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David has been waiting for this day for a long, long time.
It’s just past five in the morning when he gets the call. He slaps around the nightstand for a few seconds before finding the phone, preemptively annoyed at whoever could be on the other side. Probably Andrea, telling him that he won’t get his weekend with the kids for whatever reason she wants to pull out of her ass.
“Hello?” David grumbles, letting his eyes fall shut. The streetlights are still shining through the little cracks between the blinds, casting white strips of light across the grey walls surrounding him. He shivers in the cool February air, pulling the covers up higher.
The voice that comes through is familiar, but not in the way that David expected. “This is Hogan.”
David sits up so fast that the world spins around him. He nearly gasps, chest aching with the sudden burst of adrenaline that rushes through him like the changing tides. It washes against his shores, leaves him breathless. His tongue trips over itself as he tries, desperately, to grasp for an answer out of the chilly air surrounding him.
“Yes, yeah, hello- uh, sir. I’m here.” David cringes, throwing the sheets off of himself. In the four years that he’s worked on the security team of Stark Industries, Happy Hogan has never called him personally. In fact, he’s only spoken to him outright enough times to count on one hand.
“You’re needed for a job this afternoon.” Hogan says plainly. There’s a slight rustling sound in the background- is he already in the office? David blinks and clears his throat when Hogan doesn’t elaborate at all.
“Uh... okay! Yeah, yeah, um... what’s the job?” He throws his feet over the side of the bed, moving quickly but quietly, listening to every dip in Hogan’s voice. The excitement of finally getting to do a real job at S.I is battling hard to defeat the fear.
“Can’t talk about the details over the phone.” Hogan says. “Meet me in conference room seven in an hour and fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”
Hogan hangs up without a goodbye (not that David was expecting it, or anything). When the call cuts out and all that is left is silence, David can only stand there in the middle of his hallway, still as a statue and entirely dumbfounded about what just occurred.
-
David arrives at their little impromptu meeting ten minutes early.
No one is here yet. He runs a stressed hand through his thinning hair and slides into the chair at the head of the table, leg shaking up and down uncontrollably. Each tick of the clock sounds like an axe clanging against the wall as the executioner rounds the hall.
He wishes he could call his oldest daughter, Savannah, just for a distraction. He figured that as she grew older, she wouldn’t care about what her old man does for work, but when her guard is down, he hears her bragging to her friends over the phone about her father’s fancy job at Stark Industries. His phone stays in his pocket; she wouldn’t even be awake for school yet.
Hogan opens the door five minutes late. David swallows, standing from his chair abruptly, then sitting back down when he realizes that he has no fucking clue what he’s doing. Hogan gives him a strange look, then sits in the chair across from him, expression scrutinizing.
“Good morning, sir.” David breathes, smiling nervously.
“Morning.” Happy says gruffly. Maybe he’s not a morning person. God knows David isn’t.
“What did you...” David waves his hands around for a second before putting them down, realizing what an idiot he looks like. This is all so, so out of his element. “What did you want- need to talk about, Mr. Hogan?”
Hogan sips on his cup of coffee. “Tony and Pepper are needed for a conference in Brooklyn today. I’m going with them for security.”
David nods eagerly, hands folded in his lap to muffle their trembling.
“You haven’t had any write-ups in the years you’ve been here, so, they selected you to replace me for a job this afternoon.”
Something bursts in his chest. This is it, this is his chance. He pictures it in his head; a generous pay-raise, more jobs around the company, a chance to get to start working as Pepper Potts’ or even Tony Stark’s personal security.
“Okay.” He nods too quickly, head feeling unhinged from his neck.
“You need to pick up the kid at Midtown High. The bell rings at three-fifty, but the pick-up line is worse than the war trenches on a good day, so you’re gonna’ want to leave here at three, and you’ll get there around three-thirty.”
David blinks once. Twice.
Hogan plunges forward. “The kid gets distracted a lot, so don’t worry if he only ends up out there ten minutes after the bell. If it’s been more than twenty minutes, you call me, then go in and check if I tell you to.”
David stares and stares. “I’m... confused.”
“About what?”
He shifts, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I, uh, I don’t get the... well, you know, the whole school thing.”
“Pick up the kid from school and bring him back to the tower. It’s not that complicated.”
“But...” David prides himself on his intelligence. He knows that he’s not as smart as most of the people in this building, but he managed to get a job on one of the most prestigious security teams in the world for the most powerful man in the country. He’s used to needing context clues and strange requests and dealing with whatever Tony Stark throws at him.
But, truthfully, he has no fucking clue what Hogan is talking about.
“Do I need to get someone else to do this?” Hogan snaps, when the silence stretches on.
“No, no, I got it- I got this, I swear.”
“Good.” The man says, nodding once. He stands up, adjusting his tie. “Listen, I’m only saying this for your benefit, but don’t fuck this up. That kid is Tony’s number one priority. All you have to do is pick him up, and make sure he gets to the tower okay. Don’t be the one whose personally responsible for giving Tony Stark a heart attack if anything bad happens to Peter.”
Peter. The mystery kid’s name is Peter. David commits it to memory.
“Okay.” David says weakly. Hogan slips out of the room seamlessly, leaving David to stare after him in absolute bewilderment.
-
David doesn’t know what to expect when he pulls into the full parking lot of Midtown High School in the heart of Queens.
He waits in the driver's seat tensely, knuckles tight on the warm steering wheel. His feet are vibrating against the floor of the car, knees bouncing in his waiting. He’s been trying to make sense of how and why his entire job seems to hinge on getting Peter to the tower without incident all day, but he’s found nothing.
The bells rings, and he sits up straighter in his seat. There are teenagers pouring out of the doors almost immediately. Some of them are running to their cars, eager to be free, while others walk leisurely to their buses, hands gripping the straps of their full backpacks.
David nearly flinches when he hears the back door open. He glances at the figure sliding into the backseat. The kid (Peter, he assumes) isn’t what he expected. It’s a teenage boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen at the most, with wild brown curls and big, doe eyes. He’s wearing a thick hoodie with the Stark Industries logo on it, a worn backpack sliding from his shoulders to his lap as he settles into the seat. He meets David’s eyes in the mirror.
“Hey.” Peter says. “Are you, um, the guy that Happy sent?”
Who else would he be? “Yes.”
The teenager leans forward in his seat a little, gracing him with a small, somewhat awkward smile. “Cool. I’m Peter.”
“David.”
He’s starting to realize why Hogan told him to get in and out of the parking lot as quickly as possible. The lineup to get out already stretches across the entire lot. He sighs a little, waiting for the kid to lean back and fasten his seatbelt before pulling out.
A wave of thick silence engulfs the car within minutes. Peter doesn’t reach for his phone the second they start to move, like Savannah does these days when he picks her up, instead choosing to fidget with his hands in his lap. Peter’s gaze stays firmly planted on the window, watching the passing buildings become a colorful blur, even though this seems to be a familiar drive, based on Hogan’s careful instructions.
“You’re pretty popular.” David blurts, ten minutes away from the school. He wants to bash his head against the steering wheel at his own awkwardness. Peter’s gaze snaps to his, looking surprised that he’s being spoken to.
“Huh?”
Well, now he has to elaborate. “Uh, you know, you’re the only teenager that I know of that’s driven to Stark Industries by Iron Man’s personal chauffeur.”
The kid gets a little pale, pressing his lips together and looking down to his lap. He shrugs after a moment, smiling a little. “I’m Mr. Stark’s intern. That’s the only reason why.”
“I just didn’t think he’d hire high school kids for internships.”
“It was through the September Foundation. He liked my application.”
It’s a lie. Or, at least, a half-truth. David has a teenager; he knows that half of the things that come out of their mouths are never entirely truthful. He wants to call Peter out, to catch him in the lie and get to the bottom of the real reason why Tony Stark has his own head of security running to Queens to pick up some teenager, but he doesn’t want to do anything to make the kid uncomfortable. It would most certainly make it’s way back to Stark, who would probably order his head on a stick.
David sighs, turning onto the road that Hogan told him is the quickest shortcut to the tower from Queens. It’s a quiet road, especially for New York. He tries to ignore the dread that settles, without warning, deep into his bones, blowing out a sharp breath.
That’s when something slams into the back of the car.
David’s chest strikes the steering wheel as he pitches forward. He hisses in pain when the leather thuds against him, squeezing his eyes shut painfully. The car skids forward, gliding down the street with force and falling just short of slamming into a telephone pole.
His vision blurs dangerously before coming back into focus. There’s a car behind him, a man stumbling out of the driver’s seat and towards them. David suddenly remembers the precious cargo in the backseat that his entire job hinges on.
Peter is speaking before David even looks back to check on him. “Sir? Are you okay?”
He blinks blearily. “Yeah, yes, I’m... fuck, kid, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Panic fills his lungs; this is exactly what Hogan warned him about. The kid doesn’t look hurt, blinking too rapidly and looking mildly dazed.
The man stumbling out of the car gets closer. David opens his own door, casting a glance back at Peter, who settles back against the seat with wide eyes, watching the man through his window. David says, “Stay here.”
David meets the stranger halfway, taking note of the all-black that he’s wrapped in. There’s a baseball cap pulled low over the stranger’s eyes, sunglasses tucked in the small space between. David falters. “Sir, this is Tony Stark’s ve-”
A gun is pressed to his abdomen. “Come with us.”
Two more men are piling out of the car, one of them walking towards Stark’s vehicle and the other opening the back door, waiting for David to be pushed in. David’s blood runs cold, ice water splashing around in his veins. He’s frozen in place, molded to the pavement.
“You don’t want to hurt that kid.” David tries, voice trembling. He swallows, yelping when the man with the gun grabs his elbow and starts to drag him towards the other car, gun pressed painfully against his ribs. “He’s under Tony Stark’s security.”
“You think we don’t know that?” The stranger snorts, shoving him into the backseat roughly. Another man pulls him into a sitting position and starts winding silver tape around his wrists. David’s heart is beating so hard that his ribcage aches.
David can’t see anything from the backseat. He’s too scared to even shift, to breathe too loud. The guy with the gun stays standing by the backseat, gaze shifting between David and whatever is happening outside of the car.
Peter finally comes into view, being half-dragged by a third man. The kid is shoved into the backseat roughly, nearly taking a nosedive right into David’s lap. Oddly enough, he doesn’t look anything comparable to scared. Nervous, maybe, but his face is one of determination. The second man wastes no time bounding Peter’s wrists together, guiding him roughly to sit up cross-legged.
David thinks back on every True Crime TV show he’s ever laid eyes on. Frantically, he takes note of each of their new captors. All of them are dressed the same, watching the road with surgical intensity as the driver peels away from the curb.
“You okay, kid?” David whispers. The man sitting in the back with them elbows him harshly in the ribs. He winces.
“No talking.” Kidnapper Number Two says roughly. Kidnapper Number One glares at him from the mirror, showing off the handgun still tucked into his palm. David quiets, shrinking back, but sees the kid nod almost imperceptibly out of the corner of his eye.
The drive lasts a million years. No one says a word. Peter stays perfectly quiet, chewing on his lower lip and eyes darting back and forth between their three captors. David spends the whole time feeling like he’s about to pass out, sweat sliding down the back of his neck and leaving the collar of his suit soaked. His bound hands are trembling, nearly sliding out of the tape with how soaked they are.
If these men don’t kill David, Tony Stark most certainly will.
After what feels like hours, the car finally stops. David risks a peek out of the window, being greeted with what looks like nothing except for miles of rural farmland, save for the rickety shack in front of them. Great, they’re going to probably beat them half to death in an abandoned farmhouse. This is exactly the way David always planned on going.
Kidnapper Number Two rips open the back door while One and Three slide out of their seats. David holds his breath as he’s pulled to his feet, legs numb from the long drive. They have to be at least a couple hours outside of the city.
“Please,” He tries as One points the gun at him and the kid, who is similarly being thrown out of the vehicle. “I- I have a daughter.”
“When we get inside, someone’s gagging him.” Three sighs, rounding the car and starting to walk inside, leaving his friends to do the dirty work. He shoves David forward by the shoulder. “Come on. Get going. You better home Stark likes the kid enough to pay a pretty penny.”
He stumbles forward, shoes dragging against the grass, hands splayed in surrender. He says a prayer in his head that Stark will pay the obvious ransom money, that he’ll get to see Savannah again, but he’s pulled from his thoughts by a tearing sound and a thump.
David turns and watches Peter, now free from the tape in a matter of seconds, snatching the gun out of Kidnapper Number One’s hands with lightning-fast reflexes. “Hey!”
Peter shoots One in the foot.
The now defenseless man howls, crumpling to the dirt. In one swift movement, the kid crushes the gun in his bare hands, leaving a mess of metal and powder over his palms. Kidnapper Number Two advances on Peter, and the kid responds by throwing his wrist out. A fucking web flies from his wrist, landing on the chest of his attacker. He flicks his hand, throwing Kidnapper Number Two into the car head-first. The window cracks with the force as he goes down, unconscious, right beside his still howling partner.
David feels his own jaw drop, perfectly still in the grass. He catches Peter’s eye for a single heartbeat before the kid’s gaze finds Kidnapper Number Three, who is standing on the stairs of the farmhouse, looking horrified.
“Spider-Man?” The man breathes.
“Hey,” Peter responds, shooting out another web that attaches to the man’s leg. He flings him forward, too, tossing him aside like a piece of garbage. Three topples down the stairs, face-planting into the grass. Peter shoots out two more webs, attaching his feet to the stairs. “It’s always nice to meet a fan.”
“Ah! Oh, my fucking God, shit, shit, holy fuck-” Kidnapper Number One is rolling around in the grass, holding his injured foot. His baseball cap has slipped from his head, lying a few feet away in the dirt. “You little fucker-”
Peter covers the man’s mouth with a web before he can spew any more insults.
In the silence, David can only stare.
“Are you okay, sir?” The kid asks, ever cordial, even after he just beat up three strangers in front of him with a practiced ease.
David swallows, throat clicking. “You’re... you’re Spider-Man?”
Peter’s face falls further. He doesn’t respond verbally, instead opening the passenger door and fishing one of their cellphones out of the glove compartment. David doesn’t move from his place a couple yards away from the teenager as Peter rapidly types a number into the keypad, holding the phone to his ear.
Whoever he calls answers quickly, because it couldn’t have rung more than once before Peter is saying simply, “It’s Peter.”
The conversation is oddly short. David can only hear Peter’s side, but he’s almost positive that he’s talking to either Stark or Hogan.
“I don’t know. A farm, I think. You’ll need to track the phone.”
“These guys tried to kidnap us. I beat them up. They know about Spider-Man. David does, too.”
“The bodyguard?”
“No, I’m okay.”
“I’m not lying, Mr. Stark, I promise. You can drag me to the MedBay all you want.”
Peter hangs up after a few minutes, throwing the phone back into the car. Kidnapper Number One seems to have passed out from the pain, completely silent in the dirt. The kid smiles a little at David. “Mr. Stark is on his way. He’s in the suit, so he’ll probably be here in a few minutes.”
David nods mutely, hands still bound in front of him. Peter frowns and takes a step forward, ripping the tape away quickly and muttering an apology when it peels against his skin. He steps backwards and clears his throat.
The sound of Iron Man’s thrusters rings out in the distance. David takes his first full breath since he was pushed into the back of the car.
-
Five days later, David is asked back to conference room seven for the second time.
Tony Stark is there waiting for him, dressed in an immaculate suit and sitting leisurely in the chair at the head of the table. His calmness is a stark difference to how he was when he got to the farmhouse last week, frantic in a way that was achingly familiar to David.
(“Oh, God, Pete, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Tony runs his hands up and down Peter’s arms, feeling for injuries. “Did they hurt you?”
“No, Mr. Stark, I’m okay.” The kid promises. He glances over at David, briefly. “We’re both okay. They only pulled a gun.”
“Only pulled a gun.” Tony repeats flatly.
Peter laughs a little, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and resting his chin on the older man’s shoulder in an embrace. Tony still looks terrified, hands trembling where they’re wrapped around the kid’s back. “I can handle myself, you know.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Tony breathes, closing his eyes).
In the past few days, David has come to realize that the reason Stark’s terror was so familiar is because he experiences the same thing with Savannah every day. Just a couple of months ago, he nearly gave himself a heart attack when her mother called to tell him that she snuck out to a party and never came home. When she did show up at nearly eight in the morning, David yelled until he was blue in the face and the chest palpitations came back with a vengeance.
Peter is Tony Stark’s kid, whether they know it or not.
“Sit down, Davey.” Tony greets him as if they’re old friends. David slides into the chair across from him, folding his hands over the table nervously. “Chugging lots of coffee, recently?”
“Uh, yeah, yes.” He nods. He’s been terrified since everything went down, because a random civilian discovering Spider-Man's identity, surely, can’t be good for said superhero. There’s no limit to what a good parent will do for their child, and if Tony Stark is really a parent, David is in the firing line.
“Good.” Stark says, then wastes no time sliding a stack of pristine papers over to him. “Listen, I’m not going to mince any words. You need to sign these.”
David stares at the papers like they’re going to jump up and bite him. “I... I don’t... what are the, uh, papers, exactly?”
“An NDA. Non-Disclosure Agreement.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I know that Pete did what he needed to do, but we can’t have you blabbing about Spider-Man being a teenage boy. This just says that you’re getting sued to kingdom come if you say anything, by yours truly.”
David clears his throat, eyes darting rapidly over the papers. Honestly, this is the best-case-scenario. Signing some papers is a hell of a lot nicer than what he thought was going to happen, which was getting an Iron Man repulsor shoved to his forehead before he can even take a step into the conference room.
He pulls in a long breath. “Okay.”
Tony nods once, much like Hogan did in this very room. With a shaking hand, David signs the papers, letting himself fully relax for the first time in days. There are a few seconds of thick silence as David leans back in his chair, before the door is being pushed open and Peter walks in.
“Oh.” The kid pauses in the doorway. “Sorry, I thought-”
“It’s fine, Pete.” Tony says warmly. He tucks the papers away, out of the teenager’s view. “Just dotting our I’s and crossing our T’s. Did you need anything?”
Peter is playing nervously with the cuffs of his hoodie, carefully avoiding David’s gaze. “Uh, yeah, I just wanted to know if we were still grabbing pizza for dinner.”
Tony stands, tucking his tie into his suit and wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders, like it’s a regular occurrence. It strikes David that it probably is. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss you turning into a human garbage disposal.”
The kid rolls his eyes but smiles, nonetheless. He finally glances at David, waving a little as Tony carefully guides him from the conference room. “Bye.”
Tony looks back at him too, like David is nothing more than an afterthought. “Take care of yourself, Davey.”
The door closes behind them. David is left alone in conference room seven. He wonders if Peter knows how lucky he is to have a pseudo-father (secret biological father? Adoptive? Who knows?) like Tony Stark, if he knows how far Tony will go to protect him.
David hopes he does.