"Peter! It's time for bed!" May poked her head out the back door, catching sight of her nephew running around the garden, swooping a knight made of wood around and about.
Peter ran in circles making silly noises and despite the fact that he should have been inside ages ago, May couldn't help the fond smile. "Peter." She called again, this time her voice sterner.
Peter stopped, looking at her guiltily. May rolled her eyes, gesturing for him to come closer. "Don't look at me like you don't know what you did."
"I was having fun!" Peter grinned up at her goofily, his missing front tooth making him look even more endearing.
May sighed dramatically, "Oh well, I guess we'll have to miss story time to make up for the all the lost time."
Peter gasped, "No!"
May shook her head languidly, "I just don't know what else to do Petey-pie."
Peter looked very serious, brows furrowed. "It's okay May. I'll be really fast. Super duper fast. I'll be squeaky clean and then we can do stories."
May hid her smile behind her hand. "Alright. I suppose that works. Go along then, I'll be waiting for you."
Peter scurried from the mudroom, sprinting up the stairs, almost colliding with the housemaid on his way to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later- a new record for Peter- he was cozy in bed, pajamas buttoned up all the way to the top, as May sat next to him running her fingers through his hair. "Which story do you want tonight little one?"
"My favourite!" Peter chirped.
Honestly, she didn't know why she even asked. He always wanted this story. Something about it made him feel brave. Inspired maybe. "Okay close your eyes, are you imagining?"
Peter wriggled into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm imagining!"
"Okay then. Here we go."
"When you were very little, just five years old, something terrible happened in all four kingdoms. King Odin and Queen Frigga were killed in their sleep. The entire Carter line was murdered in a raid of Salih's castle, including King Steve's former wife Margaret. Even Ombre's King Nicholas was killed and only his heir, Maria, was able to escape. Our dear King Howard and Queen Maria were not so lucky. You see Peter, instead of remaining at peace with the four kingdoms, the fifth kingdom, Hydra, sought more power. They wanted to rule the entire continent. With the chaos in all four kingdoms, the new heirs had to escape if they wished to live and every city fell into darkness and tyranny. It took many of their allies for the heirs to escape with their protectors. Sir Bruce smuggled Thor out of Asgard, the Night Guards Natasha and Clint protected Princess Maria, The Commander of the Army Sir Rhodes helped our prince, and Steve managed everything all on his own as his brother, James was captured and imprisoned in their attempt."
Peter scrunched his eyes, his whole body vibrating in excitement, "But then what happened!" as if he didn't already know.
"Instead of cowering and hiding for their lives, the heirs fought back. They reignited an ancient alliance, older than their forefathers. They banded together and founded a group of loyal fighters who joined the rebellion. Your uncle Ben was one of them. They all fought bravely. But they were losing the war. Hydra's armies were too great, and they outnumbered them four to one. That's when the group known as the Avengers was born. The heirs and their protectors, not content with letting innocents die on their behalf and determined to regain their birthrights, decided to attack Hydra itself. And their secret weapon, was our very own prince."
"Anthony Stark!" Peter squealed, clapping his hands.
"Yes Peter, Anthony Stark. In light of the dangers, Prince Thor revealed a metal so powerful, Asgard had hidden it so it could never be used in the wrong hands. Anthony used what little Thor managed to smuggle out of his kingdom to make each Avenger a weapon that rivaled all others. A hammer for Thor, a shield for Steve, a bow for Clint, a dagger for Natasha, twin gauntlets for Bruce, and with the last of the metal, our prince created a suit of armor that could never be pierced."
"Together, they infiltrated Hydra's castle and captured the tyrants who murdered their families. They called upon their rebel army to hold the castle while they went to take back each of their family homes, triumphing in every battle. Once each heir was placed back on their rightful throne, Hydra's land was divided amongst the four kingdoms and a new peace, one forged by the now unbreakable alliance between the Avengers, entered into motion. Each Avenger still has their special weapon and they've vowed to always come to the other's aid if one was ever in danger. True peace was attained in the continent because each heir owes the other their lives and their kingdoms."
"King Anthony was only nineteen when his parents died, but his battles gave him wisdom and his innovative mind have created massive improvements for everyone in our kingdom. Ferro is better with him as our king and mighty protector."
"Unlike all the other Avengers, Anthony was not trained in the fighting arts or in the art of the spy. But his intellect made him a valuable asset and his armor was pivotal to the Avenger's success. And that is why is he is the Iron King."
"When I grow up, I want to be an inventor just like the king." Peter mumbled, sleep taking over.
"I'm sure the king would be proud to know he inspired someone as clever as you." May smiled, bending down to kiss his forehead.
"I love you Peter. Sweet dreams."
"Love you May."
Six years later, Peter was busy at work in his workshop, pouring smoldering metal into a mold shaped like a gear. Carefully, Peter tipped the cannister over using the tongs, stopping as the mold filled to the brim. Setting the tongs down, Peter stepped back, wiping at the sweat pooling at his forehead and staring at his handiwork with satisfaction. Once this gear was done, he'd finally be able to build the music box. Ben's birthday was coming soon and Peter wanted to inscribe his favourite melody forever in his gift so he could enjoy it whenever he wanted.
He was going to love it.
Humming to himself, he reached for a bucket of water to dump over the metal to help it cool when the door flung open. The cook, Chelsea, panted, tears in her eyes. "Please come quick my Lord, something's happened! Something terrible!"
Fear plummeted in Peter's stomach, something awful scratching at his throat. Running behind her, Peter froze when he saw May sitting in the parlor, face sheet white, tears streaming down her face. "M-May? What's wrong?" Peter stumbled towards her, reaching for her before May rushed to her feet, pulling him into a hug that worsened his terror.
"I'm so sorry Peter." May gasped, her tears trickling down his neck, "Ben has- Ben-"
The blood thud in Peter's head. No. No please. No.
This couldn't be happening.
"Ben's been murdered." May finally managed to gasp, the acknowledgement making her break down into sobs, her entire body shaking against his.
Peter doesn't really remember what happened next. He remembered holding his aunt. He remembered the tears rolling over his cheeks. He remembered the way all the sound around him faded. He remembered sleeping for a very long time. He remembered the funeral, the black and the mahogany wood, the celebration of a soldier's life lost for the protection of justice.
He doesn't remember much.
He just knew that there was a hole in his heart too big to be ever be filled.
Two months later, he was at a wedding. It was a small affair. Lord Thaddeus Ross acted like he was important, but Peter knew he was lower Lord. No matter how hard he tried to hide it. A year ago, his own wife had died. Peter didn't know from what. But like May, he also had a child to take care of. His name was Eugene, though apparently he liked being called Flash. Peter had no idea why. Flash was a year older than he was, but he acted like he was superior despite being no one special. But Peter didn't have the energy to cause trouble, he just wanted to lie low and support May. He knew she only agreed because her family pressured her into a marriage. Didn't think it was respectable for a woman to live on her own even though they could.
Peter checked.
They moved into Ross' house the next day. Servants carried their things inside, hauling items one at a time or in baskets. It was a hot day and Peter didn't want anyone to be out longer than they needed to, so he started moving things out of the carriage on his own. No one noticed him at first, but one of the men became indignant that he go inside and rest, that this wasn't his place, but Peter smiled, though it felt tired on his face, "They're my things aren't they?" and refused to be told to leave.
He was carrying a side table stacked with little knick knacks that blocked his vision when he turned a corner and bumped into someone who cursed loudly. The books and boxes tumbled to the ground and Peter set the table down to pick them up but quickly apologized first, "I'm sorry Flash I didn't see you, are you alright?"
Flash sneered at him, "You should watch where you're going scum." He smirked, "Though I am glad you're finally acknowledging where you belong. You think I don't know your real parents were filthy peasants? You can hide behind your nice clothes all you want, but I know what you really are."
Peter clenched his fist. He couldn't let that slide. He just couldn't.
But then he thought of May and unclenched his fist though it took every ounce of willpower he had. "I've never done a single thing to you. I don't understand why you hate me so much."
But Flash had already turned away, "I don't associate with the riffraff."
Peter bit his tongue and kept his head down. Flash was just a bully. A small boy with a big ego and an even bigger sense of entitlement. He wasn't worth it. Peter picked up the books and table and made his way to his bedroom, trying not to let the negativity seething inside him overtake him.
When he walked back to the entrance, he noticed the only things left were his workshop items. A small part of him wanted to hoard them in his room. Make a new workshop. Work through all the grief welling inside him. All the bitterness at his new situation. All the sadness.
It's what the king would do. He always said the only way out of your problems was to build a solution.
But Peter wasn't a king.
He was just a boy.
Looking at all his tools reminded him of the future he never got to have, Ben's half-finished music box a symbol of everything he'd lost. With something heavy in his heart, Peter hid all of his things in a small shed in the back garden that must have been used once upon a time, but now was long since forgotten. He padlocked the door, pocketed the key, and walked away from his childhood dreams.
From then on, it didn't get any better. But it didn't get worse either.
For the most part, Ross acted like he didn't exist, which was fine with Peter. He didn't want Ross to exist either. The difference in how he was treated was always obvious though, when both he and Flash were in the room. Ross doted on his son, thought God imbued him with every good quality known to man and left none for the rest of humanity. "Eugene, how are your studies doing?" Ross asked, carving into his steak at the dinner table.
Flash grinned, sticking his nose in the air. "I'm doing quite well father. Better than others anyway." He said snidely, giving an obvious glance at Peter's direction.
"That's wonderful Eugene. Keep up your good work and we can discuss that allowance increase you've been wanting." He gave Flash one of his rare smiles, though it looked more predatory than kind.
Ross set his fork down, "Peter. Are you not succeeding? Flash is doing well and you have the same tutors."
Peter resisted the need to roll his eyes. Across from him, May touched her husband's arm. "Be kind Thaddeus. I'm sure Peter is doing his best."
"His best is not acceptable. I'm paying good money for his lessons."
"I'm doing just as well as Flash, better even." Peter snarked, knowing it was a stupid move, but he was just so tired.
Tired of having to fight to act like he belong in this family even though he barely wanted to be. He knew Ross and Flash didn't like him. So why couldn't they just leave him be.
He missed when it was just him and May. Missed it just being him, May, and Ben more.
"Don't lie Peter." Flash pointed his fork at him, "The headmaster told both of us that you did worse on your history test than usual."
Peter cracked a grin, "I got two questions wrong. Usually I get none. How about you Flash? Isn't history your weak spot?"
Flash sputtered, looking at his father imploringly. "That's enough Peter. I won't have you two antagonize each other when we're trying to enjoy a meal together."
Peter bit his tongue from yelling that Flash started it. That he always started it. But looked at May and thought better of it. Whenever he acted out, Ross always yelled at May about it so she could set him straight. He didn't want to burden her. Not now. Not when she had been paler as of late, coughing every so often with enough force to hunch her over. Not when she started to bleed in her throat, red staining her hands. She was fatigued now. Couldn't be up for longer than an hour at a time. And no matter how many medics came in and out of the house, no one seemed to have a cure.
After dinner, Peter walked her to her bedroom, helping her get settled and pulling out her favourite book of poetry. May laughed before breaking into a coughing fit. Peter rushed to give her a glass of water but she shook her head. "Don't mind me Peter, I'm alright. I was just laughing because it's funny how quickly the tables turn."
She gestured to the book in his lap. "I used to read you stories and now you read me stories."
"Well to be fair, this is poetry. Weirder than stories." Peter quirked a grin as May snorted.
"You didn't like weird stories. You loved the real ones. Especially ones about the Iron King." May gave him that look that Peter knew could stare right into his soul and he looked away before she could see what he was hiding. "It's been almost a year Peter, won't you start your projects again?"
Peter flinched, curling in on himself. "I'm just not…interested…in that kind of stuff anymore." He muttered.
"Nonsense." May said derisively, pushing herself up higher on her bed, "You love to invent. I've seen the light in your eyes. Being a man of the forge shouldn't bring you grief, it should bring you joy. It should remind you of the first thing you built that Ben helped you with. Your little Iron King figurine, I know you still have it. It should remind you of the pride he and I have of you. And your wonderful ability to help people."
Peter's lip shook, his fingers tightening around the poetry book. "I don't know what to say."
May smiled, gentle like only a mother could be, "You don't have to say anything Peter. I know you." She opened her arms and Peter tumbled into them, squeezing his eyes shut.
If he had known that would be the last hug he would receive from someone who truly loved him, he would have held on longer.
May Parker died the next morning.
This time, the grief consumed Peter whole.
He drifted through life like he was in a haze. Nothing made much sense. Nothing was tangible. Nothing could be real. This couldn't be real. His step-father stomped into his life. For his own good, he had said.
The grief was unseemly for a man of fifteen. He should be stronger. Less emotional. Tougher. More worthy of the family name, though Peter had never wanted it. Ross gave him tasks to do. Supposedly, the grueling work would get his mind off May, jump-start his healing process. Mostly, Peter just thought his step-father was sick of seeing him lying comatose in his room, wasting away into nothing.
It disgusted him.
So he put Peter to work instead. At least he was being useful. It started with doing the gardening work. Peter stained the knees of his pants and cut the palms of his hands pulling weeds from the giant estate. Every square inch had to be preened and no one else was allowed to intervene. The sun beat into his neck and his back ached from being hunched over for the better part of the day. But Peter didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore.
Managing the garden became part of his chores from then on. And then came mopping all the floors on each of the three levels of the sprawling house. Afterwards, the dusting, the laundry washing, then the hanging, and suddenly he was emptying chamber pots. One day Peter blinked and realized his entire life had changed. It was then that he realized the servants weren't around anymore. There was just Charles, Ross' personal manservant. And Antoinette, the cook. It occurred to him, that he had been doing the entire house's workload for a month and he never even realized it.
Somehow, in a begrudging part of his mind, he wondered if he had clarity because Ross' method worked.
He hated himself for thinking that.
At dinner, he poked around at his food, trying to muster up the courage to say what he wanted to, "Sir, I- I feel a lot better now since…since everything happened. Is it okay if I go back to studying now instead of working around the house?" he held his breath.
Ross' face darkened like a storm. "Do you think I can afford to pay for both you and Eugene's studies you ungrateful boy. I'm providing you with a roof over your head and food to eat and all I ask in return is that you do a few household chores. How dare you ask more of me?" his tone was scathing and Peter could see Flash's unadultered joy.
"Can't I do both? I can manage the work and the school, please sir-"
"I said no." he answered coldly, "Earn your keep and perhaps we'll reassess the situation."
Peter crawled into his bed and wished with everything he had inside him that he were anywhere but there. He pulled out his figurine from his bedside cupboard, tracing over the wonky smoldering and uneven textures. It wasn't a terrible first attempt, but Peter knew if he had the metal, he could remake it perfectly. May's words echoed in his head but too hurt to think about her, he tucked the figure back into his drawer and tried to go to sleep.
Peter was scrubbing the floors next to the entrance the following morning when Flash threw open the door, grinning down at him like the devil. "Hullo scum, fancy seeing you here." Before proceeding to drag his overly muddy shoes across the hall, cackling as he went.
Peter grit his teeth, forcing himself not to pick a fight lest he make his step-father angry again. He wanted to take classes again. More than anything. And if not dumping a bucket of dirty suds on Flash's head would get him that then he would restrain himself.
For his own good.
But no matter how hard he tried to be good. He was never good enough. The punishments come in slowly and then all at once. He missed a spot in the dusting, so he had his books taken away. He didn't cook breakfast fast enough so he was forced into the servant quarter rooms. He dared to ask for some leniency, and he was relegated to eating dinner on the kitchen stool. When it became clear he couldn't do anything right, Ross took away the only thing Peter still loved: his Iron King figurine. After that, Peter knew it was pointless to fight back. That there was no point in trying. He had nowhere to go and no one to be with.
Ross was right. At least here he had a roof over his head and food to eat.
It didn't matter that he was only surviving. He had nothing to live for anyway.
The days flashed forward, every moment a repetitive monotony that trapped Peter in his misery. Every day was the same until it wasn't. It would be February 23 in four days. A day marked in history as the day peace was restored to the four kingdoms. And this year's Day of Peace was particularly special because it was the tenth-year anniversary. Every year, one of the rulers would host an elaborate ball to honor those who died fighting for justice and the victors who won the battles. This year though, King Anthony had something special in mind. On top of the usual ball filled with dancing and entertainment and riches beyond compare, the first Innovation Fair was being hosted in the castle grounds, inviting everyone, even the commoners, to come and enjoy the progress the kingdom had made in every field: art, literature, poetry, science, health, and metal works.
Peter only knew of it because the official poster was lying on the dining table he was supposed to clean up. He stared at the sketches of all the amazing inventions and felt an excitement he hadn't felt in a long time start to bubble inside him. He needed to go. He must go. Careful to hide his need, he tried to go through the day's chores without tipping his step-father off that something was amiss. When the sun set, Peter hurried to make his step-father his favourite tea, swirled with two sugars and a mint leaf, setting it quietly on the side table next to his arm chair. Ross made no notice of him and Peter fiddled with the hem of his shirt, stopping himself before he frayed the abused fabric more. "Sir." He started, quiet at first, then picking up the further he got along, "I-I have something to ask you."
Ross let out a breath, setting down his book and fixing him with a tight stare. "What is it."
"The Innovation Fair is in four days and I would very much like to go. Just to see all the exhibits- I don't want to buy anything or- or do anything. I won't even talk to anyone and no one will know where I come from and I'll work extra hard that day to make sure everything is in order before I go, but please can I attend." Peter bit his lip as Ross kept staring at him, nervousness pooling sweat beneath his arms.
"I'll think about it."
Peter could barely breathe.
"You-you will?"
"Don't ask me twice or I might change my mind." Ross snapped, "I'll give you a list tomorrow. If you can complete everything, you may go. But the ball is out of question. Eugene and I don't need you to embarrass us in front of the king."
Peter shook his head, "No, of course, I'm perfectly happy with just the fair. Thank you sir. I really appreciate it. You won't regret it!" Peter rushed out before Ross could take back his offer, slamming the door of his room shut, a wild grin on his face.
He was going to the fair. He was going to the fair! Maybe he'd even see the king! Or the armor! Peter fell asleep to dreams of making inventions that would dazzle even his hero himself but when he woke up, all his hope faded away with every line on his step-father's list. His lip wobbled as he struggled not to let his feelings get the best of him. There were at least four pages of things to do. His step-father noticed his expression, smiling coldly, "Is there something wrong Peter?"
Peter swallowed, bowing his head. "N-no. I'm going to get started now. If you don't mind."
Ross gestured graciously, "No, no, please. I wouldn't want to get in your way. You have such precious little time after all."
Peter dashed to the basement, the first item on the list. He had to declutter a storage room no one had opened in years only to find Flash grinning, swinging a key on his finger. "Oh hey scum, I was just leaving."
Peter frowned, stepping closer only to see a giant padlock on the storage door. He stopped, staring at Flash in distress, "Why would you do that?" he cried, rushing to tug at it as though Flash wouldn't have double checked to make sure it was locked.
"No one's gone in there in years." He shrugged, faking innocence, "I thought it was best to just close it off." He burst out laughing at Peter's pale face before walking back out.
Refusing to give into his feelings, Peter took in a breath. The only way out of your problems was to build a solution. Every problem had a solution. Every single one. Peter looked at his list. Scanned through the tasks again. Deep breath. Just think.
He was going to be fine.
He was going to build a solution.
Peter spent the daylight hours doing simple chores. He did the dishes, he cooked the meals, he made all the beds and cleaned the house spotless. At night, once he was sure his step-father and Flash were asleep, he snuck off to the shed. He hadn't been there since they day they moved in and he for some reason, maybe an obvious reason, anxiety pooled in the pit of his stomach. Peter unlocked the door and everything inside made his heart pang. His fingers traced over his tongs and cylinders and caster molds. This was his childhood. This was his dream.
Why did he ever give that up?
But Peter shook his head. He had no time for regrets now.
Despite all the memories he had tried hard to push away- memories of Ben and May and better days- Peter had to work. He was going to succeed. He would. He should have known all along he never could unless he used every strength he had.
Pouring a generous amount of oil in all three lamps, Peter set to work. He stayed in in his workshop until the light just began to peek over the horizon. Dreary with sleep, Peter snuck back into his bedroom and waited for the familiar clanging of life before he woke up from his three hour nap to start his day.
He drank two cups of the strongest tea they owned before putting his project in motion. Without being able to bring the lock to be melted and unable to take his tools to the basement, Peter forged a pair of pliers he was sure were strong enough to break through two-inch steel. His theory was put to the test as he pushed down with all his might waiting for the success of a snap as the lock fell unceremoniously to the floor. With that hurdle over with, Peter organized as best he could. He placed the last item a tall vase, about the size of his arm, and made of a thick glass on the very top of a pile of crates and hoped no one would disturb it up on its perch. With the storage room done, Peter moved on to his other tasks.
Peter couldn't help the excitement that trilled down his spine. He was going to make the deadline. No matter how badly his step-father wanted to keep him at home, he was going to the fair.
Instead of spending two hours rushing back and forth from the water pump to the garden, Peter snuck out a pipe bent into a J on one end and a smaller piece with multiple holes in it from the shed. Attaching the J portion into the water spout, Peter ran to the other end, sticking the smaller piece into the pipe at just the right angle so it hung over the plants. Running back to the water source, Peter pumped the water out, watching as his invention worked just as perfectly as he envisioned it, the water trickling from the holes to gently water the plants below.
The next two nights, Peter snuck out to the shed to invent ways to make his chores more efficient, each invention bringing him closer to his goal. On the 23rd, the day of the fair, Peter burned through a third of the day finishing his regular maintenance chores before having to complete the final one.
He had been working on this particular formula since he was younger, but never really had the chance to put it to the test. Last night, he had run a few experiments trying to perfect the formula and when he finally got it, he was so over-joyed he nearly knocked over the lamp and set a fire. Instead of wasting time polishing the silver by hand with a rag, Peter pour a gallon of his solution into a washing tub, throwing in all the darkened silver, watching as they began clearing up instantly.
Peter stepped back, pride running through him. He had done it. He had actually done it! And he still had hours before the ball to enjoy the fair before it closed. He turned to go call for his step-father before he felt a sharp tug at his ear as he was pulled backwards. Letting out a yelp, Peter tried to twist to see who it was, but his ear burned as his step-father pulled harder. "Did you think you could fool me boy?" he hissed, shoving Peter against the wall, his head knocking against it.
"I-what are you-"
"Be quiet!" Ross yelled, "I told you to complete these chores to teach you discipline, instead you cheat and barely do anything at all. Do you take me for a blind fool?!"
Peter shook his head, swallowing hard, "No sir, I was just trying to be fast- for you! I didn't want to-" Ross' slap came from nowhere.
Peter's cheek stung and tears welled in his eyes. "I don't want to hear a single word from you. You dare to disrespect me in my own home. You'll see what I'm going to do with you when I get back. I'm taking Eugene to the fair you wanted to see so much and then we'll be out all night at the ball. I hope you enjoy starving." With that, he grabbed Peter by the arm, dragging him to his bedroom.
"Please sir- I'm sorry! I never meant to disrespect you, I'm sorry!" but Peter's pleading fell on deaf ears.
Ross flung him onto the floor, slamming the door shut. Peter could hear the deadbolt sliding into place but instead of getting up to beg, Peter curled up on the floor, trying to be quiet while he cried. He had tried his best and he still failed. What was the point. What was the point of anything. No matter how hard he tried he still ended up exactly where he started. His tears pooled underneath his cheek and Peter moved to wipe them away before they began to spark orange, crackling like a flame. Startled, Peter jumped, crawling backwards, staring as the sparks grew into a swirling circle and a man stepped out. Peter's jaw dropped, his head hitting the wall again as he tried to move out of the way. "What- what the hell is happening?" was he dreaming? Did he hit his head that hard?
The man rolled his eyes, his cape waving as though there was a breeze in the room, though Peter knew they were locked in tight, "Can you relax please. If I wanted to kill you, I already would have."
Peter stared, still unable to comprehend how there was a man, floating , in his bedroom after coming from a fire portal made from his tears. "Who are you?" he tried to stand but found his limbs too wobbly to do more than a poor attempt.
"I'm your fairy-" he scowled, looking pained, "you know what, no. I'm not going to say that. It's ridiculous and not even accurate. I don't know who invented those fairy tales you humans love so much, but they're beyond terrible. My name is Stephen and I'm here to help you."
There was so much in that statement that Peter had no clue where to begin, but the end seemed a good enough start. "You can't help me. Nobody can help me." He said, bitter and sad.
"That's where you're wrong." Stephen swirled his hands in the air and suddenly Peter was in a meadow, sun streaming over his face, a breeze rustling through his hair.
Peter's jaw dropped as he whirled around, staring in awe, "Holy- this is- this is amazing! How did you do that!"
Stephen shrugged, "I'm a Mystic. This is what we do." He wiggled his fingers, "We channel the energy of the universe. And sometimes we help humans."
Peter tilted his head, "So you're here to help me? But I don't even know you."
"Do you know how your parents died Peter?" and Peter stopped, something sad that had lain dormant in his heart peeking out.
"They died in a robbery. When they were traveling back home." He said, voice small.
Stephen nodded, "That's not entirely true. There are humans who know of us. Who know more than they should. They want to use us for our power. One day, someone like me was in the human realm when they were ambushed by one of those men. Your parents were in their carriage on their way home when they heard the screaming, and instead of running away, they went looking for the source." Stephen gave him a small smile, "Your parents saved that Mystic's life, but no matter how much she tried, the Mystic couldn't save theirs. Instead, she made a vow to look out for their son in his time of most need. Your parents' last wish before they died was that you would always be protected. And I've come to fulfill that debt."
Peter felt the tears well up in his eyes once more. His parents had died heroes. They hadn't died a needless death. He sniffed, wiping at his eyes. His parents loved him. They loved him, from the bottom of their hearts.
"If you were supposed to protect me, then why didn't you come sooner?" he accused, "You could've taken me away whenever you wanted."
Stephen shook his head. "It doesn't work like that Peter. I have one opportunity at intervention. That's it. I had to choose your direst hour."
Peter looked at him like he was crazy, "This is my direst hour?"
"There are cross-roads in ever person's life. A critical choice that puts them down the wrong path or the right one. This is one of those moments. And I'm here to make sure you get on the right one. You're going to have a good life Peter, you only need three things: patience, a quick wit, and a gentle heart. Are you ready?"
And Peter was still overwhelmed, emotional and disappointed and afraid. But there was hope inside him. A tiny spark that he thought had burnt completely out. Patience, a quick wit, and a gentle heart. That wasn't impossible. Not impossible at all.
Peter nodded and with a flick of his wrist, they're back in his bedroom, though now he was wearing silks of the finest kind and an outfit fit for a royal. He gawked at himself, spinning around as though he could see its entirety. "That's incredible! But I can't take this! It's too much!"
"Nonsense. It's just enough. Now come on, we have a carriage to make."
The two appeared outside the house, Peter blinked, looking dazed at the quick change of scenery. Stephen stroked his beard, peering into the vegetable patch before pointing at a pumpkin. "That'll do." With another swirl of his hand, it transformed into the most illustrious carriage Peter had ever seen.
"Oh my God. This is crazy." He whispered, "This is so so crazy."
"It gets better." Stephen smirked, levitating three mice from their burrow and transforming them into horses, their manes glimmering with a beautiful chestnut hue.
When everything was done, Stephen stared at Peter expectantly, but Peter just pulled at his collar. "This is all amazing, but I still have no idea what you want me to do."
"You're going to the ball Peter. I know you wanted to go to the fair. But they're already packing up now and trust me, you'll want to be at this ball."
Peter blanched, backing up, hands raised. "No, no, no. I can't go there. My step-father and step-brother will recognize me and he'll punish me. Even more than he already will."
"It's a masquerade Peter." And as he said the words a mask that covered half his face appeared, "No one will recognize you. Trust me."
Stephen paused, "Oh, and one more thing. You'll need an invitation."
Something materialized in his pocket, Peter felt the rough indents of an envelope and marveled at Stephen's ability to make something from nothing. But still, he didn't understand why he was going through all this trouble. Couldn't he just take him to where he was supposed to be rather than take him down the scenic route?
"I don't understand, why do I have to go the ball, can't you just take me away." He said, something almost pleading in his voice.
"I'm sorry Peter." And he really did sound regretful, "But trust me, this is for the best. Mystics can't make your life for you, they can only lead you. I've done my part, the rest is up to you."
Another portal, just like the one from before burst behind him and Stephen started to wave goodbye, "Wait!" Peter yelled, rushing forward.
"Remember Peter, be home before midnight, the enchantment will wear off by then. And don't worry, just have patience, a quick wit, and a gentle heart. You'll be alright."
Just as Peter was close enough to grab his tunic, the portal swallowed Stephen up and Peter grasped the empty air. Staring at his hand, Peter looked all around him, as though Stephen would be hiding before his stare fell to the carriage. "I guess I'm going to the ball." He said to himself, cheering up a little when one of the horses nuzzled his face.
"Well come on then, I suppose you know where you're going."
The horses neighed as though responding to him and as soon as he closed the carriage door shut, they were on their way. Peter hoped he would find whatever he was supposed to find at the Peace Ball. More than anything, he hoped he was setting himself on the path that got him to a happy ending.
When Peter pulled up to the castle, he could hear the festivities all the way down at the gates. Nervous, Peter hesitated before striding up to the guard, holding out his invitation with all the confidence he could muster. "Good evening." He greeted.
The guard gave him a strange look, turning his invitation in his hand, inspecting it, before handing it back. "Enjoy the party sir."
Peter tried not to gasp in relief as he entered the ballroom, stopping to admire all the detail the king had put into it. Everyone knew Anthony Stark knew how to throw a party. But he had really outdone himself this year. There were flying acrobats soaring atop the crowd, live music on the stage, a feast the people in the room could eat thrice over, and dancers drawing in a crowd. In the centre of it all, seated at a long table placed horizontally to avoid a hierarchy, the Avengers clinked their cups and drank to a toast.
Peter could barely believe it. Logically, he knew they'd be there, the ball was for them after all. But to see them in person, to see living legends- Peter would be happy even if he returned back to his usual life. Just this moment was good enough. His gaze fell on King Anthony, his head tossed back in laughter at something Clint Barton had said. He looked every bit a hero as Peter thought he would.
Not that Peter saw many.
Thinking he was staring too much, Peter broke away, walking through the crowd, trying to get closer. Maybe he'd get to talk to the king…Peter shook his head. He shouldn't be silly. There were hundreds of more important people here. He wouldn't want to talk to Peter. Suddenly, his stomach growled and Peter realized he hadn't eaten since the early morning. Figuring he might as well, he made his way to the buffet, piling on the food as though he would never eat again- and knowing his step-father- he might not, when he bumped into someone by accident. "I'm so sorr-" the words died in Peter's throat when he saw who it was.
Flash looked horrified, rushing to apologize, "I'm so sorry my Lord, I didn't see you. Are you alright?"
Peter blinked, then remembered what he was wearing. He must look like someone close to the royal family in this outfit. It was almost sad in a way, that Flash cared so much about class that he didn't recognize his own step-brother just because he wore better clothes. "It's fine." Peter said coolly, rushing away.
Suddenly, the stress of being in the same room as his step-family made him claustrophobic. He set his plate down at the first table he saw and tugged at his collar like it was too hot. Escaping out from a servant's exit, Peter rushed through the halls, not knowing where he was going, but just knowing he needed to get away. He was in a corridor with no one around that it occurred to him that all the fair items must be tucked away somewhere in the castle. It was the most logical storage spot until all the items could be returned and though Peter knew he was supposed to be there for the ball, he figured looking at the exhibits before they disappeared forever couldn't hurt.
He walked the corridors, scanning all the doorways for a sign of a storage room or even a decorative hall. Eventually, he found a set of stairs that swirled up somewhere unknown. Peter would have let it be, there was no way everything was hauled up there on that spiral staircase, but the distinct smell of gunpower and a forge drew his attention. Maybe they had kept all the technical inventions up there? Peter bit his lip, this would technically be trespassing, but he only wanted to look, and if it wasn't the exhibition stuff then he would just leave.
Decision made, Peter walked up the stairs, peeking his head around the final curve to make sure no one was inside. The contents of the room floored him and he realized the second he was inside where he was. This was the King's workshop. There was no question about it. The Iron Armor was hung proudly at the back, an inspiration for all of the king's future projects.
Peter gaped at all the weaponry around the room. There were things he didn't recognize, machines he had thought were only dreams, things that didn't make sense. Enraptured, Peter walked all over the room, poring over everything he could find, looking for things he could learn. He stopped at a drawing of a plan for a new drawbridge mechanism. Something was off about the sketch, but what was it…Peter held it closer up to scrutinize it more closely, "That's not right…" he murmured right before an indignant click of the tongue had him jumping.
Peter dropped the plans, wide eyed and terrified. When he saw who had caught him, Peter cursed Stephen and his magic and everything that brought him here. The first time he ever got to meet his hero and he had committed a crime. "Your Highness!" he choked, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to trespass, I got lost and was trying to find exhibits from the fair, but obviously those aren't here, but I just got so curious because I'm an inventor too- I wanted to be like you! And then I ended up staying when I shouldn't have and I'm really sorry!-"
The king lifted a hand to stop him, laughing a little, "Hey kid, I'm more upset about there being a flaw in my work than catching you in here. You wouldn't be the first person to get curious." He walked over, leaning against the tables, arms crossed.
"So? Where's the error boy?"
Peter swallowed. "I uhh- I'm sure it's nothing, your Highness. You're a genius, everyone knows that."
"You either found a mistake or not. It doesn't matter how much of a genius I am."
Peter bit his lip and the King gently coaxed him into talking.
"It's not a big mistake," Peter started, still unable to look him in the eye, "but it would have decreased the efficiency of the lowering mechanism." Peter pointed towards the two giant gears, "Over here, if you put in a third smaller one-"
The King groaned, smacking a hand over his face, "You're kidding me." And Peter panicked, thinking he did something wrong and for sure he'd be punished, but the King surprised him, "You're absolutely right. How did I miss that." Without skipping a beat, the King reached past him to grab a quill, dipping it in ink to add in the small component.
"That'll definitely make it faster." The King started at his work more before turning to stare at him, "How did you know to add that in?"
Peter shrugged, "Like I said, I like to build things."
The King stared a bit more before breaking into a grin, "You know, I left the snooze fest downstairs to sneak out here to do something actually interesting. Pepper's gonna kill me-" Peter must have looked confused because the King corrected himself, "The Lovely Lady Virginia," he elaborated with exaggerated deference.
Peter giggled and the King looked rather pleased with himself, "I was supposed to last the whole time with this one, but it's too stuffy down there. I'd rather be up here."
Peter knew a cue when he heard one. "Right. Of course. I'm so sorry your Highness, I didn't mean to ruin your plan." He made to leave before the King's words stopped him.
"Hey, I didn't say you had to go. I don't usually have anyone in here who can keep up with me. In an upsetting turn of events, the only person who could was Bruce, but he's Thor's man, so I don't get to see him much." The King mused, looking reflective, "There's Rhodey of course, but he's too busy heading the army or something." He waved his hand flippantly in the air.
Peter's eyes gleamed, "Sir Rhodes is an inventor too?"
The King nodded, full of pride, "Oh yeah. Who do you think invented the flame thrower."
Peter was going to die and go straight to heaven he was sure. He fell onto a stool, leaning forward across the table, "That's incredible. I can't even express how incredible that is."
Peter was vaguely aware of how improper this all was. How non-deferent he was being, how overly friendly he was. But there was something open about the man, something that made Peter feel at ease, like he didn't have to try to be anything other than who he was.
The King nodded, "Yup." He said, popping the p, "He's pretty great. But I saved the continent so…" he laughed at himself and Peter grinned.
The King gestured to Peter's mask, "So now that we've established that you can stay, you want to take off the mask?"
Peter sucked in a breath, he couldn't risk being seen. He would never be able to explain why or how he was there if anyone saw him. Or if the king knew who he really was. "I'm sorry your Highness, but I'd really prefer to keep it on."
The King furrowed his brows, but mostly looked amused, "Why? You hiding some big bad secret under there?"
Peter quirked a grin, "Something like that."
"Well colour me intrigued. Maybe you're even more fascinating than I thought. A kid who sneaks into the King's workshop and hides his identity. Rhodey's going to have a field day."
"If it helps, I'm not here to assassinate you." It was out of Peter's mouth before he could help himself, and he clapped his hand over his face in mortification, "I'm so sorry I swear I didn't mean to be treasonous!"
But the King snorted, looking far more amused than a man in his situation should be, "Kid, no offense, but you don't look like you could assassinate a sitting duck, let alone me."
Peter rubbed the back of his neck, "I honestly probably couldn't." he admitted, laughing a bit too.
"So what about you? Any great inventions to your name?" the King asked, leaning back in his seat.
Peter looked down at the floor, scuffing his shoe against the stone. "I don't get the chance to build much. I have a…busy schedule, my step-father keeps my days pretty full." He tried to smile, keeping his voice light-hearted, "But I did make something I think is pretty neat."
"Yeah? Tell me all about it kid."
And for the first time in his life, Peter talked about his passion to someone even more passionate than he was. He sketched out his irrigation mechanism, highlighting its simplicity and room for growth. "It took me forever to make it, I couldn't find anything but iron for the longest time."
The King nodded, "Yeah, I can see how the rust would be a problem."
He outlined all his ideas that he never got to implement like a way to bring water up the wells mechanically or a way to move things between floors of a house without having to go up any stairs. The King sat next to him, drawing over some parts of his designs, coaxing him into solving a problem he'd had with a certain mechanism or process piece. Together, they went through Peter's ideas, expanding them, improving them. In that short bit of time, Peter learned more about engineering than he ever had since before he was allowed to read books about it.
Peter was happy. Happier than he had been in a long, long time. Here he was, sitting with his childhood hero, discussing mechanics, being praised and validated and learning so many things he couldn't wait to implement. He was lucky. In that exact moment, in that exact second, he was the luckiest person in all four kingdoms.
"You're brilliant kid." The King said it like it was a fact, not something that took Peter's breath away or had him well up because in that moment, he realized not a single person had said a kind thing to him in over a year.
He wondered if this is what Stephen meant. When he said good things would happen if he had patience, a quick wit, and a gentle heart.
"That's too kind your Highness." He said quietly.
The King sighed dramatically, "I think we've established that I like you and that I think you're smart. You don't have to keep calling me that anymore. Tony's fine."
Peter's face squished into disbelief, "I can't call you that!" he squeaked, "You're a king- the king!"
"Yes, and?"
Peter sputtered, "I won't!"
"You're killing me kid. It's just a name."
"It's not!"
"Ok fine, if you're going to be such a baby about it, what about Anthony. There, that's more formal right? Even though no one I actually like calls me that. Except Thor. But he's just annoyingly formal in that one specific way. It's maddening." He curled his lip.
Peter shook his head, "No way sir, I can't."
"Aha! Sir! An accomplishment!" Tony crowed while Peter blushed, sinking into his seat.
"What about Mr. Stark? That's a compromise right?"
Peter thought about it, rolling the name around in his head. "I don't know…maybe…"
Tony sighed again, dropping his head into his hand, staring in exasperation, "Your parents must have raised you really well if you're this respectful. Lord knows I wasn't at your age."
Peter didn't say anything, didn't want to talk about the people who raised him when the King- Mr. Stark- poked him in the arm. "So? What about you? You got a name? I'm surprised I don't already know you. I'm supposed to know everyone who comes here, but I don't think I've seen you before."
Peter's breath caught in his throat as he tried to stutter his way through a lie. But right then, fireworks boomed outside the window, an explosion of pink and green erupting in front of them. "Oh, I forgot about those." Tony murmured, turning in his seat to watch the show.
It was then that Peter realized what time it was. The fireworks were supposed to be launched ten minutes before and lasting up until midnight. He had lost track of time.
Jumping from his seat, Peter moved to run to the door before stopping, hoping he could convey his sincerity even through a mask. "Mr. Stark," and somehow, the name rolled smoothly off his tongue, "thank you for everything. Truly, you don't know what this meant to me. You've been my hero since I was a kid and to know that you think my work is worth anything means more to me than you know. But I really have to go. Thank you again! For everything!"
Mr. Stark looked confused, getting up, "What's wrong? Is everything alright?"
"I'm sorry Mr. Stark, I really have to go." Peter apologized again, wishing he could stay longer before running down the stairs and sprinting to the castle entrance.
He could hear Mr. Stark chasing after him and in his haste, the ribbon tying his mask around his face came undone, falling to the floor. Peter didn't have time to swoop down and get it, choosing to keep sprinting until he was back inside the carriage urging it to go. He knew there were probably only six minutes or less until midnight and he hoped the horses would go as fast as they could so he didn't have to walk all the way home.
Maybe Stephen was looking out for him more than he said he would. Because though the clothes disappeared back into his usual ragged tunic, the carriage and horses reverted back to their states when he just under two miles away from home. Carrying the pumpkin back with him, Peter snuck back inside his bedroom through the window so the door would still be bolted and replayed the entire night in his head almost like it were a dream.
Tony was concerned. Confused and concerned. The way that kid had jumped up from out of his seat, he would've thought he was in mortal danger. Tony drummed his fingers across the counter-top. They had been having a good time, it was exciting to be in the workshop with someone who cared just as much and who was just as dedicated. It was a nice change of pace from the usual solitude. But as soon as the fireworks struck, the kid vanished. All that was left was his mask, bright red with intricate white lines crisscrossing the edges, almost like a spider's web. It was a unique design, something Tony had never seen before. Which gave him his first idea.
"Jarvis," he called, smiling as his faithful manservant entered his room, "can you take this to all tailors in the city, the ones that work with the nobles. Find out who made this. I'm trying to find the owner."
Jarvis bowed his head, "Of course sire."
With that settled, Tony set about running the kingdom, or rather, having Pepper run the kingdom while he ran amok, fully expecting Jarvis to return with the news of both the tailor's identity and the kid's. But when he returned, quite late in the day, he came back with the unfortunate news that not only did none of them make it, none of them even recognized the strange fabric or stich work.
Curiosity piqued even more, Tony set about figuring out who was in his workshop with the guest list. Securing it from Pepper, Tony scanned through all the names, eliminating every woman and every man over the age of twenty-five. He was stuck with a list of a hundred and thirty-four young men, forty of which Tony could cancel out on his own just by knowing them. The other ninety-four whittled down to fifty-six by Rhodey based purely on Tony's description of the kid's build and character. The next day, Jarvis set out again to invite the fifty-six young lords, dukes, and counts to the castle for Tony to assess.
It only needed one look at them all for Tony to know they weren't the one. But just to be sure, he pressed up the mask against each of their faces and asked them if there was a mistake with the draw-bridge. Each one of them said no. And Tony knew he still had more searching to do.
With none of the tailors having made his clothes and none of the guest list matching the description, Tony was left with the only remaining option: the kid had snuck in. Tony's brows furrowed. The kid had mentioned trying to find the exhibits from the fair, but if he were able to go to the ball, why didn't he just go to the fair as well?
Unable to let the mystery of his companion go and also worried something had happened to him, Tony decided to pull all the stops and do what he did best: be theatrical. He obviously couldn't go around knocking on every door and sticking a mask in people's faces to find the boy he thought would help keep the kingdom the leader of invention, nor could he just announce he was looking for him because he'd just end up with a line of liars outside his castle that just wasn't worth the hassle. No, Tony had something much better in mind.
"Rhodey! Get in here! I have a genius idea you're gonna love this time!"
It's all over the streets three days later. Posters are pinned to every pole and glued to the side of every building. Tony took extreme care to advertise his plan to every man, woman, and child in the city. This wasn't just his only opportunity to find the kid, but it was also a chance to sort through the talent that hid in the rest of the kingdom.
King Anthony Stark is searching for a brilliant inventor!
His Royal Highness calls on all inventors, innovators, change makers, and creatives to submit their proposals for the most useful invention to improve the kingdom. The winner of the competition will receive a reward of 5000 gold pieces and a chance to implement your project. Present your plans to the King himself on March 13 at Ferro Castle.
With anticipation drumming through him, Tony Stark could do nothing but wait and see what his plan would bring to fruition.
When Peter woke up the next morning, he found his door to be unlocked, a sign his step-father wanted a warm breakfast more than he cared about punishing him. The thrill from the night before seeped away as the hard lines of reality pressed into him. He tread lightly across the floor, trying not to make too big of an imprint on the world. He lit up the stove top, putting some water to boil for tea and another pot to boil a few eggs. He hears his step-family settle into the dining room before they yell out his name. Peter had already set the table, he just needed to bring out the tea, knowing better than to bring it out early and risk getting yelled at for it being too cold. Before he could even set down the two cups on the table, Flash was already running his mouth. "Yesterday was fantastic Peter, it's so sad you couldn't come." he said in mock sincerity, "The fair was so most awesome thing I had ever seen, stuff that no one will ever get to see again. Some even called it a once in a life time event." he crowed with an obvious emphasis. "Not to mention the ball. I got to see the Avengers last night, in person. What did you see again?" he laughed, "Oh right, your wall."
Peter stayed silent, knowing it would be better for him to keep his head down. But Flash wasn't done tormenting him, he knocked his cup off the table sending it shattering to the ground, tea spilling everywhere. "Father!" Flash cried, "Peter broke my cup. I know it's because he's jealous!"
Peter gaped incredulously. "No I-"
"Don't talk back." Ross cut him off before he could even really say anything. "Just clean this up before you infuriate me again. I don't want to have to repeat yesterday. I promise it will be worse." And his voice carried a warning that had Peter's blood freeze in his veins.
"Yes sir." He whispered and hoped they couldn't hear his fear from the beat of his heart.
Peter didn't actually find out about the King's Competition until a couple days later when Flash did. Or rather, when Flash sprinted into the house waving a poster obviously ripped from a post in the air yelling, "Father! Father! You must get me into a forgery I need to win this competition!"
Eventually, the poster made its way somewhere Peter could sneak a look at. When he read the words, Peter's heart swelled with hope. King Stark is searching for a brilliant inventor. That was him right? That must be him? He had called him brilliant. And praised his inventions. And he had chased after Peter when he ran. The thing that sealed the deal was the little illustration of a red mask with white threads that looked almost like spider-webs drawn in the corner. Peter's face almost hurt from how hard he was grinning.
Mr. Stark was looking for him. He wanted to see him again. He wanted to work with him. Joy flooded through Peter's entire heart, something light in his step, sparkles in his eyes. He had to go to the competition. He would redesign his irrigation system, reorient it around farming and combine it with his water drawing idea to make the entire watering process completely mechanical. He understood it now. What Stephen was trying to say.
Have patience, a quick wit, and a gentle heart.
Right now he had to be patient. He had to design his new project without anyone knowing. He had to make it perfect, work out every detail. Then and only then, could he worry about how he was going to make it to the castle to present it. He wouldn't let Mr. Stark down. Even more importantly, he wouldn't let himself down. This was his chance. His cross-roads moment. Everyone had a moment in their life that could change everything. This was going to be his. He would make it his.
Every problem had a solution, he just had to build it.
Peter had nine days until the competition. And while every morning his step-father worked him to the bone, he spent all night working in the shed, sketching out plan after plan. He was more determined to accomplish this one project than he'd ever been motivated by anything in his life. When he finished, he had two days left. But Peter knew better then than to ask anything of his step-father in advance, though this time, he made sure to devise a plan even Ross couldn't say no to. Flash finished his own project the next day and walked around with his chest puffed out though Peter knew he had done none of the work on his own.
The day of the competition finally arrived and for the first time in a long time, Peter felt confident when he faced off with the man who had ruined the entirety of his adolescent life. "What do you want Peter." Ross man scowled.
"I want you to let me enter the King's Competition today." He said, voice sure and steady.
"Excuse me?" Ross set down his cup, staring up at him like he was mad.
"Let me go, and I'll give you every piece of the reward and you'll finally be rid of me if I work in the castle. I'll even use your last name to boost the family's status and bring honor to your House."
Ross looked amused, "You sound confident that you will win."
Peter looked him straight in the eye, "I will."
There was a calculating look in his step-father's eyes, something cold. "Bring me your proposal. Let me be the judge of that."
Something in Peter nagged at him. Something instinctive and protective. A feeling to hide his plans away and keep them locked up where no one could see them. But Peter needed this opportunity. Needed it desperately.
When he returned, he handed the rolled up paper over to Ross wordlessly and let him look at it. Begrudgingly, the man looked mildly impressed. But only for a moment. "You designed these?" he asked, staring as though Peter had ever been a liar or an extortionist.
"Of course, I did."
Ross nodded, "Yes…yes these are definitely better than Eugene's. Truly exceptional." That should have been Peter's first warning.
He flashed Peter a cold smile, "You've hidden a great intellect from me Peter."
Peter didn't even try to tell him he was the one who stopped his schooling.
"I think you're right Peter. I think this proposal will win. And that it will bring great honor and prestige to our family." Peter lit up, rocking on the balls of his feet, just about to gush his thanks before something wicked flashed across Ross' face, "Too bad you won't be the one presenting."
When the candelabra hit him in the temple, Peter never felt himself go crashing to the ground.
Tony was bored. So, so, so bored. He had been sitting on his throne for over five hours, listening to people who thought they had a clue but very much had zero clue- about anything at all really- try and convince him they were his next star apprentice. Sure there were a couple good ones, some adequate ideas that with a bit of work and some more refining of the makers' skills could make them valuable assets one day. But nothing ground-breaking or revolutionary or even remotely near great at all.
Until a kid, chest puffed out like he was someone important waltzed in, presenting Tony with his rolled up scroll like it was a gift from the gods. "You Highness." He greeted.
Tony already knew he didn't like him. "And you are?"
"My name is Eugene Ross." Ah, the House of Ross, not very pleasant people if Tony recalled, "And I'm here to present the winning idea."
Tony thought it would be excessive if he rolled his eyes. But when he unfurled the scroll, he was glad he didn't. The work was magnificent. Meticulous, clean, detailed. The entire system was well thought out and had the potential to change the entire agricultural industry. Tony could barely believe it.
This was exactly what the kid was talking about. Almost to a T. Sure he added in a few details, included some of Tony's suggestions about the pulley system in the well mechanics and how big to make the holes in the irrigation tubes, but this was the plan. The plan he had been looking for. Which meant this kid had to be-
Tony paused.
There was no way that brat was the kid he had met in his workshop. Sure he was the same height and had the same floofy dark hair, not to mention being the right age. And yes, he didn't get a chance to see the kid's face properly or get his name, but he knew his voice. And this certainly wasn't it. And even if that weren't the case, who changed their personality over night? And in a worse direction than before.
Something like an alarm blared in his head. The kid's fear as he jumped up from his seat to run away and the curious lack of his presence so far at the competition. That kid was a keener, wouldn't he have been the first to arrive? All the loose facts started to come together in a kaleidoscope of uncertainty. But Tony knew a rat when he saw one.
The test was easy enough.
"Hey kid, you forgot to mention what material you want these pipes to be."
"Did I? My mistake. Obviously it'll be iron. Just like everything else here." He said, flashing him a look like he was expecting praise.
Tony narrowed his eyes. "You stole these plans." He accused and relished in the terror that burst in his eyes.
That confirmed all he needed to know. "Who did you take these from?" he pressed.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about sire. I made these. They're mine." He reiterated, trying to project confidence.
"If they were yours, then you would know that iron rusts under frequent contact with water. If you're trying to irrigate crops that's not the choice you should make. The person who actually made this would know to suggest copper or tin."
The kid balked, stepping back.
"I'm not going to ask again. Where is the person you took these from?"
Peter groaned, the side of his head pounding and something faintly sticky stuck to his cheek. There was something in his mouth. Oh God. Oh God. He was gagged. He tried to reach his face but found his hands wouldn't move and suddenly Peter was wide awake. His hands were tied around his back, the rough rope chaffing against his wrists. Peter choked, struggling to breathe as the panic set in. What would Ross do to him? Was he going to keep him down here forever? Where even was-
Peter looked around, recognized the storage room he had cleared out days ago, everything organized in crates and by item. Peter closed his eyes. What to do what to do. He didn't know how patience, a quick wit, and a genlte heart would help him here. He might just die here. Alone and scared and abandoned.
What was the point anyway. There was no reason to even try to escape. He'd just get sent back down here, hidden away from the world while Flash got to live out his dream and Ross got to spend all the money. No. It was better just to stay here.
Peter's head fell gently to the floor.
Better just to sleep.
He didn't care anymore. He didn't care at all.
His rest was short lived however, when a terrible yelling filtered through to the basement as the front door slammed. "WHERE IS HE? WHERE'S PETER?" someone roared, angry footsteps smashing into the floor.
Peter startled, pushing himself up against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as though he could see right through it. It couldn't be…
"You Highness, I have no idea what you are-"
"Don't lie to me!" and his voice was sharper than any blade.
Peter's eyes widened. His body shook. Mr. Stark had found him. He had come for him. He had-!
Peter clenched his fists from within their bounds, forcing himself up on shaky legs despite the pounding in his head. Mr. Stark cared about him. He had hosted an entire contest for him. He had figured out Flash was lying for him. He had come all the way to this terrible house for him.
Peter didn't want to give up.
He didn't want to stay here anymore.
He wanted better. He wanted better. He wanted-
"Mm. Shaarr!" he tried to yell, but his gag kept him muted.
Frustrated, Peter ran at the door, ramming into it again and again but the wood made a dull sound, didn't reverberate above. Peter stopped. Forced himself to calm down. He had been patient, now it was time for a quick wit. Think Peter, think.
There was always a solution…
And that's when it hit him.
Sometimes, the best solutions were the most simple ones. Peter ran into a tower of boxes, pushing against them until each one came tumbling down, the crash reverberating in his ears.
"What was that?" he heard Mr. Stark say, something savage in his tone.
"Nothing my liege. Just the cat up to no good again."
Peter would show him no good.
The vase he had placed at the top of that tower shattered with the rest of the items and Peter grabbed hold of a big enough shard, ignoring the trickle of blood down his palms as he cut frantically at his bonds. When he felt the rope had frayed enough, he pulled at his wrists, face twisting with the effort until his hands were finally free. Peter had no time to look at the damage to his skin, ripping the blindfold off and yelling as loud as he'd ever yelled before, "MR. STARK I'M HERE! I'M HERE!"
All the movement upstairs stopped. No one moved an inch. And then a person was running. "KID? PETER! WHERE ARE YOU?"
"BASEMENT!"
To make his point, Peter started grabbing anything he could find, smashing it to the ground. He hoped Ross looked at everything here and felt just a bit, just an iota, just a fraction of all the suffering he'd made Peter endure.
When he heard the footsteps sprinting down the stairs, Peter pressed against the door, banging against it. "I'm coming kid. I have you." He heard Mr. Stark say, but he sounded strained, like his heart was breaking a little more by the second.
"The key Ross. Now." Mr. Stark's voice left no room for argument and moments later, Peter blinked at all the light filtering into his eyes and at the relief on Mr. Stark's face.
Peter took one look at that expression and knew without a doubt that he had made the right choice. This was the right path. He knew now. Because the way Mr. Stark looked at him reminded him of Ben.
And he knew Mr. Stark would never let anything bad happen to him ever again.
Mr. Stark looked past him, assessing the broken luxuries, the blood stained shards on the floor, the rope strewn about next to them and his face darkened. It was then that Peter noticed that standing in the basement were Commander of the Army James Rhodes and Chief of the Royal Guard, Harold Hogan. Mr. Stark's voice was low, "Arrest him." He commanded, pointing at the now sputtering Ross.
"No, please sire it was just a misunderstanding-"
But Mr. Stark was scathing, "You call abusing a child a misunderstanding? I have your son remember? I know exactly what you did. Treated him like a slave, hitting him when you were angry, isolating him from the world, making him afraid. And now, you tell me that locking him up in a dungeon is a misunderstanding? I might never have found him if he wasn't ten times more brilliant than you." The glare the King was sending sent Ross' legs shaking.
"Please your Highness." He begged.
"No. You deserve to rot."
"That's right he does." Rhodey agreed, tying the man's hands behind his back and leading him roughly up the stairs.
When Ross was out of sight, the anger that seemed to inflate him disappeared, and Mr. Stark sagged with the weight of what had happened. "I know you're not, but besides the obvious stuff, are you okay?" he asked, his voice oddly gentle after all the yelling from before.
Peter nodded, something deliriously happy bubbling just beneath the surface. He wasn't out of the woods yet. Not even out of this house. But this was the beginning of everything. And he had made it. He had finally made it.
"I'm okay Mr. Stark. I'm definitely going to be okay." Peter turned to him with a watery smile, "Thank you." His voice trembled, "No one's done anything like that for me since…" he trailed off, "Just- thank you Mr. Stark."
The man shook his head, reaching over to pull him into a hug. Peter buried his face into the man's neck, relishing the contact he hadn't had in so long. This was what it felt like to be cared for. He remembered now. "You deserve better Peter. Don't thank me just yet."
Mr. Stark pulled away, something mischievous twinkling in his eye, "Just wait until you see your room."
"My what?"
"Oh, haven't you heard?" Mr. Stark trilled in mock innocence, "I changed the reward to 5000 gold pieces and a permanent apprenticeship under yours truly. Guess we're room-mates now."
Peter fumbled through his response, disbelief written all over him. "Mr. Stark that's- that's too kind, I don't-"
"Peter, are you or are you not the same kid who snuck into my workshop and redefined agricultural technology?"
"W-well yeah, but-"
Mr. Stark huffed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the masquerade mask. Peter blinked, watching as Mr. Stark pressed it against his face gently, marveling at how well it fit. "Say something dorky."
"I'm not a dork." Peter mumbled on instinct.
The twinkle in Mr. Stark's eyes came back, "Ahh yes. You're definitely the trespasser." And his smile hit Peter harder than anything Ross had ever done.
"I'm glad I found you Peter."
Peter sniffed. "Me too."
Four months later and Peter was stressed. Really stressed. He lifted one tunic, this one green with gold embroidery and compared it to another, a nice navy blue with some fancy stich work. "Mr. Stark's gonna kill me." He muttered, "I was supposed to be down a while ago but I just don't know!"
"You could just pick both?" Mr. Stark laughed, leaning against the door frame.
"Mr. Stark!" Peter spun around, a guilty blush flooding across his cheeks.
"Hey kid. You know we were supposed to be in the carriage an hour ago right?"
"An hour!" Peter screeched, throwing everything he could find on his bed into his bag haphazardly. "I'm sorry Mr. Stark, I completely lost track of time because I was up all night in the workshop."
"Relax kiddo, I postponed it until later today anyway." But Peter could tell he piqued the man's interest, "What did you make?"
But Peter ignored the second part, knowing it would drive Mr. Stark crazy with curiosity. And the man deserved it after all that nonsense he pulled with his birthday party a month before. It was way too extravagant and it was super embarrassing when he made Peter talk to the Lady Mary-Jane. He was such a mess and Mr. Stark just kept laughing the entire night. "Mr. Stark, you can't keep pushing this. Miss. Pepper told me it was important." He said instead, his voice teasing.
Mr. Stark waved a hand in the air, "They're not going to not sign the trade treaty without me. I'm the King. Who else is going to do it? And Thor loves me. It's because we both know how to party. The other ones are huge sticks in the mud."
"I don't know how visiting Asgard could be boring."
"That's why I'm taking you with me. So you'll see and finally stop taking Pep's side. Frankly, it's unfair."
Peter snorted, closing his bag and walking towards his mentor. "If you say so Mr. Stark."
"I do say so. And don't think you have me distracted, if my protégé has invented the next big thing, I want to know about it."
Peter fake sighed, "I mean, I guess I could show you."
"Who taught you to be like that? Was it Rhodey? It was probably Rhodey."
Peter laughed, "Mr. Stark, you act like you aren't the king of 'being like that.'" He said in air quotes.
"I'm a king of many things I suppose." Mr. Stark shrugged with fake modesty.
Peter laughed again, beckoning him to head out to the workshop. It was a familiar journey, but Peter enjoyed it. Enjoyed the confidence in every footstep he took, enjoyed the easy chatter between him and Mr. Stark, enjoyed knowing that he had finally found somewhere where he belonged and was wanted. Mr. Stark had done more than save him from his nightmare. He had given him a home and a purpose and all the tools he needed to pursue his dreams.
Peter didn't think he would find a family again. And for once, he was more happy than he could ever say that he was wrong.
The two of them walked up to the workshop and Peter smiled when he saw his own corner that Mr. Stark had made for him the second he moved in. The familiar red mask dangling from the desk as a constant reminder of his good luck charm. Peter rummaged through his top drawer, pulling out his rough sketch and rolling it out to have his mentor look at it. Peter was a little shy about it. It was still in the early stages and there was a lot to do. But next to him, Mr. Stark stroked his beard, humming under his breath. "Peter, this is great." He praised, tracing some of the lines with his finger, "There are a few things we'll have to change, but the idea is…revolutionary."
Peter blushed, ducking his head, "Not really. The Romans were doing it ages ago. I just thought we could modernize it. It would help ease the workload of the staff and make the castle city cleaner too."
Mr. Stark looked at him with fond eyes. He ruffled Peter's hair, smiling at Peter's goofy grin. "You have a good heart kiddo. It's one of my favourite things about you. Being the smartest guy in the world doesn't mean anything if you're not trying to make the world better."
"Well, what can I say, I learned from the best." He grinned.
"I'm proud of you kid. You're going to accomplish incredible things. I'm just glad I get to be here along for the ride. Now come on, grab a quill, we have some calculating to do."