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Tony was pretty sure this was the point Pepper had been talking about, when he needed to give in. He could still see straight, to be perfectly fair, but he was sort of blurry around the edges. Sandpaper eyelids were never fun either. Tony threw back the last cold dregs coffee, not even a mouthful, and grimaced.
He cast one glance up to scan the vents, ever hopeful that maybe Peter had finally made his way down, but there was no trace of him. Tony had thought maybe he had heard him once or twice but by the time he’d turned the music down or powered off machinery there hadn’t been a sound, and he couldn’t be sure he had heard anything at all. Now glum as well as exhausted, Tony rubbed a hand down his grimy face and headed out. A shower and then bed, and maybe he could even be up before the afternoon and Pepper wouldn’t yell at him.
There was afternoon sun beaming from the windows when he stepped onto the main floor. Tony paused at the threshold of elevator and room, recalibrating as he took in the new information. Not midnight, no, and not some early morning hour either. He’d miscalculated by five hours at a minimum, and it was looking more like eight.
He’d missed breakfast. Shit.
The call of the mattress was strong but Tony resisted, turning toward the kitchen instead. Steve was there, drinking some sort of protein shake and reading an actual physical newspaper even though Tony had told him five hundred times that he could buy him any online news subscription he wanted. Any of them, all of them, whatever. Normally he would have said something, made some quip or other, but Steve’s shoulders had tensed as he entered and Tony was goddamn tired .
“Morning,” Steve grunted, and flipped loudly to the next page.
“Mm,” Tony said.
There wasn’t much in the fridge that didn’t have to be cooked and Tony’s skills in the kitchen were shaky on his best days, so he grabbed some bread, a mass of leftover bacon that Clint would probably whine about later, and various meats and cheese that seemed fine. He usually got his sandwiches from the deli and in fact hadn’t put one together by hand since college, but that seemed to cover the basics of it. There was bottled water in the room and sand in his eyes, so Tony grabbed an orange and called it good.
“Tony,” Steve said as he passed, stopping him with blue eyes gone flinty. He hadn’t even let the paper down onto the table, fingers crumpling the edges as he looked over the top at Tony, quietly irate. “Things have gone missing.”
Tony squeezed his fingernails into the orange and did not look at the ceiling. It was obvious what Steve was getting at, as he always seemed to be these days. God, Steve and his issues with Peter were neverending. It wasn’t enough that he’d yelled and lectured and threatened to leave when Tony had told them about the new addition. He simply wouldn’t let it go. Everything that went wrong in the tower now somehow came back to Peter and Tony was so done with it.
“Things,” Tony said, feigning ignorance. Something in his lower back was complaining now that all his muscles had gone tight. “I’ve told Clint a million times to put the mugs back when he’s done, but does he listen?”
“Not mugs.” Steve folded the paper shut and set it down, and this was looking worse by the second, that serious talk-from-management look glinting hard in Steve’s eye. Tony had his own company mostly so he would never have to deal with management and, okay, also because it came with the name but the lack of upper management was a big sell to stay. “It’s not Clint. He had a book go missing.”
“A book,” Tony said evenly, setting himself on his heels. “Clint lost a book and you’re complaining to me about it.”
“He didn’t lose a book, Tony,” Steve said, patience lost as he stood, both fists planted on the table between them. “He left it here, on the counter. I saw it when we left. And when he went back, someone had taken it.”
“I didn’t even know Clint could read,” Tony said, trying for flippant and utterly failing.
“And it’s not just Clint,” Steve continued, not even deigning that with a response. “I’ve had charcoals go missing. Natasha lost a crossword puzzle and some hair clips.”
He remembered seeing Natasha curled up with a puzzle the other morning, when he thought back, feet tucked up against the back of the couch as she scratched out her answers. And charcoals, yeah, Steve had been sketching the sunrise the other day. The living room. They’d all been in the living room, and Peter’s hair was starting to hit his eyes now, and what did he do with his days? Because he certainly wasn’t spending them with Tony. The pieces were slotting in faster than Tony could actually keep up with at his level of exhaustion until he had to actually rub the heel of his hand between his eyes to chase the thoughts away.
“I’ll buy new ones,” Tony finally said, sighing, because it sounded like there may actually be merit to this one. And that was Tony’s fault. But did Steve need to be such a dick about it?
Steve leaned up off his hands, glancing over Tony a moment before continuing, more subdued but no less grim. “We don’t need you to replace them. We need you to stop this. You need to rein that kid in or get rid of him. And what else is he-”
“I get it,” Tony snapped, cutting Steve off. He really did not want to hear the next words that were going to come out of his mouth because he didn’t think he’d be able to rein himself in, let alone anyone else. Get rid of him? Like Peter was some sort of unruly pet. “Doomsday is here. Your prophecy foretold of these days. Is that what you want to hear? Well you’re wrong. I told him he can use anything in the common areas. Were these all in the common areas?”
Steve nodded once, tightly.
“It’s a misunderstanding, Rogers, not an evil plan. I’ll fix it.” Tony backed off a step, agitated. “Now am I excused to go to bed, Captain , or do you wanna send me to the brig?”
“That’s a different branch,” Steve said, tone weary now as he leaned on the back of his chair.
“I really don’t care.”
He didn’t wait around any longer. By the time Tony got to his room he was seething, slamming the door shut with his foot and practically throwing the sandwich fixings on his nightstand. No sign of Peter which was honestly for the best. Tony let himself storm around for a full two minutes, shucking his oily shirt and toeing his shoes off in the middle of the floor as he gathered his sleeping clothes, thinking of grinding Steve’s pretty face into that newspaper he loved so much.
Then he turned the shower on cold and let it shock the anger away.
Peter was sitting on the edge of the bed when he emerged ten minutes later--wet, cold, and only lightly simmering now. Tony scrubbed his hair with the towel as an excuse to observe a moment, noting the shoes now tucked neatly against the wall. His discarded shirt was in the hamper instead of the floor when he dropped his dirty pants and socks inside, and Peter was staring studiously at his own feet, every muscle in him tensed as if ready to spring away at a moment's notice. Beside him on the bed sat a well-worn paperback.
Fuck. Tony was going to punch Steve in his righteous little mouth.
“I brought breakfast. Brunch?” Tony approached, steady but slow, and set a hand on the top of the kid’s head. The lightest of flinches but at least he wasn’t running . When Peter didn’t look up, Tony knelt down at his feet to peer up under the growing fringe of hair and into his downcast face. “Come on, I was only like five hours late. That’s an improvement for me, believe it or not.”
Peter didn’t look at him, but he did move. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pencils, holding them out in silent, guilty offer. Tony didn’t know a lot about art supplies but he was guessing those would be charcoal.
Tony closed his fingers around Peter’s hand, pushing it back toward him. “Don’t listen to Captain Spanglypants, kid. It’s not a big deal. I told you you could use whatever. That’s on me, not you.” He picked up the book and lobbed it across the floor. “They’re things. I can buy new ones. They don’t matter.”
Peter’s eyes tracked the book and finally met Tony’s gaze, somehow managing to look both doubtful and hopeful at the same time.
“Yes, seriously. I’ve done worse on national television. This is basically nothing.” Tony rose and sat beside Peter, curling one arm around his back. The kid leaned into him and Tony gathered him in closer, releasing a quiet sigh. “But you do have to stop taking things. What do you do during the day? There’s not a lot in the vents. You need books? Puzzles? Tell me what you want and I’ll get it. We can sit down with a StarkPad and order anything you want.”
That had been an oversight on his part too. Of course he needed to provide things for the kid to do, he just hadn’t thought about it because it hadn’t been a worry at the corporate office Peter had called home. Something like this happening was almost a foregone conclusion.
“You can use the tv and game systems,” Tony said. Peter blanched, leveling him with a look that said Tony knew better than that. “Yeah, I know, you’re convinced the team’ll bite. We’ll get a set for your room.”
Peter looked downright squirrely at that and Tony had a sudden feeling he knew why. He hadn’t set foot in the room since getting its contents delivered and locking the door behind, but he knew Peter had gone in there because he had worn the new clothes. He had hoped by keeping even his nose out that Peter would settle the room like he had the vents, but it had sort of felt like a pipe dream. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could put in that room to make it a place Peter ever wanted to be.
“You do use the kitchen when no one’s around, right?” He hadn’t even thought to question that before. Peter had kept himself fed on his own for so long but did that hold here, alone, knowing Tony would be around to share a meal at some point? He had been making a point of it, even.
Peter’s reaction on that wasn’t promising either, grimacing and turning away to lean his back against Tony instead, folding his feet onto the bed to bring his legs in close. It made something twist in Tony’s chest, just as it did every other time he clammed the kid up--if you could ever consider him unclammed. As much as Tony had figured out about the kid and as carefully as he tried to tread, it was easy to place a toe over the line and set him off, and he just thanked the universe that at least Peter wasn’t as likely to go bounding off into the ceiling here.
“I don’t exactly keep regular mealtimes,” Tony said. “You’ll starve if you wait around for me.”
Maybe technically not true. Tony had set up reminders with JARVIS if he was going to miss two mealtimes in a row but he had been assuming the kid ate on his own. If that wasn’t true he would need to set reminders for two meals a day, no exceptions. Pepper would honestly be thrilled if Tony ate regular meals like that but the idea that Tony’s own failure to adhere to a schedule was tied to the actual well being of the kid? When Tony had been failing to adhere to schedules for the entirety of his adult life? That was unacceptable.
“You can always ask JARVIS if the coast is clear. Maybe get some sleeping darts installed in case someone’s around when you want lunch?” Tony waggled his brows and Peter, who was steadfastly not looking straight at him, couldn’t hide the grin. “I knew it. You just want to rid the tower of the extra weight. Super reasonable, honestly, I’ve considered it myself.”
Tony pressed a kiss to the side of Peter’s head then extracted his arm to lean back and stretch, groaning at the series of pops down his spine. And god it felt nice to not hold himself upright anymore, so Tony let himself fall back until he was laying across the mattress instead, legs hanging off, groaning as every part of him protested its many hours of misuse all at once. “Oh god. I’ve made a huge mistake.”
The bed shifted on his right, then his left. Peter craned to look him in the face, lips pursed and brow crinkled.
“Enough talk. I sleep, you eat,” Tony said, feeling the warmth of sleep creeping up on him again. “We beat Cap up when I’m conscious again. Deal?”
Peter’s lips quirked and then his hands were pushing Tony up, urging him until he had pulled himself fully onto the bed and leaned back on the pillows instead. Tony grumbled but it seemed like acceptance of the plan; Tony would take it. He buried himself in the blankets then laid one arm out and open, waiting. It was only a moment before Peter was fitting himself there, laying with his head pillowed on Tony’s arm and the plate on his own stomach, dangling bacon into his mouth from above.
Tony let his eyes flutter shut. Peter would away himself once he was done eating, as he always did. Normally Tony didn’t sleep for that part, but tonight he let the kid come in close then gratefully released his tenuous grip on consciousness.
-----
The packages weren’t very large, when they arrived. Tony pulled the larger box forward, tapping the outside thoughtfully.
“Peter?” he called, casting his eyes up to the ceiling. “Your stuff is here.”
No response. He was dying to open the packages and have Peter try them all. They had spent a good hour and a half poring over websites of hobby supplies, Tony cajoling Peter into anxiously picking out this and that thing. He had basically chosen the handheld video games himself because Peter had absolutely refused to even touch that section, balking at the ever increasing prices as they scrolled through.
“I’m gonna open it without you,” Tony warned.
Nothing. He had no idea where the kid was really at any time. He didn’t seem to hang around the main floor unless he was expecting Tony to appear, which meant regular meal times. Tony considered the boxes a moment, resistant to the idea of actually opening them without Peter there too. He couldn’t sit there and wait, not today when so much needed to be done, but there was no way Peter would come down to investigate them on his own.
There was one place where Peter was supposed to be willing, though whether he actually was was a big question mark. Tony grabbed a box under each arm and headed for the door he had locked and never opened again. It was the one place in the tower that belonged to Peter and Peter alone, where the rest of the team wouldn’t be showing up unannounced to scare him off, not even Tony.
When he disabled the locks and opened the door, though, Tony had the distinct feeling that his efforts to provide the kid with a safe landing pad on the ground had either failed or been declined. The bed was stripped of its pillow and blankets, leaving the fitted sheet on its lonesome. A quick check of the dresser drawers proved that some of the clothing was missing but the rest appeared untouched, still bearing their store tags and folded neatly away.
“Peter?” Tony tried, but there was no response. The room was empty and there was no proving it, but he was pretty sure it had been empty since the day he gave it over.
Tony pushed the boxes against the wall and left, closing the door quietly behind himself.
------
It was simple work to kick everyone off the floor for the rest of the day--working on the fire alarms, possibly the sprinklers would be set off, yada yada, and the goons were gone. Steve shot him a look that said he was on to Tony, but after all the missing items had been found carefully stacked on the kitchen table Steve had been a little more forgiving. Tony was of the opinion that he still had one hell of a stick up his ass but he had decided to keep that one to himself. For now.
Then he had only to stack the cartons of Chinese food on the kitchen bar, take a seat, and wait.
It was a full hour past their regular dinnertime when the little-used grate finally squealed open, but Tony hadn’t even been sure the kid would appear at all with all the fuss over kicking the team out. He wasn’t complaining. A moment later Peter’s head dropped down, the curls in his hair a wild mess as he peered cautiously around the quiet kitchen area. Tony set his phone aside and gestured to the chair beside him.
“I got lemon chicken,” he said, because Peter was crazy for the stuff, “if you want some.”
Peter glanced doubtfully toward the door leading to the bank of elevators, then the opposite doorway leading to some of the suites. Had he ever set foot in the kitchen? Tony hadn’t seen it, and after the kid’s reaction the other night he didn’t think he’d been eating on his own. That made the kitchen new territory, and new territory wasn’t something Peter was especially fond of.
“No one else is here,” Tony said. “JARVIS, everyone else is gone?”
“Yes, sir. The rest of the Avengers have left the floor.”
Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter and began unpacking the food. “See, just us, and no one is allowed back up til tomorrow.”
Peter didn’t look convinced and he didn’t drop down. Instead he settled on his stomach and pillowed his chin on his folded hands, watching Tony’s movements with one wary eye flicking between the doorways.
“We don’t even have to share the sweet and sour shrimp,” Tony said, beginning to dish noodles onto each plate. “Cap wolfs that stuff down before anyone else can get a fork in.”
Peter dropped an arm, letting it dangle freely in the air like an antenna testing for movement. He watched the doorways for another few seconds, then Tony scooping lemon chicken onto two plates, and finally slipped down along his belly. He landed on his hands and touched down to his toes in a move that would have ended with Tony falling on his face if he had tried it.
“Show off,” Tony said, opening the rest of the cartons and leaving them. Peter could dish his own now that he had been lured down. Tony was probably setting the kid up for some sort of unhealthy relationship with food but honestly the kid probably already had one. Having to sneak and steal for every scrap would do that to a person.
Peter sent a last glance toward the elevators then paced uneasily toward the breakfast bar. He didn’t take the seat beside Tony but instead stood across from him where he could keep both doorways in the periphery of his vision, nabbing one of the plates and one of the full cartons. He was more tense than in Tony’s room where they usually sequestered themselves for meals, movements sharp and stilted, ready to bound away at the slightest unwelcome presence or sound. It had to change. He couldn’t live his life in the vents and Tony’s room, Tony wouldn’t let him.
“Your packages arrived today,” Tony said, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth and watching Peter closely.
Peter paused, eyes flicking to Tony then away, and began parceling out from the next container.
“I put them in your room,” he continued, voice neutral, and shoved another spoonful in.
Peter dropped the serving spoon back into the container, shooting Tony what was most definitely a guilty look.
“You don’t have to use it,” Tony said, “but we can get new things. If it’s the things.”
Peter frowned as he moved about the next dishes. Of course it wasn’t the things, was it? Or, not those particular things. It was the room. It was the newness. It was the fact that it was down where anyone who could break a door could be in within a moment, and Peter was well aware of the abilities of his housemates. There wasn’t much Tony could do about that except reinforce the door, and that didn’t seem to be the right thing to do if he wanted to assure Peter that he was safe with them all.
“Beige isn’t really your color anyway,” Tony said. “We can get something else in there.”
Peter slid into the seat across from him, glancing once more at an open doorway then tucking into the food. He was listening to Tony, even if he didn’t seem sure he liked the words themselves.
“We could do blue,” Tony mused. “Everyone does blue though. Maybe red.” Green definitely didn’t seem to be Peter’s color. That was more Hulk territory anyway. “Forget it. I’m bringing back the interior designer.”
Peter nearly spit out his mouthful of food, looking scandalized at the suggestion, and scowled when Tony laughed. He stabbed a piece of chicken and took an aggressive bite from it.
“Okay, fine, no interior designer.”
It seemed like the right time to change the subject before he could push too hard, not when Peter was clearly uncomfortable in the new space and more likely to rabbit away. It would leave him with something to think about and hopefully be more open to later. Tony told him about the progress he’d made in the lab instead because Peter had finally ventured down to visit him there once or twice, seemingly curious about what he was working on. It did the trick. Peter relaxed as he listened, poking around in the food then eating in earnest, and finally rounding the island to finally sit in one of the chairs closest to Tony’s side.
“I can show you tomorrow,” Tony said, laying an arm across the kid’s shoulder and tucking him a little closer. Peter resisted a moment, eyes darting from doorway to doorway, before relaxing enough that he didn’t feel like stone. “It’s about ready for a demonstration anyway.”
Peter did perk up at that a bit. It was interesting, the way his attention was so rapt anytime Tony brought up what he was working on in the lab. The kid was smart, he had figured that much out, but it was impossible to say how much of it he really got when Tony talked his way through this problem or that experiment. He had refused to touch anything in the lab itself but he had ventured there when the only other place he was comfortable was in Tony’s suite. Granted, it was the place Tony spent the most time during the day lately but it wasn’t just his presence, it couldn’t be.
He hadn’t gotten Peter any science books. They had thrown a few novels in there and one book on Norse mythology, but they had only barely brushed over literature online. Tony had plenty of books on physics and chemistry and electronics but they weren’t exactly written to be accessible for beginners, and Tony had zero clue where Peter was at in knowledge on those. He made a mental note to pick up a variety and see if Peter read any of them.
“I think you’re really going to like this handheld system,” Tony ventured as Peter tucked into his second plate. “I got that new Zelda game all the kids are raving about. You know the one?”
Peter frowned, swirling the fork in his rice, because of course he hadn’t. Where would he have seen anything about it? The magazines he didn’t read? The StarkTablet that he refused to take with him or even look at except when Tony was there with him? As far as Tony could tell, Peter didn’t use his phone except to read whatever Tony sent him, which was a sight better than the rubber balls at least.
“You’ll love it,” Tony promised. “Hey, what’s your fortune say?”
——-
What Peter did not love, as it turned out, was his room.
It seemed fine to Tony. A little bare, sure, and definitely unlived in, but the bed was comfortable when he tossed himself onto it and the sheets Peter had left behind were soft. It was on inside walls only, no windows anywhere since Peter didn’t seem to like to approach those, and Tony had even had some pictures hung on the wall. Placeholders until Peter could choose his own.
Peter did not seem like he would be inclined to choose his own. He climbed reluctantly onto the bed to sit beside Tony, but he seemed to be steadfastly not looking at anything in the room at all. Tony had unloaded the few books they’d purchased onto the bare little bookshelf then stacked the collection of new games beside them, but Peter had avoided even looking at them. Tony wasn’t sure how a person could avoid looking at absolutely everything in their surroundings but somehow Peter managed it.
“Is it the paint?” Tony asked when Peter tucked his head in against Tony’s side. “Too blindingly white? I told you we can change that.”
Peter’s fingers clenched the hem of Tony’s shirt but the boy refused to budge from where he had hidden himself. Tony had suspected that Peter hadn’t been using the room but now he was sure of it. The very air felt abandoned and unlived in, and Peter looked like he was being tortured.
“At least you liked the pillows,” Tony mused, winding one arm around Peter’s back and pulling him in closer. It was a little cool in the room. Peter hummed and twisted a little, just until his right arm was pressed in along Tony’s side, back to the world. “Unless they’re gone because you burned them or something. Please don’t burn things up there. Jarvis will have a fit if he detects any smoke.”
Peter tilted his head just enough to unearth a single eye cast over with shaggy strands of hair. They were soft when Tony pushed them back, and Peter’s expression was a little softer then too. Maybe the room had been a bad idea but he had really thought that it was what the kid had needed. A little space all to himself, somewhere he didn’t have to climb and tread quietly to go unnoticed. A bed of his own. Pillows, sheets, blankets. Clothing. Now entertainment. Tony was honestly at a loss.
“I could give you your own floor,” Tony offered. “Lock it down tight, no one else in or out.”
Peter’s brow furrowed but he didn’t tuck his head away like Tony had been afraid he might, just settled him with a disapproving stare. Okay, no private floor. Sure. But then what did the kid want? Tony had done his best to give him a safe place to bunker down where no one could come in, or talk to him, or even see him. Tony had even made sure to stay out so the kid could make it his own.
And that was a thought. Tony blinked up at the ceiling, picturing Peter tugging his bed linens up into the vents piece by piece, dragging them to wherever it was up there that he stayed when he was alone, where it was safe. Because that’s what the vents were, weren’t they? The place Peter felt safe to be alone. And Tony had given him this empty room, and filled it with strange things, and then he had shut the door and never stepped foot in it again.
So of course Peter hadn’t come back. Of course Peter had taken the things he needed and he had disappeared into the vents, and when he came down it was only into those places where Tony was when he was alone, that Tony had made safe. If he wanted Peter to have this place for himself then he’d just have to make it safe too. Easy peasy. Tony could spare a few nights a week to hang out with Peter in his room.
“Hey, Pete, wanna check out the new handheld system?”
Tony tipped his head down to look at the kid. Peter was already looking at him, head nestled comfortably between Tony’s arm and chest, cheek pressed warm to his shirt. He didn’t look particularly enthused, especially when Tony dislodged him to nab the handheld off the bedside table, and he looked downright aggrieved when Tony jostled him to sit up while the system booted up.
“Be a lot more comfortable to do this with pillows.” The headboard was hand carved wood and it was gorgeous, but it wasn’t great against the spine. He made a mental note to order some of those pillow chairs, and maybe a spare or two for Peter to spirit away into the ceiling. “I don’t know if you’ve ever played Zelda before but it’s been a while for me, so don’t laugh, okay?”
Peter quirked a smile and let Tony pull him under with his left arm, seemingly relieved that he wasn’t being forced to take the device himself. Tony had tried that already. Watching Peter hold the thing like he’d been handed a dead rat would have been amusing if it hadn’t boded so poorly. Still, if Peter had figured anything out about the kid it was that exposure brought him around to most things with enough time, and the addition of cuddling could only help that goal. Those things had brought him around to Tony, anyway.
And if by the end of the play session Peter still hadn’t shown any interest in touching the game himself, at least he had deigned to watch.
——-
“Shit, that didn’t go well. At least it wasn’t last place again, huh?”
It was killing Tony a little bit to crash so much but worth it, because it was definitely killing Peter to watch it. The boy had started out with his head pillowed on Tony’s thigh, but as the races had gone on and the losses had started to pile up, he had crept up and up until he was neatly encircled by Tony’s arms, head under Tony’s chin. It left the kid scrunched up in his lap, long limbs sprawled awkwardly over Tony’s own, but he had declined his own pillow chair.
His loss. Those chairs were the best thing Tony had ever purchased and the past two weeks would have been a lot more painful without them.
“Think I’ll go for the island map. I’m sure I won’t fall into the water again.”
Peter tipped his head back and levelled Tony with a dark look.
“What? I did great at that map. If you think you can do better, be my guest.” Tony held the game out, loose in his hand. Peter snatched it up and started scrolling through cart selection, jaw set. “Alright, big shot, show me how it’s done.”
And if Tony was smiling as he wrapped his arms around Peter and turned his face into the kid’s hair, well, who could blame him? A plan well implemented deserved a celebration.