The Billionaire's Sons

It was four forty-seven and Peter wasn’t home from school yet. The final bell was supposed to ring at three thirty. It had been an hour, well over the time Peter would normally have gotten home by, especially on the days where he took the subway.

Tony was a relatively worried parent, he could admit that, mostly thanks to years of Rhodey calling him a ‘bubble wrap’ parent. It was a good thing, he thought, or at least it was helpful for things small and solvable, a fever, bullies, but not a missing son.

He had left eighteen voice messages and Peter’s phone couldn’t be tracked, it was clearly turned off or destroyed.

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, kid?” Tony sighed, running an anxious hand through his hair and clenching his fists to stop them from quivering along with his frayed nerves. “I really don’t need more grey hairs from you,” he said to Peter’s icon on his phone as he clicked off the nineteenth voice mail he had left.

“Tony, your meeting is n –”

“Push it back,” he said quietly, waving his hand at Rhodey and knowing his friend understood.

“Yeah, I figured, I’ll go let the staff know.” Tony smiled appreciatively, nodding his head once.

“Okay, I just… I’ll just call the school again, watch more of the subway footage, see if he ever – if he ever made it there…” He looked down at his lap, picking at the broken remnants of a pen he had taken apart in his anxious state.

“Settle in, Tones. Pete’s a good kid, he’ll be okay.” Rhodey squeezed his shoulder once, an unreadable expression on his face.

---- 4:32 AM ----

FRIDAY blared with an email from an unknown source, Tony had updated the A.I’s alert system as soon as he realised the possibility of a ransom message being sent.

“Shit!” Tony screamed, snapping up from where he was leaning against his hand, painstakingly watching hours of subway footage in real time. He cursed quietly, turning in his chair to hurriedly slam his hand against the facial recognition setting, waiting for FRIDAY to let him know whether the video was worth watching.

“Facial recognition has come back positive for Peter Stark, Harold Osborn and two unknown males, sir.” Tony hit the desk with his elbow in his rush to open the video file. It was addressed to both him and Norman Osborn.

“What the hell,” he murmured to himself, watching the loading icon as it spun in pinwheels. The screen was black for a moment, he heard a rustle and then, what must have been a finger, moved off the lens and the screen flooded with the image of Tony’s son.

He wasn’t visibly hurt, but at the least he looked shaken. His hair was sticking out in different directions, a defiant expression clouding his normally bright features. A large man with a heavy gut and squared shoulders ignored the camera, shifting his weight onto his opposite foot and raising an arm.

Tony winced before the back of the man’s hand slapped across Peter’s cheek. A small, disgruntled gasp escaped from the teen, but it was overshadowed by the man’s insult.

“Brat.”

Tony saw red against his son’s cheek when the man moved to grip his wrist, roughly hauling him forwards towards the camera as he spoke. “Stark, you listen to us, because I’m not pissing around.”

He practically growled as a fist tangled in Peter’s hair and tugged downward, forcing the boy’s red cheek to face the ceiling and expose his neck. “Do you know how easy this pretty throat would be to slit?” The man asked in a mockery of suspense, dragging and dancing his fingers lightly across the small dotted freckles across Peter’s neck. “Wouldn’t take me more than thirty seconds, but I could make it last a lot longer if I wanted to.”

The man grinned, staring straight at the camera. Tony watched Peter, he saw his son’s eyes squeezing shut and noticed the angle of his jawline changing, his teeth clenching together as his whole body leaned away from the chest he was pinned up against. A small hiss was forced out of Peter’s lips as the fingers in his hair tightened, Tony could see his eyebrow twitch at what must have been the sharp pain.

“Dad,” Peter began, arching his back and grunting as he looked at the camera. “You don’t need to do anything they sa-”

He was cut off as the camera jolted and another figure rushed into the frame. Tony swore quietly as the second man drove his fist into Peter’s stomach, winding him. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged at it angrily, he didn’t want to keep watching but he knew he had to, for Peter’s sake.

Peter was a lot stronger than Tony gave him credit for, and it was demonstrated pretty clearly as he shuffled, tilting his chin up and staring down the man who had just landed the hit. “He’s no - not gonna do what y - you want.” He gasped, glaring at the man with his dark brown eyes. “You’re too sloppy, he’s probably already in the suit on his w - way right now.”

Tony winced, he hated how much undeserved faith Peter had in him, especially when Tony was sat at his desk at four-thirty in the morning, watching his son being beaten with zero clue of how to save him.

He sighed as one of the men was shoved out of frame, although the relief was short-lived. Peter was thrown to the ground, one of the men clambering on top of him and keeping his wrists pinned. Tony had to physically hold back a growl as he watched the man squeezing Peter’s cheeks roughly.

“You keep your fucking mouth shut. Got it, kid?” He tightened his fists and saw the look in Peter’s eyes, he clearly didn’t like the epithet either, ‘kid’ was something Tony and only Tony was allowed to call him.

“Yes, shit I get it,” Peter snapped angrily, grunting as he was tugged back to his feet and shook roughly.

“You see this?” The first man asked as Peter was shaken back and forth in emphasis. The man stared right into the camera, his eyes burning into Tony’s. “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.”

Tony rolled his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. He’d pay billions to make sure nobody put their filthy hands near his kid. Underestimating a father’s love for his son was one of the greatest mistakes a kidnapper could make. Tony would willingly light the world on fire if it meant he could keep Peter safe, tucked away at his side.

But instead he was watching someone pressing far too close into Peter’s space and tilting his chin upwards towards the camera. “A bruise, or worse. Hope you understand Stark, wouldn’t want you to be too broke to pay for the hospital fees.”

Peter jerked his head away from the man’s fingers and bared his teeth angrily. His eyes hardened stubbornly, and Tony dropped his head into his hands

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

“Peter, don’t.” Someone urged from off-camera. Tony tilted his head in confusion as he observed the way Peter seemed to be communicating with his eyes. The voice had sounded young, about the same as Peter if not slightly older, or perhaps just deeper toned.

“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.”

So, that’s who Peter was speaking to off camera – Norman Osborn’s son. Tony pursed his lips unhappily, Norman was bad news. He was an absolute asshole and he hated the monthly meetings their companies had to have. Tony couldn’t imagine his rivals son being much different of a person, seeing as he was raised by Norman.

He looked back up at the screen and blanched as he saw Peter weakly blocking fists and feet raining down on him. He looked around, his body rushing with adrenaline despite the fact that there was nothing he could do from where he was, Peter had already been hurt, there was no changing that.

“Get off him, he’s done!” Harry yelled, his voice cracking slightly.

“Shut the hell up, you’re not the big-ticket item here Osborn,” one of the men yelled as he continued grappling with Peter and making sure to keep his wrists pinned against the cement floor. Peter cried out as he bucked his hips, trying to dislodge the man who was sat atop him.

“No, but I can be if you just give me a goddamn minute to talk to my father!” Harry was shouting now, Tony could hear the sound of shoes scuffing against the ground. He wondered whether Harry might have had more of a heart then he expected from the son of his biggest rival.

The man straddling Peter kept his fist at his side as he looked up at where Harry must have been standing. “Fourteen. Norman will pay fourteen million, double what you wanted from Peter’s Dad.” Tony blew out a breath, silently slumping as the last man lowered his fist.

Peter coughed from where he was sprawled beneath the man, blood tricked from his nose and he spluttered slightly as it dripped over his lips. He tried to roll over to dislodge the blood pooling over his face, but the man sitting on him was heavy and didn’t seem eager to lift off the scrawny teen pinned beneath him.

Tony heard a frustrated rumble from the other teen off camera, from the sounds of the heavy breathing, it seemed as though he must have been putting up a fight for whoever was holding him back. “Just get off him and get my video over with, then you’ll be paid whatever the hell you want,” Harry demanded.

Tony watched as the man sitting on Peter straightened up, turned to the camera and nodded. A few seconds later, the screen went black.

Tony let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold throughout the video, he laid a hand across his chest and rubbed the other over his stubble frustratedly.

Harry’s video had been attached in the message as well, but Tony felt wrong watching another child’s ransom video, even if the man was Norman Osborn. He merely had FRIDAY extract some crucial information from the clip and report back to him.

“Mr. Osborn’s ransom demand was fourteen million, although his does not have any specific time frame as Peter’s did. I also did a scan for Peter Stark, and his face was not recognised as present in this recording.” Tony nodded weakly, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples as he thought.

“Contact Norman, as much as I hate to say it, we’re going to need to work together on this one.” The admittance tasted like bile on Tony’s tongue, but then again, the sight of his son bloodied and bruised was far worse of an aftertaste.

---- 8:47 AM ----

Norman didn’t respond until eight in the morning, he had no alert on Harry’s ransom video, so of course he hadn’t been worried when his son never made it home.

Tony was stood outside of a drop point box with Norman a few steps away, his arms were folded, and he looked absolutely furious as he watched Tony drop a cheque of the ransom money.

“Are you…” Tony arched his brow, watching Norman standing in place, making no move to pay.

“No. I’m not paying, they aren’t going to kill him. It’s a bluff.” Tony frowned, it surprised him that another father would be willing to risk his son’s life. “Your kid has no self-preservation.” He snapped his head up and glared.

“You watched Peter’s ransom video?” He asked stiffly, his eyes hardening. Norman shrugged nonchalantly, not showing much remorse. “That wasn’t necessary. You watched my son being hurt for what reason exactly?”

“I don’t know, it could have had information on where they were or something. I think you need to get it through your head sooner rather than later, Stark, that your son isn’t living a private life anymore.” Tony glared ferociously. “Everything he says and does will be picked apart and put on display. I won’t be surprised if today’s paper has his kidnapping as the headline.”

“Shut up,” Tony snapped. “You don’t get to talk about the way I parent. You’ve had your son in the spotlight for years, so stay out of this.” Norman arched a brow at him and clicked his tongue.

“At least Harold has had enough experience to know when to keep his mouth shut.” He shot back coolly.

Tony couldn’t help but bare his teeth and grunt angrily. He glared at Norman, staring directly into his eyes and watching his face morph into fury as he bit back.

“At least I haven’t been accused of beating my son,” he spat. Norman went silent, his teeth grating against each other.

“That headline was taken offline. The company was sued for defamation,” Norman argued. “That’s redundant, nobody had any proof that I –” He shifted on his feet and looked to the left nervously, Tony frowned. “Who’s he?” The mechanic turned to look at a large man with a dark leather jacket stepping out of a car and moving towards them. Tony eyed his fists, the knuckles were slightly reddened, there was a scratch against his palm.

“The cheques,” the man said curtly, nodding towards the two fathers.

“I’m sorry?” Tony asked, staring up at the man without fear.

“I want the money, for the boys.” Norman looked calm, as if it was all part of a routine, whereas Tony stiffened up and growled.

“Where the hell is he? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Tony exploded, darting forward and grabbing the front of the man’s jacket, shaking him with his lips peeled back in a snarl. He lasted a few seconds before he was shoved backwards roughly.

“All I have to do is say one word and there’ll be a knife against their throats, so back they hell off, stay out of it and nobody needs to get their throat slit.” Tony straightened up and watched the man snatching up the cheque. “Where yours?” He asked Norman, looking unamused when the man held up his hands as if he didn’t know.

“I’m not paying fourteen million bucks,” he mumbled. The man in the leather jacket pondered for a moment before sending something over his phone and moving back towards his car.

“Look forward to a hospital bill just as big, Osborn.” The man sneered before revving his engine and taking an illegal U-turn before speeding off.

The two billionaires stood in silence for a moment before Tony turned around with a smirk on his face.

“Stupid idiot thinks I’m not smart enough to save my own kid,” he fumbled with his phone for a minute before bringing up a location. “Tracker,” he said to Norman, “it’s on the inside of his jacket. So now I’ll be going and saving both my son and yours, because you clearly care so much about your son’s wellbeing.”

Norman rolled his eyes and watched Tony pressing a comm line into his ear and talking to someone called FRIDAY. “Suit please. And track the location on my phone too.”

----

Harry woke up with something bright burning the front of his eyelids. He groaned and shifted further down the wall. The light was seeping in under the door, so he assumed there must have been a window directly outside of it, in the hall.

He rolled his head to the side and flinched when he saw something moving. He blinked wearily before realising it was Peter. His chest was rising and falling evenly, his head was rested on his elbows, face turned towards Harry. The light was tinting his hair and eyelashes a light amber, his features were softer in sleep, his eyebrows less drawn with anxiety, his lips slightly parted as he breathed in and out.

Peter’s hair had fluffed up overnight, it had been out of place since he was dragged around by it the night before, but now the light was hitting it at odd angles and making it look like an invitation.

And shit, maybe Harry did want to reach out and brush the stray curls from Peter’s face, but he wouldn’t.

“Boys don’t like boys, Harold. Get it through your head.”

He wouldn’t shift his hand three inches to his side, just so he could rest his palm against the nest of fluff that their kidnappers had tugged at less than several hours beforehand. He wouldn’t, not now and not after the hostage situation had blown over. He didn’t get the freedom to date who he wanted to date. That was a fact of life for an Osborn.

Without warning, Peter’s nose scrunched as he made a small noise of sleep and shifted his cheek onto the opposite hand. Harry bit back the small smile on his face when Peter’s eyelids fluttered open. He could see as Peter’s pupils adjust to the light shining directly across his eyes, the teen blinked and shifted once more.

“W’s I supposed to be on watch?” He grumbled tiredly, tilting his chin up and looking at Harry dazedly. How the hell did he manage to make tired look good?

“No, you’re good,” he answered quietly, the smile coming back when Peter seemed to slump in relief. “How’s your… uh… your everything?” He waved a hand over Peter’s body, focusing on his face to emphasise how bruised he still was. The brunette laughed with an amused huff and propped himself up against the wall, closer to Harry.

“Just swell, man.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and looked across at Harry, his bruised cheeks still managing to conjure up a slight flush. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about how close they had sat the night before, although they couldn’t forget the occasional brush of clothing against clothing and Peters hand over Harry’s wrist.

The two of them let the silence mingle on slightly before the tell-tale sound of an engine and wheels over gravel made itself known. It was distant and heavily muffled, but the two of them could pick up on a door slamming and someone yelling faintly.

“I don’t care… get the tall one out here, his father needs to be put in his place for not coughing up.”

Peter tensed and turned to see Harry hanging his head and scrunching his eyes up as if he knew how royally screwed he was.

“Asshole,” he murmured as he shook his head and clenched his fists. Peter looked up at him with worried eyes. “He just… sometimes Norman doesn’t pay,” Harry admitted grimly. Peter bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something disrespectful.

“I’m sorry,” he settled with. His fingers twitched at his side when he briefly considered reaching over and reassuring the taller boy with a hand on his shoulder.

“What for?” Harry asked, looking to his side where Peter was sat.

“He had to pay double then my Dad. I can’t help but feel like he would have paid if it wasn’t so much money.” Peter flinched as footsteps began pounding down the hall towards their cell.

“Osborn!” A voice bellowed, a fist clanged against the door with a jolt. “Your father needs more persuading.” Harry looked up and jerked his head to the side as he felt Peter’s hand grabbing his elbow.

“Don’t fight,” he urged worriedly. He looked agitated, his fingers squeezing slightly and making Harry’s heart beat a little faster. “I – I don’t know how to get out of thi –”

“It’s not your responsibility. I’ll be fine.” The I’ve dealt with worse went unsaid. Peter still stared at him anxiously, he looked like a kicked puppy. Harry opened his mouth to assure him again, but the grinding of locks being torn away cut him off as the door was pushed open.

“On your feet,” a stocky man in a leather jacket demanded. Harry stood, keeping still enough to qualify as non-threatening. He heard Peter hissing through his teeth as he stood, he felt his stance becoming more rigid and tried to calm himself down. They wanted him, not Peter. “You,” the man began, “have a neglectful prick as a father.” He stepped forward, crossing the space and lifting a hand. “He needs to be put in his place,” a finger jabbed Harry’s chest and the man sneered.

“Then beat him up, not his kid.” Peter snapped, his face twisting in pain as he stood fully, his back straightening. The man’s gaze flickered over to Peter, his sneer intensifying.

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut, Stark.” Peter’s brows lowered in response to the insult. “Unless you’re ready for another video, zip it.” Peter opened his mouth to shoot something back at the man, but a metallic clang cut him off.

Harry frowned in confusion, the man didn’t twitch, but Peter paused before his face stretched into a grin and he threw his head back and laughed.

“We’re not the ones being taught a lesson,” he said happily. Harry turned and looked at him as if he had a concussion. He winced as the man moved bodily to face him. He looked fed up, and Harry couldn’t help but throw his arm out and shove Peter backward, blocking him as best he could.

Harry wasn’t bold enough to admit that when Peter grabbed his hand – his hand, not his wrist like before – and locked their fingers, only to tug him back against the wall so they were huddled together, he might have gone slightly lightheaded.

“Pete, what are y –” The shorter teen shook his head and dropped down, pulling Harry with him. Peter turned his face away and Harry didn’t have to wait long before he knew exactly why Peter had ushered them to cover.

A blue beam of light slammed into the man who had spun around, he was thrown back against the wall with a pained grunt. The bulky door flew across the cell immediately afterward and left several cracks in the cement.

“You think,” a metallic voice grit, “that you have the right,” the man on the floor scrabbled frantically as a metal suit began crossing the room, “to hurt my kid?!” The man wheezed as he was picked up by the throat and hurled across the other side of the room again, his body making a painful screech as it skidded and rolled down the hallway.

“What the fuck,” Harry hissed quietly. He looked over to see Peter smiling, despite the split lip and bloody cut above his eyebrow.

The suit, now apparently satisfied with the groaning from the hall, made a soft whirring noise before the front half popped open with a click.

“Dad,” Peter breathed out, squeezing past Harry and the wall to dart across the room and fall on his knees as Tony – The Tony Stark – caught him in his arms.

“Hey, buddy.” The mechanic cupped the back of Peter’s head, his fingers clutching the shorter curls at the nape of the teen’s neck as he rested his chin overtop. “You scared the shit outta me,” Tony muttered, his arms tensing as he held his son a little tighter.

Harry couldn’t help but watch as not only a father touched his son with the intention of affection rather than discipline, but as somebody else got to tangle their fingers through the fluffed-up curls Harry had stared at that same morning. He extinguished the jealousy as soon as he felt the flame threatening to light.

His shoes scuffed the floor as he stood, and there was the familiar whine of a repulsor which Peter hurriedly slapped away as it was instinctively raised by FRIDAY, who must have been operating the now empty suit.

“Sorry, sorry Har.” Peter winced, twisting in Tony’s arms to point at Harry. “That’s Harry, he’s – he’s… really cool.” Peter smiled, a warm look crossing his bruised face. “He’s been through all of this before,” he continued, a sympathetic expression clouded Tony’s face and he almost looked like he was about to say something, but he closed his lips and just settled for nodding at the other teen.

“Mr. Stark,” Harry greeted with a polite nod. Peter grinned wider and exchanged a look with his father, who seemed to soften slightly.

“You can call me Tony, kid.” Harry nodded once more. He stared down at his feet and shuffled self-consciously. He felt out of place with Peter curled against Tony’s chest, and an arm draped around his shoulders protectively. “Are you hurt?” There was a lingering silence before Harry glanced up and realised Tony had been talking to him.

“Uh, no – no… I’m alright, nothing major.” Tony’s eyes gave him a once-over, Harry couldn’t help but pull his sleeves further down out of habit. Too many bruises. “Peter had the worst of it,” he said quietly.

“I’m okay,” Peter interjected as Tony turned to fret over him. His face crinkled in obvious concern and his hand reached up to rub away a smear of congealed blood in Peter’s hairline. “Dad, I’m fine, it’s okay.” He laughed softly as Tony tilted Peter’s face left and right, frowning and cursing quietly when he surveyed the damage. “Everything is fine, one of my ribs hurts a little, yeah… but other than that I’m all good.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Tony complained, shifting to help Peter to his feet. He blatantly glared, with little heat, when Peter winced as he stood. He kept a hand hovered near Peter’s shoulders as they began moving towards the door. “Norman’s outside, he’s there behind the barriers with the press.”

“The… the press?” Peter asked nervously. Tony slowed, he turned and wrapped an arm over the teen’s shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.

“Hey, hey, buddy.” Tony knew the look on Peter’s face, it was the same one he had before the press, the same anxiety that flooded into his brown eyes the first time they were swarmed by the paparazzi after school. The way his lip trembled when he showed Tony the nail indents after he was grabbed for an interview when him and Tony walked out of a restaurant. “Happy is right out front, okay? I tried keeping the press out of this, but… they managed to catch wind and now they’re flocking like vultures.”

Harry saw Peter’s body language change, originally, he seemed to be lax and open, probably in order to convince Tony that he wasn’t really that hurt, but after the press had been brought up, he seemed to shrink. His shoulders pinched, and his hand blindly trailed out to the side until he was holding his father’s arm and using him as a crutch.

“I’ll go out first,” Harry offered, smiling as Peter ducked his head and whispered his thanks. The hall was long, and the three had to walk through the room where the videos had been taken, and Peter squeezed Tony’s arm as he saw the unconscious men scattered around the sides of the room. The largest man, the one who had touched Peter’s throat in the ransom video, had both of his arms twisted at odd angles.

“I…” Peter trailed off before even getting a single word out as the three stopped just in front of the doors. He could hear a crowd; the lights of the camera flashes were already too much, and the door wasn’t even opened yet. “Can’t you just say I died or something?” Peter asked with a nervous laugh. Tony smiled with a glint of worry in his eyes.

“Well I mean, I could… but I’m not that good of an actor.” Peter groaned and leaned in, so his face was hidden against Tony’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay, just hide your face like we talked about, make sure you get straight to the car.” The mechanic peeled off his jacket, draping it over Peter’s shoulders and tucking the front over his head. “Done, they won’t even recognise you without those famous curls.” Peter looked up as he huffed, half-heartedly swatting at Tony’s arm.

“You’re the worst,” he complained, smiling despite himself and sighing heavily before pressing the slightest bit closer to Tony and speaking. “Okay, let’s get this over with I guess.”

Harry saw the tufts of curls at the base of Peter’s neck peeking out from under the jacket and he flushed mildly as he thought about how much he had wanted to drag his fingers through them. He shook the feeling away and stepped around the pair, putting his fingers around the door handle and casting a final glace behind him to make sure Peter was alright.

“Kid,” Tony began, “I’m sorry Norman didn’t come inside for you. He doesn’t exactly own a suit of armour… so that’s probably why he opted to hang back.” Harry smiled, an almost forced look on his face.

“It’s okay, Tony. He’s… he’s trying to stay out of the whole kidnapping for cash thing, it’s why he didn’t write the cheque like you did.” With Norman in the forefront of his mind, Harry pushed the handle down and shouldered open the door, completely missing the sympathetic and understanding look on Tony’s face as he did.

He was assaulted with an assort of cameras and microphones. Multiple men in suits and women in pencil skirts were pushing at the small barriers put up and hands were tapping his shoulders as multiple different voices begged for his attention at once.

“Harry! Can we get a stateme –”

“How long have you been in the hostage situa –”

“Camera to your left, give us a headliner, kid!”

“Could you describe the men who were respon –”

“Harold.” The disappointed tone cut through the buzz of the reporters and interviewers, Harry felt the next pair of hands on his shoulders tighten and if he hadn’t trained himself to hide it for the cameras, he would have winced at the grip. “Are you alright, son?” Harry bit back the acidic look he would have shot Norman if it hadn’t been for the crowd, but he smiled tightly and looked up at him.

“I’m okay, thank you.” He grit the thanks out, knowing the press would assume he was thanking his father for paying the ransom demand, which he most certainly was not. Norman had given up on paying a few years ago, it was mostly just a game of waiting around for the NYPD to figure out where he was being kept and then putting on the face of a worried parent. As if.

The fingers tightened slightly as Harry picked up on the whisper between the shouts of the paparazzi.

“You’ve got an audience to answer, shape the story, follow our little structure and get it done.” Right, the structure, or alternatively, how to twist the story enough so that Norman could get some press points for being a caring father.

Smile. Thank your father. Pictures, pictures. Hide any injuries, old or new. Answer questions. Go home. Don’t get kidnapped next time.

Simple.

Harry couldn’t help but spare a glance behind him. He could see Tony closing a door and rushing to the opposite side of a car with blacked out windows. The suit, which had been keeping the crowd back, powered down and packed itself into a briefcase which Tony pulled onto his lap before shutting his own door.

He felt the fingers squeezing tighter on his shoulders and he shuddered, shifting backwards slightly.

“I’m just… I’ll be back,” Harry mumbled, slipping away from Norman and squirming through the crowd. He ducked under big cameras being aimed at Tony’s car, under a barrier keeping the others back. He walked faster as he saw the brake lights turning on. He couldn’t hear the engine over the crowd.

----

Peter jolted as someone tapped his window. He shuffled a seat over and Tony frowned at the door. The barriers should have kept everyone at least three feet back from the car. He leant over Peter, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze as he pushed the door open, ready to give whatever reporter who had the guts to jump the barrier an earful.

When the door was opened, Tony opened his mouth to protest as a figure slipped into the car.

“Dad,” Peter started, grabbing his hand as he recognised the other teen. “Hey, Har.” The brunette smiled warmly at Harry, relaxing in his seat and letting Tony sit back up.

“If you ever need help with all this,” Harry said hurriedly, waving his hand in a sweeping gesture towards the crowd. He slipped a slip of paper onto Peter’s seat and gave a wary smile before stepping back out of the vehicle and hesitantly making his way back to Norman.

Peter turned back to look at his Dad, a flush dusting his cheeks and nose, a small curl hinting at the edges of his lips. He copied the number down into his phone, which Tony presented. He must have found it where the rest of Peter’s things were being kept by the men.

“You alright there, kiddo?” Tony smirked as he knocked on the partition and cued Happy to pull away from the clicking bulbs of the cameras and the desperate shouts from the reporters. Peter flushed a darker red and bowed his head to hide it as he nodded. “You’re looking a little red there, Pete. Anything I should know?” Tony looked over at Peter with a teasing look in his eyes.

“I – I don’t know… he’s… he’s nice,” Peter admitted shyly. Tony barked a short laugh.

“My god, kid. You’re so transparent.” Peter huffed indignantly and rolled his eyes at his Dad.

“Fine, I like him, he’s smart and nothing like what I’d expect from an Osborn. He’s different.” Tony quirked a brow at him. “I think he’d be a nice friend. That’s what I’m trying to say.” Tony’s face softened slightly, taking on a more serious look.

“Pete, you know that I wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you did like him… y’know, like that, right?” Peter bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged unconfidently, shuffling in his seat. “I wouldn’t mind if you liked boys or girls or both, hell you could like nobody, and I wouldn’t mind. As long as you’re happy, buddy, that’s all I care about. Don’t forget that.” Peter looked up into Tony’s eyes and nodded, relaxing marginally at the weight off his chest.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “I guess… I’ve been thinking about that stuff for a bit, but I don’t really know what I am, or at least not enough to really… come out, if that makes sense.” Tony nodded in understanding and gave Peter a smile that said he understood, he was happy to wait for Peter to figure himself out.

“That’s cool, all I’m really focused on right now is getting you cleaned and patched up. You look like hell,” he laughed as Peter wiped dried blood from his nose and pouted.

“They better not have stained my shirt,” he grumbled. Tony huffed amusedly and pushed a curl back from Peter’s face to survey a bump just past his hairline.

“I feel like a stained shirt is the least of your problems, mister I love to aggravate my kidnappers.” Peter wrinkled his nose at Tony.

“I took it like a champ,” he said proudly as Happy pulled up into the garage.

“Technically, yes, although you wouldn’t have had to take any of it in the first place if you had just played nicely.” Peter rolled his eyes once more but still leaned against Tony as they got out of the car. “Can you walk alright?”

“No, you have to carry me, Dad,” Peter said sarcastically. “No, I’m fine. It’s just my knee.” Tony gave Peter an unreadable look that definitely said so help me kid, I will carry you, before steering him towards the elevator and getting FRIDAY to send them up to the Med Bay.

“Right, lets get you sorted then, huh?” Tony ruffled Peter’s hair carefully, being sure to not aggravate the bumps.

----

Peter came out of the Med Bay an hour later with a sling for his sprained wrist, a multitude of bandages, wraps, and bruises covered in the condensation from an ice pack. He had a mild dosage of pain meds, which also doubled as something which made him incredibly sleepy, so Tony wasn’t surprised when he found himself stretched out on the couch with a Stark Pad in his hands and a minorly passed-out kid sprawled across his lap.

He sighed heavily and switched the device off, resting his head back against the cushions. Tony lazily twirled one of Peter’s curls between two fingers, humming quietly to himself as he thought. He would need more precautionary measures in place, if Norman’s son had been in the public eye since birth and had been through hostage situations a multitude of times, that would mean Peter would experience a similar amount.

Peter huffed in his semi-sleep, turning his face into Tony’s hand and making a small, appeased sound as Tony laughed quietly and scratched the crown of his head gently.

“You should ask Harry if he’s going to the next expo with Norman or not. Who knows, kiddo, maybe he’ll be working backstage like you.” He felt Peter exhale slowly.

“Y’ve known H’rry for less th’n four hours and you’re alr’dy trying to set us up… Y’r such a helicopter parent.” Peter complained.

“And who decided that was a bad thing?”