The table glows blue with mission projections. Everyone’s gathered: Steve, Natasha, Sam, Bruce, Wanda, Clint.

Tony paces, sharp suit wrinkled from hours of debate. Exhaustion in his voice—masked by frustration.

You’re standing across from him, arms crossed, trying not to let the heat of his words burn deeper than they already do.

Tony: “You think this is enough? Really? You think tagging along and sometimes using your powers when you feel like it is going to keep the world from crumbling?!”

The room stills.

Steve: “Tony—”

Tony: “No. No, Cap. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it just because they’re my kid.” He points to you. “You want to be here? Then be here. You want to help? Then show up. Not half-baked. Not when you feel guilty. Not when it’s easy.”

You clench your jaw. “I am showing up.”

Tony: “Not enough.”

Wanda: “Tony…”

Tony: “They have more power in their little finger than half this team, and they treat it like it’s a side hobby. You think I’m hard on you? Good. Because this world doesn’t wait for you to be ready. It’ll crush you while you’re still deciding what mask to wear.”

Natasha: “You’re not being fair—”

Tony: “I’m being a father. A father who’s trying not to lose another person because they thought being good was enough.”

There’s a heavy silence.

You take a breath, voice low but unwavering. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be your child, to have your shadow over me. I’m doing the best I can.”

Tony meets your gaze. Something flickers—regret? Pain?

But he says nothing.

Bruce clears his throat. “Maybe we should all take a minute.”

Sam nods slowly. “Before we start throwing words that can’t be taken back.”

Tony: “Too late.”

You stare at him. “Is that what you really think? That I’m just… disappointing you?”

Tony exhales through his nose. His voice lowers.

Tony: “No. I think I’m terrified. And I don’t know how to stop seeing you as the next thing I lose.”

The silence that follows isn’t angry—it’s bruised.