Author's Note: By popular request, and also the fact that I didn't reach what I wanted to in Vertigo, here we are. :) (Consequences guys, I wanted to see consequences, but didn't quite make it there.)

You DO NOT have to have read Vertigo in order to understand this story, but it would help. If you're like "meh", just know that May didn't fade in the Snap and met and married Matt, who was a jerk to Peter. Details are discussed in the story, so, you'll be good. ;)

Summary: In the wake of the abuse that Peter endured, Tony takes up the terms of guardianship to the teen. And he doesn't care what the media or May has to say about it. Peter is Tony's son. That's that. If only Peter understood that fact as seamlessly. (AKA: 5+ times Peter denied he was Tony's son, and the one time that he claimed himself as a Stark)

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Warnings: Child abuse, child neglect, suicidal thoughts, potential self harm, depressive thoughts, anxiety, PTSD, some injury, and hurt without comfort. This story is kind of heavy, so just take care of yourselves, okay? I want everyone to be safe. No slash, no smut, no non-con, no incest. Language is all K.

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, May/Matt

/**WARNING: I USUALLY PORTRAY MAY IN A GOOD LIGHT. THIS IS NOT THE CASE.\\

For your information, this story is cross-posted on Archive Of Our Own under the pen name of "Galaxy Threads".

Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)

***Final Note: This deals with some heavy topics. I really want everyone to be as safe as possible. And if you are experiencing a situation similar to Peter's, know I am sincerely sorry. Please, to whatever end it comes to, take care of yourself. You are worth it. You are worth everything.

"Told you not to worry,

But maybe that's a lie,

...The world's a little blurry,

Or maybe that's my eyes."

-Billie Eilish; "ilomilo"

1.

The Walmart looks like something from a horror movie. Its sign is flickering on the last "a", and the entire outside looks like it hasn't been cleaned since the beginning of the 2000's. There are few cars parked, but Tony's guessing that it's only the miserable employees dragged out on this ungodly hour of Christmas morning rather than any actual customers.

His lips thin and he blows out a breath, trying to decide if he should park and go inside, or see if he can find Peter in the parking lot. He doesn't really think that Peter will have been stupid enough to remain out in the cold, but it's a fifty-fifty.

"You reading any heat signatures out here, FRI?" he questions, slowing down the car and taking his hands off the steering wheel for a moment to breathe into them. It's fourteen degrees, but feels like below zero. He should have put on a warmer coat. What he has on is not enough to endure this. At least—thanks to Pepper—he remembered gloves. He's terrible at winter weather dressing.

"I'm reading one on the sidewalk, Boss." FRIDAY answers after a moment, "But it's weak."

Tony's frown deepens. "You think it's the kid?"

"Almost positive."

So he is outside. Tony is disappointed, but he didn't really expect anything more. "Idiot." He chides quietly, but his heart does a patter of frantic worry. Fourteen degrees, it reminds him pointedly. He asks the AI for directions to the heat signature and rolls the car in that direction, making sure that the headlights are flipped up high enough. It's not snowing yet, but it's still dark. And despite this being New York, there isn't an abundance of lights in this area.

But not having to stroll into the Walmart and announce his presence, if inadvertently, is welcomed. But still. It's cold, and Peter should have prioritized warmth over...whatever it is he's doing. If he's being honest with himself, he can't say he's too surprised. The kid didn't sound good when he called less than an hour ago.

He'd sounded so frantic, yet...broken.

It unsettled Tony more than he wants to admit.

It only takes a minute or so to find him, stumbling across the sidewalk with a thin jacket on, hood pulled up over his head. Tony feels relief settle into his stomach at the familiar gait. He could probably pick the kid out of a busy crowd from how well he knows it now. Tony presses on the break, slowing the car, and unlocks the doors before rolling down the passenger seat window.

Peter looks towards him. His face is red with cold, but white near his eyes like a strange pair of glasses. His lips are so red they look tinted blue, and Tony is suddenly very aware that he's looking at—in the very least—a minor case of hypothermia. The kid will be lucky if it's not full-out frostbite. Peter sways slightly, listing to his left side in a way that Tony doesn't think he notices, but makes him fear for a moment that Peter is going to collapse.

He doesn't.

His gaze settles on Tony's face and lingers there, something desperate in his features. Tony releases a heavy breath, "Hey." And then, just because he's never been very good at beating around the bush—he really prefers to light it on fire and back away from the aftermath—he states blankly, "You look terrible. Get in."

Peter moves as if pulled by strings and reaches for the handle with his right hand only to hiss when it makes contact and pull away sharply. He snaps his right arm against his chest as if the slightest jostle will injure it permanently, and awkwardly reaches out with his left hand instead. He makes the movement seem so unnatural that it's impossible to miss.

Something happened to his arm.

Peter clambers into the car and shivers, yanking the door shut and wrapping his arms around himself as best he can. Tony then comes to the realization that Peter is not dressed for the weather at all. He's in socks, loose sweatpants, and the shirt he's wearing is a faded Star Wars branded T-shirt. The jacket seems to have been an afterthought, but it's patchy in some places.

Tony knows that the Parker's have struggled with money since he met Peter for the first time, but he hadn't really realized what effect that would have until now. Peter's never brought it up, and in the midst of things...he forgot. He assumed that with Matt there to support May and both of them working jobs that the issues would have been resolved.

Apparently not.

Tony rolls up the window to prevent any more cold air from seeping in and watches Peter shiver from the corner of his eye. He's doing full body trembles, and Tony is grateful that he had the sense to grab a blanket. The extra coat was Pepper's idea, but he doesn't really care about the source. It's here and Peter needs it.

He doesn't realize he's drumming his fingers against the wheel in his agitation until Peter's brown eyes lift from the floor of the car to the steering wheel. He stops. "Seatbelt." He says pointedly. Peter awkwardly tucks his right arm against his stomach and buckles up with his left hand. Tony doesn't think that he's even trying to cover up for the wound now.

"Cold?" Peter nods absently, still saying nothing. His eyes are wet and Tony suspects that if he talks he'll start crying, and if there is one thing that Tony has learned about Peter it's that he views tears as emotional weakness. Tony withholds a sigh. "I have a blanket in the back. I also brought a spare coat." Peter immediately turns and reaches out towards the back, grabbing the blanket. He sweeps it across his shoulders and pulls his legs up against his stomach so he can bury his entire body beneath the fleece. Tony's lip quirks with amusement, but he hides it by the time that Peter looks up.

He's still hiding his arm.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Tony tries to keep his voice soft, but Peter still flinches and his eyes squeeze shut. His mouth opens like he wants to answer, but is only rewarded with a squeaking gasp.

Tony recognizes this as the beginnings of a panic attack.

He reaches out and rests a hand on the kid's shoulder, murmuring words of comfort until Peter's breathing has steadied from hiccuped gasps of panic to something a little deeper. He rocks once, twice, and then his head lifts from his cocoon to stare at Tony and he whispers, "I fell down the stairs."

Tony feels his expression flicker.

Peter is...sticky. He doesn't just fall down the stairs. The kid has a better sense of balance than Clint, and Tony has seen the archer perform moves that seem impossible on a tightrope. He blames the circus for Clint's ability to defy gravity, and the archer always smirks a little and shrugs saying "a magician never reveals their secrets."

Unimportant. Focus, Tony. Stairs. Peter doesn't…

"Did you fall or were you pushed?" Tony asks carefully. Peter's lower lip trembles, and a shiver wracks his frame again. Tony knows the answer now, and feels something hot coil in his chest, but he needs to hear Peter say something else. "Peter." He says firmly.

It's the use of his name that does it.

Peter seems to just...crumple. He opens his mouth and a fragmented, half-coherent story comes bubbling out. Tony becomes aware of one thing the more Peter talks: the kid is not going back to M&M's. Not unless it's over Tony's dead, cold body.

000o000

Instacare smells about as awful as Tony remembers. Why do doctor-y places always have that smell? It's like a thick antiseptic, wrapped in a plastic and old fabric. His nose wrinkles despite himself and he bites back an open gag. Beside him, Peter doesn't so much as flinch. Strange, given his enhanced senses. Tony's lips press together.

Kid must be really out of it.

Tony tightens his grip on Peter's shoulder for a moment, trying to ground him, but it doesn't seem to do much. Peter follows after him like a herded animal, lethargic.

The woman behind the desk looks up at him behind wide-rimmed glasses. She's wearing thick makeup that includes some of the longest fake-eyelashes Tony has ever seen to date. Pepper has never been fond of them, and Nat only wears them when undercover.

Focus.

Letting go of Peter's shoulder so he can face the blonde, Tony releases the inside of his cheek and smiles as best he can. The expression is tight across his face, refusing to settle properly. "Hi."

"Hi." The woman says with considerably less enthusiasm. She lifts an eyebrow before shifting her gaze to Peter. "Are you here to check in?"

No, they've come to collect all her pens illegally. What else does she think they're at the counter for?

"Yes." He answers, voice clipped. She hums, opening something on her computer screen. The mouse clicks, scraping against the desk and Tony sees Peter's expression tighten from the corner of his eye.

Maybe he should have just taken the kid back to the Tower immediately where the only medical aide they'd have to deal with is Bruce, and maybe a few of the other Avengers if they were unlucky. They have medical levels there, but—Tony already talked himself out of this. Peter needs help now. His enhanced healing gives a short window in which minimal pain can be achieved.

The instacare building was closer than the Tower by half an hour.

"Name?" the woman questions. How does she sound so bored?

"Peter Parker," Tony's patience with her is slipping. This is for Peter, he reminds himself. Peter doesn't need him to yell at someone, he needs a doctor and a bed. Probably a meal, too. He looks cadaverous.

"Birthday?"

"August 27th, 2002." Tony answers shortly. Peter's gaze has lifted away from the white desk to stare at the tiled ceiling. It's an obvious distraction tactic, but somehow manages to make him look younger than he is.

There's a pause where the blonde glances pointedly at Peter before asking, "Is he a Blip victim?"

Tony flinches, words falling flat. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

"Yes." Peter answers, the question seeming to draw him away from whatever alcove he was hiding beneath in his head. His brown eyes are narrowed, "I am. I'm sixteen."

The blonde's eyebrows lift slightly as if in defense, but she says nothing, fingernails clicking against the keys of the computer screen. "Alright," she mutters and then turns to Tony. "Is Mr. Parker your son?"

What?

Tony's eyebrows shoot up. He recovers himself quickly, opening his mouth to give the affirmative, but Peter shakes his head rapidly, looking slightly sick as he takes a step forward. "No. He's not. He's my…"

The words hurt more than Tony thought they would, but he brushes it off. It's not his place to say. Not really. If Peter doesn't want to get into the mess that will become of this if Tony admits his identity, he's going to need to tone this down. He can't be some random passerby if Tony knows his birthday and name. But it's past four AM, so Tony can't be his boss, either.

"Teacher." The word tastes a little funny, and a bit too frantic. He adds, as smoothly as he can, "We came up to New York because we're on tour. Choir. You know. Peter likes to sing."

He nearly slaps his forehead.

Brilliant.

"Okay," the blonde taps something out on the computer. "And your name, Mr…"

"Barton." Tony says without thinking. "James Barton."

"What's the school you teach at, Mr. Barton?"

Shoot. He frantically runs through a list of high schools that he knows of, but just as quickly they've vanished. Honestly, he doesn't really know of any beyond the local ones in Manhattan and Midtown. It hasn't been important, so he hasn't paid attention. He releases his cheek and decides to just go along completely with the fibbing.

"South Parkway, California. Is there anything else you need to know? We're kind of on a short time frame here. Singing. Singing to reach." Why is he so bad at this? He's normally a much better liar, but when it comes to Peter...he can't...

The blonde looks like she's trying very hard not to roll her eyes. "What are the injuries that you want the doctor to look at? And how were they sustained?"

"I fell down the stairs," Peter mutters, clutching his right arm closer to his body. "I need him to look at my arm. Everything else is just bruises."

Liar.

The blonde nods a few more times, tapping on the keyboard and asking a few more questions before telling them to go sit in the waiting room until the doctor can see to them. Tony releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, resting his hand on Peter's shoulder again to guide him towards the stiff, uncomfortable chairs.

The kid slumps into one without a word, sighing heavily. He tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling.

Tony takes the chair next to him, folding his arms across his chest and doing his best not to scowl into the far wall. He needs to keep himself together long enough for Peter to be taken care of, and then he can let himself feel angry. Then he can lose control. But not in front of Peter. Not now.

They don't talk as they wait, and it takes the better part of twenty minutes—despite the fact that the waiting room is empty—before a nurse comes for them. She looks tired and washed out, but still manages a small smile at seeing them. As she begins to slip, she slides from half-undead to perky.

He follows wordlessly down the halls as the nurse asks questions and performs a basic check-up on Peter. With that settled, she guides them to a room and assures that "Dr. Bills will be with you shortly" before leaving. If shortly is another twenty minute wait, Tony might sue. He came here to get his kid help, not to wait around for long enough that they could have gotten to the Tower by now.

"I feel kind of sick." Peter admits to the silence. It's the first words he's said to Tony directly since the car.

Tony glances at him. "Sick how?"

Peter gestures vaguely to his stomach. "Here."

"Puke-sick?" Tony clarifies.

"No." Peter shakes his head. "Just...sick."

Probably just anxiety, then. Tony frowns, but hums quietly to acknowledge that he heard. He wars with himself on whether or not to say something funny before deciding it would be better than this silence. He locates the trash bin and stands up, grabs it, and then settles it down in front of Peter's feet. "Here. Consider it my Christmas gift to you."

It's not. Tony has something else he was planning on giving. Is still planning on giving. When they finally get out of this wretched building.

Peter's lips split into a ghost of a smile. "Thoughtful. Thanks."

"Only the best for you." Tony assures. Peter glances up at him for a moment and then frowns. Tony bites on his inner cheek and mentally kicks himself. He said something. What did he say? Peter was smiling before he ruined it.

He parts his lips to ask a question but at that moment there's a knock on the door and a doctor strides into the room. He's tall, as most doctors seem to be, and wearing a pair of circular glasses that don't flatter his face shape. A receding gray hairline reveals that he's wearing too much gel and his nose is crooked. Oddly enough, the sheer normality of his appearance reassures Tony. He sees Peter drop some in the corner of his eye as well, as if having arrived to the same conclusion.

No bad guys. No threats. Just a doctor and a broken bone.

"Sorry about the wait, Mr. Parker, Mr. Barton," he says and takes a seat on the rolling stool. He's holding a clipboard that he glances at for a second before looking up. "Broken arm?"

"That's what we're assuming." Tony answers when Peter doesn't. "It doesn't look so hot."

Dr. Bills hums and lifts out a hand to Peter. "Can I see it?"

Peter glances at him first for confirmation before unwrapping the blanket still hooked around his shoulders and lifting right arm up. The doctor rolls down the sleeve as gently as he can, but Peter still winces once at the motion.

Tony bites on his lower lip sharply to keep himself from reacting. He didn't see the wound before they got out of the car. Peter's been holding his arm close like it would wither away if he did any differently. But it's not pretty. The length of skin is covered in a blue-black bruise that spreads outwards, yellowing at the edges. The worst of the break appears to have been closer to his wrist, because the bruises spread towards his fingers. A different bruise catches his attention though, near Peter's elbow.

Dr. Bills, to his credit, only blinks. "Hm. Ouch. What did you say you did again?"

"Fell down the stairs." Peter grumbles, looking anywhere but the arm. Tony can't stop, transfixed.

"Stairs." Dr. Bills sounds doubtful, but nods anyway, looking at the wound from all angles. When he lifts it up a little, Tony can see the bump of deformation where the bone should be flat and isn't. "Can you flex your fingers for me, Peter?"

Peter tries, but winces and ducks his head. "I don't think so."

Nerve damage.

Murder is illegal, Tony reminds a voice in his head that sounds remarkably like Rhodey.

"I think broken is a pretty good assessment. Let's get it X-rayed and then we'll determine where we need to set it. Are you hurt anywhere else? Vision blurry? Dizzy?" Dr. Bills asks, looking up from Peter's arm to his face.

Peter shrinks beneath the stare and Tony gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Um." The kid's voice is ghostly, "I just feel like of achy everywhere. I think the worst was my arm." Peter adds after a moment. "I feel kind of sick, though. Not nauseous, just sick."

"Hmm." Dr. Bills sets Peter's arm down and lifts his hands, "Would you lean forward? I want to check your head."

Peter shoots him a look of please no, but Tony can't slip him out of this one. Even as much as he would love to re-bundle the kid in the blanket and carry him out on his back refusing to let anything else hurt him. Peter needs help. If there's a head injury, they need to know now.

Peter's shoulders slump and he leans forward. Dr. Bills works quickly, fingers dancing around the skull as he feels for anything swollen. A slight frown touches the edge of his lips, but he thankfully makes no indication that anything serious is going on. "I can't feel anything extremely wrong, but I think I want to get that checked at, too, just in case. Mr. Barton," Dr. Bills turns to him, "would you mind stepping out for a moment? I have some questions that I want to ask Peter that I'd think you'd both feel more comfortable if you weren't here for."

Tony rather disagrees, but keeps his tongue in check and nods. "Yeah. Where do you want me to wait?"

"I'll take Peter to the X-ray after I'm finished and let the nurse run the program, so you can wait in the waiting room." Dr. Bills says, "It will probably be about twenty minutes. I'll have the nurse come get you when we're finished."

Tony nods again and reaches out to give Peter's shoulder a squeeze. "See you in a few, alright?"

Peter nods mutely, eyes shifting back to the floor, resigned. He looks sick. Tony would much rather sit here beside him for the rest of the operation, but fighting his way through it won't help Peter. It's what Tony wants, not what the kid needs. At least this way he can have some time to contact Pepper before he shows up at the Tower with the kid in tow.

Not that she was really expecting anything different. They both knew when Peter called that he was coming back for at least that day.

But permanent residence—like what Tony is thinking—might throw her.

Peter gives him a weak, but reassuring smile of I'll be okay and Tony feels a little better. He doesn't want the kid to be alone, but if Peter thinks he can make it through...He nods once, trusting him, and exits the room without another word, leaving the kid and the doctor to their questions. Tony is pretty sure he knows what Dr. Bills is going ask. It's the same thing that Tony asked.

Did you fall or were you pushed?

Above the broken arm, Tony could make out an older bruise. Something that resembled fingers near the elbow, and he's not stupid. Given everything Peter already told him about Matt, he's not going to assume it was anything different than May's one and only.

He knows those bruises like he knows his own voice. Knows the fear that's sticking in Peter's eyes and the lingering exhaustion. He knows Dr. Bills saw it too. The idea of what Matt's been doing makes him sick.

Of all the things I wanted to protect you from kid, my childhood was at the top of that list.

He makes it back to the lobby without any troubles. He only runs into the perky nurse again and she doesn't stop him, only waving. Tony sinks into his previously abandoned seat and pulls his phone from his pocket.

FRIDAY left him a text message. It's how they communicate in circumstances where people aren't supposed to know she exists. It was something Jarvis suggested, and carried on after his death. I'm reading no life-threatening scans, Boss. The visit should be short.

Relief flutters in his stomach.

He texts her back, Anything worse than his arm?

No, Boss. Just a few bruises. His ankle might give him trouble for a few days, but his healing factor will make quick work of that.

He closes his eyes. He saw the arm. He knew about the arm. Peter has the unfortunate habit of hiding injuries until they knock him nearly dead. It frustrates him, even if he's much the same. Sometimes he wonders if Peter was like that before or after he met him. Probably somewhere in the middle, he couldn't go running to May about Spider-Man injuries when she didn't know about Spider-Man.

May.

His stomach coils with anger. He shoves it down into the depth of hatred swirling at his feet, demanding retribution for what has been done. It's not time yet. He's not allowed to be angry yet. He texts FRIDAY a quick thank you and then scrolls to his contacts until he finds Pepper's name. He hits call and holds the phone to his ear.

He imagines that, despite the hour, she's awake now. He doubts she would have gone to sleep until he had an update about the kid. She's the one who woke him when his phone was ringing in the first place from an unknown number. The phone that Peter had to use because he must have left his at M&M paradise.

The nickname he gave the place months ago makes him want to strangle something. (Someone.)

Paradise.

That's what he called the place where Peter was beaten and belittled. Where his home turned into a waking nightmare. A prison.

"Tony," Pepper's voice draws him from his thoughts. She sounds worried. "Tony, did you find him?"

"Yeah." Tony says and runs a hand through his hair, suddenly realizing how tired he feels. "I found him." Pepper is quiet, waiting for him to speak. "We're at instacare...He's not looking so good. Pep," he hesitates, uncertain, "he's coming home. Maybe indefinitely."

"Instacare…" Pepper repeats. She sounds like she's trying not to groan in despair. "What happened? Who hurt him?"

Sometimes he wishes she wasn't so in tune with his mind. The thought of talking about this, about what Peter said, makes it all real. It makes his ignorance real. The fact that he is going to take legal custody of the kid he's thought of as a son for years. That he and May will have a talk and he's going to put Matt behind bars for as long as humanly possible.

"Matt pushed him down a staircase." Tony says after a moment. "Peter's arm is broken at least. The doctor suspects a head wound. He probably has at least mild hypothermia, too. He didn't have shoes on, Pep. Or a coat. He was just wandering around the outside of some Walmart in the snow. I think he'd been outside for a while."

He is going to be sick. What happened to make Peter flee like that? If Peter had planned to run away, he would have grabbed shoes and a coat at least. He's not stupid. He knows he can't conquer the elements by sheer willpower alone.

There's a moment of silence where Tony knows that Pepper has grabbed something to squeeze in frustration. "Matt...pushed our kid down the stairs?"

Our kid.

Ours.

It sounds strange coming from her lips, but he knows it's not the first or last time. Peter has been theirs since before the Snap. They've both called him the title. Especially more frequently, when Peter has been leaning on them more. In an effort, Tony now realizes, to likely fill the void that Matt and May were causing in him.

Everything he wants to do to Matt is illegal. Tony's finding that he cares less and less. The pragmatic voice that shifts between Rhodey or Steve in his head says otherwise.

"Yeah." Tony's voice is tight. "I couldn't get him to say much more than that, other than the fact that May has been neglecting him in favor of her husband." It doesn't sound like something May would do, not the woman that he met, but Peter has been living there. Tony hasn't.

"I don't…" Tony shakes his head, biting on his lip, "I don't know what to do. Do I bring the entire law force down on them? You know I could probably get D.C. involved with it. Part of me just wants to disappear Matt quietly, if you know what I mean. Maybe both of them."

Pepper releases a heavy breath. She's quiet for a long few moments. "Just bring him home for a few days. Let's get the full story and monitor him. I want to act. I really do, Tony, but Peter doesn't need us to go in there guns blazing. We don't have the legal right. As far as the law in concerned, you're only friends."

He flexes his fingers, wincing slightly as the metal brace digs into his hands. It's stiff with the cold weather, something he hasn't quite found a way to beat yet. He'll get there. The paralysis from snapping won't stop him.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he realizes that Pepper's right. He doesn't have a legal right to step in. It won't be until he files a court case and fights for guardianship. Because he doesn't care anymore if May was good for him when he was younger, she isn't what Peter needs now. Her husband abused him, and she didn't do anything.

"I'm going to file a court case." He tells her slowly. "I know that much."

"Hold that thought." Pepper says firmly. "Don't be rash. Let's watch for a few days. I trust you, I trust Peter, I just want to make sure that we would be the best option for him. You may be retired, but people still want to kill Iron Man every other weekend. I don't want Peter to get in the middle of that."

He already has.

They both know that.

"And the Avengers nearly get themselves killed on your off weeks. I want to take him Tony, I do. I want that and I know you do too, but I won't let us step in and make Peter's life more miserable than it already is."

Tony slumps.

"Let's take him for a few days. We can talk with Peter. See if this would even be possible."

They have Morgan, and she's doing just fine. Lila, Nathaniel and Cooper are doing just fine. Why can't Tony take Peter? Because Peter is a superhero you idiot, he's different than Clint's kids or your own.

If Tony takes Peter, he pulls him out of New York and all his friends. He pulls Spider-Man off the map, even if no one has seen him since 2018. Tony lives in another State now. He'd uproot Peter's entire life, and that won't make things better. In order to be stable for Peter's current situation, Tony would have to move back to New York. Not something he's terribly against, but still.

This isn't just a matter of yanking Peter out of M&M's grasp. There's a lot of strings attached. Strings they either need to learn how to manage or start snipping. And this all depends on what Peter wants. Pepper's right, as she usually is. Peter is the voice that Tony needs to listen to. He just won't let the kid go back to M&M's. That's final. But maybe...maybe Peter wouldn't want to stay with them. The thought makes him ache, but he has to entertain the possibility.

"Tony?" Pepper's voice is quiet.

Tony releases a breath, humming in question.

"Just...bring him home." That he can do. "I know there's more you want to say, but I think we should have this conversation in person. Where is he now?"

"X-ray." Tony answers, voice clipped. "Doc asked me to step out so he could ask a few questions. I think he saw the same handprint I did, but assumed it was me." The thought makes him sick. He knows that the doctor has to play with the idea, but the very concept makes Tony angry. He would never do that to Peter. To Morgan.

Matt…

Murder is illegal says Rhodey's voice in his head again.

"Hand…" Pepper sounds stricken. She releases a breath. "Right. I'll have the legal time on standby." His lip quirks up, even if he's bitter that he's satisfied about this. A sort of vindictive jibe into Matt's imaginary side. If you think you'll get away with this…well. That's adorable.

Tony glances up at the clock. It's only been ten of the twenty minutes. His leg is jumping. Fidgeting up and down, up and down. His fingers won't stop moving, even if it hurts beneath the brace. He releases a heavy sigh and squeezes his eyes shut. "I think I'm going to call Rhodey."

"That's probably a good idea." Pepper agrees, "I think—oh." She pauses and he hears a muffled voice on the other line of the phone. It's high. Young. Morgan. He squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back. He was sort of hoping that she'd sleep until he got back, then he could be there for Christmas morning. And Peter could too.

But Morgan is a light sleeper. She probably heard when Tony got up to go get Peter and only waited until Pepper started to talk with him before she approached.

"Sorry. Morgan's awake," Pepper says and he hears Pepper shifting on the other side of the line. "Do you want to say hi to Daddy?"

Tony's lips are pressed together tight enough that they hurt. He hears another shuffle of the phone before Morgan's voice rings up on the other side, "Hi, Daddy."

"Hey, little miss." He tries to keep his voice even. All he really wants to do is swear and scream, but he shouldn't do that in front of his daughter. She mimics him too much. She'll pick up on all his bad habits if he isn't careful.

"Merry Christmas!"

"You know where most good children are at this hour on Christmas?" Tony questions, quirking a lip up, "Asleep. In bed. Like good little angels. Aunt Nat tell the story of Krampus yet?"

"Mommy doesn't let Aunt Tasha tell me stories. And Santa already came." Morgan argues, "And you're gone." She's quiet a moment, as if biting on her lower lip before asking in a softer voice, "Is Peter okay? You left to getted him, right?"

Get, his inner grammar teacher corrects. It's spawned a new life after Morgan began to talk, but he bites back most of them now. He lets Pepper do it instead. "Yeah," Tony admits in an exhale. "I did. He's probably going to be staying Christmas and New Year with us, honey. Mom will explain, alright? I need to call Uncle Rhodey."

"...Okay," her voice is quiet. "Tell Peter merry Christmas."

"I will. Merry Christmas to you, too. I love you." He promises. "Can I talk to Mom?"

The phone shuffles and Pepper sounds up again. "Merry Christmas," she says without much cheer. "I'll let you go to talk with Rhodey. Keep me updated, alright? Let me know when you're on your way back to the Tower."

"'Kay." He agrees, making a mental note to do that. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

"Bye."

He hangs up and dials Rhodey. He shifts on his seat, breathing out a heavy breath. He only has to wait a few rings before the phone is answered and his friend's sleep-slurred voice picks up. "It is not even five AM. If you are calling to wish me 'merry Christmas' Tony—"

"No." Tony interrupts. He blows out a breath and then says, "No. I wish it was that simple. I'm going to commit a murder and I need you to help me or talk me out of it."

He'd prefer the former, but he'd sleep easier with the latter.

Rhodey is silent for a long moment. Tony can almost see him rubbing his face before sitting up. "Alright. Tell me what happened."

000o000

Rhodey talks him down. Unfortunately. A reminder that being in prison isn't going to help Peter does the trick. It feels like being slapped in the face, but he needed it. Rhodey sounds a little disappointed though, as if he'd much rather have helped Tony commit a homicide.

When Peter is finally released from the doctor's grasp, his arm set and wrapped inside a sling, Dr. Bills instructs Tony to get it casted in a few days when the swelling has gone down. A part of Tony wants to sneer you've decided I'm not the bad guy, then, but he bites it back. He swings his arm around Peter's shoulders and nods, promising to return, but not intending to. Peter's enhanced healing will have it fixed in a few days.

Peter looks pale and flushed out, his eyes holding a glassy shine. Dr. Bills also instructs Tony to keep him warm, and makes Peter promise to tell Tony if he can't feel his toes. Apparently they took the brunt of the hypothermia and Dr. Bills is surprised that Peter can walk.

Tony is too, if he's being honest.

But so is the life of a healing factor.

When they finally manage to get out of the building and back into the car, it's almost six AM. Tony feels exhausted, but doesn't say anything. Peter's wrapped inside the fleece blanket again, head resting on his knees. Tony texts Pepper to let her know they're on their way and starts the car to get the heater going before turning to the kid. "Are you hungry? We can stop to get something."

Peter shakes his head mutely. Tony frowns. He has the sinking suspicion that Peter's starving, but he doesn't push. He probably should, but he doesn't want to make this any harder on Peter than it has to be.

"Can we just go? Please?" Peter's voice is a whisper. "I really just want to lay down."

"Yeah." Tony pulls the car out of park. "That sounds like a good idea. You can sleep now. I'll let you know when we get to the Tower." The word, even after all the time, fumbles off his tongue strangely. He's used to the Compound. He has been for the better part of eight years.

Peter nods and closes his eyes, leaning his head firmly against his knees.

Tony pulls his glasses from his jacket pocket and slips them up his face. FRIDAY's presence hums at the edge of the tech. "Find me a route to the Tower with the least amount of traffic." Tony requests. His AI is silent as she fulfills it, loading the path into the car's GPS. Tony presses his lips together and glances at the kid again before pulling out onto the road.

Traffic, as ever in Manhattan, is a nightmare. The day nor the hour seem to matter to his fellow New Yorkers as movement is congested and slow. He keeps his patience level up as best he can, but the drive to the Tower has never seemed to take so long. It's Christmas, he reminds himself on multiple occasions, be nice.

When he pulls into the garage and twists the key from the ignition, he's never felt more relieved. Home. At last. He hates driving in Manhattan. He was fine with LA or any other part of California. Just—not New York. This is why he makes Happy do it.

The car off and his road frustrations settled, Tony turns his attention to the teenager with him. Peter didn't fall asleep. He didn't talk, either, staring out the window, but he didn't sleep. Tony didn't bug him. He wanted to, but if Peter wanted to talk, he would have started.

"Hey." Tony says at length. "We should probably go inside now. Get you settled."

The guest bedroom on Tony's floor that Peter was using when he stayed overnight in the Tower during the summer is still mostly untouched. He thinks that Morgan went in there to grab one of the spare blankets, but beyond that, it's pretty much the same way that Peter left it. He stayed over a lot during the summer, now that Tony is thinking about it. Because of Matt?

It's December. How long has this been going on?

How could he have missed it for so long?

Peter unlocks the seatbelt and opens the passenger door without a word, clambering out. Tony's lips thin and he double checks to make sure he has the keys before following the kid out. He quickly crosses around the car towards Peter, who seems set on making it to the elevator as fast as humanly possible.

"Peter, wait." Tony requests. Peter stops, going rigid. He doesn't turn to face him, and though it strikes Tony as odd, he doesn't say anything. Tony reaches him after a few paces and, before he can talk himself out of it, wraps Peter in a hug. Peter stiffens further beneath him if possible, and doesn't return it. He releases a shuddering breath as if the physical contact is painful.

Tony doesn't let him go. "I'm sorry." He says after a few long moments. He tightens his grip, fully aware that he doesn't know half of what was going on between the kid and M&M. But what he does know is enough. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I swear that if I had known…"

Not good enough. You should have known. You're freakin' Iron Man, you idiot.

"You're not my dad." Peter mumbles, as if he can read Tony's thoughts. The words sting, like being slapped. He doesn't know why. Peter has a perfectly fine biological father and uncle resting six feet under. Tony has...never been a replacement to them. "Thank you for coming to get me. I'm sorry about the hospital bill, I know that—"

"Shut up." Tony interrupts. "Actual billionaire, remember?"

Kid, trust me, the last thing I'm worried about is money. He keeps that last bit to himself.

Peter shudders beneath him again, and the fleece blanket slips around his shoulders. He needs a coat. Or a jacket. Or hot chocolate. All three. Tony closes his eyes for a moment and runs a hand through Peter's messy hair to work through some of the worst of the brown tangles. "You need a shower."

"I know." Peter submits with a sigh. He's still stiff.

Tony pulls back and holds his shoulders for a moment, waiting until the kid looks up at him before he speaks. "I'll get this sorted out. I promise. Let's just get you to bed."

Peter looks away from him. Tony leads him to the elevator and FRIDAY wordlessly escorts them to his and Pepper's floor. Peter seems to be sinking into himself further and further as time passes, despite Tony's hand around his shoulders. He's still shuddering—shivers, some part of his mind identifies—and Tony makes a mental note to get some extra blankets from the closet.

When the doors open and they're released onto the floor, Pepper is waiting. Morgan is absent, and Tony suspects this was on purpose. His wife is still dressed in a loose gray T-shirt and reindeer covered sweatpants, a gift from Natasha two years ago. Her hair is falling around her shoulders and despite the fact that she's obviously bedraggled, Tony is struck again by how lucky he is. This woman chose him. He nearly lost all of this to Thanos in June.

Peter stops momentarily, as if he wasn't expecting Pepper to be there. Tony's at an awkward angle for reading his expression, so all he has to go by is body language. It's tight.

"Hi, Pete." Pepper says softly. She shares a worried look with Tony. She takes a step forward and touches his shoulder, but Peter doesn't react. "Do you want anything before we get you to bed?"

Peter shakes his head, dazed.

Pepper looks towards him. Tony releases Peter's shoulder after giving it another squeeze. "I'm going to go find the extra blankets." He announces.

Pepper nods to him, gently leading Peter down the hall towards the bedrooms. Tony passes the Christmas tree as the moves for the closets, yanking open the door and frowning into the space. He breathes out as slowly as he can, trying to ignore how much his entire body feels like it's rattling. It's not anger. It's...he doesn't know. Frustration?

This wasn't supposed to happen to Peter.

He needs to hit something.

He gets the blankets and returns to Peter's room, entering as Pepper leans over and presses a soft kiss to Peter's forehead. The kid looks catatonic, on his back and staring up at the ceiling without blinking. He looks like he's been through a battle, and given everything, maybe it's not too far off. It's so different from how Peter was on Thanksgiving. The kid was skittish, but he wasn't...like this. Tony bites down on his tongue and sets the blankets down on the end of the bed.

He and Pepper wordlessly spread them out over the teen, but Peter only shivers a few times, teeth snapping together and expression furrowed in something that looks like despair or fury. Maybe a mix of the two. Tony opens his mouth to ask if he's okay, but Pepper catches his eye and wordlessly shakes her head. Not now.

He can't mess this up again. What if Peter does need it now?

Pepper shakes her head again.

Tony sighs softly and gives Peter's shoulder a squeeze. "We'll be outside if you need us, okay? FRIDAY's just a word away." Peter nods, but it doesn't feel like an actual response, more like an automated jerk. Tony hesitates and then adds quietly, "I love you, Pete. Good night."

Pepper takes his hand and they leave the room without another word, shutting the door softly behind them. Trusting that FRIDAY will alert them if the need arises, the two of them venture out into the kitchen.

"Morgan?" Tony asks.

"In her room." Pepper rests her hands on the countertop, brow furrowed. "I sent her back to bed. I know it's Christmas, but given the circumstances, I thought it would be best."

Tony nods. His chest feels tight, like a coiled snake prepared to pounce. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry. He shakes his head slightly and glances at his wife. They share an entire conversation with a single look. The frustrations, worry, the what now, and so much more. In the end, all Tony has to do is release an agitated breath and Pepper sigh, and they've said everything they didn't share over the phone.

"I need to clear my head." Tony says, glancing at the time. It's a little past seven AM now. "Give me until eight. Then we can wake up Morgan and talk after."

Pepper nods. Tony moves for the elevator, dropping his keys on the counter and Pepper grabs his arm. "Tony," her voice is gentle, but a hard warning at the same time. "Don't do anything stupid."

He scoffs. "How long have you known me?"

"Long enough that I know you will." Pepper says, clearly frustrated. Tony doesn't have any words to combat that. "Nothing permanent. No lab explosions. No murder."

That narrows his options considerably, but wasn't what he was thinking of anyway. He pulls his arm from her grip as gently as he can and tries to offer a reassuring expression. It falls flat, he knows, because Pepper's brow only furrows with worry. He sighs and presses a kiss to her cheek. She squeezes his hand and lets him go.

He doesn't stop moving until he's standing in front of the door he had in mind. FRIDAY was a quiet companion on the elevator, seeming to realize how much Tony doesn't want to talk. Tony raises a hand and raps a few times on the door, his body tensing as he waits for a response. He fiddles with the brace for a moment, running a finger over the smooth metal attached to his fingers.

He only has to wait less than a minute before a bedraggled Natasha opens the door and stares at him. Her red hair is yanked into a sloppy bun that's falling apart, and she's dressed in her usual black. He can't help when his gaze slips to her gray eyes, but he pulls them away faster than normal. It's the only thing that remains from Vormir—her blindness. That, and the ugly scar stretching down the back of her skull where it was split open when she fell. The Soul required a penance for Natasha's life and out of all the other life-altering injuries she sustained, blindness was the best of it.

Sometimes he can't stop himself from looking at the scars, though. The same scars he bares from snapping. The ugly, wretched things that have permanently marred him. Them.

Natasha's expression is neutral, but he can tell she's exhausted. Late night. Nightmares? "Chto?" she demands in Russian. What? "We are not children. If you're here to wake me up on Christmas morning—"

Why does everyone assume that? Tony hates Christmas. They all know he hates Christmas. Why would he ever be excited about it? This would much more be Clint's department, and he doesn't like Christmas either. He'd just do it to be a pain in the butt.

"No." Tony interrupts sharply.

Natasha's eyebrows raise slightly, and she leans against the doorframe. "Alright."

Tony hesitates for a brief moment on the words he wants to say—help me commit a murder. You know we can get away with it—and instead says blankly, "I need you to hit me in the face."

Author's Note: If you're comfortable with it, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Next chapter: February 7th, 14th, or sometime in between that. :)