Author's Note: Hey! Thanks so, so much for your interest and support. I've appreciated it so much. I'm so spoiled with my readers.
Disclaimer: No
Warnings: VIOLENCE, blood, gore, character death, self-deprecating thoughts, PTSD.
"Mr. Stark, please, I don't wanna go,
I don't wanna go..."
"I feel like...if you die, that's on me."
-Avengers: Infinity War / Spider-Man: Homecoming
Mom's Gotta Grudge
"I want you to know...no one is making me do this."
"I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"You don't have to look for me. Don't. Please. I'll be okay."
000o000
It's somewhere between watching May Parker get carried out in a body bag and standing in Peter's empty room that Tony feels himself completely dissociate. His body feels like it belongs to someone else. He's a specter haunting it from afar for kicks and giggles. This can't be happening. What...what is the…
This is some sort of joke.
They can't find Peter's phone.
It's a useless, exhaustive detail that feels ridiculous to hyperfocus on, but there Tony goes, fixating on it. He knows that between him and May, they must have sent the kid a dozen texts, and no one can find where the bloody thing went. It's like it vanished off the face of the planet.
He probably has it with him, one of the detectives assured Tony when he'd pointed that out. This is a good thing. We can ping it to see if we can get a location for him. And yet, when they'd tried, the device hadn't answered. It was off. Or destroyed. But not here. Why wouldn't it be here, with all the rest of the destruction, death, and gore?
"Mr. Stark?" A male voice asks. Tony has to blink twice before he can see the man standing next to him. Captain Stacy is a tall black man who looks like he should be in a bodybuilder magazine more than the NYPD, but he's also the lead investigator on this case so Tony's keeping such comments to himself. Not that he's even sure he could talk if he tried.
"I, um," Tony's mouth moves, words feeling strangely sticky.
His gaze slides back toward the bed. Peter's bed. There's shattered glass all over the floor from the broken window, the blankets askew all over the mattress and the floor. The forensics team found four bullet casings, but only one bullet. Tony can't see any blood, which is almost worse somehow. As if it would be better if there had been blood evidence everywhere?
It's not knowing.
That's what's worse.
No ransom. No body. Nothing. If this was a spree killing, it was the most patient spree killer that Tony's ever heard of. No one heard from Peter after eleven, and then the killer just...waits for seven hours to kill May?
"Mr. Stark," Captain Stacy repeats. He puts an arm on Tony's bicep and Tony flinches, not able to repress a full-body shudder. Captain Stacy's grip tightens a fraction as if he's afraid that Tony is going to fall over. Which is kinda funny, cause Tony's not sure that he won't.
This is pathetic. What are you, five? You've seen crime scenes before. You've caused plenty. Do you know how many parents don't have their kids because of you? This is nothing more than God-given comeuppance. You've earned this.
"Mr. Stark, I think you should sit down." Captain Stacy says, and Tony makes a vague gesture with his hand, but he's not sure what he means by it. The thought of not having to see this room anymore fills him with a relief that he can't verbalize. But he can't leave. He has to sit here and stare at it because he's afraid that if he walks away, something worse will happen. But he can't stay.
Captain Stacy pulls on Tony's arm and, finding no resistance, continues to guide him from the room. Tony's legs work beneath him, though he can't feel them. Everything is kinda numb, down to the tips of fingers. And yet, somehow, he's weirdly aware of body parts he shouldn't be. Like his ears, elbows, and his chin. He swallows thickly, flexing his jaw.
Captain Stacy continues to lead him through the apartment, past the dark stain where May's body was laying when he got there. DOA. The first responders had declared her officially so when they arrived on the scene. She was so pale. Almost gray. Her eyes lifelessly staring at nothing. She was facing her attacker, slumped against the wall. Still in her nurse scrubs. Somebody put so many bullets in her stomach it was a bloody, hole-riddled mess. It didn't even look human anymore.
The NYPD captain hauls Tony out into the hallway, forcing him to look at something else. Tony pulls away from him, but the movement feels slow and strange. He doesn't want Captain Stacy touching him. That much he knows. Touch hurts.
"You're in shock," Captain Stacy tells him calmly.
Tony shakes his head, slowly pulling his arms against his stomach. His hands are trembling. "I'm not in shock."
The man is unfazed. "Do you feel cold?"
"No."
"Your shoelace is untied."
"What?" Tony looks down at his shoes. The abrupt change in direction makes his body almost jerk like he was kicked in the shins. He feels a sensation swirl through his stomach, uncomfortable in its intensity. His shoes are fine. He looks up, brow drawing together and his mouth pressing into a thin line.
Captain Stacy studies his face carefully. His eyes are creased with concern. "Look," he says evenly, "I've got a daughter and I can only imagine how you're feeling." The shoelace was on purpose. He was trying to force Tony to think about something else. "How do you know the Parkers again?"
Bozhe moi.
Crap.
"Uh. Peter, he uh, had this. Thing." Get your words together. You have to do this right. Tony forces out a slow breath, blinks, and clenches his fingers into tight fists. "He won a Stark Internship about a year ago now. He's a good kid. I thought he had potential so we kept in contact."
Captain Stacy nods, his expression neutral.
Tony clenches his jaw. Every word that falls off his tongue feels like the wrong one. It's like he's talking backward. Why can't I do this right? He's been talking circles around authority since he could talk. This should be easy.
It's not.
Captain Stacy's expression twists with sympathy and he reaches out, gripping Tony's shoulder. "For what it's worth, I really am sorry. We'll do our best to find the kid."
"Yeah," Tony says. He eyes the doorway. He thinks about opening the door and finding May laying there, blood everywhere. Calling 911, feeling May's cold skin, knowing it was too late for CPR. Leaving May in the front room to search the rest of the apartment. Finding only the evidence of a fight in Peter's room but nothing to direct him as to where Peter went.
Wondering where.
Where is he?
No one could find his phone.
000o000
May P.:
Have you heard from Peter today?
Sent: 16:44
You:
He called me a little after nine this morning.
Why?
Sent 16:53
May P.:
No one's heard from him in hours.
I can't get a hold of him.
Sent: 17:01
You:
I'll call him.
Sent: 17:23
He didn't pick up.
When was the last time you heard from him?
Sent: 17:27
May P:
When I was at home.
I'm going home.
I think something's wrong.
Sent: 17:35
You:
May? Did you make it?
Sent: 18:12
May P. is typing…
You:
May?
Sent: 18:17
You're not picking up my calls.
Did something happen?
Are you and the kid okay?
Sent: 18:33
May. Seriously.
Sent: 18:42
This isn't funny.
Sent: 18:53
Please answer.
Sent: 19:01
I'm coming over.
Sent: 19:07
000o000
Upon seeing Rhodey across the parking lot, Tony's legs give out.
There's this awkward sort of tumble where the world seems to blur between a kaleidoscope of colors and gray, spinning until he's dizzy. Then he's tumbling. He lands hard on his knees before Rhodey's hands grab his shoulders, fingers iron in their grip, squatting awkwardly beside him, leg braces whirring. His eyes are hard when Tony meets them, and Tony thinks he's going to be sick.
"Hey, hey, hey," Rhodey's fingers grow painful. Tony keeps avoiding his gaze, but Rhodey keeps moving to be in his line of sight. "Look at me, Tony. Talk to me. What happened?"
"Oh, my g-there's—there's—" Tony tries to explain, but his tongue refuses to work, paralyzed. There's blood all over his hands, spreading to his wrists. Why did he...there's...there was so much blood. It was everywhere. Staining the carpet, the clothing—his own and May's—everything. It was a massacre. It was—it was—
And Peter wasn't—
Tony swears, blinking rapidly, feeling very far away. His body isn't his own. He's looking down at hands that don't belong to him. He's…
Rhodey grabs the sides of his face, and Tony's eyes snap to him. His dark eyes have gentled. "Tony," he says carefully, slowly, like Tony's something skittish. He is. If his legs weren't so weak, he doesn't know how far he would have run already. "Tony, what happened? Why are you here? Isn't this Peter's apartment building?"
Rhodey's gaze lingers on the cop cars spilling across the parking lot, lights flashing into the sky in a parade of wrong.
Tony's lips press together and he clenches his fists, trying to get feeling back into his fingers. When he'd slipped out of the apartment, away from the hoards of police, the only thing he could think of doing was calling Rhodey. The only thing he'd been able to get out of his tight throat was a desperate need you. FRIDAY forwarded the address because Tony couldn't talk.
Tony shakes his head. He can't think.
His heart is slamming against his ribs and it's deafening him. A panicked, hoarse sound. Maybe his insides are breaking. Snapping apart from the force of the blows.
Peter was supposed to be here. It was supposed to have been a grand miscalculation on their part. Peter let his phone die. Peter was asleep. He'd step into the apartment and find Peter perfectly fine.
"Tony." Rhodey shakes him.
But Tony can't. He just—
"Is this blood?" Rhodey looks down at his hands, grabbing them, then his hands start a frantic pat-down of Tony's chest, "Where are you hurt? Are you bleeding? Do you need a doctor?"
"It's not mine," Tony whispers, pushing Rhodey's hands away weakly. They come back, still looking for a hidden injury. But there's not one, because Tony is perfectly fine. He should be hurt. He should be bleeding. How could he just let it happen?
"What?" Rhodey pauses, and Tony finally forces his eyes to lift to the Avenger's.
"There's—it's—May. It's May's. Peter's aunt. She's…" Tony lifts his bloody hand to his mouth, trying to keep himself from crying. His throat is hot, tears lodged inside to the point of pain. Breathing feels like knives.
Rhodey's face closes off, and Tony can see his mind connecting the dots. "Tony," Rhodey says very carefully, "Where is Peter?"
Tony shakes his head, biting at his fingers. He registers the coppery taste of blood dully but doesn't care. "I...when...he wasn't answering his phone. He wasn't…" Rhodey pulls Tony's hand away from his face. Tony blinks several times, trying to get his thoughts together. He forces out a breath. "I went...I went to the apartment. To see if he was dead or something and...there's...May was there."
"Okay," Rhodey says slowly.
"She wasn't breathing. Someone shot her. She was dead when the paramedics got there. She was dead when I got there. Had been for at least an hour...Rhodey...I don't...I don't...Peter wasn't there. He wasn't there. There was...there was evidence of a struggle in his room, and the police found bullet casings, but not enough bullets. Peter's…I don't know where he is. I don't know where my kid is. Rhodey...Rhodey…" The sound that comes out of his throat is pained.
"Hey," Rhodey grips his shoulders. "That kid is a stubborn pain in the butt. He's fine, okay?"
Tony shakes his head. "He could be dead. May's…"
"Let's not go that far, okay? Right now he's just MIA, right?" Rhodey asks. Tony nods dully, still feeling too far away from his body to react properly. Rhodey's mouth is pushed into a hard line. "When was the last time that any of you heard from Peter?"
"He called me a little before nine-thirty. We talked until just after ten, but he fell asleep when I called him so I hung up." Tony forces some of his weight back on his heels, trying to hold himself upright. What if I hadn't hung up? If I'd just kept him awake longer? Would I have known what happened immediately instead of hours later? He swallows thickly. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine. "His friend said he's been trying to get a hold of him since after eleven."
No. It's not fine. Of course it's not fine. Because Tony has spent a lifetime gathering enemies. And though Tony has spent a good amount of time trying to hide his relationship with Peter, nothing is foolproof. Anyone could have got pictures or video or anything which means that anyone could have Peter. That's not even considering the possibility of the enemies that Peter himself has gathered.
"Okay, so whatever happened must have been between when you hung up and eleven." Rhodey says.
Tony nods.
Rhodey sighs softly, clearly adding the hours together in his head. Everyone knows that the longer out from kidnapping the less likely the chances you'll find the victim. Either at all or alive. It's a little after four AM now, so it's been what? Eighteen hours? The kidnapper has more than half a day on them.
But that doesn't add up to May's...May's death at all. Because May was shot before he got there, and she'd texted him after five-thirty. But Peter had already been missing for seven hours at that point if Rhodey's suggested timeline is to be believed. But what if...whatever happened didn't involve Peter leaving the apartment at first? Maybe whoever was holding him kept him at the apartment and panicked when May entered, shot her, then took Peter?
That would mean that they only have eight hours head start on them, not eighteen. The chances are better that way.
But why hold Peter at the apartment at all and not demand anything? There wasn't a ransom, there weren't any requests, Peter was just...he's just not there. And he should be.
Oh, man. May is dead. DOA.
Tony squeezes his eyes shut. Peter's going to be crushed. Especially with this so close to his uncle's death. The only family that he'll have left is—
What do you know about my parents?
Peter had been freaking out about his mom the last two days. She sent him a text, taunting him. We should meet up sometime. Peter had gotten himself beaten bloody trying to avoid the anxiety around the whole thing. Peter never talked about his parents until then, as if it was easier to pretend they didn't exist. May was asking him for help on filing a restraining order against her.
Tony goes rigid. Realization slowly sinks into him, like something physically moving in his chest. His throat runs dry. Slowly, he looks up at Rhodey, "I know who did this."
Rhodey's head moves a fraction. Upon seeing something on Tony's face, his expression darkens. "Who?"
Tony claws his way to his feet, shaking his head, feeling something dark and slimy settle in his gut. "God better help her, cause nothing else can."
000o000
VIOLENT MURDER IN QUEENS, POLICE CLUELESS ON SUSPECTS
NYPD ASKS ALL WITH INFORMATION ON MAY PARKER'S MURDER TO COME FORWARD
MURDER-KIDNAPPING IN QUEENS, NY: TEENAGE BOY MISSING AND GUARDIAN MURDERED
000o000
Tony goes back to the Tower. He takes a shower to wash away the blood from his hands and the smell of the building—blood, gunpowder, and some strong perfume—from his skin. It doesn't feel like enough. He scrubs his hands and wrists down until the skin feels sore and cracking. He throws away the clothing he was wearing, too disgusted to try and wash anything out. May's covered all over them. She's dead. And he should care more, but he's numb to it. Skewed sense of morals and normal emotions.
Tony knows he puts on different clothing, but he couldn't have said when or how. Suddenly he's in his bathroom and the next he's stumbling toward his lab.
Peter's ghost haunts it. Tony almost sees him sitting in what was once Nat's nook, working on homework or mindlessly scrolling on his phone. He can see the update to the Spider-Man suit that Tony was working on him with. The camera Peter was taking apart.
It makes something in his chest ache deeply.
And he feels like a fool. A fool for letting himself care about someone else when historically all it's done is hurt him when they leave. Because they always leave. Some part of Tony is always braced for Pep, Happy, and Rhodey to do the same. But Peter isn't gone. He's not. He didn't leave by choice. And Tony can bring him back.
And then Peter will want to leave again because Tony didn't keep his aunt safe.
Tony sits down behind the monitors. Rhodey, who followed him into the room wordlessly, drags a stool from across the lab to sit down beside him. Tony's afraid to tell him to leave, because he thinks that Rhodey really would, and he doesn't want to be by himself right now. "Thanks," Tony says quietly.
"Let me help," is all Rhodey says quietly, and that shuts Tony up pretty quickly.
Tony pulls up all the information that he can find on Mary Parker. He digs through government files, S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA, computer records—anything he can think of. And is it a little unethical to go digging through her life when he's not sure this was her in the first place? Sure. Does Tony care? No.
Rhodey takes half the files to sort through, sighing under his breath at the hours of work ahead of them.
"Gotta outwork them sometimes, LTC," Tony reminds with a nudge. Rhodey shoots him a deadpan look, opening the first file.
So Tony ignores Rhodey and Rhodey ignores him, both of them focusing on reading through everything. Mary Sophia Parker's marriage certificate to Richard Parker was in July 1997. The happy couple then promptly moved out of New York to California. Ben, much to Tony's private surprise, was Richard's younger brother. Mary and Richard both excelled in their respective fields for the following decade, seeming to live a completely boring, normal life.
Peter's birthdate isn't listed, which is weird. Tony looks a little harder for it than he cares to admit for the next few minutes before realizing that Peter doesn't have one. Tony can't find any indication that anyone knew Peter was alive until a neighbor called the police in January 2007 when they saw some random kid outside of the Parker residence.
No birth certificate. No birth date. The only thing that the Parkers would tell authorities is that he was six and "an accident."
A massive investigation followed. Peter was shipped off to DCFS who put him with a temporary guardian until Ben and May could fly down from New York to come pick him up. A massive trial followed some of which Tony does remember. Mr. Parker had been making quite a name for himself in engineering and Mrs. Parker in biology. As is their forte, the media was all too happy to run their names through the mud. On August 10th, 2007, May and Ben were given complete custody of Peter. Mary and Richard were both given ten years for child abuse and a dozen other things that the authorities pulled up about their shady practices. One of which, when Tony glances at their joint crimes, is human experimentation, which is disgusting and morally bankrupt.
The date sticks out to him sharply for some reason and it takes him a second to realize why.
August tenth is Peter's birthday. At least, the day that Peter told him was his birthday. But since Mary and Richard "couldn't recall" his actual date of birth when asked, May and Ben must have just picked a day and celebrated it like it was. The idea makes something in Tony's chest twist painfully. To not even know when you were born…
Records of Peter start popping up after that. School, therapy, praises from his teachers. Recommendations for AP courses, skipping kindergarten and preschool and not having a problem catching up on the material. Science projects, photography contests. Eventually, Ben's death and the birth of Spider-Man. No one knew that Peter existed until he was five, but now everyone does. Spider-Man is a household name.
Screw you, Mary and Richard.
Tony shakes his head, disgusted, and wonders how Mary and Richard's sentence was only ten years. But both of them are out now. Released in January of this year and since it's March, they obviously didn't jump from getting out of prison to harassing their child. As far as Tony is aware, Mary is the only one who's doing anything regarding Peter.
Tony goes back to Mary, trying to find what pit of hell she crawled out of. She's from Florida. Only child. Her records list her as a bright student, top of her High School class and up there with her college courses. Her childhood, by all accounts, was relatively normal, but several notes from her teachers said that she "seemed to lack empathy with other students" and there were "behavioral issues" but left it vague as to what the problem was.
Lacking empathy doesn't make her evil, it never makes anyone evil. It's when they start hurting other people that does. And abusing her child? Yeah, that counts.
Tony thinks about finding Peter on the rooftop a few days ago, and how broken Peter had seemed. He'd rather have had any sort of physical pain than think about what his parents did.
All I can think about is the basement. I'd rather die…
"How the heck did that kid emerge from them?" Rhodey asks eventually. Tony looks up at him. Rhodey's lips are pinched together, eyes tight. His friend glances up from the files to Tony. "He's so…" he fumbles for a word before settling on, "kind. And he came from...that. And them."
"Yeah. Well." Tony shrugs his shoulders. He doesn't know what to say to that and settles on a mumbled, "He's not me. He's better than I am."
Rhodey's eyes linger on his face. "Tony," he says softly.
Gotta add all your trauma to the mix, don't you, Stark?
Tony waves a hand to push a file out of the way. "Look. It doesn't matter. It's fine." Tony argues distractedly. "Where do you think that Mary would go? She's not stupid, that much is obvious. I can't find any sort of motive for her wanting Peter in the first place. She and Richard didn't seem to want anything to do with him."
"I know," Rhodey sighs, "You know that S.H.I.E.L.D was monitoring them?"
"What? No." Tony says. Rhodey slides a file onto Tony's screen. It's a S.H.I.E.L.D. report on Peter's parents. Tony opens it, rapidly scanning through the file, dread settling in his stomach.
"They kept getting their funding from unreliable sources, and you advance that quickly in your field and I guess S.H.I.E.L.D. starts getting interested in hiring you. The initial consultation went poorly and the agent in charge of the case started suspecting them of HYDRA connections. They called in Peter, cause as far as the government was aware, there shouldn't have been any kids there." Rhodey explains. He hesitates and then adds, quietly, "Coulson was the agent in charge of the Parker case."
Tony pauses, loss warring with incredulity. "That man was half of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he mutters in disbelief. "The other half was Natasha."
But the joke falls kind of flat, and Tony blows out a breath between his teeth and changes the subject. "I just can't make sense of the timeline of this. We stop hearing from Peter after nine and...Mary waits in the apartment until after five before going anywhere?"
Rhodey sighs, rubbing his forehead. "That doesn't make a lot of sense. What does she want with Peter in the first place? She said he was an accident. Wouldn't...she, I don't know, want to distance herself from him?"
"That would be my first thought," Tony admits. "But apparently she gets a kick out of traumatizing teenagers."
"How sure are you that Mary's the one who shot May?" Rhodey asks, ignoring the jab. "Maybe it's just coincidental."
Ha.
"Heck of a coincidence," Tony says flatly. "I don't see anything else that makes sense. May walks in on a home robbery and the robber shoots enough that her—that she's very dead? And then takes nothing? This was personal. I just…" Tony shakes his head. "I don't understand."
"You don't understand what?"
"Why! Why did Mary do this in the first place? Why did she wait around for May? Why she bothered to take Peter? I don't understand any of this. None of it makes sense. She didn't give a crap about her child before. She wouldn't even give the police Peter's birthday, Rhodey." Tony's voice dampens at the end, going quiet.
Rhodey gives Tony a long look. He seems to be weighing words before he says simply, "That bothers you."
How could it not? Tony closes his eyes, breathing out slowly. He drums his fingers against the desk and tries to keep his leg from bouncing under the desk. "More than I can say. My parents were crap. You know that. But at least they told me when I was born. Peter doesn't even…"
"Hey," Rhodey interjects softly, "look at me. All of this? That was Mary and Richard's fault. Their idea, their hell. You couldn't have stopped any of it because you didn't know Peter."
"Nobody knew him," Tony mutters darkly.
"Everyone does now. There isn't a soul in this country who couldn't recognize Spider-Man on spot. And you? You're here for him now," Rhodey says pointedly. "He has you and he knows that. Whatever comes next, he knows that. And he's going to fight. Peter's going to be okay. You both are."
But...
"I'm…" Tony wavers. He doesn't have anything to say. The words soothe something inside of him while breaking something else; like it's getting caught on hard edges. Rhodey squeezes Tony's arm.
"You look beat. Why don't you go lay down for a bit, okay?"
He's been awake for thirty hours straight, which is hardly a record and he's still perfectly functional. And Peter needs him to be focused on this right now. The first twenty-four hours after an abduction are the most crucial. Tony shakes his head, adamant. "No, I've gotta—"
"Me and FRIDAY can take care of it. I promise. You aren't going to do any good to anyone if you're about to pass out." Rhodey points out. Tony's hands hover stubbornly over the keyboard. He doesn't want to lay down and have his thoughts spin endlessly. That sounds worse than researching until his eyes feel raw. He's gotta find Peter. The sooner this is over, the better.
He can't lose anyone else.
Not now.
Rhodey slaps his hands away, his voice going hard. "That wasn't a request. Go lie down."
Tony lifts his hands. "Yes, LTC."
Rhodey's lips jump up for a moment, a ghost of a smile. Tony would be a liar if he didn't admit that the familiar joke brings him some comfort as well. Rhodey worked hard for that rank and Tony is nothing but proud of him for that, but a long pseudo argument sparked between them when Tony would only call him Lieutenant-Colonel for weeks after he earned the title. Eventually, it got shortened to LTC and Rhodey gave up.
The comfort turns sour in his mouth when he remembers his current situation.
Rhodey sighs quietly, "Go find Pepper. At least take an hour break, deal?"
"Yeah." Tony agrees, muted. He looks at the glowing keyboard for long seconds before asking softly, "What if he's dead, Rhodey? May…was…" she's gone. She's dead. And I knew her. There was so much blood. She must have died in agony. "Even if...even if this wasn't Mary, whoever it was, they're brutal. Peter's…" Tony swallows, looking away from Rhodey. "There weren't enough bullets for all the casings they found."
Rhodey frowns, realization dawning. There weren't enough bullets in the wall, which means that most of those bullets are probably in Peter.
Tony runs a hand through his hair, feeling an urge to laugh. To make light of this whole thing. Because that's how he deals with everything. Can't handle it unless he makes fun of it, right? Tony admits, the words feeling out of place when they leave his mouth, "I just wish...a ransom, something. Because then we'd know he was alive."
000o000
S.H.I.E.L.D. REPORT: FILE MCII, FOR S.H.I.E.L.D. DIRECTOR FURY, NICOLAS, J.
REASON FOR INVESTIGATION (RFI): SUSPECTED TERRORIST CONNECTIONS
AGENT IN COMMAND (AIC): PHILIP COULSON
OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT OF RICHARD PARKER AND MARY PARKER HEARING.
DATE: 05.13.2007.
Judge Andrews: The question of whether or not you abused this child is not for debate any longer, Mr. Parker. We have undeniable court-ruled evidence backing up the claims of the defendant. It is a matter of motive. Do you have anything to say for yourself?
Richard Parker: He was an accident.
Judge Andrews: So you and your wife seem insistent justifies your actions.
Richard Parker: Accidents can be useful.
Judge Andrews: Are admitting before the court that you did perform what NYPD officer Jefferson Davis described as "human experimentation" on the boy in question, Peter Benjamin Parker?
Richard Parker: Don't be ridiculous. Mary and I aren't animals. Boy was useful is all.
Judge Andrews: Define "useful."
Richard Parker: [REDACTED]
Judge Andrews: [REDACTED]
Richard Parker: [REDACTED]
[REDACTED]: [REDACTED]
000o000
Pepper meets him in their room with a long embrace. When she at last pulls away, she cradles his face with one hand, her eyes sad and sympathetic. "I'm so sorry, Tony." She says. Tony buries his head against her shoulder and allows himself to breathe for what feels like the first time in hours. He doesn't even know what time it is anymore. Sometime after six AM? Maybe? The night has been long and arduous.
And blood-soaked.
Pepper runs a hand through his hair, sighing softly, and her gentleness makes him only want to cry because he feels like he doesn't deserve it. Not after letting all of this happen.
Pepper makes him eat something and drink water. She talks mindlessly as he does so, about SI business he couldn't care less about. Every so often, she'll reach over and grip his hand or nudge his knee, keeping him present and forcing him to engage in the conversation. Tony's head clears with effort on both their parts. Eventually, he finishes the tasteless coffee and then explains everything Rhodey didn't already tell her.
Pepper listens quietly, her expression darkening the further they get into the conversation. When Tony admits that Mary and Richard don't even have a birthdate, Pepper's expression flickers from calm and collected to pissed.
"They had a baby and didn't even do the base courtesy of letting him know?" Pepper asks. "How the heck do you 'forget' that?"
Tony shakes his head, silent and tired. He keeps talking, and as he talks, he thinks about explaining this to the rest of the original six. Imagines them helping him in finding Peter in the span of a few hours or two or three days. Because Nat and Clint think like killers and kidnappers. Steve thinks like a strategist. Thor is a long-time war veteran. Between Tony and Bruce, they could have spouted out enough useless ideas that the rest of the team would have put something together.
He tries to imagine their aid because it was there for so long but now it feels like a cold, empty dream for someone else. They hate him. All of them chose Cap over him. They wouldn't help him if their lives depended on it.
Eventually, Tony runs out of words to say, and instead of talking, he and Pepper just sit next to each other at the table.
"I'm sorry," Pepper says again.
"I just want to know that he's okay," Tony says.
"He will be. We're going to find him, Tony. You know that."
Except he doesn't. He doesn't know that, and part of him is terrified. Because he does have faith that they'll find Peter. He's just not sure in what state, whether dead or mentally scarred.
And his suspicions only start to solidify as lead after lead ends on a dead-end. Mary's old apartment, her current apartment, her house in California, Richard's old places, their labs, anything that Tony can think of her legally owning is empty. Any place he can think of her hunkering down at all is the same. It's like she never existed.
Richard Parker is easier to find and keep track of. Happy trails him for a few days but reports back that the man has a mundane life as a janitor and barely makes enough to live in a crappy apartment the owner probably sold their soul to keep upright.
Tracking Peter's phone proves useless. It's still off or broken or both, and hasn't shown any activity in the last week.
Tony wants to scream. It shouldn't be this hard. He's Iron Man for God's sake, he's a certifiable genius with two Ph.D.s and he built renewable clean energy in a cave. He's gone up against a self-proclaimed god and he's an Avenger. It shouldn't be so hard to find a teenager. But it is. Because for all that Mary Parker is human garbage, she's remarkably good at staying off the map.
000o000
HAS THE WALLCRAWLER FINALLY TAKEN A HINT: NEW YORKERS REPORTING SPIDER-MAN AS M.I.A
"NOBODY'S SEEN HIM IN WEEKS THAT I'VE TALKED TO" ONE MAN SAYS ABOUT THE DISAPPEARANCE OF SPIDER-MAN
POLICE STILL LOOKING INTO THE MURDER-KIDNAPPING OF MAY PARKER AND HER NEPHEW PETER. PRESSURE TO CLOSE CASE DRIVES POLICE TO "UNCONVENTIONAL METHODS"
000o000
Somehow, the following week feels like the longest set of hours he's ever endured and the shortest span of time in existence. Rhodey and Happy help him search for Peter, but their manpower is limited and though FRIDAY is working tirelessly, she might as well be Windows 98 for all the help she's giving them.
Tony pulls out Steve's flip phone and stares at it every night, weighing the consequences in his head. It pisses him off. Because of course Steve would run off when Tony needs him, and it's always, always Tony who has to mend that bridge. Steve is the one who lied to him for years and Tony has to apologize?
Steve was going to throw that shield into his neck. They both know he considered it. Tony still has nightmares about it.
But Peter is more important to him than some petty grudge between the two of them, and he knows that, but Tony still can't get himself to make that call. He needs the Avengers. He has to find his kid and the woman who somehow dropped off the face of the planet. But they wouldn't want to help you anyway, a soft voice reminds him, you're the egotistical jerk who doesn't play well with others. Steve would probably laugh at you and hang up.
The week rolls to an end and Tony finds himself standing in front of May's coffin, feeling out of place and empty. There are dozens of people at her funeral, friends from work, neighbors, and people who knew her, but the one person that Tony knows should be here is absent. He wonders if Peter even knows that May is dead.
"It's such a tragedy," an older woman says behind him, "both those Parkers taken so soon from this world. That boy will be joining them soon enough. Poor family is cursed."
"So soon after, Ben, too," another voice mourns. "At least they're together and happy now. God rest their souls."
"Except that nephew."
Personally, Tony thinks it's the stupidest thing in the world to say that a murder victim is "happy now." No, they're not happy. They were murdered. They were meant to be here for so much longer, enjoy life until arthritis broke their joints and their skin sagged while their hair turned white. But sure, yeah, Tony's sure that they're glad they were murdered, especially if there's never any justice for the crime.
Pepper and Happy come with him to the funeral, both in respect for May who they did know and for him. Tony takes care to hide his face, but part of him wants to throw off all pretenses, storm to the media, and demand that Mary Parker face him head-on. You did this. Do you see that? You killed her and you don't even have the decency to leave the rest of the family alone.
Cause that worked out super well with the Mandarin.
Tony tosses a small Spider-Man plushie onto May's coffin once it's lowered into the grave, its meaning lost to almost everyone. He's had to lie through his teeth and say that he's her dearly beloved cousin to anyone who asks, and apparently since they're both white and have brown hair, everybody believes that. It's like that stupid thing where everybody thinks Asians are identical replicas of each other. Not that Tony's going to complain that his cover isn't blown, but still.
Tony meets May's younger brother, his boyfriend, and May's parents, all of who speak very little English and mostly Italian, which is fine, because Tony speaks it, too. Ben's parents are home-grown Americans and weep at the loss of May like it's their son all over again. Tony looks at the older set of Parkers and wonders how Richard came from them. To the family, Tony says he's a friend from work.
All of them seem crushed at the disappearance of Peter, but Tony gets the impression that none of them know him that well. Despite being in their early sixties, Ben's parents travel a lot for photography work, and May's family lives in Italy, but Tony guesses it's good that Peter isn't the last member of his family. He's not the last Parker.
Eventually, Tony finds himself standing over May's coffin. "I'm going to find your kid," he promises her. Then a more solemn, "I'm sorry. I wish I..."
He should have saved her.
My son is dead. And I blame you.
Will Peter blame him for this? Why wouldn't he? Tony knew something was wrong the moment May texted him the same. He should have gone with her. Then he could have stopped whatever followed. Instead, he waited an hour, and May bled out alone.
"Mr. Stark?" Tony startles at the term, having spent so long convincing everyone he was beloved "cousin Lorenzo" or May's unnamed friend, and turns at the young male voice, looking at the vaguely familiar faces of Peter's friends. Ned and MJ? Something like that. Ned is the one who spoke, gripping MJ's hand tightly. MJ's expression is distant and her eyes are slightly swollen from crying. "Do you have any leads on where Peter is?" Ned asks.
Tony's mouth clenches.
"Not yet. Nothing's panned out the way we've hoped. We're still looking. We'll find him." Tony assures. Which is kinda funny, because the FBI, NYPD, and Tony have had zero luck in that department, but it's the thought that counts. It's what these kids need to hear, anyway.
"Yeah," MJ says doubtfully. Ned looks away from her. "Have you considered the possibility that Peter left on his own?"
Tony stares at her blankly. His mouth moves for a moment as if his brain is struggling to catch up on how stupid that idea is. "Kid," he says, trying to keep his tone level instead of condescending, "Peter's apartment was a mess. May was murdered. There isn't a doubt in my mind that Peter left willingly."
"It's been a week," MJ points out.
"What if he…" Ned looks at the ground, "what if he had...uh. Left a note or something. For everyone?"
Tony's heart jumps in his chest, and for the first time in a week, Tony feels more than dull, exhaustive despair. His throat is hot and tight as he represses what he thinks might be tears of relief. "Peter left something with you two?" he asks, taking a step toward them. More data, more information, more anything that might give them a new angle to look at this with.
The two share a guilty look.
"Not exactly," Ned concedes, and slowly reaches into his pocket. He produces a phone with a black case and hands it to Tony. Tony flips it over; the glass is spotless save one corner where the screen protector is peeling away. Peter used to complain about it. He'd rub his thumb under the edge just enough that it would get caught and he'd wince.
Tony holds it, feeling numb.
"This is Peter's phone." He says tonelessly.
"Yeah," Ned whispers. "I took it when I went to his apartment that day to see if he was okay. It was on his desk. The battery's dead, but he left a video. I have it on my phone," Ned fumbles to produce his own device, and Tony steps closer to the two teenagers without a word. Abruptly, the realization that a funeral isn't the place to be watching this strikes him, but Tony ignores it.
Ned lifts his phone to Tony, and turns the volume up just enough that Tony can hear it, but not enough that somebody else could if they were walking past.
A video struggles to load for a moment, and then Tony sees Peter's face. His throat is so tight he can't breathe. The back of his mouth feels sore from withholding tears. Ned presses play, and Tony watches as Peter slowly settles the video. He looks a little bruised and sore, but nothing Tony wouldn't have expected after the beating he took the night before this was filmed.
Peter blinks rapidly into the screen before he begins to talk slowly. "I want you to know...no one is making me do this." He whispers. "I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He shakes his head, exhaling stiffly. His body language is tight. He blinks several times again as if he's having a hard time focusing. "You don't have to look for me. Don't. Please. I'll be okay."
The video ends as Peter reaches for the screen.
Tony can't think. He can't talk. Can't move.
This is…
Peter wouldn't run away. This doesn't make any sense. His room was a warzone. May was murdered. But...Rhodey said it might have been a coincidence. Maybe...a thief was going through Peter's room and there was some sort of a fight...and May got shot...but that...why? Why would Peter leave so abruptly?
"Why…" Tony's mouth moves soundlessly before he can get it to work English again. "Why didn't you give this to the police?"
"Because Peter wouldn't run away!" Ned snaps. "And I knew that he wouldn't run away. If I gave it to the police, they would think he was just some privileged kid who wanted to strike out on his own, and that's not what this is. Peter wouldn't leave May. He wouldn't leave us. Or you. Or...other him." Ned's face scrunches up as he tries not to cry, "Because if I give this to the police, then no one will look for him. Or they'll blame him for May, and I can't…"
Tony reaches out and grips the kid's shoulder, forcing himself to stay attached to his body. The world feels like it's spinning. Peter wouldn't run away. But the timeline doesn't make sense. May's death doesn't make sense.
Fresh tears stream down Ned's dark cheeks.
"You…" Tony exhales. "You...when were you there?"
Ned's brow draws together. He looks at the ground, and MJ squeezes his arm. "A little after four PM. His room was a mess. I didn't know what to do. I called May...she...she went home because of me."
After four. No one asked if Peter's friends had been to the apartment. After four. Peter was already gone after four. This means that whoever shot May came back to the apartment. Peter really had been missing from that morning, not after May was shot.
Tony shakes his head, trying to clear it. Tony's grip on Peter's phone is white and painful. "You're...this wasn't your fault," Tony says, his mouth moving before his brain catches up. "May was going to go home regardless of what you said. She couldn't stay at that hospital forever."
"Somebody emptied an entire clip into her stomach," Ned says, which isn't a detail that was released to the public, but Tony's too exhausted to care how Ned got that information. "Peter's probably dead, too. I just...if you can find his body...just...what happened to him. I gotta know." Ned gestures to the phone again, still crying. MJ is starting to cry, too.
"Yeah," MJ says thickly. "No one will tell us anything because we're just a bunch of stupid kids. But somebody killed May and he's...he's not…he wouldn't run away."
"I know," Tony says, and does he? "We'll...we'll look at this, okay? Thank you. For telling me. I'm sorry that we haven't found him yet."
Tony pulls the two teenagers against him in an awkward embrace and tries to ignore how his hands are shaking.
When he gets home, he spends hours pouring over the footage, taking it apart frame by frame by frame, and can't find anything suspicious. No hovering shadows, no voice in the background, no gun pushed against his ribs. Just Peter talking to his phone in his clean, pristine room. Ned went there at four and found his phone and that the room was a mess.
The room was a mess. At four.
May didn't walk into a robbery unless that was the slowest robber time has ever known. May was shot for something else. But what?
Tony charges Peter's phone. He opens it and finds dozens of unread messages. Both from March fourth, the date of his kidnapping, and classmates texting him if he's really gone. Tony looks through the phone for any sort of evidence, but all he can find is the message from an unknown number. The same message Peter showed him on the rooftop.
Hey, baby, it's Mom! We should meet up sometime. I'll let you know the time and place. I've been out for a few months. We've got so much to catch up on. I can't wait to be a part of your life again.
Received: March 2nd, 1:34PM
And try as he might, Tony can't find anything new from it.
000o000
Incoming call: Unknown number
Incoming call: Unknown number
Incoming call: Unknown number
Missed call (1): Unknown number
One message from Unknown Number:
Hey. It's me. I, uh. I need your help. I don't...I don't think that...you...Spider-Man went missing three weeks ago. I know you probably don't care, but he and I have grown pretty close the last few months and he's...he's like...he's my kid. I can't find him anywhere. You once said that we'd...we'd fix these things or lose them together. Help me, please. Steve...I don't…why am I doing this? You won't even listen to the message...I'm such an idiot...you don't care...
Received: 03:02
000o000
Out of ideas, drained of hope, and dry of anything useful, Tony plugs in the number that Mary contacted Peter with and, surprise surprise, discovers the same address he pulled up on her at first. It was empty and remains empty. Happy swings by once every day to see if she's come back, but the woman remains stubbornly absent.
Tony stares for a long time at the phone Steve left him, feeling tears stubbornly clinging to the edges of his eyes like he's six, and then he turns away. Steve's not going to answer because he never answers. He hates me. They all hate me. They would never help me.
Slumped over his desk and uselessly rolling a pen up and down the length of it, Tony morbidly wonders if he should bury Peter beside his aunt and uncle if they ever find his body. May and Ben have a joint gravestone now. Put the whole Parker clan together at last.
That's even if he can find Peter's body to begin with.
The chances of this being a rescue versus a recovery are weighing against each other.
Tony closes his eyes. Three weeks. Twenty-six days. Almost a month.
Why didn't you do more?
Tony opens the first bottle of alcohol he's had in almost four years. The Avengers worked hard to get him mostly sober, and Tony has put considerable effort in to remain that way. It's been such a relief. But there's nothing he wants more than to not think right now, so Tony downs the entire bottle and does that. Doesn't think, just sits there, numb, and strangely lightheaded, listening to the messages that Peter left Happy half a year ago.
Hey, Happy. Here's my report for tonight. I stopped a grand theft bicycle. Couldn't find the owner, so I just left a note, um... I helped this lost, old Dominican lady. She was really nice and bought me a churro. I just, um, feel like I could be doing more. You know? Just curious when the next real mission's gonna be. So, yeah, just call me back. It's Peter. Parker.
000o000
Unknown number:
We'll be there in sixteen hours.
Meet us at the address N is going to forward to you.
Received: 02:20
Unknown Number is typing...
Unknown Number:
I'm sorry about the kid, Tony.
Received: 02:22
000o000
The address that Nat gives him is a bustling Starbucks. Tony's not sure how a crowded area is going to be more secure than literally anything else Natasha could have suggested, but he doesn't question it. There's this little area outback with tables and Tony gravitates there with a cup of black coffee to try and chase away the remaining dregs of this morning's hangover.
Upon sweeping his eyes across the space, Tony's breath lurches in his chest, something between a sob and a clench. They wouldn't be noticeable to a passerby, but Tony spent more than four years living with these people. He could recognize them by the sound of their breathing alone.
Natasha and Steve are sitting across from each other at one of the tables, Sam tucked into a corner behind a newspaper. It's a clever disguise. Anybody looking at them would think Sam was brooding and Natasha and Steve were on a date.
Natasha's gaze lifts and meets his, and Tony watches her expression go soft. There's something about the familiarity of that. How Natasha's face automatically relaxes at the sight of him, as if she feels safe with him, that makes Tony's knees want to crumple. After everything that happened, after everything they said, Natasha still feels safe with him.
And Tony can't imagine why.
Tony forces his knees to lock and he stumbles toward the table, taking one of the remaining empty seats. Natasha's blonde hair is tucked behind her ears in an elaborate braid despite the fact she must have cut off a foot since the last time he saw her, but it reveals her earrings. She's wearing a green vest over a black shirt and dark jeans.
Steve looks like a well-groomed lumberjack. His hair is longer, he's growing a beard, and he's dressed in a dark Led Zeppelin shirt with blue flannel thrown over it. Both of them seem so normal. Steve's gaze lingers on Tony's face for long seconds, both of them staring but refusing to look away, and Tony wants to take comfort in his presence but feels only cold.
Sam, who seems about the same beyond looking like he's living out of a suitcase, casually joins them at the table, setting down his broody newspaper in front of him. He's the only one who found a shaver, apparently. His facial hair is as well kept as ever.
"Hey," Tony says at last, breaking the silence. He looks down at the table, scraping a thumbnail along the surface. "Um. Thank you. For coming. I, uh...I don't..."
Pull yourself together. They don't want to be here. You're forcing them to put themselves in danger. He gave Nat's contact a Quinjet so they could avoid it in the first place. And now here he is, dragging them back to New York, and maybe prison. All because he can't find a kid. His kid.
Natasha's hand rests on his own, and he looks up at her, trying not to wince. Her eyes are still soft, even though the rest of her face is kinda dead. Tony pulls his hat down further on his face with his other hand, wishing he could hide.
"What happened?" Natasha asks in Russian.
Tony blows a breath out between his teeth then slowly lets the story come out of him. He doesn't bother switching back to English but settles on Russian, which all of them are mostly fluent in. Tony doesn't know where Sam learned it but doesn't ask. He assumes Natasha. Natasha has this habit of finding people she likes then teaching them her native tongue. It's sort of like her way of making friendship bracelets, Tony has long since decided.
Plus, well. The government is looking for English-speaking Americans.
He explains about Peter keeping in contact with Happy after Germany, and how a few months after that he crashed a plane and stopped millions in dollars from being stolen. Tony kept a better eye on him after that, and he and Rhodey started training him per May's request, and things just sort of...changed. Peter stopped being some random kid from Queens and Tony's kid, and he could never say when that transition happened.
But it had. And Tony isn't sorry about that.
Tony explains about Peter's mom and shows them both the text that Mary left and the video that Peter left for them. He talks about Peter's parents and what he learned about them, and the case file that Coulson wrote up on the two. They ask questions and listen attentively, taking this as seriously as they would have any other mission. That...helps.
When Tony runs out of words, Natasha takes Peter's phone from him and looks over the video again.
Steve rubs at his beard, which is kind of stupid but it makes Tony want to laugh because he looks so old, and frowns. "I don't understand," Steve says at length, still speaking Russian. "The timeline on this kidnapping doesn't make any sense."
"I know." Tony agrees miserably. "I've tried to explain it away a thousand different ways, but I keep coming back to the fact that the video—" Tony points at the phone, "is stamped as 11:32 AM, and when Peter's friend got to the apartment after four, it was a disaster. Peter wasn't there. Nobody was there. Then May comes back just after six and somebody shoots her eight times?"
"It's weird." Sam agrees. "You're positive these are connected?"
"I don't know how they aren't." Tony shakes his head. "It doesn't make sense. Peter didn't run away, that much is obvious from the physical evidence."
"Yeah," Steve nods, shifting. Tony had, thankfully, thought to bring pictures of the crime scene to show to them on his phone. Not that it matters much. It helped him prove a point, which is about all the good it does.
"So they found four bullets, dug one out of the wall," Sam recaps, "and we're assuming that the other three either went out the broken window or are in Peter."
"Yeah."
"And his kidnapper didn't bother to pick up the casings because they either assumed it wouldn't matter, or they knew the gun wasn't registered," Sam continues, obviously thinking out loud. ".45 colt, right?"
Tony nods, rubbing at his eyes. He's exhausted. He hasn't slept well since this whole thing started. In between trying to balance work and looking for Peter, time for sleep has been a rare luxury.
"Nat?" Steve asks.
Tony opens his eyes and looks at the assassin, silently mouthing something to herself as she looks at the phone. Her finger is tapping rapidly against the tabletop as if she's beating out some sort of rhythm. Tony's brow furrows. What is she…?
"You know," Natasha says after a moment, still not looking up at them, "in 1966 Admiral Jeremiah Denton was captured by North Vietnam. He was put on a propaganda program that was broadcast to the US and feigned trouble with the TV lighting so he could blink a lot. He was spelling out torture in morse code with his eyes. It was the first time US intelligence had confirmation that POWs were being tortured."
Tony looks at her.
What does that…?
Natasha turns the video to Tony and replays it from the beginning. Tony watches, a growing sense of dread and relief washing through him as he realizes that Peter is blinking a lot. There's no harsh lighting for him to be having that much trouble. "Oh my gosh, he's…" Tony breathes.
Oh, that kid's brain.
Tony remembers hearing about Admiral Denton in school. He remembers one of the students in his class remarking that the only person smarter than Denton was the guy who figured out that Denton was blinking in morse code. Tony didn't think to look for it. Who would have?
"Blinking in morse code? Yeah." Natasha confirms. "I don't think he knows it that well, but from what I can pick out he's saying 'Mom', 'SOS', 'Gun' and another word I can't figure out."
Tony presses his lips together in frustration. "Which isn't anything we didn't know about before."
"It confirms that he didn't run away," Natasha points out. "And it proves your theory about Mary. It's something." She sets the phone down on the table, to which Steve and Sam promptly pick it up to look over it again. Tony's knowledge of morse code is pretty crappy if he's being honest, but Steve and Sam were both in the military.
Natasha turns to him. "Have you talked to Clint?"
Tony shakes his head, confused. "No. He…" Tony trails off for a moment, but he doesn't know how to explain that previous attempts to reach out have ended badly on both their accounts, and now there's a muted, angry silence on Clint's end. Tony thinks the last time he talked with Clint was over text, and that was to send him a picture of Pepper's engagement ring with the words I got her attached. Clint never responded. Tony had expected it, but it still hurt.
"He and I are at odds right now." Tony finally says.
Natasha's mouth twists. "Clint worked pretty heavily with Coulson on most of his cases. Clint and I were partners, but Coulson was our handler, and when Fury had me doing something else, Coulson and Clint were often together. Fury had me on damage control for a Hulk problem at the time. Clint might have worked on surveillance with Coulson on the Parkers." Natasha explains. Her eyes grow distant for a moment, then her lip quirks a fraction. "You know Fury had them listed as unofficial recruiters?"
Tony's eyebrows raise with surprise and amusement. "What? Are you kidding me?"
Natasha's mouth keeps working at a smile, and Tony feels his own lips trying to follow. "They basically built the Avengers. Coulson found Clint who found me and I found Bruce. Coulson found Thor, encouraged Fury not to give up on you, and he was AIC on the Captain America recovery program."
Tony laughs quietly, shaking his head. "That man."
Natasha nods, smirking, "Yeah."
"L-O-L-H-F-R-N-N-I-A," Sam says. Steve shakes his head in disagreement with the spelling, muttering something under his breath. Sam rewinds the video and tries again. "C-O-C-I-that's not an I, what is that? How's the kid seem to spelling everything fine until right now?"
Natasha nudges Tony's foot, forcing him to concentrate on their previous conversation. "My point is that Clint might think of somewhere that Mary is that we can look at. I remember the media frenzy around the two of them, but not that much else. I didn't realize Peter was their—"
Pain explodes in Tony's shoulder, hot and cold, wet and dry all at once. It rattles up from his arm to his head, shaking his brain and alighting every nerve in his body. Tony jerks forward at the force of the blow, ramming his chest against the table. Something slams into the metal of the wired tabletop.
A bullet.
He's been shot.
Somebody yells his name. Everybody starts yelling. There's screaming and panic. A hand wraps around his waist and yanks him into the concrete just as another bullet goes slamming inside of the table.
What the—?
There was—
It—
"Tony! Tony! Look at me. Hey!" A voice shouts, male, and hands press against the wound on his shoulder. Tony lets out a pained mewl, grasping a fistful of flannel. His vision makes a funny dancing twist before Tony hears his heartbeat begin to pound against his skull. People are scrambling and moving, and Steve is breathing and Tony's been shot.
"Hey, hey, hey," Steve slaps his face, hard, and Tony's eyes jerk up to him. Steve is crouched over him, using his body as a shield. Tony doesn't remember moving, but the table they were sitting at has been tipped over and somebody dragged him behind it. He can't see Natasha or Sam. "Hey, look at me. You're okay, you're fine, just a flesh wound, right? You'll walk it off."
Steve sounds panicked. Upset. Worried. Like he cares. He sounds like he cares. Tony thinks that's funny. He laughs, and his mouth tastes tangy. He feels something trickle down his cheek. It's wet.
"Oh—" Steve swears darkly, wiping at Tony's cheek.
"Y'w'rgonna kill me," Tony mumbles, "'nd now y' care?"
"When was I…?" Steve shakes his head, ducking as a gun goes off, his grip on Tony so tight it's painful. He practically flattens himself across Tony's entire body, which doesn't help his shoulder in the slightest. His arm is starting to go numb. That's not a good sign.
He should.
"Nat!" Steve yells, looking away from him momentarily. "We gotta get him to a hospital stat! He's going into shock."
Steve ducks back under the table and his hand pushes down on Tony's shoulder again. Tony jerks, gasping sharply, fingers clawing into the cement. His body is fire. He's death. He's going to die. And he's never going to find Peter. Or marry Pepper. Or tell Rhodey thanks, or give Happy that stupid promotion. A jumble of words, English and not, slip out of him, most of which he thinks are cusses.
"Hey, hey, look at me." Steve grabs his face again, forcing Tony to look up. Tony's eyes keep sliding away, not wanting to focus on anything. "I know that you're in a lot of pain right now, okay, I know. But you gotta live. You gotta find the kid, and you gotta marry your girl."
Tony mumbles something.
"Hey." Steve sounds like he's crying now, but Tony can't make his gaze focus enough to visually confirm. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about your parents. I didn't...I didn't know how. I didn't mean for things to get so violent when we fought in Siberia. I know...I know that I broke a lot of bones and I left you there in so much pain...I'm sorry, Tony, so please, please live so I can help you. So that we—we can fix this."
Tony stares at him, feeling dull. And so, so tired.
"Now all you need to do is top it off with a kiss, and that's a wrap on heartfelt apologies." A female voice says to their left. It's soft and gentle, like that female elf chick from Lord of the Rings. The change in direction is enough to rouse Tony again, and he rolls his head in that direction, spotting through his sideways vision a woman walking toward them. Tall and thin with dark brown hair and wispy bangs falling over her forehead. She feels familiar, almost from a dream.
Steve moves in front of Tony, his stance commanding and hard. "What is this? Who are you?"
"Move. Or I'll move you." The woman says. "I don't want you to hurt you, Captain. But if you don't move, it won't be my fault you're collateral."
"That so?" Steve's voice is a challenge. Don't be an idiot now. Please. Don't let her shoot you. Tony reaches out a hand, attempting to grasp Steve's arm to indicate as much, but the woman makes a clicking sound in the back of her throat and the gun goes off.
Tony jerks violently back from the deafening sound. Steve's body rocks at the impact of the bullets. Two, three, four. Steve tumbles back into Tony, landing on top of him, grasping at his chest and gritting his teeth so hard it looks like he's choking on a scream.
Tony swears, trying to reach for his teammate, but the woman shoves Steve away from him with the edge of her shoe. Steve goes tumbling off onto the cement, struggling to catch his breath.
The woman squats down next to Tony, pulling another clip off her belt and discarding the first one. Tony glares at her, trying to breathe, hand pressed against his shoulder. His body is going cold. "You know, Mr. Stark," she says casually, handling the gun like she's done so since birth, "I've got to admit that I've got something of terrible aim. Apologies if this takes more than one bullet."
"Where is Peter, Mary?" Tony demands through gritted teeth.
Mary Parker's lips purse out in annoyance. "See," she slides the barrel, checking for a bullet, "problem with that question is I've got the same one. Little brat is slippery. Snuck out a few days ago and we haven't been able to find him since. They told me to wait around, he'd show up. But then I thought to myself, 'he'd go crawling back to Stark. The one thing he's not going to miss is his mentor's funeral.' Boy wouldn't shut up about you."
Oh, thank God.
He's still alive.
He's out there and he's alive, and I don't even care if he's missing half his leg and all of his fingers if he remains that way.
"So what?" Tony shoves up a little, glancing at Steve who's trying to slowly get up to his hands and knees, panting heavily and shaking. Tony has to clench his jaw when his whole body trembles. His vision is going blurry. He feels like he's spinning. "You're gonna kill me? And hope that Peter comes running?"
Mary tilts her head, looking at him as if he's stupid, "Well, yes. Somehow the two of you have gotten fond of each other."
Where are Nat and Sam? Tony can't see them. Did Mary already shoot them?
Tony shakes his head, spitting at her feet. "You're insane."
Mary rolls her eyes, flicking the safety off her weapon. She points it carefully at Tony's head. "So I've heard. I'm just practical."
A whisper of fear washes through him. She's already killed May. She shot Steve four times. She's already shot him. Is one more murder going to really affect her conscious that much? She's going to kill him. And Tony isn't ready for that.
He's…
He's gotta...distract her. Talk. He's good at talking.
Tony laughs, feeling warm blood trickle through his fingers. It makes his hand cold and slippery. "Whatever justification you need to tell yourself. Peter isn't going to come running if I die. He's smarter than that." Tony coughs, tired, and his vision doing a weird blinky thing. "I haven't seen him in weeks."
Mary's eyes turn to steal. She raises her colt. "You underestimate your bond. He cried for you, you know. Kept wailing for his 'dad'."
That hits like a punch to the gut. Tony's breath catches, and fresh tears fall down his face. What were you doing to him? He called me dad? There's so much to this story that he's missing. Tony doesn't understand. "Why're you so desperate for him anyway? He's my kid, you lost custody of him. He's mine."
Mary shifts, her mouth angry. "He got his gifts from us. We're not done with him yet. Not until we figure out what we did."
Tony's brow draws together in confusion. He remembers human experimentation being listed on their crimes and feels sick. Oh, man, they didn't...Peter was six…
Mary brushes her bangs from her eyes. "But that's not relevant to you. Your part in this story is over." She aims the gun at his chest. "What do you say, Stark? Shall we make a few more holes in your body?"
Her finger shifts to the trigger, and Tony panics.
"No, wait—!"
A gun discharges.
The sound is deafening and terrifying, making his heart lodge in his throat and stay there, seeking refuge. His entire body has spasmed violently, but there's no pain. Tony's eyes snap open, hands frantically patting himself down for any sort of wound. But there's nothing beyond his shoulder. He's not in any new pain. No holes, no wound. Nothing. Oh, man, what the heck—?
Mary makes a muted sound. Almost like a gasp. She takes a step back. Tony looks up at her and sees that there's a dark red stain spilling down her chest. Blood. The shot didn't hit him. Mary blinks several times, her eyes lifting toward Tony's, wide, and then she goes down to her knees, trembling. Her finger keeps twitching like she's trying to pull the trigger and doesn't have the strength.
Slowly, as if this is some sort of movie, she collapses to her side and reveals her shooter.
Behind Mary by a good fifteen feet, bruised and battered, standing on unbalanced feet stands Peter. He looks more bruises than human, dressed in shotty clothing and without shoes, holding a web—covered .45 and pointing it at Mary, silently sobbing.
"Peter," Tony whispers. It feels like he's talking to a ghost.
He shot her.
Peter shot her.
With the intent to kill.
"I had to," Peter gasps, his voice is a stranger's. Dead, lonely, and cold. "I had to. She told me that she..."
"Hey, hey, hey," Tony gets to his feet slowly, the world rocking, looking at Mary's gasping form for only a second, but the distressed teenager holding a firearm takes precedence. He lifts his hands, unsure if Peter even recognizes him. "I know you did. You did great, bud, okay? I promise. Put the gun down."
Peter stares at him blankly.
From this new vantage point, Tony can see Natasha kneeling next to Sam, her hands pushed against a wound, her eyes frantic and one hand outstretched as if she was holding something. Steve is panting behind him. The entire area is free of people save them, and Tony can hear police sirens wailing in the distance.
Tony forces his eyes forward, clutching at his shoulder. His body is screaming at him. He meets Peter's bloodshot ones. "It's over. You're safe. Put the gun down."
Peter wavers on his feet. He's going to collapse. Tony's already moving before the thought has fully formed, and as Peter's legs give out, Tony catches him. They both go tumbling down to their knees, Tony gasping sharply. Peter collapses to his side and looks up at him, not yet unconscious, his eyes slightly glassy, the gun still gripped firmly in his left hand.
"Pete?" Tony asks quietly.
Peter licks dry, split lips. "She told me that she loved me." He whispers.
The word comes out of Tony like a punch. "What?" He looks back at Mary, curled around her chest and making gasping, wet sounds. The sirens are getting louder. NYFD. NYPD. Somebody else to take control of this scene.
"She told me that she loved me." Peter begins to sob in earnest, broken and exhausted, his face crumpling, "So I shot her in the heart."
000o000
S-O-S.
"I want you to know...no one is making me do this."
M-O-M.
"I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
G-U-N.
"You don't have to look for me. Don't. Please. I'll be okay."
C-A-L-I-F-O-R-N-I-A.
Author's Note:
Haha. So funny story. Two things, actually: Firstly, I've never actually killed May before in any of my fics. It was such a huge trope in 2018 and I was like "No. If I have to kill her off to make a plot work, I'm not working hard enough" so then I just made things way too difficult for myself by keeping her alive. So this is kinda weird.
And Two: I finished draft #1 of this and was like "no, this is terrible. I hate this." So then I walked away from it and was like "How can I make this 4x worse?" So then I took everything I had down and went worse case scenario, and now I am super happy with this. XD Lol, your suffering is my gain.
Idk about part #4. I think it's going to be more of a mulit-chapter like story. Uh. Let's go like, mid to late November, okay?
Thanks so, so much for your support. Love you all, family! :D *hugs*