Chapter Text
Tony jerked awake, the sound of his heart thumping wildly in his ears.
A few gasping breaths anchored him back to real life.
He was at home. Peter was safe.
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
Peter—
Tony stumbled out of bed, breaths uneven as his feet carried him to his son’s room. He deftly avoided the Lego pieces strewn across the floor (something he’d learned to do very early on) as he approached the unruly mass of curls.
He blinked the sleep from his eyes, focusing on the soft coils of Peter’s hair, the slope of his tiny nose, and his lips that were a carbon copy of his own. Peter’s quiet breathing filled the room, and Tony copied his steady rhythm of inhaling and exhaling.
The room was softly illuminated by the projection on the ceiling, little spheroids of plasma twinkling incessantly as his son slept.
It had been tricky to get the projection to mimic luminosity that was proportional to the real thing, but he managed in the end. The way Peter’s face had lit up when he first saw the ceiling had rivaled the radiative powers of the sun, and Tony's heart squeezed so tightly he could’ve sworn he was going into cardiac arrest.
He felt the last dregs of his nightmare slipping away, his heart slowing to a normal rate. His hand reached out to card his fingers through Peter’s soft hair.
He watched the little sighs Peter made with every breath, eyelashes brushing against his baby cheeks.
Cherub baby, Tony thought, his brain intrusively supplying a fresco of a slightly creepy cherub who looked suspiciously like his son, complete with Apple red cheeks, wings and all. He wondered if Pepper could get one commissioned and installed in the living room ceiling.
Although these days, Peter was three going on thirteen, looking less Cherubic and more like a big boy, Daddy!
At some point in the night, Peter had kicked his pillow off his bed. Rory, his plush pterodactyl, was still firmly lodged against his chest despite Peter being a wiggly sleeper, a phenomenon that continued to puzzle Tony every night.
Peter shifted, strangling Rory as his leg shot out, dangling over the side of the bed.
“What are you dreaming about, Petey?” Tony murmured, running a thumb up and down the spot between Peter’s eyebrows, massaging away the little crease that had formed.
Tony gently pushed Peter’s leg back under the covers, tucking the blanket around him. He waited with bated breath to see if the jostling would wake Peter up.
He reached down to press a kiss onto Peter’s pillowy cheek, tucking the blanket securely around him.
“Bagel,” came the quiet whimper. Tony’s hand froze, but Peter’s eyes remained closed, breaths still even. His little eyebrows knitted together in his sleep and Tony pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh.
Peter let out another sigh, drooling onto his blanket.
With a final glance at the ceiling, Tony crept out of his room, leaving the door open by a crack.
With a jaw-cracking yawn, he felt the telltale pull at his temples that could only be cured with caffeine.
He leaned against the kitchen counter as the coffee machine whirred to life.
For once, Peter wasn’t up at an obscene hour, but he found himself missing his son’s childish chatter and the sounds of some cartoon coming from the TV.
He sipped on his coffee, watching the sun inch over the city beneath his feet. Their floor was blissfully quiet, with only the sounds of Tony pouring his hot coffee into his mug (“#1 Dad!”) disrupting it.
“FRI, be a dear and order some bagels from that place Peter likes.”
“Certainly, sir. Shall I pull up the menu?”
“Nah, let’s just do about a dozen of each? And cream cheese, every kind they have.” He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, “And smoked salmon. And whatever else they’ve got—just get it all.”
Tony stretched before pouring a third mug of coffee and padded into the living room. With one hand balancing his mug and StarkPad, he used the other to nudge aside the stuffed hippo occupying his spot. It tumbled onto the floor, joining a litter of other squeaking toys.
He sighed. No matter how many times he got the kid to clean up, his home looked like a toy store exploded in it.
He scrolled through his schedule for the day — his first meeting wasn’t for a while. Then he tackled some emails, signing off on new projects, replying to Pepper’s queries about this contract or that update.
He was starting to develop a crick in his neck from being bent over his StarkPad for so long.
“Boss, Miss Potts is on the line.”
“Put her through, FRI.”
“Good morning, Tony.” Pepper’s voice was way too cheery for this time in the morning.
“Do you ever sleep?” He demanded, pushing the StarkPad off his lap and leaning his back against the sofa, massaging his neck with a wince.
“Not when there’s a company to run,” she said promptly. “You’re working early today.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled, though there was no real bite, “The little terror had a late night and I couldn’t sleep.”
“But he’s your little terror, right?” He could hear the grin on Pepper’s face.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Hang on,” she said and he heard a voice in the background, and then Pepper murmured something back.
“Tony, what’s this about a massive order of bagels being delivered downstairs?”
“Send them up, pretty please? Peter was dreaming about bagels.”
“So you bought out an entire bakery?” She asked after a beat.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Tony said thoughtfully. “I should look into franchising.”
“Tony,” Pepper said warily, “you’re not getting Peter a bagel shop for Christmas.”
“Who said anything about Christmas?”
“Peter is going to be so spoiled before he even hits double digits!”
“You’re just as guilty, Pep,” he pointed out with a grin.
Tony heard her huff a laugh.
“Come up for breakfast,” he said, sounding pathetically hopeful even to his own ears.
“I can’t, we’ve got a meeting.”
“Well, I’m going to be late,” Tony said without missing a beat. “Come on, what’re they going to do? Fire us?”
He glanced at the clock. He’d been working for nearly two hours.
“Tony! You can’t be late to meeting, you need to sign off on—“
“Daddy?”
Tony shot up from where he had been lounging on the sofa.
Peter stood at the mouth of the living room, still bleary-eyed with sleep marks on his face, hair tousled to one side. He dragged Rory by the tail behind him in one hand, his other fist rubbing his eye, lower lip rolled out into an impressive pout.
Tony’s face broke into a wide grin. Peter first thing in the morning was one of his favourite sights ever.
“Is that my baby boy?” Tony cooed, uncaring that his voice raised about three sickeningly saccharine octaves and Pepper was witnessing all of it. Instead, he chuckled when Peter nodded seriously.
“Daddy,” Peter whined, raising his arm without Rory.
He heard Pepper’s “aww” coming from the phone. In two strides, he was swinging his kid up into his arms with practiced ease.
“Gotta go, Pep. The baby’s up. I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Tony—“ she started warningly, but he ended the call with a twinge of guilt, which he forgot about as soon as he turned his attention back to Peter in his arms.
He pressed a kiss to his forehead, Peter’s hair tickling his nose. “Good morning, Petey.”
Peter latched on like a limpet, still half asleep, head resting on Tony’s shoulder. “Hi,” he muttered tiredly. Peter was all soft in his Dino pyjamas, the scent of baby shampoo lingering in his hair.
“Did you look for me all by yourself?”
“Woke up and didn’t find you,” Peter whined.
“I was just on the phone with Aunt Pep.” Tony pressed apologetic kisses on Peter’s forehead.
Peter burrowed closer in response, his free hand clutching Tony’s T-shirt with an impressive grip.
“Are you still sleepy?” Tony smoothed a hand on Peter’s back. “Even though you’ve been out cold for,” he glanced at his watch, “a whole 11 hours?”
Peter pressed his little nose into Tony’s neck.
“What do you think the American Pediatric Association says about five year olds sleeping too much? Should Dad look into it or is he being dramatic?” He was mostly speaking to himself, but he kept his lilt soft, swaying as he held Peter.
Peter still seemed out of it, so Tony kept speaking in that low tone.
“Was I silly for letting you stay up late to watch your movie?” Tony kept talking as he made his way to the kitchen, using the hand that wasn’t supporting Peter to grab a cup and fill it up with water.
“So sleepy, Daddy,” Peter finally said with a dramatic sigh.
“I know,” Tony said sympathetically, “You can take a nap later, okay?” He held up the cup to Peter’s mouth, which he gulped until it was empty.
“C’mon, let’s get you ready. I’ll bet you ten bucks I can guess what you want for breakfast.”
—————
“Bagel!” Peter squealed, kicking his feet until Tony set him down, racing out of the lift towards the dining table.
Stacks of boxes covered every inch of its surface, and more spilled onto the kitchen counters. The top ones opened to reveal an array of bagels from plain to cinnamon raisin to everything bagels. Tony wrinkled his nose at an obnoxious rainbow one, which his son obviously pointed towards.
“Do you want cream cheese on that?” Tony onto the chair.
“Yes, please.” Peter nodded with fervour, watching in anticipation as Tony smoothed a generous layer of cream cheese on half of the multicoloured bagel.
“Have at it, Pete.” Tony watched the delight on Peter's face as he bit into it with an exaggerated “mmm”.
“Thank you, Daddy!”
“You’re welcome, baby,” he said fondly.
Tony shrugged and took the other half of the bagel, giving it the same cream cheese treatment. It wasn’t half bad.
He sunk into the chair next to Peter; the duo munching in companionable silence.
He finished his half first, watching as Peter struggled with a quarter left.
“Too much,” Peter held out the quarter, and Tony engulfed the bagel, pretending to munch on Peter’s fingers.
“Daddy, don’t eat my hand!” Peter squealed as Tony held his little hand, making loud munching noises.
Tony finally let off, grinning as he finished the last bit of bagel. He pushed a cup filled with milk to Peter, urging him to drink.