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“Look, Roos. Why don’t you call it a night?” Tony prompted lightly, glancing up.
“I can help Mr Stark. It’s not even past curfew yet,” Peter protested, swinging effortlessly from the rafters above.
“I know kid—it’s just…this place is giving me bad vibes,” Tony admitted uneasily.
“All abandoned creepy warehouses owned by criminals give people bad vibes,” Peter quipped back.
Tony rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, the echo of his suit clanging through the warehouse as he moved forward. Above him, Peter trailed silently, swinging from raft to raft on the ceiling.
The pair were investigating a warehouse owned by some supposed criminals, Tony bringing Peter along as a small bit of training as part of the ‘internship’. But the further they ventured into the dark space, the more uneasy Tony got. Something wasn’t right here. And he didn’t want Peter around when he found out what.
“Hey!” Peter called from above, breaking through the quiet. Tony’s eyes flickered up to him to see him hanging upside down, pointing ahead, “You see that over there?”
Tony followed his line of sight, his gaze landing on a lone table in the centre of the room. On it sat a plain black box with a small red light blinking ominously.
Tony’s brow furrowed as he approached cautiously.
Peter dropped from the rafters with a soft thud behind him, “What is that?” he asked curiously, reaching out his hand.
“I don’t know, let’s maybe not touch it though,” Tony said, swatting away Peter’s hand.
“But—” Peter began, only to be interrupted by a sudden, loud crash from deeper in the warehouse. Both of them tensed immediately, muscles coiling, ready to fight.
Tony’s repulsor was up in a flash.
“Stay behind me, kid,” Tony muttered, stepping forward.
He kicked open the door with a swift motion and the sight that greeted him made his heart drop.
A red skull with six tentacles curling underneath.
Hydra.
The symbol was unmistakable. Tony’s pulse quickened, his mind racing through the implications. Behind him, Peter inhaled sharply. It was no secret as to what Hydra represented and what they did.
He turned slightly to check on Peter, whose hands had curled into tight fists and looking a little paler than usual.
“Get out of here, Peter,” Tony ordered sternly.
“No,” Peter replied, uncharacteristically defiant.
“No?!” Tony repeated, his eyes narrowing, “Peter if you don’t go—”
A flash on his visor caught his attention—a heat signature on his side. Abruptly, he turned, his gaze landing on a stack of crates. He slowly moved forward, one hand raised with his repulsor ready, the other stretching back to keep Peter behind him.
“What—” Peter started but Tony silenced him with a sharp gesture.
Then seemingly out of nowhere, a guy came barreling from behind the crates moving to tackle Tony. Tony barely budged, as the man crashed into the metal suit, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement.
“Really?” Tony muttered, grabbing the man by the back of the neck and twisting him around. His eyes landed on a desk pushed against the wall which was cluttered with papers, weapons and computers. He dragged the struggling man toward it, shoving the man into a chair.
“Not the brightest idea to tackle a suit of armour,” Tony quipped before he gestured to Peter, “Web him up, Pete.”
Peter, who was unusually silent, stepped forward, his eyes locked on the man with an unreadable expression. With a sharp nod, he fired two webs, securing the man tightly to the chair.
Tony turned back to the man, allowing Peter to stay and watch. As much as he wanted to force the kid back home he knew how stubborn Peter could be and maybe watching an interrogation would be a good lesson for him.
“Who do you work for?” Tony demanded, leaning in threateningly.
“Who do you think I work for,” the man snarled back, with an unmistakable thick Russian accent.
“Hydra?” Tony suggested, the smirk on the man’s face confirming his suspicions.
“What division?” Tony pressed.
“Why would I tell you that, Iron Man,” the man spat out harshly.
“Unfortunately I don’t know Russian,” Tony said, sensing Peter shifting uncomfortably behind him.
“Too bad for you,” the man muttered before lazily sliding his gaze to Peter, “But you do, don’t you, Spider?”
Beside him, Peter instantly tensed, his fists clenching and Tony felt a surge of protectiveness flare up.
“Hey, don’t talk to him,” Tony snapped, his voice sharp, “Don’t even look at him.”
“Oh, but the man of iron doesn’t even know who you really are, does he? Where you were raised? Trained? Who owns you?” the man said smugly.
Tony couldn’t figure out what he was saying but the way he was looking at Peter made his skin crawl. He glanced back to check on Peter, intending to suggest he leave again but the dark anger simmering in Peter’s eyes stopped him cold. Peter’s fists tightened somehow even further, his body vibrating with barely contained fury. The sight was unnerving. Peter never got angry.
“How about what you’ve done? Who you’ve killed? You're a weapon of hydra,” the man sneered.
Before Tony could even process anything, Peter briefly deactivated his suit with a quick press to his chest and lunged forward. In a flash, he had a knife, plucked from the nearby desk, pressed to the man’s throat.
Tony’s heart lept into his throat. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, unsure as to what to do. His eyes darted over Peter, trying to comprehend what was happening.
Peter’s eyes were cold, his grip on the knife steady and practised. The blade pressed right against the man’s pulse point with precision. The man’s smug demeanour was now evaporated, replaced by wide-eyed fear as he trembled in Peter’s hold.
“Pete—” Tony started slowly as if calming a cornered animal, but Peter cut him off, his voice venomous.
“How about you learn to shut your fucking mouth or I’ll ensure you won’t utter a single word again?” Peter hissed out lowly.
Tony’s mind span. Since when did Peter know Russian? And although Tony couldn’t figure out what he was saying, the way the man recoiled in horror and Peter’s tone told him enough.
Roughly, Peter shoved him away, letting the knife clatter to the floor. He stepped back, his face blank and his eyes empty.
“You Hydra rats,” the man spat out and Tony furrowed his brow in confusion.
He turned to Peter but the younger’s jaw was clenched. Without a word, Peter turned on his heel and stalked toward the exit.
“Peter!” Tony called after him, but Peter didn’t stop.
His eyes darted between the door and the guy, debating whether to follow Peter or securing the situation.
“Friday, call SHIELD to deal with this,” Tony ordered.
As he stalked out of the warehouse, a troubling thought popped into his head.
“Friday… are there any connections between Peter and Hydra?” Tony asked, curiously, “Like with his parents or maybe he was involved in some attack or something when he was young?”
There was a brief pause before Friday responded, “I’ve found a connection, but the information is behind SHIELD protection.”
Tony felt his whole body tense, his pace faltering, “Hack into it.”
“Yes boss, I’ll do it in the background and let you know when I have the information,” Friday replied smoothly.
His mind raced as he left the warehouse, scenarios racing through his head. Was his parents killed by Hydra? Did Hydra attack somewhere and he was there?
Lost in thought, Tony barely noticed when he reached the front of the warehouse. To his surprise, Peter was there, standing with his back to Tony, his posture tense.
“You good?” Tony asked quietly, his voice soft, careful not to startle him.
“I’m fine,” Peter mumbled under his breath.
Tony wanted to say more. Push Peter to answer his questions. But based on the tension in his shoulders and the way he was gazing blankly into the distance, Tony, for once, chose to let it go. For now.
Tony sat in his lab, tinkering absentmindedly with some tech project in front of him. After the unsettling Hydra incident earlier, he and Peter had returned to the tower, where Peter was supposed to stay the night.
They’d spent a bit of time working together in the lab—mainly on their suits. And the atmosphere had been surprisingly normal, with Peter chatting about school and patrols while Tony occasionally chimed in. Peter didn’t bring up the warehouse or the Hydra agent and despite the burning questions swirling in Tony’s mind, he didn’t press, no matter how much he wanted to.
Eventually, it got a bit too late and Tony thought he had to act at least semi-like a responsible adult and suggested they head to bed. Peter had his own room in the tower, one Tony had set up for him early in their ‘internship’.
But as always when Tony had too much on his mind, he found himself back in the lab a couple of hours later, trying to distract himself with work.
Yet, no matter how much he tinkered, his thoughts kept circling back to Peter and Hyrda. How were they connected? How did Peter know Russian? What wasn’t he telling him?
Sluggishly, he rubbed a hand over his face as if he could scrub away the exhaustion. He considered making another attempt at sleep but before he could make up his mind, a hologram screen flickered to life in front of him,
“Boss, I hacked into the SHIELD file on Peter Parker,” Friday announced, her monotoned voice echoing through the empty room.
Tony instantly straightened up, his attention locked on the screen. The file displayed a picture of Peter, younger—perhaps in his early teens—his name typed out beside it. The image and the file seemed to be begging for Tony to open it. He chewed his lip anxiously before he made his decision.
“Open it, Friday,” Tony muttered, a slight pang of guilt hitting him over the fact he was technically going behind Peter’s back.
The hologram expanded, displaying a stream of information. At the top, the basics were listed. Name: Peter Parker. Birth Place: Russia. Tony’s brow furrowed as he saw the listed parents—May and Richard Parker, but alongside them were the names of Peter’s biological parents, written in Russian. Every word Tony read was just going against everything he thought he knew.
He scrolled down, noting how there were descriptions of Peter’s early life in Russia. And then, his eyes landed on the section labelled Hydra.
Tony’s heart sank.
There were images and video files attached. Hesitantly, he clicked on one.
The hologram shifted to play the video. Grainy surveillance footage from a location Tony couldn’t identify—probably Russia—started to play. A figure entered the frame. Peter.
He was dressed in dark leather, weapons strapped to his side, his face obscured by a hood but Tony could still somehow tell it was him. As he moved forward, two other figures appeared on the screen. Before Tony could fully register what was happening, Peter raised the gun. Two shots rang out. And the figures crumpled to the floor. Lifeless.
Then, Peter turned to the camera, his face now visible—cold and emotionless, splattered with blood. The sight sent a chill down Tony’s spine. A third shot echoed before the screen went black.
Tony let out a shaky breath, leaning back in his chair, and rubbing his hands down his face. This was bad. A lot worse than what he thought.
Tony started scouring Peter’s file for every piece of information, no matter how much he told himself it was a violation of privacy, he couldn’t stop.
He managed to piece together the most important bits; Peter was taken by Hydra at four years old after his parents were killed. He was trained to be a skilled assassin but he escaped at fourteen when the Hydra base was destroyed—all the other kids killed. And then SHIELD found him and took him under their wing. They gave him to May and Ben, who were apparently ex-shield agents, crafting a cover story to give him a shot at a normal life.
Tony almost laughed bitterly at the irony. SHIELD had tried to give Peter a normal life, and yet, the kid still ended up bitten by a radioactive spider and became a vigilante.
Before Tony knew it, he found himself at the bottom of the extensive document. His gaze flicked to the clock, hours had passed.
Peter had been through hell. And the worst part? He was just a kid. And for some reason, he never told Tony anything.
Finally, Tony decided to retreat back to his room—acutely aware of the fact that he probably wasn’t going to get much sleep after what he had uncovered.
As he was walking to his room, he went to pass Peter’s, he paused, something gnawing at him. Slowly, he pushed open the door, letting it swing open quietly.
His eyes immediately landed on Peter, his sheets tangled, his face twisted in distress as he mumbled in his sleep. The sight made Tony’s heart clench. Nightmares. He probably had them every night.
Hesitantly, Tony stepped to the side of the bed. “Peter,” he whispered harshly, moving his hand to give his shoulder a gentle shake.
But as soon as his hand came in contact with Peter’s shoulder, he woke with a start. His eyes were wild and unfocused, still trapped in whatever nightmare had haunted him—or more likely a memory.
“Peter—” Tony began cautiously, but before he could finish, Peter lashed out, his foot connecting with Tony’s stomach, sending him stumbling back.
Before Tony could even react, Peter was on him, tackling him to the floor. A knife gleamed in Peter’s hand, seemingly out of nowhere and Tony’s eyes widened in shock. The blade came down fast, but Tony jerked his head aside just in time. The knife embedded itself in the floor, centimetres from his head.
With a swift movement, Tony kicked his legs up, forcing Peter off him and rolling out of his grasp. Peter yanked the knife from the floor, lunging again but Tony caught his wrist, twisting it until the knife slipped from Peter’s hand and skidded across the room.
Peter thrashed in his grip, his movements erratic. “Come on, Pete. It’s me. You’re alright,” Tony attempted to reassure. His thumb hovered over the bracelet on his wrist that could summon his suit, reluctant to press it. “Snap out of it, kid. I’ve got you. It’s Tony.”
Just as Tony was about to call the suit, Peter suddenly went slack in his arms. Carefully, Tony lowered them both to the floor, easing Peter out of his hold. He knelt opposite him, watching as Peter’s eyes slowly focused, the confusion clear in his expression.
“Mr Stark…” Peter mumbled, his voice small and disoriented.
“Yeah, it’s me, kiddo,” Tony said softly, hovering uncertainly in front of him.
Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced around the room. Finally, his eyes fell on the knife and his face contorted with horror and guilt. He sat up straighter, more alert, turning his gaze to Tony.
“Oh my God, Mr Stark, I’m so—” Peter began.
“Hey, none of that. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Tony reassured, cutting him off.
“But I could’ve—I could’ve…” Peter stuttered, looking down at his own hands as if trying to comprehend what he’d done.
Tony reached forward and gently took Peter’s hands in his. Peter looked up, his eyes watery and filled with regret.
“It’s fine,” Tony said firmly, “And trust me, you’re not the first assassin stuck in a nightmare trying to stab me. I’ve handled worse.”
Peter looked doubtful but didn’t try to protest any further. Slowly, he got up, Tony following close behind, his gaze never leaving Peter, the worry etched clearly on his face.
Peter moved to the bed and settled into it cautiously, avoiding Tony’s eyes. Tony stood there, unsure of what to say or do. Should he say something? Leave?
He must’ve been staring for too long because Peter finally spoke up.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Peter snapped with a slight growl. Tony blinked, surprised by the sudden heat behind Peter’s words. Peter raised his head, his gaze sharp, “I can tell you found out.”
“Stop looking at me with sympathy,” Peter hissed out, “I don’t need it.”
Tony softened slightly at Peter’s defensiveness, stepping closer to the bed and perching on the edge, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“What, that I’m a monster crafted by Hydra?” Peter spat bitterly.
Tony edged closer, shuffling until he was leaning against the headboard beside Peter. “You’re a good kid, Peter,” he said sincerely.
“No, I’m not,” Peter shot back, “I’ve hurt people. Killed people.”
“You didn’t know any different,” Tony replied simply.
Peter slumped back, his posture softening as he drifted slightly closer to Tony—but not close enough. Cautiously, giving Peter enough time to pull away, Tony wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him in. He rested his chin lightly on Peter’s head.
“You’re so brave. And strong,” Tony said softly, his voice muffled slightly from where his face was buried in Peter’s hair, “You got out of there all by yourself.”
“I killed to do that,” Peter murmured, his guilt evident.
“Trust me, if you hadn’t killed them already. I’d go and kill the bastards myself,” Tony said protectively, tightening his grip around Peter.
Peter scoffed lightly, “You wouldn’t kill for me.”
“Of course, I fucking would,” Tony said firmly, his voice dead serious.
Peter tensed slightly in shock, turning to look up at Tony, noticing the seriousness in Tony’s expression.
“You shouldn’t have had to keep all this to yourself,” Tony said, his tone sympathetic.
“I was scared of what you would think,” Peter mumbled, his eyes downcast.
“I think you’re a kid who’s been through something no one should ever have to,” Tony said softly.
Peter shuffled down, lying on the bed with his head resting on the pillow. Tony’s hand dropped to his hair, his fingers gently combing through it.
“So… you don’t think any different of me,” Peter asked quietly, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“Of course not,” Tony reassured him, “But I do think I definitely should stop doubting you and bring you on more missions. As if earlier showed anything, you can definitely handle yourself.”
Peter let out a small huff of a laugh, “I’ve been trying to tell you that.”
“Yeah, yeah, just go to sleep kid,” Tony said, chuckling softly.
Peter just let out a small contented hum, nuzzling further into the blankets, “Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony promised, letting himself relax against the headboard. Who knows? Maybe he could catch a few hours of sleep tonight after all.