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Peter was standing stock still in the living room. The window just a few paces behind him was open, every now and then a splatter of raindrops were blown in by the wind.
Tony had been alerted by FRIDAY that he had arrived a few minutes ago. "Peter?"
The boy continued to stare at the floor. Still and quiet, his chest was rising and falling so slowly.
Tony stepped closer carefully. It wasn't the first time he had seen Peter like this and he knew that it wouldn't be the last time either.
Abrupt movements and loud sounds were the last things Peter needed right now.
"I'm going to touch you now, okay?" Tony waited for Peter to give a small slightly delayed jerk of a nod.
Tony laid a gentle hand on Peter's suit. This close, he could see the dark red staining Peter's gloves and chest.
Tony carefully led Peter into his room, he could have sighed in relief when a hair of tension seeped out of his kid.
"I'm going to grab you a change of clothes, okay, bambino?" Tony carefully removed Peter's mask. Resisting the urge to flinch at the red splatter on his face and grime in his hair.
He must have lost his mask or taken it off temporarily. Tony was split between wanting to know what happened and not ever wanting to find out for his own peace of mind.
Tony left him in the bathroom for less than a minute, already having a spare change of clothes close by for Peter. This wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last.
Peter was standing in the same position that Tony left him. Something like dread settled heavy in his gut and Tony did his best not to show it.
"I'm going to run a bath for you."
Peter gave no response. Not even a blink or shrug or nod.
"Peter?" Tony tried again, his hand hovering over Peter's shoulder.
"It's not mine."
"What's not yours, Roos?" Tony already knew the answer.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut and took in a slow breath before shaking his head. "I'm sorry," His voice cracked and if Tony wasn't standing so close he was certain he would have missed it.
"Peter," Tony tilted Peter so that he was looking at him, "Let's not worry about that right now. Okay?"
Peter slowly opened his eyes.
"Let's just focus on getting you cleaned up. Is a bath okay?"
Peter gave a small nod. Tony waited for another second before pulling away, gently squeezing Peter's shoulder, to start the bath.
"Don't you think I'm too old for bubbles?"
It was the same question as every time.
"I think that you're too old to be speaking nonsense like that."
Tony knew what it was. It was a request, a silent plea for something familiar. For something to take his mind off of whatever he was remembering or thinking about.
Tony stood from where he had been kneeling by the bath, offering a hand to Peter.
It took Peter a moment to register, but once he did he readily accepted the hand to help steady him as he stepped into the bath.
Once he was sitting down, there was a quiet thunk as Peter's head hit the edge of the bath.
Tony swiped a cup and the shampoo and conditioner while Peter got comfortable.
"So, recently I've run into a bit of an issue with the flying car design." Tony carefully poured the water onto Peter's hair, carefully not to let it fall into Peter's face.
Peter snorted. There were a few seconds of silence before he was able to reply, Tony waited patiently. "People still haven't mastered driving on the ground." The words were stilted and rough, as if it hurt to get them out. "I don't think we're ready to take it to the skies."
Tony gave a short hum as he poured shampoo into his hand. "What if I'm the only one with a flying car?"
Peter sighed and slumped further when Tony's hands tangled into his hair. Gently scrubbing and lightly scratching the boy's scalp. "I maintain my previous statement."
"You're so rude. I'm an excellent driver." Tony glanced at Peter's face. His jaw had finally unclenched and his eyes weren't screwed shut.
"The ticket you got for running that stop sign says otherwise."
"I swear that used to be a yield."
"I only said it was a stop sign five different times, only growing increasingly louder each time." Peter's speech was still slow but it was getting more relaxed and clear.
Tony let out an exaggerated sigh as he brushed the soapy, wet curls off of Peter's forehead. "Well, at least you weren't in the mask."
"I don't know how that's relevant." Tony hoped he wasn't imagining Peter leaning into it.
"I will intentionally get soap in your eye if you don't let this topic drop."
"You brought it up not me."
"No, I brought up flying cars. You're the one who decided to bring up my past failures and mistakes." Tony tapped Peter's head.
"I was simply providing you with an example to better help you understand why I think you're not ready to fly a car in the sky."
"I can only fly a suit of armor in the sky." Tony hoped the relief he felt at hearing Peter snark and sass again didn't bleed into his voice too much.
"FRIDAY does the hard stuff." Peter drummed his fingers on the edge of the tub. "You know what would make this bath perfect?"
"A scented candle for you to complain about?"
Something that had actually happened. Peter had begged for a lavender scented candle only to promptly complain the second he smelt it. "I forgot! I hate the smell of lavender!"£
"Some of that leftover turkey."
Tony didn't even glance at Peter's face, he knew the expression that Peter had on. That hopeful, wide eyed look that he knew would get him what he wanted.
"Can we watch Star Wars?" "Can I see if the Iron Man gauntlet can roast a marshmallow? For scientific purposes?"
Tony had only ever managed to say no once. "Where do you think I'm going to find a dog on a jet ski?"
"Florida."
"No."
Peter whined. "Why not?"
"I'll make you a turkey sandwich later." Tony dunked his hands in the water to get the soap off.
"Hey!" Peter twisted his head. "Get your own bath!"
Tony rolled his eyes. "This is my bath! This is my tower!"
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair! Oh my God, Tony, you're basically Rapunzel."
"I assure you I am not."
"You're an artist, you have a robot which is almost a chameleon-"
"It's not and what I do is not art."
"-And you're going gray which is close to blonde."
"Dangerous thing to say to someone who knows where you sleep."
Peter paused in his cross-examination. "Oh, yeah? What're you gonna do? Put hot sauce on my fingers?"
"I was leaning more towards giving you a buzz cut but yeah, I could do the hot sauce too. What's your preference, tabasco or cholula?"
Peter waved his hand. "Surprise me. Anyway, and you never leave your tower. So, yes, Rapunzel."
"I do, too, leave my tower!"
"Yeah, to come and harass me."
"Forcing you to go home after you pulled your stitches and began to bleed again is not harassment." Tony tugged at Peter's hair.
"Now who's bringing up people's past poor decisions?"
If Tony was a better man he would have let that comment slide. Instead, he poured the water over Peter's head to wash the shampoo away.
And if some ran down Peter's face and got into his eye, well, Peter couldn't prove that he did it on purpose.
"Oh, you're fine," Tony murmured as he poured the conditioner into his hand.
"YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!"
"It's just a little shampoo, Bambino, don't be so dramatic." The conditioner was in Peter's hair as well as it was going to be. At this point Tony was more playing with Peter's hair than doing anything productive.
"I would never do that to you."
"You'd only try to break my leg."
"I was not trying to break your leg, I was helping you stretch. A very important part of recovery."
"I was screaming."
"You were screaming before I even touched you."
"That's because I knew you were going to do something like that."
"It helped, though. Didn't it?"
Tony responded with a noncommittal hum. It had helped but he couldn't ever admit that.
Peter tilted his head back to lock eyes with Tony. "I'm so lucky to have you in my life."
Tony slipped his hands out of his kids' hair, dunking them in the water before brushing a few strands out of Peter's face. He elected not to mention or acknowledge the wetness in Peter's eyes.
"I think I'm the lucky one, kiddo."
Peter swallowed and averted his gaze, his lips pressed in a firm line.
Tony replaced his hands in Peter's hair, noticing the tension in Peter's figure returning.
Seconds before Tony said something about Peter's hair length to distract him, Peter spoke.
"I'm not sorry that I did it."
Tony continued to card his fingers through Peter's hair.
Peter leaned forwards, pulling away from Tony's touch. Casting a regretful look back at Tony, "I'm just sorry that you're friends with a monster."
"Don't be." Tony placed his hands on Peter's shoulders to coax him back down into relaxing. "Because I'm not."
Peter considered the response before he allowed Tony to push him back down. Staying quiet as Tony began to rinse the conditioner out of his hair.
There was nothing but the sound of water for a few minutes, at least for Tony. Peter was probably hearing a lot more.
"He hurt children."
Tony's hand stilled for a moment before resuming his task of brushing through Peter's hair. Just to make sure there were no tangles, it was too bad the brush was just so far out of reach.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Tony already knew the answer.
Peter let out a shaky laugh, one that lacked any kind of humor or lightheartedness. "I don't think I could even if I wanted to."
Tony pressed his lips together for a moment. "Well, I'm here. If you ever do want to talk about it." Same offer everytime. Peter had never taken him up on it, though.
Tony didn't blink when Peter grabbed his wrist. "I know and it means a lot."
"You're being awfully sappy tonight. Should I be worried?"
Peter's smile was small and wobbly. "I just- thank you."
Tony felt his brows furrow. "Hey, there's no need to thank me."
Peter closed his eyes and took in a stuttered breath.
"Peter," Tony moved so that he was no longer behind his head.
Peter held up a hand as he swallowed, shielding his face. "I'm sorry."
Tony grabbed the hand, slowly pulling it away. Soothingly swiping his thumb back and forth across the back of his kid's hand.
"I don't know why," Peter choked on a sob. "I can't keep it together."
"It's just us, Peter." Tony squeezed Peter's hand. "You don't have to keep it together."
Peter's face crumpled and with the hand that Tony wasn't holding covered his mouth as he cried.
Tony didn't say much, he already knew what he said would only overwhelm and overstimulate his kid. Instead of offering verbal support, he held his hand and waited.
By the time Peter's sobs slowed to sniffles, the water had gone cold.
"Let's get you washed off and into some clothes, Tesoro." Tony helped heft Peter up. "Should definitely get some food for yourself, too."
Peter waved him off, still sniffling. "I'll be okay. When I come in there I expect a turkey sandwich and some mac and cheese."
Tony flicked Peter on the forehead. "Don't slip."
Peter threw up his hands with an exasperated groan. "One time!"
"One time too many, kid." Tony looked over Peter's face for a moment before patting his cheek and leaving to the kitchen.
.
Peter was still drying off his hair when he wandered in.
"You know, I still don't understand how you even managed to slip. Aren't you supposed to be sticky?" Tony pointed an accusatory butterknife at him.
Peter rolled his eyes as he plopped onto one of the barstools. Shoveling mac and cheese into his mouth at an alarming rate. "Not my fault."
"I want to say that it is just because you said that." Tony took a bite of his own mac and cheese. "I wasn't suspicious until just now."
Peter flipped him the bird with the hand that wasn't holding the sandwich.
His kid still looked tired, his face was still red and his eyes were swollen. It wasn't shocking or surprising, but it made his chest tight nonetheless.
Tony took a seat next to Peter.
They stayed like that long after the two finished their food. Peter finished first, despite having more than Tony did.
Tony didn't move away or even jolt when Peter leaned against him. He simply wrapped an arm around Peter and pulled him close.
"You're a good dad."
Tony pressed a kiss to the top of Peter's head. "It's not hard to be with a kid as good as you."
"You know," Peter's breath hitched, "I really do mean it when I say I appreciate you."
Tony leaned into Peter, blinking away the stinging burn in his eyes. "I know, tesoro."
Peter wrapped his own arms around him, nosing into his chest. "Can we move this to a bed or couch?"
Tony huffed but pulled back to stand up. "Thought you'd never ask."
-
Tony huffed and shifted on the bed. "I'm not a dog. Quit petting me."
He didn't have to look at Peter to know that he was rolling his eyes. "If you don't want me to pet you, then you should get me a dog."
"For the last time, Parker. No, you cannot put a dog on a jet ski." Most of the words were spoken into the pillow Tony had his face still mostly shoved in.
"Always assuming the worst in me." Peter pulled at the blanket, just because he knew it would get a reaction.
"'M not assuming." Tony waved a hand, narrowing avoiding hitting Peter in the nose. "You have doodles and drawings everywhere in your notebook of a dog on a jet ski. So forgive me for being nervous."
"...That was private."
"You showed them to me." Tony pulled the blanket closer to him.
Peter huffled and snuggled back closer to Tony. Tony forced his eyes open to look at him. His eyes were slightly watery and his face was slightly red.
"Why didn't you wake me up?" Tony pushed himself up slightly with one hand, the other going to Peter's face.
Peter just shook his head from where he was laying flat on his back and nudged him back down onto his side. "Because I'm fine."
Tony pulled Peter closer to him. "Crying people usually aren't fine."
"Well, I'm not crying anymore." Peter's hand tangled back into his hair.
"Wake me up next time." Tony pressed a kiss to the side of his kid's head.
Peter responded with a noncommittal hum, running his fingers through Tony's hair. "My neighbors had this cat."
Tony made a small noise to show he was listening.
"She had beautiful fur, I don't know what breed she was but she was adorable. She was supposed to be an inside cat, but she always managed to find a way out." Peter's hand paused. "Sometimes when things got too much, I'd just sit and pet her."
"And that's why you, Peter Parker, think I should get you a cat, right?"
Peter's laugh startled both of them for a brief moment.
Tony was halfway back to sleep when Peter's hand continued to run through it. "Do you want me to stop?"
It took longer to process the question than it did to come up with the answer. Tony gave a small shrug, "It's fine, kid."
Peter resumed his petting. "Aunt May used to let me braid her hair. I wasn't very good, but she still let me."
Tony felt more than heard Peter's heart begin to slow to a more acceptable pace.
"Goodnight, dad."
"Night, kid." Tony mumbled before finally falling asleep.
-
When Tony woke up and stumbled into the kitchen, there was a fresh pot of coffee waiting along with a note on the oven door.
I made blueberry muffins - no streusel topping.
Tony rubbed his eyes as he sat down, sipping (gulping) at his coffee. He clicked the link to the news article that Peter had sent him. Skimming through the words.
'Man found--54 files of--on his computer'
Tony's lips pressed into a firm line, setting down his coffee momentarily to send a message to his kid.
Good fucking riddance
Tony set his phone back down and picked up his coffee again.
Now, what was Peter's favorite kind of cat?