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Tony stands in the middle of the living room, bracing two hands against his lower back and groaning as he stretches. "I miss my old massage lady," he says. "I'd kill for a back rub right now."
"I'm not giving you a back rub," Rhodey replies immediately, putting his hands up. "What about Pete?" With the attention put on him, Peter backs out of the room and into the kitchen without a word, shaking his head. Asshole.
"Aren't you guys supposed to have my back?" Tony asks, looking at Rhodey in disbelief. "What happened to being a team?
"Yeah, have your back, not massage it," Peter calls from the kitchen. "I've got enough trauma already."
Tony scoffs. "Trauma," he repeats. "I'll show you trauma—"
"What did I say about threatening the kid, Tony?" Rhodey interrupts.
"Yeah, yeah, it's immoral and he's better than I ever will be," Tony says, waving a dismissive hand when Rhodey opens his mouth to argue because he's never actually said that. Tony knows he's been thinking it, though. They both have.
Peter pokes his head out past the wall. The look on his face tells Tony he heard what he said, but neither of them outright acknowledge it. "You're all... sweaty and gross. You haven't showered in like, eighty years," Peter says instead. "I'd probably get diseases just looking at your back."
"You say that like you've been able to take a shower in this shit," Tony argues. "You're just as bad."
"I fell into a lake!" Peter says, pointing a finger at Tony. "That counts for something!"
"Yeah, counts for you being almost hypothermic," Rhodey says. "But it doesn't replace a shower."
Tony nods. "And you wouldn't have fallen in if you weren't being an idiot," he says.
"I wasn't being an idiot!" Peter argues. "Maybe you're the idiot. Shut up." His head disappears back into the kitchen, and Tony can hear him rifling through his backpack. The kitchen is dark, save for the light of Peter's flashlight occasionally lighting up the walls.
"Teenagers," Tony mutters. He rolls his neck in a circle, resulting in a satisfying pop.
Rhodey gives him a look. "You're just as bad," he says. "You were probably worse at his age, actually."
"Whatever you wanna believe."
A few minutes later, Peter returns to the living room. He rips open a protein bar wrapper with his teeth before taking a large bite of it. "You know what I miss?" he says around a mouthful of food.
"Not manners, clearly," Tony remarks. "What, were you raised by wolves?"
Peter points the protein bar at him in a threatening manner. "I have manners," he says. "Anyway , I miss pizza. I'd give anything for a slice... extra cheese, buncha pepperoni, some pineapple—I took it for granted."
"Pineapple on pizza?" Tony asks in disgust. "I can't believe you."
"You're telling me if someone offered you pizza, right here, right now, you wouldn't eat it if it had pineapple?" Peter asks. "Ungrateful. I'd even eat Chuck E. Cheese pizza right now."
Rhodey gives him an odd look. "So Chuck E. Cheese is fine, but Mickey Mouse—"
"Don't say his name!"
"—is evil?"
Peter nods very seriously, taking another bite. "He could probably tell you where and when you'll die," he says. "Or kill you immediately. I dunno."
“I don’t think that’s what Mickey Mouse does, kid,” Tony says.
“How do you know that?” Peter asks, then narrows his eyes. “Are you working for him?”
Tony is silent for a moment, staring blankly at Peter as he contemplates his life choices and what led him here. “Why would I be working for him?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Peter asks, leaning in close. “Who do you work for?”
“Who do I work for?” Tony says, eyebrow raised. “What do you want me to say, Jesus?”
Peter frowns. “You’re hiding something from me.”
Tony sighs, looking to Rhodey for help, but Rhodey shakes his head. “This is your battle, man,” he says. “Don’t look at me.”
“I don’t… work for Mickey Mouse,” Tony says, slowly. “How would I work for Mickey Mouse?”
“Why do you want to know?” Peter says. “Is it because you want to work for him? Is that it?” He steps back, an accusatory finger pointed in Tony’s direction. “I don’t trust you.”
Tony grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. “You’re annoying,” he says. “And I don’t like you.”
“Sounds like a reason to work for Mickey Mouse,” Rhodey remarks, watching on in amusement. “Don’t you think, Pete?”
Peter is silent for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, and Tony can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “It does,” he says, finally, and wriggles free from Tony’s grip. “You’re a traitor!” He scrambles away, taking another bite of his protein bar as he retreats back into the kitchen.
Tony turns to look at Rhodey, hands left up in a state of confusion. “I don’t… understand what happened.”
Rhodey shrugs. “Me neither,” he says, dropping back onto the couch. “But do we ever?”
“No, we do not,” Tony says. He sits down beside Rhodey, sinking into the couch cushion while they wait for Peter to finish whatever he’s doing in the kitchen. Again, not that he ever knows what Peter is up to.
Still. He can’t help but smile.
They’ve been staying in this house for a while now, going on a week or two, maybe. Tony’s not entirely sure, having stopped counting the days long ago. It hasn’t been too long, but it’s the longest they’ve stayed in one place, and is the closest thing they’ve had to a home since… ever. And if all things go right, it might actually last.
Tony tries not to think that far ahead, tries not to get his hopes up.
He can’t say the same about the other two, though; Rhodey’s been talking about starting a garden in the backyard, something about finding seeds in a grocery store and wanting to try his hand at growing something. He even found a portable stove so they can eat actual hot meals for once without having to cook them outside. Peter seems to be doing a lot better, too. He’s got his weapons back, and though he’s still not totally okay, the weight on his shoulders seems to finally be lessening.
Everyone’s happy, things are finally looking up, and Tony… can’t find it in himself to relax.
He’s not going to outright try to crush their dreams or anything—he’s not that much of an asshole—he’s just trying to be realistic. And if being realistic means waiting on the edge of his seat at all hours for the other shoe to drop, then so be it.
And it’s not that he doesn’t want things to be good—he does, he really does. Like when he catches Peter reading a book under the light of his flashlight instead of sleeping at night, or when he and Rhodey sit out on the porch watching the sun rise like a couple of old men on retirement. He wants it to work out for once. Just one single time, let it work out.
—
“I’m thinking we head back into town tomorrow,” Tony announces one night while the three of them are sitting at the dining table, eating baked beans off of plates. Like a real family, Tony supplies mentally. “There’s a couple buildings we haven’t checked yet, and if we’re lucky, the horde will be completely gone by now.”
“Do we have to?” Peter whines. “We’re doing fine right now.”
“It’s better to be prepared than to wait until we’re out of supplies,” Rhodey says.
Tony nods. “Just a quick trip, kid. In and out,” Peter doesn’t look entirely thrilled, so he adds, “You can drive.”
“Really?” Peter asks eagerly, sitting up straighter. “I can?”
“Just don’t hit anything this time,” Rhodey teases.
Peter huffs. “It was one trash can,” he says. “Shouldn’t have been on the road in the first place.”
“It was also on the complete opposite side of the road, but,” Tony pats Peter on the shoulder, “It’s the thought that counts.”
—
The next morning, as they prepare to leave, Tony notices Peter struggling to move a bookshelf. In their first couple days living here, Peter discovered a hole in the floor, and insisted on using it to hide his belongings while they were gone. The bookshelf moves right over the floorboards on top of it, hiding it from everyone who wouldn’t think to look further while searching the house.
“How do you expect to hide your shit in there when you can’t even get to it yourself?” Tony teases, watching on in amusement. “I don’t know why you don’t just leave your things in your room, anyway.” The way the words your room roll right off his tongue with ease makes him pause. It’s really our house, isn’t it?
“I don’t want my camera to get stolen,” Peter huffs. “And if I can’t move it, nobody else can.”
Tony snorts, moving to Peter’s side to help him move the bookcase. “Uh, no, you can’t move it because your arms are noodles,” he says. “Even Rhodey could move this out of the way.”
Rhodey, who’s been standing nearby, but doing his own thing, scoffs in offense. “What did I do?”
“Sorry, Platypus,” Tony says. “You were collateral.”
“Collateral.”
Tony shrugs. “You said it.”
Once the hole is revealed, Peter crouches down and tucks away his camera, family pictures, and plastic dinosaur. He looks at the collection with a smile, satisfied with his work.
“Glad you have your priorities straight,” Tony remarks, looking pointedly at the dinosaur.
Peter nods. “Gotta keep my valuables safe.”
Rhodey crouches down beside him, picking up the picture frame. There’s two pictures included in it, one of a young boy—Tony can assume it’s Peter—held by a man and woman. The second picture looks as if it were taken only a few years ago, showing Peter standing beside a different man and woman. “How come you never take this out?”
“Feels safer that way,” Peter mumbles defensively as he takes the frame back. His eyes linger on the photos for a moment, fingers tracing the edges. “Those’re my parents,” he says, gesturing to the first picture before pointing at the second. “My aunt and uncle.”
He stares at the images for another few moments, eyes growing shiny with tears before he blinks them back. Sometimes Tony forgets how much the kid has lost in such a short life, given the state of the world and the optimistic front Peter tends to put on. It’s easy to forget how much anyone has lost, himself included. Everything before the apocalypse seems like events of a different lifetime, now.
“They look like good people,” Rhodey says softly.
Peter nods. “They were.”
“We’ll keep them safe, don’t worry,” Tony says, patting Peter’s shoulder. “Your family and your dinosaur.”
Peter smiles, setting the picture back into its spot. “I have pictures of you guys too, you know,” he says, gesturing to the camera before standing to help Rhodey up. “Got everybody I care about right here.”
“You care about us?” Rhodey asks, hand placed over his heart in a dramatic manner. “I’m touched.”
“He’s got a plastic dinosaur in there with us, I wouldn’t take it to heart,” Tony says, a teasing smile gracing his lips as he tries to ignore the mix of warmth and guilt forming at the thought of Peter considering him on the same level as his family. His real family.
Peter narrows his eyes. “Yeah, you’re all fossils,” he says, then, before either man can argue, says, “Help me move this back?”
—
The drive over goes mostly without incident, ignoring the jerky stop and half-mile stretch where Peter ran into the curb probably sixteen times in one go. It’s been a while, okay? Sue him. Driving is hard.
Tony has him park down the street from the store they’re heading to first, not wanting to lead anyone straight to them. Peter’s just bummed about having to make the walk back with full bags.
It looks like the horde’s cleared out, just like Tony had hoped, so at least there won’t be zombies to deal with on top of it all.
“You look a lot like your mom, you know,” Tony says, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walk. “At least, from what I saw…”
Peter glances over at Tony. “I get that a lot,” he says. “Used to, I mean.” His smile falters for a moment, but he plasters it back on just as fast. “Same eyes, same smile, curly hair… May says— said I got her personality too, but I have no idea.”
“It’s good you’ve been able to keep pictures of your family,” Rhodey says. “I’m glad they’ve lasted this long.
“Yeah, I’m pretty lucky,” Peter says. “If I knew I’d never come back home, I would’ve grabbed a few more.”
Instead of answering, Rhodey seems distracted. He hums. Frowns.
“What is it?” Tony asks, immediately on alert.
“That truck… wasn’t here last time,” Rhodey says. He glances around, eyebrow furrowed. “But I haven’t seen anyone near us.”
Peter moves to tuck himself between the two, almost unconsciously. “That’s… you could’ve just missed it last time,” he says, voice small. “Right?”
“I don’t know,” Tony says, keeping his eyes on their surroundings, but keeping a hand on Peter’s arm. “We shouldn’t stick around to find out, though.
Just as they’re about to turn around, the sound of gunshots ring out from somewhere above them, and suddenly bullets are hitting the ground around them. Rhodey moves first, shoving Tony and Peter forward to get them to move.
They run, shoes smacking hard against the pavement. They're forced to duck behind a car when the bullets keep them from going any farther. “What the hell?” Tony exclaims, gun out and ready to shoot back.
Rhodey puts a hand up, waving it at Tony to make him stop. “They shot at our feet,” he says breathlessly. “They’re not trying to kill us.”
“Really? Cause, last time I checked, shooting at someone means you’re trying to kill them,” Tony snaps. He peeks his head over the hood of the car, only for more shots to fire immediately. “Shit.”
“We need to get out of here,” Rhodey mutters. “Find cover.”
Tony nods, eyeing the space between two buildings up ahead. “We need to make a run for it.”
As he and Rhodey maneuver into a crouch, preparing to move, Peter can’t help but freeze. He shakes his head. “No,” he stammers. “No, no, I—I can’t.”
“Buddy, we need to go,” Tony says, gripping Peter’s shoulders. “I know you’re scared, but you can freak out once we’re safe, okay?”
Peter gives a small nod, not quite trusting himself to form words yet.
Rhodey helps pull him up to a crouch. “Be ready to move,” he says. “Okay?”
Another nod, and then they’re running. Peter’s feet move on their own accord, full body flinching when another round of gunshots ring out. Just like Rhodey said, they all hit the ground beside their feet and corral them further.
They barely have a moment to catch their breath before they’re shot at again, pushed out of the small alleyway and down another street. “How many of them are there?” Tony exclaims.
Finally, they reach a chain link fence. Within it is a large field that looks like it stretches on forever, with a large, old-looking building toward the back, and dozens of zombies stumbling around in front of it. The doors of the building are closed, and it doesn’t look like any zombies have made it inside.
“I guess we figured out where they were taking us,” Rhodey says.
Peter swallows. “And where the horde went.”
“There’s gotta be a way around,” Tony says, already looking for options.
Rhodey shakes his head. “This is where they want us,” he says. “We don’t have any other choice.”
Before they can debate the decision any further, a loud explosion booms somewhere behind them. Peter flinches from the sheer force of it, hands coming up to cover his ears.
He lowers them just in time to hear Tony exclaim, “What the fuck was that?”
Peter turns around in time to catch a shadowy figure disappearing on top of a building. “Someone’s on the roof,” he says.
“They’ll just shoot at us if we go anywhere else,” Rhodey says. “We have to go through.”
The explosion drew the zombies’ attention, and now the majority of them are heading in their direction. The fence won’t hold, but the three of them have no other choice but to go through.
They slip through an opening before sprinting through the field, fueled by fear and adrenaline. Tony and Rhodey have their guns out, shooting every zombie in their direct path, and Peter suddenly feels underprepared with his measly machete.
Just as he’s nearing the building, Peter’s foot catches on one of the discarded bodies as he runs past it, twisting his ankle and sending him tumbling to the ground. He lands on his hands and knees, but through his disorientation, has the sense to turn himself over and grab his machete.
The second he’s around, a zombie tumbles straight into him. He puts his arm out to hold it away from his face, machete pushing into the thing’s chest as it gnashes its teeth at him.
“Peter!” Tony shouts, shooting the zombie and pulling Peter up by his arm in one swift motion. “You good?” When Peter only stumbles along beside him as he’s forced to keep up with his quick pace, Tony repeats, “Peter, are you good?”
Peter can barely manage a nod.
They make it up the front steps of the building as Rhodey is attempting to pry one of the doors open. Tony helps him, a difficult task considering he’s also the only thing holding Peter upright at the moment, but they make it through regardless.
Once inside, Tony deposits Peter on the floor against a wall. Peter drops his death grip on his machete, instead reaching for his chest as his lungs struggle to take in oxygen.
Tony crouches in front of him, appearing slightly panicked as he looks between Peter and Rhodey. “Shit, we need to find a way out of here,” he says to Rhodey, then gestures to Peter, “but he’s…”
Rhodey nods. “I’ll go look for one,” he says. “You stay here and help him.”
A moment later, Rhodey is gone from Peter’s view and Tony is right in front of him. “Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly. “You with me? Were you bit?” His hands move to feel around Peter’s head, shoulders, and arms, but he drops them when he doesn’t find anything. “Pete, c’mon. Work with me here. You gotta breathe, buddy.”
Peter tries— really tries—to calm himself down, but his ears are ringing and his heart is pounding and the zombies are starting to bang on the door, and—
“Okay,” Tony says in a nervous tone that really isn’t helping Peter right now, and sits down beside him. “That was—that was scary, huh?” He takes Peter’s hand in his own, tapping his fingers in an even rhythm and giving Peter something to focus on.
“Yeah,” Peter manages, voice horse.
His breath stutters again, and he tries to pull his hand away, but Tony stops him. “Don’t talk,” he says. “Just… focus on breathing, alright?” He pauses for a moment, his silence filled by the groaning of the zombies outside. “You’re a strong kid, and we’ve—we’ve made it… probably a year in this shit, I don’t know and we’ve survived everything else, right?”
Peter gives a jerky nod.
“And here, I guess, life has thrown you a curveball—you know what that is, right? Baseball?” Tony says, receiving no answer, he carries on, “Well, a curveball is a tricky throw for the batter to hit—because it’s curved. Curve ball? Curve—you get it. Anyway, you’re the batter in this case, except you’re… not even holding a bat. In fact, your hands are tied behind your back, so you're definitely going to miss the ball.” He winces. “I'm not good at this. I should've had Rhodey come talk to you. Jesus."
There’s another long beat of silence before Peter responds, as he’s still trying to process everything Tony’s just said to him. “What?”
“You know what baseball is, right?” Tony asks, and the way he just sounds so genuine is enough to make Peter break out into a fit of giggles that soon turns into near hysterics as tears continue to stream down his face.
Tony watches on in concern, a hand hovering just above Peter’s knee as Peter tries to collect himself. “I’m sorry, ‘m sorry,” Peter says, wiping his eyes as he takes in heaving breaths. “I just—I know what baseball is.” He sniffles. “We’re gonna die here, and you’re asking me about baseball.”
“We’re not going to die,” Tony says, rubbing Peter’s back. “Rhodey’s gonna find us a way out, and we’re going to be fine.”
Peter shifts, trying to pull his knees to his chest, but winces when he jostles his wounded ankle. “Oh man, I’m gonna slow you down,” he says as Tony moves to check out the injury. “If we get stuck somewhere and have to run, I…”
“I’ll carry your ass if I have to before I even think about leaving you behind,” Tony says sternly before adding in a softer voice, “I think it’s just a nasty sprain.”
“But what if we have to fight through them to get out, and I can’t—can’t keep up, and we—”
Tony cuts Peter off. “Pete, stop. Breathe,” he says. “We’re getting out of here. End of story.” He grabs his upper arms tight. “I know this is scary, okay? But it’s gonna be a whole lot worse if we just sit here and do nothing. I promise you, nothing bad is going to happen to you. You’ve got me and Rhodey, and we’ll keep you safe. I promise, kid.”
Peter takes a deep, shuddering breath, then nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, okay.”
Rhodey picks that exact moment to rejoin them, out of breath as he says, “There’s no way out down here.”
Tony stands. “Shit,” he mutters, turning in a slow circle around the room. “Did you try upstairs? Maybe there’s… a window, or something.”
“He’s in no condition to be jumping out a window right now,” Rhodey says, gesturing to Peter. “His ankle’s swollen.”
“I’m fine,” Peter insists, holding a hand out for Tony to help him. “We gotta—” he winces, leaning his weight against Tony when standing makes his ankle throb, “we gotta go.”
Tony drapes Peter’s arm over his shoulders. “You heard the kid,” he says. “Let’s go.”
With Tony’s help, Peter manages to hobble up the stairs. The second floor looks just like the first did, run down and unwelcoming. Toward the back of the room are several windows, all looking rusted shut.
Rhodey tries to open one, muscles straining and his teeth clenched in a grimace, but it remains shut. “Little help here?” he calls.
Tony leaves Peter to lean against a wall while he helps Rhodey open the window. He’s not complaining, really, as it gives him the chance to lift his aching ankle off the ground for a few moments. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the wall. It’s cool and grounding, and soothes the pounding in his head.
Peter listens as the other two manage to pry the window open, the motion resulting in a loud bang as it hits the top of the frame. There’s an eerie silence that follows that has him opening his eyes up. Tony and Rhodey are at the window, both standing uncomfortably stiffly, and Peter feels the panic begin to swell in his chest again. “Guys?” he says, “What’s…”
Tony shushes him. “Get as far away from the window as you can, Pete,” he says, slowly raising his hands in surrender to whoever is out there. Rhodey does the same.
Before Peter can ask anything else, he can hear the distinct sound of something firing from outside, and then everything devolves into chaos.
There’s an explosion, shouts of panic, and blinding pain.
And then there is nothing at all.