Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tony’s life was falling apart around him.

Ivan Vanko had tried to kill him in Monaco. Senator Stern and the rest of Congress wouldn’t leave him alone about the Iron Man suit. Nick Fury was up his ass about continuing his father’s legacy. Rhodey had stolen one of his suits and handed it over to the military…

Pepper was ignoring him.

And now, Tony was getting a call from a number registered as the Office of Children and Family Services in New York City.

Tony… unfortunately knew a child located in New York City.

His chest tightened as he stared at the ringing phone, a half-finished glass of whiskey in his hand.

He almost ignored it.

It would probably be better if he ignored it.

But.

Tony sighed and downed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp, then hit accept.

“I am so tired of government officials calling me,” he said, when the line clicked.

A woman sighed heavily into the phone like he was already exhausting her.

“Mr. Stark?” she said wearily.

“That depends. Are you going to subpoena me?”

“My name is Donna Rivera. I’m a social worker with New York City’s Office of Children and Family Services.”

“Okay,” Tony said, as he leaned back in his chair.

“We’re contacting you regarding Peter Parker.”

The name hit him like cold water.

He knew. He knew if OCFS was calling him, it was going to be about—

But.

Tony hadn’t heard that name in years.

Swallowing thickly, Tony asked slowly, “Because…?”

Donna sighed again. “We’re trying to find a placement for Peter.”

“A placement?” Tony repeated, narrowing his eyes. “He’s with his aunt and uncle.” And had been since Mary and her husband, Richard, died in a plane crash over a decade ago.

He’d been contacted then about taking custody, too. But Mary had named Ben and May as guardians in her will, and Tony hadn’t seen any sense in interfering.

At 20, when Mary got pregnant, he hadn’t been ready for a child. That hadn’t changed four short years later.

He put together a trust fund for the kid, for college. And he sent child support. Sort of. Off the books.

As much as May and Ben Parker would accept. Eventually, they stopped cashing the checks.

Donna was silent for a long few seconds, before she finally said, “May and Ben Parker died in a car accident three years ago.”

Tony froze. The ice in his drink clinked softly, and Tony had an intense desire to refill the glass.

“And you’re only now trying to find a placement for him?” Tony asked.

“He’s been in foster care,” Donna said dryly, “We only just found this connection.”

“No,” Tony said, sitting up, setting the glass down on the desk with a loud clink. “No. My name is on his birth certificate.”

“Yes, which is why I’m calling you,” she replied flatly.

Tony ran a hand over his face hard enough to hurt. “I should have been called immediately,” he snapped.

“I agree,” Donna said, “but his file had been misplaced.”

“Misplaced,” he repeated blankly.

How.

No, Tony knew how. They were the government.

The government wanted his technology, but couldn’t even handle a damn birth certificate?

“For about three years, yes,” Donna said. “He was removed from another home this week, so I’ve been digging through the archives. I found it in his file from a decade ago.”

“He was removed from a home?” Tony asked, as he rubbed his forehead with one hand.

Donna didn’t answer him, which, strangely, was answer enough.

Instead, she asked, “Are you willing to take custody? I see you declined custody in the past.”

Tony automatically looked down at the arc reactor glowing through his shirt.

The poisoning had crept higher again. He could see the veins near his collarbone.

Even Rhodey had noticed them.

He was… dying.

His eyes flicked to the empty glass, and the half-finished fifth sitting opened a few feet away.

So much had changed in fourteen years, and yet…

Nothing at all had changed.

“What happens if I say no?” he asked quietly.

The social worker didn’t hesitate.

“Then he stays in the system,” she said. “He’s had eight families in three years. I cannot find a family willing to accept him, so right now he’s in a group home.”

Tony closed his eyes, leaning his head back so far his chair tilted. He grabbed a hand against the desk to steady himself.

“He’s miserable in the group home,” Donna said.

He looked around his massive, empty home. At the broken walls still in disrepair from his party. His public ‘freak out’ as the news so politely called it. He looked at the suits lining the wall, then the arc reactor in his chest.

“This is a terrible idea,” he muttered.

“Yeah?” Donna shot back. “And the group home’s a dream vacation?”

Tony scowled, even though she couldn’t see it. “You don’t understand,” he snapped.

“No, Mr. Stark, you don’t understand,” she cut in, her voice sharp. “I’ve got a fourteen-year-old kid who’s burned through eight placements in three years because no one wants teenagers, especially smart-mouth angry ones, and now I finally find his biological father, and it turns out to be Tony Stark.”

Tony blinked.

“Smart-mouth?” he echoed.

“You two would get on like a house on fire,” Donna said dryly.

Despite everything, Tony smiled. Just a little.

Then it vanished again. “Look,” he said, through a sigh. “I’m not exactly…”

Stable.

Safe.

Alive for much longer.

He couldn’t say any of that out loud.

“…father material,” he finished lamely.

Donna sighed. “Are you telling me Peter wouldn’t be safe with you?”

“Well…” Tony said slowly. His life wasn’t safe.

But.

“No,” he admitted. Because he was capable of keeping people safe… and if he had to, he could make sure Peter was safe.

Hire him body guards or something. A nanny to actually keep him alive, and stuff. A Jarvis…

“Would you not provide him food, shelter, clothes, an education…”

“I’m not,” Tony cut in, stuttering, “I’m not a monster.”

“That was my read, as well,” Donna said immediately. She sighed. “Mr. Stark. I’m not asking you to be father of the year tomorrow. I’m asking if you’re going to let your son stay in a group home when you have the means to take him.”

Your son.

Tony looked back down at the reactor again. He tapped two fingers against it, watching as the blue light reflected off his skin.

He thought suddenly, absurdly, of Howard.

Of cold workshops and raised voices and never quite being wanted in the room.

This was why he never wanted children.

People like Howard Stark shouldn’t have kids.

Tony closed his eyes. Because every day, Tony was becoming more and more like him…

But. Somewhere in New York City was a fourteen-year-old kid who already had the misfortune of calling Tony his dad.

That same kid had already lost everyone else in his life.

“There’s no other family?” Tony asked quietly.

“You are the only one,” she replied. “There’s no one on his mother’s side, no one on his stepfather's side, and no one else on your side.”

Tony exhaled slowly.

“Fine,” he said.

Donna was silent for a moment, like she hadn’t even heard him.

“I’ll be there in the morning to collect him.”

“Okay,” Donna said quickly. “I’ll send you all the information and get him ready.”

“Great,” Tony said tightly, as he reached out and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “Is that all?”

The social worker hesitated, and Tony could hear her moving the phone from one ear to the other. Then, quietly, she said, “He’s a good kid, Mr. Stark.”

Something in Tony’s chest tightened painfully.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

- - -

Tony sat at his desk for a long while, staring at his now full glass of whiskey. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he could see condensation slowly form on the outside of his glass, as the ice inside started to melt.

With a deep sigh, Tony picked his phone up again and navigated to Happy’s contact.

He answered after a few rings with a flat, “What.”

Because Happy was mad at him, too. He’d practically been Pepper’s assistant lately.

“Happy,” Tony said, pushing down his annoyance. “Get the jet ready.”

“Why,” Happy asked, just as flatly.

“We have to go to New York,” Tony said in faux cheerfulness.

Happy’s skepticism was loud and clear across the silent line. “Why?” he finally asked.

“I’m getting custody of the kid,” Tony said, as he picked up the glass and took a sip.

“Peter?’ Happy asked immediately, confusion in his voice.

Of course Happy just knew the kid’s name.

“Yes. What other kid is there?” Tony huffed.

“What? Why?” Happy demanded.

“Can you get the jet ready or not?” Tony snapped. “I agreed to pick him up tomorrow.”

“Tony,” Happy said slowly, “Is right now really—”

“Right now is when he’s needing placement,” Tony cut in with a snarl, “So I don’t really have control over the timing. I told them I’d pick him up in the morning. Are you helping or not?”

“Okay,” Happy said, quieter. “Okay. I’m coming. I’ll call the company on my way over.”

“Kay,” Tony said. He picked his drink up and took another long sip.

“Tony, are you drinking right now,” Happy asked incredulously.

“Nope,” Tony said, as he took another sip.

“Stop,” Happy snapped. “Tony I can hear the glass clinking. Stop.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Just.” Happy took a loud, deep breath. “Go get a bag packed. I’ll be there in 30.”

Tony stared at the bottle for a long moment, then finished it off anyway. He made his way to his room, after, a pleasant buzz behind his eyes.

Packing a bag felt a little unnecessary, since they’d just be slingshotting to New York, but Tony packed a change of clothes and his shaving kit.

Happy didn’t speak to him the entire drive to the airport. He was on the phone the entire time, getting the itinerary squared away for the flight back tomorrow morning. The less time Tony had to spend in New York, the better.

“We land at Teterboro at 3 eastern,” Happy reported, as he pulled up next to his jet on the tarmac.

“New Jersey, even worse,” Tony muttered as he got out of the car and grabbed onto the stairs’ railing.

Happy got in front of him and narrowed his eyes. “Are you drunk right now?”

“No.” Tony brushed past him and climbed into the plane.

Happy grabbed his and Tony’s bags, then followed him up onto the plane. “Tony. You can’t be drunk showing up to pick up your kid from social services. They are not fans of that.”

“I’ll be sober by tomorrow,” Tony shot back, collapsing down into one of the seats.

Happy shot him such a disappointed glare, Tony had to look away.

“Fine,” he finally said. “Just. Lie down and sleep. Actually, wait.” He walked over to a cabinet and pulled a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels out. He set both down on the chair next to Tony. “Eat and drink first. Then sleep.”

“But mooooom,” Tony complained, but he picked the pretzels up and opened them.

“We’ll swing by the tower in the morning so you can shower the booze smell off.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Tony opened the bottle of water and chugged it. “Happy?”

“What.”

“No, I was asking if—never mind.” Tony leaned his chair back. “I’ll be on my best behavior tomorrow.”

“You better,” Happy grumbled.

Tony shut his eyes and draped one arm over them, to block out all of the light.

He was about to make the worst mistake of his life.

-

The Office of Children and Family Services looked exactly like Tony expected.

Fluorescent lighting, outdated furniture, and clean, sterile-smelling floors. Tony did his best not to make a face as he followed Happy inside.

They were late. It was mostly his fault, since he needed to shower. And eat breakfast. And somehow not look completely hungover. Then, New York City traffic had screwed them over even further.

The lobby of the building had a large seating area, and Tony spotted the kid sitting in one of the seats right next to the door to the offices immediately.

He glanced around the room to try and avoid staring, and only let his eyes briefly linger on the small teenager, who was sitting sideways in the chair, his legs slung over the armrest, his scuffed Converse hovering above the chair next to him. He had a phone in his hands and was drowning in a New York Mets hoody.

And he was staring at Tony like he was seeing a ghost.

“Okay,” Tony said, as he walked across the room toward the receptionist window. The woman behind the desk looked deeply unimpressed by him, already. “So what do I need to do? Sign stuff?”

“Donna will be out in a moment,” the lady replied, turning her attention to her computer like it was way more interesting than Tony Stark.

Peter, to Tony’s right now, shoved his phone into his hoody pocket and seemed to slump further into the chair. He had an old worn backpack on the chair behind him, and a half-full looking duffle bag on the ground in front of him.

Tony wasn’t going to think about how this kid could pack his entire life into two bags.

Happy elbowed Tony in his side, hard. Tony turned a glare at him, but Happy stepped past him and over to Peter.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Happy.”

The kid narrowed his eyes, then asked, slowly, “Happy?”

Happy grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Harold Hogan, but you can call me Happy.”

“Okay,” Peter said skeptically.

“You Peter?” Happy asked.

Peter huffed. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“This kid’s definitely yours,” Happy muttered in his direction.

Tony had to look away to hide his amusement.

Peter scowled viciously at Happy.

It was uncanny how much like Tony he looked. Tony couldn’t look directly at him, because of it.

Before anyone could say something else, who must be Donna Rivera walked out from the door to the offices. Her eyes landed on Tony, and she said, “Oh. You actually came.”

Tony turned to her. “You seem surprised.”

“Well, you are quite late,” Donna said dryly. She stepped over to Peter and motioned for him to stand.

“Yeah, sorry, traffic was a beast,” Happy said.

Donna glanced at Happy, then turned back to Peter. She set a hand on his arm as he stood and asked, quietly, “Peter, have you said hello to your father?”

“Nope,” Peter said. He crossed his arms tightly and turned his head away from both Happy and Tony.

“Honey,” Donna whispered, as she put a hand on Peter’s back like she was going to push him to Tony.

“Well, he hasn’t even looked at me yet, so,” Peter said lightly, shooting Donna a glare.

Tony took a deep breath, and stepped over to Peter himself. He forced a smile on his face and held his hand out. “Tony Stark,” he said, finally looking his son right in the eyes.

And. Tony felt like he was looking right at himself, 20 years in the past.

Peter looked down at Tony’s hand… and just stared at it. He shoved his hands into his pocket before his eyes flitted back up to Tony’s face. “Peter Parker,” he spat.

Tony retracted his hand and smoothed down his beard. “So…” he said, turning to Donna, “paperwork?”

Donna sighed, but gave Peter a pat on the back before stepping away. “Let’s go to my office,” she said, opening the door back toward the offices.

“Hap, you good out here?” Tony asked, as he took the door and held it open for Donna and Peter to walk through.

“Yeah, boss,” Happy said, as he sat down. “I’ll watch your bags, Pete.”

Peter eyed his bags, then gave Happy a scrutinizing look.

“Security is his thing, kid,” Tony said. “Let’s get a move on.” He reached out to herd Peter onward, but Peter dodged his hand.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, as he followed after Donna.

“Noted,” Tony said dryly, as he followed and let the door close behind him.

Donna Rivera’s office was small and crowded by too many file cabinets along the walls. There were three chairs sitting across from her desk, so Tony sat down in the far left one. Peter lingered at the door, then chose to stand against the wall, instead of sit down.

“Honey, sit down,” Donna said.

“I’m fine here,” Peter said flatly.

Donna sighed, but didn’t push him any further. Instead, she sat down and pulled a folder from one of the stacks on her desk.

“This is a temporary emergency placement,” Donna explained, as she pulled papers out and slid them across the desk to Tony. “We will follow up in three months to see how it’s going. If it’s going well, we can discuss legal permanent custody then.”

Tony furrowed his brow at the term temporary.

He was Peter’s biological father. Shouldn’t custody default to him…?

“This isn’t automatic?” Tony asked as he picked up the first sheet and started skimming the information.

“No,” Donna said. “A judge has to approve it.”

“Mm,” Tony hummed, as he read through what he was agreeing to provide. It was pathetic how detailed it was. People really were out there not feeding their kids, weren’t they?

Would he have to fly back to New York again to see a judge in three months? The paperwork did give him permission to bring Peter to California. The third page spelled out that, yes, he would be required to come to New York if requested.

“Inconvenient,” he muttered.

Peter, off to Tony’s right, huffed and sank further against the wall.

Tony’s head snapped up, and he looked at how the kid’s face twisted, as he glared down at his own feet.

“I meant the judge thing,” Tony tried. “Not…”

Peter rolled his eyes, so Tony sighed.

“Whatever,” Tony mumbled. He turned back to Donna and said, “Just show me what to sign.”

Donna walked him through all the paperwork. It felt like it took forever. Tony kept checking his watch, to make sure they’d have enough time to meet their 11:23am wheels-up time.

“That gentleman outside,” Donna started, as she started filing away all the papers Tony had signed.

“Happy Hogan,” Tony supplied.

She nodded, and jotted his name down on a post-it note. “Does he live with you?”

“No. He’s a big boy. Has his own place.”

Donna nodded again. “Does anyone live with you?”

“Nope,” Tony said, sitting back in his chair. “Just me.”

And. Peter, now. He supposed.

“Okay. If another adult does come to live with you during the temporary placement, you need to report it.”

“Easy, there’s no risk of that happening,” Tony said. Pepper was ignoring him, so he highly doubted he’d convince her to move in anytime soon.

He glanced over at Peter, who was still leaning against the wall, but now texting on the most ancient phone Tony had ever seen.

“Is that all?” Tony asked Donna.

“Yes,” Donna said, as she rose to her feet.

Tony followed suit, and accepted the hand Donna held out toward him.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Stark.”

“Likewise,” he said. Donna led him back out to the lobby, and Tony glanced at Peter long enough to make sure he was following along.

Outside, Donna tried handing Tony a copy of the paperwork. Tony’s hands withdrew closer to himself automatically, and before he could force himself to reach out and take the folder, Happy stood.

“I’ll take it,” Happy said, smiling as he took the folder. “He doesn’t like being handed things.”

Donna furrowed her brow, and looked between them, before finally sighing. She turned to Peter and pulled him into a hug.

Peter returned it, burying his head into her shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, sweetie,” she said softly, as she rubbed as his back. “But call me if you need me, okay?”

Peter nodded, as he pulled away.

“All right,” Donna said, with a gentle smile Tony didn’t even think she’d be capable of. “Good luck, honey. Enjoy yourself, okay? California’s not so bad.”

Peter looked at her for a long moment, and Tony had to avert his eyes.

Because Peter looked like he was about to start crying.

Happy cleared his throat as he lifted Peter’s duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We ready? We’re cutting it close for wheels up.”

“Yep,” Tony said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Peter looked at him, then at Donna again and whispered, “Bye.”

“You’ll be okay, honey,” she said, patting him on the arm.

With a reluctant nod, Peter picked up his backpack and followed Happy and Tony out to the car.

-

In the car, Peter immediately slumped against the window and turned away from Tony. He watched the buildings as they passed by.

The silence felt stifling.

Happy shot Tony a look through the mirror.

Tony glared back for half a second, then threw his head back. He glanced over at Peter, then looked away as he said as casually as he could manage, “So… the Mets, huh.”

Peter turned and looked at him flatly, then rolled his eyes and looked back out the window.

“I always liked the Yankees, myself,” Tony said. He grew up going to Yankees games. Sometimes.

Once or twice, when Howard was doing business deals in the box during the game. And Tony was just dragged along for the photo op.

Peter rolled his eyes harder.

“Don’t slander the Mets in my car,” Happy huffed.

“This car is rented,” Tony shot back. “With my money.”

“I’m driving, it’s my car,” Happy said.

Peter looked between the two of them, then mumbled, “I figured you’d like the Dodgers.”

Tony grinned. “That would be quite poetic, wouldn’t it? A team that started in Brooklyn but now lives in Los Angeles? But I’m from Manhattan, so I don’t really care for Brooklyn.”

“Well, the Yankees are from the Bronx, so…”

“That they are,” Tony said.

Peter slumped back in his seat as he leaned his head against the window. The he offered, “I’m from Queens.”

Tony wanted to say I know, but thought better of it.

Happy saved the day, by looking back at Peter in the mirror and saying, “Me, too.”

“Really?” Peter asked, sitting up. “Where at?”

“Grew up in Linden Hill.”

“Forest Hills,” Peter replied.

“Nice,” Happy said, with a smile. “I had a girlfriend that lived there, in high school.”

“What high school did you go to?” Peter asked, leaning forward to look at Happy.

“Flushing.”

Peter nodded. “I’m going to—” he paused, then sat back and frowned. He finished, much quieter, “I was going to Midtown Tech.”

Tony frowned.

“On Manhattan, right?” Happy asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said dryly, “In Midtown.”

Happy grinned, shooting Tony a look in the mirror. “That school was hard to get into when I was a kid. Is it still?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, as he leaned back against the window.

“That’s where I’m from,” Tony offered. “Midtown. I went to boarding school, though.”

Peter just glanced at him, then turned back to the window.

-

The rest of the ride went in silence. By the time they arrived at Teterboro, Tony was itching for a drink.

He knew Happy would snap if Tony went for one, though, so Tony instead just climbed onto the plane and took a seat.

Peter followed along, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He considered Tony for a second, then looked around the cabin. He walked to the very back of the plane and sank down at one of the seats with a table.

It was the furthest seat away from Tony he could possibly choose.

Tony sighed and threw his head back in his seat. He could just barely see Peter through the gaps in the seats in front of him.

Happy boarded a moment later with the rest of the bags, then glanced between the two of them. He shot Tony a withering glare, then stowed away the bags before sitting at the table with Peter.

“You ever been on a plane before?” Happy asked as he settled in.

Peter crossed his arms and said, “No.”

“This is a nice one to have as a first flight,” Happy said.

All Peter did was hum, as he pulled his phone out. The damn thing had to be at least five years old, and Tony swore it was being held together by duct tape.

Happy clocked it, too, because he turned to Tony and said, “You gotta get this kid a new phone.”

Peter scowled. “I like my phone.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Tony mumbled, as he pulled his own tablet out from the compartment next to his chair. “We’ll handle all that at home.”

If he couldn’t drink, he could at least work on his palladium problem.

Probably.

“Do I have to turn this off for the flight?” Peter asked, still typing away at his phone.

Happy replied. “Nah. The pilot will tell us if anything’s interfering with their systems.”

“Kay.” Peter was quiet for another minute, then asked, “Where are we going?”

Happy replied, “Malibu.”

“Great,” Peter said, but in a tone that made it sound like it wasn’t great at all.

Tony sighed and tried to focus on his tablet.

Happy and Peter chatted on and off throughout the flight. Most of it was completely inane chatter, but at one point Peter turned to Happy and asked, “Who are you exactly?”

“I’m Tony’s bodyguard,” Happy said, after a brief hesitation.

“Iron Man needs a bodyguard?” Peter asked dryly.

Tony couldn’t help his snort.

All it got him was a glare from Peter.

“Yes,” Happy replied testily.

“He’s my chauffeur,” Tony said loudly, while working through another calculation on his tablet.

“Bodyguard,” Happy shot back.

Peter smiled faintly, then went back to his phone. Tony tried to stay focused on his tablet.

-

When they landed, they got into Happy’s Audi. Peter slipped in first, then rolled his eyes when Tony slid in beside him.

“We should grab some lunch,” Happy said.

Tony looked at his watch, then sighed. It was 3pm pacific time, but 6 eastern.

They’d had snacks on the plane, so it wasn’t like he’d failed immediately at feeding the kid, but…

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Probably a good idea.”

“You have to remember to feed him,” Happy said, shooting Tony a look.

Tony just sighed.

Peter shifted in his seat and mumbled, “Just put a box of cereal in the kitchen and I’ll feed myself.”

“Good, great,” Tony said dryly. “Love a solid plan.”

He’d absolutely be hearing shit from the judge, or whatever, if all Tony did was put cereal in a bowl like Peter were a dog.

Happy pulled into the drive-thru of the first Burger King they passed, and got in line. “What do you want, kid?” he asked.

Peter barely glanced at the menu board beside him before replying, “Bacon King.”

“Fries? Onion Rings?” Happy asked.

“Fries. With a honey mustard sauce.”

Tony stilled, and just stared at Peter.

“Sounds familiar,” Happy said. “Coke okay?”

Peter nodded absently. “Yeah.”

When it was their turn to order, Happy ordered three large Bacon King meals.

Peter glanced at Tony, giving him an unreadable expression, before turning his back again.

Once they had the food, Peter scarfed his down like he’d been starving.

Tony felt bad, so he pulled his untouched fries from his own bag and held them out.

Peter merely glanced at them, then mumbled, “No thanks,” before crossing his arms and closing his eyes.

And all Tony could do was sigh.

-

At home, Tony led Peter inside while Happy unloaded the car.

Tony held both his arms out once in the foyer and said, “Welcome to paradise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter said, with a roll of his eyes.

“Uh, right,” Tony said, dropping his arms and turning around. “I have a few guest rooms. I guess you can pick which one you want.”

Peter walked further into the house, and paused at the bay of windows where… Tony might have broken all the glass during his party.

The windows had been boarded up, along with the hole in the floor…

“Crews will be fixing that this week,” Tony said, as he ran a hand down his face.

God, he needed a drink.

Happy came in with the bags, and dropped Tony’s down on the floor.

“He can help you pick a guest room,” Tony said, motioning to Happy. “I’ll be down in my lab.”

“Tony,” Happy said, warningly.

“Hap. I’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, as he made his way over to the stairwell.

Happy nearly growled, before he said to Peter, “One sec, kid, I’ll help you get settled in just a minute.” He set Peter’s bag down, then stormed across the room.

He grabbed Tony by his sleeve and pulled him to the other side.

“You can’t blow him off like this,” he growled quietly.

Tony huffed. “He doesn’t want much to do with me, either,” Tony shot back, also in a whisper.

“He’s a child,” Happy snapped. “You’re the adult here.”

Tony glanced over at Peter, who was standing by the broken windows, glaring at him.

Yeah. That was definitely a child who wanted Tony to show him to his room, or whatever.

“I’ll be down in my lab,” Tony said.

Happy ground his teeth, but let go of Tony’s sleeve and turned around. In a much more pleasant tone, he said, “Pete, here. I’ll show you around and let you pick out your room. Then we can get some groceries ordered since I know Tony lives off green smoothies and crackers.”

Tony huffed and turned back to the stairwell. As he started descending the stairs, he got a good view of Peter.

Peter’s eyes darted away from Tony quickly when Tony looked, as he crossed his arms tightly across his chest. He looked at Happy and mumbled, “Okay.”

Tony sighed and finished his trek down to his lab.

The first thing he did was grab a fresh bottle of whiskey before he sat down at his desk.

-

Tony stayed in his lab for a few hours. Happy poked his head in at some point to let him know he needed to go to SI to help Pepper with something, but he’d be back later that evening to check on them.

“Feed him dinner,” Happy said pointedly, before he left.

“Yes, boss,” Tony said dryly, as he went back to his research.

It was nearly 7 when he finally called up a local pizza place.

Well. He had JARVIS call up a local pizza place and ordered a few random pies.

They didn’t arrive until 7:30, but when they did, Tony retrieved the boxes from where the delivery driver had set them down on the porch.

“Kid,” he yelled up the stairwell, to where he assumed the kid was currently.

Sure enough, one of the guest rooms doors opened, and Peter leaned over the railing to look at him. “What?”

“Dinner’s here,” Tony said, holding the boxes of pizza up. He walked over to the couches and set the pizza on the coffee table. He grabbed some plates from a nearby cabinet and tossed them on the table next to the pizzas.

Peter came bounding down the stairs, then stopped at the threshold of the seating area.

“What’s the point of having, like, four different dining rooms if you eat in the living room?” he asked.

“This is called a parlor,” Tony said, as he opened one of the boxes of pizza.

“Ex-cuse me,” Peter said, as he crossed the room and looked down at the pizza. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s called pizza,” Tony said dryly. “I figured a Queens boy would know what pizza was.”

“This isn’t pizza,” Peter said, as he poked at one of the slices. “This is an atrocity. It’s like a cracker with pizza sauce on it.”

Tony walked over to the bar and opened the fridge. He looked at the options, and settled on a beer.

Peter watched him as he cracked the beer open, his shoulders slowly inching upward. He looked back down at the pizza and pulled a few slices onto a plate.

“What, so you’re gonna eat it now?” Tony asked, as he walked over to get himself a slice. “You’re gonna badmouth it and then eat it?”

Peter just glared at him as he walked over to the couch and dropped down. “California’s gone to your head,” he huffed, after he took a bite of the pizza. “It’s not pizza if it’s not from New York.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “There’s sodas in that fridge,” he said, jerking his head toward the bar. “Don’t touch my alcohol.”

Peter set his plate down and stalked over to the fridge. “Don’t worry. I actually like my brain cells.”

Tony shot Peter a look, but the front door opened and pulled Tony’s attention away.

Happy walked in, his eyes landing on Peter and the pizza immediately. “Oh good,” he said, as he shut the door and came to the seating area. “Did you get enough for me?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, gesturing at the pizza. “Kid hates it, though.”

Peter glared at him as he sat back down with his pizza, a Dr. Pepper in his hands.

“Well, you ordered from the worst pizza place in Malibu,” Happy said, as he opened each box. He ended up taking a few slices of the supreme. He took a bite, then said through his food, “Try Domino’s next time.”

Peter rolled his eyes so hard his head moved.

“Yeah,” Happy said with a grin, as he went and sat down next to Peter. “I hear ya, but their New York style crust is the best option around here. It’s a tragedy.” He ate another bite, then added, “Actually, I make a pretty mean pizza. Maybe I’ll do that this weekend for you.”

“You cook?” Peter asked skeptically.

“Oh yeah,” Happy said with a grin. “I’ve got a wood pizza oven in my backyard.”

“No way, that’s so cool,” Peter said.

Tony sat back and took another sip of his beer, then nibbled at his pizza.

He hated how terrible the pizza tasted.

- - -

“These aren’t bagels,” Peter said, when Tony set a plate down in front of him.

Tony had actually set an alarm and gone upstairs to fix Peter breakfast at 8am. And this was the thanks he got.

Happy had ordered groceries, and among the groceries was a bag of bagels. It and cream cheese seemed like a perfectly reasonable breakfast option to Tony.

But apparently, grocery store bagels weren’t good enough for his highness.

“I get it, kid,” Tony said, through gritted teeth. “This isn’t New York. You’re gonna have to get over that.”

“Then stop giving me poor imitations of classic New York food,” Peter shot back, as he glared down at the bagel on his plate. “You could have made an English muffin or something.”

“Or, you could have made your own food,” Tony snapped. He smeared some cream cheese on his own bagel, while his coffee continued brewing.

“I said I would,” Peter snapped right back. “You’re the one who insisted.”

“I’m just trying to feed you,” Tony snarled. “I signed papers promising I’d feed you three squares a day.”

Peter glared at him for a second, then muttered, “Can’t disappoint the papers.”

Tony sighed loudly. His coffee finally finished brewing, so he grabbed his cup and his plate and said, “Fine. Make your own lunch, then,” before he turned toward the stairs.

“I will,” Peter said to his retreating form.

“Great. I’ll be down in my lab. Don’t set the house on fire.”

“Right,” Peter said loudly enough for Tony to hear, from halfway across the house, “Like I could do any more damage to it that you haven’t.”

Tony sighed loudly and pointedly, as he finished going downstairs.

This was just a fantastic idea.

- - -

Five days passed in much the same fashion.

Tony saw the kid a couple times a day, and somehow every interaction turned into them snapping at each other. Happy came by at dinner each night, and had taken over bringing the dinner. Because Peter didn’t have complaints about the food if Happy brought it.

At least with Happy there, Peter and Tony didn’t snap at each other the entire time.

Instead, Peter completely ignored Tony to chat with Happy.

But on day six, Happy came by at lunch time and stormed right into the lab to yell at him.

“Why haven’t you bought the kid anything?”

“What?” Tony asked, lifting his head from the prototype he was working on.

“You’ve bought him nothing,” Happy shouted.

Tony furrowed his brow. “What does he need?” The kid hadn’t said anything about needing anything.

“Stuff,” Happy snapped. “He’s got barely more than a week's worth of clothes, a couple books, and a crappy, broken laptop and cell phone.”

“There’s plenty of books in the library,” Tony said. There was plenty of things to do in the house. A whole damn library, a boxing gym, and every gadget a kid could dream about.

“Those aren’t his,” Happy said. “You have to buy him things.”

Tony scoffed. “Fine. Then order him things. I don’t care.”

“You should take him shopping and buy him things,” Happy said. “You are his father.”

“Happy,” Tony said flatly, turning his attention back to his prototype. “I’m busy.”

“Tony.”

“Happy,” Tony echoed. “Just order him whatever he needs on my card. I don’t care.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Happy said. His voice had gone quiet, in that way it did when he was truly furious. He took a deep breath, then said a little steadier, “I’m taking the kid to the mall, not that I think you’d notice him gone.”

“Good, fine,” Tony huffed.

“Unbelievable,” Happy grumbled.

Tony looked up again once Happy left, and stared at the empty doorway to the lab.

The house stayed quiet for another minute, until he heard the front door slam, then the low growl of Happy’s Audi peeled out of the driveway.

Tony waited until the sound faded completely.

Then he opened the drawer beside him instead and pulled out the bottle of whiskey.

- - -

Two days later, Tony walked upstairs to find Peter lying on the ground of the TV room, a screwdriver in one hand as he was removing the screws off the motherboard of… something.

Tony honestly didn’t know what he’d just taken apart.

He had his tongue stuck out and was squinting in concentration on the motherboard, however.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tony asked, standing in the threshold of the room.

Peter had the pieces of the… thing strewn all around him in a very chaotic, but somehow orderly pattern on the floor.

Peter looked up at him briefly, then said, “Fixing it.”

“It wasn’t broken,” Tony said. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been broken.

Tony didn’t have broken things in his house.

Well. He didn’t have broken devices.

“Broken is relative,” Peter said, still removing screws and placing them down in a neat row next to himself.

“You can’t just take apart my things,” Tony said. “You will break them.”

Peter looked up at him that time and glared. “This isn’t yours.”

“What?” Tony asked. “Of course it is. Everything in this house is mine.”

All Peter did was stare blankly at Tony.

Tony shifted his weight from one foot to the other, averting his gaze. “Put it back together.”

“Yeah, that was the eventual plan,” Peter mumbled, as he went back to removing screws. “You got a soldering iron?”

“You don’t need—”

“Yes, I do,” Peter cut in. “The connection here is fried, see?” He held the motherboard up.

Reluctantly, Tony took a few steps closer to look.

Sure enough, it did need fixing…

“Needs to be soldered,” Peter said, as he went back to unscrewing.

Tony sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, then eyed the bar across the room. What he’d come in there for in the first place.

“Fine. Whatever. Get it out of the workshop but leave the rest of my shit alone. JARVIS will tell you where it is.”

“Kay,” Peter said.

“Fucking kids,” Tony muttered, as he carefully stepped around all the various parts and over to the bar.

“Happy bought me this so I could take it apart,” Peter snapped.

Tony rolled his eyes and considered all his options for a moment. In the end, he settled on a nice bottle of bourbon.

“Don’t you ever drink water?” Peter muttered, an angry pout on his face when Tony glanced over.

Tony huffed. “Go back to your destruction,” he grumbled, as he took the entire bottle with him.

“You first,” Peter said. He put the last screw down on the floor and set his screwdriver down.

Tony ignored him and finished his trek back downstairs.

-

An hour later, Tony found himself halfway through the bottle, and neck deep in his research.

He startled when JARVIS said, “Sir. Mr. Parker is approaching.”

“Don’t call him that,” Tony snapped, scowling down at his screen.

JARVIS hesitated a moment, then started, “That is his name, is it not—”

“Mute,” Tony said. He looked up just in time to see Peter pull open the door.

Tony didn’t remember programming JARVIS to just let Peter in, either. Even Pepper had to type in a code.

“What, kid?” Tony asked flatly, as he went back to his research.

Peter rolled his eyes and said, just as flatly, “I’m here for the soldering iron.”

“Right.” Tony pushed himself to his feet and paused for a moment, to let the woozy feeling pass. Once it did, he walked over to one of his tool cabinets.

“What are you working on?” Peter asked, as he walked over to the holographic screen Tony had just been using. He leaned forward and started examining the electron shell stability model for the palladium core he had open.

“JARVIS, take that down,” Tony mumbled, as he opened a drawer to look for the baby soldering iron he had. The kid definitely didn’t need a high-powered one.

Peter scowled at him. “It looked like electron shell modeling.”

Tony blinked and glanced over at Peter briefly. Then he shook his head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said shortly.

“Were those decay rates?” Peter asked, completely ignoring Tony. He looked back at what was now Tony’s screensaver of classic cars, as if he could somehow still see the model. “Because your stabilization curve was dropping off way too fast.”

Tony froze and slowly turned to look at Peter.

Peter bristled, and demanded, “What?”

“How the hell do you know what a stabilization curve is?”

“I can read,” Peter said dryly.

“Right,” Tony mumbled. He turned back to the drawers and slammed shut the one he’d been in. He pulled open the next and found what he was looking for. He grabbed it and walked it over to Peter, holding it out. “Don’t burn my house down.”

Peter eyed him for a moment, then slowly took the tool. “Sure,” he mumbled, “because I’m the one who’s gonna do that.”

“Just go away, kid,” Tony said tiredly, as he collapsed back down in his chair.

The words tasted bitter as soon as they left his mouth. His face twisted, and he tried to ignore the crushing weight in his chest.

Like father, like son, Tony thought bitterly.

He chanced a glance up at Peter, but he was just scowling at him. Same as always.

“My name is Peter, in case you forgot,” he said flatly.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I know what your name is.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Peter mumbled, as he turned around and left.

Tony sat back in his chair. He felt like he was suffocating.

Swallowing thickly, Tony grabbed his blood meter and pressed his thumb onto the pin.

Blood Toxicity 53%, it read.

With a shaky hand, Tony reached back out for his drink.

It was probably better this way, anyway.

- - -

There was no solution to his problem.

Tony leaned back in his chair, staring at the sequencing model.

Nothing worked. He’d tried everything.

He had months left. At most. Probably only weeks.

It wasn’t even likely he would make it to the three-month mark with Peter’s placement.

Not that he deserved to get full custody, anyway. What Tony deserved was having Peter taken away. Peter deserved that, too.

If the government were actually trustworthy with, well, anything.

Tony did know someone trustworthy, though. So that afternoon, Tony contacted his lawyers and demanded they keep this project under wraps. No one was to hear about it, not even Pepper.

Especially not Pepper.

So one week later, when Tony’s blood toxicity hit 60%, Tony received a package from his lawyers with a pile of paperwork to review.

Tony rubbed at his forehead, trying to massage away the headache that had become persistent sometime in the last week. A dull ache throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He grabbed a bottle from the bar on his way back to his lab, where he opened the envelope.

The first document he pulled was an approved permanent placement document, signed by a judge in New York willing to do what Tony’s lawyers wanted.

Permanent custody.

Tony exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair.

At least the state couldn’t get their grubby little hands on Peter again.

With shaky hands, Tony poured himself a glass of bourbon, then moved on to the next document.

The Last Will and Testament of Anthony Edward Stark.

Tony let out a stuttered breath, and forced his eyes to scan over it.

Everything about it needed to change. Every single thing.

He’d had this drafted up right after Stane died, less than two years ago.

And yet. It was terribly outdated.

“JARVIS,” Tony said with a sigh, “Call Esteban.”

-

Talking with lawyers was the worst torture imaginable, Tony thought, eyeing the glass of bourbon just out of the camera’s view.

Could he take a sip of it without his lawyer seeing? Could he slide off camera and down it?

He didn’t want Esteban or any of the rest of the team, sitting at a table in their firm’s conference room, to see it and decide Tony was unfit to make any of these decisions.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Esteban said, jotting things down in a notepad.

“Yep,” Tony said shortly.

“His name isn’t hyphenated or anything? We need his full legal name in here.”

“No,” Tony sighed. “Just: Peter Benjamin Parker.” Peter had made it pretty damn clear right up front he was not a Stark. Tony wouldn’t go adding the name to his anyway.

“Okay,” Esteban said. He made a few more notes, then said, “And it’s Harold Joseph Hogan, correct? That is who you are naming guardian in the event of your death.”

“Yep.”

Esteban looked over at the camera. “Has he agreed?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. Lied. He hadn’t discussed it with Happy at all.

Discussing it would require explaining himself, and Tony was not going to explain himself.

He couldn’t handle anyone’s worry. Or pity. Or. Whatever they’d offer.

Happy would take custody of Peter, anyway, Tony knew. He and the kid got along great.

Peter would probably prefer it that way…

“Okay,” Esteban said, still taking notes. “Would you like to set up a trust for your son?”

“He, uh, already has one of those,” Tony said, furrowing his brow. “Set it up when he was a baby.” It had a couple million in it, meant for college and then… he didn’t know. Buying a house or something.

“I meant in the event of your death,” Esteban clarified. “Should some of your assets go into a trust for him?”

“Oh,” Tony said. He blinked, then looked at the room around him. At all his lab equipment and inventions. His legacy.

“Yeah. Leave him everything, actually.”

“Everything?” his lawyer echoed.

“Yeah. That’s normal, right?” Tony asked. He squinted, and tried to think back to his parents’ will. “My dad left me everything.”

“Yes, it’s normal,” Esteban said slowly. “The Iron Man suits, too?”

Tony hesitated, his eyes flicking over to his display of suits against the wall.

Iron Man was a massive burden. It constantly got him in trouble. Constantly.

And it was dangerous. And…

It was Tony’s greatest creation.

Peter… Peter deserved his best, too.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Leave it all to him.”

“He’s fourteen years old,” Esteban said slowly.

Tony looked at the video screen in front of him. His eyes flicked to the date in the corner. “He turns fifteen next month,” he said numbly. “And, uh. We can name Happy the, uh, guardian of that, too. Until Peter is older.”

Esteban was quiet for a long moment. He looked right at the camera, as he asked, “Mr. Stark. Are you sure everything’s all right?”

“Yep, yeah,” Tony said quickly. “It’s great. I just want to get all this squared away up front. You know, in case the next assassination attempt is successful.”

Another long moment lapsed in silence, but Esteban finally sighed. “Okay. Anything else you want included?”

“Nope. Can’t think of anything else.”

“All right. Thank you, Mr. Stark. We’ll get this drafted and send you a copy for review later this week.”

“Great. Perfect,” Tony said, just before he hit end call on his screen.

As soon as the screen went black, Tony let out a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

At least Peter would be fine, once Tony was gone.

- - -

Tony went upstairs a few hours later for one of the smoothies that was keeping him alive.

He was up to over 100 ounces of it a day to counteract the palladium poisoning. That, alone, was making him queasy.

In the kitchen, Tony found Peter sitting at the counter, hunched over his new laptop. Next to him was a book he had his left finger in, pointing at something, while he used his right hand to edit an… equation. Of some sort.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked, as he stepped closer to try and read the compound he was putting together.

Peter slammed the lid shut and said, “None of your business.”

Tony recoiled for a second, then furrowed his brow. “It looked like—”

“Just go away,” Peter said, cutting him off.

That… stung.

Tony floundered for a second, then sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Don’t actually mix those chemicals together in my house. You’ll blow it up.”

“No I wont,” Peter drawled. “The borate stabilizes it.”

“Don’t mix chemicals in my house,” Tony said firmly, as he finally stepped past Peter.

Peter just glared at him.

With another sigh, Tony rubbed at his eyes and rounded the counter to grab his powder, but stumbled when he tripped over the damn trash can. Which was in the middle of the floor, instead of inside the cabinet where it belonged.

“Damnit,” Tony swore as he kicked the can. After a moment, he picked it up and shoved it back into the cabinet where it belonged. “Stop moving my shit.”

Peter pulled his book closer to himself and hid his face behind it, as he grumbled, “Oh, I’m sorry. Is my existing getting in your way?”

“I didn’t say that,” Tony sighed. The trash can got in his way.

He filled a 64oz bottle with water, then started measuring out scoops of powder. He missed the mouth of the bottle on the first scoop because his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He swore, and used both his hands to guide the second scoop to the right place.

He’d need another one of these bottles today, but just the smell of the powder was making his stomach churn. The nausea itself, he thought, might be from the headache.

It was hard to tell anymore.

“Yeah, but you thought it,” Peter mumbled.

“No, I didn’t,” Tony snapped. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“Uh huh,” Peter grumbled. Tony ignored how he curled further into his book.

“Do you want lunch?” Tony ground out.

“Not from you,” Peter said shortly. He paused for a moment, then added, “I already ate.”

“Great,” Tony grumbled. He measured out the last scoop and dumped it in. Then, under his breath, he said, “At least I won’t have to listen to you whine about what I fix.”

Apparently, the kid had super hearing or something, because he scoffed. “Yeah, all you ever fix is green smoothies anyway. There’s no way that’s even healthy.”

This is the only damn thing keeping me alive, he wanted to growl, but he bit his tongue. He put the handheld frother into his bottle and switched it on.

The grinding sound made his headache throb.

“What’s even in that stuff?” Peter asked. “It smells terrible.”

“Kid,” Tony said sharply. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on keeping his breathing steady. “Can you just shut up? My head is killing me.”

“Maybe if you drank water,” Peter drawled.

Tony slammed his hand down on the counter. His bottle wobbled, and some of the green sludge sloshed out.

Peter, sitting across the counter from Tony, flinched. Hard.

Tony set the frother down gently and turned around, putting his back to Peter so he could close his eyes and take a deep breath.

When he turned back around, Peter was gone.

“Great,” he mumbled to himself as he grabbed a paper towel to clean up his spill.

“Way to go, Stark. Your own son’s scared of you.”

He put the lid on his drink, then picked it up.

The room tilted violently.

Tony caught himself against the counter with a sharp inhale. “Shit,” he muttered.

Black spots flickered briefly across his vision. His headache pulsed hard enough he nearly hurled.

He stood there for a long moment, gripping the edge of the counter and waiting for the dizziness to pass.

It didn’t.

With a shaky sigh, Tony slid down the cabinet until he hit the floor.

The cold wood pressed against his back as he tipped his head against the cabinet door and shut his eyes.

Then he forced himself to take another swallow of the green sludge.

- - -

Tony didn’t brave the stairs again until the next day. He’d been spending the night in his lab more and more recently.

The dizziness hit him in waves, and for the moment seemed to be subsided, so Tony took advantage to go get another bottle of his drink.

And maybe a new bottle of whiskey. He was out of that, too.

Upstairs, Tony found Peter lying on the couch in the TV room, watching some stupid cartoon where the characters were dropping every cuss word imaginable left and right.

“What do you want?” Peter asked flatly, not even looking away from the screen.

Tony furrowed his brow and stared at the screen for a moment. “All that shit’s good for is rotting your brain,” he mumbled.

“Yes,” Peter said dryly, “because sitting around your house bored all day is better.”

“No one is keeping you prisoner inside,” Tony scoffed. “You can go outside. There’s a whole damn beach down there to explore.”

“I don’t want to go outside,” Peter said petulantly. “It smells weird out there.”

“That’s what fresh air smells like,” Tony drawled.

Peter shrugged. “It smells gross.”

Tony shot him a flat look. “As opposed to the body odor and urine smell of New York.”

Peter sat up and scowled. “New York does not smell like that. It smells like food carts and cars and trains and concrete and people. Here just smells like… salt.”

“Well, if you liked the smell of people so much,” Tony scoffed, “why did you leave?”

“Right,” Peter nearly growled, “because I wanted to move to California to live with a man who would prefer my mom aborted.”

Tony froze. He narrowed his eyes at Peter, and asked, “What?”

Where would Peter even get an idea like that?

Never once had Tony ever even… thought about that. Or considered it. He’d said not a damn word to Mary about whether she should go through with her pregnancy.

Granted… he hadn’t said many words to her at all…

“I’ve never once had a thought like that,” Tony said numbly.

“Right,” Peter scoffed, sinking back down into the couch cushions.

Tony scowled. “Fine. Whatever, kid. If you didn’t want to be here, why’d you come?”

Peter sat back up and spun on him. “You think I had a choice?” he shouted. “I told my social worker ‘no’ a hundred times, but she didn’t care. The state saw a chance to offload a problem on someone rich enough to afford it and took it.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped being a problem—”

Tony froze. He took a sharp inhale, and immediately stuttered, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean—”

But it was too late.

The words hit their target, and Peter’s face crumbled.

“Fuck you,” Peter said quietly, as he got to his feet. He threw the remote on the couch and snapped, “I hate you,” before storming out the room and up the stairs.

Tony heard his bedroom door slam a moment later.

“Shit,” Tony muttered, rubbing his face with his hands. He stared at the empty couch for a long minute.

Why couldn’t he just… not. Do whatever the fuck he kept doing.

He wasn’t Howard. He was worse.

With a shaky breath, Tony made his way across the room to the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

It was probably easier this way.

If the kid hated him… it wouldn’t be so bad when Tony finally kicked it.

-

Tony retreated back to his lab with the entire container of powder, so he could make his drinks down there. His blood toxicity was above 70%, and the poisoned veins were nearly to his face.

He also was burning through the palladium cores in record time.

Which is why a few hours later, Tony was in the middle of replacing the burned out core when Peter stepped into the doorway.

“You’re putting palladium inside your body?” Peter asked, just staring at him blankly from the doorway.

Tony blinked and looked over at him.

“Are you stupid?” Peter asked, though there was no bite in his voice.

He looked… genuinely baffled by Tony’s choice.

Tony finished replacing the core and twisted the reactor back in place. He took a deep breath, and did his best not to channel his inner Howard.

He’d been doing that way too much lately.

“If there was literally any alternative,” Tony said as patiently as he could muster, “I’d be using it.”

“There has to be,” Peter said, as he stepped into the room and walked up to the schematics JARVIS had pulled up.

“JARVIS, take those down,” Tony snapped.

Peter glowered. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You can’t,” Tony shot back. “I’ve tried every element and possible combination. There’s no alternative. There’s no solution.”

“Cool,” Peter said, crossing his arms tightly across his Mets hoody. “So you’re just gonna die. Good to know.”

Tony just stared at him. At how his teeth were clenched tight. His eyes were rimmed red. His shoulders were held tightly.

He looked…

“If you’ve tried every known element,” Peter said, “you just need to invent a new one.”

“Wow,” Tony huffed, throwing his head backward. “Why didn’t I think of that? Just revolutionize science in a few short weeks. Brilliant plan.”

“Isn’t that what you do?” Peter shot back. “You invented a working arc reactor in a cave.”

“Kid,” Tony sighed, suddenly feeling the exhaustion down to his bones. He massaged his temples with a hand. “Just. Go back to your cartoons and figuring out ways to blow up the house.”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter mumbled. “And you go back to drinking yourself stupid.” He turned to leave, then hesitated in the doorway. “Can you at least move me back to New York before you die, so I can go back into foster care there? California sucks.”

Tony sighed loudly and shut his eyes. “Happy gets custody of you when I die. Updated my will the other day.”

“What?” Peter said, and he sounded so startled, Tony opened his eyes again. “Why?”

“Because he likes you,” Tony said. He leaned back again, then muttered under his breath, “Though I can’t figure out why.”

“I don’t know why he likes you,” Peter shot back.

“Kid,” Tony sighed. He rubbed at his face again, closing his eyes. “Why did you come down here?”

Peter was quiet for a moment, but finally admitted in a neutral tone, “I was coming to tell you I’m sorry for saying you I hated you.”

Tony’s face went slack. He swallowed thickly and looked over at Peter.

Peter narrowed his eyes. “But I’m not sorry anymore.”

“Kid,” Tony tried, but it was too late. Peter spun on his heels and stormed off.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, anyway.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the cool glass desk in front of him.

Peter was too damn good for him. Better than Tony deserved.

He could only hope he didn’t screw him up too badly, before he died.

-

Happy came over after work, just like he did every day.

Unlike every day, today he stormed into Tony’s lab, looking like he was ready to murder Tony himself.

“What the hell did you do to the kid?” Happy demanded.

“What do you mean?” Tony asked. As if he didn’t know.

He just didn’t know how to fix it.

Or if he deserved to fix it.

He definitely did not deserve to fix it.

“Why did I find him crying in his room?” Happy demanded.

“He… cries?” Tony asked slowly. He knew he’d upset the kid, but…

“Of course he cries,” Happy exploded. “He’s a fourteen-year-old kid.”

“He hates it here,” Tony said. “He hates me. He’d rather be in foster care in New York than here.”

“Well, maybe if his father wasn’t such an ass to him all the time he’d change his mind.”

Tony clenched his jaw and looked away.

Happy sighed. “Tony. You’re my best friend and I love you, but you need to get your head out of your ass. That kid didn’t do anything to you. He doesn’t deserve your abuse.”

“I know that,” Tony snapped. Peter didn’t deserve having someone like Tony as a father.

And Tony didn’t deserve having someone like Peter as his son.

But Tony didn’t know how to fix it. How to… stop.

And it didn’t matter, anyway. Tony, realistically, had days left.

“I’m taking Peter for the night,” Happy said lowly. “Stop drinking. Get your shit together. We’ll be back for dinner tomorrow.”

Tony took a deep breath, but nodded. His eyes drifted over to the half-finished glass of whiskey on his desk, next to his bottle of sludge.

At least the one correct thing Tony had done recently was choosing a good guardian for Peter.

“We’ll be here at 6:30 tomorrow. You better have dinner and an apology ready for him.”

Tony could hear the threat in his voice.

If Tony screwed this up… he wasn’t even sure what Happy was going to do.

Take Peter for real, maybe.

Maybe that would be for the best…

“Tony,” Happy demanded.

“Yes. Okay,” he said.

“You’re better than this,” Happy said, gesturing vaguely at the room, before he turned and left.

Tony just sat there for a long while.