Archive of Our Own

Steve. Bucky. The footage. His mom. His dad. The shield made by his dad. The shield made by his dad stabbing clean through his heart-

Tony gasped awake from his nap. Well, calling it a ‘nap’ was generous. He was working on a prototype for a new suit running on two hours of sleep and two gallons of caffeine (no alcohol though, so kudos to him) when his body decided to tap out on him.

He was just glad that he gotten over the part of grief where he would get blackout drunk just to prevent aso much as a single thought from occurring. And as much as he would disagree if confronted, a major part of the recovery had all been thanks to the kid.

The great, selfless, could-give-Bruce-Banner-a-run-for-his-money genius, absolutely buffoon of a kid who had hacked the multi-million dollar he had given him using a goddamn Dell Inspiron Gaming laptop just so he could sneak around his back doing the one thing he had told him not to do.

He didn’t know whether to be offended or impressed.

He had said he wanted to be like Tony. Tony, who had panic attacks so bad he tried electrocution on himself to stop them, Tony who had gotten his friend’s legs amputated, Tony who was left by everyone in the end, Tony who was nothing but a loser-

He was angry at the kid.

It wasn’t the property damage, the tax coverage, or even the media debacle, it was the fact that the kid had almost gotten himself ripped in half to defeat a street villain that had Tony seeing red, hands shaking, on the verge of a panic attack.

It was like looking in a mirror and wanting to shatter it.

He had taken his suit away, which in hindsight, he was sorry for even though the kid deserved it for daring to think he was nothing without the suit. Tony just wanted to show him a bit of tough love and wow okay he needs to stop sounding like his father immediately,

He checked the time, or well tried to. His eyesight was blurry, his hand asleep and there was this continuous ringing in his ear that was driving him up the-

“Emergency Call. Forehead of Security”

“Ignore,” he grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Sir, you might want to take a look at this”

“FRI, I will decide what I want to look- oh. Oh.”

Tony immediately gets to his feet, as holograms of no less than seven news outlets hover over his table, each showing different angles of Coney Island and its surrounding wreck.

The wreck that had his name all over it. Literally.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Patch Happy through, please.”

“Yes, boss.”

The call connected.

“Happy, what-?”

“Tony, I messed up. Big Time. The Cargo Plane crashed into Coney island-”

“How-?”

“-one of the engines were destroyed-”

“Who even-?”

“Tony, it was him. He went aboard the plane planning to steal the weaponry onboard, only to be stopped by Spider-Man. The Toomes guy that the kid was trying to warn us about for months. He tried to warn me so many times and what I did? I ignored him. I told him I don’t have time for him. I, Tony I hung up on him.”

“Okay. Calm down,” and Tony was saying this to not only Happy but also to his heart which had decided to start doing the Irish jig, “Take a deep breath and tell me what does the Spider Kid have to do this?”

The Spider-Kid who doesn’t have his Spider-suit, because stupid Tony wanted to teach him a stupid lesson.

Instead of replying, Happy sends him a photo.

It’s Adrian Toomes alright. The guy from the Ferry. He briefly remembered the FBI informing him that they’ve been looking to catch the guy for months. He is webbed to a stack of crates. Next to his infuriating smiling mug is a paper with wonky crayon writing:

“Tony…?”

“I’m on my way.”

If Tony had a dollar for every time the Universe reminded him his actions have consequences, he would have exactly the amount of money he had. Panic slowly but steadily mounting, Tony had taken off to Coney Island, but not before asking Friday to scan the surveillance of the entire tri-state area for Peter Parker.

He reached the Beach.

It was not looking good.

Stark crates scattered all over the sand broken, spilled and burnt. Fire was mostly under control but still covered everything in a veil of thin grime. Debris of his plane loittered the area. His eyes fell on something red gleaming in the flames of the fire surrounding it.

Tony picked it up and dusted off the sand. It was Peter's homemade mask. The lens was broken. The fabric was torn and stained with blood. The mask he had once made fun of.

God, he felt like such an asshole.

He made his way over to Hogan, catching him mid-screaming.

“If you don’t tell me, I swear I’ll take your fried Vulture wings and shove them so far up your-”

“Well, well.” Toomes smirked at him, eyes glinting with equal parts hatred and astonishment. It was a look Tony was pretty familiar with. “If it isn’t the spokesperson of the rich and powerful. How many lives have you decided to destroy today?”

Tony, frankly, did not have the time for his flattering contempt.

“Okay Toomes, cut the crap. Where’s Spider-Man?” he said, trying to keep his face neutral.

“Spider-Man?” Toomes started laughing maniacally like a typical one-movie villain, “That’s who you came all the way here for? Cute kid, that Parker. Too bad he’d die before you find him”

White noise.

The sound of the crashing waves. His crew frantically salvaging the debris of his plane and weapons. Happy grabbing Toomes by his collar and yanking him up. Toomes scream as the webbing pulled at his battered body. All the noises mixed into one wavelength of white noise, consuming Tony from the inside out.

It was all he could do to call for his suit and fly away, busying himself with scanning the streets to not have a panic attack right then and there. The kid won’t die. He can’t. Though, if the fight was as gruesome as the scene at Coney Island and if the kid was in his onesie, he was seriously injured. He needed medical attention, like yesterday.

He needed to find the kid. Tony didn’t know what to do. Even his phone was-

Tony wanted to shoot the repulsor to his arc-reactor.

“Friday, track the kids phone, dammit.”

“Already done, boss. Mr Parker’s phone is at an abandoned warehouse which was demolished earlier this evening.”

“Take me there.”

“No need, sir.”

“Wha-?”

“I detected no heat signature.”

All the air left Tony’s lungs, leaving him gasping in his suit. He had been too late.

“And if you died, I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.”

He had taken his suit away. It was all his fault. What is he gonna tell the kid’s aunt? He had met the kid only five or six times, give and take. He was only fifteen. If he hadn’t taken away his suit, he’d still be alive-

“Sir, if I may? The warehouse came down at 22:27, your plane crashed at 23:36.”

“Oh.” Tony willed himself to remain calm. The implication of Peter’s phone being in a demolished warehouse was still trying to push him over the edge but he could deal with that later. He was fine. It was fine. He could still fix this. He was a mechanic, that’s what he does. He fixed things. He still has time. He was okay. The kid was still okay.

His emotions were all over the place.

On one side, he was frustrated at Peter for his idiotic decisions. Going out in that onesie? To what, spite him? Did the kid want him to die of guilt? Because, it might be working.

On the other hand, he was mad anxious for Peter. It was a foreign feeling. All his life, he could count the group of people he cared about on one hand (he is absolutely choosing to ignore the brief interlude where the Avengers were part of that group because nope, not going there). And then this kid from Queens came along, who he had seen on YouTube. Not even met in person. Who was meant to be just a backup. The most wholesome kid in the world who helped the elders’ crossing road, who gave directions to lost tourists, who was there for the little guy.

But at the same time, he couldn’t fathom why he was so obsessed with defeating Toomes, so much that he missed Homecoming over it.

He was on an emotional rollercoaster

Wait… rollercoaster.

“Friday! Get me tot Coney Island.”

There he was.

“Peter!” the name tore itself out of his mouth in an anguished, relieved, tone.

Peter was slow to look at him, hand raising in a wave.

Tony retracted his mask and hovered before him, looking in awe of the kid. Taking him in. Peter was leaning against the pole atop the Cyclone ride. Soot covered his face. His hair was unruly. His DIY costumewas was torn in multiple places and singed in even more places. His nose and lips were leaking blood. He could spot him from a distance, looking so tiny and so small and so very much alive. He too, waved his hand at him. Without the mask, he could hear the wheeze in Peter’s breath.

“How you doing, kid?”

“Great, yeah. It looks worse than it is.”

“FRI, his vitals?” he grimaced, mentally preparing himself.

“Subject has right wrist broken, evidence of four puncture wounds on his chest, several broken ribs, burns, bruises and multiple lacerations. Incorrectly healing dislocated right shoulder. Possible concussion.”

“Wow.” Peter looked dazed, as if the injuries were only now catching up to him. “I am sorry.”

Tony held his tongue. He would have all the time in the world to make his own apologies. Plus, he wants to apologise when the kid is fully conscious and not looking minutes away from death.

“Geez kid,” he shook his head, “I thought you were going to Homecoming. How did this even happen?”

Peter sighed, “Toomes was my date’s father.”

A pause.

Before Tony started laughing, tears of joy (and relief) escaping his eyes.

“It’s not funny,” Peter grumbled, but even as he said it, a smile managed to climb his face.

“You really can’t catch a break, can ya?”

“Tell me about it.”

It was a weirdly comforting moment atop the Cyclone ride overlooking the Coney island. Authorities and his crew squirming around doing damage control. A firetruck’s siren ringing in the distance. And above it all were Peter and Tony, laughing and making jokes.

If only Peter could’ve held on.

“Shit-”

Tony swooped Peter in his arms at the last second, causing Peter to yelp and wrap his arms around the armour, breathless.

“Woah, dude. I just blacked out. Wow, that was so not safe. I lost my balance.”

“Don’t worry, kid. I got you.”