The Billionaire's Sons

They got Peter before he could even reach the subway. He managed to clip someone in the jaw with all his flailing, but he was so much smaller and weaker than the eight fully grown men who manhandled him into the trunk of a car, so he had never really stood much of a chance.

He pounded for a while, but his hands grew sore, so he resigned to spend a good five minutes squirming around until he was squashed up into the corner. He made use of the leg room and took three kicks until the break light popped out of place and he could see the road behind the car. He watched it rolling past, the painted lines flew by and he realised that even if he managed to open the boot, there was no way he could jump out without giving himself severe road rash, at the best.

Peter wasn’t sure what he could do then, so he twisted himself into a position that he could probably fight the best from when the men decided to pop the trunk.

As the car finally slowed, his breathing picked up and when the boot opened, he slammed a foot out blindly, connecting with someone’s gut. He heard an aggravated grunt, had a split second to register the dull, grey building behind the men before a hand gripped his hair painfully and he was being dragged out of the trunk while two men held his arms behind his back.

They moved him inside and he still struggled, despite the force at which the man tugged at his hair. Someone opened a door and they shoved him in before he could fight anymore.

Peter would have fallen flat on his face from the sheer momentum he had gathered from the harsh shove, but instead, he was slammed into someone else’s chest, and they both went down. His back hit the cement floor and he yelped in pain, while the other person had scuffed their elbows and probably banged up their knees. They were both pressed together, chest to chest on the floor. It would have been an awkward position to be in, considering the situation they were in, but Peter was more focused on how much his back was throbbing now, or the fact that his eyesight was still adjusting from being locked in a car trunk for the entire drive.

Peter looked up at whoever was currently on top of him and it took a moment for the vaguely familiar face to click in his head.

Dark, well-groomed hair which was almost jet black in the poor lighting of the room, a ‘fashionably’ popped collar and an unwavering gaze held by deep blue eyes which were currently locked onto his own. The intensity of the gaze made his breath catch in his throat, but the brunette blinked before the face above him swam into recognition. As soon as it clicked, Peter felt the flush rising on his cheeks when he took in the close proximity between them.

It was undeniably Harry Osborn, the same ‘billionaires’ son’ who the media decided to pit against him. Not to mention the fact that Harry just so happened to be the son of Norman Osborn, who was Stark Industries’ biggest rival.

“Stark?” Harry said, shoving off the ground and pushing himself away from Peter, using his last name in a way that definitely didn’t make the hair on Peter’s arms stand up. Harry didn’t look as mad as he did surprised to see the younger teen as his new cell mate.

“H - Harry? Peter asked, pulling himself up off the ground and watching the other boy as he pulled at the doorknob.

“Fucking hell,” Harry huffed as the handle didn’t budge. “That was my chance out of here,” he groaned, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face, which Peter avoided looking at as he brushed himself off.

“Sorry, they pushed me in and I didn’t have time to -” he began, before the other teen cut him off.

“No, just…” Harry sighed heavily, “just don’t.” He walked past Peter and slid down the wall opposite the door until he was sat on the dirty floor, his jeans covered in grime which Peter hadn’t noticed previously.

“How long have yo-”

“Since this morning,” Harry answered before his apparent new cellmate had finished asking, cutting him off yet again. He looked up and saw the frightened expression which had begun to take over Peter’s face, and he sighed again. “You’ll be fine, they’ll send a ransom demand and then we’ll be out of here. What is this, your first hostage situation?” Peter gaped at how calm and unbothered Harry seemed to be, despite the fact that they were the sons of the two most influential billionaires in the world and were currently being held captive in a dingy room with a locked door.

“Y - yeah of course it is, I’ve never been kidnapped before, jeez.” Harry looked at him blankly, something indescribable flickering in his eyes, perhaps it was jealousy.

“Consider yourself lucky,” he muttered, turning away and staring at the wall as Peter started to look for another way out. He had already checked everything in the room twice, so the other teens attempts would be fruitless. Unsurprisingly, after about half an hour of silence and numerous minutes wasted on rechecking the room for a way out, Peter spoke.

“How many times have you been… y’know - how many times has this happened?” Harry looked up at Peter where he was leaning against the door. For no good reason, his jealousy spiked as he took in the way Peter still held optimism despite the fear.

“I was never a secret like you, everyone’s always known I was Norman Osborn’s son.” Peter blinked, looking slightly sympathetic. “Probably once or twice every couple of years,” Harry answered evenly. The younger teen looked horrified at the admittance, and he shifted slightly as if he wanted to move closer to the wall Harry was sat against. “Don’t pity, me. It’s not that big of a deal,” he retorted, annoyance ringing in his tone as he faced away from Peter again.

“I - I wasn’t, I just think that’s really messed u -”

“Stop!” Harry snapped, making Peter flinch. “Just be quiet, I don’t want your stupid sympathy. It’s not my fault you were kept out of the limelight for so long, and it’s not my fault your Dad practically bubble wraps you.” Harry’s voice was harsh, and Peter closed his mouth, his cheeks flushing slightly in humiliation.

“Sorry,” he murmured quietly, his back still pressed against the door. Harry felt a twinge of guilt as he noted the way Peter seemed to shrink in on himself slightly. But, as most times, he shoved it aside roughly and ignored the small part of himself that wanted to apologise or comfort the teen who had never been taken against his will before.

----

They sat in silence for what Peter would estimate at about an hour, but he wasn’t sure, considering the men had stripped him of his phone and watch, which had concealed his Dad’s tracker. The door must have either been soundproofed, they were far down a quiet hall in the building, or the men were silent too, because there was no outside noise filtering through.

Harry heard Peter’s small huffs every few minutes, and if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the smaller teen was starving off an anxiety attack. He slightly regretted snapping at the boy, but after he surpassed several separate kidnappings, his patience for sitting around in dusty rooms, waiting for his father to either pay ransom or for the kidnappers to get bored, had thinned severely.

“Just take a couple deep breaths, like I said before,we’ll be fine.” Peter looked up at him but still seemed unsettled, “look, I’m sitting here right now, and I’m fine, I’ve never gotten more than a few bruises before, so just trust me.” Peter thought he might have picked up a slight hint of security in Harry’s words, although it washed away from his cloudy, blue eyes quicker than it had come. “Try to calm down a bit,” the teen added, blinking before turning away again.

“Yeah, okay,” Peter muttered, silently hoping his Dad would come through for him before he managed to collect too many bruises from the ordeal. He held faith, Tony was fiercely protective of him, especially since the leak.

That stupid leak.

----

It was such an easy mistake, Tony had picked him up from school because Happy wasn’t working that week. He had even taken a shitty ‘under the radar’ car, just so he could slip past press and paparazzi without drawing a crowd of vultures.

Unfortunately, with the luck Peter happened to have, the same day his Dad picked him up, was also the day that a few interviewers were doing an article for the most recent award an overachiever had won from their school.

It happened so quickly, Peter walked out into the pickup zone, Tony rolled the window down to make sure he caught the teen’s attention, and then Peter was surrounded by camera flashes and hands on his shoulder, tilting him towards recording devices and screaming questions about why Tony Stark was picking him up.

Peter knew his Dad’s instincts kicked in as soon as he was out of sight, condensed among the lump of reporters. But he didn’t expect him to make it mildly worse.

Okay, much worse.

“Get away from my kid,” Peter heard the voice and he decided the only way to describe it, was as a growl. A new pair of hands gripped one of his shoulders, shoving the rest away before taking his hand and dragging him past the newer hordes of paparazzi that were beginning to form as news spread and more pictures were leaked.

The car door slammed shut and Tony drove off, wheels screeching as he passed through two lanes of traffic with little regard for the law.

“That was… that wasn’t the best way to handle that, I’ll take responsibility.” Tony said somewhat meekly, with a flicker of tentative humour leaking through his voice.

Surprisingly, a laugh bubbled up Peter’s throat and he looked over at his Dad, brown eyes filled with worry, but also teeming with the familiar expression that assured his father, he wasn’t blaming him for anything.

“Understatement, Dad, that was such an understatement.”

----

There wasn’t as much humour in Peter’s voice two days later, after all the online blogs, reports, pictures and interviews had been released. Multiple snapshots of Tony pulling Peter through the crowd and into their car were plastered over the front cover of all the magazines, recordings of his father snapping at the paparazzi “get away from my kid,” were aired on the news, the current celebrity news YouTube channels. The incident spread like wildfire throughout the media, and soon enough, Peter was dubbed ‘the secret child of Tony Stark.’

His palms were sweaty, and he felt like the tie was choking his throat which constantly bobbed as he swallowed nervously. Tony was giving him concerned, sideway glances every few seconds, but Peter couldn’t back out now.

“Are you sure? Seriously Pete, you really don’t have to do this,” Tony pressed.

“Dad, what else can I do?” Tony dropped eye contact to look up at the ceiling and sigh. “Exactly,” Peter said, “you told me honestly that if we ignore it and shut down the rumours, there’s no way people will drop it. So… why don’t we just do this press conference and get it over with.”

Tony looked more than sceptical, he looked like all he wanted to do was wrap Peter in a metaphorical blanket and take him home like a petulant child.

“Kid…” he began, eyeing the determination that burnt through the nerves showing on his son’s face. “You know that after this conference, everything’s gonna change. You’re going to get about as much attention as me, and I don’t want you to get overwhelmed.” Peter snorted before covering it with a mild cough.

“Either way, answer questions or ignore the problem, the media is never going to just leave me alone, we both know that.” Tony scrunched his nose up as the car pulled into its park, even through the tinted windows Peter could feel the glare of all the camera flashes. “I’ll be okay, you’re right up there with me, if anyone asks anything you don’t want me to answer -”

“Then I’ll answer for you,” Tony finished, his hand lifting to squeeze Peter’s shoulder as Happy pulled open the door for them and the clicking of camera buttons along with interviewers crying for ‘just one question,’ filled all background noise. “Stay by me, don’t let them grab your arm when you walk past the ropes,” Tony instructed, keeping Peter pressed firmly against his side as they began walking through the barriers, away from the car and into the small press conference area.

As expected, there were many questions. All about Peter, and about how he came to be, who he was, the exact nature of his relationship with Tony. When he answered questions about his father, there were an influx of more about what kind of parent he was, how good of an influence he was, and some mildly offensive comments about Tony’s ability to parent during his playboy phase.

“If you must know, my Dad is perfectly capable of raising and taking care of me. He’s more than financially stable, he’s mentally sound, unlike what some of your articles attempt to imply, not to mention one of the most caring people I’ve met in my entire life, and,” Peter paused as he felt Tony reaching over and clasping his hand, squeezing gently and smiling, his head still facing the crowd. “And - he loves me, and I love my Dad, so yes - yes he is far better than just ‘capable.’ His so-called ‘playboy phase,’ didn’t impact me in the slightest.”

The sea of reporters blinked back at him, a few nodding, majority rushing to scribble down his exact words.

But that was three months ago, and the media wasn’t always the kindest thing.

----

Harry had never been shielded from the media like Peter had, he was known as ‘Norman Osborn’s son’ from day one, onwards. Naturally, Norman and Tony were pitted against each other, each new product launch and every new discovery was shoved in the others face by the media, and it wasn’t long until the two men were taking advantage of that fact.

If Tony’s latest Starkpad did well on the market, Norman would release a new product to counter Stark Industries. Unsurprisingly, when it was revealed that Tony Stark had a teenage son, same age as Harry, the media not only over exaggerated the rivalry between them, but singlehandedly created it too.

Peter had seen a few magazine articles and interviews here or there that focused on Harry, but he had never met the boy. When magazines began the trend of ‘who wore it better’ or ‘the best child prodigy,’ the fake rivalry was born. Soon enough, every time Peter went out in public, at least several articles would be published comparing him to Harry, making comparisons and highlighting their differences, both positively and negatively.

Peter would never say it aloud, but he was extremely perplexed when a fair amount of those articles labelled him the ‘most desirable.’ Harry was all dark hair and gleaming eyes, designer clothing and hidden talents, and Peter felt like he was just… Peter.

----

“Uh - uhm, Harry?” Peter stuttered as he began to back away from the door.

“What?” The boy asked, eyeing the way Peter was staring at the handle like it would burn him. He pulled himself to his feet and slid to the side as Peter backed up until they were standing next to each other, a few steps between them. The smaller teen opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off when there was a pounding on the door. A small metal slot was pushed to the side and the boys stayed silent when two eyes appeared in the tiny slit.

“Don’t move, the door’s opening now,” the voice was deep and very obviously a fully-grown adult male. Peter swallowed around the thick lump in his throat and unconsciously did a sweep of the room for anything he could defend himself with.

“Don’t,” Harry warned from beside him, recognising the look in Peter’s eyes that gave away what he was thinking. “Not worth it, just do what they say,” he repeated, fixing Peter with a serious look, trying to gauge whether the boy was going to try something.

The door pushed open and Harry could see as the muscles in Peter’s arm tensed up when his fists clenched at his sides. The teen’s foot shifted and Harry ground his teeth together, why couldn’t he just listen?

Peter flinched when Harry moved in his peripheral vision, but he stilled once he had positioned himself closer to the door, a few paces in front of Peter. Not exactly blocking him from harm, but more so trying to prevent him from doing anything stupid that would get us both in deep shit, Harry convinced himself silently.

“What did I just say kid?” The man, who was stocky and looked like he could pin Harry down with one meaty finger, snapped angrily, glaring at the dark-haired boy. Harry kept his mouth shut and didn’t say a word. “I said don’t move, and what did you just do, huh?”

“I moved,” Harry stated plainly, forcing himself not to show the mild fear that was rising in his stomach as the man walked toward him and reached a thick arm out towards his elbow. The larger man grumbled as he gripped the teen’s arm, tugging him forward, not caring as the jerky pull forced him to keep in stride.

“Damn right you did, Osborn.” The man spat Harry’s last name as if it were venom on his tongue, and he shot a warning look in Peter’s direction as he continued moving for the door. Harry was still being brought along with him, led by the harsh hand clamped over his arm.

“Hey,” a voice, that had sounded almost meek up until now, came from behind them. Harry kept walking, squeezing his eyes shut and silently hoping Peter just kept quiet and didn’t provoke the man who was currently holding his arm with bruising force. Despite the fact that Harry kept walking, the man holding him swivelled to face Peter.

“You got something to say?” The man asked, his eyes daring Peter to try something. Harry
winced as the hand on his arm squeezed tighter as his frustration for the other boy he had kidnapped grew. “I said,” the man enforced, “you got something t -”

“Yes, Peter answered, his tone almost as sharp as the man’s had been as he cut him off. “I want to know what you want with m - with us.” There was a pause in which Harry thought the man would snap and charge at Peter, but after a drawn-out moment of silence, he merely huffed a very facetious sounding laugh.

“You can want all you’d like, we’re not bargaining.” Harry leaned away from the harsh grip on his arm, but it pressed tighter and he sighed, wishing Peter would leave it alone.

“I never said bargaining, I want to know why you stuck us in here, and where you’re taking him.” Peter head nodded towards Harry, and the dark-haired teen watched a stray curl untuck from where it had been pushed back, and furl up against the other boy’s forehead. He remembered a certain article that had compared his attributes against Peter’s, and it was pointed out that the slightly younger of the two presented a rather innocent look with the loose curls that often fell over his forehead.

“You’re not as passive as I thought,” the man drawled, eyeing the way Peter stood as if he were ready to bolt. The hand on Harry’s arm fell and he was shoved a few steps backward as the man’s hand reached at something attached to his belt. “I’m gonna need one more down the hall,” the man’s eyes drifted over Peter’s form as he spoke into a walkie, “yeah, Stark’s one wants to come with. Don’t you?”

“He’s impulsive, just get it over with and leave him here, it doesn’t matter.” Peter’s eyes switched to Harry as he spoke, and an almost hurt look crossed his face, it made that strange guilt creep back into Harry. “If you’re doing the ransom demand, just use me, it’s fine,” he pressed, directing his attention to the man because he couldn’t stand the confusion surrounding why he felt so bad insulting a person who the media constantly pitted him against.

“No, don’t argue, he’s coming too now.” The hand snapped out towards Harry’s arm and before he could stop himself, his body pulled away and the man gripped nothing but air. The irony, how Harry had just called Peter impulsive, when he was just the one to dart away from the now irritated man. “Slimy brat, you cause trouble and you’ll be showing your father more than just a few bruises.” From behind him, Harry heard Peter’s shoes squeaking as he moved.

“You try to hurt him - I know how to bite,” Peter warned dangerously, his shoulder brushing Harry’s as he stepped past him to glare at the man.

“You make threats,” the man leaned in, his face inches away from Peter’s, which was holding ground. “And I make promises,” the man’s hand shot forward and grabbed the collar of Peter’s shirt, lifting him up until he was balancing on the tips of his toes. “And I promise, that if you even try to bite, I will make sure your Dad has to spend more than what he’s gonna be paying us, on your hospital bills.”

“You called!” A new voice rang out, a second man walking through the doorway, he was leaner than the first, but much taller. He towered over Peter and Harry, his jaw tightened when he saw the way Peter was dropped back to the balls of his feet and pushed towards him with a sneer. “This one Stark’s or Osborn’s?”

“You got Stark’s I’ll take the other one,” the stockier man resumed his hold on Harry, and the teen didn’t let himself flinch. Peter, however, was struggling, his spare arm flailing as he threw hits with his non-dominant fist. Harry was pulled towards the door as the second man continued to try and force Peter from where he had dug his heels in and attempted to scoot backward.

“Hey,” Harry murmured quietly as he passed, his spare hand reaching out to lay flat against Peter’s shoulder. “You’re going to end up getting hurt, just do what I do.” The other teen stilled when he felt the gentle hand laying against his arm, but he looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, the blue of them once again took Peter by surprise.

“Why? We don’t have to do what they want.” Peter was in stride with Harry now, if not a few steps behind as the two men led them down a hallway.

“Because this is how you get through shit like this, keep your head down, do what they want, and our fathers will either get us out or pay the ransom.” Peter didn’t answer, but he frowned as if he didn’t like the idea of either option.

The men pulled the two teens to the right and suddenly they were in a larger room. There were three other men standing in a huddle, each of them were taller than both Peter and Harry, as well as their stocky build.

Peter couldn’t immediately see any tattoos or signs that pointed towards the possibility of a gang, so he assumed there was another reason himself and Harry were taken. They were led to where the group was standing, and Peter grimaced when one of the men spat a wad of orange gum at his feet.

“These the kids?” There wasn’t a verbal answer, but the large man holding Harry nodded stiffly and pushed him forward slightly, the same time Peter was. “Good, we’ll get ‘em set up then,” his head jerked towards one of the others as he spoke, “get your phone out Greg.”

Peter winced as the grip tightened, he could feel each individual nail digging into his upper arm. Harry’s eyebrow twitched when he saw the look of pain and discomfort that crossed Peter’s face. His teeth grated against each other as the smaller teen was manoeuvred so he was stood in front of the man, whose name was apparently Greg, and the phone was lifted up at an angle that would cut Harry out of frame but keep Peter in the centre.

There was a nod from Greg, and then the familiar sound of the record button being pressed. Harry didn’t know exactly what he expected, but every other situation he had been in like this, had always started with the amount that the men wanted his father to pay, and then occasionally a few threats, and uncommonly a few rough shoves, often an irritating jab, or slap.

That wasn’t how it worked this time.

Less than three seconds after the record button had been pressed, the stockier man backhanded Peter, harshly, and faster than anyone could react.

“Brat.” the force of the hit sent Peter stumbling back a step or two, his right cheek turning an angry scarlet in the relative shape of a hand. “Stark, you listen to us, because I’m not pissing around,” his threat was emphasised when he stepped forward to yank at Peter’s arm, forcing him to jerk back towards the camera. The teen didn’t get far, because the man’s fat fist tangled in his hair and tugged downward, so his neck was exposed. “Do you know how easy this pretty throat would be to slit?” The man’s fingers danced lightly over the pale expanse of Peter’s neck as he directed the question to the camera. “Wouldn’t take me more than thirty seconds, but I could make it last a lot longer if I wanted to.”

Harry could see the way Peter’s body leaned away from the man’s, but he could also see how the fingers tightened in his hair as he did so.

“Dad, you don’t need to do anything they sa-” Peter was cut off as one of the other guards surged into frame and sent a heavy fist into his gut. A strangled puff of all the air leaving the teen’s lungs rattled through the room. He sucked back in shakily, his neck tilting as he tried to meet the second man’s gaze. “He’s no - not gonna do what y - you want. You’re too sloppy, he’s probably already in the suit on his w - way right now.”

Harry turned his face away as he heard one of the men pushing the other away, so nothing was stopping him from grabbing Peter’s throat and shoving the boy’s skull down into his kneecap. When he heard Peter hitting the floor, his teeth ground against each other so heavily that he thought they might crack.

“You keep your fucking mouth shut.” the man growled as he held Peter’s wrists down with one hand and straddled him, preventing the scrawny teen from pulling himself off the ground. His other hand brought another slap across the brunette’s face, nails catching his cheekbone as he roughly grabbed Peter’s cheeks and squeezed so hard that his lips parted. “Got it, kid?” The grip tightened and despite the fact that Harry wasn’t looking, he heard the sound of Peter trying to speak.

“Yes, shit I get it.” The man, now satisfied, shoved off the boy before using the collar of his shirt to drag him back to his feet.

“You see this?” The first man asked as the second shook Peter roughly. “This is what happens every few hours until we get the hard cash, and every hour you don’t show up with a bag of seven million, we up it by another ten-thousand and he gets another bruise.” He stepped into Peter’s bubble of space, too close Harry decided. The man’s three fingers came up to cup Peter’s chin and the boy grimaced as Harry used everything he had to not say anything. “A bruise, or worse. Hope you understand Stark, wouldn’t want you to be too broke to pay for the hospital fees.”

Peter shook his head violently and the man’s fingers fell away. His eyes hardened, and Harry tried to catch his attention with a small shake of his head, but Peter was far too stubborn.

“Screw you,” he hissed, “you’re seriously trying to threaten Iron Man? I hope you regret it as much as I already pity you.”

“Peter,” Harry whispered from off-camera, his eyes halfway between warning and begging. “Don’t.” There was an exchange without words when Peter turned to look at him, the teen might have been smaller, but he was so much more stubborn that a small part of Harry screamed to focus on himself. But the other portion, the majority, was telling him something else.

Don’t let them hurt him. Stop him from gaining himself any more pain. Protect him.

“No, no, seriously Harry. I just think it’s funny that these idiots actually think that they’re smart threatening Iron Man, not to mention two of the most influential people in New York.” Harry saw the fist before Peter did, and he wished he could have taken it instead, because the way Peter looked with a black eye made his stomach turn in anger.

“You don’t learn, huh?” Another hit, none of the blows were open handed now, and Harry was twisting in his man’s hold. “You gotta keep poking the bear, don’t look so surprised,” Peter could barely emote through the smears of blood and swelling in his eye and split lip. “You should’ve expected this kinda reaction, ‘specially after the tough guy act.” One of the other men had joined in. Granted, his attack was more half-hearted, he didn’t even extend the effort to get down to Peter’s level, only throwing a few well-aimed kicks into the fray and grinning when he heard the resultant gasps and bit back cries.

“Get off him, he’s done!” Harry pleaded, squirming when the man holding him back took a few steps away in case he managed to get close enough to Peter to save him.

“Shut the hell up, you’re not the big-ticket item here Osborn,” one of the men yelled over the sound of fists and boots hitting ribs.

“No, but I can be if you just give me a goddamn minute to talk to my father!” The man who was on top of Peter hesitated, his head quirking up to where Harry stood. “Fourteen. Norman will pay fourteen million, double what you wanted from Peter’s Dad.” The man’s eyes narrowed, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from struggling again as he heard the way Peter was coughing wetly, the blood from his nose running down to his lips. “Just get off him and get my video over with, then you’ll be paid whatever the hell you want.”

It was as if the men were considering the offer, but once they stepped away from Peter, Harry let out the breath he had been holding.

“Take this one back to the holding room while we finish up here.” Harry was pushed forward and for a moment, as the man holding him let go to hoist Peter back up onto his feet, he could see how much damage had really been done.

Peter’s nose wasn’t broken, but it was dripping blood. There was a cut over his cheekbone and a rapidly forming bruise. The skin surrounding his right eye was almost completely black from the bruising and he clutched at his torso where the kicks had been aimed. Peter was glaring at the man as he held his arms behind his back and began to walk him off.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and then Peter was already out of sight.

----

Peter’s entire body throbbed with a deep ache, he limped awkwardly and winced each time he blinked, his right eye barely opened enough for him to see.

“You know, for the son of a genius, you’re pretty stupid,” the man said with an amused tone, as if he found the injuries over Peter’s skin entertaining.

“You’d be surprised,” Peter growled, freezing up and throwing his head backward until it connected with the man’s nose with a sickening crunch. There was a strangled shout of pain before Peter slammed his foot down on the man’s boot, which had left prints along the teen’s ribs only minutes beforehand.

“You’re dead kid,” the man hissed, clutching his nose which, unlike Peter’s, was definitely broken. Before the boy could run, the man wrapped his elbow over his throat, pinning him against his own body. “Wanna breathe?” He asked, grinning as Peter scratched at his arms, “then walk.”

The man tightened his arm in warning and Peter stumbled forward, his lungs beginning to burn with the lack of oxygen. He bucked uselessly, but the man still managed to push him forward into the room, sending a kick to his knee to bring him down. “You can stay in here and shut the hell up,” Peter kept his glare plastered across his face until the door swung shut, then he slumped, gingerly wiping away the congealed blood from his nose.

He rolled onto his back and lightly prodded the areas that stung the most, trying to get a feel for how badly they would bruise. He groaned and pushed himself back onto his hands and knees, taking a long pause to breathe in and out, trying to figure out whether he was merely bruised, or if the men actually managed to break something.

“Ah, ah, ow,” he hissed as he moved to the back wall in the corner and curled up, still running his fingers over the shallow cut over his cheekbone. There wasn’t any noise, but his head was throbbing which made the blood pulsate in his ears.

He blinked, suddenly taking into account how exhausted he felt. The exertion of kicking and slapping at all the men dragging him into the trunk of the car had sucked away majority of his energy, and the beating he just received stole the rest of it.

Peter wasn’t sure how long it took for him to slip into a restless and jumpy sleep, he also didn’t know how long his eyes were closed for. He blinked hazily, his eye still pounding angrily as the bruise assumingly worsened with time and looked up as something moved at the other end of the room.

It took Peter a moment to register that the door was what had been moving, and as he saw a blurry, dark haired figure, just taller than him, being shoved through the doorway, he slightly uncurled from his position on the floor. He blinked rapidly until Harry swam into focus, and Peter was surprised to see that he wasn’t injured to the same degree that he had been.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Peter bit angrily as he forced his aching body to move over to where his cellmate was. He glared at the man in the doorway who was observing Harry as he picked himself up from where he had been dumped.

“But videos to your parents are so much fun,” the man replied, snarking right back at Peter whose eyebrows lowered at the thought of how terrified his Dad would be, seeing him as a hostage, bloodied and bruised.

Peter curled an arm out, hovering it over Harry’s back, contemplating whether or not to just drop it around his waist and help him walk. Before he could decide, the other boy was already moving, either not noticing, or choosing to ignore the un-acted upon gesture.

“Stop encouraging him,” Harry told Peter as he stood and limped over to where he had previously been in the corner. The teen sat a few feet away, not against the opposite corner of the wall, not next to where Peter curled up, but in between the two. “They just want to work you up, ignore it.” The door shut, leaving the two on their own for however long the men thought was appropriate.

“Did they hurt you?” Peter asked, his voice quieter than when he had spoken to the guard. Harry thought he may have seen a spark of worry in his eyes, but he pushed aside the possibility as soon as it cropped up.

“Just the usual, nothing like what you got.” Peter was eyeing him, sweeping his eyes up and down each visible part of Harry’s skin, checking for wounds. “You shouldn’t have said anything,” he reprimanded lightly, no heat behind his words, unlike how angry he had been when Peter was first pushed into their cell.

“I’m sorry,” Peter admitted timidly, looking at his hands and nervously wiping them on his pants. “I, uh - I didn’t mean for your Dad to have to pay more.” Harry quirked his eyebrow, he didn’t care about how much of a dent his kidnappings made in his father’s bank account, he had stopped caring the same day he was told off for being taken against his will. “You didn’t have to do that,” Peter continued, his voice quiet and cheeks tinged a slightly darker shade.

“I didn’t have to, but I did.” He frowned at the floor, hating his mouth for speaking without his permission, “I didn’t like seeing you hurt, I didn’t like watching them hurt you.” Peter looked up from his hands and his eyes caught the light. Harry had never looked at Peter’s eyes, he had never even known what colour they were.

Peter’s father had never signed him up or accepted requests to have him partake in photo shoots or speak to the press, so there weren’t many ‘high quality’ pictures of him out there, or at least, not high quality enough to really see his eyes.

When the light caught them, they were a soft hazel, wide, endearing, innocent. But he could also see the flickers of protective instincts and anger when he caught the fingerprint bruises over Harry’s wrist.

“They did that?” He asked, his head tilting more in Harry’s direction so that the light wasn’t highlighting his eyes anymore. They were darker, a cooler brown shade, closer to oak or chestnut.

No, no they didn’t. These are everyday bruises that never get the chance to fade… but you don’t need to know that.

“Yeah, why do you ca - ah - uhm…” Harry’s rhetorical question was cut off when Peter moved into his field of space, his throat tightening as a small noise of shock escaped. Peter grabbed his hand without waiting for a ‘go ahead’ from Harry, but he did pause before rolling up the boy’s sleeve. His eyes glanced up, meeting Harry’s, which were already locked onto Peter’s face.

Harry looked away and shrugged nonchalantly. Peter’s fingers were hovering so close to his skin that he felt the warmth. He ground his teeth together as the sleeve was pushed up, faded yellows and pastel green smears covered his upper arm and Peter’s eyes turned darker than Harry thought possible. He saw the way the brunette’s lips parted as he exhaled slowly, how his nose crinkled like his eyebrows as he concentrated on the bruising and worked something out in his head.

“These are old,” he whispered evenly, his eyes remaining dark.

“There was another one of… these,” Harry waved his hand, gesturing to the room, “a few weeks ago.” Peters fingers tightened minutely, enough that his grip felt secure, protective, very unlike the vice like threat of the abuser who left the bruises in the first place.

“Okay,” Peter relented quietly, his hold loosening before falling away completely, leaving Harry almost colder without the connection of skin on skin contact without the intent to harm. “I thought you said these,” Peter flopped his hand in roughly the same gesture as Harry, it was almost adorable in a way, “only happened once or twice a year?”

“And I thought you said ‘okay,’ like we were done with the conver…” Harry caught himself, hating how bitter he sounded, how demeaning he could have been coming across to the teen who was genuinely trying to be kind. “Sorry,” he said flatly, wishing he could scrounge up as much emotion in his voice as Peter could. “It does happen once or twice a year… just not normally this close together, I guess.”

Peter nodded, picking up the not so subtle hints that Harry didn’t want the conversation to continue. Inside, he was dying to ask why the last hostage situation Harry had been thrust into wasn’t leaked by the media, as it always was, but he kept his mouth shut.

“You know… every time I saw that you had been through another one of these, I - I uh… I wished there was something I could do to help.” Peter looked back down at his hands, fiddling with them as his cheeks darkened even more. “I don’t want you… um, your Dad I mean, to have to pay more. It wouldn’t be fair.” Harry tilted his own chin upwards, silently telling himself off for liking the way he could see the blush tinting Peter’s face.

“Why wouldn’t it be fair? Look how hurt you are, look at how fine I am.”

“That’s not… not what I meant. I mean, Stark Industries has a net worth of twenty point three billion, and Oscorp only has three point one, so how could it be fair for you to have to pay… pay more than…” Peter trailed off, his eyes lingering on Harry’s as he observed the way the darker haired boy’s face changed from neutral to an amused smile. “What?” Peter asked incredulously.

“Nothing…” Harry lied, lifting his hands in a placating gesture, “just, why do you have Stark and Oscorp Industries’ net worth memorised to the decimal point?” If it was possible, Peter flushed deeper.

“I might’ve… Googled you,” he admitted softly, turning his face away in a show of timidity. Harry flushed slightly, but he concealed it well enough. “Only because I was looking for a specific interview you did, not because I was meaning to, I don’t know… fan-girl you or whatever.” Harry laughed suddenly, causing Peter to look up.

“Fan-girl? You know people only do that stuff over celebrities, right?” Peter smiled back shyly.

“You are a celebrity,” he said simply, taking Harry by surprise. “Everyone loves you, you’re like the teenage girl whisperer… or - or guy… I don’t know if you even li -”

“I do,” Harry cut off, his voice low.

No, you’re not Harold. Don’t you dare get ideas like that in your head, and don’t even think about releasing any of that to the press, or anyone who asks for that matter. The heir to Oscorp is not gay, he will never be gay, so you better stop acting like you know who you are.

“I - I think I do too,” Peter whispered, his voice dropping low like Harry’s. And, without more than those five words from Peter’s mouth, Harry’s heckles unconsciously lowered, and he relaxed more under the pressure inside his head. “But besides,” Peter continued, sensing that the weight of the topic they had just drifted into was one that Harry may not particularly enjoy delving into, “it doesn’t matter the net worth or how much more or less we were both hurt. What matters is the fact that this is probably your hundredth kidnapping, and this is my first.”

“Exactly,” Harry pressed, smiling again, like he knew he had just won the argument. “I’ve been through these heaps, I know the drill by now. You’re all new to this, you must be terrified by all the threats and th -”

As if to exemplify Harry’s point, Peter tensed as the lights were suddenly shut off, leaving the two in complete darkness.

Harry could still hear Peter’s soft breaths, he could almost imagine the faint outline of the smaller boy only a few inches away from his body, and as his eyes slowly adjusted to the new darkness, he found himself missing the view he had of Peter’s eyes in the light.

“Terrified by all the threats and darkness?” Peter filled in Harry’s blank and cut-off sentence, and they could both recognise the humour in his voice.

“Did you really Google me?” Harry asked after a moment of silence between the two. He wanted to see Peter’s face, he wanted to take in every movement and quirk which someone else might overlook.

“Y - yeah… just ‘cus the interview you did with uh, what was it? I think it was -”

“The one where they basically asked me what it was like being thrust into the public eye since birth?” Harry saw the faintest outline of Peter nodding, and he wished he could have gotten more detail, enough to see his curls flopping against his forehead. “You know…” he started unsurely, “if you wanted to watch that because being ‘a celebrity,’ as you put it, is all new to you, why don’t you just ask me what you needed to know?” He gently leaned in, his knee bumping Peter’s, casing the brunette to inhale quietly.

“Because I was scared, I didn’t - I don’t know you… and the media was already kinda… comparing us.” Peter’s knee shifted, brushing against where Harry’s arm was supporting his body, the lightest touch of fabric danced across his wrist as Peter readjusted, folding his legs closer to himself yet not leaning away at all.

“The media is comprised of a bunch of news reporters that scramble for the faintest hint of gossip or scandals in the world of ‘celebrities.’ They completely made all of that stuff up about us, all of the articles about who wore it better and who’s more attractive, it’s shit. Utter and complete trash.” Harry paused, counting a few beats and focusing on Peter’s soft breaths coming from only inches away. “Besides, most of them were wrong anyway… well, at least the ones that implied you weren’t…” he paused again, thinking of a way to say, ‘really fucking attractive’ without coming off as so obviously amorous, “well off in the facial department.” Peter snorted amusedly, a tiny huff of humour.

“Well off in the facial department?” Peter repeated, laughing lightly as Harry took advantage of the fact that it was too dark to reveal his blush. “Why don’t you just say it Har? I’m a stunner,” he teased, the fabric of his jeans still softly brushing past Harry’s wrist every so often. Their smiles faded after a few moments of quiet amusement, and when the thick silence hung too heavily, Peter sighed tiredly and shuffled, pressing himself up against the wall. “What time do you think it is?” He asked, resting his chin on his knees and curling a little more into himself as he concealed a yawn.

“Not sure, maybe nine, ten at night? If they shut the lights off, maybe they’re hoping we’ll go to sleep, let our guards down or something.” Peter nodded sleepily, something Harry couldn’t see through the darkness. “Maybe one of us should stay awake while the other sleeps, in case they do actually want us to let our guard down.”

“I’ll take first watch!” Peter snapped, jolting up from the wall. Harry raised an eyebrow and assumed Peter could see it well enough, because he explained himself after a timid cough. “I uh… sorry, I’ve just heard that line in so many movies and this could be the only chance I actually get to say it.”

“So, you’re into pop culture, as well as science.” It wasn’t a question, more so a statement, and Peter shrugged. Harry shuffled, leaning back across the floor with his elbow under his neck, his feet facing the wall, and his head rested a few inches away from Peter’s hip. “You’ll wake me up when you’re tired, or if something happens?”

“Mhm,” Peter answered with a hum, clenching his fists against his jeans in an attempt to not think about how every time he tried to fall asleep like Harry was, his Dad would rest his head against his lap and card fingers through his hair.

----

“-rry? Harry? Har, hey. You awake yet?” Harry groaned and rubbed his left eye with his right hand, blinking when his opposite hand came out from under his neck, numb and tingling with pins and needles. “Harry?

“Huh? What are you… Peter?” He sat up, blinking sluggishly a few more times, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Yep, Peter, that’s me.” Harry could see the outline of something in Peter’s hand, but he couldn’t place the rattling sound it made when the brunette shook it lightly. “They graced us with some food, slid it through the slot in the door and everything. Such good service around here,” he complained, shaking what Harry could now see was a rectangular box.

“Is that… what is that?” He asked, squinting at the package and reaching out to tilt it slightly, hoping to read what it was.

“Some kind of cereal I think? It must be, maybe Froot Loops or something generic, it’s unopened… so I doubt it's been tampered with at all.” Harry ran a finger over the sides of the box, and as Peter pointed out, the seal was unbroken, as was the plastic within. “Are you hungry?” He asked softly.

“Not for dry cereal that’s probably been sitting in someone's cupboard for over three months.” He picked open the plastic and pulled out what felt like a small donut shaped piece of cereal. “And yeah, I think you were right. Definitely Froot Loops.” Peter heard a crisp noise as Harry assumingly crushed one of them with his teeth, and he sighed in distaste of the dry meal before reaching over to do the same.

They chewed in silence, their hands bumping a few times when they both reached into the box at the same time. Peter felt partly settled, now that the men had fed them, it seemed more likely that they wouldn’t come back before morning. Harry was less relaxed, considering the fact that he knew how much trouble he would be in for managing to “get yourself kidnapped again, Harold.”

“Well I’m sorry it’s such an inconvenience for you when I’m the one getting held hostage.” A pain in his cheek, sharp and simple, one he knew he deserved for an outburst like that.

Harry bristled when he felt a finger against his hand, flinching minutely until he realised it was Peter, he settled quickly. “You should sleep,” he pried, nudging Peter’s arm with his elbow and watching the silhouette fumbling to keep his handful of dry cereal from spilling.

“What are you, my mum?” Peter teased, tipping most of the handful into his mouth before flicking an absent Froot Loop at Harry. It hit his temple and fell to his shoulder, he perked an eyebrow and chewed slowly, his lip curling slightly as he did.

“Having fun?” Harry asked dryly, a grin spreading across his face for a moment as Peter leaned against his shoulder to reach into the box for more loops.

“Mhm,” Peter mumbled softly, his eyes drooping as he realised how comfortable he was in that moment, his fist deep into a cereal box, his side pressed against someone he assumed was a rival, and the throbbing of his bruises beginning to weaken as he yawned. “Although,” he began as he forced himself to lean back against the wall, trying to break the contact before it got weird, “our Dads could show up any second and knowing mine, he’ll probably bring the sui -”

“They’re sending the videos tomorrow morning, nothing else interesting is happening tonight, so go to sleep. If you sleep now, I can get a third rotation in,” he pressed, pushing the cereal out of the way and watching as Peter spread out on his side, an elbow under his head as he concealed a second yawn.

“Night Har,” Peter murmured.

“Yeah, night,” Harry responded evenly, pretending his ears weren’t tuning into the pattern of Peter’s breathing without his conscious decision to do so.