Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“We're coming up on the ship.”

Steve frowned as he took hold of the back of the pilot chair and peered out past Clint into the dark. Dull, shapeless shadows rushed by on the other side of the streaks of rain steadily poured down the quinjet's windshield, but the sea below was lost in the black and the moon in the clouds. Flying in whether like this always made his nerves stand on end as faint memories of clacking war planes that felt like they were holding together on prayer alone passed through his mind, but he pushed them away and focused instead on the steady floor beneath his feet and the warm, temperature controlled air that filled his lungs. Even though Steve could see no sign of the ship, the display on the dash next to Clint flashed that the ETA would be within the next two minutes. The tension in the cab was slowly coming to a head as they rushed towards their latest mission, which did more to set the tension in Steve's shoulders than the bad whether. It just proved that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same he supposed.

“Alright,” he said as he turned back to the others. “Let's look alive, people.”

Steve stepped down from the cockpit area and moved to stand next to Nat. She tilted her head in his direction just to acknowledgment him but otherwise didn't comment in any sort of way. Her shoulders were loose and her stance easy, but her arms were crossed in that tight way she liked to hold them. Her own personal shield from the world. That was nothing unusual, though. This was all business as usual for someone like her.

Sam was pacing lightly around in the back. His wings were already strapped to his back, but he was fiddling with the goggle's strap as he moved. Every time he turned in one direction, he would have to work around Tony's empty suit, but he was keeping his steps even and light. Ever so often, his attention would turned towards the closed hatch before going back to the group.

Tony didn't bother to spare any of them any attention. His focus was solely on the holographic schematic of the modified oil tanker they were tracking. FRIDAY had locked onto it through a satellite and was using it to display the thermal readouts of the people inside. They looked like ants that some kid had set on fire as some of them scurried from one level to another, while others from one level to another. There was on particularly large group gathered in the lower deck.

“That's where the hostages are,” Steve said.

“Looks like,” Tony agreed. “At least twenty of them, by my count.”

Damn. That was more than they original thought. It didn't change anything, though.

“We still all know what to do,” Steve said.

Sam nodded. “Hit hard and hit fast.”

“Nothing we haven't done a thousand times,” Steve agreed. “Your wings going to be okay out in this weather?”

“Little rain has never stopped them before,” Sam said with a shrug. “They'll get us there.”

Steven glanced over at Nat, who just gave him a small shrug.

He wasn't the biggest fan of this part of the plan, but there was nothing they could really do. As Sam had said, they needed to hit them hard and fast, so he didn't have time to do a water jump and clear the deck for the others like he had done all those months ago with the Lemurian Star. These guys weren't pirates, and they had no problem with destroying everyone and everything the moment they had any indication that something was amiss. As soon as they were out those doors, they needed to be on deck. Which meant that Nat and Clint were with Sam and Tony. Tony's armor was fine in any sort of weather, but this storm could very well mess with Sam's wings, no matter what he said otherwise. He had to trust them, though.

Besides, Tony would be more than happy to rescue them, if for no other reason than to hold it over Sam's head for the rest of his life.

“Well, they're about to get you there real fast,” Clint said as he typed in the code to give FRIDAY control of the quinjet and grabbed his bow. “We're coming out of the cloud cover now. I say we have about ten seconds before they send up the welcoming committee to greet us.”

“It would be rude to keep them waiting,” Nat said with a grin.

Hitting the release, Steve watched as the back entrance of the quinjet slid open with a deafening howl of cold, wet air. Clouds swirled behind them as the hard rain fell off into the black below. What a great night for a rescue.

Tony's suit came to life with a hum as he and Clint stepped up on one side of Steve, while Sam and Nat came up on the other. As the tanker's light up below them, FRIDAY swung the quinjet around and took them in lower.

Swinging his shield around, Steve secured it to his back and said, “Let's go say 'hello', then.”

“First one to get their guy in place gets to pick dinner,” Tony said before he grabbed Clint and took off.

Sam made some kind of frustrated noise before he said, “I'm not eating shawarma again, Stark.”

Nat only gave a small shake of her head before she let Sam take hold of her and jumped out with him. Steve sighed before leaping out after them.

He really didn't want shawarma again either.

As they often do, things went to hell pretty fast. Steve barely had time to land before there bullets flying through the air, which sent him ducking for cover. The flashes of firing guns sparked brightly in the rainy darkness, which thankfully gave Steven something to aim at. The rain actually proved to be rather helpful for some cover as Steve ran towards the three men shooting at him. He threw his shield, which knocked into one of his assailants before it ricocheted into another as Steve charged at the third. The guy had the aim of a blind grandma. Nothing came anywhere near Steve even when he was close enough to grab onto gun from below the muzzle and push it skyward. The guy had just enough time for his eyes to widen before Steve punched him and sent him crumbling to the ground. The shield ricocheted one last time off another wall before returning right to Steve like a loyal hound, and then he was running again.

The next three minutes and twenty seconds passed very much in the same manner. Out came the bad guys to meet Steve. There was a brief confrontation, and then Steve would move onto the next set. The only thing that changed were the few explosions that were coming from various parts of the ship, but Steve nor his opponents really paid it any mind. Steve was soaked but not even winded by the time his section of the deck was cleared.

“Sit-rep?” he asked.

“Deck secured,” Clint's voice said through the comms.

“Working on the bridge,” Sam said right after. Something exploded in the background. “Shouldn't be much longer, and Widow and I will have it.”

That just left, “Stark?”

The hum of the repulsors directly overhead answered him. The metallic clank echoed throughout the rain as the armor landed heavily next to Steve.

“Captain,” Tony said.

“We need to get to those hostages,” Steve replied and headed straight towards one of the entrances.

Tony fell into line beside him. It didn't take a second to clear the empty hall and start to headed towards the lower decks.

“FRIDAY, how's it looking?” Tony asked.

“It looks like you and the others have dealt with the most immediate threat, Boss,” FRIDAY said through the comms. “However, one of the hostages has been placed in a separate area not to far from the others. There are at least ten other men in there from what I can see.”

Steve pressed his lips. Separating hostages from the group was never a good thing.

“We've got to move,” he said before taking off in a run.

The halls were surprising, or maybe worryingly, clear as they moved down towards one of the tanks. It had been converted into something else, but what they weren't really sure. A thick door with an electronic lock had been installed at its base. It looked a little out-of-date to what Steve was used to, but Tony was always updating things for them so it was hard to really tell.

“Think you can open it?” Steve asked.

Tony's helmet slipped back down into the armor, leaving him frowning down at the pad.

“Sure,” Tony said. “Just a sec.”

The helmet slipped back on as Tony took two steps back and raised his hand right at the door. Steve barely had time to get his shield up before a repulsor blast caused the door to explode inward. They were moving in before it even hit the ground inside.

The kidnappers had taken out the other the two walls that separated this tank from the other two, which left it one massive room with the exception of two rooms that had been added. One of them appeared to be an observation room. The majority of the hostages were backing away from the glass wall that kept them locked away. It was an eclectic group made up of men and women and some children of all ages and backgrounds. Their captors apparently hadn't had any sort of person in mind when they took them, just grabbed whoever they could find before taking off. There was clear fear in these people's eyes as they looked from them, to their captors, to the other room that was directly across from theirs.

Steve couldn't see what was in the other room just yet, but the rest of the main area was a lab of some sort. It wasn't as hightec as Tony's back at the Compound or even his old one at the Tower, but there was enough equipment there to keep some scientist happy for awhile. Much of it Steve didn't recognize, though that wasn't uncommon, but there was something very unsettling about the glass cases behind the computers that were filled with reptiles and insects. They resembled the observation room that was filled with the hostages too much for Steve's taste.

There was one man typing frantically away at the computer, and it didn't take a genius like Tony to know that he was dumping as much information as he could before they inevitably won. He and Tony didn't have time to worry with him right away, though, because the nine other men were armed and already firing at them.

In tandem, Steve went left towards the hostages and six of the guards, while Tony went right towards the other room. Keeping his shield firmly held over any vital parts, Steve charged at the first two guards. Their bullets bounced off the vibranium easily, striking the floor and walls around them. They didn't stop though. Steve used the shield to knock one of them away before spinning around and hitting the other one in the face with it.

Steve threw his shield another one of the guards as he flipped to avoid being shot by another. He kicked the third in the chest, which sent him flying into the glass wall with a resounding thud. Several of the hostages gasped and try to tuck back even further, but given their limited room, that really wasn't all that far. The final guard glared at him from the control panel next to the door but didn't bother to try and attack Steve. He just kept typing away.

That was never good.

Before Steve could do anything about him, the other guard that Steve had done a flip to avoid being shot by came back at him, and Steve ducked to avoid being shot before knocking the gun from the man's hand. The knife slid easily into its place in an underhanded position and sliced at Steve's chest and face several times. Steve dodged them all easily enough, twisting from left to right before finally catching an opening in the guard's attack. Fast as a viper, Steve swung around in a roundhouse and landed a blow right the man's stomach. As he began to double over, Steve grabbed the back of the guard's shirt and threw him at the one working at the panel. They landed together on the floor in a disarray of flaying arms and legs. The one Steve threw was unconscious on top of the other, who was glaring up at Steve. He grabbed for the knife, but Steve knelt down and rabbit punched him in the face before he had a chance.

His attention then turned immediately to the door's controls. A cold sensation spread through his stomach as he read what the half-entered code would have done had it been completed. The memory of finding out what the Allies had discovered in those Nazi camps after Steve had already been frozen in the ice burned in his blood. Even before he realized it, he had recalled the shield and slammed it into the controls and rendered them useless. Surprisingly, it also made the door slid open. The hostages didn't move. Some where holding others, while a few were trying to protect some of the younger ones, but they didn't seem inclined to leave their cage. They just continued to stare him with wide, fearful eyes. Well, at him and at something behind him.

“It's alright,” he tried as he held out his hand. “We're here to help.”

“Cap!”

Steve was surprised he didn't cause himself to have whiplash from the force that he snapped around. Tony had dispatched the other guards as easily as he had his own, and he had managed to bind the scientist with the powered clamps from the armor. Tony, however, wasn't celebrating their win but was currently trying to get into the other cell. A cell that also had a glass wall that allowed the scientist to see everything that was going inside it. A cell that was apparently occupied by a terrified teenage boy shackled to the bloody ground and a giant green monster pacing at the far end.

The scientist grinned at the sight.

“I say you have about thirty seconds before he rips the boy apart. He's rather hungry, you know,” he said almost causally. “This is the first time we've been able to feed Connors all day.”

Ignoring the chuckling, Steve ran over to Tony, who was trying to get the door opened.

“We've got to get the kid,” Tony said as if it were not the most obvious thing in the world.

“Destroying the lock will open it,” Steve offered.

“Yeah,” Tony replied, “and then we have no way of keeping that thing away from the rest of them.”

That was true, but it was the fastest way to get in there. However, Tony was right. They had no idea what that thing in there could do, other than apparently tear someone apart and eat them. It would be better for everyone if it stayed in there.

The kid though...

Tony's fingers were flying over the keyboard, and Steve knew it would only be a matter of seconds before he broke through. They needed a plan and fast.

“When you get the door opened,” Steve said, reading his shield, “grab the boy. I'll hold it off.”

“Sounds good,” Tony said before looking through the glass to the kid. “Harry, we're coming to get you!”

Harry? Steve glanced at the boy again and felt his stomach shift again.

Damn it.

He didn't have time to think about it, though. The door clicked opened, and he and Tony were once more moving. Unfortunately, the creature was doing so as well and headed straight for the kid with its sharp teeth and claws bared. Tony had already put himself between the monster and the boy, but the creature batted him into a nearby wall with one swing of his arm. It dented in under the force before Tony fell to the ground on his face.

The kid was panicking, pulling at this restraints and muttering a line of obscenities that would make Dum Dum Dugan proud. At the rate the kid was going, he was going to dislocate his thumbs at best, but not before cutting his wrists into a bloody mess. The creature grumbled something deep in its throat as it towered over the boy and raised its claws.

Steve slid between the two and brought his shield up just as those claws came back down. They slid across it with enough force that it caused Steve to grab onto the boys chains to keep from knocked down. The creature hissed from either pain or frustration and glared down at Steve before trying to backhand him like he had done Tony. Steven ducked and pushed the kid down onto the ground as the creature twisted into a turn. It took Steve a fraction of a second too long to realize why as a massive tail whipped around and slammed right into his chest. He flew through the air before landing with a hard thud on his back and sliding several more feet across the ground. Steve's shoulder ached from the impact, but he didn't have time to worry about it as the creature turned towards him. It leaped at him like a lion leaping at a gazelle, and Steve brought the shield back up to protect himself. However, before it could finish its jump, it suddenly was jerked backwards and to the ground.

“Hold up there, Jurassic Park,” Tony said as he held onto the creature's tail. “You've gotten your one free shot in for the night.”

Then, the creature did the that surprised Steve the most. It laughed.

“Oh, so you're actually going to try now?” it asked.

There was a stunned silence echoed in the room, which the creature was more than happy to take advantage of. With a sharp swing of its tail, it flung Tony right at Steve. Without thought, Steve rolled, which meant that Tony missed colliding with him by only a few inches.

“You know, normally, I would enjoy this fine appetizer that the good doctor so thoughtfully provided for me,” it said nudging his head towards the boy. “But why should I settle for that when I can have a nice juicy stake and, eh...can of sardines instead.”

“I'll show you sardines!” Tony snapped and raised his hand. However, just as he was taking the shot, the whole ship jerked and began to tilt them towards the lizard creature. The shot went wide, but thankfully the creature wasn't expecting the floor to shift any more than they were because it had to lean forward and claw into the floor to keep from tripping over. Steve dug the shield in as well to keep himself from sliding while Tony step off his suit's repulsors.

With his free hand, Steve touched his ear piece just in time to hear Clint's surprised squawk and a small curse from Nat.

“Sam!” Steve called. “What's going on?”

“Big waves,” Sam said. He sounded strained, like he was having a hard time pushing against something very heavy. “Really, really big waves, Cap.”

Big waves?

The storm.

“Hold on, everyone,” Sam said.

As the ship continued to tilt, the word capsizing rushed through Steve's mind.

The lizard creature snapped up at them and started to crawl towards them. Steve gritted his teeth. They really didn't have any more time for this.

“Tony,” he said.

“On it, Cap. FRIDAY, send in the kids.”

Steve didn't even want to know what he meant by that. He was surprised though when Tony go rushing out the door. Instead, he moved right in front of the creature and then cut off his boots' repulors. He hit the ground and slid right into creature, knocking them both into the wall opposite them. The creature howled as Tony turned the repulsors back on right in its stomach before kicking it into the back wall. While he was doing that, Steve kicked back and then flung himself and his shield over at the kid, who was holding on tightly to his chains. Steve latched onto them, not wanting to put any more pressure on the kids arms.

The kid's eyes were like saucers as Steve said, “Hold on.”

He then used his shield to break the chains. They slid down the floor and into the wall opposite them that Tony and the creature had crashed into only moments before. Tony was already outside the door, using his repulsors to stay in one place. The creature shook its head and was crawling towards them nearly before Steve's boots hit the wall.

The ship was beginning to rock into place as Steve and the kid stumbled to gain their balance.

“Move, Cap!” Tony snapped.

Grabbing the kid, Steve jumped backwards and out of the door just as the creature was upon them again. However, Tony was ready and slammed the thing shut right in its face. Steve could hear it screaming as he and the kid slid a few more feet and towards the door he and Tony had entered in through. Most of the unconscious guards were already there, along with several bits of busted equipment and computers, as well as the scientist they'd captured. They were falling back to the floor in a scattered mess as Steve and kid finally stopped.

Steve sat there for a second and expected a pull in the other direction, but nothing happened. It was just like before, silent and still.

“Sam, what's going on?” he asked.

“Stark must have called in the cavalry,” Sam said. “It looks like there's a bunch of little mini-thruster on the side of the ship to keep her from capsizing.”

Tony had walked over to them by that point and just shrugged down at them.

“Figured now was a good time to field test them,” he said as he offered his hand to Steve. “They should keep us steady all the back to New York.”

“Great,” Steve said as he took the hand. “I'm always thrilled to be the guinea pig for one of your latest inventions.”

“I could send them home, if you want,” Tony offered.

“Just make sure they don't accidentally blow up or anything,” Steve said and turned back to the boy. “Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “I...thank you. I can't thank either of you enough.”

“It's what we do,” Tony said. “Now, do you want to tell us what your dad had stolen from him, besides you.”

Harry Osborn pressed his lips and grabbed hold of the side of his arm. Steve didn't know a lot about the kid, only what he had read in the papers and what his father, Norman, had told them when Ross brought him to the Compound a few hours ago about the mission. The guy seemed more worried about his research than his son, which put a big mark against him in all the Avengers books. At one point, Steve honestly thought that he was going stop Tony from going after the guy. Not that anyone – aside from maybe Ross – would have blamed them. They all knew how Tony felt about missing kids. Steve was actually rather impressed at how he was handling the whole situation, especially considering how close it must have been hitting.

“I don't know, Tony,” Harry said. “I just happened to be in the lab looking for my dad when they grabbed me and all these computers. I don't even know if they really know who I am.”

It struck Steve again that they probably knew each other. Norman Osborn was definitely someone who ran in the same social circles that Tony had for his entire life, so it stood to reason that his kid would know him as well. Plus, given the kids age...

For the first time, Steven wondered if he could have been a playmate of Tony's son once.

A scowl pulled on Harry's face as he turned away from the pair.

“My dad doesn't tell me what he's researching most of the time,” he said. “So I can't help tell you what this is all about. Sorry.”

“It's okay, son,” Steve said. Looking over the boy's shoulders, Steve's eyes narrowed on the bound scientist. “I think we'll have a pretty good idea by the time we get back to New York.”

The scientist sneered back as one of the reptiles that had fallen out of its cage crawled across his chest.

Steve gave it five minutes before Nat cracked him.

And to think, he thought it was just going to be a quiet night at the Compound watching movies with Sam and Clint. He wondered if anyone else out there was having as an eventful night as them.

*

Blowing out a puff of air, Peter lightly shifted his weight from one foot to another before planting them steady again. His heart was pounding as the butterflies in his stomach tried to crawl up his throat, but he swallowed them back down with a large gulp of bitingly cold fall air that burned the whole way down. He wiped his sweaty palms against his pants, which was kind of weird because his hands were so cold. It was cold out, so he guessed they should feel like that, but it didn't explain why his face was so hot beneath his mask.

“Come on, Peter,” he said to himself as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You can do this. You can do this.”

He could do this. He had done this before, so there was no reason for him to be so nervous. Okay, maybe he had been a little closer to the ground then, but was okay. It was cool. He could do this. He just had to, you know...do it.

Besides, what was the worst that would happen? He'd eat a little pavement? Hide some bruises from Aunt May? That wasn't to bad. Hey, he'd already done all that like this week. So, yeah, this was completely okay to do.

This was such a bad idea.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Peter shot the newest formula of webbing from his web-shooters. It hit the edge of the building down the street in the exact spot that Peter calculated it needed to in order for this to work, and now the fiber hung loosely between there and his hand. He'd been working on this formula for two months now and knew that this particular version should work – would work. He just had to...test it.

It's fine. This will work. He knew it would.

Bad idea bad idea bad idea.

Peter jumped off the top of the twelve-story apartment building.

The mostly empty Queen's street came rushing at him in a blast of burning cold air that easily cut through his sweats. His hands clutched to the webbing that had yet to pull taunt. There was a certain springiness to it, which in theory should help launch him back up into the air, but it had to stretch out first. Judging by the arc he would make, Peter wasn't worried about that. He was more worried about it not being as strong as he thought and breaking when it happened.

Peter's eyes widened as the ground got closer. Then, he felt the webbing pull, and he started to swing.

Holdtogetherholdtogetherholdtogether.

He didn't think he was breathing when he reached the furthest point of the arc. The webbing stretched unhappily, and Peter swore a couple of the strings popped. For half a heartbeat, he knew he was about to be street pizza.

Then he started to swing upward.

His shout of joy echoed down loudly down the street as the two people who had been walking down this particular street turned to look up. There were shouts of surprise and fear, and the woman dropped her bag of groceries to cover her face with her hands. Peter couldn't stop laughing, though he did feel bad for scaring her.

“Sorry,” he said as he passed them.

He let go of the fiber and just let himself float in the air for second before shooting another web at another building further down the road. He did it again and again and again, and each time the wind cut though his thin mask or he just hung in the air like he could really fly was better than the last.

Other people saw him along his chosen test route. He knew they did, and he was pretty sure that one girl might have caught a picture of him on her phone. When he decided to test out his webbing, he'd been careful to try and keep out of a too populated area. But this was New York and there was always someone around. That was what the mask was for, right?

Right now he was just enjoying this because, really...

“This. Is. Awesome!” Peter yelled and did a flip before shooting another web.

He was still laughing when be began his downward swing when a white delivery truck turned right in his path. It saw him about the same time he saw it, and the street was suddenly filled with the sound of a loud car horn and screeching tires.

“Oh, shit!” Peter gasped as he threw his weight into the swing.

The fiber protested at the sudden change. Peter was sure it was going to break this time, and he would either end up kissing the sidewalk or the front of the van. At the speed he was going, neither would be very fun. He could see one of the two guys in the truck throw his hands up while the other gripped the stirring wheel. Peter himself sucked in a breath.

This was bad.

The top corner of the truck flew by his face and barely missed his side as he cleared it. He was already laughing again when the angry shouts of the truck driver came at him.

“Again, sorry,” Peter said and turned down another street.

As much as he would like to continue on, he really needed to be getting back. Aunt May would kill him if he missed curfew, and he still had a Spanish test he needed to finish studying for. Plus, he promised to do the dishes and call Ned about their plans for this weekend. So, yeah, things to do.

But swinging through the streets of New York was still so cool. Maybe just a few more minutes.

As he switched directions, Peter grinned to himself. This really was the best night of his life.

*

Tony hated Norman Osborn. He had since the day that the man had walked into his father's office and had offered to buy Stark Industries with several suitcases full of money and a promise that it would be better if Howard didn't try and resist his takeover. The 80s recession had hit them all hard, and it was one of the few times that Tony knew of in his childhood that the company actually took a downward turn. The Cold War was coming to a close, which didn't mean that people were absolutely terrified that a war wouldn't break out, but his father's weapons weren't selling quite like they had before. It was when the company started to diversify more, putting a bit more focus on home computers there were just starting to take off. It would all work out in the end, but there were a few months around Tony's sixteenth birthday when there had been some whispers about Howard being possibly outed of his company. It was nothing more than that. Just whispers that would die down the moment anyone caught sight of a Stark, but it didn't stop the young upstart Norman Osborn from starting to circle what he thought was a dying creature.

Howard had shown him that he was gravely mistaken in that idea. It was one of the few times that Tony could remember being truly proud of his dad. The memory of Osborn slinking out of his dad's office with an angry scowl and in one of those awful Miami Vice-style jackets had stuck with Tony ever since.

The guy was as dirty as they came, but unlike Hammer, he was smart enough to know how to hide it. Everything he did was always above the board, even when he was kicking something under the table. And just to be sure, he had the right sort of friends to help him out. Friends like Ross, who were more than willing to help out when needed.

If Ross happened to find a prize while he was at it, all the better for him.

“No need to worry about this...Lizard,” Ross said as the monster he and Cap faced off against was rolled in a cage. “We'll take care of it.”

“Yeah, I'm sure you have a whole group of people just waiting to see him,” Tony said. “Be careful, though. It bites and likes to play with its food.”

“Noted,” Ross said. “And the research?”

Steve turned a frown towards Nat. She had spent the better part of the past few hours interrogating the local mad scientist. He didn't give up as much as they had hoped, but it was enough to have a vague idea of what he was doing. Genetic modification of the human body using animal DNA. Hybrids, essentialist. No government in the world would allow for experimentation, which even Osborn seemed to understand. All the research that he had were strictly in the theoretical realm, or only dealing with animals themselves. These guys, though, the ones with the container full of people, had decided that it was time for the next step.

Finally, Steve gave her a small nod and she handed over a memory stick.

“Most of its there,” she said. “He managed to erase some of the data, but the majority is still there.”

“Excellent,” Ross said.

As he pocketed the stick, his eyes traveled to the people standing around the docks that were flashing blue and red in the cold November night. Most of the hostages were wearing blankets and talking with the authorities that Ross had brought along with them. Aside from a few bruises from when the ship nearly capsized thanks to Sam's excellent stirring abilities, they were mainly okay. Or at least okay enough that a few years of therapy should help clear everything up. Tony knew a few good ones. Maybe he should hand out their cards.

“There's a lot of people here who owe you a great deal of thanks,” Ross continued.

“Harry!”

Tony felt his teeth on edge.

Ross smiled. “Speak of the devil.”

Funny, Tony thought much the same thing.

Osborn was already pushing his way past the police barricades and towards the crowd. His hired goons surrounded him, like he was the freaking president of the United States and not just some rich asshole that liked to remind people of how much money he had. Even at his worse, Tony had never been as bad as him. Hell, his father had never been as bad as him. Really, his levels of prickishness should qualify him from a Guinness record.

He was marching straight towards Harry, who was currently having his wrist attended to. The kid really did have the biggest set of Bambi eyes that Tony had ever seen – well, second biggest – and was staring at his father as if he didn't understand why he was coming towards him. Tony's fist clenched as Harry flinched when his father touched his face. It was gentle, like something an actual carrying parent would do, but Tony wasn't fooled for a second. Judging by Cap's frown and Nat's narrowed eyes, neither were they.

Then, Osborn pulled Harry into a hug, and Tony forgot how to breath. For a moment, just a single, solitary moment, jealousy burned in his chest so bright that it was painful. Norman Osborn, outside of the normal supervillians that they normally dealt with, was one of the worst human beings that Tony knew of, and he still got his son back. His child was safe and home with him, a child that flinched when he touched him and seemed to understand even at sixteen that he wasn't the most important thing in his father's life. He got Harry back.

But Tony's own kid? The one he looked for for years and never found a trace of, who he would give anything to have back, he wasn't coming home. Ever.

That just...

Tony was use to life being unkind, but that seemed particularly cruel. Even to him.

*

As quietly as he could, Peter crawled in through his bedroom window. For most kids, that was more of a metaphorical, but in Peter's it was more of a literal thing, especially since he was hanging from the ceiling. It was easier than trying to get in through the front door, but it still had its own risks of some seeing him. Most of the people in building pretty much had that 'if it doesn't affect me, I don't want to know' attitude, though, so he felt he should be pretty safe.

As lightly as he could, he let himself fall to the floor. It was almost completely silent, but Peter still stood there for a second to make absolutely sure that May hadn't heard him. After several seconds of nothing, Peter let out a breath and began to change out of his suit.

Web fluid version 47 was a complete success. The fiber it created was strong and held together just like it was supposed to. When he backtracked after his little trip through Queens, he saw that they were dissolving just like they were suppose to as well. By morning, all evidence that he had ever been out swinging his way around New York would be gone, which was just how Peter wanted it. If he was going to do this, like really do this, he wanted to be sure no evidence could be traced back to him. It was too dangerous for May and his friends if someone could, so Peter was relieved that this couldn't be.

That put him one step closer to becoming Spider-Man. A superhero just like Iron Man and Captain America.

How cool was that?

After pulling on a t-shirt and his sleep pants, Peter balled up his 'uniform' and threw it into his closet. Of course, it crashed into one of his old Lego set and sent the box crashing to the floor. He cringed at the noise and gritted his teeth.

“Peter? Is that you?” May's voice drifted through the door.

Dang it.

“Yeah,” he said. Well, this was going to be fun.

May was pushing herself up from laying on the couch when he walked out of his room. The TV was playing some investigation show, but she obviously hadn't been watching it since it was on mute. Her glasses were slightly skewed, but she was trying to flatten her hair that was going every which way. The book that she had been reading slid down to her lap as she blinked almost owlishly at him.

Luck really was on his side tonight.

“Hey,” she said yawned. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Yeah, um, I – ah – didn't want to wake you,” he said.

Okay, think fast, Peter. You need something to distract her.

“Ah, what are you watching?”

May frowned at him and glanced over at the television. “Oh, um, nothing really. One of those old crime show documentaries, you know. Shouldn't you be in bed?”

“I was –.”

A picture of a young boy no older than three was on the screen. A large, happy smile was spread across his face as he laughed about something that no one who was a member of the audience would know. It was a normal enough picture of a kid. May had thousand like them of him at various ages and nothing that really stood out exactly about the kid. What did stand out was the fact that the boy was who was holding the kid.

“Is that Tony Stark?” Peter asked as he climbed over the couch. Grabbing the remote control, Peter unmuted the television and sat back next to May.

“– disappeared while he was in a crowded park. Amber alerts were sent out nation wide, but no leads were ever found.”

“Oh, I remember this,” May said. “That was so sad.”

“That's Isaac Stark, right?” Peter asked. “Tony Stark's missing kid?”

“Yeah,” May replied. “He disappeared years ago. You'd be too little to remember, but I sure do. It headlined the news for weeks while they tried to find the poor kid.”

“But they never did, right?” Peter asked.

May shook her head. “No. There were all these rumors going around. A lot of people thought that Stark himself must have done something to him, but he was at a meeting when it happened and at least a dozen people swore that they saw the kid in the park with the nanny. It was like the kid just disappeared into thin air.”

“Police have to continued to search for him, even after all these years,” the newscaster said. “Even though the case has been cold for almost a decade, they still hope that perhaps someday some sort of clue will be found to tell what happened to baby Isaac.”

“God, I can't imagine,” May said. “Not knowing what happened to your kid for that long? And this show is old. I just...if I didn't know what happened to you, it would kill me.”

“Yeah,” Peter said.

“If you have any information on any of the missing persons seen on this program tonight, please call the local authorities or the FBI.”

A series of pictures of missing kids flashed across the screen. Most were old and far out-of-date, but a few of them showed some age-progression photos along with them. The last one was of Isaac, aged about ten years from when he was taken. Peter frowned as his eyes drifted from the television screen to his sixth grade graduation photo on the wall.

That was weird. Isaac Stark looked a lot like he did at that age.

Chapter Text

Writing Prompt:

Write a paragraph about your earliest childhood memory.

Peter lightly tapped his shoulder with his pencil as he stared down at the blank sheet of paper. After reading the prompt again, he readjusted his notebook. His knee bounced up-and-down rapidly, barely missing the bottom of his desk. He really hoped he didn't touch it. The last time he did, he had someone's old gum stuck to his pants all day. Ugh, it was so gross. Maybe if he shifted in his seat, he wouldn't have to worry about it. So he did. That meant that he had to readjust his notebook because now it wasn't at the right angle for him to easily write in it. Once that was done, he went back to tapping his shoulder.

Somehow, during all of that, the prompt hadn't magically filled itself out, and he was still left staring at a blank sheet of paper.

Ugh. He hated doing these kinds of assignments. Give him a good formula to figure out or a angle of a swing between two buildings to project over a writing assignment any day of the week. It wasn't that he didn't think that it was important (though why they always chose to use the most random prompts for them, he'd never understand), but every time he wrote anything it always comes cross like he wrote it while he was still in the third grade.

I was really young. I think the room was white. My mom handed me over to my dad. The end.

Somehow, he was pretty sure that Ms. Robins wanted a little more detail than that.

Why? Why did this have to be so hard?

No wonder writers were so weird. Peter couldn't even write a paragraph about something that – he was pretty sure – happened to him. He couldn't imagine writing a whole bunch of them and having to put them together in a way that made sense. That had to be...hard.

Frowning down at the paper, Peter thought about the prompt. His earliest childhood memory was a tough one. Most of the stuff that he remembered, really remembered, involved May and Ben, but none of those were his earliest because he had been six when he went to live with them.

He remembered his parents, but after eight years, life with them had become mostly a hazy blur. There were small things he remembered – riding in the backseat on a sunny day, cuddling with his mom on the couch, standing in front of his father's desk – but things like how they looked and the sound of their voices had faded away at some point. They were mostly feelings now; these vague whispers of smoke that slipped through his fingers if he tried to think about them too hard, but still always there all the same.

That was probably why he didn't even bother to try and remember his birth-mother. Sure, he'd been nearly three and half by the time his parents adopted him and some people supposedly could remember things from that age, but Peter didn't think he was one of them. Every time he tried to think of her, there was nothing; not even the vague feelings his parents had. It was like she was never there at all.

There was one memory about his parents that was pretty clear, but he wasn't even sure if it was real. He'd read somewhere that people remembered things that didn't happen all the time, especially from a long time ago. The memory was so random and ordinary that it was easy to believe that it didn't happen, but something in Peter told him that it did happen. If it did, it had to be the first thing he could remember.

Things were still really vague, and Peter didn't know where he was exactly. It seemed like it was big room, and everything was a really light color; but the room wasn't overly bright or anything. It was just kind of warm looking. His mom was holding him; he couldn't remember what she looked like, but he knew that she had him. He also knew that he was really excited because his dad was home, and she passed him over to his father as soon as he was close enough. Peter could remember putting his head on his shoulder just as his dad pressed the side of his lips to his forehead and how his beard made Peter's skin itch.

It must have happened not long after his parents adopted him because Peter knew that his dad had shaved off his beard by the time he was five. Why he remembered that, he didn't know, but he did know it happened. He just...felt it.

Now he just had to figure out how to write a paragraph about it.

Peter was so lost in thought that he nearly jumped when Ned said, “Dude, you've got to see this.”

Ned was already leaning across the aisle with his phone in hand by the time that Peter looked up from his still unfinished English assignment. A wondrous smile was spread across his face, and Peter wondered for a second if some trailer had dropped early. A new Star Wars trailer would be one the few things that Ned would risk a write-up for cellphone use in class for.

Peter's eyes slid to the front of the mostly empty classroom. Coach Wilson was their sub for the period, since Ms. Robins had started her Thanksgiving vacation a day early. Most of the teachers were being pretty lax about most classroom rules today, but Coach Wilson was funny about the cellphone rule for some reason. The rumor was was because cellphones messed with his programming and would cause something to malfunction. Not that Peter believed that Coach Wilson was an android that some senior classman had made for a final project a few years ago and that was why he always looked bored and tired. That was just a rumor going around the Freshman class. Totally not true. Unless Ned's theory that he was fueled by coffee and beef jerky was correct, but Peter didn't think so. Of course, he stuck to walls, so who knew.

Anyway, Coach Wilson was staring at his computer in such a way that Peter wasn't quiet convinced that the guy hadn't fallen asleep – or maybe powered down – with his eyes opened. Considering that he was on his third cup of coffee that Peter had seen that day, that was kind of impressive.

By Peter's count, that meant that Android Gym Teacher had 7 points to I'm Just Tired and I've Stopped Caring Six Years Ago Gym Teacher 4.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to look into the whole android thing. That sounded like something Spider-Man should do, right?

“Dude,” Ned said again as he pulled on Peter's sleeve. “Look.”

A YouTube video was keyed up on Ned's phone, but it wasn't a trailer for Rogue One like Peter thought. Instead, a girl about his and Ned's age was taking up most of the screen, but a familiar Queen's street was behind her. The sidewalks were pretty busy as people were rushing from place to another, though most people were going in and coming out of one particular store that had fruits and vegetable positioned around the store front. Ned had the volume turned down too low to hear what the girl was talking about, but it wasn't what was important anyway. What was, was the guy in the background who ran up behind one woman who was fumbling with her shopping bag, and how he snatched her purse right off her shoulder. The girl in the video didn't even seem to notice the way the guy was charging up behind her until he was almost there. She gave a surprised shout, but before he ran into her, a glob of white webbing attached itself to his chest and he was pulled into the air. The phone twisted in several odd angles at the sky, but a solid figure in red flashed across it for a second. When the girl got it stable again, the purse snatcher was webbed to a nearby lightpost, and the same figure that flashed across the screen seconds before was swinging through the air as he rounded a corner.

Peter stared at the screen that was now recommending a video of “Captain America throws shield at alien invaders” and “Hulk Smashes Tank in Park”.

Oh.

Oops.

“That was right down from my house,” Ned said excitedly as he took back his phone.

“Come on, Dude,” Peter said. “It's YouTube. You don't think that's real, right?”

“Oh, it's real, all right,” Ned said. “Mrs. Fernandez, you know the lady with all the dogs, she was there when it happened. She was telling my mom that this guy just came out of the sky and shot this sticky stuff at the guy who stole the purse. He was stuck to that pole for, like, two hours before the cops could get him unstuck and take him to jail. He was really out of it by then because he thought it was a demon that had come to punish him or something.”

“Wow, that's...um...something.”

“I know,” Ned said. “And check this out. This video already has over a hundred and twenty-five thousand hits. And it's only been up since this morning!”

Peter blinked and pulled the phone back over so he could see the stats himself. “A hundred and twenty-five thousand? No way.”

It was 126,372 to be exact from when it had been uploaded around four hours ago, which was astonishing. Peter knew there would be some interest in him because you don't see guys sticking to walls or swinging around on manufacture webbing a lot, but he didn't think people would be that interested in him. His video wasn't on par with the Avenger ones, but...wow.

Taking his phone back, Ned began to scroll.

“Dude, this is just awesome. My neighborhood's got its own superhero.”

“Ah, yeah.” Shifting in his seat, Peter leaned his chin against his palm, sat back up, and leaned heavily against the back of his desk chair. “So, uh, what are people, you know, saying about Spider, uh, this spider – spider guy...person...man?”

Smooth, Parker. Real smooth.

Ned, blissfully unaware Ned, just continued to smile. “Oh, they're loving him. It's mostly stuff like how awesome the way he grabbed that guy and...webbed him to that pole. 'Snatcher got snatched' and things like that. Some people are wondering where they can get some of that web stuff too because they want to fly around like him or use to, uh, 'web those kids I've got babysit for to the wall for a few hours'.”

Peter really hoped that Ned thought that the smile on his face that he was trying to repress but couldn't was just excitement because this really was so cool. Not that it was the reason he started doing this, but the fact that people already seemed to liking Spider-Man was lifting some weight off his shoulder. If people liked him, it would make this whole superhero thing a lot easier. Sure, he was just starting, but it never hurt to get things off on the right foot. So far so good.

Then, Ned's smile slowly slipped off his face.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Oh, um, apparently not everyone is fan.”

Uh-oh.

“There's like a thread on here where some guy said that he think that this spider guy might be some kind of mutant who, like, uses his webs to catch his pray and eat people like a spider or something.”

What?

“They think he's a bad guy?” Peter asked. “But he just caught a bad guy.”

“I know. That's what a lot of other people have pointed out, too, but some people are kind of not so sure.”

Ned pressed his lips together before his eyes became large.

“What if he does eat people like a spider but feels super bad about it, so he only goes after bad guys? You know, like that Sparkly Vampire Guy from Twilight did for awhile?”

Peter held in a physical cringe. Twilight? Really? He knew his friend had read the series when they were younger, but that he remembered enough of it to compare him to Twilight Guy was just all kind of horrifying on all accounts.

“I doubt it, Ned,” Peter said. “Besides, considering what he did, don't you think that he's more of a...hero-type than a human-eating type?”

“I guess,” Ned said looking back down at his phone. Peter tried not to let the fact that he sounded unsure disappoint him. Maybe next time he caught someone in Ned's neighborhood, he should, like, talk or something. Like make sure that they knew he wasn't going to web them up and eat them or anything.

And really what had his life become when that was something he was going to have to worry about?

He bet the Avengers never had to deal with things like this.

*

“Well, we're almost out of time, so in the spirit of the season, why don't we go around and say what we're thankful for. Andy, why don't you start.”

“Alright, I'm grateful...that those Hydra sympathizers were stopped before they could make any more Giant Lizard people hybrids from that stolen Osborn research.”

“I'm not sure if that's true. You've seen Congress, right?”

“True, true. What about you, Linda?”

“I'm grateful for the creation of the ATCU. President Ellis and others are finally understanding what kind of threats that we actually face and are taking active steps towards doing something about. I think that we should all be grateful for such a thing. What about you, Bill? What are you grateful for?”

“Oh, that's easy. I'm grateful that Tony Stark only made one actual murder robot.”

Rhodey glared at the TV as he walked into the common area. Three talking heads for the WHiH network were laughing among themselves from behind an extra long desk with an annoying over-the-top cornucopia decoration right between them. Actual news was ticking across the bottom of the screen – a bus bombing in Jordan, a flood in Brazil, some relief workers from the reclusive Wakanda opening an office in Lagos – but none of these three were the least interested in that. Why report what's actually happening when you can just save a lot of time and effort and spew out your opinion on things that have already been reported on?

Vision was watching the program with an indifferent air about him, but Rhodey felt Wanda's eyes tracking him as he walked passed the back of the couch they were sitting on. She had her hand pushed against the side of her face to hide most of it, but Rhodey knew that she was following his every move. Maybe it was a left over thing from growing up in a war-torn country, or maybe it was because he was Tony's friend first and therefore she trusted him less; but it always made him tense up when she did that. As a general rule, war vets knew that tracking eyes never meant anything good. Judging by the way that both Nat and Cap were frowning at them in the kitchen, they knew that too.

Or maybe it was the way that Rhodey was looking at them that tipped them off. Either way, they knew.

Picking up the colander, Cap began to drain the spaghetti and said, “Isn't there anything else on TV?”

“I believe that A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving is about to begin on one of the network, Captain,” Vision offered helpfully.

“Great,” Cap said as he placed the colander on the counter next to the salad that Nat was making. “Let's watch that.”

Then, just like that, Wanda was no longer watching him, and Rhodey could feel himself be able to breath again.

As he slipped his bag off his shoulder and put it down near the counter, Rhodey heard Wanda say, “I was not aware that they made a Thanksgiving episode. I thought they had only done Christmas and Halloween.”

“Oh, those are the most well-known,” Vision replied, “but there are actually quite a few Peanut specials.”

“Thanks,” Rhodey said quietly. “I always feel like I'm eight again and my Nana's cat is waiting for me to move wrong when she does that.”

“She doesn't mean anything by it,” Cap said as Nat scrapped the shavings from her carrot into the salad. “She's just cautious, and after everything that's happened, I don't blame her.”

“Cautious is fine, but that's just...creepy,” Rhodey said. “Look, I'm about to head out. I just wanted to wish you guys a happy Thanksgiving before I left.”

“You sure you don't want to stay for dinner?” Nat asked. “It's Cap's cooking, so you know it's at least eatable.”

Rhodey was already shaking his head before she finished. “Can't. I told my dad I would be there before my sister and her husband make it up from Atlanta, so I'm going to have to pass on the Captain America Spaghetti Special.”

Rolling his eyes, which was kind of funny seeing how it was Captain America doing it, Cap opened the silverware drawer and started to gather the knives and forks they would need. “You know, you heathens could cook too if you just practiced.”

“Why would we do that when you're perfectly willing to feed us?” Nat asked as she popped a crouton into her mouth.

Cap snorted. “Careful. You're starting sound like Tony.”

“No, I sound like Clint,” Nat corrected. “He would just so happen to agree with Stark on this.”

That was true. Clint and Tony weren't the best of friends and, some days it seemed, they barely tolerated each other, but they did agree about that. Tony was always willing for someone else to feed him, and Clint had never turned down free food that Rhodey had seen. Rhodey hoped that Laura was stocking up for tomorrow, though, because he had a feeling that Cap might be looking for payback for all the times that he had to cook for her husband.

“Well,” Rhodey said as he grabbed his bag and slung back over his shoulder, “as much fun as another Avenger Family Dinner would be, I better be heading out. Happy Thanksgiving, guys.”

“You too, Rhodey,” Cap replied. “And see if you can get Tony to come up. He's been locked down in his lab all day, and I really don't feel like having to drag him out myself.”

“Will do, Cap.”

Rhodey gave them one last nod before turning back towards Vision and Wanda. He raised his hand towards them. Vision gave him a nod, but Wanda only raised hers so that he could see the back of hers as she kept her attention on the Charlie Brown special.

The Compound was empty by this time of the night except for those who lived there or were staying the night, so Rhodey didn't see anyone on the way down to Tony's lab. FRIDAY had given him the heads up that Tony had moved into one of the back areas to do some kind of experiment, so Rhodey wasn't surprised when he started walking down the corridor that he didn't see him in any of the smaller labs up front. They all had glass walls between them, so it was easy to see the various experiments and weapons that were being worked on or updated. Sam's wings were still on the table where he had handed them over to Tony for update earlier that day before Sam took off to meet up with his parents so they could all fly down to New Orleans for a family gathering. Some of Tony's armor was in various states of disarray in a few of the labs, some with their wires completely exposed while others looked like they were just waiting for the armor to be assembled. Some of Clint's arrows, the mini-thrusters that Rhodey had heard about, something that might be early designs for a new armor – all these things were spread out among various flashing holographic screens and still tools that had just been left wherever Tony had last set it down.

A light flashed in the very back section of the lab, which caught Rhodey's attention. This far away, the glass distorted things just a little, but he could see Tony leaning back against a workbench. At some point he had changed into a black T-shirt since Rhodey had seen him a few hours ago, but it was an uncommon thing since Tony had a tendency to be a little less then careful with things while he was working. What was odd, though, was that he was talking to someone that really shouldn't be here.

“What's Director Fury doing here?” Rhodey mumbled to himself before picking up the pace.

Neither Tony nor Fury noticed him, even as Rhodey all but started to run towards the end of the corridor to the lab entrance. Fury was facing towards Rhodey, which gave him a good look at the older man's face. He was always composed and in control from what Rhodey had seen, but this time there was something sad in the way he was holding himself. Tony was really looking at him, just nodding off into another direction, before Fury reached up and patted him on the shoulder. Rhodey lost sight of both of them for a second just as he turned the corner and Fury was leaving Tony. To Rhodey's surprise, Fury had disappeared by the time he could see fully into the lab again, but given who it was, Rhodey was less concerned about that than he was his friend who had turned around to face the workbench. His head was hanging and his shoulders were tense, and Rhodey didn't know if it was from anger or something else, but it was clear Tony was upset.

“Tones?” he said as he pushed into the lab. “What happened? What did Fury want?”

Tony didn't answer and kept his back to Rhodey. Leaning forward, Tony pushed himself so far down that it almost looked like he was trying to do a pushup on the workbench. Alarm bells were going off in Rhodey's head as Tony gripped the side of the workbench so tight that his hands nearly turned white.

What if – what if Fury come there because he...he found something? Oh, god. What if he found out that Isaac...and then didn't let them know – Oh, god!

“Tony!” Rhodey said moving right at his friend. Before he even made a full step towards him, however, Tony grabbed a wrench off the workbench, turned, and threw it right in Rhodey's direction. Years of training saved him from having it planted right in his face, but before he could yell at Tony for it, Tony was already collapsing to the ground and drawing his knees up to his chest. The fact that Rhodey hadn't heard the wrench fall to the ground or collide with anything behind him didn't register with him and all that worry came back in sharp focus.

“Tony, what happened?” he asked as he knelt down next to him. However, Tony still didn't respond. He just kept his face pressed into his crossed arms that were resting on top of his drawn knees. It reminded Rhodey of a time after Tony's parents died, when he found him curled up in his dad's lab. That had not been a good night and was followed by many, many nights that were not much better. If Tony was like that now than something must have happened. Something...terrible. That the cold knot in his chest threatened to choke Rhodey as the thought he's dead rolled around in his mind.

Oh, god.

Swallowing, Rhodey knelt down next to him and said, “Tony.”

Rhodey's eyes widened when his hand passed right through Tony's shoulder. The holographic image went completely still one he touched it before it began to flicker like it was have a hard time holding together since Rhodey disturbed it. It began to dissolve quickly, and Rhodey could only stare at it as it did.

What the hell?

A hand – a real, solid hand – landed heavily on Rhodey's shoulder and caused him to nearly jump out of his skin. Tony was standing next to him. His back in the clothes that Rhodey had seen him in earlier that day, but he was wearing a pair of glasses that were weird even for him.

“Sorry about that,” Tony said with a tired smile that was completely empty. “I didn't think anyone would come down here for awhile.”

Shaking his head, Rhodey pushed himself back up to his feet as Tony pulled off the glasses and headed towards a decanter of bourbon he had sitting on another table.

“I could use a drink after that,” Tony said. “You want one? You look like you could use one too.”

Ignoring the question, Rhodey frowned as Tony fixed himself a drink. Generally speaking, drinking and...sciencing were not a good mix for Tony because that was usually when his worst ideas came about. Bruce was good at keeping that to a minimum, but seeing how no one had heard or seen the good doctor in six months that didn't seem to be an option any more. However, after what Rhodey had just seen, he couldn't deny that he rather wanted a drink himself.

“Tones, what was that?” he asked.

Something humorless rumbled in Tony's throat even as that empty smile pulled at his lips. “That, my dear Rhodey, was a test.”

A test?

“For...?”

“B.A.R.F.,” Tony said. “Binaryly Augmented Retro-Framing.” In his free hand, he held up the glasses. “B.A.R.F.”

“And what exactly does B.A.R.F. do?” Rhodey asked.

“Right now, it pretty much just highjacks the wears hippocampus and let's them relive past experiences. I'm still working out the bugs, so there's no sound yet or anything; but the goal is that eventually the user will not only relive a traumatic past event but even manipulate it so that they can help them heal from it and move on.”

“And that's what that was?” Rhodey asked carefully. “A traumatic event?”

Tony placed both the empty glass and the glasses back onto the table. He seemed to consider pouring himself another drink, but settled for sighing and staring off into a darken part of the lab.

“That was just me realizing something,” he said vaguely. “So, all packed and ready to head back out to the old homestead? Is the whole Rhodes clan going to be there this year, or just your lovely sister and her gaggle of children?”

Rhodey spoke Tony Stark well enough to know that there was no point in pushing about what he just saw. He could try, but it most likely end with Rhodey storming off to catch his plan while Tony sat down here and drank. It wouldn't be good for either one of them, so it was avoidance for the time being. Hell, he was still trying to get Tony to tell him what happened with Pepper, but that was another problem to deal with in another time. Whatever Rhodey had accidentally seen was too fresh and raw for Tony to want to tackle, so as much as Rhodey didn't like it, he would leave it for now. When he got back in a few days, Tony might be ready to talk but not now.

He just hoped Tony didn't do anything stupid between now and then. Based on Rhodey's own knowledge and Cap's experience with the previous generation, Starks had a tendency to do those sorts of things when left on their own for too long when they were upset or stressed. Like father, like son and all that.

Was making stupid decisions genetic? The Starks certainly made a case for it. Who was he kidding? Starks definitely had that gene, and god help anyone who carried it.

*

Peter had to admit, this probably wasn't one of his better ideas. Not that it was bad, bad or anything, just not...good. Nothing he couldn't handle, though. Well, that Spider-Man couldn't handle. It was just three guys. With knives. And a pipe. And looking like they were ready to murder him because helped that girl get away. Sure. He could do this. No problem.

So far, Peter hadn't had to fight anyone because he mainly preferred the swoop-and-web method: swing down from somewhere high, swoop up the bad guy, web him to a wall. Fast, easy, worked every time. Okay, so every time was like four times now, but still it was unbeaten record. So, yeah. It would have been nice if he had, you know, any actual experience in fighting – aside from getting his ass handed to him by George Desmond back in the fifth grade, which definitely didn't count – but he figure this out. How hard could fighting be when you had superstrength, right?

“I'm warning you guys, you really don't want to do this,” Peter said as he held up his hands.

A buzzing sensation crawled up Peter's arms just as the guy with the pipe swung it at Peter's head. It seemed almost slow as it moved towards him, so Peter had no problem ducking under it. His survival instincts must have kicked in because, even before Peter realized what he was doing, he knocked himself into the guy's side with his shoulder. The guy stumbled as the hollow metal sound of the pipe hitting the ground echoed through the alley. That wasn't so bad, but he really wasn't the problem.

The problem was one of his friends with a knife was moving after Peter before he even managed to standup straight again. Peter barely had time to twist so that the knife missed stabbing right into his stomach.

“Careful,” he said as he webbed the guy's hand to the wall. “You could hurt someone with that.”

As the man pulled uselessly at his stuck hand, he sneered at Peter, and he got the feeling that he was about to reach for him with his free hand. However, that buzzing thing came again, which Peter somehow knew meant that he should duck to the left. As he did so, the guy with the pipe's fist went right over Peter's head and smashed into his friend's face. There was a sickening crunching sound as the guy's head snapped back a second before he was reaching for his bloody nose. Pipe Guy didn't seem all that concerned, though, because he rounded back on Peter and raised his fists.

“You know, I think you might have – Hey!”

A pair of arms wrapped around his chest from behind in attempt to pin his arms. The third guy, who apparently hadn't discovered the joys of deodorant yet, squeezed tightly and stood up straight, which lifted Peter off the ground a bit. As Peter toed at the ground, Pipe Guy's fist slammed into Peter's stomach. The air rushed painfully from his lungs as his muscles tensed and pain spread through his body. Another punch came in from his side, and a third right after it on the other side. Peter grunted with each blow as he gritted his teeth.

Okay. Enough of this.

Kicking up, Peter managed to get his feet up on Pipe Guy's chest, which pushed him into Stinky. With a swift, hard kick, he sent Pipe Guy crashing into Stabby, who was still trying to get his nose to stop bleeding. Peter and Sticky were fell backwards onto the ground, which made Stinky loosen his grip. Peter continued the roll out of Stinky's grip and ended up kneeling near Sticky's head. Peter webbed Pipe Guy to Stabby before webbing Stinky to the ground.

Well, that wasn't too bad for his first fight. Maybe he didn't take these guys out as easily as Captain America or Black Widow, but he managed. Not bad for someone with no training.

Peter winced at the pain in his side as he stood back up.

Maybe he'll stick with the swoop-and-web method for a while more, though. He and his ribs liked that one a lot better.

Still holding his side, Peter turned back towards the mouth of the alley. The woman he had rescued was still standing there among the remains of her groceries. She had readjusted her jacket at some point, but she was having to push some of her fallen hair from her face while she continued to film the whole thing with her phone. Her eyes cut from the phone screen to him and back again as she slowly shifted her weight like she was ready to bolt.

“Um, hi,” Peter said with a small way.

She just blinked at him, but otherwise didn't respond.

Already the distant echo of a police car was reaching him, so Peter knew it was time for him to go. Before he did, he would like to set the record straight.

“I don't eat people,” he said before leaping into the air. He landed pretty far up the side of the building before crawling the rest of the way up.

It was already fairly dark by the time he made it back to his backpack and the grocery bags that he had left tucked in an alley near Delmar's. Thankfully the gray clouds had held off and neither his regular clothes nor was the groceries that Aunt May had asked him to get for tomorrow where soaked. She would have killed him if he brought home soggy bread...again. As it was, he was already late. If he wasn't home soon, there was a good chance that she was going to call the police.

After a quick change, Peter shoved his 'uniform' into his backpack, grabbed the bags, and ran out into the busy sidewalk.

Hours later, a man looking for shelter from the biting wind found a reusable bag with the picture of a palm tree printed on it tucked behind some cardboard boxes. There wasn't much inside it, but the rolls were good and the canned vegetables would feed him for a little while at least. This place was quickly becoming his go-to place for finding things. Though what he was going to do with another backpack full of T-shirts with science puns on it, he didn't know.

Chapter Text

At a little after four in the morning, the baby who lives in the room directly below his room started crying. His parents came into his room shortly after, but an hour of pacing and singing and bouncing had resulted in jack. The baby was still crying, and the parents began to argue about whether they should take the father's mother's advice about putting rum on the kid's gums to help with teething or should they follow the mother's mother's advice and just put a teething ring in the refrigerator and see if they helped. (Personally, Peter sided with mom's mom because he fairly sure giving baby's alcohol was kind of a bad thing.)

Just when the wailing was starting to calm somewhat, a scent of a baking turkey, frying ham and bacon, and brewing coffee started to fill his room. He was fairly certain that it was coming from the Cutlips next door because the smells weren't overpowering like when May was cooking but were strong enough that his enhanced senses could pick them up. Now that the baby wasn't crying quite so loudly, Peter could now hear the rattle and banging of Mrs. Cutlip knocking around in her kitchen as she made breakfast for her family and worked on her Thanksgiving meal for later that day.

When Aunt May's phone began to ring, Peter stare up at his popcorn ceiling that had started to turn a predawn pinkish color and finally gave up on the idea of falling back asleep all together. Groaning, he kicked off the itchy sheet with one foot and pushed his palms against his eyes. The dry heat from the radiator was making his room a little too hot at this point, but Peter made no real move to get out his bed. His side still hurt a little from yesterday's encounter with the three Stooges – Pipe Guy must have cracked a rib a little – and there was a certain laziness that just seeped throughout his whole body that came from too little sleep and kept him pinned to his mattress for longer than he could normally stand. There was nothing that he had to jump up and start the day for either since he didn't have to be back to school until Monday, but Peter felt a bit bad about just laying there. There were things he could be doing, like his homework or working on the Dell Dimension 2400 that he had bought at the Goodwill Store, but he just didn't feel like getting up to start on any of that. Right now the only thing he wanted to do was lay there and try and keep his slightly overactive senses from overwhelming him too much.

Apparently, May must have decided to go ahead and start her day after the phone call. Letting his eyes drift close, he let the familiar sounds of her daily routine being followed wash over him and drown out the still whimpering baby below him and the muffled sound of cartoons being played a little too loudly from the Cutlips' living room. Really, Peter was grateful for how soundproof their apartment really was because Peter had never been able to hear this much stuff before he got his powers, and even now their no where near as loud as they could be. If they had been like the walls in their old duplex, he didn't know what he would do besides invest in some really good earplugs.

It was still bad right now, though, and everything seemed to be getting a little louder and brighter with each minute that passed. When it all got to be a bit much, he rolled onto his side, grabbed his pillow, and bunched it against his ear. Even though the fabric felt rough against his cheek, it helped cut some of the sound, and Peter was glad to let his mind drift for a few minutes in the muted silence.

He wasn't thinking of anything in particular, mostly just throwing around ideas on how to improve his web fluid's strength and wondering what kind of hand-to-hand combat videos that YouTube had, when he noticed the shuffled of May's footsteps right outside of his door. Peter was already lifting the pillow off his head when she knocked while cracking the door opened.

She blinked in surprise when she saw him sitting in the middle of his bed and then said, “You're already up?”

“Not long,” Peter lied with a shrug and then frowned when he noticed she was dressed in her normal office clothes. “What's going on?”

“The hospital called. Mica and Neveah called in this morning with a stomach virus, so they need someone to come in and work in our department for a few hours,” she said.

Peter's shoulders dropped along with the corners of his lips. A childish, 'But it's Thanksgiving,' was bubbling in his throat, but he swallowed it down. It wasn't often that May got called in to work on her off days or holidays, the hospital was pretty good about making sure that anyone who worked administration was pretty much kept to their schedules to try and keep their overtime down, but he knew that couldn't afford to turn them down if she did. Money was already tight enough as it was, and May was going to take any extra that she could.

It still sucked, though.

“It won't be all day,” she assured him. “I'll be home by four, and we can have our dinner then.”

“Yeah, that's, um, that's fine,” he said. “I've got homework and stuff to do, anyway. Do you need me to do anything while you're gone?”

She said, “If you would, would you please go pick up some things to replace the ones that you accidentally left behind yesterday. I can't make my tofu turkey without some of that stuff.”

Peter was proud of himself for not making a face at the mention of May's famous Tofu Turkey, but he couldn't help the guilty blush that rose on his cheeks. Yeah, that was a woops on his part, but in his defense, he was kind of in a hurry and had just gotten smacked around a bit. Sometimes you forgot how to do things like count when you got hit the side. Right?

Well, at least it hadn't been another backpack.

Maybe Aunt May should look into buying those things in bulk.

“Okay, yeah, sure, no problem,” Peter said.

“Thank you,” May replied with a smile. She then came over and brushed his hair back. Her lips were a uncomfortably warm against Peter's forehead and the smell of her Japaneses cherry-blossom lotion was a pretty strong, but Peter ignored that and smiled up at her as her hand came down from his hair cup his face. “I'll see you this afternoon.”

He nodded, and she headed back out of his bedroom.

Pausing at the door, she turned back and said, “Try to get some more sleep, sweetie. You look like you could use it.”

Peter waited until she closed the door before flopping back down onto his back. There was still a pinkish hue to his ceiling, but it was becoming lighter and lighter as more sunlight began to cut through the clouds. It wouldn't be long until his room was filled with it, but he closed his eyes anyway. The Cutlips still had their TV up too loud, but it wasn't nearly as annoying as it had been a few minutes ago, and he had gotten somewhat used to the smells coming from their kitchen. The ache in his side didn't bother him as much in his new position, so maybe he could actually try catching some sleep.

Closing his eyes, Peter again began to let his mind wander, and it wasn't long before he could feel himself sinking down into a relaxed state.

Just as he drifted off, a sharp wail from below made him snap his eyes open again.

Okay, note to self. As cute as babies were, they were loud and not good for sleeping, so no babies until he was old, like thirty-five or something. Not that that was a real probably for him right now, but hey, you were never too young and it was never too soon to make responsible decisions, right?

*

Nat never wanted children. Not really. Growing up in the Red Room had done too much to her, and it seemed cruel to consider ever bringing a child into a world where such a horrible life like she had could be even a possibility for any daughter she might someday bare. Nat grew up in the middle of it, but she knew even then that a child should never have to live that sort of waking nightmare. So she had made the decision early on to never have children. Not as long as the world was still so full of evils as the ones she had known her whole life. Years later, the choice would be taken from her in a ceremony that was marked by the ending of an existing life and any possible life that she might have brought about. It had hurt in so many ways but not in the way that she knows Bruce took it when she had told him her secret months ago. She still didn't want children, but she wanted to be the one to make that choice, not something else that the Red Room stole from her because it was what they wanted for her.

It was all moot now, anyway. Over and done with in a past so long ago that Nat barely gave it a thought anymore – or, at least, she didn't unless someone was messing with her mind. Still, holding baby Nate brought up some distant feeling that might have once been motherly, but she was quick to push it away and settled into the happiness that came from enjoying a child that was not your own but close enough that it brought joy. A family members child that you could spoil and hype up on sugar and then leave them with their parents to deal with. Nat found she rather enjoyed doing that with Cooper and Lila, and she looked forward to when Nate was old enough to enjoy treats like candy and soda and all those other things that his parents will try to limit but that Aunt Nat always seemed to be able to sneak them when their mother and father weren't looking like his siblings did.

Nat smiled down at the baby in her arms as Lila's childish, delighted screams mixing with Cooper's protest over some unfair call could barely be heard in the kitchen. She hoped Clint was enjoying the fact that he was only having to run down two them with an impromptu basketball game with Vision and Wanda because when he had to deal with three hyperactive kids, it was going to be a lot more fun for Nat to watch.

“I just don't know where they get all that energy from,” Laura said as she let the flimsy curtains over the sink fall back into place and went back to the finishing her green-bean casserole. “They were fine an hour ago.”

Feeling Steve's eyes shift towards her, Nat lifted baby Nate and pointedly placed in front of her. Nate happily kicked out his legs a little as she made a face at him and both seemed oblivious to the silent accusation being thrown her way.

The not so silent one was a little harder to dismiss.

“Yeah, Nat,” Tony said as he peered around the infant swing he had been working on with a not-subtle smile on his face. “Where do you think all that energy came from so suddenly?”

Nat just raised an eyebrow at him and brought Nate back down so that he was laying down in her arms again.

“A real mystery there, isn't it?” he asked before frowning back down at the exposed inner wiring of the swing as Laura put the casserole into the oven to keep warm. “Kind of like why didn't you or Deadshot outside let me know to bring a new one of these.”

“I appreciate the thought, Tony, but there's no reason to get a new one when the old one can be fixed,” Laura countered. “Just because something is old and needs a little TLC doesn't mean that you have to get rid of it the first time it messes up a little.”

“And that, ladies and Captain, is the reason that our dear bird-theme archer friend outside has managed to hang onto someone who is obviously so far out of his league,” Tony said.

Nat's frown turned a little harsher in defense of her friend as Steve rolled his eyes, but Laura's sweet and disbelieving laugh took most of the heat out of it.

“Yes, that's one of many, many reasons,” she said with a playful smirk.

Tony grinned at Nat as if he had won some argument before poking at something inside the swing's motor. “Seriously, though, you really should have just told me you needed a new. I mass produce these things, you know.”

Nat held in a snort. If the giant Stark Industries logo stamped on the back of the chair wasn't enough proof as to what he said, the sleek, modern design of the thing would have said as much. Nat wasn't one hundred percent sure what all the thing could do, but knowing Tony, probably far more than an infant swing should. She imagined all sorts of bells and whistles that went along with the custom rocking settings that could be controlled by an app. It was all a bit over-the-top for Nat, but she really didn't expect anything less when it came from anything that bore Tony's name.

“Oh, I'm very aware,” Laura said as she took the now pealed potatoes from Steve. “And from all Mom's everywhere, we thank you for it and bless the name of whoever came up with such a wonderful invention. They definitely deserve a raise.”

Something snapped under his fingers, but Tony just chuckled and leaned in closer to his work.

“I'll be sure to let Pepper know that you think I need to make more off these things,” he said.

“Wait,” Steve said. “You invented this thing?”

“I invent a lot of things, Rogers. Why does this one surprise you?” Tony asked as he took out his phone. “FRIDAY, sync up with this thing and see if you can get its programming to reset.”

“Will do, Boss.”

“I don't know,” Steve said as he sat down at the chair at the head of the table. “It just doesn't seem like something you'd waste your time with.”

“Getting a screaming kid to stop screaming is not a waste of time, dear Captain,” Tony said.

Laura made an agreeing sound in her throat, which caught Tony's attention. The pair shared a look of solidarity, like they knew exactly what the other was referring to and had lived through it themselves. It was a parental look that Nat and Steve both seemed to be keenly aware that they didn't understand fully.

“How old was your son when you came up with that thing?” Laura asked.

Nat tensed as Steve became very still.

There were subjects that were taboo among the Avengers; things that they didn't bring up for any number of reasons. All them had things in their past that they didn't want to talk about, and the others always respected that wish. As long as their own ghost weren't mentioned, they were all perfectly happy to ignore everyone else's. Isaac Stark was one such ghost. Tony never mentioned him, and everyone had learned not to ask.

It hadn't always been like that. When Nat had first meet Tony back when he was dying of palladium poisoning, there had been an urgency about Stark to find the boy. Nat understood why. He was dying and wanted to know what happened to his son before he did so. Even as he spiraled downward, he still worked towards that goal. His determination in that was one of the few things that Pepper nor Happy nor Rhodey ever questioned, and he could easily explain away the new urgency due to the fact that he was now Iron Man and there were any number of enemies who would use the boy against him if they found him first.

The next time Nat had seen Tony, when Loki was causing havoc and Clint was missing, it had changed. She had her suspicions as to why – Fury hadn't exactly made it a big secret that he was looking personally into the Stark boy's case – but she never heard of anything that came about from it. If SHIELD couldn't find anything on him....

Tony wasn't dumb, either. He could be a fool, true, but he understood what it most likely meant when a secret organization who traded in sensitive, secretive information that no one else was privy too couldn't find someone who wasn't actively trying to hide from them, what that most likely meant.

And Tony had been dealing with it in a very Tony fashion: ignoring it and pretending that everything was okay. It was a landmine field that not many of them wanted to wander into. Steve tried on occasion, as did Rhodey and Bruce too once or twice, but most of the rest of them rather stay clear of it.

Laura, however, seemed to have no qualms about it.

Tony paused as his attention drifted somewhere far away. Steve sat up a little straighter and glanced over towards Nat. She continued to bounce baby Nate, who was growing fussier by the moment like he could sense how quickly her alarm was rising. Tony wouldn't do anything besides evade the question, but later on, once he felt himself safe back at his apartment or down in his lab, it could prove to be a problem.

Then, Tony blinked, and whatever dark place he could have went to was gone.

“Um, six weeks old, I think,” he said with an actual smile. “Kid had a set of lungs on him and wasn't going to let anything drown him out.”

“Please tell me you didn't try to drown out your kid crying with that awful screeching you call music you listen to,” Steve said with a sigh.

Shaking his head, Tony gave a self-deprecating smile. “What can I say, Dad? Given who raised me, I didn't exactly have the best role model for that sort of thing, so I wasn't exactly 'fatherly' material when Izzy first showed up. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that I was really, really bad at it. It probably would have kept on going that way if I didn't suddenly find my self all alone one weekend with a screaming infant because all my friends and employees suddenly found themselves incredibly busy with other things and couldn't help me out.”

“They just left you alone with an infant?” Nat said as she shifted Nate in her arms. She definitely wasn't going to point out the nickname that Tony had let slip and neither was Steve. “That was brave of them.”

“Not the word I used when they did it,” Tony said. “You should ask Rhodey about the conversation he and I had when he told me that he had to go help his sister pick out a wedding dress that weekend.”

“That's a perfectly reasonable excuse, Tony.”

Snorting, Tony said, “Yeah, when she's seventeen-years-old and not even dating anyone, it's not, Cap.”

“God, I can't imagine being left all alone with Cooper for the weekend when he was first born,” Laura said. “If felt like Clint and I barely survived, and we were working tag-team. What did you do?”

“Same thing I always do,” Tony said with a shrug. “I fixed the problem.”

He motioned vaguely to the infant swing in front of him.

“Kid liked to ride around with Happy. I mean for hours he'd have to drive him around. Hap once left with him at two in the morning and didn't get back until after seven.”

Sighing again, Steve learned forward and covered his face with his hand. “Tony.”

Like the petulant child that he sometimes could be, Tony rolled his eyes and said, “One, we already covered that I wasn't great at the 'dad' thing when I started. Two, Happy is my driver. That was literally what he was hired to do? Why wouldn't I have my driver drive my kid around?”

Well, he did have a point. Nat could imagine it, too: 2 am, Happy driving down the highway with somewhat glazed eyes and constantly muttering about how this was not what he was hired to do, while a baby whined from the car seat in the back. Tony probably knew that Happy was use to it, considering that Happy had done the exact same thing for Tony for as long as he knew him – minus the car seat, of course.

“I couldn't spend the entire weekend in the car, so I came up with this little multimillion dollar idea in an afternoon,” Tony said as he typed something into his phone and then started to replace the base's covering. “Happy wasn't too happy about it, though. I think he liked his nightly rides with Iz.”

Another nickname she hadn't heard in years. That was unexpected.

“And with that, I think we're done here,” Tony said as he turned on the swing.

It was a good thing too because Nate had now started to stretch out his little legs and arms as a small whining noise grumbled in his throat. Nat did her best to juggle him while not losing her grip, but she could see his nose starting scrunch in anticipation for a real cry.

Turning the swing around, Tony walked around the table and said, “Apparently not a moment too soon. Come here, kid.”

Before Nat could protest, Tony already had the kid balanced in one arm while he messed with the settings with his free hand. He was doing that bobbing, swaying thing that Laura favored when she was trying to keep one of her babies satisfied until she finished whatever it was she doing. Watching Tony do it seemed strange, but he was going through the rhythm so naturally that it seemed wrong to poke fun at him for it.

As he asked Laura about Nate's preferred settings, Nat caught Steve's eyes. He gave her a small smile – so small and so fast that she could almost pretend she hadn't seen it at all – before turning his attention back the discussion of which setting would be better to use to get Nate to calm down. Steve was happy to just listen to the two of them, but Nat could tell that he was happy about this turn of events; that Tony had actually talked about his son for once.

Thankfully, Steve didn't seem to notice how carefully neutral Nat's expression was. Not for the first time, she wondered if he or any of the rest of the team understood what she and Tony did about what must have happened to Isaac and why he never talked about the boy. No, she knew for a fact that Steve didn't know. Even at his darkest moments, Steve never lost that hope that things would turn out the way that they should. That was what he always strive and fought for: that good would always win the day. He wouldn't understand. Not like she did. Not like Tony did. It wouldn't occur to him what the fact that SHIELD couldn't find any information on what happened to Isaac Stark actually meant. Could only mean.

If SHIELD couldn't find him, than the chances were strong in the favor of the fact that there was no one to find anymore.

*

When he turned the corner and started to head north right into the wind, Peter thought about turning around and heading back to his and May's apartment and forgetting the whole grocery run. It was only for like a millisecond, but that first faceful of burning cold air against his already too sensitive skin – thanks a lot super senses – was enough for him to consider telling May that the pack of frozen hot dogs in the freezer would go fine with whatever else she planned on making for dinner. He might could try to make an argument for them based on the fact that they were turkey dogs, but he was pretty sure that wasn't going to work. Tofu turkey was kind of a staple in the Parker household, even if half of it would much rather eat the hot dogs than it.

Giving up on the fantasy of making ballpark franks the next big Thanksgiving thing, Peter pulled his hoodie a little further down and then jammed his hands into his pockets. He took a quick glance up at the glaring sky and frowned. The gray rainclouds that had been hanging around all week had taken on a pinkish hue that promised the possibility of snow, which would just be his luck today. Cold was bad enough on a nine day, but cold and wet? That was not something he would look forward to.

At least it wasn't an eleven day, some part of his brain helpfully chirped. He supposed that was true, but nine days still sucked, too. Not as badly because, you know, he could crawl out of bed, but still not fun.

Dodging around a few people, Peter squeezed between a small group that was taking up most of the sidewalk and jogged a few steps ahead into an empty space. By New York standards, the street was practically empty, which was a good thing considering. Aunt May had always said that Peter was a “people person” and liked having them around, so living in a crowded city was usually kind of perfect for him; but he was glad for the thinness of the crowd. Not only because it helped keep some of the overload down, but also because it made going all the way over to Ander's Market that much easier. It was about ten blocks away, so it wasn't too bad, but he sure wished that Delmar's was opened on Thanksgiving. And, you know, sold vegetables. That probably would help too. Well, technically speaking, a potato was a vegetable, and Delmar's sold chips, so he guess they did sell vegetables, just not the ones he needed. Still, it's a vegetable. So, chips and turkey hot dogs are basically the same thing as a potato dish and a turkey breast, right? That's pretty close to a normal Thanksgiving meal, so maybe if he sold it just right –

Peter's head snapped up as a panicked scream filled the air and sent him running in the vague direction that it was came from. It was short, more like a cry than an actual scream, but it was enough to catch his attention. No one else around him seemed to have noticed, though, which wasn't really that surprising since he himself was sure he'd have missed it if it hadn't been for his senses. He just hoped someone close enough had heard and maybe called the cops or something because it dawned on Peter as he took a sharp turn and headed down an even emptier street that he didn't have his Spider-Man outfit with him. He didn't even have his web-shooters or his mask. If he was going to help, he was going to have to do so very carefully or else this whole Spider-Man thing was going to be over with before it even started.

He jogged to a stop at an intersection down the next street and glanced into a smaller adjoining street and up the one that he was running down. The smaller one-way street – which was more of an alley than street – was empty from what he could see, but no one on this one looked like they were being drawn to any commotion. It came from somewhere around here, though. He just didn't know which way.

Why didn't he have his suit? Being able to climb the building and run across rooftops would make this a whole lot easier. Maybe he should just start wearing it under his normal clothes all the time in case of emergencies like this. Kind of like that Mr. Incredible does in his comics. Peter always wondered how they kept from getting too hot by doing that, but he definitely saw now why it was a really useful thing to do.

Another muffled yell and a crash drew had Peter taking off down the smaller side street. It was one that curved around into another street, so he couldn't see straight down it like the one he had just left. After only a moment or two, a black van came into view. It was parked in front of a shop with the doors and at least two guys in hoodies were taking things from a tiny shop. They were working in a hurry but didn't seem overly concerned about being caught. Most of the stuff that they were taking didn't look like they were worth much to Peter – old televisions and out-of-date computers and a stereo that was probably older than Peter himself – but they were taking enough of it that it might get them a little money from a pawn shop or from Ebay. That was a lot of trouble for not a lot of gain, but since when did criminals make sense?

“Hey!” Peter yelled as he ran towards them.

A skinny one that wasn't much taller than Peter glanced back at him and then yelled something at the other one. Peter knew he wasn't much of threat without his suit, but these guys must have not been looking for any sort of real fight because they were already pealing out of there by the time Peter reached the shop.

Part of him wanted to follow them, and he even started to run after them before his brain caught up to what he was doing. Without his web-shooters he wouldn't be able to swing after, and without his mask, people would ask how he was able to run down a van. So, even though he didn't want too, Peter had to let them go. Besides, someone had been screaming for help. He couldn't chance them and help this person, and Peter would always choose to help someone in need. That was the whole reason why he wanted to do this, right?

The store was some secondhand place that was crammed full of objects and clothes and electronics from years gone by. Even with all the robbers had taken, it didn't look like they had put even a dent in the stores stock. They were apparently interested in most the electronics, but the glass case that must have been for jewelry was smashed and mostly empty too. Dusty old paperbacks were thrown across the floor from where one of those cheep turning bookshelves had been turned over, and some of the folded clothes on the tables were in a messy pile like they'd been rifled through quickly – though Peter wasn't sure if it was supposed to be like that or not. They hadn't gotten away with a lot, but that didn't mean that wasn't going to cost the store owner.

Speaking of which.

“Hello?” he asked as he glanced behind the counter. “Is someone here?”

He didn't see anyone there – though the cash register was opened and empty – but there was a muffled shout from a door in the back. A blindfolded and gagged woman was sitting on the floor of a claustrophobic office. She was wiggling against the ducktape that bound her wrist and ankles, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

“Oh, jeez,” Peter said as he knelt down and removed her blindfold. The look she gave him could have melted ice, but Peter didn't pay it any attention as he pulled down the bright red tie they'd use to gag her with. “Are you okay?”

Her words were harsh and biting, and even though Peter didn't understand Mandarin – of maybe it was Cantonese because he was bad about getting those two mixed up – he understood by her tone that she was very angry. Not that he blamed her. He'd be angry too if he was just robbed on a holiday. Or any day, really.

This would be the part where if he was really good at being a superhero he'd be able to calm the victim down and get help, but Peter was a little out of his depth here. Yeah, he was good with people, but he wasn't exactly sure what he should be doing here. He wanted to calm her down, but she didn't act like she wanted to calm down. She just wanted to yell at him like he did something wrong.

What would Captain America do in a situation like this?

“Ma'am,” he said holding up his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “Ma'am, I, uh, I need – I want – no, I need you to, ah, I need you to – Ma'am, please, stop – Ma'am, I'm not – oh, please –.”

The air shifted, and Peter felt every nerve in his arms and on the back of neck stand at attention.

“Freeze!”

Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the authoritative voice from behind Peter.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

Keeping very still, Peter turned his head ever so slightly so that he could see the police officer standing just outside the office door. He had his gun trained on Peter and was standing as steadily as a statue.

Peter. Who was sitting in front of a woman who was screaming at him. And bound by her hands and feet. And who had obviously been robbed.

Crap crap crap crap crap.

For one wild second, Peter thought he might could make a break for it. He imagined using his abilities and sprinting out a backdoor faster than the cop would realize what was happening. Then he saw that this office apparently didn't have a backdoor, so that was out. He didn't have a mask, so vaulting over the guy and going out the front door was a no-go because this lady knew what he looked like and then his face would be all over the six o'clock news and then Aunt May would know he could do weird things and the police would think he was a criminal and –

“Don't move,” the police officer ordered as he moved closer to them.

Probably to arrest him.

Wait. What was he panicking for? He didn't do anything. He'd just explain to the cop that he was trying to help. Yeah. He heard a scream and came to help. That's what he did. It was all true, too. He just had to tell him.

“Officer –.”

“That him!” the woman yelled over him. “He tied me up. Arrest him!”

...well, shit.

*

This was not how Captain George Stacy was planning on spending his Thanksgiving, but in his twenty years on the Force, he's found out that most holidays don't go as planned. Hell, most days don't go as he planned, so why should these days be any different? It would have been nice if for once he could make it through an entire holiday with his family and not have to be called in because some kid and his old man were fighting and decided to settle their argument with their fists or because a wife found out her husband was a slimball and decided to carve him up instead of the turkey or because a couple of idiots thought it would be a real good idea to try and knock over a convenient store and got themselves shot in the process – or worse yet shot someone else. That'd all be real nice, but it was things that George had come to expect in his life. And really, as horrible as it sounds, he wouldn't have his life any other way because at least he knew he was doing something to help when something bad happened, instead of sitting on his ass and complaining about how bad things were but never doing anything about it like some people. So, yeah, it sucked to be away from his wife and kids on holidays, but he could handle when he got called in on his day off because something bad happened and someone needed his help.

What really got him, though, was when he got called in on a holiday because nearly a fifth of his officers who were supposed to be on shift today called in sick. Officers calling on a holiday they had to work wasn't an overly uncommon thing, unfortunately. You always had a few that would do it just because they didn't want to work those day – and they were usually newbies who didn't last out of their first year – but most anyone who made it out of their rookie status knew better and didn't. So it wasn't like George though that they were all playing him for a fool or anything, but it was still annoying as hell. Holidays were usually manned by the least people they could get by with, anyway, and those empty slots had to be filled. The city didn't stop just because some of them got the sniffles, and there was still a job to do.

Sighing, he sat back in his office chair and glanced out into the bullpen. His people were moving about, some hurrying from one area to another, while others worked one something at their desks. Just another normal day in the 107th.

Thankfully, things for the most part had been quiet. There been a couple of reports of domestic disputes, which given it was a big family holiday wasn't surprising – there was a reason some families didn't get together that often – and a few muggings, but nothing too serious that he'd seen. The worst looked to be a robbery of some store called Li's Things, but one of the beat cops had brought in a suspect a little while ago. From what George had heard it was just a kid, so he expected there would be a parent called. At least he hoped there was someone to call. Social Services were a bitch to deal with on a normal day. He really didn't want to deal with them today.

Other than those few things, there was nothing to report on, which he was grateful for. No murders, no gang wars, no crazy megalomaniacs trying to destroy the city – all in all, an uneventful Thanksgiving.

Hell, maybe he would be lucky and make it home in time for pie and The Wizard of Oz. It felt like he missed so much of his kids' lives already, and Gwen was a freshman in high school. He wouldn't get many more holidays with her because she was off to college. And Philip would be right after her. And then Howard. And then finally Simon. God, they'd all be gone before he knew it. He'd like to enjoy them while they were here if he could.

A sharp knock to his door had George snapping his head towards it as Mason came barging in with a file clung in his hand. The detective was normally more courteous than to do something like that, which was already sending alarm bells off in George's mind. That, along with the look in Mason's eyes, had George sitting up straight in his chair and waiting for whatever new the detective obviously wanted to share.

“What is it?” George asked as thoughts of mass shootings to alien invasions went through his head.

Mason's back was already ramrod straight, but he pressed his lips as he held up the file in his hand.

“There's...an issue, sir. With the kid that was brought in on suspected attempted robbery charges.”

A frown fell on George's lips. With the way Mason was acting, that really wasn't what he was expected.

“What kind of issue?” George asked.

Drawing in a deep breath, Mason held it moment and then said, “When we ran his prints, we got a match.”

Before George could as another question, Mason handed over the file. There wasn't much inside of it, which was a good thing as far as a criminal record goes for the kid. In fact, it was just two printed pages, with the kid's mugshot clipped to it. A quick glance at the information that the kid had given to them – his name, age, DOB, and legal guardian – were filled out, but there was nothing that stood out to George.

However, when he flipped the page and saw what his finger prints came back as, George felt his jaw draw.

“Are you sure?” he asked Mason. “Did you check it again?”

“Three times, sir,” the detective said. “They all come back the same.”

George turned back to the name on the page and dropped his shoulders.

Well, there goes pie and Oz.

Chapter Text

“So, there's Clint, covered from head to toe in God only knows what and smelling like an open sewer, and he comes trotting back into work after being gone for over an hour with this lame excuse about all the men's rooms in the building being out-of-order and that he had to go over to the next building to find a working one,” Laura laughed as she gently adjusted her hold on baby Nate.

“You're joking,” Wanda said with a grin before sliding her amused eyes over to Barton. “She is joking, yes?”

Barton pressed his lips but tilted one side upwards. “That may be...fairly accurate.”

“Completely accurate,” Nat corrected. “Coulson was not happy.”

Holding in a laugh, Tony asked, “How could you tell? He always had that Zen Master, Dead on the Inside look whenever he was around.”

“Around you, you mean,” Nat said from next to him. Even though her face never changed, Tony knew she was smiling at her little joke that she made at his expense. It was kind of fascinating how she did that, and Tony was never really sure how she pulled it off. Must have been some super secret spy training or something.

“You wound me, Romanov,” Tony said. “Really, I might cry.”

The seemingly non-existant smile somehow narrowed and became more amused when she replied, “I'm sure you'll get over it, Stark.”

“He was always happy when I was around,” Steve said from his place across the table. He apparently was ignoring Tony and Nat's playful teasing, and instead focusing back on Coulson.

God, he really missed that straight-lace asshole sometimes.

“Of course he was,” Tony said reaching for his wine.

Before Cap could respond, Wanda leaned towards the head of the table where Laura and Barton were sitting, and which pushed Steve further back into his own seat, and asked, “But what about the smell?”

Picking up her water, Laura laughed again, “Oh, he just ignored that. It was like he just thought if he just pretended he couldn't smell it, none of the rest of could either.”

Light laughter echoed around the table as everyone either picked at the remainder of their meal or sat back in their chairs far too stuff to move from them. They had done a good job on everything, but there was still left over that the Barton family would be having variations of turkey themed meals for the next few days. That was unless Mrs. Legolas pushed Cap into taking it back with them. If that were the case, Tony gave it a day before everything was gone. Supersoliders were really fond of their midnight snacks after all.

It was a little odd, honestly, being here like this with everyone. Thanksgivings weren't really a big thing in the Stark household. (Well, truth was, holidays in generally were pretty much ignored with the exception of Christmas because his mother loved it so much and New Years because it was a good reason for his father to throw a big bash for all his important friends and have a good reason to get smashed without anyone saying anything. Everything else was kind of ignored or only barely celebrated with a “Happy Whatever” and then everything continued on as normal.) His parents were usually gone on that day, off attending business somewhere else in the world because, aside from the US, no one else was taking the day off. In fact it would be a lot easier for Tony to count the number of Thanksgivings he'd spent without his parents than it would be to count the ones they did because he only had the vaguish notion of maybe one when he was very small and none after that.

His dad was right about it, though. The idea that you needed a special reason to get together with family or friends and have a nice meal was kind of stupid. If he wanted to see these people, he would just invite them over. He wouldn't need a national holiday for it. So, yeah, Tony never really minded ignoring the whole thing. When he was a kid, it just meant that he didn't have to go to school for the day and that Jarvis would be making turkey for dinner and nothing more.

Tony could still remember the chaos of the first Thanksgiving he spent with the Rhodes when he was fifteen. That particular year had been a full-scale family get-together with cousins and aunts and uncles and relatives so distant that Tony didn't even know that they still actually counted. Rhodey had laughed at him for the most part, especially when Rhodey's Great-Aunt Edna had taken a shine to him and decided that she was going to be his surrogate auntie from then on.

Tony had been overwhelmed by the whole thing, but he'd loved every second of it. Imposing on someone never really bothered Tony, so he had spent whatever holiday he could with Rhodey and his family until Tony's parents died. After that, well, he wasn't much into any kind of family holiday.

Then Isaac had shown up, and for a few years it was good again.

Then it wasn't.

Now, they weren't so bad.

Cap always seemed to look at holidays like they were team-building exercises, and most of them got dragged into more often than not. You could get out of it if you told him that you had things to do, but unless it was spending time with family, then you would spend the next few weeks dealing with Cap's patented I wish you would change your mind frown – that, unfortunately, really resembled a kicked golden retriever. Who would have thought that Captain Freaking America could pull off puppy-dog eyes so well?

Putting her water down, Laura chuckled and said, “I swear, I thought there was no way that this man and at any point in his life had worked in an office building. I didn't care what his work history said.”

“Well, to be fair, she was right,” Barton said with a shrug.

“I generally am,” she grinned back at him.

Tony held up a hand and said, “Wait. So you're telling me that one of Fury's Top Super Secret Ninja Spies is...a bad spy?”

Laura laughed again, while Nat snorted.

Twisting her face into a mock serious one, Laura nodded and said, “Oh, yeah. A really bad one.”

With an over-exaggerated and rather theatrical expression of shock that only seemed appropriate in response to Laura's, Tony sat back in his seat and said, “I feel so lied to.”

“I fight robots and alien armies with a bow and arrows,” Barton said as if that explained absolutely everything that Tony needed to know. And, really, it kind of did somehow.

From the kids' end of the table, Vision said, “I believe that Mr. Barton is what young people refer to as being 'extra' like that.”

Cooper nearly choked on his potatoes, while everyone else turned their surprised or confused stares to Vision. Even little Lila, who thought the flying pink man that Daddy had invited for dinner was the coolest and most brilliant thing she'd ever seen, had drawn her eyebrows together and was frowning. Tony wasn't sure it was because she thought that what Vision said was weird or because the six-year-old thought that it was odd that anyone would think of her dad like that. At that age, it was probably the latter.

After a moment, Wanda's chest and shoulders jerked as an amused sound caught in her throat. She slapped one hand over her lips, but Tony wasn't sure whether it was to keep herself from laughing or to try and hide her smile or both. It was all for nothing, though, because the second she turned her head back towards Laura, who was trying to hide her own smile by pressing her lips against Nate's head, and the two women's eyes meet, they began to snicker. Cooper fell right in with them, and Nat actually chuckled and smiled at Barton, who was ducking his head away from them. Cap stared at them all like they'd lost their minds.

Frowning, Vision asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

“I'm not sure,” Steve said.

“Daddy's not extra,” Lila said with all the conviction that a small child could have. “He's just...him.”

“That's right, kid,” Tony said to the little girl seated next to him. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out his billfold. “Here's a hundred dollars. Just remember to remind him that he's not so special every so often.”

“Stark,” Barton snapped, but he still couldn't keep the amusement out of his tone.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the nicest thing to do, but Tony wasn't exactly known for being nice. Besides, keeping the parents humble was what kids were good at, anyway. Lila might as well learn to get paid for doing a good job.

Laura was already telling Lila to give the money back – and, of course, Cap was chiming in about Tony's behavior – when FRIDAY's voice chirped brightly from Tony's pocket. “Boss.”

Thankful to have a reason to ignore Steve a little longer, Tony grabbed his phone while Barton groaned. “God, I hope this doesn't have to do with us. I don't think I can move to fight.”

Part of Tony hoped the same thing. In fact, that part of him was rather hoping that he was about to be told that a certain CEO who was currently in Tokyo and had been avoiding talking to him about anything besides work for the past few weeks might have decided that she actually did want to see him, but Tony pushed that thought away. If she really did want to talk to him, she would have called him directly, not used FRIDAY to get contact with him.

It was a nice hope, though.

“What's going on, FRIDAY?” Tony asked.

Steve sat a little higher in his seat as he waited for whatever FRIDAY was about to tell them. Even though he had eaten more than any of them, he didn't seem the least bit affected by it. If they were about to fight, he was ready.

Tony wasn't so sure about the rest of them. Hell, he wasn't even sure if his suit would fit right now.

Mrs. Barton really did make a mean pumpkin pie.

Tony was half-considering just letting Cap handle whatever this was on his own when FRIDAY said, “My Milk Carton Protocol has been activated.”

There were times when Tony had felt the world narrowed around him. The first time was one cold December night when he was still barely an adult and had been standing in his parents' wrecked living room with a few lingering party-goers sleeping off their buzz from whatever they had all around him, while two police officers explained to him why they were really there. The second was in a board room full of stuffily dressed men and woman that had all been glaring at Pepper while she told him something that happened to his son. The last was in the middle of an exploding desert when a bomb with his name literally printed on the side of it landed directly beside him.

They were odd moments and almost impossible to really describe. How do you put into words the way that everything compacts into one thing – a police officer, an assistant, an explosive, a phone – and the way that anything else just stops existing for however many heartbeats it takes for the brain to really comprehend what it was hearing or seeing? How can you explain to someone the way that the universe can somehow stretch out for an impossibly long intervals of time that pass by in the matter of seconds? He just didn't know how to do. Tony Stark was for once at a loss for words when it came to explaining any of this to anyone: Pepper, Rhodey, some psychiatrist with five degrees to their name.

He knew them, though. He knew the feeling and always hoped that the last time was the last time. It never was though.

There was too much blood on his name for it.

At least it'll be over, some horrid part of his mind whispered. At least now he'd have something to bury.

Tony was only vaguely aware of the others around him as he stared at his phone. The jovial atmosphere had dropped to ice as his teammates tensed in their chairs and leaned towards him. It was all in the din, though. Something in the beyond that Tony couldn't quite reach just yet.

“Tony?” he heard Steve say from somewhere slightly far away. Tony couldn't take his eyes off the phone, though, and his mouth didn't seem to want to work.

“What is it?” Nat asked from somewhere to Tony's left. “What's the 'Milk Carton Protocol'?”

“It's a program that alerts Mr. Stark should certain identity verifying information be used to find a positive match to other information that has been uploaded into a system,” Vision explained.

“What kind of information?” Wanda asked.

Vision answered, “Finger prints, dental, and/or DNA. The Milk Carton Protocol is designed to activate when one of these has a positive hit and then inform Mr. Stark immediately.”

“It's about Isaac,” Steve said with a tone that just bleed hope and excitement. “They've found him, haven't they?”

“They've found something,” Nat's cool voice cut through.

Time stretched, and Tony felt himself drift further and further away from all this. He was still aware enough of those around him, but the distant made it hard to concentrate on anything of them. He heard Laura order Cooper to take Lila upstairs. He was aware of the others moving closer to him. He saw Cap and Laura trying to give him reassuring smiles, and the uneasy look that passed between Barton and Nat. But he couldn't touch it. He couldn't pull himself back into that moment just yet. He couldn't ground himself back to the here and now.

He was just...too far away.

Somewhere so far away that he wasn't about to be told that they had found his son's body. That he hadn't been viciously murdered and left in some lonely hidden grave. That Tony wasn't going to spend the rest of his life knowing that he died afraid and alone and wondering why his father hadn't saved him. That the chances were that Tony would never know who or why someone did this to an innocent two-year-old.

Yeah, he really didn't want to go back to that just yet.

Then something warm and a little heavy wrapped around Tony's wrist, and he felt himself being pulled back from the distant place he had momentarily drifted to. Nat griped his wrist so tightly that it almost hurt, but she kept her face neutral as she leaned in closer to him.

“You don't know anything for sure just yet.”

She said it carefully, choosing her words in just the right way to encourage him to go on. It didn't fool him, though. Nat knew. Barton probably did, too. There was no happy ending to this. There was only the inevitable.

“Tony.”

Cap wasn't smiling anymore, and for one horrible moment, Tony thought that he was going to reach across the leftover turkey and near empty gravy boat and grab Tony's hand, too; like it was some kind of sports movie and they were in the middle of the huddle right before they broke to win the game. Cap kept his hands to himself, though, and instead drew in a deep breath and gave him a nod. Whatever he was about to hear, they were with him.

He might not admit it, but Tony was grateful for that.

He just wished Pepper and Rhodey were here as well.

Stealing himself, Tony said, “What is it, FRIDAY?”

“The New York City Police Department has run a set of finger prints that have come back to match that of young Mister Stark,” FRIDAY said.

Finger prints? Bodies that aren't embalmed usually decay past the point of having finger prints after twelve years.

And why New York City be running them? Isaac went missing in California.

A treacherous little flame began to burn in Tony's chest. It was something he hadn't allowed himself to feel concerning Izzy since Fury had walked out of his workshop after telling him that he hadn't been able to find anything all those years ago. Something that if he was wrong about would crush him beyond repair if he was wrong.

Even still, it was burning brighter by the heartbeat.

“Matched to who, FRIDAY?” Steve asked when Tony didn't do so right away.

“A teenage boy who was brought in on suspected attempt robbery charges,” she said.

The 3D projection activated on Tony's phone, and a picture of a fourteen-year-old kid with brown hair that was disheveled and curling a bit and brown eyes that looked so much like Tony's own was grimacing at them as he stood in front of a wall that measured his height. The kid's clothes were rumpled like he had just thrown them on without thought, and he looked confused and upset and a little like he was about to puke all over the cop taking his picture.

In short, it was the best photograph Tony had ever seen.

“Boss, he goes by the name Peter Parker.”

*

Aunt May was going to kill him.

She was going to murder him and bury his body somewhere where no one would ever find him. Like in a recently dug grave where all she would have to do was dump him in the hole and let the cemetery people cover him up. Or like in a construction site where they were laying cement. Oh, god, he was going to spend his afterlife in some buildings foundation like some kind of mob snitch.

Oh, god.

Oh, god.

Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.

He was dead.

He was so, so dead.

Falling face forward, Peter let his forehead press against the cool steal top of the interrogation room's table. The cold made him shiver a little, but he hardly noticed it since it didn't have anything to do with the more and more elaborate scenarios that were running through his head about what May was going to do to him when she finally got a hold him.

Okay, so mob land burial might be a bit beyond reality, but Peter knew that it was going to be bad. He probably wouldn't see Ned again until next year at the latest. And Robot Club and the academic decathlon team? Those were dreams that were never going to happen because he was pretty sure that he couldn't attend any after school actives if he was ground for the rest of his life.

That didn't say anything about what he was going to do about Spider-Man.

And this all, of course, was riding on that the cops were going to throw him in jail for the next five to ten years.

Oh, god, this was all so messed up.

The really bad part was that even if he managed to convince everyone about what really happened, May still wouldn't be happy about knowing that he was running towards danger instead of away from it. Especially after what happened to Ben last year. He could already see the look she would be giving him – that disappointed and terrified look like he had done something incredibly stupid and should have known better.

That was really what he was dreading more than anything.

Sighing, Peter opened his eyes and stared down at his hands that were thankfully still not cuffed together. They had brought him up to the interrogation room about half an hour ago and had just left him sitting there. The arresting officer had asked him a few things, but not as much as Peter would have thought he would have. Once he found out he was a minor, they had booked him and thrown him in a holding cell – that was an experience that he wouldn't soon forget – with the promise to call his guardian so that they could question him about what happened. Considering how fast they came and got him afterward, May must have flown over here.

Hence why he was so dead.

Peter's stomach clinched when a soft knock echoed through the room. Lifting his head, he expected to see a police officer open the door only to be pushed out of the way by a livid May. Instead, a dark-haired woman that Peter had never seen before calmly stepped through, followed by a more severe-looking older man. The woman smiled kindly at Peter, but it wasn't one of those ones that actually meant anything good. It was too soft, too reassuring, too...pitying. The man, however, just kept frowning as he shut the door and headed over to the chair farthest away from Peter, while the woman walked up to him.

They must be doing the good cop, bad cop thing that Peter had always heard so much about.

“I didn't do anything!” Peter said before the woman had a chance to read him his Miranda Rights again. “I swear! I was just walking down the street and-and I heard this scream, so I was like 'what's that?' So I went go see, and there were these guys with a van outside of this little shop, and they were taking all this stuff, and they-they had on hoodies like mine, and I know that sounds like it's a excuse but it's true, and I-I-”

Peter's face was hot and his chest felt tight as he used up the last of his oxygen. He began to draw in more so he could continue to ramble when the woman sat down next to him and gently grabbed his hand.

“Peter,” she said. “Peter, I need you to stop and take a breath, okay. Can you do that for me? Just breathe.”

His mouth snapped shut like she had hit some kind of mute button. Whatever steam he had started to build from his hurried explanation had vanished with the last of the air in his lungs, and now the only thing he was able to do was slump back in his chair. He felt like a little kid again, and he was in trouble because he had finally had enough of Max Nealson picking on him and had told him to shut up loudly in the middle of Mrs. Addams division lesson. He just wanted to explain and hope that the grownups would believe him. Oh, please believe him.

“There,” the woman said. “That's better.”

The same smile from before slipped onto her face as she placed a folder onto the table and then sat up more primly in her chair.

“Alright then. My name is Maggie Walsh. I work with the Children's Protective Services.”

A frown tugged on Peter's lips. Children's Protective Services? He knew who they were, but why would they call in CPS for him? He thought only kids who didn't have someone or who had been taken away from their parents dealt with CPS. Maybe it was just something they did when kids were arrested, like how they were supposed to give a lawyer and stuff like that.

“Um, hi,” he said. “It's, uh, it's nice to meet you.”

The smile turned a little warmer. “It's nice to meet you as well. If you don't mind, I would really like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Is this about the store?” he asked. “I already told you, I didn't do anything.”

“We know, kid,” the man said. “You lucked out. Mrs. Wu's store has a surveillance system. She gave us the video, so we know you showed up right after.”

A weight that Peter hadn't even realized had been weighing him down felt as if it had been lifted off him, and for the first time since Officer Bradly had put the cuffs on him, Peter felt like he could really breathe.

They believed him. They had proof, and they believed him.

Swallowing back a surprising lump in his throat, Peter said, “Thank you, Officer...?”

“Captain. Captain George Stacy,” the man corrected. “And don't thank me. Thank whoever sold an old surveillance system to Mrs. Wu.”

Peter snorted a surprised – and maybe a little hysterical – laugh. Yeah, Captain Stacy better believe Peter was.

Unable to keep the smile from his face, he looked back at Ms. Walsh and said, “So I can go then, right?”

For a moment, the adults didn't say anything, and the pleasant high of relief that Peter had been enjoying began to drop. Maybe it was in the way that Captain Stacy's shoulders became more rigid or the way that Ms. Walsh's smile took on that pitying quality again, but Peter was suddenly reminded of the time that Aunt May told him that they were going to have to move out the duplex. He had known, somehow, when she sat him down at the kitchen table for breakfast that morning that something was about to happen. Something that he wasn't going to like but there was nothing that he could do to stop it.

Or maybe he was just being paranoid. He was like that sometimes, not often but enough to be aware that he was just letting his imagination with worst-case-senarios got the better of him. Between his senses going haywire all day – and, really, he was never going to complain about the smell of May or Mrs. Cutlips cooking again on an elevated day because the boy's locker room at school had nothing on the holding cell he'd been thrown into – and being falsely accused of a crime, it wasn't surprising that he'd be a little prone to thinking the worst right now.

Everything was fine. They had just told him so. There was no reason for his stomach to start to knot up. He was fine. It was fine.

Right?

“I'm afraid it's not that simple, Peter,” Ms. Walsh softly said.

It's fine.

“What? Do you need me to answer some questions?” he asked. “I'll tell you what I know, but I don't think I can help much.”

“It's not that,” Ms. Walsh said in a slow and deliberate tone. It was the same one that Peter remembered the police officer had used on him when Uncle Ben was – when Uncle Ben had died. When he needed Peter to tell him what happened.

Oh, god, what happened?

Every muscle in Peter's body felt like it tensed at once. “May! Oh my god, oh my god, is she okay?”

Peter started to rise out of his chair, but Ms. Walsh was already shaking her head and gently pulling him back down into his seat. “You're aunt's fine.”

Captain Stacy had risen to his feet and was holding up both hands as if he could push Peter's sudden panic back down. “She's okay, kid. I swear. I had two of my detectives go pick her up from work and bring her back here forty-five minutes ago.”

A line formed between Peter's eyebrows. Aunt May was already in the building? Then why hadn't she come with Ms. Walsh and Captain Stacy? Why wasn't she with him now?

What was going on?

The small flare of worry that something was very wrong flared again in his chest.

“Aunt May's here?” he asked looking from one of them to the other. “Then why isn't she – why isn't she here?”

Ms. Walsh sighed through her nose and reached for her folder.

“Peter,” she said, and god, he was sick of hearing his name said like that. He wasn't some scared little kid. He just wanted to know what was going on. “There are some things that we need to talk about.”

“About what?” he asked. “Wh-wh-what's going on?”

Peter's heart was starting to beat faster as the smile that Ms. Walsh had been so careful to keep on her face fell into a straight line. Peter shifted in the chair that was becoming more and more cold and uncomfortable by the second, and the overhead lights that had been pleasantly dim were starting glare.

Leaning forward on the table, Ms. Walsh asked, “What do you remember about your parents?”

Peter blinked. His parents? What did that have to do with anything?

“Um, not...not a whole lot,” he said. “They, ah, they died when I – when I was just a kid.”

Pressing her lips even further, Ms. Walsh asked, “And you know that they weren't your biological parents?”

The line appeared between his brows again as he looked from Ms. Walsh to Captain Stacy and back. Why were they asking about this?

“Yeah,” he answered slowly. “They adopted me when I was like three.”

Shifting again in his chair, Peter leaned a bit closer to Ms. Walsh.

“I'm – I'm sorry, but what does – what does – why are you asking about...them?”

There was a beat of silence as Ms. Walsh watched him. Her jaw was tight and held rigidly in its place as she gently tapped twice against the manila folder in her hand. Peter noticed the way that the light reflected off her ID badge that she had clipped to her jacket collar when she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Whatever it was she was looking for or trying to judge about him, she must have found because after what felt like eternity she reached into her folder and pulled out a sheet. Peter recognized easily. His fingers still had the black ink smudged across them.

“Peter, you know that when you were booked that they ran your finger prints through the system, right?”

As she asked, a particular Labor Day weekend when he was eleven spent with Ben on the couch watching old Law and Order reruns crossed Peter's mind. Criminals being booked and having their prints run through the system was pretty common thing they talked about, so, yeah, he knew they did stuff like that.

“Yeah,” he answered carefully.

Ms. Walsh gave him a small nod and then said, “Well, the thing is, when you're prints were run through the system...there was a hit.”

Peter frowned and for a stupid reason, his Sixth Grade graduation photo popped into his mind.

Chill bumps crawled up Peter's arms, so he reached up and wrapped a hand around one of his sleeves as he asked, “What – what does that...mean, got a – a hit?”

“It means that your prints were already in the system,” Ms. Walsh explained.

“But – but h-h-how?” he asked. “I've never – I've never been a-a-arrested before.”

“It's not for that, kid,” Captain Stacy said.

The lead in Peter's stomach was growing heavier and heavier by the second, as his heartbeat grew louder and louder. The heater had kicked on at some point – the burnt smell of dust had slowly but surely been filling the room – but Peter couldn't feel it. The chill bumps had spread from his arms and were now making the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand on end.

“Then what – what for?” he asked.

Ms. Walsh sighed again through her nose before putting the piece of paper with Peter's prints on it on the table and sliding it in front of him.

“These are your prints, Peter.”

She then took another sheet of paper from the folder and placed them next to his prints. It was another set, but the fingers they came from looked so much smaller. They were tiny compared to his. Something like a baby's fingers.

“These are the ones that were lifted from a missing child's toys twelve years ago.”

Oh, god.

Oh, god.

Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.

Please.

No.

“They match, Peter.”

Chapter Text

This really wasn't how Steve expected this day to go. There had been a lot days like that in his life. Too many, if he were being truthful. That afternoon in the examination room when he meet Dr. Erskine, that morning waking in a strange room listening to a ball game he'd been at and then running out into a world that he didn't recognize, that night he found Fury in his apartment and chased after a masked assassin with a metal arm, that day he and the others broke into a Hydra facility and took back a scepter with powers they still didn't fully understand – there were so many days like that in his life now. They always changed everything and not always for the better of everyone involved. It reminded him sometimes of something a preacher his Ma used to listen to on the radio when he was a kid once quoted: “I've come to bring you life more abundant.” Steve had had his fair share of that, that was certain.

Now that he was flying over the Mid-West in a quinjet filled with tense nervous energy, Steve knew that this simple Thanksgiving gathering had turned into one of those unexpected days, but he refused to believe that anything but good would come of this. It had too. For everyone's sake involved, it had too.

Leaning over the pilot's chair, Steve noted that the sky had stared to turn to darker shades of blue and purple the farther east they went, and then asked, “What's our ETA?”

“At our current speed? It'll be at least another twenty-five minutes before we hit New York City air space,” Clint said.

A frown was pulled tight on his lips as he briefly shifted his attention over his shoulder. Steve didn't bother following his gaze. He was very aware of who Clint was looking at behind them.

Carefully, Clint added, “We could be going a lot faster.”

Out of all of them, Clint was the most empathetic to all of this. He was probably imagining himself in a similar situation, and what he would be doing at such a time. He wanted to make decisions like a father would. Steve couldn't fault him for it, but it put him too close to the whole thing.

Admittedly, Steve probably was too. He too knew what it was like to find out that someone you loved was still alive and so very close, but if there was one thing that he learned from his experience with the Winter Soldier, it was that rushing in wasn't going to help. Storming that police precinct like it was Hydra base wasn't going to do anything but scare a kid who probably didn't even know what had happened to him or who he really was. Steve understood that, even if Nat probably believed otherwise. Tony and Isaac deserved better than that. If Steve could give it to them by delaying their arrival just long enough for someone to talk to Isaac and let him know what's happening, than he would gladly take whatever harsh words – and possibly iron-clad punches – that Tony would be throwing his way once the shock of all this wore off enough for him to understand what Steve had done.

“I know,” he said. “Just keep her steady until we arrive.”

Stepping down from the cockpit area, Steve was struck by a feeling of deja vu as he took in the scene before him. Nat with her arms crossed, Wanda staring at some holographic information that FRIDAY projected from Tony's phone, Tony pacing near the back of the quinjet – change a player and a position, and they could have easily been on their way to rescue Harry Osborn and the others from that Hydra-inspired ship.

Had that really only been a few days ago? It felt like months had passed since then.

Nat spared him a glance before turning her sharp attention back to Tony, who seemed to be growing more agitated by the step.

“He's starting to come out of it,” she said.

Steve frowned but wasn't surprised. Ever since FRIDAY had said that the Milk Carton Protocol had been activated, Tony had seemed to slip into a place that they could barely touch. It had been panic at first. No matter how much Tony tried to hide it, they all knew that he had attacks from time to time. Given what he had lived through, it wasn't surprising – really, it was more shocking that all of them didn't have them. Steve had made sure that they all educated themselves on how to recognize an attack, so it hadn't been that hard to realize what was happening after Vision's explanation of what Milk Carton was. After finding out that the prints belonged to a living boy in New York City, Tony's panic had given way to shock, though, and only thought seemed to get through to him now was get to New York. Steve knew what he was thinking the second Tony had ordered FRIDAY to send a suit, and then marched outside without a word to any of them. He was going, and there was no way that they were going to keep him away.

The fact that Clint lived in the middle of Nowhere, Montana, and that Tony was obviously not thinking straight were the only things that allowed Steve to convince Tony that taking the quinjet would be faster (a lie) because by the time his suit arrived from New York, they could be halfway across the country (true, but only if they went full speed). Thankfully, Nat had backed him up, and they managed to get him in the jet and on their way before the suit had arrived. The fact that he hadn't even said a word when Clint took control of the ship was a real testament to how distracted Tony was by all of this.

It was wearing off, though. Once Tony came back to himself fully, there wouldn't be any stopping him.

“We only have another twenty-or-so minutes,” Steve said.

Wanda jumped as a frustrated growl echoed through the ship, and Tony suddenly snapped his attention towards the the cockpit.

“I swear to God, Barton,” Tony bit. “My grandmother can fly faster than you, and she's been dead since the Sixties!”

“No, we don't,” Nat said as Steve headed towards the back.

At first, he wasn't sure that Tony even knew Steve was there. The way that all Tony's focus was on the back of the pilot's chair didn't really suggest that he was too aware of anyone else around him. However, the second that Steve got too close, that hard focus shifted right onto him. In the few years since meeting Tony, he'd seen a lot of looks pass through Stark's eyes. Happiness, combativeness, irritation – he'd seen them all at some point or another. Determination was the one that was there the most often, and Tony always managed to follow through. That was what he did – what all Starks that Steve ever meet did. Once his mind was set on something, he was going to do it one way or another. That determination was back, but there was something different to it this time. Tony was always more the type who would find a way around the problem. Not this time, though. He was ready to go straight through whatever stood in his way.

Nat was right. There wasn't any time left.

“You need to calm down, Tony,” Steve tried.

“Calm down?” he bit back. “Are you kidding me, Rogers? We could have been halfway to France by now, but instead we're –.”

Steve could almost hear an audible click when Tony's eyes suddenly narrowed and his lips became a hard, straight line.

Damn it.

“You're some piece of work, Rogers,” he said.

“Tony –.”

Cutting Steve off, he asked, “Is my suit still following, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY said.

That hard stare stayed trained on Steve even as Tony said in his usual chipper voice, “Good. Be a dear and open the back doors, would you?”

Even as the frigid November air stared to fill the cabin and Tony turned away from him, Steve knew he had to try one last time. He understood why Tony wanted to go – a part of him wanted to let him – but Steve didn't want him running off into something that neither he nor Isaac were ready for. If the kid didn't know – if he hadn't had time even a minute to adjust to the idea – this wouldn't go the way that Tony wanted. That any of them wanted.

Without really thinking about it, Steve reached out and grabbed Tony by the upper arm. “If you would just wait a minute and listen –.”

He wasn't really holding Tony's arm that tightly, but it still surprised him how easily Tony broke his grip. “Twelve years seems like enough waiting, don't you think?”

Steve wanted to argue and lay out his reasons for the delay, but really what could he say? When he found out that Peggy was still alive, he booked the first plane to London that he could find. Fury had tried to stop him, but he hadn't listened, just like he knew Stark wouldn't either now that he could recognize the outside world again. Maybe not by much, but enough to know when he's being stalled.

By that point, the suit had arrived and opened itself up. Tony had it on almost immediately and was walking towards the opened back.

“I'll meet you there,” he said before diving off into darkening sky and disappearing in a streak of red.

Damn it.

Damn it all the hell.

Balling his fist, Steve hit the controls to close the back doors and turned back towards the others.

Wanda was standing a bit closer as if she had expected to help him with Stark, but Natasha hadn't moved from her spot from earlier. The little frown was still on her face, but there was no heat to it. She knew it was going to happen, just like he did. She just wasn't hopeful enough to think that she might could have prevented him from rushing forward without thinking about what he might find.

“You couldn't have stopped him,” she said as he walked passed her and back towards the cockpit.

“I know,” he said. “I just hope that whoever is with the kid is prepared for what's coming.”

“I doubt it,” she replied.

Steve shook his head because he did too.

“Clint,” he said instead. “I need you to punch it.”

“Already ahead of you, Captain,” he said.

Steve didn't really pay him any attention, though. He had something else to deal with at the moment.

Switching on the communications, Steve picked up the headset and rested it against his ear. The line had barely rang once when he heard the line connect.

Not giving him a chance even to say hello, Steve said, “You've got incoming.”

He just really hoped everyone was ready for it.

*

George hated this part of his job. Every cop that made it out of his rookie year had dealt with it at some point or another, and the higher up you went on the pay scale, the more you had to do it. It was one of those things, you know. People wanted answers, and uniforms and sometimes detectives weren't always the ones they wanted them from. Titles carried weight and meant you could trust what the person talking to you was saying. People always wanted to talk to someone with a title, but the answers weren't always what they wanted to hear.

So, yeah, George was use to delivering devastating news. Just last week, he told a mom that her daughter – her self-described “sweet, kind-hearted baby” – had confessed to smothering her own child because the kid wouldn't stop crying while she and her boyfriend were getting high. The week before a pair of parents found out their son had been planning on murdering his entire family. The month before, it was father whose son-in-law admitted to murdering his wife for an insurance payout. And on and on and on. But that how it went when it came to law and order. Most of the time, the victim wasn't the only one whose whole world was destroyed by the crime.

It didn't make it any easier, though.

Kids, though. Kids were the worst, both as the victim or as the one who's affected by someone else actions. Everyone knew it, and anyone who didn't, he didn't trust. It was probably different for everyone, but for George it was the way they looked at him. Those big, confused eyes that begged him to tell them that they were wrong; that whatever was just said wasn't really what happened or hadn't actually happened at all. Like somehow you could make it all better because you're the adult and that's what adults do.

Like the way the Parker kid – Stark kid – was looking at him now.

Damn FBI. They beat a path to his door, only to lock him out of questioning May Parker – which his men brought in, by the way – and left him and Maggie to deal with telling a child that their whole life wasn't what he thought it was. This was local agencies always hated dealing with those asshats. Because anyone in their right mind would much rather be questioning a potential kidnapping suspect instead of an underage victim who clearly had no idea that he was a victim. Especially one that so desperately wants you to somehow change everything back to what it was before just a few minutes ago.

Pressing his lips, George made a mental note to give his kids a hug later.

“No,” Peter said softly before shaking his head. “No, that's – wrong. You've – got it...wrong.”

“I know this is a shock,” Maggie said in that calm, controlled way that was second nature to people like George and her.

Helen hated that tone when he used it during a fight. She always said it made her feel like she was a suspect that he was trying to keep in control of.

“It's wrong,” Peter said. “There's, um, there's been a-a mistake. Something – something screwed up, and I-I'm real sorry, but you've made a-a-a...huge mistake. Gigantic mistake. A-a huge, gigantic mistake that'll – that'll – um...ah...”

Gently shaking her head, Maggie said, “There's no mistake, Peter.”

She then reached over and placed her hand on top of the kid's. The harsh sound of a metal chair scrapping against the floor was nearly covered up by the loud bang of the chair hitting the wall as Peter snatched his hand away and backed away from Maggie like she had tried to burn him. George didn't know how the kid wasn't making himself dizzy with how fast he was shaking his head.

“It's wrong,” he said again as he wrapped his arms tightly around his chest. “It c-can't be – it can't be right. It's not.”

Slowly rising from her seat, Maggie held her hands and said, “Peter, it's okay.”

“But it's not right,” Peter snapped before ducking his head down again. “My – my parents, they wouldn't – they – they couldn't – they'd never do that!”

“People take kids for all sorts of reasons,” Maggie said. She moved towards him, but the kid tucked in further into himself. Maggie shifted her weight back, which only gave the illusion that she'd retreated. They couldn't crowd the kid, but one of them needed to be close enough for just in case something happened.

George really hoped it didn't come to that.

Shifting his own weight from foot to foot, Peter said lowly, “You don't understand.”

Maggie frowned back George. Given the circumstances, George didn't blame the kid for having a hard time understanding all this – and they hadn't even gotten to the part about who the kid actually was yet – but it was also a little worrying how quickly the kid was building up his denial. Sometimes people were like that, George knew that, but it always made thing so much harder when whatever they were denying finally broke through to them. George didn't want the kid to go through that, and neither did Maggie. So, whether Peter liked it or not, they were going to have to keep pushing.

Maggie drew in a breath and held for a moment, before she tried again. “I know this is hard –.”

“There's a birth certificate,” Peter cut in. “When my mom and dad adopted me, they – they were able to get – to get a new birth certificate. I-I've used it before. How did they – how did my mom and dad get one if they kidnapped me?”

That...was a very good question. If he did have a birth certificate, that made things far more complicated because something legal had taken place. There was the possibility that it was a fake – that the Parkers had somehow gotten a hold of a really good forgery – but they wouldn't know until they got their hands on it. Or, well, until the FBI bastards got there hands on it. Technically, it was their case, which was annoying as hell since George's men were the one to find the kid. However, getting to pass all this off to them did come with an added bonus of not having to deal with Tony Stark, so at least there was that. Yeah, have fun dealing with that.

From behind him, George heard the interview room's door open just as Peter said, “So it can't be me. You made a mistake.”

“I'm afraid not, Mr. Parker.”

A blond woman that George had never seen before purposefully strode into the room. She was on the young side for him – barely in her thirties from what he could tell – but held herself like most of the higher-ups did: straight back, head held high, and commanding frown. If she were a little more rigid, she reminded George of every asshole superior he ever had to deal with in his career, but the loose curls and slightly fashionable jacket gave her a warmer quality that defused the immediate want to buck at her authority, whatever that was.

George internally sighed.

Great. Another FBI agent to deal with.

Before George or Maggie could say anything, the woman opened a file she'd been holding and placed another piece of paper down next to the finger prints they'd shown Peter.

“Those are your complete dental records,” she said to them as much as the kid. “Those match too.”

She pinned them all with a stare, as if she were daring any of them to now dispute the information she had just shared. Maggie and George wouldn't. They already knew that a finger print match – that came back positive multiple times – would be enough to prove who the kid was, so it was obvious that this wasn't meant for them. It made George wonder if she had been watching the whole thing through the security camera and decided that Peter's denial had gone on long enough. It also made George wonder if this woman had ever worked with kids before because definitive statements delivered as flatly and coldly as she had just done didn't generally go over to well.

Maggie moved a little closer to Peter, who was now staring down at the piece of paper like it was a venomous coiled snake. The kid didn't even look up at her when she was standing directly in front of him.

That's really not good.

“I'm sorry,” George snapped as Maggie whispered something softly to Peter. “Can I help you, Agent?”

“Carter,” she replied, even though George knew that she damn well knew that he hadn't been asking her name. “I'm the agent in charge of this case now, and I need to talk to Mr. Parker.”

She was in the middle of holding up her badge – which, to George's surprise, said CIA instead of FBI – when he noticed the ways she hesitated for a second before she went to correct herself.

Like hell that was happening.

“What's the CIA have do with this?” George asked before she had a chance to correct the kid's name. “They don't have anything to do with missing kids.”

“You're really asking that?” Carter replied. “Given the people involved?”

“What people?” Peter asked. “Who are you talking about?”

The silence stretched for a moment as George closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. He could feel the kid's eyes on him and Carter's frown as both them tried to puzzle out what the other meant. This was not really the way that he and Maggie had planned out telling the kid the rest of this, but there was no changing it now, he supposed.

“You haven't told him yet,” Carter said.

Frowning up at her, George said, “We were getting to it.”

“Getting to what?” Peter asked. The alarm was edging back into his tone; the same one that had started to creep in earlier when the kid realized that there was something was going on that involved his past. Even upset, the kid was pretty perceptive.

George wondered if it was genetic.

Peter looked back to Maggie for a brief moment before turning back to George and Carter. “What's going on now?”

Instead of answering the kid, Carter said, “You better tell him fast. By my best guess, we're already on borrowed time.”

George couldn't say he was surprised by that. Ever since Mason showed him Isaac Stark's prints, he had half expected Iron Man to come either come bursting through his door or ceiling any moment. Somehow, George knew that the man was going to find out about his son being here before they called him, and Stark wasn't exactly known for his patience. Or subtly. Or his understanding nature. All of which would help the situation the situation, but George had resigned to the fate that it wasn't going to happen.

“Borrowed time for what?” Peter demanded more than asked this time. “What's going on?”

Carter sighed.

George pressed his lips.

Peter kept swinging his gaze from one to another like they were in some kind of tennis match.

Finally, Maggie wrapped an arm around the kid's shoulders and nudged him towards his empty chair.

“Sit down, Peter,” she said as she all but pushed him down into his seat.

Retrieving her own, Maggie pulled it up close so that their knees were nearly touching under the table, but she was sure to keep the table angled between them. It gave the illusion that the kid had some space, but in reality, he was pretty much trapped there.

Drawing a deep breath through her nose, Maggie leaned forward and said, “I know that you don't really want to believe any of this, but I really need you to listen to what I'm about to tell you. Okay? I know you've already had a lot thrown at you, and I'm so sorry that you have to go through this, but there's still more that you need to know.”

“But it's not –.”

“It is true, Peter,” Maggie said firmly but not unkindly. “You're a smart kid. Do you really think that both your finger prints and your dental records are wrong?”

For a moment, the kid just sat there. He was tense but unmoving, aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest against his still locked arms. Then, his lips began to pinch together as his eyebrow drew closer. His eyes were growing wetter, but he refused to let them fall just yet. His breath that had been so even during this whole thing hitched for a moment before he dropped his head.

“I just – I just want...” Peter sniffled softly. “I want to go home.”

“I know,” Maggie said almost as softly as she placed a hand on his slumped shoulders. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so very sorry.”

He sniffled again and rubbed a sleeve-covered hand across his face before he gave her a small nod. The kid's hair fell loosely around his face, somewhat hiding his eyes as he kept his head tilted downward, so George was sure that Peter hadn't seen Maggie's sad smile when she ran her hand up and down his arm.

“You need to know the rest,” she said as she brought her hand back to her lap. “I know you're not ready, but there's going to be a lot happening soon and there some things you need to know. Okay?”

Another sniffle. Another nod of the head.

Maggie said, “Alright. Does the name Isaac mean anything to you?”

The kid's shoulders that had been limp became taunt, and he his wide eyes snapped up. His surprise morphed right into confusion as the color drained from his slightly red cheeks.

Well, that certainly got a reaction.

*

Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds after Cap called, Tony landed at the doorsteps of the 107th precinct. A few people – both cops and civilians – stopped what they were doing as the Iron Man suit opened and Tony Stark stepped out, but he ignored them all and headed up the stairs.

One woman who hadn't really been in his way shuffled swiftly to the side to let him by and stared as he passed. Her phone was already in her hand, and her head was tilted down almost as soon as she turned her back to him. For most people in New York, seeing celebrities was nothing new, so depending on the area, only a handful would usually comment on seeing someone either here or there. Tony Stark in Queens was fairly rare, though, and well worth mentioning. Tony Stark storming a police precinct with his Iron Man suit parked right outside, that was noteworthy gossip.

Rhodey hoped that the police were ready for what was about to happen because once she hit post, the hounds were on their way.

Not that Rhodey cared about any of that right now.

Even as he waited for Tony at the top of the stairs, he was very aware of who was inside the building behind him.

Rhodey had been holding his youngest nephew when Cap had first called him about what had happened. Allan was barely five and small, and it reminded Rhodey of the last time he had held Isaac like that. All he could picture was that two-year-old with wide brown eyes and his constant chatter that only Tony and Pepper really seemed to understand, and how happy he was that late May afternoon in Tony's garage. It had all been so normal that Rhodey hadn't even thought to take any special note of it. He couldn't remember what he said to the kid last nor where exactly Isaac was when he left, but he did remember holding him because Isaac always wanted to be cuddled. In one way, it always made him a little sick thinking about Isaac doing that with whoever took him; thinking how they could have hurt him in any sort of way, and Isaac would still want them to hold him close because he was just so tactile. In another, he hoped that they did cuddle him often because it made the kid so happy, and he deserved to be happy.

They all did.

Stuffing his fists further down into his pockets, Rhodey sent another silent thanks to whoever was listening for finally finding the kid. He was also sure to send another one that his family had decided to spend Thanksgiving at his dad's place in Long Island.

“I thought you'd be here sooner,” Rhodey said as Tony reached him.

“Well, apparently a certain Star-Spangled Asshole thought that the quinjet should go commercial speed,” Tony replied. “When did you get in?”

“About ten minutes ago. Cap thought that you could use some backup,” Rhodey said as he fell into step with Tony.

A flat smile tugged across his lips as he headed for the glass doors. “Thoughtful. Remind me to send him a nice fruit basket after I kick his patriotic ass for making me wait.”

He had one of the front entrance doors partway opened when Rhodey placed his hand on the glass to keep it from opening any wider. Most people might have cowered away from the hard-set frown that turned his way, but Rhodey had never been afraid of Tony Stark. It was kind of hard to be when one of the first memories he had of him was Tony as a skinny kid sitting on a dormitory bed in an AC/DC shirt rambling about how he, if he could just raid a couple of the labs at school, could probably build a working X-Wing model. A lot had changed since then, but Rhodey always remembered that fourteen-year-old kid who had been so excited to not only have someone finally close to his own age who could somewhat understand him, but someone who was willing to listen.

Isaac was fourteen now. He wondered if he looked anything like his dad at that age.

It was still a little heady to think that he was actually going to find out.

“Look, you know Cap. He had his reasons,” Rhodey tried to explain, though what exactly Rogers had been thinking he wasn't sure. If he thought keeping Tony away for just a little while longer was going to somehow keep all of this from turning into a shitshow, Cap obviously still didn't know them as well as he thought he did.

“I don't give a damn about his reasons,” Tony bit back. “I'm going to see my kid.”

Sighing through his nose, Rhodey glanced inside the police station. The bright, fluorescent lights were nearly blinding compared to the near dark of early evening in the city. There were people everywhere: cops and civilians and people who could be either. The man working the front desk had spotted them at some point and didn't try to hide the fact that he was talking to someone one the phone about them. Looks like they might have been waiting on them after all.

Removing his hand from the glass, Rhodey asked, “So what are we waiting for then?”

*

Does the name Isaac mean anything to you?

The world was taking on a white edge to it as the question rolled over and over and over again in his mind only for it to be answered by his sixth grade graduation picture and a half-formed thought that he had had only last week. He kind of looks like me. That's weird. It didn't mean anything though. There were lots of people who looked like other people. Right?

Does the name Isaac mean anything to you?

No. It didn't. It didn't mean anything at all.

He kind of looks like me. That's weird.

It didn't mean anything.

Nothing at all.

He wasn't...

He couldn't...

No. He was just Peter. Not –

Does the name Isaac mean anything to you?

No!

That's weird.

“Peter?”

Ms. Walsh was little more than a shape now in the noisy, blinding light, but her face was still clear enough that he could make out the concern in her eyes. It had been there since the moment she walked through that door, but the sympathy there now made more since. Only it didn't because they were wrong.

He couldn't be him.

They were wrong.

It was a glitch somewhere. It had to be.

He kind of looks like me.

No.

No.

Nonononononono.

That's weird.

Through the white noise that was pounding in his ears, he heard Captain Stacy say, “You know. Don't you?”

Peter tried to lift his gaze and find Captain Stacy in the white, but it felt like it was taking all his energy to just breath in the air that now smelled of burnt dust and too many unwashed bodies and old coffee overlaid with fresh and Ms. Walsh's too sweet perfume and too many other things that Peter just couldn't pinpoint at the moment. It was too much. Too much was coming in, and he couldn't filter it out because he couldn't get that question out of his head.

Does the name Isaac mean anything to you?

“No.” he whispered. Or yelled. He couldn't tell which through the noise.

The heat was making his skin itch, but he couldn't make himself let his arms relax out of their tight cross. For a wild and strange moment, he wondered if he had somehow been doused in Kragle from the Lego Movie and now was forever stuck sitting this way in a police interrogation room. Oh, god, did that mean that Captain Stacy was suddenly going to become Bad Cop if he said something wrong?

But they wouldn't Bad Cop him, though, because they thought he was the victim. They thought he wasn't Peter Parker. They thought he was...him.

But he couldn't be him. He just couldn't. He wouldn't have grown up getting his ass kicked by people like Max Nealson or George Desmond. He wouldn't be picked on by people like Flash Thompson. He wouldn't struggle with English assignments or lose backpacks or groceries or be just an all around mess half of the time. He was a Stark, and Starks had it together. They could be heroes and build incredible inventions that changed the world and save little kids from evil robots. Peter couldn't do that. He was barely surviving the ninth grade and couldn't even take on a couple of purse snatchers without getting his ass handed to him. So, no. There was no way that he was him.

He kind of looks like me.

He couldn't be.

That's weird.

Could he?

“Peter, I know this is a lot to take in,” Ms. Walsh said as she placed her hand on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The usually soft fabric had suddenly taken on a coarseness that Peter hadn't been prepared for, but he was even less so for the amount of heat that bleed through from her hand after only a second. For a second time in less than ten minutes, Peter once again found himself pressed back against the cooler wall of the room as three adult moved in but apparently didn't want to crowd him.

“Peter.”

“Kid.”

“Mr. Parker, are you –?”

Peter winced when loud shouting was from outside suddenly filled the room as the interrogation room's door opened. The once too hot air dropped to near freezing as the knot that had never really settled since his arrest tightened painfully in Peter's chest. Everything that had at once been too much only a moment ago was starting to bleed out into the nothingness of the white that was still tinging his vision. The only thing that he could focus on was that Tony Stark was standing in the doorway of the interrogation room and was staring at Peter like he had never seen a teenager before.

He kind of looks like me.

That's weird.

Chapter Text

For as long as Tony could remember, people had been doing their best to label him as one thing or another. When he was a kid, it had all been about his connection to his father: “Howard Stark's heir” and “Howard Stark's prodigy son” and, his personal favorite, “Howard Stark's boy.” From a far too young age, Tony had understood that people didn't see him outside of his father legacy. As far as they were concerned, he was just another part of it. People liked to act as if they always thought of him as “a boy genius who would change the world” (New York Times, March 1992), but the truth was that when he was a kid, they didn't look for him to be anything other than most other wealthy men's sons: adequate, but nothing compared to his father. To so many people, he was just like one of his dad's inventions that would still be around after his brilliant and irreplaceable father wasn't, but no one really expected him match his father's brilliance or his business sense.

Not even his old man.

Tony liked to think that his mother thought maybe he would, but he knew Howard didn't. He liked to use other labels for Tony: “lazy”, “rebellious”, “immature” – which Tony might give him that one – and Howard's personal favorite, “disappointment”. Ever before Tony was able to understand that nothing he did would be good enough, he had heard that one tossed his way. Apparently been able to build a circuit board before most kids had started kindergarten and building an engine before he could even ride a bike was at best adequate and nothing as special as some people made it out to be. If Tony wanted to impress him, he'd have to do better than that. Tony never did managed to get that white whale. Even now, with every new weapon that rolled off the Stark production line and into the military's eager hands, he still could feel his dad shaking his head and pointing out that Tony could have made it better if he would just stop trying to be so flashy and only focus on function.

Yeah, screw you, Howard.

The papers still loved to label him to this day – “patriot”, “war profiteer”, “weapons dealer” said in different ways depending on who's doing the reporting. It was part of the job, though. His dad had lived through it, so could Tony.

However, most reporters were usually more interested in the exploits of his very public private life. His exes usually could come up with some very interesting names for him, even those who had parted with him on the best of terms. Tony didn't mind those too much, but he had made a conscious effort to bring those down to a minimum as of late. Namely due to having another title that he really never thought that he'd have.

“Daddy!”

That be the one.

Tony barely had a chance to glance up from putting on his cufflinks when a small streak of bright red and blue came charging into his bedroom, climbed into the middle of his bed, and threw the sheets and blankets over his head, leaving a giggling mound of 1800-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Raising an eyebrow, Tony stepped away from the drawer that held his cufflink collection, which JARVIS silently slid back into the wall, and over to the tiny lump that was now firmly situated in the middle of his king size bed.

“Izzy?”

The bump gave a childish laugh as Izzy rolled over onto his back but burrowed further under the sheet. Okay.

Grabbing the edge of the sheet, Tony lifted it just enough to where he could see the top of the kid's head. Like most children his age, Izzy was pretty flexible and had no problem bending his body in ways that made Tony's ache just by seeing it. Tony wasn't really sure how the kid did it, but Izzy twisted himself in such a way where he was lifting his chest so he could push his head back far enough to be able to look at Tony upside down. A wide grin was spread across his face as he squirmed around a bit, but otherwise stayed in that same position.

“Hi,” Izzy said.

“Hi,” Tony echoed back. “What are you doing, kiddo?”

Flopping back flat on his back, Izzy stared up at the sheets hanging over him and said, “Hiding.”

“Hiding,” Tony said. “From what?”

“Isaac Thomas Stark, you come out here this instant,” Mrs. Bailey yelled from what sounded like Izzy's room. “Do not make me have JARVIS find you.”

The combination of the crisp voice and familiar threat caused Tony to briefly forget that he wasn't the one being called by one his own many nannies to come back from wherever he went to hide to not have to face the consequences of whatever naughty thing he had done. The small shutter was strictly an ingrained reaction. It was one, thankfully, Izzy didn't share because the kid just giggled even harder and pulled at the top of the sheet.

“I'm hiding,” he said.

“And why are you hiding from Mrs. Bailey?” Tony asked.

“Because – Because hiding is fun, Daddy,” Izzy replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Well, kind of hard to argue with that logic, but it was hard to argue with any logic that a two-year-old comes up with. Really, it was kind of fascinating how a kid's mind worked, and Tony was learning quite a lot. So far in the past month, Izzy had to explain to Tony why the crust on bread had to be cut off because then all the flavor on the inside could get out, why the spiderweb in the corner of his room shouldn't be knocked down because it helped hold the house together, and why hot dogs should be served with every meal because they were tasty. All of it had very sound reasoning in Izzy's mind and there was no convincing him otherwise. Tony could just hear Rhodey laughing at him about the Stark stubbornness rearing it's ugly head to work against Tony.

And to think, the kid was only two. Tony really didn't want to imagine what he'd be like when he was sixteen.

Thankfully, before Tony had to get into a fast becoming familiar argument about how Izzy couldn't do something, followed by an endless string of tiny-sounding 'whys', JARVIS said, “Sir, Ms. Potts is here.”

The grin on the kid's face turned a full-blown smile as he let go of the sheets completely and scrambled out of bed. Tony grabbed Izzy as he tried to slide off the side – his dismount from taller furniture was better, but he was still working on his landings – and hefted him up onto his hip.

“Daddy, let go,” Izzy whined as he tried to squirm out of his grasp, even as Tony was walking out of the door.

“Yeah, no. Remember we talked about you running down those stairs? Not happening again.”

Tony adjusted his grip on the kid so Izzy would notice the slight shiver that went through him. He could still hear the echoing sound of something heavy falling down the last few steps followed immediately by a piercing scream from just a few months ago when Izzy had fallen down the stairs in the living room – and, really, Tony hadn't realized how many freaking steps his house had until he realized how bad they were until he had an active toddler running around. He'd had security measures added to try and keep Izzy off them, and JARVIS was to alert him and Mrs. Bailey should the kid make it onto them without them being around, but Tony was still considering moving them to some place that was only one floor until Izzy had mastered the things.

He wondered what Obi would think about him being stationed out in New York for a few years.

After a quick check in with a now slightly frantic Mrs. Bailey, who had been thoroughly searching Izzy's closet, Tony headed down with him. Izzy must have known that Tony wasn't to put him down just yet, so he settled into a pout for the time being. However, that changed the moment he saw Pepper waiting down in the living room.

“Pep'r!”

Tony had barely stepped off the last stair when the kid gave a big push, which broke Tony's grip a bit. Before he could readjusted it, Izzy was already sliding down to the floor and then running to Pepper. She simply smiled and scooped him until when Izzy was close enough.

It was a pretty well-known secret that Pepper Potts was Izzy favorite person in the world – she could insist all she wanted otherwise, Tony knew that he fell after her in his son's affection. Not that Tony blamed him. If he had to choose between himself and Pepper, she'd win every time too. He honestly didn't know how his life hadn't completely imploded before meeting her, but he was seriously grateful that she was there now to keep things running smoothly, especially with Izzy now part of it. So, yeah, he didn't begrudge the kid for liking her more than him. Tony had never called anything cute in his life, but Izzy affection for her probably came the closet he would ever come to using that word.

Izzy wasn't a quiet kid, and considering who his father was, that wasn't all that surprising. However, he liked to whisper with Pepper. What exactly he would say, Tony wasn't really sure, but she would smile at him and whisper something back that would always have Izzy beaming afterward.

“You see, now I just feel left out,” Tony said as he reached the pair.

Still smiling, Pepper rolled her eyes while Izzy covered his mouth and laughed.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Pepper said. “Izzy here was just telling me about how he was going to spending the day at the park.”

“Oh, really? Which one? The one named after me, I hope,” he said as Mrs. Bailey finally made it to them.

“You don't have a park named after you,” Pepper replied as she handed Izzy over.

That didn't seem right. Tony could have sworn there was a park somewhere around here that had his name on it. When Happy had complied a list of suitable parks for Izzy to play in – based off of locations near home, police stations, and hospitals; suitable age-appropriate equipment; and popularity – he could have sworn he saw Stark something on there.

“That doesn't seem right,” Tony said. “I'll tell you what, donate whatever the city needed to make a new one, and let's see if we can't get this fixed.”

“Right away,” Pepper said and fixed him with that somewhat amused smile she always gave him when she was about to tell him something that she knew would annoying him. “In the meantime, he could always go to the Howard Stark Park. Happy says that they have a nice play area for kids his age.”

Tony was careful not to pull a face since Izzy was watching.

So that's what it was.

“Yeah, how about you don't take him there,” he said.

“I was planning on taking him over to the Martin Goodman Park,” Mrs. Bailey said. “Isaac meet some kids there last week and wanted to go play with them some more, if that's alright?”

It wasn't an unusual request. Nearly ever week, Mrs. Bailey asked if she could take Izzy somewhere or another. She liked to try out different parks with different groups of children for Izzy to play with, insisting that the more people Izzy got to know the better it would be for him socially. The fact that Tony had been careful to keep his picture out of the paper made that a little easier. Any tabloid that didn't want to find itself suddenly in the middle of a major lawsuit – if not just completely bought out and then shut down – knew better than to try and follow his kid around for pictures, so most people didn't even know what Izzy looked like. To anyone who meet Mrs. Bailey and Izzy, they were just another set of nanny and rich kid among so many that called this place home. Nothing to worry about, and if it would help Izzy to have better social skills than Tony did as a kid, he was all for it.

“Hm,” Tony said as if he hadn't really been paying attention or thinking any of it over. “Yeah, sure, that's fine. Go, have fun. One of should, anyway.”

He could hear Pepper scoff as she headed for the door, but Tony reached over and ruffled Izzy's hair. The kid grinned back at him much like he had up in Tony's room.

“See you later, kiddo,” he said with his own smile.

“Okay, bye,” Izzy replied before turning toward where Pepper stood. “Bye, Pep'r!”

With a small sigh, Tony pressed a quick kiss to the side of Izzy's head and headed to the door where Pepper was waving goodbye to Izzy.

“See. You saw that. With me, he could care less that I'm leaving, but you, big goodbye,” Tony complained.

Pepper didn't really roll her eyes at him, but look upward as she shook her head. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“Sure it does,” he said as he opened the door and let her pass. “He like you more than me.”

“No, he doesn't.”

“Really? That goodbye didn't sound like it.”

“He told us both bye.”

“But he shouted it to you.”

“I'm sure if you were across the room, he'd shout it to you, too,” she said.

Making a doubtful noise in his throat, Tony pulled the door close behind him without looking back.

*

The first time Tony ever saw Izzy, the kid was almost a week old. That was no one's fault but his own denial. When the proof was provided, and this infant that was claimed to be his was no for certain was, was given over to him, he remembered looking into the kid's face and trying to see anything familiar to it. There was only passing recognition there: a nose that vaguely resembled his father's, long piano-player's fingers that were similar to his mother's, a mouth that he definitely got from someone on his mother's side. There wasn't anything for certain that Tony could see in the fussy kid in the carrier that belonged to him, but the DNA test was accurate. He should know since he had it run three times just to be on the safe side. So, yeah, when he first meet Izzy, he hadn't seen anything of himself in the kid.

Then a slightly red-faced Izzy opened those big brown eyes of his, and Tony saw eyes very similar to his own staring back at him. That was when he knew, more than anything a test said, that this tiny person was his.

Years later, he felt very much the same was as he stood in the doorway to an interrogation room. A kid with a nose that was still only vaguely similar to Howard's and a mouth that he definitely inherited from someone on his mother's side was pressed against the wall and his face was slightly red and a little wet. Those piano-player fingers were stretched out and held in front of him as if to keep anyone from getting to close. Then he turned his head and those wide brown eyes found Tony's and any bit of doubt he had left him completely.

Some part of him was shocked to recognize his son in this half-grown child, which made no real sense. He knew that Izzy was nearly grown by now. He'd seen the aged pictures that gave a good guess at what his son should look like at five, eight, ten, and twelve. There was still a part of him, though, that was confused. How did his tiny son get this big when he was so small the last time he saw him? How did that happen? When did it happen? How could it have happened when he didn't to get to see it? That wasn't how these things happened. Father's watched their sons grow. So how did his change so much before being brought back to him?

The other part of him really wasn't too concerned with that, and it was more the force that was driving him now. He recognized Izzy in this kid. God, he was actually there. Right in front of him. Alive and breathing and whole and alive.

God, he was alive.

Izzy was alive.

Right?

An overwhelming need to confirm this filled him. He could see him, but what if he wasn't real? What if this was all some kind of dream that Tony was going to wake up from at any moment? He'd had dreams like that before. After Izzy first disappeared, they'd haunted him for years. What if this was just another one of those times? He needed to know. He needed something tactile to know for sure: a hug or handshake or, hell, touch of the shoulder. Just something to know that the kid – Izzy – wasn't a figment of his imagination.

The stagnant spell that froze the room broke the moment Tony moved. He'd never been a superstitious man, but he should have known that the faint cry of some poor woman should have told him that it was a bad move.

Izzy's eyes widened to an almost impossible size before his gaze slipped just past Tony to the open door. Tony had always been pretty good at reading people – a good businessman had to be – but his ability had really sharpened since he became Iron Man. He'd learned the hard way that reading a person or situation wrong could lead to a lot of dead people, so he made himself get better at it. He knew that look. He'd seen it on far too many people to not.

The kid was going to run.

The others either noticed a second to slow or Izzy was a lot faster than any of them anticipated because the kid was moving before any of them had so much as moved an inch. There really wasn't a whole lot of places for Izzy to move, really. An older woman was blocking his most direct route, and a table that was bolted to the floor covered pretty much the rest, along with two other adults on the other side of it. It didn't stop the kid from trying, though.

Using a chair that was next to where he was standing, Izzy went up and jumped on the table. He was trying to get through a small opening between the older woman and a man, but apparently hadn't paid that close of attention to where he was stepping. His foot caught the table top awkwardly, and he seemed to slip on a folder that had been left opened there. That threw his weight wrong and sent the kid falling face forward. The man who Izzy had been trying to bypass reached out and grabbed the kid's arm as he started to fall, but he was still heading for a nasty impact against the ground. Tony moved on instinct and caught the brunt force of the kid's weight. Everything about the fall was awkward – it was almost like the kid's foot didn't want to come loose from the table until it was too late – and Izzy was pulling Tony down to the ground with him. Somehow, Izzy ended up in a twisted angle where he was half lying on his side and half clinging to Tony to keep upright. Tony found himself kneeling next to the kid and staring down into a face that was becoming more familiar by the second.

For the second time that day, the world narrowed again as the two eyes locked on one another. Tony's vaguely aware of the others around them: the older woman kneeling across from him and worriedly checking Izzy over, the officer still half holding onto Izzy's other wrist, the blonde woman barking something that Tony didn't really care about as Rhodey snapped something back behind him. Tony didn't care about any of it. His focus was on the kid.

His kid.

The way that he was laying there was almost like a weird parody from all the times Tony had held him when he was still an infant and couldn't sit up properly without his help. When he was very small, Iz would just stare up at Tony like he was trying to figure out who exactly Tony was and what that meant, kind of like he was doing now. It was so painfully familiar that it stole Tony's breath away, and even though he had to swallow past the prickly tightness in his throat, the next breath of air was the easiest and most fulfilling one he had taken in over a decade.

That really should have been a clue that this was all about to turn to shit.

Izzy was already tense – and incredibly frightened if Tony was being honest – but he seemed to snap when his attention was suddenly pulled back towards the hallway.

“May.”

Tony barely had time to frown and wonder if Izzy was talking about the month or asking for permission for something when the kid gave him a surprisingly strong shove that knocked Tony off balance. Izzy didn't pay him any attention as he twisted lithely around in a way that would make Nat proud and was sprinting for the door before any of them knew what was happening.

Tony could feel his blood pressure skyrocket as he realized that if Izzy made it out of that door, he'd never see him again. It would start all over again. Izzy would be gone, and Tony would be left wondering where his son was; whether he was safe; whether he was even alive. He would have been so close to having Izzy home, only for the kid to leave again. Only this time, it wouldn't be because someone snatched him away. It would be because he ran away.

The thought barely had time to cross Tony's mind when Cap appeared right in Izzy's way. The kid didn't have time to deviate from his path and ran right into the American Wonder with enough force to knock Izzy back.

“Whoa,” Cap said as he grabbed Izzy to steady him.

“May!” Izzy yelled, ignoring Cap. “May!”

When he finally seemed to understand that he wasn't going to get out of the door, Izzy spun around. He did it too fast through because he swayed dangerously in Cap's grip, but again completely ignored him when Cap tried to steady him. His entire attention was on the male officer who was fast moving in on him instead.

“Kid, I need you to calm down.”

“Captain Stacy, you have too – she didn't –.”

“Peter, it's alright,” the older woman said as she moved in from the other side.

Tony frowned.

Peter?

“Tones, you alright?” Rhodey asked softly as he knelt down and helped Tony to his feet.

“Yeah,” he groaned and purposefully ignored the ache that was running up his back from where he hit the ground. “I'm fine.”

“It's not alright,” Izzy snapped back at the woman. “Stop...saying that!”

A deep and concerned frown pulled at the woman's lips as she looked to Captain Stacy, but his focus was still on Izzy.

“Kid,” he said.

Izzy shook his head. “She didn't do anything. She didn't...”

Captain Stacy said something, which the blond woman – whom Cap did a double-take on for some reason – backed him up on because Izzy looked like he wanted to protest some more, but Tony could hear it past the rushing of blood in his ears. She didn't do anything. She didn't do anything. Izzy was talking about...Was the woman who took him here? Was that who he had been calling for?

Was that May?

“Tony?” Rhodey asked softly.

He ignored him, however. “She's here?”

The entire room stopped and turned to him. The way they looked at him reminded him of the way that the reporter outside of Happy's hospital had when he told the Mandarin exactly where he could find him and promised that his days were numbered. There was no ease, no joking; just complete certainty that if Tony were to get his hands on whoever it was, nothing good would happen. They all understood it.

Even Izzy.

*

Well, this was turning into a shitshow.

Not that Clint had expected much else. This was Stark after all and the man had a talent for making bad situations worse. It was just one his unique skill sets, like building high-tech suits of armor for any and all occasions or accidentally making a murderous robot army. He was just good at that kind of thing.

This situation, though, really didn't need Stark special brand of screwing up. Not if he wanted to try and fix this messed up situation and have a kid that wanted anything to do with him. Clint could see it in the kid's eyes. It was the same look that Cooper got that time some kid at his school had made a comment about how Cooper probably didn't even know who his father was and how he must get tired of all the 'uncles' that Laura brought around – the little prick. Cooper had knocked the kid flat on his ass and promised more if he ever said anything like that again. At least, that's what Cooper had told him when he made it home from that mission two weeks later, and honestly, Clint couldn't have been prouder. That's what boys who love their mother should do, as far he was concerned.

Isaac had that look in his eyes now. He wasn't going to let Tony do anything to this woman, no matter if she deserved it or not. Clint really didn't know one way or another at this point. He knew what Stockholm Syndrome was and there was every possibility that that's what Isaac was suffering from. He'd seen it enough in fighting the evils of this world, but that didn't mean that was exactly what was happening here. They needed more information to make that call.

They would get that information if Stark did something stupid and hurt the woman.

Clint got it. He really, really did. If something had happened to one of his kids, he'd tear through the world to find them too and kill whoever had taken them. No freaking doubt about it. This seemed different though. Clint couldn't imagine anyone taking one of his kids for anything other than revenge or leverage, so killing them outright was probably the only option they had.

Isaac, though, had been missing for almost twelve years. He didn't look like he'd been held hostage, and there certainly hadn't been used against Tony at any point. Judging by the way he was reacting, he'd been raised in this home thinking that he was someone else. That didn't exactly scream that an Evil Villain, Must Kill Now kind of person had him. Not to Clint, anyway.

He caught Nat's eyes. She raised an eyebrow. He nodded his head. Then she was slipping away down the hallway while everyone else was still focused completely on Stark.

She find out one way or another. Stark could thank them later for it.

Maybe with a nice, new Stark Swing.

Then Tony took a step towards the door and the room suddenly burst into life again. Cap was already trying to get in his way to keep him from leaving, but Isaac got there first.

“No,” he said.

“Tony,” Cap said from his place right behind the kid, “don't.”

Clint frowned as Agent 13, who Cap did a double-take when he finally noticed her, joined them from somewhere further in the interrogation room. Clint wasn't overly familiar with the woman beyond seeing her with Fury a time or two, but he didn't know her personally. He'd heard from Nat that she had helped them out whenever the Hydra agents made themselves known in SHIELD, but the last he heard she was working for the CIA.

Somehow, Clint doubted that the CIA had anything to do with a missing kid case, even if it was Stark's.

So what was she doing here?

“Mr. Stark, you need to let us handle this,” she said.

Tony, in his usual fashion, just ignored them all. “Move out of the way, Izzy.”

To the kid's credit, he only gave the slightest flinch at the name. “No. She – she didn't do anything. I didn't – she didn't even marry Uncle Ben until I was four.”

Ah. If what the kid said was true, then she couldn't have been the one to take him. She was just a family member who Isaac must live with for some reason. It still didn't mean that she didn't know something, though.

Tony's brows knitted close together as frowned down at his son. “Uncle Ben? You don't have an Uncle Ben.”

This time, the kid did flinch and the blood seemed to drain from his face, but Tony didn't notice as he had already turned his attention to Agent 13 – Clint was pretty sure her name was Sharon.

“Who the hell is Uncle Ben?”

“He's Mr. Parker's adopted uncle,” Sharon said calmly. “If you'll just calm down and let us explain –.”

“Adopted?” Tony sneered. “I don't know what kind of training they give agents these days, but I thought they would know the difference between being stolen and adopted.”

“It's more complicated than that, Mr. Stark,” she said.

“It's really not,” Tony snapped back. “He was taking from a freaking park! I'm pretty sure that's not a step in the adoption process.”

“Tony,” Cap said in that warning tone of his.

Yeah, probably not the best time for that.

“No, Cap, Tony's right,” Rhodey broke in. “How is this complicated? Isaac was kidnapped. That not adoption by any stretch of the imagination.”

“There are adoption papers,” Captain Stacy said.

“Yeah, I don't care if they say they were signed by the President and co-signed by the Pope,” Tony snapped. “I didn't give my kid away.”

“We're not saying you did, Mr. Stark,” Sharon said. “But there are issues steaming from the fact that May Parker is the legal guardian of Peter Parker.”

Tony gave a disbelieving laugh. “I'm pretty sure the fact that he was taken makes whatever 'legal control' she has illegal, Agent. Or did you miss that day in Agent School.”

Moving around Isaac – or Peter, Clint supposed – Cap moved in on Stark's space, which allowed Clint a better view of the kid's face that was slowly turning paler by the moment.

“Hey,” Cap said. “Kate is just trying to do her job.”

Kate? Wow, Clint was off on that one.

And was the kid turning a little green?

“Kate?” Tony repeated. “How do you know...”

Tony's eyes narrowed as Peter's arm wrapped around his stomach.

Crap.

“Oh, let me guess who your boss is. That one-eyed son-of-a-.”

Peter swayed and barely caught his footing, which caused all the adults to once more turn their attention back to him. “I don't – I don't feel so good.”

The kid's legs gave out from under him just before he leaned forward to vomit. Clint was quick to push the waste basket into the line of fire, but unfortunately not fast enough to keep himself completely out of the line of fire. Sure, it was gross, but after that week a few years ago when everyone had that stomach flu from hell, which came with the fun side bonus of never knowing which end it was going to come out, he kind of became desensitized to the whole thing. People puke. Everyone does it from time to time, especially when they're a kid.

Hell, he wasn't even the first kid to vomit on him today.

Everyone in the room seemed to be yelling or trying to get closer, but Clint held up his hand to keep them away. The kid was obviously overwhelmed by all this and needed a breather. Honestly, he was kind of surprised that he handled this as well as he had up until this point.

Tony tried to move in at some point, but the kid's entire body tensed in a way that had nothing to do with his body violently forcing whatever breakfast he had out. Clint frowned at him and waved him away, but it took Cap forcing Stark to his feet to make him leave the kid be.

It didn't stop the yelling, though, but Clint tried to ignore it and gently rubbed a circle in the kid's back. Something moved in his peripheral, and Clint caught Cap's eyes as he and Rhodey made Tony leave. Cap gave him a small nod, which Clint returned. Cap would take care of one Stark: Clint had the other.

Everyone seemed finally get that the kid needed space and left Clint and the older woman with the Social Worker ID alone with him, so things turned pretty quiet outside of Peter's retching. It was a familiar sound that Clint wasn't overly fond of, but again, you kind of got use to it after awhile.

When Peter finally didn't have anything left in stomach, he laid sat back on his knees and panted a little before wiping at his mouth with his hoodie's sleeve. He grimaced a little when he saw that not all of it made it into the trashcan before his ears turned pink when he noticed the bit that covered Clint's jackets.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don't worry about,” Clint said with a shrug. “You're not the first Stark to throw up on me.”

A surprise snort of laughter choked its way out of Peter's throat. It was a hollow sound. Brittle and completely empty of anything amusing, which caused the crack in whatever had been holding the kid together to finally break completely apart. A harsher wavering breath was sucked in after it, followed by another and another in quick succession as the kid's face quickly began to crumble into a red, wet mess.

“Oh, Peter,” Social Worker lady said gently, which really set the kid off.

Just like Cooper did when his dog had run away.

Just like Lila did when one of Val's kittens died.

Clint's hand slid from the kid's back over to his shoulder before he pulled him close. He must have done it harsher than he meant to because Peter winced for a second, but then he grabbed onto his jacket and held on for dear life.

So Clint did the same.

Chapter Text

“You're wrong.”

The voice was firm, if a little wobbly, and more than loud enough for Nat to hear from the activated intercom as she entered the observation room attached to the interrogation room that held May Parker. Two men and a woman were all gathered around the one-way mirror watching the interview but looked in her direction when she walked in. Surprise flashed across the woman's face as a frown pulled on one of the men's. The third had his hand up walking towards her before the other two could say anything.

“Ma'am, you can't be in here,” he said.

Nat raised an eyebrow and then headed straight for the entrance to the the interrogation room.

“Ma'am!”

“Come on, lady,” one of May's interrogators bit. “You really expect us to believe that?”

“I'm telling you the truth,” May replied. “Richard and Mary, they wouldn't have – My God, do you really thing that if my husband would have known – that if I would have known – that we wouldn't have...”

“Ma'am! You can't go in there!”

Just like before, three heads snapped in her direction when Nat walked in. Her eyes narrowed as she looked over the two interrogators: a young female placed close to May, while the older male one challenged her from across the table; both well-trained and use to working together; both more use to working with volatile suspects than frightened victims. She would say typical CIA agents, but she recognized them. Hell, it wasn't too long ago that she worked with Agent Vizcarra and Agent Lincoln back before SHIELD had fallen like their Insight Helicarriers right into the Potomac River.

Well, with Clint and Agent Carter here, this was turning into a regular former SHIELD agent reunion.

That didn't bode well for anything.

“Agent Romanoff,” Vizcarra said.

“Could you please give us the room, Agents,” Nat said.

The pair exchanged a frown before Lincoln gave a small nod and headed out the door with Vizcarra. Why three former SHIELD agents who now worked for the CIA were running point on a kidnapping case, Nat wasn't sure, but she would save finding that out later. Right now, she more interested in finding out how Isaac Stark came to be found in the custody of May Parker.

Nat didn't know much about her, but it seemed that she was happy in the quiet life she'd been living up until about an hour ago. A quick scan over the notes that Lincoln had left told Nat that May worked at a hospital in their administration office for the past ten years. She and her husband, Benjamin Parker, had taken custody of Peter after Peter's adopted parents died in a plane crash. Benjamin had died two years ago in an failed robbery attempt. Otherwise, May Parker didn't have any contact with the police, outside of one incident from when she was in college and had joined a student group that decided to protest animal testing at Oscorp (Tony will be thrilled by that). Not exactly the type of person who struck Nat as a mastermind criminal that decided to help destroy Tony's life.

Looks could be deceiving, however. That fact was actually one of Nat's own greatest weapons in her very vast arsenal, so she needed to know for certain, for the sake of everyone involved in this whole sorted mess.

“Hello, Mrs. Parker,” Nat said as she sat down in Lincoln's empty seat. “I'm –.”

“I know who you are.” May wiped under her eyes with the crook of her finger. “Peter's a huge fan of all of you.”

That wasn't uncommon. Ever since the Avengers had formed, Tony had been marketing them to the public just like he had been doing for Iron Man before hand. It wasn't something that many of them were overly fond of, but they all understood the reasoning behind it. If they wanted to operate, they needed the public's support. To get that support, they needed good PR. Good PR didn't just happen, it took a lot of hard work and good marketing, which Stark Industries had years of practice with and knew who and how to target a demographic. To adults, they were many sold though their good deeds and charity work in the same way that the government promoted the military. To children, they were sold as superheroes – people straight out of comic books and Saturday morning cartoons who were always there to save the day. There were even action figures of them for kids to collect (which Clint loved to give Christmas presents, especially the cheap knock-offs versions with names like Metal Man, the American Captain, and – Clint's personal favorites – Spy Woman and Arrow Man). So, yes, almost anyone under the age of twenty could name them all off like they were Kardashians, which meant most parents by extension could as well.

The fleeting hope that Isaac's favorite was Iron Man briefly crossed Nat's mind because, really, whoever else it might be would never hear the end of it otherwise. Of course, the same was true the other way too, so she guessed they were stuck either way.

“How's Peter?” May asked. “Is he alright?”

“He's fine,” Nat replied. “He's meeting his father.”

If you called Tony barging in and practically forcing himself into the situation meeting someone. Truthfully, it was a pretty standard Stark meeting.

“His father,” May repeated in a small voice before she leaned forward and pressed her face against her steepled hands.

Nat watched silently while May sat there for a moment unmoving. Her breaths were a little uneven but steady as she apparently tried to process exactly what was happening and who her nephew was with – if he hadn't gotten himself thrown out of there by now. Tony could be a lot to handle on a good day. With everything as chaotic as it was right now, she knew that Steve and Clint and Rhodey probably had their hands full.

When she was finally finished with whatever prayer she had been thinking of, May let her hands drop away and sat back in her chair. Very quietly in a way that more her thinking aloud than actually speaking to Nat, she said, “Peter always wondered who his biological father was.”

Nat raised an eyebrow as May stared off into the corner of the room.

“That's not uncommon for an adopted child,” Nat said carefully. “They sometimes get curious where they come from.”

“Peter certainly did,” May replied. “After his parents died, I think he just wanted to...connect to someone that way. To maybe try and get back what he just lost.”

“You didn't tell him anything?” Nat asked.

May eyes suddenly focused as a deep frown pulled at her lips. Leaning forward a little bit, she raised hands and snapped, “We didn't know! God, you think we could do something like that to someone?”

Nat made a show of shifting her seat so that she could sit up straighter in her seat but was careful to keep her shoulders relaxed and her hands in her lap. May didn't notice – people rarely did when she did so – but her new position had Nat mirroring the way May was sitting. However, wherever May was tense, Nat was sure to make herself more relaxed and loose. She then sat and waited until May's own shoulders began to sink to match Nat's own.

“We didn't know,” May repeated before dropping her eyes back to the table.

Nat tapped her finger against her leg twice. Maybe May was lying, but Nat highly doubted it. There were usually small tells that people gave off when they were lying – delayed answers, disconnected body language, covering of the face – which she hadn't really seen May give. Nat knew that a well-trained agent or psychopath might be able to pull off a ruse, but her childhood education had taught her how to even recognize and read even those kind of people. May wasn't giving any tells for those either. So either she was the best liar that Nat had ever come across, or every reaction May had up until this point were genuine.

Nat wasn't sure if that made all of this better or worse.

“What did Richard and Mary tell you about his biological parents?” Nat asked.

May shook her head and said, “Nothing. I never thought to ask.”

“You never asked anything? Who they were? Where they were from?”

“No,” May said and never once stopped shaking her head. “Mary told me that the agency said that the mother wanted a closed adoption, so I just didn't think it was my place, you know.”

Agency?

Frowning, Nat flipped through the few pages of notes but didn't see any mention of an adoption agency. That seemed odd. Something like that should have been a basic question that either Vizcarra or Lincoln should have known to –

A line formed between Nat's eyes as she reread over a single line buried in Lincoln's notes.

That couldn't be right.

“Mrs. Parker, your sister-in-law, Mary Fitzpatrick-Parker, she was a linguistic expert?”

May flinched in surprise at the whiplash question. “Um, yes.”

Nat narrowed her eyes and ignored the sound of movement from the other side of the one-way mirror. She had to know, and a couple of former co-workers weren't going to be able to stop her.

“Did she ever work at the New York Bell Company?”

*

“No.”

Watching from the other side of a two-way mirror, Steve tried not to wince at the sharpness of Tony's tone. Even before this meeting began, tensions were already high. Now, it was almost suffocating in how thick it had become. Not that it was a surprise given who was involved. Tony wasn't exactly known for his willingness to back down when he felt he was right, which could be a good thing or bad thing depending on the circumstances of the situation. This one was...kind of hard to pinpoint.

Steve hated this. Sitting around arguing, with no clear answer, that was a bit out of his comfort zone, especially when there was no clear answers to be had. Everyone here wanted to do what was right for Isaac, but the question was figuring out what that meant.

The state had an idea of what should mean. Tony clearly didn't agree with it.

Gripping the side of the table, Tony leaned forward and said, “My son is not going into foster care!”

From their seats across from him, Ms. Walsh frowned while Kate sighed through her nose. Both women were doing their best to keep the frustration in check – something Tony had given up on a long time ago – but Steve could tell that it was starting to get to them. He could understand. Tony did have a certain way with people.

At least they were doing better than Captain Stacy, who looked like he was ready to climb over the table and just throttle Tony.

Steve understood that feeling too.

“Mr. Stark,” Ms. Walsh said, “you have to understand. There are protocols in place that we have to adhere by. Peter needs time and people who know how to help him. I know it's frustrating –”

“Sure you do,” Tony snapped as he pushed away from the table and began to pace behind Rhodey.

“– but it's what's best for everyone involved,” she pressed on as if he hadn't said anything.

Giving a humorless laugh, Tony said, “Right. Because the New York foster care system has a great reputation for making everything better.”

The door clicking opened distracted Steve from hearing whatever response that Kate was giving to Tony. As Nat came in, her eyes automatically went straight to the scene playing out in front of Steve. He tried to give her a smile, but Nat didn't bother to even acknowledge it as she came to stand by him.

“What did you find out?” he asked.

Nat replied, “She doesn't know anything.”

Steve nodded his head, but a part of him was relieved to hear it. He'd seen the way that kid had come in defense of his “aunt.” Convincing him that she was the bad guy in all this would have not been an easy task, even if there was indisputable evidence to contrary. Then on top of that, having to live with the knowledge that someone you cared about did something so terrible? That was not something that he wanted anyone to live with, let alone an innocent kid. So, yeah, Steve was glad that this May Parker was in the clear.

“That's a good thing, right?” he asked.

Nat pressed her lips, which was about the equivalent of a shrug for her.

“Tony won't be happy,” she pointed out. “Whoever took Isaac is still out there.”

“That's true,” he said. “But maybe she can point them in a direction. She has to know how the Parkers got Isaac in the first place.”

“There's an adoption agency,” Nat agreed. “The other agents are looking into it.”

Steve gave another short nod, and the two slipped back into silently watching the argument going on in the next room. Even though Nat didn't say anything, he couldn't help but feel that there was something more going on here. Call instinct or intuition, but Steve knew Nat well enough to know when she was holding back. However, she would tell him if it was important. After all they'd been through together, he had to believe she would.

He still didn't like not knowing though.

After a few more minutes as Tony and Kate snapped back and forth about what to do with Isaac, Rhodey finally spoke up.

“Tones,” Rhodey's tired voice carried through the intercom. “Maybe you should just listen to them.”

A dumbfounded look passed Tony's face as he turned to his oldest friend. “I'm sorry. What?”

Sighing, Rhodey stood up so that he could look Tony in the face. “Hey, look, you know I'm on your side. I want Isaac to come home as much as you do.” Tony opened his mouth to say something, but Rhodey pressed on. “And he's going to. But you saw him. He need's time. You know he does.”

Silence hung in the room for several seconds as Tony tried to come up with an argument to that, but could seem to be able to. He wanted Isaac to come home. They all knew he did, and maybe under other circumstances he'd be allowed to right away. But Rhodey was right. That kid needed time and help. Hell, Tony probably did too, but Steve doubted that he'd listen to that.

After what felt like forever, Tony's shoulders slumped as he turned away from everyone. A supportive and a little sad grin was on Rhodey's face as he patted Tony's shoulder twice before leaving it there.

“Thank you, Colonel Rhodes,” Kate said as she stood up. “I'm sure Ms. Walsh will be able to find a suitable place for Mr. Parker.”

“You're going have to do better than that, Ma'am,” Rhodey replied. “Isaac needs help, but Tony's right to be worried about where you're putting him. You have to remember, he's not just Tony Stark's son now, but also Iron Man's. That comes with a whole lot of other problems.”

“I can assure you that keeping Peter safety is our top priority, Colonel,” Ms. Walsh said.

“I don't doubt that,” Rhodey said. “But, I'm sorry, with everything that's happened in the past two years with SHIELD and Hydra, we're going to need more than that.”

Steve shifted his weight and frowned down at his crossed arms as Tony started to do something with his phone. What to do with Isaac between now and when he was ready to go back to Tony was a problem that they needed a solution and fast. The moment that it hit that Isaac was found, there were people who would want to go after him to get to Tony or the Avengers. It would take much to find out where he was if you knew what you were doing, and there were a lot of people out there who were more than capable of such things. In fact, Tony seemed to have a special knack for pissing off those kinds of people.

Maybe Clint could take him for awhile. There would be little chance of anyone finding him out at the farm, and being in a completely different state would help as well. And Clint already seemed like he kind of liked the kid. However, Clint might also might not like the idea of people actively looking for Isaac might come across his well-hidden family. There was also the fact Steve got the feeling that Isaac was a real city kid, and he knew that the novelty of a farm life got old pretty fast.

Fury might be able to help, but that would mean dragging him back in from where he and Hill had disappeared too. They weren't as far away as they wanted everyone to think. No matter what they said, men like Fury never walked away; they just hid in the shadows for awhile. Nat could probably track them down within a few hours: Tony, too, if he weren't so distracted.

So, what were they going to do with Isaac? They couldn't just leave him in the police station until this was settled.

Right?

*

Peter was one of those people who could sleep anywhere. He had been for as long as he could remember. His parents never made a big deal about it, so Peter didn't know that most people found their kid sleeping between the back of the couch and the wall or curled up on the bath mat or in the laundry basket a strange thing. Then he went to live with May and Ben and quickly realized that they were upset when they woke up in the morning and Peter wasn't in his bed. They didn't enjoy hunting for him around the house only to find him snoozing away in the dark corner of his bedroom closet, so Peter tried to stop doing it. Sometimes he would just get tired and lay down wherever he was, but he did make an effort not to find some play hide-and-sleep again, no matter how much fun he might find it to be.

The ability to sleep anywhere was still there, though. He didn't have to be in his bed or have his pillow or be in his room to conk out. The only thing he need was to be tired enough, and – bam – he's out. That's why it didn't panic when he woke up with his face pressed against his crossed arms. It wasn't the firs time he had fallen asleep at the table or on his desk, so his brain didn't immediately realize that there was anything amiss. Then little things began to draw his attention: how his cheeks felt dry and hot, the biting acrid taste that made his stomach turn, the way his head just hurt. All these things confused him as he tried to come up with a reason for any of it.

Then he remembered, and Peter's eyes snapped open.

His hood had been pulled up to block most of the overhead light, which considering the way his brain was trying to escape out of the top his skull Peter was very grateful for. With a little groan, he pressed the palm of his hand against his cheek and slowly sat up.

“How you feeling, champ?”

Peter froze with his palm still against his face. The voice wasn't familiar – not like May's or Ned's – or even one that he had heard on occasion like Captain America's from the PSAs at school or President Ellis's from the news, but he knew it and its careful, gentle tones. He knew because...Oh, God.

Hawkeye – Mr. Hawkeye? – grinned at him and then popped the top of a can of soda. “Vending machine didn't have any water,” he said with a shrug. “Swish and spit.”

Peter pulled a face but did as order. The carbonated flavored drink set his mouth on fire for a moment as the sweetness awfully mixed with the sharp acrid taste that still coated his teeth and tongue. He was more than glad to spit it out into the trash when Mr. Hawkeye held it up for him.

“Better?” Mr. Hawkeye asked.

Peter gave a small nod and wiped at his mouth. “Thanks.”

As Mr. Hawkeye sat down in the chair across from him, Peter slipped his arms around himself again and tucked his chin against his chest. The hood of his sweatshirt fell low so that the only real thing that Peter could see was the can in front of him. His finger gently tapped against his side exactly three times before Mr. Hawkeye finally spoke.

“Really, how are you doing?”

“Fine,” Peter said with a one-shoulder shrug to the can. Before Mr. Hawkeye could ask something else, Peter asked, “Where's Ms. Walsh?”

He heard Mr. Hawkeye draw in a breath to answer him, but there was a small knock on the door before it was opened. Peter's attention snapped right to it. The faint hope that maybe it was May briefly flared within him and long with the idea that maybe – just maybe – she would tell him that they got it wrong. That there had been some major screw up somewhere, and now they could go home and have a late dinner, and then Peter could call Ned and tell him about this whole crazy situation and could he believe that they actually thought that someone like Peter could ever be –

The fantasy died almost before it really began when Captain Stacy and Ms. Walsh walked back into the room. They were still as serious as they had been before, and Ms. Walsh fell right back into that sad smile when she realized that Peter was awake.

Peter really, really hated that smile.

Clearly his throat, Captain Stacy stepped out of the way of the door and beckoned Peter over with his hand. “Come on, kid.”

Peter hesitated for a moment before getting up to join him. He'd barely gone a step when Mr. Hawkeye got to his feet. A hand appeared in Peter's way and caused him to pause. A deep frown pulled at Mr. Hawkeye's lips as he said, “Whoa, wait. What's going on?”

“Parker's coming with us,” Captain Stacy said.

“To where?” Mr. Hawkeye asked.

Peter frowned as he drew his brows together. Why would Mr. Hawkeye care about where Captain Stacy and Ms. Walsh were taking him? Peter was just some kid that he meet maybe an hour ago. It wasn't like Mr. Hawkeye should care what they did with him.

Captain Stacy pressed his lips tightly against one another but was saved from having to answer.

“It's fine, Clint,” Captain America said as he stepped in behind Captain Stacy.

The frown on Mr. Hawkeye's – Clint? Mr. Clint? – face pulled a bit more before it morphed into something a little less certain. “You sure, Cap?”

There was a sigh that was followed by a single nod, and then the hand that had been holding Peter in place fell away. Captain Stacy was already reaching for him before Peter had a chance to move and pulling him towards the door. Peter, however, forced him to stop once more.

Staring at the second button from the bottom of Mr. Hawkeye's jacket, Peter said, “Thank for –” the soda – the hug – letting me cry myself to sleep on you – “um...thanks.”

“No problem, champ,” Mr. Hawkeye said. “See you around.”

Peter nodded and dropped his gaze back down to the floor as Captain Stacy pulled him close to his side to lead him out of the room. Before he did, though, Peter added a quick, “Again, sorry about your jacket.”

Ducking down, Peter followed Captain Stacy and Ms. Walsh back into the hallway. He really wasn't trying to listen to their conversation, but he couldn't help but overhear Captain America say to Mr. Hawkeye, “Nice kid.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Hawkeye replied. “Are we positive he's Starks?”

Peter forced himself to stop listening to them and instead focused on trying to pick out another familiar voice in the din of sound. The hallway was as dirty and ill-lit as before, though there seemed to be more people around then before. He could feel some people's gaze turn toward them, but he refused to look up from the linoleum flooring. There was whispering behind them and shuffling before them. There was muttering behind closed doors and the clack of computer keys. Somewhere, someone was shouting on a telephone.

Peter didn't catch May's voice again, though. When Iron Man – Mr. Stark – Tony – Mr. Tony – opened the door earlier, someone must have had the door opened to wherever May was being questioned as well. He knew the sound of her crying. He heard it way too much after Uncle Ben had died to not.

They made it to an ancient-looking elevator with no interference. It wasn't the same one they had used when they brought him up from holding earlier, and Peter found that it was a little cleaner than the last one. The smell of old cigarette smoke and coffee was a lot stronger in it too.

“Where are we going?” he finally asked once the doors were safely shut. “What's going on now?”

Ms. Walsh gave him that stupid smile again and said, “We're taking you somewhere where you can stay for awhile. Just until all this stuff settles, and we all figure out what to do.”

“Can't I just go home?”

Peter already knew the answer before he asked, but he just couldn't stop himself from doing so. Some part of him – a little kid part that just wanted to hide in his room under his covers with his old stuff turtle until May and Ben came in and reassured him that he was just having a bad dream – held out a sliver of hope that everything would go back to normal. It was fleeting, and becoming harder and harder to hold on too as reality refused to return to what Peter knew. This was happening, whether Peter wanted it to or not. The very thought made a numbness seep though his bones, and Peter was so very, very tired. He wondered what Ms. Walsh and Captain Stacy would say if he just laid down on the floor.

As it was, he missed the look that the adults shared between them before Captain Stacy said, “Kid, I'm sorry, but you know that's not going to happen.”

Yeah, he did. It didn't make him feel any better.

“So, what's going to happen to me then?”

Ms. Walsh sighed as the elevator came to a stop with a small jerk. “Well, normally, you'd be put in a group home or foster care while everything is sorted out.”

Peter felt chunk of ice hit his stomach at the idea of foster care. He'd known a few kids from school who had gone though the system, and he couldn't say that he head many good things about it. One or two had seemed like they were better off, but then he remembered one kid that had to wear clothes that were too big for him and had a bad habit of walking into doors. That wasn't something that Peter really wanted to deal with on top of everything else.

“However,” Ms. Walsh said as she and Captain Stacy ushered him through an unfamiliar hallway and towards what looked to be a back entrance, “given you're unique circumstances, everyone agrees that that wouldn't be what was best for you. So we...compromised.”

The snowy night air bit harshly at Peter as they stepped out into a back alleyway. A man in a dark suit was already waiting there beside a car that Peter was pretty sure cost more than what May made in five years. The guy's stiff stance and flat frown brought up images of every mobster movie that Peter ever seen, but he dismissed them. This guy wasn't a danger to him. Peter didn't know how he knew that, but it was true.

“You didn't waste any time,” Captain Stacy said.

“Boss wanted me here. I'm here,” the man replied before turning to Peter. He shifted one his feet as the man looked him over. He was looking for something; it was like he was trying to sum up who Peter was in one glance or something. Considering that he was wearing a dirty hoodie and wrinkled jeans, it couldn't have added up to much. But then guy's shoulder slumped a little and an almost grin tugged at the edge of his lips. “You've gotten taller.”

Peter scrunched his nose as he frowned. “I – Do I...know you?”

“Probably not anymore,” the guy replied. “I'm Happy. I work for your dad.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Um...hi.”

“Hi yourself, kid,” Mr. Happy said.

“Mr. Hogan here is part of the compromise,” Captain Stacy explained. “He's going to be coming with us.”

As Captain Stacy said this, Mr. Hogan – and that was a lot better than Mr. Happy – opened the back door to the car and stepped aside for Peter. Captain Stacy was already on the other side of the car and ready to get in the front passenger seat but waited stopped to wait for him. An uncomfortable feeling gnawed at the edges of the numbness as the adults stared at him. After a moment or two, Ms. Walsh wrapped her arm around Peter's shoulders and gave him a sideways hug.

“It's alright,” she assured him.

Peter pressed his lips and then got in the car. It was warm in there, but in a pleasant way as opposed to the overly heated interrogation room. The seats were soft leather, and that new-car smell lingered in the air. Peter didn't recognize most of the stuff that was on the dash – the most advanced thing in his uncle's old car was a CD player, and it was broke for as far back as Peter could remember. There was a whole divider with all kinds of stuff built, which could be rolled up for privacy Peter realized, into it too between the front seat and back. The nicest Uber he and May had ever taken didn't have all this stuff. The police car he rode in earlier that day had a bunch of stuff, but he wasn't even sure if it was this much.

Ms. Walsh slid into the seat next to him and gave him that smile again. The next thing Peter new they were gliding – because that was really the only way he could describe the ride – out into the street and into the early city evening.

Silence hung heavy in the air as they rode a couple of blocks in silence. Even though he wasn't cold, Peter pulled the ends of his hoodie over his hands. He was careful to keep them off the clean cream-colored leather because he knew they were more than a little grimy. There was nothing he could do about his sneakers. He really should have taken them off and put them in the trunk before getting in.

Peter had just glanced out of the window as they passed through an intersection when movement high up caught his attention. It was quick, sliding through the bottom layers of reflective clouds in swift dive that put it out of Peter's sight far faster than the time it took for Mr. Hogan to make it through the intersection. But it had been there; some dark thing that was far too big to be a bird that was just late in finding a place to rest of the night and far to fast to be low flying plane.

So what had it been?

“You okay, kid?”

Mr. Hogan was watching him from the review mirror. Since it was a holiday still, traffic was still fairly light, but his eyes would flicker to the road and then right back to Peter.

“Yeah,” Peter said as he settled back into his seat. “I'm just...tired.”

“We'll be there soon,” Captain Stacy assured him before telling Mr. Hogan to turn right on the next street.

Peter tried not to fidget in his seat, but that brought another question he would really liked answered.

“Um, Captain Stacy,” he said, “where exactly are we going anyway?”

*

“One house, three children, so many windows.”

Light briefly filled the crowded bedroom as a car pulled into the driveway and caused all four kids to freeze in place as the movie continued to play. Howie leaned over the top railing of the bunk bed to look down at Phil and Simon who were stretched out on the bottom bunk's double mattress. Simon blinked back up at him, while Phil turned to Gwen. Gwen pressed her lips and switched off the movie before pushing herself out of the beanbag to go look out the window. Pushed the blinds out of the way, she tried to look into the driveway, but the car had already disappeared into the back area of the house. Sighing, she let the blinds drop back into the place.

“Missed them?” Phil asked.

She nodded and bit down on her bottom lip. Her room faced the back.

“Stay here,” she told them before slipping into the dark hall. Her brothers' complaints lasted only for a long as it took her to shut the door to Simon and Howie's room, and then she was on her way to her own.

Hoping onto her bed, she pushed her curtains out of the way. The only thing she caught a glimpse of was her father ushering someone who was shorter than him up the back patio and to the kitchen door. Falling back onto her bed, she let herself bounce once before settling down.

She briefly glanced into Phil's room that was across from own. About an hour ago, her mother had told them that he needed to go stay with Howie and Simon for a little while because their father was bringing someone home. Someone who needed help. It wasn't the first time that it happened, but it was usually only for a night. This didn't sound like that, though, especially when a bunch of people had shown up at their house. Gwen and her brothers had been banished upstairs then, but not before Gwen had seen some of the people putting what looked like sensors in the downstairs windows. They'd disappeared almost as quickly as they arrived and hadn't come upstairs as far as she knew. Still, she couldn't help but wonder who this person was to cause all this.

Voice drifted up through the hallway, but it was nothing that she could make out too clearly. She caught words here and there – “temporary”, “couch”, “home” – but nothing that she could piece together enough to know what was going on, which was kind of driving her crazy. Nosiness was kind of a flaw of hers, one that she inherited from her father because, yeah, cops had to naturally be like that. She never meant any harm in it, but she always just wanted to know. So it really didn't take much for her to finally break down and decide to go investigate.

Since she had grown up in this house, Gwen knew where to step so that her parents wouldn't know she was coming. At about halfway down the stairs, she could peak around the banister and see down into the kitchen, where everyone was gathered. Her dad was talking to her mother, but her mom's back was to Gwen so she couldn't see how she was taking it. Maggie, a friend of her dad's that Gwen knew worked with kids, was also trying to explain whatever it was as well. Gwen wasn't really interested in them, though.

A big guy that Gwen had never seen before was standing closer to the kitchen door and was talking on his phone, but she barely noticed him when she saw the last person there. A kid about her age was sitting at the kitchen table, and honestly, he looked kind of out of it. His head was down, so really the only thing that Gwen could see was a mop of disheveled brown hair. He was skinny and slim shouldered, and Gwen got the weird feeling that there was something familiar about him. If he would just look up, then maybe –

As if sensing her thoughts, his head snapped up and his eyes locked immediately onto hers. The shock startled her and caused her to jump a little bit, which of course drew her dad's attention. As quickly and silently as she could, she tried to disappear back into the blind spot on the stairs, but she knew she had been too late.

“Gwen,” her father said, “get down here.”

Damn it.

Sighing, she went down the last half of the staircase and this time didn't bother to try and be silent about it. The adults watched her come in, and she tried to put on an innocent, reassuring smile. Maggie smiled indulgently, but her parents were frowning. The guy on the phone narrowed his eyes at her before turning to her dad.

“This is Gwen,” her dad said. “She's my daughter.”

Phone Guy turned back her, gave her a once over, and then just nodded before going back to his conversation.

Again, Gwen wasn't really interested in him because now she got a good look at the kid at the table. A familiar face did stare back at her, but with no more recognition than Phone Guy had looked at her with. That wasn't really surprising. There were almost two hundred other kids in their class after all. She didn't know all of them. She didn't figure he would either.

The question was, though, why had her father brought Peter from Biology home with him?

Also, if Phone Guy was the head of Stark Industries security like he was claiming, what did Tony Stark have to do with any of this?

Chapter Text

“While the investigation into the kidnapping of over a dozen people in New York last month by a group referring to themselves as THEM is still ongoing, concern over the ethical nature of the research that was stolen from Oscorp continues to be a hot topic. C.E.O. Norman Osborn has emphatically denied that the companies research into genetic crossbreeding has anything to do with military applications and is strictly for medical research purposes only. This is not the first time that Oscorp has faced criticism of such nature, as back in 2002 when the company was found to have had ties to the Typhon Group, who were discovered to have been using people from third-world countries as test subjects for several of their new drugs. Despite the controversy, Oscorp's stock has continued to climb for a fourth day in a row.

“That will be all from the WHiH's news desk. Please stay tuned for The Roundtable with Christine Evenhart where tonight's topic, as you may have already guessed, will be the stunning announcement from the New York City Police Department about the fate of Isaac Stark, the missing son of Tony Stark who disappeared exactly eleven and half years ago. Let's take a look over what we know so far.”

“On November 25, a young man approximately fourteen years of age was brought into the 107th precinct in Queens and was positively identified as being Isaac Thomas Stark.”

Her fork hitting her plate echoed loudly in the quiet of the little restaurant. The couple sitting two tables over glanced up from their meal to frown at her as if she had committed some dinning faux pas like blowing her nose all over the table or burping the alphabet instead of just dropping a fork. May felt their judging eyes on her and thought that it should bother her. That she should feel the need to either apologize or snap at them to mind their own business, but either option just felt so exhausting at this point that opted for neither. Instead, she just let her hands drop into her lap and let the sounds of the press conference from almost two weeks ago wash over as she stared at the empty seat across from her.

This was...This was a bad idea. She knew when she left the apartment that it had been. She should have followed her first instinct and just ordered in like she had ever since the police finally let her go home. The place had been a wreck after they were finished with it, but May hadn't had the energy to clean up their mess for awhile. May was a tidy person, but it had seemed rather pointless. It was just her now. What did it matter if the place was a mess?

Friday just kind of blurred into Monday from there. Everything just kind of mixed together: worry and sadness and numbness of it all. At some point, she called in to work – or maybe they had called her? – and said that she needed to take time off for awhile due to a family situation. She had almost a month of leave built up, so there wasn't much of a fight over it. At least May didn't think there was. She hadn't really paid anymore attention to the conversation than she did the old medical drama that had been playing on the television at the time. She'd call back in later this week and check in. They should let her know then if she still had a job or not.

The Tuesday morning after this all happened the wild idea that she should fight this had popped into her head. She had called a law firm – one that she remembered a co-worker of hers once praising for helping her brother – and had even meet with one of the lawyers later that week. For two days, a determined little bit of hope burned in her chest as the idea that maybe she could still keep Peter with her rolled in her mind. It was enough to cling onto to to force her up off the couch and start to put her home back together. If Peter were to come home, he shouldn't see it like this. She'd cleaned and prepared and hoped that maybe things would get better.

She had made it to her appointment with the lawyer an hour ahead of time and had patiently waited her turn. When he called her back, he had shaken her hand and offered her a seat, and May started to explain the situation. He had listened carefully, but May didn't miss the way his lips slowly fell into a frown at the name Tony Stark nor the way his shoulders had stiffened when she told him she wanted to fight for custody. Then, very politely, he told her that she could fight all this, but it was a bad idea. A kid right out of law school would be able to tear through the case with little problem, he had explained. The pack that Tony Stark kept on reserve would tear her petition to shreds before it clerk had a chance to file it. Suing for custody would also probably guarantee that she would never see her nephew again. He then leaned forward, his dark glasses reflected off the overhead light, and said that his best advice was to continue doing what she was doing in helping in the investigation in any way she could and wait. May went straight home after that and didn't get off the couch for two more days.

Almost a week later, she got the call, and – mixed with the dread and sadness – a little bit of excitement began to burn in her stomach. It was enough to make her get up and shower. It was enough to make her wash clothes. It was enough to make her leave her apartment for just a little because – because Peter would want to know how she'd been while he was away, and she didn't have it in her to lie to him.

Besides, Peter loved Prachya's larb, and they didn't deliver to the apartment.

“Is everything alright?”

May jumped back to herself and placed her hand on her chest. The waiter that seemed to appear out of nowhere frowned politely and curiously at her, but May waved away his concern.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was thinking.”

His frown pulled more up into an understanding smile as he nodded his head. Most people understood getting lost in thought, and for one blessed moment, May could almost pretend that everything was normal again.

Then he nodded towards the empty chair across from her and said, “No company tonight?”

May forced a smile that she was sure was going to break. “No, um...no.” Before he could push further, she asked, “Could I please have my check? And the take-out order.”

Again, his smile was polite as he gave her a little nod and hurried to do as she asked.

In the background, the police commissioner thanked Christine Evenhart for having him on her show before she asked if and when did he think that Tony Stark would reintroduce his son to the world.

By the time that the check was paid, May saw that she had about ten minutes to make it to the station before the next subway train left for her section of Queens. The closest subway entrance was a couple of blocks away, so she had to hurry. Thankfully, the sidewalk was mostly empty, which let her move more quickly than normal.

She kept the bag with the to-go plate held close to her as she carefully sidestepped a sheet of ice on the corner that had refrozen since she had gone into Prachya's. It wasn't an overly uncommon thing to see this time of year, but it did remind her that she needed to be careful when she got home. There was a problem with a hydrant near her building, and there always seemed to be water around it. The super had called the city, but it was one those things that they would “get to later.” That always seemed to be how it was for the people in her neighborhood. The city would get to get when they got to it. They would just have to wait until then. At least Peter wouldn't have to worry about things like that now. She doubted that Tony Stark was ever told that –

A loud horn blast and a pair of blinding lights barreled down on her. May's heart barely had enough time to jump to her throat before the yellow cab's hood was filling her vision and a cold certainty that she'd never see Peter again filled her, when something hard and heavy crashed into her. The take-out bag slipped from her hands as she went flying high into the air, past the top of the trees and upwards toward the third floor windows of the passing buildings' windows. A strong arm had an iron clad grip under her arms, and she clung tightly to the neck of her rescuer. They seemed to hang in mid-air for a moment, before they began quickly began to descend to the sidewalk, but they came down in such a way that a few steps had slowed them to a stop.

May wavered on her feet before her savior steadied her. He said something, but May was having a hard time hearing anything beyond her pounding heart. As she tried to catch her breath, she grabbed onto the arms that were holding her and looked up into the face of her savior. If she had the air to, she might have screamed. A solid white face stared back at her from beneath a black hood. It took her a moment to realize that it was one of those Halloween mask that completely blocked out all of a person's facial features except of the outline of their nose, cheeks, and eyes. God, she hated those creepy things. Why Peter and Ned thought they were so funny, she'd never know.

A sharp shake of her shoulders made May focus back on her savior who she could now hear was asking, “Are you okay? Are you okay?”

He sounded young and panicked, and for one crazy second, she thought he actually sounded a lot like Peter. That wasn't that uncommon lately. There were times when she swore she heard him in his room or whispering to her when she managed to doze off for snatches of time. May sometimes wondered if she were going crazy, but grief, she knew, made funny things like that happen. Especially when you were all alone this time.

“I'm fine,” she managed to say. “I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

May was already nodding her head before he finished his question, but before she could reassure him any more, they heard a sharp shout coming from behind them. A group of people were heading towards them and were being lead by a police officer. A cop car had the taxi that had run through the red light pulled over on just the other side of the intersection, and while one police officer question the cab driver, the other must have decided to come check on her.

He must have spooked her savior because he dropped his hands from her shoulders and backed away.

“Be careful,” he said before jumping ten feet into the air. May could only stare as he stuck to the side of the building just long enough to shoot something from his wrist and then swung away.

*

It took until he had reached the Stacy's neighborhood before Peter felt like his heart wasn't about to beat out of his chest. That had been close. Way too close for Peter's comfort.

When he had set out that night to check on her, Peter had been kind of surprised to see that May had left the apartment. Since he had started his nightly rounds by the apartment last week, he had only seen her either watching old 90s sitcoms or sleeping on the couch. It was odd to see because he hadn't expected her to be home the first time he came by. She usually at work until much later – when Peter did dare leave the Stacy home because it was on complete lockdown then – but he had taken the chance that she might be there. And she was. And the night after. And the night after that. And that. And that. Always doing to the same thing: watching TV or sleeping.

He couldn't help but notice how similar it was to when right after Ben died, but she had always been sure to try and keep things as normal as possible for Peter as she could. She had only let herself be like that at night after he had gone to bed and thought that he was asleep. During the day, May had acting...well, not as if everything was alright because they never would be without Ben, but like they'd be okay. That the two of them could still make it.

Peter had always thought that she had done it herself as much as him. That she wanted that normalcy as much as he did and would do what she had to to keep it because she was that strong. May Parker may not have been a solider, but she understood what “solider on” meant. Apparently, he was wrong, though. Without him there, May had just...crashed.

The worst thing was, Peter really couldn't do anything to help. A childish part of him had entertained the thought of them running away and pretending like none of this ever happened, but he knew that he couldn't. Happy or his team would find him, and then Aunt May might actual be in real trouble. It wouldn't matter if he told them that it was all his idea or that he made go with him, they would listen to him. No one did these days.

Besides, it would mean leaving Queens and his friends and Spider-Man all his responsibilities behind. Peter couldn't do that. They needed him, and he wouldn't run from his responsibilities. He had been taught better than that.

There was another part of him, too, that wouldn't let him go. A part him that was equal parts terrified and curios and sad and a few other emotions that Peter didn't want to recognize just yet. That bit of him that had always wondered certain questions that he never thought anyone could give him any answers to. Unfortunately, it had mixed with another larger part of him that was in utter awe and wonder at the person who now apparently could give him the answers he so desperately wanted. A person who he had admired and wanted to be like for nearly as far back as he could remember, who was the hero of tech geeks everywhere because he proved that being the smartest guy in the room really could put you in the same league as Captain America and Thor, who had saved him personally when he was just a kid and a drone was about to blast him away; this was the man who Peter probably admired almost as much as Ben, and he wanted to spend time with Peter. He could answer all of Peter's questions. He could help him become a great hero.

It would only cost Peter his aunt and the life he knew.

And it wasn't a choice. It was going to happen.

Peter didn't know how to feel about all of that, so he pushed it away.

Instead, he focused on what he could do and made sure that May was alright. When he saw her leaving the apartment earlier that evening, Peter had been relieved. He hoped that maybe she was starting to feel better. That maybe she would start to get back to her old self, and things would start to go back to normal for her. She'd even gone to Prachya's for dinner. Thank god he decided to follow her and not to head on back to the Stacy's early. If he lost her now too...

She was safe. That was all that mattered.

Landing quietly on the Stacy's neighbor's roof, Peter ran across it and crouched down low near the edge. “His room” was directly across the driveway from where he was perched. There were no windows on this side of the upstairs room, but he figured that no one must have noticed he was gone yet. After all, there weren't a thousand of Happy's people scouring the neighborhood for him.

Peter figured it would be okay for him to make the jump after nothing moved for several seconds. The television in his room should still be on and would cover any noise he made, and hopefully he would be tucked into bed before Happy did his midnight room check.

Crouching low, Peter was just about to make the jump when he saw a large shape pass by the kitchen window. He leaned back into the shadowy rooftop as Happy pushed back the curtains and glanced out into the night. The streetlight showed most of the driveway, and Happy was pretty determined to look over as much as he could from his vantage point. It took a minute for him to be satisfied that there wasn't anything out there, check that the sensors in the window were still in place, and then head back towards the living room. Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and let his shoulders relax. Really, the last thing he wanted to do right now was try to explain what he was doing on the neighbor's roof in a Halloween mask.

And that was only if Happy didn't try to shoot him first.

Peter leaped noiselessly across the driveway and landed on the same spot that he had for the past week. He could just hear the faint sounds of canned laughter echoing up from his room, which did cover any sound he made. The backyard was still dark as Peter climbed over the edge and made his way down to his bedroom window. He had to keep his movements slow and steady because of the motion-sensor light. It didn't matter where he was in the house, Happy somehow always knew when the thing went off. Most likely it was linked in with the other sensors, which Happy's phone was always alerted by. Two weeks of watching three bored boys set them off just to watch Happy run was a pretty good way to find that out.

Holding onto the edge of the window seal, Peter silently pushed the window up from the outside. The laughter became even louder as the warm circulated air leaked out from beneath the gap and against his chilled face. He smiled beneath the mask and stated to crawl inside.

The backyard light flooded the area with bright, white light. Startled, Peter looked down in time to see the neighbor's cat shoot across the dying grass like a little black missile against a gray sky. As fast as it could, it leaped onto the fence separating the two yards before diving into the darkness beyond. Peter was still hanging halfway out of the window when he heard the footsteps racing across the kitchen.

Shitshitshitshit.

The backdoor slammed opened just as Peter fell into his room. Part of his foot was still hanging out of the window, so he pulled in as quickly as he could before daring to peak out. Happy was standing in the middle of the yard, trying to find the source of what set off the light. After a moment, he grabbed his phone and began to talk to someone. Peter reached up and slowly started to slide the window down while his back was turned. It was almost shut when Parker luck turned on Peter once again and a loud bout of audience laughter echoed out from behind him, which caused Happy to turn and look straight up at his window. Peter froze for a second and then slammed it shut.

Shit!

He could already hear Happy making his way in through the house, so Peter went to work fast. He pealed off his hoodie and the t-shirt under it with one tug, folded the pair of web-shooters he'd grabbed from his stash as school into the clothes, and tossed them both into a corner. Falling back onto his messy bed, Peter tugged off his shoes and dropped them quietly on the floor before rolling himself up in the comforter. He was just tucking his head against the pillow when he felt the smooth cloth of the mask brush against his hand. It came off with one swift tug and was slid under the pillow when Happy burst through his door.

“What were you doing?” he demanded.

Peter sat up a little in bed and raised a hand and his shoulders. A confused frown pulled his lips as he looked at Happy like he'd gone crazy.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Don't play dumb with me, kid,” Happy said. “I saw you at the window.”

“I'm not playing,” he replied and then pointed ignored what he just inadvertently called himself.

Happy frowned at him. “Don't give me that. I saw you. What we're you doing?”

Sighing in that teenage way that Peter had learned Happy hated, he sat up completely and said, “I saw the light go off. I was just seeing what it was.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

That frown of doubt and suspicion was still firmly there when Happy asked, “And you didn't set it off?”

At least he didn't have lie this time.

“No.”

“So you weren't trying to sneak out?” he asked again.

“No!” Peter snapped now feeling genuinely frustrated even though that was exactly what he had done. It wasn't like Happy had actually caught him, but it was still the principle of the thing. “I mean, come on. It's twelve feet straight down to the ground. What am I going to do? Climb out the window and stick to the wall.”

Shut up, Parker, a part of him snapped as Happy seemed to actually consider this as plausible. Sure, it completely was true, but Happy really, really, really didn't need to know that.

“Um, excuse me.”

The pair snapped their attention to the doorway, where Gwen stood. Her pink polka dotted bathrobe hung loosely on her shoulders as she crossed her arms and frowned at them. Peter couldn't help the way his cheeks pinked a little when her nightshirt rod up a little from her shorts. Yeah, she was completely covered and had dressed like that every night since he got there, but she was still girl his age who wasn't related to him was standing in his room half-dressed. It was a little awkward for Peter, to say the least.

She didn't pay him any attention, though, and said to Happy, “If you two don't mind, some of us have school in the morning.”

Happy frowned back at her – because apparently that was the only facial expression that he was really capable of – and then turned his suspicion eyes back to Peter. They stared at one another. Peter forced himself not to squirm. Happy's eyes narrowed a little bit more each time he did. After a beat or two, Happy finally said, “Stay away from the window.”

Gwen stepped further into Peter's room as Happy practically stomped out. Peter watched him go, so he didn't miss when Happy turned back around, pointed two fingers at his own eyes before turning them back towards Peter. When he finally started to disappear down the stairs, Peter let himself flop back onto his bed and stare up at the ceiling.

“He takes his job way to seriously,” Gwen said as she pushed back the window curtains.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. “I guess he kind of has to. From everything I read, Mr. Stark takes security pretty seriously.”

Super seriously actually. The Avengers Compound was supposedly one of the most secure places on earth, only second to the Tower. What that meant for Peter, he wasn't sure, but he figured it meant it was going to make sneaking a whole lot harder than it had been at the Stacy's. Maybe even impossible, if he were being honest. He really didn't know what he would do then, but he'd work around it. Too many people were depending on him to do otherwise.

Gwen hummed, and then clicked the window lock back in place. He didn't wince, but Peter was careful not to look at her when she raised an eyebrow. When he offered no explanation, she came over to the bed and forced him to move over so she could lay down next to him.

Peter had found out fast that Gwen wasn't real big on personal space and had absolutely no problems with a strange boy living in her house. He guessed it had something to do with one of best friends from childhood being a guy and growing up with three very rambunctious younger brothers, who had more or less made it their goal in life to make Happy's utter unbearable. (Peter really didn't know what he expected. When you put a bunch of kids on a media lockdown and the only form of entertainment was Netflix or regular television, you were going to get some push-back.) She didn't have any hangups when it came to dealing with the opposite sex and found it hilarious that Peter, whose closest dealings with girls was his aunt or staring at them from across the cafeteria, was really hung up on how she acted around him.

The strange thing was that the first time she climbed in next to him, it hadn't felt weird. When he woken up the morning after Thanksgiving in the Stacy's home, he'd wondered where he was for a split second before everything that happened came crashing back onto him. After that, he hadn't really felt like getting up and just laid there for who knew how long. Then Gwen had shown up with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. She had said something about Mrs. Stacy sending up some lunch because Peter had missed breakfast, but he'd been so bone tired that he just didn't care. Still, he managed to sit up and thank her but made no move to take the food.

Gwen stood there before asking him how he did on the biology test last week. It took him a full ten seconds to realize that she was in his fourth period class. That was kind of horrifying at first, but then she started to talk to him. It was about nothing, really. Just stupid things that he'd understand like how Ms. Robins's writing assignments were getting weirder, and how she saw Flash smack himself in forehead with his own locker door last month, and how there's this weird rumor going around that Coach Wilson was actual an alien which she thought it might be true. He'd told her that he heard it was an android, and then told her some the things he'd noticed, which she admitted probably made more sense because why would an alien want to teach at Midtown? It was so blissfully normal that Peter hadn't even really realized that she had climbed onto the bed next to him until they were halfway through Nightmare Before Christmas. He'd felt a little weird about it then, but it was so nice to forget about everything for a little while that he didn't say anything.

Then she just kind of kept doing it. Everyday she'd come in at some point, and they'd just talk or watch TV or play a game she drug up from her parent's “we played this when we kids, so you will to” collection, and he got to pretend that he was normal again. When school started back and Peter was still under house arrest, she'd bring him his assignments and they'd work on them together since they took most of the same classes, just at different times. He didn't ask what the school knew, but she did tell him some the rumors going around like the one that said he was real sick with some mysterious disease and couldn't leave this plastic bubble for so long or he'd die, and the one that said he'd been sold to Oscorp to be a human lab rad – he was pretty sure that one was started by Flash. A couple of days ago, she heard one that said that his biological parents had wanted him back, which had hit a little too close to home for him, so they didn't talk about it that much.

He'd asked about Ned, but Gwen couldn't tell him much other than he seemed worried and sad. She'd talk to him a few times, but couldn't really say anything because no one was supposed to know that he was with the Stacy. Ned wouldn't tell anyone, he was sure, but no one listened to him.

He was beginning to wonder if they ever would.

Sighing, Peter folded his hands over his chest to match Gwen and stared up at the ceiling. The still going television threw bluish lights around them, illuminated the little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that someone had stuck right randomly over the bed. They had pretty much lost their ability to glow by this point but would still cast a dullish green whenever all the lights were out in the room. No one had taken the time to form any real patterns, but Peter had noticed that if you turned your head just right, that the five stuck right over the bed kind of looked like a smiley face.

After laying like that for a little while, Gwen finally asked, “So, did you set off the light in the backyard? Because you'd be the only person in the house who hasn't.”

Peter frowned at the thought. Yeah, he knew that the Hewy, Dewy, and Louie – as Happy called them – were setting off alarms to mess with Happy, but he didn't think that anyone else would. Well, maybe Gwen. Her brothers could easily talk her into something like that. And possibly Mrs. Stacy after Happy had set up an alarm on the basement door because laundry day waited for no man. But Captain Stacy?

“Your dad wouldn't,” Peter started only to stop when Gwen wiggled two fingers.

Really? Twice?

“Happy really shouldn't have taken the last Poptart the other day,” she said with a shrug. “Dad's petty like that.”

Peter continued to frown at her.

Gwen kept her face carefully neutral.

Then the two started to snicker. It was shushed and soft and barely held in, and Peter didn't really know why he was laughing at something so stupid but couldn't stop. Maybe it was seeing Aunt May nearly get plowed over by that taxi or Happy nearly catching him in the window or maybe it was what was going to happen tomorrow, but Peter just wanted to laugh. Just for a little while. Just until everything didn't just...suck anymore.

“What's so funny?”

And there went any ounce of humor that Peter felt.

Captain Stacy frowned at them from the hallway as he pulled his tie out the loose knot. There was a tiredness about him that always seemed to be there whenever he got home after working a long shift, and it had clearly been one of those. Unconsciously, Peter's eyes drifted down to the gun that he had holstered at his side before drifted over to Gwen, who was half-dressed...and in his bed.

Crap.

Was that his spider sense going off or just the normal “I'm a teenage boy who just got caught with this scary man's daughter in my bed” survival instinct kicking in?

Captain Stacy, however, just lazily watched them until Gwen sat up and said, “Nothing. Just a stupid joke.”

Nodding his head, Captain Stacy said, “Well, it's getting late, so you should get to your own bed. You've got school tomorrow.”

“Sure, Dad,” Gwen replied.

He nodded again. Peter was just getting his heart to slow down a bit when Captain Stacy said, “And don't forget, Parker, we've got an early start tomorrow.”

Right. Tomorrow.

He heard Captain Stacy wish them good night, but Peter couldn't make himself say anything. He just laid back and stared back up at the ceiling.

After a few minutes, Gwen rolled onto her side to look at him and quietly asked, “So, you ready?”

Peter frowned up at the plastic stars.

Tomorrow. God, just the idea made his stomach twist.

“I don't know,” he said. “I guess. Maybe.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Gwen frown at him. “If you're not ready, you should tell them. Maggie's not going to push anything.”

She was wrong about that. He had heard his councilor, Mrs. Sojourner, talking to Ms. Walsh on Friday inside her office. They were planning to try and get him “home” by Christmas. In fact, they wanted to start “reintegrating” him back into his “real family” as soon as possible. He wanted to scream at them then that he had a real family and they were trying to take him away from them, but then he pictured Aunt May's face and how disappointed she'd be in him for acting so childishly. She raised him better than that, and these people were just trying to help. The problem was, their version of trying to helping, had completely destroyed his life.

God, why did have to forget that stupid bag?

“Yeah, I know,” Peter said even though he knew better. “But maybe, I don't know, maybe it'd be better to just go ahead and get it over with.”

“Okay, you sound real enthusiastic about it?” Gwen asked. “I mean, you sound like your getting ready to take a test that you didn't study for, not about to move in with your dad.”

His father. He was slowly coming more and more around to the fact that he actually had a father, but it was still taking everything Peter had to wrap his head around that it Tony Stark. Yeah, logically it was sinking a little more every day, but there were times when the thought would just catch him completely off guard and leaving him feeling unbalanced. Every time he thought of his father, he still pictured Richard Parker – and sometimes Ben – but people kept calling Mr. Stark that, and Peter just couldn't understand it sometimes. Mr. Stark was brilliant and a hero. He was Peter's hero.

And he was taking Peter away from May.

God, why did his life have to be so messed up?

A fresh wave of television laughter filled the room. Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.

Chapter Text

Someone was laughing. It was a kid-kind, all light and happy. Everything an adult's couldn't be. Tony could hear it from down the hall; coming from a room that no one had lived in for years. Keep Out was crudely written on the door with a soldering iron that had been stolen from his workshop. Pepper had been furious, and Tony had backed her up because he knew he should, even if he found it rather funny. At least the kid only vandalized his own door. God knew what Tony would have done at that age to if he'd been left unsupervised with a soldering iron in his own parents' house.

Izzy sat cross-legged on his bed. His tongue peaked a little out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully snapped a couple of LEGOs together and then added them to a group spread across his bedspread. Tony had no idea what the kid was trying to build, but he was tackling it with the determination that only a super focused ten-year-old could have.

“Hey, Buddy,” Tony said as he sat down on the other side of the LEGO barrier. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Izzy said and snapped more pieces together. “Just waiting.”

“For what?”

Izzy didn't reply. He just raised a hand and pointed at the glass wall that should have overlooked the Pacific Ocean. No. Not the ocean. New York. The place in Malibu was gone. Had been for years. Ever since the Mandarin and Aldrich Killian and Extremis and the kid Harley who had made him wonder if Izzy could have been like that at that age if he'd –

If he'd –

“Dad? Are you okay?”

Tony blinked and turned from the New York skyline. (Or was it the ocean?) He didn't remember walking to the window, but he found himself standing on the other side of Izzy's suddenly large bed, while his son stood on the other.

“I'm fine,” Tony said. “Just busy.”

He had been. Between the Avengers and SI and a hundred other things that needed his attention, Tony never seemed to have a chance to stop. Even now, he knew there was somewhere he needed to be. Things he needed to do. People he needed to find.

“You're always busy,” Izzy said in a tone that reminded Tony far too much of the one he himself use to use whenever his father gave that excuse. Tilting his head, Izzy frowned at him and then asked, “Is that why it took you so long to find me?”

Tony pressed his hand against the glass behind him. It was cold, far colder than southern California ever got. It was pretty average for a New York winter, though.

“I tried to find you,” Tony said.

Izzy pressed his lips and shrugged a shoulder. “I guess, but you didn't do a very good job. I mean, I was right here the whole time.”

That was true. He'd been in Queens. The Tower was in Manhattan. He was so close, and Tony hadn't known. He had never even thought to look.

“It's okay,” Izzy said brightly. “I've had a great life without you.”

Tony tried to hide the full-body flinch. Not because of how happy Izzy had sounded when he said it, but because Tony knew that it was true. When Tony found out that the allegation that he'd fathered a child was true, he had fully believed that the kid would be much better off without him. He wasn't father material and knew all too well what happened to kids who had to grow up with men like that. Only this child would have it even worse because his mother wouldn't be there to act as a barrier between him and Tony. Tony had always sworn that if it ever happened, he'd be glad to help the mother out but would stay away. The kid would be better off without him. But there hadn't been anyone to pawn this kid off on, so adoption was the next option his brain had jumped to.

How had taking one look at the kid made him forget that?

Because Starks are selfish and greedy. Everyone knows that, something whispered.

Tony shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. “Izzy–”

An empty room sat before him. The LEGOs were on the bed and the door was still opened from – he could see the KEEP OUT written on it – but Izzy was gone. Like he had never been there in the first place.

“No,” Tony said softly. “Izzy!”

He tried to get his legs to move, but it was like trying to run in one of his suits with no power. They were slow and heavy, and Tony was wasting so much damn time just trying to get across a room. Or was it a street? A destroyed street that was empty because an army from the sky had invaded New York. They were going to destroy the city that his son was in. He had to find him, now.

“Iz, where are you?” Tony yelled into the rubble and smoldering debris.

Then he saw it. The streak of rocket that was coming to vaporize them all. Tony was too far away this time. His suit would never get him to it fast enough to save the city from nuclear destruction. It was going to be vaporized in a flash of heat and light.

His son was going to die by the very thing that Tony's father helped create.

And Tony would never know where he was.

But he did know he couldn't save him.

“Boss? Boss, you need to wake up.”

A StarkPad slipped under his hand as Tony flinched awake, causing the holographic video playing to freeze in place. The lab became silent as the quiet hum of voices that had lured Tony to sleep in the first place suddenly stopped mid-sentence. He groaned as he slowly sat up from the cool surface of the workbench and pretended that it wasn't drool he was wiping away from his mouth. His brain was still too jumbled from fitful sleep to come up with a reasonable explanation as to what else it could be, but Tony Stark did not drool in his sleep so it couldn't be that. Of course, Tony Stark didn't really sleep either, so who knew.

Speaking of which, how had he fallen asleep? He'd been running on an unhealthy amount of coffee and energy drinks for the past few days. It seemed like that should have kept him from passing out.

Unless Rhodey made good on his threat and switched Tony's coffee to decaf when he wasn't looking. It wouldn't be the first time.

“Damn it, Rhodes,” Tony muttered as he rubbed his hand over his face.

His lab became a bit more in-focused after that. Well, lab might not be the right word at this time. A lab would suggest that he was inviting things, working on something that would be useful to the team or his company. That's not really what he was using it for right now. Psycho-stalker-slash-conspiracy-theory-nutcase basement lair probably fit it better. At least that was what Rhodey called it a few days ago. Or was is last week? It was some time after he made Tony swear to shower (which he was getting to) but before Rhodey had slipped him the evil “I Can't Believe It's Not Coffee” coffee. Tony wouldn't go so far as to call his lab that, but he's opinion on such things had been known to be a little skewed in the past. The image of a holographic layout of the bombing caused by Jack Taggart came to mind, but Tony mentally pushed it away at the same time that he physically pushed away from the workstation he'd been hunched over the past whoever-knew how many hours.

He ignored most of the information that was still displayed on the various computer screens. School records from a public elementary school in Queens, job recommendations for construction site supervisor, employee evaluations from Oscorp, a crash site findings from the FAA – Tony had read them all and everything else not showing over the past two weeks a dozen times. Everything he could dig up about the Parker family; every scrap of information that was out there about them, he tried to find.

There was surprisingly little on most of the adults. Richard had the biggest digital footprint and was relatively easy to find background information on. He'd published several papers on bioengineering, some of which Tony had actually read years before. Bruce had even brought up some of the guy's work once when they were working with Cho on tech to regenerate biological tissue. The fact that he'd read some of Richard Parker's findings and had been impressed with his work was hard for Tony to deal with, so he did what he normally did in such situations and didn't.

There was less information on Mary Parker besides the fact that she had a Masters in linguistics. She worked sporadically but mainly chose to take care of her elderly mother after college, and then married Richard not long after her mother died.

They tried to adopt a child in 2001, the same year Isaac was born, but the mother backed out. Three years later, they “adopted” Isaac through the same agency. Nat and Cap's girlfriend were still chasing down anyone who had to do with the agency, which was really more of just a lawyer out in LA. The guy died some years ago, so now they were trying to find anyone who had anything to do with the agency or the mother who was listed on the birth certificate that the Parkers had been given. Tony really wanted to be part of it all, but he did have other things on his mind at the moment.

Walking to the other side of the workstation, Tony leaned back against it as he stared at the frozen video that was suspended in the middle of his lab. A nine-year-old with a wide smile and floppy curly hair hanging down in his eyes was leaning over a birthday cake and surrounded by kids of the same age at the table. It was one of those themed birthday parties that young kids were so fond of, and all the children were dressed as superheroes. At the time of the party it meant that the kids were mainly dressed as Cap or Hulk or Tony himself since this was about a year or so before the avengers came together. The fact that his son decided to dress up as Iron Man made him far happier than it probably should.

Tony didn't really believe in any god besides Thor – and that was only because it's hard to deny his existence when Tony literally had to teach him how to use a microwave and then had to keep the kitchen stocked with Poptarts and Hot Pockets because of said interactions – but if he did he'd probably be thanking them that Ben Parker had decided to buy a StarkPhone. It was a goldmine of pictures and videos of his sons life from the moment that Ben Parker had bought the thing, and Tony wasn't above pulling every single one of those from his companies information archives.

“Boss?”

“Yeah, FRIDAY,” Tony said.

“You wanted me to remind you that Mr. Hogan is going to be here in an hour to pick you up.”

Wait. What?

Happy wasn't supposed to pick him up until –

It was Monday.

It was Monday, and he'd nearly missed it.

This was exactly why he didn't sleep.

“Damn it, Rhodey,” Tony muttered as he finally left his lab for the first time in...five days? Six?

That shower might be a good idea now. After all, he was finally not only going to get see his son again, but actually bring him home.

Not to sound like a kid, but he really couldn't wait.

*

When Peter was a kid, he had these fantasies about his biological parents coming to find him. There was never anything concrete about them, just these vague notions that only a young child could dream up. He couldn't remember most of them, but the edges of a few still lingered. There was one where he would imagine he would come home from school and both Aunt May and Uncle Ben would be waiting for him with big bright smiles. Then they would tell him the good news that his biological parents had come to town and wanted nothing more than to meet him. And then there would be a knock at the door, and these two people would be there.

The woman would be the prettiest person Peter had ever seen. She would be so tall that she could look Uncle Ben in the eyes and would be dressed in smart business attire like the women Peter would see on the train or the bus in the mornings and afternoons. Peter could never decide on her hair color, but he liked the idea of it being either blond or red and would always be neatly pulled back from her face because he always imaged it would allow him to see how big and bright her smile was when she saw him. She would hug him and tell him how happy she was to be with him again and how sorry she was to leave him but that she knew his mom and dad would be the best parents in the world for him. However, since they were gone now, she wanted to be involved in his life, and she hoped that he would be okay with the idea of her being around more.

Of course Peter would be. It was his fantasy.

His dad was always a little hazier. Peter was sure he'd have dark hair and eyes like him. It was always just kind of a given in his mind, even if the details were lost to him. What he did know as that his father would also be so happy to see Peter that once he started to hug him he'd never want to let him go.

Then he and Peter and his biological mother and aunt and uncle would all sit down and have dinner and live happily ever after. Again, how that was suppose to all work was lost on a child. It never occurred to him that he would have to leave May and Ben or that it would turn Peter's life completely upside down again. To him, these were just vague wishes of a lonely kid who missed his parents.

He should have listened more to his aunt when she use to warn him about being careful what he wished for.

“Peter?”

The memory faded with a quick blink of his eyes, and Peter once again found himself sitting in the overly cheery office. Faded old posters that were probably ancient when he was born were still tacked onto the walls and mixed in with hand-drawn pictures from kids of various ages and abilities. Soft toys and oversized blocks were stuffed into cubbyholes and shelves, while markers and nontoxic paints were left next to half-finished coloring books. Even though it was suppose to make kids feel more at home, the whole place made him feel old and out-of-place; like they still thought of him as that same little kid who use to wish for his parents instead of the teenager who could stop a bus with his bar hands.

Not that they knew about the bus thing, but still.

From across the messy desk, Mrs. Sojourner smiled at him in that concerned way that all adults seemed to do these days and asked, “Are you alright?”

No. Why would he be? His whole life was imploding around him and there was nothing to do to stop it.

God, what a stupid question.

“I'm fine,” he said with a forced smile.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because you seem rather...distracted this morning.”

Distracted. Yeah, he guessed he was. Considering what was going to be happening in the next hour or so, why wouldn't he be?

That knot in his stomach tightened at the thought and caused Peter to shifted in his seat. He felt like he'd been doing that a lot that morning; just move around because he didn't know what else to do. Bouncing knee, hugging himself and then suddenly dropping his arms, constantly working his bottom lip between his teeth – he just had to do...something, otherwise that knot might explode inside of him. He'd always been kind of like that. Whenever things got to be too much, he found that moving usually helped at least a little bit. Today, however...

God, what he wouldn't give to be out swinging between buildings right now or climbing up the side of some highrise before diving off the edge into a heart-stopping free fall. Since this whole thing started, he found that that was the best way to clear his head because everything seemed really trivial when you had a street rushing up at you. It probably wasn't the best way to deal with things, but what else was he going to do? No one was listening anyway.

When Peter didn't answer her, Mrs. Sojourner sighed and said, “I know we talked about this already, but are you sure that you're ready for this?”

Again, he fidgeted in his seat.

Why did no one ever listen to him except when he really didn't want them too?

He hadn't lied to Gwen. Ms. Walsh and Mrs. Sojourner did want to “integrate” him back into his “family” by Christmas. However, when Mrs. Sojourner brought up the idea of starting to work towards that goal, Peter was the one to tell her to go ahead and do it. That he wanted to “go home.”

He wasn't sure why he told her that. It might have been because he was angry that all his choices were being taken from him. It was going to happen, whether he liked it or not, and Peter didn't get a say in that. Except he did if he did this. At least he'd have some control over the situation then.

Plus, he kind of felt guilty for imposing on the Stacys so much. Their lives had been completely upended because of him and Happy, and that wasn't fair to them. They didn't do anything to deserve having their home turned into a prison just because he was there.

In the back of his mind, however, Peter thought that by doing this, maybe his life would go back to being semi-normal. Things could start to settle, and then maybe he could start talking to Ned again and maybe go back to school and he could start to figure out how he could still be Spider-Man and then maybe things could be like they were before for at least a little while every day even if they weren't really. He just wanted – needed to start to feel...normal, again.

That wasn't happening right now. But, if he did this, then maybe it could.

That didn't make things any easier, though. Or less terrifying.

“Peter,” she said, “it's okay if you're not ready. No one's going to be mad at you if you aren't.”

Except that wasn't true. He was pretty sure Happy would be mad if he said he changed his mind. The Stacys, too, since they were probably glad to have their house back, especially Phil since he could move back into his own room now.

Peter didn't know about Mr. Stark, but he probably wouldn't be happy about it.

“I'm ready,” he lied.

Mrs. Sojourner frowned but didn't get a chance to challenge him before there was a short, sharp knock at the door. Peter felt that knot tighten and then climb up his throat when Ms. Walsh opened the door and stuck her head inside.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” she said to Mrs. Sojourner before turning her full attention to him. “Peter, there's someone here who would like to see you.”

He pressed his lips and prepared himself as Ms. Walsh pushed the door completely opened and stepped inside to reveal the person behind her. A rush of relief pushed through him as Peter flew out of his seat and then crashed into the opened arms. They wrapped tightly around him and pulled him as close as they could while a face turned into his hair and neck and inhaled. His face was hot and wet as he tucked it against a neck and shoulder and reveled in the scent of Japanese Cherry-blossom and slightly burnt toast and home.

“I'm sorry,” Peter choked. “I'm so, so sorry.”

“Shhh,” May whispered softly as she brushed some his hair back and kissed his head. “It's okay.”

Peter was careful about his strength, but held her as tight as he could without hurting her. He wasn't sure why Ms. Walsh and Mrs. Sojourner let him see May, but he was so glad that he did. It was the first time in weeks that he really got to see her and hold her and talk to her, and Peter wasn't going to let that chance go.

“It's alright, baby,” she said as she rocked him ever so slightly. “It's okay.”

It wasn't. It really, really wasn't, but for right now, he could pretend that maybe it could be.

*

This was supposed to be a good day. No, scratch that. This was supposed to be an excellent day. This was the day that they'd been waiting for ever since Rhodey's commanding officer had pulled him out of training exercise and ordered him into his office.

He still remembered that day so well; he could still see that look his CO had given him before he told him that Obadiah Stane had said for him to get to Malibu ASAP. His CO hadn't been told anything beyond that, and every worst-case, “What Did Tony Get Himself Into” scenario Rhodey had ever imagined rushed through his head. Lab accidents, hostage situations, car accidents – everyone of those thoughts came to mind as rushed to his car and prayed that his best friend was still alive. It never occurred to him that it hadn't been Tony until he was flying down the highway and the Amber Alert was announced over the radio.

That had been a bad day.

One of the worst, really.

Today was supposed to fix that.

Because today, Rhodey's nephew was coming home.

He had every intention of being there. It was partly for Tony – Rhodey loved the guy like a brother, but Tony didn't handle emotional things very well – but also for Rhodey's own self as well. His missed that kid so damn much. He missed that innocent, happy way Izzy use to look at him. He missed laughing with Pepper when the kid would make a face that was all Tony. He missed listening to Iz's near constant baby ramblings while he calmly sat doing so other task like coloring or playing with his cars or blocks. Rhodey just missed him.

He should be back a the Tower with Tony getting ready for the kid to come home. Not having to go with Cap to Oscorp because someone decided to trash one of their labs...again.

“Yes,” Osborn said as Rhodey and Steve followed the secretary into his office. Osborn barely glanced up from his phone call, but did managed to spare them a nod before turning back to his conversation. “Yes, I understand. Now, understand me and get it done. It's what I'm paying you for.”

Osborn hung up the phone without another word. An annoyed frown pulled at the corner of his lips before it turned into one of those businessman smiles Rhodey had seen far too many times. It wasn't as good as the charming one that Tony liked to use, and wasn't as intimidating as Howard's had been. Rhodey would put it closer to the one that Obadiah would use when he was trying to play something close to the chest.

At least it wasn't like that clownish slimeball one Hammer used.

“I am sorry about that, gentlemen,” Osborn said as he stood up from behind the desk and buttoned his jacket. “Unfortunately, multibillion dollar companies don't stop just because someone decided to go after one of our research labs. Again.”

“It's alright, Mr. Osborn,” Rhodey said. “We understand. And we won't take up much of your time.”

“Quite frankly, I don't see why I should be taking up any of your time, Colonel Rhodes,” he said as he gestured to the two empty chairs in front of his desk, which both Rhodey and Cap declined. Neither wanted to stay that long, so it was better just remain on their feet for a quick exit. Retaking his own seat, Osborn said, “While I appreciate the diligent of the Avengers, I'd hardly think that some petty vandalism would be worth any of your very valuable time.”

“To be honest, Mr. Osborn, it normally wouldn't be,” Cap said. “But the recent major security breach you've already had and given the people who were interested in it, this seem like something we should look into.”

“Our dear General Ross thought so, anyway,” Osborn replied. “Right?”

Rhodey knew better than to comment on that, even if it were the truth. Cap wasn't lying. There were some pretty bad people out there that were interested in Oscorp research, and the Avengers did need to keep an eye out for anyone who might try to take it again. However, they would have much preferred to do it without anyone else knowing.

Ross, though, had decided for the more direct approach and had ordered Rhodey to go talk to Osborn about their latest breach when he found out about it. Ross apparently had the philosophy that the mere presents of the Avengers would keep the bad guys away. Rhodey didn't have a choice but to listen to a superior, but Cap had agreed to come along, something which he now looked like he regretted.

Osborn did have that affect on a lot of people.

“Tell him to stop worrying,” Osborn said. “I've had my people go over everything in that lab from top to bottom. Whoever did this didn't take anything. Just did some...creative redecorating.”

“You're sure nothing is gone?” Rhodey asked. “No files were copied or anything?”

Osborn was shaking his head before Rhodey could even finish his questions. “Ever since some chooch broke into my lab, stole my companies research and tech, and took my boy, I've made sure that everything we've got is locked down and secured. No one is getting anything from our computers without my knowledge.”

Leaning back in his chair, Osborn locked his fingers together. Something about it reminded Rhodey of the old gangster movies that were popular when he was still a kid; the Don sitting in his chair pretending to be a legitimate businessman. It was horribly stereotypical, but Tony always swore that he wouldn't be surprised if Osborn ever turned out to be a villain they'd have to take down one day. Rhodey just wish he didn't look so excited about the idea whenever it was brought up.

“Besides,” Osborn continued, “I've also restricted the areas that have access to that sort of information since the break in. That lab was for aviation engineering and a some other military tech. Nothing biological.”

“Military tech?” Cap said. “You mean weapons?”

Osborn shrugged again. “My company does have some military contracts. Since Stark pulled out of the game and Hammer is...wherever they put him, I saw no reason why my company couldn't fill a hole that had been left in the market. Nothing on the scale that either of them dealt with, though. Diversifying one's business is the best thing to keep it alive and thriving. Just ask Stark.”

“Someone stealing any of your weapons designs could be worse than anything your cross-species research could lead to,” Rhodey said.

“And if they had stolen anything, I would agree with you,” Osborn replied. “But like it said, everything has been accounted for, and our computer system hadn't been breached. So I'm sorry, but it seems that you gentlemen have wasted a trip down here.”

Rhodey frowned and meet Cap's eyes. Osborn clearly didn't want them poking around. The question was why?

There was a quick knock from behind them before the office door was being pushed opened. Harry Osborn paused halfway through it when he realized that strangers were in the office. His entire stance stiffened as his eyes flicker back and forth between Cap and Rhodey before turning to his attention to his father. He looked like he wanted to run but didn't dare move until his father said he could go. Tony and Howard's relationship had never been that bad even at its worst.

Of course, Tony never sported a black eye at that age either.

“Oh, um, sorry,” Harry said and ducked his head down a bit. “I'll come back later.”

“No,” Osborn said. “It's alright. Come say 'hello' to our guesses.”

Harry hesitated for a second as if he were going over his chances in his head, but one wave from his father's hand put an end to it. Clearing his throat, Harry quickly walked over next to the desk where Osborn was now standing. There was a stiff, uneasiness to Harry as he shifted on his feet like he wasn't quiet sure what to do. Then Osborn placed a hand on his shoulder and his subtle fidgeting stopped. Whether Osborn was ignoring his son's uncomfortableness or was truly oblivious to it, Rhodey wasn't sure, but Osborn just plastered that businessman smile back on his face and said, “Colonel Rhodes, Captain Rogers, you remember my son Harry.”

“It's nice to meet you, Harry,” Rhodey said as he shook the teenager's hand.

Harry's smile turned genuine before he reached for Cap's hand.

“Captain Rogers,” he said.

“Harry, it's good to see you again.” And then, because Cap was Cap, he motioned towards Harry's eye and asked, “Are you okay?”

The smile slipped into something that resembled something close to his father's, but it lacked the coldness. “Oh,” Harry said with a small laugh, “um, yeah, I'm – I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” Cap asked as he reached up and tilted Harry's face to the side to get a better look at the bruise. “That looks like someone got you pretty good.”

“Ah, yeah, it's – it's not as bad as it looks,” Harry said. “You should see the other guys.”

“School yard fight,” Osborn said. “Which is why my son here gets to spend the next three fun-filled days here with his Old Man instead of at that expensive private school that I am apparently paying far too much money for.”

There was nothing overly hard about what Osborn said, but there was definitely an edge that cut at Harry and caused his careful smile to twitch. Rhodey just wish he knew if it were just from his father's tone or the story he was telling. But Osborn was good at playing close to the chest and dismissed the whole topic with a wave of his hand.

“Well, I know you gentlemen are busy, so I won't take up any more of your time,” he said as he retook his seat. “Please let Secretary Ross know that I have everything perfectly under control here. If I need his help, or yours, I'll be sure to let you know.”

And with that, their time with Norman Osborn was up. Cap wanted to argue and maybe make a case for allowing them to access the lab, but a quick shake of Rhodey's head let him know that it was pointless. Osborn wasn't letting them near it and fighting him on it would only cause him to tighten things up even more than they already were. That would make keeping an eye on him even harder, which Rhodey was now certain they should do. If for no one else's sake than Harry's.

“Come on,” Rhodey said lowly to Cap.

They had barely taken two steps towards the door when Osborn said, “Oh, Colonel Rhodes. If you would, please let Tony know how happy I am for him for finding his son. I know how hard it was losing Harry for just a few hours. I can't imagine almost twelve years of that.”

Harry winced and turned away from the adults as Osborn spoke. Again, he didn't seem to notice his son's discomfort and instead focused solely on Rhodey.

“Tell him to give me a call,” Osborn continued. “He and Pepper have been dodging my invites, but I would love to get together with them after his son has come home. God knows Harry could use a better class for friends.”

Rhodey bit his tongue. Tony would rather set himself on fire than sit through a dinner with Osborn. He'd told Rhodey that before on several different occasions. Probably after each time Pepper would get one of Osborn's invitations, if Rhodey were to guess.

He didn't think that Osborn would be too happy to hear that, so he said, “I'll be sure to let him know.”

Cap was able to hold his tongue until they were climbing into the car. “Well, that was pleasant.”

“Yeah, Osborn like that,” Rhodey agreed as he reached into his pocket and turned back on his phone. He was expecting a call, but he thought that it was better if that hadn't happened while he was standing in the middle of Norman Osborn's office. “Even Obadiah use to think he was an ass.”

“The guy that sold Tony's weapons to terrorist and tried to have him killed?” Cap asked as he turned the car out of the parking garage and onto the busy New York street.

“That'd be the one,” Rhodey agreed as he counted down the seconds in his head.

Cap snorted. “Well, I guess it takes a chooch.”

“Language,” Rhodey said holding in a laugh. It was pretty much for nothing because he couldn't hold it in any longer after the face Cap made.

“You guys are never going to let that go, are you?” he asked. “It was one time, and I had been visiting sick kids for nearly the entire week before that.”

Still chuckling, Rhodey said, “Hey, look, I'm just impressed that you even know what that means.”

“I grew up in Brooklyn,” Cap replied. “Every kid over five knew what that meant, and we all knew a lot worse than that, I might add.”

Rhodey pressed his lips but didn't fight off his smile as he imagined the kind of mouth a very young Steve Rogers probably had on him. Considering the kind of colorful language that most people from that era that Rhodey had meet had, it was honestly kind of surprising how clean Cap tried to keep his. It could have been that it was just how Cap was, but Rhodey couldn't help but wonder if his time as the Military's poster boy had drilled some of that "clean language" into his head also. It wouldn't have gone over very well if “Captain America” had started cursing like a regular front line infantry man on his U.S.O. tours after all.

“Yeah, I bet you were a regular Andrew Dice Clay when you were a kid,” Rhodey said.

He had made it to 5 in his head when his phone started to ring, just as Cap asked, “Who?”

Not bothering to look at the number, Rhodey took a breath and then answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Decaf? Really?”

*

Tony squinted as the late morning sun reflected off a passing car as he heard Rhodey sigh over the phone. Late morning was already starting bleed over into early afternoon, which insured that the New York streets were being fully utilized without an inch to give. It was nothing out of the ordinary. He traveled through New York enough times to know that, but he couldn't help but feel like the normal traffic was slowing them down.

He should have just taken a car himself and made had Happy wait with the kid. God knows he would have made it there faster than this. Not that Happy wasn't trying – Tony was sure that they were getting some interesting gestures thrown their way every time Hap suddenly changed lanes – but it would have done Tony's nerves a lot better to have something to do. Even if that something was the reckless driving that he'd promised Pepper he'd stop doing.

It wouldn't be the first promise he broke to her.

There was a shuffling on the other end of the line. Rhodey was probably wiping at his face just like he always did when he was getting ready to “deal” with whatever Tony was about to say. It was like his own little prayer for strength thing, which Tony probably should feel insulted by if he usually didn't usually make a game out of it. How many times could he get Rhodey to do it in one conversation was the goal and, unsurprisingly, the name of the game. So far, Tony's best score was three times in five minutes. The only game he was better at was How Fast Can Cap Become Irritated. Tony was sure he was the undisputed world champion of that.

“Tony,” Rhodey finally said.

“Do you remember Anna from Professor Cho's class?” Tony asked cutting him off. “The one that I told you I was going to take to your friend's fraternities Halloween party but that you stole right out from under me?”

“You mean the TA who was five years older than me and thought that you were one of the older students in the class's 'adorable son'?” Rhodey asked.

Well, that was true, but still.

“That was less of a betrayal than this.”

Tony could practically hear Rhodey rolling his eyes over the phone as Happy passed another car. This one was a little less silent about their disapproval of Hap's driving skills, which Happy was more than glad to respond too. It was a little odd to see Happy so on edge behind the wheel. It was one of the few places that he always seemed to calm him down more than anything, but Tony guessed that they were all on edge today. It was a big day, after all.

Huge day, really. The end of an almost twelve year nightmare. Even with living with that knowledge for the past two weeks and all the research he had done, it still didn't feel real. He knew that it was, but part of him kept expecting for him to wake up or to be told that it was all a mistake. Miracles like this don't happen to people like him, so surely something would put a stop to it before he finally got what he wanted. That was just how the universe did to Tony Stark.

Cutting off his line of thought, Rhodey said, “You need sleep.”

Yeah, maybe he really did. Rhodey didn't need to know that, though.

“I sleep,” Tony said instead.

“Really? Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“What color is the comforter on your bed?”

Tony frowned as he thought. He wanted to say gray. Gray sounded right.

Or was it red?

“I think I'm more concerned by the fact that you seemed to know that,” he said instead.

“Not as much as I am,” Rhodey said with a snort. “But, seriously, Tones, you need to try and sleep. I'm not always going to be around to –”

“Drug me?”

“If you want to look at me specifically not giving you caffeine as that, that works,” he said. “But what I was going to say was to remind you that you're human and need to stupid things like that just like rest of us.”

Pressing his lips, Tony leaned further back against his seat and watched as unfamiliar buildings with Christmas decorations rushed by. Yeah, sometimes Tony forgot things like that. He wished he could blame it all on how Howard raised him, but Tony knew that wasn't all it since he had never been good at the whole sleeping thing. Even before the nightmares and PTSD, there was just always so much for him to do that sleep had always seemed more like a necessary inconveniences than anything. Why sleep when you could create? He did some of his best work on minimal amount of sleep.

Plus, it made life a newborn had been a lot easier for him than most new parents. Two a.m. feedings were snap to get use to when you were already awake anyway. Not that he'll have a lot of those to deal with now. He didn't think.

Who knew what the kid's normal schedule was. Tony certainly didn't. Aside from what he could dig up online and from what Happy had told him, he didn't know anything about his own kid.

Just like Howard hadn't known anything about Tony at that age.

Tony shook his head to try and clear away the thought. Rhodey was right. He really needed to get some more sleep.

A snort that definitely wasn't Rhodey's could barely be heard over the phone, which was followed by a familiar voice. “Throw in eating too, while your at it. He needs to be reminded to do that just as much.”

“Is that Rogers?” Tony asked. “What? Did you and the Captain have a brunch date this morning?”

Switching over to speaker phone, Tony had FRIDAY start to search for anything that would call for both Cap and Rhodey to be involved. No world ending situation immediately popped up, which was good because Tony really didn't need to deal with that on top of everything else he had going today. So what could those two be up to together?

“Hardly,” Rhodey said. “We had to go see Osborn this morning.”

“Oh?”

Well, that narrowed it down significantly. Adding Osborn's name into the mix and hacking into Ross's personal emails, Tony had his answer almost before he finished typing.

“Yeah, there was –.”

“A break in,” Tony finished. He tried going through Oscorps system, but the original footage from the lab was somehow already gone. The live security feed was up, though, and it looked as if they were just getting started on cleanup. “Looks like someone did a real number.”

“Please tell me you didn't just hack into something that I'm going to have to explain to Ross about again.”

“No, of course not. Why would I need to break into the highly secured personal emails of a Secretary of State just so I can know why you went out on a breakfast date with the American Dream?” Tony asked before squinted at a section of the destroyed lab. “Wow, that is an impressive amount of damage to that equipment. Maybe we should call in the Department of Damage Control to help with the clean up.”

The idea did have merit. Tony would love to see what Anne Marie came up with a raid of Oscorp. Maybe he should suggest it the next time he saw her. It probably wouldn't go anywhere since, as much of a jackass that Osborn was, he didn't think he had any Chituari tech. And even if they suspected that they did, Tony doubted that Ross would let it happen. Still, it was fun to think about.

“Boss, we're here.”

Tony meet Happy's eyes in the review mirror as Happy turned off the ignition and then nudged head towards the passenger side window. An old office building that looked as if it hadn't been updated since 80s loomed over them from the other side of a relatively empty sidewalk. A few people hurried by, but as was typical New York fashion, they didn't seem to see anything around them. Tony hoped that luck would hold out for a while longer. The last thing he wanted was for the press that seemed to be constantly camped in front of the Tower since the news broke to get word that he was spotted at Queens CPS offices. He didn't want this to be a spectacle. He just wanted his son to come home.

So why was it taking him so long to get out of the damn car?

“Tony,” Rhodey asked, “you there?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Yeah, I'm here.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah. I'm, uh, I'm sitting right out front of CPS right now where my kid is waiting for me to come take him home, so I'm super – great, better than I've been in years.”

And yet he still wasn't moving.

What was wrong with him? He wanted more than anything than to go in there and get his son. He wanted all of this to be over and start slotting his kid back into that that gaping hole that had been part of his life for so long. He wanted the fact that his son was alive and well and in his life again to be his normal again. He wanted all of that. He needed it.

So why did the thought of walking through those doors and getting what he wanted scare him shitless?

Because you ruin everything you touch, a voice that sounded far too much like his father whispered. Just ask Pepper.

“Tony,” Rhodey said, “hey, Tony, I need you to get out of your head and listen to me.”

“I'm not –.”

“Yes, you are,” Rhodey insisted. “So you need to listen to me, alright. And listen closely. It's going to be okay.”

Tony opened his mouth to argue otherwise. It was him they were talking about, and Tony was fully aware of his ability to mess things up. In fact, making matters worse was one of special skills according to Barton. So there was no way that he wasn't going to screw this up.

Rhdoey, however, didn't want to hear it. “Hey, no, doing even start with whatever you've told yourself. I'm telling you that it's going to be fine. Okay? Me.”

Tony understood what he meant. Rhodey was never one to tell him just what he wanted to hear. He usually did the exact opposite and often told Tony what he needed to hear, no matter how hard it was. It was one of the reasons why Tony trusted him so much. Tony knew he should trust him, that Rhodey wouldn't lead him wrong, but Tony couldn't help but remember how badly this all turned out the last time. It was hard for him to imagine that this time would be any different.

Too much time mus have passed in silence because Tony heard Rhodey sigh and then say, “Tony, you've got to trust me here.”

The words were tumbling out Tony's mouth before he could stop them. “What if he hates me?”

“He's not going to hate you,” Rhodey said. “He wants to come home, right? Why would he want to go with someone he hated?”

“I just –” Tony sighed and shook his head. “I don't know what I'm doing here, Rhodes.”

“You didn't the first time either, remember,” Rhodey asked, and Tony could practically hear his grin.

That was an understatement. The story about the first time Tony ever changed a diaper had become one of those funny little stories that Rhodey liked to bring up ever so often whenever Tony let his ego run a little too wild. The difference was that back then Izzy was too young to remember when Tony screwed up with him. Tony could fix whatever it was he did wrong and there probably wouldn't be any deep, psychological ramifications from it. Now, if Tony did something wrong, there was no telling the kind of problems he could cause his son to have. Hell, Tony himself of was a living tribute to what having a messed up relationship with your father could lead to. He really didn't want that for his kid.

“Look, Tones, I can't tell you that this isn't going to be hard,” Rhodey said. “But I know you, so that's why I know it's going to be fine. You're just going to have to trust yourself and the kid.”

“You really think I should trust myself?” Tony asked. “I'm sorry, have we met before?”

“Okay, then, fine. Then trust me.”

Tony pressed his lips and looked back at the building once more. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”

“Good,” Rhodey said.

The little pep talk didn't do much to calm Tony's nerves, but he did trust Rhodey. If he said that he could do this, he probably could. He just hoped it didn't turn into a giant disaster.

“Well, Jiminy, any last minute advice?” he asked as he opened the back door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The sharp, cold air hit him hard in the face as he glanced from side to side. Happy, who was standing watch next to him, would have spotted any tabloid reporters by now, but it never hurt to take a second look. No one stood out, except for maybe the Santa ringing his bell on the corner but even he was normal for this time of year. So far, so good.

Tony could hear Rhodey gave a small chuckle as Tony brought the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, let the kid take the lead and don't push.”

“I never push,” Tony said.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Rhodey replied. “I'll see you and my nephew later.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

For as long as the car ride over seemed to be, things went surprisingly fast once Tony entered the building. He had barely made it through the doors when Ms. Walsh met him and lead him back to an ancient elevator. She was talking the whole time, and Tony knew he should be paying attention, but his mind kept drifting between the near bone crushing worry and nervousness and the relief and excitement that had been plaguing him all morning. With each step closer that he took to this Mrs. Sojourner's office, he was one step closer to having his son back.

He just hoped to god that he didn't ruin it.

Just let the kid take the lead and don't push.

He really hoped that Rhodey was right.

“Here we are,” Ms. Walsh said as they stopped in front of a seemingly random door. “Are you ready, Mr. Stark?”

“I don't think you really get ready for this,” Tony said.

She gave him a small smile before knocking lightly on the door as she opened it. The office was pretty much what one would expect: small, cramp, and full of more stuff than what was probably deemed safe by the fire standards. There were old inspirational posters tacked up next to children's drawings, and most of those were covered by overflowing shelves. It was all rather claustrophobic and made Tony's own controlled chaos of a lab look immaculate.

Tony took it all in quickly before shifting to people in the room. There was a woman behind a desk, which he assumed must be Mrs. Sojourner. She was middle aged and pretty nondescript, and Tony turned his attention away from her fairly quickly.

Then there were the two other people in the room who were rising from the tiny couch that had somehow been crammed in with everything else. Even though he had never meet her, Tony recognized May Parker right away. She was a bit taller than he expected and thinner too, but was still a striking woman with her dark hair and eyes. She was one those women whose beauty matured with her. In another time and under other circumstances, Tony wouldn't have hesitated to try and charm her.

That would not happen now.

Once more, she wasn't really who he was interested in, but the boy that she had an arm around was. Izzy – or was it Peter? – shifted uncomfortably on his feet. His head was ducked a little while he glanced from Tony, to the floor, and back again. He didn't seem to know where to look or what to do with himself. It was a feeling that Tony knew fairly well.

He looked...better than when Tony last saw him. Not nearly as pale or upset, which was a good thing. Tony wish he could say the same for himself, but he knew that even with the few hours of sleep and a shower, he probably still looked like the walking dead. It occurred to him that wasn't the best first impression to make, but there wasn't much he could do right now.

Ms. Walsh said something, and the kid looked to May Parker, who gave him a small nod. And then the kid was right there, still peeking up at Tony as if he were afraid to fully look at him. The urge to reach out and pull him close hit Tony hard, but he pushed it away because he was sure that it wouldn't be welcomed. Most people didn't like strangers hugging them, right?

The kid must not be any better at long, awkward than Tony was because it wasn't too long before he just gave a sigh and finally looked right at Tony. “Um, hi.”

A smile twitched at the edge of Tony's lips. “Hi.”

He shifted on his feet again like he hadn't thought what to really say beyond that. Then that bought of courage came back, and he straightened himself to his full height.

“I'm Peter,” he said confidently, as if he were afraid that Tony would try to correct him. Part of him wanted to tell him that that wasn't the name that his mother had given him, or that was listed on his birth certificate; but Rhodey's words were still ringing in his ears, so Tony try to let it go. If he wanted to be called Peter, Tony could do that.

Right?

“It's, um, nice to meet you, Peter,” Tony said and held out his hand. It wasn't a hug, but at least it was something.

Peter's shoulders relaxed a little and something close to relief crossed his face. Then he took Tony's hand with a surprisingly strong grip and said, “You too, Mr. Stark.”

Chapter Text

Every since Mr. Stark had walked into Mrs. Sojourner's office had felt like some weird dream that was on 2X playback mode. Voices and actions blurred together as he sat next to May and just watched it all unfold. The adults were talking – talking about him – but he knew his impute wasn't wanted or desired. It hadn't been since this whole thing started, so why should now be any different? Instead, he sat there clutching May's hand, tried to ignore the way Mr. Stark stared at him, and let the details of everything that was about to happen just wash over him.

The next thing that Peter knew, it was time to go. He and May clung to one another, holding so tight onto each other that he was surprised that he hadn't cracked a rib. There were whispers of “I love yous” and silent crying, which was over far sooner that Peter wanted it to be. When May pulled away – because Peter was never going to let go if he had the choice – she smiled at him and cupped his chin in her hands even as tears were rolling down her own face.

“You show him what a good job we did raising you,” she said and wiped her thumbs across Peter's wet cheeks. “Promise me you will.”

Peter nodded, told how much he loved her again, and hugged her one last time.

The next thing he was aware of he was dragging the suitcase that May had brought with some of his things into the trunk of Mr. Stark's car. Happy was there and tried to take it from him, but it gave Peter something to do. He kept the backpack with his stuff from the Stacys and clutched it to his chest the second he sat down.

Then, he was in the backseat sitting next to Mr. Stark, watching the city pass by the window. He could feel Mr. Stark's eyes falling on him ever few minutes or so, but Peter found everything else more interesting and less awkward to look at than him. It made Peter uncomfortable, and he wanted to tell Mr. Stark to stop. But that was rude, and Peter had just made a promise to May. He could picture her disappointment if he couldn't even make it an hour with his fath– with Iron – with Mr. Stark before proving how much he wasn't worthy of being who they all said he was.

Peter wondered what Mr. Stark was looking for. He probably thought that there was some kind of mistake. That someone like Peter couldn't be – him.

Biting down on the inside of his bottom lip, Peter fidgeted with the end of the strap of his backpack.

Everything was just...weird.

And wrong.

And – and –

Something.

When they pulled onto the road that lead to the Tower, Peter felt his heart start to speed up and stomach drop all at once.

The Tower had been part of the Manhattan skyline for a long time now, but it still was one of Peter's all time favorite buildings in New York. The old stuff was cool, don't get him wrong, but the Tower – the Tower was a work of art. Nerdy-tech-guy-wise speaking, anyway. Architecture wasn't exactly his thing, so he couldn't speak for that side of it, but tech-wise, oh yeah. It, like, belonged in a museum somewhere.

Peter remembered how excited he was when Ben had told him that Stark Industries was going to be building a new headquarters in Manhattan. Peter and Ned had spent hours on end reading everything that they could get their hands on about it. Whole weekends and school holidays were dedicated to finding out about all the cool stuff that was going to be put into the building and what kind awesome equipment and scientific positions were going to be housed there based off of what was in the California HQ. Sleepover nights would be camping out on the living room floor with Legos and action figures and whispering about how cool it was going to be to see Iron Man flying around fighting bad guys. They were too young to be terrified by the thought of such a thing – though Peter understood a bit better than Ned because of the Stark Expo – but they never wavered in their faith that Iron Man would save the day.

Peter never imagined he'd be seeing it like this, not even in his wildest dreams.

Or his worst nightmares.

News vans and crowd of reporters had gathered around the entrance of the building and blocked almost the entire front entryway. Peter recognized the local affiliates, as well as the cable news outlets, many of whom were already talking into the cameras. He even thought he saw that guy from that online news site that May hated so much yelling at some at some poor guy with a small camera. It was a sea of people, far more than Peter was used too, and he grew up in one of the most populated cities in the world.

“We're not going in that way, right?” Peter asked.

Mr. Stark glanced away from him to the waiting crowd.

“Yeah, no,” Mr. Stark said. “We've got a much better way to get in.”

Much better turned out to be...well, much better. Happy had weaved them around through traffic and passed the press to private entrance that Peter wouldn't have noticed if they hadn't turned into it. From there, it was a straight shot into a what Peter had thought was a full parking area. It wasn't the biggest parking garage he'd seen, but the cars it held made him stare. Even for the streets of New York City, these cars were rare. And here was a floor full of them.

How much did Stark Industries employees make again?

Happy drove up to the curve next to an elevator, and Peter grabbed the door handle as soon as Happy hit the breaks. It wasn't fleeing. Spider-Man didn't run away from things because that wasn't what heroes did. He just...scampered – like a deer, really – to a more advantageous position to assess everything before deciding how best to broach his situation.

Advantageous position? Really?

'See what happens when you talk too much about cop stuff with my dad?' he could practically hear Gwen say. Peter might have been annoyed by it, if it wasn't right.

“You okay there, um...kid?”

Mr. Stark was frowning as he stood back nearer to the car than Peter. He was giving him space Peter realized. Not crowding him. Like he was a scared animal that might scamper away if he got too close – or that he was a specimen that needed to be judged.

Peter wasn't sure which was worse.

And what was with the 'scamper' thing?

“Yeah,” Peter said as he shifted on his feet and adjusted the strap of his backpack. “Just, uh, taking it in, you know.”

A smirk pulled at the edge of Mr. Stark's lip. It made him look more like the guy Peter had seen his whole life on magazine covers and less like the baggy-eyed guy who had walked through Mrs. Sojourner's office door. Peter had chalked it up to it being true what they say about celebrities looking different in real life, but now he wasn't so sure. It must have just been him that made Mr. Stark look like the walking dead.

Great.

“Well, if your impressed with the garage, wait until you see the penthouse,” Mr. Stark said before taking a step forward.

Which made Peter instinctively take a step backwards.

They both froze.

Peter gripped the strap more tightly.

Mr. Stark's smirk fell just a bit.

Happy slammed the trunk and groaned as he picked up Peter's suitcase.

“Geez, kid, do you have a rock collection or something?”

“Sorry,” Peter said as he grabbed the suitcase handle from Happy, grateful to have something to do with himself other than stand there and look stupid. Happy didn't put up much of a fight for it and seemed glad to be rid of trying to drag it to wherever they were about to go. Peter lifted it easily enough with one hand, which apparently impressed Happy a bit, before walking towards the elevator with Mr. Stark.

“Kid's stronger than he looks.”

Oh. Oops.

Peter let the bag slip a bit from his one-handed grasp and grabbed at it with his other. Unfortunately, that made his backpack strap slip from his shoulder and sent it sliding right down his arm. It would have been annoying enough, but the heavy bag slamming into just the wrong spot on the back of his knee and an overstuffed suitcase throwing him off balance was enough to send him pitching forward. After that first disastrous meeting with Mr. Stark, Peter had planned on not faceplanting in front of the man again for, well, ever. But this was Peter. When did he ever get what he wanted?

A pair of hands caught onto him before he pitched forward all the way. “Easy.”

His face heated up as Mr. Stark steadied Peter on his feet. He was too embarrassed to do anything else than glance up for the briefest of seconds, and even then he didn't look Mr. Stark in the face.

Great. Just great. Really proving himself Stark material, wasn't he?

“Um, thanks.”

If things were awkward before, it was painfully so in the elevator. Peter could feel the two adults staring at him, but he kept his eyes down on the suitcase he placed between him and Mr. Stark or on the floor. He heard Mr. Stark say something, but he had no idea what it was.

This was it. He was “home.” When the doors opened, he would see the place where he was supposed to live out the rest of his teenage years, whether he wanted to or not. When school was over for the day, he'd come here. If he wanted to hang out with Ned, they'd come here (Oh, God, Ned was never going to believe all this). Birthdays and holidays and Christmas in a few weeks, all here.

With Mr. Stark.

And possibly the Avengers.

It's every fantasy that his stupid seventh grade self could ever want.

God, he hoped he didn't throw up.

Something like this felt like it should have had a greater entrance than a simple slowing of the elevator and an almost inaudible opening of the doors.

Mr. Stark's apartment was...something. Pretty much what Peter always expected for a billionaire: massive and modern, with views that he had only seen from his Spider-Manning. It was opened and bright and clean, so very, very clean. Clinical, almost.

Not that May's place wasn't clean. They kept it neat and tidy, but it had a lived in quality to it. You felt like you could walk in and make yourself comfortable. This place didn't. At least not Peter. His scuffed shoes and frayed hoodie clashed in the pristine entryway. He didn't want to even think how out-of-place Ben's old suitcase and Peter's Walmart backpack must look.

“Come on, kiddo,” Mr. Stark said stepping out of the elevator. “I'll show you around.”

Okay, Parker, he thought. You can do this.

Pressing his lips, Peter gripped the suitcase's handle a bit tighter and followed.

*

Peter can't say that he listened much as Mr. Stark took him around. He heard him, yes, but Peter couldn't tell any of the details. His mind was still trying to wrap around the fact Tony Stark – Iron Man himself! – was showing him his home and that he wanted and fully expected Peter to start treating it like his own as well. Peter was going have to work up to that. Right now, the only thing he was trying to concentrate on was not to get too close to anything. He knew how Parker luck worked and was sure that little bit of money he still had saved from his birthday wasn't going to pay for whatever his luck would inevitably take out. Peter didn't think that Mr. Stark was a “little superglue and we'll just turn it this way and no one will ever know” kind of guy, either, so he tried to be extra careful.

It was a relief when Mr. Stark lead him into a room that didn't have a lot of expensive things in it; just a big bed, some nightstands, a desk, and a chair. It was minimalistic, probably to not distract from the full window wall that overlooked lower Manhattan, and impersonal. Kind of like a hotel room, but one of those big, fancy ones that Peter had only ever seen on TV. It took a minute for it to connect that it was a guest room, mainly because Peter didn't know anyone who was wealthy enough to have the space for a such a thing. The closet he knew of was the pullout couch that Ned's parents had in their living room for his Granny to sleep on when she came to visit. Otherwise, all rooms were used for something, not just waiting for someone to show up to possibly use one day.

Mr. Stark probably had a while wing of them.

“Yeah, it's kind of bare in here right now, but I was told that you would probably want to decorate it yourself,” Mr. Stark said. “We can get on that later, or whenever you want. Or you keep it minimalist if that's your thing. Easier to clean, I suppose. But it's your room. You can keep how you want.”

Peter frowned and swept a quick gaze over the room again. It was then that he noticed the suitcase and backpack that Happy had taken from him were now sitting next to the bed. The worn-out leather and cheap nylon stood out sharply against the high quality furniture like neon colors in the dark.

An old kids song popped into Peter's head.

One of these things is not like the other. One of these things is just not the same.

Right.

“It's got the basics,” Mr. Stark said, snapping Peter's attention away from the bags. “TV is built into the wall, the walk-in's right here next to the en-suite.”

Peter blinked.

Walk-ins and en suites were...basics?

He wondered what Mr. Stark would think if he knew his room at May's had more of a shelf than a closet, or that he and May had to share a one-sink bathroom with just a shower. It did not even have one of those fancy shower heads with different speeds, either. He couldn't imagine what his bathroom was going to be like. In fact, Peter was a little scared to look.

“It's, uh, it's great, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “Thanks.”

There was a small relaxing of Mr. Stark's stance that Peter didn't really understand but knew better than to question as that magazine grin returned.

“You haven't even seen the best part yet, kid.” Before Peter could ask, Mr. Stark said, “Say 'hello,' FRIDAY.”

“Hello, Little Boss,” a disembodied female voice said and caused Peter to start.

Out of habit, Peter did a quick scan for who might have spoken, much to Mr. Stark's amusement. He already knew that there was no one else there besides himself and his – Mr. Stark, but someone had said something to them. It was then that it clicked for Peter.

Disembodied voice.

Super advanced Avenger Tower.

“That's – That's your A.I. Isn't it?”

Any other time Peter probably would have been embarrassed by the awe in his voice, but as weird as everything had been that day, this seemed like a safe thing to latch onto.

“That's right,” FRIDAY said with an almost amused tilt in her voice. “I am Boss's personal A.I. I also run the Tower, as well as any other official Stark Industries and/or Avenger adjacent facility, such as the Compound.”

“So you basically run...everything?”

“Yes,” FRIDAY replied. “So if you should be needing anything, you only need to ask.”

“I figured you might like that,” Mr. Stark said, which caused Peter to frown. FRIDAY was something that would impress even the most advanced scientist, but the way in which Mr. Stark said that suggested that he thought Peter himself would find her interesting. Which, yeah, he did, but how would Mr. Stark know that?

Unless he just expected Peter to like that kind of stuff because he was – well, technically, anyway – a...Stark. Weren't Starks supposed to be into that kind of stuff? Super-smart, super-advanced technology. Creating artificially intelligence and innovating computer technology. Peter did like that stuff and was better at it than the average person, but he didn't think he was on that level. He liked playing with computers and rebuilding them, but Ned was the programmer of the two. What if Mr. Stark expected him to just be good at that? And everything else like foreign languages and business things and how to be just naturally cool? Because Peter wasn't any good at any of that stuff, but if he really was him than he should be because he was a Stark and Starks were just like that and –

“Kid? You okay there?”

Peter's head snapped towards Mr. Stark. His smile had dropped to a small frown over the last few seconds that Peter hadn't been paying attention. That generally wasn't a good sign when it came to adults watching him. It usually meant a lot of uneasy questions and fake assurances. Peter didn't want to deal with that right now. Or ever, really.

“Oh, yeah, I'm fine,” Peter said as he forced a smile. “I'm just...tired, you know.”

Lying with the truth. Wouldn't May and Ben be proud?

“Sure, sure,” Mr. Stark said nodding along.

Peter played with the ends of his shirt sleeve.

Mr. Stark pressed his lips.

The quiet shift of warm air from an unseen vent blew between them.

“Right,” Mr. Stark said and clapped his hands together as he forced a large smile. “I'll let you get settled in. There's food in the kitchen if you get hungry. It's fully stocked, but if there's anything you want that's not there just let FRIDAY know. Let her know if there's anything you need, really.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter said as he stepped back to keep the distance from him. He pointedly ignored the twitch in Mr. Stark's face as he did so and instead forced a smile of his own. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

He stopped directly across from Peter.

There's that twitch again.

“Sure, kid.”

Peter let out a breath as the door closed.

For the first time all day, he was alone. And in his new “home.” With his father.

So, the question was, what does he do now?

*

“So, this is a first for us, I think.”

“Yeah, yeah, it is.”

“An actual update. An ole 'hey, guess what, we've got more! Aren't you excited!'”

“I know I am because, honestly, I never thought that we'd ever get to say this about any story we covered in this series.”

“Well, to be fair, most of the cases that we cover aren't exactly the freshest around. They'd been sitting around for awhile, gathering some dust as things do.”

“Like Walt in his cryogenic chamber, right?”

“Don't even bring that up.”

“Come on. Science has proven –.”

“No, no, I'm not buying into that.”

“Captain America was frozen in ice for seventy years, and he fought aliens after he woke up.”

“Captain America is a super soldier. I don't remember Walt Disney running around during World War II fighting Hydra agents in a brightly colored red-white-and-blue uniform.”

“You never know. He might have.”

(groan)

(wheeze)

“You've gotten way too cocky with your conspiracy theories since the Battle of New York.”

“Well, who was right about aliens? I remember it was one of us, and that person wasn't you.”

“Yes, fine, once again I admit, aliens do exist.”

“Thank you.”

“That doesn't mean that I think that they are randomly kidnapping seven-year-olds from hospital parking lots Missouri.”

“I just follow where the evidence leads.”

“Right. Where it leads. Can we just get on with the intro for this case?”

“Sure. After one more 'You were right about aliens being real.'”

“Oh, come on.”

“No, no, that was the deal, remember? If I got proven right about anything paranormal being real, you would have to admit I was right about it whenever I wanted.”

“I didn't think you would ever be right! And your abusing that privilege.”

“Hardly.”

“Folks, he calls me in the middle of the night to make me say it.”

“I do not.”

“My girlfriend is threatening to leave me because of it.”

“Are you sure that not just –.”

“Peter?”

If anyone asked Peter whether he jumped when FRIDAY's voice cut through the bickering, he would deny it, and to be fair, he tried not to. Really, he did. But a random woman's voice that sounded like she was standing right next to you wasn't exactly something Peter was used to just yet. Like a lot of other things.

At least he didn't launch the StarkPad across the room. That probably wouldn't make a very good impression.

Not that he was exactly doing a bang up job of that so far.

“Um, yeah, Ms. FRIDAY – FRIDAY – I mean...”

Peter pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.

Was it possible for FRIDAY to laugh at him? He hadn't asked a lot of questions about her – it? – whenever Mr. Stark showed her to him during the tour of the penthouse. Oh, Peter wanted to. He had a million and one questions about what was the most advanced A.I.'s in the world right after Vision, which he had even more questions about. However, that would have required actually talking to Mr. Stark beyond simple questions and short sentences. That was a bit too much for Peter considering everything that happened today.

Better stick to simple.

“Yes?”

“Boss wants to know if you would like pizza for dinner.”

Yeah, she was laughing at him.

“Um, yeah, sure. That's fine.”

“Do you have any preferences for toppings?”

“Anything is fine.”

“Noted.”

After a moment passed, Peter let out a sigh and leaned back against the headboard of his new king sized bed. In his new room. That was roughly the size of his old apartment's living room and kitchen and dinning room put together. Way too much room for just him. Or it should be, anyway.

Really, if Mr. Stark would have declared the walkin Peter's room, he might have felt more comfortable because he honestly didn't know what to do with this much space.

Or this big of a bed. He wondered how Mr. Stark would react if he asked for a bunkbed like he had back home.

Peter reached over and picked back up the StarkPad. He had found it in the drawer of the desk in his new room along with a laptop, earpods, and high tech watch that looked right out of Star Trek. They along with several gaming consoles that were brand new and way more expensive than anything that Peter had ever owned before. He didn't think that even his uncle's old truck had cost as much as that watch, and it hadn't felt right for Peter to just take it. So he had left it in the drawer with most of the rest of the stuff, except for the StarkPad. He still felt a bit uncomfortable taking it, but it had been over two weeks since he had been able to use any type of social media. Even for Spider-Man, that was a little much.

He gone straight to his email and found a whole bunch from Ned. The fact that Ned had resorted to sending emails to try and find him said a lot. Peter could only imagine what his phone – that he never did get back – must look like.

Most of the emails had no subjects, but the few that did have one said things like 'why can't I reach you?' 'where are u?' and 'DUDE!' Peter didn't even bother to read them and went straight to write his own to Ned. However, no sooner did the email open than Peter paused. What exactly was he going to say to Ned? How was he going to explain what happened? And did he really want to do it this way? Through an email. 'Hey, I found out that I was kidnapped as a toddler and I am Isaac Stark, Tony Stark's long lost son' seemed more like something you should tell someone face to face.

Or at least by phone.

It didn't escape Peter's notice that one of those had not been included in the high-tech goody haul. He'd have to ask Mr. Stark about it. Well, once he manged to say more than three words to the man, which Peter knew wouldn't be for a while yet. It wasn't that he didn't try – he was freaking Tony Stark, the Iron Man and billionaire tech genius. What super science nerd and aspiring superhero like Peter wouldn't want to talk to the coolest guy on the planet?

It's just that he was also apparently Peter's missing biological father who had been looking for him for years. What was Peter supposed to say to him?

Sorry to be such a disappointment?

What do you from me?

When can I go home?

Yeah, none of that sounded like good conversation material, so Peter figured it was better to just keep his mouth shut.

Not wanting to think about that, Peter turned his attention back to the StarkPad and hit play and only half watched as the two host continued to banter for a few more minutes.

A part of him wanted to cringe at what he was doing because watching a video about yourself had to be considered pretty narcissistic. But it wasn't everyday that a couple of your favorite YouTubers do a video on you.

Besides, Peter had been on a social media lockdown for the past two weeks. He was curious as to what everyone thought about what happened.

“So, now that we know once and for all who is smarter and therefore the better detective –.”

“I completely disagree with that assessment.”

“ – Let's get down to the update to one of our most popular videos, Whatever Happened to Baby Stark? Introducing its sequel, Oh, Hey Stark.”

(snort)

“You've been waiting a long time to use that one, haven't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I have.”

“Yeah, I thought as much.”

“So, for anyone who somehow missed the biggest kidnapping case since the Lindbergh Baby, let's do a quick recap of what we know so far. On March 17, 2004, at approximately 1:15 pm, Isaac Thomas Stark went to Martin Goodman Park in Malibu, California, with his nanny, Shannon Bailey. Mrs. Bailey had been employed by Isaac's father, Tony Stark, as the young boy's caregiver since Isaac was three months old, and had told Mr. Stark of their plans to go to the park earlier that day.

“This was not the first time the pair had gone to this particular park, and may have been the reason that Mrs. Bailey had felt comfortable enough to allow little Isaac to go play with some of the other children while she talked with the other nannies.”

“Sitting around gabbing with the guys and gals and letting a toddler go free range, probably not the best idea.”

“Probably not, but to be fair, we sit around and do a lot gabbing ourselves when we're supposed to be working.”

“True, but we're not watching baby Warbucks in a very opened, kidnappable place.”

“No, no. But I do have to watch a big baby most of the time at work. One that hates to be reminded just how wrong he's been on certain things.”

“Oh, shut up and get on with the story.”

“See folks, this is what I'm talking about.”

(Laughs)

“Anyway, Mrs. Bailey reported that she last saw Isaac playing in the sand next to the slides with a group of three other children at approximately 1:45. The last known sighting of the toddler would come less than ten minutes later when a pair of ten-year-old girls reported seeing him walking away from the slides and towards some older kids play equipment.

“This would be the last time anyone saw Isaac Stark for almost twelve years.”

Peter paused the video again. A picture of the back of a small child toddling through what looked like a wooded area was halfway faded off the screen, while a secondary picture of the New York City shore line began to bleed through.

He might have played dumb to distract May that night a few weeks ago – had it really only been less than a month? – but he knew that story. Most people did, especially if you were an Iron Man fan. It was different, though, hearing it this time.

This all happened to Peter, but try as he might, he couldn't remember any of it. No matter how he tried, nothing beyond what he had seen on TV or YouTube videos came to mind. He'd seen movies about people like him, and they always seemed to remember something: a feeling or a face or something. Not Peter. He didn't remember Mrs. Bailey or that park or anything about that day. He wouldn't think that it was him if everyone else wasn't so sure. So he should remember something.

Right?

Movement from the hall brought Peter back to the present, and he had just enough time to click off the website before a tentative knock echoed through the room.

His room was big enough to echoed. How weird was that?

“Uh, come in?”

Mr. Stark walked inside but didn't come beyond the small hallway that Peter's closet created. Peter hadn't gotten up the courage to look in there just yet and had instead just left the suitcase and the small backpack at the foot of the bed. Everything he need was in them and at least he knew where they were there. They might get lost if he unpacked, so he just left it.

Peter could tell that they didn't go unnoticed by Mr. Stark, but he kept any of thought of it to himself.

“Hey, kid,” he said.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter replied.

Mr. Stark tapped his fingers against his leg.

Peter shifted on his bed.

Okay.

“You, uh, found the StarkPad, huh,” Mr. Stark said.

Carefully putting it on the bed's comforter, Peter said, “Oh, yeah. It was in desk drawer. I thought it'd be okay for me to use it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Everything in here is for you.”

“Oh, okay. Um, thanks.”

The room stilled again as the silence echoed around them, and for several seconds too long nothing was said. Peter's gazed drifted over to the side. He wasn't really good at silence, which made the whole awkward thing even worse, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it. Well, he could say something, but that would require talking, and as established before, that wasn't really happening.

God, say something, Peter.

Anything!

Just open your mouth and –

“Yeah, so,” Mr. Stark said, thankfully breaking up the silence that sat too heavy around them. “I was, uh, just coming to let you know that there's some people here who would like to see you.”

Peter frowned. See him? Who would want to see –

Peter felt his stomach dropped when the only people that he could think that might be here to see him were...them. Not that it should matter. He kind of meet them – well, Mr. Hawkeye, anyway – before, but this was different. Peter wasn't having his whole life ripped out from under him now, so the thought of meeting Earth greatest heroes was a lot more intimidating now.

God, he wasn't sure if he was ready to meet everyone, or for all of his childhood heroes to realize what a loser he really was.

If he could have had a little more time as Spider-Man and meet them that way, it would be different because Spider-Man was going to be a hero just like them. Okay, maybe not just just like them, but close enough to where they might have been able to talk shop or whatever it was that heroes do when they got together. Instead, they were going to meet plain old Peter Parker, some kid from Queens with the worst luck, and was dumb enough to get himself snatched as toddler.

It was bad enough that Mr. Stark was stuck with him. It was going to be even worse that everyone else was going to be just as disappointed.

Mr. Stark must have realized who Peter was thinking was waiting outside because he said, “Geez, kid, I'm not going to throw you to the wolves just yet. Don't get me wrong, they want to meet you, but I figured we wait a few days before that.”

Something unknotted in Peter's stomach. Well, that's good. At least he had a few more days before, well...

He pushed the thought away and instead focused on the one that replaced it. “Then who's...?”

“Some family members,” Mr. Stark said. “They've been waiting a long time to see you.”

That didn't really make any more sense considering everyone knew that Mr. Stark was an only child and that his parents had died years before Peter was born. But what could Peter do besides awkwardly climb out of the bed that was the same size as his old bathroom and follow Mr. Stark.

That knot reformed as soon as Peter saw who was waiting for him.

Colonel James Rhodes and Pepper Potts both stood up from their places in the living room.

Oh.

“Um...hi.”

Chapter Text

“-- so I said to the kid behind the counter ‘Give me a regular.’ ‘Regular what?’.... ‘Coffee.’ ‘What flavor?’.... ‘Coffee. Coffee flavored coffee.’”

George snorted as he shut off the engine and popped the car door, cutting off the audience’s laughter. After a long day like today, he really needed to wind down some before returning home. One would think that with the Christmas holidays nearing that the whole ‘Good Will Towards Man’ thing would keep people from being such assholes to one another, but that wasn’t the case. Thanksgiving might have brought about family strife, but a 5% discount on this gaming system made even the most level-headed grandma lose her mind.

At least he got out of working Black Friday this year.

Robberies, fit-fights, attempted stabbings – it was all part of the job. However, it was all piled up today on top of dealing with all the stuff with dropping the kid off this morning. Technically speaking, he didn’t have to go with Happy and Peter, but George was nothing if not thorough. He had sworn to Stark he would keep his boy safe until it was time to hand him over, and George was a man of his word.

Besides, he kind of liked the kid. None of what happened was his fault, so it wasn’t like George was going to hold his own life being inconvenienced for a couple of weeks against the kid. It could be a lot worse, as evidenced by one Peter Parker. He hoped someone would look out for his kids too if it had been one of them.

Gwen also had taken to Peter, which wasn’t unsurprising. She seemed to collect sad-face, fluffy-haired boys. George blamed her mother on that one.

Grabbing the box of confiscated electronics, George got out of the car. Happy had dropped everyone’s phones, StarkPads, and laptops back off to him a few hours ago, and George was fully ready to be bombarded with children the moment he stepped through the kitchen door. As much as he thought that his kids spent too much time on their phones, he was glad to give them back to them. There was only so much Christmas decorating, TV watching, and family togetherness that everyone could take before needing a break from it all. If he didn’t have to play Monopoly again for the next five years, he would be thrilled; though he would miss Happy’s face when he lost. George wondered if he ever did figure out that they were all cheating against him.

“I’m home,” George called as he came into the kitchen.

Mary grinned at him as he put the box onto the island’s counter, just as four sets of feet came charging towards the kitchen. George had to sidestep Simon and Howard, who must have been waiting in the living room. They were already arguing, though George couldn’t really tell about what.

“Hey,” he said as he gave Mary a kiss.

“Hey yourself,” she replied just as the other two arrived and went back to stirring the sauce. “Happy stopped by, huh?”

“If you can call him dropping a box onto my desk as seeing him,” George said. To be fair, Happy did tell him that Mr. Stark was grateful for his help and to let them know if there was anything he needed to please contact them. George doubted that he would happen, ever; though the thought of having Stark pay for his kids’ college tuition was a fun idea. His pride would never allow him to do that, but he might not be above asking for a letter of recommendation.

Mary ‘hmmed’ and then asked, “Did he tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Why is it taped up?” Howie whined as Simon picked at the tape.

“I’ve got it,” Phil replied before opening the drawer with the scissors and handing them over to Gwen, who moved the two younger ones out of the way.

George had seen drug addicts be less excited about a hit than his kids were about getting their phones. Maybe a few days a week without them wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Be careful with those,” he said as Gwen turned the scissor blade to cut the tape. “The last thing anyone wants for Christmas is stitches.”

Mary added a bit more garlic to the sauce and said, “When Happy came back by to get his things, guess what he left for us.”

George frowned as Mary pointed to a StarkPad that had been left sitting on the counter. He recognized it as the one that Happy had first used that was linked to the security system that Stark had installed. Happy had told George that everything was connected to his phone, but that the StarkPad was what he used for setup and control. Why would he leave that?

Unless…

When George snapped back to Mary, she tilted her head and said, “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Just said Mr. Stark insisted.”

Before George could even process that, he heard the boys’ voices give a chorus of cheers. The box that Happy had insisted was full of his family’s electronics was actually full of state of the art Stark produces. Howard and Simon were holding the latest StarkPad between them, while Philip was already activating a StarkPhone that George was pretty sure hadn’t even hit the market yet. Gwen at least had enough sense to know that her dad probably wasn’t thrilled with all this and sheepishly held up a piece of paper.

“There’s a note,” she said.

Capt. Stacy,

Happy said you wouldn’t want me paying off your mortgage, so accept these instead. It’s literally the least I can do.

Tony Stark

PS – I paid off the mortgage.

George read the note twice just to be sure what it said.

That son of –

“Um, Dad.”

Gwen and the boys were now staring at him expectantly, the new high tech devices in their hands. George ground his teeth. He wasn’t one for any sort of charity. He had worked hard for everything he had, damn it, and now some billionaire was trying to give him all this stuff for doing his job? Like he didn’t do it just because it was the right thing to do? It was insulting. It was infuriating. It was…exactly what he should have expected from Tony Stark.

Damn it.

“I don’t think he’s the type you really say ‘no’ to, George,” Mary whispered.

Damn it to hell.

George steeled himself and said, “Fine.”

A chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘thanks, Dad’ echoed from the boys as they took off, as if they were afraid that he might change his mind. Gwen followed after but stopped long enough to give her dad a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, Dad,” she said and she hurried to turn on the StarkPhone.

“Dinner is in ten,” Mary yelled after the kids as she turned down the heat on the sauce.

She walked over to the box and pulled out the two other cell phones as George leaned back against the counter. Running a hand over his face, he said, “Can you believe this guy, Mary? I mean, cell phones and security systems are bad enough, but our mortgage?”

“Tony Stark has always been known to be generous,” she said as she took out two more StarkPads from the box and placed them on the table.

“Our mortgage, though? We’re not a charity case.”

“I don’t think he sees us like that,” she replied. “This is just his way of saying thank you.”

George snorted. “You say ‘thank you’ with flowers or a gift card to a restaurant. Not with several hundred thousands of dollars worth of stuff.”

He didn’t know exactly how much those StarkPhones cost (probably at least a thousand dollars a piece) but he did know how much they had left on their mortgage. They were supposed to be paying on it for the next ten years at minimum, and Stark had just paid it off during George's shift at work. Like it was nothing.

No. No, he couldn’t do that. It was too much. They couldn’t accept that much money. First thing in the morning, he was going to call the bank and –

“Dad!” Gwen yelled.

The alarm in her voice had George running before he processed what he was doing. She wasn’t far, just in the next room, but he was scanning for danger. Had someone broken in? Had someone found out that they had been keeping Peter here and came looking for him? So much for that high tech security system.

However, Gwen wasn’t in any danger that George could see. She was just sitting on the sofa staring at her phone, while the boys sat around her on theirs. Some old holiday special was playing on the tv, but none of them were paying any attention. Everyone was now solely focused on Gwen. Her face was ashen, though, and George could tell something was wrong. He just didn’t know what.

“Dad,” she said as she jumped up from her seat. “You have to call. I don’t have his number, and he hasn’t called me, so I can’t get a hold of him, but you could – .”

“Whoa, slow down, Gwen,” he said. “What are you talking about?”

Before she could say anything, the program that had been playing cut out and was replaced by the local news logo. The words ‘Breaking News’ briefly flashed before one of the station's anchors appeared. Messages like this were never a good thing, but no one had tried to get in contact with George as of yet. So this was either happening right now, or maybe it was something that wasn’t as terrible as George feared.

That hope was shot to hell as soon as the video recording started to play.

Well, at least Stark couldn’t blame this on him.

*

This was all Stark’s fault.

Curling more tightly up into the blanket, the one from Peter’s room, May clicked through the channels on the living room tv. None of it registered; it was all just a mixture of light and sound that was background noise to the one thought she had since she watched Peter walk out of the social work’s office with him.

This was all Stark’s fault.

May knew that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t like the man asked for someone to take his son. Even before all this happened, she never wished that on anyone – doubly so now. If it was anyone else, she would be cheering on a reunification. But it wasn’t. It was Peter.

Why did it have to be Peter?

It wasn’t fair.

To any of them.

She knew that Stark deserved to have his son back, but didn’t she also? She had him for longer. Didn’t that count for anything?

Then she remembered the words of the lawyer she consulted and deflated again.

It was all but over. The best she could hope for was that Stark would let her visit from time to time. If she had only stayed a normal aunt, it might have been enough, but it felt hollow after all that she and Peter had gone through together. She may never have adopted him, but Peter was just as much her kid as Stark’s.

But that didn’t matter in situations like this.

She understood, logically, but it was not fair.

She was halfway through her third round of channel surfing when the words “Breaking News” flashed across the screen on WHiH before changing over to a reporter outside of Avenger Tower. That was where everyone thought Peter was going once Stark had custody again. Had something happened?

God, had Stark let something happen to Peter in less than five hours?

What kind of father was he?

Grabbing the remote again, May quickly raised the volume just in time to hear the reporter say, “While there has been no official word, sources say that what you are about to see is genuine.”

As May stared at the tv, the first of what she was sure was to be many notifications started to buzz her phone. However, it was all drowned out by one single thought.

This was all Stark’s fault.

*

Steve was in the middle of his nightly workout with the bag when the phone Nat gave him vibrated. Ever since she announced she was “leaving early for Christmas vacation,” Steve kept it with him just in case she got into any trouble. There shouldn’t be, not for something like this, but you could never tell when it came to Stark or Fury.

It didn’t surprise him that Fury called her in for this. Somehow, the man who brokered in secrets had missed that Isaac Stark was living just over in Queens. Fury’s normal paranoia would have prompted him to pull Nat in to do further digging, and if it had just been her, Steven wouldn’t have thought much of it. However, there were way too many ex-SHIELD agents involved to say that Fury was just trying to satiate his need to know or he felt like he owed it to Tony for missing the kid.

If Fury planned on finding out whatever it was he was looking for, he better do it quickly before Tony finally slept now that Isaac – Peter was home, and he could give more than a cursory thought to the investigation.

Pulling off the tape on his hands, Steve grabbed the phone from his gym bag.

Turn on the news.

There wasn’t a number attached or anything else.

Okay, that wasn’t ominous.

There was a large television mounted in front of the cardio machines and was currently playing an old black and white movie. Steve could remember him and Bucky as kids going to see it for a nickel when it first came out. Bucky’s dad had given them a little extra money that time, and they had splurged on popcorn and pop. Steve had nightmares for a month afterward about a mad scientist making him into his next monstrous creature and sending him out to destroy everything in his path.

The irony was not lost on him.

“Friday, can you change it to the news, please.”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

The film cut off right as the villagers gathered their pitchforks and torches, and the tv switched over to one of the local New York news anchors. The sound still wasn’t on, so Steve didn’t understand what the man was saying, but he did understand once the news footage changed over to a new video.

That…was not good.

At least Fury wouldn’t have to worry about answering questions anytime soon because whoever took this, Tony was going to track down and destroy them.

*

“So I take the tank, fly right up to the general’s palace, and dropped it right at his feet like ‘Boom, you looking for this.’”

A wide grin spread across Rhodey’s face as he leaned back into the dining room chair with several opened and some empty pizza boxes in front of him. Pepper had heard the story several times since it happened, but Rhodey didn't show any signs of getting tired of telling it. It had sort of become his go to story for parties or when he was trying to impress someone. No matter how hard Tony rolled his eyes, most people were.

As evident by the wide-eye awe on Peter’s face.

Pepper had fought hard to keep her own awed expression off her face when he had walked into the living room with Tony, but it had been hard. She was actually surprised that she had managed to not have it permanently plastered on her since receiving the news.

She had been so mad when, during the middle of a meeting with their partners in Japan, Tony had forced FRIDAY to break through her phone’s DND and make it ring. The look on Takeshi Sato’s face when her phone rang during his presentation would probably be forever burned in her brain. At first, Pepper had thought to just ignore it. If she pretended like she didn’t hear it, the others would most likely follow suit. For almost a minute, they all sat and stared at each other while pretending like her phone was not going crazy. Then, silence. They all held their breath for a heartbeat or two just to be sure he had given up, and Sato started his presentation again. The poor man had barely gotten out four words when her phone began to ring again.

Louder.

Every horrible thing she thought she had about Tony had come tumbling out of her mouth the moment she stepped away and answered. Pepper wasn’t sure exactly how far into her tirade she had gotten – maybe to the part about him not respecting her boundaries again – when he had cut her off with one sentence.

“They found him, Pep.”

HIs voice. Pepper had rarely heard his voice sound that way. The handful of times she heard that tone had always connected back to the same little boy with big brown eyes and mischievous grin.

Then Tony talked. He told her how they found him and where he was – Queens? God, he had been in Queens this whole time. – and how he had gotten to see him and touch him, even if it was only for a few minutes, and God, Pepper, he’s alive. She hadn’t even realized she was sitting on the floor until she decided she was flying back to New York as soon as possible. Then she picked herself up and headed home.

Not that leaving in such a hurry had done anything. By the time she reached the East Coast – jet lagged, exhausted, and in a desperate need of a nap and shower – they had already squirrelled Isaac away with Happy. Tony had already locked himself into his lab at the Tower, which left just Rhodey to greet her and catch her up. Since then, she had been running point on all thing official with Stark Industries and as spokesman for the Stark family.

If she had to tell one more reporter ‘No interviews’ or ‘the family asks for privacy at this time,’ she was going to borrow either Tony’s or Rhodey’s suit and really let those vultures know how she felt.

It was worth it, though. When Peter walked in and said hello, it was all so worth it.

She had seen pictures of him. Rhodey had pulled them up for her, and Pepper wasn’t above saying that she cried when she saw him for the first time. He looked so much like how she imagined. Pepper liked to think that if she had seen him walking down the street, she would have known him the moment she laid eyes on him.

It was a lie, of course.

She had spent so many years looking at boys that passed her by trying to find one with the right shade of brown eyes and wide smile, only to never find one that matched what she remembered. There had been some, though, that she questioned. Knowing now that Peter had been in New York this whole time, she wondered if she had seen him before but had just convinced herself that it wasn’t him. That it couldn’t have been.

Only, maybe, once she might have been right.

Not that any of it mattered now. Thank god it didn’t matter now.

“Wow,” Peter said as he hung off every word Rhodey said. “That’s so cool.”

“It is,” Rhodey agreed.

His smile became sly as he turned to Tony, who looked as if he could believe that Rhodey had chosen to tell that story again. Pepper recognized the moment Tony realized what Rhodey was about to do.

Tony pulled a warning face a split second before Rhodey asked, “It’s that cool, Tones?”

“As ice,” he replied with a tight grin. “Speaking of which, did the Capsicle make it back up to the Compound? I know he wanted to get some team training or bonding exercise or whatever it was before the holidays.”

Snorting, Rhodey said, “I talked to him a little while ago. I think he’s planning on doing something with those of us who are there this weekend, but with Nat off and you here, I don’t think it’s going to be anything big.”

“Maybe he’ll take you all back out to Robin Hood’s place. Let you go chop down your own Christmas tree. Old people used to do that when he was a kid, right?”

“Not in the city,” Rhodey replied.

Pepper grinned into her glass as the two continued to banter back and forth but stole a glance over at Peter. She understood what Tony and Rhodey were doing. Make everything as normal as possible. Show Peter how ‘normal’ they were, so hopefully he would be more comfortable.

For the entire meal, the kid had been stiff. Sure, he had eaten like a teenage boy, putting away far more pizza than anything the adults would try, but he was rather quiet. After a few disastrous attempts at conversation, Rhodey had decided that the best way to try and get him to engage with them was to treat the whole thing like they were at some kind of business party and start telling stories. Something a little funny, a little exciting, and nothing too personal, but enough to make people laugh and feel like they know you a bit better.

Now they had moved onto stage two: friendly banter among friends. Let Peter see how they were and decide how best he wanted to continue this.

And while Tony and Rhodey were getting a little bit of a smile out of him, Pepper couldn’t help but notice something was off.

“Are you okay, Peter?” she asked gently.

Peter startled and blinked wide owl eyes at Pepper. Speaking more to his chest than her, he said, “Oh, it’s um…it’s nothing, Ms. Potts.”

None of them missed the way he began to pick at his nails, nor that he found the table so interesting.

Tony pressed his lips, a sure tell that he wanted to say something, but he was holding himself back. That wasn’t something that Pepper was used to. Tony was always straightforward, even when he shouldn’t be. There hadn’t been that many times before where he didn’t just say whatever came to mind. However, whatever he lacked in tact he made up for in charm, so he hadn’t ever really needed to learn how to self-censor when he could just make most people like him. The others just hated him – really, really hated him – which he, again, didn’t care about since the feeling was more than likely mutual.

This was different, though, and the uncertainty of what step to take was throwing him off. Which was why she and Rhodey were there.

“Hey, Pete,” Rhodey said. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. You can tell us.”

“We just want to help, honey,” Pepper added.

Peter bit down on his bottom lip in a way that was way too familiar and said, “It’s just…My friend, Ned – Ned Leeds – he’s my best friend. We’ve known each other forever, and I haven’t, you know, talked to him since…”

They all knew when ‘since’ was.

“Well,” Peter continued, “I was just wondering if, you know, it would be okay if I, uh…you know, called him?”

Pepper was careful to keep her face neutral, but she hoped that Peter didn’t catch how her eyes had cut over to Tony. She knew beyond a doubt that Tony was already familiar with who Ned Leed was. FRIDAY probably had a very detailed analysis of the boy – his likes, dislikes, what sort of baby food he had favored – somewhere in her database. If there was something in the kid’s background that was a red flag, Tony would have found it, and Ned Leeds would be person non grata.

Tony wasn’t giving any of his tells, though. If there was something wrong with Peter’s friend, he hadn’t discovered it. Which meant that there wasn’t a reason why Peter couldn’t contact Ned, even if Tony was making that face he made whenever he drank a cup of cold coffee just to try and convince one of them it wasn’t the one they brought to him hours ago and he had definitely taken a break since then.

“FRIDAY,” Pepper said, “could you please call Ned Leeds for Peter?”

Those familiar doe eyes snapped up to her as if he didn’t expect that. Pepper smiled in response and ignored the other set of brown eyes that she was sure were on her.

If it made Peter happy, she was more than willing to deal with the whining. It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to that anyway.

“Of course, Ms. Potts,” FRIDAY replied. “Would you like for me to call him now or wait until Little Boss has returned to his room.”

“My room,” Peter said, jumping up from his chair. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the most graceful move, and he ended up knocking against the table, which jostled the plates and almost tipped over his glass. He grabbed for it before it fell, while they tried to steady their own. Considering how he had been acting all night, Peter probably would have been embarrassed, but the excitement of getting to talk to Ned must have overridden that. It didn’t stop the string of apologies that were flowing from the kid’s lips.

Who knew that a Stark could learn manners?

Peter had barely taken two steps away from the table before he turned back. After a moment of hesitation, he surprised them all by hurrying over and giving her a quick but firm hug.

“Thanks, Ms. Potts,” he said and then practically ran out of the room.

A stunned silence hung around them.

When Peter had stepped into the living room earlier, Pepper had wanted nothing more than to hug him, but she knew it was a bad idea. He didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to force herself on him. They'd all agreed that they’d let Peter take the lead in any interactions, and Tony had warned them how skittish he was. So when he had settled on just waving at them earlier, neither she nor Rhodey had pushed. She hadn’t expected a handshake any time soon, let alone a hug.

Peter was full of surprises, though.

“Well, Pepper is still the favorite,” Tony said.

How was it possible to hear a pout?

Before any of them could reply either to the comment or to how the night went overall, FRIDAY said, “Boss, you need to see this.”

*

Ned was two-and-half paragraphs into Ms. Robin’s 500 word midterm essay on Odysseus’s long adventure home when the first notification buzzed his phone. Normally, he would have left it for a little while since he finally had gotten into a somewhat groove of writing. English was one subject he couldn’t lab his way through, and Ms. Robin had been very clear that this essay would count as their midterm. Even still, Ned stopped typing and grabbed for his phone.

What if it was Peter? What if he was finally getting back to him after two weeks of radio silence? Something big obviously happened to keep him from reaching out or attending school, and Ned was dying to know.

It couldn’t be anything worse than what Ned had already imagined. Like what if Peter had been in an accident and lost his memory? Or he ran out of money so tried to jump the turnstile and was arrested?

What if he ran out of money, jumped the turnstile, and then that spider guy had jumped out of nowhere and threw him into a wall so Peter lost his memory, but then the spider guy webbed him to a wall so he couldn’t get away or help.

Oh, god. What if he ate Peter?

It turned out that it wasn’t his best friend calling to tell him he nearly had been eaten by a spider man, which was a relief because Ned was fast becoming a fan of the dude. However, it was still a let down when it turned out that he had interrupted his writing groove for the Decathlon group chat.

Betty Brant:
OMG!!!!!!!!

Flash Thompson:
???????????????????????????????????????????????

Abe Brown:
What the hell!? Did anybody know about this?!?

Flash Thompson:
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Liz Toomes:
Ned why didn’t u say anything?

Betty Brant:
OMG! Leeds! How could u not tell us!

Flash Thompson:
???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Abe Brown:
Flash! Lay off the ?

Flash Thomson:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Betty Brant:
Seriously Leeds! How could you not tell!

Michelle Jones:
Lay off. He doesn’t owe us anything.

Flash Thompson:
???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Ned frowned as message after message popped up on his phone screen. All were just variations of shock – mostly from Flash – and questioning Ned how he couldn’t say anything.

Only he had no idea what they were talking about.

Ned Leeds:
Whats everyone talking about?

A message indicating that several people were typing popped up, but Michelle’s was the first one to get through. It was a link to an article that was posted on the news site, The Daily Bugle.

Why would Michelle of all people send him a link to that trash website.

Ten seconds later, he understood.

“What the –!”

*

“FRIDAY!” Peter yelled as he shut the door to his room and practically threw himself onto the bed. He expected to bounce like he always had when he had jumped onto his own or May and Ben’s bed, but he instead just found himself sinking into the memory foam mattress. It was weird, but Peter was not going to think about that because he was finally going to get to talk to Ned.

Ms. Potts was the best. Peter had been really intimidated by her and Colonel Rhodes for most of the evening because who wouldn’t be. Just being around Mr. Stark was overwhelming enough, but then to add on the CEO of Stark Industries and a decorated hero/superhero. It was just too much. What exactly could Peter talk to them about?

He’d opted to stay quiet for the most part. If they asked him something, he’d answer, but he just didn’t know what to say to any of them. He was just some kid from Queens. They…weren’t.

Thankfully, Col. Rhodes seemed content to just tell some stories about him and Mr. Stark and their adventures heroing. Some of them Peter had read about before, but it was different with Col. Rhodes being the one to tell them. The ones Peter hadn’t heard before were even more amazing. Peter knew he probably looked like an idiot the way he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. How often do you get to hear War Machine tell you about his latest mission?

Then Col. Rhodes and Mr. Stark started bantering. It was funny, and Peter was kind of enjoying himself, but they had reminded him and how he and Ned would joke back and forth. Then Ms. Potts asked him what was wrong and then he started babbling. He hadn’t meant to ask if he could call Ned. Really, he hadn’t. Not yet, anyway. He’d planned to wait a couple of more days and see if he could work up the courage to say more than two words to Mr. Stark before asking for anything.

For a horrible moment, he thought Mr. Stark was going to say no.

Then Ms. Potts had asked FRIDAY to do it anyway. She didn’t have too, but she did, which was awesome of her.

He wasn’t going to cringe at the thought that he had hugged one of the most powerful women on the planet because she let him make a phone call. In fact, like the mattress, he wasn’t going to even think about it.

He definitely wasn’t going to think about how she wore the same perfume his mom was wearing in his earliest memory. Nope, that was getting safely locked away.

Instead, he said up to the ceiling, “Can you please call Ned now?”

“Right away.”

Peter couldn’t hear the line ring, but it must have done so a couple of times. For an awful moment, Peter wondered if Ned wouldn’t pick up. He wouldn’t know the number – did FRIDAY have a number? – so there was every chance that Ned wouldn’t know it was him. If he didn’t pick up, what was Peter going to do? Keep trying until Ned finally answered or blocked the number?

Could you block FRIDAY?

Peter was in the middle of debating whether Mr. Stark’s personal AI could even be blocked when he heard Ned say, “I don’t know who this is, but you have the wrong number, and I don’t have anything to say anyway so you –”

“Ned?” Peter said, cutting his friend off midsentence. Ned wasn’t as bad as he was when it came to babbling, but Ned did have his moments. Rambling before he even said hello was a good indicator that Peter was going to have to step in or Ned would probably not stop talking.

He did, however, and Peter waited for a reaction.

And waited.

And waited.

“Ned?” he tried again. “Can you hear me?”

Maybe it was a bad connection? He was pretty high up in the Tower, and there were all sorts of electronics here. Maybe it was messing with his phone. Maybe –

“What the frak, dude?” Ned yelled and startled Peter. He didn’t sound angry, just…loud, like when he was over stimulated.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I wanted to call you sooner, but I wasn’t allowed, but I really wanted to because you’re not going to believe what happened and –”

“Dude,” Ned cut in just as loud as before, “why are you with Iron Man?”

Peter froze as the pit of his stomach sank to the first floor of the Tower. He didn’t think it was physically possible, but somehow he felt the blood drain out of his head while simultaneously it began to rush through his ears.

Oh god.

Oh, god.

Ohgodohgodohgod.

How did –?

How could –?

What –?

There was a tightening in Peter’s chest that he hadn’t felt since the spider bite, and he wondered if he was about to have an asthma attack right there. He thought that the bite had cleared that up, like how it fixed his vision. God, was that next? Was he going to lose his powers, too? Then Peter realized that he was simply holding his breath and forced himself to breathe. The last thing he wanted to do was pass out from lack of oxygen his first night with Mr. Stark.

When sound finally started to come back, Peter asked, “How did you find out?”

“Dude, it’s all over the news,” Ned said. “Someone got a video of you and Iron Man, and the Daily Bugle posted it like ten minutes ago. That is you, right? Because if it’s not, you have like a clone or something.”

Peter had gone back to not listening again as he scrambled to the StarkPad he had left out earlier. His hands were shaking as he pulled up the Daily Bugle. The garish green background assaulted his eyes as J.J. Jameson’s picture appeared on the screen, but Peter ignored it. He didn’t have time for that. He needed to see if what Ned said was true.

It had taken less than half a scroll down to see it. A video was playing, one that had been taken outside of Mrs. Sojourner’s office building. Happy came out of the building first, carrying Peter’s bag and scanning everywhere but somehow never looking in the direction of the camera. Mr. Stark followed and Peter coming out right behind him. Mr. Stark, too, looked like he was looking for cameras as he moved Peter towards the car. They were obviously trying to keep Peter from being seen, but it didn’t matter because you could clearly see Peter’s face as he turned to get into the car. The twenty second video then looped back to the beginning.

Under it, the title read:

Missing Stark Heir Spotted? What We Know About the Boy Spotted with Tony Stark.
By: E. Brock

Peter stared.

In the other room, he heard Mr. Stark yell a string of obscenities that would make every native New Yorker proud.

Peter thought it summed up the situation pretty well.