⊹₊ ⋆ Logan ᶻ 𝗓

One moment, he’s snapping at the kid for doing something reckless, dangerous, and the next, he’s eight, twelve, fourteen, biting his tongue and daring himself not to cry. We have a reputation to uphold, Anthony. This work isn’t something to toy and tinker with, it isn’t a joke. This is your legacy. Our legacy. You’re irresponsible, Anthony, these are future people’s lives on the line. No son of mine—

The first time Peter cried in front of him, it was after a really awful mission. The kid had gotten out unscathed, but Tony, scared shitless and fuming that Peter had ignored his orders to retreat, had gone off on him.

Ten minutes into his lecture, Peter had clenched his jaw and he’d sniffled, once, twice, and then. Tears. The sight of them had stunned Tony. Knocked his brain loose and his jaw slack and his heart tumbling out of his chest.

He’d apologized immediately, of course. Felt every muscle in his body vibrate with something sick, like the palladium was still poisoning him from the inside out.

He remembered thinking, God, I’d do anything to make him stop crying, and, how do I fix it, how do I fix it, how do I fix it?

It was such a visceral, tangible thing, the way loving something, a child, could make someone feel. Within the span of one second, Tony had full intention to rewire his own nervous system, rework his entire paleomammalian cortex, just to prevent this specific pain.