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It's a peaceful Friday evening and not much is happening. Tony's honestly having a pretty good night, just taking time off of work and watching TV.
That's when Peter walks in.
When Peter gets home he throws his bag on the ground by the kitchen, rather aggressively which catches Tony's attention. The older genius watches as his son kicks his shoes off and throws his jacket on the ground. He rubs his eyes as he walks over to where Tony is and lays on the couch, slumping forward to wrap his arms around Tony and pressing his face into his fathers stomach. Peter breathes out a puff of air, seeming to relax.
Tony wraps one arm around Peters back while the other one goes to his kids hair. He lightly scratches his scalp, starting to mess Peters hair a little. "Hey, buddy, you alright?"
Peter shakes his head, mumbling into his dads shirt. "Not-Not really. T'was a long day. A long week."
"Stressful?" Tony whispers, earning a nod from his son, he brushes Peters curls back, now able to see his face. "Oh, baby, it's okay." He wipes at the few stray tears that are there. "I'm sorry it was stressful."
"S'okay, Dad. 'S'not your fault." Peters brown eyes blink a few times before he continues. "I just wish that summer didn't end. I miss hanging out with my family all day."
"I know you do, miele." Tony sighs. They stay quiet for a few minutes before the billionaire decides to speak again. "Do you want me to make you some pasta fagioli al forno?" Peter raises an eyebrow at Tony which makes Tony laugh. "Trust me, it's good."
"'Kay." Peter says before yawning.
Tony pushes himself off the couch and claps his hands together. "Okay, come on, Pete."
Peter watches in annoyance as his father happily walks into the kitchen, obviously starting to get things ready for dinner. He rolls his eyes before finally forcing himself up. He follows after Tony and sits at one of the stools, slumping his cheek in his hand. Peter then reaches his left hand up to wipe his face with the back of it.
He watches for a few moments as Tony starts reading instructions before he speaks. "Do I gotta help?" Peter whispers, which makes Tony glance up at him.
Tony seems to consider his question for a moment before looking back down. "Nope, all you have to do is eat what I make."
"Okay." Peter half smiles. "Th-Thanks, Dad."
"You don't have to thank me for feeding you." Tony says, starting to pull out utensils and letting them clatter against the marble counter.
"Yeah, I do."
"Whatever you say, kiddo." Tony says this as he begins to pull out ingredients including, uncooked pasta, plum tomatoes, an onion, a couple carrots, some celery, garlic-- he pauses. "Hmm, guess we'll have to find away around this ingredient." He tosses the garlic back before continuing. He pulls out oregano, tomato paste, salt, pepper, dried basil, red pepper flakes and many more things.
Peter watches as Tony cooks, muttering some things to himself every once an a while, like an actor reciting a script and trying to remember what he says next. It all mostly seems natural, which is crazy to the boy. Tony's usually awful at cooking, but when it comes to Italian food he's a mastermind, pretty much a pro. It's just different for some reason, Peters never asked why. But it's all just like a habit, every little thing he does.
"Hey, Dad?"
Tony's eyes flicker up to Peter and then down to where he's cutting carrots. "Yeah, bubba?"
"Where'd you learn to cook this?" Peter inquires, starting to mindlessly pick lint off of his shirt.
Tony pauses his movements and swallows. He uses the knife to slide over the chopped pieces of vegetable and then grabs an onion. As he starts to chop thin, small pieces, Peter begins to think he's not going to answer. But, then, he does.
"My mom."
Peter looks up form where he was looking at his shirt and surveys Tony's face. He doesn't know why he does it, but it could have something to do with the fact that Tony never ever talks about his mom. Either of his parents really. ". . . oh, th-that's cool."
"She used to make this for me." Tony speaks in a low voice. "It was one of my favourites."
"What was, uh, your favourite?" Peter doesn't want to push Tony too far, but at the same time, he wants to hear about his grandma.
"Whenever I had a bad day," Tony begins. "She would always make me Italian hot chocolate, which is very different than other hot chocolate, by the way."
"Did she just know you had a bad day that day or would you tell her about it?" Now Peter leans on both of his hands, desperately wanting to know more.
Tony starts to stir what he's stirring faster than before. "Sometimes I would tell her, but a lot of the time she would just know."
"Like with you and me?"
"Kinda."
"Kinda?"
Tony stops what he's doing, seeming to think over whether it's a good time to tell Peter something or not. He slides the bowl in front of him over and finally looks back at his sons face. "Sometimes she knew it was a bad day, because she also lived with my dad and she knew . . . how he was."
Peter folds his hands together and then in a quiet voice, he mumbles, ". . . how was he?"
Tony sighs. "He wasn't the best dad out there. He said bad things to me and could get very mad and . . . aggressive and it was just hard." Tony gestures with his hands vaguely. "It's really hard to explain my relationship with him but it wasn't a good one. He was-- well-- he--" Tony rubs a hand across his forehead. "I don't exactly know how to explain how he was."
"Dad . . ." Peter trails off, at this point just thinking out loud. "Did he-- uh, well-- okay, so I don't really want to ask you this . . . I feel like it's personal."
"That's okay, Pete." Tony grabs the bowl and resumes his stirring. "I'll try to answer as normally as my emotional . . . capacities will let me."
"He-He didn't, um, hurt you? D-Did he?"
Tony's movements slow but don't stop as he considers this question. "Well, it depends what you mean by hurt-- I, um, was told that-- well, I wasn't told, I mean, I kind of was because the therapist lady Pepper made me see--"
"You're starting to sound like me." Peter interrupts him, raising an eyebrow.
Tony smiles but it quickly fades when he continues what he was saying. "She told me that from the information she's got is that my dad . . . emotionally and verbally abused me." Tony's brain is screaming at him not to tell Peter this, but he knows that if he comes forward it'll make Peter feel better and hopefully make him realize that if he's ever in a situation like this, that he can confide in his dad. "And I, uh, agree. So, that has really effected the way I make relationships -- according to her -- and probably why it took me so long to get to Pepper and to grow up and to admit that I see you like a son. Sorry about that, kiddo."
Tony isn't paying attention so he doesn't notice Peter jumping out of his seat. He's only aware of it happening when two arms wrap themselves around him unexpectedly. The man smiles and hugs his son back. "What's this for?"
"You're not supposed to apologize for something that isn't your fault, remember?" Peter repeats the same words his dad constantly says to him.
"You're right, kid." Tony runs a hand through the back of his hair. "You know you're the best kid ever, right?"
"Yes."
"You're not supposed to agree with me."
"No time for modesty. Especially since you're right."
"I see you've learned well from me."
"I have."