Healing
Over the course of the next two weeks, Peter had a lot of nightmares. On most nights that he had them, it was hard to get back to sleep so he could get all seven hours his Dad wanted. Napping helped, with getting a full seven hours, not the nightmares, those were inescapable.
“It’s every day for the past two weeks, and you don’t know until it’s already happening. Even when you wake me up I still…” Peter sighed and rubbed his face frustratedly with the heel of his hands before continuing, “I – I still see everything again.” He looks worn, his black eyes have fully healed by now, but the dark bags still remain, so too does the haunted expression that Tony had for the years following Afghanistan. It hurts to see his child going through exactly what he did and not being able to make it go away.
“I know, trust me, I do. It gets better, after a while they start to fade, and it doesn’t feel as real, you just need to get through each one and then little by little, they go away. Okay? I swear kiddo, but you need to sleep, because the more you sleep the less…” He twirled his finger in the air and waited for the right word to come to him. “The less hyper realistic they are,” Peter frowned and quirked his head to show he wasn’t getting exactly what Tony meant. The mechanic pulled in a breath and shuffled on the couch, so he was facing the teen better. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before trying to translate them in a way that Peter would hopefully understand. “The more tired and overworked your head is, the more vivid the dreams are, because you aren’t functioning properly when you’re awake, I find, your dreams work harder to be grounded in reality. It doesn’t make much sense but that’s what I found when I finally started to get more sleep after… yeah after stuff, Afghanistan.”
“Okay, I do.” Peter dropped his head, so it leant against the crook of Tony’s neck and he could feel the pulse. “It’s just… draining,” as if to exemplify his point, the teen let his body sag, so his Dad took majority of his weight.
“I know, that’s why you sleep.” Peter rolled his eyes, as if it were that simple.
“If sleeping is what’s exhausting me, why should I sleep more?” It was Tony’s turn to sigh now, but he still reached his hand up to run a comforting hand through the mop of brunette curls.
“It’s not sleep that’s tiring, it’s the nightmares and adrenaline rushes when you wake up from them.” Peter closed his eyes against the touch and a small smile played at his lips as he relaxed into Tony’s side more.
“Yeah, m’kay,” he said lazily, drumming his fingers on his legs. “Did you talk to anyone yet?”
“Actually, I’m glad you asked,” he tapped Peter’s chin to signal for him to open his eyes and look up, which he did. “Natasha spoke to me yesterday to let me know that I can… go on the mission with them.” He hesitated, avoiding the words.
“Dad, you can just say it, I’m fine.” Tony scratched at the boy’s scalp and shook his head, even if he said he was fine, Peter didn’t like hearing Ryan’s name. He frowned, and the mechanic relented.
“Fine. Natasha said I can go and talk to the asshole.” He smiled for humours sake, but he couldn’t hide the anger that flashed in his eyes, especially not when he was still seeing the lingering effects that those three weeks had on his son.
“I’m not glass, I won’t break if you say his name.” Peter pouted, lifting his head from his Dad’s shoulder and glaring at him without much real heat.
“Maybe I don’t want to say it, maybe it pisses me off and I don’t want to give the fucker a name.” He felt a smaller hand gently touching his clenched fist, and he took a deep breath as an attempt to steady his rapidly increasing anger. After a moment that he spent collecting himself, he unfurled his hand and held the one Peter was offering, covering the small crescent indents he left in his own palm. “I’m sorry, you know I don’t mean to – to treat you like you’re damaged.”
“I know, I just don’t want you going over there and getting angrier,” his face scrunched for a moment, the small crinkles on his nose highlighting how deep in thought he was. “I don’t think he’s above provoking you, especially when he doesn’t have any leverage against you anymore.” Tony tensed, hating the notion of Peter being used as leverage against him.
“You weren’t leverage okay? He took you for you, because he’s messed up. Don’t think like that.” The suggestion that all those photo’s and audio files were to keep Tony in his place wasn’t right. They were a demonstration of the power Ryan had over him, how he had managed to take Tony Stark’s child, barely three blocks from home. “He was taunting, not using you to get something from me.”
“That’s exactly what he was doing. He wanted a reaction, he wanted to make you upset.” Tony closed his eyes and blew out the breath he had been holding before resting his chin on Peter’s head and inhaling again. Peter’s hair smelled like shampoo, not bloody and metallic like it had when he found him. He ran a hand up and down the side of his neck, focusing on how he could feel the even beat of the boy’s heart under his skin and move his fingers over his pulse point without disturbing the deep injuries that coated his throat. Most of his bruises were gone, only a few light shades of yellowish, green covered the area where the deepest had been. Peter’s back had fully healed, his ankle was better, all the internal issues were fixed. The only injuries that remained were the lingering, phantom pains in his ribs after a panic attack, the light and continually fading design on his chest, and the psychological trauma that would most likely remain an unseen scar for majority of his life, much like his father’s. Much like how most of the Avengers would have memories that never went away. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Tony looked down at Peter, wondering what the question meant. “I mean, he used me to make you upset, and it worked.” He didn’t respond, they had spoken about some of the things that Peter went through, but they hadn’t yet discussed how Tony dealt for those three weeks. “Dad?” He tugged at his sleeve. “Don’t think it wasn’t just as hard for you as it was for me.”
“That’s not true. You were tortured, I was sat at home, they aren’t the same.” His tone was harsher than he meant it to be, but it wasn’t directed at Peter. “You didn’t have anything, I was here –”
“I had hope.” Peter interrupted abruptly, his doe-eyes blinking determinedly. “I’m not stupid, I know you didn’t sleep, I know you went through, minimum, a year’s worth of coffee Dad.” He mimicked the way Tony had tapped his chin and when the mechanic turned to meet his eyes, they were filled with understanding. “I can see it in the way Steve and Rhodey keep telling you to drink more water and bring you food. You did the same thing that happened after Afghanistan and New York, it isn’t hard for me to work that out, considering how terrible you are at hiding how you’re feeling from me.”
“I was justified. It wasn’t an option to sit around waiting for a lead, I needed to be doing something, I had to – had to be working to find you, okay?” Peter wasn’t buying it, he was too stubborn to just accept that fact. “You know how you keep complaining that you don’t want to sleep, because what you see is too real?”
“Yeah, what does this have to do with –”
“The few times I tried to sleep, when I woke up, you were still gone. You were still missing, and it felt like I was living a fucking nightmare, okay? It was messed up Peter, and I couldn’t – I just couldn’t… couldn’t function, knowing what was happening to you.” The teen blinked, closed his mouth and looked at his lap.
“Did you have…” Peter trailed off, but Tony clicked on to what he was trying to ask. He wanted to know if he had more panic attacks.
“Several. Especially… especially after the warehouse, and the audio of the tube. Those were the worst.” He wasn’t lying, the week leading up to them finding the warehouse, before he saw any picture, video or audio of Peter, was purely the unknown. His mind filled the blanks and skipped straight to worse cause scenario, especially his dreams. When he saw those photos scattered around the warehouse, it was like everything had been confirmed, his son was being tortured and he didn’t have a single lead. The tube was just hard in general, the sounds, the screaming, the way Peter was begging for him, the way he was being cooed over and called adoring names by the sadist who was hurting him, everything built up and Tony couldn’t handle it. Almost like he snapped, he sort of just went numb, floating around the house, tears constantly staining his cheeks, poking at his food but rarely eating, lying motionless in bed for hours but never sleeping.
He looked to Peter, who’s head was hung and a self-loathing expression on his face. “You know, it’s almost ironic,” he began, watching to see if he could wipe away the guilt painted across the boy’s face. “How what hurt the most, the photo’s and stuff, was what ended up giving us the location.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered softly, keeping his head down. “Most of the time I wasn’t even… I wasn’t conscious enough to realise he was taking photos or recording. If I knew, I would’ve tried not to –”
“That’s what you did in the video with the newspaper. You smiled, you called me Mister Stark.” He nodded slowly, remembering the man standing behind the camera, dragging a nail across his head in warning, threatening to cut into his skull if he didn’t comply.
“Yeah, I – I tried to.” He tucked his chin to his chest and mumbled, “probably didn’t look all that convincing though.”
“I didn’t care that it was very poor acting,” Tony nudged his shoulder and Peter huffed a dry laugh. “I was more focused on how proud you made me.” The boy looked up from his lap, curiosity peeking his interest. “You went through… you had some really fucked up stuff happening to you, but you still put on a brave face. You called me Mister Stark and you smiled at the camera, because you knew I was watching,” he lifted Peter’s chin with a gentle finger, looking directly into his hazel eyes fondly. “Watching that video, I had never been prouder of you in my life.” The boy smiled softly, curling his hand into Tony’s and murmuring a quiet thank you.
“I tried,” he responded lightly. They sat silently for a short time before Peter nuzzled closer and closed his eyes as he turned into his Dad’s chest. “M’ hungry,” he mumbled after another period of quiet.
“I’ll tell you what, if you promise to sleep two more hours today, I’ll order pizza.” Peter grinned and nodded his head, looking forward to the normality of spending the evening lounged out in the living room with an empty takeaways box and his Dad lying next to him. “Good, you need both sleep and greasy food,” Tony said, wrapping his thumb and index finger around Peter’s slender wrist. “F.R.I, if I say pizza, you know what to do right?”
“Ordering the usual Sir,” the A.I responded, chiming when the order was made and again when half an hour later the food arrived. Peter’s appetite had grown back to normal, and while his Dad had three slices, he ate a pizza and a half. It took him almost an hour to fall asleep, but when he did, Tony slid off the couch and moved to the doorway, staying close enough to the boy so he could see if he was in distress. Once F.R.I.D.A.Y had notified Natasha that he wanted to speak to her, the elevator pinged, and she stepped out, keeping her walk silent when she took note of the sleeping teen.
“I’m assuming you’d like to talk about this mission,” her gaze flicked over to Peter, wordlessly asking if they could speak so close to him.
“Yes, I’d like to know what you’ve got so far, he’s asleep.” Natasha nodded, pulled a stick from her pocket and threw it to him before turning on her heel and making her way to the elevator.
“That’s what we know, it’s almost everything, I’m expecting he’ll give something else to you when you go in.” He turned the stick in his hands while the elevator doors closed and looked back over at the couch, gauging to see if he has time to grab his laptop from two rooms over.
The boy’s face was lax, devoid of any pain or discomfort and making him look so much younger. It took Tony less than two minutes to retrieve his laptop, and when he came back, Peter hadn’t moved whatsoever. He sat on the floor with the computer in his lap, the screen tilted in a way so in case Peter woke, he wouldn’t be able to see it. The file didn’t contain much, the names, ages, general information of the guards and doctors. The information on Ryan was more developed, Tony read the short paragraphs explaining his motivations, gritting his teeth as he did so.
The man had been involved and employed in the Weapon X program, which was the government genetic research facility that enhanced mutants and even baseline humans. Ryan worked there for a good amount of time, but the file explained he didn’t agree with creating and further developing enhanced individuals, so he broke away. Reportedly, he took with him equipment and research on the experiments that had been conducted on multiple subjects. He didn’t want to make more mutants, he wanted to study and experiment on them, to take them apart and understand them. It wasn’t clear what he was planning on using the information on, or if he even wanted to do anything with it, but it was clear that he didn’t want any more mutants in the world. His hatred for the enhanced was written all over that file and etched deep into Peter’s wounds. His son suffered for no reason other than to fulfil the sickening desire that Ryan had to pick apart and understand the powers, through any means necessary, even if it concerned torturing a sixteen-year-old.
He reached out for something to hold, his hand automatically wrapping around the coffee table leg and gripping tightly. He pressed his teeth together and closed his eyes as his nostrils flared in anger.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y ask Natasha when we’re leaving.” He pulled the stick from the laptop, putting it in his pocket and shutting the screen. He pushed it off his lap and leant back so he could analyse Peter’s face to make sure there wasn’t any indication that he was having a nightmare.
“Miss Romanoff is ready now Sir.” He sighed, a thick blanket of worry settling over him when he realised going meant leaving Peter. Standing and moving to lean over the couch he hesitated for as long as he could before relenting and laying a gentle hand on his cheek and whispering his name.
“Pete, hey buddy?” The teen sniffed and turned his whole body into the touch, even in sleep he sought affection that had been lacked for three weeks. “Yeah, hey, wanna wake up for a sec kiddo?” He grumbled a string of incoherent nonsense and whined softly into Tony hand, which took a moment to brush an errant curl away from his face.
“Mm, Dad?” His voice was croaky from the nap and his eyebrows crinkled as he scrunched his eyes and blinked sleepily.
“Yep. That’s me bud, hi, hello.” He huffed a light laugh and bent over to scoop the boy up, curling his warm body against his chest and reaching back down to grab a blanket which he tucked over Peter as he walked towards the door. “You wanna sleep in your room?”
“Your bed’s bigger,” the teen yawned against Tony’s shoulder and snuggled closer, hiding his face into the crook of his Dad’s neck.
“Okay,” the mechanic changed directions and kissed Peter’s head as he began to explain the plan. “I know you’re still tired, and you haven’t really been alone since you got back, but I need to sort something out tonight. How do you feel about it, how much time are you comfortable without me here for?”
“Wha’s the time?” Tony glanced down at his watch, tilting Peter’s body so he could read the screen without putting the boy down.
“Nearly eight, why?”
“M’ okay, I’ll make food with M – uh, Steve – with Steve.” He raised his eyebrows at the teen as he pushed the door open with his foot and made for the bed. “He suggested it – thought it would help to do some domestic stuff. I think he said something about how doing domestic things helped him and Bucky, as a distraction and reminder that people like us can do normal stuff like that.” Surprising himself, Tony didn’t tense when Peter brought up Barnes.
“When did you have a nice ol’ chat with Capsical, huh?” He rolled his eyes and blinked the sleep from his eyes as his Dad lowered him to the bed.
“One night I didn’t have a nightmare, I kinda woke up earlier than you and wandered to get some water and he was already up. Honestly, it looked like he had been up for ages and had already finished a run or something like that.” Peter was a big culprit of sleeping in till noon unless somebody gave him a reason to be up.
“What time was it, like seven, eight am?” He nodded with a face that said, ‘how could anyone wake up that early, willingly.’
“Yeah, I don’t know how anyone does that,” he paused, the humour slipping from his face as he fixed Tony with a more meaningful gaze. “Seriously, I’ll be fine Dad. I’m not gonna sleep while you aren’t here, but I’m good to just cook something with Steve and then maybe hang around, watch T.V or something.” Peter watched Tony carefully with a reassuring smile on his face, searching through the unsureness and hesitation to go. “Dad… I promise I’ll be fine, okay? I can even call while you’re on the way there and back if that’d make you feel better, but I’m going to be fine on my own for a bit, not even a whole night.”
“Alright, alright,” Tony leaned forward, cupping Peter’s cheeks and tilting his head down so he could press a quick kiss to the crown of his head. “Okay kid, I know. I do expect you to call if literally anything, and I mean anything, goes wrong. I would drop everything I was doing in a heartbeat to come back here if you needed me, I love you.”
“I Love you too.” Peter whispered into Tony’s collarbone. “You going now?”
“Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were safe before I left. Have a long shower, catch up on texting Ned, your phone’s been blowing up, take it easy kiddo.” He managed to ruffle the teen’s curls fondly before standing up and walking to the door, pointing to his own bathroom. “Just use my shower, it’s got fluffier towels and the steam will help with the sore throat.” Peter frowned confusedly.
“I never said I had a sore –”
“What can I say, paternal instinct. Well, that plus the fact that you’ve sounded like a toad since you woke up.” He laughed as he stepped into the hallway and dodged the pillow that was thrown at him.
“You were the one who woke me up!” Peter called as his Dad’s warm laugh followed him down the hall.
The teen walked into the bathroom while Tony took the elevator to the ground floor and got into the car with Natasha.
“Is the kid gonna be alright on his own for a while?” She asked after driving in relative silence for a few minutes.
“Yeah, he’ll call if anything’s wrong and mentioned cooking with Cap for a bit.” The assassin scoffed and shook her head, amused.
“You’re coming home to a plateful of something sweet and a kitchen covered in flour if I could make a guess.” Tony smiled and reached for his phone as it buzzed.
‘Just finished in the shower, heading to kitchen now, try not to punch anything for me’
He shook his head much like Natasha and mirrored her amusement with his own fond smile. “Pete good?”
“Yeah, he’s fine, going to the kitchen now, so I’m assuming you were right and I’m gonna end up brushing flour off everything he touches for the next week.” He leant back in the seat and stretched his legs out more, reclining slightly before turning to look at the assassin. “Thanks for the stick, this asshole is a piece of work,” he put the stick down in the cupholder next to her.
“Saying things like that makes me want to ask you, what’s the plan here? Are you going to kill him, hand him over, or something different entirely?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned out the front window, glaring at the headlights illuminating the road in front of the car.
“Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t love anything more than killing this guy, but… Peter’s weird about that, he doesn’t kill, he doesn’t like to be involved in that stuff, and I know for a fact that if he found out I ended this prick, he’d find a way to blame himself.”
“Not if I do it,” Natasha said coldly, her gaze fixed solidly ahead, fingers holding the wheel with a firm grip.
“Mhm,” he hummed uncommittedly, skipping around actually saying the words ‘would you be a dear and kill the shithead that tortured my son for three weeks please?’ Because he didn’t think that would go down well with the recovering Peter, who’s self-sacrificing and ‘need to save everybody he can,’ traits, were still very much in place. “How far away is this place again?”
“We’ve been holding them all at the facility over on Coney Island, so less than an hour.”
“Wait, is that – are we talking about Rikers Island Prison? Is that where they’re being held?”
“No, same general area though, it’s one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s old ones, so no general prisoners, just ours.” He settled back, his spike of worry easing as he was assured. They drove on in silence once again, letting Tony text Peter back, Natasha focusing on the road.
It must have been at least another twenty minutes before she spoke again, and although it was a warning, there was no threat in her tone. “You know, when you go in to talk to the main guy, all he’ll want to do is taunt you.” He bobbed his head once as a sign that he knew.
“I guess he’ll learn not to poke the bear.” He sounded genuinely angry, but it didn’t seem to phase Natasha as she laughed aloud.
“Yeah, don’t piss off ‘Mama bear Stark’ over here,” she goaded strategically.
“Yeah, real hilarious, I bet Clint enjoys the parenting jokes just as much as I do,” he shot back sarcastically.
“Got a bit of bite in that tone, this is exactly what I mean.” She turned momentarily to fix him with a look that said, ‘you better listen to what I’m about to say.’ “This is how it’s going to turn out, you’ll walk in there, Ryan will crack a few comments about the general stuff, similar to what he was saying while you were punching his lights out back when we found them all. I’m rounding up here, but I’d guess you last about ten minutes, tops, before you lose your shit and give him exactly what he wants, a reaction.”
“God, you sound like Peter,” he sighed dramatically, dragging his hands down his face and groaning.
“Good, the kid’s a smart one then,” Tony laughed, calling Peter smart was like calling a hurricane a light drizzle, there was so much more there than ‘smart.’ “Anyway, you need to control yourself in there, when he starts to get to you and you’re seconds away from loosing it, tap your finger to the side of your leg twice and I’ll step in.” He raised his eyebrows in question, “the trick is to never give them the satisfaction they’re looking for, unless it’s for your own benefit of course.”
“Wow, getting interrogation tips from the Black Widow herself, consider me humbled.” The comment must have either not registered to Natasha, or she honestly didn’t care, because her face stayed even and the perfect picture of calm.
“See what I did there? You made a comment, I put a front up, ‘like water off a ducks back,’ is the general idea you need to go for.” He sighed when he realised he had played right along without realising it, he had just effectively proved her point for her. “Remember that when you get inside.” The crunching of gravel and the slight screeching of the breaks signified both the end of the conversation and their arrival. The building was grey, unobtrusive, very easily overlooked he thought as they stepped out of the car and stood at the security doors. “I’m not letting you talk to the main guy first, start with the guards, then the doctors, then you can talk to him.”
“Fine. Does punching count as loosing my shit?” He grinned mirthfully, and Natasha rolled her eyes.
“I’ll tell you what, you can punch one of the doctors or guards, that’s it.” She had a hint of a smirk on her face too as she punched in the security codes.
“I already know exactly which one, I would’ve hit him even if you said not to, I hope you know that.” He followed behind her as the door clicked and automatically swung open for them, closing shut and beeping once they were inside.
“I know, that’s why I said you could.” Her shoes tapped over the tiles as she led them down a hall and to a stairwell. “Rhodey figured it out like you, so he’s the doctor with a black eye.”
“How’d he know which doctor it was?”
“He analysed the photo they sent from the intubation, the arm of the guy holding the tube had a birthmark on his elbow, so it wasn’t hard to figure out which of the three doctors it was.” He frowned, picturing the photo he had gotten only minutes after the audio file, he could remember how tensed the bicep muscle had been, how much force the doctor had used to get the tube further down his son’s throat. “You good?” He swallowed and nodded decidedly.
“Just picturing how good it’ll feel to see the black eye Rhodey gave him,” he smirked with malice and Natasha returned it.
“He may have a couple broken fingers too, but that was a gift from me.” She looked proud as she opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell and held it open with her foot as they both walked through. “There are forty-six guards, three in each cell, the ones that escorted Peter around are in the first one.” She tapped in another security code and the door buzzed, signalling his entrance. “These guys aren’t likely to do anything, they wouldn’t talk to anyone for a while,” the blaze in her eyes said that she got them to talk.
He walked into the cell calmly, forcing himself to keep his face a mask of placid indifference. There were three men, each cuffed to a wall. The chains had enough give to them so that the men could sit and stand easily, Tony almost wished they hadn’t been given the extra length considering the positioning of what Peter’s restraints had been.
“Why’d you follow orders from him?” He asked roughly, not bothering to even show the anger on his relaxed face, keeping it bottled for now.
“Needed the cash, no other jobs payed as well.” After only brief hesitation, one of the men answered honestly, without guilt on his face but a tinge showing through in his voice.
“Good reasoning,” he said sarcastically. “I hope you enjoy your multiple life sentences for aiding and abetting the aggravated assaults of a minor.” He turned and left the room without even looking back at the three men who hopefully wouldn’t see daylight when they were handed over to the government. Natasha let the door open for him and he stepped out, meeting her eyes with an unreadable expression. “Well they suck,” he said acrimoniously, “I don’t need to see the rest, just the doctors and the lead asshole.”
“Try play the rest like how you just did,” she advised, turning back to the stairwell and taking him down another level. When they were stood outside another cell door he turned to her and levelled with a gaze that he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of.
“This the doctor who did the intubation?” She nodded, holding ground and waving her arm as if to give him a single pass. “Buzz me in, I’m not asking any questions, pure aggression relief.”
“Fine, don’t misalign a joint when you punch him without the gauntlet on like always.”
“That was one time, you guys are worse than Cap,” he sighed with a smile on his face before he dropped it quickly and turned to the door, which Natasha opened for him, he looked on with intent and flexed his hand out.
The doctor was clearly not a fighter in any way, he swore a lot and didn’t know how to properly take a hit. Before he started, he did note the three oddly angled fingers on his right hand, and the staining bruise overshadowing his eye. When Tony was done, he wiped his fist on the man’s shirt and glared at him. “I’d give you anaesthetics for that, but then again, you shoved a tube down my son’s throat without so much as a fucking cough drop.” He stood easily and walked out of the doorway which the assassin had opened for him around the same time as he delivered the last punch. “That was fun,” he said coldly, nudging his head toward the stairwell, “let’s see the last guy so we can head back.” She wordlessly led him down two more levels and stopped in the middle of the hallway, gesturing to the larger metal door which separated them from Ryan.
“Don’t give him the satisfaction, tap your leg twice and I’m there, got it.”
“Yep, I got it.” He felt torn between wanting to kick the door down and give the man hell and setting up extra barricades, leaving him to rot away like the corpse he deserves to be. “If it’ll keep him from getting satisfaction, I’ll stay calm and let him get what he deserves.” He grits his teeth unnoticeably as the door unlocks and he pushes it open.
Ryan is sat at the edge of a low-grade cot, both ankles shackled to the wall with less give than the doctors, but more than Tony would’ve liked to see. He looked up when the mechanic walked in, his lips pulling into a malicious smirk. He had a cut just above his eyebrow and a split lip, which cracked open even wider when he smiled. The faded yellow-green remains of the last time he had an encounter with the angered Father.
“Nice face,” he jeered pointedly, not even flinching when the expected ringing noise of Natasha kicking the door in warning from outside the room echoed throughout the cell. Ryan however, who hadn’t expected the noise, winced slightly, the smirk faltering for the shortest second before coming back full force.
“Stark, nice to see you again. I seem to recall that last time we met, while you were busy with me, the Spider was bleeding out, hm?” Tony didn’t let his face show the guilt that sparked when he remembered. He shrugged carelessly.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to focus on,” he kept his expression as apathetic as humanly possible, keeping his eyes locked directly on those careless grey ones before him.
“If you’re curious, I’d always love to focus more on Petey, he’s a special one, isn’t he?” The mechanic didn’t move, didn’t twitch, didn’t waver in his unrelenting eye contact. “Hm? Don’t wanna talk about the boy much then?”
“I’m impartial to the topic of conversation, so go ahead,” he expected Ryan to pause, to take a beat before responding, but he snapped with an answer, the smirk on his face twisting into a self-satisfied sneer.
“Let’s talk about how he sounds when he screams.” He was surveying Tony’s face carefully, waiting for any hint that he was getting to him. “That’s a beautiful discussion point, or at least I think so,” narrowing his eyes and leaning back on the bed so his back touched the wall, Ryan picked his smirk up. “Or, how about what that tube looked like, halfway down his throat, making him whimper while he choked and begged for you to save him.”
“I bet it was a shame,” he said evenly, narrowing his eyes right back at the man.
“What?” Ryan snapped hotly, his lips peeling back into something not unlike a snarl.
“When I did, I bet it was a shame, when I saved him, and you were dumped here till I could be bothered coming and dealing with you.” The man laughed dryly, crossing his arms behind his head in a show of relaxation, ignoring how the ankle restraints rattled as he shifted on the bed.
“You see, that’s the thing Stark, did you? Did you really save him in time? How many panic attacks has he had, how much has he cried for me to stop hurting him?” Tony didn’t answer, he didn’t need to because if he couldn’t think of a way to clap back, there was no way he would open his mouth and give the man satisfaction. “I’m sat in here, not having to lift a finger, while he’s still suffering. He can’t be fixed, he’s staying traumatised for the rest of his life and you know it.” His finger twitched, and he considered tapping his leg twice to call for Natasha, but Ryan was still talking, he had leant forward on the bed and his volume was increasing with each sentence. “That pretty reactor on his chest, that’s never going away either. By the second day I had him, I knew he would never forget anything that happened. He broke. That. Cannot. Be. Fixed.” There was a wide grin plastered across his face, and Tony returned it easily as his fingers brushed his leg.
“You know what else can’t be fixed?” Ryan looked at him disbelievingly as Natasha swung the door open and strode to his side, raising her arm to reveal the black handgun.
“A bullet, straight through your skull,” she finished, firing the weapon and not even blinking as Ryan’s body slumped against the mattress and began to stain the blanket crimson.
“Asshole,” Tony muttered, stepping out into the hallway and letting out the breath he had been holding without looking back at the corpse. The assassin walked straight past him, the gun already concealed again as she sauntered back to the car. “Thanks, I bet that was satisfying,” he said to Natasha as they slipped back into the car and pulled away from the building.
“More than you’d think actually,” he had done exactly what would work best, conceal the reaction to prevent giving him satisfaction, death was basically just a bonus. He flicked a quick text off to Peter and spent the rest of the car ride with his head leant back against the seat, eyes closed against the inky blackness that rolled past the windows as they drove home. “We’re here, go see your kid and stop exuding parental angst.” He rolled his eyes at Natasha and walked straight to the elevator, hitting the button and tapping his foot passive aggressively the whole way up, as if anyone could hear him.
“Heads up Tones!” Something blurry flew for his head and he ducked instinctively.
“Fucking hell!” He yelled as whatever it was exploded into tiny pieces behind him.
“Language,” he heard Peter’s voice cracked with laughter, and he would’ve smiled, if Rhodey hadn’t thrown something else at him, which luckily, he caught this time.
“Stop throwing stuff at him, he just got back,” Steve was always the voice of reason. He looked down at the object in his hand, not at all surprised to see a slightly burnt cookie, and when he turned he could also see the remnants of the one he had ducked.
“Did you three just throw a cookie at me as soon as the elevator opened?” Rhodey held a hand over his face to try and subdue his snickering, Steve shook his head in disappointment but with a smirk while Peter slid across the floor in his socks and launched himself at Tony, a bubbly laugh escaping his mouth as he shoved his face into his Dad’s neck.
“I burnt the cookies a little, I washed my hair again and I missed you a little but you’re here and I love you.” Tony sighed happily and leant down to press a kiss amongst the boy’s mop of soft, brunette, curls.
“Missed you too kiddo, love you,” he whispered into Peter’s hair, bringing his arms up to wrap around the younger Stark. While the teen’s face was turned into his chest, he looked to Rhodey and caught his eye. He mouthed a ‘thank you,’ waving one hand over his eye to mimic the doctor’s shiner and his friend smiled, brushing off the thanks and mouthing back ‘any time.’ “I’m choosing to not look at how big of a mess you definitely made, so let’s head to the lounge kid,” he thanked Steve quickly and led Peter out of the kitchen, keeping his chin leant on his head.
“Everything good?” He nodded wordlessly but the boy understood. “Is – what… can I ask what happened?” They sat on the couch and Tony moved Peter back, so he rested against his chest comfortingly, smoothing a gentle finger over his pule point momentarily.
“You can, and I’m not giving you details, but he won’t be getting near you. Ever. Again. And I can swear my life on that.” The look on the teen’s face didn’t say he was comforted fully by the statement, and the mechanic knew exactly why. “Natasha did it Pete, you aren’t allowed to blame yourself for this one,” he immediately relaxed against Tony and they both sat in easy quiet, listening to the background noise of the T.V. “You should get another nap in before the sun rises and tomorrow starts.” Peter hummed aloud and tucked his arm over his Dad’s chest to rest his chin on it blearily, containing a yawn as he did so.
“Mm, you need to as well,” he mumbled tiredly into the crook of his arm.
“Fine,” he didn’t put up much of a fight, the adrenaline rush his head got from visiting those holding cells had long since faded, leaving him exhausted. It didn’t take either of them long to fall asleep, but it did take time for both of them to wake up. Peter managed to sleep six hours without waking, and by the time he was fluttering his eyelids open and blinking against the assault of pink morning light peering in through the window of the lounge, he connected the dots well enough to smile against his Dad’s neck. He hadn’t woken from a nightmare, and he felt like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel that was recovery.
It took him four months before two things they had both been waiting for happened. Firstly, the last scarring of the arc reactor faded away, and along with it, so too did Peter’s resistance to put the suit back on and swing along the skyline of New York. Tony watched his suit camera during his first patrol back as Spider-Man, and he wouldn’t deny the tears that rolled down his cheeks when Peter dropped through the window and pulled off his mask, a broad grin spread across his tinted cheeks and sweaty hair curling around the edges.
Tony was proud.
Peter was healing.
They were content. They were okay.