Chapter 19
“We’re going to spend Christmas with our son,” Tony breathes, staring at the date marked on the calendar. December eighteenth. Exactly a week before christmas, and it’s the day SHIELD is going to tackle the Hydra base holding Peter. Steve won’t be in on the operation, he’s too close to it, so he and Tony will have to wait at home. Both of them are antsy about it, but it was one of the conditions of Fury’s agreement to do the operation. There’s been heavy surveillance on the building for nearly a month. SHIELD has been using insight from Deadpool, satellite imaging Tony developed expressly for this purpose, and gathering a mountain of intel. Once Hydra knows that SHIELD is aware of them, many of the opportunities to gather evidence and information will be gone.
In any case, they’ve got a good idea of the layout. It’s one of the most extensive operations SHIELD has ever planned, but Steve doesn’t care as long as they bring Peter home. SHIELD operatives will be decked out with the most intensive Stark tech, to be confiscated the moment the op is done.
Ready? Steve texts Clint that morning, not having slept a wink the night before. He and Tony ended up laying in silence, feeling like kids on christmas morning, with more nerves.
Born ready, Clint replies. Steve wants to throw his phone across the room, go for a run, or stress bake. In the end, he does nothing and watches Tony react oppositely. He starts multiple different projects, too stressed to focus on any of them, and seems unable to sit down even for a few moments. Finally, Steve makes his way over to his husband, rubbing his hands on Tony’s upper arms. “I know,” he says, pulling Tony into a hug.
“It’s finally going to be over,” Tony sobs. “I don’t want to think about how long it’s been.”
There are tears streaming down Steve’s face as he replies, “Neither do I.”
They’re both sitting at untouched dinners, watching a gorgeous sunset. “Do you think he’ll, I don’t know, want dinner?” Tony asks. “God, I feel like a kid on a first date. Why do I feel like a kid on a first date?”
“We should- uh- probably make him a plate,” Steve says. “I’m feeling it too. I’m so excited but so…”
“Nauseous,” Tony finishes for him. Steve’s phone buzzes and they both dive for it, Steve fumbling to unlock it as Tony watches like a hawk. It’s a text from Clint. Heading back to NY with Peter, Nat, Bucky, and Sam. All safe. Went well.
“I’m going to throw up,” Steve says, “I’m going to throw up and I can’t stop grinning and I haven’t seen my son–” He covers his mouth.
“Don’t actually,” Tony says, “Throw up, that is. Because I will.”
“We need to get in the car,” Steve says. “We’ll meet him at the SHIELD airfield.”
Tony lets out a hysterical sound that’s nearly a giggle. “Do you feel okay to drive? I don’t feel okay to drive.”
Steve’s sure there’s a bit of that hysteria in his voice as he replies, “We have a driver, Tony, you’re a billionaire.”
“Actually. Change of plans. If I don’t drive I’m going to lose it,” Tony says. “I’ll climb out the window. We have to go.” He starts rushing around the house, searching for a jacket and grabbing keys at random. Steve puts on slippers and they both run into each other far more times than they need to. They take the elevator to the garage, where Tony sets off the alarm to figure out which car keys he has and they climb in. Tony backs out, taking off at a speed that Steve can’t bring himself to comment on.
The drive is both fast and slow. Time drags, Tony speeds, and they’re there before either of them know it, although it still takes far too long to make the trip. They park and wait, watching the helicarrier grow larger in the distance. It lands in the darkness, and the ground crews start rushing around. Tony and Steve climb out of the car, rushing across the airstrip, eyes searching. They find Clint first. He grabs them both, halting them. “Listen,” He says, then, seeing their wandering eyes, louder, “Listen. Steve. Tony. He’s– listen to me.” He finally has their attention, and he glances between them. “He’s fine. Just remember that. He’s healthy, but he’s been through a lot. We’re still trying to figure out how much. Just–” Clint purses his lips– “he’s still Peter, okay?”
“Of course he’s still Peter,” Tony says, “He’s– I mean, he was tortured or god knows what, but he’s back. Now let me see my goddamned son.”
Clint nods stiffly, dropping their arms. “I’m happy for you two,” he says, and Steve gives him a nod as Tony searches the crowd. Clint points. “He’s by the wheel over there.” Steve nods his thanks and sets off with Tony through the people, It’s mostly SHIELD agents, most of them escorting a haunted looking person toward the SHIELD building. Steve stares around, searching for the mop of brown hair that belongs to his son. Tony grabs his arm and starts pulling him.
“There’s the wheel, Steve, c’mon,” Tony says, dodging past people to where two shield agents are standing. Steve catches sight of Peter for the first time and it feels like the world shatters. He’s very nearly unrecognizable. The way he carries his face is different, completely blanked out. There’s a scar across one cheek just below his cheekbone and his hair, while still mostly brown, is white in patches. He’s tall, taller than he was when he left, and he’s got a trauma blanket wrapped loosely around his shoulders.
Somehow, the shield agents notice Steve and Tony first. The woman on Peter’s left steps forward, holding an envelope. If Peter notices them, he makes no indication. “Mr. Stark, Mr. Rogers,” The shield agent says, “I have a few details here.” Tony pushes past her, and as much as Steve wants to, he pauses, and she speaks quickly. “He’s stable, remarkably so. There are a few notes in here. I’d recommend getting him to a doctor that knows about mutants as quickly as you can.”
Steve takes the envelope and thanks her, and then walks up to Peter. Tony has him wrapped in a tight hug and Peter’s just… blank. He’s blinking a little, but he isn’t hugging Tony back. “Hey, Peter,” Steve says gently, and Peter’s eyes travel to him. It’s unnerving how little reaction they’re showing. Steve wraps his arms around his husband and son, his son who is now as tall as he is. His son who doesn’t react. Finally, Tony lets him go, holding him at arm's length. A flash of something crosses Peter’s face so quickly Steve can’t decipher it.
Peter clears his throat. “Hey, Steve, Dad.”
Tony hugs him again, saying, “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Peter lifts an arm and pats Tony’s back in a way that is so awkward and so un-Peter that Steve starts to panic a little. He clears his throat. “So, are you, you know, okay?”
The words hang, wrong, in the air. They fail to convey anything meaningful and begin to take up space in a way that’s incredibly unhelpful. Peter gives the question far more contemplation than it deserves, and then his shoulders bounce, up and down in a teenage kind of shrug, and he replies, “yeah.”
Tony can’t keep the grin off his face. “You’ve gotten tall,” he says, holding Peter at arms length. “I missed you, Peter. We both missed you so much.”
“I missed you,” Peter says, or, more accurately, repeats, and Steve can’t figure out if he’s testing how the words would feel in his mouth or saying them. There’s a weight now, sitting on the three of them, like someone carved the words something happened into the air. “How long was it?” Peter asks, in that slow, measured way that he talks now. Distantly Steve realizes he might hate it.
“Seven months and twelve days,” Tony answers automatically, and Steve thinks of the day they’d promised each other to stop counting the days. Seven months and twelve days. Neither of them had meant it, and both of them had known it, keeping their tallies silently. In a way it was better, not to amplify the grief as it bounced between them, and it kept them from mentioning the grisly anniversaries.
“I’m sixteen?” Peter asks doubtfully. Steve and Tony doubt it themselves. Peter looks much, much older.
“For a while now,” Tony tells him. “Want to drive back?” He jangles the keys, but the air stills. That was some kind of massive faux pas that Tony had no idea he was committing because Peter gives a visceral kind of rejection, all in his body language, but says nothing. He’s tense, waiting.
“We’ll— uh— warm up to it,” Tony says, putting the keys away. The moment ends as quickly as it began. Peter’s expression blanks back out, and absurdly Steve misses the emotion. They begin to pick their way back to the car. Peter situates himself between them but not in an affectionate way. He’s between them and just behind, head barely bowed. Tony doesn’t register the way Peter arranges them, but Steve does, and it nearly brings him to his knees. This is the arrangement of guards escorting a prisoner, and Steve is all too familiar with it from his time at SHIELD. The three of them climb in the car, Peter taking the back seat. Tony turns the key and it starts. Steve reaches over, placing a hand on Tony’s knee as he drives.
“Guess what,” Steve says, looking at Peter through the rear view mirror. “Dad here made a friend. Justin Hammer. He helped us find you. Can you believe it?”
There’s a spark of recognition in Peter’s eyes. “I thought I saw him,” he says, “but I wasn’t sure. In the crowd.”
Steve’s soul soars with hope. “Yeah, he had Clint with him, too, and his wife.” Peter jolts forcefully in his seat, like the news is more shocking than he can feasibly contain in his mind alone. His breathing speeds up, and he doesn’t reply. “You cold?” Steve asks doubtfully. “We could turn the heat up in here.”
Peter stares down at his hands and doesn’t respond. He’s always been a bit of an open book to his parents, every thought cataloging itself on his face plainly, but that’s changed. Tony scrutinizes his son, but all he can tell is that gears are turning, no longer where they are going. He glances over at Steve, trying to figure out why there’s a distance between the back seat and the front. Clearing his throat, Tony says, “you want to stop anywhere? We can get dinner, if you’re hungry. There are leftovers too. At home.”
Leftovers seems like a terrible idea, terribly inadequate, and Steve and Tony both feel it. The thought of microwaving something to give Peter makes every gift-giving billionaire piece of Tony scream in rejection.
Peter starts frantically chewing his lip, and Steve decides to intervene. “Well, I know I could go for a burger.” He really doesn’t think he could even take a bite, his stomach is so knotted with nerves, but Peter nods, the tension dissolving as the decision is made, his gaze sliding out the window. Tony pulls out his phone and tosses it to Steve. “Put in an order for delivery. Burgers, fries, and soda all around. I’ll do a sprite.”
Steve selects a Coke for himself and turns to Peter. “Drink?” He asks.
Peter makes a very good approximation of a deer in the headlights. Steve raises his eyebrows, hoping to ease some of the tension, and Peter blurts, “I don’t remember.” He’s breathing fast, as though the admission takes a lot of courage. “What I used to get,” he finishes.
“It doesn’t matter what you used to get,” Steve tries to assure him, “what are you in the mood for?” Peter shrugs helplessly, somehow panicked beyond words by the simple choice. Steve nearly sighs, but doesn’t want Peter to think he’s disappointed in him. “Root beer,” he announces. Peter usually gets Fanta, more because he thinks it’s hilarious to get orange soda than because he especially likes the stuff. That version of their son isn’t someone that Tony or Steve can equate with the Peter in their backseat.
Tony fills the silence for the rest of the drive, and Steve remembers what Deadpool had said that first night over cold mexican food. You can rescue your son, but you might not get him back. Not how you’re hoping you will.