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The battle had been rough. It’d been bad enough that even with the freshly pardoned Avengers on the scene, Tony had been forced to call Peter.
Peter had been given strict instructions: do not engage [with the creature] and only focus on civilians unless ordered otherwise. Or something like that.
And for the most part, he’d done great! Peter had really outdone himself, resisting all eleven times (he’d counted) he’d seen an opening.
So, why couldn’t Tony appreciate that?
“I gave you one order! One! Do not engage!” Tony wildly gestured with his hands, emphasizing each word.
In the back of his mind, Peter remembers the phrase: argue until blue in the face; whoever came up with the phrase, clearly, had never been on the receiving end of Tony’s tirades. At least Tony wasn’t shutting him out. He could deal with yelling or screaming, but the cold shoulder? Anything but that.
“And I followed it!” Peter argued back.
Tony scoffed. “You’re a fucking liar! I watched you engage-”
“One time!” Peter interrupted, “And it’s not like I had a choice!”
Tony paused for only a second before jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. Well, jabbing was harsh, it was more of a poke than anything. “You did not just say that.”
If Peter wasn’t so defensive he would have laughed.
Regardless, Peter pushed the hand away. “He was going to hit you!” He poked Tony's shoulder for emphasis. “And don’t tell me you could have dodged, there was no way you were going to be able to dodge that blow.” Peter did the mental math, he’d run the numbers, and he knew he was right.
“I’m in a suit of armor that’s designed to take those hits!” Tony yelled.
“You and I both know there’s only so much that armor can do to protect you, Tony! I’m not sorry and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Well, then you don’t need to be on the field!”
There was once a time when those words would have had tears springing to his eyes, when that line would have destroyed him. Now, it just pissed him off.
Peter didn’t get a chance to respond before Tony continued ranting. “You don’t get to just pick and choose what you do and don’t listen to! All that does is make you a liability!”
“You know good and damn well this isn’t about my ability to perform on the team,” Peter refuted, his head tilting back so he could maintain eye contact. Mentally, he cursed the fact that Tony was taller than him, his neck had already been hurting.
Tony laughed, bitter and harsh. “You’re right, it’s not! Because, and how could I have forgotten this, you’re not on the team!” He threw his hands up in an exaggerated manner.
Peter’s jaw snapped shut. He swallowed the hurt back. “If I’m not on the team, then why should I be expected to follow orders?”
Bad idea.
Peter hadn’t thought it was possible for Tony to get any angrier. He felt a twinge of guilt, he’d never wanted to upset Tony.
“You are such a fucking little shit, you know that?” Too bad he already was.
“And you’re a brat!” Peter retorted— not his finest moment, he knows. “Why are you even so worked up about this?! It’s not like I’m hurt!”
Tony’s palms connected with his cheeks to squeeze his face not uncomfortably. “But you are! You are hurt when you shouldn’t be!” On cue, Tony’s thumb swept under his eye where a gash was already healing.
Peter forced himself to take a deep breath. With Tony’s palms on his cheeks, it was impossible to ignore the trembling of his hands. He wrapped his own hands around Tony’s wrists. “Tony, I’m fine! You would’ve gotten hurt worse if I hadn’t done something!”
“It’s not your job to protect me!” Tony snapped, his hands still trembling as they smoothed down to grab at his shoulders.
“So, what?! I was just supposed to watch you get hit, then?” Peter accused.
“You were supposed to follow orders!” Tony dodged the question.
Peter felt his lip curl upward and his brows pull together. “You could have died, Tony! Do you just not understand that?!”
“So?!” Tony challenged.
Peter froze. “...So?” He repeated under his breath before shutting his eyes. “You don’t mean that.” Not in the way Peter was interpreting it, at least.
Tony said something else but Peter couldn’t hear it. His hands reached back up to cup his face.
Peter allowed himself another second to soak in the comfort before he tugged at Tony’s wrists, dislodging his face from Tony’s grip. “I’m done,” Peter announced.
“What?” Tony demanded. “You don’t get to just be done.”
Yes, I do. I'm too angry to talk right now. That's what Peter could have said. Probably what he should have said.
Instead, he'd spun around and stalked back up to the man. “No, you don't get to be so fucking overbearing all the time!”
Tony opened his mouth. Peter just spoke louder, “I’m my own person and you must be smoking crack cocaine if you think I'd ever sit and watch with my thumb up my ass when I know I can help!”
Peter watched with something akin to horror as Tony's eyes widened for a fraction of a second.
Peter had to get out of there.
“That wasn't a dig at your past,” He barely managed to get out before hauling out of the lab.
Tony called out something else behind him but he didn't stop to listen.
-
By the time Peter got out of the bath, he just felt exhausted…and ashamed but mostly exhausted. Peter knew that the family-sized bag of chips had done a lot in getting rid of the anger.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that would have Peter out like a light once he laid down. It was the kind that made him want to curl up in either Aunt May or, in desperate times, Tony’s lap.
“What happened to being an adult?” Aunt May asked with thinly veiled humor.
From where Peter was halfway in her lap, he raised a brow. “What happened to always being your baby? Where’d that energy go?”
Aunt May laughed and pulled him closer. “Always my baby,” She assured, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.
Peter wanted to cry. At least it was movie night, though. Those always ended with Peter curled up next to Tony or, on the rare occasion, Tony leaning heavily against him.
“FRIDAY?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“Movie night is tonight, right?” He already knew it was, but it didn’t hurt to confirm. Especially after what happened.
“You are correct, Peter. It is Boss’ night to choose.”
Hm. Bullshit.
Peter wasn’t angry, anymore, no that was too harsh. He just felt…petty. It didn’t help that an hour had already passed and Tony hadn’t so much as knocked on the door.
And so, he was going to pick the movie tonight; Tony owed him for that little comment he’d made.
Sure, his comment kind of skirted around sensitive territory but Tony's bulldozed straight into it.
He’d pick something with Tony in mind, though.
.
“FRIDAY?” Peter asked after five minutes had passed without any word from Tony, “Can you remind Tony about movie night?”
Peter fiddled with the pillow in his lap. Maybe the man had just forgotten? Or maybe the time had slipped his mind?
“Boss asks if you still want to do movie night.”
“Duh.” Peter rolled his eyes even as he felt the tension ease. “I’ve been waiting for, like, five minutes.”
There was a pause. “Boss says he’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Peter relaxed on the couch, throwing a few pieces of the still-warm popcorn into his mouth. Idly, he scrolled through movie titles, trying to decide which one he wanted to see. He didn’t think he wanted anything sad or anything action, and definitely not horror.
“Hey,” Tony said, his voice sounding strained and rough.
Peter started at Tony’s unexpected greeting before relaxing. “Geez, you’re quiet,” He joked.
Tony slowly sat at the other end of the couch.
Peter silently raised a brow, his eyes flickered from the man’s sunglasses to the way he was curling in on himself. “I’m picking the movie tonight, by the way. Is that okay?” He side-eyed Tony, expecting some kind of refusal or snarky remark.
Tony’s answering nod was stiff and jerky.
Peter tightened his grip on the arm of the couch. “FRIDAY, dim the lights and put on Monty Python and the Holy Grail, please.” On cue, the lights were dimmed and the movie was beginning to play.
In the dim light, Peter kept chancing glances at Tony. Although, when it became apparent that Tony wasn’t even kind of paying attention he’d resorted to full-on staring at him.
Maybe he had a migraine? Or maybe he felt nauseous? It could be both.
The rough battle plus the argument could've caused a migraine, and the nausea could be from the migraine.
“FRIDAY, reduce the volume and brightness,” Peter said, just loud enough for FRIDAY to hear. He created a mental checklist of everything that he needed before he stood up from the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
Tony didn’t react.
Peter winced. He must really not be feeling well.
As quietly as he could, he filled the electric kettle with some water, flicking it on, before locating his stash of tea. He sighed as he pulled out the honey lemon tea bag.
Oh, the things he was willing to endure in the name of love and guilt. At least he didn’t have to drink it, Peter thought to himself as placed the tea bag in the thermos.
While he waited for the water to boil, he made a quick trip to his room to gather his two softest blankets. The ones Tony would never admit to loving.
He tossed them over his shoulder as he walked back to the kitchen, pausing only momentarily to take another look at Tony.
The man hadn’t moved from his initial position, his breaths still too fast and uneven.
Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had to focus.
He poured the now boiling water into the thermos along with a spoonful of honey before gently screwing on the lid to keep the fluid warm while the tea steeped.
“Hey,” Peter whispered, the blankets got tossed over the back of the couch as he walked by, and he set the thermos on the table near the couch.
Combined with the dim light and the sunglasses, Peter couldn’t see Tony’s eyes. Would Tony mind if he slipped off his glasses? The room was pretty dark, it shouldn’t hurt his eyes. “Tony?” He tried again.
No response.
Peter scrubbed his face with his hands. Should he try to remove the glasses? Or would that upset Tony?
Peter bit his lip and looked up as if the ceiling would provide some kind of answer to his questions.
He’d leave them on, he decided. Tony could get very particular with his glasses and Peter wasn’t going to risk it.
Well, with that matter dealt with, Peter could move on to phase two: bundling up. As gently as he could, he sat on the couch next to Tony, trying his best not to jostle the man. Peter reached for the blankets and tried to layer them as best he could.
“Tony?” Peter hummed when he, yet again, didn’t receive a response.
It was beginning to scare him.
Peter made an effort to unclench his jaw. What did Tony usually do for him when he was sick?
He swears he heard somewhere once that people help how they’d like to be helped or some shit like that.
The last migraine and only migraine Tony’d experienced with him, that had taken him out of commission, he’d come to laying semi-atop Tony with the man’s hand buried in his hair, gently threading through the curls.
Peter ran his hand through his hair. Tony liked hugging him, this much he knew for sure. Even though Tony would never admit it, he knew it soothed the man as much as it soothed Peter.
So, maybe he wouldn’t mind if Peter just…hugged him?
Tony would either appreciate it or get upset. Either way, it was a guaranteed reaction, and that, in and of itself, would be a win.
With a breath to steel himself, he dived in. Well, ‘dived’ was harsh. He very gently climbed into Tony’s arms.
Peter yelped when Tony's arms tightened around him, scooping him up before dumping him back on the couch as he stood.
Tony stumbled a step away from the couch.
“Oh, shit!” Peter cursed, feeling like a damn idiot for not realizing sooner. Tony wasn’t sick, he was panicking.
Something that was now abundantly clear from the way Tony's chest was heaving.
What does he do?
Tony let out a wounded sound from the back of his throat. Peter wasn’t sure how to describe it, it wasn’t a whine. He wasn't sure how he wanted to classify it.
Peter slowly pushed himself back upright. “You’re okay,” He murmured, “We’re in New York, Tony. We’re in your terribly decorated penthouse in Stark Tower.”
Tony’s hands were clenching and unclenching as they made aborted movements toward Peter. As if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to stay away from him or get closer.
“You’re safe, Tony. It’s just me, it’s just Peter.”
Tony's mouth opened and closed without anything other than a choked sob leaving him.
Hesitantly, Peter reached out and clasped Tony’s hands in his. His grip was firm but loose enough for Tony to slip his hands out easily.
Not that Tony seemed to have any plans of doing so, judging by the way Tony began gripping his hands like they were his only lifeline.
Tony’s breaths began slowing. Although, they were no less shuddery.
“Tony? Are you with me?” Peter asked after a few moments.
“Peter,” He rasped.
Peter gently tugged on his hands. “Come sit down.”
Tony’s grip slackened for a second before tightening.
Peter furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong, Tony?”
Tony hung his head.
Seeing that Tony was shutting down again, Peter stood from the couch. “Hey, it's okay.”
“It’s not okay!” Tony blurted before cutting himself off with a strangled sob.
Peter paused. “What’s not okay?”
Tony sucked in a breath. “I’m- Peter- fuck.”
Peter squeezed Tony’s hands before trying, once again, to guide him to the couch.
“I’m sorry,” Tony finally got out.
Peter frowned. Tony never allowed Peter to apologize when he had breakdowns. And his were, typically, far uglier than this.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Peter assured as firm as he could.
This time Tony did sob.
“It’s not your fault,” Peter continued.
“It is my fault!” Tony bit his lip and his chest heaved with repressed sobs. “I’m just like him,” Tony spat, the hatred mixing with the sorrow and it sounded— broken.
Peter let go of Tony’s hands to wrap his arms around Tony. “No.”
Tony’s hands hesitated.
“You’re not like him at all.” Peter buried his face in Tony’s neck. “What on Earth could make you think that?”
“I hurt you.”
Peter swallowed back his own whine and forced himself to pull back enough to look at Tony. “Is this about earlier?”
“I’m so sorry, Peter, I promise I would never- I didn’t want to-”
“Hey, it’s okay!”
“No!” Tony denied. “I laid-” He choked. “I shouldn’t have ever put my hands on you.”
“Okay, I’m lost.” Peter rubbed Tony’s arms. “What are you sorry for?”
“I hurt you— I scared—.” Tony looked at him. “I was supposed to break the cycle not- not continue it.”
“Okay.” Peter blew out a breath. “You hurt my feelings. You thinking that I could ever just sit back and watch you get hurt when I can do something, that hurt.”
Peter stopped him when he tried to say something.
“But, Tony, never once did you scare me. Never.”
“I watched the footage, kid,” Tony argued, “I was yelling, I was crowding you, I grabbed you, Peter.”
“We were both yelling, Tony,” Peter decided to address things in the order, “And, of course, you got close to me, you always get close to me.”
“There’s no defending the grabbing, Pete.”
“Because it doesn’t need to be defended, Tony. I know what it’s like to be grabbed by people who want to hurt me and I know what it’s like to be grabbed by people who don’t.” Peter grabbed Tony’s face with his hands. “Does this hurt?”
“No.”
Peter brushed his thumb under Tony’s eye. “Does that?”
Tony swallowed.
Peter left a fair bit of distance between Tony’s neck and his hands as he moved down to grab Tony’s shoulders. “Does this?”
Tony didn’t answer.
“Tony, there was not a single second in that argument that I was scared and most certainly, not scared of you.”
Tony shook his head. “Peter, it’s okay if you were. This is on me, kid, and if you let me, I swear it’ll never happen again,” Tony rambled.
“Tony, you’re not listening to me,” Peter insisted, “I was not and am not scared of you. Even when you were yelling and gesturing and getting close. Do you know why?” When Tony didn’t answer, he continued. “Because the idea of you ever hurting me like that never even crossed my mind.”
Tony stared at him for a long moment.
“Can you take the glasses off, I feel a bit ridiculous,” Peter requested to break the silence. They’d been driving him insane all night, truthfully. “Hard to have a good heart-to-heart when I gotta keep looking at this ugly mug.” He gestured to his own face.
Tony’s huff could almost be counted as a laugh. “You’re not ugly, kid.” He removed the glasses anyway.
In the dim light, Peter noticed how swollen his eyes were. He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe I need a sick beard.”
Tony sniffed. “You don’t need to change a thing about yourself.”
Peter smiled up at him, he felt a bit stupid for the tears that were beginning to gather in his eyes. “I’m sorry that your father wasn’t even half as amazing as mine.”
Tony gave a tight smile and ruffled his hair.
With something not unlike mortification, he realized he was going to have to spell this out for the man.
Peter swallowed and tried to keep his voice steady, his eyes darting to the ground. “Like, not to brag or anything my dad’s literally Iron Man, the only hero that's cool inside the suit and cooler outside it.”
When Tony didn’t say anything for a long moment, Peter risked a glance up at the man.
Tony was crying, and this time there weren’t any sunglasses to hide behind. “I’m sorry!” Peter cried, “I made things weird, didn’t I?”
Tony shook his head. “You really…want me as your dad?”
Peter blinked the tears back. “If that’s okay with you?”
“I- yes, God, yes, Pete.” Tony cupped Peter’s cheeks, his thumb brushing under his eye.
Peter sighed and let his eyes slip closed, his hands reaching up to grab Tony’s wrists.
Tony’s thumb paused in its sweeping motion.
“Tony?”
“Peter, how many times have I done this?” Tony asked, carefully enunciating each word.
Peter hummed and leaned into Tony’s palms. “I dunno. You usually do it when we’re bickering and we bicker a lot.” Peter cracked his eyes open. “Feels nice, though.”
Tony laughed under his breath.
Peter didn't feel like reading into it. He was tired.
“Can we finish movie night in my room? Or yours, I don’t care. I just wanna lay down.” Peter put on his best pleading expression, not that he needed it.
Tony caved instantly. “Of course, kid.”
-
“I don’t care what movie we watch, I know I’m not going to pay attention,” Peter said into Tony’s shoulder.
Tony rubbed a hand up and down Peter’s back. “Isn’t it my night anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Peter grumbled, adjusting the arm underneath Tony so he could more securely hold him.
Tony laughed.
“Tony?” Peter lifted his head up and waited until Tony ripped his gaze away from the TV. “You really do make me feel safe.”
Tony smiled at him. “I’m glad. I try.”
Peter laid his head back down. “You don’t have to say it back, but— I love you, Dad.” Peter felt Tony smooth the hair off his temple.
“I-”
“I know, Dad.”
Tony pressed a kiss to his temple. “Ti voglio bene.”
“Can't believe I suffered through lemon tea just for you to not drink it,” Peter’s complaint was muffled by Tony's shirt.