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Tony Stark is a father.
He’s not wearing a sweater, and he sure as shit doesn’t have a twinkle in his eye. He hasn’t taken a family portrait yet, or said ‘my son’ to anyone outside his immediate contacts.
But he’s got a baby room in his apartment, now. What used to be the fourth guest bedroom is now Peter’s room. Tony had everything he’d gotten for Mary transferred to Ben and May’s apartment, and he gathered up different things for his place, bought way more shit than Peter could ever need. Newborn clothes that don’t fit him. Twelve month onesies that are too big. Thankfully he’s got about seventy nine month onesies that Peter will be in once the hundred six month outfits get too small. Tony got him shoes, too, like twenty pairs of shoes that he doesn’t need to wear because he literally can’t walk yet. But Pepper was particularly enamored with the red sneakers, and held them in her hands like they were the cutest things she’d ever seen. Maybe that’s why Tony got about six pairs more after that.
Tony bought a six piece bedroom set with an overly expensive crib, a high chair, food enough to fill six fridges, hard cover baby instruction manuals he’ll never read, three different changing tables, for some reason, a rocking chair that brings up old memories that never fully form, dusty and forlorn. Tons and tons of toys, most of them out of age range, but Peter likes the plush gorilla, which makes Tony feel like he did something right.
He gets every material thing a baby could ever want and need, and some Peter will probably never even touch or look at, but even all that shit doesn’t make Tony feel ready. He doesn’t even know what being ready means. He doesn’t think anyone can actually be genuinely ready to raise a tiny human. Especially someone like him.
He’s good at holding the baby. The baby likes being held, and likes his own name, and constantly wants to be moving. When they’re transferring things from apartment to apartment, Tony is useless, because he’s holding the baby. He literally can’t do anything else when he’s holding the baby.
It feels like a whirlwind of holding Peter in his arms. Peter squirming, Peter giggling right next to his ear, humming and babbling and trying to twist Tony’s clothes into unrecognizable shapes. Tony holds him while he sleeps and imagines a life he might just be grasping. One that always sat on the other side of things, impossible.
Tony holds him during the funeral. He doesn’t take him into the room where Mary’s body is, because he can’t imagine anything more horrible, and he walks back and forth in the lobby, trying to keep him occupied. He didn’t know if he should come at all, but it felt wrong not to, and he wasn’t gonna leave Peter with anybody else.
Peter picks at his beard. Looks at him intently like he has no earthly idea why there’s hair on his face, and Peter laughs and smiles whenever Tony looks directly at him. Tony’s heart goes warm and gooey whenever Peter smiles, and he finds himself smiling more easily too, whenever it happens. Despite the horror of the day, and the reminders it brings, the baby makes him smile.
My kid my kid
Peter squeals a little bit, like Tony’s beard is too much for him to comprehend, and Tony snorts.
“What?” he asks, softly. “You want a goatee? Huh? Because we can arrange that. I’ve got permanent markers. Your aunt would be thrilled.”
Peter laughs, and starts throwing himself around a bit like he likes to do. Crazy lunatic baby. Tony laughs too, holding him tighter, and Peter leans in and tucks his head into Tony’s neck. He does that when he’s tired, and doesn’t want to be, and Tony isn’t sure how he already knows that.
Tony knows Peter doesn’t know what the hell is going on, where they are, what he’s lost, but he gets a little teary anyway on his kid’s behalf, his throat going tight. He doesn’t know what’s going on in his own head. It’s a jumbled mess of too much, way too much, planning and not planning and overplanning and panic, panic, overbearing madness, but he knows that he likes holding this baby. He doesn’t necessarily want to say that out loud, to anybody, or even really acknowledge it himself. But it’s one thing he’s sure about, in a time of so much confusion, half of his life turning on its head. He really likes holding his kid.
Burying Mary feels strange and Tony tries not to think about it, even as it’s going on, as the day wanes and falls into the past. He barely knew her, but he feels sort of reverent about her when his mind wanders, and he can see her in Peter’s face, can remember the way he looked in her arms so many times when Tony was still trying to force himself away from this situation. But now he’s the one holding their kid, and she’s gone, and the days keep picking up and carrying on whether any of them want them to or not. He doesn’t focus on any of that, or the way May’s voice sounds now that she’s without her sister. He doesn’t focus on the fact that Peter doesn’t have his mother anymore, and never will again. Tony focuses on other things, and even those things are things he doesn’t want to do, like telling Obie what the hell is going on.
Which he does while holding the baby, standing outside the SI main campus.
He’s nothing if not direct.
Tony can’t read the look on Obie’s face as he walks out of the building, the door swinging closed behind him. His gaze finds Tony, then the baby, and he starts to laugh once Tony takes a breath to explain the whole thing. “You don’t need to introduce this little man,” Obie says, eyes crinkling.
Not exactly the reaction Tony was expecting, but he should have known better with Obadiah Stane. “Tracking me, huh?” he asks, hoisting Peter up a little higher. “This could be any baby. You don’t know.”
“I’ve just been looking at the receipts, Tony,” Obie says, reaching in and trying to tickle Peter’s side. Peter looks at him with a straight face, which is weird to see, with how bright and sunny he’s been lately. Still, Obie persists, and Peter twists in Tony’s arms. “He looks like you.”
“As he should,” Tony says, automatically.
Obie still doesn’t look at him. “Is the mother genuinely dead or—”
“She’s gone,” Tony says, fast, feeling a little sick at the question.
Obie raises his eyebrows, and finally pulls his hand back when Peter turns to face Tony’s chest, squirming. “Well, this is definitely gonna be an adventure for you, my boy,” Obie says, clapping Tony on the shoulder. “Finally happened. Can’t help but say I’ve been expecting it for a while, but not exactly these circumstances.”
Tony laughs a little bit, and it tastes bitter. He doesn’t really like that Obie already knew, he’s not surprised, but he is surprised when he just continues on his way out and doesn’t press him with more questions, or even a goodbye. It just makes Tony think Obie already knows more than he should.
He sighs, and heads back to the car where Happy is waiting for him. The car is now a rented black minivan so Peter can sit in a car seat, and Tony’s got an actual minivan on its way here. He never in his fucking life thought he’d be caught dead in a minivan, but it made May happy and he’s determined to get in her good graces. He made sure it was red, so he could be a little ostentatious while being completely lame at the same time.
He’s got more diaper lessons today, bottle feeding, what foods Peter can have and not have. Has Tony been avoiding the lessons to focus on holding the baby? Yes. He’s good at holding Peter. He likes holding him and talking to him and all that shit. It’s rare that people genuinely like it when he talks, and he can tell that Peter does.
But you’ve got to learn how to keep him alive too, moron.
Yeah. May’s right. Tony is just—scared. Which is dumb, but true, and the whole Obie thing bothers him more than he’ll admit. He won’t say he’s scared, won’t voice that out loud, though he knows Pepper can see it in his eyes. She’s probably the only one, but she’s enough. May just thinks he’s petulant, thinks he’s unfit, and Tony doesn’t blame her. Ben—Tony doesn’t know what Ben thinks. For being such an Everyman, Ben is a little hard to read.
Peter holds Tony’s shoulder tighter, and makes a little distressed sound. It shoots directly through Tony’s heart, and he knows he should have learned by now that he can’t see his face from this angle, when he cranes his neck. But he tries to anyway, rubbing Peter’s back.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Tony asks, as he reaches the car. “Huh? He’s not your boss. I’m your boss. Well. I’m not your boss. I’m your dad—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as Happy gets out to open the door for him. He finds himself saying shit like that and it’s like a lightning bolt. Who the hell is this guy? Is this him? An alternate goddamn universe?
He just holds onto Peter and sighs.
“Sorry boss,” Happy says. “Should have driven around.”
“Don’t worry, Haps,” Tony says, getting in the ridiculous car.
May and Ben are already waiting for him when he gets back to his penthouse, while Pepper sits on the computer and does work that Tony’s neglecting now that he’s focusing on...all this. May always looks like she’s judging everything that belongs to Tony when she’s here, and she only lights up when she sees Peter. He catches her handling and sneering at his mini monolith statue, but she puts it down as soon as he shuffles into the door. Peter pats Tony’s chest and says something in his funny baby language, and Tony kicks the door closed.
“I know,” he says, knowing Peter likes it when he replies. “I thought so too.”
Peter laughs, the sound full of joy.
“What’d Stane say?” Ben asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets, him and May hovering in the living room.
“Uh, he knew already,” Tony says, in a rush of breath. May reaches for Peter once Tony is within a few feet of her, and Tony reluctantly hands him over.
“Christ,” May says, planting kisses on Peter’s cheek. “Imagine who else knows.”
“Alright,” Ben says, raising his eyebrows at her.
“Pep,” Tony says, looking over at where she is. She glances over her shoulder, and smiles in Peter’s direction. “You alright? We all good? Am I leaving you in the lurch?”
“I am a-okay,” Pepper says. “Go change some diapers. We got the fake babies all lined up.”
“Peter doesn’t like the fake babies,” Tony says, looking at Ben and May. Peter perks up at his own name, and Tony winks at him. He reaches out for Tony again, his fingers trembling and wide, and May scoffs.
“No, no, sugar pie,” May says, motioning to Ben to follow her into the nursery. “I’ve been waiting to hold you all afternoon, I’m getting my time.”
And fake babies isn’t a term for anything—Pepper literally bought an assembly line of fake babies, and with May and Ben watching, Tony is a fucking diaper master. He’s practiced in the past couple days when they’ve been asleep, because he doesn’t like that look May gives him when he does it wrong. Now he can diaper all six fake babies in the space of a minute and a half, especially when he concentrates.
It’s been four days since that night, the night Tony held his kid for the first time, and it feels like a lifetime. Mary gone, in the ground. Peter moved in, May and Ben staying over. Tony hasn’t been truly alone with Peter yet, since May and Ben have been here, both of them off work until next week. But he does have the baby sleep in the same room as him, and Tony stares and stares and stares at him when he’s asleep. Watching his breath, waiting for crying, waiting for something. May’s helped him with every nighttime issue, when he shows up at her door, but Tony wants to get to the point when he can handle it.
Because Peter looks at him like he can handle it. How can a baby have so much confidence in him? What does he know that Tony doesn’t?
May and Ben stand behind him as Tony finishes the diaper off on the last fake baby, and he turns around and looks at them, wiping his hands together with a job well done.
“There we go, see,” Ben says, gesturing towards Tony’s work. “That’s perfect. No problems.”
May is still holding Peter and she bounces him back and forth. Peter looks at the fake babies like they’re intruding on his territory, his brows furrowed. Tony reaches out and tugs on his little hand, and then Peter smiles, laughing.
“But has he changed Peter’s diaper yet?” May asks, glancing at Ben.
“He has,” Tony answers for himself. “Two times.”
“Both with me watching,” May says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Once you do it on your own, then I’ll be impressed. Maybe. It’s not a race. And the amount of powder, Tony, Jesus—”
“I’m doing good,” Tony says, pointing at her. Peter squeals and throws his hands up, rocking back and forth. “That’s right. He knows.”
“Give him some credit,” Ben says.
Tony definitely likes this guy, that’s for sure.
“Yeah, let’s do the bottle stuff again,” May says, rolling her eyes at her husband. Tony wonders how much they discuss him when he’s not around. He can almost hear it. Tony Stark. The imbecile. Not worthy of our little precious Peter.
They go over, and over and over, the things Peter can eat. Mary was never able to breastfeed, for some reason, so thankfully that won’t be something Peter is missing. Tony practices making bottles, burns himself a couple times, which he knows, horrifically, would be ten times worse for the baby. But he figures it out, gets into the groove of it just like he did with the diapers, and maybe he gets a little cocky about how good he’s doing. Enough that May stops questioning him, looking at him like he’s completely incapable. She hates his attitude, but he thinks he’s doing good. He knows not to put the kid to bed with a bottle. He knows to be consistent with bedtime. He knows teething is coming. Thankfully, Mary kept up with all the shots, so Tony doesn’t have to deal with that and how much Peter apparently hated it.
He pretends his baby will never be unhappy. He lives in that pretend world and refuses to imagine what it’ll be like when he’s proven wrong.
He can see May’s sadness, sometimes, when she doesn’t think he’s looking. That pure, new loss clinging to her and every move she makes. He knows she thinks she has to hide it around him, and he doubts he’d ever be able to convince her otherwise, but it sort of makes him feel like shit that they have to keep such a close eye on him directly after the devastation of losing Mary so tragically. He remembers his own massive loss like it was yesterday, and he still feels it. He couldn’t do shit in the month or so after. Nothing of use. He was drunk most of the time. But May is stronger than him, and she finds strength in the baby that they all pass around like a totem of luck.
Tony feels like he knows what he’s doing now, preparation be damned. He’s a fast learner. He may not be ready, but he can handle it. He feels like he’s got this down to a science, to a routine. And Peter likes him. He definitely likes him. He was worried that would be the hardest thing, because babies are fickle and can supposedly sense how people are or whatever the hell, so he was absolutely sure his own kid would sense what an asshole he is and immediately be done with his presence. But Peter likes him, which is the biggest win of all. The rest is just gravy. If he can create a working circuit board at four years old, he can totally figure out how to take care of a baby, especially if that baby is his own flesh and blood. Every smile Peter graces him with gives him confidence. Every smile beats the doubt down.
So when May and Ben both have to go back to work, Tony thinks he’s got it.
“Are you sure?” May asks, that morning, already in her scrubs. She’s standing in the doorway, eyes darting back and forth between Tony and Peter. Peter is clinging to Tony’s shoulder with one hand, shoving the elephant toy into his mouth with the other. It’s big enough that he can’t do any damage or choke himself to death, but May is still giving both of them a look.
“I’m sure,” Tony says, hoisting Peter up a little bit more. “We’ve got a meeting, we’ve got some paperwork to do, and then I knocked out the rest of the afternoon.”
“We can’t even come over for dinner tonight,” May says, widening her eyes. “We can come over tomorrow, late, probably.”
“We’ll be okay,” Tony says, laughing. “Don’t worry so much.”
“I’m worrying,” May says, deadpan.
“We’ll be fine,” Tony says. He looks at Peter, bounces him a little bit. “Right buddy? Tell your aunt we’ll be fine. Use your charms.”
Peter hums, blinking at both of them as he works at the elephant. He kicks his feet back and forth, and Tony can’t help but laugh.
“You stay safe, muffin top,” May says, leaning in and kissing Peter on the cheek. “Keep your dad occupied, baby.”
“He’s safe,” Tony says, trying to see himself from the outside. He has one of those moments when the situation becomes clear, and he’s struck by how real it is.
He’s got this. He’s totally got this.
Ready?
~
He has a problem immediately. As soon as he gets out to the newly arrived minivan, Tony fights with the new carseat for like fifteen minutes. He literally invents shit for a living, and for a hobby, and a lot of it is complex and multifaceted, but he’s struck dumb by the fucking carseat. He refuses to call May, refuses to call Pepper, and he wonders for about five minutes more if he should call Ben.
Peter is sitting on the floor of the van, which isn’t yet littered with his toys since it just got here this morning, and he seems pissed about that. He’s still not the best at sitting up, but he’s maintaining it for the moment, and Tony presses himself up against the door opening so Peter doesn’t get any ideas about launching himself out.
Tony calls Ben’s construction office, uses a fake name, and gets transferred twice.
“This is Ben Parker.”
“Finally,” Tony says, blowing out a breath.
“Tony?” Ben asks. “Everything okay?”
“First things first, don’t tell May I called you, for the love of God, especially considering we literally just left the house. It’s too early for failure.”
Ben laughs. “Uh, I’ll make an attempt at that.”
Peter reaches out and grabs Tony’s hand, and Tony traces his thumb back and forth across Peter’s knuckles unconsciously.
“Please. I can’t figure out how to snap this carseat into the chair, and then once I do that, I can’t figure out how to get Peter in it. I see where the seatbelt is but there’s this goddamn stick thing in the middle of the chair and he can’t sit in it when that thing is there. I can’t get it to come off or come up—honestly, don’t tell anybody about this, I’m better than this, nobody can know.”
Peter beams up at him, and Tony smiles, squeezing his hand.
“Ah, yeah, May said you insisted on the complicated one—”
Tony narrows his eyes. “It was expensive, had good reviews, c’mon—”
“From what I remember, there’s a button on the side of the thing that releases the thing in the middle, which...I believe doubles as a food tray and a sun visor. Not at the same time.”
Tony snorts, and cranes over to look. It isn’t on the left side, but when he feels around on the right, he finds it, and the thing pops loose as soon as he clicks it. “Okay, got it.”
“And the straps should be loaded into the back of it,” Ben says, and there’s some loudness behind him.
Tony reaches around again, still holding onto Peter’s hand, and finds the opening in the back of the carseat.
“Once you got ‘em, loop ‘em through the bottom and around the back, and click ‘em in to make sure it’s all set and won’t come out.”
Tony fishes the straps out, and his chest feels a little less tight. “Okay, thanks, Ben. Remember, don’t tell anybody. Peter’s asking too. He says don’t tell on me.”
Ben snorts, and Peter laughs a little bit, hopefully loud enough for Ben to hear. “Like I said, I’ll make an attempt. But you know how May is.”
“Yeah,” Tony scoffs. “I do.”
~
Thankfully, Tony’s meeting is just with Obie. But Peter doesn’t seem to think that’s at all important, and he’s louder and more active than Tony’s ever seen him.
“And that Mr. Hammer is coming from Malibu—”
“We can push that,” Tony says, eyes fixed on Peter. The kid is being louder than either one of them, knocking his rattle against the ground over and over and over again. There’s rice or something inside, something loud, and Peter clearly loves the way it sounds. He shakes it and shrieks with laughter.
“Why are we pushing that?” Obie asks, congenial, as always. But his brows are pulled tight, when Tony glances up at him.
“Uh, I don’t like that guy,” Tony says, fast.
“Alright,” Obie says, shuffling papers on his desk. “Well, pushing that, we can make way for the flight team to come in, if you still want to start the air arming process we discussed.”
“Uh,” Tony grunts, because Peter tosses the rattle, letting it hit the wall. He laughs at that too, delighted, and Tony is a little embarrassed at how much he loves his kid’s laughter. Then Peter throws himself forward, landing on his stomach. “Shit,” Tony exclaims, nearly toppling his chair backwards as he gets up—but Peter isn’t crying, and he starts doing that really fast breathing thing he does, pressing his palms to the ground and pulling himself along. Tony watches, transfixed, because he hasn’t seen him do this yet.
“Maybe you let me take care of what’s on the docket, yeah?” Obie says, and he sounds strangely far away.
“Sorry, sorry,” Tony says, halfheartedly, as he weaves around the desk and over towards the baby setup. Tony doesn’t really like the playpens they’ve got because they look too much like cages, and he tries to remember to find a new one. Peter starts moving faster, dragging himself to the edge of his territory, and Tony scoffs. “He’s like—he’s almost crawling, can—are babies supposed to be crawling at six months? Well...he’s a little over six months.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Obie says. “I’m just gonna take care of what we’ve got going on here, alright, yeah? But the next meeting we’ve gotta talk about the new long range line, need to see what you’re thinking. Gotta get into that head of yours.”
“Perfect,” Tony says, hardly hearing him. He walks over and kneels next to Peter, who’s still traveling, not making much progress but wiggling back and forth and trying all the same. He looks back at Tony, giving him a silly gummy smile. Tony grins back.
“How are you doing with all this?” Obie asks. “I was expecting a lot more—anxiety.”
“Not getting a lot of work done,” Tony laughs. “And, uh, there’s plenty of anxiety. On an everyday basis.”
“Why didn’t you just let the aunt and uncle keep the little tike?” Obie asks, shuffling papers.
Tony winces a little bit, watching as Peter stops looking at him, continuing to try and drag himself along. His little socked feet kick in the air. It feels like a weird question. A normal one, sure. But he doesn’t know how to answer it.
“Wanted yourself an heir, huh?” Obie asks, and Tony sees him get to his feet out of the corner of his eye.
“Uh—”
“Natural line of thinking,” Obie says, glancing down at the baby.
Peter stretches out one wavering arm, practically faceplanted on the blanket, and his rattle is just out of reach. Tony walks around and gets it for him, pushing it forward until he’s able to grab it.
“Are you gonna be good for Thursday?” Obie asks. “Long range meeting?”
“Uh, yeah,” Tony says, fast. “For sure. Sorry, it’s just, uh—”
“It’s all new, I get that,” Obie says, giving him a strange smile.
Peter tosses the rattle again, over his own head and behind him this time, and he giggles, trying to twist around like a little pinwheel.
~
Obie leaves after that, with a promise of faxing over some of the new proposals, and Tony gathers up all of Peter’s stuff in his giant Mom Bag and nearly waddles into the elevator and down to the first floor. He knows everybody he passes is looking, judging, wondering, but whenever he catches somebody’s eyes he stands a little taller, and realizes they’re looking at Peter. Then there’s no judgement, just appreciation of his cute baby, and if any of them were even thinking about gathering up the nerve to approach him, Peter stops that.
By screaming.
Little alarm screams. Nothing to indicate he’s upset, not even the look on his face, but every time someone passes he lets out a high pitched screech that nearly blows out Tony’s ear drums. He stares straight ahead, and shakes his rattle, and every time someone gets within ten feet of them, he screams in the exact same way. Almost like a recording Tony’s playing on loop.
“Okay, Pete,” Tony says, moving a little faster towards the door. Tony sees Jessica from Accounting moving in his direction, smiling, and then Peter screams three times in a row. ALERT ALERT ALERT. Tony tries not to laugh, because it’s ridiculous, but as a card-carrying Father now, he’s gotta try to keep this shit in check when he’s in public. He leans his head towards Peter, wincing at another scream. “Buddy. C’mon. We like these people, your dad works here.” He rolls his eyes. “Your dad owns here, and—”
Another scream. Particularly panicked sounding, but when Tony looks at him there’s no fear in his eyes.
“Okay. Okay, we’re going. Yes sir.”
Tony reaches the door and starts heading for the minivan, because he’s lost control of his life. He readjusts the baby bag on his shoulder, and looks at Peter. “You’re insane, you know that?”
Peter giggles, and relaxes a bit from his straight up and down scream position. It was clearly an active choice on his part and Tony literally has no idea why. This is the next two years of his life. Trying to figure out what the hell Peter is doing and why.
Tony can’t wait ‘til he can talk.
~
The crying starts when they get home. Tony tries not to allow himself to be daunted—he knew Peter couldn’t go his whole babyhood without crying, but this is the kind of hysterical crying that Tony had hoped they would avoid. It didn’t seem to be caused by anything in particular, but as soon as he gets through the door he drops everything and tries to address it.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Tony whispers, rubbing his back as Peter continues to whine and cry, the tears streaming down his face. “Huh? Talk to me. Tell me. I need to know.”
Tony changes him, though this time he’s kicking a lot more than he was the other two times Tony did it by himself, and Tony’s hands shake. He gives him his toys, but they’re all rejected immediately, flying across the room in an angry arc. Tony wraps him in a blanket, but Peter just twists it in his hands and tugs on it like he doesn’t want it anywhere near him. Tony holds him and walks back and forth with him and tries to remember the shit May said, but his mind goes blank with panic, because Peter is still crying. And eventually Tony thinks he must be hungry, even though he just ate right before they met with Obie, and the meeting didn’t last nearly as long as he expected it to.
Peter’s wails are like daggers in Tony’s veins, and he puts him in the high chair and rushes around like a moron in the kitchen, washing his hands and glancing around for what he needs and freaking the fuck out, two seconds away from calling Pepper and asking her to come over here and help him. But Tony knows she’s busy, knows she’s busy covering his ass and doing things he should be doing right now if he could handle being a father and a normal human being at the same time.
“It’s okay,” Tony calls out, glancing over his shoulder as his kid continues to wail like someone is torturing him. “It’s okay, buddy, I’m getting your mushy peas, mushy carrots—gonna make you a mushy smorgasbord, Petey. Whatever you want, it’s coming.”
He starts dumping it all out onto the rubber baby plate, and he remembers that Peter likes music so he flips on the radio. But of course, it’s on a fucking static station, and Peter starts crying harder, and Tony’s gotta get back on the food, so he flips the same switch and the room is silent again. No, not silent, just very angry, screaming baby scoring Tony’s oncoming breakdown.
He puts the squash on the plate too, and his hands are shaking even worse than they were before, and he’s starting to worry that this might not just be hunger—maybe Peter is sick, maybe something else is going on, and he nearly trips over his own feet striding over and pressing the back of his hand to Peter’s forehead.
Peter keeps crying, shaking his head back and forth, and Tony can hear his own heartbeat booming in his ears. The baby doesn’t feel warm, or warmer than normal, but his face is all red from the crying and Tony tries to keep breathing.
“One second,” he says, wiping the tears off Peter’s cheeks. “One second, buddy. I hope this is what you want, Jesus.”
Tony skids back over to the counter, and dumps out the container of crushed bananas, too. Then he runs the rubber plate over to Peter, putting it on his tray. He grabs a chair and winces as it scratches across the floor when he drags it over, and he stations himself right in front of Peter’s high chair.
“There we go,” Tony says. Peter keeps crying, and he’s not even aware of the food yet, so Tony sticks his finger in the peas and brushes it against Peter’s mouth.
He stops crying, opening his eyes.
“See!” Tony says, pushing the plate as close as it can get, and Peter takes notice of it, his whole body shaking with sobs that slowly taper off. “See, that’s it. No more crying. You’re just hungry. That’s all, that’s...that’s totally fine, we’ve got plenty of food. I guess we’re gonna be a four meal family, that’s fine, that’s fine. Not gonna shame you for it.”
Peter just stares at the plate, blinking, two more tears streaking down his face. Tony watches him, getting nervous again. Peter sticks his fingers in the food just like Tony did, but he doesn’t eat it—he just looks at his hand like it’s a foreign object, and slowly, surely, his eyebrows start to knit together again.
“No, no,” Tony says, heart booming in his ears louder than before. He leans forward on the edge of his chair, hands grasping the tray. “Hey, no, don’t—it’s good food, buddy, your favorite mushy food! May said so!”
Peter meets Tony’s gaze just as his eyes fill with tears again, and he throws his arms up as he lets out another agonized sob. His little hand catches on the rubber plate, and he smacks it right off the tray and in Tony’s direction. It slaps him right in the neck and flops its way down into his lap, leaving a trail of peas, bananas, carrots and squash.
Peter stops crying again. It cuts off like a record scratch, a gasp, and Peter stares at him, eyes wide, breathing through little half hiccups. Both of them are still for a moment, Tony sitting in his own shock. Then he reaches up, wipes the back of his hand along his jaw, and looks at the line of banana that gathers there.
And then Peter laughs.
It’s a small, tiny giggle, and when Tony glances up at him again, Peter laughs harder. His face is so red, tear-stained, but he smiles, rocking in his seat a bit, patting his hands on the tray in excitement.
“Oh yeah, you like that? Food on my face?” Tony asks. He licks some of the banana off his hand, and winces. “Oh, bud.”
Peter laughs, throwing his head back. Tony grins, his heart soaring, and he wipes some of the squash from his neck and rubs it across his own nose. Peter looks at him again and starts laughing harder, jumping up and down in his high chair. He shrieks happily.
So, so much better than the crying.
“Okay, this is what you wanted,” Tony says. “Me making a fool of myself. I can do that. I’m good at that.” He picks up the rubber plate, and without thinking about it, smashes it against his own face.
Peter purely squeals with laughter, and when Tony pulls the plate away he sees Peter reaching for him, fingers contracting in and out.
“You’re crazy,” Tony laughs, snorting. He puts the plate on the tray and stands, picking Peter up and taking him out of the high chair. He plants a big kiss on Peter’s cheek, and Peter laughs again, holding onto Tony’s neck where some of the food is still dripping down. “You are so crazy, monkey brain. And now we’re dirty.”
Peter babbles at him, leaning back and trying to scrape the carrots out of Tony’s beard.
“Yeah, you get that,” Tony says. “Take care of it.”
He sits down on the floor underneath the sink, and Peter keeps picking at the food that’s everywhere, smearing it.
“We’re gonna try that eating thing again in a second here,” Tony says, tickling Peter’s side and making him squirm with more laughter. “Maybe I’ll get some in my hair this time. Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tony asks, grinning at him.
Peter smiles back, and thank God, he doesn’t seem like he’s gonna fall back into the crying again. At least not for now. Tony holds him and closes his eyes, leaning against the cabinets. He sucks in a couple big breaths, trying to get back some of that confidence he had earlier. He never thought this day would contain smashing baby food all over his face, but every day has been a surprise since Mary called him and told him about Peter.
“I’ll get better at it,” he whispers to her, wherever she is. “Totally will. I promise. Promise.”
He sits there for a second, wondering, when he feels two small hands on either side of his face. Tony opens his eyes, and Peter moves a little bit, like he’s trying to push himself up, and Tony tilts his head down so they’re pretty much eye to eye.
Peter looks at him, intently, and then he goes off on a babbling soliloquy—each syllable seems chosen for a precise reason, even though none of them form real words, not even close. He prattles on, nodding, and his voice goes high and excited at the end, his eyes getting wide as he pats Tony’s cheeks. He stares at him for a moment in silence, and Tony feels like he was just given a very profound message, even though he didn’t understand one second of it.
He gets teary, anyway.
“That—yeah,” Tony says, voice breaking. “That’s right. You are absolutely correct.”
Peter smiles, focusing on Tony’s beard again, immediately concentrating.
Tony starts to have mushy thoughts, like the mushy peas all over him. Peter gives up on figuring out Tony’s beard a few seconds later, leaning down and tucking himself underneath Tony’s chin.
~
Tony doesn’t have enough time to fix everything by the time he hears Pepper coming, and when she turns the corner and sees them, she sees everything else too. The original mess, from the first small plate, and then the second mess, most of which Tony made to get Peter to laugh. His food is all over the floor and the cabinets and them, themselves, and all over the glow-worm and the tiger rattle and the set of fake keys. They’re in the middle of the kitchen floor now, Peter sitting between Tony’s legs, and Tony quickly reaches around and wipes Peter’s face off, even though the damage is already done.
“Uh, hey,” Tony says, stupidly.
Pepper raises her eyebrows and doesn’t say anything.
Tony grits his teeth, and hoists Peter up, pressing their cheeks together. “Peter says hey too.”
Peter lets out a happy shriek, kicking and flailing his arms.
“Hello Peter,” Pepper says, smiling at him. But when she looks at Tony, she’s no longer smiling.
“Yeah, I’ll clean it up,” Tony says, hugging Peter against his chest.
~
And he does, with Peter watching from the high chair, occasionally tossing the glow-worm at him and demanding it back. Tony gets the kitchen back to its normal state, and he goes over the proposals and paperwork Obie sent over with Pepper, the two of them having an early dinner together and figuring out just how much food Tony wasted in his afternoon. She leaves, and then he talks to May and Ben on the speakerphone so Peter can hear. After that he manages a very successful bath, if success is the entire bathroom floor covered in water.
Once Peter falls asleep, Tony does something he’s been meaning to for a couple days now, ready to get an earful.
“Wow, okay, you remembered that you know me now?” Rhodey’s voice says. “Should I remind you of my name? My occupation? Our history?”
Tony presses the phone to his shoulder as he gently puts Peter down in the bassinet next to his bed, trying not to wake him up. “Literally a two way street here.”
“You’re the one with news, not me! I had to see it on TV. I had to see your life event on the television. Jesus, Tony, what happened? Do you have custody now?”
Tony groans, sitting on the edge of his bed. He’d told Rhodey about everything when it first happened, but none of the latest developments. “For once I haven’t been paying attention to what the hell they’re saying, so I’m sure it’s a bunch of bullshit.” He’s afraid of their bullshit, mostly because he knows it’ll upset May. She and Ben don’t deserve it. Mary doesn’t either.
And the very idea of them discussing Peter...
“What the hell is going on?” Rhodey asks. “Gimme everything.”
So Tony does. Everything since Pepper came in and told him Mary was gone, all the little moments that have twisted and shaped his life into something new. It doesn’t feel like it’s been five days. It feels like it’s been half a lifetime, and he knows one day he’ll look back at all this and be surprised at how fast it went by.
Jesus, is he already thinking like that?
“Christ, man,” Rhodey says, when Tony stops talking. “I mean. Jesus. This whole—all this—”
“I know,” Tony says, laying down against his pillows. He looks over at Peter briefly, still sleeping. “She was—a good person. A good mom. I can never be what she would have been, to him.”
“Sounds like you might be doing better than you think,” Rhodey says. “Save for, you know, wasting a bunch of food trying to make your kid laugh.”
Tony snorts.
“Your kid. That’s still so crazy to me, Tones. Your kid. You have a kid.”
“I know, I’m looking at him,” Tony says, smiling to himself.
“I gotta get there and meet him now that it’s all—well, now that you were forced to get off your ass and take responsibility for your actions. Just wish it had been under better circumstances.”
“Yeah, I’m a moron,” Tony says, craning his free arm back behind his head. His throat goes a little tight, and he cracks his jaw as his eyes wander over to Peter again. “But he likes me, Rhodey. He, uh, he genuinely likes me and wants to be around—around me.”
“Course he does,” Rhodey says, and Tony can hear the smile in his voice. “That’s your son. And you’re a good person, Tony.”
Tony scoffs.
“You are. I can’t wait to see you two together.”
They talk for another ten minutes or so before Rhodey has to go, with promises that he’ll be in town soon to take up the mantle of second Uncle, right behind Ben.
Tony puts on sweats, turns off the lights, and tugs the bassinet closer so it’s pressing right against the bed. He lays on the edge next to it and watches his kid sleeping, like he’s been doing every night, but it feels strangely like they really bonded today. Tony knows more incomprehensible screaming is gonna come, more than one time, but he promises himself and Peter right here and now that he’ll fix it. He’ll be scared as shit, but he’ll fix it.
He reaches out, and gently rests his hand on Peter’s chest. His breathing is deep and Tony’s hand rises and falls with each little puff, and he thinks about miracles and divergent timelines and all kinds of shit he shouldn’t be thinking about right before he goes to bed.
It’s been five days and he’s already falling headlong into a place he thought would catapult him right out as soon as he looked in its direction. Does he belong here? Can he fucking do this? Will he mess Peter up just like his dad did to him? He can’t. He won’t. It’s the last goddamn thing he wants to do.
Peter lets out a little sigh, still asleep. He reaches up, placing his hand on top of Tony’s own.
Tony smiles, his chest going warm. He doesn’t know what being ready means, but he’s gonna find out.