Work Text:
“I can’t believe you would actually say that.” Peter stated in disbelief, a look of utter betrayal on his face.
Tony stared back at him with a serious expression. “The truth is the truth.” He insisted. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable but it has to be said.”
“No. No. No.” Peter expressed emphatically. “In what parallel universe is Tangled better than Moana?”
Tony laughed at the sheer passion with which the kid seemed to be invested in the debate and decided to humour him.
“Well for one, I See the Light is one of Disney’s best songs, period. The emotions of the scene matched with the facial animations are perfectly balanced. Meanwhile if I have to hear Morgan sing You’re Welcome one more time I might actually burn the DVD. Or I guess just erase the movie data seeing as it’s a digital copy, but you see what I mean.”
“You’re Welcome is a modern classic! It adds a fun layer of modern music culture instead of relying on the same tired Disney formula. And Rapunzel’s character just feels so unbelievable. No one is that perky and happy all the time. It’s unrealistic.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, barely stopping him from pointing out the blatant hypocrisy of the kid in front of him who could only be described as ‘golden retriever-like’ on his calm days.
“Moana is just overall a better movie.” The kid continued. “The pacing is perfect, the animation of the water is stunning, the humour is great and there’s no forced romance.”
“I refute the point that the romance in Tangled is by any means forced, but fine you’ve convinced me. We’ll watch Moana.”
Peter grinned from his place on the couch, arm raised in victory.
Tony rolled his eyes, grabbing the bowl of popcorn from the counter before moving over to the couch and settling himself next to his kid. Movie nights with just the two of them were rare these days. Pepper had taken Morgan on a weekend trip to visit her mother though, so the two were intent on enjoying the relative peace and quiet that came from the absence of a hyperactive six-year-old.
He ordered FRIDAY to start the movie before relaxing back, throwing an arm around his kid’s shoulders. He fought back the sigh of contentment that came as Peter leaned further into his side at the action and watched as the opening credits played.
When Peter reached into the bowl to grab a handful full of popcorn a few minutes into the movie, something caught Tony’s eye for a second. He half thought he'd imagined it until a few minutes later when Peter reached forwards once more. This time he could make out that on his arm, where his short shirt sleeves rode up as he stretched, were several odd marks.
He almost dismissed them. He could have been content to push it out of his mind and continue watching the movie in peace. He was warm and comfortable with his kid in his arms; a type of contentment that he’d fought so hard to achieve ever since that purple alien showed up. No. Ever since New York was invaded by a power-hungry god and his army of Chitauri soldiers.
He was happy.
But something about those marks stirred up a slight feeling dread. An echo of paranoia.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave the thought alone.
“Hey Pete?” He asked.
“Yup?” The kid replied, his eyes not leaving the movie.
“What’s with the marks?”
“Hmm?”
“On your arm.”
“Oh.” Peter gaze moved down to look at the point on his arm, now covered by the sleeve that had moved back into place. He shrugged. “I dunno, must’ve banged my arm at some point.”
He spoke with such a casual air of indifference that Tony was tempted to believe him and leave the matter alone. But there was a kind of parental nagging fear in the back of his mind. An insidious sense of ‘what if’ that caused him question further.
“Are you sure?”
Peter answer came a second too quick.
“Yeah, it’s nothing.”
The smile on his face that had been present since the start of the movie hadn’t left, but there was a certain tightness to the expression now. A subtle tenseness in the way that he held himself.
Tony leaned forward and paused the movie, prompting the kid to look him in the eye. The easy atmosphere all at once became tense – the light natured façade beginning to crack. The smile stayed though still, as Peter refused to acknowledge it.
“Really Tony, they’re just scratches or something, it’s fine.” He tried to reason. “Can we get back to the movie?”
The movie was the last thing on Tony’s mind right now.
“Can I look at your arm for a second?” He asked in lieu of a reply.
For a second, he thought that Peter was going to say no, before the kid somewhat reluctantly stuck out his arm with a scoff that failed to be wholly convincing.
Peter continued to try and wave off his concerns, but Tony had stopped listening as he pushed up the shirt sleeve to better look at the half a dozen or so marks that littered the kid’s upper arm. They were relatively small in size, the largest being about an inch or so in length and about half of that in width. They were slightly darker than the skin around them and probably could’ve passed for faded bruises were it not for the subtle shine and tell-tale tightness of scar tissue that was only evident on the larger ones. They were seemingly random in placement, but all similarly horizontal.
He knew, with absolute certainty, what exactly they were and the feeling of dread that had been slowly building in the back of his mind solidified painfully as the realization fully hit him. All at once he had no idea of what he was supposed to do. Of what he was supposed to say. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d be faced with when it came to the kid. To Peter, who was always smiling and upbeat. Even after his aunt had died, he’d eventually recovered his former positive attitude.
The two shared a look.
“Peter.” He said softly, but in a tone that conveyed that there was no backing down from the conversation.
Peter’s tight smile slowly morphed into a grimace.
“They’re not… it’s not what you’re thinking I swear. I’m not, like, super depressed or anything. I’m fine, I promise.” He argued placatingly.
Tony absently wondered if May had known. Had Peter formerly been seeing a therapist and felt too awkward to tell Tony about it? Should he have been keeping up with appointments for the kid this entire time? He was fairly proud of how he’d being handling his role as a parent to Peter, but had he really been failing this badly all along?
“This is so far from fine, Pete.”
The teen let out a frustrated, choked laugh. “No, I swear it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s not like it happened all that often. And its- I’m not,” he motioned vacantly with his hands, exhaling nervously, “I’ve never been suicidal at all or anything, it’s not that.” He spoke fast, stumbling awkwardly over his explanation, desperate to convince his interrogator.
Tony blinked quickly, inhaling as he reached for what he was supposed to say.
“Why then?” He tried.
Peter was quiet for a while, seemingly putting together his response in his head.
“At first it was just like… a kind of morbid curiosity, you know? I wasn’t even unhappy really, I was just… curious?” He phrased it like a question. Whether he was searching for understanding or just wasn’t sure himself, Tony couldn’t tell. “The first time I did it, seeing it… it was like it was both scary and fascinating at the same time. Like ‘I did this’. It didn’t even hurt that much but it was that kind of dull and constant pain. Like, consistent and grounding in a way if that makes sense. And it wasn’t a big deal. It isn’t a big deal, I swear.”
He could tell that Peter genuinely believed that point.
“Did you ever tell May?” He asked, although he was now fairly certain of the answer.
“There was no point in worrying her. She’d probably freak out and blow it way out of proportion. It’s not a big deal.” He reiterated pleadingly.
Tony wanted nothing more than to put his worries at ease. He could see the pain and tension and guilt in Peter’s face, and he knew that they were standing on the edge of cliff; teetering between safety and a confrontation of built-up emotions that he wasn’t sure he was ready for.
But he had to be.
He brought his face up gently cup his son’s face, holding him with quiet reverence.
“Peter,” He started, quietly but with strength, “It’s okay that you’re not okay. It’s okay to accept that. You don’t need to try and hide it from me, alright? It’s not going to make me think about you any differently. But Pete-” He breathed in deeply. “You’re allowed to want help.”
Peter’s carefully crafted expression cracked with shame, before breaking altogether, his face screwing up as he let out a sob. He leaned into Tony as his shoulders heaved.
“I don’t know why…” He cried through hitched breaths. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Tony felt his heart ache at the sound of the pure confusion and distress in his voice.
“I never even really wanted help and I just- h-how messed up is that? I’m supposed to want to fix it.”
He wrapped his arms tightly around the boy, rubbing circles into his back as he let him talk.
“I didn’t- I never really thought the scars would last that long. I mean they were just scratches and I- I-”
“It’s okay.” He whispered, reiterating the point over and over again as Peter continued to sob into his side.
Absently, he wondered how long the kid had been keeping this to himself. He tried to picture a much younger Peter, feeling lost and confused, scratching at his arm until the skin gave away, but he quickly banished the train of thought from his mind. It would only drive him insane and the only version of Peter that needed his attention right now was the one who was currently crying in his arms.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, curled together on the couch, before Peter’s sobs lessened – eventually stopping all together as his breathing began to even out.
At first, Tony thought that he had drifted asleep, but then he heard a quiet voice speak out.
“I’m sorry.” Peter muttered, so lightly that Tony almost couldn’t hear it. “You didn’t sign up for this.”
He felt his breath catch in his throat and he unintentionally tightened his hold on the boy.
“Whatever it is that you need to face in life. Whether it be supervillains or the self-made kind of enemies, I’ll be there. I want to always be there. Do you understand me?”
Peter raised his head at that; his eyes were still red and wet, but a small smile graced his lips. The smile faded slightly as he asked, “What now?”
Later Peter would tell him how he would occasionally hurt himself when he was younger. How he’d convinced himself that nobody else needed to know. How he’d used it to distract himself more after losing Ben. How the habit never really went away after he got his powers; neither had the marks that he’d attained before he’d acquired his enhanced healing.
Later Tony would eventually convince him, after many late-night conversations and admissions, to finally talk to someone about it. Peter would hate the experience at first, switching therapists a couple times before deciding to stick with it.
Later Tony would find Peter curled up in his room, a band-aid on his arm and an apology on his lips. He’d reassure his son that it was okay that he wasn’t fine yet. That it was okay to take a step back, as long as he kept moving forwards.
But right now, Tony looked at the young man in his arms and brought forth a small smile of his own.
“Now? We sit back and watch the rest of this vastly inferior movie.”
An expression of relief and gratitude broke out on Peter’s face, as the two settled down once more and resumed watching the movie.
Half an hour later as their eye lids started to droop with the exhausted of expended emotions, Peter spoke quietly once again.
“Thanks, Dad.”