The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Stark Tower penthouse, casting a warm glow over the living room.
Peter, a small bundle of energy with curly brown hair and wide, curious eyes, sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by Legos. His tongue poked out in concentration as he carefully added another piece to the towering structure he was building. Peter Stark-Rogers loved Saturdays. Saturdays meant pancake breakfasts with his dad, movie marathons, and, if he was lucky, tinkering in the lab with Tony. Today, however, was different. Steve had left early in the morning for a mission, leaving Tony and Peter to their own devices.
"Dad! Look!" Peter called out, his voice filled with pride. Tony Stark, dressed casually in a soft maternity sweater and sweatpants, was sitting on the couch with a mug of decaf tea in one hand and a tablet in the other. He glanced up from the schematics he’d been reviewing, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took in the sight of his son. His other hand instinctively rested on his rounded belly, where he could feel the faintest flutter of movement.
"Whoa, that’s one impressive tower, Pete! You’re gonna put Stark Tower to shame with that one."
Peter beamed at the praise, his cheeks flushing with delight. "I wanna make it super tall, just like the real tower!" He scrambled to grab more Legos, his tiny fingers working with surprising dexterity.
Tony chuckled, setting his tablet aside. He took a sip of his tea, savoring the warmth. Despite the comfort of the morning, Tony couldn’t ignore the constant, underlying fatigue that came with his pregnancy. This pregnancy was much different than the last one with Peter—he was younger then, and in better shape. This baby was unplanned, but despite the initial shock of the pregnancy, Steve and Tony had quickly geared up into new dads-to-be mode and were excited for the new baby. Steve had left early this morning for a mission, reluctant as he was, but next week onwards he was due for his paternity leave anyway. Tony was determined to make the most of his time alone with Peter and make the day special for their son, but the weight of both the baby and the responsibility was already beginning to take its toll.
Tony leaned back against the couch, watching Peter as he worked on his Lego creation. There was something incredibly comforting about these quiet moments, just the two of them hanging out together. It reminded Tony of how lucky he was to have this little family—something he’d never imagined for himself a few years ago.
"Hey, buddy," Tony said after a moment, setting his mug down on the coffee table. "How about we take a break from construction and whip up some pancakes? You can be my sous-chef."
Peter’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. He jumped to his feet, abandoning his Legos without a second thought. "Can we make them with chocolate chips?"
Tony ruffled Peter’s hair as he stood up, masking the slight wave of dizziness that washed over him. His center of gravity had shifted with the pregnancy, and he found himself needing a moment to steady his balance more often. "Chocolate chips, blueberries, sprinkles—you name it, we’ll add it."
They headed to the kitchen, where Tony lifted Peter onto the counter, letting him sit next to the mixing bowl. Peter eagerly poured in the flour, his small hands gripping the measuring cup with intense focus. Tony chuckled as he added the milk and eggs, then handed Peter a whisk.
"Give it a good stir, kiddo," Tony instructed, leaning against the counter as Peter enthusiastically mixed the batter. He kept a watchful eye on his son, a warm, proud smile never leaving his face. But as Peter worked, Tony felt another wave of fatigue hit him, stronger this time. A slight pressure in his chest made him pause, but he shook it off.
As Tony turned to grab the pan, a sudden, hard kick from the baby jolted him. The force was strong enough that it momentarily took his breath away. He winced, placing a hand on his belly. "Whoa, that was a big one," Tony said, trying to smile through the discomfort.
Peter looked up, curious. "What happened, Dad?"
Tony nodded towards his belly, his face lighting up with a mix of pain and excitement. "The baby just gave me a big kick. Do you want to feel?"
Peter’s eyes widened with excitement. He carefully placed his small hand on Tony’s belly, waiting. Tony smiled, guiding Peter’s hand to where the baby had kicked. "There, right there."
Peter’s face broke into a grin as he felt the baby’s movements. "I felt it, Dad! The baby’s really strong!"
Tony chuckled softly, despite the discomfort. "Yeah, the baby’s definitely got some energy. Just like you."
They continued making the pancakes, but Tony’s discomfort was growing harder to ignore. A wave of fatigue hit him stronger than before, and a slight pressure in his chest made him pause. He shook it off, determined not to let anything ruin this special morning.
"Dad, look! It’s all mixed!" Peter announced, holding up the whisk triumphantly. The batter was a little lumpy, but Tony didn’t mind.
"Perfect, buddy," Tony said, forcing himself to stand up straight. He reached for the pan, but as he did, the pressure in his chest returned, sharper now. Tony’s hand faltered, and he had to grip the edge of the counter to steady himself.
Peter noticed immediately. His brow furrowed in concern as he looked up at his dad. "Dad? Are you okay?"
Tony blinked, trying to push past the discomfort. He plastered on a reassuring smile. "I’m fine, Pete. Just a little tired, that’s all. Why don’t you pick out the sprinkles while I get this started?"
Peter hesitated, his eyes searching Tony’s face for any signs that something was wrong. But when Tony gave him an encouraging nod, Peter reluctantly slid off the counter and went to the pantry. Tony let out a quiet breath, rubbing his chest as he turned on the stove. He could feel his heart beating a little too fast, a little too irregularly. He told himself it was just stress—Steve being away always made him anxious, especially when he had to take care of Peter on his own. He just needed to relax. Plus, the pregnancy had been taking a toll on his body, more than he had expected. But the discomfort didn’t go away as the morning progressed.
As they sat down to eat their pancakes—decorated with an assortment of sprinkles and chocolate chips, just as Peter had requested—Tony found himself struggling to focus on the conversation. Peter was chatting excitedly about the latest Avengers mission, his small voice full of admiration for his dads, but Tony’s attention kept slipping.
"Dad, are you listening?" Peter asked, his voice tinged with concern.
Tony blinked, realizing he had completely zoned out. He looked down at his plate, untouched, and then back at Peter, who was staring at him with worried eyes. "Sorry, buddy. I guess I’m more tired than I thought."
Peter’s face scrunched up in concern. "Maybe you should take a nap, Dad. I can finish my tower by myself."
Tony smiled, reaching out to gently squeeze Peter’s hand. "That’s sweet of you, Pete, but I’m okay. Why don’t we clean up and then I’ll show you some cool tricks in the lab?"
Peter nodded, though he still looked uncertain. They cleared the table together, Tony moving a little slower than usual, his movements more deliberate. As they washed the dishes, Tony’s hands started to tremble slightly, but he did his best to hide it.
"Dad, I can dry them," Peter offered, noticing Tony’s struggle.
"Thanks, kiddo," Tony said, handing Peter the dish towel with a grateful smile. He leaned against the counter, trying to catch his breath. He felt like there was a weight on his chest, making it harder to breathe, but he didn’t want to scare Peter. Just get through the day, Tony told himself. Once Steve’s back, you can rest. But deep down, Tony knew something was wrong. He just didn’t want to face it—not when Peter was looking up at him with those big, trusting eyes.
"All done!" Peter declared, placing the last dish in the cabinet. "Can we go to the lab now?"
Tony pushed himself off the counter, trying to ignore the increasing discomfort in his chest. "Sure thing, buddy. Let’s go."
They headed to the lab, Peter practically bouncing with excitement. He loved spending time in the lab with Tony, tinkering with gadgets and learning all about how things worked. Tony was the best teacher, always patient and encouraging, even when Peter made mistakes.
But today, as they sat at the workbench, Tony found it harder to concentrate. His vision was starting to blur, and the pressure in his chest was becoming unbearable. He could feel his heart racing, each beat sending a jolt of pain through his body, intensified by the baby’s restless movements. The little one inside him seemed to sense the distress, shifting and squirming with increasing urgency. Tony could almost feel the baby’s tiny kicks and jabs in sync with his own racing heart, as if both were trapped in a cycle of shared anxiety. The baby’s erratic movements only heightened Tony’s fear. He clutched his belly tightly.
Tony’s breathing became increasingly labored as he tried to focus on the task at hand. Each inhale felt shallow, and he found himself gasping for air as though he were struggling against an invisible weight. His chest was tight, and every breath came with a sharp, constricting pressure that made him feel as though he was suffocating. The room seemed to spin slightly as he tried to steady himself, but the effort only left him more breathless. He could feel his heart pounding rapidly, and the rhythmic thud seemed to echo through his entire body, making it harder to concentrate on anything other than the growing discomfort.
Peter was happily playing with a small robotic arm, making it pick up and move tiny objects. He looked up at Tony, eager to show off his work. "Look, Dad! I made it pick up all the screws!"
Tony tried to smile, but the pain was too much. He gasped, clutching his chest as his knees buckled. He barely registered Peter’s panicked cry as he collapsed to the floor, one hand instinctively protecting his belly as the world went dark around him.
"Dad!" Peter screamed, dropping the robotic arm as he rushed to Tony’s side. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what to do. "Dad, please wake up! Please!"
Tony’s breathing was shallow, and he was barely conscious. He could hear Peter’s voice, distant and faint, like it was coming from underwater. He wanted to tell Peter that everything would be okay, that he wasn’t going anywhere, but he couldn’t find the strength to speak.
Tony tried to steady his breathing, but the discomfort only intensified. His attempts to reassure the baby seemed futile as he felt the tiny movements growing more insistent, almost as if the baby was mirroring his own distress. Tony's vision swam, the edges of the room darkening as he fought to stay conscious. Each breath felt like a battle, short and shallow, as if he was trying to suck air through a narrow straw.
"Dad, are you okay?" Peter's voice cut through the haze, filled with a mixture of concern and confusion. Tony tried to respond, but his voice came out as a weak, rasping whisper. He could see Peter's small face, etched with worry, but he could barely focus on it through the fog of pain and fatigue.
Peter's panic grew as he watched his father struggling. He scrambled to Tony’s side, his little hands reaching out for help. "Dad, please! What’s happening? Are you sick?"
Tony’s heart ached not just from the pain, but from the fear of what might happen to the baby if he couldn’t get help. He fought to keep his hand on his belly, trying to reassure both the baby and himself. His breaths were ragged, and each heartbeat felt like it was reverberating through his entire body, the baby’s movements feeling like tiny, frantic bursts of energy against his abdomen.
He managed to force out a few words, his voice barely above a whisper. "Peter... get help... now. Call... Rhodey."
Peter, tears welling in his eyes, nodded rapidly. He had never seen his dad like this, and the sight was terrifying. With shaking hands, he raced to the nearest phone, dialing the number he had memorized for Rhodey. "Rhodey, it’s Peter. Dad’s not okay! Please, come quick!"
Rhodey’s voice came through the phone, calm and authoritative despite the urgency of the situation. "Peter, listen to me carefully. I need you to stay calm. Can you tell me exactly what’s happening?"
Peter, his voice trembling, described what he had seen—Tony clutching his chest and belly, his breathing erratic, and the baby’s restless movements. Rhodey’s response was immediate and reassuring. "I’m on my way. Just stay with your dad, okay? Try to keep him talking, and make sure he stays awake."
As Peter returned to Tony’s side, he noticed the frantic movements of the baby growing more erratic. Tony’s hand was still resting on his belly, but the comfort it was supposed to provide seemed to be slipping away. The baby’s kicks felt more insistent, almost as if responding to the heightened tension.
Tony, struggling to remain conscious, reached out a trembling hand to Peter. "Stay with me, Pete," he managed to say, his voice barely audible. "Everything’s going to be okay."
Peter took his father’s hand, holding it tightly. He could feel the warmth of Tony’s hand and the slight tremors, which only deepened his worry. "I’m here, Dad. I’m not going anywhere."
Minutes felt like hours as Peter tried to keep Tony’s spirits up, chatting about anything he could think of to distract his father from the pain. The sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs signaled Rhodey’s arrival. The door burst open, and Rhodey, with his usual calm and authoritative demeanor, quickly assessed the situation.
"Tony, hang in there," Rhodey said, kneeling beside him. He gently placed a hand on Tony’s forehead, checking for any additional symptoms. "We’re going to get you to a doctor right away."
Rhodey swiftly called for an emergency transport while trying to comfort Peter, who clung to his father’s side. As the medics arrived and began preparing Tony for transport, Rhodey kept up a steady stream of reassuring words.
Tony’s consciousness was fading in and out, the pain and the baby’s distress melding into a disorienting blur. The last thing he remembered before everything went dark was the sound of Peter’s voice, desperately calling for him to stay awake.
The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity. Rhodey coordinated with the medical team, ensuring Tony received the best care possible while also providing comfort to Peter. In the chaos, the baby’s distress was a constant concern, and the medical team kept a close watch on both Tony and the unborn child.
Peter was eventually taken to a waiting area, where Rhodey stayed by his side, offering quiet words of reassurance. Though he was still deeply worried, the presence of his surrogate uncle and the knowledge that Tony was receiving immediate medical attention helped to ease some of his anxiety.
As the hours passed, the emergency team worked tirelessly to stabilize Tony. The heart attack had been severe, but the quick response and advanced medical care had improved his condition. With the baby’s well-being closely monitored, the doctors were optimistic about both their recoveries.
When Rhodey finally returned to Peter, he knelt down to his level and spoke gently. "Tony is in good hands, Peter. He’s going to be okay, and the baby is doing well too. It’s going to be a long recovery, but we’re going to get through this together."
Peter nodded, his eyes red from crying but filled with a glimmer of hope. "Thank you, Rhodey. I just want Dad to be okay."
Rhodey smiled reassuringly and placed a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder. "We all do. And we’re going to be right here, every step of the way."
As Peter clung to Rhodey, the weight of the day began to sink in, but the support of his family and the knowledge that Tony and the baby were safe helped to anchor him in the storm of emotions.
As the hours stretched on, the waiting room became a haven of anxious hope. Peter, exhausted but resolute, clung to Rhodey’s side. The comforting presence of his surrogate uncle helped to anchor him, but his thoughts were consumed by worry for both his dad and the baby. The clock seemed to tick in slow motion, each minute dragging as they awaited news.
Rhodey’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen before looking back at Peter. "I have some news," he said, his voice gentle. "The doctors are still working, but Tony is stable, and they’ve managed to stabilize the baby as well."
Peter’s eyes widened with relief, though he still felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach. "Is Dad going to be okay?"
Rhodey nodded, his expression reassuring. "He’s a strong guy, Peter. He’s got the best doctors taking care of him. It’s going to be a tough road, but they’re confident he’ll pull through."
As if on cue, the waiting room door swung open, and Steve Rogers, looking exhausted but determined, rushed inside. His face was etched with worry, but the moment he saw Peter and Rhodey, his expression softened.
"Peter!" Steve’s voice cracked with emotion as he knelt beside his son, pulling him into a tight hug. "I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. How is Tony?"
Peter clung to Steve, tears streaming down his face. "Dad’s in the hospital. He had a heart attack, but they say he’s stable now. The baby’s okay too."
Steve’s eyes were filled with relief and worry as he looked at Rhodey. "Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be here with Peter."
Rhodey nodded, his own relief palpable. "It’s been a long day. Tony’s in recovery, and the doctors are optimistic. They’re keeping a close watch on both him and the baby."
Steve took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. "I need to see Tony. Peter, why don’t you stay with Rhodey for a bit? I’ll be right back."
Peter nodded, though his gaze followed Steve as he made his way to the hospital wing. The waiting seemed endless, but eventually, Steve returned, a small smile on his face.
"He’s awake," Steve said softly, his voice trembling with a mix of relief and exhaustion. "Tony’s asking for you, Peter."
Peter’s eyes lit up, and he looked up at Rhodey, who nodded encouragingly. "Come on, kiddo. Let’s go see your dad."
Peter walked to Tony’s room, where Tony lay in a hospital bed, his color returning and a look of relief on his face as he saw Peter and Steve. Despite the IVs and monitors, Tony managed a weak but genuine smile.
"Hey, champ," Tony said, his voice soft and raspy. "I’m sorry I scared you."
Peter rushed to Tony’s side, taking his hand. "It’s okay, Dad. We were so worried about you. And the baby?"
Tony glanced at his belly, his eyes softening. "The baby’s just fine. A little shaken up, but healthy."
Steve approached the bedside, his heart aching at the sight of Tony’s pale, tired form. He gently reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he placed it on Tony’s belly.
"Hey there, little one," Steve whispered softly, his voice filled with warmth and love. "It’s Papa. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier, but I’m here now, and everything’s going to be okay."
He caressed Tony’s belly tenderly, feeling the gentle rise and fall with each breath. His touch was gentle and comforting, as if he could somehow convey his love and apologies through his fingers.
"Your Dad's been so brave," Steve continued, looking down at Tony with a soft smile. "And you’ve been a trooper too. I’m so proud of both of you. I can’t wait to meet you properly and hold you in my arms."
Tony’s eyes glistened with tears of relief and gratitude as he reached out to hold Steve’s hand, still resting on his belly.
"We’ve got a lot to talk about, but first, let’s focus on getting you better. We’re all here for you."
"I’m going to be okay. Just need some time to recover."
Peter nodded, a small smile breaking through his tears. "We’ll be here every step of the way, Dad."