The Heart Beneath the Armor

Emotional Distance

Tony stood in the workshop long after Peter left, staring at the closed door as if it held the answers to the storm brewing inside him. He had watched Peter walk away, still reeling from the weight of their conversation, his face streaked with tears, his steps uneven as if the ground beneath him was no longer steady.

Tony wanted to chase after him, to pull him back, to say more. But what could he say? What could he do? His son—*his son*—had walked out of the room broken, and Tony was the one who had broken him.

The silence of the workshop felt suffocating now, the hum of the arc reactor too loud in the stillness. For once, Tony didn't want to be surrounded by his tech, his inventions, the things he had always used to distract himself from his own humanity. He didn't want to tinker or fix anything. There was nothing in the world he could build that would make this easier. There was no Iron Man suit that could save him from the pain in his chest.

He moved over to the small bar in the corner of the workshop, the one he had kept stocked for years despite promising himself he wouldn't touch it. His hand hovered over a bottle of whiskey, his fingers trembling with the urge to pour a glass and drown out everything swirling in his mind. But he stopped himself, pulling his hand back and shoving it deep into his pocket. He couldn't fall back into old habits—not now. Not with Peter depending on him.

Instead, Tony sank into the nearest chair, letting his head fall into his hands. His chest felt tight, and for the first time in a long time, Tony Stark felt powerless.

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Meanwhile, Peter sat alone on the rooftop of a building a few blocks away, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes red from crying. The city buzzed around him, but all he could hear was the echo of Tony's words in his head.

"I'm your father."

How was that even possible? How had his entire life changed in an instant? One minute, he had been the same Peter Parker—Spider-Man, the kid who had lost everything and was still trying to figure out how to move forward—and now... now he had a father. A father who hadn't been there, a father who hadn't known. But still—a father.

Peter wiped his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. He thought about his Aunt May, about everything she had done for him, all the sacrifices she had made. Did she know? She had never said anything, never hinted at a secret like this. If she knew, why hadn't she told him? Why had she let him grow up thinking his parents were gone and that there was no one left who cared about him, no one else who was family?

And then there was Tony. Peter had idolized him for so long, looking up to him not just as Iron Man, but as Tony Stark—the brilliant, confident man who always seemed to know what to do. But now, knowing that Tony was his father, everything felt... different. How could Peter reconcile the man he had looked up to with the man who had unknowingly abandoned him? Who had left him to grow up without a father?

Peter felt anger rising inside him, bubbling up alongside the hurt. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. He slammed his fists against the rooftop, the force cracking the concrete beneath his hands. He wanted to scream, to let the whole world know how unfair it was, how he had been dealt a cruel hand over and over again.

But he couldn't scream. All he could do was cry.

After a few more minutes of sitting in silence, Peter finally stood up. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't just sit there anymore. His mind was racing too fast to stay still.

Swinging through the city felt different now. It was the same movements, the same rush of wind against his face, but everything felt heavier. The freedom he used to feel when he was in the air wasn't there. His mind was too clouded by questions and uncertainty. Where did he even go from here?

Eventually, his swings took him to a familiar place—Aunt May's apartment. He landed softly on the fire escape, peering into the kitchen window where Aunt May was sitting at the table, reading a book and sipping a cup of tea. She looked so peaceful, so unaware of the bombshell that had just dropped on Peter's life.

Peter hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't confront her now. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. But just seeing her, seeing the woman who had raised him, who had always been there for him, brought him a sense of comfort in the chaos.

He sat down on the metal grate of the fire escape, pulling his mask off and letting it rest in his lap. He didn't know how long he sat there, just watching her through the window, but it was long enough for his mind to settle, even if just a little. She had always been his rock. She was still his family. That hadn't changed, no matter what Tony had told him.

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Back at the tower, Tony had finally pulled himself out of his stupor. He needed to talk to someone. Pepper? No, she was still away on business, and Tony wasn't sure he could dump this on her without falling apart. Maybe Rhodey?

He grabbed his phone, his fingers hovering over Rhodey's contact for a moment before he pressed *call*. After a few rings, his best friend's familiar voice came through.

"What's up, Tony?"

Tony swallowed hard, suddenly unsure how to begin. He wasn't used to talking about his feelings, especially not feelings as raw and painful as this. But Rhodey had been there through everything—through every battle, every victory, and every loss. If there was anyone he could talk to, it was Rhodey.

"I, uh..." Tony started, his voice wavering. "I found out something... big. And I don't know what to do with it."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a cautious, "How big are we talking?"

Tony leaned against the workbench, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Peter's my son."

The silence that followed was deafening. Tony could almost picture the look on Rhodey's face, the stunned disbelief.

"Wait... what?"

"I ran a DNA test," Tony explained, his voice shaky. "It's real, Rhodey. Peter Parker is my biological son."

"Jesus, Tony," Rhodey muttered, clearly trying to process the news. "Does he know?"

Tony nodded, even though Rhodey couldn't see him. "Yeah. I told him earlier tonight. And... it didn't go well."

"Of course, it didn't go well! The kid just found out his whole life has been a lie!" Rhodey's tone wasn't accusatory, but it was sharp, filled with the kind of honesty only a best friend could give.

Tony let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know how to fix this, man. I didn't even know about him. And now that I do, I feel like... like I've failed him."

Rhodey was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Tony, you can't undo the past. You didn't know. But what you do now—how you handle it from here on out—that's what matters."

Tony closed his eyes, feeling the weight of those words settle over him. He had spent so much of his life trying to make up for his mistakes, for the things he had done wrong. And now, with Peter, it felt like another impossible task. But Rhodey was right—he couldn't undo the past. He could only move forward.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this," Tony admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Being a father."

"You've already been doing it," Rhodey said gently. "You've been looking out for Peter all this time. You've just got to keep doing that. Be there for him, even when it's hard."

Tony nodded, even though he didn't entirely believe it. But Rhodey's words gave him a sliver of hope, something to hold onto.

"Thanks, man," Tony said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Anytime, Tony," Rhodey replied. "And if you need me to come by, you know where to find me."

As the call ended, Tony stared at his phone for a long moment before setting it down. He wasn't sure where things would go from here, but one thing was clear—he couldn't give up. Peter needed him, even if the kid didn't realize it yet. And Tony was determined, more than ever, to be the father Peter deserved.

No more running. No more hiding. He was going to be there for his son, no matter what it took.