NINETEEN.

This was how things ended.

With Peter caught under Quentin's grip, Natasha pointing a pistol, Steve still tied up, and Tony, even with his hands free and even being literally a step away from Quentin and Peer, unable to do anything except meet the sly smile Quentin gave him.

"I'll admit," Quentin said, his hand resting over Peter's shoulder, "I didn't except you to get so sentimental over this boy, Stark." He tilted his head to the side. "You always did pride yourself in not having a conscience. Or did you just need another bright little thing to add to your collection?" He gave Peter another sharp jerk, and Tony took another step forward before Quentin lifted a wagging finger.

"Don't get too jumpy, Tony," Quentin said, still smiling. "It's an embarrassing look on you." He smiled over at Peter, and Tony wanted to rip the sneer off the man's face. "Relax—I'm sure you'll find another one. Doesn't take you too long to replace people."

"You're delusional," Tony said, and even though he knew it was a bad idea to insult the person holding everyone captive, he couldn't keep the words out of his mouth. Not when Peter was still in Beck's grip for some reason that wasn't even real. "I fired you because you're crazy."

Quentin's face reddened, and leaning forward, he started to say, "I said don't—"

"Mr. Stark, please!" Peter cried out, and Tony's blood ran cold at the panic in his voice. "Don't." His wide eyes met Tony's. "I'll be okay."

"For some reason, I can't believe that," Tony replied, clenching his hands into fists as Quentin let out a small laugh. He had always found Quentin's laugh unsettling, but it sounded even worse with Peter still in his clutches.

"A brave one, too," Quentin said, looking at Tony. "But I suppose such bravery is only necessary when you come from the slums." His smile twisted into an ugly sneer as Peter jerked his head to the side. "But bravery can only get you so far. Tell me, Mr. Parker, did you actually think Tony Stark would keep you for as long as he did?"

"Don't you dare—" Tony started forward, but Peter shook his head again.

"See? Peter knows it," Quentin said. He tilted his head at Tony. "And I suppose he knows—and you should know by now, too—that your little empire of Stark Industries is about to fall." He cast another grin at Peter, who stiffened. "People will forever see Stark Industries as the company that was responsible for not only the death of one of its employees, but the death of the other poor little workers in the slums. And it's all rather perfect timing, really, considering that these pesky journalists have suddenly grown a conscience in writing about such mundanity." Quentin paused, as though a new thought had come to him—but the awful smile that he gave Tony told him that whatever next words he were about to say was just going to be as taunting as the past ones. "Now, did you know about that when you selected Peter? Did you think that choosing Peter as your newest…ah, protégé, for lack of better word, would garner you some more respect?"

"Do you ever get tired of listening to yourself speak?" Tony gritted out. "Because I am."

"Typical Stark answer." Quentin turned to Peter. "Wouldn't you say?"

"You don't get to talk to him," Tony snapped.

"Why not?" Quentin asked, turning to Tony, but something else caught the corner of Tony's eye. Peter was shaking his head again, but there was something different about him now.

Tony looked at Peter again. He was still shaking his head, but the panic had faded from his face. Instead, Tony recognized the grim, determined set of Peter's jaw as he shook his head again at Tony. Then, as Quentin continued to sneer, Tony watched with bated breath as Peter snuck a hand into Quentin's pocket. He heard the quietest intake of breath from Steve, but when he looked, Natasha's face remained as cool as ever. They knew what was going to happen.

"Finally given up arguing?" Quentin asked, lifting his eyebrows at Tony, and Tony forced his eyes to return to Quentin's face. And right below, Peter was slowly turning over a small circular object in his hand. On one side, Tony could see the Stark Industries logo emblazoned on the metal—the same object that Quentin must have used to knock himself out on the night of the charity gala.

"I think I might be," Tony finally replied. "But I've got the feeling that Mr. Parker's just getting ready to start."

Multiple things happened at once.

The sneer from Quentin's face slid off as Peter jabbed the needle side of the badge into Quentin's leg, Steve shot up to his feet and started hollering at the rest of the police force that must have arrived, Natasha ducked out of the room, and Tony reached for Peter just in time for him to slide away from the plate as Quentin tumbled into his place.

And then Steve's force were clambering into the room, and then Natasha returned into the room, plaster in her hair and wires and the other half of the plate clutched tightly in her hand, and someone was cutting Steve free, but all Tony could actually process was the fact that Peter was trembling right in his arms.

"That was some pick-pocketing," Tony managed to say into Peter's hair.

Peter lifted his head, and his face was so pale, and his body was so cold, but he still gave Tony a shaky smile. "Riskiest pick-pocketing of my life," he replied. He started to turn towards Quentin, and Tony let him. For a moment, the two stared at Quentin's seemingly lifeless form as police men dragged him away.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asked in a small voice.

"Yes?" Tony looked over at Peter, but the boy's eyes were trained on Quentin's retreating figure. Peter's shoulders had slumped over, all the strength drained out of his limbs so that he looked smaller than ever. And yet, when Peter looked back up at Tony, Tony detected the glimmer of some different strength in his eyes—something small and brief, but there had been something there.

"I don't think I want to pick pockets anymore," Peter replied, and with that, he passed the badge along to Tony.

The badge was smooth in Tony's palm. He held it up so it could catch whatever dim light was left in the room. "How did you know you were going to pull this out?" he asked.

"I didn't."

Tony looked at Peter, but the boy only lifted his shoulders at the floor. "I didn't know what I was going to find," Peter said quietly. "Just that if I did find something, then I'd try to use it against Mr. Beck." Digging the toe of his shoe against the floorboards, Peter added in a still softer voice, "I wasn't sure if…" He swallowed. Took a deep breath. A shaky breath that seemed to rattle out of Peter. "I wasn't sure if it would work."

Before Tony could respond, Steve walked back into the room. He was still rubbing his wrists from where the ropes had been tied around the skin, but besides that, Steve only looked a little tired. "Beck's already on his way to the nearest jail, where he'll stay until he goes to trial," Steve said. "You two are free to go."

"No questions? No debriefing?" Tony asked. "I'm surprised."

Steve gave Tony a crooked smile. "You'll be hearing from us, but for now…" His eyes flitted over to Peter and then to Tony and then to the space between the two. His smile faded a little, replaced by instead a sad, knowing look that Tony felt only he could see. "I've got the feeling that you two only want to go home."

Home.

"Glad that we can agree on that one thing," Tony replied. He paused and then, clearing his throat, he stuck out a hand. "Thank you." Another beat of silence, and then Tony added, "Steve."

And this time, Steve smiled a real smile—not the sarcastic smile or the sad smile or even the golden boy, Perfect Captain Rogers smile that used to grace Tony's father's office. But the smile Steve wore now actually caused the corners of his eyes to wrinkle into the lightest of lines, and when Steve shook Tony's hand, it was a gentle and warm press of the hand that made Tony think that no, not everything slips through the cracks.

"Peter," Steve said, turning to the boy now. He extended a hand.

For a painstaking moment, Peter's hand didn't move. But then, Tony watched with a sinking heart as he focused on the slight tremble in Peter's hand as he took Steve's. They shook hands once, and Peter dropped his hand back to his side. And as though Peter sensed Tony's eyes on his hand, Peter shifted his hand behind his back, as though that simple movement could conceal the ever-present tremor.

Tony met Steve's eyes, and the way the captain's eyes darkened told Tony that he had caught the shake, too. But all Steve said was, "We'll arrange for a carriage to bring you two home right away." He gestured out the door. "In the meantime, though, I'm sure you'll want to get out of this room."

"Read my mind," Tony replied with forced lightness, and he followed Steve out of the apartment.

Natasha was already waiting in the hallway when the three all stepped out of the rooms. "Long night," she only commented. "And it's just about to get longer. For me, at least." She let out an exaggerated sigh and stretched her arms over her head.

"Nothing you can't handle, I assume," Tony replied.

Natasha smiled lazily at Tony mid-stretch. "Of course," she said and dropped her arms back to her sides. She nodded at the ground. "After ripping out what could have been an explosive, I'm sure I can handle just about anything else that comes my way."

"So that's what it was?" Tony asked. "There was something underneath the floorboards?" He gestured at the bits of plaster that were still stuck in Natasha's hair.

As though noticing the plaster in her hair just now, Natasha batted out some chips before replying, "Something like that. You would probably have a better idea of what exactly Beck had planted underneath our feet, but I suspect that's what he was doing with the apartment below him that the landlady was so confused about."

"How did you know how to dismantle the explosive?" Tony asked.

"Scientific guesswork and common sense," Natasha replied loftily. "Don't act surprised."

"I've given up being surprised a long time ago," Tony said.

"Just what I like to hear." Natasha nodded, satisfied, and turned to Peter. Her expression softened as she added, "But I've got the feeling we're about to get some more surprises out of this one." She lifted her chin at Peter. "How're you feeling, spider?" But before Peter could answer, Natasha turned around and picked something up from one of the bags gathered around the building. Tony only made out the glint of red before knowing that it was the helmet he had made Peter that was being passed along.

"You left this on the rooftop," Natasha said, resting the helmet in Peter's hands. "And I've got the feeling you might want to keep it around." She gave the helmet a single pat before lifting her head up to Tony. "Now, you two will have to excuse me—got some more cleaning up to do after all these boys."

"You mean that we'll be cleaning up after you," Steve said as Natasha started to go back into the apartment.

"And that is why you're the only policeman I'll ever work with," Natasha said over her shoulder. Steve shook his head, but Tony caught a small smile from him as he trailed after Natasha.

Which left Tony alone with Peter.

"Well, then," Tony said, turning to Peter. "Shall we?"

Peter only nodded.

The air was cold enough for Tony to see his and Peter's breaths, but neither of them wanted to go back inside with all the rest of the policemen. The carriage was yet to be pulled forward, and the night was darker than ever—so dark that if it hadn't been for the lights inside the apartment building behind them, Tony doubted he would see Peter at all.

"How are you feeling?" Tony asked at last, turning to Peter.

"I'm fine," Peter replied quickly—too quickly, and Tony knew it was too quickly because he knew how often he would respond in the same manner when things were not at all fine. But Peter tried again. "I'm just tired."

"Just tired," Tony repeated.

Peter nodded again, looking down at the cobblestoned road.

Tony looked to the road with Peter. He waited. And when Peter didn't add anything on, Tony said, "You mentioned that you didn't know if your plan would work before." Even though Tony and Peter were the only ones outside, Tony couldn't help but keep his voice quiet—as though if his voice got any louder, it would scare Peter away. Or make him shrink further into himself. "That must have been difficult."

Peter loosed a curl of foggy breath. "It was." The words sounded like a surrender.

"But you still did it." Not a question.

"I just knew that we needed to stop Mr. Beck," Peter replied. He tucked his hands into his pockets, and Tony suddenly became painfully aware that Peter didn't have any thicker clothes on. He must have lost his jacket in the fray. "It didn't matter how it would happen. Just that it did."

Tony watched Peter carefully. Noticed the sudden tightness in Peter's shoulders right before Peter whispered, "I was scared." Even with his words so soft, Tony detected the crack in Peter's voice. "I really thought…" He turned to Tony, wide-eyed. "I didn't think I would be. I didn't want to be. But I was."

And Tony watched as Peter's shoulders started to shake, and Tony knew that it had nothing to do with the actual cold air, but still, Tony took off his own coat and before Peter could protest (because Tony knew he would), he set it over the boy's shoulders. Adjusting the coat over Peter's frame, Tony said, "There is nothing wrong with being scared. I'd be worried if you weren't."

Peter looked up at Tony. "Mr. Stark—" He attempted to shrug off Tony's coat, but Tony only shifted the coat back over Peter.

"Keep it on," Tony said. "Your aunt wouldn't be pleased if you caught a cold." That being said, Tony couldn't help but think, May probably wouldn't be pleased to find out what her nephew had been doing all night. But that would be a different problem to tackle—hopefully in the morning.

Clearly thinking the same thing, Peter said, "I don't think a cold is May's biggest worry right now."

"Maybe not," Tony conceded. "But I'm trying to minimize the damage." He tried for a smile, but Peter didn't return it. Tony let his hands swing by his sides. "Peter," he said. "Tell me what you're thinking about. I can't read your mind—as much as I might pretend to."

That didn't get a smile, either.

But then Peter said, "I'm thinking that…" He hesitated and then, drawing Tony's coat around him closer, Peter asked, "Nothing's going to be the same, is it, Mr. Stark?"

Tony looked at Peter. His face was still pale, but the slightest tinge of pink had touched his nose and the tips of his ears and his cheeks. All evidence of the cold, but the slight color was still something that Tony found some relief in. "Nothing has been the same since a long time ago," Tony said. And at Peter's confused expression, Tony added, "Since you crashed into my office." He nodded at Peter. "Whether you know it or not, things have been changing ever since…" He took in Peter's slowly raising eyebrows. Of course, now the boy was listening. Tony cleared his throat. "Ever since you. And I was scared too. Then. Now. That something might happen. To you." The words came out of Tony as though they were being forced out—because they really were being yanked slowly out of him in both the strangest and most relieving way possible.

"Not nearly the same as what you're feeling, of course," Tony quickly said, turning away from Peter. "Not nearly the equivalent of risking your life—but when you did…" Tony shot a quick look at Peter. "I was afraid, too."

There was a small silence between them.

And then, Peter asked, "Afraid for a pickpocket?"

"Maybe," Tony replied, and to his relief, a carriage started to pull up in front of them. "But moreso, afraid for one of the brightest people I've ever met." With that, he pulled open the carriage door and gestured inside. "Well?" he asked. "What are you waiting for?"

"Do you mean that?" Peter blurted. "Before we get in—did you just mean that? What you just said?"

Tony looked at Peter. At the surprise etched across Peter's face and the genuine pink that bloomed in his cheeks that Tony knew had nothing to do with the cold.

"I suppose I did," Tony replied at last, and he was surprised to find that his own face felt uncharacteristically warm. And then he jerked his head into the carriage. "Now, come on—we'll freeze out here."

And this time, Peter smiled before walking forward. "Yes, Mr. Stark."

The carriage ride back to the house was long. And quiet.

Tony watched the apartments and houses roll by his window as the carriage sped over cobblestones. He imagined Pepper and May probably still waiting and pacing around the whole house, checking the windows every so often for a carriage to come to the door, and a part of him relaxed at the idea of finally going home.

But at the same time, Tony already felt mostly relaxed—because Peter's head was resting on his shoulder.

The boy had fallen asleep, Tony's coat still wrapped around him.

Tony smiled at the moon.

A/N: One more chapter left!