CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
In This Together

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            TONY STARK—genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, superhero—was not the biggest fan of children. Not because they were little criminal masterminds who hid their evil schemes in coded crayon drawings and alphabet soup, but because they were never a demographic he encountered all that often. Oh, sure, there had been that Keener kid back in 2012, and then he'd kind of kidnapped a fourteen-year-old boy to take to Germany, but those were outliers. Even if, according to Happy, said fourteen-year-old boy (wait, wasn't he fifteen now?), wouldn't stop calling him.

Because of this, it was odd for him to willingly go strolling into an interrogation room where he knew he'd have to interact with another kid. This was what he paid people to do for him, after all. With a wave of his hand and a slight deduction from his bank account, someone else could do the job he had no interest in doing. But when he'd heard that a girl had somehow been involved in the entire weapons trafficking, plane hijacking incident, he'd had to go check it out for himself.

According to the officers he'd spoken to at the front of the police station, Cecelia Olivier had been picked up an hour ago after placing what was meant to be an anonymous call to 9-1-1. In it, she'd claimed that she'd apprehended one of the men responsible for the weapon trafficking organization that had been happening right under their noses. She hadn't mentioned that said man was her uncle.

Even though she'd fled the scene, officers had caught up to her at Central Park, where she'd been sitting by herself in a wrinkled pink-and-silver dress. They'd taken her in—not to arrest her, they'd insisted, but as a key witness. Still, it had been reported that the kid was uncomfortable around law enforcement, likely due to her Native American identity. She'd refused to talk to anyone they'd brought in, and the police were getting desperate.

So here Tony was. As someone who'd saved the world—multiple times, not to toot his own horn—getting a stubborn teenager to speak should be a piece of cake. Maybe she'd be so starstruck by his appearance that she'd blurt out every skeleton in her closet right away. Tony had that kind of charm about him.

However, when he actually stepped into the interrogation room—which really was a bleak place; would it kill them to do a little bit of interior decorating?—the girl's reaction wasn't exactly what he'd been hoping for.

She was sipping from a packet of Tropical Punch Kool-Aid and picking at a chocolate banana muffin when he let the door swing shut behind him. At least they were feeding her; that was good. Her hair was wet, too, so they must have allowed her to wash off in the bathroom. She was still wearing her dress, though, and had rested her flats beside one of the rickety table legs.

At the sound of his footsteps, she looked up. She really was young. Probably Peter's age, with a full, rounded face that hadn't quite lost all of its baby fat yet. Her dark hair tumbled down her shoulders, which were hunched in on themselves. There was a dimness to her eyes that reminded Tony too much of every time he looked in the mirror.

After a moment, though, they darkened with recognition. Tony raised his eyebrows, expecting the opposite. Lighting up. Fireworks. Complete and total amazement. Whatever.

"You're Tony Stark," the girl blurted. Her voice was gravelly, which probably had something to do with the bruises on her throat. Tony didn't want to think about how she'd gotten them.

"That's my name, kid, don't wear it out," Tony responded. Well, at least he was getting further than the police officers had. "You want an autograph? I don't have a pen, and you don't have paper, but I'm sure we could make it work."

"I'll pass." The girl crossed her arms. "Did the cops send you?"

Tony stepped forward and took the empty seat at the table. "Not exactly. I could've sent anyone on my payroll, really. Most likely Happy, my head of security. Though don't let the name fool you—he's grumpier than that guy from A Christmas Story."

"Then why are you here?" The girl frowned, and it twisted her entire face. Though the comfortable way she went about it told Tony it was likely her most common expression.

"Because I needed to see things for myself. And I also put two-and-two together. They don't call me a genius for no reason, kid."

"What?" the girl blinked.

"You ever heard of that vigilante Spider-Man? You know, swings around the city in his underoos, helping little old ladies cross the street. Makes far too many pop culture references."

"Yeah." The girl nodded, looking down at her muffin. "Is, um... is he okay?"

Tony had already known he'd been right about his suspicions—of course, he had—but this only solidified it further. He would have boasted about it if it was the right time to do so. Not that he usually cared about that.

"He's okay," he responded. If he was being honest, the kid had surpassed his expectations. Sure, he'd taken down his plane—which was unfortunate, but something that would barely affect his wallet to repair—but he'd also caught the Vulture and left him all nice and gift wrapped for the police to pick up. There was enough proof that told Tony his trial would be short—he'd probably be sent to Ryker's in a matter of weeks. "He wasn't hurt in his scuffle with the Vulture, if that's what you're wondering."

"Okay." The girl's shoulders actually slumped in relief at that, which was interesting. Tony laced his fingers together and propped up his chin.

"You know, I sort of, kind of, accidentally became that guy's mentor. The Yoda to his Luke Skywalker, if you will." God, the kid was rubbing off on him. "Except I'm a lot cooler than that hairy alien. Anyway, the Spiderling warned me about this little weapons trafficking business he'd become involved in—even when I strictly told him to leave it alone, may I add—and he mentioned that, alongside the flying Vulture guy, he'd been fighting a girl. Called herself Ghost, or something."

The girl's lips twitched, probably with the urge to correct him. Impressively, though, she didn't let anything slip.

"What does that have to do with me?" she asked.

"Hm, I don't know, kid. Why don't you tell me?"

The girl met his gaze, her chin quivering slightly. Tony stared back, unblinking, even when his eyes started to water. He was not going to lose a staring contest to a twelve-year-old.

Eventually, the girl looked away. She hunched back in on herself again, and her expression twisted even further. "I never really wanted to do any of it."

Finally, Tony was getting somewhere. More than the police had, at least. "And what's that?"

"My uncle. He—he didn't go on missions like the Vulture did. He operated from the inside, but he was still a major part of the organization. He was in charge of me. He was—he was my handler, I guess. He was the one who made sure I did what I was supposed to do. And—and... he was the one who punished me if I didn't."

Tony sucked in a breath. He knew a little too much about being controlled by the adults in one's life. About being kept completely at their mercy, your day determined by whether or not they were in a good mood.

It was because of this that he sobered. Instead of continuing to go about this in his typical, casual, wise-cracking way, he forced himself to be serious. Even if he had never been good around kids—especially teenagers, Jesus—he needed to at least try. So, for once, instead of telling others to ask themselves 'What would Tony Stark do?', he asked himself 'What would Pepper do?'

She had always been so much better with children than he was.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Is that how..." he gestured to her neck, then to her shoulder. A tight white bandage had been packed over it, sealing a wound. "Did he...?"

The girl exhaled, then nodded. "Yeah."

Bastard. Tony clenched his teeth.

"He tried to kill me," she added, almost as an afterthought. "Twice. The first time he and the Vulture dropped a building on us. The second time it was just him and me. He tried to strangle me." She looked down at her muffin and broke a piece off. "I didn't think he would do that."

A building? Holy shit. This girl had barely started puberty. Tony actually had to swallow bile before speaking. "It's not your fault."

"I thought... I really thought he loved me. He was nice, sometimes. That was the worst part. He never made me do anything. I did it because I wanted to help him. I did it because he was one of the first people to ever really care."

"It's not your fault," Tony said again. "Jesus, you're a kid. And he was—he was hurting you, to keep you in line. Even if you believed it was out of your free will... well, you were being manipulated. I know a little bit about that, too." He barked out a humourless laugh. The girl tilted her head.

"I realize that now. Well, sort of. It's still so hard to believe..."

"It's gonna take some time, kid. Trust me. These things don't go away overnight. But I can recommend you a therapist, if you want. I've talked to her a few times. She's surprisingly unfazed with all of this Avengers stuff."

She raised her eyebrows. "You see a therapist?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, not lately, but... yeah. You can't fly a nuke through a wormhole or get your house blown up without getting at least a little traumatized. And Banner fell asleep when I tried to talk to him, so... I had to find someone else."

"Why do you want to help me?" the girl asked. Cecelia. Her name was Cecelia. If Tony was going to be all Pepper about this, he might as well remember her name. "I'm—I should be in trouble. I broke the law. I helped—" she closed her eyes, trembling a little, "I helped hurt people."

"Yeah, kid, and you're not the only one. You ever hear of the Sokovia Accords? Of course you did, I'm pretty sure they're now a permanent facet of the high school curriculum. But, um... what happened in Sokovia was... well, it was my fault. I tried to make things better, and what happened was I made them worse.

"But, you know, I'm trying. I don't believe that your mistakes define you. And for you... you're not even an adult yet. Locking you up in some prison for something you were coerced into doing is going to do nothing but hurt you. You deserve a chance to heal, not to be punished."

"Uncle would—" Cecelia began. Tony cut her off.

"Nuh-uh-uh. Stop right there. Your uncle was wrong. What he did to you, you never deserved, do you understand? Punishment like that... it's never the way to fix things. It just makes them worse."

Tears were brimming in her eyes now. "So, what do I do?"

"Well, if you hadn't noticed, I've got a fairly big influence on the world. A lot of money, a lot of fame, you know. I think I might have enough power to convince the police of your case. You had no consensual involvement in your uncle's company; he was forcing you the entire time, under the threat of abuse. You ended up fighting back once, and he tried to kill you. Fortunately, you were able to fend him off. It's a good story, right? And if I'm good enough—and I'm always good enough—I might even be able to get you out of here tonight."

A sob broke free. "I could go home?"

"Yeah, kid. You could go home. And no one would know about your secret identity. The NYPD still doesn't. You were smart enough to change clothes after you left, after all. They picked you up as Cecelia Olivier, not Phantom. And I'll make sure it stays that way."

"Creator." More tears slid down Cecelia's face. "You know, I used to hate you."

Tony shrugged. "A lot of people do. I don't take it personally."

"You're still a billionaire," she added, wiping her cheeks.

"That I am."

"Fuck, you're making it hard to keep hating you."

Language, Cap's voice rang out in Tony's mind. He swept it away, not wanting to open that can of worms.

"So, you know Spider-Man?" he asked instead.

Cecelia nodded. "He saved my life. Then I saved his. He's also shit at keeping his identity secret, so... I figured it out."

"He's a good kid. I think I underestimated him, honestly."

"Are you gonna give him his suit back?"

Tony smirked. "I'm gonna do a lot more than that." He had already started drawing up the schematics for Mark II of the Spider-Man suit. The Iron Spider. It had a good ring to it.

He stood up, ignoring the way his back muscles cracked. God, he was getting old. "Now, kid, sit tight for a few more minutes. I'm just going to sort a few things out. Then you can go home, okay?"

"Okay." Cecelia nodded. "Thank you."

"Don't sweat it, kid. Just hang in there."

When Tony left the room, he did so feeling a little bit better about himself. Oh, he'd made far too many mistakes. Kids were still a mystery. But maybe he could be better for Peter. Maybe he could even be better for Cecelia. And maybe it would serve him well to be a little more like the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

WHEN CECELIA WAS FINALLY permitted to leave the interrogation room—after an indeterminable period of time in which she assumed Tony Stark (which was insane to think about. Tony Stark, Iron Man, the billionaire who Uncle—Richard—so detested, had spoken to her) cleared things up with the police—she came to the front only to find her entire family waiting for her. There were Jules and Eva, the former asleep on the latter's shoulder, mouth open and drooling. There was Alex, still in his Homecoming suit, slumped over with bags under his eyes. There was Dad, rubbing his wife's back.

And there was Mom, sobbing hysterically.

At the sound of her footsteps, all of them—with the exclusion of Jules—looked up. They all had a moment in which they took in the bruises on Cecelia's throat, the bandage around her shoulder, and the ginger way in which she carried herself. Then, all of them sprung out of their seats (causing Jules to topple onto his side) and wrapped their arms around her.

Mom was there first. Tears were streaming down her reddened face, and her blonde hair was a matted mess. She buried her head into her daughter's neck and wept, saying nothing but holding her close. Cecelia, for once, didn't protest this embrace; instead, she hugged her back, feeling a brand-new onset of tears forming in her own eyes.

It was obvious why Mom was so upset. Apparently, when the police had called Cecelia's family, they hadn't told them the full story. They'd only said that Richard Portland had been arrested for weapons trafficking and what was looking like domestic abuse and attempted murder. They'd also mentioned that Cecelia was there, though, so it likely wasn't difficult to put two-and-two together.

What made things worse for Mom, though, was that Richard was her brother. He'd been a few years younger than her, but Cecelia had heard enough stories to know that they'd been close as children. Mom often spoke to him on the phone and invited him over for dinner. She'd been ecstatic when she'd learned that Cecelia was interning with him.

The slightest twinge of guilt went through Cecelia. Richard may have deserved to be taken down—Peter and Tony's words echoed in her mind, reminding her that what he'd done to her was wrong—but she still wished it didn't have to go this way for Mom. She deserved better than to find out that the brother she'd always been attached to was a criminal.

Dad, Eva, and Alex were there, too. Dad's face was screwed up, desperately trying to keep his tears at bay. Alex kept muttering something into Cecelia's shoulder that she couldn't decipher. Eva had started crying, too, hiccupping every few seconds.

"Oh, Lia," Dad said, stroking a hand through her hair. "Oh, my girl. I'm so sorry."

"It's not—it's not your fault," Cecelia said. She'd blamed them before, when Richard had pounded her face in. She'd been so angry at them for not being there that she hadn't realized that there was no way they could've known. Richard was crafty. He was charming everywhere but with Cecelia—sometimes even with Cecelia. He was the type of man you'd never expect to ever go outside the law, which was what made him so perfect for his company. Before tonight, he'd never gotten so much as a speeding ticket.

"I should've known," Mom sobbed, finally speaking up. "I should never have let this happen."

Cecelia closed her eyes. It was easier that way, safe in the arms of her family. She could pretend that she wasn't standing in a police station, but at home, away from every bad thing Richard had ever brought her. Her parents, her siblings... they should've always been enough for her. She had been an idiot to trust Richard at his word.

He was manipulating you, she reminded herself. It was hard to believe that it had been what had happened. She'd always thought she was doing everything of her own volition, when really it had been Richard pulling the strings. He'd even confirmed it back at his apartment. He'd said that she belonged to him.

Tony Stark had taken care of everything, so Cecelia didn't need to even sign her name before being allowed to leave with her family. There were whispers of an upcoming trial—one that would likely occur alongside Toomes'—but Dad assured her that she didn't have to worry about that right now. So, all Cecelia did was use the bathroom, washing her hands for far too long.

When she emerged, she found Alex leaning on the wall outside, waiting for her. His eyes were swollen and rimmed with red, and tear tracks lined his cheeks. It was so wrong, seeing him like this, still dressed up for Homecoming. He should have been happy. He should have had a fun night. He should have gotten to be a normal teenager.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Everything I said about—about Uncle... I never would've said it if I'd known. Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. And the way you just stood there and took it—"

"Stop." Cecelia put her hands over her brother's. He shut his mouth, but more tears began to slide down his face. Creator, everyone was crying, lately. "I tried to keep you out of it because I never... I never wanted you to get hurt. I knew he was hurting me, but... it seemed different, somehow. Like it was... like it was for my own good."

"Cecelia—"

"It wouldn't have been that way for you, though," Cecelia finished. She buried her head in her hands. "I'm sorry. I still don't understand. I was—I was—he..."

"I should've gone after you," Alex cried. "I knew you didn't look well after you got that text, but I thought—I thought... oh, God. Did he threaten you?"

He hadn't—that text had been from Toomes—but Cecelia nodded, anyway. It was easier than telling the whole truth.

"Oh, my God."

"I'm okay," Cecelia reassured him. "He tried to—he tried to take me down, but I stopped him. I stopped him."

"You shouldn't have been alone," Alex said, then pulled her into another hug. "You never should have been alone. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Cecelia just rubbed his back and tried not to start crying again. If she was being honest, a large part of her was still in shock. Everything that had happened tonight had not fully sunk in yet, and she knew when it did, it was going to be painful. Perhaps she would take Tony Stark up on his therapist offer.

The two of them met the rest of their family (including a now awake Jules) at the front doors, and they all piled into the car to head home. It had started to rain, rattling the windows. Somehow, this was a comfort. It was as if the entire world was mourning with her.

During the drive, Cecelia finally pulled out her phone to look at her unread texts. There were even more than there had been before, all clogging up her notifications. A lot of the recent ones were from her parents, presumably right after they'd gotten that call. But there was one from someone she didn't expect.

Liz.

LIZ ALLEN: I just heard about what happened. I'm kind of still processing things right now, but know I don't blame you in the slightest. please text me soon. I want to know if you're alright.

Cecelia texted back immediately.

ME: I'm so sorry. I never wanted to do this to you.

Liz must have been active, for it was only a moment before her response popped up on Cecelia's screen.

LIZ ALLEN: just tell me that you're okay.

ME: I'm not okay right now. I don't want to tell you all of the details of what happened, but my uncle did hurt me. I'm told it'll get better soon, though.

ME: it still doesn't feel real.

LIZ ALLEN: sending you lots of love. we're in this together. it doesn't feel real for me, either.

LIZ ALLEN: I can't believe I never figured it out.

ME: not your fault.

LIZ ALLEN: then believe that it isn't yours, either.

Cecelia couldn't respond to that. Instead, she went to her other texts. There were, of course, a few from Christine. They only served to make the hole in Cecelia's heart ache more, though.

CHRIS: Is everything okay? You left in kind of a hurry.

CHRIS: Can you please come back soon? Ned just ran off, and I don't know why.

CHRIS: Okay, it's been ten minutes. I don't want to assume anything, but last time this happened, you got hurt. Just please come back soon.

CHRIS: I'm getting worried again. Can you pick up the phone? I don't want history to repeat itself.

CHRIS: I'm going home. Ned's still gone, and so are you. Alex says you haven't been picking up his calls, either. Please, even if you just decided to go home early, tell me that you're okay.

CHRIS: Alex just called. He told me what happened. I love you so much.

CHRIS: I hope you know that I'm always here for you.

Cecelia pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, desperately attempting to keep the tears at bay. She'd never wanted it to go like this. She'd never wanted anything like this to happen. All she'd been thinking about when she'd followed Peter tonight was saving his life. She didn't know that it would ruin hers.

When she got home, Cecelia took a long shower, then changed into a fresh pair of pajamas. Dad made her some tea, and she drank it in bed, staring up at her popcorned ceiling. Mom held her hand, trying to keep from sniffling. Eva lay quietly in her own bed, headphones over her ears, occasionally shooting glimpses back at her sister. Every so often, Jules would peek his head into the doorway.

"I'm sorry," Mom kept saying. "I'm so sorry, my girl."

I'm sorry, too, Cecelia thought. She didn't say anything aloud.

Mom eventually fell asleep at Cecelia's bedside, and, judging by the deep, even breaths from across the room, so did Eva. Cecelia, though, was wide-awake, her muscles aching. Every time her eyelids drooped, she shot awake with the feel of Richard's hand on her neck or the echoes of everything he'd said to her. The way he'd looked at her—like she was shit under his heel—was permanently branded into her brain.

In an effort to distract herself, she slipped her headphones and cranked up the My Neighbor Totoro soundtrack. She was only a few songs in, however, before her phone buzzed again.

Given that it was past midnight by now, Cecelia checked her notifications. She hadn't gotten a text. Instead, she'd gotten a message on Instagram.

peter_parker: Check your window!!

The three words threw her off so much that she did what he said. She paused her music, letting her headphones hang around her neck, and picked her way over to her window. Fortunately, it was on her side of the room, which meant she didn't have to get through the obstacle course that was Eva's.

Sure enough, when she reached the glass, she was met with a red-clad figure peering inside. Cecelia rolled her eyes, feeling almost normal, then gestured to Peter to shoo out of the way. He did, shifting a little bit to the left. Cecelia then pushed her face through the glass.

"You know this window doesn't open all the way, right? It's got a bug screen."

"Well, good thing you can bypass all of that," Peter responded. He was standing on the side of the building, completely disregarding gravity, his arms crossed. "Want to go for a ride?"

"No."

"It's just to the roof."

"Well, then, since I doubt you're going to take no for an answer, fine. Bring me up there, Spider-Boy."

"It's Spider-Man. But I guess you know that."

At Peter's instruction, Cecelia slowly slipped out of the window and into his waiting arms. In any other situation, this might have been considered romantic, but right now, she couldn't think of anything but the snarl on Richard's face. It brought a pang to her heart every time.

With only a few swings, Peter brought them to the roof of her apartment. There, he set her down on the edge and sat down beside her.

It took a moment before he spoke. "Are you okay?"

Cecelia swung her legs, relishing the way they kicked out over open air. "As well as you'd expect, Spider-Boy. But I did it."

Peter nodded. "So did I."

"Yeah. I heard you crashed a plane."

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah."

"You know, Tony Stark came to talk to me."

His head whipped around. "What? Really? What did he want?"

Cecelia shrugged. "To help me out. I still don't know why."

"Huh."

"It's because of him that I'll get a relatively normal life after this."

"You deserve it, CeCe."

"Thank you," Cecelia said quietly. "For everything. I honestly don't know why you ever decided to trust me."

Now it was Peter's turn to shrug. "I told you. My spider sense said you were no longer a threat."

Cecelia looked down at her knees. "I'm still not entirely convinced it's not taking a nap."

"It's not."

"Whatever you say, Peter."

Peter took off his mask, revealing a slightly swollen face. Despite this, he smiled and moved closer to Cecelia. She ignored the way her heart fluttered at that. "You were never going to be the villain of this story, CeCe. I promise."

For some reason, that was all Cecelia needed to hear.

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HAVEN: this chapter is for sure one of my favourites in act one. tony pov??? olivier family content?? liz being the sweetest girl ever (canon)??? PETER TELLING CECELIA SHE'D NEVER BE THE VILLAIN????? GOD this is the shit i live for.

(also the next one, but you'll have to keep an eye out for that).

only one chapter of act one now! i hope you're ready for what's to come :))

thanks for reading!! <333