Chapter One
Life has a funny way of working out, how random events can lead you down a path you never saw for yourself. Tony didn't realize when he walked out of his tower that night, sleep deprived, sock slipping in his shoe, that his life was about to change forever.
The air was cool and damp from the rain earlier in the day. The streets were still puddled with rain water, and the air smelled like ozone and pollution—it smelled like New York. He looked to see Happy, waiting by the car, holding the door open. He had no reason to pause and turn at that moment, but he did. It was like he could feel something behind him nudging him to look.
What he saw was something that made him lower his glasses, peeking over the rims. There sat a boy, soaked from the rain, half under the ledge, looking like he was trying to sleep, his head resting on a backpack. He couldn't have been more than twelve from the size of him. He looked sickly, pale, and underweight. He could see a small bruise and split lip on his face. The picture before him made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
Without thought, his feet brought him forward, maybe a bit too fast, as the kid jumped awake and stumbled to his feet. Though Toy was sure he hadn't made any unexpected noise.
He put up his hands, taking off his glasses and stashing them in his pocket.
"Easy, kid," he said. "I haven't seen you around here before. What's your name?"
The kid shifted his weight between his feet for a brief second before bolting down the street. The boy was fast. He'd give him that. He was gone and around the corner in a heartbeat.
"Dammit." Tony ran a hand through his hair, not sure why he felt so frustrated. It wasn't like the kid was anyone special. It wasn't like him to care, honestly.
"Sir?" Happy was beside him, looking confused.
Tony shook his head, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on despite the darkness.
"Nothing. I don't know. There was just some kid here." He played off the encounter despite the nagging feeling of concern for the boy.
"You want me to notify security. Make sure he doesn't come back?" Happy asked.
"No, it's fine. He's just a kid," he said, walking back to the car and sliding in. Happy shut the door behind him.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Tony couldn't help but wonder who the boy was. His heart went out to the kid. He doubted he'd see him again though. His thoughts wondered off to the list of projects waiting for him the next day and he tried to the put the nights events behind him.
It wasn't long before he forgot entirely about the encounter. It wasn't hard to forget amidst the chaos of his life. Between the meetings, the projects, and trying to keep the world from being attacked by the latest threat, he was a busy man. It wasn't until he had a moment to escape from the tower on his own that he ran into the boy again.
Wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses for disguise, Tony slipped from his building and onto the sidewalks of New York. There was a small hole in the wall coffee shop a short walk from the tower. He was fairly certain they knew who he was, but the staff never bothered him. The short walk let him clear his head. Sometimes he needed space, the walls of his workshop feeling tight and all too confining.
When he walked in the shop, he didn't immediately recognize the boy, but the sight of him did cause him to pause. He looked out of place—not a regular employee. It took a moment of studying him to place his face. Once it clicked, he was certain it was him—the bruised boy he'd met that night.
The kid was standing behind the counter, looking much too young to be out of school at that time of day. He was cleaned up a bit. His bruises were mostly gone, but it didn't help how pale and underfed he looked. Tony imagined a strong breeze might be enough to knock him over.
He wasn't sure why, but he was curious about the kid behind the counter. It wasn't completely unusual for Tony to want to solve puzzles—and this boy definitely was one—but it was odd how he seemed to care about him despite not knowing a damned thing about him.
Tony walked up to the counter and pulled his glasses off, slipping them into his pocket. The boy seemed to shrink back as they made eye contact. Tony smiled, knowing the kid recognized him. His eyes drifted to the nametag—Peter. Hmm … So that was his name. He made a mental note to try to run him when he got back to the tower.
"W-what can I get you?" the boy finally said, his gaze flitting between Tony and the door like he was silently trying to will Tony to leave.
Tony studied him for a moment. "Nothing special, large coffee, black."
Peter nodded. "I … It'll be right up."
Tony couldn't believe how insecure this kid was. He crossed his arms and watched as Peter poured the coffee. Something caught his eye though, when he stretched out his arm—more bruises. Immediately his thoughts went to abuse. Was someone hitting this kid? Seriously, both times he'd seen him now, he was bruised in different places. A bit of anger built in him at the thought of someone beating on him.
After a moment, Peter turned, passing the coffee to Tony, the bruises on his wrist on full display. He seemed to notice Tony eyeing them as he pulled his arm back quickly like he'd been burned and tugged his sleeve down.
"How much do I owe you?" Tony asked, still studying the kid.
"Three dollars."
Tony pulled a twenty from his pocket, passing it over. "Keep the change."
The kid looked like he could use it.
"I c-can't," Peter stammered out. "It's too much."
"Trust me kid, that's nothing. Keep it. Buy a burger or two after work. Looks like you could use a meal."
Peter nodded, putting the money in the drawer and separating the change. "Thanks."
"No problem, kid." Tony turned to walk away but stopped, spinning back around. "You were out in front of my tower the other night, right?"
The boy looked away.
"It's okay. I mean, if you don't have any place to go—like if it's raining and you need a place to crash, not saying you do, but if you did. It's okay to come inside. God, I'm coming across creepy, aren't I? Shit." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "It just looks like you could use a safe place. There's no safer place than my tower. I can let security know. I just … Think about it, okay?"
The kid looked up, his mouth moving like he wanted to say something, but after a moment, he just settled on a nod.
Tony smiled. "Sounds like a plan then. See you around, kid."
Tony didn't know if he'd take him up on the offer, but he hoped he would. Even more so, he wanted to know who was hurting him.
When he got back to the tower, he had Friday search through the employment records of the shop for anyone named Peter. There was no one. He assumed he must be working under the table. Figuring that the owners probably knew at least a little more than a first name, Tony dug up the shop owner's contact info and gave them a call. It didn't take much pressure to get them to fold and admit that Peter was in fact working off the books and only fourteen-years old. Another little push got them to spill his last name and the little they knew about him. Tony's suspicions were confirmed—Peter was homeless.
After he got off the phone with them, he was quick to have Friday run a search. What he found even made his iron clad emotions rise to the surface. Peter had lost member after member of his family. Everyone he had was dead. The last—his aunt—dying not more than a year ago. Protective Services had placed him in various foster homes, but he had run away from them all. The records were spotty at best, but Tony suspected abuse was part of the reason he ran. Foster care wasn't known for always being kind.
Tony sipped his coffee as he looked over the records projected in front of him. It didn't look like he was enrolled in school either—not that he'd expected it really. What did catch his eye were Peter's previous grades. The kid had near perfect grade point average. He was top of his class in a great school before his aunt passed away.
He sighed. Why did he care so much about one damn kid? It wasn't like him. It wasn't like he hated kids, but they weren't really his thing. He didn't have the patience to explain things or teach them. In all honesty, he knew he was shit role model and being around kids did them more harm than good. Probably a direct result of his own daddy issues.
This was Child Protectives issue. He knew that. He should just call up the authorities and let them know where to find him and be done with it. It really was that simple, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't shake the memory of those damned doe eyes looking at him back at him. It made him have feelings—which was frankly disturbing. He was beginning to feel responsible for the kid—a kid he needed to remind himself he'd spent less than ten minutes total in the presence of so far.
He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. What the hell—in for a penny, in for pound.
"Friday, you know who you're looking for. You see him lurking, let me know immediately and give him access to the lobby. I don't care the time. Wake me up. Got it, girl?"
"Sure thing, boss."
Days passed and there was no sign of Peter. Tony went to the coffee shop each day, hoping to see him, but nothing. He asked the shop manager, but she denied any knowledge of a Peter working there. Probably after his prying, they decided he wasn't worth the liability.
Stressed, head hurting, Tony walked into the common room of the tower. Bruce was there with Natasha, making lunch. They looked up when he walked in.
He was immediately greeted by Natasha. "Wow, no offense, Tony, but you look like shit," she said. "You getting enough sleep these days?"
Tony waved her off and plonked down on the couch, kicking his feet up. He threw his arm over his eyes, sighing. He was exhausted, but his brain just wouldn't shut up and let him sleep.
"You alright, Tony?" Bruce's voice came from the kitchen area.
"Fine," Tony mumbled. "Just need sleep."
"Alright, well, lunch will be ready in a few if you want to join us," Bruce offered.
Tony didn't answer. He was busy remembering the kid as he tried to cover his bruises from Tony's view. He should have asked questions. He was fucking Iron Man. He should have done more. It was clear the kid was in trouble.
Tony heard the elevator door open. He lifted his arm and looked over the edge of the couch. It was Clint, shuffling in, looking tired, still in pajamas.
"Morning," Clint yawned.
Tony flopped his arm back over his eyes.
"What's up with him?" Tony heard Clint ask.
"One of his moods," Natasha said.
Tony pushed himself up to sit forward, looking over at them. "I'm not in a mood. Why do you always think I'm in a mood?"
"Because you are?" Clint answered, laughing. "You're the moodiest bitch around here—other than Thor when he doesn't get the remote." Clint grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. "Hey, topic change, you guys see the news the other day? Our little friendly neighborhood Spider-Man stopped one hell of bank robbery." He grabbed the cereal. "Alien tech involved."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't start. He's lucky is all he is." He got up and walked over to the kitchen. "And speaking of, we need to track that tech."
"Hey, dudes got some skills is all I'm saying," Clint said. "You should have seen the hits he took and still kept fighting. I don't care what kinda mutations he's got. I bet he's feeling that fight."
"The guy is a vigilante. He's gonna get people hurt," Tony said, picking the croutons out of the salad Natasha was making and popping them in his mouth.
She swatted his hand away. "Tony, you really do look like you need sleep."
"I'm fine."
There was a chorus of scoffs. He scrubbed his hands over his face, rubbing his tired eyes. They burned from little sleep.
"What's eating you so much? Haven't seen you like this in a long time," Natasha asked.
Friday's voice interrupted. "Sir, Peter Parker has arrived at the tower. Where shall I direct him?"
"Tell him to wait there. I'll be right down."
"Who's Peter?" Bruce said.
Everyone seemed to be looking to him for an explanation. He wasn't about to explain though. He headed toward the elevator. He had other priorities. The elevator didn't seem to move fast enough. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck in frustration, tapping his foot. Patience wasn't something he was blessed with.
When he stepped out of the elevator, he looked around. His eyes quickly fell on Peter. He looked like shit. He was beat to crap. He had molted bruises on his face, his eye swollen shut. Tony's stomach did a flip. He took purposeful strides to the boy. Without saying a word, his hands reached out and took his chin gently, turning his head side to side as he took in the damage. Tony's blood was beginning to boil. He'd find who hurt him and he'd kill them.
"Christ," Tony breathed.
Peter seemed overwhelmed and stepped back, snapping Tony out of it. He realized the kid looked about ready to run again. He debated on telling Friday to lock the building, but he didn't.
"Sorry, kid," Tony said. "Didn't mean to scare you. I just … Jesus, kid." He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on the bruises. "You're gonna be alright. We'll figure this out. I won't let this happen to you again."
Peter's eyes went wide. "No, umm … that's not why I'm here. I just … I know you said I could come here and …" He looked around, everywhere but Tony. "I'm just tired and kinda hungry. I lost my job and haven't eaten … I'm sorry. I should go. This was a bad idea. I—"
"Peter, wait. It's fine. I offered, remember?" Tony said, reaching out to him. "How about some lunch? I know just where we can steal some."
Peter looked like he was about to run, and Tony sucked a breath, holding it. Tony had made up his mind. He wasn't letting the kid out of his sight again—not until he knew what was going on. He would grab him if he had to do it. Thankfully, after a moment, Peter body language seemed to change. Maybe it was exhaustion or hunger, but his shoulders dropped, and he nodded.
"Good," Tony said, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Come on. I've got some people for you to meet."