Work Text:
Peter was working with Tony in the lab after school one afternoon when he said, “So I have this project for APUSH.” He shot for casual, like the project randomly came to mind, but he’d been thinking about telling Tony his idea since the project was assigned a week ago.
Tony set down his welding torch and raised his mask, nose scrunched up. “ A-push ?” he repeated. “What’s an a-push?”
“AP US History, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “We have to write a paper on a major figure during World War II.”
“Uh-huh. God, tell me you didn’t pick Cap. Did you? You’re not allowed to write that you stole his shield. S.H.I.E.L.D.—government S.H.I.E.L.D., mind you—would kick my ass.”
“He’s kinda a war criminal right now, Mr. Stark.”
“He is, isn’t he? I forget that sometimes.”
I think MJ is doing Bucky Barnes, though. I’m doing Howard Stark. Your, uh, dad, because he worked on the Manhattan Project and had so many achievements and worked with Cap, so I’m not pissing off—”
Tony held up his hand, a complicated expression crossing his face. “I know my dad.”
“Of course, of course, yeah.” Peter fidgeted, waiting for Tony to say something else. He didn’t. “Anyways, I was, uh, hoping you could help me out a little with the research? I’m doing so much better in my science and math classes because history isn’t my thing. And sometimes I don’t do the study questions because I’m patrolling. I figured you could—”
“Sorry, kid,” Tony interrupted. “No can do.”
“No?”
“Not used to hearing that from me, huh? But I can’t help you, kid.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t come running to me every time you have an academic problem. You can’t bring me to the AP test.”
He returned to his welding, but Peter stared at him, frustrated. Tony knew so much about Peter and his past, but he knew so little about Tony. He knew the bare bones of it—head of Stark Industries, kidnapped in Afghanistan, came back as Iron Man, fought with the Avengers, and conflict with Steve Rogers—but there had to be more. He needed to know more. Wanted to. He’d scoured the Internet, read books, but someone had cleaned up the trail. He’d thought that an indirect approach—choosing to write about Howard—would work.
“Please, Mr. Stark?”
“Solid pass. You need to learn the value of hard work, fending for yourself, etcetera, etcetera.”
“You literally did my calculus homework last week.”
“Etcetera, etcetera. You’ll be fine if you want to look into Dad.”
Peter started to ask another question, but Tony replaced his welding mask and began working on Peter’s suit again. Peter frowned.
That was strange.
#
A few nights later, Peter lounged on his bed, his computer on his lap and music blaring, and decided that he hated history. He hadn’t anticipated completing the project alone. Tony usually liked helping him with things like this. Maybe he should’ve known—Tony had always avoided the subject of his parents, especially when he asked him after the airport fight, or when he brought up Captain America or Bucky Barnes or World War II.
A knock came at his door. May popped her head in, bleary-eyed and hair twisted into a bun. “Still working?” she asked.
“History paper,” he replied.
“On who?”
“Howard Stark.”
She arched an eyebrow. “As in Tony Stark’s father?”
“The one and only.”
“He’s okay with you digging into his dad’s life?”
Peter shrugged. “It’s a three-thousand word paper on how they changed the course of the war or made a historical impact beyond it. I don’t think there’s that much to dig into.”
May shook her head. “You never know. You going patrolling?”
“Not tonight.”
“Good. Love you. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“I said what I said.” She blew a kiss as she closed his door.
Peter smiled to himself. He was lucky. He knew it. After losing his parents, that could’ve been it for him, but May and Ben stepped in. After losing Ben, May could’ve abandoned him, but she didn’t. Now he had Tony, too, and he couldn’t help but want to know where it had all began. What—or who—had made Tony who he was today.
Even if Tony felt he had something to hide.
He started on Howard’s Wikipedia page. Howard Stark was an inventor, businessman, and co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.. He and his wife, Maria Stark, were killed in a car accident on December 16, 1992. He is the father of Avenger Anthony Stark.
“Anthony.” Peter chuckled to himself and scrolled down to Personal Life. There was a photo of Howard next to Steve Rogers, who had an arm slung around Bucky Barnes.
During World War II, Stark was close friends with Rogers and Barnes, the page read. After Rogers’s plane went down, Stark scoured the ocean for it, but ultimately never found Rogers. He did not live to see Rogers act as a member of the Avengers.
Peter scrolled to Controversies. He saw the usual—the Manhattan Project, problems with genetic enhancements, alcoholism—but also noticed something new. Relationship with Tony Stark. Had that heading always been there? Had he not been looking?
Insiders reported that the relationship between Howard Stark and Tony Stark was complicated. When Tony was seven, a fired employee alleged that Howard struck Tony on multiple occasions and emotionally abused him. Investigations yielded no results. Several reports of neglect also surfaced, but none led to convictions.
Peter exhaled, a chill running down his spine.
Had Tony been abused as a child?
He closed the Wikipedia page and googled tony stark abused . Nothing but a few articles from untrustworthy sources popped up. He instead searched tony stark and parents , and multiple family portraits appeared. He clicked on one and stared at a young Tony. He had the same cocky smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Howard gripped his shoulder, but Tony leaned toward his mother.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. Tony hadn’t been abused. He would’ve said something. He said that his father didn’t say that he was proud of him enough, but that didn’t mean abuse. He closed his laptop and pushed it away.
Tony would’ve said something.
Wouldn’t he?
His phone buzzed against his leg with a text. When he picked it up, a lump rose in his throat. Breakfast at that diner you like in the morning? the message from Tony read. Or do I need to make a reservation with all the school work you’ve been doing?
Peter drummed his fingers against the screen. It would be so easy to type Tell me the truth about your dad and wait. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He needed to be smart about this.
Yeah , he replied. Ten?
Nine-thirty, Tony typed back. Good to get you out of bed early.
Peter sent back a frowny-face emoji, then scrolled on Instagram and Twitter until he wasn’t thinking about Tony and Howard. As soon as he set it aside and rolled onto his side, though, his thoughts returned to Tony. He truly knew nothing about his childhood. Nothing. Could he have been abused? If he had been, why didn’t he say anything, to him or the other Avengers? And how could history just have forgotten that about Howard? Or just ignored it?
Eventually, he dozed off, but he woke every few hours from dreams of the airport or the building crushing him. He’d never told Tony about that. When his alarm went off at nine, he was already awake, scrolling through Spider-Man videos on YouTube. He rose and dressed, and when he went outside, Tony was waiting outside, scrolling through his phone with one hand and tossing an old flip phone in the other.
“Why do you carry that dinosaur around?” Peter asked.
“Good morning to you, too.” Tony pocketed the phone and smiled, eyes crinkling around the edge. Peter loved when his face did that. He wished it happened more often.
They began to walk, and Peter nudged his side. “Seriously? A flip phone?”
“Steve Rogers gave it to me. I carry it with me most days.”
“Why?”
“Why do people carry a knife? You have the opportunity to get Captain America to you like that.” Tony snapped his fingers. “You take it.”
“That’s the only reason?”
His face clouded. “Why?”
“No reason.”
He kept conversation light for the rest of the walk so that the happy crinkles would return to Tony’s face, telling stories about school and funny patrol moments and May’s cooking fails. They reached the diner quickly and sat by the window, close to the sights and sounds of Saturday morning Queens. Tony looked over the menu, but Peter looked at him. There were smile lines around his mouth and eyes; gray seeped into his hairline and beard. He never would’ve pictured Tony Stark at a shitty diner in Queens getting breakfast with him, let alone an older Tony Stark—May had once said, near the Battle of New York, that he seemed forever young, and would die early in a marked way. Peter hoped not.
“See anything interesting?” Tony said. “You’re staring at me.”
“I zoned out.” Peter buried his head in the menu to hide his blush. When the waitress came, he looked up; Tony ordered an omelet, and Peter ordered four chocolate chip pancakes.
“He’ll also have four eggs, scrambled, and a double order of hash browns.” Tony grinned as the waitress noted that and walked back to the kitchen.
“Mr. Stark, that’s too much food.”
“Chocolate chip pancakes? That’s not what you should be eating when you patrolled the night before. You need protein. You’re a growing spider-boy. With your metabolism, you should probably eat double what you’re eating now.”
“What did you eat what you first became Iron Man?”
“First, a shitload of cheeseburgers, because I’d just finished being kidnapped. Then, whiskey. But you’re underage and better than me.”
“Wasn’t there anyone who to tell you not to just drink whiskey?”
“Rhodey and Pep tried.”
“No…” He grimaced and weighed the words in his mind. “Father figure?”
Tony sighed, leaning on his elbows toward Peter. “What’s all the fascination with my dad all the sudden? Huh?”
“You don’t tell me anything about your past,” Peter blurted before he could stop himself. “Nothing before the airport. You haven’t even told me the full extent of what happened between you and, uh…” He paused as their waitress passed by. “Captain America,” he finished. “I don’t know anything, and I figured this project was a good place to start. And I’m not finding anything on the Internet. Nothing interesting, at least.”
A strange expression passed over Tony’s features. He bit his lip and looked away, rubbing his left wrist. All the noise in the diner blared, louder than ever with Tony’s silence. “Look,” he finally said. “I still have some of Howard’s things in boxes. Why don’t you take a look through them? I can recommend some credible articles and books. Aw, come on, don’t give me that look.”
Peter scowled. “I don’t have a look .”
“You look like a kicked puppy. I’m giving you something helpful.”
He folded his arms over his chest. How could he tell Tony that he wanted to hear it from him ? That it wasn’t really about the project?
“Can my friends look through them, too?”
“Good God, which friends?”
“I only have, like, two. Ned and MJ?”
“Fine, bring them. I know you’d tell them everything anyways. Who are they doing?”
“Ned’s doing some random guy. Not sure. But MJ is doing Bucky Barnes.”
Tony’s face darkened. Before Peter could ask about it, though, the waitress returned with the food, and his trademark I-Am-Tony-Stark smile flashed across his face. That smile felt false. He tried not to be hurt by it.
“Eat up, kid,” Tony said. Something in his cheery voice rang false. Peter couldn’t help but feel he’d said something wrong. “Bringing your friends means giving me three clean plates.”
Peter finished and ordered another plate of eggs.
#
“Dude.” Ned stood in the front of the room, eyes wide and a goofy grin across his face. “I cannot believe you got us in here.”
“It’s who you know, huh?” MJ leaned in the doorway, one eyebrow arched as she scanned the roomful of boxes. “Damn, Peter.”
He ushered them inside and closed the door, trying not to blush and/or smile like an idiot in front of MJ. Act cool, Peter. Act cool. “I know,” Peter said. “Tony says he’s never looked through any of it. Quote, ‘I shoved it in a corner and forgot about it,’ unquote.”
“So this is a corner.” MJ sat cross-legged
“He said we have to throw out anything unimportant, or else we didn’t fulfill our purpose and he’ll throw us out on the street.”
Ned scoffed. “He would never.”
MJ pulled a knife from her boot and cut open one of the cardboard boxes, coughing as dust puffed into her face.
“You just… carry that?” Peter asked.
“To rephrase what Rosa Diaz said, what type of woman doesn’t carry a knife? In New York. Iron Man or Spider-Man can’t be there for all of us.”
Ned’s face lit up, but Peter waved his hand. “Good point.”
“Peter has—” Ned started.
“Why are you here, Ned?” Peter interrupted, not wanting to know what his best friend would come out with. “I mean, you aren’t researching anyone connected with Howard Stark.”
Ned glared at him. “Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.”
“Should’ve picked Cap, dude,” MJ said. “Or one of the other Commandos. Like, the Commandos had decent diversity. Especially for the time. Cap was actually pretty cool in his day, though. I try not to glorify white men, but he’s okay.”
“He’s a war criminal,” Peter said.
“Yeah, I try to forget about that. There was something funky about that whole situation. Put on some music, Peter?”
“Sure, sure, yeah.” He sat down next to MJ, heart thudding as he opened Spotify. Ned gave him a thumbs-up. Peter felt his face heat. Again. He was Spider-Man, sure, but being cool around MJ? Totally beyond him.
Ned sat down next to him and pried open a box. They worked with only the music playing in the background before he asked, “Why does Mr. Stark still have any of these if he hasn’t opened them?”
“Don’t know,” Peter said. “He doesn’t like to talk about his dad, but like, he’s still his dad. Now we’re the ones who are sorting through it for him, so he can have what he wants.”
“I’ve never liked Howard Stark,” MJ added, wrinkling her brow as she sifted through papers. “Weird shit surrounding him.”
“So you chose Bucky Barnes?”
“Hey, hey, we aren’t done with you. Are you trying to get closer to your Mr. Stark?”
“No.” He grimaced. “Maybe. There’s just a lot he doesn’t tell me! I…” He couldn’t say that he wanted to know everything about Tony, especially the things he didn’t tell him. He was curious. He wanted to understand. He wanted.
“Why Bucky Barnes?” Ned asked. “If we’re talking about controversial historical figures.”
MJ set aside the letters. “Listen, Bucky Barnes is pretty damn cool. He’s Cap’s one documented friend, but you never hear much about him besides the basics. He knew things. You can tell, just by he way he looked at Cap. There were secrets between them. Then, there’s the botched mission where he fell and everything that happened with Hydra and the Sokovia Accords. He was tortured for seventy years and brainwashed, but it seems like he’s functional. What’s keeping him going? And the theories. There’s a huge community that thinks they were together. Like, together together.” She stopped and took a breath. “Sorry. I, uh, do that sometimes.”
Peter wanted to tell her it was the most beautiful and awesome thing he’d ever seen, but recognized that could be a tad weird. “I think it’s interesting.”
She smiled to herself, a small and somewhat private expression. He wondered how many times she’d smiled to herself like that and he hadn’t noticed.
“He has a lot of Cap’s things. Letters and sketches. Wow. I didn’t know he was such a good artist.” She smiled to herself as she sifted through the papers. Peter watched, feeling both creepy and content at the same time, especially as he felt Ned watching him knowingly. “Huh. He has a few of Howard in here. Lots of Bucky Barnes.”
“I never knew he was an artist,” Peter said.
“Probably a lot we don’t know about him.” MJ shrugged. “Hey. History and all that. Bet that’s why you chose Howard Stark, you know, since you never told me why.”
“I wanted to know how Mr. Stark became… well, Mr. Stark. He never tells me anything.”
“Maybe because you’re a sixteen year-old intern,” Ned said.
Peter gave him a glare that he hoped conveyed we both know that isn’t entirely the truth, but I can’t call you out because MJ doesn’t know. “I want to know though. He knows so much about me, but he keeps so many secrets. What do you think, MJ?”
MJ waved her hand, brow wrinkled as she studied a series of yellow papers. “Holy shit,” she said. “Holy fucking shit.”
“What?” Peter said. Oh, God. She’d discovered some state secret or something. Tony would kill him. Kill him.
“Captain America and Bucky Barnes?” MJ whistled. “Gay. Well, bisexual, maybe. Let’s go for into men. More specifically, each other. The theories were right.”
“What do you mean?” Ned asked.
“Look at these letters.” MJ held them up, but when Peter grabbed for them, she yanked her hand away and glared. “There are dozens here, from the beginning of Barnes’s deployment to…” She shuffled through the papers and whistled. “Up until a week before Barnes died.”
Peter’s mind raced. He would remember if Tony had told him that Barnes and Captain Rogers were together. Wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t Tony have said something, at some point? Was it possible Tony didn’t know? “Where did you find those?”
“With his drawings, in envelopes. Maybe I shouldn’t have opened them, but like, free information and knowledge and all that.”
“What do they say to each other?” Ned asked.
“This was…” MJ scrunched up her face. “Two weeks before Barnes fell off the train.”
“How do you know that?” Peter asked.
Her cheeks flushed. “I like history.”
“But why were they writing letters when they were both part of the Howling Commandos?” Ned said.
“It was World War II and they were two men in a relationship. They probably didn’t have a lot of time to speak openly. Let me read it.” She cleared her throat. “ Buck. I’m sorry about yesterday. Eight bullets is a lot, even for me. But you didn’t see what I saw. They’d found your position, and they were going to kill you. I saw it in their eyes. I saw it. I went after them, and there were more men than I’d guessed. And well… you know. I’m still bruised to hell. Eight bullet wounds are no joke. I almost regretted there, laying there bleeding, but then you came running over, eyes blown wide and hair wild, and I realized I would take eight more bullets if it would keep you safe. I know you’re mad at me. I know, Buck. But you have to understand what losing me would do to you. What see your eyes looking back at me unfeeling, dead, would do. I won’t apologize for what I did. But I hope you can understand. ”
Ned coughed, eyes sparkling. “Thats, uh… wow.”
“Barnes responded,” MJ said. “ Stevie. You don’t understand how it felt seeing you there, bleeding everywhere and gasping, all wet like you used to with your bad lungs. I think we almost lost you. That can’t happen. I know you understand. I know, Stevie, because I always do. ”
“Oh my God.” Peter stood and began to pace. Everything that had happened at the airport reframed itself in his mind.
“That’s so romantic,” MJ said.
“It’s terrible,” Ned added. “You know, knowing everything that would happen.”
MJ scoffed. “People give Barnes so much shit. He’s not a war criminal.”
“Guys, I don’t think Mr. Starks knows ,” Peter said. “Does anyone know? These were sealed, MJ, Howard Stark didn’t tell anyone. Oh my God. And I’m seeing weird things about Howard Stark.” He looked desperately at Ned.
“Weird how?” Ned asked.
“I don’t think he was a very good dad. And now this . MJ, you can’t put this in your paper.”
She rolled her eyes. “ Obviously. I won’t out Captain America for an A.”
“So we agree this stays here?”
“Of course,” Ned said.
Peter sighed. All he wanted was a way to connect with Tony. Not get involved in the fine details of what happened between Tony and Steve. Although, perhaps deep, deep down, he’d wanted this. He wanted to know why Tony never talked about his dad, especially with a dad like Howard Stark, or why Cap’s name made him flinch, or why he always left the room when Barnes was brought up. He knew Tony had nightmares, knew he’d had troubles and traumas, but Tony wouldn’t tell him more than that.
“Okay, then,” Peter said. “I’ll see what else I can find out.”
#
“So, uh, I have a few questions,” Peter said when they worked in the lab one Friday night, making improvements to the Iron Man and Spider-Man suits. “They’re from MJ.”
“Your girlfriend?” Tony asked.
Peter blushed. “She isn’t my girlfriend.”
“Not yet, she isn’t.”
“They’re about Steve Rogers. And Bucky Barnes. She was too nervous to ask.”
“Too nervous, huh?” He bowed his head over his suit’s chestplate, brow furrowed. “She stared me down with fire in her eyes the one time I met her. I feared Black Widow less.”
“Well, she knows about the whole… situation.”
“Situation.” He scoffed. “That’s a kind way to put it.”
“How well did you know Cap? You know, like before?”
“How well?” Tony exhaled and sat down, eyes flicking toward the whiskey and bourbon in the corner. Peter knew he drank in the lab, but never around him. “Well, my dad… I knew a lot about him from my dad. His plane went down, of course, and Howard wanted to find him. When he wasn’t looking, he was talking. Steve this, Steve that. Of course, before New York.” Tony looked down and smiled, a small, personal thing. “We didn’t exactly get along. But I respected him, and he respected me. I think. He had trouble adjusting, and I helped with that. You remember Sokovia. How old were you? Twelve, thirteen? It was downhill after that.”
“And Bucky Barnes?”
Tony’s jaw twitched. “Didn’t know him well. I know he and Cap were close, but he only mentioned him in passing. Nothing specific.”
So Tony didn’t know.
“What happened after the airport?”
“MJ wants to know, does she?”
“Okay, the first couple questions were for her. But I want to know, Mr. Stark.” He couldn’t keep the plaintive note out of his voice. “There’s so much I don’t know.”
“Ever think there was a reason for that?” His words carried little bite.
“Maybe. Yes. No. I don’t know. I fought, though. Shouldn’t I get to know?”
Tony sighed; the lines on his face seemed to deepen. “He and Barnes escaped. I went to visit Team Cap in their high security prison. They weren’t too happy to see me, so I took a helicopter back home.”
“I saw you,” Peter said quietly. “After. Your eye was black. And you were all… bruised.”
“Airport.”
I don’t believe you . He swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“Okay? Not another question?”
“I think that’s it.”
“Good. Then I’m going to bed. Need anything else?”
“No, I think I’m good.” Peter turned back to the Spider-Man suit, an idea forming. There were so many threads—Howard and Tony’s relationship, Steve and Bucky, what really happened after the airport. He wanted to know it all. Somehow, it felt important.
A calloused hand cupped the back of his neck. “Hey,” Tony said. Shadows fell over his face. “You can always ask me things. Just…” He swallowed hard. “Just don’t always expect answers. I have troubles sometimes, kid. You know that. Pep maintains I have PTSD. Anxiety. Not many people know that about me. If you’re looking for something.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I know.” Tony mock-saluted, then left the lab.
Peter watched the door close behind him, then began to pace. What was he thinking? Tony would never tell him anything truthful—he’d only receive fragmented pieces. He’d always seen an urgency in Tony, a preoccupation with the things to come in the future. What if he never got the chance to ask Tony?
He crept over to Tony’s laptop and typed in the password, trying to make excuses and ease his guilt. He had a right to know. A duty, even. Especially the situation with Steve. He went into the files—he was on Tony’s confidential profile—and into a folder titled Personal. When he opened it, there were a variety of files. Photographs. Screenshots of newspaper articles. Magazine covers. Audio recordings. Security footage. Footage from the suit. Peter found helmet footage dated near the airport fight. With a last glance over his shoulder, he opened it.
The video projected upwards; the gray interior of a warehouse caught Peter’s attention. Steve stood in front of Tony, Bucky Barnes in the corner with his eyes averted. The audio fizzled out and cracked, making the words inaudible, but after a moment, Tony grunted and shouted.
Steve lunged and punched Tony.
Peter hissed and they traded blows, as Barnes joined in, as Barnes howled with pain as his metal arm was blasted off. What the hell had provoked this? Peter clenched his jaw. Tony fell. Steve crouched over him, eyes flashing.
He shoved the shield into Tony’s chest.
Peter swiped the file away and braced his hands against the table. Tony told him he was going to the secure prison to visit the people who fought with the Captain. Had he gone to this warehouse instead to fight Steve and Bucky Barnes? Why hadn’t he told anyone?
“Would you like to view similar files?”
“Jesus!” He leapt all the way to the ceiling, hands and feet sticking. He exhaled and shuddered. “Friday. Uh, hi. How are you?”
“Well, Peter?” she said. “Would you? Boss has similar files classified with this one.”
“Um.” He jumped to the floor and dusted his shirt off. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I think I do want to see more, Friday. Can you help?”
“Of course, Peter. There are also physical files in the far corner. Don’t tell Boss.”
A variety of digital files appeared on the screen. He swallowed hard, then opened them, wincing as they were projected. Most were magazine covers detailing illicit affairs or drunken escapades on Tony’s part. He studied an image of a carefree Tony, ten years younger with an obnoxious smile plastered over his face and his arms around two scantily-clad blondes. All the tabloids seemed to say the same thing. TONY STARK: FATHER OF TWINS?? IS TONY STARK AN ALCOHOLIC??? IS HOWARD STARK STILL ALIVE?? DOES TONY STARK KNOW WHERE CAPTAIN AMERICA IS? TONY STARK -- ALCOHOL PROBLEMS??? The continued headlines listed rumors about drug problems, alcohol consumption, sex tapes, all things Peter could’ve gone without seeing. He closed it before opening another file—a video.
Peter inhaled. A group of terrorists spoke a language he couldn’t understand, standing behind a hooded man. When the hood was ripped off, a younger Tony blinked at him, blood matted in his hair and covering his face. Battery wires snaked from his bandaged chest, and he sat rigid in his bonds, eyes darting across the face of his captors. Peter’s heart pounded as he swiped the video away. He knew the rest of the story—Tony came back with the arc reactor in his chest and became Iron Man. But attached to the video, there was a file on a man. Ho Yinsen. A doctor and engineer. Had he been in the cave with Tony? None of the accounts said anything about another person.
Feeling shaky, Peter abandoned the digital files and retrieved the physical files. S.H.I.E.L.D. files. They were all marked with the emblem. God, was he really going to look through S.H.I.E.L.D. files? He checked over his shoulder, then broke into the boxes and picked up a file. REPORT: TONY STARK, AGES 4-13 , it read. Peter opened it and skimmed the folder.
There was a series of pages titled KIDNAPPINGS. Peter winced. At least twelve pages. They detailed various situations where Tony was taken hostage for money or Howard’s designs, and underneath every incident, it noted that Howard would not relent, even when the kidnappers sent pictures of a bloodied, five year-old Tony. He couldn’t imagine a father not coming for his son, especially a son like Tony. With each incident, he grew more and more horrified. No child should have had to endure anything like that, but Tony had to. Tony had suffered, and there was nothing Peter could do to change it.
He flipped to another page. Tony Stark is a skittish, somewhat unpleasant, but overall sweet child , a report read. Peter smirked at the thought of Tony as an overall sweet child. He is of high, almost frightening, intelligence. He is perhaps smarter than his father, and I think Howard Stark knows this. Tony shows textbook signs of emotional abuse. I don’t want to be the one to point that out. But it’s worth investigating.
Peter’s stomach tightened as he turned the page.
FURY, NICK the name in the corner read. He moved onto the paragraph. T. Stark recovered from Hydra cell after two weeks. Fought with H. Stark for unknown reasons. When argument ensued, H. Stark struck T. Stark violently across the face. Kid didn’t flinch. Unknown if this is a regular occurence. Department unwilling to investigate H. Stark for child abuse.
Child abuse.
Tony had been abused as a child.
Suddenly, so many things made sense. Tony talking about the cycle of shame. Tony flinching whenever someone moved too quickly. Tony always assuring Peter that he was wanted, that he was safe.
He shoved the file back into the box, knowing that he shouldn’t have looked. In his hurry, though, he knocked one to the floor. It landed face up. MISSION REPORT: DECEMBER 16, 1991. Peter exhaled, exhausted. That was the date Howard Stark died. Had Tony’s dad been involved in a mission that went wrong? He couldn’t make himself feel much sympathy for the man, reading what he’d read. One more file couldn’t hurt.
“You just had to look, didn’t you?”
Peter flinched, the file falling from his hands. Tony stood in the doorway, shadows falling over his face as he took in the sprawled files and projected digital images. Looking between his Tony and the Tony of magazine covers, Peter could tell that he’d lived lifetimes in just a decade.
“I—”
“I didn’t say you could read these. I came down here because I forgot my phone.” Tony stepped forward, lips pressed together as he shook his finger twice. “What did I say? Howard’s personal documents, nothing more. Certainly not private files from S.H.I.E.L.D..” He licked his lips. “What did you see?”
Peter’s face burned.
“ What did you see, Parker?”
“I, um, saw some old magazines. A bunch of headlines and, and pictures. And the video of you in Afghanistan. A file about someone named Yinsen. A few… a few documents… about your childhood. Ages four to thirteen. Things about Steve. I didn’t read the file about December 16. It just fell.”
“But you saw the rest of it.”
“Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Can I—”
“No. You can’t say anything. You’re going to listen to me talk.” Tony inhaled, rubbing his left wrist. “Why would you do this? Really.”
Peter swallowed hard. “I—”
“ No . Did you ever think, just once, when you were digging into my past and the entire shitshow that it was, that I enjoyed having someone who didn’t know how fucked up I am?”
“No, sir,” he whispered.
“Of course you didn’t. Did you think I would’ve told you if I’d wanted you to know?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tony moved closer, eyes flashing with an anger Peter had never seen before. “And you didn’t think to ask if you wanted to know anything?”
“No, sir. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Didn’t want to bother.” Tony exhaled and worked his jaw, then kicked a workbench. Peter flinched as the contents of a toolbox clattered to the floor. Tony stared at the tools, right hand clenched around his left wrist. “Go home, Peter,” he whispered. “I’ll get Happy.”
“Mr. Stark—”
“Go HOME !” His words echoed off the empty walls. Peter felt his hands shaking. Tony never raised his voice.
Not like that.
Tony inhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Happy will be outside,” he said quietly. “Go home. Now, please.”
Peter fought tears and bit his lip. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll, um, call. Or text. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Mr. Stark.”
Tony nodded and waved his hand.
Peter left the lab, hands shaking. This wasn't like the airport. This wasn’t even like the ferry. He’d really, really messed up this time, and he had no clue how to fix it.
#
Peter hadn’t heard from Tony in a week. Every morning and night, he checked his phone. No invitations to the lab. No breakfast. Nothing. He tried not to miss him. This was what he deserved. He’d dug into Tony’s personal life. Into his past. Without his permission.
He laid on the couch, checking his messages again.
Again, nothing.
He hopped up, grimacing as his back and neck cracked. “Going patrolling!” he called.
“Hey!” May poked her head around her bedroom door, her brow furrowed. “Again? This is the fifth time this week.”
“Crime to stop, May.” He mustered a grin before dashing into his room and changing into his uniform, slightly sick to his stomach. His chest ached from a kick he’d taken two nights ago on patrol, but he couldn’t bring himself not to go. Maybe Tony would notice the good he was trying to put back into the world and forgive the bad he’d done.
He leapt out the window and swung away into the city. Under the lights from skyscrapers and signs, the guilt didn’t weigh as much. It was still there, though. It would always be there. He’d betrayed Tony’s trust, just like Howard, just like Steve.
“Don’t think about it, Peter,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t think about it.”
“Think about what?” Karen said.
“Karen, uh…” He swallowed hard. Usually, he would’ve been happy to hear her. Now, he felt ashamed. “Nothing. What do we got tonight?”
Karen rattled off potential areas that might need his assistance. He decided to stop two small-time muggings first, then a few car robberies. He waited for the familiar rush of pride and happiness. Nothing came. Patrolling wasn’t helping.
“Peter,” Karen said. “I don’t want to alarm you, but six men have been following you for the past three blocks. There’s no need to be alarmed, but—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off in a flash of green.
“Shit!” Peter shouted.
He knew that type of weapon. Those were leftovers from the Vulture.
“Shit, Karen,” he shouted as he swung. “What do I do, what do I do?”
“I would recommend calling Mr. Stark,” she replied, completely calm. “I have already alerted him that you need concern, but he is not answering.”
“I can’t call him.” His heart pounded. “I can’t .”
Another blast. It caught his shoulder, hot and painful. He cried out involuntarily. A burn blistered on his shoulder; he heard the charred skin sizzling.
“Oh, God,” he murmured. “Okay, okay, Karen. Call Mr. Stark. Now. Please.” The line immediately activated, and each ring seemed to last an agonizing eternity. “Please pick up, please pick up. Come on, Mr. Stark, please?”
The call connected.
“This is Tony.” His voice sounded scratchy, deep from disuse or exhaustion.
“Mr. Stark? Something’s…” He fought to steady himself and cried out as he moved his shoulder.
“Peter?” A note of panic. Oh, God. He was making Tony panic. The telltale whirl of the suit came over his earpiece, followed by a blast. Peter wanted to make it go away. “Fri, get me his location. Peter, I’m coming to you.”
“Mr. Stark, no, you really don’t have to. There’s just…” He looked over his shoulder. Shit. There were more of them. At least five. Shit. “Please don’t come. Please, please don’t.” He shot out and web and propelled himself from building to building. Maybe they wouldn’t follow.
“Peter—”
“I’m, uh, really really sorry about… about… about looking through your stuff. I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark. Something bad is gonna happen. To me. I’m super sorry.” He swung faster, swung farther away, hoping he could make it somewhere the men following him couldn’t.
“Stop that.”
“No, Mr. Stark, please don’t, don’t come. They probably want you to come. You can’t.” He shot out a web.
It missed the building.
He plummeted toward the ground.
A scream tore from his throat as he shot a web upwards. It didn’t catch. He closed his eyes and fell, wind rushing past him. His back would hit concrete, and then what? He’d never tested his free falling capabilities. Never had the occasion. Never wanted to.
His back his solid metal.
Iron.
The suit’s blasters fired as Tony soared just above the ground. Peter wrenched his body away from the concrete, but his suit snagged. Tony landed and dragged him into an alley, the Iron Man helmet flickering away to reveal a tortured expression.
“What are you doing?” Tony hissed. It could’ve been the moonlight, but his face seemed sallow, drained. “What happened to your suit?”
“Men. Chasing me. Weapons. Vulture.” Peter braced his hands on his knees.
“Suit off.” Tony tossed him a pair of sweatpants and an MIT sweatshirt. “They can’t know you’re Spider-Man.”
“Mr. Stark—”
“Don’t argue, Parker.”
He changed as Tony stood at the front of the alley, blasters raised, the mask and arc reactor glowing faint blue. Sadness and strong guilt overwhelmed him. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to have Tony save him over and over. He didn’t deserve his trust and steady protection. Suddenly, he understood that Tony would stand between Peter and the men chasing him no matter what it cost him.
“Mr. Stark—”
A needle jammed into his neck.
They’d forgot to check the other end of the alley.
He managed to slur out Tony’s name as a dull sound rang in his ears. Arms propped him up; hands tucked a knife against his jugular. Tony’s panicked voice cut through the ringing; his exposed, unmasked face swam before him.
“Leave,” he murmured. “Go, please.”
As the drugs took hold, the last thing he was Tony sinking to his knees, hands raised, blasters lowered.
#
“Hey. Come on, Pete. Eyes open.”
Peter groaned and blinked. Tony’s bruised and scratched face hovered above his, brows drawn together in concern and eyes bloodshot. As he sat up, Tony supported his back and cradled his head, careful not to jostle him.
Peter grimaced as he pulled away. Tony made a frustrated sound.
“Kid, let me help you,” he said. “They drugged the hell out of you.”
He groaned. It came out as more of a strangled sob.
“I did the best I could with that blaster wound after you bled through the sweatshirt,” Tony murmured. “They didn’t give me much to work with. That bruise on your chest…” He bit his lip and looked away. “It’s old. What happened?”
“Kicked in the chest.” He reached for the vicious cuts near Tony’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I shouldn’t have looked. I betrayed you. I shouldn’t have looked at your things, I know they were personal, I…” He rubbed his eyes, fighting the inevitable tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for getting you kidnapped.”
Tony turned away, eyes bright. He favored his left side and sniffled.
“What did they do to you?” Peter murmured. “Mr. Stark, you look terrible. ”
“I’m fine.”
Peter catalogued the bruises and cuts running over his collarbone, down under his shirt, and onto his arms. “But…”
“Peter,” he said, voice laced with warning.
“Your hair… your hair is wet.”
Tony’s scrubbed water from his hair, not meeting Peter’s eye. “They wanted to talk and didn’t like what I had to say.”
“Did they waterboard you?” Horror rushed through him. It was like Afghanistan. Just like Afghanistan. He was making Tony relive one of his worst traumas.
Instead of answering, Tony pressed their foreheads together, trembling the entire time. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’ll be okay. Peter…” He trailed off as the door in the corner open. Peter lurched forward, but Tony dragged him back, even as a man with sharp blonde hair wearing a black suit approached them, two other men behind him.
“Mr. Stark,” he said. “It really is an honor. I’m Ian Wilson. I worked with Mr. Toomes.”
For once, Tony was silent.
“And who is this?”
Tony made a pained sound. “Don’t—”
“Peter,” he said. “I’m Mr. Stark’s intern.”
“What are you doing with an intern, Mr. Stark?” Wilson said. “At this hour?”
“I needed help on my homework. We went for a walk.”
“Well, then.” Something in his smile suggested that he didn’t believe him. “We expected to find him with Spider-Man, but he seemed to disappear, hmm?”
“I’ve met Spider-Man before. He’s fast.”
“It’s no problem. You’ll do. Deepest apologies for the gunshot and drugging.”
Peter glared at him, wrenching against Tony’s hands.
“We need a weapon, Mr. Stark. We’ll leave you with some time to think about it. Let’s say a day, with a cup of water each. Give us the weapon, or it’s your intern’s hand. Capeesh?” Wilson’s smarmy grin returned as he and the two other men left the room.
As soon as they were gone, Tony massaged his temple. Peter stood and scoffed, motioning to the door.
“Why don’t we just take them down?” Peter said. “We could get your suit, and I could do my thing, and you know, leave .”
“There are armed men outside that door,” Tony said quietly. “Unless you’ve suddenly become bulletproof, there’s nothing we can do. I’m not risking some maniac slicing off your hand. I’ll figure something out. We certainly have the time.”
“Mr. Stark—”
“Between the two of us, who has been kidnapped before? Huh?” He grinned, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. “Sleep. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”
He couldn’t find it in himself to argue with Tony. Instead, he curled up in the corner and turned away from the light. He meant to say something else, that it would all be fine in the end, but he fell into a fitful sleep.
When he woke, though, it felt as if he’d been awake for days. He rolled over, facing Tony, and blinked blearily. He didn’t know what he expected—Tony engineering something, Tony standing over their captors’ unconscious forms—but this wasn’t it. Tony sat with his back against the wall, elbows on his knees and head bowed. His chest heaved as his breath came in desperate gasps, as he clenched and unclenched his hands. Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away. Was he supposed to help? To pretend he was still asleep? He’d already invaded so much of Tony’s privacy. He couldn’t take this away from him.
When Tony’s breathing eased, Peter groaned and stretched his limbs, pretending like he’d only woken. Tony’s head snapped toward him, and he instantly smiled like he hadn’t just had a panic attack.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
Peter nodded. “I’m going to protect you from them,” he blurted.
A complicated expression crossed Tony’s face. “Kid—”
“You don’t have to answer. Just know.”
He nodded, not meeting Peter’s eyes.
Hours passed, slower that he thought to be possible. Tony rested in hour increments, his body tense even in sleep. He whimpered and cried out, but Peter didn’t touch him, didn’t say anything when he delivered jokes after waking. They spoke to each other without saying much; Peter felt an apology lingering between them, but he couldn’t bring himself to deliver it. Not like this, when they had so much to fear. Tony had to know that he meant it, not that he was afraid.
Finally, the door opened.
Wilson walked in, two men behind him, a knife in hand. He waved his hand, and the men started toward Peter, one with a machete and the other a cleaver.
Oh, God, he thought. He was actually going to lose his hand. Tony was going to watch as they chopped his hand off like it was some bad TV drama.
“Get the fuck away from him!” Tony shouted. He snarled and wedged himself between Peter and the men, spreading his arms out and pressing his back to Peter’s chest. Peter tried to wiggle away, but Tony shoved him back with a strength Peter didn’t know him to be capable of. “If you touch him, I will not cooperate. It is pointless. Do not touch him.”
“Then make our weapon,” Wilson said.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered.
“No can do.”
Two men dragged Tony away from Peter. Wilson narrowed his eyes and approached Peter. “You’re an intern for Stark Industries, yes?”
“Yes,” Peter said.
“So you can build what we want?”
“I won’t.”
“Are you protecting him?” Wilson nodded, and one of the men gripped Tony’s chin, fingers forming indents on his face. Peter remained silent. “He is not a good man.”
“I won’t build your weapons,” Peter said.
“Do you know how many people he has killed? Or how many deaths he’s responsible for? Have you seen the blood on his hands?”
“Stop.”
Wilson touched his knife to Tony’s throat. Tony’s jaw twitched, but he found Peter’s eyes and smiled slightly, soothingly.
“Stop!” Peter shouted.
He pressed it down, almost gently, until little rivulets of blood ran down his neck. Tony closed his eyes as a spurt of blood gushed out, spilling over the blade.
“Build the weapon,” Wilson said.
Peter swallowed hard. “No. I won’t.” Tony wouldn’t want him to.
“Fine.” Wilson stepped away waved his hand. One of the men holding Tony stepped in front of him, then backhanded him. Tony grunted and fell to his knees, blinking fast. A red mark spread over his face; somehow, he looked younger, more vulnerable. Another man kicked Tony in the gut, and he fell to his hands as knees.
“Please,” Peter whispered.
“Build the weapon,” Wilson said.
“Fuck you!” Tony shouted. He spat blood and Wilson, who grinned sadistically.
“I’ll give you time to think, Peter. Another day?” Wilson picked up a metal pipe and smashed it over Tony’s head. A scream tore from Peter’s throat as Tony crumpled, blood pouring from his temple. He and his men left, leaving Peter and Tony alone.
Peter scrambled to Tony. Blood coated half his face in a grotesque red mask and gushed onto the floor. Peter made a choked noise and took off his jacket, then pressed the fabric to the gash. “No, no, no. Please don’t. Please don’t do this to me.” His voice broke. “Mr. Stark. Come on, Mr. Stark. Please, please, please. Tony, please .”
Tony didn’t move.
“Tony, I can’t do this.” He began to cry. He didn’t try to stop the tears. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. You have to open your eyes.”
He looked down at his own hands and saw blood coating his fingertips. At first, he thought it was from Tony’s head wound, but when he looked at Tony’s arms, he gasped. Knife wounds covered his biceps and forearms. When he pushed up his shirt, he found more angry red lines. Peter touched Tony’s hair, and his hand came away wet with blood.
“I can’t lose you,” Peter whispered.
Slowly, Tony’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked at Peter with a bleary gaze; raising his hand to the side of Peter’s face.
“They aren’t gonna hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m gonna protect you. He never protected me. Never. So I’ll protect you.”
“I’m okay,” Peter said. “I’m okay.”
Tony smiled softly, eyes scrunching closed. “Good. Good kid.”
“Tony?” Peter tapped his face as his head lolled to the side. “Mr. Stark, please.”
Hours passed. Tony floated in and out of consciousness, and Peter stayed by his side, but also thought of a plan. Wilson only had a few men with him. Tony always disapproved when he revealed his super strength out of uniform, but there was no choice. He was getting them out of there—he had a goddamn paper to finish.
He exhaled, squeezing Tony’s hand, then crept onto the ceiling. Hanging by one hand, he took both his shoes off, holding them by the laces. Then, he hurled one at the door. It slammed against the metal with a bang. He waited. Nobody came. He threw the second one, harder. It dented the door. With his heightened senses, he heard two men swearing, their footsteps pounding against concrete. They opened the door and were greeted with Tony slumped on the floor, blood pooling around him.
“What the fuck?” one of the men said.
Peter crept across the ceiling, then hit the door shut. The two men turned, and Peter kicked them both in the face. Hard. They crumpled. Peter leapt onto the floor and grabbed their guns, wishing he could web them together. He stalked out of the room, and when three more men confronted him, he punched two and pistol-whipped the other. Tony wouldn’t be proud of him. He didn’t care. Not at all. Not now.
He took down three more. Eight total.
Only Wilson remained.
“So,” he heard from behind him. “I saw you climbing the walls. How interesting.”
“You tortured him!” Peter shouted. “You hurt him!”
“Don’t be so naive, Peter.” Wilson stepped toward him, hands folded behind his back. “Why do you think I’m only one in a long line of people who have tortured Tony Stark? Who have wanted to kill him?”
“He’s trying to be better,” Peter said.
Wilson growled and lunged forward, brandishing a knife. It caught Peter’s chest, but he ignored it and leapt onto the ceiling.
“You know, we could work together!” Wilson called. “What’s Stark paying you?”
“Not interested!” Peter exploded off the ceiling and punched him. His nose cracked under his fist. Peter pressed his knee to Wilson’s chest and hit him again. Again. Again. Wilson wrenched away and slammed Peter’s head against the concrete. His vision spun, but Peter flipped them before Wilson could strike again and continued punching him. Over and over. Blood coated his knuckles. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t—
“Peter!” Tony stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorway for support. “Stop.”
Peter sobbed and pushed Wilson away. His chest rose and fell steadily.
Tony’s hands scraped at the wall. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Peter rushed forward and caught him before he hit the floor. For a moment, Peter knelt, holding Tony against him, shuddering as Wilson’s blood ran over his knuckles. What did I do? He couldn’t think about it. Come on, Spider-Man. He lifted Tony, his head lolling against Peter’s chest. Tony was lighter than he’d expected. Bonier. Even so, he felt heavy. He sank to his knees, trembling, and cried out. He needed to walk out of there. Needed to get Tony out of there. He stumbled to his feet again, holding Tony tight in his arms, and wandered the halls until he found light. Silver moonlight shone against cracked and veined concrete.
“Please!” he shouted. “Someone, help!”
Nobody answered.
Of course.
He had to do this himself.
He readjusted Tony in his arms, trying not to think about how he was dead weight, unmoving as light flashed across the sky.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered. “I’m going to get us out of this, Mr. Stark.”
His head spun. His arms and legs weighed a ton. The light in the sky drew closer, approaching the ground. Peter lowered Tony to the ground, careful of his wounds as he laid him down, then raised his fists. A figure materialized in the darkness.
“I’m going to fight!” Peter shouted. “You’re going to have to kill me!”
“Peter?” The figure emerged from the darkness in a flash of metal. Rhodes lowered his mask, brow drawn together and eyes concerned. “Shit, Peter, are you okay? Where’s Tony?”
Peter made a choked noise and stumbled back. His knees buckled. Rhodes surged forward and grabbed him, lowering him to the ground; he inhaled through his teeth when he saw Tony splayed out on the ground, blood pooling around him. He felt around for Tony’s hand, threading their fingers together. Rhodes was speaking, but his words ran together, echoing dimly in Peter’s ears. His vision swam, black blending with splashes of light and washing over him more and more which each breath, like waves on the shore.
“Peter,” Rhodes said. “Peter, stay with me now. Tony needs you. Gotta stay awake.”
He tried to keep his eyes open.
He inhaled.
Darkness pulled him under.
#
When he woke, the first thing he saw was the white ceiling of the Compound’s medical wing—he’d been there enough times to know the tiles well.
“Peter?” May’s voice. “Are you awake, sweetheart?”
“Tony,” he mumbled. “Where’s Mr. Stark?”
“Tony’s okay. He’s resting. Keep sleeping, baby.”
Unable to keep his eyes open, he drifted back to sleep. The next time he woke up, May was gone, but his head felt clearer, the pain in his chest and limbs fainter. Tony didn’t have an increased healing factor. Tony was somewhere in the medical wing, hurting.
He stumbled from the bed, grateful that he was wearing pajamas and that nobody stopped him from leaving the room. His bare feet pressed against the cool tile floor as he checked every bed, avoiding roaming staff.
Then, in the last room, he found Tony.
Sunlight streamed through the window over Tony’s bruised and battered face. He laid in the clean bed, white sheets tucked around him. He was still, entirely still, which made Peter’s head spin. Tony was always in motion, and Peter had never seen him… wounded. Down. Suffering. With breathing tubes snaking from his nose and his cuts bandaged, he looked fragile for the first time since Peter had met him. He’d always thought of Tony as above being hurt, almost beyond human, but that’s all he was. Human.
And that was okay.
With tears in his eyes, he sat on the edge of Tony’s bed, careful not to jostle him. The mattress dipped under him, but Tony didn’t move. Two phones sat on his bedside table—his usual model, with a vicious crack across the screen, and the dinosaur model he’d received from Steve Rogers. Rhodes must have recovered them.
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “I know you don’t want me to apologize anymore, but I am. I really, really am. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”
No response, of course.
Suddenly, the flip phone began to vibrate.
Peter stared at for a long moment, willing Tony to open his eyes and tell him what to do. Nothing. Wincing, he reached for the phone and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Tony?” the voice on the other end said. “Tony, Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to answer. Are you okay?”
“This isn’t Tony.”
The man went silent. “Then who is this?”
“My name is, uh, Peter. I’m Mr. Stark’s, uh, intern.” He cringed at his words.
“Why do you have this phone?”
“I’m a very good intern. Why do you have this number?”
“I gave him the phone. I’m Steve Rogers.”
“Captain America?”
Steve (Cap? Mr. Rogers?) winced. “I’d prefer Steve.”
Peter remembered what he’d found out about the conflict surrounding the Accords. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so friendly toward Steve. “Why did you call?”
“I’ll just wait to talk to Tony.”
“You have to talk to the intern first. Sorry. Protocol.”
“Natasha—um, an associate, heard that Tony was kidnapped with an… intern. Wait, kid, were you kidnapped with Tony?”
“You didn’t say why you called. Sorry. I really have to know.” He grinned to himself. If he’d learned anything from Tony, it was how to be a little shit.
“There were rumors he’d been killed.” Steve’s voice hitched on the word. “And other rumors that he was still in captivity. I know he doesn’t let these things go mainstream. We didn’t know what was true, or if he was dead, or still in captivity…” He trailed off. “If he were still being held somewhere, I would’ve had a trip to make.”
“Oh.” He suddenly felt guilty for giving Captain America shit.
“So is Tony available?”
Peter rested his hand atop Tony’s covered ankle, unable to look away from the tubes snaking from his nose and veins. “He’s still unconscious. He, uh, took some pretty hard hits. They… they wanted him to build some type of weapon. They were threatening me, so he, uh, put himself between me and them and wouldn’t move. They had problems with that.”
Steve chuckled softly. “That sounds like him. We were kidnapped together once, a few months after the Battle of New York. He talked himself hoarse protecting me.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What did you think of Howard Stark?” He cringed again when Steve fell silent. “I mean, you don’t have to answer, but—”
“There were two versions of Howard,” Steve interrupted. “I only knew one. He was driven, intelligent, charming. Manipulative. He knew what he wanted, and he got it. I know he searched for me for decades. And I’ve…” He sighed. “I’ve known Tony for a long time. I’ve seen him drink, I’ve seen him drive himself to exhaustion, I’ve seen him flinch when someone raised a hand in his direction. It wasn’t hard to make the connection.”
“Oh.” Peter tightened his grip on Tony’s ankle. “And can I ask one more question?”
“Intern, huh?”
“Very good intern. You and Sergeant Barnes…” Peter swallowed hard. “My friend was doing some research, and she found some… letters. And a photo. During the war and before, were you two, like, together ?”
Steve was silent.
“You know, I’m sorry, that’s a really rude question to ask. You don’t have to answer.”
“Does Tony know?” Steve whispered. “Who knows?”
“Just, uh, me and my friend. And my other friend. But he’s good at keeping secrets. I haven’t said anything, either.”
“We were so careful.” Steve’s voice broke, and for a moment, Peter felt horribly guilty.
“They were in a box of Howard Stark’s things. She and I… I wanted to impress her, so I brought her to the Compound to look through some of the things Tony gave me.”
“Of course Howard kept them.” Steve inhaled, breathing shuddery. “Yeah. Yeah, Buck—Sergeant Barnes, I mean—and I were together. We are together. Today, we’re together. Tony can’t… he wouldn’t… Peter, it’s a complicated situation.”
“I know. I wasn’t planning on telling.”
“Tony doesn’t know?”
“No. I didn’t say anything.”
“Okay.” He inhaled, breath shuddery. Peter had never imagined that Captain America could sound so distressed. “I meant to tell him. I meant to tell him a lot of things. I…” His voice caught. “I didn’t do right by him.”
“I know,” Peter said before he caught himself. “But you wanna know why I knew to answer this phone and I knew it would be you?”
“Why?”
“He carries it every day.”
Steve was silent for a long time. Peter thought he’d hung up, but then he quietly said, “Thank you, Peter. I’m… I’m glad he has you.”
The line disconnected, leaving Peter speechless. He put the phone back next to Tony’s as heaviness spread through his limbs. God, kidnapping took it out of him. He curled onto the foot of Tony’s bed, meaning to close his eyes for only a few moments, but when he next opened them, the sun had dipped low into the sky, casting an orange glow over the room. Tony looked down at him blearily, a soft yet sad smile across his face.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter murmured.
“Didn’t they give you your own bed?” Tony asked, nudging Peter’s leg with his foot.
“I… I got worried.”
“I know.” Tony’s smile wavered, but he maintained weary eye contact with Peter. “How about when we get out of here, we have a chat? Just me and you. Whatever you want to know.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I think it’s about time for some honesty. Don’t you think?”
Peter thought of Steve’s sharp breathing on the phone, on the piles of unopened boxes, of Tony’s anger and then immediate fear. How much could have changed with a conversation?
“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe it is.”
#
May took Peter home to recover. With his enhanced healing factor, he was back in school after two days, claiming he had a stomach bug. Only Ned knew the truth. Tony, though, had to stay in bed for three more days—Peter knew because Tony would text him intermittently, saying things like boooooored or kidnapping has no perks, peter, no perks . There were no calls, though, no attempts to do anything but text. Only on Friday, after school, did his phone ring and show Tony’s contact picture.
“Hello?” Peter said.
“Hey, kid.” Tony’s voice sounded surer, less wrecked. Peter smiled to himself, glad Tony couldn’t see him. “What are your plans for this weekend?”
“Well, May and I—”
“May and I talked. It was a trick question. You’re coming to the Compound for the weekend. How about that? Happy will be there for you in an hour?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“You… you do want to visit, yeah?”
“Of course,” Peter said. “Why would you think I didn’t.”
“No reason. Just… I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
He didn’t give Peter a chance to reply. Instead, he hung up, leaving Peter alone with words on the tip of his tongue. He scrolled through Twitter on his phone for forty-five minutes, still thinking about Steve and Bucky, then quickly tossed together a bag of clothes. He ran down the stairs and found the car, then slid into the backseat.
“Alright, Peter,” Happy said. “Boss is waiting for you.”
“How’s he doing?” Peter asked.
Happy grimaced. “He’s been better, but he’s up and walking. He would’ve been a lot worse off if you hadn’t been there. Not that I’m glad that you were kidnapped, but, you know, making the best of bad situations and all.”
“Did he tell you what I did?”
“That you took a field trip through his files? Good on you. May have not been the best way to get him to open up, but he needed it. He keeps everything bottled up.”
“You really think so?”
“Hmm. I’ve known him for a long time. You’re good for him.”
They didn’t speak for the rest of the time. Peter looked out the window, thinking about what Happy said. Was he good for Tony? Tony was good for him? He was a better person than he was before Germany. He’d learned.
When Happy dropped him off at the Compound, he bounded inside, letting himself in and going to Tony’s lab. He hesitated outside the door, raising his hand to knock then deciding against it. ACDC blared as he walked inside, and Tony was welding something , even though his chest was still bandaged.
“Mr. Stark!” Peter called.
Tony pushed his mask up, showing the myriad of bruises and cuts that hadn’t healed yet. “Hey, Underoos,” he said. “You look perky.”
“Should you be up?”
“Life is short. I’ll be up if I want to.” He smiled as he said it and sat down at the bench, motioning for Peter to take the seat next to him.
Peter hesitated, then sat next to him. “Thank you, uh, for having me. For the weekend.”
Tony waved his hand. “You’re a good kid. It’s no trouble. Besides.” His expression turned serious. “We have a lot to talk about.”
His heart fluttered. “We really don’t have to—”
“Peter,” Tony interrupted softly. “The last time I didn’t talk it out with somebody, it ended with my best friend paralyzed and Captain America becoming a war criminal.”
“Are you mad at me because I lost control and kept hitting Wilson? Or because I looked through your files? Or—”
“Hang on. Can I talk for a moment?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
“You saved my life back there. They would’ve killed me. You were right to get us out of there—that’s what I did when I had to get out of Afghanistan. But that doesn’t mean you can kill. You can’t let anger get the best of you. They win that way.” He looked away and swallowed hard. “A very good man saved my life in Afghanistan. He told me not to waste my life. I try to think of these in situations like this.”
“Yinsen?”
Tony blinked. “Yeah. I’d only told Pepper and Rhodey about him.”
Hot tears pricked Peter’s eyes. One slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. “I shouldn’t have looked,” he whispered.
“Hey, come on, no tears.” Tony gripped the back of Peter’s neck, offering a gentle smile. “Don’t interrupt me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, good. Because I’m going to be very, very honest with you. When you first asked me about Howard, I was scared. I don’t have many good memories about my dad. I have a lot of regrets, about him and my mom. After they died… I went off the rails. I did a lot of wild things. I don’t exactly regret them, but I’m not proud. I’m certainly not proud of who I was before Afghanistan.” He wiped his eyes, glancing toward the whiskey but not moving. “I’m not proud of what happened between me and Rogers. And you know what? I liked that you didn’t know.”
“Why?”
His smile turned sad. “For once, somebody looked at me and thought I was a good man. There were no qualifiers. I could pretend I haven’t done all these terrible things and made all these mistakes, because you never saw them.”
“You are a good man.”
“I wasn’t. I try, though. I try. Pepper tells me that’s more than most people do.” He nodded, not quite looking at Peter. “Like I said. You didn’t know, and I loved that. It was wrong of me to keep the truth from you, just because I don’t like my past. It was wrong to get angry. But it all starts with Howard. I didn’t know what you would find.”
“So he did hit you?” Peter asked quietly.
Tony touched the side of his face and looked away, eyes bright.
“Did he?” Peter repeated.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “Yeah, he knocked me around a bit, mostly when he had too much to drink or got pissed that I wasn’t Cap. But most of all, he ignored me. And when he didn’t ignore me, he told me I wasn’t good enough. No matter what I did, it was never enough for him.”
“Mr. Stark…” Peter searched for the words.
“I was afraid,” Tony whispered, not meeting his eye. “When I first met you. Terrified. I’d never been around a kid. I was always careful to make sure I wouldn’t have to. But there you were, and here you are. I’m still terrified sometimes. When I got mad at you, I was… if I’d hit you, I never would have forgiven myself.”
“You never would’ve,” Peter blurted. “I know you would never hurt me.”
Tony nodded. “And God, sometimes you remind me so much of him . Do you know that? I constantly wonder what would’ve happened if he found you first. I think about what I would’ve lost.”
“When you say he …”
“Steve Rogers.”
Now he really couldn’t respond.
“I knew that from the first time I met you, as soon as you said you wanted to look out for the little guy, and when you could do the things you did there was responsibility, all that.” Tony looked away, rubbing his left wrist again. “I was wrong to bring you to Germany. You were a child. Well, you still are. Another mistake I made.”
Peter pulled Tony’s hand away from his wrist. “I still would’ve wanted to fight with you.”
“Kid, you can’t—”
“I’ve read the Accords. I like having my secret identity, but I could’ve maintained that. There needed to be accountability, especially after Sokovia. We have a responsibility to help whoever we can, but there’s also a responsibility to, you know, be transparent. Let the citizens know what we want and that we’ll only intervene when necessary. Cap was wrong.”
Tony blinked. “Wow. I forget that you’re a genius sometimes.”
“I would’ve chosen you, Mr. Stark. No other option. Besides…” He thought of Steve’s voice cracking over the phone. “It could’ve been more than the Accords. On his part.”
“More than the Accords?”
“He, um, seems to care for Sergeant Barnes a lot.”
“He’s important to Steve, yeah. You saw what happened in Siberia. He would’ve done anything for Barnes.” Tony cocked his head to the side, studying Peter like there was a question he wanted to ask. “Did you…”
“He called,” Peter blurted. He couldn’t lie—not about that. “When you were unconscious. He thought you’d been killed because Black Widow got intel about our kidnapping, and was going to come find us. I talked to him for a few minutes. You should call him back.”
Tony shook his head. “I’ll have to think.”
Peter considered telling him. He almost did. What was the worst that could happen? Then, he remembered Steve pleading with him not to tell Tony, and wondered if there was still more he didn’t know. Secrets always stayed hidden, no matter how hard people looked.
In the silence, his mind drifted back to Howard. He imagined a younger, smaller Tony cowering from his father, yet still somehow defiant.
“Why would he hit you?” Peter couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice. “Why? Why would he do that to you?”
“Kid.” He sat down and gripped Peter’s shoulder. “Howard was a troubled man. He was an alcoholic. He had a smart ass for a kid. Yeah, I don’t like my father, but without him, I wouldn’t have become who I was today.”
“I don’t want to write my paper on him.”
“Well, you’re committed to it now.”
“I’m going to write about how he’s an asshole.”
“I would very much like to read that.” Tony grinned. “Look. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Good, good.” Tony studied his lap for a moment, lips curved downward, then met Peter’s gaze. “I care for you kid. So much. Can you promise me something?”
“Sure,” Peter whispered.
“There’s going to be a day where the fight… where it’s something above your pay grade, kid. Way above. When that happens, you run. You turn the other way, you fight on your level, but you stay the hell away from the main fight. Away , Peter.”
Peter studied Tony. It could’ve been from the injuries, but he trembled, dark bags under his eyes and hands shaking. Peter surged forward and hugged him, pulling Tony to his chest with more feeling than he knew himself to be capable of. Tony tensed for a moment, then sank into him, still shaking.
“What do you know?” Peter asked.
Tony pulled away, wiping his eyes. “Someone’s coming. I don’t know who. But I’ve known since New York.”
“Since New York?”
“Yeah.” Tony began to say something, then faltered. “I need you to promise me.”
“Mr. Stark, if this is that big, then I should—”
“ Promise me.” His jaw twitched. “Please.”
A wave of sadness engulfed him. How many times had Tony asked for a promise, or even help, to be denied? He wished he could go back in time and
“I promise,” Peter whispered.
Relief flooded Tony’s face. Peter knew he couldn’t keep the promise. He couldn’t. When the threat came, he’d be at Tony’s side. Where he belonged.
But for now, he’d done the right thing.
#
Months later on Titan, as dust swirled around Peter, he remembered his conversation with Tony. He remembered talking to Steve.
A terrible feeling rose in his stomach. Oh, God. He was going to go, too. He had to fight, had to stay alive for Tony. Because he’d made a promise. He stumbled toward Tony, not really knowing what he was saying, only that he needed him to keep standing.
Promise me, the wind whispered as he fell into Tony’s arms. Promise me, promise me.
Peter fell to the ground.
I’m sorry.
He should’ve told Tony about Steve and Bucky. He should’ve told Steve about Tony’s traumas. Maybe they could’ve fought together.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Tony told him he was okay.
He was not okay.
I’m sorry, he thought. I’m sorry.
There was a breeze, and then nothingness.