OLD MAN | stark

fifteen

thoughts

"You're not okay."

Avengers Facility - January 9th, 2016

"Dad?"

Wide, dark brown eyes stared up at the man in the suit, and the little boy held up the contraption in his hands. Metallic and highly complex, the circuit board seemed much like a teddy bear would to most four-year-olds to the boy. He was practically shaking with the excitement as he held it up, muscles straining in the thin arms, to the man in front of him.

Dark hair that matched the child's grazed the man's head, his back to the boy, facing a table upon which he appeared to be working on something. A gun, perhaps? The boy was too excited to care.

"Dad?" he repeated, after the man didn't respond the first time.

At last, the man turned around. Shadows plagued the underneaths of his eyes as they took in the child before him.

Eyebrows scrunching up in confusion, the man knelt down before the boy, roughly taking the circuit board that seemed to be half the four-year-old's size in his hands. His eyes raced over it for a brief moment, and then he looked up at the child, accusation in his eyes.

"What are you doing with a circuit board? This isn't a toy." He stood up and began to walk away, as though to put the board back where it should belong, but the boy spoke, and he stopped at the words.

"I made it, Dad!" The excitement on his face was bright, obvious, hopeful. "Aren't you proud of me?"

The man stared down at him, and then back at the object in his hands. "You made this, huh?" His expression hadn't changed.

The boy's own expression faltered slightly, his huge brown eyes falling a little. "That's what I just said."

The man looked at the circuit board, then back at the little boy, again and again, as though debating on what to do.

"Did you tell your mother about this?" he asked at last. His expression seemed on the edge of pride and uncertainty, suspicion and something the boy couldn't quite identify.

"I wanted to tell you first, Dad."

So had been the first of many times Tony Stark had tried to impress his father.

And, in the end, it had never been enough.

Smash

The bottle in Tony's hand shattered against the wall as he threw it, hard. He felt a shard of glass pierce his skin, his thumb, and he groaned, picking it out and tossing it in the direction of the broken bottle and flowing liquid. He walked over to a seat, a hard chair in front of the table he updated his suit at, and put his face in his hands.