Chapter 31: Tony Stark III

"What do I tell him?"

The question hung over everyone's heads. Not just May Parker who voiced it. She kept nibbling on his fingertips as she paced in the lobby, waiting for Peter to come home.

Tony was with her. As was Pepper, Steve, Wanda, Vision and Sam Wilson. They all gathered in the lobby upon receiving the call that Deadpool had shot Osborn before the agents could arrest him. Once they heard that Deadpool was involved, no one wasted any time.

May wanted Peter back home immediately. It wasn't safe. Not with Deadpool running wild in the city, shooting bullets. She wanted him back in the compound, safe with her and the others who could protect him. Tony shipped out Happy and Romanoff. Happy could drive them quickly and Romanoff would protect him without drawing too much attention.

Agent Ross promised to keep them updated. So far, Osborn was in critical condition. Unknown if he would survive or not. Agent Ross continued to talk to May, privately, and seemingly passed on some dire words to May as she paled considerably and resembled a ghoul with white skin and striking red hair.

Whatever it was, May couldn't stop moving until Peter was home.

"This is going to break him," May quivered, biting her nails as she paced pass them. "I-I… I don't know what to say. I mean… what can I say to make this easier?"

"Nothing you'll say will make this easy for him," Tony said.

May shot him a cursed look. "I know that!" she snapped. "None of this is easy!"

Pepper went to May and wrapped an arm around her, hugging her to calm May down. "Hey... it's okay," Tony heard her whisper. "Don't mind Tony."

May sniffled, trying desperately not to cry. And Tony was left hanging, unsure how to explain what he meant.

"What Stark means," Steve interceded to tame the situation, "is that you should tell him the truth. It won't be easy, but he deserves to know everything."

May breathed, unevenly. "He won't take it well," she muttered. "He won't… all his life. This man has manipulated his entire life!"

Tony prickled thinking how Norman Osborn had drastically changed Peter's life from better to worst. Peter was a kid! A naïve, innocent, and kind boy whose life was constantly altered on Osborn's whims and desire for power. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

"Not anymore," Wilson piped up from his end of the room. "He won't harm a hair on that kid."

"Not on our watch," Steve asserted in agreement. "Peter's safe."

Was he though? Tony thought. Norman never directly went after Peter. He always hired others to get him like with Bull's Eye and Tombstone. Did Norman hired more mercenaries to carry out his agenda? Did Norman have a back-up plan if caught? Tony remembered Agent Ross mentioning the man had two tickets for Europe.

He had an inkling that the second ticket wasn't for his son.

Wanda came up to May's other side, putting her hand on her shoulder. There was no red glow to help ease her frantic thoughts. Nothing. Just a small, comfortable squeeze.

"You are a strong woman," Wanda observed. "Pietro will need you. Be there. That's what he needs."

Wanda Maximoff would know. She lost her twin brother in a devastating way. She never got the chance for a proper good-bye and it left her broken. Her other half was lost, leaving a wound in her life. Only Vision's constant companionship and compassion saved her.

Vision floated down, strolling up to her. "Peter is a smart boy," he said. "He will understand."

And Vision still needed some emotional growth. He hardly interacted with teenagers and their range of emotions. But, at least he was positive, and sounded more empathetic than the robotic tones he originally carried upon his "birth".

They heard soft chattering coming from the distance. A gentle rumble coming in the direction of the elevators.

"Boss?" came FRIDAY's voice. "Mr. Hogan and Ms. Romanoff arrived with Mr. Parker. They are on their way up."

Shit. That quick? Happy violated the traffic laws.

May sucked in a deep breath, eyes blinking a bit to gain composure. She brushed her hair away from her eyes, moving closer to the elevator to greet her nephew. Pepper sent her a tight smile and whispered something to May before she moved to join her fiancée.

The elevator doors opened and Happy, Romanoff and Peter walked out. Romanoff strode into the lobby first, greeting Steve and Sam, who welcomed her back. Happy was carrying the suit with delicacy, while Peter somewhat dragged his duffel, yawning loudly and eyes blinking wearily. It was clear they interrupted his beauty sleep based off the rumpled pajamas and the tousled curls in disarray.

Once he recovered from his yawn, Peter noticed the crowd. "Oh—hey there," he said, taking in the team's appearance at such an odd hour. "W-What's going on? Why is everyone awake?"

No one answered right away and Peter looked to May. "Aunt May?" he sounded worried. "Are you okay? You didn't say—"

"Oh, um, I… I wanted to…"

Too awkward to talk about a private matter in front of a crowd. He quickly darted a look around the lobby, spotting an unoccupied conference room. "Hey, May? If you want, you and Peter can talk in the conference room," he offered, pointing to the empty room. "Give you guys some privacy."

May escorted a baffled Peter to the room to talk. Peter tried to take his bag with him, but Happy took it from his hands as he passed. Peter's expression grew more and more confused and anxious, checking everyone's face twice as if expecting someone to be missing. No one was missing (not including Rhodey, who was in transport).

May closed the door and Tony ordered FRIDAY to tint the windows of the conference room to give them extra privacy while they all waited outside.

Tony let out a steam of stressed air. "Now we wait."

Pepper gave him a look. "This isn't a show, Tony."

"Didn't say it was," Tony said, remembering the day he received the news of his parents' death. The devastation of losing his mother crippled him, but it was the intense press interference that turned his hurt into a media circus.

He wished that it wouldn't happen to Peter.

He doubt it.

"Should we go then?" asked Sam, looking to Steve and Tony for a response.

"Best we stay," Steve answered first. "Just in case."

"Of what?"

"Of many things. Peter may suffer from sensory overload," Tony filled in for Sam and the others. "Or he may try to run?"

"So we are to be his guards then?" questioned Wanda, not favorably. She must remember her house arrest.

"His support," Steve clarified. "Grief takes many shapes and it is best we are all here to help."

Tony felt Steve's eyes on him when he spoke. It was Steve's way of saying in case things go terribly wrong, better to have strength in numbers to stop Peter from going ballistic like Tony did in Serbia. Granted, Tony had every fucking right to be mad at Cap and his childhood friend. He was betrayed and lied to by someone he considered a friend, about his own parents' death. His mother's horrible murder. Tony believed he reacted reasonably.

Nonetheless, Captain America made a good point. If Peter had the same reaction as him, what could May do to stop an enhanced individual from running off? Of course, he wouldn't acknowledge Steve's assessment. Tony sighed loudly and plopped on the couch, acting board.

Tony looked at Happy, standing there awkwardly with the suit and duffel. "Hey—Hap?" he called his friend's attention. "You wanna take that to the kid's apartment?"

Happy stared. "Now?"

"What better time? Nothing's happening."

Happy grudgingly nodded and returned to the elevator, going up to return the items back to the Parker residence. Everyone else settled down on the couches and chairs, sitting quietly. They couldn't hear anything from the conference room. Not that they should, but Tony thought he would have heard at least a loud muffle.

Pepper brushed down her dress over her knees and cleared her throat to end the static silence. "How was the car ride back?" she asked Romanoff. "Peter wasn't too worried or anything?"

"He was sleepy," Romanoff answered, crossing her legs in front, reclining into the cushion. "Didn't talk too much. I asked him about his dance to keep him occupied and unsuspecting."

"Dance?" Wanda's brows bunched in perplexed. "What dance?"

"Yeah… kind of like a school tradition," Wilson explained. "Schools host dances for the kiddies because they think it's a grown-up activity for them." He looked back to Romanoff. "So—the kid go with anyone?"

"He went with friends," Steve said.

"But—" Tony interrupted. "He did learn to dance. You know, to dance with someone."

"I'm guessing you know who?" Wilson said.

"Just a girl."

"Michelle Jones," Romanoff said.

Tony turned sharply to Romanoff. "You know?" he said, surprised. "Did he tell you? Did he dance with her?"

Romanoff rolled her head off to the side. "I just know."

Even without her vast intelligence network (including her partner-in-crime, Clint Barton), Natasha Romanoff have went a day without knowing everything about everyone. It perplexed Tony how quickly she obtained information. But, once a spy, always a spy.

"Did he have a good time at least?" Pepper hoped. She wanted Peter to enjoy some normalcy.

"He danced a few times," Romanoff commented. "Mentioned dancing with someone."

Tony smirked. Peter danced with MJ. After all, he didn't spend all morning and afternoon teaching the kid to dance and getting him dressed to perfection. He made him dapper and ready to charm even the serious-faced MJ.

Pepper smiled. "As long as he had a good time," she said. "Glad he got some kind of normalcy before—"

She was cut off by the sound of a door wrenching open and a woman shouting, "Peter! Peter! Wait—"

Everyone spun to the back door, surprised to see Peter teetering out of the conference room. His eyes were wide and lost. He was in a state of shock. His breathing ragged as he stumbled on his feet into the lobby.

Tony immediately stood. He watched Peter. The kid's feet shifted and slid, unaware where he stepped. He took three more uneven steps until he came to a sudden halt. He looked up, now noticing that everyone in the room was up and watching him.

May came whipping out from around the door, glasses fallen to the tip of her nose. "Peter?" she tried to get his attention again. "Sweetie?"

Peter ignored her. He pressed himself against the wall as his only support, looking out at everyone's faces with wounded realization.

"Peter?" came Pepper's soft voice through the silence that enveloped the room.

Peter's eyes grew red, glossy and shiny. His mouth trembled as he darted a look to each face. "You knew…" he sniffed, trying to breathe through his clogged nose. "You all knew."

Guilt tugged Tony's gut. He tried to approach Peter to give him an explanation, but the boy backed away. "You lied to me!" he shouted, betrayal shining in those wide eyes that glanced between him and Steve Rogers. "Both of you! You lied! You…"

He paused, scanning the faces again in a bout of panic. "Does Clint know?" he asked. "Did he know about all of this too?"

Hawkeye? Why was Peter worried about the former archer knowing of the investigation? All Barton ever did was collect a bag of missing documents. He didn't even stay around to chat. Left the next morning.

Romanoff eased Peter's worries. "No," she answered. "Barton doesn't know. He only knows about Secretary Ross. Not about Osborn."

Knowing that Hawkeye had no involvement with the secrecy gave some relief to the kid. Peter looked calmer, but there was a shadow of sadness to his face and a hurt that flickered in his eyes as he looked to them for an explanation. For something.

They all looked at each other, hoping the other person would speak on their behalf. None of them wanted to take the full blame. Most eyes laid on Tony. After all, he brought the kid into the messy world of superheroes.

Pepper elbowed him, gesturing him to approach the kid.

Tony started, moving slowly as to not startle Peter. He pretended to miss the tears glistening Peter's eyelashes, swallowing before he spoke. "Um… kid? Look—we didn't want to say anything—"

"So you lied?" Peter lashed out at him, red creeping up his neck and dotting his cheeks. "To my face?"

"No," Tony shook his head. The kid wasn't understanding. "I didn't lie to you."

"Keeping secrets is the same!"

Tony exhaled, thinking back to Serbia when he discovered the secret Captain America hid from him. He wondered if Peter hated him as much as he hated Captain America for keeping secrets.

To which, Steve stepped into the fray. "Son, we're sorry we hurt you," he started, sounding empathetic. "That was never our intention. What we told you in Queens was the truth, just not the whole truth. You see… we weren't quite sure how deep this conspiracy was and we didn't want you to get caught up in it. We wanted to protect you. We thought we were."

Peter disbelieved everything good, old Captain America said. "Swell job, then."

"Peter? Please—don't be mad at them," May intervened, trying to get closer to her kid, but Peter stepped away from her reach. "I told them I didn't want you involved."

"But I am involved, Aunt May!" he argued, face blotching. "It's my life! How am I not involved with my own life?"

"Peter—"

"You should have told me!" Peter cried, eyes squeezed into anguished slits. "They're my parents—"

Peter's voice ceased into quietness. All the words and sounds gone, leaving them in dreadful silence. Too silent. Struck by a newfound wave of agony by the way his face went a shade whiter. His eyes glazed over, unseeing and stupor.

Tony slid closer to Peter. "Hey, kid? Underoos?" he tried to grab the boy's attention. He was an arm stretch away from the broken-hearted kid. "Peter?"

"My parents."

It was a soft murmur. A mumble, to be honest, but Tony heard him.

Peter shook. His arms wrapped tightly around him, but he couldn't stop shaking. His eyes were glued to the floor, distant, as he muttered again. "My parents... my mom... dad..."

"Peter!" Tony tried again, but it was too late.

Peter dropped. His knees buckled and he fell in a crumbling heap. He landed hard on the floor's surface with a loud crack that made everyone wince. Yet, it was nothing compared to what Peter released.

It was the worst sound Tony's ever heard in his entire life. He couldn't describe it. No words matched what cursed them all. It struck everyone right in their centers, grounding them where they stood. Helpless to move or act.

Nothing sounded more petrifying than the wails of child in agony.

May ran to her fallen nephew, pulling him up from the floor to a sitting position. She embraced him, tightly, his head tucked underneath her chin. She said nothing. Only held him in her arms as Peter sobbed into her, gripping his aunt's sleeves for dear life.

Tony dropped his gaze. He still heard Peter. That tears did not end. It brought back the painful memories of his parents' murder. The day he learned of their deaths and the years afterwards. The longing, the missing, and the acceptance that he would never have his mother again—it all came back to him.

As did the anger.

"So this is where he took the plunge?"

Tony stared over the ledge. Caution tape covered the window, but they had yet to seal it. Glitter from the shattered window embedded into the floor. The crew only picked up the bigger pieces of the broken glasses.

"Take a step back, Stark," Agent Ross ordered. "Don't need you falling to your death."

Tony moved a step back, looking back out the empty space to the streets below. It was quite the fall. No human would survive. Then again, Deadpool was not human.

Once May got Peter off the floor and assured everyone that she got it covered, Tony received a call from Agent Ross. The agent needed him to come down to the crime scene. Tony told him he would be there soon, but to his dismay, he did not come alone to Manhattan.

Captain America joined beside him, eyebrows furrowed deep in puzzlement. "He's not all there, is he?"

"What gave you that idea?" Tony remarked and he twisted to look back at Agent Ross.

There were a handful of CSIs of the EHU surveying the room. Agent Ross's team was crime-dusting the entire office. Placards circled the drying blood of Norman Osborn. He was medically evacuated to Mount Sinai and from what Tony heard so far, the man was in critical condition. Not dead yet, but Tony had his fingers crossed.

Agent Ross stood beside a man dwindling with a biometric lock on Osborn's desk. He had been at it for hours, but Agent Ross refused Tony's assistance.

"You are not certified to do so," Agent Ross told him. "We need to do it right to ensure it can be used as evidence in court."

So, Tony waited on the incompetent to hack through the biometric system that would only take him five minutes. He circled, bored and impatient. Agent Ross called them in, asking for assistance. Yet, when he offered to hack into Norman's super-secret safe, he was denied and told to shut-up.

"Is he done yet?" Tony inquired again as he lolled around the room.

Agent Ross glared. "Stop asking," he said, briefly before squatting down next to the technician and asking him. The technician responded with "Shortly."

Steve took in the scene, staring at the blood that soaked into the rug. "How many shots were fired?"

"Three," Agent Ross answered.

"Overkill."

"Wanted the guy dead," Agent Ross supposed. "It's a miracle he hasn't died yet."

"Is it?" Tony questioned to which Steve frowned at him.

Agent Ross merely shrugged. "So, um… how's Peter? He doing okay?"

"Not well," Steve answered, "but it was expected. He… he needs time."

"Which is why I sent him and his hot aunt off," Tony added onto Steve's response. "Jetted them out of the country until this whole thing blows over."

"That might take a few years," Agent Ross said. "You're going to make them disappear that long?"

"Oh, God—no," Tony said. "Just for a month when the news dies down about it. What? I'm not going to let that kid stay on while the media has a field day. No… he needs to be out of here when this goes down. Somewhere away from all the ruckus this thing will cause. Trust me on it. It's not fun trying to mourn over a loss with cameras in your face and people shouting at you."

Agent Ross tilted his head in agreement. "Yeah, probably better for him to be far away from this as possible at the moment."

In the next second, the technician called out to them. "Got it, sir," he said, seemingly proud of himself on the accomplishment.

Tony scoffed and Rogers shot him another look. Agent Ross went to the technician's side, telling him to be careful. A forensic photographer came, snapping shots as Agent Ross carefully opened the drawer. Can't be too careful. After all, Norman Osborn was a crazed psychopath.

Drawer opened, Agent Ross peeked inside. "All right," he said, reaching his gloved hand into the drawer to pull out a stack of folders and a laptop. "What do we have here?"

Tony arched his brows at the laptop, interested. "Here… give me that."

Agent Ross moved it out of Tony's grasp. "Nice try, Stark," he said. "You're not touching it. Not without gloves on either."

Tony rolled his eyes, marching over to where they had the box of blue, latex gloves. He grabbed a pair and put them on, before marching back to the desk. "Gloves are on," he said. "Now—give me the laptop."

"After Mr. Rutch clears it," Agent Ross said, the laptop already in the technician's hands.

Tony rolled his eyes, flippant as he huffed. "Why the hell did you bring us down here if we can't touch anything?"

"Because once we find evidence, I need you to… to…"

Agent Ross stopped talking. He had a file in his hand, opened, and he was shifting through paper after paper. Face scrunched, puzzled at what he saw. He kept flipping through, ignoring Tony.

"Hey!" Tony snapped at Agent Ross. "Big E! You wanna share something with the class?"

Agent Ross didn't look up from the file. "They're drawings. All of them."

Tony and Steve shared a look. "Drawings?" Tony arched an inquisitive brow. "Of what?"

"Of nonsense. Of people. Of…" Agent Ross lifted one of the paper up to them. "Of the two of you."

Of them? Tony yanked the paper out of Agent Ross's hand. He saw an array of scribbles and lots of color. Red, blue, yellow, green and purple. Color upon color. Figures in crude depiction of someone with poor hand coordination. Yet, Tony could make out the overall theme. It was the Avengers. In the middle of the Battle of New York.

Steve looked over his shoulder. "Peter drew this."

"How do you know?" Tony assumed a kid drew it, but Steve sounded confident in his statement.

Steve pointed to the corner. Right there, in uneven lettering, spelled out Peter Parker. Dated May 8, 2012. Peter had to be ten or eleven when he drew it. Perhaps drawing what he saw from his window that day, watching creatures and people fly around and knocking down skyscrapers. He was just a kid, depicting the wonder and horror of the new world. A human kid with big dreams and full of innocence, unaware of the future he was heading straight into.

Tony sighed, brushing a finger over the Iron Man drawing flying around the skyscrapers. His fingertips traced the grooves of the crayons. It wasn't a copy. It was the original piece.

"Is the file full of drawings?" Tony asked Agent Ross.

Agent Ross nodded. "Yeah."

"Are they the originals?"

He checked. "Appears so."

Tony blew out a huff of heated air. "Son of a bitch," he growled. "He stole these from their home."

"Ross probably gave them to him," Steve theorized, which Tony didn't doubt. "What do the other files contain?"

Agent Ross put the folder down and picked up another to examine. "Uh… this one appears to be tests. Grades. Papers… etc.," Agent Ross reached for another file. "This one is… photographs. Not that many though."

Tony's stomach churned. Drawings, papers and photographs of Peter's life were coveted by a madman with grand delusions! It sickened Tony to the point he wanted to vomit. That man had been living among the world so freely when deep in his office, he stalked a teenager. It wasn't right. It was horrific and Tony prayed that Norman Osborn didn't survive. If only to keep Peter permanently safe from that man.

Now, he definitely needed to know what was on that laptop. Tony pressed the Avengers' drawing into Steve's hand and went up to Mr. Rutch. "Up," he ordered. "I'm taking over."

Mr. Rutch, his red-haired buzz cut, sharp nose and freckled face stared right up at Tony. "I haven't finished…"

"And you never will," Tony answered and he tipped the man's chair, spilling Mr. Rutch to the floor. "Thanks."

"Stark!" Agent Ross shouted as Steve also yelled, "Tony!"

Tony didn't give a damn. Mr. Rutch was fine on the floor anyway. He didn't fall into any blood. "You just hired me to be a consultant," he told Agent Ross. "Thanks for the offer. I fully accept. Now—give me a second."

He took over the hacking. It was easy. Norman wasn't too secured on the laptop. Must have though his biometric lock would keep the laptop from falling into the wrong (right) hands. Little did he ever believe Tony would be in his home office, hacking into the very foundation of the man's empire.

Joke was on him.

As promised, Tony hacked into the laptop with minimum effort. A minute hadn't even passed since he pushed Mr. Rutch out of the seat. "Like that, we are live," he announced to the team behind him. He scanned the screen, searching for anything that stood out. "What are you hiding in here?" he muttered, checking the programs.

"Open the last item he had," Agent Ross ordered.

"I was about to do that," Tony grunted over his shoulder. He dropped the arrow to the electronic files. The latest one opened.

He clicked and it opened, revealing a list of recorded videos with numerical titles. Nothing descriptive. Could be anything.

Agent Ross leaned over Tony's shoulder. "Interesting," he muttered. "Maybe they're videos of his illegal experimentation?"

"Maybe."

"Play the first one," Steve suggested.

Tony did. He clicked on the video link and the wall to their right shuddered. Lots of people jumped in fright at the sudden change and Tony, Steve and Agent Ross directed their attention to the wall as it parted to reveal a hidden screen. A bright light emitted on the screen, blinding them for a few second until it was filled with color and an image took form.

The picture suddenly moved.

A little boy with soft curls stood by a coffee table. Paper and crayons littered the table, but it didn't seem to matter. The little boy was coloring furiously, filling in an outline image of a vehicle of some sort in blue crayon.

"Peter? You wanna tell me what you're drawing?"

Tony swore his heart dropped out of him. Of course! The boy looked exactly like Peter. Younger version, obviously, with a toothy grin and baby-cheeks that have yet to sharpen from his growth spurt. He must be around… two? Or three years of age? Not older than five.

"Imma drawin' a tank," Peter said. His voice squeaky and loud. Like any toddler. "Like the soldier."

"You mean Captain America?"

Tony shot a look to Steve. The man's eyes diverted down for brief second and his jawline tightened, but nothing else. He looked back to the screen.

Peter pressed the blue crayon hard onto the paper. "Yeah… Daddy's soldier from the stories."

Peter did say his father and uncle admired Captain America. Tony shouldn't be surprised that Peter grew up hearing the stories. It still rubbed his ego the wrong way though.

The sound of a door opening drew Peter's attention away.

"Who's that?" said the woman (Tony assumed it was his mother. Didn't sound like May Parker at all) "Who's at the door?"

Peter's face broke into an excited expression. His lips pulled back into a goofy, toothy smile as he abandoned his crayons and ran. The camera followed, watching Peter's little legs kick behind him and his arms pumping as he ran down the hallway.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Down at the end stood a man. He had a briefcase in his hand, but when Peter got closer, he dropped it. "There's my boy!" the man exclaimed as he suddenly scooped Peter right off his feet, spinning him in a circle, before settling Peter on his hip. "Wow! Did you grow again? This morning you were my little boy. What's going on here?"

There was no denying that Peter was Richard's son. Peter looked exactly like Richard. Brown hair with a touch of wavy locks. Brown eyes. And even the way they smiled was the same. The only thing different between the two was the statue. Richard was broad shoulder. Not big, but definitely not the skinny frame that his son is.

Richard Parker looked at the camera. "Did you sprinkle Miracle-Grow in his milk?"

"He's eager to grow up and be like you."

Richard Parker laughed and Peter, in his father's arms, smiled brightly at him.

The screen went dark. Richard's laughter echoed into silence and Peter's face blurred out. The room went quiet. Everyone's eyes were on the empty wall.

Tony didn't know what to say. There were a lot of questions bombarding him. All wanting answers, but the shock of what he watched kept him in a stupor. It had to be the same for Steve and Agent Ross because neither of them said anything either.

Jesus Christ. Home-videos. Norman Osborn fucking stole home-videos of Peter… and watched them.

The wall flickered again. Something was happening. Tony looked back to the laptop. The menu went to the next video in line. The speakers sparked alive and a new image was captured to show them another version of Peter.

The two-year old was gone. Replaced with an older one. Seven. Maybe eight. Could be nine for all Tony could tell. He didn't hang around that many kids to notice the difference.

Peter was dressed in peasant garb. He stood in the middle of what looked to be a living room. A grey-blue, velvet couch behind him along with a television set on an oak entertainment cabinet. A red chair could be seen as well, along with a collection of trinkets like a blue pot and books.

Holy shit. Tony recognized the living room. It was the Parker's living room. In Queens. The one that belonged to May and Ben Parker. The one where he officially met Peter Parker. But, it had to be some years ago. They really never changed their furniture since then?

"Okay, Petey," said a man's voice. It didn't sound like Richard's more lively tone. It was kind and gentle. Encouraging. Nonetheless it was a man's voice. "You wanna go over your lines?"

Peter shook his head.

"Come on," said a voice that sounded like May. "You have to say it in front of a whole audience tomorrow."

"I don't wanna," Peter whined.

"Here—" said the man and the camera got a little shaking as it switched hands. The man appeared on screen, dressed in jeans and a blue sweater with red-plaid sticking out from underneath. "What if I say them with you? Huh? Will you say them with me?"

Peter rubbed his eye before nodding. "If you do it with me, Uncle Ben."

So that was Uncle Ben. Should have known. He looked like Richard. Same built. Same colored hair. A slightly narrower face, but kind. Like he doesn't have a single bad bone in his body.

Peter waited for Uncle Ben to give the signal to begin. Together, they recited, "Yes. And he kidnapped Tiger Lily!"

Clapping could be heard in the background along with small hoots. Peter wasn't a peasant. He was a Lost Boy. Uncle Ben clapped Peter's shoulder and gave him a big grin.

"You did great, kiddo! That was easy, right?" Uncle Ben said, but Peter shyly shrugged. "You're going to do fine. Don't worry. Your aunt and I will always be proud of ya."

Until he died, Tony believed Uncle Ben was proud of Peter. He could see it in the man's eyes that Peter was everything.

Tony sat in the chair, white knuckled form clenching his fist too hard. His jaw hurt too, gritting his teeth in his effort to not explode. Fucking Norman! He watched these videos. All these videos of Peter with his family. With his parents! The very people Norman had assassinated. It was sickening. The way the man ruined Peter's life and then tried to covet him like a creation of his own.

A hand set on Tony's finger and he swung around to snap, but saw it was Steve. He looked just as grim as he felt.

"Stop the recording," he told Tony.

Tony forgot that the videos were on a loop. Present on the screen was an infant, resting in the crooks of his mother's arms. Peter looked incredibly tiny and very pink. His mother, Mary, shared a sweet, but exhausted smile at the camera. Peter had her nose.

Tony bent over the laptop and got to work, shutting down the screen and imaging. The video flickered off and the wall went back to being the simple wood wall it was. A hush fell over the forensic team before the scuttled back to work, leaving Tony, Steve and Agent Ross handle the mess of their discovery.

"That was…" Agent Ross heaved a sigh. "That was not good."

"Really?" Tony said, curt. "I thought it was more along the lines of being sadistically disturbing. But I guess 'not good' sums it up as well."

Agent Ross looked crossed. "I'm not in the mood—"

"Neither am I!" he fired back, too damn tired of everyone not doing enough. Those videos were proofs that they let Norman roam free for far too long. "You know what? Fuck it. I'm done."

Tony shot up from his chair, shoving it far away from him that Steve quickly dodged it. Agent Ross yelled at him, but he didn't listen. Steve shouted for him to come back, but Tony didn't return. He had somewhere else to be. Somewhere he needed to be.

Tony glared down at the villain. Some would say he was being melodramatic, but after everything he saw, he begged to differ. Norman Osborn wasn't human. He was a monster.

Even now, unconscious in a medical cot with tubes down his throat and out of his arms, he remained a monster in Tony's eyes. Tony held no doubt the man was just as dangerous alive as he was in his comatose state.

Tony watched by his position at the door. He sent the guards away. Told them Iron Man could handle a comatose man. They gave no objection and left Tony with Osborn.

A vexation burned within him, starting from the bottom and rising up along his spine. It was wrong and twisted and it kept burning. Tony knew he was intoxicated on something far deadlier than alcohol. The longer he glared at Osborn, the stronger the desire to shake that man. Yell with all his fire at him. To release a blast from his gauntlet right into the man's chest. It was all Tony wanted to do. Blast the man apart.

"Don't do it, Tones."

Tony whipped his head around and saw Rhodey right behind him.

"Who called?" Tony asked. He bet it was Big E. He would have ratted him out.

"Cap called Pepper. She called me," Rhodey answered. "And I came." He followed Tony into the room, watching Tony with a cautious warning. "I know you're mad—"

Tony huffed out a deriding scoff. "Mad? Oh—I'm not mad. Not at all," he said, moving to the opposite side of the room, away from Rhodey. "I'm fucking pissed!"

"I know. I know."

Rhodey said it to calm him down, but it only irritated him more. Tony shook his head, feeling his insides boil from the rising fury. He drew closer to the cot, stuffing his knuckles deep into his pockets. Best to keep them in than out.

His friend inched forward, cautious as to not provoke. "He can't hurt Peter anymore."

"He already did enough."

Tony frustratingly wiped his hands down his face. "He won't stop," he commented. "He'll keep coming after the kid."

"Why? He'll be in prison or... in this vegetative state," Rhodey noted Osborn's condition. "He can't do anything to Peter."

"Doesn't matter," Tony remarked. "If he can't have the kid, no one else can. Hell—why do you think he tried to assassinate me?"

The documents Steve and the team retrieved from Weasel revealed that Osborn paid for the Taskmaster's services to hire an assassin to murder him. Taskmaster partnered Osborn with Tombstone, all in the effort to eliminate him from Peter's life.

Rhodes quietly resigned. "Yeah… I know. I read the transcripts," he said, graved. And yet, his focus was hard on Tony, "and I know what you're thinking."

"So do I."

"Don't," Rhodey warned.

Tony's eyes burned. Jaw clenched. "You didn't see what Norman had."

"Cap told me."

"You didn't see it."

"No, I didn't," Rhodey agreed, "but… you can't go all Avenger on him."

Tony wanted to. God help him, he wanted to beat the living shit out of Norman Osborn. He was a bit envious that Deadpool beat him to the punch.

He loomed over Osborn. He remembered when it was the other way around. Him on the concrete steps, bleeding out and seeing Norman's sneer. Now, Norman wasted away with Tony triumphantly standing over him. But it didn't feel like a victory. In a way, Norman won. He still got to the Parkers. Hurt them and ruined their son. Destroyed a good family.

Tony inhaled his fury. "I want him to die."

Rhodey looked at him. He said nothing. Maybe in shock. Maybe appalled. Probably both.

Tony didn't care. "I don't care if it's wrong to think that or even to say it," he said, alight in a new rage. "I don't want Osborn around to be a threat."

"You shouldn't wish for someone to die," Rhodey reproached him.

"Not someone," Tony jerked his head to Osborn. "Him."

That didn't soften Rhodey's stern glower. "He has a kid, Tony."

"So do I!"

His friend shut his mouth. A shade of disappointment as Rhodey shook his head, but he didn't offer a counter-argument. What could he say? All of this was a tangled mess of tragedy. There were no happy endings for anyone.

There was a commotion outside. Tony and Rhodey looked to each other, wondering what fresh hell was this. Before they strode to the door to check, it burst opened.

"Dad!"

A skinny kid with pale complexion and hair falling over his eyes staggered in. He reeked of teenage stereotypes. Hell—the kid reminded Tony of his worst days. It was obvious the kid spent his night with a six-pack and an ashtray. His once nice clothes were rumpled and his tie was gone along with his jacket. The kid kept running his shaky hands through his hair, making it messier every second.

Harry stumbled to a stop, gasping as he took in the scene of his father. "Dad?"

Tony hurried away from the cot. He whipped out his sunglasses and shielded his eyes. Time to go. He slipped away, moving for door. The kid stayed still, gaping at his father's form. Eyebrows furrowed deep, an array of befuddled emotions filtered through the kid's already hazy eyes. When Tony drew near, the kid's eyes shifted to him.

Tony froze. Struck down by the simple look of a kid. It almost reminded him of the moment with Peter after the Ferry incident. The pained and confusion and sadness—it was all there in the kid's irises. Tony opened his mouth to speak. Condolences or something along those lines, but nothing came. Second time in his life, he had nothing. He couldn't lie to the kid and say he was sorry. He couldn't act penitent because he wasn't. Nothing he would say would be true and Tony knew the kid would know.

So, he closed sealed his lips together. He shook his head and walked away. Straight out of the door and down the corridor, leaving with Rhodey chasing after him.

"What the hell was that?" Rhodey admonished him. "You could have said something!"

Tony shrugged. "The kid would know I was lying."

"So? Lie!" Rhodey shouted. "That kid might lose his last parent! You should have at least told him you were sorry."

Tony stopped and spun to his oldest friend. "Trust me on this, Rhodey," he said. "That kid didn't want to hear anything I gotta say. The lie or truth. I did the decent thing and left."

Rhodes let out indignant snort as they restarted their stroll through the hospital. "You mean the easiest thing for you to do."

Tony slowly shook his head. "You wouldn't understand, Rhodey," he said and they entered the parking garage. "You had a decent upbringing with wonderful parents. Me and Osborn's kid… trust me. Better to be left alone than hear a bunch of bullshit."

He walked away from his friend and got into his car. Rhodey crossed his arms, watching him with such disapproval. "You could have said something," he insisted. "Anything."

Agreed, Tony could have said anything, but none of it would matter to Harry Osborn.

Rhodey blew up a puff of air in distress. "The kid's going to be messed up," he said. "Seeing his dad like that… seeing you there."

Tony got the hint. Osborn's kid saw him by his father's bed. Only one interpretation could be made from that kid's mental state.

He sagged in the seat, dropping his head against the headrest. "He's an Osborn," he said. "He was fucked the minute he was Norman's son. Nothing I do or say will help.

"As for seeing me there," Tony turned the keys and the engine purred, "the kid already knew."

Rhodey's eyebrows furrowed. "Already knew what?"

"That I blame Norman for all of this."