Tony V
T o n y
Pepper Potts was a saint.
Tony already knew that, of course, but he didn’t say it enough.
Pepper Potts was a saint.
“You’re a saint,” he had told Pepper, an hour after she had arrived back from Shanghai and had been given the blow-by-blow of everything that had happened as soon as she had stepped into the penthouse. It would have happened anyway; Pepper’s face had been one of quiet determination as she had clacked her way to the sofa. Tony had just blurted everything out without any prompting.
She had ordered an announcement fifteen minutes after that and had spent the rest of the evening stroking Tony’s scalp. It had been extremely pleasant, especially when she apologised for thinking he had done something stupid to land in a police station.
Currently, six days on, Tony was still thinking Pepper was a saint.
She had phoned the police, giving details of Peter’s internship so that the detectives believed them; she had warded off all press that were asking about Tony’s involvement in Peter’s internship. She had procured coffee out of nowhere and made him pancakes one morning.
Rhodey, who had somehow sniffed out the pancakes from the floor below, told him he was spoilt before dousing his own plate in syrup.
“I’m having a bad time,” said Tony.
“Most of that could be redeemed with you just talking to Steve,” said Rhodey around a mouthful.
“I don’t want to talk to Steve.”
“Then continue having a bad time, then,” said Rhodey. “They’re not going anywhere yet.”
Tony scowled.
“They are also helping with finding Peter,” Rhodey continued, munching. “Natasha is circling the districts. She’s going to ask the other vigilantes once Clint gets here.”
“How does Natasha know the other vigilantes?”
“I don’t ask questions,” Rhodey said. “Do you want to ask her?”
Tony thought about it.
“Not really,” he said.
“She said something about Jessica Jones,” Rhodey said vaguely. “Though she’s over in Hell’s Kitchen, so I’m not really sure she’ll help.”
Tony didn’t know who Jessica Jones was, so he kept munching on his pancakes instead.
“When is Barton getting here?” he asked, changing the subject.
Rhodey shrugged unhelpfully. “I think Lang is flying in on Monday. Clint was particularly vague.”
“What are they even coming for?”
“Steve wants to have everyone for a chat, to make sure everyone’s on the same page.”
“What about Wanda?”
Rhodey paused in raising his fork. “I think she’s staying abroad. For now. Steve said she’s going to come back in a bit but … she said no for this trip.”
“Right,” said Tony. “Fine.”
“Tony –”
“No, I get it,” Tony stood up, avoiding Rhodey’s worried face. “I just have a project to do.”
He very much did not have a project, so spent half an hour spinning in his chair trying not to think about how broken his relationship with Wanda was.
He and Wanda had never interacted very much, other than the fact she lived in the Compound, and they undertook missions. Tony had always been wary, having first-hand experience with Wanda’s powers; Wanda had always been defensive, having first-hand experience of Tony’s missiles killing her family. But he had an instinct to protect her, which ultimately bit him in the ass when Clint came to fetch her. Before the entire fiasco, Wanda had seemed to have cooled off somewhat whenever Tony entered the room, though he was unsure whether it was because Vision was a helping hand.
If Tony hadn’t made Vision, he wasn’t sure that Wanda would have ever talked to him.
It was remarkable, really, that Tony managed to get a project up and running. In some sort of attempt at self-sabotage in terms of guilt-induced nausea and anxiety, Tony had started to sketch designs of a new Spider-Man suit. He had been eyeing the Iron Spider suit with slight disdain. It seemed too … flashy in the face of everything. Too … like him.
Instead, he was incorporating ideas he would assume would be helpful to Peter (if had received the suit before he had run away). Like emphasising the heater into a thermal regulator; hidden pockets and attempting to install a medic pack. Which he should have included before, not knowing how much Peter threw himself at things.
He had spent all day trawling away at old Spider-Man suit designs (before Tony had even known who he was, back in the days of looking at Colombia and NYU students, because he was certain that Spider-Man spent far too long at campuses to not be. He had never asked Peter what he had been doing near them.). It was only when his brain started to fizzle, his eyes drooping, that Tony decided that good coffee was in order. Too much of DUM-E’s oily instant was only good for so long.
So, cracking his back and wincing as it popped, he stood up from his haphazard desk and went off to search for coffee in his penthouse. FRIDAY sent him up in the elevator without speaking, which Tony decided was good enough whilst his brain was filled with junk.
His brain did, however, stop him from processing who was in his kitchen.
Clint Barton was sat on the kitchen island eating Twizzlers and playing on his phone. He looked up as Tony practically skidded to a halt as he entered the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too, asshat,” said Clint.
“You’re in my house,” said Tony. “Shouldn’t you be milking a cow in Indiana right about now?”
“You don’t milk cows at 3 am,” Clint tugged a bit of Twizzler off and chewed noisily.
“You’re not meant to sit on kitchen counters at 3 am,” said Tony. “You do realise there are stools? And more to the point, what are you doing here?”
“I heard from a little spider that you’re missing a kid,” said Clint. “And also, I live in Missouri.”
“So what?”
“So what?” Clint mimicked. “Um, because I’m the only one with kids, dipshit, so I know the most?”
“What, has yours gone missing too?”
“No,” said Clint. “But I would know what it feels like.”
“He’s not my son,” said Tony.
“Uh huh,” Clint said. He ate another bit of Twizzler.
“He was my intern,” said Tony.
“Interesting,” said Clint. “I thought he was Spider-Man.”
Tony stared at him as the archer chewed his candy.
“Nat told you.”
“Yup,” Clint popped the ‘p’ irritatingly. “But I am a spy, so I also worked it out.”
“Who else knows?”
“That the missing kid-who-is-not-your-son-or-intern-but-is-in-fact-Spider-Man is Spider-Man?”
“Yes,” Tony gritted his teeth.
“Steve and Sam are definitely clueless,” said Clint. “But they might twig if they realise the kid is from Queens, I suppose. Or if they read the Missing poster. Anyway, Barnes definitely knows but is pretending not to know – you can tell because he’s stopped joking with Sam about how much they hate him, which they did a lot before – and obviously Nat and Rhodey know.”
“You only arrived today, how on earth would you know all that?”
“Did I only arrive today?” asked Clint, eating more Twizzler and winking. “Or have I been here the whole time?”
“Get the fuck out my kitchen,” said Tony.
“Will do,” Clint replied. “See you tomorrow, Stark. We’ll talk about your kid then.”
Instead of getting the elevator, Clint stood up, jumped onto the kitchen counters running against the wall and hopped into a very open vent that hung above the oven.
“See ya,” he said, and disappeared, leaving footprints on the wall.
Tony stared after him, half-exasperated, half-amused before turning and returning to bed. He forgot about his coffee.
Scott Lang reminded Tony of Peter to such an extent that he barely said three words to the man before he sprinted off to a bathroom. He barely made into the stall when his lunch came back up. He choked, clutching the toilet rim and groaning. Distantly, he heard the door click open. Groaning louder, he turned his head – resting it against the toilet, which he initially was disgusted with and then decided he didn’t care – and saw his new visitor.
“You know,” said Natasha as she sat cross-legged between two sinks. “That Peter kid sounds awfully like someone I met over comms during Germany.”
“Do you have to do this whilst I’m vomiting?”
“I thought you’d puke when I told you, so it saves a trip,” replied Natasha, wrinkling her nose ever so slightly as Tony wiped his mouth and flushed. “So: your idea of ‘knowing a guy’ was actually a fourteen-year-old?”
“In my defence,” said Tony, propping up against the toilet and trying to look stern. “I was under a lot of stress.”
“There are other vigilantes in New York,” said Natasha. “Who are legally allowed to drink.”
“They’re hardened vigilantes!” said Tony. “Older and having their own ideas.” He paused. “I also didn’t know they existed.”
Natasha was silent as she gazed slowly around the bathroom.
“I was forced into something when I was young,” said Natasha quietly. “I was hoping that Peter had not done the same.”
“I wasn’t – manipulating him!”
Natasha shot him a look.
“So you explained the entire complexities of the Accords so that he was fully knowledgeable of what they entailed for the Avengers? For other superheroes? For him?”
Tony’s mouth didn’t work for a couple of seconds.
“Er, not exactly –”
“No one should be forced to fight,” said Natasha.
“He’s not – not some sort of soldier,” said Tony. “I didn’t force him –”
“So you went to his apartment to look for what? A kid? A friend?”
“We needed help,” Tony said. “I regret it now, but he did help us out.”
“Yes,” said Natasha. “Steve also dropped a bridge on him.”
“Uh … huh … and that’s relevant how?”
“When he finds out,” Natasha began. “Do you not think he’ll feel guilty?”
“Why? He won,” Tony said bitterly.
“He hurt a fourteen-year-old,” said Natasha. “Even Bucky feels bad, and he didn’t land a punch.”
“Barnes actually knows?”
“Yes,” Nat tilted her head. “Why?”
“Clint said so,” grumbled Tony.
“Clint figured it out on the plane over,” said Natasha, jutting her chin slightly. All of Natasha’s movements were subtle and slight, and it was only Tony knowing her personally that he understood what her movements meant. “Barnes seemed to realise when I did. That audio recording was rather stupid of you to give out.”
“You asked for one!”
“You could have said no,” countered Natasha.
“As if you’d believe I didn’t have recordings,” sniffed Tony. “Besides, Wilson was with him during the fight.”
“Sam likes to be obtuse,” said Nat.
“When did you figure it out?”
She smiled slightly. “The day after you told us. That recording just cemented it.” Her smile dropped off. “You need to inform Steve, or else he’ll begin to badger again. Especially with Clint and Scott back.” She hopped neatly off the sinks.
“Can’t you?”
“No,” said Nat, and left the bathroom.
Tony clicked his pen incessantly as FRIDAY informed him – not for the first time – that Spider-Man had yet to reappear. To ease his nerves, FRIDAY had taken to surveying the areas around Queens and Brooklyn more rigorously (and slightly more illegally than usual).
“Boss, Detectives Mosely and Fitzgerald are here to see you,” FRIDAY said.
It had been ten days since he’d gone to the police station, and three days since Clint and Scott had returned to the tower. Tony had avoided them both to various states of success; Clint had holed himself up into the vents and continually giggled whenever Tony was in the vicinity to make him jump, and Lang had the unfortunate skill of being everywhere Tony was. The first time, Lang had apologised profusely and knocked over a lamp, to which Tony asked whether that was why he failed at being a burglar. Lang had no reply.
So, after many attempts at trying to live his life in his own tower, Tony had remained either in his lab or his penthouse and had refused visitors. Until now, it seemed.
“Send them up,” said Tony.
He had gone back to clicking by the time one of the detectives cleared their throat from behind him to make themselves known.
“Mr Stark,” nodded Fitzgerald.
“I hope this visit is a good one,” said Tony.
“I’m sorry to say we are here for … some more unfortunate news,” said Fitzgerald.
“You – you didn’t –”
“We haven’t found Peter,” said Fitzgerald. Tony’s heart went back to regular beating. “However, the length of time that’s occurred since … well everything means that … well –”
“I’m afraid we’re realistically now looking for a body,” said Detective Mosely.
Tony choked as his mind went to static. He clutched the side of the kitchen island.
“A body?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Stark,” said Detective Fitzgerald. “But with the time frame, and with the winter months, and the fact we haven’t ruled the Davidsons out for harming him, the Captain believes there are higher chances of finding a body rather than Peter. The lack of any people reporting seeing him has been remarkably low.”
“You’ve only been searching for ten days!”
“Peter’s only fifteen and has been missing for three months,” said Detective Fitzgerald gently. “We’re not losing hope, we’re just attempting to be realistic.”
“We can get any support necessary,” Detective Mosely carried on. “But we just wanted to let you know, in order to … prepare for the worst.”
“Prepare for the worst,” repeated Tony. “How the fuck are you meant to prepare for the worst.”
“That was … an unfortunate choice of phrasing,” said Detective Fitzgerald, glaring slightly at Detective Mosely. “I cannot say how sorry I am, Mr Stark, I very much hope we find Peter alive.”
“Are you even going to look for him anymore?”
“Yes,” said Detective Mosely. “We’re not closing any options, just opening some new ones.”
But Tony no longer could hear her.
After the police had left, Tony had immediately holed himself in his lab and refused to come out. Even when Pepper had threatened to get Steve to remove him physically, Tony had ignored her in favour of turning his music up and sitting on the floor. When Steve did arrive – with apparent clearance from FRIDAY, whom he would be having stern words with later – he did something unexpected: he sat down on the floor next to Tony.
“FRIDAY, volume down,” said Steve. Tony glared at him. “Sensitive ears,” Steve shrugged. “Surprised your eardrums haven’t burst yet.”
Tony tried not to let his lips quirk, fighting back a retort. Steve’s face dropped slightly.
“I’m sorry about Peter,” said Steve.
Tony grunted.
“The others are still looking,” Steve carried on. “We’re not giving up hope just yet. Even Bucky is optimistic.”
Tony gave a mirthless laugh.
“That’s because Barnes has seen Peter since February.”
“What?” Steve looked bewildered; torn between running off and presumably interrogating Barnes or staying to listen to Tony. As much as Tony wanted Barnes to be caught unawares, he was grateful when Steve apparently decided to wait and see what Tony had to say.
Tony huffed a breath and knocked his head back against the wall. “I see Barnes was the brains for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“How old do you think Spider-Man is?” asked Tony randomly.
Steve looked thrown. What Tony liked about Steve (though he would never admit) was that no matter how rapidly Tony changed the conversation, Steve would always answer without question. “Um, college age, I suppose.”
“So did I, at first,” said Tony. “I trawled through students from Colombia and NYU before I tracked him going to an alleyway near to a high school and thought ‘no way in fuck’. It turns out it was way in fuck, because I found out that good old Spider-Man was fourteen years old.”
“Fourteen?” Steve said weakly.
“Yup,” said Tony, popping his ‘p’ in a bad attempt of cheeriness. “So I went to find him and offered him to go on the team with the pretence of a Stark Internship so that he could get out of homework.”
“That’s … nice?”
“Come on, Capsicle, do I have to spell it out to you?” Tony said exasperatedly.
“Spell out what?”
“Do you really think I would go from not interacting with children to interacting with two fourteen-year-olds at the same time?”
“Two fourteen –” Tony can see the lightbulb go off inside Steve’s head as his face wipes of expression and turns a pale grey. “You mean Peter is Spider-Man?”
“Congratulations,” said Tony. “You’re the fourth to figure it out.”
“But – but – he’s so young,” said Steve.
“Yeah, was a bit of a kick in the teeth, to be honest,” Tony rubbed his nose. “I was desperate enough not to care.”
Steve fell silent as the information apparently churned around in his brain.
“I dropped a bridge on him,” said Steve.
“Yeah,” said Tony. “But you could have done worse.”
“Done – of course I could have! It was only because we were – well we weren’t fighting to maim everyone completely –”
Tony scoffed.
“Well, apart from ours later on,” Steve amended, his cheeks flushing. “But I could have hurt him!”
“You did,” said Tony. Steve blanched. “He didn’t tell me though, FRIDAY picked it up later. Apparently, he has super healing because his ribs were already fused back together when she said.”
“Super healing,” Steve said. “What other powers does he have?”
“I never found out. I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t contact him after our – er – spat,” said Tony. He gave a weak chuckle. “I ignored a high school student that I allowed to be in an Avengers fight and got frustrated with him for it when he wanted more. I piled him off to Happy without a fucking thought, didn’t believe his investigations and just pawned it off to the FBI without telling him.” He ran his hands through his hair and gripped it. “I took away his suit after the ferry incident, thinking he would stop even though he was Spider-Man before I was ever there.” Tony glanced at Steve’s face, which had remained remarkably impassive during his outburst. “Imagine my shock when I find out my plane crashed on Coney Island because the guy I thought wasn’t a threat nearly stole all my fucking shit. There was Iron Legion shit in that plane. And Peter brought it down in his pyjamas and left before Happy had got there. Then I had this marvellous idea to invite him to the Avengers so that I didn’t have to apologise to the fact that I nearly killed a fourteen-year-old because I thought he was irritating.”
“If Peter is as stubborn as you say,” said Steve slowly. “Then I’m not sure you would have ever stopped him. Because I would never stop, and Bucky always felt guilty when I got beat up.”
“Am I Barnes in this scenario?” Tony curled his lip in disgust.
“You’re actually quite similar,” said Steve, smiling. “And it’s not your fault about Peter, Tony. Maybe communication was in order, but when has that been either of our strong points?”
Tony nodded in agreement.
“Natasha keeps stating that none of this would have happened if we had just talked openly,” said Steve. “So, it’s my fault, really, for causing you to get distracted so much.”
“You think you’re so distracting?”
“I’m very distracting,” grinned Steve. His cheeks pinked a little as Tony smirked at him.
“Have I finally rubbed off on you?”
Steve shook his head, his cheeks still pink.
“I am sorry, Tony, for … for crushing your suit in Siberia.”
Tony tried not to groan. They were doing this now?
“Not for anything else?”
“Would you apologise for doing what you think is right?
“What you think is right, and what is actually right are different,” said Tony.
“Okay,” said Steve firmly. “I was right in knowing that Bucky was innocent. I was also right that you would never have stopped trying to kill him once you … well, found out. What I’m sorry for is that I kept something from you that I should not have. It was such a brief thing to flick up when me and Nat were in the bunker. It didn’t even say Bucky’s name on it. Just that … well. I thought, by keeping if from you, it would save more hurt. I never thought it would come up, y’know. I guess I was naïve. I’m also sorry for leaving you with the Accords. I know we need something, but Ross wasn’t going to budge on them. How can we trust the U.N. when Hydra were in S.H.I.E.L.D? They were meant to be the safe ones.”
Tony was quiet as he contemplated what Steve had just uncovered.
“Did you say … that Nat knew, too?”
Steve gulped slightly. “Ah … yes, she was in the – um – bunker with me. It was just after Fury had faked his death. We had a whole,” Steve waved his hand. “Thing going on.”
“Thing?”
“Work thing!” Steve said quickly, and slightly squeakily. “A work thing!”
“Alright,” said Tony, trying not to grin. He paused. “I guess I was wrong for agreeing with the Accords so quickly.” He sighed, squinting his eyes at the ceiling as though it would solve his issues. His heart was still beating at the thought of Siberia, and for how long he had laid on the floor after Steve had gone. The silence as his adrenaline disappeared, with only the snow remaining. It had been a long time before he contacted FRIDAY to bring another suit so he could leave. Even then, he had done so without a mutter – a stark contrast to The Tony Stark, chief natterer. Tony had felt so odd. He felt such a wrenching feeling of betrayal that Steve Rogers had fought him for someone else. But then, that emotional embarrassment of having gone bat shit about his parents’ murders on a man who had no choice in the matter. At the time, Tony had only thought one thing.
He also thought of how he’d felt before all that, when he had gone to the Raft. His stomach had dropped when he had seen Wanda in a straitjacket; how it was all his fault. For once, he had thought he had done the right thing; instead, it had fucked him over even more.
“I was … not in a great place, and I was really just thinking of myself when I did it. It was like … I could ease my guilt over the casualties after Ultron, the fact that I had made him. And Pepper leaving … I didn’t even read them properly.” He finished lamely. How did people apologise all the time? That was painful. “So I guess I’m sorry too.”
Steve seemed to think it was a rather nice apology because he smiled warmly at him. His eyes, however, gave away the fact that he was surprised Tony had offered up a ‘sorry’. Tony didn’t know the last time he had said ‘sorry’ in a genuine interaction. Perhaps to Pepper. Even then, he always skirted round it.
But he was sorry, this time. That the entire shit show had cost him his already tentative – yet strong, somehow – relationship with Steve. He was sorry that Rhodey got hurt, and the others went to the Raft. That they had to go into exile for ten months before being allowed to return home. That Wanda still did not want to.
(Maybe having a therapist had helped. Who knew?)
“I guess we both should have talked about it instead of jumping the gun,” said Steve with a wry smile. “And letting our emotions mar our judgement. You are my friend, Tony, that wasn’t in question when I wanted to save Bucky. But Bucky had no one else to help him out.”
“I get it,” said Tony, thinking about Rhodey. “If it was Rhodey … I get it.”
They lapsed into a brief silence before Steve – ever the person to hate silences – spoke up again.
“Isn’t this a good thing, though?” said Steve. Tony stared at him. “About Peter,” Steve amended, looking embarrassed. Tony – whose brain was filled with much more now – caught on. “If Peter’s Spider-Man, then at least we know he’s definitely alive! He was on the news the other week!”
“He hasn’t been seen since then,” said Tony dully. “Anything could have happened.”
“He survived this long,” Steve insisted. “And now we know we’re looking for Spider-Man, more likely, because Peter probably doesn’t want to be recognised.”
“Don’t you think he’d go to the police when he finds people looking for him?”
“Tony, people didn’t look for him for three months,” said Steve gently. “And the laws in place would make Peter go back to a foster house. Do you think he’d want to?”
“They’d make sure this time,” said Tony, muffling his words slightly as he put his head on his knees.
“The best option we have,” Steve ignored him. “Is to find Spider-Man’s hideout. Lucky for us, we have pretty much the entirety of Queens who are looking for him too.”
“You’re telling me,” Bucky said, his legs propped up against the table as he rocked back in his chair, sunglasses covering his eyes. Tony tried not to be jealous of how effortless it was. “You,” he pointed at Steve. “And you,” he pointed at Sam. “Had no idea that Parker was Spider-Man?”
“Scott didn’t know either,” said Wilson petulantly.
“Lang’s been here three days,” Barnes said, jabbing his finger at Scott, who had just taken a bite of his cheeseburger. Everyone flicked to look at Scott, who froze whilst looking around in vague puzzlement. “You’ve been here for a month.”
Sam crossed his arms. “Rhodey only knows because Tony told him.”
“I resent that,” said Rhodey. “I would have figured it out.”
Everyone stared at him.
“Eventually,” he said, looking affronted.
“Besides, how were we supposed to know that Spider-Man was fourteen?” said Steve.
“You had a conversation with him,” said Bucky, still looking far too pleased. “And then you heard an audio of Parker speaking. And you still didn’t connect the two?”
Steve flushed. Bucky grinned wickedly.
“Anyway,” said Natasha from her space next to Clint. “Are we going to make a ‘Find Spider-Man’ schedule, or keep talking about how unobservant Rogers and Wilson are?” Clint opened his mouth. “Don’t respond to that.” He closed it.
“Don’t you think it’ll be suspicious if the Avengers start waltzing round Queens looking for Spider-Man just as a boy from Queens who has connections with Tony Stark gets put on the news?” asked Scott. Everyone stared at him. “What?”
“Fuck,” said Tony. He was sat at the end, near Clint, and trying not to twitch over the fact that he had announced that Peter was Spider-Man, and that everyone now wanted to help. “I thought you were clueless.”
“I have a master’s in electrical engineering,” said Scott.
“You used a master’s to become a criminal?”
“I didn’t –” Scott huffed. “I was in prison for giving back the $4 million Vistacorp owed their employees.”
He flushed as everyone stared at him again.
“Jesus,” said Tony. “Well, now we know Lang is the American Robin Hood, can we now think about how we’re finding Peter without letting the world know he’s Spider-Man?”
The team lapsed into silence, bar Scott, who went back to his cheeseburger. Tony didn’t know why he had a cheeseburger, or when he had got one, and only knew that Tony now wanted one. Trying not to think about cheeseburgers, his mind returned on attempting to find Peter. He had been rather on-edge over the fact that Spider-Man had not returned, and that he had to deal with everyone’s sorrowful looks after finding out they fought a fourteen-year-old.
“How did Peter even get his powers?” asked Wilson.
“I … don’t know,” said Tony.
“What powers does he have? Apart from crawling up walls – which is creepy – and spitting out webs – which I’m still not certain about where they come from,” Sam made a slightly disgusted face.
“He was strong,” said Steve. “Very strong.”
“Like you strong?”
Steve nodded solemnly. “I’m pretty sure he’s similar. He could throw the bridge off and toss my shield very easily.”
“Super healing,” said Tony. “And he said … said that his sense dial up to eleven.”
Steve shot him a look (that clearly stated you didn’t say that the other day) which Tony ignored. Their tentative relationship was still on unsteady grounds; since their talk, Steve had asked Tony more than ever to join in their meetings. Tony still held a slight resentment (and pettiness) that made him refuse. He did, however, order Steve art supplies (which the man had taken with such a gleeful look Tony had no sarcastic quip to respond with) and left his shield on his bed (it never had been Tony’s). Tony had already spoken to Nat about knowing about his parents – she had been frustratingly closed off with answers, stating she had known as much as Steve had (which was an obvious lie, from the fact that Natasha had released the files to the world). Natasha had retorted that her secrets were her own, and she owed Tony none of them. Tony had thrown a pillow at her, and very nearly received a knife back.
“Like hearing? Seeing?” Sam was still questioning.
“I guess so,” said Tony. “I never did any tests.”
“Hm,” said Sam. “Kind of when you want Dr Banner, isn’t it?”
The Avengers who were involved with the Ultron disaster shifted uncomfortably, whilst Bucky and Scott looked intrigued.
Natasha, who had looked away, said “Whenever he gets back, I’m sure he’d be interested.”
“Probably be quite excited,” said Steve.
“Let’s find Peter first,” said Tony. Bruce was still a painful reminder of pretty much everything. “At least he is on Earth.”
“That we know of,” said Scott unhelpfully. He seemed to have accidently slipped it out, for when he raised his head, he seemed quite shocked. “Sorry.”
“I investigated some other vigilantes about whether they had seen Spider-Man,” said Nat, abruptly changing the conversation. “Jessica Jones hadn’t seen him, nor had she ever interacted with him. The others were irritatingly obtuse, but I gather that no one has seen Spider-Man either. However, Jones stated that the Hell’s Kitchen Devil, commonly known as Daredevil, hasn’t been seen in about a month.”
“Daredevil?”
Nat nodded. “More interestingly, is that Deadpool has been spotted in and around Queens. This is odd as his usual hangouts are in the Bronx.”
“Deadpool?”
Nat’s face flashed with irritation. “Do none of you know the vigilantes in New York?”
“Should we?” Clint said at the same time as Steve mumbled “I know a few.”
“You should want to know everything,” retorted Natasha, eyeing her friend. “And knowing ‘a few’ doesn’t help in this situation. Deadpool’s a mercenary, and not exactly the nice run-of-the-mill hero.”
“A mercenary?” Tony repeated slowly.
“It’s where he –”
“I know what it is,” interrupted Tony. “But why is he in Queens? A job?”
“I don’t know,” said Natasha. “I’m not sure of anything yet, apart from the fact that both Deadpool and Daredevil wear red, which is funnily enough the same colour as the person who saved Spider-Man from the fight in the building.”
“You watched it?”
“Of course,” said Nat. “Peter’s been spending more time as Spider-Man in public than himself since February – before the building fight – so it’s obvious something went down between that time.”
“Can’t you find this Deadpool person?” asked Steve.
“We tried,” Clint indicated himself and Natasha. “He’s a sneaky bastard though. Said something about being in a story that a random person decided to write because she was avoiding real life before flitting off before we could apprehend him.”
“This guy might be hanging around Peter?”
“Potentially,” said Natasha. “Unless it’s Daredevil. Though, he doesn’t seem much better. He’s … pretty brutal. Obviously, as he’s missing, I haven’t been able to track him down.”
Tony rubbed his forehead in a vain attempt at stopping a headache.
“How did this become more complicated?” he groaned. “Wasn’t Peter running away from his dodgy foster parents which went unannounced for three months complicated enough? Now we have two potentially dangerous vigilantes who may or may not be involved with Peter.”
“And the building fight,” said Nat. “I’m still trying to work out what that was about. None of the men Peter hit were recognisable on cameras. The huge guy is also … hard to pinpoint.”
“Hard to pinpoint?” said Tony. “He’s massive!”
Nat shot him a look.
“The footage isn’t exactly quality. The only reason you know it’s Spider-Man is because of the colours,” she sniffed, flicking her tablet carefully.
“It’s the only one we have,” snapped Tony. Nat gave him another look, filled with an emotion hard to place. The instruction, however, was clear. Don’t put your frustrations on me, Stark. Tony shifted. “Can’t you at least find the huge man? He must be known for something.” He said, in a much nicer voice.
“That is what I’m attempting,” said Nat. “FRIDAY couldn’t recognise his face due to the quality, and you can’t exactly search ‘huge man NYC’ and hope for results.”
“Yeah, well,” Tony tried to figure out a response. “You and Barton stick with figuring out the fight, the rest of us keep eyes and ears out for sighting of Spider-Man. Scott could go incognito round Queens; no one knows him.”
“Thanks, man,” said Scott. He didn’t seem that bothered.
“Yeah, that’s a better idea, Steve’s idea of incognito is wearing hat and shades,” said Sam. “As if his humongous muscles disappear when he puts sunglasses on.”
Steve looked as though he didn’t know whether it was a compliment or not.
“It was not a compliment,” said Sam. “Do you own anything other than tight fitting shirts?”
“It’s a struggle to find something to fit,” said Steve.
“It’s a struggle,” repeated Sam in a bad iteration of Steve’s Brooklyn drawl. “Come off it –”
“Sam could go too,” piped up Bucky. “No one knows who he is, either.”
“Excuse me?” Wilson turned to face Barnes. “What about you, everyone thinks you’re dead or hiding.”
“I’m a deadly assassin,” said Bucky with a wicked grin. “I’m too scary.”
“He is not allowed to leave,” said Tony. Sam and Bucky stopped talking immediately; Bucky’s face closed off as his smile disappeared, which Sam observed with an annoyed expression.
“Fuck off, Stark,” said Sam, his annoyance transferring to Tony. “Thought you were meant to have a sense of humour.”
“I do when I’m not looking for my missing intern,” said Tony. He didn’t really know why had stated it. Perhaps it was due to feeling rather out of control over the entire Peter is missing situation now that the Avengers also knew. Before, Tony had felt he could solve it without anyone else.
Sam scoffed. “As if you cared,” he said. “You didn’t even bother to try and talk to him until we came back.” Sam placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands as he observed Tony with an uncharacteristic malicious glint in his eye. “It’s as if you were using him to get out of speaking to us.”
“Sam,” Steve said sternly. Wilson raised his arms in a resigned surrender.
“I’m just being honest,” he said, refusing to be chastised. The air had become very chilly in the room. Tony’s mind reeled at Wilson’s words.
“If you don’t like me then why the hell are you here?” Tony said, somewhat childishly.
“Because a fifteen-year-old child has been missing for three months in the cold,” snapped Sam. “You’re lucky it’s been a warm fucking winter.”
“You never even liked Spider-Man,” Tony glared at him.
“What, so I didn’t like a random punk that I didn’t know fighting me when it had nothing to do with him? So, all that means I don’t care about a kid going missing? I thought he was in college. That’s a big difference,” Sam glared right back. Steve looked extremely uncomfortable on his left, whilst Bucky’s face remained impassive on his right. Nat was watching the exchange as though it was something mildly entertaining; Clint and Scott were flicking their heads like a tennis match. Rhodey watched Tony.
“You brought Lang with you! I didn’t know him!”
“Lang’s like forty!”
“I’m forty-eight, actually,” said Scott.
“You – you’re what?”
“I’m forty-eight,” said Scott.
“Fucking hell,” said Clint. “Do you not age?”
Sam, who had been looking rather thrown, threw his arms in Scott’s direction.
“That just pushes the point further! We brought a forty-seven-year-old, you brought a fourteen-year-old!”
“I was pretty pushed for help,” said Tony hotly. “I didn’t exactly get much time from Ross to gather you lot up.”
“Great, so bring in the child soldiers then –”
“That’s enough,” said Nat. “Tony made a mistake, a necessary one at the time. But so did everyone. Now, we should care about finding Peter, instead of saying past mistakes on who should have contacted who. Because, it’s not as though we all here have been perfect communicators.” She eyed a shame-faced Steve and an angry Tony. “Scott and Sam will patrol Queens and Brooklyn, whilst the rest of you will wait to see if FRIDAY picks up anything.
“Great,” said Sam sarcastically. “Are we done? I have patrolling to do.”
He got to his feet and shoved off past the table; Bucky was quick to follow him. Steve, after giving Tony a look, hurried off too. Before they reached the elevator, they heard him speak up.
“You wore sunglasses and a hat, too.”
“Shut up, Rogers.”
“What are you going to do when you find him?”
Tony jerked his head up, having dozed off whilst he and Pepper watched TV. Pepper, curled on the other sofa, had been quiet for half an hour; Tony had been slowly falling asleep the longer the programme went on, and had assumed Pepper to be so enthralled in it that she would not make conversation.
“Hm?”
“Peter,” said Pepper. “What are you going to do when you find him?”
Tony rubbed his eyes slightly.
“Um,” he said. “Er, I hadn’t thought that far.”
Pepper raised an eyebrow.
“I guess,” Tony started before pausing. “I guess I don’t want to get my hopes up by thinking of what’s next.”
“Spider-Man is alive, Tony, I don’t think it’s hopeful to think about the future,” said Pepper. “Is he going to stay here?”
“Well, I guess so, for recovery,” said Tony.
“And after?”
“I dunno,” said Tony. “Whatever Peter wants to do, I ‘spose.”
“What if he wants to stay here?”
Tony shifted slightly. “I don’t think he’d want to,” he said. “Anyway, the police will get him a nice new family to live with.”
“Tony –”
“We’re talking about something that the three steps before haven’t happened yet,” Tony interjected, not wanting to hear Pepper’s disappointed tone. “Don’t make me say anything I’ll go back on, that’s not fair.”
“I’m not forcing –”
“I just want to find him first, alright?”
“Okay, Tony.”
Tony sighed.
“Let’s just continue watching … er …”
“Have you watched any of it?”
“Um, something about a burglary?”
Pepper rolled her eyes. “Come over here if you want a nap.”
Tony happily obliged her.
Tony returned to consciousness confused; something red was flashing underneath his eyelids. He cracked one eye open and looked around his bedroom in complete befuddlement.
“FRIDAY –” he croaked, arm waving haphazardly to the side for his water glass. He knocked it sideways off his bedside table but did not pay it much mind. It was empty anyway.
“Boss, I’ve had a location on Spider-Man,” said FRIDAY. “Would you like me to assemble the team?”
Tony blinked.
And blinked again.
“What?”
“Spider-Man is currently engaged in fighting fifteen men on a rooftop in Manhattan,” said FRIDAY. “He has been shot in the leg.”
Is this what a heart attack feels like?
Tony fell sideways out of bed and lay, crumpled on the floor as he attempted to sort out his breathing.
“Sh – shot?”
“Yes, boss,” said FRIDAY. “Would you like me to assemble the team?”
“Hngah,” Tony scrambled to figure out English. “Yes – FRIDAY yes!”
Immediately a siren echoed through the room, making Tony wince and yelp.
“Not in here!”
“Sorry boss,” said FRIDAY. “The system is rigged for both floors. The team is getting up and coming up to the penthouse.”
“So quickly?” Tony asked, still slumped on the floor trying to figure out how his legs worked.
“They are the Avengers, sir,” said FRIDAY.
Tony ignored the last comment in favour of crawling forward before pushing himself upright. He stumbled like a drunk out of his room and down the corridor into his living room.
Everyone was in varying states of disarray: Steve, tousled haired and only in pyjama bottoms; Sam, looking extremely disgruntled in his flannel pyjamas that had his name on the pocket; Clint was standing proudly in unicorn-printed ones; even Natasha had visible bags under her usually perfect complexion. The only person who seemed even vaguely awake was Bucky, who stood, fully dressed, with his arms folded to attention. Tony, in his half-asleep brain, wondered if Bucky even owned pyjamas.
“What’s going on?” asked Scott, his bed hair remarkable as it defied gravity.
“It is time to assemble,” said FRIDAY’s voice. “Spider-Man is engaged with a fight and suffering from a gunshot wound.”
“Fuck,” said Sam. “Suit up, quickly. Five minutes tops. Bucky – get the Quinjet ready.”
Bucky nodded as everyone immediately sprinted back towards the elevators. Tony was left leaning against the back of the couch and wondering if he was still having a heart attack.
“Boss, would you like me to summon your suit?”
“Yes please,” said Tony. “Am I dying?”
“No boss, your heart race is elevated, and you show symptoms of a panic attack. These symptoms have been slowly disappearing for the last three minutes.”
Tony didn’t respond; instead, he pushed himself off the wall and headed off towards the elevator to get to the Quinjet. Bucky had already retrieved his weapons and had sorted out the controls when he arrived. The man said nothing to Tony as he entered; he had not spoken to him since Sam and Tony’s argument two days ago. Sam, too, had been glaring at him whenever possible. Which wasn’t much, considering he had decided to take his patrolling very seriously. He had, Rhodey had informed him, trailed over Queens and Brooklyn for the entirety of the two days for any sign of disturbances or the spider himself. To no such luck, Tony had found, when the glaring had only gotten harsher whenever Sam had returned. Tony hadn’t minded, much, with Rhodey on his side and Natasha refusing to get involved in what she deemed as ‘petty squabbles’. Clint had told him that he should learn how to take honesty, when he was so honest himself. “Don’t dish if you can’t serve” he had stated before Tony had chucked a cushion at him. But it had struck something; Sam had only said the truth: Tony had neglected Peter until he wanted him as a distraction. He just hoped he could make up for it, regardless of what Wilson thought.
It didn’t take long for everyone to get ready: trained soldiers (and an ex-offender who had quick changes expertise) were suited in no time at all. As soon as Rhodey clunked in with his War Machine suit – which had not been touched since their airport fight – the door was closing, and Clint and Natasha were taking off.
“Estimated time: seven minutes,” said Nat.
Steve, inevitable Steve, sat in the centre and immediately attempted to make a battle plan.
“There’s no bloody time,” said Sam, looking quite stressed. Lang, who was sat next to him, was also looking nervous. He, too, had spent days searching for Peter to no avail. He had taken the night shifts, and even now looked slightly worse for wear.
“We need someone to get Spider-Man out as quickly as possible,” said Steve, his voice commanding.
“I can,” said Bucky. “To the Quinjet.”
Tony’s stomach lurched.
“You stay away from him,” Tony snapped harshly. Everyone’s attention snapped towards him as Bucky’s eyes widened slightly and took a step back.
“I’m not going to – I won’t harm him,” he said, but he’d raised his arms, and his sleeve had dropped ever so slightly to reveal the metal. Tony may have tried to remember the fact that Bucky Barnes was no longer the Winter Soldier, but any thoughts over the matter had escaped him. This person had killed his parents. He was dangerous. What if he was just trying to get in on the action in order to destroy Spider-Man? He’d expressed his dislike before, when they met in Germany (Tony’s brain conveniently forgot the fact that Wilson had also expressed distaste, and both of them had stopped once they’d realised Peter was fifteen).
“How would you know?” hissed Tony. “You’re not in control.”
“Tony,” said Steve warningly. “He’s not the Soldier anymore, and by the looks of it, we need every hand possible.”
Tony wrenched his eyes towards the screen, showing Spider-Man still taking on the men swarming onto the rooftop. They were nearly there.
“Fine,” he snapped as the Quinjet shuddered slightly. “But you don’t go near him.”
Bucky nodded. He retreated back into the shadows, shoulders tight and face resolutely looking away from any eyes. Steve looked at him slightly sadly, whilst Tony caught Sam’s angry glare. He raised an eyebrow at him; Sam glared harder and shook his head in apparent disgust.
With a shot of shame, Tony looked away. Really, Tony should have said he would retrieve Peter, but for a reason he couldn’t quite place made him … nervous to approach it. Why didn’t he want to? After the time he had taken to find him, surely, he should be the one to fetch him?
Instead of offering, Tony stayed in his stony silence.
“We’re approaching,” said Nat, breaking the awkward silence that remained. “Get ready.”
“There are now fifty armed men on the rooftop,” FRIDAY informed them.
“I’ll get him out,” said Rhodey, eyes flitting between Tony, Steve, and Bucky in quick succession. “We’ll go to the tower, give him to the medics, and if necessary, I can fly back.”
“Right,” said Steve. “The rest of us will just … kick some ass, I suppose.”
END OF PART I