AN: Y'all, this chapter was a BITCH. I wrote, I erased, I cried, I messaged parkrstark, I cried, I wrote some more.
This chapter is 110% dedicated to parkrstark, who gave me lots of ideas and helped me push through my crippling writer's block. You probably wouldn't have this chapter without her, so love her. Plus, she writes some pretty AMAZING Tony&Peter fics, so go read her stuff if you haven't already.
Oh! And thank you to everyone who commented about a sequel to this! I've decided that it's almost definitely happening, but I'm going to follow some awesome advice I got from quite a few of you guys and start it AFTER I've seen Infinity War. Honestly, I don't think this fic will even be done by then, so we should be good.
Thanks, as always, for reading! This story is kind of my child, so I love seeing people love it alongside me!
After Ross' four hours drained into nothingness, they came for Peter.
They came for him and they took him.
That was 72 hours ago.
And Tony knew that number exactly, because the screen over the door had been counting up every single second since they'd ripped the kid out of his arms. He couldn't decide which was worse: watching Peter suffer firsthand or sitting in an empty cell, wondering if he would ever see the teenager again.
It was the worst form of torture that Tony could think of.
When the clock showed that it had been 79 hours and 34 minutes since they'd taken him, Ross arrived.
He didn't enter the cell. He stood just outside the window, smiling viciously as Tony stalked over and clenched his fists.
"Where the hell is he?"
Ross laughed. It sounded like shattering glass. "Do you have a guess, Stark?"
Tony's mouth snapped shut. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the man. "What?"
"A few days ago, I asked you how long it would take for your child to start screaming. After some extensive experimentation, I've figured it out. Would you like to guess?"
The breath that rushed through Tony's chest was entirely involuntary and did nothing to ease his sudden lightheadedness. "Fuck you, Ross."
"It took him a little over seven hours. It was the spinal tap that did him in. Frankly, I was a little disappointed. I was betting on at least a day."
Tony slammed a fist into the glass. "Give him back."
Ross smiled, and then tapped a button on his watch. Two guards came around the corner almost instantly. "Mister Stark is rather eager to see his child. Would you mind collecting the subject from the experimentation unit?"
The subject. He said it as if Peter is nothing but an interesting anomaly or a piece of leverage to him. It made Tony feel sick. Ross doesn't care that Peter is just a child. He doesn't care that he likes his sandwiches squished down flat. He doesn't care that his favorite Star Wars movie is A New Hope, even though he agrees that Empire Strikes Back is aesthetically the better film. He doesn't care that the kid decided to be a superhero not for the glory, but because he's so good and so pure that he just couldn't stand the concept of doing nothing in a world so full of evil.
He doesn't care that he's Peter.
Peter Parker-Stark. My kid. Peter Parker-Stark.
When they drag him around the corner, Tony nearly pukes.
As far as the billionaire can tell, Peter isn't conscious. As frightening as that is, Tony can't help feeling a little relieved. If the kid was out, he wasn't in pain. And from the looks of him, being awake meant being in a lot of pain.
There's so much blood, and it's everywhere. Some of it is old, dried and congealed and almost black like tar, and some of it is new, turning the kid's pale skin into glistening rivers of bright red. His torso is a mess of bruises and clinical incisions. Tony feels a surge of revulsion. They didn't just torture the kid, they opened him up. Pulled him apart so they could see how he ticked. The kid's head is hanging low, chin tucked against his bare chest, and his feet are dragging uselessly on the ground. His two guards appear to be holding all of his weight.
They throw Peter into the cell, and Tony catches him before the can hit the ground. A small metal box gets tossed in too before the door clicks shut.
Ross' voice grates on Tony's nerves as he hauls the kid's deadweight over to the cot. The man is staring at the teenager with a look of morbid fascination. "We've conducted all the experiments we needed. Do you know what that means, Stark?"
I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about it.
Instead of looking at Ross, Tony busies himself with situating Peter's floppy limbs more comfortably on the stiff mattress.
"It means that if you keep being uncooperative, he's outlived his usefulness."
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
"I'll be back. We've given you a basic medical kit. Keep him alive in the meantime, will you? I want him to die screaming."
Ross and the soldiers exit without another word.
Tony stares at the kid and feels momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer number of injuries he sees. This is the kid that he took to be his own. The kid who laughed in his lab and loved to look at the stars. The kid that he swore he would protect, no matter the cost.
He'd failed him. Just like he'd failed everyone else who had ever mattered to him.
I should let him die.
The thought takes Tony so off guard that he physically sways. To his shame, he actually toys with the prospect. If the billionaire did nothing, there was a decent chance that Peter would never wake up. A few of the newer incisions were still bleeding pretty heavily, and the kid had already lost a lot of blood. Judging from his weak and erratic pulse point, Peter would already be a goner without his enhanced healing. Tony knew that dying from blood loss wasn't so bad, especially considering that Peter was already out. It would be quick. Tony would hold him. Peter would never even know.
("I want him to die screaming.")
But even as he ran the scenario through his head, the billionaire was snatching the med kit from the ground and pulling an antiseptic wipe out of a packet. He couldn't do it. Maybe it was selfish, but Tony found himself incapable of facing a world without Peter.
Steve will come. Hang in there, kid. Steve will come, and I'll take you home.
Tony wanted to clean up the teenager's face first, but he knew that the wounds that needed the most immediate attention were on his chest and back. The billionaire wiped away as much of the blood as he could before carefully cleaning and bandaging the cuts. Ross didn't give him any needle and thread, probably because the needle could have been used as a lockpick or a weapon, so his options for the deeper wounds were limited. He put pressure on the worst of the incisions until the bleeding slowed and then sealed them as best he could with butterfly bandages. Tony would just have to hope that Peter's super healing would kick in soon and do the rest.
Tony propped Peter up against the wall when he noticed the kid's breath wheezing, shoving one of their rock hard pillows behind his head. He let his hands linger more than was strictly when he moved on to clean up the kid's face, carefully wiping away the crusty blood, snot, and vomit smeared across Peter's mouth and chin. Tony couldn't stop his fingers from trembling when he got to the tear tracks running down the teenager's cheeks. He did his best to clean some of the dirt and sweat from Peter's curls, too.
Once he'd finished, Tony collapsed beside the kid and stared blankly at his bloodstained hands. He felt lost without Peter's perpetual optimism and constant chatter to ground him. Part of him was tempted to try to rouse the teenager, but the other half of him knew that the kid was probably better off unconscious until his healing factor had a little more time to work. Still, the billionaire felt an unrelenting urge to see his kid's open eyes, awake and lucid and alive, sooner rather than later.
He tried to ignore the way his hands trembled as he ran his fingers through Peter's hair. He ruminated on whether or not to rouse the teenager as his fingernails brushed against the kid's scalp.
It only took about an hour for the kid to make the decision for him.
Peter's forehead creased in discomfort before his eyelids even flickered. A little whine tore out of his scratchy throat, and Tony scrambled to position himself right in front of Peter as his eyes finally slid open.
"Hey, Peter." The kid stared straight through him, blinking lethargically. "You know where you are, kiddo?"
Another blink. His overblown pupils flexed slowly as the kid struggled to focus.
"C'mon, Peter. You can do it."
"D-d-don'," Tony caught Peter's head as it lolled sideways, "w-wan'... T'ny."
"You've got him, buddy. I'm right here."
The kid kept rambling like Tony hadn't said a thing. "'S no' good. Wan' T'ny. Wan' dad."
Dad. That damn moniker never failed to suckerpunch the billionaire straight in the gut. "Like I said, kid. Right in front of you."
Peter mumbled something unintelligible before his eyes rolled back. The billionaire pinched him, hard, and the teenager blinked awake sluggishly.
"Yeah, no. We aren't doing the passing out thing until you say something that is at least a quarter of the way to coherent. You got that? We can start with, you know, recognizing who I am. That'd be brilliant."
Tony stared into the kid's eyes, searching desperately for some flicker of Peter. His Peter. The Peter that was going to dwarf even Tony's formidable genius someday. But all he saw was a haze of fogginess. No matter how hard hard the looked, the teenager's gaze was barren.
But there must be something of Peter breaking through, because he felt a tug as he moved to settle back beside the kid.
Peter's fingers were curled around his sleeve.
Tony whipped his head back up to stare at the teenager's face. "Kid?"
A spark. For the first time since opening his eyes, the kid seemed to focus. "T'ny?"
He hoped his grin looked like a smile and not a grimace. "Thank god, Peter. That you?"
"Where 'm I?"
It's just blood loss. Or the drugs. Or shock. Everything is fine. He's fine. "The Raft. Don't you remember?"
"Hurts."
"I know, buddy." Before Tony could stop him, the kid clutched the front of the billionaire's shirt and used the grip to tug himself into his father's chest. Peter's burning forehead dropped against his neck. "Whoa there, kiddo."
"Wanted you."
Tony decided that there was nothing like having a kid to turn you into a wreck of sappy emotions. He cupped the nape of Peter's neck soothingly even as he felt the beginnings of a panic attack claw at his lungs. "I know, kiddo. But I'm here now. I'm here."
"'M safe?"
No. You're the farthest from safe that you can get, and it's all because of me. "Yeah, Peter. You're safe."
Tony didn't move. Not even after he felt Peter's muscles soften in sleep. Not even after his back started cramping from being twisted in a stooped position for so long. Not even after his own body threatened to give into the exhaustion tugging at eyelids.
Once, Peter's gentle breaths might have soothed the panic in his veins. Now, however, each puff against his throat felt like a countdown.
And they were running out of time.
"Mister President, with all due respect, I have reason to believe that one of the most financially influential men in the world and his son have been taken hostage by a man operating directly under your supervision. This isn't just something I can ignore."
"And I understand that, Colonel. I assure you that the disappearance of Tony Stark and his adopted child are being taken very seriously here on Capitol Hill. I've put resources aside to search for them both and have men working on contacting Ross. Unfortunately, this is an election year. Many of us here in Washington are having to divert quite a lot of our time and funding into running our re-election campaigns. Until we can verify beyond a reasonable doubt that Secretary Ross was indeed behind their disappearance, there is a limit on what can be done."
"Sir, I've provided you with the audio from Tony's call with Secretary Ross where he openly and unapologetically threatens physical and emotional harm to a minor. Surely that's enough to detain him."
"Voicemails can be altered, Colonel. I have a team of experts working on verifying the recording as we speak. However, these things can take him."
The only sign Steve could see of Rhodey's displeasure was a slight twitch of his jaw. "Tony and Peter have been missing for almost a week, Sir. Time is something we're running dangerously short on."
"As you seem to remind me everyday, Colonel." The President glanced briefly at someone offscreen before turning back to face Rhodey. "I have to go, Rhodes. I'll continue to divert resources towards your request. I'll let you know as soon as I have any substantial information. Until then, do not engage. Are we understood, Colonel?"
Rhodey's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Yes, Sir."
The livestream ended, and Rhodey slammed his fist into the conference table with a snarl. For a minute, the only sound in the room was the Colonel's harsh breathing.
"They've been gone for too long, Steve. Who knows what Ross could have done to them by now?"
"I know."
"And I can't do anything until the government gets off its ass and gives me the goddamn clearance."
"I know."
"How are you being so fucking calm about this, Steve?!" Rhodey swung to face the super soldier with fire in his eyes. "Do you even give a shit?"
"Of course I do." Steve forced himself to stay calm. "But we aren't going to help Tony and Peter by losing our cool. We have to wait, so we wait."
The Colonel sank into an open chair with a sigh of defeat. "I know. Damn it, I know."
Steve leaned against the doorframe and watched Rhodey collapse in on himself. The Colonel cradled his head in his hands as if holding it up had become an impossible task. Not for the first time since Steve had returned, he was hit with the realization of how close Rhodey had grown not just to Tony, but to Peter as well.
"We're going to get them out, James. I swear that to you."
The man gave a bitter laugh. "Peter's just a little kid. He's fifteen, Steve. He still plays with Legos, for god's sake. And he's a good kid. Better than any of us ever were, for sure. Doesn't have a cruel bone in his body. He isn't meant for this kind of shit. And Tony… Tony's already been through this. I still remember him after Afghanistan. Did you know that I was the one that found him? He was nearly out of his mind delirious, stumbling through the sand with his coat draped over his head. Every time he'd fall asleep on the plane flight back, he'd wake up screaming."
"Rhodey-"
"He doesn't like being touched. Never has, but it got worse after the Ten Rings. I've been his best friend for over half our lives and I can count the number of times I've hugged him on one hand. One of those times was then. After Afghanistan, I mean, when I found him in the desert. I hugged him. Tried to hug him later, too. Once we got back home. He nearly toppled over trying to get away. Peter's always touching him, though. And Tony doesn't mind. Just lets it happen. At first I thought he was humoring the kid, and then… he likes it, Steve. The kid reminds him that he's human. Sometimes, I can't tell who's comforting who. Is Tony taking care of Peter, or is Peter taking care of Tony, y'know?"
"Rhodey-"
"Tony and I used to talk about having kids, sometimes. He'd always say he'd make a shit dad because of Howard, but I knew he was wrong. Even back in his playboy days, he'd always change when a kid asked for a picture. He'd... soften. Had a way of making them laugh, too. I always hoped he and Pepper might work it out and have a litter or two, but I'd given up on that by the time Peter stumbled in. He loves that kid, Steve. Loves him in a way I've never seen him love anything else before. If they kill Peter… Tony isn't going to come back from that."
"Rhodey."
The Colonel glanced up suddenly, as if he'd just noticed Steve's presence. "I'm sorry, Steve. I just-" Rhodey caught the soldier's eye and Steve was caught off guard but the raw emotion in his gaze. "He's my best friend."
Steve just stared at him.
He was mine once, too.
In between the pain, Peter dreams.
May is still alive. They're dancing in the kitchen. Footloose is playing on the TV, and she's trying to teach him how to dip her. He stumbles awkwardly into the counter and she laughs before brushing her hand across his cheek.
They're eating pasta at their favorite Italian restaurant. May is telling him about a couple who came into the hospital during her shift the day before. Her makeup is messy but she's smiling at him like he's her whole world and everything is insignificant compared to that.
They're sitting on their old, beat up couch. Peter is crying because Ben is never coming home and there's a shirt in the trashcan that's drenched in blood. May doesn't let him see her breaking. She just rubs his back and tells him that everything is going to be okay.
And then the dream fades, and the hands brushing the curls out of his face aren't soft and fragile. They're calloused and tough. Engineer's hands.
Tony's hands.
Peter opens his eyes, and the man's face swims above him. He groans.
"Easy, Peter." The teenager didn't even realize he was trying to sit up until Tony braced a hand against his chest. "You're alright. Stay down for a sec."
"T'ny?"
"Yep. That's me. You actually with me, this time?"
"I think so?"
His father looked relieved. "That's nice. I've been bored. It's too damn quiet in here without your babbling."
Peter shifted, and gasped as pain speared through his entire body. "Oh, fuck."
"You know what? I'll let that one go." Tony's fingers brush over his face. "How bad?"
"'S fine." Peter squeezes his eyes shut, as if blocking out the glaring fluorescent lights might help him block out the pain. "Y'know, I wish they'd drug me now."
Tony gave a pained laugh. "You are drugged, kid. You ought to see your pupils. I could probably fit most of the developed world in there."
"Better drugs, then."
His dad's hand stalls over his cheekbone, fingertips resting lightly on his face. "When I get you home, you can have all the drugs you want. How's that sound?"
Peter squinted open a single eye. Despite the pain, a small smirk tugged at his mouth. "All the drugs?"
"I take it back. You can have all the drugs you want that I, Rhodey, or a certified physician have authorized."
The teenager smiled as his eyes slid shut again. "I'll take it." Peter sat quietly for a moment, content to bask in the gentle comfort Tony provided, before sleepily murmuring his next words. "I miss May."
He heard his mentor's breath catch.
"Dreamed of her. And you. Both of you." For a moment, Peter's mind is so full of needles and scalpels and the echoes of his own screams that he loses himself. "Wished it was real."
"I know, kid."
"I-I don-"
"Shh." Peter's eyes snapped open as Tony's hand slid over his mouth. "They're coming."
No. No. No. No. No.
Peter's hands clenched desperately around Tony's wrist and he tears the man's hand away from his lips. "D-dad… I-I can't-I don't-please d-don't let them-"
The teenager only gets a brief glimpse of his father's anguished eyes before hands are tearing them apart.
He wonders if you can dream when you're dead.
The moment Tony and Peter were both restrained, Ross met Tony's eyes.
"Where is Doctor Banner?"
"I don't fucking know-"
"Where is Thor?"
"I already told you, I don't have any fucking-"
"What do you know about the being known as Thanos?"
"I've given you everything I have on him, you piece of shi-"
"Interesting. I thought our conversation earlier might have been enough incentive." Ross strolled over to Peter with his arms crossed primly behind his back. "Well done, Stark." The man said, raking his gaze over the teenager curiously. "His injuries are already improving. Your healing factor is quite impressive, Peter."
Without warning, Peter spat in his face.
Time stopped. Ross slowly, ever so slowly, reached up and wiped the saliva from his cheek with a frighteningly steady hand. Then, he calmly extended his hand to one of the guards, palm up. The moment the soldier placed the cattle prod against his waiting fingers, his pressed the prongs into the kid's bare stomach but didn't activate it.
"You know, Peter," the man traced a finger down the bare skin of the teenager's side, "that wasn't very nice. Why don't you say you're sorry?"
"Fuck off."
Ross pressed his thumb on the trigger, and Peter seized in his guards' grips. By the time he pulled the cattle prod away, the kid's lips had turned blue from lack of oxygen. Ross finished by driving a fist into the side of the teenager's jaw, sending him staggering into a corner of the cell.
Peter slumped weakly against the wall, reaching out to Tony and curling his fingers in what all parents would recognize as the universal "hold me" gesture. On anyone else, the billionaire would have found the move ridiculous. Seeing Peter do it, however, triggered something visceral inside him.
My kid. I have to get to my kid.
A well-placed kick managed to dislocate one of his guard's kneecaps. He basked in the satisfying crunch and choked off scream for just a moment before he was being thrown to the ground and the soldier's howls were joined by a second cry of pain.
Peter.
Tony propped himself up on his hands and knees and spat blood. The scene in front of his was so bizarre that it took him a few breaths to process it.
Ross had one hand fisted in Peter's hair. The other was clenched around the hilt of a knife, the blade of which…
The blade of which was lodged in his kid's shoulder.
Peter looked even more shocked than Tony. He was staring down at the knife with a look a intrigued detachment on his face.
Suddenly, Tony was being hauled forcefully to his feet while Ross jerked Peter's head to the side. The billionaire's guards were gripping his biceps tight enough to cut off the blood supply, but all Tony could focus on were the jagged lines of red beginning to trickle down Peter's arm.
"Stand down, Stark." Ross twisted the knife, and Peter's knees buckled as his eyes fluttered. Tony could just barely hear a whimper catch breathlessly in the kid's throat. "I'd hate to hurt your child. Even more than you already have, of course."
Even more than you already have. Your fault, Stark. Your fault. "Alright. I'm done. I'm done."
Ross tore the knife from Peter's shoulder with a sick pop before pinning the teenager against the wall. "Hello, Peter." Ross ran his thumb along the kid's upper lip. The gesture was so tender and so intimate that it made red hot fury burn in Tony's stomach. How fucking dare he? "I thought you and I could have a little chat."
Tears welled up in the kid's eyes. Tony wanted to scream. If it wouldn't have scared the shit out of Peter, he probably would have.
"Tell me, Peter," Ross' voice dripped with exaggerated kindness, "how does it feel to know that your father could have stopped all of this?" He dug a finger into the stab wound in Peter's shoulder and the kid threw his head back in agony, biting off a scream. "He's letting you suffer. What do you think, Peter? You think he gets off on it?"
Peter's lip quivered, but his voice was surprisingly steady. "Tony Stark 's a hero. My hero."
"How sweet." Ross caught Tony's eye. "You're his hero, Stark. You're his hero, and you failed him."
Tony felt strangely cowed by the words, because he knew that they were true. "I know."
"N-no." Every head in the room swivelled back to the semi-conscious teen. "Didn' fail me. 'S my dad."
Like that was it. Like the fact that Tony was Peter's dad meant that he was incapable of failure.
But Tony knew better. Tony had had a father once, too, and Howard had failed him in every way imaginable. Just like he was failing Peter.
Stark men were not meant to have children. He could see that, now.
"He's a cute kid, Stark." Ross grabbed Peter's elbow and shoved him into Tony's chest. The guards didn't release his arms, however, so the billionaire could only watch as his kid crumpled to the ground at his feet. "You don't deserve him."
"No." Peter's loving, pain-filled gaze rested heavy in his heart. "No, I don't."
AN: I want everyone to know that I wrote "...It would be quick. Tony would hold him. Peter would never even know..." and had to take a damn walk. While writing my own story. I had to walk away from my OWN story.
Y'all. I'm a mess.
Thanks for reading! I'm sorry this took so long, and I'm even more sorry if it's also garbage. I tried. I swear.
