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Crying

Tony knew exactly how some people viewed mutants. He'd seen it on the news and, before everything...before he'd gotten kidnapped and had a piece of metal shoved into his chest, he'd seen it himself at the parties he'd attended. Parties where people murmured derogatory words about them. Told jokes about them. And Tony had rarely spoken up. He'd rarely said anything in their defense, mostly because he didn't really know any mutants. Later, he met Steve and Bruce and Wanda...enhanced. There was a difference, society insisted. A difference between the people who had been made into something more than human and those who had been born different. Those people were seen differently.

Not by Tony, of course. After becoming Iron Man, he had worked with Professor Xavier plenty of times, donating money to his school and to his organization that fought tirelessly to make sure that mutant children were kept safe. It didn't always work, though. A lot of the time, children fell through the cracks. And he knew that the people of his station, the people who had money and plenty of free time and who weren't often forced to face any kind of consequences sometimes amused themselves in terrible, disgusting ways. That there were stories out there that were never told. The stories of children that were never seen again. The children whose parents had fought so hard to keep a secret that would ruin their children's lives forever. And oftentimes, that secret did.

He fought for those children. He was an Avenger and he focused most of his attention on that, fighting to keep the peace in his country and the world and within his team. And those things took up most of his mental energy. Between being an Avenger and keeping up with his company and being the head of research and development and attending these stupid company parties, he felt like he barely had enough time to talk to his fiancee. Still, he tried. He threw fundraisers and stood before lawmakers and he fought to make sure that mutants and the children of mutants had the same rights as everyone else. He fought the mutant registration law and went public with his support of Profesor Xavier.

And yet, there were still some people that didn't seem to take him seriously. People that had the audacity to come to his fundraisers, knowing what they did about where he stood on this while still drinking his complimentary wine and chatting with Pepper. Usually, they tried to keep it something of a secret. Their preferences and their beliefs and their hobbies. If pressed, they made it a joke. They weren't real children, those people would say. They were mutants. Not human. They were lucky to be science experiments, only it was never phrased like that. They had better lives as personal attendants or whatever the euphemism was than they would out on the streets where so many mutant children ended up.

Any time Tony heard this, either by the person in question or from one of the other guests at his fundraisers or galas, he made sure to blacklist them. He sent the name to Charles Xavier. He made sure the whole world found out what that person did to children. And over the years, less and less of those people showed up to his home. Which was how he preferred it. Still, he kept in touch with Professor X and occasionally the Avengers would team up with the X-Men on big missions, or wherever they needed a hand. And things seemed pretty peaceful for a while. The Mutant Registration Act failed to pass. The Accords did as well, and the Avengers stayed together despite some infighting.

And then Tony held a fundraiser.

It was a fundraiser for an organization that helped homeless children, including mutant children. There were organizations that didn't help mutant children. And Tony wouldn't work with them. He'd worked with this organization before, and so had Professor Xavier, so he trusted them. There had been talks of opening a new orphanage in New York for these kids, complete with workers and teachers and all the staff they'd need to run the place. Still, Tony didn't say any of that on the invitation, only that it was a fundraiser for homeless kids.

Osborn was bragging about the boy when Tony joined the conversation. Bragging about finding a mutant. About the things he was learning. A child born with a power that didn't manifest until puberty...strength and an ability to climb walls and, most interestingly, web shooters that developed on his wrists. No mention of parents. Just...another homeless runaway kid. And Tony stood, pretending to talk to Pepper while listening, anxious to know more details.

Osborn told the man he was talking to that the boy was there. Over by the table. He'd come as an intern if they wanted to get a sneak peak after the party.

Tony found Thor first, interrupting his conversation with a couple of older veterans and pulling the man to the side. "I need a favor," he muttered, leaning in close and not letting his eyes wander over to Osborn. Not willing to tip him off. The man would never make a scene but he'd be willing to sneak out, along with the boy standing over by the punch bowl, a cup of the pink drink clenched in his shaking hand. From the brief glance, Tony hadn't been able to see how the boy was contained. But he knew that there were devices. Collars and wrist cuffs...he'd seen too much research on them. Had seen their effect on children and adults alike.

Thor tilted his head, leaning in close. "Yes?"

"There's a boy over there...a teenager. Holding a cup."

"I see," Thor answered, speaking slowly.

"He's not safe with the person he came with. I'm going to try and get him upstairs. I need you to distract Osborn. Make sure he doesn't see me. Do whatever you have to."

Thor's gaze lingered on the boy for a moment, eyes darkening at whatever he saw, but Tony didn't dare turn to look at him. Osborn might be watching. "Of course."

Tony waited for twenty seconds, counting to himself as he pulled out his phone and drank his sparkling water. And then, when he chanced a glance and saw that Osborn and Thor were deep in conversation, Thor's body strategically blocking the boy by the punch bowl, Tony headed over. No one paid him much mind. They were all drinking his wine and laughing and mingling, none of them noticing the teenager who was obviously too young to be there. Only the boy seemed to be tracking him. He didn't lift his eyes as Tony approached him, but he stiffened when the man came to a stop beside him.

Part of Tony wanted to ease him into this conversation. He wanted to chat. Show that he didn't mean the kid any harm, and that he was here to help. But this kid, with his shaking hand and wild, terrified eyes that darted constantly around the room, needed help now. There wasn't time to ease the kid into it. "I need you to come with me." He said it firmly. A command. He knew kids like this, and he knew what kind of life he probably led with Osborn. So despite his relief, his chest still clenched painfully when the boy just nodded, suppressing a flinch when Tony put a hand on his back, leading him toward the exit. His heart pounded as he led the shaking boy out of the ballroom, through the kitchen, and then into the elevator.

There were no footsteps behind them...no one following them. Still, he and the boy shook and he didn't dare say a word. Didn't let himself break the silence. He couldn't risk spooking the kid lest the kid run. And the boy didn't look at him as the elevator opened into Tony's lab. Didn't even look up. Instead, he let himself be led over to a chair where he sat when ordered to, still clutching that glass of punch.

"Friday? Lock it down. No one that isn't an Avenger gets in here."

It wasn't until he heard the clicks of locks that he finally pulled up a chair, sitting a few feet away from the boy, his own fingers lacing together as the kid stared at the floor. "Hi," he murmured, lowering his voice. Making it softer, as though the boy were an animal that had been beaten. Hell, minus the animal part, he might have been. God only knew what Osborn had done to this kid. "My name's Tony. What's yours?"

"Peter," the kid answered, voice flat, fingers clenching the glass as they shook.

"It's nice to meet you Peter. You want something to drink? Some water? Soda? Anything but punch?"

Peter shook his head, lips disappearing as he hid them between his teeth.

"Do you know who I am?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, sir. Dr. Tony Stark."

"That's right...Tony is fine, though. You don't have to call me sir." Tony tried for a smile. The boy still didn't meet his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you kid. Promise. I'm here to help, okay?" At that, the kid finally looked up, eyebrows furrowed as he cocked his head just a little. "Is it under your shirt collar?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a hand involuntarily moving to touch his tie.

"I have something that can remove it. If you'll let me." The boy didn't move so Tony went on. "That can wait, though. For now, why don't I just explain myself. I work pretty closely with Professor Charles Xavier and other people that help out mutants, especially mutant kids. Homeless kids or...or kids like you. And we try to put people like Osborn in prison."

Peter didn't look up from the ground, but the hand clutching the glass of punch loosened just a little. So Tony went on.

"I have Natasha Romanoff doing some digging into Osborn. There's nothing she hates more than people who hurt kids. If anyone can take him down, it's her. What I'm going to do is see if we can find your family. Until then, you'll have a safe place to stay. Either way, you don't ever have to see him again. How does that sound?"

The kid stared at the ground, and it took Tony a moment to realize that, despite the fact that he sat ramrod straight, every muscle clenched, the boy had tears running down his cheeks. There was no sign that he was crying other than the actual tears, his face pale, lips pressed together. Sighing, Tony sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why don't you let me take that thing off of you? Think that would help?"

The boy nodded, still not meeting his eyes, and Tony rolled his chair forward a little, fingers ghosting over the boy's shirt before loosening the tie and opening his collar. Underneath his shirt was the metal collar, about an inch wide and tight enough that it left the boy little room to breathe.

"How long have you had to wear that?"

"What…" The boy cleared his throat, flinching as if that hurt. "What month is it?"

Tony forced his expression to stay calm as he reached over to his desk drawer and pulled out the device that would unlock it. "It's November."

"Um...eight months. I think."

Tony nodded, placing the tool against the collar and then pressing the button on the side. After only a second, there was a soft 'beep' from the torture device that had suppressed the boy's powers, tracked his location, and delivered an electric shock whenever Osborn had willed it so fell into two parts, dropping to the ground with a 'clank.' Peter flinched at the sound, bringing a hand up to the angry looking skin of his neck and shuddering.

"There you go." Tony grabbed the two halves and placed them on the desk before turning to Peter, reaching out and gently taking the glass of punch from his hands. "How about some water? You can lay down...if...if you want…" Tony clenched his jaw when the boy's shoulders gave a rough jerk, a sob bursting out of his mouth as he covered his mouth as if to keep it in. "Hey...you're okay, kiddo. You're safe here." He reached out, putting a hand on the boy's wrist, and the kid's other hand came up to grip his hand, his grip almost too tight. When Tony flinched a little, the boy started to jerk away. "It's fine. You're pretty strong, huh?"

"He...he didn't...he…" Peter started breathing too fast, the words attempting to escape, but it was as though the boy couldn't pick the right ones. "I couldn't...he...he didn't…"

"You're okay," Tony promised, and then, because the kid was sobbing and because Tony had seen the kinds of things that were done to kids like him, he wrapped a careful arm around Peter's shoulders. Immediately the boy turned to him, gripping his shirt with one hand and hiding his face in Tony's shoulder. "Okay. It's okay. You're safe now. We'll find your family. I promise."

"My aunt and uncle," Peter started, swallowing hard and pulling away just a little, bringing a fist up to wipe at his eyes. He was still shaking, but Tony could see him trying to pull himself together. "I...I was scared and...and I was...I was scared they'd be angry. I ran away."

"You thought they'd be angry?"

"Because I was…" Peter bit his lip, then finally met Tony's eyes, straightening a little and steeling himself. "A mutant. I was scared they'd...kick me out or something."

Tony nodded. He wanted to assure the boy that no good parent or guardian would ever do that...would ever disown a child they loved for something the child couldn't control. But he knew better. He knew that not all parents or guardians were good. "Natasha is going to look into Osborn, and I'll contact your aunt and uncle. If they aren't...supportive, then you can stay here." Tony started to continue...to say that he could stay at the tower until they found a family that could take care of him. But something made him stop there. Peter could stay with him. The rest would sort itself out.

So instead, Tony kept an arm around the boy's shoulders until the kid could pull himself together. He would take this one step at a time. First, he got the boy a bottle of water, pressing it into his shaking hands. Then he found him a change of clothes, showing him the bathroom where he could change. In a pair of Tony's old sweatpants and MIT sweatshirt, the boy looked even smaller...hungry. The boy looked hungry. So Tony grabbed a box of protein bars and ordered enough Chinese food to feed the whole team, assuming that would be enough. And once the boy ate three entrees of food and drank what looked like his weight in water, he curled up on Tony's sofa, huddled under a blanket, and it wasn't ten minutes before he was asleep.

Tony asked Friday to have Peter call for him if he woke, then headed upstairs to deal with Norman Osborn.