I'll Do My Best Not To Be My Worst (Starker eventually Tony, Peter, Steve)

Chapter One

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Peter stared nervously down at his shaking hands barely able to contain his growing anxiety. Okay, he could do this. This wouldn’t be that hard, right? In and out, 5 minutes tops. Just don’t get caught. Taking out his camera he let out a shaky sigh. Easier said than done but he had to do this. This could be his big break. This job could get him somewhere and could get May the medication she needed. This job could get him a better job that could actually make enough to help out with the rent. Pulling up the hood of his hoodie he pulled out his phone to check his face. His clothes were dirty, old, and clearly in bad condition. The hoodie was a size too large and smothered him, the cuffs hanging off of his lanky arms. Peter wasn’t well off in regards to money. Making sure his face was successfully hidden he began to approach the building in front of him. At this time the security would be doing their nightly rounds but should be on the other side of the building. If he timed this all correctly he should be able to climb inside, take the pictures, jump out, and have them back to his boss before they got to this side of the tower.

Not giving himself a second to hesitate, Peter began to scale the building ignoring the voice inside of him that screamed to turn around. He should have listened to it. Fishing around in his pocket he pulled out a screwdriver, unscrewing the window in front of him. Peter winced as it fell to the ground with a loud thud. Quickly slipping inside he began to look around cautiously, afraid and shaking. Tony Stark may be Ironman and may have once been his childhood hero, but he could also be a murderer. Originally, he had come here to get pictures of the man drinking, sleeping around, just… just catch the man doing bad things and make a story out of it. The press would love it. But as the week went on, Peter began to notice things. Body bags, bloody clothes in the dumpster, people going missing and last seen with Tony Stark. If this was true, not only would he be getting a pay raise but he’d also be catching a serial killer. Stepping in and out of rooms with shaking hands, Peter began to take pictures of things he found suspicious. Ranging from empty beer bottles to….. womans clothing? The man was known for his many affairs but it honestly disgusted him.

Holding his camera in a fearful deathgrip, Peter made his way down the hall into what looked like a bedroom. He was shaking with fear, watching every corner with apprehension, biting his lip and trying not to cry at the slightest of sounds. God, he was fucking terrified. Shaking his head he tried to push through his anxiety opening the door that led to the next room. Absolute terror replaced any anxiety inside him as he stared at the mess in front of him. Peter looked like he was going to puke, his small frame frozen in place. His mind went into shock as it tried to understand what it was seeing. Peter knew this was a possibility but… did he believe it? It was disgustingly high hopes if anything, he never honestly thought that Tony Stark was a… murderer. Okay, this was real. There was a woman. A dead woman. There was a dead woman in front of him. Laying face down and butchered on the bed. His hands now working on instinct, quivering in fear as they attempted to snap a picture so he could get the fuck out of here. So he could get out of here, turn in the pictures, and never look back. Maybe use the money he got to pay for the therapy he would clearly need.

Managing to shake himself out of his stupor after snapping a few shaky photos, he decided it was time to leave. Glancing at his phone he cursed when he saw the time. Yeah, he needed to leave like ten fucking minutes ago. The security team, at this time, were on their way towards this side of the tower to do a second sweep. And he needed out. He was about to turn and run for the entrance when he was yanked back into a tight grip. A scream left him as his hood was pulled back, revealing curly brown hair and an absolutely terrified yet youthful face. He quivered in the strangers grip every single one of his fears he had been ignoring before coming to life in front of him. He was gonna die. “Fucking move and I’ll rip your tongue right out of your throat.” With the threat came a knife inches in front of his sickly pale face. He wa gonna die and Aunt May would be alone and she would never know what happened to him and oh God he was going to fucking die. “Understand?” Peter was silently crying as an arm wrapped snugly around his neck, the quick nod of his head barely distinguishable from his whole-body sobs. He was praying this was some sort of fucked up lucid nightmare.