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Tony was panting, and he knew it. The man who’d kidnapped him when he was walking down one of the streets of New York had been beating him up for the past half an hour trying to get him to give the information of the bank account they used for Stark Industries. Which was pretty pointless, given that he didn’t know any of the details. Not that the kidnapper seemed to know that, because he’d been pestering him for the past thirty minutes. They’d graduated from casual interrogation up to being punched in the face every time he refused to give the man what he wanted.
“No,” he said again, staring at the floor, and got another punch to his right cheek. It throbbed, but everything did, and he’d had a migraine for the past forty minutes. He was used to pain. It barely hurt anymore. Nothing was as bad as Afghanistan.
He was lucky they didn’t seem to know about his dislike for water, though. That would be decidedly bad.
The man clenched his jaw and stared at him again. “Give me the account details, Stark, don’t test it.”
Tony spat onto the floor, still panting, and looked back up at him. “I won’t.”
I don’t know the account numbers.
That's what he should have said. He should have admitted the truth, instead of being stubborn. He hadn’t known the stakes. He should have known better than to be stubborn.
“Fine,” The kidnapper stood up straight and called out to his colleague outside the dark room. “Bring him in.”
Tony felt his veins freeze to ice. Bring him in. Did they have some special torturer on hand? What if he knew about the aversion to water—what if it was someone who’d read up on him enough to know about the waterboarding? He strained his gaze to the door, watching it open and there was a struggle as one of the kidnappers shoved someone through the door—presumably this mega torture guy.
And then Tony’s heart dropped into his stomach as he saw who it was.
It was worse than some torturer. So much worse.
It was Peter.
He was gagged with some kind of cloth, and had handcuffs on his ankles and wrists. His hair was ruffled, and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat, but all Tony could look at were his eyes—they were rimmed with red, and he looked panicked. There was a brief moment of relief when he saw Tony, but it disappeared as the main kidnapper man gripped onto him immediately and pulled him onto the spare chair, tying him to it with rope. Tony struggled against the chair he was tied to himself.
Peter was here. Sweet high school student Peter with his lego builds and lab sessions and his teenage troubles that weren’t supposed to be anything like this was here, locked in a damp dark room in fuck knows where with a sadist kidnapper who wanted information from Tony that Tony didn’t have a fucking clue about.
Tony felt tears prick at his eyes before he could stop it. He almost formed Peter’s name, wanting to speak out, to reassure him that it was going to be okay, but it caught in his throat. He didn’t know that. He didn’t know it was going to be okay.
He’d been relying on the Avengers to get him out of here. He didn’t have a suit on him, or any inventions. Tony had been running to the grocery store to get some of the chocolates that he liked, which in hindsight had been a stupid move. Stupid, stupid. He had nothing to save him except sharp wit.
And that wasn’t going to be enough to save them both.
Tony thrashed against the chair, but it was to no avail.
“You sick fuck,” He spat again. “He’s just a kid.”
It wasn’t right to have Peter here, no. This guy had to be sick in the head. There was something wrong with him.
But he didn’t respond to the criticism, instead turning to look between Tony and Peter. “Now, we could have lots of fun with this. Make you watch as I break the kid’s fingers. Drag it out. But honestly, I don’t have the time or the patience, so I think we should do it the quick way.”
Tony was shaking his head.
The kidnapper reached into his pocket, pulled out a gun, and Tony couldn’t breathe as the man cocked his head and pressed the gun to Peter’s head. There was a gun pressed to Peter’s head and it was being held by a fucking psycho.
“So, shall we see,” The kidnapper purred. “Does the boy know any of the bank details? Saw him walking out of the Tower the other day, let’s ask him, shall we?”
The kidnapper pulled the gag in Peter’s mouth down to his chin and Peter’s eyes were fixed firmly on Tony, blinking as fast as they could. He was panicking, his breath fast, as anyone’s would be when there was a fucking gun to your head. Tony made eye contact with him and his heart broke.
“Tony,” Peter mumbled, eyes wide and alarmed.
He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t do this. Not this. Anything but this. Anyone but Peter. Please, god.
“Kill me instead,” Tony rushed to say the words. “Kill me. He doesn’t know it—No one told him anything, any code, nothing. He doesn’t know.”
Please get that gun away from that kid’s head. Please.
But the kidnapper ignored his request, simply cocked his head again and twisted the gun so it must have been hurting Peter’s head. He’d replaced the gag so it was covering Peter’s mouth again. The kid flinched and clutched his eyes shut.
“You know the codes,” The kidnapper repeated. “Tell us, Stark, or we’ll shoot him in the head.”
Peter made a small keening noise in the back of his throat.
“I don’t know them,” Tony told them, knowing they wouldn’t believe it. “I don’t.”
He’d been telling them No all this time, trying to make it last, thinking it would keep them from killing him, but the stakes were too high now. Now it was Peter, and everything went out of the window. He didn’t know the codes, and he had to be honest.
The man laughed. Spluttered, really. “Right, like I’m supposed to just believe that.”
“I don’t know them,” Tony shook his head, swallowed harshly. “No one tells me Stark codes. Five years ago I didn’t know my own social security number, please, I don’t.”
There was another laugh—this time more of a scoffing noise. “I thought this would work. Not enough motivation for you, huh. You’re colder than I thought.”
He pressed the gun even harder into Peter’s head, and Peter still had his eyes tightly closed, as though wishing for it all to stop. “Say goodbye to your boy, Stark.”
The kidnapper’s fingers reached for the trigger just as Tony yelled, “NO—”
And then there was a crashing noise through the door, and somehow Tony’s chair was pushed on its side so his side was pressed to the floor and he was jerked away from Peter and he couldn’t see anything, turned away from the door, but he could see the scuffle and it was so dark and someone was fighting the kidnapper, and then there was the gun, someone had chucked it onto the floor across from him, and Tony tried to turn his head so he could see anything, see Peter, see what was happening, but he couldn’t move.
This continued for another minute before someone—hopefully the kidnapper—fell to the ground with a loud thump and the fighting had stopped.
An unmistakeable voice rang out through the room. “Tony, I’ll be right there.”
Steve.
Steve was here, and he’d saved them. He’d come in, thrown around his shield as Captain America did, and had saved Peter’s life.
“Get Peter out of here,” Tony ordered immediately, without even hesitating. All he knew was that he wanted Peter away from the building, away from the sadist with a gun, even if he was unconscious and no longer a threat.
“Just got to undo these cuffs,” Steve commented, clearly working on it already. There were several clicks and then Peter was presumably free.
“Is he out?” Tony asked, unable to see that side of the room. He felt like he would have heard the kid’s footsteps walking out. “Peter, get out of here.”
There was no movement or noise to suggest movement.
“Steve, get him out,” Tony commented when the other two didn’t seem to move. It felt like they were having silent conversation behind his back, which he was not a fan of. Peter was probably convincing Steve that he wanted to stay.
“C’mon, Tony, let’s get you up,” Steve said next, and that was testament to how much Peter had each and every single one of the Avengers wrapped around his little finger. Clearly they were going with Peter’s plan.
“Get Peter out of here first,” Tony resisted, jaw clenched.
Peter assured him that he was—“Fine, Mr Stark, I’m fine, it’s fine, Mr Captain Rogers has sorted it now, they’re all unconscious, we’ve gotta get you out of here as well. I’m strong, I can help.”
And you’ve just been through a traumatic experience because of me, kid.
God, Tony had to go down in history as the worst mentor in all time, surely.
It was clear Peter wasn’t going to leave, so Tony let them pull his chair back up so it was standing, and then he could see Peter again. His hair was damp with sweat and he looked like hell—but he was uninjured, and he was alive. Tony wanted to sob with relief, reach out and hug him, but he was still tied to the chair.
“They really did a number on you, huh?” Steve muttered as he undid the hand restraints, nodding at his face.
“I’ve had worse,” Tony shrugged—an attempt at nonchalance, and let out a shaky breath as he caught Peter’s gaze.
“Hey,” the kid mumbled, waving at him. His eyes were less red now.
“Hey,” Tony said back, numb. “I…uh. I didn’t know the codes. Pepper doesn’t tell me anything like that. I mean. She’s the CEO. I’m not. I wasn’t…if I had known the codes they wanted, I would have said them.”
“I know,” Peter nodded. “It’s alright.”
“I’m so sorry that happened,” Tony told him, his hands being freed by Steve and the Avenger moved to work on his ankles. “I had no idea they would just…I’m really sorry, kid.”
“We’re both alive,” Peter smiled, “And I’d say uninjured, but…your face.”
“My face,” Tony nodded. His ears were ringing. He hadn’t noticed that before now. Somehow. Sometimes he didn’t notice things like that. Pain was weird. Often he got cuts in the labs that he didn’t realise until the blood startled trickling down his arm.
Steve was able to release the cuffs on his ankles too, and Tony wobbled as he stood up, having to be caught so he didn’t collapse.
“I’ve got to go and call Clint for the Quinjet pick up,” Steve said, glancing at the door worriedly as though he thought the kidnappers might have back up. “Pete, you got him?”
“We’ve got each other,” Peter said, which was kind and made Tony feel like less of a weakling, but was also complete bullshit, because he was taking most of Tony’s weight as it shifted from Steve over to Peter.
“I can’t lose you,” Tony told the kid as Steve walked off to make his call. “I just—I can’t. I really thought they were going to—”
“I know,” Peter nodded, glancing at him with a curious look. “The kidnapper called me your boy.”
“Well,” Tony let out a breath, shaky. “That’s—I mean—I call you kid, a lot. They must have heard it on a call—bugged, or something. And I have also been known to refer to you as my kid when I’m on the phone—apparently. Not consciously. Probably cause you’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to a son and I’m making it weird now aren’t I, shit, ignore me—”
“Mr Stark, it’d be an honour,” Peter grinned up at him, and pulled him into a hug. Tony was still a bit wobbly, so it was mostly Tony clinging to Peter, but it was kind of perfect all the same, and Tony’s heart was kind of racing and damn.
Damn. Did he just acquire a kid?
They wandered out of the dark room, eventually—out of the warehouse, and into the fresh air. It felt a little bit like flying out of the cave in Afghanistan, clutching onto Peter until he felt he could stand by himself. He took a deep breath and then excused himself to go and thank Steve profusely for the rescue.
Steve was staring up at the sky, waiting for the Quinjet to arrive so they could go back to the Compound, but Tony walked up to him and grabbed his arm to get his attention.
“Steve,” Tony mumbled at him. “Thank you.”
He said it as sincerely as he could, smiling at him in that sheepish way he tried to do when he really meant a smile to be smiley. Steve sent a similar smile back at him.
“Always,” Steve nodded his head. “That’s what we’re here for. To avenge. To protect.”
“Still. Thank you,” Tony coughed. “Really. You saved his life.”
Did what I couldn’t do.
“Anytime,” Steve smiled again. “You’d do it for me.” And yeah, Tony would. He had, in fact.
Tony took another deep breath of fresh air and glanced over at his kid. All was well. He was alive, and on his way home, and most importantly, Peter was stood just over there, kicking stones on the ground with his beat-up converse and his hands in his pockets, and he was alright. He’d been a hair’s breadth away from death, but he was there, and he was alive.
That was all that really mattered, in the end.