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Everything bad seems to happen after an argument.
At least, that’s how it always feels to Peter.
It had started like any other car ride.
Tony had picked him up from school, with Peter casually hopping into the front seat as they headed for the Tower. It had become a routine for the both of them, now that the internship was official. The usual music was low in the background, and Tony was asking Peter about school, and his plans for lab day.
But Peter had a question he’d been dreading and carrying for weeks, and he thought maybe now was the time. They were alone. Calm. The silence had stretched long enough that Peter finally found the courage to break it.
“Hey, Mr. Stark?” he asked softly, nervously fiddling with the strap of his backpack.
Tony glanced over, brows raised. “Yeah, bud?”
“Do you think I could maybe… get an extension on my curfew for patrol? Just a couple hours? I’ve been keeping up with school, I swear — May checks my grades like a hawk and I’ve got everything under control. I just— I think I can do more. I want to.”
There was a beat of silence. Then:
“You’re seriously asking me this after last week?” Tony’s voice was sharp, stunned even.
Peter looked down, a hollow weight growing in his chest. “I know I messed up. I should’ve listened. But I saved those people—”
Tony cut in, louder now. “At the cost of almost dying , Peter.”
His hands tightened on the wheel. Knuckles white. Voice cracking under the pressure.
Peter flinched, but didn’t back off. Not this time. He’s grown to be more comfortable in front of Tony and is not going to let his confidence fade now.
“I know you said to stay back, but that building was falling . What was I supposed to do? Let those people die? I know you want me safe, but who's going to keep them safe if I don’t?”
Tony’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. “You don’t just get to decide that, kid. You can’t throw yourself into danger every time something goes south. You’re not invincible. You’re fifteen .”
“You think I don’t know that?” Peter snapped. “I think about that every single time I put the mask on. But I still go out there, because someone has to. Because it matters. I can do it, Tony. I can be better.”
Tony’s voice came low, angry. “Then prove it. By staying alive.”
Peter shook his head, scoffing bitterly as he turned away to stare out the window. “So protecting me just means controlling me, then? I feel like I can’t do anything with your constant supervision.”
Tony’s heart thundered in his chest, but he remained irritated. “That’s not fair—”
“No, what’s not fair is having every move I make tracked like I’m some kind of liability, like I’m reckless! You don’t trust me. You think I’m just going to screw up again.”
Tony snapped, voice raised now. “Why do you think I do that, Peter?! You lie about your injuries, you ignore backup, you hide concussions! Half the time I don’t know whether you’re bleeding in a back alley until FRIDAY tells me your vitals are crashing!”
Peter’s fists clenched in his lap. “I’m trying,” he seethed. “I’m trying to be better. I’ve made mistakes, yeah, but I’m learning. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to help me do?”
Tony’s hands were shaking now, the car’s engine humming in the heavy silence between them.
Peter turned, fire in his eyes, voice cracking.
“Why do you even care so much? It’s not like you’re my dad.”
The words hung in the air like a gunshot.
Tony didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the road, but something shifted in his expression, something pained, sharp, and deeply human.
Peter felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn’t meant it—at least, not like that.
“I—” he started, voice suddenly small.
Tony swallowed hard, glancing over briefly. His voice, when it came, was rough with something Peter didn’t know how to name.
“Kid, I know—”
Tony’s words were cut off mid-sentence when a black SUV barreled out of nowhere, slamming into their side with bone-rattling force.
The entire car jolted violently, metal crunching against metal like thunder. Peter barely had time to gasp before he was hurled sideways in his seat, his seatbelt snapping taut across his chest with a bruising grip.
His head whipped hard to the left, smashing into the window with a sickening crack . Stars burst behind his eyes. Glass spiderwebbed beneath his temple.
Beside him, Tony didn’t even get a chance to react. The airbag exploded from the steering wheel in a split-second hiss, slamming into his face with brutal force. His head snapped back, then forward, and he slumped in the seat, motionless.
Smoke began to fill the car, and Peter blinked through the ringing in his ears, dazed, heart pounding in his throat.
“Mr. Stark?” he rasped, voice thick with panic.
But Tony didn’t move.
Peter’s stomach dropped. Blood was trickling down his forehead, hot and sticky.
He was halfway reaching for Tony with his hand trembling as it hovered near his shoulder when his spider-sense shrieked like a siren in his skull.
Danger.
Too many footsteps.
Closing in. Fast.
Peter's breath hitched. Through the shattered windshield and twisted metal, he could make out dark figures approaching like shadows moving with purpose.
With his heart racing, Peter fumbles with his seatbelt, wrenching it off and lunging for Tony.
“C’mon, Mr. Stark—”
But before he could reach him, something latched onto his leg — hard — and yanked him backward.
“No!” Peter cried, twisting and kicking. His heel connected with someone’s chin, but another pair of hands grabbed him, rough and unrelenting.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony’s unconscious form being dragged from the driver's seat.
“Mr. Stark!” he screamed, voice hoarse with panic. He thrashed harder, frantic, only to catch a brutal fist to the side of his face that knocked the world sideways for a second.
He hit the ground hard, gravel and blood stinging his cheek, and suddenly he was being pinned and shoved face-down into the dirt. A knee pressed into his back. Arms yanked behind him and forced into restraints.
Tony was just a few feet away, Peter had never felt so far from him. His mentor was limp in their grasp, blinking slowly like he was barely clinging to consciousness.
Then Peter watched in horror as they cuffed Tony’s hands behind his back and shoved a black bag over his head.
“NO!” he shouted, throat raw. “Get away from him! Stop it—stop!”
A blow to his ribs silenced him mid-scream.
His spider-sense screamed louder. GET AWAY. GET AWAY. GET AWAY NOW.
But before he could react, something metallic locked around his throat. A collar. It snapped shut with a sickening click, and suddenly, his spider-sense went dead quiet. Gone.
Peter froze. Disoriented. Empty.
Then a needle plunged into his arm.
The world tilted, blurred, spun. His limbs went numb. Distantly, as the darkness dragged him under, he heard someone mutter near his ear, voice like venom:
“Filthy mutant.”
Peter came to with a sharp breath, a coppery taste in his mouth, and the distinct burn of rope digging into his wrists.
Rope? His head lolled slightly as he blinked into the dim light of the cell. His senses were sluggish, like his thoughts were moving underwater, but the sudden rush of memory hit him like a freight train: the crash, the shouting, the collar, the needle—
He flinched, gasping, and snapped his head around in panic.
“Mr. Stark?”
“—Kid? Pete, you hear me?” a voice said, strained and hoarse, cutting through the haze.
Peter’s eyes locked onto the figure a few feet away, tied up just like him, slumped slightly forward but alive. Awake. Tony.
Peter exhaled shakily. “Oh. Hey, Tony.” His voice was dry, lips cracked.
Tony tilted his head, brow furrowing. He’d been calling Peter’s name for a while, but the kid had clearly only just registered it. He also just called him Tony — which normally he’d be delighted about on any other occasion. He’s concussed, Tony realized. Or worse.
“You alright?” Tony asked, glancing quickly at Peter’s restraints. “Sorry to hit you with this fresh out of dreamland, but when I say the word — not now — can you break the ropes?”
Peter nodded dazedly and immediately started squirming, attempting to snap the bindings with minimal effort. Nothing happened.
Tony blinked. “Okay… first of all, I said not now. Second—what the hell? That should’ve shredded like tissue paper.”
Before he could process that, the cell door clanged open with a metallic screech, and both of them instinctively froze. Footsteps echoed into the room, slow and deliberate.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped inside, bald and sneering, flanked by three heavily armed goons. His boots scraped across the concrete as he walked with an almost theatrical menace.
He smiled when he spoke. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Spidey over here can’t break out,” he said smugly, jerking his chin toward Peter. “Courtesy of that power inhibitor we slapped on him.”
Tony’s gaze dropped, and that’s when he saw it. The collar clamped tight around Peter’s neck, ugly and metallic, rimmed with angry red welts where it had rubbed his skin raw.
No. No no no.
“You sick sons of bitches,” Tony growled, his voice low and venomous. “You made a collar to strip away powers? Jesus, what kind of monsters are you?”
The bald man just grinned, enjoying himself far too much. “Isn’t it beautiful? These filthy little mutants, walking around like they’re people — thinking they’re superior. Well now? Now they’ve got a leash. Spider-boy here’s nothing without his tricks.”
He took a step forward and reached for Peter’s hair.
“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Tony snarled, jerking against the rope, voice echoing like a gunshot.
The man paused, startled, then turned with a slow grin, eyes glinting. “Ooh. Someone’s protective. What’s the story, Stark? Is Spider-Man secretly your kid or something?”
Tony’s stomach twisted. He didn’t answer right away. His voice, when it came, was cold. Distant.
“He’s just an intern. Leave him alone.”
The man chuckled like he didn’t believe a word of it. “Sure. Just an intern.”
He turned to his men and nodded once. “Let’s see how much that intern’s worth to you.”
The three goons moved at once. Peter flinched violently as they descended, tearing at the ropes binding him only to replace them with firm, brutal hands yanking him upright and pinning his arms.
“Hey! Get off—!” Peter struggled, but sluggishly, still woozy from whatever they’d given him. His legs barely held.
Tony’s heart dropped. He surged forward instinctively, but the restraints held him firm. “What are you doing?! Let him go!”
The bald man crouched beside him now, his breath hot and vile. “We came for you, Stark. But imagine our delight when we discovered you were harboring a mutant. One you seem pretty... fond of.”
He leaned in closer. “You’ve got information. We want it. And if you don’t talk, well…Petey here’s gonna start paying the price.”
Tony’s jaw clenched, rage and fear mixing like acid in his blood. He looked at Peter again, doing his best to provide comfort even with his hands tied. He watched as Peter slightly smiled at him, all while being held back by the men.
Tony eyed the man and asked him, “What do you want?”
The bald man grinned, the kind of smile that made Tony’s skin crawl. Predatory and confident, like he’d already won.
“Nuclear codes,” he said smoothly. “Specifically the ones tied to S.H.I.E.L.D. 's last ghost protocols. Rost II.”
Tony blinked, stunned. “Rost II? That program was buried years ago—”
“We know you had contact with Romanoff. She leaked files before she went rogue. She had access. You were close.” The man stepped forward, voice low and certain. “That means you know something.”
Tony almost laughed — almost. The idea was ridiculous. “You honestly think I have those codes? S.H.I.E.L.D. barely trusted me with their Wi-Fi password. They sure as hell didn’t let me near their nuclear playbook.”
The man’s smile vanished. “Don’t lie to me.”
He snapped his fingers toward his goons, and everything happened too fast.
The guards moved like they’d rehearsed it. One shoved Peter roughly off his feet and onto his knees. Another gripped his shoulder tightly while a third stood in front of him, fist already clenched.
Tony’s blood went cold.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Tony shouted, lunging forward in his restraints. “Don’t touch him!”
Peter blinked in confusion, still groggy, but when he saw Tony’s panic and the man in front of him, understanding dawned on him, and fear followed right after.
“Wait—wait—hey, I’m okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter tried to say quickly, raising his voice over the tension. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Don’t listen to them, don’t tell them anything, I can handle it—”
The first punch came hard and fast across Peter’s face.
He grunted, head snapping to the side, blood immediately blooming from his nose. His shoulders hunched, but he didn’t fall. He forced himself to breathe. He had to stay upright. For Tony.
“ Stop! ” Tony yelled, struggling wildly against the ropes. “You don’t need him — I’m the one you want! Leave the kid out of this!”
But the bald man was watching Peter. Watching the way he swayed after the next hit. And the next.
Peter bit down hard on a cry as the third punch hit his ribs. Something cracked. He knew it did.
Tony’s voice cracked too. “Peter! That’s enough, please! You want info? Fine, take me instead. He’s just a kid!”
Peter gasped, blinking blood out of his eyes. His knees trembled. He could barely lift his head now.
“I’m okay,” he choked out, but his voice was barely there. “Don’t—don’t give in, Tony. Please. I’ve got this—”
He didn’t have it. Not anymore.
Another punch came, sharper, meaner. It sent him collapsing forward, barely caught by the men before he hit the floor.
The bald man finally turned his attention back to Tony, unfazed by the pleading in his voice. “You can end this, Stark. One phrase. One code. Rost II.”
Tony couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look away from Peter, sagging in their grip like a puppet with its strings cut. His lip was split. His eye was already swelling shut.
“He doesn’t have his powers anymore,” the man continued. “That collar took care of that. He’s just flesh now like the rest of us. Breakable. Fragile. And he won’t last much longer.”
Tony yanked at the ropes so hard they burned his wrists raw. His breath was coming in harsh gasps. “Stop it—stop it, please—”
Another hit landed, harder than the rest.
And then…nothing.
Peter sagged.
The sound that left Tony was half-scream, half-sob. “ Peter! ”
The henchmen let go. Peter collapsed onto the cold cement like a discarded doll.
“NO! No no no no.” Tony yelled, trying not to spiral into a panic attack.
The bald man turned with a smirk. “We’ll come back later,” he said, and without another word, the four of them filed out. The heavy door slammed shut behind them.
Tony didn’t notice his wrists were bleeding. He didn’t care. He had already torn through the last strand of rope before the lock had even clicked.
He stumbled toward Peter, dropping to his knees, cradling the kid in shaking arms.
“Underoos… Underoos, come on—” His hands hovered over Peter’s bruised face, not knowing where to touch, afraid to make it worse. “I’m so sorry. Oh god, kid, this is my fault. All of it. I should’ve gotten us out. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve—”
Peter’s lashes fluttered faintly, but he didn’t wake.
Tony curled over him, rocking slightly, whispering in his ear, voice breaking.
“I’m here. I’ve got you. I swear I’m not gonna let them touch you again.”
He brushed Peter’s bloody hair from his forehead and held him tighter.
Peter stirred hours later, still aching, still tucked securely in Tony’s arms. His first sound was a soft groan, more frustration than pain, and that was enough for Tony to shift immediately, brushing sweaty hair back from Peter’s forehead with trembling fingers.
“Hey, Roo,” Tony murmured, voice rough but warm. “How you feeling?”
Peter blinked slowly, as if dragging himself back to consciousness was taking everything he had. Then the memories hit him all at once—like a punch to the gut—and his eyes flew open, wild with panic. His hands grabbed at Tony’s shoulders with surprising strength for someone who could barely sit upright.
“Oh my god, Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry about what I said in the car, I didn’t mean it, I swear—I was out of line and you were right and I—”
“Whoa, whoa, kiddo, shhh.” Tony pulled him into a careful hug at the first sign of Peter’s panic, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles into his back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. We were both being idiots—probably more me than you. I know what you meant. It’s okay.”
Peter let out a shaky breath, his head resting against Tony’s shoulder like it was the only place he felt safe.
“I just—I care about you, you know?” he mumbled.
Tony gave a gentle squeeze. “Course I know, kid. Right back at you.”
They sat in silence for a moment, breathing in sync, until Peter shifted to sit up more fully. “Okay, well... I’m fine. Or like, I will be.”
“Uh-huh,” Tony said skeptically, pulling back just enough to look him over. “Let me see what those bastards did to you.”
Peter instinctively recoiled. “I’m fine, really—”
Tony shot him a look that said don’t test me right now , and after a beat, Peter gave in. Afterall, this was one of the reasons why they had an argument in the first place.
With great reluctance, he let Tony assess the bruises and swelling. Peter’s eye was definitely bruised, with the other starting to swell shut. He could see that his nose was crooked with blood crusted on his philturm, and he could only think about how much it was going to hurt to reset that.
He gently lifted Peter’s shirt and saw the collage of bruises littering his torso. From the deep blues coming from his ribs, he could tell that they were broken, making his heart ache a little more. He continued to look along the kid’s arms and legs, noting the bruising and the cuts.
The sight of the damage made Tony’s gut twist and his throat burn with guilt.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
Peter, perceptive even through the pain, caught the look in his eyes. “Hey. I’m okay. You hear me? I’ve had worse. This isn’t on you.”
Tony didn’t answer, not verbally, but his nod was small and grateful.
He swallowed and then said “As soon as we get that inhibitor of your neck, you’ll be good as a new kid, I promise.”
They spent the next hour talking. Peter told Tony all about life before Spider-Man, after all his powers were temporarily gone and parts of his old life were coming back.
Peter sheepishly admitted to his asthma (“Don’t worry, it’s not the dramatic kind unless you make me run marathons”), and then his terrible eyesight (“So if I’m ignoring you in a crowd, it’s not attitude—I literally just can’t see you”).
Tony laughed dryly and stayed close to him after that, never straying more than a few feet, especially with how dimly lit the cell was.
But the peace didn’t last.
The cell door clanged open with a thud that made Peter flinch. The bald man returned, his men behind him, and Tony instinctively moved in front of Peter, shielding him with his body.
“So,” the man drawled, “Have you decided to give me the codes?”
Tony’s heart pounded, but his voice stayed even. “I told you. I don’t know anything. You’re wasting your time.”
The man sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I didn’t think you’d be this stubborn. But you leave me no choice.”
He gestured, and two of his men rushed forward, grabbing Peter by the arms. Tony lunged, panic overtaking him, but more guards poured in, dragging them apart. Peter fought as best he could, but he was still recovering. Tony screamed, kicked, punched—but it wasn’t enough.
“I was going to wait,” the bald man said casually, “but I guess it’s time to find out what makes the spider tick.”
“NO! Peter—please!” Tony roared, voice cracking.
But the kid was gone, dragged out, the door slammed shut behind them.
Tony collapsed against it, chest heaving, blood pounding in his ears. Failure. Again.
His kid was somewhere in this shitty building getting hurt and he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.
Tony began pacing like a caged animal, eyes darting across the concrete walls and rusted bolts. Every few seconds, he’d slam a palm against a panel, hoping—praying—that something would budge. Nothing. No weakness, no escape. Just reinforced steel and the echo of his own failure reverberating through the room.
“My fault, my fault,” he whispered, breath catching. “Damn it, Peter…”
Then—
Bang.
A sharp gunshot cracked the air like lightning.
Then another.
Followed by the unmistakable thundering cadence of combat boots and muffled shouting.
Tony froze. His heart leapt. His head snapped toward the ceiling vent, just as dust shook loose from the vibrations above.
The team.
He bolted toward the door just as it blasted open with a loud clang and a rush of smoke. Steve Rogers stepped through like a godsend, shield raised and already assessing the room. He was carrying Tony’s suitcase for his suit — thank God.
“Tony!” Steve called, breathless.
Tony didn’t waste a second. “Peter—he’s in one of the lower rooms! They took him—he’s drugged, they were doing something to him, I don’t know what, just—help me find him, now!”
Without another word, they took off down the narrow, flickering corridors, weaving past unconscious guards and overturned crates. Alarms blared overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a wall exploded.
Then—
From behind a dented metal door came a voice, high and panicked:
“Get off of me, you asshole— are those needles?! What the hell?!”
Tony didn’t think. His gauntlet activated mid-sprint, clamping down with a satisfying whirr. He extended his arm and blasted the door clean off its hinges.
Inside, Peter was flailing on a gurney, restrained at the wrists while two thugs in lab coats tried—and failed—to look professional.
“Step away from the kid,” Tony growled, already firing repulsors. The men dropped like bowling pins, groaning as they crumpled.
Tony was at Peter’s side in a heartbeat, eyes wild as he saw the IV dripping a murky fluid into the boy’s arm, but thankfully the collar was off.
“No idea what this is, but I’m betting it’s not orange juice,” he muttered, yanking the needle out with grim precision. “Banner’s gonna have a field day with this.”
Peter blinked up at him, dazed and blissfully unaware of the chaos. “Oh hey, Mr. Tony… You got any grapes?”
Tony paused and looked at Steve. “Oh yeah. He’s high as a kite. Go assemble the rest of the team, I’ll meet you out there.”
Peter squinted harder, as if trying to focus. “Why aren’t you on TV right now? You’re supposed to be at the press thing. Is this a hologram? Did I die? Is this heaven? Why does heaven smell like—like…” He sniffed Tony’s shirt. “Like motor oil and coffee.”
Tony raised a brow. “They really drugged you.”
Peter gasped, scandalized. “I would never do drugs, you take that back.”
“Sure, sure. You’re a regular poster child for the D.A.R.E. program,” Tony said dryly.
“I didn’t even dare anyone to do anything,” Peter mumbled indignantly, attempting to sit up, only to promptly sway sideways and almost faceplant off the table. Tony caught him with one arm and sighed.
“Alright, that’s it. You’re getting carried.”
“Nooo,” Peter moaned, boneless and floppy. “I’m not a baby.”
“You weigh like a backpack full of science textbooks and trauma. You’re getting carried.”
With no further debate, Tony hoisted Peter up into a firm bridal carry. Peter groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his forehead like a soap opera lead. “I deserve a parade for my suffering.”
“You’re getting a juice box and a nap. That’s your parade.”
As they made their way through the winding halls, Peter leaned against Tony’s chest with a sleepy sigh, nestling his head into his neck. “Mmm. This is actually kinda comfy.”
“That’s because you’re delirious.”
“My head hurts…”
Tony smirked. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you try to square up with strangers while on mystery drugs.”
“They started it,” Peter grumbled, eyes fluttering shut. “And they were cowards.”
Tony’s heart clenched. Even drugged and barely conscious, the kid still wanted to be brave.
“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” Tony murmured, voice softer now. “We’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Peter cracked one eye open. “You called me baby.”
“Yeah, don’t get used to it.”
There was a pause. Then:
“…You’re not gonna call me ‘Spider-Baby’ again, right?”
Tony smiled, adjusting his grip. “No promises.”
Peter groaned as he drifted off again. “Ugh. You’re the worst.”
“And yet, here you are. In my arms. Like the world's snarkiest princess.”
“Shut up.”
Tony chuckled, carrying him out into the light.