Spooktober 28: Guilt

Something's wrong with Peter.

Tony had been watching him for the last thirty minutes since he showed up, and he could feel it in his gut. Watching everything add up, he just knew something was very, very wrong.

The first sign was his short replies. Usually, Peter was rattling off any thing on his mind, getting distracted after Tony asks him a question and then talking for thirty minute increments without pause while they worked on whatever. It was one of the first things he had to get used to when he started inviting the kid over more frequently to check in on him, because Tony was so familiar with the noise of his own voice and music through the speakers whenever he was in his lab.

So the short replies, leaving Tony to fill the space? That's a huge red flag.

Even Peter's body language is off. It was no secret that Spider-Man was enthusiastic, he made his movements loud and his voice louder, full of character in his own right. By extension, Peter Parker was quieter, made himself small—Skittish and scrawny, even. But his movements were never this stiff and lethargic.

Tony knew his intern. He knew his kid, and his kid looks exhausted. Stressed out. From the way his eyebrows were drawn tight, to his silence, to his inflexible shortened movements—He's overthinking something. Everything, maybe.

Tony can tell that this kid had a trillion thoughts racing around in that big brain of his, and he intends to find out what they are.

Nearly thirty-five minutes in, he realizes Peter isn't going to speak up about whatever was eating at him. He can't just let the kid work himself to death, though. He lets out a slow breath. He knows what he has to do, he just doesn't know how to do it.

"Alright." Tony pushes himself away from his desk. "Spill."

Peter looks up from the wires he was messing with. The kid almost looks mad, either frustrated from whatever he was thinking about or from being interrupted. Either way, the glare he gave him has a hard time leaving his face, and Tony isn't even sure if Peter knew he was glaring at all.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "What, you mad at me?"

Peter's features force into a relaxed position, but it looks so unnatural and only causes Tony's concern to grow further. He tilts his head. "Sorry, Mr. Stark. I was focused. Spill what?"

'Focused' is absolutely not the look Peter had given him. If there's one expression of Peter's that Tony knows better than any other, it was his don't-look-at-me-I'm-focused look. It had so hint of frustration anywhere in it, just curiosity, maybe screwed-up eyebrows and Peter unconsciously chewing on his bottom lip, but never angry, and definitely never a glare.

No, the look Peter gave him was something he's only seen once, all teenage angst and maybe some trauma in it too, wrapped up in a package of exasperation and most importantly—the desperate need for something, usually help.

Last time Tony saw it? The Great Ferry Disaster of Staten Island. He hadn't helped the right way that time, making it even more crucial that he helps the kid now. He needs to fix it; that's what he does.

"Right." Tony narrows his eyes. "Well, pretending like you were just telling the truth, there—Let's say, hypothetically, you were upset. What would it be about?"

Peter gives him a helpless smile-turned-grimace, as if he were attempting to reassure him. "I'm not upset, Mr. Stark. Really, I'm—I'm fine."

Geez. This kid is just as stubborn as he is. He isn't letting it go, though.

"Underoos, you're obviously not fine. Come on, you think I can't notice? I know you, Pete. What's going on?" Tony urges, giving him an earnest look. "You wanted me to listen. I'm listening now."

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, keeping his head down. "Mr. Stark—"

"Don't try and give me an excuse, because I'm really good at sniffing them out now. I've been learning from Pepper. Point is, you're acting real dodgy and the last time that happened, you know, a boat split in half and then my plane got crashed into the beach, so now really isn't the time to be holding out on me. Go ahead. I can take it. What's wrong? Spider got your tongue? Someone die?"

Peter flinches. The twitch of his fingers on the desk sends a tug on Tony's heartstrings.

"Kid, you know that's not your fault. People die all the time. You and I know that better than anyone. That's life, okay? And—"

Peter turns to him so sharply, his face twisted with anger as his mouth forms to make some sort of rebuttal, but in his movement a photo frame is knocked directly off the desk.

Time slows as the shatter of glass rings through the room. Tony sighs and sits back in his seat, watching as the rage drains from Peter all at once to leave him pale and dazed. Tony had pushed too hard. He poked the bear with the stick too many times. Pressured too much for an answer, that was always his problem. He was always so desperate to fix something but always too late to listen. That was on him.

"Pete, I'm—"

"I'm so sorry," Peter finishes for him, standing up from the chair and going to the broken remains of a photo frame. "Oh my god. Mr. Stark, I— I'm— I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

Tony peaks over, watching as Peter tried to fit together the irremediable bits of shattered glass and plastic frame. The photo of his father sits underneath it all, and he kind of wishes it was the photo left tainted rather than the frame, because then Peter wouldn't have to feel so bad about it.

"Kid—"

"No, it's okay! I can—I'll fix it. I can fix it." Peter's hands shake as he tries to examine the busted up pieces. There's no feasible way the frame could be fixed, and Peter knew that, and Tony knew that, and it really was fine. The frame was replaceable.

"It's replaceable," Tony waves his hand away. "Don't touch the glass. It's fine."

"I broke it," Peter says, his voice coming out in a tired whimper. Dread sits at the bottom of Tony's stomach, and then solidifies once the kid turns around with wide teary eyes. "I'm—I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."

"Hey," Tony says firmly, leaning down beside him. "Seriously. Stop worrying about it. It's nothing to cry over. Your aunt's gonna kill me if I send you home crying."

Tony really didn't know what else to say. A crying teenager was the absolute last thing he knew how to fix. What was he supposed to do? Peter won't stop. It's like whatever dam he had created for himself to hold all of the tension he had brought in with him, built up from god knows how long and god knows what from, had finally cracked and broke faster than the photo frame holding Howard Stark.

Speaking of, the man had given Tony no semblance of experience to deal with this scenario. The most he did when Tony had cried was tell him to go in a different room and "stop being so damn loud." He doesn't think he ever cried in front of his father past the age of nine.

Peter wipes away at his tears only for them to be replaced with more, and the kid is sobbing so hard now that he was taking shuddering breaths between them and his shoulders were all shaky.

"Okay—" Tony says, putting his hands on Peter's shoulders. "Hey. Kiddo. Look at me, you need to calm down. Pete?"

Peter looks up once with his red-rimmed eyes before forcing his gaze back down, sniffling and trembling under Tony's hands.

"Please stop crying," Tony pleads, rubbing his thumbs over Peter's shoulders in a way that he hoped was calming. His heart was breaking, chip by chip right to the center. Nobody prepared him for this, when he drove down to Queens to recruit a certain spider in sweatpants. This wasn't in any mentoring books. What was he supposed to do?

Peter's cries were downright gut-wrenching to listen to. Tony wondered if this what all parents felt when their newborns screamed and cried at night. He felt like he was dying.

"The photo doesn't even matter," Tony tries saying. "It's a crappy photo anyways. I'm not mad. It doesn't matter. Just take a breath, okay?"

Peter nods quickly, but the tears keep coming and his gasping breaths don't stop. Tony was desperately trying to figure out why a stupid photo frame had affected the poor kid so much, desperately trying to reason out a logical explanation to calm Peter's tears.

That's when the pieces fully connect for him—Tony was trying to fix the wrong thing.

"Hey," Tony says softly. He hesitates, and then pulls him into his arms, wrapping him in a hug. "It's alright, okay? Let it out, kiddo. I gotcha."

Peter's sobs grow louder as he stops trying to hold them back, and he's crying into Tony's chest and it hurts, it really does. Tony can feel his own eyes start to burn, but he keeps his voice calm and pats Peter on the back soothingly. What the hell had the kid been holding back for so long?

Peter's breathing levels out after what must have been a full fifteen minutes of nothing but tears. Tony's shirt is drenched, and his hand is sweaty from carding through Peter's hair, but the rush of overwhelming relief he feels once Peter pulls back with nothing more than a few sniffles is worth all of the trouble.

"I'm sorry," Peter tries to say again. "Got your shirt all wet. And broke your photo frame."

Tony shakes his head quickly and picks up the photograph itself. "No, look. See? I needed an upgrade on decor anyways. This doesn't matter to me, kid. I hated my dad anyways."

He rips up the photo to prove his point, and scoops the broken frame pieces and drops them in the trash. He would have to sweep the glass later, but that's fine. It could wait a little longer. He had more important things to worry about.

Taking in Peter's expression of shock, Tony only snorts. "Like I said, it's no big deal. Dum-E has made bigger messes and look, not even a singular apologetic bolt in that robot. There is no mercy in that hydraulic claw."

Dum-E chirps. Tony gives Peter a pointed look. "Don't listen to him. He's trying to bait-and-switch you."

Peter huffs a laugh, and the sound is the most congratulating thing Tony's heard all year. So much better than the sobs he had been giving before. Peter wipes away the tears from his face. "Noted."

"Are you feeling better now?" Tony asks, the humour leaving his voice momentarily.

Peter nods, and his cheeks go pink. "Sorry for crying all over you."

Tony stares at him. "Stop apologizing."

"Okay."

"You should get home, get some rest. We can pick this up tomorrow, okay? And you can talk to me anytime. Seriously," Tony stresses. "Anytime. Call me at two in the morning if you want."

Peter nods, standing up. "I'll try not to. Is Happy outside with the car?"

Tony glances at the time. He quirks his eyebrow. "Yep. Just about."

Peter gives a thumbs up and packs his things. The second after he says goodbye and leaves, Tony turns back to his desk and lets out a huge sigh.

"FRI, order a new picture frame."

"Yes, boss. Do you have a photo in mind that I can print off for you?"

He doesn't want a photo of Howard Stark, that's for sure. Tony wonders for a moment what the opposite of what his dad would pick is, and he instantly thinks back to the fake internship photo that him and Peter had taken for appearances.

He smiles a little. "Yeah. I do."

(The new framed photo sits on the desk in his lab. When Peter comes over next, he points it out with equal parts glee and embarrassment, but Tony couldn't be prouder.)

a/n: how did I find my own oneshot book on Pinterest today🧍 who did this🧍🧍🧍I was just looking for IronDad photos 🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍