Chapter Text
‘Happy birthday Peter!’ Tony woke his sleeping son with a gentle nudge. The now six year old snapped awake, ‘Birthday! Birthday! Birthday!’ He chanted, ecstatic. Tony pulled the curtains open, allowing sunlight to cascade into the child’s room.
‘You want some presents?’ Tony asked with a grin as Peter danced about his room. ‘Go on!’ He encouraged, ruffling his hair affectionately.
Peter shot onto the landing and down the stairs with an excited squeak. Tony sighed, contentedly. It was just the two of them after Peter’s mother had left hastily with a guy on her arm and a bag of cash. It had taken a few years but they were happy now. Tony knew he was not the perfect dad, he was far from it, but he tried, he really tried. Peter had been the best thing to ever happen to him; he had forced Tony away from the parties, the booze, the women, he had forced him to take responsibility for once. Tony hoped Peter would one day appreciate everything he meant to him. He was a kind of symbol that Tony was trying to be better.
Superhero figurines lined Peter’s bedroom, dotted amongst his many books. Various science and maths certificates hung from the wall, each in pride and place. Tony smiled, his heart swelling with pride. He was extremely bright for his age, but that was to be expected from a Stark, he supposed.
‘Hey Jarvis, play Happy Birthday.’ He instructed the AI. A few seconds. Then, nothing.
‘Stop ignoring me.’ Tony said, playfully. Nothing. His brow furrowed in confusion. ‘Jarvis? You there buddy?’ He asked in growing concern. Silence.
Suddenly, a child’s scream ripped the air as a gunshot echoed about the mansion.
Tony froze. He could hear his heart pounding beneath his chest as he braced for another gunshot. When none came, Tony’s mind cleared enough for it to snap to his son.
‘PETER!’ Tony yelled, flying down the stairs, his feet skidding on the polished floor. Tony raced into the living room at breakneck speed. Why had security failed to call him? Heart pounding, his son’s face swam in his mind. Tony wasn’t sure if he would be able to forgive himself if Peter was harmed. He couldn’t let anything happen to him. He wouldn’t allow it. Not now they had just begun to return to some normalcy after Peter’s mother had left. He couldn’t let this peace be ruined.
When he entered the living room, panting, his breath caught at the sight that met his eyes. Tony froze in the doorway as he took in the horrific scene. Lying in a pool of crimson blood, bleeding through the previously pristine white carpet was Peter’s nanny. Bile rose in his throat as Tony rushed to her,the thick tang of blood was sickening. Gazing into the young woman’s lifeless, half-lidded eyes, something like panic mixed with guilt flared in Tony’s gut, a cruel cocktail of emotions. How could he have let this happen?
Tony felt sick. His mind ran through countless possible scenarios. He didn’t understand. There were protocols, security checks. Why had they all failed?
Just as Tony made to turn away from the body, a strong hand came down upon his shoulder from behind, holding him in place. ‘You make a noise, you call for backup, you try anything at all, then he dies.’Tony’s insides went cold as a wide-eyed Peter was hauled into view by a great hunk of a man dressed head to toe in black, tattoos covering his face and arms.
Time seemed to slow. Something deep and fearful twisted in Tony’s gut.‘Pete!’ Tony gasped. ‘Pete, are you ok?’
‘What did I tell you?’ The man’s expression was almost bored as his partner brought a knife close to Peter’s face. Too close. Blood pooled at the knife’s edge, a deep slit appearing on his son's cheek. Peter let out a high pitched whine that made Tony’s heart stutter. The cut looked as if it would scar.
‘Fucking shut it.’ Grunted the man. Peter’s face drained of colour as he sucked in a sharp breath but otherwise remained painfully silent.
‘Right, this is how it’s going to work.’The man’s tone seemed too light, too superficial, like this was just another Monday morning. ‘You come with us quietly, then the kid lives. Any failure to comply,’ The second man raised the knife again to Peter’s face, threatening. ‘Then we kill him. Understand?’ A beat, then an elbow was thrust into Tony’s gut. ‘I said do you understand?’ Tony gave a sharp grunt, then nodded mutely, his legs feeling as if they were about to give way.
The men muttered something to each other in what sounded to Tony like Russian or something vaguely Eastern European. He barely registered the man’s words, shock clouded Tony’s thoughts, his eyes trained desperately on his son. Peter looked terrified; his tiny form shook under the other man’s grip. Blood dripped lazily from the wound in his cheek as his wide brown eyes found Tony’s. There were white marks across his arms where Peter had been gripped too hard. Tony tried to shoot him a reassuring look, tried to let his son know that everything would be okay, tried to communicate so many words in that one glance.
‘What- what do you want with me?’ Tony stammered. ‘You can have me. Just- just let him go-. Peter, look at me! Everything is going to be okay. You’re going to be okay-’ He tried to believe it. He really did. But the tiny voice in the back of his head told him it could never be that easy.
Tony was cut off by a rough, hessian bag being thrust upon his face. It took everything in him to prevent himself from screaming. Perhaps if he had, someone might have heard him and helped. But Tony remained painfully silent, tears lining his eyes, threatening to break free just as a sharp pain burst across his skull, causing him to black out.
-
When he woke next,Tony’s ears wrung; his eyes strained against a piercingly bright floodlight. Peter, Peter. Peter. His son’s name spiralled in his head. Distantly, Tony wondered how long he’s been out. Where even was he? Glancing around at his surroundings, Tony gleaned nothing. It was what he had expected: bare concrete walls and floor, no windows or furniture except the cold metal chair Tony didn’t remember sitting down in and another chair directly opposite him.
Before the dizziness properly subsided, a man came in front of him, blocking the floodlight; causing the edges of his silhouette to glow slightly.
‘What do you want from me?’ Tony’s throat was parched; his speech slurred slightly.
‘What I want is you, your skills. We need weapons.’ The man’s voice was harsh and grating. Tony gazed up at his face. ‘Please,’ he pleaded, ‘I’ll do anything, please, just let my son live, let Peter live.’ He babbled. In any other situation, he would have been ashamed of himself for begging, for giving them the satisfaction of getting exactly what they wanted. But only one thought crossed Tony’s mind at that moment. Peter. He wouldn’t forgive himself- couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t get him back.
‘How about this, you complete your work here to a satisfactory standard, and you might be able to see your son again.’ He placed a threatening emphasis on might but Tony nodded desperately. He wasn’t stupid, but he would hold onto any hope of seeing Peter again.
‘Get up.’ The man ordered. Tony rose slowly, his legs still unsteady as his head span. Tony automatically made to throw his hands out to steady himself but realised only then that they were handcuffed. The man’s lip quirked upwards slightly at the sight of Tony struggling, as if he was enjoying this.
Once Tony was stable enough, he was led forwards roughly, stumbling slightly as he walked forwards. The heavy, metal door made Tony flinch as it slammed shut behind them with a bang that echoed about the empty corridor ahead. ‘This is where you’ll be staying while you complete your work for us.’ Said the man, Tony barely registering his words, too busy trying to place his surroundings. Finally, he was led to a workshop, equipped with all the tools necessary to create the weapons they asked for, each more dangerous and technically challenging than the next. Tony gazed over the plans with a twisting feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He had no choice but to give in to their demands.
He worked until his hands were numb and his eyes stung. Tony tried not to consider what these weapons might be used for, he knew that if they came into circulation, the consequences could be detrimental but he found that he hardly cared. Only one thing consumed his thoughts. Peter.
Time seemed to slow in the workshop, he had no way of knowing whether it was night or day, the days all blurring into one continuous loop. Heavily armed guards observed Tony as he worked, their stony faces unreadable. But Tony had a plan.
In the short periods of unsupervised time he had, he created something that could get him out of there. Something that was going to change everything. While he worked, he thought of Peter, he wasn’t naive enough to believe he was still alive. He knew his best chance at finding his son, dead or alive, was to escape.
So, a few weeks later, when Tony blasted out of the compound they had him locked up in; when Tony fought Obadiah- the man who had been responsible for the plot to get rid of Tony in the first place- Iron Man was born.