Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are you Peter Parker?”

The man at the table wasn’t what Tony was expecting. Perhaps because he didn’t look to be a man at all — but more of a boy. With youthful features and windblown curls, Parker’s eyes were the same colour as the dark beer in front of him and the leather gloves wrapped to his fingers.

Parker cleared his throat and formed a fist. Two knuckles cracked and one eyebrow lifted.

He spoke and his accent made Tony think of the Eastern Islands — sharp as seawater, cold as ice floes, dry as salt wind.

“Who’s asking?”

“Stark,” Tony collapsed into the seat across from Parker and thrust his hand out, “My name is Stark. I want to join your crew.”

Parker didn’t answer for a moment. He reached to the girl next to him; she passed him the playing cards he’d dealt. It was just the two of them at the table; Parker shuffled the deck into one hand; the girl put her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, as if impatient with Tony’s presence.

Parker laid the deck flat on the table, the dim torchlight in the bar flickered against glass and wood and paper. The bar wasn’t noisy or raucous, but there was a reassuring hum of conversation, anonymity in a crowd focused on their own food and fortunes.

The boy didn’t shake Tony’s hand.

He wore a dark red tunic — not new, but well-cared for. The black leather of straps and buckles on his harness gleamed with well-oiled luster. His coat was just barely too big for him, and he pushed the sleeves up now so they wouldn’t fall past his wrists.

He made eye contact with Tony.

“My crew doesn’t want you.”

He took a sip of his beer.

When Tony didn’t move, the girl flicked her hand toward the door of the pub, “That means get lost.”

“Not even gonna give me a chance?” Tony asked. The boy didn’t look at him. He started to shuffle his cards, and then turned so he was facing the girl more fully.

“I know how to sail,” Tony blustered on when they kept ignoring him, “I know ships inside and out. I’ve spent decades building, I can fix things when they break. I can —”

“Then go sign on with a merchant crew, old man.” Parker’s gaze was irritated now, apparently displeased with having to dismiss Tony twice. “Hell, the army’ll take you to a quicker, cleaner death if that’s what you’re after.”

“I’m not after death, I’m after work,” Tony gritted his teeth and leaned across the table, “And I can’t go with… conventional crews.”

“Well I don’t recruit every damn citizen wanted for avoiding his taxes. Go home.” Parker looked him in the eye again, gaze dark and intent. “Go back to your farm, back to your wife. Be grateful you left this table with all ten fingers.”

Feeling indignant at being treated this way by someone half his age, Tony yanked his gloves off and waved his right hand.

“Not an option.”

The boy stared at the thumb and two remaining fingers on Tony’s hand, the place still healing where part of his palm had been cut away. Sconces on the wall made the new skin look pink, and Tony flexed his wrist to shrug off the prickling feeling of needles and pins crawling through his nerves.

“Look,” Tony’s voice was gravelly, wretched with strain and too many days clinging to this sliver of hope winking out like a seashell swallowed by the waves, “Parker, I just need you to—”

“Captain.”

A pause.

The boy repeated, “You call me Captain.” And his lips curled into something that was not-quite a smile, “I’ll admit I’ve chosen my words poorly tonight, Stark. But my answer remains the same. We’ve got every bed filled, there’s no room for a new recruit.”

The girl spoke up again, jerking her chin away from the table, “Time to go.”

Her voice was like a boulder; stolid, strong, stoic.

Tony put his hand down against the table, curled his fingers against the edge.

“You a betting man, Captain?”

Parker tilted his head to the side, passing the deck of cards between his hands. “Not when the odds aren’t worth my time.”

“I will be good for your crew.” Tony declared, “I’ll make you a deal: I win and you take me on as long as I’m useful. You win and I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your night.”

Parker exchanged a glance with the girl. Neither of them said anything, but she lifted her arm and brushed her curls over her shoulder, her gaze flickered to Tony and then to the door.

She said, “What’s the harm, Pete?”

“He’s already not listening to me,” Parker growled, “And if he wins a game of chance he’ll waste our time as long as it takes before he gets run through.”

Tony leaned in, tossing four coins onto the table between them, “Just deal the cards, Captain. I’ll even sweeten the deal for you.” He cracked a smile and held his hands up as if in supplication, “No tricks up my sleeve, it’s not like I’m a Star Reader.”

The boy snorted, “I’ll say.” And he shifted so he fully faced Tony again. He started to shuffle the cards, Tony’s heart double-thumped.

“You’re lucky I’m not matching your left hand to your right, Stark.”

Tony’s jaw clenched; the threat seemed somehow disingenuous, but he didn’t say this.

The girl leaned over, resting her hand on Parker’s arm and blinking big brown eyes at Tony.

“You got a first name, Stark?”

“You got a name at all?” His voice trembled despite the bravado of his words, her lips curved upward.

“My friends call me MJ. You will call me Michelle.”

Parker barked out a laugh. He dealt three cards to Tony and three to himself.

“One hand.” Parker ordered, “Don’t dawdle. I don’t have time for wagers or promises tonight.”

Tony looked at his cards and frowned. Michelle put her hand out and plucked up one of the coins he’d offered. She examined it closely, turning it between her fingers.

Her gaze trailed to Parker’s hand and she grinned, “Look at you, Pete. The stars are always on your side.”

Parker laughed and shot a glance at her, a private joke unshed between them. His expression and demeanour softened as he laid his cards flat, “Three of a kind,” he said, “are we done?”

 Tony fidgeted and cleared his throat. He put his cards facedown. “Yes,” He sighed, “We’re done.”

Parker grinned, “Not even going to tell me what you had?”

“High seven,” Tony grumbled, Parker’s laugh grated in his ears.

Out of options, out of luck, and now completely broke, Tony shoved his chair back. “Thank you for your time, Captain.”

Michelle reached for the cards as he turned to the door. He could see a sliver of the sky out a window, and even the stars seemed dim in the uncertain future he was walking toward.

What was he going to do? He couldn’t go home. He certainly couldn’t go back. Maybe he could find someone in the port to pay him under the table for a few weeks, but how long did he have before—

“Oh my god,” Michelle’s laugh wasn’t nearly as cold as Parker’s. “Stark, this isn’t a high seven.”

Tony turned around. He didn’t walk back toward the table — too aware of Captain Parker’s reputation and the bloody threats he’d already made. But the Captain was frowning, jaw clenched, as Michelle gestured to Tony’s upturned cards.

Michelle looked delighted with the whole situation, “Seven six five? They’re the. Same. Suit.” She tapped each card in turn, a staccato beat matching the hope fluttering in Tony’s chest again, “That’s a straight flush. That means you win, Stark.”

Tony’s voice was too enamoured — too tight with emotion — to work quite right. But based on how excited Michelle sounded and how angry Parker looked, she must be telling the truth.

“I did? I won?”

Michelle immediately elbowed Parker, “Oh my god, he beat you and he doesn’t even know how to play! I’m gonna tell everyone we know about this.”

“Please don’t do that,” Parker sighed, but what might have been said as an order with anyone else just sounded resigned and weary toward Michelle.

Tony took another step toward the table, “So I- I win?” He looked furtively from Parker to Michelle, desperate for confirmation, “I can—”

“Welcome to the crew, Stark.” Parker’s voice was etched with disgust as he whipped to his feet. He straightened his jacket. He was shorter than Tony was expecting, but that made his presence no less strong, astute, domineering. Tony’s gaze fell to fine black trousers and tall boots. There was a sword at the captain’s waist and two knives in his belt; the silver of a pistol gleamed in the black leather holster strapped to his thigh.

Parker glowered at Tony, “We’ll see if you live long enough to perform First Rites. Ship’s departing at dawn.”

Then Parker marched out of the bar. Every eye in the room followed him, and the space seemed somehow darker, somehow duller, when the door slammed on its hinges and he was gone. Perhaps the room itself missed the vibrancy of a crimson shirt or the gleam of oiled brass and polished leather.

“Guess that mean’s your first rounds on me.” Michelle sighed and motioned for the bartender, “Lucky draw tonight, Stark.”

“I — you can call me Tony.” Tony said, surprised by his own relief when a beer was set down on the table. It had been a while since he’d gotten a drink.

“Welcome to the family, Tony.” Michelle lifted her own glass and clinked it against his. She swallowed and her voice was low as she toasted,

“To the ship and the seas.”

She tossed her drink back.

Tony echoed his agreement toward the floor and took more measured sips.

When their glasses lowered, Tony grimaced, “You think I’m crazy?” He asked, “Think that was a lot of trouble for someone who clearly doesn’t want me around?”

Michelle put her hand on the table, covering each coin he’d bartered with a finger. She slid them across the table to him, catching along lines and scars worn into the wood.

“That doesn’t mean you’re crazy,” She said, “That just means you’re desperate…” Her eyes lingered on the door and the dim sky out the window, obscured by city walls and smoke.

"A desperate man chasing a desperate solution?" Her smile was small when she looked Tony in the eye again, “That’s something Peter understands.”

Chapter Text

“What are First Rites?”

“Ehh, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Tony followed Michelle uneasily up a cedar gangplank. There were a few lanterns lit along the deck of the barque, their ropes creaking in an otherwise silent breeze. Tony looked across the ship, thinking that it was smaller than Captain Parker’s reputation warranted. But he didn’t say this aloud.

Michelle had lifted her chin to look at the masts — three of them, the sails rigged up for the night — but she smiled when she caught Tony’s eye again.

Tony pressed, “You don’t want me to worry about it because First Rites aren’t important? Or —”

“They’re important, but they don’t happen for six months.” She said, “Too much turnover between now and then.” She jerked her head toward an open latch near the stern and Tony followed her. Treated wood and steel dipped under their feet.

Michelle held a hand out to indicate the deck, “If you’ll allow me to tentatively welcome you home, this is The Vigilante, Stark. I think Peter finds the name… ironic.”

Tony thought about the grey line of justice and the law implied by the role of vigilantes, the chaos of piracy, and the deplorable enforcement of what guards and sheriffs there were in Aratem. Did these pirates travel only along the coast of their own nation, or did they cross the Argent Sea too?

Perhaps they went at least to the eastern peninsula or the island colonies, given Parker’s accent.

Michelle had to duck as they descended below deck, but Tony didn’t. He kept his lips pursed, letting the thoughts and questions turn around on themselves in his own head. Probably better not to ask questions that might be deemed foolish or ignorant.

They emerged to a big room with long tables, lit dimly by moonlight filtering through windows along the walls and piercing down the steps they’d taken from the deck. Even docked, the ship bobbed and ebbed in the water, making Tony’s feet adjust uncertainly despite standing in place.

“Pantries and storage are over there,” Michelle pointed vaguely behind the steps they’d used. She took up a brisk pace across the room, surefooted while Tony wobbled behind her. They ducked into a hallway and Michelle paused, bending to the floor to light a lantern before they continued.

“Captain’s quarters here,” She tapped a door on their right, “Don’t go in there.” She looked over her shoulder, slowing when she found Tony at least five paces behind her and moving uncertainly across the floor.

“You said you know ships,” She said.

“I do.” Tony lied as he sped up to keep pace. “I haven’t… been on one in a while.”

Michelle blinked at him. With the lantern held by her thigh, the shadows on her face seemed to encroach except for the whites of her eyes and the edges of her lips. For the first time, something in her gaze seemed frustrated, not so inclined to just go with the flow of the waves or fates of the stars or whatever else sailors were prone to believe in.

Michelle turned around and kept walking, moving faster this time.

“Peter thinks you’re a spy.” She said, opening a door to another steep ladder leading deeper into the hull, “Don’t prove him right.”

The lantern was their only source of light as they descended this time, but Michelle quickly lit a candle off the floor and passed it to Tony. Tony winced, eyes adjusting rapidly first to darkness and then to the bronze glow of flame on wood and brass.

Barracks. They looked the same the world over, though perhaps they weren’t called that here. There were linen sheets tied up between pillars all along the hull, makeshift beds that swung gently with the movement of the ship. A few piles of clothes or purses or scattered lanterns and candles were placed along their feet.

Michelle crossed to a shelf on their right, returning with a thick blanket that she pushed into Tony’s arms. He moved quickly to avoid dampening the candle in one hand, grimacing when he reached to grasp with fingers that were no longer there. He ended up pinching the blanket too hard between two fingers, wondering if he’d ever be used to the limitations of his right hand.

“There’re twenty-five beds and twenty-five of us down here” Michelle said, “Twenty-six now, with you, which means you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“I — what?”

“Peter told you we’re full up, there’re no free beds.” She didn’t look smug but she sounded it, “It’s not my fault you didn’t listen to him.”

“I thought he was bluffing,” Tony muttered, “To get rid of me.”

“Peter doesn’t lie. Not ever.” Michelle’s voice wasn’t particularly cold, but there was a sting to it, like the salt in the sea surrounding them. “It was true when he said the crew doesn’t want you around. True when he said the beds were filled. True that he thinks you’re going to be a waste of our time.”

Tony’s thoughts flickered to the horror stories of Aratem’s piracy plague; grisly punishments and violent raids and sadistically-warped bodies washing up bloated and grey on the country’s shores. Lying seemed like a peculiar place to draw the line for the infamous Captain Peter Parker.

“And he thinks I’m a spy,” Tony prompted, thinking on what she’d said during their descent, “Why does he think that?”

Michelle furrowed her brow and chewed on the inside of a cheek, “You insisted on joining our crew after he told you no. Twice. You weren’t the least bit comfortable in that bar. You don’t know how to play poker. And you bartered using state coin… army wages.” Her gaze flickered to the strained way he was still holding the blanket.

“That coin could be from anything.” Tony said.

“If you stole it, that’s a different story.” She admitted, “But I don’t think you did. I think you earned it. Maybe you earned it for tracking Peter down, for staying with us a few months to learn some secrets before turning us in.”

“You think I’m a spy too.”

“I hope you’re not. I’m just telling you what it looks like.” She turned to look at the ladder, their only way out of this cramped, dark space. “Whether you’re a spy or not, don’t let Peter think you’re going to betray this crew.”

She stepped around him, heading for the ladder again, “All I’m saying is that you need to get a lot better at pretending to be at home here,” She said, “Starting with keeping your balance.”

“Where is everyone else?” Tony asked.

“We’re docked at a city. They’re out drinking, gambling, fucking… whatever it is, it’s their business. They’ll be back late,” She paused at the foot of the ladder, “I would just pretend to be asleep once they arrive.”

“Right… asleep on the floor.” Tony swallowed, trying to keep the resignation from his voice. It was probably the least of his worries, “Is it six months till I earn a bed, too?”

Michelle laughed, “You’ll get a bed when there’s a bed free, Stark. Give it some time. Someone will get shot or fall in love at the next port… or try and cheat Peter.”

She smiled at the thought, perhaps at the futility of such an attempt.

Tony didn’t know if he would be brave enough to ask, and he thought maybe he shouldn’t bother. But then he heard his own voice, somehow shallow and weak in the dim light around them,

“How long have you known him?”

She hoisted the lantern up a couple rungs on the ladder as she prepared to leave. It made the entire space flare with light, and Tony thought that it might make the room seem cosier somehow. Old wood and warm blankets and the evidence of people living here — their boots and weapons and coins and jewellery stacked neatly along the floor — it could almost seem like a home.

Michelle’s lips parted on an inhale, but then she held it. She considered her words carefully.

“A long time.”

“Since when?” Against his own judgement, Tony chased the question, frustrated with how these two — these children, really, they were so many years his junior — were running circles around him with bravado and intimidation.

Michelle’s lips twitched on the demand, and Tony thought she might just huff and snap at him and leave.

But then she just shrugged.

“Since he was a different man.”

Chapter Text

Tony heard the other crew members come back for the night.

He had decided to abide by Michelle’s advice, so when they arrived he was pretending to be asleep on the floor in the corner of the room.

First he heard chatter and laughter and lurching movements through the ceiling above him. Then the trapdoor opened and someone tripped on the ladder and crashed through to the floor; someone else followed them guffawing and a third person was shushing them.

“Dammit,” Someone grumbled; Tony shifted quietly onto his side, trying to keep his breathing even and low. “I think I sprained my wrist.”

“Here, lemme see,”

“Lookit! See, it’s — owwww, what the hell!”

Someone shoved the other and there was a dull thud and more drunken laughter. Tony didn’t know how he was supposed to ‘sleep’ through this, but he stayed where he was.

“Oh shit,” This was a male voice, he stepped over to where Tony was curled toward the wall. His voice was young like the captain’s, but the accent was affected and low like the capital city.

“There’s someone here.”

“On the floor?”

Another man, his voice drew closer as he walked toward them.

“Shh, he’s asleep.”

A female voice — not Michelle — declared, “Must’ve been pretty deep in his cups to sleep through you two.”

“Oh don’t be mean,” Another girl said, “Everyone hush and let him sleep. The Captain’ll explain in the morning I’m sure.”

The first one who’d spoken — the boy from the capital who’d noticed Tony — grumbled, “I’ve never known the Captain to explain anything, but you keep thinking that Betty.”

Betty sighed, “There you go being mean again.”

There was a rustle as someone climbed into their hammock. Some of the light in the room disappeared and smoke from an extinguished candle tickled Tony’s nose.

From one of the hammocks closest to the ladder and the door, Michelle grumbled, “Everyone go to sleep! We’re sailing at dawn.”

One of the boys cried, “Aww, why dawn?”

The first girl spoke again, her voice was flat and she sounded high up, like maybe she’d climbed into bed already, “No doubt the Captain’s impatient for his reunion in Moratsia.”

This caused everyone to laugh. There were more footsteps above them and someone else creaked down the ladder; they were greeted warmly by those already present. Tony was pointed to and whispered about. More lights flickered and then were blown out as everyone prepared to sleep. 

Moratsia.

A city on Aratem’s southern coast, not far from the western border. Sheep herds outside the city limits sourced most of Aratem’s mutton and lamb and wool. They had a textile festival every five years, helped along by cotton traders from the west.

There wasn’t much of a port in Moratsia. But then again, Tony had never been there.

He fell asleep listening to sailors returning for the night, bonding over hushed whispers at the strangeness of his presence and their early schedule in the morning.

In his dreams, The Vigilante sailed across herds of diamond-white sheep instead of the crystal blue of the Argent Sea.

“And that’s everyone!” Betty beamed as she led Tony back to the front of the mess deck.“Well, not the Captain. But you said you met him last night.”

Tony nodded mutely, looking back at the clustered groups of sailors he’d met, all of them bunched around tables with coffee and hard-boiled eggs and pickled vegetables.

A couple of them were still shooting glances his way. But the rest seemed content to have learned Tony’s name and the fact that he was joining their crew.

Personal histories probably weren’t a big conversation topic amongst pirates.

Betty had attached herself to Tony as soon as he rolled over in the morning, which he thought might be suspicious until he realised she was just extraordinarily friendly.

Somewhere outside, a bell chimed, and right on cue everyone started to move. The sailors hauled to their feet and clapped each other on the back and cleared their plates and headed above deck. Betty looped her arm through Tony’s as if he was escorting her to a village rollick and led him up into the still-dark morning.

“Tony, do you know what job the Captain assigned you?” Betty asked. On the deck, people were already peeling off for their own tasks, grasping rigging and unfurling sails and fiddling with knots and hoisting the anchor. Tony was preparing to choke out something about swabbing when a voice above them called,

“Hold off!”

Tony craned his neck up to one of the masts. Peter Parker was elegantly swinging down poles and jumping between the rigging. He moved with grace, catching ropes in the wind before Tony realised that’s the way they were turning. He hit the ground walking and strode toward them, clapping his hands as crewmembers made their way back to the middle of the deck to face him.

So here they were. Captain Peter Parker and his twenty-six crew members on a slender barque about to set sail for Moratsia.

Twenty-six wasn’t very many. And with Parker’s reputation and crimes against the crown, Tony wondered why Aratem’s military was so hesitant to apprehend him or overrun the ship. Strength in numbers could probably see The Vigilante overwhelmed in an afternoon.

“We’re going to Moratsia,” Parker jerked a hand south, looking over each person. His gaze slid past Tony, like he wasn’t even there. “But we’re going around Woolworth Fjord. Seven days. I’m sure you’ve all met Stark,” He still didn’t look at Tony, “Stark, you’ll follow directions from MJ. Do what she says.”

From the right side of the deck, Michelle raised an eyebrow at Tony and crossed her arms, which he supposed might be her way of smiling and waving.

Parker circled a finger to indicate the rest of the ship, “Any questions? Then anchors up!”

The sailors started to scatter again. Tony took a step toward Michelle, but then turned to Betty to ask, “Wouldn’t it be faster to go through the —”

Bang!

Tony’s heart blasted its way to his throat and he spluttered on the end of his question, leaping backward as the heat of a bullet raced by a few inches from his cheek.

Everyone else on the deck froze, turning stunned gazes from Tony to the bullet until it plinked into the water.

Tony’s eyes whipped from the masts to the gangplank to the harbour, but there were no enemies boarding the ship. No ostentatious silver and purple livery of Aratem’s army winking under starlight.

Tony finally looked at Parker, at the pistol clenched in his hand and the cold stare fixed on him across the deck.

Parker’s voice was low, lethal despite the bullet’s miss, “If you have questions, Stark, you ask me. You don’t bother my crew after we’ve dismissed.”

Tony swallowed, the noise of the bullet still ricocheting around his brain and fluttering in his stomach. He’d broken out in a sweat and his voice trembled when he choked out, “Did you just try to shoot me?”

“If I wanted to shoot you, there’d be a bullet in your head.”

Everyone was still. Silent. Tony didn’t realise how hard his fists were clenched until he loosened them. He lifted a hand to his cheek, to the edges of his hair, but the bullet had missed. He wasn’t even grazed.

A couple more beats of silence — Tony wondered if he’d be better off leaving right now, walking down the gangplank before they were sailing — when Parker prompted,

“What is your question?”

A strained, nervous little sound bubbled in Tony’s throat but he swallowed it amidst the winds and the creak of the ship.

Then he eked out, “I just wondered if it would be faster to go through the fjord… Captain.”

Parker holstered the pistol again, and the whole crew eased with relief.

“That’s a good question,” Parker said, and this admission caused such great confusion in Tony that he thought the boat dipped even further on this particular sway, scrambling his mind and chest and stomach all at once in the cool dark morning.

“Woolworth Fjord is faster in the autumn, but with summer coming ice shipments from the north make it crowded. Between the traffic and increased security, sailors like us are better off going around on the Argent. We’ll arrive in a week. Anything else?”

“N-No, Captain.”

Well, Tony did wonder at the declaration that it would only take a week. Even with its slender size, The Vigilante would be going faster than any vessel in Aratem’s rather-advanced military.

“Next time ask when I open the floor for questions. Let’s get moving.”

And then Parker was climbing the masts again, scaling up the middle like an eel before grasping thin ropes at the top to hoist himself up.

“Tony?”

Tony turned to look at Michelle. His heart was still settling back in his chest, thumping out an overwhelmingly-fast reassurance that he was alive.

“Follow me,” Michelle said, “Peter prefers to run lookout up in the ropes, so I usually handle steering. You’re going to help me with that.”

“Just the two of us?” Tony asked, thinking of the long whipstaffs cutting through the hulls of navy ships. Usually a few people were required to heave and turn on the whipstaff, and he tilted his head as he followed Michelle up toward the back of the ship, curious as to why they stayed outside and open to the air.

“Just the two of us,” Michelle confirmed, leading Tony to what he could only describe as a wheel — spokes and all — but instead of being attached to a cart or a carriage, it was standing upright. Ropes were tethered around it and bound taut to holes in the floor of the deck.

“Peter’s invention… in a sense.” Michelle laughed, “The ropes go down through his office and then connect to the rudder below deck. Understand?”

Tony nodded, thinking of the slim, trigger-happy boy with brown curls and a perpetual scowl. His reputation came from somewhere; whispers on the street cited cruelty and efficiency and financial success. But clearly there was a brain there too.

“But he doesn’t like to operate it?” Tony asked. The sky was beginning to turn grey instead of black, and he looked up toward the sails which had now been unfurled.

The stars were winking out, but the moon was still suspended above them, struggling to blend in with the brightening sky.

“He prefers to be up high,” Michelle lifted her chin and Tony followed her gaze, but he couldn’t see Parker from down here. At least not with the morning light so washed out. He sought out the top of the ship, and imagined a spy glass clenched in the boy’s hand.

“That way he can feel the wind, see everything around us…” Michelle cracked a smile “And he doesn’t have to talk to people.”

Tony nodded and straightened, running a hand along the finished wood of the… what had she called it? The helm.

Two operators instead of five. Ropes instead of wood. Something like this could very well revolutionise Aratem’s navy.

He counted ten spokes, and nodded along as Michelle said that originally Parker had them turn left and right, but as of the past few months they were experimenting with the helm as more of a dial.

“Left and right is still left and right,” she said, “but how quickly and powerfully the tiller moves is determined by the notches you turn. One to ten. So we’re going to turn left now to pull away from port, and this is where I need your help. Grab it.”

Tony reached out, placing his hands next to Michelle’s on the helm. She looked up at the sails again, seeking a symbol from someone. She glanced briefly at the port and the city they were leaving behind, checking the gangplank and the anchor were up.

Then they heaved on the helm together; The Vigilante groaned; below them, sailors shouted and whooped and called instructions to each other.

Then, just as the sun started to crest the horizon, the light twisting the water into shades of gold and sapphire, The Vigilante pulled free, and they started to sail.

Michelle relaxed her grip and the helm notched back a few spokes. Tony craned his neck up toward the masts again as the ship picked up speed, pulled clear of land, and then began to turn south.

He jumped when Michelle clapped him on the back, but she just grinned over at him as they began to pick up speed.

“Southern wind,” Tony noted, a little breathless. “Fortunate for us.”

“Yeah, Peter’s good at predicting stuff like that.” Michelle pushed the helm back so the ship began to straighten beneath them. Tony’s stomach bristled at the movement so he reached to hold the mast.

“We’ll have to get you a coat, Stark.” Michelle nudged him and Tony nodded, fingers twisting in the thick linen shirt he’d been wearing for days. Now that they were free of land, with the Argent soaring beneath them, he found his mind thinking more than a day ahead. In a week they’d be in Moratsia. In six months he’d perform these cryptic ‘First Rites’. And after that?

That was… assuming Parker didn’t accidentally shoot him first.

Tony followed Michelle’s gaze again into the sails and the rigging and a slender form high above them.

“He shouldn’t have shot at you,” Michelle said, which was rather comforting to hear. “That was a cruel thing to do.”

Tony snorted and called above the noise, “Dangerous, too!”

Above them, the figure shifted. Glass and metal glinted in the morning light.

“Actually, it wasn’t that dangerous!” Michelle gathered her hair up and began to tie it back, keeping an eye on the sailors below them. She reached out idly with a hand and notched the helm back to its starting position.

“He shot a bullet at my head!”

“No he didn’t. He shot next to your head. Peter doesn’t miss.”

Tony fought not to roll his eyes at the arrogance of such a statement, “The same way he doesn’t lie?”

Michelle laughed at that, but she didn’t say anything else.

Instead, she stepped around Tony and started for the stairs again to the main deck. “Mind the helm, Stark. Just keep us going south. Remember, left and right, with the wind it shouldn’t need much more than a notch or two.”

Tony nodded and took hold of the ship’s wheel, watching her sway down the steps and approach one of the other sailors. They exchanged a few words and then she disappeared below deck.

Tony notched the wheel once to the left, and then set it back to its start position. It wasn’t particularly difficult with the seas calm and the sails aiding them, but he thought of the strength needed to pull away from the harbour and wondered if a storm or less favourable winds would cause more tension.

He turned around to look at the wooden docks and squat houses disappearing behind them, the horizon gradually replaced by just the endless, clear blue of the Argent.

Tony had two jobs on The Vigilante: he either rang the bell above deck to signal the hour (which was extremely boring) or he stood at the helm, notching the wheel first left and then right to stay their course in choppy waters or manoeuvre around islands and rocks.

He’d thought to be somewhat flattered by this important role, but he quickly realised it was also rather dull. Much of the time, he just looked out across the ship and waited for something to happen.

Not to mention, when he was operating, he was pretty bad at it. The ship swayed more, took sharp turns, and Tony winced when the other sailors would stumble or reach for support as he notched too far; that never happened when Michelle was there to help him. She reassured him it was fine, that it just took some getting used to, but Tony worried the others would let their malcontent fester.

Michelle helped sometimes, when they needed more strength to turn the helm. Or she’d sit with him and teach him to know bow from stern and port from starboard. She told him about the mizzenmast, mainmast, and foremast. She said the place high up in the rigging where the lookout stood — where Parker stood — was called the crow’s nest.

“I know these things,” Tony grumbled, “I told you I know ships.”

“Right,” Michelle shrugged, “Well, a refresher never hurts.”

Tony was grateful for that.

He started to pair names to faces: Flash was the boy from the capital with dark skin and a haughty air, he never went to bed without putting away a couple of beers; Cindy was slender and never tied her hair up and her humour and voice were bone dry; Brad was a little younger than most of the others, restless with unspent energy and he always snored loudly until Michelle rolled him onto his stomach.

Tony was the eldest by nearly a decade. He didn’t know what to make of that, except most people his age probably weren’t interested in dropping everything to join a pirate crew. And, sad as it may be, most people as young as the other sailors weren’t going to join a pirate crew and then live very long.

Parker always greeted everyone, always exchanged a few words where necessary. But he spent most of his time up in the crow’s nest or locked away in his quarters. He occasionally hung around the mess deck with them, partaking in evening nightcaps but never accepting morning coffee.

He played cards with the others too, but Tony was never invited.

All things considered, that made sense.

The most exciting thing that happened that week was on day five. Tony was looking over two maps with Michelle, carefully swinging The Vigilante east to avoid Woolworth Fjord and the traffic going in and out of it. Michelle lifted her hands to signal something to Flash — a communication technique that Tony was eager to learn more of and master —when movement above them drew Tony’s attention.

Parker landed in front of them on the deck.

“There’s a ship south-southeast,” He pointed as he said it, “And the fjord is southwest. We want to continue straight on south, avoid them both.”

Tony looked southeast, but he couldn’t see anything on the horizon. He supposed Parker had an advantage spending his time so high up.

“We don’t want to board it?” Tony asked, flinching when Parker looked at him and a hand trailed to his hip.

“The other ship?” Parker asked.

Tony nodded, not trusting his voice.

“No, they’re not flying a crest. Probably just merchants or travellers. We’ll let them be as long as they don’t pester us.”

Parker exchanged a look with Michelle, who nodded, and then he clambered back up into the rigging.

Tony watched him go, and — not trusting himself to manoeuvre a rather tight channel — he let Michelle take the helm.

“Merchants or travellers would be a wealthy ship, wouldn’t it?”

Michelle shrugged.

Tony scoffed and put his right hand in his left, running his fingers anxiously over the stumps where his fingers had been.

“Don’t tell me he’s a pirate with morals.” Tony grumbled, “He’ll raid military ships and shoot at his own crew but he draws the line at rich civilians?”

“I already told you, Stark, he didn’t shoot at you. He shot next to you.”

“Right. Cause he doesn’t miss.”

“You wanna test the theory, go right ahead. But he’s the captain on this ship. That means we listen to him.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Or were you eager to go frighten a merchant family and threaten some rich civilians?”

Tony gritted his teeth and turned away from her.

Moratsia, as Tony had thought, didn’t have a very big port.

The Vigilante fit in well, given its small size. The people of the harbour clearly knew the ship and its crew.

The city was all creamy buildings and shingled rooftops; in the plains beyond, they could just make out homes carved into the sides of hills.

The crew gathered in the mess and rolled dice to determine who could leave the ship on the first night. Given his general aversion to people, Tony expected Parker to volunteer to stay and watch over the ship. But almost as soon as they were anchored, the young captain disappeared down the gangplank to shake hands and enter the city.

Tony wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go into the city, but he rolled well and everyone else seemed content with their lot so he trailed behind Flash and Brad and Betty and Michelle as they returned to solid ground and entered a dim pub.

The space was cramped with tables and chairs and dubious patrons. Lanterns and candles washed everyone in golden light, Michelle and Flash greeted the bartender — one round, jolly Mr. Delmar — with a quick embrace and warm words.

Even off the ship, Tony kept feeling like the floor was moving beneath him. This meant he didn’t have much stomach for the lamb roast and fried potatoes and battered vegetables the others ordered before they clustered around a table in the corner. He did sigh in relief when a cold beer was set down in front of him.

“It’s nice to have you around, Stark. It’s been a while since someone new joined up,” Brad said.

“Well we’ve been full for so long.” Flash nudged him, both boys were pooling jewellery and fragments of gems and pennies to see what others snacks or drinks they could afford. “We still are full, but I guess Captain made an exception.”

Tony’s gaze flashed to Michelle, remembering her laughter when she told Parker that she was going to tell ‘everyone they knew’ about the card game. But she just smiled back at him and reached over Brad for a toffee candy.

“How long have you all been with him?” Tony asked.

“Three years,” Betty said brightly at the same time that Flash grunted,

“Just over seven years.”

“Five years,” Brad declared, lifting his drink as if in toast.

From behind them, someone laughed, “You joined up young, Brad, back when you cried and got nosebleeds all the time.”

Everyone else’s faces lit up and they turned, quickly shifting aside to let Parker sit down with them. He clapped Brad on the shoulder as he did so, and Tony tilted his head. He wondered how old Parker was, how long ago he’d formed this crew. Flash had said seven years, so it was at least that old.

Parker couldn’t have been more than a teenager then.

“Well, I’ve really come into myself,” Brad blustered and puffed up his shoulders, making Betty giggle. Brad grinned at Tony, “I mean how many people can say they’ve sailed the Argent Sea with Captain Parker to Newlen and back!”

Newlen. A bastardisation of New Lands, discovered across the Argent when Tony was just a boy.

That would have been a very very long trip. Impossibly long for The Vigilante, let alone its ragtag, young crew.

Tony squinted until he saw the smirks and eyes exchanged between friends.

“Newlen,” Tony scoffed and took a sip of his drink, “Very funny. And I’m Aratem’s lost princess.”

Flash and Brad both laughed, making Tony’s chest feel warm.

Parker snickered and reached for a potato wedge, “You wish you were that beautiful, Stark.”

Tony looked up at him, and their eyes met for a moment too long. A question and a warning exchanged.

“Maybe you don’t know yet, Tony.” Betty leaned her head on Parker’s shoulder, making him shoot a fond look down at her, “Peter saw the princess once,” She nudged him, “Right? When you were little?”

Tony put his elbow on the table and set his chin in his hand, reassessing the captain sitting in front of him. Wondering again about the boy’s vague history and eastern accent and unknown parents — all ruses?

“You were at court, Captain?”

Parker grimaced, “Uhh… in a manner of speaking.” He waved a hand idly, “But that was a very long time ago.”

He looked toward the door, turning a wrist almost nervously.

“Peter!”

Everyone turned and Flash rolled his eyes when they caught sight of a blonde woman on the other side of the pub. She was waving at their table, her hair done up in a braid and then wrapped around her head. She crooked a finger when Parker waved. The captain sighed as he stood up, clapping Betty and Brad on the shoulder.

“Duty calls. Don’t have too much fun tonight,” Parker chuckled, and he waved a cursory goodbye to the table, flashing a bright smile at Michelle.

“Who’s that?” Tony asked, watching Parker shake the girl’s hand. They stood for a few moments in the hallway, leaning against the wall, speaking in low voices. For all the world it looked like a business transaction.

“That’s Gwen,” Flash tossed back the rest of his beer and signalled for another one, holding up two silver rings in payment.

Parker and Gwen turned away. She opened a door just off the hallway and they disappeared behind it.

“What are they doing?”

Michelle twisted toward the front door and lifted a hand to cover her mouth.

Brad and Flash exchanged a look.

Flash smirked, “Well, you’re new to the crew, right? This is a dangerous business, there’re lots of people trying to get close to the captain for the wrong reasons.” He leaned low over the table, gesturing for Tony to lean in too, “So he does background checks, investigations, you know? Gwen helps with that.”

“What?” Tony shot to his feet and stumbled when the ground lurched beneath him, still unused to solid ground again. He hurried around the table, pushing between chairs and patrons to get across the bar.

“Oh shit.”

“Oh, wait, Stark, we’re —!”

“Tony, come back here!”

“Stark, wait!”

Tony crashed into the hallway and threw the door open, not even sure what he meant to do. But if Parker or Gwen knew — or were about to know — something about where he’d come from or what he was doing here, then he was a dead man already.

But they weren’t crouched over a desk looking through conscription catalogues or birth records.

No.

Gwen was naked. Not even stretched out on a bed but rather a couch, face contorted on an indecent moan.

Parker’s trousers were unlaced and pushed down, he had a hand on her waist and one on her breast, his lips pressed to her throat and his cock deep between her legs.

Gold chains and a string of pearls were laced between Gwen’s fingers. Payment.

Unfortunately, Tony threw the door open rather loudly.

“Oh my god!” Gwen shrieked, and that sound alone quieted the bar behind Tony, who choked and stopped in his tracks.

Parker froze and turned his head to the side to see who’d come in. His lips twisted upward when he recognised Tony, and he gently settled Gwen back against the couch as he withdrew and straightened up.

“Stark, nice of you to join us.” Parker grunted, rage burgeoning in each word as he pulled his pants back up and adjusted his belt.

He threw a scarf to Gwen, which she snatched up to cover herself, looking frantically between the two of them.

“This is one of your men?” She demanded.

Parker shrugged and swung to face Tony.

“Not for much longer.”

Chapter Text

Tony’s neck snapped painfully when Parker punched him in the face.

He yelped and lurched into the hallway, arms spiralling wildly to keep himself balanced.

Parker scowled as he advanced, his eyes murderous, and he reached for the pistol strapped to his thigh.

“Wait, Park — Captain, wait!” Tony backed up into the great room with the vain hope that the presence of other people might save him. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Yeah, didn’t mean to,” Parker snarled, pointing the barrel of his gun into Tony’s face. Tony tripped and fell, his palms scraping along the splintered wooden floor. He scrabbled for purchase, remembered the missing fingers with a pain, and then went still on the floor, staring up.

Behind him, Flash sighed, “Told him not to go back there.”

Betty said, “This is your fault for teasing him.”

“Well I’m not mopping up the blood.”

A few other people actually laughed.

Parker’s expression didn’t so much as twitch; his eyes were illuminated with the same fire as the torches around them, the silver glint of the pistol gleamed with the intent in his irises.

“You’re slow. You’re old. You don’t listen. You’re expendable, Stark. So you’d better give me a damn good reason not to shoot you between the eyes right now.”

Tony’s throat closed up on the fear building inside him. He looked at the brass buttons on Parker’s tunic and wondered if he imagined the rusted colour of dried blood there.

Tony opened his mouth, tried to choke out something — anything — to barter with. But he couldn’t get the image of the Captain with his pants down and the girl spread beneath him and the obscene moaning and —

Tony could feel his cheeks heating up. Parker scoffed at the sight, and he cocked the pistol.

“Oh for god’s sake, he’s not worth it Pete!”

Tony hiccuped to choke back a cry of alarm. Parker didn’t shoot.

The Captain’s eyes went to the table where they’d been sitting just minutes ago.

Michelle’s voice was flippant, casual, like she didn’t care one way or another whether Tony left the bar alive. “Bullets are expensive. Gunpowders expensive. You keep telling him not to waste your time? Then don’t let him. He made a mistake. He’ll think twice next time. Just leave him be.”

Parker tilted his head to the side, seeming to really consider what she’d said.

“Not worth a bullet,” Parker agreed with a growl, stuffing the gun back into its holster, “I’ll cut his throat out instead.”

He unsheathed one of the knives in his belt, and Tony's breath caught at the beauty of the dagger as it caught the light. It was straight, polished, the blade carved with ornate etchings and dots that might have been stars. Was it steel? It seemed brighter than that somehow, offset by a dark stone and individual pearls set into the pommel.

“Pete, come on.” Michelle huffed, “That knife wasn’t made for hissy fits. If you really wanna see him gone, then fire him.”

A silence so heavy fell that it seemed to dampen Tony’s hearing, like he was watching Parker from underwater. There was even an accompanying sting of saltwater in his eyes, and Tony’s hand trembled as he lifted it to wipe his nose.

Parker was going to fire him. That much Tony was sure of. He was going to be left here in Moratsia, back at square one, alone and empty-handed and desperate.

But at least he wouldn’t be dead.

From the front door, someone called, “Problems with your crew, Peter? Or is this just the foreplay you’re so famous for?”

Snickering laughter flew through one side of the room. The boys from Parker’s crew sighed a little, as if exhausted. But something like apprehension flickered in Parker’s eyes.

Or maybe fear.

Parker’s jaw clenched and he turned away from Tony, slipping the beautiful, decorated dagger back into its sheath. He lifted his chin high to address the man at the entrance to the bar.

“Quentin.”

“Quentin,” The man mocked, “Is that all the greeting I get, dear friend?”

With Parker’s attention off of him, Tony twisted to look at the door. There were seven people clustered in the entrance to the bar, all tall and bearded and male and looking more like what Tony expected of pirates.

Quentin must be Quentin Beck, known for a crooked smile and hard blue eyes and cruel hands. They weren’t pirates, technically, but a crew of private bounty hunters frequently employed by the crown.

Quentin Beck’s fingers were clasped together, and his expression was pleasant in an unnerving way, like he was going to invite them for dinner only to slip poison into their drinks.

From the table, Michelle smarted, “We are not friends.”

Quentin’s gaze slid to her and the other members of the crew. He gave a patronising little wave, “Nice to see you MJ.”

“Don’t look at her!” Parker snarled. Quentin rolled his eyes as he focused on the captain again.

“Oh do calm down, Peter,” Quentin spoke slowly, with ease. As he strode into the bar, Parker stiffened and took half a step back. Quentin made his way over to them, he ruffled Parker’s hair with a snide smile, making the boy’s jaw clench. Then Quentin crouched and held a hand out to help Tony to his feet.

Tony barely had time to understand the offer before Parker practically pushed Quentin aside and offered his own hand, grabbing Tony and yanking him up instead.

“I can take care of my own crew, Quentin, thank you.”

Parker planted himself between Quentin and Tony, squaring his shoulders and keeping his face held high, hands hovering near the weapons at his belt.

“Evidently,” Quentin stepped around Parker and held a hand out to Tony anyway, “What’d you do to get Peter waving a gun in your face? Beat him at cards?”

… Well.

“The affairs of my crew are none of your business, Quentin.” Parker pushed Tony toward the others before he could contemplate taking Quentin’s hand.

A hand on Tony’s arm made him look down, and he stepped closer to Betty, who was watching the exchange anxiously.

Quentin cleared his throat and walked back across the great room. He stopped next to the bar and turned back, leaning against it, eyes set on Parker. Every muscle in his body was relaxed, a sharp contrast to Parker who was so clenched he appeared to be trembling.

“Believe it or not, Peter, I didn’t come all this way just for you to spit at me.”

“Could’ve fooled us” Michelle snapped from where she was standing behind the table, “So what, Moratsia has plenty of slaves for you to sell to the king?”

Quentin sneered, and his gaze levelled on Tony again.

“I only round up those who deserve to be sold, my dear.” He raised an eyebrow at the room, “Don’t suppose anyone here has run into any wayward Star Readers or fugitive criminals? Thieves… deserters… runaway brides?” He looked at Michelle again, “I’d be happy to split the bounty.”

This silence was cold, every eye in the bar fixed on Quentin’s every word.

His smile crept to a grin, “We could even have a little fun with the prisoners before handing them over. Aratem’s clemency laws are awfully generous.”

“My crew get back to the ship.” Parker’s declaration was low and his fingers twitched near the handle of his dagger again.

Parker started toward the front door. Someone pushed Tony from behind, which propelled him into motion as he crossed the bar with the others clustered at his side. Betty held on tight to his arm, and he squeezed her hand.

“Leaving so soon?” Quentin hummed, “I didn’t even get a chance to ask you about Morales.”

Parker stopped.

Behind Tony, Michelle swore softly.

“What about him?” Parker hissed, one hand flat on the door. He turned his head just enough so he could see Quentin across the bar, perhaps so he could glimpse any threat that may lurk around them.

“You tell me, Pete,” Quentin sighed, “I haven’t seen hide nor tail of Morales in nearly a year. He’s your friend, isn’t he? Surely you’ve heard from him.” Quentin’s lips twitched, his voice dripped with sympathy. It was the voice a worried mother might arm herself with, but coming from Quentin Beck it was downright terrifying.

“I just want to know he’s safe, and I heard the most frightful rumour recently.”

Parker turned around. He looked at Betty clinging to Tony, and then Brad and Flash right behind them. Finally he made eye contact with Michelle.

He signed something to her, hands close to his stomach, in that peculiar code Tony had noticed on the ship.

“MJ, take everyone else back. I’ll meet you in an hour or two.” Parker declared and pushed his way back toward the bar. Michelle reached for the door in his stead, but everyone froze again when one of Quentin’s men grabbed her wrist, making her mutter a curse under her breath.

“I’d really prefer if MJ stuck around,” Quentin purred from the bar. The way Michelle’s hand was outstretched, wrapped around the doorknob, it meant her fingers were obscured in darkness. For the second time in his life, Tony felt an urgency in his throat to walk away from light and into the dark space beyond, to rush outside into the wild and the wind of the sea.

It was safer there.

Parker’s voice was thin with fury, each word splintering against the weight of the silence of the room, “Tell your pig to take his hand off of her or someone is going to lose an eye.”

Quentin didn’t react instantly, as Tony would have. He sat in the tense air, grinned at everyone in the bar trying to avoid his gaze.

Then he sighed, “Well there’s no need for violence, Peter. I think there’s been enough of that tonight for dear Mr. Delmar.”

From behind the bar, the guy just shrugged while arranging a row of tankards, “As long as you all keep paying.”

Quentin motioned leisurely between Michelle and Parker, “Bring her to her captain.”

Michelle grunted when the man pulled her away from the door. Tony didn’t know whether to step aside or not, but then he was shoved and Michelle was dragged over to Parker, who snatched her away as soon as they were close enough.

Parker’s arm went around her shoulder, and his free hand started to rub anxiously at her wrist, as if scrubbing away the touch of the other man.

“Don’t misunderstand, the rest of your crew can go, Peter.” Quentin waved at the group standing by the door, “I just need to catch up with you two.” Those glinting blue eyes focused on Parker and Michelle again, who both looked somewhat small now in the middle of the bar.

Parker looked over at them and jerked his chin for them to leave, “Go.” He said, “Flash, get the others back to the ship and prepare to sail. We’ll join you soon.”

Michelle winked at them, leaving Tony to choke on his protests as Flash and Brad pushed them out of the bar and into a crisp night breeze.

Brad spoke rapidly as they all-but jogged through Moratsia’s cramped cobblestone streets, “Flash, you go round up anyone else who went out tonight. We’ll get the ship ready to sail.”

Flash nodded and took off into a side street. Betty was still clinging tightly to Tony, who was turning over the peculiar, threatening exchange in the bar.

Finally he asked, “Did Michelle run away from her fiancé?”

Betty giggled and nudged at him, “Are you saying you didn’t leave anyone behind, Tony?”

“Well, I…” Tony trailed off, “But was that man her —”

“No,” Brad said immediately, then he threw a smile over his shoulder at them, “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t know who her fiancé was, but I know she could do way better than that guy.”

“And we’re —” Tony turned back to look at the bar again, “We’re just going to leave them there?”

“What we’re going to do is follow our captain’s orders,” Betty said, her voice laced with reassurance, and she patted his arm, “That means getting ready to sail. The Captain and MJ can take care of themselves and they can take care of each other.”

Yes. But in a bar of rogues with nebulous loyalties? With at least seven set against them?

Tony stopped, causing Betty to lurch since she was still holding onto him.

“Tony?”

Tony turned from the narrow cobblestones to the expanse of the harbour and the sea now before them. Betty’s eyes and hair looked bright in the moonlight, lips pursed with worry and gaze glistening with concern. 

“Tony.”

“I think maybe I’ll—” Tony took a step back toward the city.

Ahead of them, Brad stopped too. He crossed his arms as he turned.

“We were given an order. They’ll be okay.” He said patiently, “Come on, Stark.”

But Tony couldn’t stop thinking about Parker’s scowl and the way Quentin had ruffled his hair and left him trembling in the middle of the bar.

Parker was scared of this man. He shouldn’t have to face him so outnumbered.

“I’m going to help them, or- or at least wait for them.” Tony turned around fully and started to walk back toward the bar.

“Stark! Stark, hey!” Tony ignored Brad and picked up his pace, forging ahead now that he’d committed to what was probably a very bad idea.

“Stark I already warned you not to go someplace tonight and you almost got shot, you gonna do that again?”

Tony turned around just long enough to shout, “You’re the one whose prank sent me back there in the first place!”

And at least that got Brad to stop shouting across the city in the middle of the night. Tony watched the young man step back, folding his arms and raising his eyes toward the stars in prayer.

Tony turned back and picked up his pace, opening and closing the three good fingers on his right hand anxiously. He only had a pocket knife on him, and history suggested he wouldn’t be very good at using it. But he certainly couldn’t let Parker or Michelle get hurt, not after the second chance the Captain had given him, after the kindness and patience of Michelle’s instruction at sea.

And he certainly couldn’t let them get hurt if it meant giving someone like Quentin Beck any satisfaction at all.

Tony found himself ducking slightly and pressing close to the wall as he approached the pub again. He didn’t go for the door but instead waited just next to an open window. He tilted his head to try and catch wind of the conversation inside.

In his peripheral vision, he could make out Parker and Michelle still standing in the middle of the great room. It looked emptier inside, like a number of patrons had the good sense to step out.

Quentin was still leaning against the bar, commanding as much presence as three men might, and Tony had to press his nose to the wall to hear what was being said.

“… poor man just wants you home safe, MJ… your family’s worried about you.”

“Let them worry,” Michelle snapped, crossing her arms. Tony shut one eye, so he was more focused on what was visible in the bar. Quentin’s men had spread out, forming a loose circle. Parker’s jaw was clenched and he was toying with the handle of a spare hunting knife on his belt.

Parker barked, “Are you going to tell us what you heard about Miles or not?”

Quentin tutted and lifted a glass to drink something, “So impatient, Peter. You of all people know information isn’t free… you need to give me something first.”

Parker’s patience — which Tony would have said was thin anyway — snapped. His hand flashed and the knife sang from its sheath, shooting across the room and shattering the glass Quentin was holding, the sound made everyone in the bar jump.

Quentin flinched and the blade buried itself in the wood of the bar, leaving him scowling and dabbing at spilled beer and fragments of glass.

From behind the bar, Mr. Delmar gasped, “Mr. Parker!”

“Sorry, Mr. Delmar.” Parker shuffled in his pocket and dropped a silver pocketwatch and a gleaming gem on the table next to him.

Mr. Delmar sniffed and turned back to the employee he was murmuring with.

“Stop fucking around, Quentin.” Parker took a step forward, “Tell me about Miles, tell me what you want from us, just tell me something before I walk out of here annoyed that you wasted my time.”

Quentin laughed as he plucked a shard of glass from between two fingers. He made a show of sucking blood from the palm of his hand.

“Well, I can see it’s only in my interest for MJ to accompany me,” Quentin smiled at her, the blood streaked in his teeth glinted ominously in the light, “but surely you could turn over a crewmember, Parker. I’ll collect their bounty, you’ll free up a bed, have one less mouth to feed. And I’ll tell you what I heard about Miles.”

Parker laughed, “I’m sorry if you feel stretched thin with your crew,  but I don’t doubt my ability to care for mine. And I’m certainly not going to give them to you to torture and turn in to the king.”

“Not even the stumbling cripple you were about to dispose of anyway? You would hold his life in higher esteem than your friend?”

Tony gritted his teeth, skimming his fingers over the rough, scarred skin on his hand.

“You’re not bartering with Miles’ life, you’re bartering with information about him,” Parker fumed, “You want a secret or two in return? Fine.”

Leaving Michelle in the centre of the room, Parker strode across the great room until he stood right next to Quentin, who didn’t stop leering at him.

Parker slid into a barstool next to Quentin and leaned forward, lifting a hand to cover his mouth.

Whatever he whispered made Quentin jerk his head back, nostrils flaring. He snorted and one leg kicked out, shoving the stool out from under Parker who fell back with a gasp.

There was a crack and a swear as Parker landed on the ground, the legs of the barstool breaking beneath him.

“Mr. Beck!”

“Sorry, Mr. Delmar.” Quentin paused to slide three coins across the bar, glimmering minted state currency.

Michelle took a step forward but Parker held a hand up, making her freeze.

“I’m fine,” He grumbled as he pushed a stray piece of wood out of the way and climbed gingerly to his feet. He squinted for splinters that might’ve punctured his clothes or his skin and fixed a glare on Quentin.

“I’m not lying.”

“You expect me to believe Newlen’s prince is raising an army against Aratem?” Quentin laughed, and Parker actually winced at how loudly he announced this. Quentin sneered at him, “Knowing what you know I know about that royal family? Try again, Parker.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t care how many times you’ve sucked the prince’s royal dick, Beck, this is —” This insult made Quentin scowl and reach for his belt.

Parker moved as soon as Quentin did; in a flash of movement, both men kicked away from each other and rolled to the floor. Quentin’s pistol pulled free and a shot went off.

Metal clanged as Parker pulled the silver dagger from its sheath and the bullet glanced off of it, ricocheting into the pub and embedding in the wall Tony was standing by. Tony jerked backward, fighting the urge to run back into the night and toward the relative safety of the ship.

“Boys!”

“Sorry, Mr. Delmar!” Both of them snarled this time as they straightened up, more coins and more trinkets were relinquished to the barkeep.

Parker mumbled, “We’re just trying to have a conversation.” 

“Well you’re having it very violently.” Delmar sighed, “If there’re going to be bullets flying, then take it outside.”

There was a sheen of sweat on Quentin’s forehead. He held his gun loosely at his side, Tony wondered if he imagined the man’s tremor from so far away.

“Feeling jumpy, Quentin?”

“Can never be too careful with you, Pete.”

Parker made a show of looking over his dagger, one hand on the hilt and a finger on the tip. He turned it over carefully, checking for nicks, examining the black and white gems studded in the handle and the lines etched into the blade’s surface.

“Maybe we’ve done this bar enough service tonight,” Quentin said, and he stepped toward the back hallway, “Suppose we finish our chat outside?”

Parker looked up at him. His neck turned just slightly to Michelle, who had a hand in her pocket but was otherwise still and silent in the centre of the room.

Then Parker shrugged and sheathed his dagger.

“Fine,” He said, “Out front, though. I don’t need to be seen skittering around a back alley with you, Quentin.”

Quentin huffed but motioned for his men to flank Parker and Michelle as they crossed the bar again, heading for the front door.

Tony stepped back into the street, wondering if he should flee or try to duck into the shadows. Perhaps he could overpower one of Quentin’s men as soon as they stepped out?

He resolved to sort of crouch down behind the door and wait a little longer as two of Quentin’s men exited. They were followed by Parker and Michelle, but they barely cleared the threshold when Parker grabbed her arm and shoved her hard to the right — hard toward Tony.

“Stark, get her out of here!” Parker barked and then he spun, unsheathed the dagger again, and buried it between the ribs of one of Quentin’s crew.

The man howled and doubled over in the doorway; Parker yanked the blade out and the man crumpled, blocking an easy exit for anyone else as Parker turned to the two men who’d exited with them.

“Stark, now!” Parker bellowed and Tony grabbed at Michelle as she lurched into him, pulling her close and then pushing her down the street and toward the harbour.

“Go, Michelle, go!” He gasped, his voice weaker than he wanted it to be.

Parker leapt over a sword that swiped at his feet, elbowed someone in the head, and then turned, pulling his pistol free.

Two shots fired in the darkness, illuminating faces of shock and anger and screams of pain. From the bar, Quentin and his remaining men had shoved aside their wounded comrade and were now surrounding Parker, backing him toward a wall. The young captain watched them, swinging his dagger in one hand and pistol in the other.

“Just couldn’t play fair, Parker?” Quentin snarled, “Then I won’t either.”

He made a motion, maybe said something else, but Tony couldn’t hear it past the blood roaring in his ears.

Parker had incapacitated three men; Quentin and two others stayed on him, but the seventh turned and barrelled down the street toward Tony and Michelle.

Tony pulled the pocket knife from his trousers, the leather on the hilt cold in the night air, and planted himself urgently between Michelle and their adversary. Heat flushed through him as the man grew closer, and suddenly Tony’s legs were rooted to the spot and he was trembling; he wanted to lash out, to stab forward, but instead he just watched mental glint in the light as the man revealed his own blade and prepared to kill him.

He tried to reach for Michelle to tell her to run, but felt the threads of her shirt slip through his fingers as she jumped in front of him.

There was a noise, and a thud, and a spatter of blood that split warm and wet across Tony’s face. It made him gasp on the breath he’d been holding.

The man’s body slumped, and Tony could hear his own heartbeat again. He looked down when he felt a hand on his, tucking the knife back toward his side. Michelle squeezed gently as she pulled her own blade free from the man’s back.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly.

Tony nodded, wanting to gasp out “I’m sorry,” or to come up with some excuse for why he’d frozen, to reassure her it wouldn’t happen again, to prove himself useful to this crew and to protecting her and doing all the unpleasant things pirates were known to do.

“You’re safe, Tony.” She patted his arm again, and then she bent down to roll the body over.

After a moment, Tony realised she was emptying his pockets, and his stomach rolled as if they were rocking on the Argent again.

“Here we go!” There was a grin in Michelle’s voice when she popped up again, thrusting something into Tony’s face. “There! Told you we’d find you a coat, Stark.”

A hoarse laugh bubbled in Tony’ s throat and he took the coat from her, still shaking furiously in the night air. He slowly slipped it over his shoulders; it was spun with heavy wool and padded for protection, dark blue glimmering like something royal and ethereal in the night air.

“Looks good on you,” Michelle said. “Now let’s —”

Tony felt a shift in the wind and looked behind her just as he saw Quentin grab her arm. Michelle jerked, a scream catching in her throat; Tony gripped his knife tighter and stepped forward, resolved to do something this time, to protect her from this man with ill intent.

Down the street a ragged, desperate voice shouted, “MJ!”

But Parker was too far away.

… By all accounts, Parker should have been too far away.

Still at the door of the bar, Tony saw Parker lift a hand toward them and the night wind gusted to a squall, making Tony lurch into Michelle and in turn shove Quentin backward. Quentin yelped and Parker sprinted toward them, covering ten paces in five steps and throwing the dagger in his hand as he went. The blade lodged in Quentin’s shoulder blade and the man screamed, letting go of Michelle just before Parker landed on top of him, rolling and then slamming him to the ground a few paces away.

All just a little too clean. A little too precise.

Tony thought about how hard Parker had punched him in the bar; he’d assumed that raw strength to be the result of an athletic and angry ship captain.

But Parker had known Tony was standing outside the door of the bar.

And on the ship, he moved with the wind and waves seemingly before they knew their own course. 

On the ground, Parker pressed his knee into Quentin’s spine and shoved his face into the cobblestones. Quentin gasped, “You’re a —”

He cut off on a shout of pain when Parker wrenched the dagger from his shoulder.

Tony finished softly, “You’re a Star Reader.”

Strength. Speed. Dexterity. Accuracy. Manipulation of the natural world.

No wonder Aratem let the boy be. Even if they could overrun the ship and its small crew, there was no telling what casualties a Star Reader could cause with their powers left unchecked.

A hand tugged Tony backward and he looked down at Michelle, gasping out, “He’s a —” But then he saw the look on her face.

Right. Of course she knew.

Michelle’s gaze was fixed on Quentin and Parker again, on a chilly street and soft panting in the night air.

Parker’s voice sent a chill to the soles of Tony’s feet as he leaned low over Quentin, all the dynamics from the bar suddenly flipped.

“What do you know about Miles?”

Parker lowered his dagger to Quentin’s back, there was a squelching noise that made Quentin groan and Tony’s heart skip a beat.

“What. Do you know. About Miles?”

More silence, a choked laugh.

Parker shifted. His blade moved just slightly and Quentin’s snide voice broke off into a sound of pain, a high-pitched noise that made Tony think of an animal in agony.

Michelle whispered softly, “Pete…”

“Don’t make this worse Quentin.”

Quentin still didn’t answer.

Another minute movement, and Quentin’s whine turned into a squeal that made Tony turn away and his eyes water.

Because of the wind, he told himself. It was cold out tonight.

When Quentin still didn’t speak, Parker moved faster, and this time Tony could see the finesse and surety of a movement somehow otherworldly. In an instant, the pistol was gone from Parker’s belt and in his hand and a gunshot went off, blood splattered the cobblestones beneath Quentin’s legs.

Quentin writhed and practically screamed, “Râu Vale! Vale! He’s in Vale — he’s —” Quentin choked on tears, Parker pressed the barrel of his gun into the thigh he’d shot, “The prisons!”

“If you’re lying to me —”

“‘M not,” This sniffle was weak, laced with pain from someone who just minutes ago had commanded such esteemed control of the room. Tony’s new coat suddenly felt stiff and cold on his shoulders.

Parker wrenched himself to his feet, leaving Quentin wounded and misshapen on the ground, gasping for air.

He put his pistol away and wiped his dagger off on his pants.

“Pete?” Michelle reached for him, tilting his head up. She put a hand on either side of his face so he had to look in her eyes. She was taller than Parker, and Tony hadn’t quite realised that before with the boy’s commanding presence around the ship.

“Pete—”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Parker sighed, but his voice wavered. He looked pale, hair and eyes flat, clothes and face smudged with dirt and blood.

He looked exhausted.

“Let’s go.” Parker pulled away from Michelle just a little too sharply, and started up the road.

Chapter Text

“What are you going to do about Miles?”

“I don’t know… I need to confirm Quentin’s story first. I’m not taking us all back to the capital just to walk into a trap.”

“Are you okay… after what happened?”

“… I’m better off than Beck.”

Outside the captain’s quarters, Tony tightened and loosened his hand on the doorknob, trying to work up the courage to knock.

Stark, Captain wants to see you.

The last words Tony wanted to hear maybe ever. But at the same time, he knew they desperately needed to have this conversation.

It was probably a good thing Michelle was in there.

The Vigilante dipped again on the waves, creaking and groaning in a sound eerily similar to Quentin Beck’s tears of pain.

“Stark, are you going to come in?”

Parker’s voice carried lax and easy through the door, and Tony flushed with heat.

Star Reader. Right.

Parker had a sixth sense for the world around him, for the presence of others. Lurking outside the door wasn’t going to get Tony anywhere.

Michelle murmured something, too low for Tony to hear, and he pushed the door in to enter.

The ship bobbed hard in choppy waters and he stumbled in the doorway, reaching for the wall to steady himself.

Parker and Michelle were seated in two plush blue chairs around a stout table. They were knee to knee, four eyes looked up expectantly when Tony entered.

“… You wanted to see me, Captain?”

Tony tried not to glance too-eagerly around the room. He hadn’t been allowed in the captain’s quarters yet, and curiosity was apt to get the better of him. His gaze skimmed one round window and a desk nailed to the floor and a slim bed built into the corner of the wall — less grand than he’d expect, but The Vigilante wasn’t a particularly grand ship.

Michelle moved and Tony startled, his gaze flying back to the two of them. He realised that there was something on the table and he blurted out,

“Is that a puzzle?”

There were pieces carved jaggedly and scattered across the table. Tony couldn’t tell yet what it was, but he made out brightly painted flowers in the section Michelle wa piecing together.

“Yes.” Parker answered. He shooed Michelle’s hands away and rapidly fit four pieces together that he plucked from different parts of the table, eyes and hands and mind moving with a Star Reader’s efficiency.

Parker glanced up at him again and his brow furrowed, “What happened to your face, Stark?”

“… Captain?”

Parker gestured vaguely toward his own cheek, drawing a little circle with his finger, “Your face, it’s —”

“Oh,” Tony lifted a hand and pressed the bruise on his cheek. He’d nearly forgotten it now that he was below deck and not in the wind, and it wasn’t as if he could see his own reflection very easily.

“You hit me, yesterday, Captain…” Tony trailed off, wondering if he needed to specify the bar and Gwen all over again.

“Oh, that’s right… ” Recognition dawned on Parker’s face, and then he just looked downright proud of himself,  “Right… I guess a lot happened yesterday.”

“Well…” Tony shrugged, pressing his hands into his pockets and rocking on his feet, “It wasn’t exactly a quiet night in.”

“Of course not,” Parker looked down at the table as he picked up another puzzle piece, “A quiet night would’ve just led to romance.”

“So a few light bruises either way.”

The joke was unbidden, and Tony was rather surprised he’d even said it. Evidently Parker was too, because he raised an eyebrow and a smirk played on his lips.

From her seat, Michelle remarked, “This conversation is really not going how I expected.”

Tony swallowed, but Parker sent his half-smile in her direction. Then he beckoned Tony with two fingers.

“Sit down, Stark.”

Tony stepped further into the room, letting the door shut behind him. Parker’s bed was unmade, and clothes were strewn outside a pair of doors that were probably a closet. Tony sat in a chair opposite Parker and Michelle, Michelle smiled reassuringly at him but Parker kept his eyes on the table, reaching for puzzle pieces again.

When they’d been silent for too long, Tony ventured, “… Why are you doing a puzzle?”

The little table was nailed in place just like the desk, but Tony still thought a puzzle was a disastrous idea at sea.

Parker shrugged, not looking up at him, “MJ didn’t want to play cards.”

“Yes, but… why —”

“It’s a leisure activity, Stark, I’m participating in a leisure activity, I don’t know what else you want me to say. Do you not want me to do the puzzle?”

“No, you can — I can’t —”

“Do you want to do the puzzle?”

“No —”

“Then leave it alone and let me do the puzzle!”

Tony’s gaze darted frantically toward Michelle, but her lips were pursed to hold back a smile as she reclined in her seat.

Parker exhaled hard through his nose, then jammed two more puzzle pieces in place before standing up and crossing the room. Michelle’s neck lolled to keep an eye on him. Tony fidgeted nervously, flexing the three fingers on his right hand, feeling the absence in his palm.

Parker stopped next to the desk, looking down on maps and charts and detailed constellation sketches. Tony didn’t take his eyes off the captain, eyeing the ornate dagger always at his waist. Parker put one hand on the desk and then looked up toward the ceiling, letting the ship rock beneath them a moment.

“Stark, I ordered you to go back to the ship last night and wait for our return. Why didn’t you?”

Tony swallowed, suddenly lightheaded. The question felt cold with Parker not even bothering to look at him, and Tony wondered if this was the type of crew to throw people overboard.

Tony’s voice came out soft, without the conviction he wanted. “I thought… I thought you two might be in danger, and I wanted to help.”

“By freezing up when the time came to fight?”

Tony’s gaze darted to Michelle. Maybe she had told Parker, or maybe he had just noticed the skirmish himself. But either way, it was something to answer for.

A criminal who couldn’t fight? A pirate who couldn’t kill? How could he explain that?

“I told you to go back to the ship and you didn’t. I told you to flee with MJ and you stayed.” Parker said, “Then, when the time came to defend her, you were unable to!” His voice clapped louder at the end of this, making Tony jump. Parker turned to face him again, leaning back on the desk, eyes bright as he looked Tony in the eyes.

“Stark. If I ordered you to kill, would you?”

Tony’s mouth opened and then shut and then opened again. His thoughts flashed to the dim Moratsian street and Parker curled over a crying man, the spark of flame when the gun went off, the smell of blood and smoke staining stone.

“If… it was for the right reason, Captain.”

Tony hoped this response would be measured enough, balanced enough, to save his head.

Parker snorted and crossed his arms.

“That’s your problem, Stark,” The Captain turned his head to face the wall, glaring daggers at nothing, “You think you’re right about things and I’m wrong. You disobeyed an order last night because you thought I needed help. As you now know, if worst comes to worst, I’m more than capable of protecting us. So if I tell you to man the helm, you man the helm. If I tell you to go to the ship, you go to the ship. If I tell you to kill someone, you kill them. I give you an order, you follow it. Understood?”

Tony nodded. Something inside him was trembling — his heart, maybe, or else the nerves that had once connected his hand to his fingers. He turned away from Parker, staring at the almost-finished puzzle. The tree branches depicted were bare and thin, cutting sharply across the table. They looked ready to impale him.

“I need you to answer me, Sta—”

“I understand!” Tony nearly snapped, “I understand, Captain.”

“Good. Because the only people who know I’m a Star Reader are in this room. I expect it to stay that way, which means you need to do as you’re told.”

Tony folded his hands in his lap, nodding hurriedly. There was a threat between Parker’s words, there always was. But this was different than recruitment or a bar fight or an interrupted tryst. Star Readers were the property of the king; to exist as an outlaw, to defy that service, was worse than treason.

Of course, Quentin Beck knew about Parker’s identity now. But if last night was any indication of the lengths Parker was willing to go to, they were probably safe to assume Beck would keep his mouth shut.

Provided he didn’t die of his injuries. Tony didn’t even really know what Parker had done to the man’s back.

“You’re dismissed.”

“Ah, uhh, yes, Captain.” Tony stood up stiffly and turned toward the door.

“Tony,”

He glanced back at Michelle, who had tucked her knees up to her chest. She looked so casual, so relaxed in Parker’s presence when few others were. He wondered again about the fiancé she’d left behind, and the familiar way Quentin Beck had spoken to the two of them.

“Peter has to posture about the importance of following orders, and I think he’s right and I think that’s fair.” She said, “But I’m under no such obligation. So personally, from me, I want to say thank you for coming back for us. That was really brave.”

Tony risked a glance at Parker, but the boy was turning a map over and looked engrossed in the papers on his desk. He was listening — he had to be, since he was just a few paces away — but clearly whatever Michelle wanted to say to Tony was her business.

Tony looked at her again and, not entirely sure what to do, ended up in a half-bow, which made her eyebrows twitch with humour.

“You’re welcome, Michelle.”

“You’re not going to call me MJ?”

Tony paused in the open doorway and stuttered, “You said only your friends call you MJ.”

“Well, we’ve spent every day together for the past week, you came back to protect me last night, I saved your life… I think we’re friends now.”

She grinned at him and Tony laughed, he looked away across the room, and saw where the ropes from the helm were suspended through the ceiling and the floor.

“Well, MJ, then.” His voice came out somewhere between a choke and a chuckle, and he nodded to her too curtly.

His gaze travelled to Parker again, because he could feel the Captain watching them. But as soon as his eyes landed on the boy, Parker scoffed,

“Don’t go getting familiar with me now, Stark.”

Tony shook his head quickly, swallowing the smile and heat that climbed to his face.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

When they’d first returned to The Vigilante, Parker had frantically ordered them to sail east. Tony assumed this was just to put some distance between them and the city, to pull free from land and Moratsia and the fight.

Râu Vale, the capital, was on an island in the centre of Aratem. If they wanted to get there, they’d probably need to sail further southwest and then twist north into the Temii Bay.

But a few days passed, and Parker kept them heading east on the Argent, further and further from the mainland. Then he directed them to turn north, cryptically saying they were going “to lay low in Haven.”

Tony spent some time studying a map of Aratem and then of the Argent and the Eastern Islands, but he never found a place called Haven.

It took him another few days to work up the courage to ask someone about it.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

Betty was the safest person to ask; she was by far the kindest person on the ship. He asked her in the mess deck, eating toast topped with eggs and lemon slices.

Tony fiddled with the lemon, moving it from his meal to the table.

“You need to eat your lemon, Tony.” Betty put it back on his egg and he frowned at it.

He curbed the whiny question rind and all?

Then Betty said, “Haven is like… a safehouse, but it’s an island. It’s pretty far out, and we don’t go there very often, and never before someone’s First Rites. I guess you’re lucky, Tony. The Captain must trust you.”

She smiled at him. Tony thought about the ways in which Parker now had to trust him, whether he wanted to or not.

“It’s near the colonies?” Tony asked.

“Sort of? It’s closer to the Eastern Islands than anything else, but still a couple days out. I’m surprised we’re going there, we didn’t have time to restock supplies in Moratsia so I guess we’ll be hunting on the island.”

Tony sucked on his lemon slice. Were they going to this place because of him? Because of Miles Morales? Because of Quentin Beck?

Betty smiled brightly and spared him the other slice of lemon by biting into it herself, “You’ll love it there Tony, it’s like going home.”

Most of the sailors called it Haven. Others, like Betty, just referred to going home. And a scant few said Bosenstrov, which MJ explained was the island’s name according to locals from the Eastern Islands.

“Are you from the colony?” Tony asked.

“We don’t talk about where we’re from,” MJ said. She pointed off the horizon to a cluster of islands in the distance, “But no, I’m from Vale.”

Tony supposed, after giving it some thought, that MJ might have that same flat capital accent as Flash. But it was less pronounced. Then again, she probably hadn’t been there in a very long time.

They approached from the west and had to sail around an archipelago and then just a little further east, to an island determined to stand just far enough away to seem alone. There was a cove MJ carefully steered toward, stopping alongside a low cliff instead of sailing straight onto the beach.

“It’s easier to sail again if we’re not dragged up on the shore,” She explained, and gestured to where Cindy and Brad were tethering the ship against rocks on the cliffside.

On the other side of The Vigilante, someone whooped and raced across the deck. Tony turned, eyebrows shooting upward when he watched Peter Parker throw his jacket and shirt and harness and belt and pants behind him, then dive over the side of the boat and into the pale blue cove in just his shorts.

MJ rolled her eyes and shouted, “Flash, could you take Peter’s clothes to land?”

But Flash was also stripping down to his skivvies and racing to follow his captain.

“Ridiculous,” MJ sighed as Cindy abandoned what she was doing and turned to join Flash and several others, “As if we don’t have chores right after docking the ship.”

The gentle breeze around them focused and blew stronger all of a sudden, and Tony knew instinctively that it was not due to nature but to Parker. MJ knew too, based on how she turned and walked to the edge of the ship and leaned overboard to look down on him.

“MJ!” Parker shouted, arms flailing somewhat wildly in the water, “Can you bring my clothes in?”

“Get out of there and come get them yourself!” MJ shouted back.

Parker grinned up at her, and a moment later a stronger wind blasted them from behind and a gentle wave heaved stronger beneath the ship. MJ screamed as she lurched and then toppled over into the waves. Tony stumbled but managed to brace himself on the railing.

In the water below, MJ landed with a splash and then surfaced shouting, “Peter!”

Parker was already swimming away from her, cutting an easy path with the sea to aid him. He paused when he was a safe distance away and called, “You can’t blame me for that! Bad luck with the wind and your own clumsiness if you ask me!”

Then he dove beneath the water. This cove was so light that Tony could see the sand and ivory shells and violet colours of fish scales in the sea below.

“You coming, Stark?”

Tony looked over at a boy named Dylan, who gestured into the water where most of the crew was now laughing and splashing in the water. Now that The Vigilante was secured to the cliffside, Brad was removing his own shirt and preparing to join them.

“I think those days are behind me,” Tony said, hoping his smile was friendly and not rueful.

“Never too late for days like this,” Dylan replied before he dove neatly into the water, the form of an athlete, someone who’d been trained.

Tony looked down at the crew in the sea, at the stories and homes and families they never talked about, and the ones they were building for themselves now.

He turned his gaze toward the beach and a cluster of sagging stone huts where the sand turned to earth. A scraggly, cramped jungle was carving into the sky. Parker was lying flat on the beach, bronze skin glowing under the bright sun.

“Peter!”

Parker startled and scrambled to his feet as MJ reached the beach and climbed out of the water, running straight toward him, she was completely soaked through.

She yelled something else at him, but they were too far away for Tony to hear. MJ made as if to hit Parker but he dodged, and then twisted and sprinted into the trees with her hot on his heels, their bodies and voices were swallowed by the jungle, a pirate’s haven welcoming them home.

They unloaded the ship and divvied up beds in the houses and foraged for dinner. It was all interspersed with laughter and naps and swim breaks and games, and Tony couldn’t help but wonder why bother sailing at all. The crew’s lives seemed so happy here, so easy on this tranquil island on the edge of the map. Was there much reason to go anywhere else? Why tempt government retaliation if they could just stay here?

As the sun set, Tony helped Betty and Cindy start three fires on the beach. They sat in groups, roasting crucian from an inland pond and birds from the jungle and peeling nuts, and bananas, and oranges that were so unripe they tasted like lemons — this last fact bothered Tony more than anyone else.

Soft chatter filled the beach, broken only by laughter and sips from flasks and appreciative words for their supper.

“Captain!” Betty leaned forward where she was sitting criss-crossed on the beach. She fluttered big, pleading eyes in Parker’s direction, “Captain, can you tell us about the stars tonight?” She looked over at Tony, who had his hands clasped around his knees and was frowning at the two oranges that remained of his dinner serving. “Captain knows all the stories of the constellations, and he can point them out to you better than anyone else! He knows the sky better than any Star Reader I bet!”

Across the fire, Parker laughed. He turned a skewer between two fingers, eyeing fish bones for any meat to pick at. When he finally spoke his voice was offhand, “You know Star Readers don’t actually navigate or know anything about the stars, that’s just what we call them.”

“So you’re a Star Reader expert now too?” Brad snickered.

“Come on, Captain, not even you’ve met a Star Reader.” Flash added and a few others laughed.

Parker smiled and stretched his arms over his head. He opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by raucous singing from the next fire over.

Oh my sweet lady

Oh my sweet dove

I’ll think of your eyes

‘Till my hearts been undone

Blue as the ocean

Bright as the stars

I’ll spend my days sailing

‘Till every day’s ours

Dylan leapt to his feet rather suddenly and held his arm out for a girl named Allandrïa, who blushed but let him sweep her to her feet and spin in a jig around the fire.

Dylan kept singing loudly even as he held Allandrïa close to his chest, bellowing toward the sky,

And when I come home

I shan’t find you waiting

Ne’er-do-well in the hearth of my bed

So what shall I do but turn back to the ocean

Where my swan song awaits me instead

It was one of those songs that sounded happy and that everyone knew from years growing up on it, but now that Tony thought about it the lyrics were sad and rather jaded. Allandrïa didn’t seem to mind though as she giggled and spun on her feet with Dylan, and then the whole group around that fire were on their feet and dancing and shouting up the beach.

Someone called back, “Captain, can we open the good rum?”

“No!” Parker called, making them all freeze, “I think you’re all deep enough in your cups already.”

The sailors looked at each other. Someone nudged another and a whisper flickered through them.

Then, cautiously, “MJ, can we open the good rum?”

“Sure!” MJ shouted, picking up one of Tony’s abandoned oranges, “Just bring me some!”

The crew laughed and whooped and took off.

Parker scowled at her, “You’re a menace.”

“As if you were gonna sell off the good rum,” MJ stuck her tongue out at him. 

“If you all want to see the stars clearly, you need to be sober.” Parker chuckled as he stretched onto his back, throwing his boots toward the dwindling heat of the embers. “Alright, let’s see what we have tonight.”

Betty and Cindy stretched out on their backs too, but MJ just craned her neck up.

Tony turned his gaze to the sky, looking up at the stars stretching before them, scattered across a black canvas until they met the sea at the end of the horizon.

There was a half moon hanging in the sky, the slightest bit askew, as if a string holding it up had snapped.

“Okay,” Parker hummed, “You see the long line and three big stars to the left of the moon?”

Brad and Flash stretched onto their backs too and everyone mumbled a half-hearted agreement, uneasily looking for the stars he was pointing out.

“Look at the moon,” Parker prompted gently, and he lifted his hand to point, “And then just an edge to the left, the line is sort of circling the moon tonight.”

Above them, the stars brightened just slightly, so the constellation Parker was pointing out was illuminated and the black sky showed a hint of midnight blue.

“Oh I see it now!” Betty gasped, and the others murmured their agreement.

Tony smiled to himself, watching the light of the stars shift as Parker moved his finger along the slope of the sky, like he was drawing a line.

“That constellation is called The Scorpion and the Vulture on the Hunt, and if you look above the moon, you can see that they’re chasing the Spider. They follow the Spider across the sky all year long until Gathering.”

Tony wondered if The Vigilante’s crew had any Gathering celebration. If they went to cities or towns and participated in dances and skits and indulged in food and drink spiced with cinnamon and mint. Or maybe they came here, to this island, to Haven, and made their own traditions.

Or maybe Gathering was just another night in the life of an outlaw.

“Just over the trees, you can almost see Hawk Eye’s Belt,” Parker was saying, “It pierces through the middle of the Black Widow’s Web, and they patrol on the edges of the sky, always monitoring, always protecting, never showing their faces.” The stars continued to dim and then brighten as Parker moved his hand and instructed them on where to look, just bright enough to be seen a little more clearly, for the strange lines to be visible in their minds.

Parker’s voice was soft and somewhat reverent as he told stories of constellations always fleeing their enemies, of lovers ripped away from each other, of spirits wandering paths in the night sky looking for salvation or absolution or explanations they were doomed to never find. The night grew deeper and their fires burned lower and their silence became more content, more intimate, as their Captain’s voice wrought stories from stars.

“…And there, in the middle of the sky, you can see the Captain’s Shield, where the constellations will one day gather at the end of time to defend the world from an evil titan.”

“I don’t know any captains that fight with shields,” Flash mused.

MJ said, “They mean like an army captain, not a ship captain.”

“Oh yeah,” Flash laughed, but his next words were bitter, “God forbid the people ever forget the sacrifice and protection and generosity of the army.”

Cindy asked, “If the stars defend us from the titan, then why is it the end of time?”

“Just because they defend us, it doesn’t mean they’ll win,” MJ grumbled, and a sobering silence fell over the group.

From up on the cliff, they could hear insects buzzing and small animals scuttling and waves lapping at the shore and sailors still singing somewhere in the wilderness.

Parker said, “I like to think that even if the stars don’t win, they survive. So even if we’re gone, and the end of time comes to pass, then there’s still someone or something out there to avenge us.”

Betty murmured, “I’d hate for the world to end in violence, or revenge.”

The stars dimmed as Parker lowered his arms and put both hands behind his head.

MJ murmured, “I don’t think it’s worth worrying about things outside of our control.”

A loud snore made Tony jump, and everyone giggled when they realised Brad had fallen asleep.

“I guess that means it’s bedtime,” Parker sighed and rolled to his feet, the action was as smooth and fluid as everything else he did.

The others clambered up and stomped out what remained of their fires. Betty roused Brad just enough to help lead him toward one of the little houses.The others followed suit, bidding one another goodnight and lurching off in sleepy, uneven footsteps on the sand.

And then Tony was standing alone on the beach with the Captain. Even MJ wrapped an arm around Parker’s shoulders and left, and now the boy had his gaze tilted up toward the sky again, examining the stars.

“You studied them on your own?” Tony asked, making Parker turn toward him.

But he didn’t look at Tony.

“A ship captain should be able to sail the stars as well as the seas,” Parker said, then he added, “Being able to illuminate them, to Intuit them… made them easier to learn.”

Tony thought of the maps of stars and constellations in Parker’s quarters on the ship.

“It’s nice of you to share that gift with the others… in the way you can.”

Tony and MJ were the only ones aware that Parker made the stars easy to see tonight. It would’ve been easier to just leave the others to figure it out themselves.

“Yes,” Parker’s voice was dry, “Thank god the Star Reader can use his gift to make myths and legends a little more entertaining for his friends.”

Jaded as the entire statement was, Tony heard only the anger and hints of grief threaded through the word gift.

“Surely you wouldn’t say it’s a curse?” Tony’s voice came out low and a whistle of wind nearly stole the words. But he knew Parker could hear even without looking at him, even standing just a little too far away.

“It’s not anything.” Parker growled, stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning to walk away, “Gifts and curses deny agency and if there’s one thing in the world I have, it’s the ability to make my own decisions.”

Then, abruptly, “Goodnight, Stark.”

Parker strode away up the beach, shoulders hunched, moving faster than what might be considered normal.

Natural.

Tony watched the boy pass the houses and turn into the trees to climb deeper into the island.

And then, after another moment of stillness and the rustle of nature and water on the beach, Tony followed him.

Chapter Text

Parker left very little trail to follow.

Tony decided he shouldn’t be surprised by that. Even with the boy moving quickly, he had the confidence and athleticism and superior speed that came with being a Star Reader. Tony’s eyes swept the forest floor, finding twisted vines and moss broken on scuffed roots. He tried to go slowly, tried to remember lessons in stealth and tracking. But he missed the clear roads and worn paths of military routes cutting through the mainland.

He didn’t even know what he expected to find Parker doing. Performing strange magics? Despondently brooding? Maybe hunting for tomorrow’s breakfast?

The upward slope of the island plateaued and Tony paused to catch his breath, bracing his right hand against a tree. The jungle up here was no less dense, and the trees were taller, covering Tony in tidal waves of black shadows.

“You know it’s impossible to sneak up on a Star Reader.”

Tony squinted in the darkness. A moment later he heard the sheer metal of a blade being unsheathed; Parker waved his dagger to catch the light, to show Tony where he was standing ahead, and then put the dagger away.

Tony clambered over roots and undergrowth to reach Parker.

“And here I thought it was just nearly impossible.”

Parker turned to walk again, taking a leisurely, careful pace over the crowded forest floor. He moved slower than he needed to, allowing Tony to keep up with him.

“What are you following me for?”

“Didn’t think I’d be able to sleep.”

“You want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

Tony laughed and Parker smiled to himself.

When Parker spoke again, that eastern accent was deep and pronounced, rough in his throat as it wrapped around native words, “What do you think of Bosenstrov?”

“It’s beautiful,” Tony admitted, following patiently behind as Parker curved to the right. They were walking uphill again.

“But…?”

“It’s not — not a but…” Tony shrugged and pressed his hands into his pockets, “I just wonder: why bother leaving if this place is such a happy one for the crew? You know you can be self-sufficient. So why bother sailing, why agitate the crown, why attract the ire and suspicion of people like Quentin Beck? You all could be safe here, happy here.”

“You all,” Parker repeated mockingly, “Not us? Not we? Are you part of this crew or not, Stark?”

Tony flexed the three fingers on his right hand. “I don’t know,” He said heavily, “Am I, if I haven’t performed your First Rites yet? If I haven’t yet served with undying loyalty for six months and completed whatever cryptic task you assign me?”

“First Rites have nothing to do with it,” Parker answered easily, “You know whether you’re a part of this crew or not. Frankly, I would have expected you to feel it after last week.”

“Because I know you’re a Star Reader and the others don’t?” Tony asked, “So you shirked your obligation to the king? You were already a criminal, already a pirate, why should having the Intuition or being able to Manipulate change my view of you?”

“Shirked my obligation…” Parker repeated, voice tinged with awe and disgust, “Tony, what do you even know about the life of a Star Reader?”

Parker using his first name made something twist in Tony’s gut. As familiar as it may be, he didn’t know if he liked it. And the question wasn’t cruel or mean but it was harsh, frustrated, offended.

Tony thought quickly; was he missing something obvious? Star Readers were usually identified as children and then brought to Râu Vale for private tutoring in the King’s service. Their families were handsomely compensated, and their lives were devoted to king and country and improving Aratem.

They walked in silence, Tony struggling to form his thoughts into words because he realised he must be very wrong about something. The jungle crackled and snapped underfoot, and the tree canopy made a damp heat fall over them.

Parker asked instead, “Do you know how Manipulation works?”

Tony nodded at this, “You can change the natural world, Manipulate wind or water or… or stars.”

“… Yes,” Parker’s head tilted to the side. He didn’t look directly at Tony, he lifted his eyes up toward the trees. “But change isn’t the right word. If the wind is blowing south, I can make that wind stronger or weaker, but I can’t turn it north. If a wave is rolling beneath the ship, I can make it bigger or smaller, but I can’t put it elsewhere in the water. If the stars are shining, I can brighten them or dim them, but I can’t turn day to night. I can’t…” A laugh tinged his voice, a bitter one, “What do they say about Star Readers? I can’t fly, I can’t walk on water… I can’t contradict the world.”

Manipulate but not change. Intuit but not decide. MJ had once said Parker was good at predicting the winds; as someone so in tune with the world around him, he had a sense for movement nearly before it happened. He could sense the weather. He could tell when someone was lurking behind a wall or a door.

Tony mused, “Can you tell what cards someone has in a poker game?”

Parker laughed and suddenly the trees broke around them. They’d reached the peak of the island, which gave way to a flat, grassy clearing ringed by palms.

“I can read their facial cues, I can hear their heartbeat, I can watch their eyes… but I can’t read the cards themselves. So when we met, when you were convinced you’d lost because you didn’t know the rules of the game, I believed you.”

Tony snorted and Parker made a vague gesture across the grass. They started to walk again, feet flattening the stalks beneath them.

“Tony, what about the life of a Star Reader?” Parker prompted again, “What do you know about the…” He smirked, “Their obligations to their king?”

“I suppose… what everyone else knows,” Tony said, hoping he wouldn’t say the wrong thing, “Private tutoring in the capital and all that.”

“Right.” Parker drawled, “Ever notice they’re never heard from again? I’ll tell you a secret the King doesn’t want you to know, Tony. The average Star Reader doesn’t live past fourteen.”

Tony thought about the bar in Moratsia.

You were at court?

In a manner of speaking.

“The thing about Star Reading,” Parker went on, “Is that you can’t turn it off. If the helm of our ship turns with a strength of one to ten, it feels like I’m dialled up to eleven. Always. Everything is piqued, everything is loud, everything is bright, everything smells a little bit rancid, everything is vying for my attention. Focusing is difficult and sleeping is nearly impossible and even the slightest pain is unbearable.”

Tony thought about the hours Parker spent up in the crow’s nest, listening to the wind and watching the horizon. Out at sea they were miles from civilisation, it was probably quieter there. Easier to focus. Easier to stay calm.

Of course, that all made sense didn’t it? Parker drank alcohol at night but never coffee in the morning; he would dampen his senses but not stimulate them. Why would he ever want to?

Parker stopped walking and turned to face Tony, “As for our expensive education…” He took off one of his gloves and started to roll the sleeve of his too-big coat where it usually fell past his wrist.

“Tony, I can’t change the world like this. I can’t make flame from nothing or cause a tidal wave without an earthquake or create an avalanche without a lightning strike.”

Old legends about the abilities of Star Readers, tales about natural disasters and the formation of Aratem.

“But…” Parker held his arm out toward Tony, “When you subject a Star Reader to a suitable amount of stress, say solitary confinement… or depriving them of a sense… or hurting them…”

Above them, the moonlight brightened almost painfully, washing Parker’s skin white. Tony squinted as the boy’s hand flexed, revealing ridged scars crawling up the Captain's skin.

“Manipulation becomes more powerful,” Parker kept his voice soft. They both stared down at the scars that the boy always kept covered, and Tony wondered how far they went. “Then you can change the world. Create weather patterns. Inject your blood into a soldier to make him stronger. Kill weeds or eradicate disease in a crop. Heal a mortal wound…” A bitter smile crept to the boy’s lips, “Reverse the King’s wrinkles… Entertain at a party…”

Valuable to vain. Like all things in Aratem’s court.

“But actions like that throw the world out of balance, and in turn make us sick.” Parker flexed his hand again, the scars rippling, and then he let the moonlight ease again.

A natural, soft glow on the edges of their island peak.

“You lose touch with yourself.” Parker said, looking up into Tony’s eyes, “You sink and sink into your own brain and your own heightened senses until you can’t tell up from down or pain from relief or dreams from reality and then… when you’re too much of a bother to keep alive… when you beg your captors to end it for you… they indulge you.”

The average Star Reader doesn’t live past fourteen.

“You left,” Tony whispered, “Not because of the King or corruption but just —”

“To save myself.” Parker murmured, “I was four when I was taken from the Eastern Islands to the capital, I was eleven when I ran to the sea.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, and he realised how callous and irritating it must be to hear about obligation to the King.

“I didn’t know.”

“Few people do,” Parker said, “Star Readers are celebrated and worshipped and lauded, but they’re never seen in public. And there’s a reason the bounty on them is so high.”

Right. Quentin Beck had insinuated he hunted wayward Star Readers. A dangerous, but potentially lucrative, occupation. Aratem’s clemency laws incentivised betrayal, guaranteeing exoneration and immunity for a criminal who turned another in. So Quentin Beck could break any law he wanted — legal or moral — before turning in a wanted man and collecting a bounty in full.

Parker rolled his sleeve back down and started across the clearing again. Tony followed a few steps behind. The night was chilly, but Parker’s story had left an unsettling prickle of warmth across Tony’s back and in his gut.

“Is that why you don’t lie?” Tony asked, “Is it… is it against the laws of the world or something? Is that why…” He hesitated, thinking of the groaning men in Moratsia’s streets. Incapacitated, but not dead.

“Is that why you don’t kill?”

“Deception and death are as natural to us as air and water,” Parker said, “I can lie and I can kill… but that being said, I try not to.”

“So you wouldn’t have killed me in the bar in Moratsia?”

Parker laughed, “No, but it’s pretty funny when people think I’m going to.”

“I didn’t find it very funny.”

“Well Gwen and I didn’t find your interruption very funny.”

Gwen.

God, Tony had nearly forgotten about her.

“Flash found it funny,” Tony mumbled toward the ground, “I think I’ve heard him tell the story on six different occasions.”

Parker laughed, “He’ll have a new story to tell before long.”

They stopped walking again. Parker looked up at the sky and whistled, the sound carrying low and sweet on the air. Tony followed his gaze, and then watched the boy withdraw a piece of paper from his pocket.

“So, I can lie. And I can kill,” Parker said roughly, “But it…” A wry smile touched his lips, “It feels a bit like cheating. When you can do the things I can do, and you use them against others who don’t stand a chance in comparison… it’s not fair. I’ll kill if it means protecting the people I love — in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I have to kill Quentin Beck next time we see him — but… I’d rather avoid it.”

He folded the paper twice and Tony jumped back when a long shadow descended on them. An owl cooed as it fluttered onto Parker’s outstretched arm.

Parker smiled at the bird and pressed the paper into its talons, leaning low and murmuring something to it. The owl hooted and then flapped its wings again, taking off.

“I’m sorry, you can talk to animals?”

“Talk is a stretch,” Parker mused, watching the owl spiral into the sky and then fly west over the trees. “There’s an… understanding, with animals. A sort of communication.” He nodded to indicate where the owl had disappeared, “Owls will fly only at night, so it’s less likely to be seen. She’ll bring my letter to Miles’ crew and return with their answer.”

“Do you not believe what Beck said? That he’s in prison in Vale?”

Tony still didn’t really know who Miles was, albeit a friend of Parker’s. But apparently that was all he needed to know.

“Believing Beck is a luxury I can’t afford,” Parker said, “And anyway, if I can avoid returning to Vale…”

Right. Why risk going back there? Even if they weren’t caught, the memories were a plague in and of themselves.

“So, have I earned anything about your story, Tony?” Parker raised his eyebrows and pressed his hands into his pockets again. Tony’s gaze travelled down his torso, taking in the weapons at his belt. He wasn’t wearing his sword today, just as he hadn’t in Moratsia, but clearly the boy was capable of defending himself with only a pistol and a dagger.

Or probably his bare hands, if it came to that.

“Your home?” Parker prompted, “Your family?”

Tony looked away and mumbled, “MJ said we don’t talk about those things.”

Parker hummed, a sound somewhere between agreement and discontent.

“Another time, then.”

He started to walk again, crossing the clearing at a brisk pace.

Tony whispered, “Gardenloch.”

Parker stopped halfway across the clearing, tilting his head back toward Tony.

“Gardenloch,” He repeated, louder than Tony had said it, because of course Tony did not have the benefit of a Star Reader’s hearing.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard of it,” Tony said, “It’s small —”

“Northwest. At the foot of the mountains. Aratem’s furthest point from the sea.”

Tony swallowed and took a few steps to meet Parker across the clearing.

“I was there when I was seven, in the winter.” Parker said, “The lord’s wife had fallen ill. I healed her.”

Tony remembered that. Nearly two decades ago. He could still picture her wasting away in her bed, the best physicians in the region at a loss, the townspeople whispering of a funeral.

There’d been a sour-faced child at her side.

A tired, tortured child, apparently.

It was unsettling to think about.

In the years after, the village’s stores and coffers had been nearly empty. The lord must have turned over those shares to the King.

Payment to the crown for services ripped from a Star Reader.

“So you come from Gardenloch on the western border,” Parker mused, “And then what? Lost your fingers in an accident with an ox plow? Decided parsnip farming just wasn’t for you and took off for the seas?”

“I wish,” Tony laughed, “That would’ve been… easier.”

“Well whatever it was it’s behind you now,” Parker said, and his voice was surprisingly reassuring, “So if you want that to be your story, then by all means Tony, make it so.”

Tony thought about that. No arguing until the fire in the hearth burned low. No marching witless to Vale. No swords or halberds or rifles.

No sweat or blood or hatchets.

“I think it’s high time we get some sleep,” Parker murmured, “Let’s go back, we can see if there’s anything left of the good rum.”

Chapter Text

Days at Haven — at Bosenstrov, at home — turned into weeks of sweet air and hot meals and afternoon naps and tropical swims.

The fate of Miles Morales weighed heavy on Parker’s mind — as all things did — but without confirmation from his crew, they didn’t sail. So they made do walking around the island and foraging for food and playing games. MJ taught them a new card game that involved committing ahead of time to how many tricks a team planned to win. Parker excelled at this as he excelled at anything else. That sharp awareness, that inexplicable edge to his mind, allowed him to count cards and track odds almost subconsciously.

“If we do go to Vale, we should take Captain to a gambling den,” Brad remarked one day as they sat on the beach under a hot noon sun. The brightness and the heat made them squint, but the laziness of the day felt good too.

Brad went on, “With his luck, we’d never have to work another day in our lives.”

Parker sniffed and played a jack. “If working’s your concern, Brad, you could always shack up with a noblewoman.”

Flash crowed and Betty giggled. MJ cut in, “I don’t know, if he’s expecting her to do all the work then he’s got a lesson or two to learn about being a gentleman caller,”

The others laughed and Brad’s ears pinked.

“Maybe he could find himself a lord then,” Parker mused, “Being on top makes them feel better about themselves.”

Brad glowered, shoulders hunching as he examined his cards. Betty nudged him and gave an encouraging smile, and he softened from anger to an embarrassed blush.

Then Betty murmured toward the ground, “You certainly know that’s nothing to joke about, Captain.”

And everyone laughed, good-natured and fond, and Brad lifted his head again. Tony frowned, shifting his own hand around from highest to lowest and then back again. What did that mean?

“Guess that’s a no on the gambling den,” Brad coughed.

“It’s not about you, Brad,” Parker gestured impatiently for MJ to play, “It’s just that if I let myself step into a card house I’d never leave. And even my luck turns sour from time to time.”

“Then we’ll take Stark,” Flash grinned, “A little birdie told me he’s better at cards than you, Captain.”

“Oh really?” Parker cocked an eyebrow, “Yes, by all means, take Stark gambling with you. Let me know how that goes when he throws the game on a winning hand.” He elbowed MJ gently, “Or did your birdie not mention how Stark beat me?”

“Oh Tony,” Betty sighed, “You’re lucky they checked your cards.”

“Lucky MJ was there to advocate for me,” Tony laughed, “I think the Captain would’ve let me walk away.”

“Speaking of, I agreed to take you on as long as you’re useful, Tony. When are you going to put those ‘decades of building’ to good use and help improve the engineering of our ship?”

The question was valid, but Parker’s tone was all humour and gentle smiles.

“You seem to have engineering well in hand, Captain.”

Parker shrugged, looking down his nose as he reordered the cards in his hand, “Never hurts to have a friend to work with.”

Tony thought about the wheel and ropes of The Vigilante’s helm and the arch of sails tied to the mast. The barque’s slender size and the steady mind and eyes and attention of a Star Reader at its head.

Was there even something to improve?

“Come on, Peter,” MJ finally played her card, taking the trick and winning the hand. Everyone passed their cards back to her, “We all know you wouldn’t let someone touch the ship even if they did have a good idea.”

“I could be convinced,”

“Yeah, like when Brad wanted to join you treasure hunting,” Betty giggled, and everyone laughed at an old joke. Brad groaned and dropped his head between his knees.

“I was just a kid!” He whined.

“Clearly, based on your idiotic behaviour,” Parker huffed, “You came this close to drowning.” Then his gaze landed on Tony again and he remarked, “Stark, you haven’t been treasure hunting with us yet.”

“I don’t even quite know what it means,” Tony admitted, wondering if they had old maps marked with red Xs.

“Oh Tony it’s delightful!” Betty gushed, reaching to shake him as she said it, “We should go tomorrow, Captain!”

“Why wait?” Parker grinned and tucked the cards into his pocket as he stood up, “There’s bound to be treasure somewhere on the Argent, and the ship could use some time back on the waves.” He grinned at the group, “Go ask the others if they want to join us, meet on the deck in half an hour.”

Not everyone joined them. A few were preoccupied with games or chores or hunting. Flash smirked that he’d found Cindy and Hector in a rather compromising position, but his jokes quickly faded when MJ said she hoped Cindy wouldn’t stab him in his sleep.

“She won’t do that, will she?” Flash asked, and when MJ didn’t answer he set his eyes on Parker, “Captain, you wouldn’t let her.”

Parker was rigging the foremast, and had his head craned back to look at the sails. He also had one palm flat out against the air, as if testing the wind. But Tony could feel the waves beneath them strengthening under the Star Reader’s pull, pushing harder against the underside of the boat to carry it from the island’s edge.

“Speaking from experience, it’s no fun getting interrupted.” Parker answered, “And Cindy never does what I tell her to do.”

Flash looked at Betty and mouthed something that made her cover her mouth, giggling sharply as the ship rocked hard beneath them.

“We’re off,” Parker said, and jerked his chin toward the helm, “Someone take us south, around the bend.”

Tony hurried across the deck to obey. MJ climbed into the ropes, Tony expected Parker to join her but instead the Captain walked to the side of the ship, standing parallel to the mainmast.

Parker put his hand flat on the ship railing and bowed his head. Tony imagined his eyes to be closed and watched carefully as the sails gusted outward and The Vigilante started to carve easily across the waves.

Once they’d started south, Tony notched the helm back to a straight course, watching the sailors’ feet move easily to keep up with the ship’s sway. Maybe he wa getting better at this whole momentum thing.

He looked at Parker again, but the boy hadn’t moved. It was almost like he was listening for something.

It feels like I’m dialled up to eleven. Always.

Could he hear Tony’s heartbeat from here? See his pupils and the lines in his face if he turned to look?

Tony had done the math one night. If Parker had been at Gardenloch when he was seven, then he was twenty-six now, and just barely looked it. Did Star Readers age past their prime?

Tony thought about the stories Parker had told him, and the reality that The Vigilante’s Captain was likely one of the oldest living Star Readers in the country.

An unfamiliar anger burned in Tony’s gut, coupled with fear and confusion and an ache in his palm, and he turned away.

“Southwest, Stark!”

The order made Tony jump, but he clicked the helm to turn them west. Parker hadn’t moved except to face him, and still appeared to have his eyes closed. Tony looked up as MJ mounted the steps and came to stand next to him.

“You’re doing well!” She called above the noise, and Tony smiled graciously.

“Maybe a few days off work helped me get the hang of it,” He chuckled.

“Or practice makes perfect,” She nudged him and turned her face up toward the sun, a gentle smile touching her lips as she breathed in.

Tony used to think the smell of the ocean was unpleasant; too much salt and fish and stagnant water. But maybe that was just the case when docked in harbours that teemed with rats and sweat and bodies. Here on an open deck in the middle of the water, the scents around them were all aged wood and clear air and a refreshing sting from the saltwater.

“West-southwest!” Parker shouted to them. Tony had to plant his feet and pull harder to turn the ship this time, grimacing when the helm groaned and his own muscles locked against the resistance.

“The ropes are tangled,” MJ said, stepping forward to hold onto the wheel, “Go down to Peter’s quarters, you can usually untie them there.” She tightened her jaw and her grip on the helm, and Tony nodded as he hurried around her to go below deck.

It was dim without any lanterns or candles, but Tony cautiously made his way to the Captain’s quarters and stepped inside. The space was as messy as he’d remembered it, and one of the ropes from the helm was twisted, caught against the sharp edges of a chest that had been left open.

Tony hurried over and pulled the chest free before closing it, the ropes bobbed into a quick, even balance as their weight was rectified. He pushed the chest against the wall and then straightened his back again, eyes falling to the papers and maps littered across Parker’s desk.

Tony tilted his head, straightening one of the maps.

It was a map of the Argent. Mostly water with a few islands and a scrap of land penciled in on the right side of the paper. Aratem and even the colonies weren’t visible on the other side.

So then the next paper over must be —

Newlen. Crude, and still being developed, but a map nonetheless There were stars and boxes on it — perhaps indicating cities or settlements. And several arrows launching from different parts of Newlen’s coast.

Harbours, maybe.

At the top of each page were carefully plotted constellations — dots connected by lines, so much more pragmatic when they were just ink blots on paper instead of stars shimmering above their heads.

Tony smiled as his fingers traced over the ornate illustrations on the maps; sea serpents and water fowl and cartoonish humanoid figures were sketched across waterways and map margins. Had Parker drawn them? Or had —

Tony gasped, breath wrenched from his throat when something hit him from behind.

He lurched to the side and felt a hand in his hair, grunting when Parker swung him around and very intentionally cracked his head against the doorknob and then threw him to the floor.

Ears ringing and vision swimming, Tony groaned. Parker still had a grip in his hair and his shirt and his weight pressed down against him, so he couldn’t exactly orient himself.

They were both still for a moment, catching their breath, and all Tony could think to slur out was, “Seems like an overreaction, Captain.”

“What the hell are you doing in here, Stark?”

“I was —” Tony tried to gesture to the helm but there was a weight on his shoulder too.

“The helm.” Tony finally mumbled.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“MJ said —”

“I know, and she shouldn’t have! Why were you at the desk?”

Tony let go of the tension he was holding onto, letting his weight sink into the floor. As soon as he did it, Parker shifted his weight backward and let go of his hair. Tony realised it was to let him breathe.

Tony turned his face sideways and tested the grip on his arm and back, but Parker didn’t budge. The wooden floor was rough under his cheek and Tony said, “The maps just caught my eye, Captain. I —” he stopped, and couldn’t help the miserable, defeated question, “You really still think I’m a spy?”

“You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

Tony closed his eyes. It was ridiculous. But was it surprising? This boy who’d been robbed of his childhood had grown up impulsive and reckless and puerile. He reacted first and thought second, like so much of the natural world he was so in tune with. And as far as he was concerned, everyone was out to get him. Because everyone had always been out to get him.

Hurt, exploited, hunted — no, Tony couldn’t blame Parker, per se. But it made his own frustration and anger — not to mention the lump he would now have on his head — no less real.

Tony kept his voice as calm and soft and placating as possible, “I came back for you in Moratsia.”

“Which allowed you to learn very valuable, very private information about me and MJ.” Parker hissed, “You think I’m acting childish? Far from it. You approached me in a seedy bar and lied your ass off about ship experience. You bet money you couldn’t afford on a game you didn’t know how to play. You spent hours getting close to my best friend. You observed all the latest infrastructure on my ship. You loiter and linger and follow me at every given opportunity which means you’ve forced secrets that you weren’t meant to know yet. Why shouldn’t I think you’re a spy?”

“I’m not a spy!” Tony insisted, resisting the urge to slam his head into the floor, “I’m not, I’m not, I don’t know how else to prove it, Captain. What do you want me to do? What do you want me to say?”

He didn’t know how to make this right.

A few moments passed, and then Parker lifted his weight from Tony’s back and grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. Tony grunted when Parker practically threw him into one of the chairs. Tony’s hands curled on the arms of the chair and he winced, stars dancing past his eyelids as his head throbbed.

Tony gasped when Parker surged forward, putting a hand around his throat, two fingers pressed to the side of his neck. His other hand held Tony’s head up, staring into his eyes.

They were ridiculously close like this, legs nearly tangled with each other, the Captain bent over at the waist, brown eyes insistently searching Tony’s face.

Parker’s grip tightened in his hair and his fingers pressed down on his neck, now Tony could feel his own pulse undulating against the boy’s hand.

“Is your name Tony Stark?”

“What —”

“Just answer. Is your name Tony Stark?”

“Yes.”

“Are you from Gardenloch?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a spy?”

“No.”

“What were you looking at on the desk?”

Tony swallowed. He knew now what Parker was doing. Touching him, looking in his eyes, monitoring his heartbeat, he was searching for physical signs that he was lying.

Tony said, “The papers on the desk just caught my eye. I thought they were curious. I liked the drawings… I think it’s interesting you’re mapping Newlen.  But that’s… that’s it, Captain. I wasn’t looking for anything. I wasn’t…”

Parker’s lips twisted and his nose wrinkled, almost like he was dissatisfied. But then he let go of Tony and stepped back with a huff, glaring at the desk.

“The map of Newlen is a pet project,” He said, “I’m just trying to keep an eye on things. You should’ve fixed the ropes and come straight back up.”

“Yes, Captain.” Tony winced and rubbed at his head, blinking rapidly because his vision kept blurring.

“Dammit,” Parker stepped closer again and put a hand on Tony’s chin, tilting it up, scrutinising him. Tony shifted,  wondering for the first time in weeks what he looked like. He’d been grooming without the help of a mirror, and the sun and wind probably weren’t helping anything.

Not to mention, was he still bruised from Parker hitting him in Moratsia?

“Stay still,” Parker ordered, dropping his hand. He rolled his sleeve up and unsheathed his dagger. He put the heel of his palm against Tony’s head — right where he’d whacked it against the doorknob — and then Tony jumped when the blade flashed, and the boy cut a thin line into his own forearm.

Parker pressed his palm down and Tony’s shoulders sagged as relief eased through his head, his blood and heartrate settling again. The pain receded gently, cresting out like the tide, and Parker glared impatiently back toward the door.

“I think I gave you a concussion,” Parker said.

“A what?”

“I hit your head really hard.”

“Oh… yes.”

Tony eyed the wound Parker had opened on his own arm. Subject a Star Reader to enough stress and they can heal others. But the boy had also said even slight pain was unbearable with how heightened his senses were.

A protest started in Tony’s chest.

“Captain —”

“Better this than you vomiting on the deck, Stark.”

Tony fell silent.

He almost felt sorry when Parker pulled away, the absence of his touch leaving a ghost of cool relief in its wake. Tony turned his neck from side to side, his mind feeling clearer and more alert than he had in days.

He lifted his own hand to touch the spot where he’d hit his head, but it wasn’t even tender.

Parker crossed the room, picked up a shirt abandoned on the floor, and used it to dab at the blood on his arm.

Tony watched him, his hand fluttering at his neck where Parker had held him.

“Do you believe me now?” Tony asked.

Parker shrugged as he walked over to the desk. He rifled inside a drawer and wrapped a clean brown cloth around his arm, awkwardly flexing to reach the ends to tie it off.

“Mostly.” Parker said, “The thing about those tricks is that spies tend to make very good liars. And if they convince themselves of the lie, then there’s nothing different for me to sense.” His gaze landed on Tony again, long and measured and somewhat cautious, “Plus, you were already pretty freaked out. Your heartbeat was all over the place.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Tony cleared his throat, turning to stare out the little round window and the waves beyond.

The bandage tightened on Parker’s arm, and he swung it slowly, testing his movement as he rolled his sleeve back down.

“We should go back up,” He said, and then gestured out the door.

Tony stood up and walked out, completely steady despite their confrontation. He stayed a couple steps ahead of Parker. They walked through the mess deck and then, halfway up the stairs, Parker said,

“I’m sorry for how I reacted.”

Before Tony could answer, Parker moved past him to jog up the last few steps and into open air.

The others were milling on the deck, arms crossed and eyes shaded against the light. They’d dropped the anchor and tied the foremast, so The Vigilante bent on the deep creases of the Argent’s waves.

There was too much space between MJ and the others, and she tossed her head when she glanced at Tony and Parker as they emerged.

Her eyes were shimmering, the sun reflecting sharply against the tears hovering on her cheeks. She’d been crying? What had —

Her gaze flickered over Parker and she turned away.

Betty was hovering closest to MJ like she wanted to comfort her but was afraid to touch her.

Now, Tony hadn’t been above deck at the time. But he could imagine the argument.

Where’s Stark?

Below deck on the ropes.

He’s what?

It’s fine. He’s —

And then what? Parker wouldn’t have hit her, but his tongue could be as sharp as the dagger at his waist. A shout, or a snap, or even an ill-thought insult could have been launched before Parker raced below deck and tackled Tony.

Had he belittled her? Insulted her? Spat at her? In front of the others?

“MJ —” Parker stepped toward her, put an arm out and touched her shoulder but she whirled away from him.

“Don’t worry about it,” She said curtly, dragging her hands through her hair. She squinted up toward the sun, “Are we there or what?”

Parker blinked, wringing his hands as he turned away from her and glanced up at the sky. His gaze levelled slowly past the horizon and he closed his eyes, standing still for a moment.

“Yes,” he said, “This will do.” And he walked over to the railing. The wind and hot sun felt eerie, dampening everything around them.

Betty joined Parker at the railing and peered into the sea below. The Captain stripped off his jacket and harness and shirt. This time, Tony was close enough that his eyes could follow the scars crawling across both of Parker’s arms, though his shoulders and back were relatively clear. When he pulled off his boots, flashing the mangled sole of one foot, Tony had to swallow and turn away.

The new bandage on Parker’s forearm roused MJ’s interest.

“Pete, what did you —” But then she seemed to think better of their company, her eyes flickered between Parker and Tony and she pursed her lips.

“If you jump in the ocean with that it’s gonna hurt,” She cautioned.

“I’m well aware, MJ,” Parker flashed a grin at her, “Don’t go rubbing salt in the wound.”

Then, before she could answer, Parker threw off his other boot, turned to look at them with a salute, and flipped backward into the sea.

Tony peered over the side of the ship. The water here was darker than the cove at Bosenstrov, reflecting the clear sky and bright sun above them. Parker didn’t surface immediately, and Tony squinted as if he could see into the depths below them.

“You gonna try?” Brad looked at Flash, who shook his head.

“Captain’s better at it,” Flash laughed, “And this way I don’t have to get all wet.”

“Well I’m going,” Brad blustered, beginning to strip down. He turned a grin on Tony, “You should come too, Stark.”

“Come to… what?” Tony trailed off at the end of his question, looking back into the water, keenly aware that Parker still hadn’t come up for air.

“He’s diving for treasure,” Betty said, leaning dreamily on the railing. Tony flashed a look at MJ, but she just nodded, not taking her eyes from the sea.

Tony jumped back when the surface of the water broke, Parker dragged his head up and coughed a couple times, then used one arm to swim toward them.

He was dragging something under the water. Flash and Brad threw a rope that Parker grabbed onto and together they hoisted him and a short wooden box onto the deck.

Parker landed in a seated position and he stayed there, water streaming off his skin.

“There’s more down there,” he said, still catching his breath as he opened the box. “Must have been travellers or something,” and in example he showed them the glittering contents of the waterlogged jewellery box. “It’s not too deep,” He pointed at Brad, “If you want to try diving. But remember —”

“Come up before you think you need to,” Brad nodded eagerly, throwing his clothes off behind him, “Got it, Captain!” And then he dove into the sea.

Two others were stripping down, too. On Tony’s other side, MJ nudged Betty.

“You gonna go?”

“Oh I couldn’t!” Betty blushed, “It’d be too cold.”

Parker was climbing to his feet again and held out a hand for her, “I’ll go with you, Betty, come on.”

There were splashes behind them as the others jumped in, and a few minutes later Betty was cautiously squealing as she jumped into the water too. Parker grabbed her hand, they took a deep breath, and then they dove underwater.

“It’s a shipwreck?” Tony asked, gesturing to the sea below them as sailors started to surface again, clenching prayer talismans and loose strands of jewellery and odd pieces of metal in their hands.

MJ leaned over the railing with him, watching Flash help them up out of the sea.

“The same way he can sense people, he can sort of get a sense for his surroundings. Intuit flora and fauna below the sea. There’s probably a small shipwreck caught on a shelf not far below us,” She explained, “He brought us here so the others could dive, but I’ve seen him go much deeper for much longer if he’s alone.”

So Parker’s wealth didn’t come from accosting innocent people on the Argent. He was a scavenger, like a vulture or a rat picking through the remains of hidden riches in the sea.

Aratem was something of a coveted place to live — between the pristine weather and bountiful crops and strong military and formidable borders of coasts and mountain ranges. The king was cagey about who could enter the country and from where, so the Argent had become a maze of wealthy travellers with chests of gold; refugees with their last and most valuable earthly possessions; rich and fortified military ships patrolling to keep others out. A scholar had done the calculations a few years ago, come up with some complicated algorithm and arbitrary equivalency and determined at least six hundred million units of Aratemi currency to be lost beneath the Argent.

Tony always figured it was more than that. But maybe that was just the allure of fantasy and mystery.

When it was all said and done, the sailors reunited on the deck with red eyes and runny noses and rough towels and bright smiles. They’d assembled a cluster of coin purses and jewellery boxes and even a few decorated weapons between them. Tony expected them to divvy everything up there, but Parker just ordered everything taken down to the mess deck and said they’d go over the spoils on the island with everyone else.

He slipped a perfectly round ruby into Betty’s hand and winked at her, making her giggle and marvel at the stone in the sunlight.

Parker buckled his pants again and started to return his weapons to his belt, standing aside with MJ.

Whatever argument had passed between them seemed to have vanished alongside the afternoon. Her words were easy and voice lax,

“Anything really interesting down there?” She asked.

“Hard to say,” Parker shrugged, “The ship was nearly broken in two, and the other half was too deep to get to with everyone else there. A shame we only ever get a fraction,”

Right. Because even if Parker had the stamina and the energy to swim longer, deeper, he still only had one hand to hold things.

Tony looked up at the foremast and said cautiously, “Have you thought about a crane, Captain?”

“Wouldn’t work,” Parker said without missing a beat, “Too much weight, it would get in the way, and it would need repairs too often.”

“Yes, if it was made of wood.” Tony said, “But if the mast kept it grounded and there was a frame that swung outward, then ropes and a metal cage could do the rest.”

Parker was silent so long that Tony turned to make sure he hadn’t walked away, but he was staring up into the rigging, jaw parted, thinking.

“Ropes…” Parker repeated softly.

“Like the —”

“Like the helm.”

“Yes.”

“And when you say swing outward —”

“It would be attached to the mast and parallel when not in use,” Tony nodded, “Then when the ship is docked and we know there’s treasure below us, we just move it outward and use a dial to reel the rope in or out.”

“Like fishing,” MJ provided, to which Tony and Parker said,

“Sort of.”

Then Parker peered up at the mast again and looked between it and the ocean.

“The mainmast might actually be better, as far as weight goes.” Tony added.

“No,  the foremast is right,” Parker nodded to the pole closest to them, “Because of the weight below deck at the mizzen.” Then he looked at Tony, one hand on his hip, brow furrowed in something like amazement.

“It’s a damn good idea, Stark.”

Tony smiled, “Must be the concussion.”

Parker laughed again.

“Oh god, Pete, you gave him a concussion?”

“He was looking at my desk!”

“That’s cause you have all those doodles on your desk, he was probably impressed by the art!”

Parker laughed harder and swung an arm over MJ’s shoulders, drawing her close, “You know that’s almost exactly what he said.”

“Well I for one am glad we’re both around to keep you in check,” MJ pushed Parker lightly away from her, “Put your clothes on, Pete.”

The boy reached down to scoop his shirt from the deck, but then something changed. He straightened and looked toward the sky. Tony watched the smile drop from his face and the weight of his senses descend on him, the Captain went utterly still and he tilted his chin even further, eyes scanning the sky.

Tony and MJ both looked up, but whatever Parker was sensing, they couldn’t see it.

Parker dropped his shirt to the deck again and took a few steps forward, grabbing a rope and hoisting himself into the rigging of the foremast. He only climbed about halfway up and then stilled again, gaze fixed on the water past the horizon.

The other sailors slowly seemed to realise something was happening, and the deck gradually grew quiet. Parker stuck his arm out, and a pretty gull circled down to perch on his forearm.

Parker stayed where he was while he untied the paper from its talons, and then read it as he slowly descended from the mast.

Parker idly used a finger to stroke the bird’s feathers, there was a purple splotch on its breast and it cooed at him.

Tony watched it happen, the clarity and relief and apprehension and fear that filled Parker all at once.

And he knew even before the boy looked up, before the Captain declared, “We need to go back, get the others, and pack. We set sail for Râu Vale tonight.”

Chapter Text

Tony didn’t consider himself a navigational expert or anything, but he estimated that sailing from Bosenstrov to Râu Vale in early summer with typical conditions would take two and a half weeks.

But between The Vigilante’s speed and Parker’s sense of direction and his Manipulation of the world, they reached the Temii Bay in just eight days.

It was a busy journey. They didn’t stop anywhere and slept in shifts and everyone fulfilled their tasks with the grim determination of their mission. When Parker had told everyone Miles Morales was in prison, most of them had murmured in sympathy and immediately insisted they should go help. A few didn’t seem to know Morales, but they knew of him.

Since the city itself was on an island — and they didn’t want to dock The Vigilante so conspicuously in its main harbour — Parker sailed up the river and then docked at a trade city on the mainland shores of the bay.

“We’ll meet Morales’ contact at the Violet Gull Tavern.” Parker told them once they were assembled on the deck. It was midday and too hot.

“I want half of you to stay on the ship. A quarter of you will stay in the inns surrounding the tavern and the rest spread out in the city. We meet back here at dawn to set sail. Brad, Cindy, Tony, MJ you’ll come with me to the tavern.”

Parker had been busy in the past week not just with sailing and navigating, but with planning this rescue. He’d met privately with every crew member, weaving different stories of directions and rescues and escape plans. The idea was if any member of the crew got captured, then very few people knew the true or whole story to tell.

Standing next to Tony, something in MJ’s expression changed and she opened her mouth, but then she seemed to think better of it. Only once Parker had dismissed them — reminding those staying of chores to oil and swab and purchase supplies — did MJ reach out and grab his arm.

“Pete… you want me to come?”

The boy’s brow furrowed, and the shock in his voice was almost offended, “You’d rather stay here?”

MJ glanced around, and Tony took that as his cue to move away, walking toward Brad and Cindy who were checking the weapons hidden on their person.

“My family’s there,” MJ whispered, “It might be a better idea for me to… stay scarce.”

“We’ll be in and out in just a few hours,” Parker reassured her, “It’ll be dark, no one will see you. Miles knows who you are, and frankly you know the prisons better than others.”

They were both silent. Tony listened to the wind whistling through the ropes above them, it made an eerie tune today, as dissonant as the reality of Parker and MJ arguing.

Parker said, “If you don’t want to go, I won’t make you.”

MJ said something, but she turned and lowered her voice and Tony was too far away to make it out.

Then they broke apart and Parker was shouting, “Everyone who needs to be somewhere, go be there! I’ll see you all in the morning. Don’t get into trouble!”

The sailors called back a general agreement. A few saluted or waved. Betty shouted good luck. MJ grinned at Tony as he, Brad, and Cindy approached the gangplank.

“You ever been to Vale, Tony?”

Tony turned around to look past the far side of The Vigilante. The island in the center of the bay was shrouded in mist, which was odd given the otherwise clear day.

“I lived there for six months,” he said, “About a year ago.” And the thought made him open and close his right hand. He must have been in or around the city a year ago today. How strange to think how much had changed. Yet it would probably still feel familiar  to walk through the city streets tonight.

“I’ve never been,” Cindy said as they disembarked, wood turned to stone beneath their feet. The brackish tang of the air diluted around them. “Think we’ll have time for some sightseeing?” She nudged Brad, who rolled his eyes. But Parker was the one to answer,

“Be my guest, there’s not much to see except —”

“Watchtowers and rifle barrels.” MJ finished, exchanging a quick smile with Parker at some old joke.

Tony thought of their captain lurking in the crow’s nest and the ease with which he reached for the pistol at his hip. He blurted out, “Is that so different from the ship?” And sent a pointed glance at Parker.

“Lucky for you, Tony, I don’t use a rifle.” Parker stepped forward to clap Cindy and Brad on the back, “If you two want to head into the city early you can, but we need to keep our meeting first.”

Tony looked up at the painted storefronts of the shops and inns they walked past. If they were meeting with Morales’ quartermaster, then he must have a sizeable crew and a ship of his own. Must be a skilled ship captain in his own right.

The Violet Gull Tavern had a sign out front advertising two-for-the-price-of-one Violent Violet Cider, and a funny coloured art of two dizzy birds. Tony blinked at the drawing, the style looked familiar, and he was about to turn to Parker when MJ said,

“That sign came out nice.”

Parker rubbed his chin as he assessed it, “The wings don’t look quite right,” he said, and Tony supposed, as he stared at it, that the wing proportions of the birds were a bit misshapen.

“Oh no one will notice, we haven’t been here in ages anyway it’s been up for years.”

Parker hummed, still seeming disappointed in himself and his own artistic merit for the advertisement. MJ held the door open for them and Tony looked around as they stepped inside.

Almost immediately, someone called, “Peter Parker!”

A man stood up near the back, his bulk immediately drawing their attention alongside a big, friendly smile.

He crossed the bar to meet Parker halfway and enveloped him into a crushing embrace, “Welcome back, Peter Parker!”

Parker mocked a groan as he pulled away from the man, he had to lift his chin up to look him in the eyes, “It’s good to see you, Ganke. But maybe you should say it again. I’m not sure they heard you in Vale,”

Ganke laughed and clapped Parker on the shoulder, “Are you kidding, Parker? I’m so happy to see you, I wish I could tell every end of the bay!” Then he scooped MJ into a hug and spun her around once, “MJ! It’s been too long!”

He put her down and made a wide gesture for them to follow him toward the back. He paused before the hallway and turned to shout at the bartender, “A few drinks for me and my friends, Ben?”

The boy behind the bar waved to show he’d heard and then they disappeared into the shadows in the back of the bar. Ganke took them to a private room with a table clearly meant for cards and dice, but he had a map of the streets of Râu Vale already unfurled.

As they entered and the door shut behind them, Parker said, “This is Brad, Cindy, and Tony. Brad and Cindy are going to be a diversion tonight near the prisons. Tony’s going with MJ to get Miles.”

MJ sank into a chair at the table and pulled it forward, resting her chin in her hands, “Ganke, why’d you wait so long to tell us?”

Ganke was tall and despite the severity of their mission and the question, his smile was jovial. He didn’t look much like a pirate, Tony thought, much less a quartermaster. But maybe he was like Betty that way, having found his friends and crew in unlikely places, assured of their protection from the corruption and hard life their country offered.

“We were in hiding at first, Miles and me.” Ganke said, withdrawing a pair of glasses from his pocket and settling them on his nose. They were round and framed with wood but if they were heavy Ganke seemed used to it. Tony wondered at how much they must have cost as the man leaned over the table. He grinned at their little assembly.

“Unlike your reckless Captain Parker, Miles doesn’t care for agitating his highness.” He addressed this to the members of the crew, “We take on private jobs… Far-off deliveries, big game hunting, special escorts, that sort of thing. Clean jobs.”

Parker flicked at a crust of dried salt on his jacket and cleared his throat, “And inevitably you’ll stumble into tasks that aren’t as sanitary as you think. What happened?”

Ganke huffed, but he did’t seem any less good-natured when he said, “There was this girl—”

“Oh dear,” Parker grinned alongside the mocking concern in his tone, “What did sweet Miles do to upset a lady friend?”

“She wasn’t his lady friend,” Ganke blushed, not meeting their eyes, “She came to us one night tired and footsore, scared out of her wits. She said she was from the colonies and she’d been sold to the mainland, said her master was cruel… asked Miles to take her away from that life. Asked if she could run off with us.”

“He took her in?” There was a tinge of respect to Parker’s voice. “He usually steers clear of the black market.”

Ganke grimaced, “She was hurting, she needed help.” A shadow fell across his face as he looked down at the table, “Of course we were going to help. But Miles didn’t feel it was right to just run off with her. He spent a couple weeks rustling up coin and calling in favours. He thought if he just went to her master and bought her, then he could give her freedom back in turn.”

“Keeping it clean.” Parker acknowledged, “No kidnapping or theft accusations. No one coming after her or him.”

Ganke exhaled hard, frustrated at this part of the story, “So he went to the manor, to her master, coin and promises in hand. He even had contingencies — like payment plans or interest offers if they said no the first time.”

“But he wasn’t a slaver at all?” Parker guessed.

“He wasn’t.” Ganke swallowed, “Truth be told I think it’s a miracle Miles escaped with his life the first time. The Count of Rüssline doesn’t take kindly to common boys referring to his wife as a slave and offering to buy her out from under him.”

“Was she even colonial?” Parker asked, and his own accent was more pronounced when he said it.

“Perhaps,” Ganke shrugged, “It was an arranged marriage. And clearly an unhappy one. She’d wanted to get away, she didn’t think Miles would help if she told that story, so she made one up.”

“Not a slave at all but a wife,” Parker mused.

MJ said, “Sometimes there’s little difference.”

Cindy nudged Brad, “Better rethink your plans to woo a noblewoman.”

Ganke beamed, “You’re out to meet someone, Brad? Good for you!”

“He’s doing it to avoid working,” Parker drawled.

Ganke winked, “In my experience, amorous relationships require quite a bit of work.”

Brad groaned and bent double so his head was resting on the table. His voice was muffled when he said,

“Captain, I’m quitting.”

“Then I’m not giving you your bonus for helping with this mission.”

That made Tony frown. Were the others getting paid outright? And if so, when? He hadn’t been offered any form of compensation since joining the crew.

“If you quit,” Ganke adjusted his glasses and used a hand to pat down a smock of thin black hair, “Could you do it after we rescue my friend?”

The question seemed almost nervous and his eyes were wide, like he was seriously afraid of Brad pulling out. Or perhaps he was just sincerely worried about Morales’ fate.

Behind Tony, the door opened and a girl stepped in. She was holding a tray of glasses filled with a liquid the colour of overripe apricots. Tony accepted his with a nod and took a cautious sip, appreciating the sweet flavours of tropical juice and a bite of liqueur.

MJ asked if she could have tea instead. The girl nodded and reached to take her glass away, but Cindy quickly picked it up, “I can drink hers too,” Cindy chimed with a smile and Brad muttered something under his breath, prompting Cindy to hit him in the back of the head.

Parker cleared his throat, “If my crew would quit acting immature,” He took a sip of his drink, made a face, and then set it aside. “So Miles insults this noble family. What happens next? Is the woman safe?”

“I hope so,” Ganke sighed, fingers fidgeting as he stared solemnly at the table, “We lost touch completely with Rüssline after we ran. But I do hope she’s safe.”

“Where’s the rest of your crew?”

“Scattered last summer. They write in from time to time, but I haven’t seen any of them. Me and Miles stayed together but the soldiers at the border sniffed us out when we tried to cross three months ago.”

“You were going to leave Aratem?” MJ asked, her back straightening and her eyebrows flying up.

“Not forever,” Ganke shrugged, “I just suggested it might be safer, and we could go see my gran maybe.”

Everyone was silent. It felt enormous, the prospect of leaving Aratem behind. The border was so closely guarded there was no guarantee they’d ever return, and certainly not under any legal pretence.

But what would it feel like to leave? To reject their home so soundly and venture over the mountains and into the west? Or go far enough across the Argent as to reach Newlen?

Maybe it would be easier to avoid the coast guard if they went by sea.

Perhaps Ganke could tell what they were thinking, because he said, “It felt a little wrong, you know?”

Yes. It was a betrayal not just to their home but to the sacrifices their parents or ancestors had made to come here.

Parker looked up toward the ceiling, his voice jaded and dismissive when he said, “Let’s all reconsider our immigration plans after we’ve rescued our friend.” And if the prospect of fleeing Aratem disturbed him he didn’t show it.

Parker leaned forward and turned the map toward himself. Peering at it now, Tony made out the spider’s web of Râu Vale’s streets, all as even as the edges of the island itself, a perfect wheel spiralling outwards.

“Vale is split into six districts around the palace, which is at the center of the island. District one to the north, district two east of it, so on and so forth moving clockwise until we get around to district six which is on the other side of district one. We’re fortunate that Miles isn’t being held in the castle prisons but instead in the city prisons, in district five in the west.” Parker pointed as he spoke, “Cindy, you and Brad are going to pay for a ferry to Vale and get into trouble in district four. Be creative. Get other people involved. They’ll call reinforcements from districts three and five, leaving the route to the prison open.”

Outside, the sun had passed midday and was now filtering through the window, casting the room in harsh yellow light. The door opened and the girl returned with a cup of tea for MJ; Parker left both hands flat over the map until she’d left again.

Ganke stood to draw the curtains over the window. It made the shadows long and Parker leaned his weight back where he stood so they could see the map more clearly.

“Tony, MJ, you’ll enter straight into district five from the sewers which will bring you out in the heart of the prison. Ideally, you get Miles and go out the way you came. But if not, I’ll break into the prison through the front and meet you as close as I can, then guide you out. We get Miles to Ganke on the shore of district five. We meet back on The Vigilante at dawn.”

Brad asked, “What if we get arrested?”

Parker raised an eyebrow, “Why would you get arrested?”

“You just told us to go into the heart of our fortified capital city and cause trouble to attract the guard.”

“Yes. But I didn’t tell you to get arrested doing it.”

“So I’m just not allowed to get arrested while breaking the law?”

“Preferably not!”

Cindy jumped in, “We’ve got it under control, Captain. No getting arrested.”

Then she hit Brad in the head again.

“I can’t be the only one who thinks this is a lot to ask!” Brad grumbled, turning pleading eyes to Tony. “We can hardly control that!”

Parker sighed, “I’ll make it easy for you, Brad. If you do get arrested then you’re fired and you can meet a nice noblewoman at your trial.”

Brad sighed, “I should’ve negotiated more from that bonus.”

Ganke shifted his weight from where he was standing next to the table, nervous energy making him restless.

“I’m not coming into the prison?” He asked, drumming all ten fingers on the table over and over again, “I’m just going to wait for you all?”

Parker exchanged a look with MJ, and they both glanced furtively at Tony.

Then Tony realised why he was on this team, why he’d been chosen over others to accompany this mission. Not because he was any good in a fight or particularly stealthy. Cindy and Brad had been told to cause a distraction in a different part of the city and Ganke was being asked to wait with their getaway; but MJ and Tony both knew what Parker was capable of if it came to that. He could use his powers in front of them without fear of stories travelling too far.

Assuming they didn’t leave anyone alive.

“The most important job with a mission like this is making sure our escape route is secure, swift, and safe.” Parker said, “Ganke, you’re leaving a different way from us with your captain, so you can make sure nothing goes wrong with your vessel or your route. We’ll hand him off to you and he’ll know he’s safe. Then you can get away faster than if we were to all arrive at the boat at the same time and discover a problem.”

Not to mention, Tony suspected that Ganke’s size might make sneaking around a prison or crawling through sewer pipes difficult. He couldn’t decide if he envied the man or not. It might be easier to just wait for everyone else to complete the mission and come back, but the anxiety would be crippling. How long were you supposed to wait before accepting something had gone wrong?

If they were caught, if they were killed… Tony counted himself lucky that he’d be one of the first to know.

They spent some time discussing alternate escape routes and their avenues for reaching Vale. Cindy snorted and Ganke raised his eyebrows when Parker said he’d just swim, but otherwise no one protested. It wasn’t impossible — Star Reader or not — but it would certainly be tiring and potentially dangerous.

When it was all said and done, their glasses were empty except for Parker’s and their stomachs were growling in complaint at the mid-afternoon hour.

“One more offer of gratitude before we head off?” Ganke suggested, wrapping an arm around Cindy and Brad’s shoulders, “Ben and Jess make the best gougères in the bay!”

Evening fell too quickly, in Tony’s opinion. And his nerves felt no better even after a truly-delicious meal. Brad and Cindy left for the ferry as afternoon faded, and Ganke left a couple hours after them. Parker shrugged off MJ’s concerns about him getting wet and cold, promising he’d dry off and take care of himself on the island, and then MJ and Tony saw him off from the edge of the dock.

MJ was rattled and anxious this evening, perhaps even more than Tony, and he fiddled with the cuffs of his blue jacket as they sat looking out at the water. She didn’t say anything: no quips, no reassurances. She just wrapped her hands around the edge of the dock. When she lifted them again there was algae on her fingertips, and she rolled her fingers together to watch it flake off into the water.

They couldn’t see the other side of the bay from here, so it seemed like the sun was setting into the water itself, gold fading to bronze. And in the middle of the sky was that harsh orange colour of the drinks they’d had today. It was hard to say where the sky and the water met, broken apart only by the strange mist hovering around the capital.

“I’ll go rent a rowboat from… someone.” MJ climbed stiffly to her feet, tucking a hand into her pocket as she turned to go.

“I’ll come with you,” Tony said, jumping to follow a step behind her, watching her jangle coins between her fingers, clasping and unclasping her hands, withdrawing and returning the money from her pocket as they walked up the deck.

Seeking to distract her from the apprehension clawing its way through their evening, Tony tilted his chin toward the coins she was fumbling with, “Brad mentioned a bonus for helping out tonight…”

“Mmm,” MJ shrugged, “You can negotiate it with Peter later.”

“No, I —” Well, he probably would, but “— it’s not so much about the bonus as just… getting paid at all.”

“What do you mean?” She was distracted, her mind somewhere else, probably across the bay. If not trapped in memories of decades gone by.

“Am I supposed to have gotten paid?”

“I — is Peter not paying you?”

“Well I haven’t, uhhmmm,” Tony trailed off. He’d sort of assumed they pooled their resources absolutely. Serving on the crew meant he was provided with food to eat and a bed to sleep in — or, in his case, a floor to sleep on.

“I wondered if maybe it was related to the First Rites thing.”

“No,” MJ turned to face him more completely, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips, “He should be paying you every two weeks. My god, why hasn’t he been paying you?”

“Must still be about the card game,” Tony sighed.

“Oh but since when have we ever known Peter to hold a grudge?” She giggled, the sound broken and painful. But it was a laugh nonetheless, and she looked relaxed again.

Tony hung back while MJ bargained a fisherman down to half of his asking price to use his boat for the night, promising to bring it back in tip-top condition.

“We’re hunting for mervepois,” she whispered before giggling behind her fingers. The man looked at Tony, clearly thinking they were both far too old to be spending their night stirring up muck in the bay to catch darting luminescent fish, but finally he agreed to her terms and waved them off.

As they were walking away the man grumbled, “It’s pronounced merr-vay-pwah, young lady.”

MJ mumbled to Tony, “He sounds too much like my father.”

Tony nearly managed to tip the rowboat climbing into it, but MJ hopped down next to him to even the weight and smiled as they settled.

It was painted light green: a pale, pastel, child-like colour that faded to grey as night stretched out ahead of them.

Looking out at the city of Râu Vale growing ever closer, the chain of nerves that had been jangling inside of Tony all day condensed into a steel ball sitting in his stomach, almost weighing him down toward the floor of the bay.

They each used a paddle to propel the boat forward, but Tony was struck by the eerie sense that the island wasn’t growing any closer the further they got from shore. The mist seemed to thicken, and the land itself was just a black shadow jutting out of the bay. Bigger and taller, but not closer.

“His Star Readers create the mist around the city,” MJ’s voice made Tony turn back to her, and he couldn’t decide whether his skin was damp from sweat or from the density of the fog around them. When he looked back, he couldn’t see the shore they’d departed from. And they hadn’t come with any lanterns, so the only thing to see by was now the abyss of the city towering before them.

Tony pulled his paddle through the water a couple more times, watching it carve through the shimmering reflection of stars around them; even the mist itself seemed to just be chain links of silver glinting in Tony’s peripheral vision.

But then he would face it again, and watch glimmering riches twist back into an ominous, heavy fog.

The water was utterly still, a perfect reflection of the night sky above them.

“Wouldn’t creating fog like this make it hard for ships to reach Vale’s harbour?” Tony asked, thinking of the ferry making trips throughout the day, or the merchants or supplies that had to be provided to the capital city.

“Yes,” MJ admitted, her voice dull and pressing agains them, “But what’s a little inconvenience to commoners… anyway, if it’s important enough cargo, then the castle can send a special crewmember to guide the ship.”

A Star Reader. What a frivolous use of their powers — both because the fog was caused by them in the first place and also because of the absurd cost to their own personhood.

But what did that matter to the king? Clearly Star Readers were little more than a resource to be mined and emptied and then disposed of.

Tony wondered if the lack of wind and the stillness of the bay was natural tonight or something borne from more torture and violence.

There was anger in his chest again. A rearing clap of indignation ached inside of him and made his throat burn when he swallowed. With the powers at their disposal, with the strength in their limbs and quickness to their minds and magic in their veins, why would Star Readers let themselves be used like that? Be exploited? One of them could overpower a dozen soldiers, surely if even a few of them banded together they could take back their freedom, topple the king and his endless-army. So why didn’t they?

But then again, Tony knew why. It was why the state took Star Readers as children: to raise them into expectations of pain and fatigue, to force them to see their own lives as useful rather than worthy.

But beyond that… it was the same fear and hesitation and weariness that made people turn over ever-higher taxes, that held parents back when younger and younger children were conscripted into the army.

That allowed a squadron to stand by and watch as their commander maimed a fellow soldier.

They were nearly at the shore now, and the black shadow gave way to some indistinct shapes in the mist. MJ dug her paddle into the water, and then pushed it down low until the boat rocked as she anchored them.

Tony couldn’t see the mud or sand that pillowed up, but in the darkness all around them he saw a few glimmering flashes of green and blue, mervepois fish scurrying for cover again as their glowing lights illuminated the bay.

A couple seconds later and they wriggled away, winking out again below the surface, returning the water to just a dark reflection of the black sky and glinting stars. Undisturbed and still.

When Tony blinked, the flash of the little fish lights still danced behind his eyelids, the fog around Râu Vale left his clothes damp and pressed to slick skin.

MJ lifted her chin to face the city and said, “Guess it’s time to go in.”

But she didn’t move yet. She just reached across the little rowboat and clasped Tony’s right hand in hers, squeezing tightly over the place where he’d been hurt.

Chapter Text

When they disembarked on the mossy shore of Râu Vale, MJ pointed them westward along the coast. She said they weren’t quite at district five or the sewer entrance yet. Tony followed her, not bothering to ask why they hadn’t rowed all the way there.

Probably to throw off any potential trackers. Anyway, Tony didn’t want to spend any more time out on the water. The mist was too consuming, the reflection of the night sky too weightless, the silhouette of the city too ominous.

So they walked quietly along the shore, the towering spires of the castle piercing the sky in their peripheral vision. Situated as it was on an island, the buildings in Vale tended to grow upward rather than out. It made Tony feel impossibly, suffocatingly small.

The Argent might be vast, but it wasn’t the least bit overbearing. Wasn’t looming above them, watching and assessing their every move.

Tony could smell the sewer first. And then he could hear water running ahead of them. He curled and uncurled his hands in anticipation of clambering through such a rancid stench. But given what he knew about government prisons and Morales’ story, he tightened his coat around his shoulders and decided he had little to complain about.

He remembered what Parker had said about his heightened senses, about everything smelling a little rancid all the time, and wondered if this was part of why he’d excused himself from this particular task.

MJ didn’t react to the stench of the sewer as they ducked down to look at the entrance. Tony sighed, his shoulders sagging as he reached to tug on the thick metal grate. It was rusted brittle and red, the metal prickling against his hand when bare skin touched it. The grate didn’t give as he pushed and then pulled.

“Can you kick it open?” MJ suggested, so Tony leaned back and lifted a foot, lashing out with his boot against the grate.

There was a clang and a thud, and the metal rattled, but otherwise nothing.

Tony tried a few more times, leaving him panting for air, and then MJ tried too, but as much as the metal creaked it didn’t give.

“We have to keep trying,” MJ said, “It’s possible Peter will get in before us but at some point we’ll wear it down or break it open, it’s rusted enough.”

Tony mumbled half an agreement, turning back to look at the mist-shrouded bay. The stars were still glittering along the water, not unlike the lights of the mervepois they’d roused.

“Wait, stop.” Tony reached to put a hand on MJ’s thigh before she could kick the sewer grate again. “We’re making too much noise like this, and we don’t know how long it will take.”

“Do you have another idea?” She asked, flicking stray clumps of hair back from her face.

“Maybe. Wait there.”

He unsheathed the knife at his belt and crawled back to the water’s edge. He reached in up to his elbow and stirred the slimy mud on the bottom of the bay.

The mervepois that scuttled out were green and blue. But a couple purple ones flashed below the water’s surface as well. Tony reached in, using the edge of the knife to flip two of the fish onto shore. He scooped them up and stopped their wriggling with a twist of his wrist. Then he tottered awkwardly back over to the grate, the glowing bodies of the fish still clenched in his hands.

“What are you doing?” MJ hissed, as Tony carefully used the flat side of his knife to scale one of the fish. He cut away its side and then squinted as he carved out the glowing centre.

They were no bigger than anchovies, and Tony discarded the first body once he held its heart. He motioned for MJ to move away from the grate as he held the glowing heart up against it, then carefully punctured the organ with the tip of his knife.

Green liquid oozed onto the grate, and immediately a low hissing sound filled the space around them.

“Don’t touch it,” Tony cautioned, even though MJ hadn’t moved.

“It’s acidic?” She asked.

Tony nodded. There had been yellow mervepois in the pond in his garden growing up,  and one day he’d swallowed one on a dare.

The resulting illness had left him stretched on his back groaning for days.

Pinching the fish heart between two fingers, Tony flicked it away then leaned his weight against the grate again, pushing it in with a creak and then a metallic snap.

He fell in sideways, barely pivoting so that he hit the side of the sewer tunnel instead of falling face-first into the stream of sewage. He felt MJ’s hand on the collar of his coat, helping keep him upright, and shook his hand out to chase off the lingering sting of fish acid.

“Good job, Tony.”

Tony cleared his throat and nodded, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He just hunched over and slogged reluctantly into the sewage, hoping that more of it was garbage rather than human waste.

He crept forward, further from the faint light of the night sky behind them. He could hear the splash and dragging movement of MJ shuffling along behind him, one hand still on his jacket, and they sloped slightly uphill as they moved.

Tony held out the remaining mervepois body like a lantern, not that it made much of a difference. The light was faint, not even reaching the walls of the sewer.

He thought dimly that even if the sewer did have a drain in the prison, there was little reason for it to be big enough for a person to fit through. That felt like a rather glaring security weakness, and one that would have been rectified under Aratem’s defense budget.

“If the path splits ahead, we should go right.” MJ whispered. Tony nodded, but then he remembered she couldn’t see that and so the pause between them was unnaturally long before he said,

“Okay.”

Her fingers tightened on the back of his coat. Did she really need to hold onto him? Or did it just make her feel better on this particular night in this particular place?

They turned right when they reached a fork, and then MJ turned them left. But that led to a narrow, reeking drain that a pigeon would be lucky to fit through, so they had to backtrack and try another route. That was a dead-end too, filled in since MJ had last snuck around Vale two decades ago. So they went all the way back to the first fork and struck out left.

“This is disgusting,” MJ hissed, her tone threaded with frustation at all of their fumbling in the dark.

“Maybe we all should’ve negotiated more from our bonus,” Tony offered, and she laughed. Then he lifted his eyes and tucked the mervepois back into his pocket, whispering, “Can you see that?”

He felt her turn, saw the whites of her eyes glimmering. Triumph swelled in his chest. There was light somewhere ahead of them. MJ realised the same thing and shot forward.

“I think there’s an opening up above!” She turned and took a few more quick steps forward, reaching up high to run her fingers along the top of the sewer pipe.

They curved slightly to the left, and they both sped up when they saw firelight flickering from above. There was another grate in the ceiling ahead of them.

“Give me the fish!” MJ hissed as she hurried toward it, “There will probably be —”

She stopped so hard that Tony slammed into her back, immediately putting a hand on her waist to keep her from tumbling over. They were just below the sewer exit now, Tony could see stone straight above them. With any luck, they would find themselves inside the the city prison.

“MJ?”

She needed to move if Tony was going to reach the grate to try and break it open.

“Is that —”

The relief of the exit had been so overwhelming that Tony hadn’t even thought to look at their feet, but now he blinked as he took in the shadows of the sewer and what MJ was looking at.

She let out a noise — something that was all at once grief and disgust and horror and perhaps choked off in order to hold back from keeling over.

“Don’t look at it,” Tony whispered. He sidled carefully in front of her, so that he was standing between her and the body. The girl’s hands were shackled to her ankles, her body bloated from the moisture of the air and the water tugging past their ankles.

Tony had to lift his arms to reach the grate, the fish acid blistered on the surface of his fingers.

“Do you think she was already dead?” MJ’s voice was thin.

Had they thrown a dead body into the sewer? Or had they chained and deposited a girl here as some form of punishment, some torture that went too far? Both realities were sickening, and the body abandoned was repulsive either way.

“Don’t think about it,” Tony murmured.

She was younger than MJ — probably hadn’t been of age at all. Was she a prisoner of the state? Or a Star Reader?

Tony lifted his other hand to grab the metal bars, painstakingly pushing the grate up as it squealed.

He jumped when hands covered his fingers, and jerked back as he looked up through the grate.

“You are officially the two loudest people who have ever been asked to break into a prison at night.” Parker grinned down at Tony. Then his arms flexed and the grate broke off. Tony cupped his hands to lift MJ up first, and Parker grabbed her wrists to pull her from the sewer.

Parker added, “You know sound echoes in a sewer.”

They both reached in to grab Tony and help haul him up and onto the stone floor.

“Took you long enough,” Parker huffed once they were all sitting in the dim light of a square room. His clothes were still damp from swimming over here.

Tony looked around at chains on the wall and blood splattered on the floor and the cryptic hole they’d just climbed out of. Unfortunately, he suspected he knew the answer about whether the girl had been put down there dead or alive.

“The paths have changed,” MJ grumbled as she stood up, kicking muck from her boots as she rubbed her eyes. Parker stood up next to her and then grunted when she slapped him.

“Ow — what the —”

“Are you not paying Tony?”

“I’ve — what —” Parker tried to be affronted, but a rather silly smile broke through his lips when he looked between them, rubbing at his cheek, “Well I’ve been busy!”

“Next time we play doubles I’m winning Tony back what he’s earned.”

“I was going to pay you,” Parker looked furtively at Tony, “Just hadn’t gotten around to it.”

MJ rolled her eyes and stalked off toward the door of the torture room. Tony looked at Parker as they hurried after her.

“How did you know where to meet us?”

“I could sense you two below me.” Parker said and he grabbed MJ’s arm, turning her left instead of right into the hallway, “Come on, I know where Miles is.” And then he took up the lead, twisting left at the end of the hall and then taking them down a flight of stairs.

There were no windows in the prison, so everything was just long lengths of stone flickering with torchlight. Parker made them pause for a few minutes to wait for a guard patrol to pass, and then he guided them into a narrow cell block, bars lining the walls on either side.

Tony could see the whites of someone’ eyes looking out at them, glimmering to the right, but Parker guided them to the middle of the block, rapping on the metal bars of a cell.

“Miles!” Parker smiled into the darkness, “It’s Peter, I told you I’d come back.” Tony looked at the metal lock which had already been wrenched and mangled out of place. Were Star Readers strong enough to bend metal without help? He almost wished he’d been around to see it the first time.

Parker swung the cell door open and crept inside. “I brought MJ, and this guy.” Parker murmured as he bent to his knees, reaching out for the slumped boy in the corner of the cell.

MJ said, “You really do deserve a raise, Tony.”

“At least I’m getting paid now,” Tony mumbled, making her giggle.

Even Parker managed a smile as he touched Miles’ shoulder, though maybe that was just from the sheer relief of seeing his friend.

The boy stirred, opening his eyes and managing a dazed smile.

“Hey Peter,”

“Hey. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

Miles mumbled something. Parker reached for the shackles binding his wrists to the wall. They were situated low, so that a prisoner had to be seated or crouching down. Tony wondered if the chains were undone at mealtimes or if the prisoners had to swallow their pride and their dignity and awkwardly manipulate themselves to eat.

The smell inside the prison cell and the rotting bowl of cold stew in the corner seemed to give an answer.

The shackles broke free with a clang and Miles’ arms dropped like stones. Parker cupped Miles’ face in his hand, holding his chin up and staring anxiously into his eyes, “He has a fever.”

The boy was thin, his eyes were unfocused and his black hair was overgrown across jutting bones. He mumbled something, and Parker unsheathed his dagger and pushed his sleeve up, gently cutting into his own arm.

The way that Miles’ face relaxed while Parker’s twisted up almost made it seem like the pain was being transferred. But Parker held his breath and closed his eyes, concentrating on giving as much strength as he could. Miles’ eyelids fluttered open again and he seemed slightly more focused, his voice was ragged and dry when he smiled,

“Thanks for coming.”

“Just relax. We’re gonna get you out of here. Leave everything to us.” Parker murmured, and he moved as if to lift the boy into his arms.

“Peter!” Miles reached for the captain’s shirt, fingers trembling as he clung to Parker’s collar and tugged him forward. Were Miles stronger — were Parker not so well-balanced, so adjusted to the world around him — he might have pulled him off his feet.

“Peter, I need to —”

“Shh, my friend, please.” Parker shook his head and gently grasped his hands, easing his touch away, “Save your strength, Miles. You need rest and food. We can talk another time. It can wait.”

“No!” Miles coughed, the sound thin and flimsy and hoarse. Tony thought of very-sick coughs as strong, wet sounds. But somehow the sheer weakness of this one, the fragility in Miles’ emaciated shape, made it clear just how weak and sick he was, “No. This is important, Peter.” His face screwed up in indignation, in the urgency of his own demand.

“What is it?” Parker’s put a hand on Miles’ forehead. Healing him further, Tony thought. As much as he could in the decrepit conditions around them.

Miles swallowed, eyes searching Parker’s face insistently, “Peter… have you been sleeping with Gwen?”

A pause.

An extremely, endlessly long pause.

Parker crouched there with his mouth hanging open, struggling to muster the words to answer. MJ made a muffled sound, and if not for the seriousness of their situation Tony would wager she was suppressing a laugh when she buried her face in the folds of her shirt.

“We should talk about it another time,” Parker croaked out after an eternity, “It’s nothing to worry about — just her job, you know. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Miles coughed, “If it doesn’t mean anything, shouldn’t be hard to stop. You can pay any damn girl in any damn bar in any damn city and you choose —”

“Miles, this really isn’t the time for this conversation.” Parker shushed him. But whether it was actually for their safety, or just to avoid the guilt and awkwardness of the situation, Tony couldn’t tell.

“Peter —”

Miles didn’t finish. Parker whirled and pushed the boy to the side, using his momentum to launch himself to his feet, grabbing MJ’s arm and throwing her toward the other side of the cell.

Parker slammed into Tony then, both of them stumbling toward the door.

Then the gunshot went off, the bullet slamming into the floor where they’d been huddled. Parker spun, dagger leaping into his hand as they faced the corner the shot had come from.

Parker spat, “I should’ve killed you in Moratsia.”

Quentin Beck laughed as he stepped around the corner. He was limping badly, clutching a cane to support the leg that Parker had shot weeks ago, but his other hand held his pistol with cool, practiced confidence. His eyes slid across the cell, to Miles on his side and MJ across the cell and Parker and Tony close to the door.

“That’s quite a trick you Star Readers have.” Quentin growled, “Your little sixth sense.”

Parker swapped his dagger to his left hand and pulled out his own gun, pointing it steadily from his hip.

Quentin stepped into the cell, leg dragging out an ominous harmony to the tap-tap-tap of the cane on stone. He limped toward MJ, who backed up against the wall. When he was still a couple paces away Parker barked,

“That’s close enough!”

Quentin turned on him, knuckles white on his pistol.

“What the fuck was your plan here, Quentin?” Parker’s lip curled,  “You told me weeks ago that Miles was imprisoned here. So you came and what? Just waited every damn night for us to show up? Sat around for god knows how many hours? Just to engage in a fight that you can’t win? You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, Quentin, but —”

“Humorous as this is for you, Peter, maybe you should consider other possibilities.” Quentin hissed. The humour and easy gait of Moratsia was gone.

Quentin’s lips tilted into a smirk, “Do you ever think maybe your crew is not as loyal as you like to think?”

In the same instant, MJ and Parker both turned their eyes on Tony.

“I knew it!” Parker snarled, twisting as if to hit Tony.

“No, I didn’t, Captain —”

“I didn’t mean him.”

Parker froze with one arm raised, his gaze cutting back to Quentin, body trembling.

“Then who?”

“I’d worry less about that and more about yourself, Peter.”

Footsteps made Tony turn toward the cell door, he squinted and took a step back as four soldiers fanned out along the narrow space of the hallway.

“Captain —”

“I know.”

The soldiers edged closer, Parker didn’t take his eyes off Quentin or the pistol he’d armed himself with.

Parker snarled, “Everyone st —”

“Everyone stay where you are!”

Someone else stepped in from the hallway. An army captain with his hands clasped behind his back, chin lifted high and walking with assurance even though his weapons were all sheathed. He held himself straight and calm, halting in the doorway of the cell, broad enough that the edge of either shoulder touched the bars.

Tony stepped back. He tried to turn his face away but the man took in each occupant of the cell and — immediately —

“Tony?”

Tony looked up and the man’s posture didn’t change but the shock was evident when he repeated,

“Tony Stark?”

Parker flipped the dagger in his hand, his gaze frantically turning from the army captain to Quentin.

“You know him?” Parker asked, though whether he was speaking to Tony or the captain it wasn’t clear.

Tony stared back, watched as shock gave way to understanding and confusion and grief. Was he thinking about the last time they’d seen each other? About everyone watching on as he held a cleaver and said,

“You know I don’t want to do this, Tones. But it’s protocol.”

“Captain Rhodes,” Tony cleared his throat. He addressed this next to Parker, “He was my commanding officer.”

So there it was. He’d said it out loud — in so many words at least. He’d been in the army and deserted. If Parker were ever so inclined, he or others on The Vigilante could turn Tony in to the government for a handsome sum and a grizzly execution.

But Tony understood now that that wasn’t who Parker was. He wouldn’t let the crown touch anyone, no matter how handsome the reward or how lenient Aratem’s clemency laws were. Maybe the sailors never spoke of their histories in order not to tempt betrayal, but more likely they just didn’t cling to the painful parts of their past. They couldn’t change where they’d come from, why dwell on it?

“Your commanding officer?” Rhodey repeated. “Is that all I am? Tony…” Rhodey appeared to be trying to get a look at his hand, and Tony turned enough that his right arm was hidden behind Parker, “I was worried sick.”

“I’m fine.” Tony sniffed, looking down at the floor.

“It was just two fingers. You broke the rules. I had to…” Rhodey trailed off. Maybe realised an excuse like that was futile. His gaze settled on Parker again and the disgust on his face was clear, “And this is what you did? Ran off with the most dangerous criminal in the country?”

Parker shifted his weight, and Tony would wager the boy looked the slightest bit proud at the moniker. 

“Captain,” They all looked at Quentin when he addressed Rhodey. He gestured with his pistol toward Parker, “Our arrangement? I brought you Parker. And I get the girl.”

He sneered again, a little of his menacing humour returning from when Tony had first met him, “I have a deal with her fiancé.”

“Not with my father?” MJ spat, she started to back up but Quentin reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her closer. His cane clattered to the floor and he favoured his uninjured leg, but it seemed the heat of the moment had given him strength enough for now.

Parker stiffened and MJ froze as she and Quentin glared daggers at one another.

“Guess we’ll just have to see which one of them bids the highest, princess.” Quentin sneered, the insult spitting off his lips and making MJ flinch.

“This is ridiculous,” Parker laughed, holding his pistol in one hand and dagger in the other, “You think a few extra men is going to stop me? You think you’ve delivered me to the crown? I’m a Star Reader, Quentin! All you’re doing is asking me to kill every man here, and I will. I don’t care if you have four soldiers or ten, I will win this battle. Don’t make me.”

Rhodey kept his gaze on Quentin, who eyed the pistol in his own hand, still aiming it toward Parker. “Yes, your Star Reading,” Quentin hummed, gaze raking the prison cell again. “That is a pesky ability, isn’t it? So much faster, so much stronger. Even if I do start to get the better of you, you’ll just injure yourself and unleash all the hells of this world on me, right? Hard to win against a Star Reader.”

“Just because you have reinforcements, it doesn’t mean anything.” Parker nodded, “So just let us go now, and save your own life. No matter how hard you try, you can’t hurt me.”

“You’re right.” Quentin agreed. His voice was too calm and too mild, and the assurance with which Rhodey was watching him made the hairs on Tony’s neck stand on end.

Quentin grinned, “But then again, I don’t need to hurt you at all, Peter. You’re going to do that yourself.”

Then he turned, pressed the pistol to MJ’s stomach, and shot her.

Chapter Text

Parker shot across the stone floor as fast as the bullet that buried itself in MJ.

He moved with such ferocity that he slammed into them, knocking MJ and Quentin to the floor as he reached to hold her.

Her face warped, twisting in horror at her own body being torn open.

“Peter, don’t —” Her gasp fluttered off into a sigh of relief, because Parker had already buried his dagger in his own shoulder. He twisted it hard to the left as he pressed his other hand to her wound.

Blood spilled dark and thick onto prison stone.

Wedged against the wall, MJ fought for breath as Quentin scrambled back onto his knees. He watched Parker with a sort of fascination, eyes flashing as the Captain ripped the blade from his shoulder and stabbed himself again, hard enough to make everyone wince, giving and taking as fast as the strange power in his veins could work.

Parker leaned in and whispered something to MJ. A pained, wracked noise cut through the prison cell when she laughed.

“Was all this worth it, Tones?”

Tony turned uncertainly toward Rhodey. His soldiers were still waiting just outside the door, and he kept his chin high as he looked down on the gory scene of Parker and MJ. On Miles huddled and weak in the corner. On Tony helpless and alone in the middle of it all.

When Tony didn’t answer, Rhodey went on, “Was this worth leaving behind your job and your country and service to your king? All to frolic on the waves with a rogue Star Reader.”

“Rhodey, you don’t understand. Star Readers aren’t just employed by the crown, they —”

“I understand enough, Tony. We’re not kids anymore. All of this? It’s Irresponsible. Childish. Do you even know that your father passed away three weeks ago? You know our home doesn’t have anyone to lead them right now? You know —”

“My father’s dead?”

Rhodey’s top lip curled, weeks of frustration and fear bursting forth.

“Yes!” He spat, his arms shifted and shoulders flexed but he didn’t unclasp his hands from behind his back, “Yes, your father’s dead and the people of Gardenloch have no idea where their heir has gallivanted off to. Look, you don’t want to serve in the army anymore? Fine, then go home. Go lead our people. Fix up our treasury. Put that brain of yours to good use. Don’t waste your time with criminals and thugs!”

Tony looked again at the others. Parker was holding MJ’s hand. Sweat and blood had slicked his clothes to his body. He’d gone ghostly pale, and Tony couldn’t decide who was supporting the other more as they sat up, weak and struggling to catch their breath.

Quentin was glowering behind them, never having let go of her.

Parker and MJ were hardly the thugs in that tableau.

Quentin climbed laboriously to his feet, yanking MJ away with him. She thrashed but then whimpered, flopping weakly as her legs buckled.

Parker mumbled something and stood up, but then he lurched and had to brace himself against the wall. The cell reeked of metal and a hint of sugar; maybe it was fitting that blood smelled so much like coins being exchanged.

“Tony —!” Tony ignored Rhodey as he hurried across the cell and put an arm around Parker’s shoulder, helping him to stand up straight. The boy’s hand was opening and closing rapidly, and Tony realised that he was trying to Manipulate.

But they were in a metal box below the earth. No wind. No water. No light.

“Captain?” Tony clasped Parker’s wounded shoulder, but the boy shrugged him off and charged toward the cell door. Quentin was pulling MJ through the ranks of soldiers and into the hall. Parker’s dagger leapt to his hand, but just as he reached the two men at the door Rhodey shouted,

“Now!”

Their arms whipped up, pistols in hand. Parker moved as if to push the guns away from his body, but the soldiers didn’t shoot at him. Instead each gun steadied next to his ears before going off.

Rhodey yanked Tony out of the way of the bullets. Parker crumpled with a shout, he dropped his dagger to the floor as his hands flew up to hold his ears. When he hit the ground he heaved up bile, groaning as he struggled to reorient himself.

Of course these soldiers would know not to engage Parker directly. These men were trained to torture and suppress Star Readers. They knew to attack their senses — already so heightened to begin with. Knew how to overwhelm them.

“Captain!”

“Tony, stop!” Rhodey yanked on his arm when Tony tried to take a step forward, “Just come back with me. Turn him in, bring him to justice. You can be pardoned from your crimes, you can go home.”

Two of the soldiers bent to pick Parker up and he lashed out viciously. He hit one in the head. The man’s nose flattened with a crack and he reeled, smacking the wall before collapsing. The other yanked on Parker’s injured arm, making him cry out and thrash, still trying to make sense of his surroundings.

“Tony, your village needs you!”

“What about my mother?”

“…Your mother’s fine! She’s worried about you. She…”

“Then she can take care of the village and the people. They don’t need me.” Tony kept his eyes on Parker and added, “You known he’s the only reason she’s alive today?”

Rhodey’s grip tightened on Tony’s arm, holding him back from plunging toward Parker and the three soldiers now trying to subdue him.

“When she was sick, all those years ago.” Tony swallowed, “My father contracted the King for a Star Reader to heal her.”

“… That was him?”

“He was a child.” Tony said, “And they hurt him to do it, but he saved her.”

Tony looked toward the hallway again, keenly aware of just how far Quentin and MJ might have gotten.

Parker snarled as the soldiers yanked him to his feet. His weight swayed and they moved him so fast that a stream of blood spurted from his shoulder, dashing against the stones.

“Kill him!” Rhodey ordered, prompting the soldiers to drag Parker out of the cell. The boy’s head turned slowly, as if he couldn’t quite hear right.

“Captain—”

“Tony, that’s enough!” Rhodey spun Tony around to face him, grabbing both shoulders and shaking him harshly, “I don’t know how he’s gotten into your head, but I’m doing this for your own good. I’m just trying to take care of the people I love!”

“So am I!”

“They’re criminals, Tony!”

Bang!

Tony whipped around, a shout of alarm dying in his throat when he saw Parker still in one piece. The boy was on his knees. He’d flinched away from the gun being held toward his forehead, but it hadn’t gone off.

Or at least the bullet hadn’t left the gun.

One soldier stepped away, looking uneasy. The man holding Parker secure leaned back, the one holding the gun frowned as it began to rattle and shake in his hand.

Tony realised what was happening right before the soldier tried to throw the gun down the hallway. It exploded in a burst of metal and light. The man who’d been holding it flinched and fell, cradling an injured hand to his chest.

Once a gun trigger was pulled, it created a burst of fire and heat and air. Parker must have Manipulated that to keep the bullet inside the gun, to make the pistol implode.

Except Parker looked too perplexed for it to have been him. He sent a frantic, questioning look toward Tony.

Behind Rhodey, someone coughed, “You’re welcome.”

Everyone turned to Miles Morales, who had one eye open and one hand lifted, fingers carefully untwisting as he lowered his arm. He had a piece of stone clenched in his other hand, a thin wound opened in his thigh.

Parker gasped, “Miles, you’re a Star Reader?”

Miles mumbled something and closed his eyes, evidently exhausted by the precision and power he’d invoked.

“Oh my god.” Parker whispered, “Oh my god, I owe MJ so much money.”

One of the soldiers dove and Parker twisted, kicking one leg out to knock the man to the ground. They grappled for an instant, Parker grabbed the man’s gun and it went off with a blast, the body going limp.

I can lie and I can kill… but I try not to.

Clearly all of Parker’s rules were now abandoned. But he’d predicted that, hadn’t he? Said he’d probably need to kill Quentin Beck next time they saw him.

God willing.

Parker scrambled to his feet, panting, pistol pressing into the chest of the last soldier still on his feet. Rhodey tightened his grip on Tony’s arm, but it didn’t feel malicious or threatening. It was almost like he was seeking support.

Parker locked eyes with Rhodey.

“Let my sailor go.”

Rhodey glanced at Tony and mumbled, “He’s joking.”

“Far from it.” Parker snapped, senses apparently still sharp. “I don’t leave my men behind. And I’m hardly in a joking mood, Captain.”

"He doesn’t want to go with you, Parker. You’re just messing with his mind. Using your weird little —”

“If I could Manipulate thoughts wouldn’t I be Manipulating yours?” Parker’s lips screwed up and he glanced down the hall; Tony didn’t even know why they were wasting so much time negotiating over him when they needed to go after MJ. Then he remembered Miles behind them and realised Parker was probably just trying to keep his friend safe in all of this.

Rhodey seemed to be doing his own calculation. He clasped a tender hand over Tony’s shoulder. “I’ll let you go, Parker,” he jerked his head toward the door, “Rescue your little girlfriend. These two stay with me.”

Parker opened his mouth to spit an insult but Rhodey quickly added, “I won’t hurt them. Tony’s my best friend, and I’ll get Morales a doctor and a defence.”

That was quite a bargain; a deep sense of cold prickled through Tony’s chest. Rhodey didn’t necessarily want or need to do that, he was just trying to get his friend back from the clutches of someone he deemed dangerous.

“I don’t care for the girl or Beck’s private auctions.” Rhodey’s voice was measured and calm, “I just want to protect my friend.”

Parker scoffed, “Quentin kept his cards close to his chest, did he?”

“What do you mean?”

The soldier next to Parker shifted — maybe to grab the gun — and the boy jerked. He pressed the barrel firmly into the man’s chest again. “Ah-ah, stay.”

The soldier froze. The one with the injured hand had risen to his feet but stood frozen, watching. Tony could hear Rhodey grinding his teeth.

Satisfied that his threat had been heard, one finger still tight on the trigger, Parker turned his attention to Rhodey again. “Have you even asked your friend if he wants to go with you? Didn’t he leave your precious army of his own accord?”

“He’s a nobleman, Parker!” Tony winced at this latest confirmation.

Maybe Tony would’ve been scared of this revelation a few weeks ago. Would have expected Parker and those allied with him to turn up their noses and unsheathe their weapons and pick him apart for ever daring to be born into luxury and bureaucracy and the very system that had tortured and oppressed them.

Parker rolled his eyes, “A noble who had the good sense to walk away. Not the first one in my crew, and he probably won’t be the last.”

Tony frowned, wondering at that.

Flash, maybe? With his capital accent and styled hair and flare for entitlement.

“Rhodey,” Tony pulled his arm away, surprised when Rhodey let go of him. He turned to face his friend, indicating the soldiers outside the cell, “You’re not going to throw your lives away for this.”

Rhodey’s eyes welled with hurt and confusion. He looked from Tony to where Parker was standing in the hallway, the frustration and betrayal mounting in his limbs and settling deep in his jaw.

“I’m trying to help you, Tones. And you’d better believe I’d throw my life away for that.”

“If it’s about me, then don’t make a deal with him.” Tony held a hand out to indicate Parker. “You want me safe? Want me to come home? Fine. I will.”

“Tony—”

“Captain.” Tony cut a quick glance toward Parker, just enough to silence him. Then he focused on Rhodey again, “Let me get them out of here. Let me rescue MJ and make sure they’re all on their way. Then I will come home, Rhodey. I’ll meet you here at the prison at dawn.”

It was inelegant and imperfect. If Tony insisted on letting them get away, then he had little to bargain with against his own crimes. And he could see how the offer rolled sour and unpleasant in Rhodey’s mind, the prospect of letting such high-profile criminals just walk away didn’t sit well. So it was just a question of how much did he love Tony? How much of his own service and obligation would he lay down if it meant saving his friend?

Rhodey looked at his soldiers again, then his eyes dropped to his own hand. He flexed his fingers, maybe thinking about what he’d done to Tony’s.

“You promise, Tones?”

“I’ll be back at dawn. Just let me help her.”

Rhodey gestured to the soldiers outside the cell, “Stand down.”

He stepped aside and Tony rushed forward to scoop Miles Morales into his arms. He was limp and barely moved when Tony picked him up, feeling lighter than another human should.

When he turned back around, Rhodey had his eyes fixed on Parker.

“Next time you won’t be so lucky.”

Parker scowled, “There won’t be a next time, Captain. He’s promised to come back, I promise you I never will.”

Parker jerked his chin at Tony, “Come on.”

Tony walked out of the cell. He stooped to retrieve Parker’s dagger from the floor and then stepped gingerly around the soldiers.

“Tones —”

He looked back.

“You… well, we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Tony nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat that resembled regret. “I’ll see you soon.”

He turned down the hallway, the sight of clear grey stones dizzying compared to that dim, blood-soaked cell and the bodies they were walking away from.

At the end of the hall, Parker was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He tore a strip from the hem of his shirt and raggedly tied it around his shoulder. When Tony reached him, Parker took the dagger from him and nodded toward Miles.

“Take him to Ganke. Then find Brad and Cindy if you can. But otherwise I’ll meet you at…”

Parker trailed off. He glanced down the hall and amended, “If I’m back with MJ in time, I’ll meet you at the ship. Otherwise, I guess this might be goodbye.”

“You’re going after her alone?” Tony eyed the tremble in Parker’s arm and the wildness in his gaze.

Parker didn’t say I don’t need you or it’s safer or you’d only get in the way. He just shrugged and muttered, “I’m faster on my own.”

Like it or not, that was simply true.

Tony nodded, and Parker took off. He disappeared up the stairs, feet barely seeming to ghost across stone.

Tony hoisted Miles more securely in his arms before following.

He went slowly, careful not to jostle Miles and uncertain if there were other guards around. But he didn’t pass anyone before reaching the entrance of the prison, where he found two unconscious soldiers and an empty street. Clearly Parker had already torn through here.

The fog fell over them as Tony started west. It landed heavy across his shoulders and dampened his ears. Miles stirred in his arms, moisture hanging off his eyelashes.

“Where did Peter go?”

His voice was ragged and broken compared to the thick, saturated air.

“He went to save MJ.”

Miles swallowed hard before answering.

“He’s good at that.”

Tony laughed, but the sound was more painful than it was joyous. The ground sloped downward as he approached the coast. Up ahead in the mist he heard,

“Tony?”

Ganke’s glasses shimmered in the silvery night. He scrambled out of a dinghy pulled up to the shore and barrelled toward them.

“Tony! Oh, Miles!”

Ganke swept Miles into his arms, who let out a sigh of relief and a murmured greeting.

Tony took Miles’ legs and helped lower him into the dinghy. Ganke hastily wrapped blankets around his shoulders and kept grinning into his eyes.

“Everyone’s okay?” Ganke asked, looking into the mist behind Tony, “Peter and MJ?”

“They’re — everyone’s okay.” Tony answered haltingly, thinking it better to get them off safely. He gestured to Miles, “See he gets well.”

Tucked in the floor of the ship, Miles coughed, “Hard to keep a Star Reader down for long.”

Ganke shushed him, but his eyes glimmered with humour when he looked at Tony. “Can we take you back to your ship, Tony? Or at least to the Gull?”

Tony shook his head, “I need to go find the others.”

“Tell Peter we owe him one.”

Ganke clasped Tony’s hand in both of his, gave a short bow, and then settled himself in the dinghy and started to row. They disappeared quickly into the mist, obscured by the glint of starlight on fog — or maybe by more Manipulation from Miles himself.

Tony stood on the bank after they disappeared. He unsheathed his knife and turned it over in his hands, thinking. Did it make sense to spend the hours before dawn helplessly running through the streets hoping he’d stumble across Quentin and MJ?

Quentin Beck wouldn’t risk another street fight with Parker. He hadn’t been able to hold his own in Moratsia. Not with the world’s natural elements at the beck and call of a Star Reader.

But in the prison Parker hadn’t had the advantage of wind or water to Manipulate. The safest place for Quentin to hold MJ was probably right there where he’d apprehended them.

Tony whipped around so fast that he slipped and collapsed on the bank. He wrapped his hand around his knife again and clambered back to his feet, taking off for the prison. He paused to whistle when he reached the city streets. It might not be the least bit helpful in contacting Parker or tipping him off, but he thought of Parker whistling for the owl in Bosenstrov and hoped it was better than nothing.

  The front of the prison was still unguarded. Tony paused at the door just long enough to relieve one of the unconscious soldiers of his sword, and then he raced back into stone hallways. Should he return to the basement immediately? Or was he wrong about all of this to begin with?

Tony stopped, swallowing the bile that reared in his throat. He couldn’t doubt himself now. He closed his eyes, trying to listen for something. For anything. He might not be a Star Reader, but his senses were still good for something.

He took a few more nervous steps down the hallway, anxiously swinging the sword he’d taken. Then, from deeper in the prison, he heard a shout. Tony took off again, turning left in the general direction of what he’d heard.

There were voices coming from a door in the middle of the hallway. Tony sprinted toward it, realising what room it was just before he turned inside.

The torture chamber looked different from when they’d first entered. Tony stopped in the doorway, gazing at a very long pillar of misshapen metal. It looked like unworked blacksmith steel, or something yet to be made into chains or objects of torment. His gaze moved quickly from the odd object to the others in the room.

MJ was sitting against the wall, flanked by two soldiers. Her eyes were unfocused as she held one hand against the wound in her stomach. She was covered in blood. Tony could only hope that Parker had managed to heal her enough that she wouldn’t bleed out.

Quentin Beck stood in the middle of the room, near the sewer entrance Tony and MJ had used to sneak in. Just as Tony stepped in, Brad Davis gave a shout from the middle of the room and threw himself at Quentin.

Quentin grunted and stepped backward, causing Brad to throw his weight forward too hard. Quentin turned, his own sword flashing out to stab cleanly between Brad’s ribs.

Tony ran across the room, right arm swinging his sword in an arc.

Quentin turned, lifted his sword to parry Tony’s reckless swing, and then shoved Tony to the floor.

“What are you doing here?” Tony hissed to Brad, who was leaning on his right side struggling to catch his breath.

“Just wanted to help, thought I’d swing by the prison.” Brad coughed, glaring daggers at Quentin. Tony glanced toward the other soldiers in the room, but they hadn’t moved from MJ’s side.

Tony sat up with a wince, but aside from banging his elbow hard and losing his grip on the sword, he decided he was just lucky he hadn’t also been stabbed in the side.

Quentin kicked Tony’s sword out of reach with a sneer, “The child and the cripple.” He glowered down at them, “Your captain didn’t come back for her? Or is he still running helplessly through the city streets? Mad and thoughtless like the animal he is?”

“I’d try to convince you I’m not an animal, Quentin. But the only reason I’m here is because someone whistled for me.”

Quentin spun toward the door, his sword came up just in time to knock away the knife Parker threw. Parker sprinted into the room, shot the pistol in his hand, and scooped his knife up from the floor. The bullet thudded into the far wall but evidently it grazed Quentin, judging by the way he flinched to the left and swore as he shook out his arm.

Parker tried to run past him, heading straight for MJ, but Quentin righted himself and swung his sword. Sparks flew when Parker knocked Quentin back by raising the barrel of his gun, his strength enough that it rattled Quentin’s bad leg and he fell to the floor.

Quentin squirmed, wrapped a hand around Parker’s ankle, and yanked him backward.

Parker started to lose his balance, but he never took his eyes off MJ as he flipped his knife and stabbed himself in the thigh, yanking free with a new surge of strength and speed. He’d almost reached MJ when one of the soldiers stepped forward.

Something happened that Tony didn’t quite make out. Something with a mirror and the light from a lantern across the room and the glint of a metal blade. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t bloody, wasn’t even particularly violent and it only took a moment. But the flash was bright enough that it sent Parker reeling, a hand flying to protect his eyes, a shout of pain from his lips.

It reminded Tony of when they’d shot next to Parker’s ears in the basement.

Tony rolled to a crouching position and dove forward, grabbing Quentin by the shoulders to pin him to the floor. Tony scrambled for the knife at his belt and lifted it, grimacing as Quentin squirmed and thrashed underneath him.

“Tony kill him!” Parker turned, slicing open a new wound in his leg as he stumbled to his feet and tried to clear his vision.

Tony lifted the knife, fingers clenched white around the hilt, heart bursting out of his chest. Quentin’s lips curled in hatred beneath him.

But Tony just froze.

“Dammit, I’ll do it!” Brad grabbed Tony’s shoulder to pull him back, his own dagger clenched in his fist.

This let Quentin yank an arm free, punching Tony in the face. His head whipped into Brad’s and they both groaned. Quentin grabbed Tony’s jacket and shoved them both aside, sending them skidding on the floor.

Brad yelped when his weight tipped into the sewer entrance, legs flailing in open space as he scrabbled to grab hold of something.

Brad fell. Tony winced at his shout of pain when he landed in the sewer. But he didn’t have a moment to worry or even look down there before Quentin yanked Tony up by his hair, holding a dagger to his throat.

His grin suggested he was about to get entirely too much pleasure out of Tony’s death.

“This is how you kill someone.”

Quentin looked toward MJ, like he wanted to be sure she and Parker were watching.

Instead, he saw something that made him jerk, nicking a thin line into Tony’s neck but thankfully not cutting out his throat.

Parker’s gloved hand grabbed Quentin’s, snapping his wrist down hard enough to turn his face purple with rage and agony. In sprinting over here, in desperately trying to stop Quentin from killing Tony, Parker’s momentum sent him spilling over Quentin’s arm, awkwardly tangling himself between the two of them.

Quentin promptly shoved Parker backward. He fell into Tony, who cried out when he felt open air beneath him and reached to grab something, but all he managed to hold on to was Parker — as weightless as he was.

They landed in the sewer with a thud, briefly blinded as fluid filled their lungs. Tony untangled himself from Parker and came up spluttering.

Above them, Quentin barked, “Now!”

Tony barely rolled out of the way before the metal pillar fell.

It clanged into place with a deafening shudder, making Tony and Parker leap apart. They tripped over the body that Tony and MJ had found earlier, and froze when Brad pulled them clear.

Tony fumbled in his pocket for the body of the second mervepois, holding it aloft and squeezing gently to ease out what little light was left in its heart.

The metal pillar had completely covered the sewer entrance. It stood like a vertical dam, fitted over what had been covered by a grate.

  Parker stepped forward and put a hand on the metal, pushing gently.

Then he pushed harder.

The metal creaked but didn’t budge.

Parker adjusted his footing and leaned against the pillar, groaning as he tried to push it aside.

At their feet, the water of the sewer sped up and tug at their ankles. Distantly, what little wind their was blowing from the exit kicked up. It blasted past them, pushing with the water and all of Parker’s might.

The speed and power of the Manipulated world subsided when Parker stepped back. But then he took a running start and his hands slammed into the pillar with an echoing shudder, another blast of air, another frantic tug of the water at their feet.

“Captain—”

“No.” Parker’s voice was grim, brooking no argument.

Parker hit the metal again, another clang that reverberated around them. But the blockade didn’t ease.

“No. No. No. That is not how this ends. She is not — no.”

Tony remembered that Parker could sense presence, was probably aware of Quentin taking MJ from the room, disappearing into the prison or the city.

“Captain—”

“I promised her.” Parker raked his nails against the pillar. Then he crouched down and threw his hands into the water, shoulders and arms straining like he could pry the metal block up. “I promised to protect her from them! I promised she’d —” He hit it again, kicked at it. This time he made a dent.

Light flashed as Parker’s dagger leapt into his hand and blood splashed into the water below them.

“Captain, don’t —”

“I promised I wouldn’t let them get to her ever again!”

Parker braced himself and pulled again, as hard as he could, groaning as blood oozed from his injured shoulder. His own force dug his knees into the floor. He folded under the weight of his grief and the reek of the sewer, his dagger twirled and more blood spilled.

“Captain, stop!”

“I promised I’d keep her safe! I have to keep her safe! I have to — dammit — fuck. I need to go around. I need to —”

Parker scrambled to his feet and spun, lurching down the sewer toward the exit.

“Captain —”

“I have to keep her safe!” Parker snapped, but his voice was ragged. His knees gave out again, but he didn’t jump back up this time. He fell with a splash and then stayed there, sides heaving. Water and wind surged and then subsided with each breath he took, drawing strength from his very pulse.

He braced himself on his hands and knees and lifted his dagger again.

“Captain, enough!” Tony dove forward, the hand holding the mervepois spilled out the last of the acid. It burned in Tony’s palm and made Parker flinch away as it struck the back of his hand. But he let go of his dagger and collapsed, gasping and weak as Tony wrapped his arms around him.

The light from the fish winked out, leaving them in darkness.

Parker pulled sluggishly against Tony’s grip, mumbling softly, delirious from pain or blood loss or desperation.

“I have to save her, I need to, dammit let go of me, Tony!”

A surge of strength let him pull free but then he collapsed again.

Next to them, Brad was catching his breath, one hand pressed desperately to his side to staunch the flow of blood. Tony tightened his grip around Parker, pulling him close, ignoring any thoughts of the cold, chained body nearby.

“We’ll get her back,” Tony whispered to the empty, reeking air. “We’ll get her back. She’ll be okay.”

Parker murmured something else, and his weight grew heavy in Tony’s arms as his eyes fluttered shut.

Tony hoped there was more water beneath them than blood.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Tony rowed them back across the bay.

Half of the crew had been told to stay on The Vigilante, so they were barely back for a minute before the mess deck was full of whispers and moving bodies. Lanterns were lit and passed around unil golden light flooded the room. Betty and Hector stretched Parker out on a table.

“Is Miles safe?”

“Where’s MJ?”

“What happened to the Captain?”

“Brad, are you alright?”

They cut away Parker’s clothes and Hector got to work stitching the lacerations he’d opened in his own leg. Betty hummed over the complex, overlapping wounds in his shoulder and asked Tony, “Did he get shot?”

“No bullets.” Tony shook his head, “He just…”

Did it to himself.

Behind them, huddled on a circular table, Flash told Brad, “This was pretty clean. We’re lucky it isn’t worse. Just need to stitch it up.”

Brad stared at the floor and mumbled an agreement, letting Flash get to work on his side.

“Tony?”

Tony looked at the others again. More sailors were coming down the hallway and someone said they were going into town to try and gather the others. Dylan dropped vials of medicine and a bowl of saltwater onto the table. Hector lifted a lantern higher to start stitching Parker’s thigh.

“Stark, what happened?”

Whoever had spoken was standing in the shadows, but the question was buoyed by murmurs of agreement and a dozen curious eyes.

Brad rasped, “Morales is safe. Quentin Beck ambushed us…” He gestured to the wound in his side, “He got away with MJ.”

A swell of noise lifted across the room.

“Let’s go get her!”

“Where did he take her?”

Betty’s voice was calm and she practically glared out at the group of sailors, “No one is going anywhere tonight. We’re regrouping, taking care of our captain, and taking care of ourselves until we are given orders otherwise. Someone get Tony and Brad something to eat.”

Some shuffling and disgruntled murmurs, but Tony was almost too relieved to take a seat and accept the biscuits and canteen someone offered him.

Flash asked, “Is there a reason you all smell like shit?”

Brad grumbled, “That’s sort of the least of our worries right now, asshole.”

Hector glanced at Brad out of the corner of his eye, “Where’s Cindy?”

“When we split up she was on her way back.” He said, “She should… she should be here soon.”

Everyone turned when Parker mumbled something and one of his arms moved, but he stilled just as quickly. Betty looked toward a cluster of sailors standing by the counter, “Do we have anything to help him stay asleep?”

Movement behind the counter. Options were spoken. Betty held a hand out and accepted a bottle that she spilled down Parker’s throat. His furrowed brow relaxed and his weight sank against the table.

Good. Tony thought. Let him rest as long as he was able.

Quiet voices and gentle movement. A few more sailors descended the stairs and were filled in on the situation. Someone asked about rowing out to Vale immediately to scout for MJ, but Betty snapped that it wasn’t worth it.

Maybe she was scared of losing another friend. Maybe she just knew how much of a threat Quentin Beck truly was. No one argued with her.

Someone asked, “Is the captain going to make it?”

Betty’s brow was pinched as she wrapped white bandages around his shoulder and carefully tied them off. Hector was still trying to close the numerous slices in his leg.

Betty said, “He lost a lot of blood.”

“Brad!” They turned as Cindy flew down the stairs. She wrapped her arms around Brad, fussed with the wound in his side, then turned a hopeful smile to Tony and looked at the captain.

“What happened?”

They filled her in as she kissed Hector hello. More sailors came down.

“What happened?”

They told them.

“Is the Captain okay?”

They told them.

“Are we going to get MJ?”

They told them.

More sailors came down.

“What happened?”

And on and on.

Every creak of the ship made Tony think of Quentin’s gun going off. Of MJ’s choked off scream. Of the blood she’d been covered in.

He took an anxious sip of water, watching Hector fiddle with the hem of the captain’s smallclothes as he wrapped his leg.

Betty said, “I suppose we should take him to his room to rest.”

But then no one moved. Few people went to the Captain’s Quarters to begin with, and never without Parker or MJ with them. Now that Tony thought about it, his venture a few weeks ago to untangle the ropes from the helm was probably the closest any of them had ever come.

“I’ve got him,” Tony stood and gathered Parker into his arms, careful not to jostle his wounds as Hector hung a lantern on his wrist. Betty draped Parker’s coat over the captain, and Tony carried him down the hallway.

Behind him, Betty clapped her hands, “Everyone clean up and go to bed. We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

The sailors broke into a clamour of activity. Really the only difference from any other night was that no laughter accompanied their work. And MJ’s dry, clear was voice was missing from the hum of noise.

The Captain’s Quarters were neat enough, but in their usual mild disarray. Tony laid Parker on the bed wedged in the corner, then fumbled to help the boy into a soft pair of pants. He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, balanced the lantern carefully on the desk, and then left, hoping whatever drug Betty had given would hold fast.

The barracks were marked by only brief, stilted conversations. They passed blankets and clothes to one another, shuffled through changing and washing their hands. No one spoke until about half of the sailors were settled and Tony was preparing to curl up in his corner on the floor.

“Tony.”

“Yes?” He looked over at Betty, who bit her bottom lip and fiddled with the waistband of her trousers.

“Umm… well, it’s just…” Her gaze darted fervently toward the wall and she made a vague gesture to the hammocks, “There’s a bed free. If you want it.”

A few others raised their heads or rolled over, taking in what Betty was implying.

You’ll get a bed when there’s a bed free, Stark. Give it some time.

Isn’t that what MJ had said? That someone would fall in love or try to cheat the Captain or…

Or get shot.

All eyes were on Tony now. Wondering or perhaps challenging whether he would take the offer. True as it might be, it felt wrong. Like he was giving up on MJ ever coming back.

“I think I’ll — I’ll stay… tonight…” Tony mumbled incoherently and gestured to the floor. Betty nodded and turned away.

“Speaking of beds free,” Everyone looked at Dylan. He was standing in the middle of the room, he crossed his arms and scuffed his feet on the floor.

“I mean… I’m not bein’ funny, right?” He fidgeted despite the certainty in his voice, his gaze dashed toward Allandrïa as if seeking support, “But are we all in agreement that it’s worth sticking around without MJ?”

The rebuke to this was swift. Voices clapped and swears and insults of protest cut across the room. Someone near the back — shrouded without a lantern — called, “he’s right though, what the hell are we putting up with!”

“Are you all fucking crazy!” Brad barked. He jumped from his hammock with a wince, “Do you even hear what you’re saying? Bunch of ungrateful —” His knees buckled. Betty and Dylan both leapt to catch him. Cindy’s voice cracked when she snapped at Dylan to let go of him. A few people stepped forward and then more voices were stirring, asking one another if they’d stay, murmuring for advice when they were too fearful to make their own decisions.

With no one’s attention on him, Tony dropped his blanket on the floor. He crossed back to the ladder, hauling himself up two rungs at a time. He wrapped his coat more tightly around himself as he went. The air in the upper deck wa clearer than the barracks, or at least there were no voices arguing about the crew’s fate.

No MJ to lead them. To assuage Parker. To remind them to get enough sleep. To laugh at the captain’s scowl. 

Tony could hardly blame them for wanting to leave. For doubting their place on The Vigilante without her. Parker was volatile at the best of times, but weren’t they jumping to conclusions a bit too quickly?

Tony slowed when he passed the Captain’s Quarters, hesitating at a particularly violent rock of the boat.

An unnatural rock of the boat.

He pressed the pads of his fingers to the door and pushed slowly. It creaked on its hinges. The lantern on Parker’s desk had burned low, but Tony watched the flame brighten and dim in time with shallow, angry breaths from the bed.

Parker had rolled onto his side, facing away from the door.

“Go to bed, Tony.”

Parker’s voice was stiff and curt, slightly muffled from the grief welding his throat shut.

Tony didn’t move. Parker sniffled. Dark blood glinted on the blanket, and Tony grimaced as he walked into the room.

Parker was scrunched up around himself, right hand digging into the wound in his shoulder, nails and fingers stained with blood as he tore at the bandage.

“Captain—”

“Fuck. Off.”

Parker wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Tears were suspended on his eyelashes, glimmering before the flame on the table and the ferocity of the stars out the window. Was Parker illuminating them on purpose? More light to see by? Or were his emotions so torn, so eviscerated, that even his powers were bleeding out into the world around them?

A wave underneath The Vigilante heaved enough that Tony stumbled, and he thought he had his answer.

“Stupid son of a bitch!” Parker swore as he spiralled to sit up, ripped off the bandage on his shoulder entirely, but then just folded over, weeping into his hands.

“Captain—”

“Go away, Tony! Go to bed! That’s an order! And you promised to obey my orders!”

I promised to protect her from them.

I promised I’d keep her safe.

Tony still didn’t walk away. He didn’t necessarily think Parker would bleed out, but even so he couldn’t bring himself to leave when the boy was hurting so much.

All those years of pain that MJ had kept at bay? Tony couldn’t abandon him to this battle now.

“I think we have some time,” Tony murmured. He sat slowly on the edge of the bed. He put a hand on Parker’s upper arm, squeezing gently beneath the wound.

“Beck said he’d give her to the highest bidder. Her father, or her fiancé.” Tony went on, “But you have considerable wealth yourself, Captain. What if we just outbid them?”

Not to mention, if they pulled the right strings, Tony could probably reacquire some of the wealth he’d lost when he ran away. Surely between the two of them —

“You don’t get it, Tony.” Parker sniffed and wiped his nose. It smeared blood across his mouth, Tony grabbed his arm before he could rub his eyes. He didn’t fight when Tony balled up the end of his own sleeve and reached to clean his face.

This was the coat from Moratsia, the one MJ had so proudly handed off to him. Now it was sticky with blood and sweat and salt.

“Explain it to me.”

Parker’s gaze cut away, boring into the floor. Tony felt something in his chest twist at the way the boy’s lip wobbled.

“What?”

“You said I don’t understand, that I don’t get it.” Tony prompted. He moved slowly to stretch Parker’s arm out again. The boy resisted just slightly, but then he let Tony retie the bandage on his shoulder.

“If I don’t understand, then all you need to do is explain it to me.” Tony said, “I realise that this is more complicated than I know, that it’s beyond me… but if I’m going to help, then I need to see the full picture. What else do I need to know about her and her family and your history with Quentin Beck?”

As much sense as Tony felt he made, he felt a little guilty. This was, at least in part, driven by a sick, selfish curiosity. He felt like he’d found a glass bottle broken open, the truth bleeding out through the cracks in Parker’s composure. And he wanted to drink it up eagerly, practically revelling in the opportunity of secrets rendered by Parker’s pain.

But if the boy couldn’t rely on MJ for the time being, then he had to rely on someone. Surely even he could see that.

Parker shuddered when Tony tied off the bandage on his shoulder and helped him sit against the wall. 

Parker’s skin was hot and he kept trembling. Anxious as Tony was about the state of his injuries, Parker didn’t need nerves and doubt right now. He needed to be able to trust Tony — with wounds from tonight and those created years ago — so Tony kept his expression calm as he pulled the blanket up again.

Too long passed, but Tony didn’t ask again. Parker fidgeted with the edge of the blanket and stared up at the ceiling. He closed and opened one hand into a fist. Below them, the water rocked the boat harder and then more gently.

The captain’s voice was rough when he finally spoke, guised by pain and frustration and the grief surrounding them.

“I told you about what they do to Star Readers in Vale, about…” Parker trailed off, because Tony nodded quickly, staring at the scars on the boy’s left arm.

“When I was little…” Parker swallowed hard, “When I was in the throes of all of it… when I couldn’t think straight and I was slipping away from myself, only one thing kept me sane. Kept me focused. This little girl would come visit my cell. She’d bring little comforts like food or medicine or stories… she kept me whole. Kept me human.”

“Her father’s a prison warden?” Tony prompted gently, “Or an army captain?”

Maybe even a noble. That certainly did put a wrench in things, but nothing they couldn’t —

“Her father is our king.”

Their eyes met slowly, the boy’s pupils were blown wide and he stared at Tony as if seeking some reassurance that he couldn’t immediately give. Tears swam down his cheeks and his voice was broken when he continued, “When we left… I promised her I’d —”

His throat closed into a small, strangled squeak and his eyes squeezed shut, face screwing up in pain. When Tony thought of Aratem’s lost princess, it was a child who came to mind. A little girl snatched from her bed by a roguish criminal. Killed or smuggled across the border. Gone for over a decade, a tragic splotch amidst the country’s already blood-soaked history.

Mary Jane Watson, Princess of Aratem and heir to King Philip’s throne.

My friends call me MJ.

Murmurs of sympathy. Heads shaken in pity. She’d been so young. And it was such a shame: with her missing Aratem couldn’t solidify an alliance through her marriage.

Her fiancé. The Prince of Newlen. The Osborn boy.

In Moratsia, hadn’t Parker and Quentin bartered with secrets about Newlen? Quentin had alluded to knowing the prince. And certainly he would, if he’d been a client.

Quentin Beck was frequently employed by the king. Willing to go up against a Star Reader to fulfil his contract — he’d gambled when he shot her, but the odds had been in his favour.

Or maybe it hadn’t been a gamble at all, to know that Parker loved her so much that he would incapacitate himself. Maybe that had been an absolute certainty.

Tony would’ve taken that bet too. A thousand times over. And Parker would have brought it to fruition a thousand times over.

He would have cut out his own heart if he’d needed to. Maybe now he wished he had.

The princess.

How were they supposed to go up against powers like that?

Parker’s voice shuddered, “Don’t you need to go back to your friend?”

Tony grimaced, remembering his promise to Rhodey that he would meet him at dawn. That he would come home, if he only gave Tony a chance to help Parker escape.

But he couldn’t leave Parker alone now, could he? Injured, without MJ, with members of the crew considering disbanding? No.

“I’m not going anywhere, Captain.”

“Why not?”

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, “He wanted me to come home. This is my home. I’m staying here.”

And Rhodey would understand, wouldn’t he? One day, when they got the chance to sit down and Tony could explain everything, he would understand.

Tony could only hope.

“She was so scared when we left,” Parker whispered, and Tony shifted his weight closer on the bed, putting a hand on his back. Parker’s eyes screwed shut and he started to bend over, arms circling his middle as if he could hold his own body together.

Tony rubbed his back gently as Parker’s grief spilled out into the room.

“For years she was so worried we’d be found, she never stopped looking over her shoulder. She — I promised her I’d—”

A high-pitched whine broke in the room and Parker seemed to burst. A hard, violent, anxious sob tore through him as he twisted and buried his face in Tony’s chest. He shook his head over and over and over.

“I can’t go up against them, Tony, I can’t. I can’t protect her like this. I can’t —” And then the pain was too much, strangling his voice. The waves beneath the ship rocked harder and Tony’s stomach tilted, but he bit down on his tongue.

He circled both arms cautiously around the boy’s back.

“Captain…” Tony trailed off, thinking of the skirmish in the prison and just wishing he’d done something — anything — differently.

“Peter…”

The boy looked up at him, red spots shining under his eyes.

“You can’t do it alone,” Tony agreed quietly. His hand shook as he wiped the tears from Peter’s eyes, “But you have me, and you have the crew. All of whom, frankly, I think want to cut their own piece out of Beck.”

Peter didn’t quite laugh, but he smiled and made a hoarse noise like a chuckle. Emboldened, Tony went on, “We are not going anywhere. We love MJ too, and we’re not going to rest until we get her back. You are not alone, Peter.”

Because that’s what he was so afraid of, wasn’t it? For the first time since childhood, he felt alone again. He was afraid of being thrust back into dark days of pain and confusion and torture. He just needed to see that there were still good things — safe things — without MJ. And they owed it to her to save her from her fate.

“We will find her.” Tony finished, “I swear it.”

Peter didn’t answer, he just kept crying, the wind and waves outside whipped into a frenzy. He choked on each ragged breath, but didn’t shrug off Tony’s touch. Instead, Peter leaned into him, holding on too tightly as his tears threatened to break open wounds old and new alike.

Outside, unleashed by heartache, the stars shone so bright that the sky seemed to burn.