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Chapter Text

Who decided that peas were a healthy snack and a good source of nutrients?
Tony wholeheartedly believed that person was a complete idiot. Why else would one choose to cultivate tiny, squishy marbles of green mush?

Madness!

"God damn it!"

"Tony..."

"Stark, I do not believe that kind of langue is appropriate around someone so young." Thor paused, confusion evident on his face. "He is considered young even in your short lifespan, am I right?"

Tony glared up at the four people lounging around in the kitchen. All now silently judging him with stern faces and crossed arms.

Well. The four and a half people crowd, or four and one-third.

The latter, currently giggling, red-faced, and gasping for breaths. Another swipe and a delighted squeal and more green projectiles shot off the little tray while the culprit happily clapped his hands. Peter strained against the straps securing him to his high chair. The toddler leaned precariously over the edge, eager to watch the small balls bounce away over the kitchen tiles.

Tony felt the judging looks from his teammates around him. In Tony's defense. He didn't mean to swear right before Peter. Tony tried to filter his language to a more baby-appropriate version.

Soo.

Thor wasn't wrong per se, but Tony smacked his head really, fucking hard against the corner of the table. And on top of that, his knees and back were protesting after too much kneeling, bending, and crawling.
Rubbing his temple, Tony sat back on his hinges and studied the tiny cause of the giant green mess. The boy was currently sporting a look similar to Banner's green situation.

It was cute.

"Then maybe one of you can take over as the human robovacc?"

Standing, he heard his back crack in at least four places, and his left knee wouldn't straighten completely.
Baby-sitting aged him five times faster than any fighting he'd done in his career. Tony didn't know how to feel about that. He was still youngish. Right? At least a well-preserved middle-aged man. Or something?

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen, Tony. You secretly love all of this."

Tony scowled at Rhodey and then back at the green nuisance in front of him. He did, but his best friend would have to catch him dead before Tony would acknowledge it. The whole situation terrified him, but he was shocked to find himself enjoying it now and then.

Now. Tony wasn't so sure anymore.

He scoffed at the idea and turned his glare back to Rhodey instead.

"Great, you'll scrub the kitchen while I put Green Bean in a bath."

Reaching for the kid, Tony tried to find the least sticky surface to grab him, only to realize there was none. The boy was covered, head to toe. There was no way Tony could pick him up without sacrificing his shirt. A white one, of course.
So, with another sigh, he grabbed the boy under the armpits and placed him on his hip, not being able to completely hide his grimace when Peter snaked a slimy arm around his neck.

The nape of his neck, getting an unwelcomed spa treatment.

"I believe the cabinets require some scrubbing," Tony ordered and spun around. Walking out of the kitchen, he caught two small, mushy hands before they managed to smack him in his face.

"Oh, and Honey Bear, there's some out here too," Tony singsonged and strutted away. If he had to deal with pea mush in his hair, they could deal with cleaning the kitchen.

Not wanting to sanitize the entire bathroom, he balanced the now squirming boy on his hip while the tub filled with warm water. Unconsciously bouncing Peter up and down, keeping him calm while dumping an appropriate amount of bath bubbles in the rising water.

Tony had already read the label several times. He didn't need to worry about overdosing. That was a reasonable concern, despite what Steve said.

"Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles, bubbles."

A mop of brown locks almost knocked his teeth out when he reached to turn the tap off, the struggle and wiggle intensifying the minute small white clouds appeared on the surface of the water.

"Jesus, kid, slow down," Tony maneuvered Peter back against his side when he felt the boy slip. "I don't want to explain to your Aunt that I dropped you on day three. That lady is terrifying when she wants to. She'll have my head on a stick."

Smiling at the boy, Tony dropped some colorful bath toys in the tub to keep the kid occupied. A red plastic boat, a couple of yellow ducks, and a blue rubber whale. Wide brown eyes followed his every movement.

Explaining to May that they had accidentally regressed her 16-year-old nephew to a pint-sized toddler wasn't one of his proudest moments. For someone so small, May sure as hell packs a punch and knows a lot of colorful language in both English and Italian.

How were they supposed to know that the stupid rock changed powers when moved to another realm?

It didn't come with an instructions manual. (They found that one later in the Asgardian library after some digging by Thor and Loki).

The plan was to give the gem to Peter for his birthday for him to study it. He loved to observe nerdy things under a microscope, especially if they came from space.

It was the perfect gift.

Except when it turned him into a tot.

Yeah, that was an adult supervision fault.

"But here we are, Kiddo. Not how you planned to spend your birthday weekend, right?"

Tony tried to catch Peter's eyes. But the former teenager turned toddler was too busy to answer. Instead, he tried to fit his entire hand in his mouth, drooling like a Sankt Bernard with dental issues.

Gross.

Balancing the boy on the toilette seat, Tony began to peel the wet and sticky clothes of the kid. He tried to keep the mush from falling off the fabric and smearing the floor. That failed. Spectacularly.

Pushing the light yellow shirt over the kid's head, Tony wondered if it was beyond saving. Maybe they should stick to darker colors in the future?

"At least your table manners improved with age, mini Shrek."

Puffy cheeks went even more chipmunk-like when the kid flashed him a huge smile and giggled around the cramped fingers in his mouth.

"Oony!" Tony quickly diverted the drooly hand in its path to pet his head.
Redirecting small, often sticky hands was one thing he was getting a hang on.

Tony Stark had developed a superpower.

Huh, figure that.

Oh, so carefully, Tony lowered the now butt-naked boy into the tub.
When his toes touched the water, Peter let out a high-pitched squeal and began vigorously kicking at the bubbles, giggling his little heart out at the ticklish sensation. No care that his sudden movement nearly gave Tony a minor heart attack.

Finally, Peter sat steadily on the antislip bathmat, and Tony let out a tired sigh. He felt spent.
Tony slowly sank to sit beside the tub and leaned against the side. Draping one hand over the edge, he ran one hand through the bubbles making different patterns while fondly watching the kid zoom the blue whale around in the shallow water.

He felt oddly content sitting there, with nothing else to do or the need to occupy his brain. All focus on keeping the small boy cheerful and above water.
His knees didn't hurt so much anymore, and after chuckling at the kid squirting himself in the face with water, he forgot about them entirely.

Who knew Tony Stark would enjoy babysitting? He smiled and ran his fingers through Peter's messy curls, savoring the moment, sadly knowing it was a limited-time experience.

"FRIDAY, can you ple-."

"Already done, Sir."
--------
"Peter Benjamin Parker, get your naked butt over here now!"

"Noooo!"

Tony had fought supervillains that were easier to manage than the towel cape-wearing menace that currently dashed through their living room.

"I'm Or!"

Peter sprinted as fast as his short stubby legs carried him. Darting behind the grey couch and around the glass coffee table. The table with very sharp and hard corners.
Tony felt another couple of years escape him when the kid's head almost knocked right into the metal frame. The makeshift towel cape billowed behind him, held in place by Peter's white-knuckled grip while he bolted to the couch once again.

Thankfully the potentially dangerous sprint was aborted by the actual Thor. The man swooped the miniature up and flew him around the room for a while. Peter flew high above the God's head and was nerve-wracking close to the ground, shrieking with laughter.

"FRIDAY, please order some corner protecting things." Tony's voice did not shake, not at all. Also, his hand did not wander to his heart like a faint lady.

"The corner guards will arrive tomorrow, Boss." Did FRIDAY's voice sound more amused?

"Thank you, FRIDAY." He directed his attention back towards the giggles and dragged a hand across his face. Tony needed a nap. Fake parenting was exhausting.

"You are truly worthy of a cape, young Peter. One made of the finest threads found in the seven realms. Worn only by heroes and warriors."

The God shifted the small child in his arms and brought his fingers to the boy's soft belly. Peter erupted into giggles and tried to squirm away from Thor's wiggling fingers.

"But to fight mighty beasts and protect the innocent, we must wear clothing. I once slept under the stars in nothing but my birthday suit and obtained a rash on my buttocks," Thor shook his head at the memory.

"Riding towards a battle with a sore behind, I would not wish upon my enemies."
A giant finger tapped the enthralled toddler on the nose. Peter went crossed-eyed by the action. "One must always protect your behind."

Now very eager to put clothes on, Peter nodded his head serious, making the damp curls bounce and fall around his face.

Tony stepped forward to hand Thor the pile of clothing and a diaper. Close to the kid, Tony couldn't help but sweep the locks out of the boy's face and gently scratch his scalp.
He stubbornly ignored the soft look the God of thunder sent him at the action.

"Nice to know you don't play favoritism, Kiddo, gonna remember that." Stifling a yawn, Tony brushed a hand through his hair. Disgust filled him at the greasy resistance. As subtly as he could, Tony sniffed his armpits. Yeah, that wasn't peachy fresh. He needed a shower.

When was the last time he took one? Before the shrinking situation?

"Do you think you bunch of true heroes can handle not losing Bite-Size over here while I make myself smell a little less like an alley rat?"

He knew they were capable of watching the kid because this entire experience had been a weird mix of teamwork from the start.
It didn't make it any easier being separated from the kid tho. He was getting attached.

Who could have guessed? Not Tony, that's for sure.

"Go shower, Mama Bear. We'll watch your kid, perhaps consider a nap too, 'cause those bags under your eyes are dangerously close to touching the floor."

Clint walked by Tony, pointing one sugar-coated finger in his face, throwing himself on the couch.

"If you feed him one bit of candy. I'm telling Laura." He smacked the archer across the head while passing the couch. "And he's not my kid."

"Yeah, whatever you say." Stuffing his mouth with three large pieces of red gummies, Clint flipped Tony the bird over the back of the couch, chewing loudly with an open mouth.

Steve crossed his arms, sending the iconic Captain America look of disapproval towards Clint, who now sucked his fingers clean and sprawled out over the couch cushions. "That's just gross, Barton."

"I'll be back in 15 minutes, don't lose him, don't let him out of your sight. He's fast and a magnet for trouble."

That was something that hadn't changed. Toddler Pete was just as big of a trouble magnet as teenaged Pete.

"Make it one or maybe two hours, Tony. Sleep will do you good." Steve made a shooing motion with his hands to make Tony move again, the clashing thoughts evident in the mechanics' face.

"Fine." Tony's shoulders slumped in defeat. Maybe a quick shower? How much trouble could someone so small cause during that short time?

It's Peter Parker, so a fucking tonne, even with superhero babysitters.

"Oony go? Where Oony go?" Steve's chin fell to his chest when he heard the soft voice from Thor's arms.
The slight wobble notified Steve of the impending tears. They were so close to getting Tony to rest for a while. The man had spent the most time with the toddler, and it was clear to everyone that the two had developed a strong bond. Steve knew that if tears fell, Tony would stay with Peter.

"No, down. Pe'er down." Peter squirmed around in Thor's arms so much that Steve feared he would drop him. Tony was already on his way to pick the boy up.

"Would you like to help me on an adventure, young Peter?" Thor tightened his hold on the struggling boy, careful not to harm him. "I have heard tales about trolls hiding in plain sight, disguised as ordinary things."

To the surprise of no one, the kid stilled. His hero-worship of Thor was beyond them. Teary-eyed, he stuffed his tiny fingers in his mouth again. Glancing between Tony and Thor and sniffling, he locked eyes with the God of thunder.

"Oony come wiw Pe'er and Or?" How Thor had the strength to resist those powerful puppy eyes was a mystery to Steve. Before Tony could reach Peter, Steve butted in the conversation.

"Tony is going join you guys soon, son. He needs some rest."

"Yes, young one, you need to be well-rested when searching for trolls. They can be very sneaky." Thor gave the toddler a wink and ruffled his hair. "I do believe I saw a rather suspicious lamp earlier today."

Steve snorted and tried to mask it as a cough. He glanced over his shoulder at Tony and nodded his head towards the hallway, willing him to leave now that Peter was distracted. Debating with himself for a few more seconds, Tony finally caved and walked away, not missing Clint's shout.

"And I saw a doormat acting strange yesterday."

He did, however, miss Peter's wide-eyed stare and how his fingers slipped from his O-shaped mouth. "Rolls here?"

Chapter Text

Tony didn't sleep.

He tried and failed and tried again. Eventually, he stopped and just stayed there staring at the white ceiling, thinking about Peter and how completely fucked up the situation was.

Poor kid.

Maybe he was right about that Parker luck. Tony heard him curse it several times. Often sitting in medical, being patched up for some injury.

At least Peter wasn't injured this time.

According to Bruce, he was a very healthy 2-year-old boy. Maybe a little small for his age but otherwise healthy as one can be.

Tony tried to force and beg Bruce to set Peter up for every test available. The (not that kind of doctor) doctor refused, stating that there was no need to scare Peter more than necessary when a simple examination assured them everything was alright.

Bruce had agreed to draw one sample of blood. Tony regretted the decision immediately when he was the one who had to sit there holding a scared and crying Peter. The frightened hiccups and sniffles broke Tony's heart.

They already knew the cause of the de-aging and even the cure.

Time, that's the cure.

Stay put and wait until the spell runs its course and keep Peter happy and safe while they wait.

Loki nearly fell to the floor, ass first, laughing at Thor when the latter told him about their mishap. The stone's shifting powers were supposedly common knowledge.

For all except the God of Thunder. And his merry band of superheroes on earth.

Tony groaned and dragged his hands down his face. Calloused and dry skin snagged his beard, sending shivers down his prone body.
With another deep sigh, Tony let his hands rest on his chest. Fingers drumming nervously against the arc reactor. It was an unconscious tick for self-soothing and a release for the anxiety coursing through his mind.

The regressing appeared to be both physically and mentally.

Thank God.

Tony couldn't fathom the horrors of being a teenager trapped in a toddler's body. That would be enough to scar a person. Especially someone who thinks every wrongdoing is their fault.

Someone like Peter Parker.

The first hours after the regressing, Tony panicked and tried to hide away in his lab. Spending hours and hours focused on different projects and not allowing his thoughts to drift to the child up in his living quarters.

Tony was terrible with kids anyway, so he kept his distance.

His teenage intern was now a baby. How was he supposed to react? For Peter's sake, it was best if Tony kept his distance. He couldn't disappoint or destroy Peter if they never interacted.

A solid plan.

That ended abruptly when a furious-looking Black Widow stomped right through the doors to the lab and shoved a red-faced, screaming to the point of not breathing, toddler in his arms.

"He wants you," she snapped and spun around, almost whipping him in the face with her long red braid.

And then, Tony was left alone with his arms full of mini Peter, not even knowing how to hold him properly. The boy was so freakishly small.

Tony remembered his concern about supporting the kid's neck. That's what you're supposed to do, or is that only for infants? Tony didn't know.

He rummaged his workplace for a clean rag. Only finding one somewhat unsoiled, and gently tried to wipe away the tears and snot mix covering his intern.
Tony nearly gagged when the mess left the kid's face in slimy strings or stuck to his fingers.

Between his none existing knowledge about taking care of kids and Tony's daddy issues, he's surprised they managed these days so far.

It hadn't been easy. Tony freaked out over the most minute things and almost broke down due to his childhood demons. But thanks to some superheroes, also known as friends, they found a rhythm.

Peter helped too.

The boy was a happy and easy-going baby most of the time. Sure, they had their fair share of tears and tantrums, but Tony slowly caught up on how to deal with them. He might be a slow learner, but he did try. He wanted to be better, for Peter's sake.

"Are you decent?" The soft knocks on the door and Steve's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

What was the time? How long had he been stuck in his head?

Tony shook his head and raised himself on his elbows, head still muddled by lingering anxiety.

"When am I ever?" A thud, probably from Steve's forehead hitting the door, confirmed that the cheekiness didn't go unnoticed.

"But I'm allowing you entries anyways." Even dead tired, Tony could tease the old prude. Wich was always a fun activity.

Slowly opening the door, Steve peeked around the corner from the other side. Tony flashed him a paparazzi smile and made a tada-motion with his hands.

"See, decent as the virgin Mary."

"You don't get any bonus points for having clothes on, Tony." Steve deadpanned and walked up to the foot of the bed.

"Any points for getting rid of them?" Tony winked at the other man. Steve only had himself to blame. He stepped right into that one.

Laughing, Tony heaved himself up to sit cross-legged on the bed. At the same time, Steve groaned and burrowed his face in his hands. The blonde sank to sit beside Tony.

"Oh, come on, Captain PG-13, that was hilarious." Clapping Steve on the shoulder, he continued before the Captain had a chance to retort. "Any reason for the bedroom visit?"

Steve swept a concerned look over Tony's face, noticing the prominent bags and dark circles.

"Did you get any sleep, Tony?" The question wasn't accusatory. It was genuine and soft, Steve's specialty. Tony felt his walls going up. He didn't have the energy to argue.

"I'll catch up eventually." Not wanting to deal with a heart-to-heart today, Tony settled for a change of topic. "Is the dinner ready?"

"Tony..." Steve turned to face him, but Tony crudely cut him off.

"Steve, drop it. It's just a bunch of stupid thoughts."

Tony watched Steve wring his hands together, clearly bothered by Tony's lack of sleep and unwillingness to talk. None of it was a new concern, but it still bothered Steve, and now, with a child in the household, things needed to change. Despite Tony's refusal to admit that he cared for Peter like his own.

But deciding to respect Tony's wish (today), Steve put his hands down on the grey comforter and pushed himself up.

"The lasagna is ready, and we're waiting for you. Peter is starving after his troll hunt." In his perceptual vision, Steve noticed his friend's face light up at the mention of the kid.

Smiling, Tony felt a pang of affection for his kid (no, the kid).

"Was it a success?"

"I'll let him tell you himself." Steve's voice was somewhat lighter when he exited the room.

"You're doing good, Tony."
-----
Dinner time was a much less messy affair than snack time, and Peters's bubbly, high and bright spirit chased away Tony's darkened thoughts.

He sat at the table listening to Peter's retellings of the hunt, nodding and laughing when it seemed fitting.
Truth be told. Tony barely understood half of it, but from the gestures, the giggling, the roars, and the many Or's heard, he was sure it was a success.

"An Oony, Oony. E able was a roll, Oony. An, an, an..." Clutching a piece of noodle in his hand, Peter swung his tiny fist over the eating tray, neglecting to put any food in his mouth.

Once almost swiping his plastic cup and plate right off the table and into Rhodey's lap. Luckily, he had quick reflexes. You know, for someone soo old.

"Okej, slow down a little, Buddy." Tony's voice didn't hold any heat or scolding. Peter was a good kid most of the time. Just easily excited.

He caught one flying hand, pried the noodle mush from it, and lastly wiped it off with a damp rag.

Tony was quite impressed by himself for how quickly he got used to messy and sticky substances, especially those produced by a tiny human.

Catching fist number two, also containing noodle mush and the upside-down spoon, he huffed a chuckle at Peter's excitement.

"Bu the able rolls, Oony. Or heard me."

"I'm sure he did," Tony affirmed softly. He took the opportunity to wipe the boy's chin when he was semi distracted.

On the other end of the table, Thor hid his smirk behind a fork full of lasagna.

"I certainly did, young one, and you were a big help on the quest."

Being praised by his hero made Peter let out another high-pitched squeal of delight and almost tumble out of his high chair. The toddler threw his hands in the air again and kicked his dangling feet under the table. Tony flinched when one pointy foot caught his knee.

"Might need a new hearing aid soon, Stark." Clint rubbed his ear, and honestly, Tony felt like doing the same thing. The kid could be loud sometimes.

Around the table, conversations flowed even after all the food was gone.

There were low-spoken words of no importance, a peaceful and warm environment where all heroes could relax from their usual duties.

Tony heard bits and pieces here and there, something about shopping and someone visiting, but he was too focused on the rapidly dwindling Peter beside him.

When the kid's eyes began to droop and head slowly tilted forward, Tony decided it was time to call it a quit.

"Gonna go put the little rascal to bed." It was just after 6:00 pm, so Tony figured he would tuck Peter in and maybe get back to watch a movie with the others. It was way too early for sleep anyways.

He wiped the kid down again with the rag, noticing that the blue Captain America set was surprisingly clean despite the flying noodles.

One by one, the earth's mightiest heroes (babysitters) said their goodnights to Peter.
Natasha and Rhodey kissed him on top of his head, Clint, Sam, and Thor wawed and called for sweet dreams, and Bruce ruffled his curls with careful hands.

"Do you need any help?" Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, Steve rounded the kitchen counter and placed one of his big hands on Peter's back, rubbing soothingly. Tony could practically hear the kid purr and melt into his neck.

"No, think he's gonna hit the pillow and be out." Peter was already sleeping in Tony's arms, softly snoring against his neck. Tony didn't think the toddler would put up much of a fight. Check the diaper, change to pj's, and brush his teeth. Tony could manage that.

Brushing a hard-sleeping toddler's teeth proved to be a challenge, even more so than an awake one that kept biting the brush. He was a little worried about the kid accidentally swallowing the toothpaste foam, but Tony thought he did an okay job.

Wrangling a boneless toddler into his pajamas was easier. Tonight Iron Man himself would keep the toddler safe during his sleep.

"Oony?" Tony stopped all his blanket fussing and sat down beside the kid in bed.

When did he start fussing around with blankets?

"Yeah, I'm here, Peter." He moved some curls out of the kid's eyes and melted when Peter snuggled up to his hand.

God, he was so soft nowadays.

"I love you, Oony."

During three seconds, Tony experienced a heart attack, a stroke, an arc reactor malfunction, and stopped breathing.

There was something wrong with his eyesight too.

He'd told the teenager that he loved him a couple of times, but Peter never said it back to him before. The kid preferred letting Tony know with tight hugs and small gestures instead.

He believed it had something to do with all the loss the boy experienced in his young life. Tony was okay with that and didn't press the matter.

So, hearing little Peter say it out loud broke him, and he wished teenage Peter would feel comfortable enough to say it out loud too someday.

Tony could be patient.

"I love you too, Peter. I love you so very much."

Chapter Text

"Tony, I don't think you should feed him any more cucumbers. He's going to be full before lunch is ready."

Bruce, once again, moved the big bowl of salad out of Tony's reach and carefully sidestepped the begging toddler currently latched to the countertop by his fingertips.

Balancing on his tiptoes between Tony and Bruce, Peter tried to peak over the edge. Determined and on a mission to find more goodies, especially now when Tony had stopped supplying him with any.
The boy resembled a baby bird with his mouth wide open and big pleading eyes.

He might be small, but his stomach was a black hole.

Whenever the boy felt neglected or when the supply train didn't move fast enough for his liking, he pecked one chubby but hard finger into either of the man's thighs. And it happened often. Tony swore that his thigh would be a polka-dotted mess soon.

"But Brucie, he's giving me the eyes," Tony pleaded to his friend. And yes, he pleaded not whining as Bruce accused him of minutes before.

Tony had a sneaking suspicion that the kid knew about his low resistance against his superpower. But damn it, the kid was adorable.

Both teenage Peter and toddler Peter batted their eyelashes at him and made big brown Bambi eyes whenever they craved something. Especially if Tony previously denied him.

The success rate was nearly a hundred.

"Tony, you're the adult here." Bruce didn't even look up from the vegetable chopping. Just plainly telling Tony the same thing he'd done many times before.

Of course, Bruce was right. Bruce was always right. That was his superpower (except for his handy-dandy big green party trick).

"Fine," Tony grumbled, and for emphasis, he threw both hands in the air. Silently proud of the (childish) dramatic flare.

Pushing himself away from the counter, he crouched beside Peter. Tony gently pried the kid's fingers away from where he struggled hard at climbing the bench. His sock-clad feet only made it about an inch above the floor.
They were all lucky the sticky-fingers and the rest of Spider-man's superpowers didn't stay with the kid. Finding a two-year-old on the ceiling would send Tony to an early grave. Dealing with a regular gravitation-abiding two-year-old was tough enough.

"Pete, why don't you go play with Voff and the rest of your gang until lunch is ready?" Keeping his voice excited, he quickly snagged the plushie off the floor and simultaneously wrangled the boy away from the counter.

Tony held Peter's much smaller hands in his, turning the squirming boy to face him. He wiped some cucumber off the boy's face and pushed the plushie into the boy's arms.
Peter instantly hugged the seal close, and Tony smiled softly at the boy mumble something to his friend, the seal. Not a dog, but once Peter had made up his mind, there was no changing his mind. So now he had a seal named Voff.

And the pair was adorable together.

Peter had spent the morning coloring with Steve. After that, and unbeknownst to anyone, he had gathered all of his plushies in the living room. Two at the time, the toddler placed them in a pile in the middle of the white lounge sofa, arranging them in a pattern.

When anyone asked him what he was doing, the toddler shrugged his shoulders, stared at them like they were crazy, and continued with his mission.

Toddler logic, Tony guessed.

He had noticed Natasha studying the boy's antics with curious eyes. Around Peter, she was a bit easier to read, not so many shields up. Tony smirked when he detected confusion mixed in her features. Guess the super-spy couldn't wrap her head around toddler logic either.

It made Tony feel a tiny bit better.

Except for the stuffie arrangement, Peter had produced a few masterpieces that morning together with Steve. They were currently stuck to the fridge by small Avengers-themed magnets.

Tony had no idea what the paintings were supposed to resemble, but according to Steve, the red, blue, yellow, and green lines were them.

Their little family.

Tony had stuck them on the fridge and threatened violence if anyone considered taking them down.

More artwork ended up in the mini gallery during Peter's stay.

Tony ruffled Peter's hair, sending the boy a questioning look. "You wanna scoot off and play?"

Sending one last yearning look at the unreachable treats, Peter sighed, defeated.

"kay, Oony. Pe'er plays wiw Voff," Peter gave Tony a toothy smile and eventually trudged towards the lounge area.

Tony reached for his work pad, watching his kid wobbling to the couch. He figured he could take a moment and get some work done while he kept an eye on the kid. Pepper would like that.

"Ask Voff which movie we should watch later," Tony yelled across the room.

"kay." Tony heard him start to chatter with his plushie friends and arrange them in a semicircle around him. Like a teeny, innocent cult leader. Tony snorted at the image and turned to his email. The very red app didn't look particularly inviting.

All of the residents in the tower had improved on their child-raising skills, but to be honest, they still sucked.
Well, maybe not suck. That was a bit harsh. All had ways and space to improve and learn. None had much experience with kids, and parenting wasn't in everyone's future.

Except for Clint.

Thank God for Clint and his experience with kids. Without him, they would be lost and doomed.

The earth's mightiest heroes turned nannies had definitively made a few mistakes the first days with their new toddler teammate.

Nothing harmful or deadly!

A couple of backward diapers and wardrobe malfunctions made Peter fussy, and his wails almost traumatized Thor.
Tony had begun to think of a concept for a magnet suit to keep the kid close after he'd nearly dropped Peter and again after the kid came very close to rolling off the changing table.
The team had come to learn how much sleep a toddler needed. They knew it was a lot, just not clear how much. And boy, did they pay the price for that.
Natasha had a hard lesson about how fast a toddler could be when they wanted something, and Peter could thank his lucky super spy aunt's reflexes for him not being drenched in scolding coffee.

It was a wonder the kid was still alive and in the ownership of all ten of his fingers.

Clint had shown them some neat tricks that might come in handy. The basic outline of a day and the importance of routines. He also shared some red flags to watch.

One of the red flags was silence. "Whenever you can't hear what they are doing, you're in for one hell of a surprise."

That's what now pulled Tony from scrolling through his emails.

The silence.

There was no longer any chatter coming from the sofa. Tony could see Peters's butt sticking out from behind it, and the plushies sat next to him.

"Pete?" Furrowing his brows, Tony inquired the boy's attention.

Silence.

"Peter, whatcha doing?"

Silence.

That was not good? Right? Tony placed the tablet on the table and leaned away from the table.

Bruce turned to Tony at hearing his friend's insistent calling for the young boy. He strained his neck but couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary. Confused, he turned to Tony again right when the other man shot out of his seat, knocking Bruce's arm out of the way.

Tony's pulse had quickened at the none responsive kid, and he shot out of his seat, a confused Bruce at his heels. The pair speed-walked over to the couch and immediately froze.

Tony never paid much attention to his couch or the lounge floor before, but here he was, staring completely stunned at both.

In front of them stretched a sea of crisscrossing red lines, smudged red doodles, and small debris of broken crayons. And in the middle of it sat a tiny sad-looking Peter Parker.

One small foot toed red bits under the carpet, and the other was gripped tight by a red-stained hand.

"What the hell!? Peter, what have you done!?"

Knowing not to yell at children and applying it in real life proved harder than Tony imagined. He saw the kid flinch at his raised voice, and he knew he ought to have stopped there. Tony knew. He didn't realize it until too late.

Instead, he loomed over the kid and advanced.

"Why, Peter? Why would you do such a bad thing?"

"Tony! Calm down or leave!"

Bruce wrenched Tony's arm back, not caring about scolding his old friend. His only care sat in front of him, body shaking in fear, lips quivering, and fat tears threatening to fall. Peter still didn't look at them, his eyes glued to his feet.

To Tony's defense, he did calm down and snapped out of his yelling immediately, but Bruce suspected it was too late.

Sending Tony a warning look, he pushed the coffee table aside, sidestepped the crayon pieces on the carpet, and sat opposite Peter.
It broke his heart to see tears silently roll down the boy's face.

Bruce had no idea how to handle this, but he believed in communication, so talking they would.

"Peter, can you look at me, please?" He lowered his tone and kept his voice soft. No more yelling.

Peter only shook his head, causing more tears to fall, the drops staining his jeans.

"I'm not mad, Peter. I'm not going to yell at you." Yes, Bruce hoped Tony felt that one, and according to the full-body twitch from the other man, Bruce's words hit home.

Tony unfroze when a small whimper escaped the kid, his kid.

What is wrong with him? Did his dad screw him up so much that he's now yelling at his kid? After promising he would be different and be an actual parent, a good parent.

Catching Bruce's eyes, he mouthed "Sorry" and hoped the other man distinguished his remorse. Bruce gave a curt nod and raised one warning eyebrow to the crying Peter.

"Don't screw it up," he meant every word. If Tony couldn't keep his temper in check and become emotionally abusive toward Peter, Bruce wouldn't hesitate to come to the boy's defense. Long-time friend or not.

"Hey, Buddy."

Tony would forever remember the stabbing ache in his chest when Peter flinched at his voice. Again. He forced down the pain and kept his voice calm and soft.

"Can I sit with you?"

Tony held his breath and watched his boy. After a few seconds, Peter moved his hand to his mouth, stuck his fingers in, and nodded.
Relived, Tony sank to the floor beside him, not caring about the red crayon staining his jeans, and wrapped an arm around Peter's slim shoulders.
He felt the tremors running through the boy's body and how he tensed when Tony pulled him closer. So he ran his fingers softly through the brown curls to soothe the kid and get him to relax. Still shivering, Peter burrowed closer to Tony. He took that as a win.

With his other hand, he gently lifted Peter's chin so he could look him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Peter. You shouldn't yell at someone you lo- like." Tony caught the slip-up in time. He wasn't ready to go there yet.

Bruce gave him an encouraging nod, and Tony fumbled over what to say next. Maybe this was a bad idea? Perhaps it's better if Bruce did it.
As if sensing his hesitation, Bruce nudged him with his foot and inclined his head, encouraging Tony to continue. Nice to know someone believes in him. Tony gave his friend an awkward smile and focused on the boy in his arms.

"I'm not mad, well I'm a little mad, but mostly I want to know why? Why did you paint all over the floor and the sofa?" Tony cringed. He was not good at this.
Did he play the disappointing parent card? Wow, he had been the reciprocator of that speech many times, never been the one on the telling end of it.

Peter only shook his head.

"You don't know why you painted?"

Another shook.

"No', Pe'er." The words were barely comprehendible between his fingers.

"It wasn't you who did it?"

When Tony felt a soft nod against his chest, he shot Bruce a pleading look for help. Tony was so far out of his comfort zone that he couldn't even see the barriers anymore. Bruce just nudged his foot again.

That traitor.

"Okay, who painted my couch then?" Not the right thing to ask, right?

"Voff did it."

The sniffling increased again, and Tony would bet the tower it was due to Peter's bad conscience. The kid, big or small, had a heart of gold.

"Peter, it's not nice to lie and blame others."

He begged for Bruce to take over, but the man stood up and walked to the kitchen. That left Tony alone with one heavy crying Peter, sitting together surrounded by red.

"Pe'er is a b-bad b-boy."

Maybe Tony's heart is failing again cause the sharp pain in his chest made him tense up. He maneuvered the sobbing kid into his lap and wrapped his arms around him. Feeling one small hand clutch his shirt Tony tightened his hold even more. Letting Peter know he was loved, even now.

"No, no, no, Peter. You're not a bad boy. You did a bad thing, but you will always be a good boy. My good boy, and Bruce's good boy," Tony knew he rambled, but it was either this or silence. His brain couldn't manage situations like this without panic.

"'m 'sorry, Oo-Tony." Peter hiccupped and sobbed so hard Tony feared he'd suffocate if he didn't calm down soon. "I' was pretty."

"You wanted to make it pretty?" That explanation was far more believable than one about Peter doing something sinister.

Another nod and Peter sucked in some snot. That's disgusting.

"Pe'er likes r-red."

"Okay," Tony paused, willing his spinning brain or running mouth to take the lead. Both were quite useless.

"Okay, but next time you want to paint, we can paint on paper and make pretty pictures to put up? Then we can switch them when we feel like it. One day red and one day blue."

"Pe'er likes blue 'oo." Smiling down at the boy in his arms, Tony agreed. "Yes, blue is pretty too."

"So, no more painting on floors, furniture, or walls?" He bumped Peter in his lap. Making sure the boy was still with him.

"'kay, Oony."

They sat in silence. Peter occasionally hiccuped, and Tony exercised different breathing techniques. He might still be a little rattled by all of the emotions.

When his back and knees began to protest their position on the floor, Tony gently gathered Peter in his arms. The boy was barely awake.
Peter had one hand gripping Tony's shirt and one hand stuffed in his mouth. The fingersucking might be bad for the kid in the long run, but for now, Tony ignored it.

He savored holding his kid, wiping snot and tears away while leisurely swaying back and forth. That was quite a parental picture, huh? Instead of feeling the increasing panic in his chest, Tony felt calm. Safe and warm even. Even though the feeling felt foreign and rare, it didn't feel wrong.

"FRIDAY, can you take a photo?"

He didn't know why he whispered it. Or why he didn't want the rest of the team to know about him snapping photos of little Peter. For now, it was his secret.
He glanced over the back of the sofa catching two thumbs up from a smiling Bruce. Turning away, he pressed his lips lightly to Peter's head and continued with the swaying since it seemed to help soothe them both.

"My good boy."

Chapter Text

The days following the disastrous lounge redecoration left Tony shadowed by a wee, subdued octopus person. Peter clung to Tony wherever he went and demanded Tony to carry him. It didn't matter if his arms were occupied or not.

"Up, up, up. Oony, up." It was all Tony ever heard, and it drove him insane, but he preferred it to the far more heartbreaking: "Pe'er is a bad bo-oy."

No matter how much Tony or the others reassured the kid that he was not a bad boy, Peter wouldn't accept it, and they continued in their endless loop.
God forbid if another person sought to pick the kid up, the wailing and the tears didn't ease until they caved and transferred him to Tony or until Peter passed out by sheer exhaustion.

Not even his biggest idol Thor was able to console the heartbroken toddler when being separated from Tony. Peter would press his face in the man's neck and continued to silently and miserably sob to himself.

Mister Super Dad Clint looked like death, eyes going cross-eyed after one rough night when Tony (due to work and idiotic people) arrived home at dawn. Much, much later than planned.
Peter had interpreted Tony's absence as him leaving because Peter was a bad boy. He repeatedly told Clint that he could be better, followed every time by Clint's reassuring him that he already was.

Tony reschedule all trips after that night.
----
For now, Tony sat slumped on the sofa with a diaper-clad Peter in his lap. The kid was leaning his back heavily against Tony's chest, and Tony had snaked an arm around Peter to keep him from falling off. His large hands rested on the protruding belly, gently drumming his fingers.

"No, Oony. So-op. I 'ickles." Peter grabbed Tony's fingers with both his hands and wrenched them away from his naked stomach as hard as he mustered, which wasn't very hard.

"So your tummy is ticklish?" Tony smirked at the squirming boy.

"Nooo." Peter vigorously shook his head.

"Oh, are you sure?" Tony wiggled his fingers again, making Peter squeak and slap his hand.

"Noo," the boy wailed and fought to free himself.

"Yeah, I think you're right. Maybe I should try here then?" Raising his other hand to Peter's armpit, he wiggled his fingers in the air threateningly. Who knew tormenting kids would be this fun? Maybe keep that out of the PR packet.

Shrieking, Peter rolled off his lap and landed beside him on the sofa. He quickly crawled to the edge, slid to the floor, and sprinted over to take cover with Natasha.

"Nassa, Oony is mean o Pe'er." He gasped, winded after his swift getaway stunt.

Natasha scooped him up from the floor and perched him on the armrest beside her.

"Yes, and what do we do when someone is mean to you?"

She gave the boy a sheepish smile and Tony an evil glance before the pair, in unison, stuck their tounges out to Tony. Peter took the opportunity to blow a very wet raspberry, saliva flying everywhere. According to Natasha's flinch, the spy didn't clear that scot-free.

Tony placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt and only half-jokingly wiping his face. Peter got some distance with that spit.

"What's happening here?" Placing two bowls of popcorn on the table, Steve turned to Peter and Natasha.

"Ony's mean o Pe'er. He tickles my belly."

Now standing balancing on the armrest, holding on to the back of the armchair, Peter gripped Natasha's outstretched hand. He scrunched his face together and fixed Tony with a betrayed look.

"I see, and Peter's tummy doesn't like tickle?" Steve could barely keep a straight face. Tony could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

"No, I don't." He stomped his foot and lurched alarmingly, and Tony's heart skipped, but Natasha's grip kept him steady and upright. Calm again, Tony watched Peter stretch his body up to his full length. Face stealthily set. Cap should be proud.

Tony snorted.
"Okay, I yield, no more tickling poor Peter's belly." He laughed out loud at the suspicious squint the toddler sent him.

"Pinky swear and cross my heart, no more tickling." He made the cross sign over his heart and opened his arms. "Can I get my best bud back?"

Still squinting, Peter nodded and turned his head to find a way down. Not happy with any solution, he peered around the room instead.

"Want a lift?" The toddler raised his head to Steve, then let it drift towards the ground and then over to Natasha.

"Pe'er don get down." The boy's face morphed from determination to confusion.

"Steve will help you fly back to Tony." Tony saw her genuine smile toward the kid. He'd noticed she did smile more often nowadays. Tony liked that. Not that he required her to smile, it was nice to know she was happy.

"Fly?" Peter looked confused.

"Yep, Captain Ice Crash will help you fly over here. With the right attitude, you can accomplish anything." Shaking his head at Tony's teasing, Steve hoisted Peter up.
His big hands wrapped themself around the kid's ribcage, and they took off. Steve flew him, face down, around the room. The kid stuck his arms out to the side and droned like a miniature airplane. The motor sometimes stalled due to fits of laughter.

Tony grinned at the two roaming the room. "FRIDAY, you know what to do."

"Yes, Boss."

"Brrrr, brrr, wrrrmmm, brrr."

Tony didn't notice Natasha's smirk before a miniature toddler airplane got dumped upside down in his lap.
Barely avoiding a foot to the face, Tony managed to turn the kid the right way up when the rest of the team entered. A disheveled Peter waved at every one of them.

"Movie night here I come, baby." Sam crashed-landed on the sofa, causing Tony and Peter to bob in their seat. The motion was worthy of a trade-marked Peter shriek. Tony slowly got used to the whole toddler situation, but the volume something so small could produce still shocked him.

The team spread out on the lounges and the floor, passing snacks and drinks between them, getting cozy, ready to start their toddler-appropriate movie.

Thor and Clint made a nest on the floor, fighting over the best popcorn placement. Rhodey and Bruce sat on the sofa next to a curled-up Natasha, Sam sitting next to Tony and Peter. Steve and soon Bucky sat on the other couch.

Peter snatched Bucky's metal arm when he passed. "Steve made me fly. Steve is so strong." The sincerity in the kid's face and voice touched them a little. Not that anyone would admit it. Instead, the words prompted howling laughter and ridiculing remarks towards Captain Strong.

"Oh, the strong and brave Captain, please help a damsel in distress."

"Embrace me with your big arms and keep me safe."

"Can you lift a horse, Captain Rogers?"

"Captain, my Captain, catch me. I feel faint." Bucky threw his hand up to his forehead, palm out, and dramatically fell backward and landed across Steve's thighs.

"Jesus."

"Oumph." Bucky caught himself before his nose made contact with the floor. Steve had pushed him off his lap as soon as he crashed down.

"Not very gentlemanlike," Bucky grumbled and sat up, rubbing his elbow.

"Oh, shut up." A faint blush dusted Steve's face and traveled down his neck.

"LANGUAGE!" Clint threw some popcorn at Steve, making Peter clap his hands and try to replicate the toss. Tony ended that quickly by snatching the popcorns away and stuffing them in his mouth.

When did he become comfortable eating food from other people's hands?

After a few more minutes of merriment, they finally settled down to watch the film. Peter scooted back and burrowed in Tony's chest. The man curled one arm around the toddler and gently copied their previous position.

Peter tensed. "No ickles."

"Promise, no tickles." Tony pressed his nose in the mop of hair, rubbing one hand along a chubby arm. "You cold?"

"No." Peter shook his head so fiercely that his entire body wobbled in Tony's lap.

The kid was only wearing a diaper, and even if FRIDAY kept the temperature in the tower to a pleasant degree, Peter might get chilly.
At the same time, a white fluffy blanket was draped across their legs, a courtesy from Sam. Tony gave the man a thankful nod and a rare smile. Peter tucked the blanket up to his chin and did a little butt wiggle to get cozy.
----
"Wha is 'is?"

They were forty minutes into the movie when Peter had begun to fiddle with Tony's fingers again.

"What?" Tony looked down, not understanding what the kid meant.

"'is. Wha is 'is?" Peter poked a finger in his belly button, twisting it around.

"That's your belly button," Tony stated, figuring the kid would accept that.

"Why?" Peter switched fingers and was now poking his belly button with his thumb.

"Why, why?" Frowning, Tony watched the kid poking and prodding at his stomach.

"Whys 'ere?" Peter shifted in his lap and lifted the hem of Tony's shirt. "Oony go' one oo."

When he tried to prod at Tony's stomach, Tony gently grasped his hand and contained them in his own.

"Yes, everybody has one."

"Sam oo?" The toddler watched Sam with eager eyes, almost demanding him to lift his sweater.

"Yep, bugboy, I got one too," Sam answered softly and rucking his shirt up.

"Why?"

Peter's expression was of confusion and curiosity. Tony's was one of dread. He knew where this was heading, and he was so not ready.

"It's where babies get their food when they're in the belly," Sam replied after Tony hesitated.

Tony begged some God that Peter felt satisfied with that answer. Of course, he wasn't. It's never enough questions when you're dealing with Peter Parker. Big or small.

"Pe'er was in Sony's belly?" The rest of the team seemed to have caught up on the conversation, and all wore a similar look.

"No, you..." Tony froze. His brain blanked out. He felt panic beginning to rise and looked for aid.

"No, buddy, you were in your mommy's belly." A tense silence followed Sam's words. Everyone waited for Peter's reaction. Tony hugged him closer and stroked the kid's hand with one of his thumbs.

"Where's Peter's mommy now?" There it was.

Tony was internally freaking the fuck out. How do you explain to a two-year-old that his mother was dead?

"Your mama is away on a trip for a while. She'll be back later." Tony flicked his eyes up to meet Sam's darker ones. The other man just gave him a confident gaze and shook his head. Tony held his breath and bit his cheek.

Sam knew what he was doing. Right?

"Your mama loves you very much, Peter. She just had to go away for a moment, that's all." Sam maintained eye contact with the boy across the sofa. He was almost as nervous as Tony but kept his appearance light and reassuring for Peter.

The kid played with Tony's hands again, eyes wandering up to meet Sam's or Tony's once in a while. He began chewing his lip, worrying it between his teeth, turning it red. Tony gently pulled the bottom lip from the kid's bite and stroked his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Kid?" Tony found his voice again, uneven and faint.

"Mommy come back?"

Swallowing the big lump in his throat, Tony nodded. "Yes, Pete, she'll come back later." He is lying to his kid. To protect him, but still lying.

"Oony stay wiw Pe'er?"

"Yeah, I'll never leave you, Buddy." He probably shouldn't promise that but screw it. He got a kid to comfort.

Still seeming deep in thought, Peter sat silent for a few seconds, and just when Tony was about to inquire about the kid again, Peter sighed and turned. Placing Tony's hands back on his belly, Peter happily snuggled closer and faced the TV again. "kay."

The team let out a collective breath. Tony imagined they dodged a bullet this time.
Even if he lied to Peter about his mother, the last part was sincere. He would never, willingly, leave his kid.

Chapter Text

As corny as it sounds, Tony didn't think he could ever get used to watching Peter sleep.

Not in a creepy way. No, more in a parental way.

When Peter slept, he slept like the dead, and no noise, movement, or other disturbance rose him. Limbs splayed out or twisted into a ball, and face always hidden beneath layers of soft fabrics, not so unlike the teenage version.
Tony knew that Peter's dreams often turned into nightmares. He also knew the kid refused to talk to him about them, adamantly and with no hesitance, even when the bags under his eyes turned a purplish black. All Tony could do was offer comfort and hugs and tell him everything would be fine. With his heart shattered and with a painful smile, Tony held Peter close, anchoring him when the world tore him down.

More than once, he felt like a hypocrite trying to get the kid to talk when Tony himself held a gold medal for burying things to avoid talking. Deflecting and moving on was one of Tony's most used skills.
It was another thing to add to the long list of things he needed to work on, a steadily expanding list to be better for Peter.

Now, watching the little bump under the Spider-man cover, he let those long-ago buried feelings rise. Extending to a surface they had never seen before. Tony never wanted a child. He never dared to long for a child, not with his upbringing.
The older he became, the more he realized how undeniably screwed up he was. Panicking at the thought of having someone to care for, someone to put in front of himself no matter what, and someone so close he could hurt them. Accidental or not, if something happened to this boy, to his boy, it was all on Tony.

Yet here he was, exploring parental feelings and not freaking out.
He called that progress.

"Time to wake up, Buddy." He sat down next to the lump and gently shook it, generating a muffled: "No." Snorting, Tony continued his lump rustling.

'"Come on, Buddy, Thor has a surprise for you." His low voice rumbled in his chest, soft and warm as it soothed over the kid. It was a new one. Tony couldn't remember using a voice like that before, not to kids or partners.

"Or?" One puffy eye peeked out from under the cover. "Or has a supise for Pe'er?"

"Yep." Tony popped the P, raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the kid. He won the battle. Between Thor and a surprise, the kid stood no chance.

"Wha'?" Two brown, wide eyes and a nose were now visible under the red and blue cover.

"Not gonna tell," Tony smirked.

A hasty movement made the little cocoon waggle, probably Peter kicking his feet in frustration. His curiosity couldn't stand surprises, not at age fifteen or two.
Grabbing the corner of the cover, Tony, ever so slowly, dragged it off the kid, who in turn curled up to an even more diminutive, now annoying-looking ball.
Stark men might be of iron, but according to the warm and sappy feeling in Tony's chest, the kid had the power to melt it.

"Wanna go and check it out?" Tony made the mattress bounce up and down, the little Peter ball bobbing next to him. He mentally gave himself a high five when he earned some giggles, and so, of course, he did it again.

"Oh, no, the seas are stormy today, mate. We must abandon the ship." Tony bounced some more, bedsprings squeaking, but he couldn't care less because Peter giggled like a madman.

To say that Tony felt proud was an understatement. Something inside him (his heart?) wanted more. It was desperate for more laughter, hugs, and even more smiles. It craved it like a drug.
Natasha had once told him that he was touched-starved. Tony just gave her a quizzical look and waved her off. Touched-starved, pfft, people touched him. Now, glancing down at the kid, he might reconsider her words. It could have something to do with feelings.

"More, more," Peter screamed between fits of laughter.

The kid sat crossed-legged on the bed now, hopping and swerving so wildly he toppled over a few times, straining his body to keep his balance and grasping at the sheets. Hair flicked wildly across his red face, mouth hanging open amid giggles and gasps.
While trying to crawl over to Tony, Peter nearly tumbled over the edge of the bed. Luckily, Tony caught him right on time before he took a nosedive to the floor.

"Whoa, man overboard. Look out for the sharks." Tony dramatically scooped the kid up and rose from the bed, sweeping a few stray curls out Peter's face. He took a couple of cartoonishly exaggerated steps away from the bed, knees high and toes pointed. He acted and looked like a fool.

"No, 'arks, Oony." Peter was awake now, staring quizzingly at Tony.

"You don't see them?" Tony whispered, giving the kid a bewildered side glance. "They're surrounding us, there in the corner. Look."

Tony pointed to the other side of the room where Peter's cluttered desk stood.

"Look close." He shielded his eyes with his right hand, leaned forward, and pretended to be on the lookout. Peter copied his movement. The boy twisted and turned, straining his neck to detect predators. A clumsy little hand shielded his eyes.

"'ark! Under 'e bed, Oony, hurry." He jolted in Tony's grip and threw his arm out, pointing to the abandoned bed, trembling with excitement. No trace of sleepiness was left in the young boy's features, only merriment and a tad bit of menace.

Tony quickly turned his head to the bed and back to Peter in his arms. He gulped before he spoke. This moment was an award-winning performance.

"By Kraken, you're right." He pulled the kid closer to his chest.
"Tuck your feet up, Captain, and prepare for full blast ahead. We need to get out of these infested waters."

The kid gasped and hurriedly tucked his feet up, and they were off.

Sprinting out the door and down the hall, Tony didn't stop until they were perched in one of the high barstools by the breakfast bar. Save by Steve's quick reflexes when the chair almost toppled over when they docked a little too recklessly.
Both panting, Tony from running, and Peter from laughing, they received some curious glances. Tony didn't care. Let them judge.

"Are we under attack?" Bucky frowned at them over his coffee cup. Judging from the state of his hair, he also just rolled out of bed.

"Yes, 'arks, Bucky. In my room." Crawling out of Tony's lap and sitting smack down in the middle of the counter, Peter described to everyone how big the sharks were (both his arms out), how many (all ten fingers), and how he nearly lost his toes.
Natasha swiftly tucked her knees up to her chest and placed her feet on the stool when Peter revealed the toe-eating thing, not wanting to lose any toes. The kid sent her a confirmative nod.

"Wow, we might need to check under your bed tonight." Not trying to conceal his smile, Sam reached forward and fixed Peter's green Hulk sweater where it had ridden up to reveal his belly.
Oddly familiar, Tony thought. The kid made them all sappy, overprotecting, and doting parents.

Huffing and rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, Peter answered, "No, 'ey sleep 'en."

"Try to keep up, Sam. Everybody knows that." Clint rolled his eyes.
Steve nodded along, lips pursed and eyebrows slightly raised.
"A well-known fact, I believe."

"Even known in several of the seven realms. Sleeping-quarter sharks do not eat during the night." Thor joined them and reached over and tweaked Peter's toes. "Nomnomnom."

Peter squeaked and kicked his feet. Stretching his arms, he grabbed his toes and dragged them back to his stomach. Tony couldn't do that contortion even under torture. He doubted even Natasha could manage to bend like that.

"Nuhu, I saved those toes. They're mine to keep." Reaching out and grabbing the kid's chubby legs, Tony pulled Peter back to him and placed him in his lap again. Tony held the kid's bare feet possessively in his hands, gently rubbing them with his thumbs.

"If I'm not mistaken, Blondie wanted to show you something." At that, Peter perked up again.

"'he surprise." Peter's eyes trailed Thor's movements and studied the package opposite him and Tony. He furrowed his brow at the brown box and gave Thor a puzzled look.

"Wha' is it?"

"Open it, and you will see," Thor nodded, granting Peter permission to attack the gift. And attack it, he did. If Tony could describe Peter's package opening style with one word, it would be overeager.
After being granted permission, he catapulted toward the box and excitedly began to rip the paper off.
A frustrated whine escaped him when he couldn't get past the decorative golden ribbons.

"Oony, help." Peter squirmed in Tony's lap, trying to twist around and give him the box.

"Put it back, Kiddo. Can anyone get us a pair of scissors?" Tony nodded toward the drawers behind them, but before anyone had time to react, Bucky reached forward with his metal arm and snapped the ribbons as if they were boiled spaghetti. It probably was to the super soldier.

"Show off," Tony muttered, receiving a smug wink back, but Tony couldn't glare too long before Peter was back in ripping business again.

Ball after ball of crumpled wrapping paper hit the floor below Tony's feet. At one point, Tony had to save the chubby fingers from their complex entanglement in the string. But finally, the box was open, and Peter used the table to heave himself into a standing position in Tony's lap. The man grimaced as the kid's heels dug into his thighs, sliding over the muscles as Peter tried to adjust his balance. Even the most violent Swedish massages were more pleasurable than these bony heels grinding into unknown trigger points. Tony guessed there would be bruising.

Gripping the kid around his waist, Tony leaned forward, examining the content in the box, as was everybody else around the bar. Yes, they were heroes, gods, and spies, but who wasn't excited when gifted a present?
Psychopath's Tony concluded.

"Wha' is it?" Peter asked, turning to show Tony.

"I don't know, kiddo." It was true. Tony had no idea. Was it a sweater? A new pajama? God knew the Avengers loved treating the kid to clothes.

Peter clutched something red in his hands and tried to pull it up. His arms proved to be too short. Thor stepped around Clint and Natasha and walked up next to Tony and the balancing kid to help. Tony's hand's too busy keeping the kid upright.

Thor turned the fabric over, hands looking massive beside the toddlers, trying to locate the right side up.

"There we go," he exclaimed, holding it out for all to see.

Pinched between his fingers hung a tiny dark-red cape. Thin golden trimmings danced along the collar. On closer inspection, the trimmings pictured delicately spun spiderwebs, and the golden clasp was a spider with eight thin legs and black, glistening eyes.
The cape was in a familiar red, an Iron Man red tone. A pattern trailed along the hem, woven in with similar colors, making it almost invisible against the redness of the background.

"Is that my shield?" One equally large hand softly seized a corner of the cape. Steve leaned closer. His voice filled with something unmasked, raw.

"And the bullseye is for me, I guess? Cause I never miss." Clint bragged before being shoved aside by Natasha.

They all found their symbol along the hem, proudly boasting about it to whoever was closer. For people who had celebrity status all over the world, they seemed peculiarly stoked to be on a child's cape.

Tony stared at the round arc reactor mark next to the Avengers logo, Steve's shield on the other side, and Natasha's spider mark close.

Somehow, Thor had given Peter a symbol of their family, something to keep and remember for years.

"This, young Peter, is your cape. Woven by the most skilled seamstress in Aasgard, out of threads only meant for royal families." Thor placed the small cape over the boy's shoulders and fastened the clasp. Tony smoothed it down and watched it billow just above Peter's feet.

"A hero's cape will protect you when all other hope is lost. It will provide shelter from the elements, shield you from danger, and hide you from searching eyes."

Peter's mouth hung open. Tony wasn't sure if the boy understood all Thor said, but it looked like it.
Something stabbed him in the chest. Something dark and unappealing pushed the former warmth away and flooded him with doubt.
Thor had provided Peter, his protege, with something Tony still hadn't completed. He forcefully swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.

"As you grow, the cape will grow with you. To keep you safe until the very end."

The Avengers around the table were stunned, mouths wide open, staring at the little boy. The youngest boy in their family was a boy who received a gift from a God.

Tony didn't listen to them anymore. He kept his focus on his grip around Peter's waist, desperately avoiding clenching too hard.

Failure.

Tony failed to protect the one person that mattered the most. He failed so much that Thor had to step in and do what Tony couldn't.
It was a stupid fantasy thinking he could care for Peter, that he would be enough. All suits and gadgets could never be enough, not when racing against Gods.
How could he have been so stupid? Tony knew what was out there. Why hadn't he asked for more qualified help?

His egocentrism might be the cause of Peter's death.

As if Thor felt Tony's spiraling emotions, he locked eyes with him and gestured to the back of his neck, lifting the collar. It took a few seconds before Tony's dark-riddled mind caught up with the God.
He forced some air down his constricted lungs. Damn it. He was not about to have a panic attack right at his breakfast bar. Lifting his head, he swept his eyes around his friends. No one seemed to notice his brief panic.

Natasha gave him a barely visible nod and raised one corner of her mouth. Of course, she noticed.
Tony raised a hand to the nape of Peter's neck. Small tremors caused him to fumble, and his fingers brushed against Peter's ear, making the boy giggle.

What the hell is wrong with him? Pull it together, Stark, Tony chastised himself.

With another breath to fight down the seeping darkness, he folded the collar down and found some writings. They were not in the same discreetly red thread as the symbols but in the bold golden threads as the trimmings.

For an entirely different reason, Tony fought to swallow again. Fighting for the tears not to fall and the lump in his chest to make its way out, Tony glanced at Thor.

"I consider Peter part of my family, just as all of you are my family." Thor met Tony's face again, eyes filled with so much sincerity and openness Tony had trouble keeping eye contact. Tony's normal instincts screeching at him to break it.

"I know all of us are doing and will do everything to keep this family safe. Everything."

If the God's words were equally as intense to the rest of the people around him, Tony couldn't tell. Of course, Thor only wanted to keep Peter safe, like all of their odd little family. Shame filled him, forcing his eyes back down. He stared at the swirling embroideries, fighting against tears and shame.
"Look, Oony. It's pre'y." Peter held one corner of the cloak and pointed to the elegant golden spider at his throat.

"Yeah, it is, Pete," Tony murmured, pulling the kid into a hug. He felt his chest fill with warmth and glanced at the writings on the collar again.

"Peter, son of Stark."

Chapter Text

"Does he climb up too high?" 

Tony turned the page. Peter tracked every moment from where he sat leaning against Tony's chest, a book perched over their laps. 

"Or jump on his bed?" 

Enthusiastic giggles erupted from the kid, and he smacked his hand down on the crinkled page and kicked his feet out. The poor book had taken some hits because of Peter's eager reading style. Page one puts on a proper fight not to fall out of the spine.

A chubby finger squished on the current page, "Oony and Peter."

Tony caught the scup with catlike reflexes before it came crashing down over the paper. They didn't need to test that again. These were his comfiest pair of sweatpants, and he lacked the energy to change. Again.
He and Peter had limited time together today, and Tony did not want to waste it. They needed no distractions, only time together. 

"Did you and I jump on the bed?" He murmured in Peter's hair and steered the cup to the kid's mouth. Plenty of the juice remained in the bright yellow cup, and according to FRIDAY, Peter was somewhat dehydrated.

Yes, Tony made FRIDAY monitor the kid's every vital. You could see it as Tony did, an insurance for Peter's protection and well-being. A grandiose parental gesture. Not because he was a mother-hen. It didn't matter how often Rhodey said so or made chicken noises as he entered a room. Tony just had some preventive measures, that's all.

"Mmhh. 'en Pe'er fell." Peter pitched forward in his lap, mimicking his previous nosedive. The sippy cup swaying dangerously in his hand. "Bu' Oony caught me." 
To announce his point, Peter flung himself back into Tony's chest, forcing a huff of breath to escape the man and pointing back to the book.

"Dino have 'one ca'hing him?" Soft brown curls tickled Tony's chin, rasping in his beard. Breaths of warm air swept against Tony's neck as the kid tilted his head to peer questioningly at him.

"Maybe Dino's friend is hiding under the bed? And ready to catch him if he needs to. That's what good friends do. Being there for each other."

As if contemplating his words, Tony buried his face in that crazy mop of hair. Lost in thoughts, he hummed in tune to his nodding head. 
Nobody needed to know that he took the opportunity to smell the kid. Did all the kids smell this amazing? Tony had no idea. He'd never been close enough or interested enough to care before. But now, this new part of him wanted to shove Peter in everyone's face and forcefully demand them to sniff. 

Okay, that could come across as a bit crazy. Tony would admit that, but the kid smelled incredible. One sniff is all it would take.

So he took one more hit of toddler smell, turned the page, and continued to read.

"Does he race on his bike..."

Tony and Peter had been sitting on the sofa for most of the morning, reading books and relaxing. Not cuddling, Tony Stark didn't do cuddling. Screw you, Rhodey.

It's been a lazy moment, and Tony hated that he needed to leave the kid soon. He wouldn't be leaving him in the sense of traveling away. No. But he had to go down to the lab and finish some projects. Afterward, Tony would lock himself in his office and endure a superabundance of meetings. 
Pepper was a trooper. She was the only reason Tony could get some time off and spend it with Peter. Stark Industries would not exist without Pepper Potts. Under her detailed command and thoughtful leadership, the company flourished. 
But even someone as amazing as Pepper couldn't freeze time entirely. 

Mails kept coming, meetings needed attending, projects had to develop, and the show must go on. That's what people told Tony anyway. Tony himself was pleased sitting right where he was.

Steve, Natasha, and Clint were on babysitting duties. All briefed to the teeth about everything concerning Peter. And that included his vitals this morning. A printed chart sat on the fridge as proof that Peter was low this morning and that Tony was not overreacting or imagining things. 
Tony had a sneaking suspicion he earned some eye-rolls from Clint, smirks from Natasha, and an exasperated sigh from Steve as he drew a new arrow to the differentiating column. Red ink was more noticeable.

Tony did hear Rhodey's chicken cackle on his best friend's way out. 

He stubbornly ignored them and continued to pack Peter's little red and yellow Iron Man bag. Toys filled the backpack almost to the brim. Closing it turned out to be problematic.
Yes, he knew Peter would still be in the building. And on the same floor as always. It was only precautions.
He'd stuffed Voff between the shoulder straps for good luck.
But for now, they had 20 minutes left. So the pair sat there, not cuddling and reading.
------
"Tony?" 

Pepper's soft voice startled him. He and Peter had just reached the end and was roaring along with the dinosaur. Tipping his head back, he saw her standing in the lounge entrance, impeccably dressed in a light blue knee-length dress, creme heels, and her hair in a low ponytail.

Beautiful as always, even upside down.

"Already time?" Tony heard the whine in his voice but chose to ignore it and sunk further down in the cushions. Pepper might lose track of him if he burrowed deep enough.
Peter, on the other hand, sprung up and nearly crushed Tony's private parts in his excited jumping.

"Kid!"

"Pepper, Pepper, Pepper."

"Yes. The sooner we get started, the faster you'll get back." She ruffled Peter's hair, causing another fit of jumping, Tony almost jack-knifing forward.

"I'm a dinosaur," Peter exclaimed and roared some more.

"Jesus, kid, watch the goodies," Tony said with a wince and stood up. On his way up, he snagged Peter only to throw him over his shoulder in a fireman's carriage. The kid squealed and grabbed the back of Tony's shirt but continued with his roaring.

"Tony, be careful!" Pepper's voice rose and faltered nervously. Her heels clicked rapidly against the floor as she quickly stepped after them.

"Special delivery to one, Miss Natasha Romanoff." Tony made his voice nasal and shrill. As a man of many with many talents, he'd perfected the imitation of an annoyed delivery man. Undercover was a thing. No one could ever be sure when special skills would be required.  

"Miss Romanoff, you need to check this out in person. I believe it's alive." Tony spun slowly on the spot, petting Peter's puffy diaper butt.

Natasha rounded the corner just as Tony reached it. Her face portrayed a blank canvas and void of any emotions. Years of knowing the spy aided Tony in distinguishing an invisible frown and an amused glint in her eyes. 

"Where do I sign?" she asked, pushing her sleeves to her elbows. Red locks of hair fell over her shoulders as she stood in front of Tony with hands on hips.

"Right here, Miss," Tony pointed to Peter's left foot, voice still shrill and nasal.

Gently grabbing the blue sock-clad foot, Natasha dragged one black nail across the sole. The kid squirmed and flailed so much that Tony had to fight to keep him steady.

"No. Nonononono. Oony, help."

After a few more seconds of torture, Tony broke character and chuckled at his distressed kid. Peter was now beetroot red in his face, so Tony decided to save him by sliding him down in his arms. The kid was winded, and tears of laughter flooded his eyes.

"Okay, okay, no more.," he said, sweeping some hair off the kid's face.

It was getting long. Was Tony supposed to cut his hair? How often did you do that? Clipping Peter's nails, Tony got that covered, but the books didn't mention anything about hair. He had to check with FRIDAY later. 

"It's time for you to go to Auntie Tasha." Tony sensed the glare from the redhead more than he saw it. "Remember, squirt. You'll play with Nat and Steve today while I do some boring stuff. Like super-duper boring stuff."

Peter looked skeptical and continuously glanced between Tony, Natasha, and Pepper. Tony watched in horror as his chubby fingers tugged at his bottom lip.
Crap. Tony and Peter discussed this yesterday, and Peter seemed to accept it then.

"I need your help with the cookies, Bug, Natasha said. At the word cookies, Peter's head spun around so fast Natasha grinned at Tony's shocked face.

"Cookies?" The kid mumbled around his smushed fingers. 

"Yes, but they are special ones. And I can't bake them alone." She extended her arms in an invitation. "You wanna help me?"

Peter looked at Tony. Like a sleepy owl, he turned to face Natasha only to quickly snap his gaze back to Tony. One small hand seized Tony's shirt to prevent him from leaving.

"I would have chosen the cookies." Tony stage whispered to the kid, blinking at him with one eye. "Better than dusty, boring old men and meetings that make your ears fall off." At that, he winked at Pepper, who rolled her eyes.

Peter's spit-covered hand wandered to his ear, checking if it was still attached.

"'Can we ea' cookies oo? Pe'er's tummy wants cookies," he said, nodding his head and pursing his lips, showing Tony how essential that fact was.
"Voff needs cookies." 

The kid searched the room for his fluffy friend. Natasha freed the plushie from the straps and gave it to Peter.

"Why would we bake them otherwise?" She stole Peter from Tony's arms and began to walk away, hand waving over her shoulder.

"Bye, Buddy, see you soon." Tony waved to his kid, Peter opening and closing his fist in his version of a wave goodbye, hugging Voff to his chest.

"Save me a cookie," he called to the retreating pair.

That went smoothly. Tony would count that as a win. No tears, no snot. Win.
He turned to walk to the elevator and abruptly stopped face to face with a smirking Pepper. He forgot she was there.

"What?" He sounded like a crotchety old grump, but she looked too smug.

"Nothing," Pepper smirked again, and with that, she turned on her heels and entered the lift.

He stalked after her, flinging his arms in the air. "What?"
-------
Natasha's experience with kids was limited. 

When Clint dragged her, kicking and screaming, to the farm that first time to meet Laura and their first kid. Natasha was terrified. Not that she'll ever admit it to anyone, but she didn't sleep the night before they left.
She didn't know how to handle kids. All she knew about them was that they were simple targets and easy to manipulate. Children were fragile, and if not provided with correct training, they were useless.

Eventually, she let her guard down around Clint's firstborn, Cooper. The name screamed "cool," according to the archer. Natasha wasn't sure if someone related to her companion could be that. She begged that Laura would shown to have the fittest gene pool. 

Eventually, Natasha figured out how to deal with someone so small. It wasn't like she had any choice. Cooper decided Natasha was the most hilarious and suitable bed in the house and never left her side. After dinner, she would often sit stiff as a board in Barton's hammock, a sleeping kid nestled by her side or against her chest. The wind slowly swayed them back and forth. Laura steered her out after Cooper nearly deafened the entire house with his exhausting screams, and his only consolation was his favorite human bed. 

Communications were rough at the start. The kid couldn't follow simple commands, and no matter how often she told him no, he always ended up in harmful or dangerous situations. 
It frustrated her to no end.
She figured some of it had come from Clint being the father. With genes like that, the boy was lucky to be alive.

"Chocolate cookies sound good?" She peered at the kid sitting on the floor below her, eating away at his shirt collar. 

A pair of brown eyes glanced up to meet hers, and then the boy nodded so enthusiastically he almost tipped over.

"Alright, ingredients..." She rummaged through the pantry and the cupboards. Side-stepping the toddler not to trample him and never lifting her attention away from Peter. 

Who still chewed at his collar. That's not good, right? Maybe he was hungry?

Reaching for ingredient after ingredient and placing them at the counter, she finished by fishing out a banana.

"You want a snack, Bug?" Dangling the fruit above him, she got him to spit the collar out and stand up. One sock lay discarded beside him on the floor. 

When did he do that?

"Nana, nana." 

Natasha had to quickly grip the waistband of her grey sweats to prevent the kid from pulling them down. The eager boy tried to climb his way up to the alluring treat. If he'd retained his powers, she guessed he'd crawled right up and grabbed it on his own. 
Instead of people climbing, she picked Peter up and plopped him on the countertop. Natasha didn't have the energy to cut the fruit or use utensils, so she just broke off small bitesize pieces and fed them to him. It was messy, but she decided Clint could clean.

"FRIDAY, is Steve on his way?" She extended another piece to Peter, who quickly snatched it with sticky fingers and stuffed it in his full mouth. 

Loud open-mouth chewing and smacking were all she heard, making the hairs on her arms stand up.
Natasha attempted to practice proper dining manners with the kid, but it had not yielded any noticeable result yet. She would lessen her attempts the more time they spent together.
The constant need for neatness and order she craved slowly dissolved. Disarrangement still made her nerves feel brittle and disturbed. Chaos denied control. Therefore, disarray needed supervision. 

"Mr. Rogers is currently in the elevator on his way up. Estimated arrival: two minutes. Mr. Barton accompanies him."

"Thank you, FRIDAY."

"You're welcome, Miss Romanoff."

Peter, the snack goblin, had finished all his banana pieces and was licking his palms and fingers clean when Steve and Clint stepped into the kitchen.
Ten seconds earlier, Natasha had had to stop him from licking the marble counterstone, so the fingers and hands were an acceptable compromise.

The boy opened and closed his right fist in that weird wave again and thumped his heels against the countertop.

 Can't he wave? Natasha added teaching the kid to greet to her list. Children knew so little.

"Hey, Nat." Steve placed a quick kiss on her cheek and turned to Peter. The boy was now frowning down at his sticky hands, trying to wipe them at his soft jeans but only catching lint balls. Disgust and annoyance written all over his young face.

"Hello, Pete. Did you have a snack?" Steve asked, amused. Vigorously nodding was the only response he got before Clint reached over and ruffled the kid's hair, sending curls flying.

"Man, you're sticky. We can use you as a flytrap. Catch enough to feed both of your spider-butts." He gestured between Natasha and Peter.

Natasha threw the banana peel and hit him square in the face. On impact, it made a splat noise and leisurely slid down the ridge of his nose, leaving a slimy trail in its wake. Clint made a disgusted noise, ripped the peel off his face, threw it towards the sink, and missed, sending the yellow missile to the floor with a final splat.

"You can clean that and the kid, then cookies." She deadpanned and shooed Clint away to get the wet wipes. By seizing the cuffs of Peter's pants, Natasha slowly dragged the boy closer to her and the edge. She realized too late that he was sitting in some banana mush. His puffy butt left a pale, yellow, banana-skidmark as he slid over the surface.

At Steve's, "Oh, God," she grimaced, shrugged, and mouthed, "Sorry."

"Cookies..." Peter repeated the word several times during his clean-up, reminding them not to forget their initial mission.

Peter only bit the rag three times, crawled away two times, and threw the wipe away once. The boy had a distinct aversion to being cleaned off. All of them had hearty laughs at Tony's dispense as he tried to contain the slippery pile of limbs that was Peter.
 
Clint had to now grapple him into an elaborate wrestle grip to get new pants back on, but other than that, it all went somewhat smoothly.

"The brat is clean. Can we start now?" Clapping his hands together at his words and rubbing them like a villain from an old movie, Clint fixed the two other adults with a begging look. 
Peter copied him and won on the cuteness scale, Natasha thought. She watched the kid working the puppy eyes on Steve while clumsily rubbing his plump hands together.

Steve shook his head disapprovingly at Clint and set to gather bowls and measuring cups on the newly dried counter.

"Don't call him Brat, Clint," he said in a hushed voice.

"Whatever, I'm licking the bowl."

The whole baking experience went quite well. All three adults knew the recipe by heart. There was no shortage of sleepless nights in the Tower. During each, you could find different Avengers milling around the kitchen. Steve and Sam were the worst of them all. But their destressing baking kept the freezer filled with goodies, so the rest of the team didn't complain too much, except for Tony. They were, according to Tony, always out of eggs. Not a single egg in either of the fridges around the Tower. 

At least waking up to the smell of freshly baked cinnamon buns wasn't the worst.

Steve and Natasha guided Peter and kept an eye on him while Clint sat beside them at the bar, dangling his legs like a child and polishing off a used bowl. Peter was standing on a stool, gnawing on the red spatula, smearing batter all over his face, but they let him be. Baking was supposed to be messy, according to Steve.

An egg accidentally fell to the floor. Peter upended a cup of flour down his front, and Clint left one dusty palmprint on Steve's left buttock. Other than that, the cookies turned out great.
------
Tony was right. 

He knew he would be because he always was. 

The day was just as brain-meltingly tedious as Tony anticipated. 

For Pepper's sake, he tried to keep his attention up. He attempted not to look at the security footage showing Peter and the gang too much and be too obvious about it. Tony sneakily glanced at the screen in his lap and tried not to study the three people relaxing on the sofa.
The boy appeared even smaller like that, curled up against Steve's side, sucking on his fingers, and hugging Voff to his chest. Tony could see Cap's fingers kneading the boy's scalp while they watched the Little Mermaid on the big screen.

Tony saw Peter's head droop slightly. An indication that he would fall asleep within minutes. He didn't hide his goofy smile, wondering if the kid would be awake when this snooze fest ceased.

After the seventh nudge and third kick to Tony's shin and a million imploring glances, Pepper gave up, but not in any way that granted Tony the win. No, Pepper Potts was an incredible and intelligent businesswoman, and by working alongside Tony Stark for years, she picked up one or two ways of cheating the system.

"FRIDAY, initiate protocol 42786," spinning slightly in her chair, she watched Tony's smiling face go through stages of confusion, disappointment, anger, and realization.

She didn't want to force him. She liked seeing him this happy, and Peter was good for him. But they needed to deal with this before it piled up too much. Pepper hated the party pooper role she often found herself in, but it was useless to dwell. Sometimes life sucked, and you just had to bite the bullet and get things over with.

"What did you do?" Tony snarled. He stared down at his dead screen, previously showing the movie watchers. "FRIDAY, get the feed online again."

"I'm sorry, Boss, I do not have the authority to do so." Is it possible for the AI to sound smug? Did he code her that way?

"Yes, you can, 'cause I'm the Boss. And I have the authority to do what I want." For extra clarity, he pointed to the ceiling. "That means I'm in charge, and that also means I can donate you to the scrapyard. Now, get me online." Tony snapped. He tapped the phone with a finger. With long nails, it would have made a satisfying clicking.

"She's right, Tony." He twisted around in his chair, mouth open. 

"Remember, you gave me the authority and access to install protocols after the "Tony is a big baby" spring meetings debacle."

Smoothing out invisible wrinkles on her dress, Pepper rested her hands on the table and leaned toward him, calm, neutral, and professional. 

Everything Tony wasn't right now.

"Protocol 42786, or its working title "No work, no play for Tony," is set up so that I, and only I, can control what's transpiring. Everything deemed a distraction and not connected to the subject of the meeting will not be available for you."

Tony was glad Pepper Potts was on his side. He'd been on the recipient end of her steely stare many times, and none were fun. The tabloids called her "the  Ice- Queen," Tony inwardly agreed. 

 Pepper leveled him with a cold gaze, demanding eye contact, and Tony felt like a petulant child. Eyes flicked across the room, resting for a second on the AC in the corner, but eventually, they slid over and met with Peppers.
No one said no to this woman, not without repercussions. She'd be a remarkable and terrifying supervillain if she were so inclined.

"But what if Pet..."

"FRIDAY will alert us if there's an emergency," she rudely cut him off and pointed one impeccably manicured finger to his pile of documents. "Read and sign."

"But..."

"Read." Pepper hissed between her clenched teeth. She flipped a page in her pamphlet. Tony swore he heard some tearing.

So he tossed the useless phone on the polished table, flung himself back in his chair, and let out small grunts of annoyance while he tried to get comfy. He ignored that his behavior bore similarities to when Peter, the two-year-old, didn't want to eat his broccoli and instead left the table.

"You're bossy," he grumbled over a paper. At least he wanted to have last-word privilege.

They worked silently, reading, taking notes, and signing some. It wasn't that bad, Tony begrudgingly admitted. He did enjoy his work. He didn't want to do it that often.
The documents and papers he could manage. Stuffy people were an entirely different thing. They sat there in their starchy suits with no personalities, only ass-kissing or a longing to outdo Tony Stark.

Across the table, a faint sigh left Pepper's lips.

"I know you miss him and want to spend time with him. I'm not forcing you out of malice," Pepper spoke softly, almost hesitant. Her voice filled the silent room with sympathy. 
Tony felt a stab in his chest when he also noted a sad note in her tone. 

God, he's an ass.

"I know. I'm sorry, Pepp."
-----
Lunch finally arrived, and both devoured their delivered Chinese food, scarfing it down like there was no tomorrow. Tony dropped some noodles, staining the front of his shirt. Too tired to care and too influential for people to call him out, Tony hid the blot by shifting his tie a bit to the left to obscure the brown mess. 
They ate in silence between two video calls. Each of them mulling over their day so far. 

Tony had fun while on the latest call, a rare experience. A pale and nervous medical student from Dr. Cho's team stuttered through his dissertation, fiddling with his maroon tie, mussing it up even more than his hair.
The kid had probably spent a long time selecting his outfit this morning, wanting to make a good impression on Tony.
He looked like a young wannabe, crazy scientist, and Tony approved of the goofy look.

Tony had asked Dr. Cho to fill him in on this project because of its use of nanites to stabilize severe spinal injuries. The guilt over Rhodey's legs still haunts him. Maybe this can prevent it from happening again.

The young Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz relaxed when Tony and Pepper began to supply him with questions, and soon, the young student was rambling like a madman. Peter did the same ramble when he was excited. Talking a mile a minute, wildly gesticulating with his hands, and all previous nerves were gone. For a moment, Tony imagined Peter standing before them, presenting new projects. Share new ways to drive Stark Industries forward. 

Peter didn't know Tony already made him a part of his company's future.

He hadn't figured out how to tell the kid. "Hey, you're now the heir of my multi-billion company. Surprise!" It was a little on the nose.

Papers, iPads, pens, takeout boxes, and napkins were all fighting for space on the big table. After the third conference call, they decided to stop fighting the mess and move to the room next door for the remaining meetings, effectively hiding the mess from prying eyes.

It was nearing eight PM, and this was the last thing. Tony could cry. Even Pepper looked a bit frayed around the edges by this time. Ponytail was not so sleek anymore. After her latest bathroom break, she re-entered with thin-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. 

Tony wanted it to be over, but for it to end, it had to start, and this call made his stomach knot.

An uproaring amongst people affected by the invasion of New York had recently gained intensity. A group of civilians blamed the Avengers for all their losses, accusing them of not doing enough to stop the Chitauries from reaching farther into the city and letting them cause more damage than needed.
Tony had tried to solve the problem by throwing more money over them. But they did not want money. 

They wanted a head on a stick, more preferably his head. 

The group wanted an apology, wanted to know what happened, and why they let it go so far.
Pepper and the legal team had worked for weeks. They tried to oblige the group, but their attempts proved futile. The group were adamant in their demands.

A meeting with Tony Stark.

Tony had tried to keep this hidden from the rest of the Avengers, knowing he could handle it without causing the team more harm. Some scabs should be left alone, not scratched. The Avengers, Tony's friends, were not to be blamed for this. 
Natasha had cornered him one day, threatening him not to do anything stupid. Of course, she knew. Once a spy, always a spy, old habits are hard to wash out. She promised him not to tell anyone else for a while, at least.

So Tony plastered on his big, fake paparazzi smile, feeling his anxiety thrumming and crawling under his skin. Re-living that day was painful and not something he wanted to do.

Tony nodded to FRIDAY to open the line, and they were off. It went on for hours and hours, sending Tony's stress levels through the roof. He discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks. Fingers clawing at the fabric. He felt his heart racing uncomfortably behind his arc reactor. But he kept his face neutral, fighting back old demons, and spoke the appropriate words.

Files after files filled with pictures, testimonies, and rapports flashed across their monitors.
Tony went through it all on autopilot, fighting to make his apologies sound sincere, force out the appropriate responses and solutions, and keep up appearances.

Gradually, the talk dwindled out. The group got their meeting, their apologies, and their explanations, and there was nothing left but a dense, sorrowful silence.

He glanced over to Pepper, who kept this eerily calm persona going and pushed on when all Tony wanted was to run.

He died that day. 

He died alone that day, surrounded by a blackness so empty and wast it scared him to the bone. He died and couldn't help his friends. He lost them and couldn't save them.

Tony snapped back to reality with a gentle squeeze on his wrist. Jolting upright, he blinked and found Pepper kneeling beside his chair.

"Hey..." Tony managed a smile, he thinks. He didn't know if the muscles in his face worked. Everything was numb and sluggish, his brain and his body.

"Hey... You okay? Pepper asked, frowning worriedly at him. The answer was probably starkly written on Tony's face, but it was nice that she asked and cared.

Pepper rubbed her thumb over his tanned skin, anchoring him. He glanced down, noticing the contrast between their skin tones, her delicate, light, pale fingers running over his darker, coarse, scars-ridden ones.

"The meeting..?" His brain was still slow, like he just woke up.

"Don't worry about it. I took care of it, and both sides are pleased." Pepper answered with a quick half smile. 

Staring down at the extraordinary woman before him, he felt unbelievably lucky. How the hell did he manage to keep her?

"I'm giving you a raise." A sincere thank you is difficult sometimes.

"You're welcome," she smiled knowingly at him, loosening his tie, and they both stood up. Tony's knees were not steady yet, and his palms were still sweaty and gross.

"Go see your little boy."
-------
On the ride up, he tried to stomp down the anxiety, but it remained simmering under his skin. Tony raked his fingers down his face and through his hair, messing it up in all directions.
Tony shook his hands. He tried to get the circulation going and relinquish the tingling sensation. 
Standing locked in a metal box didn't help either. The harsh lighting and the whirring of the motor bore into Tony's brain. Icy but also scorching drills drove into his eyes and ears. 

Had the elevator always been this loud?

"Breathe in and out. In through your mouth and out through your nose." 

Tony repeated the phrase over and over in his head in an attempt to persuade his body to calm down. Ignore the clawing in his chest, the vise around his torso.
Filling his lungs with air helped to stifle the oncoming panic attack.

Peter. Tony needed to see his kid.

Stumbling out of the elevator and down the dimly lit hallway, he finally reached Peter's room. Gently pushing the door open, he peeked inside, immediately spotting the small lump under the cover.
The clawing feeling eased while he listened to the soft snores and murmurs. The kid talked even while he slept. One little foot poked out from the blanket mound, twitching now and then. Voff the seal, placed by his pillow, watching over him in his sleep.

Peter was here, safe and happy. Tony could see him, he could hear him, and he could smell him.

"Tony?" Tony nearly fell through the open door at Steve's whisper.

"Jesus, Spangles. Trying to give me a heart attack?" He probably already looked ready to be committed for observations.

"Sorry, I did say your name three times." Steve looked worried. Why was he worried? Did something happen to Peter while he was locked away?
The thrumming began to increase again, filling his ears with cotton, and his hands went all clammy.

"Is everything alright, Tony?" Steve inclined. Tony snapped his head between Steve and the sleeping Peter. "Tony..?"

"Is Peter okay?" Something in his voice must have set the other man off because he furrowed his eyebrows even more.

"Peter's perfectly fine. He missed you today, but other than that, he's fine. Natasha read him to sleep. It took a while. He wanted to wait for you."

Tony nodded to himself, murmuring, "Okay," under his breath. Gripping the doorframe so hard, he felt the edges cut into his hands. It helped to keep him in reality. Tingling in the back of his neck made him aware that Steve still anticipated an answer and observed him cautiously like he was a frightened animal.

"I'm... I'm fine. Yeah, just a long day. Stuffy old gruffs, meddling in things out of their league." Tony blew air out his nose to get a handle on his nerves. His body was jittery, and his mind was dazed. "I'm going to bed."

One more look at the tiny bundle, Tony wanted to go to him, but he was afraid he would wake him. So he turned, dodging Steve's outstretched hand, and fled to his room.

Tony didn't sleep. He closed his eyes and lay down but didn't sleep. Something dragged him under. A force pressed his chest further and further down into the mattress. It restricted his breathing and movements. Preventing him from waking up, a prisoner in his mind.
Floating in space, alone, he fought and gasped for air, fought to end the dissolving into nothingness.
Grey unnaturally long fingers scrambled across his chest, seeking the reactor, sinking through him where his body turned to dust. Sounds were dull and warped. Tony could feel them more than hear them scatter around him, over him, in him.
Behind his never-closed lids, he noticed blue, purple, and green lights saturating the otherwise pitch-black darkness encircling him.

Tony couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. Only float and watch.

Shapes appeared in the emptiness, formed by the darkness, and solidified to humanlike patches of inky black. He feared them, instinctively knew they were wrong.
The human shadows lightened, revealing body after body, strewn around like tossed-away puppets. Marionettes with their strings cut.
Deep within, he knew who they were. He could feel them.
The faces of his friends stared up at him with dead cold eyes. Pale faces morphed in agony and fear. Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Sam, and Clint.

And Peter. 

The teenager lay on his back, thrown to an invisible ground. His head turned to Tony, the boy's throat wheezing with his last breaths. With every inhale, blood trickled down his side, coating the black ground under him.
Panic squeezed Tony's chest tighter and tighter, blocking all air, but he didn't care. He needed to get to his kid.

The grey figures swarmed around the boy and Tony, blocking his view of Peter. Tony caught glimpses of the kid sprawled out motionless except for a faint rise and fall of his chest and flicking off his eyes.
Long, slender fingers caressed the boy's throat almost lovingly, adding pressure to the already struggling breathing.

In his mind, Tony fought, he screamed, and he killed.

Hands grabbed him, pulling him away from his son, scratching at the reactor. Figures crawled up his legs and forced his chest down. He was immovable, locked in place by the nothingness.
Brown and terrified eyes locked with Tony's, and he witnessed the moment Peter couldn't hold on any longer. Young eyes drifted one last time, life slipping away, and Tony broke.
He lost everyone, he was alone, and his kid was dead. Everything hurt, and everything was simultaneously numb. Tears spilled down his cheeks, but he couldn't sob, couldn't breathe. Tony died with Peter, surrounded by emptiness.

A sharp blow right at his arc reactor broke the vice around his body, and he shot up. With one last burst of energy, Tony shoved the figures and their hands away. He finally felt the pressure around his chest ease. Something fell off him.
Tony knew the gauntlet formed around his hand and felt it wander over his wrist. He raised his arm, aiming the gauntlet toward the scattering.

His son was dead.

Chapter Text

Waking up to blaring alarms was considered everyday life for the Avengers. 

Too often, the city of New York, another city, or the entire world needed assistance from their superheroes. It came with the job to always be ready, constantly on call, like a superpowered boy scout.

The high-pitched sirens spurred Steve on as he threw his warm blankets off, nearly tripping over one of Peter's plushies in his hurry to get to his gear. How did that end up in his room? Even after this short time, the kid had managed to infiltrate all their living spaces.

The practiced experience made all his movements precise and robotic. It made his mind clear and able to comprehend the mission details delivered by FRIDAY.

"Peter is in immediate danger in Boss's sleeping quarters. Mr. Stark seems to experience a flashback, and his vitals show great distress."

"What?" Steve stuttered, panic blooming in his chest.

Dread engulfed him. Forgoing his suit and other gear, he only grabbed his shield and rushed out. Steve ripped the door open without hesitation, causing it to crash into the wall. Bits of plaster and splinters of wood scattered all over the pristine floor. He couldn't care less, though. 

Peter was in danger.

Thankfully, Steve's room was located closest to Tony's. With supersoldier speed, the race only took a few seconds. Steve's panicked mind construed it as far too long. Every step was strangely warped and stalled.

As he wrenched the door open, his mind had trouble comprehending the situation. Something surreal swam before his eyes. 

Heavy breathing filled the room. Rapid, irregular heartbeats and the soft whir and whine of repulsors supplied the other part of the room's sickened orchestra. Tony's heartbeats, Tony's breathing, and Tony's right arm raised and enveloped in a gauntlet.

The repulsor's icy-cold glow illuminated the dim room. Specks of light danced over red metal. A blue hue fell over the floor and doused the small figure curled up on the floor.

"Tony..." Steve wished his voice didn't waver as much as it did, but the impossible scenario ahead of him was too horrifying, too unreal.

Neither Tony nor Peter responded. Both were frozen in terror, one in his mind and one in reality.

"Tony, it's Steve. You're in your room. You're having a flashback. I need you to lower your hand," Steve pleaded. Despite failing to keep his voice steady, he did his best to sound composed and infallible. All moisture had vanished from his throat. Every word chafed his soul.

Steve slowly stepped towards the silently crying boy. He maneuvered himself to stand in front of Peter. Careful not to break eye contact with Tony, he lowered his shield to the floor, leaving it to rest against his knees and shielding Peter. It had to do for now.

Let that be enough. 

"It's okay, Pete. You're going to be fine." The Captain nudged his heel against the boy, offering the only physical comfort he could master. Trembling touches scrambled over his calves. Scared fingers gripped the fabric, holding on to what they could.

God, he needed to get him away.

Footsteps and gasps made the presence of the others known. But Steve couldn't look away. His focus was solely on Tony and the activated gauntlet.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve saw Bucky edge his way into the room.
Tony's outstretched hand twitched ominously every time Steve or Bucky moved. Ripples of light cascaded around them. 
Tony's other hand scratched at his sweat-drenched shirt. 

No, over the arc reactor, Steve noticed. Fear flooded him again. Was the arc reactor malfunctioning? Did Tony have a heart attack in front of them?

"Tony, it's Steve. Please lower the gauntlet." This time, the man blinked. Blank eyes flicking up to meet Steve's. There was no recognition in there. 

"You're in your room and safe, but you're scaring Peter, Tony."

Behind him, he felt Bucky kneel by Peter's side. Steve's leg was jostled as Bucky gently tried to drag the boy's hands away. Shuffles followed Bucky's attempts to place his body between the repulsor and the child. 

Please, get him out. Please, get him away, Steve chanted in his head. 

At the same time, Tony choked on a gasp. Haunted eyes left Steve's and floated through him instead. Red splotches appeared below the scratching nails of his friend, blooming across the white night-shirt.
The mechanic's enveloped hand jerked. Fingers twitched, and the whirring increased.

Oh, God, no!

"Tony!" Steve launched forward.
-----
"I could've killed him." Tony hissed as he sagged and pressed his palms over his eyes. "Jesus, I could have killed him, May!" He forced a breath down his lungs. It swoshed out between his clenched teeth as he gauged more at his eyes.

"But you didn't," May simply answered in the same warm and steady voice. 

It's only been two days since the incident. The incident Tony could barely speak about. Even less: name. The incident where Tony almost killed his kid and the man reacted precisely how the team anticipated.

After Steve's shout brought him back to reality, the (thankfully) not-used gauntlet was dismantled and fell to the floor. Bucky snatched a crying Peter from the floor while Steve wrestled a shaking Tony.
The man was conscious enough to see Bucky leave with Peter tightly clutched in his arms, but then his world went to hell. Tony rode out the worst panic attack he'd ever undergone. Right there on his bedroom floor, clutching at the strong hands keeping him up. Eventually, Tony collapsed in Steve's arms, the deadweight sending the pair to the floor. 

Steve's calm and safe presence did nothing to ease Tony's racing heart and restricted breaths, forcing Bruce to make the call and sedate him.

The team knew Tony would blame himself. None other did. They were all far too familiar with PTSD and flashbacks. But it didn't take away from the horror of the situation.

Long before Bruce could clear him, Tony left the medical wing. Just as his team anticipated, the man locked himself in the lab.
They were accurate. What Tony did not foresee was FRIDAY to betray him and let Rhodey and Steve in there with him. He couldn't fathom that they would set camp in his private lab.
One deathly stubborn supersoldier that Tony couldn't move even if he wanted to and one calm as a rock best friend. The latter threatened to disconnect his leg braces and thus be stuck on the floor.

It took several more panic attacks, many tears and swearwords, and Captain America almost getting punched in the face before Tony calmed down.

It took a couple of hours of watching FRIDAY's recordings of toddler Peter (and some more tears) before the three men left the lab.

Tony didn't dare to stay close to Peter when he finally joined the rest of the team, but Peter wouldn't have any of that. The boy bawled his eyes out and let out heartwrenching sobs until someone dropped him off in Tony's arms.

And now, two days later, Peter didn't stray too far from Tony. The team had decided to leave the Tower for a while and seek comfort at the upstate facilities. Here, Peter could roam outdoors more freely, and fresh air always helped a worried mind.

"This woman," Tony thought and dug his hands in harder. The pressure helped against his raging headache.

Ever since that night, he barely slept at all. Nightmares plagued him as soon as he closed his eyes. Scenes of a terrified little boy curled up on the floor. A boy hid behind Steve's shield, his boy hiding from him.

"It wasn't-" May began to speak until Tony rudely cut her off.

"If you say "it wasn't my fault" I'm gonna-"

"You going to do what? Smack me or send me home?" Tony felt the glare from the woman beside him on the bench without looking at her. There was heat beneath her composure.

"May-"

"No, time to shut up. The adult is talking." Tony flinched. "Yeah, he told me about that," she said flatly.

When Tony raised his head, May pinned him with one of those glares Peter often told him about. 

The scary one.

So he sat up straighter, flattened down his ruffled hair to disguise a gulp, and shut up.

"Good," her tone was back to warm again. She peered over the lawn and smiled when she noticed her baby boy rolling around in the grass. He had abandoned his tricycle, and now it looked like Natasha and Thor tried to teach him to somersault. 

May couldn't determine if Thor or Peter were the worst.

She let the sun warm her face before sighing and turning to Tony.

"Now, what happened can never happen again. Not now, not ever. You'll fix that as soon as possible." May tipped her head, and Tony caught her eyes. 
Without a word, he nodded. He already solved the problem during his self-inflicted isolation. Tony will never be able to call for the suit or activate anything unconscious again. The outcome was one of the worst mistakes in his life.

"And what happened was an accident. It wasn't your fault. You would never hurt that boy, and if you believe that, you are even more stupid than I thought." A kick to his shin punctuated the woman's last word.

"When Pete was four, I pushed him down the stairs, and he broke his arm. He ever told you that?" Tony shook his head. "Well, I guess that's not surprising. Peter tends to keep injuries to himself." This time, Tony nodded his head in solemn agreement. 

"He skipped around my legs as I walked up with the groceries. And I didn't see him. One of the bags collided with him, and I saw him tumble down the steps. I heard the crack when his arm broke," May whispered. The memory was still fresh in her mind.

"It was an accident, she continued with new strength. "I didn't mean it, and it wasn't my fault, but it still happened. I felt terrible over it for months, but all Peter was sad about was that his favorite apple juice broke and spilled all over him and the stairs," May chuckled. She and Ben brought Peter so many bottles of juice after that.

May's red-tinged eyes met Tony's bloodshot again.

"Say it after me: it wasn't my fault." Another kick earned her a scowl from Tony, but he obediently mumbled the phrase while rubbing at his aching shin.

He barely had time to snatch his fingers away before her Birkenstock-clad foot collided with his leg.

"Hey, stop with the abuse. I said it," Tony snapped.

"Nuh-uh. Eye contact, and loud and clear. Did you forget that I raised the mini version of you? I know a whole lot about guilt complex."

For safety reasons, Tony scooted further away from the woman and out of reach for her legs.

Tony wanted to roll his eyes so excessively that they'd disappeared. It was his fault. Nobody could tell him otherwise, but he knew May wouldn't settle without confirmation. So, time to suck it up and fake it.

"Fine, it wasn't my fault I almost blasted a toddler to ground beef in my sleep." By the instantaneous appearance of a couple of new frown lines on May's face, that was not the right thing to say.

Faster than Tony could blink, she picked her feet up and kicked him off the bench.

"Goddamnit!" Tony's teeth jarred so hard when he landed butt-first in the grass that he could swear he lost a few molars. He might have deserved that. 
It didn't stop him from whirling around, ready to challenge the woman to the greatest snark-offs in history.

"Oooooonyyyy!"

That did, though.

Sitting on his ass in the grass, he suddenly found himself tackled by a tiny red and blue missile. Peter flung himself at Tony, chubby arms encircling his neck in a breathtaking hug, also known as strangulation.

"Hi, Buddy. Ease up on the boa constrictor act, maybe?" Tony pried the boy's hands from his neck and placed Peter in his lap, facing him.

"Nassa helped Pe'er o 'oll." The kid bounced up and down on Tony's thighs, cheeks glowing red with excitement.

"Oh, she did?" He released one of Peter's hands to pick straws of grass out of his wild curls. Tony smoothed a hand down the little red cape, Thor's gift. A pang of guilt shot through him.

The boy had begun to use the garment more often after the incident. According to Natasha, Peter wasn't afraid of Tony. He supposedly didn't grasp what nearly happened, but he knew he was frightened and needed a safety blanket.

"Uh-hu. Oony, 'oll?" Peter tipped his head. Recently tamed curls bobbing to the side. Tony had seen that exact movement in an excited teenaged Peter.

"Nope, too old to roll, sorry, Kiddo," Tony answered, fighting the need to fix the curls again.

"But 'Or can 'oll, and 'Or is a aous- aousand yea's old." The kid furrowed his brows while trying to mouth the word.

"Thousand," Tony announciated.

"Aousand," Peter parroted.

"Yeah, but Tony lived with the dinosaurs." Rhodey strode towards them, balancing a sandwich-filled tray.

Tony watched the kids eyes as they grew comically wide, lips slightly parted. His mouth was open as he tipped his head back to gawk at Rhodey.

"Dino?"

"Rhode, don't-" Tony tried to stop his old friend before he put more pictures in Peter's imagination. Tony knew this would be the boy's new obsession.

"Yep, Squirt. Tony lived with the dinosaurs. He used to ride on their backs, faster than walking," Rhodey winked at Tony as he passed. Smirking like a buffoon. 

Peter turned back to Tony with so much admiration in his eyes that he didn't have the heart to correct him. Damn, Rhodey.

"It's true, but you have to watch out for the ones with spikes on their backs," Tony said, bobbing his head seriously along with his words.

Peter, still wide-eyed, just nodded along, soaking up every word said by his hero. Tony guessed a Dinosaur rider trumped Iron Man. The kid will never live this down. Maybe Tony should switch the Iron Man posters in his room to ones with dinosaurs? 

It should suit the little rascal. 

"I hope everyone is hungry," Steve called, placing another tray filled with colorful cups and jugs on the picnic table. 
All Steve was missing was a flowery apron tied around his midsection, and "Steve The Housewife" would be complete.

Tony snorted to himself. But the man looked good.

An outcry of happy shouts filled their once-peaceful grove.

"Great, I'm starving."

"Fresh air always makes me hungry."

"You're always hungry, you idiot."

"Mind your language, kids around."

"No, I'm hangry."

Something nudged Tony's leg. Looking up, he met May's stare. One eyebrow raised questioningly, head tipped to the side, and arms crossed over her chest.
Tony tipped his head forward to sit forehead against forehead with Peter, who gladly patted Tony's cheeks (with surprisingly non-sticky hands). Tony admitted his defeat.

"Fine, it wasn't my fault," he sighed. 

Peter took the opportunity to seal the deal with a kiss. 

One sloppy, open-mouthed kiss right over Tony's nose.
-----
"Pete, can you come up and sit at the table?" Tony asked for the tenth time in the same amount of minutes.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Tony tried to get the energetic boy to sit at the table for ten minutes. But Peter continued to crawl under it instead. Even the mighty Thor came up short, much to Tony's great pleasure.

"Peter, your belly needs some food." It was a valiant effort from Steve. But the kid ignored him.

"Kid," Tony bent down to peek under the table, "if you wanna play more later, you need to eat something."

"No, Pe'er can't." The boy crawled away from Tony and plopped down by Rhodey's feet, picking at the grass.

Blood began to rush to Tony's head from his half-bent-over position, and he could feel his face turning bright red. The vein in his forehead started to bulge.

"Of course you can. Pick a seat and sit there," Tony hacked cheerfully.

"No, Pe'er can't sit at the table."

"Wow, excellent pedagogy, Stark."

"Oh, you try it, Birdbrain. You're the parental expe- Now, he's eating grass! Peter, spit that out! Rhodey, stop him!" Tony cried, flinging his hands in desperately in the air.

Beside him, May Parker burst out laughing. Red-faced, sweaty, and once again defeated by a toddler, Tony sat up to seek help from his co-parent. The woman wiped tears from her eyes but didn't offer any guidance.

"Your nephew is eating grass. He might get poisoned. Help me!" Tony wasn't too tough to beg and plead.

"He's fine. Between ages two and four, he used to eat leaves all the time. Of the streets," May pressed. "Ben and I would probably qualify for a punch ticket at the ER after all the times we rushed him in."

She accepted the napkin Pepper offered her and dabbed it under her eyes.

"You can tease him about that later. That one's for free," May nodded to Peter's guardians around the picnic table. "And about this problem." She tapped the tabletop with a finger. "Peter is a sweet kid, but he tends not to do as you order him. As you all might know by now." 

Mumbled affirmatives came from almost all the heroes sitting at the table. 

"Have you tried to ask him why he can't eat at the table?" May continued.

Natasha, who sat closest to Peter, dipped down under the tabletop. Her long braid fell over her shoulder as she flashed the boy a soft smile.

"Hi, baby."

Peter, who had a corner of his caped stuffed in his mouth and a few straws of grass, sat and picked at her shoelaces. He gave her a goofy smile from behind the fabric and waved back.

"Why can't you eat at the table, sweety?"

The boy spat the fabric out, twisting his tongue around to get rid of the blade of grass. He gobbed and sputtered before answering her.

"Peter is a 'urm."

"Peter is a what?" Natasha still wasn't fluid in toddler talk, but Tony was.

The man again contorted his body to bend down, only to see Peter snack on more grass. Screw May's lackadaisical philosophy about herbivore eating, Peter gets a visit with Bruce later.

"You can't sit at the table because you're a worm?" Tony asked.

Enthusiastic nodding and fumbling for more vegetation met him.

"And worms don't live and eat above the ground."

More vigorous nodding.

"Here." Tony heard Clint's voice and soon saw his hand reach under the table, a piece of bread between his thumb and index finger. Peter spat out green mush over Natasha's pant leg and sandals. Oops. He snatched the treat from Clint's fingers with an eager clutch. After munching it down, the boy patted Clint's knee for more, gladly accepting the apple slice.
Tony huffed out a laugh. 

This kid.

Huffing, he sat back up again to start on his sandwich.

"You can't win them all. Sometimes you need to compromise." May bumped his side with her elbow and raised her cup. "To co-parenting."

"To co-parenting." Tony echoed. Simultaneously, he felt a distinct tap on his knee. Without looking, Tony broke off a piece of cheese and offered it to the Peter-worm. He failed to hide the cringe when something warm and slimy encompassed his fingers.

Great, more drool. Why did this kid consist of ninety-nine percent drool?

Chapter Text

"Up, up, up, Oony. Oony, there."

Tony's arms were killing him, but there was no way in hell he'd let the kid go. Straining his muscles and ego, Tony forced his arms higher over his head, ignoring the trembles racing down his arms. Maybe Rhodey was right, and he should hit the gym more often.

No, Tony could do this. He could for the kid. 

For forty-five minutes, Tony had a vice-like grip around the kid's waist. He didn't mean to hold on for dear life, but the lively boy left him with no other choice.
Peter crept as fast as he could, slapping his small hands down and kicking off with sock-clad feet. Puffy but sticking up as he propelled off. Every other minute, he stopped and demandingly pointed Tony in another direction, and they raced across the wall. 

Cause, yeah. Peter crawled around on the walls.

No stickyness was involved. No, this was pure strength, stubbornness, and stamina displayed by Tony. That all, except the second one, began to dwindle.

It began last night. As Tony sat on Peter's bed, trying to wrangle a sleepy toddler into his pajamas, Tony's mind sneakily formed visions. Tony pushed the red and blue sweater over unruly curls, and the pair sealed tomorrow's plans with a good night kiss. He proudly tucked the little hero in and couldn't wait until tomorrow to execute his ideas. 

It was one of those ideas Pepper usually shot down at the origin. But tomorrow, Pepper wasn't here to stop them.

So after feeding the boy pancakes, Tony told Peter about the superhero Spider-Man. How the hero saved people, how Spider-Man was kind and always looked out for the little guy, and how the hero was Tony's favorite of all time. Peter's face never left Tony's, and his attention never subsided during his storytelling. A shortlived pang of unworth hit Tony as he met the boy's entrapped eyes, but Tony quickly squashed it. He deserved this happiness. 
The morning sun shone brightly through the high windows, capturing tiny dust particles in its rays as Tony wrapped the story. He fixed Peter with a questioningly raised eyebrow. Peter nodded back, and they were off. 

Tony was still in his Iron Man bottoms and a ratty old MIT t-shirt, and Peter in his Spider-man pajamas. The boy didn't look far from his original "Underoos look," just smaller.

None of the walls was safe from the hero duo. Peter crept high and low. Well, as high as Tony could reach anyway. Standing on his tippy-toes, Tony did his best. 

Tony even taught Peter how to sound like the web shooters and make the hand gesture. Tony frequently overheard teenage Peter going "phew phew" under his breath.

He'd even heard him mid-fight a couple of times. 

Oh, if the bad guys only knew they were caught, not only by a kid but a kid that went "phew phew." Tony would pay to see their humiliated faces burn. 

Toddler Peter's "phew phew's" sounded more like a spit-spraying wheeze, and his hand was fully closed. But to Tony, he looked like the best Spider-Man. 

Maybe this is what parental pride is. That thing that makes parents put up awful paintings and grotesque clay figures for all to see. Gifting them to relatives and flame with fierce rage if someone insulted their kid's talent. 

Tony's arms burned as filled with molten lava by now, and Peter's movements had slowed, so maybe it was time for a break. But Tony didn't want it to end. He was having fun.

"Okay, Spider-baby-" Tony said, squeezing his hands around the kid's belly to garner his attention.

"No, baby. Big boy," Peter whined and pushed at Tony's hands.

"Okay, Spider-boy, one more lap, then your old man needs some rest and water."

Tony dislodged the kid from the wall and held him above his head. Then he slowly tipped him backward to end up face-to-face with his spider-baby. Rosy-cheeked and panting, Peter vigorously kicked his feet and clapped his hands, nearly clipping Tony's nose.

"Oony! Oony, no," the boy squealed, face morphing into a redder shade.

Tony couldn't help but bring the kid closer. Pursing his lips, Tony pressed into that soft tummy peeking out. Raspberries erupted over Peter's stomach. Tony had no clue what power steered him to stick his face in a kid's belly, but the new and improved Tony Stark could do that. He had evolved. Whatever it took to get his kid to laugh, that was Tony Stark's new motto.

Peter let out a high-pitched giggle and twisted in Tony's grip.

"Oony, Oony, stop." Peter stuttered out between gasps. "Daddy, stop."

And "Daddy" did stop.

"Daddy" froze.

At least Tony had the brainpower not to drop the boy. He flipped him right side up and gathered him in his arms. But that's about it.

"No more tickles, Daddy." Peter crossed his arms over his belly, looking as stern as a puppy with a frown. 

Tony's brain didn't seem to work. It short-circuited, only to flash, "You're not his dad" on repeat. Accessive swallowing wasn't perhaps the best reaction, but it was the only one he could muster.
Staring at the blabbering boy, Tony wondered what he should do. He should probably correct him, right? Tell him that he's not his father. That's the right thing?

If it was the right thing, then why did it feel so wrong?

Unconsciously, he raked a hand through the boy's hair, a tick he had picked up lately to calm himself down just as much as to calm Peter down.
He wasn't Peter's dad. His dad was dead.

"Oony?" A much smaller hand petted his buried in wild curls. "More spider?"

"Uhm, yeah," Tony watched the boy point at the wall, a big grin shining. Not a clue what anguish he just caused Tony. 
"Sure, baby, let's do more spider." His voice came out robotic and flat. His brain altered between foggy and slow or panicked screams.

The pair traveled winding roads over the white walls, twisting and turning. They dipped almost to the floor for Peter to pick up the discarded Voff. The poor seal got picked up in his tail between Peter's teeth and held there for the remainder of the trip.
When they reached the floor-to-ceiling windows, Tony's scrambled brain finally caught up and determined a plan.

May.

His plan was May. Yep, bulletproof plan.

Plan ready, he decided to restart his mind and enjoy the rest of the spider-play. Tony put a new effort into guiding the best Spider-man across the city view. Now, the young spider could jump long distances. Landing crouched on the glass, ready to "phew phew" all bad guys.

Greasy handprints, spit, and sock lint covered much of the windows, but Tony didn't care. If someone whined, he'd even offer to clean it himself.

They were in a critical battle against giant robots when someone cleared their throat behind them. How dare someone disrupt their victory?

"Having fun?" Tony didn't need to turn to know that Steve sported an enormous grin. The man was a sap.

"There's no fun on missions, Cap. Serious business, these robots are bad," Tony stated coldly.

He twisted Peter away from the windows and spun them around to face Captain America, who in turn straightened his back, trademark grave expression on his face.

"We need someone to get the civilians out of here, and then we require backup," Tony rapt and held Peter at arms-length. "Spider-man, toss Voff to Cap. Get him to safety."

Kudos to Steve for catching the plushy hurdling, not towards him, but thanks to quick reflexes and reach, he got it.

You can't blame a toddler for their aim.

A flashing thought crossed Tony's mind, wondering if Peter could play ball. Maybe Tony could take him and teach him when he's big again?

"Civilians secured, let's defeat those robots. Spider-man, you're in charge." Steve, Captain America, grabbed a pillow and held it across him like his shield.

"Bad robots," Peter yelled, and one of the greatest battles ensued.

At one point, Tony had to turn on the righteous Captain. Steve had smacked him in the face with the pillow shield and betrayed Tony. So he had no option but to set Spider-man after him.

The great Captain went down easy after that.
-----
"I heard him, you know."

Refreshed with fruit and water, the trio lounged on the sofa, resting after their fight. The TV played some nature shows about Pinguins, but neither paid much attention. Peter sat between them, curled up against Tony's side, softly snoring and drooling.

"Huh?" Tony was way too warm and comfy to comprehend intellectual talk.

"Earlier, I heard what he called you," Steve repeated quietly.

"Oh." Yeah, intellectual talk had left the building.

"Mmhh."

"I'm not his dad," Tony said with a grimace. Steve only shrugged.

"No, maybe not by blood."

"Not by anything," Tony mumbled in a defeated tone. A part of him wished it wasn't accurate.

"I don't know. I think Peter sees you as more. Do you know he looks at you differently than the rest of us?" Steve's eyes never left Tony's face. 

"He's just a freaking toddler. He doesn't know any better," Tony ducked his head. His words made Peter's hair flail.

"Not this Peter, the big one."

"That's hero worship."

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed. Tony was one of the most stubborn people he knew. He was too obstinate to reach for the things he wanted, even when dangling right before him.

"You don't think he sees you as more than just a mentor, hero, or genius? Something more father-like?" Steve tried to keep his voice low and casual, knowing Tony hated heart-to-heart. 

"I'm uncomfortable with this heart-to-heart chat, Spangles," Tony flicked back and scooped the kid in his arms. 

Well, that's the end of that, Steve thought. But he wasn't done yet. He needed Tony to understand that it was okay for him to be happy. Stubborn as a troll or not, Tony deserved this.

"Fine, but I'm right. Don't push Peter away because you're scared."

"I'm not pushing my kid away- Damnit- you know what I mean. Wipe that stupid grin off. It makes you look even dumber than you are," Tony spat and glared at Steve. 

"Always nice talking with you, Tony." Steve kept the grin on his face but turned away from the other man. Steve had heard Tony call Peter his kid several times before, both as a toddler and teenager. The other man was just too damn stupid.

"Likewise, Capsickle."

They sat silently for a minute before Steve's voice broke Tony's thoughts again.

"Call May."

"How'd you know?" Genuinely surprised, Tony raised an eyebrow.

"I know you," the Captian plainly stated.

"Sappy much? Do you want to tie friendship bracelets? BFF:s forever."

"If you want to, I'm open."

"Fuck off, Steve. I want alone time with my- with my kid. Shut up."

Tony swatted at the star-spangled dumbass when he walked past them, stupid smirk and knowing head tilt on full display.

"Call May."
----
"Okay, buddy. Time for another screw."

"'Kay. This one?"

"Yeah, great, Pete. Good job!"

They spent the afternoon in the lab, just the two of them, messing around with some spare parts and sorting this, building that.

Instead of the usual old rock music blasting through the speakers, there were some God-awful kids bop playing. Brainwashed, cheery adults singing about friendship, dogs, food, and adventures. It made Tony's ears bleed.
Peter, on the other hand, had a blast. Judging by Peter's jittery dance moves and "singing," this style of music was a rave for kids his age. A few times, the ants in his pants took over, and the boy slipped from Tony's lap and danced his little heart out.

Thank God he grew up to meet Tony so he could introduce him to real music.

Short arms reached above his head and out and up again. Peter jumped as often and as big as his stocky legs could take him. Not very high, but it was an impressive try.
The kid flailed so wildly that he fell on his butt multiple times, only to stand up and do it all again until he wore himself out and crawled back into Tony's lap.

If Tony made FRIDAY record it excessively? Yes.

"Another one, Pete. The big one this time."

Tony watched the kid's fingers fumble over his tray of screws, picking up one but discarding it just as quickly. He studied another one and held it up for Tony to see.

"This, Daddy." Yeah, that kept happening. May didn't answer her phone, and not knowing what to do, Tony ignored it. A small part of him didn't mind it so much anymore.

He knew it was wrong, but he was selfish. He let his ego take over for this short time.

"Hmm, not quite, Pete. Do you have any that's even bigger?"

Peter frowned and went back to his tray. Tony wasn't surprised when he saw the kid's tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. Teenaged Peter did the exact thing when he concentrated.

Adorable throughout the years.

Tony couldn't pinpoint exactly when he became the person who used the word "adorable" regularly. But he knew who to blame, the rugrat sitting in his lap, proudly holding up a screw for him to see.

"Yes, good job, buddy. You're a genius." Tony gladly accepted the offer and tightened it.

"You too, Oony." Peter patted his arm like he praised a horse.

"Thanks, Pete." His throat felt oddly tight when he spoke, strange, but he cleared it away and flipped their project over.

Before them on the workbench stood a tiny robotic dinosaur. It was never the plan to build something, but tinkering sometimes took on its own life.

"Dino! Daddy, dino!" Tony's heart did that funny thing again. Peter squealed and reached out to caress its back like a real animal.

The miniature T-Rex walked around the bench, and Tony quickly saved it from plummeting over the edge. The animatronic wasn't anything special, just a quick basic robot, but Peter seemed to love it.

So now it was one of Tony's best builds.

"Raw, raw," Peter shouted, not minding that Tony didn't create it with sound. The man wasn't stupid.

"Sir, May Parker is on the phone," FRIDAY's Irish tones filled the room.

"Hi, FRIDAY. Look, dino," Peter shouted. The boy tried to lift the moving toy to show FRIDAY but almost dropped it on his head instead, so Tony had to step in with a helping hand.

"It's beautiful, young Mr. Parker. You did a good job." Tony could have sworn FRIDAY's tone changed when she spoke with Peter. She certainly didn't sound like that when she talked to Tony.

"I'm Peter." Pointing to himself, the kid turned to Tony and then to the ceiling.

"Yes, indeed," FRIDAY answered with something aching to fondness.

"I think Pete wants you to call him Peter." Nodding from Peter proved his point.

"Of course, Peter. Sir, May Parker?"

"Yes, shit- shot. Answer it." He glanced down, but Peter hadn't noticed his slipup, too occupied petting the dinosaur's tail.

"Hey, Tony." May sounded tired. Maybe this wasn't the best time to have a heart-to-heart about him corrupting and misleading her nephew. That's a heavy topic.

Yeah, it could probably wait.

"Hi, May. Daddy and I build a dino," Peter exclaimed.

Or it couldn't.

Damn this kid. Damn, his kid.
-----------
"Tony, for the last time, it's alright. I'm not offended, angry, jealous, outraged, or bitter." May's voice got more high-pitched the longer she spoke, clearly done with his apologies. "And I'm not going to take him away from you. Pete would be devastated, and frankly, so would I." May ended with a sigh.

Tony could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose and leveling him with an exasperated look with her hair in a messy ponytail and glasses askew on her face.
After literally dumping the kid (robot and all) in Captain Schaptain's lap, Tony let loose a tirade of apologies, explanations, and excuses, and somehow, he even crossed over to bribes. Tony had no idea how that happened, but he was desperate.

"May. I. I'm. I just." For the first time in a long time, Tony Stark was speechless. It didn't sit well with him. Not at all. "I didn't mean for him to get attached. No, I mean, I love the kid to death but-"

"Tony, for the love of God, just shut up." Tony snapped his mouth shut because, wow, rude.

"That's better." May chuckled, "Congratulations on your duckling, Tony Stark."

"What? What do ducks have to do with anything?" Tony frowned at May's amused face on the screen.

"They imprint, and even before the whole shrinking situation. Peter loved you. He's always seen you as more than Tony Stark. You've been his hero, mentor, friend, and father figure." She paused, and Tony could almost hear her smile in the silence.
"I'm happy he found more people in his life to trust and love and who trust and love him back. How can I possibly be mad at that? It's up to Peter to build his family and for us to accept it."

Well. If May says so, he might start to believe it.
----
Freshly showered, Tony stepped out of his room.
After sweating profusely during the agonizing call, he needed a quick refresher. Not that he'd been nervous or anything.

Not. At. All.

The first thing that met him entering the hallway was shrieking laughter.

"What the hell?"

Tony followed the jolly giggles and shrill yelps to the kitchen, curious about what the team did that made his kid laugh like that. A smile tugged at both corners of his mouth just by hearing his kid.
Something inside Tony melted or grew (feelings are weird) when he saw his team, no family, all gathered in the room.

Bucky, Thor, Clint, and Rhodey sat on the high stools at the breakfast bar, facing the room. Beside them stood Bruce, leaning his hip against the corner, clapping his hands wildly.
A few steps beside Bruce crouched Steve, eyes crinkled up from a huge smile, holding his phone up and recording Natasha sitting cross-legged on the floor, Dino on her right, and Voff on her left, spinning the Captain America shield.
Smackdown in the middle of said shield sat Peter chipping for air, red-faced and happy as one could be. He sat flat on his butt, holding on to the leather arm straps for dear life while Natasha made the shield wobble and rotate.

It looked like a very child-friendly (and most expensive) version of a teacup ride.

That strange gooey feeling in his chest came back again. It still freaked Tony out, but he let himself explore it.
Smiling softly, Tony picked up his phone and quickly typed a short message.

"FRI, please send a recording to May along with my text."

"Of course, Sir."

FRIDAY's voice alerted the rest of the team of his presence, and they all greeted him with quick nods before locking their eyes back onto their youngest member.

Peter had stopped spinning by now and merely sat swaying from side to side, oblivious to the attention. He resembled a cute buoy.
He looked up to see Tony approach and let go of the straps to give a hearty two-handed wave and an excited squeal. Thankfully, Natasha quickly placed a supporting hand on his back before he could topple over.

"Daddy!"

Seven pairs of eyes shot up in various degrees of surprise, shock, or as in Rhodey's case, a knowing smirk.

Tony chose to ignore them all and ignore the screams in his head telling him he was useless. Instead, he let his feelings show on his face, forming a bright smile as he greeted his kid.

"Hi, baby."

Chapter Text

"I think that's enough, Tones."

"You sure?" 

Tony tossed two more items on the bed and turned to rifle through the big cardboard box beside him. The edges of the box strained under the pressure from its contents, ready to burst open any minute. He might have gone overboard with the shopping. But he didn't know what they needed.

Another colorful plastic package hit the bed sheets before Rhodey came to stand next to his old and sometimes dear friend.

"Yeah, I think so," he huffed, barely restraining himself from laughing out loud at the happy, bright-colored, little Michelin man (toddler) who stood on the bed. "Isn't that right, Kiddo?"

Peter very excitedly nodded his head. The boy's short arms stuck straight out from his body. His hands wobbled along with his excitement. His limbs were supported by what seemed to be two pairs of arm floaties and a swim ring around his middle. 

"We're going to de pool, Oodey."

The man clapped his hands together and smiled at the toddler. "Yes, we are!"

Rhodey then glanced back at Tony and sighed at the sight. The man had dived back into the box and now resurfaced, a life jacket clutched in his hands and studying it with knitted brows.

"Put it down, Tones. He'll be fine."

"It's a deep pool, Rhodes," Tony grumbled. But he reluctantly dropped the jacket when the other man pulled it from his hands.

"We're all going to be there to keep an eye on him. He'll be fine."

"Oh, yeah. You know what you say about kids and pools. They go so well together. Hardly anyone dro-" Tony's voice pitched in volume and speed until Rhodey cut him off.

"Tones!"

Rhodes sent his friend a disapproving look and pointedly tilted his head towards the child. A tiny flash of victory sparked in him when Tony at least had the decency to look ashamed. Nobody benefitted from a freakout. This day was all about fun. The pair kept their silent conversation going for another three seconds before Tony sheepishly placed the lifejacket by his side. 

Peter, however, was oblivious to the chaos around him. He was too busy and absorbed in his world. He strained his neck to reach the corners of the floaties, snapping his mouth together like a rowdy puppy with itching teeth.

"Okay, Buddy," Rhodes grabbed the inflated swim ring and gently dragged the boy closer, "Let's get you out of those and into this." 

He showed the kid a bright yellow puddle jumper he found on the bed next to the box and proceeded to wrangle him out of all of the other floating devices. It took a moment, Peter hindering the process by trying very hard to help by contorting his body in a snakelike movement. Luckily for Rhodes, Tony had his back turned when the kid chomped down on the swim-rings plug. Rhodey quickly forced Peter's jaw open before any part could come loose and become a choking hazard. This kid has a biting problem, Rhodey thought to himself as he sucked in a deep breath.

"All done! You're now ready for the pool, young man," Rhodey said with a big smile, thrusting his arms out to the sides.

Yeah, he winced at the screech following that exclamation. Several weeks in, he was still amazed by the sheer volume the kid could produce. Lucky Clint, he thought, as if Rhodey hadn't noticed him turning down his hearing aid when Pete was at his loudest.

That's cheating.

"You sure that's enough?" Tony had gotten hold of the life jacket again, turning it in his hands like a nervous schoolboy.
"He's just a kid, very small, easily lost in a big pool and-"

"Daddy, 'ook." Peter timed the interruption perfectly and petted the happy sun on his chest. "Go swim wiw Oor."

"Yes, you are, Buddy," Rhodey answered when Tony lingered. He glanced suspiciously at his friend. 
"You okay, Tones?" He asked when Tony still seemed deep in thought.

Rhodey watched his friend struggle with something on his mind. From experience, he knew he just had to wait him out. So, Rhodey turned his attention to Peter, specifically his very ticklish protruding belly.

"He's afraid of water," Tony said after a minute and sank heavily to the bed. A few unpacked floaties slid to the floor. "He's afraid of water, and I don't want to screw it up and scare him even more."

Tony had managed not to screw toddler Peter up to much during these weeks, and he was not about to do it now.
He remembered when Pete had finally opened up about his fear of water and why he always dodged pool party invites from the team. The kid couldn't swim, and the whole vulture dropping him into a lake didn't help. Peter had told him it caught up with him afterward, the realization that he almost drowned. If Tony hadn't sent a suit, he would've died alone in the dark, icy water.

"Wait... This one?" Rhodes couldn't wipe the perplexed look off his face or the surprised tone of his voice. "This one's afraid of water? Didn't he throw a plastic shark at your head the other day because he didn't want to leave the tub?

Tony shook his head.

"Well, yeah, no, the bigger one. The teenage-angsty one." Tony gestured to the toddler, and then to show which Peter he talked about, he held his hand over his head for scale. Maybe the kid was taller; Tony didn't remember. He was on the shorter side.

"I don't think this Pete remembers that." Rhodey pulled Peter into his arms. "Right, Kiddo, you love to bathe. Don't you?" 

Peter spat out a drool-drenched tip of the puddle jumper and let out another of those famous shrieks. Yes, earplugs were recommended, even for older men like him. 

"Come on, Tones. Let's make the kid some happy water memories." Rhodey patted the other man's shoulder. His hand lingered for a few seconds before squeezing it reaffirmingly. "You'll be fine. He'll be fine, trust me. You haven't messed up yet, and you won't. The kid loves you."

With that, Rhodey tipped Peter upside down and walked away with a high-pierced shrieking toddler dangling in his arms.

"And I know you wanna see Steve in his trunks." Tony glared at his friend, desperately willing the blush to stay below his collar. "Bye, Tony!"

He hated Rhodey.

"Bye, Da- daddy!"

He loved that one.
-------------
Overall, the pool day went fine. Tony kept himself busy trying to keep an eye on Peter and not ogling at Steve too much. It was a challenging balance, but in the end, the kid won. 

Of course.

A chiseled God against his kid. Easy.

But a little peek didn't hurt.

The indoor pool area was first and formally the Avengers training pool, but that didn't mean it could be a nice place.

Oh, on the contrary.

Sitting back in his beach chair, warming himself in the sun radiating through the glass ceiling and walls, Tony felt quite proud.
It was a tropical- indoor area. Not a dull, grey public pool where souls went to die.

The pool itself was an Olympic-sized pool. Why not? He was Tony Stark, after all. Only the best for him and his team. The depth went from 3 feet at one end to 15 feet at the other in various slopes and steps. Surrounding the shallow area were circular warm-water pools and jacuzzis. The deep greens and golds aided in chasing away the stale public bathroom atmosphere. On sunny days like this, the area glittered as a luscious forest. 
But what would a team-building pool be without a place to hang out and build your team? The dark-stained wooden deck was spacious enough to fit a lounge area with a stone-topped bar, sofas, and an indoor barbeque site. 

A pair of wooden steps lead you to where Tony sat, cheerily sipping on a fruity green non-alcoholic drink Clint had mixed.
Icecube tinkled in the glass as he stretched and buried his toes in the warm sand. He half-listened to whatever music discussion Clint and Sam had, something about jazz and rhythm. 

Tony didn't care enough to concentrate or give his input. 

All in all, Tony had a good time. He felt relaxed and cozy where he sat, running his drink-free hand up and down the soft terrycloth robe embracing his kid.
Peter napped on his chest with one thumb in his mouth, head to toe swamped in a beige teddy robe. Now and then, he heard Peter murmur something to himself. Tony's heart melted and went all gooey every time the boy made a noise.
He would never tell any of the others that, but judging from the grinning looks and knowing smirks they sent him, they already knew.

Peter had drained himself completely by playing in all the different pools and digging in the sand. To Tony's horror, he also ate some. Clint said it would find a natural way out down south. Yeah. Well, Clint wasn't Bruce, and Tony only trusted his Bruce. So he would continue to worry.

From the beginning, it was clear that the kid held no fear of water.
Starting the day by dodging Tony's hand to sprint and throw himself at Thor, who was waiting in the water with his arms stretched out. Tony made a sound he never made before, and his heart shot up through the glass ceiling and back before he realized everything was fine. Thor caught him in strong, safe arms, and both were laughing.

Tony was almost hyperventilating, but it could pass as laughing too.

He was fine.

Hehehe.

Tony kept himself to the waist-deep water. Some lingering trauma from mixing water and the arc reactor still existed, and he didn't want to ruin his mood. Of course, he built it waterproof, hello showers, but that didn't stop his mind from connecting the wrong dots.

So he stood there, trying to teach the kid how to swim correctly and not doggy paddling. It ended up a mix between a spasming turtle and a digging dog. Tony wasn't sure if it was the teacher's or the pupil's fault.

But Peter did float without any problem. That ridiculous proud-parent feeling spread inside him as Thor praised the kid's floating abilities. Chest puffing just a tiny bit. 

Peter quickly found an affinity for being tossed and flown all over. The higher, the better. Tony almost flung himself out of his lounge chair and in the water several times when Thor threw the kid several feet up in the air, but luckily for all, the God caught him every time. And every time, the kid wanted to do it again and again.
It wasn't just Peter who enjoyed playing in the pool. Nat and Clint took turns stepping up on Steve's shoulders and letting him shoot them far up in the air, where they performed a couple of tricks and then gracefully landed in the water.

Spies.

Bucky and Sam held a hold-your-breath competition, which Bucky won every time, and Sam complained about him cheating every time.
Bruce swam a few lengths, then stood in the water at shoulder depth because the big guy liked it. After a while, Sam and Bucky snagged him to judge their competition. Which he begrudgingly agreed to. Tony could have sworn he heard the big guy rumble a "Not fair."

And now, after a few hours in the water and some food in their bellies, the whole team felt spent. It wasn't just Peter who had fallen asleep. Natasha slept on a blanket in the sand, stretched out on a beach towel, basking in the sunlight like a cat. Thor was currently passed out on the sofa up on the deck. His snores echo around the pool area.

"Just a couple more minutes," Tony whispered to the teddy's ears, kissing the fuzzy top. 

Just a few more minutes.
--------
The following day was quiet. Tony woke Peter at 10 am. after checking in on him numerous times that morning. Finding Peter still in bed was suspicious because Peter rarely slept that late. He was an early bird, and Tony had more than once wished the kid would sleep for longer, but now that he was, Tony had a bad feeling. Their wholesome little, dysfunctional family was supposed to drive back to the Tower for a few days and Peter loved road trips. Tony had some work to do and he also missed his Tower. But he was intent to return soon and take Peter duck-watching again. 
Perched on one of the barstools around the breakfast bar, Tony couldn't help his mind to wander. He had to say something before his inner turmoil transferred over to Peter. Tony tried hard not to be that kind of parent. 

"You think he's sick? Maybe he got cold yesterday in the pool?" Tony swept away stray curls and placed his palm on the kid's forehead. Not that he knew how it was supposed to feel if something was wrong, hotter, he guessed, but this was something parents did. He remembered his mom checking his temperature like this when he was a kid.

Bruce mirrored Tony's hand placement. Hopefully, the doctor knew how it should feel. "He doesn't feel hot." He moved his hand around, feeling the kid's neck and torso. "No, I think he's just tired from yesterday."

"If you're sure, you're the doctor." Tony gathered the sleeping toddler closer to his chest. Unease brewing in his mind.

"Still not that kind of doctor," Bruce smiled, shook his head, and walked to the fridge. "But I think he needs to eat something. Did he eat anything before he fell asleep for the night?"

"Just half a bottle, to conked out to finish, Tony answered apprehensively. 

"Then he probably needs some food, and he'll be all good. Back bouncing off the walls, keeping you in form."

"Hey, I'm keeping myself in form," Tony said defensively and lightly hurt. He ate, bathed, and slept on a somewhat regular basis. At least enough for it to be healthy-ish.

Bruce gave him a tired smile and pushed two bowls of fruit and some yogurt toward the pair. One bowl was big and the other small, both yellow. Peter had taught them thoroughly that he did not appreciate color differentials while eating. 
Tony noticed his friend looked a bit sleep-ruffled himself. Was someone keeping Bruce in form, he thought? Tony would be better at that. He cared for Bruce a lot, even if he was terrible at showing it.

"So, you haven't noticed any changes?" Bruce looked at him from across the breakfast bar like he was crazy, slowly chewing on some fruit. 

"Thanks for the compliment, Brucie, but I've already hit puberty. With quite a few years, if you'd believe that!" Yep. The standard Stark tactic when heavy topics are near. Joke and deflect.

Finally able to wake the kid from his snooze, Tony decided to skip the mess of letting Peter eat by himself and spoon-feed the half-sleeping toddler in his lap. He quickly realized that managing two bowls, two spoons, Voff, and a limp toddler was too much. Instead, he chose the "one for you and one for me" option.

Screw germs!

He looked over at Bruce again, who stared at him unimpressed. He even got the eyebrow tilt going. "What?" Tony grouched.

"You seriously can't see any changes in yourself since," Bruce gestured to the pair, "This happened?"

"What, that I'm constantly sticky or covered in stains, that I'm always worried, or that the little rascal doesn't let me sleep past 6 am?" He paused and studied what he could see off the kid's face. "Well, except for today." Yeah, he couldn't help the worrying thoughts.

With a sigh, Bruce stood and walked over to the sink. Tony focused back on the kid again. Sounds of running water and clatter from the dishes filled the silence. Tony had a feeling it wouldn't last long.

"You sleep more," he was right about the silence, "you eat more and healthier, you're happier, you don't have as many nightmares anymore, you're outside mo-"

"I was outside before!"

"Missions don't count."

"Oh, how about yourself?" Despite Bruce's calm voice, Tony felt judged.

"I take walks every day."

"You do?" Tony couldn't keep the shock from his voice.

Well, that was a surprise. Tony thought Bruce was like him, holed up in the lab day and night, only coming up for air and food if he remembered. 
That vitamin D came from a pill, not the sun.

"Outside?" He still couldn't wrap his head around that.

"Yes, outside. In the fresh air and sun."

"Don't mock me, Bruce. I know what outside means."

"Yes, you do. Because you've been outside almost daily these last weeks."

He had? 

Pete liked to watch the ducks in the pond behind the Compound. And take his bike for a spin. The service roads were perfect for that. He also loved climbing those small boulders at the forest edge, so Tony had to go outside. It would be selfish otherwise.

"So what if I've been outside more?"

"It's not about the outside, Tony."

"No, it's the inside that counts," Tony smugly replied.

Bruce gave him one of those eyebrows looks again. "You're an idiot, a healthy idiot, but an idiot. Fatherhood has done wonders for you, and it looks good on you, and I'm glad."

Tony's mind whirled. Before he could muster up a snarky retort, Bruce was already on his way out. 

"Make sure your kid eats and drinks before we leave, and come find me if he still isn't up and running after lunch or develops a fever."

"Are you hitting on me, Bruce?" That was the sarcastic response he should've said. Sadly, he missed that opportunity by sitting flabbergasted on a kitchen stool with his kid on his lap.

Maybe he had changed? Tony couldn't remember the last time he did an all-nighter in the lab. Two weeks ago? More? The migraines were almost gone, as were the nightmares.

Maybe he had changed?

And that was thanks to the tiny mess sitting in his lap.

Yeah, the great Tony Stark never wanted kids. He still doesn't think he wants one.
He only wants this one.
And maybe he could be a father to this one and the bigger one.
-----
"Boss, young Peter is in distress."

It didn't take Tony long to sober up from his sleep. As soon as FRIDAY mentioned Peter's name, he was wide awake and moving.

"Info, FRIDAY!"

He threw himself out of bed but came crashing to the floor when his foot snagged in the duvet.

"Fuck!" He twisted his knee in the fall but didn't dwell on it too much before he sprinted to Peter's room. He'll heal eventually.

"Young Peter appears to have purged and is running a slight fever, 101.3 degrees, to be precise." FRIDAY's calm, accented voice followed Tony into the kid's room, where it mixed with Peter's heavy cries.

"Da-daddy, daddy, Oony!"

Seeing his kid sitting there miserable and covered in sweat, vomit, and tears broke something in Tony. God, his kid was sick.

"FRIDAY, tell Bruce to get here."

"Of course, sir."

"Hey, Pete." At his voice, Peter's sobs increased. "I know, Buddy. I know. Being sick sucks."

Tony gingerly sat on the bed, trying to avoid the mess in Peter's lap. He also desperately tried to ignore the smell. One accident was quite enough for one evening. Breathing through his mouth didn't ease the queasy feeling snailing in his stomach. A hazmat suit from the lab might have helped.

His hands hovered unsurely over the bed for a few seconds before he just said fuck it. Tony gathered the soaked blanket and rolled it away from them, leaving it by the foot of the bed. Someone else could take care of that. Maybe a biohazard burning facility.
He had a kid to comfort. 

"I know, Squirt. I'm sorry you're sick." God, puke covered the kid. To say that Tony was lost would be the understatement of the year. Every little whimper chipped away at his heart. "Let's get you clean. That's a good start, right, bud?"

Peter only wailed and hiccupped in response.

Carefully not to smear the kid in more sick, Tony wiggled Peter's arms through the sleeves. He should probably wipe some of his face before pulling the shirt over it. Tony swallowed down a gag. With a grimace, he grabbed one of the sleeves and wiped the kid's mouth and neck with the clean fabric. He was fighting a great battle not to focus on the smell and the chunks. 
Some got on his hands, but Peter had it worse, so Tony continued to clean and ignore. It wasn't a great job, but it had to do for now.
Once Peter's soiled shirt and pants were off, Tony gently gathered the boy in his arms. As Tony ran his fingers through Peter's curls, he let them linger on Peter's forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

Hot. Clammy. Warm.

That's what a fever feels like, Tony grimly thought. Good to know. Not much help right now.

"Let's get you cleaned up and in some nice new pj's. That'll make you feel a bit better. It usually helps me."

The pair bobbed and swayed their way to the attached bathroom. Tony had no idea if Peter understood him half the time, so he started humming to the boy instead. It seemed to calm him down a bit. At least the outright wailing had stopped.

"FRIDAY, light on 50%," the lights came to life, but even with the low setting, Peter hid his face in Tony's neck. "I'm sorry, bud." He kissed the sweaty curls when the kid's sobs rose again. Big, loud cries and hiccups rocked the petite body in his arms.

As an afterthought, Tony dearly wished he had known these symptoms beforehand.

Life lesson learned.

"Tony?"

"In here," Tony whisper-yelled. At the same time, Peter's hiccups worsened.
Slow reactions, old age, sleep-deprived, or plain inexperience, Tony couldn't say. But it took him a second too long to realize that the hiccups were gags.

The scene that greeted Bruce as he entered the bathroom was either a tragedy or comedic gold. Time would tell if they could laugh about it someday.
Tony stood frozen in place, with a naked, crying Peter in his arms and vomit running down his neck. Bruce could see that the sick had gone on the inside of his shirt.
They caught each other's eyes. Tony's face twitched. "Peter's sick," he said in a flat tone.

And as if to punctuate the point, a bit of sick fell to the floor with a splat.

Chapter Text

"What the hell's going on, guys?" Clint hoarsely yelled from the hallway. "FRIDAY brutally wakes me in the middle of my beauty sleep, only to tell me you two morons need some parental-" Clint's monolog came to an abrupt stop when he spotted the sad trio occupying Peter's bathroom. "advice..."

The smell alone triggered memories of soiled sheets, crackers, water cups, long nights without sleep, and mountains of laundry.

The wailing and sobbing supplied the rest.

Oh, the Christmas pukey miracle of '18.

"Fuck." Pulling his face into a grimace, he flashed Tony a sympathetic look. "Guessing mini Stark caught the fun bug, huh?"

"Clint?" Pale and with a slight sheen to his face, Tony turned to face him.

Clint felt sympathy for the man despite his annoying and terrible personality traits. No one deserved to deal with a fountain-puking child.

But Clint's heart bled. It was gushing for the sad little lump that was Peter.

"Yeah, FRIDAY called and said you might need some assistance." While stealing himself, Clint snatched two towels from the rack and walked deeper into the misery. "And by the looks of it, you're desperate for it."

Clint could've sworn he saw something resembling relief cross Tony's face.

Starting with a stomach bug as your first sickness as a new parent couldn't be anything other than traumatizing. A snotty nose was more appropriate.

In one move, he pushed the Iron Man-themed bath towel to Tony's chest, grabbed the weeping Peter from his arms, and expertly swaddled him in the Spiderman one.

"I'll take this, and you take that, and a shower."

Of course, Peter didn't want to leave his father's arms and stuck himself to Tony's soiled shirt with all his might. It wasn't much, considering Peter was a sick, non-superpowered, two-year-old boy, but his hands still needed to be pried off despite the vomit covering both of them.

"I know, Pete. I'll be right back. Bruce and Clint will be here all the time," Tony's voice was laden with heavy guilt, trying to soothe Peter's cries and attempts to crawl back into his arms.

"Oony, no. Peter, go to Oony." Fat tears rolled down the boy's patchy cheeks, and spit bubbles lined his mouth, a pure picture of distress.

"I'll be right back, sweetie. I'm just in the other-"

"'Go, Tony. He won't understand anyway." Clint spoke from experience.

He knew what all sick kids wanted was their place of safety and comfort, and now Peter's person left. Peter wouldn't deal with that. It didn't matter how often Tony reassured him that it was fine. Nothing in Peter's world was okay right now. It was better to rip the bandage off and deal with the consequences.

Unless Tony wanted to wear pukey clothes for a very long time?

Tony still hesitated.

One arm slightly raised, aching to soothe his child. Clint knew the feeling well. It didn't change the situation, though.

"For fuck's sake, Stark, go shower!" Clint hissed and wrangled Peter's disgusting hand from closing in on his face.

That finally got the other man moving, but not before sending Clint a threatening stare.

" It was funny how much of a mother-hen he'd become ," Clint thought.

With Tony's steps echoing away, Clint turned to Bruce, who'd been quiet during the whole situation. The doctor sported a painfully pinched expression. Brows knitted so forcefully and low they nearly obstructed his sight. Clint wasn't sure if the green guy was about to make an entrance or Bruce's dinner.

"Lookin a little bit green around the jolly's there, Doc. You cool?"

As if nothing had happened, Bruce blinked back to the calm-in-the-storm doctor he was.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," he shivered, "let's take him to the guest room."

----

Clean and in new fluffy PJs, Tony slowly paced back and forth along the floor-to-ceiling windows. FRIDAY had dimmed the lights almost entirely in the lounge, giving him a spectacular view.

Big Peter loved the night scenery from up high. It reminded him of his nightly patrols, guarding the sleeping city and ensuring its people's safety.

Now and then, Tony gently rocked the little toddler in his arm, swaying his body in rhythm to his humming. They've been at it for hours. Tony had hummed his way through the lab playlist at least once.

Who knew that so many rock songs worked perfectly as lullabies?

It took two hours before Peter settled after his puking fiesta. He threw up two more times and made a mess the other way one time. The first two Tony caught quickly by shoving a bucket under the kid's chin when the gags began, but he wasn't nearly ready for the latter.

Peter needed another bath, and Tony needed new clothes and a shower.

Again.

And bleach for his nose and eyes.

But now, they were here., bobbing along the skyline in the silence at 4 am, watching the city come to life. Tony was tired to the bone. Sure, he'd done all-nighters in the lab, sometimes two or three nights. But that didn't come with the pure exhaustion that followed seeing your kid sick.

The worrying, the inability to make it all vanish, the wish to trade places.

As long as they were moving, Peter was somewhat peaceful. He hugged Voff to his chest, thumb stuffed in his mouth, and held on to Tony's shirt with the other. The boy seemed content laying there resting, not comfortable enough to fall asleep. Peter's eyes drifted shut in short lapses, but it never lasted more than a few minutes before he woke up with a quiet whimper.

Dino strolled along with them on the floor. Short metal legs tapped against the floor, trailing in and out of Tony's way. It would annoy him to bits if it weren't for the way Peter's eyes sometimes tracked the miniature robot with the tiniest glint of amusement in his eyes.

If it helped Peter feel better, Tony could watch his step.

Tony had to look ridiculous, not that he cared right now. But foolish nevertheless carrying a blanket-swaddled toddler, a plushie seal, and trailed by a tiny robot T-rex. He hoped FRIDAY got this on tape.

Tony tried to get Peter to drink water, but the kid only whined and hid his face in Tony's neck. Bruce wanted him to drink, and Tony couldn't help but feel like a failure every time Peter refused.

How on earth did parents do this?

The pair spent the day the same way. Tony dragged his feet around the penthouse, talking, singing, or humming hushed, burying his nose in Pete's wild curls.

Peter clung to Tony and wildly protested if Tony rested on the sofa too long. And a small hell broke loose if somebody tried to divide them.

Tony had to repress an exhausted chuckle at the stink-eyed glare his kid sent Bruce's way when he came by for a check-up. The kid was not a fan of medical attention. Both versions seemed to share that opinion. But it was nice to know that Peter had some fight in him.

None of the (not that kind of doctor) doctors' checks showed anything alarming.

Peter had a low fever. The vomiting and upset stomach seemed to have settled, but he had no appetite and no energy.

After Peter refused to eat or drink again at dinner, Bruce expressed a slight concern. He wasn't overly concerned about it. It had only been a day, and as long as the kid ate and drank something, that's good. However, they needed to monitor his intake and offer food and drinks.

Racking his brain, Tony thought back to what the kid had eaten, and to his horror, it wasn't much.

It was barely anything.

He'd suckled a few minutes on a Pedialyte popsicle Clint brought and sipped two small mouths of apple juice, but other than that, nothing.

One freakout later, Tony's forced to the conclusion, thank you, Bruce, that he was not starving his kid. His baby was just ill right now but will be better soon.

His baby was just ill right now but will be better soon.

His baby was just ill right now but will be better soon.

His baby was just ill right now but will be better soon.

Yeah, no. That wasn't working.

-----

"I don't understand," Bruce rolled himself closer to the monitor and leaned closer. Any closer, his nose would've hit the holographic screen, or he'd tip off his chair. "There's nothing there."

"Isn't that good?" stepping closer to the screen, Clint mimicked the doctor. "Show's no nasty bug or disease got a hold of mini Stark."

Turning his head sideways to glare at the archer, who leaned in far too close for comfort, Bruce let out an annoying huff.

"No, that's not good!" Bruce didn't shout. He rarely yelled, but he did raise his voice. The distress started to get to him. "There is no doubt that Peter's ill, but all his results came back normal. According to the blood test, he's in prime condition. Still that low fever, but other than that, nothing!" It was still not a shout, but enough for Clint to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Banner, take a breath. No one blames you."

Bruce tried to, he tried. But there was a toddler in the other room wasting away for no reason, at least no reason he could find. He was letting his best friend's kid wither away.

Maybe he wasn't a monster, but he wasn't a good friend either.

"We've done numerous X-rays, scannings, and tests, but they all show the same thing. A healthy two-year-old boy. Not even low blood sugar. And if there's nothing wrong, then there's..." Bruce buried his face in his shaking hands. Numb fingers dug into his skull as if he could gauge the hidden solution out of his brain. With hope slipping from him, Bruce's shoulders heaved at the soul-crushing reality they faced.

"Nothing to treat," Natasha finished, hugging herself. The fabric of her hoodie bunched in her tightly clutched hands. It was a lifeline to cling to. She forced the image of the pair in the next room out of her mind. She needed to stay focused.

"I can't help him," no one mentioned the strain in Bruce's low voice. They all carried it.

The hopelessness. The darkness.

"What about Thor? Any news?" Clint asked, knowing the answer probably wouldn't have changed since the last time.

At Natasha's minute headshake, Clint deflated.

When it was apparent that the kid's illness wasn't just a bug, the team presumed it had something to do with the spell coursing through his body.

Thor had raced back to Asgaard in search of answers, but all his efforts thus far had been futile.

According to the old books, the reversal would happen in the object's sleep. Other than that, the information wasn't much to go on. The texts didn't mention any sickness, and no Asgardian healer could tell him more.

The sterile environment of the hospital lab started to get to Clint.

The white walls pierced his eyes.

The buzzing from endless machines and fluorescent lights interfered with his hearing aid.

The thought of a kid dying in the room next door shattered his heart.

It was impossible to grasp what Tony was going through.

Clint didn't want to imagine it.

After taking a nasty fall out of a tree, Copper had to stay in the hospital for three days due to a bad concussion. Those were the worst days in Clint's life. As a parent, you never want to know how your child looks in a hospital bed with cords darting across their small form. The compulsion to check their breathing every time they fall asleep or learn the exact rhythm of the heart monitor.

------

Tony was numb.

Cold.

Empty.

He couldn't think.

For now, he just existed as a hollow shell hugging his child.

Peter had gradually withered away over the days. The boy went from eating and drinking very little to not eating or drinking. His awareness slowly faded away until he one day didn't wake up.

In his panic, Tony had shaken the small body lying beside him in the bed. Peter's head lolled from side to side, and his arms rattled uselessly beside him. But his eyes never opened again.

Tony shook and shook.

Then he screamed.

That was two days ago. For two days now, Tony had laid beside his kid in a too-big and too-white hospital bed. The starchy sheets swallowed Peter and drained him of what little presumptive color he had left. Fields of undisturbed white cotton stayed just as unrumpled and still as its captive.

Everything was wrong.

Peter was too still and too quiet.

The kid was never still, not even in his sleep. A sickly grey and pale hue slicked his skin. And flushed cheeks that were less rosy than they should be. The once unruly wild curls were now a matted mess.

Tony hadn't left Peter's side since they arrived. He held him close and spoke softly, begging the boy to wake up. Fear spurred Tony to keep close to Peter. If his tired arms couldn't hug the boy, how would Peter know Tony was still here and that he needed to keep fighting? Tony needed Peter to know he would not abandon him.

The rest of the team had filtered in and out of the room, but Tony ignored them. He knew he was selfish, Tony knew they cared for the boy, but he couldn't help it.

Tony was also withering away.

With shaking hands, he adjusted the big oxygen mask covering half of Pete's face. It became necessary once Peter's breathing tapered out and his oxygen levels fell. Now Tony spent every waking hour watching Peter's breaths fog the plastic. Tony's heart seized every time the transparent mask didn't fill with cloudy condense.

But the obscuring mask wasn't Tony's worst eyesore.

No.

Across Peter's cheek and up into his nose slithered a clear feeding tube. As if needles and wires crisscrossing over his body, machines beeping incessantly, and plastic cups covering his face weren't enough, they taped a tube to his hollow cheek. They were supposed to be puffing up in a chipmunk smile.

Tony hated that piece of tape.

Bruce and Cho talked about having to intubate Peter if his levels continued to fall. Tony heard them. Whispers in the corridors or the room when they thought Tony had finally fallen asleep. But Tony never slept. He was unsure if he ever could again.

Days passed, and Peter's levels fell. And so was everything else.

Peter didn't crash or worsen at a fast pace.

No. Peter slowly and silently faded away from them, slipping through their grasping hands like fog over rocks.

Piece by piece, Tony lost his son, and all he could do was hold him and watch.

"Tony?"

The other man barely moved at Steve's voice. But Steve noticed a slight tightening in Tony's arms as he curled them protectively around the small body in his lap. Steve knew Tony wasn't supposed to be in bed with Peter, but he wouldn't be the one to tell the man to leave.

"Can I come in?"

Still not looking at Steve, hiding his face in the boy's curls, Tony gave a short nod. At least he was responsive, and Steve was thankful for that.

" There's no getting used to this ," Steve thought as he wandered over to the pair. Awkwardly hovering between the two grey plastic chairs used by visitors, Steve ultimately chose the one closest to Tony. Sitting, Steve gazed sadly around the room.

With nothing else to do to help, the team had begun to fill the room with everything Peter loved. His toys and plushies covered the bedside table, joined by the little T-rex Tony built him. Sparkly ribbons tied many brightly colored balloons to the end of the bed. They swayed and bumped into each other in the silence. A pile of hastily folded spare blankets perched on the armchair in the corner.

The team quickly switched the bleached and stale bedsheets in the hospital bed for Peter's beloved Avengers one. So now they kept him safe even if they weren't around.

The room held more than just reminders of Peter. Among the cheerful, colorful children's items were signs of the harsh reality: untouched plates of food, crumpled tissues, cold cups of coffee, open medical books, and eyeglasses that lay discarded on the floor by the opposite wall.

"I've talked to May," Steve said, clearing his voice."The storm finally cleared. They're on their way back," he placed a hand on Tony's knee, smoothing his thumb steadily up and down. "They should be back tomorrow morning."

Tony had sent May and Pepper away on a free vacation to Paris after May confessed she had never been outside the country. It doubled as a "thank you for letting me borrow your nephew" and a "sorry that I shrunk your nephew" bribe.

When Peter's condition deteriorated three days ago, Tony called them back immediately. But heavy and violent rainstorms racked Europe, forcing planes to stay on the ground.

Tony's head jerked slowly up and down. Steve had yet to see his face, still bowed down, watching the kid in his arms. He noticed one of Tony's hands gently massaging one of Peter's smaller ones, dwarfing the unmoving fingers in his.

Steve's heart broke at the reminder of how tiny Peter was. He was just a baby.

"Tones, can you please look at me?" Steve pleaded, not able to keep his voice steady any longer. His hand trembled on Tony's knee with the need to take the other man's pain and ease this nightmare.

"Bruce and Cho will figure this out, okay? They will find a cure, and Peter will be bouncing around soon."

Liar, Steve's mind yelled at him. You're such a fucking hypocrite, sitting here spewing words you don't believe yourself. The great Captain America, the symbol of hope, had given up on a child.

No. There's still time. Steve couldn't give up. He needed to stay strong for Tony, May, and the team. Someone had to support them if the worst happened.

Steve carefully moved his hand from Tony's knee to softly cup his cheek, feeling the stubble against his palm as he gently forced the man to face him.

Steve rarely left Tony's side these days, but the face across from him was almost unrecognizable. Eyes so sunken, bloodshot, and dark, Steve wondered if Tony still could see clearly, and the pinched lines around them were proof enough of the ongoing migraine.

Tony sluggishly blinked back at him, straining to keep awake.

"Tony, you need to sleep."Steve knew it was a futile attempt. Tony hadn't slept or eaten in days and became stubborn and hostile to anyone suggesting he'd try to.

"No..." The one-syllable word stumbled on his tongue. Tony tried to push himself into a more comfortable position without disturbing the little bundle leaning on his chest.

"Here, let me help," Steve stood to better support Tony's shoulder, only to have his hand swatted away.

"You can't help! Nobody can help." Tony hissed and glared at him, eyes filled with hate and despair.

"Tony, please." Steve caught Tony's eyes, wincing at the hatred there. "Let me help you," Steve spoke slowly, keeping his voice low and steady. He tried to put as much emotion and truth into the words, offering himself as a lifeboat to help carry Tony's burden.

Never breaking eye contact, he reached for the other man again. Stroking his thumb up and down the man's cheek, he watched as Tony's eyes began to water.

It was intimate, but Steve needed Tony to trust him. "It'll be okay, Tony."

"Nobody can help," Tony's voice was just a whisper of its former self. The empty air would have swallowed the words if Steve wasn't beside Tony.

"I'll be okay. I promise."

Nodding as his walls came crashing down, Tony broke. He couldn't do it.

He was losing his child. His child was dying in his arms, and he was helpless, useless.

All the money and tech in the world, and he was failing his kid.

Tony felt the bed dip, and then he was leaning against something solid and warm. Something to ground him when the darkness ate at his heart.

Steve.

So, for once in his life, Tony Stark accepted the help. Clutching his baby to his chest, mindful of all the cords, he let Steve hold him steady as he cried, grief ripping him apart.

Chapter Text

"Honey," May's soft knocks interrupted his intense staring contest with the ceiling, "Tony's on the phone."

Peter rolled over, turning his back to the door. He did not want to talk to Mr. Stark. Peter has nothing to say. Or, more like it, he didn't know what to say to his- his mentor?
If he could hide away from the man, Peter would be happy. Well, not happy, but at least less humiliated.

"He wants to talk to you, sweetie. Can I come in?" May asked gently from behind the door. Peter appreciated that she respected his boundaries and did not charge in. He wanted to be left alone.

"I don't want to talk to him," Peter said, not sure his muttered words would reach May. Not until his enhanced hearing picked up her deep sigh.
She has done that a lot lately, usually because of him.

"He just wants to know how you are, Sweety." 

When he kept quiet, another sigh seeped through the door. Peter could picture his aunt leaning closer to the door, cradling the phone to her chest to minimize the risk of overhearing.

"He's worried, honey," May pleaded in a worried voice.

"Don't care," Peter muttered into his pillow, securing the blanket tighter around himself.

He did care. Peter had a lot of thoughts and feelings about all of this, and that's the problem. It was too much, too scrambled, and too confusing.
Burrowing deeper into his blanket nest, he listened to May's receding footsteps and her apologizing to Mr. Stark.

"I'm so sorry, Tony. I don't know what-"

Peter didn't want or need to hear anything more. It's been the same since May drove him home from the Tower three days ago.
Immediately upon arriving back home in the apartment, Peter locked himself in his bedroom. The room behind the door was his hiding spot from the world. 
Too many memories and thoughts whirled around in his head and out there, existing amongst other people. It all became too much.

True or false. 

New or old. 

Peter didn't know. Despite his many hours of introspection, everything was still a mess.

May was worried about him. He knew that. Comforting and delicate fingers ran through his curls or down his back as she sat beside him on the bed. The motion was an old source of reassurance from their early years together, and it usually helped Peter calm down.

But now, the memories screwed with his head.

Peter remembered resting against his father's chest while the man played with his curls or ran a soothing hand down his back. He remembered the smell of motor oil and the feeling of safety in the motions.
But those were false memories, or at least not Peter's "real" ones. 
That was not his dad. Peter barely remembered his parents, but now he had distinct memories of his dad.

A dad.

Not his dad.

Mr. Stark wasn't his dad. 

At one point, he was, but not anymore. And it sucked cause Peter wanted his dad.

So now Peter hid away in his bedroom. Staring at the walls or the ceiling, he wallowed in his anguish. Mr. Stark didn't want kids. It was best if Peter stayed away until everything had calmed down. He didn't want to make the man more uncomfortable than he probably already was.

God, Peter had made his mentor change his diapers and bathe him. 

Groaning, Peter twisted over to his stomach and pressed his burning face into his pillow, trying to smother his frustrated scream.
This whole situation was a complete and utter Peter Parker mess, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Peter just wanted his dad.
------
Tony let his phone clatter to the counter, watching it balance precariously by the edge. He couldn't care less about what happened to a stupid phone.
Peter had refused to talk to him again, like the previous four calls and a visit. Tony was out of the loop. He had no fucking idea how to fix this.
May insisted the kid didn't hate him nor that Tony had done anything wrong. But he found that hard to believe when the kid, his kid, refused to even talk to him.

Tony must have lived in another realm these past weeks. He thought he had nailed it as a parent to toddler Pete. 
And if you counted the fact that Tony was a part of the proud and exceptionally faulty Stark family, he did splendidly.

Barring for the whole trauma of witnessing his kid die before his eyes.
Tony refused to think about that, refused to remember hearing and feeling his baby take his last breath.
Yeah, it was only the spell leaving his body, and within seconds, the toddler transformed into a teenager.

It didn't ease the pain, though.

"Damn it," Tony leaned forwards, elbows on the cold counter and hands tugging his hair.

Breathe in and out, in and out. Breathing is good. Panic attacks are not.

"Fuck," the restricted feeling crept over his chest. One of his hands came down to rest over the arc reactor. Blue light illumed his fingers as he pressed a splayed palm over his chest.

Pete loved the blue light. The kid was the only one allowed to touch the arc reactor without permission. At first, his whole chest had seized with panic. Tony had to fight the irrational instinct to shove the kid away. After several attempts to reach the glowing treasure, Tony found the light traces soothing.

"Tony?"

Fuck, Bucky. The gang was supposed to be out.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He was not.

"Okay."

Tony thanked Bucky's non-persistence for the blatant lie. None of them were okay, Tony least of them. They all missed the kid, both the toddler version and the teenage one.
Now they tiptoed around each other in a too-quiet tower, searching for something that was not there anymore. It was crazy how quickly the sterile environment of the different levels of the Tower felt wrong without paddling feet or gleeful giggling.

What the hell? Tony would take the piercing screams over this stillness.

Noises of kitchenware clinking against each other punctured Tony's bubble of anxiety and informed him Bucky was rummaging around the kitchen.
Not having the energy to move, Tony grabbed his phone and pretended to be busy. The poor state of his inbox suggested he needed to do some work.
In reality, he swiped through pictures of Peter and himself. It was probably a terrible decision in his condition, but those giant brown eyes, chubby cheeks, and toothy grin staring back at him made his chest bloom, and not in a panicked way.

God, what had the kid done to him?

A steaming mug emerged in his line of vision. Frowning at the little white puffs floating in the beverage, Tony turned his bewildered stare towards the other man lazily leaning against the stove opposite him. Bucky gently sipped from a matching green mug.

"Hot cocoa," Bucky tipped his cup in Tony's direction. "Ma used to say you might not solve world problems over hot cocoa, but it does wonders for the small ones."

Tony snorted. "That's a lot of sentimental crap." He did take a sip, though.

"You insulting my ma, Stark?"

Tony matched the man's raised eyebrow with one of his own. "Not at all, Barnes. Any woman in charge of raising you must be a saint."

"And Steve. That tiny stick of wheezy sickness. We were a package deal."
This time, Tony snorted straight into the warm deliciousness, dribbling some down his ratty band shirt.

"Sexy," Bucky commented dryly.

"Thanks," Tony replied dryly. Then, after a pause, he added sincerely, "Really, thanks for," he gestured between them, "this."

He hoped Barnes understood the subtle nuance. Tony appreciated him for pulling his head out of the downward spiral.
The man gave a short acknowledging nod. That was enough. There was no need to be mushy-gushy more than necessary. 
On his way out, Barnes placed his hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony flinched slightly at the contact but managed to keep it down, or Bucky chose to ignore it.

"He'll come around, Tony. He's probably just confused and embarrassed as hell right now. You know how the kid is. Bottling all pain up until he bursts and flips the cork off." He squeezed Tony's shoulder. "Just let him know you're there for him."

Sitting in the now empty and too-quiet kitchen, Tony knew Barnes was right. May said Peter had trouble distinguishing his memories. With Barnes being the "resident memory expert of the Tower," Tony guessed he had a point.

Unlocking his phone, he tapped away, typing a short but genuine message to the kid. His fingers paused at the end, hovering over the display.
No, with nothing to lose but a kid to gain, Tony decided on.
"Love you, Pete."

--------
"Okay," Peter almost tumbled out of bed when his bedroom door suddenly flew open, May storming in and flinging herself on the bed. 

"Moping time over!" The mattress bounced them around, knocking them into each other. Peter barely escaped an elbow to his nose.

"May," it was quite a feat to manage one word to sound like a question, reprimand, and whine. But Peter accomplished it and pressed his face into the blue pillow. 

"No, you need fresh air. I'm worried about mold," May tugged at the back of his shirt, trying to peek under the collar. 
"The smell alone is worrisome," May said demandingly, covering a disgusted gag.

Peter wormed away from the prying fingers. "Don't wanna go," he whined.

"Ow!" Peter squeaked two seconds later and pressed his hands over his ear. May had flicked him, and now his ear stung.

"Wasn't a suggestion, honey," she patted (slapped) his butt and walked away. Her long hair swayed when she did a spectacular spin in the doorway.

"If you're not in the shower within the next two minutes, I got a bucket of ice water waiting in the kitchen." Peter gave a one-eyed glare to his aunt from inside his squashed pillow. "Toodles!" May waved her fingers and spun out of the room.

Peter loved his aunt. He did. But right now, he wasn't too fond of her.

On the other hand, he wasn't too fond of ice baths either.

"Urgh!" Moving one limb at a time, he slowly dragged himself out of his warm and wonderful nest. Stinky or not, it had been his comfort for the past three days.

Grumpy and zombie-like, he scuffed his feet through the mess on the floor, toes plowing bricks of Lego and clothes out of his way. This lunch better helps with his mood and overall anxiety.

Otherwise, it's back to his fort.

Twenty minutes later, with hair still damp and bundled up in warm sweaters, a beanie, and gloves, Peter trudged beside May through a chilly autumn Queens.
The shower had eased his mindset to some degree, but stubborn as he was, Peter refused to admit it to May. As per her side-eyed smirk, he suspected she knew.

Colorful leaves rustled under their shoes as the pair strolled down the street. May looped her arm with Peter's, tugging him closer. It was oddly peaceful, and Peter let himself relax for the first time since he returned. For now, it was only him and his aunt May. It was familiar and uncomplicated. They have done this for years, being each other's person.
Peter could do this.

Mr. Stark had come along a while back and gradually wormed his way into their little family. He'd been Peter's mentor, hero, and role model. Despite the man's persistence, he wasn't good enough for Peter.
They developed a relationship, something none of them dared to name.
Both were equally afraid to lose what they built.

And now Peter had gone and ruined it. If he hadn't messed with the stone, nothing would have changed. Peter could have continued spending his weekends at the Tower, tinkering in the lab with Mr. Stark, or watching movies with the rest. Happy and relaxed and not having to deal with this awkward and tortuous circumstance.

"You okay there, honey?" May bumped his side, causing them to wobble to the side, narrowly missing a lamppost.

Peter chewed his lip. Away from the crushing walls in his bedroom, walking in the crisp afternoon, the thought of telling his aunt didn't feel so ominous.
Could he tell her, or would it hurt her feelings? She'd done so much for Peter, and his toddler persona didn't choose her in his time of need.

A solemn weight settled in his stomach.

Peter was a terrible nephew and mentee. His decision hurt May and inconvenienced Tony's life.

"Honey?" May's eyes shone with concern.

"Sorry, May," Peter took the offered pretzel his aunt handed him. How had he not noticed they'd arrived at the food truck? He glanced at the people in line or sitting around at small, rickety tables, laughing in the setting sun.
So carefree and happy.

"For what? You got nothing to apologize for, sweetie," her voice sounded worried. Suddenly, a warm hand draped over Peter's. Her glove was missing, and the skin-to-skin contact soothed his anxiety. It brushed it away for a second.

Cold seeped through his jeans from the plastic seat.

"No," Peter picked at his baked goods. "I'm so sorry, May." He kept his eyes down, trying to blink away the burn in his eyes.

"For what?"

As if Faith wanted to prove a point, Peter's eyes caught a pair walking down the street, pushing a stroller in front of them.

"For, for," he stuttered, unsure how to explain. "I guess I'm sorry for the whole," Peter slipped his hand away, gesturing to himself. "Baby thing." The last part came out as a whisper.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw May righten herself.

"Aw, honey, I told you, that's not your fault." She shuffled closer to him, elbows bumping together.

"But it is." Why didn't she understand?

"No, it's not. It was an accident," soothed.

"No," Peter cried out. He quickly looked around. No one seemed to care about his raised voice.

"No, but I- I made everything a mess. I hurt you and made you,"

"Hurt me?" May sounded shocked.

The chair cracked under his nervous shuffle. "I didn't stay with you. I choose Mr. Stark. I promise I didn't mean it. You're my aunt, and I love you, and I would never," Peter rallied off, stumbling over his words.

"Gonna stop you right there," May spoke over his stuttering beginning of a rant. "Look at me, Peter."

Tracing the cracks in the plastic tabletop, Peter kept his eyes down. He felt his aunt observing him, quietly waiting for a reaction.

"Peter," she gently pushed.

Knowing from experience that she would not stop, stubbornness runs in the family. Peter turned his head towards her. Eyes flitted over her face a second before they settled on her scarf. Brown and yellow fluff swayed with the wind.

Air from her tired sigh made the fuzz dance even more.

"Okay, will you at least listen to me?" Peter nodded. He had no idea why he suddenly went nonverbal.

"None of this is your fault! It's nobody's fault. It was some freaky accident. You were not a burden, a problem, unwanted, or anything negative you think. I won't stop telling you that," May's voice didn't waver once. She spoke with conviction. 

Pulling the other glove off, she placed her hand at the nape of his neck, playing with the curls sticking out from under his beanie.
It felt nice.

"You were a lovely gift. Very unexpected, but still exceptionally loved." May emphasized the unexpected part, mouth pursed and eyebrows high.
"Did I tell you how I found out?" She asked.

Peter shook his head no.

"Come on," she pulled him up, abandoning the remains of Peter's dinner to the pigeons. Together, the pair walked down the street. May kept Peter pressed close to her side.

"I slapped Tony when he told me," she said sheepishly.

"What?" Peter gasped. Was this the same woman that often lectured him about kindness?

Ignoring her nephew's faltering steps and shocked expression, she continued.
"Yeah, I'm not proud of it. Please, don't go around hitting people, sweetie-"

"I'm Spider-man, May," Peter said with a cheeky smile. Honestly, it wasn't such a surprise. His aunt could be very protective. He'd sat beside her many times while she ripped the head of Peter's teachers or principal. But yelling only, never violence.

"Well, yeah... But anyway," she pressed on.

Arm in arm, they strolled down the street. Peter clung to his aunt's arm and words.

----
"Stop screwing around, Tony," May spun on the spot, taking in the room searching for her nephew. "I'm not stupid! Where's Peter?"

May stepped back into Tony's personal space, and Tony couldn't help but lean away. His cheek was on fire.

He would never admit it, but an angry May was way scarier than most villains they fought. A protective and furious May, terrifying.

"No more lies, Tony. Tell me where is Peter." Tony was afraid to open his mouth again, fearing a new joke to escape. The last one didn't land particularly well.
So he settled for flicking his eyes over to Clint and Peter. 

Fuck, he was tiny.

"No," May whispered. "It can't be." Tony stared at the back of her head as she faced the toddler in Clint's arms. "No."

"Uhm, yeah," Tony murmured shamefully. Even after eight hours, he still had trouble comprehending. "That tiny tot is Peter," he cringed as he said it. 

Bruce and Tony had performed a DNA test to be sure. And it was inconclusive. That was Peter.

Clint gingerly eased Peter's fingers out of the boy's mouth and wawed the toddler's hand in greeting.

"No."

Tony watched May's posture slump and steered her over to the couch. He kept his distance in case the need for violence rose again.

"No."

"Yes. Sorry."

"How?"

"A magic stone," Tony cringed. It was bizarre to say it out loud.

"A stone?" Tony could only nod.

" Magic?" May repeated. Bafflement was written all over her face.

"Yes," Tony answered again. Someone needed to start forming sentences soon. Looking over to May, he suspected that person had to be him.

So Tony took a deep breath and plunged right in. "That cool rock Thor gifted him came with an unknown surprise. He didn't know either," Tony quickly added when he caught May reeling up for another fight.
Not that he wasn't curious about how a quarrel between the God of thunder and May Parker would play out.

"We'll fix him, May. I promise you that." Tony carefully set his hand over her knee when the woman bent over to bury her face in her hands.

"Magic," she muttered. "Wasn't it enough with superheroes?"

Tony pitied her. She never signed up for any of this crap. Having to deal with superheroes, superpowers, aliens, life-threatening events, and now, magic

The soft sound of pattering feet alerted them of their new companion. A small hand patted Tony's own, resting upon May's knee. Peter glanced up at the adults with wide eyes and three fingers stuck in his mouth.
For a few seconds, the trio stared at each other. Tony panicked, May bewildered, and Peter curious.
Peter was the one to break the silence. A broad grin spread around the digits in his mouth.

"Ay!" He happily spluttered out.

"Oh, God." May gasped, shell-shocked.

"Ony, Ay," toddler Peter pointed at his aunt as if Tony wasn't sitting beside her.

"I know, Buddy. That's your Aunt May." Tony hauled the kid up in his lap. The motion was slightly more familiar than a few hours ago.

"He, he," May kept staring, mouth opening and closing. "He looks just like he did as a child. When he was a child," she frowned and slumped back into the couch. "The first time."

"Ay," completely unaware of the state of his poor aunt, Peter crawled over to her. A bony knee stabbed Tony in the thigh on the way.

Across the room, Clint excused himself with a silent salute towards Tony and left the trio in awkward silence.

Not knowing what else to do, Tony sat there, watching May interact with her nephew and slowly ease out of her stunned stupor. Tony envied the unconcerned way she handled the boy. Even if Peter wasn't a toddler when he came into Parker's care, she knew how to deal with children.

"Do you know how to get him back?" May suddenly broke the silence between the two. She mumbled down in Peter's curls. The boy now leaned his back against her chest, twirling the hem of his shirt around her fingers.

"Not right now," Tony answered honestly after a pause. He watched the yellow fabric stretch over Peter's protruding belly. "I'm waiting for Thor to come back with more information." Feeling like he was keeping her in the dark, he added, "Peter is alright, though."

Tony knew he screwed up before the words left his mouth.

"Alright? My fifteen-year-old nephew is two years old, and you say he's alright!" May quickly lowered her voice when Peter let out a whine.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, May." Tony quickly rambled out. "I meant he's healthy in his... his shrunk situation." He winced. Wow, that's elaborate.

May stared at him.

"Sorry," Tony mumbled, not knowing what else to say. There's not exactly a standard phrase for when you de-aged someone.

She pushed Peter's curls away from his forehead and sighed. Tony felt like sighing himself. Jesus, this was a mess.

"I don't know how to care for him like this," May admitted.

"Are you kidding me? You're fantastic with him. You even know how to hold him. I couldn't figure out where to grab him. He's just so tiny," Tony's voice wavered at the end.

"No, not like that, Tony," he watched her closely. The sadness in her voice was strangely alarming.

"I have to work. I can't take any more days off without losing my job." Stress and a small amount of panic mixed with sadness laced her voice. "I used them all in March when my aunt was ill. And with a toddler, I need the money. Do you know how expensive it is with kids?"

"May."

"I'm not even at home enough when he's a teenager. Oh, God. I can't leave a toddler alone. Maybe Ms. Warner will babysit him again. She sometimes did when he was younger. I can put him in a playpen, then she could rest her hip."

"May."

"Or, I can put an advert in the papers or use an agency. It'll cost, but maybe I can deal with it for,"

"MAY!"

Both nephew and aunt jumped at his outburst. It wasn't sudden. Tony had unsuccessfully tried to get a word in for a while. He didn't mean to shout, but May was spiraling.
His brain had not stopped running since he found Peter. Thoughts after thoughts spun in a scattered, anxious mess, but what spat out of his mouth had not been one of them.

"I can take care of him."

Silence stretched between them, only interrupted occasionally by Peter slurping around his fingers.

Tony caught his bearings first.

"I mean, he can stay here," Tony quickly corrected." Here with the Avengers. Clint has kids, Sam's a freaking therapist, Bruce's a doctor, and Steve's a mother hen already," Tony rambled off each team member, carefully avoiding his name. "And the rest also have some good qualities," he added as an afterthought.

He studied May's face. Behind her round glasses, her eyes flicked back and forth over his face.

"Or I can pay for you, May. You know it's not a problem. I'll get you a job at Stark Industries,"

"No," she interrupted. "We're not charities."

"It's no,"

"No," her stern voice left no place for arguments. Tony recognized it as one she often used on Peter. "But I don't think it's a bad idea," she continued after a brief pause.

"About me paying?" Tony carefully asked.

"No, about you taking care of him."

Oh, Tony screwed up now.

Chapter Text

"Not that I'm complaining, dude, but why are we hanging out again?" Ned rifled through the pieces of lego scattered between them on Peter's bedroom floor. He looked over at his best friend, analyzing his face. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?"

To avoid answering immediately, Peter put more effort into pretending to search for the small yellow plastic cube. He knew where it was. He just needed the distraction.
Ned was usually great company and fantastic at keeping his mind occupied, but today, Peter found his thoughts constantly drifting away.
Ned was right. Peter had other plans. Friday afternoons were usually lab days with Mr. Stark, one of the best things of Peter's week.

But Peter had ruined that.

"Dude?"

"Dude!" Peter rubbed his forehead, scowling at Ned. "Don't throw stuff at me."

"Well, you're ignoring me." Ned crossed his arms and glared back.

"No, I'm not," Peter muttered more to the carpet than to his best friend.

This time his spider-sense warned him of the tiny ballistic heading for him. Quickly he snatched it out of the air and chucked it back at Ned. It made contact square between the other boy's eyes and bounced to the blue carpet.
Of course, Peter didn't put any power into the throw. He wouldn't risk hurting Ned, not even when he was stubborn and wouldn't let things go.

"Have you talked to him yet?"

Ned didn't have to explain who he meant. Since Peter's regression back to a teenager, he and Ned had texted back and forth. Peter had told him about every detail he could remember, even the embarrassing ones. Not that Ned understood why Peter's ears went bright red thinking about Thor changing his diaper. That was supposed to be an honor.
Other than trying to convince Peter that the regression wasn't his fault Ned was a strong supporter of the talk to Mr. Stark option and opposed ignoring the problem.

As Peter's best friend, he should be on Peter's side, as should May. But both decided to betray him.

"Pete, just talk to him," Ned continued his one-sided conversation. "You can't avoid him forever. What if something happened during patrol?"

"I'll handle it."

"You'll handle it?" Ned scrutinized him with a skeptical brow raised and voice dripping with mock. "You're in the mafia now too?"

Distracted or not, Peter couldn't help but snort.

"You know what I mean. I did this by myself before Mr. Stark found me."

"You can't be serious, dude?" Ned flopped dramatically to the floor with a thud, kicking the unfinished lego set with his feet. "You would rather go back to risking your life without backup than talk to Mr. Stark?"

"I have a backup."

"I don't count."

Peter stared at his annoying best friend. Splayed on the floor like a starfish, Ned did have a point.

"You know I'm right," Ned stretched his arm straight up, one finger pointed accusingly at Peter.

Yeah, he knew that. It didn't make it easier, though.

They sat and laid like that for a couple of awkward minutes. Silence stretched between them. Neither of the pair enjoyed it like they usually did. Instead, it felt heavy and forced. The two boy's rarely fought, but these last days they'd bickered like crossed siblings.

They continued to sit like that until Peter suddenly heard Ned quietly speak. Honestly, he thought the boy had fallen asleep on the floor.

"What if Mr. Stark wants to be your dad?"

Peter squirmed uncomfortably. That was one of the forbidden thoughts he didn't let himself think.

It hurt too much to wish for miracles.

"I mean, he was a great dad when you were tiny," Ned paused to brood, fingers digging into the carpet. "Dude, you were soo freaking tiny," he added with a slight huff.

"What are you talking about?" Peter stared at his friend, no idea what he meant. Had Ned seen him as a toddler?

"I don't even think you reached over my knee," Ned explained before he was interrupted.

"No, dumbass. How do you know I was tiny? Did he send you pictures?"

Oh, God! Peter felt his face ashen thinking about Mr. Stark sharing photos of the most embarrassing period of Peter's life. Anger also rose in his chest. It had to be a breach of confidence or something.

"You don't remember?" Ned asked solemnly.

"Remember what?" Peter looked over at Ned. With a loud grunt, Ned heaved himself into a sitting position.

He looked hurt.

"My visit," Ned prompted.

"You visited?"

Ned nodded.

Peter felt awful. He did not remember that.

Or did he?

Argh, his headache began to act up again. Slouching where he sat, Peter buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Ned. Everything is so," Peter twirled one hand by his ear.

"It's okay, Peter. You had a sucky day. I don't blame you." Ned scooted over to Peter's side. Lego clattered around his legs.
"You'd hurt yourself just before I came and cried a lot. Smashed a finger or something." He sneaked one arm over Peter's shoulders. "And you were like a baby. I don't remember my baby time."

"Thanks, Ned," Peter sighed wearily.

Chasing comfort wherever he could find it, Peter pressed closer to his best friend's side. Just as with May, physical contact with Ned made him relax. Peter trusted very few people, and even fewer were allowed to touch him without consent.

There was one other person who made him feel like this.

And Peter feared May and Ned weren't enough.

He missed something.

Someone.

Peter missed his dad.

"Ned?" Peter whispered, afraid of asking. What if he was right?

"Mm."

"Do you think Mr. Stark wants to be my dad?" So many scenarios flashed in Peter's mind. It felt like eternity came and went before Ned self-assuredly replied.

"Yeah."
---
Gravel crunched under his feet when he gracefully landed on the rooftop. The orange glow from the street lights below hit the edge and enveloped him in shadow.

Feeling the need to clear his mind and prevent him from climbing the walls (literally), Peter decided to go out as Spiderman.

It had been a good break from his constant mind melt.

Even though the city was quiet and calm this evening, Peter felt pleased. The physical strain and natural concentration from swinging helped to soothe his anxiety. With every web leaving his web-shooters, a strand of tension left followed.
His chest expanded from the fresh air, fueling his restless body and de-clouded his tired, overworked mind.

Up here, Peter thrived.

Up here, he was free.

Free from pressure from outside and himself.

Honestly, most of the pressure came from Peter himself. May and Mr. Stark didn't push him. They told him to take his time and that they were there for him when he felt ready.
Peter didn't deserve for them to be this understanding. He knew the silence and indecision hurt them.

Especially Mr. Stark.

Dad.

Yeah, the title stuck in his brain. Imprinted in the membrane, and Peter didn't know how to stop. He didn't even know if he wanted to stop.

Yes, he did. Peter did not want it to stop.

Peering over the rooftop, Peter sank to sit on the chilly concrete edge. Grabbing the back of his hood, he peeled the mask off his face, dismissing the small blinking blue light in his hub.
After greeting Karen, Peter declined to listen to the four messages Mr. Stark left him. Without revealing the whole message, Karen told him Mr.Stark wanted him to keep safe, have fun, don't be an idiot, and call if he were in trouble.

And that he loved him.

The words came so freely and unbothered from the man now. Like it was an everyday phrase and not something that sent Peter panicking.

"Love you too, Dad."

Up here in the solitude, Peter could let his wishes out. The open-air, golden lights, and solid darkness knew how to keep a secret.

A faint cry from the city ripped Peter from his thoughts. Jumping to his feet, he quickly pulled his mask back on.

"Karen?" Peter focused his senses to the left of him. Body coiled, ready to jump into action.

"CCTV has picked up an ongoing robbery five blocks north from here."

Thrusting his right arm, he shot a web and leaped. Peter let his spider-sense guide him, flying through the night. Webbing onto buildings, balconies, and streetlights, Peter rushed to the alley marked by Karen.

"What's going on here?" Peter landed gracefully in a Natasha Romanoff-approved super-hero post. He wanted a bit of flare today. So sue him.

Quickly getting his bearings, Peter scanned the dusky alley. Overfilled dumpsters to his right, wet newspapers on the ground, and to his right, Peter could see three people.
Two people kneeled next to the wall, one trying to shield the other. Across from them, now facing Peter, stood a dark-clad man. A black scarf covered the lower part of his face, leaving only his sunken eyes.

"Get the fuck out of here!" The man jerked his gun towards Peter.

Ice ran through Peter's veins. It didn't matter how often he stood eye to eye with guns. The terror never left him. Flashes from years ago and memories of how useless and scared he was, plagued him.

"No, please," one of the people on the ground wailed. "Please stop."

"Why don't we put the gun down?" Peter raised his palms, fighting to ignore the tremors in his hands and unmistakable cries from a child hiding behind the man.

"Why don't you just fuck off," the shrill of the man's voice caused Peter to flinch.

"Alright, alright," confident in his plan to get the gun away, Peter backed up a few feet. The man followed to Peter's relief, distancing them from the pair on the ground.

Peter's eyes quickly flashed over to the pair when the young boy cried out for Spiderman, but he recovered quickly and set to work.
He shot two webs at the thug in front of him. First connected with the gun, wrenching it out of his hands, and the second pushed him back. With a huff, the man collided, back first, with one of the solid metal dumpsters.

The metallic clang filled the cramped alley and integrated with surprised shouts from the man and boy. Before the bad-man had a chance to recover, Peter webbed his arms to the dumpster and shot another web over his midriff, just in case.

"You little fu-," not wanting to hear what unique insult the man would spat at him, Peter webbed his mouth shut. The net clung over the face cover, silencing the man immediately.

Peter let out a breath.

It hadn't been a challenging rescue, but it was still emotionally draining, especially the combination of guns and kids.

Forcing another breath down, Peter shook the bad memories away and walked over to the pair now standing by the wall. The boy was now secure in his apparent father's arms, hugged tightly.

"You guys alright?" Karen had already scanned them and found no injuries. The question was more for Peter's nerves.

The man nodded, and Peter noticed how he struggled to speak. From Peter's experience, it was due to chock.

"The police will be here in a minute and take care of everything and get you home," Peter rested his hand lightly on the boy's back, feeling the sobs rack his small frame.
Without a second thought, Peter soothed his hand up and down the boy's back. Something about the movement felt familiar.

"Thank you, Spider-man," the man whispered in a raspy voice. "Thank you." Dark brown eyes filled with relief met him, and he hoped the goggles on the mask didn't cover the care.

"You're welcome, Sir," Peter fought to keep the awkwardness out of his voice. He loved to help but still hadn't figured out how to deal with people thanking him. The sincerity of the victims scared him.

"You okay there, Buddy?" The ringing of sirens met his ears, warning him the police were close. Peter would leave when the red and blue flashes painted the alley walls. But he needed to know that the boy was okay first.

"Niles, do you wanna thank Spider-man?"

Two more sobs rattled the boy before he peered out from his father's neck. Lifting his free hand, Peter gave him a small wave.

"Hi, Niles!" Peter knew that smiling behind the mask was in vain, but it didn't stop him from doing it anyway. He was convinced people could hear smiles too.

"Thank you, Spider-man." Brown eyes studied his mask, then the emblem on his chest. "Thank you for saving my Daddy and me."

"No, problem, big guy." Blue lights hit the boy's dark locks, and Peter turned his head toward the opening. That was his cue to leave.

"Take care of your dad, alright?" The boy nodded and went back to hiding in his dad's neck.

Preparing to leave, Peter reached one arm out but halted at the last second when the man spoke again.

"I can't thank you enough for saving my son. Your father must be very proud of you."

The words hit him right in the chest. They weren't exceptional or mighty powerful, yet they caused Peter's heart to speed up. Suddenly desperate to get away, to get some space, Peter wheezed. "I hope so," and swung off.

It took him a few minutes of frantic and ludicrous swinging before Peter got his head back in the game. Slowing his movement to a rhythmic and steady pace, Peter swung on autopilot.

What he said was true.

He hoped his dad and his mom both were proud of him. Peter wished they could see him working so hard to do good and make the world a little better and safer. Acknowledge that he tried his best. But they were not here to see him. They were not here to hug or tell him they were proud of him. And they were not the ones he wished were proud of him.

Mr. Stark was.

Cars rushed below him, and the city appeared more bustling than before. Peter let go of his webs and backflipped onto the nearest roof. Standing up, turning his head left to right, Peter noticed the change wasn't just in the city life.
It was the entire scenery. Unconsciously Peter had left Queens. Instead of old brick buildings, he faced a familiar glass building.

"Karen, is Mr. Stark awake?" Silently Peter wished for the man to be asleep, so he could continue to ignore everything. That was much easier and had worked so far.

Wow, he even sucked at lying to himself.

"Mr. Stark is asleep," Karen's soft voice told him.

"Oh," Peter couldn't fight disappointment entering his voice. Why was he disappointed?

"FRIDAY has notified Mr. Stark about your visit."

"What? Nonono," Peter frantically waved his hands in front of him, panic building. "Karen, FRIDAY, don't wake him up." Peter knew the man didn't sleep well, and if he were asleep at 11.30 pm, he must be exhausted. Oh, God, he's going to get so pissed at Peter.

"FRIDAY, please!" Peter paced back and forth on the roof, thinking about jumping off the edge and swinging away.

"I'm sorry, Peter. It's in my protocol."

"But it's not a-,"

"Peter?"

Peter froze midstep. Hands awkwardly held in front of his chest.

"Peter, are you there. Are you hurt?" Mr. Stark's previously sleep-riddled voice now hinted at worry. "Peter, please answer me."

"Oh, Uhm, hi, Mr. Stark," Peter stuttered and shifted his balance from foot to foot.

"Pete, you okay? You out patrolling?" Peter noticed the man's voice had dipped to an almost comforting tone. FRIDAY had probably told him he was uninjured. Surprisingly he liked it.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he had no idea how to explain why he was there. He didn't even know himself.

"That's great, Buddy." The nickname and the tone of voice pulled at the corners of Peter's mouth. Something bloomed and warmed his chest. Feeling it, Peter knew what he craved all those nights lying sleepless in his bed. The missing piece of the puzzle and the aid he so desperately needed.

"Pete, you-,"

"Can I come in?" Peter blurted out before he could second-guess himself. He was a coward, but he wanted this. He wanted to feel safe again.

"Sure, Buddy," a window on the east side slid open. The lounge, Peter recognized. "Just swing through, see you inside."

Walking to the edge, Peter looked to the opened window, trying to see if he could spot the man waiting inside. His fingers tingled, and his chest tightened with anxiety.
What if this was a mistake? What would happen if Mr. Stark didn't want Peter the same way Peter needed him? Would Peter survive?

Focusing his eyes on the reflective glass again, Peter made his decision and jumped. Like ripping a bandage.
----

Tony paced back and forth in front of the sofa. He tried to sit down, but nerves forced him to keep moving. Peter was here, and he was okay. Being yanked from his uneasy slumber and informed that Peter stood on an opposite rooftop, seemingly in distress, did nothing good for his frail nerves. Having Peter, FRIDAY, and Karen confirming Peter was not injured helped.

Tony would finally have his kid within his sight and reach. Jesus Christ, he had so much he wanted to tell the boy. By this point, Tony was ready to cut his heart out and hand it to his kid. Anything to keep Peter in his life.

A light thud announced Peter's presence. Tony spun around so fast that his feet snagged on the carpet and almost made him topple over. He caught himself on the couch and was finally able to look at his kid. The bare presence of Peter loosened something in his chest, and just like that, Tony felt at ease.

Watching Peter slip the mask off his face, Tony took a second to assess the boy. He looked thinner, arms lankier, and his eyes a bit more sunken. May had told him about Peter's struggles, and Tony had tried to reach out to him. Now, meeting Peter's sad eyes, Tony wished he tried harder.

"Hi, kiddo," Tony let his smile show across his face and fill his voice.

Tony watched the kid open and closed his fists, tracked his eyes flickering around the room, and winced at the tense chewing on his lower lip. It looked like the kid was building up to something. Tony used his newly acquired parental patience and waited for the boy to come to him.

Peter tightened his fists so hard it had to hurt and kept his eyes locked on his feet.

"Hi-hi, Dad," Peter's eyes flew up to meet his. Tony stared at the shell-shocked boy with an equally shocked face.

Like ripping a bandage.

Chapter Text

"Care to explain yourself, young man?"

Tony fought to keep his voice stern and not feel too ridiculous standing with his hands on his hips like a disappointed housewife, only an apron, hair rolls, and a rolling pin missing. Hopefully, the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth didn't show on his face.

Cause, come on, the kid looked adorable.

Guilty, but adorable.

It was still early in the Stark household. Tony and Peter were the only ones up yet. Well, if you didn't count Steve in. And Tony didn't. If you chose to go on a run before 5 am, you had to lose some benefits. That's something a crazy person did.

Mugs and plates from their breakfast still lined the table untouched. Peter's highchair stood at an awkward angle next to the table. Very much not where Tony had left it seconds before, now completely void of its previous content.
When an alarm on his phone went off, Tony figured he could quickly run and grab it from his bedside table. Tony dumped some bananas on the table in front of the kid. He hoped Peter would be busy with the snack in the meantime.

Well, Tony was wrong.

How Peter had the time to climb out of his high chair, run to the cupboard, find cookies, and smush a few into his mouth during Tony's seconds away? Tony had no idea.

Reckon some mysteries were still left unsolved.

Tony watched the young boy squirm. He saw the usually mischievous face switch between shock, guilt, and innocent. Looking extra deep, Tony noticed small flashes of sheepiness in there too.
Guess the kid wasn't overly upset over the ordeal.

Yet, Peter did something wrong. Tony did too, but the almost heart attack he suffered from seeing the empty chair was his punishment for leaving a child unattended.

"Pete, what you got there? Wanna show me your hands?" He let his head tilt ever so slightly to the left, huffing at the not-so-subtle attempt from Peter to dispose of the evidence.

With more squirming, Peter reached behind himself and shoved two chocolatey hands down the back pockets of his dungarees, squishing the mess deeper down.
Tony tracked half of its escape and rain down to the floor, landing in scattered pieces by his heels. Slowly dragging his toes over the crumbles, Peter pushed the evidence behind himself again. Chocolate smeared over both floor and socks, leaving one hard-to-clean mess behind.

Now crossing his arms, Tony increased his stern face. He knew very well that Peter was a sensitive child, and more than often, Tony found that he could get an admission out of the boy with just a stern look and patience. It did take him some time to understand that yelling at the boy did nothing except cause heartbreak on both sides. But, when he finally did, it felt like he cracked a long-lost cipher and could now understand everything.

He glanced down at his kid, eyes drawn to the movement of his foot, still toeing at the mess. Tony couldn't fathom how someone would think yelling at a kid would be beneficial.
He knew his parental journey didn't begin that great. Tony was a dick to a helpless toddler. A shameful flare still rushed over him when he thought back, but at least he evolved.

Another giant step away from Howard's A+ parenting.

"Pete?" Tony inquired, crouching in front of the boy. His knees cracked and protested the position so early in the morning, but he made it down without wincing or letting his mask slip.

Seeing Peter's bottom lip tremble, Tony steadied himself for the impending tears.
As predicted, one pair of scared, tear-filled eyes met his while two chocolate-drenched hands offered Tony the meager remnants of some chocolate cookies.

"Peter was hungry." The toddler's unsteady voice was barely noticeable. He sniffled twice, and tears threatened to spill over any second now. The boy stared at Tony with fearful eyes. His guilty stance reminded Tony of people caught in the act of committing a crime.

Peter had committed one, but cookie snatching wasn't too high on the scale. Tony wasn't necessarily angry with his little criminal, and he figured Peter knew he had done something wrong, so Tony decided to go for a less strict approach.

"What about next time, you can ask somebody for a snack if you're hungry?" Tony asked softly, keeping blame out of his voice. "And not play monkey climbing out of your chair," he added just to be sure.

Tony received a hesitant nod from Peter, who had once again stuck his fingers in his mouth. Tasty.
By now, Tony knew it was the kid's way of self-soothing when he was upset.

Physical contact was the other one.

So, Tony did the only reasonable thing in the situation. He opened his arms wide and gathered his precious little cookie thief in a crushing hug.

----------

Standing across Peter now, Tony could see the similarities between toddler and teenaged Peter.
He remembered the big shocked eyes staring at him like he was in trouble. The shuffling feet, curling toes, and hunched shoulders were the same. The difference lay in his fingers. With the toddler, they always found their way into his mouth whenever Peter felt overwhelmed. Now they fidgeted by his side, twisting and turning. Both fingers and the boy seemed lost.

Tony was shocked by the boy's greeting, not knowing how to react, but Peter seemed to balance on the edge of panic. His chest had begun to heave, and he looked ready to run any second. The boy's entire posture screamed terrified sadness as if he steeled himself for a devastating loss.

Tony nearly slapped himself when his brain finally caught up. Peter probably hadn't planned to call him his dad or only did it to check Tony's reaction.

A Peter Parker emotional discharge.

And now he was panicking.

Trusting his parental instincts, Tony took a step forward, reached for the boy, and waited. His heart thumped in his chest, hoping Peter would accept his offering, whatever the boy needed.

"Hey, Pete."
---
Peter stared at the man staring back at him. He hadn't planned on being so blunt. Yes, ripping off the bandage, sure, but not so forceful. What his brain did was more like an ill-attempted waxing.

Skin and all. A flying.

Now, Mr. Stark looked stunned. Could he claim it was a bad joke? Or was it better to run? The window behind him was still open, and it would only take him a second to leave and never return.

God, how did he fuck up so much?

Shifting his weight to his heels, Peter got ready to run. The long silence was answer enough. Mr. Stark didn't want to be Peter's dad. He only did it because he had to. The toddler version was different from having a clingy teenager after him.
Swallowing his tears, Peter heard movement. Turning his head, he watched the man step towards him with his arms open. Like you did when asking for a hug. Did Mr. Stark want a farewell hug? Peter was afraid if he hugged the man, he wouldn't be able to let go. Trailing his eyes upward, Peter stared into the man's eyes, searching for answers.

Mr. Stark's eyes were open and warm, filled with something Peter vaguely remembered from his time as a toddler. May looked at him like that too.
It was strange. Shouldn't Mr. Stark look angry or disgusted with Peter forcing his clinginess on him?

"Come here, kiddo," Mr. Stark wiggled his fingers and took the last steps toward Peter, hugging him close to his chest. Strong arms squeezed his shoulders, and Peter felt his walls slipping.

"God, I missed you, kiddo. Thought I scared you away," Tony had no idea what made him disclose that, only that it felt right.

He gently slid his hand to the back of Peter's head and played with the brown curls just like he used to. At the action, Peter's resolve seemed to break. Tony felt the boy's hands bunch in his shirt. Faint rips came from the fabric, but who cared? Not Tony, cause he got his arms full of his kid again.
Feeling the boy's breath hitch and his back shudder with unleashed sobs, Tony pressed closer. Forcing every ounce of love into the embrace, Tony fell back into his old habits.
Swaying slowly from side to side, Tony gently placed his head on Peter's curls and started to hum.
------

Tony poked the eggs in the pan. His mind was too occupied to stir it properly. He had already burnt the first batch of eggs, and some toast, waiting for the kid to wake up. The nervous jitter in his hands was also the cause of the current orange juice shortage. Hopefully, the apple juice was fine with the kid. He loved it as a tiny tot, so Tony thought it would be okay.

Maybe he should ask FRIDAY to order some?

What if orange juice was what the kid needed?

Not having something you crave is not a good start to the day.

Aggressively poking at the pale mess, Tony knew he was spiraling. The foolish thoughts were nothing except his nerves playing tricks on him.

After Peter collapsed in Tony's arms last night and cried his young heart out, Tony managed to get him in some pajamas and into bed. Peter crashed into his pillows and was asleep within seconds. Deciding to stay for a while, Tony perched on the side of the bed until he was sure the kid wouldn't wake up. Sitting vigil over his sleeping kid still felt good and familiar. He'd done that many, many times with toddler Pete. It wasn't that much difference watching over big Peter. A more prominent lump, but it was still his kid.

Unlike Peter, Tony hadn't gone to bed. Instead, he wandered ghostly through the tower stopping here and there at places that remembered him of the time with his kid. The lab, the lounge, the kitchen, and even the elevator carried memories.

The kid had made an impact in all their lives.

Tony hoped with all his heart that Peter would decide to continue to be a part of their family. He would happily accept whatever the kid's decision was. Even if he selfishly wished for as much time together as possible.

Last night when Peter had calmed down, Tony had promised the kid they would talk in the morning. He also sent a message to May, telling her where Peter was.
Her reply was a short: "Good luck," knowing the pair had much to discuss.

After being on the receiving end of many of Tony's rants, she was quite the expert. And possibly a saint.

So now, Tony paced the kitchen in wait for the kid to return to the land of the living. He began with the breakfast preparations half an hour ago, and everything was hot and ready to eat.
Glancing back at the clock, Tony wondered if he should ask FRIDAY to wake Peter. No parent should serve a cooled-downed breakfast, especially on a day like this.
He finally had his kid back in his house, and they were going to talk. Tony needed Peter to know he cared for him.

There was another word for that feeling.

Shuffling sounds from the hall caught his attention, and he quickly dumped the black flecked eggs on two plates. After a quick scan, he placed the left one by Peter's place at the table. It had far less burnt speckles mixed in it. Grimacing at the plate, he turned to hunt down that juice.

Right as he returned from the fridge, Peter approached the breakfast bar.

The boy's hair was a mess, and Tony barely caught himself before the urge to smooth it down, or ruffle it more, sent him careening over the counter. Instead, he offered the kid a small smile, maybe a bit more tight-lipped than he wished for, but a genuine smile at the picture in front of him.

So crazy bedhead came in all ages.

A sudden wish to learn more about what small antics little Peter had in common with this teenage one came rushing.

"Hi, Kiddo. Slept well?"

Tony tried to keep his appearance open and his voice light. He was nervous. Peter was too important to him to mess up. He tried to balance between an anxious wreck and an arrogant asshole.

A nod and a grunt were enough of an answer, so Tony gestured to the plates.

"Dig in, squirt." Another non-verbal grunt made Tony chuckle, causing Peter to peek curiously at Tony.

"Nothing," Tony waved his hand dismissively and sat across the boy. "Your morning mood hasn't improved with age."
It was just a fleeting thought manifesting out of Tony's big mouth. He didn't think, as usual.

The reaction was instant. Peter dropped his fork, sending it clattering to the floor. Tony could've sworn he heard the boy suck in a gasp before rambling out apologies after apologies.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry," frantically, Peter shoved his chair from the table and dove to the floor, hunting for the fork.
He'd been nervous coming out to the kitchen in the first place, knowing Mr. Stark wanted to talk. But he wasn't ready for his mentor to dive right into it.

Guess it was payback for his stupid stunt last night.

Peter felt cornered. He couldn't do this.

Slamming the utensil onto the counter, Peter turned to run back to his room, but before he could flee, something caught his shoulders, holding him still.

"Hey, hey, breathe, kiddo," Tony's voice caught his attention and dragged his panicking brain back into reality.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he be normal?

"There we go, you back with me?" Glancing up at the man, Peter realized they were sitting side by side. Tony balanced precariously on the edge of his stool, holding Peter close to his side.

"Sorry," Peter mumbled. He wanted to add "for everything," but that might have been too dramatic. Because nearly getting a panic attack by the breakfast table wasn't dramatic enough. Oh, to be Peter Parker.

"Not your fault, kiddo," Tony sighed. Peter felt the rise in his mentor's chest but didn't pull away. He found he didn't have the energy anymore, and he was comfy. "Me and my big mouth." Another sigh lifted Peter.

"You okay?"

Only having the energy to nod, Peter stayed where he was. He wanted to bury deeper. Hide his face in his dad's- no mentor's, neck.

"You wanna continue to eat?"

Peter's stupid stomach decided to answer for him, rumbling like he was starving. Maybe he was. Peter hadn't had an appetite for a while.

"So, that's a yes?" Tony chuckled and began to detangle himself from Peter.

Something inside Peter wanted to scream and latch back onto Tony when the man left his side. But before he could do anything about it, Tony swirled their chairs around and leaned over the bar to drag his plate closer. Fishing out a new fork from somewhere, Tony returned to his side.

They ate in silence. Peter focused on his impeccable chewing. Not that mushy eggs needed much chewing before they turned to sludge. But it was better than talking.

"Think you're ready to talk?" Tony asked him softly, almost like he was afraid.

Damn it. The chewing didn't work.

Not knowing what to say, Peter nodded. He couldn't talk, not yet. If Peter spoke, reality would come crashing in. And he wasn't ready to lose his dreams yet.

"You want me to take the lead? Say my side, and you sit back and listen?"

Tony watched the kid intensely. He suspected the kid was overwhelmed and on the verge of shutting down. Pushing him to talk would probably backfire, but that didn't mean Tony didn't want to have their talk. It meant he had to compromise to make his kid feel safe.

When the kid nodded, Tony took a few seconds to get his head straight. He had no idea how to do this. Guess he had to make it up as he went.

"So, firstly. We're all sorry for the transformation. Thor had no idea, and I know he wants to apologize as soon as possible," tilting his head, Tony tried to get a glimpse of the kid. Not catching his eyes, Tony sighed and continued.

"And I need you to listen to me, Pete," Tony paused, giving the boy a chance to nod. "None of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong. You were completely innocent in this crazy magic soup," Tony looked over to the boy for a reaction. Peter stayed sitting hunched over, pushing stodgy eggs around on his plate.

"You listening, kiddo?" Tony jostled Peter's knee with his own. "I talk. You listen. That was our deal, right?" This time, Tony ducked his head so much that he looked like Quasimodo.

"Pete? Where are you?" Tony singsonged and wriggled around in his chair. "Pete," Tony continued to pester the boy until Peter slowly dragged his eyes over to meet his. "Hello," Tony chirped and did an awkward salute from his hunched position.

"Hi," Peter whispered, and Tony was happy to see a small smile playing on his lips.

"Ready to continue?"

Peter nodded. Tony sighed, for whatever the umpteenth time, and smiled.

"Come on," Tony grabbed Peter's shoulder and steered the boy toward the couch. This conversation needed a comfortable sitting area and maybe some cuddling. He was open to about anything to get his kid feeling safe.

Tony fell backward into the couch, dragging Peter down with him.

"Okay, let's restart. You know I'm not great with the whole emotions stuff," Tony paused to tuck Peter close to his side, arm slung over his shoulder. Not missing how highly strung the kid's muscles felt. Sneaking his left arm down Peter's side, he squeezed the kid before he continued.

"But I've improved thanks to you. That doesn't mean I won't screw up. And when I do, and if I hurt you. I need you to tell me, Pete," Tony let his hand wander to that messy bunch of curls, where it belonged.

Peter nodded again. Then, on second thought, he looked up from Mr. Stark's shoulder and locked eyes with the man. "Okay."

"Okay?" Tony smiled down at his kid.

"Okay," Peter stated with a little more confidence. He was still unsure, but Mr. Stark was cuddling him. And that had to mean something. A small part of him wished he was right.

"Okay," Tony hummed for himself, gathering his thoughts. "So, not your fault, non of it. We're all sorry," Tony sent a pointed look to the kid, receiving eye contact and a hesitant nod.

Guess that had to do for now.

"Yeah, we're going have to work on that one, I see," Tony kept his voice lighthearted and squeezed the kid. Again.

Even if Tony kept his features friendly, Peter shamefully lowered his eyes.

"Sorry."

"Nope, that word is forbidden today," Tony mowed over, tapping his finger on Peter's head.

Peter huffed and peeked up at the man, "Forbidden?"

"Yes, listen to your, Old man."

Peter's entire body went stiff as a board. But this time, Tony anticipated the reaction and cuddled the boy closer, keeping him put. No more dancing around anymore. One way or another, they would talk. Peter didn't fight his tight hold, so Tony counted that as a win.

"It's true, Pete. You mean the world to me. I don't know when it happened, but I've come to see you as my kid. And not just the toddler you," Tony felt the need to specify that, knowing the kid would warp his admission otherwise.

Tony twirled the soft locks between his fingers and stared out the window, giving himself a few seconds to breathe. The admission bordered on cheesy and didn't sound very Tony Stark-like.

Or maybe it did. Just not like the old Tony Stark.

Maybe the new and improved (dad) Tony could talk about feelings in a cheesy way and be a role model for his kid?

There was only one way to know.

"If you want to, and if you'll let me, I would love to be part of your life, kiddo. In whatever way you want me. Mentor, friend, cool uncle-"

"Dad?"

Peter wasn't sure Tony would hear his hushed query. He wasn't even sure he wanted him to. Holding his breath, Peter focused on the man's heartbeat. Just like Peter's, it had sped up.

"Or dad," Tony was surprised at how easy the admission was. Yes, his heart almost jumped out of his chest, but not from panic. No, as sappy as it sounded, it came from love. He loved this kid.

Who the fuck would have guessed that? Tony Stark, a father. Him, suing a kid would probably be higher on that list. It was only thanks to Pepper that he hadn't already. Stupid, snotty punks.

Nobody said anything for a while. The hum from the kitchen appliances behind them soothed the atmosphere in the room, filling the air with comfortable silence.
The pair stayed cuddled close, enjoying the company and amenity. Nobody moved except for the slight rise and fall of their chests.

That didn't mean their minds were silent.

Peter wanted to say something, trying to explain what was twisting inside his head. But he still didn't know how to explain the mixed memories, the emotional confusion, or the longing for his dad.

Picking a loose hangnail, Peter opened and closed his mouth several times but stopped himself before he could say something that could destroy the little progress they had achieved.
Tony wasn't mad. And the man hadn't pushed him away when Peter asked if he could call him dad. No, the man had pressed Peter closer and mumbled something unintelligible.

Now, gnawing at the hang nail, Peter knew he had to say something. Sitting pressed to his mentor's side like a small child, clinging like an emotional, mute leech, would be a sure way to scare the man away. He had to say something.
The gnawing intensified the more time he waited, and soon a metallic taste filled his mouth.
Pausing, he glared at his finger. He watched the nailbed fill with blood as it grew into a small drop that threatened to fall over the edge any second.

Any second now.

But before the drop could tumble over and land on stain his jeans, a hand gently pressed a napkin to the tiny wound.

Startled, Peter quickly snatched his hand back. Wincing when the jagged cuticle caught on the paper.

"Easy, kiddo." Peter unwound his stiff posture and shamefully yielded his hand to let Tony continue to wrap the dressing around his finger.

"You're okay, kid. We'll figure this out together. I know it probably sucks right now. I can't imagine how confusing this has been and is for you."

Peter felt one of Mr. Stark's thumbs rub soothing circles in his palm.
It was nice.
Despite Peter knowing the calloused, rough state of Mr. Starks fingers, his touch was surprisingly soft and gentle.

Shame burnt in his face. Regardless of Mr. Stark's murmured reassurances that he was okay. Even if Peter had trouble believing the words, hearing his mentor's voice helped.

"It's okay not to be okay. You know that, right? It's alright if you're scared, confused, angry, or whatever. But please, kiddo, please don't beat yourself up for this. It's nothing to be ashamed of because it's not your fault," the man paused. Peter rose with his deep breaths. "You can tell me anything. It won't make me mad or hurt me. I'm right here for you, Pete."

There was a tone of something in the man's voice that Peter couldn't quite place.
Mr. Stark almost begged him to talk to him.
No, he was begging Peter. The pain in the man's voice was real. What Peter did now and before was hurting the man.

Leaning against his mentor's chest, Peter watched the blue sky outside the windows. He was tired. Everything felt empty and drained. Dread threatened to flood his insides if he kept silent.

"I don't remember my dad," wishing it would help, Peter decided to speak. "I mean, I remember some things, but not him. Or my mom. Not really. Maybe I did when I was younger. I'm not sure."

Peter knew he probably didn't make much sense, but uncoordinated ramblings were the only thing he could muster. So disarrayed ramblings were what Mr. Stark got.

"You were very young when you lost them, kid. It's normal, and I know they're proud of you. I don't remember everything about my mum, and I was sixteen. But I know she loved me." Mr. Stark's voice was soft and low, comforting. He didn't speak to the room, no. He whispered to Peter and only Peter. "Just as I know your parents did."

Nodding, Peter thought about how he would continue. He knew what he wanted to say but not how to say it.

"Uhm." He worried his lip between his teeth. "After the-- the shrinking thing, the de-aging thing. Me being a toddler." Peter cringed. Such an eloquent speaker.

"The de-aging is the working name. I believe," Tony helped him. "Or the tiny problem," he added with a chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah, that. After that, I started to have memories of my dad," Peter felt Mr. Stark jerk, but the man quickly caught himself, so Peter continued. "But they weren't about him. The memories were about my dad but not my biological father. I remembered you but not as Mr. Stark. In my memories, you're my dad," pausing again, Peter held his breath and waited for Mr. Stark to push him away.

Instead, the man hugged him even closer, an enormous feat considering their already close cuddle.

"So now, every time I see you, I think of that dad, my dad, and I know you're not my dad, and I tried to keep away. I tried hard to be better, but nothing I did worked, and everything just got worse. I know you don't want kids. But I didn't want to lose you and another dad, but I couldn't stay. And all I wanted was my dad, but I didn't have a da-."

"Pete, Pete, breathe." Peter felt Mr. Stark's chest rise and fall and tried to follow the pace but failed every time. Oh, his breath was rapid. He'd almost rambled himself into a panic attack. "Shh, it's okay, kid, you're okay."

Peter's head swam. No, his entire body swayed. It took him a few beats to realize that Mr. Stark was rocking him from side to side. Like a freaking baby.

Embarrassed, Peter tried to squirm away, but Mr. Stark locked his arms tighter around him.

"Nuhu, we're cuddling."

"Mr. Stark," Peter whined and wriggled to get free. But he was stuck.
Jesus, since when, was Mr. Stark this strong? Not wanting to use his Spider-strength against the man, Peter continued to squirm and twist until he found himself laughing, equally stuck.

Maybe talking wasn't such a bad idea.

Mr. Stark refused to budge. Whenever Peter successfully moved one arm, another reappeared. Huffing out another laugh, Peter let his body slump and tried to melt off and away from the couch.

"Nope, I'm cuddling my kid." Peter froze. Holding Mr. Stark's arm halfway over his head, Peter stared at the man. He must have heard him wrong.

"Close your mouth, kiddo. Your ears work fine," Peter heard him chuckle when he slammed his mouth shut. "Come back here. I'm getting cold," Mr. Stark patted Peter's abandoned spot beside him.

"Okay, real talk." The man squeezed Peter's chin, forcing him to look at him. "You were right about one thing. I never wanted kids. But," he emphasized before Peter could lower his gaze again, "I obtained one due to a freaky magic accident, and I got attached, and now I want nothing more than to keep him."

Peter just stared at the man. His dad? Did he stare at his dad? His mouth fell open again.

"Oh, crap. Did I break you?" Mr. Stark looked genuinely upset.

Peter shook his head. Was his mouth opened or closed? He clicked his teeth together. Okay, closed.

"Okay, so what do you say?"

Peter nodded. Mouth firmly shut.

"I think a verbal response is needed here, kid."

"You want to be my dad?" Peter had to ask. He had to be sure.

"Yes, Peter. I would love to be your dad. If you let me," he added. Did he sound nervous? Why was Mr. Stark worried? Who wouldn't want him as a dad? Stupid people. Peter wasn't maybe the smartest all the time, but this amount of stupidity was beyond him.

"Yes, please," Peter's face split into a wide smile. "Dad."

Mr. Stark beamed at him, and Peter smiled back.

"So, that's settled then. You're a baby Stark now." Both nodded in confirmation.
They still had much more to deal with. Adoption, all legal stuff, May, and so much more, but for now, the pair was happy with this.
Elated to be back together again, Tony felt his chest fill with euphoria and giddiness. So, of course, he couldn't contain himself. Father or not, he was still Tony Stark- a mischievous genius.

"So does that means I'm a DILF now?"

"Euwe, dad! Gross!" Peter shoved the laughing man before settling down with his back against his side.

Chapter Text

The kitchen in the Tower was buzzing with activity this morning. All around, Avengers were shuffling around preparing, eating, or stealing food from the closest plate. All of them had places to be.
Clint and Natasha had already headed out for some spy mission, very secret as usual. According to Clint, they were going to take a long swim, and of course, Peter heard and now wanted to join.
So, while the rest of them got ready, Tony tried to wrangle an increasingly upset Peter back into his high chair. He wanted to go swimming with Nat and Clint.

"Pete, come on. Sit down and eat," Tony snatched the back of Peter's shirt for what felt like the hundredth time and pulled him back.

"Nooooo, wanna go swimming too. Pe'er wanna swim," he whined and stood in his chair again.

Tony had long ago pushed Peter's bowl away from him. He did not have the energy to deal with an oatmeal mess on top of the boy's antics, and the rest of the team didn't have the time.

"We're going to the pool, Pete, but you need to give your belly some food first," Tony thought he deserved an award for his patience, but the group only sent him sympathetic looks.

They better bring him back some fucking cookies.

"Noooo," the boy wailed, "Wanna go with Tassa."

Steve was the one to place Peter back in his chair this time. He set his big hands on the boy's shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

"You and Natasha can go swimming when she's back, but until then, I need you to be a big boy for your dad. Can you do that?" Steve held the boy tight and didn't let him squirm away, but Tony could see how gentle his grip was. "Peter, can you be a good boy for your dad?"

Oh, he hit the boy with kryptonite. It was a dirty move but an effective one.

The small body slumped in the chair, and Tony and the other adults watched as the boy crossed his stubby arms over his chest and put on the most prominent pout he could master.

"Thank you, Peter," Steve breathed and stood up.

"Wow, you're gonna have a great day, right?" Sam looked at Tony and nodded towards the little sour grape in Captain-America pajamas.

Sam was partially correct. When Peter was in a bad mood, he could be a lot to handle. Sitting back and finally able to take the first sips of his coffee, Tony sighed. "Don't worry. Within the next ten minutes, he's changed his mood again. Just get out of here. We'll be fine," Tony waved his hands dismissively.

"If you say so," Sam put his cup in the dishwasher and gestured to Steve. "You ready? The sooner we head out, the lesser risk of us having to fly in the storm."

"Yeah, I'm good," he walked his and Peter's dirty dishes to the machine and ruffled Peter's hair on the way out. "Bye, son. Bye, Tony."

Snorting at the grumpy grunt from the kid, Tony said his goodbyes, and like that, they were alone.

Not ready to deal with a tantrum, Tony decided they would have a lazy day. Relax and see if the kid changes his mind about the pool. From experience, Tony knew the kid's sour mood didn't last long, and the best you could do was give him some space to come around.
So for the next hour, they watched some colorful cartoons. Something about dinosaurs and maybe worms? Tony had no clue and used the time to rest his mind. Peter seemed content to sit there, munching on pieces of fruit and wiping his hands on Tony's pants. Tony let him. There are some fights you just let slip to keep the peace.

They were two hours into their little marathon when Tony noticed the change outside. Dark clouds hung heavy in the sky, and the wind picked up.
The storm had rolled in earlier than anticipated.
Sending a wishing thought that Steve and Sam would have a safe journey, Tony turned his attention to Peter again.

"You hungry?" Peter had been snacking on fruits during their marathon but barely ate anything at breakfast. It might be time for something more sustainable.

"Mmhm," Peter turned in Tony's lap and showed him his empty bowl. "Gone," he said with a proud smile.

"Oh, you ate everything. Great job, Buddy!" If someone asked, Tony played up the excitement over the simple task, but in reality, he wasn't. It was such a strange feeling to be proud over an empty bowl.

"Mhm, good Peter again," the boy stated with a goofy smile.

"I have my good boy back?" Tony felt his goofy smile split his face.

"Mmhm."

"That's awesome, let's get some-" A bright light interrupted him, and he quickly glimpsed down at Peter. The boy's eyes were wide as saucers, and his mouth parted in chock.

"It's okay, Pete. It's only-" Loud omnibus rumbling blanketed his words. Eight seconds. Peter gasped and threw himself into Tony's chest. The bowl clattered to the floor and rolled away out of sight.

"-thunder." So much for the happy and easy mood.

"It's okay, Buddy, it's just bad weather. You're safe here." Tony was sure the boy didn't hear him, but he kept the reassurances coming. Peter sobbed into his neck, gripping his shirt with all his little might, and tried to push his body closer and closer to Tony's.

"Shh, it's okay," gathering the terrified bundle in his arms, Tony stood up. Lightning filled the room again, and Peter wailed from his hiding place.
Rumble followed soon. Five seconds, Tony counted. He knew the lounge with its tall windows wasn't optimal for riding out a thunderstorm with a scared toddler.

"FRI, lock down my bedroom. Sound and light, please," Tony ordered while bobbing Peter in his arms.

"Yes, Boss."

Tony heard the whirring from the screens lowering and quickly snatched Voff from the counter and rifled through the pantry and fridge for anything to feed Peter. Offering the plushie to the sobbing boy, he balanced some crackers and juice boxes in one hand.
Flashing lights and rumble filled the room again. Three seconds. The storm would soon be over them, and Tony would prefer Peter not the be out here when it hit.

As a second thought, he hurried to grab a bowl from a cabinet. With the amount of crying happening right now, Peter could throw up. And if that happened, Tony would prefer that it be in a bowl and not over him. Feeling ready to ride the storm out in silence, Tony walked them down the hall and into his bedroom.

Thankfully, FRIDAY hadn't plunged the room into complete darkness. Several lights shone over the bed and on the dresser, illuminating the room in a warm golden glow instead of icy cold blue. He pushed the door closed and sighed when the sound of rumbling subsided.

"There we go, Bubby," he whispered in Peter's ear, smoothing his fingers through the curls. "No more scary thunder, daddy got you."

Too busy hiding in his father's arms, Peter didn't acknowledge his words. Tony wasn't sure he even heard them, but he kept them coming anyway. Slowly moving across the floor, Tony switched between humming and whispered comfort.

It took some time, but gradually Peter calmed down from hysteric sobbing to soft sniffles and heart-breaking whines. Tony gently sat down on the bed and leaned back against the cushions. Finally able to relax, he let out a long sigh. That went better than expected, at least no vomit. Inclining his neck, he tried to peek down at the kid. Surprisingly a pair of tired, red-rimmed eyes met his.

"Hi," Tony whispered and smiled down at the bundle.

"Scary," Peter whispered back, eyes scanning the room.

"Yeah, thunder can be scary," not wanting to disregard the boy's fear, Tony decided to acknowledge it instead. "But we're okay, and soon it'll pass."

"Daddy scared?" Two fingers had found their way into the boy's mouth, slurring his speech.

"Not anymore, cause I got you with me," using his sleeve, Tony gently wiped tears from the chubby cheeks and smiled at his kid.

Seemingly content with that answer, Peter burrowed closer to Tony's chest, grabbed his sleeve, and tried to wrangle the man's arm over his back. Tony watched the boy's struggles with an amused grin.

"What you doing there?" Peter tugged harder on his arm and wiggled his butt to get it where he wanted it. "You wanna cuddle?" Tony couldn't help but huff out a laugh and smirk at the boy's antics.

"Cuddle," Peter demanded and flopped bonelessly in Tony's arms.

"Alright," scooping the boy closer and hugging him tightly, Tony asked FRIDAY to let them know when it was safe to come out. There was no rush. He was happy sitting here cuddling with his kid.

Chapter Text

"Hand me the boy," Sam stepped closer, never letting his eyes leave Peter.

"No." The hostile, clipped answer left no room for argument.

"Come on, man. Don't do this," Sam slowly circled the other man, effectively cutting off their only way out of the room.

"Stay away," Peter was once again wrenched out of reach. "He's mine!"

"He's not yours."

"Today, he is."

"No, he's not."

"Well, I demand a re-do," Clint turned to the giggling toddler in his arms. "Right, squirt?" This morning didn't count."

Suppressing the non-child-appropriate urge to strangle the archer, Sam continued their dodge-like dance to get the kid out of Clint's arms. Peter hollered and swayed, clapped his hands, and cheered on both adults. None the wiser of the severity of the situation. He was just happy to be involved in whatever it was that was happening.

His red Falcon shirt had ridden up, showcasing his protruding belly. One black sock had fallen off and got kicked under the sofa. The other dangled halfway off the small foot.

The kid looked like a mess.

Sam hadn't spent 20 minutes carefully matching the outfit this morning for Clint to ruin it. He even let Peter help with the big-pants-decision. Red or black. Plain or the ones with stripes.
After studying their options, both agreed the black pair with red stripes would fulfill the outfit.
All adults in toddler Peter's life had developed a fascination with themed kid's clothing. Namely, Avenger-themed clothing. Finding something with your name or picture on it was like a drug. They were obsessed. And the kid probably had clothes to live like a toddler his whole life. It was beginning to be so bad that FRIDAY had taken to ban internet purchases.

But they had other ways to feed their addictions. Steve found a way around it by buying backpacks and bed linen. It worked until FRIDAY caught up on that too.

"He only wore the clothes I picked for two hours. It's not fair," hunching Clint made a final attempt to get past Sam. "He spilled his juice all over himself. The juice you gave him," Clint pointed an accusing finger in Sam's face. "I'm calling it a conspiracy."

"Sam," Peter wriggled his stubby little finger in Sam's direction.

"You agreed to the conditions."

"Well, I didn't know the full premise."

"What premise," Sam's open hands gestured towards the boy, whose finger had abandoned its pointing and wriggled around Clint's ear instead. Points to the archer for seeming undisturbed by the prodding.
"You know the kid is a walking laundry basket. He can't stay clean. He's a dirt magnet."

"But he looked so freaking cool, Wilson," Clint whined. "My little man is a lady catcher in that purple."

"You agreed that we would take turns choosing his outfits today. I'm simply sticking to our agreement, your sour grape. And I think he looks snatchy in red too."

"Snassy," Peter proudly parroted.

"Yeah, squirt, you look snatchy."

"Pe'er looks snazzy."

"Of course you do."

All three of them turned toward Natasha's voice. Her light footsteps didn't warn them of her presence until she was halfway across the living room. The paper bags dangling from her arms made more sounds.

"Hi, Nassa." Peter forsook the ear prodding long enough to wave enthusiastically to the woman. Smacking Clint in the face in progress. "I'm snazzy."

"Hi, Honey," Natasha smiled and waved back. A yellow bag swinging in her hand. "I've got a present for you." No, she wasn't above bribing the boy. Or spoil.

The pair had done some screen shopping the other night. Scrolling through sites selling toys, clothes, candy, and games, Natasha watched the boy's eyes grow at all the different opportunities. It wasn't just about spoiling the boy. She secretly used the opportunity to learn more about Peter and study a child's microexpressions.
Which colors he liked and disliked. Wich toys drew his attention and how he reacted when he saw something he wanted.
It was interesting. Working with kids wasn't something she'd done much. But if most kids were as easy to read as Peter was, she was good.

"A pesen?"

"Nat, bribes?"

Quick as a weasel, Peter smacked a hand over Clint's mouth, muffling the man's words. No patience for rambling when presents were in his presence.

"Pe'er likes pesens," the boy said, tapping his chest.

"Yeah, you do?" She swiftly scooped Peter from Clint's arms. "Going to borrow this one for a while."

"Mhmm."

"But I had him," Clint protested but didn't put up a fight. He had more than two brain cells and planned to keep them. But, still. He had the kid first.

"You'll get him back soon, you big baby."

As soon as Peter's feet hit the floor, he immediately went for the bag, but she quickly snatched it away and began strolling down the corridor towards the kid's room. Not wanting the risk of losing the present from his sight, Peter stumbled after her. He grabbed at the bag whenever he was close enough, only for Natasha to lift it slightly higher off the ground and out of reach. Their stroll closely resembled luring a puppy the right way.

"Come on, Buddy," she tempted him, and before she could help herself, she let out a soft whistle. Peter picked up the pace and never let the bag from his sight. The puppy resemblance was uncanny.

---
"Where's Peter?"

With a sigh so deep he could have sworn a part of his soul left with it, Tony threw his phone and himself onto the couch. He decided to stay there with his head burrowed in a cushion. It was a nice and quiet place.

"Nat got him. They're in his room," Sam lowered the volume on the TV and glanced at the sprawled-out mechanic. One foot and almost a knee still resting on the floor.

"Rough meeting?" He knew Tony missed a lot of work due to Peter's presence. The boy wasn't keen on being without Tony for long periods, or preferably at all.

"Stupid interns." Well, that's at least what Sam thought the muffled mumbling meant.

"Tony," Sam scolded without any heat. He knew Tony struggled with people not keeping up with his thoughts. God knows Sam and the rest had witnessed Tony spinning in one of his moods and getting smacked around while not able o keep up. He could be unbearable when he found you annoying.

Poor those kids. Hopefully, they won't leave the field.

"Oony?"

At Peter's voice, Tony's mussed head rose from the depth of the fancy couch cushion.

"Yeah, I'm home now. I'm in here, Buddy."

"Oony, I'm pretty."

Furrowing his brow and glancing over to where Sam sat, Tony tried to decipher what the kid meant. At Sam's equally confusing face, Tony reckoned the man had no idea either.

Damn, Tony thought he'd gotten the hang of Toddler-talk.

"You're pretty? Can I see, Pete?" Guess that had to do.

With great strength, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. With one arm slung over the backrest, Tony scanned the area. He could hear some voices from the hallway. One soft unidentifiable female voice, probably Natasha, and one non-whispering toddler voice, undeniably belonging to Peter. The kid was as subtle as a rock on a tin roof.

More whispers from Natasha and a teapot high wheezing, "Okay, Nassa," from Peter, and the former appeared from the obscured hallway.

"So, Peter and I did a little shopping the other day, and this is the outfit he chose as his favorite. He loves it and hopes you'll love it as much as he does."

Tony was in the middle of picturing a self-composed outfit from the kid who once wore his underwear as an off-shoulder top would look like when he noticed something in Natasha's voice. She scrutinized each member in the room in a way that left no room for argument. They were going to love Peter's outfit, or else.
Seeming as "or else" probably meant getting your ass kicked by a pissed-off protective super spy, Tony didn't see how he had any other choice.

Oh, and he would never tell the boy he looked ugly. Christ, which monster would do that?

"Alright, you're ready, Pete?"

"Yes!"

"Come on out!" Natasha called. Urging the kid out with such glee and delight Tony thought she might burst, Natasha clapped and cheered for Peter when he ran out.
The kid ran a few feet into the room, stopped, and spun round and round, showcasing his new clothes, and Tony's mind froze.

"Look, Oony, I'm pretty," Peter yelled excitedly and twirled, making the skirt of his dress bellow out around him.

And right at that moment, Tony knew what kind of monster would tell a kid that it was ugly, sick, and disturbed. He heard it himself from his father as a small child.
Curious and bored, he played dress-up with his mother's clothes. They came in so many pretty colors. Some were so sparkly Tony looked like a star if he stood in the sunlight.

"Tony," Natasha's warning voice filtered through his memories. "Isn't Peter's dress pretty?" The ice-cold warning laid heavy over each word, but Tony's brain had stuck.

"You look amazing, Pete," Sam yelled.

"What a catch," Clint hollered from the couch. They seemed to be able to think at least.

Tony could only hear his father's voice ringing in his ears and the fantom pain in his arm. Disgusting and disgrace.

"You're... That's a dress," Tony blinked hard, trying to restart his brain before he did unrepeatable damage. "You're a boy." For the love of God, stop talking.

"Tony," this time, the warning came from Sam.

Watching his beautiful, happy kid slow his twirls and dig his hands in the still swaying skirt finally broke Tony's brain paralysis. Peter didn't look at him anymore. His fingers played nervously over the embroidered flowers on his dress.
He looked so sad.
Tony's heartbroken little boy. Standing alone and sad in a place where he's supposed to be loved and safe.

"And boys and girls can wear whatever they want to if that makes them feel pretty," Natasha kneeled beside Peter, giving him the biggest smile she could muster. At the moment, she was murderous but right now, her priority was Peter. She suspected Tony was fighting some childhood demons, she recognized the look, but that didn't change the fact that he hurt Peter.

"Oony?" Only raising his eyes, Peter glanced over at his father figure.

"Pete... Pete," Tony knew he fucked up, but maybe he could fix it.

"You look beautiful, kiddo." A tiny spark reignited in Peter, and Tony saw the flicker in his eyes. "Come here. Let me get a closer look at you."

He jumped over the back of the couch and crouched with his arms out, begging his kid to forgive him.

Looking between Natasha and Tony, Peter twisted his feet, scooting inch by inch closer but not in the full sprint Tony wished.

"Natasha said you choose it yourself. It was a good choice. So many pretty flowers." Words were now spewing out, and since they seemed to be the right ones, Tony had no plan to stop them.

Noticing Peter's right hand favoring a big flower on his right side, Tony took a chance, "That's your favorite? The big yellow one?"

A timid nod and, finally, he had his kid within reach. "I think that's my favorite too." Tony gently grabbed the skirt and swept his thumb over the image. "It's a happy flower."

"'dis is pretty oo." Peter pointed to his left side, where a smaller, light purple flower sat.

"It is. I think all the flowers on your dress are beautiful, and so are you. The prettiest boy in the world." Tony almost high-fived himself when Peter gave him a toothy grin.

"Wanna see me spin?" Peter skipped on jittery feet, ready to explode. And he did. As soon as Tony nodded and said, "I'd love to, sweetheart," the boy was off. He spun, twirled, and skipped his way across the room. The light blue dress danced around his legs, barely able to keep up with the energetic euphoria of dance movements.

Not wanting to look away for more than a few seconds, Tony quickly sent a thankful nod to the three adults in the room, who all gave him a nod back.

Maybe he could do this?

With some help, of course.

Chapter Text

"Pete, get down from there," Tony rushed forward to prevent the kid from killing himself for what felt like the tenth time just this morning.

Grasping the toddler around his midsection launched another fit of spine-curdling wails for the hundredth time this morning.
Loud and high-pitched enough to raise the dead and immediately turn them right back, digging their graves deeper to escape the torture.

Right now, Tony felt like joining them. His throbbing head couldn't take more screaming. Oh, the sweet relief of death. The serene silence. The ever-lasting peaceful rest.

But he couldn't.

No, Tony had to stay in this hellhole of a torture chamber to raise the literal spawn of Satan. The gremlin offspring in question currently lay face down in the laundry room, smacking his palms on the cold tiles, screeching like a fire alarm.

Why?

He couldn't join Voff in the washer.

So now, Tony was the worst person in the world cause he wouldn't chuck the kid in there with the plushie. Yes, soo evil.

Standing above the kid, Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and focused on breathing. One breath in and one out. In and out, just for a few seconds before he lowered himself to sit beside his kid, a kid he loved dearly.
Careful not to handle Peter roughly, Tony sat and pulled him up from the floor and into his lap. Never once did Peter stop or even falter his cries. He did stop abusing the tiles and began battering Tony's chest instead.
Small hands or not, smackings directly over the arc reactor, and the scars surrounding it hurt. And that's what caused Tony to lose it for the first time this morning.
His unsteady grasp around his patience slipped, spurred on by his convulsing head, causing him to wrench the little fists away and down, still conscious enough not to hurt the boy, but it was a step away from his usual gentle handle.

"Peter Parker!" Tony raised his voice. Yep, he almost yelled in the face of a toddler. "We do not hit each other in this household." Keeping his voice loud did nothing to soothe the boy. Neither did any attempts at keeping Peter still. Panicking at his inability to handle the situation, Tony felt his chest tighten.

Tony knew yelling wasn't the right option, but by God, he couldn't take the screaming any longer. Clenching his teeth so hard, he swore he heard cracks.
Tony drew wheezing breaths through his clenched teeth and down his tense chest until faint light-headedness washed over him. It was okay to have bad days and be in a crappy mood. Tony had them, and Big Peter had them. Of course, little Peter was in his right to have them.
But there were limits, and hitting was crossing one of them.

Collecting Peter's swinging fists in one hand and his chin in the other, Tony tried again.

"Peter, can you look at me, please?" There was no visible response from the kid.

"Come on, Buddy," Tony pleaded with the boy. Tilting his head, Tony tried to find those big brown eyes he loved. "Do you wanna sit down?"

"Nooo," Peter wailed, yet he still dropped to crash onto Tony's knees. Tony had to bite his lip to keep still. The knees were not supposed to bend that way, especially at his age.

"Good boy," Tony tried. "Can you look at me now?" Twisting in his lap, Peter shook his head wildly. The outright screaming momentarily muted to a long string of hiccupped, whiny no's. But while Tony's ears appreciated the short relief, his heart was strongly opinionated against hearing his baby boy whimpers.

"Okay, do you want a hug or sit by yourself?" Giving children options was the right thing to do? Right? He swore he read that in a book somewhere.

"Nooo." Yeah, options were great if the kid responded to at least one.

"Pete," Tony sighed. He felt drained. Aged like a shriveled potato. "Pete, let's breathe a little, okay."

Sitting on the cold ass floor with a screaming toddler in his lap was not one of the top three moments of Tony's parental journey. But here they were. Exaggerating his breaths didn't do much for the kid, but it helped Tony not lose his mind. Giving himself another few seconds to breathe, Tony wondered how they got here.

Peter had woken up in a sour mood this morning. He refused to leave the bed, so Tony pulled the covers back up, giving him more snuggle time. That ended quickly with the kid kicking the blankets off the bed and sprinting after Tony, crying with every step.
Tony tried to pick him up, only to be rewarded with wails and kicking feet. Putting him down set off more screaming of the fire alarm type, and Peter, without caution, flung himself to the floor.
Tony had no idea how to console his kid. No matter what he did, it was the wrong thing to do. Everything, and anything, seemed to set the kid off with no rhyme or reason.

FRIDAY's scans showed nothing. Peter was a healthy but foul moody kid. Tony checked him rigorously during their morning routine but didn't notice anything wrong. No rashes, nor redness, nothing alarming in the diaper, no fever, no toes or finger blemishes. Zero. Zip. Nada.

One of Tony's guesses was a nightmare. Maybe the kid dreamt about something scary, and it freaked him out. But since Peter refused to use words except no, don't, can't, and cries of different varieties, Tony was out of ideas.
Relying on Bruce's motto, "Communication is fundamental," Tony trudged on. He'd encourage Peter to use his words, praising him when he did and ignoring him when he didn't. He offered physical contact if the kid wanted, and Voff kept nearby all the time.

The rest of the morning went on much the same.

Breakfast was an ordeal, with Peter refusing to get in his high chair, kicking his legs wildly, and when that didn't work, he went full rigor mortis. No matter how much frustration was building in his chest, Tony refused to use force to manipulate the stiff limbs. Giving up, Tony abandoned the high chair and offered a kitchen chair, his lap, the sofa, a suit, and the floor.
Yes, he caved and was ready to let Peter eat on the floor or in a suit, anything for the toddler to ease up with the bad mood.

Breakfast ended with Peter chucking his cup to the floor and swiping his plate off the table.

That's how they ended up here.

Poor Voff, an innocent bystander, became a tragic victim. The entire cup of blueberry juice exploded on the floor next to him, drenching him in deep purple. Trying to save the beloved plushie, Tony put him in the washer.

And that's when the world went to shit.

At least, according to Peter.

For twenty minutes, Peter tried to climb the washing machine, socks slipping on the shiny surface while he tried to heave himself up. Once or twice Tony saw the heavy machines wobble ominously.
Peter tried to push a laundry basket closer to use as a ladder, and Tony caught him just in time before he fell and smacked his mouth against the corner.
Tony had tried to bribe him away with snacks and toys, which didn't work. He had offered a chair to stand on and watch, with Tony anchoring him, but that was also the wrong solution.

And Tony was out of options.

This situation was varsity-level parenting, and Tony was not ready for it. He was still trying to score a passing grade at beginner entry.

"FRI, try May's phone again," he whispered, hoping FRIDAY would pick it up over Peter's sniffles. "Or anyone. I think Peter would like to talk to them."

"I'm sorry, Boss, Ms.Parker is not answering right now, nor does any of the Avengers. Do you want me to try again?" Tony could swear she was whispering too.

"No, thanks, FRI," he groaned and turned back to his once lovely kid. "Hi, buddy. What's wrong today, bub?"

Peter answered by pressing his tight fist against his eyes and rubbing the already sore skin. The boy looked miserable, and Tony knew he must be exhausted. God knows, Tony was.

Reaching for his kid, Tony gently scootched him closer, diapered butt sliding easily over his jeans. Peter went without much resistance.

"Buddy, my tiny little Buddy, please tell me what's wrong so I can help," he snatched a piece of fabric out of the clean pile, one of Nat's shirts, and began wiping Peter's face. The kid twisted and leaned away, showing his displeasure, but the attempts were uncoordinated by fatigue. It was a poor job. Crusty tears and snot still clung to his splotchy red cheeks. But without a damp rag, this was the best he could do.

"Let's go sit on the sofa."

Ignoring Peter's protests, Tony picked the kid up and headed out. The pair camped out on the couch for a while. Both were too tired to move, and Tony was a little scared to reposition, not knowing if it would set the kid off again.
Peter wasn't crying anymore but still had the energy to protest whenever Tony did something wrong.

Things like breathing och blinking.

They sat cuddled closed for a while, only taking a break to go and collect a warm and fuzzy Voff from the dryer. You could think it was a march to their death according to the amount of screaming and wailing Peter let out on the way over to the washer.
But seeing Peter plant his face in the soft fur helped Tony collect himself. They both had had a terrible start to the day, and none of them behaved the best, but Tony was the adult here, and he felt he had let the kid down multiple times.

Today was a day he would have appreciated help and support from his team. It takes a village, it says, and Tony would value his villagers now. But they were all away on a mission, not planning to be back home until tomorrow morning. May worked in the ER, and Pepper had a conference in Madrid escorted by Happy. Rhodey was off the radar and out of communications for an indefinite time.

He missed them.

Huh, maybe it was that?

Perhaps the kid missed the rest of the people in the Tower. Maybe he yearned for the rest of his family. They left after dinner the day before yesterday, and Peter said his jolly goodbyes and continued with his night. Tony didn't detect any changes in his mood, nor did the kid ask for them. No tears, no heartbreak. Tony and Pete were fine on their own.
The day after, Peter had begun acting fussy and clinging to Tony any chance he could. The wailing and tears came out in full force at bedtime and the poor boy cried himself to sleep, fighting the diaper and blanket.
----
After a solemn lunch consisting of Pete pushing his noodles around and off the plate and refusing to touch the sauce or the meatballs, Tony felt his patience drain again. The meal was from yesterday, Sam's special recipe from his mama, and Peter had scarfed it down. Even demanding more. And now you could think the plate would annihilate him if it as much as touched his lips.

Pete was back to screaming at everything and throwing himself consistently on the floor.

The trigger this time was washing his face.

After noticing the skin all over the kid's face looking raw and irritated, Tony knew he had to bite the bullet and clean the kid's face. The constant flow of bodily fluids smeared over his skin had chaffed the sensitive areas around his eyes, reddened his cheeks, and clogged his nose and eyes.

The distraught rubbing of tiny fists didn't help either.

A stab of guilt hit Tony in the chest like one of Steve's tackles. His baby had a miserable day, and the one person he trusted to help and comfort him was utterly useless.
So when Peter decided to fight (literally) tooth and nail against the soft cloth, Tony felt his walls of patience and parental knowledge crumble and give way to anger and irritation. Nursing his aching thumb, he stuffed the feelings deeper down. They weren't allowed out. Tony couldn't do that to the kid. No matter how many teeth marks littered his appendices.

That didn't mean Tony wasn't pissed.

Because Jesus fucking Christ on a bike. Peter bit him! The kid latched on his thumb like a rodent and refused to let go. Tony had to pry him off.

Wishing he was anywhere else right now, Tony glared at his kid. No, not his kid. He would gladly give the little shit back to May without hesitation in exchange for some freaking peace. Maybe even without missing him.

"FRI, anyone on their way back?" Holding one thumb, the other throbbed too much; Tony begged she would tell him relief was on the way.

"Sorry, Boss. No updates in estimate arrivals."

By the apologizing tone in the AI's voice, Tony knew shit was rotten.

Folding his arms in front of him, Tony slumped over the counter. He pushed plates and cups from their catastrophic lunch close to the edge. If they fall, they fall. It would be a problem for anyone that hasn't been on babysitting duty for the Devil's spawn. They could pick it up.

From where he sat, he heard Peter whine and grab his pants leg, demanding Tony to pick him up. Since they had done this dance of will for what felt like forever, Tony knew that as soon as he held the boy in his arms, he would fight to go down. With none of Wanda's levitation powers, Tony had no clue how Peter expected him to manifest his wants.

Drained as he was, Tony had no energy to care anymore. Both needed a break, preferably away from each other. The tragic pair stayed like that, and Tony slowly lost his mind and sense of time. After pushing Voff into Peter's arms, the crying petered out. Trying not to move, Tony peeked between his arm and the table. Peter lay curled around the plushie on the cold kitchen floor.

A miserable little bundle of a boy. Tony's unhappy little bundle.

God, Tony was an ass. His kid had cried himself to sleep, cuddled by a plushie instead of his dad. The kid had to be fatigued. Maybe he'd be docile enough for Tony to maneuver him to bed. Both are in desperate need of a nap.

Unfolding himself and sliding off the chair with a grunt, Tony sat beside the kid. Before the toddler, Tony had no idea having a kid came with so much time on the floor, another proof he was too old for this.
He placed his large hand on the boy's hip, shaking him gently.

"Come on, Buddy, let's go napping," Tony whispered. But as soon as he tried to get his hands under the boy, he began to mewl. "No, no. Shhh, it's okay, Buddy. We're just going to bed," Tony desperately begged and pleaded with the boy.

"No, down, down," Peter yowled and flung himself backward as Tony stood, spine curved and head thrown, bearing his flushed neck. Wasn't it for Tony's quick fight reflexes, the boy would have hit the unyielding tiles head first.

Locking his hands around the waist of the combative toddler, Tony performed every breathing exercise known to him.

None did jack shit.

Not even a dent in the rising pile of anger, irritation, frustration, desperation, and exhaustion building in his chest. Happy feelings like love, joy, pride, and amusement gradually drowned as patience lost its struggle to the murky mush.

"Don' 'ike Daddy," Peter spat in his face, clawing at his father's hands.

A part of Tony crumbled at the words. Maybe it was his heart, or perhaps it was his filter, cause knowing the boy didn't mean it did nothing to stave the flash of hurt ripping its way out.

"Well, I'm not of fan of you either"! Tony hissed back.

Regretting it immediately, Tony crashed to the floor. Hugging his sobbing boy, he leaned against the nearest wall, rhythmically thumping his head against the hard surface. He couldn't take it anymore.
Peter slinked between his arms and sprawled beside him like a crestfallen starfish. Tony lightly placed on hand over the boy's back. With a swift kick, Peter rejected his offer of peace and comfort.

And that's how Rhodey found his best friend and new nephew when he left the elevator twenty minutes later.

Inspecting the area, the Colonel understood why FRIDAY had hounded him to hurry to the Tower as soon as possible. The AI implied Tony and Peter needed assistance, not life-threatening, but never the less assistance.

Upon entering the living area, Rhodey could easily see the aftermath of the emergency. Two tiny shirts lay rumpled on the floor, a pair of green joggers haphazardly hung over the back of the sofa, and several toys littered the room. Dirty dishes covered the dining table and kitchen counters, some balancing precariously close to the edge.

"Tones?"

Following the sounds of sniffles and cries, Rhodey stepped over a (thankfully) clean diaper and approached the slumped pair.

"What happened here?" Kneeling by his friend, he took a closer look at the pair. Ashen-faced and with exhaustion written all over him, Tony waved his hand dismissively.

"Peter had a bad two days," the man murmured, gently petting the boy's butt. Peter kicked a naked foot at the movement and screeched. Yes, the usually peaceful boy shrieked in anger, and according to Tony's full-body wince, it wasn't the first one of the day.

"Correction," Tony lifted one finger, "both of us have had a terrible hell of days."

"Tones- "

"I'm beat, honey bear. The kid hates my guts," Tony grumbled before he leaned in and whispered, "and I'm not sure I love him a lot right now."

"Don't tell the junior fire alarm," he quickly added like a madman and side-eyed the currently silent Peter, who lay flat and motionless beside them.

The only sign of life from the boy was occasional angry huffs.

"No, he doesn't, and you're doing great. You just hit a rough patch and need a break," with a soft chuckle, Rhodey turned to his old friend and placed a grounding palm on his shoulder. "Both of you. Want me to take over?"

"Honey bear, I love you. You're my hero, the savior of my soul, the -"

"Yes, please, is enough, Tones. Or thank you, your choice."

"Please, take the gremlin away from me."

The Colonel watched Tony's head hit the wall again and took a moment to study him. The tight-lipped expression and slightly squinted eyes were all the clues he needed.

"Migraine?"

Shaking his head yes, Tony breathed, "Not super bad yet." With a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing the tips of his fingers over his eyes, "Might be incoming, thou."

"Take the evening off. Go to sleep, Tones," Rhodey patted his shoulder again and turned to the toddler-shaped rug. "Peter and I will have an awesome uncle and nephew night and bring this place down. Right, Buddy?" He cheerily clapped his hands on his thighs, excited for some alone time with the boy.

"No."

Tony snorted, "Good luck."
----
Since it was still early afternoon, Rhodes decided that a change of scenery might help with the kid's sour mood.
After leaving Tony, the pair changed into some more comfortable clothes. Jeans and a grey henley for Rhodey and soft yellow joggers matched with a black bumblebee shirt for Peter. It took a fair time before the toddler stopped crying for Tony and morphed into a (somewhat) cooperative but mopy team-mate.
He decided to give the kid some leeway and continued his plans, not pushing Peter but not giving in. Figuring the kid was tired and not up for a big adventure, he stole an idea from his upbringing.

Placing Peter on his hip, Voff in his arms, and a small blue Avengers backpack in his other hand, they entered the elevator down to the garage.
Upon entering the ground floor and walking along the concrete, Peter's sniffles and whines slowly died down and were replaced with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Okay, Buddy, we have one important choice to make," Rhodey nodded at the boy. "You wanna help?"

Giving Peter an inquiry look and bumping him in his arms, Rhodey waited for the toddler to answer. Pete scrunched his face together thoughtfully for a few beats before giving a confident nod.

"Pe'er and Voff help," he said and immediately began looking around the garage. Twisting in Rhodey's arms, Peter peeked over the man's shoulder before turning back. "Whah'?"

Chuckling at the always curious boy, Rhodey tucked him closer and gestured with an open hand out over the extended rows of different cars Tony collected over the year.

"You can decide which car we'll drive."

Since Tony wasn't a man of discretion, Rhodey silently wished Peter wouldn't pick one of the brightly colored ones. A bright orange convertible would make their road trip a lot less anonymous. Even if people most of the time left Tony alone nowadays. His penchant for lawsuits kept the paparazzi and fans away. At least it kept them at a distance.

Leisurely strolling between the rows of cars, Peter carefully inspected each one. He snaked one arm around the older man's neck and hugged Voff closer, occasionally asking Rhodes to stop so he could examine a specific car.

"Decided yet?"

"Mmhm," Peter nodded thoughtfully, pressing his lips together.

Stood in the middle of the harshly lit concrete garage with a toddler in his arms, Rhodey felt nervous. A ridiculous feeling, but he didn't want to drive one of Tony's absurdly cramped toy cars. You had to fold yourself double and triple to get in. And Rhodey was a man of age and comfort.

Finally nodding to himself, Peter confidently pointed to their left. Rhodey followed the chubby finger to the entrance, where the more mundane cars stood. Internally letting out a sigh of relief, the man steered them over to the area. Peter kept his arm outstretched like a compass needle, guiding them to the chosen car.

"This one," Rhodey stopped when Peter said so.

The boy enthusiastically nodded his head and pointed to the black SUV. More known by the team as the "Dad van." It was the car Tony now used to drive between the Tower and the Compound.

"Daddy's car!" Peter shrieked and lurched in Rhodey's grip.

"Sure, Buddy, sure. If that's your choice, we'll go with it," Rhodey chuckled and smiled at the boy.

Another squeal right into his ear. Painful or not, at least they were from happiness, so Rhodey let him be. Packing the kid, plushie, and his little backpack in the already prepared car, Rhodey buckled himself in and turned to the jolly kid.

"You're ready, Buddy?"

Vigorous nodding met him, and they were off.

Traffic was slow, but it didn't bother the man. His passenger was too busy listening to him tell stories or look at things outside the windows. A dog walker with ten or more dogs on a leash became a big hit, and after giving in to Peter's powerful puppy eyes, he circled the block so they could pass them again, to Peter's delight.
It reminded Rhodes soo much of his upbringing. His father used to gather his family in the car and go on spontaneous road trips to tackle bored or restless kids or soothe the fussy, sleepy ones. Smiling at the memory and Peter's upbeat energy, Rhodey enjoyed the moment.

With no plan in mind, Rhodey steered them around the city Spider-man loved so much. The kid had a heart bigger than anyone, and after getting to know him, Rhodey understood why Tony had fallen head over heels for the young genius.
The boy came into their lives with the fresh energy the team desperately needed. His young age was a source for tense discussions, but quickly the team understood that Tony was not at fault. Peter refused to let Spider-man go and would continue with or without their protection. So the Avengers adopted Peter into their strange family.

Three hours flew by in an instant. The pair drove around, stopping at parks or playgrounds. The Colonel didn't bother much with disguising himself. He wasn't easily recognizable, and out in casual clothes with a toddler in his arms, not one person turned their head for a double look.

Peter wanted to test every swingset in every park, and Rhodes let him. He even dared to try out some of the slides. Sitting on the top with his fingers crammed in his mouth, Peter kept eye contact with Rhodey. The man smiled encouragingly at the hesitant boy, nodding that he could do it. After Peter swooshed down a slide for the fourth time, Rhodey quickly leaned his phone on the bench behind to capture the cheerful boy sliding down and landing on the soft padded area beneath.

When Peter's energy began to droop, the pair re-entered the car and drove until Peter passed out. Deciding to take the long way home, Rhodey steered north and enjoyed the silence and comfort.

The pair hit a drive in McDonald's for some nuggets and ice cream before deciding it was time to turn back home. He would call their little outing a victory, and his mission to give Tony a break and lift Peter's mood was a success.
----
Tony had not told Rhodes the whole truth. His "not there yet" migraine was close to blowing his brains out, and he knew that if he didn't lay down in darkness soon, he'd be fucked.

He hated migraines. Not because they sucked but because they made him weak. Tony was supposed to be a superhero and was taken down regularly by a freaking headache. It sucked.

"Blackout, FRI," he begged the AI as soon as he entered his quarters. Darkness swallowed him immediately, and Tony carefully let his body fall back onto the soft covers. Swamped by silence, night, and softness, Tony let himself relax.

"Sir, your medicine. On your nightstand," the AI whispered.

Oh yeah. Tony knew he should take the pills, but his arms were too heavy, too uncoordinated. Slapping an arm out, he riffled through the contents on the table. A rattling noise hit his swooshing ears, and he knew he'd found the little bottle off the surface. A frustrated groan wrenched its way out of his mouth.
Just when he was about to slide head-first off the bed to begin the search for his lost treasure, three gentle knocks came from the door.

"Huh, Rhodes?" The eloquent greeting got an airy chuckle in return.

"No, sorry, Tony, just me," Steve said sympathetically and slid through the doorway, mindful of the light streaming through the lit hallway.

"Oh," Tony tried to peek at the approaching man without causing explosions behind his eyes. It didn't work too well, and he failed to suppress the groan that rumbled through him.

Behind his tightly shut eyes, Tony sensed Steve kneeling at his head. A touch to his elbow, so tenderly he didn't flinch, confirmed to Tony that Steve sat close. Cautious of his action, Tony squinted one eye open. Silhouetted in the dark, he could barely see Steve's face, but the knowledge of him being present helped.
Tony hated when people pitied him or glimpsed his weaknesses, but Steve wasn't "people." Sometime along the way, he slinked beneath Tony's defenses, and now they were here.

"Great day?" Steve's low rumbling voice didn't grate Tony's eardrums.

"Peachy," he moaned in response.

"You need anything?" Steve's warm hand ran soothingly up and down his arm.

"Sleep," Steve nodded and tensed to stand. "And pills," Tony murmured nearly inaudibly. He squished his cheek so extensively against the pillow he could only open one eye. "Fell to the floor."

After some shuffling and footsteps, something cold knocked against Tony's hand.

"You want me to help you up?" Steve whispered.

Straining his neck, Tony tipped the water in his mouth, letting the pill slide down his throat. A few droplets missed and fell to the sheet. He couldn't care less about it. Now Tony could finally sleep.

"Thanks," Tony sighed.

Closing his eyes and sinking into the downy pillows, Tony suddenly remembered Peter. "The kid hates me," he slurred.

Steve, ever the saint, sank back to the floor and returned his warm hand to Tony's elbow. "I highly doubt that, Tony."

"He hates me," warmth rose in his eyes. Damn, migraine. He was not about to cry. But his hurting and sluggish brain would not comprehend. "He hates me," he sniffled."

"No, that boy loves you, Tony." Fingers smoothed over his cheek, wiping away those pesky tears. "'Try to sleep. We'll talk more when you feel better."

With another sniffle, Tony nodded into Steve's hand and lost his fight against sleep.

-----

Carrying the now yawning toddler into the lounge, Rhodey noticed the difference in the atmosphere. Someone had cleared away the remnants of the previous disaster hours ago. Chatter filled the area, along with the smell of something delicious cooking.

"Rhodey, just in time for dinner!" Sam shouted and waved them over.

The Avengers swarmed the boy from all sides wanting to greet their favorite little boy. Natasha kissed his cheek on her way to the table. Thor ruffled his hair, and Clint tried to give him a high-five. That resulted in a high-soggy-nugget-five, which Clint non-discretely wiped off on Sam's back.

"Buddy?"

From the elevator came a voice both Rhodey and Peter knew well. Turning toward the voice, Steve noticed the sunken eyes and pinched face. It was clear Tony still suffered the effects of his migraine. Three hours of sleep was not enough. Knowing that pestering the man wouldn't help, Steve would let it slide and get Tony back to bed after dinner.

"Daddy!" Peter happily shouted and smacked Rhode's arms, demanding to be put down. "Down, down."

As soon as his feet touched the floor, Peter hurdled toward his dad and flung himself into his arms, right where he belonged.