the curious case of the missing boy
Looking back, Tony can determine the exact moment where everything went to shit—the turning point of his summer. And, quite possibly, his entire life. The moment that the entire mess started, and his world tilted on its axis.
Thor and Tony were busy walking shoulder by shoulder and discussing NFL football. The rest of the Emmaus cabin walks in a big group alongside them, silent with only the sound of leaves crunching beneath their feet. It’s a breezy morning, thankfully. A great contrast to the burning temperatures that became a routine to get used to.
The sound of police sirens rushing into the camp makes everyone pause in their tracks.
“What the...”
Three police cars, lights flashing red and blue, park in the middle of the main path. A large crowd of half-asleep campers, the promise of breakfast long gone from their interest, whisper and stare in wonder.
Maria Hill and Phil Coulson, in almost perfect sync, burst through the office cabin’s doors, children and teens splitting into a walkway for them like the red sea.
Officers get out of their cars. Hands holding notepads, black shoes stepping over the cigarettes that a few of them discard onto the pavement.
“Alright, everyone,” Phil says, turning to the forming crowd. “Turn around and get in the dining hall. I hear they’re serving chicken and waffles.”
Tony had stared at the cops, an unmoving body in a sea of campers who brush past him in an effort to be the first to eat. Somehow, no one even regards the situation, not even batting an eye. He’s the last to stop staring at the officers in discontent, but only after Bucky tugs on his hand to snap him out of it.
And so, it all started with those police cars.
Those damned police cars.
—
At every meal for the next few days, Tony sits in between Steve and Bucky. He doesn’t realize it at first, not until Bruce and Clint comment on the fact that the couple had Tony sandwiched between them for these past several dinners.
It’s almost... weird. Well, less weird, but foreign. He’s so used to the boys being attached at the hip; constantly bickering and touching each other all over in the littlest ways. Now, when Tony looks to his right, all he sees is Steve, pushing around the food on his plate. Then he looks to his left, and all he sees is Bucky mashing his potatoes up like a toddler. It’s foreign, but welcome.
The two boys eventually become more clingy on him with each passing day. They both tug at his sleeve like two sad puppies wishing for attention, and occasionally, either Bucky will rest his chin on Tony’s shoulder or Steve will loop his elbow with Tony’s arm.
If Rhodey, Thor, Bruce, Clint, or Scott even notice it, they don’t make any comments. Even Loki gives them a strange look when he stops by their table, but after a pointed glance from his adoptive brother, he keeps his mouth shut.
It’s unavoidable for Tony to feel bad, honestly, like he’s intruding on something private, or sacred. He’s always been under the impression that the two’s relationship was untouchable, like nothing could come between them, and now Tony is, quite literally, always between them. Even when they just happen to be walking side by side. Bucky on his left, Steve on his right. Like the moon and the sun.
And he’s happy about it.
—
When they go to their track activities, Maria Hill forces her boys to sit on the floor silently as she lists off some ‘new safety procedures,’ as she calls them.
“Rule number one,” she sighs, looking sickly, as if stress is causing her a great deal of sleep deprivation. “Do not leave your track, during activities, at any time. If you need to use the restroom, take a buddy with you. Run it by your counselor, which is me, if you need to leave the area.”
“What the fuck?” breathes Rhodey.
“Rule number two; don’t wander off to any unlisted areas of camp. If you are in snack shack for an activity, do not fucking go to the lake to say hi to your girlfriend or boyfriend. Stay in the snack shack area. This goes for any other areas, as well.”
“Jesus,” says Bruce.
Clearly, the idea of a lack of freedom is new to long time campers here. Even on his first day, Tony could tell that it was a laid back atmosphere all around, where anyone could get away with anything, regardless of the rules or procedures. Everything’s changing, and no one likes it. Not even the counselors.
“And finally, rule number three,” Maria manages, looking down at her clipboard, face drained of color. “If anyone,” she says grimly, “And I mean anyone, finds you outside of your cabin after curfew?”
Maria glares at Tony, specifically.
“You will be in deep shit.”
The boys are dead silent, watching the woman above them with carefulness.
“Understood?”
“Yes, Ms. Hill.”
No one is really able to enjoy themselves anymore, not with the everlasting blanket of anxiety and questions. The missing boy is, quite frankly, a mystery. No one knows what happened to him. His parents haven’t been heard from since, and they wouldn’t even pick up the phone when Coulson attempted to notify them of their son’s unknown whereabouts.
And the saddest part is? None of the campers really give it a second thought.
—
A new truth comes out, finally. Some news.
Now, Tony can’t say for sure that it’s a fact—rumors spread, but lies spread faster. All he heard was that Natasha overheard some teenage girls from the Athens cabin who overheard a few counselors discussing something about Brock Rumlow. (God, that’s confusing. Mindfuck.)
They say that, on the night of Harley Keener’s disappearance, Rumlow saw the boy out by the river in the middle of the night. He had scolded the boy, told him to go back to his cabin, and decided that it was too late to rule out any punishments at that moment, so he waited until morning. When morning came, Rumlow could not find the boy anywhere. Harley had vanished from thin air.
Tony asks Maria about it, not expecting to get the answer he ends up receiving. “Yes,” the woman says bitterly. “It’s true. Mark my words, Rumlow should be in jail right now, for handling that problem in all the wrong ways. He didn’t even escort the kid back to his cabin, for fuck’s sake. The only reason he’s not behind bars is because that asshole administrator, Jasper Sitwell, is fighting for his rights, for whatever reason.”
“Is he a suspect?” asks Tony, arms crossed. “Are they investigating it at all?”
The woman sighs.
“I’m not at the liberty to say, Stark.”
—
Natasha, Pepper, Loki, and Peter are hanging out in their cabin one night. It’s still against the rules for them to be out and about, but since it’s not past ten yet and it’s still cabin time, they can only assume that it wouldn’t be punishable. Not like they’d care, anyways.
Everyone does their own thing for a while; a few people play cards on the floor, Bucky and Natasha prop their phones up and film TikToks, and Tony sits on his bed with Peter snuggled up next to him, the little boy playing games on Tony’s phone.
It’s peaceful. It’s good. The room is full of laughter, a light energy, which is a great contrast to the looming lack of control outside.
Cue the sharp, almost anxious knock at the door.
Steve springs up from the floor to answer it, carefully stacking his cards on the floor so no one can see them. Phil Coulson practically bursts through the door before Steve can even open it all the way.
“Stark!” shouts Coulson in a panic, to which everyone’s eyes land on Tony.
“Yeah?”
“It’s your father,” the man croaks. “Howard is on the phone in the office.”
—
Tony should have seen it coming.
He realizes that Howard must have been getting bored without Tony to use as an outlet for his anger/stress, so it’s no surprise that he decides to do that over the phone. He sure as hell wouldn’t do it out of care, that’s for sure.
The office lady, as she sees Tony quietly come through the door with an apprehensive scowl on his face, frantically motions for him to come behind the counter, holding up a phone to her ear. Her smile is blinding, and fake, just as fake as the first day Tony met her. “Oh, yes, yes, Mr. Stark. Here comes little Anthony right now! I’ll hand the phone over to him, have a great day!”
He braces himself for impact as she passes him a typical phone with a string, like you’d find in a classroom. He sighs. “Yeah, dad?”
“Anthony,” says Howard’s voice—a cold, calculating tone, as always, of course. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”
“Not nearly long enough,” Tony mutters.
“Just because I’m not there physically doesn’t mean I won’t let you have it when you’re home,” Howard says, so that’s that.
The boy glances at his watch.
“So,” his father says, almost sounding... like he doesn’t know what to say next. “I’ve heard of the rumors about a missing camper named Harley Keener. What’s that about?”
“Don’t know. It was a few days ago, no one has, uh...” he looks at the receptionist, who is failing miserably at pretending not to be listening in. He’s not sure if he should make it obvious what the conversation is about. “No one has gotten any news.”
“What do you mean?”
Tony scoffs, already knowing that he’s going to get annoyed. “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? No one has heard from the kid’s parents, the disappearance itself is a mystery, and quite frankly, the entire fucking camp is acting a damn fool with the new rules and shit.”
“Tragic,” Howard says. “Don’t feed me that shit, Anthony. Don’t sit here and tell me that the camp doesn’t have a protocol for this type of tomfoolery. Obviously, they know something.”
Jesus fucking Christ, the asshole is turning it around on Tony. It’s typical Howard Stark behavior, whenever the two have a conversation—he’s always trying to jump on Tony for being wrong, for not knowing everything, and it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It makes it so fucking frustrating to talk to his father.
“Well, in other news,” Tony growls, evading the subject, “I’m not dead, so there’s that.”
“Surprising. Tell me about it.”
“It’s 90 degrees out, today. The cabin bathrooms are far from designer; they’re disgusting, but I’ve gotten used to it. I got into a fight in the first half hour I walked onto the property. I was almost attacked by chickens, and yesterday, I was trapped under a canoe and almost drowned. Overall, I’m having a goddamn blast.”
“Did you win?” Howard asks.
“Win what?”
“The fight.”
He scoffs. “Yes, I won the fight. The counselor had to drag me off of him.”
“Who was he?”
Hesitating, Tony tells a little white lie. The fact that Hammer was his opponent is nothing favorable to hear about Stark Industries’ competitor; it could be used against the company. That’s the last thing that anyone wants. “Some nobody, I guess. He just thought he was better than me.”
The tension is thick as butter. A frozen stick of butter.
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
Clearing his throat, Howard doesn’t make much of an effort to ask Tony about the fight—not even if he’s okay, but what the fuck ever. “Your mother’s death anniversary is coming up,” the man says dully, as if it doesn’t hold much meaning to him. “I’ve arranged a memorial in her name to be built in New York.”
“Her favorite city,” Tony mutters.
“She was always a bit of a ditz,” Howard remarks, and Tony wants to reach through the speaker and punch him in the fucking eye. “But she was docile. I loved her to death.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” he growls.
“She always had a soft spot for you, Anthony,” Howard says. “I always insisted it was foolish of her. But I’m afraid you shared the same stubbornness.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m going to have to let you go now, I have a meeting. I just wanted to be sure that you didn’t kill yourself yet. It would be a shame if you weren’t able to attend my expo in August.”
Of course. Another fucking expo. Another excuse for Howard to put Tony on display like a fucking zoo animal, with business men who prod at him about taking over the company and Teen Vogue reporters asking him invasive questions about his love life to publish in the next magazine (Tony was on last month’s edition after he was caught at a Starbucks tipping a barista two hundred dollars). Journalists are another story. Christine was a journalist. Fuck, she’ll probably be there, fuck—
“Suck a dick,” Tony spits, slamming the phone into the receiver without much thought, the pounding of his chest and the ache in his forehead not helping at all when he storms back to the cabin.
—
It takes Tony two more days to realize that he has a big, fat, gay crush on not one, but two boys.
It fucking blows.
Of course, the lingering touches and the constant protective clinginess doesn’t stop; it only gets stronger as each day goes by, with the way Steve and Bucky stay on either side of him almost constantly, elbows linked or hands laced together. Tony does a lot of talking to a lot of different people, that’s a given, but the boys ward off any would-be suitors with nothing more than a glare.
Then, he begins to notice that Bucky treats Steve like he’s his entire world.
On his own, Bucky Barnes is a morally good, reckless disaster; a bit of a jackass when it comes to certain things, but especially Steve and Tony’s safety. It’s cute, in a way, how much he fusses over Steve getting a little paper cut, or shoves crackers down Tony’s throat after he skips lunch.
Steve Rogers is another story. He’s got a handful of health problems that Tony’s only heard a little bit about, but since Bucky carries around an inhaler despite not needing it himself, he only assumes that Steve has asthma. One day at activities, when Clint had asked the boy to grab him a green arrow during archery, Steve had grabbed the red one without giving it a second thought.
“He said green,” Tony said , looking to Clint, who only shrugged and went on with his bow and arrow.
“Oh,” Steve muttered, looking at the other arrow in his hand. “Shit. Sorry, Clint.”
“It’s fine, man, I know you got that green-red shit.”
Tony had learned about protanopia colorblindness in his reading class, if you can believe it. It only took him a moment to realize what the whole ordeal meant; and that the universe was not kind to Steve Rogers. He slung his arm over Steve’s shoulder, who practically melted into the touch.
“I get it,” Tony said softly, adding colorblind Steve Rogers to his mental list of notes for later.
Back to the subject at hand. He started to get... infatuated. With the both of them, that is.
At first, he thought nothing of it. Okay, well, that’s a lie—he definitely thought that something was up. This was new, and although the affection was unexpected when it started, it wasn’t unwelcome. He just assumed that they were becoming protective of him ever since their little under-blanket-truth-or-dare-thing. Kind of like how Rhodey was, originally, taking care of him as a brother would. It’s only when Natasha tells him that hand holding isn’t the most platonic display in the world that he realizes where this is going.
But he likes where it’s going, and that’s the problem.
Tony is nothing short of a black sleep, and he damn well knows it. He’s looked up to, envied, in almost any room he walks into, his charisma and style only aiding in his dominance. He’s never had a place to fit into—probably because he’s always kept with such high regards, and no, it’s nothing to brag about. In middle school, he only allowed himself to find a group of friends once. Once. They had only pretended to like him so that he would give them money, so Tony’s efforts came to an end pretty quickly.
That was a long tangent, anyways—the point is, Steve and Bucky click together like puzzle pieces. A perfect pair, like the sun and moon. Tony’s sol and luna. (there’s some italian for you, hah.) Like ketchup and mustard, or chocolate and strawberries, and it’s fucking frustrating. If Steve and Bucky are ketchup and mustard, then Tony is maple syrup. It doesn’t work.
It’s Bucky and Steve, not... Bucky and Steve and Tony. That just doesn’t have as much of a ring to it.
He doesn’t fit in with them. There’s no room.
—
Then, because he hasn’t been tortured enough, the universe decides to add another variable to Tony’s already ridiculous equation.
Pepper and him get closer and closer with each passing day; when he isn’t sandwiched between tweedle dum and tweedle dee, he’s most likely hanging out with Pepper. The girl is somewhat philosophical, honestly, and always manages to make Tony out his own life into perspective. She manages to do way more than be a friend to him. She’s probably the only person in the world who can put up with his personality, and part of him wonders where she’s been all his life.
“Peps,” he groans, the itchy grass covering his back, arms, and legs as he lays starfish on the ground, staring up at the dimming sky with cogitation. The cotton candy clouds drift by with each moment, drifting by just like Tony’s... something. He doesn’t really know. “Do you think I need a therapist?”
“I’d expect that you would have a personal one,” the girl says, sitting next to him atop the grassy hill, overlooking the main lake. Campers are still splashing around in the swimming area, laughing and screaming like all kids do.
“I wish,” Tony scoffs. “I would make them get Dr. Phil to be my therapist. But, like, I’m being serious. You think I need a therapist? Once I’m out of here, back home?”
Pepper sips her cherry cola, almost looking solemn at he prospect of something he said. “Well, this girl. Christine. From what you told me, she’s fucked up your head a lot.”
“A lot.”
“She was eighteen,” she says, almost to herself. “And this—you were only, like, thirteen? That’s a huge age gap. That’s, like, straight up pedophilia. She should be in jail.”
“I wish I weren’t so naive,” Tony mutters, head flopping to its side to look at Pepper above him, her hair flowing in the humid breeze. “I wish... god, I wish I could change so many things. There’s a lot I would do over again.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, Christine. I would have told her to fucking stop. And, I probably would have made more of an effort to make friends back in middle school.” He scoffs. “I wouldn’t have been such a douchebag. I would change a lot of things.”
A beat of silence, before Pepper speaks again. “I feel like there’s something else that you’re not telling me.”
And it’s true.
Tony can’t recall the events of that day, like, at all. It was all a blur, when he fought with his mom in the morning because a maid found a juul in his room. Then, Howard went to work, screaming into his phone as he got into his car, something about a financial issue in need of his help. Then, his mom left the house, on her way to town to pick up groceries. Tony had screamed ‘FUCK YOU’ to her as soon as the door closed. Why the fuck did he do that?
Two hours later, an attendant had driven him to the hospital. His mother died on impact of the crash, her body pinned between a truck and a tree on the side of the highway. Her white Chanel purse was the only thing salvaged from the accident. t sits in Tony’s closet to this day.
Maybe...” he pauses, swallowing his own self pity as his voice struggles to stay at one level. “Maybe, I would... say goodbye to my mom? I never said bye to her.” Pepper looks at Tony sadly. “I can’t remember the last time I said I loved her... It’s stupid, I know—It’s stupid to want to go back and relive it all.”
She puts her hand over his, and Tony hopes the heat is the only reason why his face warms.
“I don’t think it’s stupid at all.”
—
He has a hard choice to make, as of now.
Before that, let him lay down some background that could be inferred simply by understanding the fact that his life is a fucking disaster. Romance isn’t his thing—well, at least, the long term, monogamous, real shit. It never has been and it probably never will.
Maybe, in a perfect world, Tony would have loving parents and a healthy mindset; two of the most imperative things to have as a gay teenager in modern society. Maybe, in said perfect world, he’d be... okay with himself. Enough to be in a relationship with a guy or girl he really likes.
Or, uh, two guys. Yeah.
Steve and Bucky are somewhat of an enigma to Tony’s observant, observant mind. He had been unsure, at the moment, when the whole ‘sun and moon’ thing began. He thought that he was being fought over, or that he’d have to choose one of them over the other, causing a split in the couple’s relationship. Yeah, there’s no fucking way Tony could ever do that.
Then he realized that Bucky and Steve must have made some sort of arrangement to, for lack of a better term, share Tony. They haven’t made any attempts to keep him from the other, really. That added another layer of confusion. Why both at the same time?
And so, after a hundred google searches, he realizes that he has, quote on quote, “two hands.”
Polyamory is an extremely new concept to him.
But it begs the question—how long will this even last?
Will this strange, unlabeled... whatever this relationship is, ever escalate further? What will happen once the month ends, and Tony goes home? When will they go home? Is he going to fuck this up like he always does?
Oh god, what would Howard say if he found out?
Hang on, Tony’s mind tells him every time he panics at the thought. Howard won’t—he wouldn’t find out. He’s barely around as it is, right? And when he is around, he’s too busy bitching at Tony for the smallest things. He didn’t even notice that one time when Tony came home from school with a black eye, he had only yelled at Tony for having a C in History class. Howard isn’t scary. Tony’s not scared of him.
But he is.
Howard would strangle Tony and hide his body in the floorboards. He would fucking kill him; and Tony isn’t exaggerating. It’s the cold, hard truth—if Howard found out that he was dating not one but two boys, Tony would be nothing but a memory in the lives of the people who knew him. Jesus.
He likes Steve and Bucky. He wants them. But he doesn’t need them.
...Right?
What he needs is someone that he can depend on. Someone beautiful, who’s honest and intelligent who can keep up with Tony’s mind. He needs someone who’s organized, emotionally and physically, and most importantly, he needs someone who thinks of him as an equal. He needs someone who’s good in the head.
Pepper is good in the head.
—
“You’re a destroyer, Odinson,” Clint cries, whacking Thor on top of his skull with a fork. “I can’t believe you did such a thing to me! I’m, like, your best friend!”
“I resent that,” says Bruce, dryly.
“Alright, second best friend. Bruce is first. But come on! You promised you would be my buddy for paintball!”
“Stark is much more stealthy than you,” Thor remarks. “He actually thinks before acting.”
“I think before acting!” barks Clint.
“I’m sorry, man, but you don’t,” says Scott. “You’re kinda impulsive when it comes to—“
“I hit all my targets. That should at least count for something.”
“So does Stark.”
Guffawing, Clint throws his hands in the air, the eggs on his plate flying as he drops his fork onto the tray. “I can’t believe this. I’ve know you guys for, what, two months now, but Tony comes for less than two weeks and suddenly he’s everyone’s favorite!”
“He’s a likeable person,” says Natasha.
“You’re my girlfriend,” pouts Clint.
Steve, who’s still half asleep as he rests his head on Tony’s shoulder, drawls as the group yells and bickers over the table. “It’s too early for this,” the boy groans.
Tony, coming to the boy’s defense, puts his arms in the air as well. He tries not to disturb Steve’s head on his shoulder. “Now, now, even though I’m dashingly handsome, charming, smart, and, overall, a pretty great person, we can’t forget about good ol’ Barton—”
“Thank you!” Clint says, exasperated. “I have a lot of redeemable qualities.”
“So does Tony,” says Bucky, next. “He’s courageous, I see myself in him.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Steve groans.
Face going flush, the entire table laughs and gasps, not giving Tony much to work with in terms of a witty comeback. That’s, like, his entire personality, goddammit.
Before he can even get a chance to react, the group goes silent as Loki approaches their table—nothing new, of course. Loki joins them during meals most of the time with Peter in tow. It’s domestic, and it’s a nice time.
But, instead of a scowl on Loki’s face like always, his annoyed expression is replaced by a scared one. His eyes are blown wide, eyebrows scrunched, with a small, unemotional scowl—this isn’t normal.
The entire dining hall stares at their table. Silent, watching.
The next thing Tony notices is that Peter isn’t trailing behind Loki like a baby duck like usual. Peter isn’t even there.
Instead? A police officer, an angry Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, and Brock Rumlow tower behind Loki as if they’re his own personal bodyguards, or something. Rather, as if they’re simply escorting him to his demise.
Seeing a man like Nick Fury in the cafeteria is a foreign sight to everyone. The man is almost never seen outside of his office, and majority of campers have never even seen him, the rumors of his missing eye a topic of debate that Tony’s never confirmed nor denied to anyone who’s asked. But now, the director’s standing for all to see. And, well, the fact that he’s here as well is telling enough of the situation.
Loki looks small. Like a short, lanky child compared to all of the adults. The Emmaus cabin goes silent.
“Tony Stark,” Maria says, with a sort of strain as of it hurts to speak to him in such a way; as if he’s guilty of a crime he never committed. “We need you to come with us.”
As all eyes settle on him, Tony realizes that it’s him they’re taking to his demise.
Steve is wide awake by this point, head flying off of Tony’s shoulder at the sight. “What—What did Tony do?”
“Please restrain your boyfriend, Barnes,” Rumlow spits, coming up behind Tony’s chair and grabbing his arm, practically dragging him to his feet, just like before. His heart throbs as they pull him and Loki away.
“What the fuck!” Steve cries, pushing his chair away as he stands.
Bucky desperately tries to restrain him. The cabin shouts in protest when Rumlow keeps an iron grip on Tony’s forearm. “Steve—“
“Tony!”
“It’s okay, guys,” Tony huffs, glaring at Rumlow’s hand on his arm. Can’t this asshole just keep his hands to himself for once? “Get your paws off. This jacket is Prada.”
“Tony, don’t,” Maria warns.
“Ms. Hill, what the hell is going on?!”
“ENOUGH!” The officer shouts, beckoning all of the teenagers to silence, yet only temporarily. “Your friend isn’t in trouble. We just need to speak to him.”
“Then what did my brother do?” Thor asks, seething. “The taller one. What did he do?”
“It’s fine, Thor,” the long haired boy says coldly. “Just mind your own business.”
“Sit down,” Rumlow seers.
“Fuck that,” Thor says.
“Sit down, Odinson, or else I’ll send your ass home,” hisses Fury, speaking for the first time during the ordeal.
His voice is enough to make the teens pause in their tracks. It’s almost visible, the way that their fear echoes down their spines.
Thor reluctantly obeys.
“What did I do?” Tony asks Fury, and then he’s being dragged away.
—
“I still don’t know what I did wrong,” Tony says shorty, arms crossed as he sits in the same leather chair from the second day of school. Fury’s office is cold, as per usual, and the only thing that’s changed is the additional people around him.
Loki is slumped into the second leather chair, on the left of Tony, grimacing as Brock Rumlow stares him down. Fury sits in his chair behind the desk, the officer stands next to Fury, and Maria and Phil stand to Tony’s side, like two parents called to a meeting about their son.
“We just need to ask you a few questions,” the officer says sternly.
“If I may interject, I don’t appreciate the way that Rumlow is standing next to me,” Loki scoffs. “If he may please stop making me uncomfortable, then it would be—“
“Speaking of which, my forearm hurts,” Tony grins. “If you could please tell your monkey to stop manhandling me, I’d also appreciate it.”
Fury glares at Tony, who only gives him a pointed look in return.
The man had said that Tony is under his protection. Tony can only assume that it would be ongoing; especially considering the fact that Tony has barely caused any trouble in the past weeks. You can’t blame him for trying to rest the waters, first.
There’s also the fact that Tony just really, really hates Rumlow.
“Brock, keep your hands off the campers,” the director says slowly.
The man scowls, backing away from Loki and looking away.
“Thanks,” the boy sighs, fixing his posture a bit. “Now, shall we get on with this? I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Loki, so do you know what’s happening here, or not?”
“Maybe I do, Stark. Maybe I don’t.”
He officer clears his throat, accepting a file that Fury passes him and opening it up. “Does the name ‘Peter Parker’ sound familiar to either of you boys?”
“Peter?” Loki asks. “Of course it does. Little Peter Parker from the Heron cabin.”
“You know him?” asks Coulson.
“We both do,” Tony says. “Little boy, eight years old, big brown eyes, cute button nose?”
“What’s your relation to him?”
Loki guffaws. “Uh... he’s been, like, attached to me ever since his first day. I’ve been like a mentor to him ever since, he hangs out with our group of friends—“
“What’s the names of everyone in this group of friends?”
“Jesus Christ,” Tony sighs.
He blinks. “Tony Stark, Natasha... Romanov, I think? Sam Wilson, Thor Odinson, who’s my brother, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, Pepper Potts, and James Rhodes.”
“Write that down. We’ll have to question them as well.”
Scoffing, Tony throws his hands in the air. “What are we even being questioned for? What’s wrong with Peter?”
”We just want to know what you know.”
”You’re really starting to piss me off,” Loki says.
”There’s no reason for either of you to get pissed off—“
”All I know is that I was in the middle of eating breakfast with my friends and then you dragged me away like a lamb to the slaughter. I’m beyond the point of being pissed.”
“My god,” Maria groans. “Tony, Loki, I don’t think it takes a genius to understand what’s going on here.”
“I resent that statement. I’m very well a genius. I graduated middle school with 9 high school credits and a scholarship to M.I.T.”
“Tryhard,” Loki scoffs. “Honestly, Stark—“
“Peter Parker is missing,” Rumlow says coldly.
Pause.
You know how Tony said that the police cars were the beginning of it all? Well, this moment is the end of the beginning—that’s right. The party’s only just starting.
Those four words are the end of the beginning. The beginning of a shitshow of bad decisions, of Tony’s life taking a turn for the worst. Those four words have as much of an effect on Tony as the four words, ‘your mother is dead.’ Those four words ruin any hope he ever had of happiness, of joy.
Those four words are a bomb, a bomb of grief and horror—upon said four words, Tony goes silent. His heart drops, and his eyes go wide, scanning the room for any signs of the truth. It’s a joke. A lie. It has to be.
“You’re—You’re lying,” Loki says, almost laughing, but he looks scared. “No,” he says, “Peter’s with his cabin, right? I saw Peter last night, before lights out. He—He was there.”
“His cabin woke up to his empty bunk,” Fury says. “We thought that you might have any ideas.”
The world feels inclosing, crushing around him, the rhythmic beat in his pulse and his chest going faster and faster as seething tears form behind his eyes.
“Stark?”
Peter. Oh god, Peter. The kid.
“You’re lying!” Loki screams.
The familiar hand of Maria Hill rests on Tony’s hand, probably in an attempt to comfort but instead it just makes him flinch. He smacks her away, jumping to his feet.
“No, no, no, no, no, no—“
“Sit down, Stark!” he can hear Rumlow bark.
“Shut the fuck up! He’s not okay!”
“Odinson, I swear, if you don’t—“
“Don’t touch him, Brock,” Maria growls.
Peter, a little ray of sunshine with his missing front tooth and his infatuation with Tony’s inventions. Who’d watch cartoons on Tony’s phone, who’d laugh when Sam and Bucky faceplanted into the oak tree outside the cabin.
He’s missing. He’s gone.
Jarvis’s voice speaks from his watch, unemotional as always but it’s fucking music to Tony’s ears. One thing that will stay with him, always, despite the fact that so many people in the room don’t understand what the robot is. “Sir, would you like me to activate the ‘my memes are ironic and my anxiety is chronic’ protocol?”
“N-No,” Tony cries.
Jarvis promptly ignores him. “I would diagnose with a severe anxiety attack. I recommend you breathe in counts of ten and take a seat.”
“No!”
He should have taken a seat, because as he attempts to step forward, his mind goes numb and then he fades into nothingness.