How about that Far From Home trailer? Talk about tugging on the heartstrings all over again!
"What?" Peter exclaimed, his heart starting to thud. "Who's that? Natasha, who's the Winter Soldier? Is he part of the Ten Rings?"
Natasha only shook her head, still listening to Clint yammering on the phone, telling her he was going to bring some of the bullets he'd pulled from the house up to the hospital so they could compare ballistics.
"Yeah, okay. We'll see you soon," she said in a shaky voice that did absolutely nothing to calm Peter's already frazzled nerves. Natasha looked rattled, and based on a few of the stories she'd told when they'd all gotten together for dinner in New York, she didn't get rattled all that often.
"Please, tell me what's wrong!" Peter pleaded as soon as she'd hung up with Director Fury. "Is my papa gonna be okay?"
"He's gonna be fine, Peter," Natasha said quickly. She took another sip of her drink, checking her watch. "We can't go back upstairs yet, so why don't you try and eat some more."
"And how in the hell am I supposed to do that?" Peter yelped, once again clapping his hand over his mouth, managing to hit one of his still-healing bruises in the process. "Please, Natasha," he pleaded in a softer voice. "Can't you tell me what's going on?"
Natasha let out a heavy sigh. "Look, kiddo, I don't know if your dads would want you to hear any of this, and if they do, then I'd rather just say it all at once and be done with it. Okay? Now, the last thing I need is to get yelled at because you didn't eat, so please, try and finish your lunch before we head back."
"Mmm, fine!" Peter grumbled, stuffing nearly half of his sandwich into his mouth and almost choking as he tried to chew. His stomach felt like a big ball of lead, and it was all he could do to finish all of his food without wanting to just barf it all right back up again.
They returned to Papa's hospital room to find him sitting on the side of his bed eating lunch, his right side covered in a large square bandage that was visible through his thin t-shirt. Dad was on the phone in the corner, talking to Happy from what Peter could tell, gesturing so wildly that the coffee was almost sloshing out of the cup he was holding. Papa's face fell as soon as he saw Peter, and he held out his left arm, which Peter practically dove into.
"What's wrong, little guy?" Papa asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at Natasha. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"That might not be too far from the truth, Cap," Natasha said. She huffed out a sharp breath as Dad finished up his phone call and crossed back over to Papa's bedside, a worried look on his face.
"What's not too far from the truth?" Dad said, sounding immensely frustrated. "Please tell me you have better news for me than what Happy just told me?"
"Why? What did Happy just tell you?" Papa asked. He pulled Peter a bit closer so Peter could lay his head on his chest, letting his strong heartbeat attempt to soothe him.
"Happy says that the entire garage level is covered in heavy debris," said Dad. "Which isn't too surprising given what happened, but it also means that I won't have access to any of my suits—or your new suit, for that matter—until the contractor is able to get a bigger crane out there to move some of it, and he said the earliest he can do that is three days from now."
"Okay, but you still have the suit that you used to fly us out, don't you?" asked Papa. Always the optimist was Papa, even after nearly getting blown up and shot to death.
"Yeah, and the ones that are out in New York," added Dad. "But they're way the hell out in New York, and the one here got pretty much beat to hell during the attack, and—"
"Tony," Papa interrupted, gently but firmly. "It's okay. It's only three days, I'm sure that we can—"
"Oh, you're sure, are ya?" snapped Dad, scrubbing a shaky hand down his face. He was so exhausted that Peter was surprised he could still stand, much less even think semi-coherently. "You're sure? Well, I'm sure that there's no way I can protect the two of you out there without my suits, so if I can't get at my suits, then I can't—"
"Tony!" Papa said in his Captain's voice. "It's gonna be all right. You said that you were able to take out all three of the helicopters, didn't you?"
"Well, yeah, but it's not like they were just out there 'cause they felt like taking some target practice, Steve!" Dad shot back, rubbing at his temples. "They had to have been sent by the Ten Rings, or someone else who—"
A loud knock on the door halted Dad mid-rant, and he scowled. "Who the hell is it?"
"Just your average everyday SHIELD agent," called Clint Barton from the hallway. "Is everybody decent?"
Dad rolled his eyes, causing Peter to let out a giggle despite himself. "What the hell is wrong with you, Barton?"
"I'm already half-deaf, damnit," Clint said as he opened the door, poking his head cautiously around it before stepping inside the room. "I don't need to be going blind too." He glanced around the room, his expression softening a bit as his eyes landed on Peter and Papa. "Doing okay there, Cap?"
"I'll be all right," Papa answered, his arm tightening around Peter.
"Yeah, well, that's good." He cleared his throat, looking over at Natasha. "Hill was actually able to run some preliminary ballistics there at the site, Nat, and it's looking like you were right. Soviet slugs, no rifling."
"Right about what?" Dad demanded. "What does that mean?"
Clint shifted uneasily on his feet. "Well… um…"
"We think we may know who did this," Natasha stated. "But I wasn't sure how much you wanted Peter to hear, so…"
Her voice trailed off as her gaze flitted between Papa and Dad, who proceeded to have one of their silent facial-expression conversations over Peter's head that tended to either make Peter laugh or drive him mad. Or often both.
"Go ahead, Natasha," Papa said as Dad sat down on Peter's opposite side, taking his bandaged hand carefully between his own.
Natasha nodded, drawing in a slow, deep breath. "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists," she began. "The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier. He's been credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years. One of the Soviet Union's finest." Her gaze dropped to the floor, and she let out a sort of morbid chuckle. "We even studied some of his hits when I was in the Red Room."
"Fifty years?" Papa asked. "That sounds like a ghost story."
"You might say that." Natasha paused, choosing her next words carefully. "Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Should've been a simple, by-the-book mission until somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I managed to pull us out, but the Winter Soldier was already there. I was covering my engineer so he shot him, straight through me." She pulled up her shirt, just far enough for Peter to see the knobby scar on her side, right above her waistband. "It was a Soviet slug, no rifling. And that evidence plus what Peter told me about the glimpse he caught of one of the chopper pilots, well, I don't see how it could be anyone else."
"He had a metal arm," Peter mumbled, gulping. "I—, I saw the sun glinting off of it when I was trying to get to Papa."
"Oh my God, Pete," Dad murmured, burying his nose into Peter's hair as Papa patted his back. "This is just way too much." He kissed the top of Peter's head, then looked up at Natasha, his jaw tight. "So if all this is true, then what the hell do we do now? I took out all three of those goddamn helicopters, but I haven't been able to get anyone down to the cliffs to look for bodies yet, and—"
"That'd just be a waste of time, Tony," Clint said. "You're not gonna find him. From what we've seen, this guy's pretty much indestructible."
"No one's indestructible," said Papa. "And even if we don't find a body, there might be other evidence down there in the wreckage that could be useful."
"This guy is, Steve," Natasha insisted. "Or at least as indestructible as a man can be. You can go ahead and look for bodies on those cliffs, but I can guarantee you that you won't find him, or any evidence that he was even there. Like you said, he's a ghost."
"All right," Papa said after a short pause, glancing furtively at Dad. "So… then we go after him. I'm sure SHIELD—"
"Can't, Cap," Clint said. "SHIELD's tried numerous times, and all we've done is hit dead ends every damn time. Lost quite a few good agents in the process, too."
Scowling, Papa shook his head. He didn't like being told that something wasn't possible, especially after the Chitauri invasion. "Well, do you think he's working for the Ten Rings?"
"Not likely," replied Clint. "I doubt they could afford him, but I've never seen the Ten Rings up close either."
Papa let out a heavy sigh, looking over Peter's head at Dad, his expression tentative.
"Tony?"
"It could go either way," Dad said, carefully squeezing Peter's hand. "Those assholes seemed pretty well equipped. I mean, they either had or were able to get every single thing that I asked for, and had stockpiles of my weapons that were easily worth millions of dollars. But… from what I saw, none of their stuff was Russian-made. Everything was either American or European." He paused to kiss Peter's temple, ruffling his hair. "Even their peanut butter was American."
"Okay, so if he wasn't sent by the Ten Rings, then how do we find out who sent him?" asked Papa. "And why?"
"I think it's pretty damn obvious why this ghost was sent, hon," Dad muttered. "He wanted us dead. All three of us. The big question is who sent him."
"All right," said Papa. "Then if it wasn't the Ten Rings, who was it?"
"Since the fall of the Soviet Union the Winter Soldier has been mainly an assassin-for-hire," said Natasha. "A good place to start would be to make a list of who out there could possibly afford his services."
"I can get going on that," said Clint. "Have you guys thought about where you're heading once you get outta here?"
Again, Papa looked over at Dad, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I just assumed we'd go back to New York."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Cap," Natasha said. "Peter told me that your Malibu address was supposedly a secret, and the Winter Soldier still managed to find you. If you go back to to New York everyone will know where you are."
"SHIELD HQ might be a better idea," added Clint. "There we'd have the STRIKE team available to stand guard, and—"
"No!" Peter yelped, shrinking back when both Papa and Dad looked at him in alarm. He let out a hard shiver, curling even further into Papa's side. The absolute last place that Peter wanted to be was in the vicinity of Agent Rumlow and the SHIELD STRIKE team. "I mean, no. I'd rather just go back to the Tower. Dad always says that it's the most secure building on the East Coast, so why can't we just go back there?"
"Peter?" Papa asked, tilting up Peter's chin when Peter adamantly refused to meet his eyes. I shouldn't've said anything, I shouldn't've said anything! "Little guy, look at me. Did something happen with the STRIKE team while you were down there with them?"
It would've been so easy to just tell Papa the truth about what had happened during the Chitauri invasion. So easy to just explain that the same icy-cold bolts down his back Peter had felt right before the house attack was the same thing he'd felt whenever he was around Agent Rumlow, and that Agent Rumlow was one of the creepiest people that Peter had ever laid eyes on and that he had no desire to ever see him again.
It would've been so easy, and everything probably would've been fine after that.
But then would come the questions, which would then likely lead to even more questions because Peter didn't really have any real answers, which would then lead to even more hovering by both of Peter's dads, and for heaven's sake, Peter was turning thirteen in less than a month, he didn't need his fathers hovering over him all of the damn time anymore. They had enough stuff of their own to worry about, and already worried about him more than enough.
So instead, he decided to lie.
"No," Peter choked out. "I just… really wanna go home. The Tower is home, why can't we just go back there? I don't—, I don't wanna miss the start of school." That was another lie; Peter didn't really care all that much about missing school as long as he could see or talk to Ned from time to time, but… He raised his head, pleading with Dad with his eyes. "Please? We would've been going back there in a few weeks anyway."
"Yeah, all right, buddy," Dad said quickly, holding up his hand when Papa opened his mouth to protest. "I'll triple the security, and even set up a police perimeter if I have to. The kid's been through so much already, Steve. He deserves to at least be in his own home while we try and figure this out."
Papa was silent for several seconds, that deep furrow between his eyes that he always had when he was particularly anxious. Finally, he nodded.
"You're absolutely sure about the Tower's security?" he asked Dad.
"I am, babe," Dad replied. "There's no way I'd let you guys near the place if I wasn't."
"It's definitely not as isolated as that house was, so should be less likely to invite a sneak attack," said Clint. "Plus the rest of us are there too, which can't hurt. Nat and I are at least somewhat used to guarding people, and Bruce… well… I highly doubt that he'd take too kindly to getting bombed."
"I agree," said Papa. "All right, we can go back to New York. But until we figure this out I don't think any of us should go anywhere alone outside of the Tower, and I always want at least two of us with Peter at all times. Is that understood?"
A sharp pang of guilt shot through Peter as everyone nodded their assent, and he buried his face in Papa's side, hoping that no one would notice. Why did he ever think that lying was the better choice than the truth?
"All right. Then if you guys are done playing CSI, I'll have Happy start getting the plane ready," Dad said. "The doc said that Steve could hopefully be discharged in a few hours."
"There's a few more things I'd like to check out at the site," Clint said. "And Hill's still out there, so I'll head back now and finish up and we can meet you guys at the airport."
"I'll go with you," Natasha said.
"Sounds good, guys," said Papa. "Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah, don't mention it," said Clint, waving a dismissive hand. "Makes me feel too good about myself."
Dad's shoulders sagged as soon as Clint and Natasha left the room, his tired eyes fixed intently on Papa. "I'm gonna call Rhodey, get him to come with us out to New York as an escort. He still has two functioning suits, and I built in a safety protocol that would allow me to take them over if I have to, so—"
"Tony," Papa interrupted gently. "Sweetheart, you're exhausted. Why don't you lie down until we're ready to go? I can call Colonel Rhodes myself if you think it's necessary."
Dad scoffed, his eyebrows knitting together. "There's no way in hell I'd be able to sleep on that… cot," he said. "And I told you, I'm fine. I can sleep once we get back to the Tower."
"No, you're not fine," Papa said firmly. He pushed himself up to his feet, reaching for Dad's elbow. "Lie down, Tony. And you too, little guy. I know you haven't been sleeping all that great either, and you're still trying to heal."
If Dad hadn't been so obviously dead on his feet, Peter might have thought about trying to protest, as he was far too wired up to feel much like sleeping. But he was already feeling plenty of guilt over his fib earlier and thought it would be best for him not to argue.
Besides, he'd already discovered through trial and error that trying to argue with Papa whenever he used his Captain's voice was pretty much useless. He only wished that Dad would figure that out.
"Uh huh," Peter mumbled, giving Papa a quick but careful hug before climbing up onto the bed, scooting over to the side to allow Dad to follow suit. Dad rolled his eyes as he turned to Papa, who only quirked an eyebrow as he jerked his head towards Peter.
"C'mon, Tony. Just for a couple hours."
"Damn stubborn soldier," Dad muttered as he settled in next to Peter, keeping his eyes trained on Papa as he eased himself slowly onto Dad's chair. Peter immediately pressed his ear to Dad's chest, listening to the comforting hum of his arc reactor, his eyelids already growing heavy.
"Yeah, that's right," Papa said, rather triumphantly. "But I'm your stubborn soldier."
"Yeah, yeah," muttered Dad. "Speaking of that, did ya tell the kid yet?"
Peter's eyes flew open again, and he lifted his head, looking up at Papa. "Tell me what?"
"I haven't exactly had a chance," answered Papa as a huge grin split his face. He placed his large hand on Peter's shoulder. "I asked your dad to marry me, Peter. And he said yes."
"Really? Oh, that is so awesome!" Peter exclaimed, shooting up off the bed so fast that Papa was barely able to catch his tackling hug, only remembering Papa's sore side when Papa let out a grunt of pain. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!"
"I'll be okay, little guy," Papa said, hugging Peter tightly to him. He kissed the top of Peter's head, ruffling his hair. "Go on and rest now."
Nodding, Peter squeezed Papa one more time before snuggling back down next to Dad. "I'm so happy for you, Daddy," he whispered.
"Me too, bud," Dad murmured as he cuddled Peter to his chest. "Seems a bit weird to be thinking about planning a wedding with all this shi—, I mean, crap, going on, but hey. What the hell, right?"
"No, not weird," replied Peter. "I think it's the best time. Helps us forget about all the bad stuff." Like almost getting blown up twice in less than two years.
"Mmm, maybe you're right, buddy," answered Dad, barely still conscious. "You always were the smart one."
Despite all of Dad's paranoia, the trip out to New York proceeded without any hiccups, and they all were able to settle back into the Tower with relative ease. They celebrated Peter's thirteenth birthday at Coney Island with Ned and his parents, where Papa was finally able to ride on the Cyclone without throwing up afterwards, and Peter started the eighth grade a couple weeks later with little fanfare. In fact, it was Papa who found their return to be the most annoying. Used to going out for a solitary daily ninety minute morning run along the New York or Malibu streets, Papa quickly grew frustrated with having to confine himself to the Tower's indoor track and ended up revising his order that none of the Avengers go outside alone after only a couple of weeks.
He still insisted that Peter always be accompanied by at least two of them, though, which Peter honestly didn't mind all that much. He far preferred the company of his dads or the other Avengers to being alone, and it was worth it to see the jealous look on Flash Thompson's face whenever "Auntie Nat" and "Uncle Bruce" or "Uncle Clint" were there waiting to pick him up at school if one or both of his dads were busy.
"Man, what's it even like to be so tight with the Avengers?" Ned said one afternoon during lunch, around the second week of October. "I mean, are all those rumours about Black Widow really true?"
"What rumours?" Peter asked around a mouthful of Doritos, his third bag. Despite a resurgence of his post-Afghanistan nightmares, Peter's appetite had skyrocketed since they had returned to New York, and he'd already grown another inch and a half since the first day of school, requiring Dad and Papa to take him out shopping for new pants.
Ned leaned closer, lowering his voice. "My mom said she read in a magazine that Black Widow actually keeps a collection of mounted black widow spiders somewhere in a secret case, one for each of her kills. Is that really true?"
Peter snorted out a laugh. "Dude, no!" he said as he licked some orange cheese dust from his fingers. "That sounds like something that Marie Claire would make up for one of their gossip columns!"
"Well, yeah," Ned said sheepishly. "I'm pretty sure that's where my mom read it, actually. So it's not true, then?"
"Nope," Peter replied, stuffing another Dorito into his mouth and shuddering. "Auntie Nat doesn't even like spiders. She thinks they're gross, which they are." A sly grin stretched across his face as he added, "One of her very favourite things to do is help me build my Lego sets."
"What?" exclaimed Ned, his mouth dropping open. "Black Widow likes Legos? Are you serious?"
Peter shrugged, like it was no big deal. "She says she finds it relaxing. She's pretty good at it, too. Doesn't even need the directions a lot of the time."
"Oh, man! You gotta invite me over for that sometime! Please?" begged Ned.
"I will as soon as my Dad lifts the embargo on visitors," said Peter. "Right now the only people allowed in the Tower are the vetted Stark Industries employees and the Avengers. And me."
"Aww! But when's that gonna be?"
"I dunno," Peter said, placing the chip bag back on his tray and squeezing his eyes closed, his appetite suddenly vanished. He was able to try and forget about the fact that he'd almost been blown up twice in as many years about half of the time, but it was the other half of the time that haunted him. And despite Ned being Peter's very best friend, he often tended to unknowingly say things that triggered Peter's bad memories.
And it didn't help at all that Peter's senses were always even wonkier during those times. Right then, for example, he could hear someone smashing up a plastic water bottle across the cafeteria almost as if the person was sitting right next to him, the horrible scrunching noise raising all of the hair on the back of his neck and causing him to shiver.
"Peter?" Ned asked, his worried voice poking through the fog filling Peter's mind. "Are you okay? Do you need your inhaler? Do you need me to call your dad?"
"No, I'm okay," Peter choked out, slitting open his eyes so as to not blind himself. "Just… another one of those days where everything is just… too much." Too loud, too cold, too bright, not to mention the hand-sized dent he'd managed to put into his locker door that morning when he was only trying to push it closed. Thankfully no one had been around him when it happened, but it was getting harder and harder to hide all of his symptoms all the time, especially when he kept having his stupid shaking sessions right in the middle of his freezing and ear-splitting history class every damn day, no matter how many earplugs or layers he was wearing.
"Mmm," Ned said sympathetically. "And didn't you say something about needing some more allergy testing or something coming up? That has to suck with everything else going on."
"Yeah, it does," muttered Peter. Dad had told Peter just that morning that Dr Cho would be arriving in New York by the end of the month for his genetics testing, and Peter's nervousness about that was only making everything worse. "I might be out of school for a couple of days because of it."
"A couple of days? What the hell kind of allergy testing takes that long? I thought it was just a poke, poke, poke, wait till ya itch, then you're done kinda thing?"
"Dunno," Peter said with another shrug, wishing Ned would just shut up about it already. It was hard enough keeping all of his changes a secret without all of Ned's questions. "Apparently this kind takes longer. Dad's really going all out this time, so…"
"Yeesh. I'm sorry, dude. That sounds so not fun."
"Nope."
"So… have your dads made any of their wedding plans yet?" Ned asked after a short pause. "At least there's that to look forward too, right?"
"Oh yeah, I'm definitely looking forward to the wedding," Peter answered. He grabbed his chip bag, stuffing another Dorito into his mouth. "And yeah, they've done some stuff already. We all went and got fitted for our suits just last night. Dad's having the fabric imported from Italy, so they're gonna take awhile to make."
"Mmm. Your papa's not gonna wear his Army uniform?"
"No. He thought about it, but he and Dad decided to go with matching suits instead. They're a really nice medium grey, and they're gonna wear light purple ties, and—"
"There gonna be any red, white, and blue in there?" interrupted Ned.
"Yeah, a bit. Can't have Captain America without some red, white, and blue," Peter said, his lips curling into a wide smile. JARVIS had teased Dad mercilessly for having an actual tailor take their measurements when he could have done it in mere seconds like he always had, but Papa had wanted it done the old-fashioned way, and Dad couldn't say no to him. "It's kinda cheesy, but hey. It's them, so—"
"Nah, not too cheesy," said Ned through a mouthful of potato chips. "It fits them."
"Yeah, it does," said Peter, still grinning widely. "They're so stupidly in love it's not even funny. You should've seen them flirting with each other last night at the tailor's."
"But then again, it kinda is funny," Ned said. "I swear, if anyone ever told me a year ago that I'd see Captain America with actual googly eyes, I would've thought they were nuts."
"Yeah, and Dad's googly eyes are even worse. It's almost sickening sometimes. Uncle Clint even makes these goofy gagging noises when he catches them being mushy."
"Yeah, I can see that," replied Ned. "Mr Barton seems like a pretty funny guy."
"Oh, Uncle Clint is hilarious," Peter said. "And he's teaching me how to throw darts." Peter didn't add that just the other night he'd managed to throw one of the darts so hard that it went completely through the dartboard and into the wall behind it, opening a nearly two-foot-long crack. After that, Auntie Nat had suggested that they forget about the darts and try watching a movie until Dad and Papa got home.
"So did they decide on the actual wedding date yet?" Ned asked as they exited the cafeteria, heading towards their history class with Peter dressed in four layers of clothing in addition to his special undershirt that Dad had made him, made from the same fabric he was using for Papa and Auntie Nat's uniforms.
"Yeah. Last Saturday in April," answered Peter as they stepped across the threshold into the classroom, his temp immediately dropping at least two degrees. He hunched down into his hoodie, trying to keep from shivering and wishing he could put on the actual hood. "Dad didn't want to wait any longer than that."
"Mmm. They gonna go on a honeymoon?"
"Yep. Two weeks, both Italy and Ireland."
"Whoa! That sounds nice!"
"Yeah," agreed Peter. "The only time Papa's been to Italy was during the war, and he's never been to Ireland. Dad's gonna take him to see where his papa grew up and stuff."
"Aww, that's so cool!" Ned said as their teacher walked into the classroom, taking her place at the podium. As the bell rang and the teacher began her lecture, Ned leaned towards Peter, whispering, "I can see why Mr Barton would make the gagging sounds."
Peter smiled, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.
"Yep."
The mood was somber at the breakfast table as Peter tried to choke down his eggs and toast under Papa and Dad's watchful eyes, his stomach churning violently. Dad at least was trying to make it look like he was working on his tablet instead of watching Peter like a hawk, but Papa wasn't as sly, and he looked about as nervous as Peter felt.
"It's gonna be all right, little guy," Papa said as he took a sip of his orange juice. "It's always better to have the answers than to not have them, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess," Peter mumbled, rubbing at his scratchy eyes. He'd hardly gotten any sleep the night before, only occasionally dozing off just to be awoken by yet another nightmare. Feeling the shockwave from the explosions in Afghanistan and Malibu. Hearing Dad gasping and choking as he was being waterboarded by the Ten Rings. Watching the bullets fired by the Winter Soldier rip through Papa's body as if he were made of marshmallows instead of solid bone and muscle. It got so bad that both Dad and Papa ended up in Peter's room around three in the morning with Peter sandwiched between them, trying to focus only on both Papa's heartbeat and Dad's hum, reminding him that he wasn't alone in this whole wacky mess.
"Pardon me, sir, Captain," JARVIS said, breaking the heavy silence. "But Dr Banner wishes me to inform you that Dr Cho is now ready."
Peter's stomach immediately dropped to his knees, and he swallowed hard, pushing his plate away. "I'm—, I'm not hungry anymore."
"Peter," Papa said gently. "You didn't eat very much last night either, don't you think you should—"
"It's all right, babe," Dad cut in. "Pete's never all that hungry before his doctor's appointments. He can make up for it once all the tests are done."
Once all the tests are done, Peter repeated in his head. I freaking hate medical tests!
Peter's entire life had been filled with medical tests, ever since he could remember. Being born premature with underdeveloped lungs meant that he had to undergo extensive pulmonary function tests every three months, and even more often when he was sick, which was nearly every month during the winters. Then there were the allergy tests twice a year, eye and ear exams every four months, a full auto-immune workup when his pediatrician suspected that he had developed lupus due to some unexplained severe joint tenderness in his legs when he was seven, which eventually turned out to just be a bad case of growing pains.
And then of course there was the full workup when all of his wonky symptoms started, requiring blood test after blood test after blood test, to the point where Peter was questioning if they were going to leave him with enough blood to live on by the time they were done.
"All right," Papa said with a sigh. He placed a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'll make whatever you feel like eating tonight once we're done with all of this, okay, little guy? Whatever you want."
"Uh huh," Peter whispered, trying to smile. "Thank you."
"Okay, bud," Dad said, giving his tablet one final tap. "C'mon, let's get going."
They were silent as they headed for the elevator, taking it down the six floors to Bruce's spacious lab. Bruce had offered his lab for Dr Cho's use, saying that his equipment and space was better suited to her work than Dad's. Which was true, but Peter also suspected that some of it had to do with the fact that Dad's lab was so cluttered and disorganised that only he and Peter really knew their way around it.
"Good morning, everyone," Bruce said as they entered the lab. He was standing next to a slender Korean lady, who smiled as she saw Peter. "Captain Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Peter, this is Dr Helen Cho."
"We really appreciate you coming all the way out here, doctor," Papa said, offering Dr Cho his hand.
"Yes, well, we have a pretty interesting case here from what I've heard," replied Dr Cho. "And please, call me Helen. I think that will help make our patient more comfortable."
"I guess I don't have to tell you how much we're hoping that you can give us some answers," added Papa. "It's been pretty difficult on Peter these last few months."
"That's what I've heard, Captain. So on that note, why don't we get started?" She turned towards Peter, her kind smile relieving just a touch of his nervousness. "I'll need to start with some blood samples, then once we get those processing we can move onto some more practical tests."
Peter's mouth went dry at the mention of the blood sample. He had an incredibly strong needle aversion on a good day, which had only gotten worse after all the tests he'd already been through.
"I'll go ahead and get a sample from you as well, Mr Stark," Helen added. "For comparison purposes. You're Peter's biological father, correct?"
"Call me, Tony," answered Dad, his face clouding with guilt. "And yeah, that's right. We had all those tests confirmed when Pete was a newborn."
"I always prefer to start my tests with fresh samples, just in case," Helen said, already unwrapping a butterfly needle kit. "So, if you don't mind…"
"Here, Tony," Bruce said as he guided Dad over to a chair set up next to what looked like the fanciest PCR equipment that Peter had ever seen, much more high-tech than the equipment they'd had at the other geneticist's office. Dad sat down and rolled up his sleeve, winking at Peter as Papa placed a hand on Peter's shoulder.
"That's some pretty fancy tech you've got here," Dad said, grunting as Helen pierced his skin with the needle.
"Thank you," answered Helen, rather proudly. "And this isn't even the half of it."
"Tony, she's got something back at her institute in Korea that can actually print tissue!" Bruce exclaimed. "She calls it the Cradle. She was telling me all about it before you guys got down here."
"Mmm. Is that related to all the classified stuff you've been working on?" Dad asked.
"No," Helen said, chuckling softly as she removed the needle and labeled the sample. "I can't even talk to you about my classified work. All right, Peter, now it's your turn."
"Uhh… okay," Peter mumbled, the small amount of breakfast he'd managed to eat threatening to make a reappearance. "Um…"
"Here, little guy," Papa said as he slid into the chair Dad had just vacated. He patted his leg, indicating for Peter to sit on his lap. "Maybe this will help."
Peter tried to smile as he settled onto Papa's lap, but it probably came out as more of a grimace. His hands were trembling so badly as he tried to remove his hoodie that Papa had to help him, and the shaking only got worse when Helen took his arm, the needle ready in her other hand.
"I need you to hold still, Peter," she said gently. "I can't get the sample if you're shaking like this."
"I'm trying," Peter said in a quavering voice, inhaling a shallow, shaky breath as his heart began thudding against his ribcage. Papa wrapped his fingers gently around Peter's wrist, trying to help hold him, but that only seemed to make things worse.
"He's fighting me," Papa said a few seconds later, glancing up at Dad as his fingers clamped tighter around Peter's vibrating wrist, digging into his skin as his other arm wrapped around Peter's chest. "Tony, he's shaking so bad that I can't hold him steady! I'm afraid that I'm gonna hurt him!"
"Didn't you say that enhanced strength was one of his symptoms?" asked Helen.
"Yeah, but that one just started not too long ago, and it's been inconsistent up until now," answered Dad. He knelt down next to Peter, taking his other hand as Peter's exposed arm pebbled with goosebumps, his trembling growing even more violent. "Hey, buddy. I know this really sucks, like big time, but we won't be able to get any answers unless Helen's able to get that blood sample, all right? You just gotta try and hold still for a couple of seconds."
"I'm trying, Daddy!" Peter cried as his eyes filled with tears, hating himself for sounding so whiny. His lungs were seizing in his chest, and it was all he could do to keep from breaking free of Papa's hold and trying climb up the wall. "I just… can't!"
No, that wasn't quite right. Peter didn't only feel like he wanted to climb up the wall. It was almost as if he just knew he could do it, and the urge to do so was suddenly so strong that it was nearly overwhelming.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"I'd say that's some strength if not even Cap can hold him steady," said Bruce, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "This is incredible, I've never seen anything like it!"
"Yeah, except that's not helping at all right now, big guy," Dad snapped over his shoulder. He cupped Peter's face in his hands, trying to meet Peter's eyes. "Pete, look at me. Look at me, buddy. I know I haven't had near as many blood tests as you have over the years, but I swear that I didn't even feel mine just now. Helen is really that good, and she's really that quick, okay? Nothing like that butcher of an allergist we took you to that one time."
A choked gasp tore painfully from Peter's throat, and he shuddered so hard that Papa nearly lost his grip on his arm. That allergy visit when he was six had pretty much single-handedly started his intense needle aversion.
"Okay, bad time to bring that up," Dad said with an apologetic glance at Papa. "But I'm serious, buddy, you'll hardly feel it, okay? I promise." He jerked his head in Helen's direction. "Get ready to get in here as soon as he gives you the go."
"It's gonna be all right, little guy," Papa whispered into Peter's ear, the same thing he'd whispered over and over during Peter's numerous nightmares the night before. "Dad and I are both here, we've both got you. You're safe. No one's gonna hurt you here."
Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Peter buried his face into Papa's chest and nodded once. Less than a second later he felt a pinch in the crook of his elbow that passed so quickly he thought he might have imagined it. Dad had been right; Helen really was fast with the needle stick.
"There, all done, Peter," Helen said softly as she applied a pressure bandage, handing the sample to Bruce. "Hopefully no more needles for awhile."
As soon as they were able to prep the samples and load them into the PCR machine, Helen took out a pair of what appeared to be very expensive-looking headphones.
"I'm going to test your hearing now, Peter, all right? Your father told me you've had hearing tests like this before, where you just raise your hand when you hear the sounds?"
"Yeah," Peter replied, his voice still a bit shaky. "Loads of times."
"Excellent," she said with a smile. "This is just like those, only a bit more sensitive."
"Uh huh," Peter said with a quick nod. "I'm ready."
After the trauma of the blood draw, both the hearing and vision tests passed without further incident, with Helen feeding the results through a computer program that she'd developed with her colleagues at the U-GIN Institute. She also had Peter demonstrate his strength by arm-wrestling with Papa, measuring the force Peter was using to push against Papa's hand with one of her instruments.
"All right," Helen said once everything was finished. "I should be able to have some preliminary results by tomorrow morning once the PCR and computer analyses are done. Should we plan to meet back here at 10am? I'll be on a conference call before then."
"I'm sure Pete wouldn't mind getting to sleep in tomorrow," Dad said, ruffling Peter's hair. "Sounds good."
"Thank you, doctor," Papa said as he shook Helen's hand. "We'll see you in the morning."
They had barely made it into the elevator when JARVIS suddenly announced that Director Fury had arrived in the Tower's lobby. "He says that it is urgent that he speak with both you and Captain Rogers as soon as possible and is requesting penthouse admittance."
"Christ, JARVIS, what the hell for?" Dad barked, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn't had his usual two liters of coffee intake that day, so was probably fighting a headache. "We've all had a pretty rough day, and Pete and Steve are starving!"
"Director Fury also states that he anticipated your response and has brought along pizza," said JARVIS. "Four large pies from Antonio's, I believe."
Dad rolled his eyes, scowling in Papa's direction as the doors opened into the penthouse. "This can't be good if he's trying to bribe us with food."
"Maybe he was just in the neighbourhood and felt like bringing by dinner, Tony," Papa replied, with just enough sarcasm to be obvious. "JARVIS, go ahead and let him up."
"Very good, Captain."
"Good evening, gentlemen," said Director Fury a few minutes later, the scent of delicious pizza preceding his arrival and causing Peter's stomach to audibly growl as they settled around the small breakfast table. They had only stopped for a brief lunch earlier in the day, and Peter hadn't eaten all that much due to his still-lingering nerves, so he was absolutely famished.
As was Papa, which Director Fury seemed to realise, keeping their conversation confined to small talk as Peter and Papa devoured an entire large pizza in about five minutes flat.
"All right, Fury," Dad said once Papa had started on his eighth slice. "Where's the fire this time?"
"Why's there have to be a fire every time I stop by to see my favourite consultant?" Director Fury asked, taking a sip of his lemonade. Papa made such an excellent homemade lemonade. "Maybe I just felt like dropping by."
"Felt like dropping by urgently, Director?" Papa asked pointedly. "Somehow I doubt it."
Director Fury's face fell, and he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "All right. There is a reason why I'm here, and unfortunately, it is rather urgent."
"It have anything to do with our house getting attacked?" Dad asked. "'Cause the investigation into that seems to have come to a complete standstill, and—"
"It actually might, Tony," Director Fury answered. "If you'll let me explain."
"Hold on just a second," said Papa. "How much of this should Peter be hearing?"
Peter's stomach dropped, and he paused mid-chew, his eyes wide.
"No! Please, don't send me away!" he managed through his mouthful of pepperoni. "Please, please, please? I was in the house when it blew up too, and I'm the one who saw the Winter Soldier!"
Director Fury's eye flitted between Dad and Papa, and he raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess that's up to you guys."
Dad pursed his lips, staring intently at Papa. "Steve, maybe we should—"
"No!" Peter cried. "I can handle it, Dad! I'm not a little kid that you need to baby anymore!" Especially now that I know I can beat Papa in arm-wrestling!
"If I may," Director Fury cut in. "The boy's input might be useful. Like he said, he was able to identify the Winter Soldier."
Papa scowled, harder than Peter had ever seen him scowl before, and glanced over at Dad, getting only a shrug and a head shake in response. "All right, Director," he said. "But Tony and I would both appreciate it if you could use some discretion."
"Believe it or not, I plan to," replied Director Fury. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his front. "There's been something that's been bothering me quite a bit ever since the Battle of New York. A thorn in my side, if you will."
"Mmm," Dad grumbled. "Could that thorn have anything to do with the fact that we were invaded by a goddamn alien army?"
"That's a big part of it, Tony, yes," Director Fury barked. "Specifically, the decision made by the World Security Council to launch a nuclear missile on the city."
"A decision that you disagreed with, correct?" Papa asked. He swallowed hard, reaching for Dad's hand on the table. Peter knew that Papa didn't like being reminded of when Dad almost died saving New York from that missile. And to be honest, neither did Peter.
"Yes, that is correct," answered Director Fury. "And one that I should've been able to stop, had I been in control of all of the agents present on the helicarrier that day."
There was a pause as Director Fury's words sunk in, with Peter's eyes going wide just as Dad barked out, "What the goddamn hell is that supposed to mean, Nick?"
"I'm not exactly sure yet, Tony," Director Fury answered. "Right now it's just a hunch, but a strong enough hunch that I felt it necessary to bring you guys into the loop."
"Okay, why only us, specifically," Papa asked warily. "Why not invite Clint and Natasha in on this… dinner? And Bruce?"
Director Fury let out a heavy sigh. "Because I needed to make sure that you thought they were trustworthy. I've known both Barton and Romanoff for a long time, and I can't for the life of me imagine why they wouldn't be trustworthy, but then again, I never thought Barton would attempt to blow up the helicarrier either, so—"
"You know Clint was under the influence of Loki's sceptre when he did that," Papa said. "He didn't know what he was doing."
"I understand that, Captain. Be that as it may, it's my job to exercise caution," Director Fury replied. "Which is all that I'm doing. The Avengers are your team. If you feel like you can trust them, then I'm good."
"I do," Papa stated. He glanced over at Dad, who gave him a nod. "We both do. They've all proven themselves multiple times."
"Good. One less thing I need to worry about," Director Fury said. "So, then that means—"
"You're wondering if you can trust the World Security Council?" Dad interrupted. "Is that it?"
"Part of it," answered Director Fury. "There's also the issue with another agent, Agent Rumlow."
"Rumlow?" asked Papa, looking over at Peter in alarm just as Peter let out a shiver. "You mean the leader of the STRIKE team?"
"And the person we put in charge of Peter's safety during the Chitauri invasion?" Dad snapped. "What the hell, Nick?"
Director Fury held up his hand. "If you'll let me finish—"
"No, I goddamn won't let you finish!" yelled Dad as he slammed his palm down onto the table, causing Peter to whimper and cover his ears. "You willingly allowed an agent that you had suspicions about access to our son? I didn't think even you could stoop so low!"
"I didn't have any suspicions back then, damnit!" Director Fury yelled back. He leaned over the table, looking intently at Dad. "My suspicions began with the missile launch in New York, and intensified with the attack on your home. And it's taken me until now to gather enough so-called evidence to even want to mention them to you people."
"The Malibu address was supposed to be a secret," Papa said. "Is that what did it?"
"Partially," Director Fury replied. "That, the Winter Soldier sighting, and the fact that we found a scrap of fabric at the house site that contained a sliver of the STRIKE team logo. There's not too many people or organisations out there who would both have access to your Malibu location and be able to afford to hire a hitman like the Winter Soldier."
He paused again, allowing his words to sink in as Peter's eyes went wide.
"Are you saying that someone inside SHIELD hired the Winter Soldier to attack us?" Papa asked, incredulous.
"It's starting to look that way, Captain," Director Fury replied somberly. "Which now begs the questions, 'who' and 'why'?"
"And you think this Agent Rumlow guy is part of the 'who'?" asked Dad.
"I'm suspicious, Tony, that's all," answered Director Fury. "But not even Rumlow has the authority within SHIELD to do something of that magnitude, so if he is a dirty agent, he's definitely not working alone."
Another shiver wracked Peter's body, so hard that he nearly wiggled out of his chair, his eyes focused on a line in the wood grain of the table, tracing it back and forth with his finger.
Oh my God! Agent Rumlow is a dirty agent, and he had me locked in that room, and that creepy guy was in the hallway behind him, and holy shit, what if that was the Winter Soldier! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—
"Pete? You okay?" Dad said suddenly, startling Peter, his eyes blaring alarm. "You're as white as a sheet!"
"No!" Peter choked out, his glassy eyes attempting to focus on his father's face as Papa wrapped an arm around him. "Daddy, remember when I tried to tell you we needed to leave the house, right before we were attacked?"
"Yeah, bud, I remember that in all-too-vivid detail. Why?"
Inhaling a tremulous breath, Peter looked over at Papa, a horrible pang of guilt crashing through him as he met his papa's worried blue eyes briefly before flitting away. "I had that same feeling around Agent Rumlow when we were leaving the Tower that night. Every time he looked at me or I was close to him, it was like someone had dumped ice cubes down my shirt."
Papa's eyebrows knitted together, that deep furrow between them that only formed when he was upset. "Peter, I asked you back in California if something had happened with Agent Rumlow, and you told me no. Why didn't you tell us the truth?"
Peter shook his head, now focusing on a single crumb on the floor about a meter away from the table. It seemed so stupid to have lied now, what had he been thinking? "I guess I just didn't want you guys to have to worry about me, more than you do already. Papa was hurt, and Dad was already freaking out about that and everything else, and I guess—"
"I was not freaking out!" Dad protested. "I was only trying to make sure that—"
"You were too!" Peter snapped. "You were freaking out just like you always do whenever you don't get any sleep. Why do you think that Papa made you take a nap?"
"That's still no excuse for not telling us, Peter," Papa said firmly. "And it doesn't really make any sense to me. Did you think we would've been upset if you had told us the truth?"
"Not… mad," Peter mumbled. "Just more… paranoid, overprotective, whatever you wanna call it. You guys already worry about me enough. It just—, it gets to be too much sometimes."
"We're overprotective, as you say, because you're our son and we love you," Dad said in a tight voice, turning Peter's chin to meet his eyes. "That comes with being a parent, kid, and while it may come as a bit of shock to you, that's not gonna go away just because you've grown a couple of inches and gained some sass."
"All right, I'm sorry to have to cut into the parenting lesson, but can someone please kindly explain what the kid is talking about?" Director Fury asked, only barely hiding his impatience. "'Cause I'm confused as hell, and that tends to get me cranky."
Dad huffed out a sharp breath, glowering at Director Fury. "Pete had a kind of… premonition, I guess, before the house was attacked. Kept saying we needed to get out, went yelling through the house for Steve… almost like he knew it was coming."
"Hmm, that is interesting," said Director Fury. "And you're saying you had this same… premonition when you were around Agent Rumlow, Peter?"
Peter gave him a quick nod.
"Goddamnit!" Dad cried, causing Peter to jump. "Are you telling me that the whole mess-up with Pete's room down there wasn't really a mess-up at all? That Rumlow really was trying to keep him holed up in a brig, or worse?"
"Tony—" Papa started, but Dad just kept going as if he hadn't heard him, his voice getting louder with every word.
"So what the fuck would've happened to him if Rhodey hadn't gotten there and raised hell, huh, Nick?"
"Tony, I don't think any of that matters now," Papa said, gently but firmly, his hand gripping Dad's arm. "What we should be focusing on instead is what to do about this."
"Okay, which is what, exactly?" Dad retorted.
"Nothing yet," Director Fury replied. "Not until we have some more evidence, which now that I know where to start looking, shouldn't take as much time to gather."
"All right, then let me ask you this, Director," Papa said in his Captain's voice. "Are we safe here? Is Peter safe to go to school? Are we safe to go about our lives until this is figured out?"
"Absolutely, hon," Dad said tersely, before Director Fury could answer. "And apparently a lot more so than we would've been down in D.C."
"I would agree with Tony's assessment," said Director Fury. "Especially if the boy does have this sense for danger that you're describing, that's as good an alarm as anything that I could come up with."
"We'll have to mention that to Dr Cho tomorrow morning, Tony," Papa said.
"Yeah, babe, I know," muttered Dad, scrubbing a palm down his face. He seemed as exhausted as Peter felt.
"Well, on that note, that's all I came by to discuss, gentlemen," Director Fury said, dabbing as his mouth with a napkin. "I am sorry to have to bring such… unsettling news, but I thought it best to let you know of my concerns right away."
"We do appreciate it, Director," said Papa. "Thank you."
At Dad's stiff nod, Director Fury exited the kitchen and headed for the open elevator, with Papa turning to Peter as soon as the doors closed, his jaw set tight.
"I don't think I need to tell you how disappointed we are, Peter," he said, placing his hands on Peter's shoulders as Dad stepped up next to him, his brow furrowed in uneasiness.
Peter gulped, shaking his head, his eyes trained on Papa's knees. "No, you don't."
"And I think we've had enough excitement for one day, wouldn't you agree?"
"Uh huh."
"Good. Then I think we should all pile on the couch together and watch a movie. It might help take our minds off of everything," Papa said. "I'll even make hot chocolate. Sound good?"
Dad huffed out a sharp breath, leaning into Papa, who immediately wrapped his arm around him. "As long as you make mine with at least three-fourths coffee, babe. Or better yet, how about seven-eighths. Otherwise you'll be carrying me to bed before we're even halfway through."
Papa smiled, that smirky, sweet smile with just a touch of shyness that he reserved only for Dad, and Peter's heart fluttered.
"You know I don't mind doing that, sweetheart," Papa said as he kissed Dad's temple. Peter instinctively wrinkled his nose, but deep down he loved it. Loved seeing Dad accept affection from someone other than him, and how willing Papa was to give it. Papa really did love his father, and it was one of the most awesome things that Peter had ever seen.
And Dad loved him just as much. Dad's eyes never held anything back when he looked at Papa. No mask or shell could hide how he felt, not when he was the heart eyes emoji come to life every time he so much as glanced in Papa's direction.
They really were perfect for each other.
Dad was right; Papa had saved them both there in the middle of that barren Afghanistan desert, not just Peter. And despite everything that had happened since then, Peter wouldn't change a single bit of it.
"What about The Wizard of Oz?" Peter suggested, grinning when Dad let out an overdramatic groan. "What, Papa likes that one!"
"That's only 'cause it came out before the war even started, bud," said Dad, quirking an eyebrow. "Not because it's actually decent. It's the whole, 'flying monkey, I understood that reference' thing."
"I actually saw that film in the theatre," Papa said with a chuckle. "When it came out. Bucky and I saved for three weeks so we could go see it."
Dad playfully rolled his eyes, pinching Papa on his side. "See? He just proved my point."
"Oh, come on, Tony," Papa said, laughing. "It's Peter's choice, and that's what he's chosen."
"Mmm, fine. But you'll probably still have to carry me to bed," Dad grumbled as he headed for the living room, plopping himself down on the couch so hard that he almost bounced right back off again. "Well, c'mon then, I'm waiting. Where's my coffee?"
It was a rare occasion for Tony to wake up before Steve.
Most of the time—or at least most of the times when Tony actually went to bed, usually at Steve's insistence—Steve was up and out the door for his run before Tony would even contemplate thinking about waking up sometime in the near future, so Tony would wake up alone, often chasing the fleeting echoes of a nightmare with nothing but the rumpled sheets and Steve's lingering scent on his pillow for company. And then he would clutch Steve's pillow to his chest, breathing in his beloved's comforting scent until his heart stopped racing and he felt safe once again.
Tony didn't begrudge Steve his morning runs, even if he couldn't fathom why someone would wish to punish their body in such ways, both by waking up at such an ungodly hour and then spending that time running, of all things. Tony understood that running was more than just exercise for Steve, though. It was a time for him to focus, time to think and work through problems without outside pressure or influence, and also a daily reminder that he could in fact run for as long as he desired without the risk of dying from an asthma attack.
But every now and then there was a morning like this. Because as much as Steve adored his morning runs, he also understood that it was important to take the occasional day off, something Tony knew that he himself could work on as well. And as such, Steve was still asleep, which meant that Tony could now oogle him to his heart's content without fear of either ridicule or recompense.
They usually slept curled around each other, either with Tony's back to Steve's chest and Steve's arm draped over him or facing each other, with Tony's head tucked under Steve's chin and their legs intertwined. That morning was the latter, and as Tony carefully extradited himself from Steve's ironclad grip, a soft smile stretched across his lips at the beautiful sight in front of him. Steve was on his side, shirtless with the sheets pulled up to his waist, one arm curled under the pillow and the other resting gently across Tony. In sleep he looked even younger, his blond hair mussed and flopping over his forehead, with all of the boyish innocence that he had when he first joined the Army back in 1943. There were no signs of distress on his face, his jaw relaxed and supple and his forehead free of frown lines. His full pink lips were even quirked into the slightest of smiles, and Tony had to fight against the urge to lean down and kiss them, not wanting to disturb his beloved's rare, peaceful sleep.
Holy shit. He's just so damn gorgeous.
They'd made love after Peter had gone to bed the previous night, so Tony was bare-chested as well, having been too boneless afterwards to do much more than pull on some underwear after they'd gotten cleaned up. Heat bloomed across Tony's chest as he recalled the slide of Steve's sweat-slicked skin against his, the sweet whispered words, the lust clouding Steve's gorgeous blue eyes until they were nearly black. Sex with Steve was always incredible, whether it was hard and fast after a particularly bad nightmare or more tender and passionate like the previous night, Steve always managed to find a way to make Tony feel like he was experiencing something incredible for the very first time.
And he was, in a way. Because even what he'd thought might have been love with Peter's mother could in no way compare with what he had now with Steve. Steve was his complement, Steve made him better, made him want to be better.
Steve was his other half, that he'd never even realised he was missing.
As the room grew steadily brighter, with sunbeams now breaking through the puffy clouds overhead and highlighting Steve's hair, Steve's eyebrows suddenly twitched, knitting together as his jaw tightened and the arm draped across Tony stiffened, his hand clenching into a tight fist as Tony was yanked flush against Steve's chest.
He was having another nightmare, and as horrible as that was, Tony loved that Steve's first unconscious instinct was to reach for him.
"Shh, baby, it's okay," Tony murmured, bringing his free hand up to rub at the junction between Steve's neck and shoulder, where he often carried a lot of his tension. He dug the pads of his fingers into the tight flesh, still whispering into Steve's ear as his face screwed into an expression of pure torture.
"Steve, it's okay, honey. I'm here, you're okay. You're safe."
Not a second later Steve's eyes flew open, flitting frantically around the room before landing on Tony, releasing his held breath in one loud, guttural puff.
"Tony!"
"Yeah, babe, it's me."
Steve's face fell, his forehead thudding against Tony's head, his entire body shuddering as he inhaled lungfuls of air, trying to reorient himself.
"I'm sorry I woke you."
"You didn't," Tony assured him, still kneading at the knots in Steve's shoulder. "I was already awake."
"You were?" Steve rasped, and Tony had to bite back a laugh at his confused expression. "And you were still in bed?"
"Mmmhmm," answered Tony with a rather cheeky grin. "I was… admiring the view, shall we say."
A shy smile stretched across Steve's lips, once again proving to Tony that Steve Rogers wasn't quite real. How could the man not know how breathtaking he was?
"Enjoying yourself?" he murmured into Tony's hair, heat radiating from his lightly stubbled cheeks. Tony adored that he could still make Steve blush, it was so incredibly cute and sexy at the same time.
"Damn right, babe," Tony said as he tilted his head up for a kiss, grunting in surprise when Steve rolled on top of him, aligning their bodies. Tony gasped at the contact, instinctively hiking his knees up around Steve's hips.
"Morning, sweetheart," Steve said, his grin turning downright wicked even as fear still flickered in his striking blue eyes.
"Mmm, good morning to you, gorgeous," replied Tony, ending on a gasp as Steve ground down against him, Tony's hands grabbing onto Steve's ass.
"This okay?" Steve asked, and a knot formed in Tony's throat at his pleading tone. Always such a gentleman was his fiancé, even after all this time.
"You know it is, baby," Tony whispered. One hand trailed up Steve's back, tugging on his neck to bring their lips together as Steve's hands started to wander, mapping across Tony's chest and sides before slipping down underneath him, pressing Tony even closer to him. "I've got your back."
Let's chase away those nightmares together. It's how we're best.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Helen said as Tony, Steve, and Peter stepped into Bruce's lab, Peter clinging to both of their arms with trembling hands. It had taken all of their combined strengths of persuasion to cajole Peter into eating at least some of his breakfast that morning, with Tony forcing himself to eat to set a good example. He really had no idea what to expect from Helen's results, and that unnerved him almost more than anything else.
"Good morning, doctor," Steve replied, his steady voice belying his own nervousness.
With a kind smile, Helen led them to the small table over against the far wall of the lab, a file folder in one hand. "Shall we have a seat?"
As soon as they were all seated, Helen opened the folder, showing the printed PCR results with two sections circled in red ink.
"All right," she began, tapping the page with her pen, which displayed two sets of results one above the other. "This is your DNA, Tony. The set on the top there is what I pulled from the SHIELD database, with the set on the bottom being the sample I took from you yesterday."
"Yeah," answered Tony. "And they match."
"That is correct," agreed Helen. "They do match. But what SHIELD failed to notice was the fact that there's a very unusual component to your genetic makeup, here," and she pointed to a single gene, marking it with an asterisk. "This here is not something that we see in just your normal, everyday human. Not even in my line of work."
Tony's head snapped back in surprise, his eyebrows knitting together, too shocked to form words. Not your everyday human? What the hell?
"Huh?" exclaimed Peter. "Are you trying to say that my dad's not human or something?"
"No, Peter," said Helen. "Your father is human, just not your normal, everyday human."
"What exactly does that mean, doctor?" asked Steve.
"To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure until I pulled Captain Rogers' DNA scan from SHIELD's records," she answered, turning to the next page in the folder that displayed Steve's DNA, taken after he was defrosted. She pointed to another single gene, also marking it with an asterisk. "As you can see here, the gene isn't exactly the same, but I believe it's similar enough to warrant further investigation. Unfortunately, right now I'm afraid I don't have the proper clearance at SHIELD to get access to the files I'd need to begin that investigation."
Dumbfounded, Tony could only stare in confusion at the paper in front of him, finally glancing down at Peter, whose shocked expression mirrored his own.
"Is there any way you could give us an educated guess, doctor?" Steve asked, draping a comforting arm around Tony's shoulders.
Helen sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm not usually one for making guesses, Captain, but if I had to, I would postulate that Mr Stark was treated with some kind of… therapy at an early age that was strong enough to alter his genetic makeup, but not to the extent that yours was altered when you received your super soldier serum."
"What?" exclaimed Tony, shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear it. "But that's ridiculous! I'm no super soldier! I'm not even close to being a super soldier!"
"Tony," Bruce said gently. "Your father was a SHIELD scientist, correct?"
Tony scowled, as he always did whenever Howard was mentioned. "Yeah. So?"
"Well…" Bruce continued after a quick glance at Helen. "After we got these results, I did a little digging into SHIELD's files and found a bunch of projects that your father worked on before he died. The problem is that they're listed as accessible only to agents with a clearance level of nine or higher."
"Yeah, I've run into that problem a few times myself," grumbled Tony. "But I still don't know what—"
"We also know that the U.S. Government has been interested—or more like obsessed—with replicating Dr Erskine's results ever since he was killed."
"Yeah, and you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, big guy?" Tony said, a little too harshly when Bruce winced.
"Yes, I would," Bruce said evenly. "Which is why I'm thinking that your father might have also been working on some kind of super soldier-like experiment, and—"
"Are you saying that Howard treated Tony with some kind of experimental genetics therapy?" Steve asked, aghast. "I can't believe he would do that!"
"I'm not saying that his intentions would've been hostile, Steve," Bruce said, holding up his hands. "But even if we take a step back and look at this logically, there's really very little reason for Tony to even still be alive after what he's been through. I mean, I've seen his x-rays, seen the positioning of the shrapnel pieces and the depth of the arc reactor placement, and… well… I'm sorry, Tony, but either one of those things would've killed a lesser man a long, long time ago."
Tony pressed a fist to his chest, gulping as he stared at the paper in front of him, at those two little red asterisks indicating that he'd likely been experimented on at some point by his own father.
Trying to turn me into another super soldier because he couldn't stand the thought of living without the one that he lost? I didn't think even Howard could stoop that low.
"Daddy?" Peter suddenly said from beside him, causing Tony to flinch. "Are you okay?"
"Course," Tony said quickly, earning the eyebrows of disappointment from his fiancé. "Look, we can dive further into all that stuff some other time. We asked you here to help us with Pete, not with me."
"All right," said Helen. She turned to yet another page in the folder, displaying the results of Peter's DNA tests. Tony's eyes were immediately drawn to the similarities in he and Peter's DNA, widening as he recognised the very same altered gene that he had.
"Pete's got it too," he said grimly.
"That's right," replied Helen, marking Peter's gene with another asterisk. "You passed along the altered gene to him."
"Okay, but that doesn't make any sense either," said Tony. "Pete was born almost two months premature and was tiny and sickly from the get-go. He had ear infection after ear infection as a baby, and then was diagnosed with severe asthma and allergies when he was two. So if he's got this same gene, why didn't it help him to be healthier?"
"I had that exact same question," Helen said, glancing between Tony and Steve. "Unfortunately, in order to find the answer, I had to ask Director Fury for access to some other SHIELD records."
"And?" asked Steve.
Helen shot Bruce an odd look, which only served to increase Tony's frustration.
"There's no need to beat around the bush here," he snapped. "Whatever you need to tell us, I think we'll be able to handle it."
"Peter's altered gene was in a latent form, Tony," Helen explained after a short pause. "Meaning that it was—"
"Present, but not active. Yeah, I know what latent means, thank you," said Tony. He was desperately trying to keep his temper, and would have surely lost it three times over already if Steve hadn't been there with them. "Then what the hell activated it? Something the Ten Rings shot him up with?"
"No," answered Helen. "From what I've been able to determine, Peter's latent gene was activated when he started puberty. Since puberty is a gradual process that usually spans a few years, his symptoms came on gradually, with a sort of snowball effect once they got going."
Tony's mind was swirling so wildly with all of the shocking information that a wave of dizziness washed over him, strongly enough to prompt Steve to tighten his hand on Tony's shoulder.
"Okay… so…" he croaked. "I know I'm not a genetics expert like you guys are, but I do know that latent genes usually require an activator to… well, activate them, so—"
"That's correct, Tony," said Bruce. "And Peter had one."
"Okay. Where?"
"Here," said Helen as she pointed to another of Peter's genes with the tip of her pen, a gene located on his X-chromosome.
"The activator came from Peter's mother."
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