Howard demanded a private room so he could talk to his son. And because he's Howard, the room was ready five minutes later.
It was a waiting room, cleared of all the people that had been in it previously, but it would serve Howard's purposes. The camera in the top corner was deactivated. The door to the waiting room had been closed and locked. The window that looked out into the hallway's blinds were drawn. It was as private as it was going to be.
Tony felt trapped.
If things escalated - which didn't happen often, but Tony hadn't the faintest idea how angry or drunk Howard was, face set in an unwavering, cold mask - would anyone hear him screaming? Or would they merely ignore it, not wanting to face one of the most powerful men in the country?
Howard was wearing a clean white button up and black slacks. His hair was combed against his scalp. He looked calm, put together. Stern in the way he was standing, but not enough to worry.
Tony knew that looks could be deceiving.
"I'd like to know what you were thinking when you called for that press conference," Howard said. His voice was measured, words clipped. It wasn't a question, neither was it really a statement - it was a demand, and Tony knew that if he didn't answer things were not going to go his way.
"I was thinking that I had just had a son and that I wanted the media to know, so there would be no future drama or speculation."
"And you didn't think to tell me before you ran your mouth to the reporters?" There was an edge in his voice. He wasn't yelling, but then, he'd never needed to before. Tony knew he would leave this conversation in pain, whether it was from a raised voice or a raised fist.
"I was also thinking about the dangers of telling you before the media was knowledgeable about the proceedings," Tony admitted. He kept his voice steady. Any signs of weakness would just speed up the inevitable - a shaky voice, a trembling hand…
Howard harrumphed.
"And what might those dangers be?" Howard asked, voice edging on dangerous. Tony's fists clenched from where they were crossed behind his back. He couldn't do this. How was he supposed to do this? He could kill him by the end of this. He wouldn't be surprised if Howard tried to kill him by the end of this. His breath felt shaky.
"You're a powerful man, Howard," Tony said, because he had stopped calling him 'Dad' in his head long ago. "If you didn't want that little boy being born he wouldn't be born." Howard hummed.
"You're correct, in that aspect," Howard said. In that aspect..? "I wouldn't have allowed the baby to be born, but Anthony… what is to stop me from getting rid of the dreadful thing now, even with the media knowing? How are you to know that that is not the purpose for you being locked in this room with me now? What guarantees the safety of that child?" Tony felt shakier.
"You wouldn't."
"I'm the most powerful man in America, Anthony," Howard said. "I could do whatever I want. And there wouldn't be a thing you could do to stop me. You're powerless, my boy."
"Touch him," Tony said, "lay a single finger on that baby, and I'll tell the media everything. I-I'll tell them how much of a worthless drunk you are, and how you beat your kid, fill your wife up with d-drugs to keep her quiet, a-a-and how you stole all my blueprints, and how you're dealing under the table with our enemies! Yeah, I know about that! I know about everything! I'll tell them everything-"
It happened so fast Tony was hardly able to comprehend it. One minute he and his father were standing in the middle of the waiting room, yelling at each other, the next Tony was pinned up against the wall, Howard holding him up by the collar of his shirt. He had hit his head when Howard pinned him. His ears rang.
"You don't scare me, boy!"
Tony then came to a startling realization, right as his father said that. Because the feelings were completely mutual. Tony didn't know whether it was born from a protectiveness over his son, or something else, but…
Tony grinned, showing all his teeth, even as he wanted to vomit from the close proximity - Howard had definitely broken into the liquor cabinet before coming here.
"And you don't scare me!" Tony said.
Tony had had a rule, when he was younger. After he had been rejected again and again by his father and the sting he had left had long since faded. The rule had been simple: Stay away from the man, don't anger him, and you won't get hurt anymore. Because it was the dismissive words that hurt the most, far more than his father's fists ever could.
His father usually didn't seek him out, and Tony hardly saw him after that rule had been made. He really only ever had to interact with him at all when he messed something up. Trouble at school, an accident in his personal lab, smart mouthing someone older than him…
But those instances were always horrid.
Tony wasn't sure what happened after that. He remembered pain. Pain in his face, in his ribs, in his hands, in his legs. Bruises and cuts and bumps. Howard was angry, oh yes, but he never reacted as harshly as this.
He would only realise later that this beating wasn't just because his father was mad at him. It was to remind him of his place.
Tony only had one clear thought as punch after punch was delivered.
I'm not afraid of you.
The world made more sense when Howard finally dropped him to the ground. Howard's knuckles were split and bleeding, but that was nothing on the open wounds and bruising on Tony's body. Bloody nose, bruised face, aching ribs, burning legs. Tony was even worried about a few broken bones, for a moment.
He thought Howard might've gotten some blood on the carpet.
He looked up at his father. His right eye was swollen shut.
Howard's shoulders were heaving. The old man's forehead was beaded with sweat. His previously neatly combed white hair was rumpled.
He's old. Why didn't you fight him off? That cynical part of his brain asked.
And he didn't know either. Shock? Confusion?
His old, greying, sixty-something year old father had beaten him to a pulp, and now he was wondering how he had done it. As he lay, on the ground, beaten to a pulp, staining the ugly carpeting under him with his blood.
Tony giggled. The giggling morphed into cackling, and then full on hysterical laughter. He held his bruised sides as he laughed, coughing slightly as he did but unable to stop. Howard looked a little afraid of him for a moment.
Good, Tony thought. He should be.
Howard composed himself, wrapping his bleeding knuckles with two handkerchiefs he had stuffed in his pockets.
"Anthony," he said, voice stern and important. Tony still couldn't, or wouldn't, stop laughing. It was all too funny to him. "You are to take that… child, and you are to sign over all guardianship of him to his whore of a mother and her family. Then I want you to cut ties with them and forget the damned thing ever existed. This will not stand with me, boy."
Tony's laughter calmed down enough for him to respond. "N-no f-f-fucking way, Howard!" He choked on air, head falling back against the floor, face bright red.
"You will do as I say!"
"O-or what?" Tony challenged. "You're gonna beat me again? Take away the company from me? I'm the only heir you've g-got! Y-you c-can't do shit!" He sat up on his elbows, body still shaking with chuckles.
"G-get you," he said. "G-get o-out of here, a-a-and stay away f-from me, my baby, a-and Mary! You k-know what I k-know, and you know what the consequences will be i-if you don't listen to me." Howard stiffened.
"You dare-"
"Yes," Tony hissed. "Now get out. A-and don't come back." Howard scowled. His fists tightened. For a moment, just a moment, Tony was afraid he would start hitting him again.
"Fine," he said. "But this is not over, Anthony Edward Stark." He marched toward the door, unlocking it, and slammed it shut behind him. Tony relaxed back against the floor. His shirt was stretched out and basically unwearable now. He'd liked this shirt.
He sighed, taking it off, and pressing it to his still-bleeding nose.
He wasn't afraid of Howard. He wasn't. And he never would be again. He had stopped loving the man when he was ten years old. So why did he feel so horrible, seeing him leave?
He hated him. He did.
But he was a kid. And he would always crave his approval, no matter how much he wanted not to.
What was wrong with him?
A nurse walked in. she gasped loudly when she saw him. He must've been quite the sight to see.
"Oh dear," she said, rushing forward. "Are you alright, hon? Do you need anything?" she asked, pulling the blood soaked t-shirt away from his nose.
"Rhodey," he said. "James Rhodes." The nurse looked lost. Tony gave her his number. "J-just… just get him here, okay? I-I need Rhodey." The nurse nodded, standing up hesitantly. She disappeared, and didn't come back. Tony stayed on the floor, knowing that if he moved the pain would just come back.
He didn't know how long he lay there, only that his neck began to get sore, and he was getting cold. But he didn't want to get up, couldn't get up, and the nurse did not come back to help him.
The relief he felt when Rhodey ran in was tangible.
The older boy stared at him for a moment before dropping on his knees next to him, helping him sit up. He took the bloody shirt from him and frowned, immediately dropping it again. Tony didn't blame him. It was stiff with blood.
"Oh, Tony, what happened?" he asked, face ashen. Tony slumped against him, just grateful that his friend was there. Grateful that he was there to pick up all the broken pieces and glue them back together again.
Am I Humpty Dumpty? Tony thought, mind muddled. He would be Humpty Dumpty in this situation.
Rhodey sighed, and helped him stand. Walked him out of the waiting room to find a nurse. Tony endured all of the nurse's questions about his pain levels and the stinging of the peroxide and the uncomfortable feeling of bandages on his skin. He hated it, but he could endure it.
He had a minor concussion. Bruised ribs. Sprained wrist. More bruises and scrapes than they could count. Rhodey looked ill. Tony felt numb.
How can I feel numb when I still feel all the pain?
"Rhodey, you gotta go get my baby," Tony said. "Okay? Y-you… you gotta go get my kid."
"Are you sure I should leave you?" Rhodey asked, looking worried. "I mean, you're not looking so good, Tones..."
"I need my baby!"
"Okay, okay," Rhodey said placatingly, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll go get your baby… it's okay, Tones..." Tony relaxed back against the hospital bed.
"Thank you, Rhodey," Tony said gratefully.
"No problem, Tones," Rhodey said before disappearing into the hallway. He returned a moment later, wheeling Peter in on a bassinet. Tony tried to sit up, but Rhodey placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down before reaching into the bassinet and handing Peter to him.
The baby smiled at him gummily.
Tony smiled back, even as his face twinged and a tear rolled down his cheek.
I'm never gonna be like that, Tony thought. Never. Not with Peter. I'm gonna do better than him. I will.
He hoped he could hold up his promise.