#writinggotthebestofme

[heythereunderoos]

Medium: Charcoal

Pairing: Kidnapper!Tony x Peter Parker Word Count: 2327 Warnings: Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, foul language

Peter tried his hand with various mediums. He had attempted painting with water colors and acrylics and oils, then he had decided that it hadn't suited him much. He was by no means a bad painter, but there just wasn't anything that particularly suited him. He had tried so many different brushes with different bristles in different sizes with different paints and nothing looked right. Nothing felt right. Drawing was his strong suit.

When Peter drew the medium could be as cruddy as a Crayola crayon, it hadn't mattered because maneuvering the utensil across the page felt right.

When Peter was taken from May, away from home and to wherever home was now, with Tony, drawing was one of the only things that had remained constant. It kept Peter grounded and calm and had ultimately allowed him to become acclimated to his new life with Tony.  Peter drew with whatever Tony could provide him, and was genuinely grateful that he was concerned with his well being.

Peter couldn't sleep on nights like these. Honestly? Nights like these weren't any particular night, they were just nights in general. Peter blamed his insomniac tendencies on the fact that Tony had took him at night.

It was especially chilly that night in the apartment and Peter was attempting some colorful calligraphy with a Tombow marker he had splurged on. His eyes were trained on the fluidity with which his hand had crossed the page, and he supposed that was why the sound of the apartment door opening had remained entirely unnoticed to him.

"Harley?"

Peter jumped, his hand jerking across the page, and disrupting the beautiful string of letters on the page. With trembling fingers, the boy capped the marker and turned around in his chair.

"U-Um, h-hello sir? I-I'm Peter. P-Peter Parker."

The man stared back at Peter with a kind of yearning and desperation that captured Peter's artistic eye and he'd hoped to convey those emotions in gray scale.

"Harley." The man repeated, but his tone altered slightly, rather than lilting in question in ended abruptly to indicate fact.

"N-No," Peter shook his head gently, twisting the cap on the marker to give his hands something to fidget with as he spoke up softly, "my n-name is Peter. Peter Parker.

When the man stepped forward and his large calloused hand wrapped around Peter's wrists, he had wished that May didn't work the night shift. That he had stayed out with MJ or was building Legos with Ned. He had wished he had been anywhere but here.

As he was pulled to his feet, the pink marker fell from Peter's fingers and a sharp cold object was pressed into the side of his throat. He tried hard to fight the grimace that graced his features.

"You're coming with me, Peter Parker."

When the memory faded from behind his eyelids, he glanced over at the man that laid in the bed they shared. Peter's eyes looked over the stubble that peppered his jawline, his parted pink lips that were slightly parted and the way he could see the breath the older man inhaled then exhaled. He noted the way Tony's eyebrows tugged together and the whimper that escaped his lips. Then as if on cue, the man sat upright and turned over in one singular motion, his hands reaching for Peter.

"Pete." His dark brown eyes were wide with worry, and he shook tenderly, heaving in air, as a trickle of sweat cascaded down his neck and traced the harsh line of his collar bone.

Peter took the older mans rough hands into his gently, and gave him a soft smile.

"I'm right here, Tony." The older man nodded, and took his bottom lip between his teeth, as if in thought. Peter released one of his hands and used it to cup his cheek.

"Go back to sleep, and I promise I'll be right here when you wake up." The boy's smile widened as the man seemed to snap out of his trance and continue nodding, allowing Peter to lay him back gently as he ran his hands through the man's graying locks.

"I'll always be right here." Peter whispered, both content and slightly solemn as he carded his fingers through Tony's hair.

The boy watched silently, continuing to card his fingers through the thick strands of Tony's hair as the man slowly succumbed to the grips of sleep. He sat there for a while longer, continuing to play with the hair beneath his fingertips, before he gently shifted off the bed.

When Peter's insomnia became especially bad, he found it eased him to wander the house. It allowed his body something to do, and gave him things to ponder as well.

Peter had been here for a long time. He wasn't entirely sure how long a long time was but he could say with certainty it had been at least a year since Tony had brought him here. Since he had seen May. Or been out with MJ. Or had built a Lego set with Ned.

He shook those thoughts out of his head as he began wandering the house aimlessly. His mind began wandering into dark places, as his feet shuffled, and suddenly he found himself face to face with the door to the basement.

In all his time here, Peter hadn't gone near the basement. Tony had told him it was off limits, and he was too scared to look.

His eyes traced the door. It was a pretty standard white door with a sharp black trim and his insomnia toyed with the notion of twisting the knob and discovering the secrets that were buried beneath his quaint new home.

Surrendering to his inquisitive nature, the boy gripped the knob pushed ever so lightly as the door squeaked open. Peters eyes stared into the darkness as he took a shaky breath as he searched for a light switch. His fingers fumbled against the cold damp walls, and he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when the light flickered to life.

Warily, the boy made his way down the creaky, wooden steps and began taking in his surroundings. The area was surprisingly empty, a table covered in boxes to his left, and a few empty bins to his right. As his bare feet came into contact with the cool concrete floor, his eyes began adjusting to the dank room. With a sigh, he allowed his feet to lead him to the corner of the room with the numerous boxes piled atop each other, stacked neatly upon an old, worn wooden table. His eyes traced over the dust covered boxes, and eyed one that had words scribbled in fading black ink.

Scrapbooks and Photos

Peter stared for moment, before his hands reached for the box, taking it into his arms before he collapsed onto the cold for, placing the box before him. Inhaling through his nose, he puffed his cheeks and blew most of the dust of the box, before peeling the flaps back. Inside was a large green leather book, that Peter carefully collected in his arms before he situated himself with his legs crossed and placed the book in the nook of his legs. He flipped open the cover and his eyes traced over the first page.

Tony, Pepper, and Harley present to you, our family scrapbook.

At this Peter falters.

A family? Tony had never mentioned a family. Then again, Tony hadn't revealed much to Peter despite the longevity of Peter's stay. He shook of the nagging thought that Tony knew far more about Peter than the reverse and continued to flip the pages.

Tony and Pepper are Wed!

Peter looked at the picture of a slender woman with milky white skin and citrus-y orange locks hid beneath a veil, and her blue eyes that stared at Tony's bright shining smile as if he hung the stars in the sky. Peter couldn't help but smile at the joy that emanated from the picture and turned his eyes to the next page where another caption was written in tiny neat handwriting.

Pepperony in Honolulu

It was printed Polaroid of the woman, Pepper, Peter presumed, and Tony with fruity drinks embellished with paper umbrellas laid in the sand, both of them positively vibrant. Peter chuckled at the goofy look on Tony's face as he clutched the thick page between his fingers and turned it over. Peter read the captions of the pictures put on one page before glancing over at the empty page, as if a picture had fallen out.

Pepper has a bun in the oven!

Harley Keener Stark is born

The baby boy, Harley, looked impossibly small cuddled up into Tony's chest, and Pepper looked absolutely physically defeated in the background of the photo, but the light and joy residing within her ocean blue eyes was undeniable. And the love ingrained within her features, the way her eyes crinkled and stared so passionately down at her baby bump in the other photo made Peter's heart swell. This boy, Harley, whoever he was was truly loved by the two of them. Peter continued to flip through the pages, glancing over the captions as he watched Harley grow older whilst simultaneously watching his parents' love for him develop to even greater heights. Then something peculiar happens. The images stop. There are no captions, no more photos. The scrapbook simply ends and Peter is left completely puzzled.

What happened to all that love? So much adoration just...gone?

Peter shakes his head and closes the scrapbook, setting it down on the floor beside him as he sifts through the remnants of loose photos that lie within the box. Peter stares at pictures of Pepper and Tony in college, their baby photos, photos of first dates, and old friends, and yet there is not a single other picture of Harley.

Then Peter starts to put things together and he runs upstairs to grab his sketchpad and his withering piece of charcoal. After collecting his items, he rushes back down the stairs and flips the scrapbook open to the most recent picture of Harley he can find. It's an endearing one, one where Harley's hair is a mess of curls and his cheeks are round with baby fat adorning a smudge of grease on the top of his right cheek, and his smile is undoubtedly contagious. Peter then flips open to a fresh page in his sketch book and his fingers grip the charcoal as he begins sketching out guidelines. Formulating a scene for the photograph in front of him as his hands work on quickly creating a new image.

"Harley!" Tony would call, his hands stained with grease as he worked on another gadget, just for fun this time, not for business. The small boy would come bounding in the room, practically bouncing towards his father with the biggest smile on his face.

"Daddy!" The boy would respond, with his baby fat fists opening and closing to create a grabbing motion that the father would only assume would mean that the child wanted to be picked up. Tony would smile with a gentle roll of his eyes as he wiped the grease off on his already tarnished pants and reached for the small boy under the arms. The boy would giggle and squirm because he was ticklish and simply because he loved his fathers attention.

"Have you been messing with Daddy's things again?" Tony would accuse the boy, and Harley would shake his head with fervor, insisting he had done no such things, and Tony would nod in faux understanding as he swiped the grease from his son's cheek, and held the finger in front of his sons bright blue eyes.

"So this has nothing to do with Daddy's things, now does it?" Tony's eyebrow would raise in accusation and the boy would release a fit of giggles as Tony attempted to tickle the truth out of him.

They would be happy.

There would be so much love.

Peter came to as he finished the rendering. It was of Harley at Peter's age. His jaw was strong, similar to that of his fathers, but his eyes were kind, like that of his mother and Peter sighed gently.

Wherever Harley was, he hoped he would like it.

Peter signed it off in the corner, and stared at the haunting image, not even hearing the thudding of footsteps.

"Peter?! What the hell are you doing down here? I told you to never, ever--" Peter's eyes found Tony's as Tony's grip locked like a vise around his thin arms and Peter grimaced.

"You don't ever come down here, understood?" Tony spoke with urgency and then his eyes turned fiery as he saw the open scrapbook.

"You were being nosy and thumbing through my things?" Peter grimaced, but nodded, and fumbled for his sketchbook.

"B-But look what I m-made for you," He smiled softly as he placed the sketchbook in Tony's free hand and his eyes didn't hold that desperation that Peter saw so very long ago. No, they were fiery, and then as his eyes crossed of the image repeatedly, Peter saw his eyes nearly identical to that of those photographed within the scrapbook. Filled with only love and adoration, and then they turned glassy and the sketchbook fell from his hands as he wrapped his arms tightly around Peter.

"D-Do you like it?" Peter whispered, locking his arms around Tony's neck. The older man shook gently from the sobs that wracked his body as he nodded with vigor.

"It's beautiful baby boy."

Leaning away from him subtly, Tony chuckled as his thumb found the younger boy's right milky cheek, using the finger to swipe away the smudge of charcoal on the top.

And finally the story clicked in Peter's head.

Harley was gone, and Pepper had left. Tony was all alone and when he found Peter that night, randomly trying to burglarize their apartment, he saw the uncanny resemblance and all that love? All those memories of nothing but adoration stored within those photographs? It had to go somewhere.

Peter was his new love.