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Tony knocked on the door to his eleven year old son’s room tentatively.
“Peter?” He asked. “It’s dinnertime. Come to the table, please.”
“Not hungry.” Peter responded, muffled by the inch of solid wood separating them. Tony sighed.
Patience. Patience was key.
“Pete, bud. You gotta eat something.” He reasoned, making a gesture with his hands that Peter couldn’t see.
No response.
Then-
“Is… is Steve gonna be there?” Tony frowned.
“Uh, yeah? He usually eats with us on Wednesdays, along with the rest of the team, you know this.” More silence.
“Can you- can you just… bring me some chicken? I don't think I can eat with the rest of you. Please, dad?” Tony exhaled deeply.
Progress. This was progress- slow progress, and this? Yeah, a bit of a setback. But a month ago, Peter wouldn’t even eat. Two months ago-
He didn’t like to think about two months ago.
“Okay. Alright, baby. I’ll bring you some chicken. You want mashed potatoes with it?” He relented, finally, thinking about what Peter’s therapist had said upon their last meeting.
“Yes, please. Thank you.” Reluctantly, Tony drew away from the door. Why was Peter drawing away from him again, and what did it have to do with Steve?
The whole dinner, Tony couldn’t stop thinking about this dilemma. What could Steve have possibly done to set Peter’s alarm bells off, within the last two months? He knew what it couldn’t be- JARVIS had so many protocols set up for that kinda stuff it was almost unnecessary.
Almost.
So it had to be something else. Maybe he’d said something that set him off? They still weren’t fully sure what all of Peter’s triggers were- Einstein was a big one that they’d figured out early on, but besides that, it was touch and go.
“You okay there, Tones?” Rhodey asked, looking concerned. He looked concerned a lot these days. He was, after all, Peter’s godfather. Tony put down his fork with mashed potatoes still impaled on it.
“Yeah, it’s just- nevermind.” Rhodey seemed able to pick up on what Tony was putting down, and left the subject matter alone, though his gaze never really left Tony’s for the rest of the oddly solemn meal. Steve must’ve noticed that he’d been stared at more than usual over the course of the dinner, because immediately after, he confronted him.
“Is there something you need to talk to me about? You were acting weird the whole time we were eating. No joking or talking, just kinda staring at me?” Steve parsed, looking at Tony for an answer that he didn’t have.
“Have you talked to Peter recently?” He said, shifting his weight to his right leg. Steve’s eyes widened.
“Now that I think about it… no? I think he might be avoiding me, to be quite honest.” Tony made a noise of acknowledgment.
“I, uh, yeah. I see. He said he didn’t want to come to dinner when he knew you’d be there. I’m pretty fucking confused, to be honest, and that’s not an emotion I’m used to.” Steve bit his lower lip.
“I wish I could be of more help to you, but I’m on the same page, honestly. I hope you figure it out- tell Peter I said hi if you see him tonight, alright?” Tony nodded, already turning in the direction of his son’s bedroom.
“Will do.”
Tony’s hand was stuck just before the bulk of Peter’s door, fist hovering in the air. Finally, he built up the courage to just-
Knock.
“What is it?” Peter asked. “I left my dishes outside, like usual.” Sure enough, there was some half-eaten chicken on the ground outside Peter’s door. Tony really did worry about the boy’s eating habits- he’d have to bring it up with the therapist. Again.
“Can I come in?” Some shuffling noises.
“Okay. You can come in, dad.” Tony grasped the doorknob and turned it, gently opening the door just enough so he could peek in and survey the scene. Luckily enough, it was much cleaner than it had been a month or so ago, when things had been worse. His legos weren’t spilt all over the floor, and his dirty clothing was in the hamper. It did kinda smell like chicken, though, and Tony popped open a window slightly, just as much as the child lock allowed for, once he entered.
“Can we talk?” He asked, tentatively. “Not about anything serious- just. I have…. questions.”
“About Steve?” Peter said, moving to lay down on his own bed instead of his sitting there on his Starkpad. Tony grasped the device, putting it down on Peter’s side table, before sitting down next to him and running his fingers through Peter’s curls, which were getting quite long after two months without a haircut. “I don’t- it’s so embarrassing. Why I’ve been avoiding him.” He mumbled. Tony shushed him.
“Whatever it is, it’s not embarrassing whatsoever, okay? And we try our best not to keep secrets from each other anymore, alright?”
That wasn’t a rule a year ago, but it certainly was now.
“I just-” Peter stopped, sucking in his cheeks. “He looks- he looks like-”
“Like who?” Tony asked, trying to connect the dots.
“Like Skip.” He whispered, as if it were a curse word. Tony paused in his ministrations.
Oh. Okay. Alright.
That made-
That made a whole lot of sense.
Blonde, blue-eyed, big, strong jaw.
He could… definitely see why that was a problem.
“Oh baby, I’m sorry.” He said, noticing that Peter was now crying. He tucked the boy into his side. “I’m so sorry.”
“I hate this! I hate being so scared of someone I actually really really like and think is cool and stuff! I wish Skip-” He heaved out a breath. “I wish- I wish-”
“Peter. It’s okay, bambino. I’m here. We’ll figure it out, okay?”
Tony didn’t think it was okay. How the hell was Peter supposed to overcome the fact that a family friend, his dad’s close colleague, was so similar to the monster who- who’d- that he could barely look at him?
All he could do was sit there and hold his child, and hold onto the hope that things would get better, as they already had been doing.
One step forward, one step back.