The Home That Built Me

Peter laid on the ground in the living room, watching an ant carry a piece of bread across the floor. He was hungry but Steve was cooking dinner and didn’t want him to spoil his appetite so he offered him a piece of bread and butter to snack on in the meantime. 

He wanted to make friends with the ant so he was feeding him some crumbs, watching him crawl across the floor, leaving him. 

Peter sighed, sitting up. “I’m still hungry and all my bread is gone.” 

“Dinners ready in 5 minutes. Go wash your hands in the bathroom. Bucky, where’s Bucky?” Turning around, Steve looked towards the backdoor which was left open. Bucky went to go collect some firewood and Peter wanted to join but got yelled at so he cried on the living room floor. But now he was too hungry to cry and whatever was being cooked smelled so good. 

“He went outside. I can go get him.” 

“I already said no. Do you need to wait in your room alone?” 

“No.” Peter hated that threat. It made his heart race. 

Steve turned the stove off, taking the pot of roast stew off the element and putting the lid on. He then held his hand out for Peter but Peter took a step back. “Okay, let’s go to your room-” 

“Nooo! No. I’m being good!” Panicking, Peter stomped his feet, running to grab Steve’s hand like he wanted him to. It was scary to hold hands with the man who kidnapped him, twice, and ruined his life but it was either that or be locked in his bedroom with no dinner. 

“Stop yelling. We have neighbours.” Pulling him into the bathroom, Steve stood him in front of the sink and started washing his hands for him. While his hands got washed, Peter stared back at his reflection. He always used to wonder what his mom looked like because he never saw Steve in him, the man was large, with straight blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. Peter was the total opposite to that with blown hair as curly as could be, deep, chocolate brown eyes, small frame, but now he saw that he took after Tony. Although Tony had strong muscles, he was definitely not as tall as Steve was. 

Peter hiccuped. He wanted his dad. His real dad. 

It also didn’t help that he was so hungry and couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open for very long. He felt so weak, dizzy and drained. 

“Are you crying, bear? What’s wrong? I hate seeing my baby bear upset. When you cry, it makes me so sad. And you don’t want to make daddy sad, right?” Peter nodded, wait what? “Good. So no crying. Let’s check your boo boo now.” 

He lifted Peter onto the counter, pulling the bandage off his inner thigh. “It’s healing so nicely. It won’t even scar.” Looking down, Peter went to touch the incision. Steve put a needle or something in his leg a few weeks ago? Days? Peter couldn’t remember. He’s been there for at least a month. He thinks. 

“What is it?” He asked, trying to get a better look by bending his leg. 

“You’re too young to understand.” After applying some cream, Steve put a new bandage on the incision to prevent Peter from starting puberty, and lifted him off the counter. “Let’s go eat dinner. And after dinner, it’s straight to bed.” 

Peter didn’t have much energy in him to argue anymore. He climbed onto his seat, his mouth watering when he watched Steve fill up his plate first, mashed potatoes, carrots, beef and some buttered bread. 

“Got the wood. It smells delicious in here, Stevie.” 

“Thanks. Wash your hands, will you.” Steve served his and Bucky’s next, filling their plates a lot more. “Here, bear, if you want more, let me know. But you need to finish your plate first.” 

Peter nodded. He reached for his plate but it was too far for him. Probably because Steve wasn’t done yet. As Peter watched his kidnapper dump a white, yellowish powdered substance all over his food then mix it in, Peter lost a bit of appetite. “What’s that?” 

“You’re too young to understand. You need to eat your food.” Now his plate was being placed in front of him but Peter didn’t want it anymore. 

“No. Not with… that stuff. I want it without.” As hungry as he was, or as young as Steve seemed to think he was, he was smart enough to understand that what was put in his food was some type of drug. He hated feeling so fuzzy. 

“Your daddy worked hard to make this for you so you need to eat it, Peter.” Bucky took a bite of his, sighing. “So good. Amazing, Steve.” 

“Eat, Peter.” 

“Why would you put it in his food in front of him? You could’ve just put it in his milk after.” 

Steve grabbed Peter’s chair, moving it closer to himself. He picked up a spoonful, holding it to his lips. “Open wide. Eat it.” Peter turned away, shaking his head. “Because I want him to see what I put in his food and he will eat it.” He said to Bucky but it was directed right at Peter. 

Suddenly, strong arms were around him and lifting him onto Steve’s lap, holding his arms down. “Open open.” Steve tried to force the food onto his mouth but it didn’t work so he squeezed his cheeks, forcing the spoonful into his mouth and keeping it shut. “Do not spit it out. Eat it. I worked so hard to make this food, and you’re upsetting me, little bear.” 

Peter managed to swallow some then bursted out crying. He felt so violated and taken advantage of, why was Steve doing this to him? He trashed in his arms, feeling physically pained. “Let me go! I-I wan-i wan- wan’ my daddy. Stop! Please. Stop.” He begged but it landed on deaf ears. Steve got Bucky to hold his arms down so Steve could force feed him the drugged meal. 

It was only four or five bites but it was complete hell. 

After he cleared that plate, Steve stood up, leaving him standing there sobbing. 

He grabbed a wipe and cleaned the stew off his face and neck, sitting him back down. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You just needed to eat. That’s all I wanted from you. Why did you have to make it so hard?” 

Peter gagged on his cries. “I don’t know!” 

“You made it so much harder for yourself. I just wanted you to eat, right?” 

Nodding, Peter cried harder. Maybe he shouldn’t have fought so hard. All he knew was that from now on, he was going to eat what he wanted and at the pace he wanted to go at. 

Steve served him more food, without any drugs this time but Peter couldn’t calm down enough to eat it. He was trying but everytime he lifted his shaking hand up to feed himself, he gagged and dropped the spoon. “I want daddy.” 

“I’m right here.” Steve looked at him, eyes dark. 

Not knowing what to do and scared of getting hurt, he nodded. He just wanted Tony. He didn’t know whether it was from the crying or being force fed but Peter gagged and threw up all over himself and his plate. 

That only got him crying even harder. 

“Great. Now I have to give him more midazolam.” Steve was more concerned about that. He stood up, grabbing Peter by his arms and dragging him into the bathroom where he stripped him naked and turned the shower on. “You need to stop crying so hard, little bear. That’s why you’re vomiting.” 

Peter nodded. He did not feel good. His tummy was hurting and his head felt like he was on a cloud. Not in a good way, like a storm cloud. The water splashed on his face, causing him to shake. “Daddy.” He cried for Tony but Steve was the only one there to answer his pleads. 

“I’m right here, bear. Stop crying now. Bucky?” 

“What do you need?” Bucky walked in, vomit soaked cloth in his hand. 

“Get me a pull-up and a bottle of milk, 700mg of midazolam. I want him knocked out for the rest of the day and night.” 

“It’s 3pm, Steve. We just gave him 150mg of Alprazolam.” Bucky pulled out his phone to read something on it. “We should wait at least six hours.” 

“It doesn’t matter because he threw it up. So it’s all out of his system now.” Steve waited for Bucky to move and when he didn’t, he stood up, rushing out of the bathroom, leaving Peter shaking in the shower. 

Bucky took pity on him, turning off the water and wrapping a towel around him, drying off his wet curls. He picked him up and Peter couldn’t help but cuddle into him for his act of kindness. As small as it was. Bucky was still responsible for his kidnapping too. “Bucky.” He whimpered. 

“Steve,” Bucky followed him into the kitchen, watching Steve read the pill bottles. “He doesn’t need anymore drugs right now. Let’s just give him some melatonin and he’ll go to sleep.” 

“No. He’ll only wake up in a few hours.” 

“Steve. He’s fourteen and weighs eighty eight pounds. It’s too much. Take a walk.” 

“Bucky. They will take him from me again. They already did! And look at him now… he remembers them! I don’t want him to remember them.” He filled up a bottle of milk, putting 700mg of midazolam into it and shaking it up. 

Bucky placed Peter on his feet. “Stop. You’re going to rot his brain. What’s your plan?” 

“Remember when he used to get these random memories of his mom and dad? Those realistic memories of the kind woman with blonde hair or the man with the dark beard who smiled like him? And we told him it was only dreams. Well now he knows they aren’t dreams. But if we do it just right, we can erase those memories and tell him it’s just dreams, he’s young enough to start believing it eventually.” After explaining his plan to his best friend, Steve pushed past him and grabbed a pull-up from the box by the couch, taking the towel off Peter. 

He heard the whole thing, he was standing right there. But he was having a hard time processing it all. 

Steve held the pull-up for him, helping him step into it then grabbing his hand and pulling him down the hallway. Peter screamed. He was behaving so why was he being taken to his bedroom. “Nooooo! Ahhh! Stop no!” 

“Peter. Stop it. It’s bedtime.” 

“What time is it?” 

“It’s 9pm. Time for bed.” 

Peter could still see the sun coming through the windows. “But… I see the sun.” 

“It’ll set in ten minutes.” Steve lifted Peter onto his bed, pushing him until he was lying down. He pushed the bottle to his lips, waiting for Peter to latch on which he quickly did. Finding both comfort in it and the milk filling his still hungry belly. 

About halfway through the milk, Peter began feeling loopy. His head got that fuzzy feeling again, like he didn’t know what was real or not or if he was dreaming. It was scary. 

He spit the nipple out, trying to sit up. Someone pushed him down, saying something to him that he didn’t understand or really hear for that matter. After that, Peter heard the door close and perked his eyes open, seeing as if the door looked so far away. 

“Daddy.” He whispered right before he passed right out, wishing he could be safe in Tony’s arms. 

.

.

.

Tony sat at the kitchen table, a glass of water in his hand. God, how he wished it was tequila. Why did he always crave alcohol when his life went to shit? 

He didn’t know where Peter was but why was it so much scarier this time? 

It felt like they were on a race against the clock. They knew who had Peter and that was scary for many reasons. Tony was convinced Steve would kill Peter before letting Tony get him back. 

Tony didn’t know what Steve was capable of but it wasn’t anything good. He was a deranged monster who already shot and tried to kill a man. 

Tony was afraid of getting too close to them, terrified that Steve would kill his baby. 

Suddenly, Tony was turning around and slamming the glass into the sink, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces. He immediately went to go clean it up, scared that Peter would stick his tiny hands in it, cutting them up. 

But Peter wasn’t here. 

That short three seconds where he actually thought Peter was going to walk into the kitchen, asking what happened, but no. Peter was gone. Again. 

And Tony probably was never going to see him again. 

He quickly picked up all the glass, not even feeling it cutting into his finger. He rinsed the blood off, numbly wiping it with a dishcloth before racing outside, sinking down against the wall. 

Breathe. 

Breathe. 

How has this happened again? 

How the fuck was Peter taken from him again. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. 

Tony just wanted Peter back safely in his arms. It’s been three days already. He couldn’t survive losing him. Not this time. But that was a choice Tony would make himself. 

.

.

.

Peter woke up to his head killing him and his body numb. 

He was lying on his back, unable to move his arms and legs. He screamed through his teeth, his heart beating faster. “Urhhhh!” 

Turning his head to the left, Peter saw the light shining underneath his door. Judging from the darkness of his bedroom, it was dark outside, no, the bedroom, this was just some room he was being held captive in. 

He managed to roll onto his stomach and lift himself up with shaky arms, sitting up on his knees. Why did it feel like he was waking up after spending seven years in a coma? His head was so fuzzy. “Daddy.” He called out, then coughed to clear his throat. Water. He needed water. 

In the darkness, he reached onto the nightstand table, finding a bottle and picking it up. The warm milk soothed his sore throat. Usually it was cold which meant it was sitting there for some time. 

“Daddy?” Peter called out, calling for Tony but it hit him like a train when he remembered that Tony wasn’t here. Steve took him from his daddy. 

He jumped off the bed, running to the door to open it, he was terrified of the dark and what could be lurking inside. When the door didn’t open, Peter banged weakly on the wood. “Open it. Open the door! Please… I’m scared. Please… hey? Hello?” 

When no response came, Peter slammed around on the wall, finally finding the lightswitch. The bright light assaulted his eyes, causing him to wonder how long he was actually asleep for. 

But he remembered going to bed during the daytime yesterday? Or was it this morning? Was this his nap? Urg. Why was it so hard to remember? 

Peter ran onto his bed, pulling the covers over his head. Maybe he was having a really bad dream that he hasn’t woken up from yet? “Wake up. Wake up, Peter. Wake up and you’ll be gone with daddy and mommy and… Aiser… and Morgan. And Harley and…” 

He lifted the blankets over his head, looking around. Dammit! That didn’t work. 

He kicked the door again, jiggling the doorknob until it opened. He was pretty good at getting out of locked doors in old cabins. He’s had experience. 

When Peter walked outside, the first thing he realized was that he was alone. The second thing he realized was that this must be his chance to escape and call for help. 

The reminder of Steve telling him if he went outside alone, he’d be punished, still lived at the front of his memory so even without Steve there, he was too afraid to leave the cabin. So, Peter looked around for a phone. 

There was an old phone with a rotary dial on the side cabinet. He knew it was a phone since it was shaped like one, but it didn’t have proper buttons. 

It was worth a shot. 

Peter climbed onto the chair, picking up the phone. Okay, time to call daddy. He was grateful he remembered his number off by heart. But his mind was so foggy. “Urg! What is it?” 

He started dialing. 212-345-

He couldn’t remember the last four numbers. Urggg this was beyond frustrating. “Daddy. Come get me. I don’t-I can’t-I don’t know your numbers! Ahhhhhhhhh! Just… come get me… I’m… scared. And… my head… it feels… funny. I think… I think I’ll sleep soon. I wanna… wanna wake up with you.” 

The phone was beeping on the other end, probably because it wasn’t even connected. He screamed, throwing it onto the floor, causing the huge metal chunk to rip from the wall and slam on the ground with a loud bang. 

Peter didn’t care. He just wanted Tony. His heart felt so so alone and it was causing him so much unbearable pain. 

It still felt like he was living a nightmare in his mind, like none of this was real. 

He crawled across the floor, dumping his colour bin out, kicking it across the floor in his anger. “Ahhhhhhhhh!” He stood up, running into the dining room to throw the chairs on the floor, accidentally slamming one onto the corner of his pinky toe. 

Falling to the floor with a scream, Peter craved comfort. From anyone at this point. He was never taught how to handle this situations by himself, ever. So he sobbed on the floor, wishing anyone would walk through that door, pick him up and tell him everything was going to be okay. 

His heart and his toe was hurting. 

Peter laid there, tears creating a small puddle on the floor, when he picked up a red marker and sat up, turning to draw on the wall. 

Tony Stark  Peter Stark

Pepper Stark 

Morgan Stark

Harley Stark 

He didn’t want to forget their names, even if he was going to spend the rest of his life here with Steve. 

Eventually, after some time, the front door opened, Steve and Bucky walking in, carrying boxes and some bags. Peter dropped the red marker he was colouring his leg with. “You left me.” 

“Shit. You scared me. What did you do, Peter?” Steve looked angry, well, more annoyed. But not at the mess, at him. “Why are you awake? Bucky, I told you we needed to give him more. He woke up!” 

“Steve.” 

“He was supposed to be asleep for six more hours.” 

“Steve.” 

Peter looked over at Bucky standing over the phone on the floor. 

“What?” 

“Does he know how to work a rotary phone?” 

“Why? Oh shit.” When Steve looked down at Peter, Peter’s eyes went wide and everything in him screamed at him to run so he crawled underneath the table, getting a head start to get away from Steve. 

He didn’t get very far before his arm was yanked back and he was pulled into Steve’s string chest, his feet getting lifted off the floor. “Steve! Please. I-” 

“Uh uh. I’m daddy.” 

“Yes. I-I know. I-I-I-I-I-I was sleeping. I-I promise you.” Peter did try to call his dad but he couldn’t remember the last four numbers. Those numbers could have saved his life. He would probably hate himself for that but he would likely forget about it in a few minutes anyways. 

“Do you think he called anyone?” Steve looked to Bucky, shifting Peter onto his hip, eyes looking directly at Peter now, who was shaking in his arms. “Did you call anyone?” 

Peter blinked at him then tried to straighten his legs to get free. 

“Alright. Just know, you caused this,” Steve marched into the kitchen, keeping Peter tightly locked in his arms as he dug through a black locked box, pulling out a small, clear sealed bag. 

“What’s that?” 

“A needle that will put you to sleep if you don’t listen to what I say.” 

“Noooo! Please, just-” As much as he tried to get free, he couldn’t. Steve was way too strong for him so Peter just cried. As Steve passed by his drawing on the wall, he froze. “Owwww!” 

“What’s this? Bucky, paint this over!” Steve was not in the right headspace. He needed to be getting some help, but unfortunately all those years locked up only made him angrier. Although Steve would never physically hurt Peter before, he was borderline with him now, putting Peter in a very dangerous position. 

He grabbed the boys tiny arms, squeezing them until they bruised as he knelt down in front of him. “That, on the wall, is unacceptable! It hurts me to see you making up lies like that. I’m your family. Those people aren’t real. Am I not good enough for you, little bear?” 

“I’m- I know. I know.” Peter didn’t even know what to say. His foggy brain could not keep up with everything. 

“But you don’t!” Grabbing him tighter, Steve pushed him off to the side and stood up, grabbing his phone from the counter and handing it to Bucky. “Record this.” 

“Steve, I’ll clean this up. Maybe go put him to sleep, you’re scaring him now.” Bucky tried to reason, his own best friend was becoming unrecognizable to him. 

Although Steve could not be reasoned with. He needed things to be done his way. So he grabbed Peter, roughly seating him on the couch and stopping the boy from closing into a ball to protect himself. He was openly crying now but Steve didn’t care. 

“You’re mine. I do not need you drawing pictures of imaginary people on the wall with made up names.” He softened his voice. “Do you understand, little bear?” 

Peter tried to push him away, attempting to turn on the couch to get away from the devil in front of him but Steve yanked him back into position. “Say you’re mine.” 

“Urhhhhh!” 

“I cannot lose you again… you’re making me so sad, little bear. So upset. You don’t want to make daddy sad, right?” 

“No.” 

“Then say, I’m yours.” 

“I’m yours.” 

“Good. You made that harder for yourself. Now, don’t lie to me, did you use the phone?” Steve pointed at the phone on the floor, helping Peter sit up so he made sure he saw it. 

Peter shook his head. “I-I wanna go home.” 

“You are home. I’ll ask again, if you don’t answer me or you lie, I’ll use this to put you to sleep.” Holding up the needle, Steve held it in front of Peter’s face, causing Peter to scream and attempt to get away, which was proven useless once again. “Did you use the phone to call anyone?” 

Too afraid to lie about it and get that needle being stuck in front of his face, he quickly shook his head. “I-I tried… tried to call daddy… my-but-but it didn’t-I didn’t- it didn’t-I can’t ‘member the last… ones.” 

Steve looked back at Bucky, nodding. It was enough he needed to know. He turned and pinched the inner part of Peter’s leg, pushing the needle into it. 

Peter screamed. “Nooooo-urggggg! You… lied.” He panted, trying to catch his breath. His heart was racing as if he just ran a marathon. “Liar.” 

“Go to sleep, little bear. You’ll forget all about this when you wake up.” Steve smiled, kissing Peter’s forehead and helping him to slowly collapse onto the couch. “Okay. Now that that’s settled,” Standing up, he grabbed a pull-up from the box. “I’ll change him, then we’ll paint over the wall and clean this up.” 

“If he did manage to call, they’ll be coming for him.” 

“He didn’t call. His brain is a pile of mush right now but I want to keep it that way, he won’t remember any of this in a few hours.” Steve moved Peter’s deadweight legs, taking off the old pull-up and putting the new one on him, then lifting his seemingly lifeless body into his arms. 

“Why did you want me to record this?” 

“I want Stark to see. He’ll get it eventually.” Steve wanted Tony to see that Peter was no longer his, the boy was always meant to be Steve’s, and it’ll always stay that way. 

Steve carried Peter into his room, leaving him to a dreamless sleep, soon to wake up to another living nightmare.