JP Tell me a story.
When he was a little kid, Dylan played catch with his grandfather. They'd go out in the back yard and throw the ball for hours. His grandpa would give him pointers on how to perfect his curve ball. How to throw a breaker. How he needed to make sure that fast ball was feared more than expected. Sometimes Dylan thought maybe he would grow up to be a professional baseball player.
That thought ended somewhere in high school. Oh, he was good enough to make the team. Varsity even. But he got a reality check when he came up against other pitchers that were his age or younger. It was drilled in even more when he'd attend the professional games at Yankee stadium with his grandfather. It didn't discourage him from playing all through high school. It didn't stop his love of the game even when he realized there was no point in trying out for the college team because he knew he wasn't going to be able to properly compete with the ones who would make the team.
It's a little surreal to him when he drives his mother's car to Long Island on the Saturday before Easter. He's going to the Stark family home to play catch with his father. It just wasn't something he had ever envisioned himself doing with his dad when he was growing up. It definitely wasn't something he imagined when he got the name of who his father was. He's not nervous around Tony anymore. It's actually really easy to talk to him. Easier than he had expected it to be.
They're still waiting for the confirmation on the DNA test, but he thinks they both already know it's just a formality. There's an ease between them that feels right. Plus, Dylan has no reason to doubt his mother. She would know better than anyone who his father is. They've all agreed to the cheek swabs on Monday though, and they'll get their confirmation.
Yet he's out in the backyard of the Stark family home, throwing a baseball with Tony on Saturday. He's trying to be careful. Tony mentioned he was a little sore, and somehow Dylan suspects that means he's probably hurt a lot worse than he is. Men have a way of downplaying injuries unless it's to their significant others and they want sympathy. He also notices the arc reactor. It wasn't visible the first time he met him, but when he's dressed down throwing the ball with his son, it's there.
He notices Dylan's gaze lock on it before looking back up. Dylan notices that his body seems a little tense as he intentionally tries to keep his tone light when he explains what it is. Why it's there, and how he got it. It's a very brief explanation. It's enough to make Dylan quietly horrified at what happened to Tony while he was gone, and grateful that Tony's genius mind figured out a way to save his own life. He doesn't ask more questions about it, and Tony seems to relax once he realizes they're over the part of the talk about Afghanistan.
It's about an hour into tossing the ball around that he stops holding back and really lets loose on that curve ball. That feared fast ball. Tony seems impressed. Just like his grandfather had been. Dylan admits that he didn't try out for the college team because he knew he wasn't good enough to make it.
Tony gives him this look that is hard to read at first. Then he tells him he thinks he could have made it.
Dylan doesn't laugh. He had when his grandfather said it, but he doesn't with Tony. Because it hits him what this is. Even without a test, without confirmation, they've shared that moment between father and son. The one where the father is convinced his boy can be anything he wants to be, and the son doesn't want to dash that belief.
It's surreal, but it's a good moment. It's a story he plans to tell his own children one day.
That thought ended somewhere in high school. Oh, he was good enough to make the team. Varsity even. But he got a reality check when he came up against other pitchers that were his age or younger. It was drilled in even more when he'd attend the professional games at Yankee stadium with his grandfather. It didn't discourage him from playing all through high school. It didn't stop his love of the game even when he realized there was no point in trying out for the college team because he knew he wasn't going to be able to properly compete with the ones who would make the team.
It's a little surreal to him when he drives his mother's car to Long Island on the Saturday before Easter. He's going to the Stark family home to play catch with his father. It just wasn't something he had ever envisioned himself doing with his dad when he was growing up. It definitely wasn't something he imagined when he got the name of who his father was. He's not nervous around Tony anymore. It's actually really easy to talk to him. Easier than he had expected it to be.
They're still waiting for the confirmation on the DNA test, but he thinks they both already know it's just a formality. There's an ease between them that feels right. Plus, Dylan has no reason to doubt his mother. She would know better than anyone who his father is. They've all agreed to the cheek swabs on Monday though, and they'll get their confirmation.
Yet he's out in the backyard of the Stark family home, throwing a baseball with Tony on Saturday. He's trying to be careful. Tony mentioned he was a little sore, and somehow Dylan suspects that means he's probably hurt a lot worse than he is. Men have a way of downplaying injuries unless it's to their significant others and they want sympathy. He also notices the arc reactor. It wasn't visible the first time he met him, but when he's dressed down throwing the ball with his son, it's there.
He notices Dylan's gaze lock on it before looking back up. Dylan notices that his body seems a little tense as he intentionally tries to keep his tone light when he explains what it is. Why it's there, and how he got it. It's a very brief explanation. It's enough to make Dylan quietly horrified at what happened to Tony while he was gone, and grateful that Tony's genius mind figured out a way to save his own life. He doesn't ask more questions about it, and Tony seems to relax once he realizes they're over the part of the talk about Afghanistan.
It's about an hour into tossing the ball around that he stops holding back and really lets loose on that curve ball. That feared fast ball. Tony seems impressed. Just like his grandfather had been. Dylan admits that he didn't try out for the college team because he knew he wasn't good enough to make it.
Tony gives him this look that is hard to read at first. Then he tells him he thinks he could have made it.
Dylan doesn't laugh. He had when his grandfather said it, but he doesn't with Tony. Because it hits him what this is. Even without a test, without confirmation, they've shared that moment between father and son. The one where the father is convinced his boy can be anything he wants to be, and the son doesn't want to dash that belief.
It's surreal, but it's a good moment. It's a story he plans to tell his own children one day.