Chapter 2
It’s several hours later, now, and there’s still no sign of Peter. At some point in the last hour or two, May arrived at Tony’s place, saying that the small apartment felt stuffy and was suffocating her, and she was only pacing the empty, small place and working herself up more. The last he saw her, she was headed down to the lounge with a headache. Pepper’s come back from the office, but the cold attitude she gives Tony makes it clear from the very start that all is not forgotten, let alone forgiven, and Tony’s no fool- she’s not doing this for him. She’s doing it for Peter, for May, and rightfully so.
A missing person’s report has been filed. The police say they’ll be involved shortly, and although this irritates Tony- what good are they shortly, he needs them now - it soon comes to light that his annoyance is in vain. Less than forty-five minutes after this, J.A.R.V.I.S speaks after a rather long period of silence. His voice is unexpected and causes Tony to jump a bit, his nerves already on edge. To the inventor, it almost sounds as though J.A.R.V.I.S is…well, it sounds like the AI is surprised. And Tony doesn’t really have to think hard to figure out why, when the AI delivers the news-
“Sir, Peter is here. He just arrived, and he’s approaching as we speak.”
“Wait-” Tony starts, trying to make sense of this statement. Before he can get very far, however, the door slides open with a soft, almost silent whisper, and true to J.A.R.V.I.S’s word, in walks the kid. Tony’s expecting to see the kid battered and bruised, bloody and cut up and looking about as bad as Tony feels.
But no. The kid looks… fine. Better than fine, actually. In fact, he’s...smiling! And alright, granted, it’s a nervous smile from the looks of it, the young web-slinger almost certainly picking up on the tension and stress in the air. Anyone could, no Spidey Sense needed. The smile doesn’t look or feel right, to Tony, not at all. Tony’s been on the break of losing it for hours, now- and he has the nerve to smile?
Tony begs to differ.
“Um- hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter says, his voice higher than the usual cadence commonly found in pre-pubescent teenage boys. Taking a gander, Tony says it’s fear. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I don’t know.” Tony says, and he crosses his arms over his chest, looking down at the boy, both gaze and voice as hard as flint and just as unforgiving. “Why don’t you tell me, Peter?”
Shifting uneasily under Tony’s judging stare, the kid won’t meet Tony’s gaze for more than a second, his eyes darting everywhere and anywhere. The Avenger is relentless, though, holding his gaze, his eyes boring into Peter in a way that makes the kid feel it on his skin. It’s not a pleasurable sensation, he can say that much.
“T-tell you what, Mr. Stark?” He asks, and he knows the game is up before it’s even begun, the stutter just showcasing his guilt for the billionaire to see. Tony seems to be the interrogator at the moment, which will certainly lead to him being handed off to his Aunt May, who undoubtedly will play the role of judge, jury, and executioner. The question, however, is how much does he know?
Peter isn’t sure if he wants to dick around and find out the unpleasant way, or if he should just come clean. If he spills, he might get himself in even more trouble than needed.
“Cut the crap, kid, you know what I’m talking about.” Tony says, interrupting Peter’s frantic internal planning. “Your aunt, Pepper, me- we’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours. May and I reported you missing, Peter. You weren’t answering calls or texts.”
“Mr. Stark, I-I can-”
“What? You can explain? Please, do. And don’t give me any of that crap about losing track of time, or- or- or-” he scowls, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment and closing his eyes, taking a breath. He can feel the pressure building up in his chest as he gets more and more worked up, and right now, the last thing he needs is an erratic mind. He needs to think clearly. Composing himself, he lets his hand fall to his side as he lifts his head, and he speaks again, more deliberate this time, controlled. “You hacked into the suit and disabled the tracker, messed with the coding. You even took Karen offline. You knew what you were doing, and you better have a damn good reason, kid.”
Peter’s face blanches, and he feels sweat start to bead along his brow as he goes into panic mode. It’s worse than he thought.
“I didn't think it’d be so bad, it wasn’t a big deal-” he rushes out, but once again, the Avenger stops him cold.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” he repeats, his voice quiet. “It wasn’t a big deal? Peter- Peter, what the hell?” he bursts out, the calm composure cracking momentarily, and he takes a breath to seal up the fissure. “What if something happened to you? You seem to be fine, but what if something happened while you were off doing- doing whatever? What if you got hurt, or- or- do you realize how big of a fuck up that was? What made you think even for a moment that that was a good idea?”
Peter stares with wide eyes, but it’s clear Tony’s just getting started, and he makes no move to stop the bull in its charge.
“God forbid something fucking happened to you, I would have had no idea. I would have no way of getting to you, Peter- you could have died, and i wouldn’t have even known till it was too damn late. When I gave you the suit, I put that tracker in there for a reason, Peter! To keep a watch out, cause you’re my responsibility! I gave you the suit hoping you’d be responsible enough to fucking use it properly. Obviously, I was wrong, but either way- you’re a kid, Peter. A kid! You’re my responsibility, and I installed that software to keep you safe, not for you to fucking disable because you’re a big boy, and feel like going swinging through the city without anyone knowing.” he takes a breath, and bites his lip. God, his head hurts. He needs a drink. “Kid- when you’re out there, it’s up to me to make sure you get home safe to May’s for dinner each night. She’s putting her trust in me when you do this, trusting that I’ll keep you safe. And if something happens to you- that’s on me.”
This time, when the inventor pauses, Peter takes the opportunity, and rushes to his own… defense? Maybe not defense, but...the point still stands.
“I understand that, sir. I didn't mean to cause this, I know that-”
“No, you don’t!” Tony bursts out, and his voice is much louder than it was moments before. “You don’t fucking know, so just shut up and listen for once!” His hands are shaking, and he crams them into his pockets. “Pete- as long as you’re wearing that suit, you’re as good as my own kid. Even when you’re not in the suit. If something happens to you, and I could’ve done something and prevented it, it’s on me. It’s pretty brave of you that you’d actively try and work against that.”
This time, Peter says nothing. He just nods.
Tony’s right.
Of course he is.
The two stand in silence for a good few seconds, and Peter feels like he’s on a high-stakes game show or something, and wonders who’s going to break first. He doesn’t get an answer, however, as the door opens again, and his aunt rushes in, her eyes frantic, her hair, almost always kept in order and done, if simple, something of a mess, a few renegade strands popping up here and there. This seems to be the least of her worries, however, as she rushes over and pulls Peter to her in a hug that might very well result in internal bleeding. After a moment or so, she pulls away, holding him at arms length, hands on his shoulders and eyes giving him the up and down before they migrate to his cheeks, cupping his face. She scans his face, her eyes, a dark brown with little crows feet at the corners, staring into his own, seeming to pry answers from her nephew.
“Peter?” She asks, and Peter feels the guilt well up again.
This is so much worse than anything Tony could say.
The male swallows, swallows down saliva, along with any excuses he might have attempted.
He’s not getting out of this, and honestly? He doesn’t feel like he should.
“Peter… Peter, where did you go? Baby, I was so worried, I called you, I texted you- Peter, I called the police.” May says, and Peter bows his head.
“I know.” he says quietly, and May stares at her nephew for another moment as though she doesn’t recognize him before shaking her head.
“I don’t think you do.” She whispers, and the disappointment is tangible in her voice, visible on her face. The fear, the relief, the anger, the compromise of trust. She glances over at Tony, who’s wandered off a few feet, never comfortable with the idea of intruding on private, family moments. “Thank you, Tony.” she says, and the philanthropist looks over at her, offering her a slight smile.
“Not a problem, May.” he says, and looks at Peter before his gaze returns to his aunt.
“I’m gonna take Pete home. Thanks for everything, really.” Tony waves the praise off, the painting of humility.
“Just glad the kid’s okay.” he mutters, and May nods.
“Come on, Peter.” she says, like Peter is five again, a toddler that has to be instructed and led around. She heads to the door and waits for the boy, who looks at Tony once more. When he’s not acknowledged, he practically slinks after his aunt, tail between his legs, and listens as the door slides shut with a gentle hiss, the soft thud it makes when closed completely. As opposed to the slamming of a wooden door and its finality, this seems much more anticlimactic… and more impersonal and damning at the same time.