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Tony goes through stages of becoming obsessed with certain things. Obsessed with upgrading and fixing Peter’s crib. Obsessed with the high chair and it’s different levels and abilities. Obsessed with the horde of papooses they have in the house, and maybe he learns how to sew so he can make a little pouch Peter can store his stuff in, because Peter is quickly becoming a man who has to have certain things with him everywhere he goes. No fake baby watch? Instant breakdown. Tony can’t remember everything, as much as he tries, and Peter loves putting things inside other things. He’s so weird. Tony loves him so goddamn much.
The most recent obsession has been the baby monitor. It’s always been there, well, that’s not exactly true—a baby monitor has always been there, because he’s replaced it about seventeen times since Peter came into his life. Mostly because of video quality, sometimes because of the camera’s ability to move, once because of what the sound could pick up and what it couldn’t. Tony is constantly paranoid about anything and everything when it concerns Peter, and he imagines fucking ninjas and shit breaking into his son’s room and stealing him away in the night.
It isn’t completely outrageous, them being who they are.
He doesn’t get much sleep, with his brain actively working against him, and he keeps the baby monitor on high volume almost always, just in case.
Tony is drifting on a Thursday night, after a fun-filled day of board meetings and launch prep and dinner with May and Pepper, and he’s only half focused on the monitor screen on his bedside table.
He’s been thinking, lately, about shifting his own personal interests a bit and trying to invent and produce baby accessories. He hasn’t done much with it yet, but he feels like he can improve on some of the mainstream models on the market, and he wants Peter to have the best. Wouldn’t other parents want the same? He feels like he could sell them on the cheap, make it a sort of side thing, nothing to do with SI. Maybe donate to those in need, which would make his mother proud.
He shifts against his pillows and thinks about how much he loves being a father. How much he didn’t expect it. How he anticipates every little thing now, and how many people there are out there that are in the same position he’s in, except without the money. Maybe he could help. Maybe he really could.
He’s starting to imagine the fire and brimstone Obie would throw his way, when he hears it.
It. Being his son, alone in his room at four in the morning, laughing.
Tony rids his mind of all thoughts and sits up on his elbow, staring at the monitor. Peter is laying on his back like he has been since he fell asleep, and his eyes are closed. The video quality on this monitor is a lot better than the last, and Tony can see the small smile on his face, the way he holds his blue blanket in firm fists.
For a minute he thinks he imagined it, but then Peter does it again. Lets out a high pitched laugh, and then he’s sitting up, like a shot, almost as if the previous ‘sleep’ pose was just that, a pose, some kind of ruse, like he believes Tony is watching. Tony has yet to buy the monitor where he can talk through it, though he’s been severely considering it, but Peter isn’t aware of the monitor or what it does or the fact that Tony always has an eye on him.
So what the hell is he doing?
“What the fuck…” Tony breathes, narrowing his eyes.
Peter laughs, rocking back and forth, slapping his hands on his knees, and then he points, off towards his wall. Peter is not one for strangers, not one for warming to people when he initially meets them unless he can somehow sense the bond between Tony and that person, so Tony doesn’t exactly believe there’s someone in the room with Peter.
But he scrambles out of his sheets anyway, and rushes in there like a man on fire.
He can hear Peter laughing in the hallway, and he slams through the door—Peter jumps when he hears the noise, turning around to face him, but Tony immediately flips on the light and scans the room for anything weird.
Nothing. Nothing but Peter.
Tony narrows his eyes at him, and Peter grins, bopping back and forth.
“Dada! Dada! Monkey no sleep, no!”
“What are you doing, egghead?” Tony asks, still standing in the doorway and looking around warily. “Why are you in here laughing like a demon baby?”
Peter snorts, rolls onto his back and laughs again.
~
Something similar happens that weekend, and startles Tony out of what he would consider a dead sleep.
He hears clapping. It sounds loud enough that it could be right next to his head, and he groans, turning his face into the pillow when it doesn’t register right away what the hell is happening. But then he hears humming, a strange, almost discernible melody, and he pops one eye open and is immediately met with the scene on the monitor.
Peter has set up some sort of half circle with his animals, the glow worm at the center, his new monkey laying against the side of the crib, his elephant and his dolphin and his penguin all there and attending too. Peter himself is standing, hanging on to the back part of the crib, and he’s clapping one hand against his arm and humming and bouncing up and down like he’s trying to dance.
Tony snorts, watching, and what he’s humming sounds really, really familiar—
“Get you, get you, heels beels—”
Tony chokes on his own tongue, and while his brain is trying to process, the door opens and his house guest peeks his head inside.
“Is your child singing AC/DC right now?” Rhodey asks, eyes squinty with tiredness. “Is that what’s happening?”
Peter repeats the same part and keeps humming the melody and oh my god
“Yeah, c’mere,” Tony laughs, close to crying, and he sits up, motioning Rhodey over. Rhodey tip-toes in and he sits next to Tony on the bed, just in time to see Peter wave his hand through the air in a particularly inspired dance move. “Oh my God. He’s putting on a whole show.”
“Thank Jesus he’s not saying the word Satan, Tones,” Rhodey laughs. “Or most of the other lyrics.”
“I don’t care,” Tony says, listening to the fourth repetition of heels beels. “I’m proud, I’m bursting with pride. And at two in the morning, he’s just like his father.”
“Yup, that’s your offspring alright,” Rhodey says, pushing on Tony’s shoulder.
“Help me make sure this is recording,” Tony says. “I need to make sure I show it to him when he’s in high school.”
~
Tony starts telling Pepper, May and Ben about Peter’s baby monitor antics. Like Tony’s own personal closed circuit TV show, and apparently the kid has memorized his own baby babble versions of Hells Bells, Smoke on the Water, Kashmir and La Grange. May takes that as her own personal challenge to teach him Take Me Home, Country Roads, but it doesn’t seem to take, which Tony holds some secret pride in.
He’s got hours and hours of his kid just being adorable and weird on the baby cam, and he has to transfer it to a different server so the thing can continue running.
But one night, Tony witnesses something a bit different. He’s heading back from a trip to the bathroom, and he takes a quick look before he gets back into bed.
Peter has escaped from his crib before. To the point where he’s traveled all the way down the hall and into Tony’s room, and Tony has consistently tried to fix the thing so he can’t get out like that anymore. But Peter almost always finds another way, somehow, because when he wants something, he’ll go to lengths to get it. Tony has tried to make his crib more enticing with the glow stars on the inside of it and the planet stickers and all his toys, and he hasn’t had a problem in a hot minute.
Until. This hot minute.
Peter is in the process of climbing out, pushing himself up and over the side, and Tony sighs, shaking his head, preparing himself for another stern talk that both of them equally hate.
But before he can even move, he watches in horror as Peter pushes himself too far, and does a literal fucking front flip out of the crib and onto the floor.
“Holy fuck—”
Tony runs out of the room, trips on the carpet in the hallway and falls with a stupid crash—he clambers back up, his heart booming horribly in his ears. He’s picturing all kinds of serious scenarios, blood, an ER visit, but when he pushes his way into the room Peter is just crawling over to his toy chest, banging at the latch until he undoes it.
“Baby,” Tony whispers, and Peter immediately turns around, his face lighting up when he sees him.
“Dada! No sleep, game! Game!” Peter pats on the top of the toy chest as the latch falls closed again, and he pulls himself to his feet, waddling over and hugging Tony’s leg.
Tony immediately picks him up and holds him. “You lunatic weirdo,” he says, trying to breathe. “We’re not doing acrobatics this early. Oh no. No we’re not. Maybe when you’re like, eleven. And that’s with padding. And maybe you encased in bubblewrap. Holy shit.” He tries not to curse in front of him but his heart is still beating a mile a minute and he feels like he’s gonna collapse.
“Dada, no,” Peter says, leaning back and grabbing onto Tony’s face. “No, dada.”
“Yes, dada,” Tony says, kissing him on the cheek. He pats Peter’s side and takes another deep breath. “C’mon, crazy. We’re breaking out the bassinet by the bed again even though you’re too giant for it. Just for tonight. Probably.” Tony glares at him. “You better not try to break out of that, either.”
Peter grins, and leans in, nestling up to him.
Tony sighs.
~
He gets Peter another crib. He and May and Pepper go shopping in about seven different stores trying to find the right thing, and they test each store model out by putting Peter in them and sitting a few feet away and seeing if he can manage to escape. He gets out of all but one, which he has a breakdown in because he can’t get out, and Tony feels like an asshole and wonders if that particular crib will make him feel trapped. They find another one a couple hours later that’s more comfortable, and it doesn’t even seem like he wants to get out of it.
So that’s the one they get, and for a while, Peter’s insanity on the baby monitor comes to a halt because his quality of sleep improves. Tony’s grateful as all get out, because it’s always good when the baby is sleeping, despite how crazy and energetic it makes him during the day. And he’s not even making attempts to escape, which staves off any future heart attacks for one Tony Stark.
He’s laying on his side, the phone pressed to his ear.
“If you’re feeling sick, you need to go to a walk-in clinic—”
Tony snorts. “Pep, I’m fine. I’m also not going to a walk-in clinic, who are you talking to?”
“Then why are you in bed at ten pm?” she asks, and he can practically see her with her hand on her hip.
“Because—you saw him. We were literally running a marathon in that park, Pepper. We ran the New York Marathon. And we didn’t even get medals.”
“So you’re not sick?” she asks. “You did seem tired.”
“That’s all I am,” Tony says. “Tired. And he’s sleeping, so we’re fine. Might as well try to sleep when he’s sleeping because if he’s awake I’m awake staring at him on the baby monitor.”
She laughs. “Don’t I know it. I still watch that footage of the Led Zeppelin concert he had going on for the monkey.”
“His rendition of Immigrant Song is my favorite version,” Tony says.
“Same,” Pepper says. “Alright, well, get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow at the diner and I’ll bring the letters, you can choose which one gets the money.”
“Pepper, they’re all gonna get their college money, c’mon,” Tony says, wiping at his eyes. “I’m not gonna pick. No way I’m picking.”
“Tony, there are hundreds of applicants—”
“That’s fine, that’s fine,” Tony says. “Goodnight, sleep tight.”
She sighs, but it’s one of those wistful sighs, like she can’t believe him, can’t believe how much she likes him. He can’t believe it either. It doesn’t make any sense to him. Why does she like him?
“Goodnight, Tony,” she says.
He hangs up, and puts his phone on the bedside table beside the baby monitor. He stares at Peter’s sleeping form for a second or two before his tiredness starts to settle in his bones, and just as his eyes are starting to close, he hears Peter whimper.
He opens his eyes again and he sees Peter thrashing, one arm coming up to shield his face. Tony starts to move but Peter quickly wakes up, with a gasp, and dissolves into tears.
“Dada! Dada!”
He’s wailing, calling out for him, and Tony takes off, the comforter getting caught up around his feet before he jumps and kicks it off. He darts down the hallway and pushes his way into Peter’s room, quickly hurrying over to the crib and grabbing for him.
“Hello, munchkin,” Tony whispers, pulling him out and holding him close. Peter’s little hands were reaching up for him, and that always tears Tony in half. “Hey, my baby. My little monkey.”
“Dada, dark, dark,” Peter says, through his tears.
Tony narrows his eyes. He hasn’t said that word before, and it seems like he’s telling him he’s afraid of the dark, or he was in his dream. He has a nightlight, but it isn’t anything resounding and all encompassing, and Tony hums to himself, walking over and sitting in the easy chair. “No dark,” Tony whispers, brushing Peter’s hair back. “We’re fine. It’s okay, you’re safe. No dark.”
“Petey monkey,” Peter whispers, holding onto Tony’s shirt.
“Kiss kiss,” Tony says, kissing Peter’s forehead and tickling him at the same time. “Kiss kiss!”
Peter sniffles and laughs, and he’s so ticklish that almost always works, unless the world is ending or something. Tony kisses him and tickles him and makes him laugh louder, and Peter sinks down so he’s laying like a little newborn in Tony’s arms. He’s gigantic now, his legs getting longer, but holding him like this reminds Tony of the first time he saw him, in the hospital, with Mary.
He needs to start showing him. He needs to start talking about her.
But not right now, not this late, not after a nightmare. Tony just rocks him back and forth a little bit, and Peter smiles, turning his face into Tony’s arm.
~
Tony gets him a planet projector. It isn’t too bright and it sits next to the crib and puts the planets and stars and galaxies on the walls and ceilings, and covers more ground than the other nightlight did. Tony watches on the monitor as Peter stares at it, smiling softly, and he doesn’t have any more nightmares.
One night, though, Tony does catch Peter rolling back and forth, hugging the monkey to his chest. Tony moves in closer to the monitor to get a better look, and then Peter laughs softly, smiling.
Then he starts talking, in a hush.
“Love Dada. Love Dada! Dada! Love Dada!”
Tony feels lightning bolts rocketing through his chest whenever Peter says that, and he still doesn’t know if he knows what it means. He couldn’t, there’s no way. He’s too little.
“Love dada. Love dada! Dada! Dada! Love dada!”
But every single time. How is it possible? How is this possible? He’s alone and Tony isn’t even with him and he’s still saying it. Even if he doesn’t know what it means, it means something to him.
Tony reaches out and rests his hand on top of the screen, where Peter is.
“Absolutely love Petey,” he whispers.