A Bird Without Wings (Discontinued)

I get so lonely (when you're away)

Once again, I don't know, and I dont care how the system works.

Just FYI.

Cause pretty much none of this chapter could happen in real life.

The spare room was small, but neat, and there was a distinct smell of lemon/vanilla.

Paisley had led Peter away to change him into pajamas, and only now brought him back, clad in a t-shirt and shorts, patterned with Captain America shields.

He had hated the sight of anything that had to do with his father's creation, but couldn't seem to mind them when paired with his kid.

Tony had already been in a tshirt and jeans when they came, and so decided to sleep in them rather than go home to get something else.

When the door opened, and Peter crept in, followed by Paisley, he had already flopped across the bed, arm over his eyes.

"Mr Stark?" The social worker said hesitantly. "He asked if he could- if he could stay with you tonight. I didn't know if you would be comfortable with that, but he wanted me to ask."

Tony nodded, giving her a grateful smile. "Yeah. That's fine."

"Although maybe-" she glanced at the seven year old, who had been watching them intently. "Maybe talk outside?"

He followed her slowly, frowning when he saw her anxious expression. "Everything okay?"

Her anxious expression deepened. "You know- you do know about his foster home, correct?"

He bit back a growl. "You mean the trash that is Steven Westcott?"

"Yeah." Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't know if you knew. And I had to make sure, as a potential adoptive father. So..."

Tony touched her arm, pulling her gaze. "Thank you. For telling me... and for everything."

There was a relieved tilt to her shoulders now, and she sent a soft smile in the direction of the room where Peter was. "You're a lucky man. That child deserves the world. And I'm inclined to think that you'd give it to him."

When Tony reentered the room, he found Peter curled up on the bed, hugging his knees.

He sank down beside him, wrapping an arm around him, heart sinking as the small boy flinched, then immediately looked horrified at himself, tears welling up.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he signed over and over again.

Tony crouched down in front of him, making sure the brown eyes were fixed on his own. "You don't have to say sorry. I know it's hard for you right now. You don't have to apologize."

At the swift signing, Peter's face crumpled. "He hurt me," he signed weakly. "He hurt me."

Tony shook his head softly, gently touching his hand, relieved when he didn't flinch again. "I know. He was a bad man."

Peter stilled, eyes darting up to meet Tony's. "Like the bad men who took you?"

Tony blinked rapidly, eyes blurring. "Yeah. Like the bad men who took me."

It wasn't as awkward as Tony had expected it to be.

He didn't usually prolong contact with anyone, Peter being the exception, but they hadn't ever done this before.

He shouldn't have worried though.

As soon as the lights were off, he made his way back to the bed, smiling to himself when Peter grabbed his arm to 'help' him find his way back.

Then when he lay on his side, facing the door, Peter curled up next to him, fitting like the missing piece of a puzzle.

Minutes later, he was moving restlessly, trying to get closer, with Tony bewildered as to the problem.

Then he had a cautious epiphany.

Slowly extending his arm, he curled it around Peter's shoulders, smiling when Peter took the opportunity to move into his embrace, head resting against the arc reactor, tiny arms wrapped around Tony in return.

This kid.

But he couldn't say that he really minded.

Not in the least.

Tony woke early, in the still darkness.

Peter was wrapped around his arm, holding it in a tight hug, back to Tony's side.

His calm breathing did wonders for Tony's own, which was erratic.

Nightmares weren't all that common, but he wasn't a stranger.

This one had been the worst.

His memory of being waterboarded, but it was Peter under the water.

And he couldn't get there in time.

His kid had died in front of him, and all he could do was watch.

But it was a dream.

Peter was right there, curled into a ball, tucked against Tony.

So for now, all he could do was hold Peter, and listen to his breathing, because Peter was here, and he was alive.

And that was all he could ask for in that moment.

All too soon, morning light stole in through the curtains.

Beside him Peter began to stir, face scrunching up, and hands rubbing at his eyes.

A quiet sniff broke the air, and Tony rolled over to see that Peter had tears on his cheeks, and was laying perfectly still, hands clenched at his sides.

Tony rested his hand on Peter's back.

Relief jolted through him when Peter opened his eyes, but disappeared when Peter shook his head weakly, gentle sobs shaking his body.

"No Tony-" he choked. "Not here. Not here."

At that, Tony sat up fully, taking Peter's arms, and pulling him into a gentle embrace, smiling sadly when Peter gripped tightly, burying his face in Tony's stomach.

"I'm here." With Peter not seeing him sign, he knew the boy couldn't understand him, but he could feel it, Tony guessed. The vibrations.

"Shh... it's okay. It's okay now. I'm not leaving you again."

Peter sniffled quietly, tiny hands curling into Tony's shirt, wet face pressing against his neck.

It was three weeks later, on Peter's eight birthday, that Tony told him the plan to adopt him.