#the tires can turn into repulsors because why not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

Hi love. I adore your work. Can you write for the prompt “You need to get out of there!” for stevetony? I’m a sucker for za *angst* and I can already imagine tiny Stark being his stupid adorable self and getting in trouble.

hiii thank you!! idk how this ended up being 3k words, but i hope that you like it!

It happens so quickly that Tony doesn’t even have time to really process it. One moment things are as close to fine as they can be in the middle of a fight. He’s close to breaking through the system, just a few keystrokes and a minute away from being able to stop the near army of robots right from the source. The next is filled with blaring alarms and dust starting to fall from the ceiling, though he hardly notices through the laser-focus. He hears Steve’s voice through the comm line in his ear and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond.

“Iron Man, you need to get out of there!” Steve says again, firmer and louder, and this time Tony opens his mouth to tell him off for being distracting right when he’s almost done, but the words die on his tongue at the first crashing beam.

All he actually manages are a few ineloquent curses muttered under his breath while he scrambles to finish his task. Adrenaline and fear are coursing through him in equal parts, but the fear isn’t for himself. It’s for what happens if he doesn’t do this. If the building takes him out before he can take out the enemy, leaving the other five with far too many opponents to handle on their own. He can see it now - their blood on his hands because he wasn’t fast enough. Just one job to do and he couldn’t do it right.

There’s more shouting on the comm line, more than just Steve, but Tony can’t take the time to listen to it. The floor is shaking beneath him, and the dust in the air has accumulated to cloud his vision. He’s thankful he has the foresight to ventilate the suit through numerous filters, otherwise it would be getting hard to breathe.

There’s flashing on the monitors in front of him, and he knows he’s done it by the way everything goes quiet for just a second, then explodes back into sound. He hears the relief in Clint’s voice, followed by the barely concealed panic in Steve’s as he urges him to get out of the building yet again.

Tony powers up the suit to go back out through the shattered window he came through in the first place. No longer focused on dismantling the system, he realizes that the window doesn’t exist anymore. The wall has collapsed on itself, the left side of the room blocked off with rubble. His initial scan of the building showed another floor above him and two below, joined only by one set of stairs, but those were off to the left, too. The suit could probably make it through the wall directly, if he got enough power going. Might break a bone or two, he thinks, but with no other way out, he’ll take the risk. As he scans the walls again for the weakest point, he says into the comm, “Be out in a sec. Maybe, uh, get ready to catch me.”

Whatever Steve says next comes through layers of static, cutting in and out until the only word Tony can make out is his own name. It’s the last thing he hears as he turns up the repulsors to full speed and aims for the center of the wall.

______________

All things considered, it could have gone worse. He has a concussion that makes him feel dizzy and a couple of large gashes in his abdomen from where the suit had caved in just a bit that required more than a few stitches. Two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder top it off, but he doesn’t need to be in the hospital for more than a day. A precaution to make sure his concussion doesn’t turn into something worse.

He tells himself that the short stay is why Steve didn’t show. Natasha was the first to come, with her own fresh bandages on her arms and stitches in a jagged cut on her forehead. She told him about the end of the fight from the outside, and the way all the robots suddenly came to a stop, just like Tony predicted when he told them his plan for going into that building in the first place. Clint and Thor come together after. Their loud voices make his headache worsen, and the laughter makes his ribs ache, but he can’t bring himself to be upset about it. Pepper ends up kicking them out when she arrives and notices that he winces a little every time Thor speaks. Bruce is last, arriving the next morning after he’s recovered from those few hours as the Hulk, but still looking tired from it. He sits with Tony while the doctor tells him about all the things he shouldn’t be doing for a while, then rides home with him.

In the elevator, Tony thinks about telling JARVIS to take him to the workshop, but one stern look from Bruce makes him reconsider.

“It’s really not that bad,” Tony tries to argue.

“You’re not allowed to move your right shoulder.”

“But my hands are working just fine.”

“You can’t even stand up straight. You’re actually swaying right now.”

Tony shrugs with just the left side of his body and grimaces when it pulls on his broken ribs. “So I’ll sit down.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me physically restrain you.”

“Kinky,” Tony jokes, but it falls flat because Bruce clearly isn’t in the mood for his humor and his own heart isn’t in it, anyway. He sighs and recognizes the losing battle. “Fine, take me to the penthouse, J.”

Bruce walks out of the elevator with him, hovering close behind like he’s prepared to catch him if he suddenly passes out. Which is fair, Tony supposes, because his vision goes dark around the edges a couple of times before he makes it to his bed. It’s why Tony only complains a little when Bruce kneels to take his shoes off for him when he sits down at the edge of the mattress.

“Alright, stop that, I can take care of myself,” Tony says, pushing on Bruce’s shoulder. Except the pain in his ribs and head that he gets when he bends over makes him audibly groan, and he feebly sits back up. “Okay, nevermind. You’ve got it covered. Even if this does make the top twenty most embarrassing list.”

“It makes it that high?” Bruce teases, and Tony weakly kicks at him.

Out of his shoes, Tony maneuvers himself under the covers the best he can, trying to find a position that doesn’t make any of his injuries hurt. The pain medication he’s on is fairly low grade by choice, because he hates the stronger stuff, but he’s wondering now if the fuzzy head it gives him might be worth it.

Bruce lingers a little awkwardly after, so Tony half-jokingly asks, “Are you going to stay and watch me sleep?”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce says, “No, but it’s my shift to make sure you don’t do something stupid, so I’ll be in the living room.”

“Your shift?” Tony raises his eyebrows.

“Nat’s up next. Clint’s after her.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed babysitting.” He tries to sound annoyed, but he isn’t, really. It’s almost nice that they’re concerned.

“Thor’s on night shift,” Bruce smiles. “Figured he’s the one most capable of carrying you back to bed if needed.”

After his absence at the hospital, the lack of mention of Steve sticks out even more. Not that it wouldn’t have anyway. His life revolves around the presence of Steve a little more than he wants to admit, but no one else needs to know that he plans his appearances in the communal kitchen in the mornings based on when Steve will be back from his runs or that it’s never a coincidence that he only remembers to be on time for team dinners when Steve is the one that did the cooking.

His face must reveal enough for him, though, because Bruce’s smile softens with just a touch of sadness and something that’s a little too close to pity for his liking. He doesn’t say anything about it, though. He just reminds Tony that he’ll be right in the other room if he needs anything, and Tony thinks about it while he’s trying to fall asleep.

It was almost something, he thinks. Him and Steve. It seemed like it to him, anyway, if the recent interactions were anything to go by. He didn’t think he was imagining the change in the way that Steve had been looking at him lately. The way the glances seemed to linger, eyes flitting down to his lips and back up again, and his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink every time Tony caught him staring. Then there were the almost dates - restaurants Steve always claimed he’d been meaning to try, movies, museums, baseball games. Always on nights all the others just happened to be unavailable, leaving just the two of them. He swears he saw Steve glaring at Clint the one time he actually said yes to one of those half-hearted invitations. Clint’s yes turned to a no just a moment later.

There’s a new ache in his chest that has nothing to do with the injuries when he realizes just how wrong he was about it all. He must have read too much into it. Mistaken Steve’s friendliness for genuine affection. He would be here otherwise.

______________

True to their word, his friends really do stay around the clock, though the shifts aren’t exactly accurate. Natasha and Clint usually come together, and Bruce doesn’t usually leave for a while after they do. Someone’s always there in a way that would border on stifling if he didn’t secretly soak up all of the attention with fervor. It’s a few days before his dislocated shoulder no longer needs a sling and his concussion has mostly cleared up so he can do more than lounge around. Steve is painfully absent for all of it, and he finds out on the third day that he’s left for a mission without saying goodbye. Natasha distracts him from how badly that stings by asking him which shade of nail polish she should paint his toenails with. He ends up with glittery pink and a pit in his stomach.

It’s a week after the bruises have already faded that Steve comes back, and Tony pettily decides that two can play the avoidance game. His hurt has morphed from sadness into anger, because even if Steve didn’t share his feelings he could have at least bothered to ask how he was. Even a text would have been better than this.

Knowing Steve’s schedule pays off in the opposite way now. He knows when to avoid all of the common areas, like the gym and kitchen. If he needs more coffee in the middle of the day, he knows to go between one and three, because Steve will be in a training session with the new Shield agents. If he shows up a little late for movie night, the only seat left will be the uncomfortable armchair in the corner that no one really likes, but he won’t have to awkwardly avoid touching Steve on the couch.

Days pass like that, with Natasha giving him tired looks every time she catches him sneaking around and Bruce bordering on annoyed with how many times Tony goes to his lab instead of his own just in case Steve decides today is the day he wants to start coming by again. It’s childish, he knows, and it grows even more childish when he reasons that Steve started it first.

He shouldn’t be surprised when the rest of the team decides that enough is enough, though he is surprised that they choose the pantry of all places for it. The ambush happens on a Monday evening, right when Tony is coming back from a long day of meetings that already have him feeling drained. Natasha grabs his arm, and it seems innocent enough at first. Until she pushes him into the pantry and slams the door shut behind him. He nearly topples right into Steve, who catches him by the elbow and rights him before he can fall. There’s the sound of something being dragged in front of the door, then Clint’s voice on the other side.

“Get your shit together, and then you can come out again,” he says.

Tony sputters, flitting between glaring at the door and at Steve. The look towards Steve softens a bit when he realizes that he looks just as confused as Tony, then hardens again when he remembers that he’s still angry at him.

He turns to the door and pounds his fist against it. “Guys, open the damn door. This is fucking ridiculous.”

“So is watching you two avoid each other like the plague,” Bruce says.

“Just talk to each other and stop being dumbasses,” Nat adds.

Tony sighs, and when he turns around, Steve won’t even meet his eyes. He stares down at the floor, shoulders hunched and folded in on himself in a way that makes him look small.

It might be childish again, but Tony doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence first. He slides down to the floor and leans back against the door with every intention of waiting it out. It’s Steve’s famous stubbornness against his own, though, and god only knows how long this could take. He starts counting things on the shelves. Two bottles of ketchup, four boxes of microwaveable popcorn, a jar of pickles. He makes it as far as the tenth different type of cereal before Steve finally says, “I should’ve been there.”

The admission is so quiet it’s barely audible, and Tony glances up to see that Steve still won’t look at him.

“Yeah, you should’ve been,” Tony agrees, and he can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Why weren’t you?”

Steve hesitates, and Tony rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Cap. It’s fine. We’re not those kind of friends, I get it. I mean, if you were in the hospital, I’d want to make sure you were okay with my own eyes, but you don’t feel the same. It’s my own fault for thinking that you -”

“I was scared,” Steve cuts him off, and Tony snaps his mouth shut. “I was scared, because you were - you could have died. You don’t even know what it was like watching you fall like that. You didn’t see all the blood. You didn’t have to carry your body to the medics because you were unconscious. All I could think is that you could have been dying, and it would’ve been on me. Because I couldn’t do enough, and I should’ve done more.”

Steve looks like it hurts to even say the words, like he’s reliving the memory of it, but Tony only feels angrier for it. “And how does that translate into ignoring me for weeks? You were scared, so what, you just left?”

Steve nods a little, guilt and shame on his face. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and he’s quieter when he continues, “I ran, and then I felt like shit for running, so I ran some more. I thought -” Steve swallows, finally looking up to meet Tony’s eyes, and Tony can see that his blue eyes are rimmed with red. “I thought you would hate me for it, and now I know that you do.”

Tony tilts his head back, closing his eyes with a sigh, “I don’t hate you. I missed you, and I’m mad at you, but I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” Steve asks, and the hope in his voice is enough to make Tony’s heart clench.

“I could never hate you.”

“But can you feel the same way about me that you did before?”

Tony opens his eyes, a fragile smile starting to form. “And how do you think I felt about you before?”

Steve’s cheeks turn red, and he looks away again, but Tony won’t have that. He stands up from the floor, and in the small space it’s only a step before he’s right in front of him. It’s nerve wracking to be the one to reach out first, but he does it anyway. He turns Steve’s face back to him with a hand on his jaw and asks the questions again.

“How do you think I felt before?”

He gets another one of those now familiar looks. Steve’s eyes move down to his lips, lingering there, before returning to Tony’s own eyes again.

“Tony,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer the question,” Tony whispers back. “What were we?”

“I don’t know what we were, but I know what I wanted us to be,” Steve says, and Tony quietly waits for him to continue. “I wanted to be yours, and I wanted you to be mine. I still want that, if you can forgive me for running.”

Tony nods, “But you can’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Steve promises. His hand finds Tony’s hip to pull him in a little closer. “And if you could stop falling from the sky, I would really appreciate that.”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not sorry for what I did. I hate that I scared you, but I can’t pretend that I wouldn’t make the exact same choice again. Not when it’s me or everyone else, especially you. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same.”

Steve opens his mouth, and Tony can tell he wants to argue it, but instead he sighs. “I would sacrifice myself every time for you.”

Tony smiles, “I know you would, but I’d never let you.”

“Try and stop me,” Steve replies, teasing and light to make Tony laugh. His arm wraps around Tony’s back to press them together chest to chest.

Tony tugs on the collar of Steve’s shirt to pull him lower, and Steve takes the hint to finally kiss him like he’s been wanting for so long.

#stevetony #prompts #prompt fill #my writing #my fic #stony #superhusbnads #steve rogers #tony stark

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found (Seven)

Soooo this Chapter only did like, one of the things it was supposed to and everything else just sort of happened and I got tired of arguing with it to make it behave so here, have a Chapter Seven that is only slightly like the one I outlined.

I made myself cry with this first part, so Tissue Warning!

MASTERLIST HERE

****************

37%

“JARVIS?”

“The constant tests you’ve been running with the new suit have taken a toll, sir. My original algorithm assumed you would be resting more days than not, as one should when faced with the possibly of an upcoming expiration date but with your continued activity, my projections have been rendered obsolete.”

“Okay.” Tony squeezed at the blood toxicity monitor until the casing edges cut into his palm. “Newest estimations?”

“Given your rate of use with the reactor and the new, more powerful prototype, my previous count of three months with minimal usage will need to be dialed back to little more than eight weeks, sir.”

“Okay.” He said again, almost neutrally as if he wasn’t discussing an expiration date with his AI. “Okay, little more than eight weeks. So all the tests I ran in the War Machine prototype over the last few days cost me what, seven days?”

“Eleven days, actually.”

“Okay.” Tony said a third time, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. “That's-- thanks, J.”

The tests were necessary, they really were. Coding Rhodey’s suit ahead of time was important because Tony was running out of time. The Senate was definitely going to order him to turn over the tech, and even if they didn’t, the suits would definitely be confiscated by the Department of Defense at some point whether Tony was around or not. The least he could do was make sure armor could only be used by one man, that the technology inside was coded to the one person Tony knew wouldn’t make a mockery or a weapon out of what was supposed to be a shield.

Right after Obadiah, Rhodey had been so purposefully casually about eyeballing the still unfinished silver suit and commenting, “You should come up with a name for your tech, Tony. Calling it ‘the suit’ doesn’t seem like enough. I’d call it...War Machine or something.”

War Machine and Tony had etched the name in tiny letters along the jawline of the helmet so when Rhodey suited up for the first time, he’d hopefully remember that throw away comment and laugh a little bit.

War Machine and it was fine tuned to the point of near impossible maneuvers, filled to the brim with every prototype weapon Tony had designed for his own suit and a few more that were meant for something a little more hulking, a little more heavy duty. An individual arc reactor placed within the molded chest would power the suit for ever with the added benefit of not poisoning the wearer and--

--and Tony’s hands shook when he unscrewed the cap on a green smoothie.

37%.

“How is the uh--” the first drink was always brutal, and Tony had to put his head down and suck in a deep breath to get over the taste. “--how is the suitcase suit coming? We need a better name for that, don’t we?”

“Perhaps we can call it a football, sir.”

“Right.” Tony nodded a few times. “Carry it in a briefcase just like all the nuke launch codes. That will definitely reinforce the Senate’s thought of my suit being a weapon of mass destruction. Great idea.”

“Your mockery wounds me.”

“No, I was serious.” Tony laughed up at the petulant AI. “We’ll call it a football. Make Happy practice playing catch with it. Uhhhh okay. Football. How is it coming?”

“Nearly completed.”

“Good. I need an option beyond hauling the full suit everywhere, and so will Rhodey. Have we started construction on the individual gauntlets yet? I’m thinking something that comes out of my watch.”

“It will have to be near nano technology to accomplish that, but we can try.”

“Let’s try. I’d like the football ready before Monaco, I need to take it for a test drive somewhere outside of Dum-E’s fire extinguisher range.” Tony glanced over at the impressive dent in the lab ceiling that had been one of his very first test runs. “Also some place where if the repulsors come online too soon, I can hit the atmosphere and not the ceiling.”

“Of course sir. Hurtling off into unknown and uncharted space would always be the preferred option before bouncing off support beams and landing on priceless car collections.”

“You know me too well, J.” Tony leaned back in the chair and blew out a deep breath. “Show me the night sky. Stars above Manhattan, maybe. What I’d be looking at if I actually had the time to build that tower.”

“Does this mean you’ve decided to scrap the plans for Stark Tower?” The space above Tony’s head lit holographic blue then settled into a starry night, the correct constellations and moon placement for the Manhattan sky projected against the ceiling.

“I won’t have a chance to even get the blueprints approved.” Tony stared up at the stars, sipping idly from his smoothie. “No sense doing that when I won’t be around to see the ground breaking ceremony.”

“Sir, if I may--”

“Maybe blasting off into the atmosphere wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.” Tony interrupted. “I’ve always wanted to see space, maybe I’ll get lucky and the new suit will tear a hole in the sky and show me what’s beyond, what’s waiting out there.”

And softer, “It’d be a good way to go, don’t you think? Space?”

The artificial star light reflected off the tears gathering in Tony’s eyes and he tried to blink them away. “Would be nice to skip the poisoning and the hospice care and the heart failure and everyone crying, you know. Higher, faster, further like our friend Carol used to say. She did it, she just went right up there into the sky higher, faster further and she never came back down again. Fuckin’ wild.”

Another sip. “My repulsors are better than the prototype light speed engine was, a little bit of torque and we could break the sound barrier ten times over and then some. I could take the suit up until the thrusters give out and then we could just float up there in the stars. Fall asleep and drift away.”

JARVIS was quiet and Tony put a heart to his chest as it squeezed around a too choppy breath. “Would be nice to just fall asleep, J. It’d be nice to finally get some rest.”

The stars above Manhattan moved too slowly to notice, but Tony sat and watched them anyway, alone in the semi dark lab for close to an hour before his watch pinged that it was time to get on the plane towards New York.

“Save this for me.” Tony reached out and touched one of the tiny specks of lights, his fingers passing through the hologram. “Save it so I can look at it again, okay?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you.” Tony gathered up a few things for his pockets then ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. If he was going to go on what was sort of a first date with an amnesiac former soldier, he should probably wash some of the depression off first. “I’m off to the Expo, J. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” JARVIS said automatically, and then, “Please come home again, sir. I wish you all the rest in the world, but I’d rather it be here than drifting off in the stars.”

Tony’s smile up at the ceiling was wobbly and a little sad.

“Good night, J.”

**************

The Stark jet cut the nearly five hour flight from Malibu to New York down to little more than two hours, and Tony spent most of it sitting next to Pepper going through notes for his speech, additional paperwork for the company and what looked like several minutes of nothing but Tony teasing the formidable redhead and Pepper giving it all right back and then some if Tony’s faux wounded expressions were anything to go by.

They were laughing and a few times Tony reached to hold Pepper’s hand, winding their fingers together and kissing her knuckles while Pepper just rolled her eyes at whatever he said. They were clearly best friends, clearly in sync after what James had found out was over a decade of working together and it was honestly remarkable to see.

More than once Tony finished Pepper's sentences, at least twice she took a bite of her food and then handed him the fork to take a bite of his own. Tony reached to touch the reactor beneath his shirt and Pepper brushed his hands away, she fiddled with the top button of her suit and Tony suggested showing more cleavage if she didn't like being so buttoned up and Pepper only sighed.

A very very quiet part of the soldier felt a twinge of jealousy whenever Pepper would get a full laugh out of Tony, but he pushed it away every time. Jealousy over such a close friendship was ridiculous and unnecessary and the sort of thing that made James's throat taste bitter. He didn't remember past relationships, didn't know if he'd ever been in love but he remembered being jealous when other people could be open with their love and their desires and he had to hide.

Why he had hid, James wasn't really sure. But he remembered the jealousy twisting his stomach and the unfairness of it all making his chest too tight and he didn't want to feel that way ever when he looked at Tony and Pepper.

So James pushed it away and looked out the window instead, watched the clouds race by beneath the jet as it tore through the sky towards New York and when Tony finally finished up with Pepper and came to sit in the chair across from him, James looked up with a ready smile.

“Hey. All done working?”

“At least for right now. Plane rides are supposed to be relaxing, not about crunching numbers or ignoring the person I'm set to spend the evening with.” Tony stretched out in the chair and loosened his tie as he looked James over, lingering over the stretch of the red sweater over James's frankly ridiculous shoulders. Wow. “You--” seriously, wow. “-- you look great.”

“Duds this nice will make any fella look great.” James's heart flip flopped a little when Tony kept looking, and he touched at his empty left sleeve self consciously. “Sure was nice of the store people to send over one of those fancy pins for this side. I just cut the sleeves off all my other shirts.”

“You'll be two thumbs up in no time, so please don't hack at your new clothes.” Tony nudged his foot against James. “You'll need both sleeves eventually.”

James grinned and slid his foot further alongside Tony's shoe. “Sure thing, Tony.”

“You know,” Tony cocked his head and tried to pretend like playing footsy wasn't making him blush. He was over forty years old, damn it. “When you're relaxed you sound like you're from New York but like, New York from the movies. Saturday Night Fever, Bronx Tale, West Side Story. That style.”

“Oh yeah?” James raised his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

“It means--” Tony started to say something about smooth accents and flirty one-liners, about pretty boys with greasy hair and leather jackets and slick dance moves, but changed his mind because it was a little embarrassing to admit his short lived musical obsession had basically shaped his wet dreams for a good five years.

“It means you sort of sound old fashioned. Not in uh-- not in a bad way. My Auntie Peggy was around in the forties and whenever she tells war stories she copies how the boys talked back then and you remind me of it a little bit.”

James still looked confused and Tony waved him off with a self conscious laugh. “Never mind. It doesn't matter. Ignore all that and focus on not cutting up your sweater, yeah? I like the red on you.”

“That's why I picked it out.” James answered honestly, and Tony's dark eyes sparked in interest. “Knew you liked the red and figured if you were gonna dress up, maybe I should dress up a little too?”

“I don't know if I'm necessarily dressed up.” Tony picked at the hem of his suit jacket. “The monkey suit is standard outfit for CEO's of multi billion dollar--”

“Former CEO, darling!” Pepper called and Tony grinned, “ --former CEO's of multi billion dollar companies. I wouldn't be wearing this at all if I thought Pep would let me wear my sneakers and ACDC shirt. Only upside of this thing is that I can spill cotton candy on my shirt all day and then button the jacket and no one would know any better.”

“Cotton candy?” Oh James remembered that, he knew he did. Overly sweet and pastel colored, sugar-grit teeth and sticky fingers. Eating a big piece of it and then passing some over to St—to St--

--migraine. Instant and blinding--

--passing it over to someone who would get sick after eating only a few bites, so James would toss it in the trash and pretend to have a stomach ache too so they wouldn't feel bad.

Shit his head hurt, but James got a glimpse of dark blue eyes and a stubborn smile before the memory faded away to nothing, and when he opened his eyes again Tony was watching him closely.

“Where'd you go?” Tony asked quietly, and James whispered just as quietly, “I don't... don't really know. You said cotton candy and I got a flash of something... I dunno.”

“Things are coming back to you?”

“I'm not sure.” James leaned forward in the seat and pushed his hand into his hair, groaning under his breath as the migraine throbbed at his temples. “Just bits and pieces is all.”

“Makes sense.” Tony reached to touch James's shoulder but stopped himself at the last second. “I mean, you getting flashes of memories right now. I'm not exactly stable but this is probably the most stable you've been in a while?”

“At least a year.”

“Right.” Again, Tony reached out to try and touch and comfort, and again he let his hand drop away. James hadn't wanted to be touched right away the last time he'd had a hard time, he probably didn't want it now. “Repressed memories have a nasty habit of showing up right when we think we're moving on, life gets low stress and suddenly our dreams get stressful. It happens.”

“Yeah? You real familiar with it?” James tried to slow his breathing down, purposefully inhaling and then forcefully exhaling until the extra oxygen erased the sparks behind his eyes. “Why's that?”

“I'm the king of repressing--”

“Christ, my head hurts. Tony, will you c'mere and sit by me?”

“--memories.” Tony waved at one of the stewardesses and tapped at his own temple so she would bring him some headache medication, then slid out of his own seat and into the one next to James, rotating so their knees touched. “Better?”

“Thank you.” James's fingers tightened in his hair. “Why are you the king of repressing memories?”

“A whole list of reasons that would only make your headache worse.” Tony hesitated, hesitated, hesitated, then finally tried to untangle James's fingers, loosening the digits one by one until James relented and relaxed, clasping Tony's hand warm in his own. “...better?”

“Thank you.” James said again, instantly feeling better now that he was holding tight to Tony instead of pulling at his own hair, the migraine easing as he quit chasing the thought about cotton candy and forced himself back to the moment. “Sorry. Trying to force the memories--”

“--gives you a headache.” Tony finished and James smiled the tiniest bit cos Tony was completing his sentences just like Pepper did. “Yeah been there, done that.”

“Don't wanna ruin tonight by having a headache.” James muttered apologetically. “Sorry, Tony.”

“Tonight hasn't even started.” Tony waved the apology off, squeezed at James's hand and then let go. “Don't worry about it. We'll both have headaches by the time we get through the noise and crowds at the Expo, it's fine.”

“Okay.” James sort of hated that Tony had let go of his hand, but he didn't comment, only smoothed his hair back where it'd come free from the messy bun and cleared his throat. “How far out are we?”

“About an hour.” Tony didn't go back to his own chair, and James nudged at his knee gratefully. “How much news do you watch, James?”

“Um.” James blinked, thrown by the abrupt topic change. “None?”

“None.” Tony repeated. “At all?”

“Don't watch TV unless you're making me watch some god-awful movie.” James admitted and Tony's smile flashed quick and pleased. “Why?”

“I've been on the news a lot lately.” Tony hedged. “Just uh-- just curious if you'd seen anything I needed to explain or apologize for maybe?”

“Apologize?”

“Like if you learned about my weird sunglasses collection or that I eat everything with a three tined fork instead of a four tined like a normal person.” Tony suggested, and James's shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “The press knows a lot about me and you don't really know much about me so...”

He let the sentence trail off, watching closely for anything like recognition on James's face. The downside of a migraine of course, was that it hurt to even breathe. The upside of a migraine was that it was impossible to hide even the smallest reactions when your head felt like it might explode and Tony didn't really want to use it as a way to get a glimpse at James's thoughts, but he did it anyway because he wanted to know.

Truth be told, Tony was starting to wonder just how long he could keep Iron Man quiet from James before it slid from 'need to know basis' towards 'you were lying to me' accusations. If James hadn't figured out that Tony was the same Tony Stark that was also Iron Man, Tony didn't really want to say anything. But if James had figured it out and was just staying quiet for privacy's sake... well Tony didn't want to let it go too long just in case the soldier started to think Tony was leaving him out of things.

So Tony asked again, “Heard anything about me lately?”

“Everything I want to know about you I learn when we're together like this.” James answered, and with a smile that had no business being both shy and almost unbearably hopeful, “And I like all of it so far.”

Tony flushed a surprised pink, and up near the front of the plane, Pepper just rolled her eyes when she caught it.

Idiot boys practically in love.

Sheesh.

***************

“I've had a lot of people ask me where the dancers are this time around.” Tony stood up on stage in front of the thousands of people who had come to the Expo tonight, alone except for the old fashioned microphone he held in one hand. “I know, I know, you were hoping for more explosions, more fireworks, definitely some more bikinis and high kicks, right?”

The crowd tittered in agreement and Tony's mouth ticked up in a quick smile. “Yeah, we all love that, we all love science when it’s accompanied by pretty girls and loud music. Here's the thing about science though. Science isn't always big leap forward in technology, it's not always flashy designs and world changing breakthroughs and Nobel prizes. Most of the time science is quiet.”

Appropriately, Tony paused for a breath and the audience held theirs in anticipation.

“Most of the time science is still.” he said even softer, and the crowd edged forward with wide eyes, sure that this was all just build up to something incredible. “Most of the time science is one little adjustment that somehow changes life as we know it and maybe not even as we know it, but changes life as one person knows it and sometimes, that's enough.”

Tony held up the microphone and the cameras zoomed in on it. “This is the same microphone my Dad used at the World's Fair Expo back in World War II. Well--” another one of those quick smiles. “--it's not exactly the same microphone, but it's an exact working replica with exactly the sort of tech upgrades you would expect from Stark Industries. Why does that matter, though? Why do any of you care about me getting weirdly sentimental about a copy of a microphone my Dad once spit all over?”

The audience laughed again and Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat. “It matters because it's only in looking to the past that we find answers for our future. What were once ground breaking theories are today the building blocks our of standard operations. All the pieces that make up my next generation Stark phone started out in something as simple as this mic right here.”

Tony held up the microphone again. “Seventy years ago, my dad stood on a stage just like this one and bragged about a flying car that only got a few inches off the ground. What he considered a spectacular failure was actually the inspiration for my Stark repulsor engines that will revolutionize the fuel industry and put an end to oil spills and dumps in the most fragile parts of our eco systems.”

“The past teaches us how to move forward, what steps to avoid and which leaps to take and we can't forget that. That's why I re-started the Expo-- learning from looking back before we move forward and that's what science is about.”

A smattering of applause and Tony waited until it died down. “Science isn't always flashy.” He said again. “Most of the time it's quiet. But even the quiet discoveries matter, whether they become something that changes the world later on, or never do anything more significant than what this microphone does right here--”

Tony paused, smiled, “--connects us to people we love.”

The lights dimmed and Tony set the modified microphone down on the stage, pressed a few buttons and stepped away as it split into pieces and assembled itself into something of a tripod. The microphone-turned-robot rotated its speaker to face the audience, a separate projector unhinged from the back and--

--”Hey Ma.” A young soldier clearly somewhere sandy, waving at the audience from the holographic screen the microphone had projected above the crowd. “I hope you're having a good time out there tonight, I love you and I miss you and I'll be home soon.”

“This message is for my brother!” Another soldier head to toe in combat gear, grinning into the camera. “Mr. Stark said he'd get you a ticket to the Expo tonight so I hope you showed up! This message is coming to you from way the fuck over in Sand Dune Country and I love you, but I'm glad you're home safe with my new niece-y instead of slogging through this mess with me. Be home soon!”

The messages kept rolling, and one by one different people in the audience burst into tear and cheers as they saw their deployed loved one up on the screen for a surprise message. It had taken months to coordinate-- sending out Stark phones to the soldiers to submit a video, getting tickets to their family and making sure they had a ride to the Expo and a place to stay-- months to coordinate, and Tony stood back behind the curtain of the stage and listened to them play as he looked down at the picture of him and the soldier in the convoy in Afghanistan.

Despite Tony's only half serious warning to the soldier back then, the picture had been promptly posted on social media and now Tony was grateful for it. Three minutes after the picture had been taken the convoy had been attacked and all those young people-- all those kids had been lost.

“Hey Mom, Dad. Sorry I missed your anniversary but I'll be back for Christmas and will make it up in hugs then!”

Tony closed his phone and cleared his throat as the audience burst into shouts when a local boy from Flushing popped up on the screen with his message. Speech was done, crowd was appropriately wowed and now he had a sort of date with James to get back to.

It wasn’t the time to get maudlin and teary, not tonight.

“Tony.” Pepper looked immensely proud, and Tony tore his eyes away from the almost blinding smile on James's face to accept a kiss from her. “Well done. I really thought you were going to bring out the dancers again, and I'm so glad you didn't.”

“It pains me to admit that no science has been accomplished when booty shorts and high heels were in the general vicinity.” Tony said faux seriously. “The dancers were a necessary sacrifice for the moment.”

“Well I appreciate it.” Pepper chuckled and kissed him one more time. “I have to network since apparently everyone wants to talk to the new CEO--”

“--and I have cotton candy to buy and experiment booths to check out.” Tony finished, cutting Pepper off before she could suggest he go along with her. “Toodle-oo and all that. Have fun.”

The moment Pepper disappeared into the crowd, Tony turned back to James, hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels as he asked, “So. How did I do? Can I color you impressed?”

“You can color me whatever you want, Tony.” James grinned and Tony barked a surprised laugh at the blatant flirting. “Was a good speech, but I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard you really talk about your dad. Were you and him close?”

“Not even a little bit.” Tony shook his head, then motioned for James to follow him to the outer paths of the Expo so they could walk the perimeter where it was a little quieter. “He was always busy working and I was always busy being as obnoxious as possible. He and Ma were gone before I was old enough to realize what I was missing out on so--” Tony shrugged like the memory of that last night with his parents still didn't hurt like a knife in his heart. “--anyway. This whole Expo was his idea, he brought it back in the seventies, always wanted to do it again so I thought now was as good a time as any.”

“Huh.” James looked down at where their hands were nearly touching as they walked, wondering if he could just grab Tony's hand and hold it for a little bit, wondering if that was okay outside of either of them having a panic attack.“You said something about a flying car?”

“Back in the forties, my Dad wanted to show off this flying car idea, so he brought it to the Worlds Fair.” Tony flashed a peace sign at a girl when she squealed and pointed at him in excitement. “Howard's always considered it his great embarrassment, to have created something that failed in the public eye but you know-- it's been seventy something years and we still haven't gotten any closer to flying cars? Even his failure was a good century ahead of it's time.”

“Your Dad's name was Howard? Howard Stark?” That sounded familiar in some empty aching way, but James forgot about it when he stopped in front of what looked like an old timey war advertisement for the draft, pictures in black and white of soldiers marching off in neat lines. It made his head hurt the same way memories always did and he blinked at the display a few times. “What's this?”

“Traditionally the World's Fair and Expo were events to drum up that All American spirit.” Tony tapped the vintage posters and mocked one of the old radio voices, “Look at how great our country is doing with these advancements! Look how much money we have to put this show on! Don't you feel patriotic? Don't wait for the draft, real American men sign up willingly for their country!”

“People could sign up for the army right here at the fair.” Ouch that drummed at the back of James's mind, and when he caught a flash of shaggy blonde hair out of the corner of his eye, the drumming got worse. “They did that?”

“All the time.” Tony scoffed like he couldn't believe it. “Just boys too, kids really. Came for the party, left for the cause. Mind boggling. We don't do that here, no way. I'd never ask people to show up for cotton candy and then hope they join the war effort, that's nuts. But they did back in the day and the boys that went off to war-- “

He sighed out loud. “Well you know. They don't always come back whole. So this is a nice reference to days gone by, little bit of nostalgia, a way to remember them I guess. Besides, America's greatest hero signed up for the war effort at one of these things, it would be a shame to just ignore it I think.”

“Huh.” James didn't want another headache like the one he'd had on the plane so he stepped away from the Army display and towards a cotton candy vendor. “Time for sweets?”

“Oh, it is always time for sweets.”

*******************

It was easy to get lost in the Expo, easy and more fun than either man had had in ages wandering from booth to booth and taking the circular paths between the connected sections to sample all the different foods, resting on the grass and beneath the planted trees when their feet got tired, browsing through the vendors shops and trying their hand at any scientific demonstration that took volunteers.

James was fascinated by everything from the wireless electronics to the slime that exploded all over them when he added too much of whatever was in the purple beaker. The soldier laughed until he nearly choked seeing Tony with neon green slime in his perfectly combed hair, and was still laughing when Tony dragged him to a demonstration that had a ball and a fancy light and zapped James with enough electricity to make his scruff stand right up on his chin.

“I love roller coasters!” James announced at one point because somehow he knew that was true but Tony begged off the ride with a hand over his arc reactor an apologetic smile so instead they climbed into one of the rowboats at the man made lake and rowed across it to see all the different water experiments-- artificial plant life that would help sustain life in otherwise barren bodies of water, hybrid fish that grew bigger than their predecessors but took less time to mature for a faster food source, personal purification processes that only needed a mild current to activate the device and provide clean drinking water.

After the lake was a sphere that simulated life on a distant planet and James took one look at it and shook his head, digging his feet in figuratively and literally as Tony tugged at his arm and pleaded, “Don't you want to know what it would be like to live on Mars!?” and retorting, “Tony, m'still trying to figure out Earth!”

A display that required goggles and gloves as scientists replicated the creation of new elements, some that synthesized with nothing more than a quiet hiss, some that exploded loud enough to make James grab Tony and turn around, trying to shield the smaller brunette with his body. Tony laughed at him then, laughed and then checked that James was okay and not triggered by it, laughed and then blushed a little when James's arm lingered at his waist just a second longer than necessary.

“Elements are the building blocks of the universe.” James read on a sign after reluctantly letting Tony go. “So this is what everything is made of.”

“Everything.” Tony confirmed.

“So how do they make new ones?”

“Apparently with a bang.” Tony said wryly and James grinned sheepishly.

“Have you made one in that fancy lab?”

“I've never even tried.” Tony admitted after a minute of thought. “I sort of remember Dad talking about making a new one ages ago, he had designs and diagrams for it but I must have only been eight or nine, I barely remember it. I bet his notes are around somewhere in all the boxes Pepper won't let me throw away.”

“Why haven't you tried?” James looked back at the display when another element went bang! and someone else screamed. “Bet you're smart enough to do it.”

“I'm smart enough.” Tony agreed, wrinkling his nose into a smile when James huffed at him teasingly. “But I've been busy, got all these other projects going on and all of them seem more important than creating new building blocks for the universe. That's like designing a new Lego. It's great and all, but who cares? There’s enough of them out there, why do we need another?”

“Lego.” James repeated. “What--”

“I've got millions of them in storage at Malibu, we'll pull them out one day and I'll show you why I hold the MIT record for fastest recorded time building an entire Death Star model.”

“Half those words don't mean anything to me, Tony.” James admitted, tone just a little clipped in frustration. “Sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize for what you're missing.” Tony waved him off and James pointed out, “Happy said that exact same thing to me.”

“He's said the exact same thing to me many times.” They passed a knife display, and Tony pointed one out to James that was somehow even fancier than the one in the store had been. “Except when I black out drunk, then he yells at me for what I miss. He's right to do it, too. How about that knife? You like that one?”

“Too pretty to kill someone with.” James said bluntly, and when Tony's jaw dropped open in shock, he apologized, “Ah hell, sorry. Dunno why I said that.”

“Christ you're intense.” Tony only laughed though, and pushed James on from the display. “Maybe we don't say things like that in the middle of a crowd. Maybe we just get some more cotton candy.”

“Probably a good idea.” James felt foolish for blurting out the killing thing, foolish and embarrassed as hell but it was so easy to speak his thoughts around Tony, that one had just... slipped out.

Usually James thought about what he wanted to say, turned it over in his mind until he felt like it sounded normal, weighed his words and modulated his tone and then spoke, but he didn't have to do that with Tony. He didn't even have to pretend to be okay around Tony, he could just be James and all the broken pieces and panic attacks and saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and then maybe sometimes saying the wrong thing at the right time cos Tony would smile up at him sort of like he was doing right now--

--oh shit, he hadn't been listening.

“Lost you for a minute.” Tony never said it like he was judging James, only ever like he knew what it was like to get lost in his head and maybe be a little afraid of never finding his way out again. “Where'd you go?”

“Was thinkin' bout ya.” The words slipped out soft and a little lyrical, the voice in James's head that Tony said sounded Brooklyn speaking up enough to be smooth and charming. “How it's um-- how it's so easy to be with you.”

“Yeah, I'm a real catch.” Tony sassed immediately, but his smile was just for James when he continued, “You're easy to be around too. Not what I expected when I invaded your booth at the diner for the sake of awkward conversation and what definitely sounded like a proposition.”

“Were you propositionin' me, sugar?” James asked, low and coaxing and surprising because he hadn't meant to call Tony sugar, hadn't meant to turn the conversation this way but now Tony was staring up at him with stars in his eyes and sort of leaning forward and hell, James didn't remember much of anything at all but he knew what this moment meant so he leaned forward too and--

“Oh Jesus, not right here.” Tony jerked back a step, both hands up and expression going guarded even as he tried to laugh the moment off. “No, um-- no. That's not--”

Shit. “Shit, sorry.” James backed up too, face flaming and heart clenching in his chest. “Sorry, Tony I just thought-- I mean you were lookin' at me like that and I thought you wanted--”

“No, you don't have to say sorry, that's not your fault, I should have--” Tony looked like he was sort of panicking, a hand at his chest and another held up so James wouldn't get closer. “Damn it. This-- this just got really awkward.”

“Tony, I'm sorry.”

“Nope. My fault for making you think--” Tony's throat jerked as he swallowed. Hello insecurities from twenty fives years in the closet. “-- it's fine, James. It's fine. Let's just keep walking. There's still a lot to see and I want you to see it all so let's just--” another hard swallow. “Let's just keep walking.”

“Um. Sure.” James fell back into step next to Tony, and after a minute the brunette started talking again, chattering about whatever they were passing, telling a story about something he and Rhodey did one time or another, and after another few minutes James relaxed enough to even laugh a little at the stories.

But the moment from before was gone, the easy smiles and the quick laughter, the way their hands had brushed once, twice, three times as they wandered the paths.

That moment was gone and James felt it's absence like a slap in the face.

He really couldn't trust his mind could he? Not even in this, not even when he was one hundred percent sure Tony had wanted a kiss.

Couldn't trust his mind even with things that should come natural, cos findin’ a fella and wanting to kiss him-- that should come real natural right?

....Right?

Christ, he was broken.

****************

“Ms. Potts, you asked me to find as much information as possible on James?” Natalie found Pepper out on the balcony of the hotel room, overlooking the lights of the Expo in the adjoining field. “I'm afraid I wasn't able to find much.”

“Alright then.” Pepper was halfway through her first drink of the night, weary lines creased at the corner of her eyes. “Tell me what you found anyway.”

“The diner where Mr. Stark and James met was apparently an every day spot for James.” Natalie rattled off the information she'd learned in short, quick sentences. “Waitresses say he was polite but quiet. He glared at anyone who messed with them so they always let him stay longer than anyone else. They identified the shelter down the block as one where James slept, I spoke to the church folk who run the shelter and they said he was quiet and polite as well. Has no or little memories of anything past a year ago, has never showed any signs of violence or even a temper and they have no idea what happened to his arm beyond knowing he used to be a soldier.”

“Okay well.” Pepper pursed her lips and blew out a breath. “Anyone that would keep waitresses from being harassed and could survive a year in a shelter without losing their temper couldn't be all that bad. Why do you look so worried about him?”

“Not worried.” Natalie smoothed the anxious from her expression. The news about James was so opposite of who she knew 'James' was that it was giving her a headache, but she ignored it to smile at her employer. “Not worried at all, Ms. Potts. Simply wondering if we should add James to the insurance plan if he's going to spend time with Mr. Stark in the lab or even traveling with us.”

“Of course, that's an excellent idea, see that it gets done.”

“Yes, Ms. Potts. Will there be anything else?”

“Have you booked our flights to Monaco?” Pepper poured herself a second drink and picked up her phone to scroll through the dozens of congratulatory emails still rolling in from various shareholders and board members. “Add a seat for James, I think he will most likely be going along with Tony anywhere at this point.”

“Do you think...” Natalie hesitated. “Are they involved?”

“Would that offend you in any way, Natalie?” Pepper arched a graceful eyebrow towards her new assistant. “Because if so, you are welcome to tell me why and then to pack your things and leave immediately because I won't tolerate--”

“Ms. Potts.” Natalie held her hand up and shook her head. “I was simply wondering for reasons of hotel rooms. I am the last person to have any sort of issue with whether or not Mr. Stark prefers his dates as blessed as I am--” a pat at her chest and Pepper snorted a laugh. “--or as blessed as James is.”

Pepper laughed even harder, “Well then, by all means book us four rooms. Two adjoining for you and I, two adjoining for Tony and James. I'm not sure if they will share or not and to be honest, I'd rather not know. I like to think as CEO my days of knowing the status of Tony's bed partners are behind me.”

“Of course, Ms. Potts.” Natalie smiled. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“'You too Natalie, thank you.”

Pepper went back to sipping at her drink and idly reading emails and when the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to her, she turned in for the night. Her calendar was so full these days and she was so tired and oh Lord, the sun would be up in just a few hours and she’d have to start another day all over again...

... ...

...On the other side of the world the sun was coming up, brilliant and beautiful over the skyline of Monaco and at the international airport, it was time for a shift change as the night workers called their goodbyes and switched spots with the early morning crew.

The young man at the counter had only barely clocked in when the doors opened and a line of international passengers flooded the terminals. Checking passports was easy enough so long as the passengers had their papers in order, and he went through two dozen entries before any one passport caught his eye and tripped the computer's marker.

“Oh, this should just take a second to double check, sorry about that Mr.--” he paused when he saw the myriad of tattoos on the man, the bedraggled black and white hair, gold teeth glinting back at him. “Uh, is it Vanko? What um-- what brings you to Monaco?”

“I'm working at the Grand Prix.” came the gravelly answer, a smile that was somehow savage stretching the man's lips. “Hoping to catch up with an old friend.”

“Oh.” the computer okay'ed the passport, so the attendant handed it back quickly. “Well um-- welcome to Monaco. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“I plan to.”

*****************

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*****************

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#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #pepper potts #natasha romanov

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imaginetonyandbucky · 4 years

Text

Keeping Me Alive

Chapter 10: Get Out Alive

by @dracusfyre

Now

“Save who you can,” Tony said to himself as he splashed water on his face.

He blindly grabbed for a towel and dried off, meeting his eyes in the mirror for what felt like the first time in years. “Don’t look back.” He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and went out into his bedroom. He picked up the photo that sat on his bedside table and took it out of the frame, tucking it into the pocket of his pants. Glancing around his bedroom, he nodded once, and went down to his workshop. He saluted the painting of Howard on the wall then dug out the photo of the Winter Soldier from his desk and set it on fire, dropping it to the concrete floor and watching it burn.

“Ready, JARVIS?” he asked. He ground the last bit of embers into the concrete to put them out.

“Are you ready, sir?”

“Yep,” Tony lied. “Let’s rock and roll.”

“Let it Burn Protocol initiated.” As JARVIS spoke, Tony felt the first explosion rock the house, rumbling through his feet as he stepped into the matte black suit in the gantry in the middle of the room. The facemask closed over his face as cracks appeared in the walls of the lab, and as the ground fell away from his feet he was already in the air.

36 days ago

Once he was sure that Stane was gone for good, Tony went down to his work shop and said, “Wake up, JARVIS, we have work to do.”

Sitting down at his workstation, he opened up the master file with the suit schematics and eyed the hologram critically. The hardest part of the suit to master was going to be the flight system, so he isolated and magnified that part from the diagram, studying the repulsors built into the gauntlets and boots with stabilizers along the back. “Start machining the parts I’m going to need for these,” he said. “Circumstances have changed and we are going to need to hit the ground running, so to speak."

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said, and the whirring of machinery became a low hum, punctuated by sharp bzzts as parts were cut and de-burred. Tony studied the prototype, exploding the diagram, moving it around, and after a while came up with a short list of non-critical design items he could spoon feed to Hydra to show his ‘enthusiastic’ cooperation. An hour later, the whirring stopped and the sudden quiet broke Tony out of his concentration. He sat up and stretched, wincing as his back popped. Standing, he went over to the coffee maker and started a new pot, then dug under the counter for his emergency stash of scotch, splashing a fingers worth in his mug while he waited for the coffee.

He had realized two very important things today. The first was that the Soldier needed saving even more than Tony did; the knowledge that the man was Hydra’s slave, kept ignorant and locked up until Hydra needed an attack dog, had shifted Tony’s world view like a kaleidoscope, shaking up everything he thought knew and making an entirely new pattern. The second was that he couldn't keep waiting around for a chance to escape, he was going to have to make one.

This suit, he knew, was the key to both of those realizations. But this half-baked, insane plan to rescue the Winter Soldier was going to kick the anthill big time and Tony also knew he needed to have some kind of plan for dealing with Hydra in the aftermath. This wasn’t going to be like Afghanistan, where he thought he was out and got pulled right back in again. The stakes were way too high this time.

With that thought in mind, when the coffee was done, he filled up his mug and went back to his desk. He pulled up the operating program for the suit and created a subroutine to overload the reactor, ignoring the flash red warning that said that this would result in a critical core breach and an uncontrolled chain reaction, and set the activation code as “Last Resort.”

One way or another, he thought as he sipped on his doctored coffee, this suit would be his way out.

32 Days Ago

Tony stared tiredly at the news as he took a swallow of stone-cold coffee. The breaking report was about the assassination of an Iranian nuclear scientist. Iran was already blaming Israel, who was of course denying it, but in response Iran was threatening to pull out of the treaties against nuclear enrichment and swore they could split the atom within the year. Political and military analysts were seeing storm clouds on the horizon unless someone backed down and talking about how another war would tax America's already overstretched military. Tony, meanwhile, could tell that this assassination had Hydra's fingerprints all over it, and knew that this was almost certainly the work of the Soldier. "JARVIS," Tony said, muting the television. "I need you to break into Hydra’s servers and find everything you can on the Winter Soldier. Cross reference it with the name James Barnes.” There was a chance that Stane had made the name up, but it seemed unlikely – from what he could tell, the Soldier would have responded to anything, and ‘James Barnes’ was a lot more specific than a simple ‘John Smith’ or ‘Joe Blow.’ “Actually, while you’re at it,” Tony said, having a sudden thought, “I want all of Hydra’s files. Copy them to one of SI’s remote servers.”

Hours later, Tony was just finishing up the wiring assembly for the repulsor system when his computer dinged. Setting down the soldering gun, Tony rubbed his eyes tiredly and turned on his monitor to see what JARVIS had found. To his dismay, there were thousands of files on the Winter Soldier; as he scrolled down the list, he realized that they went back decades. “Fuck,” he said aloud as he looked at the dates and the file names, most of which were a string of letters and numbers that no doubt made sense to someone in Hydra but gave no clue as to what the file contained. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to cry at the enormity of the task in front of him. He was so tired that his eyes were blurry and his head was pounding, but every time he tried to close his eyes he kept seeing James’s body arching with pain and hearing his screams.

“Sir, it has been twelve hours and thirty-six minutes since you last ate,” JARVIS said. “And you’ve made four mistakes in the past fifteen minutes. You need to rest.”

“I have?” Tony pulled his magnifying glass back over to the circuit board and saw what JARVIS was talking about. “Shit. Alright, fine.” He pushed away from the desk and went to the bar sink next to the coffee pot and ran his head under cold water for a second. He came up and wiped his face and the back of his neck, shivering as water dripped from his hair down his back, and went upstairs to look for food. Leaving his work shop felt like he was crossing into hostile territory, like he could be attacked at any moment. And he could, he thought as he opened the refrigerator. Stane had made sure that he always had free access to Tony’s home, because a locked door meant secrets and the only secrets Hydra allowed were their own. He wished he could just walk away from this place, blow it up and find a place to live that Hydra had never stepped foot in, a place that would feel like it was his –

He froze with a jug of orange juice in his hand. He stood there, thoughts racing, for so long that the chiller on the refrigerator came on with a hum. Then Tony said “Huh” to the boxes of leftovers and absently shut the fridge door, OJ still in hand.

25 Days Ago

“JARVIS, this doesn’t make sense,” Tony said, rereading the file for the fifth time. “This thing is saying that the first Winter Soldier was James Barnes, but the current Winter Soldier is James Barnes.” It was hard to think that it was a clerical error, since the earliest files went back to the 1940s and consisted of paper files that had been scanned into a computer sometimes in the 80s. “Is it an alias? Are all Winter Soldiers called ‘James Barnes’ as a security precaution?”

“Facial pattern analysis indicates that it is the same James Barnes,” JARVIS said, and it flashed up an image that looked like a scanned-in polaroid; in it the man was unconscious on an operating table, face dirty and bloody and pale. Next to it JARVIS pulled up an image from Hydra’s own security footage of what the Soldier looked like without his goggles and mask on. There was a vague resemblance to Tony’s eyes, but as the facial recognition algorithm measured the features in each photograph, the conclusion was mathematically precise – there was a 99.7% chance that it was the same man in each photo.

Tony’s face went slack with shock. “How is that possible? He’d have to be almost 100 years old!”

“That part I don’t know, sir.”

“Holy shit.” Tony went back to the original file, reading it more carefully. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he read. “Born 1917. American POW.” He paused at that and sat back in his chair. “Why does that sound familiar?”

In response, JARVIS pulled up a Wikipedia page on Tony’s screen. As he read it, Tony was speechless; for a long moment, he flipped screens between the dead-eyed man from Hydra’s surveillance footage and the smiling man with his arm around Captain America, but this time he didn’t need JARVIS to tell him that it was the same man. The implications made his stomach turn, and as he stared at the screen he exhaled shakily and covered his mouth with his hands. 80 years. James Barnes had been in Hydra’s clutches for 80 years.

He stood suddenly, sending his chair rolling backwards. “We’re doing another flight test. Right now.” 80 years was already far too long, and Tony wasn't going to let it be one more day longer than it had to be.

19 Days Ago

“Tony!” Ms. Potts said with surprise. “I didn’t expect you in the office today.”

Probably because Tony had been dodging Stark Industries for a while now, only coming out of his lab long enough to get her to leave him alone before burying himself in work again. It had occurred to him as he got in his car to go to SI headquarters, blinking in the bright sunlight, that this was the first time he had been outside of the house since Stane’s forced excursion. “Yeah, I wanted to meet with you,” Tony said, shutting the door behind him. He set a stack of papers in front of her as he sat down.

“What’s this?” She said, flipping through the papers. There was a line of confusion between her eyebrows which only deepened as she started reading them.

“I’m making you CEO of Stark Industries,” Tony said. “Effective two weeks from now. Should be an easy transition, you do most of my job anyway.” He grabbed a pin from her desk and clicked it, the sound loud in the sudden silence. “Sign on the highlighted line, please,” he added, holding the pen out to her, and despite everything he had to smile at the stunned look on her face.

11 Days Ago

Tony put a hand on Rhodey’s arm and met his eyes, willing him to understand. “I’m saying that Afghanistan wasn’t a random attack,” he said urgently. “I think I was being targeted, and I think whoever did it might try again.” He palmed a thumb drive from his pocket and slid it across the table. In the Hydra files, JARVIS had found that a senator named Stern had been behind the Afghanistan attack, apparently trying to get Tony out of the way so that his good buddy Justin Hammer and his company Hammer Industries could take over SI's lucrative military contracts. There was all of that and more on here, just enough information that if Rhodey put all the threads together he would start getting the bigger picture. Pierce, the STRIKE teams, all of it. “If anything happens to me, I need you to finish what I’ve started.”

“Tony, if you are afraid for your life-“ Rhodey started, still looking dubious but starting to get alarmed.

“Not just me. You. Ms. Potts. Anyone I'm friends with. I can’t do anything to make these people suspicious,” Tony insisted. It was strange to feel like he was lying even though every word he’d said was true. “No unexplained bodyguards, no sudden trips, and absolutely no cops.”

“I don’t like this,” Rhodey said emphatically. “You’re asking me to sit back and wait to see if someone kills you!”

“I know what I’m doing,” Tony said. That part was a lie. He had a plan in the broadest definition of the word; mostly he was making it up as he went along and praying he could handle the fallout. “I need you to trust me.” Rhodey’s mouth was a grim line and his jaw was tight, and Tony knew he wasn’t convinced so he pulled out his trump card. “I can’t do this unless I know you are safe,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. “I won’t risk you.” It took a long minute, and Rhodey looked like he was swallowing something unpleasant, but he finally nodded and put the thumb drive in his pocket. Tony exhaled and sagged with relief. “Thank you."

“When this is over, you better have a good damn explanation,” Rhodey said threateningly, and Tony barked out a humorless laugh.

“You won’t even believe me when you hear it.”

8 Days Ago

After Tony hit save on the final design of the suit, he stumbled over to the couch and landed on it face first, exhausted. He was laying on the couch, eyes drifting shut as he went over his plan for the hundredth time trying to figure out if he’d missed anything when the lab went dark. “What the hell, JARVIS?”

“Sir, it’s been 56 hours since you last slept,” JARVIS said. “I’m turning off your systems for a minimum of twelve hours.” The light in the stairwell going up to the main floor turned on, its glow just enough to let Tony get from the couch to the door without running into anything.

Tony stayed stubbornly on the couch. “We don’t have twelve hours to waste,” he said. “Turn my power back on.”

The lights stayed off. “Sir, you are a hazard to yourself and others.” Tony scowled and wondered if he had actually programmed JARVIS like this or if he was channeling the man himself. "Also, there's nothing for you to do while I assemble the suit."

“Fine. Ten hours.”

“Ten hours," JARVIS repeated. "I will be monitoring the situation while you sleep,” he added, and Tony knew that he meant not just monitoring Stane and James, but also Tony’s vital signs to make sure he actually slept.

“You’re insufferable,” Tony accused as he made his way up the stairs.

“Yes, sir.”

2 Days Ago

“Sir, there’s something you should see.”

Tony looked up from the fine-tuning he was doing on the suit’s shoulder-fired weapons to look at the computer screen. JARVIS had maximized the window where he was constantly monitoring Pierce’s communications and highlighted a text that had just been sent. It was to an unknown number and all it said was lvl 10, CovJer10131973 nlt 200810162200Z. The first part was clearly a target identifier and Tony knew enough about the military to recognize the latter as a date time group, set for five days from now. “Bring up the camera feed,” Tony said, and sure enough when Tony looked at the video surveillance of the room where James was kept, he could see that the lights in the room were on and a technician was already in the room powering on computers. They’d found out a while ago that what Tony had taken for a hyperbaric chamber was in fact a cryostasis chamber, which partly explained why James was almost a hundred years old but looked younger than Tony.

“Shit." Tony exhaled long and low, feeling his heart rate spike with nervousness. "How long it takes to thaw him out? Was that in his files?”

JARVIS was silent for a moment. “Evidence suggests approximately 24 hours from the time the procedure is first initiated,” he said.

“Right,” Tony said grimly, turning back to his work with a new urgency. “Guess it’s time.”

Now

Tony flew north along the coast as his house collapsed into the Pacific Ocean behind him, throwing billowing clouds of dust and smoke into the air as carefully placed explosives reduced it to a smoking ruin. It was thrilling and terrifying to know that for all intents and purposes Tony Stark was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He'd become a dead man after all, and now the only thing left was this suit and his mission: rescue the Winter Soldier then burn Hydra to the ground.

“Pull up James' video feed for me," Tony said as he flew. Since he was over water, he set the suit to autopilot and shifted his attention to the small window at the corner of his HUD. James was out of the cryostasis chamber, sitting on a chair as a medical assistant appeared to be taking his vitals. Every now and then he shivered, still shirtless. Other technicians were milling around, tending to the computers, and standing guard were was two members of the STRIKE team, hands on their weapons as they kept an eye on him. His records had indicated that he was prone to ‘erratic violent outbursts,’ which Tony figured was code for “periodically tries to fight back.” Tony had actually been happy to read that, because it meant that Hydra hadn't managed to break him completely. Right now, though, James just seemed willing to numbly submit to whatever the technicians were doing, his long hair a curtain in front of his face as he stared at the floor.

“Sir, we are approaching the facility,” JARVIS said, and minimized the video. Tony flew lower to the water, navigating around the giant cargo ships at dock. Even for a twenty-four hour facility it was late, and there were only one or two ships that had people still unloading shipping containers. He landed close to the Hydra facility but out of the line of sight; he had managed to camouflage the suit to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t hide the bright lights of the repulsors so he made the rest of the approach on foot.

JARVIS’s scanners found four total guards around the building, patrolling in pairs. By sticking to the deep shadows cast by the stacked shipping containers and the orange-yellow glow of the sodium-vapor security lights, Tony got within hearing distance and hit them with a pulse of high-pitched wave frequency. They both stiffened and fell over, paralyzed, helmets bouncing off the pavement hard enough to knock them unconscious. Tony bound them with their own zip ties and hid them out of sight, then used his backdoor access to the security system to unlock the doors and set all the surveillance cameras on a one hour loop. As he strode through the door into the lab, all eyes turned to face him, and before anyone could even speak there was a brrrt noise and they fell to the floor, killed by the precision targeting system Tony had built into his suit.

When JARVIS confirmed they were all dead, Tony took off the helmet and looked down at one of the bodies; the one closest to him had been here a month ago, monitoring James’ vitals as they wiped his mind. This was the first time Tony had killed anyone and he expected to feel..something, sad or upset or even vindictive, but he didn’t really feel anything. It all felt too easy, and Tony knew it was because he had designed a suit that had made it that easy. All the more reason that Hydra couldn't be allowed to get their hands on it.

James was still sitting in the chair, watching Tony as he approached; he hadn’t even gone for cover as everyone around him had died. Tony wondered if it was out of surprise or indifference. “Do you know me?” He asked, coming to stand in front of him. James studied his features for a moment and shook his head. “My name is Tony Stark. You are James Buchanan Barnes, and I am here to rescue you.” Tony offered him a hand to get to his feet, but James didn’t move, he just stared at Tony with those glacier blue eyes. There wasn't blankness in them now, only a narrow-eyed look of consideration. “Come on,” Tony tried again. “We’re escaping. We have to hurry before more people show up.”

James didn’t move. “There is no escape from Hydra. The only way out is-”

“Death, I know.” Tony kept his hand out but gestured expressively around the room with the other. “But they never said whose death.”

James studied him again, then turned his gaze to the dead bodies. Finally, after a long moment, he took Tony’s hand and let him pull him to his feet.

#tony stark #Bucky Barnes #tony x bucky #winteriron

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novembermurray · 3 years

Text

Hopeful Dreams

Read on AO3

Rating: General

Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera

Summary: When Din goes to Sorgan to ask for Cara's help ending his feud with the Guild he finds another familiar face as well, one that has haunted his dreams since he left. Seeing her again makes him consider what he might do if the threats against the Child were removed, what dreams he might attain...

For @mandomeraweek Day 3 - Prompt: Reunions

“When I saw the ship over head, I knew it had to be you.”

Din froze, hand half-way outstretched to the next tool he needed to adjust the strut of the Crest’s main cargo ramp. Her voice was like a ghost out of his dreams, because of course he couldn’t come back to Sorgan without thinking of her. He had hoped the soft footsteps approaching through the woods had been Cara, ready and restless, coming to insist they leave early on the hunt for some Imps. They had time before his meeting with Greef Karga, but if he was going to put an end to his feud with the Guild and the Imperials, they were going to need a plan. All that rattling around in his mind, the last thing he needed was to be distracted by a beautiful woman too kind for her own good and too brave by half.

“Omera.”

Din stood up and turned around slowly as she approached the ship. She looked as lovely as ever. Her warm copper skin was set off by the flowing blue-green jacket. Her long hair was braided over to one shoulder probably for ease while traveling. There was a large basket under one of her arms, balanced on her hip. She smiled up at him with soft, warm eyes that creased at the corners. He stepped down to meet her, pausing just in front of her, close enough to reach out and touch. But he didn’t, and neither did she.

“How did you know?” He asked.

“You told me it was a pre-Empire gunship. There aren’t many of these still flying, are there? She’s old, but I see you take care of her.”

“The Razor Crest has seen me through a lot,” Din explained. “Hasn’t failed me yet.”

Omera raised her face to look over the ship’s tail, the sweeping engine strut and repulsor turbine over her head with respectful admiration. The last diffuse light of the day caught on the swell of her cheekbones and the stubborn chin which hinted at the steel he knew this soft woman was made from. Every detail was familiar, seared into his memory, and yet it stole his breath away all over again like seeing it for the first time. He could hardly believe she was here, real and standing in front of him.

“What brought you so far from the village?” He asked.

“Trading. A fever swept through over the past few weeks. No lasting effects, but our medicines were depleted,” she showed him the basket of wrapped hyposprays and herbs. “And you?” Her brow furrowed. “I hoped… but I see you are preparing to leave.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I came to ask a favor of Cara Dune. We leave in the morning.”

“Something dangerous?” Omera asked with a worried frown.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad she will have your back, wherever you are going. I will miss seeing her around town when I come by.”

“You see her often?” Din asked, his better judgment to avoid distractions hopelessly crumbling under his curiosity.

“Not often,” Omera shook her head. “Only when I have reason to come so far. But it is nice to have a drink with her. It reminds me of the time she spent in our village… and of you.”

“I flew over,” he said, before he could restrain himself, “on my way in. I couldn’t stop, but I wanted to see if things were alright there. The village looked… it looked the way I remembered, peaceful.”

“Not much has changed. Junia is pregnant. Stoke and Caben moved in together. Darren will be married in the spring to a woman from the next village. We're always happy when someone comes to join our community. But day to day, everything is the same.”

“How is Winta?”

Omera practically glowed when he asked after her daughter, nodding as she answered: “Winta is good. She is always trying to convince the boys to play ‘Rebels and Mandos’ with her. She’s started braiding her hair back on one side like Cara’s.”

Din chuckled. “She could have worse idols to look up to,” he says with a shrug.

“How is your boy?”

“He is… good. He’s resting inside; tired himself out catching frogs.”

“He is still being hunted?”

“Yes.”

Omera looked down at the dirt between their feet sorrowfully.

“I might have found a way to stop the hunters,” Din confided in her. “Make it safe for him to stay in one place, have a normal life perhaps.”

“Is that why you need Cara’s help?”

Din nodded.

“My offer— Our offer from before,” Omera told him. “It still stands. You and your boy are welcome in our village, any time.”

“Thank you,” Din tells her honestly, because that offer had fueled his dreams ever since. Sometimes he thought that the dream and the child were all he had left to cling to. When the Crest was drifting through hyperspace from one backwater to another, between dodging danger and scrounging up thankless jobs, he let himself imagine a quieter future. He hadn’t realized how being on the run had worn him down until he got Karga’s message. Now even the slightest chance of a little peace was worth springing what was most definitely a trap.

“If you succeed, if it is safe to, do you think you’ll come back?” She asked, eyes brimming with so much hope.

Din wanted to say yes, his lips were halfway to forming the word. But the beskar on his shoulders weighed heavy. There was his Covert to consider. He had a duty to provide for them, for the foundlings there. They might have moved away from Navarro by now. He would need to find them if they had relocated. He didn’t know what that would entail.

His silence was answer enough for Omera. She dropped her eyes and bit her lower lip before it could betray the depth her disappointment. In that moment Din hated his armor, his helmet and his Creed with vehemence.

“Well,” she said after a long pause. “The offer is there. I won’t keep you from your work any longer.” She took a step back.

On impulse, Din stepped forward after her, his hand raising, though he hesitated to touch her.

“I…” he scrambled for the words to ask her to stay. The phrase ‘I missed you’ came to mind, but he held it back. “Do you need transport, back to your village?” It was out of his way and fuel he didn’t need to spend, but he didn’t care.

“No,” Omera shook her head and Din pulled his hand back at the rejection. “I’m… not in any hurry to get back though. I don’t need to leave until tomorrow morning either… if your work can wait...” Her gaze darted meaningfully to the open cargo ramp.

“It’s not that important,” Din assured her, slightly breathless.

“Will you show me your ship then?” She asked coyly.

Din stepped aside and motioned for her to come aboard. She joined him with a warm smile that almost covered the sharp glint of sorrow in her eyes. At least for one evening he would enjoy her company, and maybe in his own mind he could pretend that he was coming back after Navarro...

...that he might return to Sorgan and stay...

...with Omera…

...in peace...

...someday.

So the the jacket that I describe Omera wearing is inspired by a piece of concept for her I saw on this site but now --for the life of me-- I can't find. UGH! If anyone knows what I'm talking about send me a link or mention me in a comment or something.

If you’d be interested in a NSFW follow up to this story let me know. ;)

#mandomeraweek2021 #the mandalorian #fanfic #my writing #din x omera #mandomera

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parkrstark · 4 years

Text

with great power...

written for @whumptober2020 day 4: caged Peter has never been one to sit back when people are in trouble. Especially when they're people like him, mutants, and he can do something to save them. Tony tries to hide the list of missing mutants from him because he wants to keep him safe, but he doesn't understand. That's why Peter has to sneak out and do this on his own. What could go wrong? 4.3k ao3

"Wow, look at this. Nicholas Fury coming to me for help. Can you say please? Maybe do a little begging?" Tony grinned, enjoying the way Fury's jaw only clenched tighter.

"I'm not asking you, Stark. I'm asking the Avengers. SHIELD needs help."

"You know, I don't know...I think maybe if you were on your knees, groveling at my feet, I'd be more eager to help." Tony leaned back in his seat. He had the power in this conversation and he loved that. Usually, Steve was the one that answered team calls, but he was training in the gym with Natasha. They hadn't expected a call from Fury.

"Stark, people are missing. Children are missing."

And that snapped him back into reality. Children were always enough to make his blood boil, but ever since a certain 16-year-old started running around the tower, these cases hit a little closer to home.

"What kids?" Tony was leaning closer to the screen.

"You know Xavier's School for the Gifted?"

The name sounded familiar, though he wasn't sure what the exact details were. "A school for mutants, right?"

"Yes. A few kids have gone missing. It seems that it's connected to a lot of other mutant disappearances lately."

"Like a serial killer for mutants?" Tony frowned.

"We don't have any reason to believe they're dead."

"You look into Ross?" Tony asked, thinking of that asshole first. Even after he failed to break the Avengers up with his Accords, he still tried to convince them that mutants weren't human and deserved to be incarcerated for it.

Of course that would have included locking Bruce, Steve, and Peter in the Raft, probably with shock collars around their necks. Tony refused to ever let that happen.

"Our agents close to him say he has no involvement in this."

Tony nodded his head thoughtfully. "Yeah, and there's no boasting from his side. If he was behind it, he'd be all over it and being his typically asshole self."

"We want your team to help find out who is taking these mutants and how. It has to be another mutant or someone very dangerous." Fury's voice was no nonsense as he warned Tony to be careful without saying a word about it.

"Yeah. We'll start looking into it." Tony nodded his head. He wanted to bring these kids home.

"Good. We sent the files to your servers. It's of the known missing mutts and their last known locations."

"I'll share it with the team. We'll do our best."

"I'm counting on you, Stark," Fury said before hanging up, the screen now black.

This was a mission they could not afford to lose, not when innocent kids were in trouble.

"What're you guys doing?" Peter asked, walking into the kitchen where all of the Avengers were sitting at the table, reading over papers.

It was the second Friday of the month, which meant he was spending the weekend at the tower for Avengers training and Mario Kart.

"Working," Sam said, flipping a piece of paper over, not even looking up.

"I thought we were supposed to be in the training room." Peter took a seat between Tony and Steve. He tried peaking over Tony's shoulder to see what he was reading, but he pulled the paper close to his chest.

"None of your business, Spider-Baby. Go watch some TV. We'll be right in."

Peter frowned. "Why're you shutting me out? I wanna help."

"Probably because you're a literal toddler," Sam said. "This is for the adults."

Peter knew Sam had to tease him. That was his job, but it didn't make him feel any less frustrated. "I'm an Avenger too. Just last month, I saved your ass when your wings got clipped in the air. You're welcome, by the way."

"I already thanked you for that, half-pint. Don't keep bringing it up. That's not cool."

"Alright, children. Can we please stop bickering." Clint asked. "Sheesh. I feel like I'm home with my kids."

"I just wanna help," Peter said, his shoulders sagging.

"Don't worry about this stuff, son. It's not fun Avengers stuff. Just a lot of paperwork for an upcoming mission." Steve was always the weak-link. He never lied to Peter, always treated him like an adult, and always gave him a chance because he said time and time again, he was just like Peter. They were both once the little guy with powers and responsibility thrusted upon them and they were just trying to do good and protect people.

"Can I go on the mission?" He gave Steve a big smile and didn't have to look behind him to know Tony was shaking his head, urging him to tell Peter no.

"Sorry, kiddo. This one's a little too dangerous."

"But I've been training all the time with you and Nat!"

"No is no, Pete."

Sure, when Steve had Peter's side, it was the best feeling in the world, but when he didn't, it was the worst. Steve was stubborn as a bull and wasn't going to budge.

So Peter turned back to Tony.

"Mr. Stark, pleeeease."

Tony shook his head and looked down at his papers, meaning their conversation was over. Which, for now, it was. There was no way that Peter was going to convince them to let him join.

So he sighed heavily, playing up the dramatics before standing up. "Fine! Keep it a secret then. I'll be in my room when you're all finally done with your secrets."

And that was exactly where he waited until later that night. It was almost 3 in the morning before FRIDAY told him that Tony had finally gone to bed.

They had been working hard on those papers all night, and moved into the mission room to use the computers too.

Peter climbed along the ceiling to avoid making the floor creak as he snuck into the room they had spent hours working in. Once inside, he gracefully fell to the floor, and glanced over his shoulder.

"Can I help you, Mr. Parker?"

Peter jumped slightly, completely forgetting about FRIDAY. "Just looking for the notes the team was working on today. I want to study up tonight to impress them."

"Were you given permission to access these files, Mr. Parker?"

Avoid telling a lie by asking a question.

"Did Mr. Stark block me from seeing them?"

There was a pause and then she responded, "No, he did not."

"Then, I guess I'm allowed to read them." Peter smiled. Tony would have locked him out if he really wanted to hide them. He'd done it before. Not that that would have stopped him, just would have slowed him down.

Another pause from FRIDAY like she was struggling to decide if Peter was allowed to see them or not. Thankfully, only a moment later, she was pulling them up.

It was just files of people. Kids, teenagers, adults...there was no connection between the demographics. Except...they all were listed with having a power of sort.

He stopped on a picture of a girl that looked about his age. She had fiery red hair and a smirk on her face. Jean Grey. Telekinesis.

That's when it clicked.

He scrolled to another recent file. Cyclops. Optic blasts.

He felt his heart beating as he went to the next.

Petra. Terrakinetic.

Darwin. Reactive Evolution.

Sway. Manipulate time.

They were mutants. All of them. Just like him.

"FRIDAY, why were they studying these files?" Were they looking for a new team member? Did they not think Peter was good enough?

"This is a file of recently missing superhumans."

There were dozens and dozens of files. How were they all missing? And why didn't Tony ask for his help? These were his people missing. He deserved to help.

The sudden anger at the situation had him storming out of the room, not caring about how much noise he made. He went right to the hallway where all of their private quarters were.

He started pounding on Tony's door.

Not soon after, Tony opened the door. He looked half asleep but alert, dressed in only his sweatpants, but his repulsor was on his hand, pointed right at Peter. Once he realized it was Peter, his arm dropped to his side and the whining died down.

"Jesus, Pete. You scared me. Everything okay?" His eyes looked Peter up and down, trying to see if he could see any blood probably. Peter had knocked on his door at late hours before with a wound from patrol.

"They're mutants just like me."

"I'm sorry...what?"

"They're mutants! And most of them are kids! Why are you hiding that from me?" Peter’s voice was nowhere near quiet.

Tony glanced over Peter’s shoulder when he heard a door creak open. It was probably Steve, since he was right across the hallway from Tony. "Alright, bud. Calm down. We can talk about it if you want."

He tried putting his hand on Peter's arm, but Peter pulled away. He didn't want to be babied. "No! You always try to push me out of missions. You say I need more training again and again. And usually, that's okay. I get it. I'm a kid. But you're icing me out of this one on purpose!"

"Peter, just tell me what you're upset about. Please." Tony genuinely looked to be struggling with understanding Peter's sudden outburst.

"I asked FRIDAY and she showed me."

Realization dawned on Tony's face and he muttered, "Dammit. She's getting reprogrammed tomorrow."

"You should have told me that mutants are going missing." Peter held his ground.

Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Pete, it's too late for this. Can we please talk tomorrow?"

"No! Mutants are missing and you wanted to hide it from me! Those are my people, Mr. Stark!" Peter splayed his hand against his chest. "I want to help!"

"Peter, I know--."

"No. You don't. You're normal. You can take off your suit and you don't have to worry about being... different." Peter felt his eyes burning and he didn't know why.

"That doesn't make a difference. I'm Iron Man, whether the suit is on or not. Which is why I'm putting my foot down and saying you are not getting involved with this." Tony sounded tired and exasperated.

"I can help! You can't stop me when it's my people they're hurting! I don't want to hide!"

Tony's jaw clenched and he straightened his shoulders. His voice was low when he spoke again, "You're right, Peter. You're just like them. You are a mutant. But maybe you skipped the part where the files have said they are all missing."

"I know they're missing, Tony. Don't patronize me," Peter argued. He hated being the child.

"Don't patronize you? When you're acting like a child? Peter, I know you're upset, but how about you let those teenage hormones chill and listen."

That comment only made his teenage hormones worse. "I'm not a kid!"

"You are!" Tony snapped back, unable to keep his voice quiet. "You're a child with mutant powers. Just like the other kids and adults that were taken. Did you stop to read how far back the first disappearance goes?"

Peter didn't say anything, honestly caught a bit off guard by Tony's tone.

"No? Well, don't worry. I've got it memorized. 2 years."

Peter's eyes widened.

"Yeah. 2 years. The first mutant has been missing for almost 22 months." Tony shook his head, a haunted look growing in his eyes. "I don't know what they're doing to these mutants, but I have an idea. I have many scary horrible inhumane ideas of what people would want to do with mutants."

Peter had a few ideas of his own, but he didn't think of it as much as Tony did, apparently. He hadn't even thought of the details. He just knew his people needed help.

"You're not helping with this case because tomorrow I'm calling May and you're not leaving this tower until we have this monster in custody."

"What?" Peter practically shouted. "That's not fair!"

"Pete," Steve's voice was behind him. He wondered how many of the others were watching. "Why don't you let him sleep. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Another night that those people are tortured! You need everyone you can get to help find these people!" Peter didn't turn away from Tony and hoped Steve got the idea.

"I don't need anything!" Tony yelled, losing his temper finally. "I need you to stay in here, where I know you're safe! Because they're looking for mutants and you are a mutant. And while you think that makes you connected to them and somehow responsible for their safety, I think that it makes you a target! They will come for you eventually and I need that not to happen. Because I can't imagine losing you, and you being gone for years."

Peter stayed silent because he couldn't argue with that. He hadn't even thought about how it would affect Tony.

"I went through this once already. I kept you safe then, and I'll do it again. But I can't do it alone. You need to help keep yourself safe." Tony's voice was soft when he finished his rant. exhaustion filled his voice, both mentally and physically.

Peter nodded his head, lowering his voice as well. "I know you're trying to protect me, Mr. Stark. But I don't need protecting. I'm a superhero. It’s my job to protect others, no matter what."

"No, Peter. That's where you're wrong. It's not your job to do anything but be a kid and go to school and go home to May at the end of the night, safe."

Peter shook his head. Tony didn't understand. "I'm grateful to have you looking out for me, Mr. Stark. But I'm not giving up on these people. They need someone to fight for them just as hard as you fight for me. I'm going to be that person for them.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying in this tower until we get this under control. I mean that, Peter.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter tried to argue again because that was just bullshit.

“No, Peter. You’re staying out of this one.”

Peter knew by the look on his face and the sound of his voice, he wasn��t going to win this. Not with Tony’s permission, anyway. So he groaned loudly, stamped his foot and stormed back to his room.

He wasn’t going to just sit in his room and hide when mutants were going missing. He had some information like their last known locations. He could at least scout those areas and see if he noticed anything wrong.

“FRI, can you keep this to yourself for now?”

“Keep what to myself?”

Peter grinned. “Exactly. Thanks.” He didn’t hesitate before grabbing his suit and getting ready. “Do me a favor and transfer that information to Karen before Mr. Stark locks me out.”

FRIDAY did so without complaint and Peter grinned as he saw the files glow up inside his mask. All of this was only possible thanks to Tony. Kind of ironic that he was using it against him now.

Before leaping out of his window, he told FRIDAY, “Tell Mr. Stark or anyone else that comes to my door, that I don’t want to talk to anyone tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

He’d be back in the tower by tomorrow and would act like he never even left.

FRIDAY didn’t give him a hard time, but Karen sure did. The moment he was out in the suit, he heard her in his ears. “Peter, should you be out with this information?”

“Ugh, Karen. It’s fine.” He rolled his eyes as he swung through the streets. “I’ve been going out on patrol for weeks since all of this started and nothing bad happened.”

“I don’t think you should be out here. Mr. Stark has already programmed me to inform him if you try to sneak out.”

“Don’t,” Peter warned. “I’m fine.”

“Peter--.”

“Karen, if you keep annoying me, I’ll just shut you off. Your company is good, but not when you’re against me too.” Peter felt his annoyance growing again, and he felt stupid for being aggravated at an AI.

Karen hesitated and her voice sounded as soft as a robot’s voice could. “I care about your safety, Peter. So does Mr. Stark.”

“Well, I care about the safety of all those mutants. I can help, so I will. Either help me, or leave me alone.” Peter felt guilty for snapping at her, when she was only trying to help. She was always only trying to help him.

“I want to help you in any way I can.”

“Good. Then just...help me scan around these areas for anything suspicious. I have no idea what we’re looking for.”

“Alright, Peter,” Karen replied, sounding unhappy to have to help. But she did anyway.

They moved from one location to the next around the city. They were running out of mutants from NYC to trace. He didn’t want to go back to the tower empty handed. Not because he wanted to show anybody anything, but because he felt like a failure in his own mind.

“Seriously, nothing, Karen?” Peter groaned, falling to the ground in an alley. He had been scouring the city for almost two hours by now. There was nothing for him to find. He leaned his head against the wall and sighed.

“You know, Kar...maybe Mr. Stark was right. Maybe I should have stayed put or at least waited.”

“I think that would have been the smart idea.”

“Yeah, but then I would have just been laying in bed while they tried saving the day. And they weren’t even trying now! They were sleeping. The mutants need their help now. Some of them 2 years ago!” Peter kicked his foot against some garbage by his feet.

“In their defense, Peter, they were not aware of the disappearances until only very recently. And how are they supposed to search if they do not rest?”

Peter groaned loudly. “Stop being so logical!”

“It’s a protocol Mr. Stark uploaded into my servers.”

Even though they had left things in an argument, Peter couldn’t keep a small smile off of his face. “What protocol is that?”

"Common Sense," Karen replied, and Peter didn't know if she understood the slap to the face that felt like coming from Tony. “It’s used to give you a voice of reason so you don’t drive yourself crazy in your teenage tantrums.”

“Teenage Tantrums, is that what Mr. Stark calls them?”

“Yes.”

Peter sighed, giving in. “Well, he’s not wrong. I did lose my head back there. I shouldn’t have snapped. I shouldn’t even be out here. I just wanted to get away from it all. I felt so angry.”

“You do not have to explain or try to justify your emotions to me, Peter. Your feelings are your feelings, no matter what. And they are valid.”

Peter laughed. “Now, that you definitely didn’t learn from Mr. Stark. No way he’s that emotionally evolved. Not yet.”

Karen laughed back. “It’s part of my programming. Mama Bear. He uploaded the transcripts of several parenting books for teenagers into my servers. This is from a chapter all about dealing with the ups and downs of teenage hormones.”

“Lucky me,” Peter said. And maybe the words came out sarcastic, but he meant it genuinely. How lucky was he that he had a man, who had no responsibility to be the father figure he was? Tony was always there to help him, even when Peter proved him unworthy of his help time and time again. Peter had someone to care about him so deeply that he’d lock him in a room just from the slim chances he’d be kidnapped. And sure, that was a little overkill, but it was Tony.

Not everyone had someone like to care about them.

Tony could leave him at any time, and he didn’t. He chose to stay even when Peter made it so hard.

He pushed himself back up to his feet and sighed. “I’m gonna head back, Karen. See if Mr. Stark is still up.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” she replied, sounding proud of herself.

“Watch the attitude, Karen. You’re supposed to be like me, not Mr. Stark,” Peter reminded her.

Before she could give him a response though, Peter went on full alert and he got into a stance ready to fight. His spidey sense was going off like crazy, pounding in the base of his skull.

“Danger, Karen. Where’s the danger?” He glanced around the alley, searching for any sign of something. Thankfully, he had night vision on in the suit to make things easier to see in the pitch black.

“Scanning for heat signatures around you now, Peter,” Karen replied, all business. “Shall I contact Mr. Stark as well?”

Peter shook his head. “Just give me a second. I can protect myself.”

And he did when that first punch was thrown from the man that jumped down from a fire escape above him. He dodged the punch easily and brought up his fists to get ready to block the next punch.

“You can fight,” the man said. “But you won’t win. They never do.” Then he stepped forward and Peter saw he was wearing some sort of suit with a mask that covered his entire head. He threw another punch and Peter dodged once again.

“I don’t wanna hurt you!” He said, bouncing on his feet. “But I will if I have to!”

“Aw, isn’t this cute?” He asked, to whom, Peter didn’t know. “He thinks he has a chance against us, boys.”

“What--?”

Then someone tackled him from behind and even through the suit, he could feel the hard cement run painfully against his face.”Woah, I thought there were rules in Fight Club!” Peter yelled as he rolled onto his back to avoid being jumped on. “Isn’t rule number one to have even and fair teams?”

Another man jumped down next to him and kicked him right in the side before he had a chance to notice he was there.

After he regained his breath, Peter wheezed, “No? That’s right. Rule number one is don’t talk about fight club. Sorry, boys. I’ll get the next one right. Promise.”

“Shut up!” The first man rushed forward and Peter jumped to a wall to avoid him.

Peter shook his head as he looked down at them. His heart was racing like crazy, and he was actually a little scared of these three men that seemed to have skill and a big grudge against him. Of course, whenever he was nervous, his mouth wouldn’t shut up. “You guys look cute in your matching masks and ugly armor. Are you starting a boy-band? I’d offer to join, but I’m not a good singer.”

The men below continued to talk among themselves to try and figure out how to get Peter down. Peter ignored them.

“You know the sound of nails on a chalkboard? That sounds a little like me. Except I’m like, a million times worse. Just ask Iron Man. He said I’m banned from Team Karaoke nights in the unforeseeable future.”

Peter jumped from one wall to the other, webbing one of the men to the ground as he did so. “Oh, no I’m the bad guy here. I really didn’t wanna have to do this, guys!” He webbed another one the first guy he webbed up.

He tried to web the last guy, who was the first one he had an encounter with, but he rolled out of the way, pulling something from his waistband.

“Well, like that really old song goes, two outta three ain’t bad!”

Peter didn’t even have time to laugh at his own joke because suddenly, the man had his hands raised and what he pulled from his pants was shining in the little light that was in the alley. Through his night vision, he could see it clearly. It was a gun and it was pointed straight for him.

He jumped up in the air, doing a small flip as the man shot it. It didn’t sound like a gunshot, which Peter was thankful for because those always triggered bad memories with that. One gunshot and he was 14 again, covered in Uncle Ben’s blood as he held him, listening to his last breaths. Peter never did well with gun crimes during patrol. He usually saved that for the NYPD.

“Missed me!” Peter mocked in a sing-song voice, perching on the railing of a fire escape.

The man growled and Peter jumped, ready to dodge another shot. But the man expected that move and he shot directly where Peter was jumping to. There was no pain from it, and Peter had to stop and check himself over to see where he was hit-- if he was hit.

And he was. There was a small dart sticking out of his thigh. Peter blinked as he pulled it from his skin. Then he glanced down at the three men. “Hey, Curly, you do realize that a little tranq dart won’t work on me, right? I’m not like your garden variety kidnapee that you can…”

His quip was slowly cut off when he started losing feeling of all of the muscles in his face. He couldn’t move his lips to even say another word. His eyes darted to the men when he heard them all start to howl with laughter.

Then he felt his hands slip from his perch and he was falling 3 stories down to the concrete below. Peter wasn’t sure if his vision went black went he hit the ground or just a second before.

When he woke up, he was crammed into a tiny cage. The room was dark with only a few lights on the ceiling, but he could easily make out what else was in the room. There were rows and rows of cages, all full of people and creatures.

It wasn’t until he recognized a girl in the cage across from him that he put two and two together. These were the missing mutants, and he had found them...without giving Tony any indication at all where he was.

“Oh, shit.”

#iron dad #peter parker #tony stark #marvel #whumptober2020 #no.4 #caged #fic #kidnapping tw #violence tw #language tw

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thebonerpit · 5 years

Photo

~*~ Santa’s Little Helper ~*~

Starker, no powers au, 2016 words, fluffy, cheeky, Christmas-y fun (that was intended to be just smut but ended up like this... if people like it I might do a pt.2)

This was hell. Tony was in hell. And hell was decorated like Santa got drunk and threw up Christmas cheer over every available surface.

Pepper wanted Morgan to get her picture with Santa, and absolutely refused the idea of Tony just hiring someone to come the house and do it there. Something about going to a mall Santa was more “authentic”, she said. Tony was sure she just wanted to torture him while she was away in LA with her new boyfriend. So unfair.

Which is why he was currently standing in a line with hundreds of other miserable parents and screaming, sugar-filled children waiting to hand his daughter over to a stranger who probably smelled like cheese and stale beer and hope she didn’t start crying. Joy. As they finally rounded the last corner, Tony could see the scene in front of him. Jolly old Santa (who, to be fair, looked perfectly pleasant and not drunk), a big Christmas tree, and… hello there.

Tony’s gaze was immediately locked on what appeared to be an elf, currently bending over to scrape a small child off the floor and back on to Santa’s lap. His legs were encased in some obscenely tight green leggings, and the curve of what looked like an absolutely perfect ass was barely visible under the edge of a bright red tunic. He even had a little pointed hat with a bell, and what looked like plastic elf ears attached to the edge of it. But when he turned around, that’s when Tony was really dumbstruck. He was beautiful. Young, far too young for Tony to even be considering but hey, who ever said Tony made good choices? He had huge brown eyes that matched the brown curls peeking out from under the hat, and an adorable round face that made him look perfectly innocent and sweet.

Tony wanted him.

He seemed distracted by trying to wrangle all the children ahead of them so he didn’t look up until Tony and Morgan were next in line.

“Welcome to Santa’s Village, may I get your—uh… your…”

Tony smirked.

“Your name! Your name, please. Um. Sir.”

“Tony Stark,” he said, still smirking at the flush on the boy’s cheeks as he typed it into the iPad. He was trying to hard to be professional, bless, but Tony could tell he was attracted to him. Tony knew the effect he could have on people, but most of the time their adoration was an annoyance more than anything. Now, it seemed, he couldn’t get enough. The boy looked back, purposely avoiding Tony’s gaze, and focused on Morgan. This seemed to help and he easily switched back into elf mode.

“And you must be…” he said, bending down to smile at the young girl clinging to Tony’s leg.

“Morgan H. Stark, and I’m here to see Santa Claus,” she stated proudly. The boy laughed and extended his hand.

“Lovely to meet you, Morgan H. Stark. My name is Peter, and I’m one of Santa’s elves.”

Morgan’s eyes went wide as she shook his hand (or rather, his fingers).

“Do you make toys?”

“I sure do! Do you have a special toy you want to ask Santa for this year?”

“Uh-huh!” Morgan said, nodding her head vigorously. She looked like she was about to go on but Peter quickly shushed her.

“Shh, that’s gonna be a secret between you and Santa, ok? And then he can tell me what to make for you!”

Morgan nodded again, looking very serious. Tony was absolutely charmed. This boy – Peter – was so good with her, and it honestly warmed his cold, black heart a little. Peter stood back up and the flush on his cheeks returned when he looked at Tony again.

“It will just be a minute, sir, apologies for the wait.”

“Of course. Peter, was it?”

“Um, yes… yes sir.”

“And what is a lovely elf like you doing working in a place like this?” It was terribly cheesy but Tony just couldn’t help himself, and he was rewarded by Peter flushing even deeper and ducking his head.

“I… school. Um, I mean… I’m in school? Not right now, of course. Winter break. But… I kinda needed the extra money.”

“He means that he doesn’t want to have to resort to eating the on-campus hot dogs anymore because they keep giving him really bad—”

“MJ!” he screeched, startling the people around them in line.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, and then turned to the girl beside him and glared at her until she rolled her eyes and moved away.

“Where do you go, Columbia?” Tony asked. Peter looked adorable when he was embarrassed but Tony didn’t want him to stop talking because of it.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “first year. Biochem.”

“Biochem? Impressive. Yeah I’ve been there a few times… pro-tip, the cafeteria sells discount sandwiches at the end of the day. Might be a better choice than hot dogs.”

Peter looked up, all wide, brown Bambi eyes, and smiled.

“Uh… thanks, Mr. Stark. For the tip.”

God, there were SO many inappropriate jokes just begging to spill from Tony’s lips but they were all saved by Morgan tugging on Tony’s pant leg.

“Daddy, daddy, look, it’s my turn!”

“So it is, wingnut,” Tony said, petting her hair with one hand but still completely focused on Peter’s face.

“Come with me, Morgan,” Peter said, holding out his hand for her. She followed him over to where Santa was perched on his throne (did Santa really need a throne that big?) and he helped her up on to his lap. The other elf, MJ, seemed to be working the camera so Peter stood off to the side and gave Morgan an encouraging thumbs up. Tony watched, a smile creeping across his face, as Morgan explained in great detail what she wanted for Christmas this year. Santa looked a little dumbfounded but Tony assumed it wasn’t every day a child asked for a fully programmable robot cat that can also turn into a repulsor-powered rocket ship that she can ride around the yard. And no, Tony did NOT give her that idea whatsoever…

Unfortunately, Santa then started asking her other questions and although Morgan wasn’t a shy child, she didn’t like going into situations unprepared. She started looking visibly uncomfortable, squirming away and ducking her head, and Tony was just about to step in when Peter scooted forward and knelt down beside her.

“Hey Morgan, you did such a great job! How about we get a photo, and then you can pick a candy from the toy chest ok?”

Morgan still looked displeased but she nodded, and Peter nodded back. However, as soon as he went to leave she made a little noise and reached out to grab him.

“No. You stay.”

Peter swallowed and looked over his shoulder at MJ, who just shrugged.

“Sweetheart, elves aren’t supposed to be in the photos, ok? It’s just for you and Santa! It’ll just take a few seconds—”

“No!” she said, much more forcefully this time, and Tony could see her eyes starting to tear up.

“I… um…”

Tony Stark to the rescue, once again.

“It’s fine,” he called out, waving a hand at Peter from behind the camera, “you can stay.”

“A—are you sure, sir? I don’t want to intrude…”

“You’re not intruding, you’re saving me from having to explain to my ex why our daughter is in tears in what’s supposed to be a heartwarming Christmas memory.”

This got a little laugh out of him, and he looked down at Morgan who was still clinging to him, her hot little hand pressed into his.

“Ok. Alright. How about I just sit here, Morgan, is that ok?” He sat on the top step, just to the side of Santa’s throne, where he could still hold her hand. He arranged his legs gracefully underneath him and Tony once again thanked whatever god made those green leggings. “Can you give us a big smile?”

Morgan seemed appeased, and when MJ called out “say Santa!” she grinned widely. A perfect photograph. Pepper would be happy.

Peter led her over to the toy chest and while she started rummaging through for a candy, he walked over to Tony with his festive green and red iPad.

“The photo should be ready in a few moments. How would you like to pay?”

Tony handed over his black card which made Peter’s eyes widen briefly, but he processed it without a word, handing it back to Tony and definitely not shivering as their fingers brushed.

“Thanks, by the way,” Tony said casually as he put the card back in his wallet, “for avoiding what could have been a meltdown of epic proportions. Morguna is a great kid but her screams would probably break every pane of glass in this building.”

“Oh! Oh, it’s no problem sir, it’s what we’re here for. And I apologize again for having to be in the photo… we might be able to edit me out if—”

“Nonsense. It just makes it extra festive, right? And I can’t say I mind having the option to look at you on my mantel instead of an old fat man with a beard.”

Peter giggled – god, Tony could never get tired of that sound – and bit his lip.

“Th-thank you,” he said quietly. The bell on the end of his ridiculous hat jingled as he looked over to where Morgan was still digging into the candy stash. Tony took that moment to quickly scribble a note on one of his business cards and wrap it in a few hundred dollar bills, which he slid into one of Peter’s pockets on the front of his tunic. The sensation made Peter’s head whip back around, bell jingling even louder, as he stared open-mouthed at the money.

“Oh, sir, I can’t… we don’t accept tips…” He started to take the bills out but Tony stopped him with a warm hand pressed over his thin wrist.

“It’s not a tip, then,” Tony said, rubbing one thumb along Peter’s smooth skin. “Consider it a donation to your ‘no more hot dogs in 2020’ fund.”

Peter’s chest was practically heaving under Tony’s hand, and he watched as he swallowed thickly before looking up at him through those sinful lashes.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “thank you so much, sir.”

“Hey, it’s the holidays,” Tony said, leaning in just a little closer until he could see the gold sparkling in Peter’s big brown eyes, “Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark,” Peter replied breathlessly.

“I FOUND A CHOCOLATE SANTA!” Morgan yelled.

Tony groaned inwardly but turned to look at his daughter, smiling brightly and wielding a foil-wrapped chocolate Santa.

“Good job! Let’s go bite his head off, ok?”

Morgan cackled as Tony leaned down and scooped her up, hoisting her on his hip. He turned back to Peter who still looked like he might hyperventilate at any moment and offered him a crooked smile.

“Bye, Mr. Elf!” Morgan said, waving as Tony carried her out of the gates and back into the crowded mall. He purposely didn’t look back, even though he could feel Peter’s eyes boring holes into his skull. He just had to be patient.

+++++

Peter (10:59 p.m.): Hi Mr. Stark. Thank you again for the tip. It was WAY too much. But thank you.

Tony (11:01 p.m.): I see you found my card, too.

Peter (11:03 p.m.): I did… I’m free on Thursday. Or Saturday. Or any day, honestly, I’ll get MJ to cover for me because yeah I’d really really really really like to go on a date with you.

Tony (11:05 p.m.): That sure is a lot of really’s. I feel so special. Pick you up on Saturday at 8pm. Wear those tights for me, ok?

Peter (11:07 p.m.): NO.

Tony (11:08 p.m.): Don’t make a grown man beg, sweetheart.

Peter (11:10 p.m.): … I can wear them under my pants.

Tony (11:11 p.m.): Oh, you really are a Christmas miracle. Can’t wait, sweet thing. See you soon.

#starker #starker fic #tony x peter #tony stark/peter parker #tbpwrites #i was SURE the first thing i wrote for this fandom would be absolute filth #but here we are #christmas fluff #who am i??

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froggy-beans · 4 years

Text

when I’m lost (I feel so very found)

by cold_nights_summer_days for @hold-our-destiny

rating: creator chose not to use archive warnings

relationships: Peter Parker and Tony Stark, Tony Stark and Pepper Potts

characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Original Female Characters, Happy Hogan

summary: Written for The Friendly Neighborhood Exchange using the prompt "homeless peter meets tony and they bond."

-------

Peter panicked and glanced around for a different escape route. A dark alley caught his eye, but before he could veer into it, he felt himself collide with something solid and warm. A person. Both of them went sprawling to the ground. The gritty sidewalk cut into Peter’s palms and knees painfully, and his shoulder didn’t feel too hot either, but he was more concerned about his backpack, which had skidded forwards a few feet.

He scrambled up, ignoring the stinging in his hands. The backpack. He had to get the backpack. That was all he had, everything he owned was in that ratty backpack. Before he could get his hands on it, though, he was stopped by the stranger he’d collided with. Guilt twisted in Peter’s gut; he hadn’t even thought to apologize. Three months on the street and he’d already forgotten everything his parents had taught him.

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

read on ao3

Tony paced back and forth in his living room, hating that each of his footsteps could be heard echoing on the empty walls. It was late and he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to—or couldn’t—deal with the nightmares that he knew would be waiting for him when he did. Afghanistan, the wormhole, Sokovia . . . he was just so tired of seeing it all play out over and over and over again. And with Pepper gone, the Rogue Avengers off doing whatever, and Rhodey in rehab, there was no one left to force him to go to bed. (Except Friday, but with the recent restless nights, Tony had programmed her not to bother him.)

Another glance at the clock and Tony wanted to scream. It was 01:30. He wanted to get out of the penthouse. He needed to. He couldn’t take the emptiness anymore. It left more room for the monsters and nightmares to creep in.

So, after deciding he couldn’t stay there anymore, Tony grabbed the first jacket he saw out of his closet and took the elevator down to the lobby. The only other people there were the night security team, and they were paid enough not to care what their boss was doing.

Tony slipped out into the street with little fanfare and started wandering into the night. He pulled his hood up as an extra precaution against being recognized, but with it being this late, he didn’t think anyone would notice who he was anyway.

Peter clutched his backpack tight against his chest, his meager belongings crushed together while he ran. He glanced behind him every few seconds to see that his attacker was quickly gaining speed on him. It wasn’t a shock, really. Peter was small, fourteen, and asthmatic. It was a miracle he’d managed to put as much distance between the two of them as he had. Either way, his luck was starting to run out. His attacker, a twenty-something man that had at least one hundred pounds and six inches on him, sped up and closed the gap between them considerably.

“Hey, watch out—” The stranger said, voice oddly familiar. Peter whipped his head around to face the man. Peter had barely begun to get the apology out before the attacker, who he’d definitely not forgotten about—was three feet away and once again holding a knife. Peter instinctively backed up, but the stranger didn’t do the same. Peter wanted to scream, “What are you doing?” But remained silent.

The stranger seemed rather composed in this situation, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. Everything in Peter screamed for him to take the backpack and run, but he stood still. When talking to the man with the knife didn’t seem to work, the stranger quickly pressed a button on his watch. Peter’s expression morphed from confused to shocked as his hand became encased in metal.

One repulsor shot later, and the attacker was laying incapacitated. The stranger that Peter now recognized as Iron Man—oh my god—turned around to face him. By now the backpack lay forgotten on the pavement as Tony Stark took a step closer to him. He had a black hood pulled over his face to obscure his identity, but Peter knew it was him. Who else could it be?

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned. Peter nodded slowly. He was so confused and tired and just wanted to sleep. Sleeping had been what he’d been trying to do when that jerk thought it would be nice to steal his stuff.

Tony Stark bent over to pick up the backpack, and Peter reached out for it instantly. His heartrate began to calm down once he had it safely on his back again. He gripped the straps tightly, wary that someone else would try and take it.

“Thank you,” Peter said, turning to escape down the dark alley. There had to be somewhere around that he could spend the night without getting caught. Hopefully somewhere next to a vent, that would be warmer than just sleeping on the ground.

“Wait,” Tony said, reaching out to stop him. Peter jerked back on instinct and didn’t quite miss the look on the other man’s face. Sad. Pitiful. “Do you have somewhere to go tonight?”

“Why?” Peter asked, eyeing him skeptically. He was worried that if he hung around much longer, Tony might notice that he was the missing kid in all the papers. He couldn’t risk getting sent back to Skip, or worse. He’d been through four houses during his time in the system, and none of them had been kind.

“Because it’s nearly two a.m. and you can’t be more than thirteen.”

“I’m fourteen,” Peter mumbled petulantly, and then cursed himself for revealing that. Mr. Stark sighed.

“I can take you home if you give me an address. I’d prefer not to leave you out here on your own. And before you try to argue, because I can already tell that you will, you did just get almost mugged.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said. He wanted Mr. Stark to leave so that he could go on his merry way. If it weren’t for the remaining adrenaline in his system, he would be struggling to keep his eyes open. Peter could tell that Mr. Stark wasn’t convinced, though.

“Look, kid, if you don’t have somewhere to stay tonight you can stay at the Tower. No questions asked, and then tomorrow when it’s not the middle of the night and we aren’t standing next to someone who was about to stab you, you can leave.”

Peter shifted from one foot to the other uncertainly. He didn’t want to spend the night in some dirty alley, not really, but could he trust Mr. Stark? Sure, he was a superhero, but what if he recognized him from the news? Peter’s disappearance from his foster family hadn’t exactly been quiet.

The logical part of his brain told him to refuse the offer, to just walk away, but Peter couldn’t. He was hungry and tired, and the opportunity was too good to pass on. Besides, he could leave first thing in the morning. Eventually, Peter nodded his assent.

“Okay. The tower isn’t that far, but I’m going to call Happy to come pick us up. That way there’s no chance for the media to find out. Is that okay with you?” Mr. Stark asked, and Peter almost forgot to answer. It had been a while since he’d a real conversation, or since anyone had cared what his opinion was. Nobody had asked if he wanted to stay with any of his foster families. Nobody had asked if he was okay with being pulled out of Midtown.

“Um, yeah, that’s fine,” He stammered. Mr. Stark glanced at him once more before pulling out his phone and calling Happy. Peter kicked at a loose pebble on the ground while they talked. He felt weird for listening while they talked, but the street was otherwise empty and quiet.

“Hey Happy, sorry to wake you up, but I need a ride.”

“What are you doing out in the middle of the night?” Happy asked, and even through the phone, Peter could tell he was grumpy. Guess he doesn’t live up to his nickname.

“Irrelevant. I’ll explain later. I’ll send you the location and try to take one of the less flashy cars. I want to keep this lowkey.”

Before Happy could answer, Mr. Stark had hung up and asked Friday to send Happy their location. The next few minutes were some of the most awkward of Peter’s life, and considering his background, that was an achievement.

“So,” Mr. Stark said, turning to face Peter again. He had his hands shoved deep in his sweatshirt pocket. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Peter,” He answered. If Mr. Stark was curious why he didn’t provide a last name, he didn’t show it. A moment after he answered, Peter cursed himself. He should have used a different name. To be fair, it wasn’t like Mr. Stark couldn’t figure out exactly who he was if he wanted to. He had access to any database in the world so long as he could hack it.

After that the pair stood quietly on the sidewalk, Peter kicking the pebble and Mr. Stark watching the street for Happy. Peter almost breathed a sigh of relief when Happy pulled up before realizing this was most likely just the beginning of an uncomfortable situation.

I should have just said no.

Happy’s eyes widened when Peter slipped into the backseat, but he didn’t ask any questions and Mr. Stark didn’t offer any answers. Maybe finding a homeless teenager in the middle of the night and bringing him home wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever done. Peter might have to disagree, though, because this was definitely the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him.

Tony glanced at the backseat to find Peter already asleep. He was worried about what he was going to do about him. He told Peter that he could leave tomorrow morning, but he didn’t know if he could stick to that. It was irresponsible to let a homeless kid loose on the streets again, whether you promised them something or not.

“What are you going to do about him?” Happy asked, and then as if he could read Tony’s mind, he said, “You can’t just let him go tomorrow morning.”

“Why not? That’s what I said I would do, and I can’t keep him hostage. That’s called kidnapping and that’s illegal.”

“You don’t have to kidnap him, obviously. But we should call CPS. It’s dangerous for him to be running around by himself.”

“I know that . . . but there has to be a reason that he isn’t in a foster home. Maybe they abused him or something,” Tony said, defending Peter even though he barely knew him. For all Tony knew, he could be some teenage delinquent who decided he didn’t like the rules that came along with being a foster kid. He made a mental note to do some research when they got home.

“I think you should call it in,” Happy said. Tony cast a sideways look at him. “But then again, when do you ever listen to what I tell you to do?”

“Don’t take it personally, Hap. I don’t listen to Pepper either,” Tony joked, and then went quiet. Pepper was still a sore subject for him right now, even if he had to see her every day for business reasons.

“Trust me, I don’t,” Happy said as they pulled into the garage. He watched curiously while Tony had to shake Peter awake in the backseat. Peter jumped awake and looked around wide-eyed. He didn’t seem to have remembered falling asleep and had no idea where he was now.

Tony assured him that he was fine, there was nothing to hurt him here, and led Peter to the elevator. Peter followed like a lost puppy, eying everything suspiciously and gripping his backpack tightly in his arms. Tony suspected that it held everything he owned and losing it would be tantamount to losing a limb.

The ride to the penthouse was short, but Peter was so tense that he looked like he might snap. Part of Tony regretted bringing the poor kid into that situation, but he felt better knowing that he wasn’t anywhere near the asshole who held a knife on him.

It was different, to say the least, that Tony was taking such an interest in Peter. He’d never offered any other homeless person a night in the penthouse. Truth be told, he’d never even thought about it, but this was different. Standing on the dimly lit street in front of Peter, who was so underweight and bruised and scared . . . It made him feel something. One might say the feelings were paternal, but Tony was sure that couldn’t be it, because he was nothing like that. At all. Zero, zilch, nada.

After that speech and that woman claiming Tony had killed her son, he felt the need to do something. Anything. He was tired of causing problems, whether he’d meant to or not, and helping Peter felt like a step in the right direction. Right here, right now, was something he could do to help someone who really needed it.

Tony was relieved when the elevator door opened. Peter looked around like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He stayed quiet, though, and Tony suspected it was because he was nervous about being around a stranger (even though he was a superhero, he was definitely still a stranger, and Peter didn’t seem to have very good luck with those).

“You can stay in the guest bedroom tonight,” Tony said, leading Peter down the hall. He explained that there was an ensuite bathroom so that he could take a shower while he was there too. Upon realizing he might not have anything else to change into, Tony quickly grabbed sweatshirt and sweatpants from his own closet. He set them on the edge of the bed and told Peter that if he needed anything to go ahead and get it.

“I don’t know if there’s much in the kitchen, but you’re welcome to it anyway. I’ll be around if you need anything,” Tony explained, leaving Peter to his own devices. Before he could close the door all the way, he heard a whispered, “Thank you.”

Peter wasted no time in grabbing the clothes from the bed and taking a shower. The warm water felt like heaven, and he washed away the weeks of dirt and sweat. After getting dressed, he discovered that the bathroom was fully stocked and brushed out the knots from his too-long hair. If there was a pair of scissors available, he might have attempted to cut it himself.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He barely recognized himself. He was so different now. Hair longer, cheekbones sharper, eyes hollower. Peter wondered what Ned would say if he could see him now. Even though he wondered, he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want Ned to see him like this.

With aching limbs and heavy eyes, Peter pulled back the comforter on the guest bed and crawled underneath them. He tried to fall asleep, but now found himself wide awake. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Exhausted day and night no matter how much or little he slept, and when faced with the possibility of getting real sleep, he isn’t tired anymore.

Typical Parker luck.

Peter stared at the ceiling of the guest room, exhausted but unable to fall asleep. It was weird. For all the nights he’d spent dreaming of sleeping in an actual bed again, he couldn’t seem to do it. He tossed and turned and adjusted the pillow and fixed the blankets, but he couldn’t get comfortable. It was like the mattress was too soft after spending so many nights sleeping on cement and old warehouse floors.

He untangled himself from the comforter and tugged it off the bed. He laid it, and one of the pillows, on the floor. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable, but it was familiar, and that was fine. Before he could fall asleep, though, he wished he had a phone to call Ned. His (former?) best friend would never believe what was happening right now. To be fair, neither did Peter, but he wasn’t going to question his luck anymore.

Right when he was about to fall asleep, Peter was jolted awake by a disembodied voice. He sat up and looked around the room wildly trying to guess where it came from.

“Are you sure that you’d like to sleep on the floor? The bed is much more comfortable,” It said with a soft Irish lilt.

“Who—who are you? Where are you?” Peter asked. The voice responded instantly.

“My name is Friday, and I run the house. I’m Mr. Stark’s AI.”

“Oh,” Peter breathed a sigh of release and settled back down into his makeshift bed. “I’m fine down here. I’m used to sleeping on the ground.”

“Okay. If there is anything you require, I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” Peter said quietly. He rolled over to face the windows, admiring the view of New York City from so high up. Despite the late hour, many of the lights were still on, their soft yellow glow illuminating the streets below. The city was pretty from a distance. Peter knew just how harsh those streets could be, though, and that killed some of the glamour for him.

Determined to get at least some sleep before he would inevitably be kicked out or turned into CPS tomorrow morning, Peter buried his face in the pillow and closed his eyes. He was lucky enough to avoid any nightmares that night, his brain too tired to torture him anymore.

Tony spent the rest of the night awake. Instead of thinking about the fact that the penthouse was completely empty, he worried about the fact that it wasn’t. As far as he knew, Peter was currently asleep (not that he’d asked Friday, that would be a complete violation of privacy). That meant it was time to figure out an action plan.

First things first, he’d have to figure out breakfast for tomorrow. Tony opened every cabinet in his kitchen and found three things: instant rice, one packet of oatmeal , and a stale box of cheerios. It wasn’t exactly great. He was Tony Stark though. Surely there was someone he could pay to grocery shop for him in the middle of the night.

Second off, this whole “You can leave in the morning.” business. Tony wasn’t sure he could let a homeless teenager back out on the streets. In fact, he was fairly sure that he couldn’t, but he couldn’t keep him here either. That would be tantamount to kidnapping. Which was illegal. No matter the motives. Tony’s only option was to broach the subject with Peter in the morning.

It wasn’t ideal, but Tony could work with that. And thirdly: there was the matter of Tony’s own sleep. He didn’t think he would get much tonight. There were more important matters to attend to. Tony made a pot of coffee and took it down to the lab where he’d be spending the rest of his night.

Oops. Tony figured he’d just try to sleep the next night.

Peter woke up the next day with the sun high in the sky. He squinted sleepily out the window and wondered aloud what time it was.

“It is nearly eleven thirty, Peter,” Friday answered. Peter jumped, nearly banging his head on the nightstand behind him. Moments later, Friday apologized for scaring him once again.

“Oh shit. I should—I need to leave,” Peter said. He scrambled to untangle himself from the comforter and stand up.

“Boss has requested that I inform you that you may stay as long as you like. And that breakfast is ready when you are.”

“Breakfast?” Peter questioned. He crossed the room to the dresser and grabbed his backpack, checking to make sure everything was still in it. Of course nobody would have stolen anything from him in Stark Tower, of all places, but habits born of the streets were hard to break.

“Yes. It’s in the kitchen; I can provide you with additional help if you need it once you’re there.”

Peter slung his backpack over his shoulder and opened the bedroom door. He took a deep breath before walking down the hallway and out into the kitchen. Peter’s eyes widened at the crazy amount of food waiting for him on the counter. There were multiple kinds of cereal, various fresh fruits, and a wide selection of pop tarts. Friday helpfully informed him that there was anything he could possibly want to drink in the fridge.

He stared at the counter for a minute, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Peter hadn’t seen that much food since . . . ever. Even when he lived with Ben and May, money had been tight. That wasn’t to say that he went hungry, just that it was different.

Tears threatened to spill at the thought of Ben and May. Peter didn’t often let himself think of them because it only made him feel worse. Selfishly, he didn’t want anything to think about to make his life harder.

Peter quickly wiped the tears away when he heard the elevator open and Mr. Stark walked out. He was wearing the same sweatshirt as last night, except it was a bit rumpled now. Peter could see the dark circles under his eyes and wondered why it looked like hadn’t even bothered trying to go to bed.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. I didn’t mean to,” Mr. Stark said. Peter shook his head.

“You didn’t,” He lied. Any loud noise or sudden movement startled him these days. Peter didn’t want to make Mr. Stark feel bad about it.

“Okay. I hope you like at least some of the stuff I had an intern pick up this morning, but if you don’t, we can order something else.”

Peter wasn’t sure how to respond. He was so out of his comfort zone. And now that he’d finally slept properly, he was hyperaware of it. Instead of responding, he grabbed an apple and took a bite. He ate it faster than humanly possible, afraid that if he looked away it would disappear. Once he’d started eating, it felt like he couldn’t stop. It had been so long since he’d eaten anything real or fresh.

Mr. Stark didn’t try to talk to him again until Peter was finished eating nearly twenty-five minutes later.

“We need to talk about last night,” He said. Peter’s heart raced as he faced the fact that he would probably get put back into the system.

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Just—please don’t send me back. I can’t go back to Skip or anyone else—”

“Who is Skip?” Mr. Stark interrupted.

“He was one of my foster parents. Everyone thinks he’s really great but . . . he isn’t,” Peter’s voice trailed off near the end. He didn’t want to think about Skip or the things he’d done. It made his blood boil to think people still thought he was a saint.

Mr. Stark’s expression shifted from confusion to understanding to pity. Peter didn’t want his pity, but if it meant not going back, he would take it.

“I won’t make you go back, but I don’t feel comfortable letting you back out onto the streets. What if you get hurt?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve made it this far—”

“—and you almost got stabbed last night—”

“I’ll be fine! I’ll be fine, I promise. And nobody knows that you know me, anyway, so if something did happen it’s not like you would be responsible,” Peter argued. He wondered if he could just leave or if the AI would try to stop him.

Mr. Stark sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t force you to stay here, that would be kidnapping.”

“I promise I won’t cause any trouble if you let me leave. I just . . . I can’t go back. I’m not doing any of that again.”

“Okay,’ Mr. Stark said, making a decision he would most definitely regret later. “But I want you to take this.”

Mr. Stark handed Peter something that looked suspiciously like a burner phone. Peter looked between it and him, waiting for an explanation.

“I’ll let you go and not turn you into CPS on the condition that if you need something, you’ll call,” Mr. Stark explained. Peter nodded. He already knew that he wouldn’t use it, but he just needed to leave. Once he’d disappeared for a few weeks, Mr. Stark would forget all about him. That was okay. That was what Peter wanted.

It was better for both of them that way.

Peter had managed to find a job only a couple weeks later. He took the morning shift at a corner store in Queens cleaning and stocking shelves. It was only a few hours and didn’t pay much, but it was enough for Peter to get by on. He’d had to lie about his age, and Peter was fairly sure the owner (Mr. Delmar) didn’t believe him, but he didn’t ask questions and that worked fine for the both of them.

“Stay safe out there,” Mr. Delmar said as Peter was leaving for the day. Peter nodded with a smile. It was rare that he smiled genuinely these days, but he didn’t have to fake it with Mr. Delmar. He was a kind person—one of the only ones Peter had encountered—and it was hard to not be sincere with him.

“I will. See you tomorrow,” Peter responded, stepping out into the warm summer day. He was thinking about heading to the park later to kill some time before figuring out where to spend the night, but first, it was laundry day.

Since getting a job, Peter actually had enough money to take his clothes to a local laundromat once a week. He was thankful; it was one of the things that made him feel more like a real person again. Not only that, but he’d also been able to afford a few extra t-shirts that hadn’t become stained or had holes.

See, Mr. Stark? I told you I’d be just fine.

There were a lot of things Tony could honestly say he’d never expected to do. Signing up for foster parent training because of a homeless kid he met two weeks ago was one of them. Ever since he’d let Peter just . . . leave, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. The poor kid had obviously been through so much. Tony understood what it felt like to have no one left in your corner.

(He wished he’d been rested enough to argue more, to make a better decision, but you can’t change the past.)

So now, Tony was sitting on the couch with his tablet and scrolling through the requirements of being a foster parent. There were some he’d probably be able to get around, but one that he couldn’t was the training.

In order to become a foster parent, the applicant must complete thirty hours of training or a home study with a licensed professional.

Below that was a link to sign up for a class, and before he knew it, Tony had put all of his information in and been given a place and a time to be there.

Happy would say this was crazy. But when aliens and gods were your normal, who really knew what crazy was anymore?

It wasn’t often that people came up to Peter on the street, and even less often that someone gave him something. But that Monday afternoon, while Peter was waiting at the crosswalk, an old lady came up to him asking for directions.

Peter pointed her in the right direction easily (He knew Queens like the back of his hand), and instead of thanking him and leaving, she asked him where he was headed. Peter shrugged.

“Nowhere, really.” He told her.

“Well, if you don’t have anywhere to be, I know a place a few blocks over that has good churros. As a thank you,” She said. Peter looked at her curiously. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” She laughed. Without really knowing why, Peter decided to go with her. It wasn’t like he had somewhere to be or anything to do. And a churro did sound really good. I don’t think I’ve had one of those since Ned and I went to that street fair last year.

Peter would have been content to walk in silence, but the old lady (who’s name he learned was Ingrid Johansson) was a very talkative person. She asked all manor of questions, to what his favorite color was to why he was out and about in the city today.

He didn’t mind answering her questions, and in turn asking some himself. Peter learned that Ingrid’s family was originally from Europe, but they’d immigrated when she was a teenager. He also learned that her favorite color was blue (which they had in common).

Peter found himself disappointed when they’d finally parted ways. Company was nice, and he’d forgotten how much he’d missed it.

Tony stepped into the penthouse around eight o’clock and wanted to do nothing more than take off his tie and fall on the couch. The class itself wasn’t that hard, especially not for a genius like him, but he hadn’t been able to sleep in ages. Tony felt like he was falling down the rabbit hole of crazy with no one to catch him.

“Where were you?” Pepper asked from the couch, making Tony jump. His entire body went tense before he realized it was Pepper and that he wasn’t in any danger.

“Hello to you too,” Tony replied. “Would you care to tell me why you’re sitting in my house in the dark?”

Pepper frowned at the reminder that she no longer lived here. Tony wish he had it in him to feel bad about his comment, but he didn’t. rabbit hole to crazy, and all that.

“I’m here because you need to sign these documents. I didn’t imagine having to wait for two hours for you to show up, though. Where did you go?”

Tony sighed and looked Pepper in the eyes. He didn’t even have it in him to lie about where he was

“I was at a foster parent class,” He said, smiling without any warmth. Even across the room in the dark he could see the look Pepper was giving him. Tony was convinced that she might yell at him.

“Why? This isn’t like you at all,” Pepper is, and somehow isn’t, wrong. Tony doesn’t want to admit it, and he definitely doesn’t want to explain. She wouldn’t get it. She wasn’t there. And then, as if she thinks she knows, her face falls.

“Oh, Tony. You can’t adopt a kid. They aren’t playthings.”

“Obviously, I know that!” Tony couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice.

“You can’t use them—”

“To what? Fill the holes that you and the Avengers left in my life? To occupy my time? I fucking know that Pepper. Don’t act like I don’t understand that.”

Pepper simply stares at Tony, the stack of unsigned documents forgotten in her lap. Tony could tell that she wanted to argue back with him, but if they’re failed relationship taught her anything, it was that an argument with Tony Stark was useless.

Too bad for her, Tony wasn’t done yet.

“You left me, remember? That means you don’t get to pass judgement on my choices anymore. I’m a fucking adult, Pepper, I can take care of myself and make my own decisions.”

Tony sighed and walked down the hall to his bedroom. Maybe tonight would be a great time to try and sleep again. God knew he needed it.

Peter sat on a bench in Battery Park overlooking the river. It was a sunny Saturday in August, the kind of day you would dream about in the middle of winter. Some of the local college students had spread out blankets and were already beginning their reading for the semester. Peter watched them sadly. He’d wanted to go to college. He’d had lofty dreams of going to MIT or maybe even Yale.

Of course that had never been realistic, the tuition was too high, but Peter had hopes that he could maybe get a scholarship or two. But now . . . Peter didn’t think he’d even finish high school. Maybe in a few years, when he was able to get a stable job and have time to study, he’d take the test and earn his GED.

A few years. Am I really going to do this for a few years? Peter thought that sounded so exhausting. What was the point of all of this, then? He’d run away because the things that happened with Skip were just . . . too much. To handle, to go through, to think about. But now, realizing his dreams had been dashed, Peter started considering going back into the system. It would be harder now with his record of being moved around and running away.

He might go through all that trouble just to end up somewhere worse. If Peter was being honest, he hadn’t thought about all this stuff before he’d run away in the middle of the night. He hadn’t considered where he’d sleep, or how he’d earn money, or whether he’d ever be able to finish high school. If he had, he might not have done it. It was horrible to think about staying with Skip for three more years . . . but then he could have left it all behind. Could have graduated, gone to college, gotten a job and moved wherever he’d have liked to go.

Now he felt stuck. It seemed that every option he had was bad, and he didn’t want to chance picking any of them.

Tony decided to paint the guest bedroom. Well, he decided to redo the entire thing really, but painting it was the first step. So, on that Saturday afternoon, Tony found himself roaming the aisles of a small hardware store. There were so many paint chips and colors to choose from. Right now the walls in the guest room were painted a light grey, but that seemed so impersonal.

One of the blue swatches caught Tony’s eye. It was a deep blue labelled as English Navy. Did Peter like blue? Probably. Everyone liked blue. Tony grabbed the swatch and added it to his basket. He’d already picked up painters’ tape, plastic sheeting, and enough paint rollers to redo the entire penthouse (which now that he was technically retired, he might do).

Soon enough, he’d been checked out and started setting up to paint. He’d already dismantled and moved all the furniture and decorations out of the guest room and into the living room. The entire place was a mess, but Tony was the only one around to see it and he didn’t care.

Since everything had already been moved out, Tony set to work lining the baseboards and trim with painter’s tape. It was tedious and time consuming, but with a good playlist playing in the background, Tony didn’t mind doing it. After nearly thirty minutes of taping and laying out the plastic sheeting on the hardwood floor, he was ready to paint.

The navy went over the grey well enough, but he did two coats just to be sure. He had little else to do since Pepper hadn’t sent any more documents over and Ross hadn’t sent the newest round of Accords amendments over.

Pepper’s words replayed in Tony’s mind while he worked. You can’t adopt a kid. They aren’t playthings.

I know they aren’t playthings. Tony thought back angrily. I’m just trying to do something good. So what if I can’t help the whole world, why does that mean I shouldn’t try?

Peter woke up that night not ten minutes after he’d managed to fall asleep. There was a sharp pain in his neck, and he briefly wondered if someone was holding him at knifepoint. It wouldn’t be the first time. Once he’d determined there was no immediate danger, he dug around in his backpack for a small mirror he’d bought a few weeks ago at a corner store. (He’d needed it for his attempt to cut his hair—let’s just say it didn’t go as well as he’d have liked.)

He held up the mirror, catching the streetlight on its surface to illuminate himself. He checked the source of the sharp pain and found two small bite marks. The skin around them already looked inflamed, and Peter cursed. He leaned back against the brick wall and sighed. Peter could only hope that the spider—or whatever it was—wasn’t poisonous.

After shoving the mirror back into the depths of his bag, Peter closed his eyes once more. It was difficult to fall asleep with the lingering pain, but somehow, he did. This didn’t last long, however, before Peter woke up once more and in considerably more pain. He was sweating despite the cool September night, and every cell in his body felt like it was on fire.

This is it, Peter thought. And then, as if the realization hitting him, I’m going to die here. I’m going to die in a back alley all alone and no one will ever find me.

Tears pooled in his eyes, and it was only seconds before they spilled over. A sharp wave of pain rolled through his body, as if it flowed through his veins like blood, and Peter cried out. He couldn’t believe that one person could feel so much pain without dying. It didn’t make any sense.

If you’d asked him, Peter would have told you that it felt like his body was being ripped apart and stitched back together. He couldn’t find any better explanations for the liquid fire flowing through his veins.

“Ple—please,” He tried to call out, but his voice came out as nothing more than a hoarse whisper. His throat felt like sandpaper. “I—I’m back here.”

One thought popped into his muddled brain: the phone. Mr. Stark’s words echoed through his mind, “One call, I’ll be there.”

Peter reached out for his backpack. The phone was in the front pocket; all he had to do was reach it. Come on, Peter, you can do it.

By some small miracle, he’d been able to grab the phone. There was only contact programmed in it, and Peter dialed it. The call went through to voice mail.

“Sorry I didn’t answer the phone. Everyone knows I like to sit and watch the line blink. Unless this is Secretary Ross, in which case I’m not sorry I didn’t answer.”

Peter screamed in frustration. It came out as more of a growl, but the sentiment was still the same. Tears rolled down his face and fell on the pavement below. There was no one else to call. There was nowhere else to go.

I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die—

A funny ringing noise caught Peter’s attention. It sounded like a phone, but it couldn’t be. He didn’t have one of those.

“Why is everything so dark?” Peter wondered aloud. Nothing, nothing, nothing. That’s all he could see. And that funny ringing noise wouldn’t go away. Peter wished someone would turn it off. It was starting to hurt his head. The rest of his body hurt, too, but in a distant way. Like all of the pain was happening to someone else.

Peter’s eyes opened a moment later, and he laughed to himself. It had been dark because his eyes were closed! Peter Parker had solved the great mystery of the great nothingness. Up next: could he solve the case of the mysterious ringing noise.

He looked around for the source of the noise and discovered that it was coming from a phone. Just then he remembered that he did have a phone. It was the one Iron Man had given to him! Peter reached out for it and grabbed it easily. He somehow pressed the answer button and held the phone close to his ear.

“Peter, are you okay?” Asked a concerned voice. Peter shook his head. He didn’t feel okay at all. Everything felt all fuzzy around the edges.

“Peter? Hello?”

“Sorry,” Peter said. He’d forgotten that the person on the other end of the line couldn’t see him.

“What are you sorry for? Are you hurt?”

“I think so . . . Somethin’ bit me earlier. It hurt real bad. But it doesn’t feel that bad now. Maybe it’s over.”

“What’s over? Where are you?”

“My body felt like it was on fire earlier,” Peter explained. The person on the other end of the line asked where he was again.

“I think I’m dead. Is this what dying feels like? Everything hurts real bad and then suddenly . . . it doesn’t anymore?”

“Stay where you are, Peter. I’m coming to get you.”

“Might be too late,” Peter slurred. The other person assured him it wasn’t, and he heard an engine start in the background.

“I need you to stay on the line with me. Can you do that, Peter?”

Peter nodded, then said yes. He could do that. It didn’t require that much effort, really. Slowly, his field of vision faded, and with it, his consciousness.

When Tony woke up in the middle of the night to a missed call from Peter (only ten minutes prior, but still), he cursed himself for not waking up when the phone rang. He also cursed Friday for not waking him up when the phone was ringing.

“Did he leave a message?” Tony asked, sitting up and trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“No, sir. Would you like to call him back?”

“Yes,” He replied immediately. Tony grabbed his phone from the night stand and immediately pulled up Peter’s contact. He finally calls after months of not answering me, and I was asleep. What are the chances? Lord knows I’m never asleep anymore.

Tony waited anxiously while the line rang. When it went through to voicemail, he called again. This time Peter answered on the fifth ring. Tony instantly asked if Peter was okay and received no answer. After asking again Peter apologized. He sounded dazed, at the very least. Had somebody drugged him? Oh my god—

“Where are you? Are you hurt?” Before Peter could even answer, Tony was out of bed and getting dressed. Peter clearly needed help.

“I think so . . . Somethin’ bit me earlier. It hurt real bad. But it doesn’t feel that bad now. Maybe it’s over.”

Over? Tony asked once again where the kid was, but he wouldn’t answer that question. Instead he started rambling about being on fire and dying and . . . The words made Tony’s blood run cold. Was Peter dying? That thought sent him into overdrive, and before he knew it, he was running through the garage to the closest car.

Tony ordered Peter to stay on the line with him while he tracked the phone. He didn’t feel great putting a tracker in the phone all those months ago, but he didn’t feel great about a lot of the things he did. Besides, now it was coming in handy, and he didn’t have time to regret doing it at the moment.

Peter soon went quiet. Tony said his name several times to try and grab his attention, but there was no reply.

“Fuck,” He said, pushing down on the gas pedal. He was twenty minutes away from Peter’s location. The drive felt more like an hour because of his panic. Somehow, though, he made it. He slammed the door shut behind him and started looking around.

He was in the business sector of Manhattan, and this late at night, there weren’t many people out other than him. That was good because between the worry and the “I think I’m dying,” Tony hadn’t grabbed anything to disguise his identity.

“Peter!” Tony called out, looking around. When he was sure that he wasn’t on the main street, he started turning down alleyways. Most of them were quiet and filled with boxes and garbage. He found Peter down the fourth alley. Tony would have tripped over him in the dark—or missed him entirely—if he hadn’t heard the crying.

Peter was curled up on the ground, looking so impossibly small. Tears streamed down his face, presumably from pain, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. His belongings in his backpack were strewn around him.

“Did someone try to rob you?” Tony asked, kneeling down beside him. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled cry. As far as Tony could tell, there weren’t any open wounds or indicators of assault.

Deciding that he could worry about the why or how later, Tony carefully scooped Peter off the ground and carried him towards the car. His skin was icy to the touch.

“Everything is going to be okay,” Tony whispered soothingly as he gently buckled Peter into the backseat. Peter didn’t say anything until Tony tried to close the car door. He looked back towards the alley and tried to force out the words, “Please don’t leave it.”

Immediately understanding what he meant, Tony ran back and gathered up Peter’s stuff. He also managed to call Cho and ask her to be at the Tower as soon as possible. She sounded as if she’d been asleep but didn’t seem bothered by the call. It wasn’t often that Tony Stark called her in the middle of the night sounding so concerned, and she assumed it must be very serious if it warranted her attention.

Peter looked to be in bad condition, and it broke Tony’s heart every time he tried to say something from the backseat and couldn’t. At one point he started tugging at his seatbelt and saying, “It’s too much, everything is too much.”

“I’m sorry, kid. We’ll be back soon, okay? Then we can give you the good stuff,” Tony said. He spent more time glancing in the rearview mirror than watching the road, but soon enough (not fast enough for Peter or Tony) they made it back to the Tower. Cho was already waiting for them by the elevator.

If Cho was curious as to why Tony suddenly had a teenager, she didn’t let it show. She simply led them to the medbay. Once Peter had been given the appropriate amount of morphine and drifted off, Cho asked Tony what had happened to him.

“I have no idea,” Tony told her honestly. “On the phone he said something about being bit, but I don’t know by what.”

“Does he have any allergies? That could explain the fever,” She asked in return. Tony shook his head.

“I have no idea. Truthfully, I don’t know much about him at all. I met him a few months ago on the streets. I just . . . Please help him.”

“I’ll do my best,” Cho assured him. “You know I will.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, Tony. But you should get some rest while I run a few tests. You’ll need it later.”

“I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to right now. Besides, I think it’s better that I stay here. He doesn’t know you and I don’t want him to freak out when he wakes up.”

Cho nodded. “Of course.”

Peter wakes up only thirty minutes later. The world is fuzzy around the edges to him, a clue that maybe what he’s seeing isn’t real. Of course it isn’t real, his brain told him, Last time we were awake, we were in an alley. Now we’re in a hospital.

Peter watched the world around him, vaguely aware of the pain. It was drifting ever closer to him, becoming sharper and sharper. Closer, closer, closer, until the pain was upon him in greater magnitude than it had been before.

He clenched his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, wishing for the pain to pass. It didn’t, and Peter distantly realized that he’d begun to cry.

Please make it stop, please make it stop, please make it stop—

“I’m trying, but we can’t figure out what’s wrong with you just yet,” Said a calming voice. Peter couldn’t force his eyes open long enough to figure out who’d said it. The voice was familiar to him in some way, yet softer than he’d remembered hearing it before.

“Is there anything you can give him?” The voice asked, the softness gone and replaced by worry. A second voice, a woman, answered.

“Not until I figure out why he burned through the last dose. I don’t want to risk him overdosing. I’m going to need to do some bloodwork,” She answered. Were they talking about him? Peter thought they were, but then again, he wasn’t sure of anything right now. Everything hurt and he just wanted it to stop.

“No,” Peter rasped. It was nearly impossible to force the words out. Tears started falling faster, and he wished everything would stop. He didn’t want pain and he definitely didn’t want needles. He could barely sit through getting his shots for school.

There was silence for a moment, and then someone ran a hand through Peter’s matted curls. Something in the back of his mind told him it was the same person that the first voice belonged to. Peter also distantly knew that the gesture was supposed to be soothing, placating, but it made everything worse.

“Ben, please don’t make me,” Peter cried. That’s who the voice must belong to. Who else would do this for me?

Another pause, and then, “I’m sorry, kiddo, but we have to do this. I promise after that it won’t hurt so terribly.”

Peter shook his head. Ben, please don’t make me.

“It’ll only take a minute,” The woman assured him. Peter still couldn’t—or didn’t want to—open his eyes. But if Ben said it would make him feel better . . . he could do it. Ben wouldn’t lie to him.

Peter did his best to stay still, but in the end, someone had to hold him down long enough for the blood to be drawn. In truth, it wasn’t that terrible, but everything was relative. Needles didn’t hurt as bad as feeling like your body was on fire.

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Ben asked. Peter didn’t answer because he’d already slipped back into unconsciousness.

When Peter woke next, nothing hurt, but everything was different. He felt different. Even though the room was dark, he could see almost perfectly. He didn’t recognize it—it was different from the hospital he’d thought he’d been in—but it felt familiar. The walls were a deep shade of blue and smelled freshly painted. That was another thing; Peter felt like he could smell everything. The detergent on the sheets (lavender), the hand soap in the bathroom (vanilla), and something being cooked in the kitchen (burnt).

“Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark that you have woken up?” Friday asked. Peter realized that he must be in the tower if Friday was talking to him . . . but when had he gotten there? How would he have made it from the hospital to there?

“Sure,” Peter answered hesitantly. He didn’t know what to expect from this situation. He didn’t know what had been wrong before, but he was all better now, so he would probably tell him to leave. That was fine . . . Peter would find somewhere to go. Even though he woke up not five minutes ago, he knew he couldn’t stay forever. That would be unrealistic.

A minute later Mr. Stark walked in, closing the door behind him quietly. He left the lights off, but Peter didn’t mind. He could see just fine, after all. Mr. Stark sat near the edge of the bed and cleared his throat before speaking.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Or should I say night?” He said, checking his watch. “It is just after midnight. But that’s not important. How do you feel?”

“I feel . . . weird,” Peter said honestly. He could hear the ticking of Mr. Stark’s watch. Since when could he do that?

“How so? Should I go get painkillers?”

“No. Nothing hurts. I just feel different.”

Mr. Stark looked at Peter like he was expecting him to go on. Peter didn’t want to tell him what felt different, though, because then he’d come across as crazy and get sent to a mental hospital.

“I’m going to sound crazy,” He said. Mr. Stark chuckled.

“Kid, I’ve dealt with terrorists, aliens, killer robots . . . Crazy isn’t even in my dictionary anymore. And besides that, I need to know so that Cho can check it out. She’s the doctor,” Mr. Stark added when Peter looked confused.

“Okay . . . I can see almost perfectly even though it’s dark in here. And I can smell everything and hear everything—it feels like my senses have been dialed up to eleven.”

“Do you want me to soundproof the room?”

“Why?”

“. . . To make you more comfortable,” Tony said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Peter and him were clearly on different wave lengths.

“Am I staying?” Peter asked, worried about the answer. He knew he’d have to leave . . . but he didn’t want to. It was warm and dry and there wasn’t a chance he’d be murdered in his sleep.

“Yeah, if you’re okay with that,” Mr. Stark searched Peter’s face for any indication of his answer. He wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t know what to do if Peter said no.

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not, and you wouldn’t be. If you want to stay here I can have the paperwork signed by tomorrow morning, no questions asked,” Mr. Stark said. And then, “I took classes on being a foster parent. This room would be yours, actually. I didn’t know what color you’d like, but everyone likes blue, right? I mean, if you don’t, we can always paint it something different—”

Peter couldn’t help the tears that came. He didn’t want to cry. He really didn’t. But Mr. Stark was the first person to care since Ben and May died. Nobody he’d stayed with had bothered to ask if he wanted to be there, or what color he wanted his room to be, or even how he felt.

But here was Mr. Stark, who’d asked him all of those things, and had even taken classes so that he didn’t have to go back into the system.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m pretty sure rule number one of being a foster parent is not making the kid cry—”

“It’s not bad,” Peter assured him, using the back of his hand to wipe away his tears, “Nobody’s really bothered to ask me what I want since my aunt and uncle died. Nobody’s cared since then. I just kind of forgot what it felt like.”

“Oh . . . Do you want to stay here then? You don’t have to feel pressured, I won’t be offended if you say no.”

“I—I do want to stay here,” Peter said quietly. Despite Mr. Stark’s reassurances, he was afraid that he’d take the offer back.

“I’ll call the social worker later and get everything worked out. If you’re hungry I can make something for you, or if you’d rather go back to sleep that’s fine too. Cho will be up here later to check on you. There’s some stuff we need to discuss.”

“Dinner sounds nice,” Peter smiled. It would take some getting used to, of course, but maybe the new normal wouldn’t be so bad.

#peter parker #tony stark #peter parker and tony stark #irondad fandom #irondad #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #spiderman #spider-man #spider man #iron man

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blindtaleteller · 4 years

Text

GROUNDED: Favorite (ouch) exerpts : Ch. 5 - Youth

“ Something, happened. “

“ Question is what.. “ from Clint was in business mode and leaned in closer behind him to try and keep it between them. Not that it would last long, with the crowd. “ ..isn’t that his doctor? The one that met us at the bridge? “ That, took Tony’s eyes further back down the great hall; and her appearance drew his brows together on his own face. Skirts up in her hands and running; straight for Thor when she saw him. Completely unlike Eir. Distraught. Almost a little panicked and, nearly out of breath: as though she had run all the way from Loki’s halls. “ Uhm.. maybe we should head over. “ from Natasha as the noise of the crowd picked up from that end. Sending the creeping feeling that much more securely up his spine.

“ ...yeah. “ wasn’t even fully out of his mouth before Thor and not just one; but every honor guard in the room started making the way she’d come at a similar run: and Eir raised her hand spotting them “ Anthony! “ she had to breathe, between after the run. “ It’s Loki! “ putting a stop on his heart and a thundering explosion of conversation to a start around him. He was moving without the need for another word. “Just him! We’re trying but.. “ and he was past her, making a full sprint for his Jaded Hall. He knew she was trying to be right behind him after that. Heard the sound of her footsteps as heavy on the tiles as his were, but faltering a bit.. Likely from the tire of the run just prior.

His head was in the worst possible places when he came down it. Passing not just his usual guard but the presence of most of Odin’s personal guard as well. Buzzing by twice the extra faces, spears and shields. The door to Lolo’s bedroom feeling too far away as he saw through the doors that had been left open and almost into the one beyond it, where one guard was leaning, trying to get a view of whatever was in there.

He had to slow down once he got to the sitting room door, he knew: if he wasn’t going to bowl past it and into the bed or anyone else inside. As it was, he very nearly ran straight into Iona; spooking her a little out of a look to somber for him to like it at all. “ How is he? “ the first thing breathed hard out of his mouth from the run. Tony knew it sounded more demand than question, and took a few more breaths before taking her shoulders, forcing himself to be gentle with the freckled brunette and starting to move her aside. “ I’m sorry.. Sorry, Iona. Just.. I can’t take this roller coaster right now okay? Just tell me. “ He could hear other footsteps, a little slower, a little less quick, from the hall. A glance: Eir had fallen behind. “ Ser, I.. you must be quiet, please.. “

That didn’t help, and she snatched his arms; careful but firm. Caught his eyes from the turn they were making into that bedroom. “ He sleeps. “ okay and that calmed him for a moment until she said “ Again. “ in that particular way. With that particular look. “ My lady will.. Ser. Go in. My lady will explain what she can, when she joins you. “

He felt like the floor was crumbling out from under him. More so as he turned that way, and she the other; probably with the intent to meet Eir there in the foyer. It was quiet, but and as he came in, he could hear Thor’s tones. His eyes were stuck on that bed though. On the man who, had just the day before yesterday been smiling at and joking with him. He had, still looked frail in his sleep. Frail, but well; yes, beautiful. Still did right then. If not for the differences in stillness he’d come to recognize and even fear a little he might have expected him to just turn his head and yawn before sitting up. Dark hair against ivory pillows, against the near shade of his skin. The weight he’d lost though it didn’t seem as much when he was animated? That much more noticeable. “ ...you must have known how he would react, father; why? Why would press this, now ; when you know he is not fully recovered? Eir, and Iona, and every healer from the waters had warned us. You knew-- “

“ I thought I might reach through to him with reason. “ Fingers laid out over the quilt on either side. The monitor slipped back into place at the end of one. “ That perhaps, he might see the futility of such attachments, where they lie now. “ Futility..? “ That he would take even into better consideration his own health, for that matter. Take the offer; to mend his place here, with us. “ The place you sent him out from not even in chains, but with chains in him? “ With his family; his own people. I was wrong. “

“ Didn’t stop though, did you. “ was the sentence that made it out of his mouth. “ You pressed. Kept pressing. Didn’t you? Because the king’s got to have his way; whether it hurts or kills the people around him in the worst of ways; isn’t that right? “ His eyes tore up the space between where he was on that bed, and where Thor and his father stood, nearer the window. Thor… actually surprised him a little in that he had a hold of his father’s coat at the front, was letting go of the bunching, white knuckled grip when he did. “ He said something once, about the last time you lost your temper at him; really lost it. It hit me just now; that’s what the feeling is I get from you. That’s what feels so wrong, about you. That he felt that every word and look told him things he should’ve seen coming a few ages later. That he was happy and found it elsewhere, so you would not be until that happiness was in ashes if it wasn’t in your hands. “

“ Stark, you do not know what-- “

“ Thor, leave us. “ cut thunder britches short. “ And take the guard with you. To the hall proper. “ allowed no interruption in the staring contest they were having, or for argument. “ I needs have words , with young Anthony. Tell others; until such a time as the King leaves his son’s hall: none but Eir and her apprentice are to set foot within. “

“ Father, Tony does not-- “

“ Do I: make myself, clear? “ was almost growled at him, breaking briefly from his daggered gaze at Tony to ask Thor as a warning. “ Or, is there need to call Rorkin into these rooms to take you in hand: rather than vice versa? “

And that was that. Just the slightest hesitation, and Thor was on his way out without another word; the weight of his admonishment and more dragging behind him. Kicked puppy, just didn’t cover it. “ Close the doors, on your way out. “ just as stony, though; as the old goat started to consider a seat on the windowsill, he did have the forethought to gentle it a bit. “ I’ve no want for our conversation to become a public affair. “

The door shut. Tony heard a conversation. Eir. Asking the big guy to go out with Iona,find their friends. To take them aside and explain what had happened. Odin met his eyes with the one he had left. Up through his brow and all but expressionless. He wondered briefly, if he could see the seething cold hate that was splintering up in him; while they waited for the blast radius to clear. There wasn’t another word for it. And he was tempted; really, terribly, frighteningly tempted: to forget about the repulsors. Jolt forward. And shove the twisted old bastard back first out the open window behind him with his own two hands.

He had to look away, just thinking it. If he did that; he couldn’t say who he was with certainty if, he did. And if he couldn’t.. He didn’t know who Lolo would wake to; but it wouldn’t be the same. For that, for him and for everyone else who mattered in his life.. The satisfaction wouldn’t be had. Focus on the man he’d come here for. Kept, coming here for.

He was alive. There was that. But they’d had that conversation too, him and Eir. The possibilities and examples of how long, he could be like this. “ You just.. Couldn’t leave it be. Could you? “ snapped out the moment he heard the deeper in double click.The outermost door closing behind Odin’s blooded son.

“ You don’t know him as I do. Nor will you ever, truly. He may, recover.. largely in part because of you. Especially you; Anthony. “ Tony thought he heard a sound at the door, but ignored it in favor of trying not, to give into the back and forth pulse of rage. “ But in the end; if I let him go: if he lived out this fantasy, what then? “

“ How we’re connected, is more than a fantasy. And you know it. If it weren’t; you wouldn’t be nearly as threatened by how close we are now. “

“ You’re right. “ Pulled Tony’s head back a little, maybe more so for the repeat in a much more gentle tone. “ You are, right. “ surprised him, just a little. But he was weary enough of Odin by now not to let his guard down. And the firmness in his words was back, though the softer tones were weaving into them with what Odin said next. “ A very smart man.. and yet you miss the point. You are what.. forty? Fifty at most? Charging, towards the beginning of the end of your prime. While, at thirty or forty times your years; Loki, has barely begun the first steps into his. “

“ Thirty five point seven, actually. “ raised the old man’s brow. “ Times, my age. So. This is where it came from. “

“ I beg your pardon? “ It wasn’t funny, how the old man had just; pulled that almost-fistfight right back up in Tony’s mind, clear as day. Fresh as if it had been yesterday.

“ When we came to collect your other kid? His girlfriend, and you know: stop the-- “ a hand waved off towards the ceiling. “ --elves? I got stuck sitting in on a very similar argument between brothers. I didn’t agree with it then. Broke my heart hearing it, actually. Here he was, this guy; alive as he was, all the joy --even as twisted-sweet as it’d turned out-- all , the joy to give when he.. doesn’t even try? And you what? Thumped into his head the idea that .. because some lives are shorter than yours, he should ignore them? Not cherish what he gets while he’s got it? “

And okay. All right, so that rage was.. Flipping into something else. And even though he had finally caught his breath after that dead run: it felt like it was still coming up short. “ How dare you. “ He opened his mouth, and Tony had to drive it in again. “ How, fucking dare you ; sir. “

“ You would rather that light were snuffed out watching you die? “ did, put a little skip to his thoughts. “ Mm. Yes. That. Even if you do not, die in battle; what. You would have him watch you wither, and age, and fall into weakness before death? “ He had nothing to that. How could he still have nothing for that? “ And, you know him yes? His passion. His greed too I think, keeping hold of everything he decides is his. Tell me, Anthony.. what would he turn to, before allowing that to happen? “

And … wasn’t that a thought. But worse was that he was able to pick out the immediate next in Tony’s. “ I think young man, that even those outside might be able to guess that the better question would be; what wouldn’t he , do? “

“ Nothing. “ Nothing, except: looking over at him right then? He couldn’t buy it. “ There’s not a damned thing, he wouldn’t do to keep what’s his, on his own. Not when it comes to what matters ; but? “ Odin’s eye almost narrowed on him. He took a deep breath, and just .. let it go. Looked right back. Made sure he saw it. “ He’s not on his own. Not any more. “

Eir chose that silent challenging moment to come in; closing the door quietly behind her. “ I suppose, not. Lady Eir. “

And Tony needed to know, in the interim. “ How’s he doing? “

But the thing was; she didn’t answer. At all. His eyes had shifted back to Loki; when Odin had addressed her. The quiet though; pulled his head her way at a slow tug. More for the warning bells going off. Most men in a relationship know the kind. Well probably at least some women too, he thought. The ones where, you can’t see it; but feel the risings of a person’s temper so sharply once it’s in the room that, you just know when you look, that at least half of actual hell is about to break loose, and you’re pretty much dead if you get in it’s way? Yeah. That kind of warning bell.

And when he did look? If he thought the stare-down between him and the old goat had been bad? Nah, no comparison..

And that, was when Tony realized he was pretty much still in the ‘dead zone.’ And almost immediately took a step back, and then to the side. Because and hells if he didn’t have the experience; it was the nice, classy, and kind ones that saved it all up for a proper nuclear explosion when they got really pissed.

“ Well? How is, he? “ was, not what he was expecting the same. Especially not from Loki’s physician? “ The boy can see for himself. “

“ Mm! I have eyes in my head as well. I know very well how I left this room; and this was not, out of all things what I expected to return to. “ only sort of confused Stark a little more...

Read All of Chapter Five on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158483/chapters/64297735

#thinking about this one today #tony mad #Mixology #Lokiverse #GROUNDED #tony stark #frostiron #loki #loki x tony #tony x loki #frostiron fanfiction #pansexual characters #bisexual characters #angst

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milstrim · 4 years

Text

All That Mattered

Day 31: Left for Dead

It was cold, but it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter in the harshly cold bunker where he lay, still hunched, his suit sparking and fritzing. He didn't know how long he'd been there, burn marks on the wall and a broken shield glinting in front of him, but he didn't really care much. Because Steve had known. Steve had known that Barnes had killed his mom. He'd known and he hadn't told him. He'd known and he'd defended Barnes. Tony and Steve had never been the closest of friends, but after everything...

The broken hero closed his eyes in distress, grimacing at the pain. He needed to get home, but a quick glance at his arc reactor proved just how difficult that would be. Thank Odin or whatever he'd had that surgery, or else he'd be dead already, but his suit definitely wasn't going to be working anytime soon. If he could ever get up, he was sure he could fix it and fly home, that was, if he could ever get up. His bones felt too cold to even wiggle a toe.

Tony closed his eyes, still not moving and sure he wouldn't be able to get himself to move for the cold, when he heard a scuffle, followed by a gasp. A familiar gasp. His eyes snapped open, and he blinked furiously to make out the blurry red figure making its way towards him.

"-ark? Mr. Stark!" Penny Parker called, and he felt a jolt of fear rush through him. What was she doing here? How had she gotten here? She knelt down beside him, her face scrunched up in worry as she looked over his trashed suit frantically, "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. That cat guy was leaving on this weird plane and I tried to sneak on but he caught me and he invited me to come with him and we dealt with that weird guy outside and he left with him. I said I'd just come and find you and you could fly, I should've--"

"Stop talking," he rasped, suddenly finding it in himself to sit up, grunting at his ribs. Penny shut up immediately, her jaw clicking audibly. He glared at her, "What the hell are you doing here? I told you you were done. You could've gotten hurt. You can get hurt. The suit can't fly us out of here!"

"I'm sorry," she said again, "I don't know, I just wanted to help. Wasn't...wasn't that why you brought me here?"

Tony cursed himself for bringing her to Germany at all. For dragging her into this and for assuming a kid who had taken up a vigilante lifestyle would ever listen to him. He was angry. He was betrayed. He was tired. And he took it out on Penny.

"No. You were supposed to help in Germany, not for you to follow me around. Where was Happy? I swear one day I'm just going to kick him to the curb. First the elevator and then--"

"Don't blame him! I have super senses, it's easy to sneak away!" Penny protested, looking incredibly upset at the idea of him firing Happy. Of course, he never would, but the kid didn't know that. Still, he only responded with an irritated look.

Tony stood up, stumbling to his feet. Penny tried to help him up by putting an arm on his shoulder, but he shook her off roughly, "The arc reactor's been trashed. There might be enough material here to patch it up, which was Rescue Plan Number One until you came along. But, since you're here, I'll have to make something to contact Rho--Happy. Grab that shield and stay out of trouble."

Penny did as told, her mouth a thine line as she nodded. She clearly got the memo that he was mad at her, and he could practically feel the way she was tiptoeing around him, following loosely behind silently, a stark contrast to the heavy thudding of his own footsteps. They headed into the room he'd been in earlier, just before the fighting had broken out. Now it was trashed, with glass and broken machinery littering the ground, crunching under his metal feet.

Tony surveyed the room, blocking out everything that had just happened in favor of letting his mind do what it did best; Work. He was great at work, at putting things together and forcing out everything that was too much.

There wasn't much in the room. It was all incredibly old, and he was sure most of it didn't work anymore, especially now that it was the remnants of a battle. If he could find some old missiles, he'd be able to fix his arc reactor. Temporarily anyway. At the very least it'd provide him with some emergency firepower, as well as keep his suit warm. It was frigid in here, and he was glad for the suit's thick padding at least.

The thought made him glance at the teenager beside him. He wouldn't be able to activate her suit's heater without contacting Friday, or fixing up her suit manually. Strangely, she wasn't even shivering. Maybe spider mutations made it easier to stay warm, like how Steve could--

He shook his head. He couldn't think about that. He had to work. He had to get home and make sure Rhodey would get the best care and braces so he could walk. He needed to get this kid home to her family so she could be safe instead of traipsing around the barren wasteland of Siberia.

The billionaire pulled out a chair that scraped against the ground, sitting down and beginning to work off his armor, "Put that shield down, kid, and help me out."

"Yes, sir," she answered, placing the shield down gently on a nearby monitor and padding over to him. He grimaced at the sir, but was too tired to even bother correcting her. Penny's super strength was amazingly helpful in taking his armor off, and despite her almost godly strength, she was surprisingly gentle. She was definitely a lot better at taking apart the armor than Butterfingers and U had been.

Once all the armor was off and laid off to the side on the floor, he could really begin to get to work, though he was considerably less warm. At least he'd been wearing a suit, and though it was torn in places, it was still better than his usual under-suit. He pried his reactor from the chest plate, the energy source flicking on and off dimly.

"Kid, go and find an AT-5 Spandrel missile. They were standard Soviet missiles, and shouldn't be too hard to find. Bring me as many as you can," he ordered as he grabbed a tool hidden within a compartment in his suit and began taking apart his reactor. He thought Penny might have mumbled a confirmation, but he didn't really hear her, instead hyper-focusing on what he was working on.

Tony's teeth were chattering by the time Penny came back with what he asked for, and he could barely work for the way his hands shook with the obliterating cold and fear. There was a loud CLANG! of metal against metal. It made him shoot up in his seat, twisting around and holding out his hand despite the distinct lack a repulsor.

The culprit of the startling sound ended up just being Penny. And a bunch of missiles. That she'd dropped.

Immediately his face turned into a scowl, glowering as the teen bent down to begin picking up the extremely dangerous explosives she'd dropped, not even saying anything.

"Jesus Christ, kid! Why weren't you watching what you're doing? And you can't even listen! I told you to stay out of the fight and now you're here! Right where I don't want you to be. I don't know why I asked you for help in--"

Tony cut himself off, plopping back into the chair with a heavy sigh. He shouldn't be yelling. He shouldn't be screaming and blaming and taking everything out on this kid. Because she was a kid. And because he'd brought her into this.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," she whispered, her voice practically nonexistent. Immediately his head snapped up, and his whole body shot up at the sight of the kid. Her face was deathly pale, her lips bluer than the sky and her caramel eyes wet.

He stepped over to her, putting as much gentleness and reassurance into his voice as he could. He put a hand up to her forehead--even he was surprised by the fatherly gesture--pulling it back, as though burned, "Jeez, kid. You're freezing up. Sit down for a moment."

"No, Mr. Stark. I'm fine, I'm okay really--"

"You're fine when I say you're fine. Sit down," he interrupted, and he noticed that she still wasn't shivering. That was bad. That was a stage of hypothermia, right? "Okay, we're just gonna have to get you warm. You're probably entering hypothermia right now, so I need to--"

"What? Why?" Penny blinked.

"You're not shivering, kid. It's a stage of hypothermia. Now, there's a heater in--"

"It's not hypothermia."

"Kid--"

"Spiders can't thermoregulate."

Tony blinked.

"That's worse. You do realize that's worse, right? We're in Siberia, and you can't keep up a constant body temperature?"

"Not really."

"Oka, okay, okayokayokay! We'll just have to work with this," Tony panicked, shrugging off his ripped suit jacket and wrapping it around her, "Just hang in there. I'm just gonna fix the arc reactor and then I can send out a message, okay?"

"Mkay," she mumbled, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You'll get cold without your jacket."

Tony blinked. Why did she care. Why did this child with wide brown eyes and poofy brown hair care about him. He hadn't done anything for her. Had just yelled at her and dragged her around countries to fight people.

Unsure of how to respond, he just patted her shoulder and began to work again. He was aware of Penny watching him sleepily the whole time, and he wished he could just work faster, but his hands were too unsteady to get anything done. He missed Yinsen and his steady hands.

As he was struggling to put two wires together, Penny padded up behind him, offering, "I can do that, Mr. Stark."

"Go sit back down, kid."

"Your hands are shaking," she protested. Tony stared in front of him for a moment before sniffing and moving out of the way.

"Fine, but you have to listen to my instructions. Okay?"

"Okay, Mr. Stark."

Penny did...great. Due to his shaky hands he allowed her to put the rest of it together for him, under his careful instruction of course. He'd known she was smart but...damn. This girl was an actual genius. She understood every word he said, had pieced together the arc reactor like it was nothing. Needless to say he was actually considering making her internship a real one.

Once they'd put the power source together, Tony placed it back in the suit, grateful to see the suit light up clue with power and to hear Friday's ever assuring voice, though she definitely sounded a little loopy.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," Friday said, "It is good to see you're okay."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," he responded, "Call me and the kid a Quinjet, would ya? I'm ready for a hot cup of coffee, and maybe a coco for the kid."

"Yes, sir."

Now all they had to do was wait.

---

Waiting, it turned out, wasn't too bad. The cold still sucked ass, but there were worse people to be stuck with. They told jokes and kept up mild conversation, managing to keep his mind off of the betrayal that had just occurred. Sometimes he still stared off at the screen where the video had been shown, but Penny would make some dumb pun, and then he'd be back in the conversation.

He ended up being able to turn Penny's suit heater on thanks to Friday's help, allowing for some color to finally return to her cheeks, though they were still both freezing. He blamed the cold for their eventual cuddle party, the kid tucked underneath his arm as they tried to conserve body heat. Though he couldn't deny that playing with her hair was calming in a way he didn't know had existed.

And in those few hours where they waited for the Quinjet, Steve almost didn't matter. It didn't matter that the Avengers were done for. It didn't matter they weren't prepared. And it didn't matter that Steve had almost killed him and left him for dead. Just for those few hours, Penny Parker was all that mattered.

#Iron Man #spiderman #female peter parker #irondad #irondad fanfiction #whumptober2020

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