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“Do not walk out that door,” Tony snapped.
Peter’s jaw clenched as he scooped his backpack up and kept walking, his back rigid and shoulders squared.
“Peter Benjamin Stark.”
Peter froze. Tony did, too, instantly cursing his own stupidity. He could hear Peter’s ragged breaths from across the room, could see his hand clenching and unclenching around the shoulder strap of his backpack.
Peter turned his head just enough to glance at Tony, his cheeks red, whether with anger or embarrassment, Tony couldn’t tell.
When he saw Tony’s stricken face, he huffed a frustrated breath, turned, and walked out. Tony didn’t stop him this time.
Tony and Peter didn’t fight very often. The closest they really got were whispered arguments about being reckless and self-sacrificing while one or both of them was laid up in a hospital bed. But when they did fight, Peter always calmed down first. He would come find Tony, who was hiding away in guilt-fueled isolated, and they would both apologize, and things would go back to normal.
It had been a week since Peter had stormed out on him, a week since Tony had accidentally called him the wrong name–his name. Stark. Like Peter was his, like he had any claim to him–and Tony hadn’t heard from him at all. May texted him every other day to assure Tony that he wasn’t hurt, but it wasn’t enough to calm him down.
He needed to see the kid.
He needed to be the adult here and go and sort this out before it festered longer than it already had.
The three sharp knocks that he gave on the Parkers’ door echoed in the empty hall. Tony shifted where he stood, rocking on his heels.
When the door opened to reveal May rather than Peter, Tony let out a relieved breath.
“About time, Stark,” she said, and Tony winced. It was both a well deserved reprimand and a reminder of just what made this apology so long in coming. “He’s in his room, unless he crawled out the window when he heard you coming.”
“Right.” He tried to think of something cocky and witty to say, but came up blank and gave up the effort. May wouldn’t be fooled anyway.
He hesitated again before knocking on Peter’s door before remembering that the kid could already hear his breathing and his overly fast heartbeat and finally bit the bullet.
Peter called a quiet “come in,” and Tony opened the door.
The kid was laying on his bed, but he sat up as Tony walked in and shut the door, stooped so he didn’t hit his head on the top bunk.
Tony gestured vaguely at his desk chair and Peter gave him a small shrug, so he sat down, leaning back until it squeaked.
“I, um, came to apologize,” Tony finally said after a long minute of awkward silence and avoiding eye contact.
Peter seemed to deflate. “Yeah, I… I need to, too.”
Tony hummed in disagreement, but carried on anyway. “Listen, I’m sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have… said any of the stuff I did. I’m not trying to make excuses, but when you come to me and say you don’t want to be Spider-Man anymore and won’t tell me why, my mind jumps to the worst possible conclusion and… and I freaked. Cause I was terrified. And I’m sorry.”
“No, no,” Peter said, shaking his head. “You were right, I wasn’t thinking clearly and I shouldn’t have just dropped that on you. I was–” Peter broke off, looking down at his hands. “I was scared, too. That I would fail again.”
Tony sighed heavily, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I noticed you logged some hours in the suit,” Tony murmured.
Peter nodded jerkily. “I listened to what you said–well, shouted.” Tony winced, but Peter’s mouth quirked up in a small smirk. “That wasn’t the solution I wanted, it was… running away.”
Tony had said that, but he was impressed with Peter nonetheless, for listening, for accepting the knowledge of someone who’s lived a lot longer than he has and has the same fear of failing the people that matter most. Like he’d failed Peter, when he’d let his own fear manifest as anger instead of love.
“You’re such a good kid, Pete,” he said, and Peter looked up at him, almost uncertain. “When you feel like things are too much, you just need to say it. I promise I’ll listen.”
Peter nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. Tony clapped him on the knee.
“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
Tony smiled again, but he felt his cheeks heat up as he remembered the second thing he needed to talk to Peter about.
“Um, actually, kid, there’s something else I need to apologize for.”
He could tell from the way Peter blushed that he knew instantly what it was.
“Yeah. That. I, um,” Tony floundered, waving his hand around. “I don’t really know what to say, it just kind of slipped out. I… I know I’m not… that is, I know you’re not a Stark. You’re way too good, for one thing. Not nearly messed up enough. And you don’t have the nose, it’s a very distinct… nose–”
Peter cut him off with a poorly disguised snort. When Tony dared to glance up at him, he was smiling again, that little, uneven half smile.
“It… it has a nice ring to it,” Peter said quietly.
Tony swallowed, forced himself to keep eye contact. “Yeah. It does.”
And for a moment, they looked at each other and allowed themselves to think about a universe where they were Tony and Peter Stark. Father and son.
It would have been a good life, Tony decided.
But so was this one.
“It’s hardly the worst thing someone’s called me, Mr. Stark,” Peter finally whispered, and Tony smiled and nodded.
“Either way, won’t happen again.”
Peter shrugged, like he didn’t care if it did.
Tony stood and ruffled Peter’s hair, then tilted his chin up and looked at him for a second.
“All’s forgiven?” he asked, just to allow himself to linger a little longer.
“Definitely,” Peter assured him, his chin pressing against Tony’s hand as he nodded.
“Alright. See you, Underroos.”
Tony was smiling as he left.
Peter Benjamin Stark.
It did have a nice ring to it.