Tony was at a loss for words. An unusual phenomenon, something Pepper had always vehemently insisted did not exist. A speechless Tony Stark? Impossible. Yet there he sat, staring at the holographic screens, his tongue light and lying awkwardly in his mouth without the weight of words sitting on it.
And if Pepper knew this state of shock was caused by a hug from both Captain America and a five year old, she would have never let the genius forget it. It was moments like these that Tony was glad they weren't together anymore, because Pepper would forever have held that over his head.
It had been so sudden. One second Tony had been fuming, screaming about all things wrong with his childhood, and the next Captain Rogers was enveloping him in one of the warmest hugs he had ever had. Not like Pepper's hugs, which were subtly warm, soft limbs lightly resting against his body and small hands splaying against his shoulder blades. No, Ste- Rogers' hugs were a damning warmth, burying him in such a comforting heat that it was hard to believe the man had lived in ice for seventy years.
And it had been so surprising, because Tony had been sure Cap would have responded negatively to a confession on horrid childhoods. The genius had spent hours thinking on this, imagining what words the Captain would have for him. Imaginary-Cap usually spit back something about Tony being weak, or Howard being a great father, sometimes sprinkling in painful comments about never living up to his father's shadow. However, never in any of his fantasies did he imagine that that good Captain would sympathize, let alone hug him.
It had been one of Tony's first hugs since breaking up with Pepper; definitely his first hug after the Civil War, and he immediately knew all future hugging experiences were now ruined. Nothing would ever come close to the hugs Steve Rogers delivered. It was like a huge band-aid, binding his many wounds and promising healing with time. Tony didn't believe in magic, avoided it at all costs; scoffed at the concept as if it were stale gum stuck to his shoe. But in that moment, with drying tears on his cheeks and throat raw from screaming, Steve's arms felt like magic.
Tony cursed himself once more, the name "Steve" rolling by too easily, too slippery to grasp and stop before completing its thought. He had been trying, really trying, because he did not need his crush on the good Captain. He had never needed to be crushing on the man to begin with, but now he really needed it to stop because if Steve started hugging Tony on the regular, he would be doomed. Might as well take himself out of the Avengers, because he was now a puddle of warmth, and Stark men did not become puddles of warmth.
And then there had been Peter, giggling as if his birthday had come early, his first present being a hug from "Mr. Iron Man." Tony hadn't been able to stop the smile from forming on his face, despite his weak heart nervously palpitating underneath small hands. Eventually, he pulled away from the hug, smile weak as the child looked at him in wonder. It was a small victory of course, something so trivial to be happy about, and yet Tony hadn't been able to stop the swell of joy that had filled his chest. Tony Stark had just hugged a child and hadn't hurt them. There could be some physical contact that didn't involve pain; Tony could make a small human happy. He could pretend all he wanted, could tell himself that it was weak to be so happy about something so small, but Peter liked Tony and damn it if he wasn't over the moon with it all.
As he replayed the scene over and over in his mind, the weight on his shoulders feeling lighter than it had in a little while, he started a new design for a mini Iron Man suit. Designed to fly around a child's room, eminitating a calm hum to help the boy fall fast asleep.
Peter had loved the gift, squealing with joy a night later when he entered his room to find Iron Man flying around and around, following the perimeter of the boy's ceiling. Cap had been just as surprised to see the toy, based on the soft chuckle Tony strained to pick up on from his hiding spot around the corner.
"Mr. Iron Man is here to protect me, Mr. Steve! He's gonna make the monsters go away!" Peter had exclaimed, a soft thumping sound indicating that the small boy was now jumping around in unadulterated joy. This was soon followed by a tired sigh from the Captain, who had just been able to get Pete to settle down with a glass of warm milk.
Tony had then left his hiding spot, walking away and down the hall, stupid grin stretching across his lips as yelps of excitement faded away. And although Peter had been tired and grumpy the next day, having stayed up too late in his uncontrollable joy the night before, Tony Stark regretted nothing.
And from there everything was suddenly turning up sunshine and daisies. Which should have been the first warning sign that something was coming, because that's how life worked. It went up, down, even sideways sometimes. And everyone knew what goes up must come down, because gravity was as real as Captain America's hero complex, and physics worked not only on physical objects but Tony's happiness as well. Realistically, he should have learned his lesson the first twenty times he was surprised when his happiness didn't last indefinitely. Something would always happen. Good things were always followed by not so good things, and for some reason Tony only remembered this fact after the not so good thing happened.
The second warning sign had occurred a couple of days after the Captain's hug, when Doombots were once again sighted terrorizing the unfortunate city of New York. The team went into panic, all looking down at the child in their possession, none of them quite sure what to do.
Bruce had quickly volunteered himself to stay and look after Peter, snapping at the team to get a move on before casualties started building. Luckily, they had come home after with barely a scratch, Hulk's absence on the battlefield not having been missed. But the media latched onto it with their conspiracy theories, wondering where the green Avenger had gone. It sat on all of their shoulders, an uncomfortable prickle as the media breathed down their necks. Of course, no one was bothered by the media itself; they had dealt with the pressure before. It was the threat of uncovering what the Avengers were hiding that had the team on high alert. Because keeping Peter a secret was high priority, and a leak was much worse than an announcement at a PR conference.
Tony ate breakfast with Pete the next morning, distracting the child as Cap talked on the phone with Fury about the morning's headlines. Fury was scolding the Captain about taking the Hulk off the field and not thinking about the media fire, if the loud shouts from the other end were anything to go by. Which honestly didn't make much sense to Tony because wasn't SHIELD dismantled?
Rogers stomped off after the call ended, grumbling about "gym" and "could you take care of Peter for a while", so that's how Tony Stark ended up spending a good chunk of his time putting puzzles together with Peter Parker, praying to a god he still didn't believe in that the child would stay entertained. Once Cap had come back from his workout, less tense and slightly more relaxed, Tony had all but shoved Peter back into the Captain's care. That was the day they realized Tony had a limited amount of time he could take care of the child before anxiety and panic settled deep in his bones once more. Luckily, Tony had been able to keep it together until he reached his workshop, but the team made sure to keep his "Peter exposure" at a comfortable level from there, on.
Despite these few mishaps, life in the tower was happy. Tony was oblivious to the warning signs as he always was, and he was hitting an all time high with his personal inventing and production rates in the workshop.
Then Clint left the tower. Tony knew it was probably because Peter was making the archer homesick, and although he was good with the kid, Clint probably wanted to be around his own kids more. Which Tony understood. And they didn't need Clint around at the moment. Crime was low and the bad guys that did show up were outrageously manageable.
Barton had slightly dragged his feet on the way out, not used to the team exuberantly reassuring him that he was not needed. He voiced his suspicions that the team didn't want him with the way they were almost asking him to leave. But he was soon out of the tower, and their human count was down to five.
As Clint left in his taxi, Tony felt a very small flutter of something not quite like fear in his chest. Like the first rain drop of a forecasted hurricane, or possibly akin to the feeling before going down the hill of an outrageously tall roller coaster. He had ignored it however, chalking it up to some odd sort of separation anxiety, which he didn't even question because what was one more issue on his already long list?
It was a little quieter without Clint crawling around in the vents or placing the coffee grounds where Tony couldn't reach. But the team had been separated before, and it wasn't actually new to them, despite feeling that way after living with each other for a few months.
Everything was okay though. They could deal with one less adult; some people with kids only had themselves to babysit. So the remaining Avengers could deal with one less person in their parental unit of four, right?
At least this is what Tony told himself until Bruce stopped by the communal living room, hastily packed duffle bag slung over his shoulder, announcing that he "got a call from a girl and had to go to some university." Of course, this wasn't exactly what the scientist said, but Tony hadn't been actually listening until he realized what the words meant.
Doctor Banner gave quick goodbyes to them each, asked Tony to look after a colony of bacteria he was cultivating in his lab, and then Bruce was gone.
The adult count was down to three, and Tony Stark was starting to panic.
The feeling of doom was lumping in the billionaire's throat, quiet yet undeniably there. Tony could no longer pull off genuine smiles, his lips now only able to form weary grimaces. And he couldn't place what was making him feel so afraid. But what goes up must come down, and he was sure something was about to come down hard.
This was always the worst part during the impending catastrophe, when the doom was setting in and he knew something was about to happen but he had no fucking clue what was about to hit. It was like knowing the was a warning that some weather was coming, but all the weather forecasters had died, so no one knew if there was a light rain shower or a goddamn meteor coming their way.
Tony should have known it was going to be the goddamn meteor.
It was take-away night, and Peter had chosen pizza, to the surprise of literally nobody. Tony had once said the boy ate pizza like an opioid addict popped pills, an analogy that had Cap sporting a disapproving frown and Clint snorting into his pepperoni pizza. The analogy was painfully accurate however, no matter how much Cap disapproved of it. They ate pizza at least two times a week because Peter insisted. Tony would have stopped it by now if the child didn't get so damn happy when the pizza man arrived, treating the acne ridden, most likely high-as-a-kite teen as if they were the second coming of Jesus or David Bowie.
So, consequently, that night found the small group around the unusually empty dining table, eating pizza and conversing about their days. It was almost enough to help Tony ignore the doom lump in his airway, pretending that the metaphorical meteor that was undoubtedly on a coarse straight to their living room was, in fact, not coming. This fake ignorance only lasted for a few moments, however, until Natasha's phone rang, vibrating in her pocket.
Conversation halted immediately around the table as she whipped the phone out, pressing the green call button and answering with a stern, "Agent Romanoff."
There was a deep rumble on the other side of the line, and Tony immediately knew that a Fury-sized meteor had just interrupted their dinner. And honestly, Tony should have guessed the goddamn meteor was Nick Fury, of course it was that man's assassin's face went stony and her lips pressed into a thin line as she got her orders, green eyes turning dark and serious.
It was a jerky conversation, full of stops and fast-spoken words, and before Tony knew it, Nat was already hanging up.
"It's a mission. Clint's not here, so Fury's calling you in with me, Steve," Natasha announced as she got out of her chair quickly, leaving her food behind as she rushed off to her room, presumably to get her suit and gadgets. Captain Rogers cursed under his breath as he rocketed out of his chair, eyes landing on Peter and then Tony, both looking up at him with fear in their eyes, both for different reasons.
"Where are you going? Don't leave! It's pizza night!" Peter protested, slamming his fist down on the table as he had probably seen Tony himself do a couple of times. It would have been funny, small hands curled in angry fists, if Tony wasn't focused on what this meant for him.
Steve's blues seemed full of conflict and regret as he leaned in to Pete, brushing his brown hair aside and planting a rushed kiss against the kid's forehead, "I know, I'm sorry, but I have to go, sweetie. I'll eat as much pizza as you want when I get back."
The genius was taken aback for a second at the blatant display of care, and he would have stayed shocked for a longer period of time if he wasn't in the position he was in now.
"Rogers. Don't," Tony croaked, voice cracking as he clenched his teeth. There was no use in telling Cap "don't", but this wasn't fair and the super soldier knew it.
"Tony, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do," Rogers addressed quickly, sprinting down the hall towards the stairs, and there was no fucking way he was going to let the good Captain go so easily.
Tony shot out of his seat at the dining room and chased after the man, ignoring Peter's cries of protest at being left alone.
"You can not do this to me Rogers, I swear-" Tony began, yelling after the Captain, who was taking three steps at a time up to his floor. The genius followed as quick as he could, not having as long legs as the other man did.
"If I didn't have to, I wouldn't. But it's only Nat and I right now, and we discussed that if some of us were called in on a mission, the last avenger standing would look after Pete," Rogers explained, the pair finally reaching the man's floor. They made a beeline for Cap's room, where the super soldier began throwing together a pile of clothes, haphazardly adding his suit and shield to the mix.
"Yeah, but I never thought I was going to be the one left alone to take care of him! I can't do this Rogers, I just can't-" Tony was freaking out now, waving his hands about in wide gestures, trying to convey to the Captain that his distress was much more important than any mission the man could be assigned.
"Yes, you can. Peter loves you!" Cap exclaimed as he dug out his duffle bag, stuffing his pile of clothes in it without caring to fold them, "You're great at co-paren-"
"Don't you dare say parenting Rogers, I swear to god!"
"You aren't Howard-"
"I am aware I am not Howard! I am Tony, and Tony is deathly afraid of taking care of a five year old by himself!" Tony spat back, arms folding aggressively across his chest, nails digging painfully into his arms in attempt to ground himself against the rising panic.
Cap huffed, bowing his head and closing his eyes, hand pausing at their frantic work. The pause in hectic movement felt like taking a deep breath to Tony, as if the air between them had settled with a simple pause of motion. Even so, his piercing grip on his own arms did not let up.
Rogers looked up from the overflowing duffle bag. Sky blues met chocolate browns, and "Steve" settled on Tony's tongue once more. He wanted to bite the word, kill it with a gnash of his teeth, but it felt too sweet on his taste buds; like a candy he just couldn't bare to resist.
The Captain walked over to him, gently placing large hands on the shorter man's shoulders, "Tony. I know you can do this. Okay? You're stronger than you think."
Those sky blues looked so raw in that moment, the honesty that they conveyed almost blinding to Tony. Cap believed every single word he was saying. He trusted Tony every bit as he did the rest of the team, and there was no doubt in the man's mind that Tony would fail.
It was supposed to be comforting. And it was, to an extent. Hands warm like a furnace, resting gently on his shoulders; eyes Tony could get lost in looking down at him with such ernest. Yet the words were not comforting. They left no room for failure and Tony was all about making mistakes.
But he couldn't make mistakes this time around, because this was a fucking human, not a machine, and Tony was really starting to feel the need to scream because the universe just really fucking hated him sometimes didn't it-
"Tony. Breathe," Cap instructed, gripping the shorter man's shoulder as he did so. An act of grounding, something Rogers had probably learned in some team building youtube tutorial, but it was working wonders.
He inhaled a ginormous gulp of breath, his head going slightly dizzy, before releasing it in one rush, blowing it straight into Cap's face, slightly rustling the blonde hair. Tony's mind quickly supplied him with the tune to "America, the Beautiful", likening Steve's- damn it- hair to the lyric 'amber waves of grain', and now he was sufficiently distracted from any approaching panic attack, too busy trying to keep his laughter from bursting out.
"Your breath smells like pizza," Cap reprimanded, taking his hands off of Tony's shoulders with a wrinkle of his nose. Tony snorted at this, stepping back to relieve them of their close proximity to each other.
"You're welcome. I've been told my pizza breath is simply divine," he retorted, grin spreading across his lips as they once more fell into familiar banter. The super soldier offered Tony an exasperated, yet somehow still fond smile, before returning to the duffle bag. He zipped everything up, carrying his shield on one arm and bag in the other, and the pang of anxiety hit Tony once more at the thought that Cap was leaving and he was going to be alone, with a child.
The Captain must have seen the panic flit across the mechanic's face as they walked out of the room, closing the door behind them, "I'll be gone for a week at most. I'm sure if you give Bruce a call he'll come back early to help you out."
Tony attempted to reign in his frown at these words, following briskly behind Cap as they walked down the stairs to the communal floor, where Natasha would most likely be waiting. He did not want to call Bruce. He shouldn't have to, because 'Stark men are made of iron' and surely Tony was stronger than to be bested by a five year old.
And anyway, he was highly suspicious that Bruce was getting laid by whoever had summoned him. Tony was not about to cockblock the doctor from some well-deserved stress relief with his inability to take care of small children.
"Got everything?" Natasha asked the Captain, who nodded quickly. They both gave Peter a goodbye peck on the cheek, Rogers gave some last few encouraging words for , and then they were gone.
"You can do this, Tony. All he needs tonight is a bath and sleep," Cap's words echoed loudly in his skull, bouncing off of each other in an intimidating fashion. The man's words had implied that 'bath and sleep' shouldn't be too hard to accomplish. And Tony had never heard screams coming from the bathroom when Cap corralled the boy in for his bathtime, so it was plausible that Tony could do this. Peter wasn't a bad child after all, how hard could this be?
"Um, Peter? Are you ready for bathtime?" Tony asked, wringing his hands while watching the child cautiously. Peter was sat on the carpeted living room floor, playing with his many superhero figures. The mechanic tried to ignore the fact that Pete had placed Iron Man and Captain America on the same team. The plastic superheros were fighting side by side against Mr. Incredible and a totally-not-to-scale Scooby Doo, who for some reason was taller than the Iron Man figurine. Tony didn't have to check to know that many kids with Tony and Cap figurines didn't have them fighting on the same team as of late.
"No. I wanna keep playing," Peter replied, and damn it, Pete never said 'no' to Cap when he asked. Tony was being conned, he knew it, the child was a manipulative little bastard.
"Okay then. When will you be done playing?" Tony questioned, eyes flitting from the child on the floor to the clock on the wall that read 8:36.
Peter paused his playing, looking off into the distance with a very Cap-esque concentration. The boy nodded to himself as if resolving an internal conversation, eyebrows furrowed in determination, before turning back to his toys, "Twelve o'clock."
Tony stifled a groan. No, this was not good at all. And he just knew that if Cap was there, Pete would be all but frolicking to the bathroom, giggling and having a grand old time with the star spangled man. He concentrated on slowly exhaling, grounding himself best he could, before delving into the horrors of responsibility.
"Pete, we uh, we can't stay up till' midnight, okay? That's way past bedtime," Tony attempted. Peter looked up from his toys, brown eyes falling on the man with innocent curiosity.
"No it's not. Mr. Steve says you don't go to bed until two sometimes," and damn it, the kid had pulled the 'you don't do it so why should I' card. The worst card of them all, and Peter had thrown it out on the table in their first argument. Fucking hell, this was going to be a long week.
"Yes, but I'm an adult and it's my job," he retorted, Pete's eyes narrowing as the genius used the dreaded 'you aren't old enough' excuse, "And, um, if you don't go to bed on time, then Iron Man is going to be sad."
Peter dropped his figurines at that, looking genuinely concerned for the Iron Man flying around his room, "Why would Iron Man be sad?"
Tony's mind wildly scrambled to find an answer, which should have been easy because he was a genius. He had made a new element while dying. He could find a convincing argument for a five year old child.
"He'd be sad because he… He wouldn't have anyone to protect at night, and that's the only thing he's wanted for, so he'd be sad," and 'shit Stark cool it with the self-deprecation' he tried to tell himself, cringing inwardly at his words. However, Peter did not pay attention to that part of Tony's message, focusing instead on the fact that he was letting his favorite superhero down.
The boy leapt up from his position on the carpeted ground, eyes wide with worry at the thought that Iron Man would be sad. Tony couldn't help the sharp twist of something unforgivingly sweet, originating somewhere underneath his ribcage. It made him smile, and the sensation only spread as Peter all but threw his toys into his toy bin, cleaning up after himself as quickly as possible before dashing to the bathroom.
Tony followed behind him, grinning like a stupid idiot. This was, dare he say, slightly enjoyable? Cap was right, he had this in the bag.
And then he stepped into the bathroom, smile slipping from his face, recalling what bathtime entailed. Peter was sat on the bath mat, waiting for Tony to help him get ready.
"Right. Okay. We can do this, right?" Tony assured himself, sighing deeply as he crouched down to where Pete sat. The boy nodded and wiggled a sock-covered foot at him, gesturing for him to take it off.
Tony gently began to help Peter undress, rolling his socks off with the utmost care. His ankles were so small, so thin, and Tony could cover the child's foot with one hand. If he wasn't careful, he could accidentally snap any bone in the small boy's body; that scared the shit out of him more than anything ever had. And the "things that scared the shit out of him" list was incredibly long, so he was respectively freaked.
When Peter was down to his underwear, Tony went over to the bath, turning the spout on and testing the temperature, "Buddy, how hot does Mr. Steve usually make your bath?"
Silence followed, causing Tony to look from the bath to the boy standing behind him. Peter shrugged in answer, and that really wasn't helpful. He could have asked the kid to put his hand under the water to test it, but what if warm to Tony was boiling to Peter, and the small hand was burned off in the process? Yes it didn't make any logical sense, Pete's hands could not be burned off by bath water, but Tony wasn't about to take any chances. Crazier things had happened in the tower before.
"Well, alright. I'll make it just shy of boner killer and not too close to lava, yeah?" Tony chuckled, speaking to himself again, and for some reason he was surprised when Peter answered. He had not meant for Pete to hear him, his mind for some reason assuming the boy could only hear him when he wanted to be heard. It was safe to say Tony had been hanging around robots for too long.
"What's a boner, Mr. Iron Man?" Peter asked as Tony finally let the water begin to fill the bath.
He choked on an inhale, the need to laugh and the need to reprimand himself fighting for air. The five year old watched on in concern, and the mechanic just knew Cap was going to kill him once this week was over.
"It's nothing, it's nothing, Mr. Iron Man just likes to be a little silly sometimes," Tony explained. Peter seemed satisfied enough with this answer, nodding thoughtfully as he watched the bath fill with water.
They both sat in silence, watching until the bath was ready before pulling off Pete's Hulk themed underwear. He squealed when Tony dipped him in the bath, writhing in his arms with enough gusto to make the genius weary of an accidental punch to the nose.
"What? What'd I do?" Tony questioned, hastily pulling Pete out of the bath water and setting him back on the fuzzy bath mat.
"Too hot! Too hot!" Peter insisted, stomping his feet on the mat as if trying to set out a fire. Tony groaned. The water had been fine, he swore. But apparently it hadn't been cold enough, because Peter was now glaring at Tony as if every wrong thing with the world was because of him. He took a deep breath, settling the slight frustration that quietly lay deep in his stomach. It was so subtle, it almost felt like a leftover genetic reaction from Howard Stark. Lovely.
"I'm sorry buddy, I'm sorry, too close to lava? I'm sorry, let's try again," Tony profusely apologized, feeling a slight bit of pride in his response. Howard would have screamed at Peter, telling him that he just had to deal with the scalding hot water. He would never let anyone treat Pete like that, ever.
The too-hot bath water went down the drain, Tony trying yet again once all remains of the offending water had disappeared. This time, he let the bath fill with a much colder water, and it actually made a little bit of sense that Rogers would draw cold water for baths. Ever since the ice, he had always been a slight bit more sensitive to hot temperatures. Of course, that never stopped Cap from going on his morning runs in 90 degree weather. But with small things, such as preparing a bath for a child, he would adjust things to his own sense of temperature without even thinking.
"Okay Peter, let's try this again. Boner killer water might be up your alley," Tony announced, helping him back into the bath once more. This time, the boy didn't squirm or shout in discomfort, so he knew he must have done something right.
Peter settled into the bath with a satisfied smile on his face, and Tony let out a breath without even realizing he had been holding it. He had passed the first step, finally, and although he knew Cap would have done it much quicker, for a first time, he didn't think he had done all that bad.
"Boner water is good," Peter agreed, nodding and patting his hands against the surface of the water, watching the ripples with content. Hell, Cap was really going to kill Tony when he got back, but at least it felt so worth it in the moment.
Tony gently wet Pete's hair while he tried to contain his laughter, filling the red solo cup perched on the bathtub ledge with water. Peter instructed the genius to keep a hand at the boy's hairline to make sure no water got in his eyes. Tony did as best he could, and considering the lack of shrieks coming from Peter, he fancied himself doing a good job.
After his hair was sufficiently wet, Tony grabbed hold of the "no-tears" shampoo, ready to sue the shampoo company if he saw any sign of salty water in the boy's eyes. Peter eyed the bottle in Tony's grasp skeptically, uncertain eyes drifting up to look at the man.
When Pete opened his mouth, Tony expected him to say something along the lines of 'are you sure you know what to do with that' or just plainly 'I don't trust you'. Instead, Peter asked, "Why does Mr. Steve call you Tony?"
It took a few seconds to recover from being caught off guard before Tony could process the question. As he thought on how to answer that, he squirted a bit of the shampoo into his hands, rubbing it together in his hands. Reaching for Peter's head once more, and ever so gently scrubbing it in the brown locks, he answered, "I guess because it's my name."
'Wow Tony, what a lame answer' he told himself, but Peter nodded as if this was a perfectly, well explained reason. His eyebrows, however, were still pulled down in confusion.
"But your name is Iron Man," he argued, head following loseley along with Tony's hands, and the man wished that Pete would hold his head steadier because it looked like it was about to just roll off his body.
"Well, when I wear the suit, I'm Iron Man. But my real name is Tony?" and it ended like a question because what if the only reason Peter tolerated him was because he thought he was only Iron Man? Maybe Tony should have just said that he was Iron Man and had no idea why Cap called him that. Had he just screwed this up?
But of course, he was only overthinking the situation, as he did most of the time when it involved Peter.
"I'll call you Mr. Tony then," Peter declared. Tony's hands paused in the boy's hair as a spike of pure joy rocketed through his heart. For something such as a name, something that really shouldn't matter, he was over the moon. Being Peter's favorite hero no longer included just the suit, but now also included the man who wore the suit. And he was sure it didn't mean anything, being called Mr. Tony, but it felt like everything to him.
"Thanks Pete," he croaked, pulling his hands out of Peter's hair and reaching for the water cup, which had been left to lazily float along in the water. He was carefully washing out the suds, holding his hand to Peter's hairline as instructed, when the boy asked yet another question.
"Why don't you call him Steve?"
Tony fumbled with the plastic cup, accidently dropping it into the bathtub with a splash. Peter apparently found this hilarious, because he laughed like a maniac, patting his hands on the water's surface over and over as if he were playing patty cake with the liquid.
Was it that obvious that he avoided calling Cap by his first name? Peter had only been around for a little while. If the child had realized by now, the rest of the Avengers must have known for ages. Oh god, what did they think? Did they know why? Did Cap know?
Peter's splashing continued as Tony was left to his inner frantic thinking, the splash radius growing with each pat, until the bath water was soon flying over the edge. He was about to tell him to stop it, that bath water was meant to stay in the bathtub, when Peter stopped abruptly with a screech.
"Mr. Tony! My eyes!" the boy shrieked. All of the violent splashing had caused the sudsy water to hit Peter's poor face, irritating his eyes with an uncomfortable sting.
Tony forgot all about Cap in that moment, instead focused on horrid images of Peter going blind from the soapy water, or possibly even dying. If Rogers didn't kill him for the 'boner water', it would be for Pete's loss of eyesight.
"Shit! Shit!" he chanted, hands flailing for the boy's alien themed towel. As soon as he got his hands on it, he quickly brought it to Peter's face, rubbing at his eyes with a frenzied concern. Of course, leave it up to him to fucking blind the kid after Captain America himself said he had not a shred of doubt in his abilities.
Once the whimpering stopped, he took the towel away from the boy's eyes, "Can you see?" Tony asked, swearing on his mother's grave that he would never forgive himself if the child went blind. It hadn't even been his fault, Peter had been the one to insist on playing with the water. But Tony felt immensely guilty, as if every accomplishment in his life didn't matter when Peter was in pain.
Peter's eyelashes fluttered against his small cheeks as he hesitantly opened his eyes. Big brown eyes locked on to worry-filled ones, and Tony had never felt so relieved in his life, "I'm so sorry buddy, I'm the worst bath giver. Like, the worst of the worst. I should be fired."
He expected Peter to agree, to declare that Tony was indeed the worst; a failure because he couldn't even get one freaking bath right. Instead, the boy began giggling, as if the self deprecation was entertaining.
"It's okay, Mr. Tony. Mr. Steve gets water in my eyes all the time when I'm taking a bath," Pete managed between giggles, splashing his hands against the surface of the water again.
"He does?" he found this hard to believe. Cap was goddamn perfect, there was no way the man had ever come close to destroying Pete's vision. The super soldier was the best Dad anyone could ever have, there was no way-
"Yup! But he always lets me get him back," Peter seemed to remember this fact as he said it, because as soon as he finished his sentence, his head snapped up to look at the genius. A mischievous smile began to spread across small lips, innocent eyes glinting with something that should have warned Tony.
But the man was still reeling from the dread of possibly blinding Peter, so nothing could have prepared him for the cup full of water that was thrown right in his face.
Tony sputtered for breath, lungs shrinking tight in an automatic reaction, left over from his days spent in Afghanistan. He gasped, airway deciding to cease all function as his heart rate spiked. He could feel Peter and the bathroom starting to disappear; the white tiles threatening to become dark and desert hot, the bathtub flickering between reality and a large washbucket. The alien towel gripped in Tony's hands felt subtly similar to the cloth restraints the Ten Rings had used on his hands. He swore he could feel the familiar sandy grit under his dirty fingernails.
It would have been so easy to follow these images, to get sucked into them, suffocating in the memories. He almost felt the start of losing himself, body beginning to curl inwards subconsciously, when his gaze fell to the boy in the bathtub.
Peter was smiling as if he had shared the best joke Tony would ever hear. It was a complete, pure joy, one that radiated from Pete and infected the room. He focused on that toothy grin, pulling at his heartstrings like it was trying to tug him away from deserts and dry heat. And, okay, wow, that had never happened before. It hadn't been possible to pull him back from those horrid images, until that moment in the communal bathroom. No matter who was there when it happened, or even when Tony was alone; he had always, always re-lived those days whenever an episode was triggered. There was no fighting it off. His PTSD was as hard to fight as it was to defeat a dragon. And dragons weren't real, so it was damn near impossible.
But somehow dragons were real, and they could be defeated, because the desert and the cave began to recede from the peripheral of Tony's vision until all that was left was the grinning child. And this was really something else, because only moments before, Tony had been so scared. But now, he felt a ball of happiness settle in his chest at the sight of Peter; a sort of happiness he had always associated with Pepper, Rhodey, and more recently, Steve.
As soon as Tony caught his breath, even though his hands still slightly shook, his face broke into a grin, "Oh, you're gonna get it!"
Peter squealed in delight as he was tickled, limbs flailing, sending large waves of water over the bathtub edge. Tony's jeans were absolutely soaked, but he really couldn't give a shit, and only realized the damage after the tickling ceased, as per Peter's strained "No, Mr. Tony, no, stop!"
"Oh god Pete, Mr. Steve is gonna kill us," Tony muttered as he observed the mess they had created. The bathroom was wetter than it had ever been or needed to be, and it was going to be a bitch sopping up with towels.
"No killing!" Peter exclaimed, before falling into another fit of laughter, splashing more water out of the white ceramic tub. Tony couldn't help but chuckling along. Tony attempted to commence the bathing once more, but Peter making a game of it to dash away from the genius. This, of course, got old very quickly, until he gave up on the rest of the bath, settling for the half-washed child.
Tony helped pat the five year old dry as the now-dirty bath water got sucked down the drain. Peter yawned sleepily as the older man towled the brown locks dry, and thank Odin's hairy ball sack that the child was feeling sleepy, because Tony had no idea how the hell he was supposed to get Peter to bed if he was wide awake.
The kid was barley lucid by the time the mechanic had set him in bed. As gently as he could, he covered the boy in his blankets. He smiled as Peter gripped his Iron Man toy closer, and Tony really needed to find a plush Iron Man for him, because plastic armor couldn't be very comfortable to sleep with.
Tony was almost out the door, having turned on the night light and made sure that the Iron Man flying around was fully functional, when a groan of protest came from the bed. He looked over to find wide eyes looking back at him, peeking out from under the covers.
"Mr. Steve always tells me a story before I go to bed," Peter mumbled, voice thick with sleep. The boy seemed to be barely awake, but Tony knew that if he did not tell Pete a story, the boy would not be going to sleep anytime soon.
"Okay, buddy. What stories does Mr. Steve usually tell you?" Tony asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed, near where Pete's feet lay. The boy smiled and snuggled into the blankets, looking outrageously comfortable and cute in his space pajamas. The undeniable surge of affection hit him like a freight train; Tony had never thought it possible to get attached to a kid so quickly. Children were always such a difficult topic for him, but Peter was turning everything the genius knew upside down.
"Mr. Steve always tells me stories about James Buck," Peter said, and it was obvious he liked these stories, because saying the name of the beloved story character made his wide eyes light up. And Tony wanted nothing more in the world than to tell Peter about 'James Buck'. But he had no idea who this was.
"Who?" he asked, wanting to get any details he could out of Peter in order to pull some quick story out of his ass about this character.
"James Buck. Captain America's very best friend," and oh, Tony's heart dropped to his stomach. Bucky. Of course, there was no one better to tell bedtime stories about than Bucky Barnes.
When Cap had moved into the tower, Tony had tried to tell the man that he could bring Bucky along. The troubled soldier had obviously had a rough go of it, and probably didn't have a place he could call home. It was the least Tony could do; maybe even offer an arm tune-up as an apology. But Cap had only shook his head, saying Barnes had chosen to stay in Wakanda for his health.
Tony tried to avoid thinking about Bucky. No, he wasn't angry anymore. The man had been brainwashed, of course he wouldn't have done what he had if his head had been on straight. But thinking of Bucky lead to thinking about Maria Stark in that grainy security photoage, screaming and crying and not understanding what she had done to die in that moment.
"Mr. Tony? Are you sad?" Peter asked, concern heavy in his tone. The boy began to sit up on his bed, sensing something was wrong. Tony reached out and patted the Peter's legs, assuring him that he need not worry.
"Nah, I'm fine," Tony promised, fighting the frown on his face back with a soft smile, "So, James Buck? Well, let me tell you, he was a reckless son of a b- uh, gun…"
And Tony told stories about James Buck. He had heard enough tales from Cap about the man before the Civil War in order to do the storytelling justice. Half way through the story, getting to the part where James was saved by Captain America from the horrible Nazis, he was abruptly interrupted by a snore. Tony stopped in mid-sentence to look down at the child, who was fast asleep, small hands curled around the plastic armored toy.
Smiling to himself, Tony slowly rose off the bed, ducking his head as he stood so as to not collide with the flying Iron Man making laps around the room. He left the door open behind him, just in case Pete yelled for him during the night.
He stifled a yawn as he walked out into the hallway, telling stories of Bucky having made him exhausted as well. A glance at the clock and oh boy, it was way too early for Tony Stark to go to bed. But taking care of a five year old was draining; they had so much energy. And nobody was there to point out that Tony was making a healthy decision, so there was really no reason not to go to bed at the same time the small child did.
As Tony made the guest room bed, situating himself only a few doors down from Peter just in case, he contemplated what it would have been like to have a dad willing to give him baths. A dad willing to feed him his favorite foods, or make him flying toys to zoom around his room, making him feel safe. A dad that would play with him while keeping their anger at bay, or teach him how to use bow and arrow. A dad to dress him up in stars, spangles, and stripes, or a mom to teach him how to cook russian cuisine.
He sighed as he crawled under the sheets. Maybe no one had been there for any of that with him. But he had had someone to read bedtime stories to him. Someone who made sure young Tony ate his vegetables, who had administered band-aids with a loving hand.
"JARVIS?" Tony addressed to the camera he knew was hidden in the corner above his head. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out the swivel of the device, turning to focus on him.
"Yes, Sir?" JARVIS replied, voice soft in the sleepy tower.
"Thank you."
"Whatever for?"
"Well. I mean. It's stupid, you don't have any of Jarvis's memories. You just sound like him and do stuff for me like he did and," Tony paused, taking a deep breath. He was rambling as he always did when he couldn't get the words right, "Well, I just wanted to say thank you. For taking care of me. For being a Dad to me. I wish I could have told you when you weren't an AI. But, well… Damn it I'm rabiling. Just, uh, thanks for reading me bedtime stories."
There was a silence that followed, but the barely-there crackle of static indicated that JARVIS was very much listening, and had not powered down to leave Tony in the quiet.
"You're welcome, Sir," JARVIS replied, and Tony knew it wasn't possible for an AI to get choked up, but he swore he could hear emotions catch in JARVIS's metaphorical throat.
"Dad! Dad! DAD!"
Tony rocketed out of bed with a fear-filled heart pounding against the metal casing of the Arc Reactor. Those were Peter's screams, and although he wasn't "Dad", he was still shook to the core by the terror in the child's voice.
"Pete?" Tony called back, voice thick with sleep. Tripping over pants he had left to rest on the floor, he ran out of the guest room in a quick sprint to the room a couple doors down. But Peter wasn't laying in his bed, and the flying Iron Man was nowhere to be seen, "Peter?!"
The sound of quick pitter-patter caused Tony to pivot on his feet, watching as the crying five year old emerged from the living room and barreled towards the mechanic. It was a collision course straight for Tony's legs, the miniature Iron Man flying lazily behind him, making sure the small boy was safe. Peter wrapped his arms around Tony's legs as soon as he reached the genius. Small hands grasped his boxers with an iron grip, fragile body shaking with tears. Tony ran a calloused hand through the boy's hair, shushing him and muttering words of comfort while Peter's Iron Man flew above them in slow circles.
Cap hadn't mentioned nightmares, but Peter was paler than the super soldier's fair irish skin, and the poor boy looked like he had seen a ghost.
"Did you have a bad dream?" Tony mumbled to the boy wrapped around his legs. Peter gave a few jerky nods and sniffled.
"Mommy a-and Daddy… They were… The plane… And eyepatch man told Aunt they were dead… and I-" Peter was having a hard time getting out just exactly what he wanted to say, but Tony could piece together enough to know that the child had been reliving the death of his parents.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. You don't need to tell me," Tony paused, not knowing what the hell he was doing. He had a hard enough time comforting himself when he had a nightmare, let alone a five year old kid, "Do you, uh, wanna sleep with me?"
And he was being stupid, of course that wouldn't help, Peter wouldn't find any comfort-
The boy nodded again and detached himself from the man's legs, instead reaching a small hand out and curling it around two fingers on Tony's right hand.
They hand-held their way back to the guest room, where the mini Iron Man began to fly around, tracing the perimeter over and over again. Peter curled up against Tony's chest, hand lightly resting against the Arc Reactor's blue light. He had stiffened when the warm skin made contact with the shirt covering the device, but talked himself into relaxing as best he could. This wasn't Obie or a vibranium shield. This was Peter Parker.
The light was almost serving as a night-light for the child, blue light falling across the now-sleeping Peter's cheeks and highlighting the small smile on his lips. Somehow, to Tony's asstonishment, the boy was happy in his arms, was happy to rest his little palm on the humming blue circle. And if it was helping Peter feel safe, if it was making him smile, then Tony supposed he could allow the contact just this once.