Chapter Text
They were an odd-looking group.
True to his word, Tony had loaded them up in the car first thing the next morning to go to Peter’s apartment building. So now their strange little group — Peter, Tony, and a surly man with cropped black hair named James — was walking up to the front door of the building, all of them appearing varying degrees out of place. Peter was in the same outfit he'd worn the day before, having stubbornly refused to change into anything that wasn't his . Tony was dressed casually, but looked too well-groomed and mature to belong here, and he was very recognisable. James was nice, but glared at everything and everyone around them (including a bunny in the grass outside the front door).
That wasn't even to mention the too-nice car they were leaving illegally parked on the curb.
Once they were on the fourth floor, Tony muttered something about getting this over with as quickly as possible and strode ahead of Peter. Which Peter thought was dumb, because Tony didn't have a —
Tony fished in his pocket for a key and unlocked the apartment door.
"Why in the world do you have a key to my apartment?" Peter demanded, but he pushed past Tony without waiting for an answer.
It all looked the same as he'd left it — which was to say, a mildly messy but pretty standard apartment. Peter immediately walked over to the bed to plug his phone in to charge. He'd spent most of the night restlessly scrolling, trying to figure out how to explain to May that he'd be busy the next few months .
But he'd never figured out what to tell her. The only notifications Peter had gotten in the past eleven hours were twenty-six pissed-off texts from his boss first offering a raise and then threatening to fire him for quitting.
Which, admittedly, was funny.
"I'm serious," Peter added when he heard the others shuffle in behind him. James hit the light and made an unimpressed noise.
"Like, did you bribe my landlord? And how many freaking keys did you get? I know you have one and at least one of your men last night had one..."
"I have as many keys as I need," Tony answered without even looking back at him. "I don't know why that surprises you."
Muttering under his breath, Peter crossed to the kitchen and started to pour himself a bowl of Cookie Crisp .
Tony heard the cereal box and stopped, turning on his heel to face him, unable to hide his exasperation. "What are you doing ? We need to make this quick. If you're hungry, I'll feed you something on the way back to the house. Or we have plenty of food at the house."
He was eager to get this over with. He knew Peter was not , and that this was his home, but...
There were just too many things that could go wrong out here in the open. It made Tony's hands twitch, and he found himself checking the weapons he had concealed along his body for comfort.
Besides, it was obvious to some extent that Peter was just trying to get under his skin. He knew it, and he understood why, even if he didn't agree, but that didn't make it any less annoying .
"Fine." Tony swung around, away from Peter. He wasn't going to stand there and wait to be drawn into an argument. "I'll do it myself."
"Do what yourself?" Peter shot back, "Pack up my stuff yourself? Isn't the whole reason I'm here to avoid members of the mafia touching my shit?"
Peter had only managed about three bites, but if he wanted to avoid Tony going through his things, apparently he needed to move now .
"Of course, it's hard to pack when you don't know how long you're packing for," Peter fumed, his eyebrow twitching at the thought that this all looked a bit too domestic: a slender figure standing at the sink and trying not to shout while their soulmate stood across the room acting too-calm and too-collected and too-convinced they were right.
A different bad movie than the one last night. But apparently Peter's life was now a string of fucked-up relationship movies being rerun on 3 PM cable.
Peter went on, "Like, we know I don't need anything from the kitchen cause you've got all that covered. So I leave that stuff, but honestly what's even the point of holding onto the apartment, Tony? I mean, I might be with you for months and seeing as we're soulmates why are we even bothering to look at this like it's temporary? Aren't we just supposed to move in together right after finding each other? That's what my neighbour —"
Irritation swept through Tony again, but before Tony could scold Peter for being so blunt in a public setting – particularly with the fact that they had the apartment door open – a blonde girl popped into the doorway.
"Hi Peter!"
James' hand only lingered at his weapon for a second before dropping, indicating that he recognized her and didn't view her as a threat, so Tony didn't bother to reach for his, but he still couldn't shake the twinge of irritation at his soulmate's callousness.
They would certainly be having a talk about that at a later date. Words like mafia thrown around too easily and openly in a public setting could cause awkward situations. Ones that ended badly, and not for Tony.
Luckily Peter hadn't said anything too personal or important – nothing that wouldn't already get out eventually, and it didn't seem like the girl had heard regardless – but slip-ups couldn't be tolerated very often. They wouldn't always be so lucky.
"Hi, Betty." Peter immediately wondered how much she'd heard and if it was too much. Across the apartment, when James had started to reach for what Peter assumed was a weapon, it sent a hot flash up Peter’s back, memories from a bright office making him sweat and sending a tremor through his legs.
"Uhh, this is my neighbour." Peter swooped to the door, trying to stand between her and the other two men. "Betty this is my —"
"I know Mr. Barnes already," Betty waved at him. James waved backwith an indulgent smile. Then she looked at Tony. Of course she didn't recognise him. Betty wasn't the type.
"Is he — do you work for the rental agency too?" Betty asked. She smiled at Peter, and said by way of explanation, "Mr. Barnes helped with buying out my lease early, cause I'm moving out. I've been really happy with the new management." She peered around. "Is everything okay with your apartment?"
The words forced Tony to refocus, putting their issues on the backburner for now. Until they could get the girl out of the apartment, at least.
"Everything is great," Tony interjected, moving to the door to stand beside Peter. He held his hand out to Betty. "James is here for the same reason, actually. Peter is my soulmate. We're beginning the process of getting some of his things." Not too many details, of course, he couldn't risk that. But this girl clearly didn't know who he was, and it was going to be obvious that they were gathering Peter's things, so half-truths were the best way to go.
"I don't mean to be short-" He drew his hand back from Betty's and rested it on Peter's back, starting to steer him away from the door. It didn't slip his notice that Peter was shaking, but there was no way to tell exactly why at this second and no matter what the reason, it was probably a whole can of worms that he couldn't afford to open right now anyway. "-But Peter and I have other business to attend to today as well, so we should get back to work. If you need to speak with Mr. Barnes, though, feel free to steal him for as long as you need." They wouldn't go far to talk, and Tony was perfectly capable of handling himself and Peter for as long as necessary.
Peter felt a twinge in his chest at the look on Betty's face when Tony dismissed her. She and Peter weren't exactly close , but him finding his soulmate would probably be cause for brunch and a long conversation about every detail and all the plans they were making.
"Of course!" Betty's face brightened nearly as soon as it fell. "Don't let me interrupt. Umm... I was just collecting some things to take to John's house. He's working today, so–"
"You're alone?" Peter weaselled his way from Tony's grip . "Do you need help moving stuff or —"
"I'll help her," James declared. He crossed the apartment in a few strides, herding Betty out and then shutting the door behind him. He was smirking as he did, but whether he was laughing at Peter, Betty, or Tony's inability to control Peter's behaviour, it was impossible to tell.
Dust pillowed up in the corners of the apartment, and when the door slammed it made Peter jump, remembering the crack of gunshots and doors swinging back on their hinges. He blinked past the blistering feeling in his head and crossed back to where his phone was charging.
No notifications.
"So," Peter cleared his throat, blinking rapidly to shake off the jumpiness still rattling in his veins. He tried to suppress the rising emotion in his chest; he didn't want to sound sad or scared. His voice came out low and gravelly instead. "You bought my whole fucking apartment building? That's fine. It's not absurdly controlling or insane . If you were going to — I mean, at that rate, why didn't I just move in with you two months ago?"
Peter didn't look at Tony, fingers tapping anxiously on the phone screen that continued to show no one interested in reaching him. Maybe Tony really was his best bet at any relationships.
Tony didn't jump at the slam of the door – he'd been in this business too long for that – but his hand did go to his closest weapon, which happened to be a gun concealed on his waist. His weapons were the closest thing he had to any kind of comfort item, and he'd be damned if being around Peter didn't make him feel the same urge for security . He let out a breath at Peter's fury, quiet and seemingly collected, but his fingertips beating a pattern into the top of the cold barrel betrayed his agitation.
Tony turned on his heel and barely bit back his first response at the sight of Peter's discomfort. He didn't do anything that should have scared him, but Peter was obviously wired and on edge,and Tony knew that if he didn't control himself – a thought that he rarely had, but no one exaggerated his lack of self control like Peter – then the blow up that was going to follow was going to be messy and public and he was going to regret it.
And he would probably never hear the end of it from James.
Tony forced himself to take another breath and headed for the bed, knowing Peter would follow. "There are about a thousand reasons why, and you damn well know it. Not the least of them being that you obviously didn't want to move in."
Keeping his tone forcibly light, Tony stopped at the bedroom door and turned to face the younger man, who drew up just short enough not to run into him. He'd probably expected Tony to just barge into his personal space, which Tony was trying really hard not to do, despite Peter's resistance to the situation making it difficult to make any progress otherwise. "You didn't have a problem with the new management until you knew it was me. Besides, I'm not the landlord. James is. Now, after you. Unless you want to stand here and continue to broadcast our business until whatever further interruptions you might have planned arrive."
"That I might have planned ? Are you serious?" Peter knew he sounded hurt. And high-pitched. And melodramatic. He didn't flinch, but standing in the doorway with Tony Stark towering over him left a bad taste in his mouth. Fisk had been different of course — different place, different people, different threat — but Peter still blinked back a woozy sense of déjà vu.
"I didn't plan for Betty to show up or plan to waste time with the cereal — I didn't even know we were gonna be here until last night, in case you forgot, and shouldn't the fact that I can't plan for where and when I'm going to be concern you just a little?" Peter clenched his phone in his hand and curled his lip when he looked down on it.
God, knowing that it too was from Tony made him want to fling the thing across the room.
"I know you're used to looking for evil plans or whatever at every corner, Tony, but I'm not planning anything nefarious here. I'm just trying to get on with my life, and I really never thought my soulmate would get in the way of that!"
"Get in the way of—"
Tony forced himself to stop before he could take that statement too far, and he lowered his voice. He couldn't very well tell Peter to be careful in public and then yell at him five minutes later, nor was raising his voice going to help his case here. He huffed out a breath, rubbing at his left wrist as it threw that phantom twinge.
"The only thing I'm trying to get in the way of , Peter, is the fucking bullets that are going to come your way from angry kingpin employees very shortly if you continue to fight with me," he snapped, considerably quieter this time. "And I can't be too concerned about anything I wouldn't know given that you barely talk to me." He didn't miss the movement of Peter looking at his phone, and he squeezed his wrist again before turning away. They weren't going to accomplish anything this way.
"Let's just get this show on the road already. I'll take care of the bathroom." Since you clearly can't stand to be in my presence any longer. But Tony didn't say that, just stalked into the small apartment’s only bathroom.
Peter lingered by the window, watching Tony whirl away. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at the spot on the back of his hand where he'd stained himself with ink months ago. The place where Tony had recognised his soulmark.
What if Peter hadn't painted that day? What if he'd just curled up on the bed afraid? Would Tony have killed him once he knew about the forgeries? How would all of this be different if they didn't know they were one another's soulmates?
–the fucking bullets that are going to come your way from angry kingpin employees very shortly if you continue to fight with me–
Tony had said it as if Peter wasn't intimately, ferociously, constantly aware of that threat. As if every lock turning and door opening and keychain clicking and engine revving didn't make him jump and break out in a sweat.
Peter scowled at the floor. He listened to Tony open his sink cabinet. He wondered what he was bothering to pack in there – the expired Tylenol or the off-brand toilet bowl cleaner?
You barely talk to me. Let's just get this show on the road already .
God, why was Tony treating Peter like a child? Like something exhausting and in the way that needed to be suppressed?
Blinking back tears of frustration and anger and — though he wouldn't admit it — fear, Peter strode to the bed again and jammed his phone back into the charger. Grinding his teeth and wringing his hands, wishing desperately that he could get his heart to stop racing in his own damn home.
The bathroom door shut halfway when Tony tried to meander around the absurdly-small space to stand between the sink and the shower. With Tony out of sight, Peter started to make his way toward the apartment door. But then he stopped short, thinking of James and the car outside.
So he turned the other way, jumped onto his bed, opened the window behind the headboard, and clambered out onto the fire escape.
The ache in Tony's arm felt like it had spread to his chest by the time he got to the bathroom. It was nearly unbearable, though of course that didn't mean Tony was going to show it. The frustration in his very bones right now was palpable, and in any other situation – were James even still in the room – it might have been satisfying to snap and scream, to react to get the response he wanted. But he couldn't. Not here.
And really, what response did he want from Peter? The kid was already afraid of him. He'd left the room because Peter couldn't be comfortable in the same space as him, and this wasn't helped by being in his own space.
But Tony was too stubborn – and too sure he was right – to apologise for any of it, so he stayed in the bathroom. A miniscule amount of space was the only thing he could offer right now. He didn't have anything else that he could give.
He stretched the time packing up the bathroom as long as he could — so long it was ridiculous, he knew, and he couldn't believe Peter hadn't come flying into the bathroom to make some barb about it already, since he had made it clear he was only packing a small amount from his things and that he was determined to be coming back.
Well, then again, that was before Peter had known Tony was his landlord. But that was a problem for later, and Peter hadn't demonstrated an ability to think that far ahead thus far, so he wasn't going to chase that train of thought right now.
It was James who finally rounded the corner into the tiny bathroom, cocking his head at the sight of Tony. The alarm bells had already started to go off before he opened his mouth.
James asked, "Where is Peter?"
"What the fuck do you mean, where is Peter? He's beside his bed." Tony's voice raised unintentionally, the words like a challenge. He knew that James wouldn't have asked if he'd seen him, and he wouldn't have asked without looking.
James gave him a knowing look. "No. He's not."
"I swear to fucking–" Tony cursed under his breath as he pushed past James, who was hot on his heels as he stalked into the bedroom. "Peter Benjamin Parker, this isn't fucking funny," he snapped, loud – too loud, he knew. If Peter thought this was funny, he wanted to show him it wasn't, and though he didn't consciously make the decision to scare him he was past caring if he did right now. The kid would hear him wherever he was in the apartment, or in the building if it came to it. But letting the neighbours catch on to the situation in all the wrong ways was also not preferable.
"He didn't go out the door. I was there," James told him, but Tony wasn't listening, distracted by catching sight of Peter's cell phone, still plugged in on the bedside table. He snatched it up and pocketed it, and then did a quick sweep of the room, which revealed nothing until he looked up.
Yeah, there was no point in checking the building. The kid climbed out the window.
You pushed your soulmate into climbing out of his own bedroom window as soon as your back was turned.
Tony shut down that voice in his head, hard, and turned to James. "Go find him. Now."
~~~
Peter didn’t know if he’d ever thought so quickly in his life.
He clambered most of the way down the fire escape. But then instead of just landing in the street and wandering off, he grabbed hold of the apartment garbage chute and hoisted himself inside.
He trusted in his instincts, giving into the tingling in his fingertips and the crown of his head. If Peter just wandered off down any street in a 10-block radius, Tony and James would catch up with him immediately. But balled up in the garbage chute? No one was coming for him here.
Sure enough, after some time had gone by, Peter heard Tony shouting several floors above them. He listened as cars sped in different directions, and watched from his peripheral vision as James stalked down the alleyway, speaking rapidly into a cell phone. He peered into the dumpsters; he even looked up at the windows and the fire escape. But he didn’t think to angle his view into the trash chute.
Eventually, James left. All sounds of pursuit had long since faded.
Peter stayed longer than he thought he needed to. He stayed until his knees were cramped from their folded position. Someone threw a pizza box down the garbage chute, and he didn't move, even when it bumped into his hips.
He stayed until he had cycled through anger and relief and frustration and grief and into anger again more times than he could count.
Finally, when the sun had moved noticeably in the sky and Peter found himself shielding his eyes with his hands, he scrambled out of the chute.
He stuck the pizza box in the dumpster and headed west. The alley stopped at a dead end, but Peter wasn’t stupid enough to just wander out the only obvious exit to the street.
He approached the emergency exit door of the yoga studio on the other side of the block. He knocked tentatively, cautious not to be too loud, and then slunk into the shadows of the alley to wait.
No one came to the door, and every time someone passed by the other end of the alley Peter’s heart climbed into his throat. He knocked a couple more times.
Then, finally:
“Sorry, we were mid-flow! What do you need?”
Peter pushed Ned aside to get in, catching the door so it closed as quietly as possible behind them.
“Just need an exit,” Peter muttered, pausing long enough to give Ned half-a-hug. “Good to see you man.”
“Yeah! Hey, we gonna catch up this weekend or —?”
Peter mumbled a vague affirmation and walked through the yoga studio, going from the drab personnel space to the warm, brightly-coloured entrance.
Ned cocked an eyebrow as Peter made his way to the front door. “You seem tense, Pete.” He grinned, “Can’t convince you to stay for a class?”
Peter choked on his laugh, something real despite the tension in his chest. “I might take you up on that soon.” He chuckled. “In the meantime —”
“Is this about that guy you’ve been seeing? The Oscorp kid?”
“What?” That brought Peter up short.
Ned gestured awkwardly back in the direction of the alley. “You avoiding him? Is he at your apartment or something? Cause that’s not cool, Peter, we should call the —”
“No!” Peter gasped, his voice cracked. Across the room, a woman browsing yoga mats glanced over at them. “No, it’s not him. He’s great, he’s…”
Harry was fun. Hot. Easy.
“I’ll see you later, Ned.”
Peter pushed the door open and emerged onto the streets of Manhattan. Without a shadow. Without a tail. Without eyes following him from two blocks behind.
For the first time in months, there was no thick weight sitting between his shoulder blades, threatening to crush him.
The first thing Peter did was duck into a tourist shop. He bought a green hoodie with the Empire State Building on it that was two sizes too big and a pair of metallic sunglasses. He paid in cash. Ordinarily the total would’ve brought him up short, but Tony Stark could certainly-fucking-afford-it, couldn’t he?
What was he gonna do, cut off Peter's allowance? Now that he’d already stopped him from working?
The thought made Peter want to keel over in the middle of the street and vomit, but he swallowed the bile with vexation.
He bought a new MetroCard in the subway, also with cash, and at each stop along the way he got off and switched to a new car.
When he got off on the east side and stepped into the sleek, marble apartment building, the doorman tipped his hat.
“Mr. Parker.” He smiled pleasantly. “I don’t have you on his list today, shall I ring and see if he’s available?”
Well. That was one way to make Peter feel unwelcome.
Peter cleared his throat, but his voice still came out strained. “If he’s not too busy.”
The doorman picked up the phone.
“Mr. Osborn? Mr. Parker has come to see you.”