t established or exclusive, Peter reminded himself. They held hands once in a while, pressed soft kisses against each other’s cheeks when the kids weren’t around, but there were no declarations of love or indisputably romantic gestures. Peter didn’t know what was going on. Maybe Tony just wasn’t afraid to be affectionate now that Peter lived with him, and it was all platonic on his end.
Either way, Peter wasn’t going to let this turn of events get to his head. Tony was still his employer, and Peter was there to watch his children. He couldn’t afford to get caught up in his fantasies and wishful thinking.
“Peter!” two young voices called for him in unison.
Peter set down the plate he was rinsing and followed the sound to the living room, where Harley and Morgan were sifting through a stack of letters.
“This one has your name on it,” Harley held up a porcelain white envelope, and Morgan snatched it from his hand, passing it to Peter before Harley could.
Peter studied the envelope with curious eyes before peeling it open, ignoring Harley and Morgan as they started their usual bickering. They didn’t typically get violent. They would be alright while he opened his mail.
The envelope contained a single sheet of paper, and it read:
Peter,
Didn’t take you long to move on, did it? I don’t know why I expected anything else. You’ve always been too promiscuous for your own good. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve found you. I’m coming for you.
Be ready,
Your one true love
Peter sucked in a harsh breath, hardly registering it when it rattled his lungs. He sank slowly onto the couch, chest rising and falling in rapid movements, and felt his fingers curl into the paper, compressing it as he tried to regain control over his breathing.
He’d assumed that that fateful Christmas two years ago would be the last he saw of Quentin Beck. He’d assumed wrong, and the evidence was crumpled in his hand.
He was reminded of the children he was meant to be paying attention to when Harley cleared his throat, apprehension in his eyes as he asked, “Are you okay?”
Peter stared at him and Morgan, at their fear-stricken faces and tense shoulders, and suddenly it came to him, what he was meant to be doing next. If Quentin knew where he lived, he also knew where they lived, and he’d be putting them in danger by continuing to live with them.
“I need to call Tony,” Peter announced, reaching for the phone in his pocket with trembling fingers. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
With that, he stood from the couch and hurried away from them, ducking into the room he’d only gotten to keep for four months. He dialled Tony’s number and clutched the phone to his ear, regret and sadness caving his chest in as he waited for Tony to answer his call.
He didn’t want to leave. He was upset at having to move states again, but that was for the best. It would have to be done if he wanted to escape Quentin’s clutches. The move would be hard, but he’d done it before, and he could do it again. What tormented him most was having to leave Tony, Harley, and Morgan. He’d grown extraordinarily close to the three of them, and never seeing them again would be soul-crushing.
Finally, Tony accepted the call, and his voice, warm and fond, soothed Peter’s frayed nerves as he said, “Hey, Pete. How’s it going? Are the kids behaving?”
Without a preamble, Peter declared, “I quit.”
“What?” Tony asked after a solid thirty seconds of shocked silence. “Are they really being that bad? You don’t have to quit, Peter, I’ll talk to them.”
His words were frantic, and Peter hated that he couldn’t calm them.
“It’s not them, Tony, they’re great,” Peter sighed. “I can’t explain over the phone. I’m sorry. I’ll stay with them until you come home from work, but after that I have to leave.”
There was a brief pause, and then, a somber decision. “I’m coming home early.”
Peter didn’t waste any time after hanging up the phone. He hauled his suitcase out of the storage closet and proceeded to stuff his clothes inside, not bothering to fold them in his haste. Cleanliness didn’t matter at the moment. Timeliness did. He was aware of Harley and Morgan taking turns peeking into his room to see what he was doing, but he didn’t falter in his packing, too cowardly to observe the devastation his hurried departure was painting onto their small faces.
It felt like hours and seconds had passed by all at once by the time Tony came home. Peter’s room was barren now, a simple guest room void of human life and personality. He didn’t venture into the living room, where he could hear the children stumbling over their words as they cried out to their father the news of Peter’s packing.
A solid knock sounded on the door before it was pushed open. Peter stayed by the window, shoulders stiffening further and further with each step Tony took into the room. A hand, rough and calloused, landed on Peter’s shoulder.
“What’s going on, Peter?” Tony’s voice came out hurt and worried and angry, a cocktail of emotions too complicated for Peter to discern accurately.
That got Peter to meet his eyes, and he was startled to see that Tony’s were red-rimmed and swollen, as if he’d been crying on the drive home. A sharp pang of guilt struck Peter’s chest, and he swallowed thickly, choking back tears of his own as his frightened mind reminded him of what had gotten him into this situation in the first place.
“It’s not safe for me to keep working for you or staying here. I’d be putting you and your kids at risk.”
Tony’s wrinkles deepened in worry. “What are you not telling me?”
“It’s a lot to get into,” Peter’s teeth sank into his bottom lip.
Tony crossed his arms. “I have time.”
“But I don’t,” Peter said mournfully. “I have to run before he gets here. If he sees that I’ve left, he won’t bother you. He’ll just keep looking for me.”
“Who is ‘he’, Peter?” Tony pressed. “Let me help you. Please.”
Peter didn’t want to drag Tony into his mess. But hadn’t he already done that, albeit inadvertently? By staying with the Starks, he’d shown Quentin that this was a family he cared about. They were on his radar, whether he liked it or not.
“His name is Quentin Beck. He’s my ex, and he’s been trying to find me since we broke up.”