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Tony had a drinking problem.
It wasn’t a secret – everyone that mattered in his life already knew about it. Pepper had spent years cleaning up after him; picking up his empty bottles, mopping up vomit, collecting discarded clothes from odd places around the penthouse. It was never something he had to reveal to her because she’d been there to witness firsthand his slow descent into alcoholism.
Rhodey knew too, obviously. He’d been Tony’s best friend for as long as either of them could remember. He’d dragged Tony to bed on more than one occasion after finding him passed out in the lab or the bathroom or the back of some woman’s Mercedes. He’d tossed the billionaire ass-first into an icy shower when he wouldn’t wake up, and threatened to call Pepper when Tony very nearly climbed behind the wheel of his car after a pretty serious bender.
All of the important people in Tony’s life knew he had a drinking problem. They hated it, of course, but they knew.
And then Peter Parker swung through the city and straight into Tony’s cluttered heart.
Peter, with his bright smile and unbearably sunny disposition. Tony knew the second he laid eyes on the kid that he was in deep shit. The way the teenager looked at him absolutely broke his heart – he saw the moon and the stars in Tony. He saw a hero. He saw everything Iron Man was supposed to be, and everything Tony was not.
And it ate at him. It inspired him. It made him try. Goddamn if he didn’t try. He made Peter’s suit and he had Happy look after him and he checked in from a distance as often as he could. But it wasn’t enough to protect the teenager – not from the Vulture, and not from himself.
“Jesus Christ, kid, you could have gotten yourself killed! You very nearly did!”
Peter stared at the ground. His ribs throbbed and his head was pounding and when Tony yelled at him it did something strange to his heart. He rubbed his chest.
“I stopped him, though,” he mumbled.
Tony ran a tired hand across his face. “You should have called me.”
“I tried!”
“Well, then you should have waited until I got here!”
“Mr. Stark, he would have gotten away!” Peter looked up and the desperation and fear in his eyes were almost too much for the older man to stomach.
“But you would have been safe,” Tony ground out. “You wouldn’t be hobbling around with broken ribs and a concussion and God knows what else you’re hiding from me.”
Peter shook his head. “You wouldn’t have waited.”
“Pete,” the billionaire sighed. “I never had anyone I could wait for. You did. You do. Always.”
The kid smiled then and it was watery and emotional and it made Tony’s lungs constrict and his heart stutter painfully against his ribs. Shit. This was a mistake. This wasn’t what he wanted. Peter wasn’t supposed to look at him like that. He was messing this up. He was letting the kid crack him open bit by bit, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d have a mutant teenage superhero nesting inside of his heart in no time at all.
“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
Peter moved forward like he was going to hug him, his arms open, his face grateful and exhausted. Tony turned away before he could reach him, brushing the kid’s hands away and sliding his sunglasses on. He tried not to notice the way Peter’s eyes fell and his shoulders slumped and how he took several hurried steps backward, almost falling on his ass in his haste to get away.
“I’ll wait next time,” Peter said, very clearly lying. “I promise.” And then he was gone, webbing away into the darkness.
Tony drank that night. He flew home in his useless suit and drank whiskey until the world blurred around the edges and his bones felt like they were made of water and he couldn’t form a single, coherent thought. Pepper found him in the morning throwing up in the bathtub. She placed a cool towel against his head and then cleared his schedule for the day.
“Is there any alcohol left in New York?” She asked casually.
“Don’t think so,” Tony groaned. “Might be some in New Jersey.”
Pepper sighed and ran a hand through Tony’s sweaty hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.” She stood up. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll see you this evening once you’re feeling better.”
Tony didn’t feel better in the evening. His hangover was better – his head had stopped pounding hours ago and he was no longer vigorously fighting not to regurgitate his intestines – but his chest still ached every time he thought about Peter’s wide, wounded gaze. He still felt like cursing and shouting and breaking things when he thought about the young superhero stuck to the side of a rapidly falling plane. His rapidly falling plane.
“You need to talk to him,” Pepper stated flatly. She was sitting across from him at the island while he started on his third cheeseburger.
“I did.”
“Did you really? Or did you yell at him? Because there’s a big difference.”
Tony scoffed. “He’s a teenager, Pep. All they understand is yelling.”
“Is that Tony speaking or Howard?” Pepper asked eyebrow raised.
“Okay, ouch.”
“I’m sorry,” Pepper reached across the counter and squeezed the billionaire’s hand. “But how often did yelling work with you? And, more importantly, how do you feel about your father now?”
Tony shoved a handful of fries into his mouth and shrugged.
“Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay? This,” she gestured weakly towards the empty bottles and upturned furniture, “isn’t helping anyone, least of all Peter.”
And he did think about it. He thought about it until his headache came back, knocking at the back of his eyes with a white-hot vengeance. He thought about it until his ears were ringing and his mouth was dry and he couldn’t think about anything else. He needed Peter. Needed him to understand that Tony couldn’t afford to lose him, that he’d rather die than let anything happen to the moronic, self-sacrificing teenager. Tony didn’t think his heart could handle it if something bad happened to Peter. But how in the hell was he supposed to admit that to the kid when he could barely acknowledge it himself?
But he decided to try. Slowly. Make an effort. Reach out more, be available physically, since he couldn’t emotionally.
He started having Happy pick the kid up from school once or twice a month. He’d get little projects set up and they’d work in the lab together, silently at first, awkwardly for a while, until one afternoon when Peter started talking. It was like he decided the best way to break Tony open was to do it slowly, one weird and random story at a time.
“Last year Ned and I hitchhiked to Vermont so we could buy a bottle of maple syrup.”
Tony blinked. Turned in his chair to peer at Peter’s bent head. The kid was tinkering with an engine for one of the cars Tony was rebuilding by hand, and he had motor oil smeared across his forehead and in his hair.
“Come again?”
Peter looked up and grinned.
“It was for May’s birthday. She’s got a crazy sweet tooth and she’s always going on and on about the time she and uncle Ben went to Vermont for the weekend and had like, the best maple syrup ever. So the Friday before her birthday, Ned and I decided we were going to hitchhike up to Vermont to get May her maple syrup. I told May I was staying at Ned’s and of course, Ned told his parents he was staying with me. So we stood on the edge of the highway and this little old lady with like, the weirdest smelling perfume on, pulled over and offered to take us up the coast to Boston. So we climbed in and there was no air conditioning and no radio and she rambled the entire way there about her grandkids, and I swear to God, Mr. Stark, I was never so happy to get away from someone in my entire life. She dropped us off at this rest stop in Boston and then this kid with a golden retriever took us the rest of the way to Vermont.”
“And how did you get back?”
“Same way, basically. This time there was a truck driver we met at a gas station and he drove us to Manhattan. We had to take a cab home from there and it was super expensive, and we didn’t have enough money, so Ned’s mom had to come out of the house in her slippers and curlers and pay the fare. Then she called May.”
Tony shook his head slowly with a low whistle. “Bet that went well.”
“Oh, totally,” Peter laughed. “I was grounded for like a month and Ned got his computer taken away. But we had pancakes on May’s birthday, and you know what, Mr. Stark?”
“What?”
“To this day, they are still the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten.”
Tony wondered if he was supposed to lecture the teenager about the dangers of hitchhiking. But one look into Peter’s ginning face and he decided he could let it slide just this once.
It continued like that. Every time Peter came over they’d head down to the lab, work for maybe fifteen minutes in silence, and then the kid would launch into another random story that would make Tony laugh and shake his head in exasperation. If he’d thought it was the spider bite that brought out the crazy in his kid, he was clearly mistaken. Peter, he quickly learned, had always been a little on the eccentric side, and it didn’t look like that would be changing any time soon.
“I met you before I met you.”
Tony shut off the drill he was holding and turned to quirk an eyebrow at the teen.
“You wanna run that by me again?”
Peter blushed. “What I meant to say, is that I met you before that first time in the apartment with aunt May. Kinda. Well, I guess I didn’t meet you, really, but you did speak to me, so I still think it counts.”
Tony searched his memory but kept coming up blank.
“When was this?”
“At the Expo.”
“The – ” He paused then his eyes widened. “The Stark Expo? Where killer military drones attacked and nearly wiped out half the city? That Expo?”
“Erm, yep, that’d be the one.” Peter shrugged. “I was just a kid, but Uncle Ben took me because I begged and begged for like, a year to go. I was outside when all the bad stuff went down, and people were running and screaming, but I had this plastic Iron Man helmet on and I really believed I could save everyone. It was stupid, I know that now, but at the time I wasn’t even scared, Mr. Stark. I just stood there while that thing came at me and I raised my arm like I could blast it out of the sky, you know, and then you were there, and you saved me. And it was the coolest moment of my life, I swear. And you said – ”
“‘Nice work, kid,’” Tony echoed hollowly.
Peter nodded. “I just thought you’d like to know. You’ve been looking out for me for a really long time, Mr. Stark. Even before you knew it.”
Tony felt like the room was swallowing him alive. How could he not have known? How had he gone through every day since then not realizing he’d almost lost Peter long before he’d ever even got the opportunity to know him? He felt the beginning of a panic attack coming on and had to grab the table in front of him to keep himself from sinking to his knees.
“Mr. Stark? Are you okay?”
“Fine, kid,” Tony wheezed. “Just – light-headed. What – uh, what time is it?”
Peter checked his phone. “Almost 8.”
“Right,” Tony rubbed his chest and tried to suck in a mouthful of oxygen through his constricted throat. “You’d better head home now, Pete. Happy should be waiting for you downstairs.”
“Um, okay,” Peter hesitated. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Good, I’m good,” the billionaire waved him off. “Get outta here, underoos, before aunt hottie calls and yells at me.”
“…okay.”
The teenager threw him one last concerned look over his shoulder before leaving the lab and climbing into the elevator. The second the doors closed behind him, Tony slumped to the floor and buried his face in his hands.
He’d put Peter in danger again. Without even realizing it. Without even knowing who he was or how much he’d one day come to mean to him.
The panic he’d been fighting back since Peter began his innocent confession began to rise again from the pit of his stomach. It burned the back of his throat and seized his heart in a tight, crushing fist. He shoved his head between his knees and gasped for air.
“Sir, you appear to be experiencing an anxiety attack,” FRIDAY stated. “Would you like me to call Miss Potts?”
“God no,” Tony choked. “Just – count for me. Count to ten. Until I tell you to stop.”
“Very well, sir.”
And she counted. And Tony sputtered and coughed and scratched at his throat until the world stopped spinning on its axis. By the time it was over, Tony was a sweating, panting mess on his own laboratory floor. Even though there wasn’t anyone around to witness it, he still felt the humiliation as fiercely as if it had been broadcast for the whole world to see. He wiped his forehead on the back of his arm and climbed shakily to his feet.
FRIDAY was still counting in the background and Tony let her while he tried to focus on not throwing up all over his desk. It was another long few minutes before he could walk without toppling over, and the first thing he did was stumble towards the cabinet where he’d stashed away an open bottle of whiskey in the event of an emergency.
“You can stop now, FRI,” Tony said, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long swig. The burning felt good, like fire crawling down his throat and into his stomach. It was familiar and safe. It lessened the pain in his heart and diluted the aftershocks of his panic attack.
“Is that a good idea, sir?” FRIDAY asked.
“Definitely not,” Tony said. “That’d be why I’m doing it.” And he took another drink.
On nights like that, it never took long. He wasn’t looking to slowly slide away – he wanted to be drunk off his ass, and he wanted it fast. So he drank whiskey until the world around him took on that comfortable fuzzy feeling that he loved so much and then he dropped the bottle, sunk to the ground, and lay his cheek against the cool tile floor. He would sleep and it would be dreamless and wonderful and he could deal with his feelings in the morning.
If only the universe was that kind.
Tony heard the elevator arrive and winced at the prospect of unexpected company. His eyes were closed and there was a puddle of whiskey forming where he’d dropped the bottle, soaking through his shirt and into his skin. It didn’t matter though because there was no else it could be besides Pepper, and she had seen him in far worse states than this. It was supposed to be Pepper.
It wasn’t Pepper.
“Hey, sorry, I forgot my backpack by the – oh my God, Mr. Stark!”
The kid’s shriek sent a jolt of lightning straight into the back of Tony’s head and down through his heart and stomach. His eyes flew open and he lifted his head, praying, pleading, begging it to all be a dream.
Peter was staring at him with eyes wide, round, and nakedly terrified. He stood frozen for about five seconds before he flew across the room and flung himself to the floor next to his mentor.
“What happened? What can I do? Oh, my God, oh my God, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have left. You’re sick and I left you here all alone and I’m so sorry.”
Tony tried to stop his head from spinning long enough to decipher the kid's panicked babbling. Peter was frightened. Peter was frightened for him. No, that’s not right. Peter was frightened because of him.
“Kid,” Tony tried. His tongue felt like cotton. He forced himself to his knees and the world tilted dangerously to one side. He grabbed Peter’s shoulder for support and squeezed.
“Should I call an ambulance?”
Tony snorted. Then he laughed. Then he covered his mouth with his hand so he wouldn’t puke all over the teenager in front of him.
“I’m not sick,” he slurred. “I’m – drunk, Pete.”
“Drunk?” Peter glanced around and his eyes fell on the nearly empty bottle of whiskey tipped over on the floor. “Oh. Oh. Um. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Tony tried to roll his eyes but all he managed was a sort of weird jerking motion that sent him falling back onto his ass once more. Peter reached for him but he batted his hands away.
“Go home,” he ordered.
“But you – you’re still not doing – er, well,” Peter stuttered. “I should – help you to bed. Or get you something? Aspirin? Cold water? A trashcan?”
Tony was angry. Angry that Peter was here, seeing him like this. Angry that he’d woken him up. Angry that he’d let any of this happen in the first place. He could feel his temper rising, the Stark temper, the drunken bane of his existence, the side of him he had never, ever wanted Peter to experience.
“I don’t need anything from you,” he snapped. His head was spinning. “Get out of here.”
“But – should I at least call Miss Potts…?”
“No, you shouldn’t call Miss Potts,” Tony mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “I’m not a child, Peter. Unlike you, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
The kid bit his bottom lip but stood slowly and picked his backpack up from where it had been half-hidden under Tony’s desk.
“If you need anything,” he whispered. “Please call me, Mr. Stark.”
Tony closed his eyes against the torrent of emotion swimming through his veins. His vision was getting black and smudged around the corners and his head was heavy and he was seconds away from collapsing right in front of a fifteen-year-old child.
“I don’t need you,” Tony said, fighting the rush of darkness. “Now for the love of God. Get. Out.”
Peter left and Tony fell to the floor once again. This time, he didn’t get up until morning.
***
The world was unforgiving. The floor was hard and every square inch of his body hurt. Tony tried not to think about how he got there or how he was going to get up – all of his energy was focused on not spewing. If he hadn’t already. He might have, but he hadn’t opened his eyes yet to find out. The floor was good. The floor was nice. Hard, but solid. He could deal with that.
But then things started trickling in. Working with Peter. Peter’s story. Peter leaving – and then – Peter coming back.
Tony lost his battle with the nausea crashing around in his stomach. He rolled onto his side and vomited into a perfectly placed waste paper basket. Had he put it there? Had the kid? He had no idea.
It took longer than he would like to admit before he could sit up without wanting to die. And when he did, things became clearer. So clear, in fact, that he wished he hadn’t woken up at all.
Oh God. Peter. His kid. He had seen Tony like – like that. The sinking feeling in his gut was new and strange and made him feel like throwing up all over again. Because no matter how many times Tony had drunk himself into oblivion before, he had never once felt embarrassed by it – not with Pepper and certainly not with Rhodey. They had both known what they were getting into when they decided to get involved with him. They were two grown adults who had made the (somewhat questionable) decision to deal with Tony at his absolute worst. He was certainly never proud of his terrible drinking habit, but he had never felt so absolutely ashamed of it before.
Because the kid hadn’t volunteered for this. He hadn’t known what he was getting into when he chose Iron Man for his hero, or when he started looking at Tony like he was the father he didn’t have. And, Jesus Christ, Tony had been awful to him. Just like his dad, he thought darkly, exactly like his dad.
Tony struggled to his feet. He felt old and beaten down and absolutely hopeless.
“FRIDAY?” He asked.
“Yes sir?”
“How long ago did Peter leave?”
“Approximately seven hours and twenty-three minutes ago.”
“Was he – I mean, did he seem okay?”
“I am not programmed to offer opinions.”
“Right, yeah, got it,” Tony sighed. “How did he look, FRI?”
“He was pale and shaking. There were tears in his eyes and his lips were trembling. When Mr. Hogan saw the state he was in he asked what was wrong, but Peter did not respond. Mr. Hogan then drove him home.”
Tony buried his face in his hands. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”
“I am not programmed to offer opinions,” FRIDAY repeated. “But if your goal was to avoid making Peter Parker cry – I would be forced to say you failed, sir.”
“You’re not making me feel any better.”
“I am not programmed to offer comfort either.”
“No, and why should you?” Tony walked to the elevator. “I’m the one who messed everything up. I can – I will fix this.”
FRIDAY did not respond and Tony was half certain it was because she didn’t believe him. But this time, he was determined to make things right. He would figure out how to fix the relationship he’d royally screwed up last night – he had to. And it had to be soon, too. Leaving Pete alone after unleashing hell on him was not an option. It killed Tony to think of how little sleep he must have gotten last night and how much pain he must have been, hearing his mentor shout over and over again inside his head, I don’t need you.
First, he thought, a shower. And some aspirin. And maybe three or four greasy cheeseburgers. Then, Peter. His stomach clenched at the thought.
An hour later Tony was standing in front of the kitchen sink downing his fifth glass of lukewarm water. He was beginning to feel slightly more human than he had that morning, and it was time to seriously figure out what he was going to do about the kid. He turned to stare at his phone which was sitting innocently on the kitchen counter mocking him. Should he call? Or text? Should he drive to Peter’s apartment? Or would May Parker be waiting for him with a shotgun? He wouldn’t put it past her.
Before he could make up his mind, the phone in question erupted into song. It was Rhodey’s ringtone and Tony hated himself for how relieved he felt at the small reprieve.
“What’s up, honey bear?” He winced to hear the false bravado in his own voice. “Now is not actually the best time…”
“Got that right,” Rhodey shouted and Tony yanked the phone away from his ear with a scowl.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Queens,” Rhodey’s voice was cutting in and out. “Get your ass out here, pronto! There’s…bombing…Iron Man…we need help…”
And the call dropped along with Tony’s heart. Queens. Why did it have to be Queens of all places?!
He dialed Peter’s number almost without thinking and wasn’t even a little surprised when it went straight to voicemail.
“Peter Parker. If you are anywhere near whatever disaster is currently taking place, I am going to ground you until you’re forty. Do you understand me?” Tony paused and drew a deep breath through his nose. “Call me, Pete. Please.”
***
Peter had been lying in bed staring at his ceiling with dry, red eyes when he heard the sound. He jumped to the window and watched as a plume of orange and black smoke billowed into the air on the horizon. He was in his suit a minute later hollering for May to get to the basement.
“Peter! You can’t go out there!” She shrieked as he swung into the alley.
“I have to, May, people could be in danger,” Peter called over his shoulder. “I’ll be safe, I promise.”
“Peter!”
But whatever else she was going to say was lost in the rush of wind beating in Peter’s ears as he flew through the air. A small part of him, a dark and twisted part of him that made his heart twinge with guilt, was thankful for the distraction. He didn’t have time to think about Mr. Stark right now – there were people who needed him.
It took him less than ten minutes to arrive on the scene and for one wild moment, Peter wasn’t sure what to do. The street looked like a warzone. There were three buildings on fire and one that had already collapsed onto the street, spewing smoke and ash into the faces of confused and terrified pedestrians.
Then War Machine whizzed by his left side and shouted, “Look alive Spiderman!”
And he jumped into the fray. A screaming toddler was being held out of the window of one of the burning buildings by his equally terrified mom. Peter scooped them both under one arm and swung them to the safety of a nearby supermarket. He patted the little boy on the head then went back to look for more survivors.
It was like cherry-picking. Peter webbed around each building, searching the windows for potential victims, all the while scanning the street for any onlookers in danger from falling debris. War Machine was rocketing around sweeping rocks and boards and large chunks of the demolished buildings off of the street, uncovering cars and food carts and – people.
Peter had barely cleared the second building when he heard a sound that made his heart freeze inside his chest. It was snapping, cracking, followed by a terrible rumble that shook the entire ground. He looked behind him and felt the world around him begin to slow. It was falling. The building Peter was attached to was crumbling before his very eyes and the teenager had barely a moment to feel grateful that he had just cleared out the street below when his web snapped and he was plummeting back to earth.
Landing on his face hurt, but it was nothing compared to the torrential downpour of concrete that rained down on him from every direction. It was familiar and terrifying and everything Peter had never wanted to experience again. Distantly, he remembered Mr. Stark and the promise he had made to wait for him next time. He wished he had. He wished –
The world went black.
***
There had been a lot of moments in Tony’s life that stuck out as meaningful in one way or another. His mom. God, his mom. Every moment of every day spent by her side laughing with her, playing the piano, sobbing into her arms while his dad yelled and threw things around the house.
Meeting Pepper. Kissing Pepper for the first time. Admitting that he loved her, and oh God, the sheer disbelief and euphoria when she said it back.
Rhodey, standing by his side, becoming War Machine to stop him, to save him, as they fought and defeated Whiplash.
Peter Parker, snatching Cap’s shield and being so damn proud of himself for it. Peter leaning into his hug that he hadn’t intended to be a hug and the smell of his hair and the way he smiled when he said Mr. Stark and the rambling stories he told and voicemails he left that Tony had listened to at least a hundred times each.
Pepper, falling into a sea of flames and Tony being helpless to stop it.
Rhodey crashing to the ground, blood oozing from his mouth, and Tony being helpless to stop it.
Peter falling, slamming into the street face-first, being buried beneath a thousand pounds of concrete again and Tony being helpless to stop it.
He was seconds too late, as always. Twenty seconds earlier and he could have shielded Peter, could have plucked him out of the air, and taken him home to his aunt and they could have enjoyed yelling at him together.
But now – now Tony was on his knees sifting through rubble and praying like he’s never prayed before to a God he didn’t even believe in to save his ridiculous, courageous, idiotic kid.
Rhodey landed by his side and joined in the frantic hunt. The fires had mostly been contained and the police had arrived and people were starting to disperse but Tony didn’t notice any of it because his kid, damnit, his kid had been buried alive.
“Tony!” Rhodey called his name. “I think I got him – Tony, I found him!”
He didn’t mean to, but he sent Rhodey flying into the side of a flower shop in his desperation to reach Peter. He was unconscious. Tony fell out of his suit and pulled Peter’s mask halfway up so he could search desperately along his neck for a pulse. He let out a choked sob when he found it, weak and thready, but there. Tony hauled the teenager into his arms and buried his face in his throat, shaking and whispering his name over and over again.
“Sir, we need to examine him.”
a paramedic was standing behind Tony. He reached for Peter’s limp body and Tony shoved him away.
“Tony,” Rhodey was at his side again. “He needs help.”
“At the – at the compound,” Tony pulled Peter’s mask back down to completely conceal his face. “We’ll take him to the compound.”
Rhodey nodded and stood. He waved the paramedics away and grabbed Tony’s arm. “You want me to carry him?”
“No,” Tony settled Peter gently back onto the pile of rocks before standing and stepping back into his suit. He then lifted the teenager carefully into his arms and let his head settle against his chest.
“I’ve got you, kid,” he whispered, turning towards the sky. Always, he thought.
Dr. Cho and her team were waiting at the compound when the three of them arrived, having been briefed by Rhodey on the short flight over. Tony waited in tortured silence while they examined Peter, trying not to think about what had happened, trying not to picture his kid slamming into the ground over and over and over again inside his head. He had sent Happy to pick up a nearly hysterical May with the sworn promise to call her the second he had any updates on Peter’s condition. Pepper arrived shortly after and sat with Tony’s hand clutched between her own, whispering reassuring nonsense into his ear. Rhodey stood off to the side with his head down and his hands clasped in what Tony could only assume was a silent prayer.
There were others too, and they drifted in and out of his view. Doctors and nurses, maybe. People he didn’t know or care about but were currently fighting to save his kid’s life.
Tony wanted a drink more than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire life, but the very thought made him shake with anger and shame. How could he be craving alcohol when Peter was hurt and possibly dying? How could he even think about drinking again when the last thing he said to his kid was that he didn’t need him?
Tony stood abruptly and walked to the bathroom. No one followed him.
He stared at himself in the mirror, taking in the lines and scars and dark, damaged eyes. The longer he looked the clearer his face became – the face of his father. His drunken, obsessive, manipulative, cruel, and emotionless father. That was who he had become. How could he have let Peter think for even a moment that he wasn’t important, that he didn’t mean the entire world to Tony? He had told himself he would break the cycle of shame. He had promised himself he would be there for the teenage superhero, that he would support him and protect him, and – Jesus Christ, he loved the kid. He loved him so damn much.
The mirror in front of him shattered and it took the billionaire a long moment to realize why. His hand was throbbing but it was distant, dull, and almost inconsequential. There was blood in the sink and on Tony’s shirt and dripping steadily onto the floor but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was the least of his worries, and the least of what he deserved.
“Tony?” Pepper’s voice came through the door. “Tony, they need to talk to you. About Peter.”
Tony wrapped his hand in one of the guest towels and walked back out into the hallway. Pepper’s eyes fell to the bloodstained cloth but she didn’t say anything about it and instead settled a steady hand on his shoulder.
“Over there,” she motioned to the adjoining office that they’d hastily made into a makeshift waiting room.
Dr. Cho was talking quietly to Rhodey when Tony walked in. She smiled when she saw him and a little of the unbearable tension around his heart eased at the sight.
“He’s okay,” she said without preamble. “He got very, very lucky, and if it hadn’t been for his advanced healing things might have turned out differently. But as it is, he’s suffering from a concussion, a fractured femur, four broken ribs, and a pretty serious ruptured disc. He’ll be sore for a long while, I expect, but he’s okay, Tony. I promise.”
The world started to shift and Tony all at once became aware of the blood soaking through his sleeve and the pain in his hand and the terrible realization that a few minutes ago he had almost lost one of the most important people in his life. And he’d never even told him he loved him.
Tony felt the floor rush up to meet him and then there was nothing but darkness.
***
Peter hadn’t expected to wake up. And even if he somehow managed not to die at the bottom of a concrete avalanche, he had certainly not expected to wake up in a hospital bed, lying next to his mentor.
Mr. Stark?!
Peter tried to sit up but a gentle hand pushed him back down. He turned wide eyes on his aunt May. She had tears in her eyes but she was smiling and running and hand gently back and forth through his hair.
“He’s okay,” she whispered. “Just very, very relieved. As we all are.”
“I’m sorry,” he croaked.
“I know,” she sighed. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Just get some rest now. Your body needs time to heal, so let’s just take it easy for a little while.”
Peter nodded slowly and let his eyes flicker over to Tony. He looked pale and thin, and there were bandages wrapped around his wrist and lower arm.
“He punched a bathroom mirror.”
Peter’s eyes flew to the door. Pepper stood there wearing a soft, sad smile.
“He what?”
Pepper sighed and stepped into the room. May moved to the side so she could lean over the bed and give Peter a tender kiss on the forehead.
“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she whispered.
“What happened to Mr. Stark?”
Pepper squeezed his hand. “I think he was a little upset with himself. You know how he is – every bad thing that happens is always his fault.”
“This wasn’t – he didn’t do anything wrong. This wasn’t his fault.”
“I think that’s probably something he will only believe when it comes from you,” Pepper smiled then turned to look at May. “I was going to head to the kitchen and make something for Peter to eat. Dr. Cho said only liquids for the next day or two. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Oh, yes,” May said, and a mischievous glint sparked to life in her eyes. “I have a wonderful recipe for avocado soup.”
Peter groaned and Pepper laughed. “Well, I would love to learn it if you’d be willing to give me a hand.”
May glanced at Peter and he shrugged. “Go ahead. I have a feeling I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Too right you’re not,” May agreed. She smoothed a kiss onto the crown of Peter’s head and then followed Pepper out into the hallway.
Peter was out of bed an instant later, ignoring the way his damaged ribs sent fingers of agony shooting through his body and the clunky and awkward manner he had to drag his bandaged leg across the floor.
Mr. Stark looked a little better up close, but not much. His forehead was creased and the lines around his eyes were deeper than Peter had ever seen him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Peter said softly.
He reached for his mentor’s hand and then hesitated. Would Mr. Stark be angry with him? After all, Peter hadn’t even tried to call, hadn’t waited for him like he’d promised he would. He'd been too hurt and too angry to even consider the possibility of reaching out for help, and now here he was, injured and lying in a hospital bed. And to make matters worse, he had inadvertently gotten Mr. Stark hurt too.
The older man had said that he didn’t need him, that there was nothing Peter could ever do to help him, and he had every reason to feel that way. Peter couldn't even go one day without getting into trouble, how on earth did he expect to help Mr. Stark?
“Underoos.”
His head snapped up. Tony's eyes were open and he was pinning him to the spot with his dark and steady gaze, but there was no anger there, no condemnation or disappointment. Just sheer relief and something so soft and so tender that it made Peter's heart constrict inside his chest.
Against his will, he felt his eyes fill with tears, and before he could stop himself he was sobbing into his hands.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”
Tony was trying to find his voice, trying to locate the words that could make this better, that could stop his kid’s heart from breaking.
“Pete,” he said. “Come here.”
The teenager looked up. Tony’s arms were open and he’d shifted on the bed to carve out a small spot only big enough for a fifteen-year-old kid. Peter didn’t need to be asked twice. He climbed into his mentor’s arms and buried his face against his chest.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Shh,” Mr. Stark ran a hand gently down his back, mindful of his injuries. “Here’s the deal, kid. You are never, ever allowed to apologize to me again. For anything. I mean it. You hit the jackpot, buddy.”
Peter laughed wetly.
“I mean it,” Tony pulled back slightly to stare into the teenager’s teary eyes. “I am – I am a lot of things, Peter, but I’m definitely not perfect. And what I did that night – what I said – that was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made in my entire life. And that is including the day I pissed myself in one of my suits in front of a room full of socialites.”
Peter wrinkled his nose and Tony laughed.
“I didn’t mean any of those awful things I said to you,” he continued, pulling the teenager into his arms once more. “I was trying to get you to leave because I hated that you were seeing me that way. It was mean and stupid and – something my father would have done. And I am so, so sorry, kid. Nothing could be further from the truth. I will always need you.”
Peter choked on a sob and clung to Tony until he was sure he was leaving the billionaire with one or two broken ribs of his own. But Mr. Stark didn’t seem to mind – he was gripping Peter just as tightly.
“You scared me,” Peter admitted. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”
“I know,” Tony sighed and ran a hand through the kid’s hair. “I scare myself when I’m like that too.”
Peter lifted his head to look at his mentor with his usual wide, honest gaze. “Then – why? I mean, why do you do it?”
“I’m an alcoholic, Pete. It’s kinda hard to stop.”
Peter considered this for a long minute before he nodded and lay his head back on Tony’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said.
Tony’s eyebrows peaked. “It is?”
“Yeah,” Peter’s voice was thick with emotion and exhaustion. “I love you no matter what.”
And the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist felt his heart stop in his chest and then rocket up to pound inside his overly dry mouth. He pulled Peter tight against his chest and pressed a hard, rough kiss against his forehead.
“I love you too, underoos. Always.”
Peter’s smile was small and tired and his eyelids were beginning to flutter. Tony rubbed his hand slowly up and down the kid’s back and listened as his breath evened out and his body relaxed into sleep.
It wasn’t okay, no matter what the sweet and forgiving teenager in his arms said. It had never been okay. Not when Pepper had been forced to peel him off the bathroom floor and hunt for his missing underwear in a pile of strangers’ clothes. Not when Rhodey had had no choice but to physically stop him from climbing behind the wheel of his car and putting a lot of innocent lives at risk.
And not when he’d scared his kid senseless and made him think that he was anything less than the most important person in the world to Tony.
It wasn’t okay. But it would be.
“FRIDAY?” He called out, keeping his voice low.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get rid of it. All of it. I don’t care how. Just – I want it gone by the time Peter wakes up.”
“I understand, sir,” FRIDAY responded, and he thought she sounded a little like Pepper, a little like she was proud of him. “I’ll take care of it.”
Tony closed his eyes and buried his face in Peter’s curls. They were going to be okay.