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“What the hell are you doing?”
“Shoot- I-I was just trying to help!”
“Help?! Is this helping me?!” The man gestures at the entire mess on his desk – burnt papers, a whole other bunch of papers on the floor, pencils broken, his notebook fallen on the ground— Why the hell is the kid on his desk?
“I’m sorry- I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter tries, pathetically. He hands him the broken Iron Man arm, its wires no longer protected. It might still let out sparks every now and then.
Tony takes it from him harshly. Peter flinches away, recoiling, hiding like a little puppy.
“How many times do I have to get through your stupid head to keep away from MY THINGS?!” Tony screams. “All you do is destroy everything I create! You think this is just a TOY, huh?!” He shakes the Iron Man arm violently. “You’re lucky you didn’t cause a damn explosion!”
“I-I know, I’m sorry,” Peter gulps, his voice small. “I c-can help cleaning this mess—”
“Get out.”
The boy’s eyes are already reddened with sadness and regret.
“… Dad—”
“I said GET OUT!” Tony throws the arm right in his direction, the noise blaring like an explosion.
Peter has dodged it; when he looks at the man, his eyes are now wide. He wastes no time leaving the workshop, for once.
I need a damn drink, Tony decides.
As if he could’ve predicted this scene, there’s a bottle of scotch and an empty glass at his service. Luckily, that’s one thing his stupid excuse of a kid didn’t destroy. He can already tell Peter will just cry to Jarvis like a little sissy.
The sour scotch burns his throat, not anything like his rage right now. Tony can only stare at the disaster in his workshop, all the papers…
Finally, he looks at the window not too far from him.
A cold yet seething man, in his expensive, gray suit, equally gray hair neatly groomed and his mustache his most memorable physical characteristic.
And the Iron Man arm on the floor bleeds red and grief.
You’re my greatest creation.
You’re my greatest creation.
He only smells scotch.
“… Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark?”
Tony gasps for air, already sweating cold. His first instinct is to turn on the lamp. He’s in his bedroom, lying on his bed…
Wait. Wait, wait—
“Whoa- Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaims as Tony rushes to the restroom and turns on its white, cold light.
It’s him.
Tony is…
Just himself.
Not wearing that gray suit, not bearing that cold rage in his eyes. Tony is in his old tank top and sweatpants, eyes filled with fear, the most emotion that awful ghost could ever show.
“… Mr. Stark?” Peter knocks on the door, even though it’s open. “Are you okay? I-I’m sorry I, uh, barged in, but I could sense you had a nightmare. I think.”
From the mirror, Tony sees Peter somewhat hiding behind the door. Like he’s afraid he’s bothering him, like he’ll make him angry.
“Peter,” Tony gulps, “Peter, I’m sorry.”
The teen looks surprised. Confused?
“What? Y-You didn’t do anything, Mr. Stark,” Peter replies.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Tony sniffs, his voice breaking with each word. “I’m really sorry.”
“Whoa, hey, Mr. Stark… It’s okay.”
Tony only cries silently, hiding his eyes with his hand. He’s only learned to cry like this; never make a scene.
“I-I don’t know what happened, but, you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise,” Peter tries to reassure him. “You didn’t do anything to me, okay? I’m fine.”
Shyly, he looks at Peter. Tony can’t unsee the terrified brown eyes he saw after throwing something at him. Imagine if Tony actually hit Peter? Would he be fine, then?
“Hey, maybe you should sit down, Mr. Stark… I can get you some water, is that okay?” Peter suggests. “Come on. I’ll…”
He doesn’t touch Tony – he’s quite insecure about that – but Peter encourages him to go back to the bedroom. Tony complies and sits on the bed. He looks at the digital clock – it’s 4 AM. He remembers that Pepper is away, currently in Mumbai.
“I’ll be right back with the water, okay?” Peter informs him.
Tony doesn’t reply nor look at the kid. Eventually, Peter leaves the room. And when he does, Tony manages to sob more obviously.
Not for long, because Peter is quick, indeed.
“Here, Mr. Stark,” he says.
Finally, Tony takes the glass and takes one sip. He then places it on the bedside table, next to the clock.
“… Can I sit here?” Peter asks.
Part of Tony wants him to leave – not because he doesn’t want Peter here, but because he’s scared he’s going to hurt him. But he doesn’t want the kid to leave again – not like that, ever again.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to,” Peter reassures him. “B-But I’m here if you need me, okay?”
Tony nods, not yet looking at him. Looking at something distant. That workshop Peter can’t see, with all the papers, scotch and the broken Iron Man arm.
Drinking some more water, Tony takes a deep breath. It really hurts, but it’s something; some air gets in.
Then, he gazes at Peter.
Silently.
Peter is not at all haunted. Of course, he’s worried and perhaps a little scared. This kid has enhanced senses, so he must be feeling Tony’s distress even if he can’t understand it.
Tony pets his head, his messy brown curls, slowly. For quite some time. Peter only looks at him, and he looks quite adorable tilting his head a bit, Tony won’t lie. But Peter is also too good for this world to handle, he looks after the little guy; not too many people think about that guy.
…
“Thanks, kid,” Tony half-hugs him. He almost opens his mouth to apologize again but decides not to.
Peter smiles. “No problem, Mr. Stark.”
Tony stares and inhales.
“You’re a really good kid,” he adds. “You’re the hero everyone should look up to.”
The boy is taken aback, judging by his reddened cheeks. “Aw, gee, Mr. Stark…”
“I mean it, kid. I truly do.”
Peter looks surprised, genuinely. And it hurts Tony.
With that, the latter hugs the former, with two arms and all. The teenager takes a few seconds to process it and return the hug; soon, he relaxes in it, too.
Tony says nothing else. He holds Peter for a few seconds before sighing and letting go.
Once he’s done with the water, he concludes, “I think I need a snack.”
“Yeah, me too. I’m kinda hungry.”
“Alright, then you go back to bed, okay? I’m feeling better now.”
“No, it’s okay. I wanna stick with you, if that’s alright.”
Tony smiles fondly. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”
He wraps an arm around Peter as they head to the kitchen. Briefly, Tony looks back, seeing that old workshop, knowing that Howard will be there, screaming in his head. Tony knows he can’t change them, he can’t erase them from his head.
The least he can do is build his own workshop, with his kid, for his kid to have fun, to be safe, to rely on Tony when he messes up, so they can fix it together.
That’s what anyone’s kid deserves; someone’s unconditional presence, affection and time. That’s their right. Tony will make sure Peter knows that.