Chapter Text
Part 1
It starts, like most things these days, with Peter.
They’re coming back from a successful dumpster run. Tony’s duffle is filled with four broken laptops, three older flip phones, and one decent looking smartphone. Nothing as good as a Stark Phone. Those don’t exist here. He’s also got a banged up blu-ray player and two extension cords.
Peter spent the better part of two hours breaking through drywall to steal the wiring from the abandoned cash advance store, while Tony made his way through dumpsters. His backpack is stuffed with useful strips of metal. Normally, Tony would be the one to break and enter, but it’s nearing three a.m., and it’s safer for Peter to be inside. Not that Gotham is ever truly safe.
It’s a shithole , Tony thinks.
They’ve slipped back into the Bowery, and despite the time, it’s not empty. The air is heavy, and it smells like piss. Curtains are closed everywhere, but light shines through thin cloth in many windows. He can hear yelling through multiple walls. Some of it sounds angry, some boisterous. Peter can probably hear what’s actually being said.
There’s a fire blazing inside a steel barrel ahead. Three haggard looking men hunch close by, warming their bodies. One is talking, taking swigs from a bottle. The other two are quiet. Maybe listening, maybe not. There’s a fourth person slumped against the nearby wall.
Peter presses closer. Tony feels his fingers curl along the back of his sweatshirt. They feel small. They are small. He’s too young to be out.
He glances behind him. Pete’s face is tucked downwards, eyes glued to the ground. It doesn’t matter. Peter doesn’t need his eyes to know what’s around. His Spider Sense will alert him to any danger.
Tony pulls him closer.
They’ve been here nine weeks. It’s not enough time to get adjusted. Tidal waves of homesickness pulse in all three of them. They all yearn for their old lives, their old bodies. Tony knows it must be hardest on Peter. He was young before. A sweet, gifted teenager, who wanted to save the world.
Now he’s a sweet, gifted ten year old, who’s too smart for the world around him. Too good for this even darker world. Fucking spells and infinity stones, Tony thinks harshly.
They pass by the small group and turn onto their own street. The rundown apartment Tony and Stephen charmed their way into isn’t far. Just four buildings ahead. A crack of lightning cleaves through the sky. A boom of thunder shortly follows.
“Come on,” Tony says. “Let’s move it before we get wet.”
Peter nods. The edge of his navy hood slips down his face to touch his eyebrows. Then he jerks to stop and whips his head to stare across the street.
Tony’s heart bolts into action. “What?”
“Are you okay?” Peter says, voice stretching to reach the other side. He steps into the street.
“Pete?” Tony asks. He pressed his hand onto Peter’s shoulder to stop him from moving.
Peter’s eyes flicker to meet Tony’s. “There’s someone on the steps over there.” He points to the entrance to the pawn shop. The street lights are broken, and the store has no outdoor lighting. The area is dark enough that Tony can only make out blobs. “I can smell blood,” Peter adds in a whisper. “Lots of blood.”
“Pete,” Tony says again. He tugs on Peter’s hoodie and follows up with, “No.”
His lips pull into a thin line. He shrugs off Tony’s hand and jogs across the street. “Shit,” Tony curses. He follows his kid.
“Are you okay?” Peter repeats, louder this time.
The man jerks, his eyes fly open. He’s holding a wadded, red soaked handkerchief against his side. His nose is busted. Sticky blood is drying over his lips and down his chin. One eye is swollen shut. “Get the fuck away from me,” he growls. Tony can see he’s young, probably early twenties, and built like a linebacker. He has an interesting white streak of hair at the peak of his forehead.
Peter sucks in breath, then says, “We can help you.”
The stranger grinds his teeth and slowly restates, “Get the fuck away from me.”
“My dad is a doctor,” Peter says softly. “He can help you.”
The man’s good eye shuffles from Peter to Tony then back to Peter. His nostrils flare and his free hand moves towards an empty gun holster along his hip. When he doesn’t find what he was looking for, he snarls. “Your dad looks like he’s run through the sewers.”
Peter glances at Tony. Tony snorts. He probably does look like that. He can feel the filth on his face and beneath his fingernails. “Umm, not him. My other dad,” Peter says.
Despite the pummeled face, both eyebrows raise in surprise. Openly queer men aren’t a thing around here. Peter continues on. “We live there,” he points to their building. The young man doesn’t say anything. “We can call 911 if you want,” Peter offers. Tony knows they won’t be calling 911. No one in the Bowery wants the police involved. No one can afford an ambulance ride. Peter probably knows that too.
Thunder booms again, and rain starts to fall. Peter crouches closer and reaches out a hand. “Let us help you.” Tony can’t see Peter’s face, but he imagines those big doe eyes. His kid has one hell of a puppy dog face. The injured young man only lasts a few seconds.
Tony tucks his shoulder into the man’s uninjured side and wraps his arm around his back. He gives his bag to Peter. The kid rushes ahead to warn Stephen. The minutes it takes to get to their front door stretch into eternity. Nothing but harsh, panting breaths come from the man.
Stephen is there when they arrive. He’s in the worn gray sweatpants they got from the thrift store and a threadbare t-shirt with a band logo none of them know. Peter is clearing books and electronic parts off their kitchen table by throwing them onto the stovetop. Stephen swoops in to help Tony get the bleeding man onto the flat surface.
“I’m Stephen,” he says, unsmiling. “Peter,” the doctor directs. “Get the med kit.” Peter disappears down the hall to their bathroom. “Tony, wash your hands, then replace his hand with yours.” Tony does as he’s told. The man moans sharply. “What happened?” Stephen asks.
It takes a second for the man to realize Stephen is talking to him. “I was stabbed.” Stephen frowns. It’s pretty obvious that he was stabbed. Then Peter’s back and Stephen asks, “Are you allergic to anything?” He nods no, then goes pale. He squeezes his eyes shut.
Stephen saves him. He injects him with painkillers, cleans his wounds, and stitches him up. He gets an IV flowing, and checks all his other injuries. Peter and Tony follow Stephen’s instructions. They mostly watch. Peter asks questions. The man passes out about ten minutes in. Tony packs all their tech supplies into his duffle and moves it into their bedroom.
Later, the sun is rising, and the young man is in a drugged sleep on their couch. Tony put Peter to bed an hour ago, despite his protest. The boy is sprawled out, completely dead to the world. Both Stephen and Tony are newly showered and drinking at their cleaned kitchen table.
“Remember when we could afford the good stuff,” Tony says. He holds out his glass to Stephen’s to clink.
Stephen chuckles and takes the last sip of his drink. “I miss the good stuff,” he says.
Tony gets up and pulls Stephen into a kiss. “You’re a really good doctor,” he says afterwards.
“I’m the best doctor,” Stephen replies with a grin. He tugs Tony back to his mouth.
It’s still raining hours later when Peter wakes up. They’re in bed. Stephen is dozing, but Tony is working on the coding for the AI he’s building. Peter knocks on their door, then opens it without waiting for an answer.
“We could have been getting it on,” Tony says as soon as Peter steps inside.
Peter’s face goes red, but he says, “I can hear when you’re having sex. It’s why I needed the noise canceling headphones.”
Tony rolls his eyes. He and Stephen try to never have sex when Peter is around. They both know his super senses are always on. Peter crawls onto the bed and tucks himself into Tony’s side.
“Is the guy going to be okay?” he asks.
“I think so,” Tony says. He points his thumb to Stephen. “You got him the best doctor.” Peter smiles, and Tony’s lungs flutter in his chest. That smile is something.
“Thank you,” Peter replies. He cuddles closer. “Can I help you?” He nods towards the coding.
“Sure,” Tony says. “Just until He-Man wakes up.” Peter smiles again. “Or the wizard.” They both glance towards Stephen. Tony pulls the blankets up further along his partner’s body to keep the cold away. Then he settles in to work with Peter.
It’s dinner-time before the healing man comes too. Stephen checked on him half a dozen times throughout the day. Everything seems in order. Tony is supervising as Peter makes Philly cheesesteaks. The scent of sauteed onions is in the air.
They all watch as the man groans softly, touches his bandaged side, and opens his eyes. They dart toward the three of them. The bruised one tries valiantly to keep up with the uninjured one. It doesn’t open more than a slit.
Stephen puts his book down on the table, and Peter shoves his spatula into Tony’s hands and jumps off his stool. “You’re awake!” The kid says enthusiastically. He plops onto the battered coffee table, right in front of the stranger. “I’m Peter.” He gives a little wave.
The man pushes himself up, and Stephen warns, “Be careful. You’ll pop your stitches.”
He nods, then moves slower. “Thank you,” he says. He looks between them and focuses on Stephen. “I didn’t know there was a doctor living here.”
“Do you know everyone who lives in the Bowery?” Tony asks, mouth quirked.
A piece of white hair falls onto the mains face. “I know most of them,” he replies seriously.
“We’re new,” Peter tells him. “I’m Peter,” he says again. “That’s my dad Tony, and my other dad Stephen.” He points them out.
Stephen pours a glass of water and brings it to the man’s lips. “Drink,” he says.
“What’s your name?” Peter asks.
The man wraps his own fingers over the glass and drinks. When he’s done, he says, “Jason.”
Peter grins. “Cool.” Tony rolls his eyes.
So, it starts. Jason is the first, but he isn’t the last. One by one, slowly, people show up. Most of them are from the Bowery or nearby Crime Alley. A few aren’t. Stephen helps them. Peter helps them. Tony builds. He codes. He scavenges for parts and metals.
He works on getting them home.