Chapter Text
Peter’s father built things that Peter didn’t understand at first.
Because these weren’t the things he usually built. These were things the knights wore, from the King Arthur movie Peter loved so much. But not exactly the same, since these armors made his father fly and made him shoot things from his hands. Peter didn’t understand, but he guessed he didn’t need to. There were a lot of things he didn’t understand. That was what being six – almost seven – entailed.
So, he watched and tried to make sense of it himself. A lot of that was because his father didn’t tell him much about what he was doing. Just that it was for protection and things like that. Peter watched his father build, but the day his dad shot through the glass wall and Peter had been sprayed with shards, he hadn’t been allowed back down into the shop. That was more on Pepper’s orders, and Peter’s father had agreed. Peter didn’t know why. He hadn’t even been cut.
Occasionally though, he’d sneak down. He’d watch through the window from the stairs as his father worked and flew and did things Peter would never be able to explain. It was like magic, but science and robots. Peter’s father could turn into one whenever the armor surrounded him and that was pretty amazing.
But his father was a lot more tired now. Ever since coming back from the desert and back to Peter, he had been very tired. Dark circles under his eyes and Peter wanted his father to go to sleep. Just for a little while. He was awake whenever Peter was put to bed and he was awake when Peter got up in the morning. There was something wrong, but Peter didn’t ask anymore because when he did his father would frown and pinch his cheeks or ruffle his hair. Peter didn’t like when his father looked so hurt.
Pepper had no problem with telling Peter’s father to sleep though and sometimes he’d catch his dad sleeping on his desk or the floor or anywhere but his bed. Some nights Peter lied and said he had nightmares, just so his father would sleep in his room. And Peter wouldn’t let himself slip off until he knew his father was already asleep next to him.
His dad was better on days he slept.
But then a lot was happening around Peter that he didn’t understand. Conversations about the armor and about people not knowing who his father was. And Peter was not allowed to tell anyone, especially his teacher or Ms. Goldrush who watched him whenever his father was too busy building or not at home.
Mr. Obie came over a lot more too and Peter didn’t like that very much. Especially the night Mr. Obie hurt his father.
Peter knew better than to come out of his hiding spot that night. He had snuck down the stairs, hearing voices from the living room. But when he saw Mr. Obie there, leaning over the couch and over his father, Peter had crouched down and covered his mouth with his hands to keep himself from breathing too loud. It felt like his heart was going burst from his tiny chest while he watched Mr. Obie pluck the thing that kept his father alive from his chest.
“This is your legacy. A new generation of weapons with this at its heart.”
Peter didn’t get it. But his father’s skin had gone pale and he wasn’t moving. Not at all. His brown eyes watered and he just couldn’t grasp it…why, why, why was Mr. Obie hurting his dad? Why wasn’t his father moving? Fighting? Using his new armor to do something, anything?
Then Mr. Obie was leaving. Peter ran down the stairs when he knew the man had gone.
Peter’s bare feet smacked against the floor as he rushed to the couch where his father laid. He jumped on it, propping himself up on his knees and holding his father’s shoulder to keep himself up right. The man was stiff, staring ahead, his mouth set in a thin line and his skin was growing paler by each passing moment. Peter felt his lower lip tremble as he shook his father’s shoulder ever so slightly, “Dad?”
His father didn’t say anything. But his eyes did move to look at Peter. Peter felt the tears grow hot on his cheeks and his face flushed with panic. Peter whimpered again, “What’s wrong? W-what…what…”
He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Around his father’s friend coming in and hurting him like that. Taking the thing from his dad’s chest. Peter studied the intimidating hole, staring, wondering and thinking of a way to fix it. To make it better. He bit down on his tongue and whispered, “I dunno what to do.”
Peter grabbed his dad’s hand, still staring at the gaping hole. His father’s fingers were twitching, but only in the slightest. Peter looked up at the ceiling and called, “Jarvis!”
“Yes Peter,” The voice responded, always there, always dependable.
Peter looked back down at his dad’s blanched face, “D-Dad is…how do I h-help him?”
He just wanted to cry. He wanted Pepper or Uncle Rhodey to show up and help and fix him. He wanted Mr. Obie to never come visit again. His stomach felt too hot and the whole room was too small for him and Peter was pretty darn small. Eventually Jarvis’ voice came back and said, “My scanners indicate his reactor has been removed from his chest. You’ll need to replace it.”
But Peter couldn’t. He couldn’t build. He didn’t even know where to get a thing like a reactor. Where to find one…
And then…
Peter jumped off the couch, running to the stairs that lead to the workshop. The day his dad had built the thing that had thrown his father against the wall, Pepper had brought something to the shop that looked exactly like the thing in his father’s chest. Peter’s short legs stumbled only slightly on the way down to the workshop, but the moment he made it there and typed in the code to enter, he rushed inside.
It was in a glass case that read ‘Proof that Tony Stark Has a Heart’ which must have been funny but Peter didn’t care. He grabbed it from the table, glanced at DUM-E who whirled, as if encouraging him to proceed. Peter stepped back, throwing down the glass box and listened to the satisfying shattering sound it made. Peter then carefully plucked the metal object out before running and making his way back up to his father.
Peter thought he had never run so quickly before.
Like he was the fastest person ever.
Once he had returned, he found that his father must have made some kind of attempt to get off the couch, because he was lying on the floor a few feet away from it. Peter slid to a stop on his pajama covered knees and prodded as his father’s shoulder to try and get him to roll over. Peter had to set the reactor down and grab the man’s arm in order to turn him on his back and Peter had never realized how heavy his father was. But then again, he had never tried to lift him before. His father had always done all the lifting for the both of them.
He looked worse, sweat glistening and clinging to his hair. Peter’s hands shook as his father’s bleary eyes met his own and Peter picked up the reactor, holding it out to the man.
Tony’s eyes moved to it. He was breathing heavily, gasping, before he muttered softly…
“Good boy.”
Peter watched as his father carefully plucked the object from his hand and starting to stick it into his chest. Peter thought, it should hurt to do that, but his father wasn’t even flinching. And the moment it was reinserted, it was as if life was pouring back into his father almost immediately, just lightly doused in exhaustion as his father’s head fell back and his eyes rolled closed. Peter breathed out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding before leaning forward and pressing the side of his face into the man’s shoulder. Despite him being sweaty and still gasping, Peter had thought…well…
His father hadn’t looked good.
It had been scary.
Peter didn’t cry though. He didn’t let himself.
He wanted to be an adult, like his dad.
When Uncle Rhodey arrived, Peter shot up from where he was lying beside his father, eyes going wide with terror until he realized who it was in their house. Uncle Rhodey looked panicked, running to be beside them and then helping Peter’s father sit up. Peter watched with worried eyes, because he didn’t think his father needed to be moving a lot.
“Where’s Pepper?” Peter’s father asked in a rough voice.
“She’s fine,” Uncle Rhodey reassured, holding him up by his arms, “She’s with five agents, they’re about to arrest Obadiah.”
His father’s eyes got far, far away.
“That’s not gonna be enough.”
Uncle Rhodey put Peter in his room. Told him to get under the bed and not to come out unless it was him, Pepper, or Tony that came looking for him. Peter didn’t know what was going on, but he held Remy close to his chest and got under the bed as he was instructed, hiding and silent as he was left alone in the house while his father went God knows where and Uncle Rhodey left with him.
Peter didn’t like it. Any of it. Being left to hide while everyone else got to go help his father. That was the only thing about being a kid. You had to hide. You couldn’t fight because the grown-ups wouldn’t let you. And Peter hated that. He hated being helpless. Not being able to help. But he didn’t move. He did what his Uncle Rhodey had told him to do and stayed hidden.
Peter thought, one day he’d be big enough to help. Big enough to do the things his father did. Maybe he’d build his own knight armor and he’d protect his dad instead of his dad protecting him all the time. It only seemed fair. But at the moment, Peter just laid there, holding Remy close and shutting his eyes blearily as the night drug on and no one came for him.
It was a long time before anyone came for him.
Peter woke to someone pulling him out from under the bed, and at first he flailed, eyes shooting open and Remy being thrown at the person. But when the person grunted in response to having a stuffed bunny shoved in his face, Peter realized it was his father who had reached under the bed and pulled his sleeping form out.
The boy blinked up at his father, who looked a little worse than before. But he wasn’t pale. Sickly. Just…bruised. Beaten. Like the night he had come home after being in the desert for so long with the bad guys. Peter sat up hurriedly, whirling to look at his father was still kneeling on the floor. Peter gasped, “Did you get him?”
His father’s head nodded mutely. Peter let out a breath of relief. Maybe his father’s eyes were sad, but Peter missed it. Saw it, but missed it, because if he had won, he shouldn’t have been sad. Then again, Mr. Obie had been his father’s friend and sometimes…well…friends weren’t supposed to do that. Hurt other friends. Peter remembered one of his friends tripping him on the playground. They weren’t friends after that and Peter had been sad.
Peter kneeled in front of his father, looking up at him.
“Uncle Rhodey and Pepper are still your friends.”
His father’s brows tugged together, as if confused by the statement.
Peter elaborated, “Mr. Obie was mean sometimes anyway. Uncle Rhodey is never mean and Pepper is only mean when you don’t follow her rules.”
Peter’s father scoffed, pushing a hand through Peter’s hair and pulling him close.
“I guess you’re right about that.”
Of course Peter was right. He felt right.
They didn’t sleep that night. Peter, his father, Uncle Rhodey, and Pepper all sat in the living room. Answering phone calls. Talking to people. Cops, men and women in suits came to the house to talk to them, one after the other, interview after interview. Peter’s father lied. Said he hadn’t been there when it happened, and Peter kept his mouth shut because he supposed his father had a reason to lie.
Then they slept the next day when the people stopped coming.
Peter had never had a day quite like that.
…
Then there was the press conference. Peter had been home with Ms. Goldrush when his father had come onto the television. She always let him watch his dad’s press conferences.
“I am Iron Man.”
Peter thought…the whole world changed then.