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The first time it happens, Tony's drinking his third coffee of the morning, but he still doesn't feel awake. He just sits blearily on the couch, only half-listening to the TV, and around him a few Avengers stir in various stages of awake-ness. Nat's sprawled languidly over the loveseat, Steve's holding a mug of what looks like some of that new age-y tea he's been really into, and Bruce's staring in obvious dismay at a notepad full of equations and running his hand through his wiry curls with no small amount of frustration.
Later, Tony thinks to himself as the sun's rays spread through the window and over the floor in slices, I'll figure out where he went wrong.
It's quiet in the way early mornings usually are, quiet in the way it usually is when the kid's not around. Peter's an explosive presence, mile-a-minute chatter filling up any empty space and overflowing out the top. But. Tony's pretty positive that the Avengers don't mind, not when the good majority of them are generally sullen assholes.
He's got a mouthful of coffee when he happens to catch a familiar gaze on the TV.
"-And the fifteen year old was kidnapped from in front of his high school, according to witnesses who saw him get into the car-"
He spits his coffee out and gets to his feet because that's Peter. On the screen, with I'm cool dorky-teen hair and that infectious, bright grin, and that Iron Man sweatshirt Tony keeps insisting he throws out. God, it's gotta be worn down to a few threads by now. He should really buy Peter a new one. Kidnapped, he thinks, wondering if this is what it's like to be a parent. Why? Why Peter? Do they know he's- Oh, fuck, they know he's Spider-Man. They're going to torture him. Shit, fuck, what about May?! Get up, Tony, get moving-
There's a hand on his forearm, and when he mechanically turns his head he sees Bruce standing there, looking deeply concerned. His eyebrows furrow together in a pinch as he stares at Tony, and Tony wonders when he teleported to his side. Looking around, he notices that Nat is also looking at him, not quite as concerned but a hair more tense than she had been before (which is more or less the equivalent of I am ready to kick ass even though I've barely moved for her), and Steve's eyebrows are nearly flirting with his hairline. Why are they looking at me when-?
"Tony," Bruce says, sounding just as troubled as he looks, "Are you okay?"
"That's," Tony croaks, because is he kidding? Did he not see the news? How can he even be asking that? They should be gearing up, ready to go save the kid. He turns wildly to gesture at the TV again, but...
But the person on the screen isn't Peter at all. It's a boy named Ashton who doesn't even look like Peter, with sandy blonde hair and a small, somber smile. Tony's heart won't quit it; it takes him a few minutes to calm down, and even then, his legs feel like noodles as he sinks back down to the couch. Bruce is still staring at him, a touch of bewilderment dawning on his expression.
Tony breathes. He pinches the bridge of his nose and laughs, the sound a little sharper than he would have liked it to be. "Jeez, Bruce, I'm fine. Coffee was just too hot." He makes his way to the kitchen and brings back a dish towel, determinedly sponging up the coffee and avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. Annoyance bristles at the back of his neck as he feels them looking at each other, but he can't really blame them when he's the one that fucking overreacted. He's not even Peter's dad, for fuck's sake. Peter's too damn smart to do something like that, anyway... Just climb into someone's car. He should have known.
He's not fucking projecting.
--
He's fine until it happens again.
This time, he's tinkering, arms deep in new tech, and Bruce is saying something that he's not really listening to, but then again, when is he ever? It's comforting, in its own way- not that Tony would ever admit that; compliments from him are few and far between, and the last time he did, he almost knocked Bruce on his ass from shock. It's white noise, really, and Tony works a little better with a bit of white noise.
"-And the professor that they credited posthumously, he was my professor!" Bruce is clearly excited about this, whatever it is (re: not really listening) and tosses the paper down next to Tony's oil-splashed elbow so he can take a look. Tony cranes his head to humor Bruce and take a look at the picture, but his eyes are quickly drawn down to the section where they've posted pictures of the missing kids.
And holy shit.
He clearly didn't learn his fucking lesson; last time, he didn't take it seriously, and now Peter really is missing. Tony's got no idea how he missed this earlier; he hasn't been keeping track of Peter closely enough. That's it. He should've checked in with Karen more, he should've called every fucking morning and night. What's the point of having all these protocols if he's not watching Peter?! How could he have been missing this long?!
Dimly, he hears FRIDAY's voice say, "Boss, your heart rate has increased significantly. You are displaying signs of a panic attack. It is recommended that you take deep breaths," and Bruce is bracing him with one hand.
"Tony, breathe," he echoes FRI, his voice sounding like it's underwater to Tony's ears. "C'mon, Tones, listen. Listen to me breathe." Some part of Tony's pretty pissed that he's broadcasting this vulnerability, but at least it's Bruce, and the other 80 percent of his brain is occupied with figuring out where Peter vanished to-
"I'm breathing," he grits out, and he is, and he's Iron Man, bitches, so he pulls on his fucking adult pants and picks the damn paper up as soon as his lungs figure their shit out. "I gotta-"
Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no. He couldn't have done it again. Not again. There's no way he could've mistaken a child in the newspaper- a girl with dark eyes and a sullen glare -for his kid. There's no way. But. Here he is, his hands shaking just slightly as he holds the paper, and Peter's safe. Wherever he is, he's not the kid in the newspaper. He's... Fine. Tony lays the paper down, suddenly aware of Bruce analyzing him. He can practically hear it, even though Bruce's mouth is closed.
"I don't want to hear it," Tony swishes his finger in a downward shut it motion, shoves the newspaper so it slides down the counter and is, generally far away from him. "Zip. Nada."
Bruce, unfortunately, doesn't look amused. Which is great, because that means he's treating it like a Very Serious Situation, and Tony's about to hear all about how he should take better care of himself, sleep more, eat more than half a green bean per day, drink less coffee, blah blah blah.
"You know that's not Peter, right?" Bruce asks quietly after a moment, and floors Tony.
"What?" Jesus, he sounds squeaky as fuck. He has to tone that down. "Are you kidding me? I know it's not Peter, kid's probably-" He rubs the back of his neck, scoffing as he taps a hex key against the counter. "Who knows, he's probably at home asleep on a textbook, or something." Or patrolling, past his bedtime.
"Tony," Bruce starts, and it sounds suspiciously like the start of a lecture where Bruce tells him the psychology behind assuming every kid out there is possibly your kid, but Tony really doesn't want to hear it, so he walks away. And yeah, maybe he does clap his hands over his ears and say, "it might look like I'm walking away," but he really doesn't need to hear it. Nobody ever said he was good at this, and he's not about to hear the verbal confirmation that he's just fucking up because he doesn't know how to sort-of-parent.
And again, brain, Peter isn't technically his kid, so why's he even worried.
--
So. He soon realizes he needs to make some tiny upgrades to Spidey's suit, so he's picking Peter up from school, subtly. As in, he's parked deep in the visitors' parking lot in a surprisingly inconspicuous car, considering he's... Well, him.
"Why didn't you bring one of your nicer cars?" Oh, yeah, Nat's there too, in a very unassuming black blouse. For some reason, she wanted to pick Peter up today with Tony, and Tony's not about to say no to the most dangerous woman (he'd argue person, sometimes) on the planet. He's never seen her actually talk to Peter, not as much as the others have, but if he had to guess, she's just as impressed by the kid. Maybe it's a spider thing for her.
"Peter gets embarrassed when I roll up in luxury cars," Tony shrugs, looking out the window toward Peter's high school. "Why did you tag along today, anyway? You finally gonna admit you're jealous that there's another spider in the mix?" He jokes, but Natasha just gives him this open-eyed stare that says she's about .01 seconds away from picking up a coin from one of Tony's glove compartments and decapitating him with it. He mumbles a hasty "okay, fine," and turns the radio on, since they've got a few minutes to kill, and he's not about to sit silently with someone who might actually kill.
He's tapping at the steering wheel along to the music when there's a breaking news report that cuts into the song, loud and urgent: Updates on the accident we reported on during the break: A young man has been pulled from the wreckage, badly injured. Police at the scene have identified the young man as one Peter Parker-
Not again, is all Tony has time to think, despairingly, before he's yanked underwater again. He just can't, he can't seem to protect Peter from everything. He feels his fingers twitching, breaths belting out in sharp puffs as he moves to press the gas. He's got to get there somehow, oh shit, what if they need someone to identify- Well, no, they said badly injured, not dead. Not dead. Tony can live with that, he can live with badly injured even if Peter's gonna need some TLC- not from him, he's not a TLC sort of guy, obviously -but that's fine, because Peter seems to like stuffed Avenger animals. Not, like, stuffed Avenger plushies, but, like animal versions of them. He's got one that's an Iron Man dog plushie and he fucking loves that thing to death. While he recovers, Tony'll get him a few more, maybe, then he won't feel so lonely as he's recovering-
"Tony," Natasha's voice cuts through his panicked inner-babble, and her tone says she's been saying his name a few times now. He just stares at her, and she doesn't say anything, only points in the direction of the window. "Peter."
Tony swings around to look, and sure enough, there's that stupid kid. He's chattering to that kid, his friend, Ned, and another slouchy looking girl that Tony makes a mental note to ask about. Relief, sudden and cold, floods into his veins, and he desperately reaches for the edges of a persona that is definitely not a panicking mess. Peter's about a few feet away when Natasha quietly says,
"The kid in the accident. His name was Peter Baker."
Who cares, Tony thinks, starting the car as Peter clambers in with a loud, exuberant,
"Mr. Stark, you won't believe the epiphany I had toda- whooaaa, Ms. Black Widow, ohmygosh-"
-and it's horrible, because poor Peter Baker is definitely injured somewhere and someone is worried about him, but it can't be Tony because he's constantly fucking worried about his Peter. He only has enough capacity to do that much, and it's already consuming him.
He feels Natasha's eyes on him as he pulls out of the parking lot; they remain on him even as she flashes a dangerous smile at Peter and causes the kid to let out a terrified, reverent sound.
This has to be hell.
--
"Tony, there is no way coffee is, in any realm or universe or galaxy, better than tea." Steve says, his tone radiating disapproval. "I mean, I can understand if you enjoy it more because of the caffeine- even I appreciate a black coffee once in a while in order to wake up and really enjoy the day -but you can't honestly-"
"Somewhere out there, there's a version of you saying green tea is the most disgusting thing on the planet, Capsicle," Tony smirks, watching Steve get all flustered at the mention of universes where he might hate his precious tea. Sam snorts from where he's perched (ha-ha) on the sofa, and Bruce just shakes his hand. Natasha isn't looking at them; she's looking at her phone, like she couldn't care enough to partake in their healthy debate.
"I agree with Steve, actually," Bruce speaks up mildly, a pencil tucked into his unruly hair as he glances between the two of them. "Coffee does wake me up, but there's nothing quite like a cup of soothing chamomile-"
Tony fake-gags. "Keep your leaf water away from me."
Bruce looks mortally offended. "Chamomile is a type of flower-!"
"Tony," Natasha says, and her tone of voice makes everyone stop talking. "Tony, it's Peter."
His smirk freezes on his face. "What?" No. No, not when he's just now figuring out how to navigate the horrors of sort-of parenting, when he's just started to dissociate Peter from the other kids-
Natasha makes her way over, amid the other Avengers' nervous rustling, and displays her phone toward Tony. Tony's not sure what he's looking at at first, but there's blurry motion and a girl's high, nervous voice as she tries to get her phone camera to take a steady video. Things slowly start to orient themselves, and Tony finds himself hunched over the phone, trying to see what's happening-
"Spider-Man ran in there, he's gone in to get the-" the camera shakes, and Tony frantically thinks, I have to build in technology that automatically readjusts the camera so I don't have to fucking deal with this wobbling, Jesus-
"-I don't know what's happening, the building just kinda came down and oh my god it's crumbling again, SPIDER-MAN'S BEEN IMPALED!" her voice arches into a high scream, and Tony's up and moving before he even realizes he has motor control again. Around him, the rest of the team is gearing up, waiting for his word, even Steve, who usually says, "Avengers, let's head out," in that Captainy voice of his-
He's expecting a panic attack.
Instead, now that Peter's somewhere out there, holding up a building, somewhere, possibly (probably) impaled, all Tony feels is a deep urgency, a need to move, to save his dumb (heroic, selfless, brilliant) kid from whatever reckless feat of heroism he's out there performing. His mind is clear. He knows what to do.
"Let's go get Peter," he says, and his voice doesn't waver.
--
"Am I in trouble, Mr. Stark?" Peter wheezes from where he's hunched, and yeah, that's definitely some sort of support beam sticking out from the kid's shoulder blade. Tony doesn't panic. The building's weight is spread over this kid's -kid- shoulders like the way a normal person would hold up the weight of a car. Tony wants to be mad, he wants to yell at the kid for endangering himself, for throwing himself into this miserable, self-loathing lifestyle, but there's a tiny voice in his lizard brain yelling he won't become that if you don't let him become that. Peter doesn't have to become that.
"Why don't you take a guess, Underoos," he says, and his throat isn't working properly or something, fuck. Natasha's led all the people trapped underneath the ceiling that Peter's holding up, and Tony gestures for Peter to move towards him. The kid's suit is a wreck; I'll take care of it when he's safe and recovering, Tony thinks wildly, and Peter rolls out from underneath the collapsing building and toward Tony, as quick as a terrified spider skittering over the wall. Tony's heart climbs into his fucking throat and pulses, because there's always this nightmarish moment where Peter's always just out of reach-
This isn't one of those moments. Peter tumbles out, right into Tony's arms, and the team gathers around the two of them.
"D'I do a good job?" Peter's voice is quickly eclipsed out by a low sound of pain that Tony thinks he'd be better off never hearing again, and Tony glances up at Natasha, who just gazes back at him. She's not smiling, but there's something softer in his eyes, he thinks. Peter's still impaled, they'll have to... They should really take a look at that. Peter's gonna be alright.
"You did a good job, Spider-Man." Steve says kindly, and Peter looks right at Tony and grins, like he doesn't know (he probably doesn't) how much grief he's indirectly put Tony through, every time he sees news about some fifteen year old, floppy-haired, reckless kid named Peter. Like his shoulder isn't impaled and his fingertips aren't bleeding and his knees aren't scraped to fucking hell...
This kid.
"Let's get you home, kid," he says, and he's not panicking, because Peter is here, breathing, and as long as he's doing both of those things Tony can deal with anything else the universe throws at them.