A/N: I own nothing MCU and profit nothing from it! Just Irondad...always Irondad.
This is the AU fic that nobody asked for, but you're all getting it anyway…
HEAVY ON THAT AU! Got it?
Summary: Exploring the relationship between Tony Stark and Peter Parker if they had been passengers aboard the Titanic over 106 years ago….
Because I am an absolute sucker for angst, hurt/comfort and the bleeding love of this father/son duo.
…...
Southampton, England
February 20th, 1912
Tony Stark is more than a little pleased that he had the good sense to tuck another pair of leather gloves in the pocket of his winter coat this morning.
The frigid air fills his lungs and his breath fogs the glass windows of his shiny new motor buggy.
"Jarvis, you know I can't attend to business until I've had my blueberry scone," Tony tells his valet as the noisy vehicle comes to an abrupt halt on Oxford Street.
Jarvis turns to examine his gentleman, a rather subdued expression on his face, despite the circumstances, "Sir, we don't even have five minutes to spare and now we're stopping for pastries?"
"Scones," Tony corrects, jumping out of the car and walking backwards towards the little bakery stand in the distance. "…and be back in four."
As Tony whirls around with legs walking briskly towards the desired destination, his favorite thing in the world comes barreling out from behind a table of sweets. Whether it was the fresh baked goods or the plucky waif carrying them remains carefully hidden under lock and key in the wealthy man's heart.
"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark," the young servant calls to him, running till he's toe to toe with Tony.
"Mr. Parker, Mr. Parker," Tony replies, matching the teen's higher octave.
And if the boy's arms seem almost restrained and itching to wrap themselves around his waist, well he certainly doesn't take note.
"Mr. Stark, sir! I made this one special. It's fresh from the oven!"
Peter quickly gives him the bag and the smell of fresh blueberries wafts up to Tony's nose.
"Ahh, Perfection," he says, opening up the bag and inhaling the aroma.
The boy rubs his bright, red hands together and blows into them, hopping on his toes a few times. His scarlet nose matches the shade of his fingers from its continuous leaking and the use of an abrasive handkerchief.
Still he smiles…
Still he giggles…
"You gonna tell me what happened to your eye?"
"Oh this," Peter points just above his cheekbone, "Dropped a whole pan of soda bread in the dirt yesterday…Mr. Toomes said I could pay for it with my face."
Tony bites his cheek. Anger swelling at the report.
This was not the first time the drunken baker had poured his wrath out on his servant boy. He had first met Peter a little over a year ago…the stripling's head buried in his knees and shoulders shaking with sobs as the heavy rain poured down upon the empty stand.
"I'm stuck here, sir," he had choked out. "Maybe forever."
"You're American," Tony had replied rather dumbly as he caught the boy's accent.
Peter was just as surprised. "W-Where's your home, sir?"
"New York…" Tony replies, "…though, I've been bouncing around quite a bit."
"I'm from Queens!"
So expressive from the very beginning…
"My parents and I… we came to England, looking for a new life. They both drowned on a sinking vessel while touring the channel…I'm only alive because they couldn't afford to buy my ticket."
Tony freezes at the information…It was almost twenty-seven years ago that his own parents were murdered in cold blood while riding home on horseback together.
"Well, what about back home in Queens? Surely, you've got someone-" he asked.
Peter shook his head. "My Aunt May…She's worried sick about me…but far too poor to travel and I-"
Tony doesn't even blink, reaching into his coat to pull out whatever cash he had on him.
"Say no more kid. Let me help-"
"It's not…It's not just the money I need, Mr. Stark, but I do appreciate it, sir…. really."
Tony slowly lowered his hand to his lap. "Then…what is it?"
"I won't get on a boat, sir…" Peter replied with a blush creeping to his cheeks, "…not after…"
"Oh…"
"As I said…I'm stuck."
Tony couldn't explain why he didn't encourage or school the kid on how to overcome such things at that point in time. Perhaps it was the resolute expression on Peter's face…telling him that it wasn't up for discussion. 'I'm not ready, Mr. Stark.'…. Something like that…
Whatever the reason, nothing more was said on the matter.
Tony had stayed long enough to bring a spark of renewed zeal into the kid's spirit before he was standing up to dust off his pants and shake off the excess rain from the umbrella.
"M-Mr. Stark, sir…" Peter began, pulling something from a bag at his hip. "It's stale, but it's all I have. Please take it."
It was his first Parker-made confection.
The scone was damp…a little tough, and yet it had left quite the impression.
"If you should decide to come back to Oxford Street, sir…I'd be delighted to hand you a fresh one."
And that was it.
The start of something not at all easy to explain.
An unlikely bond between king and vagabond…
He's been buying scones at Toome's Bakery ever since.
"Surely those hits were worth at least three more pans," Tony frowns, tilting the boy's head and running a careful thumb over the mark.
"Are you worried for me, Mr. Stark, "Peter says with a laugh, setting off a sudden coughing fit into his elbow.
Tony winces for the boy before grasping the steaming scone from the bag and taking a huge bite out of its crispy edge.
"Psh,Hardly," he says, "I just think he overcharged you…by a lot."
The boy laughs more, but Tony is far from amused, his glare finding Mr. Toomes, currently lying drunk behind the corner stand with a newspaper covering his face.
"And is that the only place where he…" Tony stops himself and clears his throat, pride restraining him from letting more concern bleed from his lips.
Instead he holds the scone between his teeth and grabs the boy's collar with both hands, roughly pulling it away from his neck so he can better inspect for more bruising around his collar bone and down his back.
Satisfied with nothing visible, he tosses him back a bit, taking the scone from his mouth and throwing it back in the paper bag.
"A suggestion, kiddie. Less attention on the ladies in passing; more attention on your work in the future."
If I see one more bruise like this…
"We can't have our best baker laid up. It's bad for business…bad for me, cause I can't go a day without your blueberry scones."
….I'm stealing you away, I swear it.
Peter snarls up at him and crosses his arms, "Aye aye, Cap'n," he salutes with about as much enthusiasm as the old dog currently lying under the drunken man's feet.
"Atta boy," Tony laughs, surveying Peter's surroundings once more before tipping his hat and bidding the teenager a good day.
"Oh, just one more thing," he says, tugging off the extra pair of gloves he's wearing and grabbing for one of the boy's icy hands.
"No-no-no-no sir, I can't-"
"Ah-Ah! No arguing with your elders. You put these on and keep them on or there shall be dire consequences." Tony takes off the thick scarf from around his neck and bundles it around Peter's. Another soft laugh escapes through the older man's nose as he nearly loses the boy in the folds of fabric.
Peter can only stare up at him, eyes noticeably redder than a moment ago.
Tony ruffles the boy's hair before putting his hands in his pockets and turning to cross the busy street.
"Mr. Stark," the boy calls out before the man can turn the corner.
A few horse drawn carriages pass between them as Peter tries to see around the obstruction.
When the road is clear again, Tony's still there, smiling with half the scone still in hand. "Mr. Parker?"
Peter gives the man one of his warmest smiles and Tony is nearly undone; the ghastly shiner stands in such contrast to the innocence.
"…Nothing, sir…I-I just…I'll be sure to add even more berries for you tomorrow morning, sir."
I'll be here, Pete. Please don't look at me like that. It's too painful…makes me want to take you far away from this dreadful place...but you don't belong to me."
"You better…" Tony says instead, "…though I'll be flabbergasted if you can top this," he calls out, taking another bite and slowly walking backwards.
"Until then, Mr. Stark!"
"Until then, half-pint!"
"That was ten minutes, sir," Jarvis says flatly upon Tony's return.
"Really? My watch says eight."
….
At sunrise the next morning, the extra berries haven't been touched…left to sit out in a tattered basket as the flies land and buzz about in the juices. The dough for the scones is slightly crusted over on the counter top in the kitchen and Peter lies sprawled out on his belly on the floor beside it with his tattered blanket, shivering violently as he wretches hard into a little wooden pail.
He can do nothing but take the whippings that come for him as the bakery opens for business.
Even in his state of fevered delirium, he knows the punishment will be severe.
Toomes would see him dead before the very first customer's arrival and the fear latches ahold of him just as a he feels a cane whack him hard between his shoulder blades.
….
Tony knows something's wrong when his little piece of sunshine doesn't greet him like usual as he rounds the corner.
No loud, obnoxious calls or repetitive 'Mr. Starks'.
No delicious smells wafting from the tiny kitchen….
No corner stand full of fresh rolls and muffins….
Not even alight visible from the inside…
He can't explain why his feet start running towards the baker's door, or why he knows…he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Peter's very life is in danger, but it's imbedded down into his bones.
Ripping open the door, the screams are already there to greet him and they lead him right to the source.
They aren't formed words…no string of begging or pleading for mercy, just screams…high pitched and hopeless, as if the boy already knows there's no stopping it.
All Tony has to see is his little urchin balled up beneath the owner, fingers covering his battered face, before rage takes over every other sense in his body.
The cane doesn't fall on the teenager again.
Tony dives in to block the instrument, throwing the man hard up against the wall and down onto the counter, flour and dough spilling everywhere as a tussle ensues.
"You like it? Does it feel good!" Tony shouts, shaking the man and punching him square in the nose, one…twice…three times a charm, "Bleeding isn't as fun when you're the one doing it, right?"
Toomes manages to get a punch in at Tony's lip before finally yielding and holding his arms up.
"What are you on about? This is my kid! My property to do what I want with!" he hollers.
"Lucky for you-" Tony says, turning to point at the moaning child on the floor, "-those eyes are watching you, Mr. Toomes."
Toomes turns to look at his handiwork, shrugging at the fact.
Tony grips the drunken man's collar and pulls him within an inch of his own, "He is the one and only reason you're still alive right now…and he's not yours."
With a final shove, Toomes is sent crashing back into a wooden chair, breaking it into pieces and hitting his head on the brick wall as he lands.
A groan erupts from the impact, but Tony could care less.
He falls to his knees to where Peter's lying in agony.
My kid-my kid-my kid…
Bruising…bruising everywhere. His whole body's covered with them, as if somebody's took a roller of black and blue paint up and down the boy's skin.
Skinny fingers reach and bury into his coat, tearing at his waistcoat until the buttons nearly rip off.
"T-take me-take me with you, M-Mr. Stark? I wanna go with you-I want you-I wanna go-take me-"
"Shhh. Shhh. You're alrigh-you're-" Tony chokes on his words, too taken aback by such horrific abuse as he holds emotions at bay.
He sees the pail full of puke…the thin blanket full of holes wrapped around Peter's thigh and feels the burn of the boy's skin as the back of his hand comes in contact with his forehead.
The whining sound that carries on from the kid is killing him. He doesn't have a plan other than 'get him out.'
Now.
Right this second.
But Peter's screaming when Tony lifts him and he's fairly certain something is broken.
"I know, kiddie. I know," he says, gathering the boy up as he stands and rushes out the door.
When he reaches the car, Jarvis is already there with the passenger door opened, assisting in grabbing his charge and gingerly setting him in the back seat.
"That is not a scone, sir," Jarvis says, handing his lordship a thick blanket from the floor of the buggy.
"No…" Tony agrees, unfolding it and laying it over the boy, …"but he's mine now."
"Sir?"
As the car drives out of sight, Toomes dabs his head with a grungy kerchief, stuffing it back in his pants before running a bloody thumb down the thick stack of cash in his grasp, a satisfied smirk written on his scruffy face.
…..
A/N: Guys, I don't know about this one. My first AU. I hope I can make it through. Please Review and let me know what you think. Thank you SO much for reading!