chip off the ol' block, eh, kid?
“It’s weird,” Peter says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that fell over the lab, “Everyone says I look like my dad. They always have. But, like, I don’t really remember him.”
Tony’s brows furrow as he set down the solder, confused— Peter’s usually a tight lid. He’d spent hours just coaxing the real Vulture story out of the kid, a story that Tony isn’t one-hundred percent positive is the real one, but beggars, not choosers or whatever. “Where’s this come from?”
Peter’s back is to him, but Tony can still see the way the kid deflates.
“N— Nothing. It’s fine, it’s whatever— unimportant.” Peter mumbles but doesn’t pick his wrench back up.
Tony chuckles awkwardly, pulling his googles off. “Well, hold on, kid, I didn’t say stop, I don’t care, I was just confused as to what spurred on the whole dad thing. You’re usually pretty tight-lipped about that.”
“Just— something I’d been thinking about. I don’t know, it really doesn’t matter.” Peter dismissed, putting his head on his folded arms.
“Kid.” Tony shook his head fondly, “I want to know. Sorry if I made you feel otherwise.” He apologized, hand on Peter’s elbow.
Peeking through his arms, he examined Tony with deep-rooted distrust, but with a small, dying shimmer of hope. They stared at each other for a while as Tony tried to show his earnest curiosity through his expression. Peter was always better at that than Tony, his expressive eyes and all.
After what felt like an eternity, Peter finally spoke up, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Tony affirmed, hand still resting on Peter’s arm.
Exhaling, Peter picked at the loose threads on his sleeve cuff, “Cuz, like, when I was a kid, I remember not liking my dad as much as I liked my mom. I still loved him, obviously, but I had one of those weird kid grudges where if someone does something you don’t like, you have, like, a permanent vendetta against them until you forget about it because your brain is small and doesn’t understand, y’know?”
Tony nodded, because, no, Peter, I have no clue what you’re talking about, but, sure, kid grudges. V for Vendetta and all that.
“Yeah, anyways. It’s weird. I still have those feelings.” Peter shrugged.
Tony frowned slightly, “You still dislike him?”
“Sorta? Like I said, it’s weird. When someone dies, it's kinda like a time capsule. Like— all your feelings get solidified with the person. But also, it feels wrong to know they were flawed. Like, suddenly, when they die, you forget all the bad and just remember all the good, so when you remember that they had flaws or did stuff wrong, it's, like, wrong.” Peter rambles, eyes drifting about the lab.
“Wrong how?” Tony pressed.
Peter exhaled sharply, “Wrong, like when you’re eating a soft food, and something crunches in your mouth, but you know it’s all supposed to be soft, so you kinda pause for a second like,” Peter made a confused face before continuing, “But you’re also like, ‘eh, it’s already in my mouth and in the food so how bad could it be?’ And you ignore it and swallow, but there’s still a part of you that’s like ‘that’s not right.’ Kinda wrong. Do you get what I’m saying, or am I just…” He trailed off, gesturing with his hand through the air.
Tony’s quick to assure, “No, no, I get it. I’m— I’m understanding. Yo comprendo.” Tony smiled, feeling like this conversation wasn’t entirely over, but that there wasn’t much more to say. “What about the ‘look like your dad’ part. Where does that come into play?”
“Well, I mean, I don’t really remember my parents— well, I do. Sorta. I remember my dad’s scratchy beard, and my mom always smelled like a big garden. Very floral. She liked the color pink and didn’t like triangles. He liked science and trains. I think I got my ADHD from him.”
“Oh, a triangle hater. That’s new.”
“She didn’t— she didn’t hate them. She just wasn’t fond. Like, I don’t know, but you get it.” He waved Tony off, but his smile was genuine.
Tony wiped his fingers off with a towel. “Ehhh, you sure she also didn’t have ADHD or some sort of… thing?”
Nodding vigorously, Peter pushed himself up, “Pretty sure, though I wouldn’t be surprised.” He sniffed, “But, sometimes it’s weird because May will look at me and be like ‘you look so much like Richard.’ And I kinda just have to sit there and take it, because, sure. Didn’t know the guy, so I’m kinda just being compared to a rando. But May’ll also look at me and say, ‘oh that was a Mary face. You look like Mary when you make that face.’ Which, okay. Thanks?”
Tony pursed his lips, sighing. “I think for people who knew Richard and Mary, it’s kind of a way to see them still living. Like their faces are still moving and talking and smiling, and I think it’s like a reassurance.”
Peter’s brows creased, but he nodded, “I get that.”
“Peter.” Tony hesitated, worried he’d mess his next words up. That they’d come out wrong and make this worse. Ugh, emotions. “You haven’t done anything. You can’t control any of those. You are not at fault, in anyway. I think May’s just grieving and it coming through you. Sometimes, I grieve my mom through Pepper because they’re so similar. It’s small reminders. Nothing the other person can control, but it’s like they’re still here.”
Peter smiled a bit, shoulders lighter. “Okay. I can… understand that, I guess.”