Happy Father's Day to all the real-life Iron Dads out there.
1.
Peter has a problem: he doesn't know what to get his dad for Father's Day.
Tony's impossible to shop for. The man has the money to buy literally everything – not anything, but everything, all at once. And if something doesn't exist yet, he'll just make it himself. Even though Peter has an allowance now that is probably bigger than May's salary, it doesn't even matter. Money's no help at all.
That explains why Peter is currently collapsed across the Leeds' couch like a Victorian damsel, the back of one hand pressed to his forehead for maximum drama, while Ned watches with concern from the Lazy-boy.
"What are you getting for your dad?" Peter asks.
"Uh. Bowling shoes, maybe? Mom always complains that his big toe sticks out on league nights because he hasn't replaced them since the 90's. Or a gift card to Walmart so he can get whatever he wants? Sorry dude, that's probably not helpful."
It's not helpful at all, but Peter's put Ned through too much lately to say that out loud. Instead he looks to MJ perched on the far arm of the couch. "Em?"
She just scowls and shakes her head. "You know my family doesn't do all that holiday crap."
Back when Peter didn't have a father, he was a lot more sensitive to MJ's strained relationship with hers. He needs to be better. "Sorry."
"Whatever. I'm just saying that this is your chance to establish expectations moving forward. You shouldn't have to buy a billionaire a gift just cause he's taking care of you."
Something flares in Peter's stomach, strong and protective and fierce. "I don't have to do anything. I want to! Tony literally saved me. He gave me my life back! If not for him I wouldn't be here right now. Then he chose to be my dad! He's not expecting anything from me. But he deserves something epic."
Peter cuts himself off before he overshares anything Tony wouldn't want his friends to know. Tony has layers upon layers of complexes about being a father. Even though he just might be the best dad in the entire world, he still doesn't think he's good enough. Peter doesn't know how to express just how wrong he is. How much he appreciates Tony's love and attention. His patience and vulnerability, even though Peter knows neither comes naturally. The fact he'd ever given Peter, some nobody orphan-twice-over from Queens, the time of day is phenomenal. That he'd gone on to adopt Peter and treat him exactly the same as his biological daughter still blows Peter's mind.
After everything Tony has done for him, Peter needs to show how grateful he is. And what better time than his first Father's Day as an official Stark?
"I mean, you can't give Iron Man a lame Father's Day gift," Ned says sagely. "Though I would kill to see his face after he unwrapped a pair of bowling shoes."
"You should just make a list of everything you like about him and be done with it," MJ suggests. "He'd probably love hearing about himself."
MJ still hasn't gotten over all the years she spent despising Tony Stark as a philandering robber-baron weapons dealer and poster child of the patriarchy. Both Peter and Tony are trying to win her over. Clearly, in addition to planning the best Father's Day ever, Peter's got to do more to show Em all the ways Tony has changed. But her biting statement, sarcastic as it may be, sparks an idea. "Em, you're a genius!"
Of course Tony doesn't need Peter to buy him something. What he needs is to understand that he's the best dad. To really believe it. Peter's been trying to tell him for months, but whenever Tony gets all vulnerable and starts talking about how much Peter means to him, Peter clams up and just melts into the hugs. The hugs are so nice, a complete 180 from the early days of their mentorship, that Peter's brain just shuts off a little. Especially when Tony starts running his fingers through Peter's hair. It's the ultimate dad move—the ultimate Iron Dad move. It's like kryptonite to every bad thought Peter's ever had, but that makes it hard to remember why the rush of love and comfort and safety and home means so much.
Peter's never been great with words. But maybe if he plans ahead, and thinks clearly, and articulates himself without a hit of oxytocin—
—then maybe he can give his dad the best Father's Day gift ever.
After nearly five decades of loathing Father's Day, Tony's grown pretty neutral on the subject. Now that Morgan's in school she brings home craft projects for every holiday—hand drawn cards, finger painted portraits. Last year he'd gotten a macaroni necklace that might have been the school's attempt at being more inclusive. He'd worn it for a week straight, until the noodles started to crack and leave pasta bits all around the house, and Pepper suggested he might want to take it off and save it for posterity.
Howard had scoffed at every gift Tony had ever given him. School crafts were pedestrian. Even the projects Tony had made on his own, like the circuit board he'd wired when he was six, were dismissed as unimpressive.
Tony had melted the first time Morgan had picked a pinecone out of the grass and handed it to him. It was one of the first moments that he'd really, truly understood that he and Howard were not alike. Much as he'd known that Howard was a cold and emotionally distant dick, Tony had never been able to escape the corresponding conclusion that he wasn't enough. If Tony had been better—smarter, suaver, better behaved—then he could have convinced Howard he was worthy of his time.
Morgan had helped him see that there was nothing wrong with him. He was perfectly capable of love—irrational, all-encompassing, move heaven and earth for someone else love. The fact his own father wasn't was Howard's deficiency, not Tony's. Morgan had given him debris off the ground and he'd loved it because he loved her. And he loved her not because she was exceptional—though she was, god his little girl was so perfect—but because she was. She existed, and Tony got to be in her life, and that was enough.
So yeah. Father's Day gifts are gravy, but he doesn't need them, because every day with his kid is a gift and he doesn't care how cheesy that sounds. Especially in the darkness of the post-Blip world. Morgan had been a shining light. The salvation he didn't deserve but couldn't reject.
And now there's two. He'd gotten Peter back, and there isn't a damn thing in the multiverse he needs except to keep a smile on both kids' faces.
But Tony worries about Peter. For the past two weeks he's been squirrely, spending a lot of time locked in his bedroom, blowing off both his friends and the lab. He's come so far since Tony had found him bleeding out in his apartment, starving and borderline suicidal after nearly six months of trying to survive on his own. His nightmares are less frequent, and Tony can't even remember the last time Peter had a panic attack.
But something has changed. Peter brushes off Tony's concerns, but there's something shifty in his response. Tony goes so far as to speak to Sam, who's still doing therapy with the kid once a week. Sam hems and haws a lot about patient-client confidentiality and remains annoyingly unflustered when Tony threatens to take a repulsor to his face if Peter is thinking of hurting himself again and Tony isn't informed.
"Relax, man," Sam finally says. "Pete's doing really well. I haven't seen any warning signs you need to worry about. He is a teenager, you know. He may not always want to tell you everything."
Which Tony doesn't like at all.
It's only as Father's Day nears that Tony realizes the holiday might be part of the issue. Tony doesn't need anything on Father's Day except to spend it with his kids, but maybe Peter doesn't know that. Peter, with his tendency of overthinking and overachieving and overstressing and putting everyone else before himself.
Tony hates the thought of Peter driving himself crazy on his behalf.
"Should I say something?" he asks Pep one evening after Peter excuses himself from dinner the moment dessert is finished.
"I'm always a proponent of honest conversation," she says. "I also think you might be the one making a big deal out of this. Father's Day is in three days. Maybe just ride this out and see what happens."
"You know what he's doing," he says, recognizing the gleam in her eyes. Pepper is the level-headed one in their marriage, but she cares about Peter too, and it's unlike her to be so laissez-faire with his wellbeing.
"Maybe," she says with a smirk.
And so, Tony walks out of his bedroom on Father's Day with a fair amount of trepidation. He follows his nose to the kitchen, where he finds Peter bent over the stove and Morgan perched on the counter, watching.
"Daddy's finally up!" she shrieks. Tony has just a second to panic that she's going to leap down and hurt herself when Peter effortlessly hooks an arm around her waist and sets her on her feet. She runs towards Tony, oblivious to his heart palpitations, and he scoops her into his arms.
Tony melts when she presses her lips to his cheek. "Happy Father's Day, Daddy. Love you three thousand!"
Peter clicks off the burner and moves the pan off the dying heat – a professional move from someone who's learned most of his culinary foibles from May Parker. "Hey, Dad." He ducks his head as if he's embarrassed. "Perfect timing. Breakfast's ready."
Morgan leads him to the table, which is set with paper Iron Man plates Peter had found at some big box store when he was out with his friends. Peter serves him some of his Ben Parker special scrambled eggs, as well as a Spider-Man waffle.
Nothing is burnt, but it would be perfect even if it was. There's only one thing missing.
"Sit down, sit down," he says to Pete, who's busy plating food for everyone else, including Pep, who must have followed him in. "I'm just going to pour myself some coffee."
"No! Sorry. I mean, you can't have coffee until you open your first gift." Peter retrieves a small cube wrapped in bright red paper tied with a gold ribbon and slides it across the table to Tony.
Tony tears into it, strangely excited. He's always liked giving gifts more than receiving them, but he wants to know what Peter's been planning. He pulls the lid off the box inside and extracts a mug with IRON DAD is emblazoned on one side in the font that's used for all his merchandise, the O replaced by an arc reactor. On the other is a cartoon of him in the suit, standing beside an open grill with a spatula in his outstretched hand.
The laugh starts deep in his belly and ripples through him. "That's genius, Pete."
"MJ did the artwork for me." He brings over three more boxes that tumble across the table. "You should open these too. I didn't want anyone to be left out."
Tony opens an equally amusing "Spider-Son," "Madam Secretary," and "The Real Boss." By the time he's finished chuckling, Peter has brought his mug back, filled to the brim with liquid gold exactly the way he likes it.
"These are great, Roo. I love them," he says earnestly, catching Peter's hand and giving it a squeeze before he can retreat.
"Oh, well. Thanks. But these aren't—they're just a little something for fun. Your real present—"
"Isn't any fun?" Tony finishes when Peter can't seem to.
Peter huffs out a breath. "Eat your breakfast first."
"And open my present!" Morgan demands. "Mommy, can I have orange juice in my Princess Morgan mug, please?"
Morgan has written and illustrated him a book entitled, "Why My Daddy is the Best." It's just a few pieces of paper stapled together, but Tony feels tears prick in the back of his eyes at the drawing on the cover, which is clearly he and his little girl in a very anatomically incorrect hug. By the time he makes it through all eight pages, he is a dripping wreck. She has ranked "He saved the entire world" after "He lets me have extra juice pops," but before, "He lets me say Mommy's secret words." Her first reason is, "He found my brother Petey." The last, "He loves me three thousand."
"Do you like it, Daddy?" she asks from across the table, her hands sticky from syrup, a dot of whipped cream above her upper lip.
There are no words to adequately describe the way he feels. Like his heart is too big for his chest. His body and his mind are both too small to contain all the love that he feels for this little marvel. Like maybe, if he had managed to convince someone so pure and so innocent of all the things that she'd drawn for him, they might actually be true. "So much. Best book I've ever read. I didn't know you were a poet and an artist. Our little double threat!"
Morgan turns to Peter and goes in for a high five. "Nailed it!"
Tony snorts, and tries to surreptitiously wipe all the tears and snot from his face with his napkin.
Peter waits until Tony's finished his breakfast and gotten his emotions back under control before absolutely wrecking him.
"FRIDAY," he says, glancing at the ceiling like he always does when talking to the AI. "Activate the Iron Dad Protocol."
"Iron Dad Protocol activated."
Tony cocks an eyebrow, both impressed and a little scared. Peter hasn't exactly loved all the protocols Tony wrote for him. Maybe Peter is so nervous about his gift because it's a practical joke. "You hacked my AI for Father's Day?"
"I didn't have to hack your AI. FRIDAY wanted to help."
"Affirmative, Boss. Mini-Boss's Iron Dad Protocol is in clear alignment with my secondary directive to secure all aspects of your well-being."
"Is that so?" Peter's going to such great lengths not to meet Tony's eyes that it's making him anxious. "And what does the Iron Dad Protocol do?"
He'd meant the question for Pete, but it's FRIDAY that answers. "The Iron Dad Protocol is designed to provide emotional support during potentially uncomfortable parenting moments."
"O-kay." That seems like a lot to unpack, and Tony doesn't know where to begin.
Peter sighs, eyes still downcast. "FRIDAY, could you please play the orientation video?"
"Of course, Peter."
A hologram shimmers to life before them, showing Peter seated at the desk in his bedroom wearing one of his old Star Wars tees that was rescued from Happy's storage unit. His hair is un-gelled and a bit wild, like he's been running his hand through it. But his smile is wide and infectious.
"Happy Father's Day, Dad. Here goes. I was trying to think of the perfect gift, and I realized you don't need more stuff. What you really need is to understand how much you mean to me and Morgan. So I created this protocol to remind you when I'm not around to do it. Not in a morbid Blip kind of way. Just—you know, life stuff. Despite what Sam thinks we probably won't be joined at the hip forever. But I want you to know how much I love you. Always. In every situation, even the tough ones. Especially the tough ones. I know how hard it is for you to be vulnerable, but you've done it over and over to take care of me, and I want to return the favor. Because I know you worry about being a dad, but you're so good at it. Like, best dad in the multiverse good. Better than I could possibly deserve. And I'd love you even if you were mediocre but let's be real, when were you ever mediocre at something? Of course you're the best. And I'm going to remind you of that whenever FRIDAY thinks you need it. So get ready for some sneak attack affection, coming your way. Sorry. I'm just rambling now. The next video will be more focused. Maybe. Love you!"
The hologram disappears and Tony takes a deep shuddering breath. Finally, finally, Peter looks at him, peeking from behind his curls.
"Oh no, you're crying! You're not supposed to be crying. Are those happy tears? This was supposed to be the best Father's Day present, not the worst."
"Bambino." Tony stumbles up to Peter and frames his precious face with his hands and then smacks a long, lingering kiss to his hairline. All the tension drains out of his spider-angel as Tony wraps him in a bear hug and rocks them both side to side. "You—this—definitely happy tears. This is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Ever."
"Oh. Well. Great. That's what I was going for."
Tony laughs, and holds him tighter, and laughs again. The high he feels eclipses every substance induced euphoria he's ever experienced. "Nailed it, tesoro. Five stars, full marks, would highly recommend. Though the only gift I really needed was you."
Peter chuckles, his face pressed against Tony's neck. Ever so close and exactly where he belongs. "Well, since the gift is a bunch of videos I recorded, you could say that I am the gift."
His kid is a genius. "That's why I love it."
2.
Despite a lifetime of emotional repression, Tony has never had to try so hard to keep it together. He's quiet for most of the drive to Cambridge, letting the space be filled by Pete's nervous rambling and Morgan's complaints. By the time they arrive on campus he isn't able to drum up a single anecdote about his time at MIT – not that many of them are family friendly, anyway. Move-in passes in a blur of trying to be helpful while Peter does all the heavy lifting, until his girls and Peter's friends all conveniently disappear and Tony and Peter are left alone in a dorm room that's about to go from a character-less space filled with boxes to home.
A home that's two hundred miles from where home's supposed to be.
Pete's been keeping up a good front, feeding off Ned's energy. But now that they're alone Tony can read the tension radiating from every line of his body, from his hunched shoulders as he perches on the edge of his new dorm bed to the foot that's tapping frantically against the floor.
Every encouraging word Tony ought to say gets caught in his throat. He knows if he looks into Pete's bambi eyes for more than a second he's going to lose it. He'll wrap the kid in his arms and drag him back to the car. If he resists, he'll fly them both to New York in a suit. He brought a backup gauntlet for that exact purpose.
So instead he sits beside Peter on the bed, leaving some space between them. Hating it but knowing it's for the best.
Practice.
Soon there will be so much space between them.
He's still relieved when Peter slides over and collapses against him. Tony slings his arm around his kid's shoulders and pulls him more tightly against his side and just holds on as they both try to breathe.
Infinity passes before Tony turns enough to kiss Peter's forehead, still not looking him in the eyes. "Do good, kid. We'll talk soon."
A few minutes later, as Tony leans against the car while Pepper straps Morgan into the backseat, he berates himself for being such an incompetent fuck-up. Of all the parting words he could have left with, he'd picked the absolute worst ones. Do good. Pete didn't know how to do anything but good, but the last thing he needed was guilt or pressure or the incorrect but now completely understandable assumption that he had to prove himself through his performance. Tony doesn't care if Peter flunks out of MIT or suddenly halves his IQ. He should have said, Have fun. That Pete was less skilled at. Or just, I love you. God, had he even told Peter he loved him today?
"Hey."
Tony jumps at the sudden hand on his shoulder. He hadn't heard Pep close the door or come around the car and now she's standing right next to him, looking concerned. He wants to shy away from her. He wants to crush her to him and sob into the space between her shoulder and her neck.
He does neither, forcing himself to stay put, stay standing, stay strong. Stark men are made of iron.
But this particular Stark woman was made of flesh and blood and feelings. Pep understood people instead of machines, and it was one of the many reasons Tony needed her so desperately.
She comes to him instead, threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and scraping gently with her nails. "You're allowed to be upset. I know this was hard for you both."
"Not yet." It's so fucking tempting, but he can't. He couldn't break down in front of Pete – the kid doesn't need that guilt, not when Tony's the adult. But he still has another kiddo to worry about. Isn't this parenthood, putting your children's needs first? His parents never understood that, but damn it Tony does. "If Morgan sees me lose it she'll spend the next four years moping. She can't think of this as a sad day."
Tears blur his eyes, but he doesn't let them fall.
Pepper kisses him, soft and swift. "You're a wonderful father, Tony. You know that, right?"
He wishes, for one awful selfish second, that he was a little less wonderful. Then maybe it wouldn't feel like his heart had been torn from his chest and left behind.
Two hundred miles. Four years – with plenty of breaks in between. This isn't permanent, he knows.
Yet.
Pepper insists on driving and Tony doesn't fight her. Morgan falls asleep on the ride home. The quiet feels too empty, gives Tony too much space to dwell on the new hole in his life. As soon as they pull in the driveway, Tony asks Pep to put Morgan to bed and flees without waiting for her answer.
As soon as he makes it to the lab he collapses, his legs giving out under waves and waves of misery. The house doesn't feel the same without Peter in it. Even the air is different. Heavy.
"Lock me in, FRI. Don't open the door until I say so."
He won't let Morgan see this side of him. He'll try to shield Pepper too. But FRIDAY can't judge him. It's not in her programming. She's used to his selfishness.
He knows Peter isn't really gone. Not the same way as before. He's alive, safe, and thriving. Tony is supposed to be happy for him. He wants to be happy.
But the absence hurts, and it's only been hours. Damn if Captain Therapy wasn't right. Maybe Tony is codependent. Because time spent with Peter has become a highlight of every day. The kid's humor and heart and brilliance and love restore Tony's faith in the world, make him want to get up and face each morning. Tony is the best version of himself when he knows the kid's watching. Now that he left the kid at MIT, it feels like someone's blocked his nav system. Where will he go? What will he do?
This is temporary, but it's also not. College is just the beginning. Once that's done, Pete will be an adult with the whole world before him. He could go anywhere, do anything. There's no guarantee he'll come back to New York. Even if he does, he'll probably get married someday, start his own family. He won't need Tony the same way. And Tony wants that for him, he does. Pete deserves all of that and more. That's how this is supposed to work. But Tony isn't ready to give up this closeness that they've built these last few months. He'll have eighteen years with Morgan before she grows up. He had four months as Peter's dad, and it isn't enough.
He is so fucking selfish.
"Boss, you appear to be in distress. Activating the Iron Dad protocol."
"Hey, Dad."
Tony's head snaps up, searching for the impossible. Peter can't be here. And he's not. There's a hologram over Tony's worktable. A video call, he thinks, but only for a second. Peter isn't in his dorm room. He's in his bedroom upstairs. Or he was. This is a recording. Part of the Father's Day present that Tony had honestly forgotten about.
"So, I'm guessing we're both having a rough time right now. I wish I was there to give you a hug. Another one. I'm sure we had plenty of those today."
They hadn't had enough! Tony had been trying to give Peter space, trying to be mature.
Trying to protect himself. In doing so, he hadn't given Peter what he needed.
"I thought about putting off MIT so many times – for a semester or a year or maybe forever. I know I don't have to prove anything there. Honestly, you'd probably be happier if I stayed. Maybe I would too."
Peter had never said as much to Tony's face. He'd thought the kid was all-in. Had he pushed too hard? He'd thought this was what Peter wanted.
"Except, if this last year hadn't happened, if I hadn't lost you and May and then myself, then I would have gone to MIT without even questioning it. I would have been kind of sad, but it wouldn't have felt world-ending, you know? I think, even though we're both hurting right now, that you'd want me to reclaim that part of my old life. I wanted to go to MIT so bad, and if I hadn't—Well, can't change the past, right? Not even with a time machine. But the future is mine, and I'm going to make the most of it. And I know you want the best for me. And the best is going out into the world to learn and grow and thrive.
"You're the reason I'm strong enough to do that, you know."
Tony's breath catches as Peter barrels on. "You saved me in every possible way. From blood loss and bad guys and myself. I was convinced that I couldn't have a future anymore, that Peter Parker was gone and all that was left was Spider-Man. And you showed me, time and again, that I was wrong. That I wasn't alone. That you loved me, no matter what. Not because I was a hero or a genius. Because I was me. You supported me as I built myself back up and you made me talk about things I know you'd rather not hear. So I'm going to MIT for you. Because it's time for me to soar. And I know that's what you want for me."
This time, as Tony's tears fall, pain leaches out with them, leaving behind the warmth that only his kids can kindle inside him.
"I'm gonna miss you every day. It sucks that MIT isn't closer. But this isn't like the 90's or whatever. We can text and videochat all the time. I mean it. All the time. I want to hear from you! You won't be bothering me, I promise.
"All this to say, thanks, and I love you. Sorry for making you sad. Oh, and don't hide in your lab too much! Pepper and Morgan will take care of you while I'm away.
"I'll be back before you know it. Cause my home is wherever you are."
The hologram freezes for a sec on Pete's earnest smile, and Tony loses it in big gasping sobs that tear through him and leave him feeling cleansed. He has to wait until he can see straight to pull out his phone and send a flurry of texts.
Jesus, kid, that video.
I love you so much, Pete.
Have fun.
Just not too much.
Grey area, remember?
I'm so proud of you.
He pulls himself together as three little dots bounce across the bottom of his screen, making himself presentable enough for his girls upstairs. Pete's right of course, there's no need to drown in self-pity when he's not alone.
He'll be all right, because his kid is a literal angel.
3.
"I hate you," Peter snarls, and Tony shatters.
The first time Tony told his father he hated him, he'd been eight. Howard had slapped him so hard he'd stumbled backwards and hit his head on a bookshelf. Howard had scolded him for knocking a first edition to the floor.
The second time – and countless times after that – Howard had used his belt to get his point across. Anthony was a STARK, and he would give his father
THE
RESPECT
HE
DESERVED!
But Tony wasn't much good at respect, and sometimes the pain was worth it to watch rage flare across Howard's face. At least it meant he had Howard's attention.
The first time Peter says the words to him, his instinct is to curl in, not lash out. The words are like a virus in his system, crashing every server one by one.
He cannot breathe. Or think. Or live.
"I'm going to bed," Peter spits. "Don't follow me."
Tony doesn't know how he gets to the lab. But once he's there the anger finally hits. He slides everything off his workbench with a guttural roar and wishes he had something else to destroy.
How is he the bad guy here? He's the one who swooped in, gauntlets blazing, to take down six gangsters with machine guns who were shooting at his kid. All cause the idiot thought he could take on Kingpin by himself. It had been a miracle – a bloody fucking miracle – that Peter had escaped with three shallow grazes. Peter tingle or not, he was just a hairsbreadth from taking a bullet or twelve to his chest – or his head.
Yet Peter's the mad one, because Tony said this couldn't happen again. That he was not to take on MOB BOSSES without BACKUP. Pete can hate him if he must, as long as he's still alive to be angry.
Because he almost wasn't – he so easily could have – another inch or two –
And now Tony's lost him anyway.
Tony's legs give out and he collapses into the mess of his ruined projects. God, he didn't want to fight with Pete tonight. He just wanted to hold on and never let go. That's all he's wanted to do since Pete got home from his first year at MIT five weeks ago. Everything had been great at first, but he'd gotten moody and secretive, spending more and more hours patrolling. Maybe this hatred had been festering for a while. Maybe Pete had realized while he was away that Tony was no good after all.
Would Peter ever let Tony hug him again?
That doesn't matter, though. At least it shouldn't. Peter can hate Tony all he wants, as long as he's alive to do it. Cause the world's too dark without Peter Parker-Stark. Tony knows this from experience.
It matters so much that Tony can't think straight. He scrubs a hand across his face and discovers he's been crying.
"I don't hate you. I couldn't possibly hate you."
Tony snaps to attention. But Peter's voice isn't coming from the doorway which he may or may not have told FRIDAY to lock down. A hologram's opened less than a foot away. The Iron Dad protocol, which had activated at least half a dozen times during Peter's never-ending freshman year with videos meant to cheer Tony up as if he was the kid in their relationship.
Tony reaches out, desperate for reassurance, but his fingers slide right through the projection. It's good to see the anger gone from Peter's face, at least, but he looks sad, and that's not better. His fingers play with the hem of his t-shirt as he gnaws on his lip.
"I really hope you never see this video—but just in case. Here goes. I can't hate you because I love you so much and I'm gonna try to never say that to you because I know it would hurt you a lot and I don't want to do that. I really, really don't."
Peter sighs deeply, and Tony believes him. Believes at least that there isn't a mean bone in Pete's body. That if he hates Tony now it's because Tony managed to screw up in a way Peter couldn't conceive of a year ago when he recorded this video.
"But I get angry sometimes, you know? I'm guessing you've probably said stuff you didn't mean and regretted it. I'm regretting this already and it hasn't even happened yet."
Another reason Pete's so much better than Tony will ever be. Tony spirals a lot before regret hits, making everything worse before he realizes he's sorry.
"I'm guessing we fought about Spider-Man, right? Cause I don't know what else would make me that mad."
Tony nods, sick that the last civil conversation he might ever have with his kid is really with a hologram.
"So here's the thing. I was on my own for so long, and Spider-Man was all I had. Everything sucked so much but the only thing that didn't was that I was helping people every day, and there was no one to tell me that I couldn't. I have so much to make up for and I have to use these powers for good. I know sometimes that scares you but I just have to. Otherwise I can't live with myself.
"That's more about me than you, though. I can't actually hate you for caring that I don't get killed or whatever."
The video flickers, and Tony thinks the recording's over, that the kid actually ended on a flippant dismissal of his own mortality. But the picture stabilizes and something's clearly been edited out, because Pete's eyes are red and there's a tear slipping down his cheek.
"Ben and I got in a fight the night he died."
Understanding jolts through Tony like a car battery. He's too smart not to know where this is going.
"I told him I hated him and ran off, and he followed me. Then he got shot and I tried to tell him I didn't mean it but I'm not sure he heard it. I'm not sure he even knew I was there." Pete's breath hitches as he buries his face in his hands and Tony leaps to his feet, desperate to comfort his kid.
"You're probably gonna wanna follow me. But don't."
Tony pauses at the edge of the lab and turns back. The video must have skipped again because Pete looks composed, his face scrubbed clean. "It's gonna freak me out if you chase after me. Not your fault. Mine. But just wait awhile, please?"
"Okay," Tony says aloud, trying to regain control. He can do this, right? Give his kid space.
"But not too long, okay? Cause I understand if you don't want much to do with me after I hurt you. But if you pull back to protect yourself then I'm gonna pull back and I don't—I don't want that to go on too long. So I need you to take the first step.
"Cause I need you Dad, and I love you and I'm really really sorry."
Tony sits back down. He rewatches the video in its entirety – twice – and then has FRI play the first five seconds on a loop, over and over, I don't hate you. I couldn't possibly hate you, until Tony believes it. It's been an hour, maybe two. He isn't sure. But long enough for Pete to know this isn't the same—a desperate chase, a tragic end. Too long for his son to suffer alone, thinking about Ben, wondering if he broke something that Tony knows can never be broken.
He would forgive Peter for anything.
Tony splashes some water on his face and tries to make it look like he hasn't been having his own series of meltdowns. He feels sick as he approaches Peter's door, but also determined. He can do this. Be the adult in the relationship. Be what his son needs.
He knocks gently on the door. "Hey bud. Can I come in?"
Tony waits for an eternity until Peter answers, "Yeah."
His kid is leaned back against his headboard, knees to his chin, arms wrapped around his legs in a tight little ball. He peeks up with wild, wet eyes. "You watched the video," he whispers, voice wrecked.
"Yeah." It takes everything inside Tony not to stumble forward and just hold him. There's a white bandage wrapped around his arm, another stuck to his forehead, terrible reminders that tonight could have been so much worse.
"I'm still mad at you."
There's not much bite behind it though, and just having Peter in his sight helps Tony relax. He thought it would be hard, finding words to make things better and not worse, but parenting's always easier when he's doing it than when he's thinking about it. "I'm not exactly having a great night either. But I wanted you to know that I heard what you were saying. But I am always, always going to take issue with you putting yourself in unnecessary danger. That's just part of loving you, and I won't apologize for it. But this is me, taking the first step like you asked. I need you to know that I will always want you to come back to me. Doesn't matter how much you hurt me. There's not a single thing you could do or say that would ever make me not want you."
Then Peter is launching himself off his bed and Tony's striding forward and they collide in a desperate embrace.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I don't—"
"I'm okay, kid. We're okay."
"I love you." They both say it together. Tony laughs. As he tilts his head against his son's he knows he doesn't have to fall apart after all.
Pete pulls away too soon. "I'm not ready to talk about this yet. Tomorrow, maybe?"
Tony wants this fight behind them. Over. Done. Kaput. He wants his kid to agree never to court unnecessary danger. To leave all the sacrifice plays to the old dogs.
He knows that's not how their conversation will go.
Ever since he met Peter, he's understood Pepper so much better.
He'll settle for a truce. I don't hate you. I couldn't possibly hate you. Another safety protocol. Some more grey hairs.
Pete's worth each and every one.
"I'm ready when you are."
I really wanted to finish this by Father's Day so I could post something on the actual holiday I reference for once instead of weeks (or months) after the fact. I also wanted to keep it to a one shot, because I've never successfully done that in this fandom.
I finished half of this on time, so it's a two-shot now. I guess that's like achieving half my goals?
I'll try not to take forever on the second half.
