Bless The Broken Road

PART TWO: Afghanistan In 2008

(2008.

It was cold in the cave. With only a small fire and clothes that barely fit over his withering form, Tony was starting to forget that his fingers shouldn't be a light shade of blue like they always seemed to be now. Each time he breathed, a puff of smoke escaped his lips.

He dreamt of Peter every night. He dreamt of the kid's loud laugh and the way his eyes crinkled when he giggled at something Tony had said. He dreamt of the way the kid snored, his mouth always half open and drool running down to Tony's shoulder whenever Peter fell asleep during a movie. He dreamt of how Peter's little fist always held tightly to Tony's clothes when he was scared, gripping the fabric in a vice hold that never relented.

He dreamt of how much Peter had grown in the last few years, going from an energetic 4 year old to a rambunctious 6-- almost 7-- year old who bounced off the walls each morning and night. He dreamt of Peter's curls and spent many hours each night wondering how long they'd gotten in the small eternity that Tony had been trapped in the cave. He wondered if Pepper had finally gotten her wish and chopped half of them off or if she'd left them so Tony could have something to run his hands through when— if— he returned home.

He tried not to think about how Peter was taking his absence. He tried not to think about if Peter cried himself to sleep or sat up waiting until the early hours of the morning in case Tony returned. He tried not to think about Peter being shipped off back to SHIELD like he was their property, Fury getting what he'd always wanted and keeping the kid under his eye rather than let him enjoy his life like the child he was.

Tony tried not to think about how the last thing he'd said to Peter had been "i'll see you soon buddy". He tried not to think about how his last words had been a lie.

In his dreams, when he's about to board the Stark Industries jet, 3 hours late with Peter's sad face staring up at him on the tarmac, he always changes what he says. He doesn't lie. He always kneels down to Peter's heart, kisses his forehead and says: "I love you, son".

The biggest mistake of Tony's life was that he never admitted that Peter was his son. Because he was— for years he always saw Peter as Peggy's son. He was Aunt Peggy's kid that Tony was looking after and raising. But Peter had wiggled into Tony's heart— ever since that first day when he'd carried the kid to bed and Peter's chubby arms had wrapped around his neck with such childlike innocence and trust, Peter had found himself a space in Tony's non-existent heart.

So when Yinsen asked if Tony had a family, looking up at the genius with judgement and the expecting a no to slip out of his lips, Tony had paused. For so long that answer had been no. Even when his parents had been alive, that answer had been no. Tony had never been a family man, he'd never known a healthy family arrangement and he'd never admitted to loving someone even if their love smacked him in the face.

Until Peter.

"Yes," he'd whispered, head bent and letting his face morph into a closed book. The exposure of admitting something he hadn't even told the kid was almost making him back down. "I have a son: Peter."

"I didn't peg you for the family type," Yinsen didn't give anything away, looking at Tony with something unreadable on his face. Tony couldn't even blame him: not many people did.

He thought of Peter running into his bedroom one morning with a loud shriek, a $50 note in his hand as he yelled for the whole of Malibu to know that the Tooth Fairy had come. He thought of Peter's last birthday, the kid turning 7 with a Star Wars theme decorating the entire penthouse: Jedi this and Sith Lord that. He thought of the warm feeling that had taken over his heart when he'd watched Peter and his best friend, some kid named Ned who he'd met in a park in New York one time they'd travelled over for buisness, scoff down as much cake as they possibly could before resuming their lightsaber fight.

"What can i say?" Tony shrugged, continuing on with the game they were playing. He hoped Yinsen couldn't see past his cool exterior.

"It looks good on you."

"What does?"

"Caring," Yinsen cleared up. There was something soft in his eyes, like he was finally seeing a different side of Tony and he liked what he saw. His mouth was curving up slightly into a small smile and Tony tried to ignore what could possibly be going through Yinsen's head to look at him like that. "Fatherhood suits you, Stark."

They hadn't spoken about Peter much after that. They were both focused on building the suit and getting out of that godforsaken cave to go see their respective families. But Peter never left Tony's thoughts. He thought about all the times he should've told the kid that he loved him or just how proud he was to have Peter as his son.

He dreamt of getting out of the cave— alive— and kissing Peter on his head, running his hand through his curls and letting the kid know just how much he'd missed him. How much he loved him. When— if— he survived this place, Tony made a promise to always let Peter know how much he was loved. Every day.

Yinsen's face was ashen, his skin a nasty pale colour. His eyes held a blankness in them and when he spoke, his voice hitched ever so slightly. Tony tried to get him up, he bit down on his tongue hard and told Yinsen that he needed to move if he ever wanted to see his family again. But Yinsen just opened his chapped lips, shaking his head and told the truth: his family was dead.

Tony bit down harder on his tongue as Yinsen mumbled about wanting death, accepting that this had always been the plan. He tried not to think that this would've been exactly what Tony would've wanted too if Peter had died just like Yinsen's family. He watched as a final sigh escaped Yinsen's lips, the man's head rolling to the side as his eyes slowly slid shut.

"Don't waste your life, Stark."

Tony followed through with his promise.)