Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tony

“You sure about this, Tones?”

Rhodey’s voice was loud and clear despite the noise of the jet coming into land.  They both watched from the balcony as the wheels hit the landing pad.

Tony smoothed down his tie, making sure it was tucked neatly into the waistcoat before slipping his hands into his trouser pockets.  This was his favourite suit, tailored to perfection.   Not all armour was made of metal.

“It’s a done deal.  Let’s get this over with.”

Tony started to stalk out; slowing down when he remembered Rhodey couldn’t fall into step as quickly anymore.  The memory was less of a flash of guilt but more of a trickling from the vat he had constantly stoked. 

Rhodey had reiterated many times that he didn’t blame him for what had happened in Leipzig, but that didn’t matter.  He’d always feel responsible.  He was the king of talk, right?  The man with the silver tongue; always knowing what to say to charm the pants off someone, schmooze the press or convince the Stark Industries board to back his latest scheme.  But in that moment, on the tarmac, he couldn’t find the right words to convince Rogers and the others to come in, let alone sign, and then it had all gone to hell. 

Rhodey followed him into the elevator, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Take us to the Rogues, FRI.”

“Guess we’re going to have to stop calling them that now…” Rhodey murmured.   Tony let out a noncommittal hum before Rhodey continued.  “I could think of a few other choice names.  Particularly for Rogers…”

Tony heard the heat in his oldest friend’s tone; protective to the end. 

“Eyes on the prize, Sour-patch.  This is about rising above for the good of the world, remember?”

Rhodey’s locked his jaw.  It’d been an argument between them over the last few months.  Rhodey not understanding Tony’s urge to reconcile and bring the Avengers back together; not after what had happened in Siberia. 

Tony understood; he’d been plenty bitter for the months following, and he still was, but it was different for Rhodey and Pepper.  They’d been the ones to see him afterwards; they’d dealt with the physical and emotional fallout he’d had that had included a relapse into heavy drinking.  It hadn’t been a long one, but it had been deep.  If the shoe had been on the other foot, he might’ve been feeling like Rhodey was now.

Rhodey had argued that they could have added to the ranks from some of the vigilantes that had sprouted up in New York.  They didn’t even have to go far afield.  There were some good contenders there; two super-strong individuals, a scary guy who had extraordinary fighting ability, and a new guy called Spider-Man.  He won the prize for the most ridiculous name of course but he was probably the most interesting.  Definitely enhanced strength, agility and possibly other unique capabilities, unless he had incredible tech which, judging by the onesie he wore, was pretty unlikely.  But all of them stayed close to the ground, mostly patrolling particular neighbourhoods, presumably their own.  They were unlikely to have the breadth of experience in combat situations that the previous team had, and Tony just didn’t know how long there would be to train anyone before the visions in his head became a reality. 

But he didn’t mention that – he had the feeling they thought he was half-mad to still be worried about the thoughts that Wanda had put in his head, clearly done for the sole intention of freaking him out.  But it was hard to express that she’d latched onto his deepest fear – his fear of losing everyone he loved and being the last person left alive — that hadn’t been a fabrication.

The elevator came to a gentle stop. 

Tony made brief eye contact with Rhodey who was looking at him with unshielded concern.  Tony shoved his hands deep into his pockets, in case the slight tremor gave him away. 

“Showtime,” he said, flashing his friend his patented smile before turning and stepping out of the elevator, keeping it plastered on.

Tony had timed it exactly right because of course he had, and as he walked across the hall with Rhodey by his side, the doors opened, and his former friends came through.

Tony felt his stomach twist as he took them in.  Sam Wilson came through first, holding the door for Natasha Romanoff, both of whom looked much the same as when he had last seen them. 

He didn’t have much beef with Sam.  Hell, he’d only known the guy a year or so before the whole shit show started.  They’d gotten on well, but he’d always been Cap’s guy. 

Natasha was a different kettle of fish.  They’d been friends.  Good friends.  And she’d stabbed him in the back.  Or at least that was how it had felt at the time.  Sure, he’d seen her since then— right after the airport —and his care for her had been why he’d warned her to disappear before Ross got to her.  He hadn’t heard from her since then, but she had shown up on a few of his searches, which he had the feeling she had done deliberately so he knew she was still alive. 

Tony, of course, knew that they had been housed in Wakanda from pretty early on.  He hadn’t mentioned it to Ross, but he had sent a gift basket to T’Challa; let him read into that what he will.

Of course, his sister Princess Shuri had recently returned the gift with videos of the Winter Soldier – repeated attempts of the words Hydra used to control him being spoken to him — all of them showing them not affecting him.  Not entirely true – any idiot could see the blind terror on his face whenever he heard them - but they didn’t turn him into an assassin waiting to do someone’s bidding.  He was, for all intents and purposes, free from the conditioning.  Free from it and ready to be sent back to the good ole US of A.  Though the Accords, as weak as they now were, required that he spend 6 months under supervision, and you can only guess who was mandated with that charge.  Joys.

Before Tony could open his mouth to talk to the first cohort, the door opened again to reveal Steve and his sullen sidekick.  Annoyingly Steve looked just as he always had, except this time with a full beard.  It wasn’t the first time he had seen it, or the man himself. Negotiating the terms of the Accords to be palatable to Steve and the rest of the Avengers had necessitated several video calls between them.  He’d mostly had the legal team handle it, but he had been needed a few times.  Seeing him on video link was one thing though, in the flesh was something else entirely. 

Steve walked back into the Compound atrium like nothing had ever happened and he was simply coming back from running an errand – dressed down in jeans and a brown leather jacket.  Tony kind of wished that the beard didn’t suit him, but he couldn’t lie, not even to himself, Steve still looked good rugged.  Damn him.  There was only room for one team member to have impressive facial hair, and it should damn well be him.

Tony looked briefly over to Barnes, whose clothing choices still skewed to black on black, and the man’s eyes immediately danced away from his to look at the floor.  He hadn’t had to converse with the man over his legal issues, Barnes wasn’t an Avenger after all, but he’d sent a team for that.  A POW for so long deserved to be repatriated, regardless of Tony’s personal issues with him.  The world thought he was petty but, though he could be for sure, he tried to rise above it.  Not always successfully but still.  Brownie points, surely?

As they came up behind the others, sunlight caught on the metal on Barnes’ hand – the only part of his arm showing.  Tony couldn’t help but look at it.  He’d seen it in some of the videos – a parting gift.  Vibranium no doubt, though it was difficult to tell from so far away.  He’d kill to get his hands on some.  Well, maybe all he had to do was to get framed for the murder of a Wakandan royal, be attacked in revenge and then maybe he’d get a holiday to Wakanda and some Vibranium to play with.  Imagine a whole suit made of it...

Tony pulled his eyes away, now was not the time to daydream about getting his hands on the greatest substance on Earth.  Also staring was creepy, so Pepper had taught him anyhow.

“Gentlemen, Romanoff.”  He sauntered across the space towards them, pulling on his showman’s smile again and keeping his hands in his pockets to avoid handshakes.  “I trust your trip was uneventful.  No stopping off to intervene in any skirmishes on international soil?” 

Tony let his eyes lock with Steve’s now, which had crinkled around the edges into a soft frown.  “I’m sure you already know that we came right here, Tony.”

Tony raised his eyebrows and gave what he hoped was his most relaxed smile.  One that would belie the way his heart was beating fast in his chest and the sheen of sweat that had begun to coat his fingers.  He clutched some fabric inside his pockets to absorb some of it.  Being close enough to see the blue of Rogers’ eyes and even get a whiff of the cologne he was wearing was enough to send him back to Siberia; for a second he swore he felt the sharp nip of cold against his skin.

“I stopped trying to predict what you might do a while ago, Rogers.”  Tony didn’t wait to see the frown deepen but angled his body to the rest of the group who had formed a loose semi-circle around him and Rhodey.  Rhodey was giving his best disgruntled Colonel look and for once Tony felt like it might not be directed at him.

“Anyway.”  He released his hands from his pockets and clapped them together.  “Welcome back to the Compound.  Not much has changed since you were last here, other than some minor improvements.  Your rooms are exactly how you left them.  And I mean exactly, so you might want to break out a feather duster.  Kitchen has been stocked with essentials; you can order in whatever you like.  Anything you want to know, ask FRIDAY.  Right, girl?”

“I will assist as best I can, Boss.”

Barnes jerked and looked above him.

“That’s just Tony’s AI, FRIDAY.  She runs the Compound,” Steve informed him.

“Welcome to the Compound, Sergeant Barnes.”  The voice intoned from above and Barnes gave a sharp nod in return.

“I’m not sure there are any other introductions necessary.  So, we’ll leave you to settle in.”

Tony went to move away but Steve took a half step forward.  “Wait, aren’t we going to have a team meeting?”

Tony looked back at him like he didn’t understand.

“A meeting so we can all… reconnect…organise some training sessions.  No doubt we’ve missed a lot since we’ve been away…”

“You’ll each find a tablet on your beds which has up-to-date information that you need to be versed on, including a copy of the detailed terms of what you signed in your pardons.  As for a team meeting,” Tony twitched at the words.  “I have a day job, in case you’ve forgotten. FRIDAY can advise you of when I can schedule you in.”

There was that frown again.  Tony didn’t care.  He was immune to it now.  Mostly.  He looked over at Natasha, her gaze level and her eyes assessing as per usual.

“Colonel Rhodes,” Sam spoke: his expression serious.  “Would I be able to speak with you privately?”

Rhodey looked over at Sam solemnly and nodded curtly, indicating with a tilt of his head to the other side of the room.  Sam followed behind him, the whirr of Rhodey’s braces audible in the atrium.  He could tell back at the Raft that Sam felt guilt over what happened to Rhodey, even though his only crime had been to be quick enough to dodge out of the way of Vision’s beam.

Tony wanted to be over there listening to what they were talking about.  He had an idea but…

“So, how have you been Tony?”  Nat stepped forward now, her expression open.

The urge to leave was strong, but he wasn’t about to leave without Rhodes. 

“Busy bailing you guys out.  What about you?  Been doing any more double-dealing, or do you just save that for friends?”

Tony’s eye twitched.  Well, there goes being nice.  He couldn’t help himself, not without Rhodes to rein him in.  He wasn’t that mad at Nat; not really. 

Natasha didn’t even frown at him, though he could see Cap doing it for her.

“I can’t apologise for doing what I thought was right.” 

The words were delivered softly but he still couldn’t help but snap back. 

“Neither can I.”

She quirked her head at him before stepping forward and giving him a kiss on the cheek; essentially disarming him and she knew it.

“I’m going to go and unpack.  It’s really good to see you,” she murmured with a gentle smile as she pulled away.

“You too,” he mumbled, begrudgingly, as she sauntered off towards the elevator.  That was true; he might not trust her yet, what with the backstabbing and all, but he had missed her.   

His eyes darted over to Rhodey, who had a hand on Sam’s shoulder and was talking to him intently.  Hurry up with the emotional moment already.

“Um, Tony,” Steve was closer to him again and Tony urged himself not to step back. He gripped his left wrist in his right hand and rubbed before he looked up into the bright, blue eyes of his old friend, ex-friend, teammate, whatever.  “You got my request, for us to be based in the Tower?”

Tony waited expectantly.

“I just thought, given the restrictions, being in the city would benefit Bucky.  It’s somewhere familiar…might even help his memory.”

Tony’s eyes again flickered to the former assassin, who was stood a few feet back, but judging by how resolutely he was not looking in this direction, he could hear this exchange.

“Yes, stay here or there, I don’t care.”  Tony straightened his cuffs.  He could see in his peripheral vision that Rhodey was shaking hands with Sam and that they’d be back over shortly.

“Will I see you there?  Is that where you are staying?”

Not now.

“Sometimes.  Sometimes here or there.  I’m away with business a lot.  Who knows?”

Rhodey and Sam were almost back with the group.  Time to go.

“Tony, could we speak, one on one?”

Tony’s jaw clicked.  No.  No, thank you.  He eyed the star-spangled man whose arms were open as wide as his expression.  Everything about it said ‘I want to fix this. I want to be friends.’

But life was rarely that simple.  It was about time Rogers realised that.

“No can do.  I’m already late for a meeting.  FRI has my schedule so…”

Rhodey came up.  “All ok?”

“Yes, Platypus.  I’ve got that meeting now.  You coming?”

Rhodey gave them all a nod goodbye, and Tony turned on his heel and went back to the elevator, letting his façade drop only once the doors had closed and he could feel the upward trajectory.

“You ok?”  The words were said casually.

“Always,” Tony repeated reflexively and Rhodey eyed him with well-founded skepticism.

“What did Rogers say?”

“Just checking I was down with his plans for him and Robocop to stay at the Tower.”

“You’re letting them stay at the Tower?”

Tony purposely didn’t look at his old friend.

“In the spirit of co-operation and team unity.”  Tony daring to flick his eyes in his direction now.

Rhodey raised an eyebrow again.  They were getting a damn good workout today.

———

Bucky

The drive from the Compound and into the city was a quiet one.  Bucky didn’t have much energy for talking after the long journey and tense welcome; it didn’t seem like Steve did either.  He hadn’t been back on American soil since he fled Hydra after Project Insight went down.  He was content to take it all in – previous visits in the last 60 years had not been for pleasure. 

As they got into the city, Bucky started paying a bit more attention. Memories from young adulthood started drifting back to him as they came into Manhattan.  The city had changed unimaginably since then and honestly, they’d spent most of their lives in and around Brooklyn – not having the money to come up town all that much, when they weren’t working and trying to get by.

“Looks quite different, huh?”  Steve’s voice came from next to him. 

“It’s not my first time back…” Bucky said reflexively. 

Steve’s face tightened briefly; his tone then forcibly light.  “No, of course not.”

He shouldn’t have said that.  As much as Steve wanted him to talk freely about his past, it was obvious that it pained him; he tried to avoid it.  Steve had been through enough pain because of him as it was.

Avengers Tower soon came into view.  The gaudy building fitted the Tony Stark he’d read up on.  He seemed like a man who liked to put on a show – personally and professionally.  His discomfort earlier, particularly with Steve, had been obvious to anyone with half a brain cell.  Stark could try to hide it with sarcasm all he wanted.  The tension between them boiled down to him and he hated that.  He wasn’t worth it.

The driver pulled the car into the underground car park – it was obviously the private car park as there were an impressive array of very expensive-looking cars.  No doubt who they belonged to. 

They thanked the driver, grabbed their bags and headed into the elevator.  FRIDAY took them straight to the Communal floor and Bucky followed Steve from the corridor into a bright, open kitchen – an opened doorway to the living area flooding light in from the floor to ceiling windows.

The minimalist décor wasn’t all that different to the palace in the Golden City – that was even more ultra-modern than here.  It was beautiful, but it had nothing on the small hut Shuri and T’Challa had allowed him to stay in during his recovery.  He’d been peaceful there – with Steve there a few weeks at a time when he wasn’t off tearing down the remnants of Hydra and working on getting them all pardoned.  The village kids had taken an interest in him and, despite not wanting to, he’d gained a fan club who would seek him out after school and help him tend to the goats that he’d been gifted.  He’d had more than a few teary-eyed kids to deal with saying goodbye to yesterday. 

The way Stark had looked him over earlier; maybe he should have just stayed In Wakanda, where he was wanted, kept to the simple life.  But Steve wanted to come back – to come ‘home’.  Did he even have a home anymore? 1940s Brooklyn didn’t exist anymore; neither did the Bucky Barnes from back then either.

But Bucky would try it here – for Steve’s sake.

“FRIDAY, which room is Bucky’s?”

“Sergeant Barnes’ room is right this way – please follow the lights.”

Lights lit up along the floor and the two men followed them like cats with a laser pen.  There were little symbols above each room – a hammer, a bow, a shield.  A nice touch.  The room the lights stopped at had no symbol.  It made sense.  He was just a temporary fixture after all.

Steve opened up the door and a large, beautifully designed room was laid out in front of him. 

“This is…too nice Steve.”  He’d expected something more like a cell for six months, not this.  His stomach clenched.  He didn’t deserve this.

Steve grinned at him.  “Yeah, the man has good taste or at least good at hiring people who do.”

“Are all the rooms like this?”

Steve gave a nod.  “Rooms were all re-done after Ultron gutted the place, but we didn’t live much here as we were based out of the Compound after that.  Tony took a step back from Avengers stuff then.”

Bucky tilted his head; he hadn’t heard that before. Though Stark wasn’t a topic they’d much discussed since Siberia.  There was a shared guilt there though it was weighted with different things.

“He kind of took Ultron as his own personal cross to bear.”

“Was it?”

“I dunno – a little.  Not intentionally but…well…”  There was tension around Steve’s eyes.  Bucky wasn’t going to push it.  Steve seemed to change tact, purposefully loosening his shoulders and relaxing the muscles on his face.  “So shall we unpack and then go get some food?”

Going out in public might not be the best idea.  Being officially cleared was one thing; he wasn’t sure how the general public would take to his presence.  If he was recognised, would there be ladies with barely concealed fear in their eyes? Children running on sight of his metal arm…

“—Or we could order in some takeout, watch a movie before the jet lag hits us?”  Steve offered up immediately.  Of course, Steve would be the one to notice his unease.  He’d been trained well enough not to give away anything he didn’t want to.  Steve somehow always seemed to know regardless. 

“Can we order in some proper New York pizza?  It’s been decades.”  Bucky let a small grin touch his lips.

Steve returned a full one.  “You bet.”

—-

The white wall was the perfect blank canvas.  Maybe he should put something up there; get Steve to draw something to fill it.  Right now, it only served as a space for him to project his memories on to.  He couldn’t understand why they seemed to still play like movies in his mind when his eyes were open.  Surely that should only happen when he was asleep.  But no, the visuals kept coming, the soundtrack playing through his mind as they did.  It was like that sometimes when a new memory came back.  It had been a while since he’d had one – he hadn’t had any in the few weeks they’d been back in New York.

His brain registered a knock on the door, but he didn’t respond.  After a moment there was some movement from that direction.  He was aware of a weight dipping the mattress, making his body tilt in that direction.

“Bad day?”  Steve’s voice was gentle where it hovered just above and behind him.

Bucky managed to nod slightly:  his chest feeling tighter.

“Can I touch you?”

Bucky paused: sometimes he couldn’t bear to be, especially if he was stuck in a memory of what they’d done to him.  Remembering the time they spent programming him made him shy away from any touch.  But this wasn’t that.  He nodded again.

Steve’s warm body was then a few inches from his, lying on the bed next to him.  Smooth fingers found his arm, holding firmly to his bicep. 

“You’re shaking.”

Was he?  He hadn’t noticed; wasn’t really aware of his body right now.  He could only imagine the memory of the things his body had done to those people; to the lives he’d snuffed out indiscriminately.

“Come here,” Steve’s voice was closer now and he didn’t resist as Steve tugged on his arm and then manoeuvred him around so that he was tucked into his side.  Bucky moved his head, so it was on Steve’s chest.  He could feel the rise and fall of his breaths; a complete mismatch to the frantic bursts coming from his own chest.  Steve moved his arm, offering up his wrist.  Bucky took it; his fingers finding the pulse point. 

“Try to slow your breathing for me, Buck,” Steve said: the voice reverberating through his chest and into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky followed the rhythm of Steve’s heart and pressed his finger harder against Steve’s wrist, finding security in it.  His chest started to loosen, and he realised his breathing started to come easier.  Steve shifted from where he had been rubbing circles on Bucky’s back and his fingers moved with firm strokes along his scalp instead.  Bucky felt almost boneless at that; any tension in his body finally releasing.  He hadn’t thought he’d be able to accept comfort from someone else, not after all he had been through.  But Steve was different; it just felt natural with him.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there but there was an itch at the back of Bucky’s brain.  A memory trying to surface.  He sat up a little on his elbow and looked at Steve.  “We did this before…when we were kids…”

“Yeah, we did,” Steve’s eyes going from concerned to surprised in half a second.

“Huh,” Bucky intoned.  He laid back down then, but this time next to Steve, his head pillowed by a large bicep.  “But you would’ve been smaller…wouldn’t I have crushed you?”

Steve let out a light chuckle.  “Nah.  My Ma said you started doing it when I had been pretty sick.  When they thought that I might…” Steve’s voice trailed off and he stared at the ceiling.

“It reassured me,” Bucky said, the memory more fully formed now.  “If I could feel your heart beating, then I knew you were ok.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed out: the memories of being so vulnerable affecting him too. “You kept doing it even after I got better.”

The memory was clearer now – a few different times of doing it actually.  Even when they were grown men.

“So, we were always such saps, then? Good to know.”

Steve let out a huff of a laugh and gently tapped Bucky’s head with his hand.

“Wanna eat?”

Bucky’s stomach felt hollow.  No doubt he’d spent all morning in his fugue state.

“You bet.”

Bucky followed Steve out to the kitchen and started working on the sandwiches while Steve cut up some fresh fruit for them. 

They were halfway through silently filling their bellies when Bucky remembered where Steve had been all morning.

“How did your team meeting and training go?”

Steve’s brow furrowed.  “Yeah…yeah well, we started sorting out a training schedule, got a sweat on, worked on some manoeuvres.”

For someone who lived for that shit, Steve didn’t seem all that happy.  Unless…

“He didn’t show, huh?”

Steve’s blue eyes darted up to look at Bucky before he let out a huff of air and sat back. 

“No, he didn’t.”  Steve’s fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the marble countertop.

“Still not responding to your messages?”

“Oh, he’s responding – through FRIDAY —only to say that he’s busy.”  Steve let out a sigh, leaning forward on his elbows, running his hands over his face.  “He sends back the same reply to each email, refuses to meet with the team – though I know he’s talked with them when I’m not there.  Hell, I even tried to squeeze a handwritten note through his lab doors…”

“Oh Stevie…”

“…of course it wouldn’t go through because it’s not a normal door, no hole to slip it through.  I just left it propped up against it in the end.  I bet he had a great laugh at that.”

“Maybe he just needs more time.”

Steve carried on like he hadn’t even spoken: the red in his cheeks creeping down his neck now.

“How can I make it up to him if he won’t even be in the same room as me?  We don’t even have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to, but we can’t start over if we are never together.”  They’d had this conversation before, but Steve had never been so open with his emotions about it as he was being now.  The continued dismissal wasn’t something he was used to- not since he became Captain America. He was so hellbent on fixing it, that he hadn’t considered that maybe Stark didn’t want to fix it.  It couldn’t be done one-sided – even for someone with the force of will of Steve Rogers.

Hearing Steve’s pain was hard for Bucky to swallow.  If it wasn’t for him, there wouldn’t be a rift between them now.  Maybe Steve would have worked up the guts to tell him that Hydra had murdered his parents – and that he suspected that it might have been the Winter Soldier. 

“I’m sorry this all happened,” Bucky said, his metal hand clenching by his side.  The because of me hanging in the air between them.

“It’s not your fault, Buck.  What happened between me and Tony?  That was not on you.”  Steve looked at him, waiting for a response.

Bucky looked back at him and gave him a firm nod; noticing the tension start to ease from Steve’s shoulders as he did.

“I know, Stevie.”

For once he was pleased that Hydra had taught him to be such a good liar.

----

Peter

The clang of the metal seemed to reach his ears before any pain from the impact got to his other senses.  It swelled then: pain shooting through the back of his head and along his arm.

Peter instinctively started to move away but Flash’s hands pushed him back; a further clang – and spike of pain — resounding from the locker behind him. 

“Mr Harrington just asked me a question.  I couldn’t ignore him.”  Why was he bothering to try to reason with Flash?  It’s not like it’d ever worked before.

Flash’s eyes were darker than normal: his face split with a scowl.  “You were trying to make me look stupid.”

Peter’s eyes flitted about the corridor.  Good, there were no teachers around; the last thing he needed was to catch their attention.  He caught Ned’s eye from across the hall; anxiety plastered all over his best friend’s face.  He shook his head slightly to make sure he knew not to try to intervene. 

A spark of pain brought his attention back to Flash, whose fingers were now digging into the flesh of his shoulders, his expectant face still like thunder.  Had there been a question in his tirade?  Peter withheld his tired sigh: he’d just answered the teacher’s question– it wasn’t his fault that he’d gotten it right when Flash had been wrong moments before.

“I really wasn’t.”

Flash pushed him hard one more time before stepping back.  “Whatever, you are still a loser, Penis.”

Flash stalked off, two of his cronies following loosely behind. 

Peter bent down to pick up his knocked-down backpack as Ned scuttled over from the other side of the corridor.

“Are you ok?”  Ned’s eyes were full moons, the worry for his best friend clear.

“I’m fine, Ned.  No big deal.”

Ned helped him pick up a few items that had fallen out; a pencil and a half-eaten granola bar, which he shoved back into the worn bag.

“He never used to get so…physical,” Ned said, his eyebrows furrowed as Peter rubbed the back of his sore head rhythmically.  As much as he knew he was capable of stopping Flash if he wanted to, it didn’t stop it from hurting. 

“Yeah, that’s certainly new,” Peter said as they started to amble down the corridor.

“I think it’s because of his parent’s divorce,” MJ’s voice came from behind them, making both boys jump. 

Ned’s eyes were wide again as he clutched his chest.  “MJ!  Don’t do that.”

“I thought your weird sixth sense would alert you,” MJ said, angling a bored look in his direction.

“Spidey sense,” Ned corrected her for the hundredth time.

“Shhhh,” Peter said to Ned whose so-called whisper voice was non-existent. 

“Nobody here pays attention to us, don’t worry,” MJ said, hiking her bag up on her shoulder.

“Point,” conceded Peter, “but anyway, it doesn’t work like that; only if there is like danger, or a threat or something.” 

“You’re telling me that you no longer find me scary, Parker?”  MJ raised her eyebrow like that was a challenge.  Peter’s stomach lurched.

“If I say yes, will you stop thinking up ways to make me scared of you again.”

“Maybe.” A wry smile crinkled her cheeks.  “Come on dorks, let’s get out of here.”

Peter and Ned followed behind MJ – it was always best to do what she said.

His phone beeped just as they made it outside the school gates, and he pulled it out.

Mr Delmar: Can you come by and do a few hours for me today?  

Peter grinned and sent a quick affirmative reply.

“Good news?”  Ned asked as he fished around in his bag for his metro card.

“Yeah, Mr Delmar needs a hand tonight.”

Ned beamed back at him.  “That’s great.  He always pays right away, doesn’t he?” 

“Yeah, cash in hand.”  Peter beamed.  And he didn’t have to worry about eating later on as Mr Delmar always gave him a sandwich on the house.  Best subs in Queens.  

“Awesome!”  Ned reached out and they busted out their super handshake.

MJ rolled her eyes as she buttoned up her coat.  “I can’t believe you two are my only friends.”

Ned laughed, nudging an elbow against her.  “You love us really.  Let’s have a go at making a new three-way handshake.  C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Ew, no.”  MJ gave him a scathing look.  “And don’t mention me in the same sentence as ‘three-way’ ever again, Leeds.”

“Hey, are you Peter Parker?”

Peter turned to see a senior girl – Maddie he thought her name was - in front of him, a frown on her face.

“Yeah?”

“My friend Liz said that you’re good at fixing up phones.  I dropped it and the screen is cracked.  If my Dad finds out I broke it again, he’s going to kill me.”  The girl worried her lip with her teeth.

“Sure, I can have a look at it.”  She handed it to him, and Peter turned it over in his hands – looked like a fairly simple screen replacement.  He looked at the make and model.  “It’ll probably take me a day or two and then it will be about $50 all in.”

The girl’s expression changed into a broad smile.  “Great.  Thank you!”

If he could get the screen for the same price as the last one he did, that would be $30 for his time.  Awesome.  The day was starting to look up.

“Come on, we’ll miss the train,” called MJ from where she and Ned were moving towards the station.  Peter ran after them with a smile on his face.

---

Peter put the final bag of chips neatly onto the rack.  All done.  Peter picked up the now empty crate and headed up to the counter.  Mr Delmar didn’t look in his direction, his attention firmly focussed on the TV.  Captain America and Tony Stark were on screen, shaking hands in front of a podium:  tight smiles on their faces.  The banner across the bottom of the screen said: “Accords signed: Rogue Avengers Reinstated.”

“They finally got their shit together,” Mr Delmar grunted to himself, “about time.”

Peter squinted at the screen; he didn’t know too much about the whole fall out and the Accords business.  He’d been knee deep in his own crisis at the time; the details had passed him by.  But he didn’t want to think of back then; he was glad the Avengers were back though.  No New York kid couldn’t be a fan after they saved them all in 2012.  Tony Stark was always his favourite though – how could he not be to a science and tech geek like him.

“You done already?”  Mr Delmar looked down at the empty crate, a grey eyebrow arching slowly up.  Peter handed it over the counter to him with a nod and he took it, putting it to the side.  “You do realise you get paid by the hour, right kid?”

“Got to get it done quickly.  My boss is a real hard ass…” Peter sent him a cheeky grin.

“Oh really?!”  Mr Delmar’s eyes twinkled in delight.

“Besides, I’ve got places to go, people to see, Mr D, you know that.” Peter shot him some finger guns and Mr Delmar let out a loud snort.

“You want your wages now so you can go out on the town?”

Peter nodded, trying not to seem too over eager for it as Mr Delmar opened the cash register and took out some notes.  “Yep, you know me, I’ve got to hit up the casino; put all my money on red.”

The money felt good as it landed in his fingers: his chest loosened a bit knowing he’d be able to eat well, for a few days at least.  He bent down and slipped it into his sock; it’d be safe there.  Mr Delmar raised an eyebrow.  “Lost my wallet last week,” Peter said in explanation.

“Uh huh,” Mr Delmar eyed him suspiciously.  “I made your sandwich already – a number 5 with pickles, squished down flat – I’m like your mother remembering this shit.”

“Thanks Mr Delmar,” Peter said, taking a look inside the plastic bag.  It was a double order.  Peter looked up at Mr Delmar in surprise before reaching down towards his sock. 

“Uh uh. Keep your money, Parker.  You looked like you could use an extra sandwich – you’re like a string bean.”  Mr Delmar rested his weight on the counter; leaning on his elbows so he was more on Peter’s eye level.  “They feeding you properly, this new place?”

Peter’s smile almost faltered but he was used to lying at this point.  “Keep up Mr D, I’ve been there months now.  Speaking of which, I better get back before curfew.”

Mr Delmar’s face showed him that he noted Peter’s avoidance of a full answer, but he didn’t follow up.  He reached behind the counter and handed Peter’s backpack over to him which he quickly strapped on.

“You’ll let me know, if you need me again, yeah?”  Peter said, as he backed towards the door, his plastic bag tight in his hand.

Mr Delmar gave him a two fingered salute.

Peter had one hand on the door when he heard his name.  He turned and caught the packet of gummy worms before it hit him; sending a thankfully smile Mr Delmar’s way.

“Gracias!”

---

The sandwich was long gone, his clothes swapped out, as Peter crouched on the top of a building.  Was it weird to have a favourite building?  Probably.  But as someone who could stick to walls with his fingertips, his barometer for normal was somewhat skewed. 

Queens was his home:  the sights, the smells, the rude people.  It was all he’d ever known, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.  This building wasn’t the tallest and not quite in the middle of Queens, but it gave him a decent view around a large part of the area.  And if it was the perfect distance between his current home, Ned’s place, and the nice churro lady, well, that was just an added benefit.

He took in that view now; the muscles in his body fully unfurling for the first time all day.  He felt more like himself under the mask nowadays than he ever did without it. 

Peter adjusted his mask now so he could sneak a gummy worm; ignoring the tickle of the tiny bits of lint against his face.  He couldn’t help but smile as the sugar hit him; it was easy to forget his troubles when he was out being Spider-man.  No cowering against lockers or scrabbling around for a few dollars.  Just using what he had to help as many people as he could.  Nobody would get hurt on his watch, that he made sure of. 

Peter had just swallowed down his last gummy worm when he heard shouts coming from the distance.  He wiped his fingers of sugar, readjusted his web shooters and, with a smile hidden beneath his mask, took a running jump off the building.

Chapter Text

Tony

Tony kept the wide press-appropriate smile on his face as he gripped Steve’s hand in his and tried not to flinch at Steve’s hand on his shoulder.  The camera flashes did little to relax his body which was strung tighter than the strings on Clint’s bow.

His muscles relaxed once they could finally unhand each other and step back.  He half-listened as Secretary of State Ross spoke about the wonderful work of the Avengers and how they were moving towards a future of cooperation with governments, both foreign and domestic, to keep the world safe from threats.

Tony suppressed an eye roll at the usual politically neutral diatribe – especially from Thaddeus Ross whose thinly veiled hatred of the Avengers was obvious to anyone with half a brain cell.  Tony had agreed to this public showcase under duress, but it was a necessary evil.  The public needed to be reassured that the Avengers’ issues were resolved; luckily, they had no insight into what actually went on behind closed doors.

He and Steve had spent the morning giving almost identical interviews to various news outlets; sat next to each other in tall chairs like the stars of upcoming movies at a press junket.  That was actually pretty close to the mark.  Hell, the other week he’d even had a script sent to him asking if he’d endorse it.  It was a hilariously off-the-mark story of the events around the Accords, the ‘Civil War’, as the press had dubbed it, and their split.  No mention of parent-murdering brainwashed Centenarians and so-called friends keeping important secrets from another.  Tony was relieved that at least no one knew about all that. 

Tony’s attention returned enough to notice that Ross had wrapped up his bit so he plastered his smile back on, watching Steve doing his megawatt all-American smile and hand waving thing.  Sickening.

There was a clambering for questions, but they’d already done that part, so he simply clamped his hand on Steve’s back– probably rougher than necessary but hey, sue him – and joined in a round of waving for the last few photocalls. 

As soon as he thought he could get away, he turned, his smile dropping instantly as he headed down the side of the stage and towards the back door. 

He tapped his glasses.  “FRI, where is Hap with the car?”

“Take a right out of the door and Mr Hogan is parked at the end of the alleyway.”

The exit led out into an alley- the black town car hovering at the end of it. Tony got there and slipped in.

“How’d it go, Boss?”  Happy asked without turning around. 

Tony took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.  He needed more sleep.  “It went.”

Happy snorted before easing them into the New York traffic.  After a few minutes, they were able to take the first turning, and Tony couldn’t help but notice the hordes of people gathered outside of the venue they’d just been in. 

Steve stuck out like a sore thumb in his red, white, and blue uniform with the shield on his back making him look like a turtle.  Reporters and the general public swarmed around him like he was public property, and he was backed up against the wall.  No doubt too polite to tell them to back off.  Steve was smiling but he had to be uncomfortable – especially with the number of women trying to touch him.  Idiot, he should have gone out the back –maybe his time out of the spotlight had lessened his memory of the grabby hands of the general public.  Steve had always been popular but his recently earned ‘bad boy’ image had only amped that up.  Tony should know – he’d had a fair amount of hate mail for driving away ‘America’s Ass’.

The car started to edge past the venue. It was honestly hard to look at, painful almost, the way the fangirls were screaming in his face, hysterical.  How they grabbed at him.  It gave Tony anxiety just looking at it; taking him back to when he was younger - shoved in front of cameras when he was too young to protest or know to protect himself.  

Fuck it.  He couldn't keep looking at this. 

“Hold up, Hogan.”

Tony lowered the window and stuck his head out.  He gave a long whistle that reached over the noise of the crowd, Steve’s head snapping in his direction.

What was he doing?  This was a bad idea. 

“Your chariot awaits, Spangles.”

Tony wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a more thankful expression on Steve’s face.  He edged his way through the crowd now, throwing up a few final waves as he did.  He opened the door, slipped the shield off his back in a swift motion, and climbed in.

Damn, well, it was too late to re-neg now.  This was why Pepper was right when she said he shouldn’t make rash decisions. 

Happy must have pressed the button as the window zipped up quickly, blanketing out most of the noise.

“Holy hell,” Steve pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his mussed-up blond hair.  “No concept of personal space.”

Tony grunted. 

“Thanks for the save there,” Steve’s voice held a nervous edge to it.  “I’m not sure I would’ve gotten out of there before sundown otherwise.”

“Even I wouldn’t let you get fed to the lions.”

Steve smiled again and Tony looked away, fishing his phone out of his pocket for a barrier.  He’d gone to great lengths to avoid Steve for the last few weeks and, somehow, he’d managed to ruin it in one magnanimous moment.  If he had a therapist - and he really should start seeing one again - he was sure they’d say he must secretly want to spend time with Steve, or some other total, utter bullshit. 

“So, I think today went well, all things considered…”

That wasn’t a question but even from his peripheral vision, he could see Steve’s head tilted in his direction.

“Yeah, they loved us.  Why wouldn’t they?  Your previous stage experience always comes in handy.”

Steve let out a little huff and for a second it was almost like before - Steve shaking his head at Tony’s propensity for flippancy.  Tony inhaled and tapped on his tablet.

Apparently, Steve was not taking the hint, or choosing not to, as after a few beats, he carried on; “Well, thanks for agreeing to do this, I know how busy your schedule is.”

Tony couldn’t help but turn and narrow his eyes at the man.  Was that a jibe at him?  But Steve was looking out of the window and when he played it back there had been no heat in his tone.

“Well, we have to put forward a united front,” Tony said offhandedly.

“Even if we aren’t,” Steve said softly, eyes definitely on him now.

“I didn’t think you had any qualms about keeping up a pretence.”

Tony stared hard at his phone.  He wasn’t going to get into it with him.  He wasn’t.  He didn’t want a conversation, a heart to heart.  He didn’t want to get guilted into forgiveness when he was just still too angry.  His chest started to tighten, and he cupped his wrist, rubbing soothing motions.

He waited for Steve to sigh, to bring it up, to do something, but all he did was stare down at his fingers. 

The car moved along; silence coating the inside like a thick soup.

“I really am sorry for not telling you what I discovered…and what I suspected, Tony,” Steve’s voice was quiet but clear, but it might well have been on loudspeaker for the way it was booming around Tony’s head.

Tony gritted his teeth; hard enough to shoot sparks of pain through his jaw.  He wanted to push it away – this sliver of a thought that curled dangerously in the back of his mind – that he wanted to forgive him.  That he wanted his friend back.  But what was the point if there was no trust?

Tony continued tapping into this phone – total nonsense – but anything to stop himself reacting in any way.  Hogan must have found a way to circumvent New York traffic as they were suddenly pulling into the Tower garage.  Tony let out a breath and squeezed his phone into a pocket as they came to a stop by the elevators. 

Happy stayed with the car – traitor – and Tony endured a painfully quiet elevator ride up.  He was thankful once again for his own hand in making the elevators super quick.  The doors opened onto the communal floor and Steve paused.

“Um, Tony, do you want this back now?”  Steve’s hand was on the shield, where it was leant against his shins. 

Tony had brought it to the interviews and handed it to Steve in front of the first reporter. (‘Silly goose, left it at home’).  He’d quite enjoyed watching Steve trying to recover his composure to that - which was exactly why he’d done it.  Tony looked at the shield.  His ranting about it back in Siberia just seemed stupid now – the raging of a defeated, grieving man.  If they were truly going to be the Avengers, and he was going to be associated with them, then they were damn well going to have the best tech, regardless of his stubbornness. 

“Howard made it, but he made it for you.”  The words almost choked out of him; the raw emotion surprising him.  He quickly pushed it down.  “Besides, it doesn’t really go with my whole aesthetic.” 

Tony pushed his glasses on with a trademark smirk as he saw Steve take in his words with a measured nod. 

“Thank you, Tony.”

Tony gave a shrug of his shoulders as Steve left the elevator.  Before the doors could close, Steve reached back in; his arm stopping them close.

“Um, Tony, in the spirit of total honesty…” Tony felt his stomach tighten at the unease in Steve’s eyes.  “You should know that I talked to Fury about the possibility of Bucky joining the Avengers.”

Tony’s breath caught; just for half a second as his mind computed the information.  It actually didn’t surprise him; it had crossed his mind that it might end up that way.  What say would he have anyway if it came down to a vote?  The whole Accords situation had shown him where most of their loyalties lay.

“So, just to be clear, you’re ‘so sorry’, that you asked Fury about making Barnes an Avenger?!”  Tony crossed his arms to stop them shaking; he wasn’t sure if that was out of pure rage or fear.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, averting his eyes.  “Look, I was just floating it as an idea, I haven’t even talked to Bucky about it…he may not even want to…”

Tony’s hand slammed against the side of the elevator, the metal clanging in response. 

“This was your great plan to become friends again?!  If you really wanted to be even my teammate again, you wouldn’t try to get me to work with the man who murdered my parents!”

Steve stepped back a bit at the anger in Tony’s eyes before speaking quietly.  “It wasn’t him, Tony.  If you just got to know him a little…”

Tony closed his eyes and willed his heart rate to go down: tried to stop the edges of his nails pushing too hard into the flesh of his palms.

“It was and it wasn’t.  I’m not a moron, I get how brainwashing works.  I’ve read the fucking files of what they did to him.”

There was an almost hopeful look in Steve’s eyes.  “Then…?”

“Then nothing.  Jesus, did the ice freeze your brain?  I’m going to have to spell it out for you?”  Tony threw a hand in the air now: the ridiculousness of this giving way to anger.  “There is no universe where I trust him enough to have my six.  I barely trust you at this point.”

Steve froze seemingly unable to come up with a counter to that point.  He was a soldier; he knew how important that trust was. Tony took that as his cue to leave.

“FRIDAY, Penthouse.”

Tony caught a flash of Steve’s broken expression as the doors crisply closed.

---

Bucky

Bucky was pretty sure that Natasha wasn’t a super-soldier.  But watching her down her fifth shot of vodka without it seeming to have any effect was making him doubt that belief.

She wiggled the bottle at him from where she sat on the floor; guns and knives spread out in front of her, taking up the majority of space on the coffee table.

He held out his glass and she refilled it.

“It really doesn’t affect you, does it?” She asked; though he felt like that was really a question he should be asking her.

Bucky shrugged.  One handler had always shared his vodka with him post-mission; that was the only decent thing about him, and he’d been the best of the bunch.

“Not that way: still warms me up though.”

“Next time, we’ll dig out some of Thor’s mead.  If you are built like Steve, it’ll get even you hammered.”

A smile brushed his lips: it could be fun to let loose a little.  It’d been a long time.  He lifted his glass; she followed suit.

"Tvoyo zdorov'e” Bucky said, as he raised his glass higher.

"Cheers," she responded back to him, clinking her glass against his.

Bucky flashed her a grin in return which she returned before they downed their shots in tandem: the warmth spreading through his chest. Bucky picked up the taken apart weapon in front of him and resumed cleaning it.  A finger came into his eye line, pointing at the trigger. He drew his eyes up to hers. 

“You missed a bit.”  Amusement tugged at the edge of her lips. 

He knocked her hand away and threw an oily cloth at her.  She dodged it; a laugh spilling out and he couldn’t help the smile that split his face in kind.   

“What happened to that good aim, Barnes?”   

There wasn’t anything left to throw that wouldn’t injure so he threw up a hand signal instead. 

“Oooh, naughty,” she smirked, picking up a different weapon and starting to work on it. 

There was warmth in Bucky’s chest, and he knew it wasn’t coming from the vodka.  There was a longing there too – something about Natasha that reminded him of one of his sisters – more a vibe than anything in particular.   More than anyone he supposed they should have things in common – she too having been conditioned by a Russian agency.  Natasha didn’t play to that though.  She was meant to be living up at the Compound with Sam and the remnants of SHIELD, but she’d come by a few times a week for supposedly random reasons.   Today’s excuse had been that she’d left something here; she’d come back from her room and emptied out her weapons onto the table.  He’d offered to help clean, and they’d worked their way through them as they watched Steve and Tony on TV:  Nat gently mocking Steve throughout. That he’d enjoyed. 

They sat again in what was companionable silence for them, each working to diligently clean each item.  It wasn’t like he was going to be wielding anything for a long while, but at least it gave him something to do. 

A few minutes later he heard raised voices from the hallway – not loud enough that he could make out the words.  He and Nat met eyes at the same time.  It was over before he could get to his feet; he could make out Steve’s familiar heavy-footed stomps from here – he’d never been stealth.

“Steve?” he called out.

Steve came to the door then; his mouth was a tight line, and his shoulders were pulled up. 

“Really Nat, there is a literal armoury downstairs.”  Steve glared at the mess on the coffee table.

Nat gave Steve a level look.  “I know; this is my personal stash.  I’ll clean up, don’t worry, Dad.”

Steve rolled his eyes – at the Black Widow - even if they are friends, that’s not smart, right?

Natasha, however, seemed unperturbed.  Bucky’s eyes were drawn to what was in Steve’s hand.

“You got your shield back?  The real one?”  Bucky looked up at him shocked.  He’d seen it on the TV but presumed it was a fake; he didn’t think that would ever be a possibility.

Steve looked down at his hand as if he had forgotten it was there. 

“Yeah, Tony gave it to me at the interviews.”  A cloud ran over his face.  That had to be good news but nothing in Steve’s demeanour suggested that.  Steve’s jaw clicked.  “I’m going to get changed.”

Steve strode away as quickly as he had arrived, leaving the two of them sitting there.  Bucky exchanged a look with Natasha.  She shrugged in answer to his unasked question.

“It’s good you’re here now so that I don’t have to deal with…” She swirled the gun in her hand in the direction Steve went. “…whatever is going on with him.”

Bucky shook his head at her but got to his feet, padding down the hall after his best friend.

He didn’t bother to knock on the door; just opened it and stepped inside. 

Steve was finishing pulling off the top half of his uniform, his pale skin gleaming under the lights.  When he looked up at Bucky’s entrance, there was a weariness in his eyes.  The blue eyes darted away again quickly: a sure Steve Rogers sign that he was hiding something.

Bucky sat on the bed, sticking one leg underneath him with an air of the casual.  Steve chucked his top and helmet onto the armchair: movements stiff. 

“You just gonna sit there and watch me change?” Steve’s voice was terse.

“Looks like a pretty good show from where I’m sitting,” Bucky eased himself back onto one elbow with a smirk.

There was no response to the tease, just an unreadable expression flitted over Steve’s face and it made Bucky’s stomach flip.  He didn’t like not being able to read him.  Not Steve.

Steve’s face shuttered back to a neutral expression as he pulled off his trousers; strong legs and ass exposed before they were covered over with some jeans.

Bucky decided to take the lead.  “So, I saw the press conference…seemed like it went well.”

“Yeah, it was as expected, I guess.”  Steve quickly pulled a white t-shirt over his head.

“Nice of Tony to give you the shield back…” Bucky wasn’t one to beat around the bush.

Steve’s jaw tightened.

“Or maybe it wasn’t…?”

Steve sighed, his shoulders dropping – like he finally decided to tell the truth, and this was his body’s way of showing it.

“It was…really nice…he even rescued me from the crowd…and we drove back together…he listened to my apology.”

Bucky sat up.  “That’s great.” 

It was just what Steve had been desperate to do, face to face, since they’d got back.  If Tony was finally starting to be open to talking to Steve, then maybe they could start to repair the damage that he’d caused between them.

Steve’s grimace said otherwise. 

“What?”

“We were getting on and he returned the shield and I just thought…I’ve got to be honest with him, even painfully so from now on, I have to.”  Steve’s face had that determined, almost righteous, look on it.

Bucky didn’t know where this was heading; the rising feeling in his stomach telling him that he wouldn’t like it.

“So, I thought I better tell him, you know, in case it got back to him from another source…” Steve’s eyes were very firmly not looking in his direction and it sent little ‘warning, warning’ flares within him.  “…tell him that I talked to Fury about whether there would be a possibility of you joining the team.”

Bucky stilled; full sniper level.  Not even breathing.  As if conserving energy for what came next.

“You did what?!” He was shouting, but he didn’t care about how it made Steve flinch.

“Buck…”

“Why would you think that Stark would be remotely ok with that?  Why the fuck would you ask Fury that?  We haven’t even talked about that.”

“I know, I was just floating the idea, to see if it would even be a remote possibility.”

“Why would you do that?  You don’t get to decide that for me.”

Steve looked almost hurt; he stepped forward.  “I know Buck, please....”

“I don’t know what I want to do now but I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about that.”  Bucky spat out.

Steve looked crestfallen.  “But we could be side by side again, you and me.  Like we used to.”

Bucky tried to bite his own lip; anything to stem the rise of anger that was pushing up through his stomach and into his chest.

“Stop it!  Stop trying to make me into ‘James Buchanan Barnes circa 1943’.  He’s dead, Steve.  He’s been dead for 70 years; don’t you get that?”  Steve flinched; so much pain in his eyes but Bucky couldn’t stop.  He stepped forward; his hands clasped into fists at his side.  “I’m never going to be that person again.  Get that into your thick fucking skull.”

The door slammed back against the wall as he yanked it open, probably fucking up the plaster.  He strode past Natasha without a look or a word before slamming the door of his own bedroom shut.

---

Bucky was out of practice with stealth missions, but his body seemed to still know what to do.  He’d been loitering in the garage for an hour now, staying hidden just out of sight. 

His head felt heavy; too long crawling with memories he’d rather not replay.  Sleep had been elusive for most of the night; anger twisting his stomach and guilt clawing at his throat. 

Steve was…well, a fucking idiot.  He’d read some history books about him when he’d been on the run: ‘Steve Rogers; master strategist, tactical genius’.  What bullshit; in truth, he was led by his emotions half the time, always had been.  Hydra taught Bucky that emotions were pointless; potentially dangerous.  Maybe Steve could learn a bit from that.

When the guy they called Happy came out of the elevator and brought a car around, he knew he might be in luck.

Stark exited the elevator idly, his face fixated on a sleek phone that he was tapping away on.

Bucky’s feet moved him forwards before he could change his mind.

“Mr Stark?”

The man’s head snapped up; honey brown eyes widening as they saw him.

Bucky put his hands up in a placating manner; Stark’s eyes darting to his metal hand.  He slipped it behind his back:  it wasn’t the same one but that didn’t matter.

“I wondered if you had a minute to talk?”

Stark’s face relaxed a little as his eyes roved over Bucky for a moment; like he was taking in each detail.  It gave him a moment to do the same; even with the little he remembered about Howard during the war, Bucky could see similarities around the eyes and mouth.  An image came without consent - pulling Howard’s limp body into the driver’s seat.  Bucky bit down on the inside of his cheek - no, that was not the train of thought he needed right now.

Happy got out of the car, shooting a distrustful look in Bucky’s direction.

“You alright here, Boss?”

Tony looked briefly at Happy before nodding towards the car.  “I’ll be a minute.”

Happy sent another suspicious look Bucky’s way before he got back into the driver’s seat.

Stark put his hands in his pockets as he took a few steps closer to Bucky, who had purposely kept his distance.

“What can I do for you, Sergeant Barnes?”  Stark’s body was tight but not in the way that he wanted to fight Bucky.  But if he did try, Bucky wouldn’t try to stop him.  “I was tricked into talking to Rogers yesterday, I didn’t imagine that it’d lead to a free for all.”

He should just apologise but at the same time, every phrase he had tried out just sounded hollow.  There was no greeting card to make amends for taking someone’s family from them.  He stuck with what he had rehearsed.

“I wanted to apologise.”

“I don’t need an apology from you, Barnes.” Stark’s voice was clipped but he looked more weary, than anything else.

Bucky’s head dropped.  No, he wouldn’t.  It wouldn’t mean anything to him.  Why would it?

“Ok.”  Bucky shook his head and ploughed on with the other part of it.  “Look, I also want you to know that whatever Steve said to Fury, I had no part in that.”

Stark shifted his weight but didn’t look surprised. 

“I have no intention of getting in the way of the Avengers.  It wasn’t what I ever wanted.  And I won’t be trying to join the team.  I appreciate all you did with the pardons and I know you’ve got stuck with me for six months.  I’ll be sure to stay out of your way while I’m here.  Once they are up, I can make it so you never have to see me again.”

Stark’s piercing eyes were on his again; an eyebrow raised.  “I’m not sure Cap will be happy with that.”

“Well, it’s not all about what Steve wants,” Bucky returned sharply.

Both eyebrows raised at that and he nodded imperceptibly.

Bucky faltered for a moment.  There was so much more to say but at the same time nothing worth saying.

“Thank you for your time,” Bucky said stiffly, taking a few steps back.

Stark paused for half a second before he nodded firmly once and then got into the car.

---

The knock on the door came later that night.  Bucky hadn’t been avoiding Steve after he’d stormed out the night before, but by the time he’d spoken to Tony and gone to his therapy appointment, over 24 hours had passed.  The lack of sleep from the night before had meant that he’d had a nap when he got back from the quack’s office, but it had been fraught with bad dreams that had left him feeling hollowed out for the remainder of the day.

“Come in,” Bucky croaked, his throat thick after his earlier nightmare.

Steve did; a tray in his hand.  His blue eyes swept over Bucky, immediately seeming to get his mood.  It was annoying that there wasn’t much he could hide from the man.

“I knocked for you for dinner earlier, but you were sleeping.”

He nodded, shifting his weight up the bed so that he was leaning up against the headboard.

“Figured you’d be hungry by now.”

Steve was still hovering by the door; waiting to see what his welcome would be.

“Sure, thanks.”

He smiled broadly and brought the food over to Bucky, who took it from him wordlessly.

It was a thick soup and several slices of buttered bread, as well as a tall glass of milk.  Good choice -it would be about all he could bear to eat right now.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed by his feet as he took a few mouthfuls of soup.  It was warm and the right amount of salty.  “You make this?”

Steve nodded.  “Had a bit of downtime this afternoon so I made a big batch.”

“It’s good,” Bucky said around a mouthful of bread.

“Yeah, tell me that later when your mouth isn’t full.”

He shot out a cheeky grin and Steve gave a little laugh.

There was a quiet moment, with Steve sat there, fiddling with his sleeves and Bucky chewing.

“I know you’re not the same person anymore.”

Bucky’s spoon stopped in mid-air.

“I shouldn’t have made assumptions about what you want to do with your life.  Or even that you’d want to be stuck with me after these six months.  I…just…don’t want to lose you.  Not again.”  Steve sounded about as wretched as he ever had.

He abandoned the tray to the other side of the bed and shuffled forward, putting his arm around Steve in a side hug.  Steve quickly twisted around so that he was fully hugging Bucky, both arms wrapped around him in a tight grip.

Bucky let out a breath and hugged him back.

“You’re not going to lose me.  End of the line and all that.”  He felt Steve huff into his shoulder: a warm press of air through his top.

“Promise?”  Steve said, the word half-muffled by his body.

He pulled back a bit.  “What are we – 9?”

Steve pushed him back onto the bed with force, quickly laying his weight on top of him.  There was a flash of memory then; Steve on top of him, smiling down, light dancing in his eyes.  It was mirrored in the here and now; Steve poking a finger into his chest.  “Promise.”  There was mirth in his eyes but a deeper need.

“I promise, Stevie,” Bucky said solemnly now.  A smile blossomed onto Steve’s face.  “Now get off me so I can eat already.”

Steve laughed, pulling him upright as he got off him.  He felt cold without him on top of him, but it didn’t last long.  Steve settled next to him; his warm shoulder pressed against his own.

Chapter Text

Tony

“Butterfingers, put that down.”  Tony edged the protective goggles up onto his forehead: narrowing his eyes at the robot.  “Hey, yes, that.  Uh-huh, that very expensive prototype I’ve spent weeks working on.” 

The bot moved closer to the bin.  No, no, no, no.  Tony dropped the blowtorch and hurried over, catching the prototype phone before the claw released it into the metal bin.

“Naughty, Butterfingers, naughty.”  The bot made a sad noise.  Tony thrust his arm towards the corner.  “Go back to your charging station and think about what you did, go on.”

A disgruntled noise came from Butterfingers before he trundled away; wheels whirring melodically. 

Tony sighed and slipped the phone into his pocket; safe from grabby, metal claws.  A box, sleek and black, caught his eye.  He’d shoved it out of sight after he’d first opened it, but it was such a rare thing, that he couldn’t bear to part with it.

He went over and flipped the lid open. Shiny, metal stared back at him: handcuffs, bulkier than a police standard-issue pair, though not by much.  Tony reached in and pulled them out; they were lighter than they looked: the metal cool against his skin.

“What could I make with you?”  Tony purred, seeing only the Vibranium.  He almost got a boner thinking of the possibilities.

“I believe Princess Shuri was adamant that you not repurpose this gift,” FRIDAY’s voice came out almost accusatorially.   

Tony slipped the cuffs onto two fingers: swirling them around.  “It’s very rude to dictate to someone what their gift should be used for.”

“I’m pretty sure that the gift was to Sergeant Barnes, Boss, and not you.”

Tony snorted at the AI, but she wasn’t wrong.  The handcuffs had arrived along with a recorded video message from Shuri stating that these were supplied for his ‘security and peace of mind’ - at Sergeant Barnes’ request.

This, as well as the hours of video showing Barnes’ control with the code words now, and reports from his therapists had been given to Tony before they’d set foot in New York.  He continued to receive updates from his therapist – he didn’t quite understand why Barnes had given him permission to hear the information from them.  Some show of trust or wanting to show that he was being transparent?   It didn’t matter.  He didn’t want to hear about Bucky’s inner life.  He’d only agreed to be alerted if any sessions were missed – which was his official duty as the person keeping an eye on him during his six-month enforced stay.

Tony hadn’t seen Steve or Barnes since the apology-fest of the other week.  It’d been his first one-on-one encounter with Barnes, and it had left him feeling uneasy.  It had been jarring; reality and imagination not matching.  Expecting a villain and getting just…a man.  Tony shook his head, placing the cuffs back into the box.  He didn’t want to see him that way:  it was easier if he could keep him firmly in the ‘baddie’ box.

“Boss, you have Miss Potts on the line.”

“Put her through, FRI.”  Tony walked back over to the worktable he’d been using.  “Good evening Miss Potts, not like you to call so late.”

“It’s not so late here, Tony.”

“Ah yes, how is Chicago?”

“I’m in California.”

Tony winced.  He tried to keep up with her schedule even though they weren’t together.  As a professional courtesy only, of course.

“Right, right.  How did the negotiations go?  You got my updated specs in time, right?”

“Yes,” her voice sounded harried, “though it would have been nice for you to talk through the changes with myself and the marketing team before I had to present it to the board.”

Best not to rise to that tone; he kept his own light.  “Yeah, it’s been manic this week with the press stuff with Rogers and then endless meetings with the DODC and the relief fund.”

“Nice to know that your business still comes second to your superhero job.”  Pepper’s voice was sharp; she was obviously pissed that he hadn’t followed up.

Tony tensed in response.  “Yeah well, it’s nice to do work that’s appreciated.”

Pepper let out a sigh.  “I didn’t actually call to berate you for that—“

“—oh, that is an added bonus just for little old me; why thank you...”  Tony droned, picking up his screwdriver and starting to tighten a bolt.

“God, you are so…” Pepper blew out a breath; they might as well have been on a video call as Tony could picture the exasperated look on her face all too clearly.  “Tony, I was just calling as I didn’t know what your plans were for tomorrow.  I know Rhodey is on an assignment.  I had to reschedule a meeting and the only time they could do is tomorrow morning but Happy and I can make it back by early evening.  Just with how things have been between us, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to come.”

Tony frowned.  What was she talking about?  His eyes flitted over to the date in the top right corner of the monitor. 

All breath pushed out of him. 

He’d forgotten. 

For the first time in 15 years, he’d forgotten. 

His body was trying to get him to kick start breathing, but his mind was busy elsewhere.  There was a noise that wouldn’t stop, and it took him a few moments to realise it was Pepper’s voice.

“Tony, are you still there?  Tony?”

Tony gripped the screwdriver, squeezing the metal hard enough that he could feel the ridges bruising his palm.  A dry cough came; oxygen returned apparently.  He pushed out an answer.

“Yeah, I’m here…”

“Are you…are you ok?”

No, I’m not. I’m a terrible person that forgot my wife’s anniversary: my son’s birthday.

“Yeah Pep, I’m fine.”  His voice was like gravel but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Well, it’s not really your problem anymore, is it?  You made that clear.”  It was a cheap shot but one he hoped would get her to back off.

I deserve to be alone.

“Don’t…don’t be like that…not now…”

The sympathy…it was too much…he shouldn’t have it.  He hardened his voice.

“Stay in Cali; keep the business afloat.  Hell, you are always on at me to take a vacation, maybe you should take your own advice?  Happy too, he needs to get that cholesterol down.  Have you seen his cardiogram?  Not good.”

“Tony...”

“I don’t want you here, ok?”  Tony snapped; his voice echoing through the workshop.  There was a pause – a long silence – but he could hear her breathing – just quickened enough to know he’d affected her.  Hurting her yet again.  But he always hurts people, doesn’t he?  That’s his MO.  He didn’t need Pepper here as a reminder of someone else he’d failed.

When she came back on, her voice was back in full CEO control.  “Will that be all Mr Stark?” 

There was no playfulness at the usual banter between them.  This time the words held their full, formal meaning.

Tony tried to return the sentiment, but it came out weak and low.  “That will be all, Miss Potts.”

The line clicked off and he was left in silence.

———

There was a loud, booming voice that Tony very much wanted to shut the hell up.  He opened his eyes seeing a sideways view of Steve, facing away from him, with his hands on his hips.  What was he doing on his floor? 

“Get your things, and I mean only your things.  You will be scanned as you leave, and if anything is in your possession that belongs to Mr Stark, the police will be immediately contacted.”

There was a clack of heels and Tony made out three young women in skimpy outfits moving at speed out of the living room with Steve hot on their heels.

Tony’s head was swimming; ears full of a mix of cotton wool and windchimes.  There had been some Coke earlier, he remembered that, and they’d given him some new pill.  It’d been pretty good to start with but maybe it didn’t mix well with alcohol because he knew from the taste in his mouth that he’d had a lot of that. 

He smacked his lips together.  Yeah, he’d been sick at some point.  He sat up from the floor and took in the mess – glasses everywhere – and, oh yeah, ding, ding, ding, white powder dusted across the table.

Did he have any more?  His head was thudding a deep, bass beat; he needed something to make it stop.  He needed something.

Them.  He needed to see them.  What was he doing in here when he should be with them? 

Surprisingly his body let him move, he swayed a bit as he did, but he managed to grab a half-gone bottle of whiskey in one hand before he made his way down the corridor to the lab.  Yeah, he used the wall for support, but who hasn’t?

The lab was how he’d left it: his hologram wall of photos still up, covering the wall that he kept clear just for the times when he could bear to look at their faces. 

Bethany’s light brown eyes stared back at him from one of the pictures that rotated slowly across the wall – five rows, bringing a new photo in each time.  This picture he’d taken on his beach in Malibu; dazzling sunlight flitting around her like she was an angel.

“Pause it, FRI.”  The images stopped moving, and Tony stumbled up to the wall.  “Enlarge this one by 50%.”

Bethany’s face grew until it was almost the same size as his.  He moved his fingers, a caress along her jaw, but they just moved through the hologram causing Tony’s breath to stutter.  He just wanted to hold her one more time; replace the last memory of her; cold, pale, and unmoving. 

“Show me one of her and Luca.”  Tony’s throat was so tight he was amazed he could breathe.

A photo array came up.  He didn’t have many of them together – all of them at the hospital.  A little family for just a few short hours before she was gone - bleeding out, the shock killing her - a rare blood disorder to blame.

All this money, all the tech and he couldn’t save her. 

He pulled the beach photo and put it to his left, then pulled the first photo of them together in the middle – it was right after the C-section – Luca, bright pink squishy face, laying on Bethany’s chest, his own hand holding Luca’s tiny one.  The two adults beaming up at whoever was taking the picture; knowing life would never be the same again.

It wasn’t.

“More Luca…” he mumbled, and FRI complied; putting up what she must have worked out were his favourite photos of his son.  One of him aged two, laying across both Rhodey and Pep – all three of them fast asleep.  Happy holding Luca on his hip, little chubby cheeks covered in frosting – a half-eaten cupcake dangling in Happy’s hand and a broad smile on his face.  Luca as a tiny baby asleep on Tony’s bare, undamaged chest – the tired look of pure, contented love on his face. 

Had he had that in the 12 years Luca had been gone? 

He flicked through until he found his favourite one of the two of them – Luca dressed up as a bunny for Easter – leaning forward and giving him a chocolatey kiss on the lips – his own face creased with one eye closed as he knew he was about to get a face full.  They’d had a great Easter – Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper had all been there.  It’d been warm enough to be on the beach, but Luca insisted on wearing the costume on the sand.

Tony wiped the tears away from his eyes before picking up the whiskey bottle and taking a long swig.

“Tony?  Tony?”  Steve’s voice called from the doorway, getting louder as he got closer.  “It’s dangerous to let random people up here—“

Steve’s feet stopped suddenly – enough to squeak slightly on the tile.  “Shit.”

Tony whirled around sloppily: his arms still moving whilst his body stopped.  “Language Cap!”

“Tony…I…I didn’t realise what the date was…”

Tony lifted his head to see Steve’s concerned expression.  It was enough to churn his stomach. 

“Don’t worry; you weren’t the only one to forget.”  Tony took another swig and turned his back to Steve to look at the photos again.  “If I forget, then I can’t expect anyone else not to.”

“Tony…” The voice was so filled with sympathetic sadness it made him want to punch Steve more than usual.  The team had always made an effort to be around during the anniversary and the day Luca was taken – usually preoccupying him with some tasks during the day but leaving him with Pep, Rhodey, or Hap (or some combo) in the evening. 

Tony stared hard at the photos, flicking through again until he found one of Luca on his own – big, Bambi eyes staring up at the camera.  God, would he be a heartbreaker now?  Would he have turned out like Tony?  Or been cooler-minded like Beth?  She’d been like a soothing elixir - happy to let him be him but able to calm him in his manic moments.  It helped that they were both workaholics – both orphaned in their early twenties – both recognising in each other that drive to create a legacy and not trying to curb it.  Would that have changed when they had been raising Luca together?

“How old is he today?”  Tony noted that Steve didn’t say ‘would have been’ and even this off his face, a part of him was grateful.  That part that still hoped he was out there, alive, even if the chances were slim.  If he couldn’t find him, if Fury couldn’t…

“Fifteen,” Tony said, his throat thick with remnants of whiskey and bile, let alone emotion.  “You’d have thought I’d have remembered that number.  Fifteen fucking years.”

“I don’t think you should feel bad about that.  It doesn’t mean you love them less.”  Steve’s voice was low.  “I’m sure they’d rather you move on and be happy than remember and be sad.”

Even in this state, he recognised some of the words from a poem.  They were meant to comfort but he didn’t want that.  Even the thought of ‘moving on’ stuck like a knife in his chest. 

“Move on?  Move on?  Like you did?” Tony turned; spit flying as he spoke. “Like you moved on from Peggy, from Bucky?”

Steve shifted his weight but didn’t say anything. 

“I watched her die.  Saw her body cremated - this isn’t like Bucky.  She’s not going to magically reappear as a 100-year-old assassin.”

There was silence and he brought the bottle up to his lips again but before he could drink, it was tugged from his hands.  He whined feebly in protest.  “Hey!”

Steve moved the bottle away, putting it on the table.  “You’re gonna kill yourself with that shit.”  The Brooklyn accent making a strong return.

Tony snorted.  “I should already be dead.  Afghanistan, Obie, the wormhole, AIM, hell, even Siberia.”  Steve’s body stilled. 

Tony continued regardless, stumbling back over to the photos that were still hovering where he’d left them.

“I should be long gone.  If I believed there was somewhere they were– heaven even – I’d have blown my brains out a long time ago.”

Maybe this was his penance for past wrongs – to live each day carrying this pain.  Beth’s loss, the not-knowing what happened to Luca.  Was it a fate worse than death?  Was it what he deserved for not keeping them both safe?  Black spots started crowding his vision and he fell forward, his face passing through their images, only stopped from hitting the floor by a pair of strong hands.

Peter

Peter took off at a sprint, his legs pumping hard.  He jumped at the last possible moment, twisting his body 360 degrees before sticking the landing; both feet on top of the narrow railing.  The small group gathered let out a clap.  Peter took a small bow before doing a forward flip back to the ground.  He smiled at the people as some of them came forward, dropping some cash into his hat.  He waited until they had before picking it off the ground.  He’d made a few bucks; Friday nights weren’t too bad.  Saturdays were peak– daytime tourists were plentiful and more likely to stop to watch him do a few tricks.  But rain was due tomorrow, so he wanted to try to at least get something, or it was going to be a long and hungry weekend.

Pulling his backpack on, he headed to the subway that would take him back to Queens.  It didn’t take long to arrive and half hour later he got off, two stops away from his usual neighbourhood.

He hadn’t been around Elmhurst for a while but there was a homeless encampment that was worth checking out again.

The piece of paper wrinkled further in his fingers as he pulled it from the pocket of his bag.  He smoothed it out before he headed for the first person.

“Excuse me Ma’am, have you seen this man around here?”

He was brushed away, but he carried on asking everyone he saw.  He dodged at least one inebriated fist, but it didn’t deter him.  He was used to it at this point.

“Yo kid!”

Peter turned to see a familiar face from one of the alleys.  Reggie: Peter had split a cereal bar with him once which seemed to mean to the old dude that they were now firm friends.  He was in a group of about five others, who were passing around what even Peter knew was drug paraphernalia.  He jogged over.

“Hey Reggie, how’s it going?” 

Reggie took a drag out of a joint in his hand and Peter moved so he wasn’t downwind of it.

“Not bad young ‘un.  You still searching?”

“Yes sir,” Peter held out the paper and the man took it: running his eyes over it even though he’d seen it before.

“Take a look,” Reggie elbowed the guy next to him who looked more than half-baked.  “Any of yous seen this dude?”

Peter rubbed his hands together for warmth as the crumpled paper was passed around the group.  He stifled a yawn; school had been full-on and Spider-man hadn’t exactly had any quiet nights this week.  He’d only just healed a nasty bruise he’d gotten last weekend.  Still, tomorrow night he could go to Ned’s; the thought of home cooking and a warm bed keeping him going.

“Isn’t he the guy who sells over on Whitney sometimes?”

Peter’s attention switched from imagining clean sheets to the lady who’d spoken: one eye bloodshot and hair a messy ball on top of her head. 

“You’ve seen him?”  It was the first lead that Peter had had in the last two months; the one before being a dead end.

“Shit honey, not for about a year.”  Her thin fingers dug into her scalp as she spoke.  “He was always pushing those new pills – the black and purple ones – what they called?”

“Snakebite.  Meant to be out of this world but too bloody expensive.” A man next to him grumbled.

Before he could ask another question, his Spider-sense flared; a sharp, almost pain down his neck.  A Police car was pulling in front of the mouth of the alley, effectively blocking any exit. 

Shit, he could do without being picked up.

He grabbed the paper from the lady and bounded to the back of the alley.  There’s gotta be an exit.

“Hey, kid, stop!”

Double shit, nothing but high walls.  His fingers flexed with the urge to climb but he was in no hurry to out himself as Spider-man.

He turned around; the light from the flashlight causing him to squint, and slowly raised his hands.  Here we go again.

——-

Midnight at the precinct on a Friday was predictably manic.  A chorus was coming from some drunks in the holding cell, and it only added to the headache that was developing behind Peter’s eyes.

The officer that brought him in wouldn’t listen to reason.  He’d begged him to let him go, to just ask around the precinct about him, but the guy was new, didn’t know his uncle’s name, or didn’t care. 

Peter hadn’t seen anyone he knew to vouch for him – not the whole way through having his mug shot taken nor now as they did his fingerprints.  The man pressed his final finger to the paper; black ink still staining the rest of his fingertips.  He’d asked about the LiveScan machine.  Ben had mentioned it once – this new technology that scanned fingerprints straight into the computer – it sounded cool to him.  He’d hoped that if he was going to have to have his prints taken, he’d have at least been able to have a go on the machine.  But no such luck – it was on the fritz.  He was past surprised at this point.

Officer By the Books watched him clean his fingers with a wet wipe before pulling him along under his arm; his grip tight enough to hurt.  Peter let himself be guided until the officer stopped in front of the holding pen; the sound of singing much louder now.

“Last chance to give me your parents’ name.”

“Please sir, if you just ask…”

The Officer said nothing but got his keys out and started to open the gate to the cell.  Peter resisted a little and it made the man’s grip on his upper arm tighten. 

As he looked over his shoulder, his eyes widened at a familiar face.

“Officer Mohammed, Officer Mohammed, ma’am.”

A middle-aged Officer stopped and looked over in his direction.

“Peter!” 

Officer By the Books frowned as she approached.

“What’s going on here?” She asked, pushing her glasses up onto her forehead.

“Kid got caught trying to buy drugs.”  Officer By the Books intoned in a bored tone.

“I wasn’t, I promise, I was just…asking questions.”

A knowing look passed across her features.

“Can I have a word?”  Officer Mohammed said to the other Officer.

He sighed again.  The three of them walked over to a bench and Officer By the Books pushed him onto it. 

“Stay there,” he said gruffly.

Peter watched the two Officers go off to the side.  The singing was too close, too loud; he couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, not even with his enhancements.  But he saw the exact moment when a wash of sympathy came over Officer By the Books face; his eyes darting to Peter.  Peter looked at the floor; heat creeping up his neck.

The drunks receded enough for him to hear a little. 

“—nothing but uncooperative – won’t tell me where he lives or who with.  It’s just not proper process, Mohammed.”

“Vic, I know.  The kid needs a break.  Let me make some calls?”

The singing started up again and some people came in front of him so he couldn’t see or hear them now. 

After a few minutes, Mohammed came around the group and stood in front of him with a sigh.  “Give me your wrists.”

Peter lifted his arm and let out a breath as she took the cuffs off.  He gave her a wide smile.

“Thank you, Officer Mohammed.”

The lady lifted an eyebrow.  “Oh, don’t thank me yet.”

Chapter Text

Peter

Peter used the edge of his nail to work into a groove etched along the side of the table.  He hadn’t put it there; some other criminal must have done whilst they awaited their fate.  Peter let the rhythm of his nail moving along the groove soothe him; focussing on that in an attempt to drown out the waves of noise from the large room.  Something to keep his head from turning to look at the desk behind him – Ben’s desk.  Well, not anymore.  No longer a jar of jellybeans on one side – someone’s else family in a frame on the desk.

“Peter.”

Peter didn’t need to look up to see the face that went with that silky voice.  He certainly didn’t want to see the visual representation of disappointment that he could already hear expressed in that single word.

“Officer Morales.”

Officer Morales sank into the desk chair diagonal to him; the wheels squeaking slightly as he used his weight to roll closer.  Peter could see his legs from his downcast position, light grey sweatpants – wait, hold on, no uniform?  He pulled his head up to look at him.  Morales’ eyes were lined, he’d obviously been pulled away from his warm bed to be here; Peter’s stomach flipped at the thought.  Causing problems wherever he landed, as usual.

“Why are you here – again – Peter?”  Tiredness leached through his tone, but it wasn’t harsh.

Peter decided brevity might help the situation.  “Oh, you know, I came for the good conversation.  There were some really expressive drunks back in the cells.”

At that moment, Officer By the Books walked past and Peter couldn’t help but glare at him.

“I wouldn’t be here at all if some people would have the sense to just listen to me.”  He ground the words out making sure they were loud enough for the other guy to hear.  He received a cold stare back in return.

Fingers clicked in front of him.  “Hey, stop that.  Stop.  Look at me.”

Peter shut his glare off as soon as his eyes met with Morales’.

“Why were you out so late?”

“I’m almost 16.  It’s really not that late,” Peter half grumbled to his lap.  After half a moment, he lifted his eyes; Morales looking at him pointedly.  He shifted in his seat.  “I was just busking down at Union Square earlier and then I headed back to Queens.  I wasn’t doing anything illegal.”

Morales let out a breath before pulling something out of the file on the desk and smacking it on the table in front of Peter.  It was his now-scrunched-up photo of the guy he was trying to find.  

“Some of those ‘expressive drunks’ said you were showing this around.  Asking people if they’d seen him; if he was selling to them.”

Peter didn’t say anything and homed in on the hole in his shoe.  He was going to need to borrow some more duct tape from Ned.  Well, I suppose borrow was the wrong word, he wasn’t exactly going to give it back.

“Peter…”  Morales cut through his thoughts.

“What?!  I don’t know anything about that,” Peter’s jaw clicked as he tried to bluff.

Morales rolled his shoulders.  “You’ve always been a terrible liar.  Since you were a kid.  Remember when you and Miles stole an extra cookie each and denied it, with crumbs falling out of your mouths?”

Peter’s mouth curled into a smile at the memory; the adults finding it too hilarious to be mad.  He wasn’t sure if he actually remembered it or if the story had been retold enough that he felt like he did.

Morales sat back and sighed.  “How did you get your hands on this mug shot?”

The smile dropped from Peter’s face but, having been reminded how awful he was at lying, he opted for silence.  

Morales was unperturbed.  “Hacking the NYPD servers - your buddy Ned is pretty good at computers, right?”

“Ned had nothing to do with it,” Peter blurted.  “I did it.”

Morales ran his hand over his face and gave another sigh before leaning down to the side and pulling out a paper bag.  “I figured you’d be hungry.”

Peter let out the most genuine smile he’d given in a long time.  “Thank you so much.”

He ripped into the bag, finding a sesame bagel piled with meat and salad.  He didn’t hesitate to start wolfing it down.  The sum total of his food intake today had been a granola bar for breakfast and half of MJ’s sandwich; his stomach had been steadily groaning at him as the day went on.

“Slow down before you choke,” Morales said but there was a flash of light in his eyes.  It reminded him of summer days in Flushing Park with all the family.

Peter did as instructed, mainly as he didn’t want to get nauseous.  There was a pause of a few minutes where Morales seemed content to watch him eat.

“Would your Uncle be proud of what you are doing now?”  Morales’ fingers tapped against the photo: right in the forehead of the guy Peter hated with such a passion that it made blood rush to his ears if he thought about it too much.

He swallowed down the bite of sandwich in his mouth, but his hunger was instantly gone: rage twisting his stomach in a way that filled it up.

“Someone has to keep trying.”

A pained look shot across Morales’ face and Peter regretted his words.  He didn’t mean him - not really.

“That isn’t fair, Pete,” Morales pushed the words past his teeth like they were painful.  “I did - I’m doing - everything I can.  I made sure every lead was followed.  I went down every dead end.  I called in favours.  We all did.”  He gestured around the room at the other Police Officers milling around, dealing with their own cases.  Peter knew he was telling the truth; he knew how close his Uncle was with the squad here.  They had been a second family to him.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”  Peter stared at the floor; hot tears threatened his eyes, but he managed to keep them at bay.

Morales let out a breath.  “We miss seeing you, you know?”  His voice was gentle now.  “You haven’t been over for dinner in a while.  You know you don’t need an invitation, right?  It’s an open one.”

“School has just been crazy, you know?”  Peter said, his eyes lifting off the floor but not quite making it to the man’s own.  “Taking a lot of AP classes this semester.”

It wasn’t a lie exactly, but Morales’ eyebrows pulled up in a way that showed that he wasn’t convinced.  How could he tell him that being there just reminded him of the life he lost?  Every time he went round, he kept looking for Ben – expecting to see him arguing about the referee’s calls with Jeff on the couch, or to see May - deep in conversation with Rio at the kitchen counter, a glass of wine and open container of chocolate always in front of them.  Being there now was like pressing on an open wound.

“Miles misses you.” 

Wow, Morales was not above pulling out the big guns it seemed.

Peter sent out a half-hearted shrug.  “We text.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same as telling you all his crazy science ideas face to face.”

A smile tugged at the side of Peter’s mouth.  “What is it this time?”

“Something about using particle accelerators to create the perfect smoothie.”

Peter let out a laugh.  “That’s a good one.”

Morales smiled widely back - like he always did when he talked about Miles.  “He’s still hoping he gets the scholarship for Midtown next year.  He’s desperate to follow in your footsteps.”  

“He doesn’t need it, but if he wants any help prepping for the exam…”

“I’m sure he’d love that.”  Morales followed his smile with a laugh.  “With your parents it’s understandable, but Rio and I could never figure out where Miles gets his smarts from.”

“Definitely from Mrs Morales.”  

“Punk,” Peter dodged the balled-up napkin that headed his way with a laugh.

“Come on then, eat up Parker and I’ll take you home.”

Peter stilled at that.  “You don’t need to do that; I can get home.”

“It’s 1am - you really think I’m letting you walk home alone?”

No, of course he wouldn’t.  The last thing Peter wanted was to go back there.  It wasn’t raining out and even if it was, he much preferred his nook on top of the deli, than that hell hole.

“You don’t want to go home?”  Morales’ voice was so gentle, like it might spook him, but all Peter could do was focus on that word.  

Home.  

A home was full of warmth, of people who cared, shared jokes, burnt dinners, and bad TV.  He hadn’t had a home for almost a year now. 

Morales’ eyes were on him and he forced out an indifferent shrug. “Does any kid want to show up with a police escort?”

“Peter…”  Morales obviously didn’t buy his nonchalance and leaned forward, his hand wrapping around Peter’s arm; warm and secure.  “If it’s bad, like the other place...”

“Which place?” Peter didn’t mean to snap, but it didn’t stop Morales looking like he’d been slapped either way.  

It wasn’t Morales’ fault where he had ended up.  There was no room at their place.  Rio’s Mom had been living with them since her dementia worsened and that meant Miles was sleeping in what he swears used to be a closet - barely enough room for a bed than anything else.  There was no way Child Services would’ve let him stay.  But it seemed facts didn’t stop Officer Morales from feeling guilty.

“And this, Mr Andersson, he’s treating you well?”

“It’s fine,” Peter pushed out: anything to get him to stop asking questions that he’d only badly lie about.

“Peter...”

Peter pulled his arm away.  “I said it was fine, Jeff.  Can we just go already?”

Morales sat back, observing at him for a long minute.  “Wait here,” he said, as he stood up and gathered his keys from the table.  “I’ll get your stuff.”

Peter watched him cross to the far side of the large room.  He stopped at the custody intake area, exchanged a few short words with the guy behind the desk, who then disappeared into the back room.  Officer ‘By the Books’ came up to Morales then, a scowl already in place.  Peter focused, pushing his senses to pick out their voices from all the other noises in the room.

“You’re just letting him go?”  Officer ‘By the Books’ said, anger in his tone.

“Vic, he had nothing on him, right?  The other people picked up confirmed his story - said he wasn’t trying to score.”

“CPS should know he was out on the streets at midnight.”

“I’ll deal with that, ok?”

Officer ‘By the Books’ crossed his arms; his mouth a tight line.  The mention of CPS raised Peter’s already briskly beating heart; why wouldn’t this guy just mind his business?

“Look, I know you are relatively new to the precinct and you didn’t know his uncle but…look…he’s just a grieving kid trying to find answers.  I appreciate you keeping him out of the system.”

Peter’s hands tightened around the arms of the chair; the wood groaning slightly before he stopped himself. 

‘Just a grieving kid’.

Shit, that was all anyone saw nowadays; at school, at whatever foster dump he landed in.  He knew Morales was just trying to help smooth out the situation but hearing it from his lips made him feel like even more of a nuisance.  A problem to be dealt with.   

The desk sergeant handed a bag over to Morales who took it with a nod.  Morales looked back over at Peter – catching him watching – and indicated for him to come over.

Peter did quickly; taking his bag when it was handed to him.

“Thanks, Vic,” Morales said, patting the other officer on the shoulder.

Officer ‘By the Books’ gave Peter a barely concealed dirty look.  What a prick.   Peter couldn’t help himself, sending the man a smug smirk before he followed behind Morales out to the car park.

———

The ride back to the foster home was pretty quiet.  Peter could’ve almost fallen asleep in the warmth of the car if his anxiety wasn’t keeping him so damn awake; his foot keeping a steady tempo against the floor.

As soon as the car came to a stop, Peter’s hand was poised on the door handle.

“Thanks, say hi to Miles and Mrs Morales for me.”

“Hold up - I’m working tomorrow but next weekend I’m off.  Come over for dinner, yeah?  Just text me what night suits best.”

“Yep, sure, I’ve got no plans; that’s great.  Can’t wait.”  Peter shot him a genuine smile.  “Thanks for the lift.”

Jeff had already opened his car door and was half out by the time he could scramble out.

“I can go in myself now.”

Jeff gave him a look; raised eyebrows and all.

“They’ll be asleep.”

“Surely, they’ll be worried about where you are at this time of night?”

Peter bit his tongue.  Jeff was not going to back down on this front.  He sighed and made his way up the steps, hoping that his key still worked.

Before his key could find the lock, the door swung open, revealing a half-drunk looking Mr Andersson.  The grim scowl quickly left him when he saw someone was stood behind him.  Jeff held up his badge – not obviously a cop in his sweatpants and hoodie.

“Officer!”  Mr Andersson coughed, running a hand down his face.  “What’s going on?”

“Peter here was just found out and about a bit late, so I thought I’d drop him home.”  Jeff’s expression was stern.  “Mind if I come in for a minute?”

“O-of course,” Mr Andersson said, stepping back and letting Jeff in first.  He shot Peter a warning look as he followed behind.

The kitchen was the usual mess; dirty plates and an overflowing rubbish bin in one corner.  Jeff grimaced.  This was actually pretty tidy for them.

“We, uh, we thought Peter went to bed hours ago,” Mr Andersson lied, managing not to stutter.  “He likes to be on his laptop with his friends, doing the gaming thing.”

Jeff turned in a circle and back around to face Mr Andersson; no doubt from the curl of his mouth that he did not like what he was seeing.  It was either the state of the place or the man in front of him; Peter wasn’t sure which.  Probably both.

“Well, I’m sure the State wouldn’t be pleased to know that a fifteen-year-old that you are meant to be looking after was roaming the streets past midnight.”

Mr Andersson opened his mouth, but Peter got in before him.

“It was my fault.  I swear it won’t happen again.” 

Peter withheld a flinch as Mr Andersson’s hand landed on his shoulder, as he tried to assert some control in the situation.  “We’ll have a little chat about curfews.”

“Good to know; I’ll be checking in to make sure.”  Jeff let out a breath.  “I’ll let you get back to bed.  Show me out, Pete?”

Peter followed him back to the front door, pulling it open.   Jeff went through, turning back as he crossed the threshold and giving Peter an assessing look. 

“You gonna be alright here?”  His voice was low; concern running clearly through it. 

“Yeah, it’s fine.”  Peter played off.  It would be, because as soon as Jeff left, he’d be hightailing it out of here.  He didn’t need Jeff poking around and getting him moved again.  There was no way he could risk leaving Midtown and his friends. ”I’m shattered, I’m gonna get to bed.”

“So - next weekend…”  Jeff gave him a smile.  “…I’ll make my world-famous chilli?”

“That sounds great, Mr Morales.”  Peter didn’t have to force his smile this time.

Jeff gave him a little salute before he jogged down the stairs towards the car.

Peter closed the door and watched through the glass.  Jeff was sat in his car, looking like he was in contemplation.  No, no, just go, man.  All is well here. 

He must have heard Peter’s silent ministrations as he heard the sound of the car start and watched as it pulled away from the curb.

Peter just about turned when his sense flared again; hands were on his jacket, pushing him hard against the wall.  He let out some air as his back hit brick.

“What the hell are you doing bringing the cops here, huh?”  Mr Andersson was in his face; angry spit hitting his cheek.

“I hardly planned it,” he grumbled.  Pain erupted in his eye and nose; his head flying back into the wall from the force of the hit.

Peter cradled his face as soon as Mr Andersson let him go.  Shit, that was going to bruise.  He wiped at his nose as blood started to trail.

“You little shit, now look what you’ve made me do.”  The man’s face was bright red; he looked like the picture of ‘blowing a gasket’.  “If fucking CPS turn up tomorrow after this stunt, then what are they gonna think?”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you hit me where they could see?’  Peter muttered not so quietly. 

He was pushed to the floor this time, Mr Andersson, unfortunately, deciding Peter had a point and choosing several heavy kicks into his side instead.  Peter groaned into the linoleum; he should know when to shut up.  He wasn’t Spider-man now; he couldn’t afford his quips; not when he wasn’t supposed to be able to defend himself.

He was yanked to his feet by the arm; Mr Andersson pulling him along the corridor, pain radiating through his wrenched arm socket as he did.  Mr Andersson opened the door to his room, and shoved him in.  He fell onto the floor, offering no resistance; arms and legs splayed as receding waves of pain rolled down his ribs.  A moment later, his bag was unceremoniously thrown in; Peter cringed as his already beaten-up laptop hit the ground. 

Mr Andersson scowled at him before he slammed the door shut, his muttered words sounding through the door. “You won’t be running off anywhere anymore.”  The sound of the key turning in the lock followed.

Peter let his forehead rest on the floor for a moment, a small pool of blood from his nose collecting on top of the cheap laminate.

Mr Andersson sometimes liked to get a little more hammered before coming back for round two – last time including a belt on his back.  Peter looked over to the window.  There was no way he was sticking around for an encore.

Tony

The breeze was warm and an unfamiliar scent wafted around them.  Was this what paradise smelt like?  Maybe?  If paradise was the world’s most exclusive spa retreat.  Both Tony and Rhodey had to sign iron-clad NDA’s which Tony had found most amusing, given he was usually the one doling out those kinds of contracts, not the one signing them.  Still, he could see why.  He’d already seen two heads of states and other high-level officials, and at least one of them was definitely not being accompanied by his current wife.

They were both seated in the back of a very ornately decorated golf buggy with their luggage drawn behind them on a little trailer. 

The whole place was immaculately landscaped and as they pulled up to their hut, Tony could see the clear water glistening from here.  The hut was out on stilts over the water, and they followed the bellboy along the wooden ramp. Tony paused to look out over the ocean ahead.  Damn, Pepper had such good taste.

“Quick Rhodes, take my photo.”

Rhodey gave him an unimpressed look.  “What are we, teenage girls?”

“Just do it!”

Rhodey shook his head but fished out his phone and snapped a photo.

“More than one – then we can choose the best one.”

Rhodes rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it must hurt.  “There better be a damn good cocktail with my name on it soon.”

Tony came over and looked over his shoulder at the phone.

“Now send it to Pepper.”

“What?  Why?” 

“She recommended this place.”

“That still doesn’t explain as to why I am doing that.  I mean, we care about you and all, but funnily enough, we don’t usually swap holiday snaps of you Tone.”  Rhodey smirked at him.  “I’ll send it on to you and you can do it.”

“I don’t have my phone.  Left it in the Jet.”

Rhodey frowned.  “We can send someone to go back and get it…”

“No, no.  I left it there on purpose, and my tablet too.  This is a technology-free trip.”

Rhodey looked stunned.  “Tony, you haven’t been without technology since I met you.  Why would you…”

A look crossed over Rhodey’s face before settling into what was quite frankly an unsettling grin.

“What? What?  Are you having a stroke?” Tony asked.

Rhodey started to laugh.  “Oh man, you still have it bad.”

“You are, aren’t you?  I’m sure they have medical staff on site.”

“Pepper made a comment that you couldn’t live without your tech and that you never take a break, and now you are trying to prove her wrong…oh lord.”  Tony didn’t care for the comically wide grin on Rhodey’s face.

“Shut it, that’s not it at all.  Enjoy your free holiday and be quiet.”

Rhodey let out a deep, rich laugh and clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“Tones, you’ve still got your glasses on that connect to FRIDAY, you know that, right?”

“I’m using them as sunglasses…”

Rhodey’s laugh could surely be heard all the way back in New York.

—-

“How did I let you convince me to do this?”  Rhodey said from the side of his mouth as they came to stand on the beach.  The water was lapping gently and further on down the beach there were some people contorting their bodies into pretzel-like shapes.

“Tai Chi is good exercise for busy minds,” Tony said, as sand began to filter into his flip-flops.  “Besides, you look like you could do with some relaxation, Honey Bear.”

“I thought Tai Chi was for old people.”

“Well, you were the one who refused to try the Yoga, old man,” Tony gestured to the group down the beach.

“I’m partially paralysed Tony, you really think I could do Yoga in these braces?”  Light danced in his eyes which stopped Tony fully flinching internally like he always did when he was reminded of the disability he’d had a part in creating.

“It could’ve been an R&D exercise – see what those bad boys are capable of,” Tony grinned.

Rhodey cupped his own chin in a mocking way.  “Hmmm, now that’s sounds an awful lot like work, Tony.  That would kind of kill the whole ‘look at me Pep, I’m capable of relaxation’ schtick you are going for.”

Tony pushed him off balance with a hand to the shoulder and Rhodey just laughed as he righted himself.

There was the sound of a clearing throat and they both looked forward to see a lady wearing a floaty, flowery top who was positioned facing the small group gathered.

“Are we ready to start?”

Tony listened to the lady and tried to follow the motions.  He closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind.  It wasn’t something he was usually able to do – his brain was always whirring over the latest design or what upgrades he was going to do to the suit or the other Avengers kit.  He had a few new ideas for War Machine that he wanted to run past Rhodey, maybe over dinner…

No, no!

This was the whole point, he was meant to be here relaxing, trying to move away from the whole hellish, hectic last six months and focus on himself.  Not think about how much he still wanted to punch Rogers in his perfect teeth.   He cringed for the 100^th time at the thought of his meltdown the other week in front of Steve; the fact that he had put him to bed and, according to FRIDAY, stayed with him until he had started to stir, leaving behind only a glass of water and some painkillers.  God, the whole Tower probably knew about it.  Natasha hadn’t mentioned it during their weekly ‘drink Russian tea and not talk about the past’ session (how she had managed to get him to do that was nothing short of magic) but she must know.  She knows everything.  She probably convinced FRIDAY to show her the footage, maybe had a laugh watching it with Barnes and….

OK, so now his heart rate was increasing rather than decreasing.  Not the purpose.  He opened his eyes to see Rhodey was seemingly able to get in the flow, his braces whirring gently as he bent his knees.  Tony faced forward again and pressed his eyes closed focussing only on the sound of the lady’s instructions, the background sounds of the ocean, and the breeze gently tickling his nose.

“Boss.”

“God damn it!”  He opened his eyes to see a few people giving him a look and he smiled sheepishly. 

“Sorry – um,” he dropped his voice to a whisper as he weaved through the disgruntled faces and away out onto an empty area of the beach, “not now FRI, I told you emergencies only, so unless a portal full of aliens has opened or gigantic sea creatures with military-grade weapons have emerged in the – “

“My LJS Protocol has been triggered.”

A cold, snake-like feeling coiled itself slowly up his spine and into his neck, making his whole head feel frozen.  He coughed sharply, like the feeling had seeped into his chest, tightening his lungs.

“If this is another kid that has turned up at the Tower with a superhero dad fantasy, just send them to the DNA centre as usual,” he bit out.

“No Boss, FBI database just logged a hit for Luca Stark’s fingerprints.”

The ice-like feeling clenched entirely around his chest now; his heart stuttering.  He stumbled further away from the group, the sand like cement clogs on his feet.  He only made it a few more steps before he fell to his knees, panting into the sand.

He felt the warm hand on his arm before he could make sense of the words.  “-ony, what’s wrong?”

Rhodey’s dark eyes searched his but he couldn’t sound out the words.  In all these years, there had been nothing; no leads, not a whiff.  If fingerprints had been found now; it must mean…

“A body,” he coughed out, before thrusting the glasses at Rhodey.

He took them, his other hand never leaving Tony’s arm.

“Rhodes, Colonel James R.,” he said sharply as he slipped the glasses onto his face.  “FRIDAY, tell me what’s going on.”

Tony couldn’t hear what she said to him; he couldn’t even hear the sound of the waves anymore above the buzz in his ears.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey announced in a choked-out breath, and as his hand tightened on Tony’s arm, a wave of nausea broke through the ice, riding up his throat and back down again.

Rhodey took the glasses off and held them out.  “Project it, FRI.”

A hologram popped out; the image readjusted itself to the bright sunlight around them until they could both see it clearly.

“Not a body, Tony,“ Rhodes said, his voice unsteady now, “somebody.”

Chapter Text

Tony

Tony didn’t know what he did, but Rhodey got them both on the jet and heading back to New York before he could even realise what was going on.  His brain was essentially soup at this point; his body too in shock to even stay in its earlier panic mode.

He was just sitting where Rhodey had placed him, staring at the photo that FRIDAY had sent.  Just like he had been since she first projected it back at the beach, baring the five minutes he had spent throwing up directly after.

It was a mug shot: but there in front of the lines marking height was a teenage boy, with dark hair that was curling over his ears and down his neck like it hadn’t been cut in a while.  His eyes were dark brown, full of fear, like he didn’t know why he was there.  His face was thin, some light bags under his eyes with a strong, angular jaw.  But the most important feature to Tony, as of 1am EST, was that he was very much alive.

Rhodes sunk into the seat next to him, having just been on the phone, pacing up and down while he spoke.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m…breathing.”  That was the only thing Tony could attribute to his body right now; the rest of him felt like an undulating ball of emotions; jumping from one to the next with no sure place to land.

“Well, that’s something,” Rhodey said staring at the photo himself again before shaking his head.

“It might not be him,” Tony voiced the doubt.

“No, it might not be.”  Rhodey’s voice was measured.  “But FRIDAY has checked through the FBI and NYPD database for corruptions and taken the same prints to your servers and checked the information there.  The prints are a match.  And well, look at him, he looks like you.”

Tony’s stomach lurched as he turned to Rhodey.  “He does?”

Rhodey looked at him like he was nuts.  “Um, yeah, you don’t see it?  It’s like seeing a skinnier version of you first day of MIT all over again.”

Tony looked back at the picture.  He’d seen the resemblance, but he didn’t trust his brain right now not to just show him what he wanted to see.  He stared harder at the picture – yeah, it could be Luca, it really could.  The hope was inviting, like a waiting warm bath, but he still didn’t feel like he could relax into it.  Not until a DNA result confirmed it; not until he saw him with his own eyes.

“How long til we land in New York?’’  

“Four hours.  I’ve punched it as much as I can,” Rhodey said.

“Did you call a suit?”

“I wasn’t sure that was a good idea…”

Tony felt a flash of anger.  “Why not?  I need to get there as soon as possible.”

Rhodey put a gentle hand on him.  “We need to get there safely and when we do, you need to be arriving as Tony Stark, not Iron Man.”

“Rhodes, don’t be ridiculous...” Tony started to stand; Rhodey’s hand stopping him.

“Tone, we don’t know what we are walking into.  If you want to get him back, we need to put our best foot forward.  I’ve already spoken to Pepper – she’s still in Japan – but she’s organising the best family lawyers, ready to act in whatever way we might need them too.”

Tony felt his anger retreat a little.  Rhodey wouldn’t play it wrong with something like this.  It needed his brand of play – calm and measured.  Not Tony’s frenetic energy.  Sure, it got results, but it wasn’t always the best way to go.  He was feeling so at sea that for once it felt good to let someone else take the reins.

“Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice intoned in the cabin, “Ms Romanoff has rung repeatedly and would like to speak with you.”

“I can deal with her,” Rhodey said.

Tony nodded and sat back in the chair, so he was out of view.  He took some more measured breaths as he tried to contain the storm whirling inside him.

A video call popped up and the faces of both Natasha and Steve came into view.

“Nat, now is not a good time…”  Rhodey started.

“I know; we got the alert,” Nat said smoothly.

Tony remembered then: he’d added each of the Avengers to the protocol in a moment of hope back in 2012, when he was still waiting to hear if Fury and Nat could find anything out with their contacts.

“What can we do to help?” A deeper voice asked.

Anger rose in him from out of nowhere; his nerves shot.  “We don’t need your help, Rogers.”

Steve, and even Nat, frowned at that before she spoke.  “Look, even with the best will in the world, you are a few hours out, right?”

“About four,” Rhodey conceded.

“We are on the ground here.  I’ve liaised with Agent Singh before.  We can go to his foster home and be there when they pick him up.  Make sure we keep eyes on him until you get here.”

“Wait, foster home? What?!”  Tony snapped to look at Rhodes, his heart thumping strongly.

“FRIDAY sent us through all the information she had on him?”  Steve looked confused.

“Yes, we got it.  Tony’s just been…acclimating…to the news, so he hasn’t seen it yet.”

Tony squeezed past Rhodey, shooting him a death stare, and grabbed another tablet before sitting down next to him again.  The files FRI had collated were plentiful, but he jumped to the Social Services section; goosebumps rising on his skin as he quickly read through it all.

‘Parents’ dead.

‘Uncle’ dead.

‘Aunt’ in a coma.

In foster care for the last ten months.

“What the fuck?”  Tony looked up at Rhodey, then to Steve and Nat who all held similar grim expressions.

“His current home is in Queens.  We can be there in half an hour,” Nat said.

Tony faltered for half a second.  He didn’t want to trust them, not after Leipzig, not after Siberia, not with something that was this close to his heart. But he had to take a chance - his son – his baby – a literal piece of him was out there and he didn’t know if he was ok.  If he, Rhodey, and Pepper couldn’t be there, then the truth was that, even after everything, he could trust them with this.

Tony ran his fingers through his hair before he stared into the screen, catching eyes with each of them.

“Yes. Please.”

Bucky

All this free time was still unnerving.  When he had been on the run, he’d been focussed on surviving, moving stealthily to avoid Hydra, finding food and money to get by.  But now; nowhere to go, nothing he had to do, no one barking orders.  Wakanda was the same, but his days were filled with memory treatments, talking to Doctors, testing after they brought him out of Cryo. 

There were similarities here – he’d been set up with a former SHIELD psychologist to see weekly.  The guy was ok – ex-Army, which didn’t seem like a coincidence.  They hadn’t gotten to the dark stuff yet.  The guy didn’t rush him to talk about anything and that was good because he wasn’t ready to.  Not with this guy. 

Sometimes he would sit there and listen to the guy talk; remembering all the ways that he could take him down to get out of the door in one piece.  Nothing lethal of course.  These were probably the kinds of thoughts that the shrink wanted him to share…

He’d spent the morning doing his usual historical catch-up – some learning modules SHIELD must have set up originally for Steve’s reintegration into modern life.  He wasn’t as poorly versed in the modern world as Steve.  Whenever he’d been defrosted, they’d kindly updated him on modern technology and sometimes on moving political events, but only if they were mission informative.  He had only been a weapon after all.  For the little time that Steve had had to learn, he did pretty well, but judging by the frequency with which Steve frowned at his phone, he still wasn’t totally acclimated. 

Today’s lesson was on ‘Modern US History 1995-2000’.  Yay.  He’d never been one for school, preferring more to work with his hands.  Engines, and later guns, had felt more logical to him.  He often eyed Stark’s car collection down in the garage, itching to look underneath their hoods.  Maybe he could convince Steve to let him tinker with his beloved bike.  Or maybe even get a car of his own now that he had all this ridiculous military back pay. 

The numbers taunted him every time he saw them.  Having all this money for seventy years spent being a murderer for an evil organisation hardly seemed fair.  He’d made a few generous, anonymous, donations to the VA and a few other NY vet associations.  It hadn’t eased his guilt as much as he’d hoped.

Steve gently encouraged him to spend some, but he was hardly one to talk.  Bucky couldn’t see what he had even bought since 2012 other than the bike.  He got the impression that Stark funded most everything. 

That didn’t sit well for him.  Bucky had convinced Steve that they should go and do their own grocery shopping – as a way of being normal – which of course Steve jumped on.  Anything to help Bucky feel part of average society.  Bucky though, really wanted to mitigate taking money from Stark as much as possible.  Unfortunately, even with his ‘oh so cunning’ disguise of hat and sunglasses, Steve had been recognised more than once, so their visits were sporadic and late at night. 

He’d enquired with FRIDAY where he should pay rent and been informed that he was not required to.  He had pushed and asked her to tell Stark that he wished to pay rent but had received a reply of “Mr Stark will not take your money.”  Other than try to slip some cash under the man’s door, he wasn’t sure what else to do.  He was stuck here until the six months good behaviour bond was fulfilled, so he’d have to put up with it.

He was laying across the sofa, about to fall asleep reading about hanging chads and ballot papers, when two sets of heavy footsteps came thundering along the floor from the elevator.

Bucky jumped up on instinct, the StarkPad falling to the ground, as he quickly made his way out to the hallway, just as Steve and Natasha got to their bedroom doors. 

“Hey!”  Bucky called.  Steve turned, his face was set and serious as he continued into his bedroom.  “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a situation.”

Bucky followed Steve inside where he was pulling on a baseball hat and slipping some shades into his pocket. 

Natasha was talking rapidly on the phone before entering.  “FBI will meet us there.”

Steve nodded back.

“Come on,” Natasha directed her speech to him now.  “We could use another pair of hands.”

“I’m not cleared for any kind of combat.”

“It’s not that,” Steve interjected, “it’s a…personal situation.”

Well, in that case.  A kick of adrenaline trilled through him, and he felt a surge of energy.

“What do we need to load up with?”  He slipped his hand down to his leg and unsheathed a knife from his boot, checking it in the light.

“Yeah, that’ll more than do,” Natasha said, sharing a look with Steve, “come on, we’ll explain on the way.”

They made it down and out to the parking garage where Natasha picked a nondescript car that they loaded into it; the two Avengers in the front.  Natasha pulled them out onto the road, easing the car around traffic effortlessly.  She still managed to pull out a small tablet from somewhere on her person and handed it to Bucky.

“I presume you did some research on Tony before you came here?” Natasha said, her eyes back on the road.

Bucky nodded.  Sure, he’d read up on the guy – he’d read about anything that he could find that was related to Steve during his two years on the run.  He’d done some additional looking into Stark when he was in Wakanda – something to try to figure out why this man was helping him get pardoned after everything he’d done to his family.

“Did you read about his son, Luca?” Steve asked.

The information filtered in from his memory.

“Abducted, age 3; never found.”

Steve nodded.  “Until earlier this morning, when NYPD got a hit off a set of fingerprints.”

“A body?”

“No, they came from a 15-year-old arrested late last night for trying to buy drugs.”

Huh, well that was unexpected.

Bucky tapped the tablet, and a file was already up.  There was a mug shot of a kid who honestly looked younger than fifteen and fucking terrified.  He had dark, messy waves of hair; a thin, almost gaunt, face that held big, dark eyes.  You could’ve said there was some semblance to Stark, but it was hard to say.  He flicked and there was another photo behind – dated from last year, a school ID photo.  The kid looked different; healthier, rounder cheeks and radiating happiness with a big grin.  Now this photo, this one was more like Stark.  

“Peter Parker,” he murmured the name out loud.

Steve continued as Natasha honked her horn twice before manoeuvring the car out of a long line of traffic and down a side street.

“Lives in Queens.  Parents Mary and Richard Parker died in a plane crash when he was 7.  Lived with paternal Uncle and Aunt – Uncle was shot and killed in a bodega robbery gone wrong; Aunt was shot too and seems to be in a coma.  That was ten months ago; living in foster care since.”

Bucky’s stomach flipped.  If this kid turned out to be Stark’s, then this was another monumentally bizarre turn of events in such a short lifetime. 

“Poor kid,” he said, locking eyes with Steve who had the same grim expression.  No kid could go through so much loss and not be affected.  And now this.

A thought occurred to him.  “Where is Stark?”

Natasha let out a sigh.  “He and Colonel Rhodes were on vacation when FRIDAY’s protocol was triggered.  They’re heading back, but they are still a few hours out and knowing Tony that is even with breaking a few laws of physics.”

“How is he?”

“Freaking out, understandably.  Thank God Rhodes is with him,” said Steve.

“The FBI are involved, what with it being a high-profile kidnapping case and over State lines too, but I’d rather we run point on this.  Make sure it’s done right.”  Natasha’s voice was low and stern.  It was as close to emotional as he’d ever seen her; this was personal. 

Bucky bit his lip.  Of course it was, Stark needed them and she’d jumped at the chance to be there for him.  So had Steve.  He had the same look in his eye.  Stark was family to them—regardless of how the man might feel in return — which meant this kid was family too.

“So, the mission is to get the kid back to the Tower?”

“Well, the FBI, NYPD, and Social Services are going to be all over this, so we need to play it fairly by the book.  Nothing to jeopardise Tony’s position going forward.”  Natasha confirmed.  “First though we need to find him and get a DNA sample to confirm – in case there was an error with the fingerprints.  Tony’s system at the Tower is way faster than any of the Government’s.”

Obviously it was, the guy was a tech genius, though Shuri liked to brag that she was far superior.  She’d stuck her tongue out at him when he’d suggested that Stark might have more luck against her if he had his own supply of Vibranium.

Natasha pulled the car off the main road and into a residential area filled with small houses built close together.  Some were well maintained, others less so.  Like, either the neighbourhood was up and coming or was going downhill, but it wasn’t immediately clear which.

Natasha brought the car to a stop and pointed towards one of the more dilapidated houses.  “Current foster home.” 

There was a rather obvious – to Bucky anyway - government car parked further down the road, two people sitting inside.

He jutted his chin in that direction.  “Company.”

Nat nodded; she would’ve already noticed them.  He had no doubt that at least some of their training was similar. 

“We’ll just go in with them, get the kid and head back to the Precinct with them while we wait for Tony and Rhodey to arrive.” 

Natasha pulled a brown wig out of her bag, expertly putting it on, covering her red locks instantly.

“Is that really necessary?” Steve asked, watching her movements the same as Bucky was.

“Got to keep as low a profile as possible.  If this turns out to be Luca, then Tony is going to want it kept out of the press.  There’s going to be a whole load of NDA’s being dropped around here, with the foster family at the very least.”

She turned to face them now; her hair immaculately hidden and the wig looking very realistic.  Whatever she had done to her make-up really did dramatically change how she looked.  She no longer looked like the Black Widow from the TV or merchandise he’d seen being hawked on the streets.

“That means you get to stay here,” Nat said, giving Steve a half-smile.

“What?  No, I should have your six,” Steve protested. 

“It’s not a combat situation.  Hostiles are unlikely.  Probably just an unsuspecting foster parent and a miserable kid who just got grounded for being picked up by the Police.”  She pulled the cap off his head with a smirk.  “Even with your incredible disguise, you’re too recognisable, Cap.”

Steve almost pouted and Bucky stifled a laugh. 

“Told you it was weak,” Bucky jibed.

“Shut it, punk.”

Bucky’s grin suddenly fell as Natasha landed the cap on his head.  “You, however, are not all that recognisable.”

“What?”  Bucky spluttered.  “Stark won’t want me anywhere near his kid.”

“Right now, his priority is getting the kid safe, he won’t care how that comes about.”

Before Bucky could protest that, two people started to get out of the unmarked car.  “We’ve got movement.”

Natasha reached into her bag and handed them both earpieces.  Bucky slipped his into his ear with eased practice.

“It’s not a combat situation but we need comms?” Steve asked, pressing the issue again.

“I thought you’d like to be kept in the loop, Cap.”  Natasha gave him a crooked smile.  “We don’t have to…”

“Yeah yeah, get outta here,” Steve grumbled and yep, there was a pout after all.

Bucky followed Natasha’s lead, getting out of the vehicle and keeping up pace with her as they went to intercept the two women at the foot of the stairs to the property.

“Agent Singh?” 

The older female turned at Natasha’s words.  It took her a few seconds to place who Natasha was before her eyes widened slightly, flicking briefly over to Bucky and back.

“Agent Romanoff.”  There was respect in her tone; the two women had obviously met before. 

“We’re here on Mr Stark’s behalf.  I presume you have spoken with him?”

The agent looked wary but not surprised. She nodded tightly: Bucky got the impression that she’d spoken to Tony more than once.  “He said I might expect you.  This is Laura Macmillan with Child Services.”

The woman smiled uneasily at them both before fussing with her overstuffed briefcase.

“Excellent.  Shall we?”  Natasha breezed on, extending an inviting arm towards the stairs.

Bucky thought he half saw it in the agent’s eyes that she might protest their involvement before she thought better of the idea.  She obviously knew who she was dealing with here, though Bucky wasn’t sure if it was the threat of Natasha’s wrath or Tony Stark’s that was the biggest motivator.

“Will you go and scope out the perimeter?”  Natasha turned to him.  He gave a silent nod - he was happy for her to run point.  He didn’t have much current experience of working in a team – not since 1943 anyhow.  He’d been assisted in Hydra but it was never really teamwork; they mostly used him for lone assassinations.

“I thought you said it wasn’t an op,” Steve’s voice grumbled in his ear.

He pressed his finger to the comm.  “Stop whining, you big baby.”

“Chatter,” Natasha’s voice came through quietly.

She left her comm open purposefully and he could hear the knock on the door through it before he turned down the side of the house.  The outside of the house was wooden boarded, frayed all over, and looking like it had needed a lick of paint about ten years ago.  He scaled the gate with his usual ease and landed down in a concrete alley.  It led down to an uncared-for garden, which was basically a scruff of grass and a porch that, on a quick inspection, seemed to be used for little more than a large bin filled mostly with empty beer bottles.

He could hear through the comms that the front door had been opened – a nervous-sounding man’s voice evident - as he made his way down the other side of the house.  The alley between the house and the fence was narrower on this side than the other.  There was another bin, this one lying on its side.  It was directly placed under a window that was a few feet off the ground.

In his ear, there was a jangle of keys and the sound of someone opening a door.

“Peter…Peter?” 

Bucky righted the discarded bin and stepped up onto it.  Straight away he was on the same level as the window, looking right into the room.  On the other side of the room, Natasha was standing in the doorway with a plain-looking man, who let out an almost-shriek at seeing Bucky at the window. 

“He’s with me,” Natasha reassured, though her face looked anything but soft with the man.

That must have something to do with the fact that this guy had obviously locked the kid in here overnight.  Bucky quickly surveyed the small, starkly decorated bedroom, which consisted of a twin bed pushed into one corner and a chest of drawers in the other: but no kid. 

He pushed the window further open, hoisted himself inside, and took in the finer details; eyes drawn to a small pool of blood on the floor by the bed - stark red standing out against the dusty floorboards.  He looked to Natasha who also seemed to have spotted it, and she gave him a hard look before turning to the man.

This wasn’t going to be a ‘Click and Collect’ after all.

“Where could he be?”  Natasha rounded on the man now.

“I…I don’t know.  He should be here…” The man gulped as he looked at Natasha’s distinctly unimpressed face and then behind him to where Agent Singh was stood with a similar expression.  “I’ll call him, he probably went off with his friends.”

The man stepped back out of the room, fumbling in his pocket for a phone.  Agent Singh made eye contact with Natasha and indicated her head towards the man.  Natasha nodded before swiftly closing the door.  She crouched down at the congealed blood, producing a test tube and carefully putting some into it.  DNA.

With his enhanced hearing, he could just about make out the man’s voice through the door.  It was almost sickly sweet but there was a worried undertone he failed to hide. “Child Services are here; they want to talk to you. I need you to get back here as soon as possible.”

Bucky opened the drawers; they were empty, save for a few sheets of paper with doodles on in one of them and some odd socks in another.

Something caught his eye on the floor; he bent down and picked it up – a long nail with some residue on it – he held it up to the light to see it was stained light red.  On instinct he went to the windowsill, his finger finding some holes; the nail fit perfectly.  There were more small drops of blood staining the wood by one of the holes, confirming his suspicions.

Natasha came up behind him; he opened his hand to show what he had found and watched as her eyes travelled to the windowsill as well.  Her jaw tightened and she swung around.  He just about caught her with his hand.  She glared at him, so he let go of her.

“Low profile, remember?”

Her eyes flashed for a second before she shook off whatever rage had flared.  She took a minute breath and headed to the door again, pulling it open swiftly. 

The man was still there and jumped at her sudden appearance.

“Did you speak with him?”

“I left a message.  And I texted him.”

“Give me some of the names of his friends.”

The man again looked off to the left.  The kid had been here for a few months and didn’t even know one of his friend’s names?  They really scraped the bottom of the barrel with this guy.

“Um…” A sheen of sweat had started to grow on his brow.

“How often does he stay here?”  Nat didn’t bother waiting for him to conjure something else.

He looked uncomfortable again.  “What do you mean?”

Natasha waved towards the room behind her.  “The room doesn’t look all that lived-in to me.” 

“He’s a tidy kid.”

“The drawers are empty,” Bucky all but growled, settling what was his darkest look at the man.

It seemed to work as the man quickly changed tact.  “That kid just doesn’t stay put.”

Not even when you lock the door and nail down the windows. I wonder why he was so keen to leave?

“I think he sneaks in to shower sometimes but I haven’t seen him much before that cop brought him here last night.”

“How long before that?”  Natasha pushed.

“I dunno…” Natasha took a half step towards him, sharpening his mind.  “About a month, alright?  Like I said, he won’t stay put.”

So, the kid had been who knows where for the last month at least. 

The phone in the man’s hand dinged and he glanced at it, relief flooding his features. 

“He said he’ll be here in 15 minutes.”  The man held up his phone, showing the message to Nat and she nodded.

She turned her back on him and addressed Bucky.  “I’ll talk to Agent Singh and Child Services.  Can you go brief Steve?”

Exiting the way he had come in – via the window frame – seemed the most natural way to leave, so he chose that.  It wasn’t until he was back over the fence and on the street that he pulled a cigarette out and lit it.  He took a few deep drags as he walked back to the car: Steve’s anxious face watching him as he did.  He stubbed the cigarette out before getting into the car next to Steve.

“Did you catch all that?”

“The kid’s not there – doesn’t look like he stays there much.  Foster dad is clueless.”

“Amongst other things,” Bucky said, chucking the nail he still had in his hand to Steve, who caught it seamlessly.  “Looks like he pulled the nails out with his fingers.”

Steve’s brow bunched in confusion.

“The guy nailed the window shut, locked him in the room,” Bucky clarified, “and there was some blood on the other side of the room.”

Steve’s whole body tightened.  “You think this guy was abusing him?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Blood is fresh enough to suggest something happened last night.  Got to be a reason why he doesn’t stay there.  It would add up.”

Steve hung his head for a second before pulling in a breath.  “Not again.  This is going to kill Tony.”

“Again?”

Steve motioned to the tablet.  “FRIDAY pulled his Child Services files.  He was pulled from the first home after someone reported abuse on him.  Tony will have already seen that but now…again.”

Bucky flexed his jaw.  He’d never considered having kids, but he remembered parts of being an older brother to his little sisters.  If anyone had hurt them, they’d damn well regret it.

Steve’s phone rang now, and he paled a second before straightening his shoulders.  He turned his body so Bucky was well out of the picture before pressing the phone.

“Rogers, any update?”  Bucky could hear the sharpness in Stark’s voice.

“We’re at the house but he isn’t here.  The foster parent contacted him and he’s on his way back now.”

“Right, shit, ok.”  Stark let out a heavy breath.  “You’ll call me back as soon as you have him?”

“Of course, Tony.”

“Right. Good.”

The phone cut off.

“Just giving him the short version?”  Bucky couldn’t help but think keeping secrets from Stark after all that other mess was a bad idea.  Especially when it was about his kid.

“He’s miles away on a plane, already freaked out.  I’ll make sure he has all the information when he gets back.”  Steve chewed his lip.  “Or maybe we’ll let Nat make that decision.”

Bucky nodded; that seemed safer.

Bucky pulled up the tablet and read through the information on the kid.  He skipped over the reports about the dead, or nearly all dead, family members and went straight to the Children’s Services files. It made bleak reading.  This was the kid’s fourth foster home in ten months.  First one abusive, the second one he punched his foster carer, though no assault charges were brought against him, third one they sent him back complaining that he would sneak out at night. 

If even a fraction of that was true, Stark was going to have his work cut out for him.

Another car arrived and they both watched as two more people headed up to the house – a pair of uniformed Police Officers.

Natasha had muted her comm link so Bucky pressed his hand to his earpiece.  “Getting a bit crowded up there?” 

There was a short delay.  “It’s not the nicest place to stand shoulder to shoulder with people,“ came her murmured reply.

“Check out the beer bottle collection out back.  Might want to point it out to the social worker.”

“Noted.”

A car pulled up and another pair of FBI agents came up to the house, both wearing matching windbreakers spelling out exactly who they worked for.

Steve seemed to be on the same wavelength.  “So much for low profile.”

“Morons.”  Bucky moved to get out of the car.  “Cigarette break.”

“I wish you wouldn’t…” Steve said, and not for the first time.  Bucky didn’t know why, he didn’t smoke them near anyone else, and it wasn’t like they had any effect on his health, not even with the knock-off version of the serum that ran through his veins.

“You sound like your Ma.”

Steve made a gesture unbecoming of a national icon.  Bucky grinned before getting out, closing the door behind him.

He had just put the unlit cigarette to his mouth when he saw a figure coming down the sidewalk.  Even from this distance, he could see it was a teenager, not too tall, with a backpack tightly strapped to his back.  As he got closer, the kid’s eyes were trained on a particular house and Bucky followed his eye-line to the one that he’d just been in.

The kid got a few steps closer before he suddenly stopped stock still.  Two of the FBI idiots had come back out onto the porch.  The kid was close enough that Bucky could see his features now; dark, unruly hair and a black eye that hadn’t been on his mug shot from last night.  It was Peter Parker alright. 

Bucky waited, his eyes not leaving the kid as he seemed to be standing there, thinking.  He took a half step forward before stopping. 

Bucky raised his hand to the comm and pressed it.  “I’ve got eyes on the kid,” he said quietly.

The kid suddenly looked in his direction; his body going tight, and Bucky knew what he was going to do before he’d even moved.

“Wait!” He called out but it made no difference and the kid started to run.

“He’s running.”  Bucky started after him, aware of movement from the house; no doubt Natasha.  “I’m following.”

It didn’t feel right chasing him like he was a target or a criminal or something, but if he got away, who knew how they’d find him.  Bucky pushed forward, the kid was damn fast, that was for sure.  The kid was only a couple of hundred yards ahead of him before he turned down a side street.  He turned the corner fully expecting to see him ahead but was met with nothing.  He came out the other end of the street onto another residential road.  Still nothing.  His eyes scanned all around but saw little movement.  He jogged up and down that street before walking back to the other street, checking for any alleys but coming up short.

How…how could he have gotten away?

“I lost him,” he said into the comm. 

“You what?!” Nat echoed back.

Chapter Text

Peter

The call from Mr Andersson was surprising.  He hadn’t expected anyone from Child Services to turn up first thing on a Saturday over him being picked up by the Police just a few hours before.  That was a fast turnaround.

It’d been tempting to blow them off: the black eye he was now sporting would only lead to questions.  Peter would have to come up with a believable reason for it and, as Jeff had reminded him last night, he sucked at lying. 

But no, as much as he didn’t want to do Mr Andersson any favours, he couldn’t blow them off.  Causing too much trouble might mean they’d move him again; then he might even have to move schools.  He couldn’t risk that.  Ned and MJ were his anchors and excelling at Midtown Tech would be his ticket to a full-ride scholarship; a way to a new and better life.  Eyes on the long-term prize, Parker.

He had spent the night in his nook – managing only a little sleep before the noises from the shops below had been too loud for his sensitive hearing.  Just as he’d been about to suit up and get a Spidey patrol in, he’d got the call.  Hopefully, this wouldn’t take too long and then he could get back out there.  Tonight was his night at Ned’s and he wanted to make sure he got there early to take full advantage of a night that would most definitely include a full belly, fun chats, and a soft, warm bed.

As he turned into the road, his spider-sense began to hum.  When he was in fights, it was a much sharper sensation, one that screamed ‘move’, so he would, and that usually meant dodging a knife that was coming his way and, on occasion, a bullet.  But this was different.  With each step that he got closer to the house, the hum grew but it still felt like nothing more than a gentle warning.  He looked around; there were a couple of unusual-looking cars on the road.  It was mostly junkers on this road but these had newer plates. 

As the house came into view, he stopped.  A man was coming out onto the porch; when he turned, the bright, yellow letters ‘FBI’ flashed from the back of his jacket. 

He full-body froze; holy shit.  Were they here for him?  Did they know he was Spider-man? 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Peter pulled in a breath as he stared towards the house; his brain trying to appeal to logic.  Would the FBI really have jurisdiction for Spider-man?  He hadn’t hurt anyone that badly – that was why he’d come up with the webs.  He hadn’t broken any laws, not really.  Unless…

Shit, the mug shot.  He’d hacked into the NYPD servers to get it.  He might also have checked for the guy on a few other State’s servers; that definitely made it a federal offence.  Whether it was Spider-man or the hacking, he didn’t know what he was walking into: he needed time to regroup.

There was a staticky noise and someone said, ‘I’ve got eyes on the kid.’  He jerked in that direction, eyes immediately landing on a dark-haired man in a baseball cap further down the road, who was looking directly at him. 

“Wait’ he shouted as Peter turned and ran: the man following after him.  Christ, he was really fast.  Peter pumped his legs, taking a sharp right into the next street.  The building had a flat roof, perfect for him to hide.  He’d barely scrambled up the wall when he heard the man’s footsteps.  Pressing his front to the rough concrete, he desperately tried to control his breathing; each warm puff of air moving small bits of gravel with its force.  It would be a miracle if they couldn't hear him panting.

The footsteps receded out to the road, but Peter stayed where he was.  A few minutes later, there were more rushed footsteps down on the ground.  The man had to be back, looking around for him.  He held his breath. 

There was a crackle of static again followed by the sound of the voice – it was deep and low – “I lost him.”

Peter was trapped, if he moved now, they might see him – there was more commotion below, the sound of another set of footsteps and then a car pulling up.  He couldn’t make out the conversation, it was hard to differentiate the different voices from this distance; the sounds from the nearby road and the fast drum of his heart in his ears made it impossible.  After a few minutes, he heard car doors shutting right below and then the deep rumble of an engine pulling away.

As quietly as possible, he jimmied his phone out of his pocket and powered it down.  He shrugged off the backpack; deep inside he found the small pry tool he was looking for.  Using it to take apart the phone, he disconnected the battery; putting all the pieces safely in his bag.  At least no one would be able to trace him now. 

God, had they put him on some sort of Government watchlist?  Maybe he’d watched too many bad crime shows with Aunt May.  The FBI might not even be here for him - he was pretty sure that Mr Andersson was attempting to grow weed in the basement, maybe they were there for that.  The guy who chased him could just be a social worker with a gym obsession – or track— judging by how fast he ran. 

After half an hour, frostbite didn’t feel far off.  Down on the street, things had calmed; nothing sounding like anyone running around, looking for him.   Slowly, Peter crawled towards the other building.  He glanced in all directions, there was no input from his spider-sense, so he jumped across to the next rooftop, then to the next.  He kept going until he was a few blocks down and could finally breathe again.  The coast seemed clear. 

Not a great start to the day. 

There was no way going out as Spider-man was a wise choice now, just in case that was who they were after.  As much as he loved the people of Queens, they had a weird obsession of posting videos of him whenever he was doing his thing.  There was a whole “Spidey-watch” blog which, whilst he was super flattered by it, logged his every sighting.  If they were trying to find him, they’d probably scout that.  So he headed to his usual Saturday morning hangout.

His favourite librarian wasn’t on duty today – Miss Judy shared her donuts with him – but he sent them a warm smile anyway before heading to his usual spot.  The beaten-up armchair was hidden in the less well-frequented Physics section and he snuggled into it, enjoying the warmth from the radiator and the quiet from being off the street.  He’d fallen asleep here plenty of times: the comforting musty smell of the books and the quiet easily lulling him.  For the most part, no one cared that he was here most evenings or every Saturday.  It wasn’t like he caused any trouble, and there was public WIFI. 

Right, a plan, he needed a plan.  The more he thought about it, the more he realised that there was little chance they were there for Spider-man.  He was super careful about where he got changed and he never brought his suit back to the house.  Nothing to connect Peter Parker to Spider-man. 

So it was most likely that they were after Peter Parker.  Peter slumped back in the chair.  Was that better?  He was a minor; for a first-time hacking offence he would probably get a slap on the wrists, right?

God, he needed some advice.  He couldn’t even hit up his friends: Ned would be at his grandma’s til later and MJ worked til 5pm.  Once he got to Ned’s tonight, he would get him to triple check, again, that they’d covered their tracks.  Maybe even hack the FBI and find out why they were there.  Hmmm, maybe not.  He didn’t want Ned to get in trouble.  Either way, they’d figure it out together.  And if Peter had to skip town, he needed to see his guy in the chair one last time.  Most importantly, he needed to see May.

As soon as it hit eleven, he packed up his stuff and headed over to the care facility.  Some of the staff greeted him as he navigated the corridors.  He was a familiar face now; coming here a few times a week since May’d been moved.  The place was clean, and the staff were kind; it eased some of his discomfort knowing that, when he couldn’t be here all the time.  He was about to turn into May’s room when one of the staff waved him down. 

“Hi Ms Shepherd, how are you?” he asked politely.

“Peter!”  She pulled him to her ample bosom, not seeming to notice or care as she pressed him to it. “I’m well, thank you.”

She tutted as she gently cupped his bruised cheek.  “Not those bullies again, sweetheart?”

Peter shrugged.  “I’ve got to work on my sprinting.”

She tutted again.

“Any change?” 

He asked the same question, getting the same answer he always did; delivered with a soft, indulgent expression.  “No change.”

The only surprise was the tight feeling in his stomach every time: that small ember of hope being extinguished each time.

“You go on and visit with May, then come and find me later.  Mrs Evan’s daughter brought a huge haul of cookies for the staff and I’m sure we could spare you a few to take home.”

He smiled back at her.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

As the woman headed off down the corridor, Peter opened the door and slipped into the room.  The lights were on low, and sunlight was streaming through the open curtains. 

“Hi, May!” He said cheerfully as he dropped his bag and went to the sink in the corner to wash his hands.  He filled a small bowl up with some warm water and a flannel and brought it to the bedside table.  “How are you doing today?”

Peter stared down at her still body.  Her dark hair was gathered to one side and her face was serenely blank, as it had been for the last ten months.

“Let’s get you nice and clean and I’ll tell you about the day I’ve had.  You honestly won’t believe it.”

He wrung out the flannel and gently wiped down her face and neck before moving to her arms and her legs from the knee down.  He left the rest of her body to the support staff.  May would prefer that. 

As he worked, he told her about what had happened last night, seeing Jeff, and then the weird start to the day with the FBI at Mr Andersson’s house.  Not about his plan to leave though.  It wasn’t a real plan after all - who knew what the next day would bring.  Ned could help him figure it out; no point in worrying May, not yet.  After cleaning up, he pulled the armchair a little closer so that he could reach out and hold May’s hand, slipping her cool fingers between his own.  He took the book off the side table where it always sat. 

“Now, where were we?” He said before he began to read.

——

“Peter, hey buddy, wake up.”  It was a familiar voice that he couldn’t quite place.

“Ben?” He asked groggily, as he forced his eyes open.

“Not Ben, bud.”  There was a distinct apology in those words.  Peter’s eyes focussed to see Jeff opposite him.  Officer Morales right now, judging by the uniform he was wearing. 

Shit. Three guesses as to why he was here.

Nice one, Parker.  Only a genius would fall asleep in the middle of planning their escape, and in probably the first place they would think to look for him. He was hardly going to become a criminal mastermind with skills like that; maybe he deserved his comeuppance.

“I guess I really should get my glasses fixed,” Peter said with half a smile to ease the awkwardness.  He’d been dreaming about Ben; he wasn’t under any illusions that he wasn’t still gone or anything.  Unwelcome memories of blood, everywhere, jumped forth.  He knew all too well.

Peter sat up, taking the still open book off of his chest and placing it back in the nightstand.  Officer Morales was staring at May; his face twisted in grief.

“I read to her; some research suggests that talking might help her come out of it.”

Morales’ eyes flicked back to him, smiling at him in a way that said he didn’t quite believe it.  “What are you reading to her?”

“Well, I started off with some of those crappy romance novels that she likes.”  He pulled a face and Morales snorted.  “But recently, I started her on Harry Potter.  She hates stuff like that, so I figured she might wake up just to beg me to stop.”

Morales chuckled, his eyes darting back to May before he rested his hand on her ankle and gave it a quick squeeze.  “I can imagine her doing that.”

There was a beat of silence.  Was Officer Morales going to tell him what was going on?  Was this part of the interrogation – a silence technique?

“I’m guessing your visit has something to do with the FBI being at Mr Andersson’s house?“ 

That didn’t take long.  He’d cracked pretty easy; yep, definitely not going to be a criminal mastermind.

Morales put his hands on his hips.  “You saw them and decided running off was the best idea?”

Peter shrugged sheepishly; maybe being cute would help him.  “I…I just panicked.”

Morales gave him a soft smile; not like one you’d give someone you suspected of being a vigilante mutant, right?  “I understand, come on, let’s go.”

He started towards the door without further explanation.  Peter hesitated for half a second – would he really try to get away from Jeff?  He shrugged his coat on before slipping his bag onto his shoulder.  Guess he was going to have to wait to find out what was going on.

He leaned over and gave May a big hug before pressing a kiss to her cheek.  “I love you, Aunt May.”

Morales waited at the door; his eyes troubled.   Peter gave her one last look before slowly following the older man out of the room and into the corridor.

When they got out to the car park, there was a squad car waiting, with another cop in the driver’s seat.  Peter scanned the car park, recognising a car that had been outside Mr Andersson’s house earlier.  There were three figures in it now, but he couldn’t make out their features from this distance.  Morales opened the back door of the squad car and held it wide for him.  He hesitated.

“Where are we going?”

“Just back to the Precinct.”  Officer Morales’ voice was level, but it felt forced.

“It’s about the weed in Mr Andersson’s basement, right?”  Might as well deflect in that prick’s direction even if it wasn’t.

Officer Morales’ eyebrows knitted together.  “The what?”  He shook his head before pursing his lips and looking directly at Peter.  “No, nothing about any weed.”

Peter tilted his head.  “Am I in trouble?”

Morales’ brow returned to its furrow.  “No, Peter, of course not.”

He tightened the grip on his bag, his hands sweaty, before looking up at Officer Morales.

“Then why do I have to come with you?  Why are the FBI involved?”

Morales didn’t look any less troubled, but he placed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder.  “Look, Pete, I can’t explain it all to you here.  But I promise that it’s nothing…really bad…and you are definitely not in any trouble.”

Peter looked back towards the car.  If he squinted, he could almost make out the dark-haired man in the back of the car.

“You trust me, don’t you?” 

Peter looked up at Officer Morales – Jeff – who he’d known since he was six years old when he’d first come to live with Ben and May.  Jeff had had Ben’s back through anything – he wouldn’t bring Peter into a situation that would hurt him.  But then what did they want from him?  The spider-sense at the back of his neck hummed gently, but nothing to tell him there was danger in going with Jeff.  It didn’t seem like he had much choice anyway.  Peter nodded and stepped into the car.

The short ride was mostly silent.  Morales asked him about his eye and Peter didn’t even bother to lie, just looked back at him, which led to the man cursing under his breath and staring out of the window for a minute.  Peter had a thousand questions, but he had the feeling that Morales either wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell him anything.  He craned his neck around once; the other car trailing after them. 

They parked in the lot next to the other cruisers and made their way through the back entrance.  Even without being in the main bullpen, it was a lot quieter in here than it had been last night.  Saturday lunchtimes obviously not such a high crime time.

Morales’ hand was a warm weight on his back, guiding him along.  He stopped and flashed his pass on a door that clicked open.  It was an interrogation room – Ben had shown him around the station when he was a kid, stopping in one of the rooms to explain how the two-way mirror worked.

Peter paused in the doorway, Morales almost walking into the back of him. 

“Why are we going in here?”  Peter snapped his eyes to Morales’; his pulse starting to race.  “You said I wasn’t in trouble.”

“Hey, no, you’re not.”  Morales squeezed his shoulder.  “It’s just the biggest available room, that’s all.  Go on, take a seat.”

Peter shuffled over to the small table, like dragging this out would save him from whatever was about to happen.  He sat down in one of the chairs, a chill riding up his spine as he did.

“I’ve got to go and talk to some people then I’ll be back with them.  Can I bring you a soda, something to eat?” 

His stomach was empty, but it was too tightly wound to consider eating anything. 

“Just a soda would be good.”

Morales nodded; the door shutting behind him with an audible click.  There wasn’t much in the room to stop Peter’s eyes from being drawn to his reflection in the large mirror.  Were there other people behind it?  He could hear the hum coming from the cameras that were placed in each corner of the room.

Time ticked by and Peter couldn’t stay still any longer.  He paced around the room for a few minutes before sitting back down, his leg bobbing up and down.  Just being left here was frying his nerves: all the possible reasons running through his mind like a freight train.  Maybe he was in trouble.  Maybe it was about Spider-man and Morales had lied, or just didn’t know about it?  It was the FBI, right?  They might not clue him in on it.

The door opened then, and Peter jumped up; heart thundering.  A tall lady came in wearing a pantsuit and a serious expression followed by another lady who looked more flustered and like she wanted to be here even less than he did.  Morales followed behind with a weary expression.

“Peter, I’m Agent Singh with the FBI.”  The woman extended her hand and Peter shook it on reflex.

“I’m Laura Macmillan with Family and Child Services.”  This woman did the same as Agent Singh, but her handshake was awkwardly limp.

“Please sit down.”  Agent Singh pulled out a chair opposite Peter and sat down in front of him.  Ms Macmillan did the same, placing her overstuffed bag on the floor.  Peter slowly sat back down in his chair.

“I just have a few questions for you, Peter.”  Agent Singh put a large file on the table that he hadn’t noticed she had with her.

Peter immediately flicked his eyes to Morales who smiled encouragingly at him.  His head jolted as he seemed to remember something and then held his hand up to reveal the soda he’d promised earlier.  He put the can in front of Peter and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“I’ll just be in the bullpen if you need me.”  Morales directed his words to Agent Singh.

Peter’s stomach turned. “Wait, don’t go.  You can stay, right?”

“Ms Macmillan is going to act as your advocate today,” Agent Singh said as if that would soothe him.

“I don’t want her!” He burst out; heat rising in his cheeks instantly.  “Sorry Ms Macmillan, I’m sure you are nice and everything, but I know Officer Morales.  Why can’t he stay?”

“I’m aware that you already have a personal relationship with Officer Morales but his presence is really not necessary,” Agent Singh said coolly.

Peter watched looks exchange between them like this was a conversation that they’d already had.  Yep, he didn’t like her.

“I’m not answering any questions unless he is here.”

“Peter!” Morales was frowning hard at him now; full admonishment with a look that reminded him of Ben.  “You do as Agent Singh asks, please.”

Agent Singh glanced at her watch and sighed again.  “Fine, Officer Morales can observe, if it makes you feel better.”

He relaxed slightly.  Morales raised an eyebrow at him before grabbing a chair from the corner of the room, placing himself at the side of the table between Peter and the two women.

“So, Peter, I realise that this whole situation is a bit confusing, and you must be concerned as to why we’ve brought you here today.”

That was the understatement of the century. 

“When you were brought into the station last night, you had your fingerprints taken, correct?”

Peter nodded but gave Morales a searching look. “I thought they had been…thrown away…because I wasn’t charged or anything.”

Agent Singh opened the folder in front of her and glanced down at the paperwork.  “They were entered into the system this morning around 8am.” 

His eyes darted to Morales again.  “I thought you said…”

“It seems, before he clocked off, Officer Jenkins felt that processing your details was the proper course of action.”  Morales’ jaw twitched.

Peter closed his eyes for a long second.  He knew he shouldn’t have been cocky with that guy at the end.  So he’d put them through just to spite him and now here he was answering questions in an interrogation room.  And of course, the officer had seen that he had the mug shot too – all of this must be about that.  Peter cursed himself - idiot move, Parker.

Agent Singh’s eyebrow raised in Morales’ direction.  “Regardless, when they were inputted into the system, they brought up a hit.”

“A hit?  In a crime?”  Peter frowned; now thoroughly confused.  His hacking databases certainly didn’t involve him leaving his literal fingerprints anywhere.

Maybe he’d left his prints when he was being Spider-man somewhere and now they thought he was a criminal, or maybe he’d hurt someone worse than he thought when he webbed them up, and shit, this was it, they were going to take him away and throw him in jail…

Agent Singh’s cool demeanour warmed slightly so no doubt the panic was written on his face.  “No, Peter, not like that.  A crime was committed but…” She paused and took a breath.  “Your prints came up as a match for a missing child.”

What?  Peter put his panic on pause; that was not what he thought she was going to say at all.  “A missing child?” 

“Yes,” she continued, “they matched prints we have on file for a boy who was kidnapped over twelve years ago.”

Peter spoke reactively; “There must be some mistake…I was never kidnapped.  My parents, they died when I was six, and I went to live with my Aunt and Uncle.”

He didn’t have tons of memories of his parents.  Snippets here and there, though he wasn’t sure if most of his ‘memories’ simply came from photos he’d seen.  But he remembered his mother; always hugging him, would drop everything when he so much as bumped his knee.  Dad was more serious, but when he was home from work, they’d draw together at the kitchen table.

“Since we were…waiting for you…we had the chance to get hold of your birth certificate which Child Services held since your Uncle’s death.  Although the analysis is not complete, early signs show that it is likely to be a forgery – a very good one at that,” Agent Singh commented coolly.

“An altered birth certificate, after adoption?”  Peter asked his knowledge from being forced to watch True Crime shows on daytime TV with May when he’d been off school with his asthma.  Maybe his parents had adopted him not knowing he was a kidnapped child – and they knew nothing about it.

“We’ve found no evidence of any adoption paperwork – legal or otherwise – in Mr and Mrs Parker’s names.”

Peter’s brain fizzed – they must suspect his parents.  His parents.  Kidnapping, document forgery.  She was making his parents out to sound like criminal masterminds.  They were just regular people, working in labs as scientists, eating bran flakes for breakfast (Mom), and singing off-key to old Motown hits (Dad).  Just normal people.

“This is…just not possible.  They wouldn’t do that,” he protested, his throat thick and tight.

“We ran the prints several times, and the database thoroughly checked, it is a match,” Agent Singh continued.  “We are just awaiting the results of a DNA test.”

A DNA test.  What was she talking about? 

“Where would you even get something of mine to test?”

“A sample was obtained from your foster home.”

Peter frowned yet again.  Where would they get a sample from there?  If they tested it, would they see any changes in his DNA from the spider bite and find out who he was? 

“I didn’t give you consent to test my DNA,” he bit out, hearing his own defensive tone.

Ms Macmillan shifted in her seat and spoke for the first time.  “Technically Child Services acts as your guardian in these circumstances and gave our consent.”

“Oh right, yeah, property of the Government…” Peter muttered, folding his arms across his body.

This was all a big mistake.  The blood work would come back and clear it up at least.  If they were just looking at paternity, then they might not even see any Spidery differences.  His heart still raced as he slumped back in the chair, but Agent Singh wasn’t finished. 

“While we wait on that confirmation, there was one other distinguishing feature on the missing child – a birthmark—take a look at the photos.”  Agent Singh handed him over a large photo that had obviously been zoomed in on. 

Peter’s breath caught and his free hand immediately flew to his chest.  His fingers spread over the place where there was a lopsided heart-shaped birthmark that resided just below his nipple.  May had said he was so loved that he needed two hearts to hold it all.  His heart beat rapidly under his fingertips, right next to that ‘other heart to hold all that love’, which was exactly the same birthmark as the one in the photo.

—-

Tony

Tony concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as he navigated his way down the slim, jet stairway.  Good job Rhodey had had the presence of mind to get him changed out of his flip flops or he probably would have gone flying with how jittery he was feeling.  When he’d packed for the trip, it wasn’t exactly with the thought in mind that he’d be choosing an outfit to wear to meet his son.  Or potential son.  Or…fuck, yeah.  Breathe.  One foot in front of the other.  His feet hit the tarmac and he made a beeline for Happy and the car.   

“Tony,” Happy gave him a tight nod, all business, but Tony knew him well enough to see the tightly guarded emotions in his eyes.  He’d been a part of Luca’s life, a begrudging Uncle – well, that was how he liked to portray it to the outside world.  Tony knew that he had loved the kid as much as Rhodey and Pepper.

Tony didn’t have time to go through his emotions, he just had to find this kid who could be his son.  As he slipped into the back, Rhodey came in the other door, just as his phone went off.  Steve.

“Found him.”  Steve’s voice boomed through the speaker and Rhodey slumped a little in the seat next to him.  “He’s at the Precinct now.  Exits are covered and Nat has gone inside to keep eyes on him at all times.  Agent Singh and a representative from Child Services are going to talk to him shortly.”

Tony let out a breath; muscles unfurling sightly as he did.  He was safe.  Nat wouldn’t let anyone get to him. 

“Any update from FRIDAY on the test?”

FRIDAY had been working on the sample that Steve and Nat had taken to the Tower for a few hours now.  Tony tapped his glasses, bringing the countdown up – it should be around an hour.  “Not yet.”

The car moved away, Happy driving at speed. 

“What is your eta?” 

“40 minutes,” Happy spoke up from the front.

“Anything else you want us to do here, Tony?”  Steve’s calming voice echoed in the cabin.

“No…just…” Tony faltered: a vice tightening around his throat.  He just wanted to be there now. 

“We’ll keep an eye on him until you get here.  Copy that.”

The call clicked off and Tony sat back, staring ahead at the back of Happy’s head.  Nat was there, Steve was there.  Could-be-Luca wouldn’t be going anywhere.  He felt Rhodey’s hand curl around his wrist, his finger pressing to his pulse point. 

“Keep those breaths coming nice and regular, Tone.  You’re doing great.”

Had he been breathing hard again?  Tony let himself close his eyes for a few moments; feeling the weight and warmth of Rhodey’s hand.  It was ok, everything was going to be ok.  Just keep pushing forward. 

“Hap?”  He said as he opened his eyes.

Happy’s eyes caught his in the mirror.  “Yeah?”

“Can you make it more like 30-35?” 

Happy nodded in grim determination.  “Yes, Boss.”

They made it in 29. 

Rhodey was right behind him as he clambered out of the car.  Steve stood solemnly by the door, waiting for them, along with a nervous-looking Police Officer.    

“This way, Mr Stark.”

The three men fell in step behind the officer, who led them through the station and opened a door for them to go through.  Nat was in there with three other people he didn’t recognise but no teenage boy. 

“Where is he?  I want to see him now.”

A man came towards him now, an FBI windbreaker on his back.  “Agent Singh is talking with him now. Once we have confirmation of his identity, we can talk with Child Services about reintroducing you both.”

But Tony wasn’t listening to whatever his name was; his attention was drawn entirely to the glass that covered one side of the wall.  He walked towards it until he was practically pressed up against it.

There he was; the kid that might be his.  His boy.  His Luca.  It could be, right?  The face of the baby boy he lost was so different from the teenager in front of him.  But still…waves of messy, dark hair; his skin a warmer tone than in the photo. 

The kid’s head tilted up at something said and there was a purple bruise on one side of his face.  Tony’s jaw clenched painfully at the sight; a million questions churning his stomach.  He forced his eyes away from it and looked over the rest of him.  Not just an image in his mind or a mug shot: breathing and moving – in this case, a leg up and down repeatedly.  His arms were tightly crossed across his chest, one finger tapping rapidly against his upper arm.  A real-life person.  Tony’s breath caught up with him: he pulled one in shakily. 

Rhodey was suddenly next to him; his breath hitching too.  “He’s beautiful, Rhodes.”

Rhodey’s hand clamped onto his shoulder and squeezed.  The feeling grounded him, and he leaned into it.

Nat came up to them now.  “Singh told him his fingerprints were a match for a missing child.  He said there must be a mistake, that his parents would never have taken a child, so it’s safe to say that he’s clueless.”

He became aware then of voices playing through the speakers.  Agent Singh’s voice he’d gotten used to hearing over the years since she had taken over the case.  But the next voice was entirely new and oh so sweet to his ears.

“Oh, right, yeah property of the Government…” it was said with disdain, snark almost.  His voice gravelly in that moment but it was obvious he didn’t have a naturally deep voice.  Hearing it pulled a smile to Tony’s face.

Agent Singh pulled out some glossy photos, explaining about Luca’s birthmark and passing one over to the kid.  Tony used to call it his tickle spot; he’d press kisses to it, Luca always giggling hysterically.  The kid looked down at the photo; instant recognition sparked in his eyes and his hand flew up to his chest.  Tony jerked at the movement: his own fingers pressing to the glass instinctively.  He looked like he’d seen a ghost – his dark, brown eyes pools of fear. 

“Do you have that birthmark?”  Agent Singh asked the question, but her tone showed she too had seen his reaction and it was almost an entirely rhetorical one.

Tony pressed his forehead to the glass, watching the kid’s glassy expression as he stared off to the side.

“He does,” the police officer sat next to him intoned clearly.  Tony’s eyes snapped to him at the same time Luca’s did.  Who was this guy and why had he seen his son semi-naked?

The teen met eyes with the officer before slowly turning his head back to Agent Singh.

“Yes, ma’am,” Luca said, his voice wavering.

“Oh my God, it is him,” Rhodey whispered from next to him, uttering his exact thoughts.  It wasn’t just fingerprints now; it was more proof.

Shivers rippled through his legs; like he might faint, but then his attention was back to Luca again, who suddenly seemed to have the same idea.  He crumpled back into the seat, having gone very pale and the police officer quickly put a steadying arm around him.

“Woah there, Pete,” the officer said softly, and the kid burrowed his head into the man’s neck.  They must know each other.

Nat seemed to know what he was thinking too.  “Officer Morales was the partner of Ben Parker, the man Peter called his Uncle.  He worked out of this precinct.  Morales helped us locate him.”

The familiarity in front of him made sense now.  Officer Morales reached out with one hand and popped open a can of soda that was on the table; pushing the kid up enough to put the can in his hand.  “Drink up.  Some sugar will help.”

Luca did as he was told; the can shaking in his hold.

“The kid insisted that Officer Morales stay despite our protests,” said Agent Windbreaker, “until we know what role the uncle played in all this, I’m not sure how much we should trust him.”

“Officer Morales is one of the most well-respected men in this Precinct.”  A gruff voice came from behind.  Likely a cop; Tony didn’t even bother to turn around.  He couldn’t focus on that right now.

Agent Singh seemed satisfied that Peter had calmed enough as she cleared her throat and waited for him to look up.

“A few more questions, if you don’t mind?” 

The kid stared at her like he wasn’t really seeing her and barely nodded.  She took that as his full consent.

“Does the name Luca mean anything to you?”

She received a blank stare back, no obvious recognition this time. 

“No ma’am,” he croaked out before taking another sip of drink, “was that…is that…the name of the missing boy?”  His eyes darted down to the photo that he’d left on the table and away again.

“Yes,” Agent Singh said simply before she flipped through her folder and extracted another photo.  Tony could see which photo it was before she passed it over to the kid.  It was Luca’s third birthday party at San Diego Zoo.  He’d been so excited to see all the animals.  Well, more interested in laughing at the piles of poo left behind in the Gorilla enclosure than anything else.

Agent Singh handed it to Peter who took it from her warily. “This was one of the last photos taken of Luca before he was abducted from a park near his home in California.  Do you think that is you?”

He stared at the photo, tracing his fingers along it after a moment.

“It could be,” he said quietly, throwing a quick glance at Officer Morales before handing the photo back and wrapping an arm around himself.

“Boss, the results are in.” FRIDAY’s Irish lilt sounded in his ear, and he took a step back. 

“Tell me.”

“The sample attributed to Peter Parker shows a 99.9% match with both the samples kept on file and for paternity with your own DNA.  Full report being sent to you, Agent Singh, Child Services and the NYPD, Boss.”

Tony drew in a harsh breath; a spike of pain shooting up his left arm.  He felt nothing: none of the joy or elation he’d secretly imagined he might for all those years.  Only numbness.  His head was swimming or was it the room that was moving?  He was half aware of two pairs of hands on him as they guided him into the nearest seat.

Rhodey and Steve were squatting down next to him when the white spots in his vision receded.

“It’s him,” he coughed out, “it’s a match.  That’s Luca.”

Chapter Text

Peter

Peter was about as sure as he’d ever been that he was in the middle of a vivid dream.  Like, one of those really deep ones where you realise it’s a dream so you wake up, only a few minutes later you realise the same thing again, so you wake up.  Rinse and repeat.  But then when you do wake up you sit there for a few minutes, stomach-churning, still unsure whether this was real life.  That was how he felt right now.

The picture had almost made him lose the lunch that he hadn’t had.  It was him: 100% him.  There had been a photo of him in Ben and May’s apartment – sure he was a bit lankier, different haircut, but same wide smile.  Wearing a party hat and a big badge indicating it was his fourth birthday.  That was the earliest photo of himself he’d seen.  They’d told him that earlier photos of him had been lost in luggage when they moved back from Geneva.  They might have lived in Geneva but maybe he hadn’t.  Maybe he’d been living somewhere else, belonging to someone else.  Maybe he wasn’t a Parker and never had been.  

No. No.  

There had to be some other explanation as to why they had the photos.  Or if it was true, how he ended up with his parents.  Maybe they’d adopted him, not realising he was stolen.  It wasn’t like the FBI would’ve had time to properly look for paperwork.  It might even be in Ben and May’s storage unit.  He’d find some paperwork there, surely?  But why would someone steal a baby, falsify papers and then give it up for adoption?  That didn’t make sense either.

The fingerprints, the birthmark, the photos.  I mean, it just couldn’t be him?  But the pressure was building in his chest; like an ember growing with every piece of kindling placed on it.

Agent Singh went back into the file and pulled out another photo.  There was the distinct crackle of static and Agent Singh paused; he could hear someone talking but not what they said.  Her eyes darted to his and held them.

She placed the photo down just as her phone beeped.  She glanced at it briefly before locking eyes on him again.

“We’ve just had the results back.  The DNA results show a definitive match between you and Luca.”

“Jesus,” Morales gasped from next to him.

The fire that had been growing seemed to encapsulate his whole chest now.  The room was just too small, too full, there were no windows, how did the air even get in here when there were no windows?  He had to get out of here before the air was sucked out of him.

He stood up abruptly, the chair falling down behind him, making the three adults jump.

“I’m sorry, I…I have to…I have to go.”

He made it in three strides to the door, scooping his bag up as he did; people were talking, chairs were scraping but if there were words, he didn't register them.  There was no handle; of course there was no handle, so criminals couldn’t just up and leave when they liked.  Nor could people who had just found out that their entire existence was a lie.  He had just put his fingers to where the door met the wall – maybe he could pry it open without showing his strength? – when a hand touched his shoulder and he jerked away, his back against the door now.

“Woah, easy,” Morales said, the owner of the offending hand.  His face was one big frown; full of sympathy, confusion, empathy.  Shit, he didn’t know which, but he didn’t want any of it.  He needed to be away from all of this.

The two ladies had stood up at some point; the three of them in a loose semi-circle around him like he was a feral animal they were trying to round up.  

Maybe he was; he was panting, his chest rising up and down rapidly and his throat felt so, so dry.

“Come and sit back down buddy,” Morales said gently.

Peter shook his head, and it was like it was full of bees and they were just buzzing, leaving his ears feeling full.

“Just let me out…I need to get out.”

“Please sit back down, Peter,” Ms Macmillan intoned, the most she had said this whole time.  “We realise this is a big shock for you.”

“You don’t know shit,” Peter bit out.

“Hey!” Morales' voice had a disapproving tone and it was like they were back at the apartment; he and Miles being told off for getting too rowdy. Morales had known him forever.   He…he’d help him.  He would sort it all out.

“Officer Morales, just let me out.  This…this all is a mistake.  A glitch in a computer somewhere.  It must be.”  Morales’ expression showed that he wasn’t on the same page.  Peter’s voice hitched as he spoke again; “Please, Jeff, you know me.  You know me.”

Morales’ face fell into an even more pitiful expression. Once again, he reached for Peter but this time Peter dodged out of the way.  Backing into the far corner of the room, he gripped his bag to his chest like it was a life jacket.  This couldn't be happening.  It couldn't.  His legs shaking, he let himself sink to the floor, his head in his knees and his hands gripped over his ears trying to just block the world out.

The three of them huddled together, seemingly no longer worried that he was going to get out somehow.  Peter didn’t even bother trying to listen to their conversation, pushing his fingers into his ears and hearing the world muffled was just fine for him right now.  He didn’t need any more new information.  He started to internally recite the elements of the Periodic table to stop his brain from thinking.

He could sense some movement and glanced up a few minutes later to see Morales was the only person left in the room – sitting on the floor a few feet away from him.  Peter pulled his fingers out of his ears; a rush of sounds returning.

“How are you doing?”

Peter looked at him but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, my mind is blown too.  It’s…a lot.”  

No shit.  Peter looked at a spot on the ground.  ‘A lot’…yeah, if redefining your whole life is ‘a lot’, then sure.  All of the reasons why this must be wrong kept playing through his head like a denial playlist.  He tried to take a deep breath, something to quell the tightness in his stomach, but it didn’t help.

“But you know,” Morales continued, “this could turn out to be a positive thing for you.”

That got Peter’s attention.  Positive?  Was he insane?  Peter shot him a look that he hoped conveyed that.

Morales looked sheepish.  “Ok, maybe it won’t feel like that now, or for a while, but…”

“Jeff,” Peter cut in, “please, I don’t want to talk, ok?”  The voice that came out of him was strangled and that seemed enough to give Morales pause.  Had the tightness in his stomach somehow crawled up and around his throat?  Whatever had happened, he just knew trying to talk about this right now would hurt.

Morales sat back on his hands and pushed out a breath.  “OK, I understand.”

Peter didn’t want to talk, and he didn’t want to think.  Sitting still was making him itch.  After a few minutes of silence, he unfurled his fist from its tight grip on his bag and opened it up.  He pulled out his phone and the pry tools from earlier and laid it all on the floor.  The phone case was quick to open again and he fluidly reattached the battery pack.  He’d modified it to increase it’s battery efficiency a while ago but he took his time checking all the connections now before he put it back together.  The methodical work soothed him, his body unfurling with the motions.  Once he was happy it was all looking good, he pressed the power button and was rewarded with the start-up logo.  His battery life wasn’t too low, but it could do with a boost.  He was about to get his charger out when a thought occurred to him.

“Officer Morales?”

Morales sat up straight where Peter suspected he might have been about to doze off.  He couldn’t blame him after he’d been hauled into the Precinct to bail him out at 1am this morning.  Jesus, that felt like a lifetime ago.

“I don’t suppose someone would have a charger?”  Peter held out his phone so Morales could see the type of input.

Morales nodded.  “I’m sure someone will but I don’t think leaving you alone is wise.”

“Come on, I need the charger and… a few minutes alone would be good.”  Peter looked up from under his eyebrows.

Morales considered him for a beat.  “Ok, I won’t be long.  And that door will still have to be closed.”  He raised an eyebrow at Peter, like he might try to run for it.

Peter couldn’t blame him, not really.  It wouldn’t be his first time trying to escape today.

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

Morales stood then, stretching and groaning.  “Back in a few.”

Morales used his card to exit the room and Peter was finally alone.  As alone as you could be in a room filled with cameras.  He tried to ease out a breath; his chest still tightly knotted.  Peter scrolled through his phone; maybe Ned would know what to do.  He was usually made to turn his phone off at his grandma’s but he might get lucky.  The phone had just cut to voicemail when the door to the room clicked open.  

A man with dark hair and neatly fashioned facial hair came in. Definitely not Morales.  Was this another FBI Agent?  The man stood near the door for a beat, his body very still, just looking at him.  There was something very familiar about him, maybe he’d been one of Ben’s co-workers?  Peter looked closer; he looked a hell of a lot like...

“Holy crap, you’re Tony Stark!”

Mr Stark came forward then, his hands in his pockets but without the usual swagger he’d seen on the TV.  Up close he looked, well, tired - dark bags under his eyes highlighting his red-rimmed eyes.  He looked like he could use a vacation.  

But what the hell?  Tony Stark was here right in front of him, like a mirage.  A mirage that went to speak but Peter’s mouth carried off with itself.  

“Oh my God, what are...what are you doing here…sorry…I mean... it is such an honour to meet you, sir.  I’ve been reading about you ever since I was a kid.”  Peter barely paused for a breath, who knew when he would get the chance to talk to the man again.  He ran a hand through his hair trying to tame it a little; shit he hadn’t even showered today.  He carried on speaking before he lost his nerve.  “And, wow, thank you, you saved us…in New York…we literally hid under the bed like that would help.  And I saw that Discovery Channel documentary recently on how they thought the arc reactor powered your suit - but the math was way off...”

Mr Stark’s face pulled into a tight smile; not like any he’d seen on the man before.  “So, an Iron Man fan then?”

“Well, of course, Iron Man is awesome, but, I mean, I’m more of a Tony Stark fan,” Peter felt his cheeks start to heat.  It was one thing to think it, but another to actually tell your idol to his face.  Such a dork.  Tony Stark - this was unreal.  He fidgeted with his top as he spoke, trying to subtly flatten out any creases.  “I mean all the ideas you have for technology are just revolutionary.  The clean energy work you’ve been doing as well as your earlier work in Artificial Intelligence, the stuff that could be extrapolated from that...”

Peter had to stop to actually breathe at that point.

Mr Stark took his hands out of his pockets and used one to rub at the back of his neck.

“So, you’ve read a lot about me, about my history?”  Mr Stark glanced briefly at the desk before directly into his eyes now.  “You know who I am…”

Peter’s mouth twitched; suppressing a laugh.  He felt like he’d read every scientific article Mr Stark had ever written; seen a shit ton of documentaries, listened to podcasts; you name it, he’d devoured it.  Hell, even Buzzfeed articles and trashy True Crime shows with Aunt May.  Of course he knew who he was. 

“Totally, I even took your biography out of the library and…”  Peter paused and blinked at Mr Stark; deeply stored information suddenly filtering through his neural pathways.

Mr Stark was smiling at him softly; his light, brown eyes never leaving his own.

“I…no…” Peter stumbled, his forehead scrunching up as he finally put the reason for Mr Stark being there into context.  Tony Stark, Iron Man, Avenger, Billionaire, philanthropist, father to a stolen child…

“Yes,” Mr Stark said, stepping forward, his face still soft but somehow more serious, “I’m your father.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat - Tony Stark, his father? - before he suddenly let out a burst of almost hysterical laughter. 

Mr Stark startled at that: eyebrows drawn together, creasing a line between them.

“ ‘Luca, I am your father.’   I – I’m being ‘Punked’ , right?  That’s what’s happening?  I mean, I don’t know if that is even still a show anymore, but it must be because…”

“You aren’t being ‘Punked’ , kid.”  Mr Stark was looking at him in that soft way again.

There was a commotion outside, and the door burst open, headed by an even more flustered-looking Ms Macmillan.

“Mr Stark!  How did you get in here?”  Her thick curls bounced as she moved nearer; her face reddening.  “This is highly irregular.  There is a process to follow in these situations.”

Mr Stark turned towards her now; his gaze sharp.  “This hardly happens every day - how can there be?  How many of these situations have you navigated?”

Ms Macmillan floundered.  “I…well…”

“I’m tired of listening to you tell me I can’t speak to him.  It’s been proven – in three different ways —that this is Luca Stark and if I want to talk to my son who I haven’t seen for twelve years, you aren’t going to stop me.”

Peter blinked again.  This was not happening.

More bodies had filtered into the room during this short exchange and Peter’s gaze pulled away from watching Mr Stark to see none other than Captain America enter.  Peter’s breath stuttered.  Yep, he might be wearing jeans and a leather jacket but that was most definitely Captain America and he jumped straight away into the fray.

“You weren’t even going to let him introduce himself, what did you expect him to do?”  The captain’s voice was full of righteous admonishment.

Another police officer was behind the social worker, who was frowning at the whole situation.

“I think we should all sit down and discuss how we proceed from here.”

“What discussion?” Another voice said from the doorway and Peter’s eyes fell on Colonel James Rhodes.  War Machine.  Holy Shit.  “This family has spent enough time apart and they need to be back together.  They have a legal right to that.”

“Technically, the State of New York has official custody…”

“I didn’t give up Luca, he wasn’t removed from me by the State.  Someone stole him from me.  Any Judge will see that straight away.”

“As I said before, reunification is a staggered process, with the support of mental health professionals to make this as easy a transition as possible for Peter.”

“And where would he live during that time?”  

Ms Macmillan looked firm.  “He would continue in foster care.”

“Oh, hell no,” Captain America intoned from next to Mr Stark.

“Yeah, it sounds like that has been really good for him for the last ten months,” Mr Stark said, heavy on the sarcasm.  

“Yes, the records do show that Peter has had some trouble adjusting to his new homes, but that is even more reason to make sure this transition is done right.  To avoid a repeat of some of his behaviours.”

Peter winced.  Evidently, both Tony Stark and Ms Macmillian had read his file.  Great.

“His behaviours?”  Mr Stark’s jaw twitched like he was going to grind his teeth to the bone.  “Let me tell you exactly what I know of his behaviours – when he was brought here last night he had a mugshot taken – which doesn’t show a mark on him.  Fast forward to today and here he is with a black eye.  So either he got that here, after he was processed, or he got it from his wonderful foster father for whom the State of New York is responsible.  So how about I get my lawyers down here and sue both the NYPD and Child Services and I’ll name you both in the lawsuit?”

Peter shrank back against the wall at the shouting and that seemed to make him visible to Colonel Rhodes, whose eyes darted to him and softened.

“Tone, the kid.”

Mr Stark turned then and looked at him, the rage receding slightly - body visibly shrinking - as he did.  Both palms were face up as he took a step closer.  “Sorry,” his voice was gentle, his eyes so warm; “I’ve just got to iron all this out and then I’m all yours.”

I’m all yours. 

Peter sucked a shaky breath in; the way Mr Stark was looking at him - like he was this precious thing.  The way it reminded him of how Ben and May used to look at him; it felt like a shot to the chest.  Not the memory of them but the yearning to feel special to someone again; something he’d missed in the last ten months.  His own hand started to move in Mr Stark’s direction.

“Mr Stark,” Ms Macmillan was still hanging in there; her voice making Peter jerk back. “I understand, I really do, but we must do what is in the best interests of Peter right now.  We need him to be somewhere he is comfortable and feels safe.”

Her words took Mr Stark’s warm gaze off of him, leaving him chilled.  Peter’s shoulders tightened.  What did Ms Macmillian know about safe places to live?  At least Peter’s spider-sense wasn’t going off around Mr Stark; he felt a lot safer with him in ten minutes than he had in most other places.  He’d trust that over her and the whole of Child Services any day.  

“I’ll go with him,” Peter blurted, turning all eyes onto him, like they didn’t expect him to have an opinion.  “I don’t mind.”

Mr Stark’s face burst into a bright smile.  It was strange to see it focussed on him.  The Tony Stark excited at the prospect of Peter living with him.  Yep, pretty odd.

Peter pushed away Mr Stark’s obvious emotions, as well as his own messed-up ones.  It was logical anyway.  There was no way he’d be able to sneak off to his nook now, and having to go back to Mr Andersson would be disastrous.  They might even put him in another Group Home and yeah, no thanks.  This was the logical choice, pure and simple. 

“I mean, I’m going to end up there anyway, right?”  

Peter shrugged as if moving in with your biological father, who you never knew existed before, who just happened to be a billionaire-superhero, was anything other than normal.  He avoided glancing in Mr Stark’s direction again; uncomfortable seeing the soft look in his eyes.

Ms Macmillan struggled to gain a foothold – frowning at him as if he was ruining her plans.

“What the-?”  Officer Morales' mouth dropped open as he came into the room. He ignored the hoard of people now in the room and made a beeline around them straight to Peter, a charger cable gripped in one hand. “You ok?”

Peter nodded but worked his lip between his teeth as he did.  The noise carried on behind Morales; Mr Stark and his team arguing with both Ms Macmillan and the other Police Officer.

Peter just looked up at Morales.  “Did you know…when you brought me in…did you know it was him?”  

Peter’s eyes darted over to Mr Stark, who was leaning on the table and making whatever point he was trying to vehemently, with both Captain American and War Machine flanking either side of him, their arms crossed.  Maybe he was staring as then War Machine was kind of waving.  At him.  A bubble of nerves went through his chest as, on autopilot,  he weakly waved back.

Morales looked away briefly.  “Yes,” he replied.

“You couldn’t have given me a head’s up?” Peter muttered.

“Sorry, it wasn’t my decision to make, and I thought it must be a mistake in the system.”  Morales’ eyes were also on Mr Stark.  His arms waved around as he made his point to Ms Macmillan, who was looking increasingly intimidated by him.  Which, to be fair to her, he was a pretty domineering presence: everything about him filling up the small space. 

“Tony Stark…” Peter said out loud as he stared, as if to test it out, to make sure that he hadn’t gotten it wrong.

“I guess we know where you got your smarts from now,” Morales murmured.

Peter snapped his head up to look at him.  Was that it now?  Everything that made him who he was was down to biology now?  His entire upbringing - everything he’d learnt from his parents, Uncle Ben and Aunt May, that amounted to nothing?

“Tony,” Peter’s eyes went to a woman at the door which, of course, was Natasha Romanoff.  The Black Widow.  Who else would it be?  “Pepper got hold of Judge Meadows – he sent through the signed papers.”

She came forward and thrust some papers into Mr Stark’s hands.  Mr Stark looked over them before nodding to himself and handing them to Ms Macmillan with a flourish.

“Temporary emergency custody papers until the formal paperwork can be organised.  Authorised by Judge Meadows.”

Ms Macmillan flicked through the papers; her jaw tightening as she read.  “Well, yes, these all seem to be in order.  A home visit will still need to be done first.” She straightened her back, pushing her hair behind one ear.

“No time like the present,” said Mr Stark, his teeth flashing, “your car or mine?”

——

After a long while of waiting, Peter found his feet moving his body out to the backlot of the Police Precinct.  There was a very nice-looking dark blue town car parked in front, with a heavy-set guy wearing a stern expression leaning against it.  As they came closer, the man straightened up, his expression changing to one of surprise, his eyes wide.  Peter looked back at Morales who had a gentle, guiding hand on his back.

The man opened up the door and Ms Macmillan got in.  She had insisted that she and Peter ride alone so that she could have some time to speak with him.  Mr Stark had finally agreed, but only if they were taken by his driver, which Ms Macmillan had conceded to.  

Mr Stark and Colonel Rhodes were standing by another town car behind, looking at him.  

“Are you ready to go?”  Mr Stark asked, stepping forward.

Er, how about no?  As silent as his spider-sense was, the rest of his body was screaming ‘run, run, run’.  Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, gone to another foster home until he wrapped his head around all this.  But another part of him, the curious part, was just telling him to push through, get somewhere where he could be alone, and then figure out his emotions and all that stuff later.

Peter faintly nodded his head; a wave of nausea matching his unease.

“Can I just get a minute?” Morales asked.  Mr Stark’s eyes assessed him for a moment before giving a cursory nod and stepping back to the car.  

Morales’ warm hand wrapped around Peter’s shoulder, turning him to face him.

“My phone is on anytime, night and day, OK?”

Peter nodded in his direction, almost afraid that if he looked directly at him right now, that he’d fall apart.

The pressure on his shoulder increased gently.

“I-I can’t stay with you temporarily, right?”  Peter’s voice cracked before he dared to dart his eyes upwards to Morales’.

Morales shook his head.  “I asked, but there will have to be an investigation into how all this came about, and I guess since I was tight with your Unc— tight with Ben — I’m too close to it all.”

An investigation.  They still didn’t really know what had happened, how he had come to be with the Parkers.

Peter nodded numbly back.

“But can I still visit?  World-famous chilli, remember?”

The sad smile he received made his stomach drop.

“I’m not sure, Pete, probably not right away. That will depend on a lot of things and of course that will be up to your fa—,” Morales paused and waved a hand in the direction of the car. “That will be up to Mr Stark.”

Right, Mr Stark was in charge of him now.  His father .  A shiver rippled through him.

Peter yanked his bag higher up his body; fingers tight on the straps.

“Oh, yeah, um right, that makes…sense.  I guess I’d better…not keep them waiting and all,” Peter said, taking a step away from him and looking towards the open door.

Another shiver ran through him and he lost his bravado.  He threw himself into Mr Morales’ arms, which were already open like he’d been expecting it, and they closed around him now in a vice-like grip.

They stayed like that for a full minute before Peter reluctantly remembered the waiting audience.  He drew back, keeping his back to the car as he wiped the tears that had escaped onto his cheeks.  Keep it together for now, Parker.

“It will all turn out okay.”  Jeff’s hand cupped his cheek.  “I…we…love you Peter, call me, ok?”

Peter nodded and stepped more confidently to the car to try to give his body less opportunity to react the way it wanted; which was a tie between running the hell away from here and grabbing onto the sidewalk, not letting anyone pry his sticky fingers off.

The grumpy-looking man stepped forward as he got close to the door.

“Hey kid, I’m Happy Hogan; Tony’s Head of Security.  I knew you when you were little…” He held a hand up indicating a small child's height; he looked almost embarrassed; his cheeks flushed red.  “It’s, uh, it’s good to see you.”

What else could Peter do but nod to that?  He had no memory of the man so he could hardly return the sentiment.  So nod he did.

“We’ll see you back at the Tower,” Mr Stark called from where he was still stood a few feet away by the other car, his hand up in a wave.  Peter returned the gesture with a weak raise of the hand.

The man – Mr Hogan – gestured to the door and Peter climbed in.  He sat down next to Ms Macmillan who looked as unimpressed with this situation as she had inside the precinct. 

Mr Hogan got into the front where there was another person – their back was to him and all he could see was that they had a chauffeur’s hat on.

The car pulled off and Peter quickly secured his seatbelt, and settled back, one hand gripping the backpack on his lap.

“Just take a few minutes to, uh, relax, while I organise the paperwork.”

Peter did partially relax with no one chasing him, staring at him and asking him questions for the first time today.  But giving him time to think was probably not best.  He really needed to be alone.  Because what the hell was even going on?  His history wasn’t his own.  He was this whole other person – son of a billionaire, a genius, son of a superhero.  Luca Stark.  

Peter shook his head as the word impossible came to his mind again.  But science didn’t lie.  And now he was going to live with Tony Stark – with Iron man .  What was he doing?  Wait, could he even be Spider-man anymore?!  Surely no parent who had lost their child for twelve years was going to be ok with letting them put themselves in danger on the daily – even if they had superpowers.  

His fingers slowly slid to the door handle; cool metal brushing his fingertips.  Could he just duck out at the next red light?  Make a run for it?  He’d survived on the streets for almost two months.  He could do it again.  

Before his fingers could fully curl around the handle, there was an audible click of the lock and he yanked his hand away like it was burned.  He looked in the rear-view mirror.  No one was looking back at him; Mr Hogan was faced forward, eyes on the road.  Peter settled back into the car seat, heat creeping up his neck as he stared down at the floor.

An audible huff came from his right and he looked over to Ms Macmillan, who was scribbling onto a piece of paper.  

“Right, well, I’ll be taking you to Mr Stark’s now and conducting the home visit whilst I’m there.  I presume you don’t have your stuff?”

He shook his head slowly. 

“We’ll have to sort out a way to get it back to you, or I’m sure Mr Stark has the resources to provide you with whatever you might need and more.”  Her tone was almost sour.

“I can get it, ma’am,” Peter interjected.

The sigh that followed was heavy.

“This isn’t normally how we do things, Peter.  Mr Stark doesn’t seem to appreciate that we have a process for a reason.”  She pursed her lips.  “We’d normally have you gradually spend time with an estranged parent over a period of time before we fully moved you in with them.  Given the…extenuating circumstances…we have agreed to waive this.  But if this isn’t what you want, we can go before the Judge and you can tell him…”

“—It’s fine, Ms Macmillan.  I’m pretty tired of moving around so it’s one less move to make.  Cutting out the middleman, right?”

She frowned at him before looking back at his file, flicking through the pages.  “Yes, I can see that there were some incidents at your previous homes.”

Peter shifted in his seat; that was one way to put it.  

“But I can see your caseworker, Ms Kline, got you placed with the Murphy’s earlier this year,” She looked over at him with dismay.  “They’ve fostered for decades, they are one of our best-loved couples.”

The Murphy’s had been great.  Really great.  They were attentive, caring, they even helped him get all of his scholarship paperwork sorted so he could keep attending Midtown.  He could have really settled there, been happy maybe.  But he still had to go out as Spider-man.  He had to; it was his responsibility.  No one else should be in the position he was, if he had the power to stop it.  They caught him coming in really late a few too many times, scraped and bruised, and he couldn’t give them an explanation.  Not a good one anyway.  After drug tests repeatedly came back negative, they’d suspected gang activity.  It hadn’t mattered what he had said.  He didn’t blame them; they were a nice, older couple who didn’t need that level of stress.  So he’d been moved on to Mr Andersson.  

“Mr and Mrs Murphy are good people,” he said quietly, one thumb rubbing over the other in his clasped hands.

“Yet you managed to get kicked out of there, of all places,” she murmured almost to herself as she ran her finger down the page.  She shut the folder and tapped the top of it.  “All of this; sneaking out, perpetrating violence.  I doubt Mr Stark is going to tolerate that kind of behaviour.”

Perpetrating violence, what a load of…Peter clenched his jaw and didn’t speak.  She’d already made her mind up about him anyway; there was no point in correcting her.

“This is not a temporary placement; don’t treat it that way.”  Ms Macmillan sat back and sighed again; like this was the most difficult day in her life.  “You have an opportunity here at a life most people could only dream of.”

A flash of guilt flipped his hollow stomach.  Peter hadn’t really thought about the lifestyle and money that would likely be attached to his new life.  He should be more grateful – there were plenty of other kids stuck in crappy homes, foster or otherwise – and here he was thinking of running away from living with a billionaire.  Great sense of perspective, Peter.  Ben would be ashamed of him.  The heat spread further through his cheeks.

“Yes, ma’am,” he acknowledged before turning his attention to look out of the window.

They’d made it into Manhattan now; the traffic not so bad on a Saturday evening, by New York standards.  Tall buildings shadowed the car now as the last of the day’s sunlight peeked out between buildings.  

A thought suddenly came to him – Mr Stark had said he’d ‘see him at The Tower’.  He must have meant Avengers Tower.  It hadn’t occurred to him before where he would be living: the most iconic building in the city.  

As if he had conjured it up in his mind, they turned a corner and it loomed overhead in all its glory.  It seemed even taller up close like that.  Could he climb up it?  All the way to the top?  He hadn’t been up that high before.  He strained his neck around until he could see the adjacent buildings.  Would it be possible to get the right trajectory to swing from the top to the nearest building?  That would take some calculating.  

Peter’s thoughts shorted when they turned, and a door lifted seamlessly open on the side of the building and the car winded down a ramp until they were in an underground car park.  It wasn’t big enough to service the whole building and as he looked around, there sat several of the most expensive cars he had ever seen.  

Nope, he wasn’t in Queens anymore.

Chapter Text

Tony

The throbbing between his eyes barely registered as he stood watching his son talk to this Officer Morales.  The man had been kind enough to ask him for a minute with the kid, but it didn’t lessen any of Tony’s anxiety.  He just wanted to get him back to the Tower where he knew Luca would be safe and secure.  Well, it was the safest place in New York.  Right now, he was half tempted to ask Ross if they could rent some rooms at the Raft.

Even from here, he could see the nervousness of the kid – tight shoulders and a clicking jaw evident from this distance.  

That kid was Luca.  Luca was alive.  

He ran his hand down his jaw again as he watched him.  Luca – not a tiny ball of knee height frenetic energy but a teenager – a body grown and developed, that had built wiry muscle he could see through the lines it made through his clothes.  A body that reflected the twelve years Tony had been forced to miss.  Forced to miss how his boy had almost developed into a man.  The unfairness of it made him wince.  But he had to look forward, like the futurist he said he was: they still had time.  The rest of their lives together.  He would make up for the lost time.  

A hand knocked into his; Rhodey with a bottle of water and a packet of pills.

“I’ve got Child Services coming round to do an inspection and you are giving me drugs?”  Tony said dryly.

“It’s Tylenol, but yes.  If that vein in your head throbs any harder, it’s going to escape your skin.”

Tony let out a huff of breath but took the packet and popped out two pills, chugging them down with some water.  

“How did he take it, when you told him?” Rhodey’s eyes were glued to Luca as Morales put his hands on his shoulders.

“You didn’t listen in?”

Rhodey snorted.  “The only reason they didn’t notice you in there for as long as you were was because somehow the speakers got switched off...”

Tony shot a hand to Rhodey’s arm, squeezing it in appreciation.  What the hell would he have done today without him?  His throat felt thick as he spoke: “You always have my back Platypus.”

“Damn straight,” Rhodey’s warm smile loosening a fraction of the still-tight muscles throughout his body.  “So?”

Tony replayed the moment.  Was it what he had imagined a reunion to be like?  He hadn’t thought about it in so long - hadn’t let himself.  Back when he had, it was with a little boy, one who still remembered him, running into his arms calling out ‘Daddy’ .  It certainly hadn’t been anything like that.

“He laughed,”  Tony said plainly.

“He what?”

“He recognised me when I went in, turns out he’s a fan,”  The kid’s rambling had been cute - though Tony wasn’t sure he could remember what he’d actually said.  He’d been too focused on watching how his eyes lit up when he spoke, the small nervous mannerisms.  “When I told him I was his father, he didn’t believe me - thought it was a joke.  Then the social services witch burst in before we could talk any more.”

Next to the other car, Luca shuffled his feet, moving his beaten-up backpack higher on his shoulder - taking a half step away from Morales.

“Well,”  Rhodey’s shoulder knocked into his, “you’ll have plenty of time to talk now.”

A tingling feeling shot up his spine and back down: he took a breath to ease the upbeat his heart had taken from Rhodey’s words.  He would, wouldn't he?

Both of them watched as Luca hugged the man now.  Tony’s stomach tightened; pure jealousy.  He wanted to do that - to touch him.  He hadn’t even had the chance yet; hadn’t known if the kid would welcome it – how he’d react to touch after everything he’d been through.

There was some comfort that it wasn’t just him - even Happy clearly had to force his emotions down as he spoke to Luca.  Just before Luca stepped into the car, Tony couldn’t help but call out to him.

“We’ll see you back at the Tower,” he called, waving at him.  

Luca gave him an awkward wave back before disappearing inside the car.  Without him.  Tony had wanted to punch the social worker when she’d insisted that she travel with him alone.  Cap had cautioned him to take the compromise to get what he wanted overall.  He hated agreeing with Cap at the best of times, especially when he was right.

A voice called out to him as he moved to get in the car that Rhodey had called for them.

“Mr Stark?”

As he turned, Officer Morales was striding towards him.

“Officer Morales,” he said curtly.  Happy was pulling away in the other car; he needed to be hot on its heels.

“I just wanted to ask…Peter has been close with my family for a long time…I said he could still contact me but, well, I wanted to check that it was alright with you.  I understand that until the investigation is complete you might not want me to have any contact with him.”  Morales’ forehead was scrunched; lines running from each edge of his cut hairline.   

Tony wanted to say ‘no’.  To keep anyone who’d ever had contact with the Parker’s the hell away from his son.  The chances of Morales being involved in any kidnapping were slim.  He bit down this response.  What was he going to do - take away the kid’s support network at a time like this?

“I’m not going to stop him contacting you,” Tony said coolly.

“Thank you.” Officer Morales looked relieved.  “This whole situation…I hope you find out what happened…and, well, I’m glad you finally get to have your child…I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been…”

Tony stiffened and Morales clued in on his discomfort.

“…anyway, Peter has had it tough since Ben died but he’s a really great kid.  I’m sure you will find that out yourself but, well, yeah.”

“Thank you for locating him earlier and bringing him in, Officer Morales.  As you can imagine, I’m eager to get going…”

Morales took a half step back with his hands up.  “Of course, of course.”

Tony’s hand was on the door before he heard the same voice again.

“He gets quiet when he’s nervous.  It sounds weird, but he is more likely to talk whilst he’s eating.  It’s like truth serum with him, loosens him up at least.”  Morales rubbed the back of his head.  “Well, yeah, so…”

Tony gave him a half-smile.  “Noted.”

Rhodes was waiting in the car when he finally slipped in and the driver moved off straight away.

Tony leant forward.  “Catch up with Hogan best you can.”

The driver nodded silently, and Tony sat back with a thump of his body on the leather seat.

“There’s no need to get the guy to speed.  Luca’s in the car with Happy and Natasha – he’s well protected.”

“Sue me for wanting to have eyes on him for the next twenty years,” Tony grumbled.

Rhodey’s phone sounded, and he opened it up, Steve’s ‘all business’ face was filling the screen, framed by a very familiar background.  

“Not that I haven’t had fantasies of you in there before, but why are you in my bedroom, Rogers?”

Steve didn’t rise to the comment; “I came ahead to make sure the Penthouse was in a good state for the social worker.  Thought I’d better check in your bedroom too in case they want to come in here.”

That was good thinking, he didn’t think he had left anything potentially child unsafe, but it wasn’t really his usual mindset.

“I cleared up mainly coffee cups and glasses.  There are some bits of tech here and in the kitchen.  If you give me access, I can put them in your workshop and check there for more…glasses too.”

Geez, that made him sound like a coffee-laced alcoholic.  It was best not to give that woman any ammunition against him seeing as she seemed to already be put out by his streamlining of her ‘process’.  Threatening people with potential lawsuits didn’t usually ingratiate them to you, after all.  He didn’t regret it.  If he'd needed to sue the whole city to get his son back, he would have.

As for the tech, there was nothing that might blow up or cause injury laying around.  Still, given what he did as his side job, any tech might look dangerous to a civilian, so better for it to be out of the way.  

“I’ll tell FRI to let you in.  Don’t touch anything in there, Spangles.  You need a child lock more than most.”

Steve gave a small smile at that.  “I presume you want him in the guest room closest to yours?”

As close as possible.

“Yes.  It should be made up already…”

“—I’ll check.” Steve countered and Tony let out a breath.  “ETA?”

“We are about 25 mins out,” Rhodey replied.

“Copy.  See you shortly.”  Steve gave an encouraging smile and was gone.

Rhodey put a hand on Tony’s chest, pushing him back into the seat.

“What are you -?

“Power nap for fifteen.”

“I don’t need -“

“Try.  I’ll wake you when we are five mins away.”

He wouldn’t sleep, but he closed his eyes anyway, feeling the warm weight of his best friend’s body against his.

“Tones.”  A warm hand shook his thigh.  “We’re almost here.”

Tony peeled open his eyes and stretched all the way down to his toes; his body felt like a crumpled-up piece of paper.  

“Oh God, I shouldn’t have.”

“You’ll feel better for it in a few,” Rhodey insisted.  “Here, take this.”

Rhodey passed him a cloth that had been wetted a little.  Tony wiped it over his face and along the back of his neck; the cold nip certainly waking him up.

“That’s freezing!”

“Sorry, I don’t have warm hand towels for you, sir.”  Rhodey rolled his eyes in his own expert way.  “I was making do with what we have in here.  Speaking of –“

Rhodey handed him a breath mint which he took thankfully.

As he glanced out of the window, he could see the Tower approaching.

“Almost there, Tones.”  Rhodey’s eyes crinkled slightly at the edges and his hand squeezed Tony’s shoulder.  He wasn’t talking about the car journey. 

Tony nodded back.  His body felt like it was being kept going by a hair wisp of adrenaline, but he had to keep it together.  

The car pulled into the drive, and as it wound down to the garage, there was his son – his son — standing next to Happy, with Natasha hovering by Ms Macmillan, who was shifting some papers in her hands.

As soon as the car stopped, he was out, fast steps taking him towards the group.  He let his eyes run over the teenager, finding it hard to peel them away from him.  

Time to dispatch with this woman as quickly as possible.  He came up to her, his hands in his pockets.  “What do you need to see Ms Macmillan?”  

The woman eyed him with mild distrust.  “I need to inspect where he will be living and see where he will be sleeping.  Make sure everything is safe.”

“This way,” he strode to the elevator and it opened up straight away.  He stepped back, letting Ms Macmillan enter first followed by the kid, who kept his head down as he did.  Rhodey stepped in too.  

“We’ll head to the communal floor and let the others know you’re back,”  Nat said, with Happy at her side.

Tony nodded in assent and stepped in himself.  

“FRIDAY to the Penthouse please,” Tony said.

“Yes, Boss.”

Ms Macmillan jerked and so did Luca.  “What the-“

“FRIDAY is the AI that handles the running of the building.  In simple terms, she acts as a layer of security as well as providing information.”

He heard a whispered ‘cool’ from Luca and sent a smile to him.

“I like to think she is pretty cool.”

“Why thank you, Boss,”  FRIDAY replied.  Ms Macmillan looked more disturbed.  

“You get used to it,” Rhodey said to her with a tilt of the head.

She gave him an uneasy smile.  “I’m sure.”

“Welcome home, Master Stark,” FRIDAY said.

Peter looked up, his eyes widening when he realised the AI was referring to him.  “Nice to meet you, FRIDAY,” Peter said softly, “um, just call me Peter.”

“Designation; Peter.  It’s nice to meet you too, Peter.”

Tony’s left eye twitched.  Right, Peter, must call him Peter.  It didn’t feel right but he’d try.

“You can ask her any questions you have; whether that is to find your way or who the greatest Scientist to ever live was.  FRI?”

“Well, that would be a tie between Einstein and Dr Banner, sir.”

“I don’t even get a look in?”

“Do you want me to answer that, Boss?”

Peter smiled at that and Tony felt his chest ease a little.  

The elevator took that moment to stop, and they all came out into the Penthouse.

Tony led them into the state-of-the-art kitchen.  “This is the kitchen and dining area, obviously.  Fully equipped and in working order.  I’ll need to restock the shelves, as I don’t usually eat in all that much.”

Ms Macmillan circled her way around the kitchen island, opening a few doors here and there and marking something on her sheet before looking up at him expectantly.

“The lounge is just here,” Tony said, leading the way.  They all followed behind – Rhodes at the end like he was corralling the kid gently.

He knew it was a pretty impressive-looking room.  Pepper had a big hand in designing it, so it was all white leather couches and bright art on the walls.  There was a bar in one corner with high stools, but the real feature of the room was the floor-to-ceiling windows.  If it had been daytime, the light would be flooding in but right now, it was just starting to darken outside.  The twinkle of lights from the city was starting to come through but it wasn’t as enticing to look at until it was really dark, and they all stood out.

Ms Macmillan seemed impervious to the delights and wandered around the room, walking past the windows without even a glance at the view.  The kid seemed to have taken a step or two towards it before stopping.

“It’s a hell of a view,” said Rhodey, who seemed to be as tuned in to whatever the boy was doing as he was, “want to take a closer look?”

Peter nodded and mimicked Rhodes’ movements to stand by the window. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself in all the chaos back there – I’m James Rhodes.”

“I, um, know who you are, Colonel Rhodes.  It’s an honour to meet you, sir,” Peter said. 

His answer seemed to please Rhodey greatly as he stood back with a wide grin looking over to Tony with a glint in his eye.

“You’ve got lovely manners, kid,” Rhodey replied, “you used to call me Uncle Rhodey.   If your father here wasn’t such a heathen, I like to think I might have been named as your Godfather.”

“You wish I liked you that much,” Tony replied instinctively.

Rhodes snorted.  “Yeah, you dislike me so much his middle name is James.”

“Anyone ever told you that you are a narcissist?  James is a very common name, you know.”  

“James,” Peter murmured almost to himself.  Of course, he wouldn’t know that.  

Tony looked at him and smiled gently.  “Yeah, Luca James Stark.  That was the full deal.”

The kid nodded to himself and stared at the floor.  He’d hoped the bantering with Rhodey might help relax the kid but perhaps there wasn’t much that would right now.

“Mr Stark?”

He pivoted - Ms Macmillan was over by the bar.  He stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the interruption.   

“Yes.”

“The alcohol,” she drew an arm around the cabinets. “Is this an issue for you?”

Tony’s jaw clenched almost painfully.  It didn’t seem to matter what he did now, his past would always follow him around like a bad smell.  He bit back all of the things that he wanted to say to this woman and her air of judgment and focused on the goal - Luca.

“If you are asking if I have a problem with alcohol, no I do not.  I’d hope that you don’t judge me based on the gossip of the gutter press.”

She looked at him coolly before writing something down on her paper.  

“Some people lock away their liquor, but that is personal choice,” she said, looking over briefly at Peter and then back at him.  “The bedrooms?”

He nodded and proceeded to take her out of the lounge and down the hallway.  Rhodey followed along ushering Peter in front of him, who was still gripping his bag like it was a life raft.  

Tony gestured to the few doors they passed, all of which had been left open for inspection.  “I have an office that I rarely use and a few guest rooms here.”  Ms Macmillan looked briefly in the door of each room but didn’t go inside so he didn’t stop either.

“This is my bedroom,” Tony said.

She nodded her head slightly and he took that to mean that she wanted to go in.  Maybe it wasn’t work-related and she just wanted to see where playboy Tony Stark did his thing.  

They all went in and Tony sent a silent thank you to Steve.  The room hadn’t been anywhere near as tidy before he went on holiday.

Ms Macmillian took more time looking around than he would’ve thought.  Like his bedroom would be a determining factor on whether his son would be safe with him.  Annoyance creeping up his spine,  Tony bit back a comment that she’d find the crystal meth in the cupboard under the sink.

Face still set in that unsatisfied scowl, she nodded at him.  Apparently, she’d seen enough and they all trooped out again.

“This will be Peter’s room,” he said, opening the door.

Someone had put some pale blue sheets on the bed instead of the usual white, hotel-like setup.  There was also a red blanket folded up along the end of the bed and someone had even found a small, plushie-type teddy and put it on the bed.  Although the room was still designed for an adult, these little changes gave it more of a homey feel.

“The bathroom and dressing area are just through that door.”

Ms Macmillan walked that way, pushing the door open and looking in.  

“Of course, you can decorate it however you like. Whatever colours you like, posters; we can sort all that,” Tony said to Peter.

Peter looked at him in shock.  “No, Mr Stark, it’s…good.”

Before he could respond, Ms Macmillan was in front of him.  

“Does it tick the boxes?”

“I’m sure you know that it more than does that, Mr Stark,” she said, tapping her pen ruefully.

“Well, alright then.  Is there anything else you need to see?”

“The other corridor – where does that lead?”

“That side of the floor is dedicated to my labs and workshop,” Tony said.  “No one has access without my approval, so safety is not an issue.”

“I’d still like to see it,” Ms Macmillan intoned.

Of course she did.  Tony gritted his teeth yet again before giving a tight smile.

“Follow me,” Tony took the reins again and took them all to the other side of the floor.  FRIDAY opened the doors for him without asking.

“Holy Shit!”  All eyes snapped to Peter and he shrunk into himself. “Um, sorry.”

“That’s ok.  I think it’s pretty impressive myself.”  Tony felt a warmth in his chest as he watched Peter taking in the room, so obviously in awe of it.

Ms Macmillan looked almost stuck in place as she looked around the room.  He could imagine if he wasn’t up with technology that it would look like something out of a film.

As if on cue, there was a whirring noise and some intermittent beeping.  Ms Macmillan shrieked and stepped away as the bots rolled towards them.  

Tony instinctively stood in front of them.

“Just my robots,” he said to her, despite the fact that they were much, much more than that to him.  

There were some beeps behind him in almost protest and reversing sounds before DUM-E made it around him and to Peter.  He didn’t try to stop him now as Peter had a smile on his face, dropping into a crouch as he reached out to touch.  

“Wow, hi, you are so cool,” Peter murmured to DUM-E, who chirped his agreement.  Tony couldn’t help but smile at Peter talking to them as if they were real people.

Before he could get enraptured looking at his son’s face, he turned back to a slightly less frightened-looking Ms Macmillan.

“FRIDAY won’t let anyone in here without my permission and can close down certain areas.  Peter wouldn’t be able to access anything dangerous in here, even if I wasn’t at home,” Tony said confidently.

“Uh-huh,” Ms Macmillan said, jotting something down.  “Right, I think that is all that I need to see for now.”  

“Great,” Tony said, “shall we?”

He led her back out into the hallway, tailed again by Rhodey and Peter.  

“We’ll show you out.”  Tony wanted to make sure he saw her leave; they all headed back down to the garage in the elevator.  

“Please take Ms Macmillan wherever she wants to go,” Tony told the driver waiting by the car.

“Peter’s caseworker, Ms Kline, will be back from her Honeymoon in a few days so she will be in touch, but if either of you needs anything, please call me.”  

Tony was confident that he would avoid that at all costs.

“I just need to talk to Peter for a moment.”

Tony and Rhodey moved, unfortunately, out of hearing distance.

“You handled that well,” Rhodey said, looking as tired as he felt.

“You expected otherwise?”  

“I have no expectations for this situation,” Rhodey said, looking over at Peter.

The kid was barely looking at Ms Macmillan as she talked at him.  She handed him something – looked like a business card – before giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder, which the kid slightly flinched at.

Rhodey winced at that.  Ms Macmillan gave them both a final wave before getting in the car.  Peter took a look up the drive before slipping the card into his back pocket and coming over to where they were as the car pulled away.  He didn’t make eye contact but just yanked his bag higher on his shoulder.  He must be pretty freaked out by all this; now being left alone with virtual strangers.  Tony’s chest ached with the need to make this as easy as possible on him.

“Come on, let’s take a load off.”

They got into the elevator.

“Penthouse, FRI.”

“Boss, I believe some food has been organised for you on the Communal floor.”

Food, yes. God, the kid must be starving.

“Do you want to get something to eat?  There might be some other people there wanting to meet you, but I can put them off and we can get something up in the Penthouse if you’d rather not have anymore…introductions…today.”

“I’d like to meet them, sir,” Peter said, his eyes darting to Tony’s and away.

He wanted to spend some time, just the two of them, but it was the first thing the kid had asked for.  How could he refuse? 

“Well, okay then.”

Chapter Text

Peter

The elevator was super quick.  Was that a weird thing to notice?  Maybe, but it was something easy to focus on right now.  He was glad to see Ms Macmillan leave - her parting words - ‘ don’t mess this up’ - running around in his head.  Peter’s fingers started to cramp with how tight he was holding the strap to his bag.  He kept his head down, trying to take a subtle breath to ease the tension in his chest.  It didn’t work.

He wasn’t sure why he’d said he was ok to meet more people.  All he knew was that the idea of being on his own with Mr Stark right now was a scarier prospect.  He could feel the emotions vibrating off the man and Peter wasn’t sure how he was feeling himself, and the combination didn’t seem like it would be good.

The door to the elevator opened and he followed the two men out of the hallway and into another impressive looking kitchen.  This one was almost the opposite of the Penthouse one above – whereas that had been bright white, this one was in subdued tones with a much larger table on the other side of the room.  There were also smaller breakout areas with clusters of chairs.  There was a wall with partially fitted windows and he could see through to a large living area with massive couches and the biggest TV he had ever seen.

He couldn’t focus on the décor too much before a very tall, very blond, very recognisable man came into view.

“I didn’t get to introduce myself at the station; Steve Rogers.”

Captain America was stretching a hand out to him and he did what any sane person would do, which was gawp before shaking his hand.  The hand was so large and warm and entirely engulfed his.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

Peter could hardly keep a straight face, what with the waft of food coming from behind the man.  It somehow made his stomach groan even more.

And apparently audibly.  To Captain Rogers anyway, whose face drew into a wider smile.

“Come and eat.  Sam went a little crazy…”

Peter followed Mr Stark’s lead and as they came more into the kitchen, there was an island laden with food.  Trays of lasagne, salad, chilli, rolls. 

God, it was more food than he had seen in a long time and it took everything in him not to dart to the table and start stuffing himself.  A familiar face stood by the oven, wearing an apron and a warm smile – the Falcon.

“When FRIDAY said you’d organised food, I assumed you meant that you’d ordered in some pizza or something,” said Mr Stark, picking a piece of cucumber out of the salad and putting it into his mouth.

“Well, by the time I could get over here, I presumed you wouldn’t need another body down at the Precinct.  Thought I’d come back here and get some home-cooked food going,” the man replied, before coming around the island with an outstretched hand.  “Hi, I’m Sam Wilson.”

He shook it.  “Nice to meet you too, sir.”

“So,”  Mr Wilson cracked a smile, “are all of you going to stare at it, or eat it?”

Rhodey directed him to a stool, and everyone sat down, except Mr Stark, who made a beeline to what looked like a futuristic coffee machine.

“FRIDAY, could you let Happy and Nat know that food is ready?” Captain Rogers said.

There was a pulse of lights that Peter took to mean as an affirmative answer.

“So, what can I get you, Peter?”  Sam asked.  “I wasn’t sure what you’d like or if you had any allergies?”

Peter was about to answer when Mr Stark spoke.

“Yes, any kind of tree nuts – we found that out the hard way - and I think the file said that you developed asthma?” Mr Stark pulled out his phone and started tapping on it.

“Oh, no, it’s ok,” Peter said, Mr Stark’s eyes now on him.  He cleared his throat.  “That information is outdated.  I kind of outgrew them as I got older.”

“Huh,” Mr Stark said, putting the phone down on the countertop.

The fact that Mr Stark knew that he was allergic to nuts, even if he wasn’t anymore - courtesy of the spider bite - just solidified this connection that they had.  That there were things about himself that Mr Stark knew, and he did not.  Peter wrapped his arms around himself, in case the slight shake in them became too obvious.

“So, what can I get for you?”

Peter’s attention returned to Mr Wilson and the food.  He was certain the saliva must be visibly dripping down his chin.  “Lasagne, please.”

Mr Wilson smiled at him and cut him a good-sized portion, placing it in front of him.

He picked the fork up quickly and was about to stab it into the mound before he stopped, remembering his manners.  It took all his strength to place the fork down again.

“Don’t wait for everyone, dig in, kid,” Colonel Rhodes said, his eyes crinkled warmly.

Peter didn’t wait to be told again.  Flavour exploded on his tongue and he tried not to moan.  He chewed quickly and swallowed before diving right back in.  Everyone else was serving themselves.  From down the corridor, Ms Romanoff and Mr Hogan approached, talking quietly with serious expressions as they walked.  When they got to the table, Mr Hogan’s face stayed the same, but Ms. Romanoff’s became schooled into a more neutral expression.  One that she fixed on him now, before quirking her lips slightly.  She slid in next to Captain Rogers who had started to work on a huge plateful of food.  He didn’t move when she snatched a piece of garlic bread from his plate, like she did it a lot.  Something he wouldn’t mind Ned doing or MJ; they must be good friends, not just teammates.  Maybe more.

“I’m Natasha,” she said, catching his eye.

“Yes, Ms Romanoff, I know.  Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Peter said after swallowing.

She nodded back at him and started making herself a plate.

The food settled heavily in his stomach as he returned to eating.  It had been a few days since he’d had a proper hot meal and the last one had been a school lunch, which he was sure didn’t qualify as food in some places.

“So, Peter, do you like school?”  Captain Rogers was addressing him now.

“Um, yeah, for the most part,” Peter replied.  

“And you go to Midtown, right?  That STEM school?”  Colonel Rhodes continued.

“Yes, sir.”  

“So, you are into science?  Any one in particular?”

Peter nodded.  “All of them really, though I lean a bit more towards biochemistry, engineering.  I like to get more hands-on.”

“Like you did with your phone?”  Mr Stark was asking him now.  Of course, he must have been looking at him through the two-way mirror the whole time.  “What did you do to it?”

Mr Stark moved his arm as Rhodey pushed a plate of food in front of him with a look; but he just gripped his cup of coffee tighter, like that was all he needed to sustain him.

“Oh, not much, I just tweaked it to increase the battery life.”  Peter relaxed a little, talking about tech he could manage.  “The ones they supply are often not so great.”

“Yeah, Starkphones particularly have a terrible reputation for battery life,” Mr Wilson intoned in a dull tone, flashing a smirk Peter’s way.

Mr Stark looked horrified.  “I’ll have you know we have the best battery life on the market…” He now looked at Mr Wilson.  “Aaaand now I realise you are messing with me.  Thanks, Birdbrain, you shouldn’t prey on the weak.”

Mr Wilson chuckled.

“The food is really good, Mr Wilson.  Thank you,” Peter said, taking the opportunity.

“You’re welcome.  Hell, you keep up the politeness and I might even be convinced to make my world-famous french toast for breakfast.”

Everyone made agreeable noises, heads nodding at the prospect.  

“That would be great, sir.”

Despite his nervousness, he couldn’t deny the sense of warmth in the room; the tension in his shoulders releasing a little.  He’d experienced a few ‘first nights’ in new homes and, so far, this had definitely been the most welcoming.

“Would you like some more?”  Mr Wilson asked, and he nodded.  His stomach was almost full, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to eat when it was being offered up to him like that.  Mr Wilson put another slab on his plate, and he started on it with gusto; kind of getting used to all the people who were trying not to watch him.

“How did you like your room, son?”  Captain Rogers asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin first.

“It was amazing, but, like, bigger than my entire old apartment, I think.”

“Tony does like to go big or go home,” Captain Rogers agreed, shooting a smile in Mr Stark’s direction.

Mr Stark, who finally had a mouthful of food, simply shrugged in an affirmative way.

“Well, I can go and pick up your stuff from your foster home tomorrow.  Having some of your own things will help settle you in,” said Captain Rogers.

Peter stilled.  All his stuff was in his nook, not that he had much these days.  

“Thanks, but don’t bother, I can just get it another time,” he said quietly.

“It’s no bother,” Captain Rogers said, smiling that warm smile again.

“No, you mean don’t bother because you haven’t been staying there for a while, have you?”

Peter’s eyes dashed to Ms Romanoff, who was casually holding a forkful of salad.  

Mr Stark looked from him to Ms Romanoff.  “What do you mean?”

“They don’t care, they still get their cheque,” said Peter, as nonchalantly as possible.

“Where have you been staying?” Mr Stark asked, his eyes now intently on him.

Peter shifted in his seat. “Well, I usually stay with my friend Ned one night a week, sometimes two, if his Mom lets me.”

“And the rest of the time?”  Mr Stark put his cup down.

“Just…around,” Peter stared back down at his plate.

“Around…” Mr Stark said carefully, and Peter could almost feel his eyes on him, waiting for more information.  After a moment, he let out a huff of breath.  “Can someone tell me what the hell that means?”  

“You’ve been sleeping rough, right?”  Ms Romanoff said, the instigator of this particular truth session.  Peter wanted to curse, but he guessed it was for the best.  Get it all out there now.  Let Mr Stark know what he was dealing with.   Hell, he might even decide that a kid that goes through that many foster homes in such a short time, well, there must be something wrong with him – must be trouble.  Maybe he’d be sent back.

“On the streets?”  Captain Rogers looked confused and sad.

The pity party didn’t feel right.  He could have told CPS about Mr Andersson or just put up with it.  Peter had made his choice.  

“It’s not that bad.”  Peter didn’t look in Mr Stark’s direction.  “I managed to find a spot and fixed it up enough that I could keep dry.  I keep some stuff there and the rest in my locker in school.  I just get to school early to shower every day.”  He shrugged, hoping they wouldn’t make a big deal about it.

“And the school don’t notice?”  It was Colonel Rhodes’ turn to look alarmed.

“I joined the track team, so they think I like to practice every morning.  I just run around the track once or twice before school in case anyone’s looking and then use the showers,” Peter explained, keeping his tone casual so as not to increase the signs of distress he could make out from the tension in Mr Stark’s shoulders.

“Do you like to run?” Captain Rogers asked.

A snort slipped out at that.  “No, but I like to be clean, so it was a fair trade.”

“Smart,” commented Ms Romanoff, which earned her a dark look from Mr Stark.

“Needs must and all that.”  He pushed out as nonchalant a smile as he could muster.  “I stay in the library after school and on Saturdays to use the WiFi and do my homework.  There are ways to live if you look for them.”

There was some truth in that - but Peter was aware he had advantages over most.  His abilities meant he could find somewhere safe to sleep and he had good friends helping him out as much as they could.  Most of the other people he’d met on the streets did not.

“How do you afford to eat?” It was Mr Wilson looking at him now with concern.  

Food, and money for it, were the hardest parts.  He’d never felt comfortable at soup kitchens or shelters as it was painfully obvious that he was underage.  Plus, what if Child Services were to turn up and force him back?  Hard no. 

“Ward of the state means free school lunches,” Peter said, trying to shut that train of thought down.

“And the other meals…weekends?”

So that didn’t work.  Peter faltered, not having such an easy answer since every weekend was different, and they all shared uneasy looks, except for Mr Stark who was staring hard into the middle distance.

“I’m not a thief or anything.  I sometimes get some hours off the books at my local Deli, and I go and do tricks at Central Park.”

Mr Stark suddenly coughed like his drink had gone down the wrong way, his eyes on him with fear in them.

Lord, not that.

“Oh God, I don’t mean turning tricks.”  Peter felt heat fill his cheeks as he hurried to explain.  “I mean doing stunts, flips and stuff, busking for money.  Parkour.  The tourists love it.”

That seemed to calm a vein that looked like it might pop out of Mr Stark’s forehead.

“That seems like a lot of trouble to go to.  Why not just tell CPS that he was hitting you?” Natasha said.

Peter paused; she’d gotten to the heart of the situation straight away.  Guess the black eye was a bit of a giveaway.  He just shrugged, pulling the fabric of his sleeves into his fists.  This was not really a conversation he was keen to have.

Mr Stark’s hands now gripped the countertop.  “How is the answer to that a shrug?”

“After…everything…they said if I had to move again, it’d be to a Group home.”  

“‘ Everything’ being breaking your foster dad’s nose?” Natasha questioned; an eyebrow raised.

“Look, he was going into the girls’ rooms at night, alright?  They were too afraid to report it,” Peter had already had this from Ms Macmillan earlier and didn’t feel like being cast as the villain again.  “I tried to stop him, and he hit me, so I…”

Peter rubbed the side of his forehead.  It’d been an awful night.  The girls still didn’t report it and Child Services believed the guy when he said that Peter had attacked him.  It wasn’t a hero moment by any stretch of the imagination.  

But he’d tried again; Spider-man paid the guy a visit a few days later– hung him upside down with his webs until he agreed to stop being a foster parent with immediate effect.  Told him that if he ever found out that he was around kids again, he’d string him up by the balls next time.  It worked.  Another reminder to him that Peter Parker was powerless, but Spider-man was not.  He’d considered scaring the daylights out of Mr Andersson in the same way but figured any pattern linking him with Spider-man was too risky.

Peter was aware of everyone looking at him again and he crossed his arms tightly across his chest, jutting out his chin.  “I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but I don’t regret it.”  

“No judgment here,” said Captain Rogers gently, “none of us have any time for bullies.”

Peter’s eyes again flicked to Mr Stark – whose mouth was a hard line.  He wasn’t sure he was as non-judgemental about the whole thing as Captain Rogers was.

“So, a Group home was a worse option than that Mr Andersson guy I met, or living on the streets?” Natasha continued.

“Natasha, enough - this is not an interrogation,” Mr Stark snapped.

“It’s, uh, fine, Mr Stark.”  Peter rubbed some of the sweat from his palms onto his trousers.  “If they moved me, it might’ve been far away, maybe not even in Queens.  Staying at Midtown, with my friends, was more important.  Graduating from there will give me good opportunities, chance at a scholarship to college, so it didn’t seem worth the risk.”

“So, you didn’t tell, just took yourself out of the situation,” Mr Wilson confirmed gently.

Peter nodded.

Mr Wilson blew out a breath and it led to a small silence amongst the group.  Everyone seemed to be in their own thoughts and Peter just stared at a hairline fracture in his plate rather than make eye contact.

“So,” began Captain Rogers, “what exactly is Parkour?”

Peter relaxed; that was a simpler question.  

“Um, it might be easier if I just show you,” Peter fished the phone out of his pocket and scrolled to the videos he had kept of some of the top people he and Ned had found on the internet. 

He went to hand his phone to Captain Rogers, but Mr Stark put a hand up.

“FRIDAY; project please.”

The video in his phone was suddenly a hologram in front of them.

“Woah,” Peter said.  It was so cool.

Mr Stark grinned at him; light dancing in his eyes.  

Mr Wilson and Colonel Rhodes moved around the island to view the images straight on.  

“Wow, that looks…”

“…dangerous.”  Mr Stark deadpanned.

“I was going to say difficult,” said Captain Rogers, shuffling forward in his seat.  

“Do you have any videos of you?” Natasha asked.

Heat started to creep up his neck.  “I’m not as good as those guys…”

Natasha shrugged back and the others smiled encouragingly.

“My friend, um, Ned, took a few.”

Ned had taken more than a few and had even put them on an Instagram channel.  None of them showed him doing anything totally crazy like when he was Spider-man, but they showed him doing flips and tricks.  They had taken a lot of them one hot day in the summer.

The first video came up; him doing some backflips off a wall, followed by some trickier stuff.  He saw Mr Stark wince in places where he looked close to getting scratched up.  Everyone else made ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ noises.

“You’re packing some muscle under there, hey kid?”  Colonel Rhodes patted his own stomach.

“I, uh, try to keep in shape.”  

Well, that was a bald-faced lie; the six-pack had practically come on overnight after the bite.

“We have a pretty good gym here that you can use, right Tony?”

“Yeah, we can show you all that tomorrow.” 

“That would be great, thanks.”  Peter had never set foot in a gym, so that would certainly be interesting.

Just then a ringtone burst forth; the death march from Star Wars and his contact photo for Ned came up on the projection: a picture of him and Ned grinning surrounded by Lego’s from last Christmas.  

“Oh shi—oot, um, sorry, do you mind if I take this?”  His eyes darted from Mr Stark to Colonel Rhodes.  “It’s my friend and I was supposed to be at his place by now…”

“Knock yourself out, kid,” Mr Stark said with a ‘go-ahead’ gesture.

Peter grabbed the phone off the table, the hologram disappearing, and slid off his stool and out to the hallway by the elevator.  He readied himself and pressed the green button.

“Dude!  Where are you?!  Dinner is almost ready, and my mom made extra enchiladas for you.”  Ned’s voice was loud and fast.

“I’m sorry, but something happened and I’m not going to make it.”

“Something happened?  What do you mean?  Why are you being so cryptic? You never miss enchiladas.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Did something happen with you-know-who?  Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not, I’m fine.  I just…I really can’t explain right now.”  Peter looked back in the direction of the kitchen.  He could hear plates being scrapped and people talking in low voices.  “Trust me, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Peter, you’re freaking me out.”  Anxiety leached through Ned’s voice – he knew Peter well enough to know when something big was going down.

“Ned, I promise I’m safe.”  

Physically at least.

Ned let out a breath that crackled down the line.  

“I gotta go now, but I’ll message later, ok?”

“Ok, you better.”  Ned sounded almost put out, but Peter knew that was because he was worried.

“I will.  Bye.”

Peter turned the phone off and slipped it back into his pocket before heading back into the kitchen.  They were all bustling about the big space, moving dishes off the island and to the countertops behind.  Captain America was putting leftovers in the fridge. Ms Romanoff and Mr Hogan were scraping dishes and loading up the dishwasher.  Mr Wilson was bent down by the oven.  Peter looked around for something to help with but there wasn’t anything obvious to do.

“Um, sorry about that.  Can I help at all?”

“That’s ok, all done now.  You want a drink – water, soda?”  Mr Stark asked.

“Water please.”

Mr Stark turned but Captain Rogers had obviously heard as a bottle of water was arcing towards Mr Stark, who plucked it out of the air and handed it to him.

“Thanks.”

Mr Stark gestured to the kitchen stool and Peter complied: Mr Stark sliding into a seat nearer to him, so he was at a 90-degree angle to him now.  

“Was that one of your friends?”  Mr Stark nodded towards the phone he was twirling in his hands.

“Um, yeah, my best friend, Ned.”

“Have you been friends for long?”

“We just met when we started high school, but we are pretty close.”

“I met this guy when I was your age,” Mr Stark said, gesturing in Colonel Rhodes’ direction, who’d come to sit opposite him.  Peter knew this of course; he’d read about their friendship and it was kind of legendary on the fan sites. 

“Yeah, he was a lot scrawnier than you though,” Colonel Rhodes piped up.

“I was not scrawny!”  Mr Stark protested. 

“You barely saw sunlight for the first term, too busy in the workshop.  Maybe the lack of Vitamin D was what stunted your growth.”

“Hey!”  Mr Stark responded.

Peter smiled at their easy banter.

His attention was drawn to Mr Wilson putting down two massive pies on the table; the smell wafting towards him like he was a cartoon character.

“You got any room for some of Mama Wilson’s famous pie?”

Peter’s stomach was full.  Too full really, but he couldn’t say no to food when it was offered anymore.

“Yes, please.”

“Pecan or Cherry?”

Peter looked from one to the other.  How could he choose?

Mr Wilson seemed to understand his dilemma.  “How about a bit of both?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically and Mr Wilson served him some with a wide smile.

It was even better than it smelled. 

The conversation continued in a lighter mode, with them asking what movies he liked and then them sharing what their favourites were.  He found he didn't need to keep his arms wrapped around himself, the shaking had stopped. 

Captain Rogers got out a little notebook and jotted down some of the films.  Of course there would have been so much he had missed being on ice for 70 years. Peter’s eyes roamed over him.  That must have been so weird; waking up and everyone you ever knew was gone and the world so different.  

Peter’s stomach suddenly let out a twang.  Oh god, he’d eaten far too much in one go.  He took a few small sips of the cool water to try to lessen the creeping, nauseous feeling.

Colonel Rhodes was just talking about his favourite war movies when Peter heard the elevator door open.  No one else seemed to notice so he figured it was his elevated hearing.  There was a click-clack of something on the tile floor, the sound moving closer.  Captain Rogers suddenly sat upright and looked in that direction.  

“Tony,” he said, trying to get his attention.

Before Mr Stark could even look in his direction, the person was suddenly in the room.

A woman with strawberry blonde hair and killer heels was in the doorway.  Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries.  Someone he’d read articles about and seen speak on TV.  If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d spent all day meeting superheroes, he might have let himself gawp.

She was the one gawping now – right at him.  She dropped her briefcase on the floor and was already moving towards him before the sound of it hitting the tile began to resonate.   

“Oh my God, Luca,” Miss Potts said.

“Erm, Pep?”  Mr Stark tried to get her attention, but it was too late.

Peter froze in place on the stool as the woman wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.  He could feel her trembling and he didn’t know what else to do other than to pat her gently on the shoulder.  She pulled back a moment later, the tears on her face as she put her hands on his cheeks and angled his face to hers.  She ran her eyes all over his face like she was trying to memorise every detail.  

She let go then and gave a little laugh; more tears filling her eyes; before placing her hands on his shoulders and rubbing them.  There was so much intense feeling in that moment; so much love, that the question popped out of his mouth without much thought.

“Are you my mother?” He croaked.

If it was possible for it to be any quieter in the room, it now was.

Miss Potts looked over to Mr Stark with a questioning look.

“No sweetheart, I’m not,” she said quietly, her eyes back on his, adding a squeeze to his shoulder as she did.

“Maybe we should talk about that one on one later,” Mr Stark said, looking pained.

There had been no mention of his mother; none whatsoever.  Not by the FBI, by the NYPD or by Child Services.  As he took in the haunted look on Mr Stark’s face, the sad expressions of everyone else, there seemed only one logical possibility.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” 

Mr Stark flinched just slightly before looking him directly in the eyes and drawing a breath.  “She died when you were a baby.”

“Figures,” Peter said under his breath.  Luca Stark’s mother had always been a media mystery.  Now he knew why.

He stared hard at a freckle on his hand.  Of course she was dead.  It wouldn’t be Parker luck if he would be in this crazy situation but still not get to have both of his parents.  Hell, it wasn’t even Parker luck anymore, was it?  

A shot of bile went up his neck and he forced it back down.  Peter barely noticed that the conversation had started back up; Colonel Rhodes getting Miss Potts a drink and asking about her trip.  She was no longer touching him, and he was thankful for that, but he could feel her body heat with how close she was standing next to him.  He didn’t need to look up to know that Mr Stark’s eyes were mostly on him; he could see the man rubbing circles on his left wrist in his peripheral vision.  

Acid rose in his throat again and he thought better of ignoring it.  

He sat upright and looked to Mr Stark.  “May I use the restroom, please?”

Mr Stark smiled.  “Follow me.”

Peter did, out into the hallway, just down from the elevator.  He nodded at Mr Stark as he awkwardly closed the door behind him.

Heat was rising from him as his stomach twisted.  Oh god, he should have been more careful with the food.  Before he could think more about it, he was on his knees by the toilet, losing everything he’d just ingested.  His stomach stopped spasming after a few minutes and he flushed away the disgustingness.  Damn it, he really needed those calories.  

His hands were shaking as he pulled himself off the floor and ran the tap, rinsing his mouth out and splashing some cool water on his face.  There was a mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink, and he opened it, glad to find a tube of toothpaste.  He finger-brushed his teeth and put it back.  As he closed the cabinet, his reflection was staring back at him.  Well, he looked like crap; skin pale as anything only highlighting the purple mess of his one eye.  But he wasn’t looking at the bruises; just at himself.  

Peter Parker.  Luca Stark.  

How was this fucking fair?  Wasn’t it enough what he’d had to go through so far?  Losing his parents, or whoever they were.  The spider bite.  Losing Ben.  Seeing May week in week out being not-May.  The different homes, the abuse, cold nights in his nook and now this.  

That he’d lived through all that, but all along he was meant to be someone else – someone different— but even that someone didn’t get to have a mother to love them.  

Even Luca Stark’s luck sucked.  

Why was this happening to him?  Who the fuck was he?  

The face in the mirror – the chin he was told came down through the Parker line, the eyes he’d inherited from his mother.  

Lies, all lies.  

The face looking back at him didn’t have any answers; didn’t have a fucking clue.  His fist flew into the glass, shattering the image into a thousand pieces.

Chapter Text

Tony

Tony watched him eat the pie, just like he had watched him eat the lasagne.  Peter inhaled the food at speed, and it pained him – a literal pain in his chest — to know that his son must’ve been going hungry for so long.  

He thought he might actually lose his shit when Peter had told the story about his previous foster homes.  The thought of multiple douchebags putting hands on him was bad but the way Peter so casually talked about living on the streets only made the pain in his chest blossom further.  He made a mental note to tear Natasha a new one later.  

But he had learnt one thing today; the kid had some fight in him.  He’d stood up for those girls, even if it had cost him.  As much as Tony couldn’t imagine that living on the streets would ever be a better option, Peter had taken himself out of a bad situation at the last foster home in a way that wouldn’t compromise what was important to him – graduating from a good school with his friends.  That was some level of forward thinking and self-control.  He wasn’t sure he had that in himself now, let alone at fifteen years old.

Tony let the conversation about movies wash over him as he watched the kid continue to eat.  When Peter had been coaxed to talk, he’d said Star Wars was his favourite franchise; Tony made a mental note of that.

“Tony?”

He looked over to Cap who was looking at the door.  The reason why abundantly clear only a second later.  

Pepper.

She was in the doorway, looking nowhere else but at the kid.  Her bag made a loud thud as it hit the ground and she made a beeline for him.  Tony knew her well enough to know what she was about to do.

“Erm, Pep?”  

Tony tried to get her attention, but she was on a one-woman mission.  He didn’t know how much she knew about Peter’s history; Rhodey had spoken to her on the plane, and she would have had all the files that FRIDAY had.  Regardless she didn’t stop invading his personal space and although the kid tensed as she pulled him into a hug, he didn’t move away.  

Intense longing felt like a stab in the gut; the jealousy was too much to take, and he had to shift his weight as the kid awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.  It only heightened as she cupped his face and then rubbed her hands on his shoulders.  Tony wanted to hold him, to touch him, and know that he was real.  Peter didn’t seem to mind it too much from Pepper, but she was a woman and well, he’d hardly had good experiences making new acquaintances with men lately.  And that’s what he was to the kid – new.  He didn’t remember all the hugs that he’d given Tony as a toddler – man, he was so tactile, and it had opened that up in Tony.  It didn’t come naturally to him – it wasn’t something Howard had done at all - but with Luca it had.  Now he thought about it, since Luca was taken, Tony hadn’t been big on it either.  

It was strange to see Pepper lose all her usual composure when she’d seen him.  He’d seen her take down a roomful of corporate goons without breaking a sweat, but this was different.  This was Luca.  She’d loved him like a son.

Peter spoke up then, his quiet but wavering voice breaking through Tony’s thoughts; 

“Are you my mother?”

The room zeroed in on him then as his mind was filled with memory.  Bethany.   Her beautiful smile, the way she never let him get away with anything, the cold touch of her skin as he said his final goodbye.

“No sweetheart, I’m not.”  Pepper’s eyes were filled with sorrow but also a question towards Tony of ‘ you didn’t tell him? ’  He hadn’t even considered it.  He just wanted him home, fed, and then they’d have time to talk; for him to give details of anything Peter wanted to ask.

“Maybe we should talk about that one on one later,” Tony heard himself say, his throat tight and unyielding.

It seemed like a thousand thoughts went through the kid’s head in a second before he looked back at him.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” 

Tony’s body reacted; breath pushed out of him.   Maybe it was the remembrance of what happened or the fact that it was the first thought that the kid had; a harsh reminder of what he had been through in his short life.

How could he tell him that she had died in childbirth?  Who knows what that knowledge might do to his son, now, on top of everything else.  Details could wait until later.  

“I’m afraid she died when you were a baby.”

“Figures,” Peter said under his breath, but the disappointment was loud enough to be heard.  

A few moments later, the kid asked for the bathroom, and Tony rushed to show him where to go.  He let out a steadier breath as the door shut behind Peter, before he made his way back to the kitchen.  

Pepper was leant up against Rhodes now, his arm around her shoulder as she wiped under her eyes with a tissue.  

She took her weight off Rhodey and met him with a hug as he got to the island.  He hugged her tightly back; for a moment, he felt simply numb and he welcomed the emotional respite.

She pulled away but didn’t fully let go; keeping an arm snaked around his waist.

“He’s…he’s…” Pepper was tongue-tied again.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his heart stuttering.  My Lord, he hoped FRIDAY wasn’t monitoring his heart rate because it felt like it was through the roof.

“There is a lot to do; we’ve got to find out what happened with the Parkers; who they were, what ties they might have had.”  He looked to Nat now and she nodded.  “Was it them, or did they think they adopted him somehow?  How much did the Uncle and Aunt know?”

“Tony,” Happy’s voice was loud enough to cut him off and he frowned at the interruption before he saw Happy’s expression.  “We’ll get to that, ok?  Just right now…you got him back…you got Luca back.”  Happy’s voice wavered and Tony could see the emotion behind his eyes. 

It opened something in Tony and the tension, the pure goddamn relief in knowing his son was alive and, for the most part, well; it was like a vent and he let out a noise as he gulped in a breath and tears started to fall down his cheeks, pushed aside by the smile on his face.

Pepper’s arm tightened around him and Rhodes came on the other side, gripping him tightly, a strong hand anchoring the back of his neck.  

He let out a wet laugh and heard his teammates return it; he looked up to see them all affected in their own ways.  They all wore goofy grins that no doubt matched his own, their eyes shining with mostly unshed tears.

A tissue was pressed into his hands by Sam, and he took it thankfully.

“He seems like a really good kid,” Sam said with a smile.

“I mean, he does, right?”  Tony thought he did, but he knew that he had on such thick, rose tinted glasses that he could barely see.  The group nodded back.

“A very polite young man,” added Steve, “brave too.”

“He might even be smarter than you, if his school records are anything to go by,” added Rhodey.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tony said, pushing out his first, non-tear stained smile.

The group chuckled.

Before they could all add any more things that they’d noticed about the kid in the short time they’d spent with him, there was an almighty crash from the direction of the hallway.

Steve got there first, obviously, and was about to ram the door down before Tony shouted.

“Stop, Steve!”  Tony pushed in front of him.  “FRIDAY, open the door.”

The door clicked open, and he pushed it wide.  There was a mess of glass and broken cabinet over the sink, and it was scattered with blood.  Peter stood there, staring blankly at his bloodied fist; a faint smell of sick hanging in the air.

“Are you ok?”  

Peter turned around sharply, pushing himself back up against the basin.  Blood started to drip down the edge of the basin as he gripped it; his eyes were wild, flitting between Tony and the looming figure of Steve behind him.  As Tony stepped towards him, the kid skittered back into the corner of the room; pressed between the corner of the tile and the towel rail.

Tony’s heart contracted as he saw the fear coating his face.

“I…I’m sorry,” Peter’s eyes darted to the mess he’d caused.  “I didn’t mean to…”

Tony put his hands up in a placating motion.  “It’s ok.  We’re not mad, are we, Cap?”

“No, of course not.”  Steve edged slowly past Tony, keeping his distance in what thankfully was a spacious bathroom.  “It’s been a rough day, son.  We’ll get this all sorted out, no problem.”

Peter didn’t respond but just looked down at his fist, his eye twitching like it must hurt as much as it looked like it did.

“I’m going to come closer, to see where you’re hurt, ok?”

The kid’s body relaxed a bit, though his hands were shaking; the overhead light glinting off the bits of glass that were peppered over his skin and all over his top.

“Luckily, we have a fully stocked Medbay downstairs, with a nurse on call 24 hours.  So, we can easily get you patched up.  Perks of the trade.”

Tony edged closer.  Peter watched both him and Steve; his chest still moving rapidly as his eyes darted between them.  

Steve knelt on the floor, picking up some of the bigger shards of glass and pieces of wood.  The kid had done a real number on the cabinet, part of the door hanging off the side and the shelves inside completely broken.

“Peter, I need you to take your top off here though ok, there is glass all over it.  I don’t want you to get cut more or to trail glass.”

“OK,” Peter said quietly, as he started to move.

Tony helped him shimmy the thin sweater over his head, keeping as much glass on it as possible.  He put it on the side and was about to inspect the bloodied hand further before he stopped.  One side of the kid’s torso was covered in purple and blue bruises; his teeth scraped against each other from the involuntary clenching of his jaw.  He was going to kill that guy.  Steve said nothing as he reached behind for a towel, gently placing it on Peter’s shoulders but Tony could tell from his expression, and the set of his jaw, that he’d noticed the bruises too.  

“Let’s get you to the Medbay.”

Peter didn’t move, so Tony slowly slipped a hand lightly on the small of his back, snaking the other one along his arm so that he could hold the fist up higher to stop so much dripping.  He was surprised when Peter let him touch him and he began to steer him out of the room. Christ, he finally got to touch his son and it was like this?

“Oh my God, I’m so, so sorry, Mr Stark.”  The kid seemed to be coming back to himself a bit; his eyes looking back at the cabinet.  “I don’t think it can be fixed, but I can try or I can replace it, pay for it...”

“Shhh, don’t worry about it,” Tony said as they made it out into the hallway.  Pepper was hovering and he was glad that the others had realised that lots of people staring would not be appreciated.

Pepper’s eyes widened at the sight and Tony caught her eyes roaming his body.  Peter must have done too as he used his free hand to tighten the towel around his body.

“We’re just going to get this checked out in Medbay.”

Pepper nodded and didn’t say anything, just followed them into the elevator.

Peter’s eyes didn’t leave the floor on the whole trip down.

There was a nurse sitting at the small desk area when they arrived.  Nurse Hale was an old hand and barely changed her expression on seeing them arrive with a kid with a bleeding hand.

“This way,” she said, and they all walked to the nearest bay.

Peter slid up onto the bed and Tony reluctantly let go of his arm and handed it to the nurse, who immediately pulled over a bright light. 

She moved his hand around and instructed him to move his fingers which caused him to wince.  

“No, broken bones in there thankfully.”  Nurse Hale gave Peter an encouraging smile and Peter’s eyes flicked to her.  “We’ll get this cleaned up in no time.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Peter said quietly. 

“We’ll need those ribs scanned too,” Tony added.

“No, they’re fine,” Peter said.

“They could be broken —“

“They’re just bruised.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell —“

“—I know…and I know that they aren’t this time.”

Tony felt the blood drain from his face.  It must have shown as Pepper’s hand clenched around his wrist; grounding.

“Sweetie, would you mind getting some water?”

Pepper was looking at him and he suddenly realised why she was asking him.

“Yep, sure, I’ll be back…”

Tony made it out to the hallway and down to the end of the corridor where there were ceiling-high windows.  He let his head fall against them; the coolness of it seeping into his forehead.

This time .  

It had happened to him before – he’d had broken ribs before, and he knew the difference.  It schooled every element of self-control in his body not to punch the glass himself.

“Tones.”

Tony turned, keeping his body pressed against the glass as he did.  

“How is he?”  Rhodes asked.

Tony almost wanted to laugh, or maybe that was cry?

“Peachy.  You know, discounting the fact I’ve stressed him out so much he punched out a mirror; that his side is covered in bruises that he insists that he doesn’t need to be scanned because, and I quote, ‘he knows’ they aren’t broken.”  Rhodey’s brow furrowed deeper than it ever had.  “How do you think he knows that Rhodes, huh?”

Rhodey’s grim expression told him that he’d not been the only person to reach that same conclusion.

Tony let his head bang back against the glass; the pain giving him some sort of relief.  

“Fuck, Rhodes.  Seeing the bruises, it’s…I want to murder that guy.  I can do that, right?”

“Not right now.  Now you can take a breath, get your shit together and then go back in there with your kid.”  The words were harsh, but the delivery was not.  It was what he needed.

Tony pulled a few deep breaths in and out and wiped his hands over his face.  He looked at Rhodey and gave him a firm nod.  

“You want me in there?”

Of course he did, but not crowding the kid after all that seemed preferable.

“I think I’ve got it, thanks.”

Emotions buttoned back down for now, he stalked along the corridor, picking up two cups of water from the fountain on the way back to the bay.

Pepper had migrated a little closer to Peter, who sat back on the bed now with his arm on a table as the nurse extracted glass from his fist.  Peter’s jaw was twitching with each of her movements but he didn’t make a sound and there weren’t any tears in his eyes.

Those eyes met Tony’s at the door briefly.  

“Water?” He asked, cocking his head.

Peter nodded and Tony walked over, handing the cup to him.  He tilted the other cup at Pepper but she shook her head.  Tony stayed by Peter’s shoulder watching him as he took a small sip.

“Almost done,” said Nurse Hale, as she put some plasters on the cuts.

Tony knew what needed to be done after this, but judging by the kid’s reaction to the scan, he needed to communicate differently.  

“Look, given everything you’ve told us about the last few months, with your living conditions, I think we need to do an overall check-up.”

Peter looked at him almost suspiciously.  “I’m fine.”

Tony’s eyes trailed down to his bruised side.

“Besides that,” Peter huffed out.

“Look, kid, if you’ve not been eating much for a while...sleeping in the cold...we really need to check you out.”

The kid looked pained.  “In what way?”

“Nurse Hall here will just look over your vitals and take some blood, just to check your levels, that’s all.”

“No, I…don’t want that.”

Tony kept his composure.  “I’m afraid that is not negotiable.”

Something flashed across Peter’s face and his free hand balled up some of the sheet.

Pepper shot Tony a pointed look.  Should he not have said that?  That was his son, surely he had the right to insist he have medical treatment.

She stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on Peter’s arm.  “Please, we just need to know that you’re ok.”

Peter looked up at her for a second before nodding.

Something unfurled in Tony’s chest.  He would let them take care of him.  That was all he wanted.  Maybe he’d had bad experiences with Doctors in the past.  There would be time to find out later, once the kid trusted him.

Peter didn’t speak during the whole process, not noticeably bothered when Nurse Hale drew some blood, so it wasn’t a fear of needles.  

His heart rate was low, blood sats good, blood pressure slightly elevated for his age but after today, Tony wasn’t going to take that as standard.  He’d hate to see his own stats right about now.

FRIDAY processed the blood results quickly enough, while Nurse Hale found a scrub top for Peter to put on.  Once the results were in, Nurse Hale passed the Starkpad over to Tony as she addressed Peter.

“Ok hon, your vitals all look pretty good.  A bit of dehydration and there are a few issues with your vitamin levels.  Are you vegetarian? Vegan?”

Shit, Tony hoped he wasn’t as he’d just eaten all that meat lasagne.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Well, in that case, some of them are lower than I’d like to see in a boy of your age.  Particularly your Iron and B12.  I’m going to suggest a supped-up vitamin regime for a month minimum and then hopefully you should be able to sustain normal levels with a good diet.”

She pulled out a bottle of pills.  

“I’ll take them,” Tony said, pleased to be doing something as he slipped them in his pocket.

“As for your hand, the cuts are mostly superficial so just need changing daily.”  She was right, they could see once the blood was cleared away that there were several cuts but none of them deep thankfully.  “Pop back down here and one of us will take care of it.  Keep it out of the shower as best you can until then.”

“Yes ma’am, thank you,”  Peter said quietly.

They said goodbye to Nurse Hale and the three of them headed back upstairs in the elevator in near silence.

They went straight to the Penthouse, rather than back to the Communal floor.  He figured Peter might not want everyone asking if he was ok, judging by his demeanour.

Tony would also be lying if he said that he didn’t want the chance to finally get some one-on-one time with his son.  He wasn’t even sure what to say – was there a guidebook?  There really should be a guidebook for reuniting parents with children who had been kidnapped from them and hadn’t seen them for 12 years.  Maybe with a snappier title.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as they followed Pepper into the kitchen – the two of them sandwiching Peter between them.  It was a message from Rhodey.  

“ Figured you might want some space so I’m in my room.  If you want me there, just let me know.”

He was a good bro, that was for sure.  Tony wasn’t sure how he would have navigated this hellish day without him.  Mental note to get him a gift, or upgrade his weapons system or, well, both actually.

“I think a nice hot drink would be in order.  What do you like?”  Pepper said breezily. “Tea, coffee, hot chocolate?”

The kid looked unsure.  “I’d normally go for a hot chocolate but I’m not sure I can stomach it.”

Tony remembered the lingering smell in the bathroom.  “You were sick earlier?”

Peter nodded, a little pink hinting in his cheeks.  “I shouldn’t have eaten so much.  It was just so good and I was really…yeah, well, not my best idea.”

“We’ll just stick to small meals, more often, until your stomach has adapted,” Tony said and the kid gave a faint nod in approval.  

“Water then?”  Pepper said, making her way to the fridge. 

“Yes please.”

Tony went to get some coffee and Pepper waved him away.

“You two sit, I’ve got it.”

Tony slid up on a stool and Peter took one, leaving one between them.

Peter fidgeted with the plasters on his fist and didn’t look at him as Pepper pottered around by the coffee machine.  A few moments later, a bottle of water and a cup of coffee materialised.

“Thank you, Miss Potts.”

“Thanks Pep,” Tony said, accepting her warm smile and the hand that snaked around his shoulders.

“I feel pretty disgusting after all that travelling.  I’m going to go and have a long, hot shower.”  Pepper squeezed his shoulder.  Tony knew what she was doing – giving them time alone.  His stomach flipped the earlier meal around.  It was what he wanted but at the same time he felt some sort of terror.  Trepidation?  Whatever the correct word was, his stomach showed his unease.

Pepper gave Peter a warm smile, which he half returned as she placed a hand so casually on his shoulder again, squeezing once as she went by.  She made the touch so effortless, like she was unworried about his acceptance.  Maybe he should be the same.  Just treat it as normal.  But what if the kid didn’t want that?  Not yet anyway.

His attention was drawn back to the room by Peter unscrewing the bottle with one hand and taking a sip of water.  They were finally there, alone, in a quiet space.

“So, Peter.”  Tony stopped before he began, suddenly unsure what to say.  This was important, their first moments truly alone that weren’t in a surveilled interrogation room.  He hadn’t dreamed of getting Luca back in so long - hadn’t let himself hope in years - that he hadn’t played this scenario through for a long while.  And the last time he had, the Luca in mind had been very much a child and not this half-man-child in front of him who no doubt had well formed opinions and experiences already in life that he couldn’t begin to imagine.

He must have paused an inordinately long amount of time as Peter finally dragged his eyes away from the bottle he was slowly peeling the tag off of to settle on him.  

Tony finally got a close up look of the hazel of his eyes, the shade so like his own but with a few flecks of green in the centre.

“This is…” He let out a breath and an awkward chuckle.  “I realise this is all a lot to take in, and in one day.  I know you must have a million questions, as I do, and I want you to know that I will answer as much as I can.”

Peter nodded.

“Um, Mr Stark.  I’m, like, really tired.  Do you think I might be able to go to bed?”

Tony tried not to let the disappointment show on his face.

“Bed?  Of course, yes, you must be exhausted.  I’m sorry, I didn’t even think.  We can talk more in the morning.”  Tony pushed his chair out and Peter copied.  He was disappointed but he would give the kid whatever he wanted right now.

Tony reached into a cupboard and pulled out a tray of crackers and a banana.  “Take these with you in case you want something to settle your stomach later.”

“Thank you, Mr Stark.”

Tony led the way again, the light coming on as soon as they walked into what was now Peter’s bedroom.  Someone had thoughtfully brought up his bag and left it on the bed.

“There are toiletries in the bathroom including a toothbrush and all that jazz.  Should be fully stocked with towels.”  Tony eyed around the room as his brain ran through what the kid might need overnight.  He clicked his fingers.  “You’ll need something to sleep in.  I’ll be right back.”

Tony went to his room, the next door down, and straight to his walk-in closet, the sound of the shower running drifting through the slightly ajar door.

He found some sleep pants and a Stark Industries t-shirt that would probably be a decent fit.  Then he dug out an old MIT hoodie he had.  It would be a bit oversized but he remembered always feeling comfortable in it when he was that age and similar size.  He teamed it with another t-shirt, a new pair of boxers in an unopened packet – he was a billionaire ok, and lots of fresh new underwear was one of his vices – as well as some sweatpants with a decent drawstring that might stay up on the kid’s slim hips.

He hurried back down to Peter’s room, to find the kid sat on the bed, the teddy that had been put there earlier in his hands.  He stood up as Tony came in, putting it to the side now and rubbing his palms on his pants.

Tony handed him the sleep stuff and put the rest on the desk.

“Something to sleep in tonight and some fresh clothes for tomorrow so you don’t have to put dirty stuff on after you shower.”  Tony’s eyes were drawn down to the sneakers on the kid’s feet that he for some reason only now noticed were being kept together by a liberal amount of duct tape.  “We, er, we can organise new clothes and what have you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”  

Tony clapped his hands together.  He wasn’t eager to leave at all.  In fact the idea of not keeping his eyes on his son forever more gave him a tighter feeling in his already tight chest.  “Is there anything else you need?”

Peter shook his head, his thumb rubbing against the seam of his jeans.  “No sir.  Thank you.”

“Well, ok then, you need anything I am just one door down and of course you can also ask FRIDAY anything.”

Tony faltered – should he hug him?  Would he want that?  He should just do it like Pepper.  But then he remembered the kid launching away from him and Cap earlier.  

Screw it.

“Would…would it be okay for me to give you a hug?”

The boy’s eyes widened slightly but he gave a small nod.  That was consent enough for him.  He stepped forward slowly and put his arms around the kid’s small frame.  Tony took in the kid’s own unique scent, the feel of his breath on his neck and the hammering of his heart against his own.  He was real, solid, 3D; not a memory, an aged-up photo or a fantasy.  The kid’s hand placed a few hesitant pats on his own back, just as he had with Pepper.

Tony reluctantly pulled away after a short moment, not wanting to make Peter feel awkward as he was blatantly indulging him in a hug rather than actually wanting one.  He stopped as he got to the door and looked back at Peter, who still stood in the same spot.

“I…I’m really glad that you’re here.”

Peter nodded, his eyes again finding the floor.  Tony shouldn’t expect the kid to feel the same way, why would he?  It was no relief to him to be back, no joy in being reunited; he never knew he was ‘gone’ in the first place.

“Ok, goodnight, um, kid.”

Tony closed the door behind him and just stood there.   The corridor was quiet and then, after a few moments, he could just make out sounds of movement; a slight squeak of the bed springs.  He pressed his ear closer to the door before he heard it.  Soft, punctuated sounds that could only be the sound of someone crying.  His heart clenched.  Should he go in?  No, the kid didn’t know him.  Why would he want comfort from him?  He gently pressed a hand to the door, his eyes threatening tears again as he listened to the noises gradually start to lessen, like Peter was trying to control them.

Tony pulled himself away and along to the bedroom.  Pepper sat on the bed in some soft looking loungewear, legs crossed and drying her hair with a towel.  She came over to him right away, putting her arms around him in a quick hug before guiding him to the bed.  Maybe he looked like he might fall over, he wasn’t sure what level of adrenaline was allowing his body to still be running so he went with her.

“How did it go?”  Pepper asked, her fingers clenching each other.

“I tried to start talking but he said he was tired so I let him go to bed.”  Tony worked out a kink in his neck with his right hand.  “I couldn’t push him any more…not after the day he’s had.”

“Maybe it’s for the best, for the both of you.  Get some rest and the real getting to know each other can start tomorrow.”  Pepper’s hand replaced his and he let her.

They hadn’t been physically close with each other in so long but it didn’t feel weird.  They knew each other too well for that it seemed.  Her other hand found his now and wrapped around it.

“How are you doing, Tony?”

He looked at her then; her own eyes as red as he imagined his were.  He just couldn’t formulate anything coherent right now; he felt so exhausted.

“We got him back, Pep.  He’s alive and down the hallway right now, crying,” he winced at the thought before continuing, “but he’s here.  Luca is here.  I never said it, not aloud, not to anyone, but I thought he was…I thought he was…” 

He couldn’t even say it now.  It felt like an insult to the kid down the hall.  Like evidence that he had given up on him.

Pepper silenced him with a finger to his lips.  “I know, I did too.  It just didn’t seem possible after so long, no leads…I lost hope too.”  A trail of a tear slipped down her cheek.  

Both of her hands slipped onto his shoulders now, bringing their heads together.  They stayed like this for a second and Tony didn’t care that tears were streaming down his face.  If anyone understood how he felt, it was Pep.  She’d been there with him all the way with Luca, helping him muddle through when he was grieving Bethany, keeping the company going while he dealt with the sleepless nights.  She was there for all of those firsts – first steps, first words, first illness, first injury — all the highs and lows of those three years with Luca.  Sure she had been his assistant, there had been nothing romantic between them then, though he’d thought of it.  But she was so good with Luca, he hadn’t wanted to rock the boat.  

“Come on, you need to lie down.”

Pepper shuffled herself up the bed and Tony hesitated.

“You’re gonna stay?”

Pepper suddenly looked hesitant; sitting up straight.  “I want to…but I can take a guest room or a hotel…”

“No, I…stay…I want that…that would be great.”  

Tony shucked his shoes off but didn’t bother with his clothes and scooted up the bed so that he was laying on his back with his head on the pillow.  Pepper was adjusting herself, still seeming unsure of her welcome. It didn’t have to mean anything; she was just here for now and that was all that mattered.  He looked at her and raised his arm.  She smiled and snuggled up next to him like she always used to do, her head on his chest and her arm around his waist.  He felt himself settle deeper into the bed with her weight against him.

“FRI, lights off.”

The lights slowly dimmed down to nothing and they lay there.

There was silence for a few minutes.

“He looks like you,” Pepper said into the darkness.  “That jawline looks more like your Dad’s though.”

“You think?”  Tony said, realising she was right.  “Yeah, you might be right, and when he smiles his eyes crease up just like Bethany’s.”

“I haven’t got to see him smile yet,” Pepper sighed into his chest.  “Do you think he noticed that I just kept staring at him?”

“Me, Rhodey and Happy spent all day staring at him like he is an apparition, I don’t think he will notice one more,” Tony said.

Pepper let out a yawn.  “Good, because I think I will probably do it again tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.  He would get to see his son tomorrow and the next day, and the one after that.  A bright smile suddenly filled his face as he stared up into the darkness of the room.

“Me too,” he said softly as Pepper’s breaths began to deepen.

Chapter Text

Bucky

Bucky had headed back to the Tower with Steve once it had been clear that protecting the Precinct was no longer necessary.  He’d helped clean the place up, even venturing up to the Penthouse with Steve for the first time to make sure it was in tip-top condition for whatever checks the Social Services people needed to do.  He couldn’t imagine a world where the Tower wasn’t up to code, but Steve reminded him that Tony was prone to leaving bits of tech around which might look dangerous to the untrained eye, even if they weren’t.  

After that, Bucky’d helped Sam with some of the prep for the dinner.  He wasn’t all that great in the kitchen but at least his superior knife skills were being put to good use for once.  Sam and he often got under each other’s skin but, for the most part, Bucky liked him.  He was loyal, kind and not afraid of speaking his mind to Steve.  All pluses in Bucky’s book.

When FRIDAY had announced that Tony and his son had arrived back at the Tower, Bucky had slunk off to his room.  It had felt right to stay out of the way for the rest of the evening.  The last thing Tony would need was to see his face when he was under this much pressure.

He’d almost forgotten that when he’d heard the crash from the other end of the corridor – he made it to his door to see Steve had already gotten to the source of the commotion.  He could make out from where he was that it was something to do with the kid and then he saw through the crack in the door, Tony leading him away towards the elevators.  

Bucky closed himself back in the room and resumed the history lesson that he had first begun that morning.  His heart wasn’t in it.  A day of using his altered body, and the skills he’d acquired, had felt really good.  He’d come to terms with what had been done to him physically, the new, untainted arm being a big help, either way, it was all a part of him now.  Using it for something good – reuniting a family – had left him with a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.  An extra sweetener being that it had been a way to repay Tony – for the pardon, for the Tower, maybe a small amount towards the past hurts he’d inflicted.

He must’ve fallen asleep as when there was a knock at the door, he startled awake, the tablet lying on his chest.

“Buck, you awake?”

He looked over to the time – it was barely 11pm.

“Yeah,” he called out to Steve as he pulled himself up to his feet and stretched out, his arm whirring as he did.

Steve came in then, but his steps weren’t his usual steady ones, and his head was down rather than facing forward.  There was something deeply familiar about it and it didn’t take him long to realise what it was.

“Are you…are you drunk?”

Steve’s head jerked up, along with his whole body.  “No.”

Bucky grinned –reminded of the night they’d first got drunk together – stealing some of his dad’s whiskey and both getting a hangover, and a hiding, for it the following day.

“Yeah, you are, but I thought you couldn’t get drunk?”  Bucky had the same problem- though he could get a small buzz if he downed enough, it never lasted.  He remembered the Commandos trying different combinations on Steve to see if they could get the big man drunk.  Steve had taken it in good spirits, but it always ended with the rest of them passed out and Steve still standing.

Steve pulled out a small flask and threw it at Bucky - literally - slamming into his chest.

“Ow,” Bucky clutched it.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve mumbled.  “It’s Thor’s, he left it, Asgardian mead.  Hell of a kick.  Want some?”

Steve looked at him then, his cheeks flushed red by the alcohol making his eyes seem a sharper blue.  

“Maybe another time,” Bucky placed it on the side table.  Steve lurched forward, whether to grab it, or maybe he meant to lean on the side table, but either way, he missed, knocking a few things off as he did.  

“Oh, shit and Christ,” Steve mumbled, and Bucky managed to grab him under the arm.  “I’m fine, Buck, fine.”  Steve tried to get out of his grip.

“Just sit down, you great lug,” Bucky grumbled as he guided him to the bed.

Steve crashed onto it with a huff, falling onto one elbow before pushing himself back up.  He sank his head into his hands and stayed that way; his whole body hunching over in a way that made him feel like it was more than the mead.

He sat down next to Steve, knocking a knee into his after a moment.

“What’s up?”

Steve’s fingers dug deeper into his hair before he took in a breath.

“Today…it was great.  It was this great moment for Tony.  He was so happy…so happy he cried.  I’ve never seen him cry.  It was like that relief when I found you and we got to Wakanda, and you were truly safe.”

Steve’s blue eyes were boring into his now, slightly glassy from the alcohol but shining from emotion.

“Pepper came and the kid thought she was his mom.  Tony had to tell him that she was dead.  I mean what fucking bad luck does that kid have, huh?”  Steve looked up at him for a second, his eyes tinged red.  “Well, I don’t know if it was the whole day and that just pushed him over the edge, but he punched out a mirror, cut his hand all up to hell.”

Bucky grimaced; so that was the commotion.

“We got in there; the kid was fucking petrified of me, of Tony.  Had to get his top off because of the glass and one side of his body was covered in bruises.  Fucking covered, Buck.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed painfully remembering all he’d heard today and the stain of a bruise on the kid’s face.

Steve’s hand messily caught his chin; his eyes becoming so dark.  “We gotta go back and see that guy, you hear me?  We won’t tell anyone; we’ll just do it.”

Bucky gently removed Steve’s increasingly painful grip on his chin.  Mental note that he lost all control of his strength when he was drunk.

“Ok, pal,” he placated.  He wasn’t sure Captain America and the Winter Soldier beating up some low life was exactly the low-profile vibe that no doubt Tony would want to be continuing.  

Steve threw an arm around him, resting his head on his shoulder now.  “You always have my back.  We’ll go…”  Steve stifled a yawn.  “…we’ll show him some old Brooklyn justice.”

“Yeah, right after you sleep this off, fella.”  Bucky stood up and pulled him up with him.  “Let’s get you to bed.”

Steve pulled away, swaying slightly.

“Can’t I stay here?  Bunk in like we used to.”

They used to sleep together in a single bed, stuck together for warmth.  Looking at the gigantic bed, it was hardly a similar comparison.  But it wasn’t what Steve was after – he didn’t want to be alone.  Steve had stayed with him enough times over the last few months, getting into bed sometimes with him and holding him after nightmares when he could bear to be touched.  

“Of course Stevie, anytime.”

Steve grinned an erratic, toothy smile and Bucky tried not to laugh at the expression.  He helped him out of his shoes and jeans before cajoling him over to the other side of the bed.

He’d no sooner got himself sorted for bed and slipped under the covers when Steve rolled over and began to pick up his arm.

“What are you—“

“You said like old times.”  The mead was sickly sweet on his breath as he spoke; Bucky realising what he meant instantly.  He lifted his arm and Steve instantly curled up against him, his head nestled between his arm and chest.

It was how they’d always slept, either like this or turned to the side like spoons, Steve despite being smaller then, always being the big spoon.

Steve let out a deep breath and let his weight fall deeper into him.

“I don’t recall you being so heavy,” Bucky whispered into the darkness.

Steve didn’t move.  “Shut up, jerk,” he mumbled sleepily.  Bucky smiled before the warmth, weight and comforting sound of Steve’s even breath sent him off to sleep.

==

Tony

“Tony?”  Steve’s voice was low, just above a whisper and that was enough to carry it along the corridor from where he must have come from the elevators.

Tony looked up from where he was sat on the floor.  God, he was tired.  Was he hallucinating Steve here?  It was possible.  But no, the hulk of a man came towards him, clad in form-fitting workout gear that clung to all the impossible muscles he had.

Tony glanced at his watch as Steve neared.

“This is early, even for you, Cap.”

“Couldn’t get back to sleep,” Steve said with a shrug.  “Thought I’d pop up here to…see if all was well before my run.”

Rogers; always such a mother hen.  Nothing had changed.

“Was he badly injured?”

Tony shook his head and wondered if he was referring solely to the self-inflicted hand injury.  “Nothing broken, superficial cuts.”

“Good…well, you know...”  Steve said, tugging at the hair at the back of his neck.

Tony raised his eyebrows and gave a small nod.

“Did you two talk?”

“He wanted to go to bed after so…” Tony gestured in the direction of the bedroom opposite, where he had stationed himself.

“Did you sleep at all?”

He’d had a few hours until the nightmare came; vivid and very familiar.  A replacement of earlier ones he had after Luca was taken except this time there was a new face – the face of the boy in that room – arm outstretched, falling away from him.  He tried but he couldn’t reach him.  

It was pointless trying to sleep after that.  He felt too far away from his son.  If he thought it wouldn’t creep the kid out, he would’ve slept in a chair next to his bed.  This was the next best compromise.  Probably still creepy.

“A little.”  There was no point in lying.

“Can I get you anything?  Drink, food?”

Tony replied with a shake of his head which was stopped in its tracks as Steve sat down next to him, his long legs snaking out in front of him.

“Go sit on your own floor, Rogers.”

“Nope, I’m going to keep you company.  Pretend it’s official Avengers business, if you like.”

Normally Tony would have rallied against stubborn Cap like it was a game of sport, but not now.  He just sighed heavily like having him there was a huge inconvenience.

They both just stared at the bedroom door for a few minutes, Steve close enough that Tony could feel his radiated warmth.  There was a tension headache just settling behind his eyes, he should sleep really, if not to head that off, then to be fighting fit for whatever the day ahead might bring.  But it was unlikely he’d sleep now.  Not with that nightmare swimming in his unconscious.

“You know FRIDAY wouldn’t let anyone in or…out.  It’s ok to sleep.”

Tony nodded.

“I could keep watch for you?”

Tony sighed.  “Thanks, Cap, really.  And I know she wouldn’t but I just…wanna be close by.”

“Ok then,” Cap replied, sitting back against the wall like he was settling in for a good movie.  “State capitals?”  

It was a game they’d sometimes play on long journeys or missions involving stakeouts when they needed to stay awake.

“Alabama – Montgomery,” Tony started.

Peter

Peter’s fingers pushed into some dense fabric before his eyes slowly opened.  Thick carpet was beneath his fingers; oh yeah, he was on the floor.  The bed had been so soft, no doubt the nicest he had slept on, ever.  But he had migrated to the floor; his body too used to the air bed that Ned had loaned him that kept deflating halfway through the night, so he was basically sleeping on boxes most of the time.  

The duvet had wrapped itself around him and he let himself stay in the cocoon for a few minutes, taking in the clean lines of the room as daylight peeked through the edges of the blinds.  The king-sized bed didn’t even take up much space in the oversized room.  There was a door leading to a walk-in closet and a desk table and chair.  A massive TV was mounted on one wall and some bright modern art hung on the other side, contrasting against the plain coloured walls.

His hand left the plush carpet and went to his sore eyes now.  He hadn’t cried himself to sleep since Ben died, but he felt like he had made up for it last night.   He wasn’t even sure where it came from.  One minute he was going through the motions of getting into bed, the next it hit him like a tidal wave.  He’d slept but it had been fitful.  He’d been awake for a few hours in the middle, where he had eaten the food and then played on his phone mindlessly for a bit, before forcing himself to try to sleep some more.  Evidently he must have at some point, or at least the drool on his chin would suggest so.

Peter couldn’t hear any noise from outside his room but he strongly suspected that the walls were pretty well insulated, maybe even soundproofed.  He wasn’t ready to face any more awkward conversations right now, so he opted for showering, even if it meant that he would have to wear the borrowed clothes.

Even with his tech-savvy, it had taken him a few moments to work out the controls on the futuristic-looking shower – it had jets everywhere as well as a bonafide seat in there.  Were you meant to sit on it or only if you got….tired?  He let the warm water beat down over him; the water pressure was insane – no comparison to the lukewarm trickle the school’s showers provided, and the shampoo smelled heavenly.   His thoughts wandered as he let himself relax in the steam.  He’d have to get back to the nook at some point: he had more homework books and he’d left his laptop there, as well as some phones he was fixing up for some kids at school.  He should probably charge more for what he did but then, well, he probably didn’t need to anymore.  Food was looking to be guaranteed here.  

His Spider-Man outfit was still in the nook too – he didn’t want to leave it there for too long.  He’d have to get Ned to keep hold of it until he knew the lay of the land here.  He didn’t want to get found out.  He’d felt bad pushing back about the scan with Mr Stark.  He honestly didn’t think there were any breaks, but if they scanned and then did a follow-up scan, they would see his quick healing.  There was no way to explain that.  

The blood tests had been less of a worry – Child Services had taken some when he was first taken into their custody, and nothing had flagged up as strange.  The sample they must have found at Mr Andersson’s from his bloody nose also didn’t flag anything strange up in Mr Stark’s system so he guessed that unless they were looking at his full genome, then he was probably safe enough.

Peter finally pulled himself out of the shower and dried off; the starkly visible bruises on his side reminding him of what had happened over the last thirty-six hours.  At least he didn’t have to worry about having to live back with Mr Andersson but that might mean someone else would take his place.  Even if he could get out of here as Spider-man, it would definitely be too much of a coincidence for him to visit another of Peter Parker’s abusive foster parents.  If he wanted to stop him, he’d have to try the old fashioned way.

He reluctantly pulled on the clothes that he’d been given, they were all a bit big for him, understandably, but the drawstring of the joggers made sure he wouldn’t be embarrassed anytime soon.  He pulled the jumper on top of the t-shirt, running his fingers over the cracked MIT lettering.  Mr Stark must have kept this for a long time, it must be special to him, he didn’t want to ruin it if it was nostalgic or something.

He laid on his bed for a bit, pointedly ignoring the messages from Ned.  He’d sent him a short message last night just saying that he’d been moved again and that he couldn’t talk right now.  Both things were essentially true – he was in a new home and he didn’t know how to tell him all that had happened.  How could he put everything he had found out into words?  It seemed more like it was a dream than anything else.  If he couldn’t feel the duvet beneath his fingers and the light hum of the lights above him, he might have thought it was. 

Peter absently played with the curling edges of the band-aids on his hand.  His face flushed remembering the scene in the bathroom last night - not only the damage he’d caused but the way he’d reacted to the two men.  His spider-sense hadn’t even been spiking; had he really thought they’d be mad enough to hurt him?  Peter swallowed and decided not to dwell on it - his emotions had been all over the place yesterday.  As much as he had tried to keep the hand dry, inevitably the steam had done its work and the material was slightly damp.  There was some pink-tinged through in places but Peter knew that the skin underneath was mostly healed by now.  Even with his erratic food intake and sleep over the last few days, even wounds that superficial would be healed.  He rummaged around in the bottom of his bag and pulled out his homemade medical kit; he had a box of band-aids in there and he slipped them into his pocket.  He’d have to find somewhere he could quickly fix himself up.  He wasn’t sure if FRIDAY’s eyes extended to the bedrooms and bathrooms, but he didn’t want to take the chance.

His stomach groaned again.  He was used to ignoring it, but it was like now it knew that there was food waiting out there, it was making itself more known.  Was he meant to wait here until they came and got him?  Should he ask FRIDAY?

After another half hour of uncertainty, he decided, or at least his stomach did, that boldness was in order.  And that boldness was to open the door to the bedroom, just a crack.  That crack was enough to see Captain Rogers sitting on the floor opposite the door, with Mr Stark asleep, slumped with his head on his shoulder, a soft blanket covering him.  It was also enough for Captain Rogers to see him.

“Good morning, son,” the man gave him a warm smile as he spoke quietly.  “Did you sleep well?”

Peter replied at the same volume.  “Yes sir, thank you.”

“You must be hungry.  I’ll wake Tony and…”

“No, don’t wake him…” Peter interjected.  Who knows how long he had been out here?  It didn’t seem like he’d had much sleep if he had fallen asleep at such an awkward angle.

Captain Rogers’ eyes crinkled.  “Yes, I think a few more minutes would probably help him.  Pepper, Rhodey and Happy are already up and in the kitchen; they can help you find something to eat.  Do you know the way?”

“Yes, sir.”  Peter nodded at him and received one back in return.

Peter headed down the rounded corridor back towards the kitchen.  He hovered outside, hearing voices speaking lowly but enough for him to hear ‘Luca’ mentioned more than once.  All the people in there knew him when he was younger – when he was…Luca.  They were the ones who had stared at him the most yesterday; as if they were trying to make sense of him.  He tried to imagine what it would be like to see someone when they were little and not again until they were fifteen.  Would they be mentally filling in the gaps?  Wondering what he had looked like at eight, ten, thirteen?

Suddenly the idea of being back in the spotlight again was enough to silence his stomach.  He made his way to the elevator, the doors opening silently and closing behind him the same.

There were no buttons – had he not noticed this before?

“Um, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“How do I get out?  Onto the street, I mean?  Can you take me to wherever the ground level is?”  He’d come in through the garage but surely there must be a pedestrian entrance.

“Sorry Peter, you are not permitted to leave the Tower without a chaperone.”

Peter’s stomach dropped.  “What?!  Why not?”

“You are a minor.  This protocol is in place for your safety.”

What the hell?  

“I’m fifteen, I’m not a baby, I can go for a walk on my own.  What, I’m not even allowed to get fresh air now?!”

There was a pause before the Irish voice came through.

“If you seek fresh air, then I will take you to the Sky Garden on the 85 th floor.  It is available for use by all residents of the Tower.”

Peter hadn’t even noticed that the elevator was moving until the doors opened at a different level.  

He stuck his head out.  There was nothing else here but a glass door directly in front.  

He was still annoyed but it was better than nothing.  He hadn’t really expected that he’d be allowed to roam free on day one, but it certainly confirmed his worst fears about living here: there was no way he was getting out to patrol.  FRIDAY’s eyes were everywhere.  

He looked up at the sign above the glass doors “Sky Garden”.  Let’s see what that is all about.

Bucky

“Buck.”

The voice was there again.  Annoyingly.

“Buck.”

And again, followed by the weight of a hand and a gentle shake.

“Buck.”

It was sharper now.  Steve.

“What?” He groaned.

“You coming for a run?”

“When do I ever run with you?  What time is it?”

“5am…” Steve’s voice was sheepish, but it did little to modify his response.

“Fuck you, Rogers.”

“Ok, don’t come, but you gotta get off me so I can.”

Bucky opened his eyes.  He was lying face down on the mattress.  He lifted his head at the same time as realising that not only was his metal arm wrapped around Steve’s torso like he was a giant, hairless fairground teddy, but his leg was also trapping Steve’s own.  He looked up at Steve who quirked his mouth.

Bucky quickly pulled away, suddenly aware of the morning wood he was sporting and lay flat on his stomach.

“Uh, sorry.”

Steve gave him a small smile, but his cheeks were heated red.  “No problem.  Sorry for being drunk.  Did I do anything, say anything…uh…weird…last night?”

Bucky frowned; Steve wasn’t easily embarrassed, not with him.  “Nah Stevie, you were just telling me you were worried for Tony and the kid.  That’s all.”

Steve looked relieved.  “Ok…great.  I’m gonna head out.”

“Next time, just push me off without waking me up, punk,” Bucky said gruffly, pushing his own heated cheeks into the mattress.

“Ha, um, yeah,” Steve said, his voice a little strained before he headed out.

When Bucky awoke again a few hours later, there was a lot more light peeking through the curtains.  He got up, dressed and headed for the kitchen.  If Sam was still here and he had made french toast, it would be worth socialising.  He listened out to make sure Tony wasn’t there before he slipped into the room.

Nat was up at the island, her hands cupped over something warm and some files splayed in front of her.  His eyes scanned them as he walked behind her and he just made out the name ‘Richard Parker’ before her body moved, shielding them from view as she reached for a piece of toast.

“Any going spare?”  Bucky asked as he came up towards Sam, who’d had his back to him as he worked the frying pan.  

“Sure big man, there’s plenty, I’m not sure if the others are coming down.  They may well want a private breakfast.”

Bucky could only imagine.  

“Steve not back from his run?  He was up at the crack of dawn.”

Nat raised her head at that.  “Last I saw him, he had Tony draped over him upstairs.”

Bucky’s heart rate increased.  “He what now?”  

Nat’s eyebrow arched.  “Tony fell asleep on his shoulder keeping guard outside the kid’s bedroom.”

“Oh, right.”  An odd feeling settled in his stomach.  Something that hinted at jealousy.  If Steve and Tony were becoming friends again, he shouldn’t have any sort of feelings about it.  If anything, he was in the way.  It was another reminder that he shouldn’t be here.  He’d have to check his calendar again and see how many days were left on his countdown.

Bucky could see two pieces that looked ready for him so he snatched them out of the pan before Sam could smack him with the spatula.

“Jesus, do you have asbestos fingers?”

“Thanks for breakfast.” Bucky shot him a grin as he grabbed a half-filled net of plums and moved towards the exit.  “Catch you later.”

He had eaten his way through the french toast by the time the elevator had reached its destination and cursed himself for not taking a proper super soldier sized plateful.  

It had become a bit of a habit of his to come up here, either with breakfast, or just after, and take in the morning with a cigarette or two.  Steve would often come, so long as he promised not to get on him about the smoking.  He honestly didn’t mind if Steve didn’t come; it was a nice place to be in solitude.

Bucky pushed the door open and took in a deep inhale of the cool, fresh air.  He had to hand it to Stark, or whoever the designers of this place were because it was fucking awesome.  There were large canopies of flowers on either side of the entrance curving over like a tree tunnel, so as you walked out it felt like you were going into a fairytale wood.  It then opened up so it was pure sky above you, but with trees, flowers and shrubs in planters all around, intermingled with seating areas and a huge hot tub in one corner of the roof.  That wasn’t really his thing – he still felt self-conscious of the scars and the arm itself — enough that he wouldn’t feel all that comfortable to be in it, even though he knew it was only Tower residents up here.  There was also a bar area with a fully stocked fridge.  He shouldn’t have expected any less from Tony Stark.

He was just about to bite into his first plum when he realised that he wasn’t alone.  As he rounded the corner, he heard a young voice, apparent soon after that he was on the phone.

“Yes Jeff, I’m sure.  I don’t really care about the court stuff.  I just want to make sure he doesn’t get sent any more kids.”

There was quiet as the other person responded.

“Is that really necessary?”

Another pause.

“Fine, you can take the lousy pictures.”  The kid’s voice was strained.  “You really need to talk to him?”  A pause followed by a sigh.  “He’s asleep right now.  I don’t have his number…yeah, ok, I’ll get him to call you later.  Ok, yeah, you too, talk later.”

Bucky was hidden by a jasmine tree as he watched the kid sigh heavily, his back rising and falling as he did, before slipping the phone into his pocket.  The kid then got a box out – band-aids —he put a pile of used ones on the lounge chair in front of him before replacing them with new ones.  Bucky couldn’t see the damaged hand from here, the kid’s body blocking the way, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do, to put them on with one hand, but the kid did it pretty quickly.  Only dropping one band-aid and one accompanying swear word that made Bucky smirk. 

The kid gathered up the mess and put it in the nearest bin.  Bucky got ready to disappear, but the kid didn’t come this way, instead going over to the small viewing platform.  It jutted out a little over the building; there was a section of clear glass where you could look down and see the cars moving like ants below.  He took in the sight for a few minutes and the half of his face that Bucky could see drew into a smile.  He went to the glass railing now which looked out over the buildings of the city.

Bucky was about to give in; the kid was obviously planning on being here for a while.  He was certain that Tony wouldn’t want him crossing paths with Bucky and he certainly wouldn’t be getting any solitude out here – time to go.  Before he could turn though, the kid took a step up on the edge of one of the large planters.  His top half was leant over the barrier now and he lifted his arms up in a way that reminded Bucky of when he watched Steve paint and he used his hands to frame an image before he started drawing.  Maybe he was an amateur artist too?  He seemed to be studying the buildings intently, twisting his body to look at some buildings to the side, whilst pushing himself up higher with one foot on the glass and the other on tiptoes on the planter.

It happened in a split second.  The kid leant forward a little too much and Bucky saw his centre of gravity shift, but maybe he was moving before then, as he crossed the distance between them in record speed, his metal arm reaching out and grabbing the back of the kid’s hoodie before he could plunge to his death.  He yanked the kid back and away from the railing, keeping his grip on him and stumbling back a few paces with him, until they were well away from the side, the bag of plums scattering over the floor in the process.

“What the hell?” Bucky snapped as the kid rearranged his clothes, his face pale.  “You got a death wish?!”  

The kid looked at him with eyes like saucers, his chest heaving.  “I…no…I didn’t mean to...”

“No shit, you didn’t.  You almost fell off a skyscraper!”  Bucky felt his heart rate start to slow back to normal and his anger melt away as he watched the kid hunch in on himself.

“I’m really sorry, sir.”

The kid’s hands were rubbing the sides of his pants; the oversized clothes he was wearing combined with the bruised eye made him look like some sort of modern-day Dickensian waif.  His eyes were darting around the floor now and must have noticed the plums, as he suddenly bent down and started gathering them up, grabbing the empty net bag and filling it.

“I’m sorry about your fruit,” he mumbled as he stuck the net bag out towards Bucky.  Bucky was about to take it when the kid jerked it away and mumbled again.  “Hold on.”

He walked past Bucky and headed to the bar.  Bucky followed to see him running the plums under the water in the sink.  The kid’s eyes darted around and found some napkins which he laid on the bar top, putting the freshly washed plums on top, before drying them off quickly and putting them back in the net bag and leaving it on the countertop, close to where Bucky stood.  

“They, um, should be safe to eat now.”  

The kid came around the counter now, standing away from Bucky, drying his hands on the legs of his pants.  Steve’s words from last night filtered through his mind and he eased himself back onto one of the barstools, so he wasn’t towering over the boy.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you, sir, for…you know…” He jerked his finger in the direction of the roof edge.  “That was, uh, pretty stupid.”

Bucky shook his head at him.  “What were you even doing?”

“Oh, uh, I was just trying to estimate how far away the buildings were.”  There was a rash of red creeping up the teen’s neck.

O-kay then.  He was expecting more of a ‘wanted to get a better view of the streets below ’ or hell, even, “I was bird watching’ but hey.

“Whatever floats your boat, kid,” he said, picking out a plum and biting into it.  He noted the direction of the kid’s gaze as he swallowed.  “You want one?”

“Uh,” the kid’s eyes snapped back up to his, “that’s okay.”

Bucky ignored his answer and threw one over to him which the kid caught in his good hand.  He gave Bucky half a smile and a soft “ Thanks ” before biting into it.  The kid devoured it in seconds and his gaze came back to Bucky.  He was about to offer him another one when he realised that it wasn’t the plum in his hand that he was looking at, but the hand itself.  He swapped the plum to his other hand and sure enough, the kid’s gaze followed the metal hand.

“You, uh, you are Sergeant Barnes, right?”  The kid asked.

Bucky wasn’t surprised to be recognised, not within the context of the Tower and his metal appendage.

“I don’t much go by Sergeant these days, but yeah.”

“I’m Peter.  It’s an honour to meet you, sir.”  A hand was thrust towards him and he shook it; the kid had a decent grip on him. 

“You’re Stark’s son.”

The kid almost took a step back, a flash of something crossing his eyes and Bucky regretted his choice of words.   Regretted saying it at all, it was obviously him.  The kid shifted his weight again before he spoke.  

“So they tell me…” he said with a slight raise of his eyebrows —like this was something he wasn’t quite convinced was true just yet.  “I guess we are both new here, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“Hang on, you were there at the house yesterday?  You were the one that ran after me?”  Peter seemed to be putting two and two together.

Bucky nodded and Peter let out a big smile.

“Aw man, wait til I tell my friend Ned that I was chased down by you, he is going to freak!  He’s such a big fan.”

A fan?  Bucky let out a snort at that.  “Yeah?  That’s the thing that happened in the last 24 hours that’s gonna make him freak out...?”

“Ha, yeah well, I guess when I tell him all about the whole being…related…to Iron Man thing, that might top it.  Sorry, Mr Barnes.”  Peter gave him a small, sideways smirk.

“I’ll try to get over it.”

Before Peter could respond, Bucky heard the door open.  He instantly got out of the seat and was already out of sight and near the door to the stairs by the hot tub area before he heard Stark call.

“Peter, you out here?”

Chapter Text

Tony

Tony felt something warm and unyielding under his head; definitely not Pepper.  He could feel a soft fabric on his skin and opened his eyes to see a silver, faux fur blanket that usually resided in the living room.

His hand instantly went to his neck, trying to massage the kink out of it as he sat upright and looked to his right.

“Damn it, Rogers, you actually managed to bore me to sleep.”

Steve chuckled.  “It seems I have my uses after all.”

Tony’s eyes went to the door; it was slightly ajar.  He jumped up and pushed it open.

“He’s up and you didn’t wake me?!”  

He must’ve looked angry as Steve’s eyebrows jumped.  “Actually, Peter asked me not to.  It’s only been about 45 minutes, he’s in the kitchen with Pepper and Rhodey.”

Tony tutted at him, but his anger slightly receded at the fact that it’d been the kid’s idea.  That was kind of …sweet?  He wanted Tony to get more rest, that showed he cared, right?  Even a little.  Or at least didn’t outright hate.  Stop spiralling, Stark.  

Steve was behind him as he marched towards the kitchen.  Tony purposely loosened and dropped his shoulders and made his walk more casual as he came into the room.

He scanned the room, ignoring the looks of Pepper, Rhodey, Happy and Nat who were sitting around the island.

“Nice morning cuddle, you two?”  Nat asked, batting her eyes innocently.

Tony didn’t have time for that; all signs of being casual gone.  

“Where’s Luc— I mean Peter?  Where is he?”  

Peter not Luca, Peter not Luca.  He had to keep reminding himself.  The kid would not like being called a name that he wasn’t used to.  That would be enough to freak anyone out.  

All of them frowned at the same time.

“He hasn’t come in here.  We’ve been here for the last hour and a half.”  Pepper gestured to Rhodey.

Nat spoke before he could even ask her.  “No, he hasn’t been to our floor.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“FRIDAY, where is Peter?” Pepper’s voice spoke clearly and calmly.  Of course asking FRIDAY was obvious, why didn’t he think of that?  Oh right, yes, the panic.

“Peter asked to go to street level for some fresh air, but protocols forbade it, so I directed him to the Sky Garden as an alternative.”

Tony let out a breath.  He was still here, safe.

“You set up protocols so he couldn’t get out?”  Pepper asked.

Tony wasn’t sure if that was relief or disapproval in her tone, but he didn’t much care.  “Of course.  I’m not taking any chances.”  

Not this time.

“Good idea, because that kid is a runner.”

All eyes turned to Natasha now, and she looked up from her mug as if the attention was unexpected.

“Expand please,” Tony said, rubbing between his eyes.

“He ran yesterday from the house when he saw the FBI, then you saw him trying to get out of the interrogation room when they dropped the news, and then when we were driving back, he was looking like he might pitch out of the car at one point.”

Happy looked a little uncomfortable at that.  “Well, yeah Boss, he did have his hand on the handle, so I put the locks on.”

Tony’s throat felt dry.  “You think he was trying to run away today?”

Nat shrugged.  “He’s used to having freedom, especially if he’s been roughing it the last few months.  Probably just wanted a walk.”

But Tony wasn’t too focussed on what she said, only that she had omitted to say ‘No’ in answer to his question.

“Shit.  I thought last night went alright.  You know, except for his whole Rocky moment.”

“It did.  Nat’s right, he probably just wanted some air.”

“Can it, Rogers.  If it wasn’t for FRIDAY, my son could be God knows where again because of you.” Steve sighed but Tony ignored him.

“I’ll go bring him down,” Steve said, clapping his hands against his legs.

Tony tutted; like he’d trust Steve to get it right now.  “Stand down, I’ve got it covered, Spangles.”

The elevator ride was prompt, and he strode to the entrance to the Sky Garden with purpose.  

“Peter, you out here?” He called, as casual as he could make his voice, as he made his way out from under the flower canopy.

“Right here, Mr Stark.”  Peter jogged towards him, looking back over his shoulder once, before stopping in front of him.  The kid had obviously had a shower, his hair was fluffier, and waves flopped over one eye.  Tony’s stomach filled with warmth at the sight of him in his old clothes; them being too big made him look younger.

“Sleep well?”  Tony asked, when really he wanted to ask; ‘Did you try to runaway earlier?  Do you really not want to be here that much that you want to leave already?  Will you try again?’   And the most pressing; ‘ What did I do wrong?’

Peter nodded at his actual question before clearing his throat. “This place is beautiful.”

“You like it?  We added it after the remodel last year.”  Calling the whole Ultron fiasco a ‘remodel’ was a bit of a deception but there was no need to get into all that now.  There would be plenty of time for the kid to start cataloguing his errors.  

Tony walked towards the viewing platform and Peter followed.  “What did you think of the view?”

Tony grabbed the cool plastic of the railing as he looked out over the city for a moment.  He looked to the side to see that Peter was about a foot away, looking a little pale.  “Not one for heights?”

Peter’s eyes snapped to him, and he smiled nervously.  “Um, no, just…it’s very high.”

Tony smiled sympathetically at him.  If he didn’t like it this high, maybe he’d never have to worry about the kid begging him to test drive the Iron Man suit.

“Breakfast?”

“Sure,” Peter said softly.  

They made it upstairs with Tony essentially nervously monologuing architecture tidbits about the Tower.  Peter looked a little interested; enough to pitch in a few pertinent questions and he took that as a win.

Pepper, Rhodey and Steve were still in the kitchen when they arrived back.  Nat and Happy had gone but Steve couldn’t take a hint it seemed, and even had the audacity to be sitting there eating his eggs.

“I found him,” Tony said with forced joviality, only just stopping himself from saying ‘again’.

“Morning,” Peter said, giving a shy wave.

“I was just making some scrambled eggs and toast.  Sounds like something you would eat, Peter?”  Rhodey asked him as they both sat up at the island.

“Yes sir, thank you.”

Rhodey busied himself with that and Tony cursed that he hadn’t thought of the same; doing something being less stressful than sitting and making small talk.

“You’ll have to tell us what you like to eat, and we can order it in,” Pepper said, making sure her staring had a purpose this time.

“I’m not fussy Miss Potts.” Peter rubbed his hands on his trousers.  “I’ll eat anything.”

Pepper smiled at him in a way she often reserved for Tony, and he recognised it as a smile with paramount patience.

“That’s good to know, but what do you really like?  Breakfast, for example – favourite breakfast food?”

“Um,” Peter seemed to be weighing his thoughts, “well, normally…before…I would have cereal in the week and maybe like pancakes or waffles at the weekend.”

“A sweet tooth?”  Steve asked.

Peter gave a shy smile.  “Definitely.”

“What about lunches and dinners?”

“I’d usually just have a sandwich for lunch but, honestly, I’ll just have whatever everyone else is having.”

Pepper looked like she was withholding a sigh.  “Let me make it easier, given how little I know Tony cooks, favourite cuisine?”

“Hey!”  Tony said, even though she was 100% correct.  

“Italian or Thai.”  

Pepper smiled at Tony; they were his favourites too.  “Well then, we’ll have one of those for dinner tonight.  FRIDAY please add an assortment of cereals, pancake and waffle ingredients, as well as sandwich ingredients to the list.”

“Yes Miss Potts,” came FRIDAY’s voice.

Peter looked a little surprised.  

“Yes, I know, we have a groundbreaking AI and yet we use her to do grocery shopping.”  Tony rolled his eyes and it made Peter smile.  That was good.

“Yes, so don’t be afraid to ask her to order anything you need.  We should probably sort you out some new clothes etc.”  Tony stopped himself from looking pointedly at the things on his feet that he seemed to think counted as footwear.

“Actually, about that,” Peter paused and turned to look in Steve’s direction.  “Captain Rogers, can I take you up on your offer to go and get my things?  I’ll come with you – just I’ve got some stuff I need for school.” 

“I can take you,” Tony said before Steve could speak.  Why was he asking Steve?

“Oh,” Peter looked down before scratching his neck.  “It’s just where I was living… might be best if you don’t, you know, see it and all…”

Oh, the kid was embarrassed?  Or protecting him?  Either way, him not going?  No can do.  He decided to style it out.

“Sorry kid, one thing to learn about me, is that I get terrible FOMO.  So, if Spangles is going, I’ve got to as well.”

Rhodey came over then and placed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Peter and the kid thanked him.  It was regular sized, not too big, Rhodes had obviously remembered last night.  He also placed a plate in front of him now before squeezing an arm around him.

“That’s true.  I’m pretty sure in junior year of college he went to every single party for that very reason.”

“Slander,” he hissed at a now retreating Rhodey.

“I’m going to get dressed.  We can’t all slope around in yesterday’s clothes…” Rhodey gave him a pointed look before he headed for the door and Tony stuck out his tongue.  He didn’t smell that bad…hopefully.

“I’ve got to make a call myself,” Pepper announced, sending Peter a warm smile before she breezed out of the room.

Tony started eating and he noticed that the kid did then too.  Whoever had brought him up really had instilled impeccable manners.  Would he have been that way if he had grown up with him?  Tony blinked away that thought.  He didn’t have the luxury of going down that train of thought right now.

Peter finished quickly and looked down at his plate, like he would really like some more.  Tony had to stop himself from offering.  The kid needed to eat little and often at least for a few days, rather than big meals.  Any repeat of that portion of yesterday was not something he wanted.  

“When do you want to go, Tony?”  Steve asked.

“No time like the present, I guess,” Tony said, looking at his watch.  Maybe having a few of his things here would help him feel more settled and less likely to want to leave.  

“I’ll just go get changed,” Steve smiled at them both, standing up with his plate.  

“Let me,” Peter jumped up, taking the plate from Steve’s hand.

“You don’t need to…”

“I’d like to help, sir,” Peter said, gathering his and Tony’s now empty plate too.

Tony followed behind him as Peter took the plates to the sink.

“They can go in the dishwater, kid.”

“I don’t mind washing; it won’t take a minute.”

“You’ll get your band aids all wet.”

Peter seemed to stop at that – he’d obviously not considered that.

Tony opened the dishwasher and Peter reluctantly put them in.  Tony noticed that his band aids looked different.

“Did you already go back down to the Medbay?” Tony reached towards his hand but stopped short of touching him.

“Oh, no, they were coming off after my shower, I had some stuff in my bag, so I just did it myself.  No need to bother the nurses.”

Tony frowned.  “That’s kind of what I pay them for, kid.”

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets as they both awkwardly stood by the dishwasher now.

Right, the kid is used to going it alone.  Certainly not trusting of the adults in his life to look out for his best interests.  Getting him to ask for or take help willingly might take time.

“There was something else, I, uh, need to talk to you about, Mr Stark.”  Ok now he seemed nervous, and it was instantly transferred to him.

“Shoot,” Tony said, climbing back up onto a stool and patting the one next to him.

“Um, it’s about Mr Andersson, my foster dad?”  Peter said as he slid into the seat next to Tony.

Tony tensed.  “What about that guy?”

Peter gave him a pained smile.  “Yeah well, I think that I need to, like, make a statement against him.”

This wasn’t what Tony was expecting.

“You don’t need to worry about him.  I’ll make sure he never gets near you again.”  Tony’s voice came out low.

Again with the pained smile.  “Um, thanks, but it is more that now that I'm gone he might get someone else, and I want to make sure…well…that he doesn’t.”

“Right…”  Tony let the information filter through him in waves.  His first instinct was that no, there was no way that Peter should be going through any more stress right now.  His second one, was one of pride that his son wanted to look out for other kids.  

Still, his son had come to him with a problem, and he would fix it.  Like he should have been doing all along.  Time to get into full Tony Stark mode.

“Ok,” Tony let his hand rest gently on Peter’s shoulder to no reaction.  “I’m glad you came to me with this.  I’ll contact Child Services and NYPD and see what the process—“

“Um, actually Mr Stark?  I already called Officer Morales this morning, he said that he can coordinate with CPS and that they might be able to come here if you prefer.  But he said that he couldn’t do anything until he spoke with you first.”

Shot down before his first protective Dad manoeuvre could even begin.

“So, can I give you his number?”

Tony shook off his disappointment.  

“Of course.”

Peter scrolled through his phone and offered it to Tony.  Tony took it, noticing a crack along one corner of the screen.  He’d have to get him a new phone.  He had some new prototypes in the lab; if the kid was a tech nerd, he’d surely love that.  

“FRIDAY, copy contact over please.”

“Done, Boss.”

Peter looked at him expectantly as he handed the phone back to him.

“Ok, why don’t you get ready to go whilst I handle this.”

Something seemed to unfurl in Peter’s body; the relief evident from the drop of his shoulders.  He squeezed the boy’s shoulder once before heading into his office to make the call.

Peter

“And this is the exact address? A bodega?”  Mr Hogan’s voice was monotone, and Peter realised that his name really was like when people called tall guys ‘Tiny’.  There was a term for that, right?  He made a mental note to ask MJ – she’d know.

“It’s near enough Mr Hogan, thanks,” Peter said as the man pulled the car over and into a space a few meters away from the bodega’s entrance.

Peter grabbed the handle of his bag.  “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Yeah, no, sorry kid, we’re coming too,” Mr Stark said, as he slipped a hat on his head.  

Peter frowned at them.  This whole thing would be a lot easier if they wouldn’t.  Captain Rogers gave him a sympathetic smile but still opened the door on his side.

Peter sighed heavily and got out of the car with Mr Stark on his tail.  He sped up and headed down the alley by the deli.  He stopped at the end and turned back around to look at both men.  Both were scanning the alley, maybe looking for a door or a cardboard box maybe.

Peter looked up.  Normally he would make sure no one was coming and then scale up the wall using his stickiness.  Luckily, he’d already thought of an alternative option.  One he’d used when he’d been injured once.

He went to the back of the dumpster and started to unlatch the wheels.  He heard Tony say in a low voice; “Oh God, Steve, if he was living in the dumpster, I’m going to lose my shit.”

Peter continued as if he hadn’t heard him, as he really shouldn’t have been able to.  He gave the dumpster a push and it rolled a few feet.  Captain Rogers came next to him, and Peter let him help, as he guessed he was maybe not supposed to be able to do it with ease.

Once it was where he wanted it to be, Peter pulled himself up on top of the dumpster lid.

“Er, kid?” Mr Stark sounded thoroughly confused.

“I won’t be long,” Peter replied, not making eye contact with either of them.

He ran and jumped up to grab the fire escape ladder that was hanging down.  It was broken, snapped off what looked like a long time ago, so it didn’t reach anywhere near the ground, hence the need for the dumpster and a decent sized jump.  Hopefully believable of him after they’d seen his parkour videos.  The ladder not reaching the ground was a total fire hazard but was also what afforded him privacy on the rooftop, so he was kind of glad for the slum landlord. 

Peter stopped once he’d shimmed himself to standing on the first platform.  He looked down at Mr Stark and Captain Rogers – who looked alarmed.

“Back in a minute,” Peter didn’t wait for their questions and started jogging up the further three flights of stairs.

“Peter, just…” He clearly heard Mr Stark curse – what was under his breath – before he spoke louder; “Steve, just follow him, I’ll find a way up.”

Peter had almost reached the top when he saw Captain Rogers jump up to grab onto the first rung, making it look effortless.  Tony was pacing around the bottom, tapping into something on his wrist, whilst looking up. 

He only had a few minutes head start.  He dashed across the rooftop to his nook.  Ned had commented later that he should really have called it his ‘Coop’, given its origins as an abandoned pigeon coop.  He’d boarded up the mesh that ran along one side with broken down cardboard boxes and had thrifted an old, ripped tent which he used to cover over it as protection from the elements.  It was certainly a lot more comfortable sleeping there than in a wet, drafty alley or at Mr Andersson’s – sleeping with one eye open in either of those situations. 

Peter pushed the tarpaulin up to reveal the lock, slipping his key out of his pocket and opening it up.  It was pretty flimsy but better than nothing.  It wasn’t like he was expecting anyone up here.  It was by chance that he’d found this place.  Mr Delmar lived in one of the apartments above the deli and had been complaining loudly, as he did all things, that the door to the roof was busted and the Landlord refused to come and fix it.  Peter had scoped it out and found out he was right, and, maybe, once he got settled, he might have used some of his strength to warp the handle even more, so there was little chance of anyone getting out here.  

Peter entered the tiny space and immediately lifted the deflated air bed and sleeping bag up to reveal the plastic bag containing his spider suit.  He shoved it deep into his backpack before starting to fill it with the rest of his clothes.  He’d used the small holes where the birds would have sat as his drawers, but he’d cut out a section to make space for his table – a few upturned crates – which on one side now sat a small table lamp, donated by MJ, and his beaten-up laptop.  The other side had a few tools and some old tech he was putting together as well as a phone and tablet he was fixing for cash for some kids at school.  That little side business had netted him enough to get by when things had been tight.  

There was a rustle from outside and the door was opened by Captain Rogers, one hand holding up the tarpaulin.  Damn, he’d hoped he would be out of here before he got up here.

He watched the man take in the room with measured grace – no sign of any distress at his living conditions.  He knew that the captain was a good choice to come, given his early life growing up in the Depression.  If the stories he’d read in history books were anything to go by, this wouldn’t seem so bad to him.  

“I didn’t think these places still existed,” Captain Rogers said and Peter guessed keeping pigeons was one of those things that might have been more prevalent back then.

“Yeah, didn’t look like anyone had used it in years so I kind of up-cycled it,” Peter said, gesturing to the string of fairy lights that Ned insisted he wouldn’t need back until December.

Captain Rogers smiled and ran a hand along the cardboard wall, like he was checking it for structural integrity.  There was an array of photos there that he had pinned up – family and friends – Captain Rogers looked over them briefly.

“Shall I roll up the bed?” He asked.

“Might as well leave it here for wh—“ Peter cut himself off with a clearing of his throat and ducked his head.  In his peripheral vision he could make out the man’s deep frown but thankfully he didn’t say anything.

“Peter?  Steve?”  Peter heard Mr Stark’s distressed tone from outside.

Captain Rogers stepped back out.  “In here.”  He held the tarpaulin up and stepped right out of the way so that Mr Stark could fit in.  He looked ten levels of flustered and his expression didn’t change as he took in the room.  He looked straight up horrified; he tried to school it into something less so, but it just ended up looking pained.

Mr Stark cleared his throat but didn’t say anything.  Peter noticed his eyes land on the photos; no longer roaming after that.  Peter almost went to start peeling them off, not wanting him to see them for some reason he couldn’t pin down in that moment.  

Mr Stark moved over to his ‘desk’ now, his hand reaching out to pick up a small screwdriver.  

“What do we have here?”  Mr Stark knocked the screwdriver against some pieces of tech and then onto his laptop.  “Retro tech?”

Peter picked up his laptop.  “Not this.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Rude .

Peter clenched his jaw as he turned away and put the laptop in his bag.  

Mr Stark tapped his screwdriver on the desk again to get his attention; his face a bit softer now, like he realised he sounded like a dick.  

“Where’d you get this stuff?  Thrift store?  Salvation Army?”

“Uh, the garbage actually.”

Mr Stark’s face fell into incredulity again.  “You’re a dumpster diver.”

Peter barely concealed a scowl and stepped in front of Mr Stark, shielding the tech and his irritability, as he flipped over a crate and started putting the pieces in.  “We can’t all afford Stark tech you know.” 

What would Tony Stark know about living on a budget?

“I…” he heard the man behind him start to talk and then stop.  

He continued ignoring him, letting his hands just move to gather everything up.  He hadn’t asked him to come; if anything, he’d made it clear he didn’t want him there, yet he’d steamrollered him.  It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be safe with ‘just’ Captain America guarding him.

Peter turned towards the opposite wall and started carefully pulling off the photos he had put up with blu-tack.  There were pictures of him and Ned, MJ letting herself be in some too and a large section of family photos, mainly of him with Ben and May, but a few with his parents too.  Mr Stark turned too, his shoulder almost touching his own in the small space.  As the man reached up and started helping take the pictures off, Peter felt a strong desire to take the photos out of his hand as he lingered over every one that had him with any of the Parkers.  His mistrust of them made sense but they didn’t know anything yet and the set of Mr Stark’s jaw only told him that he was already blaming them.

“Can I?”  Peter shifted his weight as he held out his hand; unable to take the intrusion anymore.

Mr Stark looked up at him briefly.  “Yeah, sure.”  He handed them over before turning full circle.  

“Steve?”  Captain Rogers was there instantly; obviously waiting just outside.  “Use your enhancements for good and reach down the lights for me, would you dear?”

Captain Rogers huffed good-naturedly, like he was used to dealing with Mr Stark’s eccentricities.  He made quick work of unweaving them from the mesh and rolled them up as he did.  

“Where’s it plug into?”  Captain Rogers looked around and Peter felt his cheeks begin to burn.  

“Um, it’s out here.”

They both followed him out to where the line followed to a junction box.  Peter flipped it open and took out an extension cable that he had essentially hot wired into the electrical box.  He had the lights plugged in as well as another extension cord inside the shack so he could charge his laptop or phone if needed.  He felt guilty about taking the electricity without paying and he wasn’t certain if some of the other tenants were paying for what he was using, or even Mr Delmar’s shop, so he used it very sparingly.

Peter unplugged the lights and tried to close the junction box quickly, but Mr Stark stepped forward and caught it with his hand.

“Uh uh.”

Peter stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets; peeking up from his spot on the floor to see Mr Stark inspecting the wiring.

He turned on his heel and examined Peter for a moment; looking at him with an expression that he had no idea how to read.

Mr Stark pointed a thumb at the junction box.  “You did this?”

“I’m really sorry, I wasn’t trying to stiff anyone with a bill, I just needed a little electricity and I made sure I only used like an hour at night when I really needed my laptop to get my schoolwork done.  I —“

Mr Stark’s hand silenced him.  “I thought you said you were more into biochem.”

“I, uh…” Peter frowned, unsure how to respond to that change of topic.

“You did a good job here – it’s safe and effective.”

“Oh, uh, thank you?”  Peter was thoroughly confused as to why he was getting praised right now.

Mr Stark seemed to remember himself for a second.  He waved a hand dismissively.  “Of course, don’t appropriate electricity for free and all that.  But if you are telling the truth and you only used it for one or two appliances for an hour or two a night, for how long?”

“Like, two months?”

“Well, that’s not likely to put anyone out much.”

Huh.  His chest loosened a notch.  

“Oh, well I’ll just tell Mr Delmar to keep my wages.”

“Mr Delmar?”  Mr Stark’s eyebrows wrinkled.

“He lives in the building, owns the deli downstairs.  I fill in sometimes when he needs an extra hand.  If I don’t take the wages, he’ll be even at least.”

Captain Rogers smiled and spoke up from where he had been quiet.  “Those are decent morals, kid.”

Peter shrugged.  He wasn’t sure he could agree when he’s been technically stealing in the first place but…ok.

“I, for one, have had enough of being on a rooftop in Queens.  No offence,” Mr Stark said breezily.  

“I’ll get my stuff.”

Peter went back into the nook and took a last look around.  It was weird that this tiny shack had been his safe haven for the last few months.  It felt odd to be leaving it when he didn’t really know if the Tower was going to be that for him yet.  It seemed like it could be – hell, food, heat and shelter were a given – but he didn’t know what Mr Stark would turn out like.  Blood or not, he wasn’t going to stick around if the situation turned out like the rest.

He fixed his backpack to his back and picked up the crate, squeezing through the door as he did.  Captain Rogers was there pulling the box from his hand before he could protest.  

“Is that it?  Where are all your clothes?” Mr Stark asked.

Peter turned to the side to show his tightly jammed backpack.  “I’ve got a small suitcase at my friend Ned’s but that’s about it.  You aren’t allowed much when you move around a lot.”

Tony hummed unhappily at that.  Peter noticed Captain Rogers ducking back into the nook before coming out a few moments later – Peter could see the sleeping bag and air bed, now rolled up, and sticking out from the top of the crate.  Captain Rogers made steady eye contact with him for a moment but didn’t say anything.  

Mr Stark was leading the way around the door shaft when Peter stopped in his tracks; a fully-fledged Iron Man suit just stood on the roof.

“Holy shit,” Peter said loudly, unable to tear his eyes away from the shiny, red and gold metal in front of him.

Captain Rogers cleared his throat.

“Sorry sir,” Peter quickly followed.

Mr Stark looked almost effervescent.  “Oh yes, you’ll learn that Cap has a distaste for swearing.”

“I say ‘language’ one time and you’ll never let me forget it,” Captain Rogers groaned.

“Nope,” Mr Stark grinned, walking towards the suit and it opened instantaneously, and he stepped in.  Peter watched as it closed around him.  It was just amazing to see it this close up.  There was a mechanical noise and the faceplate opened to reveal Mr Stark’s face.  

The nerd in Peter internally muttered ‘Cool’.

The robotic hand gestured to him now. “Hop on and I’ll fly you down.”

Peter didn’t hesitate; he wanted to touch the metal and see how it felt.

“I’m going to grab a hold of your top; you just stand on my boot.”

Peter did as he was told, not caring that Mr Stark was touching him now – it was Iron Man.  He steadied himself as he stepped on, feeling the metal under his hand.  It was what he was expecting – cool and unyielding.

“Ready?”

He looked up into Mr Stark’s brown eyes, so close now, and just numbly nodded.

He drew in a sharp breath as the machine moved underneath him, he could feel the reverberation as the jets pushed them up, the metal hand tightening in his clothes as it did.

Peter’s attention was drawn to the circular, blue light in the centre of the chest plate, reaching out to ghost over it; like the touch of his fingers alone could unlock the secrets of the arc reactor.

They touched down on the ground by the dumpster and Peter didn’t move for a second, in awe of the engineering feat in front of him, before he remembered himself.  He tried to move away but he was still tight in Iron Man’s grip.  He looked up at Mr Stark who was staring at him with intensity before he blinked, and Peter felt the pressure of metal removed from his back.

“Uh, sorry.  You like the suit?”

“It’s awesome.” Peter conceded as he stepped onto solid ground, all earlier irritation gone in the face of it.

“I can show you it in detail in the lab sometime, if you like?”

Peter smiled shyly. “Y-yeah.  That’d be cool.”

“Tony?”

They both looked up to see Captain Rogers on the roof, box in hand.

Mr Stark rolled his eyes.  “It gets old, always having to rescue him.”

Peter let out a laugh as he watched the suit glide upwards and Captain Rogers jumped onto it with practised ease, even encumbered with a box.

“Geez, what were they feeding you in Wakanda, Cap?  You’ve been packing on the pounds.”  Peter heard Mr Stark say as they descended.

Wakanda.  That must have been where the Rogue Avengers were staying before they were pardoned.  Peter had been pretty preoccupied at the time the whole Avengers break up had happened, but he’d seen enough in the news to get the gist of it.  But it was hard to tell what was real in the media at the best of times.

If it was likely to be a touchy subject, he certainly wasn’t going to be bringing it up.

The suit set Captain Rogers down and then it peeled away letting Mr Stark step out before reforming.  “Fly home my pretty.”

Peter watched as the suit shot off in the direction of the Tower.  Yep, he was pretty sure he would wake up from whatever this convoluted dream was sometime soon.

Mr Stark’s phone went off and he pulled it to his ear in a swift motion.

“This is Stark.”

There was some noise at the other end and Mr Stark’s eyes went to him.  So, it was about him.

“Ok, that works for us.  Thank you, Officer Morales.”

Peter tensed up.  Oh yeah, great, he’d momentarily forgotten about that pleasure he was going to have to endure later.

Mr Stark ended the call and smiled at him with forced ease.  “Time to go.  How do you feel about some lunch on the way?  Does this Delmar’s place make good sandwiches?”

Chapter Text

Tony

The scotch brought warmth as it slipped down his throat, even before it had hit his stomach; the familiar aftertaste serving as a reminder of the past.  The months, or was it years, he spent staring at the bottom of a bottle after Luca had been taken.  And a few months following Siberia, though at least he hadn’t descended back into drugs that time.  The glass - and the liquid inside it - wouldn’t lead to any answers but, right now, he didn’t care.  With the afternoon he’d had, he needed it.  Tony sat back; pressing the glass to his head to stave off the mounting tension headache, ice cubes clinking against the glass as he did.

The familiar pad of two sets of feet came, one with an accompanying whirr.  A strange thought came to him that Rhodey would never be able to sneak up on anyone again and he added it to his self-flagellation list for later.  A soft weight moved the couch cushion next to him; a hand looping around his arm.

“How did it go with the Police?” Pepper asked gently.

Tony sat up and dragged his heavy eyes open.  Rhodey sat on the coffee table with a serious expression and Pepper’s eyebrows were equally pulled together.

“Oh, it was fucking great.  After he outlined the fourth episode, rattling it off like a goddamn shopping list, I was the one who had to ask them to stop.  Ask if that wasn’t enough to put that prick away — without him having to keep reliving the whole thing.”  He took another swig of scotch and hoped the burn would engulf his anger.

Listening to his son recount what Mr Andersson had done to him had been excruciating, made even more so by the blunt, emotionless way the kid had delivered it.  Tony had been at the receiving end of his own father’s anger – no more than a few slaps when Howard was drunk – and he still remembered it vividly all these years later.  He wasn’t sure if he had to tell of them now, whether he could have done it with the stoic calm Peter had just done.

Pepper’s hand rubbed his arm, but it didn’t soothe.

“We got a nice look at his hovel this morning too.  The kid was living in a literal pigeon coop.”

“A what now?”  Rhodey asked, his frown deepening further.

Tony sighed.  “FRIDAY, show them.”

A projection came up, the feed from his glasses from the rooftop sped up.

Tony stopped the video before they saw him putting his foot in his mouth.  He sat forward draining the glass of amber liquid before he put it on the coffee table.   

“Jesus,” Rhodey muttered before adding, “mind you, he’s pretty resourceful.”

Tony rubbed his face with both hands.  “Yeah, don’t remind me that my kid has been living his life literally dumpster diving, or I really will lose my shit.  I mean talk about worlds apart.”

Luca should have been having the best for his whole life.  Not fending off abusive assholes, trash diving for scraps, or using duct tape as an acceptable shoe material.

“Come on Tones, don’t focus on that, focus on the commonalities,” Rhodey said.  “He likes science and, who cares where he got the stuff from, he likes to build tech.  That’s not all that common.  This is all stuff that you two can connect on.”

Tony let Rhodey’s words seep in before he flicked away the images.  “He successfully wired himself into the mains electric without killing himself, so there’s that.”

Rhodey sat back with a show of arms as if to say ‘see?’

“Where is Luca now?” Pepper asked.

Peter had retreated— wouldn’t he have wanted to be alone too after all that?—but only after giving Officer Morales a long (jealousy-inducing) hug.  

“He said he wanted to shower.  And it’s Peter, Pep, we have to call him Peter,” Tony said with a sigh.

Pepper’s eyes flashed for a moment.  “That’s a name someone who stole him forced him to answer to.  That’s not the name you gave him, Tony.”

What did they tell him?  Did they say that Tony had just given him away?  Didn’t want him anymore.  He must have been so frightened and confused.  The thought churned the scotch in his stomach.

“I know it doesn’t seem fair, Pep, but we have to do what is best for the kid right now,”   Rhodey intervened.  “Calling him the name he’s been using for the last twelve years makes sense.  I know you know that.”

All the fight left Pepper as quickly as it had risen.  “Yeah, you’re right.  I just…”  She sat back on the couch; leaning her weight against Tony as he put an arm around her.  He closed his eyes for a long second in the company of the two people he trusted most in the world.

Rhodey’s warm hand encompassed his knee after what he thought was only a minute.  “Why don’t you lie down?  I’ll listen out for Peter.”

“No, I’m fine.  I’ll sleep tonight.  I’d rather be awake.”  Tony opened his eyes as he sat forward and picked up his empty glass.  “Drink?”

Rhodey didn’t drop eye contact and took the glass from his hand.  “No.”

Tony let out a breath.  Clear head still needed; Rhodes was right.  

“OK.  I better go and talk to Nat and Happy and see how far they’ve gotten with the investigation.”

Tony started to move but Rhodey’s hand squeezed harder on his knee.

“That’s in hand.  I asked them to update me when there was something worth updating you with.  Right now, you just need to rest for a few minutes and then have dinner with your son.  Nothing else that you need to do.”

Tony fought with that part of himself that wanted to know right now.  He had twelve years of stored vengeance ready.  The gun was cocked, he just needed to know which direction to point it.  But Rhodey was right, he had to rein that in right now and keep himself focussed just on Peter.  

Tony let himself fall back into the chair, resting his head back on Pepper’s again as her fingers intertwined with his.

Peter

Peter felt drained; the talking, the photos, the dread-filled looks from Mr Stark.  On top of their morning excursion, it was more than enough for one day.  This whole weekend was more than enough for a lifetime, honestly.  It had been hard laying it all out – it had been a handful of times and of course, he’d healed quickly — but remembering it had been tough.  Mr Andersson liked to litter any smacks with nasty comments, and they had stuck in his mind a lot longer than any of the bruises had.  Peter had to watch not only Mr Stark, but Jeff, wince through his account, even though he kept himself emotionally pinned down during it.  He had gotten good at enduring.

He lay flat on his back now, staring up at the ceiling.  He hadn’t lied to Mr Stark – he’d had a quick shower – he wasn’t sure why having people just looking at his body and taking photos made him feel like he needed to wash again, but it did.  Now he had some of his own stuff, he’d changed into his softest pyjama pants even though it wasn’t late.  He’d topped it with the MIT hoodie as it was ridiculously warm and comfortable, and he liked being engulfed by it.

His phone beeped but he didn’t move.  It would be Ned chasing him, again.  Peter hadn’t had the energy or words to message him an explanation yesterday so he’d just sent a one-line text of “I’m still fine” to him this morning.  He’d had a dozen messages since then.

The phone made a different sound this time and he picked it up to see it was Ned attempting a video call.  He sighed and flicked it away.

A text immediately sprung up on the phone that was still in his hand.

Queen MJ:   Parker, you can ghost Ned all you want but do it to me at your peril.  Pick up the call .

The video call sounded again, and he buried his head in the soft duvet, hiding the bruised part of his face before he held the phone away from him and pressed the green button.

There was a joint ‘hey’ from his two friends as they came through on the call.  Both of them were sitting on MJ’s bed; Ned in his trademark loud shirt and MJ a contrast in black and grey layers.

“I told you he was alive.”  MJ’s smirk tweaked the tendril of dark hair that was hanging against her lip.

“Dude!”  Ned’s hands threw up in the air.  “Where have you been?!  Why haven’t you answered?  You’re missing Sunday Study Sesh – MJ got non-vegan snacks for once.”

“I…”

MJ got in before him.  “Ned said you moved to a new place?”

“Well, yeah, I…”

“They found out you weren’t staying at Mr Andersson’s, huh?”  Ned interrupted.  “Where is the new place?  It’s not too far from school, right?  You can still come, yeah?”  There was panic plastered on his face.

“I…”

“If they say you can’t, we’ll stage like a sit-in or something, right MJ?”

“That won’t be…”

“We totally can, dude…”

“Let him speak Ned…but yes we could canvas the stu—”

Peter sat up.  “—Guys!”

They both stopped at his shout; two sets of eyes peering at him.  MJ leaned closer to the screen, an eyebrow raising slowly.

“Dude, your face...”  Ned breathed.  He never seemed to get used to injuries Peter got on patrol, or elsewhere: the same level of concern every time.  

Peter half-covered it by putting his hand up and into his hair before realising it was pointless and letting his hand drop to fist the comforter instead.

“Arachnid related?” MJ asked, her eyes coolly assessing him.

“Not exactly,” Peter squeaked out.

Ned’s eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown and MJ sat back against the headboard and crossed her arms.

“Why did you go back there, Peter?”  Ned almost whispered, his eyes beginning to look moist.  “Why didn’t you just stay at the nook?”

MJ stayed quiet; she’d never been completely on board about the whole ‘not-telling-on-Mr-Andersson-and-living-on-top-of-a-building’ thing, though she said she understood his motivations.

“I didn’t really get a choice.  The Police brought me back there after I kinda got picked up by them on Friday night.”

Ned’s eyes bugged out.  “You got arrested?”

“Kind of, but then, not.  And then, yeah, they brought me back to Mr Andersson’s and he…” Peter drew a hand from his head down.  “But look, that is not even the biggest thing that happened…”

“Bigger than getting arrested and beaten up?”

“He was bitten by a radioactive Spider; his whole existence is larger than life,”  MJ chipped in.

“Guys!” Peter barked again; this time they stopped and looked at him differently.  It wasn’t like him to snap at them.  “Look, what happened…I need to get it out but I’m not sure I can if you keep talking over me.”

“Ok, we’re sorry, Parker.  Go on,” MJ said solemnly.

Peter took a shaky breath.  “So, after Mr Andersson…did whatever…I left and went to the nook.  Then in the morning, he rang saying I better come back as Child Services had turned up, so I did, but when I was outside, some guy with an FBI jacket came out.  I freaked and ran, some guy ran after me, but I managed to hide.  Officer Morales showed up when I was visiting May and took me to the station.  When I got there, they said that my fingerprints had been a hit for a missing child.”

“What?  It wasn’t Spider-man related?” Ned asked.  “It could’ve been a trap to catch Spider-man.”

Peter shook his head; actually pleased by the interruption this time, as it meant he could catch his breath and try to slow his heart rate a little.

“Christ, Ned, forget about Spider-man for one minute would you, this is serious.” MJ scowled in his direction, but Ned didn’t look cowed for once.  Her look softened as she turned back to Peter.  “A missing child?”

Peter fiddled with his sleeves. “Um, yeah, they said my fingerprints matched and they had photos of this weird birthmark of mine, and then photos that looked so much like me when I was younger.  And then, well, then the DNA test confirmed it.”

There was a silence for a second as they seemed to take this in.  Well MJ did, leaning forward now on her knees with her chin on her fingers in thought.  Ned was just shaking his head.

“So, your parents…” MJ ventured.

“Are not my parents, no,” Peter confirmed.

“You were adopted then?”  Ned looked thoroughly confused.

“No, at least not officially; there is a lot still unknown.  There aren’t exactly any Parkers to ask...”

“And you said a ‘missing’ child.”  MJ’s mind was working more sharply.  “So you were – kidnapped?”

Peter nodded slowly.  “When he— I —was three.”

“What the fuck, Peter?”  Ned fury-whispered.

Peter nodded and sat back against his own plush, suede headboard.  “Yeah, it’s been...pretty unreal.”

MJ’s eyes narrowed again.  “That bed seems a bit too fancy for a foster home.   Wait, they didn’t...they put you with your birth parents?  Right away?”  Now she looked shocked.  

Peter nodded gently.

“Shouldn’t they do it gradually, with like a shit ton of therapy along the way?”

A snort escaped him despite the tension in his throat.  Therapy wouldn’t make this pill any easier to swallow.

“So yeah, Child Services said that was the process but my, um, birth father wasn’t very trusting of them after…” Peter gestured to himself again.  

“Yeah, but why would they just go along with that?”

“He’s kind of high profile.”

That seemed to jolt Ned out of his shock-induced silence.

“Your Dad is famous?”

Peter winced.  “You could say that…” 

“Is it someone we would’ve heard of?”  Ned pushed and Peter nodded slowly.  “Well, who is it?”

He looked from friend to friend, and he realised at that moment, that by telling them, by voicing it for the first time to the people in his life, that it was going to be real.  No more thinking that he was dreaming, no more ignoring reality.  As much as he wanted to bury his head in the sand, that wasn’t going to work.

He lifted his chin, flicking his eyes to each of theirs.  “It’s Tony Stark.”

There was a beat of silence.  Then an eruption of laughter from Ned.  Ned’s face was full of his smile as he gasped for breath.

“That’s a good one…ha ha…oh, Peter.”  Tears started streaming down Ned’s face but MJ eyed Peter cautiously before she elbowed Ned hard, causing him to sputter.

“Ow, MJ!”

“You’re not joking, are you?”  MJ leaned closer to the screen now, her brown eyes searching his.

He shook his head.  

Ned made a choking sound before he drew in a wet breath before choking again.  Peter’s eyes widened as Ned suddenly seemed to genuinely struggle to breathe.  

“MJ!”

She turned and forced Ned’s head between his legs.  

“Breathe, dummy.”

“I-I’m ok,”  Ned said after a minute, his eyes leaking tears as he got his breath back.  

MJ’s eyes moved back and forth in thought.  “Tony’s Stark’s son that was taken.  I read about that.  That’s you?”

Peter nodded.

“Jesus Christ, Peter!”  Ned had regained the power of speech.  “This is not happening right now.  Iron Man is your Dad?”

“According to science...”  Peter said, his voice strained.

“Wait, where are you right now?”

“In Avengers Tower?”  Peter said it as a question and winced in anticipation of Ned’s response.

He was obviously out of juice as he didn’t fully freak out; just sat with his mouth hanging open.  

“Can we see?”  MJ asked.  

Peter shuffled off the bed, turning slowly around the room with his face still in the picture but so they could see the room behind him.

“Holy shit, that’s almost as big as your old apartment,” MJ mumbled.

“I know, right?”  Peter said, opening the door to the bathroom.  “And check this out.  The shower has a seat in it!”

“Woah,” Ned intoned as Peter moved the camera around before heading back into the bedroom and over to the window.  

“This is the penthouse, super high up,” Peter hovered the phone by the window.  “There is an even better view from the living room, which is insane by the way.  There are massive windows so you can see out over the city.”

“Let’s see!” Ned said excitedly.

“I, uh, maybe another time.  They are out there I think.”

“They being who exactly?” 

“I think it’s just Mr Stark and Miss Potts at the moment.”

“Pepper Potts – you’ve met Pepper Potts?  What is she like?”  Now it was MJ’s turn to look starstruck.

“Um, yeah.  I haven’t talked to her much yet, but she seems nice.”

Both MJ and Ned shook their heads a little in disbelief.

“And what about your…what about Tony Stark?  What is he like?” MJ asked.

What was he like?

“He is…nice.”

“Nice.” MJ deadpanned back.  “That’s all you’ve got to say about him?”

“Yeah, it’s just...how he looks at me, it’s weird.”

Before MJ could respond there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Peter, can I come in?”

“Just a second, Mr Stark,” Peter called out before turning back to his friends.  “I have to go.”

“Mr Stark,” Ned repeated in wonder before sitting more upright.  “Can we see him?”

“No! I’m not sure if I’m meant to be even telling anyone about it yet, or well…”

“Yeah, ignore him.  We won’t tell anyone,” MJ said.

“But this is the coolest thing that has ever happened to me!” Ned exclaimed.

Peter frowned but MJ had his back, giving Ned a pinch on the arm.  

“Ow!  OK, of course I won’t tell anyone, Jesus.  But you have to let me talk to you two about it or I will explode!” Ned said and Peter couldn’t help but smile.

“I better go.”  

“Ok, we love you man,”  Ned said; he was always so open with affection.  MJ was less so, but she gave him a gentle smile.  

“Love you too, bye,” Peter said, tapping off his phone and reaching for the door at the same time.

Mr Stark stood there looking just as tired and worn out as he had after the cops left.

“How’s it going?”  There was a strong smell of alcohol as he spoke which made Peter’s stomach clench; his body instinctively taking a half step back.  It was barely even dark.  As much as he didn’t want to associate Mr Stark with Mr Andersson, there were a lot of tabloid stories about his lifestyle; maybe there was no smoke without fire.

“Yeah, good, all cleaned up and you know…dry now.”  

Wow, that might be the most awkward statement he had ever made, but Mr Stark didn’t seem to notice or comment.

“We were getting a bit peckish out here and were going to order in.  Thai or Italian?”

Thai reminded him too much of May.  Ben was never a fan, so they’d get it whenever he was on last shift.  A lump was dangerously close to rising in his throat.

“Italian please.”

“What’s your order?”

“Arrabbiata if they have it? But anything is fine.”

“Done,” Mr Stark said. “FRI, add it to mine, Rhodey and Pep’s usual order but add an extra garlic bread in there too, then send it off.”

“Yes Boss,” the voice purred from above.

“The, uh, others aren’t eating with us?”

Mr Stark looked at him.  “We thought a quieter night without the big crowd might be better.”  The ‘after today’ was left unsaid.

Peter looked at his socked feet.  That made sense.  But it still filled him with dread.  At least in the bigger group, he felt like he could hide a little. 

Mr Stark’s face flashed with uncertainty.  “Of course, I’m sure the others would join - Avengers love free food as much as the next.  Whatever makes you happy.”

Peter pushed his hands into his pockets; Mr Stark was being truthful about wanting to make him happy, that much was obvious.  He didn’t want it to seem like he didn’t want to spend time with Mr Stark.   Which, whilst true, seemed a cruel thing to show a man who spent twelve years thinking he was dead.

Previously it would’ve been his dream come true to spend time with the Tony Stark.  And it wasn’t like he hated the guy now or anything, just-

“Look, if you’re worried that I’m going to corner you and give you the fifth degree, or 20 questions about your life or whatever, I can promise not to do that.  At least not today,” Mr Stark gave him a soft smile. “I know today, this weekend, has been…full on.  How about we just eat and watch a movie and keep it chill?  Do kids say that these days?  I don’t know.”  Mr Stark’s eyebrows briefly met in the middle.

Tension eased in his chest.  That was exactly what he’d been afraid of.  He didn’t have the energy for any more emotionally charged conversations.  

His lips curled into a soft smile.

“That sounds good.  What movies do you have?”

Tony

This was possibly the best idea he had ever had in his life, and he had come up with a few knockouts in his time.  Sitting watching a movie with his son.  Ok, scrap that, really it was watching his kid, watch a movie.  The process essentially allowing him to watch Peter without being too obvious about it.  

Peter hadn’t sat next to him but had curled up in the armchair.  His initial disappointment quickly vanished.  This was actually better as it gave him the chance to fully take him in; the way his eyes crinkled when a funny moment came on, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the small smudge of tomato sauce that it took his tongue three tries to rein in.  His memory was storing these on it’s long-term hard drive (as, of course, was FRIDAY). He tried to simultaneously quiet the little voice in the back of his head chiming in with ‘ it’s not fair, you should already know all this’.  Focussing on what he had right now was the most important thing.  

He caught Pepper and Rhodes watching the kid almost as much as he was, and he worried that he was being as unsubtle about it as they were.  If Peter noticed, then he didn’t show it.  They’d decided to eat while they watched and the kid just consistently ploughed through the food and most of the garlic bread throughout the course of the movie.  He ate it slowly, but he ate a lot.  He was a teenager, after all, Tony would have to get used to seeing him consume large amounts of food.  A flush of warmth went through him.  Yep, he was going to get to see his son grow into a man.  Before his throat could tighten too much with the thought, the credits of the movie began to roll.  

Peter’s eyes darted from the screen to him.  

“Enjoy that?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.  What if the kid wanted to  dissect it?  He hadn’t been paying anywhere near enough attention to the screen.

“Yeah, but, I, uh, think I might have been the only one.” Peter’s eyes flicked to the couch and Tony turned to see that both Rhodey and Pepper were sprawled out, fast asleep.

Tony suppressed a chuckle.  “FRIDAY, make sure to take a snap of that and send it to their albums.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Peter smiled wider at that.  “You keep albums of them?”

“Oh yes, purely for blackmail purposes.”  Tony winked and Peter’s smile grew wider again.

“Do they keep one of you?”  Peter asked, his eyebrow slightly raised.

Tony paused at that; tilting his head.  “FRI?”

“I am not at liberty to divulge that information, Boss.”

Tony looked upwards towards the voice with a frown before looking back at Peter whose smile now showed his teeth.  There it was again, a pang in his heart.  

Peter let out a yawn of his own, covering it with his hand quickly.  “I think I might go to bed too, if that’s ok Mr Stark?”

“Of course, you don’t need to ask permission, buddy.”

Peter stood then and Tony felt the urge to walk with him.

“Are you going to bed too?”  Peter asked as they got to his bedroom door.

Sleep wouldn't come for him just yet.  “I’ve got some work to do in the lab first.”

Peter’s hand grabbed at the back tufts of his hair, pulling gently.

“You, uh, you don’t have to sit outside here,” Peter didn’t make eye contact but gestured to the spot he’d been in in the early hours of the morning.  “I…I’m not going to run off.  You don’t have to…stand guard or anything.”

Tony let out a breath.  This kid.  He didn’t want to explain to him the wrenching need in his gut to want to be near him—didn’t want to scare him off anymore with the emotions he felt for him when the kid so clearly, and understandably, did not reciprocate.

“I…” Tony faltered; bringing up Peter’s thwarted attempt to leave without telling anyone this morning didn’t seem wise.  Looking at him now, it seemed probable that the kid hadn’t been lying to FRIDAY, he’d really just wanted to get some air and then would’ve come back.

The time it took for Tony to think all that was enough to spur the kid to offer something else.

“I could leave my door open or something if that would make you feel better?”

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that.  Teenage boys need their privacy and all that.”

Peter’s head cocked to look at him.  “And…is there…privacy?”  The boy’s eyes flicked skyward, and Tony realised what he was asking him.

“Oh right, yes, of course.  FRIDAY doesn’t record in the bedrooms or bathrooms – she does monitor vitals, but that’s it.”

A flood of relief flushed through the boy’s face.  Of course, there were certain things teenagers wouldn’t want recorded.  He tucked the smile back; if there were any girlfriends or, well, boyfriends over, maybe he’d have to make sure the door was left open.  That was what parents of teens did, right?  God, he was going to get to do all the cringe parent stuff and he couldn’t be happier.

“Right, well, goodnight, Mr Stark.”  

Peter had moved, the door in his hand acting as a barrier to him.  No hugs tonight then.  It was ok, baby steps, baby steps. 

“Good night, Peter.”

Chapter Text

Peter

Peter didn’t care that he’d been awake since three am.  Didn’t care that the nightmare that had woken him up was still tickling the back of his brain (—Ben, I’m so sorry, please —).  He was up and dressed – in his favourite science pun shirt for luck — and ready to get the hell out of here; school the saviour once again.  Google maps had helped him plan out a route, though he had the feeling Mr Stark might insist he get a lift.  But either way, he wanted to get there early to talk to Ned and MJ.  Ned was going to be bursting with questions - he’d notably only sent him a few messages last night and he had a feeling MJ was the reason why.

Peter edged open his door, glad to see no signs of Mr Stark, or any other Avengers, having been camped outside his room last night.  

He headed for the kitchen and was surprised to see it empty, unlike the previous morning.

“Um, FRIDAY, would it be ok to help myself to some breakfast?”

“Of course, Peter.  Food was delivered last night.  Please help yourself.”

Peter tentatively opened a cupboard to see it brimming with food – protein bars, snack foods, cereal, pasta.  He instinctively moved to the fridge which was full of fresh produce.  Instant saliva, nice Parker.  

“FRIDAY, can I take some stuff to school for lunch?”

“Peter, this is your home.  Take whatever food you require.  I will automatically restock when supplies get low.”

No one was around so Peter pulled out sandwich stuff and made up two large sandwiches with meat and salad, finding some saran wrap and putting it into his bag.  He added in a few pieces of fruit and some protein bars.  He could keep them in his room.  Just in case.

He then wolfed down the largest bowl of cereal he’d had in a long time, enjoying the fullness of his stomach for the second meal in a row.  This he could get used to.  The bruised ribs had started to heal pretty well just from the three meals yesterday.

“Um FRIDAY, I need to leave for school now.  Will you let me out in the lobby?”

There was a slight pause.  “I’m sorry, Peter.  Security protocols dictate that you need to be accompanied if you are to leave the Tower.”

As he thought, no change there. 

“FRIDAY, where is Mr Stark?”  

“Mr Stark is currently in conference room B on the communal floor.  Would you like me to show you the way?”

“Yes, please.”

He hesitated for a second, then dipped back into the cupboard and shoved a few more snacks into his coat pockets.  

The elevator took him down to the communal level and he followed the lights that FRIDAY illuminated to show him the way.  So freaking cool.

As he neared where the lights stopped, there was a hum of voices through the wall.  He heard the words ‘Luca’ and ‘the Parkers’.  They were obviously talking about him, his disappearance.  His teeth plunged into his lip.  He wanted to listen in more, to find out what they knew, but he didn’t want to be late for school.  He needed the comfort of Ned and MJ; of familiarity, at least for a few hours.  That need won out.

Peter knocked softly on the door, readjusting his backpack on his shoulder.

“Come in?”

He opened the door to reveal Mr Stark, Miss Potts, Colonel Rhodes, Ms Romanoff and Mr Hogan sat at the nearest end of a large conference table.  A holoscreen was facing in his direction; he caught sight of some documents and photos of his parents – looking like from a work ID – before the screen disappeared; their faces ghosting away with a sweep of Mr Stark’s hand.

“Hey kid, you’re up early,” Mr Stark stood, taking a few steps towards him.  “You need some breakfast, coffee or something?  I can get that for you…”

“Thanks, but I had some cereal.  FRIDAY said it was ok to help myself.”

Mr Stark smiled.  “Great, yes, and she’s right.”

Time was ticking so he got right to the point.  “Yeah, she wouldn’t let me out though.”

Mr Stark’s brow furrowed; Colonel Rhodes’ and Miss Potts’ doing the same.  “Out…?”

“Yeah, it’s Monday…” A blank look came back at him.  “I have school,” he qualified.

Mr Stark’s eyebrows jerked.  “Oh right, well yeah, no.  No to school, not today.”

Peter’s heart thumped.  “What?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.  Education is obviously important, but it will take a few days to get the paperwork and everything sorted.  I’m going to put in a call to Trinity, one of my old haunts.  There’s usually a waiting list but I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak but Mr Stark just carried on.

“So, you can just relax today; I’ve got some things to tidy up here, but maybe Rhodey can show you the rest of the place,” Mr Stark angled himself towards Rhodey — who nodded – before turning back, “or Steve was talking about showing you the gym, right?”

“No.”  Peter tried to breathe deeply; tried not to lose control as his chest tightened.  “I don’t want to go to Trinity.”

“Well, there are others.  What was that other one, Pep?”  He pointed himself in her direction.

“Collegiate,” she offered.

“Right, that one could work…”

“No!” Peter said more sharply, his hands in tight fists by his side.  “I’m not moving schools.”

Mr Stark stilled; one eyebrow raised as he looked at him, but it wasn’t in challenge.  

“It’s not going to be possible for you to stay at Midtown.”

“Why not?  It’s the best STEM school in the city,” Peter panted out, “and I’m doing really well there.  I’m top in most of my classes.”

“I don’t doubt it.”  Mr Stark’s voice was smoother, and he’d angled himself totally facing Peter now, his hands in his pockets.  “But I’m afraid it just wouldn’t be safe.  Those other schools, they’re used to dealing with people who need high security.  I just can’t compromise on your safety.”

There was a tiny puff of light in Peter – that saw the rational argument Mr Stark was making, that could understand why it would be so important to him.  But it was snuffed out pretty quickly.  Peter had endured a lot to stay at Midtown.

“Midtown is safe.  Nothing has changed since Friday – I’m still just Peter Parker there.”

Mr Stark’s hands were out of his pockets now, widened in a placating manner.  Behind him, concerned frowns were plastered on Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes’ faces.

“I’m sorry…”

“No!” Peter said again.  Didn’t they understand what he had gone through to stay there?  He’d told them that first night.  Hadn’t he listened?  “This is…this is bullshit!”

The adults all stiffened.  He wasn’t sure if it was because he swore, but right now, he didn’t give a shit.

“Have you been there?  Have you even looked?”  The expression said everything.  “You haven’t even tried!”

Mr Stark faltered but it was obvious he didn’t want to do that.  He probably wanted him to go to some fancy private school.

“I could go and check it out,” Ms Romanoff’s voice rose from the back, “see if it would be secure enough.”

Peter’s eyes darted to her.  She looked serious; like she wasn’t trying to placate him but would actually do as she said.  He didn’t see the look that Mr Stark exchanged with her as he turned but she just tilted her head at him, her face impassive.  Mr Stark turned back to him.

“Natasha will look into it, but if she says it can’t be done…” 

Mr Stark looked like he didn’t want to have to say that Peter would have no choice but that was what was implied.  The unfairness of it still felt like a burn in his chest but he loosened the grip of fabric in his fists.

“OK then,” he breathed out.  

What else could he say?  If he was moved, he wouldn’t get a say.  It wasn’t like he could run off back to the nook now and still attend Midtown on the sly.  It was Mr Stark’s choice what school he went to, even if he was just some stranger.

“Thank you, Miss Romanoff.  I’ve got homework to finish so…” Peter didn’t wait to be dismissed and hurried out of the room.

—-

Peter made it to the elevator but not inside before he was stopped by a voice.  

“Alright there, Peter?”

It was Mr Wilson.  Peter could feel the heat on his face from his exchange with Mr Stark; his heart still beating fast in his chest.  He could only manage a nod.

“What are you up to now?  I still have the ingredients to make some of my famous french toast if you’re interested.”

Peter faltered.  Part of him wanted to go back to his room and brood but the sting of disappointment at not seeing Ned and MJ - and the familiar comfort they would bring - would only intensify if he did.  Also, more food would be good.  Even just eating normally yesterday had made his stomach feel fine.  And it’d probably be better for him to be doing something other than stew in his room, feeling trapped.

“Could you maybe teach me how to make it?”

Mr Wilson’s face pulled into a full grin.  “Trying to steal my secret recipe already, huh?”

Peter gave him a shy smile.

Mr Wilson indicated with his head back towards the communal kitchen.  “Just don’t tell my Mom I showed you, or she’ll whoop my ass.”

Tony

Everyone seemed to pause for a full minute after the kid had flown out of the room.  All Tony knew was the one minute he was going over what Nat had found out about the Parkers, and the next minute he was having what was, quite possibly, his first fight with his son.  Tony’s chest felt heavy; he’d felt so elated when the knock on the door had been Peter seeking him out for the first time, but no, it was only so he could get the hell out of here.  And God, he wanted to go back to that school.  Didn’t he realise that things were different now?

“Well, that was a change in tune,” muttered Happy.

Tony swirled on his heel, noting Pepper and Rhodey eyeing him cautiously.

“Yeah, it was,” he breathed out, “right out of left field.”

Only Nat didn’t look phased, which reminded him.

“Any particular reason you interfered there, Romanoff?”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug.  “You were about to blow it.  I was doing you a favour.”

Tony’s jaw twitched.  “How so?  He can’t go to that school.  You’ve just delayed the inevitable.”

She shrugged again, which, right now, made him want to blast her into a wall.  

“Maybe.  But I’ll go and check out the situation at the school.  If it’s not tenable, he sees you’ve tried to make it work and I’ll be the bad guy saying it can’t be done.  If it is workable, then you’re the good guy who made it happen.”

They all seemed to look at her like she had grown two heads.  

“What?  Was I the only one who listened to what he sacrificed to stay at that school?”  Natasha’s face changed and he could see there was something else there.  A begrudging respect maybe?  It was gone just as quick as it came.  “It’s worth it for a couple of hours of my time.”

Tony ran a hand down his face.  He hated to admit that she had a point; so he decided that he wouldn’t.

“Fine, whatever.”  

Tony’s eyes drifted to the door.  Should he go after him?  Was that a ‘big deal’ kind of disagreement to Peter, or would he take it in his stride?  Tony rubbed soothing circles onto his left wrist, but they didn’t seem to ease his anxiety.  Goddamn it, he wasn’t good with this emotional stuff.  What now?  Maybe this time, nothing was the way to go - give the kid some space.  “So, back to business, what else did you find out, Red?”

Tony brought back the files that the kid had almost seen earlier.  There wasn’t anything there that he could have seen that could’ve outright upset him, but the whole idea that your parents might have stolen you from your real parents was enough to make anyone upset.  The more they could protect him from it, the better.

“Both school records and social services files show that Peter was in the custody of Ben and May Parker following the deaths of Richard and Mary Parker, who were confirmed dead in a plane crash.  I got hold of the autopsy report which confirmed from dental records that it was them,” Natasha said impassively.  If they had to be identified from dental records, then they must have been fried to a crisp.  “They were on their way to a conference as representatives for Oscorp.”

Tony’s head shot up to look at her. “They worked for Oscorp?  Since when?”

His and Norman Osborne’s hatred for each other spanned decades and was well documented.  The man was a pompous ass who seemed to think he and his company were superior, despite SI’s leading market share in every similar product and award-winning patents in multiple fields.

“You don’t think Norman would have anything to do with Luca’s disappearance?”  Pepper’s face looked concerned but unconvinced.  She always called their rivalry juvenile.  Which, well, ok yes, she wasn’t wrong.  But Norman was still an ass.  He had been at school and he still was now.

“Unlikely.  They’d only worked for him for two years when they died.  They were both working with cross-species genetics,” Nat confirmed, “before that, they worked at a few different places including a year in Geneva.”

“So, do you think it was them who took him?”

“Too early to say, but there is no adoption paperwork pertaining to him anywhere in the system, or that Child Services knew about.”

“So it doesn’t look likely that they were the victims of a fake adoption?”  Rhodey asked.

Nat shook her head.  “Not at first glance.  So it makes sense to focus our energy on Richard and Mary Parker and their movements around the time of Luca’s disappearance.”

That wasn’t good news.  Not as far as Peter was concerned.  It would’ve been easier to reconcile the fact that they were passive victims in this, but if they weren’t, if they had actively taken him, that would be a harder pill to swallow.

Nat pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear before continuing.  “FRIDAY is working on getting hold of their phone and financial records, as well as personal and professional emails around that time.  They might be on some old servers that we could get remote access to, but it most likely will need to be an in-person job.”  

That was a good start.

Nat continued.  “Fury gave me the details for his top analyst, so if I can get the birth certificate that the FBI now have, then he can take a look at it.”

Fury hadn’t been any help last time, but then again, they didn’t have any leads back then, so it was hardly his fault.  Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about Fury knowing about his son, but he had shown himself trustworthy for a while now and it seemed he would need to continue to be.

“What’s the point?  We know it’s a fake,” Pepper asked, her eyes tight.

“Yeah, but they must have paid someone to get it.  If they were sloppy, they might even have left a partial fingerprint.”

“Agent Singh will be here later, so I’ll make sure she gets a hold of it,” Tony replied.

“Will she get in the way?”  Happy asked.

“No, I think she is as committed to getting answers as we are,” Nat said.  “Though we may have to avoid telling her all of our methods if we want to circumvent the red tape.”

Nat meant using FRIDAY, and even herself, to search through information that they shouldn’t strictly have access to.  It would be illegal.  Tony didn’t care one bit.

“Do what you need to,” he said firmly.

Bucky

Bucky felt pressure behind his eyes; his whole body felt heavy and unyielding.  His therapy session had been full-on.  Dan – the therapist- had finally gotten him to talk about one of his nightmares.  He’d explained it in as much detail as he could bear to, but it became obvious to him that Dan didn’t realise that it was more of a memory than a dream.  Bucky didn’t have the heart to tell him that the torture was not a metaphor for his fears but an actual thing that had happened.  A lot of this had come out at the hearings - they’d had to submit evidence of him being forced to act against his will – the mind control and torture being front and centre evidentially.  Not all of it was made available to the public but enough that he thought Dan would know about it.  Or maybe he was being purposely obtuse so that Bucky would share his feelings about it.  Psychologist tricks?  What did he know — he was a soldier, it was hardly his wheelhouse.  He tried to express his feelings; he really did.  But apparently ‘it fucking sucked’ did not count.

Bucky had come back and laid on the bed – not to sleep – the dream was still too vivid in his memory for him to want to risk going back to it.  He hadn’t seen Steve this morning, which was unusual, but he figured he was still all up in Stark’s long lost son business.  

After yesterday, Bucky had been mentally kicking himself.  Couldn’t the kid have tried not to pitch himself off a building under his watch?  His plan was to stay away, and he’d scuppered it.  The kid was the opposite of Stark – polite and likeable straight off the bat, though maybe knowledge of his unfortunate backstory influenced his opinion.  There was an earnestness to him that felt familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Before he had time to settle on what it was, there was a knock at the door.  Only Natasha knocked that way.

“What do you want, Romanoff?” He called out, not unkindly.  The door swung open to reveal her; lithe body dressed in yoga pants and a loose top, with her red hair pulled back.

“Fancy a little fresh air?”

——

“What are we doing at a school?”

Romanoff unbuckled her seat belt.

“Security check.  See if it can be made safe enough for Peter to keep going here.”

“You pulled me out of bed to recon a school?”

“Oh please.” Natasha rolled her eyes hard. “You’re bored shitless.  Saturday was the most fun you’ve had in ages.”

Bucky wasn’t sure he would use the word fun, but it had felt good to use his skills to do something helpful.  It didn’t really matter how he had acquired them; they were part of him now.  And he supposed she was right.  What else was he going to do?  Lay on his bed and continue to feel sorry for himself?

Bucky didn’t bother to address what she said.  She knew she was right.  He changed the subject.

“Thought Stark would send him to one of those fancy private schools.  Won’t their security be better?”  Bucky looked over the campus from the car.  It was a nice school alright, but it didn’t have the same need of precautions as the private schools that housed the children of prominent people.

“Tony does want to, and it would.  Peter, however, made it pretty clear that he wants to stay here.  I said I’d check it out.”  

Huh, so the kid wasn’t afraid to say what he wanted.  He hadn’t seemed the type to push back yesterday.

“You want to take the perimeter again?  I’ll take inside.”

 Bucky nodded.

“Just to be clear.  Safety comes first.  If it can’t be made safe, then it’s a no go.”  Her eyes were hard as she spoke.

Bucky could understand that; you don’t search for your kid for twelve years and then get sloppy with security.  

“I’ll start with the sight lines.  Call me when you are done.”  She gave him a nod and he headed for higher ground.

——

Peter

“Right, that’s it.  I’ve had enough.”  

Peter stifled a laugh as Mr Wilson sat back with his eyes closed, dropping the controller onto the couch.  

“You better not be laughing at me over there, short stack.” 

Peter smacked his lips together.  “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

Mr Wilson opened one eye and looked at him before his face pulled into what was starting to become a familiar smirk.  He was cool, even if he was no good at video games.  He’d taught him how to make french toast and his first batch had turned out sort of edible.  

Mr Wilson had a way of making him feel at ease, talking about everything and nothing.  It was a nice distraction from the heavy-hitting topics of the previous days.  He was doing a pretty good job at not delving too much into his thoughts about what may or may not have happened and whether his parents really were cartoon villains that would steal a child from someone.

“What are you thinking about?”  Mr Wilson was watching him with a softer expression.  He must have been staring off into space or something.  As nice as Mr Wilson was, he wasn’t about to divulge any of his inner crises.

“Just wondering how much the Daily Bugle would pay me if I told them how bad the Falcon is at video games.”

A pillow came in his direction but not near enough to even have to dodge and Peter grinned.

“You know, if we’d been betting money on this, I would’ve said you’ve been hustling me, kid.”

“So, the lesson is, bring your allowance next time...”

They both turned to the voice.  Mr Stark was draped in the doorway, hands in his suit trousers and a small smile on his lips.

“Don’t encourage him.  My dignity is hanging on by a thread over here.”

“I’m pretty sure you lost your dignity that time we had to cut you down from those power cables.”   A ghost of a smile played over Mr Stark’s tired features.

Mr Wilson groaned and lent back into the couch again with his eyes closed.  “Will no one ever let me forget that.”

“Wanna see the photos sometime?”  Mr Stark looked over to Peter now and Peter felt some of the earlier tension with the man seep out of him.

“You keep an album on all of them?”  Peter asked, eyebrows quirking.

“A what now?” Mr Wilson sat up.

“Maybe I shouldn’t embarrass you in front of the kid before you’ve had a chance to do it yourself.  FRI, send Sam’s file to him.”

There was a beep and Sam scrambled to get in his pockets.

“Peter?”

Peter looked up and Mr Stark moved, tilting his head in the direction of the kitchen area.  Peter got up, leaving Mr Wilson muttering under his breath as he looked at his phone.  He followed Mr Stark to where he had stopped at the coffee machine.  

“You drink coffee?”

Peter wrinkled his nose before shaking his head.  It wasn’t a taste he’d acquired.

Mr Stark pressed a few buttons and the machine hummed quietly before it started to percolate.  Steaming dark liquid poured out and Mr Stark snatched the cup away as soon as it was done.   

“You want something else?”

“No, thank you, Mr Stark.”

Mr Stark’s nose wrinkled slightly but he didn’t say anything before bringing the coffee to his lips.

“You’re looking into my parents?”  Peter blurted out.  That seemed easier to talk about than their earlier disagreement but seeing Mr Stark’s expression, maybe not.

Mr Stark’s eyes met his over the rim.  “We are looking into the Parkers, yes, as well as all other possibilities.”

The Parkers.  Maybe his reaction was Peter using the word parents.  That might grate on him.

“You didn’t have any leads…before?”

Mr Stark stiffened.  

“Well, we chased down every sniff of anything.  But there wasn't much to go on.  I mean we uncovered a few trafficking—“ Mr Stark stopped abruptly.  “But look, I don’t want you worrying about all that, OK?  It’s not the most important thing right now, anyway.”  

There were things more important than knowing who had kidnapped him as a child?  Peter wasn’t sure about that.

“Boss, Agent Singh has arrived.”

“Damn it,” Mr Stark looked at him with a sense of longing.  “I really wanted us to get some lunch, but I need to go and handle this.”

“It’s fine Mr Stark, I can just go back to the room and get on with that homework at some point.”

Mr Stark frowned at that for half a second before his face lit up.  Peter watched as he stalked over to the living room door.

“Wilson, you guys still doing your scheduled training simulation this afternoon?”

Peter couldn’t see Sam, but he could hear him.  

“I’m not sure if we were going to put it on hold due to everything…”

“Do it here.  I’ve got a meeting with the FBI.  I thought maybe Peter might get a kick out of watching – from a safe distance.”

Peter heard Sam’s deep chuckle.  “Sure.  I’ll keep him entertained.”

----

The training room was massive.  It easily took up a few floors of the building but of course, you’d never know from the outside.  

“Woah,” Peter couldn’t help but exclaim under his breath as he stopped peeking through the window and stepped through the door.  His eyes immediately looked up at the rafters where there were all sorts of grips and poles along them.  Man, he’d have great fun swinging up there.  His hand instinctively went to his wrists, coming up empty.

There was a large, matted area and a separate room with large glass windows that had some more normal looking gym equipment in it.  Along that side of the room was an entire array of different weapons mounted on the walls.  There were also several archery targets darted around the room at varying levels.

His body ached to run around this virtual playground in front of him.  He’d gotten used to patrolling most days  - it wasn’t like anyone was waiting for him at home - and even just having had two days without it made him feel restless.

Peter turned at a noise from the far end of the room to his left – a whoosh-thud kind of noise — he watched as Mr Barnes threw a succession of knives into a holographic moving target.  So cool.  The man suddenly looked at him, his eyes losing some of the dark concentration as they landed on him.  It was too far to speak or even yell, so Peter just put his hand up in a weak wave and was rewarded with a nod before Mr Barnes went over and started pulling knives out of the wall.  Should he go over and talk to him?  Or was it bad etiquette to interrupt someone during their workout?  He was just about to throw caution to the wind and go over and say hi when doors opened from the opposite corner: Mr Wilson’s voice booming across the distance.

“So, what do you think of our little playroom, short stack?”

Peter had to catch his breath for a second as he turned and took in the sight of what were now The Falcon and Captain America striding towards him in their full gear.  They looked like they did on the TV or massive billboards he’d seen.  On some level the last two days he had known that they were one and the same people but seeing his childhood heroes standing in front of him dressed in their uniforms, made it all seem suddenly real again.  He forgot he’d been asked a question until they came up next to him and Mr Wilson was looking at him with a light in his eyes.

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s incredible.”  

Mr Wilson’s arm bumped into his.  “Wait til you come up to the Compound; that is a whole other level.”

Peter raised his eyebrows; it was hard to imagine a better facility than this.

“Is Mr Barnes going to join you too?” Peter turned around, stopping abruptly when he saw the man had somehow since disappeared.

“Bucky isn’t an Avenger,” Mr Wilson said.

“Not yet,” Mr Rogers whispered under his breath.

Mr Wilson must have heard that too as he flashed a look at Mr Rogers but didn’t say anything.

“It’s just the two of us today but Tony has developed different simulations for all the different combinations of us,” Mr Rogers continued. “You can watch from the viewing platform.  FRIDAY, please open it up.”

Mr Rogers pointed but Peter’s eyes were already on the wall that retracted to show a series of steps leading up to a room.

Peter ran over to the steps hearing Mr Wilson say to Mr Rogers: “He could have just gone back out to the elevator, you know?”

Peter didn’t pay attention to anything else said as he hurried up the stairs; the door to the room – pod? — instantly opening in front of him.  As he stepped in, he could see a computer console taking up one wall, with a refreshment area opposite and a door with an exit sign hanging overhead in the corner.  He sat up at a conveniently placed stool looking out through the window into the training room.  He jolted as he heard Mr Rogers voice evidently coming through unseen speakers in the room.

“FRIDAY, start today’s simulation.”

The room below darkened but Peter could make out what looked like different sized drones flooding from the ceiling and sides of the room.  Suddenly the room was transformed into a completely different landscape – there were broken down parts of buildings and debris everywhere: it was a fallen city, and he couldn’t help but draw comparisons to photos he had seen following the Battle of New York.  Sure enough, aliens started to come into view.

“I hate the ones with aliens,” Mr Wilson muttered through the communicators.

Peter sat enthralled as he watched the two men run through the simulation.  He jumped when the shots first started – though they didn’t sound like normal guns.  The aliens didn’t look like the Chitauri but he wondered if the simulation sound was based on the Avengers' experience of their weapons.  He gasped when the floor started moving – platforms jutting up along with the simulation like they were obstacles on the screen- a half crumbled building, some burnt-out cars. He watched, mesmerised, as Captain America and Falcon worked together – Falcon picking him up and moving the bigger man when needed, Captain America throwing his shield around like a boomerang.  

Peter’s body twitched as he imagined what he might do if he was there in that situation.  He’d always hoped that in the future he might get a chance to be part of the Avengers.  He wasn’t deluded enough to think that it might come true – he couldn’t even save his Aunt and Uncle from one guy – how would he ever do anything that might save the city.

The simulation ran for over an hour, but Peter didn’t get bored.  It was a true masterclass and he mentally took notes that he thought might help him with his own escapades.  A shrill noise sounded, and the simulation stopped, leaving only the uneven floor left up.  

Falcon swooped down to the glass, sweat running down his face and he sent Peter a smile.  “Come on down, short stack.”

The door popped open, and Peter ran down, meeting Mr Wilson where he landed by the raised platforms that Mr Rogers was jumping down from.

“That was incredible!  I thought for certain that one alien was going to get you Captain Rogers, you know towards the end when the big one blindsided you with the car but then Falcon swooped in and…” Peter took a breath, “…woo, that was amazing.”

Mr Rogers let out a laugh as he pulled off the cap on his head revealing a sweaty mess of blond hair.

“You know, I could get used to this kind of feedback,” Mr Wilson said with a smirk, pushing his goggles onto his forehead.  “We better hit the showers.  You know your way back to the Penthouse?”

“Actually, would it be ok for me to use the gym?”  Peter gestured to the running machine and weights room, though really, he meant the obstacles behind them.  

Mr Rogers faltered for half a second.  “No weights until we get back though.  You need a spotter for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Peter waited until they had gone through the door before he climbed up to the first platform.  He ran and jumped, doing a twist in the air, before landing on his feet back on ground level.  It was as close a feeling to swinging – being suspended in the air for a few moments.  He repeated it a few times, climbing to the highest level now, being careful that nothing he was doing could be construed as superhuman or Olympic level.  When about ten minutes had passed, and the chance of them coming back increased, he stayed on the matted ground doing some tumbles across the large floor.  He had done some gymnastics classes when he was a kid, and though physically it was infinitely easier now, at least there were some moves he remembered.  The endorphin rush relaxed his whole body for the first time since he’d arrived, and he felt lighter.  The platforms were calling to him again so he scampered up to the top one, standing right at one end before he could take a short run into a tumble set that ended with him launching off the end, doing two twists in the air before landing on his feet, with a smile.

A few claps punctuated the air and he spun around to see Mr Wilson, Mr Rogers, Ms Romanoff and Mr Stark all standing watching him.

His cheeks heated immediately.  How embarrassing.

“Wow, that was even more impressive in the flesh, kid!” Mr Wilson’s smile was broad, and Mr Rogers nodded along.

Ms Romanoff’s usually neutral visage showed a small quirk of her lips whereas Mr Stark’s looked far more wary; that creased line prominent between his eyebrows again.

“You are officially trying to give me a heart attack.”

“Sorry Mr Stark,” Peter said but unable to stop his grin.  His body was buzzing, and he felt good.

“Worked up an appetite?”  Mr Stark asked, and Peter couldn’t help but smile wider.  Maybe living here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Tony

It had been a long time since Tony had been in a Principal’s office – though he had landed in a fair few in his time and they were a lot nicer than this one. The furniture was worn, and Tony had to suppress a shudder when he saw the outdated PC on the man’s desk.

Principal Morita looked like he was trying hard to process all the information that had been given to him, and to be fair, it was a lot.  The appointment had been made under the guise of Stark Industries looking to partner with local schools.  Principal Morita had paled on seeing both him and Pepper; when his eyes had risen to see Steve’s form, he’d looked close to collapse.  Steve had been a strategic move – Tony knew that Morita was the grandson of Steve’s war buddy.  He hoped that might make him more receptive to the changes the school would need to make for him to be even remotely ok with Peter going there.  Tony wasn’t a total dick and had pre-warned Steve.

Steve had taken the reins when Morita looked awestruck - schmoozed him in his annoyingly saccharin way – telling a few stories about Morita’s grandfather that he hadn’t heard before.  Pepper had gently inserted herself at this point and asked Principal Morita to sign an NDA.  Once he had, they had told him why they were really there.

“So, let me get this straight,” Principal Morita said, clasping his hands in front of him, “Peter Parker is your biological son, who was…taken…as a child, that you have just been reunited with.”

Tony nodded his head as Morita paused.

“And he would like to remain at Midtown, and you would like me to agree to increase security measures.”

Pepper stepped in.  “Yes, we would of course handle cost and installation.  Here is the detailed layout.”  Pepper handed him a dossier which Morita flipped open and studied for a moment.  “The cameras would be hidden so as not to alarm any students.  We will also supply additional security guards, who are trained to be inconspicuous.”  

Morita let his chin rest on his clasped hands.  

“And of course, I must insist that we pay back his scholarship to date,” Tony chimed in.

“Well, that is not necessary, Mr Stark.  Peter is one of our top students, he very much earned his scholarships.”

Tony’s heart filled a little hearing that, but it was bittersweet.  His son should never have needed to beg for a place in the first place.

“It would make me feel a lot better if I could.”

Something changed in Morita’s eyes, and he leant back with a soft smile.    

“Well, in that case, we could certainly use it to add to our coffers.”  

Tony decided not to mention his plans for a large donation at this stage.  He didn’t want to be seen as buying Morita’s compliance today.  Pepper might also have warned him not to throw his money around in here.  Rude.

“As for the increased security, I think that we could accommodate your requests, with the exception of the metal detectors.”  Morita’s face pulled into a grimace. “Our parents would not go for that.”

Tony shifted in his seat until Pepper’s leg pressed against his made him stop.  Oh, how he missed her sending messages this way – at least she wasn’t kicking him in the shin this time.  He could work without the metal detectors; he had plans to link FRIDAY up with the school cameras and she could easily scan for weapons.  But he kept that information to himself.

“OK,” Pepper said evenly, “well, that’s great news.  Thank you for your cooperation with this.”

Tony pulled his phone out to alert Happy to get the team together to do the setup.  “My guys will be here within the hour, so we will need access overnight.”

“To-tonight?” Morita spluttered.  “That soon?”

“Peter is very adamant about wanting to return to school as soon as possible,” Pepper said smoothly, “which can only attest to the good experiences he has had here.”

Morita’s soft smile returned and, if he knew he was being handled, it didn’t seem to bother him.

“He’s a great asset to the school.  Other than dropping out of a few after school clubs, he has maintained his excellent academics this year, despite the trying circumstances.”  Morita’s eyebrows drew together.

“Are there any issues I should be aware of going forward?”  Tony asked, sitting a little taller, suddenly aware that this was his first parent-teacher conference.  “Academically, or otherwise?”

Morita’s face wrinkled into its first full frown.  “Well, I’m sorry to say that there have been some issues with bullying.”

Tony’s mind flicked to the angry turn Peter had taken this morning.

“Peter was bullying another kid?”

Morita’s eyes looked like they were going to jump over his eyebrows.  

“Oh, oh no Mr Stark, no.  Peter would never…I...”  Morita regained control of himself.  “No, I’m afraid Peter was the target.  He is very smart, Mr Stark, and even in a school like this, it doesn’t go unpunished.”

Tony internally winced; he’d much rather that wasn’t an experience that he and Peter shared.  Though, of course, he usually ran his mouth as well, but that hadn’t been the bullies’ main motivation.

Steve looked like he was about to say something – lines etched deep in between his eyes.  ‘Bullies’ was one of his trigger words.  Principal Morita jumped in ahead.

“Of course, we have tried to stamp out the issue, but Peter wasn’t keen to have any intervention and would never say anything when we pressed for details.” 

So, downplaying injuries was not a new game for Peter.  Tony’s hand clenched the arm of the chair a little too tightly.

Pepper’s pressure on his leg increased – grounding him - before she spoke;

“Principal Morita, it is our desire, at least for the moment, to try to keep the relationship between Peter and Mr Stark a secret.  Solely for the purpose of Peter being able to have as normal of a life as possible.  As you can imagine, this would be of great interest to the press.”  Morita nodded in understanding.  “So, we would need for anyone who has access to the files to sign an NDA.  Will that be an issue?”

Morita shook his head.  “We already have very stringent data protection policies here, I don’t foresee any push back with that.”  

Pepper pressed something on the tablet in her hand.  “Brilliant, you should have those documents in your email now and my lawyer will be here first thing tomorrow morning to pick them up.”

Morita looked surprised at this efficiency, but Tony no longer was.  Pepper was a modern marvel - always thinking a step ahead.

“My lawyers will also bring paperwork evidencing the change in guardianship to Mr Stark.  As you can imagine, it is a complicated legal situation with regards to paperwork, so I have also included a copy of Peter’s original birth certificate, although as I’m sure you understand that would be under his real name – Luca Stark.”  Pepper took a breath.  “I have also emailed a list of next of kin phone numbers.  Mr Stark as primary and myself as secondary.  Given the nature of our work, I have also included Captain Rogers as well.”

Tony’s head snapped up.  Steve?  Why would he want Steve?  No doubt Steve had offered himself, maybe to try to get back into his good graces.  Tony caught a glimpse of Steve - his eyes were wide and stuck on Pepper.  Oh.  So, not his idea, this was all Pepper.  He opened his mouth to offer some protest but was intercepted with a small but swift kick to the shin.  Tony stifled a yelp.  Yep, he hadn’t missed those.

Principal Morita’s face quickly changed from stunned to settled.  “It’s nice to know that Peter has a long list of people supporting him now.”

As much as Tony still didn’t feel comfortable with Steve, he couldn’t say he totally hated Steve being on the list.  He’d take Peter having Captain America on his team if it would keep him safe.

“He won’t be alone again,” Tony said firmly.  

A thought occurred to Tony as they said their goodbyes and got up to leave.  He turned back to Principal Morita with a small smile; “Don’t be surprised if Peter decides to give up Track.”

Peter

There was only so much social media scrolling that could keep Peter’s mind from wandering.  He hadn’t been in his room long but he’d long since finished his homework; a fitting pretext to get some space.  After his trip to the gym, they’d had a very late lunch altogether before Mr Hogan came in and whispered something in Mr Stark’s ear.  The man had apologised to Peter and said he had some business to attend to and he’d taken Captain Rogers and Miss Potts with him.  

Peter wasn’t surprised, he must have a million pressing things to do.  Avengers stuff even.  It wasn’t like he’d scheduled for Peter to be dropped in his lap like this.

There was a soft knock at the door.  Peter jogged over and opened it to reveal Colonel Rhodes.

“Hi,” Colonel Rhodes said, his eyes crinkling warmly, like they always seemed to do when he looked at him.  “Can I come in?”

“Of course, sir.”

Peter stood back and let him in.  His eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the braces he wore on his legs as he walked to the middle of the room.  He’d heard that War Machine had been injured but he didn’t realise the extent.  The braces were amazing tech though and you could barely hear them.

“Need any help unpacking?”  Colonel Rhodes nodded to his box and bag that were on the floor by the wardrobe. 

“Um, no sir, I got it covered.  But thank you.”

“You mind if I take a load off?” He gestured to the desk chair.

“O-of course.”  Peter watched as Colonel Rhodes pulled the chair out and dragged it closer to the bed, which Peter took to mean he should sit down too.  He pulled his legs up and crossed them, pulling on a stray piece of cotton coming from his hem.

“So,” Colonel Rhodes leant forward and clapped his hands together, “how are you doing?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m ok, thanks.”

Colonel Rhodes didn’t need to hear about the deep existential crisis that he was just about holding off. 

The Colonel didn’t look convinced but didn’t press the issue.

“Well, look, as much as I don’t want to, I’m going to have to go back to base tomorrow, but I will be back and forth as much as I can whilst you're settling in.  Can I have your phone?”

The hesitation was half a second; Peter opened it and handed it over.  Colonel Rhodes typed for a few moments and handed it back.

“Now you have my direct number.  You need anything, you call.  You just want to talk, you call.  I wasn’t kidding about the Uncle Rhodey thing, ok?  Now send me a text so I have yours.” 

Peter looked down the phone and saw a number next to the name ‘Uncle Rhodey’.  A warm shot went through his stomach. 

There was beep from Colonel Rhodes pocket and he took out his phone and smiled. 

“Great.  So, what say you and I get some classic uncle-nephew time in before I have to leave?  Do you like board games?”

Peter nodded back with a smile.

“Well ok then, there are some knocking around down on the Communal floor, come on.”

They made their way there to find Mr Wilson and Miss Romanoff relaxing on the sofas; each with a book in their hands that they looked up from to acknowledge them. 

“Afternoon folks; Sam, you up for a board game?”

“Hell yeah,”  Mr Wilson was on his feet in an instant.  “I’ll go dig some out.”

“I’ll get some snacks.”

The two men disappeared in different directions, leaving Peter with Miss Romanoff.

Had she even been to his school yet?  Had she ever even planned to?  His body itched with the need for knowledge but when his mouth opened he could only find guts enough to ask an easier question:

“Would you like to play with us, Miss Romanoff?”

She let out an almost snort as she let the book rest in her lap.  “Oh, no - but thank you.”

Peter felt a little stupid.  No doubt she had a lot more important things to do.  Whatever it was spy-type people do daily, anyway.

“They are both sore losers.  I vowed to never again play games with them,” she said with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

“Ah, come on Nat,” Mr Wilson was saying as he came back with a stack of boxes, “don’t be such a spoilsport.”

She rolled her eyes at him as she picked her book back up.  Her eyes landed on Peter before she spoke.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

---

Peter’s leg bounced up and down on the floor.  Mr Stark was bustling by the coffee maker – how much coffee can one man consume? -  and Peter was back to feeling nervous again like he had when he’d arrived two days ago.  Had it really been that short a time?  It felt like a lifetime.

Peter had spent the last few hours playing Monopoly with Colonel Rhodes and Mr Wilson.  It hadn’t taken Peter long to realise that Miss Romanoff might have had a point.

Mr Stark, Captain Rogers, and Miss Potts all returned right at the moment that Colonel Rhodes was standing up waving a wad of faux cash and insisting Mr Wilson must be cheating.  Peter had tried not to laugh at the two men taking it so very seriously.  Still, it was good to be pulled away at this point, just in case they decided to suit up and take each other on.  Well, maybe he would rather have stayed, especially after Mr Stark said they ‘needed to talk’ about some things.  

So here Peter was, sat up at the kitchen island, waiting for Mr Stark to get his millionth cup of coffee of the day.  Miss Potts came back in – changed out of her work clothes and into some casual-wear that looked so soft he almost wanted to reach out and touch it.

“Are you hungry, Peter?”  Miss Potts asked.

Always.

“No ma’am,” Peter replied.  He’d had more food here in the last two days than he’d had in the week before.  There was no need to be greedy.   

Miss Potts looked at him in what he could only be described as a calculated way.  “Rhodey made you something?”

“We had snacks.”

Miss Potts looked slightly relieved by that but still not enough to curb the whole conversation.  “Good.  I’m thinking of ordering us Pizza for dinner – maybe in like an hour?”

“Sure, whatever you want Miss Potts, I eat anything.”  Peter knew he was repeating himself, but they didn’t seem to get that he was deadly serious.  He’d gotten used to taking what he could get.  They seemed quite serious about feeding him up here. Peter knew he looked too skinny - he had eyes – he just wasn’t used to all this attention on his food intake though.  He didn’t want to eat too much and give away his increased metabolism.

Mr Stark pushed a mug of hot chocolate at him before getting drinks for himself and Miss Potts.  Peter couldn’t help but take a deeper whiff of the drink; the rich, chocolatey aroma wafting up at him.  This was no packet mix.

“Thank you,” he said, risking a small, scalding sip, “wow, this is amazing.”

Mr Stark smiled back.  He had a nice smile, so unlike the one Peter was used to seeing on the television.  This one; it was smaller but warm and calming, crinkling the skin around his eyes.  It slowly changed into a more serious expression.

“I’m sorry that I had to leave you in the hands of the competitive Air Force dweebs earlier.”

Peter smiled.  “That’s ok. I had fun.”  Peter’s hands wrapped around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into him.  “I know you must have a lot of work on, and I was not exactly on this week’s itinerary.”

“You are always the priority,” Mr Stark replied in an almost snap.

“I…I wasn’t implying…I just mean everyone here is busy…they don’t need to babysit me if you’re busy.  I can hang out in my room – I’ve got homework, stuff online…” Peter felt heat start to rise up the back of your neck.

Mr Stark shifted in his seat and Miss Potts seemed to take the reins.

“We understand you’re a teenager, not a small child.”  She put her hands around her own mug.  “That said, this has been a big change; we don’t like to leave you alone too much.  Of course, no one would be offended if you need some space.”

Right, ok, so he could excuse himself without it being rude?  He felt better about that.  Peter nodded in acknowledgement.

Mr Stark jump-started.  

“The reason we stepped out earlier was to go and sit down with Principal Morita.” 

Peter stopped looking in Mr Stark’s general direction and made full eye contact; his heart beating faster.

“You went to Midtown.”

Mr Stark held his eyes.  “We did.  It seems you are well regarded there.”

Peter looked away briefly; the heat in his neck no doubt spreading to his cheeks.  “Principal Morita is a nice guy.”

“He is,” Mr Stark agreed.  “I won’t beat about the bush.  We’ve come to an agreement with him over some security measures, you can keep going there.”

Peter almost jumped out of his seat.  “Really? Wow, thank you…I…you don’t know how much this means to me…”

“Hold on there, Skippy.”  Mr Stark held a finger up.  “There are some important ground rules to establish if this is going to happen.”

Peter stilled himself, forcing his excitement under control.

“Unless you feel strongly otherwise, we think it would be in your best interests to keep your…parentage…a secret, at least initially.”

Mr Stark wanted him to be a secret?  

Miss Potts must have seen the hesitation on his face as she stepped in.

“It’s purely for your safety.  There are people that may look to hurt Tony through the people he cares about.  It’s happened before and…”  Miss Potts paused, her eyes flickering away from him momentarily.  Mr Stark’s hand wrapped around her arm.  “…well, as you can imagine, we can’t have that happen again.”

Mr Stark continued, his expression more serious.  “I grew up in the public eye, kid, and it’s no fun, someone always wanting a piece of you.  We’d always intended to keep you shielded from the media as much as we could and that still stands today.”

“That’s fine.  I can keep it a secret,” Peter responded quickly.

Peter knew how bad he was at lying but still, he’d managed to be Spider-man for nine months without anyone finding out.  Well except MJ, but she was a super sleuth.  Also, if he had to explain to anyone else how he was kidnapped and was a billionaire’s long-lost son, then he might have an aneurysm.

“I…um…kinda told my best friends already though,” Peter said, his face crinkling into a frown.  Mr Stark shared a look with Miss Potts, and she picked up her phone and started to tap into it.

“What are their names?” she asked, without looking up.

“Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones.  They know not to tell anyone, I told them that.  So, no need to worry.”  Peter tried to assure them.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I wasn’t meant to tell them.”

“It’s ok, Peter.  We’ll just have them, and their parents sign an NDA.”

An NDA - Peter had watched enough TV to know what that was.

“That’s not necessary.  Like I said they won’t say anything.”

Mr Stark shrugged.  “It’s not a big deal.  Just a small document.”

“I trust them.  They don’t need to sign anything.”  

Peter couldn’t imagine asking them to do such a thing.  They had been the literal rocks in his life the past ten months.  Asking them to sign something would be like telling them he didn’t trust them.  After everything they had done to help him, he couldn’t do that.

Mr Stark looked at him wearily.  “Look, I’m sure that’s true, but people you are friends with now, you might not be friends with later.  And you’d be surprised what people will do if they fall out with you or you drift apart.  I had plenty of people I thought were friends sell stories to the tabloids.”

“No, they’re not those kinds of friends.  They’d never do that.” Those were his experiences; Ned and MJ were different.

“You can’t know that.”  Mr Stark leant forward on both elbows; his face set hard.

“I’m not trying to be difficult, but I won’t ask that of them,” Peter stared down at the mug as his fingers fiddled with it.  He wasn’t sure if Mr Stark was going to shout now, as he sure looked angry.

“Hey, why don’t we park this part of the discussion for now,” Miss Potts intervened, her hand on Mr Stark’s arm now.  The look he sent Miss Potts seemed hot enough to boil water.  She returned his stare with only an icy arched eyebrow.  It seemed enough to extinguish some of the heat and Mr Stark shrank back into his seat, raking his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, ok.”  Mr Stark’s body was tight and his heart rate didn’t lessen any: the fast thumping clear in Peter’s ears.  It didn't seem like it was remotely fine with him.  Mr Stark’s jaw clenched once before he let out a breath. “Where were we?”

“Rules,” Peter supplied, his throat dry.

“Rules, right: so that’s it really other than the usual school ones; keep up your grades, don’t skip school, do what your teachers tell you, yadda yadda.”  Mr Stark waved one finger around in a circle.

“Ok, only thing is, if it's a secret, then having – no offence – like an expensive car dropping me off and picking me up is going to stand out,” Peter explained.  “I can just get the subway like I always did…”

“No.  That’s a hard line,” Mr Stark interrupted, “one of us will pick you up and drop you off.  Non-negotiable.”

The fire in Mr Stark’s eyes showed that this point was certainly not up for discussion.  

“How about this?  If anyone asks you, you can say that you have an internship at Stark Industries,” Miss Potts said.  

Peter felt unsure, another lie to juggle.  Miss Potts must have noticed his discomfort.

“Maybe once you are more settled, we could make it official.  You could shadow me and see how the business is run; Tony can show you the R&D floors.”

Talk about a nerd’s wet dream.

“That would be amazing.”  Peter couldn’t help but give what would be a goofy grin.

Miss Potts sent back one of her own – though not goofy.  It probably wasn’t possible she could ever be goofy.

“When will I be able to go back to school?”

“You can go from tomorrow but there is no pressure, in fact taking a few days off mi—“

“—No, tomorrow is good.  Thanks.”  Peter’s face was starting to hurt from smiling.  “May I be excused?  I have homework…”

“…and you want to call your friends to let them know,”  Miss Potts surmised.

Peter smiled back sheepishly.  

“Go on, I’ll let you know when the pizza has arrived.”

Peter smiled again at them both before heading to his room.  He was just outside of the door when he heard their voices.

“That was a good idea with the internship,” he heard Mr Stark say.  Peter made out Miss Potts’ positive murmur.  “He’ll have to learn all about the business anyway.  I’m hoping for an early retirement.”

Peter’s blood chilled a little as he closed the door behind him.  Mr Stark couldn’t mean he thought Peter might run the business?  He wouldn’t be able to do that.  He didn’t want to, at least, he didn’t think he did.

Peter blew out a breath: he had enough things to worry about, that could wait.  The smile returned to his face as he pulled out his phone and started a group call.

Both Ned and MJ answered almost at the same time.  Ned enthusiastically and MJ with just an eyebrow raise and the sound of her fingers tapping on her keyboard.

“So, it looks like they sorted out the security concerns, and I can come to school.”

Ned let out a big whoop that hurt his ears and even MJ gave a little hint of a smile.

“You would have missed me, wouldn’t you MJ?  Hmm, just a little…” Peter liked to tease her not-caring attitude.  

MJ didn’t even look in the direction of her camera, focusing on her screen ahead.  “I don’t think you realise how little time I spend thinking about you losers.”