At twenty-eight, if someone had brought up fatherhood to Tony, he would have laughed in their face. Kids weren’t his thing. Kids were loud, messy, required attention he was too busy to give. Ar twenty-eight he still loved the party scene, required a night life with a beautiful woman or hell, man, in his bed every now and then. He had a company to run for god’s sake.
And yet, that had all came to a screeching halt when Social Services was at his door, somehow on his private phone line, with legal documents, paperwork, a birth certificate void of the child’s father. Evidently the mother was out of the picture, had insisted rights be handed over to Tony less the child be a ward of the state. And then she completely ditched. Vanished. He could barely remember what he had eaten for breakfast, much less remember a Mary Parker from nine to ten months prior. It was all a blur really, something Tony wished he had focused a bit more on aside from complaining about a cheek swab and insisting that the paternity test would be negative. It hadn’t been.
Tony was snapped out of his perusing by pasta water boiling over onto the stove, sizzling loudly in the kitchen and drowning out the sound of Black Sabbath playing faintly in the background.
“Your dinner, sir,” a voice pleasantly informed him from above.
“Shit,” Tony huffed under his breath, pulling the pot from the stove and clicking off the burner as steam continued to billow up. Some help his AI was informing him of his water after it had already boiled over. “Yeah, thank you so much, J.”
“Is there a fire?” a small voice piped up from behind him. “Should I get Dum-E?”
Tony craned his head over his shoulder to see the big brown doe-eyes of his four-year-old son, far too eager at the idea of a fire, watching as the steam dissipated as the rest of the water evaporated. The boy had been coloring quietly at the kitchen island, perched in his booster seat on one of the island chairs.
“Nope, no fire here, bud,” Tony wiped his hands on the dish towel he had thrown over his shoulder. “You’re lookin’ rather tall over there, though. Better be sitting on those pockets, mister.”
Peter’s little cheeks reddened a bit, but he slowly sank lower down into his booster, his brown curls bobbing a bit as he nodded his head, “I’m on my pockets!”
In all honesty, Tony wasn’t fond of putting Peter’s booster on a chair so high up. He was such a wiggle worm and a little houdini that buckling him into it was pointless, and just the slightest teetering could send the boy tumbling to the hard tile. Tony knew kids were supposed to have extra cushioning to make up for their tumbles and spills, but that didn’t mean he was going to be the careless one that let his kid concuss himself on the kitchen floor. Yet, Peter had insisted on watching his father cook, and he had wanted a flat surface to color on while they listened to “Savath”. Tony was in no shape to say no to such a request when his son was far too precious for his own good. He gave a quick stir to his pasta sauce, simply dumped into a pan from a jar to warm of course, he was no chef, and deemed the noodles worthy enough for a Peter break.
He padded around the island, setting the towel down on the corner, so he could admire Peter’s artwork. His hand came to rest on his child’s back, nearly spanning across the entirety of the tiny toddler, “Wanna tell me about what you’re working on, buddy?”
“Yeah!” Peter squirmed in anticipation, chubby fingers coming to point at was quite obviously his own name scrawled clumsily, multiple times, all over the page. His R’s were backwards, but honestly how many four-year-old’s could write their name? Peter had been able to do it since he was three, and they were working on it still. “That’s my name. And that’s yours!”
In red crayon under the multitude of “Peter”s, there was a shakily written “Doddy”, which, Tony was immediately willing to legally change his name to just for the sake of the little chubby cheeked boy beaming up at him. His heart squeezed in his chest, and he kissed the side of Peter’s curly-haired head.
“So good, Petey-Pie!” he praised, offering his hand for a high-five. “Tell me though, what sound does “o” make?”
Tony placed a finger right underneath the o in “Doddy”, and Peter paused in confusion for a moment before picking up his red crayon, “Oopsie! I forgot the tail! That’s an a.”
“That’s my smart boy,” Tony grinned widely. His eyes continued to scan over the heavily decorated page. There were blue circles everywhere. Bubbles, as Peter called them. Toward the bottom of the page there were what seemed to be a few armless figures. Tony pointed to them. “Tell me about these?”
“That one’s you,” Peter grabbed for his black crayon and drew a square around the smiling face. “There’s your whiskers.”
“Not a beard?” Tony questioned.
“No,” Peter explained, giving his dad a look of exasperation. However, his tone remained patient. It was one of Tony’s favorite games to play with the always-learning little mind, asking simple questions just to see the expansive amount of his son’s knowledge and creativity. “Santa has a beard, and it’s really scary. Your whiskers aren’t scary. I like them.”
Tony pursed his lips to fight the impending chuckle, “Of course, how silly of me.”
Peter’s small finger trailed over the figures he had drawn: red headed Auntie Pepper, incredibly long legged Uncle Rhodey, and a very boxy Uncle Happy that had Tony losing his absolute shit, scooping Peter from the booster to hug him lovingly to his chest as he laughed harder than he had all week.
Peter giggled as well, hugging his father tight around the neck, “Do you like it, Daddy?”
Tony hummed, bumping their foreheads together gently, “I love it. It’s going straight on the fridge if that’s okay with you, sport.”
“Maybe,” Peter kicked his little legs where they were on either side of Tony’s waist. “If I can have some yogurt.”
Ah, and he truly was Tony Stark’s child with his negotiation tactics. Tony arched an eyebrow at the little boy in his arms, “You’ll ruin your dinner if you eat yogurt now.”
Peter, who was clearly trying to imitate his father’s expression and simply just widening his eyes in the process, paused for a moment as he studied Tony’s face. When he spoke, albeit slowly, it was with confidence, “I promise… that if you give me yogurt... I won’t ruin my dinner.”
There was a sudden loud pop from the stove accompanied by a spattering of red across the white tiled floor and marbled countertop, and Tony sighed at his own forgetfulness.
“Really on a role today with reminders here, Jarvis.” The AI evidently had no response for that. Peter was still waiting patiently in his arms, so with one last smooch pressed to Peter’s forehead, he set the boy down, “I can’t argue with your logic, I guess. Stay right there, Petey. Let me deal with the stove and then I’ll get you your yogurt.”
Which was how Tony found himself seated at the dinner table ten minutes later, slightly lumped together pasta portioned out for him and Peter, watching as Peter happily got yogurt all over his face in his haste to get the spoonfuls into his mouth. With a fond sigh, Tony picked up his napkin and dabbed the corner of it with his tongue, leaning over to wipe at Peter’s messy face.
A slight huff of protest was earned, but Peter turned his face upward in the slightest to give his dad better access, “Icky…”
“We share fifty percent of autosomal DNA, practically half of that spit is yours,” Tony replied. “Now, hot rod, I believe someone promised me they weren’t going to ruin their dinner with yogurt. Whoever could that have been?”
Peter squirmed in his booster seat, “M’gonna eat my sgetti, Daddy! I just wanted to finish my yogurt. It’s not good warm.”
There was a whine in Peter’s voice that insisted it was getting incredibly close to the four year old’s bedtime, and Tony simply leaned over with his fork to cut up Peter’s noodles better, “Okay. Okay, buddy, I believe you. If there are sniffles at the dinner table I’ll have to wipe your tears away with more spit.”
Tony did feel a little guilty, after all. His food was never the most edible thing, but Peter always took it like a champ. And just as the boy had promised, once his yogurt was gone Peter gobbled up his noodles and downed nearly all of the milk in his cup before clambering out of his booster and into his father’s arms.
Tony had been picking out the least mushiest noodles, but he settled further back in his chair to let Peter nestle down into his lap and against torso, let Peter tug his father’s free arm to hold against himself as the little boy mumbled, “I think I’m kinda tired.”
At that, Tony pushed his plate back and wrapped his baby up in his arms, “Yeah, me too bud. Let’s get ready for bed, huh?”
☼
It was routine, really, for Tony to squeeze onto Peter’s toddler bed with him until the kid fell asleep. Peter had been a co-sleeping infant after all, and he simply hadn’t grown out of needing his father in order to fall asleep yet. Tony had tried the cry it out method once when Peter was two before he could no longer handle his son’s heart wrenching cries, had rushed back into Peter’s nursery to scoop the wailing baby from the crib and croon apologies until Peter was soothed and his own chest stopped aching.
So there Tony was, half hanging off of Peter’s tiny bed with Peter’s curls tickling his face as the boy smushed his own head under his father’s chin. Peter was splayed nearly horizontally across the bed in better attempt to cling, one tiny arm slung over his father’s shoulder and the other clutching the loose t-shirt Tony had changed into after Peter had practically drenched Tony’s other in his excitement to brush his teeth.
“J?” Peter requested into the dark of the room. “Can you turn on my night light?”
“Of course, young sir,” Jarvis replied gently, and the black of the room was illuminated by soft blue stars on the ceiling.
Peter sighed happily, “Thank you, J. Goodnight, I love you.”
“Goodnight, Master Peter. The feeling is reciprocated.”
Tony fought back a snort at his AI, always so whipped for the youngest Stark. Whilst all of Tony’s requests were met with snark, Peter received affection Tony wasn’t even aware his AI was programmed to show. But then again, if Jarvis were to ever snap at Peter in the slightest, Tony would purposely download malware to his system.
Granted, Peter could bring the kindest response out of anyone, pulled such a genuine softness forth from Tony sometimes that it made Tony feel as if there was simply no space left in his chest for his heart to fit. Peter already filled it completely.
“Daddy?” the boy whispered, unwinding his arm from Tony’s shoulder and prodding at Tony’s cheek. “Are you sleeping?”
“Yes,” Tony whispered back, closing his eyes and giving an obnoxious snore.
It earned him a huff of annoyance, tiny fingers lifting one of his eyelids open, “Daddy! We forgot to check under the bed for komodo dragons!”
What? Tony opened his eyes and gazed at his son’s dimly lit face, noting the furrowed brow and genuine concern the precious face held. He was certainly going to have to grill Happy and Rhodey over who had let Peter watch a nature documentary on carnivorous reptilians, but for the time being he smoothed his thumb gently down the side of Peter’s baby-soft cheek.
“I checked earlier. All good, buddy. I don’t even fit under there, so they can’t either.”
Peter pressed his face into the touch like a kitten, and Tony continued to run his thumb gently from temple to chin. It was a trick of his he had used ever since he could remember to soothe Peter, petting his face to ease him to sleep.
“Kay, love you Daddy,” Peter murmured, moving his thumb toward his mouth. A tell-tale sign he was for sure minutes from sleep, because upon the request of their dentist they were working on lessening thumb-sucking, but it was still a self-soothing habit Peter had when he was extra sleepy.
Tony let it slide, as Peter placed only the side of his thumb gently into his mouth and nuzzled impossibly closer, efficiently hogging the rest of the bed, “I love you, more, squirt.”
He rested his head against Peter’s curls and continued the stroking of Peter’s cheek, listening carefully as the soft puffs of his son’s breathing evened out. It took several minutes, but they were minutes Tony held near and dear. Sleepy Peter cuddles were something he would never quite grow tired of.
Once he was sure Peter was out for good, he gently pried himself loose from the koala bear grip. Tony pulled the soft blankets up to Peter’s shoulders, pressed one last kiss to the smooth brow, and shuffled off to his own bed.
☼
Tony jolted awake in his bed, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with his palms. A quick glance at the digital clock illuminating the wall informed him it was 5:30am. His alarm wasn’t set to go off for at least another thirty minutes, and a confused and bleary scan around the dim room showed no signs of what could have startled him awake. Peter usually wasn’t up until at least 7am unless he had a nightmare, and if that were the case he would have clambered right up into the bed and onto Tony.
But then, from across the penthouse came a shrill shriek, accompanied by Peter’s wailing cry. The suddenness of it all had Tony’s heart leaping into his throat, and he started to shove the blankets off of himself to get up before he paused. Surely the boy had only woken up frightened, he’d come racing across the hallway and bursting through Tony’s slightly ajar door to fling himself into his father’s awaiting arms.
Evidently that wasn’t the case.
“Sir!” Jarvis’ normally steady voice held a strange note of panic. “Young Peter has injured himself in the kitchen!”
Tony was frantically untangling himself from his sheets and off of the bed before the AI had even finished speaking, “Why is he alone in the kitchen, why didn’t you wake me?!”
He could practically hear his own pulse as he raced for the door, stumbled over the rug just outside his room, but even louder than his pulse was the sound of Peter’s sobs, the pattering of little feet rounding the corner from the kitchen as Tony already had his arms outstretched to meet his son halfway.
In the low light of the hallway, Tony was already scanning the boy for the source of his injury, and what despite being in the dark, it wasn’t hard to miss. There was blood. Jesus christ, there was so much blood. A solid trail of it behind Peter, blood on Peter. Tony fell to shaky knees as Peter crashed into him, blubbering out incomprehensible gibberish.
“Daddy!” Peter wailed. “I din’ mean to break it!”
It took Tony a moment to blink the room back into focus, the world spinning on its axis, his arms clutching Peter to his chest and getting blood all over his own shirt as well. He’d dealt with blood before damn it, he was an engineer. He’d nearly lost fingers, had sliced open major veins, he’d just seen fucking blood before. But this, this wasn’t just any blood, this was his baby’s blood, it was so, so important. It needed to be preferably in Peter, not dripping all over the floor and drenching Peter’s red sloth pajamas.
With trembling hands and a tight chest, Tony gently removed Peter away from clinging to frantically pat him down, “J, where- J there’s so much-”
“His hand, sir.”
Okay. Tony sucked in a sharp breath. He could work with that. Peter’s small frame was still heaving with great sobs, arms outstretched in desperation to get back into his father’s embrace, and the sheer desperation and terror on his face made Tony’s own eyes burn with unshed tears. All the blood was without a doubt scary for Peter, too. He was the one hurt and bleeding, and here Tony was moments away from a goddamn panic attack when he needed to be calm for Peter.
“It’s okay, baby,” Tony cooed as softly as he could manage. “Let Daddy, see? It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
Peter’s answering sob shuddered in his throat, but he held his hand palm out for Tony to see. Tony nearly groaned. The gash on Peter’s right palm spanned from his little thumb to the fleshy bit just under his pinky finger, and it looked deep. He didn’t even have to prompt Jarvis. Stitches were absolutely going to be required.
“Will I die?” Peter squeaked in terror, wide eyes locked on his hand and his tiny tear streaked cheeks pale. Even his face had blood on it from his hands wiping at his nose, and Tony was suddenly snapped into the realization that he did in fact need to stop the bleeding.
He scooped the four-year-old into his arms, bringing his injured hand up toward their chest as he strode the rest of the way to the kitchen for a dishtowel, “No, baby, no. Never. Jarvis, get Happy on the phone. Tell him to bring a car, pronto, and don’t take no for an answer.”
The light in the kitchen was already on, and the large windows overlooking the city showed that the sun was only just beginning to rise. Why Peter was up and alone in the kitchen so early was beyond Tony. Tony yanked open the drawer designated for dishtowels as he balanced the still sniffling and bleeding Peter on his hip, but his eyes fell to Peter’s step stool pushed against the counter, a black mug shattered into pieces beside it.
Peter whimpered at the sight, “Was just gonna try to make you coffee, Daddy, I din’ mean to break it…”
Aw, shit. It made Tony’s chest clench, and he had to pull Peter in close and press a kiss to the sweaty mop of curls as he hugged the boy tight. His baby had tried to make surprise him with coffee, despite not knowing how to work the machine or reach it. Tony wasn’t even sure how he had gotten a mug, but the boy must have broken it, and it had to have been what had startled him awake. Not wanting to get in trouble, Peter had tried cleaning it up himself, and…
“My sweetest guy, huh? I’m not mad, Underoos,” Tony said softly. With gentle hands, he tapped the wrist of Peter’s injured hand. “Daddy is gonna have to wrap up your owie. It might hurt, because we have to press on it a little. Will you help me press on it? We’re gonna hold it over your heart together.”
“Kay,” Peter nodded.
Tony moved quick before Peter could give it more thought, wrapping tight enough to hopefully staunch the blood flow, but not tight enough to cut off circulation to the rest of Peter’s fingers, “My brave boy.”
“It hurts,” Peter whimpered, but he let Tony bring his tiny hand to rest over his chest.
The smallness of Peter’s voice shattered Tony’s aching heart further, but he simply gathered Peter more efficiently into his arms, snuggled him up tight, and hurried back down the bloody path of a hallway toward Peter’s room to grab the boy a blanket.
“Mr. Hogan is two minutes out, sir,” Jarvis informed.
“Uncle Happy?” Peter mumbled against Tony’s neck.
Grabbing Peter’s favorite blanket, the blanket covered in little microscopes, off of his bed to wrap around the boy’s tiny frame, Tony hurried back down the hall. It had either been call Happy, call an ambulance, or drive to the hospital himself. An ambulance would without a doubt terrify Peter, Tony himself wasn’t quite… in the right state to drive. That would involve sitting Peter in the back seat alone, and Tony wasn’t willing to let the boy out of his arms, much less out of his sight.
Instead, he took the elevator to the main floor, rushed out front to where Happy had pulled the Audi up to the curb and was waiting in extreme confusion. When the annoyed looking man took one look at Tony and Peter, however, most likely quite the sight covered in drying blood, Tony was briefly concerned he was going to rip the back door of the hinges in his haste to get it open.
“Tony what the fu- is that the kid’s blood? Christ, is he okay?” Happy might not have been willing to come to Tony’s aid so early in the morning, but for Peter? Tony knew his friend and bodyguard would give a kidney.
Peter’s little head popped up as Tony slid them into the back seat, “Hi, Uncle Happy.”
As soon as they were settled in the back seat, Happy was peeling away from the curb and tearing down the street, “Hospital? Because there’s blood everywhere, Peter’s been crying, you look like you’re going to, and you’re not wearing pants or shoes, Tony.”
“Hospital,” Tony spared a glance at himself. So yeah, he left the house in his t-shirt and boxers. But, his kid had been (still was judging by a quick peek under the dishtowel) bleeding profusely, Tony was hanging on to his sanity by a thin fucking string, and he really didn’t have time to focus on unnecessary subjects like shoes and pants. Sue him.
“I’m not in my booster seat…” Peter whispered.
Leave it to Peter to mention breaking child passenger laws. Tony couldn’t help the fond snort that escaped him, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“I can’t lie.” Such a saint.
“I sure do love you, buddy,” he rested his cheek atop Peter’s head, trying to slow his racing heart. Peter was coherent, Peter was talking, Peter was going to be fine.
Happy definitely broke a few traffic laws. Tony had never made it through the busy streets of Manhattan so fast. The man had brought them right to the doors of the emergency room entrance, rushing to open the door for the father and son in the back seat.
“Tony-”
“Can you call Pep?” Tony asked as he hoisted Peter and himself out of the car. The asphalt beneath his feet was certainly cold now that he was far more aware of his lack of shoes. “Have her cancel my meetings for today. Just tell her Peter cut his hand and he’s gonna need some stitches, so I’m- he needs me. I’m all his today.”
Happy reached out to ruffle the curly head resting on Tony’s shoulder, “Yeah. I’ll be waiting to take you two home.”
“And maybe to get pancakes?” Peter piped up hopefully.
“Absolutely,” Happy replied before Tony even had the chance to speak up. “If we get your dad some pants first.”
Tony gave Happy the finger, but shot him a look of gratitude as Peter giggled and rested his head back down, and then Tony adjusted Peter’s blanket around him and hurried through the emergency room doors.
☼
They must have been quite the sight to see, because they were rushed back almost immediately despite the rather crowded waiting room. The cut on Peter’s hand wasn’t actually as deep as Tony had originally thought being as it was only from a mug, but he had been correct on it needing a few stitches. It took seven total to close it shut, and Peter on his father’s lap, holding onto Tony with his good hand and hiding his teary face in his blanket as the doctor stitched him up.
“Children are just bleeders,” the emergency room nurse told Tony kindly. “My own daughter can get a scrape falling off her bike and make it look like something out of a horror film.”
“I’m too young for that kind of heart attack,” Tony sighed, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I’m not squeamish but that was- that was a lot.”
“It’s different when it’s your baby,” the nurse offered sympathetically.
“Yeah,” Tony murmured as Peter leaned back into his embrace, dozing off now that all the adrenaline was leaving his small little body. “It’s way different.”
The ER had since given them both a warm, wet cloth to clean up with, and Tony had wiped them as clean as he could of all the blood. Tony’s shirt was a lost cause, but the hospital had swapped Peter’s bloodied pajamas out for a little gown with penguins on it.
Once Peter was cleaned up, bandaged, and checked out to leave, Tony cradled the sleepy toddler to his chest and headed back out the main entrance with him. Just as Happy had said, the man was waiting anxiously outside for the two.
“Is he okay?” Happy’s gaze searched the sleeping boy.
Peter’s little bandaged hand was holding Tony’s shirt as well as it could, his other hand up by his mouth as he mouthed at his thumb.
“Very tired, after all of that,” Tony nodded. “And me too, honestly. I feel like I just aged ten years.”
Happy opened the back door for Tony, and he slid himself as carefully as he could into the backseat without jostling Peter too much. Once settled, he was able to cuddle Peter up closer to his chest, stroke his hand across the soft baby face of his son. It was such an immense relief to see him okay and resting, just how things were supposed to be. Tony was just going to have to get Jarvis to start telling him when Peter was awake, and normally the AI did, but he had a feeling the younger boy had been communicating with Jarvis the whole time - had been asking him how to make coffee, asking him how to surprise Tony with it.
He sighed, gazing fondly at the snoozing toddler in his arms. Happy slid into the front seat, turning around to look at the two, “Back home?”
“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “I feel like I could use a nap too after this.”
Peter’s little brow furrowed at the sound of his father’s voice, and he didn’t open his eyes, be he nuzzled closer with a whimpered, “Pancakes…”
“... but maybe get the kid some hot cakes from McDonald’s, first.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Tony pressed a quick kiss to Peter’s forehead. Peter smiled in his sleep.