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Bruce keeps his cool until he gets back in the elevator after he’s put Peter to bed, and then he starts to lose it, swearing and pacing around the small space until it opens to the lab, and he bursts in, shouting for Jarvis to turn down the music. “Tony,” he says when Tony starts to whine at him for the music.
“What is it?” Tony asks when he sees him, standing and preparing.
“Not that,” Bruce says, hating that he can see fear flash in Tony’s eyes, “We—Tony, we forgot Christmas.”
“It’s December?”
“For the love of—really? You don’t know it’s December?”
“Listen,” Tony says, sitting back down, “First, you come in here trying to give me cardiac arrest, and now you expect to remember what month it is? I don’t even know what year it is.”
“Really?”
“Did you know my dad told me Santa Claus was a fake when I was five? I told him he was lying, so he cancelled Christmas. Is it really December?”
“Why do you think it’s been snowing?”
“It snows during all those other winter months.”
“Which are?”
“Oh, fuck off. What’s the issue at hand?”
“Peter just asked me who Santa Claus was.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Tony, Christmas is in a week.”
“Oh.” Tony’s still for half a minute before he turns, saying, “I have people for this. It’s fine, he’ll have tons of—”
“No,” Bruce cuts him off, and Tony turns again, frowning. “You are not sending people, who don’t know our son, out to buy him Christmas presents. We have to do this.”
“Why?”
“Tony, he’s our son!”
“Bruce, it’s fine, I’ve got people for this.”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“Are you getting angry? Should I be concerned? Oh! We should test that with Peter!”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? You want to put our four-year-old son in front of the Hulk?”
“Okay, look, obviously we’d have systems in place to make sure he didn’t hurt him, and—”
“What is wrong with you?” It comes out before Bruce can stop it, and then Tony’s just looking at him. They’re both quiet for a full two minutes before Bruce turns halfway, shakes his head when Tony starts to speak, and then says, “I’m going to bed.”
He walks out, and, as he gets into the elevator, he can hear Tony shouting for him, and then shouting for Jarvis to stall the elevator, so he jams the emergency button and threatens Jarvis with a system reboot and recalibration if he doesn’t take him upstairs.
Bruce makes it into the hallway before Tony reaches him. “Don’t walk away from me!” he shouts, and Bruce swears, hurrying away from the hallway and Peter’s door.
“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, but that just gets Tony going.
“I have been trying so hard, and I love that kid to pieces, but you threw me into this and just expected me to know how to do everything! Domestication my ass, you can’t just expect this to work at every turn!”
“Tony, Peter is—”
“This isn’t about Peter, this is about you being an ass to me for not knowing what month it is!”
“This is not about that, you moron!” Bruce explodes, stalking over to him, “This is about you not caring enough to actually go out and shop for your son instead of sending people who have never met him!”
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Bruce! I don’t know how to do this! This is the best I’ve got, and you can’t just knock me around for trying!”
“You should know, Tony! You should know that that’s not right! He’s our son, and you need to grow up and stop acting like a child because you are a father now!”
“Daddies,” Peter’s little voice interrupts them, and Bruce spins around as Tony’s breath catches. It’s a harsh noise, and it makes Bruce look over his shoulder to see that Tony has turned away and is reaching up a hand to clutch at his chest. His breath comes out ragged on the exhale, and Bruce stalls for a second longer before going to Peter. Tony’s breathing echoes in his ears as bends down and lifts Peter, and he can hear it until he closes Peter’s door behind him, in harsh, short little bursts, and he knows Tony’s having a panic attack, but he can’t deal with it right now.
“Why were you and dad yelling?” Peter asks as Bruce tucks him back into bed.
“It was nothing, Peter, don’t worry. Dad and I were just having a little disagreement.”
“Are you going to stop loving each other?” he asks, his eyes getting wide.
“Peter,” Bruce sighs, pushing his hair from his face, “No, sweetie, dad and I love each other very much, and we always will, but sometimes grown-ups fight a little. Don’t worry, okay? Go back to sleep.”
“Okay, daddy. I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby. Goodnight,” he whispers before kissing him and leaving again. He pauses outside his door, taking a deep breath before he remembers Tony and he hurries down the hall, fear rising in his throat when he doesn’t see him in the living room. “Tony?” he calls, trying to calm down and listen.
The roaring in his ears starts to dull, and he can hear the shower on in their room. He rushes back down the hall, throws open their door, and runs into the bathroom. Tony’s in the shower, fully clothed, sitting on the floor, his head between his knees. “Damn it,” Bruce hisses, hurrying over to the open shower door and slipping inside, going to his knees next to Tony and wrapping his arms around him, pressing in close until Tony lifts his head and leans theirs together.
“I’m sorry,” Tony gasps, “I know I’m shit at this, I just—”
“Tony, no,” Bruce cuts him off, “You’re not. You are doing your best, and that’s all I can ask for, and I shouldn’t have said those things. I know you’re trying, and I’m—I’m so sorry, Tony.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tony mumbles, unfolding to curl closer to Bruce, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, sh, it’s okay,” Bruce hushes, rubbing circles into Tony’s back and closing his eyes, “It’s okay, we’re okay, everything’s—everything’s okay—except Christmas is in a week.”
Tony chokes out a short laugh, pulling away to look upwards. “Jarvis,” he says tiredly, “Kill the water.”
The shower shuts off abruptly, and Tony looks over at Bruce. “Panic attack?” Bruce asks, and Tony nods.
“That was really weird,” Tony says, reaching up to rub his chest before pushing off the ground and helping Bruce up, “That’s never happened before outside of—fuck, New York, talking about it.”
“Well, maybe it opened up other things you’ve been burying, and your—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—PTSD is still kicking. I wouldn’t be surprised, it’s not something that just goes away after a week of anxiety attacks and nightmares.”
“Bruce—”
“It’s okay, Tony,” Bruce says, taking hold of his arms as his breath hitches again, and he gets that terrified look in his eyes, “It’s okay.”
“Fucking Christmas,” Tony groans before walking out of the shower, tugging Bruce along with him.