Chapter Text
If only he'd known sooner. If only he'd been quicker. If only he'd been smarter.
Honestly, if he were any other person in this situation, it would almost be funny how helpless he was. Days, staring at screens, wearing the damn blue light glasses Pepper had slipped on his face because dammit, he didn't have the time to take them off.
He barely noticed the time passing, yet he heard every ticking second skip by. His hands shook on his keyboard as he hurriedly typed in more decrypting codes, more coordinates, more algorithms.
His desk was a mess of scratch paper, pencils, and energy drink cans. He didn't even have time for coffee.
This was a new low.
But he'd go lower than the depths of Hell if that's what it took to find his kid.
It took too long.
Three days too long.
He kept waiting for the call. Any call. The one that demanded a ransom that you had better believe he would pay. His pride could suffer all it wanted. It could kiss his ass goodbye too. He'd hand over his entire company and all his money if it meant he'd get to see the kid, his kid. Alive. Safe.
He wanted to see the bright, blinding smile Peter always wore, no matter how hard times were.
I use humor as a coping mechanism for my trauma.
Kid? It's four in the morning. Go back to bed.
Sometimes I want to curl up in a corner and slowly melt into the floor, never to exist again.
Kid, what the fuck? We'll talk about this once I've had my coffee.
(It had resulted in a long conversation that ended in ice cream and a rare *at the time* hug)
He wanted to see the kid try to keep a straight face when he walked into the lab, regardless of how many times he'd been there, hell, slept in there.
Mr. Stark, this place is so cool.
Kid, you've literally been here hundreds of times.
Ninety-seven, actually.
You counted?
Obviously. This place is literally amazing.
Don't faint on my carpet, Parker.
(And if he sacrificed a few of his holo-tables so Peter could have more of his own, no one needed to know)
He wanted to see the kid's messy bedhead and tired eyes as he trudged into the penthouse kitchen to fix himself a bowl of dry cereal
Honestly, Mr. Stark, I don't know why you're complaining. Milk just makes the cereal soggy and gross. Besides, who wants to eat solids and liquids at the same time? It's like if you soaked your waffles in coffee and then ate them.
Peter, I love you (slip of the tongue, he swore!) and you know I love to buy random shit, but I'll never buy your bullshit on this.
You wound me, Mr. Stark.
Good.
Is this a good time to tell you I got stabbed last night?
Coffee has nothing to do with milk and- I'm sorry, what?
He wanted to run his hands through the kid's soft, brown curls as they squeezed together on the small couch, never mind the fact that there was a much larger couch on the other side of the room.
This one's more comfortable, Roo.
(It wasn't.)
He wanted to get pulled away from work and locked in his room without his electronics so he was forced by Peter's puppy eyes to sleep.
It's not good for you to be awake by caffeine, Mr. Stark. Please get some sleep.
Pepper put you up to this, didn't she?
Ms. Potts was only trying to help. And so am I, Mr. Stark. Please go to bed.
Fine! Just stop looking at me like that.
Like what?
But he couldn't. Not anymore. Peter was gone.
Tony slapped his hands against the desk as the inscription code he typed in provided no answers. It was just a security feed of the sandwich shop in Queens that Peter would never shut up about.
God.
What he would give to hear Peter ramble on about his favorite places in Queens again.
He shook his head, placing his hands back on the keyboard to try yet another code. Rhodey walked in. Tony mentally prepared himself to dodge more of the "you need to sleep, Tony," comments.
But Rhodey had other things. And it was arguable what was worse.
"Tony, you gotta come see this."
He shook his head. "I'm busy, Rhodey."
"It's about Peter."
Every bone in his body cracked as he stood up. His chair clattered to the ground.
"What."
Rhodey led him silently to the big screen in the commons. There was a mindless report about TImes Square.
The camera was shaky. The night sky was obstructed with heavy fog. There was a big crowd, all looking terrified, and some, Tony seethed to see, interested. They stood in a large circle, almost as if they were blocked from getting anywhere near the center.
What was in the center?
Tony was about to deck Rhodey for getting him out of his work for this on the promise of Peter.
He should have had more faith in his friend.
The shot panned down to the middle of Times Square.
All the breath in his lungs left him. His head grew fuzzy and painful. His eyes screamed for him to blink, but dammit if he was going to miss one second of this.
It was Peter. Or, more Spider-Man.
He was crouched on his knees, hands tied behind his back and head down. He didn't move, but Tony knew he was alive.
Dammit!
He was wearing the god damned suit! How? How did Tony not find him earlier? This guy must have been intelligent. He either hacked the suit or disabled the tracker altogether.
Tony stared, unable to move as he just stood there. Peter was alive. If it was Peter under the mask.
Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter.
The man whispered something to the boy on the ground. Tony couldn't catch what it was, or Peter's response, if he even gave one.
Either he didn't, or the man just didn't like it. He geared up and punched the kid in the face. His head snapped to the left and his eyes squeezed closed. Or at least the eyes of the suit did. He gave a panted breath.
Why didn't he dodge? Why did he move his head out of the way with that freaky sense-tingle thing of his?
The man whispered something again and Peter once again refused to answer. The man took out a knife and yanked the suit-clad arm towards him, slitting a deep cut in the forearm. Peter jerked but kept himself from saying anything.
The blood leaking out of the cut seemed to make Tony unfreeze.
He was livid.
He tore his eyes away from the screen and, completely without thinking, ran down the stairs at speeds that would make even Natasha impressed. He flung out the Tower doors and ran towards the direction of Times Square.
In hindsight, he was completely stupid.
He should have taken a suit, he should have waited for Rhodey, he should have gotten some security or something.
But the only thing on his mind was Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter.
He was on such a mad dash to the scene, he didn't register the prick in his neck until he was falling face first into the dirty sidewalk pavement.