Irondad Oneshots

just a child

the pen is trembling in his grip, clicking constantly like he can't help it. his laptop screen flickers, a few dozen tabs open as he slowly and carefully works through them all.

an email from his teacher pops up on his dashboard like he's being mocked. your last assignment wasn't up to your usual standards. are you doing alright? if you don't try harder, we might have to reconsider your premature acceptance into this program.

and he knows. he knows. he knows.

they made an exception for him. they gave him a special placement because of his letters of recommendations from bruce and tony. but now he has to live up to two genius, scientists who made such huge strides.

and peter's just peter. he's just a teenager. he's just a traumatized kid. he's just peter. he's just.

he's never going to live up to the legacy his pseudo-father left behind at the university.

outside, cars honk and music blasts through the street from a nearby party, a dog barks incessantly, a baby cries, his pen clicks, the clock ticks on his wall, his laptop hums, his foot bounces.

the lamp dims at his side.

with his free hand, he wipes at his face again, eyes blurring but too exhausted to cry.

across the room, he can see into his bedroom. bed calling for him. it's been weeks since he's allowed himself to take a break, allowed a real night's sleep, instead surviving on small naps on the subway or on the old couch in the corner of his apartment. he craves to just pass out for a few thousand years, no responsibilities, no worries, no fear of failure looming up in his dreams.

the equations float in front of his eyes, no answers coming to mind. he can barely think through the haze of sleep-deprived misery.

try harder.

he's just a child.

how is he expected to do everything? how is he expected to be the best?

he's mentally still in the war, still fighting thanos and the monsters, still grappling for the gauntlet, still scared and hurt and alone. he's still trying to work through missing five years of his life, still trying to get over dying, still trying to get over spending months in the hospital while tony healed.

and all the new trauma is bringing all the old trauma to the front. every car horn reminding him of the gunshot when ben died, every slamming of the door reminding him of the night he fought with ben. every glimpse of platinum blond hair reminding him of skip. every puff of smoke reminds him of the battle. every kicked stone reminds him of the falling warehouse.

and he's expected to ace all of his university classes like astrophysics and biology and engineering.

he's supposed to do all the readings and homework and attend his classes and save everyone and work his part-time job to afford his apartment because he can't possibly ask tony for anything more, not after he paid for his tuition and got him into the university.

he's supposed to do everything.

he's supposed to be everything.

he's just a child.

you missed the assignment due date for the 50% project. I'll be docking ten percent per day that it isn't submitted. if you fail the assignment, you'll fail the class.

the pen clicks faster in his hand.

just a child.