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An alarm went off—ringing through the silent room, and Tony’s stomach dropped.
He spat the blood out of his mouth and onto the floor, wishing he could wipe the remaining combination of spit and blood on his chin away with his hand. His hands were tied behind his back, though, which made it significantly more difficult.
“Time’s up,” The kidnapper drawled as he turned off the alarm. He looked amused when Tony’s eyes glanced at him—trying to put innate anger into that stare, his jaw set. “It’s you or the kid, decide.”
The evil bastard who’d kidnapped both Tony and Peter had set an ultimatum—that one way or another (he didn’t care which), when the alarm went out, one of them would have to die. Tony would have volunteered instantly, before the alarm, but apparently they needed to let the tension build up. So the guy was a psychopath, most people the Avengers dealt with were, big deal.
He’d only waited it out on the off-chance that the Avengers would come to rescue them, but of course not. Steve was in hiding, still a fugitive under the law and he didn’t give a shit about Tony. He hardly knew Peter. He wouldn't exactly be bounding to rescue him any time soon, but Tony had still retained the small slither of hope that maybe…maybe.
Except they'd run out of time, and Cap wasn’t there. There was no-one there, in fact.
“Fine,” Tony replied, spitting the blood out again. “Let’s go.”
The kidnapper stepped forward, grinning, and started to remove the cuffs that were keeping him held to the chair. He could fight, sure, once the cuffs were off, but it wasn't worth it. It would risk Peter’s safety—he knew these guys had guns, and he wouldn’t risk Peter getting hurt. Better to comply.
He refused to make eye contact with Peter, but he could see in his peripheral vision that he was struggling against his own chair.
“No—Mr Stark—you can’t let them,” Peter breathed, choked.
“Peter,” Tony closed his eyes. “It’s—this is the way it’s gotta be, alright?”
He had to stop himself from telling the kid he loved him, from telling him to live a long, prosperous life, from telling him that he’d left him a share of the company in his will. He closed his eyes, focused on the pain emulating from his lip in order to ignore the sting of tears.
It was unbearable, the thought of looking Peter in the eyes, seeing the face he’d undoubtedly be making, the agony. He could picture it, and that was almost tearing him up inside. Peter, who was self-sacrificial to a fault, who’d want it to be him, not Tony. It was better, though, than the alternative, Peter being dragged away, his life ending at the age of 16. At least Tony had lived to become an adult.
He’d always expected to die young, ever since his parents’ car crash—a twang in his heart at that, knowing the true story, knowing his parents had died at the hands of the Winter Soldier and he’d never known. Tony had placed bets that, based on the amount of people who’d tried to kill him over the years, there was going to come a point where he couldn’t keep escaping from it. Where his luck run out. Tony had prayed that it wouldn’t be like this, though, not so cruel, not a kidnapping, not this way.
Tony didn’t always get what he wanted. Ideally, he'd have wished to say goodbye to those he loved. Pepper, Rhodey, Happy. Heck, even Steve and the other Avengers. As much as he pretended he’d never cared about any of them, he knew it wasn’t the truth. All of his loved ones: his friends, his teammates, Peter.
He couldn’t show weakness, not on his deathbed, as much as he wanted to tell the boy he’d seen as a son that he loved him, so Tony Stark grieved for the future he’d never get to see in silence.
“Take me instead,” Peter begged. “Please.”
Tony’s eyes opened to give an immediate dismissal of that request. The kidnapper glanced between him and Peter, arching one eyebrow as he focused on Tony and nodded towards Peter. “Should we take him up on that offer?”
“No,” Tony said vehemently, glaring. “It’s me, we’ve chosen, get it over and done with, then let him go. Deal’s a deal.”
“Well, gotta give you the option,” The Kidnapper shrugged, yanking Tony toward the door. “A way out.”
Tony said nothing, and let himself be led.
Peter was pleading behind him, just repeating the word please, please, please over and over again, and Tony wanted to scream and cry and do everything he could to ensure that Peter would get to safety, but this was him doing everything he could do. This was the best way he could help.
“He’s a better person than you’ll ever be,” The kidnapper told him as he closed the door, shutting Peter behind them. Tony hadn’t gotten a chance to have a last glance at him. Maybe it was better than way. “Offering up his life for yours.”
“I know,” Tony said back, softly, his throat aching. “That’s why I’m the one who has to die.”
“Who’d have thought there would come a day where Tony Stark chooses someone other than himself,” the guy sneered, pushing him forward along the dark corridor. Another pang of hurt which he immediately deflected—he was used to people presuming he was selfish. It was the image he projected to the public, of course that was what they all assumed.
He was selfish. But not to the extent that he’d choose his own life over others. He’d proven that in New York. A worthy sacrifice, one final trip to the sky, beyond the clouds, up to the stars…and then back down again.
It would have been a worthwhile death, Tony had thought when he’d woken up after that fall. That would have been worth it. Not this, not walking down some corridor in the middle of nowhere, about to be murdered by some random sociopath he didn’t even know the name of.
Except.
Except maybe it was worth it, knowing that by doing so he’d save Peter. Sure, it wasn’t the entire city of New York, but it was someone he cared about. He’d have carried the missile into space for Peter. He could do this, too.
Noble sacrifice—one last time.
He made his peace with it as they walked into a new room, the kidnapper holding him in tow as he shut the door. Tony was relocated onto a chair again, his hands about to be tied when there was a crashing noise and then—
Red, white, blue—the shield—Steve wielding it, smashing it down and it was the greatest thing Tony had ever seen. Someone must have gotten it out of Tony’s storage to give it back to Cap, but that was okay, because Steve was there, and he was beating the shit out of the kidnapper before Tony could even blink. It should’ve given Tony a minor panic attack (considering the fact that the last time he’d been in Steve’s presence, Cap had been trying to kill him), but it didn’t. There was only a wave of relief.
No need for a sacrifice, after all. That was—well. That was something. He reached around to free himself of the singular handcuff he’d been tied with and then stood up, watching as Steve knocked the guy out and turned to him, frozen.
“Tony, I need to apolo—” Steve started to speak, regret deep in his eyes. He wasn’t speaking about the kidnapper. He was talking about Siberia. About everything. As much as Steve was stubborn, as much as he believed he was right, he wanted the team back together again just as much as Tony did. Tony could read it in his eyes.
“We’ll talk,” Tony swallowed harshly as he glanced at his teammate. “I’m sorry, too, for the record. But for now, nothing matters. Thank you, Cap, for the rescue. It was about to get…well. Really bad.”
“Steve,” Cap insisted. “You used to—please call me Steve.”
“Right,” Tony nodded, jerkily. “Thank you, Steve.”
“Go and get your kid,” Steve gestured to the door. “I’ll take care of this guy.”
Tony repeated his prior action and silently left, unsure of what to say. The tension was high, emotions fraught. It was to be expected, really. He pushed it out of his mind, instead focusing on making sure Peter was okay, getting him out of the shithole place they were being kept.
He tentatively opened the door to the original room, his gaze immediately falling on Peter, still tied to that chair. He was sobbing—there was no other word for it—tears falling down his face, but the pained noises stopped when he caught eyes with Tony, mouthing his name silently.
“Hey, hey, Pete,” Tony approached, whispering as he undid the restraints on Peter’s hands, setting him free, finally. “It’s alright, they came for us after all. Cap’s here, in the other room.”
But Peter was trembling, still, even with his hands on his lap, residual tears still falling down his face.
“Never,” Peter choked. “Never do that again.”
Tony winced. “I can’t—”
I can’t promise anything.
“Don’t sacrifice yourself for me,” Peter pleaded. “Please. I don’t think—I can’t handle it. I thought you were going to die, and even the thought of you dying was…” Peter shuddered, and shook his head. “You can’t do that.”
Better than the alternative, Tony thought and didn’t voice.
“Alright, I’m sorry,” Tony said softly, pulling the kid into a hug because they’d had a shit couple of days. And now Steve was back, and that was bound to cause some kind of issue, even if they’d talked without arguing for over two minutes. (Leaving out the fact that Tony had pretty much run out of the room in self-preservation). “Truly. And I’ll try my best to not do the whole ‘sacrifice’ thing in the future.”
There. A conscious, genuine statement that he’d try to avoid it in the future, but no actual promises formed. Enough to appease Peter, who settled into the hug after that declaration and let Tony hold him there, just for a moment.
Tony’s sacrifice hadn’t been necessary, in the end. But it had bought them enough time for Steve to make his move, so Tony didn’t—and wouldn’t ever—regret it.