Chapter Text
Peter Parker had always admired Tony Stark. Not just for the obvious reasons, like the whole "genius billionaire philanthropist" thing, but for how effortlessly Tony handled the world. The way he blended arrogance with charm, humor with intellect, and how he always seemed to be a step ahead of everyone else. From the moment they met—when Tony saved him from the vulture at that Staten Island Ferry—Peter was in awe. It wasn’t just Tony’s genius or his billionaire status; it was the way Tony carried himself, his confidence that radiated even when he was being a jerk. Peter wanted to be like that. He wanted to be that kind of person, someone who could fix everything, even if he was broken on the inside. Tony had become a role model in ways Peter had never expected.
And Tony had taken to Peter in a way he hadn’t with anyone else, certainly not with anyone who wasn’t family. Peter wasn’t Tony’s son, not in any official capacity, but there were moments where Tony had caught himself thinking about Peter the way a father might think about his child. It scared him sometimes.
And recently, it was starting to feel like too much.
Tony, despite his usual stubbornness, had come to see Peter as more than just a kid with a fancy suit. Tony hadn’t expected to feel so protective of him, or maybe he hadn’t expected Peter to be quite so much like him. That wasn’t a compliment. Not anymore.
Tony didn’t know when it started, exactly, but the signs were unmistakable. Peter had started to do things that Tony did. Not just the obvious stuff, like building tech or making sarcastic remarks. It was the little things—tiny habits, mannerisms, ways of thinking—that Tony couldn’t ignore. The way Peter would throw himself into work, even at the expense of his own health, because there was always something that needed fixing. The way Peter would isolate himself when he was upset, not wanting to burden anyone. And worst of all, the way Peter was starting to push everyone, including himself, further and further.
More similarities suddently struck Tony. The way he ran a hand through his hair when he was thinking, the casual way he’d make sarcastic remarks even in serious situations, and, perhaps most disturbingly, his obsession with technology. It wasn't even the things Peter would do consciously—like trying to invent or tweaking his suit every other week—that bothered Tony. It was the moments where Peter would tilt his head just the right way, or crack a joke that Tony would have made. In those moments, Tony saw himself. But younger. Less jaded. More hopeful.
And it was horrifying.
It was like watching Tony from a few years ago—before the suit, before the redemption, before he’d even started realizing how much damage he was causing. And Peter? Peter was diving straight into it, not even aware he was doing it. Tony could see it happening, and the truth was, it terrified him.
It was late afternoon when Peter strolled into the lab, his usual energy filling the room. He had a coffee in his hand—extra shot of espresso, of course—and he was grinning like he just discovered the answer to the universe’s biggest problem.
"Mr. Stark!" Peter called out cheerfully. "I’ve been running some numbers, and I think I can optimize the webbing for—" He paused, pulling out a tablet and tapping through a few screens. "—electrical conductivity. It should make it easier for me to deal with someone like Electro or, I dunno, Thor, when he gets a little too enthusiastic with the lightning."
Tony sighed to himself. "You know, Peter, when I said I wanted you to be more like me, I didn’t mean exactly like me," he muttered under his breath.
Peter didn’t hear him, too busy adjusting his glasses and tapping away on his phone. He’d gotten pretty good at multitasking, though Tony wouldn’t call it a talent. He’d call it a necessary skill for someone who lived a double life.
Tony groaned but didn’t look up, keeping his focus on the holographic screen in front of him. "So, you're saying you want to make your webs better at handling electricity? What are you going to do next—install a lightning rod for your suit?"
Peter laughed, though it came out more awkward than usual, like he wasn’t quite sure whether Tony was serious or joking. "Well, no. But… actually, that might not be a bad idea. Could be helpful if I ever—"
"You've been thinking about that for a while," Tony said, finally looking up. Peter had an edge to him now—like he was getting more comfortable with the whole superhero gig. More confident, even. It wasn't exactly a bad thing. Peter needed confidence, but it wasn’t like this.
"Uh, yeah," Peter replied, sitting on the counter, kicking his legs idly. "I mean, it’s always in the back of my mind, right? If I don’t have the right tools, I can’t save anyone."
Tony blinked. That was Tony's line. Not Peter's. "And who told you that?"
Peter paused, glancing up at him. “You did. A while ago. You know, when you were teaching me how to balance science and saving people?"
Tony’s stomach did an uncomfortable little twist. There it was again. That tone of reverence Peter had for him, mixed with that troubling habit of internalizing everything Tony said. The kid had been like a sponge when it came to Tony's influence. And sometimes, it felt like Peter was soaking up more than just good advice.
"You’re missing the point," Tony said, a look of concern crossing hks face. "The point is that you’re always thinking. You're always looking for the next upgrade. Like me." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "Are you sure you’re not just trying to keep yourself busy so you don’t have to deal with the fact that you're about to burn yourself out?"
Peter froze, the laughter fading from his face. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking from Tony to the floor. "I—I don’t know what you mean."
Tony folded his arms, leaning back in his chair, watching Peter carefully. "You’re doing it again. You're overthinking everything. You can't just keep fixing problems with gadgets and tech, Pete. Sometimes, the problem is you. You can't fix yourself by making the next big thing. Not all the time."
Peter didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, he just stared at Tony, his eyes wide with uncertainty. The kid had been like this more and more lately—distant, like something was gnawing at him from the inside. Tony could see the gears turning in his head, the way Peter would sometimes push himself harder than he should, trying to live up to some impossible standard. Tony could relate, but it didn’t mean he wanted Peter to repeat his mistakes.
"I’m just… trying to be prepared," Peter said finally, voice quieter. "You told me once, you said if you’re not ready, then you’re just waiting to fail. You said that in the bar when I almost… when I almost died." He glanced up at Tony, meeting his eyes.
Tony winced at the memory. He remembered that conversation too well. How Peter had nearly lost his life, how it had shaken him to his core. That was the moment Tony had made a decision—he would do anything to protect this kid, even if it meant taking a step back from being just Iron Man. He had tried to be a mentor, a guide, but now… Tony wasn’t so sure. The line between mentor and father was starting to blur, and Peter, for better or worse, was starting to become more like him than Tony could handle.
"I know, Peter. But you're pushing too hard. You're starting to act like me, and that’s not a good thing."
Peter frowned, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, like you?"
Tony hesitated. "I mean, you're becoming… obsessed. Obsessed with always being ready, always having the next solution. And you’re already so good at it. But I’ve been there, Pete. I’ve done that. It doesn’t end well. Trust me, I—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Forget it. You don’t need to be a mini-Tony Stark. You need to be you."
Peter’s face was unreadable, his brow furrowed in thought. "I am me," he muttered under his breath. But there was something in his tone, something that didn’t quite ring true. Tony knew he was lying to himself, and worse, Tony knew he couldn’t stop him from making the same mistakes.
"That's...not all of it. You’re becoming... more like me, kid," Tony said finally, his voice a little quieter than he intended.
Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Tony hesitated before answering. "The sarcasm. The constant tinkering. Your obsession with making everything perfect. I mean, I get it, you’re smart. But you’re way too much like me. Like, freakishly so."
Peter’s eyes widened. "Wait, what? How am I like you? I’m not—"
Tony cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I’m not talking about your powers. I’m talking about... your mind. The way you think. You’re always running at a million miles an hour. You’re overthinking everything. It’s exhausting."
"That’s... that’s not true." Peter’s defensive tone didn’t mask the fact that, deep down, he knew Tony wasn’t wrong. Peter had always been a little too quick to react, too eager to prove himself. And recently, it had only gotten worse. He couldn't focus unless everything around him was perfect. And now, just like Tony, he was pushing himself too hard. But Peter didn’t want to admit that, not even to Tony.
"I’m telling you, Pete," Tony continued, his voice softening, "I don’t want you to burn yourself out the way I did. You’re... you’re a good kid. Don’t become a me 2.0. That guy... I don’t know how I managed to survive myself."
Peter's eyes softened, and for a second, Tony could see the uncertainty in them. It reminded him of when he was that age, eager to impress, willing to push himself for validation. But there was something else too—something a little darker in the way Peter was starting to see himself.
Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Look, just... don’t lose yourself, alright? You’ve got your own thing going. Don’t let my shadow be the one you chase.”
Peter nodded slowly, but there was something in his eyes that made Tony feel like they hadn’t reached the heart of the issue.
The silence between them was heavy, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Peter stood up, setting his coffee cup down on a nearby workbench.
"Well, I think I’ll go work on that webbing idea," Peter said, his voice tight. He didn’t meet Tony’s eyes as he turned toward the door. "Thanks for the advice, Mr. Stark."
Tony watched him go, a sinking feeling in his chest. The kid was retreating, pulling away into himself just like Tony had done when he was younger. But Peter wasn’t as good at pretending to be fine as Tony was. Peter was better at wearing his heart on his sleeve, which made this whole situation even worse.
Tony didn’t want to admit it, but he knew. He knew Peter was becoming more like him every day, and it scared him more than he was willing to let on.
---
That night, Tony couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, his mind replaying the conversation over and over again. Was he pushing Peter too hard? Was he being unfair? But then again, Peter was pushing himself too hard, too. Tony could see it in the way he’d start working late into the night, pulling long hours in the lab, only to show up the next day looking exhausted. The signs were all there, and they reminded Tony too much of himself at that age.
"Dammit, Peter," Tony whispered into the dark. "Please don’t turn into me."
But deep down, a voice inside him wondered if it was already too late. If Peter had already started down that path, and no amount of advice would stop him.