Chapter Text
Tony is elbow deep in his latest project when FRIDAY cuts off his music. "Boss, I have an incoming call from May Parker."
He looks up and checks the time. 8:04PM. Huh. Odd. May has early shifts this week. She should be getting ready for bed right about now. Maybe Peter’s in one of his moods again. The kid’s been touchy and distant for weeks now. Tony doesn’t know the full story, but he’s heard Happy mutter about the kid going sullen and irritable lately.
"Put her through,” he calls out, focusing on his project. It’s delicate work, and part of him resents the interruption, but that’s the impulsive, selfish part he’s been learning to work against for a few years now. If May is calling him, then there’s a good reason for it.
A second later, May's voice comes through the speakers built into the walls. "Tony?"
"Speaking."
He goes back to work. Multitasking is as easy as breathing for him, and he really does want to get this done. The kid’s due to visit soon, and he does like having something on hand to show off. Maybe it’ll break him out of whatever funk he’s in and give Tony a chance to talk about whatever’s bothering him.
"Is Peter with you?" And there's something in her voice that catches his attention.
Tony frowns, checking the soldering joints on his latest invention. The nanobots he created aren't capable of forming into a full suit yet, but he has managed to get them to form a gauntlet over his hand with a flick of his wrist.
"No. He skipped his internship day this week. He has some big history project due tomorrow. Isn't he with that Ted kid?"
He knows damn well what Ned's name is, but it's a habit to call him by the wrong name. With the added bonus of making Peter roll his eyes every time Tony says it near him. Tony has recently discovered the unbridled joy that comes with being the most embarrassing adult in a child’s life and has decided to fully embrace it. Such habits include mispronouncing names of treasured friends, wildly misusing memes, and offering unwanted advice in the most extravagant way possible. Tony’s used each one on the kid, first as a way to dial back Peter’s hero worship, and then because seeing Peter groan in teenage despair before fleeing to find Rhodey or Pepper has become one of his new favorite pastimes. Rhodey has started in on the teasing, too.
"Ned told me he left just before seven," May replies, half to herself. “We had another argument, but it wasn’t serious. Not as serious as last week, at least.”
"I'm sure he's fine." A thought occurs to him and he smirks. "Doesn't that terrifying girl he talks to live close by? You sure he hasn't ducked off to see her? That was a favorite move of mine back in the day--fight with Dad and then sneak off to my girlfriend’s place."
“Reasonably sure. He would have said something or texted me a blatant lie, at the very least. Even when we argue like this, he doesn’t just disappear. It’s not like him,” May replies, tense and tired. “He isn't out on patrol, is he?”
Tony looks over his shoulder at the spider suit laid out across one of the work tables nearby. “No. We’re still patching up his suit from that pigeon incident. Which, by the way, I have a video of if you’d like to see it.”
“No, not right now,” she says. “Just, if you hear from him, tell him to call me?”
“You got it,” Tony says. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon, May.”
“You’re probably right. Thanks.” With that, May hangs up and the line goes dead.
Tony goes back to work. Or tries to. The phone call drags more and more of his attention away from his current project, and since said current project involves levels of electricity more than capable of reducing him to fine sand, that’s something of a problem.
Three minutes after May ends the phone call, Tony lets out a frustrated sigh and shoves his stool away from the delicate work laid out on the table in front of him. He pulls off his safety glasses and runs his hand through his hair. Dammit, he can't focus.
“FRIDAY, call the kid,” Tony says, idly wondering when exactly his regular anxiety grew to include the welfare of a sixteen year old vigilante. A sixteen year old vigilante who may yet be the death of him, judging by how incredibly stubborn the kid is. Also one apparently going through a delayed fit of teenage rebellion, which is healthy, but also nerve wracking.
Of course, the answer to that is promptly supplied by his own memories of drafting the kid into a fight he had no business being in, but he ignores that. If he wanted to be introspective, he would drink. And he gave up drinking awhile ago.
FRIDAY makes the connection. The phone doesn’t ring at all; it goes straight to voicemail. Okay, weird. The kid is practically glued to his phone; he wouldn’t turn it off. And the phone he gave Peter has enough battery life to last literal months without a charge. It’s possible he broke it, though; it wouldn’t be the first time. The kid is almost as strong as Steve Rogers and he still has that teenage clumsiness haunting him, despite his enhancements. Growth spurts wreck everyone’s sense of balance and Peter is no more immune to that than anyone else.
”Hey, kid, it's me. You really should call your aunt. She's starting to get worried. Add me to the list, if you’d like. I know things have been rough lately, but that doesn’t mean you should pull a disappearing act on us. Call me as soon as you get this.” He ends the call. "FRI, send Peter a text message to top it off. Tell him to call me.”
"Got it, boss."
Satisfied, Tony goes back to work. Peter's a good kid; he'll pop up later and apologize profusely for worrying May. It isn't like the kid is going off on a patrol tonight, after all. That's where all of the danger lies in Peter's life at this point. The kid probably caught a wild hair and wandered off for an hour or two.
Frankly, a little teenage rebellion is good for the soul.
He makes a mental note to call again when he hits a stopping point in his latest project.
* * *
Tony staggers out of the lab several hours later, intent on making a smoothie and then crawling into bed for a few hours after a nice shower. He might have time for a cat nap before Rhodey comes over for lunch. Unless he's coming over for breakfast, in which case Tony can probably expect an exasperated look and maybe a breakfast burrito to the head. It’s been awhile since he’s been sucked into a project like this.
The nanobots work like a dream. A suit is still a far off proposition until he’s able to create more nanobots, but the gauntlet will work well enough for now. He’s actually pretty proud of it, and he can’t wait to show it off to Peter when the kid comes by during the weekend. The kid still looks at him like he’s an actual superhero and Tony would be lying if he said he doesn’t appreciate or need that. The feeling is very much mutual, too.
Even if the kid is causing more grey hairs.
FRIDAY clicks on the TV in the living area, switching to a local news channel. Tony's gotten into the habit of checking the morning news for Spiderman updates these days. It isn't necessary today, of course. He has the spider suit, and the kid spent the night doing homework last night. But it's a habit, and he's gotten used to listening to the morning anchors after waking up or on his way to go to bed.
He starts to put together his smoothie, half listening to a news report on the holoscreen TV in the living area behind him.
“--police found the headless body of a man wanted for questioning regarding a dozen murders early this morning. They believe his death is connected to the botched attempt o the mayor’s life last week--”
Tony snorts. That had been a shitshow that he almost got involved with. The mayor has started making moves against the mafia families that infest the less desirable parts of the city, and it’s put a massive price on his head. Tony isn’t surprised to hear the would-be assassin is dead; the mafia doesn’t take kindly to failure, and decapitation is a time honored form of intimidation.
The mob really has been more active lately. He'll have to talk to the kid about that---
"Boss, May Parker is on the line. She says it's urgent," FRIDAY says.
Tony checks the time. It's six in the morning; Peter won't have class until seven thirty. The kid's probably still asleep. "Put her through."
May's voice comes in quick and vaguely panicked. "Tony, is Peter with you?"
"Uh, no,” Tony answers slowly. “I haven't seen him since Thursday. What's going on?"
The line goes quiet, save for a shaky breath. "He never came home last night."
Tony takes a moment, his mind shaking off his fatigue with a sharp wave of anxiety. "Is he with Ned? Did he stay over?"
Logically, he knows that’s not likely. May wouldn’t call him unless it’s an emergency. But Christ, he hopes this is just one big misunderstanding.
"No, I just called Ned's mother. He left last night around seven, and he’s not at school." May sounds crushed; guilt and fear thick in her voice and they raise Tony's anxiety another three notches on his 'About to Lose His Shit' scale. "I'm going to call the police. If you hear from him--"
"I'll call you as soon as he shows up, promise." Right after I'm done throttling him for making us panic. Dammit, kid, you had better be hiding in your girlfriend’s bedroom or something.
"Thanks." The line clicks off.
Tony is silent for barely half a second, smoothie and nap completely forgotten. He should have done this last night when May called. "FRIDAY, track Peter's phone, show me where he is."
"Peter's phone is not currently powered on, boss. I can't track it."
"What do you mean it's not powered? The battery I put in that thing could power a house for a month." Tony scowls. "Fine. Show me his last location."
"Peter's phone last pinged in this location in Queens, between an office building and an independently owned deli called Maverick's Mysterious Meats." A holoscreen pops up in front of Tony, tracing out the shape of the street and the buildings that line either side. A red dot at the head of an alleyway appears. "The shop shut down last month due to health concerns. The office belongs to Trask Laboratories, recently bought out by the Life Foundation."
Well, that's certainly not helping his anxiety. Another thought occurs to him. "Dump all the information you have for his movements within the last twenty four hours."
A green line appears, starting from Peter’s apartment, then to a deli, then to school, where it leaves a meandering trail around the building. At three o’ clock, the line leaves the school, heads back to the deli, and then heads straight to Ned Leeds’ apartment. The line stays put until around seven, the digits marking the time flipping over one another, and then leaves Ned’s place and starts to head back to Peter’s apartment.
And then it stops, takes a sharp left, and goes down the street to Peter’s last location. When the line reaches the head of an alley, it goes fuzzy. Several green dots trail in a jagged fashion down the alley behind the butcher shop.
Tony frowns. "FRI, what's with these dots? It's supposed to be a continuous line."
"Peter’s phone began to lose connection around 7:13PM last night. The dots represent brief moments when his phone reconnected with the network before it failed altogether," FRIDAY says.
This doesn’t make sense. That phone is within range of no less than six cell towers and Peter’s phone is supposed to switch to Tony’s personal network if it’s out of range of the standard terrestrial network. The only reason the phone would fail is if it physically can’t make a connection. Something must have damaged it or removed the power source.
Not a comforting thought.
“A localized EMP maybe?” Tony wonders aloud. He sighs, pacing. “No, that’s not right. His phone’s shielded like my armor. An EMP blast strong enough to disrupt it like this would have taken out the entire block, and that definitely would have gotten some attention. This doesn't make sense. FRIDAY, send me a suit.”
The elevator dings and opens, and the quiet hydraulic hiss of mechanical leg braces fills the room. Rhodey appears not long after, holding up a bag in one hand as he approaches the kitchen.
“Hey, I grabbed us a couple of breakfast burritos. Vision burned down the kitchen in the Compound, by the way, so he’s going to go buy a new one--” He stops, takes in Tony’s posture and expression and drops the bag on the counter. “What’s wrong?”
“The kid never came home last night,” Tony says. “If he’s smart, he’s in class, and trying to think up some dumb excuse as to why he never went home last night.”
“What do you need me to do?” Rhodey asks.
"Come with me," Tony responds.
Rhodey nods, summoning his own suit with a quick tap on his smart watch. "We're definitely going to embarrass the shit out of him when we find him hiding in his girlfriend’s closet, you know that right?"
"Oh, I'm going to make it a goddamn event."
The window closest to them opens to allow the two suits inside the tower. They waste no time, climbing into their suits and flying towards Queens.
* * *
“Something’s off about this,” Rhodey says quietly, drifting through the alleys. The sky is grey and the air is damp. It’s one of those dreary fall days, cold and sharp, with a wind blowing through the city strong enough to force Rhodey and Tony to compensate against it. The pavement below them is clear of trash, dumpsters, and trash cans. “There’s not enough people around here for the middle of the day. And everything in this alley is too clean.”
Tony agrees with that assessment. This is the shadier side of Queens, and normally it plays host to a number of low level criminals slipping through crowds. Today, as of seven in the morning, the alleys and streets are peaceful. Some are practically empty, which is extremely weird for a New York street; there’s usually some litter somewhere. Tony’s frustration and worry are starting to build.
“Boss, May Parker is on the line,” FRIDAY says.
“Answer.” A light indicates the phone is connected. “Is he back?”
“No, I was hoping you found him,” May says, exhausted and tense. “I just spoke with MJ. Peter isn't with her either.” She pauses for a moment, then presses on. “I’ve got the name of a detective. She’s going to interview Ned now, but she wants to talk to you, too.”
“Me?”
“She had Peter’s phone records pulled,” May explains. “She saw your number.”
"Let her know I'll be at the Tower, and I’ll catch up with you after I’m done with them," Tony replies. The line clicks off. "I'm heading back, Rhodey. I’ve got a date with New York’s finest."
"I'll keep looking,” Rhodey promises. “Not sure if I’m going to find anything. This is the cleanest alleyway I’ve ever seen in New York.”
Tony nods, putting more power to his repulsors and flying back to the tower. “FRIDAY, call Happy and send him over to May’s. She might need a gopher until we find the kid. Tell him to get her whatever she needs. Offer an invitation to the tower. She’s not going to take it, but I want her to have the option.”
“On it, boss.”
Tony makes it back to the tower in record time and settles in to wait.
It takes awhile for the detectives to reach him. Hours, in fact, which puts more than a slight damper on Tony’s mood. He paces the common room, pinging Peter’s phone, reviewing the last location information, checking the kid’s movements in and out of the suit in the past week. Rhodey returns to the tower approximately fifteen minutes before Tony loses it completely and steps out of his own suit, walking towards the kitchen that Tony’s camped out of at the moment.
"Anything?" Tony asks,
"Nothing," Rhodey confirms, sweeping the breakfast burritos into the trash and grabbing a couple of meal bars from a nearby cabinet. They’re peanut butter and chocolate protein, Peter’s favorite. Rhodey nudges a bar over to Tony and quirks a brow at him. “You haven’t eaten in too long. Let’s try not to look like a couple of deranged parents here, man.”
"Too late," Tony mutters, grabbing the protein bar and taking a bite out of it. It's rich, chewy, and it sits in his stomach like a lead ball.
“Boss, two NYPD detectives are here,” FRIDAY says.
“Send them up,” Tony says, dropping his protein bar and heading for the elevator area. Rhodey is a step behind him, braces whirring quietly as he moves.
The elevator doors open a few seconds later and the detectives walk in. They're both older and look as if they should have retired a few years back. One is a tall, thin man with a heavy brow and thick moustache that fell out of style for most people in the nineties, but it doesn’t seem out of place on him. He eyes the place critically, taking in every detail he can as he and his partner cross towards Tony.
The other is a woman, a bit shorter than Pepper, with red hair fading to blonde and silver. She's more subtle with her observations, but just as keen. She nods to Tony when they get close, stopping at a respectful distance. "Mr. Stark, I'm Detective Brannigan and this is Detective Jones." The tall man, Jones, nods. "I was hoping you had time to talk?"
"I do. We can skip the niceties, by the way. I’m not in the mood to play host today.”
"Good," Brannigan says, pulling out a notebook and pen. It's so old school that Tony is briefly thrown. "When was the last time you saw him?"
"A week ago,” Tony responds. “During his internship day. Last Thursday.”
"Did you speak to him between then and now?"
"Yes. We text. I asked him for some input on a project we're working on."
Jones quirks a brow. "Tony Stark asks a sixteen year old for an opinion on his projects?"
Jones pitches his voice in such a grating tone that it becomes immediately obvious to Tony what he's doing. He doesn't have time for this bad cop, good cop bullshit.
"Peter Parker is more than just some sixteen year old," Tony says flatly. "I wouldn't have picked him as my intern if he wasn't capable of keeping up with the work I do. And he is."
"And what kind of work is that?" Brannigan asks.
"The confidential kind that has nothing to do with his disappearance."
Brannigan doesn’t seem entirely convinced by that, but moves on. “Has he called you or visited you since last week?”
“No.”
"Has he mentioned any trouble at school?"
"No,” Tony repeats, a bit less sure. Honestly, he’s never asked. It’s never occurred to him, and Peter doesn’t talk about school around him in any real detail. That was firmly in May’s territory, and while Tony would happily provide advice, the truth is that he wouldn’t know how to handle standard high school problems if his life depended on it. He doesn’t have any experience with them, and those social and academic milestones are a complete mystery to him.
"Mentioned any bullies? Teachers giving him a hard time?"
"He once mentioned some kid named Flash giving him a hard time, but not lately.” Has the kid been more quiet than usual? Tony frowns, running the last few visits over in his mind. There's definitely been less chatter, but Tony had thought that was a side effect of Peter becoming more comfortable around him.
“Eugene Thompson?” At Tony’s nod Brannigan continues. “The one he got into a fight with the other day?”
“A fight? What?” Tony asks, baffled.
“Mr. Parker broke Mr. Thompson’s hand after school on Monday afternoon,” Brannigan says. “I understand Mr. Thompson’s surgery took place yesterday.”
Tony stares at her, dumbfounded. “That can’t be right.”
“Ten people witnessed it. I can assume he didn’t talk to you about that?”
“No. And if there was a fight, then Peter didn’t start it. He’s not that kind of kid,” Tony retorts.
“You sure about that?” Jones asks.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Tony snaps. “Whatever happened, it was probably started by Thompson.” Jesus, kid, what the hell is wrong with you.
Brannigan keeps writing, giving Tony a moment to calm down. “When was the last time Peter came in for his internship?”
“Last week. Thursday. Like I said.” Christ, they’re going to ask him that three more times. That’s how cops work. Ask the same questions five times in different ways, just to see how the story changes.
“Did you notice any odd behavior from him?”
“Like what?” The kid has been in a mood. Maybe a little paler than usual, with dark bags under his eyes. Typical for him when he’s close to exams and trying to balance extra study time with his patrols. Tony hadn’t considered it unusual at the time, but now he’s not so sure.
“His aunt has said he’s been acting strangely lately. Talking to himself in his sleep, or when he’s half awake, irritability, and otherwise just acting out of usual. She heard him having an argument with himself while coming in the front door a few days ago.”
Tony stares at Brannigan blankly. “No. No, he hasn’t done anything like that around me. He’s been slightly less chatty than usual, but that’s all.”
Tony doesn’t like the sound of that at all, and the fact that he hadn’t noticed gnaws at him. Christ, he spends so much time kid, he should’ve picked up on it. Maybe Peter's been hit with the stress of trying to be a high school superhero? Or, well, mental illness. Schizophrenia likely doesn’t discriminate between enhanced and baseline humans, and Peter’s edging into that age range where it can appear; it’s entirely possible Peter’s going through a more mundane issue. Which is fine; it’s treatable. Tony’s no expert in mental health (obviously), but he can certainly find the best doctors in the world if the kid needs them.
Brannigan nods, writing something down in her notebook. “Mrs. Parker said Peter was wearing a leather jacket you gave him the day he disappeared. Do you know which one that would be?”
“It’s one he found around the lab, actually.” Steve Rogers’ old leather jacket, in fact. It’s comically large on the kid, but it’s warm, and Peter needed to wear something more substantial than the flimsy hoodie he’d brought with him a few months ago. The kid’s worn it regularly since then. “Brown leather jacket, cotton lining, probably two sizes too big for him. It has S. Rogers written on the tag."
The detective quirks her eyebrow. “Does that belong to who I think it does?”
Tony shrugs. "Finders, keepers. The kid’s coat tore at school and he needed a warm coat. It's what I had on hand."
Brannigan nods, scribbling down a few quick notes. "Okay, thank you, Mr. Stark. That’s all we need for now. We might contact you again if we have any follow up questions."
"What happens now?"
"We start our search. If we're lucky, we'll find him in the next forty eight hours,” Brannigan replies, then adds, “If we’re very lucky, he comes home on his own. That happens more often than not, fortunately.”
"And if you aren't lucky?"
"We find nothing at all. I won’t lie to you, Mr. Stark, but we don’t always have good luck finding troubled kids--”
"Excuse me, did you just call Peter Parker troubled?" Tony's fury is both instant and blinding. A result of his exhaustion and anxiety.
"Yes, I did," Brannigan says patiently. "I’ve already done some homework on him, and at first glance, he fits the pattern of a runaway.”
“He has nothing to run away from,” Tony retorts. “I’m interested to hear about this so-called pattern.”
Brannigan begins to list off each item one by one, using her fingers to illustrate each point. Her tone never rises, staying neutral and even. “He's lost more family than most people have in this city. Neighbors see him climbing out of his window nearly every evening and back into it after midnight. Students and teachers at his school report that he appears pale and sleeps through his classes on a routine basis. He's dropped out of almost all of his extracurriculars and barely shows up for the one he remains in. He's known as a loser in his class and recently started a fight with another student. All of that adds up to a troubled teenager. And troubled teenagers sometimes run away, regardless of who they work for. Especially the smart ones like Mr. Parker."
“I can already tell you he doesn’t fit your pattern,” Tony says coldly.
“You’re right. He could have been kidnapped,” Brannigan replies. “Do you have any reason to think that’s the case?”
Tony hesitates. “No.”
The look he catches from both detectives for that brief hesitation is impressive. Both of them seem to become hyper aware.
“You sure about that?” Jones asks.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Tony retorts. If Peter is kidnapped (an angle he genuinely hadn’t considered yet), then the NYPD certainly won’t be any help.
“If that changes, let us know,” Brannigan says, pocketing her notebook and pulling out a business card. She offers it to Tony. “Call us, day or night, if something changes, Mr. Stark.”
Tony takes the card. It has the name, phone number, and email addresses for both of the detectives listed on a plain white background with the NYPD logo printed in the corner. “I’ll do that.”
“Good. We have a few more places to check--” Brannigan begins, checking her watch.
Tony pockets the business card. “Right. Just take the elevator back down.”
“Have a good day, Mr. Stark,” Jone says, turning and heading back to the elevator. Brannigan gives him one last thoughtful look before turning to follow her partner to the elevator.
There’s a brief awkward silence before the elevator doors close and the detectives leave the penthouse. The moment they’re out of sight, Tony speaks.
“FRIDAY, check my messages for ransom notes.”
There’s a brief pause as the AI sorts through the messages. Even a hyper advanced AI needs a minute to search through all of the letters, emails, and pings sent his way.
“No dice, boss. Only the usual fanmail and death threats,” FRIDAY answers.
That’s disturbing. Not the death threats--he’s long accepted those as a fact of life. If this is a kidnapping, then someone should’ve sent him a mocking message; anyone looking to kidnap Peter would likely know about his internship, after all. Unless the kidnapper didn’t target Peter for his connection to Tony.
In some ways, that scares him more.
Another thought occurs to him. He turns to Rhodey. “Anything weird going on in your life right now?”
“Aside from the usual? No, not really,” Rhodey answers, shrugging. “I’m still on leave, aside from the Accords amendment meetings.”
“I’d like you to stay here, then,” Tony says. “Just in case someone is targeting people close to me.”
“Like I’m going to leave when Pete’s gone missing,” Rhodey replies dryly. He stands up and stretches. “I’m going back out there to look. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Be safe. Call me if anything happens.”
“I’ll check in with FRIDAY every hour or so,” Rhodey promises, stepping back into his suit. “Promise me you’ll take a nap or something? You look like hell, man.”
“Later. I’ve gotta make a phone call first,” Tony replies, walking with Rhodey as he heads back to the open window.
Rhodey squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, then steps aside before launching himself through the open window. FRIDAY silently closes it after him and Tony finds himself alone in the penthouse. He starts to pace, mind moving a mile a minute.
“Call Pepper.”
She answers on the fourth ring. “Tony? I’m in the middle of a meeting--”
“The kid’s missing,” Tony says, pacing. “He never came home last night. The cops just came by. They think he’s a goddamn runaway.”
Pepper is silent for a moment. “I’ll be there in an hour. Are you alone?”
“Rhodey just went back out to search for him. Happy’s with May.”
“Good.” There’s genuine relief in her voice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You have a way to call your suit, right?” Tony asks. “Just in case?”
“Yes. Always,” Pepper says slowly. “Why?”
“If someone is targeting the people I care about, I want to make sure you have a way to escape or fight back. You’re harder to get to than the kid, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try.”
“I know. I’ll be fine,” Pepper says gently. “Listen, I’ve got to get back into the meeting. You can have FRIDAY tap into the security feeds from the Tower and watch, if you want. When I finish, I’ll call you back and stay on the phone until I get home. Okay?”
Leave it to Pepper to think of a good way to keep his anxiety from overwhelming him. He’s suddenly very grateful for Pepper Potts. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Good idea.”
“I’ll be home soon,” Pepper says, hanging up.
FRIDAY silently recreates the boardroom Pepper is standing outside of in Tony’s living room using holograms. Tony can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can at least see a live feed of what’s going on in there, and he can see Pepper walk into the room and resume the meeting.
He pulls out the flip phone he keeps in his pocket, considering it for a long moment. The screen is tiny, the resolution is pathetic, but the connection shows full bars. His thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button for a few seconds before he sighs, flips it closed and puts it back into his pocket.
Forty eight hours. They’ll find him by then. Probably sooner than that.
***
Forty eight hours come and go.
They don't find him.
***
Tony paces Peter's room. It's just as Peter left it when he last stayed at the Tower; messy, disorganized, with shoes and clothes strewn across the floor and a bed full of tangled sheets. If he knew what time it is, he would have retreated to his lab hours ago, but time has stopped making sense. Peter is his grounding to reality in a lot of ways--his day marches to the kid's rhythm during the week. School, lunch, patrol, and lab time on every other FRIDAY with the occasional weekend stay and 'family' dinner once a month with Peter, May, Happy, Pepper, and Tony.
He knows it's Monday. He knows the Rogues are at the Tower. He knows he has a meeting with them this afternoon. He's pretty sure he's long overdue for it, but can't quite bring himself to care.
He knows it's been five days since Peter went missing and there are no leads. The words forty eight hours play over and over in his head and the knowledge that the statistical probability tied to finding him alive and whole has drastically decreased to almost nothing.
He knows how May feels, at least in a pale imitation sort of way. She's at her apartment, patiently waiting for Peter's return. Tony’s given her space, but every now and then she reaches out with a quick text to check in with him and remind him to take care of himself. In some ways, her understanding hurts worse than the fury he expected from her. She's treating him like glass, as if afraid he'll destroy himself over this.
Well, she's right to worry. Because he will.
Why hadn’t he gone out to look for the kid that first night? He should’ve done more. He should have started searching the moment she called. Instead, he was so wrapped up in his little project that he didn't even notice the time.
He's half listening to the news playing on the TV mounted to the wall as he paces, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he traces a route around a tattered notebook and one of Peter's many, many backpacks.
"---Stark Industries intern, Peter Parker, has been missing since last Wednesday. Police are asking that anyone with information on his whereabouts contact them immediately. Tony Stark has offered a substantial reward for any information leading to his safe return--"
That had been a spur of the moment decision that will very likely bite him in the ass after everything is said and done. The tabloids are already running rampant with the 'Secret Heir' angle, and clamoring for comment. May hadn't exactly approved at first, but anything that would bring Peter home is on the table. He reminds himself to send Pepper a message apologizing for the inevitable headache that move will cause her when she gets wind of it in Malibu.
The news moves on from reporting Peter's disappearance and straight into wild theories of his relationship with Tony. They spend twice as long on this than they do on Peter's disappearance, replacing the teenager's awkward grinning photo with one of Tony's better photoshoots, then comparing them side by side.
Tony scowls, half listening to some smarmy fifty year old man detail Tony's wild youth and the likelihood of Peter being his secret son. He'll have to prepare the kid for the harsh realities of dealing with the paparazzi when he gets back.
If he gets back.
God, please come back.
He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn't realize he has an audience.
Which is why his reaction to Steve Rogers appearing beside him, seemingly from nowhere, is to whirl around with his gauntlet aimed straight at Steve's chest. Behind Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Sam tense, hands drifting towards their own weapons.
Steve freezes, holding his hands up. "Tony. You're late for the meeting. FRIDAY said you were here."
Tony stares at him blankly for a moment before the cogs start to turn in his mind and he remembers. He drops the gauntlet, flicking his wrist so it shrinks back into his watch. "Meeting. For revising the Accords. Right. Yeah." He takes in a deep breath. "Look, today really isn't a good day for it--"
"I don't think we can put it off, Tony," Steve replies carefully, dropping his hands down to his sides. "We've got some leeway with Ross gone, but it won't last."
Steve is right, but that doesn't make Tony any less agreeable to the idea. He's busy. He doesn't have time for this, and frankly, he'd be a detriment to the process at this point. He's about to snap at the man when the holoscreen nearest to Tony clicks on, projecting a near lifelike image beside him.
It's Peter. He's wearing a cheesy science pun t-shirt and has a small drone sitting on the table in front of him. At first, Tony assumes it's a live feed, and he starts to feel a wave of relief when he notices the date in the corner. His heart sinks, and he clenches his jaw. Whatever this is, it was recorded more than two weeks ago, during the last weekend Peter stayed at the Tower.
"Hey, old man!" Peter says cheerfully. A nickname Tony earned after calling Peter 'kid' one too many times. "So, okay, I know you said I needed a project for my MIT application. And I think I found something that's kinda useful? I hope so, anyway. So, um, this is S.A.A.M., search, assist, and medicate--we'll work on the name later--and he's a rescue bot. I based him off of Droney's design and borrowed a few ideas from Falcon's Red Wing."
Peter taps out a few commands on his phone, and the little drone comes to life. It lets out a pleasant beep and slowly raises up from the lab table, hovering in front of Peter. Two round, bright blue LED lights click on, imitating eyes. Tony can see twelve things wrong with the design at first glance, but that does nothing to stamp out how impressed he is with the little project.
Peter continues speaking, guiding the drone around as it steadily picks up speed and dodges around an obstacle course put together to test the bot's agility.
"He can map out local areas, notify nearby first responders of dangerous changes in the air like temperature or toxins and, um, I modified the web fluid we made last month. The stuff that turned out wrong. It's actually a good vehicle for pain medicine that Dr. Banner talked about in one of his papers! Just spray it over a burn or an open wound and it works wonders on infectious bacteria. I put a tube of it in--Wait, S.A.A.M, slow down--"
The drone, which has slowly gained speed as Peter talks, suddenly speeds straight up to the ceiling and crashes into it with a loud clatter, shattering one of the lights. The drone and light fixture both fall to the floor behind Peter, who turns to stare awkwardly at the mess behind himself.
There's a brief moment of silence, and then Peter sheepishly turns around to face the camera again.
"I may have had some trouble with the flight plans? Anyway, I know you're busy, but let's work on it this weekend if we can! Or not, that's cool, too. Also, uh, I'll fix the light. Promise."
The screen clicks off and Tony isn't sure if he's going to scream or cry. God, he's missed the kid's voice. "FRIDAY, what the hell was that?"
"Peter asked me to send that video to you today after your meeting with the Avengers," FRIDAY replies. "You were scheduled to have custody of him this weekend. This was his idea of a project during his stay, as you did not have one scheduled."
That sparks so many warring emotions that Tony doesn’t know where to begin.
"Don't show me any other videos of him unless I tell you to," Tony bites back, clenching his fists. His voice is wounded and ragged at the edges. "Just...put them in the vault for now."
"Understood, boss." The AI almost sounds apologetic.
Tony closes his eyes, reaching up to roughly rub them with his hand. The TV behind him replays the news stories of the day, leading with Peter's disappearance. The news anchors spend even less time on it than before.
Breathe. He has to remember to breathe or he'll pass out and that is the last thing he needs. Not when the police could call at any moment, not when the Rogues are all staring at him--
"How long has your kid been missing?" Clint asks quietly. Tony pulls his hands away from his face and is shocked to see the Rogues surrounding him, watching him with strange looks on their faces.
It takes his exhausted mind a moment to realize that they're looking at him with varying degrees of sympathy. Clint in particular is watching him with something perilously close to understanding, while Steve seems to notice how childlike the room is seemingly for the first time. Tony huffs out a breath.
"Five days. He was walking home from a friend's place and never made it," Tony replies, voice low and harsh. His shoulders slump, and he's suddenly aware of how tired he is. His arms feel heavy and his eyes are full of gritty sand. When did he last sleep? Thursday? "He just vanished. He doesn't do that. He's not like me. He's responsible. He's good."
Steve frowns at that last part.
"Ransom?" Natasha asks, walking over to stand beside Clint. She looks around the room slowly, her gaze pausing at a framed photo of Tony and Peter. Tony has an arm slung around Peter's shoulders, a true grin (not the press ready smile he usually has) on his face, peace sign in full view. Peter is smiling at the camera with that innocent, earnest grin of his that's somehow enhanced by the bunny ears he has propped up behind Tony's head. "Has anyone made any demands?"
"No, obviously not, or I would've paid it already. I'd pay anything to get him back," Tony snaps. At Natasha's quirked brow he takes in a deep breath, counts to ten, and continues in a much steadier voice. He hopes the look he gives her serves as an apology. She relaxes and gives him a barely perceptible nod. Apology accepted. "It's been silent. Happy, Rhodey, and I have been tearing the city apart looking for him. Pepper has private investigator firms looking for him. The police are looking. We haven't had any luck."
Natasha nods, taking in the information. "Last location?"
"Why do you care?" Tony asks, turning to face her fully. Behind him, the news has moved on, and the anchor's droning news cadence starts a story about a strange object falling from the sky last week. "You're here for the Accords. This doesn't concern you. Any of you."
"Because your kid is missing, man," Sam says quietly, as if it were that easy.
"You don't even know him," Tony retorts.
Natasha tilts her head at Tony, quirking a brow. "So?"
"We might be able to help," Steve adds. The disbelieving look Tony shoots him is hard enough that Steve raises his hands and repeats himself. "We can help with this, Tony."
Tony eyes them suspiciously, saying nothing. He did consider calling them in, but he’s hesitated every time.
"If my kids went missing and I thought you could help, even after all this shit, I'd call you," Clint says. "If our positions were reversed, would you help me?"
Tony scowls at him. "Don't insult me. You know I would."
Clint quirks a brow at him. “Exactly.”
Tony stares back at him.
Okay, maybe it is that easy.
He still hesitates, wary of relying on them again. Wary of trusting them. But they might be able to help, and Tony would set himself on fire on live television if it meant Peter comes home safely. He can risk trusting the people he used to call friends. At least for this one thing.
He takes in a deep breath. "FRIDAY, show us Peter's last known location."
A holoscreen pops up, detailing a street in Queens. Tony points at a dull glowing icon on the screen and herky-jerky movements leading down the alleyway.
"He was here. Between a deli and an old lab. I've done everything but dig up the road and take the buildings apart brick by brick. And I'm not ruling those out yet." Tony sighs. “His phone’s been dead ever since he disappeared. I tried to remotely power it on and track it. No luck. Something must have destroyed it.”
"Someone grabbed him," Natasha says, tracing the outline.
"What's with the weird zigzags?" Sam asks.
"He fought back," Natasha replies. She points at one switchback line. “Someone threw him into the alley, and cornered him. Look at this line--it’s almost back to the street. He either got free of them or fought them hard enough to drag them into the street with him."
That’s an unpleasant thought. “He should’ve activated his watch and alerted me. That’s why I gave it to him in the first place.” Tony mutters darkly. The watch went dark the moment Peter went missing. “Headstrong, stubborn little--”
“He may not have had time,” Natasha says quietly. “This looks like a professional job, and teenagers aren’t exactly difficult targets. If it is a professional job, then the fact that he was able to fight them at all is impressive.”
Tony starts to argue against her, as if it’s imperative that he impress upon her just how good Peter is at getting out of tight situations, but ultimately stops himself. What would be the point? She doesn’t know Peter.
“Maybe. He can expect more self defense lessons when he gets back, whether he likes it or not.”
“I’ll teach him myself,” Natasha replies. “With Clint’s help.”
Clint nods. “I can give the kid a few pointers.” He looks at the map projected on the holoscreen, eyes roving over the street and buildings as he memorizes every detail. Clint's always had an eye for small details. "What about his friend? Have you checked him out?"
Tony snorts, fighting back a laugh. "Ned's incapable of hurting anyone. Least of all Pete."
Sam doesn’t look convinced. "You sure? Kids can get jealous."
Tony sighs. "Peter saved him from bullies when they were young--if you can call taking on four guys bigger than you and getting your asthmatic ass handed to you saving--and Ned's stuck by him ever since. He's devastated. Hell, he's been flooding social media and my phone, begging for updates. I'm pretty sure he's hacked the NYPD twice."
Mostly because Tony's already hacked into their mainframe himself and saw hints of Ned's entries. They were cleverly done entries, too. Tony sent him an email with a few tips for next time, and then followed it up with a reminder that hacking into government databases is a crime and he should probably call Tony if he gets caught.
"Does Peter have any enemies?" Sam asks.
Tony hesitates for a moment before shaking his head. Peter really doesn't have any enemies; Toomes is locked up for good and Peter has kept to low grade crimes since then. No one is going to build a doomsday device to take out a Spiderman known for catching bike thieves and helping little old ladies cross the street.
"He's sixteen and a terminal nerd. He hasn't lived long enough to get those."
"Bullies?" Steve asks quietly, as if unsure.
"One. Some jackass named Flash. He's clean, from what I've been able to dig up. A smarmy little prick with a corporate shark of a father, but they aren't the killing type." A brief pause. "Also, what the hell kind of bullies did you have in the thirties, Jesus."
"Guys were a bit rougher on skinny kids like me back then," Steve says, looking at the same photo Natasha found earlier.
"Yeah, well. Peter knows how to handle himself." Mostly true. The kid seems to run on instinct and hard won experience over traditional training, which is something of a problem. "Happy's taught him a few things about boxing. The kid's rung his bell a few times."
Peter also immediately apologized for it when he did. The indignant and exasperated look on Happy's face and the mildly panicked expression on Peter's had been priceless. Tony has a picture of the scene on rotation in his digital photo frame in his office.
"So, we have a kid with good friends, no enemies, known for being reliable and intelligent," Natasha says, idly nudging a stray lego building on Peter's desk. "That leaves you."
Tony frowns at her. "Me?"
"Pissed anyone off lately?" Natasha asks.
"No, not more than usual--" He goes quiet. "Ross."
Natasha leans back against Peter's desk, tilting her head.
"I may have leaked a few of the more damning emails on his phone," Tony says, idly fidgeting with the nanobot case on his wrist. "And maybe pressured a few individuals in the Department of Justice and Homeland Security into looking at Ross. You know. Called in a few favors with the President."
Steve stares at him in disbelief. "That was you?"
"Well, not me personally, more like the FBI, the US Marshals, and the Secret Service working together in a special joint task force based out of Homeland Security. I just sent them a few memos,” Tony says, shrugging. “Gently encouraged them, so to speak.”
“You blackmailed them,” Natasha says, hiding a small smirk.
“Now that is a very loaded word, Ms. Romanoff,” Tony replies. “The Director of Homeland Security is a very reasonable man who just needed a bit of encouragement. And encouragement takes many forms when you’re dealing with a man of that caliber.”
She doesn't bother to hide her smirk now, and there's an approving glint to her eye. "You've learned something from me after all."
“You can be a questionable influence on me every now and then, I guess,” Tony admits.
“A man like Ross has a lot of allies. How many were you able to take down with him?” Clint asks.
Tony takes in a deep breath. “More than I’d hoped for, less than I like. I was working under a time limit, unfortunately.” Natasha gives him another look and he sighs. “Ross started getting demanding. He wanted you guys arrested or dead, and he was heavily leaning on the latter. As much as you've all pisssed me off, I don’t want you dead or maimed, and he was interested in both. Then he made this vague threat towards Pete and told me what he planned to do to Bruce when he comes back and I may have lost my temper and set him up to take a very deserved fall. Turns out the guy's kind of an asshole, who knew."
“Damn,” Sam mutters, half to himself. “Wish you’d had that insight a few years ago.”
Tony rankles at the comment, but forces himself to let it go. Sam isn’t wrong. In fact, the man is right more often than not. A lot like Cap in a way, which is equal parts grating and reassuring. But Sam and Steve hadn’t been looking at the Accords from his perspective, hadn’t bothered to try, and that is a wound that’s still sore around the edges.
Clint looks at Tony with wary approval, and that’s even weirder, given that their recent interactions have been, at best, distant.
“By the way, you’re all still technically assholes for not listening to me to begin with. Just so that’s out there,” Tony says, uncomfortable by the measuring looks from the others.
“Send me Peter’s last known coordinates and the names of any of Ross’ friends you weren’t able to find,” Natasha says, choosing to ignore Tony’s comment. “Clint?”
“Yep,” Clint replies, hopping off of Peter’s dresser and following her out of the room.
Sam trades a look with Steve and then offers Tony a small nod before ducking out of the room.
And suddenly Tony is left alone with Steve. He tries to hide his discomfort, fails, and settles for crossing his arms and looking away. The silence stretches for one unbearable moment before Tony speaks again.
“He’s a big fan of yours, you know. I mean, I’m still his favorite, obviously, but he’s got this shirt of your shield he wears all the time. I gave him one of your old leather jackets, too. You can fight him over getting it back, but I’ll warn you now, that kid is about as sneaky as Nat when it comes to fighting.”
Steve smiles, soft and a little unsure. “He can keep it.” He’s quiet for a moment before asking, “Why didn’t you tell us about him before?”
Tony sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I found him shortly after you went rogue, in the middle of the Sokovia Accords mess. Not exactly a good time to make introductions, is it?”
“No, I guess not,” Steve says. “Ross knew about him?”
“Yes. And no,” Tony starts to pace Peter’s room again. “Ross thinks Pete’s my kid. He isn’t, not biologically, I just sort of took him under my wing after I found him doing some unbelievably stupid shit and went to talk to him about it. He still lives with his aunt who, by the way, I would want on my side if I ever have to fight aliens again.”
The more he paces, the further agitated he becomes, his frustration with Peter’s disappearance mingling with volatile memories of the Accords disaster. His exhaustion is making him chatty, more than he would be normally.
“The kid’s enhanced, by the way. So, me being the hypocrite I am, I hid him away because, hey, guess what, hastily written laws more often than not turn into a total shitshow when it comes to the civil rights of people not constantly in the limelight. At the time, I wasn’t thinking about enhanced kids, I was thinking about people like us. And then that kind of bit me in the ass and you weren’t even around to tell me you told me so. Which is rude, for the record. You’re supposed to calmly tell me I’m being a dumbass and help take some of the pressure off Rhodey. He’s pulling double duty these days.”
Steve watches him for a long moment and then nods, standing up. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t exactly at my best either.” He sighs. “Peggy died the day you brought up the Accords. Then everything with Bucky... How far would you go to protect Rhodey?”
Tony pauses, considers, frowns and rubs his face. “Fuck.” He frowns. “That doesn’t change what he did, Rogers. Or the fact that you knew.”
“I know. If it makes any difference at all, I’m sorry I never told you.” Steve stays quiet for another moment before pressing on. “I know things aren’t right between us, Tony, but I’d like them to be. Eventually.”
Tony continues to pace, but slows down his steps. Steve is being too fucking earnest for him right now, and it’s annoying. But it’s also necessary; this has been allowed to sit too long. He pulls the flip phone from his pocket and sets it on Peter’s desk.
“You kept it with you?”
“Every day since you sent it to me,” Tony says. He stops, sighs, and presses on. “I saw what they did to the Winter Soldier, you know. How they brainwashed him.”
Steve goes very, very still.
“I watched it because--fuck, I don’t know. I wanted to see everything he’s done, which is a fucked up thing to do, but I was a little unhinged at the time. I found a recording of it in Natasha’s files. She was using it to track down Hydra agents, the people in charge of their fucking horror show.” Tony suspects, but doesn’t say, that she may have deliberately left it for him to find, too. It’s very possible, if not likely. A ‘subtle’ way of shocking sense into him in the most horrific way possible. She’s never shied away from using horror to her own ends. Anything and everything is a tool to use for a woman like Natasha.
He presses on, avoiding Steve’s eyes. “I knew nothing good would come of it--at best I’d find what I was looking for and a whole lot of new nightmares. What I found was worse in a lot of ways.”
Tony takes in a deep breath, “I saw enough to give me a different kind of nightmare. I almost think I earned that beating in Siberia.”
Steve winces, glancing away. “You didn’t.” He suddenly looks tired. “Is that why you turned on Ross?”
“It was a factor, along with the others I told everyone about earlier. I wanted to smooth things over, fix things. Like I said I would when this whole Accords thing began, for the record. I’ve even got some groundwork laid out to get your friend pardoned for his crimes.” Tony picks up the phone and idly tosses it back and forth between his hands. He ignores Steve’s astonished and mildly overwhelmed expression, pressing on. “So. I vote we play nice from now on and try this whole ‘communication’ thing out. Preferably before everyone else tries to force it on us. Pepper’s threatened to put us in a get-along shirt before. She might make good on that threat if we lose our shit on each other again.”
“We can’t let that happen. I never want to hurt you again. I never should have done it in the first place,” Steve says solemnly. “Also, Sam and Nat would absolutely never let us hear the end of it and they give me enough trouble as it is.”
Tony, despite himself, feels a small smirk form. He hesitates for one last moment and then pockets the phone again before offering Steve his hand. “Truce?”
Steve takes it without thinking, gripping his hand warmly. “Truce.”
Tony gives one firm shake before pulling his hand back. “Good. Because, personally, my schedule’s a little packed. I don't have enough time to pencil in a fight with you. And then I’d have to plot out my apology speech to Pepper and help her move out again, break off the engagement and...well, you get the idea.”
“Yeah, and I’d hate to impose,” Steve replies dryly. He glances around the room again, his gaze softening when it falls on the photos scattered around. “Maybe you should take a break and get some coffee? Clint and Nat are going to be busy for awhile. We’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
Tony’s first instinct is to argue against it, but the reality of his exhaustion makes him a tiny bit more agreeable than normal. “Coffee sounds good. I’ll be in my room. FRIDAY, if anything changes, you need to wake me up, all right?” Another thought occurs to him. “Oh, and let the others know their rooms are all set if they’re staying late. Get them whatever they need.”
“Understood, boss.”
Steve tilts his head. “Our rooms?”
“Yeah. Never got rid of them. Mostly because moving Natasha’s very nice and very expensive book collection into storage seemed like an idea just short of actual suicide. And I didn’t want to look like I was playing favorites, so, y’know.” Tony offers a brief handwave, walking towards the door. “It was just easier this way.”
As usual, Steve seems to read between the lines. Tony might as well have just said, I hoped you’d all come back and stay here again. “I’m sure she appreciates it.”
“Right. Don’t touch anything in this room, Rogers. You know how teens get when people mess with their stuff,” Tony says, reluctantly leaving Peter’s room to go to his own just down the hall. He shuts the door behind himself, rubs his eyes, and tries to make sense of what exactly just happened.
He can’t. His brain refuses to process the full magnitude of it. Mostly because he’s been suffering from one long prolonged panic attack since Peter’s disappearance and he simply lacks the emotional and mental processing power necessary to work through all of his emotions.
In previous years, he would have used alcohol to quiet his brain down enough for him to lay down and steal a few spare hours of sleep. Today, he simply sits down in the nice chair beside his bed and tries to center himself. He focuses on the fading sunlight coming through the window, slowing his breathing to a nice and even rhythm, and closes his eyes, just for a moment.
“Tony.”
Tony stirs, wincing at the stiff and painful muscles along his shoulder and neck. He grunts, gradually sitting up, still half asleep. A gentle hand cups his cheek and he catches a whiff of Pepper’s perfume. “Pep?”
“I just got back from May’s apartment. Let’s get you into bed, okay?”
Tony follows her gentle lead towards the bed, kicking off his shoes and jeans in the process of crawling under the blankets. She joins him, pressing a kiss to his temple. He curls up to her, pressing close. “Is he home?”
Pepper freezes for a moment before gently running her fingers through his hair. “No. Not yet, Tony.”
“He needs to come home,” Tony mumbles.
“I know,” Pepper whispers, hugging him tight. She sounds tired herself; tired, and sick, and heartbroken. “Go back to sleep, okay?”
Of all the people in this world, there are only two capable of making him go to sleep. Pepper is among them. Tony sighs, pressing close to her, and falls asleep.