Chapter Text
It was raining that night. It was one of the few nights that Tony spent alone, sitting in his apartment nursing a cup of whiskey - the expensive stuff, the kind his father would drink. It burned his throat so well, his mind numb. He’d always grown up telling himself he’d never become like his father, and yet here he was, not knowing what it felt to be sober, pitying himself. The only difference was that he never married. He’d sworn he’d never marry so he’d never hurt someone.
That wasn’t to say he didn’t want to marry, or have kids. He wished he could. His life was sad and lonely, even though it was surrounded by thousands of people, from party animals, to the Avengers, who were the closest thing to family he’d ever have.
“Boss, there’s a package for you.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. announces, echoing through the empty penthouse. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had been J.A.R.V.I.S.’s replacement, and he had made sure to make her even sharper than her former. She could sense whenever someone intended to go into the building, or when there were roaches or other bugs - he’d programmed it so that she’d release a chemical to kill them each time that she detected one.
Tony sighs, putting his drink on the glass coffee table. “Can you send it up?”
“Unfortunately not, sir,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, almost pitifully. Who gave that A.I. emotions? Oh wait… “The package is outside.”
“Jesus Christ." He had to go outside in the pouring rain? He let out a huff then pushed to stand, his head swimming for a moment.
He thumped down the stairs and towards the elevator, leaning against the wall of the shaft as it sped down the tower. The cool metal calmed his hot face, waking him out of his alcohol induced stupor. When the elevator pinged open, he stumbled out, running a hand down his face. He made his way towards the entrance, and when he swung the doors open, he froze.
F.R.I.D.A.Y. had called what sat at his front door a package, but that’s certainly not what it was. In a soaked brown box, wrapped in a red and blue striped blanket lay a small boy. He was drenched and wailed like the Egyptians. His chestnut brown hair was short and curly, his eyes periodically blinking open to reveal similarly toned iris’s. Tony quickly picked up the kid - he might’ve been an awful man, but he wasn’t cruel - and brought him inside. The blanket dripped with every step, making Tony sick. Who would do this to a baby? When he got into the elevator, a small note fell from the swaddle. It had avoided the rain, and was folded up. Tony bent down, holding the kid close to his chest so as not to drop him, then picked up the note.
Dear Tony,
This is your kid, I checked. I tried to take care of him, but I couldn’t. He’ll have a much
better life with you than I ever could’ve given him. Please take care of him. His name’s
Peter Parker-Stark. He’s two months old. I’ve sent the medical files via mail, so they
wouldn’t get soaked in the rain. I’m sorry.
The note wasn’t signed, so Tony had no clue who the mother of this child - his child - was - he really should start asking women for their last names. His mind boiled with anger at the thought that the woman left his son in the rain knowingly. When they finally returned to the penthouse, he asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to order whatever supplies he may need to raise a child - diapers, a crib, onesies, the works.
For a month following Peter’s arrival, Tony tried to continue living life teh way he’d always had; parties until the early morning, then passing out drunk on the couch, or bringing some random woman into his bed.
On one particular morning, when the penthouse had emptied out, he realized he couldn’t find the kid. He swore that he’d left him in his room, which he’d set off limits, but he wasn’t there. For the next thirteen hours, he searched the penthouse for the child. He only stopped when he heard the cries of the three month old, and followed them to the laundry room.
Peter was inside the laundry machine, covered in barf that was too much to be his.
That was when Tony knew he had to turn his life around.