Chapter Text
That life-changing phone call came around noon on a Wednesday morning in early September, 2005, though he didn’t know how much it would alter his world at the time.
Tony was asleep when it came, passed out on the couch he had planted in his lab for the very situation he was in now, when he was too tired to make his way to his room after a long night experimenting. He’d had quite a few drinks the night before, to top it off, so he had no plans on getting off the couch for a few more hours, at least.
He ignored the call at first, brushing off JARVIS when he informed him of it, but when it came a second time immediately afterwards, he sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“Fine, answer it.”
“Dr. Stark,” an unfamiliar, feminine voice spoke up, making Tony’s nose wrinkle in distaste at the use of his doctorate, “My name is Cynthia Hanley, and I am with the New York Child Protective Services. We have a child who has just come into our care whose mother left in her will that you are the father.”
He sighed at her words and let his head drop back onto the armrest of the couch. He was familiar with these calls. He got them every few months. Some women that he’d slept with at one point, and even some he hadn’t, who later got pregnant often tried to claim him as the father, eager for the hefty child support payment that they would receive.
They always turned out to be false. Tony may have slept around quite a bit, but he was always careful.
Though, he had to admit that the situation seemed to be a little different than he was used to. From the language the woman had used, this child’s mother was dead.
“Let me guess. You need a paternity test,” he said with a light huff, “I’m going to assume that you won’t accept me sending you my own analyzed DNA?”
“To avoid legal ramifications, I think not,” Hanley said with a light puff of air, “I won’t ask you to come all the way to New York, though. I know you’re a busy man. I can arrange for the paternity test to be taken there in California and sent over.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sounds like a plan,” he said, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, “Let’s get this cleared up.”
There was not a doubt in Tony’s mind that the test would be false.
In fact, he was so unconcerned about the whole situation that it completely slipped his mind. The only person he even informed about it was Happy, since the man drove him to take the test. He had his cheeks swabbed and was in a meeting within the hour, showcasing the newest missiles he had created.
The child in New York was nothing but a passing thought.
Until, of course, three days later, when he got a second phone call.
He was awake this time, tinkering with some wiring.
“Sir,” JARVIS spoke up, the blaring music falling away so Tony could hear, “Cynthia Hanley is on the line.”
“Who’s that?” Tony asked, distracted.
“She’s from Child Protective Services.”
“Right, right. Put her through,” there was a gentle click, “Got the results?”
“I did, Dr. Stark,” Hanley’s voice sounded different from before, surprise coloring her voice, like she had not expected the results, “According to the paternity test, you are the father.”
It took Tony a moment to understand that she had said he was the father. He was so used to hearing the opposite that he only hummed at first before it registered. His hands jerked, sparks flying from the wires as he snapped to attention.
“I’m sorry, did you say I am the father?” he demanded.
“It appears so, Dr. Stark. Do you recall a Mary Parker? Or perhaps Mary Fitzgerald?” Hanley asked, her voice falling into a cool, professional manner, as if the entire world hadn’t stopped spinning on its axis.
His mouth felt dry. The name dimly rang a bell, but he couldn’t put a face to the name.
“A picture might help,” he said weakly.
This was impossible. He couldn’t be a father. He couldn’t. Starks weren’t meant to be fathers. He had learned that years ago with his own. He had long since told himself that he’d be leaving the company to a high-raking employee, that all his money would go into the business or charity. The Stark line ended with him.
It had to.
“Well, Mary Parker and her husband were killed in a plane crash ten days ago,” Hanley continued despite Tony’s spiral, “Her son, your son, is four years old. His name is Peter. He was born on August 10th, 2001.”
He did the math quickly. He was most likely conceived around November of 2000, maybe a little later depending on if he was born premature or not.
Mary Fitzgerald. Mary Parker. Mary Fitzgerald. Mary Parker.
Oh. Oh, he knew who she was.
Mary Fitzgerald. She was an up-and-coming biologist. They’d met at a gala, and he’d been impressed by her work. They’d talked over drinks, she complained about her ex-boyfriend, and then they’d gone back to his place.
She’d been gone in the morning. Didn’t even leave a note.
The whole experience, compared to some of his nights, had been so unremarkable that he’d barely remembered it. He never once thought about Mary Fitzgerald again.
How did their one little night, their brief moment together, result in a living, breathing child?
“Oh,” he breathed out, closing his eyes, “I’m a father.”
“How would you like to proceed?” Hanley asked.
“Can I meet him?” he found himself asking before he could even think about what that would mean.
There was a brief pause on the other end, long enough for Tony to regret it already. He should just sign away rights, shouldn’t he? That’s what Obie would tell him to do. He could set up a college fund and sign away his rights and let the boy be adopted by a stable, loving home that could care for him.
He couldn’t give him that.
Peter didn’t deserve his mess.
“Well, I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,” Hanley said finally, breaking through his thoughts, “You see, Peter’s case is… especially difficult.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“When Mary and her husband, Richard Parker, went on the plane, Peter was left at home. Alone. He was there for three days before he was discovered.”
Tony sat back in his chair and let out a breath. Three days, alone. Hanley said his son was four years old. Tony didn’t know a lot about children, but he knew that four-year-olds shouldn’t be left alone for that long. Even his own father hadn’t done that, ensuring that he had a nanny in place.
“We don’t know the extent that occurred while Peter was in their care, unfortunately. He is terrified of strangers and refuses to let anyone near him. We haven’t even been able to get him out of his house.”
“He’s four,” Tony shot back, eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t think he can make that decision.”
“Like I said, this situation is very unique,” Hanley said, “Though, I suppose with your family history, you are one of the best people to understand this situation.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say much more over the phone. How soon can you be in New York?”
And Tony… well, Tony was never one to be patient.
“I can be there tomorrow,” he said.
“I’ll see you then.”
Peter Parker was enhanced.
His son was enhanced.
The little four-year-old child was enhanced, with strength possibly rivalling Captain America’s and a curious ability to stick to walls. He had attacked the men who had tried to get close to him, had scurried away from them on the walls. He was adamantly refusing to leave, hiding around the house whenever anyone came by and not coming out again until he was alone.
“We found evidence inside the house that he was experimented on,” Hanley, who turned out to be a short and plump middle-aged woman with shoulder length brown hair and thick black glasses, informed him as they approached the Parker’s front door, “The police are already involved, but even they can’t get the kid to come out. They tried to use a sedative on him, but it didn’t work. I think he has an enhanced metabolism.”
He could hear Happy behind them, cursing softly under his breath as he looked at the house. He could tell the man was tense. He had explained to him the situation on the flight over, at least the parts about him having a son, and it was clear that happy was a little panicked about the possible threat.
Particularly about the possible threat being a four-year-old child.
Quite the moral dilemma.
“We’ve had someone always stationed here since we discovered him. No one can stomach the idea of leaving the kid alone, but no one can get him to come out. Officer Guffey just left.”
"How did you even get his DNA?" Tony asked, blinking at the door.
"One of the officers got it from a water bottle that we left out for him."
Hanley pushed the door open, and the three of them walked in. The entrance to the home was entirely unremarkable in Tony’s opinion. The living room contained a couch, a recliner, a coffee table, and a television. There was a picture of picture of Mary and Richard on their wedding day, as well as multiple degrees framed and put on display.
There was absolutely nothing to indicate the bizarre situation that had occurred inside the house.
“Looks normal,” he commented with a frown.
“Most of the home does, as long as you don’t get into the basement,” Hanley commented, shaking her head, “That’s where Peter’s room is, but he isn’t usually down there. Whenever I find him, he’s usually somewhere in the main house.”
“Should we call him?” Tony asked a little uncertainly.
“It won’t do anything. He already knows we’re here, I’m sure, and he’s not going to come out himself. We’ll have to look around. Be careful, though. Don’t approach him if you find him.”
Tony looked at Happy again, feeling incredibly out of his depth.
But Tony Stark was not one to back away from challenges.
He wandered the house with Happy trailing him, eyes flicking around for hiding places that a four-year-old could fit into. He looked behind doors, in cabinets, even on the ceiling when he remembered the child’s uncanny abilities.
Nothing.
“Boss, are you sure about this?” Happy asked him, keeping his voice quite so that Hanley couldn’t hear as they entered what seemed to be the Master Bedroom, “This could be dangerous.”
“It’s a child, Hap. My child,” Tony said simply, quirking an eyebrow at him, “What else should I do?”
Happy didn’t respond, but he didn’t look happy about the situation.
The bedroom they found themselves in was much like the living room. The large, king-sized bed sat against the wall in the center, flanked by beautiful end tables. There was a mahogany dresser across from it, with a flat screen television sitting on top of it.
It didn’t scream abusive mad scientists to him. It seemed like a normal bedroom, if a little expensive.
Tony glanced around in the room for a moment before kneeling on the ground to look underneath the bed. The blue comforter fell all the way to the floor, so he lifted it up to look.
And found himself staring at a little boy.
Peter was small, much smaller than Tony had expected. His skin was incredibly pale, and his brown hair was long and dirty. His much-too-thin body was covered in an overly large white T-shirt which was clearly in need of a wash. His brown eyes were wide and terrified as he stared at Tony, curled in on himself as if to make himself smaller.
“Oh,” he said, blinking in surprise, “I found him.”
Part of him had still been under the thought that none of this was real, but here, staring at the boy in front of him, he couldn’t deny it.
This was Peter.
This was his son.
“Hey, Pete,” he greeted him, keeping his voice quiet, as if approaching a wild animal, “It doesn’t look too comfortable down there. Want to come out?”
Peter said nothing. He made no indication that he had even heard what Tony said, simply pressing himself back against the wall and keeping his eyes trained on him warily.
He could hear Happy calling out to Hanley, letting her know that they had found Peter, but he kept his focus on the boy.
He wasn’t good with kids, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.
He adjusted his position so that he was laying on his stomach, propped up on his arms.
“I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?” Tony said. He reached down into his pocket and pulled out the granola bar that Hanley had given him before they arrived, mentioning that they always brought food for the child. He opened the wrapper and stuck his hand under the bed, handing the food to Peter.
“Oh!” he yelped, wrenching his hand back as pain blossomed along it, leaving the granola bar under the bed.
“Boss, what happened?” Happy was by his side in an instant as Tony sat up, nursing his hand to his chest.
“The kid bit me!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. He looked down at his hand, where teeth marks embedded themselves into the skin, though luckily, he didn’t draw blood, “The kid actually bit me!”
“I told you not to approach him,” Hanley said at the door, frowning at him, “You’re lucky that’s all he did.”
“I didn’t approach him! I was just handing him the granola bar,” Tony defended.
“Just slide it under the bed,” Hanley said. She knelt to peer at Peter, “Sorry about him, kid. He’s still learning. This is Tony. I told you he was coming yesterday. Remember?”
Peter made no indication that he had, simply staring at them cautiously as he took a bite of the granola bar.
From his too-thin body, he clearly needed more than just the granola bar.
Hanley leaned back to look at Tony.
“I’ve been coming over for days, and he still doesn’t trust me,” she told him, “This is something that will take a lot of time and patience.”
“We can’t just leave him here,” Tony argued.
“You’re right. That’s why we always have someone stationed in the house,” Hanley reminded him of her earlier statement, eyebrow raised, “Now, I’m here for the next four hours, and then we’ve got a police officer coming over to stay the night. The problem, I think, is that no one is here long enough for him to get comfortable. We really need someone who can stay here until Peter comes out on his own. With his abilities, there’s no other option.”
He hesitated at her words. He knew what she wanted. He knew what he should do. Peter was his son. He helped bring this traumatized child into the world. It was his responsibility.
Tony was never great with responsibility.
But he couldn’t just leave.
“Okay,” he breathed out, rubbing the teeth marks on his hand as he stared at the bed, “Okay, I’ll stay.”