Peter Anthony Stark had always struggled with nightmares. They weren’t just fleeting bad dreams that dissipated upon waking; they were vivid, heart-pounding terrors that left him gasping for breath, his body trembling as if he had truly lived through them. Shadows stretched too long, voices whispered in the dark, and no matter how hard he tried, he could never shake the feeling of being alone, abandoned, lost.
Lately, though, the nightmares had been getting worse. More frequent. More suffocating.
Tonight’s was the worst yet.
He was trapped.
The dream had started normally enough—home, the workshop, Tony beside him, the comforting whir of machinery in the background. But then everything shifted. The lights flickered, the walls closed in, and suddenly, Tony was gone. His voice, always strong, always steady, dissolved into an echoing distortion. The room stretched into an endless void, an abyss that swallowed Peter whole. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His feet refused to carry him forward, his hands clawed at nothing, and when he tried to scream for his dad, no sound came out. He was drowning in darkness, suffocating under the crushing weight of something unseen, something watching, waiting just out of reach.
Then—
A jolt.
Peter Stark gasped as his body shot upright, the phantom grip of the nightmare still clinging to him. His chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths, the sweat cooling on his clammy skin making him shudder. The lingering fear wrapped around his ribs like an iron band, squeezing tighter with every second that passed. He forced his eyes open, his vision blurred by tears he hadn’t realized were there. He was in his room. His bed. Safe. But the panic didn’t fade. His body remained frozen, paralyzed by the terror that had chased him from sleep. Even with the familiar hum of the arc reactor in the distance, even with the city lights faintly illuminating the edges of his room, the nightmare still clung to him like a second skin.
He needed Tony.
The thought hit him like an instinctual pulse, something so deeply ingrained that it overpowered everything else. But even then, it took an agonizingly long moment for him to gather the strength to move. His muscles ached with exhaustion, his limbs felt weighted as he pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The hardwood floor was cool beneath his feet, grounding him slightly, but the disorientation remained. He felt like he wasn’t entirely awake, like the dream still had one foot in reality, dragging him back under.
He had to get to his dad.
With slow, unsteady steps, Peter forced himself forward. Every movement felt sluggish, like wading through deep water. The hallway stretched before him, impossibly long, the darkness pressing in at the edges of his vision. His breath came in short, shaky gasps, and his fingers skimmed the walls as he walked, using them as an anchor. He wanted to call out, to whisper for his dad, but his throat was dry, his voice strangled by lingering fear.
By the time he reached Tony’s door, his hands were shaking so badly that it took several tries before he managed to turn the handle. The quiet creak of the door echoed in the stillness of the night, making him hesitate. He knew how ridiculous this was—he was sixteen, not six—but right now, he didn’t care. The fear was real, the desperation undeniable.
The soft glow of the arc reactor bathed the room in a faint blue light, casting gentle shadows over Tony’s sleeping form. He was sprawled out on the bed, one arm draped over his head, the other resting against his stomach. His breathing was slow, steady—peaceful in a way Peter rarely saw during the day. Tony was always moving, always talking, always thinking a thousand things at once. But here, in the quiet of night, he was simply... there. And right now, that was everything Peter needed.
Holding his breath, Peter stepped closer, carefully padding over to the bed. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if afraid the moment would shatter if he wasn’t careful. He reached for the blanket, intent on slipping in unnoticed, curling up beside his dad like he had when he was younger, pretending for just a little while longer that he wasn’t afraid.
But just as he gently lifted the blanket, the bed creaked ever so slightly, and Tony stirred.
Peter froze, his breath catching in his throat. He braced himself for a groggy demand of why he was sneaking in like a little kid.
Instead, Tony’s voice came, rough with sleep but warm nonetheless. “You just gonna stand there all night, Tesoro?” (Sweetheart?)
Peter let out a shaky breath. “I… I had a bad dream.”
Tony shifted slightly, turning to face him better. “Yeah? A real nasty one?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah. It felt so real.”
Tony exhaled, patting the space beside him. “C’mere, kiddo.”
He didn’t hesitate this time. Peter quickly climbed into bed, his movements cautious, as if afraid he might still be turned away. But Tony didn’t hesitate—he simply tucked him in the blanket, wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders, and held him close. He pressed a firm kiss to the top of Peter’s head, lingering there as if making sure he was real, safe.
The warmth, the safety—it was instant. The tension that had wrapped around Peter’s chest like iron bands started to ease.
Tony let out a deep sigh, his hand coming up to rub soothing circles on Peter’s back. “Incubo, amore?” (Nightmare, love?)
Peter nodded against Tony’s shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was trapped, Papà. I couldn’t move—I couldn’t breathe. Everything disappeared, and you were gone. I tried to call for you, but… nothing. It was like I didn’t exist.”
Tony’s grip tightened, his hand rubbing slow circles on Peter’s back. “I’m here, cucciolo. I’m not going anywhere.”
Peter swallowed hard, his breath shaky. “It wasn’t just you. Mom was gone too. But it was different. Like she was never there at all. Like I made her up.” His voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t remember her, I mean I was only little when she was…gone. But I try keeping her close through her pictures and all but now every time I try… she just slips further away.”
Tony exhaled sharply, pulling Peter closer. “Tesoro…”
Peter let out a choked sob. “What if I forget her completely? What if one day, she’s just… gone? Like she never existed? I know she was only barely there but still Dad” His grip tightened on his dad’s shirt. “And what if I lose you too? What if one day I wake up and you’re just… gone?”
Tony swallowed hard, pressing a firm kiss to Peter’s curls. “Look at me.” He pulled back just enough to meet his son’s tear-filled eyes. “You won’t forget her, Peter. She’s a part of you—your heart, your soul. That doesn’t just disappear.” His voice softened. “And me? I’m not going anywhere. I promise you, piccolo mio, you’ll never be alone.”
Peter let out another shaky sob, finally allowing himself to believe it. “Promise?”
Tony rested his forehead against Peter’s. “With everything I am.”
A shuddering sob escaped Peter, his body trembling as the weight of his emotions finally broke free. He clutched Tony’s shirt, his tears soaking into the fabric. “I just… I hate how real they feel,” he whispered, his voice cracking with another choked sob.
Tony pressed another kiss to his temple. “I know, piccolo mio. But you don’t have to face them alone. Ever.”
Peter sniffled, his breath hitching as more tears spilt over. “I mean it, Dad,” he sobbed. “You’re amazing. The best dad I could ever ask for. Even without Mom… I never felt like something was missing. You were always there, Dad. And you were enough. You are enough.”
Tony let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to Peter’s. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Oh, Peter Pan… Mio Angelo. That means everything, you know that?” He pressed another kiss to Peter’s curls, his arms wrapped securely around him. “You’re my whole world, bambino. Always.”
Peter let out another shaky sob, finally allowing himself to believe it. “I love you, Papà.”
Tony smiled softly, brushing his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Ti amo, piccolo mio. Always.”
As Peter’s breathing evened out, Tony stayed awake, his fingers gently carding through his son’s curls. Even now, doubt crept in—was he enough? Was he doing this right? But as Peter curled closer, safe in his arms, Tony knew one thing: he would never stop trying. Never stop loving. Never stop being Peter’s dad.
Tony smiled softly. His mind drifted back to the countless times Peter had clung to him as a child. He remembered the way people had doubted him, whispered about how Tony Stark could never be a good father. They had pitied Peter, thinking he’d be neglected or overshadowed. But then they saw the way Tony was with his son—gentle, devoted, completely in love with his boy. Even the Avengers had been surprised, expecting Tony to be distant, only to witness him cradling a toddler Peter at meetings, pressing kisses to his curls, murmuring soft reassurances.
______________________
Steve hadn’t believed it at first.
He had been yelling at Tony, frustration boiling over. “You’re selfish, Stark! You never think about anyone but yourself!” The words had been sharp, edged with exasperation, with certainty that Tony Stark was incapable of true selflessness.
Tony had said nothing. He just stood there, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. There was no biting retort, no sarcastic quip, nothing that Steve had come to expect from the man who seemed to thrive on pushing people’s buttons. Instead, there was a shift—something in the way Tony held himself, a flicker in his eyes that Steve almost missed. It was small, and subtle, but it was there.
And Steve, in that moment, felt smug satisfaction curl in his chest. He had struck a nerve. Finally.
Then, a small voice cut through the tense air.
“Daddy!”
Steve turned just in time to see a tiny child—a boy, no older than three or four, with a mess of dark curls and wide brown eyes—come barreling toward Tony on unsteady legs.
Steve blinked, stunned. “You have a kid?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, dripping with disbelief. He scoffed, shaking his head. “You? That’s a joke, right?”
The room had gone completely silent.
The other Avengers were frozen, eyes wide as they took in the sight before them. Natasha, usually unreadable, looked genuinely shocked. Bruce adjusted his glasses as if he thought he might be seeing things. Clint's mouth was slightly open, his gaze flicking between Tony and the child in his arms. Even Thor, ever unshakable, furrowed his brows in confusion.
But the biggest shock? The kid—Peter—was Tony’s carbon copy.
The same unruly hair, the same sharp, intelligent eyes, even the same naturally mischievous expression. It was like someone had taken Tony and shrunk him down into toddler form. There was no mistaking it—this was his son.
Tony still didn’t respond to Steve. Instead, he crouched down with practised ease, catching Peter effortlessly and hoisting him onto his hip in a fluid motion. Peter’s little arms wrapped around his father’s neck, clinging to him with a trust so absolute it almost startled Steve.
Peter immediately buried his face in Tony’s neck, his tiny fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Tony—Tony changed right before their eyes.
His entire demeanour softened. His posture shifted from tense defiance to something so completely foreign—something warm, protective. One hand cradled the back of Peter’s head, fingers threading gently through his curls, while the other held him securely against his chest. Tony rocked him gently, swaying from side to side in an instinctive rhythm. He pressed a soft kiss to Peter’s temple, then another to his curls, his lips lingering as if trying to shield the child from anything and everything.
And when Tony spoke, it wasn’t with his usual sharp sarcasm or arrogant drawl.
It was soft. Gentle. Full of love.
“Hey, cucciolo. What’s wrong?”
The team exchanged glances, the air thick with disbelief. None of them had ever seen Tony like this. None of them had even suspected this side of him existed.
Peter sniffled against his father’s shoulder, his small body trembling slightly. Tony responded instantly, murmuring quiet reassurances in Italian as he gently rubbed circles on Peter’s back. He swayed a little more, resting his cheek against Peter’s head. The toddler let out a soft sigh, his tiny hands gripping Tony’s shirt like he was afraid to let go.
“Don’t wanna go,” Peter mumbled, voice muffled against Tony’s shirt.
Tony hummed softly, pressing another kiss into Peter’s curls. “You don’t have to, baby. I’ve got you.”
Peter clung tighter, his breathing evening out but his grip refusing to loosen. Tony just held him, one hand rubbing slow patterns along his back. The others watched as Tony rocked him, his entire focus devoted to the child in his arms.
Steve couldn’t look away. This—this wasn’t an act. It wasn’t for show, some public stunt to make Tony seem better than he was. This was real. This was genuine. The way Tony’s lips brushed against Peter’s curls, the way he hummed something soft under his breath, the way his entire being was wrapped around this tiny boy like nothing else in the world mattered.
The silence stretched until Clint finally spoke, his voice filled with incredulity. “Okay, but seriously—how did none of us know about this? This kid is tiny. He’s been around for years, right?”
“Maybe Tony built him in a lab,” Natasha mused, though there was no real bite to her words. She was still staring at the way Peter melted into Tony’s hold, her expression unreadable.
Bruce let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, that explains everything.”
Thor beamed, stepping forward slightly. “A fine young warrior! Strong and full of love for his father!” He nodded approvingly. “You are lucky, little one.”
Peter blinked up at him before nodding seriously, as if taking Thor’s words to heart. “Uh-huh,” he agreed, then nestled back into Tony’s shoulder. “Daddy’s the best.”
Tony released a soft breath of laughter, his hold tightening just a fraction. “You hear that? Best dad ever. Straight from the expert.”
Steve, still reeling from the revelation, found himself watching Tony with a strange mix of emotions. He had been so certain, so absolutely convinced that Tony would be a disaster as a father. He would be distant, inattentive, or even cruel in his neglect. But watching this—watching Tony hold his son like he was the most precious thing in the universe—Steve realized just how wrong he had been.
Tony Stark wasn’t just a good father.
He was an incredible one.
Peter lifted his head slightly, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “I—I had a dream that Dum-E ate my sandwich,” he mumbled, sniffling.
Tony blinked before letting out a small chuckle. “Oh no, not your sandwich,” he said dramatically, pressing another kiss into Peter’s hair. “That’s a tragedy.”
Peter pouted. “It was peanut butter and jelly, Daddy.”
Tony looked at him with a fond smile, shaking his head. “Guess we’ll have to make another one in the morning. Il mio cuore, and maybe have a stern talk with Dum-E about boundaries.”
Peter nodded seriously before cuddling back into Tony’s chest, completely content.
The Avengers, who had been watching in absolute silence, finally snapped out of their daze when Clint hesitantly stepped forward. “Uh, hey, kid,” he said, offering Peter a small wave. “What’s up?”
Tony’s grip on Peter visibly tightened, his body shifting just enough to position himself protectively between them. The message was clear:
approach with caution.
But Peter, ever polite, blinked up at Clint with big, curious eyes before giving the most well-mannered nod they’d ever seen.
“Hello, sir,” Peter said, his voice small but incredibly respectful. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The silence was deafening.
Natasha actually looked mildly stunned. Clint's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. Steve blinked, trying to process what he had just heard.
Bruce muttered, “That… that can’t be Stark’s kid.”
Thor, however, seemed delighted. “A most respectful young warrior!” he declared, beaming.
Peter turned his attention to the God of Thunder and, to everyone’s further disbelief, gave him a polite little bow from Tony’s arms. “Thank you, sir.”
Steve leaned over to Natasha. “Shouldn’t he be—y’know… more like Tony?”
Natasha just shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand. He’s so polite.”
Bruce was still staring. “Tony Stark is raising this kid?”
Tony, who had been watching all of this with an expression of mild amusement, finally rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m raising him. What, did you expect him to be some miniature menace running around breaking things?”
Clint cleared his throat. “Uh. Kinda?”
Tony scoffed, rocking Peter slightly. “Please. If I’m going to raise a kid, he’s gonna have class.”
A sleepy mumble caught everyone’s attention. “And I’m the best at class,” Peter said, blinking up at them. “Right, Daddy?”
Tony smirked. “Obviously, baby. You’re a Stark.”
Peter giggled, suddenly a little more awake. “Wanna know what else I’m the best at?”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell, peanut.”
Peter wiggled in Tony’s arms, and before anyone could react, he reached up and booped Tony on the nose.
“Booping Daddy!” he declared triumphantly.
Tony gasped in mock betrayal, eyes wide. “Oh, you think you can just boop me like that?!”
Peter giggled harder, his whole body shaking with laughter. “Yes!”
Tony narrowed his eyes playfully. “Alright, munchkin. You leave me no choice.”
The next second, Tony flipped Peter upside down (safely, of course), eliciting a high-pitched squeal of laughter. Peter kicked his little legs in the air, giggling uncontrollably as Tony spun him around.
The Avengers watched, completely dumbfounded, as Tony—genius billionaire, Iron Man, snark incarnate—proceeded to blow raspberries against Peter’s belly.
Peter shrieked with laughter. “D-Daddy! Nooo!”
Tony grinned, flipping him back up and cradling him against his chest. “That’s what happens when you challenge the Boop King, Tesoro.”
Peter pouted, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away. “I’ll get you back.”
Tony smirked. “I’d like to see you try, squirt.”
The Avengers, still completely floored, shared another look.
Clint crossed his arms. “He’s way too powerful with Dad Energy. It’s unsettling.”
Natasha just smirked. “I think it’s adorable.”
And, looking at the way Tony held his son—like he was his whole world—no one could argue with that.
as Tony adjusted Peter in his arms, the little boy let out a sleepy sigh and peeked up at the Avengers, his big brown eyes still droopy with exhaustion.
The Avengers were still struggling to process everything when Clint finally asked the question on all their minds. "Okay, hold up. What’s the kid’s name?"
Tony’s expression softened instantly. He glanced down at Peter, brushing a hand through his curls before answering, voice warm with pure affection.
“Peter Anthony Stark.”
Silence.
Then
“You named him after yourself?” Natasha asked, arching a brow.
Tony smirked. “Obviously. He’s my greatest creation.”
Peter, hearing his name, perked up. “And Daddy says I’m the best thing he’s ever built!” he chirped proudly, looking around at the team.
The Avengers shared a look. Steve exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Peter, emboldened by the attention, tilted his head. “You guys are the Avengers, right?”
Thor beamed. “Indeed, young one! And you, little warrior, are the heir to the mighty Iron Man!”
Peter’s brows furrowed in thought before he turned to his father. “Daddy, if you’re Iron Man, does that make me Aluminum Boy?”
The room went completely still.
Then—Clint wheezed.
Natasha actually choked. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Oh my God. That’s Tony’s kid.”
Steve rubbed a hand down his face. “There it is.”
Tony, meanwhile, was grinning like a proud father. “That’s my boy, alright. Quick, smart, and devastatingly charming.”
Peter giggled, leaning against his dad. “You forgot ‘adorable,’ Daddy.”
Tony smirked, pressing another kiss into Peter’s curls. “How could I forget, peanut? You’re adorable, brilliant, and mine.”
Peter beamed at that, his small arms wrapping tighter around his father’s neck. “Love you, Daddy.”
Tony’s expression softened completely. “Love you more, bumblebee.”
The Avengers watched as Tony rocked Peter gently, the little boy sighing in contentment.
Steve let out a breath, finally admitting, “Tony, you’re a great dad.”
Tony just smirked. “Yeah, I know.”
Peter lifted his head slightly, still snuggled against Tony’s chest. “He’s the best dad.”
And, watching the way Tony held his son like he was his whole world, no one could argue with that.
Clint, still recovering from the shock, tilted his head. “So, uh, Peter… what do you do all day? Build little robots like your dad?”
Peter blinked, his tiny fingers still gripping Tony’s shirt. “Not all day,” he said matter-of-factly. “Only when Daddy lets me use the lab. But I’m not allowed to mess with the arc reactor simulations anymore.”
The entire room fell into stunned silence.
Bruce, suddenly very alert, pushed his glasses up. “Anymore?” he repeated.
Peter yawned, completely unbothered. “Mhm. I was just trying to optimize the energy output, but the calculations weren’t aligning with the stability threshold Daddy set, so I had to rewrite part of the algorithm.” He frowned, resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “But then Dummy knocked over my tablet, and Daddy said I wasn’t allowed to mess with that code until I was at least six.”
There was another long, deafening silence.
Steve looked like he was having an existential crisis. Clint’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish. Natasha actually blinked. Thor looked vaguely impressed, and Bruce—Bruce had to sit down.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tony… your toddler is rewriting energy output algorithms?”
Tony smirked proudly, bouncing Peter slightly in his arms. “Of course he is. He’s a Stark.”
Clint muttered under his breath, “Yeah, okay. That’s definitely your kid.”
Peter, now more awake, tilted his head in confusion. “Well, yeah,” he said as if it were obvious. “Who else’s kid would I be?”
Tony chuckled, pressing a kiss to Peter’s curls. “Exactly, mio angelo.”
The Avengers exchanged looks, all coming to the same silent conclusion.
Yup. This was definitely Tony Stark’s son.
Tony pressed another kiss to Peter’s forehead, lingering for a moment before he gently brushed the curls away from his son’s face. “You tired,
buddy?” he murmured.
Peter nodded sleepily, his grip on Tony tightening. “Stay wif you,” he mumbled.
Tony smiled, his expression impossibly soft. “Always, sweetheart. Always.”
Later that night, the team sat in the common room, the weight of their discovery still settling over them. No one quite knew what to say. The image of Tony with Peter was burned into their minds, so at odds with everything they thought they knew about him.
Finally, it was Clint who broke the silence. “So… you’re a dad?” His voice was incredulous like he still couldn’t quite believe it.
Tony, lounging with a drink in his hand, didn’t even look up. “Yeah. So?” he looked a bit amused at the obvious question after seeing their entire interaction.
Natasha shook her head slightly, her lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You kept this from us.”
Tony finally glanced up, raising a brow. “Yeah. And?”
Bruce exhaled, still looking somewhat dazed. “Tony, we’ve known you for years. How did we not know about this?”
Tony shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Didn’t come up.”
Bruce then asked quietly, “Is it just you”.
Tony was aware of what was meant by that question and sighed. “yeah it's just me, always has been, but I really do try to fill up the absence of Peter's mother I try giving him twice the love and attention”.
Steve let out a breath, watching him carefully. “That kid… you love him more than anything, don’t you?”
Tony didn’t hesitate. “He’s my whole world. My everything. Nothing else matters.”
No one doubted it for a second.
Just then, a sleepy voice called from the hallway. “Daddy?”
Tony was up in an instant, his drink forgotten. He crouched down as Peter padded over, rubbing his tired eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Peter reached for him wordlessly, and Tony scooped him up without hesitation. The toddler sighed in relief, curling into his father’s chest, already half-asleep. Tony pressed another kiss to his temple, holding him close as he whispered, “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”
Peter let out a tiny hum of satisfaction, nuzzling into Tony’s neck. His small fingers fisted in Tony’s shirt like he was afraid to let go, even in sleep.
The Avengers watched in stunned silence as Tony rocked Peter gently, murmuring soft words as he carried him back to his room.
At that moment, there was no Iron Man. No billionaire, no genius, no sarcastic playboy.
There was only a father who loved his son more than anything in the world.