Chapter Text
Peter’s apartment was empty.
The last time he’d heard from the kid was an odd call at five in the morning, right smack dab in the middle of one of Morgan’s insomnia induced fits. Between the child screeching and the throbbing headache pressing against his skull, Tony hadn’t been able to hear the tremor in his son’s voice. Something had made Tony want to stay on the line and talk, but with Pepper in Canada with Wanda, and Rhodey doing something with the government, he had to deal with his daughter first. He hadn’t realized what it was until he asked Friday to replay their conversation.
His kid was crying.
Peter had always been good at concealing tears if you couldn’t see him, but Tony prided himself in being able to see through the facade.
Guilt had seized him when it dawned on him that he had hung up on a weeping Peter. Well, to his small credit, he hadn’t hung up. Peter had.
That didn’t help him feel any better.
Tony had called back later, once Morgan had finally fallen asleep around eight. He’d tried to call back. He hadn’t gotten an answer.
That was thirteen hours ago.
Tony ran a shaky hand over his face. He took a deep breath, turning Peter’s phone over in his hands and forcing the tears in his eyes to remain there. He surveyed the kid’s apartment, praying that he could find any clues in his absence. Physics notes sat on the table next to the flowers that Pepper had sent on Friday. Peter’s phone had been on the couch when Tony had come in, but it had long since lost its battery and the screen was dark. Blood dotted the coffee table and the sofa cushions, only making Tony’s worry mount. As he advanced towards the bedroom, guilt and panic continued to grow inside him. Nausea festered in his stomach at the horrible thoughts circling his brain. Kidnapped, tortured, blackmailed, someone found out his identity, someone wanted information, he’d gotten hurt on patrol and Tony hadn’t been there and-
The window was open, cool morning air chilling the room. Peter hated sleeping in the cold, not that it mattered. The bed was perfectly made and it didn’t look like it had been disturbed since the kid called. There was blood on the kid’s pillow too, a rusty crimson against the white pillowcase. As fear continued to fester within him, he searched the kid’s room and bathroom. His eyes surveyed the New York skyline through the large windows and he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by memory. If all had gone according to plan, he and Pete would have been out there for years, chasing bad guys and putting criminals in jail. Peter would have attached a web to his boot and they would have flown across the city, the kid’s high pitched hollers slowly growing deeper as he matured. He would have watched Peter surpass him in height, watch him rival Steve in muscle and stature, cheer him on from the sidelines as he finally hung up the suit, content with knowing that his son, his legacy, was watching over their city.
And it had been theirs, once upon a time.
But it hadn’t gone according to plan. Nothing had. Thanos had come and Peter had died and Tony had waited five years to save the one person he couldn’t live without because he was scared. He’d left Peter alone for five years, whether Peter remembered the Soul Stone or not because he had been too terrified to risk what he’d found with Pepper and Morgan, his perfect little family, to rescue the imperfect one. The one that was just he and Pete, talking a million miles a minute and making life-saving inventions. Just he and Pete, swinging across New York to the whoops and cheers of the people on the street. Just he and Pete, staying up until two just so that they could finish counting stars. Just he and Pete, flawed and broken, pieces of two different puzzles that managed to fit together just so, that helped heal the cracks in each other’s shattered hearts until somehow, they felt whole again.
And he had abandoned that. Because he was just too scared.
God, he hated himself, but for nothing more than that .
Tony wiped the tear from his cheek. He had been too late to save Peter then. He had always been too late, it seemed. His parents, Skip, Ben, Vulture, Thanos, May. When had Tony ever been there when it mattered? When it wasn’t fighting the Rogues in an airport? Sure he’d snapped his fingers and destroyed Thanos’s army, but if he’d waited three seconds longer, he was sure Steve or Peter would have jumped to stop him, to take his place. When had he ever really looked at Peter, his kid, and just been there for him?
He had told Peter that he would bring him to the lake house. His room was finished the day that he had called, decorations and everything perfectly set. That was part of the reason he’d come to Manhattan, to help Pete move in.
How stupid could this genius get?
Three months. He’d waited three more months before getting to this point. Peter could have stayed on the couch or slept with Morgan for God’s sake. Why did it get to this point? How had Tony let it?
Tony knew that somewhere in his mind, logic was reassuring him that he’d been in a coma for a good portion of those three months. He’d been recovering for the majority of the rest. He’d been struggling with his unsatiable PTSD, anxiety, and overall overwhelmed sensibilities after the entire ordeal of being dead for several minutes. He was still in recovery, technically, but did that excuse any of it? Even if he couldn’t have been awake to do something, shouldn’t Pepper have…
No. The father in him that had been trained by Peter and then Morgan shouted that no, it wasn’t okay. None of that could excuse his behavior. He’d been horrible.
He was just like Howard.
How many times had Tony sat in that big empty house alone, waiting for his father to come back? How many hours had he sat there, calling his father’s name, again and again, only to be answered by cursed silence?
How many times had Peter done that? How many hours had he sat on that couch, or in that bed, and prayed that someone would come back for him?
Had he not been abandoned enough?
Tony’s hands shook with his sudden sobs. God, he was an awful father.
His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket and he jumped, breath stifling in his sore throat. How long had he been standing there staring out into the blue sky? He fished the device out of his pants, gently settling Peter’s phone on his bed before checking the caller ID. Sam Wilson’s ridiculous photo flashed across his screen, metallic wings in full view. Clearing his throat and pushing his emotions straight back into his stomach, he answered, “Wilson.”
“Hey, Tony.”
Immediately, Tony dropped the emotionless facade. “What’s wrong?”
“Steve dropped by earlier and said you were looking for Peter. I want-,”
He wasn’t sure how but suddenly he was in the hall, racing towards the stairs. The quicker he got to the roof the quicker he got to his suit. The quicker he got to his suit the quicker he got to Peter, wherever the hell he was. “Is he with you? God, is he okay? I’ve been so worried, Sam.”
Please tell me my son’s alright. Please don’t tell me this is one of those phone calls. Please don’t tell me my son is dead .
“Tony, calm down, man,” Sam’s voice wasn’t the kind of sad that Tony affiliated with death, so he tried to grasp onto that small hope. “Peter’s at our place. Him and Bucky are making waffles right now, actually.”
Tension leaked from Tony’s shoulders like water against rubber. “Oh, thank God,” he sobbed, sliding against the wall. His head leaned back, tears escaped his tightly closed eyes. Relief joined the emotion-filled sea in his gut, but it did not swell enough to overpower his guilt and fear. “How is he?”
Sam hesitated. “Are you sitting down right now?”
His feet that had already started moving again slowed down. “No. Should I be?”
Is he okay, Wilson? Is my kid okay ?
The winged hero sighed heavily. “It’s not good, Tony.”
“Sam,” bated breath, galloping heart. “Tell me.”
Terror had reared its head inside his chest. The relief that he had felt disappeared in a heartbeat, replaced by horrible dread. He’d felt this once before, when Peter had whimpered his name on that dusty battlefield, already becoming ash against his fingers. He had sworn he’d never feel it again, not while he drew breath. He had broken that promise too.
Whatever it was he had been preparing for Sam to say, it wasn’t this.
“Peter tried to commit suicide.”
Tony’s stomach swooped. His vision tunneled and he was on the floor, breathing too fast and heart pumping too rapidly to be healthy. He was shaking, phone falling from his trembling fingers. Somewhere, he could hear Sam’s desperate voice yelling at him to calm down, to breathe, that it was okay and Peter was alright but he couldn’t really hear him because the images in his head were too bright, the sounds too loud. Peter’s wrists, sliced and red against the whiteness of his skin. Peter’s open eyes, lifeless and empty and dull, the opposite of everything he truly was, forever trained on one spot in the sky. Peter’s ever-moving hands, still against the stones beneath his fingertips, never to move again. Peter’s neck, encircled by rope, the freckles on his collarbone overtaken by the red scars of the cable. Peter’s broken body against the street, blood pouring out of his limp form, breath stopped too short.
Peter’s hands, disappearing from Tony’s grasp. Peter falling into him, his legs gone now too and suddenly Peter was crying and begging. He was becoming dust in the wind and Tony couldn’t save him now, he hadn’t saved him then and he’d never left, had he? He was still on that damned planet, grasping for the ashes of his son that was his son please don’t take my son -
“TONY!” Sam’s voice appeared out of thin air, loud and forceful and gentle all at once and Tony came to sobbing, his entire body collapsed against the wall of the stairwell, the cold stone grounding him to the cold reality.
His son was dead.
“ Sam- ,” tortured, pained, broken.
“He’s not dead, Tony! Peter’s not dead!”
“He is ,” Tony croaked. “He is, I saw him. I held him, Sam, he begged me not to go.”
“Tony, you aren’t on Titan. Thanos is dead, Tony. You defeated him, remember? You and Steve together. I was there, Tony. You need to breathe!”
Breathe? Now? Right now? Was Sam serious?
When Peter had died, Tony hadn’t felt this. It had been numb and void and emotionless sorrow, a dichotomy he’d never experienced before. Now it was hot and full and overwhelming. He couldn’t breathe because all the sobs were filling his lungs. Blood and dust and death were corrupting his stomach and his heart was shriveling inside his chest. A fatherless child was called an orphan but what did you call a sonless father? What word truly captured this devastation of the soul?
Had Peter always been such a vital part of Tony? Had he always occupied such a large space in his heart? He was sure that Pepper didn’t take up so much room. He couldn’t even confidently say that Morgan did, precious though she was. It was like Peter was his soulmate, bound from the beginning, and the proclamation that part of his soul could die, that part of his soul could kill himself, was tearing Tony’s entire being apart.
Was this how a man was truly created? Two halves of one whole soul? Was Peter his missing part?
Was he going to be missing it forever?
“TONY!”
Steve’s voice. It shook Tony to his core, and reality crashed against him in waves of desolation. Gruff and low and every bit the captain he was, pulling Tony above the ocean’s damning waters. Hadn’t that always been their thing? Reaching for each other when they’d fallen? Being there to pick them up?
“Your name is Anthony Edward Stark. Your wife’s name is Pepper; you have a daughter named Morgan and a son named Peter. You are the owner of Stark Industries, Ironman, and a hero. You’re fifty-three years old. You saved the world. It’s July thirtieth, at 6:30 in the afternoon. You’re at Peter’s apartment in upper Manhattan, New York City. You’re in the hallway, right? Feel the carpet under your hands. Listen for Peter’s AC, okay? There are probably pigeons outside his windows; there always are. Can you hear them?”
No.
“Tony, can you hear them?”
He strained, and between the roaring in his ears and his own cries, he heard soft coos .
“Tony!”
“Yes,” he hissed roughly. “I can hear them.”
With the admission came sight and sound and feeling. The world around him jilted back into focus. He was in the hallway of Peter’s apartment. Evening light was coming in through the windows. Peter’s AC was humming away and pigeons sat on one of his windowsills.
Steve blew out a breath through the phone. “Good. Now get over here. God knows that I don’t have the emotional constitution to put up with a little lion cub distressed for his papa and the big daddy lion missing his baby. Sam and Buck took good care of him today, but I think it’s high time you swooped in and saved the day, don’t you?”
Did Steve not understand? Tony hadn’t been there to save Peter. What difference would it make?
“Peter’s okay, Tony,” Sam added reassuringly. “He’ll need therapy, no doubt, and some good cuddles, but he’ll be okay. You know he will.”
“He’s a strong kid.” Tony could almost see Steve crossing his arms and smiling proudly in the boy’s direction as he praised him. “Stronger than all of us.”
“Alive?”
It was a whispered plea. He’d begged God before, so many times in those five years of absence. Would he hear Tony now?
“Yeah, Tones,” Steve answered. Firm, certain. “He’s right here.”
Tony picked up the phone and shakily made his way out of the apartment. He took the elevator to the roof and walked towards his sentry suit in a daze. Suicide. His kid had tried to commit suicide. Happy, cheerful, hopeful Peter Parker had thought his life was worth so little that removing himself from it wouldn’t have mattered. As if his death wouldn’t break Tony even further.
How - did Tony really fuck up so badly?
“No, Tones,” Steve’s grounding and soothing tone was projected by Friday as he entered his suit. “This doesn’t mean you failed. Sam thinks that Peter’s been struggling with depression for a while, probably well before the Snap and, well, just get here, okay? Peter’s okay. He’s safe and loved and he’s been taken care of.”
“But I-,”
“Tony,” Cap’s voice garnered no argument. “Do you love Peter?”
For a moment, Tony sputtered. Was Steve serious? “Of course .”
“Then just get here. I know you think this is all your fault, and yes, you could have been around a little more and not left him in the city by himself three months after he had died, but this is a problem that’s been going on for a long time. Pete has a big heart. It makes sense that he feels pain, especially sadness, on a level far greater than others.”
“Why didn’t I…” the inventor shook his head, taking off from the roof as fast as his boosters would let him. “I should have been there. Is he mad?”
Tony wasn’t sure he could face a mad Peter.
But rather a mad Peter than a dead one.
“Sam said he was.”
“Good.”
Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I guess he’s entitled to be a little angry.”
“I love him.”
The Captain’s voice turned fond. Tony could hear the understanding smile on his lips as he soared through the sky towards Sam and Bucky’s apartment. “I know, Tony. He’s not angry now.”
Tears jumped to his eyes. He didn’t deserve Peter. He’d never deserved his forgiveness or his kindness or his love. He hadn’t deserved it when they’d met and he hadn’t earned it since.
“Tony, Pete’s okay. He’s okay. He just wants his dad.”
“Don’t-,” Tony choked, shaking his head harshly. “He shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Steve asked gently. “He loves you.”
“He shouldn’t .”
“Maybe,” the hero conceded. “But he does. Instead of assuming who Peter can and can’t give his love to, perhaps you should be thankful that he does , and get over it.”
Tony felt tears stinging his vision just as Sam and Bucky’s top story apartment came into view. It was a suite-style flat, taking up almost the entire top floor of the building. Tony had made sure that his friends were well put up when he retired after Thanos was defeated, and since he couldn’t seem to voice emotions like a normal person, he’d bought them expensive living space. Same thing, right?
The balcony’s doors were wide open, the curtains beyond them fluttering in the breeze. Tony landed gracefully, or the suit landed gracefully. Tony probably would have landed like a drunken duck on his way to his next fix. The titanium alloy opened slowly, too slowly for his liking, and he stumbled out. Steve was there to catch him when he did.
“Oh, Tony,” he breathed when he caught sight of his friend’s face.
Tony didn’t have to be a genius to know he looked like a mess. His eyes were probably bright red from crying and his hair was disheveled. His breathing was everywhere but healthy and his hands were shaking. Anxiety had probably written itself across every feature of his expression.
“Come on, Tones.” Cap wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him inside.
Instantly, Tony’s eyes searched for his kid. Within seconds, he’d found him. He was sitting at the counter, a mug of steaming something in his hands. His smile was soft and his eyes were crinkled with silent laughter. He looked so at peace.
“Hey, guys. Guess who dropped by.”
Despite Steve’s informal introduction, the air in the apartment was tense. Tony could feel his anxiety pawing at the ground ready to strike. Peter’s eyes were downcast, staring into the contents of his cup. He could probably hear his adoptive father’s racing heartbeat. Sam had a firm hold on Bucky’s metal arm and if he had not, Tony was sure that the ex-assassin would have launched himself at the billionaire. Fury had settled into Bucky’s features and his knuckles were clenched. Sam looked pensive, mouth set in a firm line and worried glance going from Pete to Tony and back again. Steve seemed like the only one who had his shit together.
“Um, sorry to drop in like this.” It was lame. He knew it was lame, but in the face of Peter’s suicide, he was not sure what else to say. All the charisma and suave personality that should have come rolling off him like water on rubber had disappeared in a flash. What would smoothe words do to battle Peter’s sadness? What comfort could Tony bring with nonsense comforts and meaningless niceties?
“Give me one good reason why-,” Bucky lunged. Tony did not move, ready to accept his punishment.
“Because that’s Tony, Buck,” Sam jerked his boyfriend back. “And yeah, this sucks. But it’s not his fault.”
“It’s okay, Birdboy,” The inventor waved his arms weakly. He took a step further in the room. “Wolfie’s right.”
“Tones,” Cap’s voice became pained. “You made a mistake. But this isn’t-,”
“Yes it is,” Tony snapped. Tears burned the edges of his vision. God, when would his eyes get tired of crying? “If I had just been better at loving you, Pete, than none of this would-,”
“Tones, we all mess up. This isn’t all on you, okay?” Sam glared at his boyfriend taking several steps toward the retired hero. “You’ve been busy, we get that. Peter gets that. But you have a chance to make this right, yeah? You can’t change what happened leading up to this point, but you can change what happens next.”
“Next?” he hissed, jerking his head to the side and closing his eyes tightly. They did not understand. He could not possibly atone for this, for this atrocity. He could not make up for the innocence and happiness that Peter had lost. He could not find redemption strong enough for this heinous deed. “Why the fuck does it matter what happens next if I was shit at being a father before-!”
Apparently interrupting was going around, because Peter cut in with, “No.”
Silence. The kid’s hoarse voice pierced Tony’s heart like a knife. He finally moved, slowly sliding off the stool he was sitting on. He walked towards his surrogate father with his head down, knuckles pale, with the gate of a man going to war. He halted in front of Tony, and he noticed that the boy’s bottom lip was trembling and chapped. He had been biting it. There were bags under his eyes, dark ones, and his lashes were rimmed with red from crying. Tony hated himself, but rarely did he ever hate himself more than when he made Peter Parker cry.
There was hardly a sin more grievous than an act that harmed the purest soul on earth.
“Peter,” Tony’s voice was wrecked and he did not realize he was pleading until his mouth opened and words rolled off his tongue in that begging tone. He did not beg, but he would for Peter. He would do anything for Peter. “You don’t have to forgive me. You shouldn’t, actually-,”
“I’m not ,” the kid spat softly, if one can do such a thing. His hands tightened at his sides. “Because there’s nothing to forgive.”
You don’t deserve him. You’ve never deserved him. He almost slipped away and you never would have known because you don’t deserve him . “I know I’m the last person you need right now-,”
Suddenly, Peter hurled himself into Tony’s arms, burying into his chest and settling his head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Perfect. He had always fit so perfectly there.
Tony did not deserve this.
“You’re the only person I need.”
He did not deserve that either.
“You’re the only person I really want too.” Peter lifted his head from Tony’s chest just enough to meet his eyes. He smiled softly. It was such a juxtaposition to the hard-jawed boy that had been here only seconds before. “If that helps you stay.”
“Why?” Tony asked, tears shining in his eyes. He didn’t understand. How badly he’d floundered, failed, stumbled and in the end, Peter had been the one to help him stand. How could Peter want anything to do with him after what he’d done?
“Because you’re my dad.”
Tony shook with a relieved sob. Over the kid’s head, Steve smirked knowingly, patting Sam and Bucky on the backs. The trio silently left the pair to let them talk. Now that Peter was in Tony’s arms, an ounce of the anxiety he had been feeling dissipated; his shoulders fell and he pulled Peter further into his arms, nestling the kid’s head into the crick of his neck. Carefully, he sat them both down on the sofa. Peter climbed into Tony’s lap with ease and the inventor held him there, content to just breathe in the kid’s scent. He’d taken a shower since he’d been with Sam and Bucky, and Tony ran his fingers through the boy’s rambunctious curls. Peter did not do anything but sit in his dad’s arms and sigh, but soon enough, Tony felt a wetness appear on his neck.
“Butterbean?” one hand remained amongst the curls. The other gravitated lower to run ghost his fingers over the kid’s spine. “Talk to me, buddy. I know I haven’t been here - that I haven’t been a good dad, but I-,”
“You’re the best dad,” Peter gasped wetly, shaking his head. “You’re the best, okay? This isn’t - this isn’t your fault.”
Tony sobbed, gently pulling Peter’s chin so that he would look up at him. He did. “Pete, you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to be strong for me, kiddo. That’s not your job. You can be mad, Squirt. Hell, you should be mad.”
“I was,” he snapped softly, lowering his eyes. Tony clicked his tongue. He hated not seeing Peter’s eyes. They were so beautiful and big and kind. “I was mad. I was furious. But -,”
“But what, Pumpkin?”
The whole world held its breath for a moment. Nothing else mattered but the kid in his arms.
“You’re my dad.” he said it like it fixed everything. Like the past three months had not been filled with Tony’s horrible parenting techniques. Like Peter had not tried to commit suicide. “You’re the strongest, kindest, most wonderful human being I’ve ever met and I missed you. God, I missed you so much. But what I did -,” a short breath, shaky and scared but resolute. Determined. Unwavering. “I didn’t do it because of you. I’ve been sad for… a long time, okay? That’s not on you.”
‘ And if you died? I feel like that’s on me. ’
“Kiddo-,”
“When Steve got here, I was mad. I’d cried my eyes out with Sam and Bucky and all I felt was anger towards you for abandoning me. I told him that I shouldn’t have been surprised; everyone else in my life had done it, right? Mary, Richard, Ben, May. Everyone leaves. But then - then he started talking about those five years without us,” Peter’s volume diminished into a hush. “What you’d done. How you had nightmares and panic attacks because of me.”
“Kiddo-,” he tried again, but Peter was quicker.
“I’m not apologizing for dying, Tony.” He whispered, hands tightening their grip on Tony’s shirt. “I’m saying that I understand now. I understand why you didn’t try and save me immediately. I get it. I get the coma and - and the distance and the pain. I get it. It’s not perfect, but I can’t ask you to be perfect, Tony. No one is. But you love me, don’t you?”
The billionaire gasped. “Of course, Peter.”
“Then that’s good enough for me.” That smile was so him . It quirked higher on one side than the other. It flashed his dimples and made his eyes sparkle. Tony realized that it was the first real smile he had seen from the kid in five years.
That made him cry all the harder.
“Tony, I’m going to be okay.”
Not he was okay, not he was fine .
But he would be.
That was a promise.
“Tony.”
“Yes, baby?”
The endearment turned his cheeks and nose pink. “Thank you.”
“Don’t,” Tony shook his head. “Don’t do that. You can’t thank me. I’ve done everything wrong, Peter. I’ve fucked it all up again. First it was the Ferry and Vulture. Kid, I let you die. And I finally got you back and I couldn’t even love you right, something I’d told myself I would do from the start and-”
“I didn’t feel myself when I was here and you were at the lake house,” Peter whispered, playing with the hem of Tony’s shirt. “And then I realized that you had the missing part of me right here.” he poked Tony’s chest, right where the man’s heart was. “And I don’t want it back. I want you to keep it, because I love you, and I know you love me. But… I didn’t feel whole without you by my side.”
The kid looked down at his shaking fingers.
“My life didn’t feel whole without you in it.”
“I’m staying kid.” Tony tipped his chin up and held it between his fingers. He stared straight into those identical brown orbs. He searched deep into Peter’s soul and tried to ingrain the promise there, to stitch it into every pattern, every design. He delved into the darkness that had settled there and used this promise like a torch, a threat to any of Peter’s demons that Tony was ready to fight them. That he was not afraid. That he would protect his son, that he would not make the same mistake again. “I promise.”
“I don’t deserve that.”
“No,” Tony leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “You deserve so much better . But I’m gonna try, Pete. I promise, okay? I promise .”
“I’m sorry,” Peter sobbed quietly, letting his tears roll down to meet Tony’s gentle fingers. He was quick to wipe them away.
“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t be ashamed. Don’t feel bad about the wars your soul had to fight to save itself. Those battles, they make you so fucking strong, kid.”
“I’m not strong.”
A four year old watching his parents lowered into graves. A fourteen year old with his uncle’s blood staining his hands. That same fourteen year old donning a homemade suit to fight for others. A crumbling warehouse. A downed plane. Dust on the wind. Returning, fighting the Mad Titan, winning.
Jumping off a building, falling.
Flying .
“Peter Stark.”
The kid jerked at the name change, wide and glistening eyes boring into his dad’s.
“You are the strongest person I have ever met.”
He continued to stare. Suddenly, Tony had to make him understand. If he was going to fix this, if he could earn back a part of this kid, that would be enough. Just a part. He had never deserved any of Peter Parker, but if he could just try .
“I used to think that I couldn’t be saved,” Tony croaked weakly. His hands were shaking. When had that started back up? “That - that I was unrescuable. But then I met you. And Peter, even Pepper, Morgan, they could never have saved me like you did. After Siberia I was a cold person. I became angry and bitter, worse than I’d ever been before. And then you came. And Butterbean,” he chuckled wetly, brushing away more of his son’s tears. “You brought laughter back into my life. You brought sunshine and smiles and movie nights and hope and love and I will never be able to do enough to earn that. I can’t love you enough to match the love you gave to me - give to me. I don’t believe in soulmates, kid, but - but if I had one, it wouldn’t be Pepper. Hell, it wouldn't even be Rhodey.”
Peter’s bottom lip trembled and Tony saw all the sadness and joy at once in his eyes. Tony swore to be better, to try harder. To push Howard down a flight of fucking stairs and piss on his grave. To look at this kid, his son, and treat him how he had always deserved to be treated. When Peter stumbled, he would be there. When Peter jumped for the razor, he would be there. When Peter was on the roof, staring at stars and crying for answers, he would be there.
When Peter needed love, Tony would be there.
“It would be you.”
He sniffed. “I tried to die.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to.”
The best news that Tony had heard in his entire life. “I’m so fucking glad, baby.”
“I want help.”
Tony sobbed again, the kind that shook his entire body and he yanked Peter in again. “Oh, buddy. We’ll do it, okay?”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
It was not perfect. But then again, neither of them were. They both made mistakes. They both suffered and sometimes getting up in the morning was the hardest thing in the world for the pair. But they tried. And it took a long time for Peter to love himself. But that was alright. Tony loved him enough for the both of them.
And the next time Peter was on that building and he jumped, it did not feel like falling.
No.
It felt like flying .