Chapter Text
It felt good to be sixteen. Or at least Peter thought it would, once he got over the strange feeling that always accompanied his birthday. He kept it together fine on most holidays, or at least he tried to. May had her own traditions, and she did her best to bring in his parents’ too, so that he could feel connected to them. But his birthday was the day he thought the most about his birth parents. This day revolved around the physical act of bringing him into the world, and as much as he knew that day wasn’t what made a parent he was still curious.
The good thing about this birthday, though, was that he had a perfect distraction. Patrolling all night, making sure the city was as crime free as he could make it, that would be his birthday present. He wouldn’t tell himself to go to bed early, or beat himself up about missing some homework. He could swing around and web up bad guys until the itch inside him subsided, until he was so tired he fell into bed without dreaming, without even thinking. And tomorrow would just be a regular day, and all this agonizing would be over.
A shout startled Peter out of his swing and he yanked up on his web, catching himself of the side of a building. He hung there with one hand on the wall, his foot braced against a window to keep him steady, listening. It was only a few seconds before he heard footsteps, and someone yell “hey! Stop!” and Peter was moving again. He launched a short web at the next building so he could swing fast around the corner, tracking where the web’s radius would set him down so he could tangle up the source of the footsteps.
He landed perfectly, rolling forward and shooting two webs at the same time so the mugger’s legs tangled up. Feeling generous, Peter yanked sideways so he would be able to catch himself on his elbow when he fell. “Maybe you should invest in a treadmill,” he said as he jogged up. “You know, if you want to try running.”
The guy spat at him. Peter hopped away from it and cocked his head to the side like he was curious. “Go to hell.”
“You probably shouldn’t steal stuff, man, otherwise I might see you there,” Peter said brightly, and then he reached down and plucked the wallet out of his hand. “I’m going to return this now, but you have a great night.”
Peter walked away from the whole thing almost skipping. The guy whose wallet it was had been so nice, and Peter knew he’d looked cool. Taking the turn that fast, landing in that roll… see, he was already back to normal. Just a few more hours and he’d be ready for a nap before school, and he could tell Ned all about it.
Tony didn’t remember being sixteen. Oh, he was sure he could bring up some memory that happened around that age, maybe getting his first bachelor’s degree or doing something exceptionally stupid with whoever he was calling his friends at that point. But when he really thought about it, there wasn’t any defining feeling about that age in particular. Sixteen had just been another year spent trying to live up to expectations and falling short, every time.
But it didn’t matter. Every year he thought about the same thing, and every year he had to face the fact that there was no boy waiting for him at home so he could blow out his candles with his father. Tony hadn’t celebrated a birthday with his son in fourteen years.
Pepper, when she was in charge of his schedule, had always asked how he wanted the day. Should she fill it with appointments? Should she cancel everything? Even though he told her to keep his schedule exactly the same, that what would help him was normalcy, he knew she was moving things around and making it easier on him. The long, tedious tasks he usually dreaded would be large parts of his day. There would be no meetings with clients where he had to smile or put on a performance.
But now that she was the CEO (and far above making schedules) it really was just like any other day. It wasn’t exactly easy, but he was managing. Trying to, at least. Every day since Dominic was taken Tony put on a suit of armor, only years later to be replaced by his Mark I suit. He’d become well practiced at wearing around everyone, all the time, but on his son’s birthday it was just a little bit thinner.
He held it together until Rhodey came over for dinner and he could let the mask slide, just a little bit. There was chili Rhodey’s mom had made that Tony remembered from high school, and Pepper made sure he was eating the salad she’d had delivered because he never got enough vegetables. She’d never met Nico but she’d been there in the years after, knew about as much about him as Tony did, only getting to have him for two years.
“How are you?” she asked, voice gentle.
Tony decided he’d tell her the truth. He could go back to lying tomorrow. “I can’t help imagining him, you know? Sixteen. That’s big. I can’t remember what I was doing at sixteen, but it probably wasn’t anything good.”
Rhodey grimaced. “You were stealing Howard’s scotch and throwing up in your mother’s rosebushes, from what I remember.”
“I know the most likely outcome,” Tony pressed on, determined to be realistic. Or to protect himself from the image in his head of a sixteen-year-old son he didn’t really know. “But it’s like every year I have to remind myself that I’m not looking for a little boy anymore. I don’t even know who I’m looking for.”
“Remember how he used to talk to his stuffed animals before bed?” Rhodey asked. “That he’d protect them if they all got into any bad dreams? I’ll bet if he’s out there he’s still like that.”
It was easy to conjure up the image: round cheeks and curls smushed to one side from lying down while Tony read to him, his pajamas already askew. He would hold up each stuffed animal in turn, a different order every night so they didn’t feel like he was picking favorites, and make sure they knew he’d come get them out of any nightmare. His eyes, big and brown, would be drooping by the time he got to every toy, but he always finished before he fell asleep.
“Yeah,” Tony said, “I remember.” But try as he might, it hurt too much to think of that fierce protectiveness in a teenage Nico.
So he stopped trying, and let himself remember instead. Somehow, he thought as they brought up more things, how he would bargain to get out of bathtime or squeeze grape tomatoes so they popped all over Rhodey’s shirtfront, it was easier this way. Talking about Nico like he would be little forever, like no time had passed. Like he was still at home with the babysitter, waiting for Tony to get home from his business trip.
He wasn’t, of course, and with the end of dinner came that realization. So Tony did what he always did, and he made it through the night. Then he prepared to make it through the next day, and over and over until he found his son.