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Maggie wakes Tony up by jumping onto his bed.
“Mags?” he groans, rubbing his eyes.
Maggie bites a corner of his blanket and tugs it back, a rush of cool air sweeping over Tony. Then she leaps to the floor, looking eagerly over her shoulder as she goes to the open door.
“What is happening?” Tony mutters to himself, sitting up. Maggie gives him a little bark, heading out to the hallway.
“Mags?” he calls, standing. “Is Pete ok?”
She doesn’t come back, so Tony follows her out into the hallway and goes towards the kitchen, where she’s standing waiting for him, her tail wagging in excitement. Relaxing slightly, knowing Maggie would never act like that if there was a problem, Tony shuffles into the kitchen.
He blinks a few times upon entering, just to make sure he’s not imagining the large breakfast spread out over the table, a steaming mug of coffee already sitting next to Tony’s plate. On the other side of the table, Peter’s watching him, smiling.
“Pete?”
“Happy Father’s Day, Tony.”
“Oh,” Tony breathes, surprised. He hadn’t even realized Father’s Day was coming up, and he certainly hadn’t expected Peter to do anything for him. Why would he?
“Wow, Petey,” he finally says. “Thank you.”
Peter laughs at Tony’s awkwardness. “Come sit down, before it gets cold.”
Tony does, taking his usual spot right across from Peter. “I didn’t even know you could cook.”
“Pancakes and eggs aren’t exactly difficult, Tony,” Peter says, smirking a little. There’s another moment of silence, and then Maggie comes and plops down by Peter’s feet like she always does, salivating over the bacon, and everything snaps back to normal.
They spend breakfast chatting quietly, Maggie winding between them, her wagging tail hitting Tony’s leg every time she passes.
It would already have been the best Father’s Day Tony’s ever had, even just with that, but then Peter pulls out a wrapped present.
“Oh, buddy, you didn’t have to...” Tony says. He’s never been great at receiving gifts. He much prefers giving them.
“I didn’t,” Peter assures him, grinning. “Maggie did.”
“Oh, ok,” Tony laughs. “If it’s from Maggie, than it’s fine.”
It turns out to be a framed picture of Maggie and Tony asleep on the couch. Maggie’s taking up most of it, sprawled all over Tony, her tongue lolling. It’s hardly the greatest picture ever, but Tony loves it anyway.
“Aw, thank you, Maggie,” he says, reaching down and scratching behind her ears as he winks at Peter.
And then Peter pulls out another small package. Tony turns his attention back to him, still smiling softly.
“This one’s from me,” Peter says quietly. The change in tone makes Tony sober.
Peter passes him a small jewelry box. Tony blinks at it, then carefully lifts the lid.
There’s a folded piece of paper sitting in the box, obscuring whatever else is inside. Glancing up at Peter, who’s chewing on his lip nervously as he watches, Tony unfolds it.
Tony,
Thank you for letting me be a part of your family. Stark is a big name to live up to, but you’ve trusted me with it and I’m honored.
When you adopted me, I didn’t just become a Stark. You became a Parker, even if it’s a little less official.
These cufflinks were my father’s. Now I want you to have them, as the newest member of the Parker family.
Happy Father’s Day.
Love, Peter
Tony sits staring at the note for a moment, the words blurring as tears fill his eyes. He looks up at Peter again, who’s smiling a little. Peter nods at the box, telling him to go ahead.
Tony blinks away the tears, and sets the note aside with shaking fingers, finally looking at the gift. Sitting innocuously on the dark blue fabric are two silver cufflinks, unadorned except for a cursive ‘P’ on each one. They’re the plainest cufflinks Tony would ever possess, and he feels wholly unworthy to even touch them.
Somehow, around the lump in his throat, Tony whispers, “Peter, you should have these.”
When he looks up, Peter’s shaking his head. “Dad and Ben had a matching set. I have Ben’s. I want you to have Dad’s.”
Tony’s still in shock, still absolutely reeling that Peter would give him one of the few things he has left from his dad. His actual dad.
He hasn’t touched the cufflinks yet and Peter seems to notice, ducking his head.
“I know they’re not worth as much as—”
“They’re worth everything,” Tony interrupts, his voice breaking. He holds out his arm to Peter. “Come here.”
Peter stands and makes his way around the table. Tony would stand to hug him, but his legs are feeling surprisingly like jelly, so instead he just tugs Peter’s head down so he can kiss his forehead.
“Thank you, Peter,” he murmurs against Peter’s hairline. “Thank you so much. I love them.”
Peter looks relieved, as if Tony could ever dislike anything Peter gives him. He smiles, lightly squeezing Tony’s hand, then he kneels down, so that they’re more at eye level. Tony blinks, not sure what’s happening.
“Tony,” Peter starts, his cheeks pink. “I just wanted to say...” He trails off, then takes a deep breath. “Ned asked me why, when I address you, I still call you Tony. And I thought that you might have wondered that, too.”
It’s crossed Tony’s mind, once or twice, but Tony’s happy with whatever Peter wants to call him. He opens his mouth to say so, but Peter plows on, giving him a look that says ‘please just let me finish.’
“For so long, the only time I’ve said the word ‘dad’ is when I’m telling people that my dad’s dead.” Peter gives an awkward, breathy chuckle. “But I remember all the things ‘dad’ is supposed to mean, what it’s supposed to feel like when you call someone that.”
Tony’s stomach is clenched in anticipation for wherever this is going, his heart beating fast. He rubs his thumb along the back of Peter’s neck, wordlessly telling him to keep going.
Peter swallows, then plunges on. “That’s what ‘Tony’ means to me, now.”
Tony sucks in a breath, barely able to comprehend what Peter just said.
“It means I’m protected,” Peter continues. “And looked after. That someone’s always there for me, to help me with homework and to patch me up after patrols and to teach me to drive.”
Tony’s eyes are so full of tears he can barely see.
“It means I’m loved,” Peter says, his voice breaking.
The tears finally spill over, dripping down Tony’s cheeks as he cradles Peter’s face in his hands.
“You’re my dad,” Peter whispers. “But if it’s alright, I’m going to keep calling you Tony. Cause ‘Tony’ means you.”
Tony responds by pulling Peter into the tightest hug he can manage. Peter responds immediately, grabbing fistfuls of Tony’s t-shirt and burying his face in Tony’s shoulder, smearing his own tears against Tony’s neck.
“Of course it’s alright, baby,” Tony says, his voice thick. He sniffs at the same time as Peter and they both laugh.
Tony rests his hand on the back of Peter’s head, lacing his fingers through his curls. “Gosh, I love you, kid.”
“Love you, too,” Peter mumbles. They stay there for another long minute before Peter pulls away, pressing a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek as he does, making Tony’s heart twist at the innocent affection in the gesture.
Tony wipes at his eyes, his fingers coming away wet. “Geez,” he mutters, laughing. “You’re making me soft, bud. Was all the crying in your plan for the day?”
Peter snorts, brushing away his own tears. “Yep. Step one: make breakfast. Step two: set the table. Step three: make Tony cry.”
Tony hums, reaching out and fixing one of Peter’s curls that’s sticking up. “What’s step four?”
“Take Maggie to the park?” Peter suggests. Tony smiles, soft and warm.
“Sounds perfect.”