Tony III
T o n y
Tony decided that though CPS disregarded Ned Leeds, they couldn’t ignore Tony Stark. Happy had dropped him off at the tower with a brisk goodbye. For the first time in a year, Tony had gone to bed at a reasonable hour, exhausted from what only could be from the range of emotions he had dealt with that day. Pepper had thought he was doing it in order to say goodbye the next morning, as she was flying out to Shanghai for two weeks. Tony had not corrected her; instead, he’d managed to get up before Pepper left and pretended that he was being the Good Boyfriend. He didn’t quite know how to explain what he had found out, or what his theories could be. Pepper liked to believe the best most of the time; where Tony was pessimistic in a logical way, Pepper was optimistic. Tony didn’t really want to be talked out of calling CPS just because a kid had told him he believed something was wrong.
Tony had already made his mistake in underestimating what kids knew.
Therefore, ten minutes after Pepper had kissed him goodbye, he was bracing himself on the phone after FRIDAY had found the contact detail needed to phone CPS, or the foster care system, or social services …. Tony wasn’t sure who he was phoning.
The phone rang for so long that Tony thought no one would answer. At the very last second, the familiar click sounded, and a man’s voice filtered down the line.
“Child Protection Services, this is Matt speaking,” said the man on the phone.
“This is Tony Stark, I’m inquiring about one of your foster kids, Peter Parker?”
There was a good amount of spluttering down the phone.
“S-S-Stark? This – this isn’t a prank call?”
“No,” said Tony. “Can’t you tell by my voice?”
“I-I it’s a pleasure, Mr Stark, but – why are you phoning CPS?”
“I’m asking about Peter Parker,” said Tony, just a touch impatiently. “He’s a foster kid with you?”
“I – yes – we, er, can’t just give out information, Mr Stark, I – why were you inquiring?”
“He had an internship with me six months ago,” said Tony. “I did not know of his circumstances and would like to offer him the internship back.”
“Offer – offer it b-back,” the person on the phone stuttered slightly.
“Yes,” said Tony. “We decided to stop so he could focus on his studies, and then we’d pick it back up again, but he never responded, and I found out about his aunt.” Tony prided himself in speaking out of ass at the best of times. He only felt a slight twinge of guilt over lying to CPS, but what was he meant to do? Say he was trying to figure out why Spider-Man had disappeared for nearly three weeks, and he didn’t want to deal with Steve Rogers by himself?
A tapping noise came through the phone as the man – Matt – presumably typed something into his computer.
“Um … it says here that Wendy Moore is his social worker and in charge of his case,” said Matt. “I can give you her number for a chat, but I cannot guarantee anything. She might have to ask the foster parents first.”
“Thank you,” said Tony, quite genuinely.
“No problem, Mr Stark, sounds like a great opportunity,” came Matt’s reply. “Besides, you saved New York.”
“Er – no problem?”
After Tony had hung up on Matt the CPS man, he had sat in his chair and spun round slightly.
“One step closer,” he muttered to himself.
“Would you like me to call Wendy Moore, boss?” asked FRIDAY.
Tony took a deep breath.
“Go ahead, FRIDAY.”
The phone rang only three times before a woman’s voice crackled through.
“Is this Wendy Moore?”
“Yes,” said the woman. “I’m assuming you’re Tony Stark. Matt told me you might phone.”
Tony nodded, then stopped. “Ye – yeah, I – that was quick. Did he tell you why?”
“He texted,” replied Wendy. “And was it something about an internship for Mr Parker?”
“Yeah – er – we had one six months ago, and, well, we paused it because his aunt wanted to make sure he focused on school, but we were going to pick it up. As its nearly summer, I was planning for him to come back. But I – er – found out about his aunt, and now I have no means to contact him. His phone seems to have changed.”
“Do you have evidence this internship occurred?” asked Wendy.
“Why would I lie?”
“A lot of people lie, Mr Stark,” said Wendy. “A lot of people like to prey on vulnerable children. We are also not obliged to give out information on the whereabouts of our foster children, due to them being underaged and concerned for their welfare.”
Wendy seemed to be an adept lady. Not that Tony appreciated at the current moment.
“I –” because shit, what did he have? What did he have to prove he knew Peter and had a fake internship with the boy? “I have a picture,” said Tony.
“A picture?”
“It has the certificate of his internship in it – well, it’s upside down – but, yeah, he wanted it for his aunt.”
There were a couple moments of silence down the line as Tony assumed Wendy was thinking it all through. Tony tapped a pattern with his fingers on the desk and tried not to huff impatiently.
“I can send you the picture,” said Tony after a while.
“Alright, Mr Stark,” Wendy’s voice seemed cautious, yet with a tinge of hope. “Its … it would be an amazing opportunity. Especially for kids like Peter,” Wendy sighed through the phone. “They don’t get many opportunities, you know, and … they don’t get to go to the best schools or have the best life. It’ll be nice to see one get something for once.”
Tony’s mind went slightly fuzzy at that. Because Wendy thought he was looking out for some foster kid, but Tony had just been bored. He’d been bored and angry and was trying to use the kid as some sort of distraction. But then, suddenly, his aunt had died, and Ned Leeds didn’t know where he was, and Spider-Man had been missing for nearly three weeks.
He made FRIDAY send the photo over once Wendy had read out her email.
“Peter went to Midtown,” said Tony, after a couple moments of him reaching for a reply in the silence. “I was going to contact them.” This was a lie, but Tony was very interested into whether the foster parents had taken Peter out because of travel fees.
“Mr Stark, Peter went to a couple who could not afford the travel fees to Midtown, so Peter is now going to a normal, local school,” said Wendy.
“They took a boy with those brains out of a school that could actually test him?”
“Mr Stark, not everyone has the same funds as, er, you do,” said Wendy. “I’m sure you think that just because Peter goes to a local school means he won’t have an opportunity?”
“What? No, don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Tony. “Where do his foster parents live? I’ll drop by after school tomorrow.”
“Mr Stark, I can’t give the information out over the phone, even if you’ve shown me evidence,” said Wendy. “I’m – look, if we meet – let’s say at half past four on Thursday, I can take you to their house. I also have to be present, as I’m the social worker in charge of Peter’s wellbeing. I normally have a visit on the first Thursday of every month, anyway. I’ve been on leave for three months, so it will be nice to see him. He’s a nice boy.”
“Fine,” grumbled Tony. “I’ll see you Thursday.”
Wendy clicked off, leaving Tony with only dial tone.
“FRIDAY, make me aware if there are any sightings of Spider-Man,” said Tony. The news reports were coming in faster now that Spider-Man’s disappearance was longer than it had ever been before. The Daily Bugle was stating it was a good thing, which wasn’t surprising. Everyone else, it seemed, was lamenting over the loss of Queens’ biggest figure. Spider-Man had been trending on Twitter for the past two days.
Realising who he needed to talk to, Tony reluctantly made his way down to where the other Avengers were staying.
The team had apparently watched Back to the Future because both Barnes and Steve had not seen it. Now, Bucky and Sam were arguing – in a way that it seemed like they were actually on the same side – about the space time continuum.
“The entire premise shows the entire point of not messing with the past, why would you want to change that?”
“Even if I’d have the opportunity to change being brainwashed by HYDRA, it could totally mess up the future for everyone else!”
“Steve, what would you do?”
Steve looked up from where he was frowning at his tablet; it was evident that he wasn’t quite listening to the argument, even though they were all crowded round the kitchen island.
“It would be nice to spend the life with Peggy I’d always imagined,” Steve said.
There was a rather pregnant pause.
“Jeez, Stevie, you’d leave us here to be with a girl?”
“Yeah, no one allow Rogers a time machine, he’ll fuck us all over for a woman –”
“If it didn’t change anything, then!”
“But it would, that’s the point,” said Barnes. “Did you not watch the movie? You’d fuck up the space time continuum just so you could be with a lady?”
“Peggy’s not just a lady, Bucky, you know that!”
“Barely,” Barnes muttered, seemingly quite aware that Steve would still be able to hear. “’Snot like you were even with her.”
Wilson snorted. “And then got with her niece.”
“Great-niece!”
“That’s not better!” Bucky said, nearly chortling.
“Why do we have to talk about my love life?” asked Steve loudly over the sounds of Sam and Bucky. “And why do you two only get along when you’re ganging up on me?”
“Because it’s way too easy,” Tony said, sauntering in the room. Steve and Wilson gave a little start, but Barnes remained unflappable as ever.
“Tony,” Steve said, his voice warm and tinged with hope. “It’s good to see you.”
“You saw me yesterday,” said Tony. “Where’s Nat?”
“Not sure,” Sam said, eyes flitting between Steve and Tony with apparent interest. “She said she had a mission or something. She left not long after you yesterday.”
“Great,” Tony muttered.
“Why do you need her?”
“None of your business,” said Tony. “Where’s Rhodey?”
“Out for a coffee with an old college friend,” said Steve.
Tony scrunched up his nose. Great.
“Can we help?”
For a brief second, Tony considered asking Barnes to do the spy job on Spider-Man. The combination of not wanting to ask Barnes for anything, that his brainwashed alter ego had killed his Mom, the fact that Spider-Man was against him in Germany, and that he would inevitably be asked other questions, made him change his mind.
“No,” said Tony. “Nothing to worry about.”
He paused, rubbing his foot along the edge of the kitchen island.
“Which fight did you mean?” he asked abruptly.
“What?” said Steve blankly.
“With Spider-Man? The one you mentioned yesterday,” said Tony, realising his thoughts were not exactly on show. Steve still looked slightly startled by the complete change in conversation.
“Oh – er – Sam saw it online,” said Steve. “Couldn’t quite see it, but um, it was about three weeks or so ago.”
“Three weeks ago?” repeated Tony rather weakly.
“Yeah,” said Steve. “No one quite knows who it was with, but it apparently started inside a building, then on a rooftop, and then on the street. The Daily Bugle was saying how much damage it made.”
What was he doing three weeks ago? Making phone calls for the Rogues to come back, and then shutting himself in the lab for four days straight.
“What happened?”
Steve glanced at Sam unsurely, but it was Barnes who answered.
“He disappeared,” he said, looking down at the marble countertop. “He … er … he was led out by what looked like this other vigilante.”
“Other vigilante?”
“There’s quite a lot of them, actually,” said Sam.
“How do you know?”
“We looked into a few,” said Steve, looking awkward. “Not many, and a lot we don’t actually know the names of –”
“When was this?”
“When you were recruiting Spider-Man,” replied Barnes. “He’s not the only one in the city.”
“Most famous, though,” added Sam, sounding irritated. “Especially since he disappeared –”
“Three weeks ago,” said Tony hollowly.
Sam, Steve, and Bucky all looked slightly awkward.
“I’m trying to speak with him,” said Tony, looking out the window to avoid looking at anyone in particular. “But I – er – didn’t exactly keep in contact after Germany. And, apparently his ‘big fight’ made him disappear for three weeks.”
Barnes had a very calculating look in his eyes that Tony didn’t like; he was remembered poignantly of Natasha and realised they both had been cut from the same Soviet-Spy cloth, regardless of whether HYDRA and The Red Room were at odds with one another.
“I can investigate,” Barnes offered.
“Er, no,” said Tony. “He fought you in Germany, I’m not sure if he’d be very welcoming.”
“I wouldn’t get close,” said Bucky, looking slightly affronted. “Besides, I barely got a punch in at the airport, I’m not trying again.”
“He’s been salty about that,” said Sam smugly. “I got a hit in.”
Tony didn’t think they would be boasting if they knew Peter had been fourteen. He’d probably get punched for endangering a child. He didn’t want to even see Steve’s expression if he found out.
“Good for you,” said Tony heavily. “Let me know when Nat returns.”
Steve looked as though he wished to say something else, but Tony left before he could. He, apparently, had some things to find out.
Once he had settled in his lab ten minutes later, he wheeled quickly over to his computer.
“FRIDAY, is there footage on Spider-Man’s ‘big fight’, as Steve mentioned?”
“I have found two pieces of footage,” said FRIDAY.
“Show me.”
They were disappointing. The first had been recorded on what seemed to be a mobile phone from far away. The zoom had made the footage grainy and hard to decipher; the first few minutes were just flashes of what appeared to be gunfire inside a building before Spider-Man was thrown out of a window. Peter had rolled nimbly before he hit the ground and attempted to get up straight away. However, he must have had received a hit, for he swayed on the spot and nearly fell over. Five men exited the building and started shooting. Dodging, Peter hid behind some crates by the edge, shooting off a web grenade and securing three of the shooters against the wall. The other two, however, upped their game and soon the crates were mere splinters and Peter ran quickly to the right. He shot a web at one of the guns, allowing the momentum to launch himself forward and land a punch at the owner. The gunman fell like a puppet, whilst the remaining gunman shifted. Peter had gained the upper hand, but not for long. Ten more men ran out the door, and Peter was overcome for a minute from punches and lashes. Tony could barely see him through the mass of black suits, until a web shot from the top and secured itself on what seemed to be the higher building next door. He yanked himself up from the group before swinging down hard; it was impressive, really, to see the extent of Peter’s strength. The ground cracked, and the gunmen wobbled. Peter took no chances – especially since he seemed to be now favouring his right arm. He went through the crowd with ease, launching men up in the air and swing kicking them out the way; some ended up webbed up against the wall. One, however, raised their gun and shot five times in Spider-Man’s direction. Two bullets ricocheted off the wall behind, but three managed to hit Spider-Man. Peter buckled, head dipping as he shot off a web in the direction of the gunman. He clutched his side with his right hand.
Before Peter could even catch a breath, the door opened yet again. A man, or what seemed to be a man, emerged from the shadows. He was huge; not Hulk size, but larger than anyone Tony had seen before (and he knew Thor). The man ran at Spider-Man, who, still clutching his side, didn’t get out of the way fast enough.
In some sort of dramatic bid, the phone camera footage ended just as the massive man lifted Peter over his head and threw him. It instead changed to some sort of CCTV camera showing the street in which Peter fell into. It showed how Peter flailed hopelessly half-way down the building before he shot off a web and suspended in the air. The one web seemed to have pulled his arm out of socket for, at the next moment, Peter continued to fall until he landed on the pavement. This time, it took a good minute before he made any attempt at getting up. When he did, he staggered sideways and slumped against the wall. He raised his mask over his mouth to spit out a worryingly red glob.
Spider-Man had no time to rest, for not two minutes after he’d been thrown off the roof, a doorway leading to the street – mysteriously devoid of people – slammed open. The massive man did not emerge from the shadows again; it seemed he had instead sent all his men to the street in some sort of bid to defeat Spider-Man.
They did not hold back. It seemed the mysteriously vacant street was somehow planned; the gunmen began to fire randomly as Peter – who had seen them and had tried to swing away – swung round the street one-handed and bleeding profusely. A bullet hit a streetlamp, littering the pavement with glass, sparks flying. It dimmed the entire street as more streetlamps began to stutter off; soon, Tony could barely make out what was going on. All he could see was Spider-Man managing to take off a couple guns before succumbing to the pain and falling heavily – yet again – onto the ground.
Out of nowhere, every gunman dropped one by one from a source that Tony could not decipher. They went without fuss, for they barely had time to realise their colleagues had been felled before they too were struck in the head with perfect finesse.
A flash of movement came from the left of the screen; whoever it was nimbly jumped down the building’s fire escape and rolled onto the ground with ease. The broken streetlamps enabled the stranger’s identity to remain unclear; only a flash of red was seen as the person hurried over to Peter’s side and leaned over him. After a couple of seconds, the person hauled Peter to his feet and allowed him to slump against their side as they pulled him away down a dark alley. Both figures were quickly enclosed in darkness, and the video ended.
Tony did not speak to anyone for the rest of the day.
“Boss, there’s been a sighting of Spider-Man,” said FRIDAY.
It was Wednesday evening. The day before Tony would go to Peter’s foster house. Natasha had yet to return, which was irritating to say the least, especially when no one had any means to contact her. Rhodey had gone back to Washington for two days for a meeting and liaison. He was coming back on Friday, which was unusual, as he normally spent longer away. Tony decided that Rhodey and Pepper had probably discussed at least one of them being present to make sure Tony looked after himself and was under control.
Tony was currently in his office, not his lab, because he was meant to be responding to emails. He was instead looking out the window with some Stark Industry binoculars watching two cats fighting over a mouse that had long since disappeared.
“Right now?” asked Tony, crossing the room on his chair and bringing up a hologram. “Show me.”
“A picture on Twitter was uploaded thirty seconds ago,” said FRIDAY. “The location is on a rooftop on 10th Street in Dutch Kills.”
“What’s happening?”
“It seems he has since moved,” said FRIDAY, bringing up the picture. It was of the distinctive red-and-blue suit Tony had created. Peter was blurred as he swung over a building with ease.
“Where’s he gone? Track him.”
“Spider-Man’s tracker was disabled eight months ago,” replied FRIDAY.
“You – fuck,” Tony slammed his hands on the desk. The empty coffee mug rattled. “Override to his AI. See through his mask.”
“Spider-Man’s AI Karen is not responding,” said FRIDAY. “Her servers are offline.”
“God damn FUCK, then check through CCTV!”
“Yes boss,” said FRIDAY. “There’s not much to go through, he seems to have moved over to Sunnyside.”
“Follow him!”
Tony paced next to his desk, glancing so quickly at the hologram he nearly cricked his neck. FRIDAY projected grainy photos and videos with flashes of Peter every now and again. None of the photos were clear depictions; Peter was managing to stay clear of the cameras suspiciously well. One piece of footage was better than the others, with Peter hanging off a fire escape staring directly at the camera. Tony felt a leap of hope, until the film showed Peter flitting off behind the building and out of sight.
Two minutes later, with no more footage coming up, came FRIDAY’s voice.
“He has disappeared, boss,” said FRIDAY, sounding regretful.
“Dammit!”
Social media was awash with joy over Spider-Man’s apparent return. The blog SPIDEY STORIES had a two-page feature of Spider-Man’s greatest patrols, including the number 1: saving Mr Tiddles the cat. The Daily Bugle lamented it was the end of the peaceful weeks, though it seemed even the police departments disagreed. Spider-Man had apparently stopped to take a selfie with two police officers on patrol the night before.
The Internet had somehow received more footage than FRIDAY had; Spider-Man may have avoided CCTV, but he had not been wary of taking photos for civilians. There was a video of him whooping through the streets and doing a flip to cheers.
Steve and Sam had ventured tentatively upstairs after Tony had allowed them access (specifically because FRIDAY had relayed the information that Steve was holding three large takeaway coffee cups).
“We saw the return of Spider-Man,” said Steve, handing Tony his coffee quickly, as if to soften the blow.
“Yes,” said Tony plainly, having a hologram of all Spider-Man related news directly in front of him. “So have I.” He indicated to the hologram.
“Ah – well, yes, we can see,” said Steve, looking nervously at the holograms. “Have you, er, managed to make contact?”
“Does it look like I’ve made contact?”
“Not exactly,” said Sam, eyeing the many articles littering the holographic screen, the three half-empty coffee cups, and Tony’s large under-eye bags. “Long night?”
“You could say that,” Tony replied, eyes flitting back to the article he was reading. It was about Spider-Man spending most of the evening based in Brooklyn, apart from the brief visit into the southern neighbourhoods of Queens. People were speculating why, with many theories revolving around the mysterious fight he’d had three weeks before.
“He’s very popular,” said Sam.
Tony tapped his pen against the table impatiently. It took Steve one minute to break.
“We need to find him, Tony,” he said. “We can help. He was in Brooklyn last night – me and Bucky know the area, we could try and –”
“I appreciate it,” interrupted Tony, with difficulty. “But I’ve got leads myself. I know him under the mask, and I know where he lives –”
“If you knew where he was, why did you have to wait until he returned as Spider-Man?”
Fucking Steve.
“Because,” said Tony slowly, his brain whirring very fast. “His guardians don’t, and it would look weird if I just turned up out of nowhere –”
“His guardians?” Sam interjected shrewdly. “He sounded young when we fought – how old is he?”
Fucking Wilson.
“None of your business,” said Tony.
Steve’s face became the stoic, Trademark Captain America, expression that showed his disapproval.
“I assumed he was college age,” said Steve. “Twenty, perhaps.”
“You still have guardians at twenty,” said Tony. “Twenty-year-olds are babies! They don’t know shit!”
“You took over Stark Industries when you were twenty-one.”
“I’m a genius! I got my masters at twenty! Very different to the babies just doing their undergraduate.”
“Just because you got your masters at twenty doesn’t mean you were mature at twenty –”
“Where are we going with this conversation?” Sam said exasperatedly. “We were asking how old Spider-Man is, not how clever you are.”
“No one ever asks how clever I am,” said Tony. He sipped his coffee as Steve dipped his eyes and sighed.
“We just want to help,” Steve said. “We need to get everyone together to talk, for the good of the Avengers.”
“For Pete’s Sake, I’m literally seeing him this afternoon, okay?” Tony snapped. “Does that meet to your expectations, Your Highness?”
“You could have started with that,” said Sam.
“Go away, birdbrain.”
“Epic burn, that. Take you long to figure out?”
“I can’t control my talents, Big Bird,” said Tony. “Now leave me alone.”
Wendy Moore was short, with fluffy blonde hair tied in a bun and large circular glasses. Wearing a collared shirt underneath an elbowed-patched jumper, she screamed elementary school teacher more than social worker. This was apart from the obvious dark bags under her eyes and stress lines, which were a prominent pointer of who she actually was. Tony had looked her up and found she was thirty-six and lived in Brooklyn with two cats (courtesy of Instagram). In person, looking harried and holding a clipboard and folder, she could be ten years older.
She was stood outside the CPS offices looking nervously at the car, as though it was going to reach out and bite her. Tony lowered his window and gave her a little wave. Wendy hurried over, sliding into the seat on the left side of the car.
“Miss Moore,” said Tony.
“Oh – er, call me Wendy, Mr Stark,” said Wendy slightly breathlessly. She looked inquisitively at Happy, who had kept the partition down.
“Then I’m Tony,” said Tony. “This is Happy, my driver, and failed Asset Management.”
“I am still Asset Management!”
“He’s mostly my driver,” said Tony in an undertone to Wendy. Wendy gave a weak laugh. “And he needs to know the address.”
“Ah – oh, yes,” said Wendy. “It’s in Crown Heights.” She rambled off the specific address so Happy could know the direction.
“Interesting,” said Tony.
“Peter is living with Paul and Margaret Davidson,” said Wendy as they drove off. “They’ve had one other foster who left two months ago for college. Mr Davidson works as a janitor, and Mrs Davidson is the Manager at a clothing store.”
“Why did they foster?”
Wendy shrugged unsurely. “They said that they never had kids, so were hoping to do some good for kids who need help. Their previous foster was very complementary.”
“Hm,” said Tony. “Which college?”
“Sorry?”
“Which college did the previous foster go to?”
“I’m not able to tell you, you know, confidentiality,” said Wendy. “It was community college. We were very happy; he had had a lot of issues before going to the Davidsons. They seem to be good with troubled cases.”
“Peter’s not troubled,” Tony said defensively.
“I – no, of course not,” said Wendy, blushing slightly. “I didn’t mean –”
“So, you have one piece of evidence that they’re good with, as you say, ‘troubled’ cases,” said Tony.
“I – well, yes,” admitted Wendy. “But, um, Peter wasn’t exactly – erm – well behaved at the foster centre, so, um, that was half the reason the Davidsons were considered.”
“What do you mean?”
“He – er – apparently was, um, a bit rude. Defensive, and, ah didn’t get on with the other kids there.”
“He’d just lost his last living relative and was sent to foster care, would you be polite?” asked Tony.
“Perhaps,” said Wendy, blinking under her glasses. “I didn’t see him very much there. I do understand bereavement, Mr Stark, don’t misunderstand me. Peter didn’t have another option like others do. Most of my kids are from abusive households, towards them or not. Peter was an unusual case. It is not often that kids have no other relative. And no other person could, apparently, step up to look after him.”
There was a slight edge to Wendy’s voice.
“I didn’t know,” said Tony.
“Would you have, if you did?” Wendy said immediately.
Would he?
“I don’t know,” said Tony. “I would have helped, though. Paid for his travel fees to Midtown, stuff like that.”
“That’s what a lot of people say,” said Wendy a little sadly. “May’s friends said the same. They never contacted again after the funeral. It’s very easy to forget what gets left behind.”
Tony didn’t know how to respond to that. That entire concept had hit home rather sharply; he was very much guilty of doing the exact same thing.
“Tony would have done it,” said Happy from the front. “I would have forced him too. Peter’s a good kid.”
“A good kid who you didn’t contact for six months,” said Wendy rather coolly. Again, Tony realised that Wendy was, in fact, rather good at her job. She seemed to actually care about the foster kids and had realistic expectations of human nature (including Tony’s).
Happy kept quiet after that, and Tony took to looking out the window in lieu of replying.
After a while, Wendy sighed.
“I don’t blame you,” she said. “I’m happy that you’ve phoned now for this internship. I just don’t want you to waltz back into Peter’s life like some sort of Daddy Warbucks and drop him again. I care about the wellbeing of my kids, you know.”
“I wouldn’t just drop him,” said Tony. Wendy raised an eyebrow. “Now, anyway. Not now that I know –” he cleared his throat. “That he’s alone.”
“Good,” said Wendy. “Because when you first phoned, I thought it was some PR stunt. Luckily for you, there was no wind of it online anywhere, so I believed you were telling the truth.”
“You’d think I’d do it for some PR stunt?” Tony blinked slightly. He was pleased he was wearing his sunglasses inside the car.
Wendy gave him a look. It was a Pepper-type look, as if to say: ‘what do you take me for?’.
“Come on, Tony, don’t be obtuse,” said Wendy. “‘Tony Stark takes on foster kid intern’? The press would have a field day. And then, when ever they’ve had their fill, the billionaire can quietly drop the kid back off and forget they ever existed. Your picture with Peter was the only thing I could go by, and it didn’t scream that for me.”
Tony flashed her a small, genuine smile which Wendy returned. Happy turned the corner and pulled up outside a row of terrace houses. They looked completely ordinary, with red brick and dark windows.
“The Davidsons are at number forty-six,” said Wendy, peering out and pointing through the window. “Um, is Happy waiting?”
“Yep,” said Tony.
Wendy nodded, and together they exited the car.
“I didn’t phone ahead,” said Wendy slightly nervously as they walked up to number forty-six. There were only a few people around; none of them gave Tony any attention. “I didn’t want – well, you’re a bit of a surprise, so I thought it would be nice for Peter to not know you’re coming.”
“No problem,” said Tony honestly. He had been worried that the situation may have been different if the Davidsons had known he was coming.
Wendy knocked carefully on the door. It opened two minutes later after a string of curses could be heard from the inside. A man yanked the door open.
“Hullo, Mr Davidson,” said Wendy pleasantly. Mr Davidson did not seem to hear her, for his gaze was fixed solely on Tony. In a different situation, Tony may have preened, but today was not that day. From behind his sunglasses, he observed the man on the doorstep, who’s face had gone slightly paler than before. He was tall, much taller than Tony (or Peter), and beefy. His hair was slicked down on his forehead in an unflattering way, and, combined with the glasses on his face, looked extremely unfortunate indeed. Tony tried not to sneer.
“Mr Davidson?” repeated Wendy. Mr Davidson, whose eyes were rather wide, switched back to Wendy so fast it nearly startled Tony and Wendy off the doorstep.
“What?” he snapped brusquely. “Your scheduled visit isn’t for two weeks.”
“Yes,” said Wendy patiently. “But as you can see, this isn’t my normal visit. Mr Davidson, I’m sure you know Tony Stark –”
“Yes, of course,” Mr Davidson interrupted. “Why is he here?”
“Peter had an internship with him six months ago, and Mr Stark here would like to offer it back,” said Wendy. “We were wondering if we could come in and talk to Peter.”
“He’s not here,” said Mr Davidson shortly.
“Oh,” said Wendy. She checked her watch. “We thought he would be back from school by now. Does he have after school activities?”
“Yes,” said Mr Davidson.
“Great,” said Tony. He had watched the exchange with an increasing amount of fear. This was the guy Peter was stuck with? “We both have took afternoon off, so we’ll just wait until he returns.”
“He won’t be back until late,” said Mr Davidson.
“We can get to know each other,” Tony said, slapping his hands together in a bid to look casual but was, in actuality, freaking out. There was some steely, panicked look in Mr Davidson’s eyes that Tony did not like. Where the fuck was Peter?
“I’ve been away for a little while,” said Wendy, fiddling with her folders. “So, it’ll be nice to catch up and see how Peter’s been doing. The other social workers who checked up on him didn’t say much.”
It took Mr Davidson one minute and forty-two seconds to deliberate whether to let Tony and Wendy inside. When he finally did, he did so extremely reluctantly.
The inside of the Davidson’s house left much to be desired. The hallway was dark, with a suspiciously thick layer of dust hanging on the edges of the picture frames littering the walls. A pile of shoes lay by the door. None looked to be Peter’s; Tony knew what size Peter was, he’d made him a suit for God’s sake.
Wendy had also noticed the grime covering the hallway and seemed to be deliberating whether or not to mention it. Mr Davidson led them into the sitting room, which, if possible, seemed slightly worse.
Bottles littered the floor; large stains were marring the carpet and sofas. On the wall next to the door were red marks. Tony clicked his glasses and sent a message to FRIDAY, asking to record and observe the suspicious red stains. They gave him a state of utter foreboding.
Mrs Davidson was sat on one of the couches, looking at them with her mouth open wide in what seemed to be horror rather than celebrity excitement. Margaret Davidson was of similar proportions to her husband but on the shorter side. She was still a large, imposing figure, in the dank room.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Davidson,” said Wendy.
Mrs Davidson did not reply; she instead turned her gaze to her husband, whose face remained impassive.
“We weren’t expecting you,” she said.
“That much is clear,” said Wendy. “I’m going to have to report this, you know.”
Mrs Davidson huffed.
“I was telling Mr Stark here how good you were as foster parents,” said Wendy. “This isn’t exactly … giving him that evidence.”
“Why should he care?” barked Mrs Davidson. “Not his house, is it?”
“Tony’s here for Peter, Mrs Davidson,” said Wendy. “He had an internship.”
“Peter’s not here,” snapped Mrs Davidson. “Paul, didn’t’ja tell them?
“Yes,” said Mr Davidson. “They said they’ll wait.”
“Wait?”
“For him to come back,” said Mr Davidson stiffly. “Would you like a drink?”
“Tea would be lovely,” said Wendy.
“I’m good,” said Tony. He wouldn’t touch something of the Davidson’s with a ten-foot barge pole.
Mr Davidson left, still supporting a surly look. Tony turned to his wife.
“We’ll just wait for Peter to finish his shift at the library,” said Tony pleasantly, eyeing Mrs Davidson carefully. And boy did she deliver. As soon as Tony had stated an easy excuse to grab hold on, she pounced.
“Yes, yes,” she gabbled. “Peter’s a good boy, doing that library shift. Always willing to help. He’s had it for a while, done it every day after school.”
“That’s nice,” said Tony, grinning widely. “Because your husband told us he did after-school activities, not a shift in the library.”
Mrs Davidson’s eyes flashed in surprise before they squinted into a frown.
“I must have been mistaken,” she said coolly.
“I doubt that,” said Tony. “Considering I gave you that excuse on purpose.”
Mrs Davidson’s lips turned up in some sort of snarl.
“PAUL!” she hollered, unexpectedly enough to make Tony and Wendy jump.
Mr Davidson could be heard cursing from the kitchen before the heavy footfalls indicated his return.
“What?”
“Your wife did not give the same excuse as you did about Peter’s whereabouts,” said Tony coldly.
Mr Davidson’s face flickered with annoyance as he bit his lip in apparent anger. Remarkably, his face cleared in the next instant, leaving no traces behind.
“She gets confused,” said Mr Davidson.
“There’s nothing on the records,” said Wendy dubiously, flicking through the sheets she had with her. “Is it a condition? I do need to know if it effects Peter’s safety –”
“They don’t give a fuck about Peter’s safety,” said Tony.
“Tony,” Wendy said in a very warning tone. “I told you –”
“Which afternoon club does Peter attend?” Tony interrupted, clenching his hands and looking directly at the Davidsons.
“Football,” said Mr Davidson after a beat.
“Football?” Tony repeated incredulously. “The kid had an internship with me, and you think his afternoon club would be football?”
“We’re his foster parents,” said Mrs Davidson. “Of course we’d know what he likes. You can like football and er – whatever you do.”
Tony opened his mouth to snap back.
“Mr Stark, you’re here to ask Peter to the internship, not get in a fight with his foster parents,” said Wendy under her breath. She cleared her throat and spoke normally. “How long will Peter be at football for?”
“I said late,” said Mr Davidson.
“Mr Davidson, do you know what time Peter returns?”
“No,” said Mr Davidson. “He likes to stay out as long as he can.”
“Why?”
“Because he likes to disobey our orders,” said Mrs Davidson. “We set a nine o’clock curfew, and he routinely breaks it.”
“This curfew, is it for school nights, or every night?”
“Every night,” said Mr Davidson.
“I’d say it is not unexpected,” said Wendy. “Nine o’clock is rather early for a fifteen-year-old and going against rules seems to be an inevitable hurdle that is hard to cross. Can you call him to tell him he needs to return?”
“You gave him a new phone, right?” Tony said abruptly, having stewed in the corner for a couple of minutes. “Because the number I have, no longer works.”
“Peter doesn’t have a phone,” said Mrs Davidson.
“Then how do you contact him for safety?” asked Wendy. The first few cracks were beginning to show on her face, as the grimy house and the indifferent conversations began to seep together to create something foreboding.
“We don’t need to,” said Mr Davidson. “Besides, phones are expensive.”
“Sure,” said Wendy. “Then shall we phone the school to let them know we need Peter home?”
This seemed to stop the Davidsons.
“You can’t phone the school,” said Mr Davidson after a while. “He won’t be there.”
“What’s going on?” Wendy asked. “Why don’t you know where Peter is?”
“They’re hiding him!” Tony nearly shouted. “They stopped him from seeing his friend, who hasn’t heard from him since January –”
“Mr Stark, please.”
But Tony had had enough.
“Where’s Peter?” he demanded.
“Peter’s not here,” said Mr Davidson, standing to his full height and looking imposingly down at them. At first, Tony thought he was going to say the lie again. “He went missing.”
Wendy swayed on her feet, causing Tony to grab onto her elbow and lower her onto the dirty couch. It also helped him to control himself, as it meant he could take his eyes off the Davidsons for a moment.
“Missing?” Tony hissed venomously, eyes on the carpet. Maybe not so much control.
“Yes,” said Mr Davidson.
“Your foster child went missing and you didn’t tell anyone? And then you lied to us?”
“He didn’t go missing,” said Mr Davidson. “He ran away like the truant that he is.”
“Truant?”
“He was surly and impolite,” said Mr Davidson. Both adjectives Tony would never have put on Peter, even when they were shouting after the ferry incident.
“He just lost his only living relative!” Tony’s voice raised a few octaves. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
“He didn’t do anything!” Mrs Davidson said in a shrieky voice.
“Then why are you so defensive?”
“You’re accusing us!”
“Of course I’m fucking accusing you, you never told anyone that your foster kid ran away!”
“Why should we? He’s the one who went off,” said Mrs Davidson, whose voice seemed to just be extremely shrieky.
“And why was that, hm? I know Peter Parker, and he certainly wouldn’t have run away if it wasn’t for a damn good reason,” Tony said angrily, making himself as big as possible. Yeah, maybe he didn’t know Peter at all (because he never bothered) but he knew with near 100% certainty that Peter would not have run away if it wasn’t for a specific reason. Heck, even talking to Ned established that.
“Mr Stark, we can’t interrogate them,” Wendy seemed to have got her breath back, though she seemed rather strained. “We’re calling the police.”
“The police?” squawked Mrs Davidson at the same time her husband yelled “This is outrageous! We did nothing to that little shit!”
“You just called him a little shit, Mr Davidson,” Wendy said in a very tired voice. “It’s already obvious you didn’t exactly like him, which should not have had an influence on how you treated him. Peter’s a minor and still growing.”
“He sneaked out,” said Mr Davidson. “He kept going to Queens when we forbid him.”
“Forbid him –”
“Mr Stark, please,” said Wendy, before Tony could do something he wanted, like deck the fucker. “I need to make a phone call.”
“FRIDAY already contacted them,” said Tony impatiently.
“Friday?” Wendy looked bemused.
“My AI,” said Tony, tapping his glasses.
Wendy looked slightly flustered but marched on. “Mr Davidson, when exactly did Peter go missing?”
“I don’t know,” grumbled Mr Davidson.
“How do you not know?” Tony snapped.
“You must have an inkling, Mr Davidson,” Wendy pressed, ignoring Tony.
Mr and Mrs Davidson looked at each other rather intently. They both looked angry at the discovery of their deception.
“He ran away,” said Mrs Davidson slowly, not looking at them. “In February.”
“FEBRUARY?” exploded Tony. “It’s fucking MAY!”
Wendy looked on the verge of tears by now, her face nearly the same shade as her white shirt.
“It’s not our fault,” said Mr Davidson defensively. “Why isn’t she under fire for not knowing about her foster kid?”
Tony whirled round to look at Wendy.
“I was away on leave,” said Wendy lowly. “I – I hadn’t, hadn’t realised that … I only just got back.”
“Fuck,” said Tony.
It was then that the sirens – which had been slowly getting louder every passing second – arrived outside the door. The cops had arrived.