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Tony is lounging on the leather sofa when one of the many of his cell phones rings from the side table. Concern distorts his features at the familiar number of Peter’s school. He answers the phone praying to a god he doesn’t believe in that his son isn’t once again struggling with bullies. Instead, he is pleasantly surprised and the heart that had been crawling up his throat quickly descends. He is laughing hysterically by the time the phone call ends. He wipes a few stray tears from his face and clears his throat before calling for Peter.
The boy was very likely already working on his homework after being home from school for a total of ten minutes. Nerd. Tony thinks affectionately as he hears a bedroom door creak open from the floor above him. He listens to the pitter patter of little feet and snorts when he hears what sounds like a half trip. He has never met a more clumsy person in all thirty five years of his life which adds both more stress and more humor into his life.
Last year, the duo attended a party reserved for only the richest and somehow Peter managed to wedge his head in between the wooden banisters on the mahogany stairs leading up to the extravagant playroom the host’s children resided in. He was crying and screaming but nothing Tony attempted could release the boy’s head. Eventually Tony gave up and had to pay the host to remove portions of the banisters so that he could free his sniffling and snot covered child. For months Tony had to carry Peter up the stairs to his bedroom. Tony thought it to be a bit unreasonable for his son to be afraid of stairs but he was only six. Besides, Tony didn’t mind that Peter needed him. In fact, the billionaire almost craves helping his son and he takes every chance he can get to do just that.
Suddenly intrusive memories are assaulting him. He remembers one of the few parties he had to attend with his parents. They had warned him to behave and he had been, better than usual even. That was until he made the mistake of calling Howard ‘dad’ in front of a group of other rich businessmen. The sound of the smack rang throughout the house, every head turning to peer at the red faced boy that now had tears streaming down his face. He can remember his father shouting at him for being disrespectful and for crying. He can remember the spit flying from Howard’s mouth and the heads nodding along with the man’s belittling words. He watched his mother walk away without a word. He ran to the bathroom and he could hear his father apologizing profusely for ‘Maria’s kid’ not knowing how to behave. He could hear him say that sometimes he believes Maria gave birth to a girl rather than a boy. Laughter erupted loud enough that he could almost hide his sobs.
Breaking his thought process, Peter comes stumbling down the stairs like a drunk little creature unsure of the world around him. Tony smiles as the moppy haired child trudges his way to the couch.
“Did I wake you?” Tony asks once he catches sight of Peter’s red rimmed eyes and his hunched posture.
Peter softly shakes his head, his hair falling into his face. He rubs his arm and stares down at the wool carpet under his feet.
“What’s wrong, Pete?” Tony questions, worry flooding his systems for the second time in the last five minutes.
Peter slowly gazes up from the carpet and locks his eyes on Tony’s jacket. His feet dig into the carpet and his hands play with the hem of his shirt.
“Bud-” Tony starts, his voice cracking with trepidation. His son never hid things from him or at least that’s what he had always figured. He always felt he had an unnaturally strong relationship with his son. In fact, often times other fathers compliment or jealously long for a relationship akin to theirs. The fathers Tony knows, however, are rich bastards who, much like his own father, never really attempt to have a relationship with their children in the first place.
“Everyone was mean to me today, daddy,” Peter mumbles, finally looking up at his father’s face with glassy eyes.
“What? Who the hel-k was mean to you? Your teacher did not inform me of this-” Tony trails off annoyed and already reaching for the phone he had set down only moments before.
“You talked to my teacher?” Peter asks, his eyes snapping up to his father’s in fear.
Tony is now both irritated and alarmed. Not only did someone hurt his son and his teacher not have the decency to inform him, but Peter also planned to never have his father find out.
“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t have?” Tony challenges, his eyebrows arching as if they were speaking on their own accord and begging Peter to tell the truth.
“What’d she say?” Peter whimpers, withdrawing into himself further. As if Tony will strike him or curse him. As if Tony were Howard.
“She only told me you were having some difficulties with an assignment in class,” Tony admits, lowering his volume with each word. He hates the way his son refuses to look at him.
“I’m assuming that was not the only issue today,” Tony says defeated, hoping more than anything that Peter will just tell him what happened.
“No, it was,” Peter replies, hanging his head even lower to his chest.
Tony just looks up from the couch inquisitively.
“Mrs. June gave us an assignment in class where we had to write about our parents. For one of the questions I had to write your name. I wrote ‘dad’ because that’s what your name is! But everyone just laughed, even Mrs. June. I don’t know why,” Peter begins to sob and the story that had made Tony chuckle minutes ago now has him aching inside.
“Pete-” Tony coos, reaching out to pull his son onto his lap.
“Hey. You’re okay,” Tony continues, holding Peter with one arm and using the other to reach up and wipe the tears from his face.
“I have a confession for you bud. My name really isn't Dad, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to make fun of you. Especially your teacher, whom I will have to personally speak to about professionalism,” Tony states, holding Peter at arm’s length to see how he reacts.
“You lied to me?” Peter asks, sniffling miserably.
“No...no I absolutely did not, nor would I ever. My name’s Tony but just like I call you ‘my son’ you call me ‘your dad’. Do you understand?” Tony never thought of having to explain something like this, but he also never really had to experience that kind of confusion himself. Howard never allowed him to call him ‘dad’. Howard always was and always will be ‘Howard.’
“I guess so,” Peter whispers, gripping his dad’s shirt. Tony can tell by the expression on his face that he’s still lost.
“Come here,” Tony mumbles, holding the small child close to his chest and kissing his dark hair.
“So it’s okay that I call you ‘dad?’” Peter questions, his expression hopeful.
“I would very much so like that Pete,” Tony smiles and rubs his son’s back.
Peter snuggles closer to his dad and is asleep within moments. Tony carefully reaches over him to grab his phone. He snaps the device open and begins to type a strongly worded letter to Peter’s teacher.