Tony was having a bad day. Today was always a bad day. His eyes stood vacant, his mouth ajar, hands idle. He’d been sitting in the lab for hours, not so much to work but to be alone. The room was nearly dark because Tony hadn’t thought to flip the light switch when he walked in. Pepper had knocked about thirty minutes ago, and he responded with a grunt and a reluctant unlocking of the door. She set a sandwich down in front of him and gave him a kiss on the forehead, and left without a word. She knew what day it was. Now he was again in silence, and nodding along absently to the flashes of memories that owned his mind today. He picked up a screwdriver and pretended to check the tip while movies played in his head.
Tony clutched the gift in his small hands, then pressed it into his chest for protection. He peered around the doorframe, then redrew as soon as he saw that he was there. Tony took a deep breath and shut his eyes, holding the gift as close to him as possible. He whispered a prayer. His eyes reopened and he couldn’t help the smile on his face.
He’s going to love it this time, he thought. I know he will. He’ll love it so much he’ll take back what he said last night. He’ll love it so much we’ll go on that fishing trip, just like he promised. He’s going to love it, Tony thought, taking a happy step from the doorway, and he’s going to love me.
“Dad!” he said to the man on the recliner. “Happy birthday, Dad! I’ve got something for you!”
Tony extended the gift. His father stirred, and woke up with a groan.
“Tony? What’re you doin’ in my study?” His words were slurred, but Tony’s young ears couldn’t pick up on it.
“I brought you a gift, Dad! For your birthday.” He set the package down in front of his father. The man stretched and eyed it with little interest.
“Oh, is that t’day? And you got me somethin’. That’s... great, Tony.” He yawned and took his time picking it up.
“Hand me that box cutter on my desk, will ya?”
Tony obliged, trying to control his smile. His father dug the cutter into the tape, and Tony winced—he hoped the gift wasn’t damaged. His father tossed the cutter aside and tore open the box. Tony, smile faltering, waited for a reaction. His father’s mind seemed slower than usual to process. Finally, he spoke.
“Oh, it’s, uh, drawings. They’re... ve-ry nice, Tony.” He dropped the box onto the table and propped his feet up. “Good job. I’ve got s’me work to do now, so why don’t you run along?” His eyes were nearly glazed as he waved Tony away.
“Wait, Dad, let me tell you about them!” His loud voice shook his father partially out of his haze.
“Uh, no, Tony, not now. I’m busy.”
“C’mon, Dad! It won’t take long, I swear. See, this first one is us—” he reached for the top of the stack.
“No, Tony. I told you to leave. Don’t make me—”
“But it’s us fishing! Look, that’s you, and that’s—”
His father tore the drawing from his hand. Tony grabbed the next one, eyes desperate.
“This one is—”
“I don’t care, Tony!” The second drawing was ripped away. Tony reached for another, but his arm hit the decanter sitting next to the box. It fell with a crash, soaking his drawings with his father’s liquor.
“Shit! Now look what you’ve done! Get out of here, get out!”
Tony’s face held the terror inspired by being caught alone with a livid, starving animal. He sprinted from his father’s study, chased by curses and threats.
Tony shut his eyes tight, tighter than that day, years ago. A tear escaped without his notice. The fear burned into him thrived in his chest. Choked heaves and sobs made a small nest in the silence. He dug his hands into his hair, his graying hair that proved he should have long ago gotten over the memory, and he grasped until the strands were nearly pulled from his scalp. His tears were sympathetic—silent, gentle rivers in the basin of anguish that became of his face on rare occasions, times when he found himself separated from the real world and those scalding thoughts had no white noise to cover them. He sobbed, he heaved, he threw every emotion from his mind until he felt inside out. And even still, it wasn’t enough. He choked on his own agony, coughing and losing the fight to catch his breath. An hour must have passed before he resigned himself to laying his head on the workbench, motionless, tears drying where they fell. He had nearly exhausted himself enough for a restless nap when there was another knock on the lab door. Tony didn’t answer, figuring whoever it was, probably Pepper or maybe Happy, would just leave. A few seconds later there was another knock, stronger.
“Mister Stark! Are you in there?” Peter called. Tony sat up with a start.
Shit, it was lab day! The kid couldn’t see him like this. Pepper and Happy knew about this, and they wouldn’t bother him, but Peter would keep knocking until he got an answer. Pepper and Happy understood, but Peter... he couldn’t explain this to Peter. The kid couldn’t see him—the rest of the world couldn’t see him—like this. In his shock, Tony realized he never gave a response. He heard Peter’s footsteps trail off down the hall.
He got up and paced. Shit! Why today, of all days? Why couldn’t the world just give him a minute’s peace? Why was there always someone, invariably someone who just couldn’t seem to last the day without bothering him? Why did Happy even bring Peter today? Why didn’t Pepper send the word? Tony cursed Happy. He cursed Pepper. He cursed Peter. He cursed himself. Tony fell back into his chair, face in his hands. The door slid open, casting light on his red face. Peter smiled victoriously until he saw Tony. He shivered, and took a wary step forward.
“Uh, hey, Mr. Stark. The door was locked, so I, uh, finally convinced FRIDAY to open it... and yeah. Um, are you okay, Mr. Stark?” Peter stepped closer.
“Not today, kid,” Tony said, trying to keep his voice calm, not lifting up his head.
“You’re not okay today?”
“No, kid, I mean no lab today. Come back tomorrow, or next week, or whenever. I don’t care. Just not today.” Anger was starting to seep into his words. Peter took a step back, and spoke quietly.
“Oh, well, is there anything I can do? Y’know, to help?”
“No, Peter.” Tony’s voice was firm, rigid. Cold. “Please leave.”
Peter’s voice had a trace of fear in it. Tony pretended not to notice.
“If... if that’s what you want. But, uh, I can’t come tomorrow, in case you were wondering. There’s a decathlon—”
“Get out!” Tony screamed. He got off his chair, knocking it to the floor. “Get out! I said leave! Leave, damnit!” His eyes were livid. They didn’t see Peter, young and terrified, turn on his heel and bolt out the door. They only saw his father, never satisfied and always angry, always angry at him! What did he do? What did he do that was so bad? What could a child have done to deserve so much hatred? He fell to the floor, face pressed into his palms, shouts and sobs sounding through the lab.
~~~
It took the rest of the day to calm down. Finally, around ten at night, Tony shuffled out of the lab’s darkness and met the sterile white of the hallway. Drenched in self-hatred, he made his way to the elevator and asked FRIDAY to take him to his personal floor. He had been fighting the memory of what he said to Peter since he’d run from the lab. Now, figuring he couldn’t despise himself much more, he let the thought play itself in his mind. He was wrong. He instantly hated himself much, much more.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out while fishing around in his pocket for his phone. He knew he needed to fix it as soon as possible; he just wasn’t sure Peter would pick up.
Screw this, he thought. I need to do this in person. I screwed this up like my dad and I’m not going to fix it like he would. He was about to go back in to the elevator and go to the garage when FRIDAY broke in.
“Boss, Peter has been injured. Would you like to know his location?”
Tony froze. Bile rose in his throat and coldness cut his core. He swallowed. He already lost himself once today; it couldn’t happen again. Especially not if Peter needed him.
“Uh, no, FRIDAY. I want you to take that information and make a damn sudoku puzzle out of it.” Okay, that wasn’t calm. “God, scratch that FRIDAY. Of course I want his location.”
He summoned his suit, cursing as it formed around him. Why did he always seem to screw everything up like this? If he hadn’t lost his mind earlier, if he had just let Peter in... Tony shuddered as he considered the situation Peter could be in. His mind gave him gratuitous images of Peter lying in an alley, Spiderman suit torn, blood crusting over his wounds, life draining from his body—
“FRIDAY, injury report,” he said once the suit had completely enveloped him. He imagined Peter trapped in a warehouse by some sick fuck, tied up, gunshot wounds through the stomach and chest—
“Certainly, boss.”
He saw Peter doubled over on a rooftop, blood pooling in his mouth, filling his lungs, suffocating him as gargled and choked, begging for help—
“It seems Mr. Parker was in a car wreck.”
Tony froze again.
“A car wreck?” That was still bad, of course, but certainly not what he was expecting.
“Yes.”
Tony stood incredulous at his advanced AI’s useless response.
“Well, uh, injury report, FRI!”
“I cannot supply that. Mr. Parker was not in his suit when the wreck occurred.”
Tony was fuming, and close to breaking down again.
“Then how do you know it happened? What the hell, FRI?”
“I am simply relaying Ms. May Parker’s message, boss.” FRIDAY’s voice was nearly annoyed, if an AI could even be annoyed.
Tony grabbed the back of a chair for support. He spoke quietly and slowly.
“What was the message, FRI?”
“Ms. Parker said that Peter had been injured in a wreck and he could not come for the internship for at least two weeks. That is all the information I have.”
Tony got into the elevator.
“Rooftop, FRI.”
~~~
After calling May in the air and a regret-filled conversation explaining why only his AI could be reached and not him, Tony landed at the hospital and bolted for the elevator. He sprinted down the hall and upon seeing Peter’s door, became paralyzed. The misplaced pain that he used against his protege boiled inside him. He had long feared it, and it seemed to be coming true—he was just like his father. Everything he had done to improve himself, all the people he had met and loved, all the acts of courage and selflessness turned to ash. He was nothing. He was doomed to become the man who destroyed his innocence. Now he had done the same to Peter.
Tony leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, tight. He whispered a prayer—for Peter, not him—and turned the knob. Eyes still closed, he was prepared for the worst when he opened them. Peter sprawled on the bed, white bandages hardly covering wet, dripping lacerations, mangled yellow limbs hastily reset, his kid’s face bruised and swollen beyond recognition.
Tony took a deep breath and opened his eyes. First he saw May giving him a strange look, and he assumed she was angry over what he had said to Peter. Before he could say anything, a young, raspy voice spoke.
“Mister Stark? Why’re you here?” Tony turned his head to see Peter lying there, arm in a sling, staring up at him. He had one black eye but it was wide and alert. Tony sighed in relief and kneeled next to him. Peter drew back as much as he could, making Tony’s heart hurt. Peter stared at him.
“I thought you didn’t want to see me. You... you told me to get out.”
Tony looked down. He rubbed Peter’s good arm.
“I’m sorry, kid. I really am. I fucked up, I know it. Those things I said... they weren’t meant for you. I’m sorry and I know I can’t take it back, I never can, but I just want you to know... want you to know that I love you, Peter, and no matter what I say or how harshly I say it, that’s always true. I was hurting, and I took it out on you. And I swear to God, Peter, it will never happen again. I will never let myself be like that ever again. I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t deserve it, but I will ask that your aunt let me pick up the medical bills.” He gave a glance towards May, who sat in stunned silence, never imagining she’d hear Tony Stark talk like that.
“As for you, Peter,” he said, turning back towards his protege, who had come closer and lost the fear in his eyes, “Get some rest. Again, I’m sorry, and—”
Peter’s good arm wrapped around Tony’s back. He pulled, trying to get him to lean in. Surprised, Tony put his arm around Peter to support him and came closer.
“I don’t think you’re anything like him,” Peter whispered. Tony’s eyes shot open. Peter smiled. “Pepper told me. I’m not mad, so don’t worry. You’re nothing like him and you’ll never be anything like him. And, I love you too.” Peter hugged Tony tighter. Tony held him close, clutching the gift to his chest.