A Slice Of Life, Death And Everything In-Between

Be Who You Are, They Say

A/N: This adorable little ficlet is dedicated to the wonderful @irondad_is_real_i.promise on Instagram, both for the idea and just because they are an amazing artist and writer and friend.

POCKET I FUCKING LOVE YOU SO MUCH ❤️💙❤️💙

Anyways, I hope yall enjoy and please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! 🥰

PS: Peter is Tony's biological son in this fanfic and is only 8-years-old.

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"Hi, buddy." Tony says, helping Peter into the backseat. He grabs his son's backpack, setting it on the floor before carefully buckling the young Stark into his booster seat. "Did you have a good day at school?"

Peter, instead of nodding and rambling happily away, stays silent, his mouth pulled in a small pout. Tony feels a frown of his own build up, and he reaches out, brushing back Peter's curls before resting his palm against the boy's forehead.

"You feeling okay, bug?" The billionaire asks, moving his hand down to cup Peter's soft cheek when all he does is nod. "Does your tummy hurt?"

"No, Daddy, just wanna go home." Peter mumbles, one small hand coming up to rub at his eyes.

Tony feels a hot spike of worry shoot through his chest but doesn't push it, just brushes the 8-year-old's curls back again with a sigh. Getting into the driver's seat, Tony glances back at Peter one last time before they pull out of the school's parking lot, eyeing his son's drawn baby-face with concern, before focusing on the road.

They'd barely made it a few streets over, stopping at a stoplight, when Tony catches the unmistakable sound of Peter crying.

Whipping around, the genius feels his heart break at the muffled sobs Peter's attempting to hide, his son's little hands digging into his eyes. Quickly merging into the turning lane, Tony pulls over into a gas station, ignoring the annoyed honk from the car behind them.

Tony, hands shaking, parks the car before immediately turning back around, practically crawling across the center console to reach his son.

"Hey, hey, baby." Tony coos, drawing the still crying boy into his arms. Peter hiccups, his little shoulders shaking. "What's wrong, Petey? Huh? Can you tell Daddy what's wrong?"

"N-No!" Peter says, turning quickly away when Tony attempts to cup his face again, doe eyes screwed shut. "Don't wanna, you'll-you'll be mad."

Tony swallows. "I won't be mad, kiddo. Promise. Did you get a bad grade?"

Peter shakes his head, his red-tinged face still turned stubbornly away. Tony bites down a harsh sigh, shifting as the leather headrest digs into his shoulder. Finally, the billionaire says fuck it and scoots fully into the backseat, sinking with his legs stretched out beside him.

Peter, his wide eyes glassy with tears, finally turns back and watches his father, not meeting Tony's gaze when the man reaches out again. He doesn't pull away, however and Tony calls that progress.

"Did someone say something mean?"

This time, Peter shrugs, reaching up and bites at the skin around his thumb. Tony frowns, instinctively grabbing at his son's hand and pulling it away from his mouth. He holds it instead, rubbing his own thumb across the soft skin of Peter's knuckles.

"Okay, um, did another kid say something mean?"

Peter shakes his head again and Tony feels his heart drop. Pressing a sweet kiss against his son's hand, the genius attempts to get the rage he can feel slowly filling his chest down to a simmer, gritting his teeth before speaking.