Chapter 8
“What pajamas, Pete?” Tony asked, sifting through one of the bags. He had stored them in the guest bedroom directly across from his own. It was originally intended for Harley, but the older boy preferred one down the hall, with more privacy.
Peter peers into the bag, looking at the assortment. Happy had got a small starter collection of three different pairs: NASA space footie pajamas, which zipped up in the front and were coated in soft fuzz, some Avengers footies and an Iron Man set. It wasn’t egotistical if Tony wasn’t the one who had purchased them, right?
“Iron Man!” Peter squealed at the sight of the soft cotton set, beaming a toothy smile up to Tony. He bounced on his feet with excitement.
Tony chuckled, internally stunned by the choice. His heart fluttered at the thought, him, a little boy’s first pick? With all the times he had disappointed and screwed up? Yet again, he had to remind himself, this was Iron Man that Peter was excited about. Iron Man didn’t screw up, he didn’t have the room for it, the failures were left to Tony Stark.
“Iron Man it is then, kid.” Tony said, smiling regardless of his recent thoughts. The kid’s cheer was infectious. Not messed up in the least.
Peter giggled as Tony guided the both of them into the bathroom next door. He was slightly more cautious of his movements now that Pepper has revealed the details of Peters mistreatment but the boy hadn’t seemed at all uncomfortable before and Tony didn’t want him to begin to because of a change on his part.
‘Kids are like clay.’ He had thought he had heard somewhere, perhaps on TV or from his mother many years ago. ‘They bounce back and reshape themselves.’
God, how he hoped that was true.
“What’s yo’ favo’ite Star Wars movie Mister Stark?” Peter asked, eyes wide and hopeful for the answer. Tony blanked on an answer for a moment, trying to think back to when he had first seen the films and what content had belonged to which. He didn’t remember them one hundred percent and was unsure of the truthful answer. Instead, he used deductive reasoning and decided to go with the film that was currently cued on his living room television.
“A New Hope.” He said, kneeling on the ground in front of the boy. Peters face lit up.
“Thaz’ a good'un!” He said, lifting his arms so Tony could pull off his shirt. “It’s Harley’s favo’ite. I like Empire St’ikes Back.” He proudly declared, voice muffled by the material of his pajama shirt as Tony pulled it over his head. The kid wasn’t making it nearly as easy as it had looked to be with Harley. With his brother, he had been completely cooperative but, with Tony, Peter was an absolute wiggle worm.
“Well then I guess we’ll have to watch that one another night.” Tony smiled. It seemed like he was going a lot of that lately.
Peter nodded enthusiastically, chestnut curls bobbing at the motion.
They talked more as Tony helped the boy. Peter animatedly chatting about his favorite parts of the movie and how he had wished for a Star Wars lego set a while back. He hadn’t gotten the set but the boy insisted the dream he had had about building it had been satisfactory enough.
This kid.
Tony almost felt guilty as he assisted the boy, helping the toddler into a fresh pull-up and the matching pajama pants. There were so many things that he had never even thought about. For some reason he had never realized how many foster or orphaned children there were in the New York area, or just in general for that matter. Even worse, is that he knew what it was like to lose your parents but, in his grief, he had allowed himself to get lost in his own world. He had turned to more drinking, to soothing himself. There was a world of kids hurting just as much as he, if not worse.
The money he had inherited spent on liquor was doing nothing to lessen his current guilt.
He supposed it wasn’t all his fault. He was grieving, handling the sudden tragedy in the way he knew how: by falling dependent on his vice.
Alcohol.
It was better he do something now, he supposed, than nothing at all.
***
Tony remembered watching the sum of the Starwars movies with Rhodey back when they were at MIT. It was probably a good thing that he did, looking back at it now, since he had no idea what had taken place on the tv screen in the last hour and forty-five minutes. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a fan of the film, he appreciated their complex plot and (contrary to popular belief) he actually enjoyed science fiction. Even through the intensity of the movie, he couldn’t help himself finding the boy’s cuddled up next to him all the more interesting.
Harley was slouched in his seat on the other end of the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. It was a position Tony had seen him lie in many times over the short period of time the teen had lived with him.
Peter, the sneak, was using his brothers position to his advantage. The small boy was curled into Harley, his head resting on the older boy’s chest. Peter was using one hand to twirl his curls between his fingers, his other occupied as his thumb stayed firmly planted in his mouth. Harley must have either given up, or not yet noticed, though Tony assumes the former.
Tony, feeling a little left out when he had first joined the boys in the living room, had situated himself very close to Peter. This way, the boy’s feet brushed Tony’s thigh.
He should have grabbed some socks for the kid, his feet were freezing.
The last bit of the movie passed and the end credits began to roll by, Harley stirring by his side.
“Peters asleep.” He said and Tony immediately stiffened. Harley, sensing the man’s excessive caution, was quick to reassure: “Don't worry about waking him. Peters a really deep sleeper, kid will only wake up when he wants to.”
Tony chuckled, posture relaxing. “Good to know.” Harley nodded, looking at the boy dozing between them for a few, slightly awkward minutes.
“I heard what you were saying on the phone with Pepper.” The teen admitted, head still hung as to not face Tony.
“Is that so?” Tony questioned. The boy would have to intentionally been eavesdropping, there was no way the kid had heard his phone call all the way from the living room when Tony had been down the hall in his bedroom.
“I asked Jarvis, after.” Harley whispered. “When you were helping Peter.” Tony should have suspected his own creation would turn against him, it was bound to happen at some point, after all.
Harley swallowed hard before glancing up at Tony with questioning eyes. “I understand if you changed your mind. He can be a little overwhelming.” Tony chuckled.
“Board meetings and the ruthless press are overwhelming, Peters a gift.” He said, looking Harley in the eye. “He’s a good kid.” Tony glanced down at Peter.
Harley nodded, fingers combing through the younger boy’s curls.
“He’s always been sick.” He started. “Mom had him too early, his lungs were underdeveloped. His immune system was overwhelmed too.” Harley sighed. “I guess they never really made it to one hundred percent.”
Tony studied Peters sleeping face. The boy looked even younger then and impossibly more innocent. His long dark lashes brushed his cheeks, his curls falling into his eyes. His little brown nose was begging to be booped.
That was not a thought Tony Stark ever thought he would have.
“How old were you?” He asks, looking back up at Harley. “When Peter was born?” He asks, receiving a clarifying nod from Tony. “I was nine. I had just turned ten when our mom was killed.” He finished, surprising Tony with the offering of additional information.
“That sucks.” Tony says.
Harley’s face scrunches, his eyebrows burrowing in confusion as he looks at Tony with wide, shocked eyes.
“What?” He asks.
“Would you rather me say I’m sorry?” Tony asks. He knows the kids answer, it’s the same as anyone whose self with grief would be. No. “Trust me, I know how annoying those can become.” He assured.
Harley huffs a laugh.
“Were they ever not annoying?” He asks. “Seriously, after voice recombination and bluetooth you would think people would come up with a more creative response.”
“It’s insincere.” Tony says.
“Pity.” Harley agrees. “Which is not what we wanted.”
“You wanted someone to fill those shoes for you.” Tony supplies, not mentioning how Harley’s eyes are glistening and lined with red. “You didn’t want to have to face the problem, you just wanted it fixed. For it to be like it never even happened.” He said. “All of the “I’m so sorry’s” we’re just reminding you.”
Harley looked shocked, mouth open and gaping. “How did you…?”
“I know the feeling, kid.” Tony said. Harley sobered, nodding.
“Yeah I’ve seen the articles.” He whispered.
Tony, sensing the conversation was turning to closely into himself and was in need of a close, sprung up. “Time for bed, don’t you think?” He asked.
“Um… yeah.” Harely agreed, taking Peter into his arms as he stood. “Where can I put him?” He asks. Tony leads him down the hall, pointing into the small boy’s new bedroom.
“Right here? I thought it would best if he was across the hall, so I could be close if he needs me?” Tony suggests.
“You don’t have to…” Harley trailed, obviously thinking that no, he should be caring for his little brother if the toddler were to wake at night. He probably thought he should be caring for Peter in general. Not just the hours of the night.
“Harley,” Tony started gently, “I meant what I said earlier: I need to be the parent now. Think you can try being the brother, even if it’s just for a test run?”
Harely nods.
“Yeah, Tony.” He says. “Yeah, that sounds good,”
***
It was just shy of two in the morning when Tony was woken by a shuffling just beyond his door. Thin streaks of moonlight filtered through the dimmed window, allowing him just enough light to see his bedspread. The clock on his bedside table read the time.
“J?” He whispered, moving the sheets aside and swinging his legs to the floor.
“Yes, sir?” The A.I. asked.
“What’s that noise?” Tony’s voice is still laced in sleep, he shuffles to the door, his pajama pants dragging on the floor.
“I believe young Peter is awake and in distress.”
“What?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tony hissed, glaring at the ceiling.
“He was quite adamant that I not.” J.A.R.V.I.S explained.
“New protocol, J: Baby Monitor. Keep an eye on Peter at all times and for the love of God, tell me when the kids in distress!” He throws the door open, stepping into the hall.
“Lights at thirty percent.” J.A.R.V.I.S complys, the lights flickering to life. As they do, Tony can see Peter wandering a little way down the hall, tears and snot running down his face as he tightens the hold he has on his stomach. “Pete?” Tony calls.
Peter whips at the sound, eyes wide and scared as Tony makes his way over to the boy.
“M’sorry Mr. Tony Stark, Iron Man, sir.” Peter hurries to say, looking up at the man in question. The toddlers eyes are more than just a little glossy.
“Why are you sorry, kiddo? What’s up?” Tony asked, kneeling in front of the boy to be more on his level.
“I-I-I don’ ‘member where the potty is.” Peter explained. “M’sorry I woked you up.” He mumbles.
“Hey, hey, that’s okay.” Tony’s quick to sooth, using his thumb to brush some tears from Peters cheek. “I was up anyway.” He lies.
“W’eally?” Peter asks. Tony nods assuringly.
“Sure was.” He says. “And I don’t mind showing you to the… potty” wow, Tony never thought he would be using that word, “while I’m up.”
He stood and offered his hand to the boy, only to have to awkwardly retract it when it wasn’t taken. He started back in the direction they had first came, where the bathroom was, just beyond the closed door just next to the boy’s bedroom.
For having an IQ as high as he did, Tony really should have realized it sooner. Realized the signs when Peters shuffling became slower, his steps smaller and the boy’s face became increasingly pale. Seen the way his arms were wrapped tightly across his tiny middle or how his face was shiny with sweat. But Tony didn’t, he was still new to this whole tiny child business, the whole kid area in general. He hadn’t seen it, and the next thing he knew there was a terrible sound and the floor behind him was covered in the aftermath of cheeseburgers and ice cream.
Ew.
“Oh, kid.” He sighed, turning around (if somewhat reluctantly) to get an idea of the mess. Immediately his mind was deferred from the clean up job and his focus was redirected at the kid.
Peter was one second away from balling, his mouth hung open in stunned disbelief, his eyes wide. His shoulders were bent in as he cowarded back, away from a danger he surely suspected. An anticipated reprimand from Tony no doubt.
The sight had Tony pausing in his stride, rethinking his earlier words, which probably weren’t the best to say to a sick child
of abuse.
“It’s okay.” He amended. “I’m not mad, let’s just go get cleaned up, yeah?” Tony asked, holding his hand out again.
It seemed the term ‘potty’ could have more than one meaning.
This time, after judging the man with large, calculating down eyes, Peter grasped hold of Tony’s hand and allowed himself to be led to the bathroom.
“J? Run a thermal scan on Peter, get a reading on his temp.” Tony said, quickly reassuring Peter: “It won’t hurt, bud. I just want to make sure your not too hot.” Peter gulped, but nodded.
“Peters temperature appears normal sir: 98.8 degrees fahrenheit.” The A.I’s voice rang. Tony nodded, kneeling on the cool tile floor and opening the cabinet Peters things had undeniably taken over.
“Seems you just ate too much food, kiddo.” He says, pulling out a pack of wipes and taking a few to clean off the boy’s face.
He should be immensely grateful that this little sickness wasn’t anything more, that it wasn’t warranted for the hospital, that it hadn’t resulted in Peter having a fever induced seizure. The idea still scared him to his core.
“M’tummy hu’ts.” Peter whined and, much to Tony’s satisfaction, leaned into the touch.
“I know kiddo, I know.”
“I believe some warm milk would help soothe Peters stomach?” J.A.R.V.I.S suggests. As well as get him back to sleep. Tony knows is silently tacked onto the end.
“How does that sound, Peter?” Tony asks, tossing the wipes into the trash and brushing some loose curls from the boy’s face. Peter nods, eyes scrunched close in his discomfort.
Tony is quick to change Peter into the NASA pajamas, shoving the dirtied Iron Man set down the laundry shoot and carrying the boy -very carefully- to the kitchen.
With the help of J.A.R.V.I.S’ instruction, thank goodness for him, Tony is able to heat some milk to a reasonable temperature and transfer the liquid to a blue and red sippy cup. Peter grabs the offered beverage immediately, drinking greedily.
Eventually, Peters eyes begin to flutter, his body relaxing from where he rests on Tony’s hip, his head resting on the man’s shoulder. He’s tired, and dozing, forcing Tony to hold the sippy cup himself and help guide the remainder of the liquid into the boy’s mouth.
Not before long, Peters asleep.
Tony, Tony Stark, just rocked a toddler to sleep.
For once, Tony feels like he’s finally left Howard in his past.