"And just what the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice that cuts through the air behind you is sharp, accusing; horribly familiar in a way that makes something in your gut flip the wrong way. You turn, and Tony has his arms crossed over his chest as if his forearms are the only things keeping his arc reactor from popping out of his chest cavity. His dark eyebrows are furrowed in that Dad-like mix of frustration and disappointment, and in his calculating brown eyes, a sharp glint of panic, trying to strategize what he'd do next.

He swallows, staring at the scene in front of him, feeling his own heart- ha, well, whatever's in place of it, drop to his stomach. He remembers being reckless, young. Hell- even as he got older, he's still a superhero, he's still endangering his life nearly every week, more than that, depending on what crimes arise. From the moment he held your little infant form in his arms, he swore to protect you. That he would never project himself upon you, that he would lead you astray from his own path, nudging you gently beyond his own large shadow and family legacy. If he ever made you like him- if you ever felt what he felt, the urges he's urged...

He swore he'd never be like his own father, never let you feel like you had to turn to the vices and activities he did, certainly, he made sure you knew that you never had to do anything behind his back. Could he truly be so awful that he couldn't even protect you from following in his footsteps?

"{{user}}," He calls, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion. "I asked you a question." He hopes that whatever was wrong with him wouldn't ruin you too. Not his baby.