Work Text:
Tony sometimes lost himself in his own head. Spiraling with thoughts of his little boy; the way he was raised, the way Peter was currently being raised.
Sometimes he sat on the floor by the tiny cradle, stroking a hand over the head of his baby or just watching him as his little chest moved up and down with his breaths.
He’d carry his son with him to work, the kid gnawing at his expensive suit with toothless gums. Tony didn’t get mad at him for it, knowing full well he had enough money to replace every suit he owned and then some.
He’d press soft kisses to the soft growing hair atop Peter’s head, swaying them together gently.
He’d cry to himself in the bathroom in the dead of night when Peter, his perfect little baby, slept silently; no signs of colic, nothing.
Tony would sometimes collect Peter into his arms and just hold him against his chest, against the soft thrum of his arc reactor; not moving even when the baby squirmed in his hold.
There were times he carried Peter on his back in a comfortable little sling; times he swung Peter in his strong arms to pull giggles from his smiling lips.
Then he’d lock himself in his lab to cry and kick his failed inventions around in a fit of rage because why the absolute fuck was he such a terrible father. He’d be just like Howard, in the end anyways. But then he’d cry harder because it was his job to break the cycle and he loved Peter too much to even want to treat him the same way he was as a child.
He wanted Peter to grow up safe and loved, to come to his Dad for help and comfort instead of avoiding him like the plague because his father was drunk again and he didn’t want to be struck across his face.
Tony was hurting inside, and he couldn’t get it to stop. But Peter could. Sweet, sweet little Peter. Tony’s own baby boy; his only child. He pain stopped whenever he saw his little baby boy happy, whenever he saw Peter laugh, smile. Whenever he felt him cuddling close for comfort.
Peter made some of the pain go away, even if it wasn’t permanent. Even if Tony’s heart still ached when he went to sleep alone in his big, empty bed.
But to him, Peter made it all worth it. All the pain, everything he endured, from betrayal to the torture in Afghanistan.
For him, for his little Peter. It was all worth it.