Work Text:
Steve nearly chucks his flip-phone across the room in a panic when the name Tony Stark flashes across the screen.
He presses accept so hard that his thumb hurts, drawing in a shaky breath as he brings the phone up to his ear. The second Tony’s name leaves his mouth, he sounds disgustingly, pathetically, humiliatingly desperate. “Tony?”
“I need help.” After all these months, Tony’s voice, something that was once as familiar as the opening notes of his favorite song or the taste of his favorite food, is almost alien to him, this unfamiliar beast that has him aching with longing before the second syllable.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, breathless and stumbling over each word. Natasha chooses that moment to emerge from the washroom, hair wrapped up in a towel, brows raised when she seems to notice the distress in his expression. “What’s- are you okay?”
“How soon can you get to New York?” Tony asks. Steve desperately searches for any emotion he can recognize, even the slightest clue of the other man’s emotional state but finds nothing. He’s never been good at reading people (especially Tony, honestly).
“What’s going on?” Steve is standing now, clenching the flip-phone so hard that there is a very real possibility of it shattering in his grip. Natasha mouths something to him that he can’t quite make out. “Are you in trouble?”
“Just-” Tony’s voice raises for a moment, anger-infused-frustration seeping through before he releases a long breath and starts again. “I’m fine. When can you be here? It’s... I need a favor.”
He sounds pained to be asking Steve, of all people, for a favor. It occurs to the captain that it probably is. When he sent that burner phone to Tony, he knew that the chances of him actually using it for anything except for a campfire were slim to none. He didn’t care.
“Yes, of course.” Steve almost whispers, flicking his hand in Natasha’s direction. What exactly he’s asking, he’s unsure of, but he just knows that if he’s going to see Tony face-to-face, he won’t be able to stomach doing it alone. “Do you want me to bring Sam and Natasha?”
“Yes.” There are rapid footsteps on Tony’s end of the call, the slightest bit of breathlessness when he speaks again. “Especially Romanoff.”
“We’ll be there, Tony.” Steve promises, and he’s never meant anything more in his life.
-
They touch down in New York just three hours later.
It’s not Tony, but Pepper who is waiting for them on the helipad, looking mildly disheveled. Of course, Pepper Potts’ version of disheveled is still more presentable than what regular people wear to the grocery store.
“Rogers.” Pepper greets coldly as the trio step out of the Quinjet. She’s only marginally warmer for Sam and Natasha, who she addresses with a firm, polite handshake. Steve struggles to process how the same person that they have spent Christmas with can be such a stranger now.
“Where’s Tony?” Steve asks, almost sick with worry. His leg was bouncing up and down throughout the duration of the flight, vibrating against the floor. His mind has been flooded with worst-case-scenarios ever since he got the call; images of Tony kidnapped, of a bomb in the earth’s core that could erupt at any moment, of Ross with a warrant for Tony’s arrest.
The wait is the worst part.
“Inside.” Pepper motions for them to follow as they take the elevator to Tony’s floor, arms crossed over her stomach like she’s trying to keep her organs in. “I’m just warning you, he’s... he’s not doing well. We really need to get this figured out before he goes into cardiac arrest.”
“What’s going on?” Steve hears Sam whisper, probably to Natasha, but Pepper pointedly ignores it, seeming to breathe a sigh of relief when the elevator doors finally open, as she wastes no time stepping out.
The first thing Steve sees as he steps into the living room of the once familiar penthouse is Tony.
And he looks awful.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but Steve has been keeping up with the media since they left New York. Specifically, everything the media has to say about Tony. More often than not, Tony looks perfectly fine in the tabloids, completely unaffected by everything that happened last June. It stung like salt in a wound, but the alternative was the entire world seeing Tony absolutely miserable, so Steve supposes that he is happy for him.
This, however, isn’t the perfectly healthy and happy man in the tabloids. The first thing he notices is that the clothes Tony is wearing (an AC/DC T-shirt and jeans) look like they haven't seen the inside of a washer in weeks. His hair is sticking up everywhere, ruffled in the way that it always is (used to be, Steve remembers with a pang of sadness) when he’s stressed and running his fingers through it. The bags under Tony’s eyes are pronounced and purple, visible from all the way across the room.
“Tony.” Steve breathes, mildly horrified.
He hasn’t looked into Tony’s eyes since the moment before he raised the shield.
And in this moment, he can tell that they are both thinking about that same memory, that same moment frozen in time that Steve would give anything to take back, to erase from history, to forget completely and start anew.
“My kid is gone.” Is what Tony says, voice trembling with shattered rage, and the room sucks in a collective breath.
Tony has a kid?
-
The kid’s name is Peter Parker.
Steve learns his face well. It’s impossible not to when Pepper has it blown up on one of the screens in the west conference room, the quality so perfect that Steve could count each individual freckle on the boy’s face, if he wanted.
Peter Parker lives in Queens with his aunt. He goes to a STEM school with a scholarship (he doesn’t come from much money). He spends Wednesday evenings and weekends with Tony, tinkering away in the lab. He’s only fifteen yet he can match and even outmatch Tony-fucking-Stark's intellect. He has this shy smile in his school photo that makes him look years younger than he really is.
The kid is also Spider-Man.
“You brought a fifteen-year-old to Germany? To fight the Avengers?” Steve feels half insane, gaze rapidly flickering between Tony and Natasha, waiting for someone to confirm that he’s not the crazy one. That confirmation never comes.
“Can we get to the point?” Rhodey hisses, staring at Steve from across the table, jaw clenched roughly. Steve winces silently. Even Happy Hogan is here, sitting in the corner, hands folded in his lap as if he’s here for Tony’s protection. It’s clear that he’s not, however, if the way he’s looking at the kid on the screen is any indication.
“Technically fourteen.” Sam mumbles, close to Steve’s ear, and he sees the barest hint of a smirk on Natasha’s face before it disappears when she seems to realize the gravity of the situation, if Tony is asking for their help. Something awful must have happened to Peter Parker, the kid that Tony is claiming as his own.
“The point is,” Tony says sharply, an echo of Rhodey’s pointed anger. It bounces between the pair like something to be shared, something that cannot exist without it’s other half. “That Peter’s gone. Someone took him.”
There is this sort of agony in Tony’s expression that Steve struggles to comprehend, this pain that he could live a million lifetimes and he’s still not sure if he would be able to understand. Tony doesn’t like kids. It’s a simple fact that Steve has known for as long as he and Tony have been something resembling friends. The fact that he cares about this Peter Parker enough to express this much emotion in front of his former teammates, to refer to him as his, is a fucking miracle.
“He was taken Tuesday after school.” Pepper cuts in because Tony hides his face in his hands and won’t continue. His shoulders are trembling. A cold chill runs down Steve’s spine; if Peter was taken Tuesday, he’s already been gone for at least twenty-four hours. “He usually walks for mile and then takes the subway home after decathlon practice. He never made it to the subway.”
Steve can’t take his eyes off of Tony, of the agony that radiates from every pore. Tony won’t raise his head to look at Peter’s picture, noticeably looking everywhere but the smiling, doe-eyed boy on the screen.
The kid looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. How can he be Spider-Man?
“We found his backpack just a few yards away from the subway station he always uses.” Pepper continues, the barest hint of emotion slipping through her stoic expression. “But that’s it. The last security footage we have of him shows him turning down an alley for a shortcut, and then nothing. There’s only a... I don’t know, maybe ten, fifteen-yard radius where he could have possibly been taken. That’s all we have, so far.”
“No ransom calls?” Natasha asks, always the first to react.
“No.” Rhodey shakes his head from the corner, patting Tony’s shoulder comfortingly. “We don’t even know if it’s about Spider-Man, or about...”
“Me.” Tony finishes for him when Rhodey trails off. Rhodey murmurs something too quiet for Steve to hear.
Steve is immediately racking his brain for possible leads. He’s not as knowledgeable about this stuff as Natasha is, after years and years of both Red Room and SHIELD training, but he’s seen enough in his years as an Avenger that he’s not completely oblivious to the horrors of the world.
“Does he have any other relatives besides his aunt?” Steve asks quietly, wincing when he makes eye contact with Tony again. “I read that- that when most kids- or, uh, minors are taken, they’re usually with another relative.”
Tony shakes his head. “He’s got maternal grandparents in Wisconsin, but that’s about it.”
A hush falls over the room. Steve stares at his shoes, something comparable to shame wrapping around his windpipe. He doesn’t belong here, among Tony’s family, searching for his kid. He doesn’t deserve to insert himself into another part of Tony’s life.
He used to be Tony’s family, at one point.
Natasha is the first to spring into action, standing. “I can go to where he was last seen, try to find anything you might have missed. You have a printed picture of the kid?”
Pepper slides a glossy picture of the kid across the table. It’s different than the one on screen; lacking the professional quality of his school pictures. This one had to have been taken by a friend or a relative (maybe even Tony), because Peter is sitting on the floor of what looks to be Tony’s lab, face covered in engine grease. He’s grinning at the camera, eyes squeezed shut with the force of his smile.
Steve can only stare.
“I’ll go with you.” Sam offers. “Where’s the kid’s aunt?”
“Working in Queens.” Pepper’s concerned gaze barely strays from Tony, who looks like he’s seen a ghost. Steve has seen Tony during countless low points over the years, but he’s never seen him like this before. It’s terrifying. “She’ll be here in a couple of hours. When you talk to her, could you do us a favor and treat her like an actual human being, and not a hysterical mother?”
Sam raises a brow.
“SHIELD things we’re blowing this out of proportion.” Tony scoffs angrily, fists clenched in his lap. “Acted like Pete was just some high-risk runaway.” He glances up at the trio. “That’s why we called you.”
“We’ll find him, Tony.” Natasha assures, voice smooth and perfectly confident. Steve can’t help but wonder if she’s actually confident of the chances of finding Peter Parker alive and well, or if it’s all an act to keep Tony from exploding on the spot. “Steve, come with us.”
Steve stands, but before Tony can do the same, Rhodey catches his arm. “No, man, remember what we talked about? You’re not going back out there.”
“Rhodey-” Tony growls, ripping his arm away from his best friend.
“You’re in no shape to be out on the street right now.” He continues. “Just stay here and help me go over the security footage. I’m not letting you go back out there. You’ll tear the fucking city down. Plus, you need to be here when May gets back.”
“My kid is out there, and you want me to just-”
Steve can’t hear the rest of the conversation because Pepper steps in front of his line of sight, looking desperate. “You should go now. We’re sort of on a ticking clock.”
Steve tries to imagine Peter Parker, the smiling kid in the photo, scared and taken and alone somewhere out there, desperately fighting to get home, and he feels physically nauseous. He thinks about the quippy kid in Germany with a heart bigger than himself, and he can’t imagine seeing him in anything but high spirits.
And then he looks at Tony, who is still quietly arguing with Rhodey in the corner, looking absolutely destroyed, and he can see why Peter Parker was the kid to single-handedly change his perspective on fatherhood.
He’s going to bring this kid home if it’s the last thing he does, for Tony’s sake.
-
“It just doesn’t make any sense.”
Natasha sighs deeply, clearly annoyed, so Steve shuts his mouth. He can’t help it; he’s been ranting about the improbability of this whole situation for the last twenty minutes, trying to understand how the same Tony Stark that had inched away from Clint’s kids like they were aliens, can now have a pseudo-kid of his own.
“Maybe it’s his biological kid.” Sam shrugs, leaning against the dirty alleyway wall as Natasha inspects the ground. “He had a... reputation, back in the day, you know. He could’ve just found out about him recently.”
“But why would Tony-”
“I wish you two would focus.” Natasha’s voice is laced with a sort of venom that makes Steve pause mid-sentence. She doesn’t rise from the ground, doesn’t even look at him, but he can tell that she’s angry. “There’s a kid missing here. It shouldn’t matter what his connection with Tony is.”
One of Natasha’s few vulnerabilities is missing kids. He sees it in her eyes when they watch the news in their shitty little apartment in France. He sees it whenever the Red Room is brought up. He sees it whenever they fail to save someone else.
“Wait.” She stiffens suddenly, crouching even closer to the ground to get a better look at something. Steve leans over her to try to catch a glimpse of what she’s seeing, but all he can see is dirty pavement and discarded cigarettes. Natasha points to a spot near a garbage can. “Look.”
She reaches down and picks up a small piece of torn, navy fabric.
Steve understands immediately, commanding Sam without a second thought, “Call Tony and ask what the kid was last wearing when he disappeared.”
Natasha finally stands with the slightest twitch of a smile curling up on her lips; the beginnings of hope. They might actually find Tony’s kid, after all. Steve tries to picture it now, a world where forgiveness could exist between him and Tony, and it all comes down to finding Peter Parker alive and well. “Looks like we have a lead.”
-
The torn navy fabric does, in fact, belong to Peter Parker, as they discover once they are back in the safety of the tower.
“You think it got torn while he was being taken?” Pepper asks, perched on the edge of the conference table, eyes wide. She has experience in the field, sure, but that doesn’t mean she’s as desensitized to this shit as the rest of them are. Tony is on the other side of the room, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the exchange with rapt attention.
“It’s possible.” Steve replies. His confidence falters when he remembers Tony’s eyes are on him, hanging onto every word. “But we think that the- that Peter could have torn it on purpose. Left it as a sort of... a clue.”
“He’s smart.” Tony breathes, eyes wet and voice frantic, like he needs them all to believe something that they’re not denying. “Like, insanely smart. It wouldn’t surprise me that... he’s just... that sounds like something he’d do. There was this one time where he marked up a whole sidewalk after getting-”
“Tony.”
A new figure emerges, an unfamiliar woman stomping into the conference room with determined, quick steps. Every head in the room snaps towards her. She’s an attractive woman, younger than Pepper but older than Natasha. She’s as disheveled as Tony was (and still is), eyes red and blotchy with tears.
“May.” Tony whispers.
The woman- May, makes brief eye contact with Steve. When she speaks, her voice is quivering with fear, or preemptive grief; he’s not completely sure. “It must be really bad.”
“What?”
“You had to bring in sworn enemies of the state.” May says, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist. A suitcase hangs limply from one hand. “So, it must be really bad if you need them to find Peter.”
“It’s just extra firepower, May.” Pepper assures, hopping off of the table. “Here, why don’t I show you to the guest room-”
“I’m not leaving.” May steps away from the other woman, still eyeing Steve with something can only be described as suspicion. Is this the mythical aunt from Queens that they had referred to earlier? It makes sense; the only other person who seems as devastated as Tony is this woman. “Not until we find him.”
“You need coffee?” Tony says. She follows him out of the room, this sort of understanding between them that no one else seems to comprehend. It’s like an invisible string tying them together, forcing them to stay in the same proximity for whatever reason.
Steve is starting to suspect that the reason goes by the name Peter Parker.
Pepper fishes her phone out of her pocket, eyes suspiciously wet. Somehow, in less than a year, a fifteen-year-old who dresses up in spandex and protects Queens has managed to form a connection with every single person still in Tony’s life. That’s more than Steve has ever managed to do in six years of friendship. “I’m gonna’ call Rhodey and see if he’ll run these down to the lab to be tested.”
Steve can’t stop staring at the metal door that Tony and May disappeared through, waiting. He swallows, glancing over at Pepper, who is dialing Rhodey’s number. “Will Tony be okay even if... even if we don’t find the kid?”
Pepper pauses. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam silently cringes at the question, looking down at his feet. When she speaks, her voice is deathly quiet, yet assured, promised. “No. He won’t be.”
-
“We have a DNA match.”
Tony stands from his chair so quickly that it nearly topples to the ground. May stays seated, but Steve can see how hard she’s clenching the sides of her chair, eyes blown wide with tentative hope, as if any sort of reaction will steal this moment from them.
“With who?” Tony demands.
Rhodey slides a paper across the table. Steve leans over in his chair to get a better look. It’s a typed report from the lab, all about the sample of the torn fabric they found earlier. “There was a hair on the sweater that doesn’t belong to the kid. Helen says we got lucky because it matches the DNA of someone in the system, someone named Dustin Wilson.”
“I know that name.” Natasha murmurs. Tony looks like he’s concentrating so hard that his head is about to explode. “He was on SHIELD’s radar a few years back, evaded capture in... 2010, maybe 2011? We never found him.”
“What was he in for?” Steve asks, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“He was running a mutant trafficking ring.”
A beat of silence.
“Oh, God.” May breathes, horrified. She’s got one hand clasped over her mouth, and the other is gripping Tony’s elbow for support. “A mutant trafficking ring? You think he took Peter to... traffic him?”
Natasha carefully avoids the question, frantically tapping something onto her phone, not looking up. “His address is probably still on file somewhere. I’ll call Fury and have him send it to me. He was never smart; chances are, he’ll still be operating off the same address.”
“I’m getting the suit.” Tony says, voice tight and footsteps heavy as he storms out of the room before anyone can argue with him.
“Tony.” Steve stands and follows him, trying to be the voice of reason in a room full of desperate, horrified people. He barely manages to catch up with Tony, who is storming down the hall like a man with a mission. Steve catches his wrist. “Tony, wait-”
The billionaire rips his arm away. “For what?”
“You need to stop and think about this for a second.” Steve says, breathless when he remembers that this is the first time he’s spoken one-on-one, face-to-face with Tony since Siberia. “We need a plan, and concrete evidence that Wilson is even the one-”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Rogers.” Tony growls, voice low and laced with venom. “You have no fucking clue what I’m going through right now- what we’re going through. You don’t know my kid. So, if you’ll fucking excuse me, I’m going. Come if you want.”
Steve’s voice is quieter now, knowing that no matter what he says, he won’t win another argument with Tony. Not when this kid is on the line. He knows that much. “If you go in there without a plan...”
“You don’t get to lecture me on anything anymore, Rogers. You’re not my teammate, and you’re certainly not me friend.” He hisses, turning his back to him once more.
Tony stomps away, leaving Steve alone in the hallway of what used to be his home, stricken.
-
Dustin Wilson lives in a rundown cabin in Vermont.
It smells stale, like it hasn’t been touched by any sort of cleaner in at least a decade. There’s mud all over the floor, rapidly rotting food across the counters, and a distinct eeriness that sends a cold chill down Steve’s spine.
“You and Rhodes take the basement.” Natasha commands him as she and Tony silently drift up the crooked stairs. Sam is waiting outside with the jet, in case they need to make a quick escape. All signs point to Peter being somewhere inside this cabin.
Rhodey doesn’t look at Steve as they creep down the rickety stairs that lead to a cold, musty, unfinished basement. Steve braces the shield closer to his chest, ready to fight, ready to defend this kid that’s a complete stranger. In the last twelve hours, Steve has learned more about Spider-Man than he has from the news in a year.
“Peter?” Rhodey calls into the darkness, just as they reach the final step. There’s only silence for a long moment, broken up by the quiet humming of an air conditioner propped up on the wall, and Steve is just about to turn around and go back upstairs when- “Oh, God.”
There, in the corner, in the hunched form of Peter Parker.
Rhodey rushes to him. Steve, with his heart firmly lodged in his stomach, braces a hand against the wooden railing and shouts to Tony and Natasha as loud as he physically can, “He’s here! He’s down here!”
“Peter, Peter, can you hear me?” Rhodey has the kid’s jaw wedged between his fingers, digging around his pale neck for a pulse. The kid is limp and silent. Something awful settles in Steve’s chest, something terrifying. “He’s not... I feel a pulse, but he’s not breathing.”
“He needs CPR.” Steve says, rushing to the scene and helping Rhodey lay the kid flat on the ground. He knows that Rhodey is just as capable of doing this, but he needs to do something. He can’t just stand by and watch Tony’s kid die on the dirty floor.
Steve checks his strength as he starts compressions, silently praying for the first time in a long time. Peter’s thin chest jumps with each movement, mouth agape in unconsciousness. He’s so concentrated on the task at hand that he barely registers the sound of Tony bounding down the stairs and bursting into the room.
“I’ve got him, I've got him. Give him to me.” Tony takes the kid out of his arms and replaces his spot over his chest, hands pushing against the center of his chest. Steve sits back on his legs, watching the scene with a growing sense of dread.
Wake up, kid. He thinks. Don’t do this to Tony.
Then, as if the message has traveled across time and space and the mere feet that separate their heads, Peter gasps loudly then gags and coughs.
“Jesus Christ.” Tony breathes, halfway hysterical, and it’s only then that Steve sees the shiny tears trailing down Tony’s cheeks. His heart clenches. When was the last time he saw Tony cry? He got close in Siberia, as he stared at him through a wobble of furious tears, but that’s it. “Peter. Peter. Kid.”
“Mr. Stark?” The kid squeaks, voice shaking with weakness. His cheeks are similarly wet. Tony practically cradles the teenager, cupping the back of his head and looking more relieved than he’s ever been. Steve tries to make eye contact with Rhodey, to make sure that he’s not just imagining the idea of watching Tony Stark cuddle an injured teenager, but Rhodey is only watching the duo with a fondness that can’t be torn away for anything.
Instead, he finds Natasha’s gaze, who is standing a few feet away, face unreadable.
“I’ve got you, Pete.” Tony whispers, and it’s the sincerest Steve has ever heard him say anything. “I’ve got you.”
-
Steve makes one last pit-stop before they depart New York again.
It’s been two days since they found Peter. The kid has enhanced healing, just like Steve does, but he’s still in the MedBay, recovering from severe starvation and dehydration. Tony has been a ghost around the tower, only appearing long enough to collect as much food as his arms could carry before disappearing back downstairs. He hasn’t spoken a single word to Steve.
Now, the MedBay is mostly silent as Steve slips into Peter’s designated room. The chair on the left side of the bed, the one that’s always reserved for May Parker, is empty. Tony isn’t in his chair either, but he’s lying on the bed with the kid flush against his torso, face buried against his chest.
“Hey.” Tony whispers upon noticing him, shifting a little.
“Hi.” Steve keeps his voice low, halfway terrified that Tony will throw him out of the room if he speaks any louder. “Where’s...?”
“Taking a shower.” Tony says, one hand soothing up and down Peter’s back. The kid was all skin and bones when they found him, but he’s already starting to look healthier, like the bright-eyed boy that Steve had come to recognize from the picture. “She’s forcing me to take one when she gets back. We both smell like shit.”
Steve laughs a little, trying not to stare but failing miserably.
“I...” The captain begins, already choked up. He swallows his tears, and his regret, and plunges forward because it needs to be said. “I know this probably isn’t the best time, but... I just wanted to say, you know, face-to-face, that... I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tony.”
There’s this long moment where Tony is staring at Steve, and Steve is staring at Tony, and Steve starts to wonder if this is the moment where Tony gives into the urge to cross the room and kill him, like he deserves, but nothing happens.
“I don’t... I can’t forgive you, Rogers.” Tony says simply, arms tightening around Peter, who sighs deeply in sleep. “But... I’m always gonna’ be grateful that you found my kid. So, thank you.”
Steve waits for the moment that his heart breaks, but it doesn’t come. Tony doesn’t forgive him... but Tony doesn’t hate him, either. It feels like the best he’ll ever get.
“Okay.” Steve says quietly, staring at his shoes because he’s afraid that if he looks Tony in the eyes, he’ll start to do something embarrassing, like cry. He settles on something truthful because he owes Tony that much. “You seem like a really good dad, you know.”
Tony smiles, warm and tender in a way that Tony Stark has never smiled before. It’s wonderful. “I’m trying my best.”
There’s another silence. It’s comfortable, this time. Less pleading. Through the walls and with his enhanced hearing, Steve hears the Quinjet start up. It’s time to leave. He takes a final look at Tony, who is staring down at Peter like he’s his entire world, and musters another smile, albeit shaky. “I’ll see you around, Tony.”
“See you around, Spangles.” Tony says, fond and familiar, and for a moment, everything is exactly how it once was.